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luludeluluramblings · 1 month ago

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tbh I’m more intrigued by the idea of college-age Reader getting pregnant while unmarried still living in the manor and NO ONE has any idea who the father is (maybe she does, but she’s withholding that for now or maybe he’s not in the picture?) and it’s the biggest freak out ever. that just seems so fucking wild and potentially hilarious to me. and nobody noticing she’s pregnant until she’s farther along? or them finding out randomly?? imagine:

damian: you look pregnant. what is wrong with you.

reader: i am pregnant though

the batfam: ????????!!!!!!!!!! and then she proposes that now that she’s old enough and starting a new chapter in her life raising a baby and all she should just move out! (cue everyone disliked that meme)

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Okay, I think I'm about to become a Pregnancy!Reader writer. Which, I'm not mad about. Kind think it would be fun, but I know the trope isn't for everyone. So, if it’s not your thing, I’m sorry.

A/N: Some of this is based off of things from my own pregnancies.

A/N: Oh, no. Frick, I wanna make this a series now. Check the bottom, cause I have a plot idea for this and I want opinions on it. I spiraled, this was supposed to be a quick blurb. I got carried away. Gonna build up to the yandere shenanigans because I’m turning into a writer with a million WIPs.

A/N: Tagging @skay-ali because I like their The Forgotten Daughter series.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Very minor Yandere Themes (like barely there), minor NSFW, graphic descriptions of pregnancy and medical procedures, Vomiting.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You don't really remember that night it happened. But, it only happened once and after you swore you'd never drink again. The hangover after that night had been one of the worst of your short life.

In fact, the sticky feeling between your legs and bitter taste on your tongue had also added to your decision to swear of these college parties. Luckily, you have enough of your memory to remember that you and your partner from that night had both been willing even when wasted. Even if you couldn't remember their name. Or, their face.

It takes you a while to notice. One missed cycle wasn't anything to freak out about, and it was exam season. The stress had probably caused the nausea. It wasn't until you were heading down to breakfast one morning and smelled the burnt eggs in the kitchen that Stephanie had burnt that you realized something might be wrong.

You, of course, ignore it. It was just a fluke. Burnt eggs weren't appetizing to anyone. But, then you nearly faint walking through the perfume section after looking to restock your favorite bottle of scent.

The doctor you finally went to another week later had asked about your cycle and the last time you had been intimate with someone. That's when the reality of things started to set in. You hadn't even thought to do an at home test to check. Your doctor was kind though, saying they could just do a quick urine sample and blood test just to make sure. It might be something else.

The next few minutes felt like ages. But, when the Doctor came back to tell you the positive results you panicked. Not as in panicked as in you broke down, but you threw up a mask. You're good at doing that. You must get it from your father.

When she asks you if this is good news or bad news you can't help, but blurt that it's good. Great even. Which causes her to beam at you. Before you know it, you're being handed a complementary diaper bag with formula and tiny bottles while being given the rundown on your possible due date and future appointments. You nodded you're head along with the information, sliding the paper's into the diaper bag as she hands them to you.

But, then she turns to you with delight and tells you that the Ultra Sound tech has an opening and you're just far along enough they can do your first ultrasound. It'll only be a thirty minute wait.

After nodding along once more, you go back into the waiting room. Holding your new bag with white knuckles and falling into deep thought.

This is happening. But, how? Are you even fit to be a parent? You've hardly ever been loved. How are you going to love someone else? How are you going to do this? What will the family think? What will your few friends think? You don't even remember who their father is. This is impossible. You're not ready. You'll never be ready. That churning feeling is in your stomach again and you feel that single piece of toast you had for breakfast about to come back up.

The thirty minutes fly by with those thoughts in your head. They still swirl in your head as your go back into the ultrasound room.

It's dark, but the tech had few soft lights on in the room. Its actually kind of... cozy.

What's not cozy it the tech telling you that she's going to stick a wand up your bits so you could see the baby. Your eyes screwing shut at the cold invasive feeling.

But, when you open them, she turns the screen for you to see. It's almost amazing how fast the image appears on the screen.

And, their moving. Actually moving. You end up laughing at the sight, causing the screen to flicker and the little blob to move. When the nurse plays the heart beat you can feel yours stuttering in your chest.

Watching them bounce in there with each laugh, it’s easy for the next words to spill out of your mouth.

“Oh, I’m gonna love you.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Every step after that feels remarkably less lonely. It’s not just you anymore. You have someone who you’re going to love.

You don’t bother telling the Family. Bruce would just lecture you on being reckless while the other’s would judge you for it.

Honestly, you don’t care if they did. This is your baby.

Funnily enough, for a house full of detectives and highly intelligent vigilantes no one actually notices. Not even Cassandra. It’s a bit insulting how much they don’t pay attention. But, your symptoms soon make it so you don’t care.

The waves of exhaustion, the way everything smells strong and certain things make you want to gag. Heartburn that burns your throat. The subtle cravings that make you cry when you can’t fulfill them. Thankfully you finished your exams because you were too tired to even move from your bed most mornings due to strange nightmares.

Eventually, someone does notice. And, it’s not anyone you would expect.

Of all things you cried over on the pantry floor, it had to be salt and vinegar chips. They hadn’t been what you wanted, but it was too late to go get french fries and a smoothie at this hour in Gotham. And, you stuffed them down your throat with angry tears.

It was Stephanie of all people to find you. You gave her a sharp glare when she seemed to grow wide eyed. Normally you avoid her gaze, but you were quite pissed about having chips in your mouth and not fries. As her eyes grew wider, your nose wrinkled in further annoyance at her.

Just as you’re about to tell her off, she speaks.

“Do you— um, want something else?”

It’s pitiful how fast your snarl turns into a pleading pout.

“Yes, please. I want fries. I want Jokerized fries so badly.” You practically blubber when she gives you a pointed nod towards the car garage.

It takes you a bit to get off the floor despite the fact that your bump is hardly noticeable, but Stephanie noticed the extremely subtle curve.

“How far?” She asks hesitantly, looking from the bump to your face.

You also hesitant for a moment, looking up at her with tears on your cheeks and a serious look in your eyes. “14 Weeks.”

Her eyebrows raise and a wiry pout appears on her face. “Damn. You’re smaller than I was at that time, so not fair.”

The slightly surprised that information gives you almost makes you pause. But, if you had you would’ve probably toppled back down to the pantry floor.

“Explain on the way?” You ask, still a bit nervous. The two of you had never been close since you moved into the manor less than a handful of years back.

“Sure.” She grins, leading the way.

As you both walk, she whispers. “Does Bruce know?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Ah.” Stephanie managed to hide the winces from you.

When you two finally make into the car, you’re already feeling better about life. You’re about to have your fries, and possibly a shake too. You didn’t expect to have any company, but surprisingly it’s nice.

Stephanie drives, and get the fries to go. Munching on them as Stephanie drives you back to the manor. Her sharing her own pregnancy experience.

"Wait, so Tim dated you when you were pregnant with another dudes kid? Babe, forget being me being small, you got game."

"Damn right I do." She says smugly, stuffing her own fries in her mouth. "So, um, do you wanna talk about what happened with you?"

And, just like that your mood shifts.

"No."

"Oh- Oh! I'm sorr-" She starts up, and you can tell she's assuming the worst.

"Don't you start, Stephanie." You interrupt with a pointed glare. "I don't want to talk about it because it's none of y'all's business."

That makes her cough on her french fry. "Wait, wait, what do you mean? Don't you want help?"

"Nah, I got it." Comes your stubborn reply, glaring out the window as you dip your fry into the cheesecake milkshake.

"... You should tell Bruce." She suggest after a moment of awkward silence.

"What? So he can ignore his grandchild, too?" Your filter is none existent with your hormones all out of wack.

"He doesn't ignore you-"

"Oh, yes the fuck he does." Your firmly state. Growing a bit heated. "Y'all all figgin do."

Stephanie is about to roll her eyes, chalking your words to you just being unreasonable. But, then the thought starts to creep upon her with each passing building when she realizes this is the first time she's actually hung out with you. Ever.

"I'm sorry." She murmurs to you. The silence falling over you both as the cars continues back to the manor.

"... I'm only forgiving you because you bought my fries..."

"Really?! That's all I had to do?"

"What? I was desperate for this- Wait! Hang on. Stop the car. Stop the car-"

"What? Why?! Are you- OH! Fuck!"

You ended up regurgitating up all the fries you had just eaten. Right into your lap.

"Oooo, that's nasty." Stephanie says, cracking the windows.

"Is it bad that I still want to eat them?" You mumble to her, eyeing the remaining fries.

"Please, please, wait till we get back or I'm gonna hurl, too."

"Fine." Comes your reply. Your eyes drifting shut for a moment. "If you tell anyone I'm gonna tell Cassandra about your crush on her."

"How did you- Frick, you are more like Bruce then I realize." Her voice going from panic to begrudging realization.

"Now, that's offenseive."

"Oh, come on. You're kids gonna have some of Bruce's DNA too."

"Eww. Eww. Don't remind me."

The banter between you both coming back with ease.

When you make it back to the manor, parting ways for the night. You feel at ease. You may have made have finally made a new friend in all this and gained a pillar of support.

As you shower and finish off your fries, you can't help but think about the apartments you had been looking at. Wondering what Stephanie will thinking of your nursery ideas.

Down in the cave, Stephanie slowly walks down the steps. Realizing this might have just gotten complicated.

"You okay, Steph?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Soooooo, what if, and hear me out, wee add some baby daddy drama to this?

A/N: Please note, I write a Reader that DID NOT grow up with the Bat Family, which means we could have some really really juicy drama here. But, we could just keep the options limited to just close friends of the Bat family.

A/N: What do y'all think? Baby Daddy drama? One of the Bat Boys the Daddy? One of the other vigilantes? Should I do a Baby Daddy poll? I just feel like this is an opportunity.

A/N: Also, Stephanie was a teen mom in some comics from my research. Which I think adds to this and gives her a better chance of bonding with Reader until shit goes down.

#yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #platonic batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #anon ask #answered asks #pregnant!reader

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 4 months ago

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Do you think it's weird that I was fine with Roxas finding out he was Sora's Nobody in Kingdom Hearts, but Adrien not being what we thought he was triggered my ick factor a lot? Do you think it's because we learned that about Roxas before we had a lot of time to get attached to him?

I was initially going to say that I can't answer this because I've only played Kingdom Hearts 1, so my knowledge of the later games is pretty limited. Then I remembered that my little brother is both obsessed with those games and the Mycroft to my Sherlock*, so I gave him a call and got the expert opinion (and a reminder that I need to play the Kingdom Hearts games so that my brother can talk about them with someone who understands story telling because those games apparently make a lot of... interesting choices.)

Here is the sum of my brother's analysis:

The two properties handled the concept of personhood and artificial beings in such wildly different ways that it would never even occur to him to compare them (though it was an interesting question once posed). A good portion of the later Kingdom Hearts games revolve around asking what a person even is. Should they try to make the Nobodies into people? Do the Nobodies even need to change to be people or are they people already? What makes Roxas different from other Nobodies? These questions start being asked very early on and, for all the story's flaws, you can tell that the writers are aware that they're dealing with a serious topic and that they're trying to do it justice.

Meanwhile, Miraculous introduces artificial beings who don't have true free will and then... completely ignores all of the ethical implications of that plot point. Emilie and Gabriel are good parents. The fact that the heroes have been killing off sentimonsters isn't concerning. Gabriel's commands are just a minor inconvenience to Adrienette and not anything that needs to be explored in a deeper way. He's still totally redeemable and it's fine that Adrien never learned the truth while his father was alive so that he could decide what that meant for their relationship on his own terms.

Given all of that, it's really not shocking that Kingdom Hearts makes you feel invested while Miraculous repulses you because the Miraculous introduced human sentimonsters for cheap shock value to the point where I firmly believe that it was a retcon. Meanwhile Kingdom Hearts planned major elements of the plot around the concept and set it up right from the start of the second game. If Miraculous had done the same kind of thing, then I doubt that most salters would be deeply upset by the concept. They still might dislike it, but it would be seen more as a matter of taste than as a true flaw.

*For those who don't know, Mycroft Holmes is Sherlock Holmes' older brother. Sherlock openly admits that Mycroft is the smarter and more observant of the two siblings. The same can be said of my sibling when it comes to story telling. Everything I can do, he can do just as well or even better. He's never seen miraculous, but knows the major plot beats from a mix of cultural osmosis and reading the occasional fanfic when an author he likes crosses fandoms. He is highly amused that no one he follows does anything save for fix-it type stuff and says it tells him everything he needs to know about canon's writing quality, an assessment I fully agree with.

#tallwriter #ml writing critical #ml writing salt

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seiwas · 1 year ago

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₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love.

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then!

collection masterlist: conversations on love +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity.

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s.

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory.

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t.

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

It starts with the little things.

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23.

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying.

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly.

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy.

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze.

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry.

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji.

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away.

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them.

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in.

A chuckle escapes you.

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone.

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue.

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly).

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing.

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order).

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly.

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly.

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you.

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times.

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick.

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you.

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning.

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage.

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice.

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming.

Is this what it means to be in love with you?

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you.

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing.

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there.

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will.

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen.

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin.

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own.

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old.

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek.

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this.

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit.

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him?

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score.

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems.

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely.

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing.

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes.

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this.

Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room.

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,�� she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette.

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into.

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it.

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach.

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’.

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age.

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined.

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines.

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students.

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew.

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly.

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy.

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time.

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced.

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen?

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially.

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully.

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared.

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too.

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing.

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile.

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy).

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since.

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly.

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too.

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you.

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked.

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue.

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows.

But it isn’t, and your smile widens.

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does.

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.”

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel.

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you.

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow.

“What made him ask?”

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity.

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.”

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever.

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his.

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t.

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders.

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together.

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks.

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed.

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours.

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17.

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology.

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you.

He says it as if it is the simplest truth.

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll.

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think.

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.

“Something like it.”

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?”

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you?

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’.

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering.

Can he see? You’re meant for him only.

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away.

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other.

You cup his cheeks.

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now.

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering.

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief.

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile.

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips.

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you.

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together.

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips.

