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goldengalore · 19 days

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Ready

An anxious!reader fic.

Summary: Harry wants kids. Y/N isn’t sure what she wants. Feeling pressured to make up her mind, she agrees to something she’s not ready for.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: angst, smut

A/N: Hello! It’s been a while. This fic is based on this ask I received forever ago. Enjoy :)

***

Y/N has always been on the fence about having kids.

As a young teenager, she assumed she would have them when she grew up, fell in love, and got married. Social norms, along with her own childish naivete, made her believe that this was the only path one could take in life. Having children was the next logical step to marriage, which was the next logical step to falling in love.

And then she matured and realized that life is not nearly as cut-and-dry, that having kids is a choice, not a necessity, and that she can absolutely go her whole life without having any if that’s what she wants. This realization came as a relief but also felt somewhat unnerving because how is she supposed to know what she wants? She is quite possibly the most indecisive person on the planet, so it’s no surprise that she has bounced back and forth between wanting and not wanting children throughout her entire adult life.

On one hand, she thinks of her friends who have kids and how their lives have become utterly consumed by the little humans that require their constant care and attention. There is just so much that Y/N wants to experience and achieve before settling into a life like that.

Not to mention the horrors of pregnancy. It’s not exactly a walk in the park, having to carry a human life inside of you for nine months and then give birth to it. The health complications, the irreversible bodily changes, the sheer, agonizing pain of childbirth.

And yet, on some days, she fantasizes about becoming a mother, of holding a tiny life in her arms and nurturing it into a full-grown adult. An important character in these fantasies has always been the sweet, thoughtful, loving partner by her side who takes equal responsibility for their child. This person was always a faceless individual—an idealistic depiction of the kind of partner Y/N hoped to find someday.

And then Harry came along.

Sweet, thoughtful, loving Harry who, unlike her, was always sure of his desire to have kids. For him, it was never a question of whether he wanted them but a question of when.

That moment finally arrived for him a year ago. But Y/N wasn’t sure if she felt ready yet.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked her one day. “I don’t mean that in a judgemental way. Bringing a child into this world is scary for anyone, including myself. I’m just curious to know what your specific concerns are.”

“Well, there’s the usual stuff, like whether or not I’ll be a good mother—”

“You’ll be a phenomenal mother.”

She smiled at him, then continued, “Or whether my kids will be able to have a good future with so much chaos in the world...” She trailed off hesitantly.

“But there’s something else,” he said, gently urging her to share what was really holding her back.

“I… I’ve always been terrified of the idea of having to raise a child alone, either because something bad happens to the father or he leaves out of the blue or we break up and I’m left to take care of this child by myself. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I… I’ve never been able to shake this fear.”

“Doesn’t sound ridiculous to me. I was raised by a single mother, so I know it’s not an easy job.” He reached for her hand and kissed her knuckle, never breaking eye contact. “But I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. You know that, right? We’re in this together. We’re a team, always.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“Well, I’m alright with waiting until you feel ready. I want us both to feel ready before we jump into this.”

In the six months following that conversation, the topic would crop up several more times, like after Harry saw her interacting with his godchildren at a party or they walked past a cute baby in a stroller at the grocery store. Y/N didn’t mind discussing the topic. It gave her a chance to ponder and become more comfortable with the concept of motherhood.

Yesterday, Harry returned home from a month-long movie shoot in Sweden. Y/N surprised him by showing up at the airport. What he doesn’t know is that she has another surprise in store for him.

While he was in Sweden, she decided to go off her birth control and now wants to try for kids.

She plans on telling him later tonight once they get home from their friend’s birthday party. They’ve been all over each other tonight. That’s what being apart for a month does to them. Hell, even a week apart is enough to turn them into a couple of horny teenagers that can’t keep their hands off each other.

“You look so hot in that dress,” Harry whispers in her ear, half-joking because they both know this is his fifth time saying that tonight.

Emboldened by a couple glasses of wine, a tipsy Y/N whispers back, “I want you to put a baby in me.”

His eyes widen. He chuckles. “That wine bringing out your wild side?”

“I’m serious,” she states, glancing around to double check that no one is within earshot of their conversation. “I went off my birth control a month ago, after you left for Sweden.”

He stares at her blankly, like her words haven’t quite sunk in.

“H, I’m ready to do this.”

“Really?”

She smiles. “Yes.”

“We’re doing this,” he says as it finally sinks in. He kisses her wine-stained lips. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

“Yes, please.”

Y/N can hardly keep her composure on the way home. Harry appears to be in the same boat, as he keeps sneaking glances at her while driving, his hand caressing her thigh. While he’s always been a responsible driver, she can sense the impatience in his maneuvers tonight.

Once they’re home, it’s almost a race to the bedroom. Harry gently pushes her onto the bed and climbs on top of her.

��Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to watch you walk around in this dress tonight”—he runs a hand down her front—“and not be able to bend you over and just slip my cock into you?”

