EN

mama mia!

[satorusink]

IT'S A-ME, MARIO !!

EN . . .ᐟ she/her . eighteen . desi . bi

m.list + ao3 + tag index .

about + dni + library

[n]sfw + dark content friendly . minors please do not interact . don't steal any of my writing .

ALL MDNI DIVIDERS BELONG TO @cafekitsune

[satorusink]

I'M YOUR DREAM GIRL BUT YOU'RE NOT MY TYPE

pairing: gojo satoru x female reader

synopsis: gojo satoru is the campus genius who knows everything about physics but nothing about how to survive you. what starts as a transactional arrangement for better grades becomes a terminal obsession, as he begins to realize that some debts are paid in more than just flesh and ink.

content warnings: 18+, smut, angst, college AU, unrequited love, social hierarchies, neglect, blood, hanahaki disease, major character death, mental health struggles

word count: 2.4k words [req]

The hum of the old fan in the library was a sound Gojo Satoru had memorized by the time he was twelve. It was a safe sound. It was the frequency of logic, of predictable variables, and of the ninety-eight percent average he maintained without breaking a sweat. It was a sound that didn't ask anything of him other than his intellect.

But tonight, the hum was drowned out by the rhythmic clicking of your heels against the tiles.

He didn't have to look up from his Advanced Quantum Mechanics text to know it was you. You smelled like expensive vanilla and the kind of breezy, effortless confidence that didn't exist in the world of academic scholarships and late-night science podcasts. You were the girl whose Instagram was a curated gallery of frat parties and blurred shots of red cups with liquids he’s never had—the girl whose world rotated on an axis of social capital that Satoru wasn't even allowed to observe, let alone touch.

"Gojo," you said, and the way you left out his first name felt like a deliberate choice to keep him at a distance, even as you pulled out the chair next to him. "Tell me you finished the lab report."

He finally looked up. His glasses were sliding down the bridge of his nose again, and he pushed them back with a finger that trembled just a fraction too much. He hated that his body betrayed him like this. He was a genius; he could calculate the trajectory of a celestial body, yet he couldn't control the way his heart stuttered when your knee brushed his under the table.

"I did," he said, his voice reaching a pitch that was slightly too high before he cleared his throat. "It’s... it’s good to go. You’ll get the A. I even adjusted the margin of error so it looks like you actually did the measurements."

You leaned back, a slow, cat-like grin spreading across your lips. "You're a fucking lifesaver, Gojo. Truly."

You didn't reach for the USB drive he was holding out. Instead, you reached for his hand. Your fingers were warm, your nails a perfect, glossy shade of pink. You squeezed his palm, and Satoru felt the air leave his lungs.

"I know we have a deal," you murmured, your eyes scanning the empty library. "And I’m a girl who always pays her debts. My roommate is out at a party tonight. My dorm? Ten o’clock?"

Satoru swallowed hard. He felt a sharp, stabbing pain in the center of his chest—a sensation he’d been ignoring for weeks. It felt like a seed had taken root behind his sternum, its thorny vines wrapping tighter every time you smiled at him with that faux-sweetness that never quite reached your eyes.

"Yeah," he breathed, the word sounding more like a prayer than an agreement. "I'll be there."

___

The dorm room was a sensory minefield. It smelled like you—that overwhelming, intoxicating vanilla—and it was cluttered with the artifacts of a life he didn't understand. Polaroids of you and Geto laughing at a bonfire; a discarded silk wrap on the floor; a vanity covered in more makeup than Satoru had books in his backpack.

You didn't waste time. You never did. To you, this was a business interaction, a fair exchange of goods. He gave you the grades that kept your parents from pulling your funding, and you gave him the only thing he could never get on his own: proximity to the sun.

"Glasses off, Satoru," you commanded, already pulling your top over your head.

He obeyed, his vision blurring into a soft, impressionistic smear of colors. Without his lenses, the world was less sharp, less punishing. He couldn't see the tiny flickers of boredom in your expression; he could only feel the heat of your skin as you guided him toward the bed.

He was lanky, all elbows and knees, moving with the practiced awkwardness of a man who spent more time in his own head than in his own body. When he touched you, it was with a reverence that was almost painful. He traced the line of your hip as if he were trying to memorize a complex equation, his fingers light and hesitant.

"God, you're so tense," you chuckled, the sound vibrating against his collarbone as you pulled him down. "Relax. You did the work, didn't you? This is the reward."

The reward. He wanted to tell you that the reward wasn't the sex. It was the way you whispered his name in the dark, even if it was just to tell him to move faster. It was the three seconds after you finished when you let your head rest on his shoulder before reaching for your phone.

As he moved inside you, the pain in his chest flared into an agony he couldn't mask. He bit his lip, tasting copper, trying to stifle the cough that was threatening to tear through his throat. Every thrust was a gamble. He was pouring his entire soul into a vessel that had no intention of holding it.

He looked down at you, his blue eyes—the only part of him that ever looked like they belonged to a god—blown out with a desperate, starving kind of love. You weren't looking at him. Your eyes were closed, your head turned to the side, a soft moan escaping your lips that sounded more like a habit than a reaction.

He hit his limit, his body seizing with a pleasure so intense it felt like an angel was coming down from heaven just to help him finish. But as he collapsed against you, a violent, wet cough racked his frame.

He pulled away, his hand flying to his mouth. When he looked down, his palm was filled with small, delicate petals of white roses. They were soaked in blood, their sweet scent clashing with the metallic tang of his own life force.

"Gojo?" you asked, sitting up and reaching for the bedside lamp. "What the hell was that?"

He scrambled off the bed, clutching his shirt to his chest, hiding the flowers in the folds of the fabric. "Nothing. Just... a cold. I should go. I have a paper due."

You blinked at him, the harsh light of the lamp catching the gloss on your lips. For a second, just a fleeting second, there was a flash of something like concern in your eyes. But then it was gone, replaced by the cool indifference that was your shield.

"Right. Monday. Chemistry module 4. Don't forget."

"I won't," he whispered, stumbling toward the door. "I never do."

___

The weeks that followed were a slow-motion car crash. Satoru’s ninety-eight percent average began to slip. Not because he didn't know the material, but because his lungs were so full of white roses that he could barely stay conscious during his exams.

He spent his nights in the back of the campus clinic, stealing oxygen canisters and coughing up entire blossoms. The doctor—a weary woman named Shoko who had seen too many brilliant boys break themselves over things that didn't matter—had given him the ultimatum.

"It’s Hanahaki, Satoru. A literal manifestation of unrequited bullshit. We can surgically remove the flowers, but you know the cost. The feelings go with the petals. You’ll be the smartest guy on campus again, but you won't remember why you ever cared about her."

Satoru sat on the exam table, a stray petal clinging to his pink lips. "I can't. I fucking can’t."

"You're going to die," she said flatly. "The thorns are wrapping around your heart. They’re using your blood as fertilizer. You’ve got maybe a month."

"Then I have a month to make sure she passes her finals," Satoru said, a ghost of his usual arrogant grin flickering on his face. "She really struggles with organic chemistry, Doctor. She needs me."

Shoko just sighed and handed him a fresh pack of tissues. "You're a goddamn idiot, Gojo."

___

The night before the final exams, the air was thick with the scent of impending rain. Satoru arrived at your dorm looking like a specter. His skin was translucent, the blue veins in his temples standing out, and his white hair was dull.

You were stressed, pacing the room with a textbook in one hand and a vape in the other. "I don't get it, Gojo. The covalent bonds—it's like another language. If I fail this, I’m cooked. Suguru’s already mocking me for needing a tutor."

"Sit down," he said, his voice a raspy shadow of its former self. "I’ll walk you through it. One last time."

He spent five hours explaining the world to you. He broke down the universe into tiny, digestible pieces, making sure you understood every link, every reaction, every fundamental truth. He was brilliant. Even dying (not that you knew), he was the most incredible mind you had ever encountered.

When the sun began to peek through the blinds, you closed your book and let out a long, relieved sigh. "I think I actually get it. You're a genius, Gojo. Really."

You turned to him, your eyes softening. You saw the sweat on his brow, the way his hands were shaking as he packed his bag. You felt a twinge of something— perhaps a lingering guilt.

"Hey," you said, reaching out to touch his arm. "You look like shit. Let's just... skip the payment tonight. You need to sleep."

Satoru stopped. He looked at your hand on his arm, then up at your face. He knew this was it. He could feel the roots of the jasmine pressing against his ribcage, ready to shatter the bone.

"No," he said, and for the first time, his voice was steady. "I want to. Please."

It was the most desperate he had ever been. He didn't want to die in a cold clinic room. He wanted to die in the only place he had ever felt like he belonged—even if he was only there as a guest.

That night, the sex didn’t feel like a transaction. At least, not for him. He moved with a slow, agonizing tenderness, his eyes never leaving yours. He wanted to memorize the way the light hit your iris, the way your breath hitched, the way you looked when the world finally fell away.

He didn't cough. He forced the flowers down, burying the pain under a landslide of sheer will. He wanted his last memory of you to be perfect.

When it was over, he didn't stay to talk. He didn't wait for the awkward silence or the "see you around." He just dressed quietly, leaned down to press a single, chaste kiss to your forehead, and walked out.

You fell asleep almost instantly, exhausted by the night’s study session. You didn't hear the wet, thudding sound he made in the hallway. You didn't see the trail of white petals that led from your door to the elevator.

___

Finals week was a blur of caffeine and adrenaline. You crushed the chemistry exam. You walked out of the hall feeling like a queen, Geto and the others waiting for you on the quad.

"I told you I'd nail it," you laughed, tossing your hair back.

"Where's your pet?" Geto asked, leaning against a tree. "I haven't seen the lanky prick all week. Usually, he’s hovering around you like a moth."

You shrugged, a small frown wrinkling your brow. "I don't know. Probably in the library, starting on next semester’s reading. He’s obsessive like that."

But as the days turned into weeks, the absence of Satoru Gojo became a palpable thing. He wasn't in the library. He wasn't in the cafeteria. His name was pulled from the Dean’s List.

You texted him once. 'Got an A. Thanks for the help. You okay?'

The message remained 'Delivered,' but never 'Read.'

It wasn't until a month later, when you were cleaning out your bag, that you found a small, handwritten note tucked into the back of your chemistry notebook.

The answers for the final are on page 142. But you won't need them. You're smarter than you think you are. - S.G.

You felt a strange, cold sinking in your stomach. You walked toward the campus clinic, though you didn't know why. You found the campus doctor sitting on the back steps, smoking a cigarette and staring at a small, freshly turned patch of earth in the campus garden.

"Looking for the genius?" she asked, her voice devoid of emotion.

"He hasn't been in class," you said, your voice small. "I just... I wanted to see if he wanted to do the next module."

Shoko let out a puff of smoke. "He’s gone. Internal organ failure. The doctors said it was one of the most aggressive cases of pulmonary blockage they'd ever seen. His lungs were... full."

You stood there, the sun beating down on your shoulders. "Full of what?"

Shoko stood up, crushing her cigarette under her heel. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, dried object. She pressed it into your hand.

It was a rose petal, brown and fragile.

"He didn't want the surgery," Shoko said, looking you right in the eye. "He said if he forgot the feeling, he’d forget the only thing that made him feel like more than just a brain in a jar. He died in the library, you know. Right in his favorite chair. He was holding a picture of some girl at a bonfire. He’d drawn physics equations all over the back of it."

You looked down at the petal in your palm. The wind picked up, catching the tiny, dead thing and whisking it away into the grass.

"Oh," you whispered.

You waited for the tears. You waited for the soul-crushing grief that people wrote about in books. But it didn't come. You weren't a romantic. You were the girl with the B-average and the expensive vanilla perfume.

You felt a twinge of regret—a minor annoyance, like a splinter you couldn't quite reach. You’d have to find a new tutor for next semester. Nanami was smart, you heard. Maybe he’d be open to a deal.

You turned and walked back toward the quad, where your friends were waiting. You checked your phone, scrolling past the unread message to Satoru, and laughed at a meme Geto had sent.

The world kept rotating. The axis didn't shift.

Behind you, in the garden, a single white rose plant began to sprout from the soil where Shoko had scattered his ashes. It was beautiful— and utterly alone.

Satoru Gojo was the smartest guy on campus. He knew exactly how the world worked. He knew the laws of gravity, the speed of light, and the cold, hard reality of social hierarchies. He knew that people like you didn't love people like him.

And he chose to die for it anyway.

