#if anyone is wondering about the fighting thing

[delugyu]

not that same og anon but *i* am ovulating right now and i think if pt3 never sees the light of day i *will* cry

here u go bae!! each of these parts are just gonna get longer and longer until it’s ridiculous to call it a drabble 😭

part one / part two / part three

(wc: 4.7k / warnings: searing hot jealousy, possessiveness, corruption kink, oral (f rec.), lots of heavy petting, marking, grinding, overstimulation, cumming in pants yayyy)

when beomgyu sees taehyun’s caller id on his phone, he almost doesn’t pick up. he knows that would be awful, though, and that maybe he shouldn’t ruin one of his closest friendships over you, so he puts his pride aside and accepts the call. it doesn’t make it any easier to listen to taehyun’s voice, though.

he’s zoning out, just letting taehyun ramble without really processing his words, until he hears him say your name. his full attention snaps to taehyun’s words, suddenly completely interested in whatever he has to say.

it sounds a lot like taehyun’s bragging. he’s going on and on about this light festival he took you to last night, how much you loved it, how you just adored your time there. 

beomgyu might be a maniac. he’s scared of how bad his urge is to fight taehyun, all because he got a little too hung up on you. taehyun probably has no clue you were with beomgyu just a few days ago, that you had his dick in your mouth, that you swallowed his cum and behaved so well for him. he wonders if that would piss taehyun off. he wants to do a hell of a lot more that would piss him off, too.

it’s when taehyun tells him that he kissed you for the first time yesterday that beomgyu decides he’s had enough. he really doesn’t need or want to listen to this shit. there’s an ugly and confusing feeling sprouting in his chest that he doesn’t care to foster any longer, so beomgyu makes up some excuse and tells taehyun he has to go.

he hangs up and puts his phone down on the table with more force than necessary, holding his head in his hands. he lets out a heavy sigh as he tries to summon tranquility back to him, willing away the bitter jealousy that made itself way too comfortable inside of him.

beomgyu’s not even a jealous person. he doesn’t even care. it’s your life—if you want to go make heart eyes at taehyun all day, then you can go on your merry way and do just that. it doesn’t concern him at all, seriously.

he thinks about taehyun stealing your lips for a quick kiss, and he tells himself that it only makes him feel sick because taehyun’s his friend, and thinking about your friend kissing anyone is gross. but he didn’t care when it was taehyun kissing mina. he didn’t care when it was yujin, or chaewon, or minji. he only cares cause it’s you.

you haven’t even talked to beomgyu since you left him that day. he’s been stuck replaying memories of his tongue inside your mouth, your hands on his body, your legs shaking with pleasure, your little gasps and whimpers as you came with your fingers over your cunt. he’s been dying here, and you haven’t reached out once.

it’s not like you guys talked that much before this, but he figured that maybe you’d care a little more now. he wants you to ask him to spend time with you, wants to hear your voice and touch your skin. he wants you to want him half as bad as he wants you. if he’s being really honest, he wants you to need him more than he needs you.

he pictures you in tears, clawing at your clothes, shoving your hand between your thighs as his name falls from your lips. you’d be a desperate little thing, waiting impatiently for beomgyu to come save you with his gentle touch on your bare skin. only he’d be able to give you what you need. no other man—and certainly not taehyun—would be able to satisfy you enough.

you prove yourself yet again to be the thief of his sanity, because he finds himself staring at your contact profile, thinking of what to say if he calls you. do you want to come over? ugh, no, that’s so sleazy. what are you doing? let’s hang out right now. that’s one way to make himself sound desperate. he doesn’t want to stoop quite that low.

his fantasies of you are just going to get worse and torment him more if he doesn’t grow a pair and call you. maybe he could do something productive with all this pent up energy instead. go to the gym, hang with some friends, get some work done…

his leg bounces rapidly as his phone rings, waiting for you to pick up. to hell with productivity, you’re more important.

“hello?” the second your voice reaches beomgyu’s ears, his cock throbs in his pants. you’ve got him conditioned like some animal. he doesn’t have it in him to feel humiliated by that, but he knows he should be.

when your name spills from beomgyu’s lips, it sounds absurdly close to something like a moan. he holds his head in his hands, exhausted and frustrated, unable to take this anymore. it’s disgusting how much of beomgyu’s energy is being used toward not fisting his cock right now. just knowing you're on the other end is enough to get him going. fuck, he hopes you’re all hot and bothered too.

“are you doing anything right now?” beomgyu asks. he knows you’re smart enough to understand why he’s asking. he shouldn’t have to elaborate.

“not really,” you answer. he hears you shuffling around—you must be getting ready to head out. he likes to think that you’re just as excited and ready to jump at the opportunity to be with him as he is with you. “why?” you ask.

are you serious? he’s not going to spell it out for you. “you know why,” he says. he can’t sit still now, itching to get his hands on you. he paces around his apartment and convinces himself you’ll be here soon.

“i can’t,” you say, and it makes beomgyu freeze. “i’m going to see taehyun tonight.”

beomgyu’s quiet as he processes your words. this is probably some test from the universe to see how good of a person he is. he should laugh it off and tell you to go have fun, but seriously? you fucking saw taehyun yesterday! it’s been days since beomgyu last saw you! so no, beomgyu’s not going to be a good person. the universe can condemn him to however many eternities in hell it pleases. he’ll take his twenty minutes with you.

“don’t,” he urges. “don’t see him. come here tonight instead.” you wouldn’t have half as much fun with taehyun as you would with him, beomgyu knows it. he’s got so much to show you. frankly, at this point it’s going to ruin his pride if you choose taehyun again.

“i just texted him though.”

“i don’t care. please come here.” he’s reduced to having to beg for you again.

you sigh. you must be contemplating it. beomgyu worries for a second that he’s going to have a heart attack if you say no.

“alright. this is the only time i’m cancelling plans for you, though.” beomgyu feels his soul return to his body. god, he needs you to hurry up and get here.

the minutes spent waiting for you might as well have been hours. his dick is fully hard just from the anticipation of getting you to himself again, of being able to touch you in ways no one else has. the moment he hears you open the door to his place, he’s bolting to you and getting his fix. you barely even get to shut the door behind you before he’s on you like some fiend. he’s got no time to waste.

you look surprised when he captures your face in his hands, kissing you so hard that your body’s forced back against the door. he sucks at your lips like it will be enough to erase taehyun’s traces from them, to replace any memory of what his lips felt like on yours. you moan into beomgyu’s mouth, and it only makes his wanting worse.

“fuck,” he growls out, pulling away only long enough to talk. he kisses you again quickly. “i need you right now. i need you all the time.” he dives right back in, coaxing your lips open and forcing his tongue inside. he wants to burn his name inside your mouth and keep anyone else from kissing you again.

he’s not in control of himself, letting his instincts take over and throwing rationale to the wind. he leaves one hand on your jaw to keep your mouth open and pliant while the other travels down to squeeze your hip and run wildly across your thigh. you’re wearing another one of those stupidly short skirts, giving him the easiest access to your core. it’s like you wanted this just as badly as him. the thought makes his lips tilt up in amusement.

you jump when beomgyu’s hand cups your core over your panties, pressing his fingertips against you needily. “gyu..!” you sound scandalized, like he’s taking things further than you expected, like you didn’t know he’s been dying to feel your cunt in his hands. you must be lying to yourself if you really think that. beomgyu’s been making his intentions more than clear.

you bring your hand to his wrist, holding it but not pulling it away. beomgyu takes that as a sign to keep going, continuing to rub against your clothed folds. he brings his mouth to your jaw, sucking the skin and trailing his lips down to your neck. he’s been waiting for so long to feel your pussy, even just touching you through your panties is getting him lightheaded.

you’d think he’s a sick freak if you knew how much he thought about you. you’d run away if you found out what kinds of things he fantasized about when he can’t fall asleep at night. he’d try everything, play around with your body as he pleases, work you past your breaking point, leave you ruined for anyone else forever—anything he could possibly do, he wants to.

his tongue laves over your skin as he pants into your neck. he has to keep himself from rutting against your thigh, getting too heady at the feeling of finally touching you. he’s been so patient. he’ll show you everything, you’ll never want to leave his side again. he’ll turn you into something more desperate than himself, make sure you’re the one left haunted and longing. the idea of it all makes him whimper, dick aching in his pants.

he wants to see your knees buckle, wants to watch your eyes get glossy and wet. he wants you trembling and begging for mercy, wants to give you more and more because he knows that you’ll be good and take it. he’s sick, he can’t help it, you did this to him.

he feels your panties dampen up, and some evil sense of satisfaction hits him knowing that he did this to you. you cancelled your plans with taehyun to get your virgin pussy played with by him. something like a power rush gets to him, and it makes him want to wreck you all the more.

“how is it, baby?” he asks, smiling meanly at you because he knows you can’t give a proper response. he presses down on your clit, watching your mouth drop open as he swipes it fervently, needing to get you dripping and ready. he steals your lips for another kiss, letting you pant into his mouth as he takes everything he wants from you.

he holds your hip still when your legs start getting unsteady. he thinks it’s so cute how you’re already wobbling—you really are that inexperienced. it’s so entertaining to watch you fall apart over something so simple. he wishes taehyun could see you now, getting beomgyu’s hand all wet and giving him all your little gasps and mewls.

he wants to rip his hand away and watch you cry, but he thinks that might be too mean. he’s got something better to show you, though. he can’t rip his hands or lips off of you as he walks you into his room, coaxing you down against his bed until he’s hovering over you.

he’s reminded of the last time you two were in this position, when you left him to go straight to taehyun. did he know that you were just with beomgyu that night? that your hand was wrapped around his dick, that you were so eager to milk him dry? he’ll make sure you don’t head straight to taehyun again.

he holds your legs open, staring at your center with a wicked grin. your skirt is useless—it covers nothing when you’re spread out like this, soaked panties on full display. he wants those as a keepsake. he might be able to pocket them if he’s discrete and you’re delirious enough.

his stomach is in knots, he almost can’t believe this. he feels the way your legs keep shaking in his hands, and he knows you must be feeling so needy. you don’t even know what to do with yourself. your hips roll up, trying to seek pleasure that isn’t there, and it almost makes him want to keep you like this until you go crazy. it wouldn’t take long, you’re already whimpering and whining like you can’t handle a minute without his touch.

“let me go down on you,” beomgyu says, dropping his head between your thighs. he kisses up your leg until he gets to your core, ghosting his lips over your heat and blinking up at you. you’re holding yourself up on your elbows so you can stare at him, and he smiles up at you reassuringly when he sees how unsure you look.

he eases his hands up and down your thighs, calming your nerves. he has to remember that this is all so new to you. as much as he wants to go wild and do everything the way he wants, he needs to make sure you’re comfortable. he wants you to be all in on this too.

“how does it feel?” you ask, something in your voice sounding a little shaky. “i mean, i just heard from my friends that it’s not even… that good. for a girl, anyway.”

beomgyu laughs at your nervous rambling. he gives a gentle kiss to your thigh again and rubs his thumbs soothingly across your skin. “it will feel good,” he says.

you look away meekly. it’s sweet how shy you get, but beomgyu is very needy and wants your attention back on him. he kisses your clothed cunt just barely, so lightly that he’s not even sure you feel it. your eyes are back on him, though, so he supposes it worked. he runs his finger gently over your folds, waiting for you to tell him to go further.

“wouldn’t it be wrong?” you ask. your body jolts a bit when he applies some pressure to your clit.

“why?” beomgyu doesn’t see why you think it’s fine to give him head, but he can’t do the same for you.

“cause of taehyun,” you answer, voice dying out at the end. any sort of amusement leaves beomgyu in a heartbeat.

“he’d probably care a hell of a lot more if he found out about you sucking my dick and jerking me off.” his fingers get a little angrier against your cunt, dipping down to push at your entrance through your panties. your eyes widen, thighs clamping shut. all it does is trap his hand right where it is, though. 

“t-that was cause i was learning!” you defend. beomgyu draws his hand back and studies your face. he’s trying to see if you really don’t want this or if you’re just being difficult.

“so why’d you come over then?” he asks.

that seems to shut you up. you stare at him all guilty, no answer even attempting to leave your lips.

“that’s what i thought,” beomgyu continues, hand creeping back up your thigh. “will you let me eat you out now?”

your thighs stay pressed together, and beomgyu thinks it’s so cute. you must be embarrassed now. he feels a little bad for you.

“i’m sorry,” he says, a gentle hand on your shoulder guiding you to lay flat against the mattress. “i’m sorry, that was mean.” he pecks your cheek in apology, then looks back at you with a smile. he peppers a few more kisses across your face for good measure.

beomgyu grins when you open your legs back up a little, making room for him. he steals a quick kiss from you before descending down your body, stopping every now and then to nibble at your collarbone, push up your shirt and lick at your waist, suck a mark into your thigh.

his hands sneak under your skirt to find the hem of your panties, tugging at them slightly. “can i take this off?” he asks, watching you blink sweetly at him. you nod eagerly, and it makes his heart skip a beat for some reason.

he peels your panties off slowly, but it feels more like he’s teasing himself than he is you. his head is spinning as soon as he sees your cunt, hands forcing your legs further apart so he can get a better view. he’s salivating like a dog, abandoning all his patience and smothering his face between your legs without a care in the world.

he’s already thrusting against the mattress, he can’t help himself, he doesn’t care how pathetic it is. his tongue is desperate as it works over you, slobbering over your cunt as you writhe and squeal beneath him. he keeps a strong grip on your thighs, not letting you dare try to close them even a little. you’re gasping and lacing your fingers in his hair, motivating him with every little tug you deliver.

“you’re going—nngh, gyu! fuck! going really fast..!” you cry out. he feels how much you’re shaking already, even your hand is unsteady against his scalp. it just turns him on so much fucking more, though. he needs to see you ruined, see how far he can push you.

his tongue pushes into your tight little hole, and his eyes almost roll back from how much resistance he’s met with. fuck, you really are inexperienced. he can’t imagine how he’ll even fit his fingers in there, let alone his dick.

his nose is right against your clit as he fucks his tongue into you. you’re moaning out much whinier than he’s heard from you before, and it does crazy things to him. he wants to fuck you so bad. he’d ram his dick into you, relentless and mean, and you’d take it so well because you’re so wet and so good to him.

he has to make you cum, he needs to feel you fall apart over his tongue. shit—you’ve never even had a guy make you cum before, he’s gonna be the first. the thought fuels him further, doubling his efforts, fingers digging into your skin to keep you still. he feels your walls start clenching down on his tongue, and he wonders how much more it will take before you’re spasming wildly around him.

he pushes his face further against you, desperate to get as close as he possibly can, reach as far into your cunt as his tongue will allow. he needs this more than he needs air, aching to finally taste your orgasm after days of longing for it.

“oh my god, gyu—gyu! i’m..!” you can’t even form coherent sentences, and your words are barely decipherable with how high pitched and whiny they are. you're putting up a hell of a fight against his hold on your thighs, but he doesn’t give. he moans into your pussy once he feels your cunt clamp down on his tongue like a vice, trapping him in so all he can do is curl his tongue up inside you. you’re squirming beneath him, sounding so beautiful and pathetic that he almost cums in his pants.

he only stops once you’re pulling hard at his hair, forcing his head off of you before he can overstimulate you any more. he pulls away panting, catching his breath and licking his lips, staring at your cunt like he’s entranced. the way your arousal still leaks from your entrance is teasing him, making his brain get all foggy.

he has to pull himself away before he gets too ahead of himself and dives into you again. he hovers over your, smiling at how fucked out you look. pride fills his chest knowing that he did this to you. your hand falls onto his shoulder, trailing up his neck and landing on his jaw, cupping his face gently. he decides to kiss you then, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you must have used up a lot of energy when you came, cause your lips move against his much slower than before.

beomgyu’s still just as needy, though, dick throbbing almost painfully in his pants as he grinds against your thigh. he wishes he had some shame, but that left him the moment you let him take off your panties. he pulls away from your mouth to suck your neck instead, unable to control himself, barely able to cling onto reality right now at all.

