#with a weird skull underneath

[delta-hexagon]

just a critter doing critter things, as one does

[mary-kasexual]

hi *throws this at you and runs headfirst into a lamppost*

[gayabeilles]

me, a former homestuck cosplayer, seeing all the other alastor cosplayers at the con wearing gray facepaint:

[tteokdoroki]

jock bf yuuji who’s tongue lolls out of his mouth when he feels u cum on his dick and then he ends up cumming when you suck on his tongue as it hangs out of his mouth <3 he’s a big manhandler and so unbelievably strong, has def broken the weak frame of your dorm bed at least once <3 loves sleeping over and then waking up to you in the early morning light, eats you out then has you ride him and you’re both thinking about it for the rest of the day <3 yuuji sends you the riskiest texts too, texts you that he can’t stop thinking about how good you looked when you sucked him off the night before and now you’re distracted in the library <3

ִ ࣪𖤐๋࣭ — JOCK BF!YUUJI ENTRY #6. pleasure prioritised.

about. just some scenarios of an incredibly strong jock boyfriend pleasing his girlfriend in different ways. thank you nonnie for driving me up the wall with this!!! ( 1K )

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. nsfw, smut, college!au, characters aged up to 20s, creampies, messy makeouts, breaking the bed, strength!kink, unprotected sex, oral sex (f + m!receiving), jock bf!yuuji, weird + fem!reader.

everybody knows that yuuji itadori is strong, he wouldn’t be the star athlete in the soccer team if that wasn’t the case. 

with muscles that ripple when he moves, thick thighs that spread wide and flex on instinct and dark eyes that shine like gold while pulling you in — it’s no wonder why half of the campus wants a piece of him. luckily enough, yuuji itadori only wants to give himself to you.

yuuji only uses the full extent of strength when he devotes his body to pleasing you. when it’s lights out at your dorm go out, and the common spaces are vacant while your roommates party the night away and all that remains is a man who loves his girlfriend with all of his entirety. and a girl who loves him all too much, right back. he pins you to the bed, pelvis to pelvis as yuuji uses all of his might to pound into you.

his thrusts are usually heavy, but thoughtful and with meaning — designed to make you see bright, shining stars behind your eyelids and pull an angels song from between your lips. itadori doesn’t just fuck you —  his sweet girlfriend, his everything, his purpose. he makes love to you, makes the bed rock while his sticky tip stays tacked to your g-spot and safe, comforting brown his eyes stay locked on yours, reminding you of how much you are loved as you tremble and quake beneath him. 

there’s often a dull thump to the wall from where the force of yuuji’s hips drive the headboard into it. only you ever have the power to make your man that feral, have him drooling like a dog with its tongue in the wind whenever he has the chance to sink into your tight heat. it’s the way your snug little pussy ripples around the giant jock’s fat girth, his tummy smooshed up against your puffy clit does nothing to help him either. the more ecstasy he gives you, the more you clench down on your boyfriend and the further his eyes disappear into his skull. 

itadori just loves being inside of you, tucking his thriving dick away inside your velveteen walls, hearing your pussy suction around you and your cheap dorm mattress squeak in harmony with your hiccuped moans. yuuji, yuuji, yuuji. his name on your kiss swollen and tear glossed lips is enough for the pink haired man to break the bed from how hard and deep he thrusts into you. even when it does collapse in on itself, yuuji doesn’t dare stop until you’re cumming in sweet streams around him — painting his toned stomach and washboard abs in your arousal before he fills you up with his own thick white.

he usually cums with his drooling tongue in your mouth and an arm wrapped around your head, keeping you tucked underneath while he grinds his hips through your shared highs. sometimes salacious laments and high-pitched whines manage to slip through the cracks — which mean noise complaints from the Dean of your dorm and a call to maintenance in the morning to fix your destroyed bed (and walls).

mornings are no different (once your bed is fixed), yuuji itadori always fails to keep his hands to himself and if he’s lucky enough to stay the night — he uses those very same greedy and large hands to pleasure you all throughout sunrise. you wake up to find fingers on the swollen little nub tucked between your puffy pussy lips and his eager tongue swiping over the eight of your slit to catch any of your juices before they’re wasted on cheaply made college-friendly sheets. 

it’s a sight to behold, the way you arch your back from the bed and your thighs quiver either side of a head full of bright pink hair that tickles their insides. you can’t help but tug on the soft tufts — dragging yuuji further into your creamy cunt while accidentally kicking plushies galore from their place amongst your pillows and blankets. itadori remains a messy eater, slurping on your succulent folds, running laps over every inch of the heat between your glorious thighs. 

except you don’t get to cum on his mouth or his tongue on mornings like this — instead yuuji likes to really show off his strength. he likes you in his lap and seated on the swell of his fat, oozing girth. he adores plugging you full, watching you writhe above him for something, anything. any type of thrust or friction. yuuji can’t help himself, he’s always dying  to grope the globes of your ass when you’re riding him, using the strength in his arms  to hold over his bright red ans milky tip before pumping himself all the way into you in one calculated thrust upwards. 

both of you cum before either of your alarms go off, messy as always but content. you’re happy with yuuji and he’s always so happy to please you — it’s the least he could do for his precious girl. 

itadori always leaves you with a limp throughout the rest of your day — a comfortable pain in the base of your spine that reminds you of how deep he’d gone. there’s a dampness to your underwear during your classes too, reminding you of how much hot, oozing seed the jock had filled you up with. ‘keep it there,’ the pink haired soccer player tends to ask with those guilt-tripping puppy dog eyes of his. ‘want you walking around with my cum dripping down your thigh, so that everyone knows who you belong to.’

you often wonder what the campus would think if they knew how debauched their star player really was.

they’d have a field day if they saw the texts yuuji sent you while wiping the floor with his teammates during practices. pictures of his erection in the changing room mirrors and maybe some of your pretty face while he had you cumming on just his tip. sometimes paragraphs detailing how he was going to ruin your pussy, make you see god or even reach cloud nine. some tell you how much itadori misses your plush lips wrapped around him as he cums down your throat. 

but no matter what way you look at it, your jock boyfriend yuuji itadori always has your pleasure prioritised at the forefront of his mind. he’d use whatever part of his body, whatever strength he has to keep you satisfied. all alongside his insatiable appetite for you and only you. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[a-b-riddle]

Not me imagining medic reader who acts weird around Ghost.

At first everyone thinks that you’re just weirded out. 6’4 wall of a man in a skull mask. His eyes covered in black makeup and eyes such a deep brown they’re almost black. Anyone in their right mind would be on edge.

But then as time progresses it doesn’t stop. You don’t ease up no matter how many times you’ve been around Ghost. Eventually the 141 begins to suspect something much more sinister.

Theories of knowing something about Ghost you shouldn’t. Are you working for Makarov and worried? Your eyes never leave him anytime he enters a room. Your voice wavering anytime he asks you a question. You’re not like that with the others. You’re hiding something. And they know it.

Johnny is the one you’ve gotten closest to in the 141. The one who wants to believe you’re not a traitor. You’re Birdie for Christ’s sake. Their bird, as they call you. You couldn’t be betraying them. He’s able to convince the guys to let him get you drunk. See if you slip up.

It’s a quiet night on base. Johnny had manage to get flavored vodka imported. Enticing you to come have a drink in his barracks.

And boy, do you.

You get too tipsy to notice how off Johnny seems. How his voice is softer, more alluring. You also down notice the phone face down on the table, serving as a live walkie-talkie between him and the others listening in Price’s office.

Johnny and you bullshit around. Talking about F1 racing, the need for more help in the medbay and even what your plans are when you get back home.

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He needs to know.

“What’s your deal with the Simon?” He finally asks. His question grants you pause, almost instantly sobering you up. Johnny sees it in your eyes. His heart breaking because he begins to believe he was wrong.

“Hen,” his hand grabs yours, when you don’t say anything. “I know something is going on.” You try and pull away but he doesn’t let go.

“Have-” you begin, trying to figure out how to tell him. Johnny is your friend. He wouldn’t care. But you fail to come up with the words. “Fuck.”

“Please.” He begs. “You know you can tell me.” You wait. Contemplating if you should tell him. But then it could mean losing any respect you had earned with them.

“You can’t judge me.” You made him promise, tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“I won’t.” He promises, offering a squeeze of reassurance. He knew that the moment you confessed to whatever it was you were hiding, the team would be in there. He knew what would happen to you. And although there were no romantic feelings he held toward you, he still cared.

You took a deep breath.

“It’s the mask.” You confessed. “It’s hot.” Now it was Johnny’s turn to pause.

The mask?

“What?” He asked in disbelief, pulling his hand off of yours. “What do you mean it’s hot?” “You’re worried that he’s sweating underneath it.”

“I want to fuck him.” It felt like a weight lifted the moment your confession of lust escaped your lips.

Johnny sat there, knowing his Captain, fellow Sergeant and, most importantly, his Lieutenant were listening on the other end of the phone.

“Simon.” he clarified. “Ye want to fuck Simon.”

“I mean if he keeps the mask on.” You shrug, looking at his bewildered expression. “It’s a kink, Johnny. Some people like feet or being led around on a dog leash.” You down the rest of the sweetened liquor, cringing as the last sip makes your stomach flip. “Men in masks do it for me. It’s a thing now. Lots of women like it.”

He doesn’t say anything. The room filled with uncomfortable silence until he breaks out in laughter.

“If you say anything, I will murder you and we both know I can make it look like an accident.” You threaten.

“Feckin’ hell.” He sighs, wiping tears from his eyes. “This isn’t how I expected the conversation to go.”

“Well,” you say standing, needing a moment to get your bearings. “It’s also over. I’m calling it a night.”

“I’ll walk ye back to yer room.” He says standing.

“No need.” You wave off. “I’m good.”

He knows you’re right. But now guilt eats away at him for even thinking you were a traitor. So he lets you go, listening to the sound of your footsteps fading as you walk down the empty corridor.

Several minutes later the others join him in his barracks. None of them saying something until, Johnny looks at Simon.

“Looks like the little Bird has a thing for you, Lt.”

Simon rolls his eyes.

Thankful that his mask is hiding his shit eating grin.

[starrystevie]

it was all supposed to be a dumb joke.

the boys had been sitting around after rehearsal one night passing a bowl and more than a few beers, laughing about how unsuccessful the newest music based social media app would be. mere seconds of songs looping over and over with other songs mixed in would never work, especially for corroded coffin where the story, the buildup of their songs was part of the reason to listen.

it all started with jeff, grinning slowly ear to ear. "what if were to get in there and take some celebrity's name for a user name? like paris hilton or something."

then it moved to gareth, who paused with a scrunched up face. "dude, paris hilton? what the fuck kind of reference is that..."

then it was over to greg, choking on a smoke-laced laugh. "yeah, it'd be funnier if it was eddie's pop prince loverboy instead."

that got everyone's attention. eddie had protested to ears that didn't want to hear it as they cackled in their studio that they rented by the hour, bent over in their rolling chairs, leaning against the side of the mixing board for support.

"loverboy?! you know i can't stand steve harrington and his bullshit lyrics, what the fuck kind of suggestion is that..."

but come the next day, when the weed had left his system and his veins were alcohol-free, eddie stared at the mixr app home screen and the blinking red circle over his inbox with disdain after successfully acquiring a user name he never would have picked for himself.

'steveharrington', eddie's account says, along with an icon of himself and his tongue out.

if it hadn't been for being less than sober when the app dropped. if it hadn't been for his best friends egging him on with taunts and jeers and kissy noises and less than sincere dreamy calls of 'oh steve' in the background. if it hadn't been for the way that eddie secretly did think about a certain head of floppy hair and soft brown eyes and shoulders littered with constellations.

if it hadn't been for all of that he wouldn't have had the chance to have his celebrity crush, the steve harrington, in his inbox at 8am on a random tuesday morning.

"good morning!" the message says simply enough. eddie stares at the words, trying to process what they mean, looking at the verified username of 'steveharrington1' next to an icon of his most recent album along with it. his inbox is flooded with people all asking him random things, thinking he's the real steve harrington, but this one verified account has him shaking.

for all that eddie is, all big hair and black jeans and skull rings and leather, he's still a man. a man who can look at a pop star, annoying as their music may be, and see charm. he can see attractiveness. he can see that smile that steve harrington has perfected behind his eyelids and he can see them strolling off into the sunset together hand in hand and he can see steve all flushed and breathing heavily underneath him on a mountain of plush pillows and he can see-

the message pings again with a new addition. "i know this seems weird and my team advised against it but i'd really like your user name of... well, my name."

eddie blinks slowly. he pictures steve maybe laying in bed, maybe sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee, with his phone in his hand as he types out a message to him. to think that steve has any idea about him existing on any sort of level is doing his head in. his heartbeat races a little faster as he types back with shaky hands and a pit in his stomach.

"is this real?" is all he can type out, leaning against the kitchen counter as he waits for his coffee to brew.

three dots pull up on the app screen before disappearing and eddie pulls his lip in between his teeth to focus his energy elsewhere. he tears his eyes away from his phone and looks out the window to watch the people out for their morning walks. he's just about to the point where he thinks about maybe taking up walking if nothing else to get all the pent up energy out of him when the app dings again. as he looks back, his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach.

it's a photo of steve that can't have been released before. he's sitting outside in bright sunshine with sunglasses on, tousled hair and grin on his face. he's holding his hand up in a thumbs up and eddie can see the remnants of cream cheese on the side of his index finger.

he sucks in a stuttering breath through his teeth, trying to force his lungs to breath again. the dots pop up on screen once more and the message that comes through is instantaneous.

"real enough for you?" it reads. and then an additional message is tacked on. "need me to hold up a newspaper with the date on it?"

there's a winky face that follows and it feels fake even though it's very real. this whole morning feels wrong, unreal. he's just eddie munson, some singer in some halfway popular band in some kind of shitty neighborhood in los angeles that just happens to have not just some pop star in his dms. this doesn't happen to him.

