#the absolute YEARNING in his eyes
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oh my god i've never seen this picture before he looks ethereal
#the longing in his expression#the absolute YEARNING in his eyes#the crease of his eyebrows kill me#this picture literally took my breath away#he's hurt and he's sad and he looks beautiful doing it#assad zaman#armand#armand iwtv
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In honor of me finally getting close to finishing sacred monsters 4 here are the heeseung pics I find myself constantly referencing while writing. enjoy!!!!!
#top row especially like that is him!!!!!!#I think top left is THEE sacred monsters pic#if top row middle had natural hair it would be a very strong contender though#the yearning in his eyes goes absolutely insane#what a gorgeous man wow#sacred monsters
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I am living for all of the thirsty tags you guys add when you reblog my shit. Absolutely unhinged. Never change, friends.
#Im adding my favorites in the tags get ready XD#anonymously of course but no shame you guys seriously i love you all!!!#is it possible to die from yearns#i want to lick every drop of sweat off his body#insert ''god i wish that was me'' meme#absolutely feral#that face and look feel illegal#i am unwell#I'm fine#this is fine#everything is fine#i need this man to go down on me while gale fucks him ok i think that would be healing#biting him biting him biting him#he’s so handsome I want to slap him#that second to last picture finna make me PASS OUT#he needs to be stopped#or he needs to [redacted] me#you better STOP#UUUGGGGHHHHH FUCK I WANNA BITE HIM#I'm going to crush him#i'm ruined for all other men for the rest of my life#i want 2 bite him#stop smiling at me like that ill kill us both#what dat tongue do#what dat mouf do???#that look in his eyes is straight up pornographic#that’s the look of a man about to feast#and Lord I want to be an all-you-can-eat buffet#the druid speaks
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when you and satoru gojo started dating and agreed to take it slow, the first thing that you got used to was the fact that his infinity was up 24/7. though you understood and never brought it up, part of you yearned to feel his skin and not the invisible shield that kept him from the rest of the world.
then, during one beautiful evening after a lovely picnic date, you're comfortably lying against his chest—against that familiar shield, until you realize that you aren't.
as he's adorably rambling about something funny that happened while he was teaching the second years, you notice that you feel the material of his jacket against your cheek. then, you realize that the comforting scent you've been inhaling is his cologne. curious, you gently grasp one of his hands that's closest to you, and your heart practically skips a beat when you feel the warmth of his palm for the first time.
satoru senses your excitement and quietly intertwines your fingers with his. it's also his first time touching you without infinity activated, and he wants to savor it. his thumb brushes soothing patterns on your hand, and you don't even realize how hard you're grinning until you feel the strain in your cheeks.
he chuckles, and you look up to see him staring at you, blindfold raised and his blue eyes soft with adoration. "what's got you cheesin' like that, pretty girl?"
you shrug, your smile unwavering. "just thinking about how perfect my boyfriend is."
satoru stares at you for a little while longer, then tilts his head a bit lower. you feel his lips gently press against your forehead, then against your lips, feather-light and brief. the kiss is short, but it's absolutely perfect for the first time.
you snuggle against satoru, and his other hand strokes your soft face. "that's good," he finally replies, "because i'm always thinking about how lovely my girlfriend is."
#inexperienced satoru you will always be loved by me#gojo au#gojo imagine#gojo fluff#satoru imagine#gojo x f!reader#written by rey <3#gojo satoru fluff#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru au#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff
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CRIES FOR A THOUSAND YEARS
@whumptober | Day #20: "Permission to Die" Gladiator (2000)
#falling on the ground weeping like a widow and never getting up#this brought literal tears to my eyes op#and it hits REAL different after finishing the novelization#MAXIMUS MY BELOVED I CANNOT LET YOU GO#MY HEART JUST#LONGS AND YEARNS AND BREAKS AND ACHES FOR HIM#he is so lovely here#even death doesn't tarnish his beauty#the absolute peace and comfort and serenity of this moment slaughters my heart#he's so ready to die#he's been ready for so long#and now in his last moments he can take comfort in knowing that his sacrifice is not in vain#his family is avenged rome is back in order and lucius is safe#he has done his work and can move on to the afterlife in dignity and honor#i am in physical pain over this op#thank you <3#i will NEVER be over it#i will never be over him#a little part of me dies every time he dies#gladiator
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phone s*x with toxic ex bf simon
pt two to this!
the line rides quiet for mere seconds when he picks up, you can’t tell if it’s due to the lines connecting or his hesitation, but you know him… there is no hesitation with simon.
“hey, baby,” he breathes, voice light like an angel sent from the heavens above. you can tell he’s been waiting, in all aspects.
“hey, si,” you murmur, voice airy and shy. you can barely breathe. this is the longest you and simon been off, 2 months. 2 whole months no contact.
“knew you’d call me, pretty, been sittin’ here waitin’ for you, angel.” he snarks, chuckling to himself on the other end of the line. you can see it behind your lids, watching his face suddenly come closer, teeth glinting and eyes shining in something viscous. fuckkkk.
you giggle sweetly, fingers dipping just an inch lower, tips reaching ever so slightly beneath your panty line. “didn’t have anything else to do, m’why not?”
“oh? is that what i am, huh? just a pick up to ease your boredom, babe?” he laughs, and you see his eyes crinkle in crows feet, you’re hot, bothered.
you hug the phone closer to your ear, gasping with annoyance before hinting into a sweet whine. “y’know that’s not what i meant…”
you can hear his tongue suck at his teeth, tsking into the phone till it hits your ear. it has your fingers digging deeper, eyes rolling back slowly, and mistakenly you let a soft whimper roll through the speaker back.
it has simon perking up, fingers tightening round the waiting length of his cock. this is what he wanted, what he was waiting for. nothing came close to you, no one.
“you miss me, baby?” he sighs, head rolling back against his pillows. he knows you did, clearly with the soft breaths he picks up from your end. “huh?”
and the way he punctuates himself has your ankles flexing, toes digging up into your sheets as your fingers find the sweet bud of your swollen clit.
“m-missed you so much,” you gasp, listening to the way his laugh reverberates through the phone. you can feel it, in your chest, and it has you yearning.
“yeah, i bet you did, babe,” he huffs, fingers tightening up round his cock, bicep flexing up taut as he picks up his pace. “can’t get outta your stupid lil mind, can i?”
“mmm,” you whine, shaking your head even though he’s nowhere near. “needed you so bad, si.”
“poor girl,” he puffs, growing cocky. and his head tilts, lip curling over his teeth as his cock leaks, dripping down over the back of his hand. “i’m here, i’m here for you, baby, never gonna leave you, you hear me?”
and his words fluctuate in a throaty groan, and you can practically see the way his eyes spin back into his head, the way his stomach flexes, and the way his back bows up softly like it always does when he’s close.
“never?” and you’re trying your absolute best to keep composure, sentences… words becoming harder and harder to form with every passing second. “p-promise?”
“promise, luvie, just tell me you love me, baby.” n it’s a demand, one that rolls of his tongue with vile, force that has you whining and moaning up into the phone. “say it.”
i pray i didn’t fuck this up 🙏 @fairy-caitlin 😉
#call of duty#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#cod#simon riley x reader#cod modern warfare#ghost smut#simon riley#call of duty smut#cod mw2#simon ghost riley smut#simon riley x oc#simon riley imagine#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost#simon riley smut#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x y/n#simon ghost riley x female oc#simon ghost riley x original character#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x you#simon ghost smut#simon ghost x oc#simon ghost angst#ghost#ghost cod#cod x you#cod smut
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Absolute Zeal
Sum. It was finally your turn to take care of your boyfriend, until everything twists around and you both end up a mess.
Warnings. NSFW, smut, fem reader, whiney zayne yes, unprotected sex, rough sex kinda, fluff. 2.2k words.
Notes. my exams are not stopping me (yet) from releasing yet another feral zayne.
Your boyfriend was absolutely out of it.
It wasn't long before Zayne noticed the effects of the chocolate, a slow warmth coursing through his veins, a slight sluggishness creeping into his movements.
He grinned lazily at you as you helped him outside, a slight wobble to his step. You were struggling, sure. But you kept up the tough act.
The cool air outside seemed to help clear his head a bit, but he was still far from sober, "my hero," he said, his voice still slightly slurred, "taking me home in my... slightly tipsy state. You're too kind.”
“Mhm, careful as you get in.” you instruct and Zayne obliges as he stumbled into the taxi, slumping against the back seat, trying to steady himself.
His gaze remained fixed on you as you climbed into the taxi after him. His eyes roamed over your face, “thank you," he murmured, "for taking care of me tonight.”
A hand smoothens to his cheek, up to his hair to comb it with your fingers before you tilt your head to peck his cheek, your hand encouraging him to rest on your shoulder.
He closed his eyes, a contented sigh escaping him, feeling safe and cared for in your presence.
…
“wake up, honey.” you whisper into Zayne's ear to wake him up from his light slumber. His eyes blinking slowly to get back to his senses.
He leaned against you heavily, allowing you to guide him out of the taxi, a quiet murmur of thanks escaping him.
The taxi driver watched the whole interaction silently after you payed him. ah, the young. "I miss my wife." He sighed to himself before driving off.
Meanwhile, you were pitifully watching Zayne entering the wrong passcode to his own home.
His fingers fumbled against the keypad as he tried to input his passcode, his normally steady hands betraying his current inebriated state. He let out a frustrated grunt, his brows furrowing in concentration as he tried again.
"Just... need to get this thing right..."
"Let the person who actually remembers the passcode of your home to enter it." you successfully entered the passcode, the lock clicking open with a satisfying sound.
Zayne let himself be led onto the plush couch by you after taking off his coat for more movement, a deep sigh escaping him as though he were sinking into heaven itself.
He let his eyes close briefly, revelling in the comfort of the soft cushions. He cracked one eye open lazily, a soft chuckle escaping him as he watched you fuss over his coat, gently removing it and draping it on the back of a nearby chair.
And with a gentle tug, he pulled you down onto the couch with him, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close.
You frown, “i should go get the hangover medicine—”
But his arm tightened around your waist in protest, pulling you closer to him before you could move. "No need," he shook his head, his voice huskier now. "Stay with me," he whispered, his voice low, filled with a yearning that went beyond simple physical attraction.
"After i get the medicine, hm? You'll regret it later," though he seemed too insistent. You couldn't budge, even when he was drunk, his strength was impressive.
Zayne groaned softly, his grip on you unrelenting. He rested his head on your shoulder, his face nuzzling against your neck, "later,"
"how much more?" you ask, your fingers tracing his jawline to sort of soothe him.
He drew in a slow, steady breath, his body relaxing against you. "Just a moment more like this."
Zayne leaned into your touch, his head slightly tilting as though seeking more of your caress. His arm around your waist remained securely wrapped, holding you close, holding you like you were a precious treasure, something to be cherished.
You continue caressing his skin, moving down to his messed up buttons and tie, making him flutter his eyes shut.
Despite the alcohol, a part of him was still very much aware, very much receptive to your touch. The way you undressed him, unbuttoning his shirt to help him breathe better, felt like a gentle, loving caress.
This is no good. “On a second thought, I'll just shower," he said, attempting to smooth out his disheveled hair. "A shower will help clear my head.” Zayne stood up after taking his arms away from your body, a bit unsteady on his feet, but adamant to make it to the shower on his own. He staggered slightly, leaning against the nearest wall for support.
…
You head to Zayne's study room in the meantime to explore it a bit out of curiosity while the shower is running in the background. Your fingertips brushed over the snowman displayed on the desk neatly which makes your lips curve.
It was not long after until you hear him in the living room, opening his laptop to answer an urgent call. Listening to him speak a few words. Even in this state, Dr Zayne is working hard.
Once the call ends, you show yourself from your hiding spot, “Even Dr Zayne's showers are hurried.” you comment in amusement.
Zayne's lips quirked into a wry smile as he acknowledged your observation. "In my profession, efficiency is key," he replied, “but," he added, his tone softening slightly as he drew closer, "I can assure you, I wasn't rushing for anyone else but you." He reached out to tenderly cup your cheek, his touch gentle but firm.
“It seems that.. The shower did not clear your head.”
"I suppose," he murmured, "you're quite intoxicating even without the alcohol.”
Zayne's next sudden advance caught you by surprise.
The unexpected aggression of pulling your arm towards him made you gasp. But as his lips pressed hard against yours, a surprised sound escaping your lips before you clung to him tightly, your arms wrapping around his neck as you returned the kiss, matching his hunger with your own.
Your fingers tangled in his hair while his hands cupped your cheeks, pushing you back until you were stumbling against his desk where he caught you in time to prevent you from completely losing your balance.
His glasses steamed slightly with each gasping breath. He looked down at you once your lips part, his eyes darkening until your fingers nudged at his glasses which tipped them over slightly, yet Zayne impatiently brushed aside your hand's attempt to fix his glasses and instead took his glasses off in one swift motion.
Hot.
His lips sought yours once more, his kiss hungrier, more urgent than before as he pushed you back against his desk. The sound of books and papers scattering echoed and falling with a loud thud that you couldn't seem to care about for now.
His lips traced a path down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin there, and your chew slightly on your lower lip. His teeth nip along your collarbone, his tongue soothing the slight sting, then repeating the action again and again.
This won't do.
"… You're drunk," you bluntly state, trying to stand from the desk to walk towards the drawer, "I'm getting the hangover medicine—"
His hands darted out to grab your wrists, gently yet firmly, preventing you from moving any further, “please." His grip on your wrists remained steady, his thumbs stroking the insides of your wrists as he leaned against your chest as if you just rejected him.
“I never let myself touch alcohol,” he breathed heavily, and that's when you recognize the slight snowflakes surrounding you both.
“But for you, I broke that rule. Because of you, everything is spiraling out of control...”
…
Zayne kicked open his bedroom door, the force of it slamming against the wall and bouncing back slightly. Without breaking the heated kiss, he carried you to his king-sized bed, the plush comforter and silken sheets welcoming as he lays you down gently.
His hands were almost shaking when he pulled your top off and tossed it carelessly to the floor. His fingertips traced the swell of your breasts, the delicate curves, before cupping them gently.
He dipped his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat before he's almost whimpering while rubbing his cheek against your cleavage, the warmth seeping through your skin and it's impossibly hard to stop the soft moans when his fingertips brush mindlessly along your nipples.
You were both almost a panting mess when his hands slid down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he ground his own against yours. Even through the fabric of his pants, you could feel the evidence of his arousal, the hard length of him pressing and rubbing against your clothed cunt with such hurry.
"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded, his voice low, almost raspy before he's kissing you messily, all tongue and teeth clashing together combined with his quiet whines when he continues rutting into you.
His body shifts, an arm extending towards the drawer but you stop himself from taking anything out, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers together instead.
He feels dizzy, and his hand squeezes yours before his other hand reaches for a pillow to place underneath your hips.
comfort comes first before he starts pounding into you.
Everything was gone. your panties, his belt and boxers all discarded away from his sight while he whispers your name as he grips his shaft to push his already leaking tip into your cunt to take whole.
“O-oh zayne—” A long, drawn-out moan spilled from your lips as Zayne filled you completely, stretching you around his hard, throbbing length. Your back arched off the bed, pressing your chest flush against his own, fingers digging into the muscular expanse of his back.
He was feral. He began to move, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in, setting a rough, fast paced.
The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust, and your eyes roll all the way back as whines combined with his heavy breaths and whimpers fill the air.
“A-ah, fuck, honey—” was all you managed to spill out before he's thrusting into you harder when he felt every clench and flutter around his aching cock, the velvet heat driving him to new heights of ecstasy.
