#been thinking a lot about my position with the show recently | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-thieves-gambit · 4 hours ago

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That earned a well-deserved eye roll but it was quickly gone with a chuckle as she heard his laugh. Listening, she could see the park before her, and gave occasional little sounds of confirmation to let him know that she was paying attention. "Sounds like you've been skipping leg day at the gym. You should start taking longer walks with Dolly. Might meet some more interesting people than me to bother on your days off." It was a small implanted suggestion that she hoped he would take into consideration.

"I know all you boys have your secrets. I know the CIA's and the Air forces in Nevada and I know you boys have your small subsection as well." Her time in Vegas came to mind and the finger one of the agents, a regular at the club she was dancing at, twitched at the memory of it. Though it had healed well, it still bothered her when the weather was cold and she couldn't fold it completely when making a fist. "If you do you might be partnered up with your Scully. If you are, I will need an invite to the wedding, after all, it was my idea that led you there, so you're welcome future Wally."

At hearing Wally, Dolly nuzzled against Elizabeth's chin wanting to listen in and let out a small ruff at the words he said. With a giggle, she put it on speaker mode so the pup could hear him clearer. "I should be thanking her for the company. And you for letting me watch her. The days seem to be flying by with her around. and she gives me an excuse to finally go exploring around the island like I wanted to." There was something to be said about the way that he was willing to talk about anything else than what she knew would be the biggest thorn in her side while trying to get the office ready for her to leave. So she let herself be distracted by him talking about his day. Letting a groan out at the simple mistakes some people made.

"I'm always preparing, there's a difference. It's like the condom motto, it's better to have one and not need it than to need it and not have it." Cuddling against Dolly she added. "Dolly's different and you know it." Rolling her eyes she added. "Yes, I know they jump, but its better than being kicked by hind legs of a powerful animal or be thrown from one."

Oh, now that was promising. “Well it’s been a while since I’ve been out there, this sounds like the perfect excuse to travel for a bit.” Settling into a kore comfortable position, she sighed. As much as she poked fun at him for being tired, the recent uptake on hikes and walks with Dolly around was tiring her too. “Thanks for that. Can’t believe you were thinking about my case while working on yours.”

Hearing the all-familiar tone of a video call, she shifted around so she was still cuddling Dolly but she had become all too conscious about the fact that she was wearing his sweater. Hoped the fact that she was holding the phone out so Dolly was in front of her would help hide it. Knowing him, he would see it and use it as an excuse to tease her about possibly missing him, which she didn't. She only wore it because it was the coziest thing she had at the moment, he hadn't lied when he talked about how soft it was. It felt like a lot like a hug.

After settling into a position, she let it switch over and it took a moment to adjust seeing how much darker it was on his end. His green eyes shone like twinkling emerald stars, taking her off guard for a second. "The Roosevelt, she only lived there for a very short period of time. If anything she'd be at the Brentwood estate she was found at. I don't know why people can't let that poor woman be. She suffered enough when she was alive." Magnus was an old Hollywood lover and would waste no moment to show her the old movies or tell her what he knew about them. Most of her aliases came from those old movies. The laugh was a small one, it wasn't at him but at the idea of that hallway having a poltergeist. "If that were the case we would all already have one attached to each of us, this planet has been spinning for so long that if everyone became ghosts, by now we would all have one."

It felt like the lighthouse all over again, questions she thought she would be asked or had ever thought about before, that somehow only felt like a Wally thing. Whether it be the agent training or the curiosity he seemed to have, she would indulge for now, he had after all let his dog stay with her. Pondering the question over a moment, she thought about all the times that she thought she saw her dad in places over the years in her travels. When visiting parks that they had visited, mostly in California which he always loved. She remembered Jennifer telling him once that he might be John Muir reincarnated. With a sigh, she replied. "I read once that ghosts are a lot things to people. That sometimes they are a daydream or guilt or anger or even a memory. I think sometimes people wish for someone to be around so much that they can conjure their own ghosts. But," she laughed. "I also come from people who believe in fairies and merpeople and trolls, and ghosts too. So I think it would be silly for me to say that they don't exist in a way. And I guess you obviously do or else we wouldn't be having this conversation, right?"

There was that bit of hair that seemed to always be in his face when he let his hair down. She wanted to reach out and tuck behind his ear as she had before he left but couldn't. "Hey," there was something about not being able to look into his eyes unobstructed that seemed to bother her at the moment. "Sorry, but ," she pointed towards her face as if to mimic the tucking motion. "Can you... I don't know why but it's bugging me." It was then that she realized, as the memory of the last time he was there came back that not only was she sleeping in his hoodie, he had slept in her bed and she was cozying up to his dog while on the phone with him. Something strange stirred in her, but she ignored it chalking it up to just being tired. He'd fall asleep before she did though if she kept him talking. "So what's on the agenda for tomorrow?"

He grinned even though she couldn't see him he still did it. "I was getting to the hello just needed to catch you off guard first." His laughter was easy going and flowed like a river. "A National Park, not just any old one. Lassen Volcanic National Park. The meadows were freckled with wildflowers and those lakes are so crystal clear. I mean, I know I wasn't there for the sights but it was refreshing to see a familiar sight to home. Water wise anyway." He sighed and shook his head. "Truly unexpected way to start Monday morning with hearing grab your boots we going hiking. My legs are killing me though."

Hearing Liz on the other side of the call made him smile. He knew he'd missed her but it didn't click just how much until he heard her voice and consequently her teasing banter. He rolled his eyes as he chuckled and sighed. "He wishes he was this cool. Actually, we do have a UFO department did you know that? Fun fact of the night. I may just request a transfer. Thank you for the reminder. Alien life expert." Wally couldn't help but laugh at his own lame joke.

Getting the picture of his pup made him smile as he chuckled and talked to Dolly knowing she could hear him. "There's my precious girl." he cooed and saved the picture. "Thank you again for keeping her company. She looks very happy and very well loved." That pause made him open his eyes and frown. "That bad huh?" He wasn't sure if it was the tone of her voice or that pause that gave it away to him but he picked up on something in her voice. "For what its worth im glad you got my furry best friend to at least get a smile out of you." His dog was good at that. "Timezones you say, huh it's the first I'm hearing about it."

"Oh that tells me you have not had a moment to sit. Manoa Falls? It has a pretty name. Tell me about it. What did you like the most? A guard dog? Has she already found her new calling? Is this your way of breaking it to me? I'm glad that she's been having a ball of a week so far. I hope that when people asked if she was yours you said yes." He wouldn't have minded it either. Dolly took to Liz so he knew the dog liked her.

Wally sighed and knew that cop bullies usually tended to set their sights on a new target, the ones that came after them first. "I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do let me know." Just by the sound of her voice he knew she didn't want to dwell on this so he switched the topic. "Messy for sure. It turned out that the sheriff for the county lost the paperwork so Sunday when I landed had me at the station waiting for seven hours to see one page of a report that someone actually had saved. The rest needed to be requested from the San Diego office. Not only that but they had three suspects that all had alibis but stories didn't align correctly. So, now we have to trace all three of their footsteps. First guy had us at the National Park. The other was the aquarium and the last one which is my least favorite will have us at a strip club talking to some of the employees there. All this because no one thought to pull fingerprints. One deputy touched a bloody cloth with his hands." Wally sighed. "Upside is that they're all cooperating."

"Why are you so sure that Wildfire will hate you? Do you not trust me? If I had a doubt that she'd hurt you I wouldn't even have you consider this. It'll be like when you met Dolly. Wildfire will fall in love with you. Its not hard to do you know?" he rolled his eyes and laughed. "You are always thinking worst case scenarios. A pony? We can put you on ponies but technically Wildfire is a baby. You're scared of a little baby." His laughter wasn't mean spirited just amused. "It is a ranch. Fine we are adding feeding goats to the list. They jump up just FYI."

His sleepy little laughter rung out and nodded against his pillow. "Mhmm. The big old circle isn't there anymore but that's because city didn't let them build it. Said it was too big. But still there." Her laughter made him hum in content as he had forgotten how melodic a sound it was. "It's actually a funny story. The guy you were looking is friends with suspect number two. They just didn't put two and two together until I saw the report."

Wally switched to video as he had missed seeing her face but could use the pretense of seeing Dolly. He smiled sleepily as his eyes were the only thing visible. "They said it was Marilyn Monroe's ghost but I know that's false. She haunts the Roosevelt and we're so far away from that hotel. I think it's a poltergeist, might be, I hear rustling more than I see any figures pop up. I'm not scared," a little lie. "I just don't fuck with them. What if you inadvertently piss them off because you step on their favorite spot on the floor? And then you have one hanging on you and you have no idea how to begin to apologize." Shaking his head his eyes sparkled with amusement as he moved slightly so his long bang would fall to the side inside of on top of his eye. "Do you believe in them?"

#v. main | elizabeth #always! you know me i roll with it. like a nice buttered roll #lol #i didn't think it would be like this....but it is like this lol #the necia in her is fighting all the signs pretending that it isnt what it is #also dont feel the need to match length please. she got carried away

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tellyouily · 3 days ago

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maybe stay here forever

dnf - couch cuddles - 1.4k words

george likes dream's sweater and patches seems to like it too

There is this sweater that Dream wears sometimes, a dark blue half-zip fleece with leather patches on the elbows and deep, warm pockets, that George is a little bit obsessed with.

Of course, the pockets are mostly there to be used by whoever is wearing the sweater, not by his best friend slash boyfriend who constantly has cold hands, but it’s a nice benefit. Not to mention that Dream also happens to look especially great in it, all broad and soft and rugged—especially with a few days worth of stubble on his face and his curls a little messy.

Which has been the case for most of the time these recent weeks, much to George’s contentment.

If someone were to ask him about it, though, he would maintain that he likes the blue sweater a normal amount. Give or take. And he might bring himself to admit that it’s the person wearing it who he likes more than just a little. An abnormal amount, you could say. A ludicrous amount.

He’ll admit that happily.

After searching high and low for the past ten minutes, he finally finds Dream in the guest house, of all places. He’s on the couch with his legs outstretched and his laptop—surprise, surprise—perched on his lap. Somehow, Patches has fit herself on his chest, too, fast asleep with her head on his shoulder like a baby. She must have ventured in here looking for him, too.

And she must have taken one look at the dark blue sweater Dream is wearing and deemed it a nice place to take a nap.

George doesn’t appreciate that she succeeded on that quest before he did.

“Hey you,” he says, announcing his presence. He leans his back on the door to close it.

Dream looks up and stretches, lifting a hand to the back of his head. His screen casts a soft glow on his face, and George would bet good money that either gmail dot com or his editing software is currently filling it. Or both. Dream likes the split-screen function.

“Hey you,” Dream echoes, making George smile as he nudges past the coffee table to join him.

This is really not a couch that can fit two people lying down, it can barely fit one if he’s honest, but Dream scooches closer to the back pillow and lifts his arm as a wordless invitation.

George does not need to be asked twice, climbing into position. He feels like he’s precariously close to the edge, but then Dream wraps his arm around his waist and pulls him close, and he relaxes like he’s been given a sedative.

Patches stirs ever so slightly at the commotion, giving George what he’s sure is a pointed look.

“She took my spot,” he mumbles, frowning at her and watching her simply close her eyes again and let out a sigh.

Dream’s hand comes to rest near the waistline of George’s sweatpants, his fingers grazing the sliver of skin where his hoodie has ridden up.

“There’s two spots,” he says gently.

And he’s right, of course. And really, George thinks it’s a good sign that Patches has chosen this as her desired nap location. She’s a smart cat and if this is the safest, warmest place she could think of, then he trusts her judgment wholeheartedly.

He would probably do the same if he was a cat. He’s even doing it now, as a human.

Only now does the laptop screen in front of him come into focus, showing something entirely different from what he was willing to bet money on. It’s a sports game of some kind—football? Or is that rugby?

All he knows is that each team is wearing a different color and that they are both running around on the field trying to win. And that Dream might be a furnace in disguise with how warm he is. Mostly the last thing.

“What are you watching?” George asks.

“Football game,” he answers, followed by a soft huff of amusement. “That you don’t care about.”

“I care a lot, actually.”

“Uh huh.” His smile is audible. “I’m sure it’s so interesting to you.”

George nods into the folds of the fleecy fabric. “It is. I love it,” he lies, making Dream laugh.

The game on screen seems to go on some kind of break and the camera pans to the players standing around, leaning on their knees, out of breath, and to the crowd and muted discussion between the referee and who George assumes is one of the team captains. Dream sighs and presses a kiss on the top of George’s head.

“If it was soccer you’d care,” he says. “ Actually care.”

George hums in a way that means yes. Real football, you mean , he would have said if he wasn’t so comfortable that he is tempted to let sleep overtake him. Take a page out of Patches’ book.

