#like why the hell is this a whole Thing every single time especially with That fandom

[cobaltperun]

Eternal Flame side story 3 - She Is

Jenna Ortega x Female Reader

Chapter Summary: Wednesday comes out, and with it comes the abrupt fame neither of you expected, one threatening to break Jenna, as well as your relationship, entirely.

Spotify playlist

Masterlist / First Part

Word count: 4k

-To figure it out, consider how to find a place to stand instead of walkin' away and instead of nowhere to land-

A sense of nervous excitement bordering on anxiety overcame Jenna the moment she woke up. Tonight would be the big premiere, the big event where the main cast of the show would appear, all together. Both of you had a long day and night ahead of you, and her heart was already beating faster than normal. At least she woke up next to you, with your arm protectively wrapped around her waist during the cold November morning.

Jenna nuzzled into your neck, comforted by your presence, especially when that seemed to stir you awake as you hugged her just a bit tighter. “Morning sleepy head,” she teased before kissing your cheek.

“Hmm, guilty as charged,” you muttered sleepily but Jenna could see the corners of your lips moving up as she peppered small kisses on your neck. “Keep doing that and we won’t make it on time for the meeting,” you warned her playfully.

Jenna faked an offended scoff and tossed the blankets off before getting up. She folded her arms and turned away from you like a fussy child that was denied their favorite food. “Fine, have it your way,” she huffed, smiling when, just as she was about to get up, you lunged from behind and wrapped your arms around her waist, keeping her sitting down.

You looked ridiculous, tangled up in blankets, face down on the side of bed, right next to Jenna and arms somehow keeping hold of her, and Jenna laughed, realizing just how relieved she was now. No pressure from the Wednesday, no pressure from living up to the character’s legacy, or previous flawless portrayals, or the weight of Wednesday finally being portrayed by Latina actress. All of that felt easier to handle because being with you made it all feel easier to deal with. The show would premiere, get some attention because it’s Tim Burton, of course it’ll get some attention, and that would be the end of it, no life-changing attention would come her or your way. With that in mind and you by her side Jenna felt lighter.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, messing up your hair as you raised your head and looked at her.

“Sure, come back here for a bit longer,” you laughed, and Jenna’s eyes widened and an embarrassing yelp left her mouth as you twisted and pulled her back until she was lying on her back with you on your knees above her.

“Woah!” she grinned and watched you as you leaned your forehead on her shoulder. “Guess all that training is coming in handy,” she only half-joked as she hugged you and gently scratched the back of your head. She loved you so much, every single thing about you, and you as a whole she adored with every atom of her body. And she loved being loved by you, unapologetically, intensely, in ways that made her feel like she was on top of the world, as cliché as that might sound. “Just five minutes, okay?” because you really needed to get going, otherwise Enrique would have a minor meltdown first thing in the morning.

You nodded, kissing her softly and she was sure everything would be fine.

~X~ For the first time since you and Jenna got together Enrique decided you weren’t allowed to see Jenna’s outfit, and that was actually annoying. What did he mean by it was a surprise? Why? For what reason? And what was with this tuxedo he got for you?

“Hell, I look like I’m going to my own wedding without even knowing I’m getting married,” well, if you ever chose to wear a tuxedo anyway. It was like a heavily upgraded version of your Wednesday Rave’N dance outfit and you were guessing Jenna would be wearing something similar to her dress from the show, but that did not mean you had to wait to see her, damn it!

You fixed your tie and sat down, waiting for the message from Enrique to come and see him and Jenna, and luckily, it only took him an additional half an hour to send the long-awaited text.

You went down the hall and knocked on the doors, letting yourself in when he hollered at you to get inside. And let it be known from now on, that Enrique’s decisions shall never be questioned. You stood there, your mouth hanging open as Jenna stood in front of you, dressed in a black wedding dress that made you feel rather light-headed. Your heart was skipping too many beats.

“Man, you want me dead,” you managed to speak even though your throat was as dry as a desert. She was too beautiful, and you weren’t even trying to hide it as you couldn’t take your eyes off her, not that you wanted to.

“It might be a bit more difficult to hide your relationship though,” Enrique teased, and you finally noticed Jenna had a similar problem to your own, she was watching you like a hawk, taking note of all the details and burning the image of you dressed in a classy, black tuxedo into her mind.

Yeah, no shit. It would be a miracle if you ended the night without making it clear to someone that you were together. Especially since you were supposed to spend a lot of time together tonight, seeing as you were the love-interest and given the whole Addams-raiju bond.

“Well, good luck!” oh, he was loving this, and you couldn’t blame him one bit.

Especially when, due to some unexplainable miracle, you ended the night without revealing you were together. How you managed that was still beyond your understanding. So, in the end, everything turned out fine.

~X~

Things didn’t turn out fine. Not one bit. The TV show blew up, it seemed to engulf every place where Netflix was available like a plague fitting of the Addams family. And that was good, success was good. But the attention that came with it? It was far from good. Overnight Jenna, and to a slightly lesser extent you, got millions of followers on social media, and it was getting overwhelming in way you didn’t think it would be possible. And it wasn’t just that. No, there was the physical side of this promotion that was quickly draining both you and Jenna, all the while you had to keep a smile on your face at all times.

At this point the days were starting to look pretty much alike, with neither you nor Jenna even knowing what day or date today was anymore. It was just one interview after another, one event after another, the show blowing up meant even more promotions and even more live events and it got to a point where neither of you even had the strength to sneak into the other’s room for the night. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a moment of privacy to hold hands, let alone kiss, and it was taking its toll on both of you.

The interviewer nodded at the answer Luis gave her and then turned to you and Jenna. “Jenna, Y/N, this is the second time your characters are semi love interests. What are your comments on some people claiming it is queer-baiting? Especially since original Scream script had your characters kissing,” she asked, and you saw Jenna looking down for a moment.

Anger bubbled withing you, threatening to come to the surface after weeks of exhaustion, but you restrained it, knowing getting angry wouldn’t do either you or Jenna any good. “Right, first of all I don’t know where you got semi from,” you said, forcing a bit of a cheeky grin on your face as the crowd laughed. “There is this little thing called timing. With Tara and C/N it just felt like pushing the characters together when they are so vulnerable wasn’t the right choice, especially with what Tara went through,” you explained, glancing at Jenna for support.

Jenna nodded at that, slowly bringing a microphone up to her lips. “And we shot the kiss scene, and then that night we were talking and it just came up that,” she turned to you, her eyes gazing into yours and you just leaned slightly closer, searching for the permission in her eyes, and when she gave it to you, you reached over and placed your had over her forearm. “It didn’t feel right for the characters. Don’t get me wrong!” she quickly backtracked, her voice shaky, as she subconsciously pulled her arm back and grabbed your hand instead. “In isolation the scene felt right, it felt emotional, raw even, but when we looked at the entire story it just felt rushed.”

“And for Wednesday, well, we really didn’t have any kiss scenes or anything. I think the logic behind it was fairly simple. TV, and entertainment in general, nowadays is a lot about instant gratification. Love interests are meant to get together as quickly as possible, or at least within a season, and it just doesn’t feel like Wednesday,” you continued, desperately hoping the camera wasn’t picking up on your thumb gently rubbing the back of Jenna’s hand.

“That’s so true. She has a line in episode one, that she won’t fall in love. It’s more interesting to see her struggling against those feelings, if only for a short while. Forging this strong relationship and then getting that satisfaction of seeing them get together,” Jenna explained, the tone of her voice much calmer now.

“And the two of you?!” someone from the crowd hollered and you felt Jenna’s hold on your hand getting tense. People getting loud wasn’t helping and you could see the tell-tale signs of Jenna’s anxiety creeping up on her. The demands for an answer grew louder despite the host trying to gain control over the situation.

“Well, how do I put this gently? I sure hope you don’t believe I can turn into an actual lightning tiger,” you tried to give them some answer. “Our characters are our characters, and while we do not owe you an answer, our relationship is purely platonic,” Jenna relaxed a bit, but someone from the crowd just pointed at your hands. “Hm? This?” you pointed at your and Jenna’s hands, seeing as more people began pointing as if to tell you you were lying. “What? You never felt the need for some comfort when accused of doing something as despicable as giving a group of people false hopes of representation. Come on! If anyone here has been vocal and emotional about representing her own heritage, it’s Jenna! Get off her back!” you exclaimed and if Jenna’s hold on your hand wasn’t as firm as it was you would have let go, just to make sure she wasn’t uncomfortable. The small grateful smile on her face made the potential backlash you could get more than worth it.

~X~

You snuck through the hotel hall, dead tired but knowing better than anyone Jenna wasn’t fine right now. She recovered during the interview, but those questions affected her. The stares, the judgment, they became louder than the praises, not that she ever believed the praises in the first place.

And after tonight, after those questions? You knew she’d need you by her side, no matter how tired you were. You slipped into her room, using the spare key she got for you, because knocking would be too risky, especially if Jenna couldn’t open the door right away. The dark room greeted you, similar to your own, similar enough to walk through it in the dark. You heard the shuffling on the bed and saw Jenna, wide awake, illuminated only by moonlight coming through the window. “Jen,” you sighed, and she smiled weakly as she turned onto her back and spread her arms toward you, inviting you.

“Thanks for coming,” she whispered as you lay down next to her and she immediately moved to hug you, but she didn’t relax, didn’t seem to melt into your touch like she did. Didn’t call you, even though she clearly needed you, and it made you worried, made you wonder if you should have acted sooner, if you should have done more. Jenna was struggling, and you didn’t notice it quickly enough.

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” you kissed the top of her head, and she leaned a bit closer to you. “You want to talk?” you offered, but she shook her head,

“No. Just hold me, please,” the dark circles under her eyes that were covered by makeup made you frown, this was getting worse than even the worst weeks filming Wednesday, at least back then she’d cry in your arms, releasing everything that was being pent-up inside of her. Now it looked like she was shutting everyone out, you included.

“They can talk all they want. They don’t know you,” yet you unknowingly hit a sore spot, because, at this very point, Jenna herself wasn’t sure who she was. But, without knowing that was what bothered her at the moment, you were left unable to help her, to address her worries in a way that would have helped her. “They don’t know how amazing and wonderful you are,” she used to believe it when you said it, sure that you honestly believed it, even if she didn’t see it herself, but now, while she, unbeknown to you, struggled picking up the pieces of her fragmented sense of self, those words felt more like salt to the wounds, or an acid that ate away at the edges of the pieces she was trying to put back together, making them unable to ever find their place again.

You were supposed to be a source of comfort for her, and in some ways you were. In others, your actions, meant to support and help her, only made her feel guilty instead.

~X~

It was another silent night in your house as you set the food on the table, you tried making all of Jenna’s favorites, hoping they would cheer her up, even a bit. “Jen! Dinner is ready!” you called out from the kitchen, loud enough for her to hear you. She was sitting in the living room, the only source of light the moonlight and her phone. She didn’t respond, but you knew she heard you, she just didn’t feel like saying anything.

You ran your fingers through your hair, not sure what to do anymore, before you forced yourself to focus on the present moment and quickly prepared Raiju’s food. The German Sheppard was already sitting right at your side, patiently waiting for his food. “Hey buddy, at least someone is excited about food,” but even Raiju got affected by the mood in the house. You noticed him sulking in the corner whenever Jenna wouldn’t pet him or throw his ball. “We gotta give her some time, okay?” you were sure he understood every word you said as you finished his meal and set his bowl down in the usual spot. He licked your hand, nuzzled against you, and you scratched him behind his ear. “I know, I know, smells delicious and I’m a great cook,” you joked as he turned his attention to the food and began eating.

You went into the bathroom to wash your hands and then went back into the dining room just in time to see Jenna walking in like a ghost. You could see the exhaustion on her face, she barely slept lately, even with you by her side, and you didn't know what to do. She's been rejecting your attempts to help her, she's been quiet, distracted. Detached. Ever since Wednesday came out you felt like each day, each new interview pulled her away from who she was before Wednesday came out. The sudden explosion of fame and recognition, the praises and criticism, the good, the bad, and the awful, disgusting things that came with it, all of that made you feel like you were slowly losing her.

You tried anything that came to your mind, you tried talking to her, tried giving her space, tried making her laugh, tried her favorite food, her favorite places, driving in the late hours of the night hoping she’d talk, tried setting up small surprises, tried flowers, her favorite movies, hand-written letters, Barbara, Aliyah, the rest of Jenna’s family and friends, tried sending a flower via Raiju express, even got him a tiny hat, not a single thing worked. A rare couple of smiles were small and forced and you didn’t know what else to do.

Jenna sat down, not once looking at you, and you sat down as well on the opposite side of the table. You wouldn’t have, you usually sat down next to one another, but five days ago she moved to the opposite side of the table when you sat down on your usual spot and since then you respected that choice. Minutes passed, and she didn’t touch her food, she did pick up the spoon a couple of times, but that was all. She's been staring at her plate, holding the spoon but not eating anything. "Y/N," she spoke up, starting the conversation herself for the first time in eight days. You looked at her, at her eyes, almost void of any life, almost as if she just made a heart-shattering decision.

"Yeah?" you asked, almost fearfully. Feeling like something was slipping through your fingers without you even realizing.

"It's-" she paused, swallowing hard and looking down as she set the spoon down. "I," she buried her face in her hands and let out a loud exhausted sigh and you could see her squeezing her head.

You got up and hugged her from behind. "It's okay, take your time," you whispered, slowly loosening her grip on her head. "I'm right here with you," and as if that shattered her, she just sobbed, dropping her hands onto your own and leaning her head back so she could lean the back of it on your shoulder as tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. "Let it out, Jen, just let it out," you kissed the side of her head, hugging her a bit tighter.

"I-we, we need to break up!" she wailed and you froze.

You felt like someone pulled a rug from underneath your feet, like the ground opened and you were in free fall. "What?" you still didn't let go of her, but you didn't fight it when she pushed your hands away and got up, still crying. She began pacing as she desperately tried to stop the tears, but nothing she did stopped her as she sobbed.

"I can't do this, I don't have the time, I don't have the energy, I don't know who I am and nothing makes sense! It's like someone shattered my life into pieces and scattered them and I can't pull it back together!" she cried out, turning away from you in frustration and sorrow.

"Jen, hey," you went after her, stopping her in the middle of her pacing. "Talk to me."

"Talk what?!" she snapped grabbing onto your shirt, and this was already more than you’ve gotten out of her in over a week. "I don't know what to say! I am confused, I can't meet my own needs, let alone your own!" she crumbled into your arms and leaned onto you, her fingers desperately clutching onto the back of your shirt as if you were the only thing holding her together.

“Jenna, Love, hey, look at me,” you held her, setting aside her desire to break up, just to first calm her down. She was hurting, panicking, and sure, her words hurt, caught you by surprise, but you tried to see through them, to see what she was really feeling. She shook her head, closing her eyes shut and burying her face in your chest, she was telling you to leave, but everything she was doing begged you to stay, and you’d trust her actions. She sobbed and you held her, keeping her together so she doesn’t fall apart. “It’s okay, just breathe,” she wasn’t even standing anymore, you held all of her weight in your arms, but you remained steady, not for a moment considering that you should make her sit down unless she showed or said she wanted to.

Eventually the sobs slowed down, got quieter, and Jenna slowly found the strength to stand again. She looked at you, eyes shining with pain and despair, an idea that what she was doing wasn’t fair to you. "You're doing everything. You're taking care of my needs, supporting me, comforting me. Look at you now! I told you I want to break up with you and you still put my needs in front of your own!" she nearly burst into tears again, but you cupped her cheek gently.

"Do you love me?" you asked, and sure, you’ve said those words, plenty of times, but you were both more likely to show it, rather than just say it.

Jenna looked up into your eyes. "I do!" and she said it without a hint of hesitation. "But it can't be enough for you!"

You caressed her cheek and leaned down, pressing your foreheads together. "It's enough for me, Jen," you whispered, running your fingers through her hair.

"It shouldn't be, I need to give you more, it needs to be equal," she whispered, shaking her head.

"I love you too," you told her softly. "I love you, okay? I love you."

Jenna hugged you tighter. "Y/N," she whispered, exhausted, in every way imaginable. "I'm not enough," she blurted out, fully believing what she was saying, regardless of how ridiculous it was.

"You are. Don't ever doubt that," you whispered back. “No matter what is going on you’ll always be enough,” nothing would change that.

"I don't want you to suffer because I am a mess," she confessed, a lot calmer now.

“I’ve been a mess too, yet you still took the risk,” sure, it wasn’t smooth sailing back then, but you weren’t in a relationship at the time. And there were tough times after that as well, tough choices, especially when Jenna’s family was involved. She still made all of them, and she stuck by your side, not once complaining about the consequences of her choices.

“Not like this. You never shut down, you never allowed the entire relationship to fall on me,” she argued.

“You can’t be strong all the time, Love, you’re allowed to take a break, or break, and I’ll be here to help you through those times, I just need you to let me,” this time she wouldn’t let you, and that was the only thing you had issues with. You couldn’t support her if she shut you out, but in the end staying patient ended up working out well.

You could feel her breath on your lips, you could feel her getting up on her toes and softly, shyly, kissing you. Just for a second, uncertain if she said something she couldn't take back. “I'm so sorry, I don't want you to leave me, I don't want to break up, I just didn’t want to force you to deal with me right now,” and there they were, the words as honest as her desperate grip on you.

 "I know, Love, we'll figure it out together, I promise you," you leaned down and kissed her, properly this time, and Jenna kissed back, gradually relaxing as you held her.

The dinner remained forgotten as you carried Jenna into the bedroom, emotionally and physically exhausted and just needing to hold each other until you fell asleep. Everything else could wait until the morning, and for the first time since Wednesday came out Jenna slept through the night, firmly holding onto you.

Whatever comes you’d just have to take it one day at a time, but, at least for now, what felt like the biggest challenge of your relationship, slowly became a part of the past.

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @freakshow2501 @osnapitzmel1 @belatrixdragon @ijustlovemaths

@niqmandu @justspance @mirage018 @godamnityess

Masterlist / First Part

[vivimura]

Can u do riki's kinks😖

riki's kinks and turn on's

size difference oop, who didn't see that coming? riki is a whole 184 centimeters, and that's 184 centimeters he's proud of. the way that ever single part of your body is so much smaller than his— it turns him on more than he'd like to admit. he could be doing something as simple as holding your hand, and begin to realize just how dainty they are compared to his. or watch as you look up at him with doe eyes every time he'd call out your name, because he's just so damn big.

his shoulders, so broad almost completely engulf yours beneath him, gave him every bit of control and proof he needed. proof that you were his baby, and it was his job to make you feel good.

tits riki loves tits. it doesn't matter if they are on the smaller side or larger, he will absolutely be obsessed with them. that's just how he is. the way they subtly bounce when he fucks you, or how your back arches when he gives them attention, he loves it all.

he sees you wear a thin shirt with no bra, your nipples poking out almost obnoxiously? boner. during foreplay, or just lazy make out sessions, he'd take it upon himself to kiss and suck on them both. maybe even litter some hickeys if he was in the mood. he simply loves to take in your tits for all their glory, especially the sight of his saliva glistening off of your skin, or little red marks he's made.

manhandling/strength riki would never hurt you. but, that being said, it never fails to turn him on when he realizes just how strong he is compared to you. you could be play-fighting, and he'd just wrap his arms around and smirk lazily, finding amusement in you squirming, pressing your tits against his firm chest, and accidentally rubbing against his crotch.

alternatively, whenever he would feel your thighs closing up around him out of pleasure during sex, he wouldn't waste a second in yanking them apart, hooking them over his shoulders instead. he'd never force you for anything, but just knowing the fact that he could manhandle you into just about any position, and hold you there in place, gets him off like hell.

cum/squirting instead of his own, riki believes that pleasuring you enough to make you orgasm is necessary to trigger his own. he'd go to any lengths to make you feel good, and if he gets you to squirt, he's going home a man happy that night.

just the sensation of your release dampening the skin of his abs or thighs, how it drips down hypnotically, is the most pleasing and proud sight in the world for riki.

being vocal he swears that every sound of pleasure you make creates vibrations that travel straight down to his cock. it could be something even like a small whimper when he's giving you lazy neck kisses, but the fact that he elicits such pretty little sounds of utter pleasure really gets him going.

he values being vocal a lot, to the point he'd probably keep his own sounds at bay until he's heard some of yours. he'd feel incredibly encouraged when you express in words how good he's making you feel during sex. but, he'd also love it even more if you turn into a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him, too pleased to think straight, let alone speak.

eye contact if there's one thing riki can do, no matter the situation, it's to make eye contact. during sex, his intense eyes would bore into yours, and if he'd see you looking back up at him with just as many emotions, he'd put in extra effort to make sure you feel good.

it's part of the reason why he wouldn't be into positions like doggy or reverse cowgirl. he needs to have a look at your face, specifically your eyes, watching how they contort from pleasure he was giving you. he finds it so incredibly intimate, like a little promise of emotional connection and love between all the desires.

cockwarming not exactly a kink or turn on, but riki absolutely loves it. he doesn't do it out of sexual desires, he views it as a form of aftercare. his way of showing that you made him feel absolutely amazing both physically and emotionally.

all he wants is to feel you and be close, both mentally and literally. the feeling of him simply inside you, you being so full of him brought such a comforting and intimate feeling to you and him alike.

oral have you seen riki's tongue? there is no possible argument opposing the fact that it was made to eat out pussy. he was addicted to how you tasted. or maybe he just wanted another part of his body he wanted to use to make you feel good.

he'd love it so much for you to get absolutely gone in the pleasure of his tongue. how your hips would buck when he hummed or chuckled. or the way you'd find the courage to grasp at his hair and guide him, or how loud you'd get when he paid special attention to your clit. he truly would make out with any of your lips.

seeing you in his clothes he could be in the middle of doing absolutely anything, but if he sees you wear one of his shirts or hoodies like a dress, pants and bra ditched, he will put down anything to pounce on you like a feral man.

he loved how the clothes that fit him perfectly hung off of your frame, making you look smaller than you were. making you look absolutely his. sometimes, he'd have you wear just his t-shirt as he fucks you, and would always make sure to get you comfy in his clothes when he takes care of you after.

mlist wips comment and reblog!

