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seiwas · 9 months

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

wc: 8.9k

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

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

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

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

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

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

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

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

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

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

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

Except, he doesn’t.

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

It starts with the little things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A chuckle escapes you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What good is a love unwitnessed?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it isn’t, and your smile widens.

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

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

“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.”

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

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

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

“What made him ask?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He says it as if it is the simplest truth.

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

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

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

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

“Something like it.”

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

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?”

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

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

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

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering.

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

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

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

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

You cup his cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least now he has an answer.

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

You laugh—sprinkled in love.

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

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

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

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

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

Your grip on him tightens.

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

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” you mumble, nodding.

You always do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m so in love with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

You stare at him. He stares at you.

He’s shocked too.

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

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

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

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

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

The little laugh you make has him, completely.

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

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

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

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

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently.

The best part about being in love?

He gets to be in it with you.

Gojo can’t sleep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the train station. In the box.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s good.

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

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

(But he knows what you’re doing).

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

(And he loves that about you).

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

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

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

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

Oh, he could get lost in them.

He knows.

He has. Many times.

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

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

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

How can he possibly contain all this love?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you happy with me?

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

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

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

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

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

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alexisomnias · 9 months

Text

— "KITTIES" . . .

⤷ they can turn into cats!

angels notes: modernish au, a whisker away inspired

featuring the OVERBLOT BOYS

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

—Riddle was pining bad for you, and it was no secret to anyone except you. Who he did all he could to make you remain oblivious. Though if you knew that the fluffy little creature you found following you around was him? then it would be clear as day.

—Riddle had the power to turn into a cat, and well… what did he use it for? to follow you, and be by your side. The first time you coddled him, oh he was so embarrassed, swatting at you with his chipped claws and meowing. But after a couple times of you insistently holding him, then… he got comfortable. (Look at what you’ve done, now he expects it!)

—These catty behaviours and dynamic now transfers over to your active relationship (the one you know about.) If you don’t praise him for things he tries to impress then he gets all pouty haha.

“hey Riddle, you should come by one day to meet my cat, he’s a smart one.”

“hah,,, im actually allergic.” ^^’’’’

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

—that lazy cat you took in? yeah thats leona. He’s not much of a pining person, but nonetheless he still wants your attention. He’s pretty obvious of his affections, you even know about his habit of turning into a cat! (he’s done it right in front of you?!) so the relationship is pretty much established.

—though regardless as a cat or not when he’s in his human form he still craves your body heat, moving to position his head on your lap, like as he lays when in cat form.

—he’s a spoiled prince, if you move him at all out of his previous spot then he’s petty about it. he’s not going to sit back over near you until he forgives you.

“You’re so much cuter in your cat form when you do this.”

“well too bad, i don’t feel like moving.”

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

—he’s such a fucking mess around you its kinda cute. he trips over his words (and sometimes his feet), he bluescreens when you so much as praise him. He tries so hard to keep up his business persona, and it seems everyone but you, can see through it and notice the puddle he is.

—azul is much more… alive when he’s in his cat form. he’s always been kind of insecure of it, but its like a shell for him to hide him. he can be himself freely since you know, he’s a cat. So the cute silver coated cat that follows you? and swats at your feet when he wants your attention or praise? yeah thats azul

—Azul is far more whiny in his cat form lmao, though,,, he can be himself and he knows you’ll love him. he’s cute right? (he doesn’t know you’ll love him unconditionally in both forms) he uses it as a way to interact with you, and not worry about messing up or making a fool of himself. he simply soaks up your attention.

“Azul, do you perhaps have any cat food in stock?”

“no. i don’t, why?”

“Well theres this cute cat that stops by and i want to ensure he eats properly.”

“oh.” ///////

JAMIL VIPER

—jamil loves his cat form. its a freedom from the chains of duty he’s bound by. freedom to wander and travel the streets without having to worry for someone to ask him something or bother him. Its a way for him to love you without having to worry about rejection.

—everyones aware cats are cute, right? well he’s aware and he uses it. he uses his cute little fur coat to get away with stuff, and he uses it too get your attention. When your talking to someone? oh it seems as if your brown cat over here is picking at your shoe because he wants you to pick him up!

—jamil definitely is able to separate his cat form and human one. but sometimes, he wishes to let these habits slip and for you to love him to his face. nonetheless, he’d much rather you not hate him because he kept secrets for too long.

“Jamil, you remind me a lot of this cat that stops by often.”

“Do I now? is it cute?”

VIL SCHOENHEIT

—he doesn’t use his cat form a lot. if he has a problem or something he wants (you) he’s gonna confront it as himself. that doesn’t mean, that if you ask to see it he wouldn’t show you…

—vil, despite thinking otherwise does have catty habits that poke through. For example, he’ll straight up SCRATCH you with his long ass nails if you rub him the wrong way.

—he does actually get pretty flustered despite what you may think, if you coddle him in his cat form when he does transform. he’ll huff and flick you away, jumping off your lap and hiding on the window or something, but you can notice his ruffled fur (which means he’s flustered.)

“Vil, please show me your cat form, its so cute.” 🥺

“not right now, maybe later… i still have things to finish, that i can’t exactly do with paws.”

“fine.” 😔

IDIA SHROUD

—idia LOVES his cat form. its such a shell from human interaction. he doesn’t need to speak, he doesn’t stutter, say the wrong thing, worry. its such a blessing. plus he’s so cute as a cat!!

—he definitely abuses this power, he uses it for almost every interaction you have. you don’t know that its idia of course. it shocks others that has seen the ‘stray’ cat in the halls that you’re the only one able to actually pet him, and hold him in his arms.

—when he gets home he absolutely crumbles, looking back at the day. and imagining it was him in his human form, rather then the mask of a cat… he can dream you love him forever right?

User101: hey idia i know you like cats! have you seen the stray at school at all?

Gloomysamurai: Ahah?! maybe, i don’t know depends on what it looks like haha??? WAIT YOU REMEMBERED?? DKDKDUEJNAL

MALLEUS DRACONIA

—you definitely know the black cat you find often around your home is malleus. he doesn’t even keep it a secret, i mean he doesn’t say it outright either but . he’s so painfully obvious about it.

—he’s pretty similar in both forms. he acts similar to a cat in his human form too. pining for your attention, and trailing behind you like a lost puppy (or cat in this case). Don’t blame him for getting addicted to your company. He likes you a lot, you know?

—malleus isn’t subtle with his affections. pouting/meowing when he doesn’t have your attention. he’s still clingy as he is a cat even looking as an adult man. Malmal definitely also seeks your praise as if he’s a cat still.

“Malleus, i have work to do.” ^^’’’’’

“Can we just cuddle for a couple minutes..?” 🥺

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jamil viper x reader #vil shoenheit x reader #idia shroud x reader #malleus draconia x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #jamil viper #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #suns pencil.

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neteyamsyawntu · 8 months

Text

Kinktober 15

S i z e D i f f e r e n c e

Neteyam x Human!Reader

✨Friendly Disclaimer: The content of this story contains aged-up characters! If this is something that makes you uncomfortable, please feel free to click or scroll away. The last thing I want is for anyone to read something they are uncomfortable with, however if you decide to interact with any negativity, you will be blocked from my blog as a result.

Warnings: 🔞MINORS DNI🔞, P in V, fingering, interspecies relationship, full nelson position, dom!Nete, mean!Nete, dirty talk, vulgar language, size kink, belly bulge. Original Nete art by @cinetrix

A thick warmth slithered through your core. A physical manifestation of desire and need, fueling your every move as your hips frantically bucked against the large palm of your na’vi mate. His thick fingers, loving lodged into your cunt, stroking and caressing your soft walls, emitting squelching noises from a mixture of your tightness and dripping essence, echoing off the walls of your bedroom. Again the surge of warmth roars in the depths of your stomach and again, you find yourself rolling your hips more roughly against his hand. “Teyam… please…” you plead, incautiously wrapping your small, feeble hand around his wrist in attempts to shove his already deep fingers further into you. This of course wasn’t the first time you had been intimate with your lover and your body had adjusted to taking his fingers rather easily by now. It was almost painstakingly so that when you would beg your mate for more, he would sympathetically reject your proposal, to give you his dick. Neteyam let’s out a soft groan, nuzzling into the crook of your neck while he simultaneously palms himself through his loincloth.

His groan is one of both pleasure and frustration, placing a firm and tender kiss on your pulse to soothe your nerves, “Please yawne, let us enjoy each other like this…” Neteyam knew very clearly of your wishes, hell even he couldn’t deny how badly he craved more than anything to feel your pussy desperately clinging to him as you stretched around his cock, yet his better judgment deterred him from giving into them. His biggest priority above anything was your safety and if he were ever to fail by no fault other than his own recklessness, Neteyam would probably cease to be able to even look at you properly, let alone allow himself the gift of being in your company. A tightness in your chest accompanied with a familiar stinging in your eyes began to fester, as the rejection at yet another one of your advances was pushing you to your limits. With your grip tightening on his wrist, you hastily withdraw his hand from between your thighs, his two fingers soaked in your juices. With a confused look, Neteyam watches you scoot up to sit on your bed, pulling your knees to your chest, his brows furrow as he realizes you are purposely hiding yourself from him, your eyes cast to the opposite wall of the room.

