the aelwyn abernant instinct

Hello, I've been thinking about your actors au. Are you doing anything about Rei and Mikio being the only side characters with faces in the first trial? Because I do have a theory about that which I haven't posted but I always thought that was really interesting. Even Yamanaka pointed it out in the first anniversary stream.

Ah, I definitely want to!! Mikio is the man in Harrow, right? (There's also maybe-Rumerie in Bring it On who drives me crazy to this day asdfsd) I'm hoping once the project ends and we get the bigger picture, I can really highlight their relationships more. I'll touch on some of my ideas real quick, but I'd love to hear your theory if you ever end up posting it 👀

My problem is, I originally thought the faces show the prisoners' love towards them, and not necessarily mutual relationship -- which causes some hiccups with including them as characters in the au... (Including t2 faces), Haruka hungers for his mother's love, but given her abuse, they couldn't in good conscience have her on set with him. Rumerie may have been some sort of friend, but he didn't seem so close that he'd be okay seeing Fuuta again and being implicated in his crime. Muu cares very deeply for Rei, but even if the murders never occurred, I can't picture a young girl would feel safe filming her own death at the hands of her bully... I ran into a similar issue with Mahiru and Kazui's partners, but as adults I felt like it was easier and safer for them to consent to the situation.

However! The fact that Kotoko's victim has a clear face really interests me, because that's the only one that (seemingly) has no established relationship or love between them. What could Muu's realtionship with her classmate have in common with Kotoko's and the victim she hunted down from a distance? So I'd love to compare with your thoughts and reevaluate my theory as the new mvs come out...

ALRIGHTY SO- (I'm so sane and normal about these toons and cogs I swear) as I said before, personally I really like to think that brian's brain is a motherboard and/or wires/neuron like things covered in a silicone mold that made it shaped like a brain-! It would explain why when he starts getting more and more frustrated during his battle he starts overheating and eventually leading to his brain exploding at the end- (which leads me to believe that mayhaps his wiring needed some extra cooling to help him prevent that, perhaps being the reason why he has a dome head in the first place so that way it could be liquid cooled by being placed inside of- whatever brian has inside of there shchsdhs) which in turn would make the silicone brain a pretty solid idea-!! Keeps all his wiring n electricical brain bits all nice and dry, but also gives him a little flair and from the looks of it, seems like a fairly efficient way to help stop any overheating caused by his emotions or stress- (I mean he literally starts going red with rage, that's gotta be some hot pieces of parts in order to do that even with some cooling factors in place-) but what's really got my gears turning is that if he does have a sort of wiring inside of that brain mold of his, it would basically be the like- in between of cog parts and toon-ish parts-! Assuming that his wiring would help out his processors n act as any neurons should, they would not only help out his thought process (him being the self proclaimed smart man that he is /lh/lh) but it'd also allow him to feel things-!! Neurons are the main units of the brain and nervous system, they help the brain feel any sensory input from the outside, send signals to help the body control motor functions, and in general just relay electrical signals throughout the brain all the time- Which sounds very much close to what the cog equivalent of a brain could also do (and does for brian)-!! I know all the cogs have brains and all their inner bits, but I justshfhs I think it would be really cool if brian's brain had just a little bit more brain-like functions-!! I don't know if I'm making any sense here, but- if he can think, that man can feel too-!! Probably more than the average cog, but he would also probably just decide not to draw much attention to it-!! I know this started out as silly snowglobe dome talk, but in all reality I'm so very interested in the complexities that the cogs and toons have-!!! Doesn't mean I don't think it'd be silly to shake that man around and see what happens, that'd be silly- even more so to bonk him with hammers- BUT I JUSTSHFBS I THINK-!! THE COGS DESERVE SOME MORE THOUGHT INTO HOW THEY COULD ACTUALLY FUNCTION N FEEL THINGS AND WHAT THE INNER WORKINGS OF THEM COULD POSSIBLY LOOK LIKE-! BRAINS HELP SHAPE WHO WE ARE AS PEOPLE… SO I THINK IT'D BE COOL TO UNDERSTAND HOW THAT WOULD WORK WITH THE COGS AS WELL- but yeshdhghs I'm . very sorry that this got so much longer than I intended, but thank you very much for letting me ramble out my thoughts-!! I hope you enjoyed hearing some of my thought process SHCHSDHS

OHHTHIIS IS REALLY GOOD. i never even thought about him possibly having a heightened ability to feel things like touch . i imagine with his brain also moving around, there's probably other pieces in there that would also be shifting which would increase the need for it to be in a somewhat cooled down area.

BUT YEAH . it's all very interesting to think about!

Nightwatch- Chapter 1 “A Stranger”