“not too hard, don’t mark me there,” you say, trying to pull his face away. he doesn’t even really register your words, too far off in his own world in which you’re some pretty little virgin lying on his bed waiting for him to fuck you.

he just wants to get you all cute and bruised, purple hues all over your body from his mouth or his fingers gripping you tight. you’d never be able to go back to taehyun like that. you’d have to stay right here with beomgyu, be his pretty little toy to use whenever he wants to get you wet and pliant.

you successfully tug him off of you when you pull his hair particularly hard. he pouts at you, finally coming back to reality as he watches your eyes dart across his face. he wonders what you must be searching for.

“how was it?” he asks.

“really good,” you say with an innocent smile that doesn’t match the situation.

“told you,” he laughs, tugging you up and moving you around until you’re sitting in his lap, your back to his chest.

“what are you doing?” you look over your shoulder, eyes big and shiny, and it’s almost like you’re tempting him to kiss you again. he rolls his hips up and grinds against your ass, pulling a gasp from you.

“can’t i get off too?” he asks with a grin, guiding your head back to lean against his shoulder, wanting you to get comfortable. his hands smooth up your thighs and stop at your hips, holding you tight there to keep you in place while he thrusts against you.

he’s obsessed with this, could stay in this moment forever with you. some domestic feeling comes over him, something that urges him to keep you happy, keep you feeling like this all the time. his hands get greedy on your thighs, drawing closer and closer to your core, wanting to feel your heat once again.

he brings a gentle hand to your center, spreading your folds and collecting your arousal. you sigh dreamily, tucking your face into his neck. he feels your lashes flutter as your eyes close, and he wants nothing more than to please you again. he brings his fingers to your clit, rubbing soft circles there, carefully watching your face.

you look so peaceful like this. his heart is aching now and he doesn’t know why. you’re painfully beautiful. why can’t this last forever?

he wraps an arm around your waist, pressing you right into him so he can grind against you deliciously. he moans at the feeling, hastening his pace as he chases his high with more determination. his fingers tease your entrance, wondering what you’d do if he just pushed in a little, only up to his first knuckle. he doesn’t, though, because he wants you to trust him.

“a-are you close?” you ask, hand reaching blindly behind you until it tangles in his hair. he pecks your nose, finding you awfully cute like this.

“yeah. are you?” he returns his attention to your clit, rubbing a little more wildly now. you let out a strangled moan as you nod. he watches your stomach clench and your hips roll. he’s so greedy; he wants to pull away just to keep you here a little longer. anything to keep you from leaving.

his hips work harder against you, blinded by the need to make you his and take you from anyone else. you're twitching uncontrollably, and he realizes that you’re cumming again, which satisfies him so much that he crashes right into his own orgasm. his arm fastens around you tighter, pressing himself as close to you as he can while his seed spills out of his cock.

“so good, so good,” he babbles, fingers flying over your clit, not listening to your protests and whines. he can’t let you go. he doesn’t want this to end.

“too much!” you gasp out, body defenseless to his ministrations. he hushes you with a kiss to your forehead.

“don’t leave yet,” he begs. “there’s still more i wanna do.” he’s selfish, he won’t hide it. he’ll wear his desperation on his sleeve now if that’s what will work.

“gyu!” he doesn’t even know if you’re registering his words. you might be too busy running away from the next orgasm he’s trying to bring you to. he feels how you keep getting wetter—you’re soaking his hand, dripping down your thighs.

“could show you so much,” he rambles, letting his mouth run wild. “i have some vibes we could use. those feel nice, you’d like those. i could get my fingers in you, stretch you out. whatever you want.”

you’re a mess of moans, and your body’s trembling more than he’s ever felt before. you must be getting close again.

“could teach you how to take dick,” he says into your ear, grinning when he feels you shudder. his fingers continue to rub recklessly at your pussy. he doesn’t care about being sweet or gentle or slow—he wants you to be blinded by your need for him, to ache for him so bad you’d shed tears.

“ah, fuck—i’m cumming!” you moan, body going limp as you finally succumb to the feeling. beomgyu feels so proud.

“good job, fuck, just like that. what a good pussy, so perfect,” he praises, words falling past his lips without a thought in the world. he wonders if you’ll be worn down enough to spend the night with him. that’s much more than he should be asking for, but he wants it just as badly as anything else he wants from you.

he finally lets up once you come down, smoothing your skirt back into place. you look so tired as your chest heaves, getting your breathing back to normal. he thinks you’re pretty like this, too.

“do you wanna sleep here?” beomgyu offers, testing his luck. he’s summoning any spirit that wants to be on his side today, chanting prayers in his head that you’ll give in without him having to beg.

you blink up at him slowly. god, you’re already falling asleep. he’s not letting you walk back home like this.

“i shouldn’t…” you say, but you’re already lying back against his mattress. he grins at you and pulls a blanket over your body.

“yeah, you shouldn’t,” he teases. your eyes flutter shut, and he almost wants to take a picture of this. “i’ll get you some water,” he says quietly, walking out of the room to do just that.

he comes back to your sleeping figure, slow breaths filling the room as he places your cup on his nightstand. he might have to buy some lottery tickets tomorrow, he’s feeling insanely lucky.

he changes out of his soiled boxers and sweatpants, quickly throwing on new ones so he can hurry up and lay with you. before he can get in bed beside you, he spots your panties on the floor. he looks back at you, making sure you’re asleep before bending down and swiping them up. he wonders if you’ll believe him tomorrow morning when he says you must’ve lost them.

this is unedited so plz excuse any errors lmfao

[urrmomzfavorite]

PAC: HOW POSSESSIVE/JEALOUS IS YOUR PERSON?

PILE ONE

This person is really sure of themselves, attractive, and knows how to contain themselves. But when it comes to you? Baby, this is another person. I'm hearing about a situation happening on your honeymoon? They do not play.I see them being really protective of you. They feel like you trust strangers too easily and offer a helping hand without thinking. This sense of community is honorable, but it tends to burn *you*, Pile One, and your person notices this. They want you to put a lot of your responsibilities on them—take the weight off your shoulders. (They have nice shoulders, btw.)

They have a good nose for smelling bullshit. This person could work in finance or have well-placed investments? Bro, I don’t know anything about this type of stuff. Guys, also, this is your FS. You could be different ethnicities, countries, cultures. You’ll spend your honeymoon in their country; they have a home there. They get mad when someone tries to sell you something overpriced 😂 They like to stand by your side. Not gonna lie, you’re arm candy—you have this glow that draws people in. They feel proud standing next to you. They *love* when people say you’re a beautiful couple. They’re tall; I’ve been getting huge vibes of a tall man obsessed with hiking in my readings lately. They love staying active—and hey, it never hurts to have good stamina 👀

They’re thirsty for you. This person wants to show you how strong they are. Some of you wonder about them lifting and pinning you against the wall. It’s more than possible 😏

So Pile One: They aren’t jealous or possessive, but you’re really important to them. They don’t want your kindness taken advantage of.

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

PILE TWO

**YESSSS**. Just thinking about it makes them sick. This is the type of person who gets low-key mad when you talk about your kindergarten crush. They’re competitive—they need to be the *only* one in your eyes. And they’ll make sure they are, crushing the competition to pieces.

Pile Two, you’re a rare commodity, and they know it. This person is obsessed with you. I know you like it, but listen: You’ll get annoyed by this energy eventually. They’re controlling. Might tell you not to wear certain outfits. This person gets insecure…

The way they see it? They wouldn’t hesitate a second to steal you if you were someone else’s. That’s why they’re paranoid—they know for some people, “I have a bf/gf” means *nyet*. So they need to make sure you’re all theirs. They’d rather spend time alone with you just to guarantee your full attention. You make them feel so mellow.

Pile Two, I’m gonna be honest: Obsession can be flattering, but there’s a healthy limit. When insecurity infringes on your freedom, speak up. They can either step up and change their behavior, or someone else will happily do it.

If this gets too much, talk to them. They love you enough to work on this—it’s a win-win. A relationship needs both people to feel secure. But yes, they’re obsessive, jealous, and controlling. Still, they don’t have ill intentions. The only alarming thing is how far they’ll go to keep your heart theirs.

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

PILE THREE

This person wants me to preface by saying they’re logical and understand the stakes… *but* (there’s always a *but*):

IT’S FUCKING DISRESPECTFUL WHEN THEY’RE RIGHT THERE!

They’ll mean-mug, tell them to fuck off, scare off, or fight anyone disrespecting you, them, or your relationship. They’ll start *all* the wars for you, Pile Three. They aren’t scared of a challenge.

If they can handle you, they can handle anything 😅

This person does boxing or martial arts—they can actually fight. They’ve got Aries energy; they’ll keep you up all night.

OMG, after losing their shit at whoever talked to you that day, it’s *your* turn, Pile Three. Your turn to be reminded who you belong to (and where—which is on their… *yup!*). They can’t wait for an intimate moment to hear you moan their name, tell them you’re theirs, and get wet/hard under their touch. Then, and only then, the rage they couldn’t release by punching the latest guy fades. When they’re on top of you, and you’re begging to feel them inside, there’s one thing they need first: **hearing that you’re theirs**.

✨💖 Heyyy cuties! 💖✨ Don’t be shy, take a little peek at my other posts—you know you wanna!

[kxsagi]

"𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧"

rin was always the same. quiet, aloof, distant, the type who preferred to keep to himself, observing from the sidelines while everyone else had fun. the guy who’d sneer when someone tried to make small talk, whose only words to you in the past week had been something snarky about the weather or how he didn’t get why people couldn’t just shut up sometimes. 

but tonight was different. 

it wasn’t like you’d never seen him drink before. of course, he did. but rin never let loose. never. he was the guy who sipped his drink, became a little bit more chatty than usual with his friends, and then got up, shrugged, and left, always looking like he was doing the world a favor by gracing it with his presence. 

except tonight. tonight, he was loud. and… strangely affectionate.

“hey.” he leaned heavily on you, blinking at you with glassy eyes. “hey, hey, hey, i have a confession.”

your eyebrow arched. “oh?”

“yeah,” he said, his voice a little too loud, his breath warm against your neck. “i’ve got something to tell you, and it’s a big deal.”

you swallowed, trying not to laugh. rin was acting like he was five again. this was a different version of him, a version you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“you’ve got something to say, huh?” you teased.

rin nodded seriously. “i think…” he poked your shoulder, making you jump. “i think i might love you.”

you stared at him, dumbfounded. this couldn’t be real.

“excuse me?” you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady.

“i mean,” he shrugged, swaying just a little, “i’ve been thinking about it all night, and i think you’re, like, perfect. your hair, your eyes, your smile… and you’re funny in a stupid way, but it works, y’know?”

your chest tightened, but you bit back the smile trying to escape. he never complimented you. ever. when sober, he barely even looked at you. he was the type who acted like he was above everyone, like he had better things to do than get involved in anyone else’s drama.

but now…

“you think i’m perfect?” you couldn’t help it, your voice softened.

“yeah,” he muttered, his head resting against your shoulder, his words slow and dreamy. “like, really perfect. i’ve known it for a while, actually. just… never had the guts to say it.”

you watched him, your heart thudding in your chest. how many times had you tried to figure out if he felt the same way? how many times had you wondered if he’d ever look at you like that? and here he was, drunk out of his mind, spilling his heart out to you in the most ridiculous way possible.

“i think…” rin pushed himself up, grinning like a fool. “i think you’re the best person in this whole world. everyone else is loud and annoying and half-baked, but you’re… you’re…” he paused, eyes dreamy, almost like he was trying to find the right word. “you’re, like, the calm in the storm. or, uh… a really cute, annoying storm, i guess.”

you chuckled softly, not sure whether to be flattered or confused. “you’re something else, you know that?”

he blinked at you, a little too seriously. “i do know that. but it’s not like i’m ever wrong.”

“sure,” you said, a grin tugging at the corner of your lips. “you never are.”

“good,” he mumbled, his eyes fluttering closed. “then i’m not wrong about this. i love you. you make me feel like i’m… i’m not a total jerk all the time.”

your heart ached, but you couldn’t stop the warmth that spread through your chest. this was the side of him you had always wondered about, the one hidden beneath all the arrogance and coldness.

“you are a jerk most of the time,” you teased, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.

“yeah,” he agreed, grinning like an idiot. “but you still love me. you just don’t know it yet.”

you didn’t correct him. instead, you just let him rest against you, drunk and vulnerable, with his arms wrapped around you like he’d never let go. tomorrow, he’d probably act like none of this ever happened, arrogant, aloof, and distant once again.

but for tonight, he was yours. and for once, you weren’t questioning it. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

a/n: forgive me if it’s out of character, but everyone gets a little out of character when they’re drunk right 🌚

[3ight-3y3s]

M A S K x O F F

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

✦ SevikaxFemReader! ✦

╚═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╝

Summary: Sevika saves a firelight who constantly flirts with her during battles. xx

//fluff//angst?//implied smut//

✦ · · · ·────────────────── · · · · ✦

You never shied away from your feelings for Sevika despite fighting on opposite sides. In fact whenever the Firelights would cross over into Silco's Territory you usually went out of your way to find her just to say hi. Or more often, something inappropriate that you came up with on the way.

Sevika would always act annoyed when ever you blatantly objectified her but the truth was she loved it. She played it off well enough that you'd never guess just how much of a soft spot you carved for yourself.

Although you were a skilled fighter, quick and flexible, Sevika never really tried to do you serious harm. Especially since whenever she let you get in really close to her, you'd lift your mask just enough to kiss her cheek. Another thing she secretly loved despite acting otherwise.

She had always hated the Firelight masks but she despised yours even more. She was desperate to know you. She found herself often wondering about the girl underneath it. Until one day your mask goes flying and lands right by her feet. She recognized who it belonged to immediately. Her eyes shot towards the direction it came from.

You were sprawled out on your back gasping for the air that had just been knocked out of you. Jinx stepped over your body as you fought just to inhale. She pointed her gun down at your face. A face that Sevika recognized. You were a regular at the last drop. A balsey place for a firelight to frequent, Sevika thought to herself.

For a moment as you stared down the barrel of Jinx's weapon, you really thought this was it for you. The final moments of your final fight for Zuan. What you didn't expect was for Sevika to grab hold of Jinx's weapon to point it away from you just as Jinx was pulling the trigger.

Finally your body let your lungs fill with the air you so desperately needed. Taking back control of your body you rolled over to find your mask. You were mortified to think that Sevika might have already seen you without it. It was easy to flirt with her when you were just some mysterious figure but you as you are were? You found was far too terrifying no matter how much you tried to glam up before heading to the Last Drop. Time and time again you just couldn't bring yourself to approach her.

Once you spotted your mask glanced back to confirm Sevika and Jinx were still distracted before slipping away to retrieve it. You tried to re-secure it in place but the clasp was broken. You cursed as you held it in place looking around for your teammates but they were on top of it.

Ekko swooped down grabbing you by your waist before heading back to the airship. You couldn't help but replay the events over and over in your head. She saved you. She inexcusably saved you. You were trying your hardest not to be delusional but there was a part of you that hoped that maybe it meant she was actually at least a bit fond of you. What else could possess her to save you?

You got ready to go to the last drop a couple of times but couldn't bring yourself to go in the days following. Even if Sevika didn't see you, which seemed pretty unlikely, you're anonymity was compromised. If anyone recognized you in Silco's territory it would spell out nothing but trouble.

✦ · · · ·────────────────── · · · · ✦

You slipped between Sevika's legs to avoid her making contact with you & took the opportunity to graze her inner thighs with your hands. It was a move that you had used several times without fail. However, you were hesitant this time. It was those milliseconds of indecision that made all the difference. Sevika caught you by your hair and pulled you back to your feet in front of her. She pinned you against the wall so fast all you could do was look up at her like a dear in headlights.

She slowly lifted her mech arm towards your neck which both frightened and excited you. She lightly ran the cold metal up to your chin before grabbing hold of your entire face prying the mask off. She grinned as her face got even closer to yours. Your eyes danced all over her face but mostly her lips despite yourself in such a vulnerable position.