You laugh—sprinkled in love.

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!”

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully.

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.”

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks.

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now.

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage.

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should.

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you?

For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give.

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing.

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too.

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface.

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way.

“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry.

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up?

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, “Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging.

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through.

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking.

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving.

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you.

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you.

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with.

He knows it.

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with?

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same.

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak.

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him.

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?)

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today.

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet.

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold.

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you.

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go.

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him.

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it.

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright.

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask.

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more.

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it.

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society.

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much.

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him.

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you.

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips.

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly.

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks.

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching.

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry.

Your grip on him tightens.

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck.

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.”

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder.

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum.

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it.

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even.

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately.

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.”

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune.

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled.

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.”

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding.

You always do.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today.

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane.

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making.

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything.

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over.

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy.

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky.

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life.

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.”

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you.

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way).

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now.

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

He’s shocked too.

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely.

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.”

The little laugh you make has him, completely.

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too.

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’.

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you.

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him.

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently.

The best part about being in love?

He gets to be in it with you.

Gojo can’t sleep.

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will.

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching.

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck.

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m.

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that.

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it.

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island.

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating.

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever.

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling.

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting.

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him.

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain.

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it.

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray.

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too.

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like.

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you.

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek.

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret.

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after.

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already.

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep.

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing.

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin.

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging.

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one.

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone.

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good.

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing).

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs.

(And he loves that about you).

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder.

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill.

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice.

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them.

He knows.

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you.

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only.

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you.

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy.

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides.

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.”

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love.

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night.

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong.

Are you happy with me?

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!! of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #shotorus.writes #col #algorithm pls love me

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callme-darling · 10 months ago

Text

work tensions

or; you’re a prosecutor working a trial vincent is defending and your colleagues get the feeling there’s some underlying tension between the way you’re at each others throats

word count: 3.3k

warnings: smut, like genuinely filthy shit, fem reader, hate sex (kinda), sex in the workplace (so like semi-public ig), vincent and y/n are rivals/enemies, this actually somewhat has a plot lmao, hellllaaaaa tension, so much teasing, degradation (he say slut once), cocky vincent, begging if you squint, throat holding/light choking, fingering, no protection, p-in-v, not proofread, friendly ending (bc i’m a big softie)

a/n: HAPPY VALENTINES DAY LADIES!!!! hope you enjoy🤍🤍

you were amongst the youngest of the attorneys in the city courthouse. you were fortunate in the opportunities afforded to you, but you also worked your ass off to get where you were today. which is why you, for the life of yourself, can’t understand what the hell you did to earn the contempt of vincent renzi.

from the first time you both stood in the same courtroom, it seemed like his eyes were always set in a hard glare when they saw you. so whose to blame you for reciprocating the hostility? your colleagues usually give you well-intentioned advice to at least talk to him, something you haven’t even done outside of casework. who knows, they’d shrug, maybe it’s just ill-concealed intrigue.

you were young, but you weren’t naive enough to think the esteemed defense attorney didn’t absolutely hate your guts.

some of your colleagues, however, seemed hellbent on taking matters into their own hands after a minor scuffle that left the judge’s office suspended in a tense battle of wills. the case wasn’t even that serious—just a petty case of ‘he-said, she-said’ neighbor dispute. but the simple judge’s meeting quickly fell apart to a dispute that devolved to obviously personal jabs.

when the judge finally had enough, she dismissed both you and vincent from the room with the stern instruction to “talk out whatever issues you two obviously have, and get your shit together”.

you’re on vincent’s heels as he speeds out of the room. as soon as you hear the door click shut behind you, you’re glancing up and down the hallway. vincent runs a hand through his hair, annoyance etched across his features.

“what the hell is your problem?”

you gawk at him, “MY problem?!” you chuckle at his audacity. “you’re the one who started all this-“ you wave your hands in the space between you two like some enigmatic boundary separated you.

his tongue prodded the inside of his cheek, and a roll of his eyes had you seeing red. before you had a chance to properly rip his throat out, an older man poked his head out from another room, face stern as he recommended you find somewhere else to continue whatever dispute you deigned important enough to have a tempermental yelling match in the middle of the office.

with a noise that could only be chalked up at pure irritation, vincent began strutting down the hall. you were quick behind him, wordlessly keeping in step with his long strides. you weren’t done with your conversation, and you’ll be damned if you let him walk away now.

you were in an unfamiliar, and rather desolate, wing of the building when he spun around to face you, his face inches from yours as he ducked down slightly to glare into your eyes. “quit following me like a damn dog!”

your eyes widened before a hard scowl settled on your face. “not until you tell me what your problem with me is.” you fume, “ever since i got here, you have had some personal vendetta against me. you’re going to tell me why.”

his jaw clenched as his eyes scanned your face. “your feelings are hurt because i don’t like you, is that what this is?”

you roll your eyes. “that’s bullshit and we both know it. the truth. now.”

“i need a reason to dislike you?”

“you can make one up for all i care, but i’m tired of your attitude fucking with my job.”

he chuckles dryly, “oh, i see. that’s what this is about.”

your brows scrunch together. at your look of confusion, he takes a step closer, breath fanning your face as he whispers through tight lips, “it’s my attitude fucking with your job, hm? that’s what drives me so fucking crazy- you’re so blind.” he rubs a hand over his mouth, taking a breath before his eyes are hard set on you again. “don’t think i don’t see it—the way you’ve charmed our colleagues, how you bat your pretty little eyes at the judges to get your way-“

you cut him off, disbelief dripping from your words. “excuse me?”

he scoffs, “oh don’t be coy.”

“you know what, vincent,” you clench your fists, nails biting into your palms as they shook, “you can fuck right off.”

you go to turn and walk away, but a thought of venom penetrates your mind and you whip right back around, nearly nose-to-nose as you whisper low, “just say you’re threatened by me next time.”

you watch as something akin to rage flash across vincent’s face. he doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but his eyes bore into yours with a silent threat that chills your spine. his tone is low, dangerous. the rasp makes the hair along your arms stand on end. “i suggest you choose your next words wisely, y/n.”

maybe it was your stubbornness, or a fleeting air of confidence, but you hold his stare, your own voice quieter but just as menacing. “vincent renzi is threatened by the fresh-faced competition and can’t stand the thought that i may be the better attorney.” were you being childish in taunting him? yes, probably. but the months of tension were reaching critical mass, and whatever thoughts crossed your mind were being said.

what had just slipped through your lips, though, was definitely the wrong thing to have said.

a hand harshly grips your bicep as he drags you to the nearest room. he flicks on one set of lights and slams the door shut. he’s fuming, you note. however, you don’t fully register just how angry he is.

he’s silent for a pregnant moment, the air suffocating as he watches you with an analytical glare, his body seemed almost animalistic in how he stalked towards with with silent strides. you feel a new form of anxiety quicken your breathing.

he’s close now, so close you can smell his day-old cologne like it were freshly applied. his voice is quiet, but it makes you jolt under his intense gaze. “you want to know why i hate you so much?”

you feel as though you’re trapped in a stupor, your mind dizzy with this newfound suspense. you give him a small nod, not trusting your voice to remain firm in this intensity.

you swear you feel his lips just barely ghost over your cheek as he speaks, nearly growling in your ear. “i hate you because you’re so infuriating.” he pauses. “the way you walk around the courtroom like it’s yours to own, how you always make the most nit-picky points. and what pisses me off the most, is how i’m so attracted to you because of it.”

you were holding your breath. you felt your mind reeling as silence settled over the room. only the sound of your own breathing and the blood rushing through your veins reached your ears as you held vincent’s gaze.

his ferocity seemed to have diminished a fraction, but his jaw remained clenched. words escaped your brain as you tried to wrack together some coherent response, anything to quell the heat burning you from the inside out.

when no such words came, you decided ‘to hell with it’.

your eyes flicked to vincent’s lips, rubbed a pretty red from his hands and teeth. then you looked back into his eyes. an exchange that required no voice.

‘do it then,’ you silently dared. do it.

and so, he did.

his palm was warm on your cheek, fingers wrapping around the back of your head as he crashed his lips to yours. the force of the kiss had you stumbling back before vincent’s other hand caught your hip.

impatient. that was the best word to describe the way vincent kissed you. you tasted his lips on yours, body humming as you become acutely aware just who you’re kissing. and the mere thought has your thighs clenching together.

there was no room to speak with the way his mouth trailed down your chin, dipping into the curve of your neck. a shudder rushes through your muscles when you feel his teeth nip at the skin of your throat, eliciting a soft gasp to fall from your kiss-swollen lips.

you can feel the faint press of a grin to your collarbone. he coaxed your legs to walk back a few steps, securing your body between the table and his own.

his breath was warm as he spoke against your shoulder, “tell me to stop.” the featherlight touch of his fingers sent jolts of electricity through you as they skimmed down your arms and over your waist. “tell me you don’t want this, and i’ll let you walk out that door.”

your lungs burned when you finally released your breath. you could feel the heat pooling in your stomach, and the deep octave of his voice was doing little to soothe it. you were surprised by your own voice’s clarity, “shut up and kiss me again.”

you felt his body melt deeper into yours as your palms pulled him in by the side of his neck. you allowed yourself to be more eager, greedier, as your tongue teased his bottom lip.

he pressed his hips firmly against yours, his rasping moan nearly making you whimper in response. he was breathless when he pulled away. the pad of his thumb stroked your bottom lip, his own shining with a mixture of yours and his spit.

“i’m going to ruin you..” he murmured, leaning down again, his lips brushing over yours as his thumb holds your chin in place.

you prop your hand on the table behind you, not trusting your legs to hold you for much longer. your voice is meeker this time as you whisper against his touch, “you can try.”

vincent kisses you with an assured hunger. his touch dominating as he grips your hips, the fabric of your skirt gradually bunching in his hold. you can sense the apprehension in him, his internal battle of morals. your hand cradles the back of his head, nails stroking his scalp as you use your other to guide his hand under your blouse. blue eyes meet yours as you chide, “you don’t have to play nice with me, vincent.” the lull of his name from your lips paired with the way you brought his palm to grope at your chest, he needed no more convincing.

“such a little fuckin’ minx.” he muttered under his breath. your skirt was bunched up to your waist, your panties shoved down your legs. he had your back flat on the tabletop, hips slotted between your thighs as his eyes raked over you.

you could feel yourself slowly dripping onto the table below you, cheeks flushed with both lust and embarrassment.

vincent smirked. seeing you laid out like this, on display for him has his dick twitching in his pants. he appraised your needy pussy, a tentative two fingers teasing your folds as your thighs trembled. he watched how you grew shy, hand hovering over your mouth as you whine at the fleeting touch.

finally, you feel the pair of fingers slide into your soaking cunt. a whimper escapes you when he’s knuckle-deep in your clenching heat, the palm of his hand grazing your clit.

his gaze is attentive as he makes note of every little reaction you have to each stroke of his fingers. he bites his lip as he witnesses your eyes softly roll back when his fingers find the spot that has your chest heaving and hips shuddering. he leans down so his ear is next to your mouth, intent on hearing every single needy little whine he lures from you. he presses his lips to yours when he feels you creep up to your climax. “are you going to come on my hand?” his eyes find yours, half-lidded and glassy, and the sight alone makes him groan as his cock aches.

“is this all it takes to have you all pretty and compliant?” the teasing lilt in his voice only makes your cunt flutter around his fingers. “not so smart now when i have two fingers in this little pussy of yours, hm?”

you swear you felt like you were going to pass out. the combination of his fingers and palm against your pussy, his degrading mocking, and taunting eyes has you keening under him in a newfound desperation as you teetered precariously on the edge. so, so close to being rendered incoherent with only two fingers.

his touch leaves you.

you whine loudly, pouting as you attempt to catch your stolen breath. you move to sit up, but a large firm hand across your collarbones keeps you sprawled on the table. you squirm under his hold. “vincent.. why?” under any other circumstances, the needy pitch of your voice would’ve made you cringe, but your depravity gave you little to care about aside from satisfying your incessant lust right now.

his voice was sickeningly taunting as he cooed down at you, his other hand brushing the hair from your face. “come on, you have to work for it.”

you could feel that familiar animosity sit on your tongue, but you hold it. though, based on the sly smile looking down at you, you got the sense he could feel it too.

“how ‘bout this..” he sighs instead. his eyes trailed over your face, blue irises harboring a certain warmth that had anticipation swirling in your stomach. “if you say a simple, little sentence, i’ll give you what you want.”

you chew on your bottom lip, mulling over what was no doubt a trap. “what would you have me say?”

the way his smile widened had your pussy clenching around nothing, the cold air making you shiver. “i want you to say: ‘only vincent renzi can make my pussy this wet’.

“oh fuck y-“

his hand catches your jaw before you could finish your crude remark. his fingers lightly dig into your cheeks as he comes nose-to-nose with you. his voice is dangerously low but a softness keeps to the edges. “would you rather me leave you here, like this? your pussy is practically weeping.” as if to reinforce his words, a hand lightly slaps against your folds. the wet sound had your face turning a new shade of red, lips pouting as his other hand still holds your face close to his.

you don’t say anything, internally battling with yourself. the tip of vincent’s tongue pokes out to wet his lips, your eyes following the minute movement with bated breaths. then his soft voice buzzes in your ear. “c’mon.. just say how i make you drip like a needy slut. let me hear that pretty voice of yours, the one you like to use so much.”

you felt a whine croak in your throat as the hand between your thighs gave your clit another tap. “i’ll give you three seconds.” his low tone warned.

“three..”

you felt your breath stutter, eyes searching his. there’s no way he’s serious.

“two..”

he wouldn’t actually leave you like this, would he?”

“on-“

“okay.” you cut him off, words rushed as you grip the wrist of the hand holding your face.

he peers down at you expectantly. the corner of his lips upturned slightly, and you hated how attractive it was.

“only vincent can make me this wet..” he’s never seen you so timid and meek than in that moment, something that only added to the building heat of the room.