“Good morning, dear.” The clockmaker awakens with a yawn, having already overslept. Another foggy morning settles thick beyond rocky shore, stirring as if foam from the frothy waves. His wife rubs her eyes, looking enchanted through the morning grogginess. Her coils of black fall just short of her shoulders, loose and frayed. The clockmaker can’t help smiling at the sight of her. “Morning, Rick.” She leans in for a kiss. “Oh,” He reels back, gingerly pushing back her shoulders. “Dear, I have morning breath.” “I don’t care, now get over here.” She yanks his collar, their lips connecting. When they are apart, she pulls a perplexing face, black eyes studying with scrutiny. “Little scruffy, there.” Rick’s full beard and mustache of orange and white completely conceal his mouth, like ginger vines obscuring a cave opening. He smiles sheepishly, teeth barely visible. “Well, it’s either prickles or scruff, dear.” “I’ll settle for scruff.” She snides, and the sun peeks through the clouds for only a moment, casting rainbows of light over her incandescent eyes. She’s the town beauty, her skin gleams in the sun, reflecting gold off her brown skin. Her eyes are wide and doe, always a coy glimmer visible if you look close enough. She’s got pink rollers scattered in her curls, turning rusty in the light like a black cat. Her sleepy smile carves dimples into her soft cheeks and her eyes into wrinkled crescents. It’s mornings like this that Rick knows he’s a lucky man. Before she can lean in to steal another good-morning kiss, a discordant chime rattles through the air. “Rick, can’t you just throw that one out already?” She scoffs, a dramatic eye roll accentuating her annoyance. “Alright.” Rick pinches his nose bridge, easing out of the creaky bed onto even creakier, cold floorboards. “If I don’t sell it, it’s out.” His words fall heavy off of his tongue. It brings him melancholy to see it go. That clock has been a staple of the shop for who knows how long. Its obnoxious tone can be heard over each and every tick. It’s both a blessing and a curse, such a beautiful thing beyond repair. It was a timeless find, and yet, it just can’t be sold. Hell, the damn thing runs backwards. The somber is thick in his eyes, and thick in the sky with morning drizzle that drips down the windowsill. He slams the window shut, drawing the curtains to release shadows that cut through the drafty walls of the shop like steely, black knives. He turns, immediately averting his bashful pink face from the sight of his wife changing clothes. He scurries off to the bathroom, his wife chuckling in the backdrop of ticking clocks. He’s seen her exposed a million times, she has to admit with a shake of the head how cute his flustered nature can be. Sluggishly mixing his shaving foam by the sink, Rick’s feet hit familiar creaks in the floor. His wife calls from the loft, gracefully perched with her arms crossed over the railing. “Rick, you’re opening late. There’s a man waiting by the door.” Her voice induces a rush of rose to Rick’s face, though this time, with embarrassment. He huffs, abashed. “Let them wait. I haven’t even had coffee yet.” He takes his sweet time, half with spite, half with care not to nick his cheek with the razor. A kempt beard at last, he slinks away from the loft into the sleepy shop below, lamps lit with a hiss of gas and warmth under his shoes. The shut of the back door, his wife heading into the dark morning, marks the beginning of another restless day with no sleep until sundown for the busy woman. Rick heaves a weary sigh. He’ll pamper her tonight, she deserves it. Rick flips the ‘Open’ sign, shuffling back behind the counter, a soul softly stirring awake in the loft above. Within seconds, a jingle of rusty bells announces the arrival of a customer, door slamming behind them with a rush of wind. “Repair or purchase?” Rick asks, polishing the glass face of an ornate pocket watch with his vest. “Mr. Sjoberg.” The stranger calls, muffled by a large scarf over their mouth. Rick finally takes notice, peering over his glasses at the customer. Who he sees is an odd sight, their skin is ghostly pale, the haze of tobacco in their ruby red eyes and batting white lashes. Their short hair is straight like a flow of frothy water, sticking up with curled bangs in the shape of a rabbit’s ears. They approach the counter lightly on their toes, shivering, their lightweight black garb barely concealing their snowy skin from the cold. Somebody new? Around here? Has hell frozen over? “Is the Missus home?” They mumble, barely audible. “Adeline… Isn’t here. You’ve just missed her, I’m afraid.” There’s a twinge of suspicion in his voice, the squeaking of cloth against a watchface filling the awkward, uncomfortable air. “Ah. Pity.” The stranger sniffles, a red button nose peeking over their scarf. “I’m here for a purchase.” Their scarlet eyes scan the wall-to-wall selection, pausing over cobwebs. “Oh, good. Anything in particular you’re looking for?” Rick clasps his hands together, a polite, catty smile on his face. The stranger is briefly distracted by his appearance. He works precariously, attaching chains to watches and tuning them carefully. The stranger, at first, had thought he was wearing gloves. But no, he had wooden arms and legs, with black glossy joints and delicate, steady digits. His hair is a peachy color, shocked with white, fluffy and unkempt like his freshly tidied beard of salt-and-pepper. He has curious eyes of teal and gold that glare over black spectacles at all they see. He’s got the body of a father, and they mean that nicely, with a gray sweater-vest and black tie,pinstripe slacks hiked up by an old-looking leather belt. His sleeves are rolled up, the fuzz on his freckled neck standing on edge. The stranger didn’t mean to stare. “Um?” “Sorry. Yeah, just… What’s the cheapest thing you’ve got?” At once, Rick takes to his feet, kicking up the smell of mildew in the carpet. While he rummages to find a stepstool, footsteps creep down the steps, only to stumble clumsily and nearly miss the last step. The person in question, now of solid footing, is a familiar face to the stranger. “Sinclair.” Rick doesn’t look up from his busy hands. Sinclair snaps his eyes open, timid. He’s Rick’s adoptive son, a scrawny, chicken-legged boy in his late teenage years, a shaggy middle-part of greasy lavender hair and faded roots framing skin that never sees the sun, large square glasses, and sad gray eyes that always seem to droop to the floor. He twiddles his thumbs, in a pigeon-toed stance. There’s eyeliner smeared down his cheeks, another heartbreak staining his neck and white shirt with mascara. “Yeah?” “Can you move these boxes for me before you head out?” “Ugh. Yeah, I guess.” Sinclair trips over his own feet to haul a box of cogs, trailing gears behind him as he takes them out back. He jitters, recognizing the stranger and shutting the door quickly behind him. “I’ll bring you back a Macchiato. Love you. Bye.” He huffs. Typical teen. Eyerolls and all, dark circles to boot, jingling spurs on his heels clicking against the cobbles, heard through the door. He must be off to the bar, he used to sing on stage. Recently, he played a drab tune lacking melody that he called “Purgatorius”. He has lyrical talent, but he will never have the vocal prowess of his mother. Rick finally grabs a clock off the wall, looking at it with scorn in his eye as he turns it over in his hands. “Here.” He adjusts his glasses. “This blasted thing, I will sell to you for mere pennies. It was a passion project, but... It's beyond my help.” The stranger takes it in their grasp, thumbing over the old, battered wood. A one-eyed bird juts from a green trapdoor, chirping discordantly on a broken spring. The ticking seems wrong, somehow. They squint, realizing the truth. It runs backwards. What a delight! “It’s perfect.” The stranger rummages in their pocket, tossing crumpled bank notes on the counter, leaving without even a ‘Thank you’. The freezing wind swirls in the quiet of the shop behind them, leaving a perplexed clockmaker behind in their wake. The image of the boardwalk is a familiar one to the stranger, a memory of fog and clouds lying low to the shore. How frigid, the heart of Autumn. Seagulls keen, unseen through the swirling mist. Between foghorns and the gentle sprinkle of rain, a song stirs. A sad, yet optimistic song that swells in the chest and spills from the strings of a violin dances on the fog and breaks apart worries. There is something there, however, that feels slightly off. ‘Must be out of tune.’ The stranger thinks. The stranger struts down the boardwalk, cutting through the mist and rain, an unfamiliar black and white shape slithering between homes. As the song on the wind grows, an anxious patter worms into the stranger’s heartbeat, only accentuated by inhaled black smoke from the roaring chimneys atop every shack, bungalow, and storefront. Nearly there, a voice bleats from a corner. “You don’t seem too familiar, do I know you?” A jaded-looking old widower leans over the banister of his porch, dangling chains from his glasses blowing in the cold wind. He looks as if a Billy goat was a person, long hair in all shades of gray tied back from a hollow, wrinkled face and cloudy, kind eyes sitting above a crooked nose and goatee. His posture is hunched like a vulture, neck bent awkwardly forward with an Adam's apple like a rock and hands curled politely into his black patchwork shawl. Frail ribs stick out beneath billowing, loose fabric. “No, you don’t know me.” “Just passing through?” The widower blathers. He may not know them, but they know him. His name is Todd, his wife died 50 years ago just this week. “I’m here to stay for a short while.” “That so?” Todd begins, pausing to scan the stranger with disturbing clarity through smudged bifocals. “You look cold.” “I forgot my coat, that’s all.” The stranger replies with disinterest, hoping to move on. “Well, that’s no good. Care for something warm?” Todd breaks off a crust of rye bread, tossing it down to the stranger, who wolfs it down without another thought, finally taking the time to see the loom poised before Todd, tangled with mauve threads across splintered wood. “Oh, no, thank y-” The stranger is struck in the face with a massive white shawl that nearly blows away in the gust. They hold it, a silent nod of thanks hidden by their scarf. They pull the garment over their head, and fashion it in a way that’s slick and doesn’t hinder mobility, a master of working with even the most frilly of things. It’s adorned with red, bejeweled tassels that match their eyes. “Free of charge, min vän!” Todd chuckles, bony hands already at work with the loom, patterns of fields and trees unfurling into fabric before their eyes. With an affable smile, the stranger is waved away, whisked with the wind across damp, dark cobbles and under dripping awnings. They wouldn’t be seeing Todd for a while longer. Once again, the mesmerizing melody leads them around a corner to the chapel by the seaside. With the percussion of the sea striking the rocks, the violinist appears from the fog. The church pastor sits upon the concrete steps, shoes wet by rainwater. Their bow glides across the yellowed strings, head bobbing about gently to the rhythm like driftwood on the waves. Nothing can be seen of the loosely hung figure but a sprawled pose and thin, calm smile displaying a row of pearly teeth, just barely visible beneath the wide, flat black hat that conceals his face beneath its brim, shadows cast over his form. He’s a peculiar sight, but not to the stranger, who walks past without blinking into the warm glow of the bar next door. Blaring horns sever the music. A massive ship docks just outside, sailors smelling of salt and sweat flocking to the streets and into the bar as frolicking geese. Captain Blåhaj steps onto the deck, picking absentmindedly at the barnacles clinging desperately to the weathered red metal of the hull like Adams Rock to the star-spackled tide. His hair is short, spiky and blowing behind him. He tucks the front of his navy peacoat over his chest, the felted fabric straining over his arms. He’s not a sight for sore eyes, his scarred, tan face, tasteful scent of tobacco, and black eyes make even his own crew swoon. He tamps leaves into his pipe, rummaging for a match in his pockets. “Captain!” His right hand man comes galloping over. His name is Crockett, a poor and white-haired young man with shocking blue eyes and a scrappy figure that barely holds up the white cotton of his uniform. Blåhaj’s broad hand lands on Crockett’s narrow shoulder, sending a knot in his stomach. “Beautiful morning, huh, boy?” He gruffly smiles, a sharp smile carving his face, a true Renaissance statue. Crockett strikes a match and gingerly lights Blåhaj’s pipe, a small wisp of smoke rising with the Sun. The brief glow of flame makes him look painterly and sickeningly handsome. Crockett gulps. “So, uh,” He squawks “Our haul has the grocers impressed.” He twiddles his thumbs, gesturing back with his head to a net of mackerel dangling precariously down to the dock. Blåhaj smirks, a gold tooth flashing. “Good work, boy.” He puffs smoke, and Crockett can feel it on his face, suddenly feeling a little weak in the knees. Blåhaj’s stern, aged face has only become fine wine to the crew across the oceans, his strapping and broad-shouldered silhouette is simply mesomorphic and kind on the eyes. “How’s about a gin to wind down?” Another waft of sweet smoke that’s more intoxicating to Crockett than a drink will ever be. He can’t help but notice the slight tangle of Blåhaj’s fingers in his ponytail. “Ah, yeah, that’s a good idea…” The walking juxtapositions make their way to the boardwalk, a well-decorated sailor can catch anybody’s attention. The bar is alive already, even so early. The sun has only just come up, but the sailors and sleepless countrymen flooding the place means a busy morning. The stranger sits themself in a far corner by the bar, ordering a White Russian and kicking up their feet. Their mind wanders in the dark of the bar, to the clockmaker and his shop. The murder of chivalry may be in store. All those cobwebs, all those promising shadowy corners. What eight-legged friends could be found? All this time spent searching, all that trouble in the scrub, and it was in the very town where it had originated. Those webs are so perfect, they’re just right- they have to be. They can practically see the outlines of red on black abdomens crystal clear in their mind, the spindles of silk betwixt each other- the patterns match up just right. They have to return. Just not now, the Sun keeps ambition at bay for ghosts and strangers alike. Heaven in vocal form envelops the bar, every patron hushing to complete silence as the lights dim. The stage lights up, and out steps none other than Adel Sjoberg. She looks like an angel up there in her form-fit black dress, velvety and mimicking the shape of a mermaid’s tail, for she is truly a siren to every sailor in the crowd. Her voice is thick and sweet like honey, flowing and clinging to the dust in the air, an archon earworm. “It begins to tell, 'round midnight, midnight.” The stranger’s spine tingles, the crisp white hair on their arms standing supine at the twinge of her Veery clarion call. It’s throaty, and warms up the air, or is that just the breath of the masses being stolen? Whatever it may be, she’s captured the hearts of all. Her dress sparkles in the spotlight, her tight curls bounce, her eyelashes bat like butterflies. Lucky clockmaker. "I do pretty well, till after sundown, suppertime I'm feelin' sad; but it really gets bad, 'round midnight." With the men and women under her spell, a hum of whispers returns. Sailors joke. Old women gossip. Sinclair kisses a countryman right under his mother's nose, as if he doesn't have permanent, black tear stains down his neck. From beyond the neon glow of an Inn sign, an eccentric-looking drunkard stands atop a table, telling tales to his ashamed friends, all to the backdrop of Adel's enchanting chords. She opens her eyes just enough to grasp the microphone and give a sassy glare to a woman ogling her figure. The gazes of countless avert in tandem. Her simulacrum is anything but bland. The stranger remains in that bar, wasting away on coffee liquor into the hours of the evening, morning to sunset, the fog bleeding out into an amber glow upon the still waves beyond closed doors. Green, red, and blue lights flicker on to announce the Inn's vacancy. 'Don't wander' The sign warns in a neon flash beneath brighter eyes, an owl chewing on white, bloodied fur. The head of a mushroom bobs under a drip of oil and water from the awning, looking like a familiar hat. Waiving the anemoia off, the stranger basks under the yellow light around a billiards table, piercing the wooziness to sink the 8-ball into the pocket across from them. Sinclair hands over a sizeable chunk of money to Captain Blåhaj, losing the third bet of the night. The money is passed off to an old maid, summoning a forlorn sigh from Crockett that just screams shaken limerence. Realizing the time as the cuckoo clock jabs into their side with another chime, the stranger surrenders the cue stick to the wall and scurries out the door, leaving astounded bartenders wondering their name as they fill up yet another beer for the sadsacks. To the church they creep, wrapping the shawl tight over their arms, the evening chill giving way for the freezing night, the fog begotten as the Red Sea. The stained white brickwork looks black in the night, the shape of the steeple cutting out the Milky Way. An oddly cloudless night, perfect. From a nail on the door, a lantern glows and flickers. The stranger removes it, extinguishing the light and walking with dire purpose back to the clockmaker's shop. The occupant has long retired for the evening, not a single light inside but a dull candle. The stranger tries the door, to no avail, it's padlocked. No matter, the stranger has a bobby pin holding their sleeve garter in place. They jam the bronze pin inside, googling it around until a click brings a satisfied grin to the stranger's obscured face. Careful to take off the bells before entering, the stranger enters. With only the light of the candle to guide them, they creep behind shelves upon shelves, the ticking of countless clocks in the darkness is enough to drive any man mad. The floor creaks beneath them, each making them wince. There's not a sound from the loft. Upon the walls behind the counter, among mechanical mysteries and showy ornamented clocks is a sight much less Baroque. The web of the prodigious arachnid they've been searching for. Upon the stranger's shadow approaching, a cluster of spindly black legs retreat into a clockface. Promising. The stranger opens the empty, desolate shaft of the lantern, prodding at the clock with the pin until the spider within stirs, stumbling into the lantern, a nervous threat trailing behind. The stranger snaps the lantern shut and holds it to the light, appeased with their prize. Illuminated by candlelight, it comes into view, what gorgeous and rococo majesty! A black widow. A delicious thing to behold. With the widow obtained and the future in sight, it's shaping up for the stranger. No more brush and brambles, no more spider bites. A thump. Then another. Wooden feet scale the staircase. As if never there, the stranger sweeps away and out the open door with the wind, leaving not a trace. Rick stands in the shop, all life barren, the glimpse of a shadow disappearing between shelves into the night. Down the road and where the drunk men sing shanties, mass is coming to a close. Father Winecroft reaches for the heavens with veiny hands and the digits of a musician. They can taste Heaven in the air, feel Hell beneath their feet. Just like Adeline, Winecroft has them captivated by his hypnotic sermon. “It’s on the night that God had graced us, and we did not give Him enough. And so He took what He had been owed…” The stranger listens in, knees tucked high over the lantern. “He knocked thrice upon the door of Satan and drove him away.” The stranger knocks on the wall. A chorus of amazed gasps rises a chuckle from Winecroft’s chest. “Yes, my sheep. He is with us always…” The droning is all a blur, oil paint soundwaves. When all is quiet and they are certain that the mass has concluded, Winecroft descends into the cellar, where the stranger resides. “Ehud.” A striking white smile appears in the gloom. The stranger stands, their name clear. “Sir, I have good news.” “Well, tell me quickly, I haven’t got all night.” Winecroft positions himself like a gargoyle in front of Ehud, lighting a candle. His fluffy mane of auburn looks like fire in the warm lucency, tallow dripping over their fingers. His smile twitches, yet never ceases. He stands straight and tall, cossock concealing a dynamic and long body with feet positioned like that of a ballerina, stock-still and awaiting disclosure. “I bring you, firstly a clock fit for tonight.” Ehud presents the broken cuckoo clock. Winecroft leans forward, looking like a robot with an unwavering expression, the hand tucked behind their back inching forward to stroke the clock’s surface. Their fingertips graze it oddly, dust lifting from it. His smile gets a little wider, which shouldn’t be possible. They rise again, making a strange noise that can only be described as smug. “Perfect. Good work, friend.” They hiss, a small giggle of anticipation slipping between his flat teeth. “What else do you have for me?” The trepidation tickles his throat. Without a word, Ehud hands over the lantern. Winecroft sets down the candle, turning over the lantern in his hands against the light. “Well, I’ll be damned.” Their crooked hat reveals a wide, raving eye. The deceptively warm brown turns to amber in the flame, tracing the spider’s form and shaking violently. “What a specimen, oh, perfect- By God’s Gospel-” He sets down the lantern to lean with his elbows against the tablecloth. “The perfect spider. So gorgeous, and oh-so deadly, how lovely! The power this little treat holds is more than your little mind can imagine.” They wax poetic, a waver in their throat, sounding like the Prince of Horror. Black gloves removed, they unlatch the lantern, the grotesque spider crawling onto the back of his hand. He holds it gently, eye falling half-mast as it crawls from one palm to another, non compos mentis. “Macabre, isn’t she? I can’t resist, you’ve brought me such a trophy, Ehud. I commend you.” He cups the spider, prodding at it with one finger. It rears up, lashing out, fangs sinking into his palm. He winces, smile wavering for only an instant before it is once again plastered on his pale face that is painted with dancing shadows. The spider tries to scurry up his sleeve, only to be seized between two fingers by the leg, squirming. “Odger-” “Sir.” “Sir, that’s venomous.” “Ah, I know. Nothing I haven’t drank in communion already.” His eye nearly rolls back into his head with each throb of the bite, pain turning to pleasure. “It’s time.” He groans. Massaging the bite in an uncomfortably sensual manner, he tosses the black widow without another care into the lantern, striking a match, lighting it aflame. The hourglass on its back turns a boiling black as it jitters and curls up in the heat. Moths flock to the light to nibble on clothes and drop dead. The lantern is sealed, Winecroft leaps onto the table, dancer-like, daintily hanging the clock on the wall. Perfect timing, the clock strikes a false-midnight, the wooden bird singing its broken song. Ehud scrambles to join him on the table, adorned like an altar, bones clattering to the floor in a cloud of dirt. The writhing spider thuds against the glass, burning into nothing, a pitiful curl of black legs. A rattling- no, a chattering- is heard. The chattering of teeth. Winecroft stands close behind, too close, Ehud can feel his breath on the back of their neck. They turn to see, from beneath his hat’s brim, an odd expression with furrowed, sorrowful brows, a twitchy smile, and grinning eyes that glisten, devilish in the growing glow until they disappear into their mess of hair. From the ceiling, an ethereal gleam spills between floorboards like a waterfall of luminous dust, the Aurora Borealis encapsulated into a smoky stream that strikes the lantern. It sounds like rain on a tin roof that spirals into a crescendo of screaming. Agony. Pure agony, that’s the sound. The pain of awareness. A skull rises, then a rib, then a collarbone, a femur… Before their eyes, a skeleton is assembled. Winecroft jitters, hands sweaty and posture kingly. A ripple crawls down Ehud’s spine at the sight of the skeleton’s very own spine snapping into place. Fully arranged, it collapses in a pathetic, shaking heap on the ground. Winecroft leaps like a frog to its level, quickly covering the bones in a shaggy, torn cloak that was probably once purple, now covered in soot and dirt. They creep away, backwards as a mime and away from its view. Ehud’s heart nearly leaps out of their chest. Their scarf falls, failing to conceal grit teeth and a quivering white lip. Their painted nails scrape into the white lace tablecloth that’s slipping beneath their feet. The skeleton quakes, an arm snapping upwards and leveraging the skull. It looks around, narrowly missing the two shaking humans by mere inches of darkness. It kneels, catching its breath, despite a lack of lungs. Its hand rubs its skull, causing reason for pause. “Hnnggk?” It moans, staring down at its skeletal hands. “No… No, no, no, no no no-” A distorted, raspy tone rattles from the skeleton’s chattering teeth, sounding nothing like the Gary Cooper that is Winecroft. “I was supposed to die, just let me die.” It weeps without ever shedding a tear. Its breath smells of rot. It stumbles to its feet and wobbles like a newborn giraffe, slipping its old cloak over its bone shoulders, ribs clacking, hand already adorned with a dangling lantern. Its jaw painfully cracks, muttering to itself about death, decay, ascension, and all kinds of rambling of its pain. Just like that, through invocation of some God they’ll never know, The Nightman walks the streets again on shaky legs. Lantern light fading into the fog, all across town the sounds of shutters slamming shut can be heard like applause at what Ehud had done. Terrorized no more had they been, and now they’ll suffer for it. 50 years of peace is too long. Rick wakes again in the dead of night, not too far after his wife threw herself into bed beside him, hair tousled and wrinkled evening dress still on. Her makeup smears her pillow. The sounds of clicking heels and shaky feet on the boardwalk riles Rick to once again descend from the loft. At first seeing nothing, he blows out his candle to return to bed, briefly relishing the smell of sweet smoke. Then, from the inky black comparable to the deep sea, a single yellow light swims, an angler in the depths. An achy figure shuffling down and stopping just outside the shop, facing the sea, as still as a mannequin. Rick nervously opens the door. The figure doesn’t so much as flinch at the jangle of bells. “Uh, hello?” Rick coos, half inside with one foot out the door. The silhouette doesn’t move, cloak hood billowing in the slight breeze. “C-can I help you?” “Hungry.” “... Excuse me?” “I’m hungry.” The figure looks up, lantern raising to the firmament. A flash of razor-sharp teeth and a bone-white face slip through the hood, fangs clicking much like mandibles. “Do you need food?” Rick swallows hard. The silhouette doesn’t respond, looking like the Grim Reaper. A yellow, jaundiced eye blinks. “Are you… Are you from here?” “Used to be.” “Hmm?” “I’m supposed to be up there.” “...In the sky?” Rick scoffs, licking his dry lips. The silhouette points to the stars, rail-thin hand shakily settling on a bright, twinkling dot among many paint splattered suns. “I should be up there. I was happy. But… Somebody brought me back. I can’t be back. I just want to go back. I’m so hungry.” “Well, can I help? I don’t understand-” It turns its head. Half-masked by the shade of a hood, a funereal, gaunt shape with sunken sockets stares back, lantern clutched protectively to its chest. “Food.” After a mostly one-sided exchange, the Nightman stumbles off, snarling. Two strangers in one night? Impossible. It wobbles its way to the dock, disgusting eyes swaying back and forth with the waves, scanning from boat to boat until it comes upon a crate of ice and something that smells enticing. Gazing at it like a newfound love, it slinks off to have a new meal for the first time in so, so long. “Ehud, you’ve done it.” Winecroft appears, nearly from thin air behind them. He stands proudly with that signature smile and his hands folded neatly and cordially behind his back. “I guess I have.” “Isn’t it exciting? Oh, don’t you think he’s hungry? What a darling- it’s coming together just as I thought.” They gaze together onto the docks, where a cloaked figure stumbles in the moonlight, gruesome spider legs jutting from either side of its face as it latches onto a chunk of food and swallows it, greed in its growl. The way Winecroft jitters at the sight makes Ehud feeling gross. Just standing beside him feels enough to warrant a shower with how little he makes an effort to conceal the power-high that goes to the wrong head. “They’ll be wanting a body soon.” Ehud chokes, running a hand through knots in their white hair. Ehud gags, recalling the many times that Ol’ Odger called their hair spider silk. “Hmm, that’s right.” He flicks up the brim of his hat, drawling with a suck of the teeth. “Just pray to our Lord that it doesn’t take yours.” The sirocco nearly blows off his hat, and with an unwavering, coy grin that reeks of malice and unspeakables, Winecroft takes the warmth of the coming morning in his stride; a serpent among rats in the lighthouse’s shadow. Ehud is left to stand and stew in the doorway to the chapel, drenched in the chagrin of Winecroft’s euphoric violin and the ignominy of a new, deadly occupant.