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo falls ill and reader does finishes his missions and her own missions as well do Gojo doesn't have a pile of work waiting for him once he gets better. Gojo gets better. And finds out. Hehehehe Lobe u babes

omg I love this, let's do it hehe

Reader finishing Gojo's missions when he falls sick and he finds out

Pairing: Gojo x wife!reader

Word Count: 2,3k

Synopsis: When your husband falls sick, you don't think twice about completing all of his tasks in order for him to not be stressed - even if it means multiple sleepless nights for youself. Little did you know that your husband will find out about it and thank you in his own way...

Warnings: pure fluff over fluff so enjoy, Gojo basically being THE husband for y'all, not proofread because it's already darn late here and I'm way too tired

„Oh come on, don’t tell me the honoured one caught a cold”, you playfully tease your beloved husband.

He’s definitely ill, there’s no doubt in that. The way his forehead is covered in sweat, his unusual pale face paired with his heavy breathing. Let alone the sight of his red and runny nose.

You never thought this is possible. After all, Satoru is one of the few people who are able to use revered technique. Isn’t he able to heal himself, to prevent his body from falling sick?

“Looks like I overdid it those last weeks. My body is catching up on my apparently”, he replies weakly along with a nasty sounding cough.

You know all too well these last weeks were like a trip to hell and back for him. This is actually the first time you saw your husband after one whole week of him running from mission to mission and coming home into bad past after midnight. Being two special grade sorcerers, it is your responsibility to prevent the worst things from happening. Especially during summer, the number of curses triples. And that paired with the stinging fact that jujutsu sorcerers die like flies each and every day…

It’s no wonder his body took a toll on him.

“You’ll stay here for the rest of the week, babe”, you instruct him gently while pulling a blanket up his chest.

“Nah, no chance. I’ll have a pile of work when I get back and-AH.”

It’s frightening, the way he almost chokes while coughing so roughly that it vibrates through your whole body. This doesn’t sound good at all. To be exact, you’ve never seen your husband like this despite the fact that you’ve been together for multiple years by now. If he’s feeling this miserable, it’s definitely time for a break.

“Don’t worry about that. I hold the position while you’re gone.”

Little did he know you meant that.

-a week later-

“It’s far past midnight. Why are you still up, (y/n)?”

His hoarse voice rips you out of your microsleep immediately, lids so heavy they feel like closing by themselves if you don’t pay close attention.

“Oh, just work.”

No, it’s not just work. Apart from the daily drama you have to endure, you made it your mission to complete each and every task your husband would face as soon as he comes back. You know all too well he’ll throw himself fully into work again, not thinking about his own health a single second. And to prevent that, you decided to finish his missions as well, to teach his students, to do anything in your power to prevent Satoru from a pile of work.

Including swollen eyelids, constant grumpy mood, no effort to eat and your shoulders hanging down onto the ground.

You hate to admit it, but you are exhausted. You never realized how much work your husband does during the day. Must be easier for him, though. Teleportation sure sounds nice at the moment…

“I’m worried about you, babe. Are the elders bombarding you with work again? Maybe I need to have a serious talk again-“

“No, don’t think too much about it. I’m just hanging on a bit, that’s it”, you lie.

Oh, Satoru knows it is. After all, you’re talking about yourself. You, so disciplined that you’d never leave work unattended. No, it’s absolutely impossible that you’re “hanging on a bit”. But what else is it? The dark circles underneath your eyes look like valleys in the soft light of a lamp, tired eyes failing to focus on the paperwork in front of you. Usually, this is what you’re doing straight in the morning when he’s still asleep. What keeps you so busy these last days? He has to find out, he-

He almost chokes on himself again, earning a concerned side eye from you. It’s been a week and he’s still sick to the brim. Worry lines decorate your face, palm gently resting against his scorching hot forehead.

“Off to bed with you.”

“Don’t stay up too long, okay? All you seem to do is work these last days”, your husband replies worried himself.

You sigh to yourself. That’s because you do. But leaving your husband to a pile of work after he returns to Jujutsu High only to get sick again? You grab the pen in your hand tighter, force your eyes to fully open. Only a few more days and you’ll be done. After all, you’re doing this for him, right?

Satoru is definitely worth the sleepless nights.

-a few days after-

“Turns out I’m fully back at normal again, babe!”, your husband announces proudly.

You blink against the harsh light of the merciless sun, eyes dry like sand. Only a few hours ago, you returned from a village Satoru was supposed to inspect. Well, minutes turned into hours when a special grade curse appeared out of no where and made your life living hell. The sun already began to rise when you carried yourself back into bed.

But still, you can’t help but smile at him. These last days were rough for him. Him, the strongest, passed out because of a cold. He wasn’t himself all this time, weak body bound into bed with his limbs aching.

“So glad to here that”, you mumble while pressing a gentle kiss onto his lips.

“Sleep in for a while, you look exhausted (y/n). I know you just came back a few hours ago and don’t you dare to lie at me.”

Your eyes widen in an instant, cheeks blushing ever so slightly. You were so careful about leaving and returning, his even and long breaths not giving a single hint that he might be awake.

“I’m heading to Jujutsu High, bet work piled up pretty bad. Wish me good luck and have a good rest princess, I’ll kick their asses if they try to call you!”

With one last loving glance at you, he’s gone. And you can’t help but pass out immediately.

“Guess who’s back to save the day!”, Satoru announces proudly into the room filled with his students and Yaga Masamichi who looks at him with the same disinterest as usual.

“You? Didn’t even know you even exist anymore”, Nobara mumbles while filing down her nails.

“How are you? (y/n) told us you were sick”, Yuji interjects.

“I’m completely back to normal!”

“What a shame”, Megumi mumbles under his breath.

“Sooo, what side of earth do I have to save today? I’m sure a lot of work piled up while I was gone. After all, I’m the strongest.”

Satoru stretches himself playfully, waiting for the director to tell him about all different kinds of missions, curses and teachings he has to deal with these next few days. But instead, he just shrugs his shoulders.

“What? Got nothing to say? Okay, let me guess, what about that special grade curse in the village-“

“Done”, Yaga Masamichi replies dryly.

“The combat training with the first year-“

“Done.”

“Any curses that appeared in Tokyo?”

“Done.”

“Taking care of-“

“Done.”

This can’t be true, the man in front of him has to joke. Apart from you, Satoru is the only special grade sorcerer here at Jujutsu High. No one would ever be able to fulfil some of those missions, let alone teach his students just like that. Not even the director himself is capable of dealing with that special grade curse he was talking about just before Satoru got sick. But who…?

“Didn’t your wife tell you she already managed all those things?”

Oh, he was so stupid that it hurts. All these nights he caught you almost falling asleep on your desk, the multiple times you sneaked out of bed far past midnight, the dark circles under your eyes. All this time, you weren’t only busy with your own missions. No, you actually fulfilled all of his work for him as well.

“Just the amount of work I have to do when I come back. Urgh, being sick sucks.”

“Don’t worry, love. I’m sure you’ll be fine.

Yeah, he sure as hell is. But only because you decided to make your own life living hell for two weeks straight.

“Please don’t tell me (y/n) did all of my stuff while I was gone.”

“I’ll never understand how a kind-hearted woman like her ended up with you. She didn’t even stop when I told her to and somehow managed to get information about the missions I prepared for your sick ass”, the director replies dryly.

“Call her in right now.”

Words aren’t enough to thank you for this. No, you deserve way more than that, way more than his mouth could ever give you.

“And let her leave again in about an hour.”

-an hour later-

“Again, sorry for calling you in, (y/n). Now get back home, you’re free tomorrow.”

“Thank you”, is all you’re able to reply, wobbly feet carrying you back into your car and onto the road.

You sigh to yourself. Well, you definitely didn’t expect the director to call you this early when you just returned from an exhausting mission. But who are you to say no to him? After all, it’s your job to do this, it’s your job to protect the innocent.

But…Is it also your job to answer strange questions from your students in the morning?

“Come on, use your brain! You know what the director said!”, Nobara hisses through gritted teeth, the trio sticking their heads together after you were forced to drop your haircare routine to Nobara.

“Ehm...so…well…”

“If you don’t have any further questions, I’ll go-“

“Yes! I have a question!”, Yuji screams so loudly that his voice echoes through your tired brain.

“What is it, Yuji?”, you mutter with your eyes closed.

“How exactly are babies made, (y/n)-san?”

“You’re an idiot…”, Megumi grumbles.

“Really? This is all you have left in your pea-sized brain?”

“What? You just told me to ask her something and that’s what I came up with!”, Yuji defends himself.

“Yeah, but that ‘something’ definitely didn’t include THAT!”

It’s almost as if they were forced to ask you dumb questions. You’ll definitely have a talk with your husband about their strange behaviour when you caught up on sleep. But before that…

You open the door with a swift motion.

Your heart skips a beat, eyes widen.

The usual so modern and clean living-room is now covered in rose pedals and filled with the fresh scent of sakura leaves, your couch unfolded and covered in the most fluffy blankets, pillows and stuffed animals you’re ever seen. And there he sits.

He, your beloved husband, holding up your bathrobe oh so inviting.

“What’s going on here?”, you breathe out.

Suddenly, all the exhaustion you felt earlier disappeared into thin air. Did he really do all of this for you? The candles flickering, the blankets, the strawberries covered in chocolate waiting on the table, him wearing that black t-shirt you love so much.

“Guess what, I found out what you did. Did you really think you’ll get away with stealing my work in silence?”, he teases, love dripping from each and every word he says.

“It was nothing”, you try to brush him off.

But instead, he gets up and grabs your hand in order to guide you into the dim bathroom that is only lightened by a few candles. Again, the lovely smell of sakura leaves radiates from the bathtub filled with bubbles and hot steam. Just the thought of letting yourself sink into that warm water, to finally release the tension in your sore muscles-

Before you’re even able to comprehend what’s happening, Satoru took off your clothes and lifts you off the ground with ease. Your body doesn’t dare to fight back, too weak from all the missions you completed these last days. Just the tip of your toe, relaxing in the water for a few minutes before returning to Jujutsu High…

“Nothing, huh? So you mean doing the stuff I need a month for in two weeks besides your own missions is nothing? Words can’t express how thankful I am to have such a sweet, caring and steaming hot wife”, he whispers against your ear, his fingers starting to massage your back oh so skilled.

You allow yourself to sink into his touch, to rest your eyes for a few minutes. Well, there is no denying in the fact that this was a little too much for you. All the fighting, the paper work, the heart and soul you poured in each and every work.

And then there’s him. Satoru, your beloved husband, who massages your back with his skilled fingers. How lucky you are to call him your husband, that he decided to spend the rest of his life with you. Even though he scolded you ever so slightly for managing his pile of work, you know he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat. What a treasure, how glad you are to know him, how wonderful he is…

“(y/n)?”, Satoru purrs against your ear.

You don’t response, chest rising and falling slow and steady. He can’t help but smile to himself, admiring he beauty of your finally resting face. Carefully, he lifts you out of the bathtub and covers your body in the fluffy bathrobe you love so much. You definitely deserve some rest for all the work you did these last days.

He can’t help but gently caress your cheek, making sure you’re completely tucked you underneath your favourite blanket.

“What a lucky man I am”, he mutters to himself while outlining your parted lips.

“To call someone so wonderful my wife…”

Tags:

 @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @hellkaiserinphoenix 

@lauv4chuuya @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete

@gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3

@sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly

@froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi

@chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper

@baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp

@localhehecat @alicerhr @belovedvamp @wifenanami @dlwlrmas-world

@darkstarlight82 @satoreo @tachiharazsstuff @kentocalls @cheesemachine44

@ryva @komelrebi-san @deezy12299 @okay-it-is-ivy

(this took me forever so if I tagged u be so kind and leave a like/comment/reblog lol)

[usedpidemo]

Mistakes were made, but not you (Le sserafim Yunjin)

“Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!”

While Yunjin lashes out at you, grabbing at your shirt and using you as a proxy for the world and its ill-timed misfortunes, you can’t help but wonder if your presence would have changed the situation for the better.

Probably not. It’s one of those events that has to happen for character growth. 

—————

Tonight is supposed to be a night of celebration—a commemoration to the achievements, accomplishments, and accolades of the past year. The numbers and statistics never lie. They love her work, they love her artistry. They love her for what she sells and what she represents. But truth be told, Huh Yunjin couldn’t care less about what they think.

Thunderous cheers and colorful lightsticks representing different fandoms brighten the arena as the five Le sserafim members climb up the stairs to claim their award. Minutes ago, they pulled off the performance of a lifetime—an eight minute masterclass that represents everything the group stands for. You could see the exhaustion in their faces; barely mustering the strength to smile and wave to the crowd shouting for them. 

For the most part, the acceptance speech is nothing notable. Going through the motions, thanking the fans, the staff, the company, promising to do better in the future—it’s about as cookie cutter as it gets. As Yunjin tries her hardest to keep her tears from falling while she talks, the other four can only focus on her with varying weary looks. Chaewon looks especially worried; it’s her responsibility and burden to look after every single one of them. 

From the audience’s viewpoint, it’s seen as a non-issue, but the five girls recognize deep down it’s anything but. The only noteworthy thing is how suddenly quick they are on their feet heading backstage. It’s funny how everyone chases fame: to be in the moment, the spotlight. It’s funnier, Yunjin thinks, that she’d rather be anywhere else.

Unfortunately for her and the other artists attending, they’d have to wait a little longer. There’s backstage interviews and other idol obligations to do before they are finally let go. It’s not even worth all that lost time—that one award they receive ends up being their lone win for the night.

—————

Yunjin storms into your hotel room without a word with a fierce expression on her face. She doesn’t have to say it; she’s thankful she doesn’t have to spend another minute in front of the cameras, another minute being an idol—at least for the night.

In a sea of anger and auburn, Yunjin walks past you without acknowledging you at least once. She hastily drops off her purse on the coffee table before charging straight to her room and slamming the door. It’s easy to chalk up her frustrations on the monotony of the awards season—the countless hours of practice specifically for one event, the hours spent in the makeup room, the hours of interviews and fanservice—but you know she never acts like this. Rain or shine, hell or high water, she’ll walk around with a pleasant smile on her face.

Tonight simply isn’t one of those nights. You saw the whole ordeal happen in real time, and you’re already regretting the decision not to be there. At times, watching her on screen was tough. You can tell she was visibly uncomfortable, more clingy to her members than usual, when it’s normally the other way around. Admittedly, you have to give her props for holding herself back from crying when she has every right to. It’s a cold winter night, but that’s not the reason she’s trembling and shaking. It should be a night of celebration; instead, her sullen expression resembles the aftermath of complete, utter humiliation and defeat.

And it may as well be. You look through your phone; you find the messages from friends and acquaintances telling you the exact same thing; it might as well be considered spam. 

> Yo did you see what happened to Yunjin?

> Is Yunjin okay?!

> Yunjin fell! Fuck MNET!

> BRO YUNJIN FELL FROM THE STAGE WHAT THE FUUUUCK—

> Don’t tell her but I actually laughed when she slipped XD hope she alright tho!

Of course you know. It’s all caught on camera and in living color for the whole world to see. Even if it was cut from the YouTube edit, which is highly unlikely, it’s already out there on the internet spreading like wildfire. Numerous reposts with tens of thousands of likes, multiple articles immediately written after the incident—her name and her moment will remain immortalized in K-pop history for all the wrong reasons. It has the internet making jokes, it has the internet writing thinkpieces, it has the internet creating needless fanwars—it has the internet buzzing. 

You want to throw your phone from where your room is located—all the way up on the 27th floor—and pray it lands directly on a hater’s head. 

Sure enough, when you try to enter her room, it’s locked shut. The door won’t budge. All this awkward, quiet tension between you is terrifying, and sleeping her feelings off isn’t going to help anyone, not during these trying times. She needs comfort right now more than anything else. 

You give the door a respectful knock, only to be met with silence. Trying again and again leads you nowhere. Calling her name does you zero favors. Each futile attempt cuts away at your heart, little by little. Yunjin would rather isolate herself from the world than open up to anyone with no exceptions. Obviously, you have nothing to do with what happened (that is on the production team more than anyone) but you bear the responsibility and burden of being Yunjin’s partner, always there for her during the good times and the bad.

Now is not the time to give up or sulk. She needs comfort and love more than anything. She needs a shoulder to cry on. She needs a special voice to reassure her that everything will be okay.

Rummaging through her purse, you find one of her countless hairpins. It’s the oldest trick in the book—one that she always used to get you with guaranteed success. Already bent and straightened, perfectly shaped for picking—it’s as if she wanted you to reach her. You remember the disaster that was teaching you how to pick locks; dozens destroyed, to the dismay of her apartment doors, but she knew you’d need it at some point, and tried to help you to the best of her ability.

The lock comes undone. It’s a miracle, but it’s short-lived. What welcomes you as you enter her bedroom turns your uncertainty into shock and utter disbelief.

It’s imagery you only see in nightmares. Her bedroom completely ravaged and in utter ruin. Pillows, clothes, and objects scattered throughout the room. Yunjin is curled up against the wall with a blanket draped over her, concealing everything but her eyes. Bloodshot red from spilling her heart out. Around her feet lay two opened half empty bottles of alcohol and a spilled over wine glass. It takes everything not to drop to your knees or yell out “fuck” from the depth of your lungs.

Instead, it only comes out as an airy whimper, with your throat choked up seeing the sorry state your girlfriend’s in.   

Every little step you take may as well be tiptoed. Carefully treading into uncharted territory, who knows what you’ll end up meeting. The next words you pick will be the most important ones you’ll ever say. It isn’t as simple as telling her everything will be fine—that mistakes happen, life moves on, and this will be a memory she can laugh at a few years from now. She believes she’s ruined not only her career, but also her members, when anyone with common sense thinks otherwise.

With a deep breath and a gulp of your throat, you run through all the options. You pray you make the best choice.

“Jen Jen,” you mumble, crouching down in front of her, frowning. Try as you might, you can’t bring yourself to smile. You reach your hand out to peek through the curtain; she aggressively slaps down your palm. It’s as dire as you believe it looks. She sees the world crashing down before her. 

Watching her cry and hide herself away plucks away at your heartstrings. You don’t want to see her looking this sorry, this deflated. If her members—the people she’s closest with—couldn’t get through her, then how much less can you? Even so, you have to keep trying. Not as a fan nor an acquaintance, but as her partner.

Again, you’ll have to pick your way through another lock. This time, her heart. And it’s more delicate than any physical door. 

She’s drowning in her tears to realize the tug on her wrists. Little by little, you pull them apart. Yunjin’s bloodshot eyes glare right into yours, but she does nothing. Slowly, you curl your arms around hers, reaching around her back. For a moment, she appears vulnerable. Open. You press yourself close to her—

And then she hits you square in the face. 

Yunjin assaults you with a relentless barrage of fists, with one jab directly clocking your lips. They’re not the playful ones you’re used to. The kind that’s usually thrown after a serious argument, and you’ve only experienced a handful of squabbles. She sends you staggering back to the floor, violently screeching and attacking you. “Fuck you! Leave me alone!” she yells, punching you repeatedly with no sense of direction, only rage. You try to lift a hand in self-defense, only to be sent knocking down, to the point where you just give up and allow her to rip through you.

Looking into her eyes, having turned from grim to cruel, she looks as if you were there. As if you were the stage director. As if you were the one who pressed the button on the control panel. Her punches, aimless as they are, fucking hurt. You’re on the floor, defenseless, but you deserve it. You weren’t there when you should have been. The one award show you opt not to attend happens to be the one that ends up sideways. Of course she’ll pinpoint the cause back to you. That’s blind passion. That’s love.

She grabs you by the collar of your shirt, screaming right in your face, “Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!” Angry as she is, you can tell she’s trying to restrain herself. She wants to humiliate you, but she also doesn’t want to smash your head through the marble floor. You have this ragged but innocent look on your face. The stubborn kind that would tell her that you won’t give up on her. That you’d happily take all the beating just to see her smile again. 

As it turns out, all she really needs is an outlet to air out her emotions. She has moved past her tears, and she has stopped beating you down, but everything else still remains. The glare. The dour frown. The fingers gripped to your collar. The room is silent, with the only sound filling the air is your low, airy hush of “Sorry.” Your hand rubs against her arm, conveying a message of reassurance that everything’s going to be okay.

Yunjin freezes. Unsure of how she feels, unsure of what to do. The moment stretches beyond the perception of time. You end up getting caught unprepared by what happens.

She doesn’t apologize for throwing you to the floor and verbally and physically assaulting you. You don’t really mind. A kiss is more than enough of an apology. Even more when it’s passionate, humming into your mouth before letting her tongue slip right between your lips, and her hands now pressed to your cheek. Lovemaking is how she speaks to you. Her lips do most of the talking. 

Her body does the rest.

Yunjin pushes you down to the floor. You watch her shed her leather jacket, in awe of her radiant beauty.  Her skin is porcelain, gleaming from the bedroom light. She’s a star, and shines like one. The reverence soon turns to amusement, mostly at how nonchalant she’s behaving. Minutes ago, she was hostile, out of control, threatening to turn you into a ruined mess. Instead, she’s about to leave you a ruined heap, but in a different way. 

She notices. She always does. Knows you like a book. She grins.