© satorusink on tumblr. please don't plagiarize or feed my work to ai

[satorusink]

ASHBOUND

pairing: sukuna ryomen x female reader

synopsis: you're a ghost in a box, playing scientist in a lab until the mountain decides to take you back. sukuna doesn't care about your data or your human "people"—he just wants the oracle in the dirt. when the rda triggers the station’s self-destruct, you have five minutes to stop being a hologram and start being his, or you burn with the metal.

content warnings: 18+, smut, Avatar AU, scientist! reader (the reader has an Avatar), mangkwan!sukuna, p w plot, drug-induced arousal, hallucinations (true-form sukuna mention yeehaw), dub-con elements, primal play, rough oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, creampie.

word count: 5.3k words

a/n: First long fic yayay. I combined both of my fav things lmaoo (Inspired by @tonycries 's na'vi gojo fic which was PEAK btw go read it guys). Cover art by zuunary on twt and insta !!

The seismic needles were dancing across the monitors, scribbling frantic teeth across the glass while you leaned into the console. The cool metal rim pressed a dent into your Avatar’s ribs, and your long blue fingers hammered a desperate rhythm over the keys to keep the sensor feed from flatlining. The Great Mouth was throwing a tantrum tonight, screaming in a language of tectonic shifts and magma pressure that only you and these expensive, humming machines actually understood. Outside, the wind shrieked against the basalt cliffs of Station 4, a high-altitude whistle that usually kept the rest of Pandora far away from your front door.

You were deep in the zone, that headspace where your brain becomes a bridge between flickering digital data and the raw heat of the planet’s core. The low-frequency thrum of the link-unit was a steady vibration against your spine, a mechanical heartbeat that kept you grounded in the silence of the lab.

Then a shadow stretched across your primary monitor, long and distorted. The security feed on the left dissolved into a messy, static haze of gray and white. You hissed under your breath, reaching out to recalibrate the camera, but the screen died the second your finger brushed the glass. The auxiliary displays followed in a rapid chain reaction. The sterile, fluorescent white light of the lab felt paper-thin, bleeding out until you were left sitting in a dim, suffocating amber twilight.

Your ears twitched, swiveling toward the back of the room before you even realized you were listening. A soft, heavy thud hit the floor—bare feet on metal floorplates, backed by the weight of immense muscle. You started to spin your chair around, your heart rate jumping so hard that the HUD in your vision started flashing yellow warnings, when a massive, dark shape blotted out the light in your peripheral.

A hand slammed against the reinforced glass of your link-pod.

The sound was a dull, bone-shaking roar that rattled your teeth. You let out a strangled gasp, your eyes going wide as you threw yourself backward, your chair skidding across the floor.

A stranger was standing in the middle of your station.

He was a jagged wall of blue skin, dehydrated and matted in thick charcoal soot, looking as though he had been carved directly out of the volcano itself. He towered over the pod where your human body lay tucked away, appearing like a fragile doll in a glass coffin. He ignored your Avatar at first. Instead, he leaned down, his face inches from the glass, golden eyes narrowed with a quiet, terrifying curiosity as he studied your human self. He watched the way the pod fogged up with every shallow, sleeping breath you took. Then, with a slow click, he dragged a long finger across the glass, tracing the curve of your human cheek.

He murmured something under his breath, a gravelly vibration that made the fine hairs on your Avatar's neck stand straight up. When he finally turned his head to look at you, the smile that pulled at his mouth was sharp and mean. You tried to stand, but your legs felt like they had been turned to wet concrete. He just shifted his weight, leaning his hip against your link-pod with the casual ease of a man who owned the room.

Behind him, more shapes filtered out of the smoke—the Mangkwan. Warriors of the Ash. Their bodies were stained in soot and the red, angry glow of the deep vents. They didn't come in swinging or smashing tech. Instead, they simply moved in. They draped heavy, musky-smelling furs over your server racks and tossed a wickedly sharp obsidian blade onto your desk, its glass-like edge catching the dying light.

The stranger reached out, hooked a foot under your swivel chair, and pulled it right up to the pod. He sat down, his long tail lashing once against the metal base, and just stared. He was the king of this cinder-heap, and he had just turned your high-tech sanctuary into his personal living room.

"The mountain says you are its voice," he said, his voice a low grate that vibrated in your chest. "Now you will be Sukuna’s."

You were being occupied. This tall, scarred Na'vi was claiming the station, the gear, and the ghost living inside the blue skin. You were a captive observer, stuck in a body that wasn't yours, watching this olo'eyktan turn your life into his private court.

You stood there, hands trembling, trying to wrap your head around the fact that you were officially a prisoner. You were also his only translator—the only one who knew when the mountain was going to blow them all to hell. For a few hours, you tried to play it cool, hiding behind the physical power of the Avatar, but the clock was screaming at you. Your human body had a biological expiration date. You needed water. You needed to breathe air that didn't taste like the gel-bath.

Eventually, the HUD started screaming red. Your heart rate was redlining; your glucose was bottoming out. You couldn't stay under forever without risking a permanent blackout for the girl in the box.

"I have to go back," you whispered, your voice cracking in the vast, shadowed room.

Sukuna tilted his head, a slow, predatory movement that made you feel like a mouse under a cat's paw. "Back to the shell? Go then, little ghost. I am curious to see what crawls out."

___

The transition hit like a physical blow, a jagged, agonizing snap that made your vision white out. One second, you were ten feet tall with skin like sapphire and muscles that could crush stone; the next, the world turned inside out. Your consciousness dragged across the neural wire, forced back into a body that felt pathetic, freezing, and impossibly small.

You woke up gasping, your human lungs hitching as they fought to remember how to pull oxygen out of the air. The cooling gel felt like liquid ice, clinging to your skin and weighing down your limbs as you struggled to move. You were a shivering wreck of tangled sensors and pale skin. With hands that wouldn't stop shaking, you shoved the glass lid open, the hinges groaning as you dragged yourself toward the edge of the pod.

He was right there.

He loomed over you, a massive, ash-stained shadow that blocked out every light in the lab. He hadn't moved an inch since you’d left the Avatar body. He just stood there, watching you crawl out of the gel with a look of quiet, intense fascination. To him, you were a bizarre puzzle—some kind of spirit that chose to hide inside a fragile shell of meat and bone.

As you sat up, clutching your thin thermal wrap around your shoulders to stop the trembling, he leaned forward. His shadow swallowed you whole before he even opened his mouth.

"The spirit returns to its shell," he said, his voice a low, melodic grate that seemed to vibrate in your very marrow. He reached into the pod, his broad finger pressing firmly against the pulse point in your neck. His skin felt like sun-baked stone, searingly hot against your cold flesh. "It beats so fast. Like a trapped bird. Are you afraid, tawtute, or is your heart just struggling to wake up?"

You weren't brave enough to slap his hand away, but you still had enough bite left in you to speak. You leaned back against the headrest, teeth clicking together. "It’s a biological response to the shift, Sukuna. My brain is recalibrating the sensory input. This is just science, not some poem."

He let out a short, dry huff—a sound that was almost a laugh, but lacked any real warmth. "You and your words. Biology. Calibration. You use those names to avoid feeling the world. You think measuring the heat of the Great Mouth makes you its master."

He straightened up, his massive frame making the high ceilings of the lab feel cramped and claustrophobic. He prowled over to the kitchen unit, snagged a ration pack, and tossed it onto the edge of the pod. While you fumbled with the packaging and started to eat, he watched with a disgusted sort of wonder, his eyes tracked the blue veins visible through your nearly translucent human skin (the lack of food tends to do things).

"How do you even live like this?" he asked, his voice dropping into a quiet, dangerous register. "So soft. So fragile. I could break your neck with the pressure of two fingers, yet you talk to me of logic while you shiver in a box."

"I live like this because I have to," you snapped, the hunger and the lingering cold giving you a sudden, sharp edge. "This 'soft' body designed the sensors that keep your tribe from being buried under a river of lava. My logic is the only reason you haven't been burned to ash yet."

Sukuna tilted his head, a slow, predatory movement that signaled he was losing patience with your defiance. He walked back to the pod, gripping the metal rim so hard the frame creaked, and leaned down until your noses were almost touching. You could smell the copper on his skin and the thick, sweet resin he burned at night.

"The mountain doesn't give a damn about your sensors," he whispered, his breath hot against your face. "It cares about the blood in the soil. You call it physics. I call it a hunger that your flickering lights can't understand."

He didn't pull back. He stayed right there in your personal space, watching the way your pulse jumped in the hollow of your throat. This became the friction that defined your days: a constant, bitter war of wills. You showed him the seismic data and the pressure gradients; he countered with stories of the hearth-fire and the ancient spirits living in the stone. You told him the mountain had no soul, and he told you that a woman who lived through a wire wasn't a woman at all.

Every night, the air in the lab grew tighter, more pressurized. The glances lingered a second too long. He began marking his territory with a possessive grace, moving your equipment and piling his heavy furs wherever he felt like it, slowly turning your sanctuary into a den. You were his captive oracle, his window into the volcano’s rage, but as the tremors outside grew more violent, you realized he wasn't just watching the mountain. He was watching you, waiting for your logic to finally break so the fire could take over.

___

The wind outside stopped being a sound and became a physical weight, hammering against the basalt skin of the station until the floorplates groaned under the pressure. Inside, the lights were on their last legs, pulsing a sickly, rhythmic amber as the geothermal generators choked on the ash storm. The air near the vents was freezing, but the space between you and Sukuna had turned into a pressurized pocket of heat that smelled of copper and woodsmoke.

He moved with a heavy, restless energy that made the narrow lab feel like a cage. He stopped at the edge of your link-pod, his long tail lashing against the metal frame with a violent crack that echoed off the equipment. From the thick furs at his waist, he pulled a carved stone bowl and a bundle of dried, resinous Cinder-Leaf.

"The mountain is screaming tonight, vrrtep," he said, his voice dropping into a register that vibrated through your human marrow. "And you are still trying to hide in your metal dreams while the earth prepares to swallow you."

He didn't bother asking for permission. He sat on the floor between your chair and the pod, striking a spark into the bowl until a thick, shimmering violet smoke curled toward the ceiling. It smelled like burnt honey and deep-earth minerals, cloying and heavy enough to make your head swim. He leaned into your space, his golden eyes glowing with a terrifying clarity through the haze. He took a deep, lung-expanding drag of the smoke, then reached out to cup the back of your neck. His hand was a furnace, grounding you as he pulled you forward until your foreheads touched.

"Breathe," he commanded against your lips.

The violet smoke invaded your neurons, thick and tasting of burning honey and old iron. Sukuna pulled your face closer, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip before he inhaled a massive cloud from the bowl. He didn't pull away. He leaned in, his mouth hovering a fraction of an inch from yours, and exhaled the heavy vapor directly into your lungs.

He reached down, his fingers—calloused and smelling of woodsmoke—hooking under your chin to tilt your face up. He didn't wait for an invitation. He crashed his mouth against yours in a kiss that tasted of salt, ash, and the cloying sweetness of the resin. It wasn't a gentle thing. It was a bruising, desperate kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a lazy, possessive rhythm that felt like it was being broadcast directly into your human brain.

You let out a broken whimper, your hands scrambling for purchase against the charcoal-stained muscles of his chest. The neural bleed was making everything double. You felt the dry, heated friction of his skin against your Avatar’s palms, but you also felt the ghost of your human hands twitching in the cooling gel of the pod. The sensations were blurring, bleeding into one another until you couldn't tell where the machine ended and the flesh began.

Sukuna groaned deep in his throat, a sound that vibrated through your entire ribcage. One hand stayed braced on the floor, while the other moved with a frantic, restless energy. It flattened against your stomach, the heat of it searing through your blue skin, while the one on the floor tangled in your hair, forcing your head back so he could trail a path of wet, biting kisses down the column of your throat.

"So quiet," he breathed against your skin, his voice a low grate that made your toes curl. "In the box, you are a ghost. But here? Here you bleed. You sweat. You scream."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his breath hitching in a way that felt entirely too human. He was reeling from the drug just as much as you were, his movements heavy and uncoordinated but filled with a terrifying, singular intent. He watched your pupils dilate, watched the way your Avatar's chest heaved with every ragged breath, and for a second, the mean edge in his eyes softened into something closer to a raw, aching hunger.

That was when he reached behind his head.

His movements were slow, weighted by the haze of the smoke, as he brought his queue forward. The neural tendrils at the end of his braid twitched and shimmered, glowing with a faint, bioluminescent hunger that seemed to pulse in time with the mountain’s groans.