@dreamcatcher-ranger @moth-yknowtheartist

and i have zero answers about this but i feel like we as a collective need to figure some stuff out bc we cannot keep having these constant threads about how all lgbt media is sanitized and boring these days in between callout posts for how every new lgbt media that isn't sanitized and boring is irredeemable problematic media you can't blog about

different anon btw but just out of curiosity (tone clarification: not judgemental just pursuing info in like a bit of an analysis/contemplation/seeking differing opinions way) have you done either of e!'s story quests? and if so was it just confusing, or you didn't like them for some other reason?

(if it's too much effort to elaborate of course no pressure, but id be interested to hear your thoughts! & don't worry about being too harsh, she's my blorbo but i agree the inazuma arc kind of made light of a lot of war stuff and felt a little shallow, and a lot of people i know didn't like her at all bc of that)

~🍓 (signing off with an emoji in case this turns into a conversation later)

Before I go into this, I just wanna say thanks again for approaching this in such a genuine and calm way, I sat and thought about this on and off since I got it and it's kind of made me step back and look at how I consume media (especially in this game) and the kinds of characters that I tend to enjoy.

I have done both of her story quests, but as with a lot of the pacing in the story quests, I found it pretty confusing and hard to follow, with heavy dialogue and exposition that I struggled to retain. I'm sure she as a character is extremely nuanced and interesting, I just struggle to feel anything more than disdain for her after seeing how her actions affected the entirety of Inazuma and the people she was supposed to be protecting.

I'm sure I could be convinced into liking her (as is the case with most characters that I 'dislike') or at least tolerating her, but the way the information was presented to me in canon felt a little ham-fisted, and I struggled to parse it all when it was just kind of tossed at me in a jumbled pile like that.

I think some of the ways this game handles really heavy topics seems to be almost... dismissive, at times. I understand that it's a game that's supposed to be marketed towards a broad audience and there are some concessions that need to be made to keep a smooth gameplay experience. This isn't a knock at the writers at all, just an observation. These huge events seem to happen in canon story and they seem to be dropped soon after apart from a few hints and side mentions, and I wish it was explored more?

Sorry that's kind of offtopic, but going back to the character at hand, there's just something about the rules she enforced and the things she let happen that just... yucks me out a bit. (again this is nothing against anyone who does happen to like her! This is all personal opinion and meant to be very lighthearted) I feel like they're trying to write all the Archons as 'good guys', but with E! it feels ...viscerally wrong, everyone seems to forgive her very quickly and have no hard feelings about what she put her nation through, even if that wasn't what she'd directly intended to do. I think if there had been some kind of main story scene where she really acknowledged the harm she caused and admitted her wrongdoing to her citizens id be a little more ambivalent towards her, but i genuinely cant remember a scene like that (though please correct me if im wrong).

The way her character lines refer to some others, too, kind of icks me out. Especially when it comes to Kokomi, who she still seems to be intending to discipline in some manner, and acts as if allowing the people of Watatsumi Island to worship their god is some gracious and generous act of kindness that she's doing as opposed to the basic human right of believing what you want - something about that especially sits pretty badly with me.

OK came here before finishing the episode, but! I have this vivid memory of having mlp on in the backround, but i eneded up actually watching it inbetween whatever u was doing, and that was the only time I interacted with it until now, and it's the village from "the cutie map"!!! I don't know why, but this brings me immense joy (I've been watching it every chance I get, even when I don't get the chance. What.)

That's awesome man! I'm really glad you're enjoying it!

Also, that episode is so flipping good. What a great way to be introduced to the series, even if you didn't start actually watching it till later.

Calling Them By Their Full Name

OPLA Headcannons! I thought htis was a funny little thing lol. Anyway enjoy

Warnings: slight mentions of nsfw topics but nothing too serious

Sorry for any spelling errors!

