#just an incredibly unlikely to happen right now anxiety

[sapphygolucky]

i'd like to get off mr bones wild ride now pls

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - if we were us (part one)

warnings ; none

prompt ; in which life gives you and Jungkook one more chance to hold on.

note ; AH. IT'S HERE. i won't lie, finding where i wanted this story to start was extremely difficult and took me way longer than i want to admit. but after 2939393 cups of coffee and 393949 emhen inspirational quotes i made it. i have never been more excited about a piece of writing in my life!! for context, i began writing when i was 12 and have written numerous works over 200k words, but once i got to college, diverted to only one-shots and shorter fics to give myself time to live. now that i'm way too old to be on this app, i have time on my hands to actually enjoy writing stories and it both terrifies and excites me if you could see the notion file i have on this story you'd prob understand my anxiety a little more. on the bright side though, this is basically me signing a contract to stay on tumblr for at least another 6-8 months (or however long this story will take to complete.) all this to say, this story is incredibly nuanced and every character has flaws, trials, tribulations, yada yada. i hope your world is just as chaotic, devastating, exciting and messy as theirs. this is for all the lovers in the world who want a second chance. may it be sweeter than the first.

playlist here

series masterlist here

wc ; 3.9k

[YOUR POV]

You’ve always liked the rain. 

There’s something oddly comforting about it. The quiet hush of the droplets. The way it softens the edge of the world, but follows no pattern to its madness. 

Pretty much all your firsts have happened in the rain.

The first time you were dropped off for a playdate without crying, your shoes squelched against the pavement, raincoat sticking to the backs of your knees. The first time a friend hugged you was in middle school, outside of a 7-Eleven. The sky had opened up without warning, and you both laughed through it, soaked to the bone. Your first kiss was under a shared umbrella that kept tipping sideways, clumsy and warm and like two puzzle pieces that wouldn’t fully fit together but gave the illusion they might for a moment in time. He tasted like cherry gum and a thunderstorm that was gone too quickly.

The rain reminds you of beginnings. Unlike endings, they require no permission. They simply appear, uninvited, leaving behind fertile ground for whatever comes next. 

Morning light creeps in between the cracks of the blinds. A familiar heaviness weighs your eyes down, the air in the room cold in the way it always is when it rains outside. You shift slightly beneath the comforter, legs stretching out until your toes hit the edge of the mattress. Behind you, his arm tightens instinctively around your waist. 

You feel a soft groan rumble against your spine, breath fanning the back of your neck. Your body pauses its movement for a second, suspended between comfort and obligation. 

Outside, the rain taps against the window louder now. A familiar sound that makes you want to follow his actions and bury yourself into the thick sheets, pretend you have nowhere else to be. 

You really don’t want to get up. Clearly, neither does he. 

The pads of his fingers shift against your hip, digging into the bare skin. You can’t help but smile a little, even though it’s tired and small. 

“Joonie,” you murmur, voice thick with slumber. “I need to get up.”

That earns you another groan. A little louder, more dramatic. His face presses into your shoulder. “Mm. Five more minutes,” he mumbles. “World won’t end if you’re late.”

You want to believe him, but the kids in your class would say otherwise. 

You appease him, stay for one more breath. Maybe two. Normally, you wouldn't give yourself the extra grace. But it’s raining and beginnings are easier this morning. Plus, your boyfriend seems to be the human version of a teddy bear right now and you’re finding it quite endearing. 

Five more minutes, that’s what you give yourself. You don’t look at the clock or count the seconds. Time slips past slowly as you turn over and press your face into the side of his, kissing his cheek, jaw, the patch of skin just below his ear that’s always so soft. 

He doesn’t react much besides a sigh. His hold on your waist loosens as he recognizes your signal, your quiet touch that says you’re getting up. 

You slip out of bed carefully, trying not to shake the mattress too much. His t-shirt is bunched around your hips, creased and bunched from sleep. When you stand, it falls low to your thighs, brushing against your skin. 

The hardwood floor is cold under your feet. Rubbing at your eyes with the back of your hand, you drag yourself back into consciousness the best you can at 7 AM in the morning. 

You cross the room, flip the bathroom light on and begin your routine. It’s nothing glamorous, but when you work with children all day, this is the one part of the day you get to yourself. The version of you that isn’t constantly giving, fixing or soothing. Some mornings, it’s the only thing that keeps you sane. 

Your reflection in the mirror blinks back at you, fogged at the edges by the sleep still lingering in your expression. Halfway through brushing your teeth, you hear the creak of the mattress followed by the shuffle of feet across the floor.

Namjoon appears in the mirror, hair poking in ten different directions, leaning against the doorframe like his weight is too heavy to carry upright at this hour. 

“You look serious,” he teases. 

You glare at him sarcastically through the mirror and shrug, mouth full of minty toothpaste. 

“Deep thoughts?” he asks, stepping closer. He places a warm hand on your waist, his thumb dragging lightly across his shirt you’re still wearing. “Existential crisis already, and it’s not even 7:30, baby.”

You hum in acknowledgement around your toothbrush, raising an eyebrow. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. 

“What does your day look like?” he questions, reaching around you to grab the floss on the counter. 

You spit the foamy paste, wipe your mouth with the sink water. “I’ve got this new lesson plan I’m trying out. I’m hoping it lands well but knowing my kids, they’re going to make a mess.”

“Mess?” He cuts the piece of floss. 

“We’re using paint to help solve math problems.” Not your best idea. In hindsight, it sounded like it would heal your inner child but in practice, it’s definitely going to end with you cleaning paint off your jeans for the next two weeks. 

“Sounds exhausting,” He leans into the mirror to see his teeth better.

“And you?” You meet his eyes in the reflection, smiling briefly. 

“Mm,” he pauses to run the floss between his teeth before speaking. “Work call at 10. Then coding a shit ton of our new website features. Jin also asked me to look at paint samples with him, which will take approximately four more hours than it needs to.”

You snort out a laugh, ���That’s what you get for agreeing to help with his kitchen.”

“Thought I was being a good friend,” he throws out his floss, grabbing his toothbrush out of the holder. “Kinda also wanted the free lunch.”

“Jin already thinks you’re a great friend, baby,” You splash some cold water on your face, trying to liven up your skin. “You know that.”

You’ve known Jin since college. He was always loyal — the kind of friend who showed up with takeout boxes when you were sad, who knew your exam schedules better than you did, who cracked your shell before others even brought out the hammer. You don't talk everyday, but when you do, it always feels like you’re picking up mid-conversation. 

Back when you and Namjoon were just hooking up, seeing where life took you, you introduced Jin to him. He was overprotective like an older brother in a sitcom, side-eyeing Namjoon between bites of ramyeon. Now, the two of them argue about kitchen appliances like they’re married and have a shared spreadsheet for wine recommendations you’re not allowed to edit. 

Sometimes you wonder if Namjoon fell in love with Jin and you were an afterthought. 

Namjoon chuckles while putting paste on his toothbrush, “He better. I sat in his house for two hours last week listening to him talk about that new guy he’s seeing and I… heard things no one should have to hear.”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about Jin’s sex life with him,” You poke his side as you lean against the sink, watching your boyfriend with amusement. 

He spits out the toothpaste, waving the brush in the air animatedly. “You agreed. I tried to agree and got roped into it anyway.”

Rolling your eyes, you push yourself off the sink with your palms and go, “Breakfast?” 

He nods at you, and you disappear down the hall, arms wrapped tightly around your body to block off as much of the cold air as possible. 

Your mornings have always been trivial. Insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe. You move on autopilot: pan on low heat, fridge door creaking open, eggs gathered in one hand, butter in the other. The coffee machine gurgles in the corner. His favorite mug  — the one with the chipped rim and the ugly cartoon bear on it  — is already out on the counter. You know he likes his eggs over easy, toast not too burnt, coffee with a splash of creamer. 

You barely think about these things anymore. 

It’s not like he ever asked you to be this way in the morning. Never said a word about it, or gave any sort of hint, never played helpless in front of the stove. But it was an invisible task that folded in on your routine without ever being discussed. 

It’s what love looks like, you remind yourself. The quiet dig of learning each other’s habits, small sacrifices piling up like layers beneath your feet. 

It doesn’t bother you. You like to give. You remember birthdays without setting calendar reminders, refill the Brita before it’s empty. And it’s not that people don’t love you back. You're just always a few steps ahead, already halfway into caring before anyone else even notices there was something to do. 

Namjoon walks in as you’re cracking the eggs, eyes still droopy with sleep. He’s no longer shirtless, now in his forest green hoodie he always wears when he works from home, which these days, appears to be more often than not. He yawns into his fist before grabbing two plates from the cabinet and setting them down beside you. 

“You beat me to it,” he taunts, gently bumping your hip. 

You hum, flipping the eggs with the new spatula his mom got you last week. “Didn't know it was a race.”

He chuckles, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “I was gonna offer. Technically, last week, I made the coffee.”

“Mm. The machine made coffee, baby. You pressed the button.”

He doesn’t respond to you.There’s not much more to say to that. Instead he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. It almost feels like punctuation. Like a period that stops any other words from leaving your mouth. 

He’s quiet for another second, then breaks the silence in the air, “We still good to go to that baby shower on Sunday?”

You vaguely remember him telling you about his coworker’s pregnancy. All you know is it was an event that showed up on your shared calendar in the kitchen, circled in red and scrawled in messy handwriting. 

You nod as you plate the eggs, “Yup. Two o’clock, right?”

“Precisely.” Namjoon runs a hand through his unruly dark brown hair. “Seo-yeon mentioned something about a bouncy house?” 

“A bouncy house?” you repeat incredulously as you hand him his plate. “At a baby shower?” 

“She said the baby can’t use it but the adults should still have fun.” He shrugs like it makes perfect sense. Seo-yeon, his coworker at the tech startup he works for, has always been an eccentric female. You’ve met her a handful of times, but that was more than enough to understand why Namjoon refers to her as an ‘old soul.’ A bouncy house at her baby shower doesn’t even crack the top ten on the list of things that surprise you.

You giggle under your breath, passing him the plate. “If you catch me in the bouncy house, just know I had one too many mimosas.”

Namjoon rounds your tiny kitchen table, settling down in the chair. “Do we need to bring anything?” 

You hesitate for a moment. You don’t really have the heart to tell him you went down to the market last week to pick up a blanket and bear set for her. But you know if you dodge the question, he’ll ask again in a few days. “I already got the gift.”

You hear him start to chew, fork scraping against the plate. “Cool. Thanks, baby.” 

You think he’ll ask you what you got Seo-yeon, but he doesn’t.

You walk over to the coffee machine, pouring out the dark liquid into your respective mugs. Splash of cream for him. Three sugars and milk for you. You set his cup in front of him, ceramic clinking softly against the table, before heading back to the countertop and retrieving your own plate and mug to match.

When you settle in front of him, he peers into your mug. “I don’t know how you drink that.” 

To further prove his own point, he takes a sip, immediately wincing. “God,” he mumbles. “That’s not coffee. That’s dessert.”

“I like it sweet.”

“Offensively sweet.” He deposits your mug back down on your side of the table as if quarantining a biohazard. He’s a broken record at this point, always reminding you that one day, you’ll get a cavity from how sugary you prefer your drinks. Like a ghost that haunts every breakfast table discussion about your choice of beverage. 

“Well.” You tuck a piece of toast into your mouth. “Not all of us are fueled by burnt beans and overpriced creamer.”

He laughs at that, the sound ricocheting across kitchen surfaces. He’s always been easy to talk to, to sit beside in the stillness of early mornings where the world hasn’t quite remembered it exists yet. 

“One day, I’m going to get you to drink black coffee,” he teases. “Whatever it takes.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” you laugh as you cut up another piece of your eggs. 

“You still doing the bug project with your kids?” he asks, and you feel a wash of gratitude for the change in conversation topic. 

You nod, sighing, “Day three. Which means today’s the day someone accidentally steps on an ant farm and cries about it like it was their childhood pet.”

His mouth curves upward, eyes crinkling, “Weren’t you the one who said this year’s class was your most emotionally stable?”

“They are,” you insist around a mouthful of toast. “However, they did stage a protest yesterday when I tried to throw out a dead butterfly. Held a moment of silence and everything. I’m pretty sure they’re building it a grave out of popsicle sticks.”

Namjoon nearly chokes on his eggs. “I’m impressed.”

“You should come by sometime. Meet the little fuckers who take up all my time.” You’re half-joking, half-not. The last (and only) time he visited your classroom was the holiday party where you first met, when he was someone else’s reluctant plus one. You often watch other teachers partners’ appearing at classroom doors, bearing lunch and casual affection. 

He shakes his head. “I barely survived kindergarten on my own.” 

Between bites, he adds, “Got that deployment to push through today. Something’s breaking in the new UI, but I can't tell if it’s the framework or the entire infrastructure.”

You blink at him, chewing thoughtfully. “Wow. Sexy.”

“I know,” he smirks. “Almost as sexy as your bug project.”

You place a hand over your heart, sarcastically swooning. “God, nothing gets me going like scalable infrastructure.” Words harvested from his work calls — incomprehensible things you say without understanding the origins.

He lifts a hand in mock warning. “You better pray I don’t start talking about data streams before you finish breakfast.”

You snort, taking another sip of your coffee. “Enjoy your precious code. I’ll be elbows deep in glue and paint by 9 AM.”

Namjoon finishes his coffee before you do, setting the mug on the sink. When he passes, he kisses your temple, hand grazing your back like water over stones, “Have a good day, baby.”

You nod, already pushing your chair back once your eyes catch on the kitchen clock’s accusatory hands. “You too.”

He disappears down the hall towards his makeshift home office, leaving behind the scent of coffee and the cologne you bought him last Christmas. You stay at the table a second longer. Long enough to sip what’s left of your coffee, now lukewarm and overly sweet. Long enough to listen to the rain tapping against the windows like it’s trying to say something you can’t make out. 

Long enough for you to wonder when sweet started tasting like something you needed to apologize for. 

“An iced mocha latte? Did anyone order the iced mocha latte?” 

Your favorite barista's voice rings throughout the quaint coffee shop, bystanders perking up in hopes of hearing their order called. Everyone collectively deflates when they see a frantic woman barrel past apologetically, reaching for a drink that clearly isn’t theirs. 

You don’t bother lifting your head up. Poor Jiwoo. She’s been manhandling the coffee shop by the school you work at since the day you started, and she might be the only barista who understands how much sugar you typically prefer in your coffee. 

If she ever leaves the shop, you’re pretty sure you’d have to transfer school districts out of grief alone. 

You prefer to leave early for work, leaving ample time to collect your candied coffee, run through your lesson plan, and gossip with the other teachers for at least ten minutes in the lounge.

Unfortunately, today, you might have to exclude the gossip session you enjoy so much. A tragedy in three acts. 

There are two new students starting today, and while you normally enjoy fresh faces in the classroom with different personality types to tame, you already have your hands full between the bug project and the ‘paint your 2+2’s’ activity you very ill-advisedly volunteered to lead. 

“Hey, [Y/N],” Jiwoo solemnly leans over the counter where you're perched, waiting patiently as any good samaritan does if they don't want their coffee spat into. Her hair is frizzing at the edges, apron already stained. “I’m so sorry for the wait. Normally I put a rush on yours, but this Monday is really kicking my ass.”

She looks so stressed you almost want to go back there and put on an apron, maybe start whipping up some Iced Americanos.

“It’s no problem,” you wave her away. “You know I always come way too early.”

She gives you an appreciative smile, rushing back to the counter to take more orders. You turn your back to the crowd, enjoying the view outside. There’s a few kids clutching their mother’s hands, businessmen holding briefcases while fighting with umbrellas, a teenage boy hopping puddles like he’s in a video game. Against the windowpane, the rain sticks to the glass, slowly sliding to make space for new ones. 

“Hi, can I get an iced vanilla latte?”

You’re close enough to the counter that you’ve started eavesdropping on other’s orders without meaning to. Honestly, an iced vanilla latte sounds pretty good. You once got an iced caramel macchiato before 9 AM though, and you were vibrating like a tuning fork until your last kid went home at 2 PM. The girl’s voice is distressed as she taps her card against the reader, probably running late to work now from the long line. 

“Hey, can I get a black coffee? Hot?”

The second voice is different. 

It’s a man’s. Can’t be older than mid-30s. It’s lower, calmer. Unrushed. Like honey poured over gravel. 

Everything in your body stops functioning. 

It’s as if someone snipped the film reel mid-scene. The cafe around you doesn’t gradually fade. It’s replaced by a silence so loud you can hear your own blood rushing through your veins. The clink of cups, the hiss of the milk steamer, the shuffle of feet becomes background collateral, dissolving into white noise. 

Your hands clench around nothing. Lungs forget their one job. Your heart reverberates against your ribs like it’s trying to signal an emergency to anyone within radius. 

No, that second voice is a voice you haven’t heard in ten years but would recognize in a burning building. 

The second voice is a voice that has set up permanent residence in your bone marrow, lingering even after you thought you’d evicted every last trace of him from your system. 

You don’t dare turn around.

You stand there, statue-still, staring out the rain-streaked window as if memories don’t curl up and hibernate in your throat, waiting for precisely this moment to wake and stretch. 

Your eyes close for a brief second. 

When you open them again, the world outside continues its persistent motions. But you, you remain perfectly still, a pause button pressed in the center of the city. 

Seoul is a big city. You’re 32 now and far too old to believe in ghosts.

He wouldn’t be here. He made that very clear a decade ago. 

You hear another voice begin to recite their order. He’s probably off to the side, somewhere in the shop that is now dwindling down the number of patrons inside as work hours creep up on the clock. You’re too scared to breathe, to even glance one foot in the other direction. 

Your eyes instead train ahead on the bag of coffee beans untouched on the counter. 

“Iced coffee, three sugars and milk?” Jiwoo comes running over to you, a triumphant grin on her face as if she just defeated the morning rush. “God, I’m so sorry for the wait. Yours is on the house next time.” 

“No, it’s no problem,” You lean over and pat her hand, like you’re trying to prove your heart hasn’t actually stopped and you’re still a live human, even though it feels like it might. 

You shuffle over to the side station where the honey, tiny wooden stirrers, and other small distractions meant to keep your hands busy are. You grab a few napkins for yourself. You can’t trust your grip right now. In the distance, Jiwoo rattles off some other orders you can’t make out. One of her coworkers comes rushing in, red-faced and apologetic. 

You glance up at the clock on the wall. 8:30 AM. You’ve made great time despite the numerous coffee mishaps. And clearly, you need to sit in your chair and take a moment to yourself, because you’re now hallucinating the ghost of college’s past, and it’s too early to do that. 

You stir in some honey into your coffee. Taking a slow, deep breath, you turn a half-step with coffee in tow. 

And then, because the universe has a spectacular gift for comedic timing, you collide with someone. 

Your shoulder meets theirs, your cup shifting in your hand and sending a small wave over the lid’s edge. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry—”

Your eyes are already tracking the damage, focusing on white sneakers now marked with a small splash of brown. Nothing ruinous, but your body finds itself crouching, napkins in hand, some deeply ingrained instinct to make things right taking over.

“No, it’s okay,” the voice says.

It’s the second voice. Gentle. That same calm. 

You know this voice the way you know the road home in the dark, the way plants know to grow toward sunlight. 

Slowly, you lift your gaze upwards. 

He’s older, of course. More settled into himself. The lines around his eyes weren’t there before, shoulders carrying the weight of ten more years of living. His eyes stare into yours, somehow still reading every inch of you despite the decade-long gap. 

Reality blurs at the edges. The rain against the window falls silent. The coffee shop with its morning bustle recedes. Your heart hangs suspended from one beat and the next. The napkins fall to the floor, your wobbly legs struggling to stand upright. 