She moans as he cups her pussy through her dress with a firm hand. He lets her grind against it for a minute before pulling away to take off his clothes. She follows suit.

Soon, they’re back on the bed, sharing another series of ardent kisses. By the time he goes down on her, she’s already dripping wet and he licks it up as if he hasn’t had a drop of water in days. Her hips grind against his tongue like they did against his hand just a moment ago. It doesn’t take her long to orgasm.

He shifts up the bed to hover over her body. He kisses her again while lining up his cock with her entrance. As he slides into her, she feels a slight discomfort from being stretched open for the first time in a month. He pulls out and pushes in a little deeper each time to let her adjust until he fills her up completely and she’s too immersed in pleasure to have a single coherent thought anymore.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he says, starting to pump in and out. “Gonna come inside you, yeah? Gonna come deep inside your tight little cunt and fill you up, put a baby in you. Is that what you want?”

Those words flip a switch in Y/N’s mind. She makes an involuntary noise that makes it seem like she’s agreeing with him, so he picks up his pace. Just as he finishes inside her, the terrible realization dawns: She is not ready to have a baby. Not at all.

“I love you,” Harry whispers in her ear, his body resting flush against hers as he comes down from his high.

Tears spring to Y/N’s eyes as she realizes what she’s done, what they’ve just done. When she doesn’t reciprocate his statement, he lifts his head to look at her. A tear escapes her left eye at that exact moment.

Concern furrows his brow. “Lovie? Hey, what’s wrong?”

She just shakes her head while staring at the ceiling.

“Y/N.” He caresses her cheek, urging her to look at him. “What’s the matter? Are you hurt? Did I go too—”

“We shouldn’t have done this. It was a mistake,” she says in a trembling voice.

“What are you talking about?”

She tries to sit up. Harry moves out of her way.

“I’m not ready, H. I’m not ready to have a baby.”

His face falls. “I— But— Then why did you say you were ready?”

“I don’t know… To make you happy?” She covers her face and hears him sigh heavily.

“Y/N, you can’t— You can’t lie about things like that just to make me happy. It’s not like we were deciding what to have for dinner. We’re talking about having a baby, for Christ’s sake.”

“I know that. Of course I know that. But I just— I see the disappointment in your face every time we talk about this, every time I tell you I’m not ready. You seem so sad, Harry. I hate it.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not able to hide my emotions as well as I thought I could. That still doesn’t mean you should lie to please me. I thought we were past foolish antics like this.”

She squints at him. “Foolish antics?”

He sighs again. “I didn’t mean it like—”

She turns away from him and gets off the bed.

“Y/N.”

She shuts herself in the bathroom. For a brief moment, a part of her resents him. Resents him for being ready to have kids before she was. For bringing it up so often. For making her feel as though she needed to lie about being ready just to make him happy.

But now, as she stares at her teary-eyed reflection in the mirror, she knows she has to take responsibility. She is the one who led him to believe that she was ready when deep down, she knew she wasn’t. He never once pressured her to make up her mind or acted like he loved her any less for not wanting kids yet. He never made her feel any type of way about it. He has done nothing but be the supportive, understanding partner he’s always been. It was her who doubted that. She let her own paranoia get to her.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

A few moments later, he knocks again.

“Please, lovie? I’m getting worried.”

Finally, she opens the door. He takes in her red, puffy eyes and tentatively places his arms around her, only pulling her in when she steps into his embrace.

They stand there silently until he says, “Why don’t we head over to the pharmacy and get you a morning after pill?”

She agrees, so they get dressed and head out. The ride to the pharmacy is a quiet one. Every time she glances at Harry, his eyes are focused on the road, both hands gripping the steering wheel, and he appears deep in thought. It’s the complete opposite of their ride home from the party, when he could hardly keep his hands or his eyes off her. She tries to think of ways to break the silence, but nothing feels appropriate. The last time she felt so awkward and unsure about what to say around Harry was when they first started going out and she was terrified of saying the wrong thing.

When they get back from the pharmacy, she swallows down the pill with some water and they head back to bed.

***

Y/N: Hey H, you on your way home? Hope you’re hungry, I made your favourite for dinner 😊

H: I have a business dinner tonight. Mentioned it this morning

Y/N: Oh! Sorry I forgot about that. I’ll save some in the fridge for you for tomorrow

H: Sure, thanks

Y/N stares at the message. She can’t tell if she’s reading into things or if Harry’s replies really are as dry and aloof as they sound. Her propensity to overanalyze everything makes it difficult to know. Ever since the incident in the bedroom a few days ago, it feels as though Harry has been avoiding her. Spending long days at the studio, coming home late at night when he knows she’ll be asleep, giving short replies, taking longer to text back. They haven’t had sex again since then either.

After scrutinizing their text conversation for twenty minutes, she comes to her senses and realizes that she can’t keep going on like this. It’s driving her crazy. What she needs to do is talk to him. But he’ll most likely be tired when he gets home.

At first, she thinks she’ll sit him down tomorrow morning and talk it out. But when he walks through the front door just after eleven o’clock that night, she can’t help herself.

