#there's more to it than that but i don't want to add like a paragraph of tags to this post lol

[dragonnnerdd]

Things I wish more people would talk about in Lego Monkie Kid

(Prepare for a rant longer than the bible /silly)

Spoilers for LMK seasons 2, 3 and 5 (also a brief mention of emotional abuse, and trauma)

Li Jing's terrible parenting

First of all, can we acknowledge that Nezha was CRYING when he had to go against his father??

LOOK AT HIM

How are we supposed to forgive Li Jing so quickly when all he does is talk down to Nezha? And you could argue that Li Jing said he was always proud of Nezha, but all he did was treat him terribly, and as an expert on horrible parents (*cough* my dad *cough*), if they're in a situation where they have to say the right words, 👏 THEY 👏 MOST 👏 LIKELY 👏 WON'T 👏 MEAN IT 👏, especially if they don't change after that. Li Jing could possibly change his treatment of Nezha, that still doesn't forgive what emotional trauma he could've given Nezha to make him CRY AT THE THOUGHT OF GOING AGAINST HIS ORDERS. Now, you could say that Nezha just didn't want to betray his father, and that's what made him cry, but the evidence still points to Li Jing being a horrible father. And I might have a bias towards Nezha, since he is one of my favorite characters, but I know for a fact I'm not the only one who thinks at least one of these things, because I learned one of these things from a post I saw (I can't find it tho, but if anyone might know what I'm talking about, please tell me). Keep in mind I'm not in any way a psychiatric professional, but I do know about what emotional abuse can do to a person, and how the way a parent treats their child can really effect the child's mental health.

Summary: It is implied that Li Jing is a terrible father.

Did I really make a giant paragraph on how Li Jing sucks? Oh, girl (gender neutral), we ain't even done yet.

How Possessed Sun Wukong is actually really creepy, and how he is the perfect temporary antagonist

I hardly think the first part needs explaining. LOOK AT HIM

Now, we all know how Wukong is, like, one of the most powerful guys in the world. Which makes it even more shocking when he is turned against the protagonist, whom he cares about like a son/brother/whatever you prefer (as long as it's not proship-y), by someone who is thought to be less powerful than him. Usually, Wukong makes a lot of noises while fighting, which is something really intimidating about the absence of any grunts or yells when he is possessed. I will use this scene for example

And there is just something about the zero hesitation to attack anyone, up until the end of the special when he slowly walks up to MK, showing that he is fighting LBD's control. And, may I just add, that scene is REALLY CREEPY

LOOK AT HIM

Anyway, as I said in the title of this rant, Wukong is a perfect temporary antagonist. He is extremely powerful (so powerful that he literally punched the lotus out of Nezha)

He caused a crater in the ground from punching Nezha one time, and he took one step and caused a dent in the ground. The protagonist (MK) clearly doesn't want to fight him, and Wukong is immortal. He LITERALLY WALKED THE UNIVERSE-ENDING FLAME

NOTHING CAN KILL HIM! (I apologize for the quality of some of these images, my tablet sucks)

This next thing ties into Wukong's possession--

LOOK AT THE PURE FEAR ON MACAQUE'S FACE WHEN HE IS FACE-TO-FACE WITH WUKONG

That is the face of a guy who is reliving trauma. And let's not forget the scene in the Shadow Play episode where MK charges at Macaque, and the flashback to Wukong flying at him makes it very clear what this moment reminds him of. And in the Benched episode, he tries to convince Tang that his friends (and specifically Wukong) are better off without him, and I bet that's how Macaque felt when Wukong had killed him. I really hope that season 6 touches more on Macaque's trauma.

Now, onto my last topic (finally, I spent so long writing this overanalysis about Legos)

Wukong apologized to MK

If you remember, in season 3, Wukong actually apologized to MK. This is mainly something I'm just really happy about, because he finally admitted he made a mistake. Throughout the first two seasons, Wukong is known to be a silly guy, not taking things seriously, and not admitting his mistakes, so for him to actually apologize for something he did, and actually look guilty for it, is something that just really is nice. LOOK AT HIM (fourth "LOOK AT HIM" of this rant)

He is genuinely sorry. Now if he could APOLOGIZE TO ALL THE OTHER HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE HE HAS MADE ANGRY, THAT'D BE GREAT

Wukong, I love you, you're my babygirl, but MACAQUE IS MY OTHER BABYGIRL, APOLOGIZE TO HIM

Now, finally, my rant is done (for now)

Did I really just make the longest post I've ever made to say what I wish more people would talk about, which turned into an in-depth analysis of Lego monkeys, and a Lego prince whose whole thing is pink flowers? Yes, yes I did. I have no shame

Now, to quote a great man...

MONKEY KING DRAGON NERD OUT!

[reader-lola]

Annoying screams

Chris Sturniolo Based on the last video (Making gifts for fans) Warnings: +18, oral (male receives), female masturbation, sexual intercourse, no reference to condom. Let me know if you see any more

Links X: 1 , 2

You were in your boyfriend Chris's room. You were trying to read, but the screams coming from the kitchen weren't letting you concentrate. You knew your boyfriend was very loud and yelled a lot, but this time he was going overboard. “We're just going to record the invitations for the fans. We won't bother you.”

I missed the first few screams, knowing Chris it was usual for him. But there came a time when all you could hear was him yelling without actually saying anything coherent. I tried to concentrate on the book. I looked through the pages. I dwelled on the rest of the chapter. I repeated the same paragraph I had been reading for 15 minutes until I gave up and closed it. I focused on my phone for the rest of the time. “Hey mom, what are you doing with your phone? Did you finish the book?” Chris's voice brought me out of my trance. I turned off my phone and with a louder voice than expected I faced him. “I tried that, Owen, but by a strange coincidence, a boy kept yelling in the kitchen. I tried to read, but someone made it an impossible task for me. It was impossible because you, young man, NEVER STOP YELLING” “Take it down a notch with me, girl, or I'll have to put you in your place” “No, I'm sorry, you're going to apologize to me for not letting me read, it wasn't that hard to say nice things to your fans instead of yelling at them and, by the way, letting me read” “Okay, you've gone too far, let's see if you're capable of keeping quiet”

Without warning, he grabbed me by the hair and, without any care, he pushed me against the door “Let's see, you yelled at me, you answered me back, and you spoke badly to me. You deserve a punishment” “It's not true, I didn't do that” “And now we add that you lie to me and contradict me. Honey, if you don't want to make it worse, you better shut up.” With one hand he supported my head against the door and with the other he pulled down my pants and thong in the process. Without time to react he put two of his fingers inside me causing a loud moan from me. “You're going to have to shut up if you don't want to be heard. From what I understand Matt and Nick are going to be in the living room watching TV.” His fingers went in and out of my pussy causing me an incredible feeling of pleasure. My legs trembled as I noticed the imminent release, but then his fingers stopped. “No, Chris, please.” “If you ask me like that I'm not going to do anything else.” “Daddy, please.” I whimpered at the need of his fingers dancing inside me. “I told you that you needed a punishment, on your knees.” Without hesitation I got on my knees and as soon as he pulled out his member I didn't hesitate to suck it, choking in the process. His hand grabbed my hair marking the rhythm he had to follow. As I sucked I couldn't help but look up, meeting his blue eyes that gave me a satisfied look, making me feel grateful for being able to eat him. At times I heard small sighs coming out of his lips at the sensation I was feeling. “God, I can't take it anymore.” He pushed me away from his member and in the blink of an eye I had him on top of me. He quickly took off my shirt and mine. He placed his member at my entrance. “I should teach you a lesson and not let you cum,” he said, slowly entering me. I could feel the sensation of his body fitting perfectly with mine. The sensation of his veins entering my interior. “You deserve a punishment for the way you spoke to me. But now I simply need to have you. Feel you.” His thrusts began slowly as I adapted to his size. But they gradually increased in pace. My hands grabbed his back, scratching it as a way of releasing the sensation that was consuming me. Chris' lips traveled to my neck where he started sucking, I'd probably have a mark there tomorrow. “Daddy, I can't take it anymore.” “What do you want?” “Let me cum, please.” “Cum for me, princess.”

[nfatcheese]

hey i do that exact same thing with brackets. it's so handy for reminders of what you wanted to put there so you can come back later.

I'll add my tip of don't be afraid to write out of order. If the finale is speaking to you then let it. Strike while the inspiration is hot and fill in the rest later. You can always change it if you need to.

I also find that if I'm stuck on a scene or a chapter, skipping ahead to the next can help get me unstuck and keep the momentum going. Knowing where you're going is just as important as knowing where you're coming from. Sometimes you can only write a chapter after you've written the next two.

Having a simple outline helps with this too. If you know generally what the shape of your story is, you can jump around to where you want without fear of losing your place.

This one's more personal, but try using different word processors. Especially if you use (or even have used in the past) Word or Google Docs for schoolwork or similar, there can be some residual work anxiety when using those programs, which can make you feel worse about your writing or your progress than you otherwise would.

I highly recommend at least trying regular old notepad for writing, especially for first drafts. There's no font, no spellcheck, no formatting, nothing to distract you. Just you and the words. It helps me focus on the writing process without getting lost in the grammatical minutiae.

Oh also also, if you ever find yourself deleting more than one sentence in your draft, copy it to the graveyard. The graveyard is a separate document for storing large deleted chunks like that. You might change your mind about that paragraph or might just want to look at it for reference, so it's better to have it than to not.

Also also also, if you can, try varying your environment while writing. That's why I love writing in my laptop. Sometimes I write better in bed or at my desk or in the yard or at the park. Just changing your environment can end up knocking things loose if you're stuck.

I'm working on Bagge's guide to writing. This is what I got so far.

Know yourself. Everyone writes differently, and everyone has different needs they need to figure out. That goes for how you interact with the rest of the list as well. If a tip is not for you, then don't follow it.

One single damned sentence! Write something every day. One sentence is enough, but writing one sentence will put the story back in your mind, you will pull up the document and find out where you stopped. More often than not one sentence will lead to more, but one is enough.

Celebrate your victories. If all you have written is one sentence, then you should be proud that you did write that sentence. If all you did was thinking about your story, that counts too.

Think forward. When you get to a natural end point (end of scene, end of chapter), write one more sentence, staring the next part, before you end your writing session. That way, you will think of what to write rather than what you have written.

Be careful with editing while writing. Sometimes it's good to catch a pesky spelling mistake, but most of the time you want to keep the flow.

Words on paper! The most important task with the first draft is to get the first draft done. You can fix whatever bugs you in the editing stage, but you want to move on from having only a blank page to work with.

Brackets. If you get stuck on the technical terms for a certain piece of clothing, spelling or how to resolve a certain [something] then, put it in brackets and move on. Sometimes my writing looks like "X said [something sexy] and Y blushed. [Stuff happened]. "Let's do [something more sexy]!" Y said." Keep your flow.

Take micro breaks. If you get stuck, leave the writing space for ten seconds before you continue writing. Sometimes that's all it take

BACKUPS!

When writing a longer story, treat the first chapters as "draft 0.5". You will probably have to rework them once you find your stride with the story properly and figure out all those little details you simply don't know while writing the beginning. That's OK, as long as you make it part of your writing process.

Figure out what's stopping you from telling your story and work on that. Two cakes? Do it scared? Whatever works for you.

What's your favourite writing tips?

[auspectris]

gravity

[silusvesuius]

unleashing the same hellscape i did on my notes app here it's my nelvas thinking dump i wrote just for fun and to keep track of what i view them as up 2 this point. Might change my mind on it later on it has a lot of things written in brackets for no reason . it's like ~2500 words long which isn't much but i think i said everything i've had in my mind for now read it for fun if you like to have fun leik me :) And talvas :) And nelothxP

retyping what i said in the tags of those last text posts and rearranging those thoughts a bit: in my train of thought that's been going steady since early 2024 i'm almost certain that neloth might see talvas as the epitome of being morally Clean (before that changes because of neloth's influence over him) and generally pure as a person. pure not used in the Pervert way; neloth is just a veeery big fan of talvas having absolutely no backbone and being very docile when it comes to him. which is r expected traits 4 someone if they find themselves under neloth's thumb as an apprentice, but it being written that he isn't at all catty and defiant to his face is cute. all talvas manages to do is shit talk neloth to others and pray neloth doesn't find out he meant the things he said but also can’t help feeling bad about it, even though neloth doesn't and wouldn't care, if he found out. neloth is happy with being an obnoxious & disgusting person. truly.. him growing obsessed with talvas' docile and innocent nature doesn't necessarily have to add up to him wanting to Taint or Ruin him (and if it happens ((it does)) it's not done on purpose, neloth can't hold that much control and power of his actions in that specific department). he encounters difficulties when he realizes he actually wants that Elven Twink.. it's too far gone to fix anything after he's tampered with talvas' patience and stability, and even then he can't be honest with talvas about anything, because he still wants to hold a great deal of power over him (neloth essentials for survival).

Might be the type to just want talvas to magically(haha) think it's okay that his wizard master desires him and expect that energy right back without talvas actually acknowledging it because it'd make neloth feel insanely cringy and embarrassed.. humiliated.. EVEN. but that's just in a deep deep dark corner of his mind, he isn't stupid. when trying to gain 'access' to his apprentice ("*His* apprentice" is also kinda funny way of viewing his mind too. just cause talvas is working as an apprentice under him neloth probably already feels a concerning sense of ownership over him that makes him feel very good) he can't even make the signs of interest be apparent to talvas because he's insanely inept at being Soft and honest for obvious reasons. he can tell what possibly could make talvas warm up to him even after he treats him like shit for eons but there's no way he's bringing himself to do it (change is embarrassing, especially in their formal dynamic, and especially at his age). so it's a half-assed attempt (actually he's trying his hardest🙄) to try and make talvas be (at least) less afraid of him. not that talvas has any other place that we know of that he "Belongs" to, he just sticks with neloth regardless of anything. neloth watching him as he sleeps ensues . Guys what do i do to make my apprentice let me hit because all of the eye contact i do with him while gripping his arm or petting his knee isn't helping. 

if we were to go back to how that spark is ignited in neloth swamp of a heart, brain… idk, it has to be when he realizes talvas' capability of forgiveness and 'Sucking it up' instead of lashing out at neloth after .. anything, but perhaps physical abuse in particular. neloth a 100% has absolutely no problem putting his hands on anyone, especially someone he sees so often, such as talvas. not that talvas really annoys him (his clear and voiced obedience pleases neloth as anyone can tell), but he just doesn't see it as too much of a big deal. the physical mistreatment that happens once in a blue moon isn't intense enough to scare off talvas for sure anyways. neloth is a bitch so all he can so is smack him at the back of the head (talvas finds it very normal) and slap him if he's feeling festive (something talvas finds kinda extreme but not that it happens often. he sometimes feels like he deserves it, or that neloth is warranted to do as he pleases. he tosses around it being justified or pitying himself, though). May be possible that neloth would realize he Like Likes talvas once he slaps him, mayhaps, for the first time, but talvas' immediate reaction to being treated like that is just sadness mixed with feeling shame for tearing up/crying in front of someone he respects *bishoujo sparkles sfx*. talvas is a delicate soul so he can't hold warranted emotions like that for long, and even tho it's expected of him to be making eye contact w/ neloth in a setting like that, he wouldn't be able 2 bring himself to do it because looking at neloth would make him wanna burst out in tears like a weeeee baby. Booo hooo.. talvas is the 19th century (4th era) damsel that runs out of the ball in tears after no young cavalier invited her to dance. watch this bleed into the most awkward and silent week of neloth's entire life because talvas doesn't even really feel like speaking to him or looking at him, but neloth doesn't wanna brute force the usual respectful etiquette out of him cus he thinks that's just gonna make talvas hurl himself down on some rough rocks at the seashore. Good thing talvas is very spineless and forgiving (especially in relation to neloth… i mean.. who r YOU to not forgive him) so that might just last a day or two. the hurt always stays tho. neloth this is why talvas doesn't wanna smash you.. you might've made some conclusions about what elven twink you like but talvas is just even more scared of you now. was your Pervert awakening worth it. and even if we do backflips and jump thru the point where everything is too far gone for either of them to go back, dude is still too afraid to make out with his apprentice. Deserve. but why though because talvas wouldn't refuse. for what reason? we may never know

