kindih

i’m a 19 year old texan 😹

[hibi5cus]

Sometimes you just have to live a double life

[kirietown]

The Hands of my Father | 18+

antinous x f!reader

summary: the palm of his hand pressed to the back of your head, protecting you from the hardness of the ground. it was a delicate touch, caring and considerate, and for a moment you wonder if a father’s touch was any similar.

content warning: CRAZY! daddy issues, corruption kink, daddy kink (from antinous), breeding, cream pie, large age gap, manipulative evil liar antinous, NAIVE reader, VERY uncomfortable n messed up antinous, dubcon

a/n: big fan of the robpat cinematic universe so this movie ofc broke me out of my evil evil hiatus. Hope to be back to writing my other fics but I am making no timeline promises (to escape my unfortunate fic author curse) 🧿

word count: 4K

The stone temple was often quiet during the early hours of the morning. It was once a part of the palace meant only for the royal family, but like many things in Ithaca, that too changed after the years that followed the Trojan War. Now at times, drunken suitors could be found loitering by the flames to seek warmth. They rarely were awake in the early hours due to their long nights of heavy drinking, so you found solace at dawn.

You felt a gentle flicker of the candle nearest to you. You would have missed it had it not been for your own keen senses. You did not turn, nor did you halt your prayers. Instead, you kept your head bowed and continued your quiet murmurings to Athena. You could hear Antinous’ quiet footsteps, the clacking of his sandals against hard marble. 

“Oh Goddess,” you whispered quietly. You knew he stood behind you now, and yet you did not greet him. It was not in disrespect, but rather something you could not name. It was as though you understood him, as he did you. You were beyond greetings, and common social conditions. You often did not greet each other in the halls, not unless your mother or Telemachus was present. That was when Antinous would make a grand show of things.  A kiss to the back of your hand with eyes that peered deeply but did not linger. Your mother did not like you to be near any of her suitors, as she thought of them as leeches, lecherous men who took and took and took from her crumbling kingdom. 

“Deliver my father from the seas. Please, may he return, wise and kind. I ask that he recognize me, for I was merely a babe in my mother’s belly when he left to war. I ask that my father may know me, I beg of it.” You did not sit up from your kneeling position, and instead shut your eyes and breathed in the scent of honey that you offered to the shrine. An old spinster told you once that an offering of honey would sweeten your words. The gods enjoyed flattery of any kind, even the wisest of them. 

You tensed at the feeling of Antinous’ outer thigh against yours. He kneeled next to you facing the tall statue of Athena, but his eyes were focused on you. You could feel it, the sensation was a familiar one and not always unwelcomed. 

“Did you come to pray?” You questioned quietly, a tone you took often in his presence. Something about him softened you, like a cat that showed its belly at the sight of a reaching hand. Antinous was nearly sixteen years your senior; he was on the cusp of manhood when your father left for Troy. Not quite a boy, but not yet a man. But old enough to have left with the other men and not yet men. You had never questioned why he had not joined your father, as it did not matter to you. After all, they were the only kind of men you knew, the men who stayed. You’d grown to learn that most of your mother’s suitors had not been able to sail for one reason or another. 

“My prayers have been answered,” he stated with what you could only imagine to be a half smile. You could feel it prickling at your skin, goosebumps raising on your arms at the sensation of his quiet fixation. 

“Oh? What did you ask for?” 

“I asked to be in the presence of a beautiful maiden, and instead they brought me a princess.” Warmth suddenly filled your stomach, his words were tender and his lips neared your ear. “A princess,” he whispered. “So beautiful that her mommy dearest never let her roam outside her palace walls.” His lower lip now tickled the shell of your ear, and you inhaled sharply at the sensation. 

“And what did my princess pray for?” You turned to him now, his face close to yours. His pupils dark, and mouth agape as he stared at your lips.

”I pray for my father’s return,” you said and suddenly the illusion shattered. Antinous blinked and leaned back, curious. You felt unsure of yourself all of a sudden, your thoughts frantic at the subtle movement of him furthering your distance. “I prayed that he would know me, I pray he comes so that he may bless our union.” 

A dry chuckle emerged from his throat, and suddenly you felt even more aware of the gap between you. You turned to look at your knees which were concealed by the fabric of your dress. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you remembered that you are a girl, barely twenty, and he was a man nearly double your age. 

A man who knew your father, the one who left you before you even grew a soul. One who may not even know your name, or if you lived to take your first breath. But Antinous had known him, and so that made them all the more closer. It frustrated you at times how it felt as though the entire castle knew Odysseus. Your father had many stories, even prior to the war, and yet you only knew them through others’ accounts. A father that was not your own, a father that belonged to everyone but his lone daughter. 

The kingdom did not pay you any mind. You were a great beauty or so you had been told, but it did not rival your mother’s. A second born, a daughter at that, had no value not when she did not have a father present to negotiate the terms of a betrothal. Antinous only began to seek you out recently, he had ignored you like many of the men who lingered in the halls of the palace. You were not sure what had changed in him or in you for this development to have occurred. But you were scared to question it, as if it would lead him to question himself. You did not want to risk losing his affections, not when it was something you were so unused to. It often felt as though you were cursed to live alone, and potentially die alone. For as long as your mother proclaimed that Odysseus lived, you could not marry— not without your father’s blessing. 

The maids of the palace would snicker and call you the virgin princess. It was befitting that you took such a liking to Athena. 

But Antinous, over the past few months… At times, he stared at you with a look you were unfamiliar with. A steeled focus on your body before it would settle on your face and linger long and hard. It confused you at first, until the evenings where he would take you by the arm and lead you through hidden halls. In the dark he would touch you, his hands would turn your face and admire you. Then they would settle on your breasts, pulling and kneading harshly until you cried. He would coo softly into your ear before pressing his hand under your skirts. His fingers plunging into your softness, spreading your cunt open. 

