#im going to be a mess the next several days

[qrtem]

im going through the horrors

[fushitoru]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away. 

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[everydaythesame69]

Can't stop thinking about an older woman holding my head in her lap while her husband rapes my fertile little pussy,

She can't have children of her own for whatever reason, so she brought me home, under the pretense of just another one night stand.

Next thing i know I'm on their bed with my head in her lap, too drunk to put up much of a fight. She's holding my ankles so I'm spread nice and wide for her husband to rut into, panting and groaning, using me like im nothing but a toy to get off in, while she coos in my ear about how good im doing, how ill look so cute all swollen with their baby, that ill be the perfect little incubator for them. That i look so good getting stretched out by her husbands big, fat cock.

She reaches down and rubs my neglected clit, eliciting a sound somewhere between a sob and a moan from me, i should hate this, but I'm so fucking wet. I beg them to stop,let me go,slow down, please. She shushs me, rubbing faster while i squirm, on the verge of cumming. My walls clench down on his cock as i get closer, making him fuck into me harder, faster, pushing us both over the edge. He slams his cock painfully hard against my cervix, his hot cum shooting straight up into my waiting womb, my orgasm only serving to milk the last few drops out of him. He pulls out and i feel his cum dripping out of me, which she quickly pushes back in with her fingers, shoving it back up into my fertile womb, making me cry from the humiliation and overstimulation. My sensitive cunt tightening down on her fingers.

This ritual continues for over a month until she gets a positive test, several times a day, leaving me nothing but a fucked out mess, constantly dripping cum and unbearably sensitive. Their perfect little incubator.

She tells me she's always wanted a really big family.

[cowboymatt]

summary: you can’t sleep without your stuffed animal and matt becomes your second option.

warnings: anxiety/start of an anxiety attack, fluff, “angst” (slight arguing if you squint), reader ATTACHED to this stuffed animal, pet names (baby, sweetheart), mr wrinkleton mention!!!

wc: 1k

𝓨ou walked into matt's room after a very long day, getting ready to fall asleep. he was already in there per usual, under his blankets. he looked at you as you walked in, a soft smile growing across his face. you just wanted to be cuddled up next to him underneath the comforter, with your childhood stuffed animal, lucky.

but when you took a closer look at matt’s bed, the place you last left the faded blue bunny, there was no stuffed animal to be found. that’s when you noticed matt’s bedding was switched out from what it was this morning.

starting to worry, you asked, “matt? where’s lucky?”

“the stuffed animal?” his eyebrows furrowed, not sure if he knew exactly what you were talking about. you’ve told him the name you gave your stuffed animal probably once, so he was hesitant in assuming that was what you were talking about.

“yeah.” your expression dropped, as the missing stuffed animal was starting to settle in your mind. you had no idea where it could be and it was starting to make you anxious. bad things always happened when you didn’t sleep with that stuffed animal, and the thought of that happening tonight, terrified you.

"i was just giving it a quick wash, it should be done tomorrow." he said, hopefully comforting your nerves with his confirmation. but it was somehow the exact opposite happened, your chest started inflating a little too fast, and matt was quick to notice. he shoved the blankets off of him, getting up to meet you where you stood. his hands immediately grabbing ahold of your arms, in attempt to comfort you, calm you down. "im sorry. was i not supposed to?" he asked, severely concerned. he couldn't stand the idea of messing something up that meant so much to you. he didn't think anything of it when he decided to toss it in the wash along with mr. wrinkleton, but he was now hating himself for not taking an extra second or two to think.

you had no answer to his questions, feeling completely overwhelmed with the sudden change you were going to have to deal with tonight. you never slept without that thing, even when with matt. you still found a way to slip it into your nighttime cuddles. suddenly, tears threatened to fall from your eyes as the anxiety started to take over your body. you knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep tonight, but you didn’t realize you weren’t going to have to deal with an anxiety attack on top of it.

"hey, sweetheart. it's okay." he pulled you into a comforting hug, soothing out your nerves before they could get to be too much. he brushed his hand over your hair over and over again. it was a constant, familiar feeling and it immediately helped ground you. your face still felt extremely heated, but it felt as though it was slowly fading away. just before matt said, "there's nothing to worry about, okay? he'll be done by the time you wake up tomorrow."

“you don’t understand, matt. i haven’t been able to sleep without him since i was a kid.” you mumbled into his chest.

"wait a minute, him? you've been seeing another guy this whole time?" he accused with a chuckle, obviously trying to make you laugh. it kind of hurt when it failed, though he had to admit it was a very horrible kind of joke now that he thought about it, and it probably only made everything worse.

“not funny.” you shook your head softly, expression flat, as another tear rolled down your cheek. “im serious, matt. i need him,” you told him. the words sort of hurt matt in the process of you speaking them, of course you didn’t mean to, but it made him feel like he wasn’t enough for you. made him feel less than the stuffed animal. he understood your problem and knew how much you depended on it, but he wished that he could help just as much as the small plush bunny.

he lead you over to sit on the edge of his bed, as he crouched down to be perfectly aligned with your face, his hands now rested on your thighs for support. now looking directly into your eyes, he started rubbing small comforting motions with his hands. his words were just as comforting when he said, "i'm really sorry, baby. i really didn't mean to put him in there."

“it’s okay…” you accidentally broke the eye contact, feeling kind of ashamed for what you were about to say. after all it was just a dumb plush bunny. you refused to look at him, forcing your eyes to the ground next to him instead, before you spoke, “i’m just like really scared to sleep now.”

he lifted your head, making eye contact once again, making sure you were listening to what he was saying. “why? you know i’m right here.”

you shrugged, feeling stupid for even feeling like this over a fucking stuffed animal. "i don't know... i just know whenever i don't have it, i have nightmares. vivid nightmares." your lips started to quiver as some examples started replaying in your head.

matt grabbed a hold of your face, wiping any excess tears from your cheeks, “hey, i’m going to be here the whole time, okay?” you nodded your head in response, trying to hold back the avalanche of tears that you felt.

matt swiftly headed over to where he was laying before, but this time making a little spot for you to snuggle in. “c’mere,” he said, holding out an arm to you. you immediately crawled to your little spot, letting him engulf you in his arms the second you got there. he pulled the blanket over the both of you.

“goodnight sweetheart, i love you.” he planted a kiss upon your forehead before you nuzzled into his chest, now knowing he would be the one to suppress the horrible dreams.

but when you woke up the next morning, you couldn't quite tell if that had been the case. because as you held onto matt, you felt something fluffy in between the two of you. grabbing it, you realized it was the faded beige bunny you had been so worried about the night before.

NOTES ! 🫐

a/n: yall ever know the feeling when someone you love messes something up on accident but you can be mad at them so you just feel the overwhelming urge to cry?? yeah that’s how this feels 😭

[hypernova-writes]

PLEADR HEAR ME OUT MY TF2 MAJESTY:

The mercs giving or receiving hickeys.

s..specifically medic and sniper 😍 and and also scout… MEOWWWW

thank u sm for feeding me with such amazing content

You're Welcome!! I'm currently cooking up my next long fic right now (more yandere unhinged Medic coming btw-) I also want to apologize for the lack of writing recently! Stuffs been pretty crazy in my life right now but i'm back! still sick but im back! (Or atleast trying to be—)

Merc's receiving and giving Hickeys: [Medic, Scout, Sniper]

Medic

Receiving: Medic LOVES when you give him hickeys. This man will wear them with PRIDE. Give them on his neck, his chest, his arms, hell he even ended up with one on his cheek once.

He bruises pretty easily, so whenever you end up making out and you start trailing down his chin to his neck...Oh he's a mess! He loves teasing you for this though-

"My little liebling...jou just love marking me up~ Don't worry, no one is going to take me from you."

He's LOUD so you better hope that no one is around that day.

Now when it comes to him leaving them on you?

His favorite spots are your thighs and your breasts. He loves how squishy they are and how easy it is to get you all marked up.

It riles him up so much when you two are about to be intimate and he sees the previous marks that he left on you starting to fade.

"Mhm..looks like I need to leave more, Liebling~. Zhey're fading.."

Scout

ANOTHER ONE WHOS LOUD.

He's also very sensitive, like, he starts whimpering type of sensitive, I headcanon the RED Scout to be a bit tanner than the BLU one, so when you mark him up he'll get all flustered because the others can see it.

"Jeez babe, what are ya a vampire or somethin'?.." He loves it don't stop. Will question you if you suddenly stop.

When the shoe is on the other foot?

He's such a fucking teasing prick.

Leaves them in obvious spots, has left one on your cheek before.

He likes to leave them in clusters, so you'll have several aligning one area of your neck. He likes to nuzzle into your skin afterwards to feel the heat of your skin.

"Tch. Why hide em? Everyone in the damn base knows ya my girl anyway."

Sniper

Will become flustered, turn so red that this man could put the damn shirt he wears to shame.

You leave them alot on his chest around his scars, the area is sensitive to him but he loves to look down and see your little love bites.

Doesn't want you to leave them too high up, not that he's not proud to show em off, he just doesn't wanna deal with the teasing he'll get from the other mercs.

"..try to keep em low love, please?..dont wanna hear those blokes mouths.."

Now when it's time to put them on you?

FERAL. FERAL. FERALLLLL

He bites, and he bites hard, you aren't leaving with a hicky you're leaving with a damn bite mark.

Mostly on your inner thighs and your hips. He loves the plush, bonus if you have a belly? Oh yea he's biting there too.

He likes to bite, then suck and lick on the area to make sure his mark stays, if it doesn't, prepare for him to do it again.

He has drawn blood one before, and you thought it was the hottest thing ever, you told him this and all dominance went out the window as he got a little embarrassed.

"..sorry sheila..got a lil carried away..here..let me kiss it better

Writing Snipers had be clawing at the walls of my enclosure— I'm so down bad for this man.

[st4rwritez]

hi pookieee i have a cute nika request

reader and nika had a little bit of a argument/disagreement the night before but they talked it out and they were mostly okay when they went to bed. y/n is still a little grumpy about it in the morning and nika is just as stubborn as her and is determined to make her smile and laugh. like nika wakes her up with kisses and when she sees y/n is still grumpy she just starts smothering her with kisses, making stupid jokes, cuddling her and refusing to let go, etc.

HAIII!! This request is so cutie pie!! Last drop of the night had to pick a good oneee!!

Makeup kisses

Pairing: Nika mühl x reader

Rating: fluff!!

Summary: request above!!

౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ౨ৎ ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩.

It was about an hour after a fight with your girlfriend, nika. The two of you both curled up on bed together

Even tho nika was cooled down and you both had made up you still had anger from the fight pent up in you.

But no matter how hard you tried that anger would not stop you from falling asleep, tired from the stress from that night.

The next morning that anger did not escape or go away you were still mad with Nika, the argument lingering.

You felt a light kiss on your shoulder from nika, mad you stayed in position crossing your arms.

“Baby i know your awake” she said sitting up in the bed kissing you again.

Sighing seeing you still angry she brushed through your hair with her fingers not giving up on you placing a kiss on your head.

“C’mon baby im sorry.” But to no avail you still stayed on your side, arms crossed, with no response to her.

Then she put her arms around your body hugging you and kissing up and down your neck.

Trying not to smile you turned the other way hiding your face in her t-shirt.

“Ohh see your laughinggg aren’t you?!?” She said in a condescending tone kissing you on the forehead several times.

Trying to get away from her you attempted to wiggle your way out of her arms.