“You know I can’t be mad at you,” she says, lifting an eyebrow as she straddles on your lap. Smirking playfully, she’s making you double take and wonder if this was an elaborate ploy or if she was really upset. And if it’s the former, then you’d really feel betrayed and manipulated. “Sorry dear,” she adds, accompanied by a peck on your lips. “I know it’s not your fault nor mine, it’s just that we prepared so much and—”

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt, placing a hand on her bare shoulder, “I should have been there. I mean, what are the chances the one time I’m not there, this shit—”

“Shhh.” Yunjin plants a finger on your lips. “Babe shouldn’t worry about his Jen Jen’s performance. At least I looked cool falling, right?” she asks, both sweet and playful.

“Sure you did,” you chuckle, almost sucking on her fingertip as she points it directly at your lip. “Definitely the coolest fall I’ve ever seen. Will never be replicated. Ever. And I mean that.”

She laughs, heartily, even though she knows you’re flat out lying. “Yeah, because they won’t do stage designs like that ever again.” Then she kisses you again; she kisses you as if your lips are her lifeline. “I swear I’m gonna tell management not to do elevated stages when we go on tour!”

This is the Yunjin you know and love; the one that everyone knows her for. Laughs at her own jokes and her own mistakes, and smiles through it all. You’re amazed at how joined to the hip you both are when the cameras aren’t on. When you’re the only ones in the room—when she can truly be herself and not a fragmented version tailored to the public. You both have this special connection together that only you two can understand.

Her smile is so radiant, distracting even, that you recognize too little too late how tense you’re feeling.

“Jen Jen,” you tell her, looking down at her legs. She has a hand between her skirt, and her underwear is already partially down.

“What is it?”

“Can we take this somewhere else,” you tell her, flustered by your own request. There’s no skirting around the thought that you’d rather take her anywhere except for a cold floor in a messy bedroom. She hasn’t realized it yet, but you know Yunjin well; she would never let your imprints stick anywhere in her bedroom, hotel or her apartment, let alone make a mess. That, and for as much as you love the sight of her on top of you, you want to keep things on even footing—for now.

The expression she makes is priceless; it's all part of the charm. She rolls her eyes, scoffing at the thought, as if the very suggestion offends her. She takes a moment to let the notion sink in. “The audacity,” she thinks to herself, the idea seemingly harder to digest if anything else.

“You’re so unserious,” she comments, in the most blunt tone possible, it may as well be condescending. Her thighs press deeper into your jeans to further prove a point. If that’s what she wants., then you’re fine with that. It’s probably a better idea than yours, too. “You shitting me right now?”

“It couldn’t have hurt to ask.”

“Well it wouldn’t have hurt you to be here sooner,” she retorts, grinning, like those words are your biggest mistake. “Then maybe I would absolutely consider it.”

In reality, there’s nothing to consider, because you end up rolling on top of her after she first pounces on top of you. It’s how she usually greets you after a busy day: jumping straight into your arms, then it’s on to the bedroom.

But not tonight. You don’t make that far, just the table by the foyer, the chair she usually reads in, nearly tripping over the coffee table and landing somewhere more comfortable for you both in the living room. In your wake you leave behind a trail of clothes, yours and hers entangled together—mostly yours. It doesn’t take much to undress Yunjin when she’s dressed for the occasion, and by the time she’s halfway unbuttoning through your shirt, she’s on her knees, completely naked. 

She kisses you, leaves strawberry marked lips on your tummy, looking so wanton, so needy. Your eyes follow along as she continues down to your pants, before looking up to you with doe-eyed curiosity. She’s got an edge to her, they say, which really just means, “she’s really fucking hot.” Everything about her, from the attitude to the wardrobe screams fierce, someone who knows what they’re doing and doesn’t care about what others say. 

But behind closed doors, she’s more like the other girl you know. Someone she tends to look after. She looks vulnerable. It’s cute to watch her act like someone she’s not.

It’s impossible not to help yourself, to stroke your own ego, even at Yunjin’s expense. There’s no hiding that devilish grin; it’s way too obvious. Nodding, you brush your hand through her autumn colored locks as she undoes your jeans, reminding her who she really belongs to. 

“Fuck—oh God—” you moan, allowing Yunjin to do what she does best: use her lips to praise your cock. No preamble, no foreplay—just immediately taking you straight into her mouth. You were already hard, so it doesn’t take much effort for her to swallow you up. Both of you using your pent up frustration and impatience after weeks where it seemed as if you were worlds apart. 

Leaning back against the wall, you can only imagine how Yunjin looks taking it. Your hand firmly grips the back of her head, while she rubs her fingers along the length of your shaft. She forces out every curse and word of appreciation out of you with a deep tone, it’s almost concerning. 

“Slow down,” you mutter, knowing full well she won’t listen. Not for anything. Not for you. She wants this as much as you do. 

At first glance, it doesn’t really show—not in the playful, satisfied hums while she blows you nor in the slow, deliberate pump of her fingers around your base. It’s a little too leisurely for someone to act desperate. Then you peek through the curtain of sensory overload, and that’s when everything becomes clear. The furrow of her eyebrows, the fixated attention on your cock, the spread of spit and precum all over your erection. 

Maybe she does have a point after all.

She catches you staring, catches you slipping. Her eyes flutter open, then shut. In a flash, she goes from sipping on your cock to choking on it. Forcing you deep in her throat without your input. It leaves your head spinning, back at square one, with no control of Yunjin nor yourself, clinging your hands to the walls for support. 

“Jen Jen, shit—” you mouth, but it's near silent in comparison to the sloppy sound she makes gagging. It’s as if she’s laughing at you for looking so helpless against her.

The sensation of her slick mouth burns. Her ever increasing tempo and lack of care or comfort relentlessly pluck away at your resolve and restraint. Her eyes water as she violently pushes her own boundaries, her own limits. Stains gradually pile around her lips and chin, a mixture of her spit, seed, and lipstick. You have her hair wrapped around the print of your fingers, holding loose strands away from her gleaming face. Despite your best efforts, you aren’t able to see her beyond blurry little flashes and brief snapshots. Deep down, you’re set ablaze, with nothing to extinguish you. You look to the ceiling, to the side, anywhere but beneath you, trying to find some reprieve from the agony and tension pulling at your loins.

You end up finding it down there, where you want it the least.

Yunjin has you right where she wants you to be—tightly sealed between her strawberry lips as you helplessly cry out her name in a sea of curses and praise. Anticipating the moment you finally break, she zealously works around her gag reflex to keep you deep in her throat. It doesn’t help that she has your balls around her hand, rubbing away and humming in satisfaction at the big hot load that she’ll receive soon. At points, she’s pouting at the fact that you refuse to surrender yourself entirely to her, that you’re still fighting.

It’s a losing effort that ultimately delays the inevitable.

An echoed shout, a wide drop of your jaw, and right there, lightning strikes—you come undone. Yunjin welcomes you with an open mouth; your thick hot load spills down her throat without a single wasted drop. You’re left wide-eyed, shuddering, panting as your orgasm washes over you. Even so, she continues to squeeze away at your balls without remorse, pumping your cock to unload more cum down her thirsty, needy maw. 

Yunjin can’t hold in her delight and laughter after she licks your underside for any leftovers. You cushion back against the wall, your energy completely drained as she laps her lips and chin clean. Just like that, any remnant of what transpired hours ago, completely forgotten. It’s not a healthy coping mechanism—not in the slightest—but if it works, it works. 

That’s one department where Yunjin won’t let you down. 

“I wasn’t ready,” you huff, palming a hand on your thumping chest, cumbrously catching your breath. You mindlessly stare at the living room light, struggling to gather yourself. “Shit, Jen Jen, that was—”

“And we’re only getting started,” she interjects, quickly rising to her feet, pushing you upright. The grin on her face doubles down on the intent. “I’m not going to bed in a dour mood tonight, and you’re gonna help me feel better.”

God, she’s so damn good at this whole setting the mood thing.

You’re no different than anyone else, folding so easily as her fingers map out your body. Continuous circles around every part that belongs to her: from your hair, to your shoulders, arms, chest, down to your tummy, around your back, and everything else in between. Yunjin demands everything about you, her fiery gaze keeping you in tow. You’re tensing up, letting out these strained gasps, watching her watchful eyes dictate your every little move, reminding you who’s carrying the stick in the relationship.

She has you by the balls, quite literally—pumping you back to hardness—and she’s enjoying every moment of it. Teasing you with her flattering mien, she has every intention to leave you more tired and spent tonight than any day she’s worked in her life.

Then, a phone rings. It’s not the hotel landline, but from the pile around your legs. Suddenly, a lightbulb appears over Yunjin’s head, and the smirk on her lips is anything but subtle. 

“Would you look at that,” she teases, her grin growing an extra inch wider, and her ironclad grip loosens. Still, you have no room to breathe when she crouches down to dig your rumbling phone out of the pocket of your pants. She makes it a point to act shocked in response to the incoming caller, then shows her to you.

Kim Chaewon.

It’s an open secret within the group—how important of a piece she is between you two, the perfect reprieve and voice of reason when the other isn’t around. You’ve gotten tangled up with both Chaewon and Yunjin a few times, under the same guise of stress relief. In a way, they’ve grown closer together thanks to you. But the rather scornful frown she has tells you otherwise. As if she’s going to lose the one last thing keeping her head straight. Forget that Chaewon is respectful of your relationship; if she gets in the way between her and your dick, she’ll cut her down, and that goes for anyone else too, friendship be damned.

“Be a good boy and take care of the call, will you?” she asks, tone playful, handing the phone over to you. You have no say, other than to follow her command. In the process, you feel your groin tense up. You look down and find your cock sandwiched between her heavenly thighs, choking up from the new sensation of her creamy skin. 

When you try to look away, she redirects your eyes back to hers. Her palm meets your chin. Hard. She curls her lips, expressing disdain and reinforcing her control. There’s your first and last warning. 

You’ve never struggled so much just opening your own phone. It’s not that Yunjin just hacked into it; her imprints are everywhere. The very lockscreen is her kissing you, your face cropped out of frame and your homescreen is a candid photo of her more bold outfits.  If not for the texts from the other members and loved ones, you’d look like the creepiest, most obsessive stalker ever. You can feed tabloids and news outlets day-to-day information, down to the most intricate details. She’s a huge part of you, and it’s gonna eventually ruin you—

“Hurry up, dipshit.” 

Yunjin’s stern tone snaps you from your daze. Hard to maintain a steady head when she’s slowly choking you out and she’s thrusting your cock in and out of her legs, still sore from her blowjob and while you’re still reeling from your orgasm. She’s perfectly built for fucking for hours on end; you’re surprised you hasn’t caught on after so long.

“Hello?” Chaewon’s voice pulls your focus away, but only briefly. Almost instinctively, Yunjin’s legs press tighter against your hard cock in response. She raises her eyebrows, shaking her head, demanding you answer the call. No context clues, no verbal cues, just wing it. 

“He-ey, Chae.” Your voice comes out gruff, airy. A brief glimpse down and you find the growing stain on Yunjin’s thighs. Your cock entering and exiting the comfort of her legs. She doesn’t appear satisfied, not even a little. 

“Is Yunjin there with you? She’s been gone after we got back to our rooms. She's not been herself after—you know—and we’ve been trying to comfort her to no avail.”

“Yeah, she’s here with me—” you say, looking directly at her, and she nods, still stiff and sour. She leans forward, her tongue pressing against your skin, mumbling something incomprehensible on your neck. Somewhere along the lines of “If you tell her, I’m going to fucking kill you,” and she sounds like she means it.

Try to suppress your gasps and whine, you can’t hold yourself back. It affects your inflection, from gravelly and small to high-pitched and nasally. You’re one wrong move away from meeting disaster, and Yunjin is the one goading you to your own pitfall. She revels running you around in circles, leading you like sheep to a shepard. You can’t think straight from all this built up pressure. “She’s good! She’s doing just fine—”

Out of nowhere, she moans. Loud. Her tone is so obvious, it can’t be anyone but her. Any sort of illusion or pretense is immediately dashed, right then and there. You almost drop your phone, barely managing to save it with a glint of clarity.

You don’t hear from Chaewon for a bit, letting you indulge in Yunjin’s seductive motions. Your body is the perfect outlet for her pleasure: kissing and marking around her neck, her fingers tracing your arms to your chest, and your cock comfortably snug between her sculpted legs. You regain some semblance of control by pumping away between her warmth, but it’s hollow; she lets her thighs press down while you thrust quicker and quicker. At first, she’d been the one bringing all the friction, until your hips begin to glide involuntarily, the wetness dripping from her thighs and around your cock making the transition near-flawless. 

Soon, the room fills with the sound of her moans, till it becomes oh-so clear you’re fucking her. The call remains active, but you still hear nothing from Chaewon’s side. The phone in your hand is what’s holding you back, but even you feel your control slip away again; against Yunjin’s demand to pretend everything’s normal, when there’s nothing normal about the position you’re in. The only thing unusual is the fact that Chaewon isn’t there to watch, preferably while pleasuring herself.

“Shit, Yunjin, you feel so fucking good—” you sputter, clutching Yunjin’s nape as she curses and whines against your shoulder. Suddenly, you hear Chaewon again, but you’ve practically stopped caring. She’d understand.

“Yeah, well, I don’t blame her for going to you. I’d do the same right now, but I gotta take care of the girls as the leader.” Chaewon sounds so diplomatic about the matter, it’s almost surprising. “Just—” she pauses when Yunjin loudly kisses you, cooing and moaning about how big you are in the direction of your phone. “Please tell her to come back here by morning, all right?”

“Sure—thing.” Your tone jumps on the second word, as your cock hits a particularly deep stroke that teases the outline of her cunt. 

“Oh, and Kkura said hi, by the way.” 

You’re amazed at how understanding she is.

“Okay.” You look down and you see Yunjin adjust your cock around the entrance of her pussy with her hand, impatient and done with the teasing. All the possible replies to maintain normalcy and your best response ends up being a simple, hurried “Hi.”

“Bye.” 

You drop your phone right as Chaewon hangs up the call. Yunjin immediately kisses you straight in the lips, sliding her tongue between your lips. She lets out this strained whine when you grab her ass, lightly pushing her away. Miraculously, she doesn’t fight back or lash out. 

“Don’t you wanna cum right in my pussy?”

“No, Jen Jen. Let me finish right in your thighs.”  

Yunjin flashes this sad, deflated frown, but she ultimately concedes. She’s this multifaceted character only you might ever hope to understand. She's a perfectionist and wants things her way, but she’s also soft and vulnerable. You feel guilty making this rather huge request, but she reassures you by pressing your cock comfortably between her legs. Your worries soon disappear when the friction of her heat keeps your hips moving. The sight of your dick moving in-and-out keeps you preoccupied. 

Even she forgets about her disappointment too, hypnotized by the continuous rhythm of your cock. She pulls your head in, moans all these profanities of varying tones in your ear. The way you both pull each other’s bodies apart, your expressions twisting in pleasure, demanding more—you might as well be in bed, and not breaking your knees and backs against the living room wall. 

You’re not sure what’s going to break first—your legs, your back, your hips, or your cock.

“Oh—fuck—Yunjin,” you groan, losing yourself in her asphyxiating heat of her skin, on the verge of another climax. You have one hand marking her ass as you both grind into each other’s bodies. God, you’re both made for one another. Drowning in her tightness, you thrust deep between her legs. Same spot, same stroke, same result. You remember where and how well you’ve fucked her, it’s almost muscle memory to you. It drives Yunjin crazy. 

She senses your incoming orgasm and shouts. The need for you to cum isn’t a request, but a full demand. Something to be expected. Her voice hits those familiar high notes that aren’t far off from her usual recordings, and she firmly clings to you. As if you ever had any other thought than to finish on her pencilike legs. You let yourself succumb to the sensation, let all the pent up pressure set itself off while you bask in that delirious high.

The way Yunjin clenches her thighs around your cock, she may as well have snapped it off.

You both mirror each other’s expressions; eyes completely shut, jaw completely agape, resting in each other’s bodies. The only difference being that Yunjin is way, way louder than you. Your mind goes completely blank, with nothing but her name drawn out from the curve of your lips. Your back is aching; your knees are tingling, ready to fail at any time. Nothing registers for you except her voice, her endless moan that rings in your ear. It’s only after her legs involuntarily slacken their grip that you fall.

To the floor, that is.

And you stay down—a minute, maybe several, completely shaken up and your head still riding that high. Somewhere in limbo. One hand gripped to her waist, the other on her leg. You forget to breathe. Your brain doesn’t register the concept of exhaling, only taking in air. The world around you appears to pause completely. 

And then your phone beeps. Still dazed, you completely ignore it.

Yunjin brings you back to life. She has one hand gripped against the wall, the other on your hair—which you now just realize—gasping for much needed air. She can’t muster up the strength to open her eyes, so you assess the damage. It’s as disastrous as it looks: a huge splatter of cum around her legs, dripping down to her feet. To the floor. To your pants. 

You don’t say a word; you don’t really have anything meaningful or productive to add. The simple question of whether or not she feels better, but you know she’ll say it won’t be enough. That she wants your cum right in her pussy, no matter how spent or sore you are. Maybe you can quietly weave your way out of a nightlong bedroom session.

So you look at your phone, removing yourself from the situation. There’s two new messages, both from the same person—Chaewon. Nothing noteworthy, just the reminder to send Yunjin back early in the morning. The idol life never really stops.

Yunjin calls out to you, abruptly intercepting your attention. “Hey.”

You look up and find her looking down at the details, slowly gathering her bearings. She runs a finger on a sticky patch on her skin, then tastes your seed with her tongue. “What’s up?”

She ignores you for a moment to gather more cum to lap, then stares directly at you. “We should have done this in front of a mirror.”

You pause. It’s hard to believe Yunjin telling you this, when she’s been the biggest skeptic. She’d rather have it in bed, on the table—anywhere that won’t allow her to see herself. The uncanny image of a prim, desirable idol bent over while someone uses her.

With that in mind, you chuckle. “We do it all the time. Give it a break.” 

—————

You both end up doing it anyway.

It’s two in the morning, and you vividly have Chaewon’s request at the back of your mind. The group’s flight back home is in six hours, and Yunjin has to be there with them for breakfast. It’s not like you’ll be away long term; she has three days-off after today. Days when you can spend all the time in the world together to your heart’s content. But fuck, Yunjin is so goddamn insatiable, she can’t go at least three hours without your cock somehow around her. You don’t end up getting sleep, because she’s so needy for your cock she can’t help but stroke it or blow it back to hardness. 

Your suggestion? A late night coffee run that ends in predictable fashion: you, fucking Yunjin from behind in the comfort of a cafe restroom. 

Yunjin’s outfit barely qualifies as casual; if anything, it’s her performance fit (a sports bra and a short skirt) from earlier, topped only by the leather jacket she went to your room with. Yet none of that matters when they’re pooled on the floor, with your hand squeezing her bare breast and the other pressed on her shapely ass. And there’s your hard cock, pounding away at her soaked cunt like it’s second nature—which it is—and it’s quite the motivating sight. Watching it appear and disappear in her pussy, hearing her hushed pleas, echoed cries, and every lewd sound in between.

The cafe across your hotel is completely empty, which is to be expected. You can count the number of working staff on one hand, and most of them are fast asleep or busy on their phone. You’re not making any excuses for fucking Yunjin at a place like this; you’re merely laying out the scene. 

You can blame Yunjin for your precarious position. Any attempt to make some small talk she makes it about you. About missing your cock so much, about how she wants you to fill her pussy up and make her feel better. As if two orgasms wasn’t enough. You wouldn’t be surprised if she asked you to fuck her right then and there, in front of the cafe where everyone can see. You end up agreeing to a compromise, but it’s merely delaying the inevitable. The door is locked shut, nobody’s around to hear, and no one really cares.

If only it were that simple.

“Fuck—so—fucking—big!” cries out Yunjin, as if you were in the privacy of your hotel room and not in front of a public restroom. She gives it to you again, praises you in both murmurs and screams, her hands glued on the edges of the sink, eyes fluttering open and closed with her jaw agape on the surface. It’s as filthy as you imagined, if not more. Only you can see the full extent of the damage you’re making, and it is breathtaking. 

She beckons you to fuck her harder, give her more, tells you not to stop. The idea never crosses your mind. When she yells and mewls, she’s making sure each one is louder than the last. You can tell she has nothing to lose. If she’s going down, she’ll drag you down with her. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Jen Jen,” you groan out, looking at your entangled bodies in the mirror, at her arched back, at the curvature of her ass, at your cock spearing her hard. You puncture each of your next three words with increasing emphasis. “So—fucking—tight.”

As the sex dissolves into deeper madness, so does your restraint. You’re fucking her through the sink, pounding away with reckless abandon, with zero care for comfort. Thoughtless, impulsive drops of ‘tight,’ ‘fuck,’ and even a single ‘slut’ bomb—words that can get you cancelled on-air. Yunjin shudders, letting out this drawn out ‘yes’ in response, as if admitting the truth—to your utter surprise (sarcasm). Her core clenches against your cock, stretching her out. So wet, so needy—

It’s a strange thing to believe, but this is Yunjin’s first orgasm of the night. Her lands lay flat on the sink, and her mouth lolls wide, screaming your name like you’re the most important person in the world. The intense heat, the suffocating pulse of her cunt, drowning your cock—

Fuck, it’s too much for your already aching cock. And her thighs and lips were brutal in their own right. 

Moments after hers, your very own climax follows. You’ve already struggled holding back twice; whatever amount of resolve you had left is non-existent. Moving from her chest at some point, the hand on her hair yanks harder. Pushing your hips as far as they can go, wishing your cock can somehow enter her womb—you ignore the possibility that you might be hurting her. 

‘Hurts so good’ exists for a reason.

The remnants of your orgasm continue to leave Yunjin in shambles. A brief look at the aftermath, and the first impression is that you didn’t fuck her hard enough. Your hot cum spilling from her splayed, ruined hole, her clothes on the other side of the restroom, and your pants receiving some of her hot slick. Yunjin remains bent on the sink, huffing through her own climax, your hand deeply imprinted on her ass, and marks, scratches, and rosy patches on her back—vestiges of hours gone by. 