"why did your team tell you not to message me? does my reputation precede me?"

eddie pulls his hand up to his mouth to bite at the side of his fingernail, watching the screen with rapt attention and waiting for the typing dots to disappear.

"according to this account your name is steve harrington and yes, i'd say his reputation does precede him."

eddie barks out a laugh, not exactly expecting that.

he didn't know what he was expecting out of any of this. he thought that it might help get the corroded coffin name out more if he got tangled up somehow with the steve harrington name. spark a little bit of drama to boost their visibility. but now here he is, talking to the man himself, cracking jokes and trying not to hyperventilate.

"how were you able to get this name so fast anyway? my team was on it right when the app dropped last night."

"i had the power of bandmates and weed on my side," he types back, side of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

"oh so you're a musician? maybe i should be looking into your reputation then, mystery person."

eddie pauses and thinks about every option. he is semi-known in the metal scene, his outlandish stunts on stage and political speeches at shows that garner them becoming an almost brand for him. if he tells steve who he is, would he know? care? run away from the scary guy who may or may not use stage blood in every music video?

but the thing is, he's not a scary guy and he never has been. he might be a little intimidating and he guesses that's the armor he puts on everyday after being bullied in school but it's not an accurate showing of who he is. eddie is sweet, funny, kind of smart in that has random fun facts about dungeons and dragons kind of way.

and he wants the steve harrington to know that guy.

eddie flips over at his middle so his head is nearly touching the floor and ruffles his hair, giving it volume and calming down the frizz that comes from sleep. he shakes it out of his face once he's upright and grabs his garfield coffee mug if only to have something to do with his hands. grabbing his phone off the counter, he opens the camera option in their message thread and snaps a quick picture of himself grinning, mug next to his face with a matching cat-like smirk. he nervously presses send before he can even think about all the flaws with it.

"eddie munson at your service," is what he types out with a saluting emoji and a muttered prayer to whoever would listen to him that things don't end horribly.

it's not like he's expecting to sweep steve off his feet. he knows that steve has picture perfect partners, he sees enough internet news to know that gruff and dark isn't the kind of guy he normally goes for. but he looks back at the photo he sent and hopes that steve sees the kindness in his eyes, the scruff on his jawline that makes it look just the smallest bit chiseled, the whimsy and life that he embodies that comes from a tacky coffee cup.

there isn't an automatic answer and it makes whatever hope eddie has floating around his system falter. ''at this point you've probably searched me and i can reassure you, i'm not actually a vampire like google seems to think i am."

"holy shit."

it's short, two words followed by typing dots that disappear, reappear, disappear once more before reappearing for the last time.

"would you believe me if i told you that i am huge fan??"

choking on coffee hurts, eddie finds out. he coughs as the hot liquid goes down the wrong pipe and concentrates on the messages once he gets his bearings back. steve, the steve harrington, a fan of his? it's a prank, it has to be, there is no way that steve harrington-

"one of my exes took me to your show at the bowl and it quite possibly changed my life. you gave that speech about the pipeline before the encore and i went home and bought every single one of your albums that same night."

he's dead. the papers will read 'eddie munson found dead in his home in a ratty metallica shirt holding onto a garfield coffee mug and cellphone open to a chat where steve harrington tells him he's a fan of his work'. it's the only way that this is possibly happening. he's died and gone to whatever fucked up version of heaven has him still living in his shitty la apartment.

"are you fucking kidding me?" is what he types back, slamming his coffee mug onto the counter to have access to both hands. "you've heard my stuff?"

and then it happens, like out of a shitty teenage rom-com, his phone is lighting up with an in-app call from steve harrington. the steve harrington. careful not to drop his phone in his hurried movements, he presses accept faster than he thinks his fingers have every worked.

"hello?" he questions into the phone and there's no hello back, just steve apparently freaking out as much as he is.

"i hope this is okay," he says and god, does his voice sound wonderful over the phone like this. "but it's faster and i have too many things to say that typing it all out would be stupid."

eddie grins and his feet tap against the ground like an excited kid. "it's fine, i uhm... i get it. god, this is weird."

steve hums in agreement before laughing. and oh, that laugh. it has eddie floating up to cloud nine, heart thumping painfully in his chest, butterflies beating their wings wildly in his stomach.

"yeah, it's definitely not how i expected this morning to go. talking to eddie munson, wow."

"sure," eddie snorts, "you talk to celebrities all the time, i'm sure this is small fish for you."

he hears steve laugh again, soft and gentle, like it's meant just for eddie. "i might talk to celebrities all the times but not ones that i have posters on my wall of like a pre-teen. i'm properly geeking out right now."

eddie short circuits. that's the only way to explain the way his body shuts down as he slumps into an armchair in the living room.

"you, steve harrington, have posters of me on your bedroom wall?" eddie's mouth feels dry as he talks and regrets making coffee at all because he's wide awake now and feels jittery.

"well okay, to be fair, it's of the whole band and it's in my studio but you are shirtless so i contemplated putting it in my bedroom." something shifts on the other end of the line and it sounds like steve sitting down. there's birds chirping in the background and eddie closes his eyes to picture himself sitting with steve on a patio instead of in his dingy apartment.

"you're gonna give me big head, pretty boy." the pet name slips out before he can stop it and the pitch of his voice lowering is out of his control. eddie can't be held responsible for his actions at 8am especially when he's flirting over the phone with his celebrity crush.

"pretty boy, hmm?" steve murmurs back. "so does that mean you have posters of me too?"

the timbre of his voice shoots from eddie's ears all the way down to his toes, lighting his veins on fire as it travels down his body. the hopeful part of his brain supplies an image of steve smirking, relaxing in a pool chair outside of what must be a mansion, phone in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. it could be domestic, if eddie thinks about it hard enough. if he wants it enough.

and god, does he want that. domestic bliss with steve harrington.

"well i wouldn't exactly call picturing you in my dreams every night posters, but it's close enough i guess."

it's gutsy, it's brash, it's too forward for a tuesday morning but steve started it. he hears a shaky exhale on the other end of the line and lets out a chuckle. it feels like they're playing chess and there's no clear cut winner quite yet but if the match ends in a tie, eddie can't exactly say he'd be upset about it.

"i tell you what," steve says in an almost airy voice. "in exchange for giving me my user name, i'll give you my number and you can use it to see me in something other than your dreams tonight."

"...are you bribing me, harrington?"

"is it working?"

eddie takes in a deep breath and thinks about what possible plans he could have with the username 'steveharrington' that would amount to something better than taking the man himself out on a date with his phone number saved as a contact in his phone. he'd put a heart next to it and everything.

"of course it is."

the call drops away and it's quick enough for eddie to think everything that happened in the last 30 minutes could have been a fever dream but then there's three dots on the message thread and his hopeful heart starts to kick back into gear.

"213-555-5469. let me know when you've given up that username and i'll let you know when to pick me up. it's a win-win all around. turns out we each get to go a date with our celebrity crushes, how lucky is that?"

it's signed with a kissing face emoji and eddie's glad that he's sitting down when the last picture steve sends comes through. he's grinning in a way eddie's never seen before, blush high on his cheeks, sweaty shoulders and collarbones and pecs glinting in the early morning sun, and eddie thinks it's probably too early to be in love with someone but he's well on his way.

he texts the number he's sent without hesitation and without shaking hands this time. he signs the message with a black heart like it's a signature of it's own.

"lucky indeed."

[sierra-r-a-e]

ProHero!Kirishima w/ an overstim kink x fem!Reader

wc: 792

cw: overstimulation kink, multiple orgasms, PIV sex, male and female overstimulation, multiple rounds, use of quirks, missionary position, implied oral sex (fem-receiving), aged-up Kirishima (obviously)

MDNI under the cut

Ejiro Kirishima had always considered himself to be somewhat of a composed man, one that was able to keep himself together in just about any situation. This was one of the few exceptions to that.

Here he was inside of your warm, wet walls that was always so snug around his thick cock, as if your pussy was specifically made for him. He felt like he was about to burst any minute, but he held on, determined to make you finish one more time; despite the many orgasms he had already given you.

He just couldn't stop himself, not when you looked so pretty writhing in pleasure underneath him, hot tears streaking down your face. "One more baby, give me one more", he'd say, gently wiping your tears away with his thumb; even though that's what he said two orgasms ago. You looked up at him, tears threatening to fall over your lash line any second, your lips slightly swollen from how much he'd been making out with you.

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head from the overwhelming pleasure. "t's too much", you say, almost completely drunk off his dick. "C'mon sweet girl, you can take it", he says in your ear, his words making you tighten around him. His gentle words the complete opposite of the brutal pace at which he thrusted his cock into you.

The way he's panting and moaning around your ear was driving you closer and closer to your sweet release. "Oh fuck, I'm so close~", you moan as he tries to muffle his own sounds in your shoulder. "Cum for me, baby", he moans out. You feel him shift his weight, one of his hands sliding between your bodies to rub your clit.

All it takes is for the pad of his thumb to circle your clit twice before he has you convulsing around his cock, crying out his name in ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you in waves.

The feeling of your pussy tightening around him oh-so-sweetly as you cum, completely sends him over the edge. His worn-out body desperately humps into you, filling you up with a load of his warm, sticky cum. He moans out your name as he reaches his high, letting out a few whimpers from how hard his release hit him.

You thought that he'd stop there, thinking that he's finally finished. Oh, how you were so wrong; he used his quirk to harden his cock again right after he came. Then, he began fucking into you with newfound stamina— not that he didn't already have an impressive amount to begin with.

Your pussy was still overly sensitive from your previous orgasm, and with the way he ruthlessly continued to rut into you, he not only overstimulated you, but also himself in the process. He lifted his head out of the crook of your neck, and you had never seen such a fucked-out expression on his face.

His bottom lip was between his teeth, his eyes were rolling into the back of his skull, his brows were furrowed, all with a pretty pink blush coating his cheeks. The only noises that could be heard were the incoherent moans and whimpers of each other's names and the astonishingly lewd squelching sound that came from your soaked pussy every time his pelvis met yours.

He has his eyes on where your pussy and his dick connect, a white ring forming around the base of his cock from all of your previous combined releases.

Soon enough, you began to feel a familiar sensation bubbling up in your abdomen— except this time, something was off. The tip of his dick perfectly kissed your sweet spot with every thrust, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. "You feel so good, m' gonna cum again~!" You moan, already beginning to see stars from the overwhelming buildup of pleasure in your core.

You didn't even have time to register the weird feeling building up in your gut before your high hit you like a truck with hardly any warning, making you squirt for the first time in your life. Seeing you gush around his cock like that, it was almost too much for him to handle. "Oh, fuck", he moans, cumming unexpectedly from the sight alone.

"Holy shit, did you just squirt?" He asks breathlessly after he came down from his high. "Do you think you can do that again? I want it on my face this time", he says, getting off of you and practically manhandling you to the edge of the bed. Then, he kneels down to be face-to-face with your pussy.

That's when you realized that this is going to be a very long night.

I apologize for the rushed ending, my back was killing me 😭

Please let me know your thoughts on this, it was kinda bad bc I'm not entirely familiar with this character 🙏

Divider credits go to @ saradika-graphics

Request by my one and only best friend: @arwenisepik

[batterygarden]

blessed (satoru x fem & afab! reader)

contents: breeding cursed technique fic, dead dove do not eat! (reader's technique is basically for conceiving strong babies), arranged marriage, stockholm syndrome, he's your second cousin so incest, explicit nasty smut & breeding, mild daddy and mommy kink, pregnancy, misogynistic society, crybaby reader, satoru is sweet ultimately, ominous but happy ending, weird montage of sex scenes + the past + the present, 3.8 k words

18+ pls MDNI!

Divine fertility.

It’s gross—somewhere inside your brain (in a locked filing cabinet, underneath a false drawer and written in invisible ink), you’re conscious of the fact that it’s gross.

Your technique, its consequences, your life; everything you’ve been born unto is filth cloaked in blessings, but, on principle, you don’t allow yourself to look at things objectively. Disgust would only make things miserable and you’re designed to be happy. 

Blessed with a cursed technique to conceive, you’ve always had a role and it’s never been disputable—one of producing heirs. Your life was planned from the moment you were born, a whole future tied in a neat little bow—you’re lucky. That’s what everyone’s always promised. 

You’ve been told how happy you are so much that the words have seeped into your skull—you’ve long since found peace with Divine Fertility and what it means. 

More than that.

You want to be bred so badly it aches. 

You can’t go huge lengths of time untouched. You grow volatile when you’re empty too long, a weakness that chains you to your betrothed’s bed. But you’re most useful that way anyways. Hormonal and needy, but certain to pass your partner’s techniques—actually you’re more than useful as a clan member, you’re honored. Enough to marry the strongest man alive—your second cousin in your own clan. 

Whether you’ve always known it or not, you’ve always lived for Gojo Satoru. 

“Do not come in Ijichi—fuck! Not…not right now.” 

Gojo stands a foot away from his bed when he says this, clothes half on while you kneel at his feet, sucking him absolutely dry. That’s as far as he was able to get this morning before you were trying to lure him back to you, looking up at him with giant, glassy eyes while you tugged the waistband of his boxers. He wasn’t about to turn you down. 

“Ngh your mouth feels so perfect. Wanna fuck it…” 

You pull back with a gasp, catching air wherever you can get it with your fiancé’s suffocating girth, nodding while you pump him in your hands. Your lips are spread for him then so he can thrust through them himself, staring down at your teary eyes while he sets a rhythm down your throat. 

You’re quickly gagging, he’s thick but also long and he’ll choke you if you’re not careful. But the relief he brings is worth it. Your craving for him didn't let up this morning even after a creampie and some cockwarming—this is just what you needed. 

He throws his head back when he’s getting close, fingers gripping at your hair but careful not to tug, and he does this cute little whine that has your pussy throbbing. So you touch yourself, too—some fingers to your clit in little circles have you toppling over the edge just in time to match your fiancé, swallowing his milky cum while his last batch leaks down your thighs, mixed with your own release. 

