Munson'sQueen

21 😘😘

[marieecup]

Simon x high-funcioning depressed! Reader

Not proofread, English is not my first language, forgive any grammar errors

Simon knew something was off. However, he couldn't tell what was happening. You seemed fine, normal.

Complying all of your obligations. Following your routine like nothing happened. But simon knows, he knows you like the palm of his hand. He knows the little bag under your eyes appears when you're not having enough sleep. He knows the little shake on your lips when you smile. Or how you fidget with your fingers on the meetings. He recognizes the way you zone out in your own thoughts when no one is looking.

Was late at night. Almost midnight. And you were at the training room. You had just finished your routine, normal. When you could feel him. A pair of eyes looking at you. When you turn your head, you saw him.

"Simon" you offer him a little smile.

"What's up with you." He said, arms crossed over his chest and eyes focused on your sweaty face because of the training.

"Uhm, training?"

"No, you know what I mean."

"I have no idea what are you talking about, simon" Yes, you did know what was he saying. You know he could read you like an open book

"Dove. Stop pretending with me. You know it doesn't work." He approaches you, arms still crossed.

"I.. I don't know wha-what are you tal-king about.." your eyes start watering while your voice cracked and your head fall on Simon’s chest.

"That's it. Let it out sweetheart." Simon started rubbing the back of your head, playing with the hair of your nape.

"I have been doing everything, fulfilling my tasks, training, hanging out. But anything seems to work, simon.. I feel empty. I can only feel a void in my chest. I-" you covered your face with your hands, trying to hide the sobs of your crying.

"You know you don't have to cope with all those feelings on your own, bird." His voice was firm but soft. He knows for years to know exactly what you need in these moments. Let it out.

"I had tried everything. But nothing seems to work, si.."

"Shh I know, i know sweetheart. "

Simon knows you don't need solutions, you need to feel safe, you need to feel that someone listens to you.

Simon carried you, arms behind your knees. Your head falling in the crook of his neck.

He walks you to your dorm room. Opened the door and laying your body on your bed.

"Stay there." He said and walked away entering in your bathroom.

You heard the shower running water.

"Let's take a bath." Simon started to undress you and you let him, you let him manhandled you, because you had no strength to do it on you own. You melt into his touch.

He washed your hair, so gently.

"Open your mouth sweetheart"

You did it. He brushed your teeth. "Spit it out, that's it. Good girl"

He even chose the pijama, and you didn't care, that was the best thing someone could do for you.

He comb your hair and made a braid. "That's it. Now, let's go to sleep."

That night ended up with you curled on Simon’s arms, sobbing and crying, but this time, those tears were happy ones.

[rawme-price]

Being roommates with soap means he gets to hear every part of your life, and vice versa.

Every weekend when you're both able to, you buy takeout and gossip. Soap fills you in on the ongoing bet about when exactly ghost will realize gaz has been flirting with him for weeks, and you fill him in on your recent bedmates without noticing how jealous he is everytime you talk about them.

Right now, fore example, he's working very hard not to snap his chopsticks while you tell him about the guy you hooked up with two days ago. You wake a hand dramatically "like, I get that I'm into older men, don't get me wrong– but usually they can keep up with me!"

"What? Finally sent one into cardiac arrest?" Soap raises a brow teasingly, then adds "so what happened?"

"Nothing!" You toss your hands up, every bit dramatic and charming as you always are "why?! Because he couldn't get it up!!"

"Yikes." Soap mumbles more for the cue to continue, quietly thinking he'd never have an issue getting going if you'd let him–

"Which, isn't usually a problem, it happens yknow? But he was such an ass–" you scowl at the memory, takeout box crinkling slightly from how hard you hold it. Soap frowns too, mostly because he hates knowing someone you trusted to sleep with was mean, "he blamed me! Me! Said I didn't work hard enough!"

From the many, many, detailed accounts soap has heard from you he knows that isn't true. He's had dreams of you sucking him off from how often you talk about it. "What a cunt," soap sneers, knocking his shoulder with yours "bet his profile sucked too."

"It did! But he was nice, so I took a chance. Here, I'll show you–" you reach across the spread of food to grab your phone, settling back practically tucked into soaps side to show him your screen "here, look."

Soap leans over your shoulder, ready to verbally tear this man to shreds like you and him often do only–

John Price, 47.

Not looking for anything serious.

Soap coughs, doubles over choking on his food–

"Holy shit–! Are you okay? Johnny?" You gasp, slapping him on the back until he stops making concerning wheezes.

"That...that's my captain–"

"....oh shit, really?" You look back at the profile. Technically you never ended anything for good with him, just told him to fix his attitude. "Should I go back and bet blackmail?"

Soap starts wheezing again.

[fricks]

Cucking trueform!Sukuna with a toy ☆

cw; fem reader

You’ve learnt a few things about yourself since marrying the King of Curses. Namely, your penchant for narrowly avoiding death at the hands of your husband.

You’re one wrong move from having your head bitten clean off, and gods, does that fact excite you. It’s an adrenaline rush incomparable to anything else. Thrillseekers need to quit the cave diving and lion's dens and find themselves a man with the capacity to dissect them for looking at him wrong. 

Sukuna’s heart has softened considerably since meeting you. There’s a channel within it, perhaps a major vein or artery, that houses an affection towards you that allows this kind of disrespect to go unpunished. 

For the time being, at least. He’ll fuck you within an inch of your life for the stunt you’re pulling now. 