You were so used to being forgotten. The child that her father never knew, a father who could not delay his departure in another man’s war a few days to see the delivery of his second child. So, you learnt to crave Antinous’ affections, alongside his sharp eyes and skillful fingers from the moment he set his sights on you. 

But you could not marry him, not until your father returned and gave his favour. 

“You have no reason to feel embarrassed,” he said. “Your words flatter me, and I admit in a perfect world, your wish would be fulfilled.” His arms moved to encircle you, and you tensed, nervous that a servant would see. But when you looked around the temple room, you realized you were both still alone. “But my love, it bothers me to see how your mother has made a mockery of you.” 

You turned to look at him, shocked. “What do you mean?” You bring your hand to his cheek, and he leans in as his eyes roll back in pleasure. The image is erotic, and instantly you feel wetness pool between your inner thighs. 

“Twenty years,” he says softly. “Perhaps her grief has blinded her, and I misjudge her. But twenty years she has sat alone on the throne unwilling to even pass it to Telemachus who is nearing manhood with nothing to show for it because of her coddling. She keeps you locked away too, as though afraid. She wants you alone,  she can’t see you happy because it’ll force her to realize she is a widow. I know you understand, for you did not know your father, so you have no reason to trust in his return. I know deep down that you know he is dead.” The words cut deep, and instantly you have the feeling of wanting to lash out, to yell at him for making such a claim.

But while speaking, he lowered you onto your back. His body over yours like the hanging dome of a cradle. The palm of his hand pressed to the back of your head, protecting you from the hardness of the ground. It was a delicate touch, caring and considerate, and for a moment you wonder if a father’s touch was any similar. You don’t think this for long however, at the press of his hardness against your inner thigh. You stiffen, a bit shy. You had felt him before, but never this closely as he insisted he did not want to risk taking your virtue. 

“I don’t think my mother means to hurt me,” you say softly. He is looking down at you, his other hand latched onto your hip squeezing with lust. A contrast to the other behind your head. 

“No mother ever wishes to hurt her child,” he says as though to sound comforting. “But that does not mean she still cannot cause you pain. It is a sad truth, but you are wise enough to see it.” He presses his lips to your neck, the hand not holding your head reaches under your skirts and suddenly you are aware of the virgin goddess’ statue above you. You face up as his teeth sink gently into your tender flesh, and his fingers part your lips to play with your pearl. His hands are dry, so the feeling is a bit unpleasant but not unwelcome. Soon they are slathered in your essence and despite the bubbling of pleasure, you can’t help but speak.

”Why did you not join my father?” His hand freezes, but does not pull away at first until you feel a gentle pinch. It resettles on the floor as he uses it to adjust his position, and level his eyes with yours. 

He kisses you first, a light peck against your lips before he replies. “I begged so badly to go. I wanted to be a man, I wanted to fight a worthy cause. But it was your father who clasped my hand, the same hand I use now to keep your head off the ground. He told me: “please take care of my son, you must stay. Please take care of the child in my wife’s belly. If it be a boy, treat him like your own. If it be a girl, wait for her to bloom and marry her when she is ready. Love her and protect her, and if I do not return know that you have my blessing.” So you see, that is why your prayer amused me. I have had your father’s blessing for many years but your mother refuses to listen to me. I would marry you now if I could,” he presses himself closer to you, the fabric doing little to block the hard mass eager to slide into your cunt. “If I could, I would marry you right now if I could. So that I could bury myself into you every night, so that my seed would take root so deeply, it would have no choice but to fill you with my babes. Perhaps a son, we would name him after your father. That way he would know you, and you would not have to seek him out in every man. Don’t cry, my love.” 

You had not realized the tears had been streaming down your face until you felt his lips wet against your cheeks. He peppered kisses all over, eager to comfort you in your distress. “A child,” he says. “An heir,” he whispers between kisses. “They cannot refuse, and they will not. You would like that, wouldn’t you?” You nodded quietly, unsure of what to say. A baby would not desert you, a baby could not go to war. A baby would belong to you, not to the crown and certainly not to the fallen Troy.

…

You did not see Antinous that evening, nor did you see him the next day amongst the drunks who sipped on your family’s wine and crowded your halls. 

It wouldn’t be for another three days until you would feel him slip into your bed in the dead of night. Your gown was nearly transparent, but your candles had long gone out so you did not have to worry much for modesty. You could still see him however, due to the moonlight that crept into your bedroom. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked startled. Your lover was often eager, but never had he entered your chambers before. 

“My love, how you tempt me,” he whispers against your lips. He presses them softly against yours and you accept with a soft sigh. How you missed him, the softness of his lips and the way his hands wrapped around yours as though there was no question of who you belonged to. 

“Tempt?” You questioned as soon as his lips turned to your neck, softly biting your skin hard enough to claim but not enough to leave a mark. “My love, I have not seen you for days. I had began to think you had deserted me.” 

A deep chuckle emerged from his chest. His nimble fingers gripped your chin, turning it so that you could look deeply into his eyes. “I am not your father, my love,” the words turned your stomach cold. It wasn’t even in your thoughts, or perhaps it was. It was hard to say, as oftentimes it felt as though the shadow of your father loomed over everything. His departure haunted you, but it did not feel like your own. His departure haunted everyone and everything in Ithaca. “I would never leave you, I simply needed time away. I wanted to control myself, but I kept remembering how eager you looked under the lights of the temple. You would have let me deface you, wouldn’t you? Under the eye of your beloved goddess, yes? Had I sank my savage cock between your legs, you would have simply taken it along with my bastard seed. It sickened me to think about taking advantage of you in such a way, in such a holy place.” It seemed as though he was anything but sick as you could feel the sign of his health pressed against your stomach. Large and demanding, twitching through his chiffon. 