"No more metal walls," he rasped, his voice echoing in the speakers of your link-pod and the heavy silence of the lab at the same time. "No more hiding in the wire. I am going to bind you to this world, little ghost. I am going to bind you to me."

You knew exactly what he was asking for. Tsaheylu. To an Avatar pilot, it was the ultimate transgression—the kind of soul-deep connection that changed a person forever. Your hands, slick with charcoal and sweat, reached up to find your own braid. Your fingers were clumsy, fumbling with the neural fibers as the Cinder-Leaf made the world spin, but Sukuna didn't let you struggle for long. His larger, surer hands guided yours, his touch steadying your trembling fingers as he brought the two queues together.

The connection erupted.

The bond didn't just snap into place; it flooded your entire nervous system like a dam breaking. The second those neural filaments entwined, the room vanished. You weren't just a pilot in a suit anymore. You were the heat in his blood, the gravel in his voice, and the ancient, echoing hunger of the mountain itself. Sukuna let out a sound that was half-growl and half-sob, his forehead crashing against yours as the Tsaheylu locked your souls into a single, screaming frequency.

He was high, out of his mind on the smoke and the sudden, overwhelming taste of your thoughts, and it turned his usual malice into something much more dangerous: devotion.

He didn't go for the kill. He didn't even go for the main event yet. Instead, he slid down your body, his hands (why did you see four?) mapping every inch of your blue skin with a worshipful, frantic intensity. He pinned your thighs back against the metal floor, his charcoal-stained shoulders bunching as he settled between your legs.

"I can feel it," he rasped through the bond, his voice echoing inside your skull. "The way you crave it. The way you've been starving in that glass box."

Then he buried his face in you.

The first lick was a shock that made your human heart redline back in the pod. His tongue was huge, rough, and scorching hot, sweeping over your clit with a rhythmic pressure that made your hips buck off the floor. Because of the bond, the sensation was magnified a hundred times. You felt the wet, slick friction of his mouth against your folds, but you also felt his perspective—the way you tasted like honey, the way your inner muscles were already twitching in a desperate invitation.

Sukuna was relentless. He used one hand to grip your ankle, hooking your leg over his shoulder to open you up completely, while his other hand moved upward to possess your breast, squeezing and kneading the blue flesh until you were sobbing his name. He ate you out like a man dying of thirst, his tongue darting deep inside you before swirling back to the center of your heat with a punishing focus.

"Sukuna—please—" you choked out, your fingers digging into the metal floorplates until your nails shrieked.

He didn't stop. He leaned into the Tsaheylu, sending a wave of raw, possessive pride through the link. He wanted you ruined. He wanted you so high and so wrecked that you’d never be able to look at a computer screen again without feeling the phantom itch of his tongue. He started sucking, a hard, drawing pressure that made your vision spark with white light. Your thighs were shaking uncontrollably, slick with a mix of your own arousal and his saliva, as he drank you in.

Through the bond, you felt his own arousal reaching a breaking point—a heavy, throbbing weight that felt like a tectonic shift. He was pussywhipped, completely caught in the gravity of your reaction, his golden eyes blown wide and glassy as he watched you come apart under his mouth.

You hit your first peak with a scream that tore through the lab, your body arching in a perfect bridge. The orgasm was a total sensory meltdown; you felt the pulse of it in your Avatar’s core and the frantic thud of it in your human chest simultaneously.

He didn't give you a second to breathe. He sat up, his chest heaving, and reached for the waist of his furs. His cock was out—heavy, dark, and pulsing with a life of its own. It looked impossibly large in the dim amber light, veiny and slick with the pre-cum he’d been leaking since the bond snapped shut.

"The ghost is finally awake," he hissed, his voice thick with a dark, triumphant heat.

He grabbed your waist with his hands, lifting you off the floor as if you were weightless, and positioned himself at your entrance.

"Now," he whispered through the bond, "let's see if this shell can handle the eruption."

He didn't ease in. With the bond active, and him eating you out, there was no need for caution. He drove into you in one massive, soul-shattering thrust that bottomed out so hard you felt it in your human spine back in the pod.

"Mine," he roared into your mind, the word a physical shockwave. "Every nerve. Every thought. Mine."

He began to move with a brutal pace that felt like the tectonic plates shifting beneath the station. Because of the bond, you felt exactly what he felt—the tight, wet heat of your own body clenching around him, the way his cock swelled and throbbed deep inside your core. Every shove was a double-hit of pleasure and power. One pair of his hands pinned your wrists to the floor while the other two roamed your body, overstimulating every inch of your blue skin.

He flipped you over, forcing you onto your hands and knees. The bond stayed taut, the queues locked together as he descended on your back like a predator. He gripped your hair, pulling your head back to expose your throat, and hammered into you from behind. Each thrust hit your cervix with the force of a hammer, sending sparks of white light across your vision.

"Look at the mountain," he hissed into your ear, his breath a scorching wind. "Feel it scream. That is how I want you. Broken and burning."

You were sobbing now, the pleasure too much for your mind to process. You felt your human heart redlining on the monitors, the beep-beep-beep of the life support system becoming a frantic, high-pitched whine. You were drowning in him—in his scent of copper and resin, in the raw power of his embrace, and in the terrifying intimacy of the bond.

He sensed your peak coming through the connection and he pushed harder, his movements becoming frantic and feral. He began to knot inside you, his cock thickening and pulsing with a life-altering intensity.

"Take it," he commanded, his voice a jagged edge of desire. "Take it all, little ghost."

The orgasm didn't just wash over you; it tore you apart. It started at the point where your queues were joined and radiated outward, a supernova of pure sensation that made your human body arch so hard in the gel-bath that you nearly broke the sensors. You screamed, a raw, primal sound that was joined by Sukuna’s triumphant roar. He came inside you with a force that felt like an eruption, filling you to the brim until you felt heavy with his seed.

The bond pulsed one last time, a lingering glow of shared ecstasy, before the world started to settle back into its jagged edges. You collapsed against the metal floor, your breath coming in ragged, broken hitches, while Sukuna remained buried inside you, his arms wrapped around you as if he were protecting a treasure he had just dragged out of the heart of the volcano.

"You aren't a ghost anymore," Sukuna whispered, his lips grazing the sensitive skin at the back of your neck. His voice was a low hum through the bond, intimate and heavy. "You are blood and ash. You are mine."

The weight of him was still pinning you down, his body a warm, solid anchor in the fading violet haze of the Cinder-Leaf. But just as the world started to feel like it might make sense again, a sound ripped through the silence—a sharp, mechanical shriek that didn't belong to the mountain or the primal rhythm of the bond.

CODE RED.

The red emergency strobe light hit the room with the force of a physical blow, turning the lingering smoke into a bloody, frantic mist. Behind Sukuna’s head, the monitors you had spent months coddling suddenly flared to life, screaming a rhythmic, high-pitched warning that made your blood run cold.

The betrayal hit you like a bucket of ice water, slicing straight through the neural high. Your heart, already hammering from the intensity of Sukuna’s touch, leaped into a panic that had nothing to do with pleasure. You knew that protocol. To the RDA, Station 4 was no longer an asset to be recovered; it was a liability to be erased. They weren't coming for you. They’d labeled the station "compromised" and remotely triggered the geothermal reactor to overload. They were going to incinerate the Mangkwan, the data, and the "Ghost" just to keep their balance sheets clean.

Sukuna snapped his head toward the monitors, his golden eyes narrowing. The four-armed deity of your drug-induced visions faded, replaced by the reality of a scarred, powerful warrior who could feel every spike of your terror through the Tsaheylu.

"What is this?" he growled, his voice clashing with the siren. He didn't let go; his hands were still gripped tight around your thighs, his body still pulsed deep inside yours, anchoring you to him even as the room fell apart. "The mountain speaks again?"

"No," you gasped, your voice raw and cracking. You squinted through the strobing red light at the main HUD. 04:59. "It’s my people. They’re... they’re destroying the station. Sukuna, we have to move. The floor under us is about to become the surface of a sun."

He stood in one fluid, terrifyingly powerful motion, hauling your Avatar body up with him as if you weighed nothing at all. He didn't look afraid. He looked insulted. With a practiced, lethal grace, he reached for his furs, his hand closing around the hilt of his obsidian blade.

"Then we go," he said, his voice a low, commanding rumble that brooked no argument. He gestured toward the heavy, reinforced door that led out into the basalt wastes. "The storm is fierce, but the Mangkwan stronghold is deep. You will come with me. You will live in the ash."

He moved to pull you toward the exit, but the movement snapped the link-tether taut. You stumbled, a cry of genuine frustration breaking from your lips as the cable jerked your head back.

"I can't!" You pointed a trembling blue hand at the pod, where your human self was beginning to stir, eyes fluttering behind the glass as the life-support system started venting emergency gas. "I can't leave the box, Sukuna! If I pull these sensors, my brain fries. If I stay in the Avatar and the power cuts... I’m gone. My real body is trapped in the metal!"

For the first time since he’d stormed into your lab and claimed it as his own, Sukuna didn't look at the pod with mockery. He didn't call it a cage or a coward’s shell. He looked at the glass, then at the trembling, sweating girl waking up inside it, and finally back at your Avatar’s face.

A dark, protective rage clouded his features—a look far more dangerous than the malice he’d worn when he arrived. He realized right then that the machines he despised were the only thing keeping your soul anchored to the world, and that your own kind had turned your sanctuary into a coffin.

"They would burn their own heart to spite the fire," he whispered, his hands curling into fists that looked like they wanted to crush the very air. He stepped toward the pod, his massive shadow swallowing your human form. "They will not have you."

___

The tunnels were a suffocating blur of heat and bone-shaking vibration, the earth itself convulsing as the reactor’s meltdown poisoned its veins. Sukuna moved with a terrifying, rhythmic speed, but it wasn't your human body he was cradling. He had your limp, unconscious Avatar draped over his massive shoulders like a prize of war, the blue limbs dangling as he sprinted through the dark.

You were the one running behind him in your human skin, your lungs burning behind the plastic seal of an oxygen mask. Your heart hammered against your ribs—not the digital pulse of a sensor, but the frantic, messy thrum of your heartbeat. Every step was a struggle against the sulfur-heavy air and the tremors that threatened to throw you against the jagged basalt walls.

They finally reached the Scorched Well, a place where the planet’s skin had been peeled back to expose a shimmering, golden rift of neural fiber. This was a direct, violent line to the Eywa’s nervous system, pulsing in time with the volcano’s heartbeat.

Sukuna didn't waste a second. He lowered your Avatar body onto the pulsing golden fibers with a desperate sort of gentleness. Then, he turned to you. His golden eyes were blown wide, reflecting the raw energy of the rift. He grabbed your waist with his hands, hauling you forward until you were kneeling right beside your blue shell.

"The station is gone, paskalin," Sukuna rasped, his voice straining against the roar of the mountain. He reached up, his fingers trembling slightly as he unlatched the oxygen mask from your face. The sting of the sulfur hits your throat instantly, making you gasp. "The power is failing. If you do not cross now, your spirit will have nowhere to go when the box dies. You must leave the meat behind."

The countdown in the back of your mind—the one tied to the failing link-unit miles away—hit zero. In the distance, a muffled, bone-shaking roar echoed through the rock. The station had detonated, and a wall of heat was screaming through the tunnels toward you.

"Do it," you choked out, your human voice small and raspy in the vast cavern. You reached out, your pale fingers tangling with the sapphire hand of your Avatar. "Take me across."

Sukuna struck a spark into a massive pile of Cinder-Leaf, and the purple smoke erupted into a thick cloud that acted as a chemical bridge for your mind. He began to chant—the Song of the Ash—a low, guttural vibration that matched the frequency of the geothermal rift. He reached out with two hands to grip your Avatar’s head, while the other two pressed firmly against your human chest, pinning your heart to the heart of the world.

The world shattered.

The transfer was a violent, jagged snap of the soul. It didn't feel like a medical procedure; it felt like being flayed alive, your consciousness being ripped out of your human marrow and forced through a needle's eye into the Avatar’s nervous system. You felt the exact moment your human heart stopped beating, the exact second the biological spark went out, replaced by the roaring, electrified power of the moon.

For a split second, you were nowhere—a ghost lost in the white-hot static of the transition.

Then, there was only the fire.

You woke up in the dirt. The silence that followed the eruption was heavy, broken only by the settling of ash. There was no hum of cooling fans. No scent of sterile plastic. No mask biting into your face.