“Your not going anywhere bebo” she tightened her grip on your waist and pulled you on-top of her.

Your hair was a mess draping over your face.

Nika laughed a little bit before joking “you have never looked sexier on top of me babe” she laughed pushing your hair out of your face.

“Nikaaaaaaa” you groaned out letting a smile slip across your face.

“See i got you! That was so a smile.” She said

You buried your head into her neck as she scratched your back.

“Nope. I didn’t smile” you protested back.

Before you could say anything else Nika flipped you back over and peppered kisses all over your face your hands flapping trying to stop her.

“Nika stop itt” you said moving your face from her.

“Nope. Not until you smile.” She said now kissing your neck.

“But its okay i could stay like this all day baby” she said.

“That was so cheesy” you said covering her mouth with your hand before she had the “brilliant” idea to lick your palm.

“NIKAAA!” You said laughing finally removing your hand from her face and wiping it on the sheets.

She laughed into you “i got youuu” she said sitting up and getting out of bed smiling at her victory over you.

“Fineee” she held out her hand pulling you out of bed your feet landing onto the hardwood floor of your room.

“Now can i get a real kiss?” She said holding you by your waist.

“Of course” you said before kissing her.

[beaddie]

2+1=3

 summary: In which xeno wingfield will finally meet stanley snyders's other friend from another state, but before can stanley introduce the two from each other, xeno already met her...?

Saturday, 11:31 am

<wingfield residence>

☆

"hey xeno, wanna meet (y/n)?"

an 11-year-old stanley snyder asks xeno wingfield, who is getting everything he needs ready for his next rocket building project (xeno had previously created like several of rockets, its a long process of trial and error for him).

It's been three years since xeno first met stanley. they met when other kids mess with him, and stanley has to step in, and the rest is history. so back to the story.

In all honesty, xeno has no interest in making new 'friends' , to him, stan is more than enough of a friend because he consistently helps him in his little experiments. stan sometimes acts as his bodyguard too.

even so, stanley occasionally brings up this '(y/n)' whenever they discuss trivial matters. like:

"that's kinda remind me of (y/n) "

"(y/n) like this things too"

"sounds like (y/n) would do"

so I suppose xeno can't escape meeting with this '(y/n)', but he was not expecting seeing stanley's other friend so soon.

xeno answered nonchalantly, "oh? and when can I meet this other friend of yours?" while continuing with gathering his materials and papers. while stan waited for xeno to finish, he leaned his back against the door.

"well, she called me this morning that she will come visit me this next saturday, she will stay here with my family for the next four days" stanley replied.

"is that so... then Im looking forward to meeting (y/n) then" xeno said as he motion stanley to carry the heavy materials of his rocket to put it to a mini wagon cart.

☆

"tell me, stan, how did you meet (y/n) exactly?" xeno questions stan. together, the two is walking outside and reach the land of a nearby lake to launch xeno's new rocket. It's a perfect day to launch the rocket, with the proper humidity level and weather, and plenty of trees around that give them a peaceful and quiet scenery.

"ah well" stan paused for a moment, his eyes closed, and he leaned his head back to face the sun, pulling the cart in hand.

" we've known each other since we were babies. our old men has known each other since they were teenagers. so..."

"oh, I assume your fathers brought you together since then?" xeno stated as the two reached into their destination.

"yeah you can say that" then stanley picked up the rocket, helping xeno put it together and get ready for launching off into the blue sky.

the two worked together to put the rocket together, carefully attaching every parts and making sure everything was secure. after the rocket was put together, stanley carried it off so that xeno could start operating the rocket's controls. as xeno prepared the rocket for launch, the two were both excited and anxious. the rocket launched with a countdown and flew into the sky, leaving a trail of smoke and sparks in its path. then, they hear a huge boom as they watch the rocket take off.

BOOM!!

the rocket launch is again—another failure, as expected.

"well, there goes another rocket launching fail..." stanley cutting off the silence

"as predicted, but with an improvement, we surpassed another record for the rocket's altitude, and it is higher than before" xeno said with a closed smile

☆

6 days later.

CORNERSTONE ACADEMY

friday, 2:19 pm

"are you sure it's okay that you go home alone today?" stanley stated while watching xeno gathering his things in his bag.

they were in their homeroom class at the time, and while most students were leaving for home, some stayed behind in attending in club activities after school, like stan, who have a soccer practice for their nearing tournament next month.

"I've already told you stan that I'm fine going home alone myself for the time being, and I don't want to interfere with your soccer practice." he was reassured by xeno, books and encyclopedias in his hand and carrying a backpack.

"but what if they-"

"just like I said, I am fine stan" xeno cut off stanley and give him a look that literally said 'don't make me repeat it'

"ugh, fine but be careful" stanley grumbled under his breath as he left the classroom and made his way to the soccer field.

"alright."

then for the day, the two parted ways.

☆

as xeno was peacefully strolling down the street, the three self-proclaimed school bullies abruptly surrounded him in.

"well well well, look do we have here...! the nerd!" bully 1, or the leader of the bullies, laughed slyly

"where's that guard dog of yours huh? not with you today?" bully 2 stated as he leans closer to xeno

" have you heard personal space?" while rolling his eyes, xeno remarked

then suddenly bully 3 snatched xeno's books in his hand

"ohhh, looky here ey, his nerdy stuff!~ why don't we 'decorate' it huh? would you like it?" bully 3 said as he looks at xeno's book with false interest

"as a matter of fact, no I do not." xeno responded neutrally.

"huh..?! are you threatening us?" bully 1 threatened him

"don't be so cocky you nerd" bully 2 added

with three against one, xeno is obviously powerless. you've got to be kidding, right? he may have an extraordinary mind, but it's obvious that he lacks a strong physical physique. that's stanley's forte, and he don't have a choice but to stand there and stood quietly as the three starts to 'decorate' his books, if I said decorate his books, what I meant to rip and destroy the books.

without stanley on his side, he is absolutely defenseless.

thump

thump

thump

the three bullies were alerted when they heard the four of them make a running sound as it approaching them.

"what the- who dare to-" bully 1 exclaimed

WHACK

xeno and the other bullies can't help but watch in astonishment as bully 1 is knocked back to the ground by a girl's powerful and unexpected kick.

there stood a girl— (h/c) hair flowing through the air flawlessly with (e/c) staring sharply at them while tucking her hands in her pockets. and xeno can't help but stare at the girl in admiration.

'how.....elegant'

"leave him alone." the mysterious girl warned the three as bully 1 held his bleeding nose.

"who do you think your talk-" the kick to the bully 2's chins interrupts him, causing him to stumble and drop to his butt.

"you...!— get her!" the two was told by their leader as they approached the girl and started foolishly attack her.

"tsk" then the girl punch their cheeks one by one like a professional fighter.

xeno can't help but continue to stare the girl while the fight escalates. his mind was full with questions. who is this girl? where does she come from? how old is she? What's her name? If stan was here, he is so sure that he wants to meet this fascinating girl too and learn everything there is to know about her.

then the bullies' voice suddenly cut off xeno's stunned face

blink

blink

blink

'what?'

"mark my words girly, and you nerd! this isn't over!!" bully 1 cried out as he and his goons run away from where the girl and xeno is.

"this isn't over!!" then the bullies finally disappeared. "are you....ok...?" the girl asks xeno

"huh- yes, I'm alright, and I truly thank you for saving me from those idiots."

"no problem.....but can I ask you what time is it?" unexpectedly, the girl asks him (and stare at his forehea—), as if nothing had happened.

'huh? you just beat up a couple idiots, and now you want to know the time?'

xeno sighs but replied anyway as a form of gratitude

"it's around 2:44"

"oh thanks"

as if she were running out of time for work, the girl rushed off, leaving xeno dazed as his books scattered all around him. and xeno smiled at the running girl

'what an elegant and interesting girl~'

unknown to him, the mysterious girl is sprinting toward the academy, eager to see her long time friend who is playing a game of soccer on the academy's field.

"stan!"

☆

saturday, 10:44 am

wingfield residence

"stan, you would not believe what happened yesterday!"xeno exclaimed to his friend stanley in an energetic tone.

they were currently hanging out in the backyard of the residence to continue xeno's rocket development and prepare to launch it once more.

xeno can't stop thinking about the mysterious girl that save him yesterday, and he can't wait to tell stanley to know about the girl too

"hmm..? what happened?" stan replied as he lean his back to the backyard's tree that were covering them from the sun's heat

"there was a girl that saved me yesterday!"

stanley abruptly stood up as soon as he heard xeno say these words.

stan spoke frantically and worried to his friend, "hah? saved you from what?! who?! did that goons mess with you again?! tsk, I knew it, I should have come with you yesterday."

"just like I said, a girl saved me! oh stan, if you were there yesterday, you should've seen her graceful kick..! It's elegant!"

as xeno continue to ramble on about this mysterious girl he met yesterday, stanley couldn't help but see similarities between the girl xeno talking about and his childhood friend (who just surprisingly arrived yesterday and met him on the soccer field)

"I was about to ask her name yesterday, but she quickly left. I really hope to see her again. and oh, as I recall, your friend (y/n) will arrive today, yes?".

"your right, but she arrived yesterday and I had no idea. heh, that girl really loves to surprise people" stan amused as he replied to xeno, then he added

"you wouldn't mind to meet her right now, right?"

"oh, you mean I can now meet her?"

"yup, I'll bring her over for you"

"then it would be fine"

"cool"

stan picks up his bike and heads outside to the his friends house. stanley thrilled as he returns to his parents' home to pick up his friend. he can't wait to xeno and (y/n) to finally meet!

☆

"(y/n) c'mon out, there's someone I want you to meet!" stan called to (y/n) as she come out to the stairs house.

she teased, "I'm here, calm down pretty boy" (y/n), putting on her shoes.

"l'm obviously calm, what are you talking about"

"whatever you say"

"get on, we're on for a bumpy ride"

"stop acting so stupid, you're not even driving a car or anything"

"just hop on, will ya'?"

they started to ride back to xeno's house while still jokingly arguing, as (y/n) sat at the rear of stanley's bike.

☆

"aight, where here" stan said as he stop the bike, making (y/n) gawk at the mansion-like house.

"woah, how 'd you pull a rich friend huh? tell me your secret stan"

"I don't have a secret, let's go" stan then snatched (y/n)'s hand to pull her in

"right...."

☆

"xeno! we're here" stanley waved as xeno's back facing him and (y/n)

stan's voice as he calls for him caused him to perk up.

"stan, I'm glad you—"

when xeno saw those recognizable, attractive (e/c) looking back at him, he suddenly stopped speaking.

"wait, your that boy yesterday...." (y/n) mumbled as she squint her eyes and point a finger to xeno's direction.

stanley then started the introduction between the two

"xeno this is (y/n), she's the girl I've been talking about. and (y/n) this is xeno"

xeno then snatched (y/n)'s hand for handshake as he greets her brightly with stars in his eyes

"such beauty and elegance! welcome to my abode! I'm xeno houston wingfield! nice to finally meeting you again!"

"ah—, yeah. I'm (y/n) ambrose, nice to meet you to....I guess." unknown to xeno, (y/n) can't help but stare at his forehead......

"stan, why didn't you tell me that your friend s with the girl who saved me yesterday? ~"

"yeah..." stanley replied while closing his eyes

.

.

.

.

"wait— WHAT?!"