He’s surrounded by the kind of warmth that reminds him of his childhood. Of coming back inside from playing in the snow and getting to sit by the fireplace and watch cartoons to get the feeling back in his fingers. It’s more than enough to make him want to succumb to sleep.

Dream’s palm coming to rest fully on his bare stomach makes him blink. On screen, the game has started back up and so has the faint sound of cheering coming from the speakers.

With some difficulty, he retrieves his phone from his pocket. If he is to keep himself awake while lying here, watching American football is not the way to do it.

He uses Dream’s chest to prop up his phone and lets his thumb swipe past X and over to Reddit instead.

Some of the posts are worth reading, others he scrolls past. It doesn’t take long for Dream’s attention to inevitably get pulled to his screen, as well, abandoning the game. George doesn’t blame him. He can tell that he’s reading, concentrating, by the way his hand starts drawing mindless shapes on his hip. He tries to move as little as possible in hopes that Dream won’t realize that he’s doing it and possibly stop.

They’re halfway through a particularly technical post about the motion detection system they’ve set up for the titan when a message from Sapnap pops up at the top of his screen.

Something stupid, of course. So stupid he might have just ignored it had it not been for the way he feels Dream smile against his temple.

George snorts. “What an idiot.”

He swipes down and types an even more stupid reply, making Dream turn his head away to laugh. Really laugh.

George grins. He knew that would get him. He’s much funnier than Sapnap could ever dream of being. “What’s so funny?”

Dream answers by burrowing his face into the back of his neck, his quiet laughter getting muffled by the hood of his hoodie. He’s in that kind of mood, George thinks; the one where he could say anything and Dream would find it funny.

It’s his favorite Dream-mood by far. He would know—he has them all cataloged.

“I should be a comedian,” he says, if only to prove his point—which it does.

“No, your guys’ humor is like, fucked,” Dream says, clearing his throat.

George sighs and clicks his phone off, moving his head back so he can see Dream’s face.

“You like it though,” he counters, running his hand over the stubble along his jaw.

Just then, Patches’s ears start to twitch and they both glance over at her, watching as she opens her eyes and stretches out her paws so far that they poke against George’s bottom lip.

“Oh no,” Dream says softly, petting her head with his free hand.

“Good riddance,” George mumbles, feeling a sense of smugness at the look of discontent he is sure that she gives him.

It’s not like they’re in a competition for Dream’s attention—except that they are, and he won it the second he walked into the room.

Dream shakes his head at his comment, but his amused-by-everything-George-says-smile hasn’t left. Patches stands up and hops onto the back of the couch, and then onto the floor, going off to somewhere quieter.

Good riddance.

“Guess she’s not a football fan,” Dream says.

George presses closer just because he can, hitching his leg up higher across Dream’s.

“Good thing I am,” he says, closing his eyes.

Dream shakes his head, his hand finding his thigh. “You’re an idiot, is what you are”

And George might like Dream’s sweater, but he thinks he likes making him laugh even more.

#dnf fic #dnf fanfic #tellyouily fics #they!!!

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arsenicflame · 3 months ago

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i think the moment i fundamentally lost all respect for s2 was when they treated that pathetic "sorry about your leg" as though it was a good enough apology for everything

#been thinking a lot about my position with the show recently #and how. everything they had going on should have let ed apologise properly #for their relationship to move on from this. in some capacity #and the narrative didnt let them #and i suppose. i refuse to believe thats a reasonable choice for the story #it should have been better. it deserved to be better. ed and izzy deserved to have more #nyxtalks #ofmd critical #< for blacklists #idk its a hard place to stand. because thats what the story Did. but it shouldnt have. i believe in my whole heart there was a better story #somewhere in there. no matter what you think about where their story should have gone. they deserved better #and ive been thinking about it. it ripples back #i found e5 pretty ok at the time. but for me. all of this ruins it #what was the point of eds story if he is just forgiven without effort?#he deserves the chance to earn true forgiveness. not just 'yeah this shit happens and we have to move on'#or whatever it was the crew said #the point of that is they deserve more #and ed should have been allowed to give them more

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ilovedthestars · 3 months ago

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I wasn't kidding when I said I spent an hour just trying to sketch out the pose for this drawing! Sometimes you just gotta go through like 8 sketch layers to figure out what you're doing.

I also ended up looking at two references--this one from The Pose Archive, which I traced the legs from after struggling for a while to get proportions that looked right, and a photo of myself that I asked my roommate to take so I could figure out what to do with the arms. The process got significantly faster when I remembered I could use references and started working with them.

I think it's good to show some of the behind-the-scenes of your artwork every now and then, both because process is cool and because it removes some of the sheen of "whoa, i could never make that." I know I get discouraged at times by artists who "make it look easy," when really I can't see all the time and hard work that went into making something. I don't want to create that feeling for anyone else!

So, here's a glimpse into how much I struggled to get the pose right, and below is the timelapse where you can see how much I fiddled with the colors until I had something I was happy with. It was probably at least two hours of "i am spending way too much time on this" and "why does this still not look right" before I got to a point where I started thinking, "wow, this looks good." But I got there eventually, and I'm really happy I stuck it out!

#hmm what to tag this #stars wips #i've only used that for writing but it works #art process #i don't wanna be like 'obviously everyone must be comparing themselves to my amazing art' or anything lol #but i've been in that position and it sucks! i still compare myself to lots of artists who probably also feel insecure about their own art!#so it's important to me to stop every now and then and be clear about where I am #in terms of time and effort put in; in terms of materials; in terms of experience and education #so no one is trying to compare themselves to me and feeling that they come up short #when i spent five hours on something and they spent one; or when they're just starting out and i have multiple years of formal art educatio #because that is not a fair comparison! and at least for me it helps to know that #i'm so excited about how well this drawing turned out because i feel like it shows how much growth i've had recently #i do not think i could have made this (to the same level of quality) a year ago #let alone when i was younger and just starting out #anyway. i hope what i'm trying to do & say comes across here #and if you're just here cuz you like watching art timelapses i hope you enjoy it lol

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justahumblememefarmer · 4 months ago

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Putting some positivity out there about the election

Harris has raised a record amount of money from small donors after Biden dropped out, in addition to being able to access all the funds from their campaign they already had

Trump is deeply unpopular and people have already seen the chaos that 4 years of his presidency would bring. A lot of people have been energized to vote against him, even if they're not fond of Dems

Polling showed a red wave for Republicans in the 2022 midterms, and yet they only barely had control of the House, and couldn't even agree on a Speaker for a historic amount of time. Dems also increased their lead in the Senate. Historically, midterms favor the opposition party and have lower turnout, so this is a good sign for the House in 2024

Dems are fighting back in swing states. PA and GA both put in Democratic senators in the midterms

In my home state of PA, I am from Bucks County, which is a swing county for the state. Moms for Libery took over the school board and used it to attack queer students, enact book bans, and funnel money to themselves and the superintendent. At the most recent election, Dems turned out and took back every single open seat, ousting the board and superintendent. Worry about similar takeovers in surrounding school boards also increased turnout

Abortion rights are on the ballot in many states, which has been a winning issue for Dems and increased turnout

Republicans were prepared to attack a feeble old Biden who isn't the strongest speaker. I don't think they expected him to actually drop out, and they now have to put an 78 year old convicted felon up against a prosecutor

Awareness of Project 2025 and it's contents has entered the public sphere and is being much more openly discussed on the news. While Trump has insisted he has nothing to do with it, most of the authors worked in his administration and Trump has worked closely with the Heritage foundation

Feel free to add more things on this thread, but the most important thing is to get out there and VOTE

Vote for President

Vote for Senators

Vote for Congresspeople

Vote in your local elections

Vote Blue down ballot

#2024 election #joe biden #kamala harris #donald trump #us elections #project 2025 #vote blue no matter who #my post

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buttercuparry · 3 months ago

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It is deeply sickening how even privacy has become a luxury for palestinians who are fundraising on this website. Since October 7th, Gazans have had to document their own genocide at great cost to themselves for no fault of their own; they have had to risk their lives to show you the bombings; they have had to record themselves bleeding.

They have had to show the tremendous personal loss they have suffered and their grief of it - all so that the Zionist narrative wouldn't be the only thing that gets peddled around in the digital space. But it seems like the more the months pass, and the atrocities keep mounting - the more people in the online space become desensitized to the suffering, and in fact are convinced that they are owed these documentation to even begin to care ( it has become especially clear after the recent smear campaign that put the entire demographic under horrible scrutiny ).

It is honestly so disgustingly voyeuristic to me- this demand to be allowed into someone’s grief so that you can be convinced that they too are of flesh and blood, to demand that they put their suffering on display for your judgement on their authenticity, to put the burden on THEM to do the work of breaking you out of your easy apathy towards their suffering.

For months, my friend Siraj Abudayeh ( @siraj2024 ) has tried to protect his and his family’s privacy. For months he has talked of Gaza and given you updates as is his capacity as a journalist. He thought that this would be enough for the people to understand just how much his family has to fight everyday to survive. But it seems like that didn't really cut it for a lot of users on tumblr, because his fundraiser stagnates every 12 hours when his updates stop circulating around tumblr.

So as much as it pains him to share this with an apathetic audience that may very well scroll past this post- he has agreed to talk a bit about his precious son, Amir, who has fallen sick with an infectious skin disease.

So don't you dare ignore this!!

You have demanded that Siraj perform; that he prove that he is a real person with a real family to protect- so here is Siraj with a story about his son. It is a reflection of how desperate he feels to willingly give up the privacy he fought to protect for months. So you better pay attention now!

Siraj's son Amir is a stubborn boy. It is impossible to move him from his position once he is convinced of something. This also makes him competitive and Siraj is proud to say that Amir had been on his school’s swimming team. “First level in the swimming course,” Siraj tells me with obvious pride. Amir has an exceptional ability to memorize too- quickly moving through his lessons and thus almost always having a place in the school celebrations of outstanding students.

Amir is stubbornly kind too. Amidst the bombings - this little boy didn't think of only saving himself. He carried his cat Jimmy all the way from the North of Gaza to the South. In Siraj’s words: He did not leave Jimmy for a moment, not even to take his shoes off, when it tore after hours of walking.

The two month old cat died a month into their displacement - with no food available, Amir had to watch his beloved pet waste away, desperate and yet unable to help in anyway. Tell me now, is this horrifying tidbit sufficient documentation of Amir’s unchilding? Is this enough?

Or do you also want to know of the shock Amir received on learning that his cousins have been martyred? Will you make Siraj describe this in all of its horrifying detail too? How his child has lost so much of his childhood to this war when he should be studying, going to school, and playing with his brothers and friends instead?

Their books, their school, their pet, their toys have all been lost in this genocide. Do they have to lay out all the indignities they are facing at your feet, do they have to lose the litle privacy they have left in that cramped, pest-ridden tent of theirs to convince you to not turn the other way?

Tell me what will finally be enough to make you pay attention?? What would be enough to convince you that Siraj’s survival fund is as much an emergency as all the other evacuation funds ?? I will ask him to share and we can all lay it out for you, because apparently some of you need a record of all that suffering presented to you like its a portfolio to give a fuck.

Siraj is tired, his wife Halima is too. Amir and his siblings have lost so much of themselves during these past 10 months. None of them are the people they used to be, and it is something they will carry for the rest of their lives!!

So please!

Please if Siraj has performed enough for you, then fucking donate to his campaign.

He has been fundraising from June!!! He has talked to hundreds of people and has bonded with enough of them to be considered a personal friend of theirs. Many have even agreed to share his story and many others have offered to hold commissions and raffles for him- but despite this, he still hasn't even crossed the halfway mark of his campaign yet!! What can a handful of friends do? When the mass of tumblr population isn't convinced of his suffering!

Amir is in constant pain right now due to the infection- and his brothers are beginning to show similar symptoms as him. They are all very unwell.

The money would go to helping Amir and his brothers survive!!

I can't tell you how frustrating it is to see this everyday when i personally know just how much Siraj sacrifices to make his presence known here- from braving the 3km route when he can get caught in crossfire- all so that he may have a hotspot connection at an exorbitant price. It burns away the money that might have gone into acquiring food and water.

WE ARE RUNNING OUT OF TIME!!!

SIRAJ NEEDS TO GET TO 40K WITHIN THIS WEEK SO THAT WE CAN BEGIN TO WORK TOWARDS THE LATTER HALF OF THE CAMPAIGN.

THIS IS URGENT. SIRAJ NEEDS TO MOVE ONTO HIS NEXT GOALS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE TO GET HIS KIDS TO SAFETY!

PLEASE DONATE ANY AMOUNT YOU CAN SPARE, THIS CANNOT WAIT.