You sit on your husband’s rock-hard stomach, both of his cocks hard and angry behind you, as you spread your thighs and fuck yourself with a laquered wooden dildo gifted to you by a raunchy friend before your marriage. You’re a mess, dripping all over Sukuna’s abs as you plunge the dildo inside of you, steering upwards in search of the spot that he never seems to miss. 

He’s growling, practically vibrating beneath you in anger as you cuck him with a piece of carved wood. The sensation of his rumbling is nice, but the satisfaction of having the King of Curses in such an emasculating position is better than any sexual relief could be. 

“Nice and still for me, dear,” you taunt. “When you twitch like that, I lose my balance.”

And, like a dog with a pronged collar, he yields. Grabs your waist with two of his four strong hands and holds you down against his heated skin. You allow him that much, lest he decides this lack of control isn’t worth amusing his wife’s weird sexual endeavours.

You roll your hips a little, plunge the dildo deeper inside of you in search of that spot. How can Sukuna find it so easily?

“That phallus doesn’t please you,” he notes, looking up at you with sharp eyes. He’s such a mess; his hair all over the place, chest heaving with the exertion of holding himself back. “To replace me with carved wood. You disrespect not only me, but that cunt of yours as well. She’s neglected.”

“Hush,” you avoid his gaze. “It is not a she, and you are just here to watch.”

“Watch what? Your failing to make yourself come? You do strange things to spite me, woman.”

You roll your eyes, and then turn your cheek. You won’t give him the satisfaction of leering at your displeased face — why is it not working? You used to sate yourself just fine before you were married, but you haven’t touched yourself since. Now when you try, even with such a mountain of a man at your beck and call, nothing compares. 

Your fingers aren’t as big as his are. Your crafted dildo doesn’t curve and pulse like his cocks do. You lack the warmth on top of you; the loud, sleepless nights he gives you, the pleasure so overwhelming it bleeds into pain. 

“You’ve ruined self-love for me, you know?” You sulk. 

Sukuna rolls his eyes beneath you, jaw working as you’re sure he’s trying not to spit something demeaning from his lips. He fails. “You’re just incapable,” he bites. “Don’t hold yourself to such high standards, wife. I am not to be rivalled.”

His ego is ruinous. A part of you wants to feign your pleasure, start moaning like a whore and show him exactly what he’s missing out on, but your husband has always had a penchant for knowing insincerity when he sees it. He’d punish you worse for faking your pleasure than for taking it without his aid. 

“Fine,” you grumble, your teasing mood soured. “Help me then, you oaf. But you remain beneath me. Where you belong.”

You tack it on as an afterthought, but it feels odd to say. The man who towers over the world and those within it, is laid beneath you… you can’t help but feel special. He laughs at your words, chuckles vibrating through his stomach and into you, but he doesn’t punish you for his tongue.

Yet.

“Take that fucking thing out of you,” he starts, glancing down at where you keep the dildo buried between your thighs.

You oblige, working it out slowly. A string of slick connects it to you as Sukuna grips it in one large hand and raises it up to your eye-level. Snap. It’s in halves before you can blink. The wood splinters, creates a small dust of shavings that dissipate through the air and makes your eyes widen. 

“If you bring another object like this into our chamber again, I’ll stuff you full of it and have you walk naked across the length of the estate with it inside,” he lectures, eyes so set in his ways that you know he isn’t making empty threats. “Now, let me do what you cannot.”

Before you can allow yourself the dignity of pretending this is a favour to him, Sukuna’s stomach splits across the taut seam you had been sitting on. A long, obscenely wet tongue shoots up and flattens against your pussy, warm and disgusting in its eagerness. Hot breath fans your skin from below, and you gasp as what feels like buckets of spit wet your cunt in preparation. 

Your husband just watches as the mouth on his stomach gets its fill. His grip on your waist tightens and holds you down against the slippery second tongue that licks a lewd stripe from your ass, to your hole, up to your clit. You whine, shrinking away from such messy devouring, but you have nowhere to go, and no fight left in you to object — you spent all of that on trying to pretend you could cuck a man like Sukuna. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“Fuck,” you splay your hands out across your husbands chest for purchase as his stomach-tongue circles once, twice, around your clit before worming its way inside of you. It fills you with the ease of a muscle; pliant, not having to stretch you quite as far as his cocks do. And it moves, explores the topography of your insides like it’s trying to chart you out, taste every inch of your womb…

Through your blurred vision, you watch Sukuna raking his gaze over you. He keeps licking his lips, shifting ever so slightly as he had when you were trying to deny him. Your brows knit together.

“Can you taste me?” you ask, words broken by a moan as his stomach-tongue starts thrusting in and out of you, pushing all the way in just to retreat back into the mouth to savour the slick it coats itself with. “Can you… taste what it does?”

“Barely,” his jaw ticks. “It’s dull. Not the same.”

Oh? A surge of something mean shoots through you, and for a moment you’re unsure whether it’s pleasure from his tongue taking another course inside, or the satisfaction of knowing that, in a way, you’re still cucking him.

“So,” you glide your fingertip across the plane of his chest. “If I cum on this tongue, you’ll hardly be able to taste it?”

He doesn’t answer. A dog that bites and barks opting instead for silence is as telling as it is terrifying. You love it.

You throw your head back with a dramatic moan, using your thighs to push yourself up and start riding his stomach-tongue as you would his cocks. It’s lewd, makes these god-awful squelching noises with each pump in and out of you, but there’s a certain eroticism to the mess you’re making. His cocks are leaking behind you, desperate to tunnel inside of you and find their release, but you don’t allow it — you’re busy riding that tongue of his. 

“I should—gods—do this more often,” you pant. “You’ve been hiding this from me, husband. Scared I’ll put the better parts of you to use?”