Deface, he said. As though loving you was something he did to you rather than a partnership. Often he spoke this way, as though all his actions were an act of war, not against you but an idea of you. The forgotten princess of Ithaca, known only for her frozen cunt, at least according to the maids. 

“But we didn’t,” you said. “You did not take me, and if you did, why would the gods punish two lovers?” 

“I do not fear the gods’ punishment,” he whispered. His fingers still holding your chin while the other lifted your dress and bared your pussy to the cold air. His fingers danced over your slit, the sound of wetness filling the room as two fingers pressed inside you. You hissed a little at the intrusion, but soon let out a moan at the feeling of him. “I fear your eagerness. Is it me you love? Or the thought of any man taking you? Sliding his cock in you and pulling out the sounds of a wanton whore.” 

“How dare you!” You moved to sit up, but he did not let you, the fingers on your chin moved to hold your shoulder. His other hand continued to play in your cunt, making a mess of your thighs. Nonetheless you continued, “how can you say such a cruel thing, my love? Of course, it is you I love. The thought of any other man sickens me. It is you, it has always been you who has fascinated me since I was a girl even when you had ignored me so often. It was you who my father gave his blessing, as you claimed, so is it not reasonable to think you my only man?” 

“That is the problem,” he said. His hand pulled out of you, leaving you with a sudden feeling of cold and emptiness. You watched as he sucked his fingers, his eyes shut as he cherished the taste. You felt the urge to clench your thighs but could not as your legs were spread around his. “Your father, merely a shade. He plagues you, he plagues everything in this land.” He sits up to slide his chiffon over his shoulders, tossing it away somewhere near the edge of the bed. His body is revealed to you, bare for the first time. A solid wall of pale skin, unmarked from battle. Standing below it, a large cock heavy and leaking at its reddened tip. He strokes it with the hand that was inside you. 

“What do you mean?” You ask nervously, for you had never seen his appendage before. You could not move your eyes from it, mesmerized by its stark difference from what your own body possessed. 

“He is everywhere, in everything. A man who so shamelessly abandoned you without even waiting a measly three days for your birth. Why? Because he knew he was leaving a healthy first born son behind. So what mattered of you or his wife’s health.” 

“What would you have me do? I was taught we must wait for him, and I was told he had no choice but to leave when he did. He cared enough to ask you to take care of me, of us.” He leaned forward, placing his elbow next to your head to prop himself up. You froze at the sensation of his cock nudging your entrance. 

As if sensing your fear, he spoke, “I promise only the tip, my love. I have to feel you. No more than that, not unless you beg me for more then perhaps I may give into instinct.” You breathed shallowly as you felt it penetrate you, a light pain as even his fingers had not been able to stretch you this widely before. Then suddenly he stopped, keeping to his word.

“He did care enough to ask, but not enough to stay nor enough to come back. Every other man who returned to his kingdom only took at most two years. Assuming your father is still alive, that would mean an additional eighteen years of nothing. What has kept him so far gone? Do not say he is lost, for we know not a single person could match his navigational expertise.” Antinous’ words made sense, but the hollow delivery did nothing to soothe your heart. You felt empty all of a sudden, not until you felt his tip slip out of you and push back in. You gasped at the feeling, the sensation shooting pleasure through your body. 

“What can I do?” You asked, your voice laced with pleasure and with longing. Longing for what? You felt unsure. 

“Replace this idea, this idea of the man Odysseus. This man who is only your father through seed. Replace him with me, and I promise you will never feel so lonely again.” He continued to rock shallowly into you, his face strained as though it took all his power to hold back. You reached for his shoulder to grasp, but he harshly pinned your hand to the bed. Sweat rolled down his face, dripping onto yours. Its saltiness catching on the side of your lip. 

“But how? He is so deep within me.” At the word deep, Antinous shuddered. His cock buried itself slightly deeper before pulling out entirely, and rubbing itself between your folds. 

“I remember hearing your cries as a girl, for daddy. A daddy you did not know, sniffling for him. For this idea of a man.” He practically spat the words out, his fist moving to pump itself against your slick entrance.  “I am no idea, I am a man eager and fertile between your legs. Call me by this name, I am more deserving than he is. Do it now, whisper it.” The thought left you sick, a perversion of a title only meant for one man. But you listened nonetheless, and so you said:

”Daddy,” and Antinous shuddered harshly. His cock sliding shallowly through your wet folds. His hips rocked so as to not quite fill you, but as you continued to murmur the word, as it slurred and felt less like a word and more like mindless babbling— his cock began to slip in deeper. 

“Who am I?” 

“Da..” You could feel his cock slide deeper, his hips slowing to accommodate the stretch you felt. “Oh Antinous!” You cried, only for a light slap to be delivered to your cheek. 

“Do not forget who I am,” he said with a snarl. His hand gently held your throat, forcing your eyes to follow his. “Say my title, and remember no man but me has done enough to earn it.” His hips continued to rut against you harshly, the tip having already been buried in your sweetest depths brushing against your cervix. 

“Daddy,” you said, humiliated. He shuddered, his hips angling to bury his shaft impossibly deeper into your wet heat. You chanted the title, encouraging him to fuck you faster and harder. His hands pressed against your throat and stomach, forcing you down as he continued his pursuit. Pursuit of what? You did not know.

Soon, neither did you know where you ended and he began, the words only the tip barely a memory now. You hardly remember lifting your hips to aid him further in you, his weeping cock filling you in its entirety as you moaned for him, his scent, his sweat, his breath and cock replacing the foggy images you had for a man named… named… nam… 

“Papa,” you sobbed as you felt yourself tighten around Antinous’ shaft. You could only see stars in your eyes, but you could feel Antinous everywhere as he continued to rut harshly into you, sure to leave bruises across your skin in the morning. You gripped your nails into his back, likely the first scars to reach his skin and felt another gasp escape your throat at the sensation of his seed filling you with warmth. 