“now, was that so hard?” he quirked a brow, fingers playing with your aching cunt as he notes the way your slick soaks his palm. “you’ve done your part, so be a good girl and take what i give you, yeah?”

you nod dumbly as his hand drops from your jaw. your body felt like it was buzzing, heart hammering in your chest as you watched him fumble with his pants, pulling his leather belt off with one hand.

he plants a searing kiss to your lips, a trained dominance permeating his movements. you moan against him, hips twitching as his pants brush against your bare core. a hand slides between your bodies to free his leaking cock from his slacks. you swallow any sounds he makes as his hand strokes his dick a few times. “you got to stay quiet. think you can handle that?”

you ignore the obvious taunt, hand on the back of his neck as you pull at the ends of his hair. “just fuck me already, vince.”

he chuckles dryly, but you sense the anticipation crawling under his skin. next time, you’ll be the one making him beg.

a drawn out gasp fills the room as you feel him slowly begin to sink into your tight heat. fuck, you felt dizzy as your cunt pulsed, sucking him in deeper.

you both moan in with quiet sighs when he bottoms out. he starts slow, but eventually finds a rhythm that has you whining with each thrust, your whimpers gradually growing in volume as his thumb toyed with your sore clit. he curses under his breath, a large hand gripping the sides of your throat.

his voice was labored but firm, “you want the entire firm to hear how you sound with my dick in you? be quiet.” he warns again.

you try, you really do. your hand is over your mouth, eyes watering with unshed tears as his pace quickens. your other hand flies to his shoulder, nails biting into his shirt in a silent plea. his voice floats back to you. “but staying quiet was never your strong suit, was it?”

“fuck, oh shit-“ you whimper, eyes screwing shut when you feel the start of your orgasm wrack through you. “vincent, please, oh-“ your eyes fluttered as his grip around your neck tightened a fraction.

“i told you, you would eventually start begging.”

you can barely hear him over the erratic pulsing in your ears. your entire body tenses, cunt clenching around his dick like a vice. he hisses above you, teeth gritted as he watches you come undone.

he pulls out of you, stroking himself a few more times before he’s coming on your pussy and thighs.

you lay on the table, breathing hard as you come down from the orgasmic high. you stare at vincent who’s already watching you, breaths sharing a calming rhythm. when you feel more like yourself, you start to sit up. he hands you a box of tissues, eyes daring to glance at the mess he made on you.

you attempt to straighten your blouse, the collar of which looks as though it had gone through a windstorm. your eyes scan the floor for your panties.

vincent’s palm offers the small ball of satin into your fingers. your gaze catches his as he suppresses a grin. “wouldn’t want to be caught without these, would you?”

you glare at him, though it’s void of the usual hostility. you finish straightening your clothes, blouse retucked into your smoothed-out skirt. you turn back to vincent who’s been put back together for a couple minutes already, leaning against the wall idly.

your mind screamed at you to fill the silence, to say something to settle the oncoming disquiet.

to your surprise, it was vincent who broke the silence first. “who would have thought that this is something you’re into?” his eyes appraised you again. there was no adversity in his jest, only a gentle prodding.

“you can’t say that like you didn’t just fuck me the same.”

he nods, toothy grin starting to crack through his lips. you can see the way his fingers twitch, itching to hold a cigarette between them.

“want a smoke?” you offer, testing the waters.

his eyes catch yours, and he holds your gaze for a moment. then the first genuine, true smile you’ve seen from him is directed at you.

“i’d like that, yes.”

#♱₊˚✧ filth .#swann arlaud #anatomy of a fall #anatomie d'une chute #vincent renzi #anatomy of a fall vincent

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agoofyannoyancetolaw · 11 months ago

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forced

a/n: yes this is forced proximity trope. Yes it’s overused. And yes I do in fact love it with my heart and soul. Also this is very rushed cuz I don’t have time for all that build up 😒 and I’m not proof-reading this.

minors DNI

graves and you HATED each other. He always snapped at you, and you never planned on listening. Any time you two managed to even be in the same barrack as each other, hell broke loose, yelling and curses directed at one another being common even on mission since you were the only two commanders on base.

you never listened. It grinds his gears and made him wish he could just look into your head and see why you were so stubborn. But the closest to that he could get was being stuck with you in the training room. Alone. And locked because of some soldiers who decided to pull a prank.

of course he was utterly livid, the feeling of rage filling his mind as he sat in utter silence. Glaring at you from across the room.. yet a deep warm burn coiling around him at the thought of being along, in a room with you, with nobody else around. He could feel himself wanting to fidget or get out of here so bad, the only issue is he couldn’t find out why he was so pissed to begin with.

lost in thoughts; his mind wandered to things that could have pushed him into disliking you, your voice- your stubbornness to keep your men safe- your body under the communal showers? Now he was just being silly! His face flushed bright red when you snapped his back to reality by slipping right beside him silently

“well I think this was your fucking faul-“ he muttered before he was cut off by the feeling of your lips deeply against his, letting out a whimper at the shockingly warm feeling of you pressing him against the wall of the training room. Clearly you were just as pent up as him.

“what was that, graves? Are you gonna complain about being in a room alone with me?” You teased as you tugged down his boxers till his half hard cock sprang out. already leaking pre-cum which you tapped a finger on, making him writhe before he was quickly shut up by the feeling of one of your digits sliding into him without a single warning.

you could barely even prep him before he was begging, grinding against your fingers in search of more as his walls fluttered around your digits and soft pleas and cut off ‘ah’ sounds falling from his lips. His body basically begging for you to just slide into him, begging for anything you could give him as he felt your fingers slide out with a whine, replaced with garbled moans as he felt your girth fill him up- enough that he could swear it was in his throat.

He could barely manage to stroke himself to the thrusts you had set, uneven and without a single rhythm for him to catch up on. Managing to abuse his prostate till he was hazy with stimulation and his cock twitching in his grasp. He could feel his eyes roll up every time you bucked into him, shivers of pleasures rolling over him and accompanied by choked sobs and moans tumbling from his bruised lips. He could barely even think by the time he felt your load paint his walls white. The cold feeling of it dripping out of him just making him whine.

“looks like I win this argument, hm? Isn’t that right?” He could hear you chuckle, cleaning him up with a towel from the training room equipment. Your breath hot against his back.

“y-yeah commander.” He grumbled as he pulled up his boxers. To find the door unlocked- which meant even worse for him, that the shadows had walked in and peaked.

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natsaffection · 1 year ago

Text

Hiii, 22 years old, she/her. I like Women (and I mean Women like 30+ ..ehem my Girlfriend is currently 40🥳) feel free to write me about EVERYTHING! THIS BLOG IS A SAFEPLACE for all Topics! So if you have questions, need advices or just venting, please reach out!🦋

English is not my first language, so please point out any mistakes, thank you. 🙋🏻‍♀️

Lovely Anons: 🐅, 🗿, 💋

M's MASTERLIST:

Do not copy, repost, translate or claim my work as your own! Reblogs are appreciated though. <3

Most of the work is 18+ DNI, so if you’re a minor, do not interact with it!

Series:

[Natasha]: My sweet Baby. (NSFW)

• You took your long awaited four-day vacation, for which you had saved your money for two years. That you had almost no money would be an understatement. You just manage to get through your college with two part-time jobs (for which you get far too little money).So what happens when you meet the most successful CEO in the world in an unknowingly overpriced café?

[Natasha] : Mafias Mistress (NSFW)

• Your life takes a drastic turn when you accidentally meet Natasha Romanoff, who lives a mysterious and seductive life behind her facade. Despite Natasha's initial resistance, your light and attraction ignite a fiery romance that sets both your worlds on fire. But as your love grows stronger, so does the danger, especially when you discover Natasha's true identity. Surrounded now by wealth and danger, you become the new center of Natasha's universe and your bond is put to the test.

[Natasha]: I hate you! (Angst)

• You were glad you escaped the hell trip. Even if it wasn't entirely your merit. You could finally smell the freedom you could only dream of before. However there was one person that disliked your presence since the moment you stepped foot on the campus. No matter what you do, you always get on her bad side. What happens when you find out the truth about her and she about you? Will her rivalry turn into your jobs or will it become something else?

[Natasha]: My sweet Student. (NSFW)

• You read and you dreamed about it. What if you fall in love with your teacher (who is also twice your age) and you can live your dream? She shows you your deepest sexual ideas and lives them out with you. On the shelf with the books and hello reality.

[Natasha]: Kingdom of secrets (NSFW)

• A story unfolds in the realm of celestria in which the younger Princess Y/n Dawn finds an unexpected connection with Lady Natasha Romanoff, the kingdom's revered and feared first female knight. Natasha, a skilled warrior known for her bravery on the battlefield and icy demeanor, is tasked by the king with protecting his daughter. As Natasha watches the princess grow, a complex and unexpected bond emerges between them that transcends the boundaries of age and status.

One shots:

SFW

[Natasha] Trust. (Angst/Fluff)

• You dealing with drug addiction post the loss of your girlfriend, Kate. Natasha aids you through withdrawal, relapses, and recovery.

[Natasha] Together. (Fluff)

• Sugar!Mommy Natasha is helping you through exams

[Natasha]: Afraid of loosing you. (Angst/Fluff)

• Natasha is your girlfriend of two years and is always overprotective over you. So what happens when you both get under an attack which priority it is to kill the black widow?

[Natasha] Paramedic. (Angst/Fluff)

• you have a motorcycle Accident and Natasha is a Paramedic

[Natasha] One step at a time. (Angst/Fluff)

• Natasha and the team help you cope with the loss of your leg.

[Natasha] Lines Crossed.(Fluff) Pt 2 (NSFW)

• Natasha and you are Enemies till you get hurt.

[Natasha] Fury and Friction. (Fluff)

• You both deny your feelings to each other and it leads to Anger

[Natasha] Whatever it takes. (Angst/fluff)

• Football!Player Natasha thought youre playing her and wants to brake your Heart first

[Natasha] I see you. (Angst/Fluff)

• You thought the forced marriage would be the end of you. But it turned into something more.

[Natasha] Walking through Fire. (Angst)

• Natasha can't handle your job and eventually regrets ending the Bond you once had.

[Natasha] Trough Darkness. (Angst/Fluff)

• You and Natasha meet a little girl who will need your help later.

[Natasha] Showing everything. (Fluff/Angst)

• Natasha is supposed to get close to you for an undercover mission. But she falls in love.

NSFW

[Natasha] Apologize.

• Natasha let you apologize to her employees

[Natasha] Reward. | Pt. 2

• Coach! Natasha x Player!Reader

[Natasha] Happy anniversary.

• Sugar!Mommy Natasha celebrates her anniversary with Sugar!Baby Reader

[Natasha] Oh, Baby.. | Pt. 2

• You break Natasha’s first rule. (NSFW)

[Natasha] Teacher!Nat x Teacher!Reader

• In a school where Prof!Natasha and Prof!Reader teach different languages, they have quite the contrasting reputations. Despite their differences, Natasha and Reader engage in playful flirting at work..

[Natasha] Cure.

• You got infected with the sex pollen and a red haired ..acquaintance offers to help you.

[Natasha] Distraction.

• Smutty hate sex with Boss!natasha and her assistant

[Natasha] Hidden.

• Natasha gets to know the real you.

[Natasha] Lesson.

• Jealous Natasha is teaching you a Lesson

[Natasha] The Van.

• G!P Natasha sits you on her member during a trip

[Heated] Heated. PT2

• It's Hate right?

[Natasha] Interrogation.

• Natasha use a different Method to get informations about you

[Natasha] Morning.

• you wake up a little too needy

[Natasha] I'm not going anywhere.

• Bodyguard!Natasha is falling in love with your stubbornness

[Natasha] Mine to Use. Pt2

• you habe to pay off your depths to Natasha

[Natasha] The Ticket.

• The officer had a good offer to let you trough your ticket

[Natasha] Never say Never.

• Your father's best friend, who is twice your age, has feelings for you

[Natasha] Never letting you go.

• You thought you were too late. But Natasha comes back to you.

[Natasha] Relaxing.

• Natasha ka giving you a Massage ans it leads to more.

[Natasha] Footage.

• Natasha fucks you inside the quinjet while the security cameras are filming.

[Natasha] Healing Touch.

• You are faking your orgasm. Natasha is helping you tobget a real one.

Natasha and Wanda:

[Natasha] Reversed.

• Natasha is dommed for the first time.

[WandaNat] Unholy. (NSFW)

• Wanda is a stripper and Nat took an interest in her

[WandanNat] Something different. (NSFW)

• Natasha and Reader are Dating and have a threesome with their friend Wanda

[WandaNat] Save Heaven. (NSFW)

• Natasha and Wanda are both fucking Reader and their Aftercare

[WandaNat] Bond. (NSFW/Fluff)

• Reader is calling out the Safeword

[WandaNat] Truth and Desire. (NSFW/Fluff)

• You got infected with a truth serum and they use it against you

[WandaNat] Helpless Desire. (NSFW/Fluff)

• Tied to a chair, you have to watch them pleasure themselves

[WandaNat] Comfort. (NSFW)

• They Comfort you after a Horror Movie and got inspired by a scene

[WandaNat] Lights out. (NSFW/Fluff)

• You calling your safeword

[WandaNat] The Widow and the Witch. (NSFW)

• The two mafia bosses want to find out who can make you feel better

[WandaNat] At your Pace. (NSFW/Fluff)

• The two women take your virginity and your father comes in

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha smut #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #dom!natasha x reader #natasha romanov smut

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pinguwrites · 1 year ago

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You Set My Soul Alight | Jonathan Crane

Pairing -> sub!jonathan crane x villain!reader

Summary -> You and Jonathan Crane have always been at odds. He's an arrogant asshole and you're a sarcastic shit, and no matter what you always find a way to bump heads. The worst part about it is that deep down you find him brilliant and attractive and utterly intoxicating. One day, Crane comes to you with a plea to enticing to resist, and you find this the perfect opportunity to put him in his place.

Warnings -> smut (minors dni), enemies with feelings, sub!Jon acting like a brat, swearing, dom!reader, degradation kink, ma'am kink, unprotected sex, edging, hair pulling, ball slapping, slapping in general, if you squint real hard Jonathan's lowkey a little sexist, bruce wayne is a playboy, reader's kinda a simp

Word count: 5k

Disclaimer: The Dark Knight trilogy/DC characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

Jonathan Crane glared at you, his piercing blue eyes filled with a layer of contempt and almost embarrassment like he was regretting this entire endeavor. It was delightful, seeing him in this state, and you made sure to enjoy every second of it — the way his cheeks were tinting a light pink, his muscles tensed up and his tone coming out a desperate yet still arrogant plea. Moments like these were rare, and you were ready to savor and drag them out every chance you got.

