#i can't tell you the amount of times in this degree -

[non-un-topo]

White men in academia will really have a breakdown if they don't hear themselves talk approximately every 2 minutes

[coockie8]

Yeah if you need an entire board of doctors and advocates to tell the difference between two things, then the distinctions between said things are not "obvious". If they were, you'd be able to tell the difference on your own, regardless of your knowledge base, as that is sort of what "obvious" means :/

[boytoycowboy]

my university's new scheduling service can suck my entire dick

[inkskinned]

100,000 dollars is not a lot of money.

it is also a lot more money than i will ever have. my student loans make up half of that - they're coming back, i'm told, like we all bounced back recently. the other day while paying for gas to go to work, i overdrew my account without knowing it.

i sat in the car and looked at the charge and tried to do the math. where the fuck is the money even going? i don't live extravagantly. i live in a hole in the ground, in an apartment the size of a sneeze; covered in ants. yes, i wanted to live close to a population center. maybe that's my fault. i've downloaded the apps and i've spoken to the experts and i've cut back on excess. i can't help the pharmacy bills or the medical debt.

i have a good, well-paying job. when i googled it to see if i was getting a fair salary, i found out i'd be making "upper middle class" money. which doesn't make sense - is "upper middle class" now just "able to afford a one-bedroom without a roommate". when i was younger, upper-middle meant a nice big house and a backyard and vacations and not flinching about eating at a resturant.

i was talking to my friend who is a realtor. he said 100,000 dollars is extremely cheap for housing. he's not wrong. 100,000 dollars would change my life. 100,000 dollars also won't really buy you anything. it could get you out of debt, potentially, if you were lucky and had a certain amount of scholarships to tack onto your degree. you could pay off the car and then have enough left over for "spending" money. how fucking amazing. one vacation, maybe two if you're thrifty. and then - like magic - the money would evaporate into nothing. people would sigh and tell you see, you should have put it into savings! like "upper middle class" people can't afford to value "actually living" over squirrelling wealth. you should spend your life only in scarcity. like that is what made the rich people all their real "actually a lot of money".

100,000 dollars would literally set me free. it also would just set me back to "earning normally" instead of paying down debt into infinity. god, do you know how many of us just want that? that our first thought is we could stop scrambling and just be free of debt if we won the lottery? that we don't even necessarily need to stop working - we just wouldn't have to worry about failing or falling?

and. at the same time. 100,000 dollars is next to fucking nothing.

[wttcsms]

balancing act ; satoru gojo.

pairing satoru gojo x f!reader   word count 3.9k   synopsis gojo bets that he can get you to fall in love in three months, and you bet that he can't go three months with staying committed to one person and not bang them. neither of you plan on losing. content contains modern no curses!au, mentions of sex and vulgar language (but no smut yet), simp gojo <3 author’s notes i plan on wrapping things up quickly this time around, so i have five parts planned for this mini series!

Satoru Gojo is used to a wide array of reactions to any of his antics: awe (the summer analyst, Miwa, always stares at him like he himself is the one who created the stock market), irritation (Nanami is rarely ever in agreement with the comments Gojo leaves on his work), lust (Gojo gives just as much he receives because he’s benevolent like that — his words, of course). 

But he’s not quite used to being laughed at. 

He’s handsome, and he knows it, a deadly combination for any man because Shoko claims that all men are born with an astonishing amount of audacity and it only ever grows as they get older. Satoru brings up the fact that Shoko technically cheated her way through med school, and that any doctor worth her degree wouldn’t get onto patients while lighting up a cigarette of all things, but Shoko is equally stubborn and audacious as any man, and it just makes her a worthy opponent to get into arguments with. 

Being attractive and arrogant isn’t enough to keep him from suffering mild humiliation from time to time, though. The reason why Satoru doesn’t get embarrassed is because the world is unfair, so he happens to be born rich and smart enough and talented enough to just keep on getting richer. Even he is entirely aware of his privilege, but he’s got the type of personality that would be endearing even if he wasn’t hot, so everyone loves him. 

And you don’t hate him, he knows that. He also knows that you don’t love him, which is fine, because it’s not your love, or awe, or irritation, or lust (okay, maybe some lust would be nice) that Satoru wants from you. He just wants you for you, your honesty and whatever scraps of yourself that you toss to him. 

Today’s scraps are your laughter, which rings through the whole entire office, singing above the noisy clacks of keys being smashed by the analysts and the whirring of the printer shooting out hundreds of pages a minute. He feels a warmth spread from his stomach to his chest and maybe it even rises up to his neck, he’s not so sure. He should feel slightly embarrassed, he thinks, to have said something seriously only for you to find comedy in it, but he doesn’t. He just feels pleased with himself for making you laugh, like he’s done something great.

“You are so full of shit, Gojo.” You’re still smiling, even though you’re not bothering to look at him anymore. Your attention is now focused on the report one of the analysts has turned into you, and from the lack of comments you’re leaving, he assumes it’s Megumi’s work. 

“I was being serious, y’know.” Satoru’s more than tall enough to see over the cubicles, especially when he’s standing up, and he leans over it, his head and upper body leaning into your personal desk space. The cubicles don’t do jack shit for privacy, anyway, so he doesn’t feel bad when you complain that he’s invading your privacy. If it was privacy that you craved, you wouldn’t have three monitors raised, each of them displaying a jumble of numbers and words that Satoru doesn’t care about. 

“So was I.” You tell him.

Just thirty minutes ago, you walked into the office with a quad shot espresso, unceremoniously plopped your Longchamp tote onto the floor, and dramatically sighed to get your desk neighbor’s attention. Utahime is always a good sport when it comes to your antics but doesn’t bother extending the same courtesy to Satoru, which he considers to be very unfair considering that he’s technically everyone’s boss. It is his name that’s displayed on the side of the building, and his private equity firm that he’s built up alongside Suguru. 

“What happened this time?” Utahime asks you, like the good sport she is. Satoru, at that time, was pretending not to eavesdrop even though he is, because he’s a nosy bastard. 

“I hate men.” You say, leaning back in your chair. “He left me for someone nice.”

The way you say it lets him — and Utahime, who is actually the person you’re talking to — know that that nice was a direct quote from your ex.

Utahime furrows her brows, looking confused. “But you are nice.” 

Debatable, is what Satoru wants to say, but he’s remaining silent so he can get the full story out of you first.

“No. I’m a workaholic with no personality outside of my fancy finance job.” 

Ouch. 

Satoru doesn’t see an issue with you, though. So what, you’re hardworking and focused? He thinks it’s kinda hot to see someone with so much ambition and discipline. He wouldn’t have hired you if you were anything less. 

“He’s just insecure.” Utahime says, soft voice trying to soothe you, even though Satoru hears the familiar sound of your manicure typing in your login details to your computer. He knows it’s silly to think he can tell the difference between your typing and anyone else’s, and he doesn’t want to think too hard about what that could possibly mean when it comes to defining his feelings for you.

“You said the same thing about my last three exes, and they all said similar things about me.” Satoru can’t see either of you from this angle, but he’s certain that you’re opening up your emails right about now. The conversation is coming to a close, and he needs to start focusing on his own tasks, but then you say something interesting, practically baiting him to come out of his office.

“I’ve decided that from this point forward, I am swearing off men.” 

Utahime laughs. “You can’t just swear off all men because of a few bad ones.”

“Not forever.” You clarify. “Just for the time being. All the men I’ve dealt with  in Tokyo suck.”

On paper, all your exes are fantastic catches. There’s the surgeon (who found you to be too independent), the professor (who thought you were too busy to give him the attention he needed), the hedge fund associate (who thought that he liked smart girls, but apparently, not ones smarter than him), and your newest ex, the investment banker. The irony isn’t lost on anyone — an investment banker criticizing someone for being a workaholic obsessed with the prestige of their finance career? If he was going to scramble for an excuse to want to see other people, he should have chosen some other cliche line instead of using the same one someone else must have said to him. 

“What’s this about men in Tokyo?” Satoru strolls up to the divider between you and Utahime, hands in his pockets, pretending that he hasn’t been listening to the entirety of your conversation from the very beginning.

“That all of them suck.” You say, with that unwavering confidence he likes. 

“I’m a man in Tokyo.” He’s grinning.

“Yeah. I stand by what I said.” You’re not even being courteous enough to look at him, still focused on whatever email is on your screen.

His grin only grows wider.

“Maybe all the men you’ve been with are subpar, but I bet I could change your mind.” 

“Is this even appropriate for work?” Utahime interjects. 

“If it’ll make my dear employee Utahime happy, I can grab someone from HR to supervise this conversation.” Satoru says.

“It’s a trap.” You tell her, lips curling up in a smile that lets him know you’re going to say something very mean and probably true about him. “He’s already broken protocol with everyone who works there.” 

“You’re very disrespectful to your boss. Anyone else would have fired you on the spot.” Satoru only pretends to be wounded by your comments, but everyone knows that he’s as good at taking it as he is at dishing it out. Sometimes, it’s easy to forget that Satoru owns this firm because he’s not very good at professionalism himself. 

Utahime mutters something under her breath, deciding not to engage further in whatever it is the two of you are doing.

“So, whaddya say? Wanna test out your ‘all men in Tokyo suck’ theory with me?” He knows this teasing won’t go anywhere, even if he wants it to. You’re good at your job, and you’re good at being a professional. Somehow, he doesn’t think you would consider fucking your boss as something very professional. 

“I would, but I have standards.” 

Satoru wants to make a snide comment about all the guys who have dumped you, but he can’t, because it’s already been established that they’re not just decent by regular standards, but stellar. Rich, successful, well educated men who could probably make you cum. 

Well, Satoru is richer, more successful, and more educated than all of them combined, he thinks. And he would gladly make you cum like crazy, if you let him. 

“C’mon, what’s wrong with me?” 

“Promise I won’t get fired if I’m being honest?” You turn your desk chair, looking up at him with mock doe eyes, and the sight shouldn’t be both endearing and hot to him, but it is. 

“Give me your worst.” He tells you, both of you smiling at the challenge. 

“I don’t give anything of myself to a man who can’t even bother to commit to anyone.” 

Of course, you have a point. Satoru’s not known for dating anyone. He takes women out on extravagant dates, yes, but he doesn’t actually practice the act of dating. 

He doesn’t see a point to it. Most people, save for his friends (a bit weird to consider some of his closest companions are actually his employees), see beyond his shiny veneer, and dating would just complicate things. Dating means someone seeing the duller, not-so-great parts of himself.  

“I could commit if it’s you.” 

The way he says it, without that familiar teasing lilt of his, makes you burst out laughing. He really is trying to commit… to the bit, that is. For a moment, Satoru almost tricks you into thinking he’s serious. 

“You are so full of shit, Gojo.”

You’re focused on your work, not the momentary hurt look that disappears from his face as quickly as it came. 

“Don’t be such a pessimist.” He tells you. “I bet I could make you believe in love again.” 

“Who said I didn’t believe in love?” You frown at that. “I just don’t believe that the men in this city are capable of it.” 

“Bonus season is upon us.” Satoru says, suddenly having a bright idea. He’s so rich that his wealth seems to be an extension of himself, and like all other parts of his body and mind, he uses it to his advantage. 

“Ugh, don’t tell me this conversation is going to affect my bonus check. I really will go to HR, then.” 

“I’ll double your bonus pay if you let me court you for three months.”

“Court me?” You’re laughing at him again. He eats it up, savors it, lets it settle on his tongue and warm his insides. 

“If you’re so convinced I’d be horrible and only prove you right, wouldn’t you jump at the chance to make some easy money?” 

He’s trying to bait you into accepting; you know it. You also know that nothing from Gojo comes easy. He makes it entirely too convenient to forget that he’s razor sharp and cutthroat, the things he needs to be in order to remain on top of the finance scene, but he’s always joking, always teasing, that it feels like he almost doesn’t like being taken seriously. 

“Like I said, I don’t deal with men with commitment issues.”

There was a brief moment in time where you considered going out with Gojo. The two of you have always been rotating in the same social circles, way back to your high school and university days. You don’t shame him for having casual sex because Gojo is genuinely sweet when he wants to be, and you know that everyone he’s ever fucked has done so more than willingly, probably too eagerly. They all get broken up over the fact that Gojo never wants to actually enter into a relationship with them, and it’s probably because they chose not to take him seriously. He has a bad habit of spitting out the truth but presenting it like some sort of joke. A guy shouldn’t take you out to a nice dinner and make you cum twice before even thinking about himself if he doesn’t want a girl to fall in love with him. 

For as long as you’ve known Gojo, he’s never dated once. Never a high school sweetheart or a tumultuous college relationship bound for disappointment and a messy breakup. Even now, he doesn’t follow the example of the other men in positions of power like him, who pursue doe-eyed college girls to shower with affection and trap into manipulative relationships. 

He’s cute and funny and would treat you right, but you can’t deal with the embarrassment of having someone only for one night or two, only to have them do the same thing they did with you, just with someone else. It would feel like a mockery. Your pride doesn’t give you room to give in to Gojo’s charm.

“Is that really your only stipulation?” He shrugs, like this is something insignificant, and you’re being so silly. “I’ll stay committed to you for the entire duration of the bet.” 

You narrow your eyes. “You need to keep your dick wet at all times. I’m pretty sure you die if you don’t get off at least once a day.” 

Utahime coughs, but it sounds too much like a laugh. 

“True, but I bet you’d be great at keeping me alive.” 

Oh, he is definitely getting sent to HR.

“So you want me to believe in love, and you’re convinced you can do this by the time bonus season rolls around, which is only three months.” You’re entering business mode, rearranging the facts and coming up with strategies in your head. Satoru never thought that someone thinking could be so attractive, but here he is, and here you are. 

“I’ll agree to participate, but only if you can handle what I consider to be proper courting.”

“What does that consist of?” He’s got you, hook, line, and sinker. There’s nothing Satoru Gojo cannot accomplish. He’s built up his own wildly successful private equity firm, doubling his family’s fortune. He graduated top of his class. He gives every girl he’s ever been with consecutive, mind blowing orgasms using just his tongue and two fingers. There’s nothing you could possibly say that his natural talents and money can’t handle. 

“No sex. No kissing. No touching.” You lean back in your chair, looking far too smug. 

“Done.” 

He doesn’t even have to think about agreeing, but you falter, just for a second. 