On a rainy Monday morning, where beginnings are endless, your ex boyfriend from university, Jeon Jungkook, stands in front of you holding a cup of black coffee in his right hand. 

masterlist + ask

taglist ; @arcanekookz @writesvani @yooniepot @whoa-jo @nimmmnikk @readingbee44 @jungshaking @starlight-1010 @jadaocon1 @phoenixxxxstarrrr @jkaxl @butterymin @almatiarau @lovingkoalaface @carriereadsbooks @bhonbhon @lola75111 @yoonstaar @namkookie222 @jeonjenny @lachimochala @kissyfacekoo @libra04 @minimoninini @goldenjeonkoo @ot7even @kopiosuam @annpeachy @literallyjimin @prxdajeon @purplelanterns @neg-l3ct @gguk-lvr @misakiminaa @wisebouquetbarbarian

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Smile For The Camera, Baby 📸 (Geto x F!Reader 18+ One Shot) 

Pairing: Photographer!Geto Suguru x Plus-Sized!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which you decide to volunteer to model for your friend’s lingerie line photoshoot when the original model gets sick and meet the very sexy photographer who isn’t letting you leave until you realize how gorgeous you are. 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS DNI); Highkey Flirting; Inappropriate Touching; Sexual Tension; Alcohol Consumption; Pet Names: Mama, Baby; Sugar (for Geto); MDom!Geto x fsub!Reader; Strangers to Lovers; Tongue Kissing; Striptease; Mutual Oral; 69ing; Facesitting; Praise; Edge Play; Lewd Pictures; No PIV Sex; Facial; Exhibitionism; Aftercare Cuddles 

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: I wrote this about a year ago, but it ended up being flagged (ugggggggh!!!) lol so I wanted to revise & repost it for Geto's birthday!!! This is how I cope with my baby being d*ad & gone. I also know for a fact Geto loves women of all shapes n sizes! I hope y'all enjoy! -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

************

“I-I don’t know about this, Maki.” 

About two weeks ago, you were initially okay with taking semi-naked and possible naked photos for your friend’s lingerie shoot since her model got ill. It wasn’t on short notice since the date for the shoot was during the weekend and you were getting paid for your time.

Plus, spending a hot afternoon trying on cute lingerie and sipping on Moscato seemed like a great afternoon, indeed. 

But now that you’re standing here among the lights, luxurious furniture, and the rack of lingerie with your sundress draped across your plump body, all of that easiness is gone and not even a glass of Moscato can fix it.

Especially when you just found out a few minutes when you arrived here to the studio that Maki wouldn’t be taking the photos but her friend, who is a man you’ve never met before, would be. 

“Why not?” Maki whines disapprovingly. She is standing by one of the lights, trying to get it right so it illuminates your skin and brings out the soft glow of your makeup. She gave you time to do your hair and makeup when you got here since the walk from your home to the studio was a hot one.

Even though your apartment is only five blocks away, the hot weather has a vengeance, and you showed up coated in sweat, glad you took a shower and applied extra layers of spray deodorant to your inner thighs earlier before leaving your crib. 

Though you know look and smell good with your pink, gloss lips, glittery eyeshadow, and rose-scented perfume, neither does much to curb your anxiety. You fidget with the hem of your dress, unable to look Maki in the eye. “I’m just not comfortable with this guy takin’ photos of me,” you mutter. 

“Y/N, I told you,” Maki sighs, “Geto is a professional photographer. He’s taken many shots for my business before! Did you look at his portfolio? I sent it to you two weeks ago.” 

You timidly nod because you did. Though you have no clue what Geto looks like, you will admit that he has immense talent. While you sat at your laptop two weeks ago, you scrolled through his photos that ranged from nature for National Geographic Magazine to photos of the prettiest women for Maki’s lingerie line.

The way he managed to capture each thing, whether an animal or a human, and bring out the best in them was incredible. 

But your anxiousness isn’t just the fact that he was a man who happened to be taking your photos today since the original photographer had to go out of town for her sick mother.

It’s the fact that each woman Geto photographed for Maki’s line don’t look like you. They’re much smaller with perfectly flat stomachs and hour-shaped figures; perky breasts and thighs that have not an inch of cellulite. 

You’re unlike any of them. You have stomach; triple D titties that you have to pay an arm and a leg for when it comes to bras; an ass and thighs dimpled with cellulite; pudge that makes your arms bigger than you’d like them to be. Your size is the reason you tend to stay away from bikinis and crop tops in the summer; opting instead for sundresses that reach your ankles and even jackets that hide your shape. Your shape is why you don't date as much, too afraid of rejection despite your pretty face and cute smile. 

You’re used to men ghosting you or standing you up after getting a look at you below your chin. It’s humiliating to be in your body and to be treated in such a way. What angers you most is that you take care of yourself–you eat your fruits and veggies; you drink water; you exercise–and yet you’re still criticized by society for the body you’re forced to live in. 

That’s why when Maki asked you to model for her new summer lingerie line, you were more than happy to participate, thinking it’d be a great way to boost your confidence. Plus, you get to keep the lingerie you like. But now, all you want to do is hide away from the blinding lights above, feeling too hot and exposed beneath them. 

Maki puts a hand on her slim hip, fixing you with a stare. “He’s not gonna hit on you if that’s what you’re worried about,” she sighs. “Geto doesn’t really date since he’s always working. And we don’t have time for you to change your mind, girl! I need these photos in by next week!” She turns to her sister. “Mai, back me up here!” 

Mai, lounging on the couch for the shoot with her legs crossed, looks up from her book with a bored expression. “I’m not in this,” she deadpans before looking back down and flipping a page. Maki growls in frustration at her sister’s refusal to help before turning back to you. “Are you sure this is just about the fact that a guy, who is a professional photographer, is taking your photos today?” She cocks her head to the side, still giving you that fixed stare. 

You flush in your sundress. She knows exactly what’s going on and wants you to say it. 

“The girls he shoots for don’t…look like me,” you carefully confess. “I’m much bigger and I’m afraid that–“ 

“Okay, stop.” Maki walks up to you and puts her hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look at her. “First of all, shut up. You’re fucking beautiful, no matter what shape you are, and I specifically picked you because you know how to work a camera and I want this new line to be inclusive to all sizes.” You flush at her compliment. “Second of all, Geto is going to take these pictures regardless of your size because it’s a fucking job, Y/N! He doesn’t care how you look!” 

She pauses, reiterating, “Well, he does, but only in his photos. Your body is your body. Plus, he is fully aware that the model today is a plus-sized woman and he still said yes.” 

“What’s the big deal?” Mai asks, shocking the both of you. She is looking up from her book and at you from under her black bang. “It’s not the end of the world that you’re fat, Y/N. You’re actin’ like fat women exist.” 

“Mai, come on!” Maki scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You couldn’t have used a better word? Maybe plump or chunky?” Mai shrugs, flipping another page in her book. “Maki, they all mean the same thing,” you giggle. “Fat isn’t a slur.” 

And it isn’t. Despite what you’ve been taught and shown by society, 'fat' isn’t negative, bad, or ugly; it is exactly what you are. You know you aren’t negative or bad and you sure as hell aren’t ugly just because of your extra pounds. And you know that this photoshoot can show you that.

“Mai is right…you both are.” You squeeze Maki’s hands still on your shoulders and nod at the little table where a chilled bucket of Moscato and glasses sit. “Maybe I just need a glass of Moscato.” 

Maki squeals excitedly, wrapping her arms around you to give you a hug. “Comin’ right up, girly!” She races over to the bottle to pour you a glass, but as she does, she becomes distracted by the sound of pounding footsteps. “Oh, and look who’s here! Right on time too, but then again, he’s always punctual.” She grins happily, giving you a wink. 

You look toward the open door where the studio’s staircase lies–the ones you had to walk up and nearly pull a muscle because the elevator is broken. There, you find a pair of big ass boots attached to an even bigger, taller man. 

You realize that you’ve never seen Geto’s photo before, so it takes you a moment to register that you’re looking at him in the flesh. To say he is hot is an understatement. He has to be about 6’0 with a large build. His muscles push and flex under his black tee that is soaked in sweat and his jeans are tight on his thick, muscled legs and slim waist.

His long, black hair is pulled back into a high bun that accentuates the sharp lines of his face, especially his cheekbones and jaw. Dark ink cascades up and down his big biceps and arms, stopping at his hands where several rings adorn his fingers. 

Geto comes into the room, appearing like a giant with how big he is. He stands much taller than you, Maki, and Mai combined. He could probably break you in half. “Please tell me you’ve got some water up here,” he huffs, lugging his backpack over his shoulders. His handsome, reddened face is glinting in sweat and are his thick neck and the collar to his tight tee. 

Maki points to the table at the back where drinks and snacks are set up. “Right on the table over there. Just put your stuff down over there, too.”

Geto nods and walks farther into the room. As he does, his eyes meet yours from across the room, rendering you speechless and suddenly in need of air. His eyes remind you of two purple amethysts–beautiful yet almost hard to look at. His gaze is intense and fixed as if he sees every single part of you under your dress. 

The smell is fortunately broken when Geto moves to the snack table and turns his back to you, allowing you to get a look at his ass in them jeans. “Close your mouth, Y/N,” Mai snickers, suddenly beside you. “You’ll catch flies.”

You flush in embarrassment, feeling like a perv. “Shut up,” you mumble. Mai just snickers, knowing damn well you’re whipped. 

Once Geto finishes setting up his equipment from his backpack, including a camera, Maki brings him over to introduce you by his arm. “Geto, allow me to introduce the woman of the hour and my best friend, Y/N.” She motions over your body, making you feel even more exposed. “Y/N, this is Geto Suguru. We call him ‘sugar’ for short.” 

Geto rolls his eyes, taking his arm out of Maki’s grasp. “You didn’t have to mention that.” His violet eyes meet yours, pinning you to your spot. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.” And his voice! The deep timbre of it makes your pussy tremble. 

He sticks his hand out for yours. Tentatively, you take it, ignoring how big, calloused, and warm his hand is. “Y-You too,” you stammer. You give him a smile in an attempt to not seem awkward. “Um, I like your photos. You really have a way with your camera.” 

He doesn’t smile but you catch the corner of his lip twitching upward at your compliment. “So I’ve been told,” he replies, and you have to resist the urge to close your eyes at the sound of voice. You want to hear it all the time, in your ear. 

Realizing your hand is still in his, you release your hold and place your hands behind your back, feeling like the horniest perv alive. You catch Maki subtly smirking at Mai. “Mai, let’s give them time to get acquainted,” she giggles. “Help me organize the rest of the lingerie, will ya? Y/N, feel free to pick which one you wanna do first!” 

Before you can protest or beg for them to stay, they’re already walking away from the shooting area for another table covered in lingerie pieces. Though they’re a few feet away, you feel like now it’s only you and Geto in the room. You stand there awkwardly for a few seconds, not saying anything. The silence is thick with tension despite Maki and Mai whispering among themselves. 

“U-Um!” you loudly stammer, catching Geto’s attention. You walk over to the rack of lingerie near you and pick out a bright fuchsia bra and panty set. “Is this set okay to start with? I figured I’d do one with color for the summertime.” Geto’s eyes flick to the set before setting back on your face. “That’s fine with me. We do want you want.” 

“Cool!” you squeak, wincing at the volume of your voice and the way you’re acting. “I-I’m gonna go change now. I won’t be long.” Before Geto can say anything more, you take a glass of Moscato and hurry off to the bathroom to change with your set. Once you’re behind the four walls, you can finally breathe and settle yourself (and your body) down. 

“Girl, what’s wrong with you?” you huff to yourself in the mirror. But you know exactly what’s wrong: that fine ass piece of man is the problem. He makes your body react in a way it never has before with any man. Your breathing is labored and your heart hammers like you just ran a marathon. Your head feels dizzy. Your pussy is throbbing and possibly soaked from the scent of Geto’s cologne wafting in the air. 

You know realistically that you can't go back out like this if you don’t want to jump Geto’s bones. So after downing your glass and splashing some cool water on your neck, you change into your set along with some gold heels to make the color of the lingerie pop. After fixing your hair and applying a slick of gloss on your lips, you put on your silk robe and slowly walk back outside for the shoot. 

Geto is setting up the camera on a stand while Maki and Mai stand around, sipping their glasses. 

“I’m finished,” you timidly announce. “Is it okay?” All three heads turn to you and you feel hot with embarrassment under their gazes. “Is it okay?” Maki guffaws. “Girl, you look like you need to be wined, dined, and given six orgasms! Doesn’t she, sugar?” 

You have no idea why she asks Geto, but you’re even more confused at the silent and intense stare the man gives you. His eyes roam over your body, drinking in the way the bra cups hold in your plump breasts, your thick legs shine with coconut oil, and your jiggly stomach is adorned in lace from the waistband of your thong.

You don’t know if he likes what he sees, but it makes you feel uncomfortable either way. The way he makes you feel makes you feel especially uncomfortable. You have to squeeze your thighs together in an effort to lessen the throbbing you feel between them. 

Geto clears his throat and adverts his eyes. “I’m gonna go set up my laptop,” he mutters before storming off to his backpack. Maki turns to you with a knowing smirk. “He agrees.” 

“Stop it,” you groan, closing your robe to shield your body. “You’re gonna embarrass him and me. It’s not easy for me to be in this weird-ass position.” Maki rolls her eyes behind her spectacles. “Oh, come on! He knows he likes what he sees. Did you notice the “fuck me” eyes he gave you when he saw you in that little sundress?” 

You think back to Geto’s intense stare your way as he walked into the room and shiver. “I think you’re just tipsy, Maki.” Maki gapes at you, offended. “I am not!” she scoffs. “I only had two glasses!” Mai bumps her hip with her sister’s, giggling. “You know damn well you can’t handle your alcohol, sis.” 

Before Maki can jump down her throat though, Geto comes back with his laptop and a jump drive. “I’m all set up now,” he announces. Maki squeals loudly, nearly taking your eardrum out. “Great!” she cheers. “I’ll set up the music and let you guys do your thing. We’ll be right over here making sure everything goes well.” 

After a few minutes, the shoot is under way while the sisters stand off to the side, watching and giggling among themselves. Your playlist specifically made for this photoshoot is playing from her Alexa orb and you have another glass of Moscato in your hand. You can already feel the first glass affecting you, making you feel lighter. Geto stands behind the camera, fiddling with the buttons. “Let’s start with you standing with the backdrop.” He tilts his chin towards the blush pink backdrop. 

You nod and slowly walk over in your heels, feeling like Geto might be watching your ass despite the silk robe covering it. You don’t turn around to look at him when you finally, though hesitantly, disrobe and reveal every part of yourself to him and the camera. When you turn around, he is already staring at you, a small smile on his lips.

“Why you look so tense?” he chuckles. “You nervous?” You huff with a shy laugh, your body feeling hot and shaky. “Does it show?” 

“A little, yeah,” he replies, snapping a quick photo as a tester. “Just relax and feel free to drink your glass…actually, keep it in your hand with some of the photos. It adds to the aesthetic with the lingerie.” You nod and keep your glass in your hand as you strike your first pose, one hand on your hip and your eyes set dead at the camera. 

The camera light flashes, nearly blinding you. Geto hums approvingly. “Perfect,” he says, his deep voice caressing you. “Stay right there…tilt your chin up a bit.” He bends down once more to snap a picture as you do as he orders, tilting your chin up slightly and mustering the sexiest expression you can possibly do. 

It starts to become easier and less awkward the longer you stand there, posing from the front. 

After a few pictures, Geto peers up at you from the camera. “Turn around for me,” he huskily orders. You bite your lip, trying to ignore the way your pussy excitingly clenches at him giving you orders. Slowly, you turn around, exposing your ass in the cheeky thong that makes it look extra plump and juicy. 

“Look at me over your shoulder,” Geto orders. You do so, peering at him over your shoulder, and he snaps a picture. “Perfect,” he chuckles, a gorgeous, white-toothed smile adorning his pink lips. “You’re a natural at this. You sure this is your first time?” 

“Thanks,” you giggle, flushing at the compliment, “and yes. I’m just a volunteer since Maki’s original model got sick.” You put your glass down and pose without it, putting your arms behind your head. Geto snaps a pic. “Is that all to why you decided to do this?” he curiously asks. "To help out your friend?” 

You shake your head, smiling into the camera tense. “Guess it’d be fun. Plus, I thought it might boost up my confidence since–“ 

“Shit!” Maki shouts, groaning in frustration at the end. Geto immediately stops his work, alerted. “What is it?” he demands, already storming over to them.

You stand there, afraid to move in your heels and possibly break your ankle. Maki sighs, irritation all over her face. “I totally forgot we had a meeting scheduled with the Macy’s team today for a partnership. I have to go.” 

“And I have to drive her since her car is still in the shop,” Mai says as Maki begins to rush to gather her things. Mai turns to you, looking apologetic. “Sorry, Y/N.” You look at the sisters, realization hitting you like a train. “So…you’re both leaving?” you anxiously ask. “Will you be back before the shoot ends?” 

Maki checks her watch as she shoves her tote bag onto her shoulder. “We’ll see, but most of the time, those partnership meetings last forever. But don’t worry; we’ll call to make sure everything goes smoothly and you have plenty of drinks and snacks.” She walks over to give you a hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

She leaves a ring of gloss on your cheek and anxiety twirling in your gut at her departure. “But–“ 

“We’ve gotta run,” she quickly says before you can protest. “Love you, see you later, bye!” She hurries over to the door with Mai in tow, giving Geto a wink as she does. “Thanks again, Geto! Expect your deposit by next week.” And then, just like that, they’re gone. And only you and Geto are occupying the room. 

“I guess it’s just us then,” he awkwardly announces, walking back over to his camera. You slowly nod, adverting your eyes from his to stare at the door. “Yeah…” You desperately want the sisters to come waltzing back in and announce that the meeting was cancelled, but you know that is but a fantasy. You’re forced to stand there in this damn silence with this hot ass man, semi-naked. Could things get any worse? 

As if sensing your discomfort, Geto clears his throat, gaining your attention. He stands by the camera stand, his tatted arms crossed over his broad, hard chest. “You know, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can tell you’re uncomfortable and I would be too if I was in your position.”

He nods at your body, making your body flush with heat. “I get it: strange guy with a camera; you’re semi-naked. It’s like the plot to a horror movie.”

You crack a smile at his dark humor, giggling softly. “Well, when you say it like that…” You fiddle with the lace on your thong’s waistband. Geto continues to stare at you, making you feel like he has X-ray vision. “I don’t mean to come off like I’m scared,” you softly explain. "It’s just–“ 

“Don’t explain yourself to me,” he interacts, sounding firm. “Today is about you more than it is about me. I want these photos to please you too, so I want you feelin’ uncomfortable and at ease more than anything. If you say no, I’ll take care of Maki, maybe tell her somethin’ came up.” 

You blink at him, taken aback by his words. “You’d…do that for me?” you ask in disbelief.

“‘Course. I’m not an asshole, and plus, you’re her friend. I’d rather her be pissed at me than you.” He shrugs as if it is no big deal, and maybe it’s not, but to you it gives you a sense of how sweet and considerate he is. If only there was someone out there like that for you. 

You shake your head determinately, picking up your wine glass. “No, let’s do it. I’m here, you’re here, and we both want a check.” You take a long sip of your wine, letting the alcohol loosen you up further. “I’m ready,” you announce with a bright smile at the camera. “Let’s take some photos.” 

Geto looks surprised at your cooperation at first, but then smiles. “I like the attitude,” he chuckles. “And the smile. Keep that there for a few pics.”