You remain like this for a little while longer: cuddling up against her frame while she rests on the sink, softly kissing around her ear, brushing strands of loose red hair. She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that. When she performs, when she’s being herself, when she’s getting pounded hard—but she looks best when she’s calm, when she’s at her softest, at her most vulnerable. When you’re all alone and you both have nothing to hide. At the end of the day, you both need each other. For everything.

—————

You and Yunjin might as well be strangers. 

It’s as if the past seven hours happened in a different timeline. Both of you casually lounge in the still lifeless cafe, drinking the nonexistent traces of your iced coffee. You scroll through social media; Yunjin still dominates the trends and new reposts of the viral accident pop-up like they’re produced from a factory. She’s doing the same, reading through all the comments. Some memes, some praising her professionalism, some simply to get that verified ad revenue. 

This will be completely forgotten in a week. Yunjin’s career will come out unscathed. People move on. She will, too.

Yet you still remain awkward with her, completely undecided on the words that she really needs right now. She needs you more than just your body. 

“Jen Jen,” you whisper, before you freeze up at her anxious gaze. She waits for a follow-up, a sentence, anything. It never comes. 

She frowns. She’s not mad, only disappointed.

The sun begins to rise over the city, signaling the start of a new day. Knowing this, Yunjin adjusts her jacket and rises from her seat. You never told her once.

She walks through the door, and steps outside—but not before turning and taking one last concerned look at you. You quietly mouth ‘Love you,’ and surprisingly, she smiles. The Yunjin you know and love.

‘Love ya.’ 

—————

(A/N: againsorryfornotpostingmuchlatelyohgodivebeensobusy—

Ginger/red hair Yunjin didn't grow on me at first. Then the Good Bones teaser dropped. The strut. The attitude. The fact they allowed her to walk around in her bra and panties. What the fuck. I've been so down bad for her lately, and so are you. Looking forward to their new music! Thank you for reading!)

[alikesical]

One-sided academic rival!Dick Grayson x Reader

part 1 part 2

trigger warnings: kissing, mentions of death, reader is exceptionally dense, Dick is an idiot in love

Dick is a grown man.

Grown men don't squeal and giggle on their bed. Only they do. And he was.

The moment he got back into his room after getting your stitches checked out in med bay. He wasn't surprised they were good, everything you touched seemed to turn into gold.

He fell on his bed, wide grin gracing his face as he stared at the ceiling.

He kissed you. He actually kissed you. And you, you kissed him back.

Dick didn't care if he dropped dead right now. He'd die a happy man.

What more could he ask for?

He closes his eyes, replaying the scene in his head, like a broken record. How your lips felt against his own. How warm your body was. How the weight of your hand against his heart weighted a million tons, all the while being featherlight.

He sighed, trying to remember every single detail of the moment.

The sounds in the room. His feelings. Anything. Everything.

But the only thing he can see is you. Your eyes glimmering with tears, cheeks rosy as you looked up at him. Praying- Begging him to stay alive.

Seeing you sad, crying, broke his heart. But it meant something.

You cared. You cared enough to be upset at the prospect of him being hurt. Of him dying on the line of duty.

He chuckles lightly at that.

"You're so embarrassing." Dick snaps his eyes open, head turning to the door. He smirks at the sight of his brother leaning at the door frame.

"You're just jealous." Dick sings, sitting up, as Jason stomped in, throwing himself on the bed.

"Of you being a lovesick fool?" Dick turned his head, noticing how his brothers eyebrow raised, "I don't think so." Dick chuckles deeply at his words.

Jason was never good with words. Especially for someone that inhales books like he needs that sappy Victorian romance to breathe.

If this was anyone else he was saying this to, they'd misunderstand Jason's words for annoyance. Disgust even. His expression certainly conveyed that.

Dick wasn't anyone else though. He was his brother.

He could see the soft look in Jason's eyes, and the little twitch of his lips as he tried to keep his tough persona intact.

He knew that the big, scary Red Hood cried at rom-coms. He had seen him throw popcorn at the TV while watching Love Actually for the thousandth time. He knew that he kept a journal.

"You're the one to talk," he lightly hits Jason on the abdomen, "As if you don't write your little feelings in your little diary."

Jason glared at him. "It's not a diary," he muttered, looking away as a blush crept over his cheeks.

It was a diary.

"And besides, that's none of your business." Jason crossed his arms and sank deeper into the bed like it could swallow him whole.

Dick tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Do you write about me in it?”

“Shut up.”

“You totally do.”

Jason reached for the nearest pillow and chucked it at his head.

Dick caught it mid-air with practiced ease. “Aw, c’mon. Just a little ‘dear diary, my stupid older brother kissed the love of his life today and now he won’t shut up about it’?”

Jason buried his face in his hands. “I swear to God, if you don’t stop talking—”

“You’ll what? Write about me in your diary again?”

A muffled groan came from Jason as he pulled the blanket over his head. But even through the fabric, Dick could hear him laughing.

It was weird how you found yourself zoning out every two minutes. You weren't like this. You were focused. On important things.

Like university, and passing your classes, and working for a better future, and how Nightwing's lips felt just right against yours-

That's it! That's the problem.

Ever since that kiss - that wonderful, beautiful kiss - you haven't been able to focus on anything around you.

God. This is the dream situation all over again.

Why does the universe hate you so much?

You didn't ask any of it! You wanted to finish school, get the hell out of here, and find a job. You wanted a normal life. A perfectly normal, quiet life.

Kissing bleeding vigilantes in your bedroom is not normal. It's not anywhere near normal.

And what's the deal with that anyway?

It was just a kiss. You have kissed people before. But you have never stared at a wall, blushing and reeling, remembering how softly he held you, and just how right he felt against you.

But other people weren't him. They didn't climb in your window every other night and force you to take a break. They wouldn't bring you food, when the saw you had been running on fumes.

Other people weren't him.

You slap your hands on your cheeks, ignoring the pain, "Get yourself together!" you yell, forcibly exhaling from your mouth. An exhale combined with a groan.

This situation has gone far enough. You are an adult. You kiss people. People kiss you.

So pull yourself together, and get up from this damn couch. Dick is supposed to be here in a while, and you still haven't cleaned up.

Oh God Dick was coming over and you cant gather your scattered thoughts.

What is he gonna think, seeing you like this, seeing you so pathetic.

Wait- Why would Dick care? Why do you care about what Dick thinks?

He's probably just gonna make fun of you. Laugh that boisterous laugh and tease you till your face changed all shades of red.

So you stand up, groaning as you make your way to the kitchen. The house would instantly look better once the plates were out of the way. And besides you needed the distraction.

Even if said distraction was having to clean.

By the time you heard the knock on your door, you'd mostly finished cleaning.

Sure, the apartment wasn’t spotless—there were still a suspicious stain on the rug you decided to pretend didn’t exist, and dust behind the TV—but then again, what student apartment ever was?

You open the door, Dick standing on the other side with the widest grin on his face. Sure, he always was cheerful, but this was something else.

He was glowing.

"What's gotten you so cheery this morning?" you let him in, staring in mild confusion as he seemed to skip a step as he walked past you.

Something is definitely up.

Dick plopped on your couch, feet immediately finding their way on the console table in front of him, "Can't a man just be happy?" he says, smiling at you.

"No." you say simply, walking towards him, arms crossed. You look at him, eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Spill."

He stays silent though, staring at you, silently scaling whether or not he should tell you.

"You seemed stressed, why don't you tell me about what?" he's deflecting. You narrow your eyes at him, as if you were challenging him. Dick has never seen anything hotter.

"This isn't about me." you say, not missing a beat. Dick doesn't have to know about what happened the other night. It'll definitely spare you the teasing.

"Okay, something might have happened the other night..."

"Something as in..."

"I might have kissed someone-" he admitted slowly, soft smile on his lips.

He looked... flustered?

"WHAT?" you jump up at his words, eyes widening, "TELL ME MORE, THIS IS GREAT!" you smile at him and Dick feels his stomach dropping.

"Yeah... it is..." he says, defeated.

You don't care. He told you he kissed someone and you don't care.

And you seem excited for him. Happy.

Reality hit him like a slap in the face, quick and hard. You didn't like him. Not like he liked you. But you liked Nightwing. You liked the mask, not him...

It hurt more than he expected. He hadn’t anticipated how hollow it would feel to have you so close, yet so far away.

He felt his throat close up at the thought of telling you. He should, he knows he should.

At some point he should come clean. Tell you everything.

Would you hate him for it?

"Tell me about her! Do I know her?" you exclaim, leaning forward, the smile on your face earnest and real, and he feels his stomach turning.

He's dying inside and you don't even realise it.

"She's very smart, and so, so pretty, like- I dont know how a person that beautiful can exist," he says, looking in your eyes, his own glimmering and bright, "She's interesting, and funny, and always keeps me at my toes. I- I wanna be better for her..." he says, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

He sounds so earnest, so... in love with this girl.

He chuckles a bit before he continues, "Terrible first impression though! She hated me. Like, a lot. Tried to ignore me every time I talked to her."

"Sounds... a lot", you reply, voice steady.

"She thinks I'm an idiot most of the time" you giggle at his words, agreeing with her mentally. Dick was an idiot. A loud, talkative idiot who deserved the world.

"I really hope it works out, you deserve someone nice! Someone who'll...." you purse your lips trying to come up with the correct word, "Match your energy." your voice is light, teasing, but the way your lips twitch—just barely hiding a smirk—gives you away.

He raises an eyebrow in mock offense, "Is this you saying I'm a lot?"

"You are a lot."

It's been three days since Dick was over and seven since the kiss, and Nightwing hasn't stopped by.

You know, logically, that he's probably resting. Getting the wound restitched, correcting your messy work. Making sure he don't die from an infection.

Maybe he was on a mission. Maybe something was threatening Gotham again, and he had to be there. make sure everyone is safe.

Or maybe he just doesn't care, and the kiss was a spur of the moment thing.

Maybe he's embarrassed and doesn't know how to face you. You certainly wouldn't know how to face him if he appeared right now.

Maybe that's for the best. Not seeing him again.

Then why does it hurt? Why does your stomach twist and turn at the thought of not seeing him again.

And then you have Dick Grayson waltzing in as if he owns the place acting all happy and mushy about kissing some girl he knows, rubbing salt to the wound.

Why can't your situation be that simple? You bet Dick didn't drop out of the face of the earth after kissing that girl.

Who even is she?

You know Dick has friends other than you, and you have seen and heard countless times how people talk about him.

But he seemed... excited? He must really like this girl...

Then why didn't he ever mention her? Dick is a blabbermouth, in all ways possible. His mouth is trying to catch up to his stream of thoughts every time he opens it. There's no way he wouldn't rant about someone he has a crush to.

The maybe a one night stand? No, he said she disliked him - hated him, at the start. Also he didn't seem like the type to gush about a one night stand.

Then again, he is a man.

But he was gushing, like- fully enamoured, gushing, not boasting.

Why are you even thinking about Dick right now, he has nothing to do with the situation at hand.

Besides, thinking of Dick kissing someone else makes your stomach turn in ways you dont wanna think about, and your ears ring. How he held her, what he told her, what it must have been like to be a mere breath away from him...

You feel your face morph scrunch up at the thought.

You need to stop thinking about that, it makes you feel uneasy in a way you cant place.

Disgust probably...

Yeah... disgust.

"What if we go to the Metropolis library?" Dick suggests, spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

You grimace at that, "You're like a child Grayson, stop speaking with your mouth full." and he blows raspberries at you, only proving your point further.

"Think of it," he says, not giving your words any mind, "The books there aren't burnt. Or stolen" you can hear the spoon scraping against the bottom of the container, his eyes fixed on it, "Besides, a change in scenery will do you some good."

You shake your head at his words, raising your gaze from your notebook momentarily to turn and look at him sitting next to you.

"We wouldn't be going for tourism Dick" you bite down at your pen, as you go over a research paper he had found. Actually, Tim had found it and translated it, but he wasn't gonna tell you that.

He chuckles, leaving the now empty tub on the console table, "Okay, a change in libraries then."

You smile, nodding at his words, as he picks up with own papers, leaning back on your couch.

It was strange how he fit into your life just perfectly. Like he was always supposed to be there. Sitting by you on the couch, eating ice cream without a care in the world.

You realize you’d never really let anyone in this close. You always run away, and you tried. You really did, but he has a way you guess.

You notice the moles on his cheek, exactly the same pattern as Nightwings.

He still hasn't come by... And that was fine, he didn't owe you anything.

It still stung nonetheless.

Dick, however, keeps showing up. Not just for the project, either. The other day, he just showed up and watched TV with you. No purpose, no reason. Just… company.

Now that you think of it, he and Nightwing would make pretty good friends. They seemed to be the same flavour of reckless and stupid. And they would definitely laugh at each others stupid jokes.

You had never thought about it before, but they were very similar.

The way Dick carried himself, reminded you how Nightwing would slip in your room - always from the window. God forbid he used a door. And the way Nightwings lips turned up, forming into a smirk, really reminded you of Dicks smile.

And it wasn't just physical

Its weird how you never made that connection before. But then again a lot of people share traits. And moles apparently.

He's so close, but so far away

You unconsciously leaned in, and soon enough-

The feeling of his lips against yours is both startling and strangely comforting. It’s a moment suspended in time, both familiar and entirely new. But before you can process it, you pull back, wide-eyed.

He stared at the flabbergasted expression painted on your face, his own mirroring your shock.

Youre gaping like a fish at him, heart racing, "I- ah-"

What have you done?

You kissed Dick Grayson out of the blue. Why would you kiss him?

No no no no no.

He's gonna hate you. He already hates you. He- Oh my God, he likes someone! And he told you. And he was excited about it. And you kissed him!

You stand up abruptly, looking around shell-shocked. You can hear him call your name. You ignore it.

"I- ah-" you gulp, taking a deep breath, "I'm gonna go." you say and move towards the door, running out of your own house.

For a moment, confusion flashes across his face, but then, slowly, a smile spreads. He can't help it.

Dick stared at the door as he stood up, quietly cheering at the way his day had progressed.

His lips were chapped. Chapped but warm. And you couldn't stop thinking about them.

You hoped that taking a walk would clear your head. Make everything fall into place.

The only thing that happened was losing the feeling on your toes.

You shiver as you open your front door, ready to just fall asleep and ignore everything and everyone around you for the foreseeable future.

You were prepared to see an empty, quiet apartment. What you didn't expect was Dick Grayson still sitting on your couch, surfing through the channels of your TV.

Didn't he have a home to return to? Its been two hours.

You freeze mid-step, staring at him like he's a ghost, "You're still here."

"I'm still here." he turns of the TV and stand up, as you close the door behind you, the urge to run away growing strong again.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?" he chuckles sitting on the arm of the couch, "Do you need a reminder of what happened?" he smirks and you feel your face changing colours, freezing again.

"Youre so annoying!" you scoff, throwing your coat on a chair, not caring enough to hang it, heading to the sink, needing desperately some water.

"I wasn't annoying a few hours ago" you choke on water.

Was it always this hot in here?

You stomp back to the living room, looking at Dicks annoying face, "I could call the police!" you exclaim, "This is trespassing!"

"You wouldn't, East Enders dont like cops" he laughs rolling his eyes, not noticing how you freeze at his words.

"...How do you know that?" you ask, walking slowly towards him, confusion lacing your voice. Dick feels his heart stutter.

"What?"

"That I'm from the East End..." you repeat, not taking your eyes off of him for a single moment.

"You told me?" he laughs lightly, hoping you'd drop it. Believe that you had actually told him and not his alter ego.

"No I didn't, the only person who knows is my mom and-" you inhale sharply, stepping closer to him determined.

"Wha- What are you doing?" Dick asks, watching you stare at his abdomen, as if youre trying to see through his shirt. You reach for the hem, and he immediately starts moving around, like a child.

"Stop squirming!" you yell.

Your fingers tremble as you grab the hem of his shirt. He flinches. You don’t care.

"No, let go!" Dick grabs your wrist holding your hand down. You glare at him as you throw his hand again, immediately raising his shirt.

You gasp lightly at the sight.

Those are stitches on his abdomen. Your stitches.

Realisation hit you like a truck, chills running down your spine.

How could you have not known? You literally had all the parts of the story and still didn't figure it out.

You are so stupid.

You raise your gaze, meeting his eyes, "Motherfucker!" You exclaim, staring at him, fist still curled in his shirt.

"If she's half as pretty as you, I wou-" he joked, trying to suppress the urge to run away.

He really was his fathers son, huh?

"Dick!" you warn him, yanking on his shirt.

"...Surprise?" Dick laughs lightly, waiting for your reaction. The screaming, the crying, the betrayal.

He waited for you to throw him out of your house. Out of your life.

But you simply stare at him, eyes darting.

It's him...

It's actually him.

You know that you should be angry. He lied to you, he pretended to be two different people. It'd be normal and more than justified to lash out on him right now.

But all you feel is... relief.

It all makes sense.

They were the same person. The same wonderful, annoying, absolutely perfect person.

Nightwing hadn't left you high and dry, because he was here every day, watching TV with you, eating, working.

And Dick- Dick was talking about you. All that softness, all that love he displayed like a trophy in his eyes, were for you.

"Listen, I know I should have told you-" he starts speaking, taking your hand into his, forcing you to let go of the fabric.

He's running the pad of his thumb gently on your knuckles. It's the first time he has done that, and yet its comfortable. Familiar.

Your head is spinning. He is talking to you - he constantly talks. His mouth is moving but you can't hear a word. He's no doubt explaining himself, telling you he'll go if you want him to. Being himself.

You feel the air raggedly enter your lungs as you inhale, and the next thing you know, your lips are on his for the second time today.

They are still chapped. Still warm.

Dicks shock only lasts a moment before his hands find your waist, falling into place immediately. He feels your hands around his neck, the smell of your shampoo, overwhelming his senses. He pulls you towards him, holding you close, scared this is a dream, and that'll he wake up in his room, alone.

You pull away, resting your forehead against his. His heartbeat is drumming against your fingers.

"You're Nightwing." you exhale

"I am." he said, trying to catch his breath

"You kissed me."

"I did." he nods simply, because to him it was simple.

"And then you disappeared!" you hit the back of his neck, looking at him annoyed, "Who does that? And then you come by and tell me all about it, without actually telling me!" Dick laughs as he pulls you in a tight hug, resting his head on your shoulder.

"I know" you feel him smiling, "I'm sorry." he says, and you don't care about him not telling you anymore.

Because he's holding you.

He's here.

And nothing has ever felt more like home.

Hiiii, I know its been long, I'm sorry but university is very much kicking my ass (all for nothing too, I failed all three of my tests lmao)

You've been so supportive and nice and it lowkey makes me cry so I really hope you like it🤗🤗

@skyguys-princess @dontyouthinkitstrange @jaemindontberude @st4rg1rln

[owuwi]

NATALIE SCATORCCIO.ᐟ

summary: she can't be into you, so why not distance herself?

pairings: natalie scatorccio x fem!r

warnings: angst, a tiny bit suggestive, detailed description of throwing up, internalized homophobia from natalie

2.0k words

Natalie wasn't into girls. She wasn't opposed to fucking them but she wasn't romantically attracted to them. Or at least that's what she thought until she started seeing you in a different way.

You were the whole package; not only were you easy on the eyes but you actually cared about Natalie. That's why she immediately started to distance herself from you the moment she realized that she was starting to get too attached.

A bit of context here; you were Nat's person. You were the only one who she trusted enough to talk about every single shit that happened to her. You were always there for her no matter what and she even tried to 'return the favor' and be there for you — though it didn't always work but at least she tried —.

You protected her, you defended her and she — grumpily — allowed you to. She'd be lying if she said that it didn't make her feel good, that it didn't make her feel safe, but she simply wasn't ready to admit it. She wasn't someone easy to be around, let alone date, so she thought that avoiding you was her way of protecting you back.

Your friends and even Natalie's didn't understand why you were so persistent about her, why you tried so hard to show people that she wasn't a bitch or any of those terrible things they called her, but you weren't doing it for them, you were doing it for Nat. You needed her to stop being so harsh on herself. Your efforts didn't go unnoticed by the dirtyblonde-haired girl, in fact, it only made her like you even more.

She skipped school today which was something you were already used to, but you were worried about her thanks to the fact that she hasn't been calling you back nor meeting you at your spot — yeah, you and Natalie had a secret place where you would meet each other before school —. That's why you built every ounce of courage and decided to pay her a visit after your classes.

Natalie's house — trailer — wasn't unknown to you but you never actually walked there without her permission. She was always telling you when to show up or not, and it was always at times when she was completely alone. You were obviously aware of the issues she had with her family which is why you never visited her unless she told you to, and you prayed that this visit wouldn't get her in trouble.

You knew she was home alone by the sight of her sitting on the stairs of her trailer, a bunch of light-out cigarets and a pair of empty bottles — most likely of booze — scattered around the pavement. Seeing Natalie like this pained you more than she understood but you knew you needed to be strong for her, that's why you walked closer to her, ready to help her in any way possible.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Natalie, though, didn't seem happy by your presence at all. The slim girl immediately stood up after letting out those slurred words, her voice as rough and deep as always.

You knew she was just drunk and payed no attention to her sharp tone of voice, instead, you took a deep breath and approached her even more. There was an odd tension between the two of you; the air suddenly thickening around you, the sounds of the trailer park muffling as your feet moved towards the girl.

"I asked you a question." She spoke again, looking at you with a mix of confusion and discomfort in her gaze. The way she was staring at you was enough to send shivers down your spine, a look you've never received from Natalie before.