“Zayne, zayne, zayne!” you chant in repeat breathlessly, his lips tries to connect with yours when he also feels his impending release drawing too close.
“Y-your zayne is here—” he practically breathes out as he manages to peck your lips, “Mmhn c-coming—” Zayne tries to muffle his whines against your skin when his hips jerked erratically as he emptied himself inside you, wave after wave of searing hot seed spilling into you.
The feeling of Zayne's thick, pulsing cock throbbing and twitching within you made you cum instantly. Your walls clamped down around him like a vice as you rode out your shared climax, hips continuing to rock slowly into you before coming to a halt.
For a moment, there was silence, broken only by the sound of your shared breaths, the rustle of sheets, the soft thump of his heart against yours.
…
You woke up in Zayne's bed, wrapped in his arms, a soft, contented sigh escaping you as you shifted slightly, feeling his warmth against your back.
The sunlight streamed in through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. As you turned to face him, you see zayne breathe peacefully, and it brings a faint smile to your face.
He looked younger, almost boyish in sleep, his lashes casting delicate shadows on his cheeks.
His eyelashes are really long. you think, fingertips brushing over his eyelids delicately.
Zayne's eyelids soon fluttered at the light touch of your fingers, and a low, appreciative hum escaped him. He leaned into your touch, seeking more of your warmth and comfort.
Slowly, his eyes opened, a sleepy, warm look in them as he regarded you with a slow, drowsy smile. "Good morning, love,"
#zayne x reader#zayne love and deepspace#lads zayne#love and deepspace#dr zayne#lads x reader#zayne smut#love and deepspace zayne#zayne#dr zayne x reader#dr zayne x you#zayne x you#love and deepspace smut#love and deepspace x you#pearlwrites☆
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accidents | Spencer Reid x Reader
Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops [5.5k]
Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst mainly Spencer doubting himself aww :(, Spencer is PINING for you hard (haha get it), nudes, Spencer loves you so much, pls someone give him a hug, m!masturbation, talk about sex, proofread but prolly not perfect lol, like you aren't probably ready for the amount of longing in this, *slaps Spencer* this bad boy can fit so much pining and yearning
read pt.II here
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆
Spencer swears it was an accident.
You were all away on a case, somewhere in Florida. And of course, something like that can only happen in Florida, because as much as he dislikes connecting random events with random locations, non-sequitur fallacy and all that, he cannot not say that many of his most embarrassing moments aren’t attributable to the south-eastern state. (He will not elaborate on these moments, he very much likes to keep most of his dignity still intact, thank you very much.)
But his dignity isn’t really the only thing that had been shattered to pieces by… by the accident. Far from it really and it- well, it- God, this really won’t end well for him, will it? He’s well and truly, as Emily likes to say, fucked.
It happened on the fourth day he and the team were cooped up in a small, dingy police station, chasing down an unsub that liked to paint intricate body art on the victim’s corpses as part of his MO. Aside from, y’know, slitting their throats with what seemed to be an old, rusty saw. The paradoxical duality of these two aspects, of the interplay of carefulness and diligence put into the painting process and the absolute careless way the unsub ends his victims was fascinating really – but not as much as it is disturbing, still.
Thus, this case is a very photography-heavy one. Most of the cases they solve involve photographs of some kinds of course, but Spencer has never sat in front of quite as many pictures of art and gore in his life before. It was strange, to say the least, even to him. Strange and annoying, to be honest.
Because Spencer isn’t exactly fond of all things that come with some electrical inner life, i.e. smartphones, his old brick of a phone isn’t exactly helpful for this case. He still feels the need to roll his eyes at Garcia after she, for the umpteenth time, called him an old grandpa and his phone a potato trying to pass as a phone. And failing miserably, especially when looking at the pictures it takes and their quality. Well, Penelope would say “pictures”, because she would also say that a resolution of beneath 60 PPI should be considered a war crime against modern technology, but Spencer doesn’t know and doesn’t want to know what that even means, so. Jokes on her.
Well, actually, the joke is on him. And yes, he knows, the joke is almost always on him, he knows his pipe-cleaner physique and too big eyes and long hair and everything about him really, makes him the perfect target for the occasional bullying he gets still as an adult, but he’s used to that. It’s normal, part of his everyday life. He can deal with that (more or less).
What he so brilliantly cannot deal with however, is having you around him almost 24/7. Because Hotch had had the amazing idea of fixing you to his hip as his personal photographer to circumvent his technological potato-problem. Uh- not that you, that you take pictures of him, why would you ever do that, but more like, taking pictures for him. Of their victims. And the body art.
Spencer was actually waiting for your protest, because there seems to be nothing worse for you than to stay inside the office when you could be out there, on the fields, in midst of all the action. Where Spencer usually isn’t. But that’s fine of course. Completely, absolutely fine. Spencer doesn’t look up every time the door to the tiny room he’s set up his camp in opens to see if it’s you bringing him another coffee just the way he likes, if it’s your smile that will make him feel more energized than any overly sweet coffee ever could. If it’s your voice and smell and aura (Penelope is definitely getting into his head) that for the short while you are there, makes everything seem so much more manageable.
It’s an energy burst unlike any other and Spencer is aware of what that means, so aware his body burns with it sometimes… Often. Okay, fine, most of the time. He just prefers to ignore it and enjoy the precarious friendship he built with you for what it is because he just likes to have you around so very much and – this was so not the point he wanted to make. He’s hopeless, when it comes to you, and it really is kind of embarrassing.
So, this is why the joke is so entirely on him that it’s not even a joke anymore. It’s basically bullying, he feels bullied. Because you actually had beamed the prettiest smile he’s ever seen at him, said ‘Oh finally, I can unpack all the dark hidden talents from within me’ which was so cryptic but so you and then you also winked at him. And well, Spencer has to lie if he were to say that he was being totally normal about this. That you didn’t just upheave his insides like an earthquake of magnitude eight with a single wink. Oh, he’s in so much trouble.
The first two days the two of you work side by side proceed without any unforeseen occurrences. And Spencer is so glad about that he could cry. From the moment you had joined the team two years ago, from the moment he met you, it was an undeniable fact that you were nice. Not only that, but truly, selflessly kind in a way that has left him all too choked up to even speak on multiple occasions now. The team is nice to Spencer, of course they are, they’re his family. But nothing in the entire world could have adequately prepared him to the spring of kindness you so freely distribute to anyone willing to receive it. And god, Spencer is willing. Is it every time you listen to him ramble on and on, unable to really hold his tongue despite the embarrassment clouding his cheeks darker. Is it every time you ask him about the book he’s reading, every time you ask him how his mother is doing and just- all these tiny things that add up and completely smush his brain into a fuzzy mess of warmth that leaks down his body.
He literally could spend every minute of every day just sitting next to you and soak up your presence and he would be the happiest person alive. That’s why he cherishes your friendship to him so strongly, and that’s why it’s the worst thing that Spencer is, well, himself.
He knows that you would probably be too nice to outright state that something he does unsettles you. Changes the way you think about him. Still. There is the worry. Buried so deep in his mind it’s as if he was born with it. And that’s why he’s so relieved that he is keeping the worst of the ‘Reid effect’ at bay while working with you on this twisted painter case.
It all goes well, until it doesn’t. Of course. Good things never seem to last for Spencer.
It’s already later in the afternoon on the fourth day you are working the case, no end in sight, unfortunately. Spencer is bend over the table, hands entwined in front of his mouth as he’s staring down the printed pictures of the unsub’s latest victim from three days ago. The brushstrokes seem remarkably stable, the colours uncannily vibrant. Spencer does not know much about art, but he does recognise talent when he sees it. And this unsub seems to have it in abundance. It’s almost a shame he’s a deranged killer. But oh well.
He jumps in his seat when the door to his room abruptly bangs open and a dishevelled looking you is bustling into the room.
Your expression turns apologetic. “Oh Spencer, shit, sorry. I didn’t wanna startle you, but they just found another victim.”
And oh. Spencer feels his heart sink in his chest. Guilt tugging it further down into the abyss. Why wasn’t he faster with figuring out these paintings?
“Really? Where?”
You immediately launch into a rapid-fire list of details, all in the wrong order because you do tend to be a bit all over the place. Spencer doesn’t mind. Gives him a bit more of a challenge to order the information in his brain the way it works for him. You two work surprisingly well in that regard.
While talking, you round the desk that almost takes up all the little space available in the room. You sit in the chair next to him, so close he can feel the stressed warmth radiating from you and it takes a very good portion of his brain’s capacity to stop his hand from reaching out. Or do something else even stupider. More stupid? Oh hell. It’s a wonder he can talk in complete sentences with you.
He watches you pull out your phone, fingers typing in the passcode he guessed right after two weeks of knowing you. The indignant expression on your face had been adorable. That’s why he still guesses your new passwords weekly, just to mess with you a little bit. Because he’s apparently insane like that.
“Here”, you turn the display of your phone towards him, “Precinct’s out of ink. Do you mind looking at the pictures on my phone until I come back from the store?”
This is where Spencer should have said no. Declined politely, smile on his face. Tell you that sorry, I don’t really get the same detail on screen like on a printed version. Should’ve emigrated to Tristan da Cunha, change his name to Ferdinand. Whatever. Anything, except say, “Oh, of course. That’s no trouble.”
You smile that breathtaking smile of yours, fingers touching his slightly while giving him your phone. Spencer sucks his lower lip between his teeth to keep himself from making any kind of noise at the tingly feeling skittering down his back.
He can’t not smile back at you. It’s one of his many weaknesses. Jello, trying to out-solve himself every day with New York Times’ new crossword puzzles, dairy. Halloween themed socks. Old obscure movies no one has ever heard of. Reading the most difficult books in twenty minutes. You.
Once you left, Spencer starts diligently going through the photographs of their latest victim. Not yet identified white male. Average height, average weight. Short-buzzed sandy brown hair. Striking blue eyes that seem to stare at him accusingly even after death.
He works through approximately forty pictures taken off the intricate and detailed body art. This time, the unsub left many smaller paintings woven in a bigger, overall painting. There’s still one that Spencer hasn’t seen a close up of, that’s kind of hidden behind the victim’s ears. Maybe you saved it to a different folder. He clicks around your gallery for some time, opening and closing folders full of holiday pictures. Pictures of you, smiling, at the beach. A folder full of memes that he doesn’t get but is familiar with because you keep sending them to him anyways. Spencer is aware that he probably shouldn’t have just- perused your gallery like that. But he was in case-mode. Hyper-focused on finding the next clue, on detangling the next hint that would bring them further. That would finally be the key to end this case and bring justice to all the victims.
He isn’t really thinking, when he clicks on a folder titled ‘xxx lol’. Thinks it’s another one full of memes because of the abbreviation, but maybe you accidentally saved pictures of the case in there, wouldn’t be too out of character for you and-
Spencer sucks in a breath.
Drops your phone almost as an afterthought. The noise of it clattering to the table makes him flinch.
It lands display down. Small mercies and all that.
And Spencer is- he is-
… That was not-
Not -
There’s a weird buzzy feeling in his limbs, his chest and head. Like his blood turned into a swarm of bees. He feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice over his head and like he’s on fire simultaneously.
Okay. Okay.
That was not- pictures of the case.
Definitely not.
Oh Jesus Christ.
Spencer was definitely not supposed to see. That. Not supposed to see you- like that. Ever.
His heart is totally beating itself into a frenzy. There are at least two litres of blood rushing to his head. The other four are gathering somewhere down down down and oh. Oh shit.
Spencer is actually fucked. More than that. He wants to get fucked and that’s. Just. Even worse.
He wants to scream.
He ends up biting his knuckles and letting out a frustrated noise against his fingers.
Did he really.
Did he really just see your nudes?
(And yes, he knows that word. Penelope is a bad influence on him.)
His head is kind of a- a mess. More than usual when you are around. And… what. What does he do now? He can’t just- can’t just leave your phone like that. You’d obviously see what he was looking at and that’s just- unacceptable.
But the other option appears just as preposterous. Because, because, he’d have to look at your phone again. At you, like that, again. To get out of ‘xxx lol’. Damn you. Why did you have to be so unserious and name your, uhm, very personal folder like that? And no password-block?
Spencer feels a different kind of warmth enveloping him because it’s just- so you, silly and funny and kind of unbelievable and Spencer is so deeply in love with you that he feels like he’s going crazy with it. Of course, you’d be like that about stuff like that as well. Spencer would give everything to just once experience what it’d feel like to kiss you. To feel your lips twisted in a silly smile against his, flicking a finger at his ear because you would. Do that. When kissing someone. And okay. Okay. Spencer needs to get his shit together, like, yesterday.
You could come back any second now, actually and fuck. He needs to close the gallery app on your phone, asap.
His hands are trembling as they retrieve your phone from the table.
He allows himself a deep breath. And then. With eyes squeezed almost close, he taps the return arrow. Well, tries to. He thinks he managed to escape your nudes-folder without any hiccups but well.
Spencer is freaking inept with technology.
So. He finds himself looking at another picture of you and god, it actually might kill him.
It’s inappropriate. So so so so inappropriate. You would kill him dead if you ever knew Spencer was ogling your pictures like that. Like a perverted stalker.
But. But.
There shouldn’t even be a ‘but’.
But.
You’re just. You’re just- You’re incredible. Not even in a sexual way, just-
You’re so beautiful it hurts.
And call Spencer selfish, a pervert, whatever. Because he knows, okay? But he also knows that he’d never, ever get to see you like that. And it hurts in a different way now, because Spencer just wants. Wants you so much. You and you, just you.
But…he’d never get to have you. Which is fine, of course. Having you as a friend is actually one of the best things that ever happened to him, and he’d never do anything to endanger that-
…Well. He’s not perfect. So, sue him, for only once, giving into his deepest darkest desires. He’s only human. And pathetically in love with you. And attracted to you. Oh, he wants to be with you so badly. Wants to- wants to get kissed and held by you. Wants to make love with you, which just. Sounds so dumb and cliche. But maybe he just is that for you.
Still. He shouldn’t think how absolutely breathtaking you look, sprawled across the white linen of presumably your bed. He knew you worked out regularly, but. Spencer feels hot all over when he thinks how easily you could just. Manhandle him around. To wherever you wanted him. And this is something he apparently likes. (He consciously stores that information away for later. Later.)
He shouldn’t think how you would tease him, how you would make him beg for you before he’d even taken off his clothes. He would. He would beg for you, go on his knees. Everything, everything.
He shouldn’t think how warm and safe you’d make him feel, even after knowing he’s inexperienced in everything. You’d take his face in your hands, smile at him so beautifully he’d cry. Tell that ugly internalized shame to go ‘fuck off to Jupiter’.
Oh, he shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t.
But there’s always so much he shouldn’t do. Friends shouldn’t think of other friends like that. Friends don’t imagine how it would feel to be taken apart and put together again by their friend. Friends shouldn’t want to touch, touch, touch-
Maybe, for once, he just. Has enough of that. Maybe, he could just. Indulge. For a minute. To know what it’d be like. Just. A little.
To know what it’d be like if this picture was meant for him. What it’d be like- Be like to see you. And for you to see him. Like that. What it’d feel like to crawl into your lap, bury his face in your neck. Set his teeth on the gentle skin there and hear you gasp for him. How you’d bury your hands in his hair, and he’d make the most miserable noises until you pulled and-
Something in the corner of his eyes catches his attention and- shit.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.
That’s you. Walking towards the door.
His hands are shaking so badly he has difficulties navigating your phone. But thankfully, this time, he manages to leave ‘xxx lol’ and find his way back to the evidence folder.
Oh god.
Oh god.
Did he actually- He actually-
The door springs open. Spencer startles kind of violently.
