#( while I’m fixated immensely )

[easy-there-leftovers]

Magnum Opus (Ch. 1)

When an MIT prodigy on their gap year is contacted by the FBI regarding her potential involvement in a series of murders in Washington D.C., she must now cooperate to uncover how her paintings are mysteriously appearing at the crime scenes.

(Written with Season 1-4 Spencer in mind, but the timeline could be anywhere pre-season 12. No mentions of past cases)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Artist! reader|cw: Canon-typical violence|word count: 2k words

Also on Ao3!!

Series Masterlist

While Aaron Hotchner remained vigilant as he drove the black SUV, the constant flipping of Spencer’s case files seemed to be louder than the car’s air conditioning. 

He had directed Morgan and JJ to touch base at the MPDC, and had Rossi and Prentiss survey the crime scene of Jonathan Edwards; the identity of the previously unknown man in the vacant apartment.

This left him with Reid in the passenger seat to conduct an investigation on their only lead so far. 

From the update Garicia had given them, Y/n L/n was a prodigy a year younger than their very own. Having graduated from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology a year ago, she moved to Capitol Park Plaza and Twins Apartments in Washington D.C., and is currently unemployed. Occasionally selling her paintings out of her unit under an anagram of her name.

 But something bothered him.

And it seems like Reid has picked up on it too.

“Do you think Dr. L/n is the unsub?” The unit chief asks.

Spencer hums before answering.

“While we can’t rule it out just yet, the possibility of her being the unsub is totally unlikely. The thing that’s throwing me off is that everything is too convenient. I mean, why would the unsub use something so publicly personal to them as part of their signature? It’s as if she’s overtly incriminating herself.”

Spencer checks back onto the pictures of the victims, then lifts his head up to look at Hotch to continue.

“Based on the way the victims are modeled, an immense amount of care was put into them. All for the purpose of making them look like the subjects in their paintings. Actually, the fixation on changing the bodies’ posture and keeping them clean is typically done out of remorse. But the added elements, like the placement of the paintings, creates an image of an unsub more on the narcissistic side. By creating two 'artworks,' they're prompting the viewer to decide which version of it they prefer. Mocking the original artist in the process.”

“So the paintings were done before the murder?”

“I have no reason to believe otherwise.”

His unit chief sighs and pulls over to the curb. “Well, we’re about to test that belief.” Spencer hurries to take off his seatbelt as Hotch closes the car door with a thud. 

—------

Hotchner nods at Reid as they find themselves in front of the written address Garcia gave them. He lifts his hand to knock firmly on your door, and waits for a response.

A thud from the other side causes both of them to assess each other before Hotch tells Spencer to stay behind him. Gun in hand until something, or someone, comes running at them.

But instead a muffled, “sorry” is heard right after, which causes him to lower his gun.

The door finally opens a crack to reveal a very tired twenty-something woman, some dark pigment or makeup smudged on their lower eye lines as they rubbed at it. She immediately fixed her posture however at the sight of the unexpected visitors. Eyes wide with concern.

“Dr. L/n, I’m Aaron Hotchner with Dr. Spencer Reid of the FBI.” He highlights his statement by showing his badge. “We’d like to ask you some questions.” 

“Oh, um,” The woman blinks rapidly and shakes their head before immediately saying, “Of course,” with a nod and opening the door wide to let them in.

A quirk that does not go unnoticed by Spencer, who observes how different she looks to her more formal ID photos.

—-----

You let the FBI agents into your apartment, but are now suddenly aware of the state of disarray you left it in last night. Not to mention the state you were in. 

You had just woken up and your brain wasn’t quite all there yet. If you had known you’d have guests over, you would have at least put some of your books and papers back onto their shelves rather than on your floor.

“My, uh—” You start, “Apologies! For the room and the um,”

You inhale deeply and gesture to yourself as you try to find the words before settling on an exasperated, “me.”

“No worries, miss. We don’t really call in advance.” You nod at the older man’s explanation vacantly before coming up with a response.

“Would you like anything to drink ?” You move to your fridge to get water to wake you up, and decide that it would be rude not to offer. The two decline, with the younger more busy observing your living room bookcase than the older one that sat on your couch. 

You notice that something must have interested him as he lingers on certain shelves. That section in particular had prints of dissertations you had been meaning to read, or have already read, in clear folders.

You wonder if he found his work there or something before returning with water for yourself. 

“So what can I help you with?”

“Dr. L/n, are you aware of the current string of murders that have been happening as of this year?” 

You blink rapidly again. The question catches you off guard, but you shake your head. 

“I know it’s a bad habit, and that I should, but I don’t really listen to the news.” Feeling your eyebrows quirk, you rub your hands together slowly. Making direct eye contact with Hotch, before looking at the younger man as he takes out a few papers from the folder he was holding.

“Are you familiar with these paintings then?”

 Now that piques your interest.

Dr. Spencer Reid, who sees a flicker of recognition in your eyes when it meets his own, presents various pictures of your artworks in what seems to be dimly lit areas. They’re a little dirty, but otherwise you would recognize them as your own.

 The thought instantly made something in your stomach turn.

“I–” You start, but shake your head subtly again. Unsure of what to say and how to say it next as you stare at the images. “am.” You turn your head to look back up at Spencer who nods thoughtfully.

“Recently, your paintings have been showing up at crime scenes in the D.C. area. Specifically, victims of an organized unsub that seems to be targeting people who accurately resemble the subjects in your work.” If your eyes weren’t wide enough, that bit of information had certainly opened them wider than ever before as you stared up at him.

“That, combined with the concentrated traces of 5-durastalene found in the pigments of the paint used, have led us to suspect your involvement in these murders, Dr. L/n.” You heavily feel the blink of your eyelids and rest your fingers on them to keep them closed before looking back at the two of them.

“I’m sorry,” you smile incredulously. “So you’re telling me that not only has Lunacite been identified on the paintings you’ve found, but that people who look like the personas in my private works actually exist and have since been–” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Murdered?”

“Well that shouldn’t come as a surprise, they were your muses, weren’t they? You were commissioned?” Hotch is the one who asks and you shake your head with wide eyes.

“I didn’t even know these people existed. They were just– faces I came up with mentally with the visual library I’ve amassed over the years. I don’t really make it a habit to paint from reference. Like I said, they were private.”

“And the chemical?” You thought for a moment before your lips thinned into a line.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Agent Hotchner, but I haven’t touched anything regarding that compound in over a year. I’ve only ever worked on it in my lab on university grounds, and I don’t make a habit of bringing work home.” You scratch the hairs near the base of your hairline.

“More importantly, hundreds of students and lecturers have access to my work, my research, and my lab space. Not to mention the people who might have heard my work through academic conferences.”

You move away from your position near the living room coffee table Spencer placed the pictures on, but picked up one before you did and shook your head.

“Besides, these paintings? No one should know about them, let alone have them. I didn't sell these.” That made Spencer’s brows furrow as he looked at the other photos still on the table.

“Do you have proof?” You stay silent, but then motion for them to follow you to the door of your room.

“Well, for one, I’m sure you’d understand that most people don’t make copies of their artwork traditionally, right? Expenditure of time, work materials, effort, human error, and many other variables. It just isn’t practical nor convenient.” You ramble and look back at them to continue.

“I also don’t make the majority of my art known online. Only a good 30% makes its way to my portfolio, and the others are never to be seen by anyone else.”

“They're studies. They’re made with cheap paints, they’re subjectively not appropriate for commercial use and-–I just wouldn’t be comfortable charging anyone for them.” 

They follow you across the room, and make themselves apparent behind you.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“So if my ‘commissioned paintings’ are currently on D.C. crime scenes, and possibly in MPDC evidence,” You open the door to reveal your studio to the two agents. 

Various paint tubes, books, and brushes littered the floor, table, and boxes. A lone easel was situated near your apartment window, with an unfinished painting on it. And various canvasses, not displayed, but instead kept on tall shelves. Only the differently colored edges indicated that they were ever used.

What surprised them both however, were the same paintings in the pictures staring back at them.

 Some on the walls, some on the floor, but what was most important was that they were in this room, they were clean, and there were more of them.

You turn to look back at them with shaky eyes. “So why are they still here?”

—----

Hotch and Reid stood outside of your apartment door as you cleaned yourself up. Hotch made the call to bring you to the precinct for further investigation and for your own safety, but allowed you to freshen up before leaving with them. Not that he told you about the safety part.

You were hard to read, given your erratic reactions. It unnerved him, but he supposes it comes with the territory of being gifted. You also offered to bring in your paintings and a few other materials for forensics to test, to which while he was suspicious of, was not ungrateful for.

He made a quick call to Garcia to check attendants of any academic conferences you’ve spoken at and if anyone had been more interested than the others. When he was finished, he looked to Reid who was crossing his arms and staring at the carpeted hallway before looking back at him.

“She’s uncomfortable.” He stated plainly.

“Reid, most people would be if they just found out their hobby had been getting people killed.” Hotch said as he kept looking at his phone for anything new from the others.

“There’s certainly that, but I meant her title. ‘Doctor.’” He said in quotes, and Hotch raises his eyebrow at that but allows him to continue anyway with a curt nod.

“I mean, every time we’ve addressed her with her title, she blinks faster. Did you know it’s a common attribute that’s directly related to an increase in heart rate, which is why they’re usually correlated with lying? Initially, you would think that she faked her experience to get those credentials, but given her educational background, she must have not been given an opportunity to be referred to as such for a long time. Also, the gap year she took could’ve only exacerbated any insecurities she might have about her intellectual achievements. Plus, the lack of organization in her own home, while not wildly uncommon amongst people her age, could suggest the sincerity of her belief about compartmentalizing her work and her private life.”

“And what does that tell you?”

As Spencer was supposed to answer, a thud much like the one they heard before they entered earlier was heard again, followed by a similarly muffled, ‘sorry.’

He turns to look back at Hotch again with a small, victorious smile.

“That she doesn’t fit the profile.”

——-

taglist: @littlewolfieposts

[improbable-outset]

📄 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐍𝐀 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.9k (short and not-so sweet🥲)

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Wife!Reader, heavy angst (no comfort), arguing, grief, hallucinations, birth complications. Italic writing indicates a flashback scene

𝐀/𝐍: Hey <3 missed me? If you follow me, you’ll know how much I’m fixating over Cyberpunk: Edgerunners. I’m still not over that ending with this song playing 😢 so I’m in an angsty mood rn

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Grief-stricken, Miguel struggles to escape the past as the lines blur between reality and haunting memories.

Miguel couldn’t remember the last time he felt this unhinged— like everything was held together but a fraying thread, moments from snapping.

His hands trembled by his sides as he stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him with a force that rattled the whole room.

The calm, peaceful night shattered instantly. Your head snapped up at the sudden noise, startled, your eyes widened as you looked at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he hissed, barely holding back the explosive frustration boiling beneath the surface.

You blinked, taken back by the intensity in his tone, but you stayed firm. “Like what? Aren’t you going to apologise?”

Miguel scoffed in disgust, a harsh sound that seemed to cut through your resolve momentarily. Apologise? Why should he be the one to apologise?

Out of everyone, at least you should have seen his side of things, to hear him out. But now, even his own wife seemed to be against him.

“Aren’t you supposed to stand by me?” His voice grew harsher, every word carrying resentment. But, you didn’t flinch this time.

“You’ve been pushing everyone away, you’ve been distant. And now you’re getting angry at me for trying to help,” There it was. the gentle, yet unwavering, voice you always used on him— a soothing balm that always calmed the jagged edge of his nerves.

You always managed to reach past the storm inside him. If it were a different night, any other fight, he might’ve collapsed into your arms and tucked himself between the dip of your neck.

But tonight was different. Tonight, everything felt like it was slipping out of his control. Most people had the luxury of worrying about their own corner of the world, their own issues.

But not him. For Miguel, there was no peace, no relief. The weight of entire realities hung on his shoulders, a responsibility so immense it threatened to suffocate him daily.

“I’m not getting angry,” he bit out, but the words came out hollow. If he grinded his teeth any longer, they would turn into powder any moment.

“Then what’s with the tone? Why are you speaking to me like this, Miguel?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he rose from the bed, crossing the room in quick, heavy steps. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrists.

His grip was tight, almost too tight, but he couldn’t stop himself. His frustration, his fear, all bled into his hands. He held onto you as though you were the only anchor in the world that stayed intact while his world crumbled around him.

“You have no idea what I’m going through right now,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

He saw the momentary surprise on your face at the sudden grip. But you quickly masked it with something more determined.

You wouldn’t let him pull you under him. “Then tell me. Explain it to me.”

“You don’t have to be the one to make all the sacrifices…” The ice was slowly starting to crack, the anger beginning to unravel into something more fragile. “You’ll never understand.”

There was no way you could understand. You weren’t a Spider-Person, you didn’t know what it was like to live like this— isolated, constantly fighting, knowing every small mistake, every canon that’s disrupted could mean one step closer to losing everything.

He could never be the husband you deserve…

~

Miguel pulled you closer in bed, his arms securely around you as the quiet of the night settled in between you both. The soft rustles of sheets was the only sound in the room that filled the silence.

“Jess seems to be adjusting well,” you murmured, tracing idle patterns on his biceps. “With her new baby, I mean.”

Miguel instantly knew you were referring to Jessica Drew, the Spider-Woman who was part of his inner circle at the Society.

Jess had always been a natural leader, diligent and reliable, so it was no surprise that she’d embrace motherhood with the same effortless grace.

But it was a pain in the ass finding someone to cover her duties during the last stages of her pregnancy, albeit he had never once doubted her ability as a mother.

“Yeah, she’s adjusting pretty well,” he said, voice low with the weight of the day tugging at his exhaustion. He let out a slight weary yawn before he continued. “She’s a natural.”

“She makes it look so easy,” you remarked, fingers still dancing lightly over his arms.

Miguel only nodded in agreement, too tired to fully engage. Your eyes fluttered close. Your touch over his arm was enough to lull him to sleep, sending shivers up his spine. But your next words kept him from slipping away completely.

“I’ve always wondered what it’s like…having a little baby depending on you. Watching them grow, helping them find their way in the world.”

He sighed softly, even with his tiredness, his mind drifted along with your thoughts. The idea of having a child, raising someone who would depend on him, shaping their future.

Being responsible to teach them what’s right and wrong and how to be respectful. It wasn’t new to him. He had thought about it before, though only fleetingly, given how much he already had on his plate.

He let out a soft hum at the thought. “I imagine it’s a lot of work.”

“Do you ever think about it?” you asked, your voice soft, as if testing the waters.

He hesitated for a bit before he answered. “Every now and then…”

“A family? You thought of having a family?” He could hear the hint of curiosity, maybe even hope, in your tone.

“Yeah I have thought about that plenty of times,” he admitted, his eyes heavy with sleep but the conversation kept him tethering to the moment.

You fell silent, and for a while, the quiet between the two of you was comfortable again. But Miguel was oblivious to your racing mind.

He thought that might be the end of it, that you would both drift off to sleep. But after a pause, you spoke again, this time more tentatively.

“Do you think I’ll be a good mother?”

Your question had a hint of insecurity to it, enough to stir him awake. Miguel opened his eyes and lifted his head, turning to fully look at you.

“Of course you would,” he said, trying to sound as convincing as he could. He gave you a reassuring smile. “You’d be an incredible mother. I have no doubt.”