Neteyam sighs, adjusting his own position in attempts to move closer and grant you proper comfort, yet you shift away from his touch, sending a pang of hurt to his heart. “Y/N I know it is frustrating, but please try to understand-.”, “-I know, you don’t want to hurt me, I get it… but how can you be so certain that you will?” You retort, shooting him your own expression of distaste. Your sudden change in tone makes Neteyam’s jaw reflexively tighten, closing his eyes momentarily while he takes in a calming breath. “We’ve already had this conversation, my love. Many times.”, “Then why do you keep fighting it? I know you want this just as much as I do. You have to!” You fume, voice cracking as your eyes well with frustrated tears, repressed insecurities now slowly creeping their way to the surface, “Do you not want to be tied to me in such an intimate way, is that it? Am I that undesirable to you that I’m only worth a little fun to get yourself off?!” Your words were like poison to his ears, Neteyam couldn’t even truly wrap his head around whether you really meant this or not.

With his ears flattened, Neteyam reaches out for you again, placing his hand on your thigh, “Ma’ Y/N… I am already tied to you like I am to no other. If I could keep you all to myself, I would have it no other way. There is no one else I would rather have as my mate.”. Your heart clenched at his words, now of course feeling ridiculously guilty and stupid for your accusation, your tears calmly rolled down your cheeks as you placed your hand atop his, “Then why won’t you at least try to “properly” mate with me! I don’t care how much bigger you are than me, be rough with me, give into your urges, hurt me- I don’t care!”. Neteyam stuck his tongue in his cheek as his nose scrunched in a slight snarl, retracting his hand from your thigh to create a distance between the two of you. “No. I will not put you at risk. End of story.” He says simply glaring down at your small form. You scoff, eyeing him wildly before promptly hopping off of your bed, bending down to grab your clothes, quickly pulling your shirt over your head and beginning to step into your shorts. “What are you doing?” Neteyam asks confused, his eyes trained on you as you made your way to the door, “I’m tired of being treated like some fragile antique. So until you get over your little fear, I’m off limits. No touching.” You huff, twisting the door handle only opening to a slightly ajar position until it is quickly shut from behind you, a large, blue, 3 fingered hand pressed to the door just above your head.

“Y/N you are acting like a child throwing this tantrum.” He grumbles from above you, his massive frame pinning you to the door without even having to lay a finger on you. Turning around you lift your head to look at him directly, crossing your arms as you lean back on the door frame, “So what? Clearly your desire to touch me isn’t as strong as you lead on, so why not just stop all together?”. Neteyam’s nose wrinkled as it scrunched further, showing a bit of his fangs in the process. His other hand shifted to grab your wrist, bringing your hand to his still very obvious and large erection, placing it over the fabric of his tewng to let you feel it’s firmness, “Is this not proof enough of how much I want you? How much my body craves you.” You simply stare up at him unphased, cocking a brow as if to say, “is that all?”. Noting that this display is doing nothing to ease your mind, Neteyam slowly crouches down to your level, his hand slowly traveling up your side, fingers delicately trailing from your hand to your shoulder, then up to your cheek, caressing it gently, his gaze intense and enticing, before he drops his hand to your waist, letting it circle around your backside. A sudden gasp escapes you when you are pulled flush against his chest, forced to stand between his gargantuan legs, leaning his face to press his lips against your ear, “You are really starting to get on my nerves, little one…”.

With a deep rumbling growl in his chest, moves both hands to forcibly push your shorts and panties down to your ankles, before pressing a palm to your rear and easily scooping you into his arms. “Teyam!” You exclaim struggling in his hold, before he drastically changes his handling of you, allowing one arm to drop while the other only supports your buttock. With a slight yelp, your arms quickly pull themselves around his neck to bring yourself tightly against his front as Neteyam stood to his full height, lifting you off the ground with him. Ignoring your protests Neteyam walks to a corner of the room, leaning his back into it while watching you struggle to keep yourself secure on his torso. “Teyam please I’ll fall!”, you plead, wrapping your legs around his waist, using all of your upper body strength to keep yourself from falling ass first onto the floor. “No. Don’t you dare fall.” Neteyam growls, slightly shifting the hand that was holding your ass to slide his fingers between your folds, gathering your remaining arousal to spread it over your intimates. Your body shivers at the sudden contact, brows pinching together as your trembling limbs make it harder for you to stay in position. “Net- Neteyam please… my legs- I can’t-.”, “-No, you want to act like a brat? Hold yourself up, tawtute.” He orders, sliding his fingers further to begin flicking wildly at your clit, intensifying the shivering in your legs. With a desperate yet pleasured cry, your arms tighten themself around his neck, locking in place by grabbing your opposite elbows. With his other hand, Neteyam scoops the length of your hair into his fist, pulling it off of your neck to give him plenty of flesh to feast on, his lips almost immediately finding home on your pulse, nibbling at it roughly.

Your back arches, mouth falling open to allow your moans to escape freely. The sensation of your sensitive nub being so carelessly ravaged caused an instinctive jerk of your hips, willing your legs to cling as tight as they could to his sides. “Fuuck, Teyam! Oh god…” you whine, leaning your cheek against his head as he eagerly lapped at your neck, decorating it in several dark marks. You could already feel how wet you were getting, noting how Neteyam’s fingers got slipper the more he continued to stroke you, occasionally sweeping his digits across your folds to gather more of your juices only to spread them over your clit and continue rubbing it in extremely tight circles, “Eywa… you’re dripping wet, yawne. My eager little tawtute is so desperate to be fucked, aren’t you?”. Your toes curl as your clit is overstimulated, pushing you to your limits as you can feel yourself struggling to hold yourself up with the pressure of your oncoming orgasm, your noises of pure ecstasy becoming uncontrollable.

Neteyam’s ears flicked and swiveled at the peak in your voice, his cock throbbed hungrily through the rough fabric of his loincloth. His unusually aggressive touches drew out the most guttural and primal sounds from you that only fed his growing desire to fuck you into a horny heap. While your back arched immensely just as your orgasm was hitting, Neteyam took your climbing voice as a sign to push further, sinking his three fingers directly into your cunt. You cry out, throwing your head back, toes curling tightly as you lock your legs around his waist as much as possible, the minute you feel yourself forgetting to keep your grip. Neteyam’s mind began to check in and out of reality as his self control steadily lessened, groaning at the feeling of your pussy walls fluttering around his fingers. The room is filled with your heavy panting as you tiredly attempt to catch your breath, dipping your head forward to rest against his shoulder, finally feeling some relief and a sense of calm after the storm, your clit still pulsing from its affects. Neteyam watches you in awe, his expression shifting to hold a slight smirk as he nuzzles against the side of your head, “Tired already, yawne? Isn’t this what you wanted?”. You weakly nod in response, a small shaky whine breaking through your lips.

A shiver shoots up your spine when Neteyam’s wet tongue came into contact with the shell of your ear, “Good, but I didn’t say I was done with you.”. Carefully sliding his fingers out of you, Neteyam’s arms then move to firmly secure around your back, prompting you to ease up on your hold and allow your muscles to finally relax, feeling the sudden ache of their strain. Your eyes suddenly shoot open when Neteyam begins to shift your position, turning you around effortlessly to hold your back against his chest. Holding you firmly against him with one arm, Neteyam allows his other hand to slip behind his backside, his fingers masterfully untying his loincloth. All you hear is the bit of fabric drop to the floor, before your body is pulled slightly downward, enough for Neteyam’s now free cock to slide across your plump ass. Saying nothing, but letting out low groans, Neteyam shifts his arms under your knees and looping them under your armpits, locking his hands behind your head. “Wai- aah! Teyam, what are you…?” You whine, squirming slightly in the odd position, when Neteyam takes the initiative to use your body as if it were his own personal toy, shifting you back and forth to glide the shaft of his cock along your folds.

“I’m going to do what you asked of me, yawne- I’m giving into my urges.” Neteyam’s head feels like it’s spinning, almost as if he’s in a dream state as his instincts scream at him to hurry up and take you. Releasing a low gravely hum, Neteyam angles your body to line you up with his cock, it’s fat tip prodding your entrance intently, waiting for the moment to push it inside to feel your gummy walls wrap around him at last. His cock twitches needily at the thought of it, giving your folds a light tap. You could feel your pulse picking up rapidly, the position you were folded into completely immobilized you from escaping his grasp. Of course you had asked for this and while part of you was admittedly nervous, the hold of his strong arms mixed with that of the way his tip so lovingly glided against your folds only fueled your own hunger. Then you felt it, pressure. The pressure of Neteyam making his first attempts to push himself inside of you, his tip now lathered with your juices, slides in slowly with a bit of a push. Your eyes almost rolled into the back of your head that very moment, yet you had to remain composed, wanting to stay relaxed to take as much of him as your body would allow. Your voice broke into a slight squeal as Neteyam’s cock wedges it’s way into your taut walls, his ears creased against the sides of his head, his mouth agape, savoring every moment of his thick cock performing the impossible task of making your petite hole it’s home.