You gasped at the sensation, feeling Antinous begin to pull away until your weak legs moved to wrap around his hips. You did not want his warmth to disappear, you did not want to see him leave. The heat of his seed and cock felt so heavy inside you, but you could not see it disappear. Antinous kissed your cheeks, seemingly content with staying inside you as his cock softened and seed spilt across your thighs. He hushed your cries, and kissed your tears. “Your papa is here,” he whispered into your ear, sucking the lobe. You try to ignore the way his words make you feel a bit sick, how everything felt sick, but you couldn’t explain why. 

[chocokindybar]

does anyone remember red haired strawberry kaiser back from a few years ago when his color palette wasn’t official 😭 those were the days….

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

funnily enough, sae probably has the happiest life in blue lock. he’s completely unaware of rin’s beef against him, he finds everything funny and laughs internally all the time, he’s a millionaire, he plays for the best team in the world, he’s adored by fans, he’s a member of the ng11, and he really doesn’t gaf.

ignorance is bliss yall

[angvlicmvlody]

All I want is more shisui uchiha fanfics.. why does nobody else love him I’m sobbing

[gonna-watch-some-movies]

[kxsagi]

“𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨, 𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥”

a/n: aggressively NEED THAT. @accidenthppns see i delivered

ac goes to bm169_v2

synopsis: jester!sae x royal princess!reader oneshot i am not okay. 

the first time sae makes you laugh, it is entirely by accident. 

your court has gathered in the grand dining hall for another miserable political feast full of jeweled goblets, stiff-backed nobles, and men old enough to crumble into dust trying to convince your father they deserve more land. oh brother. 

you are halfway through dying of boredom when the king gestures toward the entertainers. 

“bring in the jesters.” 

you expect bells. tricks. something humiliating. 

but instead, a tall boy with pinkish maroon hair walks into the hall looking deeply offended to be there at all. 

he wears red and silver, his hat lacking the ridiculous dangling bells the others wear. his expression stays flat as he bows with all the enthusiasm of someone attending a funeral. 

the nobles already seem irritated by him. good. 

“this is the new one?” one lord scoffs. “he looks miserable.” 

“i am,” sae replies calmly. 

the silence afterward is so catastrophic that wine nearly exits your nose. 

your hand flies over your mouth too late. the sound escapes anyway – a sharp laugh that echoes through the hall. 

everyone is shocked. 

sae looks up at you for the first time. his eyes are pretty in a dangerous way. like polished glass. 

your father sighs heavily. “you were meant to entertain quietly.” 

“then they should hire quieter people.” 

another laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. 

you spend the rest of dinner pretending not to notice sae glancing toward the royal table every few minutes. 

he becomes your favorite part of the court after that. which is unfortunate. because jesters are meant to exist in the background. decorations with jokes attached. people forget they are there. 

sae refuses to be forgettable though. he lounges across windowsills during banquets with the elegance of a prince and the attitude of someone moments away from insulting a duke. he wins knife games against soldiers twice his size. he speaks to nobles like they inconvenience him personally. 

so it’s only natural that you overhear maids gossiping about him constantly. 

“he’s rude.” 

“he’s terrifying.” 

“i think he threatened a bishop.” 

“well… did the bishop deserve it?” 

the answer is usually yes. 

and that’s when you start seeking him out in quiet moments. 

sometimes he sits in the palace gardens tossing apples into the air with lazy precision. other times you find him asleep in absurd places – library ladders, balconies, once inside a window alcove while musicians performed a meter away. 

today, you discover him beneath a tree in the courtyard, reading. 

“i thought jesters were supposed to juggle.” 

without looking up, he says, “i can juggle books if that helps.” 

you smile despite yourself and sit beside him, lifting the edge of your gown away from the dirt. “what are you reading?” 

“history.” 

“willingly?” 

“sadly so.” 

his gaze flicks toward you then. subtle and assessing. you notice he does that often now. like he’s trying to figure out something. 

“you don’t act like a jester,” you tell him quietly. 

“you don’t act like royalty.” 

“that sounds insulting.” 

“it wasn’t.” 

the wind shifts softly through the courtyard trees. for a second, neither of you speak. 

then sae closes his book and says, “you look unhappy during court.” 

the honesty catches you off guard. people rarely ask you things directly. they dance around you carefully, smiling too much, lying too easily. 

“court is exhausting,” you admit. “everyone wants something from me.” 

“and what do you want?” 

you stare at him. he asks it so simply. as if the answer matters. 

“i don’t know,” you whisper. 

sae leans back against the tree trunk, eyes half-lidded. “that’s probably the first honest thing anyone in this palace has said all week.” 

the rumors begin soon after. a princess spending time with a jester becomes entertainment for the court itself. you hear whispers during dances. poor thing, they say. how embarrassing. how improper. 

one noblewoman even asks you directly, “surely you don’t actually enjoy his company?” 

you glance across the ballroom where sae stands near a marble pillar, already looking seconds away from leaving and walking out the grand double doors. but when he meets your eyes, you catch it – the faintest tilt of his lips. 

“immensely,” you answer. 

the woman nearly chokes. 

later that evening, sae corners you on a balcony overlooking the palace gardens. 

“you should stop defending me.” 

moonlight catches against the silver embroidery of his sleeves. 

you tilt your head. “why?” 

“because people are cruel to you afterward.” 

“people are cruel regardless.” 

his jaw tightens slightly. “they shouldn’t be.” 

there’s something dangerous about the way he says it. like something sharp enough to cut. 

you step closer before thinking better of it. “does it bother you?” 

“yes.” 

the answer comes instantly. your heartbeat stumbles embarrassingly hard. sae takes notes of it. his eyes lower briefly to your hands where they clutch the balcony railing too tightly. 

“you’re nervous,” he murmurs. 

“you’re staring.” 