(Oh god.)
You have a big grin on your face. Some magenta ink smutched across your left cheek. And Spencer knows what you look like without-
“Heya, Spence, you won’t believe what just happened-“
(Oh god.)
“Uh… you okay there?”
His face feels like it’s on fire. His heartbeat is spiking and, well. He’s never been quite this turned on his entire life. He feels himself hard and aching against his trousers and Spencer wants you to push him down on the table and-
Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god-
He needs to- leave. Right now.
“Fine”, he squeaks, voice all over the place and he cringes, “Just-“
He wags his hands around in a very confusing, general manner. Grabs some photographs.
“I need to- Need to. Bathroom”, is all he somehow manages, photographs surely placed in front of his, ahhhh, problem.
You look at him as if he lost his mind. He probably has. “Oh-kay? Then… go?”
Spencer goes.
------------------------------
Spencer can’t stop thinking about those pictures.
He’d known it would come to this. Him, lying wide awake on the uncomfortable hotel bed.
Having an eidetic memory has never felt more like a curse to him as now.
He buries his head further into the pillow. Fingers digging into it. Pulling his legs closer to him and, ah. That. Probably wasn’t the greatest idea of his.
He’s still- turned on. Uncomfortably so.But just thinking of taking care of that. Well. He’s 100% sure that that’s not the way to go about forgetting these pictures.
Also, it’s bad enough already that he even saw them. It would be so much creepier to jerk himself off to them. To you. His best friend. But- ugh.
It’s always kind of uncomfy for him to be away on a case. He prefers his own four walls over anything else, kind of, except maybe the university library. And now, being sexually frustrated away on a case that requires even more focus than other cases do?
Oh, Spencer is so fucked.
------------------------------
You notice that something is off with him. It really would have been a miracle if not, because then Spencer would’ve had to question your profiling skills. But even then- he doesn’t think that you’d even need to have these skills to notice him acting off.
Because Spencer is so not the person to play incidents like that cool. He is painfully aware of that, thank you very much.
So, the next day, when you came to say hi to him (“Hey there, Mr. Doctor.”), after he basically ran off the day before, and you, as always, casually put your hand on his shoulder, Spencer, he-
He spit out his coffee.
He could feel you freeze through the hand on his shoulder. Your expression would’ve been comical if Spencer wasn’t dying.
“Uhh… Do you… Do you need a moment?”
Well, that was a freaking understatement. Spencer needs not a moment but all of them to try to get his act together.
…which he didn’t. Not for the rest of that day, and also not for the day after. And the day after. This case apparently will never end. Fucking Florida.
You, of course being the kind soul you are, tried talking to him.
(“Spencer, are you okay? You’ve been acting kinda-“
“What? What do you mean? I’m fine, completely.”
“Uhm… Sure. If you wanna talk about it, you got my number.”)
And well. Spencer feels like he is going insane.
It’s come down to him not being able to spend more than thirty minutes uninterrupted in your vicinity without getting semi-hard, because he knows. Without him almost doing something stupid and drop to his knees then and there and beg you to either forgive him or to please let him eat you out.
Ah, yes, because apart from being so frustrated he could scream, he’s also feeling so guilty it’s slowly killing him.
There you are, still being his absolute favourite person on the planet, unaware of what kind of person you are laughing with. Of what Spencer did. It was an accident yes, but- He should’ve said something. Maybe warned you so that it would not happen again. Ugh, but the more time passes the worse it gets. The more impossible it feels to just- go to you and say ‘ah, uhm, by the way, I saw your nudes and maybe you should put those behind a password block’.
Spencer is just- the worst friend. What friend doesn’t give their friend a heads-up about something like that? He’ so, hopeless, incompetent, and he gets it now why he didn’t have that many friends in school.
It’s gotten so bad so quickly that the others started noticing too, obviously. It really is a curse working with profilers. Spencer should reconsider his move to Tristan da Cunha.
“What’s got pretty boy so worked up, huh?”, Morgan asked him on the day after the incident.
“Did something happen, Spence?”, JJ pulled him aside on the second day after.
“Are they cancelling Doctor Who?”, Emily, on the first day after.
“Kid, you need to eat something”, as Rossi pressed a protein bar into his hands.
Even Penelope texted him.
is it what i think it is? ;))))))
He did not dignify her with an answer.
When Hotch comes to him on the evening on the second day after, Spencer is a mess. He’s practically spent the entire day in some state of fluster. He noticed he’s trailing off when he’s info-dumping. That he’s just- staring off into space more often than he usually does. That he can’t talk to you properly without stuttering, that he avoids looking you in the eyes. So, it really was only a matter of time until their unit chief would scold him. Or whatever Hotch is here to do.
“Listen, Reid”, he says, tone of voice a little too similar to when he is talking to Jack when he did something mildly inconvenient, “whatever it is, and I don’t want to know unless it’s something bad, deal with it. We need you with a clear head here, okay?”
And well, that could’ve gone a lot worse.
------------------------------
He still thinks so once he falls into bed that evening. But now-
Deal with it.
How? How should he deal with that? It’s not like he can just press the ‘Delete’-button in his memories. Thanks for nothing, Hotch.
His eyes strain from staring at the ceiling in the dark. Closing them doesn’t really help because all he’d see is you. He’s such a mess.
A pining, pathetic loser mess and he’s so hard again he can’t properly think. It’s just- Spencer has had rather inappropriate thoughts about you before. Has actually spent way too many hours in his apartment just lazing around, thoughts occupied on all the countless ways he’d like you to make him lose his goddamn mind. It had been kind of an accident (isn’t that just the story of his life), the first time it happened.
Spencer had almost been finished with his report, he’d just needed an additional detail from you to finish up. He’d asked Morgan where you were, and this is how he found himself walking down the corridor to Penelope’s ‘Dungeon’. Which, he’d never say out loud because that’s just ridiculous, right?
He saw the door to her office was slightly ajar, a mix of yellowish-red light splitting the hallway in half where it spilled out of the open gap.
There’s a giggle coming from inside the room and Spencer smiles- can’t help it really, because your laugh is just so absolutely ridiculous, a kind of high-pitched screech that ends in airy laughter and he’s so obsessed with it he wants to engrave it on a CD to listen to it again and again.
“No way, gorgeous, I don’t believe that”, Penelope whisper-giggled.
Spencer didn’t realize his steps slowed down, too curious by what you two could be talking about. And also, kind of forgetting that you shouldn’t just listen to other people’s conversations like that.
“Oh yes”, your voice was low, and Spencer would be lying if he said it didn’t send a tingle along his spine, “He broke up with me, but he came crawling back to me not even two months later because I apparently ‘ruined him’ for anyone else.”
Ruined him? What did you mean?
Both Penelope and you were laughing now, louder than before.
“You really, really gotta teach me your devious ways, buttercup.”
You snicker. “I guess it all boils down to making them come so hard they cry and forget their own name, really.”
Spencer didn’t get the detail he needed from you that day.
He’d gotten something much worse and that was curious. From the limited sexual encounters he’s had in his life before (a rushed hand-job somewhen in university in a toilet cubicle by that one other student he was into back then) he couldn’t really imagine something like sexual gratification that made one cry. Sure, getting himself off felt good. Sure, that orgasm had been fine. But… it could feel better?
He kind of didn’t think of that before.
So, when flustered-he had returned to his apartment after that overheard conversation, he kind of… thought about what these things could be that you did, to make others feel so good they lose the basic functions of their memory.
And the rest is basically history.
Of course, he’d never touched himself while doing… research about your techniques. It just felt- wrong. You are his friend and despite of his crush on you, it didn’t feel right.
But now…
He really really shouldn’t. But, he’s just so- desperate. For you and for things to go back to how they were. Without him almost bursting at the seams each time you look at him because before, he never had any problems with categorizing his mind like he does now.
So maybe… Maybe he can just… Do it once? Real quick, to get it out of his system?
The longer Spencer turns the thought in his head, the more… it seems like a good idea. You’d never know. Spencer could forget about- about the accident and move on. Solve the case and finally leave cursed Florida behind. If he just does it this one time, it’s not that bad right?
The fuzzy pleasure that shoots up his spine when he finally, finally presses his hand against himself through his pyjama pants answers him. Yes, yes, it says and more more more-
Spencer has never been good in denying himself things that make him feel good, better than good, things that make him forget about any pain that has nestled inside of his body or mind. Right now, that thing is you. Oh, perfect beautiful lovely you. He can’t stop the way his lips twitch into a smile, almost shy, even though he’s alone. But something about you just-
He gasps, back arching a little when he slides the palm of his hand along himself, still through two layers of fabric.
Something about you just- god, how can he put this into words- something about you just makes him feel- safe. Seen. Taken care of. And it’s just, so foreign to him. Strange. He’s always been looking after himself. After dad left and mom-
He’s kind of addicted to it. To the way you make him feel. Spencer can’t get enough of it, can’t get enough of you. Never never enough.
His fingers trail circles around the head of his cock, light and unhurried, enjoying the shivers of good good amazing it sends through his limbs, to his fingertips. Spencer can feel the tension leaking out of him, can feel his muscles relax and his mind become hazy. He should do this more often, god he always forgets how good it is, it feels.
He almost forgets why he decided to get off right now. It had something to do with you. You. Naked and there, here with Spencer. He whines a little because you aren’t here, why aren’t you here he wants that so badly-
But all he has is the crystal-clear mental snapshot of your nudes. Spencer doesn’t remember ever remembering something with such clarity before. He feels kind of embarrassed by that, how obviously desperate he is for you. How he would do everything for you, with you. But this feels so good that he doesn’t care about any kind of embarrassment or shame that might trigger his self-loathing.
He increases the pressure of his palm slightly, oh god oh oh, it’s so good already and Spencer hasn’t even touched yet, not properly at least, but oh. Oh, he wants moremoremore-
It’s so easy letting his thoughts tangle, mixing old and new. Fantasies and reality. The you from the pictures merges with the you from his daydreams and oh shit. Oh fuck.
Spencer moans, high and needy at the back of his throat and god how are you so beautiful?
Imagined-you has absolutely nothing on the real you. Spencer could have never himself come up with you because he just lacks the imaginative capabilities to conjure the absolute vision you are. The vision you portray on those freaking pictures that have branded themselves into his very neurons. He’s sure, absolutely sure, that he will never get over them. Over you. Doesn’t even really want to.
Because he is quite certain that the sight of you, your stomach your thighs your arms your tits your- oh he forgot where he was going with this.
By now, Spencer’s hand has dipped beneath his pyjamas and beneath his boxers and he moans again, his lips pulled between his teeth and eyes shut because the feeling of good good better more almost peaks when he grabs himself, finally.
His right hand starts an even, slow pace along his cock because if he is only ever doing this once, he is going to make most of it.
It doesn’t take long for him to get close, though. He’s been so wound up the last few days, it really is no surprise. It’s actually more surprising he hasn’t come all over himself already.
Soft, keening noises are continuously spilling from between his lips, hips moving together with his hand because he just can’t help himself. The heat in his abdomen is building and building and he whimpers because he wants it to be you so so badly, his thoughts are a mess, he is a mess and he wishes he could be your mess, yours, yours to make a mess of and oh god he’s going to-
A knock. On his door.
He freezes, blood rushing loud in his ears, heart pounding and his cock hot in his hand and begging him to not stop but-
“Spencer? It’s me, can you let me in?”
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆
pt. II? 👀
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x you#tinywrites#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader fanfic#spencer reid fic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader smut#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds smut#tinywrites:accidents
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How long can Toji go without touching you...?
“Nuh-uh,” you lightly swat his hands away from your waist. “Paws off…” you flash him a small, teasing smirk, finding joy in the little game you two are playing.
“Woman…” Toji groans, plopping his hands to the bed with a dramatic sigh. His jaw clenched as he takes a deep breath, trying to control the urge to just touch you. His broad shoulders slump just a little, a small pout appearing on his lips– a rare sight on Toji indeed.
It’s a scene you’re not used to—seeing Toji like this, so soft, so yearning, so desperate. Such a strong man, that could easily manhandle you if he wanted to, straddled under you, looking up at you with such a pleading expression. Just begging for permission, to feel your soft skin on his fingertips.
“No pouting either…” you mumble, leaning in to give him another sweet kiss. He wastes absolutely no time kissing you back, eagerly meeting your lips. His kiss full of hungry desire for you, the way his tongue managed to slip inside your mouth, and how he occasionally bit your lip, tugging on it just a little. He could barely contain himself, but he did…
His hands remained off you, the only difference now is he was gripping the hell out of the bedsheets. You pull back slightly, breathless, your heart racing and you hoped he couldn’t tell. He chases your lips, not happy you broke the kiss, not happy at all. “This is so unfair,” he glares at you with half-lidded eyes. His chest heaving up and down as he pants to catch his own breath.
A chuckle leaves your plump lips, as you look at him. Face red and flushed, and his boner as hard as ever. “What do you mean, baby?” you tease him, the words dripping with playfulness as you move your hips against him, just enough to drive him crazy but not enough to give him that relief he oh so craves.
Toji groans, his hips instinctively bucking up to meet yours. “You know exactly what I mean,” he mutters through clenched teeth, the frustration in his voice just making him all the more hot. His rich deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. You were driving him insane but that was the plan all along. It was exactly what you wanted.
“You want to touch me so bad, huh?” you purr as your hand comes up to cup his chin, tilting his head so he could face you. His pretty green eyes could burn into your skin with the way he was looking at you. His jaw tightens slightly under your touch, lips part slightly as if he wants to say something, but the words don’t come out.
You lean in closer to him, placing kisses on his jawline, trying to coax him into speaking. "Is that what you want, Toji?" you murmur, your thumb tracing his bottom lip slowly. You only feel him grow harder under you, his cock speaking for him. His whole body twitches, he couldn’t hold back anymore but he doesn’t want to lose the game… or maybe he doesn’t want to disobey you.
"Say it, baby" you whisper into his ear, your voice low and sultry, each word full of temptation. You look down to see his poor knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping the sheets. He was such a good boy for trying to hold off, but he was at the brink already.
“Please… let me touch you, already,” he finally blurts out, his voice hoarse and strained with embarrassment. He held on longer than you thought, you could give him that. The sound of his begging was like music to your ears.
"Good boy," you giggle, letting your fingers trail down his chest, sending tingles through his body. "That wasn’t so hard, was it?"
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk smut#toji fushiguro#fushiguro toji#toji x reader#jjk toji#toji smut#toji x you#toji fushiguro x reader#jjk#jujutsu kaisen toji#jujutsu kaisen smut#toji fushiguro smut#toji zenin#jujutsu kaisen drabbles#jjk drabbles
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Mean!Logan who absolutely will NOT kiss you on the mouth while he’s fucking you. You’re crying and begging and so so desperate for it but he just will not give in, loves to watch you cry and cry even while your whole body shakes and your eyes roll back from how deep he is in you
Logan won't kiss you
send me mean!logan requests!
contents/warnings: mean!logan, teasing, dacryphilia, don't like don't read.
a/n: anon i hope you know this made me moan. shit the first line almost had me creaming my jeans. thank you <33333333333
It's a tease, being given so much and yet nothing at all. Logan's strong hips are steadily thrusting against your own, driving his cock in and out of your cunt that begs for nothing more, but you're being held tantalizingly close to the precipice of your orgasm solely from the denial of a kiss.
Logan's mouth is heaven.
Whether against your own or against another part of you, your sensitive nipples or your throbbing pussy, his mouth has always brought you to completion. You yearn for it now, with sharp aches and pleas from your drooling cunt as he fucks into you, but he refuses to give you what you want- what you need.