He bends down to snap a few as a light, feathery feeling overtakes your body and your confidence shoots to the roof. “Sure,” you giggle, already feeling the affects of the wine hit you…or maybe that’s just the smell and closeness of Geto. 

An hour goes by of photos you take in different lingerie by the backdrop. The lingerie you pick is bright in color, making your skin complexion pop, and makes you feel like the sexiest woman in the world.

Geto’s looks shot your way also help. His gaze is so bold and intense behind the camera, though you’re sure it’s because he’s a photographer and is analyzing how he can get you to pose or something. The rest of the photoshoot is a piece of make and less awkward than earlier. You dance a little to the music from your playlist and giggle, oblivious to the adoring gazes Geto shoots your way behind the camera lens. 

When Beyoncé’s “Cuff It” begins to play, you are on your third glass of Moscato and Geto is on his first. After getting your photos taken in an aqua-blue lingerie set, he takes his camera off the stand. “We’re finished?” you ask curiously. 

“Just the first half with the backdrop,” he replies, nudging his head over to his laptop. “Lemme show you what I’ve got so far.” You unstrap your heels and follow him barefoot over to his laptop. He sits down in the wheeled chair and gets to hooking his camera up. In an instant, dozens of your headshots and photos fill his screen, each one different than the last. 

But neither one makes you feel any different than how you do staring at them: Sexy. Confident. Like the baddest bitch on the block. The lighting is perfect on your makeup and skin, and each color of your lingerie seems to pop. “Wow, Suguru!” you happily gasp. “These look amazing! You made me look so…so…beautiful.” 

Geto chuckles as he scrolls through each photo. “Well, I didn’t make you look beautiful, but the camera enhancements definitely help. Maki will love these, I’m sure.” 

“Of course, she will!” you giggle. “Photography is definitely you’re calling. Why’d you decide to make that your career anyway?” 

He shrugs, still lazily scrolling through your photos. “Photography is art,” he explains, “and I’ve always loved art. To me, there’s more to taking a photo than just snapping a camera. There are so many aspects and techniques that go into making one picture perfect, such as capturing beauty. You need to learn how to preserve it…worship it…”

He pauses, his hand on the touch pad, and slowly turns his head to meet yours. “Care for it,” he murmurs. 

Your breath catches in your throat suddenly, realizing how close he is. You’re overwhelmed with his cologne and the smell of his shampoo–something spicy, like cinnamon, and clean, like rain. His violet eyes trail down to your lips, just for a second, before moving back to capture yours in an intense, heated stare that makes you want to strip off your lingerie and let him touch every single part of you. 

‘Girl, what the hell?’ you think, shocked at your naughty thoughts. It must be the wine. You clear your throat and take a step back away from Geto. “Um…we should get back to takin’ photos,” you softly mutter. “You know…so Maki won’t kill us. I’ll go change into the next set.” 

You quickly head toward the rack of lingerie and choose a random one before hurrying to the bathroom, abruptly ending whatever was about to transpire.

‘Which was nothing,’ you firmly think. ‘Geto is your photographer. A professional. And even if something were to happen, it’d be a mess.’ You keep trying to reason with your horny side as you change into the next set. 

When you come back out in a lime green teddy bodysuit with a push-up bra and thong, Geto is standing by the lion-claw couch with his camera. “Let’s take some with you on the couch, then we’ll do some on the bed and then on the balcony. Just sit down with your legs crossed for now.” 

You nod and take a seat on the soft couch cushions with your thick legs crossed over each other. You plant your hands on your knee and make a lustful, sensual face at the camera. “Perfect,” he compliments as the camera shutter flashes for a couple pics. “Now lie on your side with your hand on your hip. Use your other hand to prop up your head.” 

You slowly get into position, staring at the camera eye. “You want me to make love to the camera?” you giggle. 

Geto chortles, the sound of his deep laugher making your clit jump. “You’ve been doin’ that since you got in front of the camera,” he replies, but you don't think he’s joking about that. He takes a few shots of you in his desired position before moving on. “Now take your hand and hook it over the couch.” 

You do so, still staring at the camera and hoping you look just as good as you did in the first set. The song has changed to Beyoncé’s “Virgo’s Groove”–a song that somehow makes you believe that you’re the sexiest version of yourself right now.

As you pose, you become aware that the atmosphere has changed to something more tense. Geto must realize it too because he suddenly rises from behind his camera and stares you down. “You’re so damn fine,” he suddenly says. 

You scowl at him, confused. “I…what?” you dumbly ask. 

“I said you’re fuckin’ fine,” he repeats without a single beat. “Why you needed a lingerie shoot to make you feel more confident with a face and body like yours is beyond me. I’m just glad I get to see you like this.” 

Your heart thumps wildly as you continue to pose, not sure if you should stop. Geto snaps a photo regardless, acting as if he didn’t just say something so bold and flirty five seconds before. 

“You shouldn't say that,” you weakly say. 

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Why shouldn’t I?” he teasingly asks. “Can I not admire a very sexy woman like yourself?” 

He snaps another photo, the flash of the camera catching you off guard. “You can't tell me you didn’t notice me checkin’ you out when I came in here. If you’d let me, I’ll take photos of you in that little sundress of yours too.” His gaze is way more heated than before, the flirty smirk on his face making you feel even more uncomfortable as you lounge on the couch. 

But not uncomfortable in the way where you want to be away from him. On the contrary, in fact. You want to be closer than close to him, no clothes in between. The tension you’re feeling in the air and the clenching of your pussy are starting to get to you, driving you crazy. 

Geto’s words are to blame for that. Though flirty, can tell he is deadass. He sounds so sure; so real. No jokes or nothing. He isn’t a profile on a dating app or a hookup who is only seeing you in the darkness. You’re in front of him–all of you–and he still is looking at you like he wants a piece. 

He takes your silence for something different and stops snapping photos for a moment. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” he worriedly asks. You sit up from your position, planting your ass on the couch. “No,” you softly answer with a slow head shake. “I’m just not used to getting compliments like that. Especially from someone like you.” 

“Someone like me?” he parrots, raising an eyebrow. You roll your eyes, knowing he wants you to elaborate and embarrass yourself. “You know you’re fine,” you sigh, “and men as fine as you don’t really see me as anything but…well, fat. If they don’t look at me as a hookup, they barely look at me at all.” 

Once the truth is out there, you feel stupid and small. Why did you tell him that? He could never understand or care. Maybe those three glasses were a bad idea. Geto only stares at you, silent and making you feel uneasy. Suddenly, he comes around the camera and strides up to you, making your heart pound with every step. When he suddenly sits beside you, the couch dips slightly from his weight. 

“What are you doing?” you softly ask, barely above a whisper. 

Slowly, he takes his hand and lays it on yours which is placed on your thigh. You shiver as if his hand is touching your naked skin. “I forgot to tell you the other reason why I decided to become a photographer,” he softly mutters, his voice like a rumbling earthquake to you. “To capture pretty little things like you.” His fingers on his other hand trail up and down your leg, as soft as a butterfly’s wings. “To make them feel beautiful with the work I do.” 

Your breathing is labored, your chest rapidly heaving up and down. “I-I’m not little,” you softly stutter. Geto chuckles, believing different. “You sure as hell are, even from where I’m sitting.” And he’s right–the man is still towers over you despite sitting down. 

You barely crack a smile. “I mean, I’m not…little like the girls you’re used to photographing.” You squeeze at your thigh fat, frowning. "I have arm and thigh fat, and cellulite, and–“ 

“And you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” Geto growls, holding your hand tighter. He scoots closer to you, completely in your grill…but you don’t move away. “And I’m not leavin’ here today until I make you see that. So can I kiss you?” 

You gape at him, shocked at his brazened question and attitude. He stares at you, patiently waiting for an answer. Your eyes flicker down to his lips that look so soft and pink. You wonder what they feel like…or taste like… 

You barely hear yourself whisper out “yes”, but Geto does. You barely have time to take a breath because he is leaning in and pressing your lips to his. It starts off innocent and careful, his soft lips slowly moving against yours. But once he finds that rhythm, the kiss becomes sensual; heated; panty-dropping. 

Geto is a fantastic kisser. Probably the best you’ve had. His lips are pillowy soft and his tongue tastes of mint gum and Moscato as he swirls it with yours. You don’t remember moving closer to him or wrapping your arms around his neck, but there you are, on the couch, making out with your photographer. At some point, he grasps your hips with his big hands and coaxes you into his lap despite your squeak of protest. You’re worried you might hurt him but from the way his hands are gliding along your ass, you guess he doesn't give a fuck. 

“We don’t have to go any farther than you want to,” he murmurs between heated kisses and moving lips. “I wanna make you feel good, but I don’t have to do that in any way you’re uncomfortable with.” Though you hear his words, you can feel the hardened bulge that has begun to grow in his jeans that you nudge against, rubbing against your clit. 

 You don’t know if it’s the wine, the music, or him, but something inside of you suddenly switches on, transforming you into the sexy version of yourself that are in Geto’s photos. You want to put the lingerie you’re wearing to good use and you know Geto is the perfect person to help you with that. “You could start by takin’ more photos of me,” you purr, peering down at him. “And I can take these off.” You take his hands and glide them down your sides, making him feel the sheer bodysuit. 

Geto’s eyes are hooded and dark as he gazes up at you, ready to do whatever you want. Then a mischievous smirk curls onto his lips. “Actually, I have a much better idea.” He slowly takes you off of his lap and hurries over to the camera, pressing a few buttons. “I’m gonna set the camera up right here on auto. It’ll go off every thirty seconds, so every time you make a move to strip, it’ll take a pic.” 

He slowly strides back over to you, making you tremble with every slow, teasing step he takes. “That means I’ve got my hands free to touch every part of you,” he hums, a slow smile stretching across his lips. As if backing him up, the camera shutter goes off, flicking a photo of you sitting there and gaping at him. 

He cocks his head to the side. “Well?” he asks. “Get to strippin’.” 

With trembling hands, you slowly begin to take down the straps to your bra, exposing your naked shoulders to him. Then you reach behind to unhook the bra but can’t reach no matter how much you wriggle around. Geto peers down at you, smiling humorously. “Need help, mama?” he chuckles. You nod sheepishly, flushing hot at the pet name curled around his deep voice. 

He gets on his knees in front of you, coaxing your thighs apart, and reaches behind you to unhook your bra. Once it’s loose, your tits come falling out of the cups like dripping fruit, your brown nipples erect. Geto almost looks pained at the sight of them. “God, look at these tits,” he groans. “You’re just as perfect as I thought you’d be.” 

He leans in and plants his face into your breasts, nuzzling his face in them. You squeak as he does so, frazzled by his action as he motorboats you. He must like titties. After getting his fill of your breasts in his face, he latches his lips onto one of your hard nipples and suckles on the sensitive peak. With his other hand, he toys with your other breast, gently folding and jiggling it, tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

You whimper and moan at each of his ministrations, losing yourself in his touch. He is careful to not hurt you, but he isn’t being soft either. He is handsy and hungered like a starved man, switching between your breasts to give each nipple their own treatment until your tits are coated in his saliva. “Suguru,” you softly moan. 

“Hm?” he hums, still swirling his tongue around one of your areolas. You arch your back into his mouth, your hips grinding against the couch cushion for some relief. “P-Please…touch me.” 

He peers up at you from your tits. “Touch you where?” he teasingly asks. You whimper shyly, still squirming about. “Don’t be shy now, baby girl. Tell me what you want me to do.” 

The heated look in his eyes and the need you feel encourage you to leave that shy shit on the shelf. “Touch me here,” you whisper heatedly. You move your hand between your legs, pressing your fingers against the tiny cotton panty line pressing against your throbbing cunt. “Touch my pussy. And please, get those clothes off.” 

Geto smirks wolfishly at your dirty words. “I can definitely do that.” 

He gives your lips a heated, chaste kiss before he stands before you. The song bumping from the Alexa has now switched to Kehlani’s “Can I”–a tune that is fitting for what’s taking place before you. Geto keeps his eyes set on you as he begins to strip, starting with his boots and socks then starting on his shirt, pants, and boxers. He peels each article of clothing off, flinging them across the floor, forgotten. 

Once he is completely naked in front of you, you’re able to indulge in all of him. His body looks as if it was carved from stone itself–each muscle ripples along his body like hard granite stone, not too overwhelming but definitely making you feel like he could break you like a toothpick with how small you are. He truly is a big man, with big hands, big feet, and an even bigger dick. He has to be about eight inches–thick, long, veiny, and dripping with pre-cum all for you. You can’t take your eyes off of it despite the rest of his body being delicious. 

“Like what you see, baby girl?” he hums, teasingly swinging his hips a bit. It causes his dick, thick and long, to swing like a pendulum between his thick, tree trunk-like thighs. You nod, moving to get your hands on him, but he takes your wrists firmly in his hands. “Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Not yet. You told me to touch you, and that’s what I’m gonna do.” 

Without a warning, his hands move under your ass and hoists you up onto his waist. “Oh!” you giggle, surprised and extremely aroused at his strength. He plops you down onto the couch so you’re now lying on your back. He props himself up on his knees between your thighs, peering down at you. “As pretty as this lingerie, I need it off of you.” 

Helping you sit up, he gets the rest of the lingerie off of you and pulls it down your ankles that are still strapped in your heels. Once it’s off, you’re completely nude, just in your jewelry and gold heels. The fact makes you shy and want to hide away but Geto’s lustful expression stops you. His big hands slide up your legs and slowly pry your thighs apart, revealing your aching, glistening, wet cunt to him. 

“Fuck, you’re wet!” he chuckles, looking up at you between the V of your thighs. “All of this for me, baby? You barely know me.” 

And that’s true. You only know as much as his website and Maki have told you. But you find yourself not giving a shit. “Maybe we can get to that later?” you breathlessly suggest. “I wouldn’t mind getting to know you over dinner.” 

Your suggestion registers across Geto’s face and his gaze darkens to something way more sensual than before that he knows that this isn’t a hookup. “I know a damn good pizza place near here, if you’re up for it. But lemme make you cum first.” Without another word, he tosses your legs aside and dives into your pussy, swirling his tongue around your clit and gently sucking on your lips. 

Yes, Geto is a great kisser, but he’s even better at eating pussy, you realize. His mouth alternates between using his lips to suckle gently on your pussy lips and clit to using his tongue to slowly flick the inside of your tight pussy walls. He takes his time, his movements deliberate and methodical, taking each moment to draw a moan or a whimper out of you. 

You’re losing it. You toss your head back against the pillow and grip the couch, your fingers digging into the couch cushions. “Fuck, sugar!” you shout to the ceiling, the nickname flying out of your mouth. How the fuck is he this good with his mouth? 

Geto looks up at you, his eyes shining from between the V of your inner thighs. “Call me that again,” he growls before spitting a copious amount of spit onto your pussy and slurping it back up, the lewd, wet sounds driving you farther to insanity. You grip his shoulders as he keeps his hands firmly placed on your inner thighs, pinning them up so your heeled feet are perched high on his head. 

“God, sugar!” you whine. “Please keep doing that! You’re so…so…” 

All words and thoughts leave you, the pleasure leaving you dumb. You want to control yourself, but it’s especially hard when he swirls his tongue around your clit and dips into your little wet hole to pay attention to you there. He slurps up every ounce of you, not leaving a single drop to waste. 

You hope he’ll be able to handle it when you cum because you can already feel it rising. That chord in your core is about to snap with how soft his lips are and the way his nose constantly keeps nudging against your sensitive little button. “Geto,” you moan in a warning. “I-I’m gonna–” 

“I can feel it,” he groans into your pussy, still lapping away. “Cum on my face, mama. I wanna taste all of you.” He grips your thighs and moves his jaw faster, coaxing you further toward that edge, his tongue flicking mercilessly against your clit. “Cum for me,” he demands. “Don’t fuckin’ hold back.” 

But you can’t. Not yet. “Wait!” you practically shot. He sits up, alarmed and his mouth coated in your juices. “I-I wanna cum with you,” you softly say. “I wanna feel you in my mouth…in my throat…”

You move to fondle his cock, earning a lustful groan from deep in his throat. “Please, Sugu,” you whimper. “I need you.” 

Geto raises an eyebrow at you. “You wanna 69?” he asks, shocked. “You’d have to sit on my face for that. Is that okay with you? ‘Cause I’m close to cumming just by the thought of this ass in my face.” He reaches down to give your ass a smack, making you jump slightly. 

Though you’ve never 69-ned with anyone before, you know that you want to feel Geto’s dick down your throat now and nothing can curb that hunger until you do. So you nod, determined to not let your insecurities about you weight get to you. Without another warning, Geto lies flat on his back and pats his lap for you to climb up into. With a soft giggle, you twist around so your ass is facing him and you’re looking down at his hard cock waving in your face. 

You feel Geto’s arms instantly wrap around your waist, forcing you to plant your ass back onto his face. You squeak, instinctively tensing. “Shh, it’s okay,” he coos, gently stroking your backside. “I can take you easy if that’s what you’re worried about. I just want you to feel good.” 

His dick begins to bob up and down in front of you which you realize he’s doing on his own. Fuck, this man is dangerous. “Relax, mama,” he soothingly says. “I’ve got you. Just take what you need.” 

And so you do. With a fire igniting inside of you at the sight of his veiny, thick cock in front of your very eyes, you wrap a hand around the base of his dick, biting your lip at the fact that you can barely fit it all in your hand. You start by spitting a copious amount of spit onto his cock and stroke it up and down his shaft, making him shine with your saliva. Geto groans softly at the feeling of your tiny, soft hand wrapped around him from underneath you and begins to gently play with your pussy, gliding his finger up and down your twitching lips and clit. 

After lubing him up with your spit, you lean in and press small kisses along the head of his dick, throwing some kitten licks in the mix. He loves that. His toes curl and his hands clench at his sides as more porn-worthy sounds drift from between his lips. 

After gaining enough courage, you finally open your mouth wide to accommodate to his size and take him into your mouth. “Fuck!” he grunts as soon as your lips and tongue make contact with his dick. You begin to bob your head up and down along his dick, sliding him in and out of your mouth. You stroke in time with what you can’t gobble down, making sure to keep a secure grip along his slick, wet cock. 

He tastes good. He smells good. He feels good. He sounds good. All of your senses are completely taken over by him as you suck and gag on his dick, hollowing your cheeks and opening your throat to take him deeper. “Such a good girl,” he groans, one hand curling in your hair. “Takin’ that dick so deep in your pretty mouth like that. I bet a girl like you has been needin’ this, hm?”  

His lewd words encourage you to take him deeper, so much that you start gagging because of how thick he is. He practically fills your throat, making you nearly choke on it. Your eyes begin to well with tears, possibly fucking up your mascara. 

But you never give up or stop. You’ll be damned if the first blowjob you give him is the worst one he’s had. You take things slow, allowing yourself time to get used to his size as you slide your head up and down, up and down, along his dick. His moans get louder, his grip tighter on your waist as you gag on his dick like it’s no one’s business. Saliva drips from your mouth down his heavy balls, and you find yourself wanting to suck on those too. 

“Fuck, baby!” Geto growls, his hand coming down to spank your ass. The sharp sound of his hand recoiling against your plump ass makes you moan around his dick. “You deserve the same treatment,” he huffs, his hot breath caressing your twitching pussy. You suddenly feel his tongue begin to swirl around your clit, alternating between that and softly sucking on the sensitive, little bud. 

“Sugu,” you whimper, your words muffled around his cock. Drool pools from your mouth and down his shaft, dripping all the way down his balls and onto the couch below. You continue to bob your head up and down his shaft, adding your own sloppy, wet sounds to his as he plays with your pussy with his tongue like it’s his own personal playground. 