His eyes trained on the way your body submissively made room for his abnormally large dick, opening up to take him inch by inch, stretching, accommodating to his size. If he hadn’t drawn his bottom lip between his teeth at that moment to groan in ecstasy, he mentally swore he would’ve been drooling at the sight. Then your weak and harsh whines echoed in his ears again, professing your discomfort as more of his cock disappeared into your body. Leaning down into your ear, Neteyam nuzzles into the side of your head, whispering a gentle, “Shhh almost there, yawne…”, while he reels his hips back ever so slightly, just to push further with more ease, making you shiver. The intense pressure of Neteyam’s cock head pushing against your stomach from the inside, made your eyes roll. While the sensation itself wasn’t particularly comfortable, there was something about it that only turned you on further, “S-so full…” you whimper out, your hands absentmindedly wandering to grasp onto him however you could in this position. Neteyam could feel it too with how desperately your cunt clung to him, the pressure of your tightness completely holding him snuggly inside of you, was almost too much, boarding suffocating.

“I feel you… stuffed so full of me, little one…” Neteyam coos in a soft whisper, his own voice slightly trembling as he swallows trying to regain his focus. The muscles in his arms flex as he holds you more securely in his grasp, moving your body as a whole to slide you up his shaft before dropping you back down to meet his pelvis, exhaling a deep guttural groan at the euphoric feeling. Your hands move to grasp over his own, positioned behind your head, mentally noting how Neteyam had slightly shifted his stance, bending his knees and angling your body seemingly for better movement. Then it started, the slow repetitive movements of your body being rocked back and forth to meet his thrusts. The gentle slap of your ass against his lower abdomen made you blush, small punched out noises fell from your lips, enjoying the slow pace while it lasted, which wasn’t for much longer as the slapping of skin became louder and more frequent. Neteyam had complete and utter control of your body, using it to appease his own selfish desires, letting out satisfied moans with each kiss of your rear against his pelvis. He assumed your body would have relaxed and loosened the further it adjusted to his presence inside of you, yet it turned out to be quite the opposite. Being so undeniably full, each curve and ridge of your fragile little pussy was being stroked and caressed with each thrust, causing your cunt to clench tightly around him in an unconscious effort to keep him there.

It was no surprise to you when his cock pressed deliciously against the opening of your cervix, the pressure in your stomach never fading as you felt him bulge through your tiny form over and over again, it almost felt addicting. Forcing your mind out of its state of peaceful bliss with the current pace of his thrusts, Neteyam switched his speed once more, greedily rutting into your cunt to feed his needs, his large fingers fisting through your hair, moaning and panting uncontrollably. Sounds that harmonized with your own as your body was pushed to its limits, taking him at an almost inhuman pace, screaming your curses out into the space of your room, “Fuck, fuck, fuck! AHHG Net- haaah!”. Neteyam panted heavily in your ear, his eyes closing tightly only to open momentarily to glance down at your stretched out opening, milking his cock with ease, watching how more and more of your arousal was building up on his shaft, seeing as how your body was being forced to overcompensate and provide additional lubricant to be able to take him so fluidly.

“You’re making such a mess, yawne… so wet, taking your mate’s cock like a good little toy. So perfect…” Neteyam hums between moans, his words coming out somewhat slurred and mumbled, too busy with getting absolutely drunk off of you, his lower abdomen getting sticker as your folds so graciously painted it with your juices. Your ears hardly even picked up on his words as your own pleasured mewls permeated your ears, fingernails digging into the blue skin of his knuckles while your body was being jerked and jolted at an extreme pace. Again you found yourself unable to verbalize when you felt the knot growing in your stomach with your quickly approaching second climax of the evening, only being able to vocalize it in pleasured sobs. Neteyam could feel your cunt fluttering and clenching even tighter around him, only fueling his need to fuck you sensless, rocking into you harder as you released around him. “That’s it… fuck such a good little cock sleeve for me…” Neteyam purrs breathily into your ear when your pitch slightly lowers, fucking you through your high. You find your toes curling once again as the na’vi continues relentlessly bucking his hips into you, desperate to reach his own release, feeling the pressure in his shaft begin to fester as he twitches within the right embrace of your cunt. His voice shifting interchangeably from both breathy moans to growling and chest rumbling groans, his tail wrapping around your thigh as he pushed his hips faster, feeling himself just on the brink of cumming. “Ahhh fuck- I’m going to make you all nice and full with my cum, my syulang... Wanna breed this little pussy, until your womb is full with my child.” Neteyam was passed the point of thinking coherently, yourself noting that he probably wasn’t even fully conscious of what he was saying. Although there was no solid proof that a na’vi and human could reproduce, the thought of your belly becoming round and firm with his baby inside of you, made your womb cry out for just that.

“It’s coming.. I’m going to cum- great mother… take all of it, yawne!” Slamming you down onto his pelvis two more times, Neteyam releases his hot load into you, bubbles of it emerging at the seam where your bodies connected to which Neteyam promptly fucked back into you with a few shallow thrusts. Your muscles felt weak and strained not only from the beating your pussy had just undergone, but from the intensity of being folded in half for so long. Feeling your trembling muscles against him, Neteyam gently eases out of you, carefully shifting his arms to cradle you like an infant, his lips hungrily finding yours as he walks you over to your bed, laying both of you down on it. Neteyam of course couldn’t fit his full body onto the mattress, but that did little to stop him from spooning you, pulling your chest close to his, his nose sweetly nuzzling into your hairline, his fingers wandering down between your legs, where your hips jerked slightly upon contact when his fingers press against your throbbing hole, pushing his leaking seed back into you to ensure you kept every single drop inside of you. “Mmn Tey… you know there’s hardly any chance of me actually getting pregnant right?” You coo softly, stroking his cheek softly with your thumb, “Perhaps… but that will not stop me from trying. I’ll be sure to fill you like this every time regardless of the outcome.” Neteyam hums in a raspy, breathless voice, placing a passionate kiss on your forehead, his other hand moving to stroke your thigh, “You’ll be my sweet little cumdump… my own personal toy.”. You blush as the obscenely lewd nicknames, giggling softly as you cuddle closer into his chest, “and your mate.”, “And of course, my mate.”

Tag list: @pandoraslxna @dvxsja @jakexneytiri @blue-slxt @neteyamsoare@tiredmamaissy, @neteyamsikran @oceanstar19 @hadesbabygurl @xylianasblog @neteyamssyulang @anonymousailurophile @netyamstruelove @eyrina-avatar @justcaptiannoodles @teymars @neteyamyanw3 @eyweveng

#avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam #neteyam sully #neteyam smut #avatar twow #avatarsmut #neteyam sully smut #neteyam x reader #avatar kinktober #kinktober #lunaskinktober2023

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heavenlyvision · 2 months

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next time? pairing: Bi-Han x reader wc: 800 warnings: tiniest bit suggestive (only if you squint), idiots, bad flirting, no pronouns or y/n used !! a/n; i wrote this because i was feeling silly and missing him. this is readers poor attempt at flirting with him and Bi-Han's odd and unreadable reactions :3 i just think he's neat !

Craving Bi-han, wanting him close by, wanting to feel his cool flesh pressed close to yours, his breath tickling your ear. It’s all you think about, it’s been haunting you day and night and you don’t know how to deal with it. The powerful need that’s been overwhelming you, it’s infiltrating you in ways that make you look like a complete idiot. Not only is he completely unapproachable but he must think you are some kind of idiot after every interaction you do have with him. It’s becoming too embarrassing, anytime you have to talk with him concerning something, you fumble and mumble and fall all over yourself in general, just from being in front of him.

Every time Liu Kang sends you to talk with Bi-Han on his behalf, you deflate a little, excited to have a reason to speak with him but mostly dreading your awkward and flustered nature. He could kill you on the spot… but he makes you nervous for a whole other reason. It’s getting hard to look him in the eyes when you’ve unfortunately thought about him in much more… compromising positions. Why are you sexualising the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei?

Bi-Han looks down his nose at you, “Get it together.”

Your eyes grow wide, forgetting you actually have to speak for information to be exchanged, “Sorry! I uhm…. Got distracted.”

He doesn’t answer, unamused by how much of his time you’re wasting, he does raise a single brow at you though, still waiting for you to tell him why you’re standing in front of him.

“Oh! Liu Kang asked me to tell you he needs to meet later than he initially said, he’s gotten busy,” you’re shuffling from foot to foot, uncomfortable in front of him, especially since this news is going to piss him off.

You flinch as he groans and his hands move as he asks, “Why? What’s so important he’s made me come all the way here only to wait?” He’s still angry but he drops his hands again, taking note of the way you flinched.

“He… uhh…” you’re trying to think of something to cover for Liu, in all honesty he didn’t tell you why he only told you to tell Bi-Han that he’d have to wait a bit.

“You have no idea, do you?” You shake your head at him and he rolls his eyes, frustration palpable, “What good are you?”

You frown mostly to yourself, “I’m plenty good, it’s not my fault you’re impatient,” you huff. “You will have to wait, like every other human does at least once in their lives,” your words are direct, he’s upset you. You don’t wait for a response from him, instead turning back in the direction you came and walking away hurriedly.

