#unedited and presented as is

[pumpkinmetaphor]

opinions on tamakao? :P (through and through kyokao shipper here but im curious)

I'm a middle school crush Kaoru -> Tamaki truther

Actually, have this snippet from a draft of a fic I wrote and never finished/posted in March 2022

―

“I think,” Kyoya says, “we have things to reconsider.”

Hikaru and Kaoru both look over. They’ve become accustomed to Tamaki’s bouts of depression, dramatic flairs and posturing, but usually they intend to cause it for humorous effect. Today’s episode, causing him to cultivate a woodlouse farm amongst the sheets of piano music in the back cupboard, was entirely unintentional. 

Kaoru doesn’t really feel it’s their fault. Hikaru didn’t mean to spill the coffee, after all. He hadn’t carried a tray before. And the girl he splashed made an awful lot of noise about the bottom hem of her dress being marked by the spillage. If she’d been paying more attention to her surroundings and less to insulting his brother, she would have seen Kaoru pick the pitcher up before he doused her in lemon water. And after all, how else did she expect to clean her dress? And if her friend paid more attention to where she was going instead of trying to grab the front of Kaoru’s uniform, then she would have seen Hikaru’s foot shoot out before he kicked the legs of her chair out from under her. And really, if the girls wanted to be treated like princesses, they surely shouldn’t have picked the hosts whose whole selling point is their mischievous, boyish charm.

That’s what Hikaru said, and Kaoru copied, anyway. Kaoru does a very good job at mimicking Hikaru’s unaffected cadence even as the guilt gnaws away at him. He’s not guilty about the girls, not in the slightest, but he can’t help continually glancing over to the cupboard. This was not behaviour that Tamaki was proud of.

“It wasn’t very nice,” Hani says. He makes the bunny toy do an approximation of an apologetic gesture, which they both cringe at. 

“They were regulars,” Kyoya says, making another note, “Were, being the operative word. They’re unlikely to return.”

“What a loss,” the twins sound, sardonically. Kaoru comes in a beat late and Hikaru gives him a look. 

“So, your sole achievement here has been delivering us a net loss of customers,” Kyoya responds, sharply. “If sabotage is your new USP, you’re welcome to leave. I can personally escort you back to the middle school building.”

Kaoru feels the guilt rise sickly in his throat again. He looks towards the cupboard once more, before looking down at Hikaru’s clenched fist. This is how it’s always going to end with them, after all. They both know that. Kaoru knows he wasn’t the only one lulled into the false sense of security that having friends for once gave them, and it betrays him more to see betrayal written on his mirror image than to feel it on his own face. Hikaru’s eyes flash towards him, and the feeling is mutual. 

“Well, yeah?” Hikaru stands sharply. Kaoru joins, in belated unison. “So what? This is a bore anyway. We’ve better things to do than sit around here and be lectured. We're leaving."

“No, no, no!” Tamaki all but tumbles out of the closet, hands waving. Woodlice are displaced in a frenzy and Hani yelps, covering his plate with his hands. He points, dramatically, at the twins. Hikaru sighs and sits back down, preparing for a sermon. “I simply won’t have it! Mommy, Mommy! Are you going to let them leave??”

Kyoya looks mostly nonplussed, but visibly relents. “I was considering writing them out of the will.”

“And you!” Tamaki jabs Hikaru in the chest before then, for equality’s sake, jabbing Kaoru as well. Both frown and sit, rubbing the forming bruises. “I will not have you two walking out on this family!”

This posturing isn’t uncommon either. The first time he heard Kyoya referred to as “Mommy,” Kaoru watched his brother almost swallow his teeth. Kaoru had a similar reaction the first time Tamaki pinched his cheek and called him his “son.” He seems to be under the impression that the club is a makeshift family, like those off American sitcoms Kaoru and his brother think are inconceivable, obviously some cultural abnormality. They’d been happy just to have a few friends who were, for the most part, worthy of their time. Family hadn’t really been on their radar, and yet they appear to have got it nonetheless.

However, both he and Hikaru make the same face when Tamaki calls them his “sons,” so Kaoru knows it must be for the same reason. Whatever that is.

“No, I won’t have this! I didn’t raise you two to be such ungentlemanly devil children!”

“You didn’t raise us at all,” both retort.

Tamaki continues, unperturbed. “I’ll just have to teach you! We’ll change direction! If you can’t be nice to girls then we’ll have to make use of who you can be nice to!”

Kaoru’s brain immediately goes to the only other gender he can think of on the fly. “Hah?”

There’s a finger flying and pointing in his face. Tamaki looks gleeful, grin spreading from ear to ear. “You can be nice to each other!”

Ah, Kaoru thinks. That makes more sense. 

“Great plan. How does that help us host?” Hikaru asks sardonically. Kaoru second-guesses himself. Actually, this doesn’t make much sense either now that he thinks about it but it makes decidedly more sense to him than flirting with boys. That would make them gay, from what limited knowledge Kaoru has researched on the subject. 

“Ye of little faith,” Tamaki simpers, hand to heart. It’s comical, really. “You have so much to learn about women.” Kaoru is with him there. He’s researched girls even less. “Women like a man who’s in touch with his own emotions. Women especially like men who are in touch with each other’s emotions, if you catch my drift. And the fact that you’re identical– that just means you have an advantage over the competition!”

“The competition of other guys pretending to be gay, you mean,” Hikaru says, drolly, at the same time Kaoru says, “That’s what girls like?” because, really, you learn something new every day. 

Hikaru looks at Kaoru. Kaoru looks at Hikaru. “Hard pass,” they both say, deadpan.

Tamaki tosses his arms in the air and wails, wails, before falling to his knees. This is extra comical, and the two stare at each other, lips pursed as they try to restrain themselves from bursting out laughing. After all, this is a serious subject. It’s a serious request. One that they have no intentions of honouring.

Kyoya clicks his pen. “Tamaki forgot to mention how funny it would be.”

Tamaki stops, mid wail, and gives Kyoya a curious look. The twins stop tittering. Many unspoken words are exchanged through a series of covert glances between people for whom telepathy is genetic and between those for whom it’s contagious.

“On second thoughts,” Tamaki says, tearing his gaze away from Kyoya’s to look back at the twins. He wipes his eyes. “Maybe that’s not a good idea. After all, it would be rather mean to take such advantage of the girls like that. It just wouldn’t be honest. The worst sort of prank really.”

“Prank,” Hikaru and Kaoru repeat, cautiously. 

“Well, yes, I suppose that’s how you could describe it.” Tamaki sighs, dramatically, before shooting them the most obvious look they’ve ever seen. “It would really involve tricking these poor girls. They’re just, hm, too gullible for that. It wouldn’t be nice.”

It’s obvious. It’s painfully obvious. They both lean in further. “Okay. We’re listening.”

“No no, it just wouldn’t be right. I’ll come up with something else. Something so very boring, something that isn’t a fun game at all.” Tamaki turns away, the back of his hand resting wearily against his forehead. He cracks an eye open and looks over his shoulder, instantly giving the act away. 

“Besides,” Kyoya supplies, smiling almost menacingly, “You wouldn’t be able to do it.”

They’re being wound up. They’re being baited. It’s reverse psychology 101. They fall for it, hook, line, and sinker. “What? Yes we could!” Kaoru insists. 

“It couldn’t be that hard,” Hikaru continues.

“Bet we could do it in our sleep,” Kaoru adds. 

Tamaki barks a laugh. “I don’t think we need to hear about what you do in your sleep,” he says slyly, and Kaoru for a sinking moment thinks that he knows before coming to his senses and realising that, unlike Hikaru, Tamaki cannot read his mind and cannot know about the carriages. Which brings Kaoru up at a loss for what he could actually be referring to. 

“It’s not easy,” Hani comments, “You’ll have to keep it up for nearly four years! It’s a toughie to keep an act going that long.” He sounds like he’s talking from experience, and the twins share a look. Perhaps this whole cute shtick is just a creepy cover. Hani proceeds to shovel a forkful of cake at the toy rabbit’s mouth and they determine that no one could be that good at acting. Except maybe themselves.

“We can do it,” they say, in unison. 

“Excellent! Superb!” Tamaki cheers, twirling once before plonking down between them. They were sitting thigh to thigh, so he mostly lands on their laps and both grimace as they’re forced to scooch to make room for him. 

“Now, the first trick is to perfect the physicalities of the move. The context will change depending on the conversation, but the move– the move has to be a signature.” Tamaki snaps his fingers in Hikaru’s face and Hikaru looks like he might bite them if they were any closer. “Watch and learn, my protégé.”

He turns to Kaoru and presses his thumb to the dent of his chin. Kaoru, in turn, swallows hard and goes cross-eyed staring down at the imposing digit. “Eyes up,” Tamaki coaxes, quietly, and Kaoru obeys. “You have to be able to look at each other like there’s no one else in the room.”

Tamaki leans in and, he’s right, there’s no one else in the room. It’s just Tamaki and Kaoru. And Hikaru, of course, but always Hikaru. This close, Kaoru can count every one of his eyelashes if he had the time. They’re blonder up close, and he has three sunspots under the bottom eyelid of one eye. Tamaki’s eyes are so blue, not sea colour so he may drown in them but verging on violet so as they may prove detrimental to his overall health this close. His focus isn’t on lip reading, instead honing in on the cupid’s bow arch of his upper lip, barely moving as he speaks so softly that Kaoru can’t hear it over the blood rushing to his face.

He understands then, with complete clarity, why girls choose Tamaki and choose for him to look at them like this, even with insincerity, every day, time and time again. It’s overwhelming to feel, even momentarily, this entertaining.

The girls have better impulse control and Kaoru’s never wanted anything he couldn’t take. Before he can remember to breathe, he closes the gap between their lips and kisses Tamaki, square on the mouth. 

There’s dead silence. 

Kaoru moves back.

Tamaki looks stunned, speechless for probably the first time in his life. Over his shoulder, the telltale vein is throbbing in Hikaru’s temple and he’s fisting his hand in his uniform trousers. Kaoru doesn’t look around, doesn’t care to see what anyone else’s reaction is. There’s only two people in the room that he cares about, and the sickly, guilty feeling starts threatening to gain legs and crawl its way out of his throat, regurgitate on the floor in front of them as an apology because he’s never had to apologise for anything before in his life and doesn’t know if his mouth is physically able to form the words. 

Tamaki stutters, once. That’s all he has time for before Hikaru reaches around, grabs him by the tie, and yanks him around to kiss him on the mouth too. 

Hikaru pulls back quicker, or at least seemingly so. Kaoru felt like his lips were joined with Tamaki’s for an eternity, but watching it happen in his reflection appears less cinematic, more grade school monkey bars. Tamaki looks like he’s going to short circuit, staring at Hikaru in grey-faced, stunned silence. 

Hani giggles sharply in the background. 

Slowly, Hikaru’s face spreads into an almost menacing grin and, slower, Kaoru’s face lifts to match it. Tamaki’s gaze flits between them, index finger hovering mid-air, halfway between accusatory and revelatory. He sputters, and their faces light up in synchronised entertainment.

