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saccharinesatoru · 7 months ago

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Caught in the Moment (Help, I'm Stuck!)

pairing: gojo satoru x reader (f)

genre: stepbrother!gojo + smut

word count: 6k

summary: When your Mom remarries, a certain white-haired, blue-eyed demon enters your life in the role of your new step brother. It doesn't matter how angelic he looks, he's nothing short of the devil. And while you've never been very close with your family, Gojo wants to be a whole lot closer to you than a step brother should be. But, hey, family comes first, right? Gojo sure thinks so.

warnings: stepcest (the people who like it, love it and the people who hate it wanna burn my house down for writing it), language, gojo's a brat, the stuck-in-washer bs from h*ntai, dubcon bordering on noncon?????? (open to interpretation, honestly), fingering & oral (f receiving), penetration (p in v), creampie, low key breeding kink, degradation with some hints of praise on the side like if you squint real hard, squirting, some anal (f receiving)

A/N: i will take no questions as to where I have been or why I was gone. i also write for some anime now too lmao. i miss satoru and I'm pissed at gege and I need an outlet bc these new manga chapters are giving me grey hairs. also, this is like 45% proofread max. oh, and thanks for 2k followers <3 ... i rarely come on here anymore, so I didn't notice until now.

xx Jay

You were never much of a family person. It’s not like your Mom made it very easy after divorcing your Dad and hopping from dick to dick like the floor was lava. New weekend? New date. Summer getaway? Fresh boytoy. Spring break? New guy to break her back- if her obnoxious moans were anything to go by.

Overall, you were as much of a family person as your Mom was- noncommittal and unwilling to settle down. And you carried over that same distant, superficial behavior to any of your past romantic relationships… which always ended just about as quickly as your Mom’s did. Your closest friends liked to joke that poor taste in men and a lack of commitment to relationships were perhaps the only things you and your Mom shared in common. And you’d both been that way for as long as you could remember.

Which is why you heard a record scratch in your head when your Mom announced practically out of nowhere that she was engaged and soon to be married. Apparently, this was “the one” and “her knight in shining armor”, or so she claims. She’d have periods of puppy love infatuation every now and then with one of her flings, but since your Dad left the picture, none of your Mom’s relationships had led to a ring on her finger- much less a mansion to share with her new fiance.

The moving process proceeded as quickly as your Mom’s relationship had. In the blink of an eye, all your belongings were packed away nicely in boxes and placed in the back of a truck, soon to be parked in the driveway of your new house. It was as if your Mom wanted to move in together with her latest obsession before her new man realized how horrible of a wife she’d make. Your Dad could attest to that.

The news about the engagement and rushed move all hit you suddenly, sure. But no amount of new information or experiences could have crashed into you quite as hard as your new step brother.

Literally.

“Ow, fuck,” you rubbed your side, “Watch where you’re going.”

Gojo Satoru.

Despite the angelic features, this boy was nothing short of the devil. Whenever you were bored, you’d flip through TV channels and stumble across trashy reality shows where rich people drank alcohol like it was water, partied until the sun came up, and had money to burn. You’d laugh at the over the top antics. Surely you’d never run into someone who actually behaved that way, right?

You wish you were wrong.

Gojo turns around and lets out a chuckle, “My bad, sweets. I’m not used to having such dwarfs living here. The air must be a lil’ different down there, yeah?”

He places his palm on the top of your head and gives it a pat, smirk painted on his lips. You bat his hand away and take a step back, “You say that is if you’re not ducking to keep your head from hitting the door frame. I’m not tall, you're just freakishly tall.”

Smirking at you, he leans a bit closer to your face. He smells of strawberries, you note.

“Well, you know what they say about tall guys with big hands, right? Do you wanna find out if the rumors are true? I’ll give you a hint,” He takes another step closer, “they’re more than true. And all ya gotta do is step into my room and see for yourself.”

You bristle.

His loud music? His rowdy friends that came over? His unwillingness to wash dishes? None of that came close to the bullshit that came from Gojo’s mouth. If it wasn’t suggestive comments spilling from his mouth, it was outright filth.

Somewhere in Gojo’s mind, you two being in the city for the summer and practically home alone given your parents were constantly out doing God knows what meant it was open season to flirt and harass you mercilessly. It started as brushing your shoulder and occasionally touching your lower back when he would move past you in the hallway or kitchen, and now it progressed to… this.

Stepping back like you’d been burned, you look at him with irritation, “Are you on crack? Is it crack that you smoke?”

He quirks his head to the side with a little smile on his face, “Whatcha mean, sweetheart? Don’t Mom and Dad want us to bond?”

You bring your hands to your head to massage your temples, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say… any of what you just said.”

Turning around you begin to walk away, ��Keep all your pervy comments to yourself, clean your dishes in the sink, and stay out of my way. I’m supposed to be on summer break, for fuck’s sake. I didn’t come back home from one headache to live next door to another.”

Gojo’s lips curl upwards at that as he tilts his head to the side to get a nicer view of your ass as you walk toward the other room. He knew he’d get you eventually, he just had to play the long game. Despite what the people around him thought, Gojo was no fool. He saw right through his Dad’s rushed engagement and gave the two love birds a few months tops before the relationship failed. And if his Dad was allowed to make foolish mistakes in the name of love (lust), then couldn’t he do the same? After all, it’s not like he’s ever going to see you again once the marriage falls through.

He might as well enjoy this little…. sibling dynamic while it lasts, right? That’s what any good brother would do. And in that moment, Gojo decides to himself that he is that good brother. Oh, he’d be the best big brother.

Despite the constant annoyances from the white-haired, blue-eyed demon spawn who resided in the house, you did appreciate the in-house washer and dryer. Lugging your dirty clothes from your apartment to the laundry room of your housing complex was quite the pain.

Humming a tune to yourself, you walked to the dryer with an empty hamper held against your hip. Opening the dryer door, you leaned down and began to remove the items of clothing. You leaned in a bit further when you noticed a sock at the very back of the appliance.

Rip

You froze. You’ve never been the religious type, but you prayed to whatever god existed that your favorite sweater did not just get caught in the door of the dyer. You held your breath and tried to pull back a little further.

Riiiip

This time the tear was louder and you could just picture the fabric coming loose.

Biting your lip you tried to wiggle around a bit to find a way to back away from the dryer door without ruining your sweater even further. No luck.

After some time bent over with your upper torso stuck in the dryer, you heard footsteps approaching the laundry room.

“Thank God,” you breathed out, “Mom, can you lend me a hand? The fabric on my sweater is stuck to the door of the dryer, and I don’t want to pull away since it’ll rip the top even more.”

You felt a hand brush against your upper thigh, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Oh, I’d love to help, sweetheart,” Gogo sighed, “But I can lend you a whole lot more than just a hand.”

With as much strength as you could muster (given your upper body is stuck inside a godforsaken dryer), you kick behind yourself in an attempt to get him away from you… only to have him catch your foot in his large hand.

“Oh,” he tsks, “That’s no way to treat your loving brother, is it? After all, I’m just trying to help my cute, helpless little sister.”

You grit your teeth, “So help me God, Gojo, if you touch me again, I’m going to rip your dick off and shove it down your throat.”

Although you can’t see him, you know he has that infuriating smirk painted on his face. “Nice to know you’ve got my dick on your mind, princess. Although I think I’d like my dick inside something else…”

Latching his hands onto your hips, he pulls your ass against him and grinds against you slowly.

God, was it a bad day to have worn a skirt.

“These skirts? These thighs?” he groans, “This ass? God, it’s like you’re begging me to take you. Seeing you leave the house with those skimpy little outfits on made me want to drag you to my room and fuck some manners into you. Maybe then you’d know not to show off what’s mine.”

You furrow your eyebrows so aggressively you know there’s guaranteed wrinkles. “What on earth are you talking about?” you spit, “Get the fuck away from me!”

You squirm some more but to no avail. He grabs your hips even tighter, and you feel the outline of something long and hard against your ass. You do everything in your power not to gasp. The last thing you want to do is give him the satisfaction of knowing how much this is affecting you.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he asks in a taunting tone, “I’ve known since day one that your Mom and my Dad were never gonna last. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun of our own, right?” He grinds against you again, and the end of your skirt pushes higher up your thighs. “And I couldn’t believe my luck when I just so happened to be walking past the laundry room and spotted you all nice and vulnerable for me.”

“Gojo, this isn’t funny. Let go,” you bite back.

“Oh, no, I think I’m gonna take my time and enjoy this,” he continues to roll his hips against yours and removes one of his hands from your hips to push your skirt up and over your ass, revealing your panties. “Black lace? You’re kidding me, sweetheart. It’s like you planned for this all along. You want me as bad as I want you, huh?”

You feel his fingers run along the elastic of your underwear and begin to slip them down your legs. This time, you really do gasp. And Gojo certainly heard it if his dark chuckle is anything to go by.

“I’m not fucking around, Gojo,” you let out desperately, knowing where things are about to head, “This is fucked up. You’re my step brother, and there’s no way in hell I’d sleep with you. If you let me go now, I won’t tell our parents.”

By this point your panties are on the floor and your skirt isn’t covering any part of your ass. “Oh, go ahead and tell them, princess,” Gojo remarks as his fingers draw closer to your cunt. “Let ‘em know how good your step brother makes you feel. Family comes first. And in this case,” his longer digits finally reach your pussy, “you’ll be coming in more ways than one.”

He runs a finger up and down your slit, and as much as you try and fight back, your body gives into the pleasure, especially when his fingers reach your clit and begin to roll against the bundle of nerves. “Thaaaat’s it,” he purrs, “Almost like this body was made for me the way I know it like the back of my hand, hm?”

He picks up the pace at which he rubs your clit and suddenly inserts a finger inside your cunt. “Dripping already and you really had the nerve to pretend you didn’t want this. Kind of a sorry attempt to maintain your modesty, sweetheart.”

Pumping his finger in and out of you, you're beginning to lose the strength in your legs. If it weren’t for the fact that your upper torso was held up by the dryer, your legs might have given out.

“G-Gojo, we shouldn’t-”

He cuts you off, “You’re really going to tell me you don’t want this while you’re soaked already? Your mouth is saying one thing, but this pussy is saying another, sweetheart.”

As if to prove you wrong, he adds another finger and picks up the speed at which he’s scissoring your poor pussy. You let out a moan and allow yourself to push back against his fingers, barely mindful of your snagged sweater that landed you in this mess in the first place.

You’re embarrassed to say (and you’d never admit this to Gojo), but you’re getting increasingly closer to your orgasm. You’ve been with your fair share of guys, sure, but no boy has ever made you feel as good as Gojo was making you feel right now.

And that drove you nuts.

Before you could stop yourself, you let out a moan. The pleasure of Gojo’s fingers on your clit and in your cunt was making your mind hazy and forgetful of the promise you made to yourself to not reveal how good Gojo was making you feel with his fingers alone. It was only a matter of time before your legs gave out completely if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Oh?” Gojo asks tauntingly, “You enjoying yourself, pretty? What happened to that bratty mouth of yours? You just needed that attitude fucked right out of you, yeah?”

Since Gojo already heard your moan and knew how your body was responding to his stimulation, you all but dropped your resolve and made no efforts to hold your noises back. After all, you were getting closer and closer to your release, and your brain hardly had the capacity to stay silent while taking his fingers.

The lewd sounds of Gojo’s fingers pumping in and out of you were nothing short of filthy, and you’re almost ashamed to admit it turned you on even more. “Hear that?” Gojo asked as he continued his rhythm. “It’s like she’s calling out for me. You’re close, right?”

You whine at the question.

“There’s no need to respond, sweetheart. I already know the answer,” Gojo quips with a smile. “But I think this pretty pussy of yours can be a bit louder… How about we pick up the pace a bit, yeah? Maybe add another finger? You can take it, right?”

Before you can respond, he adds another one of his long fingers and is plunging in and out of you at a mind bending pace. Your voice is shaky at best as you whine at the feeling. “Fuck,” you moan, “S-Sato-”

The white-haired boy smiles at your broken speech and the (attempted) use of his first name, “What was that, baby? Trying to moan your step brother’s name, let everyone know how deep his fingers are in your pussy?”

“Ugh,” you groan, trying to muster up the last bits of willpower you have left, “fuck you.”

He laughs at your comment and is half impressed that you’re still able to talk back. “Hm, still talking shit? Don’t worry, my tongue and cock will take care of that riiiight away. But first,” his pace gets impossibly faster, “you’re gonna cum all over my fingers.”

As if by magic, you came immediately after the words left his mouth. If you weren’t already a bit fucked out, you would have pondered how Gojo seemed to already know your body better than you did.

Gojo pulls his fingers out of your sopping cunt and sucks them clean. “Hm,” he hums, “Tastes even better than I imagined. You’ll let me get another taste, right? I mean, that’s the least you can do for your step brother after he made you cum so nicely on his fingers.”

He slowly lowers himself to the floor as you process his words, and before you could formulate a response, his tongue is on your pussy. You gasp out and would be tempted to reach back and grab his hair if your arms weren’t stuck inside the damn dryer.

Gojo groans into your pussy, “Fuck, sweetheart, you tasted amazing on my fingers, but I like it even better from the source.”

He dives back in and has you moaning out for more. The way he moves his lips up and down your slit and rolls his tongue around your clit feels heavenly, despite the fact that the boy is the devil himself.

Your legs are growing noticeably weaker, and Gojo loops his arms around your lower thighs to keep you in place and pull your cunt closer to his greedy mouth. Even then, your lower half is twitching in stimulation. Despite the tremors, you try to push your hips against Gojo’s face even more, and he lets out a laugh at the feeling. If you could see Gojo, you would see how much your sounds and movements are affecting him. He’s already high on the feeling of tongue-fucking you. But from inside the dryer, you can’t see that he’s as hard as a fucking rock, and his leaking cock is straining against his sweatpants to the point where it’s almost painful.

His tongue settles on your clit and begins to alternate from sucking to rubbing figure eights on the bud. You’re really hoping no one else is home. Because if someone is, there’s no way they wouldn’t hear your desperate moans that are only increasing in volume as Gojo continues to eat you out like your pussy is his last meal.

“Satoru, that feels so fucking good,” you sigh, leaning your head down to rest against the wall of the dryer since you’re unable to keep it up.

“Oh, it’s Satoru now, is it?” he asks mockingly as he leans back and lets his fingers continue the pleasure on your clit, “You’re telling me all I had to do to get on your nice side was suck on this pretty pussy? Sweetheart, I would have done that for free.”

He leans back in and latches his tongue to your clit once more, picking up the pace and intensity of his sucking. With the little leg strength you have left, you bounce the lower half of your body against Gojo’s mouth continuously in an attempt to increase the stimulation.

‘She wants to ride my tongue, huh?’ Gojo thinks to himself. ‘She’ll have all the time in the world to do that when I get her to sit on my face.’

Gojo’s turned on even more at the thought of you suffocating him with your thighs as your cunt drops on to his lips. He’ll have to experience it soon before the idea drives him even closer to insanity.

Fuck, he couldn’t get enough of you.

He moans into your pussy, and the vibrations almost make you cum on the spot. The feeling is so good your eyes are nearly rolling back in your head. You’re really glad Gojo can’t see your face or he’d never let you forget the fucked out look in your eyes. However, what you don’t know is that Gojo won’t let you forget how good he fucked you no matter what your facial expressions looked like- those were just the cherry on top.

“I’m so close, Satoru,” you whine, “Please don’t stop.”

You continue to grind on his face, shaking with pleasure and beginning to feel beads of sweat form on your forehead from the heat of the tongue-fucking coupled with the warmth of the dryer.

The dam broke when Gojo landed a loud smack on your ass. You yelped and your legs gave way fully as you released all over his face. Gojo licked up every last drop of your cum and left kisses around your inner thighs before he pulled away.

“Damn,” he breathed out as he rubbed his hand against the cheek he just spanked, “I didn’t take you for the masochist type, little sis. Got any other secrets I should know about? Or should I just find them out myself?

You whine at the feeling of his hand on your ass. You know there’ll be a mark there tomorrow. But you couldn’t focus on the long-term consequences of what was happening right now in the laundry room. It was fucked up, of course, but it felt so good that you didn’t even care how wrong it was.

“Satoru,” you spoke, voice a bit hoarse from moaning, “need you to fuck me.”

Gojo tilts his head in faux confusion, “What was that, princess? I didn’t quite catch that. I mean, you are stuck in the dryer, after all. How else would I have been able to get you this easy and exposed for me?”

You groan in equal parts irritation and desperation. If you weren’t so fucked out already, you would have certainly cussed him out by now.

“I said,” you repeat more firmly, “I need you to fuck me.”

He hums, “What? No “please”? And here I thought I’d fucked some manners into you. I guess all you respond to is cock, huh?” He brings his hand down against your ass once more. “Why don’t you try again, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you beg, “Please, please, please fuck me, Satoru. I need your cock so bad.”

You know he’s got that bratty smile on his face when he hears your words. His little step sister wants his cock, and who is he to deny her?

He quickly pulls down his sweats and spits on it before pumping it a few times. He rubs the head of his cock up and down your slit before lining it up with your entrance.

“Wait,” you manage to snap out of your daze, “Satoru, we need condoms.”

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, “Condoms? Baby, don’t you trust your step brother? You know I’m clean.”

You open your mouth to refuse, but your mind gets more and more hazy as he rubs his cock against your folds.

“And besides,” Gojo grunts, “You’ll be begging for my cum soon enough.”

Without another word, Gojo slides into you. You curse out loud. He’s not even all the way in, and he feels fucking huge. The tip alone is wide enough that the ring of your pussy stretches uncomfortably and you feel it sting. And, fuck, even though it feels like he’s been pushing in for forever, he’s still not done.

“Fucking, fuck,” you gasp, “Are you all the way in yet?

You can’t see his length, but as he pushes deeper and deeper inside your wet pussy, you suspect he’s got to be somewhere around 9 inches at least. Of course, the rich, popular, pretty boy has a massive cock, because he’s just so infuriatingly perfect.

“Just about, sweetheart,” he hisses and finally bottoms out, “What? Don’t tell me you want to back out now. You’re the one who wanted this, remember? My bratty little slut of a step sister can’t take the cock she begged for just a minute ago?”

You bite your lip and try to adjust to his gigantic length. Once the burn subsides, you feel the pleasure seep in. You’ve never felt so full. It was as if he were in your guts, and if you could look at your abdomen, you’d see his cock bulging from your tummy. You could only imagine how much fuller you’d feel when he actually came.

And although you had been apprehensive earlier, now the idea of Gojo cumming deep inside you nearly had you drooling. Better yet, his cock is so massive that instead of drooling saliva, you imagined his cum dripping from your mouth because he had filled up your pussy past the brim.

“Fuck, I can’t wait any longer, sweetheart,” Gojo groans and begins to fuck into you. “You’re so fucking tight it feels like your pussy is suffocating my cock.”

You moan at his words and try to picture his face as he takes you from behind. Gojo has always been attractive- that was never up for debate. But you could only imagine how hot he’d look with his eyebrows furrowed as he bit down on his pretty pink lips and sweat rolled down the sides of his face. You bet his white hair would stick to his forehead a bit, and you’d kill to run your fingers along his uppercut while he fucked you.

That can be for another time.

“Oh, my God,” you cry out as he pounds into you, “Just like that, Satoru, don’t stop.”

He playfully rolls his eyes as if your pussy wasn’t frying his brain too, “So demanding,” he tuts.

Picking up the pace, Gojo begins to slam his hips against yours even harder. He lands another spank on your ass and grabs your hips tightly with his free hand.