Bi-Han is left standing, surprised by your outburst, not having expected it from you.

⋆⁺₊❅.

When you run into him again, he’s coming back from talking with Liu Kang, seemingly calmed down. You don’t approach him, you stay sitting where you are, waiting for him to pass you by. Instead, he shocks you by standing in front of you, it seems like, he’s always looking down at you.

“I’m not sorry for earlier,” he grumbles at you.

You are confused, mostly because you don’t really care anymore anyways, “…Okay?”

He stands idly for a few moments before asking, “What are you doing?”

You don’t really know how to answer that, so you awkwardly say, “Sitting.”

“You are bad at conversation,” he considers you for a moment before moving to sit next to you on the stone bench.

You guffaw at him, “Me?”

He only offers a simple, “Yes.”

The two of you sit in complete silence, clearly both of you are bad at conversation. You break it first, with possibly the stupidest question you could ask, stupid for so many reasons, “Do you… come here often?”

He eyes you, contemplating for a moment, before deciding not to answer at all. Apparently not deeming it necessary.

Something is apparently possessing you to have loose lips today because you go on to say, “You look… nice today, uh not that you look bad other days, I mean maybe you do but when…when I see you, you look good…uhm…”

It looks like he smirks for a second before it’s gone, “Are you… flirting with me?”

You cringe involuntarily, “I think I might be trying to, yes?”

“Interesting,” he smiles to himself and then stands, “Until next time,” he addresses you by name as he walks away.

What… what the hell was that interaction? What did he mean? Why is your heart racing so hard at seeing his amused smile. You can’t tell if he liked your flirting or thought it was funny how dumb you are. Oh gods, what will he say next time.

⋆⁺₊❅.

#visions blurb #bi han x reader #bi han subzero #subzero x reader #mk1 sub zero #sub zero x reader #bi han mk1

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bugs1nmybrain · 2 months

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Well now I think you should totally give us a version of Somnophilia where L gets woken up to female reader giving him a blowjob which leads to drowsy early morning sex.

Only if you want to though ^^

Sleeping Beauty pt. 2 - L Lawliet x Fem!Reader: Morning Sex

Author's Notes: This has been in my asks for MONTHS. I think it is time :0. I'm very sorry that I haven't been writing as many fics lately, I have been very very busy. I hate it ;(

MINORS DON'T INTERACT

Warnings: fem-reader, somnophilia/morning sex, smut (18+), oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, a cheesy joke at one point that ruins the mood, cowgirl position, reader doesn't cum but implied to after the story, not proofread

Notes about the reader: female reader, described as having small hands

Extra note: I realize I lied and originally said there were no pronouns used and totally forgot that he uses a gendered term at the end. I'm so sorry!!!!

The heat of the rising sun cracked on L's face, contrasting with the cool breeze of the room's AC. L was known for his insomniac drive, but even he was human. After many days of not sleeping, he'd start to see shadowy figures out of the corner of his eye and occasionally the sound of the bell would pay a visit. That's when he knew he had to sleep. He usually would doze off and like the snap of a finger wake up again, only it would somehow be over half a day later.

The heat of the sun on his face was comforting, considering every other part of his body, especially his feet, was so chilly that he felt like rotting in this bed. The bed that you insisted he sleeps in, otherwise he would've been out in his desk chair and it would likely fall over at some point.

The sleep-drunk and chilly state he was in was so heavy that he had hardly noticed that another part of his body was feeling warm. And wet. He recognized the feeling well, and the mouth that was attached. He peeked down to see just as he suspected.

L never grew tired of seeing you. Through all the hyperboles he told you about how stunning you were, somewhere in there was a genuineness that he struggled to accept. Not because he didn't care for you, but because he did so much. So much that he was afraid something abrupt would eventually happen and he'd lose you, and lose this connection that he secretly craved.

Though, those deep-seated worries could surely wait. He looked down through lidded eyes, watching as you had your small hand wrapped around the base of his cock and trying your best to accommodate his cock in your mouth. Your eyes were also lidded with your eyelashes looking beautiful as you traveled your soft lips against his length. He could tell that you hadn't even noticed that he was awake.

As you trailed your tongue up his cock with your eyes still closed, he sighed and let his head fall back onto the pillow. You continued your movements up and down his cock, pulling back his foreskin to get to the sensitive skin under.

"A-ah!" L shuddered quietly. His sudden noise startled you and your mouth moved off of him with a quick "pop". He grunted at the absence of your mouth and looked down at you. The sight of your flushed, wet lips and alertness struck a chord in him, making his cock throb under your hand.

"Is this your way of getting me back?" he chuckled, reaching his hand down to pet your hair.

You grinned shyly with your answer, "An eye for an eye."

Without giving him many options to respond, you continued bobbing your head on his cock. You used your tongue to slide along his base as you guided yourself. L's leg jolted slightly at the sensitivity, and he continued to sigh in pleasure while gently holding onto your scalp.

"Fuck, y/n.." he whispered under his breath.

"Mhm~"

You were certainly eager, though you felt your throat struggle as you attempted to take all of his cock down. You tried to be pornographic, but your gag reflex soon kept you humble and you choked unexpectedly.

You moved away from his cock and coughed, holding the back of your hand to your mouth to conceal yourself. L felt himself grow even more aroused at your attempts to please him beyond your comfort, and the tears that wallowed from it. Though, he was not going to tell you that.

"Hey, how about you come up here, hm?" L rubbed your head, looking at you now with his 69% awake face. You nodded and crawled up to rest beside him.

"I wanted to finish that," you say, disappointed in yourself.

"That's alright. Practice makes progress. I don't want you to hurt yourself," L reassured you, placing his hand at your waist to pull you closer. He kissed your cheek, which was hot to the touch. "Let's try something different."

He pulled at your t-shirt, exposing your bare breasts to him and shortly after, your panties as well.

"Can I ride you?" you ask.

"Hm?" L questions, still tired. "Oh. Yes, of course. Do as you wish, darling."

You beamed him a smile and steadily rested yourself on top of him. You worried if you were heavy, considering he was noticeably frail and light. L seemed to be able to tell what you were thinking as you looked puzzled on top of him.

"You're alright. Keep going."

Taking his cock in your hand, you adjusted yourself upwards and slowly began sinking down on him.

"Mmm.." L tilted his head back, absolutely enthralled by the view.

You moaned as well, moving yourself to grind on top of his cock, feeling up your sensitive cunt. L's hands rubbed up from your thighs to your hips, relishing in your wet pussy and the way your body moved on top of him. Your body was enough on its own to make him pre, but the lust on your face, lust that he knew was for him, made him feel better.

The sounds filling the room were overwhelming. You could both feel yearning waves of pleasure riding through your bodies, engrossed by each other's sex. Your body's rhythm bouncing on top of him made you feel incredible, with L's face flushed pink and a bit of sweat covering his forehead.

"Mmfh..y/n, I'm close," he groaned, gripping onto your waist. He pulled you down onto him each time you lifted up, trying to feel your sleeve as much as he could.

"You can. Please cum for me.."

More moans and whines exited your throat as the sensation of his cock, hands, and sounds drove your libido rampant. And L could say the same for you.

"Mmmm~!" you squealed out in pleasure. L lost composure and you could feel his hips thrust up into you as he shook.

"Awh.." His hands gripped your sides as he came deep and heavy in you, his body falling limp otherwise as he remained inside of you as you both tried to recover.

"You're incredible," he hummed with a gentle smile. You giggled and lifted up, falling down beside him. You snuggled your arms around him and gripped onto his shirt (he kept it on, he does a lot during sex).

"No you," you retaliate.

"Mhm, if you say so," he looked over at you holding him close and placed a kiss to your temple. "You didn't cum."

"Oh."

"Let me fix that," he rubbed your shoulder as he said so.

"You don't have to," you say and his fingers already begin trailing in between your legs.

"Please, indulge me. Besides, as you said, "an eye for an eye." What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't?"

"A normal boyfriend," you joked.

"Well, I've never been known to be normal. Neither have you. Be a good girl and let me play with you, alright?

