No title available
ellievsbear
No title available
DEAR READER
Stranger Things
Discoholic 🪩
h
JBB: An Artblog!
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Andulka
Today's Document
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
No title available
noise dept.
RMH
🪼
oozey mess
Xuebing Du
Misplaced Lens Cap
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Singapore
seen from Germany
seen from Sweden
seen from United States
seen from Colombia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
@kukslasher
★ ⋆ you’re dating fratjo! ⋆ ★
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
because puppyboy yuji was so highly requested…
puppyboy!yuji who’s crushing on you??
the comment just slips out of nobara’s mouth like it’s nothing. “honestly, he’s like a dog.”
you blink. “who?”
she levels you with a bland look. “who do you think?”
she nods her head to yuji, who’s walking past with megumi. he’s all smiles and as if summoned by the universe itself, he looks up, eyes landing on you. his smile softens, he waves.
your heart does an embarrassing little somersault.
nobara leans in. “exhibit a.”
“i don’t see it,” you say weakly.
“if he had a tail, it’d be wagging right now. he likes you.”
“…no, he doesn’t,” you mumble unconvincingly.
“please. he’ll start bringing you sticks if you asked.”
you feel heat creep up your neck. “you’re exaggerating.”
nobara snorts. “am i? call him a good boy, see what happens.”
“i am not doing that,” you choke.
she just hums, already bored with your resistance. “suit yourself. you’re missing out on prime entertainment.”
so, naturally, later, when you and yuji are asked to pick up supplies from storage (extra training mats? you weren’t quite sure), nobara’s words linger in the back of your mind.
he grabs the boxes without complaint, and reaches over to add the ones you had in your arms to his pile.
“i got those,” he says, easy and bright.
“yuji, you’re already carrying like—five.”
he grins. “six isn’t that different.”
your chest does that stupid flip again, and: “thanks,” you say softly. “you’re such a good boy.”
silence.
yuji freezes mid-step, and you immediately regret everything.
“i didn’t mean—i mean, i did mean it, but not like—i just—” you start rambling, heat flooding your face.
he turns to look at you, and oh.
if nobara had been exaggerating before, she isn’t now.
his ears are bright red, eyes wide, and his smile, that usual easy grin of his, has gone all shy around the edges.
“i—what—” he stammers, voice cracking. “wha—did you just….”
you briefly consider faking your own death. “i just meant—”
his expression softens, deepens, turns warm and a little dazed. “say it again,” he blurts.
you blink. “what?”
“th-that,” he says, flustered. “what you just said.”
your pulse is loud in your ears. “…good boy?”
if possible, he gets even redder.
“man,” he laughs nervously, ducking his head. “that—uh—felt really nice.”
your heart melts, reduced to a puddle on the floor.
“it wasn’t, like…weird?”
“no!” he blurts immediately. “i, uh—you can say it again. only if you want to! just—yeah.”
he looks at you with those soft brown eyes, that gentle smile.
nobara was right.
you smile despite it. “c’mon, good boy. let’s drop these off.”
you don’t miss the way his entire face lights up this time “right!” he says, grinning. “i got it!”
yeah. if he had a tail, it’d be knocking things over.
๑⋅⋯ nerdjo as your boyf!! ⋯⋅๑
taglist <3:
@ydkobitoo @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
summary: when sylus thinks you forget his birthday he broods, stomping around all angsty until he gets the surprise of his life..
warnings: none!
wc: 2.4k
yapyap: i love sylus and this is aprilus!! this got very romantic at the end but he brings it out of me.. part 1 of aprilus! also thank u for 300 followers omg!!!
sylus felt like he was going insane. a bit dramatic for the leader of onychinus but that was how he felt when matters related to you.
for the past week you and the twins had been secretive. whispering to each other, conversations quieting when he walked into a room with hushed promises of "we'll continue this later", every single one of you had been lingering around him when he sat to do his daily shopping scroll.
sylus wasn't stupid. he knew why you had been doing it but it didn't stop him from feeling slightly frustrated. your attention was elsewhere and he was having withdraws.
he had to hand it to you, he had no idea what you were planning for his birthday. he had no bank statement coming in telling him money had been withdrawn—something he'll have strong words with you about.
there was no physical evidence that you had even gotten him anything. he never once saw either of you hauling decorations or hiding gifts away in closets.
he never even saw anything on mephisto, though that just confirms his belief that the bird was working for you.
You really like Sylus's apartment.
Maybe it's the low lighting, the warm lamps he has scattered around his home. Maybe it is the countless little reading and napping nooks he has for you. Shelves upon shelves of books and DVDs stacked up for movie nights. Or maybe it's his leather seats that you slide your thighs onto after a hot summer day in Linkon.
No… Perhaps the thing you love most about his home is the man himself. The way he's always sitting on the sofa after you have a hard day. Glasses perched on his nose, eyes squinting softly as he reads whatever book he's decided to pick up. He's gotten more into fantasy, enjoying the action and suspense of war, fairies, and dragons.
There is always music playing. It's soft and low. Other times high and lively as you two dance around the room together. Occasionally, it garners the attention of Luke and Kieran. They'll join shyly. Luke laces his hands with yours, letting him twirl you around as Kieran catches you.
There is always laughter in his home. Serenity, serendipity.