He’s panting when you pull away, eyes open but unfocused while the fog in his brain clears, his hand stroking your head absentmindedly. When he finally comes back to earth, he finds you’ve pulled his boxers up for him but remain clinging to his leg, squishing a cheek against his hip while fingers trace his inner thigh. 

He breathes out a little hooo.

“Did so good for me, pretty. Okay. Now I really gotta go.” 

He tries to take a step but you don’t budge, so he bends to see you better, making an expression of dumbfounded horror when he sees you’re crying. 

“Hey, hey—I’ll be back! What’s with the tears!” 

You sniffle while his big hands wipe at your face, frantic as he tries to make you better. Ijichi’s pacing footsteps are heard outside the door. 

“I don’t know, it just feels so—sniff—bad when you leave sometimes! I still want more of you!” 

Gojo frowns at that, rubbing your head some more. There’s a knock at the door which he ignores. 

“Baby… I want more of you too, but you know I gotta go. No days off when you’re the strongest. Can you be my tough girl, just a few hours?” 

You nod, your breaths calming. What is getting into you? Apparently your separation anxiety can’t even let your fiancé go to work without a break down. It takes you a minute to connect the dots and realize you’re likely ovulating—your hormones can make you a little crazy sometimes. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“My pretty baby wants to be a mommy so bad, huh?” 

“I do! I really do, Satoru!” Your voice is a sob. Satoru has been going at it since the moment he came home today—told the maids to leave him alone, locked his door and folded you into the mattress.

“Gonna make me a daddy?” You clench automatically—just like Satoru knew you would. 

“Ye—ah! Wanna have your babies, need to give you babies so bad, daddy!” 

Your neck is craned as far back into the pillows as it can go, your entire body curling in ecstasy from your cousin’s heavy thrusting. Your words have his movements turning frantic, your legs folded up by his shoulders so your silver anklet with his name on it can jingle by his ear. Satoru lifts you then, utilizing his ridiculous strength and huge hands to pull your hips higher where his cock can split you easier.  He starts hitting so deep you see stars. 

Your head tends to scramble and slow when he fucks you like this, eyes barely open, blindly clinging to the man you were born to cling to while he makes a home for himself near your womb. It’s hard to focus on him like you want to, but if you did you’d see eyes drunk on lust and power…

Satoru Gojo can be a greedy man. Spoiled, too—He usually already owns what he covets and never waits long for things he doesn’t. But even the world at his fingertips, you at his fingertips, doesn’t fully sait that want like most would expect. For example, as much as Satoru owns you, he doesn’t feel he really has you until your body’s fucked out of commission in his grip, eyes blank and stupid while your cunt spasms around him, milking his cock for everything he has. 

This is when he’s got you, he thinks. This is when you’re his, like putty in his fingers, warmed up and malleable. This is when everything’s how it’s really supposed to be. 

The two of you don’t come out of satoru’s room the entire rest of the night, except when Satoru darts his hands out of his doorway to grab trays of food the servants dropped by. It’s exhausting the way you’re used, body split and bent and bruised so that satoru’s seed can take root, but it’s also addicting. You beg for more of him, latch any remaining strength onto his limbs while you cry out his name. Satoru’s cock is addictive in a natural way—stronger than any drugs. Your betrothed’s cock is addicting like food and water and air… sometimes it’s the only thing that makes you feel alive. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Today marks the day you’re officially seven months pregnant. 

Despite the fact that your technique has you strong and glowing (this is what you were made for, everyone continues to insist), you spend much of your time in mild discomfort. You get the feeling satoru’s passed his ridiculously long legs to his baby, who’s adamant in kicking you constantly, plus your lower back is often sore.

Still, you go about your daily life as normal—lounging, eating, making infinite baby preparations and, of course, waiting for satoru to come home so he can fuck you. 

Lately your husband is the ultimate harbinger of gifts and treats—your pregnancy has been the opposite of helpful towards satoru’s impulse spending habits, not that it’s too great a concern with the family’s bottomless wealth. He rarely comes home empty handed. Today, he’s brought a teensy yellow beanie he apparently stumbled upon at a shop and some artisan ikigai strawberries—a favorite of yours amidst pregnancy cravings—satoru’s encouraging his child’s expensive taste that’s for sure. 

You’re currently spooning in bed to enjoy them, watching a cheesy hallmark movie while satoru feeds you bites—he’s focusing much more on you than the movie. 

Honestly, he doesn’t seem to focus on much else when he’s home at all… he finds pregnant you to be more than captivating. It’s like he could watch you day and night, doing the most mundane tasks to nothing at all—in his own words he’s fascinated by how precious you manage to be. Eyes following you like you’re the most engrossing little thing, cooing to himself when you’re particularly cute. It reminds you of how you used to treat your pet cat growing up. 

You’ve gotten used to the excessive attention and coddling—it’s not like you’d ever mind a little clinging, nor was satoru’s babying completely foreign in the first place. So you let him feed you without comment, enjoy his hands wandering over your belly and curves without fanfare. 

This process quickly gets messy though; red juice keeps dripping from the corner of your mouth towards your pillow only to be saved in the nick of time by satoru’s quick fingers, reaching around to wipe at your cheek again and again, having you lick his fingers clean for him each time he does. Things get even messier once he gets the bright idea to split each berry, biting before offering you the other half. 

“I like sharing with you, this way neither of us miss the best ones.” He says with his mouth partially full, reaching down to pop part of a berry into your mouth. You hum, mostly engrossed in your film, managing not to drool this time. 

But the next bite of berry he performs directly over your neck, dripping juice directly onto your skin when he does.

“Hey!” You start to turn but he holds you in place on your side, darting down to lick up the spill with his tongue. 

You whine when he does, sensitive skin set ablaze by your lover’s mouth. 

The movie is forgotten when things easily pick up from there—things easily pick up between the two of you, period. It’s not even your first time having sex today, you took his cock first thing in the morning after a particularly needy grinding display. 

But this time it’s extra slow, extra attentive—like Gojo’s savoring you to the fullest extent. The berries are an added component, dripping sweet juice on your skin once gojo fully undresses you, only for him to lick and suck and kiss you clean. Your pussy has his attention then for what feels like eternity, your husband’s soft lips kissing and kissing and kissing like he needs to clean your juices there too. You cum so easily—you always have, but pregnant and sensitive like this your rate is almost ridiculous. Satoru, adoring as he’s been lately, doesn’t even tease, just savors. Dotes and flexes his cuteness aggression through his careful arms. He’s cautious with that—his urge to squeeze you—thinks he ought to get a medal for the self control he has to be soft. He caresses and pets like you’re a newborn yourself, fucking you just as thoughtfully. 

You’d only been alive ten short months the day the earth shifted upon Satoru’s birth. Of course you don’t remember it, but you know intimately well the way your own path was no exception to his influence. You were already confirmed to have a fertility technique, almost as rare as the six eyes themselves, when the strongest sorcerer of your time was born—the match up was obvious. You were groomed for it until his parents said yes, and then only more intensely once they did.

And as much as you love Satoru, as much as you’d live for him and die for him and anything in between—it was sometimes hard. You had to grow to love him, to accept his power over you. 

Because among the list of cons to a lifetime betrothal—a lifetime of devotion in your case—was that Satoru always knew you were his. You had an owner at the ripe age of seven, aged six and a half. 

And, unbelievable as it may be in hindsight, at times he was a tyrant. 

Tugging and clinging and pushing—at first he had as much respect for you as a child might for a cheap toy (the kind their well-off parents taught them were replaceable). 

And there wasn’t much you could do about it besides grieve and sulk—your parents didn’t let you talk back how you wanted, and Satoru wasn’t above tattling. 

You didn’t dare wish for a different husband—what with how lucky everyone insisted you were, but at times you’d wonder. What would it be like to be assigned someone polite and thoughtful, like satoru’s friend he brought around the estate from time to time…

Suguru never really got to know you enough to form an opinion on your character. It was rare he visited the extravagant Gojo estate in the first place, and when he did, Satoru often gave the impression that he wanted to keep you private. It was clear you were a permanent fixture on those grounds—just another layer to Satoru’s mystifying lifestyle. You were a complete contrast to Suguru’s friend, all reserved and polite; the only thing you really inspired Geto to feel was pity. 

Gojo was a little shit as a kid—still is in many ways—and sometimes even Geto himself couldn’t stand him. But Suguru’s always had a backbone. There was a reason he was capable of maintaining best friend status with the strongest sorcerer alive while others couldn’t (or wouldn’t) get close—and it’s that Geto knew how to tell Satoru off. He could see through Gojo’s dramatics and put him in his place—something you clearly had not mastered.

Geto saw your lenience first hand the first day Satoru tried to have the three of you hangout, watching in fascination as you protested, gave in, and then were immediately reprimanded for sneaking into a forbidden wing of the Gojo estate. Satoru got a mild scolding, a barely-there stern edge to the maid’s voice who caught the three of you—telling him that he knew better and that he had to think about his future wife’s safety as well as his own. You got a cold glare when the maid set sights on you, a tug of your wrist to your room where it was clear you’d go on to get a firm lesson on obedience. 

Once you were gone, Suguru spoke to Satoru in a hushed tone. “I feel kinda bad your girlfriend’s getting locked up now. Aren’t you gonna do something?” 

“She’s not my girlfriend, asshole!”

“You’re getting married someday. Same thing.” 

“It’s totally different. But whatever, yeah, I feel a little bad too. Probably I’ll break her out of her room later,” Geto watched Gojo absentmindedly pick a fuzz off his shirt—not a care in the world before he perked up to add, “Right now let’s play tekken.” 

And they did, but soon Geto brought you up again. This was the first time he’d met you, and really begun conceptualizing the situation Gojo was in—he couldn’t imagine being tied to someone like that at his ripe and girlfriend-less age of thirteen. The idea fascinated him.

“What’s it like, living with ___?”

“It’s fine,” Satoru sighed, going back and forth between different characters to try. “She’s annoying—got some needy physical touch technique so she’s always clinging to me in my sleep, it’s honestly creepy. But it’s fine.” 

This took Geto moment to process… 

“You sleep in the same bed?!” He put his controller down at that point, fully engrossed. 

“Yeah, ‘cause of her technique she’s like, unable to sleep alone basically. It’s weird. But other than that she’s fine I guess—a little slow. Her parents won’t even put her in school.” 

Suguru could think of so many questions he didn’t even know where to start. 

But what stood out most was how Satoru remained calm about the whole thing, at peace even. 

“Have you tried fighting it? Didn’t you say your mom does whatever you want? Tell her no.” 

Satoru waved a lazy hand at Suguru before he even finished talking.

“That wouldn’t work, ___ would just get betrothed to someone else, then. Her parents really want that for her. ‘Sides, she’s mine, Y’know? Even if she’s a weirdo it’s not like I’d give her away.”

It’s been years now since Suguru Geto has seen you last—he hasn’t been back to the Gojo estate since before his enrollment in jujutsu tech. He’s changed a lot since his starry-eyed youth, and he vaguely wonders what it will be like to see you again, if you’ve changed as well; over the years he’s found that his friend prefers to bring you up as little as possible, so he hasn’t had many updates. Though his primary focus is on the man he’s escorting, a dizzy and bleeding Gojo Satoru who managed to get hit by a scorpion curse while they were messing around on their mission. Gojo insisted on heading home after, despite shoko’s offer to provide more thorough reversed technique than his own, frowning but easily relenting when Suguru insisted on at least helping him get there. 

It’s late, not even staff around to notice as Suguru tugs Gojo along, supporting half the man’s weight through the threshold and fumbling to find light switches as he enters new rooms. But then you emerge, and Suguru can’t pick his jaw up off the ground when you do, this heavily pregnant girl in a frilly nightgown and bare feet, storming in with tears absolutely pouring down her face. After one heartfelt “Satoru!” you can’t manage to get out a single sentence you’re crying so hard, and Suguru watches the most mystifying thing: Satoru comforts you. His unserious asshole of a best friend (he thinks with fondness in his heart), a man who’s long since lost the will to show vulnerability in even the most gut-wrenching moments—Suguru watches as he meets you with this sympathetic, earnest frown on his face, crouching to let you hold him and mumbling little sorry’s. 

Suguru isn’t sure what they’re for, but he does know that Satoru has never seriously apologized to him for anything in his life. He’s expressed regret, learned from some mistakes, sure. But the word sorry, as far as Suguru knew, wasn’t in Gojo’s vocabulary. 

He says it a lot now, with this cooing voice that Suguru also finds foreign. He learns through some mumbled words you manage that your tears are from worry, that gojo promised he’d be home earlier and that he wasn’t answering his phone. Then your wails turn fresh when you notice gojo is bleeding. 

“Baby this is literally nothing—“ Geto, who saw Gojo’s initial wound and can actually see the man swaying on his feet, almost chuckles. He saves it with a cough. 

“—I basically already healed myself. You know nothing could ever happen to me.” 

This makes you mad, Suguru can practically feel how your anger tinges the air. 

“Satoru Gojo I do not know that and—hic—you’d do better to answer your phone next time!”

“Ahh yes ma’am, yes ma’am.”

That secret filing cabinet in your mind rattles from time to time when you reach your ninth month pregnant. You’ve somehow managed to stave off any ill second thoughts towards your fate till now, letting it hit you last minute like something you’ve been putting off. It’s not that you’re unready for motherhood—you’ve reached acceptance of what’s to come—but you’ve developed a slight fear of your own personal eternity being reached. Slight because you’re excellent at burying and vaulting—slight because you love satoru and your baby so deeply. 

But around your nine month marker, sore and barely even able to fuck properly, your husband makes an off-handed remark. You’d just taken him on all fours, cumming so easily despite satoru’s unusually tame treatment, and were laying in the aftershocks with sticky thighs while satoru fetched you a warm washcloth. The bath water was also running loudly, so he had to speak up while he said, “I’m gonna look to see how soon an in-ground pool could be installed, bet it’d be good for your poor hips next time you’re pregnant.” He speaks while he opens up your legs, casually wiping your shared mess clean with a soft damp towel, like he has a million times. 