"What's'a matter?" He drawls, and by the condescension in his voice, by the sharp, rigid smirk on the mouth of his that you want so bad, you know he knows, "What gives, you don't like me or somethin'?"
"Logan," You whine for mercy, tears beading in your eyes as you grip his biceps and attempt to hoist yourself up to kiss him. He deflects skillfully, pushing you back down to the mattress.
"No, no, don't be greedy. My dick isn't enough? Looks like it is." He muses, eyeing the way your cunt slobbers on his length, coating it generously in your thick, slick arousal.
"Look at you, you're ruined," Logan scoffs, panting through the continuous motions of his hips, "And you still want more."
"I want a kiss," You feel pitiful whining like that, and he laughs like you are.
"Oh, princess wants a kiss, is that it? All this cock and what you really want is my mouth?"
"Yes," You gasp, tears flooding down your cheeks at the contempt in his eyes, even if its staged, "Please Logan, please, I jus- I just want one kiss, please." You try yet again to raise your head, but he won't take the bait- he sneers like you're nothing but an annoyance.
"No." He decides simply, hips only snapping faster and faster, harder and harder into your cunt, "You have enough. Use it."
You do. You clench around his cock, thighs squeezed together so that your entrance is as tight as possible. You feel every inch of his impressive length as it pounds in and out of your pussy, you feel pleasure in every fiber of your being, and yet- it's the visual of Logan's tongue flicking out over his lips after a hefty exhale that finally sends your brain and body into overdrive.
His lips, thin and a shade pinker than his skin, look so enticing, and the way that his tongue laves over them leaving translucent saliva behind sends sparks between your legs like nothing you've ever felt without Logan's mouth. You wish it was yours, you wish his tongue was dipping into your mouth the way it does so often, licking every inch of your skin, tasting every part of you there ever has been.
You cum hard and you cum almost painfully, writhing on the bed covered in tears and sweat. There's surely a pool of slick beneath your ass on the bed from where your cunt has drooled onto the sheets but Logan will clean it up later- if you're lucky, from you with the mouth you're still fantasizing about.
"There, that wasn't hard," Logan hums, crooning tenderly like he's taking care of you as he finally dips down to press a firm kiss against the slack ring of your mouth. It's late, but better than never. You exhale shakily as he kisses you, a balm to soothe the hurt feelings of his denial, and he chuckles as you twitch beneath him. He leaves his cock buried in your warm, twitching cunt- he hasn't finished himself, but he'll feed his cock down your throat later- anytime you cum and he doesn't you offer to help him out. Watching the way that your eyes blink hazily at him post-kiss is certainly helping him along, and he won't take long up against the warm wet seal of your mouth.
"Poor thing is sensitive." He nudges his nose against your own, muscles bulging as he keeps himself hovering over you, "Can't handle being used, hm? Gotta be loved?"
"I love you," You whisper pitifully, chasing his mouth with a desperate, sticky kiss of your own, "Logan, I- I love you, mm-"
"Alright, alright." He mumbles through your sloppy attempts at kissing him, muffled by your lips, "Alright, crybaby, 'love you too."
#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett imagine#logan howlett fluff#logan howlett fanfiction#logan howlett smut#logan howlett x you#logan howlett blurb#logan howlett drabble#logan howlett oneshot#wolverine x reader#wolverine imagine#wolverine smut
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01/03/25; 10:00pm
{ drabbles / headcanons }
[ when they realize that you’re the true mc from behind the screen ]
featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel
notes: this is just my own take on the self aware au! i know other creators who’ve written their own self aware au’s (and have executed them amazingly well!), but i hope that you readers will give my story a chance, too ♡
you never understood the hype that surrounded the game known as love and deepspace-
however, the moment sylus was announced as the newest love interest for this game-
to say you were mildly interested would have been the greatest understatement of the century. when his trailer was revealed, you swore you felt your knees clash together while basking in his pure, masculine beauty.
and his voice- dear god did it sound like pure silk against your ears!
needless to say, you downloaded lads the moment sylus dropped as the latest love interest. when you made your mc, you did your best to model her after your own appearance to the best of your abilities-
however, it seemed impossible to do.
the mc was just too petite and perfect, something that you could never achieve in real life. yet despite it all, you tried your best to customize her to match your features before starting the game. as you struggled with the missions in the main story, you were essentially grinding until the moment you could unlock sylus's story branch-
and the moment when you accomplished it, you were truly on cloud 9, taking an ungodly amount of screenshots each time sylus was on your phone's screen. you kept interacting with him in game, raising his affinity with you to level 50 in a mere few weeks.
it was embarrassing how much you adored this gorgeous man made up entirely of pixels. you always spent quality time with him, bringing him with you when you worked or had to study for an upcoming exam. each time you would glance at your phone and see his devastatingly handsome features cleaning his gun, you would grin and press a kiss on your screen (directly over his cheek!)
were you shameless for feeling so deeply about a fictional man-
absolutely yes. but did you care?
no.
after kissing sylus for what had to be the thousandth time that day, you would go back to your responsibilities, unaware that sylus could hear you and feel the sensation of your kisses against his cheek.
at first, it was maddening for sylus to realize that everything he's been through was made up by some writers at a company. every tragedy was forced upon him for the sake of a good story-
and he hated it.
he hated how his every word was essentially a script made up by that same company and how he was forced to interact with an mc that was just the same as the rest-
yet the moment he realized he could see you settled behind that woman's avatar-
sylus was intrigued, to say the least.
despite how you looked drastically different from the mc, something about you drew him to you more than the mc ever could. for starters, you were a true, living person who had a personality.
and you just seemed so alive each time sylus saw you. the more time he had spent with you, the more his feelings of curiosity turned into something tangible and real-
making sylus yearn for the day you would recognize him noticing you. he stops cleaning his gun just then, simply keeping his crimson gaze on your form as you wrote in your notebook. the hours continue to pass, yet sylus allows the quality time feature to go on even past the 30 minute mark, not stopping until you were done.
as your eyes go back to your phone, you were ready to quit the session when sylus purposely stops you, "no kiss this time? you wound me, little dove."
he basks in your wide eyed expression and the way your mouth was wide open in a gape, chuckling as you waved your hand over the screen-
and sylus was following your every movement.
"you can see me?"
"i think we've made that abundantly clear just now, little dove." he shakes his head, feeling his world tilt slightly when you pick up your phone.
"y-you just spoke to me, and i- i'm your little dove?" a dreamy expression crosses your features as you kept your gaze on sylus. he gives you a rare, tiny smile while reaffirming his nickname for you with a nod, "of course you are. you have always been my little dove since the moment i laid eyes on you."
a cute sound escapes from your parted lips, and he felt himself being jostled around when you began to spin while holding your phone. with his eyebrows lifted in response, he calls out your name while telling you, "you don't seem to be as panicked as i imagined."
"are you kidding me? i-" you cough and give him a sheepish expression, "i actually love you so much, and despite the weirdness of this all, i'm strangely happy."
your words succeed in making sylus feel warm inside-
and he knew he had to find a way to be with you soon.
zayne has always been aware of your existence, since you were a longtime player of his game and have spent most of your time together with him.
strangely enough, he took pride in having the highest affinity with you-
yet when you obtained any of the other love interest's memories, or spent some time with them-
a wave of jealousy would course through zayne's veins. he knew that he was programmed to always feel happy with whatever man you chose-
but he couldn't bring himself to let you go. after all, zayne knew that he loved you the most out of all of them.
he was the one who held your health and wellbeing above all else (even ignoring his own desires to see you during his quality time sessions with you.)
while working on his laptop at the cafe, he was aware of how late it was and was hoping that you were already safe and sound in bed-
so imagine his surprise when he sees you logging into the game, greeting him with a tired smile on your face as you opened up the quality time menu with him.
"hey zaynie, i know it's late, but i need to get these assignments done just to stay ahead. i couldn't find the time to do them earlier, so that's why i'm here."
admittedly, zayne could feel a shiver of pleasure each time you spoke to him, allowing him to bask in the sound of your voice-
yet more so than that was how concerned he was that you wanted to do your assignments at such an ungodly hour. as you pressed on the quality time session, zayne would immediately cancel it. confusion was etched onto your features, making you try again-
only to have zayne cancel the session once more.
"what the hell is going on?"
unable to hide the fact that he could respond to you (and not wishing to ignore you any longer) zayne takes a chance and speaks to you.
"it's too late for you to be studying. you should be in bed, ready to sleep."
your eyebrows furrow in response to his words, uncertain if this was part of his script (it wasn't). unable to stop, zayne continues to lightly scold you, "humans need at least 8 hours of sleep, and i know that you've barely gotten 5 hours the past few days."
"oh my god, what?!" he watches as you pick up your phone, meeting his gaze as an incredulous expression was seen on your face. "zaynie, are you talking to me?"
zayne was conflicted now, pulling at the collar of his shirt before clearing his throat, wanting to be honest with you, "yes... i am talking to you, and if you cared for me and my feelings at all, you would go to bed and work on your assignments in the morning, once you're fully rested."
it takes you a moment to take this all in.
from zayne meeting your gaze and scolding you because he was concerned about your health-
it honestly felt like such a dream come true.
your features end up breaking out into a kind smile, and zayne could feel a blush creeping up against his cheek when you nuzzle your face closer to your phone, "okay zaynie, i'll go to sleep."
cradling the phone close to your chest, you let out a hum while slowly getting into bed. once you were settled in bed, you held up your phone to see zayne looking back at you. he smiles at you, "good girl, now close your eyes and sleep."
he watches as you purse your lips before asking him, "will you stay with me, zayne?"
smiling at your request, he gives you a nod, "of course. i'm not going anywhere." he watches you once more as you cuddle into your comforter, closing your eyes while setting your phone close to you.
and as your breathing evens out, (turning softer), zayne whispers your name, filled with longing and love for you alone.
you had to be experiencing the worst cold of your life as you were settled in bed with your phone in hand, playing love and deepspace as you did some missions with xavier, your true love interest for the game.
in the middle of your battle, you let out a particularly loud sneeze, wiping the snot away from your nose while blowing into a tissue when a tiny voice was heard saying "bless you."
after blowing your nose, you said 'thank you' in response-
only to do a double take.
who just said bless you?
you take a quick scan around your room, coughing here and there-
only to realize that there was no one in sight.
you hear the voice again, this time saying your name as you realized that it sounded familiar to you. looking back at your phone, you saw xavier had already taken out the enemy and was looking directly at you.
you swallow thickly, your voice shaky when you began to speak,
"xavier?"
"yes."
"you can hear me?"
"i was able to hear you since day 1, and you chose to stick with me." xavier was practically grinning now, appearing smug while folding his arms across his chest.
by now, you were feeling dizzy as you slowly sit up in bed, feeling almost feverish while looking into xavier's gorgeous, true blue eyes. xavier has been aware of your presence this whole time-
and that fact was enough to make a surge of warmth course through you.
"you... you have always been able to see me?" you ask xavier in a shy voice, earning an earnest nod from him, "yes, and..." he trails off while pressing a hand against your screen, "i'm sorry that i'm unable to take care of you when you're feeling so sick."
"n-no! don't worry about it... i'm just happy that you're here... with me."
a sweet smile paints xavier's expression, coupled along with a gentle chuckle. "i'm happy to be with you, too. and i'm happy that you chose me over them."
realizing what xavier meant, you gave him the best smile you could manage while wiping at your nose with a new tissue, "i will always choose you, xavi."
hearing your admission causes a surge of possessiveness to course through xavier's veins. and while you smiled back at him, the philos prince was thinking of ways to forever keep your smiles for himself.
feeling the need to clean your house and do some chores around it, you decide to spend some quality time with rafayel, the hot lemurian you fell in love with ever since you began playing love and deepspace. with his pretty, pouty face on your screen, you began cleaning, moving around your kitchen and living room while wiping down each surface you could see.
you spent a few hours cleaning, with rafayel seeming to sketch during his quality time session with you, which felt odd. usually, after 30 minutes, the game would notify you, asking if you'd like to continue the session as you confirmed it-
yet now, that didn't seem to happen.
you saw no notification-
and rafayel was still sketching on your screen.
with a shrug, you figured the game probably updated and added this new feature, where you didn't have to constantly renew the 30 minutes during your quality time with rafayel. feeling thirsty now, you pick up your phone and head into the kitchen, setting your phone on the counter as you went into the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
"hey princess! where did you go?! i can't see you!"
you nearly dropped your water bottle in response, hearing rafayel's voice coming from your phone. "come on princess, don't leave me hanging, where are you?"
was this a new script?
closing your fridge, you step closer to your phone, seeing rafayel's pout. picking it up, allowing rafayel to finally see you, he was smiling now while winking at you. "there you are, princess! are you done doing all that work?"
words were unable to form as you were left gaping at him, making the artist chuckle while shaking his head, "you look like a goldfish, which is pretty cute! oh, before i forget!"
rafayel pulls back, revealing his sketchbook to you. your heart was felt clenching slightly before racing upon realizing every sketch was about you-
not your mc in game.
the realization of it all had you reeling, with your hands gripping at your counter when you addressed rafayel. "rafe, you can see me?"
"of course i can, always have been able to, princess." he has the audacity to make your heart flutter the moment he gives you another wink. "and let me just say, i've been loving what i've been seeing so far, princess."
by now, you felt like you were on the verge of collapsing, unable to hide your grin as you cling to your phone all while basking in rafayel's flirty and playful words-
yet little did you know, somewhere along the way, rafayel had genuinely fallen head over heels for you, keeping each painting and sculpture he had made of you hidden so that you would never know-
at least, not yet.
end notes: i'm so happy to write a story like this, where all the lads men truly are so META and wish to be with YOU-
and not the mc (⺣◡⺣)♡
this is currently unedited, but i shall make any changes the moment this story is posted!
all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!
#sylus fluff#zayne fluff#xavier fluff#rafayel fluff#sylus x reader#zayne x reader#xavier x reader#rafayel x reader#lads x reader#lnds x reader#l&ds x reader#love and deepspace
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࣪ . ִֶָ๋ CAPITANO: husband headcanons ♡
pairing: capitano x afab!reader/you warnings: reader is addressed as 'wife', canon and modern!au cho's note: the kinich one did rlly good, so now lets try it with our big boi hehe. happy reads everyone! lmk if u guys want an nsfw ver. of either/both characters ;3
this man is the definition of YEARNING.
he wasnt comfortable with the label of him being your boyfriend. with all his eternal affection and love for you? to just be a mere boyfriend? absolutely not. he just HAD to be your husband. proposed the moment he realized he loved you.
definitely proposed with a big stone :p
wears his ring 24/7 and kisses it whenever your not around and he misses you dearly.
he abuses the power of his mask and never misses the chance to stare and just admire your beauty. underneath his mask his eyes are full of love and admiration for you.
discreetly clingy. if your going out somewhere he wants to go with you 'to keep you safe' or he 'needed to pass by that area later anyway'.
hates taking off his helmet, but never stops you from sliding it off of his head to shower him with praise.
his nicknames for you are my love, dear, darling, prince/princess
his love language for you is physical touch, and words of affirmation
his favorite spots to kiss you on is your forehead, lips, the palm of your hands and your knuckles.
engraved your initials into his sword, and because of that he makes sure he takes good care of it always.
his kisses are always slow and intimate.
he is a quick-kisses or pecks HATER. he has to kiss you for atleast 10 seconds. he doesn't care if hes late, if theres someone right infront of you— he kisses you like its the last time, everytime.
more of a listener than a speaker
he likes to go on dates or do activities with you where you both have to talk to eachother a lot. like fine dining dates, late night walks or driving!
very touchy in private. he likes to snake his arm around your waist, pull your hair to the side and kiss the back of your neck.. hes just addicted to praising and carressing your body.
ever since he married you, he absolutely despises overtime. he gets bossier and meaner to his subordinates when he realizes he might have to stay a little later to supervise them. sometimes he even leaves his job or his expeditions early just to get home to you.
frequently brings you gifts. a bouquet of rare flowers, a jewelry set with special ore customized just for you, lavish wine.. you name it.
never wants to argue with you. the second you tell him he's wrong, he just immediately agrees with you, spewing "yes ma'am." "your absolutely right. i didn't think of it properly.. apologies my love."
ever since he married you, he likes to subtly flex he has you as his wife.