^^^ this makes me feel like i love seeing characters i reaaaalllly love (elenwen and talvas in this case) as enigmas in situations where they're confronted with something so ""Intimate"". elenwen's stance on this is final tho cause she's a grown ass woman and there's no way you could reshape her brain. ulfric left her mind plane in SHAMBLES. talvas has more right (in the literal sense) to be erratic or inconsistent with his actions. maybe he likes to be desired. Also i strongly believe that talvas has probably never been in love (for any reason rly but it's mostly him not having actual time for it + not seeing it as something that is important to him at that point in his life)… i want neloth to be his first experience with Love so that it ruin his view on it forever. can't get myself to say he'd be in love with neloth at any point though. From his standpoint it really should feel empowering and 'nice' that neloth wants him in many ways (ew).. cause that's a man with status.. power.. ability to do anything rly . talvas is in no condition to be playing mind games with him or anything tho so don't get that idea. he's not strong enough of a person to be Tricking anyone or to be Playing with anyone's feelings. neloth would be immune to that, too. neloth can just kinda tell talvas is too good and … UNTAINTED. talvas wants to see the best in everyone. too bad he genuinely detests you, neloth.. so: he doesn't actually love neloth but wouldn't be happy to see his tombstone either. SO (PART TWO): if you time it right he wouldn't be against getting Freakkkkyyyy with you okay?but no promises

even if @ some point talvas develops indistinct feelings towards neloth cause of neloth's own incessant weird-mild advances it wouldn't have to mean he just likes old men permanently now. actually it kinda does. i can sorta feel it rearranging his braincells and making him unable to normally interact with people in his age range. he probably already had a hard time talking to others in hopes of developing a friendship just cause he's timid but after neloth's nonstop abuse and Accidental romance mind games he morphs into a whole new type of guy. it's hard to notice at first but he'd probably just start to leech off of neloth's prissy and unbearable personality in a natural course of things + neloth is the only person he sees and talks to on the regular pretty much. < this can just be reworded as just the cycle of abuse and whatnot. if he notices an opening in the abilities and Smarts of another person, especially someone his age/younger, he will automatically see them as umm…stupid. and also insult your abilities to your face if he snaps. he strikes me as the type to be afraid to say what he really thinks (another consequence of being glued to neloth all the time when all talvas does is act like he totally respects anything he says) and gets scared if anything slips out his mouth but is proud in letting the "Truth" be known because he already figured out you're a lesser being than him. he's just cloning neloth's verbal abuse braincells though he would never put his hands on someone. his desire to be mean and see himself as superior stems from neloth always disparaging him obviously.. talvas 4 that reason is very self conscious of his abilities and doesn't rly think he's all that useful or talented. his self doubt then would play into how he doesn't know when to believe what others are saying to and about him.. i wanna imagine that talvas is very oblivious to neloth's weirdo status just cause he partly doesn't even want that thought to cross his mind. i bet everyone but him sees it and finds it gross😕 but nobody in the vicinity is strong enough to tell neloth that he should be ashamed LMFAO. if you would try and even hint to talvas that it's happening he'd never take you seriously and just get mad. he's protective of neloth's image more than neloth himself is; not that people knowing neloth has abnormal sodomistic inclinations toward his apprentice would make his public image worse than it already is (everyone already thinks he's weird so it's not shocking at all) but talvas still wouldn't wanna hear it cause he thinks it's just false. maybe he's just ashamed that he's being brought into the whole thing. also because he doesn't wanna face the reality EJI23JRIO32KJ Well talvas when neloth makes an actual move on you don't say that we didn't warn you.. we're all waiting till neloth's status as an obvious apprentice-pervert becomes obvious to you

even if he's willingly ignorant of the fact he still thinks of the 'accusations' a lot when he feels like it. and unknowingly begins feeling even more uncomfortable in neloth's presence. heart starts beating faster and everything. neloth could come up to him meters away and talvas would still cover his mouth in realization and be like "i knew it… the DB told me but i didn't wanna believe it …..😦 so you really do like young men … and you're in love with me ..😨" *Neloth wakes up from this fever dream drenched in sweat* < neloth doesn't want (obvi) talvas to react that way at any point because he himself would just get scared so they'd just be staring at each other wide eyed. but talvas jumping into his advances isn't what he wants either (that'll also scare him). neloth is still relying on talvas' politeness to let him do as he pleases. but it is impossible for talvas to let it slide without questioning anything regardless so🤷‍♀️ take your few Ls and move on. neloth just wants talvas to sit on his lap. wants to spoonfeed him soup. he's so romantic. he also wants to(sniper on rooftop blows my head to bits). neloth is actually a pretty touchy feely person when he's feeling Frisky (=deranged about talvas). I'm certain his favorite part of talvas' body is his legs. talvas has beautiful young man skipping leg day legs. so nothing special at all but neloth wants to touch them lol.. let your master wizard squeeze your calves and he might just be occupied enough like a kid playing with a fidget toy to not abuse you verbally for 3 seconds. as i said befoar neloth is unpleasant with his touch because he doesn't know how to be soft + doesn't even want it to necessarily feel very 'rewarding' as to not pamper talvas. petting talvas kinda turns into a nervous habit for himself and an instrument of some sort of Reassurance 4 talvas when he wants him to know he’s not mad, for example. non-vebal confirmation. talvas still finds it weird but thinks it’s a charm point too. neloth wouldn't even be against touching him familiarly in front of others but only in a "older male figure" ways ex. touching his knee or putting his hand at the back of his neck (talvas sees it as some sort of disciplinary tactic though). physical touch that matches neloth's age and is enough for it to be seen as not necessarily romantic / overtly weird. 

there'ssssss no saving talvas after such a powerful person gets his hands on him. any will to leave would leave HIM either out of fear or out of attachment and neloth wouldn't just let him go (Alive at least) since he knows the things he knows. if talvas were to escape i'm a Truther of him not feeling in place and wanting to go back cause it's the stability that he's used to. but tbh if he encounters neloth on accident anywhere he's gonna start running. I was drinking tea while writing this and started choking on it i just nearly died writing this are youhappy. anyways, nelvas is a never-ending abusive relationship that doesn’t even have High highs, all it has is low lows. neloth always mistreats talvas for any reason but is never genuinely kind from the heart or out of remorse. .. hmm……yeah. I forgot to type this back out from my posts tags > talvas might just start viewing neloth as fuck crazy and demented after he Finally notices at least one molecular sign of gay attention from him . like ‘Oh wow Master Neloth obviously doesn’t get any female attention or anything cus he’s a sick fuck why does he have to search for it from me Can varona take the hit for me 🥺 *sees her dead body being dragged by the DB* hmm i guess not well i’ll figure something out i guess’ (he doesn’t) also the dialogue talvas has with varona after he steals neloth’s book trying to conjure some bs up will always be so cute to me he’s so defensive and afraid of neloth finding out. Him trying to decipher neloth’s handwriting is cute TOO ik their 19th century love letters to each other would go crazy and make sense to anyone but each other but i’m not gonna talk about 19th century girl talvas x neloth rn it’s too much . what ever. i think i’m done thank you i should just go back to drawing them as grecian pottery red figures or smthj Fun stats for you 4 getting to the end: times the word ‘abuse’ is used: 6

[plusultraetc]

there truly is no greater struggle, no more profound hardship, than me trying to use ao3

[paimonial-rage]

I was thinking about this while helping my friend beta something yesterday like… I vaguely remember that at one time, I felt (punctuation) periods were too harsh. They had a sense of finality about them. They were too loud and vibrant. Commas were more comforting to use. They felt softer and not as exact. And then I look at my writing now and there's nothing I love more than a period. I love how sharp it is. I love its finality.

Like I can't understate enough how much a period makes a statement. Like that's what it's supposed to do, yes, but it's more than that. It tells the audience that what precedes is true. It's a fact. And when you yield a period properly, it emphasizes and highlights what is stated. It stands out. It's final. It has weight. It's such a powerful thing that it's addicting to use.

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them

I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.

In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:

(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)

Perfectionism (most common)

What it looks like:

You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"

Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.

Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?

I hate everything I write

Cringing while writing

My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer

Things that can help:

Give yourself permission to suck

Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft

Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later

People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later

Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing

Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase

Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail

It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page

Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)

What it looks like:

Head empty, no ideas

What do I even write about???

I don't have a plot, I just have an image

Want to write but no story to write

Things that can help:

Google writing prompts

If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out

Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that

It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing

Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them

If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later

Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)

What it looks like:

I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt

Writing words feels like pulling teeth

I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted

I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window

Things that can help:

Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.

Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or speech-to-text

Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score

Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group

Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph

Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer

Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)

What it looks like:

I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop

I don't even know where to start

I love writing, but I can never seem to get started

I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)

Can't find the time or energy

Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)

Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying

Things that can help:

Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started

Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)

Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person

Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement

The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))

What it looks like:

I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene

I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going

I don't think I'm doing this right

What's an outline?

Drowning in documents

This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)

Things That Can Help:

Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working

A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go

If you don't have an outline, write one

If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it

You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural

Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them

Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers

Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough

Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism

What it looks like:

Everything in boredom/understimulation

Everything in intimidation/procrastination

You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism

Things that can help:

If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment

Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)

Seek out neurodiverse communities for advice and support

Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch

Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)

And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness

What it looks like:

You have symptoms of burnout or depression

Struggling with all things, not just writing

It's more than a lack of inspiration- the spark is just dead

Things that can help:

Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.

Seek professional help

If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch4. in a mother’s eyes

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 4/x

ᰔ words. 10k (omg a whole number...very sexy)

a/n. hellooo my ihm friends! hope you're all doing well. ahh i'm glad to finally be posting this chapter lolol. it's a littleee off tangent from what happens in ch3, but still has some important plot developments. it does dive into feelings of depression & anxiety, so just wanted to give a warning on that! but yea other than that i hope you enjoy and see you at the bottom!! :) also so sorry if there are errors i only had time to skim through it once :((

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 (pending)

“Just go ahead and sign right here for me.”

You take the pen from the hospice nurse’s hand. It’s cheap black plastic with a pink fuzzy pom pom attached to the end of it with peeling glue. 

Your eyes briefly flit across the paragraphs detailed in printed ink until your gaze lands on the highlighted lines at the bottom of the page. Your signature. Spouse’s signature.

“We’ll need to have your husband come here to sign the paperwork as well, since he’ll have to add your mother on his list of dependents, but we can certainly get started on expediting this process for you since the insurance has already been pre-approved,” the nurse tells you as she accepts your signed paperwork and then neatly tucks it into one of the compartment holders. 

The afternoon goes by smoothly, with your mother surprisingly patient as she sits in the waiting room while you wait for the nurses to formally show you to her new room.

You thought that you could put off putting her in hospice for a little longer, because in all honesty, you weren’t prepared to let her go just yet. You weren’t prepared to not have her in the house anymore. But lately, she’s been putting herself in lots of danger, like attempting to take her own medications when she does not know the correct dosing, and forgetting things on the stove when she attempts to cook.

But the last straw was when you came home from a very brief run to the grocery store at night a couple days ago to see a handful of your neighbors out on the front lawn with your mother at their side. She had apparently gotten out of the house and walked down the neighborhood, then fallen on the sidewalk but was unable to get up. When your neighbors had found her, a miracle as they were just coming home from dinner and caught sight of her in the illumination of their headlights, they tried to help her get up but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even tell the firefighters that came by to help her what her name was, or what year it was, or where she lived.

It was when you realized you couldn’t even keep her safe anymore that you had to let go.

“Is that a wedding ring?” your mother asks, pointing a trembling finger to it as she lays tucked inside her new hospice bed, “are you married?”

You glance down at the ring Gojo gave you in the courthouse, almost surprised to find that you were still wearing it in good faith. “Yes, mom. I am.”

“Why am I here?” she asks you, “I don’t want to be here.”

You stiffen a little. Although you were mentally preparing yourself to answer these questions, the preparation didn’t make it any easier. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just for a little short while, okay? The doctors want to run some tests on you.”

“Who are you married to?” she asks.

“To Satoru,” you tell her, “our neighbor.”

She lets out a small gasp. “The sweet boy who fixed our A/C?”

You roll your eyes. not sure why your mother has hyper fixated on that memory with Gojo when most days she’ll look at you like you’re a stranger. “Yes mom.”

“Oh, I like him,” she tells you with an affectionate nod. She hesitates slightly, wearisome of some other thought that flashes through her mind. “How long have you been married?”

You let out a small sigh. This is already a conversation you had with her a couple days ago, and it doesn’t feel good to lie to her. It was hard enough to do once, but to have to constantly lie to her over and over again over all the smallest things just so that she stays calm and safe and happy seems to drain you of all your energy and happiness you had left in your bones.

Little white lies, that’s what they are. Harmless ones. That’s what you tell yourself to absolve yourself of the guilt.

“I’ll come back soon, okay? I’ll tell you more about him some other day,” you say to her, speaking gently in the way an adult would speak to a child. The way she used to speak to you. You could never exactly pinpoint when those roles became reversed.

You finish discussing some more insurance matters with the front-desk nurse as she puts together a small folder of documents for you. While she works, you glance at the little counter shelf that includes a plethora of pamphlets on how to deal with the complicated feelings that arise from putting a loved one in hospice care, and dealing with the emotions of having a relative with advanced stage dementia. They are pretty brochures, lovingly creased at the folds as if looked through multiple times by people who walk in and out of this facility, but seemingly only few take them home. You slip one of each into your folder when the nurse hands it to you, manage the best smile possible, and then turn on your heel to head out the hospice doors.

The sun is setting outside as you take the walk back to your car, which was purposefully parked a half mile away to afford you the luxury of a melancholic stroll. Somehow, you feel like you’ve left a piece of yourself back at the hospice. A feeling you can’t quite shake from your bones.

Your feet stop walking somewhere along the sidewalk on their own, the street lights above you flickering brighter into life as the sky is now a dusty gray with only streaks of purple. There’s a liquor store you spot across a small parking lot to your right, and you’re guided towards it, but not without a sickening feeling in your chest.

When you open the door, the bell at the top jingles, and you glance to the right where you see a lanky young man playing some sort of shooter game on his phone by the cash register. You grab a bottle of vodka, a bottle of white wine, some packs of skittles, one of the mini pizza boxes at the hot food station, and then dump it all onto the counter.