Maybe you’re tired, maybe it’s his casual tone paired with such a ludicrous sentence, but the idea of buying  a pool because of what should be temporary pregnancy ailments and the implication that you’ll have them again and again… it sends you in a spiral. 

It’s not unusual for you to burst into tears with your wacky hormones—satoru’s seen your puffy crying face, especially while pregnant, more times than he could count. So he isn’t particularly alarmed when he sees the silent drops rolling down your cheeks when he returns from the laundry shoot a moment later. But he is concerned, crawling up the bed till he’s hovering to kiss your shoulder, scooting behind you to spoon your lightly shaking frame. 

He doesn’t talk for a moment, trying to decide the best course of action. He’s familiar with the tears, sure, but he knows he’s not an expert on them, sometimes he tries to talk to them when he shouldn’t and vice versa. 

Eventually he settles on a little “I got you,” for comfort, his warm hands rubbing over your arms then your belly in what he hopes is a soothing rhythm. 

You think about telling him your issues, your deepest secrets, but you deliberate too long. Soon he’s kissing you again, pressing lips in a slow trail up your shoulder and neck before switching directions. 

“I love you,” he adds. 

You won’t tell him. You love him, too. The uck and grime of it all gets buried once again, shoved in the section of your head that stays locked up with high security. You turn around and, instead of answering, capture his lips in a salty kiss, the kind that starts out soft and clumsy—sweet. It doesn’t take long for your lips to get needy though, for the sweetness to be replaced with aching. The kind that always spreads between your thighs. 

Thanks for reading eeeek! feedback and rbs appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[hoe4sports]

“Love me to my bones”

Alexia Putellas x reader

A/N: Part two of the stargazing series. It’s based off of the song Stargazing by Myles Smith. P3 can be found here. Triggers includes swearing.

-

05.37. There was thunder outside causing you to be held awake. The heavy drumming on your windows definitely didn’t help on your anxiety. You were staring at the clock on your nightstand while your roommates soft snores were lingering in the room. 05.38. More thunder. Four rounds of thunder within one minute. 3 seconds away from you. For a hot second; you thought you had lost all common sense as you tossed yourself back in your bed and covered your head with a pillow. You didn’t just hate thunder, you despised it. It made all the anxiety you had piled up from football shoved underneath the carpet come alive. You weren’t particularly traumatised, but you had been tough on yourself as a kid. It was hard being compared to Alexia all the time, and it ended up with you having to work twice as hard as her. She was a natural, a magician with the ball. You however, were a not so much natural. But hey, you know what they all say; hard work over talent.

The scrutinising buzzing of Claudia’s alarm woke you up at 6. You were two ringings away from chucking your phone at Claudia to wake her up. It was weird staying with anyone else during away-games, but Alexia had requested her own room for the first time since you started playing together as kids. The wish had come up after she’d talk to Olga about her spacing out, only for Olga to blame it on Alexia for being so busy with football and her teammates. You were surprised by how much it hurt to be wrecked for your usual partner, but you accepted it. What hurt was that Alexia hadn’t reached out to you. She didn’t answer your texts, your calls and she hadn’t given you an explanation. Your explanation was made of giving her the benefit of the doubt. That’s why you had been paired with Claudia. Claudia wasn’t the worst person to camp up with, but by the judgment of her alarm; she wasn’t the best either. “Ah, rise and shine! Ready for another day of football?” Claudia sang after she’d turned off the alarm. The look on your face made her jump a little. “Oh my, Y/N, what happened to you?!” Claudia exclaimed dramatically while hopping up from her bed to touch your face and study the tiredness up close. “I couldn’t sleep, the thunder was horrendous” you mumbled as Claudia moved your face around while she fiddled with the visible bags under your eyes. “Ai, I think you’ll need something better than coffee and face cream” she said blatantly causing you to whack her playfully in her thigh. Truth was that Alexia also hates thunder, so you knew that she was awake as well. You would normally sit together during thunderstorms in the nurturing company of each other. You had been each other’s safe space for years on end, sharing all your secrets and worst fears. That time seemed to had come to an end now that Alexia had Olga. 20 years chucked out of the window. The only comfort you had was that you knew Alexia first.

Claudia dragged you along downstairs for breakfast with the rest of the girls. You felt like you had been run over twice and it felt like your brain was about to pound out of your skull. A few of the girls were already downstairs; Ingrid, Mapi, Caroline, Marta, Patri and Irene. You flashed a half assed smile before you grabbed a plate and placed fruit on your plate. The lack of appetite wasn’t because of poor selection in the breakfast buffet; you could never eat properly after having nightmares or not having any sleep. The chair next to Ingrid was empty so you flopped down next to the Norwegian before taking a bite of the watermelon you had picked up. Ingrid was someone you could trust, whom you could rely on. She would never tell anyone and she would never judge. It was surprising to you when she told you that she wasn’t the captain of the Norwegian national team.

«Y/N? You look like someone forced you to do algebra all night!" Mapi exclaimed causing Ingrid to shot her a look. "Uhm, yea. There was thunder so i couldnt sleep" you shrugged while munching on the bright red strawberries you had collected from the buffet. The juiciness was refreshing for your dehydrated body. "Ai, How did Alexia sleep through that!” Mapi said as she popped a piece of bread into her mouth. “Where exactly is Alexia? Didn’t she come down with you?” Irene stated. The whole lot of girls looked at you as they quieted down. It felt like someone had put a spotlight on your head and you felt your cheeks burn. Everyone knew you and Alexia were two peas in a pod, so everyone also knew that something was wrong. You decided to tell the truth and play it off cool. “She wanted to have her own room, I’m sharing with Pina” you explained as you looked to the wall next to the girls so you could avoid eye contact. The group went dead quiet. The whole room felt like it was closing in on you. The air felt hot. The ringing in your ears were gradually taking a turn for the worse. You could feel the tears pressing.

“I’m gonna go get ready for practice” you practically commanded as you shoved your chair out and stomped up the stairs to the your room in the 11th floor. You quickly opted for the shower, ripping the clothes off your body as fast as you could. The water was turned to a cold setting and the icy water made you feel more awake than ever. It sharpened your body and your mind to the point where you had forgotten about Alexia. Eventually, you got out and pulled on your shorts, t-shirt and your wind jacket. Claudia was laying on her bed watching TikTok as you came out of the bathroom. “That took forever!” Claudia sighted as she looked up at you. “Yea, I forgot the time” you muttered back as you slipped on your trainers. “Ready for practice?”

-

The practice hadn’t really been on your side. You had taken a tumble mid sprint and busted your head open. The medics had forced you to get a huge bandaid in the middle of your forehead. It looked awful, and gruelling. Later that same practice, you had managed to step on the ball during a drill and once again face planted into the grass. The last little slip up was when you got split into two team and Alexia had knocked your right out on your back causing you to black out for a hot second. This really wasnt your lucky day. You got into the wardrobe after practice and stayed behind to shower alone. The girls could get quite loud so you sometimes liked to stay behind. The hotel was in a walking distance to the arena, so it wouldn’t be an issue. After you came out of the shower, you bumped into Alexia.

“Oh, sorry” you said as you kept your head down low as you passed her. “What’s up with you today?” She asked with an attitude as she turned around to look at you. You stood towards the locker as you shrugged. “Nothing”. Alexia sighted as she crossed her arms. “I can tell that there is something going on. I know you Y/N better than anyone on the team.” Alexia said as you tried to get your clothes on as you felt your blood boil. You ignored her chucking your cleats into your bag with your dirty clothes. “Y/N, I know you can hear me! What’s going on with you today?” Alexia’s voice seemed to be a mix of annoyance and worry. You could hear her footsteps coming closer to you. It flipped for you when she touched your shoulder.

“Y/N. Come on, talk to me. You are my bestfriend. I love you and I won’t judge you.” she tried again. The emotions you were bearing felt like a kettle about to boil over. Like the moment when your acl snaps and the whole world goes quiet. Like before you take a penalty. Your heart was pounding in your chest. Your had gripped your bag so hard that it started to hurt your hands. Your breathing was becoming more and more heavy. You turned around to face Alexia.

“Y/N-“

“Really Alexia? Are you fucking dumb? You leave me hanging landing me with Claudia without giving me a heads up! You are an ASS at practice. You stop texting me, you stop partnering up with me, you stop being my best friend. You don’t give me any reason, any explanation. You throw 20 years in the trash within a heartbeat! And you tell me that you know me? That you love me? You clearly don’t fucking know or love me at all!”

“Y/N.. I-“

“Oh my god, Alexia. You really don’t know when to stop?! I’m such an idiot for loving you! I’m such an idiot for loving you more than I love myself, more than football, more than anything! You threw me away like I was nothing. And for what? For a fucking girl, Alexia! You don’t do that, people don’t do that to someone that has supported them for 20 years!”

Alexia’s eyes had tears in them. Her confusion was fogging her brain. She was longing for your touch, but she couldn’t tell you. She couldn’t tell you how Olga had picked a fight with her about you. How jealous Olga was. How she felt like she had to protect you from her own girlfriend. You couldn’t tell her how you were craving her touch. How you loved her first. How you had fallen in love with her before Olga was there. How you had liked her since you were teens. Maybe that was your way out of this situation, of this mess that had been made by you, Alexia and Olga.

“God Alexia, I love you. I love you so fucking much it hurts. I have loved you for decades. I loved you before Olga did. I was in love with you, Alexia. For years! So please, leave me the fuck alone.”

You bolted towards the door of the wardrobe leaving Alexia stunned. You felt embarrassed, but you were hurt. As you stormed out of the room, you smacked the door shut while you paced out as fast as your legs could. You needed to get away from Alexia. And you didn’t care what you had to sacrifice for that to happen.

Things between Olga and Alexia weren’t how you had assumed they were. It wasn’t really “Olga and Alexia” anymore. But Alexia hadn’t told you yet. How they had broken up the day you left for the away game. She wanted to tell you in person, somewhere private. Where nobody could hear her other than you. Where she could pour out her real feelings to you. She wanted to tell you that nobody was worth risking your friendship. That you were her bestfriend. That no girl was ever gonna get to ruin your friendship. That you were her ride or die. But she couldn’t tell you, because you were long gone. Alexia didn’t know what to do or how to make things right; but she knew that she needed to make amends.

[appocalipse]

summary: you were way too drunk last night and said some funny things...so, of course, steve had no other option but take you to his place to take care of you. :)

read part 1 here

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

Your head hurts.

Everything feels a little weird, in fact, but especially your head, spinning and throbbing and, when you try to pry your eyes open, the sudden harsh light streaming into the room feels like it's physically boring straight through your brain.

"Fuck," you whimper pitifully, eyes squeezing shut once more. Your ears are ringing, there's a coppery film lining the inside of your mouth and, for a terrible second, your stomach churns dangerously. "Fuck."

Someone hums somewhere near your right ear. A low, gravelly, vaguely amused sort of hum. There is absolutely nothing and no one alive on this green earth that would hum in that particular fashion except your best friend.

You peel your eyelids apart with great difficulty. When you tilt your head to the right, you see Steve sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing down at you with a soft look on his face.

Naturally, you proceed to freak the fuck out.

"Jesus Christ," you cry, scrambling backwards until you feel the back of your head slam against the headboard with a resounding thud. The dull throb in the back of your skull intensifies, and you have to fight back the urge to throw up. "Ow! Shit, I—What—what happened? Why are you in my—"

Hold on a second...this is not your room.

You cast an anxious, furtive glance around the unfamiliar setting of Steve Harrington's guest room. Panic floods your veins and has your heart hammering in your chest when you notice that you're clad in only one of his shirts and sweatpants that definitely don't belong to you.

Oh, Dear Lord.

Did something happen last night that you can't remember? Did something — oh, God, no.

Steve raises his eyebrows at you as though he can read your mind. "Relax. Nothing happened, relax, come back down," he coos gently, placing a placating hand on your arm. "And I...I didn't see anything, if that's what you're worried about. Nancy and Robin, uh...they helped you shower and get changed last night. Not me."

You cover your face with both hands, letting out a muffled groan as your memories come trickling back in. You don't remember every little detail from the previous night, but what you do remember is already more than enough to fill you with mortification and regret.

"...you said some pretty interesting things while you were drunk, though."

"Shut up," you mumble, peeking up at him through splayed fingers, "go away."

"Really, though," Steve continues, the teasing glint in his eyes a sure sign that he is very much enjoying your suffering, "who knew you found me so attractive?"

"Oh, Jesus," you mutter, groaning as you slide down to hide underneath the comforter, "where are my clothes? I want to leave now."

Steve snickers but makes no move to get up from his perch on the bed. You can hear the rustling of fabric, like he's adjusting his position as he waits for you to come out from under the blanket. "Clothes are in the wash, sorry," he says, sounding very much not sorry at all. "You, um, thought it was a good idea to lie down on the grass last night."

"Kill me now."

"Nope," he chirps, quite cheerfully so, "can't do that, because then who would watch Back to the Future with me tonight?"

You part the comforter just enough to peer up at him from beneath the thick layer of blanket.

"'Back to the Future'?" you echo, trying to ignore the fact that you feel a little lightheaded when Steve smiles down at you.

He looks nice. He always does, but even more so now for some reason — you're guessing it has something to do with the fact that you just woke up and haven't had the time to mentally prepare yourself for seeing him up close yet.

"Mmhmm. You up for it?"

"I'm pretty sure that my head is literally going to explode any time now." 

It's really not that bad anymore, but Steve doesn't need to know that, does he?

He nods seriously in agreement. "Right, because you drank way more than you should've last night. Might have mentioned something about rules and...mhmm, what was it? Oh, yes, dying if I didn't let you touch my hair…?"

"No, I didn't."