She stands in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a cup of tea, when he enters. The dark circles under his eyes are noticeable. He has been willing to sacrifice his sleep just to avoid being around her any longer than he has to. Her chest constricts.

“Hey,” he says, placing his phone and keys on the counter. “You’re still up.”

“Can’t sleep.” She stares down into her half-empty mug, the remainder of the tea quickly growing cold.

“How come?”

“I can’t stop thinking.”

“About…?”

She swallows the lump in her throat and looks up at him. “About whether or not you’re upset with me and how I can fix it.”

He frowns. “Why would I be upset with you?”

“Because of what happened a few nights ago.”

His frown dissolves into something different—sympathy? Guilt?

“Y/N, I’m not upset with you about that.”

“Are you sure? Because it seems like it. You’re gone before I’m even awake and you come home when I’m going to bed. We’ve barely talked or kissed or cuddled in the past few days. I know you haven’t been that busy since you got back from Sweden, so… I don’t really see any other explanation.”

He stares at her wordlessly for a long time before speaking. “You’re right. I have been avoiding you. But it’s not because I’m upset with you. It’s because I’m upset with myself. I feel like I pressured you into doing something you obviously weren’t comfortable with. I never saw myself as someone who pressures people into doing things they don’t want to do. So, I suppose I’ve been feeling some shame and guilt about it… and then avoiding you because it’s hard to face these feelings.”

Y/N sets her tea on the counter. She never could’ve guessed that Harry felt this way. She was so convinced that he was mad at her, it didn’t even occur to her that he might just be feeling guilty about it all. After how long she has known him, it should have been obvious that the latter is more consistent with his character, but her anxious brain wouldn’t even let her consider that possibility. She walks over and wraps her arms around him.

“H, I had no idea you felt that way.”

He squeezes her tightly, resting his chin on her head. She turns her head to the side so that her cheek is against his chest.

“To be honest, there were times I felt pressured when the topic of kids came up,” she says. “But a lot of that pressure was created by my own fears and insecurities. I just hated disappointing you over and over. I was scared your feelings about me, about us, would change if I kept saying I wasn’t ready.”

“This hasn’t changed how I feel about you or us. Y/N, I want you more than I want kids. Way more. If you decided one day that you don’t want them at all, that still wouldn’t change how I feel about you.”

She pulls back to look at him. “Are you sure? That’s a dealbreaker for a lot of people.”

“Well, not for me. Not when it comes to you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Suddenly, he lifts her up onto the counter and stands between her legs.

“So. What did you get up to today?” he asks, planting a kiss to her collarbone.

She rests her hands on his chest. “Hmm, what did I get up to? I hardly remember anything other than obsessing over this whole situation.” She laughs.

“Aw, lovie, I’m sorry I had you all stressed out.”

“It’s okay.”

“Maybe I can make it up to you. Help you relieve all that stress.” He peppers kisses along the side of her neck and jaw.

She sighs softly and closes her eyes. “I would like that.”

***

Thank you for reading! For more anxious!reader and other fics, check out my MASTERLIST

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles x y/n #harry styles oneshot #anxious!reader #my writing

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 3 months

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Yandere Manager

Managers can teeter on the edge of being the most helpful and supportive authorities in your life or the worst. More often leaning toward the latter, it isn’t bizarre to feel helpless when they put a strain on your paycheck or your general health during and outside the work day. It’s infuriating and downright despairful when they use the power of management to make you miserable. But you can always file a report to HR or the branch head. Sometimes it’ll work but not always. More likely than not there’s more support for them further down the line which makes it even harder to contest.

“(Y/n) didn’t I tell you to smile when you’re at the front? S-M-I-L-E!”

But there’s something just as alarming about the manager who doesn’t have that. No favor from directors, open to the reprimands of human resources, and even a criminal record to boot. There’s something that compels you to listen when you look for an ounce of sympathy in those amber eyes to find a tempest of unhinged madness. You can only begin to visualize in a fever-driven nightmare.

That’s your manager.

The lovely, awful, and disastrous manager that fills you with helplessness like no other.

Yandere Manager is just so naggy. Not only to you but your coworkers as well because there’s always something to comment on. Even when it’s not insulting or condescending it just rubs everyone the wrong way.

“The way the uniform looks on you makes it look like we dragged you off the street.”

“....”

“....You’re the one who gave her a uniform that isn’t her size.”

“Yeah, but she’s the one who looks homeless. (Y/n) how about you mind your business and actually do your job. Thanks!”

Yandere Manager is especially unpredictable in his support of you. Sometimes joining unruly customers when they blame you for something you messed up on. While also defending you over something small that didn’t require anyone’s input let alone his. Situations with entitled customers is a coin toss with him.

“Miss I’ll just remake the drink for you.”

“No no, you don’t have to I just want to know what was used instead of oat milk.”

“Oh okay then it's…Mr. Manager?”

“....YOU!?”

“Me?”

“Oh no.”