“you’re pretty.” 

your face grows warm. the words landed with devastating ease, how did he deliver that so smoothly with not even a single stutter? 

sae watches the reaction carefully, almost curiously, like he enjoys discovering which words affect you most. 

“you say things too directly,” you whisper. 

“would you rather i lie?” 

“that would be easier.” 

he hums softly. “i’m bad at lying though.” 

you think he might step closer. you think you might let him. instead, voices echo from inside the ballroom, shattering the moment apart. 

sae clicks his tongue in annoyance. “your kingdom keeps interrupting me.” 

“my apologies.” 

“i don’t forgive you.” 

but his mouth curves slightly when he says it. 

and for the first time in years, returning to the ballroom doesn’t feel quite as unbearable as it used to be. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[nickxmeldieno1fan]

My Dirty Little Secret 🤭

Gojo Satoru baseball boy/popular jock high school AU x Fem!StalkerFan!Reader .. childhood friends to lovers ！

He’s been playing sports since he was a little kid, since when did he have a secret admirer? (Reader is a bit creep lwk long-winded, and js the exposition/intro but pull thru if u want)

If there was anything you knew since you were a kid, it was Gojo Satoru and your crush on him that had always been very subtly there before festering into more like an addiction. After all, your moms had been friends since forever, and vowed for their children to be the same. The casual friendship that denied everyone's teasing remarks about dating (it excited you, though, and you had to bring that to the grave) was indeed going well until high school came.

While you stayed with your own respective friends, not really having an exact place in school, Gojo, who was always athletic (did you mention charismatic and awfully attractive as well), easily rose up the ranks of popularity-- adored by many, both girls and boys. You tried not to care, but it was hard to when your position in his life was being questioned daily.

Every time he 'forgot' to hang by your locker after school, return your calls, or answer your texts scarily late, your anxiety grew and kept you up at night. Sure, he apologized and always made up some excuse, but he did not deny that he was getting busy with other people and 'things' (so vague, so cruel..) So you were lovesick, so you strongly missed being around him, but begging for him back just seemed too desperate - even for you.

Plus, knowing Gojo and his carefree, oblivious personality, if you did try to talk to him, he would probably shrug you off and possibly invalidate your feelings...which would probably make you worse.

So you didn't. You stayed quiet and tried showing up for him in ways he didn't. It was hard adjusting to life not tied around the hip to someone like Gojo, but you couldn't deny your attraction to the guy, even if he drove you insane.

Because no matter what, whenever you contemplated just forgetting him, without fail, you would delude yourself into the idea that maybe...just maybe he had a soft spot for you after all those years. It could turn into love, and you have only ever liked him... It was too late; it felt daunting to truly stop.

Today, you had a chance. Today was a very important baseball game for him. Although you hadn't been invited...you had a rough idea about where and when it was, who was coming, his jersey number, how he always came 30 minutes before to warm up, the names and lives of his teammates memorized... You had done your research thoroughly.

But you did not prepare, you did not expect to see just how mesmerizing he looked when he was playing.

"Oh my god, you weirdo," your best friend's voice rang out accusingly as she sat down next to you on the bleachers. Yes, you didn't want to go alone; having a wingwoman could keep you at least a bit sane.

"Shush," you urged, "I need to figure out what position he plays." You surfed through screenshots of his past Instagram stories, before checking his posts, reading through the comments despite knowing most of them by heart, and his enigmatic captions and hashtags. Why was he so interesting?

"How do you not know?" She sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I mean, you have all this data... ugh, so this is what happens when your silly little baseball boy doesn't talk to you."

You huffed, "I can't help it, I don't know much about this game..." It was true. When stalking, you cared a lot more about personal details, a plan that ended up backfiring as you watched the game unfolding in front of you in confusion. All you knew was that you only wanted one player, and your eyes were set on him, noticing every single detail: the way he dusted his hands off on his white pants occasionally, or when he would strike the ball just right and dap up his friends, raising his bat in the air, flashing a dismantling yet casual smile to no one in particular. No doubt, Gojo's focus was so invigorating, so appealing, and almost contrastingly out of place with his upfront personality that anyone would be fascinated.

When he came over to the benches and started to chug water, and you saw his throat work up close, you had to refrain from bothering your friend, who was bored out of her mind and doomscrolling. It was only when he took off his cap and ran his fingers through his smushed, streaky white hair that you had to comment, shamelessly whispering, "He looks so hot like that..."

Your friend looked up at this time, giving you a warning and disapproving glance, until suddenly Gojo, who you thought was still adjusting his hair and looking at the game, had his piercing blue eyes set right on you.

For a moment, there was no one else or sound in the audience, as you maintained time-stopping, breath-stealing eye contact, trying to figure out the unreadable expression on his face. He didn't look disappointed, nor unordinarily excited; he did, however, have that slight all-knowing smirk you had known forever like the back of your hand. But what did he really know about you now, after all these months?

Before you could say anything or muster up one of your nervous waves, he interrupted, calling out to you, "Wanna keep staring more?"

Gojo said something! To you! He saw you! He knows you! Ignoring your embarrassingly erratic heartbeat, you hid a smile, rolling your eyes at his arrogant yet teasing tone. With your friend's curious eyes following the situation carefully, this was your chance to say something back, "Sorry! It's a nice view!" Oh.... you could flirt better-

"The game, or me? Because I thought you didn't like baseball," He shot back quickly, chuckling easily, a sound you had missed so much.

But, he had you so wrong! Well, okay, maybe you professed your disliking and disinterest towards his interests early on, but you had changed, too, albeit for him.

"Well..." Your brain hurried to find an excuse that wasn't the truth of your slight obsession, "We were bored."

Gojo tilted his head, flashing a proper, toothy smile, and you could see the gum he was chewing, a sight that could make anyone's knees weak and mind wander to endless places. Oh, the power he had over you. "How'd you know?" He finally asked, which caught you off guard, badly.