Making her mad was definitely not going to be a good thing, especially not when you were trying to get answers for her startled behavior. "I was worried.." Is all that managed to come out of your mouth, your voice sounding shaky and stuttered. It was obvious that Nat was drunk — you could now smell the alcohol on her breath due to how close she was —, hence is why you understood that she wasn't in her right mind.

The girl in front of you simply scoffed, a cold, raspy noise coming from the back of her throat and slipping past her cut-clad lips. You'd be lying if you said you've never thought about kissing them, about feeling them pressing against every inch of your body. Though right now wasn't the moment to be thinking about that stuff, it was almost as if Natalie could read your mind; her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she stares at you.

"Leave me alone, don't you understand that i don't want you close to me? Or are you so fucking stupid that you can't realize something as simple like that?" She quickly asked again, but you could see the way her bottom lip was slightly trembling while she looks at you.

"What's going on, Nat? Why are you acting like this?" You couldn't help but to ask your friend, shifting even closer to her, your words dripping with serious concern and affection — which was definitely not helping her with her mixed feelings —.

Natalie wanted nothing more but to yell at you, to punch you until you were a bloody mess on the pavement, but she couldn't. There was never a violent — hell, not even a negative — thought about you in her mind. For her, you were perfect; an angel sent from heaven to keep her safe. Despite how fuzzy her head was due to all the alcohol and cigarets she had, you were all she could think about.

That's why she grabbed the collar of your shirt and crashed her lips against yours, so roughly that you swore your lips were going to bruise. It was a quick kiss, though messy and filled with anger, it wasn't enjoyable. You couldn't even kiss her back, your hands hovering over her sides but not fully resting against them. What were you supposed to do? Natalie kissed you like some sort of rabid animal — grunts slipping past her lips — and you could taste the cigarets and licor she previously had.

She pulled away some moments later, allowing her forehead to rest against your own, and everything was quiet for some moments. "Because of you... why can't you fucking see that?" She rasped out, her eyes slowly fluttering open to look at you.

There was an evident hint of lust in the girl's gaze but there was something else; a hint of fear glimmering in her eyes. You knew she wasn't doing well yet you couldn't bring yourself to say anything, you were paralyzed — her taste still lingering in your tongue —.

"I can't do this shit... you know that.." She continued talking before closing her eyes and pushing you away — which caused you to stumble back a bit —, acting as if you were the one who kissed her. She then ran her fingers through her ruffled hair, clearly trying to hold back her emotions.

Despite still being quite in shock, you knew that you needed to say something before she dugs herself further into this messy hole. That's why, after taking a deep breath and really thinking about your words, you speak up; "Y-You're... too drunk. Let me help you, please.." You weakly muttered out, offering her a small, almost shy smile before gently reaching out to grab her hand.

Now, Natalie was definitely not a touchy person. She actually hated to be touched — always flinching whenever someone got too close — but you were different. You were you, and she would always allow you to do whatever you wanted with her — though she wouldn't say it out loud —. So seeing the way she roughly slaps your hand away and then takes a step backwards hurt you more than you thought it could.

"Don't—...." She trailed off, looking at you with parted lips for a moment before lightly shaking her head side-to-side and then turning around. She sat down on the edge of the stairs once again, resting the back of her head against the door of the trailer. "Don't touch me.." She managed to continue her sentence, looking up at you like a kicked puppy.

Her eyes were red and filled with un-shed tears, her body visibly shaking, and you knew that was going on in her head. She needed her person right now — she needed you — and you could tell. Even though she was going to complain, you simply sat down next to her and then let out a sigh. You couldn't look at her, you were confused. Did Nat liked you? Did she wanted to be something more than just friends? Or was it the booze in her system? Millions of thoughts were racing through your mind until the sound of her voice snapped you back into reality.

"My uh... m-my dad's gonna be here any time soon... you should leave.." She warned you, looking over at you through hooded eyes, a hint of concern hidden in her words. Despite everything, she still cared about you.

"I'm not leaving you... especially not when you're like this." You quickly protested before bitting down on your bottom lip. An idea crossed your mind, an idea drunken-Natalie wouldn't enjoy, and you knew it was the right thing to do. Before the dirtyblonde-haired girl could say anything, you spoke again.

"You should come with me, you're in no state to see your—... dad." You then added, your voice cracking with nervous and even hesitation. There was a glimpse of anger noticeable in the girl's eyes for a moment before she looked away from you, her face turning into a wince before she threw up on the pavement.

You immediately grabbed her hair and hold it up for her, using your free hand to slowly rub soothing circles on her back — the fabric of her t-shirt soaked in cold sweat —. Natalie Scatorccio was probably the most stubborn person you've ever met, yet you hoped that she would allow you to help her in this moment.

"Please, just—... make it stop.." She weakly stuttered out, not being able to stop the warm liquid slipping past her lips. Natalie liked the effect of being drunk but she absolutely despised the consequences; puking and then being hangover the next day. The way she was acting like a little kid was only breaking your heart even more.

"C'mon..." You simply indicated before helping her get up, ignoring the putrefying smell of her vomit. You've helped Natalie during moments like this plenty of times yet you never truly realized how messed up it was; how fucked up it was.

The drunk girl was literally shaking, her body seeming much smaller than it ever did, and she was weak. She would never admit it but she was weak; she was so weak that she could barely walk on her own. If it wasn't for you, she'd probably be passed out on the cold floor, waiting for the inevitable to happen.

The next hours were a blur for the two of you; you managed to get her into your car and drove her to your house. Your family were — thankfully — out of town so you had your house to yourself. Natalie was mumbling nonsense under her breath the whole time you helped her into your place, you assisted her with brushing her teeth and even bathed her. In another time, another moment, the pair of you would've joked about this; you probably would've crack a joke or two, but this was different. Nat was barely conscious and she wasn't herself.

After giving her some fresh clothes, you lied her on your bed and she immediately passed out.

It was until midnight where she roused and she couldn't help but to break, tears rolling down the pale skin of her cheeks like a cascade. You obviously woke up yet you didn't say anything, you simply wrapped your arms around her figure and she allowed you to — she was so weak for you —.

With her head on your chest, she eventually calmed down, her lips parting to mumble out some simple words. "I'm so—... so sorry.."

[venusvhs]

waking loser!Mizu up with kisses all over her face?

Or just her reactions to more affecionate or thoughtfull gestures, like, yes girl you're loveable so much!! Get this into your lovely thick skull.

Also, more like casually done, not much fuss over it from the giver, just 'i thought about you and i get it', handing it and go about their day, yk, not even the slightless sign of it being a bother for them 🫶

🏷️loser!mizu shaped, femme!reader implied, college au, pure fluff basically, mention of nsfw/suggestive scenarios, mizu is whipped and reader is equally as whipped but more calm about it, uhh idk how to tag this, kisses and cuddles idk

🐾oh trueeee… our baby deserves so much love ugh.. content under the cut, mainly hcs/blurbs (ty for the ask my love 💕)

mizu had never actually had someone love her the way you do. especially not so… casually. like you’ve been loving her your whole life.

‘mizu… baby, it’s time to get up,’ she’s woken up daily by your lips on her face and shoulders, and your knee weakening smile. she thinks she might be in heaven every single time. and, after a swift make out session in which she says she loves you far more than is probably necessary, you make her breakfast. and you make it good. you ask her what she wants and you make it exactly how she asks, and then you make sure she’s full and won’t go hungry for the remainder of the morning.

the two of you go to classes together and meet up at lunchtime, in which she insists on getting you lunch. you always insist on getting coffees. it works for you both.

sometimes you’ll come home from a day out with your friends and shove a bag in her hands before just walking away. and it’s always presents for her. new t-shirts to replace the ones she stains with hair dye and paint, yet another pair of jorts, a new pair of high tops. little trinkets, too. new figures for her shelves, friendship bracelets, rings, or just.. totally random things. you’ll pick a flower and just put it on her desk. or you’ll collect sea glass at the beach and put it in a mason jar for her.

it makes her feel appreciated, more so than any past relationship she’s had. which is only two, but that’s besides the point. and you’re so normal about it, too. mizu’s way of expressing affection is very much private, but she’s clingy as hell. refuses to get off of you and is always hanging around as if you’ll suddenly up and run away. and yes, you’re clingy too, to an extent. but you never make a huge deal out of things and you don’t treat displays of affection as worthy of a medal. to you, it’s just something you do in a relationship. to mizu, it’s something she experienced rarely and she was always expected to give something equally as valuable in return. so when you just give her things without saying anything, she feels so appreciated.

she brings it up to you one night, asking you quietly—and nervously—why you never make a huge deal of displaying affection. she swears something in her melts when you just shrug and say, “i love you, so i show it to you. i just do it without thinking much.” and she kisses you about a million times the moment you say it.

[secriden]

Style in episode 4 made me soft in a way that I truly did not expect. I’ve used the word “guileless” (def: innocent and without deception) before to describe him but I don't think that has been shown more clearly then in this episode.

He tries to be manipulative and lasts for all of one single morning and then comes running to Fadel the second he hears about Fadel asking about him. He's so excited, so exuberant at the thought that Fadel misses him, so happy that his little (terribly obvious and juvenile) plan worked.

Which is why I think he was genuinely taken aback when Fadel only had harsh words for him as a reply (this is not a criticism of Fadel; in this he has been consistent. Doesn't mean they weren't hurtful though). Look at the way Style's grin slowly dies. Watch the way he straightens and backs away a bit, like he wasn't expecting the clawed swipe of Fadel's dismissal.

But Style is resilient. He's tenacious. We see him rally and steel himself to resume his pursuit: because Style is nothing if not determined to hold on to the thinnest thread of hope that he's breaking through Fadel's shell. And can I just take a moment to get emotional about Style offering forgiveness even when Fadel hasn't asked for it?

This, though. I do think this was uncalled for (this is a criticism of Fadel). You can make the argument that Fadel has tried honesty and blunt rejection and it hasn't worked, but I would have respected Fadel more if he'd stuck to his guns and kept rejecting Style in the same manner. Especially when everything else about his character shows he's actually very up front and direct. With Bison, with Kant, hell even with himself.

Fadel is mocking Style's clear and wanton desire for him. Look at the sardonic little grin Fadel gets right before he says, "You won't ever get what you want." Consider the way he was touching Style with that gentle, focused intensity; how he cuts up his shirt and tears it open and leans in close in a way that suggests purposefulness while having zero intention of seeing it through. Fadel knew what he was doing and he did it on purpose, to hurt.

And you can see that Style is genuinely hurt here. I think he has always been prepared for Fadel's rejection, but not his cruelty. Not Fadel making sport of him and his very real emotions and desires. Because Fadel has been rude and condescending before, but he's never been contemptuous like he is here.

And I wonder, partly, if this is because both times we see Style and his dad, his dad is scolding/chiding/correcting him to some extent. Perhaps that's just how they interact. Or perhaps, as implied by the way Style sarcastically said "Thanks, dad" as Fadel drives away in episode 1, Style doesn't enjoy the way his father scolds him and always has criticisms or corrections for him. Perhaps Style just wants to be accepted for who he is, especially by the man he is starting to have real feelings for.

Edit (after Ep 5): I'm so sorry, Papa Style, I did you so wrong. ;u;

@lazzarella made a post recently about Dunk's phenomenal acting in this scene (among others) and I concur so hard about how intense and scorching and "both fiery and steely" Style's anger feels in this scene. He's furious and wounded and you can see it in his gaze, the tension in his jaw, the way he bares his teeth up at Fadel when he says "...punch me in the face? Go on!"

And honestly, he is justified. Fadel's incredulity has no basis here: he stooped back to using public humiliation, something which Style very pointedly has not engaged with since his conversation with Bison in episode 2. Every instance of approaching Fadel since then has clearly been aimed to involve himself in Fadel's private life*.

*Yes even or maybe especially the support group in episode 3. Because while Style may have been treating the whole thing too lightly, all of it is directed privately to Fadel with his secret looks and winks. As far as the other support group members are concerned, Style was a somewhat overdramatic new member that had no connection to Fadel.

But what Fadel did by cutting up his shirt and sending him out in shame regressed them back to their early dynamic, which was far more antagonistic.

This is why Style lashes out at the support group again. Look at the anger simmering in his eyes. The way he makes direct, insistent eye contact with Fadel as he speaks, returning again when he talks about feeling used. Style, overall, is a character that doesn't take anything too seriously so it's almost shocking to see him this visibly angry and so pointedly challenging Fadel in a space where Fadel cannot easily brush him off.

But even now, even in all his rage and hurt, Style is true to himself and his heart. He doesn't want revenge or an apology, he wants Fadel to acknowledge that the thing between them, fragile as it is, matters; that what they did meant something to the both of them.

And this is why I was so broken about Style offering forgiveness without Fadel asking for it earlier: because all it took was Fadel admitting that he missed Style for him to unreservedly offer reassurance and safety for Fadel's heart. There is nothing ambiguous about what Style says at the jeep: he makes his own intentions clear by offering certainty, taking responsibility, promising the very commitment he was asking Fadel for.

He makes himself vulnerable to and for the man who literally just mocked and humiliated him that morning. Style really just let all his anger go immediately like that.

And no, I don't think he was doing all that for the car. This is just how Style talks. He has a flair for the dramatic, and this was the perfect way to reveal his news to Kant. But look at how delighted, how filled with boyish glee he is while he tells Kant the news about Fadel agreeing to be his boyfriend. Consider the way he reacted in the moment: the joy in his voice and the wonder in his eyes when he said "Really? We're dating now?", the way he covers Fadel's cheeks in a hundred butterfly kisses.

Also, a thought that occurred to me - could this be Style's first relationship? We know from episode 1 that he sleeps around, but there's seemingly no mention of a previous serious/committed relationship so far. His dad seems surprised to hear Style is seriously pursing someone. Could Fadel be the first person to capture his interest for long enough that Style developed actual feelings?

Which is also why his fear is now so visceral. He is genuinely terrified of Fadel, but I don't think it's just because he's realised how dangerous Fadel is (after all, he's known that to some extent since he watched Fadel break a man's arm with his thighs). No, his fear stems from the fact that Fadel now has reason to hurt Style.

In the face of the betrayal of his own trust, Style answers Kant's plea to friendship and entangles himself with Kant's lie willingly... and thereby forfeits all rights to the safety he was so confident of in the middle of the woods by an abandoned factory. Because now Style knows that if Kant gets found out, it won't matter that Style didn't intentionally mislead and take advantage of Fadel's vulnerability in the forest. Because he still chose Kant over Fadel here, and that makes him undeserving of the open door he asked Fadel to give him.

Style is incredibly transparent in all his thoughts and emotions and this is why I say that Style is guileless: he is incapable of true deception. His heart is too close to the surface, his desires too obvious, his thoughts too clearly broadcasted on his face.

He is the perfect foil; not only to Fadel (who until this episode held everything so buried inside his chest that we only understand his true feelings in snatches of memories or moments when Fadel is certain that he is truely alone) but also Kant (whose deception, whilst cracking under pressure, is intentional and calculated - thinking about that bowling alley accomplice right now - in a way Style never could be).

And this means that any success on his part in the upcoming episode(s) in deceiving Fadel is going to fall on either Fadel's own willful blindness or the suspension of disbelief the genre requires of the viewer -- but it won't be because Style is actually any good at playing the role now that he knows the full truth.

This is why my heart breaks for Style. Because Kant forced a burden on him that he was in no way prepared to bear. And eventually Style will have to choose between his loyalty to Kant and his burgeoning feelings for Fadel and, regardless of his choice, the narrative demands that Style sacrifice a piece of his own heart in the process.

[faiszt]

𝟎𝟎𝟓.⠀ DEAR─GOD⠀⠀٭⠀ֹ⠀۪⠀ ❝ ⠀art donaldson.⠀ ꒰⠀single:⠀꒱ ⠀so ︎ close ︎ to ︎ what⠀❞⠀⠀bot drop⠀⠀♥︎⠀⠀PRE⠀ ̸ RELEASE

⠀⠀❝ֹ ֹ⠀ haven’t see you in two years, but⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ baby, we still breathe the same air ⠀ּ ּ❞

BOT⠀♡⠀ ꒰⠀all the no-good thoughts⠀꒱⠀ ─ SUMMARY ♡⠀ back then: art donaldson, retired former tennis player, a absolutely legend for his time, so acclaimed in his good guy image... if they only knew his little secret, the little secret he had with his daughter’s best friend.

WORD COUNT⠀♡⠀ 2.5k⠀ ─⠀⠀ CONTAINS⠀♡⠀dilf!art x young!reader. smut content. agegap ꒰ 25 · 45 ꒱ hard & strong language. cheating. slightly mentions of god. blowjob. dirty talk. slightly size kink.⠀+ 18, minors who interact with this will be blocked.⠀⠀⠀⸜ ꒰ ˃ ᵕ ˂ ꒱ ⸝ ೂ

two years ago. fourth semester of college, you had already lost count of how many times you had been stressed, cried, gotten angry and felt your family putting more and more weight on your shoulders. summer break at home were hell, the worst kind, as if your dad were the devil in the flesh.

’cause of this, like an angel, your roommate—and best friend—suggested that you shouldn’t go to your house, but to hers. lily felt lonely all summer, most of the time, not that her parents weren’t around, they just had a few (many) other things to do. you were always there for her, so she felt like she should do the same for you this summer.

bad idea, the worst idea that could’ve crossed her mind.

it wasn’t as if art and tashi’s marriage was still on good terms, quite the opposite, they only stayed together ’cause it seemed too late to waste their energy on a divorce. almost fifty years old now, what could they do?

that’s why they ran away from each other all the time, just like they were a couple in front of the cameras, they didn’t even sleep in the same room at home anymore. everything still seemed so normal to them, lily never even cared about it, almost as if she was trying to be completely oblivious.

this got worse when art learned that you liked tennis, that you had already watched many of his matches and in a way, you had an admiration that he had never really seen so closely. he was dazzled, pretending he didn’t mind—though he was paying attention to every step you took. twenty years younger than him, was he freaking out? yeah, he was.

you were already an adult enough, sure, but you were still too young for him... and, shit, you were also his daughter’s best friend, what the fuck was he thinking when he imagined you in his bed? art had dealt with everything he needed to deal with... now he had to deal with you too.

and he knew exactly how to deal with you.

“i saw you playin’ tennis with lily,” yeah, right, you had seen him watching you and his daughter play tennis on the court, nothing much, just having fun—you had noticed that he, somehow, saw it all as a competition. “you’re pretty good, why didn’t you pursue a career?”

1am, you were staring at him while sitting on the bed, not understanding exactly why he was starting a conversation right now, especially shirtless. “ahn, well... it’s just that i wasn’t that interested in tennis to the point of... you know, wantin’ a career.” you could see the surprise in his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe.

“damn... i get why you and lily got along.” he gave a low, dry laugh, just remembering the thousands of times he and tashi had tried to make lily follow in their footsteps, which she had always refused—so they had just accepted it and forgotten about it. “anyway, do you need something? are you feelin’ comfortable here?”

“yeah, thank you...” you nodded in agreement, giving him a weak smile, trying to be polite even though you were still getting used to their whole family dynamic. “sorry if i’m being intrusive, but what are you doing up, mr. donaldson? i’m just curious.”

a white-toothed smile appeared on art’s face when he heard the way you called him, it made him feel old, definitely, but it also warmed something inside him. “nothing, i think i’m just havin’ trouble sleeping... everything’s fine, don’t worry.”

then, he sighed, looking around. the house was quiet, he knew how fast his wife and daughter slept, he also used to sleep fast a few months ago. but, now his mind was clouded by no-good thoughts, and god, he wanted to get rid of it, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to until he acted on the root of the problem.

“you don’t look sleepy at all either...” he grumbled. “wanna keep me company? i made coffee.” you could even refuse, but there was no way, he was looking at you like a sad, abandoned puppy, not like a forty-five year old man should.

you got up and followed him downstairs, the lights in the whole house were off, except for the one in the kitchen—making the whole place a little melancholic, kinda dark, way too quiet. art poured a cup of coffee for you, then one for himself, trying to hide how much he was watching every little expression you made.

he wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful in those pajamas, and that, maybe, you’d look better without them. but, he just swallowed hard, sipping his coffee in silence. “what are you lookin’ at?” his cup tapped lightly against the marble counter, he was smiling again, with a spark of something you couldn’t quite identify. “i like walkin’ around here shirtless, i hope you don’t mind... look all you want.”

your eyes narrowed a little, a confused laugh escaping you, was he really saying what you heard or was it just in your head? your best friend’s dad... so blatantly telling you that you could look at his bare chest all you wanted. “mr. donaldson, i...” he coughed before you could continue your sentence which he could almost imagine what it’d be.

“no mr. donaldson me, i’m not that old... just call me art, please?” cursed was the time lily invited you to spend the summer break at her house—when you weren’t exactly aware of how tempting her dad could be when he wanted and needed something. “so, come on, pretty princess, let’s be honest... you’re not just lookin’ for the sake of it, are you?”

you sighed heavily, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes as he stopped beside you, taking the coffee cup from your hand. dear god, you thought, noticing the way he leaned against the counter, looking you up and down. “i’m listenin’ to whatever you wanna tell me.” art whispered, so close to your face you could almost feel the heat of his body.

“your wife’s sleeping upstairs, art.” you didn’t really know what to say, your brain was almost short-circuiting with the implication of his words. your heart was racing just thinking about the danger of simply kissing a married man with his wife and daughter sleeping upstairs.

his only reaction was to chuckle softly, now leaning more against you as one of his large hands gently caressed your shoulder. “and so was i when she cheated on me,” he clicked his tongue. “it’s not a revenge, actually, i don’t care about it. but if you do, we can just act like this never happened.”

a little weird, he was giving you the chance to walk away, though he already knew internally that you wouldn’t leave and he was fuckin’ right, you didn’t move a single muscle to be away from him. “i don’t know if i believe you.”