His big hands grab and massage your ass, spanking it here and there. Every time his hand comes down to smack one of your ass cheeks, your pussy clenches in his mouth. It’s just too much! 

Click! 

Your eyes shift to the left, finding the camera still on auto and taking pictures. You realize that it’s been on auto this entire time. You almost forgot that Geto set it up that way before he helped you strip off your clothes. How many pictures of you are there? And how many of them are with Geto? 

The idea of the camera taking such risqué pictures of you turns you on, especially if the photos are of you and him in this position–you sitting perfectly on his face with his long dick in your throat while your pussy is in his mouth, your thighs spread wide for him.

How would Maki react if she saw such photos by accident?

How would she and Mai look if they were to enter the studio right now and find you spread out like a dessert plate for your photographer? 

The naughty ideas make you gush much to Geto’s enjoyment. He hums into your pussy, causing your clit to quiver with pleasure. “Feelin’ good, baby?” he coos into your pussy. “Think you can cum for me just like this?” 

‘I…” You can’t even utter one coherent word as he widens his mouth and takes your whole pussy into it, his tongue swirling around your little hole.

You quiet your desperate moans by gobbling down his dick once more, stroking your hand in time with the bob of your head. You’re so glad the music is still blasting because neither one of you are quiet. Moans and sloppy sounds of your activity swim around you, filling the air. 

Your jaw begins to ache and your eyes water the more you take Geto into your throat. However, when you begin to feel him swell in your mouth, stretching it out further, you know that you can't give up. Not until you make him cum. So you go faster, gluck-glucking all around his cock like your life depends on it. At the same time, you can feel your clit begin to swell and you start to grind your hips down into his face like he’s your personal surfboard. 

Geto chuckles from underneath you, holding your hips down against his face. “You gonna cum for me, mama?” he mumbles into your pussy. One of his hands move to your ass to press against your entrance, barely entering but still giving you all the pleasure you need. “Mmm-hmm!” you squeal around his cock. “M’so…so close!” 

You can feel that cord in your core about to snap again, the feeling rising every time Geto repeats his actions. You can tell he’s close to by how his hips begin to bump against your mouth, making you take his cock further down your throat. “Me too,” he grunts. “Keep goin’ and I’ll cum for you too, baby girl. Is that what you want?” 

His thick finger suddenly slides easily into your slick, wet pussy, practically making you scream. You pop off of his dick, gasping at the feeling. “Yes!” You sob in ecstasy. “Please, sugar! Please give me your cum! I wanna cum with you too!” 

That is all Geto needs to hear. Like a madman, he clamps you farther down onto his face so you can’t move, flicks his tongue along your sensitive clit, and strokes your walls a little faster, coaxing you to burst all over his face. “Cum for me, mama,” he growls into your cunt. “Cum all over my face, Y/N.” 

And as you bob along his cock, you finally do. The strength in his hands pinning your thighs open and his wondrous mouth push you over the edge. You begin to grind your hips into his mouth, chasing that orgasm like a high.

Finally, with a mewl-like moan and your eyes screwed tight, you burst all over Geto’s mouth and the couch cushion beneath you. Your orgasm crashes into your body, making it shiver and shudder with aftershocks as Geto continues to softly lap at your pussy. 

After a few moments of continuous work, Geto finally follows you down that hill into the sea of bliss. “Fuck, I’m cumming!” he groans, and you suddenly feel him burst all in your mouth. His cum shoots out onto your tongue, immediate and creamy. It surprises you so much that you react your mouth a bit, causing his cum to spurt all over your lips and face, ruining your makeup. 

Geto groans appreciatively at your mouth and taste, eating you up like an hungered animal. Your mind is hazy and your body feels as light as a feather as you begin to come down from your high as you begin to lap up his cum, cleaning his cock for him. It is by far the best orgasm you’ve had. 

Finally, once he’s sure you’re cleaned up and way too sensitive for more, Geto removes himself from between your thighs. With his help, you slowly move off of him though your legs feel like jelly. “Easy now,” he coos, helping you sit down on the couch cushion. He sits up from his spot, his chin and mouth shiny with your cum and his saliva. 

“Mmm,” he hums, licking his plump, pink lips free of your juices. “Definitely better than Moscato.”  

You breathlessly giggle, licking his cum from your lips. “You too,” you purr, earning a chaste kiss against your lips. “I may need a towel though.” 

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Sorry, baby. You just felt so good, I couldn’t help myself. Stay right here.” He gets up from the couch and walks to the bathroom, his tight, firm ass a sight indeed. 

After a few minutes of lounging on the couch, exhausted but satisfied, he finally comes back with a warm, wet towel and helps you dab off his cum, careful not to ruin your makeup. After you’re all clean, he wraps his muscular arms around you and slides you into his lap for closer access. “That was amazing,” you sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder. 

He hums in agreement. “It definitely was.” He moves his hand to your forehead, wiping away a stray piece of hair from your sweaty forehead. “Now do you see how fucking gorgeous you are? I bet you would from those naughty lil’ photos now.” He presses his lips to your neck, making you whimper as he kisses the sensitive parts of your skin. 

“We still have to finish the photoshoot,” you softly moan as his hands move to caress your breasts. “Maki will be mad if we don’t.” He groans in protest, but moves away from you anyway. “Maybe after some pizza?” he suggests, smirking at you. “I made a promise to you, didn’t I?” 

Realizing he was serious from the start, you can do nothing but giggle and press a kiss to his lips, feeling giddy at this new, blossoming feeling of something real starting. 

When Geto pulls away from the kiss, his eyes trail down to your body. “Damn; I really made a mess,” he chuckles. You look down, finding your tits and stomach to be coated in his cum too. You reach for the towel but he grabs it first and holds it out of reach. “Geto, I need to get clean!” you whine. 

“Not just yet, mama.” He smacks your ass before coaxing you off of him and moves behind the camera. You sit there confused and exposed, his cum dripping down your body, makeup and hair a fucked-out mess, and your pussy glinting in your cum and his spit. 

He grins at you, his teeth glistening white. “Stay like that,” he orders before bending down behind the camera. 

“Smile for the camera, baby,” he chuckles. Before you can protest, the shutter flickers. 

[bunnysbrainrot]

But I’m Better

Kintober prompt: Toys

Relationship: dbf!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Content: explicit sexual scenes, praise kink, guided masturbation, dom/sub (kinda) dynamic, size kink (kinda sorta). No outbreak AU, age gap (Joel is around his mid-40’s, reader is early/mid-20’s).

Summary: When something breaks, you always know who to call. Your dresser is broken, and you’re left hopeless. But what happens when Joel finds something peculiar in your drawer?

A/N: Y’all. I am so pissed right now because i wrote so much on my drive home, and it deleted because of a bad connection. i can’t recall everything i wrote, so i did the best with what i could remember. i hope it’s up to your liking!

“Shit,” you grumble as you stare blankly at the clothes strewn across the floor. The knob of your dresser drawer sat stupidly in your hand, the mangled wood and metal mocking you. It looked completely ruined.

You thought about messaging your dad about the repairs, but chose against it. He was never exactly notorious for making these things simple - it would be a question of ‘So how did this happen?’ or ‘How did you manage to break it?’, and it really wasn’t worth the effort for you.

The knob sat in your hand, the screw that held it in the drawer was bent to the side, and incredibly dull. No surprise there, you thought.

To be fair, it was an old ass dresser, given to you by your grandmother when you were younger. It was weird to think that you’d had this dresser for over twelve years.

You bent over the pile of clothes and hoisted the hefty drawer in line with the empty space, grunting in frustration as you tried to shimmy it in. It was settled haphazardly and tilted backwards. Completely screwed up. You took your phone from your pocket and snapped a photo of your mangled dresser, sending it to Joel.

Dresser finally gave out, I guess. Knob fell clean off when I tried to open it

Almost immediately, Joel haha reacted to the image and began to type. He was unlike any other man you’d talked to before. Joel was timely and consistent, and he was always reliable. Even if he didn’t have the time to help, he would instruct you on how to solve an issue, but typically he helped you in person.

As much as you tried to deny it, your feeling for Joel had warped over the past few years. It began as a silly childhood crush - those early days where you and your friends joked about what older men were sexiest. Your friends had given you teasing looks when you mentioned Joel, and even more shocking was how long you’d liked him. It was a simple, harmless, childhood crush.

Until it wasn’t.

You were freshly eighteen and readying yourself for college when the realization hit you. After all those years having crushes on older guys, it would be considered okay. Weird and taboo, sure, but still allowed now that you were legally an adult.

Joel had come to your graduation dinner at the end of senior year. You remembered that night in vivid detail. More particularly, Joel’s presence set your skin ablaze with a new type of anxiety. At long last, you could freely crush on Joel, except that there was now a chance he could like you, too.

That night he’d passed you a small velvet box, tied neatly with gold ribbon. You opened the box to reveal a gold, oval-shaped locket with a simple clasp. Inscribed on the face of the locket were whorled spirals, breaking off as flowers scattered over the gilded surface. Gazing up at Joel, you couldn’t contain your joy as you gave him a quick hug. He briefly wrapped an arm around you, holding you close by the small of your back.

He broke away, smiling proudly at you below him.

“You did a great job, baby girl. You keep that up in college, and you’ll get by just fine.”

You were thankful dessert had arrived in time for you to turn your attention away, hiding your rouged cheeks. Joel probably didn’t remember that night, but you remembered every little thing.

—

You’d done your four years of college and after the endless nights with little to no sleep and hard work, you were finally graduated, and taking a gap year before considering anything further. You worked hard, and didn’t want to burn yourself out with more school immediately.

But now you were back home, and your sights were set on something else. It was a golden opportunity to spend time with Joel - time that you’d lost by being away for so long. Holiday visits and summer break was hardly generous enough to give you any alone time with Joel. You left for college as a timid girl, developed yourself as a whole, and came back a woman. A woman who knew herself and her wants.

And you wanted him, ached for him in a way you could neither define nor justify. He was almost twice your age, a wholly developed man with his own complex past and unsteady dating life.

Mr. Miller.

He had lived in the next neighborhood over for as long as you could remember. He and your dad met about ten years back at a ‘work thing’, as they described it.

Joel was kind and endlessly generous when it came to helping others. He was the first call when something broke, and the best person to have over when times were tough, despite his sometimes-rugged personality.

You’d gotten back in town over a week ago, and since then you’d seen Joel a few times, mostly to ‘inspect’ the furniture in your room - if anything had worn down over time and needed to be replaced, the whole nine. The both of you knew it was some bullshit excuse to see him at work, with those corded muscles flexing under his tanned skin, sending shivers down your spine.

That day, the two of you had enough bravery in you to flirt. It started out lightly, you gave more emphasis on Mr. Miller, until Joel requested you call him by his first name.

“Makin’ me feel like an old man, darlin’,” he teased. You remember how he sounded saying it, with a voice as thick and sweet as molasses.

Before he’d left he’d held you by the waist, staring a little too closely at your face, watching your eyes grow wide when he leaned toward you. He fixed your hair with a gentle hand, said your name, and trailed off, his eyes never leaving your lips.

He refused to kiss you that time. Though the time after that you’d decided to break the boundary, drinking him in like someone dying of thirst. You memorized his scent, the softness of his skin and rough, eager hands across your chest, between your thighs, your throat. You both had been greedy that night. It was a high that coursed through your senses. You needed him, more than you led on.

I’ll get my toolbox, looks like it could be some old hardware. Be over in 10.

You picked up around your room in the meantime, your heart fluttering in your ribcage with each passing second. The room had become stiflingly hot. Suffocating.

A knock at your bedroom door startled you out of your anxious stupor. You reached for the door and now faced a smug Joel Miller in the doorway.

“I could’ve met you at the front door, you know,” you chastised him playfully. Joel shifted his weight of his feet, pulling something from his pocket.

“Helps that I have a house key. Means I can help you even faster.”

You rolled your eyes at him and turned on your heels without a word, striding toward your broken dresser. Joel followed casually, craning his head to look around your room, at the decorations that covered the walls and ceiling. This was no longer the bedroom of a the kid he’d met all those years ago. No, you were fully your own woman now.

“Yup, the screw’s shot to shit,” he muttered, holding out the drawer’s knob to you. “See the end of it? Shouldn’t be that dull - gotta have it replaced every now and then.”

“Do you have the right screw for it?”

He nodded, popping open his toolbox and assessing the different screws in each compartment. His hands flexed with each movement, the veins branching across them shifted with every twitch and roll of his thick fingers. Your legs clenched while the most intrusive thoughts filled your head. Specifically those hands, and what you could imagine them doing to you.

Procuring the right screw, Joel handed it to you. You looked at him in innocent confusion.

God, those eyes. If he had the chance, Joel would look into them all day, to let himself get swallowed whole by their beauty. And when you looked at him all pretty like that, as if you had no idea what you were doing to him, it drove him wild. You knew exactly what you were doing when you’d flirt with Joel, but couldn’t gauge his reciprocation, or if he was even okay with the weird ‘relationship’ you had.

It had been confusing for long enough. Someone needed to make a move, and Joel wasn’t sure if you had it in you to do it. Neither were you.

“I wanna see you try it for yourself,” he explained.

“If it’s so easy, why can’t you do it?” you quipped with a smile, but still taking the knob in your hands. Joel gave no reply and waited patiently for you to back down and do it yourself.

It was far easier than you thought. You handed it back to Joel with a proud smile. His eyes thoughtfully scanned your face before finding home in your eyes.

“Smart girl. I knew you could do it.”

Heat rushed across your cheeks like a harsh sunburn, completely taken over by the brightness in his honeyed tone and brown eyes. Joel laughed at your reaction before he worked on the drawer knob, fiddling it into place. His hands rummaged through your drawer as he worked, and paid no mind to the clothes, though you just realized. This was your underwear drawer - full of lacy underwear, bras of all varieties, and one final item you prayed you hid well enough.

Joel’s hands pushed through your panties as you held your breath. After the drawer had fallen out you’d lazily threwn everything back in the drawer and paid no mind to its organization. Since it wasn’t on the bed or the floor, by accident, you were certain that Joel would cross paths with a toy of yours.

He struck something solid amidst the clothes. The material was solid and heavy, with a bit of give from the silicone. At that moment, he could’ve left it ignored, but there was no fun in that, he thought. Joel gripped the dildo at the base, pulling out of the tangle of clothes and handed it to you, flashing you with a smirk.

“You should find a better place for this,” he drawled. “Never know who could find it.”

You quickly grabbed it from him and scanned your room for another hiding spot, but nothing came to mind. Instead you plopped it back in the drawer, on the opposite side.

“Most people don’t get to go through my underwear, so you can’t give me shit for that,” you grumbled. Joel stood, groaning at the strain on his joints. You giggle at the noise, and gave him your usual teasing, “Old man.”

Ignoring your jab, Joel leaned against the chest of drawers, arms crossed over his chest in a stare down.

His voice was dark. It had become devious, knowing, and more stern than you’d imagined.

“You use it on yourself?”

You choked on your spit harshly, not expecting his question to be so direct. Joel placed a wide hand between your shoulder blades and gave you a pat, coaxing you back to normal.

“Joel,” you pant, catching your breath, “you can’t just- just ask me that.”

“And you wouldn’t be curious if the roles were reversed, I’m sure,” he said coolly.

The redness had returned to your cheeks while you debated on your answer, but your hesitation told Joel everything he needed to know. In the smallest way, you’d let it slip that you imagine him in your free time, not that it wasn’t the same case for him. If anything, it’d been worse. Every text you’d sent him set him ablaze; at night he thought about you in detail and palmed himself through his pants, or pumped his cock in a fervent hand as he thought of you, squeezing himself inside your tight pussy. Countless nights he’d stained himself with his own seed, wishing it was inside of you instead, where it belongs. That toy should be him, it always should’ve been.

“Do you?”

You huffed and turned away from him, striding toward the bed to adjust your pillows - any sort of casual distraction from the question.

“Why do you want to know?” you countered.

Joel’s hands brushed against your hips from behind, his feather-soft fingertips brushing across the skin above your jeans. You drew in a breath as Joel whispered next to your ear.

“Because I’m a selfish old bastard, and I’m wondering what it looks like.”

“What what looks like?” you ask softly. You knew precisely what he meant but you wanted to hear something from him anyway.

He burrowed his head at the crook of your neck, gently kissing your skin up to the soft spot below your ear. His breath flew over your skin hot and heavy, sending a new wave of heat to your core.

“I want to see your face when you’re all filled up. I gotta see what your little pussy looks like when it’s all stretched out.”

You pushed your hips back flush with his to find a growing bulge trapped in his jeans. Joel rolled his hips into your ass, groaning at the constraint of the rough denim.

“Joel,” you breathed.

He mumbled against your neck, “What is it baby girl?”

Shoving your ass against his crotch, you whined, “I need you. Please… need you so badly.”

His hum rumbled against your skin, sending goosebumps rolling across your arms. A hand wound up to your hair and tugged a good handful back toward him. You gazed up at him with those beautiful glossed over eyes he dreamed about. He pictured this look on your face for a few years now, and he finally had the joy of seeing it, of causing it himself.

“Not givin’ it to you yet, baby,” he tugged once more on your hair when you whined in protest, “Gonna try something different first.”

In one movement you were facing him, finding two dark eyes staring you down, pupils both blown in lust. Joel gripped the back of your head carefully now, cradling you like something precious, something coveted. This was exactly how he saw you. You were someone to protect and take care of, and now it’s shifted to something far more intimate. Joel vowed to himself that he would make you feel every ounce of pleasure you’d been missing out on. All those nights where his hand replaced your pussy built up a frustration only you could truly fix.

Joel crashed his mouth to yours, as he’d done twice before this, and the kiss sent the same heat through your body. You clenched your thighs in a pitiful attempt to gain pressure against your swollen clit, nestled sweetly between your soft folds, soaking your underwear with your slick.

He pressed you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. The kiss was no short of pure ecstasy. The way his stubble scratched against your cheeks, the way his breathing grew heavy when you bit at his lower lip, the way his tongue edged into your mouth to explore every inch.

You gasped when Joel pulled away, watching him step to your dresser and draw out the dildo you’d hidden back inside. He turned to you with the toy in hand, wobbling slightly in his grip.

“‘S a pretty big one, sweetheart, you actually use all of it?” his voice was far too casual for a man holding your dildo.

You offer him half a nod, “Kind of. I’ve been trying to get… all the way in.” Joel assessed your words before he joined you on the bed, holding the toy against your stomach, at the base of your pelvis. He let out a low whistle when he saw where the toy’s length ended at your tummy, past your bellybutton.

“All of that inside you… felt pretty daring getting one so big, huh?”

That wasn’t the case and it was the most embarrassing part. The truth is, you chose the size based on your image of Joel. You didn’t even know how endowed he was, but you let your fantasy of him take over. That, and the time your hand brushed against his erection during your last kiss.

“I wanted to see if it would feel like you,” you admitted.

Joel’s eyes crinkled with his laugh, “Darlin’, a toy don’t compare to the real thing. Not really.”

You jabbed his arm at his teasing, “Listen, I’m doing the best with what I got, okay?”

“Yeah, but it’s not the best you could get, now is it?” he purred, pushing forward to plant a kiss on your neck. You shook your head, knowing he was exactly right. The toy would never really feel like the real thing.

You glanced up at him with a nervous expression, furrowing your brows, “What did you want to do?”

Joel looked at you coolly and leaned back onto his elbows. He eyed you, then the toy in his hand, then back to you.

“You gonna make it fit - take it all the way - and I’m gonna help.”