When was the last time you got laid? You can’t even remember when the dick you’re getting now is so good. And you certainly have never had a guy this big before, that’s for sure. But you almost feel like a virgin, because you have never been fucked like this before. It was an experience you hadn’t even considered until now.

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” Gojo professes, “Every time I’d hear you touching yourself in your room, I wanted to kick the door down and take care of you myself.”

If you weren't so absolutely cockdrunk already, you would have been positively flushed with embarrassment at his comment given you thought you’d been so quiet and strategic about when you played with yourself.

“Fucking hell,” Gojo removed his hand from your ass pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I even thought about sneaking cameras into your room to get an exclusive glimpse of what you looked like all needy and desperate to cum.”

You gasped at the vulgar statement and felt yourself grow strangely wetter.

Since when did any yandere behavior turn you on?

Gojo laughs when he feels you tighten around him. “Oh, you like that? Well, now that I have this pussy, I’m never letting it go. No need for those cameras anymore, sweetheart. Why watch clips when I have this cunt instead?”

You really felt like you were going insane at this point. His cock is bullying itself into your cunt at an almost bruising pace. You could feel your wetness run down your thighs and your cheeks burn with embarrassment imagining the mess you’ve made on the floor from the amount of cum you’ve released.

Gojo’s not faring any better. He felt like he would bust almost immediately after pushing into you, but he’d be damned if he fucked up this moment- the moment he had been imagining and wait for since the first time he laid eyes on you.

“Oh, step sister,” Gojo said in a sing-song voice in between grunts, “Could you imagine if Mom and Dad walked in on us now? What would they say, seeing your precious little cunt be stretched out by your step brother’s cock, huh?”

Moaning at the thought, you try to close your legs a bit at the overstimulation.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Gojo quips and pulls your legs apart before shoving a hand between them and attaches his fingers to your abused clit. “There’s no way you’re getting away from my cock until you’re filled with my cum and can’t remember a thing except my name. Got it?”

You nod your head but immediately receive another spank. “Words, princess.”

“Yes!” you cry. Since there are tears welling up in your eyes, you’re now sweating, drooling, and crying. Gojo must hear your sniffling since he remarks, “Next time, I’ll take you from the front. That way, I’ll be able to see your face when I fuck you dumb.”

His words get progressively dirtier as he pounds into you. He’s so caught up in the sensation of your pussy clenching around his cock that he’s almost rambling nonsense at this point.

“Do you know how hard it is not to push you down face-first on the counter when you walk into the kitchen wearing those tight dresses or short skirts? It’s crazy how I've waited this long to fuck you,” he pants. “Fuck, I’ll have to take pictures of you after I’m finished fucking this sloppy pussy so I can show all my friends what they're missing.”

You never imagined you’d be into voyeurism, but the way Gojo is describing how he’d photograph and record you to show you off to his friends like some prize to be won has you moaning out even louder. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire. And everything Gojo is saying and doing is only adding fuel.

He was reaching parts of you that you didn’t even know could be reached. And he could tell by your reactions how good you felt taking his cock.

“Poor little girl,” he sighed out, “I bet you were getting tired of playing with this pretty pussy all by yourself, right? Your fingers just weren’t long enough to reach right…. here.” He hits your g-spot head on, and it has you screaming out his name. He rams against the spot over and over again, and you swear you’re seeing stars.

His stamina should be studied by scientists the way he’s relentless as he pounds into you without any sign of slowing down. You knew for a fact that you would have collapsed onto the floor if not for the dryer door and Gojo’s arms keeping you up. You felt like a ragdoll with the way he was fucking you. You weren’t a person in this moment, you were his own personal fleshlight. And he’d be damned if he let you walk away without your pussy perfectly molded to fit his dick and his alone- not that you’ll be able to do much walking for a while anyway.

“Y-you so big, Satoru,” you exhale, “I swear I can feel you in my throat.”

He laughs at your cockdrunk comment, “Believe me, sweetheart. Next time, my cock will be in that throat.”

He starts rubbing your clit even faster than before, and you’re doing everything you can not to scream your throat raw. It’s like Gojo has some sixth sense for your facial expressions since he barks, “Don’t you dare keep that mouth closed. I waited too long to fuck this tight pussy for you to hold back your screams.”

Your ass shakes as he spanks you multiple times in a row. With each spank, your moans get louder, your ass now bright red and warm to the touch.

Removing his hand from your waist, your legs fumble. You’re barely standing upright, and practically all your weight rests on the where you body slumps over the dryer. “You better keep standing, pretty.” Gojo taunts. “Because you’re gonna have a much harder time taking my cock if you slip.” He threatens you as if he wouldn’t just fuck your boneless body on the floor, but he feels you tighten even more with his empty threat.

Using his free hand, he spits on his fingers and brings them to your ass. Your eyes shoot open when you feel one of his digits run against the rim of your ass. “S-Satoru, what are you d-doing?” you stammer out, trying your best to form remotely coherent sentences.

“What am I d-doing?” Gojo mocks. “Well, I’m just showing this hole some love too. Must have felt left out seeing your pussy be stuffed so nicely, yeah?”

He runs his finger along the rim and leans down to spit another dab of saliva on the hole all while keeping up his cock’s brutal pace and unforgiving assault on your clit.

You clear your throat and shake your head in a poor attempt to clear your mind. “S-Satoru, I haven’t done anything there yet,” you pant. “Y-you shouldn’t do that.”

He smiles almost sinisterly, “Oh, I think I should, sweetheart. And that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Without any warning, he pushes his finger into your ass, and you yelp at the foreign sensation. You’d never tried anal with any of your past boyfriends. This was entirely new terrain.

And Gojo dismissed your apprehension like he was swatting a fly.

If anyone else did something like that to you, you’d wring their necks. So why did it feel so damn good when Gojo did it?

You moan louder as he begins to pump the digit in and out slowly, his spit acting as makeshift lube for the tight muscle. The combined sensations of your clit, cunt, and ass being played with was driving you insane.

“F-fuck, Satoru,” you nearly wail, “I can’t take anymore, it’s too much!”

He shakes his head in mock disappointment, “Oh, no, pretty. You can and will take it. You’re not done until I say you are.”

You’re fully sobbing by this point. You can’t tell where your tears end and where your drool begins. Your whole body is shaking and not just because of Gojo’s unforgiving pounding.

“I’m so close,” you exclaim, “F-feel like I’m going to explode.” You didn’t even know how to explain what you were feeling at this point.

“Explode, huh?” Gojo questions as he bites back a groan, “Well, that sounds exciting. How could you possibly ask me to stop now? We’re gonna miss the best part.”

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard that you taste the metallic flavor of blood that mixes with the excess saliva in your mouth from all your drooling. And if you were actually able to think clearly, you would have noticed the saltiness from your tears as well.

“S-Satoru!” you scream. “I think I’m gonna-”

You didn’t even get to finish your sentence before you’re squirting all over your and Gojo’s legs, the floor, the side of the dryer. Your whole body is trembling, and you feel as if you’ve been electrocuted. You’re still crying out as Gojo brings both of his hands down to your hips to fuck you even harder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Gojo moans loudly, “Did you just squirt? Fucking god, I can’t wait to lick it off you.” His pace is as rough as ever, but it feels even more intense since you just had the strongest orgasm of your entire life. “I’m gonna fill up this pretty little pussy, and then no other guy will want my sloppy seconds, yeah? This pussy belongs to me now.”

Gojo fucks into you one, two, three more times before he’s shooting thick, hot ropes of cum deep into your weeping pussy, still unbearably sensitive from squirting. If you weren’t so fucked out of your mind, you would have been mortified that you squirted- on Gojo and because of Gojo, nonetheless.

It feels like ages before his cock stops filling you with his seed and he finally stills inside of you. That’s a miracle if ever you’ve seen one, because you thought you would die if he kept going.

You both wince as he pulls out, and he watches in awe as his cum spills from your cunt. You hear him rustle through his discarded clothes on the floor before you hear the click of a camera. This little sound effect draws you from your haze a bit.

“G-Gojo!” you yell. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You can hear a pout in his voice. “Gojo? What happened to Satoru, hm? Is that name only reserved for when I fuck you?”

“Delete that immediately!” you wiggle in place.

He just scoffs and shakes his head. “Oh? You really want me to delete it? Because I could have swore you were just smothering my cock when I told you how badly I wanted to take pics of you after I’d fucked you stupid.”

You huff and are about to argue back when you feel him run his fingers against your thighs once more, and your words are caught in your throat.

“Speaking of which…” Gojo hums, “I must not have fucked you hard enough if you can still talk back to me…”

Your breath hitches.

“I guess that just means I’ll have to fuck you again then, won’t I?” Gojo thinks aloud and grabs your ass with both hands. “Like I said, family comes first.”

---

if you made it this far...thanks guys lmao

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esouliie · 27 days ago

Text

AND I’LL STILL SEE IT UNTIL I DIE.

(natasha romanoff x reader) (wanda maximoff & reader)

summary | In a world that’s only ever been bleak, Natasha was your anchor, your light in the storm. But now she’s gone, her final act a selfless sacrifice to save a future you’re not sure you can face without her. The shadows are closing in, and so, you’re left with an impossible choice: to succumb to the weight of your loss or to find the strength to honour her sacrifice by living on — for yourself and for her.

warnings | angst, hurt/comfort, open ending, natasha is dead, reader is borderline suicidal, wanda is a good friend.

notes | i am sorry for this lol… but you guys must share my pain and im currently in a lot of it. i miss natasha too much. also, i wrote this as i listened to loml by taylor swift, do i wanna know? by hozier and for good by wicked on repeat so if it’s all over the place, that’s why lmao.

dedicated to @historyofstoriesendingsadly ⊹♡

It was quiet on the edge of the lake. Too quiet for someone who knew Natasha Romanoff. For someone like Natasha Romanoff. It’s odd how this was her favourite place. The stillness doesn’t suit her. She was never the type to bask in silence; she thrived in moments where chaos and calm intertwined, where danger and peace blurred. But here, now, there’s only the still, glassy surface of the water reflecting the overcast sky. It felt wrong, to be out here alone, but you knew there’s no other way this could be done.

No one could’ve done what she did.

You tightened your grip on the small bouquet of wildflowers in your hand, their stems damp against your palm.

It was better this way.

Natasha would have hated the theatrics of a big funeral.

She wouldn’t want everyone standing in line, shaking hands, and trading formal condolences. She saw how personally informal of a funeral Peggy had. She was pretty sure nobody there even knew of the woman. No, this—the quiet, intimate setting, the lake she would sit by as she watched the sunset during your visits—felt more like her. More honest.

You set the flowers down on the wooden dock and sit cross-legged beside them, staring out at the rippled water. “I miss you.” You murmured, your voice barely breaking the silence. “And this is stupid. I’ve never even been to a funeral so I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know that you’re not here and I couldn’t just …”

Your words faltered, and you glanced down at your hands, trying to find something, anything, that won’t make you fall apart.

But it’s impossible.

The flowers beneath your fingers begin to crumble under your strength.

You twirled the wedding ring on your left hand.

…

You remembered the first time you officially met her. Her sharp wit sliced cleanly through the tension in the room, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as if she already knew she’d win you over. And she did, effortlessly. She had a way of making herself the most intriguing person in any space, her words both a challenge and an invitation. Even then, you couldn’t help but be drawn to her. She was fire wrapped in silk, a paradox that made her impossible to ignore.

And there was the first mission in Prague, where she saved your life in more ways than one. It was an extraction mission, deceptively simple on paper but riddled with complications the moment boots hit the ground. The target was heavily guarded, and you, fueled by adrenaline and an unshakable drive to prove yourself worthy, pushed ahead despite Natasha’s warnings to wait for backup.

You could still hear her voice in your earpiece, sharp and edged with frustration. "Don’t be stupid, Agent. Stick to protocol." But plans fell apart quickly in the chaos, and before you knew it, you were cornered in a crumbling alleyway, blood trickling from a fresh gash on your forehead, and your weapon lying just out of reach.

But like a ghost in the shadows, she was there. And she moved with a precision that was almost frightening, taking down your attackers in the blink of an eye. By the time the dust settled, you were still catching your breath, slumped against the cold brick wall, while she holstered her weapon and crouched beside you.

"Had enough of the reckless heroics?" She teased, her tone light but her gaze assessing the wound on your forehead. You were expecting a harsh reprimanding for your huge mess up.

Natasha gently brushed a curl away from your face stuck to your open wound. "You’re just as reckless as I was at your age, and trust me when I say, that’s not a compliment."

That night, after the mission was complete and the adrenaline had worn off, you found yourself perched on a sink as she dabbed a damp cloth against you, cleaning the hardened blood from your face.

"I thought I had it under control.” You admitted, wincing as she pressed the cloth a little too firmly against the cut.

"You thought wrong.” She replied without missing a beat.

“I wanted to prove to you that I handle it.”

At first, she seemed at lost for words.

“In this world, you must think first. Act second.” She placed the cloth back into the sink, seemingly done with her aid.

“And most importantly, you must listen to me… you’re no good to anyone if you get yourself killed."

There was a pause, a heaviness in her voice that made you glance up at her. For all her sharp edges and cutting remarks, there was something unspoken in her expression—a flicker of concern she didn’t bother to hide with you.

She cared for you.

It was then you noticed how green her eyes were.

You remembered the way she let her walls down for you. It wasn’t immediate, that trust. Natasha Romanoff was a fortress, her defenses honed through years of abuse, loss, and survival. She didn’t let people in easily; you knew that from the start. Yet, for some reason, she chose you.

Or maybe you chose each other.

Either way, it was at a slow and tentative pace.

There was the night she told you about the Red Room. Not all of it—she never gave you all of it—but enough to make your chest tighten with insurmountable anger. She’d stared at her hands as she spoke. The first time you had ever seen her so frail as she spoke, and yet, her voice was so even it almost sounded detached. But you saw the way her fingers trembled and you reached over to take her hand.

She tried to pull away, but you didn’t let her.

“I’m so sorry life has been so cruel to you.” You had said softly.

She didn’t respond, just looked at you with those green eyes that embraced you tight with each glance.

She held your hand the entire night.

Dismantled piece by piece, you found the woman behind the spy: the one who only watched bad movies, liked to share coffee with you that was way too strong, and carried more guilt than anyone should.

Loving her was simple.

And you remember Vormir. The dreaded decision. And the way her choice was made before you even realised what was happening. Clambering for a grasp on her as she headed for the cliff’s edge, your heart pounded like war drums, drowning out everything except the sound of her voice. That trembling voice, steadier than you could ever be in that moment, told you it was okay. That this was her way of making things right.

But it wasn’t okay.

It would never be okay.

You begged her, pleaded with her, but the determination in her eyes was unshakable. You’d seen Natasha resolute before, but never like this. You needed her, but the world needed her more. Her gaze softened when she looked at you, her lips twitching into the faintest, bittersweet smile.

Natasha had never been scared of dying.

But now, she was scared of what this would do to you.

Tears blurred your vision as you fought for her hold, your fingers clawing desperately against hers. Her own wedding band cutting into your skin. “Don’t you dare, Romanoff.” You choked out, voice battling against the rush of wind. “It’s not your time!”

Despite her confidence, you could see the subtle fear. You saw the cracks in her armor, the little girl that was once trapped in the Red Room shining through. The one who had told you once that she never thought she’d make it out of this fight alive.

And now here she was, proving herself right.

Her lips parted to speak, but she didn’t say goodbye. She wouldn’t let herself say it for she knew she wouldn’t be able to follow through. To do what is needed. Instead, she just looked at you as if you were the last good thing she’d ever know, and her hand trembled in yours once more.

“I love you.”

And then, it slipped.

Too quick enough for you to readjust.

You screamed as she fell, the sound of it tearing through your throat, breaking you in ways unimaginable. Time slowed, and yet it wasn’t enough to catch her. You watched as the green in her eyes disappeared as her body struck the rocks below, your world cracked wide open.

You didn’t even notice the tiny red stone appear in your hand as you cried her name into the wind.

It was Natasha Romanoff who had sacrificed her life that day, for the hope of a better future, but in truth, both of you had died at the bottom of that cliff.

…

The tears came suddenly, hot and unwelcome, but you didn’t fight them. You’d learned to let them fall and embrace their sharp sting, as if it were the only way to keep her memory alive.

You heard the crunch of footsteps behind you, faint at first, growing louder with every measured step. Your breath hitched. You didn’t turn around immediately. You couldn’t. Part of you desperately hoped it was her—that this was all some cruel mistake, and when you turned, she’d be there. Natasha, with her arms crossed, a wry smile tugging at her lips, would tease you for sitting out here in the cold, lost in thought. She’d say something dry and sarcastic, like she always did to lighten the mood, and everything would be fine again.

But it’s not her.

It will never be her again.

“I thought I might find you here,” came a quiet voice behind you. Wanda’s Sokovian accent became a lot more prominent over the years.

You had found out she was also grieving the love of her life. Vision didn’t make it off the battlefield in Wakanda.

You didn’t look at her, not at first. Unable to tear your gaze away from the ripples of the lake, you wasn��t ready to face someone else’s pain, not when yours was already so unbearable.

But when she sat beside you, her presence a hushed comfort, you finally glanced her way. Her eyes were rimmed red, an exhaustion in her expression that mirrored your own. “I didn’t… know her as long as you did,” she said, staring out at the water. “But she meant so much to me. She was always so kind. Even when she didn’t have to be.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “That’s right. She didn’t let a lot of people in, but once she did…she’d do anything for you.”

Wanda let out a small chuckle before admitting, “She would’ve hated seeing you like this.”

The two of you sat in silence for a long moment, torn between speaking the truth and keeping it all inside. You wanted to tell her she should have thought about it before throwing herself off that cliff—before willingly abandoning you, knowing that even if the war was won, life would never be the same for you.

You let the anger wash over you.

“I should have been stronger.” You whispered, voice cracking before you could finish. “I should have stopped her.”

Wanda turned to you sharply. “You can’t blame yourself. She made her choice. She believed in what she was doing. You know that.”

It was the truth. You had always known that. Wanda didn’t have to be a mind reader to understand that. Natasha was always the one to make the hard choices, to carry the burden so others didn’t have to. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

You closed your eyes, swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill. You had promised her, at the start of your relationship, that she wouldn’t have to carry that burden anymore. You had sworn to her that she deserved better than what the world had ever given her, and that you would be the one to show her.

For the rest of your life.

Until death do you part.

But in the end, she had still done what Natasha always did—she put everyone else before herself.

Wanda reached out, her hand brushing against yours. “She’s still here,” she said softly. “We carry her with us in everything we do until we meet again. She wouldn’t want us to let this break us.”

You wiped your eyes, taking a shaky breath. “She was my everything.”

“And she knew that.” Wanda replied, tightening her grip. “She felt that, and you gave her more than you’ll ever know.”

“I don’t know what to do without her. I don’t think I can survive like this.” You admitted outloud for the first time.

It had been eating at you. Your life had abruptly lost all meaning, the colours dulled, the vibrancy stripped. Deep down, you didn’t even want to try to going, to find purpose in the chaos she left behind.

Nothing would work.

Nothing, and no one, could fix it.

Could fix you.

You needed Natasha to carry on living. Without her, you were only half a person, stumbling through a world that no longer made sense.

How cruel the world was to let you taste the sweetness of her love, only to rip it away from you so mercilessly.