“so let me show you why you should believe me...” art’s hand on your shoulder pulled you closer to him, until your chest was pressed against his bare one, your eyes just in front of his lips like a silent invitation. “desire cannot be faked, sweetheart... i can’t pretend, and neither can you.”

his hand came up, grabbing the back of your neck before crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was as messy as hot—it was the dirtiest mistake you could ever make, but it felt so right and so good that you almost wanted to pray as you kissed him. he was the worst of men, so maybe you were the worst of women.

art moaned against your lips, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip before his large hand ran down your back. “can you be quiet for me? we don’t wanna wake anyone up... yeah?” his breath was warm in your ear, his lips brushing against your neck before he gave you another one of his smiles that you now understood what they meant.

too late to regret anything, he had already placed you on the counter, pushing the coffee maker as if he couldn’t care less about that bad coffee he had made earlier. he was holding your chin, kissing your lips with fervor and messiness, like he could barely process where your lips actually were ’cause he just wanted to kiss you so badly.

it was too risky to do much, but art wasn’t thinking, neither were you—the rush was taking over, more than it should’ve, so you pushed him back. but, this wasn’t you giving up, no, not at all, you pulled him with you to the other side of the counter, pushing him against it, hands running down his bare chest, stopping at the hem of his pants, wanting to see if this was really real or just a bluff from that old man.

his breath caught in his throat as he leaned back a little, hands braced on the edge of the counter behind him as he enjoyed the sight of you getting down on your knees in front of him. as if he were a god waiting for your prayer, your god.

art felt like he could come just from this holy sight, but he held back, running his tongue over his slightly swollen lower lip, reddish after what you did to it.

you pulled down his sweatpants like he was just another one on your list and he was obsessed with every second of it, he had forgotten what it was like to want something as much as he wanted you. “you’re the one who’s gonna need to keep quiet...” you teased him, tracing the line of his bulge, making him feel his legs weaken.

your mouth was on him in minutes, knees on the carpet, art’s knuckles were turning white from the way he held himself against the counter—gasping every time your hand squeezed his balls and made him see stars. his cock was throbbing inside your mouth, desperately begging for release. he wouldn’t last long, not when his desire was screaming inside him.

“mhnm... fuck... where did you learn that?” opening his mouth was enough for a low moan to escape him, his blue eyes watching intently the way he pumped into your mouth. “you’re being so good to me, pretty... princess...” he began to stroke your hair, letting you take him deeper and deeper.

art wasn’t a small man and he was quite proud of his size, not that many women had access to that, but he liked to see your cute little face struggling not to choke—though he was thrusting his hips forward just to make you feel him all the way to the roof of your mouth. “no, no... no choking... take me like a good little girl, yeah? you can do it.” he gasped, rolling his eyes, the hand in your hair going to your cheek.

he could see your effort to please him and, fuck, that was the most arousing thing he had seen in months.

you were the worst friend and guest in the whole world, but that didn’t matter now that your host felt so good fucking your mouth like you were his fleshlight—he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t the best blowjob he’d ever received, maybe it could also be his need speaking louder.

art was getting closer and closer to the edge, it wasn’t hard to notice that, he had been without the right incentive for a while, you were making him look like an idiot, but he couldn’t take it anymore when you were what he needed, you didn’t even need to touch him that much to make him go all the way.

“slow down... or i’ll come...” he said between sighs, as if you weren’t already so invested in this that you’d actually listen to him, he didn’t know you well enough yet to know how you could be. “shit... why... why are you going faster...?”

what was the fun in giving an older man a blowjob if you couldn’t make him whimper for you while you swallowed his whole cock?

“keep whimpering or i’ll stop.” you said, pulling your mouth away from his reddish length for just a measly second, just so he could see that string of saliva that connected you to him. art felt pathetic, just like he had twenty years ago and he wanted more of that guilty youth you made him feel.

he might not obey you, but he did the opposite, just nodding his head as he positioned his hips forward again, almost begging you to make him come down your throat. “don’t stop, please... make me come...” he grumbled, nibbling on his bottom lip, waiting for you.

he had to cover his mouth with his wrist when you went back to sucking him, so hard and good that he’d barely be able to stand if the counter wasn’t behind him. even so, you could hear his whimpers, begging for you, for your mouth, for your tongue. “your mouth... fuck, it’s so good... i need it everyday...”

you could see when his breathing started to get more labored, his eyes opening with difficulty, trying to stay calm even with the sensation completely dominating him. then, he was coming undone on your tongue, thick jets of hot seed hitting your throat as he used both hands to hold your head in place.

“swallow it all, every drop.” he said with a low growl, forcing you to take every drop of what he was offering you until it was empty and softened outside your mouth. “jesus christ, you made me a mess...” a chuckle escaped him as he felt lighter.

you got up from the floor when he offered you a hand after the heated moment between you, watching you with a loving gaze—he didn’t even understand why, but he was looking at you like that without noticing. “can i sleep now, mr. donaldson?” you called him that again just for the teasing, making him roll his eyes.

“stop it... and yeah, you can, but...” he grabbed your hips, pulling you into his bare chest after pulling his sweatpants up again. “only if you promise to do it again tomorrow.”

“a promise, huh? okay, that’s a promise then.” too bad for you, you didn’t know this would haunt you two years later.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox, you'll be welcome. ꒰ ˶> ˕ <˶ ꒱ ♡

©⠀𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐙𝐓, 2025.⠀don't use my work without my consent.

[hallelujahmeatgod]

Loving and Healing You Loudly (Even If I Gotta Cuss Out Your Elders)

Pairing: Husband!Gojo Satoru x Clan Member!Wife!Reader Genre: Fluff, Humor, Mild Crack, Established Relationship WC: 1.2k Summary: Gojo’s retired from giving a damn at clan meetings, because his wife handles everything—fiercely, stylishly, and with zero tolerance for bullshit. He just wants his nuggies and scalp rubs.

Husband!Satoru is absolutely the type to let you take the reins on just about everything, not out of laziness or disinterest, but because he knows exactly who he married. You’re not just capable, you’re a full-blown powerhouse. You move with fierce determination and a level of finesse that leaves people speechless.

There’s practically nothing you can’t handle. And Satoru, of all people, knows this better than anyone because let’s be real, you literally handle him every single day… and that man is equivalent to a full-time job 😭

You’ve been carrying your clan on your back since you were basically still in uniform, and now? Even the elders bow their heads the moment you walk in. That’s not just inherited respect or tradition. It’s the kind you earn, and you earned it tenfold.

So let’s be clear: you are not someone to be messed with. Disrespect isn’t tolerated in your presence, not even from elders, especially not when it’s aimed at your husband. And if someone’s bold enough to try? Oh, they better start writing their apology letters and updating their retirement plans, because they’re about to get humbled. Mercilessly. And with style.

Since marrying you, Satoru has officially retired from even pretending to care about clan meetings. Did he care before? Not really. But at least he pretended to. Threw in the occasional sarcastic comment or lazy sigh. Minimal effort, but effort nonetheless. But now? With you by his side? He clocks out before the first elder even takes a breath.

During one of those oh-so-serious clan meetings, there’s Satoru completely ✨unbothered✨, lounging like he’s on vacation. Grape juice in one hand, sour worms in the other, shades pushed up onto that snowy hair, grinning like he knows things are about to get good.

Meanwhile, you’re front and center, unleashing well-deserved fury on some ancient, overconfident elder who thought it was a good idea to badmouth your husband earlier.

And Satoru? Doesn’t even flinch. Other clan members glance at him, silently pleading, “Do something!” But he just shrugs, mouthing, “I’m not stopping that. You do it,” and casually gestures toward you like this is your moment.

Then, just to add a little razzle-dazzle, he leans over, eyes twinkling, and mouths to the stunned council: “I mean... he kinda deserves it, don’t you think?” Jaw. Dropped. Floor.

Best believe, it’s all music to his ears. Pure art. There have been entire meetings where Gojo hasn’t said a single word. Not one. Just vibes. Now, more than ever, he looks forward to the council meetings 🥰

Snacks in hand, casually playing with your fingers under the table, whispering dumb jokes only you can hear, and dramatically whining in your ear, “Can we get drive-thru after? I want nuggies.” Oh, he couldn’t ask for more.

Sometimes, he folds paper planes and sends them sailing across the room, one landing squarely on an elder’s receding hairline. He whispers, “Bullseye,” barely stifling a laugh while you’re up front, tearing apart centuries-old traditions and bruising egos like it’s your day job.

And you? You tolerate him. Why? Honestly, why the hell not? He deserves it. You’re not the type to put up with disrespect, clearly, given how many elders you’ve verbally slammed. But when it comes to your husband? You’ll let it slide. In fact, some days, you even start the disrespect just to give him something to laugh about.

If you’ve been a key figure in your clan since you were just a kid, Satoru, on the other hand, had his entire life planned out before he was even born. Honestly, probably from the moment he was conceived. He’s spent his whole life living according to other people’s expectations, wants, and needs. He’s never really lived for himself.

His so-called “home” never gave him the warmth or sense of belonging it was supposed to. If anything, it’s probably his least favorite place in the world. He’d rather fight curses all day than go home and deal with his “family.”

So, no, you don’t see a single reason why you shouldn’t let him finally live. They’ve done nothing but disrespect him his whole life—so you? You’re giving your husband the gift of a lifetime. You’re letting him breathe. Smile. Heal.

And his elders? Oh, they can respectfully choke on a taste of their own medicine 🥰

And it’s wild how far you’re willing to go for him now, considering you couldn’t even stand him when you first met. Back then, he was a walking migraine. Loud, smug, and constantly testing your patience like it was a graded subject. And oh, he was aiming for an A+.

You had a full-on rivalry. Everyone at Jujutsu High knew about it. Students placed bets. Sides were taken. It was a whole event...Well, from your side, at least. Because Satoru? He was just humoring you. Man was in love with you the whole time. While you were plotting his downfall, he was planning your wedding.

While you were chasing him down hallways, throwing books, shoes, maybe even a chair or two, he was dodging like it was training, grinning the whole time and daydreaming about what your kids might look like (he’s hoping they take your face and his charm).

You were gasping for air, trying to keep up with his long-ass strides, and he’d look back with that smug grin and say, “Aw, tired already?” Meanwhile, he was secretly picking out baby names and wondering if your future kids would inherit your temper or his sarcasm. (He’s hoping for both.)

And now? Now you’re strutting into his clan meetings ready to go to war for him without a second thought, roasting anyone who even breathes wrong in his direction. Character development? Nah. This is a whole arc.

Things have reached a point where this has become such a normal part of your lives that it’s turned into an inside joke….how Satoru’s just using you to heal his inner child.

Later that night, after the meeting (and the drive-thru stop for Satoru’s beloved nuggies, of course), the two of you flop down onto the couch. Satoru’s head lands in your lap, and your hand instinctively finds his hair, fingers gliding gently through his scalp, something he absolutely adores.

“You were so hot back there,” he mumbles around a fry, looking up at you with so much love and admiration it almost makes you blush. “You cussed out my clan like a whole goddess. I think I fell in love again.”

You roll your eyes, brushing a crumb off his cheek. “Again? You ever stopped?”

He grins up at you, obnoxiously smug. “Never did. Never will. Just figured I’d make it official every now and then. Y’know, because I’m such a romantic guy~”

You chuckle, flicking his forehead lightly before continuing to run your fingers through his hair. “Just admit it. You’re using me to heal your inner child.”

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh, eyes fluttering shut like he’s never been more at peace. “Yeah… but hey! I use you with love, okay? A real, genuine love—AT THAT!”

You snort, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Idiot.”

“Your idiot. Always has been, always will be,” he murmurs, nuzzling deeper into your lap like a satisfied cat.

“Mmhmm,” you hum.

“Promise?” he asks softly, eyes still closed.

“Promise.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[themilfsland]

needy patience

Pairing(s): Mommy!Wanda x fem!reader.

Summary: Mommy Wanda teaches you how to have patience because you have been acting like a restless child lately.

Content: smut with some plot, smutty, top Wanda, bottom reader, teasing, praising, orgasm denial, edging, fingering, mommy kink;

The whole week you've been giving her a brat attitude, not accepting the no's you received, stressing over nonsense, and unfollowing some rules that she especially made for her baby girl. The other night, you even showed her a silly complaint when she said it was time for sleep but the only thing you wanted was mommy touching you. She knows all your needs and she is always available to supply them. Beyond that, she knows what is best for you, even when you disagree, like that exactly night that you didn't listen to her. But, still, she was patient and explained to you it was late and you needed to rest first. You went to bed sulking, she noticed that.

The week passed and here you are, sitting on the couch with Wanda while some random entertainment channel is streaming on TV. Your back dives in her embrace, her arms around you while her fingertips caress your hand. You try to adjust yourself on the couch for the third time until she asks, "What's wrong, detka?", you sign but your voice sounds colder than you expected, "Nothing is wrong.". Wanda is definitely not pleased with your answer, even less the way you've been responding to her lately. "I'm not asking you again.", her fingers that once were tender against your skin, now they’re gripping your wrist a little too tight.

You've been a bad girl and she is getting mad now, but you just don't know how to explain why you are in this moody. You take a deep breath before saying, "Ugh it's these long advertisements every single time, we can't watch five minutes of the show without them popping up.", you try to accommodate yourself again but this time Wanda holds your waist.

She hears your protesting but says nothing about it, instead, she keeps her attention on the TV. You didn’t like that, not at all, she can’t be ignoring you now, why would she do that. You are pulled out from your thoughts when you feel one of her hands reaching inside your t-shirt, scratching your belly skin until her hand grabs your breasts and presses them, by the surprise from her act you couldn't hold a shy whimper. Still with no words from her, she starts playing with your sensitive nipples, pressing between her fingers and pulling a little. You clench your legs feeling your arousal, and you could swear that she gave a smirk noticing how needy you're already becoming.

You shiver when you feel her other hand reaching into your shorts, "What are you doing, Wanda?", you turn your head to the side and lay back on her shoulder, trying to look directly at her face. "I'm gonna teach you how to have patience, detka", she gives you a mock smile but you are not satisfied with her answer, "Teach me? What do you mean by that?". She grabs your jaw and makes you return your head forward, to keep you looking at the TV, "The rules are simple, darling, I'm gonna touch you throughout every advertising period and stop when your silly program gets back. Ohh, and you're not allowed to cum until I say you can".

You already feel dizzy by just hearing these rules, you can't imagine how many times she would edge you, it will be a complete torture. Her voice took you from your thoughts, "Understood?", her fingers press harder your jaw, "Y-yes, Wanda", you sign but she immediately retorts "That's not the name I wanna hear", you whine back feeling the ache between your legs growing, "Sorry, mommy, please".

She released your face and helped you take off your shorts and panties, with the excuse that it would be more comfortable for you. Sitting in front of her again, laying your back on her chest and head on her shoulder, you feel your body burning with the excitement of Wanda finally touching you after this hell week, but you doubt these thoughts when her hands spread your legs. "You're gonna be a good girl for me now, aren't you detka?", she pats her fingertips on your inner thigh, you can only nod and give her a muffled moan, "I need your words, darling", her fingers reaching your troubles folds, "mommy please, I'm gonna be your good girl, I can take it, please", you whimper with the sensation of how wet you already are, maybe you were wrong, the true torture and hell of this week is about to start now.

Wanda keeps acting like nothing happened minutes ago, her unbothered bothers you, her hand rests on your pussy without any movement, but you can feel her fingertips touching lightly your sensitive areas. You're about to complain about the lack of contact when the commercial starts. No words are said except your whining when you feel her fingers rubbing your clit before start giving circle movements. You try to close your legs, but she grabs your thigh before you can do it, "Stay still, detka, legs wide open for me, let mommy plays with you a little bit".

Wanda wasn't joking about the rules after all, one finger easily slip into your cunt, your walls tighten around her, initiating a slow in and out thrustings, "You're being so good for me, darling, but I know you can take more", you moan louder than the volume of the TV when you feel her stretching you out with the second finger. Her ministrations begin to get faster and harder and you try to place your hand on top of her other hand that is gripping your inner thigh to keep you open. You feel your arousal dripping out while her fingers curled inside your needy pussy. She knows that your orgasm is approaching by the way your walls clench around her fingers and your moans are getting desperate, but she didn't have to worry about that because the advertising time ended.

She immediately stops her movements and all you can do is beg her, "mommy please, don't stop, I need you", she thrusts deeper into you and takes out her fingers.The emptiness that is left in your pussy makes you whimper and squeeze her hand that you are holding. You beg again but she shushes your complaints, "shhh detka, the show is back, have some patience until the next play time", her teasing voice makes you move your hip to get any less frustrating contact but as soon as she notices your pathetic acts she slaps your clit. "Don't make me give you a harder lesson, sweetheart. I'm already taking it easy on you", you moan in response, your ached clit is still pulsating because of her slap but the pressure of the palm of her hand resting on top of your pussy makes the soreness a little better, or not.

Another commercial time and the torture begins. Her fingers pushing hard and deep into your helpless cunt. The mess you are doing doesn't even bother you anymore. The wet spot of your arousal would probably be forming on the couch fabric beneath you.

At your third orgasm edging she had to stop before the show came back, "Mommy there's still time, why did you stop? please I need to cum". She pulls her fingers out again, not letting you get any friction with her hand, "I guess you forgot the second rule, darling, no cumming until I say you can", she speaks low, near your ear, making your walls contract the void space her fingers had left you.

It is the fourth time that she is edging you, or even more, you honestly lost the counting, the overstimulation is too much for you to think. Right now the only thing you are able to do is beg, besides, your legs are too weak to fight against her. She notices all that and decides to take pity on you. "You are dripping in my hand and still so tight for me. I can't get enough from you", she praises you and you beg her to let you cum this time. The fingers of her hand that once was restraining your thigh start rubbing your clit. You automatically lean your head on her shoulder, pressing your back on her chest, eyes closed and your mind starts turning off. "Cum for me, detka. Finish the mess you started", you almost came instantly when she allowed you. It took a few more rough thrusting until your orgasm came, you moan louder and feel your pussy getting full of your cum with her fingers still buried inside you.

She can hear your heavy and tired breathing and feels the light twitches your body is giving. An unexpected whimper was taken from you when she pulled her fingers out, leaving your soaked and throbbing core. "You took me so well, detka", she gives you a forehead kiss, "but I hope you learned how important is to have some patience too".

[animasola86]

😈 FORK-TONGUED LOVER

m!demon x f!reader 🔥 very explicit 🔥 words: 7.1k

Your boyfriend is a demon, and while you're not quite sure how that came to be, you are all in now - as he is all into you, literally, using his demonic powers to stretch your body to its limits until he can poke at your soul, eager to devour it (and you) whole.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! Manipulation! Somnophilia! Oral/vaginal/anal sex. Cockwarming! Deepthroating! Deep penetration! Overstimulation! Ceiling sex? (READ ON AO3!)

A/N: The prompt was "demons, manipulation, anal play", and of course I couldn't leave it at that. By the way, this demon doesn't have a name, so you can imagine any character here if you want, in their monster AU of course!

Your boyfriend is a demon. What kind of demon you have no idea, he never told you, and it also kind of doesn't matter. He looks very normal (very hot in your eyes, with that beautiful jawline and those broad shoulders and his muscular but also lean body, so strong and tall, with bulging veins snaking under his tight skin, up and down his arms and legs and over his toned abdomen... uh, where were you going with this? Ah, right, he looks normal...), he also acts pretty normal, like a human would. He's kind and caring to you, but also doesn't shy away from taking your hand and leading you through a crowd, taking control. He makes you feel safe and seen and slightly spoiled.

The first time you realized he might be a little different, was another one of those instances when he took control. In the bedroom. It wasn't even really your first time with him, but that night will always stick in your memory, because it was the first of many amazing love-making sessions that left you so fucked-out you barely remembered your own name. The thing that makes him special is that he can manipulate his body, namely his cock.

When he's balls deep in your fluttering cunt, he can make it bigger, give it ridges and nubs, form it in a way that fills you out completely, that always stimulates all those special spots, leaving you absolutely senseless (in the overstimulated way) and more than satisfied. Best sex you've ever had (at least before you met him because he kept surprising you with new features to his cock every time he penetrated you anew).

He also coerced you to try anal, and even though you weren't one hundred percent convinced about it, he made sure you were ready. You see, his tongue is another great feature about him. When he talked or ate or laughed or even kissed, it was a normal tongue, but when he wanted to use it against you, it became a forked one, long and girthy, a muscle capable of many things, especially diving deep into your yearning holes.

Nobody has ever eaten you out so thoroughly, so deeply before, it's a glorious experience that made you use the Lord's name in vain one too many times (and each time he'd punish you for it, the little hell child that he is, making sure you'd scream his name instead while he bullied your most sensitive areas, relishing in the way your pussy clamped down on his tongue when he spanked your soft ass). Maybe that was why he liked to lick and probe you from behind, seeing your reddened cheeks did something to him.

You were a little apprehensive at first, having him so close to areas nobody's breached before (and that you thought were a little unflattering, to say the least), but he reassured you that he loves every single inch of you and is willing to show you just how much. And then his tongue pressed into your ass, and you forgot to breathe as shame flooded your senses, only to then be replaced by something you can only call madness. Because it drove you mad, in the best way, how he plunged between your tight muscles, how his strong hands held you open for him, how his grunts and groans vibrated through you.

Next thing you knew, he had slipped his cock into your prepared depths, and you'd thought it would hurt with how big he normally was (or could make himself even bigger), but instead of you molding to him, he had molded to what available space you were giving him. And it was a strange sensation. He was filling you out, still stretching your hole and the muscles beyond, but this time he'd made himself longer, thinner, and it kept going, invading your insides like a snake looking for a way out.