“Tch. Quiet yourself and take your release.” He’s tetchy, restless. 

You can tell he’s straining himself not to pick you up and force you down onto his cocks like he so often does. Luckily for him, your climax is close, and you aren’t sure you’d have the heart (or will) to deny him any longer. 

The tongue inside of you quickens in pace. It thrusts in and out in emulation of a cock, dragging wet muscle across your g-spot in rhythmic bliss. You can feel yourself going stupid on it, such a mess being made between your thighs. Your skin is covered in saliva, from your thighs to your cunt, all the way up to your stomach; you’re glossed with the stuff. Coated.

It’s when the tongue slips out of you to once again lap at your clit that your orgasm comes. You clench around nothing, grimacing at the feeling of emptiness that dampers your climax, but your legs shake and breath hitches in your lungs as you forget how to breathe, and be, and stay fucking quiet.

Your moans are melodious and loud in the same right, spurring Sukuna from a scowl to a slack jaw as his hips buck up once, and then twice, and a sudden splurt of heat covers your ass and lower back.

“Did you just—” you start, but your mind spins. You’re lurched forward by the force of two strong hands, and brought down to your husband’s chest. The mess of warm spit sticks your skin together, but you don’t have even a moment to complain as he covers your mouth with his, kisses you with a reverence that can only be shown by a king in adoration of his queen. Or a man warring to distract from the fact that he just came untouched.

“You are a petulant brat who has lost her sense of subservience to me,” he speaks against your lips. “But you are beautiful to an ungodly degree when you disobey me. You will look even better split in half on my cocks, crying for mercy from this man who is so ‘beneath you’, yes?”

A beautiful jolt of erotic fear surges through you. You’re one wrong-answer away from sexual torture; better keep your words kind. 

You smile against his lips, peck them once, twice, and then speak. Your words are simple.

“Mm. Fuck you.”

[binkblg]

★ Ghost!Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

★ 1.7k | Synopsis: When you bought a Ouija board, the last thing you expected was for the hot ghost haunting your apartment to be such a flirt. After a bit of research, you find out that you could finally see your handsome ghost-with-benefits by sprinkling him in a little powdered sugar.

C/W: fucking a ghost, invisible Toji, ouija boards/paranormal activity, foodplay, inappropriate use of powdered sugar, weird interdimensional contact physics, oral m!, p in v, ignore the logistics lmao, limited dialogue (cause he can only talk with the ouija board lmao)

What are the moral implications of sexting the ghost haunting your apartment using a ouija board?

According to your friends, it’s ’spooky, but in a sexy way, like Ghostface' or something.

According to the internet, it ‘raises complex ethical questions.'

But honestly, you stopped entertaining ‘complex ethical questions’ upon discovering that your handsome ghost could become visible after sprinkling him in a little powdered sugar.

This discovery is exactly what brings you to your plush cotton duvet, all dolled up in your cutest lingerie set, pressing your breasts together as you drag the planchette across the board.

“Toji? You there?”

Like clockwork, the wooden tool slides over to the ‘yes’ on the board—your mattress dipping under an invisible weight before you. And despite how many times you’ve seen it happen, it never gets old.

“Hey Ji! Uhm, I wanted to show you something I found online.”

You place your phone on the fluff of your bed, an article reading ‘how to make ghosts visible’ glowing on the screen.

“I was thinking, we could try it out? I really wanna see you. I mean, properly”

You’re not crazy. It's not like you blindly trusted this random ghost haunting your apartment. You had heard stories of the mean, rough assassin Toji Fushiguro—reigning fear and chaos upon every tenant of your unit.

But when your landlord gave you a Polaroid of the man so you could 'watch out for him"—your deposit was on her desk and your vibrator was fully charged.

The article scrolls under Toji’s transparent digits, pausing to read line by line, analyzing every step. “What do you think? Is it gonna work?”

And just as he spells out a simple ‘try’, you’re already dipping your manicured fingers into the pouch of sweet powder.

When you finally make contact, it feels like an entirely new, foreign sensation.

The barrier between life and death sat right on his surface—causing your skin to buzz pleasantly in a shaky mess of interdimensional contact.

The confectioners' sugar floated on what you imagined were his pecs—the shape of your shaky fingerprints moving with the rise and fall of his chest. “Woah, you feel all—fuzzy. It’s weird.” You continue feeling the plush of his muscles. “It’s, nice.”

Your fingers travel across his surface, occasionally dipping your prints in more sugar before caressing his skin.

His arms were huge—meaty biceps twitching under the warm touch of your live hands painting his muscles. And how the powder coated the veins running up his forearms—it had your thighs pressing together already.

How could anyone say he was ‘evil’ and ‘violent’ when he was being so patient with you? Sitting there quietly as you touched him all over, unveiling his every feature with the soft caress of your hands.

After finally mapping out his chest and arms, you began tracing the outline of his fingers. “You’re so big Ji.” You flirted, his powdery chest rumbling with a deep, unheard chuckle.

The moment you finished coating his hands, they were on you.

Sliding up the skin of your waist, toying with the lace of your bralette—who knew ghosts were such perverts?

“Toji, be patient.” And despite the fact that he was an immortal, deathly being bordering two planes of reality—he listened, compromising with a hand on your thigh.

“M’gonna do your head now, okay?”

Your thumbs caress the indent of his collar, tracing the skin pulled taut over invisible bone. You wander up his throat, coating his thick, dense traps forming a pronounced trail up to his jaw.