“I really want a baby…” you blurted out, as if your hints weren’t obvious.

“Yeah…maybe someday, when things aren’t so complicated,” Miguel leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Someday…” you echoed.

Hope was always dangerous. Miguel learned that the hard way. It was like building a sandcastle too close to the ocean— no matter how much time or care you put into it, the tide will come and wash it away.

He wanted to give you everything you dreamed of— a family, a future— but everytime he tried to be optimistic, the fear crept back in, looming over him like a dark shadow.

Yet laying next to you, listening to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, he found himself daring to hope again. You made him believe there was something more, something worth risking for.

How long was he going to run away from the possibility of happiness? He had been playing defence for so long— saving the world.

But what if this was the one thing worth letting his guard down. The one thing he couldn’t afford to lose.

~

“You think I don’t understand? I’m here trying to support you, and you’re lashing out—”

“Every second of my life has been about sacrifices. I don’t get to choose what I want anymore, everytime I try it’s ripped away from me.” His voice was teetering with rage.

“Miguel…” you said softly. Your voice was a plea, but he didn’t hear you. He was far too gone.

“I’m here saving the world, holding the whole multiverse together.” He seethed, teeth still grinding. “I’m always the one who has to give something up. Always. When does it end?”

“Miguel,” you repeated, louder this time, but your voice still didn’t reach him.

“I’ve given up everything. My life isn’t mine anymore.” His voice cracked, raw with heated emotions. “It’s nothing but an endless loop of fixing someone else’s messes and losing! I’m losing everything, and now I’m starting to lose this…lose us.”

“Miguel!” you shouted, finally snapping him out of his heated trance, like a lifeline yanking him back to the present. His head jerked up to look back at you, but something felt off.

You seemed…fainter, like you weren’t even here. But he brushed it off, to rationalise it— maybe he was just exhausted and his mind was not fully in the moment. He blinked, shaking his head to clear his vision and bring you back to focus.

“You need to move on,” you stated, your voice fading in the air.

His frustration flared hotter. “What?” He scoffed at you. “Move on? From what? I can’t just walk away from all of this. You know that. I’ve already given up almost everything—”

“You’re just making this harder for yourself. You need to let go.”

He blinked again, harder this time, as you flickered slightly. What the hell were you saying? Why were you talking in riddles when he was clearly upset?

“What do you mean ‘let go’? I won’t just—” his words caught in his throat as the realisation hit him like a sucker punch.

He was talking to no one.

The memory-your death— the empty space where you should have been— rushed back with crushing force.

Miguel was dimly aware of the emptiness around him, and the fact that he was talking to the ghost is his own making.

His chest heaved. His pulse thudded in his ear.

His mind was a mess of memories and emotions all tangled together in a knot, and he couldn’t find his way out.

“I can’t…I don’t want to let go of you…you’re all I have left.” his voice cracked, the anger from earlier now dissolving into pure desperation.

The room felt colder now, your foam was barely visible. The outline of you was shimmering like a fragile illusion, on the brink of vanishing. “I know Miguel.” you whispered. “But you’re losing yourself, too.”

He reached out, gripping tighter onto your wrist, but all he felt was air where your soft skin should have been beneath his touch.

His eyes fixated on the spot where he believed you were to be, squinting his eyes in a desperate attempt to see you again.

“Miguel…you have to let go.” he heard you say.

“No, I don’t want to.”

He tried to grip tighter, trying to anchor himself to you, but your image was becoming more insubstantial with each passing second. He could only hear your voice in his head now.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He confessed. The pain and loss that had been twisting in his gut finally rose, bringing a flood of tears to his eyes. He tried to fight them back, but it was a losing battle.

Damn his eyes burned.

“You’re everywhere in my thoughts, in my dreams…and…” his words trailed off, his breath hitched as he fought back against the breakdown.

He couldn’t scrape off the thoughts of you in his mind, no matter how much he tried to keep himself occupied, to keep his mind busy.

You were always there and he didn’t know how to navigate through all of this.

“Miguel…” he heard you call his name again, but he didn’t want to listen to it, he didn’t want to face the reality that it wasn’t real.

“Don’t…” he choked, a futile effort of holding back his sobs that wanted to tear themselves out of his chest. “Don’t…say that. Please. I can’t…”

A helpless strangled sound escaped from the back of his throat. The pain was suffocating him, and he could barely breathe. No amount of pleading would bring you back.

“You’re…not really here,” he said to nobody, as if reminding himself, breaking his heart all over again. “You’re dead…I’m just deluding myself, imagining you're here with me.”

His hands finally dropped to his sides, fingers twitching helplessly as he stood in the deafening silence.

“Please,” he begged, his voice a quiet plea in the empty room. “Tell me I’m going to be okay…tell me you’re here for me…that you won’t let go.”

The silence felt suffocating, his chest tight as he searched the shadows for any traces of you. He felt like he was losing his mind, spiralling into madness without your voice and your words to pull him back from the edge.

Just one more time. He needed to hear you once more, to feel the comfort of your sweet reassurance.

But the silence persisted. Your figure was gone. He wiped his face roughly, swallowing hard against the crushing emptiness.

He had been trying to keep strong for so long, to keep everything contained. But at that moment, his exhaustion was catching up to him.

The weight of his loneliness and despair was too much to bear, squeezing the chest until the last bit of air was out of his body.

But the sound of a baby crying cut through the moment, drawing Miguel abruptly back to reality. His body went rigid as the sound wrenched something in his heart. It was the sound of your baby crying in the middle of the night.

Miguel hesitated for a moment, stuck between staying in the room— hoping the universe will be merciful enough to show the image of his wife again even if it was just a hallucination— or leaving to take care of the baby.

The weight of the responsibility and his fatherly instincts outweighs the former, and he let out a ragged breath.

He turned back to the wall.

“I have to—” he started, but the words faltered as he saw nothing. There was no one here to reassure him. No one here to answer.

The room was still empty. He wanted to stay in the room, and savour the remnants of the illusions in his head. The bittersweet bliss of your presence.

But the sound of the baby crying grew more persistent, calling for her father’s comfort. He stepped back reluctantly letting go of the hallucinations.

With a heavy heart and heavy footsteps, Miguel slowly made his way into the nursery, where your one-year-old daughter was crying, her arms reaching up, desperate to be held.

He still remembered the day you woke him up when you felt your first contraction. Your expression was a mixture of excitement and nervousness— a fragile joy clinging to the edge of fear. Miguel kept his grip on your hand, reminding you to breathe.

As the contractions intensified, he watched helplessly as your face twisted in pain. It aches him to see you suffer while he could do nothing but offer words of reassurance, as the nurse had told him.

Still, you held onto his hand, like it was the only thing keeping you tethering through the agony.

Finally, the moment came when you were ready to push the baby out. He'd never felt you grip his hand so hard, even with his broad strength. It felt like an eternity before Miguel saw you baby girl for the first time.

Miguel would never forget the look in your eyes when you saw her. He’d never seen your face light up like that.

But the joy was only fleeting. Little did he know at the time that the happiest moment wasn’t going to last. He hadn’t picked it up at first— the subtle changes in your breathing, and the way your hand went slack in his.

You were just tired, he thought. Just exhausted from hours of labour. But your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and your face clouded with confusion. He’ll never get over how you looked back at him, your face slowly growing to a panic.

The doctors rushed in, everything happening so fast. They told him to step back, but Miguel refused to leave. He couldn’t tear his eyes away as your body grew limp, a doctor frantically trying to resuscitate you.

It took several staff members to pull him out of the room, the baby still clutched in his arms. Hours later, a doctor returned, their sullen expression enough for Miguel to know what was coming.

Pulmonary embolism. That’s what they said. A blood clot had traveled to your lungs, cutting off your breathing— cutting off your life. The words blurred, his mind tuning out everything except for the high-pitched ringing in his ears.

No…that was the baby in his arms. As if she sensed the moment you slipped away. Her mother, once threaded to her by an umbilical cord, was now gone.

Miguel gently lifted her from the crib, holding her close against his chest. She quietened slightly, her cries turning into soft ragged hiccups.

Tiny fingers curled into his shirt, clinging to him as if she knew he was all she had left. Through the haze of grief, he could’ve sworn he saw you standing there— your figure, ethereal, stroking the baby’s hair away from her face with a tender smile.

A loving motherly look in your eyes. Could she feel it too? He shook his head, dispelling the vision, and continued to cradle your daughter.

She was so small, so fragile. And now, he was all she had. He was her father, her protector, her everything.

It’s okay mija. I’ve got you

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @nina-from-317 @stargirl-mayaa @ch3rry-bl1ss @monarchberrysblog @francesca-the-1st

@shakespear-picaso-lovechild @watertribeissuperior @kavimoo @ruled-by-regulus @lazyjellyfish300

@red-crystalize @devotion @riameriash @scaryplanetdestroyer

Here’s something to lighten the mood from that ending, since you lot are all here. I’ve made two….magazine inspired posters that I was planning to use for my ao3 work.

You can find the work here. A collection of ALL my Miguel one shots in one. And because I’m extra, I made a custom work skin with it and a Miguel playlist.

Title inspired by There’s Blood in my Hair. I wanted it to have the same jarring feel

Ayrus xoxo

[shawnxstyles]

man-handled

DATE: DECEMBER 4, 2023

summary: you get a little caught up in your boyfriend’s muscly arms and can’t help but imagine what it would be like if he man-handled you.

request: i thought it was but i guess not??

words: 5.1k

warning: SMUT (f- receiving (multiple orgasms, oral, fingering, throat-fucking), m- receiving (oral), slight daddy/sir kink, degrading, name-calling, dirty talk), language, and probably the shittiest ending ever

note: i’m so tired y’all

mafia!tom x reader

–

You weren’t usually like this. You weren’t known for being so horny to the point where you can’t think straight. You were known to be quiet, shy, and even a little innocent. But sometimes Tom brought out the worst in you. But you learned to like that side of you. The secret, dark, and dirty side that only Tom could unveil from you. Watching you unfold and come undone–no pun intended–gave Tom a deep sense of growing pride.

Every day he made it more obvious that he was the only one and that there would never be anyone else for you.

What was causing you to act so strange was a new obsession for you. You had been with Tom intimately numerous times, but he never failed to pleasure you immensely. You two have explored each other’s bodies inside and out, yet your mind still found things to obsess over. Currently, it was his arms.

His arms.

They were usually covered with different brand-name suits, all varying from gray to black. The sleeves always wrapped around his biceps snuggly, hinting at only some of his bulkiness. Usually, the sight of him in his suits when he left for work had you thinking about how hot he looked overall. But as you watched him leave this morning, your eyes couldn’t stop fixating on the packed muscle you knew was hiding under the black suit’s sleeves.

You’re not sure, but you think this newest obsession started last night by complete accident. That accident being Tom’s overwhelming dominance and control when he was fucking you.

Although you were on the quieter and more innocent side, it amazed both Tom and you that you were secretly fucked in the head just like him. You hadn’t even known it until you stumbled upon Tom. Sometimes, you think that he molded you to indulge in his kinks and fantasies, but he’s never forced you to do anything. If anything, it’s always you shyly asking him to do something more when a dirty thought pops into your head. He always makes sure to degrade yet praise you in the most addicting and twisted way.

Last night, while you and Tom were simply watching a movie, things got heated (it was never just going to be a movie). Tom had gotten home early and just wanted to relax. But the makeout between you two got hotter and you both got needier. When you moved yourself to his lap, gently rocking into him, his strong hands forced you to stay still. You remembered the bruises present on his knuckles and wondered if they still hurt when he squeezed your hips. You whined into his mouth before he picked you up easily, throwing you over his shoulder as you squealed.

“Always so greedy.”

Tom has picked you up and threw you over his shoulder before. Maybe the other times he was gentler about it, afraid to hurt his little princess even if you were completely okay with it. But that night, he didn’t seem to give a fuck. He had a difficult day at work, the evidence clear on his wounded hands, so maybe he took some of that aggressive out on you. After he had brought you upstairs, you were extremely drenched as his bulky arms tossed you on the bed.

But after that, he apologized for being so rough. He explained how he had a tough day and he was sorry for taking it out on you. It resulted in long, sweet, loving sex that you adored all the time because you got to see the part of him that no one sees. Just like that secret part in you that only he sees. Except, you weren’t yearning for his softness after being man-handled. No, you were looking to be fucked. Hard. You wanted it rough, messy, degrading, and straight sinful. The nastiest scenes flooded your mind through the night, hoping that you could relive one of them with Tom. As he fucked slow into you last night, your eyes couldn’t remove themselves from his bulging arms holding himself over his head. You watched as the muscles would work and his veins would pop out when he did a push-up, and it had you clenching around him pathetically.

What were you going to tell him when he came home?

For the rest of the day, you wandered around the house needily. You cleaned, you read, you reorganized, but nothing distracted you enough from your fucked-up thoughts and the pulse between your legs. One part of you felt ashamed for hiding it from Tom, but the other half of you didn’t care. It felt like you had your own little secret that no one knew. But then again, you really wanted to tell him because you wanted to see the results. And feel them…

When it was late into the evening, seemingly later than when Tom usually returns, you sighed to yourself. You brought yourself to bed, too worn out from your own desires nagging you down all day. If only Tom didn’t have a rule about touching yourself while he was gone, you would have been able to handle your dirty situation all by yourself. But no, Tom had to be insanely controlling and sexy about everything, just making your situation even harder to deal with. Just as your bare feet slip into the comforter, you hear the hefty front door open. Your head shoots up, instantly on high alert of Tom’s arrival. Just when you thought your body was relaxing, the sound of his approaching footsteps seem to heighten your hormone levels, veering away from homeostasis once again.

Tom peeks his head through the ajar bedroom door, body hunching over the door handle. He doesn’t say a word until he realizes that you are in fact awake, opening the door wider. He skulks closer to you, his body bulky and stoic just how you remembered it being this morning when he left. His hands at his sides had those infamous cuts and bruises that you always wrapped with bandages. He never wanted you to, you demanded that you do. Your heart pounds as your tummy tickles, wishing he could read your mind and just handle you the way you want him to with those bruised knuckles.

“Missed you today, Princess,” his thick hand rose to caress the hair on your head. You feel yourself lean into his touch, yearning it always no matter how intense or soft. You always craved to just feel him.

“Missed you too, Daddy. So much,” your hand reaches up and encloses around his wrist, squeezing softly. His hand gently pulls away as he sits beside you on the bed, and you nearly whimper at the loss of contact.

“What d’you do today?” Tom asked simply and softly, genuinely curious about your day. But finally with him next to you, your mind has gotten all fuzzy, and you feel like you’ve forgotten every word you’ve known. Your eyes haven’t drifted away from his arm since he pulled away from you, mind encompasses in the way he moves.

“I cleaned. I reorganized the shelves in your office. Oh, and I read too…”

Tom tried to listen to your dull list of activities, but he couldn’t help but notice how distracted you seemed. Maybe you were tired from all the chore-like things you did. But your eyes weren’t blinking as they started at his chest, clearly hazy with something. Something familiar.

“Yeah? And what did you read?”

“Um… I don’t remember,” your head started to tilt to the side as you licked your lips, lost in whatever thought was clouding your mind currently. Tom’s mouth curved just the slightest bit up at the airheaded state of you, wondering if you could be anymore adorable. The fact that you didn’t remember what you read, knowing you love reading, is what stood out to Tom the most. Something was obviously off, Tom just couldn’t figure it out yet.