"I missed you at the last drop." She said quietly as if it were just a secret between the two of you. Your eyes widened. You never thought Sevika noticed you. Let alone noticed your absence. The two of you never exchanged words. You were too worried she'd recognize your voice and or laugh in your face for trying to approach her. "Don't get all shy and quiet on me now." She pressed for a response.

But your mouth refused to form any words. "Didn't Silco ever tell you not to play with your food?" Jinx quipped from above the two of you. You looked up and sure enough there she was. The moment you locked eyes she childishly stuck her tongue out at you. Which completely caught you off guard.

Sevika sighed rolling her eyes. "Beat it kid!" Sevika snapped back at Jinx. Instead Jinx dropped down to get a better look at you. A look of recognition flashed across her eyes before she lazily pointed her smaller pocket gun at you.

"isn't this the same firelight that you let get away last time?" Jinx questioned Sevika with a furrowed brow.

"would you stop waving that thing around!?" Sevika snapped. As the two went back and forth you realized... they were like family. Whilst you were enjoying Sevika's hold on you you were beginning to get restless. You did a high kick to Jinx's wrist causing her weapon to go flying. She looked at you exasperated.

"Hey!" She yelled at you.

"Hi baby blue." You greeted snarkily as if you weren't in their custody at the moment.

"Would you crush her neck already or something!?" She said turning her attention back to Sevika.

"No. I think we'll keep this one for questioning." Sevika said before throwing you over her shoulder. The moment she did however you were able to leverage yourself much better. You managed to turn your body in a way that shot pain through Sevika's shoulder. She groaned as she let go of you. You took the freedom to hurdle yourself behind her.

You ran for it, then a felt an overwhelming blow run through your shoulder that knocked you to the ground. Not again you thought to yourself. Refusing to just lay there again you forced yourself to your feet. You grabbed your shoulder which had blood pouring out of both sides. You looked back to see Sevika holding Jinx's hand up again. Looks like she tried to stop her like she did last time. You groaned as you launched yourself out the window.

You whimpered from the pain and took in a sharp inhale as you prepared yourself to scale the building with one arm. You cursed uncontrollably once you reached the roof. You were unbelievablely light headed. You couldn't stop now though. You forced yourself to your feet again and ran up to the very top to get a better look at your surroundings.

It was an easy jump to the next building. You could do that in your sleep you assured yourself as you kicked off the enemies tower. That was when your vision began to fade to black and ringing takeover your ears. Your body was failing your will.

✦ · · · ·────────────────── · · · · ✦

When you opened your eyes next you were surprised to find Sevika looking down at you. "If I knew the angel of death with be this fine" you comment hoarsely. Sevika smirks in response.

"you're not dead." She clarified. "You made the jump. Aside from the hole in your shoulder you sustained pretty mild injuries." She further explained.

That was all well and good but you couldn't help feeling anxious as your eyes scanned your surrounding. "Relax, we're in neutral territory here." She assured you.

"Really?" You didn't know there was such a thing.

Sevika gave a soft "Mhm" in response which just melted your heart. God, why were you two even fighting all the time? You wondered hopelessly as your eyes ate her up. Of course you knew the answer but you refused to acknowledge it for the time being.

"Well we should come here more often" You muttered staring at her lips.

Sevika noticed your eyes trail of sight of course which amused her to no end. She stood up and stretched to give you a little show. "You thirsty?" She asked with a soft chuckle.

"Extremely" You replied unabashedly. She scoffed knowing full well what you really meant but still went off to grab you something. Without Sevika there to distract you, you reassessed your surroundings. It looked like a simple apartment. Then it dawned on you... Did Sevika bring you home like you were some lost puppy? Did she patch you up? You blushed deeply. Did she change and bathe you??

You pushed the last couple of thoughts from your mind. They were just too horrifying. You reached up to rub the remaining sleep from your eyes when you realized you were maskless. When Sevika walked back in you covered your face with both hands. "Where's my mask?" You inquire. She kissed her teeth in response.

"what's it matter now? I've been looking at you without it for days." She said before kneeling down by your side. She switched your glass of water to her mech hand so that the cold wouldn't startle you when she pried your hands from your face. "You shouldn't be hiding a face like yours anyways." She said before bringing the glass up to your lips.

You looked at her coyly before parting your lips for a drink. She grinned softly as she watched you. "So submissive I didn't even have to ask you to open your mouth." She said which caused you to choke splashing you both with water. Sevika laughed, like really laughed as she set the cup aside. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard.

"I'm sorry" You said embarrassed as you tried to dry your face.

"That's alright, we'll work on the swallowing part later." She said. It sounded so genuine that you couldn't tell if she was joking or not. You swallowed as you tried to compose yourself.

"is that a promise?" You questioned trying to take back control of the situation. Sevika grinned as she leaned in grabbing hold of your chin.

"More like a demand." She replied lowly stunning you into silence yet again. She chuckled softly as you looked at her like astonished. She had never tried to flirt back with you before. She was glad she waited until she could see your face. She was enjoying herself quite a bit. She came even closer to your face her lips brushing against yours before she turned your head to kiss your cheek.

"Tell me your name" She whispered into your ear. Another demand you were sure but you weren't sure it was the best idea. Yet, how could you possibly refuse her after she nursed you back to life?

"Y/N" you practically whimper. She leans back to look into your eyes. Feeling your anxiety well up in your stomach you reached out to switch off the lamp on her bedside table engulfing the two of you in darkness. Her lips still managed to find yours stunning you once again.

Sevika was fucking kissing you! Your body took action before you could even think again. You kissed her back feverantly. You felt the loss of warmth of her hand before the sound of her switching the light back on as she moved off her knees and onto the bed, never once breaking away from the kiss. It made your stomach flip.

It suddenly didn't matter about the light. You were like a starved animal being presented with the finest cut of steak you've seen in your life. You slipped your hands behind Sevika and pulled her shirt up. She giggled, she fucking giggled before sitting back to take it off for you. "Take it easy would you?" She asked lightly poking your bad shoulder.

Instead of responding to her concerns you leaned up to bite her exposed shoulder greedily. She groaned in response before scoffing amused. You were like a baby alligator or something. "Your turn little lizard." She said helping you undress.

✦ · · · ·────────────────── · · · · ✦

Part 2?

Feel free to send me some writing prompts for this pretty lady lol currently obsessed with her so feel free to take advantage and let me know what ya thought about this unprompted little blurb 🧌

[wandixx]

Count the freckles, connect them like the stars part 1, Virgo

Summary: Five time Danny found and drew constellations from M'gann's freckles and one time she did that for him

Danny wasn’t quite sure how he went from “visiting Mount Justice to train with the Team” to “half laying on the kitchen island and watching M’gann cook”, but he was glad it happened. He had had rough fight with Skulker the day before, so every opportunity to not move was a salvation. Most likely, rest of the Team left him off the hook exactly because they caught it. They all were cool like that.

He smiled, slowly shifting a little to be more comfortable. He liked watching people doing things they like and know well. There was something mesmerizing about it.

The fact, that he could eat some of whatever she ended up making was a great addition. He was always ravenous when away from an ectoplasm central that was Amity Park.

He followed her hands with his eyes, with chin pillowed on his folded arms. There wasn’t as much she did with them as other people would in kitchen, her telekinesis was certainly a great aid, but there was still enough movement to be transfixed on. Especially today, when something in the back of his mind insisted that there was something unusual about her. She was explaining how she found recipe, on accident when looking for something so different that to this day she wasn’t sure how she ended up with this instead, how it was supposed to be super filling so she hoped they’ll all like it, especially Danny and Wally, because then she could make it somewhat regularly and they could have something more healthy than granola bars. He appreciated sentiment even if he insisted she didn’t have to.

He wondered if there was a polite and not weird way to say he’d eat wet carton if she served it to him.

Small sheet of paper and bullpoint pen landed right in front of him, close enough that he felt air move from them.

“Can you add canned tomatoes to the shopping list? English letters still come out unreadable when I try writing them and do something else”

“Sure”

At this point he stopped trying to explain that being able to write clearly when not looking at the paper was not a skill many people had even if English was only language they could write in. It kept falling on the deaf ears. Apparently it was something Martians just did.

Danny maintained his opinion that if they wanted, Martians could rule whole Solar System. And some nearby star systems. Maybe whole galaxy, in a really distant future.

He straightened up in his seat (ouch, ouch, ouch, his body was not a fan of this move), because unfortunately he needed hands, proper posture and quite a lot of focus to write in a way that would be readable to anyone outside of medical field.

Before he could drop back down, satisfied to just watch world around him without having to interact with it in any way, a freckled hand put a plate of some pasta in front of him. Despite tomatoes, it wasn’t spaghetti, which was neat. He promised Sam to try out vegetarian-Wednesdays and sure, she probably wouldn’t know if he ditched it one time, but still. It was nice that M’gann remembered.

He followed her hand with his eye for a moment longer, not quite ready to let go of whatever seemed to be there. It didn’t look too different from usual. Shade of her skin was the same, her fingers stayed short and slender and her freckles were different, but they never really stayed the same, so it wasn’t that either.

“Quit peeping, start eating” she said cheerily, flicking him on the forehead. He smiled and obediently looked at his meal. Before long though, his eyes flickered back to her. What was different? What was-

There.

“Did you know your freckles look like stars today?”

“They do?”

“Yeah. You have Virgo and Cassiopeia on your right forearm”

“Believe it or not, this tells me nothing. I don’t know Earth names for stars yet”

Right. He was an idiot.

He just barely stopped himself from face planting into his pasta in embarrassment.

“Tell me about them?” she asked quietly, like she wasn’t sure if she could.

Danny took a moment to make sure he heard this question right. Usually people tried to shut him down as soon as he mentioned space because he was prone to getting way too obsessive. It was understandable, it could be endearing when he was younger but now it was just plain annoying. Sam and Tucker sometimes indulged in him, especially after he became halfa, with every interest turned up to eleven, but he could never shake off the feeling that they weren’t really listening at times. He didn’t have anything to prove it, it wasn’t like they were taking out something else to do at the same time or anything, but also… they never asked about anything either. He’d catch himself making some small mistake that they should’ve caught too, mispronounce something they knew or say 19-11 instead of 16-11 when talking about invention of telescope, but there was nothing indicating they heard anything wrong.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t dying to tell her. He just didn’t want to chase her away. M’gann was a good friend.

“Are you sure? I can be pretty annoying about it”

“I want to learn. And you want to tell me”

Danny forgot to breathe for a moment and he wasn’t sure what caused it. M’gann looked at him like a deer in the headlights.

“I’m not reading your mind, at least not intentionally, you’d know if I did,” she stammered out quickly “But ghosts feelings are really loud, it’s hard to ignore that. Like… if everyone else’s mind is like a house with closed door, one of the older ones with brick walls and smaller windows and such, ghosts have greenhouses at best. Usually they’re also shouting whatever is inside that could potentially not be visible at the first glance. It’s hard to ignore. In your human form you’re usually just like a house with bigger windows and more see through curtains, but today you’re unusually loud. I think it’s because you’re healing so your ghost side is a bit closer to the surface”

“Ah. Alright, cool, cool”

“I can try to deliberately ignore you if you want, but it’s hard with how loud you are, and I’m not sure I wouldn’t drown out your verbal speech too. There isn’t much difference from my perspective”

“No, no, no, you don’t have to do anything, I was just surprised. Just maybe… don’t openly say anything about it? Whatever you hear, I’d kinda prefer to forget you can, for now, okay?”

“Sure thing. So, how does the Virgo look like? I like this name better”

Danny smiled and took pen from the grocery list.

“Virgo is one of the biggest constellations on sky in northern hemisphere and it’s best visible in Spring, so we can go try to find it in few weeks, if you want…”

“You’re asking? I’d love to!” she said with wide smile, sounding far too casual for what she just offered to him.

“Yeah? Cool, cool,” he took deep breath to refocus, because his brain was doing weird things again “I think it’ll be better if I show it to you then, with names of the stars and everything. But people like to make stories about stars, just like with any other aspect of the world around them. I can tell you about that?”

“Yeah, yeah, stop asking, start explaining”

"Okay, so it's a constellation from Babylonian and Greek zodiac. It's associated with goddesses, usually. I never remember the name of the Babylonian one, she was really important one though. Like, queen of gods, I think. Then, through Phoenicians, Greeks learned about Babylonian constellations and decided to adopt it, but they couldn't agree on which goddess should be in reflected in Virgo. So, some said it was Demeter, Goddess of Harvest and all that plant stuff. Others decided it was Cora or Persephone, she had two names, Demeter's daughter, and Godless of Spring and queen of the Underworld, which kinda makes sense, since according to myths, she was more or less trapped in Underworld throughout autumn and winter, and then returned to her mother and happiness of their meeting is what kick-starts the spring. It connects nicely with the fact that Virgo actually gets visible at the start of the Spring but Sun passes through it in autumn, though I'm not sure if some of that isn't caused by slight shift that happens over the course of the years... which is not what I was supposed to talk about sorry"

Feather-light fingers brushed against his hair. He leaned into it with slight smile.

"It's fine. Talk about what gets on your mind, I’m happy to listen," M'gann said gently "So, there were these two possible goddesses who could be represented by this Virgo constellation"

He gently grasped the hand that had this constellation on it, and put a pen down at the first freckle. He haven’t really thought about it, but it felt like the right thing to do.

"Actually, there is third one,” he whispered, suddenly feeling like anything louder would be wrong “She is my favorite for the story, though I don't quite know why. It's probably mostly that Demeter and Persephone have their other times to shine and i just don't see them in stars," line was made connecting two freckles -two stars- as if it was astronomical guide. The thin tipped pen needed a bit of pressure before it left the mark behind. M'gann skin dipped under it more than he realized it should "Her name is Astrea, Goddess of Justice and Innocence. She was one of the titans, so before the gods, though specifics aren't really important. She, unlike both titans and gods, lived among humans. Others preferred mountain tops, respectively Othrys and Olympus-"

"Oh! It's the name that humans gave to that volcano on M'arzz, isn't it?" M'gann asked, sounding delighted to connect information he was giving her to something familiar. Danny didn't raise his head from where he was marking her skin. He didn't know why this felt wrong either. There was something almost sacred in it though.

"Yeah. Since it's the biggest mountain in Solar System, so we named it after mythical home of gods"

"That's nice"

For a moment, they sat in silence, interrupted only by slow breaths and humming of the fridge.

"So, Astrea lived among humans. How did she end up among stars?"

"She was one of the Titans, and back when they reigned, it was a mythical Golden Age. Humanity was pure and innocent and only needed what nature provided us, without having to put in any work. There was no change in seasons, so they didn't even have to worry about scarcity of resources in winter" he lightly went over lines he drew between Spica and Porrima so he could continue on his journey down to Syrma and other stars. He didn’t really raise his pen above M’gann’s skin, just eased it away slightly, so it wouldn’t write for a moment “It was a paradise. But then the gods came and overthrown most titans because of feud that isn't really relevant here. This war was called Tytanomachy and was so destructive that it wiped out all of humans. They were remade later, but slightly worse, slightly less pure. Also, seasons became the thing, so they had to develop agriculture and architecture. They were no longer perfect, but still innocent and righteous enough for Astrea to stay. But with time came Bronze and Iron Ages, with weapons and money and wars and impiety, and people became greedy and cruel and unjust and just against everything she really stood for. So she ascended to heavens, and became constellation of Virgo. But she is said to return at the end of times and bring new Golden Age with her"

“It’s… really pretty story. I like how despite this narrative of living in the worst of times, times so bad that even goddess couldn’t handle, there is little bit of hope for return of the paradise”

"Humanity has a lot of hope in it... And also a lot of «grass is greener on the other side» syndrome, with assuming that times before were better and easier, simply because we don't know about problems people faced back then. Just fill in blanks in a way that fits us"

"I mean, this is similar to a way I decided to escape to Earth, and I'm not complaining"

He finished of last line.