[harksness]

Distraction

A/N: i suffer from severe agatha harkness brainrot 24 hrs a day 7 days a week. i also couldnt help but make this one a little sweet too ajsadkgj im so down bad for her

the request!

Warnings: hand kink, quickie, slight mommy kink bcs im a hoe who can't write smut with agatha without working that in at least a little bit. lmk if i missed any warnings as per usual <3

WC: 3.5k

You find every little thing about Agatha to be insanely attractive. How could you not? She’s absolutely perfect. Her smooth, sultry voice and calculated words. Her pretty blue eyes that always seem to have that mischievous glint to them. Her tempting pink lips that are almost always quirked into that evil little smirk of hers. And oh God her hair, her wild hair you could play with for hours. 

She's ethereal. Agatha Harkness is the definition of beauty and all of its synonyms. Alluring, lovely, heavenly, ravishing, irresistible, beauteous, divine, bewitching and as ravishing as they come. Something pulled right out of your dreams, or some grand work of art.

But something about her hands just stuck out to you. They drove you crazy.

Her long, nimble fingers.. Watching how deftly they work her magic, the fluid movements she makes with them always has you biting your lip and wondering if she’d repeat those same movements elsewhere. 

As if you didn’t have a hard enough time keeping your eyes off of her hands, all of those pretty rings she found recently aren’t helping. They draw more of your attention to how skilled she is with her long digits, the soft silver, the pretty jewels and carvings into the metal always catching your attention. The problem is that once that happens, you just can’t seem to get your attention off of them.

You clear your throat, catching yourself staring at her hands… Again. Reluctantly, you refocus your attention back to the meeting at hand as you quickly cast your gaze over all of the people sitting around you, Agatha’s voice background noise.

Your lover finds your gaze as she’s speaking to the group, sending a quick wink your way.

Immediately you feel your cheeks flushing when you realize that’s her way of telling you that you’ve been caught red handed. Billy, of course, catches on right away with a little gasp as he raises his hand into the air, a sly grin overtaking his features as he interrupts Agatha.

“Can you two stop flirting with each other for five minutes? It’s so distracting for the rest of the class.”

You pinch your lips together at his words. Ever since you two became a thing and he figured out about your relationship, he’s really taken to the two of you as his “gay aunties”, loving to tease you every chance he gets about your sappy romance.

There’s a few beats of dead silence in the room as everyone waits for Agatha to say something.

“What are you talking about?”

She’s so obviously just trying to mess with the younger wiccan.

But still, even knowing this you try so hard not to smack your hand to your forehead at her response. She’s had over three hundred years to master the art of snappy comebacks and witty one liners, her charisma is off the charts. You’d personally say she’s more skilled with how she uses her words in conversation than magic itself, it’s one of her greatest weapons.. But that’s what she decided to say?

“Really.”

Billy says, less of a question and more of a statement. You release a big sigh, and you can feel Rio rolling her eyes from the spot next to you.

“I mean.. Of course I can’t go five minutes without flirting with my girl.. Have you seen how gorgeous she is? How impossibly perfect?”

Agatha says, gesturing towards you dramatically. You’re surprised that you haven’t passed out from the amount of blood rushing to your cheeks, a bashful smile crossing your lips at how outspoken and dorky she is. 

“Eugh! You two are too cute.. I need to go vomit…”

Billy is smiling regardless of his teasing.

“Oh! Absolutely feel free to do so! Meet back here in ten minutes!”

Agatha claps her hands together excitedly, a puzzled look crossing the boy's features.

“I was only joking..”

No one seems to pay any attention to the words he mumbled under his breath. Agatha was just so eager to take him up on the offer.

She’s being so dramatic with her hands- waving them around and gesturing so much more than usual. Not many other people would notice, considering how dramatic Agatha just is as a person, but you do.

Rio rolls her eyes at you, the slightest smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You two are worse than lovesick teenagers.. Disgusting.”

You smile softly, watching Agatha shoot you a look before she leaves the room, her gaze lingering against yours as she quirks an eyebrow at you suggestively. Slowly she presses down on the door handle and pushes it open, the door swinging closed behind her a moment later with a soft click.

“I know, it’s so disgusting…”

You’re barely paying attention as you get up to follow your witch. You cross the room, winding between the fold out chairs and the women stretching and mulling about as they take advantage of their free time. Pushing the door open, you scan the room quickly before finding her leaning on a wall across from you.

“Sooo…”

She starts as you approach, holding her hands out in front of herself, as if examining her nails. You cross your arms over your chest, pouting slightly at her incessant teasing.

“Someone seems to be fixating on my hands..”

Agatha holds them up, palms facing her as she wiggles her ringed fingers at you, and wiggling her eyebrows to match. You roll your eyes playfully.

“No..”

You simply say, once again as you feel your cheeks flush in embarrassment. She lets out a disappointed hum.

“Shame. Because if you were.. I was going to suggest that we go into the back room and take your mind off of my hands for a little bit.. And put my hands on something else…”

Agatha implies suggestively, your eyebrows shoot up and your eyes widen at her suggestion.

“With everyone in the next room?!”

You hiss at her in surprise, terrified that someone was going to walk in on your conversation, let alone catch the two of you in the act. She shrugs, indifferent.

“Two rooms over.”

You watch for a moment as she slowly saunters over to the next door, leaning against it with her back to push it open and hold it ajar for a moment. She raises her wrist, shrugging down her sleeve to check her watch as two strands of her curly brown hair fall over her features, blue eyes lidded as she looks down.

“Eight minutes..”

She trails off suggestively, and that’s all you need to remind yourself this isn’t a daydream as you run after her, following her into the dingy little storage room.

The door falls shut. It’s dark, and you’re about to start groping around for a light when suddenly a warm orange glow fills the room with a little click as Agatha pulls on the string hanging from the lightbulb on the ceiling. 

The room is filled with random boxes and equipment piled up and leaning on the walls, and conveniently- a worn, plush, yellow chair that used to sit out in the main room. You raise an eyebrow at Agatha as she plops herself into it, leaning back and spreading her legs as she leans one arm on the armrest, the other coming up to her mouth as she bites one of her gaudy rings.

Her hair is piled on top of her head, two strings of hair hanging in her face. Her coat is unbuttoned and fanning to the sides as the purple fabric of her nice dress pants stretch around her soft thighs perfectly.

She’s smirking around the ring she’s biting, eyebrow quirked curiously as she gazes up at you with her mischievous blue eyes. Agatha pats her thigh invitingly.

“Come have a seat, baby.”

You could’ve melted into the ground right then and there.

You’re sure you look a lot less put together and sexy as she does as you basically scramble to jump into her lap, your knees sinking into the plush cushion of the chair as you straddle her thighs. She smiles warmly up at you, humming happily as a hand comes up to rest on your waist.

“Good girl..”

Agatha praises, looking up to meet your gaze as she trails a hand up your waist lovingly. Her other hand comes up to stroke at your thigh, sliding slightly up under the hem of your skirt. Your breath hitches in your throat.

She raises the hand from your waist, fingers curling around the back of your neck as her thumb caresses your cheek… The cold of her rings digging into your skin. You lean into the feeling.

“C’mere..”

Agatha speaks softly as she pulls you down to meet her lips, your eyes fluttering closed as her soft lips move against yours. You hum into the kiss, raising your hands to rest on her shoulders.

She runs her hand further up your skirt, her soft skin smoothing over your hips and across your ass as she squeezes the plush skin lovingly. Your hands caress the exposed skin of her neck, toying with the loose hairs hanging from her bun.

Her warm hands run along the line of your lacy underwear, tracing back up over your hips, then down between your legs. Your breath hitches, breaking the kiss as a soft, breathy moan escapes your lips when her fingers trail downwards and start to grind her fingers up against your center. Gently she presses her fingers up against you, and you rock against her, little sighs of pleasure falling past your lips. Agatha’s eyes are lidded, but fixated on your features, her gaze flickering to your lips and her smile quirking upwards just the littlest bit every time you let out a desperate noise. 

“You make the prettiest noises, angel..”

Agatha whispers against your skin as she starts to leave lingering kisses along the exposed skin of your neck. You raise your hand to cradle the back of her head as she presses her fingers into you more firmly, your hips rolling against her hand desperately as you toy with her hair.

“Mmm.. Ag’s, please.”

You plead into her hair, all you can focus on is the sparks of pleasure you’re receiving, just enough to keep working you up but not get you anywhere. Your features twist in frustration.

“What’s wrong baby, is this not enough?”

Leaning back, you notice the taunting smirk etched onto her lips. You narrow your eyes at her, unable to help the little pout that overtakes you.

“Please.. We don’t have a lot of time..”

Agatha hums in thought, moving her hand that was cradling your neck to wrap around your jaw. The metal of her rings have heated against your skin, and it feels good to have them bite into your cheek just a little bit as you press back against her hand.

“Oh, sweet pea, I know you can do better than that.”

She quirks an expectant brow at you and you know what you have to do.

“Please… Agatha I- I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and how good you are with your hands... I’m so desperate for it.. Mommy, please, I need you..”

You do your best to pour your heart out, knowing you sound like a scrambling mess, but also knowing Agatha loves it when you sound that way. When you're desperate and keening for her, and she always melts when you call her Mommy. You know her weakness just like she knows yours.

You were right because you can feel the air around her shift a little bit, her lips hanging open and blue eyes clouded with desire as she looks up at you.

“Such a good girl, baby..”

Agatha says lowly, crashing her lips onto yours one more time in a desperate, frantic kiss before she pulls back, splaying her fingers out as she makes a show of taking off her rings. Your eyes drop to her hands.

She pinches her fingers around one, twisting it to the side as she slowly drags it off of her long fingers before setting it on the armrest to her right. She repeats the action over and over, until a little line of rings is forming.

Once she has her dominant hand free of rings except for one, you grab her wrist shyly.

“Here.. Let me help..”

Agatha gazes up at you curiously as she waits to see what you’re going to do.

You carefully bend her fingers so that they’re all curling in towards her palm, her pointer finger the only one sticking out. You raise her hand to your mouth, biting down softly onto the chunky metal ring pressed down to her knuckle, and using your teeth, you slowly pull it off of her finger, dragging your tongue along her soft skin as you do.

She watches you intently, eyes locked onto your movements. When it’s off of her finger, you raise your head and take it from your mouth, placing it with her other rings, completing the little line. Agatha’s staring up at you with parted lips and a wide smile.

“Well, that was insanely hot..”

She says breathlessly before pulling you down to kiss her again, your lips melding as you moan into her mouth. You don’t think you could ever get tired of how good her smooth, warm mouth feels against your own as she claims you, quickly taking control of the kiss. You also don’t think you could ever get sick of her taking what she wants from you, because you’ll gladly give her anything and everything you can.

Agatha’s hand starts to travel up the plush inside of your thigh, running her fingers over your skin lovingly as she reaches your center once again. Pulling your underwear aside, you gasp against her lips as she runs her fingers through your wet folds, softly parting you and gathering your arousal on her fingertips before finding your clit.

“Oh my poor girl.. You really were so worked up just from looking at my hands and imagining what I could do to you with them, hm?”

She asks you with such a cocky grin on her face. You moan softly, desperately as she toys with you, experimentally drawing patterns over your clit before dragging her fingers back to your soaked entrance.

“Ohhh, oh yes…”

You let out a long moan as she gently, carefully eases one finger into you. She’s smirking up at you, leaning down to press sweet, wet kisses into your neck as she starts to move, experimentally, getting you used to her touches before she can really fuck you.