Luffy

-ohhhhh that did not sound like your usual happy, loving voice.

-he knows he fucked up and now he’s hiding from your wrath.

-“MONKEY D. LUFFY, GET YOUR ASS IN THIS KITCHEN. NOW.”

-you could hear a pen drop from how quiet the ship got

-ok so maybe he ate that super expensive, super special dessert you had been saving for a while now. And like, it was going to go bad! All he wanted was a little taste! Than a taste turned into accidentally eating the whole thing.

-He was gonna tell you, honest! But it had proven obvious you found out before he could. He seen you round the corner with RAGe on your face and tears in your eyes.

-"TRAITOR!" You yell, throwing a tired punch to his chest.

-“I’m sorry mami, I’ll find you another one. Promise.” He hums, peppering your face with kisses, squeezing your face between his palms when he did.

-There’s no way you could stay mad at him for long

Zoro

-whoa whoa whoa why are you so ANNNGRY

-hated when you call him by his full name like that, makes him feel like a child being reprimanded

-“RORONOA GODDAMN ZORO.” You boom, Nami’s jaw dropping at the sound. Even she could tell you were pissed

-he’s the sassiest mf alive so he’ll probably just be like, “who the hell are talking to woman?!”

-“You’re a real piece of work you know that??” You’re still yelling and he wastes no time rolling his eyes at you and grabbing you by your waist, the action shutting you up.

“Wanna stop yelling and be a big girl and tell me what’s wrong?” He teases, that stupid smirk you love falling over his features at your speechlessness.

-It’s not often you say his full make but when you do he makes sure you’ll never forget it that same night.

-“Say my name baby, real loud.” He groans, a hand around your throat to steady spent body as he slams back into you

Sanji

-I know thats not a cigarette i smell Vinsmoke Sanji."

-awe hell. Yout tone is deadly. he tried he damndest to stomp it out before you rounded the corner but nope.

-You never use his full name like that. Never.

-did he just get chills?

-"Of course not my love!" He lies throigh his teeth but before he can say anything ese you re lips are on his, you fist gripping the fabric of his shirt.

-He knew he was caught, the taste of tobacco mixing with your usual mint. You pull away, smoothing his shirt out with a warning smile.

-"Don’t lie to me again, I’ll always know when you do, Black Leg." You explain , taking the small cardboard box from his pocket and walking off.

-Even though it was ment as a threat, he couldn't help but feel hotter than ususal. God he loved it when you talked all serious to him.

Bonus: Mihawk

-You know better than to use his full name. Orr to even call him anything besides the usual endearing pet name.

-So when he hears his name called with nothing short of rage, hes trying to figure out who you think you’re talking to.

-"Dracule. Mihawk." You spit, holding the empty bottle in your hand

-Ok so your rage was warented cause he managed to drink the entire vintage bottle of wine you'd been saving...it wasn’t like it was on purpose!

-He doesn’t even bother to look up from his book, just barely giving you a slight glance when you were right in front of him, pointing to the bottle.

-"Id watch your tone darling." he warns, smirking at the way you purse your lips and turn away with a fierce attitude he'd be sure to deal with later.

-“Oh shove it up your ass Dracule.” You scoff, trying to quicken your pace but failing when he’s already behind you, his much larger hand holding your wrist as you yelp.

-His look says it all. You’re screwed.

-So now you’re sitting pretty, bent over and counting each time his hand meets the sore and slightly reddened flesh of your ass.

-“Now, what’s my name again darling?”

☆ I WANNA BE YOURS — GOJO SATORU

summary: your best friend was used to picking up the pieces of all your heartache. and he's been idly waiting for the day that he could have you all to himself — but when he you give him a chance just for you to snatch it away you realise you might just loose more than his heart.

w/c: 3.3k

cw: afab!reader angst to fluff, you break his heart and put it back together again by giving him a great big blowjob so mdni! also unprotected sex (its more like making love if you ask me)

an: I actually really fw this fic. id say it was my best one yet so give it a chance people, just like how you should give gojo a chance. since he's actually super loveable here. hope you enjoy!

gojo satoru was hopelessly in love with you, and everyone seemed to know that, but you. he was your best friend, someone that you relied on, depended on, its been that way since you were kids. ‘she’d never see me that way,’ he’d whine to all his friends about you, whenever they’d see you together, holding hands, cuddling, but still proclaiming the title as ‘just friends.’

you were currently crying in his arms, as he consoled you, caressing your back. gojo was used to this routine by now – you’d get a boyfriend, they’d break your heart, and he was left to pick up the pieces. “i just don’t get how this one failed, i thought i was doing everything right,” you mumble, your voice breaking as you sniffle against his chest.

“they just don’t appreciate how great you truly are,” he comforts you, a silent “i do though,’ left unsaid, as he stares down at your tear stained face.

“satoru?” you ask, pulling slightly away from him, “i'm pretty, right?”

“don’t even ask me that shit,” he scoffed, “you already know the answer.”

“just answer.” you did know what his answer would be already, but you just had to hear it, “i just need to know why all my relationships end.”

“listen to me,” he demands, tenderly holding your face in both of his hands, his gaze unwavering as he looks at you, “you're beautiful. you always have been, and it's not even just your looks, it’s your whole being, everything about you. there’s nothing wrong with you, you just have a terrible taste in guys,” he finishes with a goofy smile trying to lighten the mood.

“yeah, maybe you're right,” you reply with a soft sigh, your gaze dropping to avoid his intense stare. It was both comforting and unnerving how he could always see through your insecurities.

“i don't say things i don't mean, you know that.” he tilts your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his eyes once again. “anyways we should prob–” 

you press your lips against him, interrupting his sentence, and he eases into it, his lips moving against yours with no hesitation. but you pull away as quickly as you kiss him, your eyes widening as you realise what you’ve done. “shit im sorry satoru, i didn’t mean that.”

the air around you seems to shift, the atmosphere heavy with the weight of the unexpected moment. you can feel your cheeks flushing, and you look away, unable to meet his gaze. his fingers brush against your jaw, gently guiding your gaze back to his. the intensity in his eyes is undeniable, a silent acknowledgment of the shared feelings that had been hovering beneath the surface for so long.

"fuck that," he murmurs, his voice low and tinged with a mixture of determination and vulnerability. he closes the gap between you again, his lips brushing against yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. 

the softness of your lips against his is a sensation he’s dreamt of, and now that it's happening, it's even more intoxicating than he imagined. his hands cradle your face, his fingers threading through your hair as he deepens the kiss.

his lips move against yours with a skilled finesse, his breath mingling with yours, creating a heady mixture that leaves you breathless. your fingers find their way to his hair, tangling in the silken strands as you pull him closer, your bodies pressed together. 

“satoru, i need you.” you tug against the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his. you were desperate, craving his touch, “need you to make me feel better.”

gojo took your words seriously, aiming to make you forget about all the heartache you’ve ever felt with those other guys, and focus only on him. he lays you down on the couch, unbuttoning your shirt, pulling your tits out of your bra. 

“don’t worry, ‘m gonna take care of you,” he mutters, pressing kisses into your cleavage, until his lips eventually circle your nipple, suckling and pulling at it. you gasp slightly at the feeling of his tongue swirling on your tits. your hands go back into his hair, roaming through his scalp, tugging hard as he bites down on your nipple.

his mouth remains on you, his hand trailing down into your underwear, rubbing circles on your clit. you whimper at the contact, feeling yourself getting wetter as his fingers enter you, he starts off slow pushing his digits in you gently.

“is this okay?” he asks, he wanted to make sure you felt good, that was his priority. he grins as you nod, too caught up in your pleasure to verbally respond. his quickens his pace, gyrating his fingers into you, pressing another searing kiss on your mouth. 

you were dripping over his digits, as they pistoned in and out of you, but your hands reach out to his belt as you moan out, “‘toru i wanna feel you.”

“you wanna feel me huh?” he teases, unbuckling his belt with his free hand, he pulls out his hardened dick and strokes it a few times before rubbing it down your wet slit – teasing you with just his tip.

“c-c’mon,” you whine, grinding your hips down against him. he smirks at your excitement, forcing his dick inside you, your eyes widen as your pussy stretches and gojo can only bite down on his lips as you clench around him.

“you feel so good, y’know that right” he murmurs, forcing himself into you deeper, “so fuckin’ tight.” his eyes stay fixed on you, he loves you like this – pinned under him, clawing at his back, your mouth parting at the pleasure that he’s giving to you.

your legs wrap around his hips as he sinks into you further, you could feel his breath on your neck as he whispers in your ear, “you’re perfect, this is perfect.” he sucks on your collar bone, kissing and biting as he continues to thrust into you.

“‘you’re t-too much, i-it’s too much.”

“but you’re taking me so well,” he argues, with a grin. peppering kissing against your neck as he fucks you to a hilt. your hands find their way back into his hair, pulling and tugging at it as you moan out his name. 

his dick twitches inside you as you call at his name, you could feel that he was about to cum. his strokes were getting sloppier, and his mouth went from biting to sucking on your neck. you could feel yourself about to climax, scratching at his back, as he continues to hit your spot.

“toru, i’m about to–”

“cum with me,” he demands, thrusting into you a few more times before you both reach your peak. and just before he’s about to release into you, his whispers a barely audible “i love you” right in your ear. he sprays your walls and you cum all over him, mixing in with him. he slumps down on you, pressing his forehead against yours, his dick remaining in you as he catches his breath.

as you finally disentangle your bodies, gojo reclines on the couch, a blissful smile gracing his lips. his breathing gradually transforms into gentle sighs, a sure sign that he has succumbed to sleep. you weren’t oblivious to his feelings towards you – the way his gaze would linger a little too long, how his hugs would be tight and comforting. he was in love with you – and you didn’t know how to deal with that.

all of your relationships never lasted, they always had an issue with something you did. you ruined them. and you didn’t want to ruin gojo, you’ve been together since you were children and he’s always been so good to you. you couldn’t bear the thought of causing gojo pain.

your gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before you turn away, your mind racing with a storm of thoughts. you've been friends for so long, and the prospect of losing that connection is heartbreaking. but you also can't ignore the truth that's been staring you in the face – gojo's feelings have crossed the line from friendship to something deeper.

as you quietly gather your clothes, your heart aches with conflicting emotions. you've always been there for each other, and the thought of hurting him tears at your very core. with a heavy sigh, you dress in silence, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts. 

“you’re really just gonna leave?” he calls out behind you as you head to the door, your hand frozen on the handle.

“satoru,” you gasp, turning to face him guiltily, “i thought you were asleep.”

“you were actually just gonna leave?” he accuses further, ignoring your comments, “after this, after what we just did?”

“this doesn’t change anything,” you say shaking your head with your eyes closed, you couldn’t see his face.

“it doesn’t change anything?” he scoffs, standing up, walking over to you, “how can you say that? after i've given you my all, literally everything i can offer to you, and that still isn’t enough.”

"i was scared, toru," you ramble, the truth spilling out of you, your voice catching as you admit your own fear. he was upset, this was the last thing you wanted, him looking at you, his eyes pleading for you to choose him,"i've seen how my past relationships have crumbled, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing you too."

his gaze softens for a moment, his fingers itching to reach out to you. "but things can just go back to the way they were with us," you continue, your words wavering, unsure if they're just a desperate attempt to keep things safe and familiar.

“i think we both know they can’t,” he says bitterly, his hand clenches at his side, “just answer this. why was it never me?”

“i’d ruin you,” you explain, your hand reaching out towards his, a soft smile on your face, “you’ve seen how i am with all those other guys. you’re too good for me.”