His Adam's apple bobs under your hovering digits, as if your touch were just as foreign, fuzzy and euphoric as his. But before you can get to his face, he leans over—laying you down onto your plush pillows and caging you in with his muscular arms.

"T-Toji, what’re you–”

He grabs your wrist, his icy-hot grip guiding your hand back into the bag of sugar—bringing your fingers over to his face before impatiently dragging your digits over his cheekbones.

He was mesmerizing.

Every curve and edge of his face looked sculpted from the gods themselves.

His plump, scarred lips.

His narrowed, sharp eyes.

He messily drags your hand up into the shag of his hair, the strands magically appearing under their powdery coating. Sugar falls in white clouds, ghosting over your sheets and landing sweet on your tongue.

“You’re so–”

You caress his cheek—hand travelling to his nape and pulling him closer.

“handsome.”

His lips meet yours in a heated buzz. The slow drag of his tongue exploring the inside of your mouth, slow sucks and bites tugging on your lips.

Calculated, confident, hungry.

Your buds spark from the sweetness of his maw—the mixture of your wet saliva dissolving the powder into a sugary paste.

As addictive as it was, the hot, resistant collision of your beings burned a euphoric heat against your lips, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded.

"Mph—T-Toji, slow down—"

Your hands push against his chest, sugar sprinkling down on you from his moving locks. The room turns white when he reaches over, grabbing a handful of powder and dusting it over himself—little clouds filling the air.

You finally get a better look at him in his entirety.

Sugar sprinkled down to his abs, revealing his dense muscles coated in a layer of plush. His gaze is low and heavy above curled lips, smirking as he watches you—sat back on his heels.

"Are you..naked?"

God, you're so cute, he thought

All spread out for him, traces of his white prints dancing atop your skin, lingerie riding up just enough for him to catch the wet patch forming on your cunt.

And when he nods, it's devilish.

He grabs you again, sprinkling more powder over your hand before guiding it to his pelvis.

He's such a tease, dragging your hand against the skin of his happy trail, fluffing up the hair as sugar falls lightly over his cock. And when his grip loosens, you palm him fully—revealing the details of his pulsing length.

His expression twists in pleasure as he hisses at the contact—the warmth of your touch making him impossibly more sensitive.

He's big.

A thick mushroom tip peaks out atop his heavy shaft, the sugar revealing every line and vein, as well as his slit leaking pearly pre. "Fuck, Toji."

He bucks up into your fist when you pull away, replacing your hand with the wet embrace of your gooey mouth. He's so impossibly sweet like this, his cock invading every surface of your leaky maw—a sticky mess of sugary saliva leaking down your chin.

Head bobbing rhythmically, you slurp up any evidence of the white powder from his length, sucking and swirling your tongue greedily around him.

And with a final suck! you pull back and swallow—the sugar water running smoothly down your throat. He twitches at the sight, his cock seemingly getting even harder—gazing down at you all messy and sweet, leaning back against the pillows.

"T-Toji, I want you inside."

And who was he to deny you—the first person to not look at him in horror and disdain? His rough hands hook under your knees, pressing them to your chest before eagerly pulling your panties aside. When you feel his wet tip peek into your entrance—it buzzes against you, the impossible friction so blissful—so perfect.

Looking down between you, his pelvis is messy and splotchy—traces and marks of your wet lips cleansing his surface. Just below, his cock is almost entirely transparent—the cloudy, milky white of saliva and sugar coating him.

Your cunt flutters around the stretch—leaking and twitching as he sinks into you, his large hands caressing you through every inch.

His pace quickens, the plap! of his powdered thighs echoing lewd squelches through the room. A fiery buzz of ecstasy surges through you with each heavy thrust—eyes rolling, hips jerking.

It's overwhelming, the scent of sugar and sweat heavy in the air, the dissonant buzz of his surface against yours.

And when he sucks the powder off his thumb, reaching down and rubbing lazy circles on your clit—that eager coil in your tummy curls tighter and tighter.

"Jiii–s'too m-much! haah—f-feels so good—"

Your sweet praise just sends him further over the edge, pinning your knees to your chest in an impossibly deep, intimate position.

"F-huck!" You choke on another pathetic moan, tears welling in your eyes from sensitivity—the distortion of your contact blurring as your orgasm begins.

The feeling is euphoric, the drag of his cockhead petting your insides in rough, passionate thrusts.

And when your back bows off the sticky sheets, you soak his thick cock in your release—gushing when his leaky tip hits your sweet spot over and over and over.

Your legs shake, your hands tremble, and you can barely even form a sentence when he finally cums, fucking his load back into you—grinding against your cervix.

He pulls out, a string of cum and sugar and ectoplasm bridging your wet heats. And in a haze of pleasure and desperation, you reach out—looping your arms around his neck and cradling the back of his head.

The things you’d do to see his skin—flushed pink and peach, His hair—like silk slipping between your fingers.

And when you kiss him—his scar buzzing and sugary sweet on your tongue—you can almost hear his groan echo between dimensions.

He holds you close, reveling in the affection—swimming in the warmth of your plush arms, inhaling the sweetness of your perfume. He buries his face in your hair, nostalgic for his human form when he feels your blood rushing against his palms.

After a warm shower—watching him disappear under rushing water—you find solace in still feeling his heavy hands against you, holding and kneading at your soft skin.

Ever since that night, your apartment feels ironically safer.

Maybe you’re foolish, blissfully unaware of how dangerous it is to harbor a vicious entity in your apartment—but he isn’t a vicious entity, he’s your Toji.

While some people dealing with ghosts and ghouls might fear the spirit's tricks—all he’ll ever do is grab your ass while you're cooking or open a window so you can enjoy the rain’s pitter-patter.