“Really?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“It’s not just you saying no to sex with me, but sex in general.” You pause, trying to spot when the realization of the severity of his situation is. When he doesn’t give you a reaction, just still continuing to tilt his head in mild amusement, you continue. “You can’t flirt or take anyone else on a date, and you definitely can’t fuck them, either.” 

“Yes, I’m aware.” 

“You’re going to regret this.” You huff, certain that Gojo is dumber than you thought. He might think this is all fun and games now, but when he’s pent up and unable to get off, you’re certain you’re going to receive a text from him forfeiting the bet altogether. It shouldn’t bother you that he acts like your addition to the bet is easy, because his failure means your pockets get fatter, but it’s no fun playing games when someone isn’t ready to fully play to win.

“Hmm. We’ll see.” He says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Make sure to finish going over all the analysts’ slide decks because I’m taking you out tomorrow night.” 

The timer for the bet starts tomorrow, then.

Satoru thinks it’s cute that you thought you had him there, dangling sex like he’s some barbarian who can’t survive without it. Sure, fucking is fun, and sure, you’re definitely denying yourself of some of the greatest experiences you could have had, but he uses his brain more than his dick. 

If any girl is worth going celibate for, it’d be you.

Sitting in his office, he can’t concentrate on his work. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so much that you think not having access to your body would be enough to turn him away. Either you really do think he’s a sex addict, or the men you’ve been with aren’t as great as they appear to be. It’s probably a mixture of both, but this conclusion doesn’t make him any happier. 

Neither does having Suguru saunter into his office, without knocking. Just walks in, like he owns the place. And with his fifty-percent ownership of the firm, and his last name right next to Gojo’s on the building, he kind of does.

“HR is going to have a field day with you,” his best friend says in exchange for a greeting. Satoru would have preferred a hello.

“HR is in charge of the payroll that I fund,” is Satoru’s retort. 

“Only you would force an employee into a childish bet instead of asking her out like a normal person.”

“Didn’t force her.” Satoru conveniently doesn’t acknowledge the latter half of his statement.

“Didn’t really give her much choice, either.” Suguru smiles. “Shit, even I’d deal with your ass for two hundred grand more.” 

“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m committed to one woman only.” 

“God help her.” And then, after taking a second to think, Suguru continues. “Actually, if He really cared, He wouldn’t have kept leading her to the same places as you.” 

“Maybe I’m her blessing.” 

No one in the office knows why Suguru is laughing so hard behind Gojo’s closed door.

“There’s no way this is legal,” Utahime tells you, taking a sip out of her iced matcha latte before continuing on her half-lecture/half-rant. “Gojo needs to be behind bars.”

A bit dramatic, all things considered. It’s not like Gojo’s comments even make the list for sleazy things male coworkers have said to you before, and you’re not entirely innocent, either. You like to poke and prod at him because it’s fun, and you know that Gojo can take it. 

Utahime does not respect Gojo, but she does like him enough to tolerate him. They’re like brother and sister, so much so that one time, someone made an offhand comment about how they should just fuck to get rid of their antagonism towards each other, and they both threw up because they were so disgusted. 

“It is a bit inappropriate,” Nanami comments, and you know he’s right because when has Nanami ever been wrong?

Granted, Nanami must have been wrong sometime in his life. He started out with a similar background as everyone else working in the firm. He landed an internship and then a return offer in investment banking, despised it, pursued academia, and was halfway done with a PhD program in economics before he decided to come back and work for Gojo and Geto. He doesn’t tell anyone why he came back, and no one is close enough with him to ask and expect an honest answer.

Nanami having lunch with you is a treat because he prefers avoiding everyone in the office, so it almost feels like you’ve won a coveted prize, one to show off whenever you get back to the office. He likes to keep to himself, but even he’s only human. The interest in your little bet with Gojo is harbored by him, too, same as everyone else who’s heard about it. 

You should feel embarrassed about having your life so publicly known, but finance is a small, incestual pool. Everyone working within it knows each other, has fucked each other, and will continue to exclusively hate and love only each other. It’s a bit cultish, if you think about it, so you try not to focus on the social aspects of the job. 

“It’s not like I’m on his team or anything. I technically only handle deals managed by Geto.” You say this in defense of yourself, as if it changes the morality and ethics of the whole bet. It doesn’t, but the attempt doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Geto and Gojo are essentially two halves of the same whole.” Utahime replies. “Geto just has more public decency training.” 

“You’re telling me that you can see Geto betting someone that he can make her fall in love with him in three months?” 

“No. He’s not as audacious. I like Geto, he’s very cautious.” Nanami looks thoughtful for a second. “He would bet six months, just to be safe.” 

Satoru knows that he’s screwed the moment you’re being introduced as the newest student in his class. School started two weeks ago, so everything’s already been settled. Everything important, that is, so the hottest girl in class has been established, along with who’s going to be relentlessly bullied, and who everyone is going to cheat off of. He has different routes mapped out for getting to class, depending on his mood and who he’s trying to avoid, along with a new secret hiding spot that he’s not going to share with anyone, except for Suguru, and maybe Shoko. 

He likes that he’s already gotten all this shit dealt with so he can spend the rest of the year relaxing, but he’s watching you as you’re standing in front of the class, talking to the teacher and then introducing yourself.

The first thing he notices is that the ugly school uniforms are decidedly not ugly. He comes to this startling conclusion when the boxy, starchy white button-up shirt doesn’t look like cardboard on you, and that the gray wool of your skirt doesn’t wash you out. 

The next thing he notices is that you speak differently than any of the other teenage girls he’s dealt with, save for Utahime and Shoko. Shoko has no issue with speaking her mind, and if Satoru presses enough buttons with enough pressure, he can get Utahime to curse like a sailor. He spaces his aggressions out accordingly, so that way when she does blow up in his face, she does it in the presence of an adult. You introduce yourself confidently; there is nothing shy or meek about you, even though standing in front of a bunch of disinterested teens — your strange new peers for the rest of your high school years — should be anxiety inducing. 

Then, you take the empty seat next to him like it belongs to you, and Satoru is starting to think that maybe it does, that maybe it always has. 

(Well, Suguru is sick today, that’s why the seat was available.)

Anyway, all of his carefully laid out plans are now tossed out the window. He needs to figure out what route you take to get around, and what the rest of your class schedule looks like, and maybe it’s just him, but the former hottest girl in school has now been demoted to second-best. 

He feels a shift in the air, like the universe is trying to signal major change in his life, and rather than run away from it, Satoru settles into his seat, noticing how you’re not even giving him the time of day. 

There’s an unfamiliar feeling rising inside of him; something that says you’re going to constantly knock him off-balance and—

—he kinda likes it.

[ddejavvu]

I need anakin to bend me in half, my legs over his shoulders with his hands intertwined above my head to hold me in place and rabbit fuck me until he fills me up with his seed and holds me upside so not a drop spills then do it all over again the next morning. and then pulls up my panties, pats my clothed pussy and tells me to go on with my day with all his cum snug inside me🧎‍♀️

keep the anakin thoughts coming please <3 just like he'd keep me comi- [gunshots]

this post is 18+, minors dni.

the part about- the- the part about... patting it. like a little reward. please i'm convulsing i need him so carnally

he spends a fair amount of time in the morning loving on you, because he's been touch/love deprived all his life and he's enamored with the concept of just being with you. But he's like a leech, and more often than not, when he gets his hands on you, he's gonna latch on and suck and take take take take take from you, so having your knees over his shoulders just becomes a regular morning routine for the two of you.

it's really very casual, too. that's not to say it lacks passion, because anakin is passion in human form, and it would be impossible for him to do anything without an underlying current of it running through his veins like scorching oil, fueling his every move. but it's routine, it's usual, it's expected.

all he has to do is tilt his head up, chin pointed towards the bedpost, and you know to wrap your hands around it and hold on for dear life. he doesn't even need to say it anymore, but sometimes a sleep-thickened, groggy 'bedpost' will fill the anticipatory silence that your blearily buzzing bodies exude.

he is a pussy !! eater !! if you're not already slick and wet and begging for his cock from whatever varying degree of foreplay he'd managed in his freshly awake state, he parts your thighs with an easy wedge of his hands and buries his face in your cunt to say good morning. he probably talks to it too, squishing his nose up against the underside of the hood of your clit and offering a murmured 'morning' to your pussy. he likes when it elicits a response, a shudder of your spine, a fluttering clench around the slack ring of his lips, and he's more than happy to tongue-fuck you open in preparation for his cock. he's rutting it against the bed, ignoring the squished discomfort in search of stimulation that you can give him so much better.

he eats you out the same way he kisses you; a confident, probing tongue and a lot of spit. so much, in fact, that you can't tell what of the foamy residue he sucks up and spits back out onto your cunt is your own juices, or his. but it's wet, disgustingly so, and it's enough lubrication to aid in his master plan.

once you're sufficiently wet and ready, he doesn't hold back. he's been grinding against the stiff mattress for too long to take it slow, once the crown of his cock breaches your eager hole he's blacking out and going all in. his hips start at a jackrabbit's pace instantly and don't slow until he's pulling out of you, a relentless rhythm that you're always woefully unprepared for in the early morning.

you always cry out things like 'ah! anakin!' or 'easy- gentle! please, ani' you sob with tears brimming in your sleepy eyes as you grip at his cheeks, trying to tame whatever wild beast has him in its clutches while your cunt sucks him in, 'easy, baby, please.'

you're lucky you can use your hands, too. because he used to restrain them with the force, something that anakin knows obi-wan would be satisfyingly disapproving of if he ever found out. but once you'd learned to keep them around the headboard, you'd been permitted to hold them there yourself, and you can get away with touching his face or clawing at his back. as long as you don't use them to shift your weight somewhere, or touch your clit, or anything that he can handle. your legs burn as he's thrown them over his shoulders but don't move them, he wants them there.

anakin's a voracious kisser, licking your mouth out and providing it with an abundance of saliva and the residue of your own wetness. it's another hole he can fuck, his tongue prodding at the suction of your throat like his dick does to your cunt. he likes making you gag on it, sticking his tongue so far down your throat that you choke. all the while his drool is leaking into your mouth, pooling and swirling obscenely with your own, and making his cock twitch inside of your sloppy cunt.

he's very vocal during sex, but sometimes the morning sleepiness still has its clutches on him, and he's not very verbal. typically, though, he's grunting and groaning at every thrust, his mouth squelching as his tongue slides wetly against your own and his pornographic growls flowing straight down your throat and to your core.

He always holds himself back from cumming until after you have, maybe because he revels in how sensitive you get while he's still pumping his cock into you like you haven't just finished and spasmed around him. he usually spills warm, thick loads of cum into you not long after you work through your own orgasm, the feeling of your climax pushing him to his own.

but he doesn't slump down onto you, he doesn't roll over, he doesn't go fetch a washcloth, no. he slides his strong hands under your hips, one flesh and one durasteel, and lifts your hips off of the mattress, folding your stomach in half and keeping your cunt elevated.

His seed spills obscenely from its clutches but he prods at it with sloppy, haphazard fingers and licks them clean once it's no longer spilling outside of you. he wants it to sink into you, he wants it to take and be trapped in your cunt for the entire day. he knows gravity isn't on his side in that wish, but he dips down to nudge and kiss it between your puffy lips, tasting it on his tongue as he pushes it further into your sex.

when he's satisfied with its placement, he takes your underwear, sliding it over your ankles and hiking it up to your waist. it takes a little maneuvering to secure it under your ass, but once it's there he pats over your now-clothed, still filthy pussy, offering up an appreciative, 'good job, angel'. you can't tell if he's talking to you or your pussy but your brain is simultaneously exhausted and on fire at the same time, so you let him get up and shower for the morning while you recover beneath the bedsheets. when he leaves for his duties he drops a kiss to your lips, much more chaste and quick than it had been before, and tells you to have a good day, pretty girl.'

and that's it.

like he hadn't just fucked you raw and rough into the mattress. like your hands don't have imprints of the bedpost on them.

'have a good day, pretty girl.'

[nouvxllev]

"When I saw you

I fell in love, and

you smiled

because you knew

-William Shakespeare"

LOVE.LOVE.LOVE.

I wanted to make a request! I had a similar interaction like this, and when I had read this, I fell inloveeeeee with this qoute sm. Can you do a Wednesday x Reader? In which it's Wednesday who actually falls inlove 😭

amore, amore, amore.

Pairing: Author!Wednesday Addams x Gn!Reader

Summary: request!! ^^

Words: 6.0k (oh what the fuck)

Warnings: told in WEDNESDAYS POV AND ALTERNATE TIMELINES!, the gomezification of wednesday addams prevails, yes they meet at a museum, also kinda 7 husbands of evelyn hugo coded, slight plottwist at the end!

a/n: aaaa ofc ofc!! also i absolutely love the idea where wednesday fell first and harder

masterlist

I believe they cursed me the moment their lips became something worth fighting for.

"If they intend to halt my publishing, then so be it. I have no interest in entertaining that brain-dead company over countless of reasons as to why I shouldn't spare a few weeks for myself who believe I will fall under their will."

"Wednesday, they're the ones who publish your books, you just can't ignore their calls."

"Barclay, has your brain deteriorated to a degree in such a way that you are forgetting it's my presence that upholds that fucking company? Without me, they are nothing. Have you forgotten with how much power I withhold over them, or have your scales reached that hollow of a brain?"

"You can't ignore the leverage they have over you, sure you have the amount of money, if not more, to sue them, but they could literally tip you off and brand you as some selfish author."

"Please do comprehensively explain to me as to why I would be a selfish author?"

"Wednesday Friday fucking Addams, it's because you're half-way across the fucking world at some fucking museum in Italy while you have a manuscript due a fucking week ago!"

"I fail to see my fault."

"Addams, if you don't get your shit together, I swear—"

I had solved countless of murders in my time of Nevermore. I had one thing to do when I finally left, and I was going to succeed.

If you had told me after I willingly left that horrid place you call an educating institution that I would experience the same fate as an author, I would've traced the outer skin of your face with a pocket knife and display it on your family's doorstep.

Barclay, amongst others, remained someone I held close. She could be infuriating, but no one would ever be much deserving of a terrible, terrible position than be under my control as my manager when I pursued writing.

But no one tells you how people could easily forget you in a matter of seconds if you don't make a name for yourself when you've put yourself out there, even if it's something far, far from your own.

I was only fortunate enough people enjoyed what I publish.