"no, I'm not good enough for you," he concludes, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and sadness. he takes a step back, his expression conflicted, as if grappling with his own internal turmoil.

with your eyes brimming with unshed tears, you watch as he rushes past you, his departure leaving an ache in your chest. "you stay, I need to clear my head," he mutters, his voice strained, and then he's gone, leaving you standing there, torn between your fears and the feelings you've been trying to deny.

as gojo stormed out of the apartment, his emotions were a tangled mess within him. the mixture of frustration, hurt, and longing had him feeling like he was caught in a whirlwind. he couldn't believe how everything had escalated so quickly, how he had allowed himself to be vulnerable, only to feel tossed aside.

“suguru, i fucked up,” he cries into the phone to his best friend, his voice laden with distress, “i fucked up so bad.”

“satoru, calm down,” geto tries to soothe him, his tone steady, “what exactly did you do?”

“I fucked her,” he forces the words out, a mixture of regret and frustration in his voice, and he could sense geto wince on the other end of the line, “she kissed me, and i fucked her.”

"that's a good thing, isn't it?" geto's voice holds a note of confusion.

gojo's sigh came through the phone, heavy with a sense of defeat. "bro, she doesn't love me back," he practically wails, the weight of his realisation crashing over him, "she doesn't love me back. i got too greedy, she gave me an inch and i took it too far.”

"are you sure?" geto inquires, his tone thoughtful, "she wouldn’t have agreed to have sex with you if she wasn’t feeling something. i've seen you two together, i've seen how she looks at you. she loves you."

"if only it were that simple," gojo mutters, frustration lacing his words. "she said it doesn't change anything between us. that it was just a moment of weakness."

there was a pause on the line, geto processing gojo's words. "look, satoru, I know it's not easy, but maybe she's just scared. she literally just got out of a break up too, she’s probably just overwhelmed."

"but what if I've ruined everything?" gojo's voice was laced with uncertainty. "what if I've made things worse?"

"you won't know unless you talk to her," geto advises, his voice gentle yet firm. "honesty is the best way to navigate this situation. tell her how you feel, listen to what she has to say, and go from there."

gojo sighs, his tension slowly easing as he absorbs his friend's words. "you're right. i need to face this head-on."

"good, this whole ‘will they? won’t they?’ schtick that you two have going on, has gotten old. very old.” geto finishes, abruptly ending the call.

gojo takes a deep breath, feeling a mixture of anxiety and determination. he knew he had to confront the situation, to lay his feelings on the line and hope for the best. with a newfound resolve, he gathers his thoughts and prepares to have the difficult conversation that lay ahead.

“you came back,” is the first thing you say, when gojo enters the apartment. you couldn’t gauge his mood, his expression was off, and you didn’t want to upset him further. 

“well it is my apartment after all,” he spits out a bit too coldly, his words laced with tension. however, his face softens as he takes a step toward you, the coldness melting away,, “besides i didn’t go far, just outside.”

you nod in acknowledgement, not knowing what to say. your uncertainty making it hard to find the right words. the atmosphere is tense, and you're acutely aware of the weight of the situation between you.

"i had some time to think," gojo starts, his voice softer now, "and i realised that running away from this won't solve anything."

his words draw your attention, and you meet his gaze, searching for any clues in his eyes. "satoru, I'm sorry about what happened earlier. i shouldn't have acted on my emotions like that."

“it’s ok i-”

“no it’s not okay,” you insist, stepping towards him grabbing his hand, “i never should of acted that way, disregarding like you’re nothing. i was wrong.” you had time to think after gojo left, and you knew you were being unreasonable. there was a guy who was ready to love you, give you his all, and you were just going to throw him away without a chance. 

he weight of your words hangs between you both, the air thick with the shared acknowledgement of your mistakes. and as the intensity of the moment settles, a newfound sense of clarity takes hold – the understanding that your feelings for each other can't be ignored, no matter how much you try to suppress them.

“you really fucked w my feelings y’know,” gojo’s words hang in the air, heavy with hurt. his eyes bore into yours, his emotions laid bare.

“i know,” you reply softly, your voice laced with regret, “and i’m so sorry toru. i never meant to hurt you like that. i was scared, and i didn’t know how to handle my own feelings so i lashed out.”

gojo's gaze softens, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "you were scared? of what?"

"of losing you," you admit, your voice quivering slightly as you reveal your deepest fear. "you mean so much to me. you're my best friend, and I was afraid that if we crossed that line, it would ruin everything we have."

a mixture of emotions passes over gojo's face – surprise, realisation, and something else, something that you can't quite pinpoint. "you think being with me would ruin our friendship?" he asks, slightly offended.

you shake your head, your eyes locking onto his. "no, that's not what I meant. I just... I've seen how my past relationships ended, and i didn't want the same thing to happen with us. i didn't want to hurt you or lose what we have."

“i love you.” he declares simply, “that’s all that matters.” you couldn’t even respond because he was right, nothing else mattered. he places a gentle kiss to your forward, wrapping his arms around you.          

“let me make me it up to you,” you whisper, looking up at him bashfully through your eyelashes, “let me show you how much i love you.”

“you don’t have to–” he starts, but he pauses, taking a sharp inhale as your hands slip into his jeans. you peck his lips before working his way down to your knees. you take his dick out, licking your lips as you stroke him, massaging his dick. you pepper kisses all over the tip, still keeping your eyes trained on him.

“c’mon don’t be a tease,” he whines as you focus on his tip, sliding your tongue around it as you continue to pump his dick with your hands. 

you take him into your mouth, its warm and wet as you suck him in. you move your hands to cup his balls with a firm grip, massaging them as you continue to twist your mouth on his dick. you can hear him lightly cursing, drying his best to moan out at the pleasure you’re giving him. but you were determined to get him to cry out your name.

he was loving the sight of you, mouth stuffed, slobbering all over him. you were sloppy, just how he liked it, using your saliva and his precum to glide your mouth over and over his dick.

“f-fuck,” he stammers, biting down on his fist, he usually last way longer than this. but the difference is you, he would’ve never had imagined that there’d be a day you’d be on your knees all pretty, swallowing his dick. but now that you are, he wanted to burst.

you could tell that he was close, so you jut your head faster, using your hands to pump what your mouth can’t cover. he thrust into your mouth, aiding you in reaching his climax, forcing his dick deeper into your inviting mouth.

“you’re mouths t-too good, it’s–” his hands rest on your head as he releases into your mouth. you swallow all of him, licking your lips, satisfied.

“now toru,” you coo, with a smirk standing up to face him, “can you see how much i love you now?”

the rest of the night was spent just like many others you had shared together over the years, wrapped in each other’s arms in the comfort of his bed. this time, however, it wasn’t masked under the guise of friendship, you now exchange kisses with ‘i love you’ said in between each one.

AN: and that is all folks, TELL ME YOUR THOUGHTS I actually dislike the friends to lovers trope, not gojos biggest fan, and I hate sucking dick BUT I LOVE IT ALL HERE. HE'S ACTUALLY REALLY REALLY SWEET, AND DONT U JUST WANT A GUY THATS DOWN TO JUST LOVE YOU! DIVIDERS BY @/CAFEKITSUNE.

✯FreshLove for the Fit✯

pt1

Summary: Y/N decides to DM Chris after receiving threats and things start to escalate between the two.

Warnings: NSFW content, swearing, mentions of jerking off, titties are mentioned, dildos, masturbation.

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Y/N was dying of laughter.

Two days ago, one of her favorite content creators decided to go on a spam spree and like all of her posts. She was confused, to say the least, then she became flattered.

Now here she is, full-on cackling as she reads the hate comments she's receiving.

12-year-old girls' calling her all types of names and sending death threats, all because Chris Sturniolo was most likely jerking off to her?

It's hilarious.

She starts laughing even harder when she realizes Chris unfollowed her and unliked all of her posts.

She decides to mess with him a little bit and sends a DM on Instagram

Y/I/N

yo, your fans are cray asf. you need to tell them to leave me tf alone.

Chris's heart dropped when he saw the notification. Y/N was DM'ing him? He hesitantly clicks on the notification and his mouth runs dry when he sees what she said.

He felt like shit.

He isn't dumb, he saw what some of the fans were saying to her online. He thought it was crazy they were sending death threats to her because he was horny and dumb. He decides to respond back.

Christophersturniolo

i feel like shit for the stuff they are saying to and about you. it's not fair at all and I'm sorry.

Y/I/N

LMAO, im playing with you. ion care about these little ass girls. they mad at me because you were horny and jerked your shit to me. shit is funny.

Chris can't help but sigh, and laugh in relief. He really didn't want Y/N to be mad at him.

Christophersturniolo

fuck you had me scared. I'm glad you're handling this well though.

Y/I/N

lmao, i can handle myself very well thank you

Chris finds himself being bold behind a screen.

Christophersturniolo

i like the way you handle yourself.

Y/N smiles and turns onto her stomach, kicking her feet as if she's a schoolgirl texting her crush.

Y/I/N

so i take it you like my content?

She knows he likes it, but she wants to see him admit it. Y/N was a bit cocky, she knows she's pretty as fuck, has a nice body, and that her content is one of the best.

She just likes hearing people say it.

Christophersturniolo

love it actually

Y/I/N

tell me what you love about it.

Christophersturniolo

i love that you wear my brand as your getting off. the way you tweak your nipples through the shirts as you shove the dildo into yourself, chasing an orgasm. i love the way your moans are soft yet so loud at the same time. Don't get me started on your thighs, id love to be in between them all day.

Both of them are staring at their phones, bodies shaking as they take deep breaths. this conversation took a turn none of them were expecting.

Chris can't believe he's talking to a CamGirl who could actually expose this whole conversation.

Y/N can't believe she's even talking to Chris. Hell, she barely has wrapped her head around the fact he enjoys her content.

Christophersturniolo

what would you say if i wanted you to call me

Y/I/N

i would tell you to check my stories tab for prices.

Not even five minutes later, Y/N gets a cash app notification for $200 with the message

"FT me and wear FreshLove."

There's a phone number attached and Y/N is shocked. Her FT prices are only $130 but he sent $200.

She copies the number before pasting it into the Facetime log and pressing the call button.

It rings three times before Chris picks up.

"They look good," both of them think to themselves.

Chris is wearing a pink hoodie that makes Y/N go feral on the inside. Pink is one of her many favorite colors and to see him looking so good laid out in it, she's clenching her legs. It doesn't help that his camera angle is low. She wonders if that's what he would like while his dick is in her throat.

Y/N is in fact wearing FreshLove just like Chris asked (it was more so a demand but that's not the point), and he's trying to contain himself. It was obvious the pink shirt may be a size too small considering it was hugging her chest tightly, allowing her pierced nipples to peak through. His mind is running wild as he imagines fucking her while she's decked out in his brand.

"Hi,"

Chris is shocked when he hears the tone of her voice. He doesn't know what he was expecting, but he didn't expect something so soft and dainty. No wonder her moans sound the way they do.

"Hey..." Chris responds.

"What did you want to call for?" for some reason, Chris is too shy to admit the real reason he wanted to call. How do you tell a girl you only wanted to Facetime, in hopes she fucks herself on her pink dildo so he can jerk off.

"I don't know."

Y/N tilts her head to the side as she looks at him, "I think you know you're just too scared to say it." Her words are taunting,

Chris doesn't like it.

"Not scared to admit anything. I just figured you wouldn't like me telling you to go ahead and grab that pink dildo and fuck yourself for me. I was raised to be a gentleman after all." Chris smirks seeing Y/N get shy. Although her skin is brown, he can tell there's a faint reddish tint to them.

He keeps going, "Don't act all shy, like you don't post yourself online doing the same thing. After all that is how I found you."

Y/N likes being degraded. It's one of the many kinks she has.

"But I won't have you do that, I want to get to know you first."