“They can’t do that,” Kyoya says. He hasn’t even looked up from his clipboard. “The board will complain.”

[factorialsotherfandoms]

So um yesterday's tazercraft stream happened and I caught up mostly with other people's notes and now... have this I guess. I hesitate to call it a fic, but its definitely fictional prose imagining the night after Pac's return with the two of them in Chume Labs.

Usual disclaimer of I only speak English with any fluency and so characterisation is likely to be abysmal. I just... also love these two guys and I'm doing my best to make them happy. But it doesn't seem very realistic, so I'll make Mike cry instead.

Pac will not wake up screaming, he never does. Mike had when Pac was taken from him - when Walter Bob was taken too, and each and every time he remembers the cells they have been held in. Pac, though, Pac was the strong one, the one who could handle it, who could just manage whatever situation was thrown at them - who acted like everything was okay so he could look after Mike.

No more.

Now Mike is the one sat at Pac's bedside, holding his hand even as he sleeps. Pac seems frozen in time, perfectly still even with the tension running through him. His muscles are so tight that even his back shakes with the tension, clearly stuck in a nightmare despite how quiet he is.

And Mike... Mike does not know what to do.

He thought he was a protector, but he has failed to protect in every way that matters. It had always been the two of them - Mike would shield Pac as they fought the world, and Pac would be there to patch up his wounds. But then they were taken, and then their friend was taken, and then Pac was taken leaving Mike alone and now-

If there was something to destroy it would be easier, Mike thinks.

Destroying the Federation will not be easy, and whatever he has seen in his time, alone in their grasp, Pac does not even think it possible any more; something in Pac has been broken, or perhaps stolen, and Mike can only hope that it is something that, despite his clumsy attempts to soothe, will heal.

Impossible is not a word that should be found in Pac's vocabulary, and yet...

There it is.

Mike has never been good at picking up the pieces, not when building, and certainly not of a person. But, but if Pac has broken, has slipped beneath the water, then Mike will not give in until either he is dead, or until he has Pac in his arms, fully this time around. If Pac has learnt the word impossible then Mike will forget it, and bludgeon head first into a world trying to destroy them, tearing it piece by piece until they are all safe once again.

Pac is his friend, and Mike is Pac's friend, and they mean everything to one another.

So, when he catches Pac's eyes, half-lidded, barely open, Mike will reach slowly out, and brush the hair from his eyes. He will tell him he is safe, that Mike will protect him, that nothing will be allowed to touch him again. Perhaps Mike will fail, but he will get back up and scream and try again, and do everything Pac can't until his wounds have healed and they move together again.

He will be scared when Pac does not respond beyond a slow blink, hesitate only a little before squeezing his hands. He will help Pac sit up, fold his hands around a water glass, and keep those hands steady as his friend drinks.

He will ask Pac if he is okay, and receive only a slight bowing of his head in return.

Fear will grip him tighter - it has not left yet, it had never gone - but he will pull Pac against his chest, hold him close, clutch him closer as he tries to outsqueeze the fear.

Pac will turn his face into Mike's chest, and wrap his fingers in his shirt, and say nothing as Mike makes promises of them being together, of them being home, of having trapped the area around the beds to hell and high heaven and that, even if something can make it past, it will not be quiet enough to escape Mike's notice.

Mike will hold him and comfort him and, when the words run out with Pac still silent but now trembling against him, he will let himself sob, and he will cry for the both of them.

[chaosandwolves]

Tell me about My Hollow Fortress please? 💕🦛

Hello lovely!

Ooohhh yes! I was actually so proud of that one but then - like so often- I lost the momentum and it's hard to get back into it. (one of the most annoying things about ADHD tbh)

So my document says it's inspired by this fic by @evcndiaz

I gotta be honest, I'm gonna have to reread that first so I can't tell you much about that fic rn.

This wip is basically about Eddie and how, throughout his life, he has built these walls around him and only ever done what people expected him to do.

And I went with this image of a fortress he's built that he keeps repairing whenever there is a dent.

And Chris and the 118 make it all crumbling down. And, of course, Buck

The fic is full of metaphors surrounding this fortress and programming.

I really tried to choose a small snippet but I couldn't quite decide so here is a bigger part of the WIP

Eddie does all these things for others, wants all these things for others, builds all these things...

For others.

But not for himself, never for himself. How could he? How could he? When the only time he allowed himself to build something for himself;

when the only time he dared to follow his heart without it having to pass all the checkpoints in his head;

when the only time he could taste the feeling of "home" on his tongue;

when the only time he dared to take and to live and to breathe;

when the only time "together" was a feeling and not just carefully carved out hollow scripts and instructions;

When the only time he allowed himself all that, it was not only ripped from him but he was also the reason for all the pain that followed.

So for Eddie the next steps were crystal clear.

He built himself up again, locked himself in a perfectly, rule following form he could shape and mold as needed. Built it like a responsive program, with clear instructions and predictable responses. He could rewrite the script every time it was needed. He learned how to smile in a way that wouldn't show how little it reached inside him.

Sometimes, sometimes Shannon put a dent or a little crack into his form. And sometimes he would allow himself to feel the warmth and light coming through, just for a few moments, before he took his bucket of clay to repair the damage.

It was good. He was doing well. Doing what he had calculated the world was expecting of him.

But then… Then the unforeseen variable hit him and his sculpture started to crumble and in his panic, he couldn't keep up the repair, couldn't find a solution. And everything was filling up with black smoke and he couldn't breathe and so he ran.

He ran far far away and sought out the only place he knew where he could still pretend to be in control, pretend to follow the caring love he was supposed to feel in his bones but that he had disposed of outside his fortress.

Where he didn't have to think about the programming anymore, could hand over the script to someone else to have time; time to rebuild and form and mold.

And it worked. Partially. Cause war is one big unpredictable variable.

But it was fine. Eddie learned how to mend the irreversible damages the war left him with. He couldn't close the cracks and the dents but he could put another layer of clay on top. It's fine.

And then.

Then Christopher was there and Eddie wanted to scream. This was not supposed to happen. There was suddenly this massive hole right above his heart and Christopher filled it with light and laughter that reached inside his shell and crept into his skin and reached for his heart.

It wasn't fair. Eddie had so carefully collected all the instructions and built them into his program, wrote the script.

It was the perfect plan.

But Christopher took his pen and broke it. He took the access to his coding and Eddie was left with only the data he had collected to this point and wasn't able to adjust everything accordingly.

So he kept adding layers of clay around the hole he couldn't close.

But slowly, slowly, slowly the warmth crept inside his bones and the memory of breath in his chest and laughter in his heart brushed the outer skirts of his existence.

And just as he was pushing it away he choked at the thought that his son would one day live like this and the next mission appeared in front of him like an order.

So he took Christopher, brought him to safety, away from everything that had helped Eddie to build his hollow castle.

That was probably the best decision he ever made and he decided that if his broken program doesn't provide him with a script, he will filter it through Chris, make it work for his son to make sure that he could keep laughing and breathing with his entire being.

That was his most important mission, standing above all else.

When he met the 118 it was easy to run his programs and do all the things. Following orders on a daily basis again made it all so much easier.

It gave him time to guard the hole and thicken his walls.

But he didn't notice that the clay was melting faster than he could keep reapplying it.

The walls of his bunker grew thin and started to crumble bit by bit.

And Christopher wasn't the only one any more who threatened his fortress.

The 118 is family.

Family like Eddie had always wished but never gotten an instruction for. So he couldn't stop them from appearing at his door steps and bringing light and peeking through the cracks.

And Eddie found himself minding it less and less.

The tension in his shoulders eased, the ache in his arms started to lighten as he didn't have to apply the clay anymore in every free second he had.

And then

Buck

...

And for a second, for a second he stands in the burning remains of his castle, stands in absolute darkness, knowing that the light is gone forever.

But then Chris is there, alive and breathing.

Chris tells him everything. How Buck saved him, how he saved even more people, how Chris fell into the water.

For a second he wants to be angry at Buck. Wants to to take this as a reason to reinforce his fortress.

But then he remembers Buck's face, hears his voice, feels his despair.

And he knows it in his bones that Buck saved Chris, that Buck would do everything for his son

And then then he was shot and everything crumbled down.

He was stripped of all the walls in an instance. They were torn down and ripped apart and there was nothing he could do about it.

He desperately scrambled for the burned pieces of his script, for the broken bits of his programs and he tried, he tried and tried to hastily rebuild and he stepped away from Buck who brought all this damage and ache and longing which was just too much too much too much too much.

[variousqueerthings]

it’s really interesting the way that “hot lips is back in town” and “are you now, margaret” recontextualise how margaret was written in the beginning (and in the movie and book I imagine)

the episodes condemn their own early one-dimensional portrayal of her, deliberately calling back “hot lips” as a sexist destruction of her personhood that allows for men to treat her without respect, and both episodes feature men who use that idea of her as a way to try to sexually harass, control, and assault her

the show has had her grow by this point, and could have just let that happen as-is, allowing the audience to fill in the gaps from early-seasons margaret to now, but it wouldn’t have been quite as interesting as also humanising the margaret of the past, which is what happens when you tell the audience, “it was wrong for the characters -- the main characters who you’re rooting for -- to initially treat her this way. they were operating under the same systems as these obviously gross men in these episodes you’re seeing now”

in “hot lips is back in town,” she’s on her own -- by now the MASH is her family, but the story doesn’t show her sharing the struggles she’s facing with anyone, positioning her in a tragically self-aware, meta place of “despite it all, she’s stuck at square one” 

the deliberate thread created between the treatment of “hot lips” and her treatment here, at this point in the story, is one that only she can see -- despite her ability to imagine so much more for herself, and despite finding a microcosm of that respect in the tiny world of a single MASH unit, she’s still trapped by others’ conceptions of her, and she’s still carrying it alone, because who would understand and who could change anything anyway?

(also interesting that this is the same season that has “inga” in which she confronts hawkeye on his treatment of women -- the bit where she tells him she could get the same experience as kissing him from kissing a slice of liver was so good, she deserved that applause)

and in “are you now, margaret” they’re all there for her. they weaponize “hot lips” to entrap this guy and she’s in on it. I think I get so emotionally close to margaret-centric episodes, because usually I’d be able to spot a trick, but I got so lost in how sad I was that they were talking her down using the same language as way back in season 1, and guessing they were doing it so the guy would think she’s “too stupid and shallow” to be a spy and would leave her alone, not the more obvious signposted idea that his own misogyny could be used against him!

(silly me, but also... it’s margaret youknow? she deserves everything, it makes me blind sometimes)

there’s something so satisfying about seeing her loneliness -- one that comes from societal misogyny (from others, but also internalised) -- be replaced with a large family, this including nurse-centric episodes and conversations she has with female peers! her family isn’t just a limited space outside of which she’s still “just” hot lips houlihan, unworthy of being taken seriously, her family would protect her to the death! (just like she would for them)

and it’s even more satisfying to give earlier margaret depth and agency in hindsight, and an apology of sorts - in affording her this in hindsight, it makes her early seasons character far more interesting than was clearly initially intended, and that’s the best gift you can give a character, and something I don’t think I’ve ever seen done quite so well in a story 

[masquenoire]

Blessed be to @elisethetraveller​ and @thewomanwholaughs​ for helping me contend with tumblr’s shitty, shitty double-posting issue.