Here's a song that's appropriate for this fic lol

#l lawliet #l lawliet x reader #l lawliet smut #l lawliet x reader smut #l lawliet x fem reader

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honeytonedhottie · 9 months

Text

a guide to dealing with emotions in a healthy way˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚🌷

what makes a coping mechanism healthy or unhealthy - a healthy coping mechanism isn't harmful to u or others. like listening to music or going on long walks to relieve stress. an unhealthy coping mechanism is something that is harmful to u or others and here r some examples so that u can become aware of ur own coping mechanisms.

forced positivity is a harmful coping mechanism bcuz it doesn't come from a place of genuine happiness. it comes from denial, invalidation, and minimization. u dont always have to have a positive disposition if ur going thru something. YOURE HUMAN and ur allowed to go thru emotions without having to mask everything and pretend to be feeling something that ur not. (replace this harmful coping mechanism with taking the time every day to write about ur feelings, u dont even have to talk about it if it makes u uncomfortable but dont let it weigh down on ur heart, let it out in ur journal, or with a trusted companion or family member)

self isolation, as a species we r social creatures and we crave and NEED interaction and connection with others

fatalism is simply when we experience something that's bad and imagine that its the worst possible thing that has ever happened to u. its an instinctive trait. dont prepare for the worst bcuz doing this will literally just give u more stress. (replace this harmful coping mechanism with listing 5 of the worst possible outcomes and asking urself how likely they are to actually happen, if u feel like one outcome is TRULY likely then plan for that outcome)

dont repress ur feelings, i feel like this ties back to our first bullet point so repressing ur feelings is literally the worst thing that u can do. its a defense mechanism that activates when u feel like u no longer have control over a situation. be genuine with how u feel and express it calmly and reasonably in a way that doesn't harm others (meditation rly helps to reduce emotional outbursts, so does yelling into a pillow, dancing, and working out)

#self care #it girl #becoming that girl #self love #that girl #dream girl #it girl energy #self improvement #self reflection #emotional intelligence #mental health

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thatnarcissisticfeel · 6 months

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I think that a lot of people without NPD have a really poor understanding of "narc supply" or the specific type of positive attention that pwNPD crave. Even the egotypicals who are allies, the ones denounce narc abuse and anti-NPD ableism, don't fully grasp it.

There's this false idea that NPDs like to be worshipped and showered with compliments all of the time, and I mean, yeah, most of us would eat that shit up, but I know that for myself and a lot of other pwNPD it's deeper and much more, I guess, personal?

I don't really know how to describe it, so I'll give an example: As a kid, no one really paid attention to my creative endeavors, my accomplishments, my feelings, etc. And if they DID pay attention, the attention was negative. I could always do better, I could always be smarter, stronger, etc. This came from peers and adults alike. So I developed a coping mechanism where I would tell myself that everyone else was wrong, that I'm actually the best person around, etc. I don't have to explain what disorder I ended up with as an adult as a result of all of that. :P

But anyway - the wound of constantly being ignored at best and insulted at worst is still there. You know how when you're in a group chat or a conversation with multiple people and no one ever pays attention to your comments, while paying attention to everyone else? Yeah, that shit hurts EVERYONE, but especially pwNPD. Even the smallest acknowledgment can be "narc supply."

You know how when you achieve something really cool and everyone ignores you - but the people who ignore you will be quick to praise OTHER people?

You know how when you post art/edits online and everyone ignores you - but the people who ignore you compliment someone else's post in the exact same thread?

You know how when you ask your friend to read your favorite book or listen to your favorite artist or whatever because of how much it means to you, and they never do it, but then they read/listen to everyone else's favorite thing at everyone else's recommendation, and how much it pisses you off? (Hurts even more if you have the SAME favorite book/artist and someone reads/listens to it at the other person's recommendation and not at yours.)

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I could go on and on. That shit would bother anyone, us narcissists aren't alone in being hurt by that, but my G-d, it impacts pwNPD in such a specific way.

But let me flip it around to the positive!

A narcissist doesn't necessarily get their "supply" from someone telling them that they're the coolest person in the world and that they're a god. (Though if you do want to say that to us we probably won't complain!) Sometimes they get their "supply" from something as simple as someone acknowledging their achievements, and giving specific praise on what the achievement was. ("It's so cool that you won a prize in the music recital. The song you played sounds like it was really difficult and I loved your stage presence.")

Being told, "Wow, you did such a great job on your artwork, I love the colors!" goes a very very long way for a narc, especially when said narc is used to being IGNORED for their art.

Hearing, "it's so cool that you like that book, I'll have to read it and tell you my thoughts!" can help a narcissist's interests feel acknowledged.

You might be reading this and thinking, "well, isn't it just basic human interaction to compliment your friends or try out their interests"? And, well, maybe it is, but the whole point of NPD is that most of us grew up without receiving that type of attention, so now we're very very desperate for it - and very, very, VERY sensitive to when it doesn't happen, or is even perceived to not have happened. Something as small as being talked over in a group chat can set us off, but something as small as a simple, "hey, it's so cool that you did this, I love it." can win us over.

And to be completely fair, most of the time us being "ignored" isn't completely intentional. Like, I get it, yeah, sometimes timing just doesn't work out for person A to read my favorite book at my own rec, but by the time person B is in their life, person A can read it, and it's not anything personal. Sometimes the content I make just isn't someone's ~style~ and they support me, they really do, they just don't know what to say. Sometimes someone forgets to respond, or doesn't get a notification when I send them something I made or tell them about something I did. (There is less excuse for being ignored in face-to-face/offline convos though.) But because of the trauma of us constantly being ignored as kids/teens, the smallest little thing hurts and as a result we seek and crave attention EVERYWHERE.

So now, to give in to narc stereotypes of begging for attention: If you're a person without NPD and you genuinely want to help the narcissists you have in your life, the second best thing you can do for us is checking in to make sure we're not overlooked. Try to be sure you're not ignoring us, and if we do something cool, try to compliment it, even if it's something you don't fully "understand." Ask us about what we've been up to lately, what we're proud of about ourselves, and agree with us that what we've done is pretty cool. I mean, you'd do that for any friend, right? It's really not all outlandish for a narc to want that.

(If you're curious what the FIRST best thing you can do for a narcissist is, it's giving us a million dollars unlearning your anti-NPD ableism and calling people out who use narcissist as an insult as a synonym for abuser. Even in "offline" spaces, even when we're not around, even doctors/therapists. Even "narc" abuse survivors.)

#actuallynarcissistic #actuallynpd #npd feels #npd safe #npd culture #my favorite person is literally my favorite person only because she warned me about media that used narcissist as an insult and listened to #an album i liked when literally EVERYONE ELSE i've recced the album to has ignored it. (I've been a fan of said album for ALMOST A DECADE)#like guys it's not that hard to treat us well #(also i mean favorite person in the cluster b way - she's my favorite person in the NT way for many reasons)

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tainbocuailnge · 8 months

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Realizing I haven't seen an exceptionally fantastic character analysis from you on my dashboard for a while, so I'd like to ask: what are your thoughts on Elizabeth Bathory?

liz is in a bit of a weird position here in the west because you could try to connect the dots and read between the lines of her localised appearances to figure out the hidden depths behind the funny seasonal girl, or you could read a fantranslation of CCC and have her deal laid out for you very clearly and i mean very very clearly there's really not much digging you have to do to understand elizabeth from reading CCC

elizabeth in CCC is a young girl who does not understand why the people around her came to hate her, and is terrified of it happening again. her obsession with youth is because she could tell that as she grew older the patience of those around her was wearing thinner, but she didn't understand what it was about her that caused this and in her desperation to cling to the youthful innocence that made them stay their hand in punishing her crimes she just committed more crimes. her desire to be an idol is a direct continuation of this: she is trying to attract a love and adoration that will instantly turn to hatred should she ever fail to adhere to a strict yet arbitrary standard of youthful purity and innocence.

elizabeth is excruciatingly lonely. she was raised to be extremely aware of her noble heritage and the inherent superiority it gives her. she calls people piglets and squirrels because she was literally not taught to see the common people as people rather than livestock. she has some natural violent inclinations that went completely unchecked and combined with her emotional frustrations into a habit of brutally torturing both people she hates and people she likes. she craves emotional connection between equals but has no idea, no example, no internal model of what such a relationship would actually look like, because the only interactions she had in her life were between the countess and her subjects that were completely at her mercy until they weren't.

this is barely even analysis, I'm just repeating things CCC directly tells you here. you can infer pretty much all of this from her secret garden flavour text alone.

her first SG is that she falls in love easily because she only experienced love in storybooks. "What seems to make her heart skip a beat is the strength of heart to firmly look back at her, even while shaking in pain, never giving in no matter how much she strikes or stabs." -> elizabeth craves a relationship of equals, her romantic ideal is someone who will stand up to her.

her second SG is that she enjoys cooking for/taking care of others, but absolutely sucks at actually making food. "She “bestows meals” to her husband as a noble. It’s no different from feeding... raising an animal. It contains none of the “romance” she longs for. The overlord disposition ingrained into her by heredity devours even her modest dreams." -> the way elizabeth was raised to view herself and others leaves her incapable of actually having such a relationship of equals, because her only models for human interaction don't respect the humanity of the other party.

her third SG is purity. "We would like to leave just what constitutes “purity” to the reader’s imagination. Servants are revived in the form that represents golden age of their lives. So Elizabeth appears as an unwed daughter of house Báthory, a young girl in love with love… presumably. An idol must be pure like snow. Romance might be fine, but the moment she comes to know love, her radiance is lost." -> elizabeth deep down is terrified of actually obtaining a relationship of equals, because her arbitrary purity (a purity the text doesn't even try to define! it's completely subjective!) is the only thing standing between her and a hatred of her for which she doesn't understand the cause. once she comes to view other people as people she can no longer claim not to understand the crimes that made those people hate her, and she will lose the purity that protects her from their wrath.