You felt your belly bulging, and the first time you saw him rearranging your guts (in the most literal way possible), you were very concerned, your hands swatting at the moving thing beneath your skin, but he only held you tighter, pressed you to his chest, and snapped his hips against your rear, distracting you with hard thrusts that felt so good you forgot about whatever happened inside your body. He was all that mattered, he and his beautiful demonic penis.

And you grew to like anal sex just as much because he really (actually) knew your body inside and out, always making sure you'll get the best experience by allowing him to merge his body with yours. You were thrown from one orgasm to the next, and most of the time the night ended with you passing out from overstimulation (but always with a smile on your face). And sometimes, the night didn't end at all as he kept going even when you were asleep.

He didn't sleep, didn't need to apparently, so he just lay with you in bed and watched you. Sometimes he would read or scroll on his phone, or he'd meditate to the sounds of your soft breaths (and snores). But eventually he'd grow bored, and he'd use you and whatever hole he was keen on invading that night. That man (demon) had stamina, it was insane. That was one of the reasons why you allowed him to do to you whatever he wanted while you were trying to catch some Z's.

The first time you woke up to him tongue deep in your wet cunt had been a little strange, but not completely unpleasant. He'd even asked you if it was okay (after telling you he had to taste you, you looked too delicious, he couldn't stop himself), and you agreed. How could you not. And so he continued to use your sleeping form for his pleasure (and yours, it definitely made for some fabulous(ly) wet dreams).

And you'd think you'd be utterly sore afterwards, but he somehow made sure your muscles were soft and relaxed, no matter how often they'd clench around his appendages. His massages were incredible, be it with his big hands and long fingers, or with his tongue, he just knew how to get rid of those knots (and bruises, though if those were visible to the public eye, he'd usually leave them, making sure everyone knew what you were up to and who you belonged to).

You were his, and you loved it, but at the same time, he was yours too, and whatever you wanted to do, he'd do it with you. He even came to one of those pottery courses you'd wanted to try out or watched that lame romance movie with you. And he never complained, because he knew, once you were back at your shared apartment, you would repay the favor (even though it never felt like that) by giving him something back.

And this is how you ended up on the couch, him lounging with his arm draped over the backrest (while the other hand rubbed over your bare rear), you curled up beside him, small fingers massaging his balls while you tried to fit his cock into your mouth. Sometimes he wanted to challenge you and kept it the way it was, long and girthy, and you'd end up choking with only half of him able to fit while his tip poked at the back of your throat, but most of the time he was more accommodating and made himself a little easier to handle.

He liked your feverish attempts to try to deepthroat him (even though you were never able to hold him for long before retching something awful) as much as your happy little mewls when you managed to fit all of his magically reduced length into your mouth, bulging your cheeks, while your nose nestled in his pubic hair. Tonight, you and him were watching a movie, some mindless action fling he was really into while you'd rather gag on his cock. Though you quickly relaxed on his lap and decided to just cockwarm him while enjoying his warmth and the probing of his fingers.

He always had to touch you, even in public, and it didn't stop at the innocent hand holding you were so fond of. He'd slip his long fingers under your skirt and rub and poke at your drenched underwear, and the moment nobody was looking, he'd dip them into your ready heat, most of the time resulting in you dragging him to a nearby restroom to thoroughly continue this endeavor, but sometimes he'd fingerfuck you right there, either sitting in a booth in your favorite diner or while standing in line for something (and somehow nobody ever noticed your red face or strained noises or the way his hand disappeared under your clothes, no matter how close you were to other people).

He was a master at manipulation, not just his body to fit your needs or to coax you into things you'd never tried before, everything around him seemed to bend to his will – if he wanted to. People moving out of the way when he'd walk with you through crowded streets, waitresses forgetting to charge you for your food, waving you off with a dumb little smile and unseeing eyes (one time you went back there alone and tried to give them the money he cheated out of them, but they couldn't even remember you), and other instances where he played with his surroundings just for the fun of it.

You didn't know how old he was (he looked somewhere between his mid-twenties and mid-thirties, probably depending on what you were in the mood for), and you didn't know much about demons (and somehow you never questioned his existence in the first place), but you would assume he's been around for a while, because it was so easy for him to puppeteer the humans and manipulate the world around him.

Most of the time you didn't mind, he wasn't cruel or condescending, didn't play pranks on people (at least not unjustified), but he'd make people trip when they've done something mean to others, he'd sometimes even help those in need, but those instances were rare and only if he was in a really good mood. He was a demon after all, not an angel.

And he was your demon, devoted to your well-being like no other boyfriend had been before. Not that you had a lot of experience, but you knew this was different, special, and it wasn't just the sex. The whole package. He was perfect, and if he'd ask you to come to hell with him, you wouldn't even hesitate. As long as he stayed with you, always connected, by holding hands or by being buried to the hilt in your cunt or by invading your body in a way nothing else has done before.

How did you meet? You're not too sure, actually, he may have wormed his way into your life on his terms, but you're not mad. You've never felt this loved and appreciated, this happy and satisfied. He may be a puppet master, moving you in ways you may not have initially wanted at first, but as much as he pushes you out of your comfort zone, he stretches it, makes it bigger, includes himself in it (on both a metaphysical as well as a literally physical way). He is a part of you, made a home in your body and in your soul, you became one, and it's everything you ever dreamed of (even though you could never imagine it).

Back on the couch, you're still suckling on his cock, lazily palming his throbbing balls, eyes closed and relaxing, while the TV spews loud action noises through the living room. His fingers are buried in your clenching ass, just resting there, occasionally pumping into your tense muscles a little, reminding you that he's still there. You give him a deep suck in response, and he lets out a content growl.

As you look up from under your lashes, you notice that his eyes are completely black, not just the iris, the entire eye. It's a clear sign for you that he's on the brink of losing his patience, his restraint, the need to ravish you pulsing through him. You shift a little and change position, so you can bob your head. Slowly you start moving, your lips straining around his girth, and as you do, you feel his cock growing.

He's made it smaller to accommodate your mouth, but now he's back to his normal size, maybe even bigger, certainly longer, as you struggle to get all of him somehow stimulated. Your hands are both around his shaft, pushing his tight skin over his hardened core as you suckle hard on his tip, flicking your tongue around and against his slit, tasting those precious pearls of precum, and you try to push him deeper, but as soon as he nudges against the back of your throat, your body convulses and spit fills your mouth.

You lean back with a deep gasp, and it's then that his hands find your head. One hand curls around your neck, the touch is warm, almost scorching, but it relaxes your tight muscles, and his other hand slips into your hair until he grips it in his fist, and when you lean back down to try to deepthroat him again, he pushes your head down, and before you know it you feel your neck bulging against his hand. Panic crashes through you, but he holds you there, soothes your throat from the outside while simultaneously pressing you down with his inhuman strength.

Your lungs are burning, your eyes rolling back, but you don't fight it, you let him do whatever feels right to him, because you trust him not to hurt you. It does hurt though when he starts bucking his hips up and slides his cock deeper into your throat, the fit barely possible you think through all the cotton in your head. He doesn't care, holding you as he fucks your face with quickening thrusts. Wet gurgling sounds echo in your ringing ears, and you have no idea why you haven't fainted yet.

There's a steady warmth rushing through your body as he keeps pumping his definitely elongated cock down your throat, filling you up in ways that don't feel natural. He groans quietly as he holds your head, using you for the hole that you are for him in that moment, and all you can do is take it, endure. You feel frozen in time, barely able to struggle even though the need to breathe becomes bigger and bigger. Luckily you don't gag anymore, how could you in your bound position.

Tears fall from your lashes, your jaw is slack, and a steady stream of drool drips past your swollen lips. And he keeps assaulting your throat, your neck never not bulging with how his cock moves up and down, finding space where there shouldn't be any. You're drowsy, lightheaded, drifting towards unconsciousness, but he never lets you fall over. Instead he doubles his efforts, his hips slamming against your face, his hands tight around your neck and in your hair.

And then, with a low growl that sounds as otherworldly as his cock feels in your throat, he stills deep inside you, your nose buried in his pubic hair, twitching balls pressed to your lips, and you can feel how his cum pulses through his shaft before it spews into your throat, spurt after spurt, sliding down into your stomach without restraint, warm and filling, oh so filling. The wish to taste him comes over you, and he seems to read your mind and slowly pulls back, lifting your head, his hand on your jaw now as he massages it gently.

Your eyes flutter open, and you have them fixed on the long appendage slipping out of your mouth, widening with every emerging inch. It keeps going and going, and when his cockhead finally pops out from between your lips, it still shoots thick ropes of cum onto your face and chin. The first thing you do as your airways are finally freed again is not to take rapid gulps of air, but stare at how his cock morphs back into its original form, still long but not as long, and a bit girthier, the mushroom tip red and glistening, more globs of his spend gathering in his slit.

The sight is mesmerizing, and before you know it, your lips strain around him and lick up those shiny pearls, his taste flooding your mouth, soothing the slight ache you feel as you swallow every single drop. He's eased his grip on your hair and is now caressing you gently as you clean him up, sucking the last remnants of spend out of him as if you've never tasted anything better (spoiler alert: you haven't). Once you're done, you collapse on his lower stomach, breathing deeply, your body coming to terms with the strenuous experience.

Your hands close around his softening dick, and you cuddle it to your warm cheek, giving it a gentle kiss. A low rumble goes through him as he chuckles at that. He keeps stroking your hair, his other hand moving back along your spine to rub between your ass cheeks. You sigh contently when two of his fingers press against your sphincter and inside you, the pressure a welcome change to having your throat filled like this. Closing your eyes, you let him finger you as you snuggle against his groin, small fingers tracing along the veins on his shaft.

He lets you relax a little more, but when you're close to drifting off to sleep, he suddenly pulls his fingers out of you and grabs your waist, and before you know it, you're lying on your back, legs spread wide as he settles between them. His eyes are still all black, and you shiver at the sight. There's always hunger in the way he looks at you, be it now or when you share an innocent moment on your commute to work, he can never hide the fact that he wants to eat you up.

And how he eats you up. Holding your hooded gaze, he leans in and plants soft kisses on your fluttering belly before he moves lower, licking his tongue down your mound, until he leans back and lets you watch how the normal pink muscle turns a deeper red, gets longer and thicker and then forks at the end of it. You've been rightfully scared the first time you've seen that, but as soon as he dipped that strange thing between your folds, you didn't care about its shape any longer.

And you don't care now, except for how it makes you feel. He laps along your seam, slowly parting your folds with a deliberate press of his forked tongue, before he closes his lips around your swollen clit, sucking hard with his tongue nudging at your entrance. The way he moves his mouth fascinates you, he seems to be at all the right places all at once, and all you can do is lean back into the soft couch cushions and let him have at it.

While you mewl and moan as he dips deeper, pressing the eager muscle between your tense ones, he lets out low grunts and groans that vibrate through you, further pushing you towards the edge. Your body is buzzing, and you reach out your hands to slip your fingers into his hair, grabbing a few fistfuls as you buck your hips against his face.

Under your palms, you can feel the little bumps on his head where you know he hides his horns. You've only seen them a couple of times, large and curved and pointy, and after your initial shock, you'd tried to use them as handle bars once – which he quickly prevented, telling you they were too sensitive to be grabbed like that (you were disappointed at first but then realized he was afraid of the strength you sometimes developed during your coupling, and you couldn't blame him, you did break a headboard with your tight grip before, though that wasn't entirely your fault with how brutally he'd hammered into you at that time). You still rub the heels of your hands against the little protrusions. He hums into you at the sensation.

His tongue is buried deep inside you, rubbing at your gummy walls, poking at those special spots, teasing all the way to your cervix (you're sure he's even poked into your womb at some point, but details are all hazy when you're writhing in nothing but bliss at the feeling). You are floating, back arched, hips stuttering, mouth wide open as you moan out his name over and over again. He keeps tonguing your clenching cunt while also teasing your clit, and you know he could do better, but he likes to edge you, keep you in that state where you're too far gone to protest but still nowhere near the realm where you'll forget your own name.

As he huffs and puffs against your sex, eating you up like a man starved, his big hands slip up your body to then close around your breasts. Gentle gropes turn into bruising grips until your hard nipples poke into his palms, and every little touch nudges you a little bit higher. You're wailing now, so sensitive, so needy, and it's that point where he slips his forked tongue out of your core and really sucks on your clit, that long muscle circling your swollen nub and pulling on it, coaxing more breathless cries out of your throat.

Your hands fall from his hair, clawing at the couch instead as you arch and buck against him, your body starting to twitch uncontrollably, and then, finally, with a hard suck to that sensitive bundle of nerves and a tight pinch to your nipples, he throws you over the edge. You come with a wailing scream, body spasming, thighs trembling, toes curling, all air sucked into your burning lungs as the lights explode all around you. He keeps licking at your throbbing clit, hands rubbing over your quivering breasts, his own grunts sending additional shock waves through your core.

He lets you down easy, lapping at the wetness seeping out of your clenching cunt, before he presses a lingering kiss to your inner thigh. Then he leans back on his haunches, watching you, his eyes seemingly even darker, as if feeding off your juices has made him even hungrier, even hornier, and by the look of his cock, he is indeed very aroused. It's bobbing against his lower stomach, standing proud and tall, thick veins bulging under the tight skin.

The sight pulls you from the aftermath of your orgasm, and you sit up slowly, hands reaching out, but he grabs your wrists in his large hand and pushes you back down, hovering over you as he stares down. You struggle in his hold, whimpering quietly, needily gyrating your hips beneath him as you feel his heavy erection on your stomach, so large and warm and already twitching. The only thought in your cloudy head is: I need him inside of me, and you know he wants this too, but he finds equal fun in playing around with you first.

So you wait, more or less patiently, as he watches you silently, his large black eyes boring into your soul, a little smirk playing around his lips. You lick your own, knowing the sight will drive him mad. And indeed it does, when he finally moves, smashing his mouth to yours for a searing kiss that quickly makes your head spin. He licks at the seam of your lips, and you part them, inviting his tongue in, and as it slips into your mouth, you feel it changing, getting longer and bigger, the two thinner ends teasing at the back of your throat.

You let out muffled moans as you try to meet his tongue with your own, and he sucks on it eagerly while still exploring every inch of your mouth. You taste yourself on him, and it only makes you salivate more as you think about where this tongue has been before. It's a messy kiss, hungry and passionate. You struggle beneath him, but his grip on your wrists is unrelenting, his weight on you grounding you, but the feel of his hard cock pressing into your soft belly turns your need into an urge.

His free hand is on your chin, lifting it up while his lips are still suctioned to yours, his tongue probing deeper, and when you feel the telltale sensation of having to gag, he pushes into your throat. Your vision blurs, lungs burn, body convulsing against him, but he keeps going, ignores the spit gathering in your mouth, just drives his tongue deeper down your throat, the muscle not as hard and girthy as his cock, but it's still an invasion you weren't ready for.

He starts moving it back and forth, and the pressure and friction feels like too much. You can't breathe, all you can do is gurgle helplessly. As your eyelids flutter and you look at him (without really seeing him with how badly the black spots dance before your eyes), he presses his lips firmer against yours as if to soothe you, while his tongue slides up and down your esophagus. You feel his hand closing around your neck, applying gentle pressure, the warm sensation making it all a little easier.

But just when you lean into the experience of having your throat tongue-fucked, he pulls back again, his tongue retreating and changing back into a normal size, before he peppers you with soft kisses as you slowly regain control over your breathing. His hum is low against your cheek, and despite the saliva dripping past your swollen lips, you find yourself smiling at him. He kisses your drool away, following the trail down your chin and to your neck, where you feel him nibbling on your fluttering pulse.

He's not a biter, luckily, even though his canines are a little pointier than normal human teeth. Yet he only uses them to tease you, and that he does as he scrapes them along your throat, his warm breaths coaxing a thick layer of goosebumps onto your exposed skin. When he starts working a hickey into your neck, he moves his arms around you and slowly lifts you up. Your freed hands are tingling, but you quickly place them to the nape of his neck to hold yourself up.

Pressing you to his chest, he pulls you into a standing position, before he tilts his body back, and you feel how your feet leave the soft carpet beneath you. Immediately your heart starts racing, and you quickly wrap your legs around his waist, tightening your grip on his neck. He's done this a few times before, always surprising you, but you've thought he would stop doing it after you told him you didn't like it too much. You open your mouth to protest, staring at him, but he only grins, holding you against him as a sudden jerk goes through his body.

And then you find yourself pressed to the ceiling, desperately clinging to him as you squeeze your eyes shut. Without even seeing how far away the ground is, you can feel the vertigo crashing through your stomach. You have a horrible fear of heights, and he knows it, and yet he pushes you out of your comfort zone yet again. A little wail escapes you as he slowly pries your arms away from his neck. His hands move along them gently, spreading them, until he pins you to the ceiling by your wrists in an almost T-pose. You don't even know how he's able to reach his arms so far (he is also levitating, but that doesn't strike you as weird anymore).

If you'd be upside down, you'd be lying on your back with your arms spread and your legs wrapped around his waist, with him hovering over you, holding your wrists tightly. But you're not lying, you're pressed to the ceiling by a strange force emanating from your boyfriend, who basically hangs off you like the demon that he is. Despite the horroresque idea of him crawling along the walls and ceiling like a man-sized bug, you are too aroused right now to think about it.

He leans down (no, up) to plant soft kisses along your jaw, and you start grinding your hips into him, trying to forget the horrible sensation of hanging upside down (you're not upside down, per se, but with your hair falling over your face it sure feels like it). A sudden squeak escapes you when he lets go of your wrists, and you fear the worst, awaiting the inevitable fall, but you remain glued to the ceiling, even without him holding you up. Whatever force he is using, it's strong, and despite staring down now with your eyes wide open, you feel a little more relaxed, trusting him not to hurt you.

His hands move along your body before he carefully pries your legs off his waist, keeping them spread wide (and they'd follow gravity down if it weren't for the force holding them up) as he maneuvers his bobbing cock towards your ready sex. His black eyes are on you as he rolls his hips, his hands finding your face to keep your hair out of it, and you feel his tip pressing against your entrance before you let him in surprisingly easily, the stretch still coaxing a soft moan out of your throat. He keeps nudging his pelvis into you, slowly sinking deeper until he bottoms out completely.

He's not manipulated his cock this time, it's his normal length and girth, shaft smooth except for the bulging veins rubbing against your walls, and you don't complain, he's still way bigger than any man you had before him (not that you had many, but it's enough to make the comparison). Focusing on how he fills you out, you close your eyes and try to ignore your strange position on the ceiling. You feel him leaning in, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth, distracting you as best he can as gravity makes your head spin until you don't know what's up and what's down anymore.

You focus on him, on his gentle caresses, the way he moves his hips back and forth in a slow and steady rhythm, getting you adjusted to his size, but when you feel something curling around your ankle, your eyes fly open. He gives you an innocent smirk, but you already know what's going to happen. Behind him, his tail rises up, a long black appendage that ends in a little upside down heart-shaped tip. With his hands holding your face and his knees pressed to either side of your torso as he pumps his pelvis into you, the tail seems to have a mind of its own (well, it's his mind, but it feels like a third party with how unpredictable it moves).

It slithers up your leg, sending additional shivers down your spine. You're already on the brink with how his cock pushes in and out of your eagerly clenching cunt, mewling and moaning with every thrust, but when you feel that sneaky appendage poking at your sphincter, you almost choke on your own spit. He slows his pumping then, watching you closely, and you wish you could hold onto him, touch him, ground yourself against him, but you're still forced into that spread-eagle position on the ceiling, held by this unseen force, unable to connect – or even protest when his tail suddenly parts your tight muscles and slips into your ass.

All you can do is cry out, eyelids fluttering as he invades yet another part of your body. The heart-shaped tip wriggles its way deeper, carving its way into your tense depths, before it settles inside you while he resumes the constant pounding of his hips. Your head is spinning, not just from your high position and the vertigo assaulting your senses, but from how he plays you with his body parts. Cock sliding in and out, back and forth, rubbing along all the right spots, filling you out perfectly. Tail poking deep, undulating into you while also holding you in place, impaled like a dummy on a ventriloquist's hand.

It's as if you're dreaming, floating (quite literally) at the edge of sanity and pleasure, pushed and pulled without being able to do anything against it. And you love it. Before you met him, you were always anxious, overthinking everything, worrying your little head off. But then he introduced you to this realm of bliss, the head-empty-feeling that made everything so much easier. All you can think about now is him and how he uses you, how he drives his cock and tail into you without mercy, chasing his own orgasm as well as forcing you to feel these incredible sensations that fill your head with cotton.

There's this warmth building up inside you, the telltale sign of your impending orgasm, and you whine and wail under his motions, desperate to be led towards the edge and pushed over, desperate to fly. He watches you as you start to lose it, and his hands move to your waist, fingers digging into your skin, a bruising but comforting grip, and suddenly you're being pulled away from the ceiling, the hard surface you were pushed against is gone, and you are flying, held in the air, impaled by his tail, with his cock still pistoning in and out of you fast and hard, your whole body moving, arms and legs hanging limply, swinging with every deep thrust.

The vertigo grows into that whirlwind of sensations, and you may or may not be turned around, angled this way and that, you couldn't tell, your eyes are closed, and all you can do is feel. Like floating, like burning up from inside, like being filled and stretched. The noises of skin slapping against skin and those traitorously wet squelching sounds dim around you as the air gets heavier. You can barely breathe, your heart is that low thudding noise in the back of your head, your body shivering, lips twitching, and then you come, hard, with a disembodied scream that fills the room and sets the cotton in your head on fire.

He holds you as you spasm, those waves of pleasure burning through your nerves, and you barely register how he pounds into you faster, how his tail slips deeper, pushing against your limits, how he growls into the black void you find yourself in. Then his arms are around you, pressing you to his warm chest, and he gives you that final thrust, burying himself as deep as he can go, as his cock twitches and throbs, and with another low growl that sends goosebumps over your sweat-slick skin, he shoots his load into your convulsing depths, filling you out in a way that shouldn't be possible.