“I’ve really got a hold on you, don’t I?”

She speaks against your skin, shifting forward a bit as she carefully slips another finger into you, and you moan at the stretch. She curls them with every thrust, the pads of her long fingers brushing against your sweet spot with precision. You brace yourself, mouth falling open in a silent moan as you curl your fingers around the top of the chair, gripping it tightly as you begin to feel your orgasm building, tension winding in your abdomen.

“Haa.. Oh, yes, Ag’s.. You do, more than you know.. You’re my everything..”

You pant out desperately, the rough fabric of the old chair scratching your knees but you don’t care. Being the center of Agatha’s attention, being touched by her like this, is the most important thing in your world. It’s all you want and you’ll savor every moment of it. Rugburn can be a future you problem, and you won’t regret it one bit. You know you’ll smile at your scraped up knees when the injuries remind you of how you got them.

“Am I now?”

She has that taunting tone to her voice that you fear but also adore so much at the same time. You hum in agreement, nodding your head in affirmation as your eyes pinch shut, an overwhelming amount of pleasure starting to make you slip and lose control of your senses as she keeps working at your center.

“Oh- Shit!”

You gasp out a bit louder than intended, throwing your head back when you feel the familiar sensation on your clit- her magic pressing into your sensitive nub has you digging your teeth into your bottom lip hard.

“Please, baby.. Tell me more about how much you adore me..”

She ghosts her lips against your ear, working her fingers faster, lingering her thrusts so that they can curl against that sensitive spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. You don’t know how much longer you’re going to last, you can feel your legs beginning to tremble. Agatha raises a hand under your skirt so that she can fondly caress your hip, her fingers savoring the soft feeling of your skin under her hand. You love her warm hand pressed against you, and the metal of her rings against your skin.

You’re letting out short and desperate moans of pleasure as you attempt to speak. You try to form a coherent sentence, but fail.

“You’re everything to me, Agatha… God.. Oh my God, you’re so perfect.. So beautiful… So, so good to me..”

You mumble out, your thighs tensing as you desperately try to focus your attention on keeping your balance. You can’t help it, all of the stimulation is so much, you can feel yourself tumbling towards the edge as you lean against the back of the chair. Agatha plants her lips against your neck, her free hand running over every inch of exposed skin she can reach as she speeds up her movements, your hips rocking intime with every thrust of her long fingers deep into your waiting cunt. 

“Haa.. Oh, Agatha… You take such good care of me.. Ag’s.. Love you so much..”

She laughs softly against your skin, her tone laced with so much fondness and adoration.

“You can’t even form coherent sentences… I love seeing you like this.. My girl, so desperate for me and anything I’ll give… I love seeing you so wrapped around my finger..”

Agatha leans back to watch you as you become overwhelmed with the pleasure she’s giving you, to enjoy the mess she’s made of you as you desperately paw for her. You whimper out as you nod your head, feeling the pressure on your clit intensify. Your lips for a wide o, your movements becoming frantic as you rock against her hand, but her movements remain controlled and steady to guide you through your high.

“Yes! Yes I am! Yes, anything.. Anything, Ag’s..”

You babble mindlessly, your nails digging painfully hard into the soft fabric of the chair, nearly biting into the wood underneath.

“Oh! Cumming! Oooh..”

You moan out, your movements sloppy against her hand as you feel electric pleasure shoot through you. You tense up, your thighs trying to clamp shut but finding themselves unable to, so instead they just violently tremble as Agatha guides you through your orgasm, peppering sweet kisses up and down your neck, an arm wrapping around your waist to support you and a smile toying on her lips as she talks you through..

“Such a good girl for me, baby… Oh, you’re so pretty when you cum.. I could never get sick of seeing you like this.. So pretty..”

You let out a pathetic hum as you collapse and melt into her lap, your body limp and exhausted as you relax. Agatha guides you to lay against her chest as she slips her fingers out of you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and pulling you as close to her as possible. 

“Oh, sweet girl.. You did so good for me..”

She speaks into your hair, leaving little kisses along your head as she guides you to lay against her chest. You smile, burying your face into her neck, trying to take in as much of her as you can.

“Mmmm.. You also did so good for me..”

You cast her a knowing look and she grins in response.

“Happy to be of service.”

You’re desperately trying to catch your breath as Agatha lovingly runs her hands along your body, petting your hair into place, giving you little kisses wherever she can reach to help you calm down and catch your breath. You’re mushy, overflowing with love for the older woman as you wrap your arms around her middle and bury your face into her neck.

Suddenly there's an insistent knocking on the wooden door.

“Okay, lovebirds… Or horndogs.. We’ve been waiting on you two for twenty minutes. Make yourself decent and come on out.”

Rio’s familiar voice calls from the other side of the door, agitation lacing every word.. You groan out, embarrassed as Agatha laughs.

[zourrystylinson]

some of my all time favourite fics!

*as of 4/3/2025

@tommolinson asked me what my all time fav fics are, so i thought hey why not do a masterpost of sorts. these are fics i come back to and reread over and over. there is literally no way i can ever fit all my favourite fics into a post so im going to try and pick my top faves.

Remember Me Before You (293K) by kingsofeverything | @kingsofeverything

Desperate to find a new place to live after he comes home to find his boyfriend cheating, Harry moves into a loft with three strangers.

A New Girl AU.

★・・・・・・★

Escapade (146K) by dolce_piccante 

In the grand scheme of things, finding a date for a wedding should be no problem for Louis Tomlinson. He's rich. He's handsome. He's reasonably well behaved. But when the wedding is for his lifelong best friend (and former boyfriend), and is happening in under a month, finding a date for the ceremony and accompanying festivities becomes more of an adventure than he ever could have planned for.

★・・・・・・★

Relief Next To Me (333K) by dolce_piccante

What happens when a baker and a graphic designer meet via a very specific Craigslist post? Fate, friendship, food, and maybe more.

★・・・・・・★

[series] No Control Club by SadaVeniren | @sadaveniren

No Control is a No From Me

By Harry Styles

I know this is probably a controversial opinion and review because I have only heard great things from people going to No Control before but I cannot recommend it to anyone. While the facility is nice, the people who work there do not seem to care for their clients well being, and I do not feel safe going there in any capacity. I suppose when I want to play next I will have to travel back down to London, or maybe, unfortunately, Liverpool. If I must.

Aka Harry, a popular BDSM blogger, writes a negative review about Louis’ club. Louis wants to have a chance to make it up to him.

★・・・・・・★

★・・・・・・★

[series] Your Mess Is Mine (214K) by amory | @amories

Louis is the father to the most brilliant little boy in the world who is all Louis really needs, or at least that's what he tells himself. Harry is a gorgeous boybander fresh off a two year break and a massive scandal that's left him a little broken and more than ready to move on.

They fall in love.

★・・・・・・★

Eternal Summer (75K) by j_klmnop

After the death of his estranged father, Harry has to make the trip from England to Italy to say his goodbyes. He has seven days before the funeral, and since his summer break has just begun, he decides to make a road trip out of it.

His carefully planned itinerary is thrown out the window when he meets a beautiful blue eyed hitchhiker named Louis, who is trying to flee from his controlling family.

With no destination in mind— just the desire to get as far away as possible, Louis decides to tag along for the ride, with plans to continue on once they arrive.

With a few hiccups and some personal revelations along the way, they both end up gaining much more from the trip than they had bargained for.

★・・・・・・★

[series] A Picture's Worth by unscattered_horizons

ziam (162K) , larry (172K) & shiall (144K) stories

★・・・・・・★

Second Spring (103K) by beechersnope

Two years into their relationship, Louis and Harry encounter a new beginning.

★・・・・・・★

[series] such a beautiful dream (112K) by staybeautiful

Louis woke up after having a sexy dream about his best friend’s boyfriend’s best friend resolved to never think about it again. He hardly knew Harry, so what difference would it make? But when they are thrown together only a few days later, Louis had to admit, his subconscious might have been onto something.

★・・・・・・★

For As Long As I Can Remember (It's Been December) (128K) by green_feelings

After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

★・・・・・・★

futile devices (i do love you) (103K) by fckingfreakshow

the one where harry's mom gets engaged when he's 17 and he's truly, madly, deeply in love with his 23–or 24–year old stepbrother.

★・・・・・・★

To the Ends of the Earth (68K) by stylinsoncity

During a yearlong hiatus, Louis visits Harry at his cabin in Idaho, where long-buried feelings ignite like the fire keeping them warm.

★・・・・・・★

The World Outside Is Bigger Than Me (60K) by Ioudloudlove 

A university sweetheart AU where Harry and Louis haven't spoken for years after a bad break up. But seeking shelter from a storm, Louis unwittingly finds himself on Harry's doorstep..

★・・・・・・★

got the sunshine on my shoulders (124K) by hattalove

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

★・・・・・・★

Baby We Could Be Enough (74K) by lovelarry10 | @likelarryfics

Harry Styles has always wanted a family, but his boyfriend doesn’t. When an unexpected pregnancy leaves Harry feeling alone and terrified, he feels he has no choice but to give up his baby. He finds a family with the adoptive parents, and maybe something more.

~

Louis Tomlinson and his wife, Jess, have been trying for a baby for years. Their hasty marriage after they first got pregnant has only led to a series of miscarriages that have put a strain on their already precarious relationship. When they meet a young man desperate for a home and someone to raise his child, Louis realizes that he may have been moving in the wrong direction all along.

★・・・・・・★

Teach me how to love (70K) by perfectdagger (sincerelyste) | @perfectdagger

Louis can’t believe he’s third wheeling, again, so he scans the bar trying to find something better to do.

And as he does, he recognizes a face.

That face looks angry, almost fuming and Louis takes a gulp from his beer and looks to the other side, pretending he didn’t even see the bloke, pretending he has no clue who that person coming over his way is.

“You’ve told everyone and their mother that I’m a bad fucker?!”

That’s how Harry greets him.

Smooth.

Not really.

The one in which Harry is bad at sex and Louis spreads it all over town and to make up for it, decides to help him with no agenda of getting anything from it, but in the end, he ends up getting more than he bargained for.

★・・・・・・★

[series] All in the Golden Afternoon (252K) by leighllbealright | @leighllbealright

When Louis Tomlinson needed to find a new preschool for his daughter, he wasn't expecting the one across the street to be everything he and Goldie ever needed.

Or: the one where Louis is closed off, Harry is the weirdest person ever, and Gemma may as well be a psychic.

Somehow, calico-cat-style, they forge a beautiful family from pieces that don't quite fit.

★・・・・・・★

Chasing, Searching, Dreaming (46K) by parmahamlarrie | @parmahamlarrie

Everyone is chasing, searching, dreaming of their soulmate.

Harry has known who his soulmate is since he was twenty years old, and ever since, he has been waiting for Louis to be ready for him. The unexpected passing of Louis' mum, and the fact that now he is the guardian of his twin two-year-old little siblings, just means that Harry is going to have to wait a bit longer.

A soulmate AU full of cute kids, house building, therapy, and a lot of dreaming.

★・・・・・・★

Time Passed (66K) by coffinofachimera

Louis struggles with their relationship as Harry grows into his identity.

★・・・・・・★

Haven (35K) by orphan_account

"I take it you’re not a new student?”

“What?” Harry mumbles, caught up in the way his eyes are quite literally sparkling in the light. “Oh—No. Not a student.”

“Are you a sub?” Louis asks.