I couldn't care less if they didn't, that's why I found it hard to give two shits about what that damned company thought of my revised schedule. But I needed to make a living. To make something out of myself.

If I had continued my actions— in which I have full control over with—I could lose everything.

I could've build it up from scratch if it happened, but Lucifer knows how long would a simple idea for a plot that could get into the lack of attention span of the population could take.

I could lose the name I print on paper.

I could lose my name.

And then I realized I haven't.

There was something that I was destined to fall under. It was there with my eyes taped to a painting, not knowing I became one for another.

I hung up. The mere thought of having a multistep plan to eventually murder my manager was between God and me. That woman had me teetering on the edge of becoming a one-hit serial killer overnight.

My head tilted over a large painting towering amidst the others down the line. My hands remained tucked deep within the pockets of a trench coat far too oversized for me.

I couldn't take much time of squinting, staring as if it had garnered my interest not after a dreaded phone call that I convinced myself truly took my energy and managed to inject anesthesia inside my veins.

A light sway became evident in my steps, as if I was sulking in my own woe of what I should and could've done to prevent myself fucking it up on a company that I could soon own if not me being under the age of what is required to own a firm without having to ring up my own godforsaken of a family.

I could almost take another step if I wasn't met with another person.

Countless of papers flew across the hard-tiled floor. It was over before I knew what had happened. I found myself standing there, eyes glued to the person I collided with, my eyebrows crossed and my mouth hung open like a fool.

"I'm—I'm so sorry, fuck." They grit under their breath, like they were berating themselves while they picked up the rest of what had fell.

I stood there, not knowing what to do or what not to do but stare at them and wait for them to pull themselves up.

And so that's what I did.

I wish I hadn't.

Because now it was the time I was unable to speak. Unable to use the words I've been writing my novels with, the words that I should've spoken in the seconds they had landed in front of me. For the first time, my words had failed me.

A question rang in my head, Why do I now feel as if I do not belong inside of my own body? Why does my life feel complete now that they were here?

When Y/n fixed herself, she looked at me and smiled. I knew I looked like an idiot staring at them, yet I never went out of my way to barely fix myself.

Why were they smiling?

"Why are you smiling?" I asked under my breath, like I was taken breathless. I hadn't mean to say it out loud, but my cold and otherwise damned heart seemed to be alive, like I was suffocating in my own rate. A fool in front of them I must've been.

They looked at their paper, then they looked at me.

They smiled yet again. Another question flicked across my head, what had happened to me to act as if I would go through hell and back for this person?

They smiled at me as if my presence gave them a reason to. And they loved me in every one of it.  

"Sorry—" they apologized, noticing how their thumb kept grazing the surface of their sketch, almost as if they were nervous. "You look prettier than... whatever I drew."

They stole one more look of me.

"Terrifyingly bewitching."

It's horrifying knowing I couldn't explain what I felt that day. What I know is—I felt everything.

I've endured endless remarks on my appearance ranging from a number of ratings from those nonsensical people on the internet to every synonym people have thrown my way only to fail to evoke even a flicker of emotion.

Though it seems egotistical, I knew they held one intention: they wanted to impress me. They wanted me to know they were different amongst others who have approached me. They wanted to entice me, as if I could be owned.

Were it not for the arsenal and threats I carried, there would be much more.

Y/n was different. They never had any intentions of being with me, no desire to impress or claim me as theirs. They simply wanted me to know I was. That it was true. I just had never heard it from someone who could mutter two words that felt perfect.

And it's much more terrifying knowing I unexpectedly fell first, even if I deny myself.

I could tell you about the way y/n smiled, how it seemed to threaten the sun, warning it not to shine lest it risk embarrassment in contrast of hers. I could tell you the way their eyes followed their smile, how their life was encapsulated in their drawings, mirroring what they felt.

Yet, when it comes to explaining how I fell for them, words escape me. Even I, a tortured author, struggle to describe.

How must I convey the sensation of my heart pounding in my ears as if it was trying to break me? The ache in my stomach, churning every chance it got, every fiber of my being dreadfully surrendering to them.

But one is for certain: meeting them was like coming home.

My home.

But I couldn't bring myself to realize that—It was antagonizing for me. Humiliating and mortifying knowing one person could make me become a total fool, become someone I've never thought I'd be.

I've spent my whole life after hiding what I felt for them, lest I risk experiencing what I truly loathe: love.

I despised them ever since I met them, loathed them, hated them. But for what for? I ask myself countless of times, I have never gotten an answer.

When they left, I left. Thinking it would be fate that had accidentally brought two people together who held no meaning for eachothers life, that it was a mistake, and I could've been wrong with how I'm feeling.

And when I came back, they were there.

And when I approached them, it felt right.

It was a week after the incident, but no matter how I tried, I still remember how their smile felt around me. Suffering, irritating, lovely. Like I wanted to relieve it, no matter how much time had passed.

Never once did I get their name in the span of meeting them, it was useless to know anyway.

Yet, I find myself returning to the museum every chance I get for God knows what, acting as if I had unfinished business staring at paintings while the staff rambled beside me. They were better off tattooing their explanation in my skull.

I had other places to attend to, other tasks I should've been doing rather than constantly visiting museum in the afternoon as if I have duties and low-paid labor for employment.

I should've been at my apartment days ago, exhausting myself on a half-assed manuscript I would have recurring thoughts of annihilating along with severing Bianca's hands through the phone.

What terrified me is why I was back.

Standing in front of them. My hands tucked deep inside the pockets of another trench coat, looking down on them sitting on one of the blocks of granite surrounding a oddly placed tree in the middle of the hall, drawing whatever there is to draw.

"Hello." I greeted them. They almost looked startled, surprised that I was even talking to them, like I was some vengeful ghost who returned to seek revenge. Though they weren't far off.

They looked up, immediately flipping over their clipboard as they locked eyes with me.

"Oh—" They cleared their throat, "Hi. Hey, hello." They smiled, albeit awkward. But that feeling of dread, or whatever, came back. Stronger than ever, I feared. I almost had half the mind of punching them in the gut and questioning them why they had this effect on me.

"Didn't know you come here often." A chuckle followed their question, or maybe it was a statement, placing their elbows on their lap while they gazed right at me.

I scoffed, murmuring against gritted teeth why did I even approach them in the first place. "And I didn't know you draw me that often."

I look down on the piece of paper, their deliberate and aggressive brush strokes having an effect on the paper, leaving marks upon marks. It was clear that I've been their subject for days on end. Even if I were to absent, I'd still be able to be the pinnacle of their sketches.

It was funny back then, humorous in my mind on how quick they snatched the piece of paper and tried to explain with little to no comprehension that went across their mind.

"Oh, God, no, no! I just—Okay, well, maybe I've been drawing you ever since I saw you, it's creepy now that I mention it... but it's just—it's dumb of me to not draw you, you know?" They were flustered, their mouth opening and closing only for me to receive words that were out of the dictionary.

They sighed, my lips twitched.

"I'd like to ask," My voice trailed off, grimacing even at the thought of having to initiate a conversation with more or less than five words, "What's... your name?"

"Y/N," They nodded, "L/N. Y/N/L/N." They reached out for a handshake only to immediately retract after a brief awkward seconds of staring. Their name sounded familiar.

"Why are you here?"

"Do I need to reason to?"

"I suppose so, no. But I am curious." Even I don't know why I'm still back here.

Y/n sighed, like I was the one getting on their nerves while it was me who battling against whatever fucked-up demon spawned in my stomach that caused me to feel, things.

"Nothing."

I frowned. "You came here because of.... Nothing?"

"Mhm."

"You are drawing strangers you know nothing about because of nothing?"

"Thought I made myself clear on that first word."

"You've made yourself look foolish than any average person."

"Well, you never told me your name. I think that's foolish enough over my case."

It was my turn to sigh.

"Addams." I reluctantly said to them, "Wednesday, Addams."

Then Y/n looked up at me as if I was some sort of otherworldly deity going back down to earth to finish whatever I started. "Wednesday Addams. I think I've heard that name before."

"No. No, you haven't."

If it wasn't horribly obvious, the sole purpose of my visit to Italy was to neglect everything I left behind in New York—especially deadlines— and hoped my eyes would finally work some sense that would let me start anew.

It was shameful of me, passion that dwindled into something less. If I had the chance, I would've tortured myself for even considering abandoning all of my life's work.

Though, I had my reasons. Even if I had threatened my target population and my audience, it still wouldn't be enough.

In short, I had lost motivation to pursue another book.

I felt as if there was something missing, that I couldn't even dare to even blow the collecting dust in the rims of my typewriter.

I begged for my brain to work, to even produce the slightest idea or word that could have some meaning to it. I was ready to write anything that came to mind, even if it was mediocre.

But, instead, my heart responded.

When I met Y/n, I started writing, and we started talking.

Words flowed through, and my time was wasted on Y/n.

My time was wasted, and they were wasted with their significant other.

I always thought I would suffer the thought of having to live an eternal life with none other than myself, that it was inevitable I was going to perish alone in my own woe.

It remained the same. Now, it's just having to live with the fact that my only greatest love had another.

I felt as if I ate a forbidden fruit once I heard they had someone that loved them as much as I denied myself of the same kind, like I plagued myself with hundreds of years of worry and attachment to someone who had eyes on another, a special muse they had.

Only that I would crumble immediately, tempted to take the fruit in my hands, forever stain my lips of something immoral so that I could forever crawl and weep over them.

In my time in Italy, I thought i'd be avoiding acquaintances that would be much more of a burden to me rather than someone useful. Yet there I was, watching Y/n saunter into my life like the revelation they were.

It's safe to say that Y/n turned out to be anything but a burden. They became someone I looked forward to seeing every day, though I hadn't realized they were motivation until then.

"Wends!"

Their awfully cheerful voice pierced through the air of the restaurant, almost granting the attention from other people as if they shared the same horrendous and dreadful nickname as me.

As much as I fantasized about walking out of the restaurant with y/n's half-broken jaw, I couldn't deny whatever was swirling in my head.

Ever since they knew of that wretched nickname unfortunately given to me by none other by that infectious and the ever infuriating ball of sunshine, Enid Sinclair, they've been calling me it as if I don't have a birth name.

It was a month ever since I've known Y/n, and it was a month of them being a constant presence in my life. They shared breakfast with me, lunches, and sometimes dinners that I somehow always and reluctantly accepted.

They became my routine, and it was a fact I'd sooner die with than confess to anyone.

Y/n slowly approached my table that was filled to the brim with countless of books and my oddly placed typewriter, putting their own stuff down on the seat beside them. "You're here early. You ordered something yet?"

It was 12PM. We agreed on 1, and I came at 10.

I scoffed, keeping my eyes on the typewriter. "You, of all people, should know by now that I would much rather sooner paint myself neon than touch anything on this menu."

I hear y/n setting their elbows on the table, resting their face between their hands. "Aw, c'mon Wends, it wouldn't kill you.

"Cyanide won't, but this will." I stopped writing to take one look at them, obviously and oddly, my gaze never and will never work on them. "Take my advice if you're eager to leave this restaurant with a mouth able to eat and speak."

"Ever the happiest person, Wends." They chuckled, sliding a somehow too bright and colorful menu towards them, "I'll order for you."

I stopped writing all together, "Y/n."

"Wednesday." They raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. It was over before I was even playing the game. Resistance over their lips felt futile anyway.

"Fine." I sighed, shutting my eyes closed just so that for once I can't have my stomach doing fucking acrobatics at the sight of them. "I will... allow it."

The ever-growing smile that crept up to their face was priceless, I couldn't bring myself to pry my eyes away. Murmuring something along the lines that I was too easy to lure in.

Once a waiter passed our table, Y/n ordered something along the lines of whatever the fuck 'Due Cream Soda Alla Vaniglia e Lampone con Glitter Commestibili' was. I was certain I was going to leave the restaurant with a non-working heart and a stomach turning inside and out.

It took no longer than a minute for Y/n to get a hold one of the numerous books piled infront of me. "Are you studying for something?" They asked, opening it only to close it once they noticed how outdated some of the languages are.

I let a small chuckle pass my lips. "What drives you to such a hypothesis."

They gestured to the books and my typewriter, "By how you're literally surrounded by books and you're on a fucking typewriter instead of a laptop." They pointed out, murmuring another, "Also, who the hell says hypothesis."

"People with functioning frontal lobes." I quipped, letting my fingers write on instinct across the typewriter keys as I listened to Y/n's ramblings. "I'm... writing."

"You're an author?"

"No."

"Then why—"

"Are you a painter? An artist?"

"Well... I—no?"

"Then we both don't know what we're doing."

Y/n fell silent moments after, I couldn't help but miss the sound of their voice. Admitting the mere thought aloud seemed absurd, let alone thinking it in the first place. I would've bashed my head on top of my typewriter if not for my resistance.

"How long will you be staying in Italy?" they eventually asked.

"Two more weeks," I replied. "My flight is already scheduled, I'll be leaving then on."

"Oh."

I wasn't expecting an answer anything other than a hint of happiness that I was eventually leaving their life.

"You are?" They repeated, as if they couldn't believe such a statement even escaped my lips, clear disappointment flickering across their face. "That's not... long."

"I am certainly not saying here indefinitely now that I have something to continue when I've arrived at my destination." I cleared out, doing my very best to escape the impending guilt washing over me.

"I'll miss you, Wednesday."

Their words were sincere. Lovely. It had stopped me from writing all together.

Guilt wasn't a feeling I was familiar with at the time. I rarely come across such a feeble emotion. Now it felt like I've committed something immoral. There were times that I lie for my own convenience, and nothing more than my own reason.

Now it felt like I should've lied for them.

I will forever miss you.

I wrote. I never showed them.

One week had passed and I rarely ever got to see Y/n after. Our encounters became increasingly scarce, and their voice plagued me from days on end.

I clung to the faithless hope I had that they would text me, to reach out, to even show me they're alive and well.

I returned to the museum for every day they were absent in my life, searching for any sign of their presence, but each day ended in disappointment.

Of course, fate is indifferent to my yearning, refusing to grant someone I so desperately sought.

Regret gnawed at me as the days turned into a week, and the week turned into the day before my flight.

"Addams. I've heard from others that you've been writing."

"Who others?"

"I'll spare a name to spare New York a corpse found in their sewage pipes by the time you've, hopefully I assume, returned and not jump off the plane."

"Even if I went off the grid, your nagging would've been in spirit."