Wanda stood by the edge. She reached out with a quiet patience, guiding you to your feet with a gentle touch. The dock creaked beneath your shifting weight, but neither of you spoke as she crouched to pick up what remained of the wildflower bouquet. Cradling the bouquet in both of your hands, she looked at you with an expression that was both solemn and soft. She had always been so kind to you. Her eyes glimmered and she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, motioning for you to toss the flowers into the water.

“You live. You live for her.” And the simplicity of her words felt like a balm, a truth you hadn’t realised you needed to hear.

You hesitated for a moment, fingers trembling slightly against the delicate stems. But then, with a deep breath, you let them go. The flowers tumbled from your hands, spinning in slow motion before they touched the surface of the lake.

“For her.”

The water rippled as the bouquet floated away, carried by the slow current, and swallowed by the horizon. Neither of you said anything after that. There wasn’t anything left to say. The silence was filled with the soft lapping of water against the wood and the distant hum of crickets waking for the night. The orange and pink hues of the sunset reflected on the lake, painting the scene with a warm glow. The air grew cold but Wanda’s hand in yours pressed warmth deep within.

The green of the flower stems caught the fading light, and for a fleeting moment, they reminded you of Natasha’s eyes once more.

#my fics! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #avengers fic #black widow

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slytherinshua · 1 year ago

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MY FIRST LOVE

genre. fluff. warnings. mention of sungchan proposing like twice lmao?? pairing. sungchan x fem!reader. wc. 960. request. requested by anon: sungchan finding out he's your first love? a/n. skdjsk cute fluffy requests <33 esp for riize omg :( congrats anon, you made sungchan wreck me now 👹

“I don’t think I went out with girls that much before I met you. I got a lot of love confessions in school, though. Had my fair amount of crushes on girls, too.” Sungchan said as he scrolled through his phone. The conversation had been brought up naturally as you were doing your hair for your date tonight.

“Did you like any of them better than me?” You asked, sort of as a throwaway question. Though, you were slightly curious. You had your own insecurities about relationships. You had never had proper crushes before— you never had time for it in high school. It wasn’t until college that you met Sungchan and fell in love for the first time. He was your first everything. First crush, first kiss, first boyfriend, first love. You hoped you were comparing to his past girlfriends. He seemed happy with you, but you had never really asked him.

Sungchan scowled, looking up from his phone to look at you through the mirror on your vanity, “What kind of a question is that? I barely remember them.”

“How do you forget your past girlfriends?” You frowned, confused at how that was possible. You definitely couldn’t imagine ever forgetting Sungchan if you broke up with him in the future. You hoped that would never happen, though. You didn’t need to have dating experience to know that Sungchan was one of the best men you would ever find.

Your boyfriend just shrugged, “I don’t know. I think I always knew that it wasn’t going to last. I could never see a future with them, no matter how hard I tried. It was inevitable that we were gonna break up eventually.”

You hummed in thought, “Then… Am I not like that?”

He giggled, “You’re so cute. No, you’re not like that. I know I have a future with you. I want to marry you someday, you know.” He said it so easily, smirking at the way your cheeks grew instantly red. You really didn’t know that because this was the first time that Sungchan had given you that little piece of information.

“What about you? How do I compare to your past boyfriends?” He asked to change the subject slightly, seeing how flustered he had made you.

You suddenly got nervous. Your boyfriend wasn’t the type to judge you, but you just had so many experiences of being judged for being single in the past. “You’re still single in your twenties?” or “You didn’t date at all in high school?” were the most common questions thrown your way. It always felt like something you should be ashamed of. Boys must’ve not thought you were pretty enough to ask out, or maybe it was something wrong with your priorities. You shouldn’t have put your studies over dating for all those years.

You had finally found solace from that uncomfort when you proudly could say that Sungchan was your boyfriend. Your old friends who had once questioned why you didn’t have a boyfriend seemed impressed with Sungchan, which gave you a much needed confidence boost.

“I… haven’t really…” You mumbled, your response crumbling before it could finish being told; your shoulders sinking in embarrassment.

“Hm?” You glanced at your boyfriend through the mirror, finding his gaze soft and eager to hear what you were going to say.

“I haven’t dated before this. You’re my first ever boyfriend.”

Sungchan looked shocked, and then his face bloomed with joy, “Really? I’m your first boyfriend?!” He asked excitedly. You nodded, still a little embarrassed. “How!? I mean I’m happy— unbelievably happy— that I’m your first, but how did no one want to date you before? You’re the prettiest girl on the planet!” He insisted, and you only blushed more.

“I don’t know… No one ever did.” You murmured.

“Did you have crushes?” He asked, the grin never leaving his face. His excitement was contagious, and you eventually smiled as well.

“No, not really. Not until I met you.” You laughed.

“That’s crazy…” Sungchan giggled. He couldn’t ignore the elated feeling in his chest, buzzing with a million butterflies in his stomach. He hadn’t felt so happy since he had first kissed you.

Sungchan would never let it go after that. Whenever there was an opportunity to bring it up, he would be reminding you that he was your first love (as if you could ever forget). He’d try to use it to get things he wanted as well— though, mostly hugs or kisses.

“You shouldn’t reject a hug from me because I’m your first love!”

“Your first love is sad and needs kisses.”

Particular times when he would use it at just the right moment, softly whispering into your ear that he was your first love and about how much he loved you, it would make your heart race. It was no longer something to be insecure about, thanks to Sungchan. Now, it was something you would always be glad of.

After all, there was something magical about only ever having one person that you had given your heart to. And Sungchan took extremely good care of it. He treasured your entire being with everything he had, and exactly a year after he first found out he was your first, he proposed to you. He had always said it was inevitable to happen. Even though you weren’t his first, you still felt like it. He had never been in love with someone as intensely as he was with you, and he made sure you knew that. Even when he had put a ring on your finger and was absolutely certain that you were his for the rest of time, he still liked to make sure that you knew just how much he loved you.

↳ riize taglist: @eternalgyu,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien,, @seolboba,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @cosmicwintr

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strawbeelemonade · 2 years ago

Text

Imagine: Being Miles Morales’ best friend but also your a bit insane

•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_

🕷- Miles used to be so scared of you

🕷 - Even before you started a mutual friendship you sorta just…. kept appearing.

🕷 - He wasn’t sure when he became desensitised to you. but he likes to think his new double life of being a crime fighting upstart has given him a bit of a tolorence.

🕷 - Miles will now watch you eat an apple from the top down, core, stem and all, and literally not say anything.

🕷 - Your so consistently insane in such a harmless way, it’s kinda nice.

🕷 - He wishes you would stop picking up wild animals, though.

🕷 - Seriously stop. at least one of them will have a fatal disease.

🕷 - You keep venturing into the underground subway to play with the New York rats. Nothing bad has happened yet but that doesn’t mean nothing will.

🕷 - Don’t get me wrong. Miles isn’t overprotective or anything, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still worry. Your one of his closest friends.

🕷 - He’s not sure what he’d do without you.

🕷 - So please take the rat out of your jacket pocket. Please.

🕷 - Oh but it’s so cute!!

🕷 - You are Cinderella actually.

🕷 - Miles stumbles across you as his spider-sona surprisingly often.

🕷 - Not always when your doing something illegal, so he kinda forms this double friendship with you.

🕷 - It’s hard because he forgets your not supposed to know who he is!!

🕷 - He keeps forgetting to deepen his voice and act macho. You just make him relax so easily.

🕷 - I like to think His powers are particularly in tune with body language, even if he doesn’t mean or want to. And it can become so incredibly exhausting. all the extra information and interference is unrelenting unless he’s completely alone or has his headphones on.

🕷 - But you’re different. You let Everything rest on the surface. You say what you think, and miles found after a couple of months of knowing you that you’re actually more deep thinking then you like to let anyone realise.

🕷 - Your completely willing to sit in total silence with him. It’s so relaxing.

🕷 - The closer you both get the more he starts to see that you are actually a total sweetheart.

🕷 - You remember little things about him, your willing to go through great lengths for him. He knows that no matter where the both of you are or what your doing, you are ready to drop anything and everything to come to him if he needs you.

🕷 - He doesn’t demand it from you, but…

🕷 - You show up outside his dorm window at 3am all on your own ok?!

🕷 - He just mentioned he was having trouble sleeping!!! It’s not his fault!!! … but he’s not complaining either.

🕷 - So yeah, you put him at ease.

🕷 - Which is why it comes to no one’s surprise except miles when you bust him within the first two weeks.

🕷 - It scared the shit out of him. The next time you saw him as spider man you were like “Yo, Miles”.

🕷 - Y/N PLEASE.

🕷 - He asks you how you found him out, And you laugh and claim his mask made him look like he’s bad at Spanish. He socks you in the shoulder and you laugh harder.

🕷 - He then timidly asks if you’ve said anything to anyone.

🕷 - You tell him you don’t have deep enough conversations with anyone else TO tell.

🕷 - He understands what your trying to say.

🕷 - It’s actually a lovely little moment.

🕷 - As Spider-Man, he’s gotten to know an even crazier side to you. The fact that that was possible scared him a bit.

🕷 - Miles always wondered what you would get up to when he wasn’t around. You would disappear for hours, even days at a time. But you’d always come back.

🕷 - You were like an outdoor cat lmao.

🕷 - Turns out your a bit of an adrenaline junky.

🕷 - “Y/n this is a 7 story building and there’s no stairs how are you up here.”

🕷 - You liked feeding the pigeons… which was… yeah. Ok, fine.

🕷 - Miles wasn’t sure how his parents would react to you. He wasn’t ASHAMED but… Was he worried? Definetely.

🕷 - His dad is a COP.

🕷 - When He gets home from a couple hours of patrolling New York after school he has a heart attack when he sees you sitting on the couch nursing a drink while chatting to his mom.

🕷 - Your not fake, your still you. but you make a conscious decision not to pull out the rat in your pocket until you both head to his room to hang out.

🕷 - He’s much more emotional then he likes to make himself out to be. He’s still trying to figure himself out, He’s still only 14 after all.

🕷 - So hearing you drop deep emotional wisdom at 2 in the morning is a fucking EXPERIENCE.

🕷 - The deep conversations you have (and, now that he’s thinking about it the meaningless ones as well) feel like precious moments. They leave a lasting affect on him, your presence makes him feel safe.

🕷 - He’s not sure how to say all that out loud though.

🕷 - He doesn’t have to. you already know.

🕷 - His parents are happy to know that he’s made you as a friend. No matter how much or little they really know about you, anyone with eyes and two working ears can tell that your a good kid.

🕷 - You probably end up in the hospital a lot.

🕷 - Like a lot a lot. You are in so many wrong places at so many wrong times…

🕷 - An arm in a cast is considered a small case when it comes to you.

🕷 - Miles wonders how your still even alive this point!

🕷 - foreshadowing

🕷 - After you become more acquainted with miles’ family, you start getting visits from them!

🕷 - Especially If you don’t have any stable adult figures in your life.

🕷 - You get in a lot of accidents and fights. And it starts getting worrying. You don’t go looking for any trouble but you don’t let the criminal population of New York stop you from venturing out at night, either.

🕷 - In the waiting room Your all smiles and laughs. Nothing fazes you it seems, even under extreme amounts of pain. so it makes them relax a bit.

🕷 - But they are MUCH more willing to let you practically walk in and out of their house whenever you need a Homebase to fall back on.

🕷 - Mr. Davis does NOT enjoy getting called out late at night over a complaint of a homeless person loitering on a bench and it’s literally just you.

🕷 - What are you doing out here young lady/man/ster.

🕷 - Sorry sir I missed my bus

🕷 - But why were you sleeping outside!

🕷 - Eepy.

🕷 - Let them help you please you don’t have to do things on your own.

🕷 - You’ve only gotten lucky enough to be attacked a handful of times.

🕷 - But when the opportunity arises you are so ready.

🕷 - Remember how I said you were crazy in a harmless way? Forget I said that.

🕷 - Miles has literally watched you rip an old (albeit loose) stop sign out of the ground and beat a mugger over the head with it.

🕷 - He was not ready.

🕷 - You don’t even have any powers that he knows of. No super strength or healing. No heightened senses to protect you.

🕷 - Miles is in awe of you sometimes.

🕷 - he’s saved you from trouble a

Handful of times.

🕷 - you’ve literally got Spiderman looking out for you.

🕷 - If anything happens to you

He will freak the hell out.

🕷 - you might end up being room

-mates at his new school

🕷 - No matter how low he’s feeling he knows that you’ll find a way to make him smile.

🕷 - You find the craziest things to do, there’s no where you’re not willing to venture and there’s nothing your not willing to play with.

🕷 - Unfortunately Miles suffers from the terrible ailment of being a teenager 💔 (and also occasionally having terrible bouts of anxiety)

🕷 - often times he just feels so painfully uncool. He catches himself asking if he’s really cut out for this life. Not just about being the next Spider-Man, but also in the the-American-dream-is-not-real-and-I-don’t-have-a-future kind of way. He worries if he’s failing underneath the weight of his burdens. That he’s a loser.

🕷 - But you don’t let him feel that way when your around.

🕷 - You make him feel like he’s cool. You make him feel like he’s funny. like he’s the most interesting person in the world, your so unshakably and enthusiastically invested in him and his successes!

🕷 - You celebrate with him when he wins small fights. When he saves people. When he gets higher grades on exams.

🕷 - He doesn’t feel insecure standing next to you, even when your personality is as chaotic as it is.

🕷 - Miles isn’t sure sure how he got so lucky to have met you. He doesn’t realise you feel the same about him.

_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•_•

#miles morales #spider man #spiderverse x reader #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #not romantic btw #platonic #miles morales x reader #eyestrain #flashing lights

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magnusunpopularopinions · 12 days ago

Note

I'm not sure how unpopular of an opinion this actually will be but let's go:

I think people over inflate how bad of a person Elias actually is, and in comparison, treat characters like Basira, Nikola, Gertrude, etc much more softly. Don't get me wrong, Elias isn't the best person and his morals are questionable, but they're questionable because he hasn't been human in a good 150 years. His behaviour is in line with every other avatar we see, if a bit more held back violence wise. He only purposely hurts anyone if he feels it interferes with his plan (Which many Main avatars we see attempting a ritual don't do, like Nikola or even Peter in his day to day), or alternatively, puts Jon in an awkward position information wise. The way he handles Jon's ascent into becoming the Archivist isn't even that manipulative. It's less straightforward, yes, but he has his obvious reasons for it (Wanting Jon to Know and See and Understand without having it be explained to him, which would end with him relatively weak and vulnerable). The reasons themselves aren't Great for Jon, but otherwise, he handles himself in a very passive and socially acceptable way. He doesn't go through with doing anything about Not!Sasha, not because he didn't want to, but because there was literally no way he could have fired her or done anything to her without it being a tiny bit suspicious and causing a bit of an Archival uproar. Not doing anything about Prentis was his own fault, I'll be real, but I think he may have genuinely underestimated the amount of worms there are and I doubt he actually considered that the table may house the Not-Them, as he seemingly didn't expect Sasha to be taken. On top of that, him being all 'mysterious' during the Unknowing was just him having issues trying to figure out what he can or can't give Jon to help him figure things out because he genuinely can't Know these things due to the conflicting nature of the Stranger. Otherwise, all of his points of interest are very Avatar based. He eats, he works towards his ritual, and he works with others to make it happen. All things that other avatars do, that don't get overinflated into being fully 'evil'

TL;DR: I'm an Elias enthusiast and think he's just following his nature as an avatar, even if that mainly affects Jon and the archival team (Saying this as I'm relistening and nearly done with s4 lmao)

Thanks for sharing! Let’s chat!

I see what you’re saying, but may I also remind anon of… well:

“Apologies for the deception Jon, just had to make sure you were reading….”

and

[BPM]

and a couple other incidents I could probably come up with after I’ve published this.

Now, I’m not trying to ignore the ESSAY anon submitted full of evidence to back their point. I’m rocking with it- I’ll agree with you that Elias was simply doing his avatar job and withholding info, but I must say, I disagree with you on one point: Elias is a violent man.

Yes, his violence has a “purpose” but we must remember that even though Elias isn’t human, we are. The other characters (for a while and to an extent) are. The violence we do see from Elias is cruel and unfeeling. You can blame it on his avatar-ness all you want anon- and in fact you did an excellent job proving that he’s just an avatar doing avatar things- but the violence…. Elias is, imo, a very cruel being.

So, to summarize: I agree with anon on certain parts- Elias’s actions throughout the series reflect for sure that he is definitely not human. He’s an avatar working towards a goal. But I’ll disagree with anon when they say Elias isn’t that violent of a person/that the fanbase hypes up how evil he is.

In fact, I think the violence backs up anon’s point even further- the fact that he IS so cruel proves that he hasn’t been human for a while.

Hope that made sense- again, thanks for sharing and keep your words kind!

-E

-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•

Edit: Hey gang! Wanted to add a few words here just to further state my thoughts on the matter and I’ll leave it with anon after that :)

Elias is a very complex character! Boiling him down to his avatar-ness or violent tendencies was not my intention, just my response to the gist of what anon was saying! I agree with a lot of the conversations being had in reblogs and replies!

I can’t say for sure what anon meant when they said that characters like Basira, Nikola, and Gertrude get “treated softly” VS Elias, but I do find it interesting they chose that set of people! All three women (feminine?), but not all avatars. I’m not sure if anon meant to do this- compare only women (feminine characters) or compare a mix of avatars and humans- but it is how it’s being received: with the focus on anon’s mentioning them.

In my own personal experience, I see quite a bit more about Elias than I do Basira, Nikola, or Gertrude, and when I do see them, it’s typically because they are with other characters. Basira especially.

I will agree again with myself though- Elias is a cruel and violent guy. I think he quite often is more violent than he should be (but that is the scary part- the fact that he IS so violent and ok with it.)

And I will agree with myself again- Elias was working towards total global domination and frankly, even if you are fond of him, I think there’s still plenty of reason that the fanbase may not treat him “softly.” He’s not a particularly squishy character.

(I do like Elias, he’s an interesting character and lots of fun to think about (I’d like to imagine sometimes that he lives a lot like Jim from the American Office TV show does and just deadpans into non-existent cameras when the staff does something or his printer runs out of ink or his coffee spills, etc.))

I just think that there are layers to anon’s thoughts and that there can be both an agreement and a disagreement on different points.

And please, even if you disagree with an opinion, try and keep your words kind! You guys have been a lot of fun to talk with so far and I’ve loved the discussions I’ve had with you all!

Thanks!

-E (again)

#the magnus archives #tma #mag #the magnus pod #the magnus protocol #tma podcast #jonathan sims #tmagp #tma elias #elias bouchard #jonah magnus #the eye #magnus opinions

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joelsdagger · 1 year ago

Text

let it flow || one shot

frankie morales x reader

masterlist | ao3

pairing: sub!frankie x f!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: 4.4k (i think something possessed me bc this was originally 1k lmao) summary: you start a new form of birth control which has many side effects but frankie takes advantage of one side effect in particular. warnings: canon divergent, established relationship (reader and frankie are married), sub!frankie, soft dom!reader, body worship, pet names, nipple play, mommy kink, lactation kink, mutual masturbation , praise kink, pre-ejaculation, overstimulation, cumplay, cum eating, fluff. No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions of reader. um i think that’s it? *scratches neck* disclaimer: this is literally for shits and giggles bc a friend and i were talking about sub!frankie having a lactation kink, but we weren’t feeling the whole pregnancy trope so i found a loophole hehe. after extensive research, i found that certain types of birth control that include progestin *can* increase lactation as well as breast enlargement and tenderness, so i tweaked this specifically for the purpose of this fic. i don’t study medicine so some of this isn’t 100% accurate so if anything is wrong just remember this is just for horny fun and i changed some things to fit what i was going for. if this piece is not for you, that’s cool, obviously not everyone is gonna be into the same stuff but please just move along and let everyone else enjoy the fun.

a/n: thank you for all the love on my first fic i was so incredibly nervous about it but yall have been so so kind. this one is for kat and lyss who gave me this idea and then we screamed about it til 1am. shout out to @skrunkly-scrimblo and @papurgaatika for beta’ing. thanks for reading i hope you like it <3

super cute divider by @saradika

You’re staring back at yourself in the foggy mirror of your bathroom, assessing your breasts, they’re full, heavy and they ache. This is the fourth day in a row of feeling the consequences of your new birth control and the pain has only gotten worse. “The shit we do….fuckin’ birth control,” you mumble under your breath.