Y/N is shocked. usually, when she does these calls, the guys automatically demand that she strip and start playing with herself. Although this whole interaction will be transactional, it's a breath of fresh air for her.

The call continues, both of them laughing and talking for more than an hour. The conversations jump from topic to topic. One minute they are talking about music (Y/N was shocked when Chris hadn't heard of Jorja Smith), favorite foods, and movies.

Suddenly Y/N asks a question that's been on her mind, " Why did you send $200 when the price was $130?"

"Because I wanted to" he answers so quick and nonchalantly, it surprises Y/N.

"But you didn't have to, especially if we didn't do anything sexual." When Y/N looks back at her phone, she sees a smirk made its way across Chris's face.

"I have a proposition for you."

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i actually hate this so much but i did want to put out a second chapter 😭 let me know if yall like it or what you want to happen. im very open to suggestions!!!

I've never asked for a request before and i dont have clout to write it myself so i thought id ask since i like some of your Mike stuff but

What about something like reader and Mike are friends and he goes to a wedding her as a favor cause i like the idea that he has like a messy suit, loose tie kind of hot mess vibe and smutty things happen lol I dont have much in mind but the idea of him in a messy suit trying to look cleaned up is just like ...drool idk

Plus One

Mike Schmidt x fem!reader wc: 3.1k+

Summary: You invite Mike to be your plus one at your sister's wedding, but things go wrong during the reception and Mike uses you to take out his frustrations.

Warnings: 18+ CONTENT, okay so like reader and Mike are friends but also its kinda angry sex??? You’ll see. Manhandling (sorta), slight exhibitionism, degrading, praise, dirty talk, finger sucking, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap b4 u tap pookies)

Note: oh my GOD this one got away from me and i'm NOT sure about it, I feel like i could’ve written this a bit better but i just started babbling and now we're here. to the person who requested this: THANK YOU.  i loved ur idea and him in a suit like makes me drool too omg. i also couldn’t help adding a little angst in here. also so nevry to post this?? so lmk what u guys think! enjoy :)

“Please, Mike. I swear this is the last thing you’ll ever have to do for me!” You plead, trying to reason with the very unimpressed looking man in front of you. You’ve been stuck in Mike's kitchen for the past half hour trying to convince him to be your plus one to your sister's wedding next Saturday. Clearly, your convincing hasn’t been successful so far. 

“The last time I did a favour for you was supposed to be the last time.” Mike says with a knowing smirk, and you roll your eyes. A few weeks ago, you went out to a bar with some friends and you may have had a few too many long island iced teas. The owner had forced your hand into calling someone to pick you up, and it was Mike's number you had dialled that night. As he drove you back to your apartment with an unpleasant look on his face, you swore to him that that would be the last favour you'd ever ask of him. How you wish you could take that back right about now. 

“Okay, well, I was drunk when I said that. So it doesn't count.” You say with a frown, crossing your arms against your chest like a child who was denied candy. 

You can’t really blame Mike for not wanting to go. Your family is…a lot. You love your family, you really do (most of the time). But, they can be judgemental. You were the kid in school who always got the hottest new toys for Christmas, and had big themed parties for your birthday every year. It had never really dawned on you that you were more well off than other kids until you had met Mike. You became friends with Mike when you were both 15. When you first brought Mike over to your house to hang out, you heard your parents whispering about him that night when you were supposed to be in bed. Your parents gossiped about the kidnapping of his brother, the suicide of his mother, and how Mike and his sister were essentially left to their own devices with their father paralyzed and consumed by grief. It made you sick to hear your parents nitpick and discuss Mike's life like it was a reality tv show. Your parents never really approved of your friendship with Mike, and they tend to not-so-subtly make that known whenever you make the mistake of bringing him up in a conversation. 

“I don’t think that’s how that works. Besides, when your sister offered you a plus one, I really don’t think she had me in mind.” Mike says as he reaches into his fridge for a beer. “In fact, I think she’d prefer you to invite that guy who works at the convenience store and catcalls you everytime you go in, instead of me.” He says, cracking open his beer and offering you a smile before he takes a sip. 

“Well now you’re just being dramatic.” You huff as you walk over to the couch in Mike's living room and take a seat. Mike follows you from the kitchen and sits down in his armchair, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. Mike sticks his tongue out at you and you have to restrain yourself from strangling the man. If it were any other wedding you would’ve just gone on your own. However, your family events tend to…take a turn for the worst. Your family's gatherings usually end with drama, and you know that even though it’s your sister's wedding, this will be no different. That’s why you're insistent on bringing Mike as your plus one, so you can have a little support if things go awry. 

“Very mature.” You say with a shake of your head, once again rolling your eyes at the rude gesture.

“Listen, I’ll go. But, on one condition.” Mike says, and you sit up straight at his words.

“What’s the condition?” You ask suspiciously, but at this point you think you’d agree to almost anything.

“You babysit Abby for a month,”

“Deal.”

“And do my laundry for a month.” Mike adds.

“That’s two conditions actually, Mike.” You scoff as you get off the couch to leave.

“So you’re inviting the guy from the convenience store then?” Mike teases, knowing he's your only option.

You turn around to face Mike, squinting your eyes at him. God, you hate that cocky smirk he does when he knows he's winning. Bastard.

“Have a suit by Saturday. I’ll be over at 10am.” You sigh, flipping Mike off as you leave through his front door.

“Very mature.” You hear him mumble on your way out.

—-----------------------------------------

“Mike, it looks like you just came back from a bachelor party. Not like you’re going to a wedding.” You say, noting the way Mike’s tie hangs loosely around his neck and the first couple buttons on his white button up are left undone. Mike runs his hands through his hair and you quickly bat them away, scolding him for ruining the hair you had just attempted to fix in the car only moments before you arrived. You can’t deny that he looks handsome. He surely looks charming with the way his gelled hair falls messily on his forehead, and the way his dads old suit fits him almost perfectly.

“Well, hopefully your sister doesn’t mind.” Mike says sarcastically as he adjusts the cuff links on the ends of his sleeves and steps out of your car and towards the church where your sister is getting married. 

The first half of the wedding went pretty smoothly. You and your sister have never really been close, so It wasn’t a surprise to you when she didn’t ask you to be a bridesmaid. You and Mike sat a few rows down, occasionally playing footsies under the pew when you’d accidentally bump feet. A kiss was shared between the bride and groom, and everyone left to go to the reception. 

You were nervous about the reception, to be quite honest. Mike could tell, and he put his hand on your lower back, resting it there as you both walked into the banquet hall. You nearly faint when you see the sheer amount of people that fill the room. There have to be about 200 people minimum. It seemed like way less in the church, you think.

“I need a drink.” You mumble to Mike, dragging him over to the bar. 

Both you and Mike order a drink, and you want to be swallowed by the ground when you hear your mothers shrill, sing-songy voice behind you. 

“Darling! I didn’t see you during the ceremony, I thought you hadn’t come.” You turn around and she pulls you into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to both of your cheeks. She pulls away from you and you notice her eyes immediately land on Mike. “Oh, and what a surprise. Mike, how are you and your sister?” Your mother continues, and you bite the inside of your cheek. 

You watch as Mike plasters a big, albeit fake, smile on his face and shakes your mothers hand. 

“Abby and I are doing well, thank you for asking.” Mike says, and you almost laugh at his cordial tone. Mike sends you a ‘help me’ look and you mouth a ‘sorry’ to him.

“Gosh, it just devastated me to hear about your fathers passing.” Your mother says, clutching her chest like she's in pain, and you think she deserves an Oscar for the way she acts like she gives a shit. “I’m sure it must be so hard for you to provide for your sister alone.” Your mother adds and you watch the smile slowly slide off of Mike’s face.

“Why do you say that?” He asks, and you suddenly regret ever asking Mike to be your plus one. 

“Mom-,” You start to say, but she disregards your voice, raising her hand as you speak to stop you.

“Well, I know you struggle keeping a job. You know, not everyone is cut out to raise a child.” If you could see yourself, you’re sure all the colour would be drained from your face. You’re left speechless, mouth half hung open at your mothers words. How could she say that? She doesn’t know him like you do. She doesn’t know how much Mike sacrifices to provide for Abby.

You look over at Mike and his jaw is tightly clenched. You brace yourself for Mike's next words, but they don’t come. Instead, you watch as he excuses himself and walks towards the mens bathroom.

“Well, he woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” Your mother jokes once Mike is out of earshot.

“Jesus Christ, mom.” You say incredulously as you turn to go find Mike. 

You walk towards the bathrooms, entering the men’s restroom with only one thing on your mind. Mike. Luckily the restroom is empty, save for Mike who is leaning over the counter. You slowly reach behind yourself, locking the bathroom door. You begin to step towards Mike, but you stop when you hear his voice.

“Do you think I'm not fit to raise Abby?” Mike asks you angrily, not even turning to look at you. You just stand there like an idiot, reaching down to fidget with the hem of your shirt.

“I-, no. Of course not.” You say, and the music that was loud in the hall, is now only a low hum in the bathroom. 

It’s silent for a moment, and you’re not really sure what to say, or how to make things better. You resume taking slow, tentative steps towards Mike and you stop once you’re behind him. You place an uncertain hand on his back, softly rubbing it up and down to comfort him. He lets you touch him and you hear him let out a breath. He turns around to face you and you look up to meet his eyes. He studies your face for a moment, and you inch even closer to him. 

“I’m sorry about my mom. That was inexcusable.” You sigh. If you were in Mike’s shoes, you probably would’ve left the reception entirely, and you’re not entirely opposed to that idea right now. 

“Your mother doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.” Mike finally says, and there’s distaste in his tone. You don’t say anything, you know it's true. Your family, especially your mother, has never approved of your friendship with Mike. 

“Do you think that?” Mike asks you, and you’re just now realising how close Mike’s face is to your own. You look up at him with furrowed brows and shake your head.

“No, Mike. I don’t think that.” You say quietly, and you swear the tension between Mike and you is so thick, it could be cut with a knife. You look down, but you feel Mike's hand grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look back up at him.

“You can’t even look at me when you say it. Pathetic.” Mike seethed. You let out a hushed whimper at his words..

“Sorry.” You say, but your voice sounds small. “I know you are.” He coos, rubbing his thumb back on fourth on your cheek.

“I need you to do something for me, okay?” Mike says, leaning down to speak in your ear. His voice is sweet and the switch in moods makes your head spin.

“Okay.” You nod and Mike pulls away from your ear to look you in the eyes.

“Be fucking quiet.” He says, and he presses his lips to yours. You softly gasp in shock, but quickly kiss him back as he turns you around to hoist you up onto the counter. He grabs both of your knees, opening them to make space for him to stand between your legs. He grips your thighs harshly, and you sigh when he sucks on your bottom lip. He puts one of his hands under your jaw, using it to hold your head in place as he kisses you. His lips are slightly chapped, but you don’t mind. He kisses you with fever, and you can’t deny that you haven’t thought about this. 

He kisses down to your jaw and neck, sucking the skin in a way where you know there will be bruises. Jerk. You run your hands through his hair, throwing your head back at the pleasurable feeling of his lips gliding over your skin. The hand that was on your thigh is now trailing up your leg and under your skirt. You clench your legs around his hand and he softly bites your neck, wordlessly scolding you for your actions. You reopen your legs and his hand comes up to make contact with your clothed clit. He rubs slow circles and you let out a soft whimper.

“You gonna let me fuck you?” He slurs in your ear, and his fingers move from your clit to the waistband on your panties, pulling it back and slapping it against your skin. You nod and he’s pulling you off of the counter and flipping you around. Mike bends you over and your chest meets the cold granite. You look in front of you and you can see Mike behind you in the mirror on the wall. He pushes your knee length skirt up and around your hips, and groans at the sight of you bent over for him.