"Don't flatter me."

"Don't kill yourself without showing me a video tape in full resolution for me to get through rough weeks. Or maybe take a shotgun and shoot yourself in your garage and let me have the keys to your house."

"Addams."

I sigh. "Yes, the rumors—though I would want that vampires head on a stake—are true. I've been writing."

"What happened to you there? You met someone?"

"How'd you know—No. No, I—I haven't. What makes you come to such a foolish conclusion?"

"Oh my God, someone actually managed Wednesday—I'd rather kill myself before loving anyone—Addams to fall terribly in love with them. Who's the unfortunate soul?"

"I would not be naming them because they do not exist."

"You just stuttered, Wednesday. The only thing making you stumble your words is when you're overdosing on whatever poison you're having for breakfast."

"They're no one."

"How are you such a bad liar when you have countless of bodies hidden across the globe?"

I sigh again, this time, it was out of annoyance. "I'll be hanging up. Goodbye, Barclay. If ever you are considering to kill yourself, call me. I'll be at my most happiest to watch."

"Wait, no, Wednesday! I need progress on your—"

I hung up. It was pointless to answer her calls when I was a mere few step away from boarding a plane. She always had a way of getting under my skin, even from across the damn globe.

But there was one name that would always surface in my thoughts: Y/n.

The mere thought of their name will forever remind me of how my heart wasn't programmed to love.

I reached for my phone, fingers tracing over the cold screen. My mind was tired, blank. The only thing I could ever do is stare at their contact and wish I could've done something better.

I typed out a hesitant message, my thumb hovering over the send button as if it was something that could end my world. Only two thoughts ran to my mind: Would they reply, or would my message be nothing to them?

I almost hit send before I heard footsteps approaching me.

"Y/n?"

I whispered their name, the love I carried for them being surrendered like I'd crawl for them once I reached purgatory.

"What are you doing here?" My eyebrows furrowed. How could they leave me, only to return as I was about to depart? "Why are you here, you disappeared, avoided me, why—"

"He proposed to me."

Oh.

I always thought a near-death experience with a loved one would be the deepest I could feel.

I realized I was wrong.

Now my eyes ached to the sting. Like I was weeping for someone that perished in my heart, I grieve for a living soul that was me. It was pathetic.

I expected them to be overjoyed, over the moon as they would express themselves from time to time.

But when I met their eyes, all I saw were tears streaming down their face.

Oh, how I wished to wipe their worries away.

"Then why are you crying?"

"I don't know if I love him."

"Nonsense... You told me you loved him—"

"Well, maybe I haven't been saying anything true to you!"

"Look, I don't know what I'm doing—I don't know what the hell are we doing. I'm living in some apartment with some guy I don't even know I even love, I'm currently standing here like an idiot to a girl who's just about to leave my life, and you're—"

"You're everything."

It was that moment I realized I was lost in a haze of admiration and love for Y/n.

That I was far too deep in their life that they became mine. I never knew I needed them as much when I told them to leave with me and break up with their significant other.

I never knew I needed their lips onto mine until the moment I pulled them close to me.

Now I ache of them.

"Do you regret it, mother? Being such a fool for someone, you became what you hated most. But you endured it all for them."

Wednesday Addams, seating across the bed from her daughter, Blair Addams. She looked just like you, she'd always wonder.

Wednesday sighed, her hand reaching out to gently touch Blair's. "Do you know the phrase, 'Come ti vidi M’innamorai, E tu sorridi Perchè lo sai?'" she asked softly.

"You know I've never indulged myself in whatever you're reading." She shook her head with a smile. She looked even more like you.

She let her fingers trace patterns on her hand, her gaze wandering else where. "Well, it translates to 'When I first met you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew," she explained.

"And do you believe in that, mother?"

Wednesday could almost smile. Her daughter was always the curious one, yet she always managed to be privy of her life from them. "I always believed Y/N knew the moment we first laid eyes on each other, I fell in love with them."

"So, yes, my raven." She nodded, "I do."

"I never knew Y/n would make me their title, their theme, their muse," Wednesday pondered, "I always wondered why i fell for them."

"Falling is an accident, gullible, like with people who fail to do basic things. But I am one of those people if not more if I fell for their on accident and continued to do so."

She sat beside Blair, her legs crossed beside her. "I've never told you at the time, but Y/n was a painter. And they wanted nothing more but than to forget about their past. They have never told me as to why, but I believe them.""

"I worried that my love was violence. It was pain, it was suffering. But y/n took care of themselves, they took care of me. There is no one in the world who had loved me more than them, I fear that it would break them, that I am deemed no longer someone who is a part of their story."

"Yet here we are."

Wednesday couldn't see the smile creeping from her daughters lips. But she knew it was there, just like how you looked like before. She will always and forever take pride in it.

She always thought her greatest love could be something of a passion, a talent, a hobby perhaps.

But no one told her it could be a person.

Blair stretched and turned on a light beside her bed, opening a drawer and taking out two of Wednesday's books. "Must they be the reason your books has been off to your prior ones, mother? You've written all your life of gore and mystery. Now it's romance."

"Well, I—"

"Oh, I'm definitely the reason why your mother has been subtly—not-so-subtly, switching to the romance genre."

You peered through the door, your body wrapped up in a cozy boritto style and everything with a train draping it's way to your back like some met-gala dress.

"Oh, mon chéri," Wednesday's face lit up at the sight of you, immediately standing up and pulled you close, her arms enveloping you in a warm embrace.

Her lips met yours in soft kisses, leaving the taste of faint vanilla chapstick lingering on your lips. "Why are you up so late?"

"Well," You grinned against her lips, "I felt our bed getting cold and to my surprise my wife isn't nowhere near me. You know how I can't sleep without you." She pulled away, you whined at the lost of contact, but you couldn't smile more brightly as she led you towards your daughter. "G'evening, Blair."

"Evening, Y/n." She greeted you before you kissed her on the forehead.

You leaned against Wednesday's shoulder, whispering softly, "You're telling her our story again?"

Wednesday would've thought her small chuckle went unnoticed, but you definitely heard it. The stupid smile on your face told everything.

Her hand found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "She loves it."

"You love it, mother. Probably more than me." Blair retorted back, evident that she was holding back a laugh.

"I do not! When did I ever—"

"Oh, honey, you know love turns your mother into a girl version of your abuelo.

"Do not ever refer to me as my love drunk father or I will subject you to sleeping on the couch." Wednesday rolled her eyes, pinching the back of your palm. "And please do not shame my work of referring to it as such. I've worked hard day and night yet you proceed call it by such an exasperate—"

You turned your head and pressed a kiss on her cheek, the same spot where her freckles resided, causing her to pause mid-sentence. After atleast ten years of being with her, it always made you so giddy.

"Not even in marriage am I spared by your passive aggressive comments," you teased, your lips curling into a smile as you leaned in closer to her.

You hear your daughter sigh after a brief second, "Addams."

Wednesday almost looked shocked, "My Raven, do not call us by our last—"

"Please exit my room. I'll be going to sleep."

And then, the both of them were shoved off before they could even hug their daughter and kiss her goodnight like they always did.

"I... We were rejected, Y/n." Wednesday exclaimed, like she just got struck with the most heartbreaking news. "She used to love our stories together when she was an infant."

You'd think Wednesday was the non-chalant mom who's strict on her child. But, to your surprise, she was the opposite.

She loved Blair just as much she loved you. Hell, you even considered just maybe, maybe not, disowning your daughter because she gets Wednesday's attention more than you do.

You shrugged, taking her hand and leading her to your upstairs bedroom. "It gets stale once in a whileeeOW!" You winced as Wednesday pinched the back of your palm, again. It was starting to become her love language at this point.

"I'm just kidding!" You reassured her, intertwining your fingers with hers as you walked up the stairs together, pulling the door open for your wife. "She's just in her rebellious teen phase, let it go."

Wednesday rolled her eyes, "Too cliche."

"You used to have one too," you scoffed, settling onto your side of the bed and watching as she laid down on hers.

It was a routine you found yourself often doing, taking in the sight of your beloved as if your life with Wednesday was all a dream. You pinch yourself like almost thrice a day just to really make sure.

"Since when?" Wednesday asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement, quietly shuffling towards you.

You sat up for a moment to undo her braids. You always liked playing with her hair, and that one time she asked of you to undo hers, it became a routine. "Since the beginning of time. And somehow, you never grew out of it."

"You didn't even meet me in my teenage years. I am far from rebellious."

"Yes, baby, but not too far from a death penalty." You chuckled, reaching out to gentle stroke her hair, leaning in to press a soft kiss against her forehead.

"Oh, you flatter me," she replied, a smirk across her lips, but the room was too dim to even notice it.

By now, if you were any ordinary person, Wednesday would've made you disappear entirely. But, the thing is, Wednesday always seemed to look at you as if her life never really started until she found you.

Silence managed to take over the atmosphere, you laid back on the comfortable mattress, feeling Wednesday's head nestled on your arms that were tucked under her hair.

You could almost fall asleep in pure bliss knowing that you've met and loved the girl of your dreams if not for her calling out for you.

"Amore." She whispered.

"Amore?" She whispered again, her voice softer than ever before.

You blinked, momentarily. You swore you just heard an angel. "Yes, amore?"

"Can I... Can you—"

You smiled, almost too knowingly. You knew Wednesday, for someone who's such a romantic soul, she's not too expressive on simple terms like these. "Do you want to be the little spoon?"

She grimaced, you could even hear her grunts of disapproval. "I would highly refrain from calling it that before I jump out of bed and skin you from limb to limb. But... yes, I would like to."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips at her response, suppressing a grin to avoid from literally being murdered as you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her close.

Ten years before, if someone had told you that you're going to be doing this to girl you've met at a museum while trying to escape your past, let alone be happily married to her, you would've told them "How the fuck do you know that and please stay away, I have... a boyfriend. I guess."

But now, it seemed so believable. Wednesday was always so relaxed in your arms, your warmth and hers bringing a sort of comfort for the both of you.

You nuzzled your head against the back of her neck, gently moving strands of her hair aside as you pressed soft kisses against her skin, hoping to kick away her tension from the day.

"Stop pouting, Wends," you murmured softly into her skin as you closed your eyes in pure relief.

You hear her scoff, "I am not doing such a humiliating act."

"Oh but you so are." Your grin widening as you pressed another gentle kiss against her nape, "I can hear it from here."

Wednesday let out a sigh, of annoyance? Maybe. But was it tinged with pure adoration and love? Much so. "You don't hear pouts, Y/n."

"When it comes to you, I do and I can."

Silence washed over. This time, you're worried you've teased her that much, she actually got annoyed with you.

"You're awfully quiet. By this time, you're probably threatening to kill me."

"I'm... Sorry." Wednesday whispered, it has an undying tone of tenderness that you don't often see it being expressed through words from her. Slowly, she shifted her body to face yours.

One thing is for certain: She was still so terrifyingly bewitching if not more. She looked pretty in every way possible, it's hard to even believe, it left you in awe.

You feel her gaze darting on your eyes and then drifting down to your lips, hesitating even. It was ridiculous, in the most adorable way possible there is for an Addams like her.

"May I kiss you?"

"You know you're always welcome. It's pointless to ask."

She was the first to reach out, her hand finding it's way to the curve of your cheek, her touch gentle than ever as she traced the line of your jaw as if she was memorizing every feature of yours.

You cupped her face in reciprocation, leaning in closer to where your lips were just hovering inches away from hers. Then, you closed the space between the both of you.

You pulled away, your eyes meeting hers with a soft smile. It was impossible to think that this woman held your heart in her hands like it was nothing.

"Have I ever told you that you're pretty?" you whispered, letting your hands fall to her waist and pulled her close.

"Ever since you've met me."

“You know, I’m surprised you even remember our first meeting.”

“Oh, how could I ever forget my lover?”

You laughed, a symphony that always gets Wednesday to have a slight tug in her lips. “Stop being so romantic. You are a grown woman with a daughter.”

You continued to stare into her eyes as you drape the rest of the blanket for the both for you. "It's hard to think you're the first one to fall in love and not me."

"It's hard to think of anything when you're here with me, te amo." Wednesday replied, her gaze softening almost immediately.

You sighed. "You know I love you, right?"

Wednesday blinked. "I always will."

You smiled.

And Wednesday smiled back.

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a/n: this was longer than i thought. i yap too much in stories i fear

[noiriarti]

Just Practice: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Modern Best Friends AU) Ch. 3

NSFW!!!!!!! Literally so NSFW!!! Summary: Anakin is your best friend, the one person you can't survive without, and you're about to go to different colleges. You bring up your worries about your inexperience and he offers to help. Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x AFAB!Reader Word Count: 5.4k CW: usage of 'good girl,' rough sex, lots of masturbation, orgasm delay/denial, overstimulation AN: All the love for this fic has really blown me away!! This is quite possibly the raunchiest thing I've ever written and I hope you all enjoy it! As always, requests and asks are open!

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, [Ch. 3], Ch. 4, Bonus Chapter

Chapter 3: Black Lace

Did you love Anakin? Laying on your bed that night after he had just upended your world by kissing you for the first time, you were coming to realize that the answer was likely yes. You loved him platonically, that was a given, but the amount of desire you felt to hold his hand and kiss him wasn't quite normal friend behavior. Over the past year, you had found yourself breathless a couple of times that surprised you. Once, the two of you were wrestling over something (a water bottle? A keychain? It was unimportant), and he pinned you down harshly, a memory that plagued you when you were in bed touching yourself for three whole months after. His eyes, boring into you with that look that you now realized was desire haunted you.

Now that you had finally had his lips on yours, you had started thinking that you weren't just horny, that there was something there. Maybe you had always wanted him a little. Hearing about him and Padmé had made you jealous, but you chalked it up to how he had pulled away from you just slightly to spend more time with Padmé. But that was normal friend stuff, right? Sometimes, when you were in the stands, watching him play, and he ran over to the bench for a drink of water or during a break, his golden brown hair glinted in the sunlight, fluffy pulled back with a headband. The thin sheen of sweat would cover his brow, and Padmé would rush up to the front of the bleachers to wave to him and get his attention. When he waved back, which he always did, though with differing degrees of enthusiasm, you wished he was waving at you. Playing for you. That he'd run to you when he won the game like he ran to Padmé.