Crimson shaded your cheeks at the thought, staring nervously at the toy. Surely you were wet enough to take it, but the action of pushing further, to get it in completely, had been a challenge. In hopes to boost your bravery, you hunched over him, kissing him harshly as your hands flew to your pants. You fumbled with the waistband and slid them off of you, until you were stark naked, laid and bare before Mr. Miller.

He simply drank you in as you sat nervously in the lamplight. Joel eyed you darkly, his eyes raking from your quivering thighs, your slightly hidden sex - masked by your censoring hands, to your perk nipples atop each soft breast, and to your face, eyes half-lidded in pleasure adjoined with your soft panting.

“Jesus.”

You ducked your head sheepishly, shaking slightly to decline the compliment. Joel looked you over fondly as his hand found your cheek, brushing a thumb over your cheekbone. You glanced down at him, still giving you that goofy smirk and a excited glint in his eye.

Joel kept eye contact as his hand traveled down your body - through the valley between your breasts, down your tummy, to just above your slit, daringly close to dipping between your wet folds. You pushed yourself into your knees and knelt at his side, your aching cunt exposed to him in the dimly lit room.

He trailed his hand up each thigh, halting just before he reached your pussy. Each touch was carefully light in a way that made your whole body shudder against him. A single finger slithered up your thigh once again, finally finding its way through your slit, nestling comfortably against your clit and drawing lazy circles.

You cried out against a hand held at your mouth. Joel’s hand smelled of metal and bourbon, mixed with pine and lemongrass. He smelled smoky and fresh and completely warm against your face. You bestowed your face into his palm as he gained a rhythm on your clit, drawing out the smallest cries against his skin.

“Nice and wet for me already, darlin’, that’s good… that’s such a good girl. Drippin’ and ready.”

Another dumb nod has him chuckling while his finger skirted lightly across your clit, teasing the bundle of nerves until your stomach grew tighter.

“Gonna cum, baby? You gonna cum for me already?” His comment draws another moan from you, falling like a melody past your bitten lips, a chorus straight from heaven, just for Joel.

“It’s okay, baby doll, go ‘head. Cum for daddy,” he said sweetly, the Southern drawl thick through his words.

You unravel around him, jolting your hips as your orgasm takes over your senses. A soft cry sounds through your gritted teeth; you gently grind your hips onto the pad of his finger to ride through the shockwaves. Joel leans up to kiss your shoulder, his lips warm and supple.

“Just as beautiful as I imagined,” whispered Joel. His tongue skirts along your skin to your neck, fully sitting beside you to bore his eyes into yours.

You glanced back at him with lust-blow pupils, steadying your breath as his hand slowed its tempo. Joel gave you a lazy smile, the lamplight catching the salt-and-pepper hairs of his scruff in a soft display of his rugged features.

“Can,” you started, “you be… inside me?”

Joel’s hands found your hips and gripped snugly. The look in his eyes was nothing short of affectionate. Even still, he shook his head.

“Not tonight darlin’,” he replies, “I want you to show me how you look using this-“ he points to the dildo on his opposite side, waiting. “Since you think a toy could be so much better than me-“

“That’s not it at all,” you protest, “I needed something, Joel.”

He holds up a hand to stop you mid-sentence, “You could’ve asked me, but ya didn’t, did ya?”

You gave him a scowl, “I didn’t think this would happen, Joel.”

Ever since you hit eighteen, he wanted you to practice calling him by his first name purely out of comfortability, and since you’d grown up, it seemed more fitting.

He doesn’t reply, but his smirk grows when he brings the dildo over to you, sitting between your thighs. It was embarrassing enough with how little of the toy you could handle this far, and to do it in front of Joel seemed doubly humiliating.

Joel gives your ass a small smack to lift you up. You rise, letting him set the toy between your thighs and beneath your throbbing entrance. He cleared his throat, daring your attention back to him.

“Go at your own pace, but get it all in, sweet girl.”

All thought had left you - your only reply being in an eager nod. You started off slowly, notching the toy in at your tight hole, and slowly bounced yourself along its length. Your legs shook with each movement as you filled yourself more and more, every gyration sent shockwaves of pleasure through every inch of your being.

It took a few moments to ease yourself fully, now bouncing on the dildo’s length until it became glossy with your slick. Joel eyed you affectionately. Your face twisted in ways he couldn’t imagine, and your cunt wrapped around the toy in ways he could only dream of.

Joel patted your thigh as you bottomed out at the hilt of the toy. He pawed at your hips, kneading at the tender flesh of your ass, and pulled you into a grinding motion, setting the dildo ever deeper into your cunt. It struck a new spot deep inside of you, pushing against your cervix. A low moan fell from you as you moved your hips absentmindedly, solely following Joel’s command.

The tightness in your stomach only grew as his praises flowed through your head.

“Such an obedient lil’ thing.”

“That’s a dirty girl, gettin’ all needy like that. Wishin’ it was me in your sweet pussy, don’t you?”

“You have no idea how badly I want to fill you right now, baby doll.”

You mewled softly as another orgasm crashed through you, your hips sputtering as you ground onto the toy. Joel’s hands caressed you through your high, though he didn’t stop tugging your hips. He beamed lazily when you cried his name once again, shuddering around the toy nestled inside of you.

“Attagirl,” whispered Joel, “so fuckin’ beautiful..”

You shook your head at him like before, but he showed no signs of backing down from his stance. Joel peppered your thighs with kisses and he lifted you off the toy, listening to your whines as you were left feeling empty. His cock twitched in his jeans, eager to play.

But not yet. He needed to see this first.

“How was that, sweet girl?”

A beat of silence said every unspoken thing you’d come up with. It was good, but not mind-boggling. Not the ‘fucked til you’re dumb’ pleasure you’d expected from tonight.

Joel patted your ass, “That’s the thing. Toys… they feel nice. But-“ He plants a kiss to your cheek, then your lips, grazing over the swollen skin.

“I’m better.”

The next few minutes consisted of cleaning after yourself and settling back into your clothes. Joel fixed your hair neatly before looking you over.

“Cant stay long tonight, darlin’, gotta get back home.”

You sighed dramatically at him, to which he scoffed away the gesture. On his way out, he gave you a far more longing look - a loving, thoughtful gaze that told you one thing.

You were his. Completely and wholly. It was clear he saw you differently now, as you did him.

Joel fucking Miller.

MDNI spacer is by cafekitsune!

hi everyone! thank you for so much incredible support on this fic!

Just FYI: Blood Flow, and Daddy’s Girl are now up as parts 2 and 3! have fun, lovelies

[genderqueerpositivity]

I tried to write a post to celebrate being four years on testosterone yesterday. That post turned into a rambling mess of my fears for the future and fears about losing my access to gender affirming care. Which honestly makes a lot of sense given the state of things politically.

The anxiety is also due to the fact that my hysterectomy is in limbo now; my procedure should have been May 1st, but now my doctor is leaving the practice at the end of April. So now I don't know what's going to happen there, which is a little devastating after going through the whole referral and waiting and intake processes. I'm supposed to be referred to another doctor in the same practice, but it's been a month of radio silence now. Hell, I don't even know who to contact; last time I had to it ended up being a multi-day game of phone tag.

I don't know what to say other than I'm grateful and surprised to have made it so far in my hormone therapy journey. I'm incredibly lucky to have the support of beloved chosen family the entire way. And I'm so privileged to have ever accessed gender affirming care to begin with and I can't ever say enough for how much it has improved my mental health and my relationship with my own body.

I used to wonder everyday pre-T if hormone therapy was the right step for me. I thought about it all the time, constantly wondered what sort of changes I could have, and if it would help my dysphoria; I don't have to wonder anymore because I know that this is right for me.

At first I wanted to do topical HRT because I wanted that control of getting to choose this everyday; I imagined that I would reach a point where I might decide that I've transitioned "enough" and choose to stop. These days, I am happy with weekly injections. Getting to just do my shot once a week and then just live without worrying about it is amazing.

I am open to the possibility that I may still reach a point where I decide to reduce my T dose or stop entirely, but at the moment it feels very unlikely. Gender is personal and unique like that. I really hope to be able to continue and see what happens next.

It is difficult to express how transitioning to a more physically male appearance has given me greater freedom to express my gender in less binary ways, but it is true. I experience my gender as more queer and more fluid than ever.

I can't fully explain or express the pain of gender dysphoria and the joy of gender euphoria. How could I possibly get most average people without dysphoria to understand that I used to legitimately hate the sound of my own voice? That I couldn't stand having my voice recorded, because I sometimes even struggled to accept that the person I was speaking speak was actually me?

Now? I just sound like myself. I am more confident making phone calls and calling over the radios at work, I sing aloud in the car now, and occasionally I will speak to someone and get the surprise joy of being addressed as he or sir in return.

And that is just one example of many I could give.

Transitioning is as much a gift of big milestones as it is a gift of so many small and everyday moments.

On Saturday I will do my first shot since my 4 year T birthday, and I will be grateful and have no regrets.

[luna-rainbow]

On Steve Rogers, loss, and loneliness

Unlike some of the other characters, Steve's hurt isn't as plain to the eye. His demeanour is usually one of stoicism and optimism, and it is easy to forget that his story is steeped in loss and loneliness.

Steve's introduction highlighted how alone he was - an orphan, armed with a list of ailments, and hiding behind a newspaper to avoid small chat with other recruits. When rejected by the recruitment centre, Steve shrugs and heads to watch a movie - alone.

Steve is a loner, we are shown, and then just as abruptly - perhaps just like the way it had happened many years ago - Bucky crashes into Steve's world and hooks an arm around his shoulders and noisily talks about an expo and dispels all of Steve's melancholic air. Steve is a loner, except for Bucky.

But Bucky is now leaving to go to war.

Steve is used to being stoic, because there were no adults around him to spoil him. He is used to being buoyant, because Sarah taught him how to pick himself up and carry on. Steve is used facing the empty house and lonely silence -- except for Bucky, who filled his room with chatter, "We can put the couch cushions on the floor, like when we were kids."

So when we hear the anxious strain in his voice as he is informed by Bucky that he is leaving -- it also becomes plain that Steve is also used to loss, or the threat of loss shadowing him, everyday.

In his short life, he has already lost so much. He has lost his health (my thought is he was probably healthier in his early childhood until he caught scarlet fever, and then his health got a lot worse after that). He has lost his father, and all the security of having a family breadwinner. He has lost his mother - to long hours of work and eventually to the disease she was battling against.

What he dreads would happen, does happen. Life seems to have a way of chasing him down like that. Sarah gets sick, and his fear of coming home to find her gone...one day inevitably comes true.

At his darkest moment, Bucky squeezes his shoulder and promises, "You don't have to do it (alone). I'm with you to the end of the line."

It's just enough for Steve to square his shoulders and push on, as Sarah had always taught him to do. Deep inside - possibly buried so deep that he can barely put it into words, he knows that he pulled through because "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky."

I'm going to pause here and emphasise how deeply lonely (and young) Steve was, and how, naturally, the only stable presence — ie Bucky — in his life, through periods of terrible grief and uncertainty, is going to be such a deep-rooted emotional foundation for him (regardless of how you ship).

When the draft does come for Bucky, it's not just Bucky who's unhappy, it's Steve who's also aghast. Suddenly, the possibility of losing his last bastion looms over him, and he remembers the fear and anxiety and the devastating grief of losing Sarah. But it is also a war that needs fighting - so he comes up with a solution: sign himself up. He can't keep Bucky from the war, but he wants to fight alongside him. Besides Bucky, what else does he have to lose?

"Men are laying down their lives, I have no right to do any less. That's what you don't understand, Bucky."

He says this angrily, because the words he can't say aloud are, "You are laying down your life, Bucky, and I might never see you again, and I can't go through all that again, not by myself."

When he hears about the 107th being captured, he has to go. He is saving Bucky, sure, but he is also saving himself, because the pillar, the lifebuoy, the harness that has kept him afloat all those years is Bucky, and he's terrified of sinking.

The serum makes him taller and more women pause to smile at him, but he is still incredibly alone. He sits alone during break, he draws alone in his book, he runs off alone and none of the USO girls even notices until it's his turn on stage.

But Bucky notices him immediately, and says, "I thought you were smaller," and, "Did it hurt?"

Steve doesn't really believe in miracles. His whole life feels like one bad luck after another, even if he forces one foot in front of another and keeps marching on. But maybe at that moment, he feels like Bucky is his miracle. Bucky, who always seems to notice when he's alone and pulls him into his social circle. Bucky, who had seen him lose his dad and Sarah and promised him the end of the line. Bucky, who he - and all the commanders - thought was dead, pulls through and gives him another promise - that he would follow the little guy back into war.

When Steve is finally thrust into the frontline, the losses keeps mounting, man after man are falling, condolence letter after letter is being written. And then towards the end of 1944, the tides seem to finally turn. German forces are waning, the Allied forces are advancing, and quietly, secretly, Steve dreams of home.

And that dream dies with Bucky.

"Honour the dignity of his choice," he is told, but he can't shake off the guilt.

He pushes himself forward, step by dragging step. Nazi Germany is falling. He is taking down Hydra with his own hands…and at the end, he buries them all in the ocean with himself.

His is sinking, but he isn’t afraid, because he is going where all the people who mattered are waiting.

And he is denied even that.

He opens his eyes to a world he doesn’t recognise. They tell him they had won the war.

But no one wants to speak with him about what was lost.

A folder of old photos, the museum of unmoving murals, the silent movies of a smile he would never see again.

He thought he had lost all there was to lose, but somehow life always seem to find something else to take.

What we see of off-duty Steve in the modern world is once again a figure of loneliness. He goes to the gym alone, he goes for a ride on the train alone, he sits at the cafe alone, he goes for runs alone, he goes to the museum alone.

Only during those solitary moments he could truly be Steve Rogers, instead of trying to meet everyone's expectations of Captain America. He is just shy of 27 years old, but suddenly, he can no longer lay claim to youth. Only a dream ago he was "just a kid from Brooklyn", and now he's an "old-fashioned" (as per Coulson) "older fellow" (as per Tony).

He's in the history books, he's on the television, he's in the classrooms; everyone knows of Captain America, but Steve Rogers is lost.

He had been willing to lose his life on the Valkyrie, but what he lost was every living connection and his own identity.

"Must have freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing," the friendly man says to him on their first meeting, but Sam only knows half of it.

The too soft bed and the too quiet room is one thing, the unshakeable nightmares another, but the worst of it is -- this isn't home.

He is marooned in a place that bears eerie resemblance to the world he knew, without being familiar.

Until the moment Bucky's mask comes off.

It's like the anchor dropping. He's now got a connection tethering him to this strange place, someone with "shared experience" that means he is no longer alone, and he is no longer a ghost forgotten by the seventy years of lost time.

"He doesn't know you."

"He will."

He has to believe that Bucky will, because Bucky is proof that Steve Rogers exists.

And once again, Bucky is his miracle. On the brink of killing them both, Bucky reels back from his brainwashing and hauls them both to safety.

Even if Bucky leaves after that, he's left behind something Steve hasn't had for a long time -- hope, and belonging.

"Family, stability. The guy who wanted all that went in the ice seventy-five years ago," he says to Tony as he prepares to meet the ragged team of enhanced people that is to become the Avengers. "I'm home."

Stoic and buoyant as he has always been, Steve sets to work building that home for himself. Gradually, we see Steve open up. He forms new connections and new friendships, he talks about his vulnerabilities with people he trusts, and he reclaims his own identity. He looks for Bucky, and waits until Bucky is ready to build that home for himself.

Until it is once again blown apart by the end of Infinity War - he loses not just Bucky, the anchor to his past, but the new family he has made apart from Natasha.

That's why it makes sense that Steve, not Tony, is the one working so hard to reverse the Snap. His family was 5 years ago, Tony's family is now. The people who rallied behind Steve and not Captain America, the people who followed him after he dropped the shield, the people with whom he no longer needed to be endlessly lonely and tirelessly stoic and who loved him for who Steve Rogers was, they all vanished in the Snap.

So even if there was only a small hope, Steve wants them back.

And that's why his decision to leave everything he had built, the sacrifices he had made to bring them back, in order to go into a life of incredibly loneliness and deception is still the dumbest narrative faux pas in the MCU.

[stars4gojo]

Paper rings 

I’m with you even if it makes you blue

Gojo x Fem! Reader // progression of their relationship, fluff, maybe some angst? Gojo and reader parent Megumi & Tsumiki together // 1.6k words 

3 times you asked Gojo to marry you and the one time he asked you.

More of my work🩷

Gojo Satoru, an incredibly familiar name to you ever since you were a child. He was the notorious loud boy who ran around in the park as if he owned it when you were 6. Growing up in the same neighbourhood as him was not easy, he was boisterous, loud and selfish; always acting as if he owned the slide demanding a password for anyone who wanted to play on it. You deemed yourself to be brave when you first approached the boy, being persistent about forming a friendship with him despite his efforts to avoid you, claiming that girls have ‘cooties.’ Unfortunately for him you weren’t one to give up, you had taken a liking towards the spoiled boy others in the neighbourhood feared, taking even Gojo himself by surprise. 

The first time you had asked Gojo to marry you was a subtle evening in summer. It was the last week before summer break started, you would be leaving to visit your grandparents throughout the summer like usual. 

“Will you miss me Toru?” You questioned him while sucking on the bright blue popsicle which was dripping everywhere due to the unendurable heat. 

“Huh? I won’t miss you and what’s with the nickname I told you to not call me that..” He replied, almost mumbling the last part as his rosy cheeks lit up in embarrassment due to the nickname.

“Well I’m going to miss you. You know I won’t be here for all three months Toru.” You added ignoring his wishes to not use that nickname.

“But you’re coming back right?” He questioned with the rosy tint not leaving his cheeks. 

“Of course! I would never leave you, I’m going to marry you so I can’t leave just yet.” You replied while little giggles escaped your mouth.

“You’re going to marry me…?” He questioned back.

“Yes I will.” You spoke with utter certainty as if he had no say in who he would marry. 

“I’d like to see you try…Race you back to the park!” He added while suddenly getting up on his feet and running away.

“Hey! No fair!” You called back as your tiny legs chased after him. 

—

The second time it happened was when you two were in middle school, now too old to play pirates in the local park. You got into the habit of taking walks around the area and watching the younger children play. 

It was the night before the first day of middle school, all sorts of emotions of anxiety and excitement going through your mind.

“Middle school huh?” Gojo started.

No response from you.

“You don’t look too excited.” He added while scratching the back of his head awkwardly. 

And to no surprise there was no response from you causing him to snap his fingers infront of your face waking you up.

“What are you thinking about?” He questioned softly unlike his usual character. 

“Just wondering about what you said…” you replied silently. 

“We’re gonna be in different classes this year.” You added while sighing in disappointment.

“Oh cmon we don’t know that yet I can’t believe you’re so upset over that, I thought something serious happened!” Gojo shouted back almost in relief.

“It is serious!!” You fought back, “Being in different classes means that we won’t ever be paired up for like anything and then you won’t ever have the time for me and then we won’t spend any time together which means I can’t marry you!” You huffed in frustration crossing your arms around your chest while a pout formed on your lips.

You couldn’t dare to turn around to look at Gojo after your daring confession.

“WHAT!” He shouted back after a moment of silence and you finally turned towards him.

“Yo- you’re crazy! No way in hell I’m going to marry you.” He stuttered back while the familiar red tint covered his face. 

“Whatever…” you huffed out.

“Let’s just go home…you need food! Right that’s what you need to stop saying such nonsense.” He spoke quickly in embarrassment as he held your hand and started dragging you to the corner shop with him to buy you that same blue popsicle you’ve been having since you were 6. 