You had switched to a different form of birth control earlier in the week, the IUD route wasn’t working out so well for you. For starters, the pain of getting the IUD implanted was unbelievably excruciating and on top of that, you had ParaGard (the copper IUD) implanted which didn’t have hormones so you were still getting your period. Your periods were heavy and painful and you have been seeking an alternative solution to stop them completely. At your last visit with your gynecologist, you both agreed to switch you over to taking birth control pills.

Your physician had informed you that the pill form was a progestin-only contraceptive that would decrease the bleeding during your menstrual cycle or possibly get rid of it completely if you skipped the placebo pills on the last week of your pack. There was one not-so-tiny problem, you were not told that being on the pill would make your tits swell and you sure as hell didn’t know the damn pill would make you lactate.

Earlier today you practically sobbed to your doctor on the phone.

“Doc, sorry to be blunt but my tits fucking hurt,” you cry, tears welling up in your eyes. At this point, the pain had become unbearable.

“That’s pretty normal hun, it’s a common side effect for some women. As I told you on Monday, the use of a hormonal birth control that contains progestin can increase the likelihood of producing breast milk even if you aren’t pregnant. It’s your hormones adjusting to the pill and it’s going to take your body three to four months to adjust,” your doctor explained.

‘Wait three to four months,” you shout, "Doc, you didn’t mention anything about that. What the hell am I supposed to do?” you ask rashly.

Your doctor hesitates, “Well, we could go back to the copper IUD but then-”

“Then, I’d get my period yeah absolutely not,” you frantically cut her off.

“We could book you to come back in and try another route but I’m booked until the end of the month,” she suggests.

“Of course you are, you’re like the only nice physician in the office, everyone wants to see you,” you laugh bitterly.

“There is something else that may help until we can see you in the office...many women have said that it helps,” she says.

You cross an arm around your chest, wincing slightly as your arm presses tightly against your chest, before dropping your arm back down at your side, “Okay…what is it?”

“You could massage them or have your husband stimulate your nipples,” she says nonchalantly.

“Stimulate my nipples?” you hesitate, your eyes widening at her suggestion.

“Yes, have him use his fingers or-”

“You’re not serious?”

Your doctor chuckles at your curiosity, “Yes, nipple stimulation and other sensual activities, can trigger and release the hormone, oxytocin, commonly referred to as the love hormone. Once oxytocin is triggered, your hormone levels are boosted and then it increases arousal and stress relief. Once it's released into the bloodstream, it helps alleviate breast tenderness and breast pain as well assisting with the flow of breast milk so yes, it’ll help.” she says pointedly.

You stare ahead, wide eyed and mouth agape. What the hell are you supposed to say to that?

“Look honey, many women have come in and told me directly that it helps, believe it or not, it even helps induce labor, but that’s beside the point, many women have been in your position and they have reported that it works. So at least try this out, and see how it makes you feel, just until we can get you an appointment and have you come in and then we can try something else. Alright?” she asks.

“Yeah alright, thanks again Doc,” you huff, your hand rubs at your temple before dragging it down your face.

“No problem hun, keep me updated through the portal,” she says.

“Will do,” you hung up the phone and tossed it on the couch.

That was six hours ago and now you’re standing in your bathroom as you wait for the bathtub to fill up. You read online that heat therapy could reduce some of the pain. While your husband was at work, you sprawled yourself out across the couch with a heating pad on your chest. It managed to ease the pain for a bit until the set timer turned the heating pad off and the second you stood up, the pain worsened again.

To be honest, you’re a little embarrassed to bring it up to Frankie. It's not like Frankie won’t want to do it, he’d be very interested but what the hell are you supposed to say to him. Hey honey, my tits hurt and they’re leaking breast milk. Can you play with them a little so they feel better? He loves to engage in a little titty appreciation but this is a whole different ball game. You really aren’t in the mood to have this conversation with Frankie tonight, unsure of how he would react and possibly causing a bigger issue.

You can hear the TV through the bathroom door, Frankie is watching some game. But when he hears you croak out in pain when you remove your bra, hands clutching at your swollen breasts, he moves lightning fast towards the bathroom door.

“Querida, are you alright in there?” he asks through the door, his hand wrapped around the door handle.

You bite down on your lip, sighing before you finally bite the bullet and admit what’s going on. You crack open the door just enough so he can hear you better.

“It’s-,” You let out another exhausted sigh as you rub your temple, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Remember, a few days ago, I went to my gynecologist and we decided to switch birth control methods?” He nods, eyes full of concern.

“The pills are making my hormones go crazy and they’re making my tits swell and well…” you pull the door open to gesture towards your breasts. “I’m like a fucking pregnant woman but without the damn pregnancy,” you grumble.

You immediately clock the worry on his face but Frankie can’t help the fact that he is practically salivating when he looks down at your tits. You notice his jaw slacken, his lips part as he takes in the curve of your breasts, they have grown a noticeable difference in size. You hear him inhale sharply when his stare drops to your nipples, dark and swollen.

Suddenly feeling a little shy under the intensity of his gaze, you bring a hand up to cover your breasts, he inhales once again before speaking, yet you speak before he does, “It’s fine, apparently a bath will help, and I’ve got the water running. I’ll be out in a few minutes babe,” you press, a tight smile on your face.

You see it all over his face, he wants to help but he doesn’t know how. His big, deep brown eyes filled with worry. “Okay baby, I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything,” he says quietly, eyebrows still raised. You can sense the uneasiness in his body language but he doesn’t press the subject.

You thank him and shut the door, hearing him step back towards the bed. You slip off your panties and toss them into the hamper, then step into the hot water, sighing as you dip beneath the water.

After a few short minutes, you slowly bring your hands up to cup your breasts, experimentally kneading them. You press your hands more firmly and you bite down on your lip as you try to muffle a quiet moan. Huh. It does help. You continue toying with them until the water is no longer warm and your fingers become pruny.

Dragging yourself out of the water and stepping out of the tub, you pull the plug out, the water spinning through the drain. Leisurely, you dry yourself off, pull a thin white tank top over your head, and drag a clean pair of blue lace panties over your legs.

As you open the door to let the steam out of the bathroom, you grab your fuzzy robe from the hook behind the door, wrap it around your damp body, and head into the bedroom to catch the rest of the game with your husband.

Yet, to your surprise, you find the TV off and instead see Frankie sitting up in bed, one hand tucked behind his head and the other holding his phone as he squints at the screen.

You chuckle as you walk over to your nightstand. “Thought you were supposed to be wearing your glasses?” You tease, your lips forming into a smile.

“I look dorky with ‘em, ‘sides I don’t need them right now,” he mimics your tone and turns his head to watch as you pump some of your cocoa butter body lotion into your hand and work it into your skin.

“So, I did some googling,” he starts, a sly smirk creeping up onto his face as he continues, “It said…messaging them and sucking on them would help.” His eyes are still on the bare parts of your damp skin, completely enamored by how your skin looks in the dim light of your bedroom.

You tense, hands freezing, streaks of lotion yet to be fully rubbed into your skin, “Baby, that’s ridiculous,” you laugh him off.

“No, I’m serious look,” Frankie sits up and moves across the bed, holding out his phone for you to read the article he was studying beforehand.

“I don’t know about this Frankie,” you shake your head, frowning while you avert your eyes from his.

“Come here,” smirking devilishly as he brings his hands up to your arms, pulling you towards the bed.

“Frankie–” you scoff, playfully rolling your eyes at him.

He tilts his head up to look up at you with those big brown eyes that you often find difficult turning down. “Trust me,” his hands rubbing up and down your arms soothingly.

“You know I do, Frankie, the hell did I marry you for,” you tease, you sneak your hands behind his neck and interlock your fingers as you lean down and press a soft kiss to his head.

“Then c’mere, let me help,” he whispers and it sounds more like a plea. He’s pulling you down onto the bed, guiding you to sit up against the pillows. His hands find your robe, untying the knot in the soft belt across your waist. You lean forward slightly while he pulls your robe off slowly, his eyes watching your face, searching for any indication to stop but he doesn’t find any.

He tosses the robe behind him on the bed as he leans down over you, nudging your legs open as he settles himself between your legs. He brings his hands back up to the thin material of your tank top, cupping your tender breasts in his large hands.

“You’re so beautiful, so perfect, fuck–, so pretty baby,” he babbles lowly, goosebumps erupt on your skin, even after years of being married to him he still knows exactly what to say to make you feel so desirable.

He gently squeezes your breasts, his thumb sweeps over your nipple back and forth, you whine softly as your hands find his hair, burying your fingers in his curls. It hurts but it’s pleasurable, the pressure he’s using feels better than what you were doing earlier in the bath.

Frankie pinches your covered nipples between his rough fingers, hardening under his touch, you hiss when he tweaks them tightly, Frankie pauses, his eyes meet yours for a moment, “it’s okay–feels good, keep going,” you whisper to him.

He brings his mouth down to one of your nipples and sucks it through the material with his other hand still fondling your other nipple. “Fuck– that feels good Frankie,” you moan, he whimpers lowly and feels his cock twitch in his boxers. Your eyes roll back in your head, your mouth falls open and he hollows his cheeks, sucking harder around your nipple.

His mouth lets go of your breast, you look down to see the wet patch that formed over your peaked-covered nipple before he hastily pulls the tank top over your head, tossing it onto the floor, Frankie lets out a shameless groan when his eyes hungrily lock on your bare chest like a missile to a target.

He leans in closer, his mouth hovering over your breast. You feel the warmth of his breath over your breast, a tingling sensation sneaks down your body. His hot mouth closes around your pebbled nipple.

“Shit, Frankie,” you arch further into his mouth, and he moans and his tongue flicks up against your peaked nipple, and then he bites down softly, his eyes open, looking up at you from under his eyelashes. Frankie feels a slight warm gush fill his mouth, his eyes slip closed, whimpering around the bud.

You tug on Frankie’s hair, pulling his mouth away from you, your stomach twisting at his reaction when he feels the gush of liquid filling his mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that would happen-”

“Baby, hey, it’s okay. I was just surprised-”

“No I know, it’s just gross,” you frown, feeling the pang of embarrassment in your belly.

“It’s not–it’s not gross. I–I liked it,” Frankie says sheepishly.

“Really?” you ask softly.

He laughs lightly and leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth then another just below your jaw. His beard scraping along your skin as he places wet open-mouthed kisses down your neck, all the way down past your collarbones until he reaches the valley of your breasts once again.

“Relax baby, I got ya,” he whispers against your skin.

Your eyes squeeze shut, your head falls back against the headboard, and your hand comes up to the nape of his neck, petting at his long brown curls. He ducks down to bring his mouth to your nipple, he parts his lips around the bud, his tongue circling around the bud a few times, licking at your nipple, he closes his lips and sucks softly before tugging it between his teeth, he hums around it, making you grasp at the sheets beneath you, a low ache building in the pit of your stomach.

“That’s it baby boy,” you say softly, petting his hair. You open your eyes when you feel him press his cock against your leg, his cock stirring in his boxers at your praise.

He’s loving this, loves the taste of you and loves how good he’s making you feel.

His hand palms your other breast, squeezing and kneading the meat of your tit, beads of milk collecting at the peak. He takes your nipple in between his calloused fingers and pinches it harder between his index and middle finger, the milk pours out from the bud down his hand and onto his forearm.

Frankie feels the warm liquid on his arm, his mouth letting go of your breast, his pupils full of lust never leaving your face as he lifts his left hand up and licks a long slow, thick stripe from his forearm up his hand. Your mouth falls open and your chest heaves at the sight.

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby,” he groans, his eyes closing at the taste of you. His cock twitches against your leg, now painfully hard in his boxers.

He dips his head back down and licks up the milk leaking down your torso up to your nipple. He moans once his hot mouth latches around the stiff peak and his tongue swirls around it. He laps up the warm white liquid he’s sucking out of your breast. “There you go baby, just like that,” you sigh, closing your eyes and your head falls back against the headboard.

One of his knees perches onto your leg, he grinds his cock against the meat of your thigh, he moans deeply, his fingers digging into the flesh of your breasts. “So, needy for me huh, baby boy,” you tut, gripping firmly onto his soft curls.

He whines quietly, and unbeknownst to Frankie, he starts rutting his hard length against your leg in slow, shallow thrusts, you feel a rumble of a moan in his throat around your nipple. At the sudden movement, your head snaps up to see your husband getting himself off against your body, his teeth sinking into your breast.

You’ve never seen him like this before, he’s insatiable and relentless and it makes your pussy pulse and clench around nothing.

“Ohhh that’s it– good boy Frankie,” you moan breathlessly, feeling him suck harder on your breast with a deep groan.

You grab at Frankie’s hair again, your hand combs his hair back while tugging at his hair, gently pulling his head back and he whines loudly when you pull his mouth away from your breast. You catch a glistening sheen on his lips when you direct his head to your other breast.

Your eyes meet his dark, blown out pupils as your thumb rubs his cheek down to the corner of his mouth. You thumb the bottom of his plump, soft lip, wiping the milk off of his mouth. Your thumb slips between his lips and you whisper, “Who’s my good boy?”

He shivers beneath your touch, “I am,” he murmurs softly, his head resting down on your chest once again. Your hand cradles his head and you move your hand down along his head to cup his face.

You watch your husband’s eyes shut as he closes his mouth around your nipple and continues suckling from your breast, “Fuck– Frankie, keep going,” you pant into his hair, your hands still toying with his curls, eliciting another whine from him.

He shifts and begins fucking himself into the mattress once again, seeking any type of friction possible.

Watching your husband getting himself off to your body sends a sharp, hot spark of arousal down your spine straight to your core, your pussy throbbing and your panties now wet and sticky with your slick.

You smirk and bring your lips down to his ear, whispering the word that you know lights a fire within him. “You’re making mommy feel so good baby,” and Frankie whimpers, his mouth swallowing your breast whole, his hips grinding down faster into the mattress.

“That’s it, baby, atta boy, such a good boy for mommy,” you coo into his ear. Frankie lets out a high-pitched whine, his hips stuttering and groaning when he feels himself spilling out all over the inside of his boxers. Your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at him, realizing he just came simply from putting his mouth on you.

His hips shudder, occasionally jerking erratically, his legs shaking uncontrollably as he hisses from overstimulation, you continue whispering praises into his ears.

While his mouth works on relieving your breast you take matters into your own hands, bringing your fingers down to your neglected cunt. You press your fingers into your covered slit, feeling the wetness of your pussy through the material before pushing your panties to the side. You move your fingers to your throbbing clit, circling eagerly while his tongue swirls over your nipple.

He bites down on the bud a little more harshly, feeling another gush of warm liquid in his mouth, “tastes so good mi corozòn,” he whimpers against your breast, closing his eyes while his teeth nip at the wet bud.

Feeling a cooling wetness from his eyes seeping onto your breast, you briefly look down to find tears stinging his eyes from the pleasure, the teeth marks on your nipples, your skin all wet and red from his mouth.

He continues sucking at your breast, licking up the sweet taste of you into his mouth and moaning around your nipple, savoring the taste.

You slip your fingers into your wet heat with a moan. “So good, Frankie, ohhh– you’re doing so well for mommy,” you gasp out while grinding your hips up into your own hand. He whimpers, his cock twitches, throbbing lightly against the mattress, he’s getting hard just from hearing that word once again.

Your other hand roughly tugs on Frankie’s soft locks, pushing his head further into you, swallowing more of your breast into his mouth.

Frankie was too far gone to notice, but you realize he’s grinding himself into the bed once again, still moaning and whimpering into your tender flesh. You thrust your fingers into your pussy, timing them to Frankie’s thrusts into the bed, the wet squelch from your fingers thrusting in and out obscenely echoes in your bedroom.

“That’s perfect, Frankie— don– don’t stop…shit. I’m so close–” You curl your fingers inside yourself, petting at the spongy spot deep inside while his teeth nip and lick and suck at your tit.

You shout Frankie’s name as your back arches off the bed, legs shaking around Frankie’s body when your orgasm finally sweeps over you.

He pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, moving fast to sit up and back on his knees, his hands making quick work of pulling off his underwear. His cock bobs up against the soft swell of his stomach. He hisses when he wraps a large hand around the girth and he thumbs the wide blunt of his tip smearing the beads of pearly white dribbling out from the slit.

Your tongue pokes out, licking your bottom lip before biting down on the flesh. Your hands massage your breasts, your fingers pinching your erect, sensitive nipples under Frankie’s fucked out gaze.

Desperately, he fists his cock over your figure. “Come, baby. Be a good boy and come for mommy,” you order him while staring into his eyes, dark and dilated, his mouth hanging open as he strokes his cock.

Your low voice and your words are all he needs to bring him over the edge. The thrusting of his hips gets more erratic as he jacks his cock tighter in his hand and increases the pace, the wet, lewd slap from his strokes gets louder, his whimpers and pants filling the otherwise quiet room.

“There you go, atta boy, give it to me Frankie, let it out," you encourage him softly.

Your eyes watch the muscles in his soft belly tighten and his thighs tensing up, his moans growing louder and louder and louder, his eyes roll back into his head, “Fuck– mami,” a long drawn out, agonizing groan slipping past his lips, you watch as his cock twitches in his hand, his hips stammer as long, thick, warm ropes of cum paint your stomach.

“That’s it baby, just like that, you did so good. So good Frankie,” you murmur. He opens his eyes and looks back down at you, still catching his breath while he watches the last of his cum spill onto your swollen breasts, he groans seeing the marks he’s left on your skin. Your tits are covered in splotches of red and teeth marks from his mouth, his come and the milk from your breasts leaking down your chest and onto your stomach.

His hair is a mess, his pupils are blown out, he looks completely in a haze, utterly fucked out. You smirk up at him and click your tongue, “You made such a mess on mommy, Frankie.”

His cheeks warm, the redness creeping down his neck and chest, he’s embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” he mumbles, his hand scratching the back of his neck.

You move your fingers down your stomach, gathering his cum onto your fingers, “Don’t get shy on me now, come here my love,” your other hand reaches for him.

He crawls up towards your side, you slip a coated finger into your mouth and you close your eyes and hum. Frankie curses quietly to himself, seeing your pearly-covered finger slipping into your mouth and back out devoid of sheen.

You bring a finger up to his mouth, your fingertip pressing against his lips, “open,” you order. You take advantage of his jaw slackening, sticking your glossy finger into his mouth and his lips close around your digit. You feel his tongue flatten underneath your finger then swirls it around your finger as he sucks it clean, he closes his eyes, his brows furrow, and he moans at the salty taste.

“See, I keep telling you, you taste good, sweetheart,” you smile down at him, tucking a single brown lock behind his ear.