So that settled it. It turned out that you were in love with Anakin. What you would do about it depended entirely on him. If he was into you, awesome, but, if not, you couldn't risk your friendship. It was too important.

You made three decisions that night. First, you had to get through tomorrow at the airport with dignity, and not shake things up too much. Second, you had to "practice" with him again, and as soon as possible. Third, you could not get naked in front of him before you knew that he felt the same way about you. The third decision came from your own knowledge. If you were naked in front of him, and he didn't want to date you, you'd spend the rest of your life thinking this man has seen me naked, and he knows how my nipples look whenever you laid eyes on him. So you couldn't get naked yet, but you were planning to tell him how you felt as soon as you were more certain that he liked you than not.

It had been an incredibly horny two weeks for you. Your discovery that you, in fact, loved Anakin resulted in you getting horrendously turned on by every single move he made. Every text had you rushing to the lecture hall's bathroom to shove your hand down your pants. One time, he sent you his official team photo, in his pretty jersey, and you literally ran across campus to your dorm to jerk off. You were down horrendous.

Ahsoka had listened to all this (minus all the masturbation) with an amused expression and insisted that you were stupid, and he obviously liked you. But she didn't know him like you knew him. He was really, really friendly. This was all plausibly deniable. Ahsoka, however, was not stupid, so she just rolled her eyes. It was kind of cute, watching this develop. Ahsoka asked you if you'd seen any cute guys, and you mentioned that the guy who sat next to you in Intro to Sociology was passable, some guy named Jake who you exchanged numbers with for homework sessions. Jake didn't matter at all, though, really. You had eyes only for Anakin.

In your horny haze, you started watching more and more porn featuring men who kind of looked like him. When they would call the girls they were fucking sluts, you felt a shiver as you imagined Anakin saying that to you. In that one session, you really dropped down a rabbit hole that culminated in you taking the BDSM test and lighting up like a Christmas tree. Well, shit.

You desperately wanted to try some of what you had seen, so you found a local sex store and decided to go on Tuesday. There, you walked through the aisles and made mental notes, like research. In the back, you found a rack of lingerie in your size, one of which was a black lace set on sale. Perfect. They were out of fishnets in your size, which you cursed. You really wanted him to rip them. After that, you still had an hour left to explore the store before Ahsoka would be home. For a long time, you stood in front of a display of plugs and debated whether to buy one. Then you moved on to the wall of vibrators, which was overwhelmingly brightly colored. Every box yelled out the benefits--Xtreme Suction, Boyfriend Experience, 17 Vibrating Settings--and you almost didn't buy one. Almost. You took a big vibrating wand off the wall, which at least seemed beginner-friendly. So, after spending altogether too much, you half-walked, half-ran back to your room to try out your new toy while you thought of Anakin. It turned out that the vibrator was incredibly powerful and made you cum in one minute flat, which was lucky because Ahsoka's class let out early.

For the rest of the week, every time you thought of what he was going to do to you, you used the vibrator. Even on the day he was arriving, when the two of you texted about kinks, you pulled the vibe out even though Ahsoka was due to return any minute. You were halfway to your orgasm when you heard the key in the door, so you turned it off in a hurry, shoved it under your pillow, and pulled up your blanket. You just had to masturbate as soon as you heard about him enjoying thinking about you two doing kinky stuff. That's how crazy Anakin made you. 

One short hour later, Anakin was with you. You were trying your best to be normal around him, but that was an impossible mission. When Ahsoka brought up Jake in front of Anakin, you died inside. It wasn't like that with Jake. Only for Anakin. Then, when she asked if you were dating, you had to deny it, hard, so that Anakin wouldn't think you were telling your roommate how in love with him you were.

But you did love him, and you were about to do your best to rock his world. (This failed, almost immediately. He was about to rock yours, hard.)

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"Okay. First of all, I won. You touched me first," he said. He was right, you had, but it was unfair. How were you supposed to resist when he asked you like that? He was always telling you what to do teasingly, but when he did it seriously, it set something off within you. You opened your mouth to snark back in defense, but he interrupted you. 

"And, second of all, shut up and kiss me." You rose up on your toes, tangling your hands in his hair and giving him a long look before finally connecting your lips. His kisses were needy and bruising as he devoured you, wrapping his strong arms around your lower back and drawing you to him. Your bodies slammed into one another, connecting from thigh to chest, and you felt him grow harder against you. You definitely weren't imagining it last time, he was big. You mewled into his mouth, and felt him smile against you at your noisiness. Then he grabbed your bottom lip between his, swiping his tongue across it, and you made an even louder noise, which drew a groan from him. As you tilted your heads this way and that, trying to get even deeper, he slipped his tongue past your lips, exploring tentatively. He had a vague aftertaste of mint, and some distant part of your brain registered that he had probably prepared for this with a mint or gum or something. When you started teasing his lips with you tongue, he pulled away, and you feared for a moment that he was about to tell you that you had done something wrong. Instead, he just said, with his telltale smirk and half-lidden eyes full of desire,

"You're such a good kisser. Been practicing without me?" You shook your head no, and that was the truth. Was he worried about someone else? There was no one. There hadn't been anyone but him in your heart for a very long time.

"Good," he growled. You weren't sure what that meant, and it didn't seem like Anakin thought about it before saying it, based on the way his face fell for a millisecond before he recovered his cool. He dove back into kissing you with grace, like that didn't even happen. Somehow, you found yourself pulling him toward you so much that the back of your knees hit the bed, and you almost lost your balance. He caught you with those strong arms and turned you around so that he sat on the bed, with you standing over him. Just like last time, you yearned to be in his lap, so you straddled him. As soon as you sat on his dick, Anakin groaned, and you dragged yourself along the length trapped by his zipper. He rolled his hips in tandem, which only made you intensify your actions, rutting against him and practically bouncing on his lap. At some point, the friction finally rubbed your clit in exactly the right way, and you threw your head back while you rode him as a broken moan tumbled from your lips. The denim skirt you were wearing was intentionally short and tight, and, with your feverish movements, it rode up until it sat on your hips. You could feel the cool air hit your warm pussy and thighs, so knew he could definitely see the lace you were wearing underneath it. You just hoped it was something he liked.

"What are you wearing? Let me see, baby," he cooed. That pet name, baby, and the sultry way he said it, were enough for you to let the hope in your chest that he felt the same way about you flourish. He pushed up the hem just a bit more with his right hand, running his finger along the top of the underwear, back and forth. You were about to scream in frustration, and you tried to thrust into his hand, but he shook his head.

"Patience," he tutted, as if he had any himself. Anakin's thumb moved down the front, tracing you until he reached your clit. He cast a tentative look at you before he touched it, but you tapped him twice with your hand, and he gently pressed against it. Your moan sounded so loud in the small space that you were worried the neighbors would complain, but he kept going. The little bundle of nerves was so sensitive under his touch that you were shocked it could even feel this way, so intense just because someone else was there. Anakin moved his thumb in small circles, the tendons in his hands jumping as he applied more and more pressure. You kept letting out a string of curses and his name, not caring who could hear. This was too good not to enjoy fully. His other hand gripped your hip so roughly that you were certain it would leave bruises that you would masturbate over for weeks.

Just as you felt it all start to build, not quite there yet but definitely on the right track, he drew his hand away. He tugged on your skirt, which was like an extra-thick belt at this point.

"Why don't we get this off you, baby?" You nodded, and Anakin quickly popped the button and helped you stand up and kick it off. You could pick it up later. You felt a bit silly in your crop top and nothing else, so you took it off in what you hoped was a sexy way, lifting it over your head to expose the black lace bralette you had bought just for him. Anakin's gaze was locked onto your body, practically drooling. When your shirt was off too, he grabbed his cock through his pants and stroked it, to your joy. He found you sexy. You didn't know if he loved you, or if he wanted to date you, but, in this second, it was enough just for him to want you.

You climbed back up onto him and tugged at the simple burgundy tee he was wearing, as if to say I want to see you too. He obliged, shirking it quickly. As he did, you took a long look at his bare chest. 

When you were kids, you would go to the pool, so you knew what he looked like shirtless. But he had started training so much more since then, and some of the softness was gone, replaced with nothing but muscle and sinew, taut under your touch. You ran a hand down his pecs, to his abs--he had actual abs-- going lower and lower until you reached the trail of hair under his belly button. Anakin's eyes were following your hand, then flitted up to your face. His skin pressed against yours when he tightened his arms, letting them fall to touch your ass. A tense second passed with you staring at one another before he continued to kiss you feverishly. One of his hands trailed up your body to grab your tits, pawing at them and occasionally rubbing gentle circles where he could feel your nipples hard under the fabric. The feeling was so intense that, as you groaned into his mouth, you kept moving your hips until he grabbed your hips to hold you still.

"If you keep going like that, baby, I'm going to cum," he whispered raggedly into your ear, still holding you tight. Hearing your best friend say those words, so dirty and sexy, almost drove you mad. You wanted to see him try to hold back as you rutted against him, then get overwhelmed by pleasure. Next time, you vowed.

"Can I go down on you?" You asked, not sure of the sexiest way to phrase the question, but it seemed to work for him. He smiled widely, nodded, and leaned back on his arms as you got down to your knees on the floor, sitting between his legs while he stayed on the bed.

Nervousness washed over you again. After this, there was no going back. You would have seen all of him, and touched it. He wasn't just your best friend anymore, he was more if you did this. So much more. And that was exactly what you wanted.

You fumbled with the button of his pants for a second before it finally opened, then you pulled the zipper down slowly. You'd never understood why people found that sound sexy, but, now, it was making you soaked. You were met with his briefs, which had a wet spot on them that turned the grey fabric dark. You grabbed the waistband and pulled them down, following the dark brown hairs until you saw the base of his cock. When you pulled it down, and his cock sprang out, you paused, sitting completely and utterly still. Seconds passed in silence, and Anakin started staring at you.

"You okay?" He asked the question so gently, so caringly with those eyes full of worry that you thought for a moment, just for a second, that you could sense a flicker of love. It was enough to keep you going for years. You nodded up at him, eyes wide, and he cupped your face tenderly. He could tell you were a little worried that you would be bad, but he was going to make it better.

Holy fuck. This was Anakin's cock. Of course, you'd seen photos before of penises. This was something completely different. He was big--almost huge, as far as you were concerned, and thick. The tan skin of his cock accentuated the darker head. The gently upward curve of his shaft was wrapped in veins, some bluish and some purplish, and you felt a pull to trace them with your tongue. At the very tip, a bead of precum was gathering, and you wanted desperately to see if it tasted how you imagined. You looked up into his eyes, and he was giving you a concerned look, like he was about to suggest you pause for your sake. Instead, you reached out one shaking hand to grip the base of his cock, which was so much warmer than you imagined. Anakin hissed at the contact, then muttered out a "good" as you started stroking the base gently. His praise sent a rush of joy and arousal through you, and you vowed to get more. 

You lowered your lips on the tip of his cock, kissing it with your slightly open mouth as Anakin hissed. Your tongue flicked out to lick off the precum, which was salty, musky, and a bit bitter, but definitely better than you expected. You licked your lips before tracing the contours of the head of his cock, teasing the slit and the edge before trying to take some of it into your mouth. You opened your jaw as wide as you could, because, based on what you read, teeth were to be used sparingly. His cock was surprisingly warm and wet in your mouth, and when you glanced up at him from between his knees, his lips were parted and his face had gone slack as he groaned your name. You sank down further on his cock until the entire head was in your mouth. His skin was so smooth under your tongue as you swirled it around, so incredibly delicate. As you started to bob up and down, getting a bit deeper each time, the noises and words started pouring out of him.

"God, that's great--ah, right there baby, fuck, that's my good girl." The words were so dirty, so right. The praise tumbled out of his mouth so easily, and it only made you get more and more frantic on his cock, taking him in deeper and deeper. At one point, you went too deep, and he hit the back of your throat, making you gag around him. The spasm of your throat around his cock drew out another groan from Anakin, but he gently grabbed your hair and pulled you off.

"Are you alright?" It was your first time gagging around it, taking it deep, and all you could think was how you wanted him to make you do that. To make you gag on him over and over until you couldn't think straight.

"Yeah, Ani, I'm fine. I just--I. I want to do that again," you admitted. He leaned down to kiss you gently, then took your chin in his fingers.

"Can I fuck your throat, baby?" He hid it well, but you could tell he was a bit nervous, most likely worried about hurting you. Anakin was always like that with you, so gentle, so considerate, that it made you all the more certain. You nodded emphatically, because God yes you wanted that, and then he stood up, getting to his full height above you. You shifted to your knees, which were aching from the carpet at this point, then looked up and found yourself in line perfectly with his cock. He dug his fingers into your hair, grabbing hold of it at the root, then started drawing your head closer until he was engulfed in your mouth again. Once he reached a bit of resistance, he drew back and thrust, shallow and quick, then drew back again. Anakin went a bit deeper the next time, then started thrusting faster. The physical feeling itself was nothing compared to the heady rush from the look he was giving you. Anakin was always sunshine, but now he was dark and sinful, using your throat for his pleasure. Your eyes locked, which obviously affected him based on the way he took a ragged breath and tipped his head back.

Watching him get so much pleasure from you made your right hand go down to your pussy, giving it much-needed relief by slipping underneath your underwear and rubbing your clit directly. The stimulation only made you more relaxed, which then allowed him to thrust further into your throat. He was getting faster, so you hollowed your cheeks and put your left hand on his tense thigh, which was almost shaking, before wrapping it around the base of his cock and stroking. Anakin growled and sped up, losing himself in the pleasure of your mouth, about to cum.

"Fuck, baby, I'm gonna--ah, fuck, I'm cumming," he choked out as he buried himself deep inside you. Your hand sped up as you felt his cock start to spasm. It was thick and warm and incredibly bitter, but it tasted like Anakin, so you swallowed it as the cum slid down your throat in spurts. After he came, he pulled out of your mouth with a sigh, then slid his thumb over your swollen and spit-covered lips.

"That was amazing," he said, out of breath, "How are you feeling?" The hand on your mouth went to your cheek, holding it gently.

"Good," you breathed. "Horny." He chuckled, still panting and looking down at you with genuine adoration. Anakin sat down on the bed, then got on it as he pulled up his briefs to cover up his sensitive cock.