[unravelingwires]

Nicknacks

Due to how spread across the country we are, my friend group from high school only meet each other once every six months or so, and we rarely all make it. The last time we met was last then a week ago, but my memory of the night has already splintered into emotions and small actions. Nicking apple slices from a bowl. An argument about Frankenstein that seems older than the book itself. Scolding a dog. A fabric bow. Swirling fruit juice in a glass. Digging through different kinds of cheese.

It usually takes me years to condense my memories into something that sounds beautiful. When I speak about beauty in the mundane, I mean the crunch of autumn leaves and the air after a thunderstorm, but I also mean the abrupt remembrance that a friend’s two years older than you. Some things are only beautiful in context. That makes them irritating to write about and marvelous to remember.

[jaylaxies]

TEASER: ONLY IF YOU SAY YES (please say yes)

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, angst.

word count: estimated 15k words. (currently 8k)

teaser wc: 748 words!

synopsis: having your enemy in your friend group was tiring enough, but having him shift into your apartment at the same time all your roomie friends had their club’s exchange program? that was your final straw.

warning: the fic will contain 18+ content, minors dni.

a/n: hihi loves <3 sorry for the delay but the fic is getting longer than intended! so i’ll just leave a little teaser as something to compensate while i finish writing. also, the given teaser is unedited, changes might be included in the fic <3

taglist is open! comment/send an ask to be added <3 (make sure to have your age visible on your blog! blank blogs will not be added to the tl)

With tiredness still evident in your eyes, you worked the stove on, grabbing a pot to heat up water, standing still as you took the support of the marble countertop, your palms lay flat on it as you stared at the packet of mint chocolate that was in the shelf in front of you, something that Sunoo possibly had forgotten to take with him.

“Not sleepy?” A husky voice made you gasp and turn around, caging you right in between the counter and Heeseung.

“Fuck! You scared me,” you gasped at his shirtless figure, “why the fuck are you awake and why are you not clothed?” You asked, distressed.

“I heard noises from the kitchen so I obviously had to come over and check,” he said, tilting his head innocently right after, “I have to make sure the princess is safe, right?”

“I can very well take care of myself, thanks,” you huffed, waiting for him to move, which did not happen.

“Okay, then try pushing me away,” Heeseung said, a slight close-lipped smirk present on his face.

You simply made use of the little space to pour the hot water into the cup noodles, covering it with its lid.

“You love these games too much, don’t you?” You said, finally looking up to see his body right in front of your face.

With thick yet lean muscles, he stood tall, his clavicles visible in an attractive fashion as the dim lights of the room only enhanced the slight traces of his abs, making it evident that Heeseung included working out in his daily routines.

You gulped unknowingly, closing your eyes for a second before meeting him, only for his eyes to fall on your lips for a slight enough, just enough for you to miss it.

“Not gonna push me?” He asked, still playful, but with a gentle rasp in his voice.

“You’re not appropriately clothed for me to touch you, Heeseung,” you said, trying to muster a bored, unimpressed expression, as if your ears weren’t burning warm.

“Why? Does skin to skin contact scare you now?” He challenged, “one touch is all it takes, babe.”

“Oh lord,” you groaned, stretching your neck back, only to find Heeseung’s gaze more intense than ever, “fine, move.”

You placed your cold hand on his warm torso, right above his heart, and you could have sworn it was beating a tad bit faster than how a normal heart should be beating.

Pushing him was practically impossible, especially when he bit his lip and chuckled, not moving an inch despite your efforts. The room felt warm as you scoffed and retrieved your hand.

“Can’t move?” He teased.

“I’m just tired, move.”

“Or, you’re just weak.”

“That’s all you can do Heeseung, challenge a tired girl who’s trying to eat.” You pushed him again.

“I’m strong, princess. Don’t you see?” He pointed at his body, and you closed your eyes yet again, trying to convert your feelings into anger.

“Your body might be strong but your fucking ego is weak.” You said finally shoving him enough for you to move.

“Now, now. That’s wrong, princess.” He said, grabbing your cup noodles and testing your patience yet again.

Messing with you was one thing.

Messing with you while you were sleepy was another thing.

But messing with you while you were sleepy and hungry, that was war.

“Give me the noodles back you small dicked asshole!” You chased after him.

He stopped you easily with a hand, twirling you around and pulling you back, his bare chest pressed against your back.

“Small dick, hm?” He mumbled, keeping the noodles on the counter beside you, dragging his warm fingers across your bare tummy, stopping right on your belly button, “it would go up to here, yeah,” he caressed the area before letting go of you.

You stood there, breathing hard as your cheeks burned with the implication of his cock in your cunt.

“How do you even get women, all talk and no action?” You asked, walking back to your room with the noodles in your hands, avoiding the fact that you were completely flustered.

“Oh I’ll show you all the action you need to see, princess,” he winked as you turned to look at him, his hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatpants, “g’night, darling,” he smirked, walking away as you spent the night punching your pillow, eating your now soggy noodles.

Lee Heeseung was going to be the end of you.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[gorejo]

virgin!satoru - mdni.

unedited. I see him as either a cocky virgin who easily falls apart, but also one who's UNsurprisingly so good at it... today you'll get the later part !! this is just to be silly... can't believe I'm writing this (＾་།＾) my b if it's bad hahahah

virgin!satoru doesn't know what to do when the moment finally presents itself. and he especially doesn't know what he can do when your hands grab his wrist, moving them up to your chest to have him fondle your breasts. his cock immediately reacts, he's mumbling something incoherent under his breath as the throbbing in his pants becomes increasingly unbearable. you notice the prominent bulge and gulp — he is bigger than you've imagined.

virgin!satoru that has blood dripping down his nose the moment he gets to hold you. it's beyond his lewd imagination as his hands easily swallow your mounds.

virgin!satoru where his kisses become rushed and messy, teeth clashing and tugging while his hands tremble from further stripping you bare. The tips of his fingers run with anticipation as they travel down your soft skin, down into your pretty panties that he's seen hints of when he snuck in glances whenever you leaned down. god those days were brutal when he couldn't catch a break from fisting his cock thinking of how pretty you'd look when he could fuck you with them on.

virgin!satoru that gets addicted to your scent, your sweet tastes, and your dulcet moans the moment he takes a whiff and laps your pussy — it's warm and enticing, pulling him deeper in as his long fingers start to mold your insides while his lips intuitively suck on your hardened bud. he likes that, the way you unravel under him. and he can't help but want more. he’s immediately hooked to the sharp pain of his scalp when you tug on his soft, white hair, face pinned between your thighs as he spreads out your folds and sucks your clit.

he thinks, he definitely can get used to that.

virgin!satoru whimpers when he sees your small hands barely wrapping around his length, the delicate padding of your palms pulling him forward as he twitched in your grip. and aligning him to your entrance, he swears he fell in love again because he's never seen anything more beautiful than your naked canvas lying bare before as you stroked his cock with your slick while his needy flesh pulsed against your swollen folds.

virgin!satoru where his eyes roll back when he manages to get his head through your tight hole, the warmth of your insides hypnotizing him from the world and inviting him to seventh heaven by just his tip alone. he wonders how good you’ll feel when he’s got you molded to his cock — that’ll be for later he mentally notes.

virgin!satoru that cums a bit too fast when you clench on his sensitive length the moment he bottoms out. he lets out a wanton sob as he falls limp into your embrace, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck in embarrassment as he trembles from euphoria.

virgin!satoru becomes a whimpering mess yet has the libido to go for a couple more despite it being his first time, completely unaware of how overstimulated he was — especially not when your lips sucked on his nipple and legs strapped him closer to your hips. your pussy feels way better than what his imagination can conjure and seeing your cunt leaking, perfectly mixed with his watered cum and your juices sparks a thirst in him that he can’t seem to contain besides fucking it out — inside you.

virgin!satoru says sorry whenever he hears you moan and asks “is this okay?” for everything he does. he's nervous, scared beyond wits that he'll do anything wrong. he asks you to help, to let him know what you liked, wanted, and needed from him. yet, you'll always reassure him with a saccharine kiss with tears pooling in your precious eyes that he loved to kiss away, "p-please 'Toru," is all you can manage, "I feel so full." and when he hears your precious sniffles, he swears you would be the death of him.

virgin!satoru has you on all fours, pounding his cock into your tight hole. by instinct, he raises a leg up, wondering if he could reach deeper inside. you seem to like it, based on the way you've mellifluously moaned 'Toru and clenched on his length. god, he could he thought he was going to cum again. so he grabs your ankle and stabilizes himself to find that sweet spot of yours Suguru coached him about — little did he know, he's already found it way before.

virgin!satoru that continually apologizes for pistoling his cock into you after you’ve cum, his face buried into the crevice of your neck as your nails draw harsh lines on his back, his hips don’t show any inkling of stopping.

virgin!satoru that ignorantly overstimulates himself, his thrusts losing focus before he accidentally shoots his cum out of you, littering you with his seeds as he murmurs no no no — because all of that should be inside you. he’s harshly panting and trembling on top of you, yet his cock kisses your cervix again, twitching as it grows once more.

oops heh i'm stressed from work/school so i needed to just let this out.

[eomayas]

distracted • hjs

pairing: husband&dad!joshua, wife&mom!reader, established relationship

genre: smut 18+ MINORS DNI!!!!!!!!! fluff, parent au, non-idol au

synopsis: reader is literally just feral for joshua

warnings: pwp, p in v, oral (m receiving), riding, praise, dirty talk, soft!dom!josh, breeding, josh calls reader a ‘slut’ (lovingly) once, reader & josh are parents, reader losing her mind over josh mainly. JOSHUA ARMS. unedited ;)))

a/n: i’ve experienced extreme joshua brainrot lately then did an extreme deep dive of jarms (joshua arms) until 2 in the morning. i am unwell and need him like a fish needs water

joshua pushes the shopping cart that holds groceries, and your daughter in the front of the basket, down the aisle. you trail a step or two behind them, mind a bit foggy and… distracted. you don’t know what it is, he’s just wearing a plain, white tshirt and blue jeans—he’s worn it before—and you’re running errands together like you always do. but today is different, and you can’t seem to comprehend a single thing going on around you, or really look at your husband without feeling mild insanity.

first, you’d wandered into the store in a daze, forgetting that joshua was grabbing the shopping cart with your daughter, after having sat in the front seat watching him drive for twenty minutes. his hand sat steady at ten and two, ever the safe driver when your daughter was present, though at stop lights he would sometimes grab your hand or settle his palm on your leg. you felt lost since the morning, woke up with your mind cloudy and your brain foggy just at the mere sight of him.

then, you couldn’t remember a single thing on your grocery list. in your clouded state, you must’ve forgotten the list in the kitchen; it wasn’t a big deal, except for the fact that you literally couldn’t think about a single thing that you needed to buy, and you are usually the one leading the pack around the store. so the three of you have been wandering around the grocery store for longer than you want to be, circling back to the same aisles you’ve already been on because you can’t remember what it is you need to buy.

now you’re back in the dairy aisle, unsure of why you’re back because youve already grabbed milk and cream cheese, so you’re just standing in front of the cold, double doors without a single thought in your head. “yogurt, maybe?” joshua tries, pausing his conversation with your child to help you out. you blink once, twice before mumbling out a ‘right’ and pulling the doors open and grabbing a container.