“I need your help,” he repeated, his tone distasteful like he was swallowing a bitter pill. “I told you, I need more money for my experiments, but I can’t do it without any funding. Wayne Enterprises is hosting a gala next week. All the richest of the city will be there and all of them are looking to donate. Charity, science, whatever will make them look good. I know you’re going, so I’m asking — as polite as I can be — please, get me an invite.”

You tilted your head to the side, eyes trailing off to look at some random painting on the wall. You briefly wondered how he got past your home security, but after a few seconds, you focused your attention back on him. “Sorry, what did you say? Can you repeat that?” you said with a slight grin.

Jonathan pursed his lips. “Don’t be clever with me.” But then he shakes his head and lets his serious facade go. “We both know you have the connections to score another invite . . . Please, my darling.”

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, the way it always did when he called you that. You wondered if he knew just how much you enjoyed it.

“I like it when you beg, it’s always been a good look on you.”

Jonathan smiles. A mock smile.

“Well, it’s true. No point in getting all upset.” You shrug, heading over to your kitchen to get some iced coffee for the both of you. “Tell me, why should I help you? Why should I help the man who has made it his mission to offend me every time we speak?”

You may have been a little unfair in saying that. Sure, he was a brat, but so were you. In fact, ever since you two met you had always been at each other’s throats, demeaning one another, insulting everything from intellect to personality to looks. You doubt your paths would have ever crossed had it not been for your good friend Harley, who introduced you both one fateful summer evening.

You don’t know what went wrong that day. Maybe it was the weather, the exceptionally hot wind that only frequented Gotham once every couple of years, the ones that made the city cranky and sweaty, or perhaps it was simply a bad first impression, the ones that just happened every once in a while. It had happened far too long ago to remember what it was that made you dislike Jonathan so much in the first place, and you were sure it didn’t matter. According to everyone who knew him, he had always been an ass, but he was good company once you got to know him.

Maybe he was. You wanted to figure that out, to peel away the layers of armor. You could be friends, lovers even. He could be yours. Yours to do whatever you wanted with. Yours to put in place, because god knows he needed it.

You weren’t sure when you started to think like this. To grow an obsession, but you did, and you couldn’t stop your feelings now. You didn’t want to stop. Loving Jonathan was too addictive, no matter how much he pretended to hate you — because you knew he didn’t actually hate you. Otherwise, he wouldn’t stop in once every while, under the pretense of snarky put-downs or brags. He wouldn’t graze his fingers with yours when walking by, and he wouldn’t ask your friends (namely Harley) what you did, what you liked, and what you talked about.

“Because deep down,” Jonathan answered, following you into the kitchen, “you know I’m brilliant, and you know I deserve your help.” He accepted the coffee, taking a small sip before continuing, “But you’re too prideful to admit it.”

“Maybe I am, but that’s not a good reason. Deserve isn’t enough, Crane. At least not for me. I know you can do better than this, convince me. That mouth must be good for something.”

Jonathan paused, his tongue briefly sweeping over his lower lip, making it glisten in the light of the lamp. You weren’t sure if the brief silence was because he got flustered, or he was just thinking. “Then do it because you want to,” he finally said. “Because you know my research is important and you care for it, enough to do me this one simple favor.”

“I don’t know . . .” you trailed off in a teasing tone.

It seemed like Jonathan was getting annoyed again. “My dear, won’t you help me?”

“I’m still thinking.”

He groaned. “Pretty please?”

You let out a little sigh, barely audible. “I will. For you.”

That last part had intended to come off as flirtatious and pretentious, but instead, it was soft and delicate, so vulnerable it took you off guard.

“Thank you,” he said, setting his glass down. He had finished all of the coffee, quickly enough so that there were still ice cubes lying on the bottom of the glass. “I’ll pick you up, around four. Who knows, maybe we’ll even have some fun.”

And that was it. He left through your front door without saying anything else, leaving you with thoughts of the gala and what dress you were going to wear.

That next week you had settled on one and bought yourself a burgundy dress, a beautiful shade of red, one like expensive wine or fresh blood, a color that you knew looked good on you. It was a deep cut that went through the valley of your breasts, but if you pressed your arms inwards just slightly, which you fully intended to do, they would push up. It was a look classy enough for a gala, but still seductive enough to garner attention.

Originally, you weren’t going to attend the function at all. This kind of stuff had always been boring for you, even as a child who was forced to go, but if Jonathan was going on your behalf then you sorta had to and definitely wanted to.

A ring sounded through your house. He was here.

You opened the door and took a deep breath once you saw Jonathan. He was dressed in a neat suit, but not like the suit he was wearing when you last saw him. This one was charcoal black, silky, and smooth, with a white handkerchief in his outer breast pocket. His shoes were the same color and looked like they had just been shined, and in his hand was a bouquet of red roses.

“For you,” he said, placing them in your hands. His eyes swept over your figure, and his mouth parted for a moment. “It matches.” You huffed, secretly flattered. “But it’s such a shame.” You furrowed your eyebrows, confused. “Such a pretty little dress wasted on such an ugly little thing.”

You blinked, and then tossed the flowers to the side, letting them fall into a patch of dirt (you were definitely going to pick them up later). “Like you’re such a piece of work.”

“I am,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Men and women love me.”

Despite how attractive you found him, you really didn’t believe that. You were sure his attitude warded most people off, and besides, he was an introvert and a criminal. Dating wasn’t just something people like him did often.

“We’ll see. This gala will be filled with attractive young bachelors. Get one interested in you and I’ll admit you're handsome,” you challenged.

“Admit?” He laughed, a beautiful laugh. “Admit implies that you already find me handsome, you just don’t want to confess so.”

This man needed to be slapped. He needed to be given a good, hard hit across the face.

“You know what? I feel like being alone tonight. I think I’ll just go to the gala without you.”

You were about to close the door, intending to head to your garage, but Jonathan grabbed your wrist and pulled you outside, shutting the door behind you.

“No takebacks. You promised. Where’s your honor?”

“Honor?” You scoffed. “I’m a killer, what did you expect?”

Jonathan must have really thought that you were going to leave because he gripped your wrist tighter. “I’m sorry,” he quickly said. “I’ll be good tonight.” He placed his index finger to his thumb with his free hand and made a zipping motion across his lips. “See?”

“You better be. I’m doing you a favor here. Now, come inside, we’ll take my car—”

“I have a car,” Jonathan said. “I even got us a driver.”

You took a peek over his shoulders. Sure enough, there was a fancy car waiting in the driveway, engine still on. It was difficult to see through the windows but you could make out the faint outline of a man in the driver’s seat.

“If you insist.”

He held out his arm for you to take, and while you did want to, you instead shoved it away. For a moment, you swore a flicker of hurt crossed his face, but it was gone too fast for you to be sure it was even there at all.

“Where’s my invite?” he asked.

“You don’t have one. You’re going as my plus one.”

“As your date?”

“It’s not a date. I thought you said you were going to be a good boy. What’s with all this complaining?”

“I’m not complaining, I was expressing my feelings. You should work on that. As a psychiatrist, I recommend—”

“—I recommend you shut the fuck up.”

Jonathan put his hands up, surrendering, but he did so beaming.

It hadn’t taken too long to get to the party. Traffic was high as always, but time seemed to be flowing faster than ever, despite you and Jonathan staying silent.

When you arrived there was a line of cars. Wayne Manor, a building you had only been to twice before, was still as impressive as you remember. It was a collection of elegant architecture and stonework, with a large wooden entrance that opened up to a main hall. The size of the driveway and front lawn was a bit unnecessary, at least to you, but what else could you expect from old money?

After getting out of the car you were greeted by cameras and reporters, lights flashing in your eyes, but you didn’t bother with them.

Jonathan reached out his hand, and this time you did take it — but only because everyone was watching, and if you pushed him away it would have caused an unnecessary scene. Jonathan’s driver drove the car away for parking and you both walked inside.

The inside was spacious, with chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and people dressed classy, with gloves and diamond earrings, all mingling and chatting with each other about the stock market or their annoying ex-spouse or how it was such a bother when their vacation to Switzerland had to be canceled because of work. There was a tray of snacks and waiters walking around with luxurious drinks, something you immediately took advantage of.

“Thank you, sir,” you said politely, taking a glass of champagne, but before you could take a sip someone called out your name.

You turned around to see Bruce Wayne himself waving over to you, a boyish charm about him. He had two women on his arms, models or prostitutes, or both, you couldn’t tell, but they were drop-dead gorgeous.

Your parents did business with him, and as a result, you met him at a young age. You were never really buddy best friends, but you went to the same school and that was enough for him to invite you to all his parties and greet you as though you were a family friend.

“You know Bruce Wayne?” Jonathan whispered, but before you could answer Bruce approached you both.

“I haven’t seen you around in a while,” he said. “This is Mila and Stephanie. Say hi ladies.” They giggled and waved as he gave the back of your hand a little kiss. “Gorgeous girl. You should wear these outfits more often, you truly look stunning.”

You let him put his arm around your waist, enjoying the compliment.

“Oh, no,” you said modestly. “It’s just a dress.”

Jonathan chuckles. “Ah, don’t be like that, my darling. You look exquisite.”

You all but glared at him. Now he said you looked nice.

“What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” Bruce removed his arm from around your waist and held it out to shake Jonathan’s hand.

“Dr. Jonathan Crane,” he responded, a little tense. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Jonathan’s actually doing some research into brain chemistry,” you said.

“Really? Tell me about it, Dr. Crane,” Bruce said, flashing a charming smile.

“I would,” Jonathan responded, turning to you, “but I don’t wanna bore my girl.”

“Your girl?” Bruce repeated, eyes glancing at you. “ You’re a lucky guy. Tell me how scored such a beauty like her?”

“Oh, it wasn’t that hard.” Jonathan reached around and put his hand on your shoulder. “She was practically falling all over me.”

That was true, but your jaw still clenched. “He likes to exaggerate,” you told Bruce with a little laugh.

“Well, if you ever want to change things up a little, I’m right here.” Bruce winked comically, leaving with his girls.

You could tell Bruce wasn’t joking. It sounded like a serious offer, only told in a joking format so as to not rile Jonathan up, as he was under the impression Jonathan was your actual boyfriend.

“You’re a jealous mongrel,” you told Jonathan once Bruce was out of sight. You both walked over to a more secluded corner. “Can’t imagine the idea of having to share, huh? Had to go and make up stories?”

Jonathan scowled. “He was shameless around you. Be grateful I warded him off,” he said arrogantly. “And it’s not like you guys would have worked out. With what your hobby and all.”

You didn’t say anything. Jonathan was jealous, huh? You know felt a sudden urge to go after Bruce, get a little drunk, and follow him back to his room. It’s not like he wasn’t handsome, he was the most eligible bachelor in the city. And you did like him. He was funny and nice. Plus, you two had known each other for a long while. What a fun trope, especially if it was making Jonathan mad.

“A good fuck needs to work out only for the night.” You shrugged.

“You—you can’t,” Jonathan sputtered out. “You’re here with me, not him.”

“I don’t see the problem. I got you in the door and now you don’t need me anymore. What’s wrong if I have some fun?”

“You can’t.”

You waved him off, though you were enjoying the way he was pouting.

“Brat,” you muttered under your breath.

“I’m not a brat.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Excuse me for wanting to spend the night with you.”

“Then why don’t you act like it?” You grinned devilishly. “Act like you want nothing more than to be here.”

Jonathan’s breathing hitched. Yours did too.

“You want it?”

“Don’t be scared.”

After you said that he didn’t hesitate to lean forward to give you a hard kiss, bringing his hand around the back of your head to push you both even closer together. He pulled away, his face still close to yours.

“Like that?”

“Yeah, like that,” you breathed out.

“I can give you more,” he whispered in your ear, his breath almost ticklish. “I know you want it. Been fantasizing about me all this time, hmm?”

You smiled coyly.

“For me to bend you over like the whore you are—”

“—Careful, Crane. I might just have to slap you.”

“Say it. Say you want me to fuck you. Fucking say it—”

You took a quick glance around the room to see if anyone was looking, which they thankfully weren’t, and then gave Jonathan a quick, harsh slap to the face.

The force of it made his neck turn, and his cheeks immediately turned red. He stayed silent for a moment, looking up at you through thick eyelashes, eyes narrowed in lust. It was all the conformation you needed to grab his chin, lift his face up, and give him another slap.

Before you could say anything else he pressed his lips up against you again, pressing you up against the wall passionately.

You backed away, and he furrowed his eyebrows, but all you did was grab his hand, feeling a frenzy of desire take over you. “Let’s go.”

You dragged him through the sea of people and out a backdoor. There were a couple of people walking around in the garden, but you managed to find a place secluded enough for you and Jonathan. The ground was grassy and soft, and no one was walking by. Even if they did, they’d have to be purposefully looking for you two to see you both behind the trees and flowers.

“Lay down,” you ordered.

He grinned but did as you asked. “Here? Outside? You’re such a naughty girl.”

“Do you wanna wait until we get home?”

“No,” he said, a little too eagerly. “I want it now.” He sat up and tugged on your dress, running his hand up your leg. “You’re so soft,” he murmured, planting a few wet kisses on your thigh.

You sighed contently, enjoying the affection he was giving you. This moment felt like a haze, like the world was just slipping by and you were stuck in time, a feeling that made you wonder if this was a dream or not. The evening sunset and dark sky weren’t helping either. It all felt perfect, too perfect.

“Mmm.” Jonathan reached up and hooked his fingers into your underwear. You snapped out of your trance and swatted his hand away.

“Getting a little touchy there, aren’t you?”

He smirked, looking up at you through thick eyelashes. “Just tryna please you, darling.”

You thought for a moment, then decided that you would let him eat you out.

“Alright then. Please me, Dr. Crane.”

Jonathan’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment at the name, savoring the way it rolled so delicately off your tongue. He lifted up your dress and pulled down your panties. You kicked them off to the side and rested your dominant leg on his shoulder.

He pushed his finger against your folds, making a humming sound. “You’re so wet, darling.”

He leaned forward to suck on your clit roughly.