"Come up here. I'll take care of you," he said as he shifted backward onto the bed, leaving space for you to lay down next to him. As he moved, then adjusted your pillow so you could be comfortable, you realized you had made a mistake. You stood up to try and stop it, but it was too late. You hadn't moved the goddamn vibrator. He found it, of course, with a gentle "oh." He held it up for you to see what he had found, and the dread nestled in your stomach. He was so going to make fun of you for this.

"Someone's been practicing on their own, I see," he said with a raised eyebrow as he flicked the on button, sending the tip of the vibrator shaking in a frenzy. Anakin gave you a shit-eating grin. You felt your cheeks and the tips of your ears grow warm.

"Fuck, I meant to move that, I--" He interrupted you with intense eyes. His hair was wild around his face, waves messed by your hands earlier.

"Embarrassed?" Yes, obviously. You nodded, looking away and adjusting a strand of your hair that had fallen into your face from when he fucked it. He was obviously enjoying this more than a little bit, and you started to wonder how much he really enjoyed you being embarrassed in other situations too. If his teasing was all platonic. His grin grew wolfish.

"How many times have you used it?" That caught you off guard. Your teasing was something you had both enjoyed, but the way he turned it into a little game for his own pleasure made you want to be teased by him all the time. Your stunned silence had obviously riled him up, so he kept going.

"Huh? How many times, baby? How many times have you made yourself cum with this?" Oh, he really wanted to know. He brought the still-humming vibrator to the inside of your knee, then slowly started tracing it up your thigh. You jolted, but answered him.

"Got it four days ago. I--five times," you whispered as he brought it closer and closer to where you wanted it. Anakin chuckled, a sound so dark and almost condescending that you could hardly believe it came from your best friend. It flared in your pussy, sending blood to your clit until you could feel your heartbeat in it. The vibrator was so close, you could practically feel it already.

"Twice in one day?" Anakin gritted the question out with a hungry smirk, the dark echo of the one you knew so well. You loved it. You wanted him to devour you and destroy you. You nodded slowly, well aware of how close he was to finally touching you. He finally reached your clit, and gave you one-two-three seconds of pleasure before he switched the vibrator off.

"Get on the bed," he commanded, pulling you by the hips into his embrace on the bed. He shifted to the headboard, so that you were between his legs and laying back on his chest. Anakin was so warm, so comforting behind you as his arms wrapped around you and brought the vibrator back to your clit. When it hummed to life, you turned your face and buried it in his arm, muffling the moans and words you babbled out.

"Ah, FUCK. God yesyesyesyes more, please, Ani!" The vibe never failed you before, and it wasn't now. The stimulation, the aftertaste of cum in your mouth, and the smell of Anakin's sweat and shampoo all mingled together to bring you closer and closer, until you were about to finally--Anakin ripped the vibrator off of you, and your hips thrust up into the empty air as you mewled and cried out for him.

"Fuck, please let me cum! I'm so fucking horny Ani, please," you begged, not even caring about dignity anymore. You needed this, so so fucking badly.

"You want to cum? Fine. You get to cum, but you're gonna do it twice." He pressed the vibrator to you again and gently circled it on you. It was so much, the heat of the room, the strain in your legs, the way your mind was going fuzzy at the edges, filled with nothing but Anakin. You came like you never had before, jolting as your legs shook and making a series of strangled noises that included shouts of his name intermixed with breathy moans. You could hear him, vaguely, curse at the sight in front of him. The waves hit you over and over, extending longer than you thought you could, your pussy twitching repeatedly. But Anakin didn't take the vibrator off you. It almost hurt, but your sensitivity made it overwhelmingly good, like the breath was leaving your chest. Getting back to being able to cum took a minute, but you were feeling it build again, stronger this time. Your abs clenched, and Anakin started to read your tells. He could tell, just like you could, that you were about to cum.

"That's it, baby. Cum again for me, you can do it," he murmured in your ear as you let out a desperate wail and came violently. Your whole body was shaking, back arched, and your breathing was ragged like you had just run a marathon. Your pussy was desperately clenching on nothing as the feeling surged over you, so much stronger this time around. The knowledge that it was Anakin making you cum only made it more powerful. When you had come down from the peak of it, and were just riding out the last aftershocks, Anakin turned off the vibrator and rested his hand on your knee.

"That was perfect, baby. You were so good for me. So amazing," he whispered as he pulled you closer. If you were less floaty and light-headed, you would have thought more of his use of baby, like this was something more than practice. Now that he had touched you like this, you knew that there wasn't any going back, and that you were going to tell him eventually. Tell him how you felt. But not right now. Right now, all that mattered was his strong arms engulfing you, keeping you warm and safe after everything you had done. 

Nearly fifteen minutes passed with him holding you like that before you realized that you should probably pee and change. But he was so comfortable, rubbing your knee with his thumb idly as he monitored you. His hands supported you as you tried to sit up, still tired and shaky from the effort of all of it.

"I should really go pee," you said, obviously unenthusiastic. 

"You okay? Feel good about everything?" When you turned around to look at him, Anakin was so visibly concerned, it was too sweet. His pupils were blown wide, his features soft in the low light. Your heart tugged when you realized this was only making you love him more.

"Yeah, you?" And that was the truth. You did feel good about everything, almost too good. He was so perfect for you, kinky in just the right ways, and you were terrified you wouldn't find that again. When he heard you were alright, he grinned, back to his usual bright, happy self. There was also that. You were terrified you wouldn't find someone who loved you this much, even if he only loved you as a friend.

"Fuck yeah. Alright, go clean up," he said. His hands on your lower back gave you a gentle push to help you get going. With your PJs, you stepped into the bathroom you shared with the double bedroom next door, locking both doors, and tried to wipe up the wetness on your underwear. There was no use, they would go straight into the wash. Whatever. You tossed them into your hamper and got ready for bed.

When you left the bathroom, you were shocked to find Anakin naked in the middle of the room, halfway through changing. It felt almost normal, which was weird, given that you couldn't conceive of him having a penis a year ago. He noticed your strange look and pulled up his flannel pajama pants.

"What? It's not like you've never seen me naked before," he joked with a wink. You supposed that was true, but this seemed very... intimate, somehow. The first time was practice, but what was this?

"Oh, could you grab my phone charger? It's in the big pocket of my backpack," he called idly from the bed. His shirt was still off, and the flannel pants sat low on his hips, so you found your eyes roving over the wide expanse of his chest. On your way back to the bed from the bathroom, you stopped by the bag he had left on the floor. As you dug through it, you found underwear (ew, though really not ew because you had just had his cock down your throat ten minutes ago), his computer, and a couple shirts, but no tell-tale charger cord.

"I don't think it's in here," you said to him, but you stuck your hand deeper into the layers of his overstuffed backpack. This must be what performing a colonoscopy is like, you thought. Your fingers closed around something thin, wrapped up with what felt like a crumpled paper, and you started fishing it out. He was notorious for stuffing paper in his bag without thinking in high school, and you once found his report card somewhere in the depths of it during senior year. It was from four years ago. You chuckled to yourself at the memory as you finally got the knot loose, along with the crumpled paper trapped within it.

You unwrapped it carefully. The piece of notebook paper looked frequently used but recently discarded, and was covered in Anakin's distinctive scrawl. Your flitted over the first line, expecting to read something about resistors. Instead, you saw something else. Since we were kids, I've considered you my closest friend. You kept reading.

"Anakin, what the fuck is this?"

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Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @doblasftcisco @aliciaasky @cultofsin @avalovesjoe1 @akixxrafiiy @princearthur4 @sythethecarrot

[lazycats-stuff]

Remember when u wrote batbro who's Australian? Now u HAVE TO do Italian! This time with Italian toddler batbro, please little Italian people with their small hand gestures are so funny and so fricking adorable to me I'm tearing up just thinking about it

Yeah, Italians are funny and adorable, but I think it would work better if it's a teen instead of a toddler, so I have to modify that part, I just think it would fit better. Also, 1.3k, thank you guys and yes, I know this is a little bit short, but I do want to get this out for you guys. Also, Italians are my neighboring country lol, so if any Italians are reading this, hi!

Summary: (Y/N) is Italian. The family can't deal with him.

Warnings:

Bruce, yet again, found out he had another biological child. Another son. Bruce loved his sons, but he could get a daughter for once. Someone who was less chaotic to a certain degree. Turns out, when Bruce had a one night stand with an Italian model, she got pregnant and she didn't say anything to Bruce about his son for 13 years.

Bruce found out when she was put in jail. Bruce didn't know what happened, but he was more numb from the news that he has another son. Not to mention, man with a heavy Italian accent calling him in the middle of the night telling him about his son and Bruce having to call his lawyers...

The amount of paperwork that it took for Bruce to bring (Y/N) to America is nuts. Sure, you have to make sure that both governments know where the child is. The amount of connections Bruce had to pull just to get (Y/N) to the USA is actually insane. Thankfully, (Y/N) would soon get his citizenship and he would be able to keep his Italian citizenship.

Thankfully, both the US and Italy allow people to have multiple citizenships so (Y/N) could go back to Italy without any problems. Bruce and the others need to get visas. (Y/N) laughed at them when he heard that.

But hey, when they go to Italy, they will have a translator. And it's incredible to listen to (Y/N) not knowing English really. They weren't mocking him by any means, but they were crying of laughter a few times when there was some English problems.

But there were another things they didn't know about Italians. For example, (Y/N) was touchy in conversations. And he was closer to them, more in their space. None of them minded them, it was actually nice how closer he was to them because Americans prefer to keep their distance it seems.

And a thing that seemed like are they European or gay thing is the fact they have their little pecks on the cheek. It wasn't anything intimate by any means and it's a way to say hi to guests. Men do it as well so it wasn't gay per say... But then again... Bruce knew that Italy had a different way than Americans.

And by God, (Y/N) had so many cultural shocks. So many. The sizes of food in America... And (Y/N) will forever fight the notion that pineapple belongs on the pizza. He shall defend his Italian heritage and cuisine.

Also, while on the topic of the sizes, everything in America is huge. Cars, buildings... (Y/N) thought that in a way it lacked warmth. And (Y/N) didn't even want to think about the prices of medication and healthcare here. He knows that Bruce is rich, but still... My God.

Another thing was the fact that kind of annoyed Bruce and Alfred was the amount of espressos that (Y/N) can drink in a day. Tim loved him a lot for it, but Bruce and Alfred weren't so happy. So many espressos wasn't really helpful. But hey.

But one iconic thing that can make you tell who is an actual Italian or not, is the famous hand gesture. They still remember the time when (Y/N) was talking on the phone with a family member who lives in Italy and it seemed that the entire family was on the other side of the phone.

He was talking fast, phone on his ear while he was going to the kitchen to drink some water and get some snacks. They all watched in silence as (Y/N) talked loudly, even as he was opening the fridge for some snacks.

And that's when they saw it. The famous hand gesture, in between some passionate talk about something and yelling over the phone. He seemed annoyed, but there was a smile on the teen's face as he was talking.

Once he was finished, he joined his family at the table. Jason has decided to learn Italian. Bruce has silently agreed. Damian was already prepared to learn. Basically, the entire family has decided to learn Italian and help (Y/N) with English in return.

Another thing that made adapting to the American culture more difficult was the fact that talking and kind of interrupt one you are talking too. In Italy, that is not really considered rude since they are passionate about talking and just overall talking over.

In America, that is considered rude. He didn't like it that much, but understood. People won't like him that much and he would be considered a rude person if he interrupts other people. His family understood that it's not easy, but hey. You adapt to the culture and move on.

But still, it hurt a little bit.

And (Y/N) never understood one thing as well. Something called Italian Americans. He couldn't comprehend calling yourself Italian American, but you don't speak Italian and you are not connected to the culture of your other part. It was weird to him. No hate towards them, but to him it was weird. How can you call yourself a person who belongs to a certain culture if you don't know it?

But hey, no hate. As long as they don't insult Italy and the Italian culture, no hate.

And one more thing that no one prepares you for is the fact that you miss your home country. Despite Alfred doing the best Italian dishes known to men, but it just didn't taste the same. It didn't have that taste of Italy. Yes, it sounds weird, but it's true. Italy is one hell of a country with a rich history.

Oh the nostalgia is a worst feeling ever. Sure, it makes you feel happy and remember the great times you had., but sad at the same time. Bruce saw it, he wasn't blind.

He was sad for his son. So what does Bruce do? Summer holidays are approaching and Bruce had one great idea for everyone. 2 weeks in Italy, all paid for. He just needed to tell (Y/N) when and where they will be going.

And Bruce told him a few moments later, (Y/N) screamed from happiness and jumped into Bruce's arms, hugging him like a koala bear.

" Grazie Bruce! " (Y/N) screamed. Bruce didn't mind the use of his first name because (Y/N) was still getting used to the fact that he has a dad.

" Ti amo Bruce. " (Y/N) said as he stood back down at the floor. Bruce smile widely as he knew exactly what first two words meant.

" Love you too son. "

(Y/N) let out a woo as he went back to his room. Oh he will stuff himself with all of the Italian food he can eat and find. And he will go to Rome and the Vatican. No one is going to stop him. And not to mention, he will have to visit his family. They would never forgive him by any means and you don't want to piss off an Italian family.