CCC has a lot to say about arbitrary standards of maturity and purity. BB splits off her own "improper" feelings into various oversexed and unstable versions of herself that she can punish for not living up to the impossible standards she imposes on herself. kiara uses her outward appearance of maturity to cover up a complete lack of emotional maturity while hans looks like a child after a lifetime of being seen as immature for writing children's stories (respecting the humanity of children). elizabeth wasn't taught to respect the humanity of others, but where is the line on when she is "old enough to know better"? what could she have done different? what should she have done different?

naturally, CCC for elizabeth is a long and gruelling process of learning that other people are people, and that even if she was simply doing as taught it was still her own actions that made her subjects hate her. this is such a thorough shattering of her worldview that she's briefly a berserker with both mad enhancement and a unique to her mental disorder skill that makes her numb to the pain or mood of others, just to keep herself vaguely functional. when defeated she screams that she prefers death to being locked up again, because what she fears even more than retaliation is having to reflect on the reason for that retaliation.

you will note that elizabeth in all her subsequent appearances is a very earnest and hardworking girl, who puts a lot of effort into maintaining her friendships. she knows what she did wrong now and is determined not to repeat that mistake, determined enough that in extella link karl's oraclisation brainwashing program that instantly got top tier servants like arjuna and scathach was unable to get elizabeth, and karl decides to let her go out of respect for that determination. one of the earliest cross-installment relationships FGO established is that vlad is very protective of elizabeth because he wants to make sure she does in fact get the chance to become a better person than the circumstances of her life allowed her, and even though carmilla has complex feelings about liz because liz's existence as the young and innocent one means carmilla exists as the one who is beyond saving, she can still be dragged into helping liz with her efforts because the redemption liz works for is one they both want.

elizabeth is a very dutiful person. she's desperate to be liked for fear of what will happen to her otherwise, but also has an actual strong sense of responsibility as countess, and her efforts to become someone likeable and dependable are fuelled by both of those aspects. in every halloween event liz is loud and annoying and self-important, and every halloween event she makes honest and difficult efforts to forge and maintain relationships and make up for past and current transgressions. her singing is beautiful when it's for someone else's sake.

elizabeth is actually one of a very small handful of characters from older works who I feel didn't get flanderised in some way by FGO, her characterisation as funny seasonal girl follows naturally from how her arc concluded in CCC and shallow fandom misunderstanding of the funny seasonal girl is more a result of early FGO assuming most players would be fate veterans who would already know her deal from CCC so they could just build on that uninterrupted without needing to give context first. and I also don't think it's wrong for people to base their understanding of liz on the funny seasonal girl because that's still liz, unlike how for example FGO nero is just not representative of nero most of the time. i haven't actually paid much attention to fgo since lb6 by the way and haven't opened NA in months so i don't actually know what happens in cindereli event other than guda turns into a goat monster (based)

#gorince #king of asks #metapost #elizabeth bathory #fate extra ccc #fate grand order #liz

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flowersandbigteeth · 1 month

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I think I need a part 2 of the baby creatures because its absolutely ADORABLE!! What about driders, centaurs, orcs, and merfolk?

Thinking about monster babies is so soothing ^_^

The first one is here

👇🏽

Merfolk are born with little tails that take time to gain the strength needed to get them around, so their parents mostly carry them as infants. They are born with an extra fat layer, making them extra chubby, but also to keep them warm in the deep ocean. When they are old enough to swim on their own, most baby merfolk prefer to swim around in a school so they can play and for safety. They have an inherent understanding of the vastness of the ocean and prefer to play near their parents. While they are young, their parents prefer to keep them away from the shallows as there is danger of being spotted by a human or reef shark. Instead, they prefer to keep them in caves, floating kelp, or high sea grass where they can hide easily.

Centaur babies, like humans, take time to develop. Though their bodies are capable of carrying weight when they are born, their brains aren't developed enough to put two and two together, so they are carried for the first six months of their lives. For the first few months, they tend to stay in the fetal position, snuggling in nests or on their parent's back, until their vision and core strength develop. However, once they are on their four feet, they are tiny menaces. They have all the energy and good sense (none) of a toddler but with four strong legs to carry them where they want to go. It's the job of the entire herd to keep them out of trouble. They are easily startled and will retreat to a nearby adult if scared, but they love physical activity. Since they take so well to athletics, centaurs start training their toddlers as soon as they can walk to keep them occupied. Their first training is usually small gathering expeditions, where a few centaurs will escort all of the children to the forest to learn what mushrooms, berries, and nuts are edible. That's followed by runs that grow increasingly longer to learn scouting and camouflage techniques so that they can take their turn on patrol when they are old enough.

Driders are born with their eyes closed and a soft carapace. Their parents generally keep them in a web nursery while their skin hardens, and they eventually open their eyes. Young driderlings are precocious and curious, driven by their natural hunting instincts to explore. When they are small, they can't yet weave or chew through their parent's webs, but they enjoy observing whatever their parents happen to be doing. They are even happier if they are allowed to help. It takes them a bit to obtain the grace and stealthiness normally associated with Driders. When they are little, they are very clumsy and need help from their parents to figure out which leg goes where. They come of the age to be relatively independent when they are able to escape their nurseries, meaning their teeth and claws have developed as well as spinnerets to help them get wherever they want to go. They are astute students when it comes to weaving, writing, and hunting, with a natural lean towards perfectionism. When they are older, they tend to be more solitary. While they enjoy drider society, they are driven to create safe spaces within it for themselves and can be alone for long periods of time without a problem.

Orc babies are expressive and needy. They crave physical touch and interaction to keep them engaged or they get bored and naughty. They need lots of toys to develop their motor skills and learn to crawl earlier than human babies from their excitement to follow their parents around. They hate being in their cradle unless they are asleep and prefer to be in the same room with their parents while they work. They take well to other Orcs in their family, excited to meet new people. Orc society is cooperative, so they learn at a young age to depend on others and seek out company. In a well-guarded Orc village, little Orcs are allowed to roam around as they please as soon after they learn to walk because the village works together to keep them safe. Older siblings or cousins feel a responsibility to keep an eye on the little ones, and often, young Orcs will form little packs to run around the village collecting cookies from indulgent mothers and grandmothers. Little Orcs enjoy crafts, group games, and getting into mischief together. Orc parents encourage them to play independently, developing relationships that will become more and more important as they grow.

Bluesky -- Carrd -- Commissions -- Instagram -- Threads -- Subscribestar

#monster canon #headcanon #monster headcanon #admit speaks #sweet asks #orc #centaur #mermaid #merfolk #drider #orc headcanon #drider headcanon #merfolk headcanon

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thepaperpanda · 8 months

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Warnings: smut w/o plot, master kink, blindfold, leash, oral (m & f receiving), anal fingering, dirty talk, fem!reader

Synopsis: Sukuna takes immense pleasure in indulging in playful interactions with his beloved human plaything

Author: @doumadono A/N: Here is my latest contribution to our Kinktober '23 Collaboration. I sincerely hope that you derive great enjoyment from it. Today’s prompt: leash

Masterlist

From the shadows, a chill embraces your skin as a cold piece of leather gracefully encircles your neck. The whispered command reaches your ears, coaxing a mischievous smile to dance upon your lips, “Rule #1, human whore.”

Swiftly, you shed your shirt and pants, casting aside the last remnants of your modesty, baring your form to the world.

Rule #1 - when the collar graces your neck, your garments yield to the ground.

Kneeling obediently, wrists offered to the sides, you await the embrace of leather cuffs, ready to submit to their firm hold.

Sukuna's presence envelopes you as he slides the cuffs into place, and you offer gratitude, your voice hushed, "Thank you, Sukuna.”

Yet, without warning, searing pain surges across your right cheek. The command tears through the air, a stark reminder of your transgression. “Rule #2!” Sukuna yells.

“Rule #2 - Sukuna does not exist at the same time the collar does. When the collar is on, you will be referred to him as Master. Anything else is grounds for punishment,” you recite.

"You see, Y/N? You can be a good slave, you just need to want it," he utters, his satisfaction evident more in the comprehension of his dominion than in any delight derived from your presence. With deliberate care, he adorns your ankles in leather cuffs, issuing the decree for you to rise.

You comply, pivoting to face him, your first true glimpse of him since a long time. Clad in naught but snug boxers, he exposed his entirety to any observer's prying eyes. Almost instinctively, you found yourself tallying his chiseled abdominal muscles within the recesses of your mind.

He reaches behind him, and he retrieves a leash, fastening it securely to your leather collar. A rough tug guides you into his sanctum, where a peculiar sight, previously unnoticed, now beckons – a suspended chain descends from the ceiling.

"Hands aloft, my sweet human slut," Sukuna decrees.

You oblige without hesitation, your cuffs attaching to the suspended chain. This, you cherished the most – the segment he referred to as playtime, where you metamorphosed into a pliable puppet, surrendered wholly to his unrestrained whims.

Sukuna's lips descend upon your neck, igniting an exquisite symphony of sensations that ripples through your body. Each kiss is a tantalizing promise, and you can't suppress the instinctive squirm of excitement that coursed through you. His path of seduction continues, a slow, deliberate journey down your chest, where his lips pauses, lingering temptingly over your aroused nipples.

The world around you seems to fade into insignificance as Sukuna traces his way further south, his kisses setting your skin ablaze with longing. Finally, his destination is reached, and his lips meet your slick, aching core. With a deft touch, he kisses around it while firmly grasping the plush flesh of your ass, sending waves of pleasure through you. A languorous, teasing lick up your slit follows, culminating in an intoxicating kiss on your clitoris before he withdraws, leaving you craving more.