The young man scans all your items without even so much as sparing you a glance, but does take a look at your ID, then says, “Total’s $68.65, cash or card?”

“Card.”

Just before you tap your card, something displayed behind the cashier counter catches your eye. Something familiar, something tempting, something you weigh in your head about twenty times within one millisecond all due to the cortisol coursing through your veins and you eventually say, “Uh, and could I get one of those, too?”

The cashier looks behind himself to what you’re pointing at before turning around. “Sure.”

The same jingle is heard on top of your head as you leave the store, now with a burning hot mini pizza box in your hand as well as a plastic bag that carries your candy and the two clinking bottles of alcohol.

“Oh!! omg, y/n,” you hear a feminine voice call out and you’re instantly wincing. The last thing you wanted was to be bothered right now. You just wanted to go home and get drunk and then pass out on the floor of your living room. But alas, the world is small.

You turn around to see Hana come running across the sidewalk lot towards you, and when she’s about a few feet away, she glances down at your hands and all the things you were carrying. You quickly shove your last-minute purchase into your jacket pocket with a shameful conscience, and try to hide the plastic bag of liquor behind your calves. There was no hiding the pizza box, but at least that was the least incriminating.

“Oh, Hana, wow! What a coincidence seeing you here,” you say to her, pressing your lips into a small smile.

“Yeah, I um,” she points over her shoulder towards the hospice that’s standing tall in the darkness of night, cells with windows illuminated with light. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it was a prison. “Remember I told you my friend’s mom is sick and she’s at this hospice?”

“Yeah,” you say.

“I was just visiting her mom with her,” she tells you.

“Aw,” you comment, “I see, I see.”

You adore Hana, you really do. She was there for you when the whole Yuna and Choso thing went down, picking your shifts up for a good week when you couldn’t stomach going into work when your ex-best friend’s stupid face was gloating in the halls over how she stole your boyfriend. Hana was there for you when you were a new hire and all the doctors were being bitchy about a “newbie in the ED”, but she stood up for you, even cussed the fuck out of one of attendings for the whole hall to hear when you were being disrespected by one of them. She’s someone you can beam about how hot the EMT and Firefighter men that stroll into the ED are, too. A priceless companion.

And even though you two have hung out after hours sometimes, it was still always a little awkward to see a coworker outside of work.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I actually, um, was going to tell you at our shift tomorrow, but I just admitted my mom to the hospice too,” you say, “and…thanks a lot for telling me about it. I really appreciate it. It seems like a wonderful facility.”

Her eyes briefly widen with surprise before they soften once again. “Oh, that’s wonderful, love. I hope all goes well. And your little insurance scam worked! Good for you!”

“Shhh,” you hiss at her, looking around yourself with paranoia, “the feds are everywhere.”

She laughs, sweet in the air, before the sound settles and she looks at you with something reminiscent of well-intentioned concern. Her eyes flit to the plastic bag you were still holding behind your legs. “Hey…um, if…if you ever want some company when you come to visit your mom, just let me know. I hope you know you don’t have to do everything alone.”

You blink at her, sucking in a short breath to respond, but it only leaves you as a slight puff of air. There’s a silent gratitude that you give her, because it’s hard for you to express any feelings with words, but you’ve found that the people in your life who know you best can always read you without them. 

“Thank you, Hana,” you manage to say with a slight croak to your voice because you were fighting back tears.

She smiles at you. “Take care, okay? And see ya tomorroooowwwwww,” she coos at you, coming up to you to give you a small hug, a squeeze of your upper arm, and then she heads back towards the direction of the hospice.

You watch her walk away until you can’t see her anymore. And then you head towards your car.

When you arrive at your neighborhood, you park in front of Gojo’s house. You have a feeling that you won’t be able to bear the vast emptiness of your home now that your mother is elsewhere, and so you drag your feet up the stone stairs of his house with a heavy heart instead.

The spare key that he gave you weakly pushes into the keyhole with about as much force as your fingers can manage, and you realize they almost feel atrophied. 

The house is dark when you step inside, spare for the ambient street lights shining through cracked open blinds on the windows, and the curtains rustle gently from the draft of the AC, a chill that reaches you too by the time you make it to the staircase.

It doesn’t seem like Gojo’s home. A glance at the clock tells you it’s close to 8pm. You briefly consider texting him to ask where he’s at, why he’s out so late, when he’ll be home, and what’s for dinner, but you can’t even bring yourself to pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

Weak legs manage to take you upstairs and you’re about to pass through to your room when the slightly open door to the master bedroom taunts you, like a peephole into some other wordly dimension. Like the wardrobe in the chronicles of Narnia. A portal into your fake husband’s life.

With a palm pushing on the door, you slowly crack it open, and you know the anxious voices in your head are getting worse by the day when the creaking of the door hinges sounds like a lullaby to you. 

Was this an invasion of privacy? And did you really care if it was?

The room is big, with a king sized bed off to the left, sheets neatly made and duvet primly tucked under, like the way hotel beds are set up. You feel a slight flush of embarrassment when you remember you haven’t been making your bed in the mornings for the past couple days you’ve been living here so far, and you wonder if Gojo would judge you for something like that. If he’d think you were a messy or undisciplined person. If he would think less of you.

Truthfully, in a lot of ways, you still felt like a child. You barely weathered a lot of your formative adolescent years when dealing with your parents’ divorce, and you’ve had to put so much of your life on pause to take care of your mom ever since she got diagnosed. So here you were, in the body of a 29-year-old woman, yet still feeling so painfully juvenile. One that forgets to make her bed in the mornings, and on most nights can’t seem to stomach anything other than cereal for dinner. It was like you were still at a party that everyone else had left, except all it ever was is hell. Your life was such a stark contrast to the lives of other adults you’ve come across. The ones that wake up at six to go on runs, the ones that have paid off mortgages with five figures in their retirement accounts, oh god, the ones that meal prep, and the ones that, all things considered, have their lives together. The ones that don’t spend at least an hour of every day, in fetal position on their bed, sobbing until tears soak through the sheets of the pillow down to the feathers like bone, because you’re so overwhelmed with stress and preparing yourself for the grief of losing your mother which you know that, no matter how hard you try to save her from, will inevitably one day come. 

You used to cook dinner every night, make your bed every morning, and go to pilates on the weekends. Back when you were a little younger and healed and excited to live life. But now, you barely get by. Your priorities are with your mother. You can’t remember the last time you did anything nice for yourself, including something as simple as the luxury of getting to come home to a clean house because you hardly ever had time to clean it, not with all the doctor’s appointments you were driving your mother to, not with all the extra shifts you were picking up at the hospital to pay off your debt, not with all the times you felt too depressed to even get out of bed. 

But your mother is in hospice now, so you’ve made time, right? You’ve made the decision that everyone in your life has been begging you to finally do. So why do you still feel so empty inside?

By a quick survey of the room, you notice Gojo doesn’t really have many framed photos hung up on the walls or perched up on surfaces. None, actually. Only a contemporary painting above his bed frame and then a faded vintage horror movie poster plastered up near his desk. Not terribly odd, since in your experience most men don’t really do the whole “cluttering the house with millions of photos of their family” thing until they at least have a couple of kids and some purebred dog. The thought of Gojo someday setting up a little portrait photo at his desk with his wife’s—his eventual real forever wife’s, pretty face in it, posing with their two beautiful kids, makes an oddly melancholic feeling waft through you. You wonder if he would keep a two-by-two in his wallet, too.

Your feet move one in front of the other as your finger traces the surface wood of a dresser cabinet, something that looks a little vintage and oaky, in stark contrast to the modern minimalist vibe Gojo has set up in the rest of the room. A family heirloom, maybe? There’s no dust that coats your finger, which surprises you. If you were to run your finger across your dresser at home you’d have collected enough dust to snort down your windpipes like a recreational drug. But Gojo’s a real estate agent, making a living off of dressing houses up in perfect cosplay so that monetarily stable middle class families feel inclined to buy them. So you’re not exactly surprised he’s invested in keeping his own house in pristine condition too. 

There is a little bit of chaos, though. Like the shirt he has haphazardly hung over his chair at his office space over to the right. There’s a coffee mug sitting there too, porcelain and reflecting the moon light off, but upon peering inside you see that it’s half empty with stale coffee. He’s got pens sprawled across the desk, in a fashion that suggests he accidentally knocked them over in a rush, and slowly, like some grounding exercise, you place them one by one back into the paper mache pencil holder. It briefly occurs to you that he has a lot of paper mache containers of sorts around the house. You lift up the pencil cup, turning it in your hand until your eyes catch something written on it with glittery pink gel pen.

i luv u unkle toru! -yur BEST FREND 4EVUR juno!!! :D

A small smile makes it onto your face. The handwriting was messy, more like scratches than smooth lines, and nothing less than what you would expect of a child. You remember making paper mache and clay trinkets at preschool for your mom and dad when you were younger. And you’re sure if you were brave enough to open the box of memorabilia that sits in your attic some day, you’d see your own scratchy scribbled handwriting on them. An innocence that is long gone and buried, never again to be delicately placed on desks or counters for all the living.

The draft from the AC reaches you once again, brushing over your skin and causing a chill to shiver down your spine. It kicks at the curtains as well, causing them to ruffle up towards you, baring the dark outside world into the streets. And you notice in that momentary glance that there’s a roof just outside the window that overlooks the backyard. A roof? Spotted by a depressed woman going through a quarter life crisis? There was nothing more tempting than that. 

The window was easy to open, which only caused unease over the revelation of how easy it would be for someone to rob this house. You make a mental note to tell Gojo to get a ring camera or security system of some sort since he doesn’t seem to have one, but you can already picture him telling you something about how statistically low the crime rates are in this neighborhood compared to all the other neighborhoods, and then you’d tell him that it’s just for your peace of mind. But whether he’d compromise or not after that, you’re really not sure.

You take a seat on the roof, a little scared as you sit because of the slight slope, but it’s comfortable once you’re settled. You sit criss-cross-apple-sauce, staring out into the neighborhood of perfectly lined up suburban houses. You’ve got a better view into some neighbors' backyards, noticing that a couple of them had pools while some of them have big gardens. There's a cat resting up on a fence in the distance. A car drives by with headlights illuminating everything in its proximity briefly before zooming off. You glance up at the sky, and notice the full moon, but it’s too cloudy to see any stars. Or perhaps it was just the light pollution from the lamps making it difficult to see.

On instinct, your hand reaches inside your coat pocket for your phone, but your knuckles hit something else instead. A moment of brief confusion flickers through your head, but then you immediately recall the last-minute purchase you made at the gas station.

Your hand pulls out the object, and then you stare down at it. Squinting your eyes a little, because it’s a sight that feels familiar but also one you haven’t seen in so long: a pack of twenty Marlboro red cigarettes. 

You’ve tried a lot of things to manage your stress over the years. Excessively working out, eating a lot of sugar, going on six hour hikes to touch grass, flirting with random men at bars, fucking Choso until he was rendered speechless, multiple types of antidepressants, you almost tried smoking weed once with your roommate in college but you wimped out last second. But the habit that had gotten you through the years of 21 to 24 is held loosely in your hand right now. It’s been five years since you quit, but resolve was often a fickle thing. As the saying goes, once an addict, always an addict. 

There’s a brief moment of hesitation as you slowly peel the plastic off of the back, but then it all comes back to you like a reflex you’ll never forget up to where you slide a cigar up out and then pinch it between your two fingers. Forgetting to buy a lighter with the cigarettes is definitely something you would do, but because you remembered it was something that you would do, you remembered not to do it. The flick of the flame coming to life is ASMR you didn’t know you were painfully nostalgic for, and you balance the cigarette between your lips in that sort of movie-star way people used to obsess over back in the day. But just as you bring the lighter up to the end of the cigarette, and just before you can light it—

A hand shoots out in your periphery, grabbing your wrist and entirely stalling the movement.

You gasp, lips parting enough for the cigarette to fall from them and into your lap. The hand wrapped around your wrist is large and masculine, and you briefly consider screaming, but when you snap your neck to look at the perpetrator, you see Gojo crouched down next to you on this roof. You notice he’s wearing a black suit, a tie that was loosely secure hanging from his neck into the space between his spread thighs as he’s crouched, and whatever gel he had in his hair from earlier only barely remains as strands fall over his forehead haphazardly. He looks like he’s on the other end of a long work day. 

You blink at him, expression plastered with surprise, but his is only earnest. With breathtaking blue eyes that you realize he could easily use to surrender a person just by looking at them, like the way he’s looking at you right now. His lips are pressed together into a firm line, as if to suppress some emotion, but the slight crease to his brow makes you feel like you’re in trouble somehow. Like he was silently scolding you for something.

“I—” you stutter.

He lets go of your wrist and discreetly pulls the lighter out of your hand. And then his hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes you were balancing on your knee, but on some reflex that you don’t even think about, you try to snatch them away from him, and now you’re both tugging at the same pack of cigarettes.

“y/n,” he says, “let go.”

“No,” you say stubbornly.

He sighs and tugs a little harder. “Give them to me.”

“But—” you stammer, voice becoming softer to see if that’d work on him, “I’m…” Your grip on them tightens. “I’m stressed.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, then finally loses his patience and snatches them right out of your hand. He stands up from his crouched down position to toss the pack off to the side onto the roof somewhere. You’re surprised when he lets out a sigh and sits down next to you on the roof, as if he felt the obligation to. His legs stretch out in front of him, but still bent slightly at the knees, and he leans backwards with his body weight braced on his palms laid flat on wood paneling behind him. “There are better ways to relieve stress,” he tells you candidly. 

“Like what?” you ask, and just when he opens his mouth to speak, you clarify, “and don’t say sex.”

He shuts his mouth and his eyes flit up to the sky for a brief second. “Damn. I didn’t have a back-up answer.” 

You roll your eyes, releasing a deep breath, then draw your knees to your chest before resting your chin on top of them. 

“I didn’t know you smoke,” he says after a century-long minute. 

You wince a little, because you were half hoping he was going to just drop the subject all together. 

You bite your lip nervously and hug your knees to your chest tighter as if to hide yourself from him. “I don’t. Well, I haven’t. Um, not for a while.”

“Huh. I see,” he says.

Another silence passes, and as he shuffles next to you, the fabric of his suit brushes against the fabric of your coat, and you’ve become entirely too aware of the feeling.

“So,” he says, breaking the awkward silence, “your mom’s in hospice now?”

You nod, enthusiastic enough to where you won’t look like you’re entirely depressed about it.

“That’s good,” he says, “no issues with the insurance?”

You shake your head. “They need you to sign some papers by the end of the week though,” you tell him. “We’ll have to go in person.”

He nods slowly to affirm he’ll make time for it. “I really hope things get better for your mom,” he says, voice soft as he stares off into neighbors homes like you had been doing ten minutes ago. You see the cat that was resting on the fence get up, do a big stretch, and start walking along the length of the fence. Your eyes briefly glance at Gojo, and you notice his gaze is tracing the cat’s path. 