Harry clenches his hands into fists, holding them behind his back as he stumbles a bit. “I don’t, uh—I mean. I’ve never really gotten a chance to be a true sub, you know? My ex-partners were always scared they’d hurt me. But, like—If I trusted someone a lot, and if we used a, a safeword. And talked about, you know, boundaries, then—Yes, yeah, I-I’m a sub.”

Louis’ eyes are so wide, his cheeks puffing out in the effort to not burst into laughter.

“Oh shit, oh my god,” Harry whispers. “You meant—Oh god."

★・・・・・・★

For A Rainy Day (143K) by Ioudloudlove

A secret admirer AU where Harry tries to be the hero Louis desperately needs.

★・・・・・・★

Let Me Be Your Star (252K) by lovelarry10

Louis Tomlinson has always wanted to mentor young musicians. When he’s asked to be a judge on The X-Factor, it’s a dream come true, everything he ever wanted. What he didn’t expect was to meet a curly-headed stranger that would turn his life upside down

★・・・・・・★

these bad omens (I look right through them) (82K) by likelarry

How on earth does someone his parents' age look so damn hot? All of their other friends look... bland and boring.

But Louis, fucking hell. He's something out of Harry's wettest fucking dreams.

Where Louis is Harry's parents' friend and teaches at Harry's university. Harry can't resist getting a taste.

★・・・・・・★

Late Night Talking (53K) by kingsofeverything | @kingsofeverything

Louis Tomlinson has a new album coming out and a second world tour on the horizon. Promo season gets underway with a stop at Late Night Talking, the late night show hosted by Harry Styles, and Harry Styles just happens to be the man who blew a chance to date Louis a decade ago.

★・・・・・・★

[series] all we can do is keep breathing (865K) by thealmightyavocado

a fated story of two broken and battered boys who barely survived the unimaginable and how the love of one little brave girl defies all the odds and somehow puts them back together.

★・・・・・・★

You Can Hear It In The Silence (234K) by Imogenlee | @imogenleewriter

When Harry Styles was accepted into a post-grad degree, he knew he could no longer afford his flat, leaving him with three options:

1) Move back into student halls.

2) Become homeless.

3) Move in with his best (and only) friend, Niall, and three of Niall's other mates.

He went with the third option. But it was a close race.

Shame one of his roommates reminded him why he only has one friend.

If there is one thing Louis Tomlinson can't stand, it's pretentious tossers, having grown up around enough of them. If there is one thing he can't live without, it would be his friends. So he was proper thrilled to move in with his best mates and a couple of other lads.

That was until he discovered one of them was the archetype for a pretentious tosser.

In the interest of seeing out the twelve-month lease without killing each other, they both try (debatable) to get along despite believing they are opposite in almost every conceivable way, each having the communication skills of a cucumber, and secrets that have no business be kept secret.

★・・・・・・★

You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) (95K) by auburnstargazer | @harryrainbows

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

★・・・・・・★

Wind beneath my wings (93K) by lunarheslwt | @lunarheslwt

“You shouldn’t be here,” Harry gritted out, wild-eyed. “You should be scared of me.”

Louis opened his mouth to speak, to cut him off, to disagree, but Harry was pushing. “I could hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” Louis said, simple and assuredly. Calm.

“I’m capable of hurting you.”

“But you won’t. That’s not who you are, Harry. I trust you,” Louis whispered.

As an omega carer that works at a rescue and rehabilitation centre for feral alphas and omegas, Louis has experienced all sides of ferality. So Harry- a cold, near mute, non-receptive alpha- was a challenging case for everyone at Phoenix Rehab Centre. Louis wasn’t expecting to feel drawn towards an aloof Harry, or to form a slow bond with him. He certainly was not expecting for his entire life to change in unforeseen ways.

★・・・・・・★

How It Would Feel To Be Free (90K) by lovelarry10 | @chloehl10

“When's she due?”

“She said next month,” Harry replied quickly, ignoring the look of shock on Louis’ face. “How the hell am I going to tell my parents that I’m going to be a father, and to a baby born out of wedlock? It’s going to be some whole-ass scandal, Lou, and I can’t ... I can’t-”