"Neither am I. Nor any other person on the Team. And everyone you saved. Are you, perhaps aspect of Astrea walking around us to see if it's right time to return?" he asked, before he realized how stupid and mortifying this idea was. For a moment, they just looked at each other, with this weirdly intimate tension between them, that almost made him consider the chances of his stupid joke having some merit to it before-

M’gann laughed, bright and loud. Danny joined her, but quickly stopped when overtired muscles reminded him why exactly it was a bad idea.

"Shut up and eat your pasta, you dork. It won’t be any good if it’s cold"

[eeerrrrewsd]

Worth the Risk

Part 2

Jason Todd x Reader – Hurt/Comfort, Soft!Jason, Fluff

Jason wasn’t good at this.

The whole relationship thing.

The soft stuff. The affectionate stuff. The normal stuff.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to.

It was just… weird.

He knew how to fight. He knew how to kill. He knew how to survive.

But he didn’t know how to do this.

Didn’t know how to just—

Hold your hand for no reason.

Let you fix his hair because you said it was messy.

Touch you without bracing for the moment you’d flinch or pull away.

Because you didn’t pull away.

You weren’t scared of him.

You weren’t cautious, like you were waiting for him to snap.

You just—touched him.

Like it was easy. Like it was normal.

And Jason—Jason had no idea what to do with that.

He was trying, though.

Because you were affectionate—really affectionate.

You reached for him constantly.

A hand on his arm when you talked.

Brushing stray hairs from his face.

Casually linking your pinky with his when you walked side by side.

The first few times, Jason had tensed—pure instinct.

But you never expected anything from him.

Never demanded he touch you back.

You just… let him be.

So, eventually, Jason started testing the waters.

Little things at first.

Brushing his fingers over yours when you handed him something.

Letting you lean into him without stiffening.

Bumping his knee against yours just to see if you’d smile.

(You always did.)

And maybe—just maybe—he liked it.

The first time he actually tried to be affectionate, it was awkward as hell.

You had fallen asleep on the couch next to him, curled up under his jacket.

Jason had been pretending to watch TV, but really, he had been stealing glances at you, wondering how the hell you could sleep so easily around him.

And then—on impulse, before he could talk himself out of it—he reached out.

Hesitant. Slow.

Brushed his fingers along your wrist, barely a touch at all.

And damn, he felt stupid.

He had literally fought crime lords, taken down whole gangs, and yet here he was, treating something as simple as touching you like it was life or death.

But then—then you shifted.

Murmured something incoherent.

And, still half-asleep, you turned into him—head resting against his shoulder, breath warm against his collarbone.

And Jason—Jason froze.

He had no idea what to do.

He should move. He should wake you. He should do something.

But all he could do was sit there, heart hammering, as you sighed and relaxed against him.

Like he was something safe.

Jason Todd had never been anyone’s safe place before.

And damn it—he liked it.

After that, it got easier.

He started returning your touches, little by little.

A hand on your back when you walked through a crowded place.

Hooking a finger through your belt loop to keep you close.

Even—on rare occasions—pressing his lips to your temple when he thought no one was looking.

And he loved the way you reacted.

The way your breath hitched when he brushed his knuckles over your cheek.

The way you’d glance up at him, surprised and soft, every time he pulled you just a little closer.

The way you melted when he let himself be vulnerable.

It was addictive.

And maybe—just maybe—Jason was getting used to it.

One night, you were curled up next to him, scrolling through your phone, half-draped over his lap.

Jason was pretending to read, but mostly, he was just thinking about how nice you felt against him.

Warm. Soft. Real.

And before he could stop himself, he shifted, running his fingers over your arm—slow, gentle.

You blinked, glancing up at him. “What was that for?”

Jason hesitated.

Then, in a rare moment of honesty, he muttered—

“…Dunno. Just wanted to.”

Your face softened.

Then, to his utter surprise, you teased—

“Wow. Affection? From Jason Todd? I should write this down.”

Jason groaned, rolling his eyes. “Never mind. Forget it.”

But you just grinned, sitting up and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Never.”

And Jason—Jason just sighed, hooked an arm around your waist, and let himself stay.

[thatoneautisticshark]

We've been blessed with Gaz taking care of a sick Ghost, but what do you think about a situation of Price taking care of a sick Soap? 👀

-ttt (who may or not be sick right now with a cold and loves a good comfort sick care fic🤧)

yes very very cute. It's a bit short sorry lol. I'm sleepy. Art at the end!!

Price glanced up from his paperwork as the door creaked open, and Soap walked in brandishing a stack of papers. “Finally finished all the fucking shitty paperwork ye gave me, if you give me more I'll bloody shank ye”

Price huffed a laugh, taking the papers, bopping soap on the head with them. “Don't be threatening your captain Mactavish” he chided putting the papers on his desk.

He turned back to the scot, frowning slightly. Soap wasn't looking good. His eyes were a little red, he was pale and swaying slightly on his feet, and when Price looked a little closer, he saw the others hands shaking.

He chewed on his lip as he debated it. As a friend, he was worried, and wanted to care for his friend. But as a professional and captain, he might be crossing lines.

But as he watched Soap sneeze and then wince as if the sneeze had caused him pain, Price knew he couldn't just professionally drop it.

“Mactavish, you solid?”The scot startled slightly looking up at Price.

“Uhm yeah… yeah I'm okay Cap”

Well that was bullshit. Soap looked like he may collapse if the wind blew too hard. And Soap clearly knew it was bullshit.

“Would you like to try that again? Because that was false”

Soap winced “Right sorry..” he chewed over his words “Uhm… I'm just a bit off.. think ay got a cold…’ts no big deal sir”

“Oh don't bullshit me. You are shaking, you should be resting”

Soap pulled a face, somehow still fighting while being sick. “Ay am fine Price! Christ ye acting like… a bloody.. mother hen ye numpty…” He trailed off at the end, and Price barely had time to stick out his hands, catching the sergeant as his legs gave out.

Price quickly wrapped his arms around the waist, holding the other up. “Mactavish seriously?”

The man in his arms groans, pushing himself back to his feet.“I-....sorry sir.. I'll be okay”

Okay? Price looked at him incredulously. The man was barely standing and had the gall to say he'd be okay?

“You need to rest, Mactavish, and I don't trust you'll rest if I tell you too. So you are coming with me”

The scot stammered in confusion but let himself be dragged towards the captains quarters. “I..wha- but…. Okay..” he finally conceded.

When they arrived at Price's room he gently pushed the other onto the bed, Soap not having the energy to argue, laying down and drifting off.

Over the next few hours he stirred a few times but never woke up, until Price was just beginning to wonder if he would be sleeping on the couch, when the sergeant woke, mildly delirious.

“I'm colddd” he whined at price, who was holding back a chuckle, while walking over.

He sat on the edge of the bed, before letting out an undignified squeak as Soap pulled him down. “Warm.”

Price blinked as soap clung to him, considering his options. He could easily push the other off. Soaps' grip was weak, and he couldn't fight.

But he just couldn't bring himself to. Soap was so vulnerable right now. And in this state he choose to seek out Price.

He sighed pulling his shirt off and sliding under the covers letting Soap rest on his chest, Soap immediately snuggling in.

This wasn't the worst thing ever.

And if when morning came and Price didn't want to wake soap so he simply read the reports with the other on him, who would know?

If anyone can identify what the wallpaper is, kudos. I wanna see if anyone gets it

[glitchinginthegarden]

Woke up with thoughts so here we go:

Johnny’s behavior early in the game makes 100% sense and I support it because it fits his character writing and situation.

I've been seeing a lot of newer cyberpunk players getting onto the "Johnny is an absolute piece of shit" / "why would anyone do anything for this douchebag" soapbox and they're entitled to that opinion BUT...

Coming from the perspective of having completed the game multiple times and done plenty of digging into the ttrpg stuff, it fits. We also have to keep in mind the unreliable narrator factor but that's another thing all together.

In the beginning (after the nightmare night), Johnny is playing the face of cool dude who's suddenly on V's side while actively attempting to manipulate them. This tracks for his character, yes, but also for Night City.

If their positions were swapped, I know for a fact my V would be doing the same exact thing to her unwilling host. Which, when you break it down, is simply an attempt to regain control over a situation where she has none.

I don't blame Johnny in the slightest for that at that point in the plot. It's in human nature to fight tooth and nail for survival. Why would that not extend to someone who's been trapped in soul prison for fifty years too?

He's just "escaped" Mikoshi only to wake up imprisoned (again) in the mind of a complete stranger. Can you blame him for trying to find an angle he can work there?

Because I don't.

Everything tells us yes, Johnny is an asshole who historically has generally only looked out for himself. But not that he's been actively or maliciously intent on causing harm to the people around him. He doesn't behave the way he does for the hell of it, he does it (in my opinion) because in the past, his flavor of manipulation has worked and usually gotten him what he wants.

Which brings me to another thing: I've also seen some comments about how he doesn't tell V certain things depending on how you talk to him. That he withholds more if V is nice than when they're more mean to him. And that also tracks for his character.

Now, I will say that I haven't played a lot of "be mean to Johnny" runs, but if he does drop more info for that, I'm not surprised. Case and point: the oil fields.

Johnny is a person who won't take shit seriously unless he gets a kick in the ass for his behavior. V has to call him on his bullshit to get that sweet approval boost for Don't Fear The Reaper. So, it ultimately it makes sense for him to cough up more information along the line if V isn't being nice about getting it or calls him on being a dodgy fuck. Johnny doesn't fuck with weak people unless he can use them, that's not a secret.

He's playing his cards close to his chest for the most part and it makes sense. He has sparingly few hands to play after 50 years in soul prison. Why would he show his spread to someone who, depending on where you are in the plot, ultimately wants to end him again and scrape him off their brain? He's trying to survive.

He's a disabled man with a grand total of eighty something years of untreated ptsd and people wonder why he's not forthcoming with what he knows? Of course he's not. It's unreasonable to expect that, and especially from a character like his.

The point I'm trying to get to here, I suppose, is that I support Johnny’s wrongs because they're in line with his character and that's part of what makes him so well written. Yes, he's an asshole. Yes, he manipulates and lies and cheats to serve his needs. But, c'mon, look at the whole picture. Look at the setting and the other players on the board, and tell me it doesn't make perfect sense.

[mia-can-yap-too]

interwoven with webs (part 1)

Who?:- Isagi Yoichi x spider-girl! reader

Warnings:- very bad descriptions of violence, kinda crack, fluff will come in part 2

♫ :- Honeypie— JAWNY

Your name is Y/N L/N, and you are Tokyo's one and only spider-girl. How did this come to be, you say? Well, you would definitely like to say that you got bit by a radioactive spider while graffitiing on subway walls or something like that. But, no, life must work in cruel ways.

You got bit while coming out of the shower. Adorned in nothing but a towel, you had screamed your lungs off when the spider inched closer. You did manage to end up killing it, with the back of a hair brush too, but by then it was too late. The spider had crawled up your leg and bit you.

So yeah, it's not exactly the best story of the birth of a hero but that doesn’t matter. Soon enough, you became accustomed to the changes in your body, albeit you were slightly weirded out when spider webs started shooting out from your wrists. And now, you fight crime and keep Tokyo's streets safe as the one and only spider-girl.

The tabloids love you, especially because you always pose for the photos,even mid-fight. The people love you. Some post you on their socials whenever theysee you and comment many wonderful things like, 'who is this DIVA', '#needthat', and the ocassional 'MOMMY'. It's such an ego boost. And yes, some do have their controversies about you but those are just haters. Some put out conspiracy theories about you, too. You heard one about how you are actually a robot made by the government so that police officers could take a break or some shit. Lmao,no way.

Regardless, with your unrivaled charismatic charm and spidey senses,you can do anything!

Except AP physics, apparently.

"Yeah, no, I don't get it," you say as you turn to look at an exasperated Chigiri. He had been trying to help tutor you, not that he was much better.

"This is it, you are failing," he runs a hand through his hair.

"Hey! It's not my fault I don't understand! It's probably because I have a horrible tutor." You expertly dodge the pencil he throws your way, yet you do let out an overly dramatic gasp at his audacity.

He rolls his eyes at your antics. "If that's the case, then why don't you get a proper tutor? You know, someone who's actually good at this?"

"I don't know anyone from that class, else I would've had one by now," you sigh. "Hey, I know a friend who takes this class too, but I do not know if he tutors as well. I'Il ask him the next time we meet and if he's willing to help then I'll pass on your number," Chigiri's tone is nonchalant, as if he weren't just solving the worst of your problems.

"Thanks but I wasn't aware you had other friends," you joke. Another pencil isthrown at you.

Suddenly, your phone lets out a 'ting'! You pull it out to see the latest notification, from a news channel.

'Bank robbery on the U-20 street. Three people taken hostage.Police are ontheir way.

Eyes widening, you quickly start to shove your stuff into your bag. Chigiri looks over with concern. "What's wrong, did something happen?"

"Yes, I gotta go, I'll tell you later, okay? See you, and sorry for ditching you, too!" You run away, leaving a baffled Chigiri in your wake. Truthfully, he should be used to this by now. You've always got urgent stuff to do. I wonder why.

You run into the nearest alley, doing a quick check to see if anybody was there. Once you confirmed it, you take your suit out and begin stripping to wear it. Why the hell is this shit so hard to wear?!

Discarding your bag in a corner and sending a quick prayer that nobody steals it, you shoot spider webs into the air and swing away. Soon enough, you reach the crime scene. No police yet, maybe that one conspiracy theory had some truth to it.

The doors are locked, so instead you must climb the walls and sneak in through a window. Quietly hiding behind a comically large vase, you assess the situation.

Papers are strewn about and tables have been overturned. Three men in skimasks each hold guns. One is shouting at the hostages, keeping them at gunpoint as he orders them to stay still. Another has a gun aimed at a banker, forcing her to take out as much money as she could. The last one shoves said money into a black duffel bag.

Thankfully, this wasn't a very popular bank, so not many people got caught up in this robbery.

Right, so if you took out the one holding the hostages via sneak attack, you couldeasily deal with the other the same way. And if things went wrong, well...you’d figure it out as you go. You're known for being heroic, not smart.

Keeping your steps light, you sneak up behind your target. The hostages, however, see you, which makes their eyes widen with hope. Unfortunately, the man notices, and turns around. While you are quick enough to disable him and stick him against the wall with your webs, his gasp alerts the other two."Uh oh," you mutter as one of them starts charging at you. He swings at you, but of course, you dodge. Landing a harsh kick to his side, you barely dodge the bullets the remaining man shoots at you. Ugh, you'll have to deal with him later. The one you had just kicked groans as he stands up. After some amateur hand-to-hand combat, he somehow manages to hold the banker at gunpoint with his arm around her throat. "Stay back! I'Il shoot her!"

"Calm down, dude, you wouldn't hurt a lady, would ya?", you chuckle nervously.

Ah, shit. You can't sense the last guy either, he might have made a run for it. You inch a little closer, arm stretched out. "I said stay back!", he barks. His goldfish brain could have never guessed your next move. Moving faster than light, you shoot web from your outstretched hand, not at him though, but rather at the vase behind him. The recoil makes the vase shoot forward, hitting the man at the back of his head. He slumps forward, unconscious.

Unfortunately, your job here isn't done yet. After sticking him to the wall with his

companion and making sure the civilians were fine, you swing out of the bank. He couldn't have gotten that far, could he? You stand on the roof of a building, eyes darting here and there, trying to locate the robber. Fortunately for you, running through a calm crowd in all black attire makes you stand out, so you find him in no time. When he notices you, he tries to get rid of you by darting into a maze of alleyways. You don't stop, as persistent as a pest. What kind of hero would you be if you let him get away?

Soon enough, he is cornered in a dead end. He knows he is fucked. He used all his bullets trying to shoot you in the bank. "No way out, might as well give yourself in," you say with a cocky grin.

He gets into a fighting stance. Battle ready and teeth bared, he is not going down without a fight.

Or that's just what he tells himself.

He doesn't even get to swing his fist before you knock him out with a punch tothe jaw.

Chuckling, you dust off your hands. Heh, you were so cool. The guy behind the dumpster thinks so too.

Wait...the guy behind the dumpster?!

Both of you let out shrill screams when you finally notice him. How long had he been there?!