Every MINUTE, every SECOND we delay meeting his goal, it costs siraj and his family more than some of us will ever understand.

Please help him out. It is the least we can do right now-> vetting at 219 on Hussein's spreadsheet.

#free palestine #free gaza #all eyes on rafah

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xiaq · 27 days ago

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Did you ever work in customer service? You give off been-in-the-trenches-and-are-better-for-it vibes.

Hi, this is slightly unhinged, but thank you!!

Now you're going to get the story of how I was offered a job on the spot for the first ever position I ever interviewed for (which was, indeed, customer service).

Okay, so, I'm 15, my birthday is in two days, and HEB (Texas grocery store) is hiring baggers for $7 an hour and cashiers for a whole whopping $10 an hour. Cashiers have to have prior experience OR have to work as a bagger for a year first. But I am full of teenage verve and I want that cashier position. I want it now.

I show up on my motorcycle, so I'm in my "professional" outfit but carrying my helmet when I enter the hiring manager's office, which really sets the tone for how things proceed.

The interviewer is like, "how old are you?" and babyface mcgee me, five foot tall and all of 90lbs says, "Fifteen. But I'm sixteen in two days."

And he's like, "...we can't hire you if you're fifteen."

And I'm like, "bet, but you can get the paperwork started now, yeah?"

And he says, "wait, how did you drive a motorcycle here if you're 15?"

So the first 5 minutes of the interview turn into me showing him my license, explaining DMV rules re 15-yr-olds and permitted engine size for motorcycles and pointing out my bike in the parking lot.

"Okay," he says, clearly trying to rally. "So you have a method of transportation, that's great, but we can't consider you for the cashier job if you don't have experience. We can only consider you as a bagger."

I'm prepared for this. I lay out my most recent report card, as well as copies of the sports and academic awards I've achieved in the last year. I give my "I'm a fast learner, I'm a hard worker, and you'll benefit more from me working as a cashier, interacting with customers, than a bagger" speech. I've been buying groceries at this store my whole life, so I know that cashiers are ranked by how many 'Item of the Week' they manage to hawk at checkout (typically batteries or soda or chips). "I'll be top of the ranking for Item of the week, just you wait."

I think he is reluctantly charmed by my bull-headedness. "Okay,” he says, reaching for the can of coke on his desk. "Fine. Sell this to me, then. Right now."

This man is mid-forties. He has bad handmade artwork hung up on his office wall.

"Do you have kids?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Two," he says. "Boy and a girl. The girl is just a year younger than you, actually."

"Ah," I say, "is it getting harder and harder to connect with her? Monosyllabic answers? Spends all her time in her room."

"...yes," he says.

“I was the same,” I say somberly. “Until, one afternoon, my dad came into my room and handed me a Coke.”

I tap my fingers on the Coke in front of me.

“He told me to come share a drink with him while he grilled on the back porch and that once I’d finished my Coke I could crawl, hissing, back to my room, but he wanted company until then. And see, I did, actually, want to spend time with my dad. I just didn’t know how to initiate it, and my teenage hormones made it difficult for me to express that. So I took the Coke and stomped my way outside but once I was there, I drank it slowly. And I answered his questions about school and cheerleading and asked him about work and we planned a weekend father-daughter motorcycle trip into the hill country. And ever since then, every few days, he’ll come to my room and offer me a Coke, and I’ll spend half an hour drinking it in his company.”

I slide the coke across the desk to him. “Might be an approach to try with your daughter, what do you think?”

He catches the Coke automatically. He sighs.

"Yeah, alright," he says. "Cashier job is yours. Come back in two days when you're actually sixteen and we'll get your paperwork sorted out." I worked there for the rest of high school and I was, typically, top of the rankings for selling Items of the Week the entire duration.

Entirely unrelated, I hate coke. I don’t drink soda, and the only beverage my dad has ever shared with me on the back porch is a margarita. But he didn’t need to know that.

#Lol #Shout out to all the folks in the customer service trenches #Storytime #mylife #If I had nothing else I had the audacity

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bucks-babe · 5 months ago

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See What I See

Pairing: Husband!Dilf!Bucky x Wife!Milf! f reader

Summary: You husband shows you how much he loves your postpartum body

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Slight angst (Petal is insecure about her body after birth), postpartum sex, fluffy smut, safe sex (for once), body worship, they are in love, stretch marks, weight gain, struggles with weight loss, lactation kink?, husband kink?, lube, fingering f!rec, p in v, oral f!rec, praise kink, talk about sexual dysfunction, struggling to orgasm, sex toy (vibrator), Bucky is the perfect man, safe to say that he is officially a Dilf, mentions of masturbation, mentions of their daughter, small mention of a hypothetical fire and burns (like one line)

A/N: Part 2 of Let Me Be of Service but can be read alone. Don't know how good this will be but here it is. Thanks to my girl, @buckys-wintersoldier for beta reading; however, any and all mistakes are my own

You know that Bucky is getting antsy; he’ll never say it, but he misses your body, craves the warmth of you engulfing him in your tight heat. Even more than that, he misses holding you, having you sit in his lap, his arms wrapped around you, every part of your body pressed against his, your nightly cuddles, all of it.

He knows that your body has gone through a lot, but he needs to be close to you again, sex or not, he just wants to hold you. Of course, he’ll never say anything; he doesn’t want to pressure you into having sex with him. He’s been patiently waiting to make love to you for eleven weeks. Recently, he and his right hand have been best friends.

Tonight is the first night that he’s able to take you on a date. It’s not a very lavish date - takeout and a movie, but you didn’t want to leave the house, too much packing with your padded bra that you would have to change, and the thought of leaking through your dress was too much to handle.

The date was perfect, finally able to feel like yourself again; you weren’t mom and dad, but Duckie and Petal. It’s not like you don’t want to have sex with your husband, quite the opposite, but between little Bug and your hormones you’ve been struggling. On top of that, the insecurities about your body have been running rampant in your mind.

Your breasts aren’t as perky, stomach softer than it's ever been, raised stretch marks cover your stomach, breasts, and thighs, cellulite dimpling the fat on your ass and thighs. Your body isn’t the same as it was before. You knew that it wasn’t going to be the same, but you didn’t expect such a drastic change. Other women seem to be able to lose their pregnancy weight in weeks, but you’ve somehow gained weight. Maybe it was because Bucky made sure that you were eating, saying that you needed your nutrients to feed Bug, but it didn’t help your confidence either way.

But by the end of the night you weren’t thinking about that, you were thinking about how sexy your man looked in his blue button up, hair perfectly styled, your favorite scent on his skin - you wanted him. It started slowly, gently straddling his lap.

“Petal, what are you doing?” He wasn’t going to complain about your position, warm palms already tracing the exposed flesh of your thighs.

“You just look so good, Duckie. Could eat you right up.” You place your hands on his shoulders, lightly grinding your pantie clad core against his already hard bulge. The lopsided smirk on his face makes your cunt pulse with need. “S’been too long.”

“I’ll wait forever and a day for you, Petal.” His right hand cups your chin, leading your lips to his. Your shared moans mix together, only sharing pecks for too long, never sharing deep, languid kisses like you used to. He flicks his tongue on your lower lip and without hesitation you open up.

The kiss doesn’t speed up. Bucky has waited too long to rush this moment. His left hand moves to your hip, encouraging you to grind against him. At the first motion, Bucky breaks the kiss, tipping his head back, looking at you with half lidded eyes, pupils blown and a dopey smile on his face. “Petal, you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

Bucky catches the way your demeanor shifts, almost cringing away from his praise. “I mean it. You’re so fucking perfect.” The movement of your hips stop completely and you try to leave his lap but Bucky only pulls you closer.

“Duckie, I don’t look the same as I used to. I’m scared you won’t find me attractive anymore.” The words come out so easily. It’s your Bucky; you could tell him anything.

“Ah, ah, Petal, I will not tolerate you talking about my wife like that, you hear me? This perfect body, all those changes that you think ruin you? Fuck, they make me fall harder for you if that’s even possible. You gave me my daughter; how could I think that you are less than the goddess you are?”

“Duckie, I..” He cuts you off, his eyes full of sorrow for not making you see how wonderful you are sooner.

“Shh, let me show you. Let me show you what you do to me.” You nod, trusting him to bring you to the surface. He starts with feather light kisses down your neck, tongue lapping at the sheen of sweat starting to form. “Skin so soft, tastes so good.”

Easing one of the straps from your sundress down your shoulder, he trails his lips all the way down your arm, eyes meeting yours as he gets lower. He does the same on the other side, only pressing extra kisses to your ring. You can feel his grin against your skin as he sucks on your collarbones.

Your breath hitches as he lowers the fabric, exposing your sensitive breasts to him, cupping one in each hand. “Perfect fucking tits. So beautiful, feeding our baby, keeping her strong and healthy. You do that, Petal, your body does that for her.” A lump begins to form in your throat, his gentle touches and praises almost too much and he isn’t even inside you yet.

As his thumbs graze your nipples, milk leaks out. “Oh my god, Duckie, I’m so sorry.” Before you can move to clean them up, Bucky latches on, suckling, his eyes locking onto yours. A heady moan leaves your lips; breastfeeding wasn’t something that was pleasurable. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but the sight of Bucky latched on is erotic, your husband worshiping your breasts has your pussy clenching around nothing.

A distinct pop sounds out as he pulls off of your nipple, only to move on to the other. You can’t control the swirl of your hips against his crotch or the continuous leaking of your breasts. “Almost as good as your pussy, but nothing can beat the taste of my sweet girl. C’mon, let me take you to bed.”

He picks you up with ease, your naked breasts rubbing against his shirt, soaking the front of it. In the room, he sets you down, pulling off the rest of your dress, letting it pool at your feet, taking your hand as you step out. You whimper at the sight of his hand rubbing his bulge. “Duckie, please, need you.”

“In time, sweetheart. I’m not done with your body just yet.” With one hand on your waist and one on your head, he lowers you to the bed, only your panties remaining. “Don’t know how you’re so goddamn gorgeous.” You feel your body go lax as he crawls over you, lips tracing every mark on your stomach, moaning at the soft skin there.

“Love these stretch marks. Makes me so hard knowing that my baby did this to you. My baby gave you these pretty stripes.” Your legs fall open on their own accord, desperate for his mouth or fingers to touch your pussy. But he only does the same thing to the stretch marks on your thighs, sucking bruises the closer he gets to your cunt, and you’re sure that you’re dripping.

“Duckie, please I need you to touch my pussy. You make me feel so good, s’been so long.” Bucky groans at the breathy moans leaving your perfect lips. He keeps his eyes on yours as he eases your underwear down your legs and throws them across the room.

Still holding eye contact, Bucky brings his middle finger to your core. To both of your surprise, you aren’t wet - at all. Mentally you were so turned on but physically your body wasn’t. “I don’t, Duckie, it’s not, you didn’t.” You don’t know what you were trying to say, embarrassment flooding your stomach.

“I know, Petal, s’not your fault. It happens, nothing to be embarrassed about.” The love and safety in his eyes relax you. Bucky leans down, tongue running through your slit, pulling back just to spit on your clit. “Still the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Only pussy I want to see for the rest of my life.” Laying flat on the bed, Bucky lifts your thighs on his shoulder and dives back in, purposefully getting his spit all over your cunt, acting as lube for his motions.

Bucky’s always known exactly how to fuck you, how to lick you, to make you cum, but the first suck has your body jerking, a hiss escaping you. “Duckie, just lick, please, too sensitive.” He doesn’t pull away from your center but changes from sucking to licking. Your hand drops down to thread through his hair. “Just like that, baby. Love your tongue on me.”

You see his hips grind down on the bed, the vibrations of his moan almost send you over the edge. “Give me your fingers, please.” Bucky has to use all the restraint in his body not to cum on the bed; it’s been too long since he’s heard your pretty moans. His middle finger teases your entrance, slowly sliding in, groaning at the tightness around his finger.

“Oh, shit, m’gonna cum, don’t stop, just like that.” Your hips grind against his face, chasing more of him, pussy pulsing around his digit. He keeps the same pace, not changing the rhythm at all, but your orgasm is just out of reach. Vibrations of his encouragement don’t do anything and your orgasm slowly fades away.

Tapping on his head, Bucky pulls away, clearly confused as to why you wanted him to stop. “Can’t cum, Duck.”

“Why’d you stop me? You know I’ll go until you soak my face, Petal.”

“Because I could feel it, that I wasn’t going to cum.” You run your hands down your face, groaning in frustration. “I’m sorry, I ruined the moment. If you want I can suck you off.” Bucky only raises an eyebrow, clearly offended. “Duckie, I haven’t done anything for you in almost three months. I can’t leave you high and dry.”