“My—” you start, hesitant all of a sudden by the vulnerability you already feel swelling within you, most definitely due to sitting with someone on a rooftop late at night, but you decide that you’ll be nice to him for once, “…my mom seems to remember you a lot. More than she remembers me.” You let out a small humoring laugh, as if that fact doesn’t completely destroy you. “She was blabbering to me again for the seventh time about how you apparently fixed our AC.” You try to bite your tongue, but can’t help it when you say, “although I’m pretty sure you just pressed a bunch of buttons until it started working again.”

“Yup. That’s exactly what I did.”

You roll your eyes and sigh.

Another awkward silence.

“Can I ask you a question?” you say.

“Sure.” His voice sounds deeper, like he’s sleepy. 

“Why did you agree to marry me? That’s not something people just do out of nowhere.”

He glances over at you, and you flicker your eyes to him. “Why? Having regrets?” he teases, with a slight nudge of his elbow to your side. 

“Just answer me.”

He lifts his palms up from behind him and leans forward, placing his hands on his knees instead. “I don’t know. If something I could do would help someone out that much, I wasn’t going to say no.”

You hum quietly, still confused by his intentions. But you’re too jaded to question them.

“It costs nothing to be nice,” he adds. 

You run soothing circles over your thigh through the fabric of your jeans. For some reason, your mind wanders to Choso. Thinking of all the years you wasted staying with him even though you knew his affections were long gone, just because you didn’t want to break his heart. Only to realize that you never had that privilege in the first place. 

“I think,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you draw your knees closer to your chest, “that sometimes it does.”

A gust of autumn wind breezes by, ruffling the trees that the two of you are at eye-level with at the moment. You're pretty sure you’ve completely lost Gojo’s interest at this point, where he’s finally too tired to deal with your oddly cryptic attitudes and overall generally displeasing vibe, assuming this based solely on his prolonged silence beside you. You’re ready for him to get up and abandon you here on this roof, left to ponder every single thing you’ve done wrong in your life. It was any second now.

“Sometimes,” he instead speaks up, and it’s so surprising to you that you jolt a little bit, “you can do everything right, and people will still find a way to fuck you over. But I don’t think that’s any reason to stop being nice to others.”

You glance over at him, your eyes widening slightly, but he just continues to peer off straight into the night. His blinks are slow, lingering on being closed for a moment before he opens them again, and you’re mesmerized by the sight. The skin under his eyes is slightly dark from exhaustion, heavy with character that makes you aware that he’s just a person too. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, you realize that he’s—…handsome. And for what feels like the tenth time this week, your heart flutters in your chest.

He scoffs suddenly and dusts his hands off. “I sound like a fucking youth pastor.” He lets out an exhale before suddenly standing up onto his feet before you can think more on it. He looks off into the night again and lets out another exhale that sounds more like a sigh this time. “God, it’s getting a lot colder these days. Might have to start running the heater.”

You blink up at him with no commentary to add. 

He looks down at you. His face is relaxed, but you can tell those eyes are distracted. A shimmering blue ocean in its own world while he attempts to stay present in this one. 

He holds his hand out to you, and you stare at it blankly like you’ve got no clue what he intends for you to do with it. But you finally take the hint and curl your hand around his palm so that he can pull you up onto your feet too.

You stumble a little, falling forward from the sudden blood flow to your brain, but he holds you steady by the strong grip of his hands on your elbows. He’s close to you, close enough to where you can smell the faint lingering scent of his cologne. Something different than that expensive one he wore to the courthouse, but it’s comforting somehow. A fragrance that’s more him. And you feel nervous as you look up at him underneath pale moonlight. 

He lets go of your elbows. You feel cold from the loss of his touch. But his right hand moves to gently hold your left hand in his palm, holding it curled as his thumb barely grazes the stone you wear on your ring finger; the one he gave you.

The way his thumb prods at the silver band is like he’s inspecting its quality, as if it has to pass some test to be worthy of sitting on your finger. Or maybe just any finger, if you were to quell the delusion. You’re not sure if he’s satisfied with his inspection.

“Where did you get it—” you blurt out.

His gaze flickers up to your face briefly before he’s back to examining the ring. “It was my mom’s.”

Your mouth gapes slightly in shock, heart dropping a little in your chest, and all of a sudden you feel guilty. Guilty that he put his mother’s ring on your finger for something that was fake, something that was essentially a business deal, something exchanged to you out of fraud when it was a precious family heirloom that should be exchanged with love. And maybe he didn’t care about it much, some people don’t care about the sentiments of objects. But your mind thinks of the oaky vintage dresser in his room, so out of place in the aesthetic of its surroundings, a decision you can only imagine him of all people, mr. “everything in this house has to look like an IKEA catalog”, would do if the dresser held some importance to him that was more than meets the eye. And so you’re compelled to think that maybe this ring did, too. 

“Why would you give me this?! You could’ve just gotten a cheap fake diamond ring from a pawn shop and called it a day,” you ask him, suddenly feeling burdened by it.

“Well I wasn’t exactly given much time to think of other options.”

“But—” you start, only to realize you have no counter arguments for that.

He lets out a huh noise, like the sound someone makes when they’re pleasantly surprised by something, as he looks down at your hand that he still held in his. “It’s kinda crazy that it fits you perfectly. I wasn’t sure.”

Your mind wanders to when he slipped the ring onto your finger in the courtroom, followed by the kiss. Soft, sweet, the lingering warm sensation of his palm on your cheek as he cupped your face, the same way those heartthrob actors do in all those romance movies and kdramas that you watch on Friday nights while snuggled up in a blanket, wondering when anyone will ever kiss you like that. You remember the ghost sensation of his hand hovering over the small of your back, fingers lightly grazing the nape of your neck, his frame blocking out everything around you as he kissed you, just to pull away and for the two of you to then pretend like it never happened, as if it wasn’t one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever known.

You slowly pull your hand out of his, the moment feeling too tender for your liking, and you clear your throat before flitting your eyes up to his. 

“Rule #1,” you remind him with a soft whisper, “no touching.”

You purse your lips, watching his round eyes blink once, then twice, before he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. He rocks back and forth on his heels for a few seconds, nodding slowly in submission, and then he turns on them to head back to the house. You’re standing a little stunned from the abrupt ending to this trance of a moment on the roof, and you’re also a little surprised with how your chest is heaving a little bit with fast breaths, but you eventually snap out of it to follow him inside too. 

You two make it back inside the house, with little words exchanged. You pretend to not notice the way Gojo tilts his head at his desk, like he’s confused about why it looks tidier than when he left it. You’re prepared to feign innocence or ignorance, but he doesn’t press you about it. 

“Y’know,” he says from behind you, his chest briefly brushing against the back of your head as he pushes the bedroom door in front of you open so that you can head out into the loft, “those oversized 1800s-esque nightgowns you’ve been wearing around the house kinda make you look like a less-hot version of Ebenezer Scrooge.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

•┈┈┈••✦☽✦••┈┈┈•

“Sign right here for me, sir.”

You watch as the nurse slides the papers across the high-raised counter of the hospice nursing desk towards Gojo, his eyebrows narrowing as his eyes skim the words on the paper and land at the highlighted lines where he’s been intended to sign. You feel nervous for some reason, as if he’d suddenly find something disagreeable and refuse to sign, then take you to the courthouse first thing to finalize a divorce and send you off to prison while claiming he was blackmailed into the whole marriage in the first place.

Instead, he pulls a pen from the chest pocket of his suit jacket, clicking the end of it and scribbling his signature onto the paper with some jet black ink that looks like it takes a second to dry. How pretentious of him. The pink pom-pom pen was right there.

The nurse behind the counter continues to chat with him about something, blah blah dependents, blah blah tax claims, blah blah you’ll receive an itemized bill in the mail. You’re trying your best to eavesdrop in on the conversation, but most of your senses are being occupied by examining all your surroundings. When you dropped your mother off at the hospice, your feelings were at the forefront of conscience, but now that you’ve had a couple days to come down from that overwhelming emotional high, you’re here to scope out the quality of this place you’ve just dumped your mom at.

The facility is clean and sleek, with a color theme of red and an ocean blue across the signs, the furniture, even with the paperwork they hand out. All the workers had color-coded scrubs based on their occupation or specialty, and none of them had stains on the fabric. You take a glance down at the modest leather pumps you were wearing past the creases of the long skirt, and notice that the floor was shimmering off their reflection in a perfect polish. It wasn’t bad, this place.

“Thanks, you too,” you hear Gojo say to the nurse behind the counter. He has a professional smile on his face, but still kind and genuine, which makes the woman at the computer something bashful and unable to make eye contact. He folds something that looks like a receipt into his chest pocket before tucking his pen back in there too and then turns to face you. You make a mental note to pay him back for whatever he just paid for, at least once you move some money around. 

Your eyebrows lift, feeling a little dazed as you blink at him blankly.

“Alright,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets, the sound of his shoes on the polished hospital floors satisfactorily tapping in your ears as he took a couple steps towards you, “where’s your mom’s room?”

“Huh?”

“What’s her room number?” he asks you.

“Y-You wanna go see her??”

“Of course I want to,” he says, “she’s my mother-in-law.”

You roll your eyes and pet the fabric of your skirt to smooth the wrinkles out. “You’re getting a little too invested in this role of fake husband.”

“I get to annoy you all day and ride the adrenaline rush of committing a federal crime,” he says, “of fucking course I’d get invested.”

You sigh, tossing some of your hair to behind your shoulder before glancing up at the signs, squinting slightly to locate the ward where your mother’s room is, before you hear an extremely high-pitched and somewhat catty feminine voice call out from behind you. You glance at Gojo’s face as he peers off to whoever’s behind you, and you see him visibly stiffen a little.

“Is that Dayton county’s sexiest realtooorrr???” the voice purrs, and you turn on your heel to see a blonde bombshell of a woman clacking her kitten heels down the glistening floors of the hospice, with another brunette bombshell just a few paces behind her. Bombshell #2 sighs something like “it issss” before they walk right up to your fake husband and take turns at giving him a playful squeeze of his bicep. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping at the sight. 

“Wow! Ladies, so–...so great to see you two,” he says out of polite obligation, and you immediately clock the fact that he doesn’t address them by name.

Bombshell #1 turns to look at you, all of her hair moving as one solid entity with the motion from all the hair spray that’s probably holding it up, and she points at you with a long slender finger that narrows into a french-tip. “Oh who’s this?? Another one of your clients??”

“Oh, no, she’s my–”

“I’m his wife,” you interrupt him, irritated for some reason. 

Both the women chirp something out like oh! before their faces twist with confusion. 

“I didn’t know you were married,” Bombshell #2 says in a thick New Jersey accent.

Gojo lifts his left hand up, the silver band on his hand glimmering under fluorescent hospice lighting. “Very happily,” he says, as if someone was holding a gun to his head.

Bombshell #1 crosses her arms, and you try not to stare at how nice her boobs look in the low scoop-neck jaguar print top she was wearing. You were no better than a man. And now you’re pissed off at the idea of Gojo glancing down too, but a flick of your gaze up to his face tells you he’s safe. For now. 

“You weren’t married when I asked you if you were a month ago,” Bombshell #1 sneers at him. It’s true, the math wouldn’t make sense, but in his defense, this marriage was a fraud.

“Or when you took me out for dinner last week after I bought my house,” Bombshell #2 snarls with an undertone of hurt. 

Gojo clears his throat beside you before pointing at Bombshell #2. “How is that, by the way?” he asks in an attempt to change the subject, “the half acre down on Maple Ave, right? You, uh, enjoying the pool?”

The woman let out an offended scoff and–were her eyes sheening with tears?? She puts her hands on her hips. “No. Mine is the three bedroom house with the cedar gazebo on 14th street.”

Her friend next to her rolls her eyes and smacks her gum between her cheek. “I’m the one that bought the half acre down on Maple Ave, jerk. Ugh!” She grabs her friend’s arm with a high-pitched hmph noise leaving her throat, and you can hear the other one sniffling subtly as she wobbles on her heels with her friend’s pull of her arm. 

Right before leaving the two of you alone, Bombshell #1 turns to you and says, “I hope you find someone who treats you better,” and then they storm off together down the hallway, their perfectly blow-dried hair bouncing in sync with each stomp.

You blink at the sight, a little flabbergasted from the interaction, and then flit your faze up to Gojo. You see him awkwardly scratching at the back of his head with a grimace on his stupidly handsome face. 

“That’s what you get for being a manwhore,” you tell him.

“I’m not a manwhor–”

“You went on a date with another woman while you were maaaaarrrieeeddd?!” you coo as you let out a fake gasp and slap your cheeks with your hands, “despicable, really.”

He lets out some disgruntled noise, the source coming from deep within his throat. “No. We weren’t fake-married yet,” he vindicates himself, “and it wasn’t a date. I just bought her dinner as a congrats for buying a house. Not a big deal. I do it for all my clients.”

“Satoru. You do realize you’re leading these women on, right? I mean, I’ve seen the way you talk to them. Even if you think you’re just being friendly, please know that your definition of friendly is most people’s definition of flirting.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s true.”

He raises an eyebrow as he glances down at you. “Alright, how come this flirting in disguise of friendliness hasn’t worked on you then?”

You scoff in disbelief before crossing your arms. Maybe you did deserve a better fake husband. “You’re never friendly with me. You’re always rude to me.”

“What? I’m not always rude to you.”

“Well, you’re certainly much more rude to me than you are to other women,” you say, tapping the tip of your shoe with irritation.

“Can we not do this right now? We’re in the middle of a hospice.” 

“God, you’re such a cop-out,” you mumble as you forcefully push past him towards the hallway that’ll lead you to your mother. You can hear that Gojo’s on your tail, following you down one of the more dimly lit hallways, and you can tell he needs to stall the strides of his Daddy Longlegs to not overtake your pace.

“What the fuck is a cop-out?” he asks you from behind.

“Look it up on urban dictionary, Grandpa. Unless you don’t know what the Internet is, either,” you spat. 

You waltz right up to your mother’s room just in time to see a nurse making her way out with a clipboard in her hands. She glances over to you when she sees you approaching in her periphery.

“Hi! How can I help you?” she asks.

“Is it alright if we visit my mother?” you ask her.

“Oh! Sure, let me just clean her bed pan really quick.”

Your brow furrows. “B-Bedpan?? Why is she using a bedpan??”

The nurse stops in her movements. “Well, yesterday and today, that’s just what she has decided to use.”

You immediately become hostile. “That’s not right. She never needed to use one at home. Why is she suddenly using one here? Is that not a clear sign of deterioration? The restrooms must not be kept well enough here if she doesn’t want to use them.”

The nurse becomes something meek, her eyes widening as her mouth gapes slightly. “Ma’am,” she squeaks out, “we see this commonly with patients as they begin to adjust to hospice life. We’ll urge her to use the restroom, but as of right now, we need to prioritize what she finds most comfortable.”

Your expression softens, your shoulders relaxing from their tense position, and you duck your head a little with guilt. “Right…I’m sorry.”

The nurse presses her lips together with a well-meaning smile before shuffling into the room and closing the door behind her. You sigh and lean your back against the wall next to the number plate, cheeks flushing slightly from the confrontation. You have no idea how loud your voice was or who heard you. But you try to convince yourself that you’re just stressed and trying to look out for your mother, although the guilt still sits.