“How was work? Do you need me to patch you up?”

“Work was stressful. People don’t listen and then ask why m’so harsh. And idiots like to go behind m’back and take stuff from me,” Your eyes fall onto his wounded hands.

“S’not nice…”

“Not nice at all, huh?” Tom reaches up to caress your face ever-so gently, not wanting to touch you too much with his open cuts.

“Come on. Let me fix you up. Please?”

Now, how could Tom ever say no to you?

–

Sometimes, Tom could be stubborn. Like right now, where he refused to sit down while you tended to his wounds because he’s saying that it won’t take long enough to sit. You want to roll your eyes in annoyance, but you don’t want him to see your attitude and punish you later. Or maybe you do…

He had his suit jacket off now and just his crisp, white buttoned shirt rolled up to the elbows. The skin that was untouched was smooth under your delicate touch, but his scars and fresh cuts, which were most likely old ones reopened, were rugged. You dabbled light pressure as you wiped away dry blood with the wet cloth, not afraid of hurting him because he barely blinks when he punches someone. He surely wasn’t phased by his girl cleaning up his damages like a little puppy trying to lick themselves better. That’s exactly what your touch felt like—little puppy licks and gentle pawing.

And when you applied the cooling ointment, his pain was eased, but he doesn’t think it was from the cream. No, he is a firm believer that you are his medicine. Your words, your touch, your soul was healing. Although he was your opposite in every way and he hurt people for a living while you mended people’s aches with your mere presence, he could never hurt you. Never.

So, when you’re all finished wrapping his hands with that rough cloth that’s an excuse for a bandage (it was all he had stored), he’s shocked by your blunt statement. You were rarely blatant about anything, especially when it had to do with sexual situations.

“Why did you apologize to me last night?” You just threw your words at him, hoping he caught them. He didn’t know that when you were fixing him up you were ogling his arms like a child in a toy store during the Christmas season. His veins were green, constant exploitation of work causing them to pop out more. He looked delicious and it made you crave him more than ever. Even more with his ripped up hands. You wanted the roughness and pain and the power to be instilled on you. You wanted him to take his particularly hard day out on you. Tom blinked, silently leading you out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. He tried to recall exactly when he apologized to you, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Clearly, work had gotten to his head too much.

“I don’t remember what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, darling,” Without a thought, he begins unbuttoning his shirt with his bandaged hands. He looked like something of a fancy man mixed with an underground boxer. Not the type of fancy that shows off his money, but the type that’s humble and real and works hard for what he wants. A man who made himself. And that’s exactly who Tom is; someone who built himself.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling like you’re under the spotlight. But you took a breath. “Last night, when we were having… sex… you apologized for being really rough.”

He flatly hums, indicating that you need to continue while he buttons his shirt. You could just faint from his sculpted, stony beauty that was hidden behind a few buttons and fabric. Unlike his knuckles, his skin was smooth and untouched besides his scattered tattoos. He had faint scars that you could barely see unless you were looking really hard (which in your case maybe you were). His build and figure used to intimidate you, but now, you’re just awed.

“Well… I kind of liked when you were rough…” Your words dragged out, especially as your head tilted down to face your lap in embarrassment. “You’ve never really been like that before and it caught me off guard, but in a really good way! I didn’t realize I wanted something like that until… yeah.” You weren’t embarrassed that you were attracted to your own boyfriend’s man-handling, but by the fact that you had to admit that to get what you wanted. Sometimes, you wish he could just read your mind, but life wasn’t a movie or a book, even if it felt like that from time to time with the life you live. Dating a mafia man was insane to visualize–those things only really happened in books. Or so you thought.

“You did?” You softly hummed, nodding your head. You could feel the heat radiating off of your cheeks, your heart thumping in your chest. You didn’t think Tom would reject you. That’s not why your heart was beating faster than its usual tempo. You were anticipated and your organ couldn’t help but be thrilled at what was to come. “You liked when I took my day out on you? Liked when I was a little mean?”

You crossed your ankles that had been hanging off the bed, biting your lip. You nodded, maybe a little too quickly, because you got slightly dizzy from the movement along with your amped hormones. You had that beat in your chest, but you also had that throbbing pulse in your lower body that has been aching since you watched him leave earlier that day. In the most Tom-way possible, he stalks over to you, torso bare while his trousers remain on. He’s slow and calculated, and it makes you even more anxious. When your eyes finally look up at him, he’s glaring down at you with blown-out pupils, a darkness swirling with the brown color of his irises.

He’s close to you now, inches away from touching you. But he doesn’t. You hear the clink of his belt loosening around his waist before it’s adoring his hand. His quick movements cause the leather to slap your bicep, making you gasp, but what he doesn’t do is apologize. You’re not sure if what he did was purposeful. Did he want to startle you and show you how rough he really could be? You never lingered too long on the idea of him using a belt on you, but if Tom was going to be man-handling you more often, then the thought would probably be more recurring. Tom shrugs off his pants as if they’re a bother, and by the large bulge outlined in his briefs, it seems as if they really are.

You hadn’t even realized you were licking your lips until Tom’s hand came up around your throat, thumb pulling it out. He tucks his thumb into your mouth, gripping it tightly.

“Drooling over m’cock and I’m not even fully undressed yet,” he removes his thumb before lightly tapping your cheek. “On your knees. Need to fill that filthy mouth.”

The devil on your shoulder wants to be a brat and not listen to him, but you’ve been craving this all day. If Tom knew what you wanted–which he did–his punishment to you would just be not giving it to you. And that’s not your ideal plan at the moment. So, you slide off the edge of the bed and onto the floor at his feet. The first thing he does is spread your thighs open with his ankle.

“You don’t get to squeeze y’pretty little thighs together while sucking me off. That’s rude, pet. Get as wet as you want, but if you close y’legs, you’re not comin’ tonight. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Your hands were waiting anxiously by your sides, clawing at the skin on your thighs. Your pussy was already clenching around its own wetness, unable to close due to his new limit.

“It talks,” his tone was sinister and demeaning. The kind that would make someone’s eyes twitch and hands fist in an argument out of irritation. But his works were fueling some type of sick need inside of you that needed to be sedated, and this seemed to be the only way to do it. And you didn’t mind it one bit. You fucking loved it. “Who knew such a slut would be so obedient?”

You knew better than to respond to that rhetorical question. Instead, you patiently wait for his smirk to rise in cocky pride before he finally slips off his briefs. Like every time you’ve seen his cock, it’s pretty. You didn’t know they were supposed to look so yummy and dream-like. He was smooth with inklings of hair scattered down at the base and his tip was a cute coral color that grew an angry red when he was hard. From the looks of it, he was pretty hard. His tip was leaking that delicious pre-cum you were dying to taste, even if you’ve had it thousands of times before. Having to sit and stare at his glory without touching was some type of punishment, you think.

His hand latches onto the base and the other grips the back of your head. He pushes you closer, tapping your cheek with his tip. You suck in a breath, readying to take him.

“You know what to do if it’s too much. And it will be.”

Tom shoves his cock into mouth once you’re open wide enough. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust to his size or explore his prick like he usually does. This time he’s quick and harsh like he’s trying to beat some type of record. But he’s still just as calculated as he always is, and you know he’s not just going to come fast because he can. Most men do that all the time when they want to get off briskly, but Tom wasn’t like that. He liked to take his time and appreciate the moment, edging you both just a little to make it a little fun. He always edged himself more though, forcing orgasms out of you before you would even touch him.

Your cunt pulsates around nothing, trying to grasp the pleasure he is holding from you. Hands clawing at his meaty thighs until your nails break the skin barrier. Moans attempt to escape your mouth, but are instantly shoved right back down your throat from his thick cock. Tom drills into you with no mercy, causing saliva to cascade down your chin in long strings. The muscles in your jaw ache from their open stance, begging for a break that you would never get. If it was too much you could easily tap his thigh a few times and it would all be over, but that’s exactly what you don’t want. You love that he came home after a stressful day and you could make him feel better. You didn’t want your limitations to restrict his maximum abilities when you secretly wanted more to begin with.

“Look at you letting me fuck this throat. This whiny, little throat and your filthy mouth. Always so fuckin’ needy for it,” his grip on your hair intensified, stilling your head from any movements you might subconsciously make. You’re not surprised when the tears finally start to leak from your eyes, rolling down your face in wavering streams rather than small rivulets. “I’m so big I made you a crybaby. That good, sweetheart?”

There were no words that were able to leave your stuffed mouth, only rumbles of moans that vibrated around his cock so dirtily that his head was falling back. Deep, guttural groans emitted from his rough throat, his movements never faulting. Even when you feel the tip of him twitching in the back of your mouth, he doesn't stop.

“Take it. I’m going to come and you’re going to take it. All you wanted was to be a storage for my cum, right?” Tom’s words were cruel and degrading, but they were the exact thing that got you off. Your stomach churned in lust, feeling a bit neglected, yet pleasured by him fucking your mouth.

He was going all out tonight and you didn’t want anything less. Tom didn’t even give you a warning about when he was coming, he just wanted you to take it. And who were you to defy him? When ropes of his much-needed release fired from his prick, you made sure to swallow every drop. He slowly removes himself from your mouth as your jaw aches immensely. Saliva and cum were lathered around your chin, coating your lips with the taste of him. Your hand lifts up to massage your jaw as you look up at the flames of lust in Tom’s eyes. You notice that there’s slight hesitation; he wants to default back into a caring lover rather than a dominant one. But even with the soreness in your jaw, you manage a smirk to let him know that you’re fine. You’re more than fine, and you’re more than ready to continue the rest of the night. You know that it will be your turn soon too at some point, right? That throat-fuck was torture for your sopping cunt. You’re mind-dizzyingly horny.

“What’s the matter? Your lip is all trembling and wet,” You didn’t even notice him stuff his prick back into his pants because you were so mesmerized by the taste left on your tongue and the ache in your jaw. He leans down, nearly level with you on the floor, but still hovering over your head. “Just like your pussy I bet, hm?”

Your entire body shivered from his words as if a frozen wind cascaded through the bedroom, but at the same time, your skin has never burned so fiery. His hands were quick to fit under your arms, lifting you up to your feet. When your thighs met again, they squeezed tightly to rid the incessant throbbing between them. You knew you were just soaking wet too–the kind that reached all the way to your bum once Tom laid you flat on your back. The kind that would drip onto the bed sheets if you were positioned on all fours with your rear up in the air. Tom loved to do every which way with you, but he was keen on watching your scrunched-up face relax once you came. The way your nose would wrinkle and eyebrows furrow, mouth just wide enough to slip a finger or two through. Which, of course, Tom would take advantage of. But right now, he wanted to taste you.

It had been such a long day, full of busyness and rage-work. He didn’t mind having to punch a face or two daily, especially when they wronged him significantly because then he got to do more than just a punch. The only part he hated was seeing your face in the aftermath. When he’d come home, he would see you all delighted to see him back and well, just for your expression to drop in concern at his wounds. Whether it was his hands (it was usually his hands), arms, chest, or even his face, you were relentless about fixing him up. Tom’s resistance was nothing to you, so eventually, he would just sigh and let you aid him. You had something of a magic touch because only you could make Tom feel better. Nothing like the doctors he had occasionally visited as a child or even his mother’s kisses. And now, his knuckles may be bruised and may be bandaged, but that would never stop him from taking care of his girl. Especially when his girl got all shy about wanting to be man-handled. He thought you were the most adorable thing really.

Usually, Tom would gently lay you back on the comforter and make sure you had a pillow underneath your head. This time, he didn’t even hesitate to throw your willing body like a ragdoll on the bed. The gasp you let out was practically a moan. His invasive, manly hands shredded your bottoms down your legs without a care in the world. You���ve never seen him so aggressive with you, but God, if it wasn’t exactly what you wanted. You had been craving this type of fucking, and now that you have it, well, you might just pass out from how good it’s all going to feel.

“This slutty little pussy,” he growls, thumb circling your throbbing clit. He can feel the way it swells underneath his rough touches, and he can hear the way your breath gets caught in your throat. You were always so delicate to him, like you would break if he held you too hard. But while you were soft, you were also strong, which is why Tom was able to treat you like this and you wouldn’t shatter like thin glass. “So weepy and wet. Who knew you were such a cock whore, hm? Or is it just for me?”

“You. Only you.”

Tom knew it was only for him. And of course, you knew it was only for him. No one has ever gotten you as wet as Tom has, and no one has pleasured you nearly as much. He strived to satisfy you until you begged him to stop, which no one had ever come close to doing. Every past partner you’ve been with always had to use lubricants because they couldn’t make you wet enough. You were always ashamed and embarrassed, but then you realized that’s how they should feel. Their performances are minuscule and rubbish; compared to Tom’s, they don’t stand a chance. But you didn’t bother with those past “lovers” anymore, because you had your one and only right in front of you. Or more like right in between your legs with his head on your thigh.

“Right. I’m feeling a bit hungry. You’ll let me eat, won’t you?” He widens your legs, forcing them to spread so you can’t suffocate him with your thighs. Lewd whines spill from your mouth as his breath hits your pussy, warm and close. “Oh, wait, I’m making the decisions.”

His lips lock onto your clit, sucking on the nub. You don’t conceal the moans that instantaneously begin to slip out of you like a mantra. He changes his rhythm, going firm and fast, and then slow and calculated. It was addicting, and it left you clawing at the bed sheets and curling your toes. His tongue swirls through your folds, collecting your juices and prodding inside of you.

No man has eaten you like Tom has. When they did it, they did it as if it was a chore. Tom does it as if it’s a reward.

He cherishes you, honors your body with his hands and mouth while also showing you who’s in control. It’s these things that make you utterly obsessed with him, thinking about him for twenty-four hours even when you see him at the start and end of every day. You were obsessed with the way his tongue was licking into you, desperate to consume every drop of your wetness until you were drained. His thumb returned to its home on your clit, pressing and holding as it throbbed beneath his finger. Your head spun as if you were drunk on a carousel, but it wasn’t nausea you were feeling. No, it was the ecstasy of pleasure building up inside of you as you approached your high.

“S-so close. Fuck—”

A slap to your inner thigh caused you to squeak into the heated air. Tom never cared when you cussed before, but the fact that he did now was another little turn-on that just got added to the list. Seriously, what was wrong with you?

His mouth popped off of you, thumb never letting up on your clit. He cleanly slides his middle finger through your slick folds, easily curling it inside of you. Even with his wounded and wrapped hands, his thrusts are flawless and perfectly paced. The sandy texture of the bandage occasionally itches your inner thigh, adding a delicious stimulation to your skin. As he pumps his digits inside of you, you are aware of the muscles in his arms flexing, which makes you clutch tightly around him.

“Oh, what’s got you so tight?” You groan at his words, not responding clearly. “Don’t be a brat.

“Your a-arms,” You can’t help but moan as he curls his fingers inside of you again.

“Yeah?” he hovers his body over you now, one arm supporting his bulky weight right beside your head. It was exactly like how you had remembered it and you didn’t even have to tell him. His bicep was next to your head, pulsing and working to keep him up right. You could feel and hear him grin and grunt every time you squeeze tightly around his fingers. “You’re the filthiest fuckin’ girl I’ve ever seen. The way you’re taking my fingers I just know you’re wishing it’s m’cock.”

Your skin was on fire. Your hair was a mess. Your head was going to evaporate into a cloud of lust. And your body was an oozing waterfall. That’s the only way to describe how you felt.