Even when the days are long and hard, sometimes bloody. There is always joy. Whether that is Sylus awfully humming a lullaby, Mephisto curling onto your lap, or maybe even the sight of the twins playing a stupid card game they spent their allowance on.
No matter the circumstances, Sylus ensures there is always happiness in his home. For a man who believes he is nothing more than a monster, Sylus is an oxymoron. It's funny, actually. Despite his life being dangerous, despite every awful belief he has about himself, his love is anything but that. It is warm. It is safe.
Sylus makes his home safe. Despite the wounds of isolation that scar his heart and mind, he still holds space for you. Still invites you into his hoard, allowing you to mess with every little thing.
Himself included.
soft, quiet crying with zayne. nothing dramatic, no sobs, just tears welling up in your eyes and dripping down your cheeks with soft sniffles. sitting on his lap, facing him, your face buried in the point between his neck and shoulder. weakly gripping at the back of his sweatshirt while your tears soak into the fabric.
he doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to say anything. he knows what you need right now isn't words, it's his presence. so he holds you against him, slowly stroking the palm of his hand up and down your spine beneath your shirt. his affection keeps you secure, stops the negative spiral from taking over your mind.
you listen to the calming, steady rhythm of his breaths, familiar and grounding to you after so much time spent in his presence. you hear the soft sound of his skin against yours, barely audible yet still there in the stillness of this moment with him. his body keeps you warm, staving off the chill that often comes when dealing with these things alone.
it takes a while, but your tears eventually slow, soothed by his endless patience and the calm he always brings with him when he enters a space. you know you can rely on him to be rational, a constant presence in your life who can bring you back down to earth when you panic or begin to overthink. he's logical and intelligent, examining things with a thoroughness that you've never found in anyone else.
he doesn't rush you, even once the tears stop. if you feel the need to cry again, he holds you through it. if you simply wish to rest in his lap for a while longer, he won't complain. your trust and vulnerability are precious to him, and he wouldn't trade them for anything.
thinking about how Caleb would always make you a late night plate. He knows you're supposed to keep it to just a 'light snack' before bed. And hell, he fed you a pretty filling dinner a few hours ago. But there's only a couple handfuls of things he hates more than sending you to bed hungry.
Especially after... more romantic nights in bed. His aftercare tends to be a plate being settled on your lap. Consisting of some cut up fruit, a carb (english muffin, bagel, toast, one of those frozen waffles you like...) And something else. Like cheese, or yogurt, or a sweet treat. Alongside some water.
He sets the plate on your lap. Watches you half sit up to eat it.
"Mh... thank you, Caleb." You lean against his shoulder. Eat an apple slice.
"Course, pips." His hands rubbing your shoulder. You offer him an apple slice. He shakes his head. Half of it slips into your mouth, before he's murmuring how he changed his mind, lips meeting yours as he bites the other half off.
"You..." you mumble as you chew, before you swallow. "Just eat a slice normally. You're so stupid.." Yet your cheeks are pink. Despite the fact he's done way more than just a 'kiss' tonight.
He hums. Rests his head against the head board. "I know, I know..." Yet his smiles wide as you munch on another piece of the plate.
You eat about half the plate, before your head starts to get heavy against his shoulder. Eyes drooping, fingers loosening on the apple slice and cheese cube you were grabbing.
Caleb's eyes soften. Full of nothing but affection as he cleans your sticky fingers and moves the plate off your lap to finish eating what you didn't.
except you !
𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼 : no one wants to patch up the most violent fighter in the ring. toji fushiguro is obnoxious, brash, and refuses to let any medic lay their hands on him. that is, of course, until you come along - brand new head doctor assigned his unit.
boxer!toji x doctor!reader !
𝓪/𝓷 ~ a little idea that’s been brewing in my mind for a bit :)) boxertoji…i need him
no one wants toji fushiguro as their client.
you figure that out in your first ten minutes in the med centre behind the arena.
“he’s an asshole,” one of the older doctors tells you without looking up from his clipboard. his tone is flat and practiced, like this is a speech he’s given a dozen times before. “refuses treatment, mouths off. i had him for two weeks. longest anyone’s stayed with him.”
another doctor snorts from across the room. “the last guy was here for half a match. toji didn’t like his face and told him to fuck off before he even had a chance to look at his cuts.”
you gulp audibly, the sound embarrassingly loud. “oh.”
“just hope he doesn’t lose,” one of the nurses tell you, patting your shoulder. “we normally stay out of the way.”
right. good. great.
⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙
you first see him in person mid-match.
it’s brutal. there’s no other word to describe it.
(there’s also the fact that he’s ridiculously handsome. you’re quick to push that thought to the back of your head.)
toji fights like he’s trying to prove something. every punch lands harder than the last. fast. violent. the crowd eats it up, roaring, chanting his name.
but you notice it immediately.
the slight twitch in his movement. his right shoulder.
it’s off.
his opponent notices the falter in his step, the way he guards his right side suddenly, and suddenly it’s one bad hit, one wrong twist, and —
he’s down.
knocked out, and that marks the end of the round, and the ref blows his whistle after counting to ten.
your heart sinks. you look over to your associates frantically, but they’ve already dispersed, muttering to each other under their breath.
the doctor who was with toji for two weeks looks back and gives you a sympathetic wave.
just hope he doesn’t lose.
⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙
and backstage is even worse.
he’s sitting on a bench in the med centre when you find him, head tilted back against the wall, blood drying along his cheek, chest rising and falling slow and controlled.
his shoulder looks bad. swelling already, awkward-looking and purple.
you step forward after a moment of hesitation.
“sit up.”
toji cracks an eye open. looks at you. doesn’t say anything for a long moment.
“who the fuck are you?” his voice is rough, low. it drags across your nerves like gravel.
“i’m your new assigned doctor.” you introduce yourself with a polite smile, pulling up a chair across from him at the bench.
you hope he can’t see that you’re shaking. you’re very aware of how big he is. i mean, his bicep’s the size of my head. it’s hard not to be fucking terrified out of my—
“get someone else.”
you don’t move. you reach into your kit, pulling out gauze, antiseptic, tape. eyeing his shoulder.
“sit up, please,” you repeat, more calmly this time.
you look up into his eyes more properly. swirling, sharp, angry pools of deep green. measuring, lingering.
his lip twitches. “don’t touch me,” he mutters.
“well, you’ve got a busted shoulder and a cut brow, so i’m going to have to touch you.” you will your voice to stay even, your tone matter-of-fact.
he stares hard again. unblinking, eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes your knees tremble.
you swear his gaze drops to your lips.
then something shifts. he exhales through his nose, tension bleeding out of his posture. he visibly relaxes, arms settling at his sides. his eyes close.
“fine,” he mumbles.
your eyes widen.
that’s it? this is the man everyone warned you about? the toji fushiguro that has tantrums and throws people out mid-treatment?
that’s it?
you don’t want to take it for granted, and you pull your chair closer to him, hands settling on his shoulder.
“does it hurt here?” your fingers press softly into the swollen skin and he winces.
he flinches, barely. “no,” he bites.
“you’re lying.” you hum, unimpressed, adjusting your grip slightly. a faint crease appears between his brows. “alright, toji, on three—”
“wait, wh—”
you move your hands quickly, a sharp shift rolling his shoulder back into place.
toji sucks in a breath, teeth clenching. “what the fuck—”
his hand snaps to your wrist, holding it tightly. your heart skips at the contact.
“you’re welcome.”
he stares at you, still holding your wrist, and his grip flexes slightly before he lets go.
you move to his face next, cleaning the cut above his brow. your fingers press cotton and antiseptic into the bloodied skin.
the strangest part is how he just…lets you. no snapping, no cussing you out.
you can feel toji watching you the whole time. a lidded, heavy gaze.
he lets you tilt his chin up, and your fingers brush against his skin, gentle but firm. you patch his forehead wordlessly, his brow, give him a cold patch for the bruise under his eye.
you smile softly, gathering your items. “there.”
he stays silent, tracking your movements as you put your equipment back in your kit. as you fiddle with your hair absently.
then, a grumble of : “i guess i’ll see you next match.”
you pause and look up, but he’s already standing, rolling his shoulder experimentally.
he walks out without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.
you stand there, stunned. your wrist still tingles where he grabbed you. your mind replays the moment. the way he looked at you.
you let out a slow breath.
is this the right toji?
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
the loss doesn't sit right in his head.
it detonates.
by the time toji steps off the mat the anger is already rotting through his system, sharp, hot and corrosive. he hates that he knows exactly where he went wrong. the misstep, that moment where his shoulder twinged with too strong a swing. he can replay it in his mind with perfect frame by frame clarity. that makes it worse.
just a mistake.
his mistake.
someone tries to talk to him as he pushes his way out of the ring. he doesn't register who it is. maybe someone from his PR crew. it's just a voice that annoys him deeply, saying the wrong thing at the wrong place at the wrong time. toji's patience snaps thin.
he shoves the guy hard enough to make a point, mutters something sharp under his breath that shuts up the people surrounding him quickly. someone else tries to calm him down and he yells, his left fist ending up in the wall instead of their face, a sharp crack splitting through the air.
skin tears across his knuckles, pain blooming fast and bright.
he then ends up in the med room. there’s nowhere else to put himself, and despite his consistent heavy refusal, toji knows that he has to undergo the mandatory medical checkup after every game.
he sits, head tipped back. his shoulder throbs, deep and wrong, but he ignores it the way he ignores everything else.
until the door opens, and he’s already irritated enough and he doesn’t want to deal with his doctor right now - he’s completely incompetent, wired, and too jumpy.
he’ll just piss toji off more than he already is.
when he looks up, his anger stutters for half a second.
you’re just standing there, calm in a way that settles in toji’s bones.
and, annoyingly pretty.
that thought hits first. sharp and immediate, cutting through all of toji’s simmering anger.
it irritates him.
he tells you to fuck off, to find someone else. he expects that to be the end of it.
but you don’t argue, or push. actually, you don’t really react..at all. you keep moving, setting up your equipment, and act like his refusal doesn’t matter.
it throws him off more than if you’d snapped back.
he watches you longer than he means to, waiting for something to give. for you to twitch, for the nerves to show, for your hands to shake.
nothing.
your hands are sure and precise, and when you pop his shoulder back into place with little warning, and everything snaps back into place, pain flaring high enough to drag a rough breath out of him, his hand catches your wrist on instinct.
you still don’t flinch, or pull away. you just look at him.
angel. she’s an angel.
you tilt his head softly, unbothered by the fact that he could snap at any second. you don’t rush, your steady hands carefully cleaning the blood off of his face.