“Get over here.” He swifty pulls you onto his lap, grabbing both sides of your face. “First of all, you can never ruin the moment. When you were still pregnant you accidentally pissed on me and I still finished fucking you. You think that some trouble cumming is going to ruin the moment?” You suck your teeth at his pointed look but don’t interrupt him.

“Second of all, and this one is very important. You will never and I mean never do anything that you do not want to do. I don’t give a shit if we haven’t had sex in three years; I will not make you feel like you have to please me.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I do, but I don’t want to disappoint you if I can’t cum. Don’t want you to think it’s your fault. I want to feel you inside me, but what if I can’t cum? What if it isn’t good for you? What if I’m loose and it's not the same?” Bucky rubs his thumbs through your tears before they fall down your face.

“Petal, my perfect wife,” he presses soft kisses to both your eyes, “all I want is to make you feel good, show you how much I love your body.” Gently, he lays down, pulling you on top of him again. “Of course it’s going to be different. You gave birth, sweetheart, but that doesn’t mean that your little pussy isn’t going to make me bust.” You swallow, trying not to cry again. “Come here.”

He quickly pulls his shirt off and tosses it across the room, pulling you down, feeling your naked chest against his, a few droplets of milk leaking out. You bury your head in his neck, breathing in his comforting scent. Tracing his hands up and down your back, you feel your body go lax, missing being so close to your husband. “My pretty Petal, your little pussy was squeezing my finger so damn tight that I don’t know if she can still take my cock.”

You perk up at his words. “Really?” Bucky giggles at how easy it was to make you feel better. It wasn’t a lie either, after so long of not stretching around his cock your pussy forgot how to welcome him. “Can we, can we try again?” Grinning at your question, Bucky reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a condom, lube, and your favorite vibrator. “Duckie, when did you buy condoms?”

A blush creeps up his cheeks. “When you got cleared for sex.” At the look on your face he quickly explains himself. “Not that I was expecting anything. I just wanted to be prepared, you know, since you’re extra fertile after giving birth. And I wouldn’t complain about having another but I figured you would want to wait a bit, because we just had little Bug but-” You cut him off with a deep kiss, his hands immediately caressing your body.

“I love you, you’re the perfect husband, you know that?”

“Well, you married me for a reason.” You just shook your head at him in disbelief, grinding your hips against his, drawing a groan from him.

“I want you inside of me, Duckie. Can I please have your cock.” Bucky groans, throwing his head back. Flipping you both over and standing up, Bucky takes off the rest of his clothes. “Shit, I almost forgot how beautiful you are, Duckie.”

Climbing back on top of you, he smirks at you. “I would never forget how gorgeous you are, and I’ll be damned if I let you forget either.” You almost drool at the sight of your sculpted husband rolling the condom down his thick cock. “Damn, Petal, I can’t remember the last time we used one of these. Could barely remember how to put it on, maybe I should have asked for help.”

“Oh my god, you’re unbelievable.” No matter where you are, Bucky always has to make a joke. Half of the reason is because he loves to see you smile, but the other half is because you make him comfortable enough to leave all inhibitions at the door.

His warm hands gently spread your legs, allowing him to settle in between. “Holy fuck. I’m not gonna fucking last, I can guarentee it. Look at you, all spread out for me, all your curves - pulchritudinous.”

The clenching of your cunt is ignored at his last word. “What the fuck did you just say? Pulchritudinous? Really?” Bucky’s eyes snap back to yours, previously latched onto your body, a huge smile gracing his features, the cutest giggle leaving him, eyes bright and shining.

“Sorry, Petal, pussy got me feeling philosophical.” Your mouth falls open and you blink at him - once, twice, before bursting out in laughter.

“There is something wrong with you.”

“But you love it.”

“I do, but are you going to fuck me or not?”

“No, Petal, I’m going to make love to you.”

He grabs the lube, letting a glob fall onto your cunt before rubbing it in, cooing at the hiss you let out from the coldness. “Are you ready, sweet girl?” Your breathy yes has Bucky lining his tip up. “Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?” You nod, reaching out to grab his hands.

Callused fingers rub the back of your hands, soothing your nerves. Somewhere along that way, you’ve relaxed, mind no longer worried about how you look, not when Bucky is worshiping every inch of you. Easing in, you both gasp, Bucky at how tight and warm you feel, you at the uncomfortable stretch. “Wait, Duckie.” Bucky immediately stops, only his tip inside.

“You alright, Petal?” You close your eyes, nodding between deep breaths. The rhythmic pulsing of your tight cunt has your husband holding in a groan. His hands run up and down your thighs, resting them over his own, using his position to take in how beautiful you are, soft belly on display, heaving, wet breasts, the most beautiful stretch marks lining your belly and thighs. He catches the bright pink of your vibrator out of the corner of his eye, reaching out to grab it, slowly tracing it on your inner thighs.

“Yeah, just need a minute. Need more lube, please.” You're ready for the chill this time as he adds more lube. “Can you use the vibrator while I relax, please?” It takes every muscle in Bucky’s body to not slam the rest of the way into you, pounding your perfect pussy with your toy on high, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you, but he knows you need time.

He starts on the lowest setting, trailing it around your lips, feeling the vibrations on his cock, before gently placing it on your clit. “Oh.” Your little gasp has Bucky leaking precum into the condom. Slowly, you start to roll your hips, taking a little more of his cock each time, chasing the pleasure from the toy.

“That’s it, good girl.” You squeeze the hand that’s still laced with yours, soft moans leaving your lips at his praise. “Take what you need, Petal, I got you.” The ache in your cunt dies down little by little, still trying to accept his cock after months of recovery. “Pussy’s so fucking tight, just as good as I remember. Fuck, maybe even better. You wanna know why, Petal?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer, words coming out between breathy groans. “Because this perfect pussy, this perfect body, gave me the most beautiful gift. Can feel you clenching around me, so close to cumming on your husband’s cock.”

You don’t even realize that you’ve taken his entire length inside of you until the warmth of his heavy balls rests against your ass. Clit pulsing under the tiny bullet, ready to let go and give your husband what he wants. “M’gonna cum, oh, please. Baby, I need it, been your good girl. Let me cum.”

Your eyes open, meeting Bucky’s loving gaze. “Always been my good girl, Petal. I’ve got you, let your husband take care of you. Cum for me, soak my cock, m’already so close for you.” It doesn’t take much to send you over the edge, Bucky doing everything in his power to empty your mind, making you only know the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Fuck, baby.” You can’t finish the rest of your sentence, eyes rolling back as your orgasm rolls over you. Bucky leans down, taking your lips in his before his own release floods into the condom, his groans falling into your mouth. You both stay like that for a while, breathing in each other’s scent, words of praise whispered in your ear.

Eventually, Bucky rolls off, taking off the used condom and tossing it in the trash. “Could’ve given it to me, Duckie, missed the taste of your cum.” You giggle at Bucky’s groan.

“I could get it out from the trash?” He words it like a question, but you know he is 100% serious.

“No, you dirtball.” Bucky laughs before scooping you up into his arms, holding you so close to him that you can feel every breath he takes.

“Petal, I will spend the rest of my life proving to you how beautiful you are. It doesn’t matter if we have another baby, we get old together, you get in a fire and burn 90% of your body.”

You smack his arm at his last point. “Duckie! Don’t say that or it’ll end up happening and I don’t want to go through that.”

“Neither do I, Petal, but I’m letting you know that my cock will always be hard for you, even when I’m 80.”

“You don’t think you’re going to need pills by then?”

“Of course not, not when I have you. It would be impossible for me to not get hard when it comes to you.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Hell, I’ll probably still be hard when I’m dead.”

“Duckie!”

He only laughs and somehow pulls you even closer. “I plan to spend the rest of my life with you, Petal. You’re the love of my life and it breaks my heart that you don’t see what I see.”

The mood in the room suddenly changes. “You’re my soulmate, Duckie, and it may take some time, but I think it would be impossible to not feel like I’m the sexiest woman alive when I’m with you.”

“Good, because it’s the truth and I get to have you all to myself.” You fall asleep in his arms feeling much better about your body, already planning on how you’re going to reward him for being the perfect husband. Maybe you’ll wake him up with the sloppiest blowjob. Yeah, he’ll love that.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky imagine #bucky smut #sebastian stan x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan smut

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ghostlyferrettarot · 3 months ago

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◆Pick a Picture:📀🌌🧊Current gossip about you🧊🌌📀

•Pile 1 •Pile 2 •Pile 3

❗️This is a collective reading, take what resonates and leave the rest❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

🧊If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🧊

🌌Masterlist🌌

📀Pile 1: 8 of Swords, King of Swords and Temperance.

Hi pile 1! People are probably commenting on your accomplishments. I feel like you've recently achieved something significant that you've been chasing for a while now. Many underestimated you, thinking you were just playing around, but you've done it. Now they wonder how you manage to make it all seem so easy and how relaxed you look while working on your goals. Some may even be a little envious of your ability to move forward with clarity and determination, which can intimidate those around you.

The way you attract success seems almost magical to others, but the truth is that they don't see the effort and dedication you put in every day. I feel that many may even be envious of you in these aspects, you are an abundant person with clear objectives, this makes others feel intimidated. The obsidian stone can be a valuable tool to protect you from those negative energies.

Continue to pursue your goals with the same passion and determination you have so far. You are on the right path; don't let other people's opinions take you away from your path; what matters is your own journey and the effort you put into it. Success will come to you soon ;).

📀Song:

📀Pile 2: The Star, Queen of Wands and 6 of Wands.

Hi pile 2! People are talking about your great change in general. It's like you're in a stage of personal radiance, where everything you've experienced has taken you to a new level. Even though you've faced difficult times recently, you've managed to get up and start shining with your own light. People around you can notice that positive energy you emanate now, and many have noticed how good you look. It's natural that some are curious about your drastic change. They wonder what you've done to achieve this transformation, they wonder How have you managed to change your style, your way of being and your attitude towards life? The truth is that you have worked hard to get here, and that dedication has not gone unnoticed! People are intrigued by the decisions you have made to improve your life.

Don't forget that your strength is what has allowed you to overcome obstacles and move forward. If you have managed to get ahead, it is thanks to your effort and the courage you have shown every step of the way. Be proud of what you have achieved and the good things that are yet to come. You deserve it, and this is just the beginning of a journey full of opportunities and achievements! Lucky you pile 2!

📀Song:

📀Pile 3: Queen of Wands, Ace of Swords and 5 of Wands.

Hi pile 3! People are talking a lot about your talents lately. I think you are an extremely creative person, who knows how to express their ideas in a unique and special way. It is evident that others notice it too.

I feel that the gossip about you comes mainly from your work or school environment; Many may admire the way you carry yourself, your confidence and how naturally talented you are at what you do. Many may be envious of your work, I feel that someone may be spreading false gossip about you; but do not worry, I feel that you are very protected by your guides and that your environment knows that you are someone very genuine.

Keep showing the world your art and your talents, as you are destined to go far and inspire others with your knowledge. Trust in yourself and your potential! You can go very high if you continue to focus on your goals!

📀Song:

📀🧊Thanks for reading and tell me if it resonated🧊📀

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seiwas · 1 year ago

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₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love.

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity.

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s.

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory.

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t.

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

It starts with the little things.

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23.

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying.

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly.

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy.

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze.

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry.

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji.

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away.

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them.

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in.

A chuckle escapes you.

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone.

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue.

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly).

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing.

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order).

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly.

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly.

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you.

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times.

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick.

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you.

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning.

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage.

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice.

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming.

Is this what it means to be in love with you?

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you.

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing.

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there.

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will.

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen.

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin.

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own.

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old.

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek.

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this.

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit.

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him?

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score.

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems.

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely.

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing.

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes.

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room.

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette.

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into.

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it.

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach.

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’.

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age.

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined.

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines.

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students.

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew.

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly.

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy.

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time.

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced.

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen?

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially.

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully.

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared.

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too.

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing.

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile.

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy).

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since.

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly.

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too.

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you.

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked.

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue.

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows.

But it isn’t, and your smile widens.

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does.

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.”

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel.

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you.

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow.

“What made him ask?”

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity.

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.”

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever.

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his.

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t.

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders.

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together.

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks.

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed.

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours.

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17.

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology.

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you.

He says it as if it is the simplest truth.

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll.

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think.

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.

“Something like it.”

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?”

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you?

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’.

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering.

Can he see? You’re meant for him only.

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away.

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other.

You cup his cheeks.

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now.

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief.

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile.

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips.

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you.

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together.

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips.

You laugh—sprinkled in love.

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!”