"You really did," he tells you, leaning back on the heels of his palms, "but don't worry, it was cute."

"I am very much worried," you say miserably.

Steve lets out a quiet sigh and leans forward again, hands reaching out to tug the blanket down far enough to uncover your face completely. "Come on," he says, "do you need anything? Aspirin, maybe? Food? Water?"

You consider his offer, taking the time to mull it over while you avoid his gaze. 

"Why did you bring me home with you?" you ask, curious despite yourself. "Why didn't you just take me home?"

"You, uh...really didn't want me to. Pretty much refused to let go of me all night."

"Steve."

"No, really!" he insists, holding both hands up in surrender. "It was like trying to pry a koala off a tree. You even asked—"

You let out a helpless moan of protest and turn away from him as much as you can, hiding your face in the pillow. Steve laughs, clearly delighted by the fact that he's managed to thoroughly embarrass you in less than ten minutes.

"You asked me if I—"

"I don't wanna know!"

"—would sleep in your bed with you."

"Nope," you whisper, your voice coming out a little garbled due to the way you've pressed your face into the pillows, "don't wanna hear it. Shut up, Steve, oh my God. Please."

"It was very adorable."

"I was drunk."

"Still. Cute."

You prop your head up on your elbow so that you can see him a little better, keeping the blanket held tightly around your shoulders as you do. "Sorry I called you. I don't even remember doing it, Tina just told me to and…sorry."

Steve looks down at his lap, shifting a little uncomfortably on the bed.

"I don't mind," he says, lifting his gaze up to meet yours briefly. "You said you missed me. At the party."

A dry, humorless chuckle leaves you and you cringe when the sudden motion sends a sharp pain lancing through your forehead. "Ow. Of course you would remember that," you say, cheeks heating up.

"Do you...remember everything?"

You blink, momentarily confused by the sudden change in conversation. "Everything?" you ask, more to buy yourself some time than anything else.

"You, um..." Steve trails off, clearly unsure of how to broach the topic with you, "you said I made you feel…stuff inside. That you felt stuff. Or something like that. Do you...remember saying that?"

You can practically feel all the color draining out of your face, leaving behind a blank canvas that hides none of your inner panic. 

"Uh...no, no, I don't. Do you have a...I need to, um, use your bathroom, like, right now, if you don't mind."

Steve blinks. "Oh, okay. Sure. I bought you a toothbrush earlier, by the way. It's in the medicine cabinet if...if you want."

"Yep," you say, climbing out from under the blanket with as much dignity as you can muster (which is very little), "yep, okay, thanks. I'm...gonna go do that. Now. Okay, bye."

You spend a good five minutes inside the bathroom splashing water in your face while silently wishing for death to come claim you sooner rather than later. Then, you brush your teeth with the toothbrush Steve left out for you — which is totally not cute, it's not cute, why did he do that, ugh, damn him — before venturing out into the hall.

"Steve?"

"Kitchen," he calls out from somewhere at the bottom of the stairs, "you want pancakes?"

You hesitate.

The idea of staying to have breakfast alone with Steve Harrington seems oddly intimate after last night, a dangerous prospect that will undoubtedly lead to awkward small talk and more teasing. However, he did go out of his way to buy you a toothbrush this morning...

You swallow down the nervousness you feel and pad barefoot down the staircase into the foyer, following the sounds of clinking utensils and soft humming to the kitchen.

Steve looks up from his place at the stove when you appear in the doorway.

"Hey," he greets, giving you a quick once over. "How's your head?"

"Feels like there's a little person in there hitting it repeatedly with a little hammer," you admit, grimacing a little as you come further into the room and sit down at the island. "Thanks, by the way. For helping me out last night. And today. I really am sorry for...um, you know, that."

"'That'?"

You purse your lips and Steve grins.

"Yes, that," you mutter, swiveling your seat from left to right while you watch him attempt to read a recipe on the back of a box of pancake mix. "Drunk me is like, twice as embarrassing as sober me."

"Embarrassing isn't the word I'd use."

"Please," you scoff, "I was pathetic. I could barely walk by myself."

Steve glances back at you. "I didn't think you were pathetic."

You raise an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"Okay, maybe a little pathetic," he concedes with a little snort, "but mostly just…sweet."

"Sweet?"

"Yeah, sweet. Don't know if anyone's ever told you that before."

"Sweet," you say again, the headache suddenly no more than an afterthought. "That's how you'd describe me?"

Steve, apparently having given up on making sense out of the instructions on the back of the box, turns around to lean against the counter behind him and studies you with his arms folded loosely over his chest.

"Yes," he says, tilting his head to the side a little. "Not the word you expected me to say?"

There's something about the way he's looking at you. It's warm and piercing all at once, like he can see right through you. It makes it hard for you to breathe all of a sudden, hard for you to do anything but gape at him like a goldfish that's been pulled out of water.

"Uh, I'm...confused."

"Me too," he admits with a little huff of laughter. "I was thinking about what you said."

"About your hair?"

"No, well, yeah, but—" Steve pauses, dragging a hand down his face with a weary sigh. "Look, what you said to me yesterday, about the things I make you feel, I—"

"I said I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize," Steve interrupts, shooting you an unamused look, "I'm trying to say something here, come on, give me a sec."

"Right. Sorry. Go on."

"You're not supposed to apologize for apologizing."

"I'm s—okay, right. Mouth shut."

Steve purses his lips to stifle his amusement at your antics. You fold your arms in front of your chest and keep your gaze fixed firmly on the marble countertop as you wait for him to continue.

"I, uh," he says, pushing himself away from the counter so that he can wander over to the other side of the kitchen, where you sit, "I feel things too, you know. With you."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Steve chuckles, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he stops beside you, "'Oh'. Weird, right?"

You'd like to, but can't think of anything clever to say that would serve as a suitable response. You don't think Steve's looking for one, anyway, because he reaches out to tap his fingers lightly on the back of your hand, taking a seat on the stool next to yours.

"S'weird, 'cause I don't know if you meant what you said when you were drunk, or if it was just the alcohol talking, or what."

You shake your head quickly, and then wince because of the way the headache thuds behind your right eye.

"Robin says I'm an idiot and should stop being such a chicken," he continues, with a slight roll of his eyes. "And Eddie says if I don't 'shut up and tell you how I feel soon', he'll do it for me."

You nod, smiling despite your hangover. "Eddie's, uh, got a point, no?"

"Maybe," Steve allows, rubbing absently at the side of his neck.

He lets his hands slide down to the legs of your stool, fingers curling around the metal of each side. You don't quite understand what he's doing until he gives them a light tug, jerking you closer to him without warning.

You let out a little shriek of surprise as you reach up to clutch onto the first solid thing your hands find — his forearms. 

"Ah! What—Steve!"

He's got an amused smile on his face, but his eyes are bright and nervous all at once. Steve pushes your stool even closer to him, until your knees knock against his own and he's forced to lean down to keep his eyes on you.

You hold his gaze steadily as he edges closer. "What are you doing?" you murmur, watching his eyes flit downward to track the movement of your tongue as it peeks out to wet your dry lips.

"Not sure yet," Steve hesitates when your lips are a hairsbreadth apart. He watches, half-dazed, half-entranced by the way you stare back at him, unblinking. "But I've got a theory."

"A theory?"

He lowers his head toward yours. You press your hands flat against the hard plane of his chest to steady yourself, fingers splaying over the soft material of his t-shirt as you curl them around the fabric. Steve exhales, and you can feel his breath on your skin, a soft tickle that raises the goosebumps all over your skin.

"Wanna hear it?"

You nod slowly, aware of the way his eyes darken as they trace your face. He's so close that you can make out the fine dusting of freckles and moles that litter his skin, the long fan of his lashes as they flutter to a close. If you moved even slightly, your lips would brush against his.

"What's your…your theory?" you whisper.

You can feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest as he releases his hold on your stool, lifts both hands up to cradle your face instead. He slides the tips of his fingers along the side of your neck, lets his thumb trace your jaw.

"I think," Steve says, and you can tell he's struggling to string two coherent words together when you feel his thumb quiver against your cheekbone. "I think that, uh, you're—Christ, I—"

His nose brushes against yours and you tilt your chin up instinctively, chasing the brief contact. You smirk. "Christ, you...?"

"Shut up," Steve huffs out a breathless laugh. "I'm getting to it."

"Are you?" you tease, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, your turn to pull him towards you gently.

Steve goes easily, moving his hand from your face to brace the back of your neck. "I think," he starts, eyes crinkling at the corners, "that I might be in love with you."

It's such an unforeseen, unexpected confession that your heart almost gives out in your chest. 

You gape up at him, at his crooked grin, at his rosy cheeks. "You think?"

He blinks and then squints down at you like he can't decide whether he wants to be annoyed at your antics or kiss you. You hope for the latter, but he says, "What're you, a parrot?"

Shrugging, you're unable to keep your lips from quirking into a grin of your own. "Rude."

Steve's head falls forward and he rests his forehead against yours. You can feel his pulse thundering wildly against the hand you've pressed flat against his chest, and it makes you feel a little better about your own pounding heart.

"M'sorry."

You smooth a hand over his shirt and hook a finger under the neckline. "Forgiven," you tell him.

"Good," Steve says, nudging his nose against yours playfully.

You want to say something else, maybe tease him about his hair or something equally as inconsequential, but he doesn't let you. Instead, he leans down and closes the distance between you with a slow, tentative press of his lips to yours.

Now, Steve's mouth is soft and warm, and he kisses you like he's got all the time in the world. You shiver when he drags his fingers up the back of your neck, tangling them in your hair so that he can pull you closer yet.

You only pull back when the need to breathe becomes too urgent, giggling at the little noise of protest he lets out as you do. But Steve is nothing if not persistent, and he pulls you back in almost immediately, the movement so abrupt that you nearly topple backwards off the stool.

"Steve—I..." you manage to say, between your giggles and the heated press of his lips against yours. "I still...need to breathe, mister."

He huffs out a little laugh against the side of your neck, nips at the sensitive skin in retaliation. You squeal in delight and jab him playfully in the stomach, laughing as he recoils in mock agony.

"Stop laughing," Steve complains, the warmth of his own laughter tickling the underside of your chin when he nuzzles his nose into your neck once more, "come on, you're ruining the moment."

"Wait," you breathe, right before his lips meet yours again, "so...no pancakes, then?"

He drops his forehead against your shoulder and shakes with quiet laughter."You," Steve mumbles into the side of your neck, "are something else, you know that?"

You grin. "Apparently, you like that. Love that...no?"

You can feel him smile, the stretch of his lips curving against the skin of your shoulder.

"Apparently...yeah, I do. I do."

[mrsvalentinefucker1]

Support class dick hc, kinks + How they fuck

Cw: knives, rough sex, blood

Sniper

•Dick: I’d say about 6, 6 1/2 inches if I’m being generous here. Definitely not thin, it’s got some girth to it that’s for sure. He never ever clean shaves he thinks it looks weird (he’s not wrong) so he’ll definitely just trim up a little or maybe not at all. Wild man moment. Plus, he kinda loves the scruffy look he has going on. I know everyone says he’s uncircumcised and i definitely agree with that. Tip is not red but definitely a deep pink, it’s cute. Two visible veins, one on the top of his shaft and one underneath it. So he’s very very sensitive.

•How he fucks: Rough. He likes to be fucked hard and to fuck hard. His favorite position to see you in is definitely mating press or doggy style (with a knife to your throat) he loves to see your face contort with pleasure and fear. He’s very vocal i mean haven’t you heard his voice lines. Come on. He loves telling you how great of a fuck toy you can be when you aren’t being a cunt or a teasing slut. He doesn’t have a favorite place to cum really.. Whenever he gets his rocks off is where it stays so.

•Kinks

Praise: definitely, but backhanded praise “look at you, good little slut.” Stuff like that you know?

Predator vs prey play: I know this is so basic but oh my goodness he LOVE LOVE LOVEEEESSS to chase you down and just fuck your brains out if your skull. Like I said, he likes it rough. (Me next)

Knife play: Ofc this is one of them. That mf is a literal animal. He just likes the power trip tbh. Having your life in his very hands, though he’d never do anything to ever hurt it.. it’s hot to watch your fearful eyes and if you enjoy it just as much as he does, you’re in for a ride of dirty talk and rough hard sex.

Public sex: touching you while in public. Something about it. Maybe it’s bc he likes to tease and see how long you can last without gripping his arm while shaking and begging to cum or maybe it’s because nobody around you can (probably) tell how good he’s pleasing you, and how they’ll never get a chance to touch a wonderful lady like you the way he does. Who knows

BREEDING: Though he is scared to have kids and will take every procedure to make sure you won’t get pregnant, he still loves to just cum inside of you all day, everyday. (Same sniper.)

Stepping: he probably likes to be stepped on. He’ll buy you beautiful, expensive heels just so you can step on him or press against his hard cock. (Meow.)

Spy

•Dick: solid 5 1/2, it’s not too thin but not exactly thick.. it stretches you very very nicely that is for sure. He trims it constantly. He is never out of order, he takes too much pride in himself to let it grow out like that wretched bushman. Uncircumcised, his dick skin is like.. oddly soft and velvety. One small vein on the side of his cock, it’s nice. Tip, I’d say, is a light cute pink.

•How he fucks: He either makes love for a long time or he plows you hard. Usually both. He rides the fine line very well. While he goes at it soft and caring, he teases you a lot. Vibrators, toys, his finger, his mouth. He just likes to tease you a lot.. but once he slips in, its game over for him. He can’t help it. He has to fuck you like an animal in heat.

•Kinks

Lingerie for sure. He loves to either buy them for you to give you his card to buy yourself some and then surprise him with it! (Will probably write a fic based off this)

Spanking or brat taming: He will absolutely wreck your ass if you talk back to flirt with ANYONE. He will spank you so hard you’ll become a babbling mess.