for a few seconds, the noise in his head drops out. no replay of the loss, and no anger clawing at his ribs.
angel.
it sits in his gut, heavy, making his stomach twist.
and when you’re done, you step back quietly, your voice soft, your eyes soft, your hands soft, and toji doesn’t know what to do with the thought of that. that he’s been watching you like he hasn’t watched anyone in a long time, his eyes tracing over your form, the delicate features of your face.
he stands too fast, rolls his shoulders, jaw tight. he mutters something on the way out, barely registering the words himself, and he’s gone before you can respond.
pretty.
angel.
his mind lingers on it. on you.
and toji fushiguro hates that he can’t just punch it out of his system.
hehehehe what do we think??? p2…??
puppyboy yuji??? say no more
it’s no secret that your boyfriend, yuji, is obsessed with you.
everyone knows.
your friends are more then aware. nobara can’t get through telling you a single story without yuji ending up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, nodding along with whatever you’re saying. megumi has a homework question? yuji’s inserting himself into the conversation, latching onto your waist.
“you’re so smart, baby,” he tells you, a huge, happy grin on his face. “always helping everyone.”
megumi just stares at him.
when you laugh softly, patting yuji’s arm, he squeezes you tighter. this typically makes nobara gag.
it doesn’t stop there.
if you’re sitting, he’s next to you. if there’s no space next to you, he makes space. if you’re standing, his hand is in yours, always.
he’s warm. clingy, and affectionate in a way that’s so constant it becomes second nature.
yuji also loves touching you.
it’s constant. your hands clasped together. he likes when you loop his arm through his. your fingers in his hair.
god, he loves when you play with his hair.
the second your hand drifts up he’s melting, shoulders dropping, eyes softening. he sighs happily and lands in your lap, curling into you as you lace your gentle fingers through it.
“mmm, don’t stop,” he mumbles, voice already going soft.
it’s worse when you leave him alone for a few hours.
when you get back to your apartment you’re not surprised to find he’s already let himself in. you barely make it through the front door before he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest with a content exhale.
“i missssed you,” he mumbles into your neck.
“yuji, i was gone for two hours,” you laugh.
“yeah,” he says like you proved his point. “two hours too long.”
it’s also in the way he looks at you.
always soft. always bright, like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him and he’s still a little shocked about it.
you catch him staring sometimes. you’ll be mid-conversation. mid-laugh. mid-anything, actually.
“what?” you’ll ask him.
“…nothing.”
“you’re staring.”
“yeah,” he admits easily. he smiles. “i like looking at you.”
your face heats instantly. “yuji—”
“whaaat?” he grins wider, grabbing onto you again. “you’re pretty,” he says matter-of-factly, and you cover your face.
or : “he’s too clingy,” nobara comments, watching yuji jog over to you after classes. “like a puppy.”
“he’s adorable,” you say softly, giggling as yuji crash lands into you, enveloping you in a tight hug.
“hi, baby,” he’ll say, kissing your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips softly. “you know i like you, right?”
you snort. “i would hope so.”
“no, like..i really like you.”
your chest warms. “i know, yuji.” you run your fingers through his hair in that way he likes. “you’re so good to me,” you mumble into his hair. “the sweetest boy ever.”
he smiles into your neck at the praise, arms tightening around you, happily. this is where he wants to be.
this typically also makes nobara gag.
wanna kiss? ft. my angel choso
choso’s eyes widen and he makes a small, choked sound. his cheeks turn bright red, his entire body stiffening.
“i—i…you..we can..?” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. his hands are gripping your bedsheets so hard his knuckles are turning white.
“yeah, you can kiss your girlfriend, cho,” you murmur, tongue swiping over your bottom lip. his wide eyes follow the movement, and he swallows thickly.
choso’s face flushes further and he slowly, hesitantly leans towards you. his eyes flutter closed just as his lips softy touch yours in a gentle kiss. his hands stay frozen on his thighs, not knowing what to do with them.
you slot your lips gently against his, hand curling at the base of his neck before you pull back slightly, smile etched on your lips. “you can touch me, you know.”
choso looks at you like you’ve just presented him with an impossible math problem.
“wh—where?” his breath hitches and he tentatively places a warm hand on your thigh, the other hovering awkwardly near your waist. “here?”
“sure,” you giggle, pulling him back to your lips from his nape.
he makes a soft whimpering sound against your lips, his hand on your thigh tightening slightly. the hand hovering near your waist finally settles at your lower back, pulling you closer.
your hands trail from his neck into his hair, gently tugging at his inky strands, and choso makes another desperate sound that goes straight to your core, his hand slipping just under the hem of your shorts.
choso gasps softly against your mouth, breaking the kiss for a moment. his eyes are hazy with want, lips slightly swollen.
i definitely just touched her underwear, he thinks to himself, mind racing. lace. it was lace. oh my god, she hates me. she’s gonna hate me. am i supposed to tell her it was an accident? do i pretend it never happened?
choso feels his pants growing tighter. he nearly faints on the spot out of embarrassment. no, no, no, not now, nonono—
unaware of his inner turmoil, you pout, tilting his head towards you again. “cho, baby. what’s wrong?”