Sukuna's chuckle, a wicked melody, pierces the air as he circles around you, positioning himself near your ass. Without warning, his skilled fingers find their way into your tight asshole, eliciting a gasp of pure pleasure from your trembling lips. He works his calloused fingers in and out of you, watching you scream just for him.

Soon, Sukuna rises, and a blindfold descendes over your eyes, shrouding your senses in anticipation. "My master," you whisper. “You’re so good to me, master.”

The subtle sound of clips being undone from above reverberates in your ears, a signal for you to lower your arms. Eagerly, you comply, yearning to be bound, to surrender completely to Sukuna's mastery.

He clips your wrists together, and you instinctively place them before you, tantalizing thoughts of self-indulgence dancing through your mind.

But Sukuna, ever the master of your desires, anticipates your thoughts with an air of authority. "If you even try to play with that little cunt of yours," he warns, "expect punishment." His grip on your leash tightens, and he guides you, blinded by the fabric that concealed your vision, to what you can only surmise as his throne.

A sharp slap on your exposed ass commands you to kneel. Sukuna's dominance is an intoxicating elixir, and as you kneel before him, you can't help but long for the thrilling journey that lay ahead.

With an eager grin, your anticipation heightens as you know exactly what's about to unfold.

Sukuna's hand gently but firmly guides the back of your head, directing your lips towards his massive dick. His physique is undoubtedly impressive, but it's his imposing cock that stands out as his most remarkable physical attribute, in your opinion.

As your lips make contact with the warm, throbbing head of his member, an immediate surge of desire courses through you, and you moan. The salty taste of pre-cum teases your senses, and you embark on the tantalizing journey, taking his length into your mouth inch by inch. With each passing moment, you feel the throbbing presence, stopping at about halfway when it grazes the back of your throat. You've never quite managed to take the entirety of him before, but tonight feels different — it's a night of potential conquest.

Sukuna maintains a steady pressure on your head as you draw in a deep breath through your nose, preparing for the daring plunge that lies ahead. As his pulsating cock advances deeper, you begin to feel a sensation of lightheadedness creeping in. Lost in the intense moment, you lose track of how far you've come, your singular focus on taking even more of him inside.

Suddenly, the sensation of his skin brushing against the tip of your nose snaps you out of your passionate trance. Gasping for much-needed air, you peel your head away from his length, a triumphant grin playing upon your lips, drool dripping down on your tits - you've achieved what you set out to do!

You can feel the undeniable assurance that he relishes the upward pull of your leash, a silent affirmation of his desire. As you rise to your feet, you're swiftly guided onto his regal throne, your body effortlessly placed there. Your legs find themselves hoisted upward, draped over his robust, sinewy shoulders, and the sultry sound of his grunts fills your ears. Without any warning, he shoves his dick in your pussy, and you let out a shout. "Fuck, master, harder!" You somehow manage to get out in one quick breath before returning to moaning.

He grabs your leash and uses it as leverage as he pumps his massive shaft into you. Sukuna begins going faster and you are in complete ecstasy, barely able to stop squealing to breathe. His balls slap against your cunt, wet noises fill the room.

You feel him pull out of your cunny. With a tug of the leash, Sukuna forces you back on your knees. “Open your filthy mouth, bitch,” he orders. Hs dick is placed in your mouth. you barely give it a lick before his huge load shoots into your mouth, some of it dribbling out of the corners of your mouth. You swallow all you can, licking your lips after.

"Good slut," Skuna says, clearly satisfied. He slips one of his hands between your parted thighs to rub fast circles on your swollen clitoris. He then pulls the blindfold off of you and you grin up at him shyly. Sukuna's voice drips with approval as he can’t help but wear a sly, mischievous grin. "Impressive work, my obedient slave. You've truly outdone yourself. Well done fulfilling Rule #3.”

Rule #3 - ensure the master's desires are consistently satisfied.

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gabrielsbubblegumbitch · 3 months

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Hello! Just want to say I really adore all your stuff. I love your head canons and I loved your fic! It was a fun puzzle watching you perfectly align previous headcanons in a way that really caused problems for Vox! All the dynamics with the Vees were written so well!!! You said you enjoyed angst and you delivered!

On the subject of angst, do you feel like Vox would have any feelings regarding his TV head? Is it a point of insecurity or would he relish the difference? After all, a tv head can be quite useful and makes him more in tune with his medium.

Thank you for your stories! Have a good day/night!

Okay okay, first of all THANK YOU 💕 positive feedback always means the world to me.

Secondly: goddamn I feel like you know my way of thinking so well at this point because the first rough draft of Panaceum (written in 2022 btw) included this part:

Maybe Valentino is right, maybe it is safer that way. They should either fuck or fight. When they do, Vox doesn’t have time for stupid things like the wish to have a normal, human face just, to snuggle into Valentino’s fluffy collar and inhale his scent.

So yeah I though about it and I think he has mixed feelings. On the one hand, exactly what you said - he relishes being different, he is in tune with his medium but also he is very much afraid of his own humanity, so being freed of this uniquely human feature gets him closer to becoming an entity, a flawless concept rather than just another imperfect person.

On the other hand he's still just a human who craves intimacy and belonging. Faces are so crucial in social interactions, even infants can understand facial expressions. Deep down he feels alienated by the artificial nature of his "face". And additionally it's just terribly inconvenient and he misses being seen as handsome. I think at first he hated it but grew to enjoy it because he had no other choice.

#hazbin hotel #vox #valentino #voxval #ask #vox hazbin #staticmoth #characte analysis #headcanon

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bleedingichorhearts · 3 months

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Can I have Solor getting pissy cause someone called the reader, "sweetheart"? Even if they didn't mean it like that? Like excuse them, you belong to him. What does he gotta do? Fuck you in public? (Not really, but he'd probably think about it)

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: Oh, he definitely will. This is also set in the new plot that I’m working on.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets.

𝕬𝖈𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖉𝖌𝖊: Be 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 for/of yourself. Even it’s just a tiny cut. I also don’t ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ these 𝙰𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜.

TW // SMUT/NSFW-ish? Language.

“Thank you, Sweetheart—”

Solor has never been so quick to turn his head at such a word in his life. His heart’s thumping up against his chest at the very sudden human, sweet nickname.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” The younger male apologized to his lady. His filthy hands reaching out to touch her shoulder in a hesitant manner. Hands he wanted to cut off while his own hands tightened and loosened around the hilt of his weapon.

“Oh, you're fine!” His little lady reassured the pitiful male. Placing her own hand on his shoulder and luring the male closer to her side. One of his arms wrapping around her as his other brought up a phone. Taking some “picture” with them.

Those simple actions nearly had him shooting forward, but he knows this was part of her position that requires her to interact with her… followers and usually it is nothing, but excitement to them. Their small, petite hearts beating quickly in their chests when they see her. That he would just love to rip it out of their chests as some would beat just a little bit quicker than others. Smell a bit different too.

Even when he was just beyond some tree line, wall or on top of the roof to secure her safety and his secrecy. His senses do not fail him when one would find a bit more… intimate interest in his little lady.

They would smell a lot more than they think. Whether it would be a lot more of that “perfume” sprayed onto them or their organic musk. He could smell straight through them. Smell their want for his little lady. He can even sense his little lady worry when their touch lingers just a bit longer than supposed to. What kind of consort would he be if he didn’t?

This person. This human, however, was just a regular, pathetic one. They were already coupled to another, but he can’t help but feel like he needed to be more profound with his little maiden. Be more visual.

Oh, how he could walk right out there and scare them off as he would pin his little maiden below him on the table in front of her. Her eyes looking up at him so confused with his actions. Questioning him and then widen in surprise when he would rip her pants off with ease. His own eyes monitoring the ones who stayed, too shocked to see him out of all of the Astartes possible.

That's fine with him. They can watch how she was his. All his.

Watch how she would moan out his name when he thrusted up in a particular spot inside of her that he knows all too well. Watch how he made her claw out to him, dragging her nails across his armor, creating small chips in his paint. Watch as her walls grip at him and pull him deeper, craving more of him when she would helplessly wither beneath him. Watch as he would stain her walls with his seed just to show them who she really belongs to. Show them that she only belongs to him. Especially to those bright blue bastards.

That’s what he fancied to do anyway. He knows he can’t; he shouldn’t. It would be against his order. It would also break his little lady's reputation, and that was something he was not willing to break, and he treated it like a vow, but it didn't mean he wouldn't do it afterward. To remind her who his little maiden belonged to.

So, when she was finished up with greeting her followers. He waited for her at her car that was away from everyone else, away from the “paparazzi.” His c*ck twitching underneath his armor. Eager to stuff his little maiden so full of him.

He groaned lowly. The pain of his restricted c*ck making him shift in his place. His gauntlet hovering over his cod-piece in quick preparation to take it off. He didn’t know whether to be pissed about how his little maiden was not underneath him and talking to other males or how high his sex drive gotten, but he was certainly getting more irritated by it.