You two ended up being in the same classes for the next three years still being known as the most inseparable duo that walked in your small town. 

—

The final time you had to asked Gojo to marry you was right before high school.  You always knew Gojo’s little secret about him being a jujutsu sorcerer, truth is you were from a family of them as well. But you never had any passion of continuing practicing jujutsu unlike Gojo who was destined to grow up to be the strongest sorcerer to exist. 

You had refused to go to your grandparents this summer so you and Gojo could spend your first and last summer together. 

It was 2:43 AM and the two of you were sprawled over your bed. 

High school was starting in a week but Gojo was leaving early to go to his special jujutsu high school. 

“Can’t believe summer is already over.” You started while munching on the leftover pizza from a few hours ago as Gojo hummed in acknowledgment. 

“Can’t believe you’re leaving too.” You sighed as you sat up, trying to bring up the topic the two of you have been desperately avoiding. 

“I’m just going to Tokyo won’t forget you or anything.” He mumbled back.

“You won’t know that unless you actually go there.” You harshly grumbled under your breath causing Gojo erupt in a small fit of laughter.

“You think I’ll find better friends or what?” He asked in between laughing as you smacked him on his chest.

“You’re all I have here Toru this isn’t funny.” You rolled your eyes at how unserious he was being.

“You have Hana from across the street.” He replied back purposely naming the girl who you hated the most as you whined in disapproval. 

“You know Toru?” You started as he hummed again, “you should marry me.”

“What?” He replied in surprise. 

“If you marry me you won’t have to go to that stupid high school and I’m from a family of jujutsu sorcerers and your mom definitely loves me so then there’s nothing to worry about.” You spoke but had no actual confidence in your words.

“I can’t just marry you like that.” He spoke in slight disbelief as his eyebrows raised.

“So this is it then?” You sighed in disappointment. 

“No it isn’t I told you I’m not dying I’m just moving to another city! You can come visit anytime!” Gojo spoke in slight frustration. 

“Okay! Okay! I got it!” You shouted back defeatedly as you raised your hands in the air. 

“Promise you won’t forget me?” You added as you put your pinky out.

“You’re gonna make me make a pinky promise?” He deadpanned.

“Yes I will now quick do it!” You giggled back.

“So bossy…” he mumbled under his breath but nonetheless he stuck out his pinky, promising you that he would always remember you. 

— 

Now it’s been 5 years since that interaction, Gojo had not broken that promise only because you took it upon yourself to not let him go - moving with him to Tokyo and joining jujutsu high. 

He thought you were crazy when you jumped on the same train as him the next morning but now he thanks you everyday for making such a spontaneous decision. 

You two now share a home with two children who walk around like they own the place. 

The two of you are currently on a walk home after another dinner date. Gojo has been insisting on taking you on dates to fancy restaurants for the past couple of weeks but whenever you two actually sit down for the date he seems distracted as if he’s hiding secrets that he desperately wants to say but can’t.

“I liked the restaurant from last week better.” You mumbled breaking the exhausting silence that has taken over you two for the entire night. 

And to no surprise there was no reply from him.

“Toru!!” You shouted as he snapped back in to reality. 

“W-what? Why are you screaming?” He questions in surprise.

“Nothing…” you spoke defeatedly. 

“I’m cold Toru.” You started again as the winter breeze became stronger. 

“I told you to bring your jacket you can’t have mine tonight.” He replied as he continued walking.

You knew it was silly to get upset over this, it’s only just a jacket. But it’s not just that, the mumbles under his breath and just how lost he is with you now is just making you question the relationship.

So you stop walking, waiting for him to notice you are no longer with him but he still keeps walking without turning back. 

“Toru!!” You called out as he turned around in shock. 

“What are you doing so far back?” He spoke softly slowly walking towards you taking your hand into his, to which you slyly took advantage of as you put your hand in his pocket where you felt a small velvet box, taking it out of his pocket in surprise. 

“What’s this Toru?” You questioned as your eyebrows furrowed.

The way he turned around to see you was almost comical. 

“Give that back!” He shouted while snatching it from your hand and shoving it back in the pocket as a big smile rolled across your lips.

“Oh my god Toru I can’t believe you! Is this what all the fancy dates were about?” You hummed out. 

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” He mumbled as he looked down. 

“Can you believe I thought you were gonna break up with me?” You added as a little laugh slipped.

“Let’s go home Toru” 

Only to your surprise your boyfriend was no longer walking next to you, turning around only to see him on his knee.   

—

Honestly really proud of this one hope you guys enjoy it🤍

Requests are open btw feel free to send anything through but keep it all appropriate.

[mockerycrow]

PAYPHONE (Soap x GN!Reader)

soap masterlist

Summary: You and Johnny were the right people, but everything happened at the wrong time.

[WARNINGS: Angst, hurt/no comfort, breaking up, unhealthy coping mechanisms/can be seen as self-harm.]

JOHNNY DIDN’T know how to handle certain emotions correctly, despite being in the military. He’s a strong, disciplined man but the second something happens he doesn’t know how to deal with—something he doesn’t know how to fix happens, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Johnny’s an impatient man, he likes when something needs to be done and done at that exact moment. He doesn’t like sitting around, doing nothing. He despises feeling useless and god, has he never felt more useless than he does right now, sitting in the gym on base; his headphones blasting music as his leg bounces up and down whilst he’s on a bench. His arms are resting on his knees, his head hanging low with his hands rubbing the back of his neck because it’s feeling the stretch of his muscles due to the position he’s in.

His eardrums twinged with discomfort due to how loud he’s playing his music, but Johnny couldn’t give two shits. Not when he’s waiting for a text that will never come, not when he feels a hole in his chest that he’s not quite sure will ever heal. Johnny lets out a shuddery breath as his leg bounces a thousand miles per hour; he came to the gym to distract himself, but it’s only making everything worse. Johnny’s phone vibrates and he hates the way he pulls it out of his pocket with lightning speed, his heart pounding against his ribcage with hope, hope that it’s you—and a loud curse leaving him as it’s just a fucking notification from his goddamn rugby scores app. Johnny doesn’t hesitate to throw his phone to the ground, the phone clattering as he puts his head in his hands, the energy humming in his veins begging to be released.

“Fuck!” He snarls loudly—he’s alone in the gym, so he isn’t worried about downplaying his reactions. It’s fairly late and the gym is a fair’s way away from the barracks. Not many people come down at—he looks at his watch—0239. His hands are wrapped in preparation of using a punching bag; he knows he should go back to his room and grab the foam gloves for extra protection, he knows he cannot afford broken knuckles right now, but quite frankly; Johnny could not give a fuck. Not when the pain in his chest and in his throat is much worse than any physical injury he’s received. Even the deep, hooked scar in his chin hurt less.

Johnny stands up from where he’s sitting on a bench nearby and he stalks towards the punching bag, electricity biting at his nerves, the anxiety bubbling up in his stomach as he throws a violent right hook at the punching bag; he blocks out the warning signals his brain sends him from the lack of complete proper protection. He wants to stop thinking about you, he wants to stop thinking about your last conversation, the happy memories—he needs it to stop hurting as bad as it does.

Your laugh was incredibly contagious that Johnny couldn’t help but breaking out into a grin so hard that his lip curls and exposes his upper right canine tooth, barely able to contain his own laughter. You were cracking up at your own damn joke that wasn’t even funny in the first place, yet Johnny found himself with tears in his eyes and a tight gut from laughter. “Y—“ He chokes at first, sucking in a deep breath. “You couldn’t even fuckin’ finish yer joke!—“ Johnny wheezes, unable to stop himself from slapping the couch. You, unlike Johnny, did not care who or what was the object of your laughing assault. Your hand comes down on his thigh multiple times, causing him to laugh harder as neither of you could catch your breath. “Shut the fuck up—” You were barely able to push it out, your head reeling back from the laughter.

Johnny’s eyes were glued to you; he loved the way you laughed, the way you were so comfortable with him. He never complained when you hit him during laughing fits, even though yes, it did hurt. Johnny never complained when you couldn’t finish your jokes, because your laughter always ended up being better than the joke itself. His laughter died down, but Johnny’s grin never left his face. He loved watching you try to catch your breath, the way your body flails during a laughing fit. Johnny watched as you slowly stopped laughing, your fingers coming up to wipe the tears that had spilled and any remaining in your eyes. You bit your lip as you made eye contact and you both lost it all over again, this time Johnny’s hand coming down to slap your leg instead, sending you into a loud wheeze.

Johnny thinks the happy memories hurt worse than the bad ones; because he can’t hate you for this. He thinks it would be so much easier to get over this–your relationship if you did something completely fucked up, but the fact is that you didn’t. You never did; you were good to him. Johnny knows he wasn’t bad to you–but you two just wanted different things, and yet you’re the only one he wants. He’s so angry. At you, at himself, at how things ended. His knuckles hurt. Johnny hates how you were so fucking sweet to him, even to the end. He wishes you were mean to him; he wishes you did something unforgivable but you didn’t. His hands throb. Johnny hates himself for this because he’s sure it’s his fault. He’s sure if he did what you needed, it wouldn’t have ended this way. “But would you be happy, John?”

His eyes shut, trying to block out the sudden invasion of your voice. God, your voice. It was something he looked forward to each time he returned from the field, no matter time, he would dial your number. It was usually around this time, too, which doesn’t help. Not when his fingers itch burn to dial your number.

Johnny wishes you did something to justify the anger he has towards you right now, but you didn’t. You wanted different things than him, plain and simple. Neither of you guys did anything wrong, and Johnny can’t handle that. He wants to blame you, himself, something.

Johnny gasps as suddenly the pain hits him. The blaring, hot white pain that shoots through his knuckles, up his arms. His eyelids fly open as he’s met with a gruesome sight; his blood. “Fuckin’ ‘ell!” Johnny curses, shaky fingers ripping his headphones off of his head. There’s blood smeared on the punching bag, blood dripped from his knuckles onto the ground as well as dripping down the punching bag, there’s specks of blood all over the front of his shirt—his hands wont stop fucking shaking, and his chest hurts, and his head fucking burns—

There’s a pair of arms that wrap around Johnny and he tries to push them away, but the white hot pain flares up in his joints and he gasps, pulling his hands away. “No—“ He croaks, barely hearing himself. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me—“

“—op—“

“So—“

“John!”

His eyes open—when did he close them?—and his eyes lay on a familiar face; Price. He looks tired, his brows furrowed in concern, his hands grasping his shoulders uncomfortably firmly. His chest burns, and his vision blurs from the tears he wasn’t aware he was spilling. “Hey, god—“ Price grunts as he grabs Johnny’s wrists instead, his touch gentler there. Johnny sucks in a tight breath, his hands trembling so harshly—they shouldn’t be shaking, he’s a sniper and demolitions expert—“Focus on me, y’hear me?” Price’s voice filters through the drowning thoughts.

Johnny’s breath hitches when he says that, his shoulders trembling. “They used—they used t’say that.”

Price’s worried expression falters, his eyes flickering with recognition with what’s going on, his heart strings tugging harder than before; watching one of your sergeants break like this is.. Something Price never wants to experience again.

“C’mon, no, don’t you worry about the mess, yeah?” Price murmurs, Johnny hiccuping, the embarrassment of breaking down beginning to hit as tears drip off of his cheeks. “Let’s get you cleaned up, mate.”

“Maybe in the next life, Johnny.”

[incorrectallpersonaquotes]

After a very busy month, we finally finished Metaphor Refantazio.

Here, I'll talk first about our troubled journey to be able to play it, and then about the game itself (no spoilers, so you can read it with no problem).

Unlike most Atlus games, this time we were unable to purchase directly at release due to lack of money. So, the game was released in October, we only managed to buy it in November and only managed to beat it now, literally in the early hours of December 1st. In fact, throughout the month of October, a recurring joke of ours was to say "wow, this game is so awful" to contain our anxiety while we waited for the month to pass soon so we could have money to buy it.

The day I would buy it would be on my pay day. But, for some reason, the company took longer than usual to deposit the money, so it was more than 15:30 and still no salary. They finally deposited at 16h, but my internet stopped working right at the same time, and I was without internet until after midnight. So, I couldn't work (I work HomeOffice), but without internet I couldn't buy and download the game. In other words, if the salary had dropped a little earlier, or the internet had dropped a little later, we could have played, but since that didn't happen we spent a whole day anxious about playing, without being able to play.

The next day we finally managed to play, and everything went smoothly until we reached the final stretch of the game. Before the final boss, the game has some optional bosses that it recommends killing to prepare for the ending. I started killing these bosses, but they were some tough motherfuckers, so I spent about two days killing them, and got stuck on the last one. But I started to feel remorse because Babi was anxious to finish the game, so I decided to just finish the game as quickly as possible, and after that I would dedicate as much time as I wanted to kill the optional boss.

Result: in my rush to resolve things quickly, I ended up stuck on the final boss for two whole days, because I thought that, with the right skillset, I could kill him without grinding. But I wasted a lot of time on this, until I finally gave up and started grinding, then I killed him on the first attempt (but it was still a tough fight). Okay, that was about our experience playing. Now, about the game itself:

The game's biggest appeal is easily its visuals, and I can safely say that if it doesn't win Best Art Direction at The Game Awards, the result was bought. The game is beautiful, the designs are all incredible (although there are some bizarre ones, like Edeni), the screen transitions, the menus, the enemies, everything is built perfectly, and in this aspect it is on the same level as Persona 5, I think even a little higher. It's incredible.

The gameplay is also extremely fun, stimulating and, above all, challenging. The game has a Rewind feature in battles, it allows you to "reset" a battle from scratch if you realize you're losing, and I've seen some imbecile idiots out there saying that this automatically makes the game easy (makes me want to do with them what the MFing dragons in the game did with me). The beginning of the game is difficult, the middle is quite easy, and at the end it becomes difficult again, but it's the type of difficulty that is stimulating, not frustrating: yes, I was stuck on the game's bosses for almost a week, but I was having fun like never before, and if it weren't for my anxiety about finishing the game soon because I was playing together with Babi, I would have enjoyed this part of the game immensely (and, to be clear, this was something just for me, because Babi herself said that, although she was anxious to see the end of game, she would 100% understand if I spent a little more time grinding, leveling and doing the necessary things, I decided to rush everything thinking about her, but it wasn't something coming from her). And, above all, even though the game requires you to level grind frequently, it offers resources to do so in a faster and more fun way. In other words: the game is challenging in the right way, and takes all the necessary measures to make facing these challenges fun, and not frustrating.

ALL characters are charismatic, fun and interesting. The only one I found more or less was Junah, but otherwise they are all cool and fun, both the party characters and the Social Links and the villains. About this, I open a new item here just to talk about a specific character.

Louis Guiabern, the main villain of the game, is the biggest villain in this SMT/Persona niche. Like, using Persona as an example, we have villains that you end up liking because you empathize with them in some way (Akechi, Maruki), villains that you hate and end up not liking as much as you should because they are just detestable (Adachi, Ikutsuki, Takaya, Shido ) and villains who are just plain boring (Yaldabaoth, Izanami). Louis, on the other hand, is a villain that you absolutely hate, but he is a GREAT villain. Powerful, intimidating, manipulative, intelligent, he's basically Char Aznable in the world of SMT. Every time you do something, the impression you have is that he predicted your movements and is three steps ahead of you. Every time he appears, he exhales the same aura of power and authority, and every revelation regarding him hits you like a rock. And his characterization is clearly based on Lucifer, even more so in spoilery parts of the game, which have major references to the Divine Comedy.

By the way, the academic references part is also incredible. The entire game is based on the book Utopia, by Thomas More, but in addition it has very strong references to Socratic philosophy, as the "Velvet Room" in this game is literally called Akademeia and there is a cat there called Plateau (a reference to the philosopher Plato, founder of the Academy, which was originally a school of philosophy), and the political and fantasy theme itself has references to Plato's philosophy (even if to contradict it).

Not to mention, of course, the references to other games in the franchise, such as Persona, Shin Megami Tensei, Devil Summoner, Etrian Odyssey and Catherine. Whether it's Easter eggs or direct references here and there, the game never makes a beautiful collection in these aspects, so that you being by seeing it as something 100% original and disconnected from the rest, but then you eventually start to see the relationships between everything.

That said, I have to say that the overall story is good, but it is a weak point compared to the other aspects I mentioned here. It's as if the visuals, sound and gameplay were a 10 and the story was an 8, so… it's not bad, it's just not up to par with the other aspects. The story starts extremely well, but in the middle and at the end it goes awry: apart from some memorable plot twists, the script is convenient in an even more blatant way than Persona 5 and 4, relying on coincidences and situations taken out of nowhere to maintain the story more or less cohesive with the "calendar" game format, in which the story unfolds on specific days. And the end, although cool, is very plain, it has none of the tremendous emotion of other Personas. Like I said, it's not bad, but it's not breathtaking, so… it could have been better.

Overall, it's an incredible, wonderful game and one that I recommend to anyone, but especially to those already familiar with Shin Megami Tensei, Persona and the like. It was a purchase that was 1000000% worth it.

Now, just waiting for a "Metaphor Refantazio Royal". This is something that Atlus has done a lot lately that makes people angry, launching the base game and then launching a new version with everything improved and reformulated to make you buy the same game twice, and the case of Metaphor is one that is clearly seen that would benefit from this, little things here and there that, in a reworked version, if they were improved would make the game perfect. So… if that happens, my surprise will be zero. Even so, I'm going to think it's revolting. And, of course, I'll buy it anyway.

[ladydaybreaker]

Do you have some fic recs?

Oh do I! :3

Through the Looking Glass/Of Rust and Frostbite by SilverTails or @mephiles97 here on tumblr, Looking Glass is Silver's swap AU that's absolutely fantastic and has a cast of characters that don't really see much light in canon. Frostbite is their "survivalist" au where the bunker doesn't exist and the main cast have to survive the DDs and the harsh life of C9 outside it. Silver's works are criminally underrated and they deserve all the love for it...they work incredibly hard.

Retrospect/Great Tribulation/Steel Soul all three of these are by The_Caretaker or @existence-overwhelming here on tumblr. Retrospect is a series of character studies of the cast, featuring N, Uzi, J, V and now Tessa. GT is part of Eschatology which is his own retelling of the MD series. The Steel Soul series is Ghost's core coupling fics and I'm a liiiittle biased there because the two that are in there atp are featuring two of my fankids (Tori and Orion) and their partners (Zhenya and Andy).

Whispers In The Sky/Fourth Law/Hand That Feeds by Nosferatank or @banyanas. Whispers is my ALL TIME FAVORITE feral DD story, they normally work in pre-Heartbeat capacity so don't expect tooo much Solver shenanigans there. Fourth Law has some more Solver shenangians but still heavy AU for things (is also where we get our first look at pings from their creator!!) Hand though is more canon compliant and...goes through Tessa's POV after her demise.

Flipside/sileNce by DoodlingNutjob. Flipside is a swap au much like LG is, but different characters doing different things. While the DDs are mostly similar to what a bunch of swaps do...the Workers are very different and it's very fun to watch where that goes. She's gotten through the Heartbeat arc and is working towards the Prom part. sileNce...ever wonder what would happen if J managed to 'fix' N's personality before Uzi ever showed up? A brutal and effecient killer who got the job done no matter what? Join the "J Sucks and I want to hit her" army for sileNce then because OH GOD...

As Above, So Below/Sun and Moon/Little (Big) Changes by VexInheritance. As Above is still the ONE fic that has gotten me to throw my phone at the end because I couldn't believe that's where it ended and it had no sequel. It also got me to sob like a child. An AU of the series that is set in an alternate post canon. Sun and Moon is just sweet and pure Nuzi things and my heart just goes ahhhhhh...I haven't gotten too far into LBC but from what I've read so far? It's a very well done swap with some fun little twists. Vex is another author that's criminally underrated.