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully.

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.”

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks.

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now.

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage.

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should.

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you?

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give.

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing.

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too.

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface.

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry.

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up?

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging.

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through.

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking.

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving.

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you.

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you.

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with.

He knows it.

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with?

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same.

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak.

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him.

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?)

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today.

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet.

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold.

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you.

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go.

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him.

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it.

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright.

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask.

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more.

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it.

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society.

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much.

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him.

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you.

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips.

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly.

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks.

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching.

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry.

Your grip on him tightens.

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck.

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.”

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder.

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum.

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it.

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even.

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately.

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.”

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune.

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled.

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.”

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding.

You always do.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today.

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane.

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making.

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything.

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over.

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy.

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky.

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life.

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.”

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you.

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way).

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now.

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

He’s shocked too.

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely.

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.”

The little laugh you make has him, completely.

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too.

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’.

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you.

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him.

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently.

The best part about being in love?

He gets to be in it with you.

Gojo can’t sleep.

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will.

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching.

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck.

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m.

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that.

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it.

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island.

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating.

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever.

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling.

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting.

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him.

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain.

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it.

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray.

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too.

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like.

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you.

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek.

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret.

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after.

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already.

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep.

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing.

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin.

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging.

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one.

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone.

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good.

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing).

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs.

(And he loves that about you).

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder.

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill.

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice.

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them.

He knows.

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you.

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only.

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you.

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy.

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides.

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.”

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love.

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night.

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong.

Are you happy with me?

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!! of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #shotorus.writes #col #algorithm pls love me

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improbable-outset · 5 months ago

Note

I recently became an auntie/uncle! (yay!) My little nibling was overdue by a week and the funny thing is, as a way to induce labor, sib and their lovely s/o tried the whole sexy times to get baby moving. And it worked! So how about Miguel and their s/o in that same scenario and Miguel convinces his loving wife to try it out seeing as their kid is a few days overdue? Bonus if it works! That man def be looking at his heavily pregnant wife with hungry eyes lol!

Pregnant!Reader smut 😍😍 yes please! (Also congrats on your new addition to the family anon, and sorry this took so long)

📄 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐉𝐨𝐲

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎𝟑 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.4k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Wife!Reader, gross talks of placenta lmao, SMUT, Pregnancy sex, spooning position, virginal fingering, unprotected sex, brief mentions of the labour phase, breastfeeding and lots and lots of fluff.

𝐀/𝐍: I would’ve been lost if it wasn’t for @lazyjellyfish300 (Thank you bestie!!)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: It has been a week past your baby girl’s due date, and Miguel thinks it’s the perfect time to explore some natural methods to induce labour.

Miguel watched you anxiously as you tried to walk hand in hand down the street with him. One of your hands rested on your baby bump, while the other clung to his.

It was a quiet night as you both made your way back home, but even in an absence of a crowd, Miguel still felt an extra precaution over you.

He leaned over and nuzzled his face against your shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah…I’m good,” you replied, struggling to sound convincing. Miguel knew you were concealing your stiffness. With the baby fully developed, you were ready to give birth at any given moment.

It had been a week past your due date, and you hadn’t felt any contractions. Miguel had adviced you to stay home to avoid any potential issues or emergencies while out.

But you were growing tired of being indoors all day and, after pleading with him, had finally secured a dinner date at one of your go-to restaurants.

The city was more beautiful at night, with the spectacle of lights and holograms illuminating the cityscape. Fortunately, it was within walking distance from your house, so you didn’t have to travel far.

Still, you found it difficult to manoeuvre around, struggling with your new, cumbersome, body. His eyes darted between you and the path ahead.

“Are you sure?” He asked, his voice showing his skepticism as he noticed the slight tremor in your steps.

“Mhmm,” you were starting to sound breathless now.

He noticed how you were stuggling to keep up with his pace, even while holding hands. He slowed down to match your steps.

“You’re having trouble again,” Miguel said with a hint of concern. “Why didn’t you tell me to slow down earlier?”

You huffed. “I’m just a little disappointed that I couldn’t have the sushi,”

Miguel gave a small smile. He knew how much you had been craving the sushi from the restaurant and felt bad that you couldn’t have it.

He tried to sooth your disappointment. “Lo sé, amor,” he said. “But we have to think about the baby. Your health comes first,”

He gently pulled you closer, wrapping an arm around you and supporting your back as you continued to walk. “I know it’s hard, but it won’t be long now. Just a few more weeks and you’ll be able to eat all the sushi you want,”

“Yeah…this baby really doesn’t want to come out,” you sighed, glancing down at the bump. Miguel’s eyes followed, imagining your daughter inside.

He can already sense that she would inherit his stubbornness if she didn’t want to leave the comfort of the womb for the outside world— he smiled at the thought.

“I know. But she’ll come out when she’s ready. And she’ll be worth the wait, I promise,” Miguel felt the tension from your shoulders ease up at the thought. Thinking about holding your baby for the first time still felt surreal, even while you were fully developed.

“You know, I was kinda hoping I would start contracting back in the restaurant,” you mused.

“You’re that eager for the baby to come out, huh?”

“Uh huh, I think it’d be a pretty memorable experience,”

“It definitely will be memorable,” he imagined what it would be like if you suddenly writhe in pain the moment you get into labour while dining together. It didn’t seem like a pleasant scenario, however. “But I don’t think the other patrons would appreciate a surprise birth in the middle of dinner,”

“Right, of course,” you said. “But the food was still good though,”

“Yeah, it was.” He continued to walk by your side. “But I bet that sushi would’ve been tastier,” he added with a tease.

You rolled your eyes and pouted. “Urgh, don’t remind me,”

“Heh, I’m sorry amor,” he chuckled, his instinct quickly went on high alert again, focusing on your well-being.

His fingers traced circles on your back, a comforting reminder of his presence and support. He wanted to make sure he was there for you.

“I’ve heard women eat their own placenta,” you commented casually, breaking the comfortable silence.

Miguel couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust. He didn’t understand why you would bring it up, especially after a nice dinner. Knowing how easily queasy you could get, especially during your pregnancy, he was taken aback by your comment.

“Okay, that is gross,” he responded “I don’t want to think about eating your own placenta. Besides, there is no way that’s healthy, right?”

He knew you’d never entertain such an idea , especially if it’s people doing things online. He shook his head, trying to banish the unpleasant image.

“I don’t know, you’re the scientist here,” you said with a shrug

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He loved it when you would always remind him of his science background, something that he took pride in.

“Well, from a science perspective, I can tell you there’s no real evidence that eating your own placenta has any benefits.” He glanced at you before looking forward again. “I can imagine it being little too gritty and chewy like granola,”

“Eww I don’t think I can have granola the same now…” You scrunch your own face in disgust, mirroring Miguel's earlier reaction.

“Oh come on, mi vida. Don’t let the idea of eating a placenta ruin granola for you. There are plenty of other healthy food options like…uhm kale?”

“Kale?”

He couldn’t stop the grin from forming on his lips, clearly enjoying prodding you. “Yeah you know, the leafy stuff that tastes like grass.”

“Grass is appetising to you?”

He was clearly just milking it now out of spite and further teasing the conversation. “You don’t like the taste of grass? It boosts your immune system and gives you a healthy gut biome. You should definitely try it sometime,”

“Oh ok, cow.”

“Cow? Is that what you're gonna call me from now on?”

“Mooooo,” you mimicked, leaning into the joke.

“Okay okay I get it. I guess I’m a cow who likes eating grass and kale. You win this one, amor,” Miguel conceded.

Though he felt a swell of admiration towards you at that moment. Despite the discomfort you must’ve been feeling right now, you still managed to bring light into the situation.

You were definitely ready to be a mother and he couldn’t wait to see the more maternal nature from you.

Though in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if you’re doing it to distract yourself or, worse, distract him from your unease.

He really hoped it was just the former; at least that would be more reasonable. He knew how stubborn you could be when it came to your well-being, and now wasn’t the best time for that, given your vulnerable state.

Memories of the last time you pushed yourself too hard, refusing to talk to him about your stress until you reached burnout, were still fresh in his mind.

“Next thing you know, you’re gonna say you smoke grass too,” And there was more of that smartass mouth of yours.

He set the earlier concerns aside and focused on coming up with a response to match your sarcasm. “Well I wouldn’t rule it out, maybe I’ll try some kale-wrapped placenta. Who knows?”

“Eww okay stop,” you wrinkled your nose in mock horror.

“Heh, you started it with the placenta talk, amor.”

“Yes, and you somehow made it worse,” you resorted, shaking your head. You both moved on from the placenta talk, shifting to a more pleasant topic the rest of the way home.

Miguel felt a wave of relief wash over him as he stepped foot into the house. The familiar surroundings offered a sense of security that eased his mind; knowing you were safe within these walls and away from any disturbance or danger from outside.

He watched as you padded over to the living room, your gait slowed by the weight of your baby bump. You sank onto the couch with a sigh. Despite the safety of indoors, Miguel’s protective instincts kept him alert with his eyes following your every move.

Ever since your due date had passed, Miguel had been anticipating the moment you would feel your first contraction.

Your hospital bag had been so packed for days, sitting in the corner of the room like a silent sentinel. It was filled with extra clothes, thick pads and everything else you might need. He was determined to be prepared for any eventuality.

But it seemed as though time stretched to a crawl as the days dragged on past your due date. Despite his effort to remain patient, he couldn’t help but feel a little restless yet excited for the baby’s arrival.

He settled onto the couch beside you and held the baby bump, feeling the gentle movements of your daughter inside. He wondered how you were feeling physically, sensing that must be feeling a mix of discomfort and anticipation.

Part of him wished for the labour to start soon, not just to end your pain but to finally see you hold your baby for the first time. He knew that moment would be etched in his memory forever.

He wanted nothing more than to come back into the apartment finally being a family of three. His eyes fell on you again; you looked worn out but you still looked stunning.

He had heard about the pregnancy glow but never truly believed it until he saw you. Your beauty seemed to shine even brighter through the fatigue and the physical toll of motherhood.

He felt you shift slightly, seeking a more comfortable position. “How are you feeling, amor? Do you need anything?” He asked softly.

You shook your head, offering a tired smile. “No, I’m okay. Just a little achy,”

“I can imagine…” he replied.

No, I don’t think I could even remotely imagine.

He could sense your aches, even if you were trying to downplay it. “How about we call it a night and get ready for bed? I can bring you some tea to help you relax,”

“That would be nice, actually. Thank you.” You said. Miguel stood to his feet and extended his hand to you. Once you grabbed it, he gently helped you to get to your feet too.

You headed over to the bedroom, the house hushed to a comfortable silence, while Miguel moved to the kitchen to prepare a cup of chamomile tea.

As the water heated on the stove, his mind drifted to the idea of different ways to induce labour. He had heard about more natural methods that could help get the baby moving.

But he was unsure how you would feel about the subject. The last thing he wanted was to make you uncomfortable and get you to do something that you were not too sure with.

Natural inducing was a delicate topic and he didn’t know how he was going to bring it up. Yet, with the increasing tension you must’ve been experiencing, he felt an urgency to find a solution. The sooner the better, right?

Once the tea was prepared he headed to the bedroom too and found you already nestled under the covers. He handed you the cup and settled beside you on the bed. “Here you go, sip it slowly.”

“Thank you, Miguel.” you said, taking the cup with a grateful smile.

Miguel took a moment to appreciate the sight of you. In your cozy pajamas, with your baby bump showing and your expression relaxed, you looked more radiant than ever.

He shook off his awe and focused on the topic that had been on his mind. The timing felt right but he decided to wait until you finished your tea before he spoke.

Once you’ve drained the cup, he took a deep breath. “I was thinking…I know we’re both anxious about when the baby will come. I think I might know something that could help induce labour.”

You placed the cup on the nightstand before turning to him. “You do?”

He leaned a little closer so he could study your face. “Yeah, it involves some…physical activities,”

Immediately you twisted your face, recalling a past memory. “Oh, please don’t make me use that exercise ball again,”

“No, not the exercise ball,” he chuckled before he retained his gentle tone.“There are some excerises, but we don’t need to do that now. I was thinking of something more intimate.”

Your eyebrows arched in understanding.“I’ve heard of that too, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

Relief and excitement swirled in Miguel’s heart at your openness. Though he didn’t want to put everything on you now. “Only if you’re comfortable. I know you're tired right now so we don’t need to do it tonight,”

You chewed on your lower lip, suppressing your grin from growing wide.“Oh well, I might have a little spare energy for this.”

“Oh? Too impatient for the baby to come out?”