Throne, if she wasn’t here, by his side in a minute. He would shove her so far down his length. A punishment for being too late.

“Solor? You… okay?” His little maiden voice called out to him and he didn’t hesitate to snatch her by the waist with one of his gauntlets and use the other to take off his cod-piece.

Placing his little maiden on the hood of the car. He slowly dragged his gauntlets down the sides of her body, making her shiver before he took her by the thighs and pulled her towards him. A satisfied rumble leaving him as she squeaked out. Her heart beating quickly in her chest as his pulsing c*ck laid between her legs. A warning really, if she tried moving away from him.

A hum left him, watching, calculating as she swallowed before he leaned down to press a mock helmet-kiss to her open throat. The whirling scent of the male getting on his nerves. Perhaps not.

Turning his helmet to the side, near his little maidens ear. He purred through his vox. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

A choked gasp greeted his ears as he purred.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #fanfiction #yandere space marine #x reader #reader insert #oc: solor #gray knight #oneshot #adeptus astartes #astartes x reader #space marine #space marine x reader #ask

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shall-we-die · 10 months

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Hello! I love your moriarty the patriot jealousy headcanon! Can you make more headcanon about them? If I can give some request, can you please make headcanon about how moriarty characters show love to their crush or s/o or you can make other headcanon about them too because I would like whatever you write about them❤️

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{Love Language}

☰[Main list]•⊰ Moriarty the Patriot

↬[A/N]•⊰ I'm glad to receive the first request from you, dear anonymous ❤

I try to post everything as fast as I can, but unfortunately my busy life prevents me from posting every day, so I apologize for the long delay in writing your request 🙏🏻

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[William Moriarty]

• William's love language is physical touch. The physical closeness to another person is what means to most to him, since he often feels isolated due to his profession, as well as his tendency to keep to himself. When someone is willing to give him even the briefest hug or the tiniest bit of physical contact, he's immediately overwhelmed with happy thoughts and feelings, as it's something he wants, yet often lacks.

• Physical touch can also make William feel comfortable in situations that are otherwise uncomfortable or stressful for him. When he feels upset or overwhelmed, it's common for him to find comfort in the arms of a loved one, even if he doesn't show it. While this can cause confusion or hurt feelings from others, they should be aware that showing their affection for him physically is the best way to reach him.

• William is a person who often has troutble expressing his emotions verbally, as he much prefers to do so in other ways. He craves verbal recognition and he thrives on words of affirmation and validation from those close to him. But he really needs physical affection to feel reassured and wanted, so he is always happy to be hugged and touched by the one he loves.

• Aside from physical touch, William also adores quality time with the people he cares about. William is a person who values quality over quantity when it comes to friendships and relationships, and he expresses this by spending lots of time with the special people in his life.

• Although he might prefer to spend his alone time doing solitary activities, that doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate spending time with others. He might not be social, but just like any human, he needs to have interactions with others. Even if some of those interactions do make him a bit more anxious than he would like to admit.

[Albert Moriarty]

• Albert's love language is also physical touch. He's a very affectionate and cuddly person, and appreciates physical contact with the people he cares about. Hugs, kisses, caresses... heloves it all. Even a simple touch on the hand, the arm, etc. is enough to make him smile.

• Albert isn't afraid to show affection to the people he loves, whether that means a quick hug, a hand on their shoulder, or a playful nudge. Albert loves hugs. He loves to give them and he loves to receive them, feeling safe and comforted when he feels his arms wrapped around someone he loves or when their arms are wrapped around him.

• He may not always be forthcoming about his feelings for you or express his love in words, but you can rest assured he has a soft spot for you if he regularly touches you. It makes him feel safe and gives him comfort and confidence. Albert is an experienced lover, he knows how to woo a lady, and when he's in a more, well, intimate position with a partner, he isn't one to skimp on the compliments.

• He is a man who loves to show off his wit and intelligence, to make their partners feel special and important. So, it stands to reason that words of affirmation and intellectual stimulation are a huge turn on for him. Hearing kind words from him is quite the privilege, so if he ever says something sweet and tender to you, hang on tight and don't let go.

[Louis Moriarty]

• His primary love language is Quality Time. He values and enjoys spending time with the people he cares about, like his older brother and closest allies (specially you). He loves and cherishes moments spent with the people he cares about. He also displays and expresses affection through doing gestures and actions. For Louis, quality time is the essential component to a happy life.

• Acts of Service is another love language of Louis. He's willing to do favors and tasks for the people he loves. Louis is quick to assist when needed, even if doing so inconveniences him. When doing tasks, he will put his own feelings aside and focus on the comfort and wellbeing of others. He will even push himself beyond his own limits if it means helping people he cares about.

• Louis also displays acts of service as a way of expressing affection. Although Louis may not be the most outgoing or extroverted individual, he shows love and affection by helping others. He feels satisfaction and happiness when completing tasks for others, as he values helping others and considers it important to a wholesome life.

• Louis will be appreciative and thankful when his lover or loved ones display acts of service towards him. He will feel loved and respected, knowing that they appreciate and consider him as important enough to help and do favors for. However, he might feel a little bit embarrassed or shy to have his affection and kindness reciprocated.

• Although Louis Moriarty may not be the greatest in words of affirmation, he does appreciate and value them from his loved ones. He's not someone who displays his emotions outwardly but he does feel happy and appreciated when receiving words of affirmation from his loved ones. These words and verbal affirmations are important to Louis as he values honesty and sincerity.

[Sebastian Moran]

• Sebastian's love language is "quality time". He prefers spending quality time with his loved ones, rather than receiving or giving gifts or words of affirmation.

• Sebastian values the time, attention, and affection of the people he cares about through spending quality time together. He appreciates when his loved ones give him their undivided attention; be it on a date, having a conversation, or simply spending time together. Additionally, he also shows his love by giving others the attention they crave and deserve.

• Sebastian also appreciates words of affirmation, as he values being appreciated. He values both external and internal validation and acknowledgement. Additionally, he also enjoys physical touch, as physical affection shows his love for and proximity with someone.

• Sebastian appreciates people showing their love by performing acts of service for him. While he doesn't necessarily require these actions to feel loved, there is a sense of pride and appreciation that Sebastian derives from it. He can be rather self-reliant; however, when people take the initiative to perform acts of service, it lets him know just how much others value his presence.

• Sebastian would also perform acts of service for his loved one. He is capable of cooking, cleaning, and performing other tasks to show his affection. While he may not be the most domestic individual, Sebastian will happily assist his loved one if they wish to take a break or require assistance. He will also help others if required; however, he values when others extend the same courtesies towards him.

[Sherlock Holmes]

• Sherlock's love language is intellectual stimulation. Not the easiest to understand, but Sherlock finds nothing more attractive than an engaging mind, whether that's engaging in intelligent conversation, playing chess, or even just a friendly debate. Having someone who can keep him on his toes and challenge him mentally has always been important to Sherlock.

• When it comes to love and affection, Sherlock is a tricky one indeed. He doesn't show his love much at all, but when he does, it is in the form of acts of service and quality time. He will go out of his way to make sure those he cares about are taken care of. And on the rare occasion that he does express his love, it is through physical touch.

• Sherlock would say his love language is "Acts of Service." Though he likes gifts and physical touch, it's the act of someone doing something nice for him that really speaks to him. When people go out of their way to help him, or make something easier for him, he feels truly loved.

• Sherlock is not one to express his thoughts and feelings often or easily. When it comes to love, the man is even more closed off than usual. But there are those rare moments where he decides to let his guard down, and when he does, it is through acts of service and quality time spent together. In his eyes that's the only way that is truly worthy of the love he feels. As cold and distant as he may seem, his love runs deep.

• Sherlock is very hard to read, as stated many times above, and he doesn't go around openly expressing his feelings. But he will go out of his way to make sure those he cares about are taken care of, even at his own expense. This can include providing resources and emotional support, or helping with errands and tasks.

[John Watson]

• John's love language is verbal affirmations. He is always looking for reassurance or a kind word, and he loves to hear compliments and sweet nothings from the one he loves. He also loves words of encouragement, and he appreciates when his partner tells him how much they trust and believe in him.

• John is someone who thrives on positive affirmations. He enjoys feeling loved and appreciated by the people around him, and he is always looking for approval and acceptance. In relationships, it is very important to him that his partner expresses their love and appreciation for him through words of affirmation.

• He values verbal reassurance and likes to hear compliments and sweet nothings from his partner. However, he doesn't just rely on words alone to show his affection - he also appreciates acts of service, quality time and physical touch as ways to express his love and care.

• John is someone who enjoys physical affection. He appreciates the comfort and connection that comes with physical touch, and he feels deeply loved when he is embraced by the one he loves. He likes to hold their hand, give them spontaneous hugs and kisses, and show them how much they mean to him through small gestures of physical affection.

• However, he is also someone who values his personal space and he doesn't always appreciate being surprised with unwanted physical touch.

#𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚊'𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚋𝚘𝚡–[📮]#𝚂𝚞𝚋𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜–[📩]#moriarty the patriot x reader #moriarty the patriot headcanons #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #william moriarty x reader #albert moriarty x reader #louis moriarty x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #john watson x reader #sebastian moran x reader

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