“mommy, that’s not the right one!” your daughter whines when you drop it in the basket. she’s frowning at you, eyebrows crinkled the same way joshua’s do. god. you make the mistake of looking up at him, and your entire body flushes you meet his gaze. his eyes are soft but questioning, asking if you if you’re alright without actually saying it. no, i’m not, you think to yourself, discreetly sweeping your hand up your neck to check your pulse. it’s fast, and you’re definitely still alive.

joshua watches you with mild concern; he’s noticed your strange, avoidant behavior since this morning when he got back from the gym. you had looked almost surprised when he walked into your bedroom, like you weren’t expecting him back. your eyes widened, and your lips parted like you were going to say something but nothing came out. he beat you to words, anyway, giving you a soft ‘good morning’ that made you blush—he’d ignored it because you seemed… off—and kissed you on the lips. he thought he really smelled with the way you rushed your lips off of his and rolled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet. joshua grabbed you so you wouldn’t fall, and he felt you tense in his hold, a frown etching on his features. he brushed it off and asked if you wanted to shower with him, expecting a ‘yes’ from the look that flashed through your eyes, but you instead mumbled something about having to make breakfast before hurrying out of the bedroom all together. you basically avoided him all day since then, never really looking at him or talking to him directly—none of which you do on a constant basis.

the yogurt was, in fact, incorrect down to the brand and flavor. “i’m sorry, baby,” you say to your daughter, running a hand over her hair before grabbing the yogurt to swap it out for the correct one, this time taking a few seconds to scan everything in the fridge. you appreciate the cold air from the refrigerator, as it cools you down from the rush of heat you feel along your face and neck. you take a breath and tell yourself to get a fucking grip before dropping the correct item into the cart.

“daddy, can i get ice cream?” your daughter asks joshua as you start ambling through the grocery store. you cut your eyes at your daughter for not asking you, but you know it’s because joshua never says no to her.

“of course, princess,” and you watch with pure adoration as he places a kiss on her forehead and she just giggles, scrunching her shoulders up to her ears. joshua is a good husband, but he’s an even better father, and you love watching him interact with your daughter. they have a special connection that you love to witness, a secret language just between the two of them. it’s moment like this where you want another kid—or maybe it’s part of the hazy mess you’re in because of his sheer existence.

you follow behind joshua towards the ice cream aisle. the shirt he wears is tight on him, straining against his biceps and shoulders. you can make out his back muscles depending on how the light hits the fabric, and you feel even crazier than before. his muscles have been the source of your you distracted state today. joshua has always been muscular, and he’s always worked out, but something about him recently has flipped a switch in your brain that has made you feel absolutely feral every time you catch a mere glimpse of his arms—which is quite literally every day. this morning it was too overwhelming, him coming home and shedding his jacket to reveal himself in a simple black tank top that looked a size too small, and gray sweats that made you feel like you needed to go to confessional.

another rush of cold air pulls you out of your lustful daze and you stand at the back of the shopping cart as joshua shuffles through the cartons of ice cream, asking your daughter her input. you try to keep your eyes focused on your daughter, anything else, but cant help when they drift over to your husband, his arms flexing each time he grabs a pint and displays it to your daughter. joshua casts a glance at you, a smile that says can you believe this? when you daughter shakes her head for the fourth time, despite not asking to look for herself. you blush under his gaze, heat spreading down your neck and chest before settling in your stomach.

"i thought you liked the oreo one?" you say to your daughter, voice slightly hoarse. you smooth a hand over her hair to give yourself something to do, hands a little clammy from all of your nerves working overtime.

"i do..." she trails off, turning to look at you with a tiny pout on her lips.

"tell daddy before he freezes," you say, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. just the mere reference to joshua feels heavy in your mouth, makes your stomach flutter for reasons you can't really explain.

joshua places the pint of oreo ice cream into the cart, circling around to the front and playfully ticking your daughter under her chin. she giggles loudly and you smile as you watch her become a spitting image of her father. arms cage you between the carts handlebar and a firm chest, and suddenly your eyes are no longer on your kid but on the strong, veiny forearms that belong to your husband. “excuse me,” he murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice like he knows that you’re losing your mind at the simple sight of him.

wordlessly, you gently grab his right arm to remove yourself from his entrapment. “hey,” joshua says softly, reaching out for your wrist as you move swiftly to get away from him. turning, goosebumps arise on your skin, and you tell yourself that it’s because his hands are ice cold. “you okay, honey?” your stomach flips and you press your lips into a small smile, nodding.

joshua stares at you for a beat before leaning down a few inches, silently begging for a kiss. you nearly combust at the thought, not trustworthy of yourself to behave normally in public. but his eyes are fond, and you love him so much and want him so bad that you raise up on your toes and brace yourself on his shoulders before delivering a soft, quick peck to his lips. you’re proud of yourself for holding back, but joshua isn’t satisfied because he stays leaned over in the spot you kissed him in for a few seconds after the fact that you’ve pulled away. if you were at home, he’d yank you back to him but because you’re in public he files that grievance away and straightens up.

“i want a kiss,” your daughter pouts, cutely crossing her arms over her chest. since she doesn’t specify from whom, both of you lean in and press kisses to her cheeks. her giggle ripples through you, filling your stomach with butterflies and your chest with a type of love reserved only for her. you’re momentarily pulled away from your joshua shaped daze, until his hand is settling on your lower back. it chilling, his touch, and it’s not because his hands are ice cold from standing in the grocery store freezer for two minutes.

a shiver runs up your spine and you slip out of his grasp, not paying attention to where or what you’re walking into until joshua is pulling you back into him, his hand splayed across your stomach and your back colliding with his chest. “babe, watch out,” a woman pushing a cart stops short, a look of remorse on her face.

“oh my god, did i hit you?” she asks, and you figure you must look injured or something, because she looks genuinely concerned for your wellbeing. the flush on your face is not due to the fact that you were almost ran over, but because joshua hasn’t moved his hand from your stomach and hasn’t put any distance between your back and his front. he stays pressed against you, holding you firmly in front of him, his hold tightening ever so slightly.

“n-no, i’m alright,” you manage, lips tingling. “i swear.” you add when her eyebrows don’t drop from her hairline. at that, she seems to believe you enough snd offers you a smile and a curt nod before hurrying down the aisle.

“are you alright, honey? you’re trembling,” joshua says, his deep voice like melted wax running down your back. you make the mistake of looking up and over your shoulder at him, his palm pressing into your lower belly.

he peers down at you with soft eyes, ready to question you again until your tongue darts out to wet your lips before you tuck your bottom lip under your top one and nod. he knows the look in your eyes all too well—hunger, but not for food—and heat pools in his chest. joshua is much better at hiding his desire for you, especially in public and in front of your child, and he’s able to keep his expression the same, pretending he never saw that look in your eye. “i’m fine,” you’re shuffling away from him again, this time checking to make sure you’re not seconds away from being ran over with a shopping cart.

somehow, you three mange to finish your shopping trip without anymore mishaps. it requires circling back to the same aisles more than once because neither you nor josh can remember what you wanted to buy, but at least you can say you’re done. joshua loads the groceries into the trunk while you buckle your daughter into the backseat. she yawns, stretching her little arms up and out. “sleepy?” you ask her, a small smile on your face.

“no,” she says, vehemently shaking her head. you chuckle hum a sound of disbelief before dropping a kiss on her forehead and going to the front seat. the trunk closes and you suck in a breath as you watch him in the rearview mirror. he brushes his hand through his hair, and even through the mirror and the tint of the trunk window, you can make out his bicep muscle flexing with the motion.

it’s nearly pathetic how horny you feel just looking at him—like an overgrown teenager who just got into their first relationship. except you’re an adult, married to this man, and this behavior is no longer considered ‘cute’.

joshua gets into the front seat and smiles at you, leaning over the console to give you a kiss. his hand rests on the side of your neck, and you wonder if he’s trying to check your pulse, to mess with you. you keep your hands to yourself, because if you touch him, you might never stop.

pulling back from your mouth, he looks into your eyes before flicking them back down to your lips. joshua starts to lean in but seems to remember you’re not alone, and sits back in his seat, his hand lingering on your neck for a moment before he starts the car and asks your daughter if she’s ready to go.

the car ride is quiet, save for your daughters yawns and insistence that she is not tired. she makes most of the noise, talking about random things that you and joshua entertain with ease. he watches her in the review mirror with real, unconditional love in his eyes. it does nothing to help your situation, and just makes you want to give him another baby.

when you arrive back at your house, you quickly get out of the car, grateful to get out of the stuffy, suffocating feeling of being in the front seat. you walk around the back and help your daughter out, ready to carry her inside until she exclaims, “i want to help!”

you ser her down on the ground and she runs over to joshua. you watch him give her two of the lighter bags of groceries, and raises her arms to show you, a big smile on her face. you smile back and press in the garage code and tell her to go inside of the house, seemingly leaving you and joshua alone. you sidle up next to him, and joshua lightly bumps his hip into yours. “hmm?” you question without looking up from the numerous bags in the back of the car.

“why are you avoiding me?” he asks, and the directness makes your hands clam up.

“i’m not avoiding you,” you say, taking a few grocery bags and backing up from him.

“you quite literally are.”

you stare up at him, his eyebrows knitted together in slight irritation. “i still love you, if that’s what you’re asking,” you clarify. his features soften and his shoulders relax a bit. those shoulders. your eyes drifts down his figure, lingering on his flexed forearms, veins bulging out from the tension of carrying the grocery bags.

joshua watches you obviously ogle and check him out, his entire figure relaxing at his realization. “oh, i get it now,” he teases, a slow smirk sliding across his lips.

“get what?” you play dumb, taking a tentative step backwards before turning around and trying to keep your walk casual as you walk through the garage. it’s so obvious you’re trying to keep space between the two of you, putting anything in the way to keep you off of him.

“that you wan-“ joshua cuts himself off because you push open the door that leads you into the house. he clears his throat and closes the garage door before following behind you into the kitchen. your daughter is standing on her tippy toes trying to reach a cupboard that’s way to high for her, concentration etched on her face. “need help, bub?” he asks, setting his bags down on the counter.

“i can’t reach,” she whines, yawning immediately after. joshua lifts her up into his arms and opens the cupboard for her abd allows her to put the item away. “i’m tired, daddy.” she rests her head on his shoulder, tiny arms encircling around his neck.

you watch them and you feel your heart grow three times in size, like the grinch. joshua coos at her and pats her head before agreeing to put her down for a nap. you busy yourself with unloading the groceries, stomach flipping at the thought of having at least an hour alone with your husband. you can’t believe how depraved you feel.

joshua comes back downstairs a few minutes later, right when you’re putting the last thing into the fridge. “you finished?” he asks. you nod, heart hammering in your chest as he walks over to you. his hands drop onto your hips, pulling you flush against him. you keep your eyes straight ahead, leveled wirh his chest, and joshua dips his head down to meet your eyes. “see: you’re avoiding me.”

hear creeps up your neck and you shake your head. “i’m not.”