It's so warm, burning you up from the inside, spreading through your body, lulling your overstimulated senses. You're a puppet in his arms, still impaled by his tail as he slowly moves you down – until your curling toes brush against the carpet again. Gently he settles you on the couch, but your head is still spinning, and it's only when he lies down heavily on top of you, pushing you deeper into the cushions, that you regain control over your limbs. Inhaling sharply, your eyes flutter open, and you meet his warm gaze, his eyes no longer black, and his smile is soft – wildly contradicting the way his tail is still moving inside your ass.

But you don't mind. Your shaking hands move up his sides before you hold onto his broad shoulders, feeling his warm skin. Your touch is clammy while he didn't seem to have shed a single bead of sweat despite the airborne acrobatics. An amused little giggle escapes you, and he watches you curiously before he leans his head onto the cushion beside yours, his lips brushing against your cheek. You turn towards him, smiling softly. He leans in and presses his mouth to yours, his tongue persistently pushing between your lips, slowly easing back into needing to touch you and fill you at all times.

As if his tail in your ass and his cock in your overflowing cunt wouldn't be enough.

It's one of the perks of having a demon as your boyfriend. You're never alone (never empty), he's always there for you, even when you have to suffer through those long hours of redundant labor. He'll make sure you can feel him inside you no matter what, even if he's miles away, waiting for you. Be it through those touches you can feel but not see, those phantom caresses he's able to give you, or by stuffing you full of his cum before you have to leave for work, the constant drip into your underwear a gentle reminder of what awaits you once you get home.

You've never been as sex-obsessed as you are now, he certainly opened a few gates you are unable to pass through again or even attempt to close. You're past that. Why would you want to stop those desires either? They are a part of you the same way he is a part of you and you are a part of him. He never officially bargained for your soul, and he didn't have to, you gave it up willingly, to be with him, forever.

Squished into the couch under his weight, you keep kissing him hungrily, slowly fighting your way out of the bliss-induced haze he put you in. He's still on top of you, heavy inside you, his seed slowly dripping from your clenching cunt. There's a strange pressure when his tail forces its way out of your ass, and you know it's slowly retreating back into his body, as he returns to his more or less human form. He always turns back after successfully satisfying his and your needs, almost as if making you believe he never changed in the first place, and him showing you his true self was only a figment of your orgasm-riddled imagination.

But you know better, and it may have scared you at first, but now you can't get enough of all those extra features. You know for sure you could never have sex with another human again, it wouldn't be the same, because only he can meet all your special needs, fill you out perfectly, whatever orifice he desires most in that moment. Just the thought of his magically elongated cock pressing deep into your throat makes you shiver, and the idea of the same cock filling every possible inch of your cunt and further, stimulating every sensitive spot with its enhancements, makes you gasp against his lips.

He is all you can think about. You may be moved by invisible strings, guided into things you never knew you needed, but you don't complain. You want them, and you want him. And you'd die if he ever decided to dislodge his claws from you, if he ever let you go.

Feeling a sudden sadness gripping your insides, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him harder. He strokes your cheek and leans back, his eyes scanning your flushed face. A single tear rolls out of the corner of your eye, and he traces its movement before he leans down and licks it up gently. A shudder and a sob crash through you, your fingers digging into his hair, holding onto him tightly, desperately. His lips move along your jaw until he presses a soft kiss to your earlobe.

His voice is a low hum in your head as he whispers: “No need to be sad, pumpkin. You are mine, and you always will be. There's no escaping me. We are bound by body, soul and... blood...”

A stifled moan escapes you as you turn your head to the side and offer your neck to him. He's never bitten you before, but you know, deep down, like a long forgotten instinct, like a thought he planted into your brain, that it will be the last ritual to properly chain you to him – and him to you. And you want it.

His teeth sink into your soft skin, a sudden cold creeping through your veins, your body twitching slightly beneath him. And as he laps up the blood spilling from your neck, he holds you tightly, his hips rocking gently into yours, reigniting the fire burning within you as you feel his cock expanding inside you, filling you out, further pushing your limits. You can only issue weakened gasps, your mind slipping, a soft smile playing around your swollen lips.

He seals your wound with a gentle kiss, inhaling deeply as he nuzzles your neck, your pulse fluttering against him, and then he starts moving his hips, slow and steady thrusts that bounce you on the couch. Your eyes are hooded, but you can barely see him above you. All you can make out is a black shadow, filling your vision, as he grows on top (and inside) of you, the tail is back to tease your twitching limbs, his horns slip from his skull, brushing against your fingers fisting his hair, his whole body seems to vibrate as he assumes his true demonic form that he's never fully shown you.

And even now you can't appreciate it with how he hammers his cock into you, holds you in his embrace. Your mind is spinning, filled and yet empty, while his low growls mix with your little mewls. He is all around you, inside and out, devouring you whole. And you're here for it. All of it. He could drag you into the lowest circle of hell and you'd just cling to him, unwilling to let go, his to carry around, his to play with. His little puppet, the small human he chose to be his mate.

The soft swish of his wings barely registers as he lifts you into the air again, fucking your body and soul with reckless abandon, taking you to heights (and depths) you've never seen before, stretching you and your comfort zone further and further, invading spaces he shouldn't be able to penetrate. But you are his, every inch of you, every nook and cranny is there for him to fill.

And while he does just that with persistent thrusts of his large cock, you feel your heart swelling as well, beating hard in your heaving chest, beating only for him. Your boyfriend is a demon, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

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[senseiofbullshitarchive]

I think Connie, Jean, and Porco would be the messiest boyfriends. They’re always down to hear the tea and be in peoples business. I think they take three different perspectives on tea (especially work tea).

Jean is by far the messiest of the three. He asks “anything interesting happen at work today” or “what’s new, baby” while he’s rubbing your feet or doing skin care with you before bed. Even though he doesn’t ask directly, you know exactly what he’s fishing for. As soon as you sigh and say “lemme tell you about”, his eyes light up and he smirks. He’ll lay back and let you talk and talk and talk about Linda at work. You can tell him every thing like he’s one of your girls and he’s into it. He sees it as a form of trust but he's also just nosy as hell. He’ll ask questions and engage. He remembers everyone’s names and every single transgression against you. He acknowledges that you’re just venting and that you don’t actually feel angry enough the kill your coworkers. He’ll let you say anything terrible that you need to get off youe chest. You don’t even need to ask “can I say something terrible?”. It’s all fair game to him.

“She sounds like a miserable, dried up, old, hag and she needs to watch herself.”

“That’s right, baby. You tell her.”

“And she wonders why her kids can’t stand her.”

Jean is all up in your work business. He also knows never to repeat anything you tell him. So if you he ever meets the person you’re trash talking, the person will never know that Jean knows everything you’ve told him. He’s cool to play the aloof boyfriend. What’s great about Jean though is that he adopts whatever attitude you have towards these people. At your Christmas work social, he’s polite and professional (read: fake) with Linda. He’ll smile when he needs to and mimics your level of fake. Once Linda crosses a line though, he won’t let her slide. He'll drop the fake smile and put her in her place; never even having to raise his voice. After you guys leave the event, Jean is all “I see what you mean, baby”. Every time you bring up Linda in the future, he'll always mention how awful she was at the Christmas social. Jean doesn't forget.

If you ever stand up to the people giving you shit at work, he will praise you. “Talk yo shit, queen.” Like Jean, please be serious for five minutes.

Connie is similar in the aspect that he wants to hear all the tea too. Connie has a harder time keeping up and following. “Who’s Linda again?” And now your speed running him back through two weeks worth of tea before he goes “oh, oh, oh yeah! Uh hm. I’m following you, babe.” He may interrupt you and egg you on hard at some points. Connie wants the full retelling of the tea. He wants to feel like he was there when it happened. He wants ALL the details and he is quite the exaggerator. “Babe, if that was me, I woulda laid her ass out right there.” Like Connie, please. No, you would not have.

“You let her say that to you?”

“See? And that’s why her husband left her and she can’t find another man.”

“Isn’t she the one that made that nasty ass chili for your work pot luck?”

You have to warn Connie what he can and can’t repeat because if you don’t, he WILL accidentally repeat something about your boss' affair back to them without thinking about it. “Connie, you can’t tell anybody this,” or “I need to say something terrible but you can’t repeat it,” and he knows to lock it away in the vault. He’s very neutral when he meets the people you talk about. Sometimes he might even end the night like “Linda isn’t so bad. I think you misjudged, babe.” Find Connie sitting at a table laughing and drinking with the manager you can’t stand because he gets along with everyone.

Porco is a whole different story. He acts like he doesn’t care about your work drama and at times it may seem like he’s not listening, especially if it’s something you’ve griped about repeatedly, but the man is listening. He’s doing something else, not making eye contact, and giving you short answers while you talk, but he’s listening. If you stop just to see if he's listening, he'll wordlessly look at you and wait for you to continue. If you tell him to repeat whatever you just said back to you, he will sigh and give you a watered down version of everything you said. He will recall stuff you told him weeks ago. Sometimes, if the tea is really good, he'll stop what he's doing and engage, but will still wear that unimpressed look. Spilling work tea or venting to him may get a little frustrating because he frequently advocates for you rocking somebody’s shit. Porco believes violence is the answer to disrespect lol. Linda at work pissed you off? You should rock her shit. You found out your 'friend' started a terrible rumor about you? Crash out and two piece her. Your grandma offended you? Hands rated E for everybody.

“Baby, just rock her shit and quit. I already told you that I’ll take care of you and you won’t have to go back to that shitty place.”

“Knock her ass out and you never have to work again.”

“If I were her, I would be a bitter bitch too if had to look at you all day. (Insert a comment about how hot you are followed by something filthy.)”

How romantic. He’s trying to be supportive, but he just doesn’t enjoy the fact that somebody is ruining your day at a place where you spend so much of your time. He doesn’t think you should have to tolerate disrespect no matter how minor. He constantly advises you to square up with Linda, quit, and become a stay at home partner that lives out their dreams while he provides for you. If you text him while you’re working that you’re getting a headache because of Linda, he will either reply that you should just lay her out or he’ll ask if he needs to come up there. It’s hard to tell whether or not he’s joking.

“Baby, don’t let her disrespect you. Lay her ass out.”

“Do you need me to come up there? We’ll see if she still says that shit with her chest.”

What sets Porco apart from Jean and Connie is that he does not play nice when he meets the people you vent about. When he meets them, he’s a bit standoffish and uninterested. He’s gives a short 'hey' and does not shake hands. Something about how unapproachable he is makes the people you can’t stand vie for his attention. Porco will literally size them, keep a neutral, straight face, and not say a word, but something about that makes people feel like they have something to prove. No matter how much Linda tries to butter him up, he never warms up to her. Like Jean, Porco won’t let backhanded comments slide, but he’s much less pleasant about addressing it. While Jean says “what was that?”, Porco is more of a “fuck did you just say?” kinda guy. Jean will politely and calmly read Linda for filth if she crosses a line with you. Porco is loudly cooking Linda, her momma, her daddy, her grandma, ALL her kids, their kids, and any future kids. And though you’re proud and happy to have a man that stands ten toes down for you, you’re the one who has to show your face in the office Monday morning. As confrontational as he is, he will take a step back and let you handle the people you have problems with. However, if you're nonconfrontational and want him to handle it for you, he will pack them up fast.

[abraxo-official]

Companion rambles: could they operate a vehicle + other random assortment of headcannons

Curie:

Knows every single part of a car. Knows every driving safety rule. Do not let her near a vehicle. Her driving style is mad-max levels of fear. She will giggle and comment about how much fun she’s having, and how she wishes she did this sooner. Danger level: 9/10. You won’t die but you’ll never look at a corvega the same.

Cait:

In trying to hotwire it, will either blow it up or will turn it on for just enough time that the alarm goes off. If she did find a functioning one, it would probably end up in a ditch. Danger level: 7/10

Deacon:

He can drive, but in the same way that a elderly person would: you don’t know if he should be behind the wheel, but goddamn it if he’s not going to Tokyo drift into the last parking spot in front of the super-duper mart. Danger level: 5/10

Danse:

Why concern himself with pre-war ruins that aren’t even technologically interesting? He *technically* can fly vertibirds, but also…heights get to him sometimes. If he did have a car, he would dive super safe and basically act like a midwestern dad. Do NOT try and merge without signaling in front of him. Danger level: 2/10

Mac:

Really good at taking cars apart. Only knows about driving from comics. TBH I think he would be the type to only learn how to ride a bike at 10+ years old. He can’t even start the car. Danger level: 0/10

Hancock:

Would try to drive but would get either lost or just confused after about a half hour. Would probably try to add a bunch of stuff on top, like a missile launcher or a turret. It would be so decked out that it wouldn’t even be functional anymore. Would take joy in doing demolition derbies with Mac. Danger level: 3/10

Piper:

She knows how a car works, but like, only from reading 4 pages of a really old manual when she was board. She claims to defunct know how they work, but has no idea what to do when she lifts the hood. Either causes an explosion or ends up breaking at least one part. Never gets it moving. 6/10

Gage:

He can probably figure it out after about a day or two of trying to compare it to a coaster. When he does start it, I think he would actually hate driving. He’s the sole one in control, with his foot on the gas the whole time, and there is no way in hell he is ready for that. Would probably make up some excuse about how raiders don’t need to use cars to make their points. 2/10

Preston:

The safest driver in the world at first, but then he starts going after bigger things. Trucks would help with transporting supplies to settlements, he argues. If we had a garrison of tanks, imagine how many people we could protect, etc. He’s not wrong, and not bad at driving, but he really needs to stop adopting every bubble-top he comes across. 3/10

Nick:

Can drive. Will drive. Then will have to confront the reality of his muscle memory being from a person he never really was. He’ll still take a spin now and then, especially if going long distances, but he prefers to walk. It’s more….him. 1/10

Longfellow:

Cars, no. Boats? Hell yeah. He’s taught just about every sailor far harbor has. But try to get him to drive on land and he will straight out refuse. It’s not who he is. 0/10

Strong:

No. Car for throwing. Inside small, only for weak human. No need metal shell to go fast. 0/10

Dogmeat:

Sticks his head out the window. Can honk the horn. 0/10

Codsworth:

Listen, somewhere in his programming is knowing how to drive a car. Also how to assemble one from 4 cans and a high powered magnet. Can drive it either completely normal and safe or in a way that would make vin diesel scared. 7/10

X6:

Danger level: 10/10. He would succeed in the way Hancock could not. He turns it into a weapon. Stuff of nightmares. Avoid at all costs.

[biancasaidstfu]

Times like this, I choose to hang on to the facts we have at hand. Right now it is that both Nic and Luke still has exactly 1 post hidden in their Instagram.

Could be the S4 Polin selfie or selfie with Lord Ginger Baba Featherington or it could be the post that confirms Lukola without a shadow of a doubt. Fact is, it's a joint post between Nic and Luke that has been there for months! Both of them are there on each other's grids. Their tags contain Lukola shipper's posts too.

If Luke really was in a relationship with A, I would say the past year has been extremely disrespectful for her and it goes against everything that Nic's image is all about. It also goes against the doting boyfriend image of Luke that we have seen during his past relationships. It goes against what everyone says about Luke being the nicest and kindest person because how can one keep quiet with all the hate that is directed at his supposed "girlfriend"? He isn't dating A. His team had plenty of opportunities to confirm it and if it was true, it would have been less messier and even kinder to A to confirm it instead of saying he is "publicly single".

It's PR. They are only fooling themselves.

Interestingly I noticed that A's displayed post count is 44, but she only has 41 posts on her grid. I think those 3 'hidden' posts are her last posts that she can associate herself with Luke or in an ideal world, those 3 posts are model Collab posts of her's yet to be announced. I am going to start praying that it's bybarely related posts because I cannot handle another implied association with Luke when everyone knows it's all PR.

I am so exhausted from seeing this PR drama play out and I have been through Tomdaya fandom for years! It was never this messy from a PR side. I would rather go through the whole Zendaya and Tom dating other people than whatever this is. Atleast they were genuinely dating other people at one point. And then they broke it off with those people and didn't create a whole salsa with adjacents to fool the fandom. Tomdaya lore is deeeep, but it was never this obviously fake.

Sure, we has Zendaya call him a friend and whatnot. We already had it from Nic's side. It's a common thing when celebrities don't want to confirm their relationship. Fine. But everything else? Come on!

I know legal obligations are in place, but isn't the whole purpose of the legal obligations to ensure that it doesn't get messy like this? PR relationships are usually mutually beneficial which isn't the case here. If the obligations from Luke's side isn't fulfilled, then it might take years to have A satisfied. Lukola was headed towards a launch and then things all of a sudden changed. That indicates a renegotiation so why couldn't Luke's team negotiate better terms then? Better yet, why aren't they doing it now especially when the fandom is outright calling them out? People know it's BS. The only thing they are achieving is having Luke's reputation sacrificed. I think Luke's team in particular dropped the ball in this. Maybe everyone underestimated how things could get out of hand. I think Nic's team and Luke's team do not agree 100% on how to proceed. They need to be on the same page for this to work.

If the latest post was A going rogue, squat her like fly already. Use that as a leverage and just get out of the whole glaringly obvious situation. Hell, just pay her off or have faith in the fandom that they will not believe whatever accusations A comes up with following a Lukola launch.

Any divide between Luke and Nic's fan stems from the papgate. If they rip off the band-aid and launch their relationship, the fandom will protect them. Solo Nic fans and Solo Luke fans will defend them because majority of the fandom dislikes A. It might be messy initially, but it's already messy. Every time they misdirect, it is already messy. They are losing followers and their reputations are taking one hit after the other.

Most of bad that they think might happen most probably has already happened!

I am all for women not being identified simply as someone's girlfriend, but there is also power in being in a relationship. Their is power in finding love and having a stable, happy relationship. We do live in a misogynistic world, but there is power in a man stepping back and proudly cheering on his partner without being salty and insecure about it. Luke already does it. Nic is Luke's biggest supporter. She has protected him as much as she can without associating herself with him. A lot of the hate directed at Luke is because of his PR relationship. Nic and Luke can be power couples of the industry. They already are actually. Sure, most of it is in Polin context, but they are already stronger together than apart. Power couples are goals.

The world is already cynical enough. Luke and Nic doesn't have much to lose by launching their relationship, but they have a lot to lose by continuing this PR narrative.

Sorry for the rant. I just hate it when we are being treated as idiots by the whole PR shenanigans and it has gone long enough already.

We love a good rant around here anon ❤️

[infiniteglitterfall]

friggin faux-Palestinian history, istg

I'm in the middle of writing a post about the difficulties of pinning down details and dates in Palestinian history. This one is just me stopping to vent for a sec.

I came across the Wikipedia page for GUPS, the General Union of Palestinian Students. This is an organization with groups at colleges all over the world. Ish. It's shrunk over the decades.

The page made a bold claim: that GUPS was officially founded in Cairo in 1959, but had really started in the 1920s.

I called bullshit. The only source cited was a dead link to the 2010 version of the SFSU GUPS page, which said the same thing -- no context, no source, and especially, no explanation of how Palestinian student organizing could have started before there were colleges or universities in Palestine.

There were two. They were tiny. And they both taught in Hebrew.

Certainly, there could have been Arab Palestinian students there, who learned Hebrew there, or already knew it.

But were there so many that they started a student group that apparently lasted 35+ years before getting a name??

I could not find one other source for this.

So I deleted it and called bullshit.

Within a day, someone who wasn't even logged in reverted my edit. They told me that I hadn't proven that it was wrong, I'd just said it was illogical.

I started looking up sources and putting together a more detailed edit. In the meantime, I started a topic on the totally empty talk page, politely calling bullshit.

I said that I hadn't been able to find any sources in English OR Arabic that confirmed this claim, and that I thought it was an error made on a dead page.

The same person, now logged in, replied:

"you still haven't refuted the claim. the claim is still on their web page."

BRUH.

IT'S AN ARCHIVE OF A DEAD PAGE. BY DEFINITION, IT DOESN'T CHANGE.

This is exactly how it feels to research any of this stuff.

Every single time, it turns out that people's unsourced online bullshit is absolutely wrong.

Every single time, people just respond by insisting on believing whatever claim some rando made on the internet.

The problem is not that Palestinian history doesn't exist, hasn't been written down, or hasn't been researched. Of fucking course it has!!

(I have literally seen people claiming the contrary in the most wild-ass fucking ways. Supposedly-pro-Palestinian people, acting like Palestinians are wooby powerless fuzzy babbies whose books were all stolen by the cruel Jews 80 years ago, who had no way to replace that historic knowledge, and who have just been standing around ever since. It is the most Western Paternalism shit ever, and it absolutely drives me up the wall.)

The problem is that this is a topic that a lot of people are passionate about. And unfortunately, a whole lot of people are unwilling to back down on literally anything that "feels" pro-Palestinian to them, whether it's true or not.

It's purely going on Vibes, but the Vibes themselves are based on how something compares to the Vibes they get from social media and stuff.

And those vibes are so extreme and vehement that any kind of pushback sounds like You Love Genocide And Kill Babies For Fun.

It's just a fucking vicious spiral.

It's like playing tennis against the tennis-ball-throwing machine. It's not a real game. Nobody is engaging with you. It's just the same shit over and over.

(I was trying to type "shot." But apparently I swear so much that instead of autocorrecting me to "ducking hell," my phone now INSISTS I meant to cuss.)

I ended up getting Google to give me the Arabic for GUPS, and then digging for sources about its actual origin.

It turns out Yasser Arafat formed the Palestinian Students League in Cairo in 1949, and that became GUPS in 1956. This is entirely fucking unsurprising in any way if you know anything at all about actual Palestinian history. Of fucking course he did. This also explains why the first search result I found about GUPS was from the PLO. Of fucking course it was.