“You did so good for me baby, made me feel so good,” you tell him while holding his patchy-bearded face. He chuckles timidly before pressing his lips to yours, licking behind your teeth, tasting himself in your mouth and mumbles a faint I love you against your lips.

Frankie pecks your lips again before sitting up and walking over to the bathroom. You hear him flick the light on and the tap turning on and off while your eyes drift shut. You feel the warm wet rag dragging across your tummy and your tits, and then down between your folds as he cleans you up with tenderness.

You open your eyes again when you hear him pad off towards the bathroom once more, watching him toss the washcloth back in the bathroom before he tucks himself into your side and nuzzles his face into the valley of your breasts, the coarse hairs of his beard tickling your skin.

Frankie’s low voice breaks the comfortable silence, “Next time it hurts, you tell me cariño, ‘m more than happy to do that again,” he says shyly, feeling the smile on his face against your chest.

You fail to suppress your giggle, “Yeah, you enjoyed yourself didn’t you, sweet boy?” Your fingers run through his long soft brown curls, your fingertips grazing down his neck, a hint of sweat at the end of his hair along the back of his neck.

“Mhm,” he hums, and you grin into his hair, pressing your lips to his messy curls, your eyelids heavy with sleep. He feels your fingers still, Frankie tilts his head to look up at you, “Don’t fall asleep yet, we’re not done mi vida, I still need to make you come again.”

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #sub!frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #noelle's workshop

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madaqueue · 7 months ago

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still missing you

synopsis: things aren't quite the same for satoru after being unsealed

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

themes/content: jjk manga spoilers. angst. death/loss.

a/n: saw a tiktok that made me cry so here's this lmao sorry :)

satoru had been having more nightmares recently.

the troubling part wasn’t even the dreams themselves, per se - it was how real they felt. it made it harder and harder for him to tell waking memories from sleep, like every moment he was underwater, sinking farther and farther from the light above. it was too dark, too slow.

you know when you’re in a dream and you open your mouth to scream but no sound comes out? that’s how it felt all the time now, like his vocal cords lost their ability to function, no air leaving his lungs. his chest would rise and fall, the space between his ribs expanding and collapsing, but it was no use.

he discovered his newfound reticence when he tried to speak to itadori, or rather, itadori tried to speak to him. “gojo-sensei!” yuji’s voice called from…somewhere. satoru could hear him but couldn’t quite see him, every sense still far away, like light diffracted around the corners, blurring it. he tried to call out to him, to tell him he was okay, but when his lips parted he was met with stifling silence bouncing across the brick walls. was he back at school? no, that can’t be right…he was just in the prison realm, wasn’t he? but where were you?

oh, right.

and just like that, the memories came flooding back - or rather, memories of memories. he hadn’t been there during your fight with sukuna, but he had been informed by the higher ups. he was grateful they at least waited until he was unsealed to have your funeral. that day didn’t quite feel real, either. looking down at his hands, he remembers there were raindrops falling on his open palms. but wait, it wasn’t raining that day, was it?

oh well.

every time he thought about it, it felt like he was drowning. he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, his body thrashing in a desperate attempt to find the surface, but it was always futile. it wouldn’t bring you back. it wouldn’t stop the nightmares.

the worst dream was the one where he was cold. snowflakes fell and landed on his skin, burning as they melted. the sky above was bright white, and he could never seem to shift his gaze from it. it was blinding. there’s a metallic taste in his mouth, one he’d be naive to not recognize as blood. despite being trapped on his back, the clear signs of fatal injuries, it didn’t even hurt, not in the physical sense. he could tell something was wrong with his body, something that prevented him from moving, but he couldn’t feel the pain of it anymore. he just knew he let you down. he let them all down.

the hallways at school felt empty now. where was everyone? megumi should be here, and nobara. nanami should be back by now, right? it was too quiet for satoru, like he could taste the silence; it was bitter.

he began to dread sleep. he never was one for caffeine, but he started brewing his black tea stronger, drinking it later and later in the hopes it would stave off his fatigue for a few extra hours. you liked this tea - he remembers the day you picked it out. the way you held the tin to your nose, your lips tugging into a smile as you breathed in the earthy aroma. as it lands on his tongue, all he feels is the scalding heat burning his throat. would you like him to make you a cup?

tonight, his dream is different. it’s not winter here, but spring: wildflowers bloom around him, the sun bright but warm. he can feel it on his skin, turning his cheeks pink. his uniform is loose on his body, cloth hanging from his bones; he’s young again: the ache gone from his muscles, calluses erased from his hands, wrinkles around his eyes smoothed. leaning back, he rests upon the ground, the grass tickling his neck. here he can move, turning his head to observe the trees surrounding him. their leaves are bright green, undoubtedly alive.

for a moment, his eyes flutter closed - suddenly, he’s back in the hospital, the bright fluorescent lights buzzing above him. his head hurts.

no.

opening them urgently, he’s back in the clearing, birds chirping softly. ah yes, much better. there are clouds overhead, fluffy and soft against the blue backdrop.

“that one looks like a heart, don’t you think?”

his body jolts, head turning to the side as his cheek presses into the dirt. before he realizes it, a grin forms across his features (he was worried he had forgotten how to use the muscles required to do so; he’s glad that’s not the case).

you.

you’re here, laying in the grass, eyes lazily scanning the sky above. your arm extends upwards to point overhead. “see? and that one looks like a mushroom!”

he doesn’t dare to move his gaze, afraid that if he looks away for a moment, you’ll leave him again. he hums, “yeah, it does.”

you giggle - oh, how he missed that sound. for once, it doesn’t feel hazy, the sound ringing through the stillness. his senses return, but it’s not overstimulating like he would have expected, but just the right amount of clarity, like a glimpse into the bottom of the sea through clear waters. the breeze smells nice here, like your shampoo. it’s not too warm, either. as he inhales, he feels the air in his lungs.

satoru doesn’t mind this dream.

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stellamancer · 2 months ago

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notes: time is a construct that bten!reader no longer understands. anyway, yes hellow, late gojo birthday fic that i am pretending that i'm not posting on megumi's birthday LMAO.

takes place in the same universe as beyond the unending night, however reading that fic is not necessary, all you need to know is that reader has a CT that can rewind time. slight and implied reader x gojo if you're squinting. also. reader is very unreliable narrator (there are some things in the narration that gojo responds to because reader is unaware they said it aloud oops.) not proofread.

wc: 944

“Your birthday was a couple days ago?”

Gojo tilts his head toward you, expression passive for a split second before a broad grin spreads across his face. “It was! How did you know! Wait, let me guess, you—”

“The students,” you supply flatly before he can make any outlandish suggestions regarding how you happened across the information. “Yuta-kun mentioned it.”

There’s a slight pucker to Gojo’s lips, but it’s gone almost instantly as he remarks. “Oh Yuta… He’s always been an exemplary student! Even going so far as to remember his dear old teacher’s birthday…”

You stare at Gojo. There’s a trap here. Bait. It’s not well hidden either, if his exaggerated tone is any indication. You consider telling him straight up: it’s not possible to remember something you never knew in the first place. But instead, you decide to indulge him. “Do people usually not remember?”

Now that you say that, you find the words hard to believe. You can barely call yourself a part of jujutsu society, but there’s no denying that Gojo is something of a big deal. There’s no way that these illustrious ‘higher ups’ would forget the birthday of someone as important as Satoru Gojo.

“It’s not that they don’t remember,” Gojo says, “it’s that they just don’t care.”

The nonchalance in his voice stuns you, more so than the fact that you cannot detect even a hint of bitterness in it. They… don’t care? You want to be in denial, to think that that simply cannot be true. And yet…

You cannot deny it.

Not when you know what you do of the top brass.

“Well, not the students,” Gojo adds, fondness seeping into his tone as the tiniest smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Threw me a party and everything. As expected of students of the Great Teacher Gojo!”

He puffs his chest out a little, clearly pleased, no doubt proud.

“...did you do anything else?” you ask. Knowing someone as whimsical as Gojo, you can imagine him spending the day as he pleased, going from sweet shop to sweet shop spending exorbitant amounts of money on any and every sugary item he could possibly get his hands on.

“Nope.”

You blink at him. “What.”

“I was waaaaaay too busy to do anything else,” Gojo says with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, I’m lucky that the students love me so much that they took on a couple extra missions just so we could party for a half hour.”

Gojo’s words have you gawking at him, slack jawed and in awe. You’re well aware that he’s a busy guy, but to only have had a half hour of free time on his birthday to celebrate is just…

“Don’t make that face.” His voice is quiet. Gentle. “It’s fine; I’m used to it. Just a part of being an adult, you know?”

He’s not wrong, but…

Somehow, it doesn’t sit well with you.

“....you’re done with everything you have to do today, right?” you ask, reaching into your pocket to check the time; it’s nearly midnight.

“Yeah?” Gojo answers, and while he sounds mostly amused, you think you can hear the smallest hint of confusion. “You thinking of having a late night snack together to make up for missing my birthday? How romantic of you!”

“Not exactly,” you shoot back without missing a beat, but Gojo doesn’t seem to be disappointed by you rebuffing him. You outstretch your palm toward him and he inclines his head down slightly to show that he’s looking down at it.

Gojo hums. He knows what you’re thinking. Of course he does. “You know that’s technically against the rules.”

“And?” you ask as you stare back at him.

“You could get in biiiiiiig trouble, you know.”

Your gaze doesn’t waver.

“Could even be sentenced to death for it!”

Your hand doesn’t move.

Gojo tilts his head to the side before heaving a sigh and shaking his head. He raises his hand, but rather than take yours, he reaches up higher and moves to flick your forehead. That would work just as well, and for a split second you gather your cursed energy, ready to use your technique, but—

You merely wince and Gojo tilts his head to the side, raising an eyebrow as your energy quickly dissipates.

“Change your mind?” he asks.

“Wasn’t sure if you were actually going to do it,” you answer honestly. Did he actually flick you or did he just ‘pretend’ to? There wouldn't have been any point if he pretended.

“What do you think?”

You frown as a playful, yet menacing grin spreads across Gojo's face. He knows full well that you can't tell, especially if you can't even see the point of contact.

“Well wishes aside, the only other thing I can really offer you is time,” you deadpan. It wasn't like you were going to be stupid and give him a week or even a month, but…

Gojo wags his finger at you, tutting. “No, not true! There's something else!”

You give him a pointed look. What else could you possibly give?

“Well, it's really more like an IOU,” he explains airily, before his tone shifts, growing quieter and more serious. “Just get stronger. Strong enough to take on missions just like me and maybe next year we can have a longer party.”

You sigh. His suggestion is more practical, more useful in the long run, and while you can agree with what he's proposed… It's his birthday. He could afford to be a little more selfish.

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, his smile ever wide and absolutely ominous. “I'll keep that in mind next time.”

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo x you #bten rambling

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melancholicmarionette · 2 months ago

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Lmao remember months ago I asked for q&a suggestions for my Sam and Valerie podcast brainrot and then never did anything? It’s bc I only got to like two and then left this in my drafts. I’ve decided it’s fine. merry crisis and happy hanukkah

—

Graveyard Gals Episode 15: Q&A Special Just for You

“Welcome. I’m Sam.”

“I’m Val.”

“We’re not friends.”

“We have exactly one thing in common and that’s that we are always down to record us arguing for an hour.”

“Because you guys like it for some reason?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with you?”

“Anyway,” Sam leaned back in her chair, adjusting her headphones, “if you’re still here after we insulted you, then please congratulate us for making fifteen episodes.”

“She needs constant validation,” Valerie said, smirking at the flash of anger that shot through Sam’s eyes as a result.

“This will also be our last episode, she will be dead after recording.”

“Gotta film that sweet sweet content before I beat your ass in a back alley, I see,” Valerie replied, “anyway—to celebrate our fifteenth and perhaps final episode, we have gathered some of your most burning questions from the comment section—”

“Our friends did, for impartiality,” Sam clarified, “Tucker and Danny picked mine, Star chose for Valerie, and as I say it out loud I think that I, at leas, may have made a mistake.”

“We’ll see,” Val said. She scrolled through her phone, finding the google doc her friend had crafted for her—it was a spreadsheet, really, Star couldn’t resist an opportunity to make a spreadsheet—for her first question. “Okay, first—ugh.”

“Read it. You have to.”

“Jesus—BokChoyJoy23 asks ‘when are you actually going to do local ghost smash or pass?’” Valerie waited for Sam’s cackling to die down before continuing, making direct eye contact with her camera, “You’re actually one of many to ask. One of so many. And I don’t regret to inform you that that is something Manson says to piss me off.”

“When there’s a lull—we can’t have lulls,” Sam interjected, “and can I say? Bold of you to assume I won’t do it.”

“We’re moving on.”

“For now. Put a pin in it—but we have something way more important to address: SailorGoon—fantastic username, no notes—asks ‘do you think the genie ghost would help me with my gender transition?’ Oh. Oh SailorGoon.”

“SailorGoon, look at me,” Valerie said sternly, and stared unblinkingly into her own face cam, “or if you’re listening just pay close attention—do not ask Desiree for anything. Nothing. I don’t care if you just need a pen. No.”

“Please seek out other resources,” Sam retreated to her phone for a moment, “I’m actually gonna—someone I follow actually has a linktree specifically for stuff like that, I’m gonna repost it to our account—by the time you see this it’ll be posted. We’re in the past.”

“You’re in the future, you’re living your best life in like…”

“In your best gender.”

“Yes—and you’re not trusting genies.”

“Or like just…not Desiree.”

“Are you gonna “hashtag NotAllGenies” me here Manson?”

“Would it make you mad?”

“Livid.”

“Then I’m making a graphic, it’s gonna go…” Sam traced her finger across an empty space in front of her, “right along here. Hashtag NotAllGenies.”

#danny phantom #sam manson #valerie gray #podcast girlies #I wanna play with this again #my drafts are so full of half finished ramblings #you’d really be surprised considering the drivel I openly hit ‘post’ on #Desiree

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https-florals · 2 years ago

Note

Hi! Your request are silly open right? If so would you mind writing something along the lines of JJ and the reader have been dating for a bit and JJ keeps like complimenting or praising the reader and the reader can’t help but blush/get turned on and JJ notices she has a praise kink so he teases her with it a little more, especially if n front of their friends until he finally used it like in bed with her?

sweet talk - j.m.

word count: 2.5k

summary: jj finds out a very valuable piece of information about you.

warnings: SMUTTT under the cut, 18+!! lotta praise, slight dumbification but just a tiny bit, jj being sexy per usual, public fooling around kinda but not really, not canon because i like to pretend the chateau is still with us LMAO

a/n: okay obviously i became OBSESSED with this idea when i first read this ask!! started as a little blurb but grew to this monstrosity lol. thank you for the ask!!! i love you all so so much 🫶🏻

Even though you and JJ have been together for about a month, you’re still pretty shy. You’re still shy in public, shy when he kisses you, even more shy in bed. Your boyfriend would give you the world if he could, do anything to get inside that pretty little head of yours and see what you’re thinking. You’re becoming a little more relaxed around his friends, which he’s grateful for.

Tonight, everyone is sitting around the fire pit outside the Cháteau. It's a pretty summer night, with fireflies darting around and stars peeking through the clouds.

You’re perched on J’s lap, John B and Sarah in a similar position next to you. Kie and Cleo are doing a shotgunning contest, and Pope is actually chill for once, a blunt in his hand.

You’re roasting a marshmallow over the fire, laughing with Sarah about a new sitcom episode, when JJ taps your arm.

“Will you make me a s’more?” he sticks his bottom lip out in a pout, and you roll your eyes.

“Can’t you make yourself one?” you tease, but still slide a graham cracker out of the box and a mini hershey’s.

“Tastes better when you make it, though.” He’s not wrong, you make a mean s’more. When you go to hand it to him, he just opens his mouth.

Your eyebrows shoot up and your jaw drops, but your lips still curl into a smile. “Fine.” You adjust so you’re facing him a bit better, and hold the s’more as he takes a bite. JJ’s blues don’t leave yours as he takes a bite, and you kick yourself mentally as he groans out of satisfaction. This shouldn’t be this attractive, after all, it’s a s’more. That's like, the least sexy food ever, you tell yourself. Now a slice of juicy watermelon, you could get behind. But right now, you’re just being ridiculous.

You’re snapped back to reality when he swallows and exhales, hand squeezing your thigh. “Atta girl. Was a damn good s’more.”

Your cheeks go fire hot.

“Dear god, this is not the place for foreplay!” John B groans.

You clap your hand over the lower half of your face as Sarah starts to laugh.

JJ throws a beer can at him. “Man, Sarah's been grinding on you for the past half hour and I haven't said shit. Are you not in like, massive amounts of pain?”

It's John B's turn to blush, and he looks down at the ground quickly when Sarah snorts, pressing her lips together in an effort not to laugh.

“Are we being too…” you’re struggling to think of the word as you whisper to your boyfriend- “Pda-ish?” Surely not, because he had a point about John B and Sarah. They’re all over each other all the time, and you should be able to do the same.

“No, no!” JJ’s eyes are wide as if you told him that you were thinking about shaving your eyebrows off. “You’re doing perfect, baby.” His hands rub up the sides of your arms, and you smile, all bashful.

Butterflies fill your stomach at the way he’s looking at you.

“Absolutely perfect,” he repeats, and before you even realize it you’re subconsciously squeezing your thighs together.

As soon as you do it, you hope he doesn’t notice, but his lips curl into a little smirk after the realization hits.

You hop up quickly, and wipe your sticky marshmallow fingers on your shorts. “I'm gonna go get a blanket! I’m a little chilly!” you chirp, and nearly sprint into the house.

Gears are turning in JJ's head. He’s chuckling as he sips his beer, so much to the point that Sarah gives him a weird look.

“What are you cracking up about?” she asks, watching the blond boy grin and shake his head.

“I just learned something very interesting about my girlfriend, Sarah.”

You come out of the house a few minutes later, and Kie has pulled out her ukulele. They’re all singing along to the Bob Marley song she’s playing, and JJ pats his thigh, an invitation for you to come back and sit on his lap. Tentatively, you take your spot, draping the blanket over the both of you. Under the fabric, your fingers shift over the frayed hem of JJ’s cargo shorts. His callused hand curls around yours, and he threads your fingers together.

You relax at his touch, and start to sing along with the rest of your friends. JJ lightly pulls on one of thin braids scattered through your messy hair, each one with a different colored thread running through it- courtesy of Kiara and Sarah. It’s nothing you’re not used to, and you turn your head a bit more toward him and frown. “What?”

“You just sound so pretty.” His voice is low, and it rumbles in your eardrum like thunder. You just know your cheeks are going pink again, and you try to fight the rising need you feel.

“My sweet, pretty girl.”

That’s it. You probably look like a tomato. You chew your bottom lip as you smile, and suppress the urge to kiss him right then and there.

JJ grins, and that’s when it hits you that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“Damn, why are you all red?” Kie laughs as she hits a chord on her uke, and naturally everyone turns to look at you.

“JJ, what are you saying to that poor girl?” Sarah fake pouts and shakes her head at him like she’s scolding a puppy.

You cover your mouth, flushing even more with embarrassment.

“We’ve been goin’ on a little journey of self-discovery over here,” he answers, face all smug as his hand shifts to the top of your thigh under the blanket. His thumb just skims over the crotch of your shorts, so thin that you just know he can feel through them. Feel how wet you’re getting.

Your guess is spot on, cause his eyes widen and he does that thing where he sticks his tongue in his cheek and laughs. “Finding new things out about each other,” he continues, not breaking eyecontact with you.