“don’t try to gaslight me,” he teases, making you roll your eyes and finally look up at him. “there she is.” he murmurs, leaning down a few centimeters to connect your lips. your hands flatten against his chest, and he walks your backwards into one of the kitchen counters. joshua leans over you, trying to press you flat against the surface despite the lack of space.

“shua,” you breathe once you pull away when he unbuttons your jeans.

“what, you’ve got somewhere better to be?” he asks, arching one of his eyebrows.

“i… i have to do laundry…” you say halfheartedly. joshua laughs at this, dropping his forehead against yours. “i’m serious!” you say, but you’re smiling too. “i want to go back to avoiding you.”

joshua pulls back to look down at you, making a face that says for what? “i thought you wanted me to fuck you?”

“yeah, i’m afraid nothing will keep me off of you if we start,” you say honestly. joshua blushes deeply, a boyish grin on his face. “i want you so bad—i think i might be ovulating? i don’t know. i just want you so. bad.” you punctuate the last part with the press of your knuckles into his chest.

“you’re ovulating?” it’s like bells went off in his head.

“maybe, i don’t know. i don’t keep track of that shit. i just need an explanation for how i feel,” you say, hands sliding along his chest absentmindedly.

joshua raises both of his eyebrows at you, fake shock on his face. “maybe because you have a super hot and sexy husband who is also a really good father? just a hunch.”

“no, i don’t think that’s it,” he rolls his eyes at you and you giggle, balling his shirt up into your fists and pulling him down to you. joshua grips onto the counter to steady himself, his hold tight enough to turn his knuckles white. he presses his pelvis into yours, his his erection pressing against your leg.

joshua wraps an arm around you and splays his hand across the small of your back. he presses you down onto the counter and you grip his shoulders tightly, craning your mouth away from his to breathe out, “not here.” he pulls you up from the counter and looks down at you, his chest moving up and down quickly. you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he thinks about a place to fuck you that won’t bring attention to the two of you. “laund-ah!” he swoops you up into his arms easily, already carrying you in the direction of your laundry room before you can even get the entire word out.

you wrap your legs around his waist as you buzz with need and anticipation. you let yourself revel at being carried by him after lusting over his arms all day. he carries you like you’re weightless, with his his hands resting under your ass for support. “god,” you whisper to yourself, pressing a kiss into his neck.

“i love you,” he rasps as he enters the laundry room. he shuts and locks the door behind him before dropping you onto the washing machine. his hands are flying to undo the buttons of your blouse and you pull him closer using your ankles that are still wrapped around him.

“love you more,” you murmur, helping him with removing your top. “your turn.” your urge, pulling the hem of his shirt.

“sure you can handle it?” he teases. you flush and lightly push at his abdomen. “don’t wanna make you pass out or anything.” he smirks at you, loving to watch you squirm.

“i can handle it,” you say, feeling so embarrassed to even be in this position. luckily, joshua is sweet to you above all and draws you in for a kiss. you skate your hands up underneath his shirt, nails lightly scratching against his torso. “take it off.” you mumble against his lips, hands pushing up the material of his shirt. you feel like you could rip him out of the fabric.

joshua pulls back and makes an entire show of getting undressed. he runs a hand through his hair and purposefully flexes his bicep as he does so. if this was any other time, you’d roll your eyes and call him annoying. but today, all you can do is watch and try not to drool.

he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it into an empty laundry basket nearby. you waste no time leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss, threading your fingers through his hair. you move to kiss his jaw and then his neck, your hands sliding down his body. you kiss across his chest, going lower until the position becomes uncomfortable. lightly shoving him, you hop off of the washing machine and drop to your knees in front of him.

joshua watches you with dark eyes, holding onto the edge of the machine. you fumble with his belt, hands shaking with anticipation of finally having him, and he makes no effort to help you out. your hands work too fast, and you mess up when you try to pull the buckle open for the second time. “i’ve got all day,” he say smugly. you ignore him, and finally pull his belt free. you work his pants down to his ankles, leaving. him in just his briefs. you let out a breath and look up at him with pure lust. “as pretty as you look right now, you’d look much better with my cock in your mouth.”

quickly, you pull his underwear down and let them pool together with his pants, hands flying to grab ahold of his member. you pump him a few times, flicking your eyes to look up at him. joshua gives you a slight nod, signaling you to start sucking, and you eagerly oblige. sticking your tongue out, you lick up the precum that dribbles out of the tip before you wrap your lips around the head and push him into your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you go. a groan escapes joshua’s mouth and he gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail.

you drag him into your mouth inch by inch, your eyes never once leaving his. his chest heaves up and down, moving faster and faster the closer you get to taking him all the way. tears prick in your eyes when he hits the back of your throat, but you keep going until your nose nearly presses into his hips. “shit,” he whispers, leaning more of his weight into the washing machine.

you bob your head up and down, pulling back and stroking what doesn’t fit. you swirl your tongue around the tip, cheeks hollowing to create more suction when you suck on the tip. joshua moans lowly above you and tells you how good you’re doing. his eyes flutter shut, squeezed shut in pleasure and his chin drops down to his mouth. you want his eyes on you, want him to watch you as you make him feel good, so you purposefully scrape your teach against his dick to get his attention.

his eyes fly open as he jerks back from you, glaring at you when you smile around him. “brat,” he spits and tightens his grip on your hair. you sigh through your nose and press your thighs together, cunt throbbing with need. you keep bobbing your head, speeding up slightly and taking more of him into your mouth. when joshua presses your head down, you relax your throat and let him take control, hands moving to hold onto his thighs. “good girl.” he grunts, holding your head down on his dick for a few seconds until you gag, and then he pulls you off of him.

he does this a few more times, his cock twitching against your tongue. tears gather in your eyes but you power through, determined to make him cum. he pulls you down onto him, cursing each time he hits the back of your throat. “fuck, you take me so well. i’m c-close,” tears slip down your cheeks and mix in with the spit and cum. your face is a mess, but neither of you care.

joshua fucks his cock into your mouth, holding your head steady in his hands. you dig your nails his thighs to combat the ache in your jaw. he thrusts into your mouth until he can’t take the feeling of your warm mouth around him anymore, his cum shooting into the back of your throat. you keep your mouth open to catch all of his seed, some of it gathering around the corner of your lips. “s-swallow,” he demands when he pulls his cock away from your mouth.

you obediently swallow, and he whines in the back of his throat. “goddamn, i love you,” he holds his hands out to you and helps you up onto his feet. he wipes the corners of you lips with his thumb and shoves it into your mouth, lips parting when you suck on his thumb like you just did his cock. “youre such a slut.” he murmurs, a loving gaze in his eyes.

a trail of saliva connects your lips to his thumb when you pull it out of your mouth. “promise?” you ask.

joshua smiles and pulls you into a kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. his hands make use of unbuttoning your jeans and shoving his hands down your pants. your panties are damp, and he’s a bit shocked and honored that you’re this wet for him. “i need you,” you whine, peppering kisses down his neck. you don’t even want his fingers, just want him inside of you.

“i know,” he rasps, slipping a finger between your folds. you shudder when he touches you, his finger playing with your arousal and brushing over your clit, just to make you jump. you clench around nothing, and it’s nearly painful how turned on you are.

“joshua!” you whine, nipping at his neck. his hand immediately grabs onto your hair and yanks, a hiss emitting from your lips followed by a smirk.

“needy brat,” he grumbles, walking the two of you over to the work bench in the room. he drops onto it and spreads his legs invitingly. you quickly step out of your jeans and underwear, his eyes roaming over your body. “you’re a beautiful, y/n.”joshua says sincerely; at the end of the day, he is simply a lover boy.

you smile at him and quickly drop yourself onto his lap, straddling him and wrapping your arms around his neck. you reach between the two of you and position yourself over his cock. his hands grip onto your hips tightly and guide you down onto him, bottom lip drawing in between his teeth.

“ah-fuck!” you cry when you sink onto the tip, the initial stretch rippling through you.

“you’ve got it, baby,” he encourages, thumbs rubbing sift circles into your hips. you bite down on your bottom lip, hands gripping tightly onto his shoulders as you sink lower and lower onto him. “goddamn, girl.” he grunts, hips bucking when you clench around him.

when you manage to take all of him, you sit still and catch your breath, head resting on his shoulder. joshua unhooks your bra and you lean back to slide it off your arms. “you okay?” he asks, hands groping your chest.

“uh huh,” you rasp, taking it as a sign to start fuckign him, licking your lips and raising your hips before dropping onto his lap. “fuck, shua.” whimpers leave you lips as you fuck yourself onto him, using his shoulders as leverage to move yourself up and down. joshua relaxes into the wall, his grip on your hips loosening as you gain momentum and find a rhythm.

“you’re so tight,” he groans, one of his thumbs finding your clit and rubbing slow circles around the sensitive nub. “been thinking about fucking you all day.” joshua sighs and rubs your clit quicker, eyes peering up to watch your facial expressions. “you need me as bad as i needed you?” he mumbles, voice low and husky.

“more,” you pant, still bouncing up and down on him. your cunt clamps around him like it’s trying to keep him there. “shuaaa!” you whine, thighs burning. you sit on his lap, rolling your hips into his.

he chuckles breathlessly, rolling his other thumb over one of your nipples. “yeah? tell me,” he grins at you devilishly, this side of him only coming out in your intimate moments.

“so bad,” you cry, grinding down onto his lap. “w-wanna give you a-another baby.” you squeeze around him involuntarily, a knot forming in your stomach. joshua twitches inside of you at the mention of having another child.

“yeah? want me to fill you up?” you whimper and nod, legs starting to shake. “want me to fuck you full of my cum until you’re pregnant again?” he lets go of you breast to place both hands underneath your ass. he lifts you up and drops you down, a show of his strength as he fucks you up an down onto him.

joshua grumbles filthy things into your ear; tells you that he’s gonna fuck you until you can’t walk, that he’s gonna stuff you full, that’s he’s going to give you another baby tonight. “f-fuck! i-im gonna cum,” you cry, throwing your head back in pleasure. he bucks his hips up into you, hitting that spongy spot inside of you repeatedly.

spots blur your vision and your cunt spasms around him as you reach your climax. it hits you like a thousand bricks, and you’re shaking in his arm and crying out his name. you expect him to stop, but he keeps thrusting up into you, drawing out your orgasm further. you can hardly think through the waves of pleasure, which is why you hardly register that he’s lifted you up until you’re placed on a cold surface.

joshua drags you to the edge of the washing machine and slams his cock into you, nearly knocking the wind out of you. “o-oh my god,” you gasp, tears brimming in your eyes for the second time tonight. “you feel so good!”

he drives his hips into you brutally, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. “f-fuck, i’m not gonna last,” he groans, dropping his head into your neck. he kisses your skin and lightly bites, though not hard enough to leave marks. you cling to him, arms secured around his shoulders like you may fall if you dont hold on.

his thrusts get sloppier by the second, indicative of his nearing climax. “i love you,” you breathe, nails clawing at his back. he grunts, whining out curses as he cums inside of you, his dick twitching between your walls. he stills, fingers applying bruising pressure to your hips.

after a few moments, he lifts his head from your shoulder and looks at you, a tender smile on his face. he presses his lips to your gently, sighing against you as he goes soft. “shit,” he pants, followed by a light chuckle.

you can’t help but giggle back, running a hand through his hair. he doesn’t want to pull out, not yet at least, wanting to make sure his cum stays inside of you as long as possible. he lets go of your thighs and wraps his arms around you, squeezing you into his chest. you kiss the column of his throat, right on his adam’s apple and rubs soft circles into your back.