The Moments Inbetween by SparkTrace. Similar to what I've done with Ad Astra, Spark's decided to expand on the "what happened between the episodes". Unlike me, he's quickened the Nuzi getting together as dating. (I took 120 chapters to get there...) His entries into the Something Strange In Coppersville are beautiful pieces of work if you're big into Juzi and Vuzi. He's got plans for a Full Company route so expect the Nuzi, eNVy, Oilrose and Code Gold/Silly Business stories soon.

Take Care, Its a Desert Out There by ColdNightsWarmBlankets or @waycoldernighttimes. An OC centered story that feels like it could be situated right alongside canon. The original MD Cast does not interact with the OCs...but that doesn't lessen the experience whatsoever. Between Levi's mania, Serial Designation T's snark and Pequod's wisdom...it's a massive ride on the arctic seas as they try to hunt down the Solver on their own terms...or die trying (least, that's what Levi's been saying).

by chance by Spero11. I'm normally not one for human aus but this one grabbed me by the throat and refused to let go. A streamer AU where N's a big time streamer and Uzi's his gaming partner, it blossoms into a relationship between the two as we see how Uzi deals with anxiety and depression and see N's problems through his lens too (though big ol focus is on Uzi). I have sobbed and cried on this fic and felt...seen...while reading it. Lot of the "I'm too broken for anyone to fix and love" hit closer to home than I ever thought it would...and it inspired me to do my own little au in a streaming arena.

There are SO many more...but these were the big ones off the top of my head. Main thing for me? Don't go into ao3 looking at hits or kudos or comments...sometimes the really good ones? Are the ones most overlooked. <3

[bisnes-socks]

don't mind me, below the cut is just me trying to somehow verbalise how much i love mesto duhov on a molecular and also astral levels and also trying my best to not actually cry about it.

i'm going to start with a weird tangent but.

back in the early days of covid i talked with a friend of mine how the panic around us made us, as deeply anxious people, feel more balanced somehow. she was in france, i was in finland, but the experience was the same: the anxiety in the world suddenly matched the anxiety inside us. it was somehow a new exeprience, to feel at balance, even if the reason for it was not so good.

but this, this song, is a good reason to feel at balance, and good god, that's exactly what this song does to me. i don't know how they made a song that matches something in my soul, but they did. and the reason why i started off with a weird covid tangent is because there is incredible pain in this song that matches something in the feeling of being alive to me. and to have it turned into music and played back to me is a moment of balance unlike any other, because suddenly feeling the things you feel don't make you so unbelievably lonely anymore.

there are other songs in the world that sound and feel like they vibrate in the exact same frequency as my soul, but i haven't discovered a new one in years. but mesto duhov is exactly that.

i don't usually go into joker out lyrics because i don't speak slovene or serbian, and so i leave analysing them to those who do. but this time i just want to say, that i looked up translations and not only does the music vibrate on the frequency of my soul, the lyrics are exactly what i've been feeling, what i've been witnessing, and what i've been working with for a while now. i don't want to go too much into my personal life on tumblr dot com, but the disappearance of imagination, of life, of joy, of things worth living for, are something that i've been working with on every level of my life this year, both on a personal and professional level.

this song is just this exact moment in my life right now. this is it. and it feels so oddly calming to me. because it feels like someone else sees it too.

and it's strange because once again, they have written a song that feels like i've heard it before, but i haven't. i'd know if i had ever heard anything like it, but i haven't. of course i hear the influences, but they feel irrelevant to me with this one. it's like there are moments in the song that almost take me back to like idk 2010 or something, but the nostalgia never gets a hold of me, it doesn't stick. it's almost nostalgic but it isn't, because this is now. it just feels like, when the song comes on, it's just....right. yes, that's the one, that's the song, that's the feeling, this is right.

the contrast between the agony of the verses and the resigned serenity of the pa pa pa pa paa... it's balance, it's right, it's real. it's also brilliant composing and songwriting. this song is so interesting, so captivating, so memorable. it goes from one feeling to another in a way that is striking but makes sense. 

they introduce the intesity of the verses straight off the bat, and then the quieting down and subsequent sudden stop with "pod nogami se trese / zapihal je veter, da vse nas odnese" is actually something quite familiar from rock music - you know to expect something different for the chorus. but you do not know to expect what actually happens, like it's a different song suddenly. and then they build back up to the intensity of the verses with great skill and attention to details and vibes.

the melody in "mimo mene lebdijo sami žalostni ljudje / nazaj v nostalgijo včerajšnjega dne" has to be one of the most beautiful melodies i've heard. something about it feels very familiar, very home-like, just again, very right. but it also makes me instantly emotional, even before i ever read a translation for the lyrics. just the melody alone. and bojan's vocal performance, which is absolutely top tier through the entire song. his ability to convey emotion really comes through with this one, and i'm in awe of him for it.

the instrumentation in the song is just brilliant.  the pa pa pa pa pa section is made up of sounds that bring childrens music into mind, it's full of whimsical and fun sounds, that in this context feel incredibly bittersweet and quite sad. the different guitar sounds and effects in the song, for example the sound that opens the song vs. the solo sound, bring amazing versatility and depth to the straight forward intensity of the verses. the drums portray the frustration and pent-up energy caused by the themes. the bass sound almost cocoons all of it into one and almost makes this song a physical place to exist in.

it's all brilliance from beginning to end. except once again, i wish the song went on much longer, and i miss it as soon as it begins to fade.

and i'm usually not one to loop songs. but this one i'd easliy loop all day, all week, all month, all year, my whole life, because somehow this song makes it easier to be, to breathe, to exist and to make peace with existing. 

needless to say it's my favourite track on the album, my song of the year, and quite possibly one of my favourite songs of all time ever.

[theflyindutchwoman]

The airplane bathroom. Your apartment. Look, I-I don't know. Call me crazy, but it just doesn't feel like pretend. Uh… It's an intimate act. I mean, we'd have to be dead inside for it to not trigger something, right? It -- It's basic biology. Okay, so… So you're saying it's not a big deal? Doesn't mean anything? Right? I...

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 5.01 - Double Down

That first (practice) kiss changed everything, affecting them both in ways they weren't ready to admit out loud, let alone to themselves, at the time. But they couldn't put off that conversation for much longer either. Or at least, Tim couldn't. Not after everything that happened in the plane…  And with that comes the beginning of their misunderstanding and pining era… They are usually so good at reading the other that it makes this miscommunication a bit more tragic. But there lies the difference : unlike before, there is the possibility of losing the other, of changing fundamentally their relationship… And this is scary. So even though this trope usually feels contrived, in this particular case, it actually makes sense. They're in the middle of an op, they've just found out about Rosalind's escape… In other words : this isn't the best setting for a confession.

Lucy immediately turning the TV on, trying to catch any news regarding Rosalind, just shows how far from alright she is. It may not be affecting her skills in the field but it's still weighing her down emotionally. Tim snatching the remote control right back, knowing that this is only going to increase her anxiety, is such a quintessential Tim-move. He's watching over her, being the fierce protector. He's doing everything to distract her… and how meaningful and sweet is it, that the first thing that comes to his mind is to compliment her on her undercover skills, trying to boost her confidence at the same time. He's come a long way since the time he openly doubted her skills. Despite his efforts, Lucy remains a bit out of sorts, her mind understandably occupied elsewhere. But it also looks like she pauses for a second, as if wondering whether this is truly meant as a compliment. It's really once he smiles that she visibly softens and appreciates it for what it is. It's a small detail, but the fact that she keeps massaging her head, as if trying to release the pressure, is a good indication on how all the spinning and tension is catching up to her, giving her a headache. She did it earlier in the private jet as well. Her decision to take a shower to help her unwind and relax, with no hesitation whatsoever, while Tim is present in the room, is incredibly vulnerable and intimate… It's all about the implicit trust they have in each other.

And Tim… who was finally regaining his equilibrium after that kiss… who was trying to order Lucy's favorite comfort food to make her feel better… only for his brain to short-circuit all over again when he catches a glimpse of her in the bathroom (and what is it with them and bathrooms)… The man spends this whole mission being knocked off his feet and barely has time to recover. This shows how gone he is that a mere glimpse of her bared back sends him reeling this hard. He's so flustered that he has to sit, trying to look everywhere but at the bathroom - though he can't fully tear his eyes away either. You know he's completely shooketh when even a game can't hold his attention for long. And to be fair, Lucy being a vision with her curly wet hair and dressed in only a robe is not helping him one bit. The fact that he decided to address the elephant in the room right away is so surprising, but commendable. It may have taken him a while to finally figure out - and admit to himself - that he sees Lucy as more than a colleague or even a friend… But now that he has, he's willing to discuss it, to take the plunge. It also doesn't completely come out of nowhere : there were already hints of this, like when he was on the verge on bringing it up to Lucy before he chickened out, the morning after their kiss. And while she might have been the one dreaming about it, it was clearly still on Tim's mind too. So much so that he had to confide in Angela, which was unusual in itself. This time, he can't hold back.

Unfortunately, the timing is less than ideal… Not to mention the way he approaches the conversation. He's naturally trying to keep his cards close to the vest but he unintentionally ends up sounding more accusing than anything. It's how he slowly gets closer to her, practically towering over her, listing their two kisses (that she initiated), saying that 'it just doesn't feel like pretend'… Combined with his earlier compliment about how good she is at that and it could easily be misconstrued as a call out. And judging by Lucy's deer in the headlights expression, this might be exactly what she's thinking. He looks so hopeful for a moment, with his shy little smile, waiting for her answer, for a sign that it's not just him feeling this way. Her using biology and psychology as a crutch sounds so much like she's panicking and trying to think of an excuse… It's something she'll do again for her breakup with Chris. But the interesting thing is that she doesn't completely deny it either. She is genuinely confused and conflicted. About where he is going with this. They're both being careful and that's what leads to this misunderstanding. A part of her is visibly scared and vulnerable. They both are. Still, she's trying to check in with him : her little 'right' at the end of her sentences is her way of trying to check if this is what he meant, giving him the option to correct her, whereas he understands it as a firm confirmation (as an aside, she will do the same in The Collar, after she blurts out her feelings for him : 'So we should just keep going the way we have been, right?'). Only here, Tim doesn't understand what she's doing. He looks so crushed when she claims that it doesn't mean anything. All the while, she's intently looking at him, searching for a clue about what he truly thinks… Their emotions mirror each other so well, they're just too busy playing it safe to realise it. Miscommunication in all its glory… There's a second where Lucy hesitates though, as if she's realising that there might be more to this but they're interrupted by Angela… who unfortunately piles on with her innuendos, further shutting Tim down. And Lucy finds refuge in the bathroom, using an excuse to compose herself behind a door...

Like I said earlier… The timing couldn't be worse. Tim told Lucy that she needed to get her head in the game, otherwise it would get her killed… And that's almost what happens here - only he's the one too preoccupied that he doesn't recognise the bad guys' trap. Something that will happen again in Going Under : he was so distracted by Lucy getting shot that it affected his concentration and could have cost him his life. Thankfully, she has caught on to what was happening here and takes advantage of being underestimated to get the drop on the bad guys. Such a badass. The way she stays by his side, worried… Her lack of filter is killing Tim a little bit more though… The kiss and the sight of her bared back was enough to break his brain, he doesn't need any more images in his head. His little head shake, like she's driving him crazy… he wouldn't have it any other way.

And what's even more telling is that, despite the awkwardness that could have resulted from this moment, they were both able to get past it for a little bit longer, to be around the other and still feel completely comfortable… That's how strong their connection is. And why this angsty era won't last too long either.

[verai-marcel]

Your Hearth Is My Home (BG3 Fanfic, Astarion x Female Reader, Part 19 of ?)

Summary, Notes, Tags, & Part 1 are here.

Act I - Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Act II - Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18

AO3 Link is here, darling.

Word Count: 3,707

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

Act II, Chapter 7 - The Gauntlet

Even after he confessed, you realized that Astarion was still, well, Astarion. His feelings, though out in the open, were still a confused mess. If you were to describe it visually, it was a tangled ball of string; most of the strands felt like fondness, while there were a few threads that hummed with anxiety intertwined with lust. As if he felt bad for wanting you in such a way.

Not going to unpack that for now. It’s all too tightly wound together. I’ll let him unravel a bit more before I broach that topic.

On your end, you believed your feelings were pretty straightforward. You cared for him. You enjoyed spending time with him. Just the skinship, touching him, being touched, and sensing that feeling of him enjoying your company, without any ulterior motives, was incredible for you.

You imagined that other couples after confessing their feelings would be flinging their clothes off and having intimate relations in a secluded corner of their own little world.

Instead, you and Astarion were sitting by the campfire, your right arm linked with his left, the two of you reading quietly together.

“Is… is this alright?” he asked tentatively.

You looked up at him and smiled. “Yes, this is perfect.”

He leaned his head against yours. “I feel the same.”

Through your skin contact, however, you felt a slight twinge of guilt from him. Shit, if I say something now, he’s going to start questioning why I always know how he feels…

So you let it go, and just snuggled against him as he continued to read his book.

You had borrowed one of his books just so you could sit like this and spend some quiet time with him. You had few books of your own and you had read through them all at least twice. The book you had borrowed was some kind of adventure novel that featured a drow ranger.

Astarion glanced over at the page you were on. “Oh, you’re coming up to a good part.”

“Hush!” you chided. “No spoilers.”

“You two are being awfully cuddly.”

You both turned around to see Karlach smirking triumphantly.

“You snuck past my alarm on purpose,” you said accusingly.

She grinned. “Of course I did. Otherwise I would have missed this,” she said, pointing at your linked arms.

You could feel Astarion trying to pull away, but you only linked your arms tighter. “So? What of it?”

“Just glad to see you two finally out in the open,” Karlach said. Leaning in, she whispered to the two of you, though it was loud enough for others to hear, “Unlike another couple I know.”

You snorted, and Astarion grinned knowingly.

Looking past Karlach to see the others coming closer, you realized that you probably should do your job. “Alright, guess I’d better get food started.”

***

You were most certainly feeling better. After spending half the day quietly with Astarion, you felt like the pool of magic within you had almost refilled to full. You happily sang the tent cantrips while your rice porridge with herbs and dried mushrooms bubbled in the stew pot.

During the meal, your companions told you about their adventures, about how they met Balthazar, about how they discovered and solved three puzzle rooms, and about how tomorrow they would explore the rest of the lower levels.

“We’ll probably run into the devil down there,” Wyll mused. “We hadn’t seen any signs of it yet.”

“So perhaps all of you should go,” you said. At their shocked looks, you waved off their concern. “My magic has come back, and nothing came by today, not even a rat. Besides, Scratch and Owly can help defend the camp if anything happens.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about what you lot will run into down in the lower levels, given what you’ve told me.”

Lae’zel nodded. “Then I will train you more tonight, so that we may leave you tomorrow without concern.”

Oh boy. I’m going to be sore tonight.

***

You barely had the energy to change into your sleeping clothes. Falling into your bedroll, exhausted from Lae’zel’s training, you closed your eyes and groaned from your sore muscles. My gods. I cannot wait to fall asleep.

The soft footsteps of a certain elf drew your attention. Looking up, you watched Astarion kneel down beside you. 

“Darling, you’re not thinking of staying out here, are you?”

“Too tired to think.”

He sighed dramatically. “But I confessed my heart and soul to you today. You will come to my tent, won’t you?”

Dragging yourself up, you grabbed your bedroll. “Haven’t had enough of my company?”

“Never, darling.”

You grinned as you walked with him to his tent. “Never say never,” you teased.

He held the tent flap open for you like a gentleman, ushering you inside. Laying your bedroll alongside his, you flopped down ungracefully. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Lae’zel put me through a thousand paces, so I need to rest.”

He chuckled as he lay beside you. “Did you sing?”

You blinked. “Oh. No, I forgot.”

“Hmm. Try it next time.”

“Alright. Sweet dreams, Astarion.”

He leaned over and pressed his forehead to yours. 

I’m going to get addicted to this warm fondness I’m feeling from him.

“Did you know that elves don’t usually dream?”

“Oh?”

“Dreams are… chaotic, uncontrollable. Memories are bad enough,” he murmured.

You touched his face, stroking his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You’ve only given me good memories so far. Well, except for when you got hurt.” He frowned. “So don’t do that again.”

You smiled. “Alright, I’ll try.”

He sighed. “Good enough, I suppose.” Reaching out for you, he pulled you close. “Sweet dreams, darling.”

You closed your eyes, and inhaled his unique scent, rosemary, bergamot, and a touch of brandy.

***

You awoke, cold and alone. Quickly getting up and changing, you saw that everyone was already getting their things together for the day’s exploration. Walking up to Astarion, you tapped his side with the back of your hand. 

“You didn’t wake me up?”

“You were sleeping so soundly, darling. I’m not a monster.”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Besides, Gale apparently wanted a chance to cook.”

“Shhh!” Gale hissed.

You glanced over at the stew pot. Seeing it mostly empty, you walked over and scraped what was left of the breakfast soup into a small bowl and sipped it. It was a delightful mix of spices and savory flavor, shreds of dried beef jerky mixed with some lentils and beans.

“This is amazing,” you muttered jealously. “Gale, give me the recipe when you come back!”

“What, and divulge my secrets?”

“Just do it,” Shadowheart said with a laugh, slapping him on the arm.

You chugged the rest of the soup and gathered all the dirty items for cleaning later. Just as everyone was ready to go, you headed to the entryway with them to wish them well. Astarion waited for everyone else to go past before he quickly pulled you in for a hug.

“Stay safe,” he murmured into your ear.

“You too,” you replied before the two of you pressed foreheads.

“We don’t have all day!” Karlach yelled gleefully.

Astarion just huffed and left with the rest of them, but not before giving you one last look.

You waved and smiled. Come back safe.

***

It was a long day and a half by yourself. You started counting the hours after you realized a full day had passed. You went up to Withers to check if they were all still alive, and he always nodded solemnly, with no other updates. So you just read books and cleaned and played with Scratch and Owly. You danced and practiced your cantrips for hours at a time. You slept in Astarion’s tent, rolling onto his bedroll and immersing yourself in his scent.

Am I being weird? It’s definitely weird. But… It makes me feel comfortable.

And they still had not returned. It was times like these where you wondered about the possibility of joining them on their adventures.

But then you remembered that you hated pain, and you had nowhere near enough battle experience to survive alongside them without being a hindrance.

Better to stay behind and tend camp. After all, if not me, then who will? Withers? Hah.

Wandering to the edge of the balcony overlooking the statue of Shar and seeing all the water below, you sang a song to coax a stream of water up to your level, filling up a few basins with water. Finding an empty barrel amongst the rubble, you plugged the holes with some clay and filled that up as well. But when you tried to move the barrel filled with water, it barely shifted.

You glared at it.

Move, damn you!

Your song became a chant, the tempo faster and stronger than you normally sang. 

The barrel hopped two feet closer.

Oh?

You continued to chant, almost like a war hymn as you led the barrel away from the edge of the balcony, but after a few hops, you felt drained.

Okay, we’re going to stop there.

You looked through the pile of loot that the companions had dropped off the previous night and found enough rags and scruffy clothes that you could fashion a sort of curtain, hung by some old spear handles that you formed into a three sided divider screen, with the backside open to the view of the balcony. There was space to stand next to the barrel and still be hidden from view.

Well, that’s good enough, I think.

You went back to your pack and grabbed your soap bar and one of the water basins. Singing a hot water rune into existence, you heated the water in the basin, took your clothes off, and scrubbed yourself clean. After rinsing yourself off, you heated the water in the barrel before awkwardly climbing inside.