“NEVER WALK INTO MY ESTABLISHMENT AGAIN!”

“What why? I didn’t–”

“IF YOU REFUSE TO LEAVE I’LL HAVE TO REMOVE YOU BY FORCE.”

“Ahhh!”

“Wait! You don’t need the crossbow! Put it down!”

“DON’T EVER SPEAK TO MY EMPLOYEE EVER AGAIN!”

You can hardly pinpoint a pattern to his discord even after his honest confession when you catch him rifling through your things. But he won’t explain why he steals your lunch or makes fun of you in front of your coworkers. Or why he slashes your tires and breaks the windows of your home. It gets so bad you’re starting to think he uses this supposed obsession as an excuse for his behavior.

“Will you please explain why you broke into my car…for the fourth time?”

“Hmmm no.”

“...fine don’t. Now get out.”

“No I don’t think I will.”

“I have pepper spray and a tasor.”

“I can handle pepper spray.”

~Kzzt~

“Okay fine, you win this time.”

But despite your suspicions, he’s very much obsessed. Convinced he’s owed your affections he doesn’t mind breaking into your home, invading your personal space, and making light fun-as lovers do. No, his more sporadic actions happen to be something like knee-jerk reactions of his love for you. Similar to cuteness aggression. Because in his mind he’d prefer to break another window of yours than murder the family next door for looking at you too long.

“This will have to do for now. I mean they can’t pin me for their carelessness when driving into a ditch, right?”

Usually, he doesn’t mind just doing whatever he feels like but since you’ve caught and called the police on him he’s on a tight leash. Not because he’s at all afraid of the police. Not at all. It’s because then he’ll be breaking the hold he has on you. Let me explain.

The minute he did the slightest thing out of line you called the higher-ups who threatened him and assured you he’d be fired. Great. But when he cornered you in your own home with the possibility that this wouldn’t stop when he was fired you had to pause.

“Sure you might get rid of me at work but then you’ll never know where I am. Instead of staying at work with you, I might just be in your room or at your friend’s house, or in your car!”

“T-t-then I’ll call the police on you!”

“After I’ve already left? Well sure they can serve an order and arrest me if I’m too close but when I break out–and trust me I will–you’ll have no idea when or where I’ll be coming from. I’ll be a constant boogeyman over your life if you kick me out now.”

“.....”

“So don’t get me fired, kay?”

Yandere Manager who is only given a warning by his employers and police before you stop attempting to get others involved. As much as you hate to admit it, he’s completely right. For all the times you find him breaking in, already broken in, or stealing something of yours he’s never lied to you. The same can’t be said for others but even when he’s doing something wrong he’ll always be honest with you.

“Mister Manager? Did you do something to my lunch?”

“No! How dare you accuse me of such a deplorable thing! I should write you up.”

“....(Y/n)?”

“Clyde.”

“What?”

“Did you mess with his food?”

“Yes.”

“Dude are you serious?!”

Life with Yandere Manager isn’t going to be easy at first but when has it ever been for an employee like yourself? It’s best that you get used to your Manager’s obsession, heck it might help make your grueling shift a little bit better.

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere oc x reader #yandere original characters #yandere manager #yandere original character #yandere oc x you #yandere ocs #yandere ocs x reader #yandere manager x reader

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shotmrmiller · 4 months

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Needs must

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

WC: 2.1K

TW: prostitution, explicit fingering, and smut-ish.

ive got 4 other ideas for this goddamn escort au and one of em is MY BOY JOHNNY. oof i cant wait. im mad it took me this long to do this. I wrote this listening to rich sex by nicki minaj.

You had needs. No matter how magical, a toy can only do so much for you. You wanted the praise of another human being—the warm touch of their hands around your waist, your neck. God, you needed to get laid. But after the disaster that was your last relationship, how nasty it ended, you couldn’t even ring your ex-girlfriend up for a booty call.

Sucking your teeth, you look at your phone. Noon. Well, maybe one of your friends you’re about to meet up with for a weekly Saturday brunch knew someone who would be interested in a no-strings-attached situationship.

—

Flipping the card in your hands, you chewed on your bottom lip in deliberation and looked down at the business card— the color of bone with raised black lettering. Ghost, it read, with his number on the back. How you ended up with this in your hand made you almost regret having reprobates for friends. An escort. That’s what they had shamelessly suggested. You had almost choked on your eggs benedict when one of them pulled out a contact card from their wallet and placed it by your mimosa. I mean, really. Preparing to argue about their lack of sense, they brought up a great point. It was either this, someone who was there for what you needed whenever you needed it, or your toys which were in a pathetic state from constant use. Your ex called it quits because you simply couldn't find the time to maintain a proper relationship— your demanding job took up most of it. You couldn’t believe you were about to do this.

Ghost. What a name. But you suppose it didn’t matter what his name was, only that he could do his job, and with the way your friend gushed over him— he’d leave you walking side to side. You needed this. You worked too hard for too many hours to not spend your money on some self-care.