His transitions are natural and effortless as if he could do it with his eyes closed because he’s mapped your body out so well. But no matter how many times you’re with him, you’re still withering beneath him, shaking until your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami. He tilts his head, licking his lips before whispering in your ear deeply.

“Since you’ve been crying for it all day, come. Go ahead. Soak my fingers. Soak the fuckin’ sheets.”

You topple over your orgasm into a pool of pleasure, indeed soaking his hand and the sheets beneath you. As your body becomes hypersensitive, you wiggle away from his touch, only for him to hold you in place. He snatches your hips, stills them roughly with a press of his bandaged hands.

“I’m not done here, sweetheart. For this one, I want you to be as quiet as possible. Can you do that? Or are you inclined to let the neighborhood know who is making y’come this many times?”

Tom was incessant about making you come a magnitude of ways that night, all with specific rules. One with no touching, one with no moving, one with no moaning. It was a rollercoaster of crying and orgasms. To say you were exhausted was an understatement, but you’ve never felt more refreshed and satisfied.

You were so tired that when Tom left to begin your aftercare, you had passed out on the messy bed sheets.

—

i rushed the ending so much, but i felt bad that i’ve posted in so long and i’m just so busy that i never have time to write anymore

taglist:

@motheroffae @noa217 @nelly-belly97 @spidermanffh3000 @rugbeat3000 @mysticdaisy21 @emilyparkerholland @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @theslayerofthevampires @breaxthing @eatshitanddiee @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3

crossed out= not able to tag

[ovaryacted]

*clears throat* subspace!Leon. That is all

MDNI/18+. NSFW.

Yeah, yeah…yeah. Let’s fucking cook for a second. (I’m gonna write this out in a rush at work so if it’s choppy I’m sorry lmao).

Let me set the scene: Leon completely fucked out and a mess after feeling so good. It doesn’t matter what exactly was done, what position he’s in, whether he’s on top or more on the receiving end. He’ll just turn into a whiney mess and craves more attention and affection. If he’s in missionary, he’d dig his face into your neck and wrap his arms around you, probably start crying and mumbling in your ear because he has no filter when he’s in subspace. He says the first thing that comes to mind: I love you, you feel so good, more more more. His inhibitions are just completely unrestricted, and he gets clingy and more desperate even if he’s the one fucking you.

But if you’re the one fucking him? That’s another story.

Whether that’s you riding him without stopping, edging him, or fucking him with the strap, he’s a goner. Leon isn’t used to being so pliable, to be put in the position to just receive. Pulling on his hair or biting at his ear will send him into a frenzy, touching him any which way after he’s climaxed twice makes his mind go blank. Every part of him is sensitive and hyperaware, twitching and on edge the more you do or say to him. He can’t think, can’t speak, can’t describe how he feels or can verbally say what he wants. He just lets you use him in a way, wants you to get off because what helps you reach that edge is what arouses him by default.

Leon would have his hands everywhere, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, all glassy and unfocused. Tears would be rolling down his flushed cheeks, and his breathing is just so shaky, his chest rising and falling with every groan and whimper he releases. The moment he hits the edge of overstimulation, his brain just stops working, talks incoherently under his breath and continues to whine like a bitch in heat.

You’d have to be gentle with him, make sure he doesn’t slip too far because he can. Leon finds comfort in the lack of control, in the ability to no longer have to think and have someone else lead. It’s what he wants, what he needs, what he craves.

His lips would be everywhere too, having an oral fixation he needs to have something in his mouth to calm down or to stay present in the moment. Your favorite thing to do is to guide his face towards your chest, letting him suck at your nipples while you run your fingers through his hair as you fuck him. He whimpers when he gets to do that, just sucks on them comfortingly and hums mindlessly as he does. If he’s really that deep into subspace, he’ll call you Mommy under his breath and will get upset if you pull him away from your chest too soon.

After you’re done with him, it’s all softness and affection for the rest of the time. Gently caressing his body, telling him affirmations and words of love and affection as he comes back from the immense high. You don’t rush Leon from the comedown, and depending on how intense it is, he’ll need more attention or more time with you for reassurance and comfort. Anything he needs, you’re willing to provide, because it’s what he deserves and because you love him. Simple as that. You make him feel safe and loved in his arms, and it’s so easy for him to slip away into sleep knowing you’d be there in the morning when he wakes up.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo being your enemy (or lover?)

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Word Count: 1,4k

Synopsis: Your family told you over and over, pounded it into your head since childhood: Satoru Gojo is your enemy, you are simply not allowed to feel anything but hatred towards the Gojo clan. But why do you find yourself lost in his arms each and every night, begging him to love you right?

Warnings: mentions of smut, it's getting heated (intimate touching) but not "real" lol, language

Finally, my first fic after quite some time! Let me thank every single one of you for your patience and sticking with me, I'd be more than honored if you show some love 🤍

„There you are, I searched everywhere for you.”

Just the sound of his melodic voice sends shivers down your spine, makes you break out in sweat. God, it should be forbidden to be this gorgeous, it shouldn’t be allowed for a man to be this charismatic. But oh, Gojo Satoru is. And you hate the way you feel about him.

“And I avoided you as good as I could.”

But at the same time, you can’t keep your mind off him, can’t keep your hands to yourself, can’t stop yourself from shamelessly staring at his delicious jawline, can’t control the urge to get under him. His body pressed against yours, skin to skin while he whispers the filthiest thoughts into your ear until you scream his name into the night.

“You know we’re alone, right?”

The raspy tone in his voice makes your eyes dart up in an instant. You know all too well you shouldn’t even look at him, that you need to keep your safe distance. Why is it so damn hard to resist him? The curse of your family, the enemy of your bloodline. Your family and the Gojo clan hated and fought each other since the beginning of time, making your whole childhood consist of nothing but hatred towards their golden child. But that golden child circles around you like a hunter around its prey, takes off your clothes with the sheer force of his bright blue orbs alone.

“We shouldn’t be.”

Your mouth is dry like the desert, the overwhelming feeling of losing your consciousness eats you up alive. It’s so wrong to stand in front of him, to let him linger over you with his much taller frame. Gojo Satoru is your worst enemy, the one and only thing your family warned you about. Why is it so damn easy to fall head over heels for him?

“You know you can leave anytime. I’m not forcing you to stay with me. But if you do you won’t regret it.”

You swallow down the lump building up inside your throat, doe eyes fixated on his dangerous ones. If they’d see you here, only inches away from the greatest member of the Gojo clan, you’d be screwed to infinity.

“We can’t do this anymore. We’ve already crossed that line way too often. You and me, we are…”

“Enemies, lovers? It’s completely up to you, (y/n). I couldn’t care less about my family’s opinion-“

“You should care, though. Our lives depend on it”, you reply urgently.

“Don’t you know who I am?”

His deep chuckle almost sends you over the edge, the way his eyes linger over you makes you hold your breath. That way too confident bastard who thinks the world belongs to him exclusively, who thinks he’s a god walking on earth. How much you hate his cocky smile, his immense powers, his arrogant appearance. Somehow your family is right for hating him, somehow you get why they want you to stay away from Gojo Satoru.

“You’re an arrogant bastard”, you bite back.

“Watch that mouth, (y/n). Why are you still here, huh? Feel free to leave if you wanna get away from me so bad.”

Your heavy breaths hang in the heated air between both of you. Just one stretch of your finger would be enough for your fingertips to brush over his broad chest. Just one touch would be enough to light the fire between both of you again. Why do your hands start to shake all of the sudden? Why is your heart almost beating out of your chest?

It’s because of him.

“Leave”, you press out while moving an inch forward.

“Just leave and never come back.”

“Or what?”, he breathes out, caging you between the cool wall and his burning body.

Get yourself together, think about your family. Gojo Satoru is your enemy despite being a jujutsu sorcerer as well, you aren’t allowed to even talk to him, you should leave right here and now, you-

“Fuck”, you hiss through gritted teeth before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him towards you roughly.

You press your lips against his as hard as possible, teeth brushing over each other, making your lips swell in an instant. His strong arms are immediately wrapped around your frame, keeping you in place while he teases you with his tongue. Without mercy, over and over. You can’t catch your breath, hands searching for hold on his shoulders.

“I hate you”, you jeer against his parted lips before wrapping your legs around his hips.

“Oh yeah? Then let me show you how much I hate you as well”, he bites back, kissing that sweet spot on your neck that makes you see stars.

You can’t help but moan, press yourself even harder against the growing sensation in his pants, digging your nails into his uniform. God, how much you hate that guy. You shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t let him come near you, shouldn’t allow him to even touch your body.

Suddenly his hand wanders down your body, further and further until he cups your crotch roughly.

Fuck.

This feels so good.

No, it feels so bad.

“S-Satoru”, you whimper softly.

Your melodic voice sounds like music in his desperate ears, makes his skilled fingers pick up their pace in an instant. Oh, how precious you look with your eyes rolled backwards into your skull, how well his name suits your filthy little mouth.

This. This is right where you belong. Between his arms with his hand between your thighs.

“You like that, huh?”

You press your lips together and close your eyes, try to escape the sensation that builds up inside of you. No, you shouldn’t feel this good, you shouldn’t let him have this much power over your body. Screw Gojo Satoru and his skilled hands, screw that bastard for always making his way into your pants.

“Hell no I don’t.”

“Is that so?”, he teases.

Roughly, he snatches his hand away and cups your cheek, forcing your glossy eyes to look up at him. He looks absolutely delicious with his hair being a wild mess and his puffy lips ready to get kissed again.

No.

You shake your head, avoid his gaze. This is wrong. You shouldn’t even be here. If you leave now and go back to your apartment, you are able to pretend that none of this ever happened. Yes, Gojo Satoru will be nothing more than a comrade you have to endure, nothing but a plague in your life. Everything will turn out alright if you leave right here and now.

But your hands still hold onto his shoulders for dear life, you still whimper softly with every breath you take, your heart still races in desire. Fuck, why is it so hard to let go of him?

“I give zero fucks about our families hating and fighting each other. I want you and nothing else, you understand? We don’t have to do this in secret, you don’t have to pretend that you hate me while you don’t. I want you, (y/n). And I need to have you.”

You hate the way his words make shivers run down your spine, how your heartbeat picks up in an instant. The thought of having him alone is enough to almost send you over the edge. But oh, how could you forget his reputation with women, the things you’ve heard from Shoko? You are nothing but a trophy for a man like him, nothing but a price he hunts after.

You take a deep breath in and out, tame down your beating heart. He might be hot, but he’s still your enemy. Don’t forget where you came from, don’t let yourself fall because of a man.

“You only want me to brag about it. I’m not just one of your many toys, Satoru. And I’m too good to be yours. I’d rather keep you as my enemy.”

With a swift motion, you free yourself out of his grip, remove your touch from his burning skin. Fuck, should you turn around and fall back into his open arms, let him fuck you until you see stars like usual? As much as your body begs you to stay, as much as you miss his touch, you can’t.

After all, Gojo Satoru is your enemy, right?

…Right?

Tags:  @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly  @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

i am confused

Making this its own separate post + expanding on it so it doesn’t get lost in the quagmire that is the book 7 part 8 update 💀

Feel free to let me know your own thoughts or theories too, I’m just rambling here.

***Spoilers below the cut!!***

So like… Is anyone else confused as to how Silver can use his UM Meet in a Dream so many times with NO ONE making a comment about how he's building up a considerable amount of blot???????

Vargas Camp seems to suggest that using one's UM typically uses up a considerable amount of magic compared to a non-UM spell. (The boys felt it would be dangerous to cast UM without at least a sizable magestone.) This is not true of all UMs though; Kalim's Oasis Maker, for example, allows him to offer up a small amount of magic to produce a great amount of water. So let's say for argument's sake that Silver's UM is similar to Kalim's and does not require a ton of magic per use. (Edit: this detail is confirmed true in the recent update.)

But??? That still doesn't make a ton of sense???? Silver was in constant battles against Silver Owls while in Lilia's dream, meaning he is physically being chipped away at. No matter how physically fit, capable, or well-trained he is, Silver is only human and his stamina and perseverance has its limits. He also suffered immense emotional distress in Lilia's dream after realizing that he is the son of the man who killed Malleus's mother ON TOP of having doubts that he is worthy of Lilia's love AND fixating on how no matter how hard he tries, he can never truly "pay back" his father. I guess it can be argued that the pixies healed them on their trek (+ there was that one scene where Lilia and co. rest in a Silver Owls camp) and that Silver "got over" his feelings after Sebek shouted at him about how much Silver is loved... Even then, that's not really a good explanation??? Silver climbed up those daunting mountains surrounding Castle Blackscale--mountains which have oppressive magic that harms humans. This is POST-pixie encounter, so he'd still be walking in with damage from that, not to mention the blow of lightning magic he took from Maleanor???? I'd also think that while Sebek's pep talk (well, pep shout) helped clear Silver's head, it wouldn't invoke a sudden character change on the spot; Silver would no doubt still have lingering feelings and would need time to properly sort them out and reconcile with them. They haven't been addressed in full yet, at least not until Silver can like get some closure on his own terms, maybe by sitting down and talking with Lilia about everything they learned. (That's definitely a topic for post book 7 though.) Now think about how many times Silver is expected to use his UM. At minimum, he has already used it 4 times (to show up in Yuu's dream, then to hop into Sebek's dream, then Lilia's, then Idia's). In the most recent update, Silver has used it no less than an additional 4 times (to jump from Idia's dream to Epel's, then to Rook's, then to Vil's, then to presumably a Scarabia boy's which is where the next update will likely pick up). THAT'S ALREADY 8 TIMES????? And he has like 11 or 12 more dreams to visit, including having to jump back to Idia’s dream and then prep for fighting Malleus???? It's like 20 times Silver is expected to use his UM, with very little down time in between because... oh yeah, TWISTED WONDERLAND IS ABOUT TO HAVE ETERNAL NAP TIME IF THEY DON'T HURRY TF UP 🤡 That's not even mentioning the increased loads each time Silver casts his UM (since they're collecting students like Pokemon to gang up on Malleus). If previous UMs imply anything, more people should make it more difficult to pull off a spell. Ruggie had to use a magic-enhancing potion to control a whole statium, Cater is strained the more clones he creates at any given time. Jamil's hypnosis magic cast upon a group causes him to accumulate blot so much faster. Shouldn't this be a major concern for Silver??????? Should I be concerned for Silver????????

Don't get me wrong, I love that we're able to dream hop and see what each of the main cast characters are dreaming of, but 💦 I don't know if I should be worried or not about Silver's health???????? Because I could see why the devs would just hand wave it off in this instance (cuz how else are they going to travel to each dream and save the world? They're kind of on a time crunch here...), but at the same time I can see it going the other way and sort of breaking immersion?? Unless this is all intentional and they're going to jumpscare us with a Silver OB or him struggling against it later in book 7 💀 (I mean... the guy hasn't gotten his limited SSR for book 7 yet, so maybe it'll be related to this???)

Or is it just possible for him to break the limits of his magic since this is a dream...? We’ve seen other characters OB at will and be able to seemingly stay rational while in that form... but if that's the case, then why does Silver still feel tired and physically worn down in Lilia's dream after fighting so much? Why do they worry about taking too many hits and actually dying within the dreams? Can't he theoretically stay at "perfect" health after using his magic so much???