Your lungs burned with the real, unfiltered sting of sulfur, and for the first time, it felt right. You gasped, your sapphire fingers digging into the warm, gritty soot of the cavern floor. Your blue skin was stained charcoal-gray, covered in the dust of the Mangkwan. You looked up, your vision blurry and stinging, to see Sukuna kneeling over you. He looked exhausted, his own chest heaving, but his hand was firmly clamped over yours, anchoring you to the ground.

Beside you, your human body lay still—a pale, empty vessel that the golden fibers of the rift were already beginning to pull down into the heat of the earth.

"You are late," Sukuna grunted, though his golden eyes burned with a fierce, possessive pride. He reached down and pulled you up against his chest, the heat of his skin a permanent, solid reality. "The fire waited for you."

You leaned into him, your body trembling with the weight of being whole. You weren't a scientist anymore. You weren't a ghost in a box. As the ash fell around you like black snow, you realized you were finally home. You weren't a guest in this world; you were a part of the fire itself.

© satorusink on tumblr. please don't plagiarize or feed my work to ai

[satorusink]

Is Praise Kink Quaritch with a fem Na’vi reader somethjng you have done, or will do? 👀😅🙈

Wait I love this idea 😝 imma add this to my wips

[aransmind]

na’vi geto

[satorusink]

More brat tamer Jake pls pls pls

Your wish is my command anon 😝

[satorusink]

giving tonowari head

content warnings: 18+, smut, fem reader, human reader, size kink, size difference, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroat, choking/gagging, spit kink, praise kink

word count: 0.7k words

tonowari is a lesson in patience and overwhelming scale. being in his personal pod at night means the only light comes from the glowing anemones and the soft, pulsing bioluminescence of his skin. he’s sitting on the edge of the woven mat, his massive legs spread, watching you with an expression that’s calm but heavy with a deep, territorial hunger.

"you are so small," he murmurs, his voice a deep, resonant boom that feels like a physical weight against your chest. "sometimes i worry i will crush you, little one. but then i see the way you look at me."

he reaches out, his hand—nearly as big as your torso—sliding over your shoulder to guide you down between his knees. when you look up at him, he looks like a god carved out of the ocean itself.

"show me," he rumbles, his thick fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head back. "show me how much you want to hold of your olo'eyktan."

when he finally lets you see him, it’s enough to make your throat go dry. his cock is a broad, heavy weight, his skin a deep sea-blue that feels like velvet but looks like iron. the girth of him is a literal wall; you have to use both hands just to get a grip around the base, and even then, your fingers don't even come close to meeting.

"easy," he breathes, a low, grounding sound as he feels your hands shaking. his tail, thick and powerful for swimming, curls around your waist like a tether. "i am not going anywhere. take your time."

you start slow, just tasting the broad, flat head of him, and tonowari lets out a sound that’s more of a vibration than a groan. he leans back on his elbows, his chest—wide enough to shield you from a storm—heaving with a sudden, sharp intake of air. the smell of him is all salt water and clean skin, intoxicating and thick.

as you try to take as much as you can, the scale of it becomes a physical struggle. your jaw aches almost immediately, the corners of your mouth stretched to their limit as you try to accommodate the sheer mass of him. he’s so thick it feels like he’s filling your entire head, the heat of him radiating against your cheeks.

"that is it," he mutters, his voice dropping into a rough, jagged register. his hands come down to cup your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones with a surprising gentleness that contrasts with the raw hunger in his eyes. "you are so brave for me. so greedy."

he starts to guide you then, his hips tilting in a slow, rhythmic grind that forces him deeper. every time he pushes, you feel the blunt pressure at the back of your throat, making your eyes water and your nose scrunch up. he watches the way your throat works, the way you choke back a sob of overstimulation, and his pupils blow wide until the yellow of his eyes is just a thin, glowing ring.

"yes," he gasps, his fingers tightening in your hair, though never enough to hurt. "just like that. keep your eyes on me, little one. i want to see you taking all of it."

he’s breathing hard now, the calm facade of the leader starting to crack. his hips move faster, a heavy, wet friction filling the quiet pod. you’re focused entirely on the sensation of him—the way he feels like he’s stretching you beyond your capacity, the way his fingers feel like brands against your skin.

"i'm close," he warns, his voice a jagged whisper as he reaches down to tilt your chin up further. "don't stop. i want to give you everything. i want you to feel the weight of me."

with one last, deep surge of his hips, he bottoms out against the back of your throat, his whole body going rigid. he lets out a low, guttural roar as his release hits, a thick, pulsing heat that seems to go on and on, filling you up until you're breathless and dizzy. he stays there for a long moment, his forehead dropping against yours, his massive frame shaking with the aftershocks of a peak that felt like the tide coming in.

© satorusink on tumblr. please don't plagiarize or feed my work to ai

[satorusink]

TILL DEATH, APPARENTLY

pairing: gojo satoru x female reader

synopsis: five years of suburban domesticity was just the longest stakeout of your life. you thought you were the only one hiding a rifle in the basement until your husband turned out to be your rival agency’s top killer. now that the cover is blown and the bounty is live, you have to decide if you're actually partners or just two monsters who happened to share a mortgage.

content warnings: 18+, smut, Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU, assassin! reader, assassin! satoru gojo, p w plot, high-intensity violence, blood, lots of guns and knives, hate sex, adrenaline-fueled intimacy, destruction of property, rough sex, creampie.

word count: 6.3k words

The office of Dr. Shoko was decorated in a palette of beige and brown that seemed specifically designed to drain the colour from your life. It felt like sitting inside a very expensive mushroom. Satoru was currently occupying more than his fair share of the loveseat, his long legs stretched out so far, his designer loafers were practically touching the doctor’s desk. He was leaning back with an air of casual, infuriating comfort, tapping his fingers against the expensive leather of his watch strap.

"On a scale of one to ten," Dr. Shoko began, clicking her pen. "How would you rate the level of trust in your marriage?"

"Eight," Satoru said instantly, flashing a grin that was bright enough to be blinding.

"Three," you said at the exact same time.

Satoru’s head whipped toward you, his expression shifting into that theatrical pout he used whenever you didn't play along with his "perfect husband" routine. "A three? Honey, you’re wounding me. I tell you everything. I told you about the budget overruns on the project. I told you about the time Suguru spilled coffee on his blueprints. I’m an open book."

"You’re a book with half the pages stuck together, Satoru," you countered, finally turning to face him. "You tell me the trivia. You don't tell me what’s actually going on in that head of yours. And you certainly didn't tell me you were going to ignore my request regarding the curtains in the study."

He rolled his eyes and looked at the therapist as if seeking an ally. "The blackout shades. Here we go. Doctor, I’m a man who likes the sun. I build skyscrapers. I work with glass and light. My wife, however, wants to live in a sensory deprivation tank. She installed these motorized monstrosities that make the room feel like a bunker."

"They provide privacy," you said, your voice dropping an octave. "Something you might value if you weren't so obsessed with being the center of attention at all times."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unspoken reality of your life. You weren't just an IT recruiter for Titan Technologies. You were a high-ranking operative for the Shadow Ledger, and those "motorized monstrosities" were actually reinforced Kevlar-mesh shades designed to stop a high-velocity round of bullets. Satoru didn't need to know that. Satoru needed to believe you were just a woman who liked a dark room for her occasional migraines.

He was so deeply entrenched in his civilian world of concrete and steel that it almost made you feel guilty. He spent his days arguing with contractors and his evenings fumbling with the espresso machine. He was the kind of man who would get lost in his own house if you didn't leave the hallway light on for him.

"There’s a certain level of quiet aggression here," Dr. Shoko noted, scribbling something that looked like a judgmental squiggle on her pad.

"It’s not quiet," you muttered.

"It’s a performance," Satoru added, though he reached over to pat your hand with a touch that felt unexpectedly warm. "But we’re working on it. Right, sweetheart?"

You pulled your hand away under the guise of adjusting your hair. "We’re trying."

The flashback hit you as you drove home in separate vehicles—you in your sensible, armored sedan and him on that ridiculous, overpowered motorcycle he insisted was necessary for "weaving through site traffic."

Six years ago, Roppongi had been a blur of rain and neon lights. You had been cornered in an alleyway after a botched hand-off, the police closing in from both ends. Satoru had appeared out of the mist like a fever dream, looking disheveled and frantic. He’d grabbed you, pulled you into a darkened doorway, and kissed you with a desperation that had felt entirely real.

"Just pretend we’re a couple," he’d whispered against your skin, his heart racing against your chest. "Unless you want to explain to those cops why you're carrying a silenced Beretta in your evening bag."

You’d been too stunned to argue. You had played along because it was the only way out, but by the time the sirens faded, you found yourself looking into those startlingly blue eyes and wondering if he was the best thing or the most dangerous thing that had ever happened to you. You’d been married six months later, a whirlwind romance built on a foundation of spectacular, glittering lies.

___

The kitchen in the Shibuya house was too quiet, save for the aggressive thwack of Satoru’s spatula against the pan. He was standing there in his work shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that had no business belonging to a guy who supposedly sat in construction meetings all day.

"Pancakes?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer before flipping one, purposefully landing it on a plate with a wet, heavy slap.

"I'm not hungry, Satoru. I have to be at the office in twenty minutes." You didn't look up from your coffee, though you could feel him watching you. He had this way of hovering, a physical presence that took up every spare inch of the room.

"You’re always in a rush," he sighed, leaning his hip against the counter. He picked up a piece of burnt bacon with his fingers and crunched on it, looking entirely too relaxed for someone who was supposedly ten minutes late for a site visit. "Titan Technologies is going to run you into the ground. You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"I'm fine. It's just a big rollout."

"Right. The big rollout." He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. His touch was warm, and for a second, it felt like the man you’d actually married instead of the character you lived with. Then he grinned, that cocky, infuriating smirk sliding back into place. "Maybe if you let me install those skylights, you wouldn't be so grumpy. You need Vitamin D, honey. Not those blackout shades you're obsessed with."

"The shades are fine, Satoru. They keep the heat out."

"They make the place look like a high-security lockup," he shot back, though his tone was light. He grabbed his keys off the island, jangling them loudly. "Anyway, I’m heading to Chiba. Foundation issues. I’ll be back late, so don’t wait up for me."

"I have a late shift too. Server migration."

"Perfect," he said, already halfway out the door. "We can be exhausted together tomorrow."

The moment his motorcycle roared out of the driveway, the tension in your shoulders finally snapped. You looked at the mess he’d left on the stove—the flour, the grease, the sticky ring of syrup on the marble—and felt that familiar, sharp itch in your palms. He was so convinced you were a boring IT recruiter that he didn't even bother to hide his own laziness.

You didn't go to Titan Technologies. You went to the basement, opened the hidden door behind the wine rack, and started checking the tension on your rifle’s bolt. You had a job in Shinjuku, and after all the marriage counseling and playing the "exhausted wife," you were looking forward to finally shooting something.

___

The rain in Shinjuku felt heavy, a relentless downpour that turned the neon skyline into a blurred mess of colours. You sat tucked into the hollowed-out shell of a decommissioned office floor, the air smelling of damp concrete. It was a perfect vantage point. From here, the street below looked like a toy set, populated by tiny people and cars that moved at a slow pace due to traffic.

Your target was Takuma “the Tank” Ino. He was a man with a lot of enemies and a very expensive security detail. The Shadow Ledger had been tracking his movement for weeks, and tonight, during a high-security transport between safe houses, he was finally vulnerable.

You adjusted the scope, the cold metal pressing against your cheek. You watched the armored van roll into the intersection, flanked by two black sedans. Your breathing was steady, a slow rhythm that matched the ticking of the watch in your head. You had the shot. It was a clean line, right through the glass. You began to squeeze the trigger, the world narrowing down to that single point of impact.

Then, a flash-bang detonated at street level.

The white light was blinding, washing out your vision for a split second. By the time your eyes adjusted, the scene below had devolved into chaos. The armored van had swerved, slamming into a concrete barrier, and the guards were scrambling out of the sedans, guns drawn and voices lost to the wind.

Movement on the roof of the van caught your eye. A figure dropped from the shadows of an overhanging billboard, landing with a grace that felt entirely too practiced. He was fast, moving with a fluid, loose-limbed arrogance that made your blood run cold. Even from this distance, through the rain and the gloom, that shock of white hair was unmistakable.

No. It’s impossible, you thought, your heart kicking against your ribs. Satoru was in Chiba. He was looking at a foundation issue. He was probably eating a convenience store rice ball and complaining about the heat. He wasn’t leaping onto moving vehicles in the middle of a war zone.