Fuck it. Maybe he will be just a one-time thing, you thought, and sent his number a text.

—

Closing the door of your car, you briskly walk towards the small cafe Ghost had sent the address to; A cute little quaint coffee shop. Coming to a stop, you straighten your office skirt and run a hand through your hair before opening the door. Breathing in the coffee aroma, you look around for who you’re looking for, spotting him sitting in the back. The click of your heels echoes inside the cafe, catching the attention of your awaiting companion. He looks up and rises to stand, and it takes you aback. It was like witnessing a grizzly standing on its hind legs. Jesus.

He was tall, so tall, and broad. Wearing a black beanie and covering the lower half of his face with a mask, he extends his arm out to shake your hand, and you internally scream at how shapely his arm alone looks over his long-sleeved shirt.

“I’m Ghost. It’s a pleasure, love.”

Choking back a moan at his accent, you put your hand in his and say, “No, I’m sure it’ll be all mine.” You can see his dark eyes crinkle at your quip.

“If we get through this smoothly, the next time we meet I’ll make sure of it.”

As you let out a playful laugh, Ghost reaches for the back of your chair, pulling it out with a chivalrous gesture. “And a gentleman? You definitely know how to sell yourself.”

“No, love. This is just a common courtesy. I don’t need t’tell you that I’m good,” and in one smooth motion, he extracts a sleek, forest green matte folder from the leather business bag lying at his feet.

“I need this filled out, just the usual— hard and soft limits. Safewords, nicknames, allergies, and so on.” You pick up the folder and open it, skimming over the contents of the front page.

“This really is your job.” You flick your eyes from the folder to him and he’s already looking at you, watchful and steady.

“O’ course it is. I take my clients, and future clients, seriously. I enjoy wha’ I do but it will never be at the cost of another. I will not make you uncomfortable in any way, nor risk your health. I aim to please you, not the other way around. And I cannot do tha’ if I don’t know tha’ you’re allergic to latex or completely against something I might do.”

He gives a slight cough, and you divert your attention from the paper and meet his gaze. “What’s a pretty thing like you seeking out someone who offers these types of services?” and a lighthearted chuckle escapes you.

“The same reason the one who gave me your card did— just looking for a good time, no commitment.”

He raises his eyebrows at that but makes no further comment. Smart man. Glancing at your wrist, you check the time. “Right,” and lean forward to get up when Ghost shoots up from his chair to pull out yours. “I’ll have your folder ready for you by the weekend,” and turn your head to face him.

“Is that when you’ll want this, then?” and you give a casual shrug.

“If you happen to be available.” He reaches out and gently grabs your hand to pull you in for a tight embrace. Softly, he whispers in your ear, “I’ll be seeing you then, love.”

You leave with a silly little grin on your face.

—

The weekend comes and you’re a puddle of nerves. You can’t remember the last time someone made you this anxious. The knock on your door startles you out of your inner ramblings. It’s time. Taking in a deep, calming breath, you open it.

Ghost calmly walks in, and starts taking off his mask, and then leather jacket.

“I’ve one absolute limit I forgot to mention,” he says in a firm tone. “I do not kiss. It is not a negotiation.”

Well, you couldn’t give a damn if he didn’t. Nonchalantly, you shrug and say, “And mine is that we always use a condom.” With a nod and a chuckle, he eagerly grabs the folder from your table and starts flipping through its pages.

“A’right, love. Go get on the bed f’me.” The smirk he gives you is positively wicked. “I saw tha’ you have like to be told wha’ to do.” He jerks his chin towards your room. “And take everything off.” With nervous excitement, you run off, haphazardly tossing your clothes on the floor.

—

Eyes covered with a blindfold, all you hear is your shaky breathing and his footsteps on your plush rug. Your nerves feel exposed, raw. As you lie on the bed, you suddenly feel a firm grip on the flesh of your thighs, causing your skin to break out in goosebumps. The room's cool air contrasts with the warm heat radiating from his touch, pulling a hiss from your lips as he pulls you toward the edge of the bed.

“Atta girl, love. Open your legs f’me, lemme see that pretty pussy.” The lack of eyesight helps you to focus on his touch alone, making you fearless, and your legs drop open without hesitation as you lie on your back.

“Look at tha’. Aren’t you just a dream? Hm?” he puts his hands on your knees, keeping your thighs open, wet cunt exposed. “And you waxed, too. Hope tha’ wasn’t f’me.” You feel a fingertip slide from your hood, down to your clit and hole, spreading your juices around the labia and back up. Your nerves are on fire, your pussy clenching around nothing, forcing juices to drip down to your arsehole.

“A’right, pretty. Touch yourself. Shove your tiny little fingers into your,” he pauses to suck the skin of your inner thigh, “cunt and show me how to make you feel good.” He then moves his mouth closer to where you need it most, and bites. Are you defying me? Did you suddenly become deaf as well, once I blindfolded you?” and you aggressively shake your head.