You lightly gasped at the pleasant sensation, bucking your hips into his face accidentally. You had meant to show more control, but how could you when Jonathan was so hungrily lapping? burying his face into your pussy like he was starved, passionately alternating between licking and sucking.

“Oh, Jonathan.”

His fingers, which had been gripping your hips, moved upward. As he continued to press his tongue against your clit his finger gently prodded your entrance, making sure that you were ready. He pushed his finger, curling it slightly.

You stifled your moans, not wanting a passerby to catch you two in the act, but you were finding it difficult. He kept thrusting his finger in and out of you, adding another one just a minute later.

You threw your head back, eyes shut. You held his head for balance and relaxed, letting yourself go into a peaceful bliss. But then you felt Jonathan’s teeth nip your bud, biting into it deliberately, and you yelped.

Gripping his hair, you forced him to look at you. His mouth and nose were covered in your wetness, and his lips were curving up into a delightful smile.

“What was that for?”

He shrugged. “Mmm, I couldn’t help it, Ma’am.”

Instead of reprimanding him, you took the selfish route and pushed his face in between your legs, grinding onto his lips until you felt that familiar sense of elated happiness. You came all over him, your brain shutting off, or rather, getting overloaded at that euphoric, all-consuming release.

You let go of Jonathan’s hair, but he didn’t pull away. He licked up your cum, making your nerves feel overstimulated, but after he was satisfied, he stopped.

“You like that?” he asked.

“F-fuck, yeah.”

You grabbed your panties and put them back on, much to Jonathan’s dismay.

“Where are you going?” He got up, using his sleeve to wipe off the remaining juices on his face. You could see a tent, his cock poking out from under his pants.

“Home, of course. And you’re coming with me.”

He shook his head vehemently, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his hard cock against your body. “Let’s finish this here. I can’t wait any longer. Don’t make me wait.”

“If you’re a good boy, you’ll wait.”

“I can’t,” he bitched desperately, hurriedly pulling down his pants. “I won’t. I’ve waited too fucking long.”

You grabbed his cock through the fabric, squeezing it tight in his hands.

His face contorted to one of pleasure and pain. “Huh!”

“You think you can just get what you want? After you’ve such a dick? Oh, ‘she was practically falling all over me’. ‘Such a pretty little dress wasted on such an ugly little thing.’”

“C’mon, I didn’t mean it! You looked so beautiful, I was just trying to make you mad. Be nice . . . Pleaseee?”

You gripped it tighter and he whimpered. “See how pathetic you get the moment I show an ounce of authority? How you start to beg? If I say something you do it. Do you understand?” He didn’t say anything, his lips still parted in pain. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes!” he choked out.

You let go. “Good boy. Now go call your driver and ask him to pick us up ‘round back. Unless you want everyone to see your erection?”

You gestured to the front of the manor, where through the bushes you could still see people enjoying the party.

“No, no.” He called his driver, trying his best to cover his erection by interlocking his hands in front of his waist. “You’re a cruel goddess.”

While you two waited for the driver, you peppered sweet kisses along Jonathan’s neck, but when he arrived, you stopped, making him groan at the loss.

Throughout the drive back to your place, you ghosted your fingers over Jonathan’s lap, occasionally resting your hand on his length. Once the driver dropped you both off, you wasted no time in pushing him to your room.

He took off his clothes as did you, his white cock springing up furiously. It was just the right size, bigger and longer than average, almost so that you worried about having to fit it inside you.

His figure was lanky, but still muscled, just the way you thought it would be. You placed your fingers on his chest, twisting his nipples. He shuddered and took off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand. You shoved him down on your bed and he immediately spread his legs, giving you perfect access.

“Want me to suck you off, Jon?”

“Yes!” he said impatiently. “Just do it.”

You spanked his balls with your hand, carefully watching the way they bounced ever so slightly.

“Nghh! I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Do it whenever you feel like.”

Despite his words, you could see him waiting anxiously for you to touch him.

You did so, kissing the tip of his head and running your tongue through the slit, tasting the salty precum he was leaking. He hissed when you took his entire length. “Ah.”

You gripped your thumb so you wouldn’t gag and took him in all the way, hollowing out your cheeks. He thrusted up, deepthroating you for a hot second before he placed his hips firmly against the bed, not wanting to do anything that would upset you.

“So—so warm,” he stuttered out. “Can’t wait to feel your cunt, if your mouth is this fucking good.”

You would have said something, but your mouth was filled, busy bobbing up and down. He squirmed and moaned, shamelessly being as loud as he could. You could feel yourself getting wet again, but you controlled your urges for the sake of Jonathan.

He brushed your hair out of the way, scrunching up his face. “M’gonna — hnghhh — m’gonna come!”

That was when you pulled off of him.

It took a moment for him to realize what you were doing, but when he did, he wasted no time in complaining.

“No,” he mewled, tearing up. “I’ve been such a good boy. Such a good boy.”

“Have you?” You giggled.

“I need you, I need this,” he moaned. “I’ve wanted you so bad — that’s why I came to you, that’s why I came to you and no one else. I didn’t even need the sponsors that bad, I just wanted to see you. I . . . I’m in agony,” he continued dramatically.

“That’s sad.”

More tears ran down his cheek at your nonchalant words. He sniffled. “Please, stop that and just make me come!”

“Okay. I think you deserve it.”

But instead of putting your mouth back on him, you sunk onto his cock, slowly at first, so your pussy could get used to the size.

“Oh, fuck,” Jonathan cursed, placing one of his hands on your waist, his fingers digging into your skin. His other hand went up to play with your breasts, cupping and kneading them like they were pieces of dough.

You started bouncing, a string of incoherent words and moans leaving your mouth. Jonathan sat up and wrapped you in his arms, kissing down your neck as you moved.

“You feel so good,” you murmured, clenching around his cock. “I s-should have done this sooner.”

“Should’ve,” Jonathan agreed. “But — ah — we can always do this more often, yeah?”

Too blissed out to respond with words, you just nodded your head, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

It didn’t take long for both of you to come after that. His hot load spurted inside of you and you came again, but this time on his cock.

He collapsed, exhausted from the sensations.

You slowly got up, letting out a little wince as you felt his length leave you. You cuddled up beside him, caressing his cheek, wrapping you both in the blanket. He looked a little tired, and you didn’t blame him. So were you.

“You set my soul alight,” he said softly. “You always have.”

You wanted to ask him how deep his feelings ran, if this was just sex, or if it was something more, but when he fell asleep on your breast, you dropped the idea. He trusted you enough to let his guard down around you, and for now, that was more than enough.

The rest of the night was spent holding each other in your arms as you slept. When you woke up in the morning, he was still there, snoring softly like he was a peaceful angel.

You pulled him closer to you. “I’m never letting you go,” you murmured darkly. “Never.”

#Jonathan Crane #Jonathan Crane x reader #Jonathan Crane x y/n #Jonathan Crane x you #the dark knight trilogy #fanfiction #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow x y/n #scarecrow x you #cillian murphy #pinguwrites

633 notes · View notes

mdianasims · 4 months ago

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He has traveled around the worlds and collected many memories and keepsakes. He made many friends along the way while he did both mundane and epic heroic things. And in every town there was another lover (or two) to be left behind.

You all know we're talking about Icarus Ibarra, Iker for friends (and he has many - one cheerful introduction and you're BFFs). His recent adventures made him realise that it might be time to settle down. And that doesn't mean he won't be going from world to world anymore. He will, he'd just prefer to do it with that one special someone by his side. And what better way than to find that someone in style?

Watcher Studios Inc presents...

SUBMISSIONS ARE CLOSED More info under the cut.

We probably don't really need to introduce our bachelor, but here's a quick recap:

Full name: Icarus Nicodemo Ibarra Reyes Age: 28 (young adult) Traits: Romantic, Music Lover, Bro, Active, High Metabolism Aspirations: Party Animal, Romantic Explorer Likes: Activities - Dancing, Fitness, Gardening Guitar, Handiness, Mixology, Photography, Snowboarding Colour - Blue, Green, Yellow Music - Alternative, Latin, Latin Pop, METAL, Singer Songwriter We're not sharing compatibility likes/dislikes or turn-on/turn-offs (TOTOs), because that would take the fun out of the challenge.

In case you're not entirely up to speed on Iker's previous adventures, you can find them here.

Still interested? Good. If you want to apply, these are the essentials:

Read the rest of this post carefully. If you still want to enter your Sim after reading, then comment that you want to submit a sim.

I've made another post that further specifies some choices you have. I'm asking you to prepare this before submitting your Sim. That will make it easier for me to play it out when it comes up in my game. I know it looks like a lot, but all you need to do is make a Sim, dress them nicely and make a few choices. Then I'll do the hard work.

This is The Grand Scheme. Save the link, it'll be handy when you create your Sim. And even if you do not intend to submit a contestant, I don't mind sharing my nefarious plans ;)

There's a maximum of 12 participants (and a minimum of 7 or it'll mess up the schedule), first come, first served. One of these spots has been reserved for @zosa95. Because, if I hadn't submitted Iker's sister Neia to Branson's Bachelor Challenge, I would not have had Iker. It seemed only fair to do this in return.

Practical considerations:

No CC (minor exceptions: x and x)

I have all packs except Batuu. As for CAS Kits, I only have Simtimates and Moonlight Chic.

You will need Growing Together and Lovestruck for the personality likes and TOTOs. If you do not have these packs, you can still participate. You just need to let me know how you want to fill these and I can set them for you once your Sim is in my game.

1. Requirements:

Age: Young adult (give a 'real life' age if you like, anything from 18 to 30 is acceptable).

Gender: Male or Female.

Pronouns: No custom pronouns that are intended to be silly (such as 'His Evil Highness' or 'Her Colourful Ladyship' or whatever you would use to refer to your favourite pet (or Sim)). This is basically to prevent me from making mistakes while posting. Too many different pronouns and it's gonna go wrong at some point. Please use something short (and easy to remember).

Sexual Orientation: Must be romantically attracted to and interested in woohoo with men (whatever else you check, is your choice).

Romantic Boundaries: Set them as you like, Iker's player trait should overrule it (if not, I'll set everything to no jealousy).

Occult: Human preferred. No Werewolves, Vampires or Aliens (Iker is still processing the Moonwood adventure, which also made him hate vampires. After StrangerVille, though unfounded, aliens are bit of a touchy subject too).

Traits: Bro and Unflirty are not allowed (there's a rule about bros, and unflirty will just make it incredibly hard for your Sim).

Likes/dislikes:

No more than 2 music likes (because those still dominate wants).

Decor and Fashion are optional (i.e.: Dream Home Decorator and High School Years are not required).

Conversation Topics and Sim Characteristics are required to be set.

TOTOs:

Way of Life and Characteristics are required to be set.

Romance styles: 2 turn ons and 1 turn off, the other 2 will be neutral (I'll do this for Iker too, for a more interesting experience).

Hair Colour: Black hair turn on is advised.

Outfit colour/Fashion categories are optional.

Your Sim can be CAS created or born in game, skills are allowed, there won't be skill based challenges. They can have additional self-discovery traits if you've played them. However: the romance skill and hidden woohoo skill are banned (Iker doesn't have those either, yet) and charisma is capped off at lvl 3.

Fame is not allowed - I'll just keep all Sims out of the spotlight.

2. Outfits:

There will be lots of themed parties, outings and dates, so I've got an entire outfit scheme set up. To give you a chance to express your Sim's personality through their outfit choices (and get creative with NoCC CAS).

First, look up the outfits on The Grand Scheme. Then choose one of the following:

Easy Street: Set your Sim's standard oufit for each category, copy it to all listed slots. Then adjust the two mandatory second outfits.

The Middle Road: Do as above, adjust any other oufits you like.

All the Way: Set all oufits as requested.

Know that not all of these outfits will be used if your Sim is eliminated early on. But hey, at least you'll get a nice NoCC lookbook from it! Another thing to keep in mind (though entirely optional), the show (mostly) takes place in Ciudad Enamorada and Oasis Springs in Spring and Summer. So, big fluffy sweaters might look a bit out of place. If you accidentally use an item from a Kit that I do not have, I will try to replace it with something similar. If you do not set outfits for the themed activities, I will dress your Sim as I see fit.

3. Dates:

For three of the dates, there's a choice to be made by the contestant. Look this up in The Grand Scheme and let me know through DM what your Sim would choose for their perfect date(s).

4. One Final Question:

In case your Sim is eliminated, should they:

be returned to you (I'll save your Sim after elimination and upload the tray files and send you a private link);

live on in my save file;

be deleted;

remain in limbo forever (I'll store the tray files somewhere)?

Not answering this question defaults in the last option.

I know this is a lot. I hope you are not deterred by it. I just want to do something interesting with the new date system. And then this massive plan formed and now I'm stuck with it.

Anyway you have at least until 21 September 2024 to submit your Sim. If you need more time, or I'm not ready with the preparations, that date may move to somewhere in October.

Let me know in the comments and/or through DM if you want to submit a Sim. I'll put your name on the list. If I've added your name to the list and you no longer can/want to submit a Sim, let me know. There might be someone else who can take your place.

If you have any additional questions, do let me know. (if you think I've made any weird typos, let me know as well. I've checked the post a several times, but something might still have slipped).

Thanks for reading and I hope you're as excited about this as I am!

#sims 4 #ts4 #simblr #ts4 bachelor challenge #ts4 lovestruck #iker ibarra #iatw8 #cityinlovebc

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eccentricallygothic · 8 months ago

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Dating Joel Miller

Pairing: Bf!Joel Miller | Reader.

Warning(s): Age gap (reader is in their 20's), allusions to mature activities, mild d/s dynamics, fluff, cg!Joel, Daddy kink, begging, making out. I'll be safe and say minors do not interact.

Setting: TLOU 2.

He's definitely an experience.

Single-handedly rocks your world in more ways than one.

So, so laid-back it's fucking sexy.

Definitely tames the brat out of you.

What he says goes because he's older and knows better.

Or?

You live to learn he was right.

So smug when that happens.

Not very vocal about his feelings but cares for you so much.

The littlest of things that can easily be missed, Joel makes a point of remembering.

Won't ever openly admit it though.

Tough love in an endearing way.