He tries to say something but the only thing that comes out is a series of gasps."Y-you...l-l..."

"What the hell, dude?! Do you even know how creepy this is? Why were you even there in the first place?!"

He somehow composes himself when you accuse him of being a creep."I was hiding because I have self preservation skills. The guy could've held me at gunpoint!"

"Oh wait yeah..."

Point proven, his awe comes back in full glory. "And...oh my God...you're actually spider-girl?! Woah...that was so cool! You totally kicked his ass!" His deep blue eyes are gleaming with admiration.

"Uh, thank you? And of fucking course I kicked his ass, I am spider-girl, after all." Your wonderful-ness truly has no bounds.

"Hey," he starts shyly, "can I get an autograph? To brag to my friends, you know, that l met the greatest superhero of all time." He was obviously buttering you up, as you were the onlysuperhero ever, but it boosted your ego nonetheless. No way would you turn down a fan, after all.

And so, you comply. He finds it a bit weird that you draw the dots on your 'i's as a small little circle, instead of a dot like normal people, but he doesn't have the courage (or a death wish) to call you out on that. 

After signing his notebook, phone and calculator (weird but okay) you walk him out of the maze of alleyways. Once you make it back to the street, you turn to look at him. "This is it, fanboy. Stay outta trouble, okay? And don't scare people by hiding behind dumpsters, that shit is just weird."

He gives you a deadpan expression. "I told you I didn't mean to do that."

Chuckling, you wink at him. "Sure you didn't. See ya!" 

And with that you swing away, leaving behind an awestruck boy. 

'I am so bragging about that wink,' thinks Isagi.

--

The next week went by pretty normally. No crimes to fight and no fans to awe. But that was okay, because Chigiri did end up convincing that friend of his, named Isagi, to tutor you (for free too!) and now you finally get a chance to deal with the pain in the ass that was AP physics.

You got to the library ten minutes earlier than your tutor. You didn't want him tostart charging you if you were late.

And so you sip your mocha, waiting for your now academic knight in shining armor to save you. Though, your thoughts did end up going back to that guy you met before. I mean, can anyone blame you? He was kinda cute, and getting you to sign his calculator of all things? Total nerd behavior. Y/n approved.

A tap on your shoulder pulls youout of your thoughts. You turn to look at theculprit, ready to go off. What annoying bitch dares to interrupt my daydreaming of fine sh--What?!

You recognized his deep blue eyes. That little sprout on top of his head. It was really him!

Isagi was...the fine shit?!

Authors Note:- This was originally supposed to be one part but it ended up being wayy too long. And my ipad decided to be a bitch and wouldn’t let me airdrop this to my phone so i spent three hours uploading this. Many mistakes were made so if you find any typos please tell me! Also, just because i wanted to say that whenever i put a song in ♫ i don’t mean that i associate the song w the fic, it just means that i listened to it while writing it, unnecessary but still.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Concept:

Fyodor: Oh and just so you know my ability means I can’t be killed.

Atsushi: What?!

Fyodor: So don’t even try I quite like this vessel of mine.

Atsushi: How are we…ontop of everything?! How can we even have a chance to-

Akutugawa: This is wonderful news.

Atsushi:…Huh?!

Fyodor: Oh? How so?

Akutugawa: You can’t be killed so during our fight I won’t have to worry about breaking my promise.

Atsushi: Are you KIDDING me?!

Akutugawa: You told me to try and look on the bright side of things, weretiger.

Atsushi: And now is when you wanna do that?! When we’re going to die?!

Akutugawa: Honestly you have no faith. We will be fine.

Atsushi: You said that last time and last I checked you died.

Akutugawa: Tch. You can’t keep bringing that up.

Atsushi: Well one of us clearly needs too.

Akutugawa: Hm I thought you’d be happy I was sticking to my vow.

Atsushi: I would…but at this point I’m gonna kill him myself.

Akutugawa: Hm, well you didn’t promise to not kill anyone. So I suppose I shall support you on the matter.

Atsushi: Thanks but we can’t kill him, literally.

Akutagawa: Impossible odds have never stopped you before.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Hollow Worship: It was never about him

Summary: Gojo Satoru was used to being admired. Worshipped, even. That was the natural order of things. But worship isn’t always devotion. Sometimes, it’s possession. Sometimes, it’s something far worse. Trigger Warnings(Contains Spoilers): MDNI, Non-Con. A/N: The people who feel close to someone call them by their first name. Those who don’t—or don’t see themselves as a living being or a human—use surnames. This is my dark little gift to my muses @mullermilkshake & @TheVillagerandtheSea—hope you both enjoy your dose of brain rot. Hehe.

Your POV

Gojo Satoru was used to being admired. Worshipped, even. It came with the territory—being him.

His power? Unmatched.

His looks? Otherworldly.

His charm? Debatable. But that was your problem, not his.

The first time you met him, you were busy existing like a normal, competent jujutsu sorcerer with a stellar track record.

That lasted exactly five seconds.

Because then he walked in, all six-foot-whatever, grinning like an idiot, and your brain just—

Flatlined.

Your eyes dropped.

Not to his ridiculous sunglasses.

Not to his stupid smirk.

Lower.

His chest.

His stupidly big, indecently sculpted, menacingly perky chest.

The fabric of his uniform stretched obscenely across his pecs, and you were stuck staring at them like a sleep paralysis demon locked in combat with intrusive thoughts.

“Uh,” you said, completely forgetting every word you’d ever learned.

Gojo wasn’t surprised when you immediately froze upon meeting him. Awestruck, clearly. Like a rookie catching their first glimpse of true greatness.

His smirk widened. “Oh? Speechless? Must be my overwhelming presence—”

You didn’t respond, still frozen.

Satoru knew what people usually looked at. His blindfold. His jawline. Sometimes his hands (for some weird reason).

But you? You looked like you’d seen God’s greatest creation.

Right there.

On his torso.

It was bizarre.

Your love for Satoru (or Toru, as you lovingly called him in your dreams) didn’t start that day. It had been brewing for years—long before you ever laid eyes on him in real life.

Back when he was just an unattainable god-tier existence on your timeline, you already knew he’d be yours.

Because there was one thing that separated others from you, your special grade technique was a bad match for his.

When someone dared to call him overrated? You were there, bombs locked and loaded.

When a hater tried to say he wasn’t that strong? You had an entire thesis, six sources cited, and a clip of him soloing special grades in 4K.

And when anyone tried to downplay his assets—the sheer, disrespectfully sculpted divinity of his existence—?

Oh, you were feral.

“I wonder if sex eyes replineshes his cum output too and efficiently releases cum to the point where he releases massive cum while releasing almost close to 0 cum. Also, would it look blue? Would it be stronger than normal cum? Lot of questions.”

“How much do you love Gojo?”

“How much water have you drank all your life?”

"Honestly, at this point, if he fucked my Grandma, I’d lick her asshole just to taste his cum.”

The Gojo fandom was a lawless wasteland, and you thrived in it.

You had favorites, of course.

The thirst edits that sent you into a spiral.

The fanart that made you question if you needed to start paying tithes.

The slow-mo clips of him laughing, walking, existing—each one a religious experience in its own right.

And then there was The Video. The one where he cracked his neck before a fight, his uniform stretching just right across his chest.

That was the day you learned true spiritual enlightenment.

“Daddy Gojo needs to be locked in a mating press IMMEDIATELY. I’m tired of this.”

“I will open my mouth and take big bites of your huge breasts. Then I will open my anus behind me and let you impale me with that huge dragon-slaying eagle. Until the flowers fade, until my room becomes sticky, until your semen rushes from behind me toward my esophagus and out of my throat. Until the blood flowing in my veins becomes your semen. Until I howled loudly, which made me very happy.”

It was true love.

Except now you were here.

You had spent years preparing for this moment. Practiced your greeting. Rehearsed a perfectly normal, non-feral introduction. Told yourself you were above the insanity.

Then he walked in.

And your brain just left the building.

It wasn’t just the face. Or the voice. Or the aura that made everyone else in the room seem insignificant by comparison.

No, it was worse.

Because Gojo Satoru in real life?

Was so much more.

---

A few days later, you were on your first mission under Tokyo Jujutsu Tech.

Supposed to be dealing with a curse. A minor one, at that. Easy work for someone of your caliber.

Barely a threat.

But then it happened.

Satoru’s chest bounced when he dodged an attack.

The moment he’d moved, his uniform shifted—just slightly, just enough for the fabric to pull taut, for muscle to flex, for the weight of him to move in a way that was, apparently, devastating to you.

Your brain short-circuited like a Windows XP error.

You stopped mid-step, completely entranced, like a deer staring down an 18-wheeler made of raw pectoral muscle.

You almost died.

Over boobies.

Gojo had saved you, obviously. He yanked you back, put down the curse like it was nothing.

Then he turned to you, expecting at least a little bit of shame.

Instead, you were still looking.

Not at the curse.

Not at the aftermath.

At him.

At something beyond, something in, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

“…Newbie nerves?” he said, tilting his head. “You know, I could give you some pointers—”

Nothing.

No reaction.

Just that same, unblinking, fascinated look.

“Huh,” he frowned.

And, like a curse magnetized to a ten-pack, you kept staring.

---

Gojo’s POV

The first time he met you, he thought you were a normal, competent jujutsu sorcerer. Maybe even impressive.

Then he noticed the staring.

It wasn’t the usual kind—no awe, no fear, no giddy admiration at his reputation.

It was fixed. Heavy.

It took him longer than it should have to realize what you were staring at.

Not his uniform.

His chest.

At first, it was easy to ignore. Gojo was used to people looking at him, analyzing him, wanting something from him.

But this was different.

Your gaze didn’t waver, didn’t break away when caught—it just locked on, paralyzing, suffocating, an unspoken weight pressing against his ribs.

Gojo wasn’t used to feeling watched.

Not like this.

Sure, people stared at him all the time—students, sorcerers, civilians, enemies. Everyone wanted a piece of him, whether it was his power, his reputation, or just the sheer spectacle of his existence.

But your gaze?

Your gaze felt different.

He laughed it off.

Because what else was he supposed to do?

He’d gone to Nanami first.

“She stares at my chest. Constantly,” Gojo said, sitting backward on a chair like the human embodiment of a red flag.

Nanami didn’t look up from his paperwork. “And? I have important matters to handle, Gojo-san.”

“No, but seriously. She stares like—like she’s buffering. It’s like she’s studying them. That’s weird, right?”

Nanami’s pen stilled. He glanced up. “You mean the sorcerer with a higher kill count than you?”

Gojo blinked. “...What?”

“She’s a special grade.”

“Huh—”

“She’s more competent than you.”

Gojo frowned. “Okay, rude, but—”

“You should be grateful she even looks at you.”

“How can you—”

“She has more important things to do than entertain your delusions.”

He tried Ijichi next.

“Ijichi, listen, she stares. A lot. You believe me, right?”

Ijichi sighed, exhausted. “I believe you’re tired and hallucinating, Gojo-san.”

Surely Shoko would believe him, right?

Shoko took a drag of her cigarette and, without looking at him, said, “Sounds like a skill issue.”

No one believed him. No one.

And that’s when Gojo knew: he was alone in this.

That should have been the end of it. But it kept happening.

You were competent, respected, powerful—and yet, Gojo would catch you frozen, staring at him.

Not at his face.

At his chest.

It happened during missions.

It happened in meetings.

It happened when he was simply breathing in the same space as you.

And then, the first incident happened.

It had been a nasty mission.

Multiple special grade curses.

Gojo handled it like always, but the last one caught him off-guard.

Just for a second.

Then the mission went wrong.

Fast.

Gojo got clocked.

Hard enough to black out.

It wasn’t often that he felt truly helpless.

It would be fine; you were there; you’d take care of it.

But when he woke up, there was cold floor pressing against his back.

Did he tear off his clothes in the fight?

But there was warmth too.

Something was off.

Pressure. Softness.

Something was… moving?

His brain caught up at the same time his eyes adjusted.

He tried to sit up, but—oh.

Oh, no.

He looked down.

It was you.

Your face was buried in his bare chest.

Fully.

And—oh God, were you moterboating his chest?

Gojo was a man of many words.

Right now? He had none.

Your hands clutched his uniform pant’s waistband, face buried between his pecs like you were trying to merge with them.

“...The hell?” Gojo rasped.

You froze.

Stared at him, unblinking.

You had been waiting for this.

Didn’t look embarrassed but... devastated?

A long, long pause.

Then:

“...Can I—”

“No.”

“Just one more—”

“Absolutely not.”

You sat back with the heaviest sigh known to man.

Because you were disappointed.

Gojo scrambled away from you, grabbing his uniform coat, almost tripping on his own feet and putting it on hurriedly before teleporting away.

---

Your POV

You loved his chest.

And Gojo Satoru, for all his confidence, was confused by the sheer devastation on your face as he pulled away, as if he’d just denied you your one purpose in life.

Meanwhile, you?

You had been thriving.

You had touched him.

Felt him.

Got a taste—no, an experience—of the divine creation that was his body, and it had been just as glorious as you always imagined.

Better, even.

Your fingers still tingled.

Your face still burned.

Your soul? Ascended.

And he had moaned.

Not a little gasp, not a sharp inhale—he had moaned.

The moment his consciousness had flickered back into reality, before his brain even had the decency to register what was happening, a soft, breathy, utterly wrecked sound had left his lips.

For you.

He could deny it all he wanted. Could try to act like he wasn’t completely gone for you, but you knew the truth.

It was only a matter of time.

And time was something you were ready to bend.

You’d always admired him—Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, the most beautiful man alive, the reason why your entire search history was a carefully curated shrine of edits, thirst posts, and questionable thoughts.

You were the one who lived and breathed Satoru. The one who had a folder on your phone labeled “Toru’s Temple” filled with pictures and clips (taken of him when he wasn’t looking) of him doing the most mundane things—like adjusting his blindfold or his fingers intertwined when he sat waiting for his hot coffee to cool—because even the smallest movement felt religious.

But admiration had limits.

Love didn’t.

And what you felt for him?

It was love.

Because if Satoru told you to jump off a cliff, you’d ask how high?

Because if he ruined your life, you’d apologize for wasting his time.

That’s why, as you watched him stumble out of the infirmary, still slightly dazed, still rattled from your little touch, you knew exactly what you had to do.

Toru baby needed guidance.

Someone to make him understand.

And that someone was you.

You smoothed out your uniform, lips curving into a soft, sweet smile as you watched him head toward the training grounds. The first-years were waiting for him, clueless to the fact that their beloved teacher had just moaned like a two-bit whore under you.

Adorable.

But you weren’t worried.

You had a plan.

All you had to do was wait, when he was just tired enough, just distracted enough—

And then?

You were going to corner him.

And you were going to make him see.

Make him understand that what happened between you wasn’t just a coincidence.

That his body knew what his stubborn little brain was taking time to accept.

That he belonged to you.

And if you had to break him in to make him realize it?

Well.

That was just love, wasn’t it?

---

A few days later - Gojo’s POV

Gojo had always assumed there were limits.

There were things he could stop, things he could overpower, things that no one—no one—could ever do to him.

Because he was the strongest.

Because he had Infinity.

Because he was untouchable.

Because—

Because—

Because he was wrong.

It happened fast.

Too fast.

He saw the shift in your eyes before he even registered that his body was already reacting.

Already activating Infinity.

The barrier was up.

Infinity was absolute.

That’s what Gojo had always known.

A law of physics as natural as breathing. No one—not even a special-grade—should have been able to touch him without permission.

But your fingers wrapped around his wrist anyway.

Like Infinity wasn’t there.

Like he wasn’t there.

He had never seen you use this technique before.

Something that bypassed Infinity like it was nothing.

Not time manipulation, not a Domain Expansion—just something else.

Something made for this.

He had seen cursed techniques used in ways that violated human limits, but never like this.

Never against him.

Never against his body.

Gojo didn’t understand.

Didn’t want to understand.

His breath stuck in his throat. His body locked.

His vision tunneled, and it wasn’t because of a fight, wasn’t because of an opponent stronger than him, wasn’t because he had made a mistake in battle—

No.

This was something worse.