Damn, I should have made a seat in here.

Instead, you squatted down and let the hot water cover your head. Closing your eyes, you let the heat relax your body for a good ten seconds before you came back up for air. Grabbing the basin and emptying the water out of it, you pushed it under you and sat on it precariously, slowly leaning back until you felt balanced.

You let out a sigh of relief. It worked. Now you had a nice hot bath in the privacy of a little makeshift divider screen, and the others could take some time to relax as well when they came back.

If they come back.

Shaking the dark thought from your mind, you submerged yourself again and held your breath for as long as you could. It was only for 25 seconds, but when you came back out, you could faintly hear the alarm bells on your belt, hung over the divider.

Is it them? Or is it something else…?

Your heart raced at the thought of being naked while intruders came upon your camp.

I don’t hear Owly or Scratch.

A few more moments passed as you listened to footsteps echoing in the cavern. Then you finally heard your name being called. 

Oh, thank goodness. “Over here!” you called out.

As you heard them walk over, you quickly realized that if they came around the screen, they’d see you naked. “Wait wait wait! Let me get my clothes on!” Quickly drying yourself with a towel for once and throwing your dress on, you came out to see them looking bloodied and exhausted.

“You look freshly washed,” Shadowheart said, the longing for a bath evident in her voice.

You grinned. “You can too, shortly. Come, come!” You showed everyone the bath set up, watching their expressions growing relieved that they could have a warm bath even in this darkened place.

“I’ll get food going,” you said as everyone else played rock-paper-scissors for who would go first in the bath.

You quickly threw together some cured meats and cheese together as an appetizer before putting some ingredients in the pot for a hearty stew, inspired by Gale’s meal yesterday morning. In a separate, smaller pot, you cooked some rice to go with it.

You tucked your wet hair behind your ears as you worked, and once you were done, you put your hands over your head and sang a quick drying cantrip that gently drew the water away without taking out too much moisture. If there was one thing you were a bit vain about, it was your hair, and you took good care of it.

The soft footsteps behind you seemed tentative, yet the cadence sounded familiar. He stopped directly behind you and gently grasped your shoulders.

“Welcome back, Astarion.”

He only hummed softly, one hand moving your hair to one side before dipping his head down to nuzzle your neck.

“You want supper now, or later?”

Astarion took a deep breath, inhaling your scent. “Later, darling, when we’re alone.”

Your body reacted instantly to his lowered tone, but you quickly tamped down on it. You knew he had felt your rush of blood when his grip on your shoulders tightened just a little bit.

You turned and looked up at him, but he only had a soft expression as he looked at you. Reaching out and cupping his face, you searched his emotions as he leaned into your touch. You could feel mostly contentment with a strand of anxiety weaved within.

He finally backed away from you. “Until tonight, then.”

Dammit. I wish I could help him with his anxiety.

During supper, everyone took turns describing the battle with the devil to you. It was a very hectic fight, and it sounded like everyone was pushed to their limits. But their teamwork and their communication had grown so much that they pulled through in the end and defeated him. 

“We even got Astarion to graciously say thank you,” Wyll joked.

Glancing over at him, you saw that he was looking a bit grumpy at being reminded about it. You snickered softly.

They continued to tell you about the rest of their adventure, and how they were feeling exhausted by the time they had finished exploring all of the rooms and gathering all of the orbs needed to activate the final elevator that would take them down to what they believed would be the final level of the Gauntlet.

“Tomorrow, we’ll end this,” Shadowheart said with determination. 

With supper completed, everyone broke off to relax and turn in for the night. Astarion turned to you. 

“I’ll go have a bath. See you in our tent, lover.”

Our? “Alright. Do you want me to make the water hotter for you?”

“Let’s go test it, shall we?”

Heading over to the bath with you, he dipped his hand into the water. “Seems adequate.”

You looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “But not perfect.”

“If you could…”

“Easy,” you said with confidence before singing a hotter water rune. Once it took hold, steam came out of the water. Turning around at the sound of shuffling clothing, you realized that Astarion was already stripping behind you.

“Astarion!” you gasped as you turned back around.

“You’ve seen all of me already, darling.”

That was only a glance, and it was in the middle of the inn. That doesn’t count. “Anyway I’m going back now byeeee,” you said in a rush as you nearly ran from him. His laughter followed you all the way back to the tent.

It was still a bit surreal to you, having your bedroll in his tent. You laid down and stared at the canopy, the red and gold fabric looking a bit dull in the dim light of your cantrip.

He won't mind if I do this, right? I wonder…

You sat up, put your hands up in the air, and sang.

Moonbeams and starlight,

Paint the sky above me,

Light up before my eyes,

A sparkly sight to see.

The fabric glittered for a moment then darkened, and pinpricks of light began to form in the darkness. You gestured with your hands purposely through the air as if you were weaving, and lights of different strengths and sizes, with different tints of color, populated the ‘sky’ you had created. You even created a full moon so that there was still enough light for you to see, but not too glaring.

Satisfied with your work, you lay back and stared up, feeling much less claustrophobic.

Astarion came in, shirtless and hair wet, with a seductive expression on his face, but then he looked up, and his expression changed to that of innocent wonder. To you, it was a much more attractive look on him. 

His eyes were round with amazement as he looked at the ceiling. “This is… beautiful.” He sat down next to you and smiled. “You completely distracted me from my plan.”

“And what plan was that?”

“Convince you to dry and brush my hair for me.”

You snickered. “You only need to ask, no need for a plan.”

He gave you a smarmy smirk. “But if you offered it freely, I wouldn’t need to ask.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat up and gestured for him to sit in front of you. Getting up onto your knees, you sang your hair drying cantrip slowly, since his hair was finer and more delicate than yours. Then you gently brushed his hair, first with your fingers, then with his brush.

“Gods, your touch feels so good,” he murmured.

That line, in another context, would have made your face heat up. Even now, you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “Glad you feel relaxed,” you mumbled, trying to push down any naughty thoughts.

He turned and took the brush from your hand. Slowly he ran his fingers up your bare arms, his eyes gazing at your body.

“Astarion?” you whispered.

Moving closer, he cupped your cheek. “You promised me supper, didn’t you?”

You nodded and tipped your head, exposing your neck.

Astarion leaned forward and licked your pulse. “Such an enticing treat,” he purred before he sank his teeth into your neck. With one hand gripping the back of your head, the other snaked around your backside and pulled you close, his body lining up with yours. You could feel the hard lines of his chest against your soft bosom, his muscled thigh resting between your legs.

You gasped softly as your hips moved on their own, searching for friction against him. But somewhere along the way, you realized that you had stopped feeling his emotions. Even with his fangs deep in your neck, you only felt the sting of your own flesh.

“Astarion—”

He released you from his bite, languidly licking your wound before he pulled back to look at you. Letting go of your head, he grabbed your bottom with both hands and pulled you harder against him. He buried his face into the crook of your neck and nibbled at your collarbone.

“Darling,” he rumbled against your skin, “does this feel good?” His hands traveled up and down your body, a slow, sensual exploration.

“Y-yes,” you gasped when one of his hands trailed up to gently caress your breast, a finger brushing against your sensitive nipple.

Then you looked at him. His eyes were on you, but something about his expression seemed as if he was realms away. You cupped his face with both hands.

You felt nothing.

It was like a bucket of cold water when you realized he had shut down. You put your hands on his chest and gently pushed him away. “I… I don’t think we’re ready for this.”

He looked hurt for a moment, and you could feel it through your touch. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

He shook his head. “It’s alright. I should have asked first.”

It’s not me I’m worried about. “That wasn’t it. You seemed… not all here.”

He blinked. Then he looked away, but you caught the misery in his expression.

You slid off his thigh and took his hands in yours. You were hit so hard with a wall of revulsion that you had to hide your gasp, acting as if you were taking a deep breath. “Astarion?”

He turned back to you with a sad expression. “I can’t help but feel… tainted.”

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“Not by you, darling. You… you’re incredible. You deserve something real. I want”—he pointed back and forth between the two of you—“this, to be real.”

He sighed dolefully. “But after two centuries of playing the rake… I just don't know what real looks like. Any kind of intimacy was just something I performed, to lure victims back…to him.”

You squeezed his hands and kept silent, nodding for him to continue.

“I want to be with you. I truly do. But these feelings of disgust and loathing… They keep coming up. And I don’t know how else… to be intimate… with you.”

Gods, I didn’t realize it was that bad. You let go of his hands and pulled him into a hug, resting his head on your shoulder. You carded your fingers through his hair and kissed the top of his head. “You take all the time you need to work through this,” you said softly. “Just let me hug you, and I’ll be happy.”

Slowly, his arms came around you and hugged you back. “This is enough for you?” he asked hesitantly.

“More than enough. We’ll take it one step at a time, at whatever pace you need.”

His body, which had felt tense in the beginning, steadily relaxed in your arms. The feelings of revulsion and guilt slowly faded, replaced by a sense of relief and…

Safety? I’ve felt this from him before, when I asked for a hug in the Underdark…

You hummed a lullaby as you led him down to the bedroll and held him close, running one hand through his soft hair while you gently rubbed his back with the other.

“Is this alright?” you asked.

He nodded and pressed his face further into the crook of your neck.

You continued to hum your song until you felt him fall into a trance.

“Sweet dreams,” you murmured, kissing his forehead.

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

Act II, Chapter 7 End notes: Some more soft and fluff, but soon, we’ll get out of Act 2. Only two more chapters to go before we start Act 3! And a bit of heads up, I'm going to be leaning more into that hurt/comfort tag in Act 3, so if you're squeamish about injuries (I am, so I won't be writing very descriptively, but painful things WILL be happening), just be warned now.

Tags List: @numblytemporary @xalphafox @avitute @stormyjane7 @kmoon21

[mothmangang]

Important information

Hello,You can call me Wake and I've worked up the courage to make this post after help from a friend. This for those of you I have interacted with or those who wish to interact with me I am on the spectrum and have very bad social anxiety with people I don't know. I'm very afraid of coming off as 'cringe', and 'annoying' or as a 'Mary Sue' RPer and any such terms due to past experiences. Because of this I tend to keep my ideas to myself despite wishing to share them via Rp blogs and such. Most of the time I pretend nobody's watching and shout into the void of Tumblr and enjoy the echos of everyone who does the same. But every time I see Rp blogs and mutuals having fun I realise what I could have if I let go of these fears. But I'v had these fear for a long time and it isn't as simple as simply letting go. so instead I've made this post as a step into the right direction I almost always need a push from an outside source to do anything beyond my comfort zone no matter how I would like to do it, as my anxiety dictates that even the smallest thing would be seen as 'cringe' -If I make a poll asking whether or not I should do something, this is probably why. even if I'd really like to have a certain user(s) opinion on the poll I can't normally bring myself to @ them since I'm nervous I'll be seen as a weird stranger. If I ever write in the tags asking someone to @ them so the see the post, it is because I'm too afraid to do it myself. -If I reach out to you with anything more than agreement or compliments on a post, it is because I truly enjoy what you do and wish to interact with you and have only just now worked up enough courage to do so. -If I reach out to you I've most likely already reached out as an anon in your ask box. I do this because it's one of the few ways I can speak with no fear. -I'm much more comfortable with people reaching out to me compared to reaching out myself. My dm's are always open along with my ask box and I love getting asks. So please if you want to talk, reach out as I'm unlikely to make the first move. -If you end up interacting with me please use tone tags and let me know immediately if I do anything that makes you uncomfortable in any way. -If I stop responding is most likely because I've lost my nerve and my anxiety has convinced me I've done something wrong or I feel like the conversation is getting awkward. If you see this happen @ me and please tell me what your thinking my reason for vanishing is. I'm not good with subtle hints and so i will probably just tell you what's wrong, but please know that doing so is incredibly scary for me and whatever I say is meant in the most apologetic tone. When I do this, it is a last resort. -The best way to interact with me is to treat me like I'm a skittish animal. let me know when I've done something, give me encouragement if i'm doing okay. once I've warmed up to you I'll be more open and you'll clearly be able to tell, so please be patient with me until then. -I'm much more confident when others are too, as I don't feel like I'm overstepping or when I have a crutch to fall back on such as playing a character.

[holysh1ft]

super rambly, not glamorous success story ahead: i just wrote a long ass message to my friend about how my cat is back to normal. he's eating and drinking fine. he's running around—got possessed by 4 am zoomies (it's been forever since he's had that level of energy). he spent the morning sitting in the window watching people in the courtyard. he came over to sit on me while i was meditating. he's just a normal, happy cat again. i could cry.

the conditions: it was just over a year of him having issue after issue. i cannot tell you how stressed i was over him constantly. throughout, i was able to manifest 24 hour or shorter turn arounds for stuff like when he stopped eating. i just imagined hearing the crunching of his normal food and told myself "nope, he's eating again."

then, by some miracle, he would eat again, or i randomly got an idea to try his old food, and he ate that, so he got some food in his stomach (unlike dogs/people, cats cannot go more than a few days without food). it helped me see that it wasn't that he had no appetite (mega concerning). he just didn't have an appetite for that food.

i fixed his tail from some mystery sprain (it wouldn't straighten fully) in a couple days without having to take him to the vet. i still have no idea what happened to it, but it's totally fine now like it never happened. his chronic ear infections and absolutely terrible seborrhea cleared up (his skin was so pink and inflamed; he was so miserable and upset. it was breaking my heart.). apparently, it was a food allergy.

i was convinced it was mites for months because i was having mite symptoms. jk it was a magnesium deficiency that served as a red herring for the cat stuff. but after a bunch of trial and error with different foods, i stumbled upon an allergy/intolerance test for pets. my best mate split it with me and paid for half. i even manifested the results back in a few days vs the 10 business days on the label.

because of that test, i found the right food for him. he became a stink bomb machine LMAO. but i manifested that calming the f down. everything was smooth sailing until he stopped eating again. got that fixed.

then he started crying to me a few days ago. he's v communicative when he's uncomfortable, but i didn't know what was wrong... i was terrified it was something else that was really bad because it happened right after a dip in his appetite. but then i got a few tiny bites on me, and one night when he was meowing and meowing and meowing, i found one course of revolution left from when i thought it was mites, and he's just fine. washing the bedding today cuz ew fleas.

he's doing great now. more importantly, i know in my heart he is perfect, healthy, and all this is behind us.

this is not a sexy success story by any means. throughout all this, i was convinced he was dying about 80% of the time. my anxiety was through the roof. this cat means the world to me; he's the only family i have. so, i will tell you: i was attached, i was scared, and i struggled.

here's what i learned: first and foremost, anxiety is a fuckin liar. reality was never as bad as my brain made it out to be. not every thought manifests. not every fear manifests. my anxiety is bad enough i was hospitalized twice as a teenager, so hear me when i say your mental health doesn't have to impede you from being successful.

i learned a new way to see obstacles. when a new circumstance popped up, i'd see or hear the ideal in my mind's eye (his tail straight up, food crunching, water drinking, etc.) and say, "oh, he's back to normal. that took care of itself. i was worried about nothing" (or some variation of that). this is something i use often now for other manifestations, too, and i've found it to be incredibly useful as a way of shifting my awareness to the person who's on the other side of said challenge.

i also learned that wherever i put my cat mentally, there he goes physically. it got to the point if i wanted to see him in a certain chair, i'd imagine him there, and he'd sit there within 24 hours. if i was worried he wasn't sleeping enough, i'd hear him snoring in my head, and sure enough, i'd wake up to him snoring. my cat is a product of my imagination. and this journey really strengthened my faith in myself and to see the connection between the physical and the imaginal, which is quite priceless imo.

and finally, there is a path of least resistance, and your ego might resist it. i could have affirmed to death that he didn't have any allergies, but it was honestly just easier and faster for me to get an intolerance test and give him new food.

trust me, i tried revision and other mental avenues. there was a part of me who felt like i was "settling" for a cat with allergies. infinite versions of him exist. why not just see him allergy-free? but at the end of day, all i really wanted was a healthy, happy cat. it was an easier shift to "cat eating food he's not allergic" vs. "cat with no allergies." and i still know that if i want to stop perceiving his allergies, that's an option now.

as much as i wanted to try to strangle the how into a certain way, when i finally just let go and went with the flow, continuing to keep my awareness on the fact that he is perfect and everything is perfect, now i'm experiencing exactly that. i've got four main areas that i want to shift in my life, and this was one of four. i'm honestly so fucking proud of myself. i know it's onwards and upwards from here! don't give up. keep allowing yourself to learn, and keep allowing yourself to grow. your success is destined. me and roger pinky/paw promise.

[phoenixkaptain]

That reminds me. Random Teen Titans Thoughts #the one with Harlequin

I love Mal getting a little horn. Calling him "Hornblower" is a little, uh, well...

Mal literally beat Azrael in a fist fight. Hell yeah man.

Bumblebee is incredibly adorable. And her attacking Mal just to prove to him that the Teen Titans don't value him is incredibly sad.

Duela Dent. "Joker's Daughter." Harlequin. I think she's kinda neat. I like that she has a bubble blower in the shape of a pipe. I like that she punches a guy because he expected her to, in her words "stand there waiting to fall off a ledge." Absolutely obsessed with her holding on to the back of Robin's bike while she rollerskates. I like this lil lady. I especially like that she is in a full three-piece, pinstripe suit like holy-

I've never liked Blonde Batgirl. I still can't help but not. Sorry Blonde Batgirl, I'm unfortunately with Hawk on this one. The real Batgirl has a whole different outfit and red hair. She doesn't even look like a bat-!

Can't believe they gave my baby such crippling anxiety and a severe case of imposter syndrome that Aqualad straight up faints because his brain tells him he isn't good enough and his body had to find some problem so he could go home. Aqualad doesn't deserve this! He's a core member!! Aqualad is so perfect for maybe only specific scenarios but during those scenarios he's unbeatable, I tell you!!! I don't care it was sixty years ago, whoever slandered Aqualad in the 60s and 70s, I am thoroughly disappointed.

I can only assume that Aquaman telling the Teen Titans it was all their fault was his version of "Look at him. He's got anxiety now"

Robin, as always, is just. Hanging out. Punning. I love that he gets along with the girlies so well. Literally romantic interest goes right in one ear and out the other. He does not care. He is focused on making puns relating to the current situation and acrobatics. And even the acrobatics are part of the punning. Robin is relentless.

Speedy, my guy, the last few comics just made him horrible. Like, straight up he's unlikeable sometimes. What're you doing, Roy? What happened to your deep love for Dick (haha), Roy?? What happened to you??? Did we have to make Speedy the misogynist? Couldn't it have just been the villains?

The last dozen-ish comics are barely worth reading. Like, I love Harlequin and Bumblebee. They're great and they have really cool arsenals and they both wear so much clothing it's like they aren't even comic book girls from the seventies. But the comics featuring them are super rushed. And while they're still cheesy and fun, they just don't have the same energy as earlier issues.

You can really tell that these comics were the predecessors of the New Teen Titans. From introducing more female members and reintroducing Beast Boy or Hawk and Dove, to laying the groundwork for dealing with their emotional issues alongside crime fighting. Duela's definitely a predecessor of characters with villain parents (specifically in Teen Titans, not just in general), Mal and Aqualad both have their waning self-confidence, Donna's sense of self was brought up way earlier and they bring it back to the forefront pretty much immediately in New Teen Titans. The last few issues are all linked in a way the earlier ones just aren't. It lays the foundation for the later Teen Titans series. Historically and from a character perspective, the last issues of the original Teen Titans run is fascinating.

From a storytelling perspective, it sort of feels like they had twenty issues worth of story to get done in ten issues.