“we should clean up,” he murmurs, starting to draw back from you. you make a sound of disagreement and squeeze around him on purpose. “b-brat.” he stammers, curling away from you.

he pulls out of you with a lewd squelch, both of you turning light shades of pink at the noise. he helps you off of the washer and you lean against it. he finds a random towel and comes back to wipe between your legs before cleaning himself off and tossing it in the same basket he threw his shirt in. “i guess i could start a load,” you say, looking at all of the discarded clothes, making joshua laugh.

he helps you gather them up and drop them into the washer. you add in the detergent and slam the top closed. except, when you go to start the washer, joshua places a hand on your back and presses you flat against the washer and slots his knee between your legs to spread them open. you don’t get a chance to prepare yourself because he’s pushing into you again, a strong arm wrapping around your middle to hold you steady as he fucks into you from behind, determined to get you pregnant tonight.

[shotmrmiller]

A/N: I simply had to join on writing for John 'just the tip' MacTavish so. Here goes. Unedited, its horny its explicit yall know the deal. It was supposed to be a drabble and i got completely carried away. got me out the writing slump tho. any mistakes please ignore. CBF!Johnny because I say so.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

WC: 1.6K

Flipping through Netflix, you hear a rapt at the door. You turn to look at your dad, who gets up quickly as if expecting someone. 

“Johnny, my boy! I’m glad you could make it! Had me thinking you forgot all about us. Come on in!” Your dad pulls Johnny in for an affectionate embrace that he returns immediately.

“Och, yer aff yer heid! As if I could ever forget my second family!” Giving your dad a final pat on the back, Johnny steps back. “Now where’s my girl?” 

Lifting the hand holding the remote, you call out. “Present!” 

Johnny almost trips over the coffee table, rushing to you. He doesn’t wait for you to stand up, just snatches your wrist and lifts you for a hug— your socked feet dangling by his shins. With his strong arms wrapped around you, he pulls you close, nuzzling his face against your neck. “Missed ye, bonnie,” he murmurs, “missed ye so much.” 

As you exhale a wheezy breath, you tell him, “I love you too, Johnny, but I can’t breathe.” One last squeeze, and a squealed “Johnny!” he finally relents, setting you down. 

Hands resting on your shoulders, his striking blue eyes lock onto your face, flicking across your features, as if he was re-memorizing what you look like. His intense gaze rushes blood to your cheeks, but don’t shrink under it. It wouldn’t be the first time your best friend teases you like this. “Somethin’ on my face, Johnny boy?” and bat your lashes at him, “I know I’m staggering to look at, but now you’re just being shameless.” 

He lets out a huff, a small smirk gracing his lips, and mumbles, “Don’t I know it.” Your taunting smile falls off your face at that. What? Before you can even ask him what he means by that, your dad calls him into the kitchen. 

“Johnny! Come get a beer, it’s about to be movie time!” Without breaking eye contact, he answers him, “Aye! Comin’!’ and with a finger tap to the underside of your chin, walks away. Heart pounding against your chest, you head towards your bedroom to get a blanket, hoping the little walk calms the butterflies in your stomach. 

What?

The movie is playing, and Johnny is curled up behind you on the reclined sofa, roughened palm resting on your thigh, occasionally squeezing it. You’re mortified at the slight arousal you’re feeling just at being caressed by Johnny. Johnny. Your best friend. Who has consistently had girlfriends, who will never look at you that way. You’ve never thought of him that way either, granted, but that’s what makes this so embarrassing. Maybe you’re ovulating, biology simply reacting in the presence of a virile male, or something. 

And then you feel the unmistakable bulge of his stiffening cock, faintly pressing against your arse. Gods. Heat radiating off of your face, you bite your lip and try to discreetly wiggle away, for his sake and yours. However, Johnny seems to disagree with your thoughts because he moves his hand from your thigh to grab your hips in a bruising grip, fingers digging into your hipbones, forcing you to be still.

He leans into your ear, warm breath tickling your cheek and softly whispers, “Dinnae move, hen,” and sluggishly starts to rock his hips, erection now firmly rubbing against your sleeping shorts. Johnny’s movements are imperceptible, nonexistent underneath your blanket. Not that it would matter, because the movie is reaching its climax, and all eyes are glued to the screen.

But your mind is solely focused on Johnny— the heat of his hands scorching against your skin, his prominent length hidden underneath his pajama bottoms grinding on you. 

“Lift yer leg a wee bit, hen.” Keeping a watchful gaze on your parents, you silently plead that they won’t notice as you hide your compliance under the guise of trying to make yourself comfortable. Once settled, you lowered your leg and had to bite your tongue with force, to keep the moan from slithering out of your throat. 

His cock, bare, right in between your thighs. Like warm velvet wrapped around steel, thick, heavy, tip pushing against your core with every minute thrust. Johnny moves even closer, arm tight around your waist, hand sliding into your bottoms, heading straight towards your soaked, swollen clit to rub feather-light delectable circles on it.

“I’m gonna stick just the tip in, a’right? I swear,” he says in a hushed tone, as he pulls back to lower the waistband of your shorts to rest on your upper thighs, “just,” he thrusts once, “the”, again, “tip.” and his leaking head slips into your hole— pushing it in until your walls flutter around it. 

“Ye feel incredible, squeeze that tight pus—” your dripping cunt cuts him off, drawing out a hiss of surprise from him. His subdued voice in your ear is so seductive, so bewitching, that you can’t help but clench around him. 

For most of the movie, Johnny languidly thrusts into you, truly keeping to his word. Just the tip— teasing you, making you drip onto the sofa, muted squishy, gooey noises coming from under your blanket, and you couldn’t be bothered by any of it. Flared, ridged head catching on your slippery lips with every drag of his cock. You’re drooling on your hand that covers your mouth beneath the snug blanket— struggling to hold back the mewls and whimpers threatening to escape. 

All of a sudden, Johnny mutters, “The movie’s about ta end, close yer eyes and keep completely still. Stabilize and deepen yer breathin’, hen.” Without hesitation, you do as he says, body going limp in compliance, the only tell-tale sign of your excitability being the rapid pulsing of your jugular on the delicate skin of your neck. 

The TV is turned off, and the living room goes completely silent, apart from the deafening sound of blood rushing in your ears. Johnny behind you feigns quiet snoring, so believable that if it wasn’t for his throbbing cock still at your entrance, you’d think he actually fell asleep.

Your dad’s poor imitation of a whisper cuts through the quiet. 

“They’re asleep, let’s just leave them here.” Footsteps shuffle as they tip-toe around you both, and as they get farther away, Johnny slowly moves his hand to cover yours, truly weighing down on it. The instant their door clicks shut, he uses his other hand to pick up your leg and throw it over your shoulder, and thrusts hard, deep, until his bollocks are flush against your arse. Your nails claw at the hand over your mouth as you scream, your gummy walls stretching against his assault— a burn so exquisite, pleasure teetering on the edge of pain, achingly delicious, it sends tendrils of ecstasy directly into your veins.

He lets out a guttural moan, one only you could hear, private, intimate. “It’s about time ye let me have this sweet pussy, hen.” One vicious thrust that punches the air from your lungs and rattles the sofa, and then another, when he finally speaks again. “Fuck, we hae ta do this when we are nae restricted, hm?” His hips start a slow rhythm, long, unhurried undulating thrusts, and every time he bottoms out, he grinds his pubic bone on your clit, the tip of his cock giving your cervix a lewd kiss. Every time he reaches the entrance of your womb, it feels like he wants to go in further, to go past the dead end, and your cock drunk mind only thinks about how you want him to do it, too. 

“Yer slobberin’ all over my hand, hen. S’that good, is it? Oooh, I ken it is. Only the best fer my girl, hm?” He hisses through clenched teeth, “I’m fuckin’ close. Come f’me. I’m not comin’ until ye cover my cock with yer cream, leave a white ring at the base.” His hips have been moving at the same exact speed he started at, not a stutter in his pattern. As if him fucking you into a puddle of arousal wasn’t taxing on his part. 

Then he does something different, something that threatens to snap that coil in your lower tummy, and along with it your sanity. He starts giving shallow thrusts, never pulling out more than halfway, and makes sure to rub against your clit, giving you that heavenly friction you need. It has you delirious, fervent, and you start moving your own hips, uncaring of how you must look.

Johnny moves his thumb down to your nub, drawing tight, precise, merciless circles on it, and you are thrown over the edge— more like kicked off by a spartan kick from how gut-wrenching your orgasm is ripped from you. Your pleasure is so acute, so powerful that there are needle-like pricks on the shell of your ears. Your body shakes underneath Johnny, pussy throbbing and pulsing with the aftershocks of your blinding climax. 

Drool escapes under Johnny’s palm, dripping down your cheeks and into your hair as you fall back, going completely limp, utterly spent. Finally getting back some coherency, you realize that Johnny’s gone soft inside of you, also drained, as he catches his breath holding himself over you. He removes his hand, uncaring that it’s sticky with your spit, and noses your cheekbone, nudging you to slant his lips over yours, curling his tongue against yours. He swallows the pathetic mewl you let out and presses one final kiss onto your lips. 

“I’ve missed ye, hen. I’m so happy to be here, with ye. Let���s move to your bedroom, and in 10 minutes, I’ll give ye a proper fuckin’.” 

Your eyes close shut as you let out a resigned but elated sigh. 

“I love you too, Johnny.” 

@rookiesbookies and forgive the tag but i had you in mind too @brewed-pangolin ill never do it again unprompted

part 2

[rxmye]

" 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 "

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 — For so long, he found art in his surroundings, nature was his muse . . who would've thought that he'd be able to find another muse, within you.

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / obsessive / unhealthy themes / I guess the reader is his 'hater' / perfectionist yandere / kind of egotistic yandere / he has a praise kink frfr / maybe a bit self centered . . / kind of unedited / also might appeal to ppl with a savior complex

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: I feel like Lore takes up a good chunk of this fic, but enjoy . . also might be one of my longest fics . .

He was a calming presence, and a thoughtful friend to all he called his own. Elegance took a human form, in Xavier Wilson—A beautiful work of art indeed . . Born presenting a talent that could rival many others in the industry.

From a young age, Xavier presented himself as a man of the arts, often drawing out vivid tapestries of his dreams or memories. He would often lose himself in the pages of his notebook, scribbling away with intricate drawings and stories, his mind was his own magnum opus.