And despite how lucky you are to have a ghost with benefits, you're already wracking your brain on how to tell your friends that the best dick you've ever had came from a man you can’t even see.

A/N: HI HOPE U ENJOYED !!!!! I loved writing this omg it was so fun!! LIFE UPDATE I started a new job and I work with a bunch of men (ew) so I’m lowkey scared but fuck it we ball. ALSO… I’m going to art school in September 🥳 I’m so excited omg RAH. Would artist!Toji be hot? OMG like reader is a preppy fine arts major and Toji’s a gang member graffiti artist? Ok I’m getting horny again. LOVE U BYE !! ❤️ (also sorry for any errors lmao)

[emotionalsupportmask]

[partywithponies]

My woke take, as someone who has worked in both a public library and a school library, is that we desperately need both more books that are at a higher reading level but a less mature subject matter, and more books that are at a lower reading level but a more mature subject matter, because 8 year olds who are advanced readers are still 8 year olds and don't want to read about graphic violence and torture, and teens and adults who have learning difficulties or who are just later readers for whatever reason are still teens and adults and don't want to read about Billy the Bunny going to school or whatever the hell.

[grimmzee]

another request - Ghost blanket burrito

[goodgirlcoded]

i know this is tumblr and we’re all playing perverts but i just think some of you would be excellent company for a late night walk and a four hour conversation about absolutely nothing

[smsomah]

Scanned from the book The Craft Heritage of Oman; 2003; Neil Richardson & Marcia Dorr

[mimimochis]

masseuse frat!jo likes his women mean

Content warnings: misandrist!reader x frat!jo, implied crush (on gojo’s end,) college au, misandry ofc, frat!jo is a part time masseuse, porn with no plot, fingering, penetrative sex, dirty talk, banter, profanity, workplace sex, a bit of coercion, mouthy reader, idk if either of them are domming

The summer heat clung to the city like a second skin, making the small massage parlor tucked between a coffee shop and a laundromat feel like the only sanctuary for miles. You clutched the crumpled coupon in your hand, the one your roommate had shoved at you after winning it in some raffle, and pushed through the glass door with low expectations. 

The bell above the entrance chimed softly, and the cool blast of air conditioning hit you immediately, carrying the faint scent of lavender oil and eucalyptus. You had been nursing a knot between your shoulder blades for weeks, the result of too many shifts hunched over countertops and wiping tables. With the promise of professional hands working out the tension finally convincing you to use the damn thing.

The receptionist barely looked up from her phone when you approached the counter, her bubblegum pink nails tapping against the screen. "Walk-in or appointment?" she asked, already reaching for the schedule book. 

“Appointment for Saturday, 4pm.” You answered, sliding the coupon across the counter and explained that you had specifically requested a female therapist, because you’d rather die than have an awkward experience with some low tier male masseurs. 

She glanced at the paper, then at the computer screen, and her expression shifted into something apologetic. "Sorry, but all our female staff are out today. We only have male staff available right now."

Before you could protest or ask to reschedule, a familiar voice cut through the lobby like a knife through butter. "Well, well, if it isn't the girl who thinks frats are the root of all evil." 

You turned slowly, already dreading what you knew you would find, and there he was, Satoru Gojo, leaning against the doorway that led to the treatment rooms with that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. He was dressed in the standard uniform of black scrubs that somehow managed to look expensive on him, his white hair pushed back with a headband that kept it out of his eyes. The sight of him made your stomach drop, because of course your mortal enemy, a frat bro, would be working here of all places.

"You've got to be kidding me," you muttered, “Don’t you need a license for this?!” But before he could even explain you began backing toward the door. Satoru however pushed off from the doorframe and sauntered closer, his hands tucked into his pockets like he had all the time in the world. "What, scared I'll see you in a towel?" he teased, and the challenge in his voice made something stubborn flare to life in your chest. You had never backed down from him before, and you weren't about to start now just because he happened to work at the one place you needed to visit.

"I'd rather have anyone else," you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. Satoru just laughed, that bright, obnoxious sound that had grated on your nerves since the first day you met him at orientation. "Lucky for you, I'm the only one here. Unless you want to come back tomorrow when the girls are working, but something tells me that knot in your shoulder isn't going to wait." He was right, damn him, and you both knew it. The pain had been keeping you up at night, and the thought of another sleepless evening made you grit your teeth in resignation.

"Fine," you said through clenched teeth, "but if you make this weird, I'm leaving and filing a report." Satoru held up his hands in mock surrender, though the glint in his eyes suggested he was already planning something. He led you down a short hallway to a small room with a massage table in the center, the walls painted a soothing shade of pale blue. "Get undressed to your comfort level and lie face down," he instructed, his voice taking on a more professional tone that somehow made you even more nervous. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts and the soft instrumental music playing from hidden speakers. You stripped down to your underwear and climbed onto the table, pulling the sheet up to cover yourself as best you could. The paper crinkled beneath you as you settled into position, and you tried to convince yourself that this was just a professional service, nothing more. Satoru was still the same arrogant frat boy you had despised since freshman year, and no amount of massage oil was going to change that.

Men aren’t shit anyways, especially fraternity whores like him. What the hell were his credentials anyways? but you figured if he was good with his hands one way, maybe he could be useful for once. Best case scenario you’ll never have to speak if this moment again. 

When he knocked and entered, the room seemed to shrink around his presence. You heard him moving around, the soft click of bottles being opened and the squirt of lotion into his palms. "This might be a little cold at first," he warned, and then his hands were on your shoulders, warm and surprisingly gentle as they began to work the tension from your muscles. Despite everything, you had to admit that he knew what he was doing. His fingers found knots you didn't even know existed, working them loose with firm, practiced strokes that made you bite back a groan of relief.