“You okay?” He asks genuinely, running his hands along the sides of your body in a comforting manor.

“Yeah, keep going.” You breathe out and he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties, pulling them down. You clench around nothing as the cold air hits your cunt. You moan softly as Mike spreads your pussy open with his thumbs, groaning at how wet you are. Without warning, he inserts his pointer and middle finger inside of you, thrusting them in and out. The lewd, squelching sounds of Mike fingering you fill the bathroom and you suck in a sharp breath as his fingers curl up into your sweet spot. 

“Apparently your pussy thinks I’m good enough.” Mike says and you look up into the mirror to see his jaw slack, watching the way his fingers move in and out of you. You can feel Mike's erection brushing against the back of your thigh as he rocks his hips with every thrust of his fingers. 

“Mike, fuck me.” You whine, and Mike takes his fingers out of you. He brings them to your lips, pushing them inside your mouth, and you can hear him undoing his belt with his other hand. 

“Thought I told you to be fucking quiet.” He murmurs and you watch in the mirror as he shoves his pants and boxers down just enough to pull his hard cock out. He removes his fingers from your lips, using your spit as lube to pump his cock a few times before lining it up with your pussy. He slowly inches himself inside of you, pushing you down onto the counter. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream and you hear Mike let out a whine at the feeling of being in you. 

He starts to pump himself in and out of you, and he pulls you up by your shirt into his chest to make you watch yourself in the mirror. He fucks into you like he can’t get enough of you. Like being inside of you isn’t close enough.

“What would your mother think? Hm? About her sweet little angel getting fucked in the bathroom?” Mike says in your ear, with a sickeningly sweet tone. It's like he just knows how to push your buttons. You let out a low moan at his words. 

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” Mike adds and your legs shake when he uses the hand that was holding you up to rub your clit. You drop back down on the counter and Mike grabs your hip with his free hand, using it as leverage to bottom out in you with every single thrust. He throws his head back in ecstasy and you clench around him, signalling your impending orgasm. 

“You wanna cum?” Mike asks, and his voice is raspy and fucked out. You nod your head ‘yes’. 

“No, want you to say it.” Mike says, and you can tell he’s close by his sloppy, less rhythmic thrusts.

“Please, Mike. Please, can I cum?” You beg, your voice hoarse. The filthy sounds of skin against skin echo throughout the bathroom, and if someone has tried to enter the bathroom since you’ve been in here, you’ve been too fucked out to hear it. Thank god I locked the door, you think.

“Cum, baby, Fuck.” Mike chokes out. Your legs shake as you cum around his cock, your orgasm only heightened by the feeling of him filling you up. You bite down on your hand to muffle yourself and you swear to god you hear Mike whimper, pussy drunk as he continues to ride his high thrusting in and out of your sloppy pussy.

After catching his breath, you feel Mike pull out of you and you wince at the feeling of his cum dripping down your inner thighs. You slowly tilt your head up as you watch Mike get some toilet paper to clean himself up. He tucks himself back inside his boxers and pulls his pants up. You flinch a little as you feel him come up behind you, cleaning you up with more toilet paper. 

“Sorry, was I too rough?” He asks softly, looking at you through the mirror and you shake your head.

“No, just sensitive.” You say as Mike finishes cleaning you. You pull your panties back up, letting your skirt fall back over your legs. Your knees buckle a little bit as you try to stand straight and Mike rushes over to you, lending you a hand.

“You know, I actually think you’re one of the only people who genuinely thinks I am good enough.” Mike says, and you look up at him.

“Of course I do. I always have.” You say softly, gently touching Mike’s cheek.

Normal lunch break behavior: printing out the two drabbles, annotating them, and figuring out how to draw them

I'll need more than just a lunch break to process my thoughts, but (1) thank you for the treat! (2) I imagine that these drabbles coexist in the same AU. (3) "Can we be good together?" / They could be good together. (4) I'm this close to writing fanfic in this area myself.

I am normal about your normal lunch break behavior 👍

Omg so like I want to hear your thoughts on perv!Megumi like finally after so long of Gojo teasing him for being in college for two years at this point and being single, he’s finally procured a pretty girlfriend who’s unfortunately (for her) so naive and sweet??🩷💕 Idk I got shy but I know you’ll do something good with this lol

ik i told u id post this after my wips but i started on it n i couldnt stop i liked the idea too much LOL im sorry for being so confusing D; tysm for the ask though!!! :o i rlly enjoyed writing this!!! (n don’t be shy ahjwhs you’re so lovely T_T♡)

perv!megumi !!! please i feel like he’s the type to be a pervert that’s kinda embarrassed n self aware about himself—especially bc gojo kept teasing him all those years n he was kinda just jacking off to whatever x-rated video that came up first (i feel like perv!megumi is highkey into hentai too but he’s taking that to the grave!!)

n when gets a pretty little girlfriend who acts so cute and who he loves so much, when he gets hard he can’t help but let some of that side of him slip out from time to time...

i think he’s also the type to take lots of pictures,, like pictures while you sleep, peeking through your door while you shower, in clothing store changing rooms while you change, upskirt pictures… he’ll make you his little model!! some of them you know about but some of them you don’t, he’s so lewd.

it’s not just pics of you he takes, it's some of himself too. i feel like one of the things he’d love to do to you is when you tell him to come with you to some random uni event, n he’ll randomly disappear in the middle of it, only to go to the bathroom to take pictures of his hard leaky cock to send you with some casual caption like he didn’t just do that ?!?! he’s crazy (more under the cut)

it’s not megumi’s fault he’s so in his head about you, he still just doesn’t really know how he managed to get someone as pretty and doting as you are as his. 

he sometimes feels guilty for being so obsessed with you—your body clad in pretty little outfits that you show off to him with a twirl, the way you’ll always show him your shiny new sparkly nails when you get them done, how he’s always the first one you’ll pick to talk to about something new you’ve found to love—it’s all that seems to be on his mind recently.

maybe it was gojo’s accidental doing, those feelings of guilt. unintentionally planting a little growing seed of shame in him the first few times he started teasing him for not having a partner yet at his ‘big age’, borderline lecturing him with the ‘when i was your age’ stuff—maybe that was the logical reason why he felt so attached to you, the reason he couldn’t help getting fully erect even when he only saw as much as a pair of your flung-away panties lying at the edge of your bed when coming to your room one day.

but when he recalls back to those nights where you’re innocently cuddled against him, watching whatever movie, a quiet ‘megumi?’ leaving your lips as a sign to tell him you’re falling asleep, and he finds himself shifting in his seat, carefully adjusting your head to let you rest comfortably on him, pressing a soft kiss to your hair as he strokes it and tells you a ‘sleep now, angel’, he knows that’s not the reason.

nevertheless, he’s always been worried about it, thoughts of ‘am i doing too much?’ or a ‘would she not like this?’ clouding his mind. but for every single thought like this he has, he’ll always have two more memories where he’s coming up to you, his sweet-faced little girlfriend, waiting for him with open arms and open heart. and to him, it means more than the world.

and as his cheerful sweetheart girlfriend, you’ve never really minded of course.

you know he’s at least a little perverted, asking to take those pictures of you trying on your new swimsuits, or bras, or skirts, or those times when he pulls out after spilling his load into you, and the first thing he does after making sure you’re okay is to go face-to-face with the trail of cum seeping out of you to snap a few photos.

honestly, you’ve gotten used to it at this point. you just take these moments, seeing what you do to him, as a way of reassuring yourself that he really does just love you that much. and he really does. really!! :(

no matter how innocent or dirty the context, he’ll let you know whenever he gets that warm little feeling in his chest.

“i-i love you,” he pants, head coming up from sucking marks on your neck, languid thrusts coming to a gentle stop as he peers up at you with flushed cheeks. it feels like he’s admitting it for the first time again.

when you stare at him with his same love-drunk look, brows furrowed and eyes pleading, whispering out an “i love you too, gumi”, he’ll pause a moment to study your expression before gently raising you further up the bed, hooking his hand under your leg and repositioning it around his waist.

he’ll drop down to press a kiss to your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder and picking up the pace again, now only determined to make you cum.

when he thinks of times like these, despite what you’re doing together, it’s innocent in his head.

a time where that’s not so much the case though is when you persuade him to come with you to some uni exhibition event, looking up at him with hopeful, doe-like eyes and as many ‘pleeeaaase, gumi’s and ‘please, guuuum’s as you could muster—cause it’s not like he could say no to that, right?

at first he put up an act of feign stubbornness. but eventually he agreed—only when he knew you’d excitedly hug him and press your soft chest to his as a thank you for it though.

he’d tour the hall with you, watching you gaze in awe at everything with your cute, simple curiosity, occasionally pointing out little things in the pieces he liked. before the artist began their talk though, he got up from his seat, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before muttering a “‘m g’na go to the bathroom.”

in an empty stall, he’ll sit atop the lid and pull down his jeans, freeing his stiffening cock from his underwear. he quietly groans as he pumps himself a few times, a slow trickle of translucent white leaking down from his tip.

he silently curses, throwing his head back, thinking about how you let him flip up your pretty skirt before you left, letting him take a peek at your cute ass in the frilly panties he bought for you.

he reaches for his phone, fumbling to send a picture of the sight to you, adding a casual caption of something like ‘hi pretty girl’ or ‘u look so pretty today, angel’.

he pauses, realising that maybe you won’t see it for a little while. he’s imagining you so obediently listening to the artist speaker to notice the ping of his notification—he enjoys that thought too, but he can’t say why.

he’s careful not to thrust up into his fist, not wanting to make too much noise, but it’s futile—he’s too hard staring at the lewd shots of you saved in his secret hidden album—the way you act so innocently, the way you have no clue what the true extent is of what you do to him. he can’t help but let a few breathy whines slip.

he won’t let himself cum though, thinking he’s too good to be letting himself release over some scrunched up, bathroom tissue when he’s got his own pretty little girlfriend waiting for him a few halls down.

he sighs. cleaning up and tucking himself back into the band of his briefs, leaving the stall and washing his hands, walking back out like nothing happened.

dumbification with sub neuvilette <3

after a long day that sends his emotions everywhere, neuvilette just wants to crumble. feeling so much but not allowed to break his public facade is exhausting. fortunately, there are two ways he can allow himself to regulate his emotions. one being to do something he enjoys to relax and the other being exactly what he needs today…

he made his feelings known to you as when he returned to you soaking wet from the rain, he fell to his knees and begged “please… help me forget about the day.” who were you to refuse this beautiful man? drenched from the rain and looking up at you through long eyelashes. oh what a sight. he was lucky that you shared the same desire. you had to destroy this man immediately until he was crying- mm maybe you weren’t going to stop.

———

oh how he loved this feeling. he had forgotten just how good you can make him feel and now he had forgotten everything except how good you were making him feel. you were trying to be careful with him, trying to remember that you were doing this to make him feel better but neuvilette just looks so beautiful with his hair spread out across the pillows and his blissed out expression.

you were fucking deep into him and with every thrust, a sizeable bulge appeared in his abdomen. he would now and then release his hand from the pillow and trace where this bulge was being made to allow what was left of his mind to fantasise. “you’re being such a good boy for me darling.” you purred by his sensitive ears making him shiver.

your words were all he cared to hear. he no longer worried about how loud he was or how embarrassing anything was. all he thought about was you you you. “mmmgnnn g’boyy” he whined as your praise only furled his lust. he was your good boy. he was always so good for you. “that’s it, stop thinking about everything.” you say noticing the dazed look in his eyes. not long after, his back arched off of the bed as he came for the second time. “hnnngggg ah- haahhh apo-lgies” he whimpered. you have such a polite boy. even though you told him he could cum without permission, he still apologised when he did. cute

“how are you feeling?” you ask, wiping away a stray tear trying to help him down from his high gently. at this motion, neuvilette nuzzled into your hand craving anything you give to him. he was so lost in this soft exchange contrasting with how roughly you were just fucking him that your question had not registered as a question. “mmmore… ple-ease i beg moree” he whined trying to move his hips with you still inside him.

fuck he was so hot. hovering over his face, you pretended to go in to kiss him and instead attached yourself to the side of his neck. neuvilette audibly whined at this and tried using the small amount of strength in him to force you back to kiss him but his actions were soon halted as you made love bites across his neck. “pretty” you whispered every time you came up for air. neuvilette just whined. everything was too much but this was the only too much neuvilette needed. a too much where he could show exactly how he was feeling without fearing about his image.