“nothing!” he chokes out immediately. “this is just—it’s so good, i—“
“we’ve only kissed a little,” you tease, pushing his hair back delicately. his eyes flutter shut when your nails scrape gently against his scalp, and his cock throbs very insistently in his pants. both of his hands tense on your waist immediately. god, she’s gonna think i’m so weird. think of something else. think of broccoli. i hate broccoli. or—or boring, three hours movies. or..or…
choso loses his train of thought when you straddle his lap, eyes glinting at him before you kiss his jaw softly, sucking at a spot just below his ear. he whines, head tilting back, hands automatically gripping your hips. your lips on his neck send electric shocks straight to his groin, making him throb painfully against your core. “mmnh—“
when you start kissing him again — with tongue, he tells himself — he nearly whimpers. his hands pull your waist down onto him, straining for friction.
you pull your shirt over your head, breathless, eyes blown wide as you look at your cute, adorable boyfriend. he gulps, brain short-circuiting with your tits eye-level to his face.
you pull his hair, tilting his head up to yours, and he moans as he gazes at your parted lips, your lust-blown eyes.
he promptly cums in his pants at the sight with a full-body shudder, panting, a whine getting caught in his throat. “oh—oh my god, i’m so sor—“
“shhh, cho, s’okay,” you mumble, kissing the corner of his mouth before laughing softly and dropping to your knees between his legs, lidded eyes looking up at him through your lashes.
choso nearly has an aneurysm.
Missing Pieces
Pairing: childhood bestfriend!sukuna x f!reader
Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day || MDNI, angst/comfort/smuț, porņ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his 🍆, nıpple sucking, humpıng, óral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press. word count: 15k
Sukuna isn’t the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never would’ve thought that you’d break it like that.
The promise? That you’d be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years old— all eight year olds are dramatic.
Exactly how did you break said promise?
You ghosted him.
You fucking ghosted him.
You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poof— gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the man’s imagination.
Now that’s dramatic.
He’s texted and called you multiple times, no response. He’s asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.
He’d never admit it, though.
—sylus is clingy when he’s drunk <3
tags: drabble, alcohol, sfw, fluff, drunk! sylus, clingy! sylus, love confessions, sylus cries (he’s being a little dramatic), basically you babying sylus for the entire fic
you’re not quite sure how it ended up like this.
you know that sylus’s alcohol tolerance is average (he had told you so himself), but you didn’t imagine that it’d be anything lower than yours. it had started as a joke, while the both of you were slightly tipsy; you had said something about wanting to see him drunk, curious about if he was sleepy, clingy, or whatever else while in that state.
and now, you’re here with your giant, six-foot-three boyfriend who is hanging his head over your shoulder and clinging to you like a weighted blanket.
“sy, baby, you’ve got to get up,” you rub his shoulder, “i think you need some water, honey.”
sylus grumbles in that low, frustrated tone that you only ever really hear when he fails to get a plushie for you at the claw machine.
“no,” he says, stubbornly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as if he can avoid responsibility by hiding there.
you have seen sylus tipsy before, but not quite as drunk as he is now. he’s flushed from the tips of his ears and down to his chest, mumbling and groaning like a tired kid after a full day at the amusement park. not only has he been stubbornly sitting on your lap for the past two minutes, but he’s been leaving little wine-stained kisses all over you face.
“i’m serious, sylus. i think you’re a little too far gone.”
“ ’m right here, kitten,” he slurs. “how can i be far?”
“exactly my point, my love.”
with a heavy head, sylus looks up at you, gaze a little unfocused from the buzz. there’s an almost youthful innocence to him, his eyes round like a big cat; the complete opposite of the internationally-wanted criminal the world knows him as. you’re tempted to call him adorable.
“i could never be far away from you, ever. it’d kill me, kitten.”
you raise a brow at him, “that was quite dramatic there, sy. are you sure you don’t need the water?”
sylus frowns, “don’t.”
you laugh, “don’t what? give you water?”
he purses his lips in a way that looks like you’ve offended him. soon, unsteady, large hands come up to cup your face, staring into your eyes with a softness.
“my feelings are real. i belong with you in every lifetime.”
sylus has always had a habit of confessing his love to you at the most random time of day–you like to call it his shakespearian impulse–but you didn’t think it’d stay while he was intoxicated.
“oh gosh,” you laugh, truly taken aback. “even when you’re drunk, you’re a romantic! this is so cute.”
sylus, however, does not find this situation to be cute at all and frowns at you, his brows squished in frustration. at first, you think that he’s just pouting, the way drunk people tend to. but when you see the watery shine in his eyes, you soon realize that you are completely wrong.
“oh my god, sylus, are you crying?” you panic, grabbing a small napkin from amongst the mess of half-eaten steak and sticky wine glasses and bringing it to his face.
“no… it’s the sun. it hurts my eyes,” he mumbles, despite the fact that you are, in fact, wiping away the tears running down his cheek.
“the sun, right…” he is way, way too far gone. “why are you upset, my love?”
sylus stares at you in an almost accusing way. you’re sitting there in silence for an awkward five seconds before he leans in, pressing his face into your chest.
“yudisayit.”
you blink, “say that again for me, baby?”
he sighs as he pulls back, just enough to look you straight in the eyes. there’s a very determined look on his face, though you still feel like you can’t quite figure out what’s going on in his mind.
“you didn’t say it,” he repeats, “say you belong with me.”
the serious tone of his voice makes it near impossible to stifle the laugh that comes out of you. that’s what he was so upset about? thank goodness no one has ever seen him drunk but you.