"So what's your problem with frats anyways…or guys in general? You not into men or something?" he asked conversationally, his thumbs pressing into the space between your shoulder blades. You tensed for a moment, then forced yourself to relax as he continued his ministrations.

 "I-I don’t know? I guess?? Honestly they’re just a bunch of entitled assholes who think they own the place," you replied, your voice muffled by the face cradle. Satoru hummed thoughtfully, his hands never pausing in their work. "And you think I'm one of them entitled men?" he asked, genuinely curious rather than defensive.

"You're literally the president of Sigma Chi, and aren’t you some trust fund baby? You’re probably worse than most men."

His laugh was softer this time, less mocking and more self-deprecating. "Fair point. But maybe we're not all the same." His hands moved lower, working along your spine with long, sweeping strokes that made your skin tingle. You wanted to argue, to list all the reasons why fraternities were a blight on campus life, but his touch was making it hard to focus on anything except how good it felt. 

“Plus, i’ve been cut off from my dad for a good two months. after i trashed his yacht he was so done with me..”  You didn’t know what to say to that. And he sounded so, hesitant? Which seems quite unusual but you weren’t easy enough to let a sob story change your mind about frat nepo babies like him.

The massage continued in relative silence for a while, broken only by the occasional instruction from Satoru to breathe deeper or relax a particular muscle. His hands were confident and sure, moving from your shoulders down to the small of your back, then lower still until his fingers brushed the edge of the towel covering your ass. "Umm, y’mind if I work on your glutes?" he asked, his voice professional but with an undercurrent of something else. "A lot of tension builds up there from sitting in lectures all day."

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded against the face cradle. “Y-yeah…whatever, it’s fine…”

After your confirmation his hands slipped under the towel, and you felt the cool air hit your skin as he folded it down. The first touch of his palms against your bare ass made you jump slightly, but his touch remained clinical and focused as he began to knead the muscles there. Despite your best efforts to remain detached, you could feel heat pooling low in your belly, a reaction that had nothing to do with the massage and everything to do with the way his fingers dug into your flesh with just the right amount of pressure.

"You're really tight here," he murmured, his voice closer than you expected. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear, and your mind briefly flashed it another scenario where he might say a sentence like that. His hands continued their work, spreading your cheeks slightly as he worked deeper into the muscle, and you had to bite your lip to keep from making a sound. 

The silence stretched between you, filled only by the soft music playing from somewhere in the room. His hands continued their work, and you found yourself relaxing into his touch despite every instinct telling you not to.

Soon the quiet became unbearable, and to feel some semblance of dignity, you finally spoke up. "Y’know, this doesn't change anything, right?Just because you're good at this doesn't mean I suddenly support everything you stand for."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied. "Though I have to admit, having you here, letting me touch you like this...with these thoughts in my head? It's doing things to me that probably violate several massage therapy ethics codes."

You lifted your head to glare at him. But your flustered expression betrayed you. "Satoru Gojo! What is wrong with you?!” 

"What? I'm just being honest. You've been driving me crazy for months. The way you look at me with such undeniable loathing, it really does something for me.”

Is he…okay?

"Aren’t you supposed to be professional?" You reminded him, but you didn't move a single bit away from his touch. "Professional went out the window the moment you walked through that door," he admitted. "I've been trying to get you alone for weeks. This massage appointment was the perfect excuse."

"You planned this?"

"More like I took advantage of an opportunity," he said. "When I saw your name on the schedule, I may have...rearranged some things to make sure I was the one who got to work on you, and I may have bribed the front desk lady to help me out too.” 

"That's incredibly unprofessional," you chided, but you couldn't quite muster the outrage you thought you should feel. What the hell was happening? 

"She’s a sucker for romantic gestures. Plus, can you blame me? I think you’re gorgeous, even when you're all angry, and I've been wondering if you're as responsive to touch as you are to your man-hating." His hands moved to your lower back, and you shivered despite the warmth of the room. "Satoru, we shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" he asked, his voice dropping lower. "Shouldn't acknowledge that there's something between us? That maybe all this arguing has been foreplay?"

"It's not foreplay," you protested weakly. "It's ideological opposition."

"Mhm. And ideological opposition has never made anyone want to kiss someone senseless, right?"

You turned your head to look at him, and the intensity in his blue eyes made your breath catch. "This is a terrible idea."

"Probably," he agreed, leaning closer. "But I've been having terrible ideas about you for months now."

"Like what?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

"Like what it would feel like to have you underneath me," he said, his hands still moving in slow circles on your back. "Like how you'd sound when you finally let go of all that control. Like whether you'd still be mouthy with me while I was inside you."

"S-Satoru," you breathed, and it came out more like a plea than a protest.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his hands pausing. "Tell me this is crossing a line and I'll back off. But if you want this too..."

Instead of answering, you lifted your hips slightly, an invitation that made his breath catch audibly. His hands moved with more purpose now, one sliding between your legs to cup your pussy through the thin fabric of your underwear while the other continued to massage your ass. 

The touch was electric, sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body, and you couldn't help the soft moan that escaped your lips.

"Lift your legs for me," he instructed, his voice low and commanding in a way that made your stomach flip. You complied without thinking, raising your knees and spreading them apart so that he had better access. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear and pulled them down, leaving you exposed to the cool air and his heated gaze. "Fuck," he breathed, and the reverence in his voice made you feel powerful rather than vulnerable.