"Sorry, i must end this conversation early. My wife is waiting on my presence." and you can just HEAR how cocky he is to say that.
writes you longgggg letters when he has to get away from business for awhile.
regarding his letters, he made you scribble/draw a design which he got custom made to become his wax seal for said letters :) a very keen man
got you a coat matching his own!
when your crying, he likes to hug you in silence, just letting you soak him in your tears. when you've calmed down, he tells you hes there to listen if you want to talk about your feelings, and theres no problem of yours hes not willing to help you solve. in his mind, your pain is his own, and he'll always be there to support you through any troubles.
very possessive. he wants people to know your his, and hes yours.
princess treatment on TOP. carries you easily when your tired of walking, idly massages your hands or feet when your both lounging together, regularly brings you flowers
during misunderstandings, he likes to take a minute of silence to compose himself and his thoughts to make sure he doesnt say anything he doesnt mean
likes to properly sit down with you to talk out problems between the both of you, and keeps an open mind. he doesnt rush you or cut you off when your talking about your feelings, and lets you know hes present and he cares about how you feel
takes extra time and effort after an argument to remind you he loves you.
overall, capitano is a very romantic lover despite his cold resolve, and honors your wishes with his life.
#▸ ✧ ˚ services#genshin impact#capitano#capitano x reader#capitano headcanons#capitano x you#capitano x y/n#capitano imagines#genshin impact fatui
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it's silly, you know, but you have to try it. may the grapes work.
nanami kento can’t find you when the clock strikes midnight.
there was a ruckus, the release of fireworks outside (who permitted fireworks on school premises?), and cheers of happy new year. itadori toots one of those awful noisemakers. tuna mayos and hugs are exchanged. as planned, nanami maintains a wide berth from gojo, recalling his attempts at a sloppy kiss the previous year. it is a new year; the year of the snake.
but you are nowhere in sight.
why does nanami's belly feel like it's sinking? he smiles, but there is an ache in the centre of his chest. his eyes flick left and right, the festivities unfolding before his eyes. the school had been decorated by the students with the funding of gojo's shiny black card, reds and golds streaming along the walls. stuffed snakes (inumaki's idea) were thrown haphazardly onto the ground. the remnants of the party games from earlier scatter the table-clothed tables.
in your stead, shoko meets nanami's eyes. he nods, giving her a brief hug, sure to grip her just below the shoulder and just above the waist.
"happy new year," he mumbles. shoko smiles. it is politeness exchanged with a colleague and friend, but this is not how he pictured his first interaction of the year (and with whom it was shared).
kento had planned it down to the tee: your favourite wine, no more than two whiskeys, arriving just after you to seemingly rescue you from forcing yourself to yap about things you did not care about (work) with a person you could not care less about (gojo). kento was meticulous, more meticulous than he was at that awful firm he worked at in his early twenties. he had to be. the moment must be perfect. you deserved a wonderful evening. yet, there was a variable he forgot to consider: he couldn't find you.
"ah, nanamin," shoko hums. kento steps back, offering his full attention. there's that awful look on that face of hers, one that dates back more than ten years. the teasing one that reminds kento he is nothing but a lost junior; a silly, unkowing little boy with punk bangs. one that is about to be berated by the scary bobbed girl with a cigarette habit.
a force seizes his lungs, halting their movement. may the berating begin.
"are you looking for someone?" shoko teases. that tone. how grating.
"what gave it away?" no frustration laces kento's voice, only soft desperation.
shoko stacks her hands together and brings them to the side of her face. she tilts her head, her voice sing-song-y. "nothing, just that look of yearning."
kento huffs in frustration. his fists curl in impatience. "where is she, shoko?"
shoko steps to the side, an evil scientist revealing her latest experiment.
when kento sees what is behind her, the world tilts just right.
there you are, under the table, crouched and feral. kento draws back at the sight of you: a monkey, primitive and on the hunt for food. in quick succession, large and luscious green grapes were thrown into your mouth. you were a chipmunk. you stuffed your face full of grapes before you even finished chewing.
you were always a wonder.
shoko's voice is soft, her note of contentment complimenting kento's sudden leisure at the sight of you. "happy new year, nanamin." she pads away.
kento makes a note to gift shoko a red envelope the following day.
there you are; his little star. kento moves, crouches, and parts the red tablecloth.
"you never told me you liked grapes."
your grape-a-thon veers to a halt. absolute horror stills your chewing. you have at least five grapes in your mouth.
kento smiles wide. a rush of warmth washes over him. he could squish you.
this too much attention from a too handsome man. you turn your head away to fend off the rush of blood to your face.
"they're soh exsensiv hare," kento makes out between your voice and the grapes. you chew rigorously, averting your eyes. you hold a hand in between your wobbly mouth and kento’s eyes, falsely creating a front to maintain your dignity. "tha’s why you don seh meh eaving them. gofo saeh he woulv give them tah me."
kento bristles. he would get grapes for you anyday. command or none.
"may i join you?"
you chew a little more in thought, grimacing as you swallow. kento tries hard not to watch your throat, but he can’t resist.
“of course.” you’re sincere. you’ve gone shy. his heart aches. he wants to make you get bashful like this every day.
you scooch over to make room for large and long nanami kento to sit beside you under the table. he’s still wearing those winged shoes you love, but opted for a white knitted sweater that makes you wonder how soft it is. you almost reach for kento’s arm, but you draw back. you’re under the table eating grapes for a reason. you deflate. five more grapes to go.
“you don’t need to be under here with me,” you reassure kento. kento looks like a stuffy that got pounded into a too small toy chest. his neck cranes and his bottom is awkwardly sat in a cross cross. you smile. you want this to last forever.
“i can’t let you be here alone. it’s new years.”
you wring your hands together. you need to eat four more grapes. “thanks, kento.”
you eat your grapes now, but slower. this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. weren’t you supposed to eat all twelve grapes before midnight was over? you glance over at the clock. it’s already too late.
you open your palms: four beautiful green grapes, grown and harvested in japan. when you arrived here, you hadn’t realized fruit was a luxury. fruit is difficult to grow. the majority of land is ill-suited for fruit.
four wasted beautiful grapes.
“that’s enough grapes for tonight.” kento gently takes your hand and rests them on his own. he cups yours, creating a shield. his hands are warm. they’re so much bigger than yours. “you never needed them.”
“yes i did,” you insisted.
kento shakes his head. “no. you don’t need any of that nonsense.”
your frown is deep. your eyes are in a different place. kento cups your hands more firmly now. “you never needed the grapes, darling.”
it’s instinct, the little “no” that forms on the tip of your tongue. it takes a second, another, to realize the precious thing kento had called you.
darling. YOU. darling?!
suddenly, you’re the one gripping kento’s hands. “what did you say?!”
kento shakes his head, patting your hand. “you make this difficult.”
“you! you called me–” you guffaw like a fish when kento nods a tired affirmative, like it was obvious all along. “please don’t lie.”
kento’s eyes turn icy. “i would never lie to you.”
your lips wobble pathetically. you hate this man. he makes you silly and makes your heart beat too fast. he makes you want to turn away and stare all the same because he is too handsome. too kind. so him. and you had always wanted him. but the yearning? you never expected it to be returned.
“nanami kento, were you always on tiktok?”
kento throws back his head and laughs. you stare for too long. you’re allowed to now. “i have three wonderful students.”
the year of the snake will be a wonderful one.
you leave the remaining grapes for gojo. he needed them more than you.
i can't stare at this anymore please take it as it is. happy year of the snake everyone :) hissss
#nanami kento#nanami kento x you#nanami kento x reader#nanami#nanami kento jjk#nanami jjk#nanami fluff#jjk#jjk x you#jjk x reader
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ch.3: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)
directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1
read until the end for an author's note.
tw: allusions to sexual assault, prostitution, and alcohol abuse.
"hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!"
please stop.
"i know that we haven't been talking for quite a long time—"
no, you have never once had a solid conversation with him.
and you wish it stays that way between the two of you.
"—so let's catch up over coffee, yeah? i'll be staying at the manor for a week!"
you don't want to, you don't want to see his face at all, his dismissive eyes. don't want to hear his voice, how it only sings praises for everyone but you.
"(name)??? it says you have seen the messages :( are you asleep? you shouldn't sleep with your phone on, baby bird, that's dangerous!"
he doesn't have the right to scold you, he's not your older brother anymore. and you're not asleep, fuck, you regret not dozing off this afternoon. hell, you're more than awake and aware of the messages he's sending you, eyes scanning over the train of spam that clutters what was once an empty one-sided conversation.
"baby bird? c'mon, i miss you!!!"
lies, lies, lies. all he ever says are lies and you wouldn't fall for it, not anymore.
yet you're simply frozen in shock, seated up in bed as you simply watch dick's messages stack upon each other.
you watch, and wait. it's like you have lost autonomy over your body's actions.
five minutes pass.
your phone rings.
it was the only sound that fills the room other than the wringing in your ears.
it continues ringing, reverberating throughout the room, but all you do is stare, stare until the it ends, for everything to end and for all of this to be a sick hallucination your brain played on you.
there's nothing else you could focus on, your heartbeats spike the longer the call sound continues. you didn't even have the strength to decline the call, let alone move as you fear you might end up pressing the accept button.
so you wait, you wait until it stops.
and once it does cease, your sweaty thumb immediately pressed the block button on dick's profile, even going as far to delete all the past chats you had sent him. then, without moments hesitation, hastily scrolled all the way to the bottom of the list, where their other contacts lay barren of messages.
you have only used enough effort to message dick. that's what probably triggered his sudden intent on spending time with you, no? or was this all for his sick pleasure?
fortunately, all your other contacts with your past family are empty.
it will remain empty.
so you immediately blocked them, all of them. the thumps in your heart are erratic, so much so that you had to remind yourself to breath. through your nose, and out your mouth.
that's it, right? he'll get the message, definitely. that you don't want him to talk to you, to get rid of the false pretenses between the two of you, you don't want to "catch up" over coffee, or over anything.
it's all over, you tell yourself.
'calm down, relax...' you're in the safety of your own apartment, you should feel safe right now, he wouldn't bother you anymore.
not anymore would you be led to believe that they care for you.
— so why is it that you can feel that familiar rise of bile? taste it, even? why is it that your body is shaking so uncontrollably?
what the fuck.
seriously, just what the absolute fuck is wrong with you?
you never take yourself as an overdramatic person, especially not now, at the age of eighteen where you had finally learned to live for yourself, to never yearn what you knew was unattainable. your past tantrums were no more, no more you say but you wish so badly to carve a knife into your very heart.
why is it that now— now that you were out of your comfort zone, out of their empty presences and their overwhelming absences; why is it now that he just suddenly decided to appear? why is it just now that you feel your skin scorching uncomfortably at just a single message.
shit, your heart hurts so much. you want to take the beating organ out of your chest, just to make the pain stop.
your momma always told you, she said it herself that you are a brave child, her pride and joy despite the hellish living conditions you both were subjected to.
why is it so hard to believe her now?
just, why are you so weak?
when your mother hid you inside that closet - one too small for even a malnourished child like you to fit - telling you to hush for her, and that it's just a game of hide and seek with the 'bad guys', to not make a single sound at all or even come out if you hear screaming— you did what you were told, obediently, covering your mouth, trying your hardest to ignore your sore joints and heavy breathing.
"woah, mommy! is this really me?! you always make me look so nice." a young voice squeals, the sound echoing throughout the hollow room.
"yes, it's you, baby. you who are so strong, unlike me. momma will always love you." scarred hand, littered with gashes and soiled bandages run brush through your messy hair as your small form sat on the dirty bathroom sink. your eyes are drifted towards a mirror, checking out the new shirt your mother had bought for you.
"i love you too..."
you never cried that loud when light suddenly hits the cramped interiors of the closet, when you were caught and shoved outside of your hiding space by strange men, your mother nowhere to be found. when you felt the same men ripping your clothes apart, knives branding your skin like a searing hot pan; you never fought back because that's what your mother taught you. even when they pinned you down and injected you with a strange substance, head suddenly numbing and vision darkening; you still woke up alive, no?
... you woke up alive and conscious in a police station, where you had questiomed to the kind officer about your mother's disappearance, where she had bared the news that you would be taken in to a new family; a new home where your father resides in. one way cleaner, way safer she says.
yet for the next 15 years you were neglectef of the love your mother had given you. you were only raised by a butler too busy to fully focus on you. you had compared yourself to your siblings, siblings who had achieved so much in so little time.
and you?
you are only a wayne by name, but a (last name) by heart.
but you are brave, you are strong— you came from the lowest of the low, yet you pushed through and through to be a better person, and look where you are now...!
... just look at yourself now.
your phone lays untouched on the bed sheets. it tempts you, mocks your panicked state, and you want to rip that rectangular piece of metal apart. yet all you do is stare at it, sitting upright as one hands supports your weight. your fingers clench the mattress, it does nothing as your vision darkens from your lack of breathing.
breathing.
oh, breath in, breath out. do what alfred has taught you years ago, the- the one he uses whenever you would run alone in the desolate halls of the manor to alfred's room, just because you were anxious of the monsters in the corner of your eyes, where he would help you return to your senses and play you a lullaby from an old music box right after. the one he uses after you two would watch horror movies and you were too scared of any sounds that engulf your surroundings.
your throat tightens, and you want to vomit out the contents of what you have eaten— but you have to try.
five things you can see.
your eyes, although frozen wide and stinging with tears, darts around the room. everything is darker now, it's cold and you feel so small. your apartment was small. unlike the place you had lived before, it lacks of furniture, of life, of personality. the only things in your tiny apartment were basic necessities, but even food was scarce for someone like you who had juggle working multiple jobs and college just to pay for rent.
you can see your phone, the candy wrappers you had forgotten to throw, the overflowing trash bin, an empty bottle of prescription pills, alfred's gifts on the shelves counts, right? you laugh sarcastically at yourself; even a trashcan has more contents in your shitty apartment.
fuck, your chest throbs, you remind yourself to breath a little deeper.
four things you can feel.
the mattress is too hot for you, sweat already running down your forehead as if you had ran a marathon. you can feel the tears well up your eyes, overflowing with bitterness that you thought you had already buried deep down, and your hands gripping the sheets so uncomfortably tight. the weather is too cold, winter's nearing but the blood pumping through your veins scorches your very being.
that's four, three more to go and you hope this would all be over. you hope that this would all be a dream, a hallucination, anything.
three things you can hear.
does your choked sounds count? or does it need to be anything else? fuck, why doesn't it work as well as when alfred helps you through? you told yourself that you could take on anything in life, but is it all just a lie—?
focus. focus on your surroundings. you can hear your sniffling, heavy intakes of air, and a repeat of the phone ringing with dick's name as the contact.
shit, shit, shit. don't remind yourself of that. move on, just get onto the next thing.
two things you can smell or... taste? you don't remember, why can't you remember? your thoughts keep running back in circles to the messages, that stupid '<3', the way his desperation could be felt through the phone.
it reminds you of yourself.
before you knew it, your fist brought itself to punch your chest.
thump, beat, thump.
every time your heart beats too loudly, you strike your chest as hard as you can, uncaring for the pain it inflicts you, uncaring for the way you beat the air out of yourself. as long as it distracts you from the bile rising up your throat and the unsated nausea from sitting in the same position— it'll be fine if you hurt yourself. you've already done so a million times, no?