The figure reached into his tactical vest, pulling out a device that hummed with a high-frequency whine. Suddenly, the electronics in the area surged. The streetlights flickered and died, plunging the intersection into a murky, strobing darkness. It was high-tech interference, the kind of gear only the Infinity Group used.

You reacted fast. You shifted your aim and fired a warning shot, the bullet biting into the roof of the van inches from where the white-haired man stood. He didn't flinch. Instead, he turned his head, looking directly toward your nest. For a terrifying moment, you felt like he could see right through the darkness, right through the glass, straight into your soul.

He raised a suppressed pistol and fired back. The round shattered the window frame beside you, showering you in glass shards. You scrambled backward, heart hammering, as he grabbed Ino by the collar and dragged him toward a waiting motorcycle that had appeared out of nowhere.

The hit was botched. You had failed. The Shadow Ledger didn't accept failure, and they certainly didn't accept being outplayed by a rival agency.

You packed your gear with trembling hands, the adrenaline fading into a sense of dread. You swept the area for any trace of the encounter, and that’s when you saw it. Tucked into the corner of the window frame where the rival’s bullet had hit was a small, plastic tag that had been clipped off a piece of equipment. It was a Skyline Group site-safety tag, the kind Satoru kept in his "work" bag at home.

Your stomach did a nauseating flip. You reached into your own pocket and realized that in the scramble, one of your Titan Technologies ID badges—the fake one you used for your "recruiter" job—had snagged and torn. You found a piece of it caught on a jagged piece of the window.

You left the building and walked into the rain, the silence of the city feeling like a weight on your chest. You didn't go back to the office. You went straight to a payphone, dialed an encrypted line, and waited.

"It's me," you said, your voice sounding foreign even to your own ears. "The target is gone. And I think I’ve got a problem at home."

___

The house was far too quiet when you walked in. Usually, Satoru had some obnoxious variety show blaring on the TV or was clattering around with the dishes, but tonight the only sound was the low hum of the refrigerator. You’d spent the last hour scrubbing your face and changing into a sweater that didn't smell like gunpowder, but your skin still felt tight, itchy with the residue of the rain and the glass shards.

Satoru was already at the table. He’d set out two plates of takeout sushi, the plastic containers looking pathetic against the hand-painted ceramic placemats you’d bought in Kyoto. He didn’t look up as you pulled out your chair. He was focused on his chopsticks, turning a piece over and over like it was a puzzle he couldn't solve.

"Traffic was a nightmare," you said, sliding your hands under the table. You felt the familiar, cold weight of the handgun you’d duct-taped to the underside of the mahogany. Your fingers brushed the trigger guard, a small comfort in a room that suddenly felt like a pressurized chamber.

"Tell me about it," Satoru replied. His voice was lighter than usual, that airy tone he used when he was trying to hide the fact that he was annoyed. He finally looked up, his blue eyes tracking the way you sat down. "Chiba was a total washout. The foundation issues turned into a complete blowout. One of the support beams snapped like a toothpick. Very dramatic."

"Sounds expensive," you said, picking up your own chopsticks. You tucked your napkin over your lap, hiding the fact that your other hand was still gripped firmly around the weapon under the table. "My meeting was just as bad. The client for the penthouse ended up being a real headache. One of those people who wants everything but doesn't want to pay the price for it."

"Those are the worst," Satoru agreed. He dipped his sushi in soy sauce with a hand that was perfectly steady. "The kind of people who think they can just take what they want and walk away without any consequences."

"Exactly."

The silence returned, but it wasn't the comfortable silence of a married couple. It was the silence of two predators measuring the distance between them. You watched the way he chewed, the way his jaw tensed. You noticed the faint smear of oil on his collar that he hadn't noticed. It wasn't construction grease. It was high-grade lubricant for a firearm.

"You've got something on your neck," he said suddenly.

You froze. "What?"

"Right there." He gestured with a chopstick toward your hairline. "Looks like a little piece of glass. Did a window break at the office?"

Your heart did a slow, heavy thud against your ribs. "Oh. Yeah. One of the interns walked into a glass partition and it fell right on me. Total klutz."

"Funny," Satoru said, his smile widening but not reaching his eyes. "I saw a window break tonight, too. But it wasn't an intern. It was a professional."

The air in the room vanished. You didn't wait for him to finish the thought. You kicked the table up and away, the wood groaning as it flipped toward him, soy sauce and sushi flying through the air. You ripped the gun from the tape and fired a single shot into the center of the table as you scrambled backward toward the back door.

Satoru was already moving. He didn't look like a construction lead anymore; he was a blur of white hair, rolling over the sofa and reaching for a hidden compartment in the bookshelf.

"I knew it!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the kitchen. "Titan Technologies? Seriously? You couldn't even pick a better cover name?"

"And Skyline Group?" you screamed back, throwing yourself through the sliding glass door and into the rain. "You’re about as good at construction as you are at lying, Satoru!"

You sprinted for your car, the engine roaring to life as you floored it out of the driveway. In the rearview mirror, you saw the garage door fly open. Satoru’s Ducati screamed onto the pavement, the headlights cutting through the downpour like twin blades.

He was gaining on you. He knew these roads as well as you did, and the bike was faster in the tight corners of the Shibuya backstreets. You swerved, tires screeching against the wet asphalt, trying to shake him, but he stayed pinned to your bumper.

"Pull over!" he yelled, his voice barely audible over the wind and the roar of the engines. He brought the bike alongside your driver’s side window, one hand on the handlebars and the other reaching into his jacket. "We need to talk about this!"

"Go to hell!" you shouted, jerking the steering wheel toward him to force him off the road.

The Ducati swerved, the back tire losing grip on a patch of slick leaves. Satoru fought to keep it upright, but the bike slid sideways, the metal fairing sparks flying as it scraped against a stone guardrail. In the struggle to regain control, his hand jerked.

Crack.

The gunshot shattered the glass window, the bullet whistling past your ear and burying itself in the headrest. You gasped, the sound of the impact ringing in your ears like a death knell.

He’d shot at you. He’d actually tried to take your head off.

To you, that was the final piece of the puzzle. He wasn't just an operative; he was a plant. He’d been sleeping next to you for five years, waiting for the order to pull the trigger.

You floored the accelerator, the car fishtailing as you vanished into the darkness of the city, leaving Satoru and his sliding bike in the dust. The marriage was dead. Now, it was just about who survived the night.

___

The basement window was a tight squeeze. You scraped your hip on the latch and hissed a curse that would have made your mother faint. The house usually smelled like those overpriced lavender candles Satoru obsessed over, but now it just felt like a trap. You didn't waste time. You went straight for his "office," ripped up the hidden floorboard, and hauled his tactical gear toward the laundry room. You stuffed his vest behind the dryer and dumped his custom Sig Sauers into the bottom of the hamper, burying them under a week’s worth of his stinky gym clothes.

You were back in the kitchen, gripping the handle of a heavy chef’s knife, when the front door hit the wall with a crack that sounded like a gunshot.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Satoru’s voice boomed down the hall, vibrating with pure, unadulterated annoyance. "My gear? Seriously? That is where we’re at right now?"

"It’s called an advantage, Satoru!" you yelled back, your heart thudding against your ribs. "Maybe if you spent less time on your hair and more time on your perimeter checks, you’d still have your toys!"

He rounded the corner, and he looked like total hell. His white hair was a wet, matted mess, and his shirt was shredded at the shoulder. He looked at the empty spot where his bag usually sat, then he looked at you. The "goofy husband" act was gone. He looked dangerous, and genuinely pissed off.

"Where is it?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low, threatening register.

"In the wash," you snapped. "With the rest of the garbage."

He didn't give you a second to think. He lunged, and you barely rolled over the kitchen island in time. You threw the chef’s knife, and it buried itself in the cabinet right where his ear had been a second ago. He grabbed a cast-iron skillet off the stove—the one you’d told him a thousand times not to soak—and swung it with enough force to almost shatter the marble countertop into white dust.

"You tried to take my head off in Shinjuku!" he shouted, swinging again. You ducked, and the skillet whistled over your hair, catching a hanging pot instead.

"I was aiming for the van! You were the idiot who jumped on top of it like a suicidal acrobat!" You grabbed a handful of steak knives from the block and started chucking them. He dove behind the open oven door, the knives clattering off the metal like hailstones.

"I was doing my job!" he yelled from behind the door. "And by the way, I can't believe I let you pick this granite! It’s porous! You’re never getting the blood stains out of this! There goes the security deposit!"

"You're worried about the deposit?" You kicked a kitchen chair into the oven door, pinning him for a split second. "You missed our third anniversary for a hit in Kyoto! I sat at that restaurant for three hours while you were 'stuck in a tunnel' during a rainstorm!"

Satoru shoved the door open, his face flushed. "I wasn't in a tunnel! I was pinned down by a Yakuza hit squad in a parking garage! I was working for us! I was building that retirement fund for the place in Italy!"

"I hate Italy! I hate the olives, I hate the heat, and I hate that you’ve been lying to me for five years!" You grabbed a glass pitcher and smashed it against the wall next to his head.

He tackled you then, and both of you went through the drywall like it was wet paper. You rolled into the dining room, coughing on dust and plaster. He pinned your wrists down, his weight heavy and solid. He was breathing hard, a smear of blood across his cheekbone.

"I was protecting you," he hissed. "If the Infinity Group knew I was sleeping with a Shadow Ledger asset, they’d have burned this house down with us inside."

"The Ledger would’ve done worse to me." You bucked, throwing him off and rolling toward the dining table. You ripped the pistol you’d taped underneath it and leveled it at him. He scrambled into the wreckage of a bookshelf and came up with a silver handgun of his own.

You both stood there in the ruins of the living room. Everything was broken—the curtains, the windows, the furniture, and the five-year lie you’d been living. You had the sights of your gun right between his eyes. He had his aimed at your heart.

His finger was on the trigger. You saw the tension in his hand and waited for the flash, for the end of it, but it didn't come. Slowly, his arm started to drop. He didn't put the safety on, but he let the gun hang at his side.

"I can't," he said, and for once, he sounded like a real person. "I've been telling myself for forty minutes that I was going to finish this. But I look at you and I… I actually like you too much."

Your chest felt like it was being crushed. You looked at the man you’d shared a bed with, and you realized you couldn't pull the trigger either. You lowered the gun, the weight of it suddenly making your arm ache.

"You're such an idiot, Satoru," you whispered, your voice shaking. "You're a lying, arrogant, massive idiot."

"Yeah," he breathed, a tiny, bloody smirk pulling at his mouth. "But I’m your idiot."

He crossed the room in two steps and grabbed you, pulling you into a kiss.

He didn’t taste like the man who’d kissed you goodbye over burnt pancakes that morning. That Satoru was a carefully constructed mask, all soft edges and harmless bumbling, but the man pinning you against the ruined table  in the dining room wall was something else entirely. He was dangerous, and breathing like he’d just run ten miles through a war zone. You could feel the heat radiating off him, cutting through the thin, torn fabric of your sweater as he crushed his chest against yours.

You shoved his ruined dress shirt off his shoulders, your fingers digging into the hard, bunched muscle of his back. There was no patience left in either of you, only the frantic desperation that comes from realizing you’ve been sleeping next to your favorite enemy for five years. He grabbed your waist, his grip so tight it would definitely leave a bruise, and hoisted you up. You wrapped your legs around him, your heels catching on the small of his back as he drove you back into the remaining studs of the table.

"I fucking knew it," he muttered against your jaw, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that made your skin tingle. "I knew no IT recruiter had a back that looked like yours. I just didn't want to believe I was being outplayed in my own house."

"Shut up, Satoru," you gasped, your hands tangling in that ridiculous white hair to pull his head back. "You talk too much. You’ve always talked too much."

He shoved you back against the remaining studs of the wall, his weight pinning you there as he dropped to his knees. You gasped, your fingers knotting in his white hair to pull him back, but he was already moving. He didn't care about the plaster dust coating his shins or the broken glass inches from his knees. He grabbed your thighs and yanked them apart, his face burying into the heat of you before you could even catch your breath.

Satoru didn't give you a second to adjust. He used his tongue like a weapon, deep and rhythmic, focusing on your clit with a terrifyingly singular intent. You let out a broken, high-pitched sound, your head thumping back against the drywall as he used his teeth to graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He was relentless, his hands gripping your hips so hard you knew there would be finger-shaped bruises by morning.

"Satoru—fuck—," you choked out, your nails digging into his scalp as the friction sent a jagged spike of heat straight to your core. He didn't stop, only groaned low in his throat, a sound that vibrated against your cunt until your vision started to swim. He was drinking you in, tasting every bit of the honesty you’d hidden behind your domestic facade. By the time he looked up, his face was flushed and damp, his blue eyes blown wide with a hunger that looked nothing like the man who’d been your husband for five years.