You glance up to see Gojo staring at you with slightly wide eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets, and he tilts his head to study your expression.

“What?” you snap at him.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Satoru,” you cut his questioning off by raising a palm into the air, “just—…just stop.”

His brow furrows together slightly, but before he can show any further concern, the nurse exits the room and holds the door open for the two of you. 

“All set!” she chirps, and Gojo moves to hold the door open in her stead, and then the nurse bolts down to disappear somewhere down the hallway.

You hear Gojo let out a small huff of a scoff as he stares down in the direction the nurse ran off in. “Glad to know I’m not the only one that’s scared of you.”

You roll your eyes and walk into the room through the open door.

Your mother lays in her bed, looking out the window with her hands resting on top of layers of white linen sheets, her skin looking slightly paler than usual. You approach her bedside slowly and she finally turns her head to look at you.

“Hi mom,” you gently greet her, sitting down on the stool beside her bed, “how are you doing?”

Her eyes dart across the features of your face, and you briefly glance towards the wall to the right where you see Gojo standing from a slight distance.

“Oh, hi dear,” she says with a smile, and relief washes over you.

You match her smile with your own. “Mom, I brought someone here to see you.” You glance over at Gojo, who starts to close distance now as he approaches the foot of the bed, “this is Satoru, my husband.”

Your mother’s eyes widen, “Oh! I know him,” she scoldingly swats a hand at you, like you’ve embarrassed her somehow by assuming that she doesn’t know who he is, “he’s my neighbor!”

You sigh, “yes mom, the one that fixed the A/C?” You attempt to finish her sentence for her.

She looks confused for a moment, but slightly nods as if to avoid any further confusion for herself. “But—…but, why…” she trails off and then looks at you, “I’m sorry, are you my nurse?”

Your shoulders drop slightly. “No, mom, it’s me. Your daughter. Do you remember?”

Her face scrunches before it entirely relaxes to keep some image of composure despite the haze you know she feels in her head. “Oh…yes, yes…my little girl. I remember you, of course!”

Your eyes become layered with a slight sheen of tears, “I’m glad.”

“Where’s your father?” she asks, “he said he’d bring me some…oh dear, what—…he said he’d bring me tea. I’ve been waiting.”

“Mom, dad is—” you pause for a moment to think on your feet. You could either tell the truth, or a little white lie. You never know what to do. And either one comes with either guilt or sorrow. “Well, he’ll be here soon, I just wanted to come see you.”

“Oh okay…” she trails off, her eyes squinting at you once more with that same look of confusion on it, but then they drift towards Gojo. “Oh you’re a very handsome young man! You look just like my neighbor.”

Your eyes flicker up to Gojo, and he walks up to your side by your mom’s bed. “Yes, Mrs. l/n, I am your neighbor.”

“With the lemon tree!”

“The avocado tree,” you correct her with a small sigh. “And he’s my husband mom. And also our neighbor.”

“Oh I see I see…” she says, looking up at him, and in a moment that shocks you, she holds her hand up for him to take.

There’s a slight moment of surprise on his face too, but he accepts her frail hand in his, and you glance over to your mom to see her look at him with some look of peace on her face.

“Oh, sit down here, won’t you?” she tells him, and you both blink at her in a moment of hesitation.

He pulls a stool up to the side of the bed right next to you and takes a seat down onto it. Your mother holds his hand with both of hers now, soothing her palm over the back of it before she taps on it lightly.

“Oh, my little girl is very sweet. She would bring me flowers from the garden when she was,” she glances at you, confused once more, “well I remember her when she was so little but she looks…a little older now. Ah, but she would bring me such pretty flowers.”

Your heart aches in your chest. You never knew what version of you your mother would remember. Some days, you’re still supposed to be an angsty teenager that shuts doors in her face, some days you were just as you are right now, and other days, you were just her little girl. And it confused her, the image of not seeing you in the way that she remembers. In the only way she knew how.

“You’ll take good care of my sweet girl, won’t you?” she asks him.

And it knocks the wind out of you.

It drops your heart to the center of the earth.

The thought that, after so many moments where she doesn’t remember you, she still knows that you’re someone she wants to keep safe.

Your mouth gapes slightly, tears welling in your eyes and you try your best to blink them away, but you see Gojo’s hand slip out from being held by your mother’s hands, to instead use both of his to hold hers. Your eyes snap to his face, and you see that same earnest expression you’ve been growing used to seeing these days. 

“Yes,” he responds, eye contact level with hers, “I will.”

A small puff of air leaves your lips, a single tear streaming down your cheek and you quickly swipe your trembling fingers to remove any evidence of it before you huff out a shaky, “excuse me.” And then you’re standing up off the stool, and in a few hurried steps across the room as more tears continue to stream down your face, you make it to the door to push out into the suffocating air of the hallway.

It’s hard to breathe, huffs and puffs barely leaving your lips as you struggle to pull air into your lungs while you storm down the hallway at a fast pace, your heels clicking underneath you in a way that only sets you off further. Suddenly, all the sounds around you make you sick to your stomach, a wave of nausea washing over you, and your nose burns with the intensity of the tears that continue to stream down your face. A few hospice staff look at you with concerned expressions, and you eventually reach a heavy-duty door that leads you out into a secluded staircase hallway where the dim lighting serves to relax at least some of your senses, but you still feel like you’re about to pass out.

Even in the haze of your emotions, there’s this glimmer of a memory that comes to mind. One from when you were younger and you were pushed on the playground at school. You cried and cried and cried in your mother’s arms, but even then, you didn’t want her to baby you. You would say to her, I’m a big girl now! in that same way a child knows nothing of what it truly means to brave the world. 

That little girl had no idea that one day, there would be moments where she wouldn’t be remembered as her mother’s little girl anymore. 

No matter how old you grow, you will always be my little girl, your mother’s voice echoes to you, the feeling of her squeezing you in her arms as she holds your sobbing little form in hers casting a ghost sensation across your skin.

In a mother’s eyes, you’ll always be her baby.

And that’s why it hurts.

Because it’s all fake.

It’s phony.

It’s not real.

This arrangement you have with Gojo.

And if your mother were to die tomorrow, there would be no one to take care of her little girl anymore.

Not in the way she believes there will be.

Of all the white lies, this one pierces you straight through your heart in a way that leaves you gasping for air.

Amidst your whirlwind of thoughts, you hear the door push open harshly, and when you glance over, you see Gojo standing in this dimly lit hallway as he turns his head quickly to the left and sees you standing there.

“Hey,” he says, catching his breath as he lightly jogs up to you, “hey, hey, hey,” he repeats with more concern now when he sees the state you’re in, and he seamlessly pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing against his chest that feels warm even through the fabric of his suit jacket and shirt, and that familiar scent of him completely engulfs you.

You sob quietly, wiping your snot on his tie and your tears on the felt fabric beside it, your hands balled into tiny fists at your chest, squeezed between the two of you. You feel him tuck your head under his chin and his arms wrap around you tighter. You don’t even realize it at first, but suddenly, it has become easier to breathe.

Then, you wail, and you cry, and you sob, because you don’t have the words to even explain how you feel, about not just this, but with everything, a buildup of everything that has been suffocating you in your life that just comes crashing down on you all at once.

“I know,” he says, his palm resting on the back of your head as he holds your face to his chest, his voice soothing in your ears while you sob until there’s nothing left to cry. “I know.”

You two stay like this for another minute or so as you come down from the cries, your remnant sniffling echoing in the hallway while you wipe more of your snot on his jacket. You make the first move to pull your face away from his chest, but he still keeps his arms wrapped around you when you look up at him.

With your gaze darting across his face, you take in the blue in his eyes. Eyes that are looking at you so softly it’s suddenly hard to breathe once more. And when those eyes flit to your lips, your mouth parts slightly as you two breathe in unison.

It’s possible that you could have dreamed the moment you saw him lean down slightly towards you, his eyes still set on your lips, but it didn’t matter because you’re pushing him away with strong fists before you can even register the thought in your head.

He lets go of you entirely, his eyes wide once more, and you glance down at your feet. 

A tender moment, just like on the roof, broken just because you can’t handle that—…that way, that intense way that he looks at you. New rule, no looking at me longingly like you want to kiss me. I won’t allow it.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, still examining your shoes. And you suddenly feel embarrassed that he had to see you this way. He’s supposed to be scared and intimidated by you, not holding you in his arms while you cry. 

He’s silent for a moment, but you can tell he’s searching for things to say. “You don’t want to say bye to your mom before we go?”

You swipe your palm against the wetness on your cheek. “No. I just want to go home.”

“y/n,” he tried to convince you.

You finally look up at him. “Please.”

He breathes in a few breaths as he studies the features of your face in a way that makes you feel so seen that it’s frightening. But he slowly nods, then says,

“Okay.”

.

.

.

.

.

[end of chapter 4]

a/n. hi friendsss i hope you enjoyed :'') yea like i said at the a/n in the beginning, this chapter is a slight off-tangent from last chapter, but ch5 will continue with a lot of the stuffs that were brought up in ch3. but yea i wanted to explore the whole process of emotions reader would go through putting her mom in hospice, since it kinda felt like a big thing, hence why it got its own chapter. aaa i hope to see you in the next one!! much love from me :''0

➸ take me to chapter five!

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[misc-obeyme]

Demon Brothers as Doms Headcanons

Here it is, as requested by anon! I don't know if these are better or worse than the demon bros as subs version... I honestly can't tell lol. But hopefully you guys enjoy them. I will be doing the side characters, too, so stay tuned for that.

GN!MC x the demon brothers

Side Characters as Doms Bros as Subs

NSFW MDNI

Note: We got another paragraph of warnings. Some of them are a little more detailed, but most of them are just mentioned.

Warnings: Sub!MC, bondage, blindfolds, gags, multiple orgasms, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, manhandling, begging, praise, degradation, dirty talk, spanking, collars, dacryphilia, tailfucking (and related tail stuff), drooling, jealousy, cockwarming, mirror sex, exhibitionism, toys, aphrodisiacs, magic stuff, blood kink, biting, size kink, food play, somnophilia, wet dreams, semi-public sex, after care, cuddling, and kissing. HOO BOY. I hope that's all of it, if not lemme know and I'll add stuff.

Lucifer

He has intense dom vibes and he knows it. He will be strict and harsh with you if that’s what you want, but if left to his own choices, Lucifer becomes a pleasure dom. All he really wants is to make you come over and over and over again. He doesn’t care what it takes, he’ll use his cock, his fingers, his tongue, anything and everything as long as it makes you cry out his name in ecstasy. He likes the way it makes his pride swell.

He’s a strong and powerful demon. If he wants you in a certain position, he will put you there himself. He has no problem manhandling you a little, but he’ll be careful about it. He very much enjoys tying you up and he’s a master at shibari. His other favorite thing is blindfolding you. He likes when you aren’t aware of when he’s going to touch you.

Lucifer is absolutely the type of demon that will do subtle things outside of the bedroom to make you crazy. A hand on the back of your neck, a brief squeezing of your arm, a whispered “behave” or even just a look that says everything. They’re all warnings - be careful, MC, or he’ll be dealing with you later in private.

He likes to be called sir, but he’s willing to discuss other options. He’s very bossy, though, and will give you orders constantly. If you’re good and compliant, he’ll reward you to the point where you’ll probably forget your own name. But if you’re a brat, he won’t hesitate to punish you. He likes to make you wait, so he might tie you up in his office and then not touch you while he works on his stacks of paperwork. He wants to see how long it takes you to start begging.

And begging does him in every time. Because the minute you break down and beg for him, his pride takes over. He’ll smirk and likely tease you and say something about how he’s not surprised that it didn’t take long.

But in the end, Lucifer likes to make you moan and cry and come, which means he’ll do whatever it takes to get you to do that. Do you have a praise kink? He will shower you with it while he’s deep inside you. Do you have a degradation kink? He will make a point of finding the words that make you clench around him in pleasure.

Mammon

Surprisingly good at being a dom, but far less restrained than Lucifer is. He’s going to do all kinds of things to get a reaction out of you, but the second you moan his name, he’s moaning right along with you. But not before he takes the time to get your full consent and makes sure you know all your safe words. He wants to go all out, but he wants you to feel safe with him.

Mammon is a bit too impatient to do things like tying you up intricately. He’s going to go for things like handcuffs or gags. He finds he likes the way you moan low in your throat when your mouth is otherwise occupied. Similarly, he loves when you suck on his fingers. He’ll remove them sooner than he expected, though, because he wants to listen to you beg.

He’s cautious at first, giving you easy orders to test the waters. If you’re generally obedient, he’ll push a little harder, go a little further, see just how much you can take. He will absolutely become a brat tamer, though, so if you’re more inclined to mouth off, you can expect swift punishment. He can’t take too much disobedience and he’ll get impatient with you quickly. Punishments can range from spankings to orgasm denial depending on how irritated he is. But they don’t last long because he just really wants to fuck you silly.

He’s constantly buying you things to wear. He obviously has a preference for gold, but whatever he just likes to see you on display in something nice. If you’ll wear a collar, he will absolutely be thrilled to buy you the nicest one he can find. It makes him a little crazy any time he catches a glimpse of it outside the bedroom.

The King of After Care. When things are calm again, he gets very clingy. He’s going to want to cuddle you all night, whispering in your ear about how good you were for him, asking you if you’re doing all right. If you endured punishment or any kind of pain, he’ll make sure you’re recovering from it. He just loves you so much, MC.

Leviathan

Surprises both you and himself by being a really good dom. It’s like he flips a switch and suddenly he’s all confidence, but it’s only possible with you. However, it can also get really intense really fast and he might not realize how far he’s going. Communication is key with Levi. You need it to even get him to start being more dominant to begin with, but then you also need it when he’s a little lost in the sauce.

Because he finds that dominating you makes him lose his whole mind. When you’re whimpering or begging, he just wants more and more. He loves to hear you whine his name. He likes it when you cry, so he will try to make it happen. He’ll use pain or insults or anything else he can find that will work. But if it does happen, he’ll get soft when he sees the tears on your cheeks. Then he’ll start praising you and telling you how perfect you are and how much he loves you.

He likes to use his tail for all kinds of things. He’ll wrap it around your body, pinning your arms to your sides, and put the tip of it in your mouth until you’re drooling around it. He’ll use it to spank you if he thinks you’re in need of punishment. But his favorite thing is just to fuck you with it.

To nobody’s surprise at all, Levi is a jealous dom. If you so much as look at someone else, he will notice and make you pay for it later. His favorite punishment method is orgasm denial. He’s trying to make you forget about anyone but him and he’ll ask you while he’s edging you who you’re thinking of. He wants to hear you cry and tell him that he’s the only one you ever think about.

Levi will definitely start out with degradation and some dirty talk - he’s likely going to tell you how much of a whore you are for him - but by the end of things, he’ll switch to praise. He starts to come out of dom mode and then he actually feels bad. Depending on how you react, he will likely apologize before pampering you to make up for all the nasty things he said. If you laugh at him about it, he’ll just blush. He gets embarrassed about how much he can lose himself. Don’t hold it against him, MC! He’s just obsessed with you.