Does it not count as using “real” magic since they’re in a dream and therefore have much more flexibility in how they spellcast?? Or is it that it’s their dream!selves casting so it’s not real magic since it’s not their physical forms spellcasting…? Is blot accumulation slowed since Silver is technically sleeping and rest helps with healing from blot?? But then how does that impact their real bodies if at all?

I DON'T KNOW, I'M CONFUSED OTL

[wanderingxiao]

Thirst post~ Being married to Scaramouche and becoming super needy while he's at work. Will he come home or nah?

Suggestive Themes, 18+ only plz~ 💜

✨Scaramouche’s Sexting Experience✨

“Sir? Are you okay?” The senior manager of the Fatui computer company was staring intently at his personal phone, his gaze fixated and intense in its contents. His mind was elsewhere, not hearing one of his employees asking him a question. The dark lavender eyes of senior manager Scaramouche were glazed over and immensely intense. His pupils blew out in lust seeing the suggestive string of texts he had gotten from his sexy wife, you. 

Wife💀: Scara baby! I miss you <3 I missed you in bed this morning. I was looking forward to tell you aaaalllllll about my wet dream about you ;)

He texted back anxiously, his thumbs flicking across his screen as he typed out his calculated reply to your lewd words. He could already feel a certain tightness growing in his neatly pressed slacks. A noticeable clench came to his jaw, making the employee think that his manager was enraged at whatever he was looking at on his phone. In truth, he was trying to hold back a low groan of anticipation. 

ScaraBae💜: You know I have to work, dumbass. Why don’t you give me a show and I might come home early to reenact your dream yeah? 

Wife💀: Mmm, I think I can do that 💜

“Sir-“ 

“What.” He snapped aggressively, reluctantly pulling his dark lavender eyes off of the screen in front of him. “T-The e-expense reports.” The employee sticks a shaky hand out to him with papers in his hand. A rumble came from his phone, and he quickly looked back, eyes fixating on the notification that you had sent him an image. “Yeah, yeah, give them to Childe, I’m busy.” With that, the senior manager walks away to his office quickly, leaving the poor nervous employee standing there with the expense reports. Once he arrived, he sat at his desk and started to fiddle with his belt buckle with one hand while the other typed in his passcode, which so happened to be the date you both got married. His dark lavender eyes narrowed in hunger seeing you sprawled back on your shared bed, your thin shirt showing your erect nipples. 

Wife💀: Is this good enough for you baby? Or do you want more? ;) 💜

A low growl left his throat at your snarky reply, his thumb sliding quickly across his screen in quick precise motions to reply while his other hand finally got the buckle of his belt undone. Your teasing was going to be the death of him. 

ScaraBae💜: I’m getting a bit bored with this image. Show me something more. 

His breathing had increased slightly, his teeth catching his bottom lip to chew on it in anticipation waiting for another image. Once you sent it to him, a low and deep groan rumbled from his chest. You had sent a picture of your shirt raised up to your neck, lovely teeth holding the fabric up while your breasts lay on full display for him. One of your hands was up against one of your boobs, pinching the hardened bud between your nimble fingers. His eyes caught sight of your wedding ring snuggly around your ring finger, and he couldn’t help but get harder at the simple knowledge that you were his, permanently. 

Wife💀: Is this more acceptable for you, Master? 

God he could just hear you calling him that as he fucked your sensitive cunt into the mattress of your bed, never relenting until he had you creaming on his cock over and over again. 

ScaraBae💜: Hmm. Better. What else you got? Slut. 

His fingers gripped the zipper of his pants, pulling slowly while the sound echoed in his ears. The palm of his slender yet rough hand slid over his painfully hard erection, putting pressure against the shaft before releasing a frustrated sigh. He wanted to see you now. He needed you, now. Your next reply was a video. His eyes widened in surprise before they became heavily lidded by his overwhelming desire. His thumb pressed the little play button and the first thing he heard was a call of his name, his real name. 

“Kunikuzushi… please come home.” Your breath was raspy and laced with ecstasy. The phone was positioned to see your desperate expression. A small saliva stain blemished your thin shirt, drool escaping the side of your lips. Your fingers were playing with your nipples, rolling and pinching the buds between your fingers before your hand slid lower. “Please come home, baby…” He watched with sharp eyes as your hand entered your silky panties, knuckles announcing the position of your fingers. A grotesquely lewd squelch came from his phone, following closely by a hushed moan as your eyes scrunched in pleasure. “Kunikuzushi…” 

ScaraBae💜: Take it all off. 

He set his phone down for a moment, his eyes never leaving the screen as he impatiently waited for your next sultry video. Both his hands were fumbling with pushing his pants down and slipping his hardened length out of the confines of his boxers. A slow yet loose languid stroke of his cock sent shivers down his spine. He picked up his phone and watched with baited breath as your next video came through, the image before he pressed play already making his grip tighten, his hand moving up and down at a slow pace as he clicked play with his free hand. 

“Hmm, Kuni! P-Please… look at me. Look h-how needy, hah, I am for you.” God how he loved the way your lewd eyes stared directly into the camera the entire time you spoke to him. Your fingers were moving steadily inside your core, sinfully wet noises coming from the speakers of Scaramouche’s phone. “Kuni, I want y-you inside me, hah… I want your d-dick inside me… s-stretching me- Hmm! -out so d-deep! Please, Kuni…” Oh how you wish you could see the darkness in his eyes as you call his name like that. His hand gripped at the base of his cock, sliding it up to squeeze against the tip, pre-cum leaking from the raging redness of the head of his length. The video unfortunately ended, much to his dismay. Instead of asking for another… 

He video called you. 

He relished in the way you answered the call, out of breath with a lewd expression on your face. You couldn't even call his name out properly before he aggressively asserted his dominance over you with a cold and domineering tone. "Shut that whore mouth up, I didn't give you permission to speak so freely to me. All I wanna hear are your moans for more." His forehead began to glisten with sweat, his indigo eyes tracing the voluptuous curves of your body sprawled out and succumbed to pleasure with only the thought of him in your mind. "Show me. Show me that pretty pussy."

"Hmm, Kuni-!" Your hands were shaky, the images on Scaramouche's screen blurred as you struggled to keep your hands steady. As the phone lowered between your legs, Scaramouche couldn't help but lick his lips, his mouth salivating at the sight of your glistening folds covered in your arousal, fingers knuckle deep as you imagined him touching you. "Spread those pretty lips and let me see your slutty hole." He demanded next, his hand moving more furiously against his cock, squeezing against his tip making his hands slippery with his pre-cum. "Beg me. Beg me to come home and fuck you."

"Kuni please-! I-Im so desperate for you it hurts!" Your pretty fingers parted your lower lips, gorgeous pink filling Scaramouche's vision as he groaned in bliss seeing your hole clenching around nothing, practically calling him to come fill you full until your conformed to his shape alone. "I want you inside me, filling me up, making me yours over and over again. I want be your good girl, please you so good." He chuckled darkly, sneering at your cute whines and whimpers for his thick cock. "Yeah? Then fuck yourself on your fingers, and don't you dare cum."

He angled his phone down to his hand jerking at his cock. His wedding band gleamed against his finger, speaking in the dim light breaking through the shades. Scaramouche leaned over, his face near his phone while heated pants left his mouth, a dry laugh echoing on your end. "So pathetic. Needing me w-while I'm at work. Anyone could've f-fucking seen those pictures if I wasn't careful. You wanted to get found out d-didnt you? Hah, so I would come home and fuck you raw and dumb. Hngh, fuck!"

Your fingers had long been stuffed back inside your need hole, two fingers squelching in and out with slick arousal slowly beginning to drip onto your thighs and stain the bed sheets. Scaramouche was getting close, balls tight and heavy, his breathing becoming more erratic with low growls and grunts as he neared his release. Your lovely moans of bliss accompanied by your pleas of his name and your overwhelming desire made his head spin. Accented by the wet noises from your sexes he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

With a husky groan and a flurry of strained curses, his grabbed a napkin on his desk and covered his cock, cumming into the napkin with heavy pants, his hand loosely and slowly helping him ride out his high. His eyes flickered up to his screen once more, seeing the phone forgotten on the bed with your fingers desperately trying to reach your own release. A dry laugh resonated from his chest, his hands wackily fumbling to clean himself up and get the fuck outta there.

"Heh, can't even get yourself off without me there to stuff you full? Seems like you need some help darling. What kind of husband would I be if I don't fulfill my wife's needs? I promise ill make you cum until you fucking blackout when I get home. You can wait 10 minutes can't you?" With an out of breath affirmation from you, Scaramouche fixed his jeans and slicked his indigo bangs back that threatened to stick to his sweaty forehead and grabbed his keys. "Im on my way home. You better have those legs spread when I walk in, cause you're getting punished for being such a needy cock slut."

Thanks for reading 💙 Xiao fic is in the works. I love that cute lil' adeptus hehe 💙

-WX

[mysaintkitten]

Face riding Martin from retreat please

omg i’m so glad someone asked ..

Ride It | Martin x fem!reader

prompt: martin desperately wants you to ride his face (NSFW!! NO MINORS!!)

WARNINGS: oral (f receiving), premature coming (lol ??)

word count: 1.3k

“come on! pleaaaaase!” martin begs, “we came to this island to spend time together alone! and now that we’re here, your deeply devoted husband wants you to sit on his face. is that too much to ask?”

you shuffle through your mental list of pros and cons, “what if i suffocate you? or hurt you? you have asthma, martin!”

“i will die a happy man.” he responds unfazed

you giggle and sigh, “okay, okay, maybe. let’s talk about it later.”

he grins widely before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, “that’s what i like to hear.”

as the day goes by the topic goes seemingly unmentioned, but martin didn’t forget. the glimpse of approval you gave him had his mind fixated on it for the entirety of the day. it didn’t help that you were the only person around as well, whenever he saw you all he could think about was you sitting on his face. using him to get off. he wouldn’t consider himself submissive, but when it came to your pleasure he’d get on his hands and knees for you.

the hours passed and you and martin did regular, couple-like things. cooking together, cleaning up together, eating together, taking a shower together, the shower wasn’t even sexual. it was intimate, but sweet. you cleaned his hair, and he washed your body, and you enjoyed each others presence.

the evening progressed and eventually you ended up in bed together. he kisses along your neck and jaw, smiling against your skin as you giggle softly.

“so ..” he hums into your neck, “about that offer .. can i get an answer?”

you groan, “martin, i’m not sure.”

he whines, “please baby,” he slides his hand down between your legs and begins to rub you through your panties, “i want to, so bad ..”

you moan at his actions and his desperation, knowing how badly he wanted to please you gave you immense amounts of confidence.

he pulls his head out from your neck while slipping his hand into your panties to rub you directly, “please?” he whispers

“o-oh-“ you gasp quietly, finding it harder and harder to deny him, “okay, fine, i’ll do it.”

he grins from ear to ear as he pulls himself away and takes his hand out of your panties, laying his body flat beside you. you slip off your panties and begin to straddle his chest.

“wait, take this off first.” he asks while grabbing your shirt. you hesitantly comply, feeling a bit awkward being fully naked while he’s still completely clothed.

you toss your shirt to the side and scoot yourself forward until your knees are on either side of his head and your hands are on the headboard.

you look at him from below you, you can’t see his mouth but you can tell he’s still smiling. he runs his hands along the outer sides of your thighs while placing small kisses on your inner thighs.

“now, lower yourself down ..” he whispers as he sneaks his hands up to your hips, gripping them as he pulls you down so your pussy connects with his mouth. you slowly sink yourself down while reminding yourself to not rest your full weight on him, the last thing you want to do is hurt him.

he groans against you as your pussy meets his tongue, he wastes no time and begins to suck your clit, your knees almost give out.

“a-ah, martin ..” you moan, the sensitivity of your clit making you involuntary jolt up away from his tongue slightly, he mumbles some sound of disapproval before pulling you back down onto his mouth, this time deeper with more pressure. you’re not hovering above his face anymore, you’re full on sitting.

you allow yourself to give in, martin clearly wants it like this, worst case scenario he could smack your thigh if he needed air.

he continues to lap you up, shifting his face around so he can tongue your hole while teasing your clit with his nose, you whimper loudly at the sensation. he’s given you head before, obviously, but never like this.

as he sticks his tongue out flatly, he moves your hips forward and back, guiding you riding his face.

you start to pick up on his not so subtle hints and laugh breathily, “you want me to ride your face?”

you glance down at the man beneath you, he looks euphoric, half-lidded and dazed with blown out pupils, he nods lazily. he’s so incredibly hard his mind has gone completely blank, all he wants is to be a warm mouth and stiff cock for you to use and abuse until you’re happy.

you roll your hips without his guidance, moaning louder as he continues to move his tongue with you, suckling and licking your most sensitive areas. he creeps his up from your hips to your tits, gripping the pillowy flesh.

you remove your hands from the headboard and place them on his thighs to help ride his face better. you watch him, glossy eyes and red cheeks, with his hands now grabbing your tits as you rut your cunt against his face. every now and then you get a small glimpse into the bottom half of his face, which is slick with your arousal and his spit.

you can feel yourself becoming more wet, martin notices, he whines against you while gripping one of your tits a bit more harshly before sliding a hand down to your ass, kneading it roughly.

from behind you, you snake your hand between his legs, where through his pants you can feel his hard length. you hum as you begin to palm him, feeling a small damp patch where his tip is.

you chuckle, “you wanted this really bad, didn’t you?”

he whines against your cunt and nods, shifting his head around to try and lick you in the most pleasurable way.

“m-mar-ah!” you gasp as you feel your orgasm approaching, “marti-n, ‘m close.”

he moans and smacks your ass, sucking on your clit again while you grind against his face. your thighs twitch around his head, they’re becoming more unstable the closer you get.

he licks around your hole, swallowing your arousal as it spills out. he could drink you up, live off you, if given the chance. he hums against you before bringing his tongue and lips back up to your clit, the vibrations becoming all too much.

your hips jerk and your legs shake, you’re so close to coming it’s almost unbearable.

“yes, yes!” you gasp, “right there, i’m c-coming!”

he just moans against you again, continuing his repetitive licks and sucks as your orgasm finally hits.

your body spasms and your moan nearly sounds like a shout. as you’re coming, your legs give out, putting your full weight on his face. martin makes no attempt to lift you off, he just groans against you and continues to use his tongue on you.

it quickly becomes too overstimulating and you shakily lift yourself off his face while whimpering and drop your body beside him.

martin huffs. his lips pink, puffy, and slick, his pupils still dilated. he laughs weakly before swallowing, “thank you.”, as he places his hand onto your thigh and rubs it soothingly. you kiss him on the cheek and hum, “i should be thanking you ..”

you run your hand along his torso and palm him again through his pants, he winces quietly and shifts away.

“what?” you ask, clearly confused, “don’t you want me to return the favour?”

“uh .. you won’t have to worry about that ..” he mumbles, beneath your hand you feel the damp spot has gotten clearly wetter since the last time you touched him.

“did .. did you come in your pants?” you whisper, nearly laughing at him

he rolls his eyes and teases, “i couldn’t help it. you tasted too nice.”