You quickly blurted out an indefinite lie, trying to calm your now-wavering voice, "Uh, well, someone told me." Your eyes darted back to the field, feeling sweat bead down on your forehead that you could only pray he didn't notice.

"Who?" He raised an eyebrow, tone radiating doubt. Your mouth opened to answer before your brain could stop and analyze until suddenly, like fate from the grace of an angel, his coach's loud voice called him back, saving the whole situation. Or so you thought. "Well, you're explaining yourself later, Miss Stalker, and you didn't say if it was the game or me you seem so infatuated with!" He winked, confidently turning back to jog to the baseball field, as if he was like this to everyone.

The worst part? He was right, despite how annoying he could be when he was cocky; he truly was on the right track about you.

Your friend's loud, amused laugh interrupted, stabbing through your spiralling mind, "You're..." She wiped the tears coming from her eyes, "So done."

Your eyes widened, your cheeks flushing - thank god Gojo couldn't see you right now. "It's... it's whatever." You managed, promptly ending the teasing conversation and turning away to look at the game.

You felt... awkwardly exposed. You couldn't be that easy to read. He was just teasing, right? But you couldn't help the wave of disappointment and shock that crashed over you now that he was gone, even if you just got that long-awaited attention from him.

After all this pining, you were unstably insatiable, feigning for more out of Gojo; you would do anything for a way out of this relationship that seemed to be going nowhere. No cost, especially embarrassment, could compare to a promise of finally being able to talk later, because you were going to make a more direct move.

chat bro it's too late for a full story i have a bunch of more juicy ideas .. part two???

'

[chocokindybar]

soccer boyfriend imagines ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

checking him for ticks gone “wrong”…?

tw: a bit spicy

♡ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐♡Ი︵𐑼𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

"did you seriously just roll in poison ivy or are you trying to make me suffer?" you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose as your boyfriend stumbles into the kitchen, sweaty and grass-stained. his cleats leave faint bootprints on the linoleum—which you’ll definitely have to wipe up later—but right now, the way he’s scratching at his forearm is way more concerning.

he grins, all teeth and zero remorse, shaking his damp black hair out of his eyes. "coach made us do drills in the ditch behind the field. it was crazy tuff." his voice drops into that stupidly charming half-laugh he does when he knows he’s being an idiot. "also, i think something bit me."

"oh my lord, you're such a disaster," you mutter, grabbing his wrist to stop him from scratching. his skin is warm under your fingers, the kind of heat that comes from running under the sun for hours, and you can already see the faint pink streaks where he's been clawing at himself. "sit down before you get dirt everywhere. i'm checking you for ticks."

he flops onto the kitchen chair with zero grace, legs splayed like he owns the place—which, technically, he kinda does, considering how often he’s here. "you’re gonna check me everywhere?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, and you don’t miss the way his voice dips lower, teasing. you roll your eyes but don’t dignify it with a response, just yank his cerulean soccer jersey over his head. the fabric sticks to his chest for a second before peeling away, revealing that stupidly perfect tan you’ve spent all summer staring at.

the second his jersey’s off, you see it—a tiny dark spot near his collarbone, suspiciously round. "oh, you’ve got to be kidding me," you mutter, leaning in. his breath hitches when your fingers brush the spot, and you press closer, squinting. "yep. that’s a tick. you’re officially gross."

"thought you liked me gross," he says, but his voice cracks halfway through when your nails scrape lightly over his ribs, checking for more. you can feel his pulse jump under your fingertips as you trail them down his stomach, the muscles there tensing as you dip lower. "you’re really committing to this whole inspection thing, huh?"

"oh, i'm very thorough," you murmur, letting your fingers trace the waistband of his shorts, feeling the way his stomach tightens under your touch. his breath comes quicker now, shallow and uneven, and when you glance up, his brown eyes are dark with something that has nothing to do with ticks anymore. "gotta make sure you're clean everywhere."

he swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing, and his voice is rough when he says, "yeah? how far does ‘everywhere’ go?"

[chocokindybar]

soccer boyfriend imagines ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

checking him for ticks gone “wrong”…?

tw: a bit spicy

♡ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐♡Ი︵𐑼𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

"did you seriously just roll in poison ivy or are you trying to make me suffer?" you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose as your boyfriend stumbles into the kitchen, sweaty and grass-stained. his cleats leave faint bootprints on the linoleum—which you’ll definitely have to wipe up later—but right now, the way he’s scratching at his forearm is way more concerning.

he grins, all teeth and zero remorse, shaking his damp black hair out of his eyes. "coach made us do drills in the ditch behind the field. it was crazy tuff." his voice drops into that stupidly charming half-laugh he does when he knows he’s being an idiot. "also, i think something bit me."

"oh my lord, you're such a disaster," you mutter, grabbing his wrist to stop him from scratching. his skin is warm under your fingers, the kind of heat that comes from running under the sun for hours, and you can already see the faint pink streaks where he's been clawing at himself. "sit down before you get dirt everywhere. i'm checking you for ticks."

he flops onto the kitchen chair with zero grace, legs splayed like he owns the place—which, technically, he kinda does, considering how often he’s here. "you’re gonna check me everywhere?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, and you don’t miss the way his voice dips lower, teasing. you roll your eyes but don’t dignify it with a response, just yank his cerulean soccer jersey over his head. the fabric sticks to his chest for a second before peeling away, revealing that stupidly perfect tan you’ve spent all summer staring at.

the second his jersey’s off, you see it—a tiny dark spot near his collarbone, suspiciously round. "oh, you’ve got to be kidding me," you mutter, leaning in. his breath hitches when your fingers brush the spot, and you press closer, squinting. "yep. that’s a tick. you’re officially gross."