His body wasn’t reacting the way it should have.

His instinct screamed at him—pull away, push back, destroy—

But he couldn’t.

Because his body wasn’t obeying instincts of war anymore.

It was responding to something else. Something he had never prepared for.

Fear.

Not of death.

Not of losing.

But of you.

Your hands touched his chest first, like before.

Then lower.

Lower.

The horror didn’t hit all at once.

It came in waves, in wrongness, in realization.

He had never been touched like this.

Never been unable to stop it.

His body was screaming at him to move, but he couldn’t.

He wasn’t fighting a curse.

He wasn’t facing death.

He was frozen.

He wasn’t the strongest.

Not in this.

Not when it was your weight against him, your voice—his own name slipping out of your mouth in a way that made his stomach churn—

Not when he realized his body was obeying instincts that had nothing to do with power.

He wanted to disappear.

His body was betraying him.

Why?

Why?

His arms twitched—move, move, fucking move—

The world tilted when you shoved him back onto the floor. It wasn’t forceful enough to hurt, but it was enough to make one thing painfully clear—

He wasn’t in control.

You straddled him, your weight pressing down on him like a cage. Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his head back, forcing him to look at you.

Your hands slid over his body, exploring, claiming, violating.

Everywhere you touched felt like fire, but not the kind that burned away impurities. This fire was corrosive, eating away at him, leaving behind nothing but ash and shame.

Gojo wanted to die.

His body—his own body—betrayed him.

Heat pooled under his skin, a sick, involuntary reaction that made his stomach churn.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing.

He wanted to laugh.

He wanted to vomit.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Not to him.

The strongest. The untouchable. The undefeated.

That’s what everyone thought.

That’s what he had always thought.

Until now.

Your voice cut through the haze, cooing words that sounded sweet but felt like poison.

Like nothing was wrong.

Like he was a willing participant.

Like he wasn’t lying there, wishing he could sink into the floor, wishing he could dissolve into nothingness, wishing he could sit under water and watch as his skin shredded away layer by layer until there was no trace of you left on him.

Until your touch became a bad dream, a distant memory, and not his reality.

He closed his eyes, desperate to escape, but his Six Eyes betrayed him.

They showed him everything—the way you looked at him, not as a person, but as meat.

As something to be devoured.

His arms refused to move, heavy and useless at his sides.

Was this the freeze response people talked about?

The body’s way of protecting itself when fight or flight wasn’t an option?

He shut his eyelids tighter, as if he could block out the world, block out you, block out the unbearable reality of what was happening.

But he couldn’t.

He could still feel your hands, your weight, your breath.

He could still hear your voice, soft and sickeningly sweet.

He could still see, even with his eyes closed, the way you looked at him—like he was nothing more than an object for your pleasure.

He waited.

Waited for it to end.

But it didn’t.

And all he could do was lie there, trapped in his own body, wishing for it all to be over.

Wishing for the nightmare to end.

Wishing for the strength to fight back.

But it never came.

And so, he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then—

A crack!!

The weight was gone.

Gojo barely felt himself collapse back on the floor, his body folding in on itself like a marionette with its strings cut.

His body still wasn’t listening.

Then he heard the sounds.

The sickening crunch of bone against bone.

The sharp, wet slap of flesh meeting flesh.

The guttural cries of a fight that wasn’t his to finish.

His body did not move.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t help.

Even as the fight broke out around him, even as voices—familiar, urgent, furious—got lost through the fog in his mind, even as he felt the warm splatter of blood against his skin, he remained still.

Paralyzed.

Helpless.

When the silence finally fell, heavy and suffocating, he felt something solid.

Warm. Safe.

A hand.

“Satoru.”

His whole body shuddered at the sound of his name, at the weight of it, at the way it anchored him back to reality.

Nanami was there.

Gojo’s hands, trembling and weak, gripped Nanami’s coat like it was the only thing keeping him from being swept away.

Nanami was real.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

The world had tilted off its axis, and he knew, deep in his bones, that he would never be able to straighten it again.

So he asked, because he had to.

“You believe me now, right?”

The words clawed their way out of his throat, raw and broken, the weight of them thick enough to drown him.

He was drowning.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, after everything, Kento finally spoke.

“I believed you then, too.”

Soft. Solid. Unshakable.

“She had ears on us. I couldn’t risk tipping her off.”

Gojo’s stomach dropped.

Because that meant—

That meant he had never been alone.

That meant Kento had known.

That meant someone had taken it seriously.

Gojo’s chest collapsed inward, the weight of it crushing him.

Like he had been bracing for something that never came.

Like he had been drowning alone this whole time when, in reality—

Kento had been there.

Had always been there.

His breath broke, a ragged, shuddering thing that tore through him like a storm.

He broke.

The strongest man in the world.

He didn’t let go of Kento.

He couldn’t.

His body still wasn’t listening, still frozen, still trapped in the aftermath of what had happened.

Because it knew.

It finally, finally knew.

And the knowledge was worse than the violation.

The realization that he had never been alone, that someone had seen, that someone had cared enough to take it seriously—it was too much.

Too much to bear.

And so, he clung to Kento, to the solid, unyielding presence of the one person who had believed him, who had been there all along.

Because if he let go, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the fall.

---

She was dead, but Gojo Satoru was afraid.

Of women.

Of touch.

Of himself.

Of what had already been taken from him.

And of what would never come back.

Gojo didn’t talk much anymore.

He laughed when he needed to, the sound hollow and rehearsed, a performance for the sake of those around him.

He joked when expected, the words slipping out like a reflex, but the humor never reached his eyes.

The mask fit perfectly, molded to his face over years of practice, but it was heavier now.

Heavier than Infinity.

Heavier than the weight of the world.

Because beneath it, he was breaking.

He didn’t touch anyone.

Not casually. Not intentionally. Not unless it was absolutely necessary.

And he didn’t let anyone close.

Not physically. Not emotionally.

The space around him became a fortress, walls built from the rubble of what had been done to him.

But the fortress wasn’t impenetrable.

It couldn’t keep out the memories.

The phantom sensations.

The way his body betrayed him, flinching at the slightest brush of a hand, freezing at the sound of footsteps behind him.

He felt it every time someone’s eyes lingered a little too long.

Every time he caught a glimpse of a smile that felt too familiar.

The weight of hands on his chest.

The warmth of breath against his skin.

The disgusting truth of it all.

And no one noticed.

Except for Kento.

The disgusting truth of it all.

And no one noticed.

Except for Kento.

Kento, who didn’t comment when Gojo’s hands shook as he reached for a cup of coffee.

Kento, who didn’t force a conversation when Gojo’s responses dwindled to single syllables or silence.

Kento, who—one day, in an empty hallway, when a female walked a little too close—stepped between them without a word.

It wasn’t just the hallway.

It was the little things.

The way Kento would subtly position himself between Gojo and anyone who got too close during meetings.

The way he would linger in the room after everyone else had left, fiddling with his phone, giving Gojo the space to breathe without the pressure of being watched.

The way he would hand Gojo a file or a pen without letting their fingers brush, a small but deliberate act of consideration.

And then there were the things Gojo didn’t even realize he needed until Kento provided them.

Like the time Gojo froze in the middle of a mission, his body locking up at the sight of a curse that bore an unsettling resemblance to her.

Kento didn’t ask questions.

He didn’t demand an explanation.

He simply stepped in, taking over the fight without a word, giving Gojo the space to retreat without shaming him for something that wasn’t his fault.

Or the time Gojo found himself unable to enter a room—that room, his feet rooted to the ground at the sound of laughter—her laughter, or at least something close enough to make his stomach churn.

Kento didn’t push him.

He didn’t tell him to get over it.

He just stood there, a silent presence at Gojo’s side, until the laughter faded and Gojo could breathe again.

Gojo didn’t thank him.

He couldn’t.

The words stuck in his throat, tangled up with everything else he couldn’t say.

But Kento didn’t seem to expect gratitude or even think of it.

He didn’t seem to expect anything at all.

He was just there.

Steady. Reliable. Unshakable.

Reminding him, even in the darkest corners of his mind, where the memories lingered like shadows, there was a light.

Faint, but there.

Kento didn’t touch Gojo. Didn’t even look at him.

But he was there.

A barrier.

A shield.

Gojo had never needed a shield before.

Now, he couldn’t survive without one.

A/N: The comments in this fic are real comments people have actually made about Gojo on Twitter & Reddit. "How would this actually play out in a realistic setting?" I’ve always had this thought lurking in the back of my mind whenever I read some of the feral, lawless thirst comments people make about Gojo. So I did what any sane person would: I turned it into a horror fic. Also, if you thought Gojo was too OP to be a victim… yeah, so did he. Now, tell me—be honest—what’s the worst Gojo thirst comment you’ve ever seen? 👀 Drop it in the comments. (Or, if this broke you emotionally, just leave a 🍞 emoji so I know you’re still breathing.)

All Works Masterlist

[bluepandastarfish]

CaitVi x reader angst part 5

so... consistent uploads went out the window....

i dont like this part very much, the next part will be better!!

warnings: threats, not great law enforcement, delulu reader, me trying to make a character who has no lines in the show somewhat important.

part 4

And it was, the dream that is. Well this time it was actually a dream instead of a daydream or fantasy because with Caitlyn finally holding you as you fall asleep, drifting off became easier. You both had the understanding that nothing was completely ‘forgiven’ but that you both needed each other. Arguing would only drive you both to act more foolishly then you already were, and if anyone denied the inherent need for each other you could reference the way vi was acting now that she had neither of you. 

You made an effort to get up in the morning, help Caitlyn dress by doing up the ludicrous amount of buttons on her uniform, and dine together. You ate things from the undercity, catering your palate to be more inclusive of the local cuisine there. You would chuckle to yourself sometimes when you imagined how Vi would look eating the slimy, greasy foods and would pointedly ignore the curious glances Caitlyn threw your way. 

Speaking of, she was eating less at meal times which wasn't all that concerning since this was clearly food she wasn’t used to, but it still made you glare from across the table everytime she sneered at her plate or moved the food around avoidently. 

You had a plan, one that didn’t quite align with whatever business Caitlyn was conducting. Vi wouldn't listen to you if you went to her alone again and you'd rather not deal with the heartache once more. And however unconventional your idea may seem, nothing was going to stop you from getting her back. 

It was an organized mess in your head, acknowledging the fact that some of your thoughts were mildly delusional and that some of the memories of the three of you together were probably just daydreams. You knew it was an emotional response and with that awareness came a certain clarity that all of the disorder and chaos would disappear once you were all together again. 

Stage one was keeping tabs on Violet herself, ensuring that she didn’t do anything too harmful or stupid while you weren't there to watch over her. It would be a little more difficult to find someone in the undercity willing to report back to you about her, but it wouldn't be impossible. If you remember correctly there was a man with her at the bar you'd visited near the fight pit, he had appeared and joined the team caitlyn put together with the help of Vi vouching for him before everything went down. It’d made you moderately jealous honestly, you'd never been quite skilled enough at fighting to really help caitlyn and vi in that area and at times it felt like something pushing a distance between you and them. 

At least now the man would prove useful. 

Having him arrested quietly was easy enough and it only took the afternoon, with Caitlyn busy brooding in her cape she wouldn't get herself involved either. Your family had never been as influential as hers, but it was an important enough standing for the young enforcers you’d hired to tremble at the glare you sent when they asked questions. 

They brought him to the greenhouse at the edge of the Kiramman estate, one that barely anyone visited thanks to it being rather small. Mostly it was used as if it were an oversized birdhouse more than anything else but that wasn’t important right now. 

He looked like he was trying to stare intensely but thanks to the semi distant look in his eyes it didn’t work as well as he probably hoped. His sluggish blinking made you wonder if he was drunk and it almost made you angry to imagine that the only familiar face Vi was surrounding herself with was a drunkard. 

You shooed away the three enforcers, not without some worried glances your way, but in the end it only took a comment over your shoulder for them to make their way hurriedly out of the space. 

“Enforcers who can’t follow orders? I’m sure commander kiramman would be chuffed to hear all about you.” you drawled, not taking your eyes off the unmoving man thrown haphazardly on the floor in front of you. You heard them all shuffle to leave and when the door finally shut you softened your expression significantly. If he willingly became an enforcer without compensation he must have some kind of compassion, in any case it was your best bet at getting him under your thumb. “Hello, i hoped you’d remind me of your name before we begin?” 

His expression finally shifted to something readable, unimpressed with your words. “Loris. Can I ask why I was dragged here?” 

He clearly recognised you at least, otherwise you doubted he’d give you his name. You cleared your throat gently, reslising now that it was much easier to plan these sorts of things then execute them. Knowing you wouldn't be good with lying, you decided to do your best to be honest with him. 

“i-um .” you pause. “Well, I'm concerned about Vi, obviously.”

He nodded slightly, sitting up straight with a small grunt. “I got that, from all the shouting I earned from her the day after you visited.” 

It made you jealous again, stupidly so. An ugly thing inside you reared its head at the idea that he knew anything about you and Vi’s relationship. “Well-” you cut yourself off, not wanting to voice this jealousy out loud. “That's not what I brought you here to talk about. I need your help with her.”

He looked almost regretful for a moment, speaking quite honestly. “I can't make her do anything she doesn't want to. And i'm already trying to help her but-” 

“Are you? That’s funny, when I went to see her she looked worse then Caitlyn described her straight out of stillwater.” you seethed, a sneer twitching onto your face. It was misplaced anger, but it gave you more of that confidence you lost moments before. “I don't care about what you're doing now, obviously it's not working. What I need from you is just to keep tabs on her and report back to me.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Oh yeah? I'm sure she’d love you sticking your nose in on her when she clearly wants nothing to do with you.” 

Any kindness you wanted for him during this interaction was gone. You suck in a deep breath, settling a vicious glare down onto him. The ugly thing reared its head again- no not reared, more like lunged. And so did you. 

You leapt forward, gripping his collar and dragging him up a bit (not much due to your differing body types). You panted with your teeth bared, getting close to his face as he suddenly became a lot more aware and invested into the conversation. Whether he didn't have the energy to move his arms or he was simply too shocked to, it didn't matter. 

“Dont talk shit about what she’d like.” you hiss at him. “I fucking know her, and i dont care what you want in return, your going to go down to that filthy pit she wallows in and your going to watch out for her and tell me. Her. Every. Move.” 

From there the interaction did make you feel slightly deranged, but with the assurance that it was well worth it you were comfortable to push that feeling aside. The tone seemed to work on him anyway which made you hold little room for regret with the way you’d spoken to him. 

It was working wonderfully, a few days of receiving updates from him caused a whirlwind of emotions to rush through you. The news of her rushing back to her hovel with girls made you angry and Caitlyn didn't want to question your episodes anymore in case it sent you back into your dissociative state. You found yourself reading over the misery your girlfriend was experiencing with a keen eye and used the excuse of it being reality to justify the daydreams you had about the written events now. 

Caitlyn had been waning and you could tell, her days dragging on and her face becoming permanently set into a frown. Gentle evenings of silence were shared between the two of you as you both found solace in one another. The daydreams seemed to stop when surrounded by the reality of her and caitlyns own worries melted away at the sight of you waiting on one of the sofas with a soft smile and tea. 

Ambessa had been harsher with their sparing together, it was occasionally evenings that the two women would fight and no matter how many times you approached the door in jealousy of the grunting and groaning coming from within, that barbaric right hand of hers sent a questioning glare that stopped you going any further. These were the people you couldn't sway with your control over enforcers or caitlyn, and it made you angry. 

So in reality, while the plan was going well enough, you were angry most of the time Caitlyn wasn't there to distract you. 

And then phase two commenced, finding that terrorising little sister of hers.