From your favorite snacks to your preferred clothing, to the kinds of flowers or things you like to collect to getting you food whenever he does for himself and picking out the condiments you dislike to being mindful of the drink you prefer with it, he's got it all covered.

A total ass when it comes to training and you best believe he doesn't hold back on it. After everything that's happened, he wants you to be prepared for anything and everything.

Only rolls his eyes and shakes his head when you're being the kid that you are with Ellie and Co.

Simply snorts when you all tease him for being a geezer.

Because he knows that all it takes him is one certain look if it goes too far.

And you are whimpering into your place like a puppy yanked by their leash.

Besides, you can act all high and mighty as you want, Joel knows that the one who will have you all whiny, grabby and mushy underneath them will be him.

Whenever he wants.

You're down so bad for him, oh my God.

He knows it, and that's exactly why he doesn't get riled up when foolish little boys try their luck on you.

Well, that is, not usually.

Loves to tease you and make you beg after you've acted out all day.

"Oh, but I thought I was an old man who 'just didn't get' y'all, huh baby?" And you're a quivering, panting mess with your limbs tangled in his.

Great. Fucking. Kisser.

Hot, sloppy, wet, sense melting, passionate kisses while his calloused hands roam all over you, occasionally squeezing the parts that cause you to make such a huge mess in your pants that he tuts when he feels it through your clothes.

"Noooo, Daddy…" You're literally aching.

"Tell me what you want, baby. Say it for Daddy and he will give it to ya" you are a writhing mess as your hips grind against his and you hump yourself on one of his thighs.

"Please, Daddy… Need you so bad, Daddy… Please use me~" it depends on his mood how he treats you in bed though.

Some days he could be the most tender lover with gentle caresses, featherlight touches, cotton-soft pecks and passionate love making.

Other days include him pressing your face down into the mattress as his huge cock hammers in and out of your leaking slit, rough bites littering your skin as you struggle to breathe through the animalistic fucking.

Nothing gets you to cum harder than when he sometimes wraps his hand around your throat, features stern with all that's taking him not to just obliterate you.

Some days though, he likes to combine the two styles.

Eats you out like a starved wolf.

But can take his sweet time with that as well.

Lets out the deepest, most throaty grunts when you suck his dick.

Has a couple ways of reprimanding you if you're too clumsy and neglectful with yourself.

No one else is allowed to give you any shit though.

Isn't overbearingly domineering at all.

He knows you're young and dumb and will need to make some of your own mistakes to learn.

Always there for you with open arms to console you when you do.

Your silly little friend group definitely knows when to make themselves gone when Joel decides that he's had enough of sharing you for the day and wants you all for himself.

It's always subtle; like a gentle caress on your shoulder or a soft nudge in your side. Sometimes it can be a claiming hand on your lap. And then everyone knows that it's time to scurry out.

Doesn't always play voluntarily.

But when he does, it's for you.

Especially if there's a storm, or you're extra sensitive from playtime, or just emotional in general. Sometimes he's just feeling affectionate.

Will usually deny it like his life depends on it but there are certain songs, a specific range of lyrics and a peculiar sort of tunes that he plays only for you.

Every now and then you crawl into his lap after an intimate session and ask him to teach you how to play a song or two.

Then hours pass with you two just huddled into each other, strumming melodies to life as your naked back presses into his strong chest, your ass fitting perfectly in the crook of his abdomen as he rests his chin on your head and revels in your scent.

Sometimes he slowly cockwarms you in that position as well.

Cannot sleep without you.

He wasn't always like this.

But there's no going back now.

Joel is sure to keep tossing and turning until you're locked up close in his arms.

Your safety and well-being is his top priority.

Always.

Playing TLOU again and boy am I needy for this grizzly bear. Also I haven't watched the show but I love Pedro so yeah. Feedback and reblogs are much appreciated <3

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hopeluna · 10 months ago

Note

hello cupid!!

im here to request steve harrington, 18+, sith prompt 13 please and thank you!!

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 ⋆ ۪ — Valentine's day event ˎˊ˗

Prompt 13: “you’ve never looked as beautiful as you do right now.”

CW: Steve Harrington x fem!reader, 18+ so minors don't interact, sort of a modern au? But its only indicated once, established relationship, Steve is disgustingly in love with us, oral (f receiving), sex (p in v), slight overstimulation, also reader not being insecure of her body cause we bad bitches !!

Word count: 1.8k

⁀➷ cupid: shooting my first arrow in this event, i hope its a good match for u <33

This was either going to be the worst or best idea that you have ever had in your life.

It wasn't like it was your first time here, you've been in the extravagant lingerie shop a couple of times before, out with your girlfriends on a girl's day. But this- this felt different and nerve wracking more than anything because you weren't just buying a set for some impromptu self-love-motivated frenzy for yourself, you were buying it for Steve. On valentine's, no less!

Though your relationship was relatively still new, you weren't necessarily scared at the idea that Steve would dislike this. You knew him, and you knew that he would probably faint with giddiness on sight at seeing you in delicate lingerie. So, that part isn't the problem.

The problem is that you have never done something like this before with him and it was valentine's! A super special day of love- so it really was just the inner anxieties of doing anything for the first time that was bothering you-

"Ma'am, can I help you with anything?"

Your eyes moved to the red haired woman standing before you, looking at you with a polite god-kill-me-already customer service smile. You could see the strain of work in her eyes, making you internally cringe at yourself for standing in front of the store for the past 20 minutes peering inside. She probably thought you were another hurdle between her and her shift ending.

"Oh! I was just- you know, looking for the lingerie shop."

"Yes uh, this is the lingerie shop", giving you another tired smile, she vaguely gestures her hands towards the store sign in front of you.

Right. You are about 2 seconds away from bolting out of here from sheer embarrassment. Bless her, she passes you a sympathetic smile at your obvious embarrassment and nerves,"would you like me to help you look around?"

"Yes, please. That would be great- thank you!"

You follow (Bethany- her name tag says) as she leads you inside the shop. It's minimalistic and warmly lit, the wallpapers a comforting beige colour with white tiled flooring. You're glad that Bethany as her back turned to you when you almost threaten to deform one of the mannequins by bumping into it.

"So, do you have any types or colours already in mind?", she raises a eyebrow at you questioningly over her back.

"Um, not much really. But- I was thinking maybe something in pink?"

She gives you a knowing smile, "valentine's?"

You nod wordlessly, feeling heat creep up on the back of your neck.

You felt like you were going to positively burst out sobbing right there in the middle of the floor. You had been at this for, what? two hours! Probably more than that.

It wasn't like nothing looked good on you, in fact you rather felt hot in every single one of these sets but none of them felt just right and you needed it to feel right in the words of Bethany, "if you don't feel it, its not the one."

Speaking of her, you don't think you could've got through without her care. The initial embarrassment and intimidation had worn off the second she started to help you in choosing with a reassuring sister-like smile. She had also insisted that you call her Betty, cause "Bethany makes me feel like a old woman."

"I got it!", you startle at the said woman speed walking to where you are, a beaming grin on her face and the most beautiful pink set up until now.

You try it on and you instantly have the urge to throw up from how good it looks on you.

It's the perfect mix of sexy and cute, adorned with faded pink lace all over. The garters strapped from the waist to the middle of your thighs make the skin around it spill into a little pudge, something that you know Steve will go crazy over.

"I'm guessing by your face, that's the one." Betty flashes you a cheeky smile over your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the mirror in front.

You inspect the way the cloth hugs your curves with a small smile, "Yup- this is definitely it", you pause for a moment, "do you think he'll like it?"

She only gives you a wink, "he'll lose his goddamn mind, honey."

You tried to repeat Betty's reassuring words in your head like a mantra as you got ready. You rubbed the tiniest bit of perfume, slipped into the lingerie, covered it with a robe, placed the wine out of the cupboard in case it was wanted later and sat rigidly at the edge of the bed for what felt like forever- your ears perked up for any sign of the front door opening.

You almost face plant on the floor at how quickly you get up when you hear the front door open, the clear click of it closing followed by Steve's voice calling your name.

You have to bite your tongue to keep from grinning at the way your boyfriend's face lights up when he sees you make your way to him, your bare feet making soft thumps against the carpet.

"Hey, Steve-" your instantly cut off when he pulls you close to plant a soft kiss to your lips.

"Hey, pretty girl."

Your skin prickles with goosebumps, his hands firmly placed on your waist. Your lips twitch downwards at how weary he looks. Dark patches under his eyes, eyes that seem sunken from being all day at work.

Steve nudges his nose against yours, softly. "You okay?"

You only give him a hum in response, light massaging his tense shoulders absentmindedly. "I got a surprise for you. For valentine's day."

A breathy laugh escapes you at the way his eyebrows shoot up, "You did?"

You nod with a smile, intertwining his hands with yours, gently pulling him into the bedroom. You choose to ignore the adorable way he mutters your name questioningly along the way.

Steve tries to reach for your hand gently when you let go, the both of you now standing at the centre of the room. You take a deep breath in before reaching to pull away the ties of your robe slowly, letting it pool around your feet.

You're not sure how long the silence stretches for, perhaps only a few seconds but it feels like hours. You wince lightly, not being able to help the anxieties that creep up and take root in your mind.

"Do- do you not like it?"

You take in a shaky breath as Steve's eyes widen, looking as if they just broke out of a trance. "What?- no! I mean- yes! Fuck."

You visibly relax when you notice the prominent strain in his pants when he shifts on his feet nervously.

You're about to talk when Steve suddenly pulls you into a heated kiss, nipping at your bottom lip. "Shit, you look good- really good", you smile at the shaky breath he takes in, leaning his forehead against yours.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, baby- you've never looked as beautiful as you do right now."

You tilt your head to the side with a small smile, trying to look into his eyes. "You said that on our first date too-" you huff a laugh at the way his brows furrow, "- and like yesterday too."

Steve gently knocks his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing the seams of the lace of your bra, "not my fault you look beautiful every day."

"Ha! You, Steve Harrington, are such a sap- " the teasing smile on your face falls as his grip on your sides hardens a bit, a yelp escaping you when you fall back gently on to the plush mattress.

"You bully me way too much", the words are muffled from where he's leaving firm kisses on your jaw, trailing down to nip at your collar. Your breath hitches at the barely-there touch of the pads of his fingers on your nipples over the thin cloth. He trails his kisses all over your stomach till his practically laying on his stomach, his breath ghosting over the wet patch on your underwear.

"Ste-ve", a broken, breathy moan escapes you as he pushes the cloth aside to take a hungry lick over the length of your cunt. Your boyfriend's mumbles barely reach your ear when he starts to desperately lick and slurp against your heat like a parched man.

"So perfect, so fuckin' perfect."

Steve reaches his hand up your body to tweak and twist your nipples, paired with a harsh suck of your clit that makes you cry out as your hips subconsciously grind against his mouth. It doesn't take long for you to reach your climax at how messy the whole ordeal is. Steve greedily lapping up the mess, only stopping when you push him away slightly with a whine when the touch becomes too much.

He doesn't take too much time to kiss you hungrily, making you taste yourself on his tongue, before hastily shoving his clothes off of him. Steve shakes his head when you reach to take off yours, mumbling a raspy "want to see you in it on my cock."

That, some how almost makes you want to cum right then and there.

You both moan in unison when he slides in your cunt, the wet squelch sound echoing filthy-ly in the room. Your eyes roll back so hard at the sharp thrusts, Steve snapping his hips against yours in hard, steady but ruthless thrusts- purposefully hitting that one spot inside of you.

The more you whine his name into the thick, hot air; the rougher he gets with powerful thrusts and bites across your neck that he soothes with licks before biting another sensitive spot.

"Fuck." A particular thrust makes you unravel with a moan that sounds like something straight out a porno. You're sure the way Steve grips your thighs at the delicious squeeze of your cunt is gonna leave bruises like hell. You're too fucked out to notice the red crescent shaped marks you left on his arms and back.

Steve kisses you roughly, all tongue and teeth as he comes down from his own high.

He's quick to pull you against his chest when he slumps down next to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, almost as if he is trying to imprint the feel of you skin against his to memory.

You're not quite sure when you both fall asleep, still tangled with each other. But the soft ding! of your phone on the nightstand makes you shift and rub your eyes at the offending morning light filtering through the curtains.

You shift a little bit, only to have Steve's arm tighten firmly around your waist, snuggling into you further with soft snores. You reach for your phone to see that you have 1 unread message on your notifications along with other stuff.