Body worship: Giving or receiving, he loves to tease you by kissing down your gorgeous body and leave small bites all over you. Nipping, kissing, nipping, kissing. You know. Backhanded kisses

Medic

•Dick: He’s German and from my experience, they’re packing serious heat. 7 inches hard. Argue with the wall because I will not listen. Tummy bulge will happen so be prepared. Much like spy he keeps himself in check, trims every couple of days. Circumcised, dark pink with a red hue tip. It’s sensitive as hell. No visible veins until he gets to fucking, then they all start popping out. Thick. Hard stretch that’s for sure.

•How he fucks: They all fuck hard but him.. dear lord. Pray and buckle up because he will bruise your cervix. He pounds. He doesn’t even fuck, HE SLAMS. bed? broken, operating table? broken, desk? Broken twice. He loves to just fuck you into a mindless mess. That’s all

•Kinks

Roleplay: He loves to roleplay anything really. Nurse and doctor, doctor and patient, boss and intern, things like that.

Knife play: scalpels are going to be pressed against your skin.. which leads me to my next kink hc

Blood kink: Licks the blood off of your wounds or the small cuts he marks your body with. If you have a period, best believe he will be begging to fuck you on it

“Meine Liebe! It feels so much better when you’re on your period, it also relieves cramps too!”

[dottiro]

Hide & Seek

Unreliable summary:  If you’re a visual learner, Dottore is more than happy to give some help. // Dottore brought you to Snezhnaya so he can perform conscious brain surgery as an act of love. Warnings: Yandere, Medical malpractice, awake brain surgery, kidnapping without an actual kidnapping scene, Dottore cuts through the skull of a person (not you), being drugged, Dottore dissects a brain (affectionately), GN reader, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! Note: This is a rewrite of THIS fic from my old blog. This could've been longer, but I cut out the gore parts to make it less dark. // This fic is NOT set in the canon Teyvat; it is a mix of my modern AU + personal projection. My perception of him might not align with the OG. I wanted to write this scenario in my way/this is supposed to be a SERIES—if I post more of this AU the setup makes sense (trust).

You used to study in the illustrious Akademiya, hoping to pursue a life filled with studies regarding the human psyche. 

You used to—until you got acquainted with Zandik and your life turned around for the worse. 

Perhaps if you weren’t so busy pursuing knowledge, you would’ve seen that his help was never given without a debt to repay. The charming facade with which he lured you in is only one of the many masks he wears. Zandik, or as you now know—Il Dottore: the second of the eleven Fatui Harbingers, never intended for you to escape his grasp.

Not then,

Not now.

You try to remember where it went wrong.

Your head buzzes with a weird feeling when you open your eyes. You’re dazed, and your environment is unfamiliar to you. For some reason, your mind can’t think straight. 

Outside the window, you watch snowflakes twirl down until they meet upon a pool of white that stretches beyond the horizon. Only a few pine trees interrupt the otherwise dull landscape.

You try to remember how you got here, only to find a gap in your memories.

The bed in which you woke up is unfamiliar too. At the foot end, you see your jacket. It has been folded neatly and is accompanied by your shoes which are tucked underneath the bed. 

It had been visible enough to notice but placed purposefully to avoid anyone tripping. 

Someone put it there on purpose.

After inspecting the pockets of your jacket, you find that your belongings have been taken.

Your eyes move further across the room until you catch a familiar sight. The notebook that had catalysed your current situation. Similar to your jacket and shoes, it has been placed in sight for a reason. 

When you open the notebook on a random page, you can see new additions; or rather—changes.

Zandik’s handwriting covers your own, dominating your thoughts in writing as he does in voice.

You close your eyes as another wave of nausea hits.

At the start of a new school year in the Akademiya, you met Zandik in one of the off-campus libraries. He came crashing into your life like a bullet flying out of its barrel and straight into someone’s chest; aiming for his target and striking the bullseye without effort. 

In this metaphor, you were his target and the arrow Zandik himself. 

His actions have been destructive to many, but with you still alive at his side, you’re inclined to believe his intentions are physically harmless to you—which feels like a juxtaposition. Zandik’s weird infatuation with wanting to be accepted might be the sole reason for your current survival. 

In your admiration for his ingenuity and endless knowledge, you became captivated and blind to everything that opposed the perfect ‘Zandik’ you had created in your mind. In this blind fever, you had made him feel as if he was. To be free from the title of ‘outcast’ had sparked something in him, and he would do everything to hold onto this new feeling of approval and pure endorsement.

For a while, life with him was profitable for both parties involved. 

To have a friend like him is to feel like you are unstoppable. But, once he felt he was giving more than he could seize, he forcefully started claiming what he believed was rightfully his.

Ultimately, Zandik did not take your life—he reformed it.

All you had, is no more. 

And he is to blame.

One day you are in a lecture at the Akademiya, and the next you wake up in an unfamiliar place. In any other situation, you would have recognised the surroundings earlier. However, with the fog in your mind, it takes a while to uncover your location; Snezhnaya.

Your hand rests against the window to steady yourself. Even with the thick glass separating you from the outside world, you feel the cold touching your palm. Snow continues to rain from above. A few solitary snowflakes land on the window. They melt and pool at the bottom, freezing the window shut and locking you in.

An agitated sigh escapes your lips as your mind continues to drift between awareness and stupor. 

Through the hallway, a voice carries a conversation with only its echo in response. Mysteriously, the mutters come in and out of earshot—as if they were moving from room to room. The sound of footsteps follows. At first, they approach. Then, they leave. 

Your fingers press into your scalp when you drag your fingers through your hair. When you place your hands into sight, you open and close them. For some reason, they seem distant, as if not your own. 

Before you follow the sounds, you ensure that you’re grounded by steadying your breaths.

ㅤ

You leave your jacket and shoes at the end of the bed, leaving the room barefoot.

· · ────── Ω ────── · ·

The building that cages you resembles an old villa. Evident from the layers of dust, it has been unused for at least a decade. The majority—if not all of the furniture you see has been hidden by white fabrics. 

To you, it’s easy to see. This home has been neglected. Whether the owner of the house wanted to forget its existence or not is up for speculation. 

As you walk further into the hallway, you see a frame with an old Kamera picture of Zandik hung on the wall. Another white cloth hangs over it, but it must have gone loose since the left side reveals part of the picture.

You catch a glimpse of his younger, more humane, face. 

For a moment, you wonder when and how he became a Harbinger. You wonder how this young man turned into this creature that brings destruction everywhere he goes.

Ultimately, you decide to ignore it, choosing to press forward instead of lingering in the past.

Then, over the noise of your thoughts, you hear an odd sound. Somewhere near you, an object is being rolled across the floor. It’s an unusual sound—something that throws you off. Yet, the noise isn’t rough. 

The more you listen to it, the more you recognise it as wheels on a cart being pulled along. You decide to stand still for a moment, hoping the fog in your mind clears so you can pinpoint where the sounds come from.

Your hand brushes against the interior wall as you take another step forward. 

A warm orange light invites you in at the end of the hallway. As you approach closer, so do the noises become louder. 

You discern a deep voice, talking to what seems to be himself. The man sounds educated, arrogant—but also sophisticated, and carries himself with more pride than grace.  

For a moment, you’re certain it’s not Zandik; who is more animated, dynamic—and compared to this voice, softer with tone, but then you walk into the room to be face-to-face with him.

“Good evening.” Dottore greets you. His voice is steady, never revealing any emotions to you.

If he hadn’t heard you walking up the room, he does a good job hiding it. His response to your arrival is instant; as if your entrance had been expected. 

His attention on the previous task is disrupted, and now his sole focus lies on you. The silver glint of his mask shines in the evening glow as he tilts his head towards you.

Curiously, you take a set into the room. 

A large wine-red carpet covers most of the wooden flooring of the space. In the centre of which, stands a large dinner table. Most of the lighting comes from the candles that have been lit, or the open windows that bring in the last of the golden hour. 

On one end of the table sits a man in a wheelchair. When you see him you realise the sounds from earlier must’ve been him being pushed forward. 

With a controlled smile, Dottore holds out one of his arms—gesturing to the room. “Do take a seat, guest.” 

Your eyes follow his outstretched arm towards the only other chair in the room. Conveniently, it’s placed at the other end of the table, though, you doubt Dottore was occupying the seat before you. 

Cautiously you approach. As you enter the room, your confused state worsens. In the atmosphere hangs a sweet scent that makes your mind dizzy and unable to focus. 

A cold breeze comes through one of the open windows. The goosebumps on your arms only occur once you notice it. Have your senses been dulled?

Dottore smiles calmly. 

“What did you do with me?” You try to ascertain the hazy feeling that suppresses your logical thoughts. 

You’ve been drugged.

Dottore circles the man in the chair. You notice the return of the strange mask covering the upper part of his face. The sharp beak shape cuts through the air as he moves his head. 

“For someone so passionate about other people’s physiological responses, you fail to acknowledge your own. You’re anticipating something that’s not going to happen. Anticipatory fear rarely benefits anyone.” 

He moves his head away from you. You’re able to release the breath you’ve been holding.  

In front of the man in the wheelchair is a medical tray. It’s empty, although various surgical equipment surrounds it. When you squint your eyes, you can recognise a scalpel among them. 

You wonder if you could take it.

Dottore muses to himself, continuing to weave endless sentences that do not yet make sense. “Did you ever get to see the human brain? I find that preserved ones lack the sense of joy the living ones bring me. Unfortunately, something must be dead to be preserved… I find hardly any preserved being is worth more than a living one.”

Your eyes sneak up as you pass the tools and find Dottore inspecting you. A diplomatic smile is forced underneath his mask. You fail to obtain a weapon to defend yourself with.

As you approach the empty chair, Dottore walks up to the man in the wheelchair. By the time you sit down, he is playing with the scalpel you tried to take.

“It truly dulls the process. It lacks a sense of… efficiency. Why study a corpse when you can pick apart a living one?” A different light is cast upon him when he tilts his face down. In the shadow, his smile becomes sinister.

“What are you doing?”

Dottore holds the scalpel with his middle finger and thumb, letting his pointer finger rest upon the handle. He lifts it, admiring the glint that falls upon it. “You shouldn’t ask. I find that it spoils the surprise.” 

Finally, your fight or flight instinct kicks in and you try to stand up. 

Your legs bobble and your hand slams against the table trying to keep your balance. You fall back into the chair. The sweet scent has made you lightheaded with a tingling feeling in your limbs. It’s accompanied by a fast, irregular heartbeat—as well as the pounding in your ears. 

A chuckle escapes Dottore’s lips. “Already standing up? A doctor would have recommended you to rest. If you’re tired, you may return to bed, although, you’d miss the grand performance.”

He mocks you with his sweetest voice. Your poor coordination and confusion must make you look like a newborn deer trying to stand up on its feet. Pitiful.

For the first time since entering the room, you take a closer look at the man in the wheelchair. The male appears average in height and weight. He has no noticeable features and seems only a few years older than you. He has been silent the entire time, only ever muttering to himself. otherwise looking around helplessly. His body is covered in sweat, drenching his pale blue shirt with wet stains. 

A horizontal line paints his forehead. 

“Segment 495, say hello to Y/n.”

Segment 495's smile is droopy as he parrots Dottore’s words.

Dottore places a hand on the shoulder of the man. “Did you know that the Akademiya has a grand collection of preservations in the name of science?”

He retreats his hands and puts them folded onto his back. After taking a sharp inhale, he circles the man; stopping when he stands behind him.

Dottore continues,  “The Akademiya collects preservations received from donors. In most occurrences, the specimens are from average people, dulling the broad collection with nothing unique to study. Truthfully, it is unfortunate how such collection can collect nothing but dust.”

Your thoughts are uncontrolled. When you look over the set of tools, the scalpel is gone. Your stress increases due to the operation setting and the sweet scent in the air. 

What will Dottore gain from this? 

What’s today's lesson?

He inhales sharply through his nose, “A human can undergo a conscious brain surgery. You know how it works, I assume?”

You part your lips. Weakly, you shake your head.

“Excellent.”

Dottore reveals the knife from the hand on his back and he takes hold of the man in the wheelchair. With one arm, he snakes to the front and grabs his jaw. The other pushes the sharp edge of the scalpel along the line already there, easily sliding through and breaking the previously dried blood; reaching through the skull without complication.

Your sight blurs, and you helplessly watch the knife circle his head.

He’s going to exercise a conscious brain surgery.

With his precise and steady hand, Dottore can make a full circle before long. Then, he lays the scalpel down and grabs the hair on the man’s scalp, pulling until it parts, leaving the brain visible for you to witness.

You breathe out.

“Zandik—” 

“You see, the brain itself feels no pain, Y/n, if that concerns you” 

Dottore picks up his knife from the medical tray, pointing it towards the front of the brain. 

“For example, Segment 495 won't miss this little piece here, which is part of the prefrontal lobe.” 

“Wait.” You try to intervene, but you realise you have no leverage. “You don’t have to do this.”

Dottore makes a small cut, cutting through the meninges. Then, he grabs another tool, holding down the frontal lobe as the scalpel cuts through. “Sometimes, a subject can live without a part of their frontal lobe. However, there is a risk of losing one's expression of speech as well as a few means of movement and cognition.”

You watch the man’s expression fall when Dottore removes the part he had cut out. The mouth of the man falls open, and although he stays alive, something has undoubtedly died. 

Dottore lays the removed part of the frontal lobe on the empty medical tray. Then, he goes back. 

“Please, stop this.” You try to plead with him. 

Using whatever strengths you have left, you try to stand up. Unfortunately, you hardly move out of your chair. Whatever drug lingers in the air, it is stronger than your adrenaline and will.

Again, Dottore’s precise hands cut into the brain. The man makes a strained sound and drool begins to fall out of his mouth. 

Another piece is added to the medical tray, slowly forming a collection as Dottore empties the man’s head.

Under the influence of sedatives, you struggle to maintain your composure and senses—witnessing the horrifying spectacle that unfolds helplessly. 

You black out before the man breathes his final breath.