—

i’m recovering from a severe hangover hope y’all are doing good !! hahah

[grumpy-gran]

Can’t help but imagine what if this energy went into amplifying survivors. :)

Do I understand immense disappointment at the cancellation of GO? Absolutely. I saw this coming when the allegations first came out and I admit I was very upset about it. I don’t need to go in depth of why GO meant as much as it did to me, people are already writing long essays everywhere on socials. I was very much looking forward to the third season, spending time on very well-written fanfics. I was hyper-fixated on the Tennant-Sheen dynamic. I was RIGHT THERE WITH A LOT OF YOU! I spoke to my therapist at length about it. It took a while to process what I was feeling. And I understand everyone is on their individual journey towards doing the same.

But this outpouring of outrage over the cancellation of a show, from the same fandom which refused to allow any discussion on the allegations (at least on Reddit) has been a bitter revelation to me.

I’ve seen a lot of “nothing wrong with being sad” takes. And it’s true. You’re allowed your feelings. You’re allowed your disappointment.

But to mobilise your sadness to empower an alleged abuser, yeah, you should absolutely be called out for that. I won’t even go into the details of what this “petition” calls for. But to those of you who were expecting it involves “at least the removal of Gaiman,” it does not. I’m not even sure how that would work at this point without a ton of money actually going to Gaiman’s pocket for breach of contract, etc. It definitely doesn’t urge further investigation into the allegations. It’s simply not concerned with them. :)

This man allegedly abused vulnerable women, weaponised NDAs, gaslit survivors and lied about donating to charity. NONE of that caused as much outrage as this show’s potential cancellation has. What an apathetic mob we’ve become. When you co-sign to save your shows at the expense of real harm done to real people, I’m sorry to tell you, you’re part of the problem.

[mint-yooxgi]

Kinktober Day 2 - Yandere!Alien!Junmyeon + Oral Fixation

Anonymous Said: Hi! For Kinktober, can I request Yandere Alien (something like Obsession era) Suho + Oral Fixation, please? Thank you 💙 A/n: Why, of course, Anon! I haven't written for Junmyeon in such a long time, omg. EXO will always have a special place on this blog. I hope you enjoy! Warnings/Genre/Rating: 18+ MDNI - Smut, Mature, Established Relationship, Yandere, Possession, Monster Features Word Count: 668 Kinktober 2024 Mini Masterlist

“I thought you said you could handle it, My Love.” His voice drawls out, an almost disappointed hum falling from his lips.

Your chest heaves, unable to form words as you attempt to catch your breath. You one hand comes up to rub over your face, fingers finally releasing their death grip on the sheets beneath you.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” You manage to pant out, glancing down at him from between the gaps in your fingers.

“When it comes to you?” A smirk tugs at Junmyeon’s features, his eyes flashing that bright cerulean shade you’ve come to know so well. “Always.”

He gives you no time to respond, diving right back into you. His hands push your thighs apart eagerly, tongue delving between your folds. A shameless groan escapes him the moment that he tastes that sweet nectar that floods from between your legs once more. Happily, he gets lost in your taste for the nth time this night.

Desperately, his lips wrap around your clit, sucking on that sensitive little nub harshly. His tongue circles over your swollen bud, shaking his head back and forth and moaning all the while.

“Give me everything,” he growls against your cunt. “I want your everything.”

Immediately, you toss your head back onto the pillows, a loud cry of his name escaping your lips. The hand you had resting over your face flies to his hair, gripping his bright red locks firmly in your grip. Involuntarily, your hips jolt, grinding against his lips as he hums contently around your clit.

For hours, it’s been like this. Junmyeon was not lying when he said he could find an endless blissful haven between your legs, and never want to come up for air. He’s gotten you so worked up, so sensitive to his touch, that a single flick of his tongue has you teetering on the edge once more.

The only thing more intense than him desperately suckling and licking at your clit is when he-

A scream of his name tears from your throat, back arching off of the bed as your thighs close around his head. You can feel his tongue probing and prodding once more at your inner walls, elongating to flick at that sensitive spot deep inside of you. Even as you spasm around him, he does not halt any of his movements. Your squirming only makes him hold onto you tighter, a pleased, high pitch screech filling the air as he feels you dripping down his chin and onto his chest.

Gently, his tongue swirls inside of you, thrusting lightly to collect every last drop you offer him. The way your thighs continue to shake around his head only makes him smile, an immense satisfaction building within his chest and flooding his veins.

Only he can make you feel like this. Only he can please you, and that’s exactly how he intends to keep it.

Again, he retracts that swollen muscle from your cunt, humming contently as he languidly licks you clean.

All you can see within the darkness of the room with your hazy vision is his bright red hair, and the faint, hypnotizing blue glow of his eyes. You can just tell he’s bursting with pride, even as he places tender kisses to the skin on the inside of your thighs. The soft, high pitched screeching hum he emits is indication enough.

You attempt to catch your breath.

“I’m surprised,” Junmyeon hums, nuzzling your thigh gently with his nose. “You still haven’t passed out yet. Perhaps I need to increase my efforts-“

“No!” Your hooded eyes fling open, reaching out for him almost immediately.

He tilts his head, glancing up at you curiously. “Then, do you want me to stop?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. “Fuck, no.”

“Very well, then, Beloved.” He answers, amusement shining within his gaze.

You watch as he slides his hands beneath your ass, lowering his head eagerly towards your cunt once more.

His eyes flash.

“Another.”

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Summary: Jim meets you in an ally to fuck you dumb.

warnings: voyeurisum, public sex, creampie, infidelity, age gap (unspecified), dumbification, dubcon, submissive!reader, anal fingering, p in v

“Yeah… yeah I’ll be home tomorrow. I have some ugh-“ Jim’s eyes wandered from his wife’s voice on the other end of the phone when you strudded by, looking back at him with playful, seductive eyes, wearing nothing but high cut shorts and a nearly see through tanktop and a light spring jacket. “Some extra work to do.” It should have been a crime the way your ass cheeks nearly bounced out of the fabric with each step. Ending the phone call abruptly he followed behind you, his eyes fixated on your rear end, the way your hips swayed with each confident step.

Checking his surroundings, he turned into the ally stunned by the sight of your bare chest, your nipples hardening from the breeze while your boobs sat quaintly on your chest, only partially visible from the streetlight. Taken aback by the sight he wasted no time. His hands cusped your cheeks, lips colliding with an immense urge to take every part of you possible. “What er yuh doing walking past me like that. Giving me that look.” Shoving your body against the brick wall, he hoisted you up, unfastening the denim shorts quickly, pushing your laced, soaked panties to the side.

“What can I say? A girl wants to have some fun, and you just look thrillingly attractive.” Tongue lapping over his lips, he unbuttoned his pants, spitting quickly into his hand, coating his cock with his saliva before shoving his long, hardened length in the tight, wetness of your dripping cunt, rendering you speechless. The size of his shaft felt overwhelmingly large, stretching your succulent, eager hole open beyond imagination.

A menacing laugh escaped from between his plush lips while his sapphire blue eyes were transfixed on you, taking immense interest in the way you immediately shut the fuck up once his cock was buried in you. “That all it take huh? Need my cock to behave don’t yuh? Such a fragile young thing. Look at you, my dumb little whore.” You whined, hands grasping desperately at his shoulders while his cock drilled in and out of you, your inner soaked walls clinging to his shaft, feeling an immense pleasure from the way he fucked you senseless. With each thrust, your ass cheeks bounced off the brick wall, tits barely being held in place in the frivolous tanktop.

“Pl-please. Feels so- so good.” The warmth of his hands beneath your ass cheeks sent shivers up your spine, the way he gripped onto the fatty skin so roughly. His body was pressed flushed against yours, giving you no room to breath with the brick wall behind you. Jim watched as you struggled to move, merely laughing at your poor attempt of grinding down on his cock. He buried his head into your neck, suffocating himself against your fragile, smoothe skin while his lips suctioned red marks into your ‘innocent skin.’ Your pussy throbbed at this point but he wasn’t done just yet. “I-I’m going to-“ He broke away, clasping your jaw with his hand, demanding your attention.

“You’ll cum when I say you can.” People began laughing in the distance, causing your cheeks to redden in embarrassment when they walked by but Jim didn’t care, still buried deep withing your ivory pussy.

“Don’t look at them, look at me.” In a dazed, fucked out state you did as he said. A sharp slap that could be heard from miles away hit your face, causing you to yelp from the pain and strength of his muscles. Your head rearing to the side, just missing the brick wall behind you.

“Get down on your knees.” He released his hand from your ass, dropping you down, knees hitting the puddled cement. The realization of just how big he was set in, your eyes going wide, glancing up at the older man with pleading, pitiful eyes of mercy but he showed no remorse, pulling you in forcefully against his leaking cock.

“What’s ta matter eh? Flaunting yourself, dressing like that, merely begging for my cock. Now you got it and you wanna act scared?” When his length pertruded upon your slippery slope, Jim rested his head back, the feeling of warmth, and your plush lips wrapped around his cock while tears formed at the brim of your weary eyes sending the man into overdrive seeing you so weak at the knees.

The slight breeze blew wild strands of your hair around you while spit was building up dripping down your cheek, the impactful blows making it hard to breathe. His cock pumping deeper and deeper down your throat with every volatile thrust. When he felt your teeth graze, he slapped your harshly again, watching the tears stream down your cheeks, and the bubbles forming in your spit as it leaked down your neck, whimpering around his hardened length.

He held you down, pushing you against his skin with no room to breath, watching your arms flail in a pathetic attempt to push him away. He smirked, watching you struggle, desperately needing more air, he wanted to see just how far he could push you.

“Relax. Breathe in and out, subtle your jaw. Acting like this is new to you.” Listening, batting your curled eyelashes, you relaxed your jaw, allowing his cock to sit in your throat, never breaking eye contact with the harsh, crystal blue eyes. When he felt your teeth again he forced your body up, walking you over to the dumpster. Bending you over, a stinging, volatile slap ricocheted off your sensitive, ass cheek, causing you to squeal out in pain. Spreading your cheeks, he found that tight, needing glory hole, imagining what it would feel like to be fully submerged in your ass but he wasn’t going to push you that far instead sliding two fingers in your ass, causing you to tense from pain and shock.

“Look at you, allowing me to use you like some whore on the street. You feel that?” His fingers worked at your ass like the speed of lightning, not giving the tight forbidden hole a chance to adjust, while his cock pounded into you relentlessly, making you able to feel your boobs bounce against the metal container.

“Ah, fuck, fuck, Jim please I- oh!” He added another finger, working your asshole open to the point of no return. He held you down with his hand at the gape of your neck, feeling the goosebumps and sweat building on your skin.

Your pussy tightened around his length, desperately needing a release. “Give it to her harder man!” A passerby yelled in the distance, turning your cheeks a rosy shade of amber, painted with fluttering embarrassment but deep down you like it. In a sick twisted way you liked people seeing you be completely at Jim’s mercy, taking his cock so well, being completely and utterly at his disposal as if you were his slave and he owned you.

His hand came up to firmly grasp your boob, twisting your nipple with immense strength, still relentlessly pounding deep into your overworked core. Your thighs began to shake from the sudden rush of pleasure, your back arching, still trying to contain yourself from cumming right then and there on his cock.

“Whaddaya say princess? Hm?” He pulled your head back by your hair, causing you to moan and crumble against him.

“Gonna cum on my cock for other people to see? Show them you got what you wanted? That I broke you? Come on now, show me just how much that little over used pussy can do.” His words sounded like music to yours, not needing to be pressed any further. Your moans filled the street, hands grasping at the back of his sweating neck while your sweet, delectable nectar pooled out onto his dick, flooding out of you like a river. Your hole body shaking, toes curling, euphoric waves of pleasure rushing through your veins like a drug.

“Want me to fill you up sweetheart?”

“Mm-mhm, pl-please!” In that second his cock pulsated within your sherbet walls, filling you up profoundly to the brim with his seed, painting your insides white like a mosaic portrait, desperate moans fulfilling your eardrums.

Falling back against his chest still trying to catch a breath, people began to scatter off from the scene as if nothing happened. “I wasn’t too hard on you was I?” His tone of voice changed, now caring and endearing. Turning you, he brushed the hair out of your face, wiping away the scattered mascara and tears. He could tell in your eyes that’s what you needed, to be controlled and cared for.

Shaking your head, still coming down from your high, you rested your head on his shoulder in a tired state. Eventually taking him up on an offer to stay at his hotel room tonight.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lonely Souls Club 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as stalking, loneliness, noncon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: we're almost through the week.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky 

Bucky can smell her body soap as it wafts off her. Everything about her makes him giddy. Just walking beside her, getting to look at her, getting to talk to her!

And now, he’s taking her out to lunch. Almost like a real date.

He’s antsy to get to the restaurant. He tried to measure his patience as best he could as he fixed the lock. While she showered and dressed in the small bathroom, he paced her apartment, taking the chance to adjust a few of the cameras. Better, he can see the door.

He is mindful not to walk too fast for her. She seems to be moving a little better. If it’s the short nap she took or the shower, he’s not sure, but he’s happy for it.

She’s shy. He knows she’s often alone and keeps to herself but she sends him sheepish glances only to quickly look away each time their eyes meet. Her heart continues to race just as it did when she awoke to the intruder. 

He steps ahead of her and opens the door of the noodle shop. She looks up and her eyes scan the sign then the windows. She lifts her cane in ahead of her as she steps through, “this place is good.”

He smiles. He hasn’t been back since the first time he saw her. Now he’s with her and he can hardly believe it. He follows her in as Mrs. Zhao greets them. She shows her surprise with a clap and a squeal.

“You brought a friend,” she muses.

“Uh, yeah,” he answers as the woman leans on her cane, stuck in limbo between them.

“Let me get you seated,” Zhao speaks to her and ushers her along as Bucky trails behind. They sit in a booth as menus await them and Mrs. Zhao bows before she leaves them. 

She, his companion, his date, nestles her cane against the wall of the booth and her eyes flit around. She peeks at the menu then at him. She folds her hands in her lap, making no move to peruse the options further.

“You come here a lot? She knows you?” She glances towards the kitchen.

“Ah, yeah,” he answers with a nervous chuckle, “I don’t always have the energy to cook so…”

She nods and shifts on the seat. He sees how her cheek ticks and she grips the edge of the table to adjust her posture. He flutters his fingers over the laminated menu.

“Is it okay? Are you uncomfortable?” He leans forward.

“Fine,” she ekes out and brings her fingertips to the edge of the menu.

“Right, um, well, if you want a little padding you could sit on my jacket,” he offers.

Her lips curve softly and her brows raise, “that’s really nice but I’m okay.”

She looks down again at the menu. He sees how she chews her lip and slants her mouth. He knows exactly what she’s looking at. Not the dishes but the prices. It's a habit. He’s been there too. Pinching every penny, darning every sock and sleeve until it’s too frayed to mend, stretching broth with water, and washing with no soap. His bad days are over and he wants to help end hers too.

“How about we do the meal for two special,” he offers as he sees her fixate on the sides section. Three spring rolls isn’t going to stop the growling in her stomach that awoke the minute they stepped inside. “It’s a good deal. You can pick the type of noodle.”

“Oh, uh,” she taps her fingers, “I guess… if it makes sense.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” he insists. He knows the portions are generous. They’ll get enough for her to take a box home, especially with the rolls and salad on the side. “Do you like Udon or chow mein?”

“I like both,” she says, “udon, maybe, if you like it.”

“Sounds good to me. Broth? I don’t really like the beef, it hurts my stomach.”

“Pork’s good,” she suggests, “if you want.”