“No! No, sir. I hear you, loud and clear.” With a tight squeeze to your thighs, he says, “Then do as I say.” Moaning, you slowly bring your hand down, starting from your chest. Your palms rub against your pebbled nipples, down to your soft stomach, until your fingertips meet your swollen nub, then move in soft, tight circles, mewling at the feeling. The groan that reaches your ears is so lewd, you could come from that alone.

“Tha’s it, baby. You’re doing so well. Look at how wet you are, fuck, show me just how you like it.” And you do. A vulgar noise comes from your hole once you stuff yourself with one finger, slowly stretching, before adding another. It’s something, but not enough, not what you want. Not thick enough, long enough, and that thought makes you whimper in disappointment.

“Aw, are your fingers not satisfying? I’ll help you, sweet, only because you look so delicious spread out f’me like this. So vulnerable, bare.” His breath fans over your cunt, over your clit, and it sends a jolt up your spine— but he doesn’t move, doesn’t touch. It feels like you’ve been waiting for hours until he finally, finally, pushes a thick finger into you, and curls it, rubbing against the right spot, over and over, and then pushes in a second, threatening to tip you over the peak. The feeling is intense —your walls clench around him firmly in your rising pleasure.

“Oh, g-god, Ghost pleasepleaseplease,” squealing as you fuck yourself on his hand, and when your hypersensitive nerves pick up on the sensation of his scorching mouth on your clit, with a pulsating suction, your muscles tighten and tremble, to the point of pain, until Ghost gives one hard suck, forcibly pushing you off the edge. The wail you let out is ear-splitting— as ecstasy slams into your body, like waves crashing at shore. Your thighs squeeze Ghost’s head irrationally tight, but he doesn’t care, just groaning into your core, lapping up your juices like a dehydrated man who’s found an oasis. Your body stings— prickles from the vicious high you’re riding—chest heaving with sobs from the sheer force of it, fingernails digging into Ghost’s scalp, yanking on his hair. As your soul melts back into your body, you absentmindedly thank all the bloody gods for having friends who really do look out for you.

Whimpering pathetically, your limbs go limp, loose, heavy. Ghost easily picks your body up and moves you toward the center of the bed, vertically, the blindfold still robbing you of your vision.

With a grunt of effort, his hand firmly settles by your ribcage, sinking into the softness of the bed, and then he slips a folded pillow beneath your hipbones, expertly arching your spine into a delicious angle. His hand firmly connects with your rear, not just once but twice, feeling the exquisite sting of it. The room falls into silence, only to be interrupted by the clinking sound of his belt buckle. Your body tenses as you hear the unmistakable sound of plastic being torn open, and then you feel his thick and warm shaft teasing your entrance. A moan escapes your lips as he penetrates you, his movements slow and sensual, until his hipbones press against your backside. Taking his time, he slowly pulls back his length, dragging it against your slick walls, before pushing forward again, covering your body with his own. His right hand is flat on the bed by your right shoulder, while his left curls around your neck, gently forcing your head to tilt back onto him. The tip of his head grinds against the entrance of your womb.

He moans softly into your ear, before quietly purring, “Let’s see how many more orgasms I can wring out of you, pet.” The tightening of his makeshift necklace around your throat is your first and last warning of what is to come.

—

He pulled four. Four gut-wrenching, shattering orgasms before finding his own release. He left you a drooling, sloppy, sweaty mess on your bed, completely languid and relaxed. Somewhere, you faintly hear your phone ping with a notification. Hissing as you get up, you limp to your living room, and see it on the sofa. Unlocking it, you see that it’s Ghost, sending you his Cash App information. Holding in a chickle, you send him his money and wait for his confirmation.

It was a real pleasure, doll. Let me know when you need me again.

Cackling to yourself, you place your phone back on the table.

Bastard.

He knows you’ll definitely be seeing him again.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #cod #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost simon riley #simon ghost x reader

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izukuisbaby · 1 year

Text

⊹˚.⋆ OUR FAVOURITE DILFS WITH A FAMOUS S/O - JUJUTSU KAISEN

℘. flora's notes : I've had this idea forever but I couldn't manage to write it UNTIL NOW. my idea was that reader is a model so it's kind of based on that, though you are free to be famous for whatever reason u want 💀

℘. send me a request ! : i would love to write this for other jjk characters (especially TOJI) but please give me ideas cuz i can't find anything :((

℘. gn, male, female reader 💓

m.list | comment and reblog if you enjoyed ! i am not posting at peek hours i would rly appreciate it if u could reblog w related tags 🥰

★ 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

℘. he 100% stalked you on your socials and knew everything about you

℘. it's also very likely that he slid into your DMs shamelessly

℘. something cringe like : " what a pretty human in a pretty restaurant, we should go there together sometime 😏"

℘. but we all know this mf, he didn't stop at ONE DM

℘. no, his name is elegantly followed by "9+ messages" all of them being cringe pick up lines to beg you to go on a date with him 😍

℘. and you eventually agreed but it was mostly for him to leave you in peace

℘. he was convinced you'd fall for his charms and unfortunately, he was right... can't blame you I would too