“Is that a fancy way to say harassing her?” Cleo pipes in, snorting before she says, “You’re a bad, bad man, Maybank.”

He shrugs, all cocky.

Luckily, conversation carries away from the two of you, but his hand is still against your pussy. Thank God for that damn blanket. His fingers are idly running over the fabric, and it’s driving you insane.

“We need to go,” you whisper to him, uncomfortable with the burning between your thighs.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Do we?” You’re usually not the one dragging him away from social functions- that’s more JJ’s style.

You nod fervently, rocking back and forth on his thigh and trying to make it unnoticeable.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you know it’s rude to demand things,” he says back to you lowly, and you’re silently rejoicing that no one is paying attention to the two of you.

You swallow, and take a deep breath. “Please, JJ, can we leave?”

“There you go,” he sighs, and he helps push you up off him.

After a shit ton of teasing from the Pogues, you’re finally able to slip away. You’re barely through the door of your apartment when JJ jumps you, kissing you hard and running his hands up and down your sides, over your ass, and coming to rest just under the waistband of your shorts.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a praise kink?” he asks point-blank, against your lips as you’re fumbling with his belt.

“I don’t,” you gasp out, finally pulling it through the loops and throwing it down.

“Bullshit, baby.” JJ finally gets your shorts down, and his hand just ghosts over your underwear. “Tell me the truth.”

“Fuck, J,” you whine, pushing his shorts down and trying to shove your hand down his underwear, but he jumps back, leaving you devoid of his touch.

You huff like a child preparing to throw a tantrum.

“C’mon. Tell the truth.”

“I didn’t know I had one, JJ,” you cry, just wanting to feel him. You swallow, and follow up with, “Not until you.”

You can basically see his head get bigger as he grins, and finally puts his hands back on you. “All I wanted to know, sweet thing,” he laughs before he kisses you again, tongue slipping between your teeth. He tastes like beer and a little bit of marshmallow, and he smells like bonfire smoke.

He pulls away from you just long enough for you to both throw off your shirts, and then he’s picking you up and carrying you into your bedroom. JJ sets you on the bed all gentle, a startling contrast to the way he’s kissing you and touching you, the way he yanks your panties off and slides a finger between your folds. “Fucking finally,” he groans, nudging himself inbetween your legs. “Wider.”

You fall open for him, and he braces your hip with one hand. “Atta girl,” he says, and he slides two fingers in, slow and steady as he leans over you to trail kisses down your neck. You grind against his palm as he sucks a spot on your neck, your back arching and hips bucking. You watch his hand slide into his boxers, watch the movement of his hand slide over his cock.

JJ notices how enraptured you are, and he removes his fingers from you, a little shocked when you don’t make much of a fuss. “You wanna do something for me, pretty?”

That’s all it takes for you to drop to your knees, thighs pressed together as he pulls his dick out, and you’re absolutely bewitched. You sit back on your heels and look up at JJ, a perfect little picture of innocence with your eyes all wide… and then you open your mouth.

It’s fucking pornographic. There’s no way in hell you’re real, JJ thinks, as he curls your hair around his hand and thrusts into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around him, and his head falls back. “Good fucking girl.”

He also doesn’t think you’ve ever been this bold for him. But holy shit, he’s not complaining, especially when you gag around the tip of his cock. Your mascara is smudging beneath your eyes, lips swollen and looking so pretty wrapped around him.

You’re squirming, and JJ can feel the vibration of all the little sounds you’re making as you suck him off.

“Go on and touch yourself,” he gasps out as he hits the back of your throat.

However, as soon as you moan around him, JJ knows he won’t last long, and he wants too badly to come inside you to let himself get any closer. He’s pulling out quick, ignoring your cries as he pulls you up and pushes you onto the mattress.

On your knees, you fall facefirst into your pillow. JJ smacks your ass once, and is then manhandling you into another position, like he can’t make up his mind. He spots the mirror propped against the wall in your room, and pushes you back on all fours. When you look up, you can see him behind you. You watch as he pushes into you, watch the way his eyes screw shut in concentration, the way his blonde hair sticks to his forehead.

Wriggling, you moan out his name and whine as he sets a steady pace, slow, almost too slow. “JJ…”

“What?”

When you just whimper in response, he shakes his head and stills inside you. “C’mon, darlin’, use your words,” he chides, hands smoothing over your hip.

“Go harder, please,” you’re begging, pushing yourself against him.

“There ya go,” he grunts, speeding up, pushing into you hard and deep. He smacks your ass, once, twice, relishing in the little cry you let out each time. He pulls you up against him, chest to your back, hand against your throat as he makes sure you’re looking in the mirror. Makes sure you’re watching him slide in and out of you. “Look at how good you’re taking me,” he groans, hand moving to your clit when he’s sure you won’t look away. “Go on, keep looking for me. Look at how pretty you look, babydoll. All fucked out, and your mascara is even running,” He laughs, and you clench around him at the sound, the burning in your lower stomach becoming almost unbearable. You shake your head, unable to get any words but JJ knows what you need.

He lets you back down slow, propped up on your elbows as he rams into you. You just know you’re gonna have bruising on your cervix, but that's a problem for later.

His fingers circle your clit purposed and quick, and you feel like you’re about to tip over the edge. The way he shudders inside you lets you know he’s not too far behind you.

“J, S’close. M’gonna-”

“Hold it,” he says, tone a little mean as he picks up his pace. He wants to fall apart with you.

Just when you think you can’t hold on anymore, can’t reign it in, he twitches hard. “Now, baby. Come on, all over my cock, pretty-” He cuts himself off by his own moan, spewing into you as your cunt spasms around him. “Good girl,” he repeats as he fucks you through both of your orgasms, over and over. “My good fucking girl.”

JJ is still murmuring it when he collapses next to you, kissing your forehead. “So perfect for me,” he says all soft with a smile and another kiss to your temple, a complete contrast to the low growl in his voice moments before. “Gonna clean you up real good,” he chirps before hopping off the bed and into the bathroom. You giggle as you watch him walk away, forever finding your boyfriend’s bare ass a little funny.

JJ comes back with a damp, warm towel and two glasses of sweet tea, and he gives one to you after he helps you move and sit back against the headboard. He pulls the old sex wax tshirt out of his drawer and puts it on you, then nestles himself between your legs to clean you up. You wince as he swipes the towel over your pussy, and he shushes you and puts a hand on the back of your calf, soft and comforting. “Did so good for me, honey,” he says again, kissing your forehead for what seems the hundredth time, and pulls the covers up over you both.

When you curl into him, tiredness hits you like a truck, and it seems to do the same for him as he yawns, and leans over to turn off the lamp.

“JJ?” you ask, quietly.

“Yeah?”

“So maybe you’re right. About me having a praise kink.”

He laughs, and pulls you a bit closer to him. “Yeah, no shit!”

You frown. “What? Was it that bad?”

“Damn, baby, if I woulda known you’d act like that if I talked all sweet to you, I woulda done it a long, long time ago.”

thank you for reading!! likes, comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated!

#outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fluff #obx #obx jj #jj obx fic #obx fanfiction #outer banks imagine #obx x reader

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suffering-asthmatic-tifosi · 3 months ago

Note

I know this is basic asf but I kinda wanna get ur writing style, can u do a Lando one where she’s a McLaren driver and the just flirt?

Also do u write like papayatwinks or does she help u or something

(Ig you be the judge if i write like her or nah.. Its been a minute [4 years lmao] since I've written a fic but I got this soooo)

Anything for you, my prince

Warnings: none, maybe use of y/n. Is that a warning? idk lmao

W/c: 506

Pairing: Lando Norris x driver!reader

A/n: FIRST FIC BABYY. Enjoy ig :) don’t come at me for wrong names of people on the staff i tried my best thank you. I also used a random Gp and McLaren’s results are not accurate here.

Summary: The team has doubled down on Lando’s championship fight, so when Lando reaches Y/n, team orders are put in place but Y/n doesn’t let him go without a little fun.

AND ITS LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

Y/n started on pole. She sped past max and kept the lead with Lando close behind in P5 after a bad quali.

“Perfect start y/n, now just keep the lead and this could be a good result for the team”, her race engineer said over the radio.

She knew she would probably have to give the position to Lando soon as operation “LN4THEWIN” was fully in swing at McLaren.

By lap 34 she was still in the lead. Lando however had gained many positions and was trailing close behind in P2 now.

“Lando is behind you y/n”, her race engineer reminded her of her teammate’s position.

“Has he asked for team orders yet”, she asked him jokingly.

“Erm… no I don’t believe so— no he hasn’t.. why?”

“Well, wouldn’t whiny little Lando want to pass me without a fight? That cute little baby would never hurt me”, she giggled into her radio.

“Will, what’s my gap to Y/n?” Lando asked his engineer.

“Erm, Lando you’re at 1.3 sec of Y/n you can attack at this pace in the next 2 laps.

“She also asked if you had requested team orders yet”, Will told Lando with mild confusion in his tone.

After hearing this, Lando chuckled and tried to increase his speed on his old tires. But, Y/n kept pressing.

“Tell her I don’t need Team orders to overtake her,” Lando told Will.

Two laps later and he was still behind Y/n

“Y/n were going to need to swap positions. Lando is clocking in better speeds right now and it’s for the good of the team.”

She wanted to scream and drive that eyesore orange car into a ditch. She wasn’t a quitter; she didn’t want this season to go like this, but it had to be done, unfortunately.

“Lemme guess, Lando put in a special request?”, she asked, mildly annoyed.

—

“HaVE YOu ToLD HEr yET??”, Lando yelled into his radio. Two laps till the last lap and he was stressed. His championship would be almost locked in with this win and he- sorry the team needed this desperately.

“Yes we have informed her of the team orders”

Three corners later and y/n opened the gap for Lando to pass.

“Can you open my radio for Lando to hear?”, y/n asked her engineer.

“Yeah, why?”

“I want to speak to Lan”...

“Your position your highness,” she said raising her hand in a little wave for Lando as he passed.

——

“So you think that’s funny?” Lando asked her

“Yes, you don’t?” She turned her head to him as he approached her at her computer.

“You made me look like a whiny baby, that’s a bit humiliating” Lando sat next to her in the swivel chair.

“I don’t think it’s humiliating.. Lord Norris” She bowed in mockery of his embarrassment.

Lando laughed, “Get outa here, and fetch me my hoodie over there”, he pointed to the chair next to her

“Anything for you my prince”

#asthmatic posts #asthmatic writes #Quel's Fics #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x driver!reader #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris #f1 fic #f1 fluff

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hueseok · 4 months ago

Text

( 01. ) GOOD GRACES.

kim seokjin doesn’t believe in luck. he’s someone who knows that in order to have good things coming your way, you have to work damn hard for it. however, that might not be the case when it comes to bad luck, because after a video of him goes viral wherein it looks like he’s screaming at someone’s grandma, he begins thinking maybe luck does exist—and it just so happens that he’s now being subjected to a lot of unluckiness.

he’s being cancelled. his career is getting destroyed. his manager is forcing him to take a hiatus. and on top of that, as if things could not get worse, the only hope he has on redeeming everything he worked hard on depends on you, the director’s daughter of the theater show that could propel him back to where he used to be.

that should have been a piece of cake. if only you weren’t his ex who he dumped via phone call and got threatened by to never show his face to ever again...

pairing: seokjin x reader

word count: 4.2k

rating: NC-17

content: fluff, light angst, humor, exes to enemies to friends to lovers au | ft. theater actor!seokjin + himbo energy!seokjin lmao, podcaster!reader + nepo baby!reader

warning/s: lots of swearing | lots of internal monologue by seokjin? lmao

[ chapter index. ]

EPISODE 01. there are worse things i could do !

seokjin never thought that the downfall of his career would happen because of a misconstrued video of him going viral where he was apparently yelling at a poor old lady in a grocery store.

but here he is, getting canceled on twitter and being informed by his manager that he was taken off the projects he was scheduled to do for the upcoming year, the brands who were once so keen on getting him on board suddenly backtracking and terminating the previously signed deals that were already discussed.

regardless of how he tried convincing yikyung, the said manager, that he wasn’t actually fighting the woman who was probably the same age as his grandmother on that short clip—and that all of this was just a stupid a misunderstanding, he’s told it’s too late. the public already made up their mind; they all hated him, and there were several gossip blogs publishing articles that had ‘receipts’ of his apparent bad and diva behavior over the span of his career.

“look, namjoon and I are working on it,” yikyung says, explaining that the PR and legal team are already in the midst of taking care of the whole problem. “but for the meantime, the best you can do is lay low for a while, buddy.”

“what?” seokjin exclaims. “are you saying—”

“you’ll be going on a hiatus.”

“hiatus,” he repeats, enunciating every syllable like he heard it wrong. he feels like he’s going to vomit, the whole room he’s in right now spinning before his eyes.

“yes. hiatus.”

god, seokjin hates that word. he’s been working his ass off since he knew how to act and sing and was the absolute fucking best at it. and now they’re putting him on a hiatus? it’s ridiculous. it’s unfair! he isn’t in some kind of boyband or anything, but he’s pretty sure that they use that term to sugarcoat the fact that the members are quitting the industry or going solo which doesn’t make sense for him so the former category is probably more applicable to his situation at the moment and—

“it’s temporary,” yikyung continues speaking, as if reading what’s going in his mind. “at most, it’ll be a year.”

that still doesn’t calm seokjin down. “you’re benching me for a year?”

“at most.”

“does it really have to be that long?”

“yeah, if we see that it’s necessary enough.”

“i don’t think a year is necessary.”

“we don’t know that yet.”

“but if you keep me away from the public that long… it's going to kill my career!”

yikyung gives him a pitiful look. “it's already dead, jin. let’s be real here.”

he gasps, genuinely offended that his manager would say such a thing. “take that back.”

“look, i’m not happy with this either,” yikyung says, “but the public needs to forget that video. It’s what everybody is talking about, it’s what every director or sponsor that’s asking us about too—nobody would want to associate themselves with your name anyway while the story’s fresh, so this hiatus won’t kill it. doing this hiatus will just induce your career into a coma. you’ll be like sleeping beauty.”

“then who’ll be the fucking prince?”

“a mindblowing project that’ll remind people that you’re the best leading man in the theater world.”

seokjin lets that sink in.

just days ago, he was being blasted with offers to do commercials and new productions due to the successful run of chicago where he portrayed billy flynn. A lot of columns praised his versatility, saying that despite reservations on how he was going to perform, he nailed the part and captured the audience’s hearts with how he made that character his own. it was the biggest ego boost he had in a while considering he was so passionate in bringing billy flynn to life and pulling off the long note he had in we both reached for the gun—now though? all the happiness that he felt before? all the acclaim he reckoned could last him a good few months to stay motivated in doing this? it’s being buried to the ground; he feels as if everything is crashing down and every good thing in his life is fading away.

guess it’s true that being too happy can cause too much sadness after.

“a year goes by so fast, you know,” yikyung tells him. “keep yourself busy. pursue other hobbies. the next time i’ll call you, i’ll make sure it’s about an offer that’ll jolt your career awake again.”

and so with no other choice, really… that’s what seokjin did.

he decides to follow yikyung’s advice and take a train back to his hometown with the plan to help his aunt run the small grocery business she had, residing there until circumstances appear better for him. he figures this break might be better than he thinks, taking into account the fact that he’s been working nonstop since he began landing solid roles years ago. maybe a restart is what he needs; maybe he can use this as an excuse to do other stuff and pursue other hobbies like he was suggested to do.

in the first month of his forced hiatus, he becomes some kind of apprentice at his aunt’s mentioned grocery store. he meets taehyung, a young man who looks way too handsome to be only arranging packed and canned goods in the aisles of the shop as another helper of his aunt; taehyung also apparently recognizes him, asking if he’s that “theater star harassing an old lady” he kept on seeing on tiktok which seokjin’s always quick to correct. taehyung never looks convinced though, regardless of how much seokjin explains, but he at least doesn’t treat him shit for some groundless scandal.

then in his second month, he begins to try pottery. there are classes for it in the same town, a 10-minute drive away and the instructor happens to be a family friend. however, after five sessions, he realizes that he’s horrible at the task and can’t produce anything that’s worth selling or admiring even. that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy it though, ‘cause he does, and he still attends each class or goes on his own for the following months to use this activity as catharsis.

for the third month, he starts painting; on the fourth, he volunteers to walk the golden retriever that an elderly couple neighbor has; when the fifth month comes, he begins jogging around the area, continuing that until the sixth and seventh as he progresses to running—and then on the eight month, while he’s tending to the crops he’s growing at his aunt’s backyard, he finally gets the call from yikyung that he always pretends not to care about.

hurriedly taking off his gloves that are covered with mud, he picks up his phone from the table and answers his agent’s call. “please tell me you have something,” is what he says, not even concealing the desperation in his voice.

“i have something,” yikyung confirms, sounding excited.

“holy fuck,” he whispers to himself. he’s pacing around now, thrilled and anxious, praying to the gods of every religion that this will be a good offer. “what is it? tell me quickly.”

“they’re doing grease,” he says and seokjin does an impromptu super mario impression, just jumping all over the place because of the mention of the famous musical, the kind of musical that he knows would definitely benefit him if he wants to be within everybody’s radar again. “they already have a sandy young—it’s the producer’s niece—so now all they’re looking for is the rest of the cast. I already got you an audition for danny zuko and it’s two weeks from now.”

“god, i fucking love you, yikyung.”

“i’m amazing, aren’t I?”

“the best. you’re a goddamn gift from above.”

“and it hasn’t even been a year,” yikyung proudly points out. “you’ll be absolutely back on your feet after this project. your scandal has died down, anyway. not a lot are talking about it, and some of your fans are getting better at defending you, sharing encounter stories of their own to support the claim that you aren’t a dick who has a fetish in getting into a bickering war with an old woman.”

seokjin rolls his eyes. “never describe it that way to me again.”

yikyung chuckles. “i’ll hire a cleaning lady to clean your apartment here in the city maybe this weekend. when do you think you’ll arrive?”

“some time after the weekend. i’ll have to take care of a few things before i go.”

“like what?”

“well, believe it or not, i actually made some friends here.”

“damn. i told you this hiatus was going to be good for you.”

“yeah, you are right about that. i think it was healing for some reason. aside from the first weeks of me being depressed as fuck.”

“so, what does that mean? does this mean that you think you’ll nail the audition?”

seokjin grins. he isn’t cocky for nothing. even though it was advised to him before to lower it down a bit so that he wouldn’t come across as a complete ass, he knows he’s great at this pursuit of his. he’s charming, he has an amazing voice, and he can pull off any choreography instructed to him regardless of his initial lack of dancing abilities. being a hard worker makes you that way, and it’s what seokjin thinks will always help him in every endeavor he runs after.

“you bet, i will.”

“how’s your voice? your joints? do you need to warm up?”

“i’ve been singing for the community here every tuesday and thursday. i also haven’t been physically inactive like you think i am. i’ve been exercising regularly, improving my stamina and all that shit.”

yikyung doesn’t answer for a few seconds, a silence that seokjin translates into his manager being impressed that he hasn’t let go of himself despite the circumstances.

after a few more clarifications and reminders, the call ends and seokjin flops down on the wooden chair close to him, this goofy and giddy smile erupting on his face. it doesn’t occur to him until this moment that he’s been wishing for a miracle like this to come along because he’s been missing performing on stage like he used to do during shows and even when he’s in dance studios for the rehearsals. yeah, having a reason to take a break was nice too as he expressed, but nothing beats doing what he loves to do.

and playing danny zuko? wow, talk about a huge upgrade from being mandated by his management to disappear from the public to potentially being cast as one of john travolta’s famous roles. of course, the challenge with this is that he has to make sure that he actually gets the role, which he’s optimistic that he’ll be fine with.

his reputation may be questionable once he comes back, but there’s no denying that if there’s anyone who can emanate an arrogant greaser who cares too much about his image—it’s him.