"thought you liked me gross," he says, but his voice cracks halfway through when your nails scrape lightly over his ribs, checking for more. you can feel his pulse jump under your fingertips as you trail them down his stomach, the muscles there tensing as you dip lower. "you’re really committing to this whole inspection thing, huh?"

"oh, i'm very thorough," you murmur, letting your fingers trace the waistband of his shorts, feeling the way his stomach tightens under your touch. his breath comes quicker now, shallow and uneven, and when you glance up, his brown eyes are dark with something that has nothing to do with ticks anymore. "gotta make sure you're clean everywhere."

he swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing, and his voice is rough when he says, "yeah? how far does ‘everywhere’ go?"

[natti-ice]

[ochacoca]

never seen a more accurate thing on tiktok

[chocokindybar]

rereading my marauder fics from 2023 like holy nostalgic 😭

[chocokindybar]

fratjo is communal puh

🙄

[chocokindybar]

fratjo x insecure! reader

cute fluffy and wholesome 🥹

"you're staring again," gojo mumbles, voice rough with sleep. his arm is slung heavy over your waist, fingers idly tracing circles on your hip through the thin fabric of your shirt. the morning light cuts through the half-drawn blinds, striping the sheets and his bare shoulders in gold.

you don't answer, just press your face deeper into his chest. he smells like sweat and the cheap body wash the frat house buys in bulk. it shouldn't be comforting, but it is. his heartbeat under your cheek is steady, a slow thump against your skin.

"knew you were awake," he says, and his fingers pause their movement just long enough to pinch your side lightly. "quit overthinking shit. it's too early."

you huff, but he's right—your brain's been spinning since he dragged you into his bed last night, half-drunk and laughing about how you were shivering in the common room. "just cold," you'd lied, and he'd rolled his eyes like he knew better. now, tangled together, it's impossible to pretend.

gojo shifts, rolling onto his back and dragging you with him until you're sprawled across his chest. his hand slides up your spine, warm and sure, settling between your shoulder blades. "there," he says, like it's simple. like you belong here. like he's not the kind of guy who could have anyone he wants. "better?"

"mmph," you mumble into his skin, but he's not wrong—it is better. his heartbeat is louder here, the rise and fall of his chest more obvious. you can feel the way his ribs expand with each breath, the way his stomach tenses when he shifts slightly beneath you. his fingers scratch absently at your back, blunt nails dragging in lazy patterns that make your skin prickle.

"you're so fucking tense," he murmurs, voice still sleep-thick. "like, actually. what's your damage?" his hand slips under your shirt, palm hot against the bare dip of your spine. you stiffen, but he just clicks his tongue. "relax. s'just me."

it's the 'just me' that does it—the way he says it like it's nothing, like he's not this golden, easy thing that everyone wants a piece of. like he's not the one who pulled you into his orbit without even trying. you swallow hard, fingers curling into the sheets beside his hips. "you don't have to—"

"shut up," he interrupts, but it's soft. his thumb presses into a knot between your shoulders, working it loose with a quiet groan from you. "you think too much. it's annoying."

you huff a laugh against his collarbone, and his chest rumbles with his own quiet chuckle. the room is warm, the air thick with the scent of him and the faint musk of last night's beer. outside, you can hear someone stumbling down the hall, the distant sound of a shower running. but here, in the cocoon of his sheets, it's just the two of you—his heartbeat, his breath, his hands on you like he's known you forever.

"better," he says again, quieter this time, and you realize you've gone boneless against him. his fingers slow, tracing idle shapes instead of digging in. "see? not so hard."

you don't answer, just nuzzle closer, letting your eyes fall shut. his hand settles at the nape of your neck, warm and heavy, and you think—just for a second—that maybe he's right. maybe it really is that simple.

[moostashgooncorner-deactivated2]

with the uprise of nerdjo fics how can i not draw him 😭✌️ requested by: @sourdramaturgy !! who wants to give me more drawing ideas 💕

[chocokindybar]

| 18+ minors dni |

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

desperate frat! sukuna tries to get back with reader - college au

the toaster exploded again. smoke curled up from the broken slot like the world’s saddest magic trick, and sukuna stared at it like it had personally betrayed him.

"dude," one of his frat brothers muttered from the couch, not even looking up from his phone. "that’s the third one this month."

the broken toaster sat on the counter like a bad omen, its charred remains still warm when sukuna grabbed his jacket and slammed the door behind him. he didn’t need this shit tonight. the frat house smelled like stale beer and regret, and he wasn’t about to spend another evening listening to his roommate argue about whether pineapple belonged on pizza. the answer was no, obviously, but that wasn’t the point. the point was he needed air. or vodka. preferably both.

the party at delta phi was already spilling onto the lawn by the time he got there, red plastic cups littering the grass like confetti after a funeral. someone had hooked up speakers to a generator, and the bass thumped so hard it vibrated in his teeth. sukuna shoved through the crowd, nodding at a few half-familiar faces, but his attention snagged like a loose thread when he saw you. you were leaning against the porch railing, laughing at something some idiot had said, and just like that, his night got a hell of a lot more interesting.

he didn’t even remember walking over, but suddenly he was there, close enough to catch the scent of your shampoo—something cheap but sweet, like strawberries and bad decisions. "you look like you’re having more fun than i am," he said, because subtlety had never been his strong suit. you turned, eyebrows lifting in that way you did when you were deciding whether to humor him or walk away. sukuna held his breath. he wasn’t sure which one he wanted.

"that’s not hard," you said finally, tipping your cup toward him. "you look like someone kicked your dog." he barked out a laugh, sharp and sudden, and you smiled like you’d won something. god, he’d missed that. missed the way your nose scrunched when you were pretending not to find him funny, missed the way your fingers tapped against your cup when you were thinking. missed you. but he wasn’t dumb enough to say that out loud. not yet.

the music swelled around them, drowning out whatever dumb thing his frat brother was yelling from across the yard. sukuna stepped closer, close enough that the neon lights from the porch painted your skin in pinks and blues. "so," he said, voice dropping just low enough that you’d have to lean in to hear him. "you gonna let me buy you a drink, or am i gonna have to stand here looking pathetic all night?" you rolled your eyes, but he saw the way your grip tightened on your cup. game on.