“That and…you’re looking pretty irresistible right now,” he saw a flicker of something familiar in your eyes as you said that and it was too tempting not to give him.

He leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a deep kiss. He felt you respond back eagerly, your lips parted slightly as his tongue traced the contours of your mouth, silently asking for entry.

You opened up to him and he took that opportunity to map out your tongue to taste more of you. After pulling his lips away, he soaked in the sight of you and how flushed your lips were right now.

His voice dropped to a more soothing tone as he spoke. “Let me do the work, okay? You just lay back for me.”

He carefully stripped off your pants, with your undies remaining, before he removed his own. He gently guided you to lie on your side before he climbed onto the bed behind you. His chest was pressed against your back now and he wrapped an arm around you and caressed your bump.

“Comfortable?” He asked in a whisper.

“Yeah, are you?”

“Very.” he pressed up closer to you, molding his body against yours.

One of his hands reached lower to trace the edge of your undies between your thighs. He felt your twitch slightly at the touch and he couldn’t help the grin against your neck.

He reached lower until he felt the damp patch of the fabric and gently rubbed in a circular motion over your clothed folds and the clit.

“Mig—” you gasped, writhing under his touch. You were more sensitive now with your hormones flaring.

He groaned softly at the sound of you saying his name like that, so needy and desperate for him. “You’re so wet for me, amor.” He murmured.

You could only moan lowly in response as he dug his fingers through the panties to feel more of your wetness. Your panties cling to your core from your wetness as he lowered the fabric to expose the delicate area.

The undies were only pulled down up to your upper thighs but it was enough room for him to delve his fingers into your cunt, drawing in and out at a shallow pace.

You were so responsive and your pregnant bump made you look even more enticing right now. He added a second finger, increasing his pace ever so slightly while using the right amount of pressure to drive you wild.

He heard you gasp, loving how easily he could make you moan and forget about everything other than him. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he moaned against your ear.

You flushed again this chest, squirming until you rubbed against his groin and over his hard on. His breath caught against his throat, suddenly feeling his urges getting stronger. He wanted to be buried deep inside you right now but he didn’t want to rush things just yet.

“You’re making it hard for me to hold back,” his voice was strained as he breathed.

“Miguel, please—” you whined, rubbing your thigh desperately for some friction against the bundle of nerves.

Miguel’s control was hanging by a thread by now as he heard your plea. He slowly withdrew his fingers from you and shifted his body. He quickly lapped up your wetness from his digits before he started grinding his hard on against the rear.

His hands slip up your stomach again. He was infatuated by your bump and he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Are you sure you’re ready for me?” He breathed against your ear. He was aware of how more sensitive you were now and he wanted to make sure he prepped.

“Yes…please, I need you Miguel.” You begged further. The desperation in your voice pushed him to his breaking point.

He pulled away momentarily to lower his boxers and freed his aching cock. He stroked it a few times before he located your core between your thighs.

Once he found the jackpot, he slowly pushed himself inside. Immediately he was overwhelmed by you and your walls squeezing around him. You clenched onto the bed sheets beside you as he pushed further.

Once he had bottomed out, he felt his eagerness heighten and there was a hopefulness that this might be the chance to finally bring about the beginning of your labour, leading to the birth of your baby.

But at the same time, he couldn’t ignore the lingering nervousness on what’s to come and the significant changes that would happen.

But for tonight, he didn’t allow himself to focus on that— instead he wanted to bring you the bliss that you needed now before those hours of labour.

He let out a low groan into your neck before he started to drag himself out and slipped back in again, all while watching your face with a close eye.

He wanted to be able to pick up on your reaction through your micro facial expressions, even if he did only have a vantage view of your face from his position. Your mouth was parted open with the sound of your whine slipping from your lips.

His pace started off slow and steady so you both could get in the swing of things— and so he could adjust to the position. He had never made love to you like this so this was all new to him, especially with your new body.

He felt you tighten around him as he thrusted in and out of you, milking more moans and sweet sounds out of you. He kept his hands around your stomach, feeling the activity of the baby inside as he slowly increased his pace.

Your moans were becoming more frantic and high pitched from the mounted pleasure and how sensitive you were now. He could sense the familiar trance of your climax from the sounds you were making and how breathingless you were right now.

He moved his hand from your stomach to reach for your hand and threaded his fingers through yours. His lips remained near your ear and he kept his voice hushed. “That’s it, amor. Let yourself go.”

He heard you cry out his name in pure ecstasy as you reached your peak, sending a shiver down his spine. He continued to move inside you, helping you ride out your orgasm. His thrusts became more sporadic and jerky now as he felt his own peak crawl up to him.

With one finally thrust, he reached his own orgasm, coming hard inside of you and filling you with his release. He moaned your name, like it was painted on his tongue, as his body shuddered against yours.

He slowly pulled out from you and felt the withdrawal. Your bodies were still clung onto each other as both of you came down from your high. Miguel shuffled away to give you some room to breathe, with the sweat cooling his skin.

You turned your body over so you were facing him again before you wrapped yourself around him. “Do you think it worked?” You asked.

Miguel pulled you as close as you bump will allow. “Well, I don’t know for certain, but it was definitely worth a try. And even if it doesn't, we can keep trying.”

The thought did excite him, but he really hoped that it would work the first time. He couldn’t wait any longer.

Miguel’s hand continued to trace gentle patterns on your skin. A sense of satisfaction washed over him, and it blended seamlessly with the lingering pleasure of your intimacy.

“You know, after everything I’ve lost, I never thought I’d ever find happiness. I never thought I’d ever find someone who makes me feel alive again, someone to start a family with.” He sighed, tracing his fingers over the back of your neck affectionately. “Yet…here I am, married to the most incredible woman,”

“Well, I never thought I’d be married to Spiderman,” you replied with a cheeky grin.

Of course you would bring that up.

“Oh God, please don’t refer to me as that, not while I’m off the clock anyways,” he said, though internally your words felt like a warm embrace, filling him with a sense of fulfillment. “I’m not some special entity or idol, just a man who loves his wife,” he added.

“And a man who keeps the Multiverse intact,” you reminded him. He wasn’t always fond of his role as the leader of the Society, but the way you said it made it sound almost noble.

“Urgh, don’t remind me, you make it sound like I’m some sort of superhero. Can’t you just call me your husband for tonight,” there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice that he couldn’t hide, even if he was joking.

You looked up at him, your expression softened with affection, “You are, and you’re my hero too,”

Miguel felt his heart quicken seeing the way you looked at him. It wasn’t every day that he received the recognition that he deserved; but even when he did receive some praises here and there, it would never give the deep sense of gratification that he felt when hearing it from you.

You always knew how to make him feel not only noticed but appreciated too. It was almost surreal having someone like you to wake up to everyday. “You’re really giving me a big head you know that, but it’s nice to hear you say it,”

“Yeah…and you’ll be this little one’s hero too,” your gaze fell to your bump.

Miguel couldn’t stop himself from gently caressing your stomach, feeling the kicks from your daughter.

Any moment now.

Miguel kissed your forehead. “Let’s get some rest, tomorrow is another big day,” You were both lulled to sleep with your synced heartbeats.

The following morning, Miguel felt you gently shaking him awake. Blinking against the morning light, he focused on your excited expression. He was still defrosting from his slumber so he didn’t pick up on what you said until he heard the word contraction.

Immediately he felt his heart rate spike and he bolted upright. “Are you sure? When did you feel it?”

You beamed at him. “Just a few minutes ago. I tried to wake you but you were in a deep sleep. Should we get ready to go to the hospital?”

Miguel didn’t need to be asked twice before he was out of bed and freshening up in the bathroom. The entire morning, he was on high alert, making sure everything was in place, carrying the hospital bag to the car and making sure you were feeling okay, reminding you to focus on your breathing.

As you both stepped out of the front door, he halted as his mind started racing. He looked back at the house and realised the next time he walked through these doors and back inside, you would be a family of three.

This was something you’ve both been dreaming for a long time and having to experience it in real time still didn’t sink in yet. He stepped further out the house and locked the doors before he climbed into the car, taking his place behind the wheel.

Several hours of ice chips later, the first cry of your baby girl tore through the room. At that moment, time seemed to stand still. Everything and everyone else faded into the background and all Miguel could focus on was you and the baby.

When it was his turn to hold her, Miguel couldn’t form a single word until he saw her big eyes open for the first time, looking up at him. She probably recognised his voice as he offered soft words of comfort.

“Mi pequeña princesa,”

He felt a fierce sense of protectiveness over the baby. He wanted to hold her close, to keep her safe, but he was also aware of her fragility. So he found a careful balance, making sure she felt his warmth in his arms.

When it was time for your baby’s first feeding, Miguel watched you as you nursed your daughter for the first time. The nurse helped with the latching and the positioning so you would be more comfortable.

You brought the baby closer to your body, aligning her head with your nipple. You got the hang of it pretty quickly and soon, she got a good latch, with her tiny lips flared out.

Miguel watched in awe as she started to suck and draw out the milk. “She’s feeding, amor. You’re a natural at this,”

Once the baby’s feeding was done, you slowly guided her off your nipple and held her against your chest.

“Miguel, I did it!” You exclaimed, the excitement shining in your eyes.

“¡Por supuesto que lo hiciste! You did an amazing job.” He pulled you close and kissed the crown of your head.

“I couldn’t have gotten this far without you.” You confessed.

“That's not true. You're the one who gave birth to our little girl, and you're the one who is nursing her, giving her the best possible start in life. You're the strong, amazing, beautiful mother of our child. I'm just here to support you every step of the way.” Miguel quickly wiped the mist in his eyes, overcome with emotion.

“True, but I would be a mess without you,”

“And I would be lost without you. You may be the one bringing our baby into the world and feeding her, but I’m right here besides you,” he said, voice steady and reassuring. “I’ll do everything I can to make this journey easy for you,”

And he sealed his promise with a kiss on your forehead.

I shit you not, there are women out there who actually talk ab eating their own placenta on TikTok (TW if you get easily squeamish) ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @thealleydog @mybvalentine @prettygirleli @enneadec @aisajustwannaread

@babeyling @monarchberrysblog @saintdiior

#★— ayrus writes #★— inbox missions #❤︎ scientist husband ❤︎#♦︎— sinful encounters #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman miguel #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse

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autisticshadowthehedgehog · 3 months ago

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Nobody asked me for my opinion on the controversy that dropped today when the Sonic Movie cast pay rate was revealed, which is fair ig since I try to stay positive on this blog. But in case you're wondering, yeah as a certified AFAB™ I'm pissed, but not really specifically at the Sonic crew. Actor pay rates are usually negotiated between agents and the production companies so just like all the other problems with the Sonic movies, this is most likely an issue with Paramount and their patented dumbfuckery. Disclaimer that obviously it could very well be a Sonic crew issue as well, obviously I don't know the inner workings of the entire film production.

Also, if you're mad about this: please be mad about the pay gap that has been going on as long as Hollywood has been alive. This isn't a problem unique to the SCU. I know the phrase "pay gap" is thrown around a whole lot but do you guys actually know how big an issue it is?

Recent percentages are that male and female actors have "a wage difference of about 25 percent," with an estimated difference of $1-2million between star-power men and star-power women.[x][x] Basic Instinct star Sharon Stone said she made $500k to Michael Douglas's $14mil– and when she was asked to be lead in a film being made in ~2022, the lead male, who was "new", was going to be paid $8-9mil, with her salary still at $500k. Last December, Biggest Monopoly In The World Disney was sued by 9,000 women over their pay gap.

This article is from 2019 but brings up some big fucking pay gaps between leads– for instance, Gillian Anderson was offered half of what David Duchovny was for the X-Files reboot as one of the two main fucking characters, Amanda Seyfried has disclosed she made 10% of what her male co-star made on an undisclosed film, Natalie Portman made 1/3 of the salary of Ashton Kutcher in No Strings Attached, and Ellen Pompeo, the titular character of Grey's Anatomy, was paid less than the actor playing her love interest, Patrick Dempsey. In fact, Dempsey was being paid almost double what she was.

However, BIG issue with the 2019 article: it only focuses on what White actors are being paid. Research shows that Black actresses make 57 cents to every dollar white actors make on a good day. Viola Davis, one of the most popular and talented actresses of our generation, has said that black women "get probably a tenth of what a Caucasian woman gets. And I'm number one on the call sheet." Octavia Spencer had to collaborate with Jessica Chastain to make sure they both got paid the same amount of money on a film they both worked on, and revealed that her new salary increased 500% afterwards.