ㅤ

ㅤ

ㅤ

Segment 495 started to lose organ functions a few days ago. It’d eventually lead him to die without ever completing the experiences Dottore put him under.

It is unfortunate but Dottore still grants the dying man one last reward.

On the medical tray, Segment 495’s brain lies fully exposed. Each cognitive function is separated for you to behold and admire. In death, the stranger became preserved in your memory. 

· · ────── Ω ────── · ·

A gift. 

From Dottore to you.

©dottiro. Do not copy, repost, translate, feed to AI, or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thank you for reading ♡

[stervrucht]

🧠🪱 Wiggly Wednesday 🧠 🪱

Thank you for the tag @just-my-latest-hyperfixation 🧡

Today I’m thinking about this ridiculous story of a friend of mine, who, after she thought she’d been ghosted, proceeded to hold a cremation by burning the guy’s picture, only to receive a text right after.

“Where are we going, Eddie?”

Dustin’s tone is starting to grate on his nerves and Eddie needs to take a deep breath to calm his voice before responding. 

“I told you, a small detour.”

“Through the woods? What about the guitar lessons?”

“Yes, through the woods," Eddie snaps. 

He doesn’t even have to look to his side to know Dustin is pouting. Despite that, the little guy still follows him, ducking underneath the brush as they make their way to Skull Rock. 

He didn’t tell Dustin—doesn’t think there’s an adequate way to explain that this was what he did whenever he was dealing with a serious bout of heartbreak. That—because Steve Harrington hadn’t been answering his phone and clearly dumped Eddie without the courage to say so to his face—Eddie now needed to initiate the Cremation Stage. 

Yeah, you heard that right.

It first happened three years ago, after Stacy Morgan landed on him during a game of spin-the-bottle and cried after kissing him. That one kinda stung. 

After a bit of dumb back and forth, he and Gareth decided to cut her picture from the yearbook and held a stupid little funeral—speeches and all. After they were done and said their goodbyes, they burned the picture. It made him feel better. So much so, that it became a dumb little habit.

One he hadn’t executed that often, really.

Which is why it sucks so much he is off to Skull Rock, the place he first kissed Steve Harrington against the expectations of everyone ever, to burn his stupid picture.

When they finally reach Skull Rock, Eddie digs through his pockets and pulls out his Zippo and Steve’s picture. Dustin leans over his shoulder, knees digging into the back of Eddie’s arm as he leans over to watch.

“Why do you have a picture of Steve?”

“Because.” Eddie strikes the Zippo, trying to make it catch flame, but the old thing is protesting.

“Because why?”

The stupid thing still won’t catch. Eddie strikes his thumb over the wheel with a little more aggression—pulls his lips into a thin line, frustration pulling at his gut. “Because I need to burn it.”

“Why?”

Eddie throws his hands. “Because I have to okay! Because—”

Because Steve’s finally realized Eddie was a mistake. And Eddie knew the day would come. He was just pushing his head in the sand like a fucking ostrich, hoping he could enjoy what little time Steve was willing to give him. He just hoped Steve would have had the guts to actually say so to his face.

He can’t tell Dustin any of that though. 

Finally, the Zippo produces flame and Eddie holds the corner of Steve’s yearbook picture near it. It takes a few seconds, but soon enough the picture engulfs into flames and Eddie has to drop it between the twigs and dried leaves. He allows it to burn for a few seconds until the leaves around it start to smolder. He quickly kills the flame with his shoes and once he removes his feet, only ash is left of what was once an image of Senior Steve.

Eddie pulls himself into a standing position and slips the Zippo back into his pocket.

“All done.”

“Dude, that was so weird.”

“No, it wasn’t. And don’t tell Steve about this.” 

Dustin raises an eyebrow at him but probably senses it’s best to not push it.

“Can we go play guitar now?”

“Yeah, man, whatever. Let’s go.”

A little while later, Eddie sits in Dustin’s bedroom, his guitar in his lap as he shows Dustin some chords to Metallica. The little dude learns fast, last week's chords already dexterously mastered. A little more and he’ll be playing his first full song. Now, just to get a feeling for it, he makes Dustin play the same five chords as base while Eddie plays the more complex parts of the song. 

He’s actually starting to get into it when the doorbell to the Henderson residence rings.

“Really, now?” Dustin lets out a frustrated sigh and puts his guitar down on his bed. “I’ll be right back.”

Eddie hums and continues picking at the snares. Mumbles along to the song until he hears Dustin return to the room.

“Oh, hey Eddie.”

Eddie looks up. That didn’t sound like Dustin. That sounded like—

“Steve.” Eddie is staring at Steve standing in Dustin’s doorframe. Can’t do anything else than stare because an hour ago, he cremated Steve. 

And now he’s here.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Steve lets out a little laugh. And it’s not the ‘oh shit I ran into my ex’ kind. It’s the genuine kind. The fond kind.

Dustin pushes himself past Steve into his bedroom. “I told you, I’d give it back to you on Monday,” he complains.

Steve rolls his eyes, watching with amusement as Dustin digs through his closet.

“W—where have you been?” Eddie hardly dares to ask. He tries to keep the tremble out of his voice.

“Ugh, my parents man. They took me on some campus visits to fancy universities. Didn’t give me any warning either. It sucked balls.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, not great. How have you been holding up with this asshat the past few days.” Steve looks back to where Dustin is now clearing the lower levels of his closet. 

“I heard that!” he calls back. 

“I…I’ve been doing just dandy.” Eddie shoots Steve a little smile, and yes, that’s definitely fondness in Steve’s face. God, he’s such an idiot.

A total overreaction. 

When Dustin rears his head from the closet, proudly holding a cassette tape, Eddie thinks he needs to make sure Dustin takes this little Skull Rock detour to the grave. 

---

No pressure tags for @sleepy-steve @spectrum-spectre @runninriot @wheneverfeasible @eddiethebrave

[tteokdoroki]

So did jock!yuji ask weird girl!reader to wear his jersey the first time, or did she just pull up in it as a surprise...

࣪𖤐๋࣭ — JOCK BF!YUUJI ENTRY #3. team jersey.

about. the all star jock asks his freaky girlfriend to start wearing his jersey to games. it shouldn’t be a big deal, right? since she’s always asking to live in his skin and all ! ( 2K )

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, suggestive, college!au, characters aged up to 20s, make outs. brief mentions of self consciousness, reader wants to live in yuuji’s skin n he accepts it, supportive jock bf!itadori, weird gf + fem!reader.

“so, i’ve been thinkin’,” 

from your place at your desk, you spin around in your chair to face yuuji, your boyfriend, with a curious smile. thinking things through isn’t exactly yuuji itadori’s forte — he’s one for jumping into things headfirst and doing whatever feels right in the moment. he’s always been like that, aside from two major occasions.

the first time he’d asked you out and the time he’d asked you to be his girlfriend. 

those were two decisions he’d thought through extensively.

“thinking, huh?” you muse out loud, standing up to stretch your limbs. you’ve been staring at your laptop for what seems like millennia to finish a science paper for your biology class, and yuuji is supposed to be studying for one of his econ exams coming up but you decide that you need a break…and a kiss from your boyfriend at that. “what about?” 

he’s already waiting for you with open arms on your bed by the time you make your way over to him — it’s a silly sight, the view of your big, strong, athletic boyfriend nestled amongst your mountain of plushies from obscure animanga series and marvel marvel movies. but it fills you with joy to have yuuji there, amongst all of the other things you love. accepting them with ease. 

“��bout you,” yuuji mumbles through a pout, waiting impatiently for a kiss as you snuggle into his muscular arms and rest your head on his plush chest. 

reaching up, you rap your knuckles against his skull — brushing tufts of soft baby pink hair. “you’re corny. you should have been thinking about your exams.” 

“mmyeah, but i got bored, and you’re too pretty to not be on my mind twenty-four-seven.” comes the jock’s sassy reply as he decides he no longer wants to wait, swooping down to steal a kiss from your precious lips. yuuji gently grasps your chin between a thumb and forefinger to coax more of a kiss out of you, his tongue affectionately rolling over yours while you squirm and mewl in his hold. you’re flustered, and embarrassed, and he really couldn’t care less. he likes having you like this underneath him.

when he finally lets you come up for air, itadori’s calloused thumb swipes under the swell of your bottom lip to wipe away the traces of wetness he’s left there and grind, slow and sexy, when you try to hide your face in your sleeves. “so as i was saying,” he mumbles lowly, causing your body to break out in a set of yuuji-induced shivers. “i was thinking about you.” 

“yeah?” you whisper meekly, taking a peek up at his handsome face and honey brown eyes that make you feel all gooey and warm at the centre, where your heart is. like a marshmallow. 

yuuji nods, tugging you into his side again, stopping you from rolling away out of shyness. “mhm,” he purrs. “been thinking about you coming to one of my games in my jersey,” he trails off, this time turning into the shy one as he casts his gaze aside. “if you’d want to.”

you’ve seen yuuji’s jerseys — the ones that come with the territory of being on your university’s soccer team. they look good on him, always, just about stretching over the firm muscle of his arms and chest. you know that if you were to wear the soft, cotton material — you’d surely drown in it. swamped by the cosy, fresh scent of your boyfriend and wrapped up in all of his love for you. 

rolling over so that you’re the one caging yuuji in this time, you bite down on your kiss swollen lips hesitantly. “is that a requirement of all athlete girlfriends then?”

“n-no! i just…” itadori coughs to clear his throat, realising that it’s not so fun being in the receiving end of such teasing. his hand on your waist traverses upwards, splaying out against the curve of your spine. “i want — i would like to see you in my clothes at my games. i dunno, show you off a little? with my name across your back, it’s like, people will know i belong to you and you belong to me? if that makes sense…” 

“belong to each other, huh?” you walk your fingers up his chest, drawing a circle over the place where his big heart is supposed to be. “we’re not objects, yuuji. you’re not an object to me.”

the tone of the conversation shifts as itadori sits up, causing you to shuffle back onto your knees — his hazel brown eyes sweep your face, reminding you of an amber with the way they catch the light.  “i-i know that. of course not,” yuuji whispers delicately, as though not to hurt you. “you’re not an object to me either. you’re everything to me. i just think…it would make me feel good? if you wore something of mine? like, just knowing you have it. i dunno — it’s stupid.”

it’s almost biological, a genetically programmed reaction — the way you reach out instantly to comfort your boyfriend. your hand finds his amongst the cotton peaks and streets formed in your bed sheets, giving it a firm squeeze. yuuji offers you a half hearted smile in response.

“you don’t have to —“ 

“ — i don’t know if i’d look good in it. your jersey,” you breathe out before your boyfriend can finish his sentence. both of you pause, itadori doesn’t push, giving you the space and time to express yourself. “i want to wear it. i just, i know i’m not like the other teammates’ partners. i’m not…peppy and enthusiastic like them a-and i don’t know if your jersey would even suit me…” 

the hand that you’re holding reaches up to cup your chin once more and your gaze leers over to yuuji, who only chuckles fondly in response. “of course you’re not like the other partners. you’re special, and you’re mine. i don’t need you to be anything else but the way that you are, okay? i love you.” yuuji has always been direct and worn his heart on his sleeves with his words already formed on the tip of his tongue. some might think he’s dumb, especially for a jock, but he’s the most emotionally intelligent person you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

you know now, what he means when he says he’s the luckiest guy in the world, for being with you. 

you feel the exact same way as he does. 

“i love you back,” you blurt, making yuuji beam at you warmly and kiss your nose. “i’ll wear it.” you tug on the fabric, feeling the fleeciness beneath your fingertips along with the warmth of yuuji’s body. “are you sure you won’t miss it?” you explore the material further as it stays wrapped around his bulky frame until you brush over the plasticky vinyl that forms the letters of his name and the number one on the back of the jersey.

i-t-a-d-o-r-i

your itadori.

why wouldn’t you want to show everyone that he’s yours just as much as you are his.

“i’ve got plenty back at my dorm, coach satoru made sure to splurge in that aspect, besides if i give it to you now… when i get it back, it’ll smell like you!” yuuji pulls back from you ever so slightly, and rolls his eyes at your pout when he does so. “then i’ll just keep changing them out,” it only takes you a second to realise that he’s stripping his jersey off, and your eyes greedily shoot to the small, exposed slit of his tummy as he does so. “perv.” comes his teasing voice once his head pops through the other end — salmon pink hair mussed and ruffled out of place. 

your pout deepens. “i am not a perv!” 

“mhm, yeah. sure you aren’t. now c’mere,” itadori manhandles you into straddling his lap — your knees sinking into the comforter on your bed and your hands hovering above his broad shoulders, hesitant to touch the pure muscle that bursts from the sleeves of his plain white t-shirt. “i don’t believe for a second that you don’t get off on this,” he goes on to mock you, smirking up at you despite how you glare at him. “arms up, beautiful.” 

through the haze of your mind (deployed by a very flirty yuuji itadori) you’re able to follow his command — shakily raising both arms above your head and allowing your boyfriend to pull his team jersey over it. “who’s more of a perv now? you’re giving me your dirty clothes to wear.” is your weak argument, a defence mechanism to protect yourself from getting too flustered. 

it doesn’t work, however, yuuji has mastered the art of making you nervous. 

the material of his team jersey swamps you, it’s almost like you’re drowning in an ocean of yuuji’s scent as it wraps around you, keeping you safe and secure. 

“it’s not dirty, i just put it on today!” he says petulantly. “if you’re gonna be like that, then give it back.” 

“n-no!” you squeak, tucking your nose under the collar with hooded eyes. it smells like yuuji, smells like home. “i like it. it’s like i’m wearing you.” 

“the next best thing after my skin, right?” he makes reference to your constant comments about living inside his skin, wanting to be closer to yuuji than humanly possible. others find it weird, but to the jock, it’s endearing. even if it means being swatted in the chest for joking about your unusual displays of affection. “c’mon! i’m jokin’, i’m jokin’!” yuuji laughs between each smack of your palm against his peck. eventually he falls back into the sheets, this time taking you with him so that you’re snuggled on his chest once more. “so…you’re coming to the game this friday? in my jersey?” he asks tentatively after you’ve both calmed down.

nodding, you curl into the pink-haired jock further, as if trying to fuse with him. “where do you want me to sit?”