“oh, sylus,” you coo, tilting your head so that you can plant a soft kiss to his cheek. “of course i belong with you. i’m sorry i didn’t say it back quickly enough.”
“in every lifetime,” he insists, “together.”
he’s so terribly cute.
you pull him in for a hug, kissing his forehead, then nose, then lips. he stares at you in awe, like you put the stars in the sky and the ocean on earth, full of love for you, like he always is.
“in every lifetime, together.”
♥︎ rugby player sukuna is so in love with his dolly girlfriend
ryomen sukuna, the biggest and scariest man on the university's rugby team, is dating one of the sweetest looking thing on campus — you. it's truly a wonder how someone like him even bagged someone like you... but the more people see you two, the more they begin to realise just how smitten this brute is with you.
everyday before his practice sessions, his teammates see him standing with you, burly arms wrapped around your frame as he leaves little pecks all across your face. and you're always seen holding a little flower in your hands, one that sukuna had handpicked from some bush for you just so that he can see that pretty smile of yours — it's become routine at this point.
his backpack has a few keychains that you'd bought for him — mostly my melody ones unsurprisingly, since she's your favourite character. he knows that there are some people who side-eye him for that, curious as to why a guy like him walks around with such cute trickets dangling from his bag. but he couldn't care less. you were so adorably happy when you'd bought them for him and when you'd attached them to his bag, he could never have the heart to ever remove the little accessories.
he adores how pink and cutesy you always look — adorning cute skirts and dresses, nails always done with pretty charms glued to them, and smelling like a whole bakery. he stares at you with the most lovelorn eyes known to mankind. it's impossible for him to keep his hands off of you, always finding purchase either on your waist or your buttcheeks. he does also adore teasing you in public, loving how easily flustered you get and how you yell at him like a misbehaved dog. but the smack on your ass is all worth it to him!
he's honestly just turned into a mini you. his clothes all smell like you, sugary and vanilla (though some of them still bear a hint of his own musk). he'll catch himself copying some of the cute phrases you use like 'what the flip?' or 'that's adorbs', saying it with the exact same intonation too. he's even started enjoying the romance animes you've introduced him to, even beginning to suggest shows himself.
sukuna has definitely changed ever since meeting you — going from this hard and brutish man that'd scowl at anyone who looked his way to a man who had softened so much, his teammates and friends finally catch him smile every now and then. of course, he's still rough around the edges, but he's still your dear swine of a boyfriend whom you love to bits!
୨୧ — Every damn morning like clockwork, 5:45 AM. Tiny fingers pry one of Sukuna’s eyelids open, a small face hovering inches from his own. Her hair still wild from sleep, cheeks flushed with excitement, "Papa! Wake up!" Small hands nudging him while clutching her pink brush and collection of scrunchies against her pjs, "Hair time!"
Sukuna clicked his tongue, a massive hand engulfing her tiny face as he gently pushed her back, "Go back to bed, brat."
"Nooooo!" She whined, pushing his hand off her face and climbing onto his broad back, "You promised!"
With a displeased groan, he rolls over, causing her to slide off his back with a delighted squeal. Sitting up while running a hand through his own disheveled hair, he looks at the brat he helped create with a scowl, "Gimme that," he grumbles, snatching the brush from her.
She scrambles into his lap, her small back pressed against his chest, practically vibrating with excitement. Sukuna couldn’t relate, it was early… too early, like always. He looks down at the top of her head and mutters under his breath, "She was supposed to be a boy..."
Propping yourself up on one elbow, you trace your fingers over his the tattoos that decorate his warm arm, "You say that every morning," you tease him softly.
"Because it's true every morning," he fires back, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward. Awkwardly, he begins working through her tangles, his calloused hands- hands that at times come home bloody, now trying to be gentle with his daughter's delicate scalp.
"Ooww! Papa!!! You're pulling!"
"Stay still then..." he grunts, trying again with more care, "Your hair's a damn mess." As he brushes through her strands, he couldn't help but think how absurd this was- he was Sukuna Ryomen, the fucking guy who’s got everyone pissing their pants in fear… The guy who was born out of bloodshed, who's never had a single care for the lives he's taken. How the hell did he end up with a little girl, a wife, and a home? … His eyes softened as they narrowed, how the hell did he find himself fearing for this tiny things future- the day she's old enough to be married off to a man like him…?
He’s grown soft…
But it doesn't mean he won't rip out the throat of any man who dares lay a finger on her...
You watch, warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of Sukuna struggling, being utterly defeated by a five year old's bedhead, "Want me to take over-"
"No!" both father and daughter respond in unison, making you throw your hands up in surrender before they decide to kick you out of bed.
"I got this," Sukuna insists, his fingers, more accustomed to handling weapons and violence than hair accessories, fumbling with the thin strands. His brow furrowed in concentration as he attempted to separate her hair into sections. How the fuck was he supposed to make three even parts again?
Your daughter looks over at you, wholesome pride in her eyes. This was their thing- this morning struggle that somehow means everything to both of them. Even if Sukuna doesn't admit it, he loves being the protective girl dad... enjoys feeling needed and special in this way.
You lean against his bare shoulder as you watch him separate her hair into three uneven sections, trying to remember how braiding works. The girl in his lap patiently waits with the biggest smile, offering encouraging words as if she's the adult coaching the child.
"Papa! Papa! Like this! Over not under, remember? You did it yesterday!"