... yet nothing works.
why doesn't anything work out in your favor?
please don't do this to me.
your fists eventually stops. everything hurts even worse.
just earlier ago, you were praising yourself for all the progress you had made. how you weren't in need of validation anymore. you try so desperately to erase any inch of evidence that you were a wayne.
it all crashes down, again and again, and again and again.
moments ago, you were laying on your bed, scrolling through social media, making plans to hangout with your small group of friends in college, trying to cling on to the good parts of your past— ignoring the empty chats of what was once family.
but even without them, even if they haven't knew that you pushed them away from your life— they're always seeping their way at the back of your mind.
you truly can not erase your past. no matter how much you shake your head to rid of the thoughts, no matter how much you try to erase any documentations, any
even talking to alfred reminds you of your stupid past. a past that eats you up every time you wake up from the nightmares, wishing that there would be someone, anyone, who would hold your body tight and tell you it's alright. your mother, your father, your brothers and your sisters— they just were never there for you for so many years. and you hate to admit it but; you still cling to the wish that one of them would...
would hug you and kiss all your wounds away. drive away the countless of dreams filled with terror and torture.
you're independent now, but at what cost? what good does it do when you still try your damn hardest to live? when you know it in your soul that you still desire for a semblence of familial love.
and now that you've pushed alfred away, you're truly alone.
alone and stuck in a loop of trying to run away from your past and failing miserably.
and all you can ever do is, well...
you cry.
the tears bursts out of your eyes like a broken faucet.
you cry because that's the only thing you know how to do. you let the waters loose, hands quickly tangling itself on your hair, ripping fragile strands apart. you cry because you've been living a such a life full of lies, of broken promises, a life where you have to constantly walk on eggshells. you cry because you want to turn back and throw away all your progress just to feel the embrace of a family who had never once held you in their arms. you let yourself heave, let your voice wail out to its deepest frustration, uncaring for the thin walls, or the sleeping neighbors next door, or the rumbling of your empty stomach.
you cry, for what seems like hours, unending like the memories of solitary isolation, like the wanting of a love that you could never quite catch. you let your eyes become all puffy and red; red like the gashes you have scratched upon your skin, like the crimson, beaded blood from your bitten lips.
you don't find any strength in yourself to stifle your sobs anymore.
not when you're so, so lonely in this world.
and when your voice dies down, when your hoarse shrieking becomes no more; you simply force yourself to stand, despite the spinning of your vision, the stumble in your steps and the lack of air in your lungs; you run to your bathroom, slamming the door shut, letting adrenaline take its course into your already tired body.
your knees, they buckle after its few wobbly steps. it's sore and lacks the circulation to be properly controlled, but you ignore it in favor of expelling the acidic bile that finally rushes itself up your tongue.
at least you find just one thing to be grateful for— that your knees slipped on the wet tiles and land coincidentally towards the toilet's rim, a loud thud vibrating through the room.
alfred says the best way to cope is to never jar your emotions.
it's painful, everything is so painful that you want to scream; you need to let it all out.
you don't care if your knees were to bruise because you couldn't help it anymore, spilling out the contents of your breakfast onto the toilet bowl. your throat constricts into itself, and all you could do is gag and force every bit of food out of your mouth.
and it tastes so bitter that you cry even more. there were some bits and chunks stuck on the sides of your tongue, you can taste the acid on the back of your throat. you feel the urge to vomit even more but there's no more to expel. all you can do is dry heave, shaking hands finding its way to cover your mouth from gagging anymore.
it's so pungent, so fucking disgusting— but all you do is force yourself to stand once more, to look away from the mess you had created and flush it away.
the tears just wouldn't stop, the throbbing in your heart could never be expelled just as easily as the contents of your stomach.
yet you chose this life, there's no more alfred to assist you on your own personal struggles. there's no more rubs on the pack, pats on the head or a warm meal that greets you every time you drown in your own emotions. it's only you who can solve your own problems. you can't depend on anyone but yourself...
if only life was as easy as it is to flush away unwanted contents from your stomach.
if only you weren't in gotham... if only dick wasn't in...
gotham.
he's in gotham right now.
shit.
shit, shit, shit.
dick is in gotham, and you know he just doesn't give up.
he can track you down, he'll find you, he might hurt you because you blocked him— you know of his temper, of his unadulterated anger; you're scared of that. just what have you done wrong? did you take something that was his? no, no, never.
you've never been in his room before. he knows yours because he had visited once, but you don't know his. you don't even know which hallway leads to it.
oh, fuck.
you stumble towards the bathroom sink, hastily twisting the faucet's valve. cold water immediately rushes down, you cup your two hands together to collect the running water.
you need to get to you bearings, prepare for the absolute worst because you know, you know the power he holds in his arms.
with the amount of times he had spammed you, called you even— there's something he wants from you, and you don't want to entertain whatever he has on his mind.
you splash your face - splotched with tears, snot and drool - clean multiple times, rub your swollen, red eyes, and wipe the bits of vomit on the sides of your mouth. you can still taste the vomit. god, it's disgusting.
so you hastily grabbed your toothbrush, pushing an insanely large amount of toothpaste on the bristles. you scrub your teeth aggressively, feeling the urge to rid of the pungent taste of stomach acid. then you gargle mouthwash, twice, and spit it all out.
your movements are too quick for your own self to catch up, but you have to do this. your brain tells you to follow through whatever it has to do.
follow through instincts, get him out of your mind.
distract yourself from dick and the cryptic messages he had sent, that you had thoroughly deleted but...
it dawns upon you that albeit all your failed attempts at bonding with him— you know nothing about dick beyond the circus incident that had killed his parents and his identity as gotham and bludhaven's vigilante, nightwing.
you know nothing about him...
and you fucking blocked him before you could ask for an explanation.
what does that message mean? what does he want to talk about all of a sudden? a person doesn't just fucking waltz in someone's life after 15 years of absence and exclaims himself as close as your friend, no?
it had been so long since you had last heard him call you baby bird, let alone even read your messages, so why spam you now?
your knuckles grip at the bathroom sink's tiles, it was the only thing that provides you balance, legs too wobbly to support the dizziness. you feel a huge lump on your throat again, but you can't just erase all the efforts you had done to get yourself together.
— but at the same time, it's too hard to ignore the panic that resurfaces on your very mind.
so what do you need exactly?
distraction, something to get your mind off of the current situation? before you run away from gotham—
you need a distraction, anything. even if it's stupid, you'll regret it later, just not now.
cigarettes? no, you don't smoke. alfred will kill you if he finds out and you can never lie to him.
drugs? you'll be shot in the head by nasty criminals scamming naive citizens for half the price before you could even purchase them.
... then what?
you look at yourself in the mirror, puffy eyes glazing with emotions you yourself couldn't comprehend.
'despite everything, it's still you, no?'
if you could describe yourself right now, you would call yourself a mess, a big loser who had let their emotions run free for too long, let themself go way too quickly, gave up too quickly, and believed too naively. you had lost so much yet gained so little. a wayne so stubborn that it was the only thing you could ever relate to your father who had estranged you without knowing it.
there was more negatives than positives, you're aware of it.
but if there's one trait that anyone could generalize off of you, it would be that you're always desperate for something.
anything.
and just one time, you tell yourself. one time and that's it, nothing more, nothing less.
once you done relaxing, you're packing your bags and making a run for it. you'll even cut alfred off of your life once and for all. no matter how much it pains you to do so, it's necessary so you could make a new identity from scratch.
it'll hurt you so deeply.
but that's why you're going to do what you wish you had done back when you were still so young—
you need a drink right now.
the wayne manor, in all its glory, is truly just an empty palace that houses buried memories.
with walls that cover the cries of one lonely child; a child who yearns for the unreciprocated love of their family. it was a cage for a child who stalks the frigid halls without any company, who sleeps in a room too small for their age, who cries for anybody to notice the pain that they had hidden with rose colored tints for so long, who yearns for a warmth that could never be provided in the spaces of harsh, black wallpaper and harsh winters.
it will always be innately lonely, and cold.
yet it's even more sullen now, an atmosphere so empty nobody could pinpoint.
no more was the voice that sings of the butler's splendid cooking. no more was the etching of ballpens on smooth paper on an intricately designed diary that stores all the rants of one's daily life. no more were the strokes on colorful canvases that paint dreams of a different life. no more was the humming of multiple tunes every morning. no more was the presence of the ghost who water the plants every afternoon. no more were the footsteps that thud in the kitchen and the hands that opens the fridge.
and most importantly—
no more were the hushed cries of the kid who resides in the smallest room of the wayne manor.
a house could be described as a building where a unit, moreover a family, lives in; but a home is what represents comfort, a place of belonging and safety.
it was a place encased with deep, historical roots.
but right now, encased in a field of damp grass - wet from heavy rain - and the overwhelming scent of petrichor— the manor is simply a house.
for it could never be complete without the presence of the very lonely child who cries for a love never to be attained.
the wayne manor, in all its worth, would never be the same without (name) wayne, a child who had always belonged, but at the same time, always wronged.
bruce wayne never considered himself the greatest father.
he could be gotham's best detective, the most feared vigilante, or the heavily beloved billionaire who donates millions on hospitals, hosts charity events, and so much more.
he could spend his entire life saving countless of other lives that do not deserve the turmoil of living on edge constantly, attend meetings, plan out his every moves, sit on cushioned seats as he broods over where the all the next criminal hideouts; he could do everything and he'll be damned great at it.
—but he will never be the greatest at being a father.
he had long accepted that fact, embraced it even, facing countless of criticism from both alfred and media alike, but it would never be an excuse to neglect or mistreat any one of his children, just like how it would never be right to just ignore a kid's cry for comfort in the barren halls of a manor.
bruce was never outright cruel towards anyone, every action of his baring significance to his moral code.
which was why bruce feels a pit of neverending regret now.
in all the years that he had spent trying to raise his children, children who, in a way, are trouble. who all differ from each other from ideals, to pasts, to habits, to preferences— he wouldn't lie and say that he never had difficulty helping each and every one of them grow to be who they are now.
living through his decisions are never easy, especially if the outcomes were unpredictable; raising a child, let alone children, could go so many ways.
the lives that he had to juggle, alongside his identity as bruce wayne and as batman, they were all an endeavor that he had chose to balance. he had come so far and stumbled so often. but at least by the end of it, he would be proud to say that he truly will never regret having them by his side when he was at the lowest points of his life.
he had his flaws and his mistakes, he had done irreversible actions that he wishes he could reverse, and most importantly, he had failed each and every one of his children indubitably.
but he really tried.
he tried his best to be there for every single one of them. he was there for dick when he had witnessed the death of his mom and dad, adopting the boy who was overflowing with rage towards the killer of his parents and utilizing his gymnastic skills for good. he was there to pick jason up when he had stolen the batmobile's tires, helping the child unlearn the past abuse he had fallen victim to (and although he had died, then resurrected, and turned cold-blooded towards criminals, murdering without hesitation— he still cares for jason deeply). he was there when tim had lost his parents. there for damian who had only been raised as an assassin since he was born. for cass, for duke, for everyone.
he really tried to be active in their lives, supporting them through their blood, sweat, and tears.
... but he had never tried to be there for you.
his forgotten third child, the biological firstborn, child of a well-known prostitute, (name) (last name), whose identity has long been erased off of the face of the internet; the scandal of a century that took the shared efforts of him and barbara to decimate whatever information the late (or missing?) (last name) has in the underground.
(name), his child he has never once bat an eye on, too preoccupied with tim, aversing his attention away from you to train the other kid; ultimately ignoring the immense trauma you must have dealt with from being raised by a mother targeted by most criminal organizations from extorting their cash. it was sickening for him to think of just how cruel were the conditions the two of you were forced to live through.
it was sickening for bruce to imagine the even lonelier years you had to suffer through after your mother's disappearance— years where your father's presence was elsewhere, years that a child has to suffer through alone without any figure to look up to.
it was your name that he had hesitated to even say, in fear of butchering the pronunciation and earning more of alfred's judgemental looks.
(name) wayne.
not even a face can be associated with you, not your voice, your hobbies, nothing.
he couldn't recall a memory where he had taken you to a fancy gala, or one-on-one father-child dates, or any occasions that requires bonding with each other.
he wasn't the man who welcomed you through the doors of the manor, nor was he the father who should've picked you up at the police station.
bruce wayne knows nothing of his third child.
if alfred hadn't confronted him about your terrible living conditions as of now, living in debt whilst trying to push through college, then how long would he have ignored your presence inside the manor? how long would the years pass without him acknowledging any important milestones that you would reach?
until your untimely demise perhaps?
he couldn't even remember a time he had at least given you a gift during christmas or new year or any time of the day.
not even the name of your elementary and high school, or your college university. he doesn't know of your friends, your teachers or what subject you excel in.
you had already graduated highschool, and he wasn't even there for your ceremony. he wasn't there to walk you up the stage, wasn't there to shield you from the thousands of photographers who would've attended should they know that a wayne would attend, wasn't there to offer you a pat on the shoulders for a job well done.
then who had to walk you up the stage?
"alfred..." he stops walking, clearing his throat as alfred turns back at bruce, offering a raised eyebrow at the sudden pause and bruce's rigid pose.
"yes, master?"
"when... (name) graduated," he hesitated on saying your name again, catching on alfred's sudden squint of the eyes. "who walked them up the stage?"
he hopes you didn't have to go up there alone, that a teacher at least accompanied you or—
"i was the one who attended in your stead, master bruce." the butler replies without hesitation, as if it was a normal occurrence. he sighs again, too tired to scold bruce's surprise for absolutely dismissing all the important dates that include you and instead turns back to continue on his treck to guiding bruce to your room.
alfred's look of condescension makes him sink deeper into the void of regret. for being unable to
fuck, how many important events had bruce missed? from school plays, to parent-teacher conferences, to talent shows— was there ever a "bring your father to school" day?
oh... he really hopes there wasn't.
his hands find itself scratching his head, fingers tangling itself onto his hair in hopes of providing distraction— but his thoughts all circulate towards you, a faceless entity, an itch that he could never reach unless he sees you for himself.
the further he walks through frigid halls, the smaller the space seems to get.
how many birthdays had he missed?
when even is your birthday?
you are eighteen now, five when you were taken in which means... almost fourteen years of missed birthdays...
he didn't even give you a single gift card out of pity. not even money for allowance, or a birthday cake.
bruce was never there for you, and he has a feeling that that may have been one of the reasons of you moving out.
he needs to make up for it at least, once he contacts you he'll apologize for everything—
but first, he needs to see the state of your room. to at least have a first impression of you, of what your life was in the manor; any clues that pertains to just who his child is, as humiliating as that sounds for a father.
which was why he didn't hesitate to let alfred lead him straight to your room, albeit the shame he feels for not even knowing where his own child's room is located.
back when he had taken damian in, it was him who introduced the boy to his own room, whom had promptly thrown a tantrum and demanded someplace bigger before ultimately accepting his fate.