****

seokjin’s aunt was devastated when she discovered that he’s leaving. she tried to persuade him to stay longer (if not for her, for the plants and the grocery store—and maybe the crowd of people he would sing for whenever there was an occasion in the neighborhood). however, regardless of her insistence, seokjin cannot be budged; he’s been waiting far too long for this to have second thoughts about it, to be swayed from this provincial life he has come to love and genuinely enjoy.

“are you coming back?” taehyung asked him when the news of seokjin’s immediate departure got to him too. “because if you aren’t, can I have your bike?”

seokjin rolled his eyes. over the course of his stay, taehyung has become some sort of little brother he never had. “i’m coming back. just to visit though,” he said. “so you can have my bike.”

on the weekend before he left, he spent time with the people he befriended. he arranged a bingo session with the elderly; he ran laps with that golden retriever he took on walks every morning; he did his last piece of pottery with the instructor he also became friends with; then, on his very last night, he shared a few drinks with his aunt and taehyung, promising them that if he gets the part, they’ll have front row tickets to the show.

if not, he’ll jump off the bridge because he doesn’t think he has a face to show to anyone anymore.

he earned a slap on the arm by his aunt with that one.

everything went smoothly when he came back to his old apartment the following morning, freshly cleaned like yikyung promised. nonetheless, seokjin felt it was necessary to check every nook and cranny of the place to verify that, even going as far as examining the decorations, memorabilia, and picture frames he had on display, his finger being swiped on the most random areas to make sure that every corner was polished. nobody lived here for eight months in his defense, and he really could catch a bad case of allergic rhinitis in the case yikyung was lying. he couldn’t have that. he had his voice to take care of; there shouldn’t be snot or phlegm getting in the way of the full prowess of his vocals.

for the next few days leading up to the audition, he did everything he can to assure that he’ll be in his best state when his time to shine comes. he practiced the song sandy, a solo piece sung by danny zuko, and rehearsed the lines for the scene where danny and sandy first meet again at rydell high.

in those hours he spent talking to himself, warming up his voice, making sure that he shaped his words right and exuded the energy of the greaser he’s aiming to play, he started thinking again that he seriously got a huge chance in landing this role. he’s superb at acting; he’s certain that he has the voice needed for this part; and not to mention that he’s got the looks for it, alright. his handsomeness is certainly one of the aspects that makes him so marketable as an actor.

plus, he manages to get a positive outlook regarding this because yikyung has been great in encouraging him, sending him inspirational quotes that sometimes were borderline annoying because it had nothing to do with his situation but still touching in a way.

like right now, as seokjin waits in the holding room of the theater for the audition, he receives a message from his manager with a GIF of a maneki-neko with an oversized arm and the quote by dr. seuss saying, “you have brains in your head. you have feet in your shoes. you can steer yourself any direction you choose. you're on your own. and you know what you know. and you are the guy who'll decide where to go”.

it is a little aligned to what he’s going through right now but seokjin can’t help but still grimace in distaste.

“kim seokjin?” the casting assistant calls, and he snaps his head up from the screen of his phone to peer at the person who called him.

he stands, gaining the attention of the casting assistant. “here.”

“great. follow me please.” she smiles and begins walking to where the stage is without checking whether seokjin followed her or not.

he does, as quickly as possible, thankful because he can finally get away from that enclosed space with fellow auditionees who were either gaping at him or chatting him up, asking about the hiatus he did. he’s smart enough not to give any specific details, instead saying the standard “mental health break” or “sabbatical leave” that they seemed to buy.

walking across the stage, his eyes squint a bit at the spotlight directed to him. then, stopping at the center, he averts his gaze to the two people who are sitting on the front row seats. hyunbin park the director and seungjoon ahn the producer. they both appear serious, like they’re bored, or like they’ve been unimpressed by the roster of auditionees they’ve been having so far.

it creates a spark of hope for seokjin who’s confident that he might just be the person that’ll blow their minds for today. even though this is his first time performing in front of a professional again, he’s learned over the years to trust his skills more, and he knows that he’s definitely adept for the tryout happening at the moment.

“kim seokjin, isn’t it?” mr. Park says. he’s the more intimidating one out of the pair. he’s famous for having directed a lot of shows that got to win several trophies in every award giving body that catered to the theater industry. aside from this production being an anticipated project of his, he’s scheduled to direct a movie with a star-studded cast.

seokjin nods. “yes, that’s me.”

“wait a minute, i know you,” says mr. ahn, an index finger pointed towards him. this man doesn’t look that much older than seokjin. give or take about only five years his senior. “i’ve seen you somewhere. where have i seen you?”

seokjin swallows hard. fuck, fuck, fuck. kill me now. bury me in the ground. shit. i hope he doesn’t realize that i'm—

“ah! i remember.” mr. ahn laughs, turning to mr. park. “isn’t he the guy who played corny collins three years ago or something?”

a huge breath of relief escapes seokjin.

mr. park nods unsurely. “yeah, I think so. did you play corny collins, son?” he asks.

“i did.”

their faces significantly brightened.

“well, i’m looking forward to your audition, seokjin,” mr. ahn says. “i watched the media preview of hairspray back then. i was a great friend of jiyong.”

jiyong was the director of the said show.

“you may begin,” mr. park adds, gesturing for him to go ahead before readjusting the glasses he’s wearing. “break a leg.”

seokjin flashes a dazzling smile and begins.

****

yikyung: how was it? yikyung: the audition should be over by now. yikyung: tell me how you did! yikyung: i’ll be like this for the whole day until you reply. yikyung:

seokjin: do you think sending gifs is cool? seokjin: bc it’s not

yikyung: you didn’t answer my question?

seokjin can’t stop grinning. he’s had this grin since he finished the audition and walked out to the lobby, his mind replaying the events that took place during his performance and the reactions of the director and producer after he was done.

even though the two didn’t make their verdict apparent, seokjin had a feeling that he was going to get cast in this show for the reason that as soon as he finished belting the last line of the song sandy, mr. park and mr. ahn shared a look with one another, their eyebrows raising in what comes across like understanding.

now, quick disclaimer, seokjin doesn’t read minds, but he’s pretty sure that that’s a good sign. he’s done his fair share of auditions and seeing an interaction like that from people who are in charge of casting always raises the chances that he’ll end up in the project. it’s a really big tell from what he thinks—and it’s what’s prompting him to almost skip like a little girl while walking to the café nearby where he’s planning to treat himself with the mouthwatering strawberry cream croissant he saw on their display earlier, nothing in his mind other than fantasies of receiving a call as soon as he gets home confirming he got the part.

maybe i should start incorporating black leather jackets into my wardrobe more… it is what danny zuko wears half of the time in the film and since i’ll be danny zuko, it can be some kind of way i’ll be able to internalize the character and be fucking amazing in this…

clearly, doing an inner monologue isn’t advisable when you’re walking along a busy street filled with people who are obviously in a rush to get to where they’re going.

because as he continues marching forward, taking a quick turn to the café he’s aiming to go to, his thoughts everywhere aside from the path he’s strolling on—his arm bumps against someone’s shoulder, ceasing his daydreaming and causing him to glance back, about to utter a quick apology if it wasn’t for the sight that greets him when he does.

he wrinkles his forehead, gazing at you.

there’s no doubt in his mind that it really is you who he’s looking at, but due to the fact that it’s been approximately 9 years since you last saw each other, seokjin asks himself whether this is legit or is his imagination taking a sinister route and letting him imagine how it would be like to meet the person he doesn’t want to see on a perfect day.

“well, shit,” you say, staring at him with the same surprised yet puzzled expression. your features look more mature, your hair is styled in a different way, your choice of clothes is more sophisticated—yet despite the subtle changes, you’re still as attractive as you were when he last got to see you. he might even dare to think that your attractiveness leveled up as well. “i’ll be damned. it’s you.”

seokjin feels his throat closing up, reality sinking in that you’re really here in front of him. “____?”

“i’m flattered that you remember.” you chuckle. “or that you’re not pretending to have amnesia to escape this conversation at least.”

to be fair, if it registered to him a few seconds earlier on who you are, he might have done exactly that.

but of course he doesn’t admit it. his ears just turn red while he utters a lie. “that’d be silly. it’s not like you’d believe me if i said that.”

“touché. but i still reckon you’d do it. you are an actor.” a smirk makes its way to your lips. “how’s that going, by the way? last time i heard, you’re being murdered on twitter and being called a world class asshole.”

he winces slightly. “that’s an exaggeration.”

“i don’t think so. you are on hiatus because of it, aren’t you?”

“not anymore.”

“oh?”

“you seem disappointed,” he retorts. “then again, i wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve been praying for my downfall ever since you-know-what happened.”

“you-know-what? do you mean when you dumped me?” you explicitly say, not even missing a beat after he was done speaking.

yes, you’re an ex-girlfriend. sadly, an ex-girlfriend he knows he didn’t treat well because of what you just reminded him of.

he presses his lips together, gathering all the confidence he has left. “yes. i do mean that. and i am sorry about it. truly.”

“you dumped me over the phone.”

“i’m aware of that too.”

“you didn’t explain why you wanted to break up.”

a pause. “yes, i didn’t.”

“and just because we coincidentally met again after so many years, you finally apologize?”

“that’s about right.”

“it doesn’t sound very sincere to me.”

he widens his eyes, surprised that you’re not letting this go as easily as he thought you would. from what he remembers, you’re the type of person who doesn’t hold grudges; you’re the type of person that everybody would say was genuinely good. in fact, it’s what he was mad about years back when you were still together—how you often let other people take advantage of your kindness, often putting you in a position of being a doormat or an emotional punching bag.

but that’s almost a decade ago. he feels bad that he’s not sure whether to be proud of you or to be a bit frustrated that he’s on the receiving end of this.

“anyways,” you add after the excruciating awkward silence, “as much as i want to give you a piece of my mind, i have to go. i’d say it was nice seeing you and that we should catch up sometime, jin, but that would be a lie.”

seokjin’s supposed to let you go despite his conscience eating him up. he’s not entirely stupid, it’s apparent that it’s better not to reopen healed wounds, and judging from the manner you spoke to him, you don’t want to give him an opening to enter your life again.

but then your phone rings, which you’re holding on one hand while the other holds a paper bag from the coffeeshop. And then, seokjin sees it—sees mr. park’s face on the screen with a caller ID named ‘dad’, that he can’t prevent himself from staying still and allowing you to leave without explaining what he’s witnessing right now.

“wait,” he holds your elbow as you’re trying to walk past him, “your dad isn’t mr. park, is he? i know your dad. He’s not hyunbin park.”

you blink at him, confused at the random question, however a wave of understanding swiftly washes over you. he watches you grin all of the sudden, eyes twinkling in amusement. he’s familiar with that expression, and it’s scaring him to death because he now has a pretty good idea on what your answer is going to be.

“you’re here in the city because of an audition,” you state, tone so sure that it makes him sweat. “don’t tell me… You’re auditioning for grease?”

he doesn’t tell you he’s auditioning for grease.

your grin widens even further, your next sentence inducing a sensation that might be a heart attack.

“then you’ve met dad. he is hyunbin park, the director.”

fuckity fuck fUCK FUCK!

note. AHHH first chapter is out! i hope y’all like this because i’m happy with how this turned out hehe. this drabble series will only have 10 episodes and i’m gonna pray that i get to finish this before the year 2024 ends 😭

gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡

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johnbassplayercutie · 11 months ago

Text

Man-U-Lip-U-Lator

Warnings: 18+, manipulation, fem!reader x stephen glass

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: You work with Stephen, and after a few times of hearing his stories at weekly meetings, you grow suspicious of him. You stay late one day at work when it's just you and him there after everyone's left. Your plan is to interrogate him or at least figure out if he's really telling the truth. You notice he gets up to print some stuff in the printing room and decide on snooping through his things in his office. Once finding incriminating evidence that suggests he's faking everything, he comes back catching you sifting through his stuff (aka his little black book from the movie with all his "info" in it lmao).

part one ♡

— — — —

Stephen finishes up collecting his printed copies and walks back to his office. He's too preoccupied to notice that you’re missing from your own.

Stephen enters, gripping his copies tightly and stands frozen in shock at you leaning over his messy desk of papers.

"What are you doing?!" He whines loudly, noticing you holding his little planner, open to a random page.

You whip your head to the office door and almost yelp out at his sudden appearance. It's too late now to back out.

"You've been lying, haven't you?" You state matter-of-factly rather than a simple question.

"What are you talking about?" Stephen questions as he feigns ignorance to the topic, "Give me back my planner, that's important for my sources!"

"Yeah, yeah. Your sources." You rolled your eyes and finger quoted sarcastically.

"Look, if this is about if Dave ever picked up from the Hackers Organization, I already gave Chuck the correct phone number. I got it confused with another one of my sources." Stephen tried to derail the topic.

"Stephen, I know you’ve been lying. And that goes for the Hackers Organization, too." You state, crossing your arms and holding his planner close.

You know he would try to snatch it at any chance if it means saving his ass from being fired. There was no way you'd let him get the satisfaction.

"Are you mad at me?! Did I do something wrong?" Stephen questions worriedly, "I swear I just made a few mistakes with the details, but I gave Chuck all the correct information!" He babbles on with an anxious tone and demeanor.

His attitude begins to make you falter. Maybe it's all just in your head and you're jealous of his success. You almost feel bad for him, he's practically about to beg on his knees.

No, no, no, snap out of it! You were sure of it.

Stephen steps closer to you, obviously trying to get his planner back. You distance yourself from him but back up into his computer, knocking over his pencil holder on the desk, the contents spilling all over the floor.

"Y/N, watch where you're going! You could've deleted the files on my computer, they’re important!” He whines out like usual. You scramble to the floor, attempting to pick up the scattered pencils whilst placing his planner down beside you.

Stephen eyes his planner down beside you but keeps up with the manipulation tactics. He’s hoping he will dissuade you from what he knows is the truth. He kneels down, helping you pick up the pencils off the floor and returning them into the holder. Stephen stares at you intently before speaking, sure of himself that this lie will work.

"Look, if you really don't believe me, you could always come over to my apartment," You meet his eyes, confused as to how that could even be a solution. He continues on and notices you're not buying it before quickly conjuring up more lies with ease, "I have the cassette tape recordings of my sessions with the Hackers Organization. I could play it for you if you don't believe me. I even have tapes from other editorials I did."

You ponder if he could be really telling you the truth. It wouldn't really hurt to try and hear him out. You still have his planner and you could use it against him as blackmail if all proves false.

"Okay....but if you're lying about this, then I'm going to report you to Chuck. I have this to prove otherwise,"

You reach to grab the planner but notice that it's not where you placed it. You panic internally but try to act calm, then noticing Stephen is grasping the planner for his dear life. You flicker to his hands and his knuckles are white and veins strained.

His eyes meet yours and you can almost see him smirk. Almost.

Damn it.

"Look, I really don't like the way you're treating me. I feel really attacked!" Stephen states, getting suddenly defensive and angry.

"I'm not– I-I just want what's best for our readers and everyone working here." You say softly, feeling put on the spot as he scolds you.

"You're one of my editors! You're supposed to support me, but you're taking Chuck's side over mine!" He raises his voice again, visibly upset, chest rising and falling in agony.

He looks sad, tears forming in his eyes, but something is off. He quickly falters, and you can see him forming a shy smile.

"If you really don't believe me, you can come listen to the cassette tapes..." He says softly and shamefully, like someone denied him of something meaningful. He completely avoids the fact that he just took the notes, spoiling your plans of questioning him.

You have no choice but to do as he says. Your only solution from this disaster was that note planner.

"Alright, fine. Let's go before it's too late. I have more important things to do than deal with this all night." You say exasperated, urging him to grab his things and get this over and done with. The sooner you can hear or not hear these tapes, the closer you are to deciding Stephen's fate.

Stephen takes the planner and stuffs it into his leather briefcase, zipping it up. He can't risk you snatching it away from him again.

He returns to his usual chirpy self, babbling on about random facts, talking about things in his office or his apartment. It's like whatever outburst he had a few minutes ago never happened.

He glances over at you, keeping a close eye on you as he puts his arms through his suit jacket. His gaze is intense and you feel the butterflies in your stomach. The urge to look away is becoming strong but his eyes lure you in. You flush red in the face and suddenly you’re squeezing your thighs together. Only a look from him and you’re already wet.

Stephen’s eyes flicker down, noticing your tension before he looks back to your face, biting his lip knowingly.

You have to admit Stephen was always handsome. You've always kept a watchful eye on him at work, only solidifying the fact. There's no denying that you may have a crush on obsession with him. How else would you suspect he was lying when all you do is eavesdrop and watch him?

Stephen gives a small smile as he adjusts his collar, walking up to you. You feel your heart begin to race at his closeness. He leans in closer, reaching an arm around you. You can hear your heart stop for a second.

A second later, the click of the mouse awakens you from a daze. You can hear his slow breathing next to your ear as he's against you, trapping you against the desk. He whispers softly in your ear, "Just have to save my work and turn off the computer before we go." You can hear him grin before clicking the power button and moving back to face you.

You're in shock at the proximity between the two of you. Your mind is misfiring, confused as to where the shy and boyish Stephen had run off to. No, he was right in front of you...right?

"Stephen, I–" You're about to speak but no words come to mind. You sigh quietly as his hand grazes against your hip, steadying you against his desk.

He quirks a brow, urging you on to continue. He's pleased, his smile coming through as he resists doing so.

"Uh—nevermind." You falter before looking anywhere but at him. His face is so close you could kiss him.

"Okay," He pulls away and shrugs. He's smiling now, flickering his eyes away playfully before turning toward the door. "You should probably grab your coat." Stephen walks over to the chair and grabs his briefcase and coat, waiting for you by the door. His finger rests on the light switch, ready for you to exit his office first.

You're blushing and it's clearly obvious now that he's got you in his trap. You turn to him before walking out his door, "I'll be right back."

You grab your coat and purse and quickly flick off your office lights, closing the door behind you. Stephen's waiting for you by the elevator at the end of the room. As you slip into your coat, Stephen is facing the elevator before turning to you as you approach his side.

"You, first." He states as the door slides open, his gaze holding yours with intensity.

taglist: @nananooti @haydensbbg @ariskywlkr

#stephen glass x reader #stephen glass smut #stephen glass x you #stephen glass fic #hayden christensen smut #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen x fem!reader #part 1 #hayden christensen #shattered glass

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fuqnia · 1 month ago

Note

Hi!! Happy new year!! First of all, I want to say that I REALLY REALLY love your story on ao3 (Most Wanted) it's just *aggressive chef kiss* soso good!!!

Now, I wanted to request some fluff with Eric Cartman (aged up ofc). The situation would be that he likes the reader (gn) but he doesn't know how to act or what to do bc he's never felt like that before. So, when he decides to confess and the reader tells him that he likes him too he's like "are u sure? But, really really sure?" So confused lmao. And finally, when the first kiss happens he's like "ew gross... Do it again." Idk something like that.

It's okay if you don't want to do this request!! Have a good day and remember to rest and drink water <3

Gross... Do It Again

☆ eric cartman x reader insert

☆ A/N | happy new years!! ahh thank you so much for your lovely words!! this request was so fun to write, i love writing for cartman, he's toooo funny 😭😭 also i definitely don't have a kenny obsession haha... he totally isn't in this oneshot haha...