"Yesterday I fucked it up too." he mumbles, starting over for a third time.
When he finally manages something resembling a braid, secured with her favorite sparkly leopard scrunchie, she hops off his lap to examine his work in the bathroom mirror. You take the opportunity to press a kiss to Sukuna’s shoulder, then his neck, then the corner of his mouth, "Looks like you're getting better~."
"Don't start what you can't finish," he warns, his voice dropping lower as he turns to catch your lips properly. His hand coming up to squeeze your cheek possessively.
Your daughter returns before you could respond, beaming despite the crooked, messy braid that's already coming undone at the bottom, "Perect! Thank you, Papa!"
Sukuna breaks away from you, looking down at her, at this tiny little being who fears nothing about him... not his size, not his tattoos, not how he puts the fear of god in her preschool teacher. She sees only her papa, the man who makes her burnt pancakes and braids her hair poorly.
The man who protects you- her mother, and would do anything for her. The man who would secretly die for her…
Placing his hand on the top of her head, he gives it a little ruffle, "Yeah kid... perfect."
♡ ₊˚‧ 𝓒.𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔. meets with you & your frightful boss to discuss business. but when things get heated, he's got nothing to fear with his guard dog satoshi is looming.
˖ ࣪૮₍ violent talks :: gojo twins :: city's sins au :: mercenary!reader :: satoru, suguru & satoshi x reader ࣪ა ࣪˖
they say the devil's charming, but they never quite tell you what to do when he comes knocking on your door.
ambiguity was what gojo satoru thrived on. he chewed the safety collar many wore around their throats and fashioned it into a crown.
volatile. cunning.
charming.
with sapphires for eyes and the shine in his smile. as he leaned back into his seat of some vip lounge in some club he's already forgotten the name of. neon swirls light up the darkness and accentuate the ever-changing rhythm. a bass that shook cocktails and liquors alike, and yet— he held his whisky glass without a falter.
hell, he even drummed two fingers on the rim to sync with the bass-ruined song.
“are you here to talk business or just waste our time?” you hissed.
you were told only two things from your syndicate leader:
show no fear.
don't break eye contact.
so even as your nails dug under the file in your hands and your legs flushed together to compensate for the scarily short dress— you maintained your glare.
a prodigy. perfection. your leader's greatest student and soon-to-be his sharpest weapon. you wouldn't let him down.
especially as he sat beside you, as calm as he was quiet. if gojo satoru was the devil, then by god— geto suguru was hell itself.
satoru directed his smile to you like a bullet. his head crooked as he lounges back. comfortable, for a man alone and facing his rival syndicate.
“fiery thing, isn't she?” a pale brow arched, his smile slipped into a smirk that oozed audacity. “this is your sweet little prodigy, geto?”
“we aren't here to speak about her,” suguru sighed, leaning forward in his seat. the first crack in his mask as lights danced over his dull eyes. “she makes a good point. are we here to tal business or what?”
“about the territory issue?”
satoru didn't sound like he thought it was an issue.
“your men occupy our section.” you spoke, flat.
the bastard grinned. “don't you mean: my men pussied yours out?”
you bristled, jaw tight as your spine straightened. “that wasn't apart of the agreement you spineless—”
a hand stopped you. suguru doesn't bother looking at you, but the gesture shut you up. left you fiddling with the hem of your dress and pressing your lips in a thin line. swallowing your bark. obedient as ever.
brushing away his long strands, suguru propped his elbows onto his spread knees. brows narrowing like blades as he stared the menace down.
“my student's right, gojo. that wasn't apart of the agreement. we agreed on an allyship.”
anyone with a half a brain would take the threat. smarter men would apologise.
satoru didn't seem like that kind of man.
maybe he didn't have to be.
“hm, that's right.” he leaned his head into his palm.
and fucking winked.
“guess I changed my mind.”
the chair creaked as suguru shot up, spine straight as his hand gripped the arm of his seat, a split second away from his weapon. his mouth a cold sneer and his eyes a hellish coal.
“keep that smile on your face when I gut you in that chair you arrogant bastard—”
a pale hand shot through the shadows from behind satoru. curling on his shoulder.
he didn't flinch.
but he did smile.
you jerked back in your seat instinctively. grip shooting to the weapon in the slit of your dress— suguru shot an arm out in front of you.
he was still. you were frozen. knees fighting off jitters as your unblinking eyes locked onto the towering shadow that loomed over satoru from behind.
broad shoulders shrouded from the shadows. white hair glinted like a sniper and hung over daggered, glaring blues.
a face that mirrored the grinning one below, yet firm like stone. with an ugly scar struck through his left eye.
and yet it were his eyes that struck through you.
“watch your mouth.”
he spoke. somehow calm even with a snarl.
gojo satoshi. the six eyes' guard dog. looking like a prowling mutt ready to pounce over the chair and tear his canines right into suguru's throat.
you'd heard the stories. the warnings. how many claimed to watch for the shadows in the presence of satoru, because that's where the true threat lurked. eagerly waiting to not only bark— but bite for his brother.
yes, brother. twin to be exact. identical.
satoshi looked meaner. bigger. rougher. like a diamond carved out rather than shined.
seeing him now, you understood why the rumours said he only wielded a blade for the sake of mercy.
his bare hands were weapons enough.
you've never seen your leader hesitate before— but he certainly reconsidered. his fingers loosening on the arm of his chair and his tight jaw ticking as he cleared his throat.