 “I’ll help you. Whatever it takes, Harry, I’ll be there for you.”

 ~~~~~

When Prince Harry unexpectedly becomes a father, his best friend Louis steps in. The masses believe the baby is Louis’, but all Harry wants is to tell the world the truth - about the baby and his feelings for Louis.

★・・・・・・★

elephant juice (32K) by stylinsoncity

harry doesn't understand boundaries. louis doesn't mind at all.

★・・・・・・★

Temporary Fix (237K) by dbeaux

Whether it’s a company event, a date for the day, a hookup, a vacation companion, or even just someone to spend time with for a few hours, whether it’s formal, extremely casual, or somewhere in between, no matter what the requirements, you provide when and what your needs are and leave the rest to us. - Temporary Fix

Harry needs someone to go with him to his parents' yearly event. After months of debating and one drunken night, he wakes up to find he submitted the application. He knows it's unfair to subject someone to his life, but when his eyes land on Louis, he finds himself drawn to him. Is it possible that Louis could be his saving grace?

Louis doesn't need anyone. He's better off alone, so why did Zayn send in his application to Temporary Fix? Louis has secrets...lots of them, and he intends to keep them. After all, no one needs to know, but after he meets Harry he finds himself wondering if he can let go and trust again. Can Louis let Harry in? Can Harry accept him once he knows everything?

★・・・・・・★

What Was I Made For (40K) by therogueskimo | @bravetemptation

Louis’ eyes narrowed. “Go on. Tell me how I don’t belong in this world and I never should have been born.”

“Louis … I don’t want to do any of that. I never wanted to abuse your trust, I just … I knew something was bothering you and then I called Liam and he told me that you were … and I just wanted to understand. (…) If I understood what was causing you this anguish, I could help.”

“No one can help me,” Louis mumbled, a tear spilling over onto his cheek.

“I can, Lou,” Harry said in a soft, gentle voice. “I’m not scared of you. I don’t hate you. I just want to help.”

★・・・・・・★

Hiding Place (365K) by orphan_account

Louis never wanted a soulmate, didn’t really care for the whole Bonding thing at all, really. Enter Harry Styles, who’s wanted to be Bonded for as long as he could remember. With one fateful meeting in an X Factor bathroom, Louis gets a dagger on his arm and the realization that just because Harry is his soulmate doesn’t mean it’s mutual.

From the X Factor house to Madison Square Garden, from the Fountain Studios stage to stadiums across the world, Louis has to learn to love without losing himself completely, because someday his best friend will Bond to someone and replace Louis as the center of his universe. Meanwhile, Harry begins to think that maybe fate doesn’t actually know what it’s doing after all, because his other half has clearly been right in front of him the whole time. All he has to do now is convince Louis to give them a chance.

Or, the canon compliant Harry and Louis love story from the very beginning, where the only difference is that the love between them is literally written on their skin, and there’s only so much they can hide.

★・・・・・・★

[deleted fic, link to download] Road Less Travelled (98K) by freetheankles

Louis was a lumberjack happy to be living his life alone in what could qualify as Middle Of Nowhere, Canada.

Every morning, he went out into the woods, cut his logs, then came home at dusk to a scalding hot shower and a good book by the fireplace. Rinse and Repeat. He had a good life, quiet and peaceful; simple. Not a secluded one as Niall annoyingly claimed.

Louis certainly didn’t need some chatty trespasser dropping into his life, his forest, his home. Invading his space, his circle of friends, touching his stuff, asking questions about his husband. His late husband.

A trespasser who wasn’t supposed to crawl under his skin, occupy his thoughts, and steal his heart from where Louis had locked it safely away, only to put it right back on Louis’ sleeve — where it once laid.

No, Louis definitely didn’t need Harry.

★・・・・・・★

Of Mates and Men (630K) by bananaheathen | @bananaheathen

In which, Louis and Harry meet as best men for their best friends' wedding... well... sort of.

Or, the one where Harry's just moved back from New York and Louis doesn't believe in romance.

Or, I guess... the one where Zayn and Liam are getting married.

★・・・・・・★

[deleted fic, link to download] Where Your Heart Is (154K) by tvshows_addict

Louis is ready for his brand new adventure. So what if he suffers from a genetic condition that prevents him from being touched? College is going to be awesome. It has to. Karma kind of owes him right now. Forget about his overprotective mother, or Liam– his entirely too chipper step brother– or his mess of a roommate. Forget about the gloves he has to wear at all times. He’s here to expand his knowledge, write and drown himself in books – No matter how distracting ‘Hallway Boy’ may be– The obnoxious, flirty frat wannabe determined to become the bane of Louis’ existence.

Or, a college AU set in San Francisco where two lost boys who seemingly have nothing in common find inspiration, each other, and themselves in the process.

★・・・・・・★

No Good Deed (Goes Unpunished) (168K) by JasTheLarrie

A misinterpreted gesture of kindness pits newly-single father Louis against a kind-hearted Harry who only wants to help.

“I don’t need your pity,” he seethed. At Louis’ words, Harry frowned.

“You don’t have it.” Harry’s voice was quiet. Hurt. “I’ve been where you are. I don’t pity you, Louis.”

“Pity or not, you were out of line,” Louis growled through gritted teeth. “I didn’t ask for your help and I definitely don’t need it.”

He was hanging onto restraint for dear life. He wanted to scream in Harry’s face. He wanted to make him feel as shitty as he’d just made Louis feel. He wanted to embarrass Harry the way he’d just embarrassed him.

“I’m doing just fine without your charity. Keep your ‘good deeds’ to yourself.”

★・・・・・・★

A Long Way From The Playground (170K) by Pink_Sunsets

One Direction is broken up. They broke up five years ago. That should be the end of the story, right?

Harry is finished with One Direction. He now has a new life, one with two kids and a successful solo career. And he’s happy.

But a call one night from management flips Harry’s whole new life upside down, and he’s forced to face the life he had left behind.

As well as a certain blue eyed man who had left him behind.

★・・・・・・★

feel free to send me an ask if you have read a fic ive recommended! i'd love to talk about the fic with you <3

[luvmailing]

something's wrong with the morning.

「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited 2 the max, potentially ooc but WHO GAF (me. igaf), he misreads tone over text and it's totally not me projecting, bros just a little anxious and its totally not me projecting, richard "acts of service" grayson in the real, pretty heavily romantic implied but it can be interpreted as platonic becuz we fw that here!!!!! 」

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3 」

↳ ft. richard "dick" grayson/nightwing

author's note: yes i am uh. doing More dc stuff. guys im really sorry but its literally leeching off my brain like a parasite i fear. enjoy!!!!!!! ♪(´▽｀) <3 the lyric below is what i based this off of but as usual, GENDER NEUTRAL READER!!!

"and how something's wrong with the morning / when he doesn't phone to say he loves me"

dick has been staring at the text since the minute he received it.

“gm.”

you sent two letters. and a period at the end.

immediately, there's a weird feeling he gets— a pit forming in the depths of his stomach as he reads it over and over again, as if he expects it to magically change in front of his eyes.

you usually send something… more in the morning. you greet him happily and use a silly nickname, he greets you and uses a silly nickname back. it's sort of tradition for the two of you, mainly built on the fact that him being a vigilante leaves very little time for the two of you.

so what the hell happened to that tradition? where’s his “good morning pookie!” or “hope you slept well, sunshine :]” that he's grown so accustomed to?

of course, he has to go on with his day like usual. at least, he's trying his best. to his credit, he does pretty well. after all, dick grayson is a performer at heart! even if it secretly feels like a part of his world just collapsed in on itself, he does not sulk about it.

but to the observant, there's obviously been a shift.

the slightly irritable mood he’s been in? definitely normal. the fact that he’s been swiping away every notification with disinterest if it’s not you? totally nothing.

more astute criminals in blüdhaven are a little off put by the fact that nightwing is still at full quip capacity while hitting just a little harder and being just a teeny bit more bitchy.

there nervous speculation going around that next week he'll be in the discowing fit

nightwing notices that his mask is slipping a bit. but does he care? well... not really. what's more important to him is what's going on inside his head. and he's been thinking— hardcore reflecting on every single recent previous interaction with you, looking back to everything that must’ve made things go wrong.

maybe he should’ve let you win that one argument last monday, even though he’d been pretty certain he was right because you really aren't supposed to stack cards in uno that way.

or maybe “anything’s fine” as a response to you asking what he wanted for dinner was the wrong move— he knew you hated when he didn’t help your indecisiveness.

was it the movie he picked for movie night on your hangout? fuck, that might've been it, you totally hate the main actor. how could he have forgotten?

either way, he’s dead set on the fact he did something to piss you off and now you won’t even greet him good morning.

later in the afternoon, you find a cute little basket on your doorstep containing your favorite flowers, your favorite snacks… and an apology note??

“dick,” you message, “what’s going on?”

he doesn’t reply back. instead, he calls you.

before you can even greet him, his voice chimes in with a whole spiel you didn't expect to be hit with.

“i messed up. i know i did and i should've done better. and i’m so sorry, i wanna make this work and i just— from the bottom of my heart— i really, truly apologize—”

you blink several times at your phone before interrupting. “oookay, woah, woah, woah. let's slow down. the fuck are you apologizing for?”

“...your message this morning.” he mumbles out, barely audible. you can hear the pout in his voice somehow.

“what? the one i typed up while rushing to work?” it’s hard to stifle your laughter. “dude, i just woke up a little late. i promise i still love you.”

he doesn't know whether to feel more relieved that you're not actually upset with him or embarrassed about the drastic, immediate measures he took to make things right. things being absolutely nothing, because obviously you weren't gonna be petty over uno rules, nondecisions, or movies.

"you should come over. we can share the snacks if you get here in time." click.

he'll be at your door the minute patrol is done. not for the snacks though it is a nice bonus but to see you. lord knows you need the time together.

— reblogs always appreciated!

[stellarbit]

i have a kinda strange ask.

so i have severe insomnia. i've done sleep studies and meds but sometimes i just CANNOT sleep, even as bad as multiple days no sleep. doctors and i are still working on a fix. it's a fucking nightmare (except i can't have nightmares if im not asleep, can i???)

i'm a very calm, quiet, logical, and collected person except when i can't sleep. then i'm a crying and genuinely insane wreck.

i would absolutely LOVE if you could do some kind of Crosshair x female reader with some kind of scenario like this. it would make me feel better. Like maybe he didn't see her sleep the previous night and finds her still awake at like 3am the next night and this normally stoic girl is just an absolute unhinged psychotic mess and he has to fix it 🤷🏻‍♀️

idk how far ur willing to go (leaving it up to you) but just as a general idea as to how i (and many other people with this problem) get without sleep, i can get kinda violent, super snippy with people, can't stop crying, impulsive, physically sick sometimes, and don't always sound coherent or refuse to listen to people even if they're trying to help me. it's not a fun mental state to be in.

i'm never sleeping so i might as well read your literature (it's like a nightly ritual i love your stuff)

thank you 🙏

I know what it's like. Insomnia kicks my ass occasionally and it wrecks me and takes days of my life away before I can finally sleep. I hope you find some rest buddy <3 alsothankyouforthecomplimentjfc

give this a listen while you read

Just Lay With Me

Word Count: 1.5k Pairing: Crosshair x fem!reader SFW Warnings: insomnia kicking your ass all the way to next Sunday Summary: After a long bout of no sleep, you break and Crosshair is there to pick up the pieces. gif credit: @moonstrider9904

Sleep evaded you more and more often lately. Your new normal was turning into nights without more than an hour of dozing off. Nights that stretched into a week at a time with an occasional night of sleep, however restless. This time around the sleepless nights were quickly working their way to a month’s stretch.

After a few nights of frequently waking, two rotations went by without so much as a blink of sleep. At this point you weren’t just delirious, nausea turned your stomach and your head throbbed constantly. Every sound jarred you, pushing you to the brink of crying each time. 

Unable to string together more than a few coherent thoughts at a time, you’d planned on avoiding town the next. You were liable to snap at the smallest slight, but even in this state you knew it wasn’t fair to others.

By the time Crosshair came to find you, you were well beyond your limit.

Crosshair noticed your erratic behavior first. You’d snapped at Omega when she and Crosshair bumped into you on the street. Crosshair tried to stop you from walking off but you bit his head off too.

It was unlike you. Ordinarily, you were composed and rational—characteristics that had faded as your sleepless nights dragged on.

Your increasingly disheveled look became Crosshair’s next worry. You didn’t preen by any stretch of the imagination, but you took care of yourself and it always showed. Now, your skin took on a dull hue, your hair greasy and untamed, and dark circles gave your eyes a sunken appearance.

The night before he and Omega ran into you, Crosshair had noticed a light on in your home around 2 AM. Knowing you weren't typically up at that hour, he found it strange. The following evening, as he lay in bed, thoughts of your earlier encounter in town filled his mind. With a growing suspicion, he rose and stepped out to the patio. From there, he could see a dim light shining from your bedroom window.

He knew what insomnia looked like, had fought with it himself after being trapped on that Kaminoan platform, and didn’t want to push you if his suspicions were true. 

Then, the sound of glass shattering from your home shattered his hesitation. He leapt over the patio railing, his feet barely touching the ground as he dashed toward your house. Fortunately, your door was unlocked—an issue he noted to address later—and he entered your home in seconds.. 

He didn’t call out for you, instead choosing to quietly make his way through your space, tiptoeing through scattered blankets and clothes strewn over furniture. When he found you, you were on your kitchen floor, hunched over with your hands fisting your hair. 

Soft heaves shook your body as you rocked in place. Broken glass surrounded you, making the situation even more delicate.

Crosshair had been right, you hadn’t been sleeping.

Knowing there was no good way to break the silence, Crosshair softly called your name. Sure enough, you jumped hard and nearly slid onto a shard of glass.