[namgyunation]

i'm rlly interested in your take on this because your nam-gyu meta posts are amazing, i find myself nodding profusely the entire time i read them lmao i was wondering if you think nam-gyu would ever let his gf or situationship see him cry? and what would make him cry?

sorry for the late response!!!

and ahhhhh thank you <3 :]]] i have soooo many thoughts about his stupid ass 🙂‍↕️ i have way too much fun looking too deeply into the small, nonexistent scraps that we were given in the show LMAO

one thing that i think is clear about nam-gyu's character as he's presented in the show is that he hatesss being seen as weak or being associated with weak people, scared that it might reflect back on him. it always seems like he's overcompensating to look stronger (joining in on the fight with thanos when they had mg coin on the floor even though... he looks like he barely knows wtf he's doing and he ??? falls??? myung-gi was already on the ground 😭), lecturing min-su and trying to reaffirm to himself and others that he was strong before the pentathlon to 'not fear death' even though he was literally just as fucking scared and shaking and had to take a pill to calm himself lmao, and then referring to the other players as "cockroaches" after the pentathlon and trying to exert himself over min-su for no reason at all (and then we even got to see that nam-gyu was the only other person besides min-su that didn't get their game done on the first try lol...)

he seems so emotionally constipated, repressed, and terribly insecure about how he's perceived by others, that i just don't see him ever wanting anyone to see him cry, especially not a situationship / girlfriend / partner.

i honestly don't even see him being the type to even let himself cry. tbh, i get some vibes of toxic masculinity in the way he acts, since he's shown to be desperate to control / exert himself over others using aggression and intimidation, as well as how often he feels the need to suppress his "bad" emotions (fear, sadness, insecurity) and come off as confident and strong. this is straying to my own headcanons here but idkkk he just seems like the type of guy to believe in some bullshit like 'crying = weak', preferring to just bottle everything up and pretend it doesn't affect him. he seems like the least vulnerable guy ever.

then, if his partner were to ever see him in a vulnerable state, i think he'd be horrified and reject any attempt at comfort / connection. he seems like the type of guy to hate the idea of someone pitying him. i think he'd just want to be alone and deny it / shut it down immediately if you tried to bring it up after the fact

bro is barely even honest with himself. i don't see him being honest with anyone else, either. no guy that acts like that has good emotional regulation or is in touch with his feelings lmfao

he seems like he'd rarely ever let himself cry in front of someone. i think he'd rather mask it with anger, if anything. and if he did let it slip and let you see him cry, he'd definitely be furious with himself

when thanos died in the show, he was very obviously upset, and idk, watching the closest thing you have to a friend—in a game where you've nearly died three times—bleed out in front of you seems like... a pretty valid reason to cry, imo! and even then he denies feeling upset, pretends he doesn't care at all, and just takes the pills in an attempt to ease his mind.

though, i think if he were without the comfort of the pills, he would've actually cried, or at the very least teared up.

i think to get him to actually cry, it'd likely have to be over something big with the right conditions, like him being alone or with little to no distractions.

death

so, death, for one. we already saw him get close with thanos's death. i could see him losing it over the death of a family member or a close friend

(headcanon here, but i don't think he had the best relationship with his family when growing up. like, look at how he behaves. hence why he's so insecure and desperate for attention / someone to latch onto in the events of s2. despite this, i think he'd still yearn for their attention / approval, and the death of a family member would kind of cement the fact that he no longer has the chance to impress them / prove to them that he's special or worthwhile. he seems very hung up on gaining the respect of those that look down on him, eg. thanos)

though, i could see him still trying to pretend he's above crying and play it up in front of other people, acting as if he just grieves differently. though when he's alone with no one to perform for, that's when he'd really cry. i could see him being mad about it the whole time, though, laughing / yelling at himself and trying to pretend that there's not tears coming out of his eyes. i don't think he'd want to admit to even himself how much he's affected by it. he'd put off the grief and try to keep going about his life until it caught up to him one day and hit him full force

abandonment

bro seems starved of any and all forms of love and attention. i could see him having a pretty deep fear of abandonment. in the show, he seems very hesitant, timid, and unsure when he's on his own, always following someone and waiting for them to take the lead on things / be there to back him up before he does anything. he does nottt strike me as someone who's independent, capable of making his own decisions confidently, or operating without the validation of others.

if he were to be abandoned / given up on by someone he cares about (whether they respect him or are genuinely good to him or not), i could see this being another thing that pushes him to the edge and makes him cry. he seems like the type to desperately try to avoid / deny his need for affection, but if he's truly abandoned (especially after swallowing his pride and trying to keep someone in his life), it'd act as a constant reminder of his overwhelming desire to be loved to the point where he can't keep avoiding it, though he'd once again try to mask his tears with anger and try to convince himself that he didn't gaf about said person to begin with

from a romantic standpoint, i could definitely see him going especially apeshit over a romantic partner that decides to leave him, especially since said romantic partner is likely one of the few people in his life he's allowed himself to depend on and display some level of vulnerability with. based on how he acts in the events of s2, he doesn't seem like he'd be the sweetest or most emotionally mature boyfriend in the world, so it'd probably cause him to spiral, knowing that it was his own issues that led to his relationship ending.

bad trip

considering his substance abuse and the way he acted after thanos died, he most definitely uses drugs as a means of coping and avoiding his emotions so he doesn't have to deal with or acknowledge them. i could see him doing this, having a bad trip, and then coming out the other side feeling like shit and having to grapple with the fact that he's still alone, still bruised from whatever negative experience happened to him, and still right back to where he started emotionally. i don't see him knowing how to deal with his own feelings in a healthier way, so if that coping mechanism fails to make him feel better and forget about things, i could see him crying over that and just feeling worse about himself and the situation once he comes down from it.

insecurity

clearly, nam-gyu has a lot of insecurities and is unsure of himself. he has a specific image that he wants to uphold, and doesn't like when he's called out. if someone were to directly harp on these insecurities, it would definitely set him off. however, he's clearly used to this behavior, as rjw said nam-gyu's been disrespected for basically his whole life, so i think for him to actually cry over it, it'd have to be something that cuts particularly deep and/or is said by someone he perceives to have some sort of importance or agency in his life and how he views himself. for example, a family member or partner expressing their disappointment in him or being embarrassed by him.

ok now to narrow it down to just specifically what would make him cry within the context of a romantic relationship bc i think that's more what you were asking:

being abandoned for real; knowing that it's his fault and that he pushed you past a breaking point and it's completely out of his hands whether you come back or not

jealousy; feeling like you genuinely like someone better than him or would actually leave him for them, especially if it's someone more 'successful', 'normal', and well-adjusted, with a better relationship with their family. things that he's not and doesn't have. i could see him imagining what it'd be like if you were to be with them instead, and how much easier and more 'acceptable' your life would be without him. he seems like he would never admit this while sober but would become more open about it when he's on drugs and being unable to stop himself from crying / showing you how much it affects him

after a particularly bad / intense fight, especially if either you or him threw some harsh words at each other. though, he'd wait til he was alone to cry

feeling like he's disappointed you or has done something that has altered your relationship forever, something that he can't come back from or fully fix / gain your trust back no matter how hard he tries or what he does (eg. maybe if he stole your money for drugs, lost your money by investing it into crypto lol, made a bad impression on your parents / family because he couldn't control himself)

anywayssss YEAH. thank u so much for enjoying my nam-gyu meta posts... i'm crazy but i am free.

[malice-ov-mercy]

Like Always

Pairing: Nick Folio x Noah Sebastian

Content Warnings: 18+, alcohol consumption, vomiting, a little angst, a littl hurt/comfort (but not a lot of comfort)

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: this was suppose to go a different way, but is anyone surprised I abandoned my original idea?

Folio Masterlist

Noah Masterlist

It always drove Nick a little crazy to watch Noah live it up while he sat at the bar. Dancing a little too close with whoever was near, accepting any drink handed to him. Nick worries about him a lot, but he always kept a watchful eye. The last thing he wanted was to step on his toes and tell him what he could and couldn’t do. He’s had a rough go of things lately, and truthfully Nick can’t blame him for wanting to let go of everything for a while.

He’ll ignore the pang in chest like he always does when Noah gives someone else the eyes. He’ll let him be flirty, despite knowing Nick is watching. It’s just for fun, he tells himself. It doesn’t mean anything. When it gets too much, he’ll look away like always.

Noah gets to have his fun and Nick gets to wonder what he did to deserve such a… social not boyfriend. They did everything boyfriends do, except claim the label, much to Nick’s disappointment. Noah said they weren’t exclusive, but they never did anything else with anyone else—at least Nick didn’t. Noah said he had others “on speed dial”, but Nick didn’t believe that for a second.

They lived under the same roof and Nick certainly didn’t see the constant rotation of bodies coming and going that Noah implied. They were across the hall from each other and not once did Nick hear anyone else in Noah’s room. In fact, Nick spent more nights in Noah’s bed than his own.

He may be a flirt, but Noah didn’t sleep around. Even before they started, he could count the number of people he’d fucked, and that was after they’d already been official.

A fourth rum and Coke sure sounded like a good idea ten minutes ago, but Nick struggled to suck it down. The three before hit him all at once, and he was suddenly aware of how badly he needed to piss. He looked out to the sea of bodies, unable to locate Noah. Mild panic bubbled in his gut before it settled. He found him dancing alone, getting lost and really throwing himself into whatever mediocre pop song was blaring. Carefree and bopping along happily to the beat. Nick smiled to himself, happy to see Noah enjoying a moment by himself.

As if he felt his eyes, Noah looked in his direction and smiled brightly. He rolled his body and pretended like he was pulling a rope, hoping to pull Nick to him. Nick shook his head and chuckled. He wished Noah could be this carefree sober, but he was grateful regardless. Seeing him happy is all he ever wanted.

Noah “pulled” with a little more force and Nick was helpless to fight him. With an exasperated eye roll, he grabbed his drink and walked on shaky legs towards him, watching his smile grow wider.

“There’s my boy!” His hand instantly found Nick’s and laced their fingers together. Nick chose to ignore the flutter in chest at Noah calling him his.

“What’re you drinking?” Noah didn’t bother waiting for an answer. He just grabbed Nick’s drink and took a big swig.

Despite his grimace, he had no problem downing half of it.

“Hey!” Nick hurried to take the drink from him. “Slow down, man! You’ve already had enough!”

He looked between his half empty cup and Noah, who wore that big, toothy smile he hadn’t seen in days.

“You’re cute when you pout.”

Heat spread across Nick’s cheeks. He’s drunk.

“You’re drunk.” Nick tells him, quickly averting his eyes and hiding his blush behind a sip of his drink. He can taste something faintly sweet, no doubt thanks to Noah.

“Hm, maybe,” Noah replied, stepping closer to him.

Nick felt a warm hand on his cheek followed by his head gently being turned and tilted upwards. His heart leapt to his throat, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by Noah’s proximity. His expression was impossibly soft—a smile so fond it made his chest ache, his dark eyes so full of something more than the typical affection that inhabited them. Nick could count on one hand the number of times Noah looked at him so… adoringly. He would sacrifice everything and anything for Noah to look at him like that all the time.

“But I still think you’re the cutest.”

The kiss came as a surprise, but Nick melted all the same. Everything around him faded into obscurity; nothing else mattered in that moment. Life could cease to exist and Nick would never know.

For someone who didn’t want anything serious with him, Noah always kissed him like it would be the last time, always so tender and careful, as if Nick would shatter if he was any rougher. It took every ounce of his strength to not collapse. Nick wondered if the sword permanently lodged in his heart was dual bladed, or if he was the only one lucky enough to feel its cold edge.

He lost his grip on his drink when he felt Noah’s tongue prodding his bottom lip. A soft exhale escaped him and he grabbed a fistful of Noah’s nice black shirt, wrinkling the fabric. Sweet bitterness danced across his tongue, tasting every drink Noah threw back. He often disliked the sugary concoctions, much preferring the burn of gasoline, but when it came from Noah, Nick didn’t mind.

Nick chased after him when he pulled away and the faintest smile graced Noah’s lips.

“I like you.” Noah whispered.

Nick stared into his half open eyes and chuckled quietly. “I like you too.”

Noah shook his head, his smile fading into a pensive expression.

“No, Nick. I like you. I like you so much, it scares me.”

Confusion creased his brow. He knew Noah liked him, otherwise he wouldn’t have kissed him, especially so tenderly and especially not in public.

“I might even love you.” Noah confessed.

Thunderous bass and club goers roared back to life, yanking him back down to reality and filling his gut with nausea.

“You’re drunk.” He said flatly.

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Noah…” Nick took a small step back; he wanted a little space, but still craved to feel Noah’s warmth. “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”

Noah stared at him, a frown etched into his face. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“You haven’t given me a reason to.”

Nick didn’t intend to sound so harsh, the words cutting through him with twice the ease they cut through Noah. He felt bad, like he punted the world’s smallest, most fragile puppy—but it wasn’t him that should be feeling guilt.

He shouldn’t, but he allowed Noah to crowd him once more, his large hand coming to rest on his cheek. His breath caught, eyes squeezing shut as his forehead pressed to his. Nick fought every urge to kiss him.

“How can I get you to believe me?” Noah spoke, lips brushing together and voice barely audible above the raucous environment, but echoing profoundly inside Nick’s head.

The nausea in his stomach festered and bubbled up, until it was too much to bear. He quickly hurried past Noah and rushed towards the bathroom. Disgruntled patrons shouted at him as pushed through them. If he tried to mumble apologies, he knew the contents of his stomach would splatter the floor. He thinks he heard Noah calling after him.

Thankfully, the dimly lit bathroom was empty. Nick hastily shoved a stall door open, nearly getting caught in the face as it ricocheted back. He fumbled with the lock before collapsing to his knees over the toilet bowl. A white knuckled grip on the porcelain and trembling hands, he gasped in between dry heaves, both relieved the contents of his stomach stayed inside and desperate for the relief throwing up everything—alcohol, food, too many intense emotions, everything. Nick needed it out of his body.

All at once he wretched, filling the toilet bowl with vomit. The alcohol burned worse the second time. Tears collected on his lashes with the sheer force of his stomach emptying.

Nick leaned back against the stall wall, drained and heavily panting. Beads of sweat collected along his hairline as his body trembled with aftershocks. He felt no better, still just as sickly but with an empty stomach and sour taste in his mouth.

So long, so long Nick wanted to hear those words from Noah. He convinced himself he’d take the confession anyway he could get it—genuine or not—but now that he had it, he wished Noah would take it back. It didn’t feel like it should, how he hoped. There were no birds singing or rainbows, no radiant sunbeams shining down to envelope him in soft warmth. Instead of hearts in Noah’s eyes, a cold, blank, and glazed drunken stare.

Another wave of intense nausea barreled through him, but he managed to wait it out. His eyes began to burn and Nick pressed the back of his hand to his mouth in hopes of stifling the sound of crying.

“Nick?”

He stumbled up on his feet, nearly smacking his face against the bathroom stall. He pulled at the door forgetting it was locked. Mumbling a swear, Nick unlocked it and swung the door open. Noah stood on the other side, a brief flash of surprise on his face before it faded into concern. Nick watched his concern deepen the longer he stared at him, brows creased and a deeply etched frown.

“Are you okay?” Noah asked, reaching out to him.

Nick blinked then pushed past Noah, missing the way he flinched.

“I’m fine.”

Shaky hands turned on the tap. He stared at the water streaming down the drain, feeling a sense of likeness. His reflection looked just as sickly and peakish as he felt—dark circles under his eyes, sunken cheeks, the only color in his face that of the bathroom lighting. Nick chanced a glance at Noah through the mirror and quickly refocused his attention to washing his hands. He couldn’t handle the sad and wounded puppy staring back at him.

“I’m sorry if I did something to upset you.” Noah’s tone was genuine and laced with hurt.

Nick hated how guilty he felt. But he hated how oblivious Noah was more. He didn’t want a fight though, especially not in a gross bathroom of a mediocre club. So like always, he let it slide.

“I know.” He sighed, feeling a familiar weight settle on his shoulders once more.

He could feel Noah’s eyes burning a hole through him, but he refused to look at him again. “I don’t mean to cut your fun short, but I don’t feel great. Could we leave?”

To Nick’s surprise, Noah was quick to agree.

“Yeah, of course.”

Nick sucked in a short breath when he felt Noah’s presence behind him followed by his hands on his hips, and a quick peck in the cheek.