... how would you have reacted to your own? he wishes to at least picture your face, probably opposite to damian's, as you get to live in an entirely different space from what you're used to.
would you be pleased? would you look at him with sparkling eyes and thank him? or would you maintain a neutral stance? an overwhelmed one?
he really wants to see you, your expressions, just a sliver of your presence.
but nothing comes up in his mind. not the length or color of your hair, not your height, not anything. he could picture a vague imagery of your mother, but not you.
it makes him wonder; does any of your siblings know what you look like? were you at least any closer to them that you are to him?
he hates just how much desperately the darkness in the pit of his chest is crawling in need to hasten his steps towards wherever your room was.
the rain outside had already ceased, but a newer thunderstorm was brewing inside bruce's heart.
he needs to see you.
as he walks behind alfred through the halls of the manor, he had just noticed how barren the other side of the manor truly is.
cob webs and dust particles litter through the corners of the untouched furniture, the wallpaper peeling off itself and revealing untreated mold and even more cocoons of baby spiders that would soon crawl out, and even most of the ceramic vases they had passed by houses no flowers, instead being covered in a thin sheen of dust.
it was obvious just how neglected this corner of the house is.
just like you.
alfred was always meticulous in his duty as a butler, but bruce had advised the old man to leave unexplored parts of the manor be, seeing as how nobody would stroll by; and to only clean it whenever he would host an expensive gala in the manor with spare rooms as guest rooms.
it made bruce wonder if these halls are the path that leads directly to your room, which it actually does, and he feels even more guilty at just how... different your living condition is compared to your siblings.
it was no wonder why the butler would always excuse himself early, seemingly always making a treck towards a forgotten chamber that he rarely visited.
he'll make a note of relocating you to a room closer than his if you ever were to decide to come visit during holidays or vacations.
... alfred said it had been six or seven months since you had left, just how many occasions have he missed?
counting only fills the dread in his the growing hole of the pit of his heart.
yeah... he will get you a new room, one preferably closer to his; just so he could greet you every morning by knocking on your door and at least escorting you to the kitchen for breakfast. he'll try to make small talk, invite you over and... bond with you.
that'll be a good habit he could incorporate into his daily life.
a small part of him wishes you wouldn't look at him in disdain if he had to forcibly visit your apartment.
he swears it's in all the good of his heard; he just needs to check for himself if you were doing okay.
as him and alfred nearly arrives at your bedroom, the two had already noticed the light peaking from outside the doors and what seems to be two voices ensuing an argument.
even alfred, who had ceased his steps, looked surprised at the presence of the people who seemed to be there before them.
bruce doesn't even hesitate jogging towards the room, unaware of alfred's immediate shift to a calculating gaze, as bruce immediately opens polished, mahogany doors, inviting himself in.
... it smells of bleach and fabric refresher.
his heart clenches at the implication.
"father...? why are you here?" damian's voice cuts through the tension, bruce merely dismisses youngest child as his eyes takes in the space, ignoring how the other presence in the room - dick, with wide, feral eyes - quips about an ongoing "family" reunion.
bruce analyzes every detail, heart thumping loudly in his chest.
small... your room is way too small, and lacks of any design or life whatsoever. a tiny bed is shoved in the corner, the closet too miniscule to even contain clothes for someone your age (just where do you store them, then?), the windows barely welcome any ventilation nor sunlight, even your bedside table was too small to be considered one; the lampshade on top of it could be easily toppled over by a single sway of a hand.
everything is clean, too clean and orderly.
his eyebrows furrow at its state. even a model's walk-in closet is significantly bigger than the cramped space he calls your bedroom.
no proper ventilation, not even any space is provided for... your hobbies. hobbies that he wasn't even aware of.
is this how you had been living for almost eighteen years of your life?
how do you live like this?
just how much has he neglected you?
"bruce...?" it was dick's voice that he had now registered. it sounds out of breath, way too abnormally distraught and out of character.
he slowly looks at dick, equally befuddled at the presence of his eldest and youngest sons.
he seems disheveled, stressed even. the athlete's blue eyes were wide and dilated, seemingly unfocused as his stance was rigid. he was breathing too deep, hand clenching his phone too tight, veins popping through muscles, and he holds a... notebook in the other, this time like it was a delicate piece or artifact.
"... why are you here?" dick tries to cover his current state with an awkward laugh, but he could never hide the furrow of his brows, the flickering in his eyes, nor the anxious stomping of the his feet. sweat runs down dick's forehead; it looks like he's been inside the room the longest.
and dick refuses to get out of it. he won't, not until he finds out just why were you pushing him always all of a sudden.
he's afraid of forgetting his baby bird once more and neglecting your needs. if you were just as self-depracating as he is then... just how well would you be coping all by yourself?
does bruce share the same intentions as him? he doesn't know, his thoughts all leading to a path of thinking about, well, you.
you and your wide eyes looking at him like he was the world.
"i'm just here to visit... (name)'s room." bruce replies, a deep tremor in his parched throat, threading even further into the cramped space as his eyes seem to lock into the multitudes of messily stacked notebooks in the center of the bed.
they were all captioned '(name)'s diary', each having different fonts for every notebook and a date plastered on the very bottom.
"and you both are...?" he stares at them, demanding an answer as he sits on your too small bed (—it creaks, he hates that it does so he promises to get you a new one, a bigger one even, with enough space to fit in at least four people just as you deserve), picking up one of the diaries in his hand; it sports messy calligraphy and peeling stickers, reminiscent of just how old it was.
the hold he has on the diary is delicate as he flips through the first page the same way the eldest child had done. the papers were stained gray from the lead of the pencil, doodles littering every page, from flowers to animals and even faces that bruce couldn't recognize.
at least it provides the void in his heart food for thought, taking in every small detail about you and your hobbies.
you like documenting your life through diaries, that was the first thing he noted about you. the entries all date far from back when you were five or younger, the earlier pages highlighting, well, you and your mother's life. though the handwriting wasn't all that eligible, bruce finds himself becoming fond of the common topics you often rant about from "momma's burnt stack of pancakes" (paired with a drawing on the side, colored with dried markers and glitter gel pens), to the fairytales your mother loves to read you.
as much as it was entertaining for him to read through your mind, it's sad how aged the papers were and how some pages were crumpled to the point some contents were incomprehensible.
he'll get you even more high quality ones, rather than the cheap paper the one he's currently holding has. and he'll buy you designer pens, or do you prefer the more functional ones? would you like fountain pens or glass dip ones just to enjoy the experience?
bruce notices a pattern of the pen's strokes, an array of thinner lines were preferred in most of your entries compared to the thick pencils you sometimes force yourself to use, as there was an entry you had mentioned where if you use thicker lines then you'll run out of pages quicker, and "my mom doesn't have enough money to buy me one right now."
even the doodles in pencil had prefered line widths. finer quality for even finer details, thicker lines to emphasize and exaggerate your art on the side of the papers.
would you prefer mechanical or charcoal pencils? charcoal is messy and smudges, bruce knows as he sees small drawings of a tiny sprite that point towards a smeared sketch of a flower, a look of disdain on its furrowed brows.
he couldn't contain the upward quirk of his lips, blocking out dick's shadow that seems to get closer to bruce.
unfortunately, there were no ballpens of your preference on your bedside table for him to take for himself. he'll find out himself sooner enough though; what materials you like to utilize for your diaries and sketches. hell, it seems you like using a mix of normal and puffy stickers alongside a mix medium to obtain different colors.
journaling supplies, you'll find a lot of them in your arsenal soon.
he'll make sure of that once he finds out where you live.
he looks at damian flipping through what seems to be one of your sketchbooks.
art is, undoubtedly, one of your hobbies too— that's the second thing he notes, picking up what seems to be your second diary right after he flips through the first one, wasting no time to learn more about you.
this time, your second diary talks about your early life into the gotham manor. your anxious yet earger energy to meet your father, how the dick grayson (presumably your idol, with how you mention him as the) is now your brother, and how you almost got lost just wondering in the manor; they all highlight your innocence and curiousity about the world. you write so effortlessly, unafraid of writing down what you truly feel.
though you barely mention the incident regarding your mother, you have stated multiple times about how you miss her beautiful smile and her captivating laughter.
he's grateful that you're fond of writing diaries, exposing bruce to the deeper, more personal parts of your life. he doesn't need to pinpoint any lies or truth. all your secrets, your endeavors, your dreams and your passions are buried deep into the crevices of your diaries, etched in thousands of words and drawings that tell bruce just who you are.
and truly, you are his child.
bruce craves to know more about you in person the more he reads through your entries.
fortunately, it wasn't only him that feels an intense need to take you in, as the presence of his eldest cuts him off of the his train of thoughts.
"y'know, before you forget we're even here, bruce," dick quips with a fond smile as he looks at his bruce's unkempt state, taking a seat next to his father who seems to be in his own world just like damian. the bed creaks against their weight, both cringing at the sound before bruce returns to his own world of... analyzing you, just like he did hours ago.
but he knows that his father knows how to multitask, so he doesn't hesitate to answer.
"i'm also here for (name), i promised to take them out for dinner month's ago." that seems to actually catch bruce's attention, as he looks up from reading your second diary, gazing at dick as if to urge him to continue.
dick proceeds with a sigh, a smitten smile plastered on his face as he recalls the only memory he has of you.
"(name) really has a knack for writing and all, right? i love them for it. when i first met them, they were just so adorable. my baby bird tried to ask me for an autograph!" dick couldn't help himself from yapping, chuckling lightly as he remembers the deathly grip you had on alfred's cuffs, how you were hiding behind the butler's legs and looked at dick so enamored. he couldn't contain his unhinged smile, the goosebumps on his skin made shivers ripple throughout his entire body.
bruce (and even damian, who had all his attention on your sketches) had listened in on his monologue.
"i was the one who helped lead them to their room," he continued confidently, tapping his phone with his fingers, "they clung really close to me when we climbed up the steps, even tried to hide under my jacket..."
looking back, dick wishes he had carried you up the steps. thing was, you were incredibly small back then, and the manor's staircase is particularly hard to transverse through when ascending, so you must've felt exhausted and leaned onto him for support. your tiny legs must've been sore once you two had arrived by your room.
oh, he should've noticed. dick swears he won't make that mistake again once he gets you back in his arms, he promises to carry you the moment you even show the slightest bit of fatigue.
he swears he will, and he'll make sure to spoil you rotten with all the affection you deserve.
oh, dick really wants to see his baby bird again.
"yeah, that's, uh, the only time we had only ever talked." he admits shamefully, opening his phone for what seems like the thousandth time, looking at your profile over and over again, one that had him blocked.
he bites his lips, nibbling his skin in anticipation, in hopes that in the good of your heart that you just, unblock him.
it was just so unbelievable, despite you having all the reasons to push them away from your life, he just doesn't want to accept it. doesn't want to think of the worst outcome; of you hating him.
his baby bird blocked him and he just couldn't comprehend the amount of hurt he's feeling right now. what's wrong with checking up on his baby sibling? on someone he hasn't talked to for a long time already?
scrolling up through your previous messages fills him with both dread, and another emotion he doesn't want to admit— the slightest bit of pride he feels that you chose him over everybody else. you chose dick grayson as your idol, as someone to look up to and eagerly wanted as your older brother.
he was the favorite.
yet he feels terrible at the same time for taking it for granted, for forgetting your his own younger sibling. and bruce? bruce feels terrible just looking at how much your disappearance - an existence he didn't even know existed not until a few hours ago - impacted the atmosphere of the house.
is your absence the reason why the manor had felt too empty, then...?
even alfred seemed to sulk more often, always having his phone around and... talking to someone?
does alfred know where you are? or at least maintain communication with you?
it seems like the family was equally keen to find out just who you were.
whilst the two engross themselves in their own personal matters, damian continues to stand near the middle where the light hits the brightest, analyzing all the pages of your sketchbook. the youngest couldn't even afford to miss a single detail, green eyes mulling over the poses of your human sketches; the anatomy, the composition. all the progress, the mistakes, the erasures... his mind seems to eat up every drawing as if it was a piece of art hung in a museum.
which it should've been— but he wouldn't even let worthless critiques lay their eyes on any one of your sketches. they wouldn't understand you as much as he does.
it's his to look upon, nobody else could understand the meaning of your art, the meaning of his older sibling's art.
the older sibling who he used to threaten with his sword, who he called vile names — a bastard child, he told you one day. he was unable to ignore the glare you sent him, how he felt a pang in his heart after — the older sibling who he ridiculed endlessly in front of his best friend, whose actions he criticized without end; who had started to avoid him like the plague after all of his incessant bullying.
his older sibling who he had used as a punching bag for all his negative emotions, who he was incredibly jealous of, who he felt the need to fight, to compete with, all for the sake of grabbing your attention without seeming frail in his intentions.
his weak and incapable older sibling, who he knew hated him with all their gut.
the unwanted and undeserved treatment he had subjected you to was gruesome.
it was just exactly like your drawings... gruesome and brutal, to say the least. as if it was a medium of releasing all your unparalleled anger. charcoal strokes violently covers the entirety of your pages, it was unpredictable where the lines meet and end, whenever there is color, they blotch each other without harmony, all the subjects of your art either human or anything else within your vicinity.
if someone else with inexperienced, undeserving eyes were to witness your sketches, they would not understand and dare say, criticize your art pieces for being too contemporary, for letting your emotions run free through cheap quality paper without any ounce of care for the rips and tears of the pages.
but damian likes it... he likes the rawness of your pieces, likes it when you incidentally find a way to express tragedy, grief, and all the antagonistic traits a human could bare. he likes just how all thr subjects you paint were muddled with dull colors, sometimes too vibrant, sometimes too neon, sometimes a mix of all— your hectic personality bleeds through the pages.
you should've... shared your talents with him. albeit the jealousy he feels towards you, the sense of competitiveness— a small part of him admits his desire to bond with his only blood sibling... he doesn't even know why he treated you like trash, yet felt so incredibly heartbroken whenever you would retaliate with a blank, soulless stare.
he doesn't know why he felt so compelled to melt into your embrace, despite never once being physically close to you. your warmth always emanates off of your body; he hates that he wanted your validation, your praise and your attention.
he'll apologize to you sooner, damian will drag you back even if he has to, he needs to, actually.
needs to get you to forgive him, to look at him fondly, and to love him without bounds. he's on his path to redemption, he acknowledges his wrongs, all the wrongs he had done to you, he couldn't list it all out but he knows just much it affected your views on him.
damian knows he should've dismissed your reactions— he was raised by assassins for gods sake! he should not be so perceptive of every micro expression of yours, but the connection he feels towards his blood sibling is stronger than any bond, a bond that he himself chose to sever and came to regret afterwards.
he remembers one specific expression of yours after he had criticized your anger issues when he had heard news of you being transferred into another school. it was a glare that lacked any fight or bite, you had long since given up on him and allowed him him harass you whenever he felt like so. but that day was the same day you had snapped, nearly choking on his
he told himself to ignore it, that you were merely throwing a tantrum (despite how hypocritical he seemed)
yet he didn't expect to be overcome with regret.
with hurt.
with empathy at the tears that welled on your eyes.
damian doesn't want to admit it but, that was one of the first times he had hesitated to retaliate with an even crueler comeback to your glare. he wanted to so badly run to you and bond with you and your unadulterated anger, to comfort you and provide you the affection you had so desperately needed— but in the bitterness and the jealousy of his heart, he had forced himself to leave you be; a decision even until now he regrets because... you had no longer seen him as a younger brother, let alone treat him as one, as he desired to.
after that incident, you tend to avoid him more and more, not even eating in the same room as him, let alone ditching whatever you were doing in favor of keeping to yourself.
he should've held himself back from hurting his older sibling, the one who, despite doning no skills or talent in combat whatsoever, who knew that he was more of a threat than a younger brother; was brave enough to approach him with a tray of alfred's baked cookies and a hesitant yet welcoming grin.
and yet he had replied with a sword to your neck and an insult to your origin, calling you a bastard child; the product of a whore and his father's terrible decisions.
he had simply watched as you had left the hallway with a knick on your neck and a wobble on your steps, nearly dropping the tray of untouched goods due to the inconsolable shivers you must've felt.
you hate him, no? he could see it in your eyes, no matter how defeated it may be, there was always a tinge of resentment towards him that he knows he couldn't undo.
you hate him, you must've hated him so much and he hates that. hates how he wants to throw a rampage over the fact that you would never consider him as a younger brother.