Betty <33

Get that dick, girl! 🎉🎉

#steve harrington x reader #stranger things #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington #steve x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things fic #stranger things fluff #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x y/n fluff #steve harrington one shot #♡! 18+

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itsaspectrumcomic · 2 months ago

Note

On anon bc identifiable info - advice/thoughts? - This is really long, I'm sorry D: I'm a rambler and all the info is important (to me)

I've always had problems with stuff (according to my mom, "things have always been harder for [me] than everyone else") like I'm always the last one out the door, I lose things a lot (like hats and pencils and water bottles) because I set them down and don't realize, I have a lot of trouble doing textbook homework/notes bc I have trouble focusing

And I have a lot of trouble with social stuff, I never have a lot of friends, I can't keep friends for more than like four years, I feel really disconnected with people and people generally initially like me but like me significantly less after interacting with me a bit

I read a lot, and when I was a kid I would lose all sense of reality outside the book until someone touched me or I finished the book, but I've had a harder and harder time reading anything but fanfic as I've gotten older, and I have a lot of trouble reading very technical/instructions/nonfiction stuff

I have pretty bad insomnia, and spent ~2 years when I was 10-13 ish sleeping ~3-4 hrs/night weekdays and ~12 hrs/night weekends, I have a really hard time getting to sleep specifically - and (tmi maybe tw eating) I've had chronic minor eating issues and constipation (chronic minor dehydration, losing ~ 10 lbs over summers from not eating, etc. like I'm not dying or anything but this will probably eventually cause wear damage)

---

But I'm also a very good student, very smart, generally very good at what I choose to do, I just became a National Merit semifinalist, like, I'm doing "fine". I'm not dying, I'm not failing classes or anything, I've struggled since second semester year before last with getting things done, but I have like a 3.7 gpa rn (I could have a 4 if I tried harder (while I am capable of trying harder, it would destroy me))

I was in Gifted + Talented in elementary school, I'm an honors/ap student (my G+T teacher told my mom that the "gifted" basically means "neurodivergent")

---

I didn't get help for anything until last year, when I kinda fell off (as much as you can fall off while getting a 3.7 gpa ig) and got assessed for insomnia, which I got help with pretty easily (apart for waiting times) which was amazing. Almost went too well iykwim

And I was looking into why I was having such a hard time with everything (social, focus, sleep, schoolwork,etc) and I resonated a lot with autism and some of the feeling very disconnected from society/ other people but I was like eeeh, I'm a teen and idk I'm not, like, having it that bad, so I was looking into more quantitative solid stuff and I took the AQ + CAT-Q + stuff which still have very subjective questions but I tried to be honest and I got 32 (AQ) and 139 (CAT-Q) and 157 (RAADS-R) but like idk I could be biased or misunderstanding or idk

I mentioned feeling like I had more, underlying issues to the doctor I'm seeing for the insomnia and she was basically like "I work with autistic kids - you're not autistic" which like on one hand, you're the expert and I've only really interacted with the internet so idk but on the other, you've spent all of two hours with me, mostly asking me direct questions about my sleep or talking to my mother, like, ofc you haven't seen anything of me. Did I make too much fake eye contact with you?? (BTW if you dislike eye contact for any reason, which I always have, look at noses (my mother taught me this one) or hair (my personal fav) bc it looks like you're looking at the face, but you aren't!!)

this is getting very long winded, I'm sorry if you choose to read all this but thank you it means a lot to me to get someone who knows something's thoughts on this

So I was like "I am having other problems" and she was like "I suspect you may have inattentive type adhd" and I was initially like what?? but I'm not hyperactive. Can't have adhd. What. But I've been kinda thinking about it and lurking at the edge of adhd communities and googling stuff (google is not helpful) and maybe? idk

SO to get to my point/question

I'm very smart. (not tryna be conceited it's just I am) I'm not currently *dying* struggling, though I am having trouble staying on top of classwork

I'm a girl

I live in the USA

I'm pretty good at acting normal, I have a couple friends (one has diagnosed adhd, one has diagnosed autism, one I'm not sure, one I think? could be neurotypical? but she's also like really not idk) (I (only?) have four friends (which is a lot, for me))

I don't know if I'm "adhd enough" (or "autistic enough" if I was right initially) ((or both idk)) to get a diagnosis. I have hypermobility that causes issues with my joints and has led to me not exercising enough and having to quit violin but I'm not hypermobile "enough" to get a diagnosis or help for it (which sucks because it's literally affecting my quality of life, like, I could be an amazing musician if I didn't have this. D: )

If I try, will I get a diagnosis, or will I be "adhd, but not enough"? Should I continue to spend (my parent's insurance) money on this if it probably won't go anywhere? I'm currently 17, starting my senior year of high school. Will things get disrupted in transition to college? If I go abroad for college?

Also, will I crash and burn in college without my mother's considerable support? (tw eating again) I have always had a really hard time getting and preparing and eating food, and without her/structure idk how much I will eat. I loose weight over the summer bc we don't eat as a family much. when I'm on my own, will I struggle even more? Especially trying to juggle food and school and living independently? What about after college? My uncle was fine until he graduated college and now he's alone and a misogynist and mormon and lives with my grandma and seems kinda really miserable except way more hate-filled - am I doomed to the same path?

anyways this is really dark I'm sorry

specific questions for you are:

should I pursue ADHD diagnosis? Autism?

is there anything specific I should mention/not mention/think about?

is there anything you think I (+ people in similar situations) should research, any specific sites/books/communities you think would be valuable?

would therapy help with anything? social, focus, etc. (I have not had a chance, and I have been noncommittal at mentions bc. i strongly dislike people, and talking to people, and emotions ): )

are things in general going to get better, or worse? please be honest, not reassuring

If you decide to answer this, partially or completely, thank you, it means a lot to me to get someone else's thoughts on this, if not, I completely understand, either way, I hope you have a good day :)

Hello! A lot of what you wrote feels very familiar to my own experience - I was also considered a good student but found things increasingly difficult to cope with, struggled socially, lost and forgot stuff, couldn't focus etc. You're definitely not alone in feeling this way!

You are not doomed and you are not your uncle. Things can always get better, even when you're at your lowest. You never know what will happen next - you could make a friend, you could discover a new passion, you could be offered a cool opportunity, you could get the chance to pet a really friendly dog. Life isn't a straight line - you might be struggling for a bit, and then some nice stuff will happen, and then you might go through a rough patch again, but then things will improve again and you might feel better than you did before.

For eating when you go to college - identify the foods you generally find easy to make and eat and make sure you have a supply avaliable for when you're struggling. For me, that's pasta (you can get dry pasta which lasts ages in the cupboard, but you could also try fresh ravioli which has stuff inside like spinach or tomato or cheese so it's a bit more varied), crackers, bananas, and breakfast bars. That way if you can't make a proper meal, you at least eat something. Also try to carry a water bottle with you everywhere (if you struggle to drink water you could try flavoured water or juice.) If you forget about needing to eat you could set alarms to remind yourself.

Side note: did you know that hypermobility and autism very often occur together?

Onto your questions:

should I pursue ADHD diagnosis? Autism?

It's definitely worth looking into - I can't guarantee you'll get a diagnosis because it really depends on the person/people assessing you and some are more biased than others (if you're able to choose, look for people who say they specialise in diagnosing women and girls or have positive reviews from people in that demographic). Personally I found it helped a lot with getting accommodations, people understanding me, and understanding myself (even before the diagnosis was official). I will say it's usually quite a long process so be prepared for that.

Btw, you can definitely have ADHD without being hyperactive - that's the inattentive type which is more about trouble focusing.

is there anything specific I should mention/not mention/think about?

Honestly a lot of what you've written will probably come up in an assessment! I had to fill out a form with info about my experiences as a child and the traits I have now, as did my mum. If you're high masking (basically when you try to act 'normal' and hide your neurodivergent traits) do your best not to mask so the assessor gets to see you as you really are.

is there anything you think I (+ people in similar situations) should research, any specific sites/books/communities you think would be valuable?

Untypical by Pete Wharmby is an excellent book if you want to learn more about autistic experiences. The author is autistic himself and has an engaging writing style.

How to ADHD is a YouTube channel that focuses on coping techiques for ADHD and is informative as well.

I've found the autism communities on Reddit to be welcoming and supportive - you might like r/AutismInWomen which is inclusive and accepting of self diagnosis and those who are questioning.

You could also follow some of these people on instagram:

morgaanfoley - posts about her experiences as an autistic person

_ellawillis - posts about autism and ADHD and their daily life

candy.courn - posts about autism and disability as well as how that intersects with their experience as an asian person. Also has the most beautifully pink house

colourblind_zebra - makes cute and colourful art about chronic illness and neurodiversity

elliemidds - posts about autism and adhd and runs a community called We are Unmasked (weareumasked on insta)

itsemilykaty - posts about autism, mental health, and her book Girl Unmasked (which I haven't read yet but is supposed to be very good!)

Side note: I also have an instagram if you'd like to follow :) I'm itsaspectrumcomic there as well!

would therapy help with anything? social, focus, etc. (I have not had a chance, and I have been noncommittal at mentions bc. i strongly dislike people, and talking to people, and emotions ): )

Therapy can help a lot - with the right therapist! Look for people who specialise in neurodivergence, particularly in girls. The best ones are on the spectrum themselves :) It's OK if you don't click with the first one you try. You can 'shop around' until you find someone you're comfortable with (which I know can be exhausting but it's worth it when you find the right one).

are things in general going to get better, or worse? please be honest, not reassuring

Like I said before, things will get better, and then you might struggle for a while, and then things get better again. It comes in waves, at least for me. I know when you're having a hard time it can feel like it's going to last forever, but I promise it won't. There are always bright spots.

#advice #long post #actually autistic #adhd #adhd assessment #autism assessment #recommendations #ask #anon ask #tw eating issues

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faith-forgxtten-land · 10 months ago

Note

Mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mikey mik–

Valentine's Day | Michelangelo

i agree, anon. bayverse again since i might as well complete the set!

warnings: shitty and uninspired title. swearing which i probably should've added to my other pieces too but oh well. everyone is always 18+!! hints of suggestiveness but its very minor. also fem!reader with mention of lady, gal etc. never proofread!!

summary: mikey loves valentine's day; side-note, leo is a communist

word count: 830

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Mikey loved Valentine’s Day. He’d woken up early to decorate the Lair with the most garish shades of pink he could find, and he’d covered Raph in flower petals while he slept, having to cover his mouth with his hand to hold back his sniggers. It happened every year, and every year he found it funnier. His brother’s didn’t. Raph would rage, Donnie would roll his eyes (although he would chuckle a little when no one could hear), and Leo would sigh.

He knew they saw the day as the epitome of a life they could never have. Raph especially found it hard so why not have him concentrate his insecurity and anger at the injustice of the world on Mikey for the harmless pranks he pulled? If it helped him forget the pain inside him for a short while, then Mikey would gladly face his ire. Donnie would just lock himself within his lab (how unexpected), and Leo would pretend nothing was wrong. Leo did that a lot.

The smallest turtle privately thought that their oh-so-Fearless Leader was more emotionally constipated than Raph. Especially on Valentine’s Day. Leo would never admit the real reason for his dislike of the day and Mikey could already hear this year’s excuse:

“Valentine’s Day is a capitalistic endeavour reliant on pressure and novelty, designed to scam consumers and perpetuate the relentless commodification of the self and emotions blah blah blah blah blah…”

Leo always got all preachy after reading. He’d go on rants (“calm and factual explanations that you might actually benefit from listening to Michelangelo”) about two dudes called Marks and Angles (who the fuck called themselves Angles?) and the others would tune him out. Maybe Leo was right, but Mikey didn’t really care. Especially not this year. Unlike his loser brothers, he actually had a date. Mikey resisted the urge to giggle at the thought. Of course, he was the most facially blessed so it would make sense as to why he’d have a beautiful lady accompanying him this evening. Plus, Donnie was a raging nerd, Leo was a fucking weeb, and Raph was, well, he was Raph.

He hadn’t told them yet. You wanted to keep things quiet, at least for now, and the terrapin eagerly agreed to your terms. Silence wasn’t exactly his forte, but he knew how to keep secrets even if his family didn’t believe that. He’d planned the date in secret; he couldn’t be too elaborate, he was still a mutant turtle after all, but he’d done everything he could think of to make it special. He frowned in thought at a fuchsia heart that he'd stuck on the wall. You’d like it. You always liked the things Mikey did; you always laughed at his jokes even when everyone else groaned.

“I’ll love anything you plan, Angelo.” He believed when you said that. You were patient and kind in a way his brothers rarely were with him. That didn’t stop the fluttering of butterfly wings in his stomach. He’d never been one to be nervous, he’d quite literally jumped out of an aeroplane on a skateboard, but you made his palms sweat, his heart jump, and his words stutter. He was normally so smooth with women (or, well, woman since he’d only known April before you but that was irrelevant), yet you made him a flustering mess. He’d never let you catch on to that, though; he preferred if you thought he was just feeling extra goofy in your presence.

“Angelooooooo–”

Speak of the devil. Or angel, he supposed. “ANGELCAKES!” Mikey grinned, hearing Raph curse at the booming shout, then curse again as he no doubt realised what his brother had done for the seventh year running. Last year, Raphael had stayed up all night to avoid the flowers, so Mikey had waited in the shower (also all night) to pop a confetti canon full of petals in his face. He’d probably resigned himself to his fate the night before, but that wouldn’t stop his irritation.

You raised your brow. “Roses again?”

Mikey winked at you. “Carnations. I was on a budget this year, spent all my roses money on this gorgeous gal, you wouldn’t know her.” He grinned wider at your snickers, then somehow even wider as you pressed a kiss to his cheek before anyone could interrupt.

“You’re so…”

“Handsome? Charming? Dashing?”

“Of course, babe.”

God, Mikey loved you.

“YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS NUMBNUTS!”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Run, Forrest, run. Just try not to let him bruise your face.”

“Aw, I was hoping you’d kiss it better.”

You smirked and Mikey felt his face flush as you gave him a sultry look, your eyes tracing the length of his body and pausing pointedly. “How about this, I’ll kiss anywhere it hurts on our date tonight.”

If Mikey let Raph catch him quicker than usual and put up less of a fight than normal, well, that was no one else's business, was it?

#tmnt mikey #tmnt mikey x reader #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt michelangelo x reader #tmnt bayverse #bayverse tmnt #bayverse michelangelo #bayverse mikey #tmnt x reader #tmnt imagine #tmnt #mikey is so cute he needs more love

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nyaagolor · 6 months ago

Text

Bad Polls and the Art of Engagement Bait

So as anyone who follows this blog probably noticed, I posted a poll yesterday. Sorry ace attorney tumblr, it was bait. That was part of a little social experiment to test some theories I had about engagement bait and the tumblr "algorithm"-- and it was a resounding success!! I even made a replicate, that being a similar poll only hours later, which had basically the same result. Somehow. Now that the cat is officially out of the bag, I thought it would be fun to talk about it!

The entire point of this little social experiment was to combine some observations I had about what posts do well, the general attitude of tumblr users, and how to maximize engagement with minimal effort within fandom spaces. Thus, I'm combining all my thoughts into a little guide: how to make the lowest effort, highest engagement post possible:

Recognize that negative engagement on tumblr travels father than positive engagement Tumblr may not have an algorithm, but the system is still set up in a way where negative engagement rewards the poster more than positive engagement. A simple "like" is enough to show agreement or approval, but dissent or shock requires replies or reblogs (the latter of which are significantly more common). More reblogs = more people seeing the post, and thus posts that elicit a negative reaction tend to travel further than positive ones

Capitalize on the fact that people love to bitch about things when given the opportunity Generally speaking, going onto a random post you hate and exclaiming how much you hate it is a bit of a tumblr faux pas. Same thing with venting about how much you dislike something. While bringing up the topic yourself and being snippy to specific people are frowned upon, however, places like polls that provide an opportunity to bitch about things are a great outlet, and a LOT of people will take it

Take advantage of the poll's inherent anonymity This may seem counterintuitive-- the person posting the poll and everyone reblogging it aren't anonymous at all! This doesn't matter though, only the votes do. The anonymity of the votes on a tumblr poll turn the opinions of others, no matter their relative size, into a nebulous opinion of the indeterminate masses. THIS is the most important part of the engagement bait, because tumblr users love to complain but aren't likely to do so to someone directly for fear of hurting their feelings or getting called out for being rude. If you can take a dissenting opinion and remove the actual user from the equation, people are far more likely to share exactly what they think about it-- this is when the "no reading comprehension" and "you people seriously think (X)" and "ugh I hate fandom" takes come out en masse. Tumblr users may be mean, but more importantly we are also cowards. In the case of the poll I posted above, even extremely small minority opinions were being commented on in almost every single reblog, despite the fact that these opinions made up less than 10% of the votes for a majority of the poll's run.