“Sure,” he agrees, heartened that she didn’t push back on his idea. She needs a good meal, not half a cup of oatmeal with six raisins on top. 

“Tea,” Mrs. Zhao interrupts, a tray in her hand. She sets it down, presenting a big slate gray pot and matching cups.

“Thanks,” he says as she echoes him in a small voice. He gives their order and Mrs. Zhao leaves them with a rosy smile, a definitive look sent from one to the other.

He pours tea into the cups and sets one in front of her. She looks at the contents then him. She thanks him and leans in to inhale the scent. Her stomach rumbles viciously and she winces.

“So, how long have you been in the city?” He asks, turning his own cup nervously.

“Um, since high school,” she answers, “so… a while. What about you?”

“Born and raised,” he says proudly. “Always happen to come back.”

She nods and blows across the tea but doesn’t drink as the steam puffs hotly. Her eyes flit over and her stomach grumbles again. She watches another table as they clink cutlery on their dishes. She’s fighting it but she’s starving.

“Uh, wow, didn’t even realise I’m so hungry,” he says, “I don’t even think I had dinner last night.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs and turns her eyes to the table, “and you didn’t get much sleep. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. I’m a bit of an insomniac. Got a bit restless last night and good thing I did or I wouldn’t have been able to scare that guy off, huh,” he stills the cup and flicks his thumb around the curve of the rim.

“I guess,” she puts her hands to her neck and shivers, “that was really scary.”

“Well it’s a good thing I deal with scary people all the time,” he says, “lot of people say the same about me so I guess that helps.”

“Oh,” she bats her lashes and her eyes meet his, “I didn’t mean–”

“I know, I’m joking,” he assures her. She’s so jumpy, he wonders if that has anything to do with her limp. If maybe she’s afraid of everyone and everything for a reason. Well, she won’t have to be, not with him.

“Ah,” she forces a smile, “right.”

“Hey, you held your own,” he sits up straighter, “you swing that cane like a champ.”

“Yeah, ha,” she laughs, just a small one as he reaches for the tea cup again, “I… I hit that guy.”

He chuckles too, “you did. Honestly, I think after that, there’s no way he’ll be back.”

Her

You try to eat slowly and it doesn’t take much before you’re painfully full. You put the chopsticks down and take a napkin to wipe your mouth. Bucky smiles at you, a noodle hanging from his lips as he slurps it up.

“Sorry,” he covers his mouth, “caught me at a bad moment.”

“It’s good, I… I’m full,” you look at the noodles still left in your bowl.

“Oh, no worries, we’ll just ask for a container,” he says, “be good to have some leftovers in the fridge… just in case.”

“Uh, yeah,” you agree. You wonder if maybe he saw inside your empty fridge or he just means well.

“I’m getting there myself,” he stirs his bowl with his chopsticks.

She nods and he raises his hand as he sees Mrs. Zhao, the namesake for the restaurant, “excuse me, hi, sorry, whenever you have a chance.”

She acquiesces and rushes off. He sits back and smacks his stomach, “mm, did you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s very good,” you agree.

Mrs. Zhao returns and offers the bill to Bucky. You look away, embarrassed.

“I forgot to mention, can you add a box of tea,” he hands it back.

She agrees and whisks off again. You sit in silence, awkwardly searching the restaurant. You would offer to pay for your own but you can’t. You’re dirt poor. You can’t help but think he knows it too. No one is that nice. It only takes one look around your place to see it.

Zhao returns once more, sets a box of tea before him and some containers, then the bill. He pays in cash and tells her to keep the change. She chimes thankfully and wishes you both a good day. You pour your noodles into the container and seal the lid. Bucky does the same.

You grab your cane and turn on the bench, dragging yourself across to plant it on the floor. You brace the table and stand as he does so much easier than you. He takes his container and yours, stacking them atop each other, then the tea on the very top.

“Oh, thanks,” you utter as you get your feet set.

“No problem,” he grins.

He waits for you to go first. You make a slow, uneven advance to the door. You keep your eyes straight as you refuse to notice the glances sent in your direction. The lucky cat by the door waves in farewell as you approach.

Bucky reaches past you and opens the door before you can. You limp out into the street. Your hip burns from the thin cushion of the booth bench.

“That was nice,” he says as he walks beside you, again patiently keeping pace with you.

“It was,” you agree, “it’s really kind of you.”

“You act like having lunch with a pretty girl is a chore,” he jokes.

You scoff, “please.”

“Please what,” he tilts his head.

Your chest pinches and your face heats up, “you’re just being nice.”

“No,” he argues, “I don’t lie.”

A sudden flash glares to your left and your toe catches in the sidewalk. You stagger and land on one knee, the pavement dinging the bony cap harshly as you catch yourself with a hand. Your cane clatters beside you as you look around in confusion.

“Hey, what the hell?” Bucky barks, his voice deeper and scarier than before. “Don’t do that.”

You glance over at a man with a large camera. He blanches from behind the lens but takes another photo. Bucky shifts as if he might lunge at the photographer and he runs off.

Bucky sighs and reaches to grab your arm, gentle but firm.

“Hey, you alright?” He asks in concern, his other arm hugging the containers.

“Yeah, I didn’t see him. I’m sorry, I must’ve stepped on a crack–”

“That jack– guy should be apologising,” he sneers, “so rude.”

“Yeah, I…” you hiss as you grab your cane. He holds onto you, helping you rise, but not too quickly, “I… why would he…” you peer over your shoulder then back to him, “are you famous?”

He huffs and shrugs, “I guess to some people.”

You furrow your brow and let your shoulders sink, “oh.”

“I don’t really think about it, you know? I got a job and I do it. All the attention, I hate it,” his hand slips down your arm and reluctantly falls away. You swallow and turn back down the sidewalk. He walks with you, quiet for a moment before he speaks again, “does that mean you don’t wanna be friends?”

You think as your cane taps between your footsteps, “I didn’t… No, I just…” you take a breath, “I’ve never known anyone famous.”

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he sighs.

“Yeah, seems like.”

[vonnawithav]

I don’t like romance in movies

Now, this is totally personal opinion and preference, so please keep that in mind when reading.

“I don’t like romance plots in movies”

That sounds so weird I know. Especially when this entire blog I dedicated to one ineffable couple I’ve hyper fixated on ever since I offhandedly watched a random show on prime when I was bored.

There’s lots of things I don’t like about the idea of stereotypical *ahem, usually heterosexual* romance, and one of those things is the perceived intensity of attraction.

While I understand it to an extent, I also don’t. On the few occasions I’ve been romantically interested in someone I’ve never had the urge to rip their clothes off and jump their skin, or marry them that afternoon.

I do however, want to show them my book collection, send them obscure memes, talk about that one scene in that one show I can’t move on from yet, listen to them talk about their passions, share romantic but subtle moments, and just generally enjoy each other’s company.

Maybe this is because my lack of neurotypical tendencies, my demisexuality, or just my queerness in general, I don’t know.

But this type of romance is rarely shown in media, (again, in my personal viewing experience), especially in straight media.

You’re probably wondering what the fuck this has to do with movies. Same honestly I lost my train of thought one sec-

Ah yes.

Romance in movies feels immensely rushed to me. There is no time to sit and talk while you watch the sunrise, there cannot be an entire episode where the entire plot line is your traumatic childhood and how you two can bond over the fact both of your dads left for milk and never came back, or your wooden frog collection.

Noooo, instead, there must be this instant inexplicable attraction that causes both of your hormones to go haywire, because the plot only has two hours to not only get through this plot line BUT the other three in the background.

For romance to work in my head, 👏🏾I 👏🏾 Need 👏🏾 Bonding 👏🏾 time 👏🏾.

That’s one of the many reasons I love OFMD and Good Omens so much, we get to see that bonding time.

Ed and Stede chilling while having breakfast in bed while they look at each other lovingly?

Goals.

Azira and Crowley sitting and enjoying a good bottle of wine while talking about the end of the world?

Never seen anything better.

I think romance is at its best when subtle and calming, not frantic and unnerving.

Don’t get me wrong, I think franticness has its place in romance, especially once sexual tension has begun, but there needs to be large spaces of comfort and safety in between. (In my personal opinion)

Alrighty then, I’ll be off.

Lmk if you see where I’m coming from, or if I’m just posting insane ramblings because I’m sleep deprived and recovering from a cold 🥲.

[giggly-bun]

Liar Liar {SatoSugu}

A/N [WARNING THIS IS A TICKLE FIC] if you don’t like it, don’t read it. Sorry for any mistakes that i’ve made but i hope if you read this I hope you enjoy it. yes i have officially written for jjk ! i have been in immense hyper fixation for the longest time and im afraid i will only write for them for a while muhaha! no beta we die like blobkuna >:) - bunny 🔮

The curse alarms rang through the dorms, alerting all students and faculty to the high use of cursed energy throughout the building. A safety precaution, merely to stop any threats of unsuspecting curse attacks, but now? Now the blaring was caused by none other than Jujutsu High’s own students. The ringing of the bell thumped in time with the pounding of Gojo’s heart rate, as he raced through what felt like never-ending hallways. 

Behind him, hot on his heels, was his best friend, Suguru Geto, chasing him down with the most predatory look one could acquire. Gojo dared to steal a glance, and upon looking, he let out a less than manly squeal, before trying to pick up the pace. The curse spirit manipulator was pulling out his largest curses just to obstruct Gojo’s path, consequently triggering all the alarms within the radius. “Come back here, Satoru!” Suguru called, taking a very ungracious turn around the corner when Satoru did. 

“Stay away from me, you heathen!” The Six Eyes user cursed. He was so close to his room, he could almost taste freedom. 

The two bounded around the academy, weaving their way around corners and swivelling past anyone that had the misfortune of crossing paths with them in their current situation. They narrowly avoided toppling principal Yaga over in the process. The man glared at the two, hurling curses and threats in their direction but neither of them payed him any mind, they were far too busy lost in their own bubble of mirth to acknowledge anyone but them. When Gojo finally saw the pass for his room, he dove through the door, almost managing to lock it behind him before Geto could weasel his way in. Maybe in another universe, Gojo had made it in time. Unfortunately for his unparalleled universe, the raven haired boy had tackled him onto the floor just as he opened the door to his room.

The boys tussled around on the carpet, causing enough friction for Gojo’s already disheveled hair to stand up on end. “Suguru, get off! You are such an asshole, you really had to chase me through the entire building for this?!” Satoru complained, while still batting off his best friend’s hands. Suguru chuckled. 

“Oh, cmon Satoru, all of this hassle could have been avoided if you’d have just answered my question honestly.”

“I did! I answered your stupid question and you chased me down anyway. Like the barbarian you are!” Satoru let out a sharp gasp as Suguru managed to pin his arms to his chest, perching himself comfortably on his thighs. Suguru’s eyes trailed over Satoru’s body and the white haired boy felt every nerve in his body light up with just a glance. The other hummed. 

“No, I said answer honestly. You clearly lied to me, or you wouldn’t have taken off the way you did. Poor Satoru, who fought tooth and nail to not get caught, but look at where he is now.” The smug smirk on Suguru’s face was borderline sadistic as he purred out tease. Gojo kissed his teeth and grimaced. 

“That was honest. I’m the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of the modern world, that question should have an obvious answer.” And that bratty comment caused Suguru to click his tongue in amusement.

“Is that so? I wasn’t aware that a requirement for being the strongest meant that you weren’t allowed to be ticklish.” There it was! An insanely obvious pink hue settled itself on the eldest’s face, not going unnoticed by his cocky bastard of a best friend. “Oh? Have something you want to say, Satoru?” 

“You- Of course not! I’m not ticklish, that’s for stupid and weak sorcerers like you, Suguru. I, of course, am able to withstand such childish activities.”

“Oh really?” The shorter raised an eyebrow.

“Absolutely.” Gojo huffed out his chest in pride, as far as Geto’s arms bounding him would allow. 

“So you didn’t flinch when I accidentally pinched you earlier?” He asked. Holding Satoru’s arms across his body securely, Suguru used his free hand to briefly tweak at the other’s sides. Anyone else would have assumed that Gojo hadn’t moved a muscle at the action, but with Suguru being so in tune with Satoru’s every little move, he didn’t miss the way his muscles slightly tensed up and how his eyebrows furrowed at the feeling. How interesting. “And you absolutely, most definitely didn’t flinch when i touched you right there?” He continued.

“Nope. If it weren’t for the fact that your fat ass is literally crushing me, I probably wouldn’t even be able to feel your presence, it bothers me that little.” Geto snorted at the quip.

“Well then, you would probably be the worst curse user in all of history if you weren’t able to feel me right now.” And then there was a lull as Suguru scanned over his friend again. Gojo tried not to writhe under his scrutinising looks, he tried to keep it to a mere shuffle to not show how nervous he truly was. 

“Not ticklish, you say?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, no I-I’m n-ngh! Would you stop that!” In the middle of his sentence, Geto delivered another poke to Gojo’s already quivering tummy. The muscle tightened and twitched on impact, making it harder to put up the front that Gojo is working hard to keep up. The dark haired man snickered. However painfully annoying Gojo was at times, he could also be so undeniably cute. Suguru use his two index fingers to walk a gentle path from the bottom of Gojo’s hip all the way to his top ribs, and he relished in the shudder it caused in the elder. 

“So, I suppose it really wouldn’t bother you if I tested out my theory, yes?” He inquired. The question caused Gojo to stutter. He couldn’t be serious!

“No, I don’t t-think that’s necessary, Suguru.” He cursed at the way his own voice wobbled. “Cmon, let’s just forget this and go and play poke- n-nO fuhuck! s-stop that!” Satoru had to clench his jaw the second he felt Suguru’s nibble fingers pinching a line up his ribs. The touch was gentle and warm, all the things Suguru is to Satoru, the softness usually making him feel so comfortable. But right now, his stomach felt like it was doing backflips and his teeth ground together just to stop the titters threatening to escape. He could fight this, he thought. He’s Gojo Satoru, and he’d be damned if he let some tickling affect him. The shorter boy was still trailing his ribs with soft fluttering techniques, and he smiled down at his friend, who had slapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Careful, Satoru, I think I almost heard a giggle there. You don’t want anyone thinking you’re ticklish, do you?” He teased. His voice was low and sultry, in a way that made Gojo want to hollow purple him half way across the world. A furious blush began to rise on his cheeks, both from holding in his laughter and from the teasing voice. Geto then began to skitter his fingers lightly across his tummy, watching how Gojo began to twitch to the side. “You know, if you want to escape this so bad, you could just put up infinity. It surely can’t be that much of a distraction for you to not be able to use it.” Geto chided. That bastard. He was right, though. It absolutely shouldn’t be that hard to put up infinity under such minimal pressure. He was the strongest sorcerer in the world, a few touches shouldn’t stop him. Yet, the truth of the matter is, Gojo had been trying - and evidently failing - to get his infinity up for the last two minutes. They both felt the loose cursed energy hang in the air like an unspoken truth, before immediately fizzling out when Geto flexed his fingers the tiniest amount. How humiliating. 

“G-Go fuHuck yours-sehelf, Suguru.” The older choked back. He tried not to look at his friend, tried to avoid eye contact because he knew that would be the one thing to break him. His heels began to dig into the carpet. He felt an involuntary grin being etched onto his face, behind his hands. 

“Oh, that’s not very nice. I thought I was your best friend, Satoru.”