☆ C/W | weed usage, all characters are aged up!

The dorm was a goddamn mess, and that was saying something. Cartman’s side looked like a landfill decided to give up on life—pizza boxes stacked precariously on his nightstand, a mountain of dirty laundry spilling out from under his bed, and enough empty soda cans to make a whole recycling center weep. Kenny, meanwhile, lived in his usual state of organized chaos. His side wasn’t clean, but it had an intentionality to it: a blanket that was slightly torn but neatly folded, a collection of mismatched mugs piled into a corner, and an actual stack of textbooks he occasionally cracked open. Together, the room looked like two hurricanes had collided and then given up halfway through the destruction.

Cartman was pacing back and forth like a trapped animal, hands jammed into the front pocket of his hoodie. His cheeks were pink—not the kind of smug, self-satisfied pink they turned after he delivered one of his insults, but the kind that said something was wrong. He kept muttering under his breath, stopping occasionally to glare at his desk like it had insulted him. A psychology notebook sat open there, innocently mocking him with a dumb little doodle of a stick figure with devil horns, something you had drawn in class the other day.

He hated it. He hated how his stomach twisted every time he looked at it, like something inside him was staging a full-blown revolt. It wasn’t like you had even done anything. You just laughed at one of his jokes—an offhanded, dickish comment about how their professor looked like he hadn’t slept since the ‘90s—and you scribbled that doodle on the edge of his notes. But for some reason, that stupid laugh and that stupid drawing were stuck in his head like gum on a goddamn shoe.

“This is so fucking stupid,” Cartman grumbled, pacing faster. He glanced at the notebook again, then immediately looked away, like avoiding it would somehow erase the gnawing feeling in his gut. “This isn’t happening. It’s not a thing. It’s not a thing.”

From across the room, Kenny pulled out an earbud and raised an eyebrow. He was lying on his bed, one leg kicked up lazily, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Dude, you’ve been stomping around for twenty minutes. You’re giving me anxiety.”

Cartman froze mid-step and whipped around, glaring at Kenny. “Shut the fuck up, Kenny! I’m thinking.”

Kenny snorted, setting his phone down on his chest. “Oh, you’re thinking? That’s a new one. What’s got the great Eric Cartman so deep in thought?

“For your information, you fucking moron,” Cartman snapped, crossing his arms defensively, “I’m trying to solve a serious goddamn problem, okay? Not that your dumbass would understand.”

Kenny’s smirk grew. “Oh, this oughta be good. Let me guess—your dick stopped working after too many hot pockets?”

“Jesus Christ, will you shut up for, like, two seconds?” Cartman barked, his voice cracking slightly. He took a deep breath, trying to regain control, and turned back to his desk. “I’m dealing with… something, alright?”

“Yeah, no shit,” Kenny said, propping himself up on one elbow. “What kind of ‘something’? Did you finally flunk out of college, or is it something juicy?”

Cartman stiffened, refusing to turn around. He didn’t want to give Kenny the satisfaction of seeing him sweat. “It’s nothing. Just… someone in class is being fucking weird, that’s all.”

“Oh, someone in class, huh?” Kenny grinned, leaning forward now, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Wait a minute. Is this about [Y/N]?”

Cartman’s whole body went rigid, like someone had hit pause on his brain. He slowly turned to face Kenny, his face already bright red. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded, voice way too defensive for his own good. “This isn’t about them! Why would it be about them?! That’s fucking ridiculous!”

“Right,” Kenny said, dragging the word out as he sat up fully. “Because it’s not like you’ve been staring at your psych notes like they’re a love letter or anything. Nah, no way this is about [Y/N].”

Cartman grabbed an empty soda can off his desk and chucked it at Kenny’s head. Kenny ducked easily, laughing as the can bounced off the wall behind him. “Shut the fuck up, Kenny! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Dude,” Kenny said, shaking his head, “you’ve got it bad.”

“I don’t have shit!” Cartman exploded, throwing his arms up in frustration. “You’re fucking delusional, Kenny. I don’t like anyone! Liking people is for losers and idiots!”

“Uh-huh.” Kenny smirked, leaning back against his bed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, fatass.”

Cartman growled, stomping back to his desk. He dropped into his chair and glared at the notebook like it had personally insulted him. That stupid stick figure stared back, its dumb little devil horns mocking him. He slammed the notebook shut, but it didn’t make him feel any better. “This is fucking bullshit,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m not a loser… but what the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

“Kenny,” Cartman barked, spinning around in his chair.

Kenny didn’t even glance up. “What?”

Cartman hesitated, glancing at the notebook again, as if it might spontaneously provide answers. “Let’s say—hypothetically—you wanted someone to pay attention to you. Like, you wanted them to see that you’re not just some… guy. What would you do?”

That got Kenny’s attention. He set his phone down and sat up slowly, his brows raised like Cartman had just sprouted a second head. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes, I’m serious, asshole!” Cartman snapped, his face flushing. “I’m asking you a question!”

“Oh, no, I heard the question,” Kenny said, a wicked grin creeping across his face. “I just can’t believe you’re coming to me for advice about your sad little crush on [Y/N].”

“Shut the fuck up!” Cartman exploded, his voice cracking slightly. “This isn’t about them! Why does everything have to be about them?! You’re so fucking dumb, Kenny.”

“Right,” Kenny said, dragging the word out as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Because you haven’t been acting like a weird little freak for the past two days. No way this is about [Y/N].”

“It’s not, okay?!” Cartman insisted, crossing his arms defensively. “I just… I just need to know what a normal person would do in a situation like this.”

Kenny blinked, then leaned back with a laugh. “Oh my God, you’re serious. You’re actually serious. Dude, you’re fucked.”

“Jesus Christ, Kenny, will you just give me a straight answer?” Cartman barked, glaring at him. “For once in your shitty, trailer park life, just help me.”

“Fine, fine,” Kenny said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You want advice? Here’s some advice: don’t be a psycho. People tend to run away when you act like a desperate little bitch.”

Cartman’s face turned red, but he ignored the insult. “What the fuck does that even mean? Be more specific.”

“It means don’t do whatever the hell your weird little brain is cooking up right now,” Kenny said, pointing at him. “Just be normal. You know, like a regular human. Talk to them. Ask them out. That kind of shit.”

“Wow, thanks for the groundbreaking insight, Dr. Asshole,” Cartman shot back, rolling his eyes. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who’s desperate enough to ask me for advice,” Kenny fired back, grabbing his bong and giving it a lazy inspection. “So unless you want to keep jerking it to your psych notes, maybe shut the fuck up and listen.”

Cartman growled, running a hand through his hair. “You’re fucking useless. I don’t even know why I bother.”

“Because you’ve got no one else to talk to, fatass,” Kenny said with a smirk, lighting the bong. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, waving it lazily in Cartman’s direction. “So what’s the plan, huh? You gonna confess your undying love in the middle of class, or are you gonna hide behind some bullshit like you always do?”

“I don’t hide behind anything!” Cartman snapped, but the way he avoided Kenny’s eyes said otherwise. He paced a few steps, his mind racing, and then stopped short, a grin spreading across his face. “I’ve got it. I’ll invite them over to study for psych. They’ll come here, and then I’ll—I dunno—show them why I’m the shit.”

Kenny barked out a laugh, nearly dropping the bong. “Oh, that’s fucking rich. You? ‘The shit’? Yeah, okay. What’s the plan, fatass? Flex your GPA? Show them the three-day-old burrito under your bed?”

“Shut up, Kenny!” Cartman yelled, his face burning. “They’re gonna come over, we’ll study, and it’ll just happen naturally. It’s a solid plan.”

“It’s a stupid plan,” Kenny said, shaking his head as he packed another hit. “But hey, go for it. I can’t wait to see how this blows up in your face.”

Cartman ignored him, pulling out his phone and scrolling to your contact. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he started typing, his confidence growing with every word. He hit send, shoving the phone into his pocket like it might explode if he held onto it for too long.This was going to work. It had to work. Because if it didn’t… well, he wasn’t ready to think about that yet.

Cartman growled, pacing in front of his desk like a caged animal. The room was spotless by his standards, but the faint smell of cheap vanilla from the candle on his desk was starting to give him a headache. He shot a glare at Kenny, who was sprawled out on his bed, picking Dorito crumbs off his chest with zero shame. Every few minutes, Kenny let out a low snicker, clearly reveling in Cartman’s nervous energy.

“Will you stop fucking laughing, you goddamn hick?” Cartman barked, throwing a balled-up sock at him.

“Can’t help it, dude,” Kenny said, dodging the sock with a lazy grin. “You’re wound up tighter than your mom’s yoga pants. What’s the big deal? You got this.”

“I know I fucking got this!” Cartman snapped, his voice cracking. “It’s just—shut the fuck up, alright?”

Before Kenny could respond, there was a knock at the door. Cartman froze, his stomach twisting into a knot, and shot Kenny a panicked look.

Kenny raised an eyebrow. “You gonna answer that, or just stand there like an idiot?”

“Get the fuck out of here, Kenny,” Cartman hissed, jabbing a finger toward the door. “Go… I don’t know, smoke a cigarette or something. Just leave.”

Kenny swung his legs off the bed with an exaggerated groan, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you and [Y/N] some alone time. Try not to blow it, fatass.”

As he crossed the room, he gave Cartman a smug wink before swinging the door open. “Hey, [Y/N],” Kenny greeted, his voice dripping with mock charm. “Come on in. Cartman’s been pissing himself waiting for you.”

“Kenny, I swear to God—” Cartman started, but Kenny ignored him, laughing as he clapped you on the shoulder.

“Good luck,” Kenny said with a smirk, stepping out into the hallway. “You’re gonna need it.” He gave Cartman one last exaggerated wink before disappearing down the corridor, leaving the door ajar behind him.

The first thing you notice is how oddly clean the room is. Cartman’s side, usually some kind of post-apocalyptic wasteland of junk food wrappers and clothes that definitely needed a wash last week, is now suspiciously tidy. A faint smell of vanilla lingers, and you spot a candle burning on his desk.

“Wow,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “You cleaned. What’s the occasion?”

“I didn’t clean,” Cartman blurts immediately, crossing his arms. His cheeks are pink, and he’s glaring like you just accused him of murder. “This is just… how it always looks.”

You stifle a laugh, shaking your head as you move to the desk. “Right. Sure it is.”

Cartman doesn’t respond, instead stomping back to his chair like a sulking toddler. You set your stuff down, pulling out your notebook and flipping to the most recent lecture. “So, where do you want to start? Behavioral theories? Cognitive development?”

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Behavioral theories. Fine.”

You tilt your head at him, noticing how tense he looks. His arms are crossed, his leg bouncing so fast the chair creaks beneath him. You decide to let it slide for now, focusing instead on the lecture notes in front of you.

“Okay,” you say, glancing at your textbook. “So Pavlov and classical conditioning—that’s probably gonna be on the midterm. You know, the dog thing? Ring a bell, get a response.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cartman says quickly, waving a hand. “Dogs and bells. Got it.”

You pause, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re not even listening.”

“I am!” he snaps, his voice an octave higher than usual. “I’m just—paying attention in my own way. Keep going.”

You shake your head, fighting back a smile, and return to your notes. As you talk through operant conditioning and positive reinforcement, you notice his responses getting shorter and more distracted. He keeps glancing at you, his leg bouncing even faster. You’ve known Cartman long enough to recognize when he’s uncomfortable, but this is… different. He’s nervous. Almost jumpy.

“Eric,” you say after a while, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “What’s going on with you? You’re acting weird.”

“I’m fine!” he says immediately, too defensive to be convincing. He looks away, fidgeting with the pen in his hand. “Just tired. Long day.”

You raise an eyebrow but let it go, turning back to your notes. “Alright. So, Skinner and operant conditioning…”

As you keep talking, you feel him watching you. It’s subtle at first—a glance here, a flick of his eyes there—but after a while, it becomes impossible to ignore. Finally, you stop mid-sentence, turning to face him fully.

“Alright, screw this!” Cartman blurts, tossing his pen onto the desk with enough force that it bounces off the notebook. “I can’t do this anymore.”

You blink, startled. “Do what?”

“This!” he says, gesturing wildly at the desk, the notes, the room in general. “All this psych bullshit. I didn’t invite you here to talk about fucking Pavlov.”

“Then… why did you invite me?” you ask slowly, unsure where this is going.

He hesitates, his face going bright red as he avoids your gaze. “Because I like you, alright?” he snaps, his voice cracking slightly. “I fucking like you, and I don’t know why, because it’s dumb, and it makes no sense, but I do. So, there. Happy now?”

The room falls into a heavy silence. For a second, he looks like he might explode from the tension. You’re too stunned to respond immediately, but then you feel a smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re serious?” you ask softly.

“Of course I’m fucking serious!” he snaps, crossing his arms. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

Your smile grows. “Good. Because I like you too.”

He freezes, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to process your words. “Wait… what?”

“I like you too, Eric,” you repeat, laughing lightly at the bewildered expression on his face. “I mean, I kind of figured, but I wasn’t sure.”

“You’re not fucking with me, right?” he demands, narrowing his eyes. “Because if this is a joke, I swear to God—”

“I’m not messing with you,” you say, cutting him off gently. “I like you.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he leans back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “Well… good. That’s good.”

“Yeah,” you say, grinning. “It is.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he scowls, shifting awkwardly in his chair. “So… now what?”

You laugh, leaning forward slightly. “That’s up to you.”

His eyes flicker to your lips, lingering there for just a moment too long, and you see something in his face you’ve never seen before: nerves. Eric fucking Cartman, nervous. It’s almost surreal. He clears his throat and leans back in his chair like he’s trying to shake off whatever just crossed his mind.

“Let’s just… keep studying,” he mutters, grabbing his pen like it’s a lifeline. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed stubbornly on his notebook. “That’s what you came here for, right?”

You give him a small, knowing smile but nod anyway. “Sure. Studying.”

For the next half-hour, the two of you go through the motions, flipping through pages, summarizing theories, and discussing what might be on the midterm. But there’s an undeniable tension hanging between you, thick enough to choke on. Every time you glance at him, his gaze darts away, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His usual cocky demeanor is nowhere to be found, replaced by a kind of restless fidgeting that would be almost funny if it wasn’t so uncharacteristic.

He keeps looking at you, though. Every few minutes, you catch him stealing glances—at your face, your hands, your mouth. Each time, his expression shifts, like he’s having some internal battle with himself. It’s awkward, sure, but there’s something endearing about it, too. You can tell he’s trying to keep his usual wall up, but it’s crumbling around the edges.

Finally, you decide to put both of you out of your misery. Setting your pen down, you turn to him fully, your tone casual but your heart pounding in your chest. “Eric.”

He tenses immediately, his pen freezing mid-scribble. “What?”

You hesitate, watching him for a moment. His leg is bouncing under the desk, and his knuckles are white where they grip the pen. It’s almost enough to make you laugh, but instead, you lean in slightly and ask, “Can I kiss you?”

His reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, and he leans back so quickly he nearly knocks his chair over. “What the fuck?” he sputters, his voice higher than usual. “Why the hell would you wanna do that?”

“Because I like you,” you say simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And you like me. Right?”

He glares at you, his face bright red. “Yeah, I said that already! Jesus Christ, do you have to rub it in?”

You suppress a laugh, tilting your head. “So… can I?”

He stares at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. For a second, you think he’s going to come up with some snarky comment or brush you off entirely, but instead, he mumbles, “Yeah. Fine. Whatever. If you want.”

You lean in slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away. His eyes stay locked on yours, wide and uncertain, but he doesn’t move. When your lips finally meet his, he goes completely still. The kiss is soft, tentative, and more awkward than you’d expected, but it’s not bad. Not bad at all.

When you pull back, his expression is priceless. He’s staring at you like you just dropped a bomb on his lap, his cheeks practically glowing. “That was… gross,” he mutters, his nose wrinkling. “Like, really gross.”

You laugh, leaning back slightly. “Yeah? So gross you want me to do it again?”

He hesitates, his face twitching like he’s torn between saying yes and telling you to fuck off. Finally, he mumbles, “Maybe.”

You grin, leaning in again. This time, when your lips meet his, he doesn’t freeze. It’s still a little awkward—Cartman is nothing if not an overthinker—but there’s a warmth in it now, an eagerness that wasn’t there before. When you pull away, his lips twitch into a small, smug smile, though his face is still red.

“Okay, fine,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair like he’s trying to regain some of his usual attitude. “That wasn’t completely terrible.”

You smirk, tilting your head slightly as you lean your chin on your hand. “High praise from someone who couldn’t stop staring at my face all night. Want me to grab a mirror so you can practice complimenting me properly?”

Cartman’s mouth falls open in indignation, his arms uncrossing as he jabs a finger toward you. “Oh, fuck off! I wasn’t staring! I was—thinking, okay? It’s called being a goddamn genius. Maybe you wouldn’t know.”

“Thinking about kissing me, maybe,” you reply quickly, watching with satisfaction as his cheeks turn an even brighter shade of pink.

“You’re such an asshole,” he mutters, but the way his eyes dart to your lips again betrays the insult.

You grin, leaning toward him as he instinctively leans back in his chair. His attempt to create space only lasts a second before you close the gap, kissing him again. This time, he doesn’t freeze. His lips move against yours, tentative but genuine, and you can feel the tension in his shoulders melt away. For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you—until the door slams open.

“Yo, I forgot my—holy shit!” Kenny’s voice explodes through the room, and you both jolt apart like you’ve been caught committing a crime. Cartman swivels his chair around so fast it nearly topples over, his face a deep, mortified red.

“Kenny, what the fuck?!” Cartman roars, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair like he’s about to launch himself out of it. “Didn’t I tell you to stay the fuck out?!”

Kenny, standing in the doorway, doesn’t even try to hide his glee. He’s leaning against the doorframe with the smuggest expression you’ve ever seen, holding his phone up like he’s about to livestream the whole thing. “Dude, I left for, like, an hour. I thought you’d be done dry-humping by now.”

Cartman’s face somehow turns an even darker shade of red. “We weren’t—Jesus fucking Christ, Kenny! Get out!”

You cover your mouth with your hand to hide your laugh, but the way your shoulders shake gives you away. Kenny notices immediately and points at you with mock approval. “Respect, [Y/N]. Really. Can’t believe you’re willing to put up with this dumbass.”

“Get out before I kill you,” Cartman growls, standing up so quickly that his chair scrapes against the floor. He grabs the first thing he can find—a crumpled-up notebook—and hurls it at Kenny’s head.

Kenny ducks effortlessly, laughing like this is the funniest thing he’s seen all year. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. But don’t think this is over. I’m gonna be talking about this for weeks.”

“Kenny!” Cartman shouts again, but it’s useless. Kenny’s already backing out the door, still grinning like a lunatic. “I’m serious! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Love you too, babe,” Kenny calls over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

The door slams shut, and the room is suddenly quiet again. Cartman groans, slumping back into his chair and burying his face in his hands. “I fucking hate him.”

You chuckle, leaning forward with your chin on your hand. “He’s not so bad. At least he didn’t take pictures.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Cartman mutters, glaring at the door like he expects Kenny to burst back in any second.

“Relax,” you say, reaching out to nudge his shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Cartman scoffs, but he doesn’t pull away from your touch. Instead, he glances at you, his expression softening just slightly. “Yeah, well… you better not tell anyone about this either.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. His face flushes again, but this time, he doesn’t protest.

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