At the end of last year, while promo-ing The Color Purple, Taraji P. Henson broke into tears while talking about how little she's being paid when compared to her white and male contemporaries. And when she talked about the gap, I find it so fucking frustrating that the general audience response was to immediately blame the only Black female producer on the film. I have a million gripes with Oprah Winfrey but TCP cast has said that she herself managed to fix a lot of the problems on set and was nothing but supportive to them. Oh, and there were a lot of problems on set, including a lack of food and dressing space for the main actors. And this is all from celebrity women. Just think about how Hollywood is treating women who don't have the star power to speak up.

Of course this isn't even a problem solo to Hollywood, let alone Paramount, let alone just one movie. And honestly it was probably really sad that when I saw the pay rate for the Sonic 3 cast, I wasn't even surprised, because I've seen worse on bigger projects.

#negativity #sonic movie 3 #sonic the hedgehog 3 #sonic cinematic universe #scu #paramount #mine

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kaile-hultner · 4 months ago

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Help me dig upward: the Tumblr post

In which I talk a little bit about the hole I’ve been in for a hot minute—and what I want to do to dig out of it.

Hey y’all,

For the second time in a few years I’m starting a GoFundMe. This time, though, it’s not for the site, at least not explicitly. It is to help me get out from under the weight of debt that I’ve been carrying for more than a decade at this point, but which has finally gotten so bad that it’s affecting everything from my sleep patterns to my overall mental health and ability to do the thing that you likely already support me for: this website.

If you’ve been wondering why the posting has decreased here, or reduced in quality, or why we started 2024 off publishing other writers and then just as suddenly stopped doing that again, this is why: I am out of money, I am in debt, and it feels like I’m living every day in pure, basic survival mode.

This GFM, in which I’m asking for $10,000, is a moonshot, a Hail Mary. I don’t expect it to raise anything; it will be the last time I ask the Internet for money, whether it works or it doesn’t. If it works, obviously it’ll mean I’ll be able to post more and maybe my mental health will improve and I won’t feel like every moment is a countdown to a terrible ending, and I’ll be able to think of compelling angles to talk about video games again. If it doesn’t work, maybe I’ll figure something else out. Bankruptcy, probably. I don’t know.

I hate doing this. I hate being in this position. I hate that I’ve already asked for money this year and people have been extremely generous and it just feels like all that generosity just went into a hole. I wish I had something to show for that generosity, or proactively for anything I gain from this campaign. So, if there is something you want me to cover or talk about or look at in exchange for your support on this campaign, just shoot me an email with proof of your donation, no matter how small. It’s [email protected]. I can’t promise I’ll write a bunch of magnum opuses at your request but I will do what I can just simply to show appreciation for your support.

Anyway, this feels bad to me and I’m already starting to regret it, so I’m going to wrap this up by saying thank you in advance and I owe you my life. I wish that was figurative.

Edit: here is the text of the GFM I posted.

Hi y’all,

My name is Kaile Hultner. I am an online cultural critic who has been running the video game criticism website No Escape since 2019. My work has been featured in other places like PC Gamer, Polygon and Bullet Points Monthly. And like a lot of people, I have been deeply in debt for years.

Debt is a very strange phenomenon. As anthropologist David Graeber demonstrated in his book Debt: The First 5000 Years, it is a phenomenon that imparts a kind of moral valence on a person; whether or not that person can pay their debts is a sign of their trustworthiness or virtue as a member of polite society. Yet you can’t go without debt: at some point, at least in the United States, you have to pick up a form of debt – credit – to establish your credit score, without which you can’t rent an apartment, buy or lease a car, or, in some cases, even get a job. Being debt-free can harm this score, as can having a credit history that is “too young.”

I’ve been in debt for a long time. I’ve been managing my debt for over a decade. Every year for the last six or seven years in particular it feels like I’m losing progressively more and more ground. Seven years ago I had a car; I could do things like deliver Uber Eats and DoorDash and make extra money whenever I ran out. It broke down in my driveway in 2022 and I couldn’t afford to take it to a mechanic to get it fixed. I sold it for $200. I haven’t been able to replace it. I don’t know what I’ll do if I ever need a car for anything. Luckily my day job is WFH.

Recently, I’ve been fighting with my old bank over charges it erroneously applied to my account in excess of $1000, causing it to go deep into the negatives. I’ve been slowly, slowly digging myself out of that hole thanks to some close friends and some very kind folks who follow me on the Internet. But it’s caused other debts to exacerbate. And tonight I realized that I am at the end of my rope. I can’t do this anymore. I won’t sit here and say that I’ve done everything right; certainly, more than one bad decision made out of desperation has put me here. I won’t make excuses for that. But I’m tired of being here, in this position. I’m tired of waking up in the middle of the night with heart palpitations because I got an alert from my bank that I’m in the negatives. I’m tired of getting emails and phone calls from debt collectors. I’m tired of living in basic survival mode with no discernible path forward. I’m tired of being tired, of not having the energy to be creative and do the work I’ve built an online presence around for five years. And paradoxically, I’m tired of asking people on the internet for money.

So I’m going to ask people on the internet for money, one final time.

I’ve set the goal at $10,000. This is far more than I’m honestly expecting to get, but if I get even a fraction of that I could finally obliterate my debts in a meaningful way. I do have specific milestones that I basically need to meet, otherwise this GFM doesn’t hit its maximum effectiveness, but otherwise the sky is the limit. If I reach the whole amount… I don’t really know what I’ll do. Cry, maybe.

Milestones – bolded are high-priority

Milestone reached! $750 – gets my old bank account out of the negatives. Eliminates one vector of harassment, allows me to close that account and move on.

Milestone Reached! $1800 – does the above and allows me to fully pay any late or past-due loan payments missed as a result of the bank issue.

Milestone Reached! $6000 – does the above and allows me to fully pay off all installment loans

$8000 – does the above and allows me to pay off any remaining debts.

$10,000 – does the above and allows me to start saving.

$10,000+ – basically a moonshot, I have no idea what I’ll do with extra.

I fully do not expect you to donate to this. There are people trying to escape genocides, much more abject poverty, crushing medical debt, and so much more that feel – at least to me – so much more worthy of your attention and money. But just know that if you dodonate something, you have my undying appreciation. I will quite literally owe you my life.

I’m going to post this now before I get too emotional or lose my nerve entirely, but again: thank you. Even if all you do is read this.

—Kaile

#crowdfunding #financial aid #mutual aid

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messyhairedhazeleyeddude · 11 months ago

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━━━━╝‘ I bet you think about me ’╚━━━━━

A Denji x Fem!Innocent!Reader | A little fluff + SMUT

Contents ; Innocent reader, pervert Denji (nothing changed), peer pressure, corruption, tons of suggestive innuendos, groping, heavy mention of titties, titty-sucking, PDA, guided handjob, thighjob, pornography, non-stop fucking, and obsessive behavior.

A/N ; MYYYYYY FAVORITE! This dude has been deep in my heart ever since I was introduced into CSM. And now, I place the dude above everyone on my preferred list of characters. Especially cause I relate to the man so much. He’s too careless for his own good at times, BAHAHAHAHAH. Okay, enough of me rambling, appreciate my boy and my fine story by reposting and commenting. Whatever you’re feeling for, little readers.

Dynamic ; Kind of FWB?? to Lovers

Sexual Dynamic ; Dom!Denji | Sub!Fem!Reader

P.O.V ; First & Third

Age range ; 18+

Music suggestion ;

[ Denji’s P.O.V ; ]

Today was supposed to be ordinary. Power talked her ass off most of the morning, I would chime in once in a while to joke, and Aki spouted shit at me for everything and anything I did. That’s how it went on in the apartment we lived in. In the middle of the day, we would head for the headquarters. Go back to the stressful life of a Devil Hunter.

But for me, that was nothing. I was more than happy to return to work. A lot of my co-workers complained on and on, sure you get your hands a little bloody, although most of us didn’t care about the slaughtering. It’s not like they were human. Not including the people that got in my way, that was not my fault!

All I knew is that if it meant I got to be entertained by a girl like Makima and fulfill the desires I’ve been dreaming about, that’s cool with me. And the power from Pochita was a huge plus.

Yeah, it was supposed to be another one of those days. Makima would’ve given me a case to solve had it been. But, instead, I was staring at her from across the room, talking to another girl who I didn’t recognize. Hell, was she beautiful though.

Her silky {H/C} hair looked recently done, styled into a braided half ponytail with bangs in the front. Long lashes framing her {E/C}, sweet eyes; the smile she had was enough for me to tell that she would spoil a man to his heart’s content. When my eyes drifted down her body, especially to her ass, I almost didn’t want to believe it. But, I was so sure of it. She passed Makima’s thickness by at least ten percent.

I bit my tongue and swallowed the build-up of spit before making my way to where they stood, pushing my hands in my pockets so nothing showed if I popped one. Often occurrence, do not recommend.

Keeping my eyes ahead, I tried to remain as respectful as I could be while addressing my boss, “Hey, Makima. And…” As soon as I looked over at the pretty girl, I paused so she could say her name, but at the same time, I was freaking out about how much better her appearance was up close.

My brain couldn’t keep up. She had clean, soft skin with a gradient to her cheeks and lips that made me want to go for kissing them, no hesitation. When she glanced back at me, I couldn’t pry my eyes away from hers, watching her reply to me in admiration, “Oh, my name is {Y/N}. I’ve transferred here from Special Division 7… Nice to meet you! You must be the Chainsaw boy she has been telling me about!” God, even her name fit her perfectly.

Wait. Special Division 7? A stopping record player noise sounded off in my head and I turned to Makima for an explanation. The auburn-haired woman was smirking at me like she found my reaction amusing, as always. She leaned forward from her sitting position, resting her chin on her palm, and introduced {Y/N}’s background, “Say hello to the famed Youth Devil, Denji. She’s a beautiful one, isn’t she?”

The Youth Devil? Oh, I’ve heard about her before. Aki talked about coming across someone from a division that had become the Devil that aged people, yet she apparently had no knowledge of anything outside of ‘safe-for-work territory’. Or whatever the fuck he wanted to label it as. Really, that just meant she has no idea how valuable those titties are and that gives me a high chance of getting a squeeze. Or… more.

My gaze had unconsciously drifted to her chest at the thought of that, the button of her white top barely holding because of its size as I forgot to answer Makima. So, being the Youth Devil included being incredibly busty too? Good to know.

It wasn’t until I heard the clear of her throat that I had snapped back into the present and responded without thinking, “Yeah, she is.” Turning red once I realized what I had been doing right in front of the two women, a bit of worry brimming the back of my mind.

{Y/N}’s face lit up at the compliment rather than furrowed and she was quick to thank me, “Awww, you’re so sweet! Thank you, Denji!” And for a minute, I was stuck wide-eyed, half-expecting a slap across the cheek because I was obviously checking her out. Well, I’ll be fucking damned. I guess what Aki was saying about her was true after all.

Before I could get out a ‘You’re welcome’, Makima interrupted by getting off of the desk she was using as a seat, nonchalantly dismissing herself, “I have some things to attend to, so I’m sorry to say, but I’m taking my leave. I hope you find yourself comfortable with Denji, {Y/N}!”

About to pass me up, her intimidating yellow eyes locked onto mine and she leaned to whisper into my ear, “If you want to play with her so badly, why don’t you make her your new toy? You’re strong, right?” Then she walked off as if she didn’t suggest what she just did. My eyebrows and goosebumps raising at the comment. She was encouraging me to do it?

Chewing on my bottom lip, my breathing slowly got worse as I was left with horrible thoughts and a growing erection. {Y/N} not making it any better because she lingered. Don’t get me wrong, I was fine in hanging out with her. More than fine. But, not with all of this also in mind now.

“What’d she say?” She asked, fluttering those long eyelashes at me, and I didn’t know why but when I looked into her {E/C} eyes again— it was like millions of memories were yanked out of my brain and put in them like a projector. Causing me to take a step back and rub away whatever was happening in startled confusion. What the fuck was that?

I blinked away the rest I could, however, I remembered everything so that didn’t help; coming to a conclusion from the look she gave. My head wasn’t the one messing with me, it was her. Or whatever the hell that fucking power is. And I was not cool with that.

Avoiding eye contact by glaring at the floor, I grumbled, “Was that you?” I wasn’t going to hang around for any longer if she wanted to manipulate my mind, especially if it was concerning something like my past. I didn’t want to be reminded. I came here to escape.

A gasp left her like she was frightened before I saw her in my peripheral vision; raising a hand and putting it on her forehead. She took a moment to answer me in a tired voice, “I was just trying to find out more about you… I got too curious, I’m so sorry.”

Hearing her say that was reassuring and gave me the go to stare at her again, my tone dropping back to that same inviting one from earlier, “Oh, shit.. Well, yeah. I don’t have that great of a life so I wouldn’t pry too far.” I tried to shrug it off, rushing to a solution so it didn’t get awkward, “You want to go get some ice cream or something, gorgeous?” It was a last minute suggestion, but that could work.