Satan

By far the most balanced dom of all the brothers. He’s always so careful about keeping his wrath under control, the very last thing he would ever want to do is give in to it during a scene with you. It’s a tricky balance, but he manages to find a good middle ground. He focuses on you the most, but don’t think that means he’ll be lenient with you.

Satan is really good at interpreting how you’re feeling in the moment based on how you react to him. He’s able to tell when he should get more intense and when he should back off. As for himself, he prefers to control you with words. He’ll tie you up if you want him to, but he’s more interested in simply telling you what to do. And he’s clear about what will happen if you disobey.

Although he’s careful about keeping himself level headed when he’s punishing you, just know that he won’t hold back. There really isn’t any kind of punishment he isn’t willing to employ and he’ll find the one that has the most impact on you while still getting his message across.

Definitely prefers praise over degradation. He will be rambling the whole time he’s doing anything with you and it’s all romantic poetry. It starts out really flowery, but eventually kind of devolves into how perfect you are, how good you feel, etc. This is the guy who will spank you and recite sonnets to you at the same time, probably timing his swats with the iambic pentameter.

Satan also really enjoys cockwarming. He’ll have you sit in his lap while he reads, just to see how much you can take. Scolds you gently any time you move too much. Be good and hold still for him, MC. In the end, he’s the one who can’t take it, but he frames it as taking pity on you. You’re both probably aware of the truth, but neither of you will say anything. And anyway, you’re content to let him bend you over and pound into you if it means finally feeling that sweet relief.

Asmodeus

The most versatile of doms, he can be anything you want. You want him strict? Done. You prefer a soft dom? Easy. You just want him to make you come as many times as possible? It would be his pleasure.

If you’re too shy to tell him what you want, that’s okay, too. He’s able to feel out what will make you react the most. And that’s what he goes for. He just wants to experience you losing your mind over him.

He really can do it all, but he’s also going to bring his own flare to the situation. You have sooo much mirror sex. If you’re willing to try exhibitionism, he will really push the limits of that, too.

Asmo will also have a lot of toys, accessories, and clothing items. He’s always suggesting something new and interesting. You just won't believe what he found, MC! He likes to explore with you, to see what you’ll tolerate. This also includes things like aphrodisiacs or magic related things. He’ll always take care of you after you use something like that, but he’s often finding new things to try.

If you don’t really give him any guidelines and let him run the show entirely, he will step up to the challenge. It turns out he really enjoys making you submit to him. He finds he has a fascination with your blood. He loves the way it looks against your skin. He also loves to see it on his own lips, so you can be sure he’ll be drawing it by biting you.

Asmo really loves to tie you up and have his way with you. He enjoys sensory deprivation - blindfold, gag, etc. - he likes to keep you guessing. He wants you to react to his touch the most, loves the way you shiver in anticipation of what he’ll do next.

Mixes pleasure and pain so effectively, you almost can’t tell which one you’re experiencing. He’ll be using his fingers masterfully on your sensitive spots at the same time that he’ll be digging his nails into your back.

This is his area of expertise, so there’s no way he’s going to let you go with only one orgasm. He’s going to make sure you have multiple before he's done with you. He loves overstimulation. If you start crying, he’ll coo at you and wipe your tears, but he won’t stop.

Always doms in demon form. He can’t help it, he’s fully embodying his sin. No matter what he’s doing with you, he wants you to remember that you’re being dominated by the Avatar of Lust.

Beelzebub

The softest of soft doms. He’s not really into degradation, so he’s going to shower you with praise instead. He’s just going to mumble into your skin about how amazing you are and how lucky he is and so on and so forth. But don’t think that makes him a pushover.

Beel is a big strong demon and he will manhandle you. Probably his favorite thing is to just sit you in his lap and move you himself. You’re riding him, but he’s doing all the work.

He’ll tie you up if you want him to, but he’s more likely to use things like blindfolds or gags. Only one at a time, he doesn’t want you completely helpless. He secretly likes it when you struggle against him, so he likes to keep your hands free.

Beel has a bit of a size kink where he likes his partners smaller than him, which works out because he’s just generally much larger than most people. Even if you’re larger for a human, that’s still just a lil cutie to him. This kinda ties into the manhandling thing - he likes to pick you up and move you around himself. And he can do it, too, because of his size and strength. You might as well get used to it at this point.

He doesn't really enjoy inflicting pain. He's far more likely to use positive reinforcement than punishments. But if he has to get serious with you, it's going to be stuff like edging, orgasm denial, or overstimulation. If you're crying it's because of how he's making you feel, not because he's hurting you or insulting you. He finds it's just as effective, too.

If you ask, Beel will do pretty much anything you want. He'll work through the discomfort of hurting you if you enjoy it.

As always, Beel loves food. He'll involve any kind of food play he possibly can because he really can't help himself. It's like the ultimate expression of his sin - to involve food in these intimate moments with you.

Another one who will be incredibly attentive during after care. He wants to make sure you're okay. He will stay beside you as long as you need him. Probably brings you drinks and snacks, too. He's already been praising you all night, but prepare yourself for even more. You are everything to him, MC.

Belphegor

Kinda lazy for a dom, to nobody’s great surprise. He enjoys being one, but he tires out quickly. If he can make you do all the work, he will. Expect him to give you a lot of orders.

He really loves when you beg. He wants to see you on your knees and if you beg enough, he’ll fill your mouth with his cock. You look so good, MC.

He’ll leave you tied up and unattended, too. He’ll just sit there and watch you, see how much you can handle before he does anything.

Belphie is, of course, into somnophilia. If you give him the go ahead, it’s going to be any time he wakes up with you in his arms. If you’re still sleeping soundly, he wants you to stay asleep, he’ll just take care of things himself. But if you do wake up, he'll probably whisper quietly in your ear about how he's just making all your wet dreams come true. In fact, we also know Belphie can go into dreams, so… you can expect your normal dreams to become wet dreams if he shows up.

He likes exhibitionism and semi-public sex. He likes fucking you in places where you’re right next to other people, but you’re still trying to stay hidden. So he’ll use his hand to cover your mouth, trying to muffle your noises. But it’s only because he likes the way it feels to gag you that way. He doesn’t actually mind if you’re discovered.

He likes dirty talk and degradation. He will absolutely call you all kinds of filthy names. It’s not all like that, though, he’ll also throw in some praise. Especially when you’re whimpering beneath him and he's losing control because he feels so good. That's when he starts telling you how good you are.

Belphie is kind of an after care guy by default. After he's had his way with you, even if he was really rough (which he probably was), he just wants to snuggle and cuddle and sleep. He'll also kiss you slowly and softly and lazily because he likes the way your lips feel.

side characters as doms | bros as subs | side characters as subs masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[ddejavvu]

Also… your post about ani loving back scratches omg.. you think he’s into like reader playing with his hair too?? His curls, and even when he had short hair like wow I just know that man has the softest hair ever

happy may the 4th! send me star wars requests/headcanons and we'll have a party <3

i pictured this as tcw!anakin's hair because it was like the cutest little baby mullet/shag where it was growing and curling against the nape of his neck and i wanted to scrunch it with my fingers so bad <333

--

"Keep going."

"Hold on, hold on," You mutter, "My friend's texting me."

Anakin releases a displeased grunt into the fabric of your shirt, and you feel it where it lands warm in your lap.

"Easy," You tap away at the screen of your datapad, pecking letter by letter at what is shaping up to be a lengthy paragraph, "I thought they taught patience at the temple, Jedi Knight. I'll go back to playing with your hair as soon as I'm done."

Anakin grunts again, louder this time.

You don't dignify his dramatics with a response, and you continue typing, the lingering warmth of Anakin's hair fading from your fingertips. He lets you get half of a sentence more in before you feel an invisible tug at your hand, and it relocates itself against Anakin's scalp instead of where you'd placed it on your pad.

"Anakin!" You scoff, "Did you just force my hand back into your hair?"

He lets out a muffled chuckle into your sleep shirt, "Force."

"You are absolutely insufferable," You grumble, but you indulge him with the scrape of your nails against his scalp. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he burrows his face further into your stomach.

"You sound like Obi-Wan," He muses, "I've heard insufferable, incorrigible, reckless, untamable, unmanageable-"

"Unshushable," You add, still making a valiant effort at typing one-handed rather than returning your second hand to its rightful place among Anakin's barely-curled scruff, "Do you ever stop talking?"

"You love the sound of my voice," He accuses, peering up at you with squinted, tired eyes, "That's why you make me read to you at night."

"No, I make you read to me at night because the last thing you read was a users' manual for a landspeeder, and you barely even skimmed that," You scratch against the crown of his head and he groans, "I worry about your literary habits."

"I worry about your hair-playing habits," He reaches out to knock your datapad out of your hand which he drags back into his hair, "Come on, baby, you owe me three books-worth of this."

[little-hermit-crab56]

I've been writing for a while so I thought I'd share some writing tips I've learned along the way.

1. Never sacrifice the flow for a quirky line.

That bit of dialogue or flowery paragraph you really like but it kinda disrupts the flow? Scrap it. I know it hurts, but you need to. If you really want to keep it, find somewhere else to put it where it actually fits in.

2. Dialogue is a dance.

Dialogue should go at the pace of an actual conversation, back and forth with little breaks and pauses. Add as little dialogue tags as possible while still making it clear who is speaking. You can also describe what is happening during a pause in the conversation rather than saying they paused, unless the pause is important.

3. Show don't tell is a guideline, not a rule.

Show don't tell is a very useful guideline, but if you're ALWAYS showing it can get exhausting to read. Skip the boring bits and just tell us what happened, then we can get to the good stuff.

4. If it's boring to write, it's probably boring to read.

If you can cut out a whole scene with little consequence to the story, you probably should. As I said before, you don't always have to show us, you can always tell us.

5. Everything needs to have a purpose.

I know there are probably lots of interesting or cute scenes where your characters are just fucking around, but if it doesn't develop character, relations, conflict, or plot, why should we care? Definitely still write them if they make you happy, but if you're gonna add it to your final draft, make sure it matters.

6. You don't need to explain everything all at once.

I know it feels tempting to put all the lore, and all the character's intentions, and reasonings into the first few chapters, but please refrain, you can reserve that for your character and worldbuilding sheets. Instead, take the time to let us get to know the characters, and the world, in the same way we'd get to know a real person. Make your exposition as seamless and natural as possible. It will take practice to know when to reveal information and when to let us wonder, but you'll get there.

7. Write in a way that comes naturally.

I know you probably have an author you wanna write just like, but that is unlikely to happen. Embrace your natural writing style and perfect it, rather than trying to be something you're not. Writing is an art, you need to find your own style and polish it as best you can.

8. Try to make us feel connected by cutting out certain words like "felt".

"Chad felt like a glass of water." Can be replaced with, "Chad was thirsty, so he reached for a glass of water." Both sentences tell us Chad wants a glass of water, but one makes us feel more connected to Chad than the other. Though both sentences have their time and place, you want to make your audience feel as close to their protagonist as possible. Make them feel like they're there, rather than just an onlooker.

9. We don't need to know every physical detail of your character.

I know you probably spent ages creating the perfect characters and you want to give us the perfect image of what they look like, but it can get monotonous and boring, why do we care that your character has brown eyes unless the colour has some sort of significance? Try to list off only the most notable features of your character and put focus only on the relevant details. Sometimes you can even not describe them at all and throw in little bits of information about their appearance for the audience to put together. We read to imagine, not to have a perfect image painted for us when we could be getting to the plot.

10. You're allowed to be vague.

Allow your audience to assume things, with some things you can just be lazy and let your audience's imagination do the work for you. Of course, don't do this with important things, but you can save so much time you might've spent researching an irrelevant topic when you can just be vague about it. You don't have to know everything you're writing about, so long as you know the bits that matter.

11. Writing is a skill that takes practice.

Don't be so hard on yourself if your writing is a bit cringe, we've all been there. The important part is that you research how to get better and keep writing those super cringe chapters. One day you'll reread something from a while ago and realize you're actually not as bad as you thought.

12. Leave your work to rest.

I know you wanna start editing right away, but once you've finished, leave it for at least a month. The longer you leave it the better, but that depends on your attention span. A month to six months is good if you're really impatient but want a good result. If you keep writing in that time your skills will continue to improve, then you'll be editing that draft with fresh eyes and fresh skills.

And if you're a fanfic author, I usually leave my chapters for a week before editing and posting.

Hope this helps anyone struggling, I thought this might be especially relevant now with nanowrimo.

I recently realized how much knowledge I've been accumulating over the years, I definitely have more but this is all I can think of for now.

I'm no writing guru, but if anyone has anything they're struggling with, I can do my best to help you out, so dont hesitate to ask questions.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

hi hi ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ☀︎︎

Can I request a lil ficlet please 🥹

I would like the following prompt: Cuddling before falling asleep in your arms with their lips parted so you give them a peck

But but can I add secret relationship trope and they’re in the BAU jet?

PS: your fics are just amazing and I love them.

Cuddles and Cameras - Spencer Reid x GN Reader (Fluff w Fade to Black)

Spencer practically dragged me across the threshold to the hotel room. His hand, ready to hold me, reached out into the dark hotel room. I flipped up the light and was pushed up against the wall before I could even kick off my shoes.

"Ooof! Spence!" I shouted, my voice soon muffled by Spencer's lips.

"Sorry, baby..." Kiss on the lips Kiss on bottom lip. Kiss on the top. Kiss on the lips. "I couldn't help myself. It's hard for me to have to stay on good behavior."

I chuckled, my hands reaching up to tug Spencer's hair. He smiled, letting me kiss his neck and down to his collarbone. I grinned as I kissed Spencer. His skin was practically shivering from holding himself back.

"Yeah? I didn't think that I was tempting."

Spencer rolled his eyes, his mouth hovering above my in an upturn smirk. His eyes danced with playfulness as he watched me.

"You have no idea how hard it's to keep us a secret." He whispers. I licked my lips and felt the ghost of Spencer's lips against mine. I was tired of clinging to this small, secret, hidden touches. I wanted him in daylight, not under the covers.

Spencer tugged down my windbreaker, leaving me in the stiff work clothes. "I am putting on PJs right away." I announced.

"It's fine, sweetheart. I wasn't planning on letting you be dressed for much longer."

"Sex then room service?"

Spencer knelt on the bad, grabbing me by the waist. He took my cheeks into his palms and brought me so close. His skin was fire against my cheeks. And then he kissed me.

Kissing Spencer was like breathing. I needed it like I needed water. I drank him in, reeling in the way his mouth molded to mine. Against me, Spencer was liquid heat, quick and malleable.

We stopped, Spencer catching his breath and me slowing the pounding of my heart.

"Perfect." I whispered, kissing Spencer again and pushing him down onto the bed. I wasn't sure if I took off his shirt first or if he took my off my pants. It didn't matter who peel away the first item of clothing, I had never bared my soul more than to anyone besides him. Never stood more naked than I did with my clothes on than I did with Spencer Reid.

After that night in the hotel it seemed like something between us shifted. For a while now, we danced in that limbo. I knew that I loved Spencer. And Spencer knew that he loved me. And we both knew what the other knew.

Yet, I had to contain myself as we sat next to each other on the jet. Spencer had already started and finished two books. I, on the other hand, did not finish anyway near two books. I couldn't even read a single sentence without my mind wondering.