... if things were different, if he had never let his emotions and his past dictate his actions, would you love him?
for the first time in quite a while, he had felt tender longing and desire, his hands caressing the pages of your sketchbook as if it could bring you back to the manor.
for the first time in a while, damian allows himself to want, to dream about a fantasy where you would cherish him, allow him to melt on your chest whenever he feels the pressure of the world getting to him, let him sulk about his deepest darkest insecurities as you would run your fingers through his hair and tell him it's all alright.
for the first time in so long, he would openly admit the immense regret he feels, wishing for an opportunity to turn back time, to never unsheath his sword towards you and to never open his mouth to allow vile words to spew out of it.
time passes by oh-so quickly when you are left alone with only your thoughts to accompany you.
it had been quite awhile since the trio were left pondering about your very existence, alfred noted, watching the three scramble about through their minds. they had seemed to have forgotten the very butler who had been observing every single one of their actions.
alfred had waited so long for this moment to come, for them to realize just how crucial you are to the family, how you are the very final jigsaw puzzle the complete the picture perfect definition of a home, how much they need you if they wish to maintain even the slightest bit of sanity.
it was only right that he decides to place the final nail in the coffin.
after all, this was all to get you back to your safety, to where you rightfully belong.
—"it seems like the family has finally taken notice of young master (name)'s disappearance...?" alfred buts in by the door, a single eyebrow raised, crossed arms, an all-knowing look that just screams 'i told you so'.
he continues once he had their complete attention, "i would like to say that i am heavily disappointed in how it took more than a decade and a half for all of you to find out about their existence. if it wasn't for the long months of their absence and even a personal sermon towards master bruce about their financial struggles, they would've long been gone. well... they would be gone soon if they are unable to pay this month's rent for their apartment."
his tone was sullen as he nitpicks every single one of their reactions, a mixture of confusion, shame and regret a commonality between the three.
"(name) is in financial debt?" it was damian who asked first with furrowed brows and wide eyes, unbelieving of what alfred had just stated. "but father wires money to all of his children, right?
the youngest turns back to his father's seated form, expecting a nod of some sorts, but all bruce had was a tense jaw and a solid stare. it speaks of volumes, all damian could do was shut his mouth, looking back at alfred with a pout.
alfred expected this reaction. it was truly unfortunate how the family would never know just how important you were in their life.
yet all he could do was press on, further their guilt and desperation.
"young master damian, i am aware of bruce's willingness towards providing for his children, but (name), like you, had adopted your father's stubbornness to accept any financial aid on their part..."
the silence was defeaning now, tension so thick that not even a knife could cut through it. fortunately, the people alfred were with are trained combatants, formidle not only through fights but with words.
it was a shame they had never used their brains to connect the dots with just how sullen the manor was the moment you were gone.
"how do we...?" this time it was dick who talked, albeit hesitantly. "bruce could at least send a few thousands to them, then? or i could do it, you could just give us their location and—"
"unfortunately, there is nothing i could do about it, master dick," alfred interrupts dick's sudden onslaught, "for even i do not have master (name)'s address. they refuse even the slightest bit of a clue, hence why i have confronted master bruce about it."
it was like a needle had dropped on the floor, an intense, numbing feeling everyone present was subjected to feel.
... what?
it was dick who had reacted first, springing up from his seated position as he stared at alfred's defeated eyes incredulously.
"are you serious, alfred? (name) could be anywhere in gotham right now? unprotected, unsafe, and in debt?"
a long, defeated sigh was what he had merely received from the alfred.
"yes, master dick, you hear exactly what i say."
"but the world outside is too dangerous for (name)! we can't just let them loose in a street filled with criminals who can take advantage of their innocence!"
"they're eighteen, dick." all of a sudden, it was damian who cuts back with a roll of his eyes, "i'm sure they can survive on their own."
"yeah right, and have you even read their latest diary, or are you just gonna pretend like you aren't going to keep their sketchbooks all for yourself, huh?" dick retaliates with clenched teeth, letting himself be swayed by his own emotions. "or... you're planning to track their location without us so you can get a reservation to visit them first?"
"calm down, dick—" bruce stands, immediately holding dick back, gripping the athlete's tense shoulders.
"why should i, bruce?! (name) can be anywhere, we— i can't afford to bide time on anything but them!" he glared back at his father, slammimg his fist onto your bedroom walls without hesitation. cracks immediately formed on the chipped wallpaper, a testament to dick's strength; you'll be relocated to another room, a better one anyways and they'll... they'll turn this one into a bigger atelier for you.
dick just needs to let his anger out, yeah... unfortunately, his father seems to think otherwise.
bruce retaliates with a snarl, "we need a solid plan, dick. we can't just randomly search where they are—"
"look, if none of you are willing to help, then fine, i'll track (name) all by myself—"
"— i've never mentioned not coming, grayson." damian cuts him off with a glare, possessively holding all your sketchbook in one hand. "i'll be the one spending time with them first."
"yeah, right... and you, bruce? you coming with or no?"
defeated, bruce replies, "... you already know the answer, dick."
"of course, dad. glad to know we're on the same team after all," dick lets out an airy laugh, returning to his old demeanor. but bruce could easily pinpoint the sharp edge to his giggles, how calculated it is and how it's all merely a cover up to hide the unbearable itch to get you into his arms.
not like bruce could help it too, feeling the same way dick does— all he wants to do is see you for himself after all.
"then call the others into the batcave, now. tell them it's a priority mission, don't let them say otherwise, and don't settle on any excuses."
bruce is so grateful that he had his hands on your diaries, that he was given the grace to read through your entries and embrace even the slightest clue about you.
although there was no face to associate with your name, no photograph nor portrait— he at least has an idea of your personality, of what you like and prefer; something that bruce would hold dear, something that feeds the growing urge to find you.
find you to not only correct his mistakes, to make up for all the lost time, but to also get closer to you. to bond with his child, the one he should've focused on all those years ago. the one who, despite showing disinterest to vigilantism, chose to not fall deep into the pits of resentment, of committing heinous acts— you had chosen to run away from them without any intentions of badmouthing your own family even after the years of neglect.
his child, (name) wayne.
you were a symbol of what he had strived to cherish, to protect. it was your innocence through these pages, your eagerness to the world despite its cruelty, that relays the message to bruce that he should've centered his attention on both you and tim instead of just tim.
maybe then the dispair he had felt after jason's death would've been less devastating, maybe then you'd act as his source of light in the darkness he had choose to brood in. maybe then he wouldn't have acted so rash, so impulsive and tense.
after all, you had lost your mother too early, and your father was just somebody you can watch through the television and read through the newspaper.
and you? you were forced to take the short end of the stick, without any familial attention nor emotional support whatsoever— a substantial failure on bruce's part. you didn't deserve anything you were subjected to, didn't deserve to know what pain and despair felt like.
bruce should've been the father who had to shoulder all your burden. he should've been there for you as he was there for all your other siblings.
he should've been the man who would kiss your wounds away whenever you go out to the park with him to play. he should've been the man who would sit on the crowded bleachers to watch you perform on a talent show. he was supposed to be the father who would hold you close to your chest as you cry about your first heartbreak, about your overdue projects, about the bullies in the school.
but he wasn't that father for you. and now, you seek love and attention from people who weren't even family. because they had failed you, he had failed you.
there was so much things about you that he doesn't know of, so much he had missed out on. his absence was a constant in your life; what would you have felt if he suddenly barged in on it then? especially now that you've moved out on the presumption of neglect?
but could he help it if he does?
could bruce help it if he was already concocting a way to bring you back? alfred had explicitly told him that you were living off of debt
reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
PLEASE READ: 11,100+ words. no beta we just die. undertale reference. this is my least favorite chapter LMAO, despite it's length i had to waste blood sweat and tears for this and i hate it so much. anways guys pls comment or send as ask if u like this and what's good abt it bec this chapter literally made me question my ability as a write 😭 erm im gonna take a break after this and mostly answer asks bec istg my energy is so drained. also is it jst me or does everyone default the reader as female ^^' it's jst weird for me bec i always write them as gn/male. oh and if anyone is wondering, yes i am gonna add the batgirls too bec they r family !! the entire family (universe) is obsessed with u !! also yall i cant add anymore to the taglist, tumblr won't allow me.
taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @ruiroku , @okaybutfullhomo , @trasshy-artist , @obsessedwithromance, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa , @ilovvmyhusband , @6uuyuuhgy, @plsfckmedxddy, @lavender-moony , @sweetheart-era, @chemicalsandghosts , @darling006 , @starringyau , @samanthahanes, @rosecentury , @jaythes1mp , @pi1nkl0ver , @i-thirsty-boy, @sharks-are-cool-l, @silverklaus, @traumaramacenter , @maddimoon , @anxrq, @thedarknesslord , @h0rr0r-10ver-69 , @lazy-idate , @cupids-pretty-boy , @alishii, @mel-star636 , @sitepathos , @freakyotaku059-blog , @dirtydiavolo, @sunbleachedantlers, @24hrsoflanii, @ceramic-raven , @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit , @tdickensstuff4 , @thickerthanthieves , @arlandvery , @distressed-lezbo, @bunbunboysworld , @bellethesleepypotato, @nebuluma, @alliwantisadonut, @alishii, @kusakiguzen, @sirenetheblogger, @emmbny, @ryukyuin, @solkara, @starsdotalk, @nightstarblue, @huhuhhuhh, @shadowpup163, @sunshine-skz, @24hrsoflanii, @bazellawrites, @pato-spoiler-27, @harumy07cat, @rains-mae, @funnybunnyxxx, @littlelilithspost, @howisgroguthiscute, @yuyuzi-ling, @tullipam, @coldcrusadehideout, @princessloveweird, @hybridcon
#🌷... yael's works#🧁... yael's misc.#series: again & again#yandere dc#yandere batfam#yandere batman#yandere bruce wayne#yandere dick grayson#yandere dick grayson x reader#yandere damian wayne#yandere damian x reader#yandere damian wayne x reader#yandere alfred pennyworth#yandere#yandere x gn reader#yandere x male reader#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#yandere x reader#platonic yandere#pls guys comment or at least let this blow up#if this flops im sobbing#“when wld u post part 4?” once i get my sanity back hopefully#btw alfred is such a manipulative girlboss he actually knows where u live LMAO
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nanami getting very eager one night >.<
nanami’s eagerness was nothing new to you. usually when he came home, you were smothered in his large and tight hugs and yearning kisses. this sudden impatience cooled off soon after he was delighted with your aroma and energy. sometimes the old tongue will slip out, maybe his hands roam around for too long and hold hungry gropes, but it’s followed by soft mumbles and he’s back to his sophisticated, extremely thoughtful, self. tonight his lips seemingly never left yours, neither did his big palms on your frame, or his overall body heat that’s pressed up against yours.
you appreciate his enthusiasm but when you can squeeze just a few words out, just to question his decisions, you do. to which he can only respond with, “just help me unwind, yeah?” you comply instantly.
unsure of what he’s saying half of the time, but his expression displays a hypnotized, almost desperate high when he’s tracing the dips of your nude body with his eyes. his idea of foreplay is much too rushed but all loving. firm and longs on your swollen clit, wet stripes of never ending saliva on the skin between your breasts. his words get clearer as he gets closer to the end of your prep.
“treatin’ me so good.”
“you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting, honey.”
“so so good.” when his thick tip stretches you carefully.
his movements so uncontrolled and high-driven that his unpaced thrusts only make you wetter. the thrusts he bullies into you are so raw and unexpected, you aren’t used to it. your vision goes blurry and all you can focus on is nanami. nanami and his much bigger body, nanami and his blonde tufts of hair that disappear just behind your mound, nanami and his hard, heavyset cock. the orgasm he pulls out of you from his never slowing pace makes you moan silent cries. he doesn’t stop until his first load’s finished. even then, he speaks,
“take another, you will, won’t you? you’re gonna be my good girl and take some more, yeah? yeah, i’ve just got so much love to give you, baby…” you could pass out from his love. instead your silent moans finally come through, choked out and near the edge of pained whines. and holy shit your small pleas and almost convincing begs make him harder than he’s ever been, even after just coming inside you.
“can’t stop now, baby. you feel so good, you’re so fucking good.” the absolute chokehold you’ve still got on his cock makes him dizzy, his face as red as his raging hard-on. when he slows down, his jaw drops just the slightest, matching yours. your look of lust and love never leaving his own lovey-eyes. nanami’s hips slow down, circling against your hips, massaging your battered insides. as if he’s kissing your pains to make them feel better. you squeeze his thick wrist with all the strength you have left as he shoots heavy ropes into you. he’s so grateful to have such a good girl!
masterlist
#goaskangel#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk fanfic#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#nanami x reader#jjk smut#jjk headcanons#nanami kento#nanami kento smut#nanami kento x reader#kento nanami#nanami x you#nanami smut#nanami fluff#jujutsu kaisen#gojo x reader#toji x reader#choso x reader#geto x reader#toji fushiguro
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OUGH THIS ONE HAS A LITTLE KICK TO IT
imagine being a shy little intern at jujutsu high and getting the fattest crush on gojo because he’s just. so strong and cool. you idolize him. you want to be his friend. and he seems to take a liking to you; he’s cheery and encouraging and sweet in a roundabout way. you feel like you’ve grown pretty close to him.
imagine him falling asleep right next to you on a sofa in the cafeteria. you can barely tell, with his blindfold still on. but you scurry away to find a blanket, happy that he trusts you enough to rest in your proximity, ready to wrap it around him —
only for it to slip right off. rejected by his infinity.
(he never turns it off, around you.)
#thinking about how gojo’s infinity is both a very real power and a metaphor for the barrier between him and the world#he’s sooo guarded and it breaks my heart#i like the idea of him with a reader who idolizes him. while he never quite views them as important#not at all in a mean way . you just don’t have a chance of breaking into his heart.#he might act friendly but he’ll never let you in#…. he’s so stray cat coded#<- UR TAGS????? YES?!????#but it's so trueeee this feels very Gojo#Like as much as I love the reader fics where they are just Built Different and he lets them in and lets himself be happy#there's that special place in my heart for readers that are just not that girl/guy#You're absolutely on it that he's not being mean about it bc he likes you just fine#More than average even#He enjoys your company and wants the best for you in a detatched way#But that's as far as it goes#And it's so so easy to be delulu about it and giggle and daydream bc duh it's Gojo but in your heart you know#There's such potent emotion in that sliver of space called infinity#and I personally relish in that particular cocktail of yearning and despair and wistfulness#Like watching the stars#I might be biased but I think reader would be an artist like#Y'know that quote about loving to the point of creation#This but reader's eyes are constantly returning to him#Hoarding his angles and the shape of his eyes to be traced again and again in the margins of her workbooks#It's imperfect and sketchy but she hears echoes of his laugh in the inked curve of his smile and it's enough#He's out of reach but every drawing is an act of worship and prayer for deliverance#He's out of reach but isn't the essence of art to capture what we cannot touch#That human desire for some kind of connection#to have something of his even it's just the way his hair blows in the breeze on the back of an 8x11in page#Idk#I'm yapping again#The worms are wriggling but they have no hands to write and no mouth to speak only vibes
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