Crosshair lurched forward to steady you by your upper arm only for you to rip out of his grip. You whipped your head around, hair falling in your face in a deranged look. It fit seeing as you certainly felt deranged. 

The sniper’s eyes were uncharacteristically soft, with brows slightly raised and shoulders relaxed. It felt like pity. Red hot shame flooded your system, sending you shuffling like a newborn fawn to your feet. 

In a harsh, hoarse voice you lashed out, “What are you doing here?”

Crosshair glanced at the mess around you.“Your lights were on and I heard something break.” You didn’t answer leaving only heavy silence between you. Crosshair sighed, looking back at you. “You’re not sleeping, are you?”

There wasn’t enough air for you to answer, your breath hitched into small gasps as tears warped your vision. Dipping your head back, you managed to blink back some of the wet from your eyes. With a determined shake of your head, you cleared your voice and firmly said, “I’m fine.” 

A line in the sand between you - a desperate claim to control something, anything.

His eyes on you, those sharp, all seeing, critical eyes, made your skin crawl. Not him specifically, but him seeing you as you were. This wasn’t how you wanted him to see you. Unable to stop the uncomfortable squirm that rolled through you, you waved both hands at him as if to ward him off.

“Please just leave.” Your voice was pleading, your eyes blinking furiously. 

“I’m not doing that.” Crosshair said gently. You weren’t sure if your tears, the lighting, or reality itself made Crosshair look so hazy.

Perhaps this was the next step into delirium. The thought widened your eyes with newfound fear. He’d appeared so suddenly - was he even real? Crosshair narrowed a worried look on you as a fresh, sickening feeling gripped you, spurring you back a step. Right onto a shard of glass.

You cried out, nearly collapsing, but Crosshair was quick to support you, preventing you from falling completely. The pain shooting through your foot crumbled your remaining resolve.

Crosshair swept an arm under your knees to scoop you into his arms. He hugged you close, even as you thrashed against him in fits of sobbing. He carried you to the bathroom and carefully set you on the edge of the tub.

Despite the sobs, you let Crosshair put your injured foot under the tap and rinse the blood still seeping from your wound. He felt the tremors wracking your body as he angled your foot towards him. Luckily the shard was sticking out enough that removing it would be easy enough under normal circumstances.

“I have to pull the shard out.” Crosshair said as inspected your foot. A choked sob pulled his eyes to your face again. Your lips wobbled in a devastated frown on your blotchy tear stained face.

Seeing you so fragile or haunted tore something in him knowing he could do little more than sit and watch you fall apart.

In an exhausted whisper, you confessed, “I’m so tired, Cross.”

“I know,” He whispered back and removed the shard in one swift pull.

Crosshair put your foot under the tepid water again, simultaneously pulling a towel from the rack beside him. As he dried your foot and applied pressure to the wound, he decided to share something.

“When the empire recovered me from the Kaminoan platform…” He paused on a deep breath. He hadn’t even told his brothers or Omega, but if he could do nothing else he hoped he could at least make you feel less alone.

Crosshair gently pulled you by your leg and pivoted you out of the tub. Braving vulnerability, he knelt in front of you and said, “I… I didn’t sleep for a long time. I don’t know how long, exactly, but long enough that I had to be sedated.” He smoothed a hand over your knee, adding, “I know what it’s like.”

You gave a small nod, focusing on regulating your breathing, too overwhelmed to speak. Sensing your need for comfort, Crosshair whispered, “Can I carry you to bed?” His tone was gentle, mindful not to startle you.

Your head fell forward in shame. Pressing a hand over your eyes you shook your head and mumbled, “It’s a mess.”

Crosshair couldn’t help the soft snort that came from him, drawing your head back up. A questioning, almost offended, look came over you. Crosshair didn’t ask for further permission as he came in close to you and lifted you with him. 

“You should see Tech’s room.” He teased, his breath warm on your cheek. “And he sleeps whenever he likes.”

The small joke did manage to lift your lips and you found some comfort in the cadence of his steps. He’d not yet gone this far for you. No one ever had. 

Crosshair crawled into bed with you still in his arms, pushing into your tousled duvet and placing you next to him. Leaning across you, he murmured an apology and froze before turning your light out.

Peering down past his arm at you, he swallowed before asking, “Do you mind if I stay with you?”

You didn’t think it was possible, but a small smile warbled over you. You hummed out an affirmative and rolled towards, rubbing your face into the soft fabric of his shirt. Crosshair chuckled under his breath and turned off the light.

He slid in next to you, sitting at an angle that his arms cradle around you. His made lazy trails over your back

“The kitchen-” you started.

“Tomorrow.” Crosshair cut you off. “For now, just lay with me.”

In the quiet hour, in your messy bed, in Crosshair’s arms you finally found rest.

[lostalioth]

Could you make Sam, Dean, or Cas(one or all whatever you feel like but I love Sam🫶) with like an alternative/goth person? I can describe me as an example, real short with fluffy purple mid-length hair, tons of piercings and genderfluid(uses all pronouns), with a slim thick but still more of a slim thick/chubby/muscular with great humor like Deadpool as you loved animals and horror games. I love going to concerts and art, anything creative and going to college for marine biology/zoology!

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘩/𝘢𝘭𝘵!𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘳

warnings: gender neutral!reader (or i did my best to), goth/alt!reader (if i failed at describing that im sorry as well), reader described to wear eyeliner/makeup and jewelry and piercings mentioned, short sweet fluff with sammy boy.

a/n: a couple things i did my best to write this as gender neutral as i could? i may have failed as i tpcially write x female reader but i tried and i didnt know exactly what you wanted me to write besides one of the supernatural boys with an alt/goth person so sorry its just a short headcannon :) also this is my frist time writing for any of the supernatural boys so im sorry if he is out of character.

Sam loves to do your eyeliner for you on the days when you just don't feel up to it, your full makeup look often takes you a minute to complete. Of course as with everything Sam gets very dedicated to it and so he only does it after he has perfected it, not wanting to ruin your look with imperfect liner. Meaning sometimes it may just take longer in the end than if you did it on your own. You could care less though because as Sam does it, he will have a very soft grasp on your face and or neck the whole time. Softly caressing your skin with his thumb mindlessly in focus. The small action always makes your heart swell.

Plus: after almost 2 weeks of begging and endlessly promising to never show or tell Dean, he lets you do your signature eyeliner look on him. He wouldn't let you do your full regular makeup look on him but you were happy he even agreed to the eyeliner.

“Babe I promise you're gonna look so cool once I'm done” you gush with a small smile on your face. You had a hold on his chin to force his head still. You were currently sat on his lap in your shared room at the bunker, Him being sat on your vanity chair.

“You're lucky i love you princess” he chuckled softly and rubs his hands over your thighs, giving them a small squeeze as continue working on your masterpiece.

Speaking of your shared bedroom in the bunker, with your and Sam's combined wardrobes there was a severe lack of color. The both of you favoring black and darker colors.

You require attention from San often even when he is on one of his research deepdives. So Sam doing whatever he can to keep his girl happy worked it out that he will do his researching on the couch. That way you can lay out next to him with your head in his lap. He often finds himself playing and fidgeting with your necklaces or ear piercings, facial piercings, etc.

You have a darker sense of humor that tends to come out at inopportune moments on hunts. It never fails to break tension however and get a small laugh out of both the brothers.

Sam isn't all that big on PDA but loves giving you small random shows of affection, his hand rubbing your shoulder, a small squeeze of your hip in passing. His favorite though being small kisses of appreciation, reassurance, etc. though after a small and not entirely compliant of him messing up your makeup when he'd kiss your face and how it took you a long time. He began turning the small kissing habit into kissing your hand, the top of your head, your shoulder, anywhere but your face when you had your full makeup look on.

When you’d tag along on hunts with the boys Sam bought you a small vial necklace that matched all your other jewelry for you to wear and fill with holy water. Just in case you needed it.

The brothers also found out the hard way that when you're fully dressed up in your gothic/alternative look on hunts the three of you are often turned away at churches. You learned to pack a more normal outfit to switch into if it's necessary to step foot in church. You also easily overheat with your all black clothing. Sam started always keeping the AC on in the impala, at least when he's in the driver's seat that is.

Sam finds himself tracing or kissing your anti-possession tattoo that you had gotten alongside them. You don't often go on hunts with them, Sam being far too worried and nervous about your well being. He's concerned you'll get hurt even not out on hunts so he was relieved when you agreed to get the tattoo when they did. He wants nothing more than for you to be safe and happy.

“I will always protect you baby you know that right?” Sam questions softly as his finger traces around your shared tattoo and any others you have.

“I know that sweet boy” you smile fondly at your boyfriend and snuggle closer in his arms.

→ a/n: PLEASE LEAVE ME FEEDBACK AND HOPE YOU ENJOYED BABES AND SORRY FOR ANY TYPOS THIS WASNT PROOF READ :)

[who-killed-audrelia]

Stupid Feelings, 2

📑| after finding out the lump on your breast is not cancerous, you get sent home by wilson. you still have some medical check ups to do. at this point, wilson is still hiding himself and his expression from you.

part 1

genre: drama, fluff, no smut

pairing: james wilson x patient!reader (she/her)

warnings: harshword, inaccurate med stuffs, house saying horrible stuffs

a/n: omg I'm so sorry for not mentioning the gender (?? cmiiw) of 'y/n'. I just realized that after couple of days. and I think, I don't have to put 'house saying horrible stuffs' as a warning lmao. reblogs are appreciated! happy readingggg

james wilson

- hey

- its james

- todays your 1st appointment day, just wanna remind u

- cya

me

- dw james

- im alr in waiting room

today is one of your tiring day. one hour ago you've attended a meeting full of legal officers and the pressure is still intact to your mind. and now you're sitting in Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital's waiting room, waiting for your first appointment. still in your overall, you read through a pamflet from this room.

"miss y/l/n?" a nurse came out of a room, calling for you.

"I'm coming!" you entered the appointment room and saw wilson standing there while reading your chart. "hey"

"oh, hey y/n. i assume you've drank some of the pills that i prescripted?" wilson started the conversation and assist you to sit down, "sit down please"

"yeah, once a day right?" looking at his outfit, he looks so tired. sleeves already rolled up and hair messed up. "I also drank two or three painkillers because when I was working, the pain came up and- yeah"

when you talked about the pills, wilson sat down in front of you. then, the previous nurse that called you before started to help you take off your overalls, not taking off your shirt. you then took off the shirt by yourself, leaving the bra that still on your body.

"can you take off your bra please?" wilson then looked at your chart again, he felt nervous to look at your breast that is really in front of him. then you took of your bra, revealed your breast and the lump.

"okay... let's see." wilson started to obverse the lump on your breast. "it feels like the lump already shrinking a little bit..."

"that's a good news!"

"yeah. you can put on your clothes now" looking at your chart again, wilson still felt nervous, you put on your clothes one by one but not the overalls. "nurse, could you please leave the room? I need to talk to the patient privately."

"sure" without hesitation, she left the room.

"uhm?" you just stand there silently.

"do you want to go dinner with me after work?" the long awaited wilson's intention is now blurted by him.

still confused, you nodded, "yeah of course, just text me when you're done"

"ye- yeah sure. here's the prescriptions" he handed it to you. and you walked to the door.

unexpectedly, house opened the door, "you two lovebirds can't do it in my appointment room"

"house, shut up" wilson put his hands on his waist, "and what do you mean by 'it'?"

"sex?"

"wh-"

"I assumed that because you sent out the nurse I told to supervise you both," house walked away, "ew"

wilson came closer to you, "I'm so sorry y/n. that's dr. house if you remember"

"yeah.. I know him- I remember him"

"here's your prescription for the next week, take care of yourself" wilson handed you his written prescription.

"thanks, bye"

--------------------------------------------

it's 7pm and wilson already texted you for dinner. while putting your dress on, wilson knocked your apartment several times.

"give me a minute!" you shouted from your bedroom. then you walked your legs to the front door, opened it for him. "I'm sorry, I haven't ready yet. but you can come in, it's cold outside"

stunned, wilson just stand there while looking at you.

"james?"

"oh- yeah, of course" you both walked in to your apartment. he sat down on the sofa and watched you walk back to your bedroom.

after a minute, you came back with two color option of mini cardigans. "I thought it's cold outside and I'm not confident with my breast's current situation you know," you giggled it off, "which one suit my dress better?"

wilson stunned again with your fashion ideas, "you shall not wearing any..."

"huh?"

"I- I mean you shall not wear that red one, I think white suits you better" he almost said it.

"thanks.." you said it with confused tone.

--------------------------------------------

"so, how's your life?" he opened the long awaited conversation after you both started the main course.

"pretty good..." you giggled it off again while slicing the steak in front of you, "actually kinda bad. I recently broke up with my ex boyfriend"

"is it bad?"

"well yeah, at least he was not my husband" ouch, that part hurted wilson's heart a little, "how 'bout you?"

"not to much going on, just cancer and cancer"

you smiled, "thank God I'm not one of your cancer patient"

"yeah"

when you guys are chatting, wilson looked outside. he spotted house standing there menacingly. house, being himself, walked in to the dinner.

"hey, how y'all doing"

"good, before you came in," house scooched on the seat beside wilson, "and why are you here?"

"to tell y/l/n your exes"

"you got exes?" you startled, because you thought wilson is just a baby that can't touch a woman.

"wife"

"house, shut up" wilson blushed of embarrassment.

"I need to tell her the truth," he picked a piece of french fries of yours, "I'm preventing it to happen again"

"I can do it by myself" wilson tried to push him over

"hey, I'm a martyr in here"

"james, that's okay, dr. house can stay here" they both looked at you and sat down quietly like you're their mother.