The {H/C}-haired girl seemed to be near crying before she nodded slowly, a smile rising on her face as she unexpectedly got close to me and intertwined her fingers in mine. Pulling me off along with her while chiming, “Who doesn’t?! I’d love to!” Easier than I thought. But, I’m not complaining.

──⇌• Switch in P.O.V ; Third •⇋──

On the way to the ice-cream shop, Denji stumbled on a couple of rouge devils with {Y/N} in an alleyway and as fate has it with them, they ended up having to chase them down into a field. Faced with the ugly things combining into a whole bundle of disgusting flesh and faces.

She had solved what they were dealing with as soon as they began merging while he did not. Denji didn’t care for details, he wanted to go straight into shredding. He gripped onto his pull cord and tugged, the chainsaws ripping through his skull and arms. Making the curious girl stay behind and observe how he handled the monstrous creature.

With a rush of adrenaline, the now transformed Chainsaw Devil tore into its body, piece by piece. Blood and guts splattered everywhere onto the ground from the relentlessness he had. Getting onto {Y/N} because of how much had sprayed.

He finished when he wanted to. Raging on the thing until it was nothing but a pile of mush left to pitifully sit in the middle of the empty space it sought out for safety.

Then he retracted his chainsaws back into himself, his skin latching and coming together when he did. Molding back into his handsome, worn face. Like nothing happened. Leaving {Y/N} to blankly gaze at him, soaked in red, and drift down to witness the true wrath of Denji.

No doubt was she intimidated by the boy, seeing for herself what Makima had been commending about him. He was the real deal. A true Devil Hunter.

Wiping off the blood from around her mouth, she began to smile and clap with a giddy cheer, “That was impressive! You’re really good to be able to take out a Devil that easily. How long have you been in the game?”

He raised a brow at how she was phrasing their work, confused that she was asking but deciding to respond anyway, “I guess as soon as I could survive on my own, I’ve been hunting. It’s all I’ve known.” Saying it so casually out loud was weird for him. No one usually asks about this type of stuff. Other than when Makima does. But, here was another girl doing it.

{Y/N}’s face twisted into a look of wonder, twinges of sadness in it as she thought about a young boy having to deal with that kind of stress. It made him charming somehow. She felt the need to praise him for it, “The dedication you have to helping people is inspiring.. I hope to achieve the same goal as you, Denji.” A small appreciative smile was sent his way right after she finished.

Although, his attention was completely misplaced. Guess where; her breasts. He was zoned, an idea coming to him when hearing her instead. “My goal? You could help me achieve that, {Y/N},” the blonde beamed. His brown eyes finally getting off of her chest to address her politely.

She moved forward, innocently egging him on, “Oh, really? How?” The way she peered back at him while waiting, that sweet look never leaving her face once, it gave Denji the confidence he needed to elaborate, “Ever since I’ve been thrown into devil-hunting, I only wanted one thing out of it.”

Walking closer, he leaned to where he almost touched foreheads with her, murmuring the last sentence, “A pretty girl who’d let me fondle her body, whenever, wherever…” He felt guilty after saying it, but the eagerness was too much. There was no way he would pass this chance up.

Thinking to herself, she concluded what he was hinting to and thumbed the bottom of her shirt; lifting it over her head and throwing it to the side like it was something natural. He held his breath at the sudden action, the full view in front of him because she wasn’t wearing a bra. ‘This was quick..! Why is she undressing?!’ Panicked thoughts went rampant as he tried to process what to do, glued to admiring her front half while also confused about what her reasoning for this was.

The {E/C}-eyed girl told him it with the purest intention possible, “You seemed to be interested in my chest so I guessed that this is the part of me you wanted to touch? And I was uncomfortable by the bloody mess. But, sorry if I got it wrong! I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” Even though she had no clue on what she was truly doing, she still managed to get it dead on. Making Denji chuckle out of excitement.

His sharp teeth poked out in a snarky grin at {Y/N}, his hand reaching over to palm one of her breasts and squeeze. Most of it filling the cracks of his fingers and fitting perfectly, if not a little bigger. That grin of his widened like he was off of his rocker as he got greedy; grabbing both of them to push them together. They were so soft. So fuckable. He wanted to stick his dick in them so badly.

A whimper slipped past her lips and Denji went from eyeing her breasts to looking at her brushing her hair out of the way for him. Butterflies erupting in his stomach at how considerate she was despite him taking advantage of her obliviousness. All he could do was commend and thank her with a red blush across his cheeks, “Thank you… so much. Fuck, I can’t even believe that you’re real right now. Your boobs are so fucking huge..!”

She would’ve laughed at the comment if his touches weren’t affecting her like this, his fingertips brushing past her nipples to mess with them, the perverted bite to his lip drawing a bit of blood to dribble down his chin. The girl arched into the feeling and moaned softly, struggling to speak, “Hah.. Thanks.! W-Wow! Why does that mm-feel good?”

They were out in the open, but Denji wanted to go for the risk. He didn’t care if anyone came across the two of them fucking like animals, he just wanted to do it. And nothing was going to stop him the moment he could tell that she wanted to do it with him too.

He pushed on what she said, using it as bait, “You want me to make you feel better? I can teach you a couple more things… Something that’d make us feel incredible.” And as she was about to reply, he leveled with one of her breasts and gave a lick to the bud; a squeal leaving her instead.

Repeating himself, he mumbled against her nipple, her breath hitching at his sharp teeth grazing it slightly as he talked, “Keep getting yourself undressed, pretty baby… I want to have some fun with you.” He sounded desperate, {Y/N} falling for it and hooking her fingers on her skirt zipper, unzipping it and letting it fall to the ground.

Denji grunted and wrapped his entire mouth around the bud after that, sucking at it while unbuttoning his pants. Digging in his boxers to tug out his throbbing dick so it was no longer suffocated. He made a fist around his shaft and began jerking off, pre-cum forming around his tip the more he tightened on the veiniest part.

She peeked over the side of him to get a look at what he was doing, holding her legs together when she was beginning to feel something wet between them, entranced at his lower half. It looked satisfying to do and he had mentioned playing so it seemed normal to go for. But, she was in for a surprise because as she attempted to replace his hand, he jolted back and huffed, “Woah, woah… I don’t think you want to get that serious. Who knows what I might do to you if you do…”

Honestly, {Y/N} really loved the sound of everything he was talking about and she didn’t want this to end. She wanted it to go further. Her curiosity wasn’t something to tease, she will figure it out, one way or another. So, she swiftly rushed back in front of him and pressed up against him, resting her chin on his collarbone while she barely rested her fingers on the tip. Begging at him for compliance, “Please, sir… I do want to find out…”

He sucked in some air through his teeth and tensed, almost driven crazy from the pleasure of her contact with him there. It was a noticeable difference between her hand and his dick but he could definitely make it work. And after her asking like that, she was in for a treat.

The brown-eyed boy grabbed her wrist to position her fingers at a better angle before he guided it down his shaft, watching her unable to wrap her whole palm around from how thick he was. He groaned, his own sexual frustrations leaving from his mouth as she got to savor them now.

Eventually, {Y/N} caught onto him pushing her to go faster and sped up her movements as best as she could. Joining her other hand to clasp around his cock to stroke everything rather than a portion. Until he ended up impatient and lifted her up with his arms underneath hers, holding around her ass to move himself in the middle of her legs. Slowly sliding in the correct position; his dick melting in between her pussy and thighs.

Denji lowered her onto him now, grinding their pleasure out while they locked eyes with each other in a half-lidded daze. She moaned vicariously, stuttering some words here and then to emphasize what she was experiencing, “It’s making me feel so… weak! Nnghh-ah ah! Chainsaw.. boy.. wait! I feel so weird..!” His hips began to collide with hers as he increased in speed, closing his eyes to pretend he was fucking into her. He didn’t want to get too ahead of himself out in public though. He had to be reminded about the consequences they could face if they were caught.

She was ignored and sputtered nonsense once she got close, “God! I think… I have to go! I have to go! Stop! I don’t- mmppph.. wanna..! DENJI!” The blonde figured it was because she hadn’t cummed before and knowing that he was the one that was gifting her— her first orgasm— made him spiral in a violent fit of thrusting hard into the folds of her pussy, right against her puffy clit.

Whines yelped out of her as her juices poured all over his length, creating sharper wet sounds and more friction for him. His tip swollen by the time he was close to falling off of the edge of cloud nine with her. Once Denji could feel the rush of his cum trying to spill, he gave a final ram and angled it around her hole to allow it into {Y/N} a little. She trembled in his hold, watching him leave her legs, bruised and messy. Satisfaction written all on his face at what he got away with.

They didn’t even clean up the cum when they went back for the office, deciding to do it a couple of hours later despite both of them feeling the slick in their underwear. Instead, they kept glancing at each other, exchanging a knowing stare until someone interrupted it to talk to either one of them. That sexual tension never stopped fucking with Denji. And {Y/N} was simple-minded as always, in her own little world.

But, she didn’t bat an eye when the boy randomly slipped hands into her shirt one day to get a feel or let her know he was horny by pressing his boner against her ass. He would whisper dirty words to her throughout it, coaxing her into doing things, just for him, “I want to go back to messing with you, babydoll… Can we go inside one of those bathrooms? Need to relieve this.”

{Y/N} would go into the bathroom and he would strip her down like she was a doll, his pants to his knees, her chest resting on the sink and displaying her in front of the mirror. He took her virginity in them. Forcing his cock to slam into her walls, reaching for her guts, all to get lost in her warm pussy. Denji growled loudly, echoing in the tiny room they were locked in while he demanded, “Spread yourself for me. I want to see my dick plunging inside that cute body of yours..!”

Only able to comply, she used both of her hands to pull her ass apart, exposed completely for him to see as he got worse in his constant pounding. Making the poor {Y/N} drool while she twitched in ecstasy, her orgasm running through her for the second time when he wouldn’t quit.

His honey brown eyes seemed so sweet at first, but now they were glaring deep at her expressions, resting into a melted one the second he neared his end. Denji released every drop inside without hesitation, her moans rocking out of her because of him slowing down as he humped it into her.

Then he started over in the same rough pace from before and she endured it as much as she could, her eyebrows knitting up into an exasperated, sweaty look. He was like a dog mating when it came to sex; stamina, aggressive, and having a bunch of cum to dump. {Y/N} was holding onto the sides of the glass counter once he had cummed for a second time, burrowing his cock deep like it was a ritual by now.

And he repeated. Leaving the girl to barely understand what was happening to her from the overstimulation. Denji wasn’t stopping. Even as she screamed for him to, “Fuck! Please! Please, master, I can’t handle anymore!” The pet name he directed her to say a regular word for her at this point.

After his seed was spilling out of her on its own and creating a puddle on the floor, after Denji was dry-cumming and making her unravel onto him like she was throwing a fit off of drugs; that’s when he finally gave up and got off of her. Slipping his dick out and shuddering a couple of words laced with dopamine, “Not so bad for our first hook-up… I don’t know if I want to wait for the others.” Was he hinting at going for more rounds? ‘Dear god..’ was the last thing she could think before she dropped unconscious.

Lil Special Extra // Denji’s P.O.V

Weeks had passed by after me and {Y/N} became a ‘thing’. Hooking up led to a lot more and now she was basically at my apartment almost every day. Sure, Aki and Power were annoyed at her presence, not wanting to hear or see any of the exchanges we gave. But, a man’s gotta live and how can he not without slapping his girlfriend’s ass?

However, there was one downside to her staying over and that was her availability in walking in on me doing lots of inappropriate activities. Whether that was jerking off to her or to… porn.

She bursted into my room late at night after having woken up from a nap in the living room and I was right in the middle of rubbing one out to my favorite fantasy porno. Jumping out of my skin when I heard her shout, “Darling, you miss-! Oh…” The small ‘oh’ quieter than the rest.

My hand and dick glistened with the lube I had saved for times like this, a blush covering my face as I snapped the laptop shut. The sounds of sex disappearing with it.

Anxiety raged through me at how she was going to react, completely forgetting that she barely had a grip on anything sexual until she squeaked out, “What was that? Can I… see?” As soon as I heard that, I quickly dropped the embarrassment and those dirty thoughts snapped back into my usual perverted personality.

Shit, I almost didn’t remember who I was and who she was. Beckoning for her to come sit down on my lap once she closed the door.

{Y/N} straddled me and observed as I opened the screen back up to the lewd scene of a woman being bred just like she had been. Her eyes going wide and a blush crossing her cheeks at the similarity. That innocence of hers was going to be ruined real quick around me. And I loved ruining it. Sliding my fingers down in between her legs like usual so I could welcome her to another sexual addiction I’d use for my benefit.

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