“need your bitch to watch your back again, gojo?” he grunted.
satoru merely hummed. reaching a hand up laxly to hold his brother's arm in a gesture that you could only describe as a man considering the leash on his hound.
“I'd be careful about what I say right now, if I were you.” he mused, then shot a glance up through his lashes.
not a word exchanged, but satoshi's grip eased. he hadn't returned to his shadow, only stared the both of you down.
specifically, you.
“the woman's easy meat,” he returned to your tensing boss. “do you really wanna risk your precious prodigy's life?”
you couldn't help but bristle. “easy?”
“take it from a fellow bitch.” satoshi spoke, not bothering to offer you his stare again, even when your nose curled at the name.
“your first instinct's the one that'll get you killed.”
you couldn't even fault him on that. your first instinct would be to protect your syndicate leader. you could easily hold your own in a normal fight but. . .
these two weren't normal.
sucking in a breath, you looked to suguru for answers, who only stared at the cheshire satoru. a standoff. a glaring game of chess that you were only a pawn in.
eventually, he slowly rose to his feet, his stare slipping to satoshi who only craned over his twin further. looming. waiting.
daring.
suguru motioned for you. “come. we're done here.”
the second you stood, he turned with you, nudging you in front of him with a subtle hand to the small of your back. guarding you with his body from any potential snide attacks.
you dared to glance over your shoulder. at the pair of sapphires striking through the shadows. fixed on you.
and for a moment, you read their lips.
“pretty thing, isn't she?” satoru crooned, leaning back to take a sip of his drink.
“attitude problem's more like it.” satoshi huffed, standing straight and folding his arms over his broad chest.
“guess that makes both of you.”
“you wanna die?”
“hey hey hey. now you're actually acting like a bitch.”
“shut the fuck up.”
“you hate me and want me to die.”
“eat glass.”
© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @uzmacchiato.
♡. I honestly just wanted to show how the twins interact in this au because ironically enough this is the one au they get along in !!
──── 𝓢 EVEN DAYS OF SATORUCEMBER ₎ა ˙˖
♡ :: 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐗 𝐅. 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ੭ ⌗ husband!satoru x wife!reader
after a long year, you find a way to whisk satoru off on vacation for his birthday week. just you, him, greece's sun and all your married shenanigans.
⌗ wc : 2.9k
ᝰ.☆ cws : fluff :: so much smut :: vacation shenanigans :: lovesick reader :: lovesick toru :: oral ( m. + f. ) :: marathon sex :: creampie :: semi public sex :: angst . . .
ᝰ.☆ sweetheart : cooked up something for my baby <3
Satoru thought you were joking at first.
"A whole week?" He blinked, doubt glimmering in his grin. You returned it brighter, hooking your pinkie beneath his blindfold and tugging it around his neck.
"Mhhm. Just you, me," you stood on your tippy toes. "And Greece." Then gave him a peck.
The kind of affection that was warmer than any European sun. The sort of kisses he could drown in rather than the crystal waters. You'd lathered him in them from head to toe— and you both hadn't even left Japan yet.
"Sweet girl— hey—" he huffed a laugh at the terminal, side eyeing airport security and their scowls as your lips smothered his. "C'mon pretty girl."
He snatched your waist. Squeezed. A quiet behave even when those playful blues smiling at you over the rims of his glasses begged you not to.
"It's not even the first."
"And?"
You tipped into him. Like you owned the damned airport and everyone else were simply hired extras. Arms thrown around his neck while his attempted to get you to your flight in time.
"It's Satorucember." You pouted.
"Satoru—cember?" He mused.
"Genius isn't it?"
"Einstein's envious."
You thumped his side and he coughed a laugh. For the next few minutes you withdrew from his arms. Playing up your huffs and avoiding his little pecks. But the second you were sat in your seats? All over him.
"It's an eighteen hour flight, baby," he mumbled into your mouth, hand fixed to the back of your head while the other attempted to jostle your seatbelt on. As if either of you were even listening to the safety seminar.
"Mm, better buckle up in then." You nipped his lip.
"Threats? For the birthday boy?"
"All these flight attendants are gonna hate me."
I didn't know that y'all liked fluff sm omg??
"You know what I would do if I were you?" Zayne glances up from his book, seeing you standing over him. He raises a brow, already preparing himself for what ludicrous thing that will come out of your mouth.
"What would that be?"
"I'd jerk off more. You don't do it nearly enough." He nearly chokes on his own saliva, immediately coughing to clear his throat.
"I'm sorry?" He blinks at you in confusion, to which you just shrug, as if you've said something completely normal.
"What? I'm just saying that if I were you, I'd whip it out whenever I got the chance!" He can't help but cringe at your language, sighing heavily.
"I see no reason to masturbate when we're together. It would be a waste." Your brows shoot up, and he senses he's made an error in his phrasing. Of course, it's too late to take it back.
"A waste of what exactly?"
"You know what I meant."
"I have no idea what you meant! I mean, I assume you're talking about wasting your cum, but surely I'm mistaken?" You're grinning wildly, and Zayne senses a migraine coming on.
"Regardless, I don't need to "jerk off" anymore than I already do. I would prefer to abstain until I'm with you."
"Right...and what about that time I walked in on you jerking off in your office?"
"...I was with a photo of you."