And I knew Spencer well enough to understand that he probably felt similar. Two books in about 4 hours is akin to my measly half a paragraph in Spencer's eyes.

"They're sleeping." Spencer said. He didn't look up from his book. "Hotch is facing the same way as us. He can't see us. And even if he did....I don't care."

I don't care.

God. How I wished to have heard that for the last couple of months? Instantly, I folded myself into Spencer. He sat with his legs out stretched straight on the jet seats. I laid between his legs with my side cushioned against his front. Spencer laid the blanket on top of us and when his arms wrapped around my torso, I melted.

As good as he was a sex, Spencer was between during the moments after. He was incredibly sweet. We both hated the mess that came with it so nearly nine months into our relationship we had our after routine completely memorized.

"This is nice." Spencer whispered. He breathed my scent; between staying at each other's places a couple days a week each we started just use each other's products.

"It is."

He kissed the top of my head. "Go to sleep."

"You, too." I countered. "Don't let me make your leg numb." I requested, shifting so I wouldn't hurt him.

"It's fine, babe. Just move up, I want to be able to see your face anyway."

I scooted up, shifting so Spencer and I were face to face. We were so close that I could feel the shadow of his smile. I eclipsed it with my own. He kissed my forehead and I, in moment of sleepless delusion leaned further and kissed him. It wasn't a polite kiss. It was the sort of kiss that is hidden in hotel rooms, shelved away from nosy coworkers and professional regulations. It was the kind of kiss that made me see the world in full color.

How would I go back to black and white. If I had to choose, then I would choose Spencer, hidden, but in Technicolor.

We must've fallen asleep soon after because the next thing I remember was blinding white flash. My eyes were shut, but the flash of white was enough to pull me from a sleep. Spencer's arms didn't release me so he was still sleeping.

"Morgan...?" I croaked. The image before me cleared up. Derek Morgan's white smile beamed. He practically was flashing me and Spencer's cuddled forms his dazzling pearly whites.

"Penny G!" His voiced sounded positively delighted. I sat up and realized that the flash of white was an old crime scene camera. Why that was still included in our packs when the Bureau went digital two years go, was beyond my job role.

"Did you take a picture of us!?" I shrieked, breaking free of Spencer's grip and leaping from the seats. "Derek! Is that the picture! Derek!" Spencer must've woken up somewhere in between me screaming and shouting.

The rest of the team, notably our boss, Hotch's head snapped up.

"Morgan! Y/L/N!"

"It's okay." Spencer's hand rested on my shoulder.

We backed down, hearing the stunning level of "dad" in Hotch's voice. Morgan dropped the picture against my lap. It was one of the photographs that you could see the image almost right away. Slowly, an image of Spencer and I appeared, sleeping and intertwined. Our faces were so close that our lips nearly touched.

Emily and JJ exchanged glances that said more than words could ever. Morgan's eyes shifted from mine to Spencer's as he figured that this wasn't the first time we had feel asleep like this.

"You two. My office, but Monday. I'm too tired to deal with this, even though we all knew." Hotch explained. He shut his computer, decidedly finished with work for the day. His eyes closed as he got as comfortable as one could still wearing a suit and tie.

"Penelope is going to be heartbroken." JJ said, loud enough for the entire jet to hear. I felt my heart drop into the pit of my stomach. Spencer and I didn't similar like a weird notation. There wasn't a time in my life that felt more right and I felt more like myself than the time I've been with Spencer.

"JJ-" Spencer started. Derek's eyebrows narrowed and even Hotch opened a single eye. Emily practically backed away. Clearly the entire team was Team Us. Spencer's thumb brushed against my lower back.

"She's not gonna know whose side of the weeding ceremony to sit on."

[soupinaboot]

Fuck it. Every Steve Harrington headcannon I have because I've been rotating that boy in my head like a pig on a stick Part 2 this is a little more in depth than the first one but only by a smug

- Epileptic, either since he was young or developed it over time due to all those concussions he keeps getting

- Favorite fruit is blackberries I have no reason

- Kinda sad but he never really had friends, yeah he hung out with Tommy and Carol but that was about it. Like after the fall out with them he was by himself, alone. I feel like if he was as popular as we think he is, he would have at least one other friend right?

- Does not have a filter at all. That one scene where he just casually says, "Oh yeah my parents are out of town because my mom doesn't trust him to not cheat on her any who!" and I feel like he just kinda does that

- Star Trek fan but he just does not comprehend that it's supposed to be nerdy (this is not my own I saw someone else headcannon this please tell me if you find them I can not)

- Absolutely sucked at ELA, could be cause of dyslexia or not whatever you want buttercup

- But on the topic of dyslexia, this headcannon is one of the main reasons why I love math nerd Stevie so much. Like, ELA test and History test are mostly long paragraphs that he needs more time to read through and his teachers don't care enough to give him extra time like he needs. But math tests tend to have a small paragraph that he can read faster or just focus on the numbers and finish on time, so he just got really good at math so he would have at least one class he passed

- Survives off of coffee, lord knows he needs it

- My most random headcannon is that since his parents were never really around or cared much for his safety, he used to hang out outside a lot and explore the wildlife around, got really into nature and animals, bought nature books etc. But his dad told him nature and animals were girly and forced him to stop even though he really loved it

- If he does ever go to college (which he doesn't have to, though if Robin went he would probably go with her), he would either get in education major and become a math teacher or some form of environmental degree

- His love language is quality time

- Among the three of them, Steve and Carol were the closest. Yes, Steve and Tommy met first, and yes they tend to call each other their best friends, but in actuality Carol and Steve were best friends. They have mean girl energy.

- He used to also play hockey when he was younger but stopped playing due to scheduling and shit. But he really liked it cause whenever he would practice there were these older figure skaters who would teach him figure skating (he kinda liked it more than hockey but he never told anyone)

- Speaking of scheduling, he is always tired due to his packed schedule. Since he was young, his dad forced him into a lot of sports and didn't really give him a break. Add that to his piano lessons, his jobs, studying that his dad forced him to do, friends, etc... he is just perpetually tired. And it fucked up his sleep schedule developing into insomnia as he got older

- Most of his and Eddie's dates are just them taking naps

- Once he meets Corroded Coffin they all become best friends. Like best fucking friends

- Specifically Steve and Jeff

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

What do you need to know about lgbt+ history as a lgbt+ person? 

Well, if you ask like that: nothing, actually. You do not disqualify from being lgbt+ if you know nothing about history whatsoever. There’s no exam to pass. 

It also doesn’t make you a bad person or a disgrace to the community or an embarrassment if you haven’t heard about a specific chapter of lgbt+ history yet - saying so would be really unfair! Maybe you live in a situation in which you don’t feel safe to do a lot of research on lgbt+ related stuff. Maybe you are a young person growing up in hard times and you’re busy just surviving. Maybe your brain works in a way that makes it harder for you to learn or retain new information than for others. Or hey, maybe you already know lots - but your learning simply focused on a different chapter than the one that hypothetical exam would be on!

Of course there are many benefits to learning about lgbt+ history. You get the general benefits of learning new things (such as training your critical thinking skills, which will help you in your everyday life, and even supporting your brain health!) but there’s also specific benefits to learning about this specific subject.

History isn’t all “learning boring stuff about dead people” - learning about past events and their consequences also helps you understand present events and gauge their potential consequences for your future. This will for example empower you in your voting decisions (or help you understand how politics influence everyday life at all, if that’s your starting point!). 

Knowledge about lgbt+ history also helps you to notice misinformation more easily and enables you to counteract homophobic myths with facts. 

It may even help you on a more personal level: reading up on all the people who came before you can foster a sense of identity and belonging. It might make you feel more confident to know that people like you have been around forever and have achieved so many things! 

So, rather than “what do I need to know”, I think the much better question is “where do I want to start?”. 

Nobody knows everything about lgbt+ history (or about any given topic, really!) and unrealistic expectations will only set you up for disappointment. It’s best to let your curiosity lead you! You’re much more likely to actually read up on something you are genuinely excited to learn about than something you’ve only been told to read. 

With that in mind: it can feel overwhelming to pick a topic to start with! Especially if you’re pretty new to lgbt+ history, you may not even know where to start. So I do want to make some suggestions here. Not as a “you need to research all these today or else I’m revoking your license to gay”, just to spark your curiosity! I will not add explanations right here in the post, I just want to give you some terms you can easily put in the search bar. (Important: these are in random order, not ranked by importance or anything like that!) 

US-Centric lgbt+ History

1. Stonewall Riots

2. Harvey Milk

3. Marsha P. Johnson

4. Sylvia Rivera

5. The Lavender Scare

6. Obergefell v. Hodges

7. Don't Ask, Don't Tell

8. The Mattachine Society

9. The Daughters of Bilitis

11. The AIDS crisis

12. Bayard Rustin

13. Lawrence v. Texas

14. The Gay Liberation Front

15. The Human Rights Campaign

European lgbt+ History

1. Section 28 (UK)

2. Oscar Wilde

3. Alan Turing

4. Magnus Hirschfeld

5. Paragraph 175 (Germany)

6. The Homomonument (Netherlands)

7. EuroPride

8. James Barry

9. The decriminalization of homosexuality in the UK (1967)

10. ILGA-Europe

11. Homosexual Law Reform Act 1986 (New Zealand, part of the Commonwealth)

12. The Equality Act 2010 (UK)

13. Transgender Europe (TGEU)

14. The first same-sex marriage in the Netherlands (2001)

15. Dora Richter

Have fun learning! 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

P.S: You may wonder “But what about places other than the USA or Europe?” (or those of you who already know a lot about lgbt+ history, “but what about (topic I haven’t mentioned here)”) - and that’s actually a really great point! It highlights what we talked about above: nobody knows everything + lgbt+ history is way too rich of a topic to put it all into one short list! This isn’t meant to be a comprehensive list of everything important, just some potential starting points that hopefully lead you to topics beyond ones mentioned on this list.

[konigbabe]

eleusinian mysteries

DAY 7 ⇢ Gangbang Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!reader x Toji Fushiguro x Kento Nanami x Choso Kamo Word count: 4k Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; gangbang; oral sex (F & M receive); p-in-v; anal sex (F receive only); pure filth; fingering; cunnilingus; rimming; deepthroat/throatfucking; praise kink; protected sex; ass slaping (like once); pet names (each one calls you differently); basically 4 men 1 female gangbang Summary: How did you find yourself passed around by four men might remain a mystery; at least it's off of your bucket list now. [Part of NSFW Gojo Week 2023]. Divider is mine. A/N: With NSFW Week oficially over with this piece, I wanted to give special thanks to the radiant Fae (@kennedyswhore) for her unconditional support [that kept me from dropping the event], sublime Kit (@vagabond-umlaut) for her encouraging and kind words (that subconciously pushed me to finish each piece), Karma (@kazushawty) who infected my mind with her filth (in a good way) that resulted in this mess (and kudos to her tutorial for this GIF) and to you, who's reading this [series]. Thank you for the support! ♡

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There's a thin line between reality and a dream – which can easily be blurred. Especially when the present blends with the past and gets a hold of the future within its grasp.

"What's this?"

Satoru lies spread wide on the bed; torso bared to the world and stretched out, his physique like an invitation to explore. Especially with the way the moon casts its shine onto the mop of silvery strands that crown his head.

With a soft sigh, you position one knee on the plush expanse of the bed, flicking your eyes on your lover. His curious fingers dance towards the petite diary on your nightstand; a beacon of secret desires nestled in the soft glow of tonight's moonlight.

"A journal," you reply, "of sorts," the mumble that leaves your lips is faint, tinged with skepticism. Unease. Shame maybe – even.

"Can I?" With the book already ensconced in his slender fingers, he throws you a questioning look. Seeks your permission. Your silent approval is conveyed through a gentle dip of your chin.

Satoru unfurls the pages. Flips through them. Hair clinging to his forehead, eyes darting across each paragraph and list; he takes his time reading, studying each entry. Flipping through the pages, you notice the crease between his eyebrows deepen as he reaches the last page.

The last page.

There are no hidden feelings between you. You are an open book for him – now in a more literal sense than ever before.

"This page's interesting," he mumbles to himself, yet his words reach your ears clearly. And you know what he means. A warm flush sweeps across your cheeks, causing your eyes to divert towards the sheets, where your nervous fingers fiddle with the fabric, "is this a bucket list?"

His utterance is clear, and you grasp the implication quickly.

"Yeah, well, everyone has dreams."

You feel the bed on your side dip. Satoru shifts, sits up, the sheets cascading around his lithe waist. Warm breath fans over your cheeks, adding fuel to the fire smoldering beneath your skin. His hand finds its way onto your exposed thigh, thumb caressing the damp skin.

"Yours are rather," searching for the right descriptor, the hand that was on your thigh now slips underneath your chin, gently lifting it to align your gaze with the deep, cerulean depths of his eyes, "provocative."

Filthy. That'd be more fitting, you think.

The answer on the tip of your tongue refuses to budge.

"I like that," he adds after a while. "And if you want," sitting straight, his face now stands in front of you, a breath away, "we can do number three now."

When you don't respond – only watch his face inch closer, lips hover over the curve of yours – he licks a thin stripe across your lower lip.

"And I can arrange number seven if you want," he mumbles against your lips, pushing your face towards his.

How such a simple conversation led to this will probably remain a bit of a head–scratcher. How Satoru managed to have all of them agree to this will be a mystery. Maybe he has a knack for bringing out people's hidden desires or a way of making everyone comfortable enough to do this.

But these thoughts don't really stick in your mind. Especially with the way Nanami's tongue continues to lick thick stripes over your drenched walls. Back flat against the table, legs up and spread wide. Toji keeps a vice grip on one of your ankles with Choso gripping the other one – the two men keeping your legs open for the blonde man to devour you comfortably.

You'd never imagine there would be a day when all of them would see you like this.

And that there would come a day when you discover the taste of each of their lips; the unique sensation each of their kiss can bring.

Satoru you were familiar with – hungry. Sloppy. Messy. Remaining filled with passion even after years of familiarity. Holding your face with both his hands, cradling your cheeks. Like the first plunge into a lukewarm sea that turns into swirling foam – enveloping and capricious. He always speaks with his entire body; grinding up against you and wrapping his arms around your back. A boisterous lover.

Nanami – Nanami's kiss, on the other hand, is a contrast to Satoru's intensity. It's precise, measured, and full of depth. A slow dance of passion; like the waltz. His hand comes to your face and cups your chin, lifting your head up just the slightest amount of space so that when his lips meet yours, they nestle in there perfectly. His lips meet yours with a calculated tenderness. There's a sense of control and mastery in his kiss, and it leaves you with a feeling of being cherished and understood.

Toji – like a storm. Wild and untamed, coming out of nowhere with an intensity that left you breathless. An untamed force that sweeps you off your feet. Fingers gripping your chin with iron strength, thumb pushing against your lower lip to part for him more. Tongue both demanding and teasing, as if he can't decide whether to be gentle or let the beast out. The taste of danger and desire both eminent on his lips.

And Choso – the perfect blend of sweetness and ardor. His kiss is unexpectedly tender, considering his broad, rough exterior. A hand resting on your nape, not pushing or anything, with the other sliding up and down your arm; making you feel like he had waited a lifetime for this moment and wanted to savor the warmth of your skin under his palms. He tastes like moonlight on bare skin.