℘. and since your first kiss - which was an officialization of your relationship to him - he would not shut up about it

℘. everytime y'all are out in public he makes it clear he's your boyfriend for the paparazzis

℘. gojo loves attention... so he LOVES paparazzis

℘. he thinks y'all are the most goal couple to exist and brags about it

℘. "y/n, can you imagine what other people must think of us : "the strongest and the most famous (your job of choice), they were meant to be"

℘. you have 100% your own ship name and fanpages, you're labeled as the "hot couple" who is edited on tik tok 24/7

℘. I don't think I insisted enough on how he BOASTS about dating you to whoever shows a spark of interest in his life

℘. the poor nanami hears about it every second of the day and is FED UP with it, but his last straw was when gojo was talking about you to a curse they were suppose to eliminate...

℘. he has you and him on a fun fair date as a wallpaper and purposely leaves his phone on during meetings so everyone can see he's dating you... and also to get yet another occasion to brag

⊹

★ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

℘. HE WOULD BE SO SUPPORTIVE

℘. he will attend all of your shows and interviews, always on the front row. sometimes walking for a show can be pretty stressful for you but seeing his angel face calms you down and gives you back your confidence in an instant <3

℘. ... he's very active on LinkedIn and he reposts your achievements/front pages with a professional yet sweet and admirative commentary

℘. he likes to go backstage before your shows so he can give you one last forehead kiss and compliment

℘. never hesitates to tell paparazzis to back off, he doesn't like his privacy invaded but he will gladly take pictures of you with a fan for them

℘. his favourite photo that he has everywhere is one a selfie you took before a show with a world renowned brand. you looked so stunning and confident, it never fails to make him smile when he looks at it

℘. i feel like he didn't really know you, just saw you from one or two front pages but it didn't click until you told him you were a (your job)

℘. i don't know why but i think you would have met on a dating app 😭 like nanami is tired of being single and he told gojo about it WHO OBVIOUSLY WAS KIN ON HELPING ! and he got to discover your personality first, which is the most precious part of you in his opinion

℘. because yes you ARE attractive but no one but him knows the part of you that is the most beautiful and he loves that

℘. i think he can't help but be a bit jealous that people simp over you so he would never refuse to take a cute picture for the world to see

℘. on your third date, he asked you to be his partner and gave you a ring as an officialization. since them, you've been wearing it as a lucky charm and you never take it off

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therobotmonster · 2 months

Text

I know I wasn't supposed to.

But I went into the woods.

Another me came out.

We seem to be equally suspicious that the other is the imposter. I keep checking him for roots and he keeps doing the same to me. Is it a double bluff? Is he gaslighting me into thinking I'm the neverwas thing and he's the human being with organs and anxiety? Is he truly unaware he's a mockery given shape? If he can be unaware of it, I can be too.

That's kind of a lonely thought, really.

It's been several days and the tests are all inconclusive. We both bleed normal blood that doesn't turn into a spider and jump to the ceiling when you touch it with a hot wire. We know the same trivia. We pretended to know the same stuff we forgot that we were embarrassed not to remember. We both got uncomfortable at the exact same time when we walked into the cathedral.

We arm wrestled and didn't tie somehow, but we weren't sure if winning meant he was more likely to be fake or less likely.

I worry that we don't really know anything about accursed other selves from the woods.

Wikipedia has been less than helpful.

Mom claims she knows which one of us is her 'first boy' but refuses to tell us on the basis that she loves us both and thinks we should get along.

He thinks she can't tell and is too embarrassed to tell us. I think its because she wants to double her chance at grandkids. The difference in opinion is interesting, but is it a sign of an imposter, or the divergence of our experiences?

We've decided to flip for the job. I won, so I don't have to find new work. I don't know if that's a win.

I think the curse is that neither one of us is an unnatural imposter out to kill the other. Or else whichever one of us is the monster has realized they don't think my life is worth killing to steal.

I know I think about smashing that copy of my own face open with a rusty fire axe, a gush of sea water and blasphemous screams roiling from the empty hole that should contain bone and brains, and it just seems like a lot of trouble and effort.

I think I'm going to start going by my middle name.

Another me just showed up on our doorstep.

He's caked in mud, sticks and twigs in his hair, babbling about harrowing experiences. I'm fixing him some tea while the other-other me hands him the pamphlet we made just in case.

Now he's telling us about the Night King. Like we don't know.

I need a bigger place.

#mini fiction #fiction snippet #doppelganger #doppelgangers #ambiguity #duplication

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michanvalentine · 1 month

Text

Things about Vincent Valentine that I read around and piss me off.

"Vincent should have done more!"