More buzzwords, less nuance Buzzwords and a lack of nuance work together to make engagement more likely-- buzzwords are often both overused and misused, while a lack of nuance (typically in the form of a yes or no question) eggs people into explaining themselves. Combine these two and you add people justifying themselves, arguing with others, and complaining about the buzzword in general into your reblogs, boosting your numbers even more. In my case, I chose the lowest of the low when it comes to poll topics: "Is (recognizable character) (buzzword)?". How people fell for this twice I'm not sure, but it works!

If things are getting boring, stir the pot yourself You can use alt accounts or just make up tags yourself, but I was too lazy to do this. However, there's always the option of cherrypicking-- screenshot outlandish or dissenting tags, even if it's just one in a sea of hundreds, and post that in a reblog with an incredulous caption. Bringing tags to the attention of the majority invites new focus on those tags AND your poll, giving people another outlet to add their takes. Some people will likely even reblog it Again.

Now that the bait is set, watch people in your notes talk over themselves like a flock of seagulls

Congrats! You've now made a successful bait poll. Fortunately or unfortunately, mine worked so well that people fell for it twice, both of them got thousands of votes each within the day, my notifications are overflowing, and popular blogs have made posts referencing it. Point proven, hypothesis verified. As they say: easy website.

#mod vex #what do i even tag this #ace attorney poll experiment

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juyeonszn · 1 year ago

Text

DIVE TO YOU

PAIRING lee sangyeon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 2.61k

GENRES fluff ﹒suggestive

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DNI u already know, roommates to ;) type beat, ummm they’re naked, they are in a bathtub, sangyeon is… wow sangyeon just deserves a warning on his own, he is A Lot, there’s a mention of a voyeuristic moment but it’s nothing crazy, he massages reader, they make out, i tease u all bc i’m evil like that

SUMMARY you’ve never really thought of sangyeon in an explicit way, but now that you’re stuck in this position, it’s going to be difficult for your thinking to go back to normal.

MORE SURPRISE ALLY (@winterchimez) MY BELOVED THIS ONE IS FOR U <<<3 i hope i didn’t kill u </3 this is another request from my 100 followers event! prompts used are: 9, 16, 17 🤞

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs

You hated your job more than anything in the world. It was mind-numbing. All you did was stare at a computer all day and type type type, responding to emails or drafting up documents for your boss. It was exhausting. To be honest, you were sick of it.

But you needed it, unless you wanted to get kicked out of your apartment for not making your share of the rent. Sure, having a job you disliked wasn’t ideal, but you were surviving and wasn’t that all that mattered?

Besides, you’d probably die if you were forced to move out of your apartment. Your roommate was the only reason you moved in to the damn place despite rent being so fucking expensive.

You remember the day you stumbled upon his ad like it was yesterday, though it had already been exactly one year. You’d just finished your first month at your job and you were growing tired of dealing with your parents. Yeah it was nice that you didn’t have to worry about half of your current expenses while living under their roof, but you knew you needed to ship up and move out eventually. You figured this was the perfect time to do so.

You scoured the internet for apartments, but soon realized that living on your own would be way too much, considering all of the other things you also had to worry about now. As you started filtering through listings that requested a second habitant, you stumbled upon your roommate’s. The rent itself was a little bit over your budget, but the way he worded his ad had you hooked.

Just an hour later you were emailing him and setting up a meeting to discuss important details. You met up at a cute little coffee shop a few days later when you both found some free time. Being the punctual person you were, you arrived earlier than planned, ordering your go to and picking a two seater in the corner by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You had always been the type to psych yourself up before doing anything major. You needed at least half an hour of prep time if you were making any important decisions, because you could not handle things going wrong. Everything in your life had to be carefully and methodically done. You liked to say you were thorough, but everyone else called you a perfectionist. It is what it is.

And because you didn’t know this guy, you had no idea what he looked like and you weren’t aware that he had the same mindset. You glance up from your drink to see the most handsome man you’ve ever laid your eyes on walk into the cafe, ordering something you can’t make out. He looks like something straight from a drama, his hair styled neatly and his outfit put together. Even under his thick coat, you could see how well sculpted he was.

You don’t realize that you’re staring until he’s suddenly walking towards your direction, his coffee in his hands. He furrows his brows and clears his throat. “Hi, I don’t mean to bother you, but do you happen to be Y/N?”

Oh my god. No way. There was no way this hunk of a man was your potential roommate. It was impossible.

When your lips part in shock and you don’t respond for a couple seconds, he blinks at you. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that impossible. You nearly facepalm for already making such a fool of yourself before you’ve even held a proper conversation. You stumble over your words as you gesture to the chair across from you. “Y-Yes! Yes, that’s me. Please, take a seat!”

He smiles politely, setting down his drink and shedding his coat. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Sangyeon.”

You wipe your hands on your jeans before reaching to shake his hand nervously. If you could hardly handle this simple meeting, how could you handle living with the guy? He might send you into spontaneous combustion by just looking at you.

Sangyeon had the patience of a saint, and you would be eternally grateful for it. After getting to know each other better and growing more comfortable around him, the two of you discussed the roommate situation. You truly lucked out in finding him, seeing as you shared a lot of similar ideals. He even offered to lower your part of the rent as much as he could, explaining that you were by far his favorite candidate for the second room.

Later that same day, you went over and got an apartment tour prior to signing a lease agreement. And then the rest was history.

You sigh as the clock finally hits 6, signaling the end of your very long work day. One thing you disliked about getting off at the time you did was the fact that it was always snowing. It made it hard to navigate your way home, since most people packed around the bus stops like sardines. You hug your coat to yourself to block out the harsh winds, your scarf wrapped up to your nose.

You were tired and cold and all you wanted was to be inside the blanket that was your apartment, soaking in a hot bath with a glass of wine beside you. Sangyeon was supposedly working late today, which meant you’d have some much needed alone time.

The entire bus ride, you find yourself drifting off and then startling awake when you drove over a bump. You don’t remember the last time you were this drained after a work week. It could’ve been because you stayed over time a couple days, but you didn’t think it would affect you that badly.

When you finally arrive at the stop near your apartment, you’re almost in a zombie-like state, trudging through some of the snow that has started to stick. The only thing keeping your eyes open was the obnoxious chattering of your teeth.

It feels like a millennia by the time you’ve reached your front door, hands shaking as you attempt to unlock it. You’re partly surprised you didn’t drop your keys. The moment you step into your home, it’s like a huge weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

From the lingering scent of your peppermint and vanilla candle to the warmth of the building’s heating, you felt like you’d just been cuddled by a teddy bear. You shrug off your coat and hang it on the set of hooks beside the front door, leaving your shoes on the rack just beneath. Your sock clad feet drag you towards the kitchen, where an unopened bottle of wine awaits you.

You’re tempted to just drink straight from the bottle, but you didn’t want to get shitfaced, you just wanted to feel relaxed. Nevertheless, you pour yourself a… hefty… glass and waddle to the bathroom. A mental note was made to thank your coworker for the bath salt and bubble set she got you as a gift, seeing as it was finally being put to good use.

It doesn’t take long for you to peel off your layers of clothing after you’ve turned on the faucet and adjusted the temperature to your preference. You watch with heavy eyelids as the bubbles begin to form along the surface of the water, rising up and filling the tub. You dip your toes in while simultaneously taking a sip of your wine, damn near moaning at how much better you felt.

You press play on one of your playlists and light a candle before finally sinking into the water, succumbing to its serenity. Your eyes start to flutter shut and you don’t even try to fight the sleep that calls your name.

You’re not sure if hours or minutes have passed since you fell asleep, but the creaking of the bathroom door opening stirs you from your slumber. Most people probably would’ve had a bigger reaction, considering someone just walked into the bathroom without checking if it was occupied first. And also because you had assumed you were home alone.

This was one of the various times you wished the earth would just swallow you whole.

Lee Sangyeon stands in the doorway, shoulder resting against the threshold with his arms crossed. His dress shirt from work is unbuttoned all the way to the third from the top, his muscular frame stretching the fabric deliciously. You wondered how he was comfortable, since he wore such tight shirts. Occasionally you truly understood why the term ‘Take A Picture, It’ll Last Longer’ existed.

You were extremely thankful that you added bubbles to your bath, the foam covering up your body where the sun usually doesn’t shine. Sangyeon has an amused glint in his eye and even with the fogginess of your partially awake brain coupled with the few sips of wine you’ve had, you know it’s off brand for him.

“S-Sangyeon, what are you doing in here?” You trip over your words, wrapping your arms around yourself tightly.

“Well, I just got home and I was planning on doing the same thing as you,” he rolls his neck as if to display his own tension from a long day. “But it looks like you’ve beat me to it.”

You blink at him. Why was he still standing there? Staring at you like… that?

“Um… Why haven’t you left?” You swallow, but your mouth is dry.

“Is there some space in that bathtub?”

He asks the question so smoothly, the words rolling off of his tongue like he’s asked to join you in the bath on numerous occasions. You gape at him, your head spinning in circles. Perhaps you were still half asleep and your mind was playing tricks on you. That made the most sense. Perfect, sweet roommate Sangyeon would never ask you a question like that.

“I’m sorry?” Part of you feels stupid, gawking at the male and stumbling over your speech. It’s like you’ve completely malfunctioned, every logical point of your body shutting down for unscheduled maintenance. You had to recalibrate your systems fast.

Sangyeon repeats himself, not skipping a beat as he does so. You do a 180, glancing around the room as if someone else was present. You jab a finger into the only exposed part of your chest and then at the water with scrunched eyebrows.

“Yeah, is there some room in there for me to fit? You know, Y/N,” he shrugs, going for the next button on his shirt. “I have seen you naked before.”

You nearly drown yourself on the spot. Lee Sangyeon has seen you naked? This was news to you. Last you checked, neither of you had ever done anything intimate enough for that. He laughs that attractive laugh of his, his eyes forming crescent moons. You’re enticed to drown yourself a second time.

“Y-You have?” This was probably single-handedly the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“To be fair, it was an accident. I walked past your room while you were changing once but you didn’t have the door closed all the way, and well, I am a man so, I couldn’t help but take a peek.” He scratches the back of his neck, letting out a small chuckle. Okay so God definitely had favorites and you weren’t one of them. Nice to know.

He unbuttons another button, stepping closer to you, closing the distance between you. He crouches next to the tub, finally at eye level with you. Oh, what you would give for a moment of this man’s time. Here he was, handing you just that on a silver platter and you were royally fumbling the bag.

“So is that a yes?”

You really don’t trust your own voice, so you merely nod, biting back the urge to groan when he grins at you, standing upright. It’s like you’re stuck in a trance, watching him clear the rest of the buttons of his shirt like light work. The sight of his abdomen on full display has you releasing a tiny squeak. Then comes the unbuckling of his belt and that alone is a mental image you don’t think you could ever forget. You dip your chin into your shoulder, looking away when he strips the rest of his clothes.

You feel him before you hear him, his leg brushing against the back of your arm as he slips behind you into the tub. He exhales deeply, exactly like you did when you got in. You’re as stiff as a board, not sure what you should do with your roommate naked and sitting behind you, sharing bath water like it was a regular Friday night. You keep your focus on the faucet, too afraid to make any sudden movements.

“Relax, N/N,” he pins his chest to your back, hands coming up to massage your shoulders. “You’re so tense.”

The way he works his thumbs into your skin has shivers running down your spine, your entire being feeling like it’s lit up. You suppress a whimper when he kneads a knot just below your neck, squeezing your eyes shut and biting your lip. Before today, you’ve never really thought of Sangyeon in an explicit way. Sure you thought he was extremely handsome, but that had always been just a surface level notion. You’d never fantasized about a crazy, fan-fiction type moment like this. But now that you’re in it, you don’t think your thinking could ever go back to normal. You could never see him as just your handsome roommate.

You have half the mind to scoot into his lap, but it seems like he’s beat you to it, sliding his hands down to your waist and pulling you towards him. Your eyes widen when you feel him, hard and pressed to your lower back. At that, you finally make a noise; something between a strangled moan and a whine.

Sangyeon brings his lips to your ear, grazing them along the shell of it. “Can you feel how much I want you?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasp. “I can feel you.”

This is insanity. Were you still waking up, conjuring up this entire scenario with your half conscious mind? Maybe some sick and deluded higher power wanted you to realize the possibility of having feelings for Sangyeon, and this was their way of doing it.

But then one of his hands trails to your thigh and he pinches you lightly. That’s how you know this is real, this is actually happening. You crane your neck slightly to glance at him. His eyes are darker than usual, a deep brown swimming with lust that almost looks black. It’s similar to how a predator would stare down its prey and it’s a look you could get used to.

Sangyeon’s gaze flickers down to your lips and you just about lose your last bit of clarity, leaning forward to connect your mouths. It’s kind of messy, kind of rough, but the way your stomach twists into knots and goosebumps litter your arms makes you think that the higher being you were cursing minutes ago was actually doing you a huge favor. You’d have to thank them later.

One of Sangyeon’s hands comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheekbone as he does so. Without parting, you turn around in his lap, straddling him as best you can in your limited space. If you thought you felt him before, you definitely feel him now, his cock pulsing against your aching core. Your need was carnal, primal even. He hisses when you grind down on him, gripping your hips to halt you.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart.”

#the boyz #the boyz x reader #the boyz suggestive #tbz #tbz x reader #tbz suggestive #the boyz sangyeon #tbz sangyeon #lee sangyeon x reader #lee sangyeon suggestive #sangyeon x reader #sangyeon suggestive #juyeonszn #juyeonszn.100🪩

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