His fingers found your pussy with unerring accuracy, sliding through your wetness with a confidence that spoke of experience. He circled your clit with gentle pressure, building the tension slowly as his other hand continued to massage your ass, spreading you open for his touch. The dual sensation was overwhelming, and you found yourself rocking back against his hand, chasing the pleasure he was offering.

He worked one finger inside you, then two, curling them to find that spot that made your back arch off the table. "Fuck, you're tight. Been thinking about this pussy for months."

"Stop talking," you demanded, but your hips rocked against his hand.

"Can't help it. You make me want to say the filthiest things." He added a third finger, stretching you. "Like how I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. Like how I'm going to make you come so hard you forget why you ever hated me."

"Satoru," you moaned, and the sound seemed to drive him wild.

"That's it, baby. Let me hear you." His fingers moved faster, his thumb working your clit in tight circles. "Want to feel you come apart on my hand before I fuck you senseless."

The orgasm build up had you gripping the edges of the massage table as his fingers worked you higher. When it finally crashed over you, your whole body shook with the force of it, your walls clamping around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure washed through you. Satoru worked you through it, his touch gentle but insistent, until you were boneless and panting against the table.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, and you heard the soft sound of him sucking them clean. The intimacy of the gesture made your face burn, but there was no regret in his voice when he spoke again. "Turn over," he said, and there was a question in his tone that gave you the option to refuse. But you didn't want to refuse, not when your body was still humming with the aftershocks of your orgasm and the promise of more.

You rolled onto your back, and the sight of him standing between your spread legs made your breath catch. His scrubs were tented at the front, evidence of how affected he was by what had just happened. "This doesn't change anything," you said, but the words lacked their usual venom. Satoru just smiled, that same infuriating smirk but somehow softer around the edges. "Whatever you say," he replied, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

The rest of his clothes joined yours on the bench, and then he was parting his legs against the table with you, his body covering yours as his mouth found your neck. His cock pressed against your thigh, hard and insistent, and you reached down to wrap your fingers around him. He groaned against your skin, his hips bucking into your touch as you stroked him slowly.

"Condom," you managed to say, and he reached for his discarded scrubs, pulling one from his wallet with practiced ease. The foil packet crinkled as he tore it open, and then he was rolling it down his length with shaking hands. 

You weren’t sure whether you were relieved or disgusted with the revelation that he carried condoms to work. But when he finally pushed inside you, you simply couldn’t think. The stretch was perfect, filling you completely as your bodies moved together in a satisfying rhythm.

Satoru was elated. He had amazing and scandalous sex before, albeit not at work with his one sided little enemy over here. He hated how easily your walls clamped against him. 

"Fuck, you feel incredible," he groaned, his forehead pressed against yours. "Better than I imagined, and I imagined this a lot."

"Less talking, more fucking," you demanded, wrapping your legs around his waist.

"Yes ma'am," he said, picking up the pace. Each thrust hit that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Satoru," you moaned, digging your nails into his back. "H-harder."

He obliged, his hips snapping against yours with increasing force. The massage table creaked beneath you, but neither of you cared. "Been wanting to-fuck…do this for so long," he panted. "Watching you in class, wanting to bend you over a desk and fuck that attitude right out of you."

"S-shit didn’t change…I still have the attitude," you gasped, meeting him thrust for thrust.

"Good. I like you mean." He shifted the angle, and you cried out as he hit something devastating inside you. "There it is…That's the spot, isn't it?"

"Don't stop," you begged, and he didn't. His hand found your clit again, rubbing tight circles as he fucked you harder. "Want to feel you cum on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me while you scream my name."

"Close," you warned, and he doubled his efforts.

"Cum f’me, baby," he demanded. "Gotta feel it."

You shattered around him, your orgasm even more intense than the first. He fucked you through it, his own release following shortly after as he buried himself deep inside you.

Afterward, you lay tangled together on the narrow massage table, both of you breathing hard in the aftermath. Satoru pressed a soft kiss to your temple and cheek before tilting your chin ans kissing your mouth. The gesture was so at odds with everything you thought you knew about him that it made your chest tight.

"So…Y’still hate frats?" he asked, his voice muffled against your hair.

"Maybe not all of their members," you admitted, and felt him smile against your skin. "Though this doesn't mean I'm suddenly going to start wearing Greek letters or anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he sighed, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "Though I wouldn't mind if you wore my shirt sometime. Just to see how it looks on you."

"One step at a time, Gojo," you warned, but you were smiling too. "This was... really unexpected."

"Good unexpected or bad unexpected?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

"Good," you admitted. "Surprisingly good. Though I still think your fraternity is a waste of time and resources."

"Fair enough," he said, helping you off the table. "But maybe we could agree to disagree? Maybe over dinner sometime?" 

 "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

a/n: i wrote this while in a long car ride. i wrote most of it but obviously i edited and finished the rest when i got to where i was staying

also sidenote, do u think my writing has improved?

+ i might do incel!gojo next some day when i get all my other wips sorted out

taglist: @genosblackwife @whispersingojo @6x-x9 @megumisrighttoe @laisaj-21 @sissi4tete @tchmiya @strawbscakes @gloomysel

divider/art credits: @boundbunnie, @viviansturns and art done by mochikuyo on X

[monstersflashlight]

Imagine being kidnapped off the street. You are going out and about with your day when a shadow casts on the ground under you. You have a fraction of a second to look up and see a huge ass dragon coming straight in your direction. Your scream is muffled by his claws closing around your whole body, the sheer size of him so big you can do anything to escape while he flies you away.