[tabithatwo]

are we ready to talk about shauna's barely hidden but somehow very ignored psychosis and how it, like a ton of her other qualities, is brushed aside by both those around her and the audience? like, i think its clear that a central focus of the show is the way lottie is the only one who got stuck in a facility (and natalie in and out of rehab being the next closest to reckoning with her shit) when the rest of them are very clearly not okay. as a certified Crazy Girl, i've been weary of how they'll handle lottie's story line (blurring psychosis and the supernatural is a very delicate and tricky thing and thus far i've been sort of just waiting to see where it goes). our data on and understanding of mental health is incredibly limited for a lot of reasons (but that's a rant for another time) but there is a large mainstream misconception of when hallucinations and delusions can happen. psychosis isn't just something that happens in schizophrenia and its very complex, so if you want to learn more there's plenty of info out there i'm not going to get into it here, but it happens in a lot of other cases. psychosis is, most simply put, a loss of contact with external reality. ptsd can cause psychosis, especially auditory and visual hallucinations.

so shauna is shown to have these experiences and i didn't realize that they were being so heavily overlooked by a large amount of people until the reaction to the scene where she beats lottie nearly to death. shauna is introduced in s1 as having hallucinations of jackie 25 years later. she is shown to disassociate. in 207, she both holds the baby's body and believes the delusion that they ate the baby. the episode shows her fighting the delusion until she can't anymore. meanwhile, adult shauna tells lottie she keeps callie at arms length out of "fear that she would die...i guess? or maybe that she was never even...real to begin with." then she adds "i think something is broken, lottie." implied: she's broken. something is wrong with her. this is the is the most honest about her mental state we've ever seen shauna be.

why? because lottie has always been and likely will always be perceived as crazier. lottie is the one they pin it on, lottie is the cult leader both then and now, lottie is the scapegoat, lottie is the one who got sent to switzerland. i think there's something to be said for the effect lottie has on people (again, a whole other post) but honestly, that alone is enough. shauna is feeling vulnerable for a lot of reasons and she can tell lottie that she thinks she's crazy, that she's never quite sure her daughter exists, that she's constantly afraid she'll die to the degree that she doesn't let herself interact with her in a real, tangible way, because it's always safer to tell the crazy girl you're crazy, too.

and lottie knows. shauna knows that. lottie clocked her psychosis almost immediately, when she was in the meat shed for all hours. the other girls were shocked by the makeup, and their shock was so fucking strange to me when i watched it, but now on reflecting i'm realizing maybe its the lottie effect. like, have i done the shit shauna has? abso-fucking-lutely not lol. but does my mind work in a way where i immediately would assume shauna was doing something along the lines of the shit she was doing out there, because to me its like...what else would it be? yeah. like sees like, in a way. lottie knows what this looks like at baseline, even if its coming out way different in shauna. even if in shauna it looks like aggression and violence a lot of the time. lottie gets it.

jeff doesn't get it, he thinks strawberry lube is too wild. taissa gets it to a degree, and we see shauna be the second most open with her, but tai suppresses and hides it a degree that she wouldn't dare step foot in a therapist's office (this is yet another thing that makes me crazy but is a whole other post lol). shauna's main goal in this life she's created is pretending to be normal. and she's like, impressively bad at it. but people let her, because what else are they going to do? addressing the clear issues is taboo, because we categorize people so heavily. she masks better than lottie, but it's fucking wafer thin. you see this when she interacts with people who aren't her family or the other yjs. the way she speaks to the taylors? to adam? shauna is only sometimes masking passably when she's in her set world, where she has a routine, and is surrounded by people she only has to half-convince of her sanity.

if shauna is honest about the level of psychosis she experiences, she knows she'll end up like lottie. and i think there's an argument to be made that the people around her (which at this point in her life is pretty much just jeff because she's done another common thing and insulated herself from other people, re: the way she behaves being clockably off to others who won't overlook certain things or can't relate) understand that too. it can't be addressed, because then in their minds there must be action of some kind if it is. (taissa yelling you're acting crazy, shauna is one of the most purely terrified moments we see of her in relation to shauna, because she knows she's admitting something. jeff yelling something to the same effect after the carjacking, same thing.)

the person we see try to get shauna to open up about it is callie. her teenage daughter, who bares the brunt of her difficulty maintaining reality, (who knows that shauna has never accepted her fully as her child, and seems to actually sense that there is a deeper reason for that), asks her to open up. she tells her after the club scene that she knows something is wrong. she even mentions jackie directly. she spends all of s2 trying to relate to shauna, to get her to be open with her about everything. there's no way shauna's trauma and psychosis and general issues have gone unnoticed by callie. daughters always know. they see it in their mothers before they even have a concept of the world. so we're watching a 16 year old try to get her mom to open up, because she doesn't understand fully why that's so dangerous to shauna. to callie, it may even be a secret she thinks other people are in on that she's being left out of. i think maybe she's realizing that it isn't personal and that shauna is guarded like this in general, and we're watching that happen.

callie is learning to care for and relate to her mother and she doesn't see why shauna won't let her in, because to her it's an innate truth that she'll be by her side no matter what (if only she'd let her be). she has unconditional love for her mother and that is the scariest thing in the world to shauna, because the last person who had unconditional love for shauna died because shauna didn't know what to do with it. a baby she never got a chance to meet in reality could've replaced the love that jackie gave her, and shauna was maybe starting to look forward to that, but that ended before it began. so twice shauna has killed that figure in her life. the one who loves her wholly and for who she is, which is terrifying to shauna in it's own right (she tried to take that away from jackie in their last moments, maybe you never really knew me, because that would be easier. shauna can't handle someone really knowing her because she can't handle really knowing herself because, again, that means addressing things that go unaddressed). and she doesn't plan on killing that figure again.

(if callie's even real, because the baby wasn't real when she met him and jackie wasn't real every time she's talked to her in the last twenty-five years, so who the fuck is to say callie is real?)

[sleepymccoy]

Imma tell you all about Vulcan for a bit. I'm not gonna google anything, this is all memory

So back in the early 1800s or maybe mid 1800s, whatever, pre 1900s, they're looking at Neptune. Neptune has a funky little wobble in its orbit. One smart guy (whose name I don't remember) is like damn that wobble makes sense if there's another planet out there.

So they map out what this other planet's orbit would logically be and lo and behold there's Uranus (they had time to think of a name, I still can't believe they went w Uranus). Shortly after this - maybe this is when it's the mid 1800s. I don't know when Uranus is actually found - they spot Mercury!

Holy shit another planet!

And look at it wobble! Well, fuck me with a poker, says another man I don't remember, we've seen that before with Neptune and Uranus. There's another planet!

Lordy, just how many planets are out here?

So they map out Mercury's orbit and where this extra planet would need to be to have the impact it clearly does. They name it Vulcan. It goes into text books and solar system maps.

So yeah, in between Mercury and the sun is another planet called Vulcan for a few years. Literally, it's accepted fact.

Unfortunately Vulcan is on the other side of the sun for a while and they can't confirm. Then when they look there's no planet there but like,, Maybe they're off by a degree? They do some more maths and are like no yeah there should def be a planet there wtf?

Eventually they accept there's no planet and, with embarassment, remove Vulcan from school books. Then they sit down and think about it

Maybe Einstein is involved here, maybe they just use his principles? When was Einstein? I'm terrible w dates.

Anyway, turns out this is gravity causing time dilation.

The sun is a big fat gravity causer. There's just so much funky gravity coming out of her. And it's pretty patchy, esp with the solar flares and so on. So sometimes with gravity playing a complex game the straightest path from Mercury's pov is different to the straightest path from our pov. This makes sense on a visual level for me, and I don't know how to explain it further

If we were on Mercury it would look like we're going in a perfect orbit. But from Earth's pov it's a bit wobbly! Neptune is far away and didn't have the same impact from the sun, so that was all just Uranus. I think we do see a little bit of wobble in Venus too, and from Mars we'd look funky. But I think that's a very miniscule amount, with that space measuring equipment rather than just eyes and compasses

Anyway that's Vulcan, the real planet that doesn't exist. There's a great book on it, The Search for Vulcan. Probably also written by a guy whose name I've forgotten lol, but it's written well.

Okay I am gonna google, but just to try and find a picture to back me up

That's from the Smithsonian ^

I like the not-quite-real planet Vulcan

[turns-out-its-adhd]

Holding eggs

One of the things I encounter a lot while trying to communicate my struggles with ADHD to those who don't experience it is the ever present "Oh, everyone is a bit like that" and yes, everyone can be late, messy, forgetful, disorganised etc. and struggle with the same things. But the extent to which it impacts my life is many degrees greater.

I can't express succinctly how tiring and frustrating these often well-meaning but misguided comments can be. So please bear with me for an incoming overly complicated analogy.

How many eggs do you think most people could comfortably carry in one hand? One or two at least? They conventionally come packages of six, so as a society we've probably accepted that six is too many. 

How many do you think you could probably carry but it might be tricky? For the sake of this analogy let's go with four eggs.

For most people, carrying four eggs in one hand would probably be at least a bit stressful. Just a bit too much of a handful of breakable and potentially messy items. But you might manage, most of the time, to carry four eggs in one hand. Sometimes you might drop one and end up with three eggs.

‘Oft, there goes an egg! I've made such a mess, carrying these four eggs is so tricky!’, you might think (wondering why the hell you have to carry four eggs in one hand, not knowing you are just part of an overly complicated analogy in this universe)

Now imagine you are a person who has no thumbs. Or maybe just three fingers. Or maybe very small and greasy hands. 

Carrying those four eggs would be quite a bit more tricky. You very often drop two or three eggs, some days you drop all the eggs. Sometimes, with a lot of practice, careful balancing and intense concentration, you manage to carry all the eggs. Hurrah.

When you drop the eggs, other people (in this analogy created universe of egg holders) will commiserate and say:

"Oh dear, don't worry I drop an egg all the time! Everyone struggles with the eggs!"

And they do, you see them dropping one or two of their eggs now and then and sighing and shaking their heads and you think - we all drop our eggs sometimes, I should just clean up this mess and make do with the eggs I have left.

You really start to believe you should be able to carry the eggs, and that you probably drop about the same amount of eggs every now and then as everyone else.

But you don't have any thumbs, or just three fingers, or very small and greasy hands.

You are dropping a lot of eggs.

You are spending a lot more time cleaning up sticky egg mess.

You are getting very upset with how small your omelette is.

You go to your fully fingered friend and sigh and say :

"Oh, carrying these eggs is so hard, and I am always dropping so many, and spending so long cleaning up sticky egg mess"

And they pat your shoulder and sigh with you and to comfort you say:

"Yes, we all drop the eggs sometimes. Don't worry about it so much though, that's normal!"

And you look down at your thumbless, or three fingered, or very small and greasy hands and think : 

‘No, I think it might just be harder for me - somehow’

And you're so tired of carrying eggs, and you're angry that no one sees how hard you are trying to carry the eggs, and that they won't acknowledge that you are dropping more eggs even though you are trying harder not to.

And that's a bit what it feels like to me trying to tell people who don't experience what I experience, just how hard it is for me sometimes. A lot of the time. Most of the time.

[iskratempestmadness]

The characters of "Baki the grappler" and the language of love

Baki:

Touching

Baki is one of the most tactile characters. And it is also important for him that you also express your love physically. Hugs, kisses, holding hands, even just a pat on the shoulder will do for him. It's just that it's important for him to feel that you're with him and you're safe.

Hanayama:

Gifts

He is not mercantile. He is not a materialist. Oh no. It's just that, as I've told you before, it's difficult for him to express his feelings in words. He is also limited in his actions. And he can't spend the desired amount of time with you. But despite this, he really likes to put on your smile when he gives you another gift.

Katsumi:

Time or quality forwarding time

Oooh, it's hard to define his love language, but still he tends to do just that. And he appreciates it. From simple silence in each other's campaign to experiments and joint hobbies. Why this particular view? He likes the idea of your memories together. Definitely in old age, the phrase " Do you remember how we learned to surf together? Yes, you often fell off the board. Hehe, it was a funny sight... Maybe we should go to the sea again, don't you think? "

Jack:

Words

It's difficult for him. He would prefer to show his feelings by actions. But he understands perfectly well how important words are. For him and for you. Jack tries to compliment you, thank you for even the smallest things, say "I love you" before going to bed, and a lot of similar things. It really means to him that you know that he loves you. And don't forget to return the favor. This boy needs to be praised as often as possible, he deserves it.

Retsu:

Help

Retsu is a conscious person and he prefers to show his love not by word, but by deed. It's just more practical. And it's also a way to make sure that everything will be 100% fine with you and you won't have to strain yourself over trifles. Like you came home tired from work and didn't have time to clean the house? It's not a problem, because he's already done it, there's no point in straining. It is important for Retsu that you are happy and comfortable, so he will do everything to make your life easier.

Shibukawa:

Time

For him, time is a resource. You know, when people get older, they start to appreciate time more. So he shares with you what is valuable to him. And he likes it. Perhaps before you entered into a relationship, he directed this resource only to himself, and he could not think that sharing it could be so pleasant. He shares it with you... Almost all the time. From reading a book together to training.

Yujiro:

Words

Yes, you can't tell from him, but this. However, this love language is different from Jack's love language. No cute phrases, no compliments. For him, it's trivial. He starts giving you advice, voicing his thoughts about certain situations. Do you think that this is not enough? Look who it is. This is Yujiro Hanma. He was always on his own mind. And it is difficult for him to open up to another person, there is a feeling of insecurity. So this is for him a manifestation of love in the highest degree.

Doppo:

Touching

Yes, he has lived enough, but touching is still important to him. It's just that they make it easier to express emotions and feelings. Like, he starts to feel worried about you when something doesn't work out, so he'll hug you, pat you on the back and say a few encouraging words. And reciprocity is also important for him, because there is nothing better than to return from training and receive affection from his beloved.

Olive:

Gifts

Well, what else? He likes to give gifts. And not just gifts, but the BEST gifts. Look, he has enough money to do this. So everything is most dear to you. And he loves your smile when you get them. She will always remain in his heart. And Oliva does not require gifts in return, your sincere reaction is really enough for him. However, he wouldn't mind accepting something made by your hands.

Shiba:

Touching

This guy just loves you so much that he can't keep his hands to himself. You are always happy with him, and his hands are always on you. In private, he won't let you out of his arms, in public, his hand is chained to your waist. And despite the appearance, Shiba is gentle, he is certainly ready to give you his love, but he also wants to receive something in return. Even a crumb will be enough for him. Just straighten his clothes or give him tired shoulders and it will make him shine.

[writingforstraykids]

Jeongin soft thoughts? 🙏🏻

Collab with @zehina

Thank you so much for the many sweet thoughts you shared with me and let me use/adapt for this. Without you this post would've been rather short compared to the others🖤🖤

Jeongin loves to tease his hyungs with disgusted faces and slipping out of their hugs. But with you, whenever you're alone, that changes drastically. Innie turns putty in your hands, letting you trace your fingers all over his face, knowing you'll stop at his dimples for a while. They're cute, just like him, so who can blame you for that? A dopey smile grows on his lips whenever you play with his hair and massage his scalp, helping him relax after a long day.

Innie has a very specific pet name for you, which he hasn't said out loud for a long while. It's like his little secret, adoring you from afar, his heart growing at the fact that you're his. One day, he slips, muttering it against your hair when he's already sleepy. You pull back, gaping at him, and his eyes widen in pure shock when he realizes why. You don't dare to tease him about it, though, knowing he'd die from embarrassment.

If the boys wouldn't know better, they'd suspect you are just a pair of bickering siblings. The loving teasing, playful cursing, and playful fights definitely make it seem like you are. But the way you two get cuddly and share soft kisses proves everyone wrong.