“p-ple-ease.” he choked out, wrapping his arms around you and attempting to grind onto you. “don’t worry my darling,” you say nibbling his ear making him squirm, “i’ll fill you exactly like you want.” neuvilette almost came again. that was all he wanted. to be full and happy with no stresses. noticing his change in expression, you resumed your thrusts making sure to whisper sweet nothings into his ear for only him to hear. his mind was foggy so there was only so much he could make out but he only wanted you talking to him. all your attention was on him.

“o-ohhh mmnhmghh archons-! haahh” he moaned. with every thrust, the image of neuvilette was disappearing and becoming this mess of tears and desperation. such a stark contrast only for you to see. “ple-ease insi-ide mmgghhhh i-in meee” he begged. “of course my good boy. i’ll make sure to fill you nicely.” you say with your hand redirecting his attention to the bulge you were making. “augghhhhh a-archonss.” he moans as his head swims back to all of his previous fantasies. this was enough to tip him over again.

“together!?” he manages to blurt out quickly pressing his face into your shoulder to stabilise him while he tried to wait for you but that only made things worse. he loved how you smelled and he took in your scent as if he was drinking water. “yes…! yes my darling” you reply quickening your pace.

it wasn’t long before neuvilette was whining into your shoulder and he was trying so hard not to completely loose himself and dig his nails into you. as he wished, you both (just about) came together which almost knocked the wind out of neuvilette as he wasn’t expecting just how overwhelming it would feel.

after a moment where you both recovered from your high, you tried to pull out of neuvilette to which he meekly said “no” and held onto your arm. you just smiled down at him and readjusted yourself to be able to hold him. “how are you?” you ask, kissing his forehead. “…mmm fulll” neuvilette replied, his head too stuffed with cotton to think of anything but you.

🔞 playtime w enemy!gojo

g. satoru — さとる

NOTE: i think abt this idea all the time n i just thought id gift u all a piece of mean nasty enemy gojo lusting for u

WARNINGS — ignore errors pls, smut, he's mean he's a jerk but he kinda feels for u, blood mentions, fighting, m*sturbation, he jerkin it to a pic he snapped of ur defeated face 🫠 sexual tension, impact play (slapping n spanking), dirty talk, namecalling (sl*t, wh*re, b*tch, freak) and nicknames (bunny, sweetheart, baby), dirty talk, unprotected sex, taboo sex (fucking ur enemy) creampie, it's nasty im ngl, god kink thing??? he rlly cums n goes 🧍‍♀️, hairpulling

just... just enemy!gojo...

enemy!gojo kissing you like he's trying to kill you. you can feel this murderous rage on his lips after you fuck up his heroic plans.

and enemy!gojo fighting you like he's trying to get in your pants 🥴 he hates you so much, but let's be real he's in fucking denial and needs you so bad. after fights, he's cooped up in his bedroom jerking off to the memory of all those positions he put you in. ("ooh, well aren't you flexible?" he teases when he literally puts you into a full-nelson. "hey, if this whole villain business fails for you then you can be my personal pornstar.")

his whole body feels like it's on fire when you're throwing fists with him. he shakes not from exhaustion or pain but just pure sexual desire. he gets so upclose and personal with you, you're sure it's on purpose. when you're limp and defeated, he takes a victory picture :( grabs your jaw and says "smile for the camera! aw, pretty lil' loser. you're so photogenic!" and you know when he gets home, he's gonna jerk off to that.

he can barely take your martial arts seriously, because you're so fucking tiny and weak in comparison to him. enemy!gojo likes to remind you of that, when he has you on your knees with your nose dribbling blood.

"aw, sweetheart, you're so fucking weak it's kinda turning me on."

he's got a fistfull of your hair, forcing your head to tilt back so violently yet when you look up at him, you can't help but feel this raw sexual tension and primal need to kiss him and worship him.

"f—fuck you, gojo — y-you're a freak. you think you're god... but you're a monstrous freak."

he's looking at you. and you're not sure if that's a murderous look or a pure lustful look — is he gonna kill you or fuck you? in his mind, though, the idea of killing you long faded away; you're his favorite enemy. what would he do without you? fighting with you is just the best, he gets to joke and tease and flirt and pester you and see you enjoying it wholeheartedly.

"bunny, look how cute you are, bleeding for me."

when you try spit your blood at him to retaliate, he's considering pulling his zipper down and stuffing your stupid mouth full of his cock. now that would put him on a power trip like nothing else.

then imagine the day this needy, desperate man actually snaps. and you snap. and the both of you fuck like bunnies. panting and feral. he couldn't say no when you started begging on your bruised knees for him to just fuck you already, just split you open on his cock.

his thrusts are primal. he's mocking you, voice so venemously attractive.

"wh—what would your friends think now, huh? think they'd still trust you knowing how willingly you spread your fuckin' legs for me? you damn slut. 'seen the way you look at me, gets me hot every time. you don't have any fucking idea what you do to me, do you? ha—ahhh that's so good... that's so fucking good..." his voice is usually so composed even when fighting, but when he's balls deep fucking up your guts so passionately then his voice becomes strained.

and he loves hearing your cute dirty talk, but you've got such a small voice he thinks it's cutely pathetic.

"f-fuck, g-g—gooojo ~ ! fuck me like you hate me."

he chuckles, "oh, baby. i don't have to fake it. i hate you so — fucking — much — ahhh — damn bitch, making my life so hard the least y-you could do is let me have this pussy once a week."

"a-anything for you."

his heart flutters. why? you're his enemy he reminds himself and makes his thrusts meaner and harder until you can't form a coherent thought. he relishes in your screaming moans, and there's no end to the teasing. as soon as he notices something he comments on it.

"ooh, look at that little pussy cream for me. who's it creaming for? who? that's fucking right, me. yeah stay like that and take my cock."

"o—h my god, nnn ~ !" you squeal, feeling almost too good with your threatening orgasm.

"ah-ah, there's no god but me, baby. i'm the one making this pussy freak out. ooh... think you're right, i do have a god complex. why don't you indulge in it? yeah? c'mon, baby i'm your god."

"y—you're m-my g–god, satoruuuh ~ ! ow!"

he plants a hard slap to your face. you're no stranger to his mean slaps, in fact you've joked to yourself about being his favorite bitch to slap. but that one in particular hurt, and you loved it.

"don't say my fucking name like we're friends, you freak. f—fuck... you like that, don't you? yeah? little freaky bitch likes getting slapped? mmm that's cute. kinky litttle fucking whore, let's see how hard this pathetic pussy can cum."

he pumps his cock into you at such a mean angle that you completely lose yourself, babbling obscenities and trembling in his strong hold. you couldn't free yourself from his grip even if you wanted to; he's the strongest, after all.

you get a good idea of how strong he is when you fight and sneak off to fuck.

the way he presses down on your back, the way he bullies his cockhead so deep that it feels like he's in your tummy, the way he pulls both your arms back with a rough tug like you're a ragdoll — just his fleshlight that he can move on his cock himself however he likes because he's so much bigger than you.

"gonna cum, my little slut gonna take it? yeah? good. that's what i like to fucking hear — oh fuck — ahhhah cumming — hah fuck that's good — that's — mmm — that's my fuckin' girl."

he plants rough spanks to your ass, groaning so deeply and holding you so close against his body that you feel like you're one with him.

"ooh, fuck..." he pulls out hastily, zipping himself up. forehead and abs beading with sweat. "thanks, love playtime with you. now get the fuck out of my sight." he sounds so sweet and venomous that you can't tell if he's joking, but then you remember a cold hard fact;

gojo satoru is your enemy.

boyfriend quinn headcanons

pairing(s): quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: headcanons of bf!quinn!

wc:703

warnings: fluff, cute soft quinn, smut 18+!

authors note: hi guys!! i randomly had this idea this morning so i thought id write about quinn and how i think he'd be as a boyfriend! hes been taking up too much of my mind recently LOL. i hope you guys enjoy!! more fics are coming up later this week! like and reblog if you like <3. as always much love <3

happy reading <3

Sfw/fluff: 

Bf!quinn: quinn would be the type of boyfriend to wake you up with kisses all over your body, tracing his hands all over your back. Quinn would love looking at you while you're sleeping, not in a creepy way, in a loving way, that he couldn't believe that you're his.

Bf!quinn: he would give you one on one skating lesions, holding your hand whenever you feel like you're going to fall. He'd insist that he put on your skates, tying them extra tight and patting your leg to make sure you're okay. Quinn would laugh at you when you get excited about skating on your own finally, giving you a forehead kiss, saying he's proud of you. 

Bf!quinn: After a long day at work, when he knows you've had a bad day, he'll cook you your favorite meal. Even drawing you a bath, that you then insisted that he had to get in with you. He would ask you about your day, you would tell him as you lean comfortably into his touch as he runs his hands all over your body to help you relax. 

Bf!quinn: quinn lovesssss when you wear his jersey to a game, he loves seeing you in the stands in his jersey, cheering for him and the rest of the team. He loves the support that you always give him. Waiting for him by the locker room, giving him the sweetest hug and kiss. Always letting him know that you're proud of him, win or lose. 

Bf!quinn: quinn loves how you are around his family, how you think of them as your family. How you laugh and joke with his brothers, talk hockey with his dad, how you embarrass him and smile with his mom. He loves the relationship that you have with them. His family jokes that if you guys ever broke up, his family would be more hurt than you or quinn. 

Bf!quinn: quinn would definitely get baby fever when seeing you around children. Imagining if they were your kids, wanting nothing more than to pull you home, and make his dreams come true. 

Bf!quinn: quinn loves to be babied, he loves when you let him be the little spoon. His favorite way of being babied is when he comes home after a long road trip is throwing himself into your arms, dragging you to the bedroom, quickly getting changed and laying down on top of you. His face finding its way to your neck, nuzzling himself in your body breathing in your scent. He'd quickly fall asleep as you play with his hair, and rub your hands up and down his back.

nsfw 18+ below: 

Bf!quinn: quinn is definitely a munch. He could spend hours in between your legs, even when you try to push him away he always comes back. He could never get enough of your cunt.  

Bf!quinn: He loves marking you up, showing everyone that you're his. He can't help but feel a sense of pride when he looks over the marks. Smirking to himself, knowing you'll yell at him when you see how dark they are the following day. 

Bf!quinn: quinn is obsessed with your boobs, he considers himself a lover of both ass and boobs equally but his downfall is your boobs. Any chance he has to kiss, bite, lick them he takes advantage of it. You can't even count on your fingers how many times you guys have been late to dinners because your boobs are “calling his name.”

Bf!quinn: quinn loves when you take control during sex, it's a side of you that he doesn't get to see a lot but he loves it when he does. The view of you on top of him riding him, never fails to take his breath away. 

Bf!quinn: Your moans? Oh gosh your moans. They make his knees weak, He loves hearing how responsive you are. His favorite is when you moan lowly in his ear, feeling your warm breath fan his face. When you drop your head back and your mouth is hanging open as your body shakes in pleasure. 

Bf!quinn: loves everything about you.