However—people was never his strong suit. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, surely if he was as magnificent as those around him expressed, he'd most certainly be able to recreate the portraits of those around him?—But no, none of his portraits could compare to his various other works.

As he got a bit older, his mother decided to enroll him in classes that could help expand his talents, which ranged from various music lessons, theater (didn't end well), art history—etc . . .

Xavier let out a breathy sigh, staring at the keys of the grand piano absentmindedly—his gloved fingers gently glide over the keys, tired would be the best way to describe him as of right now—his professor had left an hour ago, yet Xavier couldn't find it in himself to move.

Truth be told, Xavier wasn't a fan of music, he preferred quiet solitude—and though he had long since gotten used to the sound of the piano, violin, and any of the other ridiculous instruments his mother was so keen on getting him to play—he still preferred the silence over all.

Over the course of time, Xavier disinterest towards music dimmed—Alongside his distaste towards instruments . . He figured the reason he disliked it so much was due to his inability to play as perfectly as his professor . . Xavier was a perfectionist, and anything he couldn't perfect was simply 'wrong' in his eyes, and as he reached his teen years, he accepted that fact wholeheartedly.

Xavier stood still, as his mother fixed his tie for him—he could do it himself but he let her enjoy this moment, she always disliked watching her son 'grow up so fast'—"are you nervous?", she asked softly, gently holding his hands, smiling so brightly.

'Am I nervous?—' he thought, clearly not. He felt calm, neutral even. It was his first big show, yet internally he knew that things would end well for him, he could feel it. He's always been lucky, in fact his father's nickname for him as a child was quite literally 'Puer aureus' which translated to 'the golden boy' from Latin.

He clicked his tongue, a common habit of his—especially when he wasn't being exactly truthful—he paused for a moment as if to think, then he smiled at his mother, "Just a bit, but I'll be fine" he spoke calmly, gently squeezing her hand to reassure her. "Don't worry, I've prepared well for this . . Haven't I?"

Praise, he adored praise, and that day he received quite a lot of it—not just from his parents, or acquaintances . . .—but crowds of people. Honestly, it stroked his ego, quite a bit . .

By seventeen years of age, Xavier's talent was known worldwide, his rise to fame quite massive and fast . . He had to attend class, while also hosting live performances and art galleries. (such a struggle, really . . .)

University admissions were coming around, and most of his friends had chosen what schools they plan on applying to—what path they plan on going into—what school they hope to go to the most, the conversation was an eye opener and yet it all felt so bitter.

Xavier tapped his pen on the table, zoning out from the conversation his friends were having . . only to zone back in when Neva spoke, "—so Xavier, have you decided where you'll be applying too . . ? I'm sure you'll get in."

He clicked his tongue in response, closing his eyes absentmindedly as he spoke, "To be honest, not really . . probably something arts related?", Xavier was about to speak up again but stopped himself, starring down at the table, a sigh escaping his lips.

"That seems like a waste of money", he looked up, starring at Oliver with questioning eyes, and Oliver quickly explained himself, "Art school is great and all—But it won't really make much of a difference for you, in fact the rules could restrict your talent . . It could be better for you to just try something new? You're good in school a degree outside of your comfort zone may be something good for you!"

He hated that his friend was right, he hated being wrong. He prided himself for always knowing what was best for himself and his abilities, and in a spur of pettiness he found himself taking art anyway, trying to prove his friend wrong . . even though he was well aware his intentions were pure in all ways.

Xavier had done well in his courses so far, and with his fame, he was breezing through classes—and yet, when the topics of portraits came up . . he found all that floating out the window.

None of the models they had for class, felt right—none of the art he did, felt authentic . . felt like himself, when it came to art, Xavier took everyone to paradise, his art felt like peace . . his art was calm . . his music was soft, lulling almost . .

Yet now, as he stared at his canvas, covered in mixed harsh colours, a vibrant mess of paint, his brushes wrecked, paint dripping from the easel . . It felt like anything but calm.

And that's when he dropped out, a question to his perfection would wreck the fragile image of himself he had created in his mind, a man so perfect and lucky in his own right a humbling experience like that was to never see the light of day.

Xavier found himself turning to something different, just like Oliver suggested, his alternatives were selective, yet he kept many paths open, Photography, fashion, and business were his top picks and things he found himself surprisingly enjoying . . Surely if he could paint and create melodies of such wonders, then he can stitch some fabric together, solve a few equations, and take a few photo's here and there just fine . . right?

A few years had past, and Xavier was now running his very own Luxury fashion line, he still hosted art galleries here and there, and composed music on the side, but his business took up most of his time.

But on his free days he'd turn to photography, taking pictures of things he sought comfort in . . and people, he'd often take pictures of unsuspecting people, pretty ones . . people not so pretty as well, just to try and recreate the life they had on a canvas . . yet somehow always failing to do so.

The moment Xavier found himself close, he'd reach a dead end . . and that destroyed him, internally.

Over the years, he accepted the small flaws in his behavior, and tried his best to reform them, presenting himself as the perfect public figure. He did go to therapy in the past, but when things started rising up, he quit entirely.

Xavier laid back on his office chair, and scrolled through his recent posts comment section, and as expected almost all of it was praise . . some of envy, but that only fueled his ego more . . Until he found a comment that set him off, "His art is so melancholy, it feels a bit sad . . His previous works were brighter, like more happy but now it kind of feels sad . . Like the life in his work isn't there anymore."

Xavier stared at the comment dumbfounded, never had he received that kind of feedback . . portraits he drew were indeed lifeless, but his other art was always regarded as lively, and that was what he always strived for . . Curious, and in a fit of rage . . he clicked on the commenters profile, and saw you.

You, you . . You were what he was looking for, his muse. So, full of life . . He scrolled through your page, and couldn't help but feel the urge to draw you, and paint you . . and paint you he did. . Because soon his entire studio was filled with pieces inspired by you . . so full of 'life' . . .

Yet at some point, he had reached the end of your posts, and it just wasn't enough . . he needed you . . He wanted your feedback, he craved your praise . . like no other, he wanted input . . he wanted to know if his work was truly still lifeless . . he wanted you.

After all, a artist isn't complete without his muse.

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[bibliosims]

genus | an upper body tattoo. ⊹₊ ⋆

download | sfs (free, no ads)

TOU: do not reupload and never put this behind a paywall !

previews and more under the cut !

i present you genus, which was born the second i saw this snake skeleton while scrolling through pinterest. making this tattoo made me super nostalgic bc i took a bunch of bio courses in college as a human bio major :') enjoy !

also feel free to tag me if u use these ! it’d be cool to see these in the wild 🫶🏻

thumbnail previews:

unedited previews:

•☽────✧˖°˖ art by anna maria redfield in her zoological science or nature in living forms ˖°˖✧────☾•

[chuluoyi]

everything, but not anything

- gojo satoru x reader

you were his last remainder of the happiest blue spring in his life, until your untimely demise. and on the death's door, he finally found you again.

genre/warnings: angsty wangsty, consolation towards the end

notes: i said i can't create gojo fics without feeling depressed, so here i present to you, angst. it's inspired from a thread in twitter i read about how gojo was given everything but he couldn't do anything and my heart just incredibly hurts and―this happened. it's unedited because the idea popped into my mind at 1 in the morning

i wrote this while listening to this wonderful song. consider it the theme song for this piece. i highly recommend you to read this and listen to it!

[update] sequel -> found you

general masterlist

You were so pretty. So really pretty, in fact. And he likes pretty things. Perhaps that was what spurred him to spontaneously ask you out.

You declined him at first―after all, he was a special grade weirdo. And you half-expected him to give up soon enough, only that he didn't. He persisted like a cockroach, smothering you with his very being. Then like a sweet romance novel, you too finally fell for him, melting at his clumsy attempts to woo you.

And by God, you were happy together. To Satoru, it was the brightest, most vibrant page in his life. And with his very being, he would do everything he could to protect you. After all, he was blessed with the best, he had all means to protect you.

He should've known better.

It started with his failed star plasma vessel mission. Riko was dead, and at that time he was just numb. Later, he made excuses. He couldn't have foreseen that a sorcerer killer would join the fray and made a mess of things.

But then his best friend, Suguru, left. Satoru couldn't make excuses any longer. For that, he was wholly responsible. From then, he realized that just being strong wasn't enough. And throughout those dark days, you were with him, consoling him as you brought his head to your chest, letting him sleep in your arms.

"Don't ever leave me, okay?" he whispered at the dead of the night with hoarse voice. It made your heart sting. You nodded and ran your fingers throughout his hair, mumbling a soft "of course."

And you never did. You were always by his side.

Satoru was really grateful for that. To have the last years of your life by his side. Looking back, it was like a beautiful mirage.

He had hidden himself behind the facade of the strongest. The unreachable. Untouchable. It felt nice, still is. Before he had known it, he had drawn this line between himself and other people. Between him and you. He wasn't lonely, but he was at the very same time.

And perhaps he had gotten way too arrogant, and thus the heavens decided to humble him.

He couldn't prevent the Shibuya Incident from happening. Worse, he fell into the enemy's hand and got sealed, and just before he was trapped inside that accursed box, he saw you die. And even after the most excruciating 19 days of his life afterwards, he couldn't do anything about it.

Your face haunted him. The tears you shed for him still lingered at the tips of his fingertips. The blood from your mouth still soaked his vision.

"Satoru..." you croaked. You were afraid. Afraid of dying, but most of all, afraid of leaving him. You had promised him once, on the bunkbed of your dorms back in Jujutsu High, that you wouldn't leave him. Tears wouldn't stop falling from your beautiful eyes.

Satoru burned that image on his mind. He wanted to hate himself with every fiber of his being, but then you said the most damnable thing possible.

"Thank you... for everything..."

And you had a smile on your face. In your last moments, you decided to convey how much he meant to you in this life. How much you cherished him. You prayed with all your heart that it would reach him.

And once again, just like the first day he saw you at the training grounds of Jujutsu High, Satoru found you to be really breathtaking. You were beautiful even as you laid dying. Even as his visions were obscured as he fell into the darkness.

Inside the prison realm where time passed long and uncertain, he made himself numb once again.

You were his most cherished figment of the most precious memory held in his heart―the three years of his youth. He wouldn't have changed anything about it. He was devastated, severely so, but so did the sweetness aftertaste he felt.

Your feelings reached him, and because of that, even if the road ahead was long and hard and painful, he would stay on that road.

If it meant he could meet you again on the other side of this dream... he'd stay and move towards tomorrow, no matter how bleak it was.

When his comrades freed him from the prison realm, he gained knowledge that most people he knew were also dead during his absence. Nanami. Yaga. The students.

Perhaps it was his curse. To be blessed with everything, but not being able to do anything about it.

He had nothing more to lose when he fought against Sukuna. He gave it his all. Everything his life had led him to―he put it all on the line.

And suddenly―suddenly, he was back to the happiest chapter of his youth. Everyone was there. Suguru was there. Nanami, Haibara, even Riko.

And you.

On the other side of that dream, you were once again standing before him, in your old uniform, just like when you’d get ready for a class so many years ago, and with the smile he fell in love with. The smile he would gladly fight the world for.