Innie is used to being babied by his hyungs all the time, and if he's honest, he doesn't mind it one bit. Once he met you, he found someone he could baby for once. And oh, how he loves doing it. He takes upon Chan's tradition of "maknae first" and always makes sure you get the first bite, the first sip, the best view, the cuddliest blanket, or the most loving hug. In his eyes, you deserve nothing but the best.

Innie gets drunk faster than you do so it's your job to take care of him when he is. He trusts you with this, knowing you'll get him back home or safely to bed when he had a little too much. He gets so clingy when he's drunk it's adorable. You can't even remember the amount of times he has been hugging you and planting drunk kisses on your face, missing your lips with an adorable giggle. You've lost count of the times he's drunkenly declared his love for you in front of everyone, his words slurred but sincere, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he never wants to let go. It's endearing, and even though he's a lightweight, you wouldn't change a thing about these heartfelt moments.

Innie, the baby bread who has a knack for acting like a grandpa amongst the bunch and you cannot say I am wrong. While he is a menace, yes, he isn’t one like Seungmin. No, this boy wouldn’t tease you for acting cute or taking care of him, instead, he would try his best to not be affectionate with you in public. A hard battle, one he often fails. But who could blame him, when you look that adorable, with such a sweet expression on your face? Certainly not him. So whenever you brush your fingers against his as you two walk, don’t talk about how fast he laces your fingers together, or how he silently takes off his coat if you seem cold. Let him be the little tsundere he is, otherwise he’ll pout, and you don’t want that at all.

Innie isn’t a big fan of skinship, click on any stray kids video if you need proof. But you’re an exception to that, to a certain degree. If you ask nicely enough, he’ll wrap you in his arms and have an all night long cuddle session. Other times, he wraps his arm around you protectively, not even a hiccup in the story he had been telling you, as if it was natural to him. Naturally, since you seem to be getting the VIP baby bread services that the boys aren’t getting, they all act incredibly jealous around you, all in a playful way. They tease both of you about this, which only results in their maknae getting flustered and chasing them around with heated cheeks and loud shouts. You don’t mind this at all honestly, their loud laughter and an embarrassed, cuddly boyfriend being your reward.

He would pay for your things, as expensive or cheap as they may be, he wouldn’t care at all. No, he would confidently raise his card towards the cashier, leaving you gaping up at him, admittedly a bit frustrated that you couldn’t pay for your bubble tea once again. And if you dared voice this, he would simply smirk at you, destroying your defences with that foxy smile of his. Damn him and his charisma.

When Jeongin plans a date, he makes sure every detail is perfect, from the timing to the location. His meticulous nature shows through in these moments, especially when he tries to incorporate activities he knows you'll love. He might feign indifference about the choices, saying things like "whatever you prefer," but you can tell he’s invested by how eagerly he observes your reactions. If you mention a fleeting interest in art, the next date might involve a quiet afternoon at a gallery, followed by coffee at a small café that he had scouted out weeks in advance. These thoughtful gestures don't go unnoticed, and they only deepen your appreciation for his caring and attentive ways.

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

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[idyllcy]

and on and on, yeah we got the time

Word count: 1.2k || pt2 of on and on, || art creds: 30backyard (lofter)

summary: dorming is hell, so your boyfriend fixes that obv

"You know, Jay." You raise a brow as he does all of the heavy lifting, sliding your mattress on the ground into your shared bedroom in the new apartment. 

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Oh, god. Did you learn that while reading on ao3 again? Jesus." You grumble. "What I was going to say, though, was that you really... you probably could have called a moving company."

"Listen, lovely." He points. "You have me."

"Yeah, yeah." You sigh. "I love you too, Jay."

"Good, cuz I've seen how many weird fratboys make eyes at you on the daily, and I honestly think some of them need to get beat."

"Not like you couldn't beat them." You pat his shoulder. "Is that it?"

"Should be." He hums. "How do you like our place?"

"Can't wait to have all of my annoying ass textbooks slotted in the bookshelves that you decided were necessary while telling Bruce to remodel."

"Can't wait to have your dissertation plastered on the walls."

"Oh..." You mumble. "Our degrees... You plan on living here forever?"

"Just a little, maybe."

"Could we just throw the mattress off the balcony next time?"

"I mean, I'm not saying no..."

You find that Jason's still the biggest book nerd in college. His 4.0 is daunting compared to yours despite being in the same school as you, and it's just a little... terrifying. At the very least, all of his professors adore him. You find that it's at the very least — helpful. It's great that Jason's adored by your shared professors because when Jason accidentally lets slip that you're his girlfriend, it gives you a boost. You don't know how, but you end up relaying messages to Jason through your professors occasionally. You wonder just what kind of tactics Jason's employing to get on their good side an ungodly amount, but it's not your problem. Jason has the face card and the personality for it.

At the very least, when it comes to you, he does.

"Prof wants to see you at office hours." He hums. "English 102."

"Jesus, what did I do now?" You grimace.

"Probably that shitty essay you bullshitted."

"God." You mumble. "I truly need to get on your level."

"Thank you, sweetheart." He hums. "The art of knowing does not come easy."

"Yeah, yeah." You grumble. "We should get back to a book a week. Sorry, I mean I should get back to a book a week."

"You can start by catching up with me."

"M..." You pause. "How about... no."

"Well, your choice." Jason hums. "We're mid semester—"

"WHICH IS ANOTHER THING. WHY DID WE MOVE MID-SEMESTER??" You snap your head to look at him, annoyed. "Jay, baby."

"I know." He pouts. "But you hated that dorm too."

"Yeah, but now I have to change all of my mailing addresses. Again." You mumble. "I hate doing that. I don't know how many accounts I even have."

"At least you got all of your packages."

"I guess..." You sigh. "Well, at the very least... we own this place."

"We own the building."

"WHAT." 

"Correction. B bought the building and transferred ownership to me. I own the building."

"Oh my god." You mumble. "You truly are learning from the worst..."

"Worst being you?"

"Yes. Duh. How many times have I called B for a hundred dollars because I couldn't afford matcha?"

Jason holds back a laugh, closing his eyes as his brows furrow. "Matcha does not—"

"No, but B can spare it." You hum. "Don't worry. I pay him back with the abundance of gifts I bring with each travel."

"Which is on B's account." Jason pauses. "You know what? Yeah. Whatever. Eat the rich. I didn't steal his tires and strike gold for me to be telling you to go easy on his bank account."

You give him a thumbs up. "Well, I make my own as well. It's nice to not need to worry about tuition... but it's also a pain in the ass to not be able to make money here."

"At least you have a legal ssn and everything."

"Not."

"Not ssn. Sorry." He snorts. "Well, better than the goons in Gotham, I'm sure."

"Definitely." You hum.

Jason tunes out your rambling as he glances around the room. The couch would arrive soon, and the rest of the furniture (including the 4K HD TV that you deemed necessary in order to, and he quotes, "see men in 4k" on) would arrive soon. He wonders just what he would be doing had he not met you. 

Would his life have ended when he nearly lost his life? Would he have gone to find his mother had you not clung onto him and threatened suicide? Even then, you were insane. He glances back at you as you tilt your head at him, expecting an answer.

"Sorry, babe. Spaced out."

"I was asking if you wanted takeout for dinner."

"Maybe?" Jason pauses. "Sure. You wanna order?"

"There's a place downstairs that I wanted to go to." You hum. "Right out there."

"Hope that pizza is just as good as the one that Dick won't shut up about." Jason mumbles.

"You recon I could ask them if they take school dining dollars?"

"They don't."

"Wouldn't hurt to ask." You grin. 

"I'm not asking for you." He deadpans. "I'll search it on reddit for you, though."

"Mm... that works." You hum. "So... wanna tell me what was on that exam you took?"

"No."

"No?? Not even a clue??" You gasp, pretending to be hurt.

"You'll be fine."

"That 88 I got on my first exam begs to differ."

"You're my smart girl." He hums.

You grimace at him.

"Alright, alright. But you're paying for dinner."

"Bruce is, but yeah." You click on your phone, handing him the menu as you get cozy on the couch. 

Jason settles into a day to day with you, fingers interlaced with yours, placing grapes in your mouth as you rest, sigh breaking through your chest as you rest the book over your eyes.

"Tired?"

"Very." You hum. "How was your final?"

"I finished." He pulls another grape, pressing it to your lips as you part them to eat. "You're getting real lazy, sweetheart, you know that?"

"Yeah." You hum. "But you love me."

Jason pretends to think about it, tapping his chin as he puts the bowl down. "I don't know..."

"You're hand feeding me grapes and you're telling me you don't know if you love me?" You move the book from your eyes, raising a brow at him as you shuffle and lean on your elbows.. "Jason, beloved. If you tell me you don't know one more time I'm sending you straight to hell."

"By killing me?"

"Jay, baby?"

"Yes?"

"No." 

He reaches for the bowl again, breaking another grape off to give you.

"But you love me."

"Yeah, yeah." You sigh, taking the grape as Jason presses his lips to yours, giving you a quick kiss. You make a noise in protest.

"I love you more than words could express, sweetheart." He takes the last grape, slipping it past his own lips as you throw your head into the arm of the couch and groan.

"You cheeseball."

"Says the one who asked me out."

"I didn't even ask you out all that cheesily." 

"Yeah, but you asked me out."

"And you accepted it." You point. "Loser."

"Yeah, your loser."

"My loser." You sigh. 

[explorevenus]

domestic yandere bf!leon headcanons

and by domestic i just mean like no blatant kidnapping n shit like reader and leon have a legitimate relationship but reader has no idea how aggressively he’s pulling strings behind the scenes

btw i’ve had this written out on my laptop for literally two years so a lot of this is ‘something permanent’ adjacent but it’s not specific to that universe (for other obvious reasons skdfjivhes)

here we go:

leon is extremely protective like, to the degree of being paranoid. doesn't like when you go anywhere or do anything by yourself, which for most people would be suffocating, but leon was very strategic about implementing this very slowly over time. little do you know that this sentiment of his applies basically all the time, because what would happen if you were to slip and fall in the shower, or have a bad day at work, or anything else off of the infinite list of terrible things that could happen, and he wasn't there?

leon tries to convince you to quit your job and stay at home to let him take care of you, but you refuse, not wanting to have to rely on him completely, especially before you're married. so naturally he takes that very literally and shortly after you get married, leon has a word with your boss and you’re magically fired on the spot. this of course is a huge shock to you and leaves you extremely depressed, and therefore even more reliant on him.

leon is very controlling of you in subtle ways, but more than manipulative enough to disguise it as simply caring for or looking out for you. going to get something to eat? no need, i'll make it for you! having a shower? mind if i join you? just showering, i promise... you woke up with a tummy ache? call out of work and let me take care of you! your check engine light is on? it's not safe for you to take your car, looks like i'll be giving you rides for a while! no, honey, i don't know why your friends have gone cold and stopped reaching out. that's their loss. now we can spend more time together! he'll even go as far as to purposefully place your things in cabinets he knows you can't reach, just as an excuse to help you grab them when you inevitably need them.

leon has every device you own bugged and cloned, and therefore constant access to your every message, call, photo, and all of your socials, and your location, at all times. he doesn't check them incredibly often when he's home with you, but checks up on you constantly when he's away for work. it's not uncommon for you to conveniently receive a call from him whenever you leave the house, stay late at work, go somewhere other than straight home after work, etc etc

leon has cameras hidden fucking everywhere in your place. inside and outside of the front door, two in the kitchen, two in the living room, three in the bedroom, one in the bathroom, and not only can he check them any time, but he also keeps a good amount of the footage, particularly from the bedroom. for. definitely pure reasons. anyway, you already know he spends every second of his very limited free time on missions just watching you on the cameras. 

leon always wants you to be healthy and well, but he loves taking care of you when you’re sick. you get to call out of work and lay in bed all day while he tends to your every need, and in the hours you spend sleeping it off, he just gets to hold you, and pet your hair, and watch your face, listen to your weak breaths and the little noises you make sometimes. come to think of it, it sure is odd how often you seem to be coming down with colds, given how little time you spend outside of the house to begin with...

leon makes an effort to make you perceive your relationship and his actions as normal as possible. he is incredibly careful to keep this behavior under wraps, and will legitimately tell you anything if it means getting you off of his trail. with his government training in de-escalation, the man is a master manipulator and the CEO of successfully gaslighting. "How was visiting your friends today?" "It was good, how did you know I went to see them, though?" "You told me you were going to when I called this morning." "Did I?" "You did. Or maybe I'm the crazy one and I just made a lucky guess." "Well, I guess I must have, then. Though, between the two of us, I think we can agree I'm the crazy one. I can't seem to remember anything right." "That's why you have me to keep your head on straight, princess."

speaking of princess, pet names ! which he loves. he calls you princess, puppy, angel, doll, honey, baby... he didn't used to use them so often, but he quickly took notice of the liking you’d taken to it when he would, so it became a regular thing. anything to make you blush. you’re just too cute!

mkay we gotta talk about sex <33 under the cut NO MINORS

which leon likes to have very very frequently. obviously he's obsessed with you, and it typically only takes being in the room with you for ten full seconds for him to have a hard time fighting off the image of all the things he wants to do to you. he genuinely finds you attractive, irresistible even, in any condition, whether you’re dolled up for him or depressed in bed wearing the same shirt for three days straight, he's just obsessed with and praising of you and your body.

whiiiiich certainly translates through his love-making. a true master of foreplay, having learned every inch of your body like the back of his hand, he knows exactly how to touch you in ways that grant him the most reaction out of you. this man will seriously edge himself for hours getting lost in playing with you, he's highly skilled at giving head and loves to do so. man’s a total munch. it's a relatively surefire way to get your attention for a while and he takes advantage of this often. 

finishing inside of you is practically a must for him, he finds it so intimate and the deepest way to connect with you and gift you a part of himself. he rarely, if ever, cums anywhere else, and when he does, it's usually on your stomach and/or thighs. i don't see him being particularly interested in actually having children though, considering that would mean taking a considerable amount of your attention and focus away from him, and he wants you all to himself.

^^^ lol anyway 

his fave position(s): missionary, so he can watch your face, but with enough convincing he'll let you ride him sometimes, because you want to-- not that he doesn't enjoy it, he just doesn't want you to have to do any of the work! he prefers to spoil you and just let you relax and enjoy yourself.