So when all four kiss you, the sensation is a whirlwind – a summer storm. A combination of the intensity of Satoru's kiss, the depth of Nanami's, the wildness of Toji's, and the tenderness of Choso's.

"Mmph–fuck," Toji rumbles, teeth showing in a grimace as nails dig into the flesh of your calf. Your fingers tighten around his base when you feel Nanami's fingertips collect your wetness, spread your lips apart before his finger teases your open hole.

You want to answer, urge Nanami to finally let go of the restraints – feeling like hours have passed since he went down on his knees and buried his face between your legs. Yet it's hard to do so when Satoru's cock plunges into your mouth. So deep in your mouth that you can barely breathe as he thrusts it into you; our lips and the back of your throat rubbing raw against its pulsing flesh. You feel him hit a soft barrier and push harder.

Hands slide across your chest. Slick with saliva before the softness of someone's lips envelops one of your nipples. A kiss, soon followed by a nip of teeth. Gentle, exploring – Choso, you guess. Compared to how Toji keeps squeezing the other one. All rough and fast, his thumb flicking over your erect nipple whenever your finger presses against his slit.

"Daamn, baby," you pick up Satoru's mumbles. And with your head thrown over the table's edge, you manage to look up. To see the underside of his chin, see how he's looking up; how his hand continues to caress your hollowing cheek, thumb collecting the tears that spill over your waterline.

A moan slips past the tight seal of your lips when Nanami's finger is finally buried all the way inside your drenched cunt. You arch against him, hips grinding against his moving hand before another one presses down onto your lower belly.

"Don't move, love," Nanami's voice echoes, hot breath skittering over your wet folds moving to your aching nub, "just let me prep you."

You tighten your grip – both of them – which only earns you deep grunts. Choso's teeth swipe over the tender flesh of your breast, over the soon-to-be bruise forming upon his attack. Tongue swirling over the silk-soft skin, making it stiffen with prickly heat. Your moan and twitch at the touch.

Toji flicks your nipple, rolls it between his fingers. Eyes drawn onto the sight before him. On the way your body lies completely bared; body offered on a platter of lustful ecstasy, like a sacred offering.

As Nanami's hand slides inside of you, heat spreads through every inch of your body. His fingers are merciless, relentlessly adding another finger and curling them both up to press against your walls. Searching for that sweet spot, that one point of ecstasy that will have you seeing stars.

"Baby," Satoru whines, thumb pressing against the corner of your mouth to draw your attention to him, "gonna cum. Think you can swallow me?"

Your hands continue to slide up and down Choso's and Toji's cocks, each on either side of you. Satoru stops moving, the throbbing tip of his cock resting on your upper palate. Your tongue swipes over his leaking slit, collecting the briny, pearlescent droplets before swallowing.

"Mhm," you attempt to nod, taking a deep breath through your nose.

"Good," Satoru responds, holding you in place by digging his fingers into the nape of your neck as his cock expands against your throat walls, pushing every nerve ending until a burning pleasure washes over you.

You can feel the heat spreading through your body, coalescing in the space between your legs.

Nanami's fingers continue to massage your walls, pressing against that slightly ridged spot deep inside – the one that tightens your throat, makes you clamp down on his fingers, grip Choso and Toji tighter. Everyone feeling your pleasure rise–

Satoru stills inside you. And you feel him spill. All hot and heavy; flowing over your tongue and melting on your taste buds like an ice cream cone in the summer sun. Tengy but savory.

–and rise until the dam breaks. Warmth flooding your nerves, overwhelming your senses until you surrender to it completely.

Nanami doesn't stop moving. Instead he speeds up, his fingers working you over until you are soaked in sweat; not a single inch of your skin dry or cool.

Fucking you through the first orgasm of the night while Satoru withdraws from your mouth. A feral groan escapes his lips as he watches scant droplets of his cum escape your mouth and rustle down the side of your cheek, smearing the sensuous skin with slick fluids that threaten to drip into your eyes. He leans down and sweeps up the droplets; plunging his sticky fingers deep inside your mouth.

All while the azure depths of his eyes lock onto your hazy gaze, you watching the upside down image of your boyfriend.

"You're so good," he praises, withdrawing his fingers and licking them clean. You can taste it on his tongue; the saltiness, the sweetness of his spent, "ready for the real fun?"

Nanami's fingers scratch your quivering walls once last time. His lips – soft and velour – press against your opening, tongue teasingly licking along the entrance before he stands up.

"Mhm–definitely," you murmur and watch. Watch as Nanami stands up, torso sculpted into perfection. Muscles rippling under pale skin, the veins visible beneath the surface. Your fingers itch, coming closer until the tip of your middle finger nudges against the graven abdomen.

His hips pitch forward upon your touch. Hand tightening around his cock as he gives it a few pumps.

You want it. Want him. Want to feel the stretch as he sinks inside.

"Condoms," Satoru chimes in from your side, stern but only reminding everyone as his hand strokes your cheek. Nanami grips your thighs to spread your legs wider for him. Nodding, he reaches to your side, grabbing one from the small stack of them you prepared beforehand.

With one hand on your inner thigh, her rips open the foil packet with his teeth and rolls it down the length of his leaking cock.

"Ready," he asks to which you nod.

The burn is intense, numbing as you're filled in one smooth motion. His cock feels even better than you imagined it would; slick and hot inside you. You can feel every inch of him, every inch that fills you up. His hands tighten around your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he stays still.

A mewl cascades past your parted lips. Body shifting, seeking more friction; movement. Nanami responds with a roll of his hips – exploring. Testing whether you opened up for him enough. And when he feels the unrestrained slide of his cock inside you, he can't help it any more. At first it's slow, shallow thrusts that have you biting your lip in anticipation.

"Fuck, get it over with already Nanami or I'm gonna explode," you hear a gruff voice.

Toji.

"Y'know," it sounds more like a moan rather than words but all four sets of eyes snap to your face, "I have two holes, don't I?"

Nanami shudders against your cunt, and you could swear he got more swollen upon your words. Choso's eyes snap to Satoru as Toji grabs the bottle of lube from the table. Yet Satoru's gaze lingers on your blissful expression.

"You sure about that?"

When he asks, your chest tightens, pulse gallops.

"She's a big girl, she can decide for herself," Toji responds, hand on your hip. He nods at you and then turns to Nanami, who looks up at him. They exchange a few words, a conversation that passes by your ears.

"Hey–"

"Satoru," you interrupt the man by your side, hand reaching upwards to touch the side of his neck, "s'okay. It's a gift for me after all."

You whimper when Nanami's cock slides out; now feeling the emptiness all over again.

"Gonna move this to the couch," Choso retorts–

Everything feels weightless. Surreal. Each kiss a caress, each touch a fire. Your thoughts are muddled, consumed by the need for him. For all of them.

–and soon enough, your legs are spread wide around Nanami's waist, his cock nestled deep inside you. You move in tandem, slow and shallow thrusts as you straddle him. He leans back against the couch, his head hidden in the nook of your neck; while at the same time, Choso stands behind it, with your lips sealed around his dripping tip.

Toji stays crouched behind you. Any other day, your face would burn over the thought – of having someone's finger up your ass. It's a strange feeling – the steady pressure of his middle finger as he twists inside you. Even with the generous amount of lube, it takes Nanami a few good thrusts and encouraging words – You feel good. Relax for us, yeah? – to get you mellowed enough for Toji to add a second finger and scissor them inside.

All while Satoru stands by the doorframe; fully naked, skin pale with pinkish hue. It feels as if he's glowing, radiant, when your eyes open and he's standing in your peripheral vision.

The motion tugs at something deep inside you. And you moan around Choso's cock. Hollowing your cheeks, tongue pressing flat against his underside as you feel pleasure washing the shame away.

Suddenly, Toji's presence leaves your body. Letting go of Choso's cock, you hold it in your hand, thumb swiping over the sensitive slit, earning you a grunt of appreciation as Satoru's eyes lock onto yours – and you feel a small smile tug at your corners before–

"What–"

Something wet slithers around your rim as Nanami stills once again. Teeth nipping at the skin on your clavicles, your lips press momentarily against the ridge of Choso's tip, tasting the saltiness before you use Nanami's shoulders to steady yourself enough to twist around. To look at Toji, crunched down, hands spreading your cheeks apart with face buried between them. His eyes, verdant windows to his carnal soul, glint in the faint luminescence as they look up at you; you can't help but gasp, mouth running dry. His tongue like fire, skin searing under his touch as he swirls around your ass before pushing inside.

"Wait, I–ugh–"

Satoru shifts in the corner of your eyes.

But somehow, it feels good. So fucking good and delightful.

"Relax, not my first rodeo," Toji rumbles when he pulls away, sinking his teeth into the plump flesh of your ass; then he goes back for more.

"Feels weird," you let out a chuckle, nodding in Satoru's direction, "but good." Hand grasping Choso's cock – who's been patiently waiting for your return – you kiss the side of the burning flesh while letting Toji devour you.

Nanami's hands slide from their spot on your hips, tracing the curves and dips of your body; settling around the globes of your breasts. They squeeze the abused flesh, kissing the tender spots. Hips having mind of its own, you circle them on top of him, causing Nanami to grow into your skin.

For what feels like an eternity, you stay this way – squeezing, warming Nanami's cock inside your dripping walls. One hand resting at the back of his head as he kisses your chest, massages your nipples and caresses your sides. The other hand moves along Choso's length, lips tightly wrapped around it as you bob your head, Choso's hand resting on top of your head, gently urging you to take more.

With Satoru watching over it all.

"Good," a sharp slap, sting on your ass when Toji finishes and stands up, "arch your back for me, kitten." His hand presses against your lower back, urging you into position.

Your body curves into Nanami's, like water around a rock.

Nanami spreads his legs more, opening you when Toji spread more lube over his cock. Tugs a few times to spread the slick, sticky substance over the condom, dipping the fingers in your ass to loosen the upcoming friction more.

You expect pain; pain of being stretched to the limit. Yet there's none when the tip of his cock slips past your rim and slowly slips inside you – further and further, until his hips are pressed against your ass.

"Fuck–good girl, ain't ya," Toji mumbles, more for himself as he feels the heat of your insides hug him tightly.

"You're doing great," Nanami's lips brush against the shell of your ear, tone quiet – just for you. "Wanna ride us?"

"Mmph–," you nod. Fingers sliding along Choso's cock, taking him in your mouth when you start to move on your own accord.

Which doesn't last too long as pleasure increases, makes it difficult for you to find a good pace. As if he can feel your struggle, Toji grasps your hips, stabilizing the pace as Nanami moves his hips.

Satoru watches on with a mixture of curiosity and admiration as Nanami starts to move; his cock sliding inside you with ease, meeting up with Toji's pace. You can feel both their cocks pushing deep within you, adding fuel to the fire inside.

Their hands never leave your body, grasping at whatever they can reach.

"Ah–" Choso's hips stutter the moment his cock breaches the entrance to your throat. You keep going, deepening the movement with each plunge. The sensation builds up in seconds, making it impossible to keep still as he grunts your name, feeling himself nearing the edge. "Gonna cum–ugh– damn."

His hands grasp your face, hips rolling forward. You grasp Nanami's shoulders, letting Choso ride out his high, his cum sliding down your throat before he slips out – spent and satisfied – and watches with grateful gaze as you swallow him down, not leaving a droplet to escape.

"Shit–," Toji speaks up after a second, "you just got tighter," and he grips your hips, moving Nanami's hands out the way as the intensity of his thrusts increases. "Look at you. Always knew you were a dirty one."

You can't even respond, just focus on the intense pleasure coursing through your veins. Pulling away, Choso takes a step back; steading yourself on Nanami, using his chest as leverage, you pull back. Back meeting Toji's solid chest, his hand wrapping around the side of your neck while he brings your head to his – cheek to cheek, lips pressed against your ear.

"Would kill to have you cum raw on my cock alone," he mumbles. And you know the reason for the quiet whisper. You can feel Nanami's hands move to your hips, steadying them as he thrusts in time with Toji. Together they create a perfect tempo, pushing you closer.

"Ah, ah–" you moan out as their combined rhythm sends pleasure through you, building up the intensity until it takes over every inch of your body. Until your walls shudder around them, body tensing before you let loose.

Nanami doesn't stay behind; his hands slide up your waist to grip your ribs. He feels you tense around him, and the sound of your name slipping past his gritted teeth echoes in the room as he drops his forehead to your collarbones. With one final thrust, he spills inside the condom with a groan. You can feel the tension in his shoulders relax; as if a weight has been lifted from them.

Still in haze – eyes closed – you let out a small sigh, feeling the last of Nanami's warmth seep out of your body before the scene shifts.

Satoru has you pinned against the wall, Toji standing behind. His hands grip your hips, pushing his hard, slick cock inside your loose asshole while Satoru moves in front of you, taking your face in his hands – his hands move down from your chin to your jaw, then to the side, to the sensitive skin along the bottom of your ear and your collarbone. The strong wide thumb of his right hand presses against the corner of your mouth, gently.

So you open up. Legs supported under Toji's wise grip, you offer yourself to the two. You can feel Toji behind you, his breath hot on your neck as he thrusts back and forth. Teeth marking your nape, electrifying your sensitive body – still high from another climax mere seconds ago, yet neither of the two stopped –

Satoru's lips move to your wet cheek before he inches closer again, lips ghosting yours until the tip of his tongue finds its way inside your mouth – warm and wet – a silent command for you to reciprocate, and you do. You let yourself get lost in his kiss while Toji's hips crash against yours, pushing you both forward.

The sensation is overwhelming – a mixture of pleasure and pain as both men push against each other, letting out groans of pleasure and grunts of delight that blur the line between lustful and loving. Primal and affectionate.

"Fuck–kitten," Toji grumbles, chest vibrating against your back, "gonna cum."

And even with the condom on, you feel it. Feel the sudden rush of warmth as Toji's cock pulsates inside you. His name sounds like a prayer on your tongue when he stills, flexing his arms and spreading you wider for Satoru's harsh thrusts to reach deeper. Pelvis massaging your swollen nub each time he buries himself balls deep inside your cunt – raw, unrestrained, without a barrier. Unlike the rest.

All while Toji relishes in the squeeze of your ass, the snug fit whenever Satoru hits that deepest spot inside you and bullies his cock in your walls (even if he hates to admit it).

The sensation sends your body into a new frenzy and you can feel the tension building up. Again. Watching Satoru's eyes close, the crease between his brows deepen. Hips stuttering, his hand cradles your cheek as he lets go. Your arms sneak around his shoulders, face nestled in the sharp contour of his neck.

(With all the sensations buzzing inside your body, in each nerve, you don't notice Toji leaving silently.)

A strong arm sneaks behind your back, the other placed on the back of your neck. Hips pushing into your softness as he grunts appreciatively; you feel the slickness flood your walls, paint it pearlescent white. He holds you close, whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Heat rolling over your body. His voice like honey and the sound of it alone is enough to bring you back to earth.

Until it all ends in a beautiful mess. A gluttony of pleasure, skin slick and breathless.

And somehow, you want more.

"Think we can do round two."