"sure," you said, tilting your head like you were doing him a favor. "but only if it’s not that cheap shit you guys always have." sukuna grinned, all teeth, and for a second it was like nothing had changed—like you hadn’t walked out three months ago after he’d fucked up spectacularly. he reached for your cup, fingers brushing yours just long enough to make you hesitate, and then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd before you could take it back.

the kitchen was a disaster, sticky counters littered with half-empty handles and abandoned solo cups. sukuna grabbed the least questionable bottle of vodka and poured, ignoring the way his frat brothers elbowed each other when he added cranberry juice instead of just handing it to you straight. "shut the fuck up," he muttered, but there was no heat in it. he was too busy replaying the way you’d looked at him—like he was a puzzle you weren’t sure you wanted to solve again.

when he got back, you were talking to some guy from the swim team, his arm slung over your shoulder like he had a right to be there. sukuna’s grip tightened on the cup. he didn’t even think before walking up and shoving the drink between you two, hard enough that the guy stumbled back. "here," sukuna said, voice rough. "figured you’d want something that doesn’t taste like regret." you blinked, then laughed, low and surprised, like you hadn’t expected him to still know your order. the swim guy frowned, but you were already stepping away from him, taking the cup from sukuna’s hand like it was a peace offering.

the music shifted, something bass-heavy and reckless, and sukuna leaned in until his lips brushed your ear. "miss me yet?" you stiffened, but didn’t pull away. "not even a little," you lied, and he could feel the way your pulse jumped when his hand settled on your waist. he hummed, pretending to believe you, and let his thumb trace slow circles against your hip. "liar." you took a long sip of your drink, avoiding his eyes, but he saw the way your breath hitched when the crowd pressed him closer.

someone bumped into him from behind, sending him crashing into you, chest to chest. your free hand landed on his shoulder to steady yourself, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. for a second, neither of you moved. sukuna could count your eyelashes from here, could see the way your lips parted just slightly—close enough to kiss, if he was stupid enough to try. "you’re blocking the walkway," you murmured, but you didn’t push him away. he smirked. "so move me." you exhaled sharply, like you were annoyed, but your grip on his shirt tightened. sukuna didn’t give you the chance to decide. he ducked his head, mouth grazing your jaw, and whispered, "or just admit you wanna stay right here." your breath caught, and he knew he had you. game fucking on.

the cup was cold in his hand, condensation dripping onto his fingers like the universe was mocking him for how much he was sweating. sukuna wasn’t nervous—he didn’t get nervous—but his pulse was doing something traitorous under his skin, thumping in time with the bass shaking the floorboards. you were still close, close enough that he could see the way your throat moved when you swallowed, the way your tongue darted out to catch a drop of vodka at the corner of your mouth. he wanted to lick it off for you. wanted to do a lot of things, really, but right now he’d settle for not fucking this up again.

"you’re staring," you said, not looking at him, but he saw the way your fingers tightened around your cup. like you were holding onto something. like you were holding onto *him*, even if you’d never admit it. sukuna grinned, all sharp edges and bad intentions, and leaned in until his breath ghosted over your ear. "you’re worth staring at." you snorted, but he didn’t miss the way your shoulders tensed, the way your hips shifted just slightly toward him. like your body remembered his before your brain could catch up.

someone bumped into him again, harder this time, and sukuna used it as an excuse to press you back against the porch railing, his free hand braced beside your head. the wood groaned under his grip, but he didn’t care. not when you were looking up at him like that—like you wanted to shove him away and pull him closer at the same time. "you’re such an asshole," you muttered, but your voice was breathless, and sukuna felt it like a punch to the gut.

"yeah," he agreed, voice rough. "but you like it." you rolled your eyes, but he caught the way your gaze flicked down to his mouth, just for a second. long enough. sukuna didn’t wait for permission. he closed the distance between you, lips brushing yours so lightly it could’ve been an accident. except it wasn’t. and the way you gasped, sharp and sudden, told him you knew it too.

the music swelled around you, drowning out everything but the sound of your breathing, the way your nails dug into his arm when he deepened the kiss. it wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t sweet. it was teeth and tongue and three months of pent-up frustration, and sukuna didn’t give a fuck who saw. let them look. let them see how you melted against him, how your fingers tangled in his hair like you never wanted to let go.

when he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, your cheeks flushed, and sukuna wanted to ruin you all over again. "miss me now?" he asked, smug as hell, but his voice was wrecked. you shoved him, half-hearted, and he let you, laughing when you wiped your mouth like you could pretend this didn’t mean anything. "shut up," you hissed, but your eyes were dark, your chest rising and falling too fast. sukuna licked his lips, tasting you, and grinned. "make me."

you looked like you were considering it. like you were considering a lot of things. but before you could answer, someone cleared their throat behind him, and sukuna turned just in time to see the swim team asshole glaring at him. "dude," the guy said, like sukuna was the one intruding. sukuna didn’t even blink. "fuck off."

you sighed, but when he glanced back at you, you were biting your lip like you were trying not to smile. sukuna felt something wild and hopeful claw its way up his chest. maybe he hadn’t ruined everything. maybe—just maybe—he could still fix this.

"come on," he said, nodding toward the stairs. "let’s get out of here." you raised an eyebrow. "why? so you can pretend this means something?" sukuna’s jaw tightened. he deserved that. but he wasn’t backing down. "no," he said, stepping closer until you had to tilt your head to look at him. "so i can prove it does."

you held his gaze for a long moment, and then, slowly, you took his hand.

game fucking on.

pt. 2?