"Satoru," you called, breathless, but just like before you left him the first time, you frowned and your eyes suddenly glistened with tears. "Why... are you here? How did you―"

But you choked back your tears when he ran to you and pulled you into his arms so tightly. You heard him grunt, and then to your surprise, slightly sob.

Now he is no longer Gojo Satoru, the strongest. He is back to a young sorcerer wanting so badly to live his youth to the fullest, happiest.

"You lied to me," he reprimanded you amidst his weeping. "You left. You freaking left―"

Your vision blurred. "I'm sorry..."

Satoru let you go to have a good look at you. You were no longer bleeding. Your insides were intact. Just a little crying because you couldn't help it.

"I love you, you know that right?" he blurted with the most sullen expression he could muster. He turned back into the child-boy you somehow fell in love with.

"Satoru," you breathed out, anxious. "You shouldn't be here―"

"I should," he cut you with a firm tone. "I have no regrets. I have done what I can, and now―"

"But the others―they need you! They need you, Satoru."

He drooped his head. He had thought it over too, but he had come to a final conclusion. "No. They don't."

Maybe it was finally the time to let go of it. It was time to just... pass it over. No more interventions. No more tipping the balance of the world itself.

Immediately, you understand what he means. Gojo Satoru has served his purpose. There was nothing left that he must and could do.

"You waited long, huh?" you whispered with tears, yet a smile bloomed on your face.

"I did."

"Then... now that you're here," you offered your hand towards him, and then looked at the faces of your friends. They were all beaming at you and him, waiting for this exact moment.

You stared at him fondly, lovingly.

"Would you... walk this road with me once again?"

Satoru snapped his head. He nodded at you with pure certainty, zero hesitation. "Yes."

He took your hand, grasping it tightly in his.

"Even when there's a possibility that you have to walk to the other side of a nightmare again?”

"I would," Satoru resolutely replied.

Because it's you, he would. He'd willingly and gladly cross the throes of hell and set out on this lonely yet hopeful journey, just to meet you.

You chuckled at him heartily, and Satoru felt the immense love he held for you as the two of you walked towards tomorrow, without regrets.

It may be his curse, to have everything yet nothing at the same time. But each time he would be faced with this decision, he'd remember that feeling and let go of everything just for this very chance to live a life with you again.

[6gumi]

scandalous!

synopsis ﹒bllk men reassuring you that all those useless false scandals and fake news online are false ! ( in a rather . . peculiar way than normal reassurance . . <3 )

pairings﹒ michael kaiser, itoshi sae, oliver aiku x f!reader

cw ﹒nsfw MDNI. unedited ( mistakes might be present ) 、 blowie ( oliver aiku ) 、dirty talk 、riding ( michael kaiser ) 、small titplay ( itoshi sae ) 、mentions of cheating but it doesn’t acc happen, promise ! 、v4ginal fingering ( itoshi sae ) 、use of feminine terms ( girl, gf (?) etc) 、 more tba !

note ﹒hello every1 ! ! :,3 wrote this while working on my art project lol ! ! ! first bllk work i believe ? ? i hope there isn’t too many mistakes in this one i’m very very sleepy trying 2 make my art look nice . . :,3 | reblogs r highly appreciated, feel free 2 send me an ask ! — millie ♡

୨୧ 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

“come on, mein liebling . . is that really what you’re worried about? i assure you . . these pathetic scandals aren’t true anyways.” with a firm grasp on your hip, he guided you on his cock with such elegance and ease, wanting to fuck all worrying emotions lingering beneath that pretty face of yours. “speak to me, liebling. do you seriously believe all of those rumours going around about me? about us?” his voice was addictive . . your head was completely empty . . filled with nothing but his damn voice. even so, these stupid rumours and scandals . . . as reassuring as he is, you can’t help but think maybe there’s some truth behind those rumours.

sweat glistened his well-fit body and yours, mingling the intoxicating fragrances within the air. squeezing your breasts in his hands with a lick of his lips, his fingers grazed down your spine, grunting at his own sharp and desperate thrusts. you rode him with the same amount of desperation and arousal he had. your passion filled him with both satisfaction and hope . . hope that you believed you were his only, utterly dependent and devoted to you. the blonde’s fingers dug into your soft flesh as every movement brought you both closer into harmony, each groan echoed against the walls of your shared bedroom. “that’s it . . .” he whispered hoarsely into your ear, his breathing ragged from exertion. "ride me hard, beautiful.”

your face contorted in pleasure as you slammed yourself down against his cock, feeling the tip kiss your sweet-spots as you struggle to speak up, the mere feeling of his cock was enough to send you to heaven itself ! just then, your mouth opened to speak. “i—it’s not impossible,” you murmured, “what if you’re lying to me . .” “oh baby . . . do you really think i’m not telling the truth?” kaiser’s face grew serious, snapping his hips upwards against your pussy. he relished the feel of your warm body against his, wanting to fuck those precious thoughts out of you. he was telling the truth, those stupid articles . . were only trying to ruin his image. his large hands gripped your hips tighter, his nails practically digging into your skin with a sense of desperation . . wanting to prove himself to you.

“mein liebling . . . seriously. i’m telling the truth. i’m telling the truth when i say this pussy is mine and mine only. and i’m definitely telling the truth when i say this cock is yours to fuck yourself dumb on.”

“ . . you, mein blume . . . have nothing to worry about. my cock belongs to you.”

୨୧ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄

“i mean it, [name].” sae whispered against your ear, sending streams of electricity through your spine. his renewed determination to reassure you became his goal for the day, pressing his nose against your neck again, inhaling the scent of your fragrance. he had you seated on his lap, his hardness pressing close against your ass . . . trying his best to hold it in when the time comes. his fingers darted out again, swirling around the sensitive nub. “y—you don’t mean it . .” you protested, which only made things more harder for sae. he hated when you doubt his words, his movements growing more confident and skilled with each passing moment . . mind focused solely on pleasing his pretty girlfriend who was all worried about these articles that weren’t even true.

“i do mean it.” your boyfriend’s heart pounded in his chest, free hand reaching out to touch your breasts. his fingers brushed against your nipples, making them harder than steel. "hm. what can i do to make you believe me?” he grips your hips, pulling you towards him, erection straining against his shorts as he struggled the urges to fuck himself balls deep into your pussy. “those articles aren’t always true, angel-face. i mean it. i’m telling the truth, okay?”

grinding his cock against your lower back, he pushed another finger inside. your walls trembled, gripping his digits with pure vigour, you could almost feel his cock throb ! “mmh.. but the article . . .” your whimpers were music to his ears, pleasure dancing across your face, replacing the looks of uncertainty and concern. an absurd wave of protectiveness washed over sae then— the idea that these people were making up false and uncouth claims and lies filled his heart with sick dissatisfaction. their declaration of his infidelity was another layer to his coldness, he hated all of them, he wanted you and you only . . . was that not obvious ?

“i know, angel, but they’re not true.” he whispered huskily, holding your heavy breasts steady. “fuck . . . you always say such pretty things," he murmured against their your damp hair, fingers lightly grazing down your labia as he thrusted them back in, wanting to make you cum and lose your mind completely. “please, you know those articles are just bullcrap trying to put our relationship at risk. but i’m not letting it happen.” there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he pulled out from within you, leaving behind an echo of fullness in your core.

“you know i love you, angel-face. is that in your head yet? or do i have to fuck it into you?”

୨୧ 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐔

“oh fuck . . baby, you’re suckin’ me good.” oliver bit back a grunt, eyes drifting shut. he was supposed to be reassuring your pretty little head that he only had eyes for you, but it feels too fucking good. too tempting. he hoped and prayed you wouldn’t blame him later for wanting your mouth. the way your wet heat surrounds him sends him in a frenzy . . . your tongue swirling and dancing around was enough to drive him absolutely insane, he wanted to push your head down further onto his dick, thrust inside and give you all of him . . show you just how truthful he was being at this moment. “m—mmf . . listen baby, all those articles are just tryna’ ruin people’s images of me, of us. they ain’t real and will never be, kay?”

the sensation of your soft mouth enveloping him sends electricity straight to his body, wanting more of your mouth. desire raced through his veins, drowning out rational thought. your warm breath, soft moans . . he can hear all, feel every stroke of your tongue. your small sobs, and even those pretty tears. ohh . . . those tears. he loves them. gripping the armrest, fighting to maintain control. your precious tears streaming down your face . . . it only aroused him further, his dick twitching in your mouth.

you sniffled, trying your best to accommodate his size. “baby, i’m really telling the truth. all those cheating rumours . . . those pictures are photoshopped— ah fuck . . baby you gotta’ believe me.” oliver groaned loudly, mouth curling into a satisfied yet concerned smile as he watched his dick go in and out of your lips, his hips slowly moving on their own as he slammed himself against you, forcing you to take more of his cock. “i’m tellin’ ya, baby doll,” his voice rasped hoarsely in the air, swallowing a lump in his throat. “does my cock being in ya not prove anythin’? you’re the only one i imagine suckin’ me off so perfectly like this . .”

oliver couldn’t help but grin cheekily at the slurping he heard from you, “damn, you’re takin’ it all, baby. always knew ya were my girl . . never thought i’d end up with such a pretty girl like you . . don’t believe those dumb rumours, kay?” a low groan escaped your beloved boyfriend, hands running through your hair tenderly, guiding your movements until he could take it no longer. “just like that, darlin'. make me yours, again and again."

“can’t wait to be inside ya tonight. provin’ to you that i only want my dick to be inside this pussy.”

[unravelingwires]

Somewhence

“Vijaya?” 

Jaya turned and inhaled sharply. “Ah– Mrs– My– um…”

“Baker.” The woman smiled. “Though you’re so grown up, you have to call me Harry. Do you–”

“I remember,” Jaya answered. “I’m sorry I forgot your name, but I do remember you, Miss– Myer. I– oh, goodness. I’m sorry–” that she didn’t keep in touch, that she didn’t come back to this neighborhood, that it had been almost a decade, oh lord it had been a decade, but none of this was really her fault she was like 10–

“And who is this?” My. Baker asked. That was right: she’d been good at smoothing awkwardness out of a conversation.

“Oh, right. This is Raine, my girlfriend, and Ellie, a friend. Raine, Ellie, this is My. Baker. She’s lived on this block an eternity.”

Ellie waved. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. We moved in when you– Jaya– were a kid, actually,” My. Baker said. “You were tiny– this would have been 1990 or so.”

Jaya laughed. “Really? I saw you as these immovable pillars of living here, though I guess that’s silly.”

“You were always silly,” My. Baker half-agreed.

Raine snorted then tried to play it off as a cough.

“You checking on the old house?” My. Baker asked.

“Yeah,” Jaya said. “I’m thinking of moving back in or selling it… I mean, I was surprised when I realized Lady Chel hadn’t sold it, and I just thought I should do something with it. I don’t know.”

My. Baker waved. “Well, while you’re thinking about it, do you want to come in for a cup of tea? Laurie would love to see you.”

“Yes! I mean, yes, that sounds nice.” Jaya smiled.

Mrs. Baker laughed.