You are hyperventilating by the time he lets you down in the middle of a... castle? Why the fuck are you in a dragon's castle? How dare he kidnap you in the middle of the day? Why the fuck did it have to be you? You are so tired of life... Ugh. You're going to teach him a lesson.

"What the fuck?!" You scream in the dragon's direction, who is now looking very confused and affronted by your outburst. "You kidnapped me!" You yell, pointing a finger at him, not caring about the huge size difference between the two of you. That dragon is going to hear you even if he doesn't want to. How dare he kidnap you? "I had things to do! My ice cream is probably melting on the street now!"

He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, his eyes as big as plates while he stares at you. After a beat of silence, he finally speaks: "But you... You are..."

"I'm pissed and I want my fucking ice cream!" You shouldn't be focusing exactly on that but you wanted to eat that ice cream, you deserved that ice cream.

"Mate," he whispers before turning around and disappearing into the next room, leaving you alone with your thoughts in a room so big it could fit your whole apartment.

What the fuck just happened?

part 2

[rawme-price]

Of the many things you've said about your lieutenant, ghost, never once would you have expected to say he's...shockingly good with babies.

"Hey lil' man," ghost coos to the baby sat in his lap, happily chewing on the ear of a snoopy plush with a tiny fist wrapped around ghosts pinky. "Having fun? Thinking up some big things, I'm sure."

It looks comical how small a normal, healthy baby looks in his lap. Little arms waving absolutely while it turns to look at ghosts unmasked face. Baby doesn't cry, only stares up at ghost before exclaiming "ahh!! Babbfaaahh!!"

Ghost, he only laughs and holds baby up in his palms so baby can touch all over his scarred face. Little excited "ah ah ah"s and random giggling interspersed whenever ghost pulled a funny face.

"Smart fella, ain't you?" Ghost snorts, sets baby back down to chew on snoopy. He's got this soft, sappy expression on his face. Looks so natural with a baby in his arms. You can't help but snap a few photos.

Next time you baby sit, you'll ask your cousin about letting the twins stay over. You have a strange feeling ghost would love a princess fairy teaparty.

[theconcealedweapon]

[babyydolieee]

i want a nerdy bf i can cockwarm while he teaches me how to play his favorite game

[cyberdrream]

simon riley as a sugar daddy…. but he’s just. quite bad at it. 

he’s always gone on mission, barely has time to form “actual relationships” but he  finds a sweet thing in you, sitting in one of the offices on base, trying to understand how and why you’ve been taken here, after being rushed into the country.

then the army unceremoniously dumps you in this foreign country, with nothing but a useless passport and no job. you had a life back home, you were studying to become a doctor for fucks sake, now you have nothing. 

so simon pays for your first few days, giving you fat wads of cash whilst you spend it all on your house. thing is, youre also quite bad at the sugar baby thing, wanting to spend time making the shithole of his flat, as nice as possible.

it’s good having someone to come home to, he thinks, is this what price was trying to tell him? he always comes back to a warm meal, from any cuisine. he’s given you enough money to buy takeout and yet you insist on buying cookbooks. 

it’s only supposed to be a transactional thing, he supposes, money for company, but he’s given you house and board in return for a domestic life. 

then he starts paying for you to go to university again, medical school. less time at home, but he still comes home to see the rooms all sweet and cozy, and a homemade meal for him. 

both of you are quite bad at this thing. 

[aquasprings]

flirting with law student! higuruma who’s always quick to shut you down

yummy tags <3 :

@gloryyofthesnow @in-aa @elenathriel @elixoq @bl0g-d0ll @monacosprince @aschwppes @sweetpea-jay @rllyobsessedgirlie @nyanglock @onlyfanfictasies @jasminelee324 @aikuute @tojisoneandonly1 @miy0risworld @palanggaa @eloise-doukakis @meinaserenade @itswhoo @gahh346951t7 @chososleftnip @toesucker59 @reyna-notbeomgyu @mangothegiant @itzeeeee @kociluvsatoru @whispersofrealms @satorugojo-is-hot @ag-zio @getosuguwife @pjselee @chickyyy511

[amaranthinespirit]

boyfriend's scary older brother!simon riley who stares at you too long cw: mentions of domestic violence (not from simon)

the two couldn't be more different. simon was years older than his brother—your boyfriend—to the point where simon was already graduated when his little brother had entered primary. the two weren't particularly close, the considerable age gap being the culprit.

they never bonded over women because being born in two different eras did that, or what music they listened to. simon liked heavy rock, the kind that thrummed a headache in his skull if put on blast. his brother liked soft, soothing instrumental such as classical or jazz.

one thing they could agree on was you. whether simon admitted it or not, he liked you. a lot. more than he should like his baby brother's shy little girlfriend, with soft mannerisms and shy gate. it was wrong the way his eyes lingered, dark irises consumed by the black of his pupil. he's been told countless times he had a staring problem. did it offset him?

never.

he got worse.

because he saw the way you squirmed under his gaze while wrapped under his brother's arm. he saw how possessively you were tugged along beside him, like you were a mere doll to be puppeted around and shown off.

and he saw the soft, purple bruises that marred your skin before you tugged the sleeve back down. he wondered how many more of those ugly blemishes ruined your perfect skin, how much happened behind closed doors that he didn't know about.

perhaps it was the age gap that simon didn't realize what a piece of scum his father made of his younger brother. because when you showed up at his doorstep, out of all people, with rear tracks down your puffy cheeks and dried blood from an unknown source on your skin, he saw red.

it didn't matter that it was his blood he shared, he was going to spill it for tainting your purity, and keep you for himself.