He didn't give you time to recover. He stood up, shucking his ruined pants with a frantic, jerky movement before lifting you off the floor. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your skin slick and hot against his. When he drove into you, it was a hard, deep invasion that made you cry out into the crook of his neck. He hit the wall again, the impact rattling the few remaining plates in the kitchen.

He was moving with a frantic pace, his chest heaving against yours. Every thrust was a claim, a violent rejection of the agencies and the lies. He reached down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again and adding a friction that pushed you right to the edge. The world narrowed down to the sound of skin hitting skin and the ragged, desperate way he was saying your name against your ear.

"You're mine," he hissed, his grip on your waist tightening until it hurt. "I'm not letting them have a single piece of you."

The release hit you like a punch, a white-hot wave that made your entire body go rigid. You bit down on his shoulder to keep from screaming, your internal muscles clenching around him in a way that finally broke his control. Satoru let out a low groan, his body shuddering as he came inside you, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder as the both of you collapsed into the wreckage of your life.

___

The sun hadn't even finished climbing over the Shibuya skyline when the vibrating hum of a phone on the granite island broke the silence. You were sitting on the floor, leaning against a half-shattered cabinet and nursing a lukewarm cup of instant coffee. Satoru sat opposite you, shirtless and covered in a map of purple bruises and white plaster dust.

He picked up the phone. He didn't say hello.

"Gojo Satoru, tell me you’re not in the house," Suguru’s voice crackled through the speaker. He sounded more like a man at a funeral than a handler.

"The house is currently a pile of expensive toothpicks, Suguru," Satoru said, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "And if you’re calling to ask about the granite, I already gave my wife a lecture on porous surfaces."

"Listen to me," Suguru cut in, his tone dropping into a cold, professional register. "Titan and Skyline shook hands an hour ago. They realized their two top assets have been playing house for five years. To them, a merger like yours is a superpower they can't control. There’s a hundred-thousand-yen bounty on each of your heads. It went live ten minutes ago. Every cleaner in your region is currently pinging your location."

Satoru looked at you. The playful smirk finally vanished, replaced by the hollow look of a man who realized he’d been baited.

"We’ve been played," you said, setting the coffee down.

"Yeah," Satoru breathed. "And they aren't sending recruiters this time."

Ten minutes later, you were crouching in the neighbor’s driveway. Satoru was fiddling with the steering column of a beige, dented Toyota Sienta. It was a masterpiece of suburban mediocrity, complete with a "Baby on Board" sticker and a lingering scent of sun-baked juice boxes.

"I cannot believe our getaway car is a minivan," you hissed, sliding into the passenger seat and shoving a discarded crayon out of the way.

"It’s genius," Satoru countered, the engine turning over with a pathetic, wheezing sound. "Who looks for an international assassin in a car that has a built-in snack tray? It’s the ultimate cloaking device."

He floored the accelerator, and the minivan lurched forward with all the grace of a wounded cow. As he swung the car onto the main road, clipping the curb and sending a hubcap spinning into the gutter, the bickering started. 

"You're taking the corners too wide," you snapped, clutching the grab handle as the Sienta leaned precariously. "This isn't your Ducati. You're going to flip us before we even hit the fucking expressway."

"I'm keeping us ahead of the three black sedans that just turned the corner!" Satoru shouted, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "And for the record, I found out you’ve been lying about your middle name for five years. Why would you even pick that? It’s so boring."

"It was on the fake passport! And you told me you were twenty two when we met! You’re twenty nine now, Satoru! You lied about your age on our first date!"

"I was insecure! You were this terrifyingly competent woman in a Roppongi bar, and I wanted to seem like I had more potential!" He dodged a truck, the minivan groaning in protest. "At least I didn't hide a Glock under the toaster compartment!"

"It was a tactical reserve! And it’s the only reason we made it out of the kitchen!"

By the time you reached the bypass, the humor had died. You spotted the transport van—the one holding Takuma "the Tank" Ino. It was a heavily armored beast, flanked by two SUVs.

"We need him," you said, checking the magazine on your sidearm. "He’s the only reason they put us on the same trail. He knows why they want us dead."

Satoru didn't argue. He drove the minivan with precision, using the "boring" car to weave through traffic until he was pinned against the side of the transport. You leaned out the window, firing three precise shots into the front tire of the lead SUV. The vehicle spun out, creating a wall of smoke.

Satoru slammed the minivan into the side of the transport, the sound of grinding metal screeching through the air. You were out of the car before it even stopped moving, blowing the hinges off the back door with a localized charge.

You dragged a man out of the back. He was small, trembling, and wearing an oversized tactical vest that looked like it was wearing him.

"Where is Ino?" you demanded, pressing the barrel of your gun into the man's throat.

The man stared at you, his eyes blown wide. "I... I’m Takuma. But I'm not a broker. I’m an intern. I’ve been at Skyline for three weeks."

Satoru stepped over, looking down at the shaking man. "You’re the Tank? You look like you’d lose a fight to a stiff breeze."

"It was a code name," the kid whimpered. "They told me I just had to sit in the van. They said it was a training exercise to see how the Strongest operatives handled a joint target."

You looked at Satoru. The sinking feeling in your gut turned into a cold, hard knot.

"He’s bait," you said. "The job wasn't about him. It was about us."

"They didn't want him dead," Satoru added, his voice flat and dangerous. "They wanted us to kill each other. A Titan and Skyline marriage... they knew if we ever stopped lying, we’d be the only thing they couldn't control."

The intern started crying. You ignored him, looking back at the highway where more black sedans were appearing on the horizon.

"So," Satoru said, checking his own weapon. "I guess the honeymoon is officially over."

"It never even started, Satoru. Now drive the damn van."

___

The IKEA-style showroom was a massive, maze-like hellscape of particle board and Swedish meatballs, mostly smelling like sawdust— an absurd backdrop for a fight that was definitely going to end with someone dead on a random bed. You were crouched behind a kitchen display, checking your magazine while Satoru scanned the Lighting department with that annoying, effortless focus of his.

"I’m just saying," he whispered, gesturing toward a sleek, minimalist island counter. "We could have had this. It's a non-porous surface, honey. Total game changer for when things get messy."

"If you don't stop talking about the furniture, I am going to let the next hit squad take you out," you muttered, sliding your pistol back into its holster. You peered over a stack of flat-packed tables. Two men in tactical gear were creeping through the aisles, their flashlights cutting through the dim showroom.

Satoru grinned at you. It was that cocky, genuine expression that always made you want to either kiss him or punch him in the throat. "Ready?"

"On three."

You didn't need the third count. You moved together with a precision that five years of boring morning routines had never hinted at. You took the high ground, scrambling up the heavy-duty shelving to rain down suppressive fire while Satoru became a white-haired blur on the floor. He used that impossible Skyline speed to close the distance before the cleaners could even pull a trigger. It was a masterpiece of tactical mastery and raw, unnatural talent. You flushed them out of the aisles, and Satoru finished them off in the shadows.

When the last of the Titan operatives fell near the Study Room section, Satoru stood over him, breathing hard. His hair was a mess and his shirt was shredded, but he looked more alive than you'd seen him in years.

"They’re going to keep coming," you said, hopping down from the shelves and landing softly next to him. "The agencies don't stop until the target is cold."

"Then we give them exactly what they want," Satoru said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of high-frequency jammers. He looked around the massive warehouse, his eyes scanning the gas lines running along the ceiling. "A big, tragic, final explosion. Two star-crossed lovers lost in a furniture fire. It's poetic."

You looked at the jammers, then at the store exit. "You think they’ll buy it?"

"If we make it loud enough, they won't have a choice."

___

The office of Dr. Shoko was exactly as you remembered it, right down to the beige walls and the dying plant on the windowsill. The couple sitting on the loveseat, however, looked entirely different. You’d traded the recruitment blazer for a leather jacket, and Satoru had ditched the designer loafers for scuffed tactical boots.

Dr. Shoko looked over her glasses, her pen poised above her pad. She looked confused, probably because the news was currently reporting on a massive, unexplained explosion at a suburban home goods store.

"I heard about the fire at your house," the doctor said softly. "I'm so sorry. Losing everything like that... it must be devastating for a marriage."

Satoru reached over and grabbed your hand, his fingers interlacing with yours. He squeezed tight, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. He looked at you, and for the first time in five years, there wasn't a single lie in his expression.

"Actually, Doctor," Satoru said, his voice bright and dangerously happy. "I think the fire was the best thing that ever happened to us. It really cleared the air. No more secrets. Just us."

"And your communication?" Dr. Shoko asked, scribbling a note. "Last time, we were at a three. Where are we now?"

You looked at Satoru, thinking about the fake passports in your bag and the way he’d covered your back in the lighting department. You thought about the safe house waiting for you in Okinawa and the fact that you finally knew exactly who was sleeping next to you.

"It’s a ten," you said.

Satoru leaned over and kissed your cheek, the faint scent of gunpowder still clinging to him. "A ten," he agreed. "Though we’re still fighting about the curtains for the next place."

"There is no next place yet, Satoru," you reminded him, standing up to leave.

"Minor detail, honey. We'll figure it out."

As you walked out of the office and disappeared into the Tokyo crowd, you realized he was right. The house was gone, the agencies thought you were ash, and you were technically homeless. But as you felt his arm around your shoulder, you knew you'd never been more at home.

© satorusink on tumblr. please don't plagiarize or feed my work to ai

[satorusink]

Might I offer…. Constantly calling Neteyam Prince… him pretending not to like it but…. Low-key looooving whenever reader calls him that ….

yo i lowkey like the idea 🙏🙏🙏BUT, i'm not a fan of aging up characters 😭😭😭😭

i do love reading about them obvi bc i watched the 2nd movie when i was like 14 or 15, but i turned 18 a few months ago and now i feel conflicted 😣pls help

[svngcord]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

TEARS !

Jake Sully being responsible and helpful. It does things to you (and so does he).

ᯓ★ C/W: MDNI, smut, gentle dom, praise kink, Jake talks you through it, female!human!reader, head (m receiving), gagging, dacryphilia, size difference, tummy bulge, unprotected sex (p in v), overstimulation.

ᯓ★Pairing: Avatar!Jake Sully x human!Reader

ᯓ★Word Count: 4k.

ᯓ★ A/N: Result of this poll. Inspiration. Enjoy!

Jake Sully was a man of many talents.

Sure, when you met him, you were sure he was just another jarhead, another marine bro. Someone who’d taken the place of a deserving fellow scientist. He knew nothing of the planet or what he even was supposed to do.

It annoyed you, he was like a baby, loud, clumsy. You were sure he was just going to meddle in your research.

He proved you wrong pretty early on, however.

He knew you weren’t his biggest fan, and you found it brave that, even knowing this, he would always offer to help you in whatever you needed. At first you thought he was just farming brownie points, you were just a means to get on Dr. Augustine’s good side, but you quickly figured out he did not need any help in that department.

He was very charming,

So much so that he had been able to experience things you could never in your wildest dreams imagine. He had been chosen to join the Omatikaya clan. That lucky son-of-a-bitch.

But even as he became the sector’s golden boy, he still pursued your good side, he still tried to rack up a positive tally with you. You just didn’t know why.

Even now, he stood in your pod, crouched down to avoid hitting himself with the roof, probably straining his back. His amber eyes focused intently on the control panel of your pod thermostat, there was no need for him to actually be there, you could easily have one of the maintenance guys fix your heating. But it was midnight, and you were freezing, and Jake had offered to help after your second blanket run.

He always offered to help, it wasn’t new.

What was new was the way your eyes kept drifting from the notes sitting on your lap. Every time you heard him move, your attention snapped back to him. You were jumpy— no, not jumpy, you were just alert. Aware. Very aware of the current situation.

You were probably the only one.

You weren’t sure why, but seeing Jake struggle with the heating, the way he cussed softly under his breath, his ears flattening in annoyance. For some reason, it got you feeling a lot warmer than the multiple layers on you.

“I don’t think it’s in the panel, it might be in the actual pipes, it’s okay Sully, I’ll just bitch about it to maintenance in the morning. I’m sure the frost in my hair will convince them.”

At your words, he glances back, chuckling, “there’s no way I’m letting you sleep in this freezer, you should’ve told me instead of putting a report in, I would’ve gotten it fixed day one.”

His eyes flicker to meet yours, and you stand up a little straighter, clearing your throat. He holds your gaze for a second, before turning back to the control panel.