“I, uh,” Nick cleared his throat and shut off the tap. “I still gotta piss, so…”

“I’ll wait.” Noah gave him a small smile, then leaned in for a proper kiss, face scrunching as he pulled away. “You need a mint.”

Amused, Nick scoffed.

His mind wouldn’t stop, his brain and every thought inhabiting it spinning round and round on a carousel. His own bed felt foreign to him—cold like a far off frozen planet and just as uninviting. More often than not, Nick spent his nights in Noah’s bed finding it much easier to sleep with him near. But nothing sounded less pleasing than sleeping next to him tonight.

He at least helped Noah into bed, stripped him of his clothes in favor of his favorite sweats. Noah tried to pull Nick in bed, using every trick in his book to crack him, but for once, Nick was able to deny his infuriatingly endearing puppy dog eyes.

If Nick stared long enough, he could almost visualize a future with Noah in the details of the popcorn ceiling—and that hurt more than anything. It would be so easy to paint, but neither of them knew how to hold a brush.

The sound of his door creaking startled him. Nick saw a very exhausted and rough looking Noah peaking through.

“You okay?” Nick asked.

Noah opened the door fully but stayed in the hall. “Can’t sleep.”

He stared at him for a moment, debating if he should share his bed or stay firm in his decision—and like clockwork, Nick found himself giving in.

Without saying a word, he reached across the bed and pulled the covers away. Noah hesitated briefly then quietly entered the room. Nick turned off the bedside lamp as Noah crawled in beside him. Even in the dark he knew Noah was watching him.

Against his better judgment, Nick lifted his arm, silently giving Noah permission to further invade his space. His long limbs wrapped around him, and Nick’s heart lurched at the heavy content sigh that escaped him. Warmth seeped into him, making the bed less cold and more familiar.

The image of their fabricated future slowly faded from his brain, leaving behind the harsh reality.

“Good night, Nick.” Noah whispered.

Nick draped his arm across Noah’s shoulder, resisting the urge to kiss the top of his head.

“Good night, Noah.”

Tag list: @shilohrosechicken @missduffsblog @poisongirl616 @ladyveronikawrites @theroyaldixon @circle-with-me @deathblacksmoke @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingintothegrey y @abiomens @thisbicc @romanregins-supreme @meekahy @sitkowski @darksigns-exe @amelia-acero @th4t-emO-k1d @fadingangelwisp @geminigirlfromfinland

If you would like to be added, please fill this out!

If you would like to be removed, please send me a message!

[ambiguous-avery]

Pick Your Poison³

S1!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You | WC: 2541

Summary: Seven years is a lot to catch up on all in one night. But there’s a lot that can be said without words alone.

Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, unprotected P in V sex (make safe decisions, friends), femme nicknames (pretty girl), g/n nicknames (baby, sweetheart), reader is AFAB, no use of Y/N, fluff, no beta we die like men

Now Playing: Pick Your Poison by Knox

A/N: And it turned into a 3-parter. Sorry, not sorry. Finally a conclusion and a bit of happiness for our boy! @wendichester, here's a tag for the conclusion. Took the drink from the Supernatural Official Cocktail Book (that I totally didn't buy just for this story 😉 If anyone is interested, it's the "Still Kicking" drink) Read Part 1 and Part 2!

Dean had never been more motivated to wrap up a case in his entire life. He almost felt bad that people dying hadn’t lit the fire under his ass in the same way your offer had. You hadn’t so much as stoked his motivation. Rather, you had thrown gasoline straight onto it, causing it to roar and flare, and Dean was sure it had rivaled the fire from the salt and burn job. He had unceremoniously dropped Sam off at the motel that night, telling Sam that he’d be back in the morning. Maybe. Maybe early afternoon. He wasn’t entirely sure. Sam had just rolled his eyes at him.

He pulled up to the bar just as you stepped out of the front door, and he waved you over. You whistled and took a seat in the Impala.

“You really know how to charm a woman, pretty boy.” You set your purse down in the footwell and looked at him. He was ready for your gaze this time around, and instead of knocking him off balance, he met it with an equal intensity that charged the air in the car. Your look carried your burning curiosity, but there was still that unending compassion in your eyes that he remembered seeing years ago. He had seen some pretty awful things in the world. They had left him calloused and jaded. But you? He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened in those same seven years that had shaped you into the person that was before him now. Someone with eyes that could cut someone down or comfort them and had no troubles switching between the two.

“Only the ones I like,” Dean finally responded. You chuckled. 

The only thing easier than the drive back to your apartment was the conversation that flowed between the two of you. You told Dean about things that had happened since you last saw him. You graduated from college with a degree that was about as useless as the paper it was printed on when it came to applying for jobs in your chosen field. Several failed relationships back to back had left you happily single, and overall, it sounded like things in your life were relatively okay. Good but not great. He wanted to dig a little more. Wanted to ask about all the little details you glossed over. But it hardly felt like his place to know. When you directed the conversation spotlight onto his life, he gave vague answers and brushed over large swaths of his time away. Dean could see the way your eyes implored him to give more detail. Implored him to spill all the secrets that were fighting to spill from his lips. He bit them back.

Dean took a seat at the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room space in your apartment. It was a nice little place, but he could tell by the scattered boxes that you were either still moving in or maybe getting ready to move out. He wasn’t sure which it was.

“If I remember correctly, I’m pretty sure I still owe you a drink.” He watched as you pulled several liquor bottles from the cupboards and set them down between the two of you, reminding him of times long past. Though the liquor here was much more expensive this time around, he noted.

“What can you make?” He flashed you a grin. You winked back at him.

“I could make you a drink that reminds me of this guy I hooked up with in college,” you said cheekily, locking eyes with him. He arched an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Alright, let’s see what that’s like.”

Dean was regretting that he hadn’t been able to watch you work behind the bar earlier in the evening, but he was making up plenty for it now. Watching you move was something else. You had your own bar setup. It was less professional than the one you had at work, but it did the job nonetheless. With a cocktail glass filled with ice set in front of you, you grabbed a bottle of rye in one hand and a jigger in the other before upending the bottle with a bit of flair. The alcohol splashed into the cup as you dumped it before you tossed the jigger from one hand and into the other, catching it with two fingers before setting both the whiskey and the jigger down. Dean whistled.

“Flashier than I remember.”

“I’ve had a few years to practice.”

It was mesmerizing to watch, even though everything you did was relatively mundane. Sure, you had fancy tricks that made every moment seem more extravagant, but Dean had the distinct feeling that he was only as interested in the process of drink making because it was you making the drink. Two dashes of bitters went in next. Hell, even when you popped open the can of ginger beer, his eyes were drawn to your fingers. It was a simple thing, but Dean watched like it was the most riveting thing he could set his eyes on. You carefully cut into a lemon and sliced away the skin before wrapping it around your finger and letting it slide into the drink. You set it on a napkin in front of him with a flourish, and Dean thought that that was what love felt like.

It wasn’t a grandiose display of affection with dramatic declarations or sweeping gestures. It wasn’t the whispered honeyed words exchanged in the intimacy of night. It wasn’t even those three little words. Instead, it was found in the quiet, steady confidence that radiated from you. It was in the way your eyes settled on him, brimming with an unspoken understanding, as if you were acutely aware of every struggle and triumph that had shaped his journey to this moment. And it was in the soft, gentle curve of your smile, a tender expression that conveyed more than words ever could.

“Drink up, pretty boy. If you like it enough, maybe it’ll become the Dean Winchester special at the bar.” He laughed and picked up the glass, brought it to his lips, and took a long, slow drink from it. His first cocktail, and it was going to be named after him. It was a simple drink with only three ingredients that he saw you put in, not counting the twist of lemon. But the spicy rye mixed well with the sharp ginger beer that kicked at the end. He liked it.

You had already set about mixing up the same drink for yourself, emptying the can of ginger beer into your own glass.

“This is what you think I’m like?” he asked. Your eyes twinkled with the same teenaged mischief that had drawn him in the first time.

“I think you’re better. But this is a close second.”

“Damn, I’m smooth.” He laughed, clinking his glass with yours before you both drank. There was a beat of silence. “Humor me for a moment, sweetheart. Do you really remember me from those years ago?” You set your glass down on the counter and leaned back, crossing your arms as you thought. Dean watched the way the light from the kitchen overhead caught in your hair, casting shadows on the curve of your cheek. He wanted to hold it, feel your skin beneath his fingers again.

“I remember more about you now than I did back then, if that makes any sense,” you finally said, a small smile playing on your lips. “Back then, you were just another guy at the frat. A little mysterious, a little dangerous.” Dean chuckled at that.

“And now?”

“Now?” The ice cubes clinked in your glass as you picked it up, regarding him with a thoughtful expression. “I see a man with fire in his eyes and a heart burdened by a darkness he can’t shake.”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. How? How did you understand him in a way that no one else seemed to? He had spent so long closing himself off from others, from forming connections that could be ripped away in an instant by the cruel hand of fate. But when his eyes found yours again, there was a warmth in them that made Dean’s chest tighten. Your perceptiveness was something he was unfamiliar with. You maybe had a collective five hours of getting to know him and already you could strip away the layers he had carefully placed around him. That disarming gaze of yours was both terrifying and liberating. He didn’t feel like he had to put on a performance. Didn’t have to put up a facade. He had never felt so seen.

You stepped around the counter, drawing in close to him. He could feel electricity crackle between the two of you, and he turned to face you. You settled between his parted legs, the heat of your body mingling with his. He could feel his heart drumming in his chest, the intoxicating scent of your perfume filling his senses. Your hand lifted to trace a line along his jaw, your touch feather-light yet searing all the same.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly, and Dean knew what you meant. Knew that you were asking about more than just his physical safety. You were asking about the storm that raged inside him. The storm that darkened his thoughts and kept his heart heavy. Dean searched your eyes, finding concern and genuine care there, and for a moment, he let himself believe that maybe he could share some of his burden with you.

“I’m…” he hesitated. He had spent so long tamping everything down that he wasn’t sure he could even find the right words for what he felt. “I’m trying to be.” The words were so simple, but it felt like a crack had split down the center of the wall he had spent years carefully building up. Your thumb brushed against his cheek lightly, a silent gesture of support that anchored him in the moment.

“I can see that,” you muttered softly. “It’s okay not to be okay all the time.” The weight of those words settled over Dean like a warm blanket, offering comfort in a way he hadn’t realized he needed. And then, without another word, Dean closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a gentle yet achingly tender kiss. It was soft and sweet, a silent confession of all the things he couldn’t find the words to say.

You led him to your room before long. It was a slow, sensual flurry of messy kisses, fingers tracing along heated skin, and sweet nothings gasped into existence as the two of you undressed. His back hit your mattress as you straddled his hips.

“Let me take you for a ride, hm?” You placed a hand on his chest, steadying yourself as you sank down on him. Dean groaned, low and throaty, as you took him inch by agonizing inch. Adoration shone in his green eyes which were wide and unblinking, not wanting to miss a single second of the moment. You looked down at him, eyes half-lidded and moaning at the feel of him. Dean didn’t fuck like he hunted. On a hunt, he was quick, efficient, get in-get out, take no prisoners. But in this moment, he was perfectly content to let you take the reins and drag the night on as long as you’d like. And drag the night out, you did. You braced your hands against his chest, your nails digging into his skin. He only offered a guttural sound as your hips sat flush against his, his cock pressed against the deepest part of you. You answered him with a whimper.

You set a slow, torturous pace, and every one of Dean’s coherent thoughts slipped further and further away with each roll of your hips. When he looked up at you, you were the only one in the world anymore. His jaw went slack, lips parted as he settled his hands on your hips, thumbs rubbing against the jut of the bone there.

“Dean,” you breathed, “Fuck, Dean...”

“Go ahead, pretty girl,” he mumbled, his words beginning to bleed into each other. “Take what you need.” And that was all you needed to hear before you gave into your own selfish desire to ride him exactly the way you wanted. Your chest heaved as your breaths became more ragged, your movements stuttering.

“More.” You ground your hips against him, searching for more of that delicious friction. Dean thrust upwards into you, using his hold on your hips as leverage, and you yelped in surprise. He shifted and moved one hand to your shoulder, pulling you to him. You leaned forward, pressing your chest against his, your breaths ghosting over his skin. The new angle caused the length of his cock to drag against your clit with every thrust. Your responding cry was breathless. His fingers dug into your skin, threatening to leave marks in their wake.

“Please, baby. Need you so bad,” he grunted between thrusts. Your name spilled from his lips, and he sounded so utterly wrecked. It was the last piece you needed, and as he seated himself fully into you, you clenched and fluttered around him. He held you close, finding his own release moments after you.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled out of you, and you both laid there for a moment, hearts pounding in sync. Your fingers traced random patterns across his chest as he slowly regained his bearings. Eventually, he rolled onto his side to face you, touching his forehead to yours.

“You’re something else.” He pressed his hand to your cheek. You smiled under his touch, mirth dancing in your eyes.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I think I owe you a thank you,” Dean said softly.

“For what?”

“You were the first person who ever gave me a way out. Who showed me that I had a choice in everything.” You chuckled.

“I didn’t do anything special, Dean. I just…”

“You did. You don’t realize it.” He reached past you, grabbing for his wallet he had set on your bedside table. You watched him curiously as he opened it and pulled out a worn, yellowed paper that had been folded over a few times.

“Is that-” As he unfolded it, even though the ink had faded over time, ten familiar digits were scrawled in your handwriting.

“My good luck charm,” he boasted. You laughed and rolled on top of him. “Got me through some tough times.”

“That number has been disconnected for years.”

“I know,” he said, a somber tone bleeding into his voice. Your smile faded, and you rested your head against his chest. Dean tucked the paper back into his wallet and tossed it, missing the bedside table. It thumped somewhere along the floor. He wrapped his arms around you, and you melted against him.

“I’ll get you my cell number before you go. Until then, tell me all the things you wanted to say over the years?” And for once, under the cover of night and in the warmth of your embrace, Dean felt safe enough to bare his soul to you.

---

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dean taglist: @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @jollyhunter @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth

Want to join the taglist? Comment or Ask Away!

[halfofozsfavouriteteam]

“We used to talk about everything, after we stopped fighting.” Elphaba recounted, smiling as Glinda spoke of how she and her Elphaba had bonded over theology and the question of good and evil. “You are smart—brilliant, in fact. Though you didn’t seem to want to let on.” she recalled. She had noticed it immediately, from how quickly she had figured out that she was the one who had levitated Nessa’s chair, not Madame Morrible. “We would talk about Animal rights, and what each of us would do if we were in charge of Oz…how we would make Oz a better place for everyone, not just humans.” They had so many plans, wonderful plans, that had never come to pass.

“From my mother?” Elphaba didn’t know much about her mother’s side of the family since she had passed. “Father has been in politics since long before I was born. He’s from a political family, though we didn’t really see much of them when I was growing up.” She suspected that he kept them away, ashamed of her.

“Nessa was always the next in line here too.” she stated with a wry smile after Glinda revealed how Nessa was currently the Governor, taking their mother’s place. It was ironic how Elphaba herself had taken such an interest in law and politics, much like her father, but instead of being proud of her, or even simply seeing it as way for them to bond, he had just ignored it.

“I’m glad for her.” she remarked honestly. It was a terrible thing to be despised by one’s own father, and Elphaba didn’t wish it on anyone.

Glinda’s smile is a comfort, as it always has been, and she smiles back after she squeezed her arm.

“You did?” Elphaba smiled, touched by the idea of the two people she loved the most—Glinda and Nessa—bonding over baking. “She and I used to cook together back home. We were inseparable when we were kids.” she recounted, a bit of melancholy in her gaze as she remembered how close they were and how they had drifted apart as they got older. She missed her sister.

She was confused however, by something that Glinda said. “Her arms? Your Nessa doesn’t have arms?” she asked, her heart wrenching. “My sister can’t walk, because of m—the milkflowers.” she corrected herself with a sigh, shaking her head as she remembered Glinda’s admonishment. “My mother used to chew them hoping that the second baby wouldn’t turn out like me, but she must have had a reaction, because she died…and when Nessa was born, her legs were tangled and…” she trailed off.