“As if. I’m g-gohonna kiHIll you, Suhuguru!” Oh shit. The dam was breaking. Small huffs of laughter were beginning to slip through the cracks and he still could not get his damn infinity up! He heard Geto hum and threatened to crack an eye open, just in time to watch the other slightly roll up his shirt. A devastating pause. 

“Do you think this is ticklish, Satoru?”

“Is wha- gAH! no! Y-Yohohou fuhUhucker!” Nothing could have prepared Gojo for an index finger to be planted right into his navel and subsequently scratch around the edges. He arched his back to the side and began twisting his head in ticklish agony. A bright flurry of giggles and chortles were coming out of the wood works and not even god himself could stop them now. 

“Oh, look Satoru! We’ve found your laughter after all. Oh, that’s good, I was starting to think maybe I had gotten this all wrong.” Geto snarked, a shit eating grin taking over his features. “Or perhaps I am still wrong. Tell me, Satoru, does it tickle or not?” Suguru bastard Geto. Gojo, trapped in this very unfamiliar sensation, was struggling to comprehend what he should do. Should he cover his mouth to stop the laughter? Cover his face to hide his embarrassment? Cover his tickle spots so Suguru’s hands couldn’t reach them? Or should he just scrap every idea in that pile and kick his best friend in the balls to get away. All such viable options. His mind races a mile a minute and still it wouldn’t be able to catch up to the speed in which his laughter was coming out in.

“Suguhuhuru!“ He yelped, grabbing his best friend’s wrists. “S-Suhuuhugu! FuhuhUHuchk off! Shit! Whehehere’s my infinihihity!” He cursed continuously, feeling how Geto had thrown his other hand into the fray. One hand digging in his navel and the other one skittering across his ribs in the most torturous of ways. Gojo began to contort his body to try and escape, but Geto kept a solid weight pinning him down. “Fuhuhuck Suhuhuhugu- I-I can’t! Ihihi cahaHAHan’t.”

“Sure you can, Satoru! You can and you will.” There was a sick and sadistic smile on the younger’s face right now. “All you have to do is admit to me how utterly and helplessly ticklish you are, and I’ll let you go.”

The look on Gojo’s face was comical as he cried out “Hehehell no!” Stubborn as ever. Suguru tsked at the attitude. 

“That’s fine by me, I can keep this up all day. I wonder where else you’re sensitive. Hmm, let me see…” His voice trailed off as he went back to overseeing which ticklish spots would be his next victim. Gojo saw a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“Whahatehever you’re t-thihinking don’t you even dar- Suhuguru! NYAHAhahahaha gohohohohohod!” Satoru screeched when hands shot under his arms, burying themselves and solidifying an unruly, ticklish sensation. His arms clamps by his sides, head thrown back and back arching, trying everything to stop the feeling. Suguru chuckled at the state of his best friend. 

“Nya haha? You do make the strangest sounds, Satoru, quite adorable if you ask me.” His voice was dripping in honey and Gojo really was finding it hard to compute what he was saying while being over taken by laughter. “Tell me, Satoru, are you Gojo Satoru because you’re ticklish or are you ticklish because you’re Gojo Satoru?” He punctuated his statement by drilling further into the boy’s armpits, the fabric of his uniform hardly acting as a barrier for the ticklish onslaught. 

“EEYAHAhahaha! Ihihihihi- fuhuhuHUCK! I’m gohohonna- g-geheheht yohohohou so bahad!” He cried. The taller’s arms cradled around his chest, his body began to give up on him and his jerking was slowing down. He had no choice but to take his very sensitive punishment. “Suhuhuhuhuhguuhuhu!” It came out as a whine from the back of his throat enveloped in between his giggles. 

“Tohoruhu.” Suguru mocked back. 

“M-Mohohohove p-plEHEAse! ihihihihi cahahahan’t.” He was becoming desperate as tears of mirth began to glisten in his crinkled eyes. Suguru chuckled, admiring the way his best friend’s nose crinkled with laughter. 

“Begging already? You really want me to move away from this spot?” A half rhetorical question that was answered with a desperate nod. He grinned like the cheshire cat. “Oh, alright. Since you finally learned what manners are. Let’s see… where haven’t we been yet, Toru?” He scanned and searched the expanse of Gojo’s vulnerable frame, in search of the final kill. His fingers pinched and prodded anywhere he could get his hands on in search of a singular spot that would get him the reaction he wanted. His hunt for that spot was soon over when he lightly skittered his nails across the other’s inner thigh, rewarding him with a jolt unlike any other. Suguru smirked. 

“Satoru~” He purred and Gojo felt his stomach drop. Geto shifted slightly, just enough so that he was able to pry the taller’s legs open and have easy access to his thighs.  “Is there anything you want to say before I do what we both know I’m going to do?” He cocked his head to the side playfully as he watched his friend’s legs start scrambling for purchase. 

“I’m gohoing t-to kill yohou, Suguru. Please don’t do this. Please p-please ple—EEEEYAHAA!” 

Suguru almost had to cover his ears from the volume of the absolute shrill scream that ripped out of Gojo’s throat. His back arched briefly before slamming down simply at a few nails scribbling against his inner thigh. Every nerve ending in his system was suddenly alight and screaming at him to get away from the feeling. His already heightened senses felt like they’d been dialled up to 100, his laughter coming out in roars, howls and chortles. Gojo reached up to pull at his own hair, physically feeling like he was being driven to madness at the feeling. 

“Oh, I like this spot, Satoru. Look how it’s gotten you all worked up.” Geto’s voice was barely audible above Gojo’s screams. He felt devious enough to dig his index fingers into a spot well too close to the other’s groin and indulged in the involuntary snort that followed after. “Honestly, Satoru, you’re laughing so much it’s making me forget how oh so not-ticklish you are.” He couldn’t take it anymore. The white haired man was convinced that if he laughed anymore he was either going to piss himself or pass out, whichever more embarrassing method came first. He made a mental note to never mess with Suguru again, deciding to put his pride aside for the sake of his sanity. 

“OHOHOKAY! ohohkahahahay OKAY! ihihiHIHIHI LIHIHIHED!” He screamed. It was honestly a mission just to get those words out. “ihihihi— JEHEHEHESUS! IHIHIHIHIT TIHIHIHIHIHICKLES!” Bingo. 

“Oh? But that can’t be right, Satoru. You’re not ticklish, remember?” In hindsight, Suguru was an asshole, and he should have expected the teasing. 

“GohOHOHOhohoho f—fuhuhuhuck yohoURSEHELF! NOHOHOHO IHIHIHI’M SAHAHARRY! SuhUHUHU— gahahahahad plehehehease!” The tear streaks were beginning to make his face feel sticky and his jaw hurt from smiling so much. “P-Plehehehehehase ihihiIHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLES! I— *snort* MAHAHAHAKE IHIHIT STOHOHOHOHOP.”

There was an incredible sense of self-satisfaction that Geto felt when he finally pulled his hands away. Gojo lay there, writhing and clutching his stomach with residual giggles still tumbling out of his mouth. His whole face was flushed with a bright red and his white hair was sticking up in several directions. This is what true victory felt like. Geto pulled himself away and sat by Gojo on the floor, watching him come back to reality. A dazed, tickle induced smile remained on his face. 

“You alright there, dude? You look like you’re coming down from the most insane high right now.” He snickered. He was absolutely right. 

“Ihihif yohou tell a-anyone abohout thihis, I am gohoing to hollow purple you ihinto next week.” 

The giggly threat was enough to bring Suguru’s own laughter out, and suddenly the room was filled with two sources of laughter. He smiled fondly at his best friend, his one and only, before holding out his hand to pull him up. 

“Noted.”

[turn3tifosi]

Requessssst

In the middle of the race weekend arvid gets a call from his gf and starts to worry cos she normally doesn't want to distract him but it turned out she just really missed him or wanted his opinion on smth

emergency phone calls

arvid lindblad x gf!reader

masterlist

Arvid is deep into a debriefing session when he glances at his phone and notices your missed call. His heart leaps. It’s unusual for you to call him during a race weekend. He immediately feels a surge of worry, wondering if something might be wrong. Trying to maintain composure, he decides to call you back as soon as he finds a moment alone.

However, as he reaches for his phone, one of his teammates bursts into the room. “Arvid, we need to check the car setup immediately. The tire pressure adjustments are off.”

Groaning inwardly, Arvid slips his phone back into his pocket, his anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. “Alright, I’m coming,” he says, following his teammate out of the room, his mind still fixated on your call.

Hours tick by, each one feeling like an eternity. Every time Arvid finally manages to grab his phone, someone else swoops in with another pressing task. Whether it’s a media interview, a press briefing, or a quick strategy meeting, there’s always something pulling him away. The frustration of not being able to call you back grows, interspersed with fleeting moments of dread about what might be happening.

In the middle of a media session, he sneaks a glance at his phone during a brief lull. With trembling fingers, he starts dialing your number, only to be interrupted by a flurry of questions from a journalist about his performance. He forces a smile and tries to focus on the questions, all the while his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of you.

Later, while he’s heading to a quick strategy meeting, he sees your name flash on his screen once more. He quickly presses the call button, but as soon as he’s about to speak, another team member approaches him with a clipboard. “Arvid, we need to review the race data for tomorrow’s session.”

With a resigned sigh, he puts his phone away and nods to his colleague, all the while desperately wishing for a break.

As the day drags on, his frustration turns to worry. He feels like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, constantly juggling his racing duties and his growing concern for you. Every time he tries to reach out, something else comes up, amplifying his anxiety.

Finally, after what feels like an endless day of racing, interviews, and press events, Arvid collapses onto the bed in his hotel room. Exhausted and relieved to finally have a moment of peace, he pulls out his phone with a sigh. He dials your number, his heart pounding with a mix of worry and hope.

When you pick up, his voice is tinged with urgency. “Hey, it’s me. Are you alright? Is everything okay? Do you want to break up or something?”

Your laugh is a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “No, Arvid. I’m fine. I just needed your opinion on something.”

He exhales deeply, his tension easing but his curiosity piqued. “What’s going on then? I was really worried when I saw your call.”

You chuckle softly. “I just needed to know if I should wear the green dress or the blue one for my friend’s party tomorrow.”

Arvid’s face lights up with a wide, goofy grin. He’s always been your biggest fan, and the thought of you asking for his opinion on something as simple as a dress choice brings him immense joy. “You look gorgeous in anything, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it. “Cut the bullshit. Blue or green?”

He swallows, a playful glint in his eye as he makes his best guess. “Uh… blue?”

There’s a brief pause before you respond, “That’s what I was thinking too.”

Arvid’s smile widens uncontrollably. “I’m glad I got it right.”

“Of course you did,” you tease, your voice warm and affectionate. “Thanks for always making my decisions easier.”

He chuckles, feeling a wave of contentment wash over him. “Anything for you. I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you sooner. It was a pretty hectic day.”

“It’s okay,” you reply softly. “I understand. Just glad to hear your voice.”

As the conversation drifts into light-hearted banter, Arvid regales you with stories from his chaotic day. You share updates from your end, and the connection between you two is evident. Despite the chaos of his race weekend, Arvid feels grounded and content, knowing that you’re there for him.

As he ends the call, he looks at his phone with a grateful smile. The whirlwind of racing seems a little less intense, and the promise of a peaceful evening with you on the other end of the line makes everything worthwhile.

[edynsgarden]

The Orchid

Chapter 1

There had been whispers of an American Jujutsu sorcerer with a cursed technique that rendered them unstoppable. No one could identify this sorcerer by face, but they were recognizable by photos of each cursed spirit with an orchid beside it. Typically, gossip about foreign sorcerers did not carry across the ocean to Japan, the pillar of Jujutsu, but it seemed that this American sorcerer dubbed “the orchid” was the only topic of conversation in the Jujutsu world. While many higher ups and special grade sorcerers feared the arrival of The Orchid, Satoru Gojo was excited. Finally, a rival, an equal, or maybe… a lover.

Story Warnings: heavy smut, breeding kink, spanking, spitting, violence, mentions of abuse, blood

Chapter Warnings: none <3 (no smut this chapter)

Chapter 0.5 - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Chapter 1/1

Upon their arrival to the courtyard, they noticed there had been some new decorative decisions made by the new guest. An orchid plant, fruitful with hundreds of different flowers sat on a small table right in the middle of the courtyard. The two were fixated on the plant for a short while, cursed energy emanating off of the flowers like a nuclear bomb of curses. “So where is he?” Gojo asked, tired as the sun was starting to set. “I’m right here.” The Orchid said in a mocking tone. Eyes widening, Gojo briskly turned around preparing himself to obliterate the unknown figure. He was immensely confused. How did he not sense their cursed energy? The figure in front of him was not a human, simply a blur, an amalgamation of particles, with no features to distinguish what they looked like.  “How did you–why couldn’t I sense your cursed energy like I can sense it now?” He asked. “Well, that's all in my cursed technique but I’ve prepared a whole monologue for that so sit tight and I promise I’ll tell you. Oh shit! Pardon my French. I forgot to revert to my human form, sorry about that. How rude of me!” The blur of particles began to reform itself into a human figure, not just human but a beautiful figure of “a girl?” Gojo whispered to Masamichi. The girl had long, dark hair, dark eyes, and tan skin. Gojo couldn’t help but look at her figure as she was wearing a white tank top and a tropical flower-printed skirt, so American. “Okay! Now it's time for me to get serious. You should all take a seat.” the Orchid said, conjuring up two recliner movie seats out of thin air. “Mr. Gojo, my cursed technique is very similar to yours, but just in a more physical state than atomic. I can rearrange matter to be anything I want! But, it takes a whole lot of cursed energy, but I can siphon that energy from other beings since I can control their physical states, taking their cursed energy and mending it with mine.” The last fact was interesting to both Gojo and Masamichi. It meant that you could get stronger boundlessly, having no shortage of cursed spirits or objects. “Well– oh wait! I forgot to ask, would you guys like some snacks? I know this is kinda long.” “No, we-” “I do.” Gojo interjects.  After that comment, a large buttered popcorn appeared in Gojo’s lap. “I think I’m starting to like this girl,” Gojo said to Masamichi. What he was never going to tell Masamichi was that he was becoming completely infatuated with her. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was smart, rambling on and on about atomic theory. “–but aside from that, my main point is that I want to work with Satoru Gojo.” The thought of working with you excited Gojo. For some reason, the thought that she could possibly annihilate him exhilarated and somewhat aroused him.  “While Gojo may be capable of handling every cursed threat out there, he still had some weak points. I've read about the incident with Toji Fushiguro, if I was there, Toji would be on that orchid plant with all of the other special grade curses I’ve captured.” “Wait what?” Masamichi and Gojo say in unison. “Oh yeah, that orchid plant is my special grade orchid plant. It is what I use to siphon the cursed energy from the special-grade curses I encounter. Once they are completely drained and exorcized, their orchid falls off and dies. When a cursed spirit is manipulated into a new shape, an orchid per se, it becomes completely incapacitated so I can funnel its cursed energy directly to me with no worries at all. The process is completely irreversible for everyone other than me, so it really is foolproof.” At this moment, Jujutsu High needed a powerful ally, especially one with wit and power to stop the most powerful curse in the world. After a shared glance between Masamichi and Gojo, the strongest let out a low grunt as he readjusted himself in his recliner before quickly responding. “Well, I guess that settles it. You can work here, with me, on one condition. You help me save my student from Ryomen Sukuna.”