Eywa, was he always this intense?

With his back turned to you, your eyes once more drift away from the same paragraph you’ve been trying to read for the last hour, and instead of scanning the data, you find yourself scanning the way his RDA undershirt clung to his back and shoulders. He was a lot bigger than the native Na’vi. Broader back, more muscle mass, it had a lot to do with his human DNA—

You suddenly realized you were very much ogling at him. Teeth digging into your lower lip idly, tilted just to the side as you took in his form. Upon realization, annoyance settled in the pit of your stomach, why were you acting like this?

Your eyes rolled, shaking your head— then you heard it. A little chuckle. You looked up, and immediately met the Avatar’s bright, amber eyes. Through the mirror that hung on your wall. Directly next to where he was working.

What the fuck.

How long had he been able to see you? Better yet, how long had he been letting you stare without saying anything?

Your cheeks flash hot, skin prickling in embarrassment, you were thankful for the hoodie that covered you up, you were sure it would be even more embarrassing if he saw how the blush spread all the way up your ears and down your neck.

You lower your head down to your notes, brow furrowed, hoping to play it off as if deep in thought.

You knew that wouldn’t work.

“I wasn’t— uhm..” How do you even justify it? It was so obvious too.

“You weren’t what?” He spoke your last name firmly. He wasn’t letting it go.

You licked your lips, suddenly feeling very thirsty.

“It might’ve looked like I was staring at you but I’m just, uhm—“ God Damn. You were struggling to make up an excuse quick enough. Your hands dragged up your face, rubbing your eyes. “I just don’t know why you always help me.”

You saw him become tense. Ears twitching, tail sitting still.

Huh.

“I like to be of use. Back home, there wasn’t much I could do that mattered, so I like to be useful.” His large hand came up to rub at the back of his neck, almost bashful, as he turned to you.

You could see the slightest hint of purple settled on his cheek bones.

Your stomach did a flip.

Your hands moved the paperwork sitting on your lap, mulling over the words.

“You’ve already proven yourself. To everyone. You don’t owe them anything.” Your words are honest, earnest.

He chuckles, forgetting about the task at hand and now focusing all his attention on you, “really? I seem to remember a certain member of the science team calling me a Jarhead just a few days ago.”

You laugh, eyes rolling, feeling suddenly bashful, “it’s a term of endearment, you don’t gotta prove yourself to me. I see you.”

Those last words came out involuntarily, you didn’t even register them coming out of your mouth. His reaction is what makes you stop in your tracks.

“Y’see me?”

The room felt a lot smaller.

His voice is heavy, deep. It left you almost suffocating in the sudden pressure that filled the room. Your eyes flicker up to meet his and you feel a familiar warmth pool in your stomach.

The same feeling you got any time he would offer to help you with things, when he would be the first person to think of you in meetings and ask for your input. Had he fixed the thermostat? You suddenly felt unbearably hot in the cold room.

You could tell he did too.

“How long have you… Seen me for?” His words were soft, almost hesitant, and they’re followed by two long strides, his shins brushing against your knees.

He looked a lot bigger from your place on the sleeping cot. You had to crane your head up to hold his gaze. “Well..” You couldn’t hold it. Your palms were sweaty, heat prickled at your cheeks.

That brilliant mind of yours, the one that landed you in Pandora. The one that had facilitated your array of PHD’s, Masters—- that same mind was now coming up blank. Empty.

His hand reached out, crouching to reach you, before it settled on the top of your head, pushing the intrusive hoodie off. His hand traced the softness of your hair, rolling your ends on his index and thumb.

You looked up.

Your mouth ran dry. The look he gave you was —the only way you could describe it was— hungry.

His pupils were blown, allowing only a thin ring of amber to shine in the dim lighting of your room. You noticed the tension in his shoulders, as if he was holding back, it was as if he let go for even a moment, he’d devour you.

You gulped, pressing your thighs together at the thought. Your movement caught his eye—

His tail flicked behind him. His fingers let go of your soft hair, tracing your jaw, smirking when you jumped at the contact. He could hear your heart hammering in your chest, he could smell how he affected you. Your arousal, that heat between your legs.

He cupped your cheek, “Makin’ you nervous, Doc? Your pulse is jumping like crazy.” His head tilted to the side, watching you, his eyes committing your features to memory. “Am I too close? Should I back up?”

You felt the warmth of his thumb brushing against your lower lip. You swallowed thickly, your body reacted before your brain, lips parting ever so slightly at the light touch.

You saw his tail twitch from the corner of your eye. His ears flattened against his head, his eyes searching yours for any doubt, any hesitation.

“I think you’re not close enough…” You almost whimpered out, feeling your heart at your throat.

He smiled. His teeth caught in the dim lighting of your room, the glint of his sharp teeth unmistakable. His breath ghosted over you, dizzying. He was hypnotic.

His lips hovered above yours, hesitating. You didn’t think, your body reacted automatically. You closed the distance between you, and his hands came up to cradle your head, deepening the kiss with a groan of relief.

It was like getting shocked.

His hands immediately drifted down, your hair and back, his muscles rippling with every movement. He lifted you, as if you weighed nothing and sat at your cot, settling you on top of him. You could feel him, his desire, his restraint.

Your hips rolled against his, earning a sharp hiss, his hold on your waist tightening. Your tongue darted out to meet his, shuddering as it brushed against his sharp canines.

His large hands traced the sides of your body. Your own wandering hands moved to slip under his shirt. You loved the way his muscles tensed when he felt your cold fingers trace the hard planes of his stomach. He groaned as his head leaned back, eyes shutting tightly, his jaw clenching as your cunt rolled against the evidence of his want.

“Shit, Doc… gonna have me creaming my pants before they’re off…”

Your breathing was ragged, the friction between you delicious. He was so big, he swallowed you whole. His hands left your waist and found their spot against your ass. He gripped the soft flesh, licking his lips as your back arched, leaning back. Too many clothes. The room, once freezing, now felt like a furnace. It was like he read your mind, because he started to help you remove the fabric separating you two.

When your hoodie came off, it was like all restraint had left Jake. You saw it in the way his fingers dug into your soft skin, hard enough to bruise. The way his cock pressed against your thigh, aching to feel you. His thumbs idly traced the skin, soothing the pressure. “You’re gorgeous, Doc… you’ve been hiding all this from me?” He hums, leaning in, nuzzling your neck, inhaling your scent deeply.

You let out a whimper, moaning when his tongue traced your hammering pulse. Your hands came up to rest at his chest, your eyes fluttering shut. You leaned your head back, granting him more access to your soft skin.

His hands moved from your hips to cup your tits. His thumb traced your nipples. You gasped, feeling him pinch at the hardened skin slightly. “Mm— Sully, it’s..” He draws his mouth away from your neck, holding your embarrassed gaze as he reached your chest. He rolled the stiff peak between his fingers, head tilting as he bucked up into you, grinning wickedly as you once again whimpered.

“Say my name, no more last names, I think we’re past that, Doc..”

“J-Jake.”

He hummed in approval, his hand coming to grip the back of your head, gripping your hair close to the base of your neck, rutting against your warmth, “better… “ he pressed a kiss to one of your cheekbones, then the other, before he planted a soft kiss to your lips.

You looked up at him, gasping for air. You felt the slick sticking to your underwear, an uncomfortable heat aching between your legs. He knew it, he wanted to see how much you could take.

“You want me to fuck you, baby?”

You nod, and he chuckled, letting go of your hair. He cradled your face with one hand, guiding your hand to his cock, tucked away under his pants. “You gotta show me you can take it, babygirl.” He whispered, biting back a groan when your hand rubbed against him. Even through the fabric you could feel the thickness, the veins, how he longed to be inside you.

“I can take it.. I want it..” You mumbled, leaning in, pressing something kisses to his cheek, peppering the skin down his jaw. Your tongue dragged over his Adam's apple, giggling softly as you heard him growl.

“Show me, baby, show me how much you want me to fuck you, c’mon pretty.”

His words sent a thrill through you. You were shaky, slipping back, your hands eagerly unzipping his pants.

At the sight of him, you couldn’t help your eyes from widening. You licked your lips, your eyes tracing each little detail. You felt him stiffen up. You adjusted your place between his legs, before you pinned your hair behind your ears, shooting a fleeting glance at the Avatar in front of you.

He was staring at you, unmoving, his eyes looked black from the intensity of his gaze, you reached for him, delicate fingers wrapping around his girth, noting how his hips twitched ever so slightly.

You weren’t the only one winded up.

He wanted this as much as you.

You pumped his cock once, twice, licking your lips at his controlled grunts. Your tongue came out to lick at the weeping tip, purple, swollen, needy.

Your lips wrapped around the head, you were able to see how his jaw fell slack, brows furrowing as his head dropped back, cursing under his breath. His hand settled on the top of your head, not pushing, just resting it, feeling your head bobbing up and down on his dick.

It was a filthy sight.

Your cheeks were a bright red hue, eyes fluttering shut as you strained to accommodate him in your mouth, “s-so good, fuck. Look at you, you can take it, right baby?” He watched you, your eyes flickered up, and he couldn’t stop his hips from bucking. You gagged slightly, hands laying flat on his thighs.

“‘M sorry baby, you just look so good with your pretty lips around my cock.”

Your tear stained eyes, the flush of your cheeks, the light sheen of saliva coating his cock and your lips, you were beautiful. Jake couldn’t help but feel eager to see how you’d look like taking his cock. Would it even fit?

You pulled away with a loud pop, the head of his cock bouncing back, hitting his navel with a lewd slap. He grabbed you by the back of your neck, pushing you up to him, your lips meeting.

As his tongue dragged against yours, his free hand slipped between your thighs, tracing the darkened patch of fabric that showed him how much you wanted him.

He clicked his tongue, flashing you a cocky grin, “look at this, you’re soaking through your pants. Don’t worry baby…” He cooed, slipping his fingers between the fabric.

You moaned in unison.

His fingers dragged against your slit, so wet. His fingers practically danced from how slick you were. You turned your head to the side, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, feeling dizzy at the stimulation.

“Oh baby no need to hide, you’re doing so good.” He brushed his thumb against your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through your body, before he pushed his middle finger inside you.

He let out a breathless groan, feeling your walls clench around his finger.

“Honey, I’m gonna wreck you, you’re so fucking tight.” He groaned against your hair, pumping his finger inside you, curling the digit as his thumb brushed against the little pearl between your slit once more. His words made your hips buck, gasping as he pumped in and out of you.

He added a second finger.

Just his fingers sent a delicious burning ache between your legs, it made you crave his cock even more. Your eyes tightened at the lewd sounds of his fingers fucking you.

“Look at that baby, holy shit. You’re so wet, so wet for me.” He muttered hotly, feeling how your juices dripped down his hand. He turned his head, pressing soft kisses to your cheek, coaxing you out of hiding.

He adjusted you, your legs straddled his thigh, his bicep flexed as his middle and ring fingers pumped into you. Your hand came down to grip at his wrist, mouth left slack between whimpers.

He could sense you were close, the way your skin flushed a pretty hue, your hips stuttered, and you looked up at him, pressing your lips together, eyes threatening to roll back.

And then he pulled away.

You almost sobbed at the sudden loss of contact.

The tears swelling up in your eyes sent a jolt to his dick.

“W-why.. I-I was just about to—“ you whine, hips rolling against his thigh, searching for the stimulation.

He only flashes you a teasing grin, “there’s no way I’m not gonna feel, your pretty cunt around my cock when you cum.” Jake pressed a kiss to your temple, before he lifted you from his lap.

You moved with his directions, legs shaky, you could barely hear yourself breathe from the blood rushing in your ears. He reached for a couple of pillows, helping you lay over them. Your bottoms were hastily pulled down, but he left your panties on. Perv.

When he adjusted you, you laid on a pile of pillows, your ass pushed out. Holding yourself up on your hands and knees, you looked back, searching for your lover.

He stood behind you, head tilted to the side, amber eyes focused on your puffy cunt, dripping. You could feel yourself clench around nothing. You needed him or you’d go crazy.

Boldly, you reach back between your legs, spreading your legs even more, pushing your ass out. Delicate fingers spread your slit open, earring a growl from the man watching, “fuck me please, Jake.. I can take it.”

You feel a hand settle on your hip, and from the corner of your eye, you can see his tail flicking behind him.

He lined himself up with your heat, and he couldn’t help the groan that came out of him as he felt how hot, how wet you were.

You felt him push against your entrance. He grunted, feeling the pressure from your wall slowly giving him access.