“not with the others, i know they’re a little rowdier than you’d like. you could try coach, but he likes to pester you.” your boyfriend muses wistfully. everything is warm and comfortable — the steady beat of his heart beneath your head, the hand that he lazily drags up and down your spine, the heat of his jersey and his body under yours. you could sleep right now — even if you do have to study. 

a quiet yawn escapes your lips and you wriggle further into the oversized jersey, lulled into a slumber by the presence and scent of your perfect jock boyfriend. “will professor geto be there?”

yuuji shrugs, squeezing you close to help you drift off. “to oogle satoru, probably.” 

“then i’ll sit with him, and we can oogle our boys together.” 

“awwh, baby, you wanna oogle little old me?” he coos in response, his lips finding the crown of your head. 

something about his sugary tone makes you shudder in yuuji’s hold. you’ll never get over how much he teases you, how much you loves you but it makes you giddy to know that he’s yours. and that he wants you to wear his jersey, so he can already the news to the whole world.  

or what feels like the whole world.

“i do yuuji, i want to see you play,” you mumble through your last moments of consciousness — gripping onto your boyfriend as though he might disappear. “i want to be in the crowd so when you look up, you see me there, dressed in your jersey, cheering you on.” 

for a moment, yuuji is quiet — a thousand ways to tell you how much he loves you rushing to the forefront of his mind…but then he notices the evening out of your breath and the way your pretty lashes flutter against the centre of his chest. the jock decides it’s better to let you rest, he can always smother you with his love when you wake up. 

but for now, yuuji itadori will spend his time marvelling the way you look sleeping with the letters of his name printed in bold letters across your back. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[teddybeartoji]

suggestive; gn!reader

thinking about helping oikawa stretch after practice.

he's all sweaty and musty and he's clinging to you, asking – no, absolutely begging you with his pretty brown eyes, for you to help him. and obviously you can't say no to him, so that's how you find yourself in this position – he's on his back, scruntching his eyebrows as you press his knees up to his chest. his flexible body begs for you to angle your own hips against his in order to properly give him the stretch he needs. his cheeks are tinted pink and his bottom lip is caught in between his teeth and it's really hard to not get any ideas. it's wrong – you know it is! this is your good friend and you're just helping him and there's nothing weird about this position and—

a loud moan rips from his lips and your eyes almost fall out of your head as warmth creeps up your neck. he doesn't even say anything about it, he just grabs onto your wrists to make sure you don't pull away.

"d-don't!" you stammer when a quieter but no less lewd noise escapes him. you feel your hands get clammy as your fingers sink into his calves.

oikawa cracks his one eye open to ask what the problem is. he doesn't see what's wrong in the slightest. his brown hair is splayed on the floor like a masterpiece with some of the strands sticking to his forehead and nobody should be allowed to look this good after a rough practice.

"don't make those sounds..." you whisper as you lean more into him when you feel the resistance in his body falter.

"wha– ahh...t sounds?" his eyes shut again and he sucks in a breath, puffing out his reddened cheeks. his knees fall more to his sides, opening up the space between them and you move closer on instinct.

"tho- those ones, idiot! you're making it weird!"

your hips are now completely flush against his and he lets out another pained whine. taking one of your hands from his calf, you place it on top of his mouth instead and his eyes shoot open in an instant.

he didn't even think about this position like that, genuinely oblivious to the suggestiveness of it. the stretch in the backs of his thighs feels good but you on top of him feels even better. your body feels warm against his and his eyes flick down to where you're connected. at that you try to pull away, afraid that now you've made it weird but he stops you.

"c'mon.. don't go." his hands wrap around your biceps as his eyes burn into your avoidant ones. "you have to help me with the next one too."

blinking down at him, you gulp, unable to refuse him. oikawa twists under you, barely taking his eyes off of you as he straightens out his one leg and folds the other up and to the side.

this position is no less suggestive than the last one – it still requires you to press up right against him to help him out. his fingers grasp at your sleeve to break you from your haze and you shuffle closer again.

bodies glued together, your hands dig into his thigh as you try to not focus on your friends face. nor the proximity. from behind you, you hear a row of snickers – without turning around, you know his teammates are making fun of you for falling into their captains alleged trap.

"see, this isn't so bad..." oikawa's soft flesh is back between his teeth as he forces his body to relax under you. you quietly glare at him, just hoping he won't say or do anything weird anything, hoping that he'll let you just leave and breathe for a moment—

"h-harder."

...

you press your eyes shut as your body threatens to overheat. putting almost all of your bodyweight onto his, you watch his eyes roll back inside his skull and you hold back a flustered groan. why is he like this?

slowly peeking from underneath your eyelashes, his scrunched up face almost kills you and it's hard to keep your thoughts at bay – they just come flooding in and you feel like a terrible friend. he's like this with everyone, so why are you even thinking about it? you are the one who's making it weird and you should stop.

"hey! no more fooling around! we gotta lock up, so move your asses!" iwaizumi breaks your pervy little bubble and you find oikawa staring right back at you. his cheeks are still pink even though the practice ended a good while ago. he gives you one of his big bright smiles as he moves his leg from his body to your other side, leaving you kneeling right between his thighs.

"thanks for that!" his voice betrays nothing about what he really feels in this moment, about what he feels in his lower abdomen. he pushes himself up and before he goes to leave for the changing room, he looks down at you and boops your nose with a laugh.

you stay glued to your spot for a good moment, iwaizumi's loud voice being the thing to tear you from the floor. you stumble to grab the remaining bottles and towels from the floor and make for the exit, letting the man close up behind you.

you mutter a quiet goodbye to him and hurry off, telling him that you have some other stuff to attend to. he doesn't question it – he's fully aware of the effect oikawa can have on a person. and on their body.

+ inspired by this iwaoi art on twt!!!!! i thought it was so funny n cute so i had to write something for it!!!!

[llamagoddessofficial]

Skull snuggles. Just pure, unadulterated Skull snuggles. A commission courtesy of @robanilla, who knows what the people want~

---

For such a massive monster, he moved alarmingly quickly. 

One minute, you were nervously calling out into what seemed like an empty house. The next, you had been lifted up like a doll, brought up much too far from the ground, and thrown over a massive shoulder all before you could make a sound.

“H-hey!” you blurted, hands braced on his back, but Skull didn’t respond. You just came over for lunch! He pushed open his bedroom door and passed through, kicked it shut behind him... Skull had never let you in his room before, what was going on? It was dark - he’d drawn the curtains and turned off all the lights. 

Without warning, he shifted you off his table-like shoulder, unceremoniously dropping you. For a split second you felt fear rush through your whole body, but you landed harmlessly on your back, fall broken on his extremely plush bed. It wasn’t much of a bed anymore at this point, he had covered it with an obscene amount of pillows and blankets, shaping into more of a nest than anything else. 

When you looked up, his massive teeth were in your face. His voice came out low, shaking your entire body, much closer than you thought it would be.

“no running.”

You stared blankly at his mouth, only inches from you. Those fangs were big enough to carve through your skin like paper. “H-huh?” was all you could blurt out, when he was so close you could feel his hot breath. As if pinned beneath a dragon.

Once you forced yourself to look away from his teeth, you could see he was... he was on the bed with you, over top of you, clawed hands on either side of your head. Trapping you beneath him. The only light in the room was from the bloody red of his eye, and a faint glow behind his teeth. That’s why they looked so particularly dangerous in his mouth today; you couldn’t see his regular dopey smile. Only large, hungry fangs.

His eye was wide, unreadable, filling up his socket. Staring down at you with the intensity of a sun.

... Uh. What? Your heart was starting to pound, and you couldn’t tell if it was in a good or bad way. Skull was a friend, the kind who already knew stuff about you other friends would never know. The two of you were close - but you absolutely weren’t ‘get pinned underneath him’ close. You hadn’t even properly hugged yet. You had assumed he wasn’t open to that kind of affection, and touch had been limited to comforting pats on his huge arms, especially after the stories Crooks had told you about what he and Skull had been through.

You didn’t know whether to laugh, be nervous, or genuinely afraid. You shrank under him.

“I-I... don’t know what’s happening,” you said feebly. Was he upset with you? Had you done something?

Skull elected not to respond to that particular query. Neither his eye or mouth moved.

Instead, he laid his huge head down, right on your chest. 

Just like that, his full weight pressed onto you, squashing you into his nest. You let out a squeak as all the air came out of you at once, he was so heavy; it was like being pinned under a boulder, all you could do was kick your legs helplessly. If you’d been on any more solid surface you would’ve been crushed like a bug. 

“Agh! H-hey, what gives!?”

Skull just chuckled. Evidently, he was pleased with himself. He started to purr.

“can’t leave now.”

You braced your hands against his shoulders, but might as well have been bracing against a brick wall. Your face and ears were burning with something sort of like embarrassment, but not quite. “G-get off!” 

“cute heartbeat,” he murmured. Almost sleepily. He was acting so weird, so... well, clingy. “soft...”

He let you try to fight him for a little while. He seemed to enjoy it, from the way his deep purring was shaking your whole body, like sitting in a massage chair. But it didn’t matter how much you kicked your feet or pushed at his giant shoulders. He remained in place, content.

You gasped from the exertion of pushing, with no luck. Skull just pressed even closer, very slowly nuzzling your collarbone.

Crooks had warned you that Skull could be ‘possessive’, you had thought he meant it like Skull didn’t like his friends hanging out with other people. You didn’t think he meant Skull would grab you and pin you to his bed with his whole weight out of absolutely nowhere. Eventually, your hands had no choice but to fall to your sides.

“Okay, okay. What is it? What do you want from me?”

He let out a short, sharp exhale of breath. Quietly, he started fussing some of the pillows next to your head, rearranging and fluffing as best he could with one hand. “no leaving.”

“Ok, but why? Or what?”

“try to leave ‘n i’ll lick you.”

Huh? Your eyebrows scrunched together in mild horror. “L-lick!?” 

The glow you had noticed behind Skull’s teeth got brighter and brighter, until his mouth cracked open to reveal a glimmering, glowing ultramarine tongue. You had never seen it before, you didn’t even know Skull had a tongue.

“bleeeh.”

You let out a little horrified sound, leaning back as much as you could in your trapped position. But even as you did, you could feel your entire face flooding with even more warmth, to the point where your cheeks began to prickle and tingle. If Skull noticed your furious blushing he saved you the mortification of bringing it up.

"cute," he said, simply, as he put his tongue away.

You harmlessly whacked his shoulder.

He chuckled, a handsome and sweet sound. Despite the situation, and his ‘threat’, you had to admit it felt nice to see him grin like that. You hadn’t seen him this cheerful since before...

...

Oh.

“Are you... is this all because I was sick?” you asked, hesitantly.

You’d been bedridden for a day or so with some kind of flu. Skull hadn’t taken it very well, every time you’d coughed he’d had an expression like someone had shot him. He’d taken it even worse when he found out you’d popped a bunch of painkillers and gone to work the next day, despite very much still being unwell.

Your response from him was a very unhappy grunt, and a big eye that flitted away to instead stare at your arm. The hand that had been fussing the pillows instead started playing with the top of your sleeve, the ends of his claws occasionally brushing your skin. He was acting like a needy cat.

That’s what this was about? You lost some of your tension, looking down your body in disbelief at the pouting monster crushing you.

“Skull,” you spoke softly. “I’m not sick anymore.”

He looked right back up at you. The purring became quieter. His iris, still big and warm, sharpened. 

“liar.”

You flinched. “I-I am!”

“i can smell it. can't lie... just 'cus yer cute. don't work that way.”

“I’m fine. I’ll get better, humans get better quickly.” 

“no.”

You stammered, flustered and confused. “N-no?”

His eye sharpened again. It was impossible to hold eye contact with a monster who never blinked. “no.”

You laid your head back fully, letting out a defeated exhale. Skull’s purring ramped up again. You had no doubt he was inescapable, he was faster than you and stronger than you, and evidently absolutely determined to keep you in one place. You weren’t going anywhere, not with this big lug around.

“If I promise not to leave, will you stop crushing me?”

For once, something you'd said to him tonight seemed to be a good idea to him. After the usual amount of time he would take to think and gather himself, he lifted his body up on his elbows, instead gradually rolling onto his side - he clearly didn’t trust you much, though, because he immediately scooped you up, an arm tucking under you and dragging you back against his huge, broad chest.

His face nuzzled into the hair at the top of your head. He just couldn’t seem to sit still, he reached out and dragged a blanket over you. 

This was much better than being squashed.

“... Were you... really that worried about me?” you asked.

Just a hum, in response. That was a yes.

You patted his huge wrist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

His socket lidded. The centre of his red iris was absolutely tiny, lingering on your chest, glowing with much more intensity than usual.

“... smelled so... sour. looked so... weak.” His voice was husky, finally getting calmer now that you’d finally completely stopped attempting escape. “bad memories. bad thoughts. no - won't lose you. no.”

Skull clearly decided he was done going wherever that train of thought was leading him. He settled down, and the purring began all over again.

...

“... I need to go home eventually, though. To make dinner.”

“i’ll make dinner. a good dinner.” An extremely thinly veiled jab at your unwillingness to eat properly. “staying.”

... Jeez. You really weren’t getting out of this.

...

You sighed, your body unable to stop itself from relaxing into the bed. Skull definitely knew how to make a comfy place to sleep. With how much being ill had drained the life out of you, the softness of the bed and the warmth of the massive monster cradling you was honestly hard to resist.

...

Damnit. Your eyes were already closing. Though his methods of getting you here hadn’t exactly been... great... you had to admit that maybe this outcome wasn’t so bad after all.

Not that you'd tell him. He might make this a regular thing.