house cleared his throat, "I just don't want it to be happened again"

"tell me more about his exes, house" you put a bite of steak in your mouth.

--------------------------------------------

after the craziest dinner, wilson drove you both home. house sat down on the backseat, drunk. and you sat down beside wilson, trying to kept awake.

"can I take him to his house first? his is closer" wilson opened the conversation and woke you up.

"that's okay"

after sending house home, it's just you and him in car. he drove silently and you were fighting the urge to not close your eyes.

"y/n"

"huh?" you startled, visibly.

"sorry-" realized you were surprised by his voice, " 'am sorry for house's behaviour"

"that's really okay.. I mean... he's house" you explained. ten seconds later, you both arrived in front of your apartment.

"wanna stay for a night?" you asked while unbuckling your seatbelt.

"sure, why not"

... to be continued

[vilebird]

FUNERAL AFTER A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE

a painting of a pale sky and bright blue sea crashing onto dark rocks and foaming. it's oriented the right way. - Day, by Frederick Judd Waugh

"and the man looks me in the eyes and he points to the blue-orange vault over heaven's gates and he says the face of everyone you miss is up there and i know i know i can't see them but i know" - And What Good Will Your Vanity Be When The Rapture Comes, by Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib

"i've cut myself off. i can feel the place / where i used to be attached. it's raw, as when you grate / your finger. it's a shredded mess / of images. it hurts." The Door, by Margaret Atwood

"i found you / i found the door / but when i stepped through / there was no floor" I want you, by Mitski

a still from a video of a bright setting sun against a dark orange sky and dark blue sea, with the caption "don't cry" - The Green Ray (1986)

"i feel dead. / i feel as if i were the residue of a stranger's life" - The Lost Pilot, by James Tate

"the shuddering moan of blood, a song to calm the sacrificial, the loss across the river. the way a dying animal will look at you is seared into me. we tie together and all over again." - i cant remember what this one is sorru

"i am feeling numb. it's a curious feeling, and i get it all the time. my attention to the world around me disappears, and something starts to hum inside my head. far off, voices try to bump up against me, but i repel them. my ears fill up with water and i focus on the humming inside my head. / i am inside my skull. it is a little cave, and i curl up inside it. below it, my body hovers, unattached." - Madness: A Bipolar Life, by Marya Hornbacher.

"-though we're dry and waiting. part of me died here so another could go on. the body i raised-" - When They Say you Can't Go Home Again What They Mean is You Where Never There, by Marty McConnell

text: "there'll always be a few things / maybe several things/ that you're gonna find / really difficult to forgive" image: a black silhouette of a minotaur sitting on top of a pale pillar rising out of a pale maze, looking out at an orange sunset over an empty desert beyond the walls of its maze. the text is black letters on white pasted in strips over top. - Up the Wolves by the Mountain Goats and Minotauro by Jordi Garriga Mora. collage put together by @scatterghosts

"i know there are things i haven't survived." - Lord of the Butterflies, by Andrea Gibson

"it seems to me that the dead only return for love or for revenge. who did you come back for?" - White is for Witching, by Helen Oyeyemi

a painting of a bright white bird on a background split between dark blue and black - Promised Land (2013), by Michael Creese

"and with or without your support, i will continue / what im trying to say is you never know what you've been through / til you pause and cough it out" - Cough It Out by The Frontbottoms

"painting all the mirrors black / i won't see you staring back / i'm getting lost forever / searching in the broken glass / trying to ignore the past / and put myself together" - Mirrors by 8 Graves

"saint calvin told me not to worry about you / but he's got his own things to deal with / there's really just one thing we have in common: / neither of us will be missed" - Saint Bernard by Lincoln

"so many bright lights to cast a shadow / but can i speak? / well, is it hard understanding / that i'm incomplete?" - Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance

"being in a completely normal nonthreatening scenario & environment and thinking 'i have GOT to get the fuck out of here' with the intensity of some trapped neurotic prey animal" - tumblr post by user @greelin

"but you know me / what can't i conjure into hysteria / and longing? / any place is a funeral as soon as i get there. / of course i'm the disaster / but you're the one foolish enough / to learn my name." - The Next Time We Talk on Facebook, by Clementine von Radics

"if your wounds are still open, trust / they are the doors to an answer, / and walk through." - You Better Be Lightning, by Andrea Gibson

text: "what a tremendous thing to learn from" image: black text on white strips across a blue-orange gradient - i forgot this one too sory

"when the body remembers, it bucks wildly / when we try to heal, the phantom smell returns / while in the shower, you break down / while you wash your body you realise it is not your body / and at the same time, it is the only body you have" - Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head, by Warsan Shire

"that was the thing. you never got used to it, the idea of somebody being gone. just when you think it's reconciled, accepted, someone points it out to you, and it just hits you all over again, that shocking." - The Truth About Forever, by Sarah Dessen

"the spirit is so hurt / it don't know the / body / it / looks in / the mirror / and asks, who is it?" - On/My/Aging, by Carolyn Marie Rodgers

"could we sit together in new bodies, shoulder to tender / shoulder, / the lovely and the thorned, the bitter and the failed, / the grave to the left of us, the sea to the right?" - 8, Always a Rose, by Li-Young Lee

"the fact of the matter is / you survived, / it's what you do. / death and you / walk side by side / all sigh and scythe / you stay alive. / and you have the right / but struggle to believe. / you're still allowed / to be alive. / it feels inappropriate." - It's What You Do, by Lena Oleanderson @lena-oleanderson

a painting of a bright orange sky at sunset, sun nowhere to be seen, over a pale sea crashing onto dark rocks and foaming. it's oriented upside down. - Night, by by Frederick Judd Waugh

[writings-ofthe-heart]

Haaaayyyyy!!Can you make my request????If you can,could you make headcanons of Brett from inside job????

Brett Hand/Reader headcanons

WC ; 593

Side notes ; UGH YES! I LOVE HIM SO MUCH! I did romantic only im sorry anon i am so deeply in love with him.

• First, Brett we all know, and love is insanely smooth. He’ll stroll up to any girl he wants and “rizz them up,” with his genuine conversation charisma. Surprisingly, it’s different with you.

• You’re at a bar, exhausted. The 9-5 job you do is grueling and thankless. Being so far from family, having no time for socializing, you’re left on your own.

• Cue in Brett had a bit too much “fun juice,” and is currently hanging off Reagan who is trying to get him off her.

• “Brett, what the fuck are you doing?!” Reagan groaned, pulling his sticky fingers off her. He seemed to be in a daze when he spotted you. A mess, maybe, but lonely for sure.

• And Brett was NOT going to let someone be lonely, on a Friday night.

• He stood, suddenly and walked to your side slowing down when he realized his heart was pounding, palms sweaty.

• Why was he so nervous???

• You were staring him down since you caught eye contact the first time. Maybe you were glaring at his weirdly chiseled jawline, and the way he seemed in a trance, by what, you wouldn’t know.

• Brett took a deep breath, sliding across into the chair beside you.

• “Hey.” He choked, on his spit. You swirled your drink and chuckled.

• “Take your time, sweetheart.” Your voice rang in his ears, like honey spilling over his heart.

• His knees gave in, like seriously. He dropped to his knees. You could only stare down at him, laughing.

• Stupidly laughing, loudly.

• Brett saw your smile, your laugh and began to awkwardly laugh along.

• His stomach did so many flips that night.

• You and Brett spent the entire night talking, drunkenly laughing over stupid things and enjoying each other's company.

• After several dates, you came to the conclusion, you knew nothing about Brett.

• He would only listen to you, a spineless man. But you knew better, you knew he had to have something unique about him.

• So you tried, asking him questions every time you saw him. He got nervous every time.

• After several more dates, you pried info out of him.

• “Puppets? Well... that’s interesting.” You kept an open mind, but couldn’t help but giggle.

• “W..What? Is it really funny?” He laughed, coughing anxiously. You shook your head, leaning over to him and pecking his cheek.

• “You sweet, loveable man.” Under your breath, he heard you and grinned widely.

• From then on, the relationship was the most genuine, loving connection you’d ever had.

• He loved you dearly, and was never afraid to show it.

• I fear this man has all five love languages.

• He’d send you flowers to your job at least monthly. ‘To cheer you up! <3’

• Brett would be amazing at cooking.

• You’d both be defintely be the dynamic of girlboss and her malewife.

• He loves to do things for you, cuddle and kiss you whenever he has the chance.

• Brett would only want that love to be returned in acts of service, physical touch, etc.

• He looooveeessss being coddled by you, whenever he’s sick, he knows he’s in good hands.

• Whenever Brett gets drunk, he gets really clingy... and lovey... which makes him talk nonsense.

• Which is nonsense to you.

• “Mmm...” He tugged on your dress, mumbling your name. “I can’t wait to grow old with you, god, I love you!” He sobbed, embracing you tightly.

• You pat him, smugly taking a video.

• He was never redder the next day, shrieking at you.

• All in all, you love him, he loves you.

• He’d really do anything for you.

[daftdrac]

Transfem Kurt Wagner

So, uh, in like September of last year (2024) I made a post about a transfem au i was making for X-men evolution nightcrawler based on the scene in one of the episodes where his image inducer (essentially a hologram to make him look human) was programmed by Charles to make him look like a girl as a joke.

I was realllyyy ambitious about it and was taking a lot of ideas (with consent obvi) from someone in the replies and reblogs. And then proceeded to never touch the idea again uhmmmm this is due to a combination of severe writers block and getting a new hyperfixation :3 long story short i got a notification from the post, went back and re read it, and im still in love w this au idea so i finally wrote out what would be essentially the first chapter please be mindful this is not proofread and is the first draft it will probably be edited if i do anything w this again. I just felt like i had an obligation to at least do SOMETHING with it cause i said i would write it and a few people said they wanted to read it so uhm if you are those people (@ ing them) give feedback maybe and tell me if you like/ want more. here we go:

Kurt rushed up to the professor as he wheeled out of the medical room Scott was being kept in. It was nice having their room to himself for a while, but he *was* concerned for Scott, and sort of missed the nagging.  

“Is Scott open for visitors?” He questioned, tail swaying anxiously behind him. 

“Yes, Kurt. Go ahead,” but as he stepped past Xavier, he was stopped, “Oh, and, Kurt– I fixed your image inducer.” He was surprised by the stop, but took the watch with grace. 

“Oh! Thank you, professor– and, uhm.. Sorry for messing with it.” Charles chuckled, and pat his arm with a friendly smile. 

“I know you are, Kurt,” he spoke, and allowed him to slip the watch on and enter Scott’s room.

Walking in, he saw Scott, Still bed-bound from the exhaustion he faced after being stranded at sea for so long. Jean sat beside his bed, holding a bowl and spoon feeding her ‘not’-boyfriend. 

“Hey, sailor,” Kurt joked, an empathetic smile crossing his face as he walked in. Jean and Scott both turned their attention to him, eyes widening, and Scott let out a snicker.

“Uh... hello Ma’am.” It came out so smoothly, Kurt almost didn't notice he’d been referred to as a woman. When it clicked, however, a wave of confusion washed over him. Why didn’t he feel weird being called a girl? Weren’t guys, like, always super defensive about not being feminine? Kurt always assumed he’d feel the same way if anyone ever tried to call him feminine– but this was almost the opposite. “Ma’am? What’s that for?” He fumbled, looking around the room to see what they could be referring to, only to catch a glimpse of himself in a mirror. Oh, okay, that made more sense– but, was *definitely* not normal. “I- professor!” he stammered as he stared at himself in the reflective surface. Slim waist, thinner arms, large chest, round face with pretty makeup on– he was *definitely* a girl.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,” Xavier spoke, cheeky smile on his face as he admired Kurt’s distress. Kurt, however, was too busy staring at himself with wide eyes to respond to the quip. He looked down at hi chest, and behind him, Scott scoffed and said something to jean about kids.

“It– it’s okay, professor!” Kurt urged immediately, turning around. “I- I know you’re probably busy, there’s no need to fix it right now, since it’s a weekend and we don't have school, i’ll just stay inside!” 

“No, no, it’s fine, Kurt, really.” Xavier chuckled, rolling forward and grabbing the watch from his wrist, causing the illusion to disintegrate. Immediately, the giddy feeling in Kurt’s chest was washed away as he looked down at his lanky, boxy form. 

“Are you sure..?” He asked, voice weak. Xavier smiled and rolled towards the door, leaving Kurt feeling strangely uncomfortable in his body in a way he realized was familiar, but had never noticed before. 

The next day, Nightcrawler was talking to Kitty at lunch. She was going on about something a girl at school had said to her, but Nightcrawler’s eyes were stuck to the counter, deep in thought. “Kitty, I think I want to be a girl.” They said suddenly, cutting off Kitty’s train of thought.

“*What*?” she replied, and immediately, Nightrawler regretted bringing it up. “You want to be a girl?” They were quiet for a moment, and Kitty turned to face them fully. With more empathy in her tone, she spoke again. “What, like… you’re gay?”

Nightcrawler frowned as they looked at her, confused. “Gay?” they said, and Kitty tilted her head. “Yeah- like… a guy who likes guys. I heard a lot of gay guys are like, ‘drag queens’ or something. They dress up as women.” Nightcrawler wasn’t quite sure this descriptor fit them exactly, but they had no idea what else they could possibly be.  “Uhm… yeah, I think.” They said, and Kitty smiled.

“That’s fine! Some people are really rude about being gay but, like, what’s even the difference? And who cares who you like, anyway? It’s weird to be all up in someone’s business like that! And- hey, maybe you could get into drag! That would be really cool, to have a guy friend who could like, do makeup and stuff! We could do each other's makeup!” Nightcrawler smiles, and runs a hand through their hair.

“Uh- Okay! Uhm, Kitty... could you call me by my codename? Uhm, you know, outside of missions and stuff? Instead of Kurt?” Smiling, Kitty nodded, even if she thought the request was a little strange. She didn’t really know what being gay was like, and she’d never met a gay guy before Nightcrawler– maybe this was normal, wanting to be called a different name.

(ppl who said they wanted to read - @ryuu-the-shadow-xmen, @uselessaussie, @a-roguish-gambit)