You let out a sob, burying your face into the pillows, your hands gripped the sheets. He was so big, you felt him splitting you open slowly, his hand settling on the small of your back, grounding you to this moment.

“Fuck baby, look at you, god damn. You’re taking me so well, you’re so good.” He reached between your legs, blue fingers pressing against your clit. Your hips bucked.

He bottomed out with a hiss. Growling. Your walls were squeezing him, sucking him in deeper. He takes a second, unmoving. If he moved, he’d cum right there and then.

The sweet sting of being stretched out to your limit, felt you breathless, you turned your head to the side, huffing out as his hips began to roll. It hurt, it hurt in a delicious way, you could feel your body molding to his, he was marking you in more ways than one.

“Holy shit.” He groaned out, his pace picking up.

You could feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix with each thrust. You let out a soft sob, gasping out, shaking. His hands came down to trace your ass. He settled his grip at your hips, his own snapping faster.

You whimpered, the sensations too much, your mind felt foggy. Each thrust felt like he’d break you, you loved it. A choked sob fell from your lips, reaching back.

He grabbed your arm and folded it behind you, snapping his hips harder, ragged breaths coming out in puffs, “c’mon baby, you can take it, you wanna cum? You’re so good, you deserve to cum all over my cock.” His words were soft, whispered, like a mantra.

You gasped, back arching, his other hand came up to grip at the bottom of your skull, tugging at your hair. He lifted you up, leaning you back against his chest. His grip was tight on your arm, his hips stuttered as he was pulled even deeper into you.

“Oh fuck, baby look, c’mon..” he moaned out, letting go of you arm. He held you by your chin, turning you to face the same mirror that you’d seen each other through a few moments ago.

Your dazed gaze settled on your form, your tits jumped with every thrust, his powerful thighs slapping against the back of your legs. Your eyes were drawn to your stomach.

“You see that baby? You can see me inside you..” he purred hotly against your ear, tongue coming out to lick at your earlobe, chuckling at your reaction.

Every thrust pushed against your walls, you could see the bulge pushing out of your abdomen each time he thrust into you. You shook your head, fat tears dripping down your fucked out eyes, jaw falling slack, “I can’t… Jake, it’s too much—“

“Cum for me, pretty girl.” He dragged his tongue against your neck, before he bit down at the skin, suckling slightly.

That was all it took.

A second later, you were blinded by white light. A sob-like moan ripping from your throat as you clamped around him, pleasure blinded you, and your entire body shook, hips bucking out of sync with his own thrusts.

If he wasn’t holding you up, you’d fallen on your face.

But he didn’t stop. The tight clamping of your walls only spurred him on, his hips snapping harshly against yours, enthralled by the way his cock pushed against your walls.

“So good, so good baby, fuck, I’m gonna cum, take it all okay? I’m gonna fill you up—“ Your head fell back against his chest, your eyes rolled back, whimpering, muttering, you made no sense.

His tail wrapped around one of your legs, hips stuttering.

You gasped.

His hot seed spluttered into you. You could feel him painting your insides, and you could only shudder, thighs clamping together, you could feel his seed drip out and down your thighs. He thrust one more time against you, moaning against the side of your neck, “Perfect. So fucking perfect.”

You barely registered the feeling of Jake pulling his softened cock out, your body shuddering harshly as you felt thick globs of cum dripping out. He laid you on your side, holding you close to his chest as you fought unconsciousness. Jake’s hand came up, brushing your hair back, “so good, it’s okay baby, I’m here, you can rest. You did amazing.”

Sleep took you as soon as your head hit the pillow.

[satorusink]

Send more things in my inbox pls I'm bored and y'all r fun

[fushiguava]

۶ৎ giving toji the silent treatment ends up with his head between your legs to show how sorry he is

you’ve been ignoring him for five hours and twenty-three minutes, which is impressive considering he lives in your apartment like a stray dog that knows how to open the fridge, piss with the door open, and give exactly zero shits about your boundaries.

and yet still somehow has the audacity to look personally offended when you don’t laugh at his dumbass jokes, don’t respond to his you still mad, baby?, don’t even blink when he grabs your ankle while you’re walking past the couch like he’s about to drag you down and fuck you in front of whatever garbage reality tv is playing.

you’re stone cold. silent. so deep in your little grudge that it almost feels good, like you're wearing it, like finally he gets to feel how small you felt when he brushed off what you said earlier, when he rolled his eyes and muttered “always gotta make shit bigger than it is,” like you were just overreacting again, like your feelings were some toddler tantrum he had to ride out until you got tired.

so you’re done.

you’re done until he does something that feels like trying.

you’re not talking to him.

which is why it’s so fucking irritating that he’s smirking already when he corners you in the hallway, big arms braced on either side of the wall like you’re trapped in a very stupid, very horny horror movie. it’s not even night yet. you’re in a t-shirt, panties, and nothing else. you haven’t brushed your hair. you were trying to get your damn phone charger.

“you done?” he asks.

and you don’t even flinch, just look him dead in the eye like the grudge isn’t even about him anymore, like you’ve evolved past earthly vengeance and into something colder. you don’t blink. don’t answer. don’t react. just tilt your chin up and walk past him like he’s not even in your goddamn house.

he lets you get three steps.

then grabs you by the waist like he’s opening a jar.

“toji, i swear to god—”

“ah,” he says, hand smacking your ass once while he walks, “she speaks.”

you wriggle, kick, curse—shriek when he dumps you belly-down on the bed with all the reverence of unloading a gym bag and manhandles you over the edge, shirt rucked up, panties yanked halfway down before you can even process it, his hand warm and heavy between your shoulder blades to keep you flat.

“what the fuck is your problem—”

“babe,” he cuts in, calm as hell, “you gave me the silent treatment for six hours because i forgot your fucking dipping sauce.”

you gasp, affronted. “that’s not—!”

“shhh.” he flips your panties off. “don’t care.”

you flail. his palm lands on your ass again, harder this time. smack. you jolt, hiss, grind your teeth while your cunt clenches around nothing, traitorous and wet and already giving you away.

“mad at me,” he mutters, dragging his thumb down the cleft of your ass, slow and lazy, “but not mad enough to lock the door. not mad enough to put pants on.”

“i wasn’t—”

“you’re drippin’, baby.”

and fuck. you are. slick and throbbing, thighs tense, cunt clenching like it’s hoping he’ll put his mouth on you and shut you up properly, like it wants him to win this one, even if you don’t.

you try to turn over. he presses down harder.

“nuh-uh,” he murmurs, settling on his knees behind you. “you act like a brat, you get treated like one.”

you want to say fuck you. you want to say this doesn’t count as an apology. you want to say something, anything, but then he spreads your ass with both hands and spits on your pussy like it’s his fucking property, and your brain goes blank.

“messy little thing,” he says, almost fond, tongue dragging a slick stripe through your folds like he’s wiping you clean before he devours you whole, “should make you say sorry with your legs open.”

and then he does it. he bends down. licks you like he’s been waiting to all day. slow and deep, tongue flattening, dragging, nosing up against your clit while his hands grip your hips to keep you wide open and wobbling. he’s not gentle. he’s not trying to be. he’s eating you like it’s an insult that you thought he wouldn’t, moaning into your cunt while your fingers claw the sheets and your mouth opens around a sound you didn’t mean to make.

“god—toji—”

“mm.” he presses closer. “not mad anymore?”

“shut up—”

“nah,” he mumbles against your clit, “you had your turn.”

and then he sucks. hard. sucks like he’s trying to rip it out of you, like this is about punishment now, about ownership, about making you cry into the mattress so he can say see? see what happens when you ignore me?

you cum fast—loud and shaking, fingers slipping on the sheets, mouth open in a silent sob, and he doesn’t stop, not even when your thighs start to close, not even when you say okay okay i’m sorry i’m sorry, not even when you start to sound sincere.

he pulls back eventually. wipes his mouth on your ass.

you’re panting. twitching. ruined.

he smacks you one last time and leans in close. “next time you don’t wanna talk to me,” he says, voice low, “just sit on my face instead.”

[satorusink]

JEALOUSY

content warnings: 18+, smut, fem reader, human reader, power imbalance, spanking, overstimulation, reader gets jealous, misunderstanding, rough sex

word count: 0.7k [req]

jake didn’t say a word when you stormed back to the shack, but the heavy, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of his tail against his calves told you exactly how much he "didn't play" that shit. you were halfway through a sharp, venomous sentence about that na'vi weaver—how she was touching his arm, how he was smiling like a damn fool—when he finally moved.

before you could blink, jake had his large hand wrapped around your throat, a heavy, possessive weight that forced your chin up. he backed you into the metal supply crate, the impact making your teeth rattle.

"you done?" he growled, his golden eyes glowing so bright they looked like twin suns in the dark room. "because i’m about two seconds away from losing my patience, and you aren’t gonna like it when i do."

"go back to her then," you hissed, even as your heart hammered against your ribs. "she’s probably waiting for you to—"

jake’s other hand came down, his thumb hooking into your jaw and forcing your mouth open. "i was getting you the high-mountain silk for your bedding because you’ve been complaining about the cold, you ungrateful little brat." he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours, his breath hot and smelling of sweet berries. "but if you want to act like a feral animal, i’ll treat you like one."

he didn't give you a chance to argue. he spun you around, shoving your chest down against the crate. your hips were hiked high, your face pressed into the cold metal. you heard the snap of his loincloth hitting the floor, and then the sound of his hand hitting your ass—a loud, stinging crack that made you yelp.

"shh," he hissed, his hand sliding down to find you. you were already dripping, the spiteful argument having turned into a different kind of heat the moment he laid hands on you. he tested the wetness, his fingers making a disgusting, squelching sound as he worked two of them inside you, stretching you out with a rough, clinical speed. "look at that. crying and screaming at me, but you’re soaking the floor. you want this so bad it's pathetic."

he didn't use any more preamble. he positioned himself, the broad, heavy head of him pressing against your opening. he was massive—na'vi size was no joke—and as he started to sink in, you felt your vision go white.

"jake—wait, jake—"

"no waiting," he grunted, his hands gripping your hip bones so hard he’d definitely leave bruises. he drove home in one violent, soul-crushing thrust. the sound was heavy—a wet, fleshy thwack as his pelvis hit your ass. you let out a strangled scream, your fingers scraping uselessly at the metal crate.

he bottomed out, his knot pressing hard against you, filling you so completely it felt like you were going to split. jake groaned, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire body. he didn't give you time to adjust. he started to move, his pace frantic and punishing.

every thrust was a landslide. the sound of him pounding into you was loud and messy, the slick friction of him sliding in and out creating a constant, wet suction. he reached around, his hand covering your mouth to stifle your wails, forcing you to suck on his fingers as he absolutely wrecked you.

"you’re gonna learn," he panted, his sweat dripping onto your back, "that when i’m talking to someone, it’s for you. you hear me? you ever pull that shit again, i’ll leave you tied to the hammock for a week."

he hit your cervix with a blunt, heavy force that made your legs give out, but he caught you, hauling you back up to take more. his rhythm was relentless—rough, deep, and rhythmic. you were a sobbing, shaking mess, your internal muscles clenching around him in a desperate rhythm of their own.

"that's it," he hissed, his teeth grazing the back of your neck. "take it all. milk me, you little brat. show me how much you want it."

he felt the first wave of your orgasm hit—a violent, pulsing contraction that sent him over the edge. jake let out a loud, animalistic roar, his whole body locking up as he buried himself as deep as he could go, his spent heat flooding into you with a force that made you go limp.

he stayed there for a long time, his heavy chest heaving against your back, his tail wrapping possessively around your thigh. the only sound was the drip of fluids onto the floor and your own broken, shaky breaths.

"you still mad?" he whispered, his voice finally softening, though his grip didn't loosen.

© satorusink on tumblr. please don't plagiarize or feed my work to ai

[satorusink]

Praying you'll have ao3 soon so i can bookmark my favorite works from you there🙂‍↕️🙏

ive signed up for an invitation, i should get it around mid feb!

[satorusink]

how would ya feel about an angsty one shot with nerd!jo?

i got an epic idea for this, imma work on it now!!!

[creamkissed]

your mario!gojo and bowser!sukuna fic is lowkey what made my change my theme to nintendo core 😭🙏

i love ur writing smm

WHAT THE FREAK I LOVE IT SM?? it looks soooo good i’m actually in love!! thank you sm i’m honored 😛

[satorusink]

AAA TYSMM <33

[satorusink]

guys

yall want me to post the next jake drabble today or tomorrow

TODAY

tomorrow

Voting ended onJan 30