It is one of the most common observations. And I hate it! What he was supposed to do exactly? Ok, let's take a step back and pretend we're in the real world and not in a fantasy action video game. Vincent was a highly trained Turk and an excellent marksman. That's not enough to say that he was definitely also a cold piece of shit ready to do any job. In fact, I believe that Vincent was the exact opposite of this and that he was not cut out to be a Turk at all. Which is why he got into trouble. "Stern and upright" is how Square Enix describes him, so we're talking about a person who has great morals and a high sense of duty. And these two things don't always go together. To this we must add the naivety he had as a young man (evident in DoC) and his great empathy towards others (which FF VII Rebirth is highlighting a lot). So when Lucrecia decided to use the fetus as an experiment, Vincent found himself in an impossible situation, where morality and duty were at odds. Human experimentation disgusted him, but his role was as a bodyguard, nothing more. His duty was to watch and let the scientists do their work. Furthermore, at that moment no one could imagine what the result of such experiments would be and what Sephiroth would do in the future. So we're talking about a man torn by his own principles, full of doubts and, lest you forget, heartbroken. It is not easy to act in a situation like this. But he couldn't ignore his own morals, so despite his role he tried to reason with Lucrecia first and then he confronted Hojo, with the consequences we know. Did he have to kidnap Lucrecia? Did he have to kill Hojo? Did he have to burn the Shinra Mansion to the ground? Let's be honest, normal people don't act this way. And Vincent Valentine was the sanest one in the middle, so he paid for it. But even if Vincent had freaked out and gone down the path of violence, there would have been consequences and it would probably have ended the same way.

But let's go back to Lucrecia for a moment. Vincent's naivety and empathy did not allow him to notice the red flags. He only saw the best and deepest part of her, the fragile, kind and brilliant one. When she pushed him away, he still behaved as correctly as possible. He stepped aside, hoping that she would be happy. There is no selfishness, there is no possessiveness. This is called unconditional love, and it is very rare. Should he have claimed Lucrecia for himself even if she didn't want it? Fight the other man to get the woman back? Continue to chase her proclaiming his love like a crazy? These are some traits of toxic masculinity. Vincent left her absolute freedom, he respected her choices as a woman, as an adult and as a scientist, even if his sensitivity allowed him to understand some things before she could notice them herself. And that's why Vincent's question "are you sure this is what you really want" hurts so much. He knew it. He knew she would love that child.

The fact that Vincent feels like a failure who was unable to protect the woman he loved and her child is understandable. But this is only his feeling, his perception of himself in a situation way bigger than him. So no one will ever be able to get it out of my head: Vincent Valentine did everything a good man with his hands tied behind his back could have done. He went out of line for Lucrecia and Sephiroth, and was killed for it.

#vincent valentine #ffvii #ff7r #ff7 #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy rebirth #lucrecia crescent #The Rebirth Vincent is bringing back memories #dirge of cerberus

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eldritch-spouse · 2 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/eldritch-spouse/741884957599973376/httpswwwtumblrcomeldritch-spouse741700018004?source=share

I need to know in explicit detail the first time breg allowed this human to collect samples. Also need to know the embarrassing situations they are put in that their coworkers judge them

I honestly love this so much I'm kicking my feet and giggling ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[Fem reader. I kind of rushed this. Doodle at the end.]

TW: Heavy themes of abuse (including mentions of noncon, death and captivity); Dubious consent moments.

" Listen, we just need you to get in there. "

You blink. " ... This can't be serious. Is this a joke? "

The half-fiend woman, superior to you in professional rank, drags a hand across her blonde locks and grimaces. " Look, I know it sounds bad- "

" Of course it does! This was nowhere in the job description- "

Not that the job description was very uh, descriptive, anyway. But any straw will do, anything to cling to a modicum of your dignity as you get told what your next task will be.

She seems to switch through a few different corporate tactics to ease the blow. " Listen, please. We are short-staffed at the moment, and this has been affecting production a lot more than you can imagine. Specimen 197 is a big bread-winner here and we all know he's uncooperative with machinery, going as far as to ruin it constantly, which leads to more expenses- "

She's explaining this to you like you're a particularly slow toddler and you're not amused.

" We have also noted that M197 is clearly attached to you and a bond has been formed, which is why your presence is requested in certain situations, to reduce his stress levels during tasks. This... Is another one of those tasks. We just need you to get a few samples- " She points at the two canisters next to her. " And you can think of it as a way to improve your bond with the specimen even. "

" Ma'am, he's entering a rut. " You pause. " You want me to walk into a male breeder's cell while he's rutting and engage sexually with him? "

She gulps. " For- For strictly professional purposes- "

" I'm not doing this. "

...

" There's a significant monetary bonus if you manage to do it. "

A long, shameful, disgustingly filthy moment of silence unfolds where you internally debate how far you're willing to go for some much needed money.

Too far, apparently.

" ... I'll do it. "

" Great, that's wonderful, we- "

" No cameras in the room. "

She flinches. " But then how are we supposed to know if you're in danger? "

" No cameras, please. "

If you die you die. You don't want footage of you being possibly mauled by a breeder out there...

A begrudging glance is cast towards the canisters sitting innocently on the table.

Grabbing them, you prepare for the shitshow you signed yourself into.

We have him tied up, the techs had informed you, it'll make things easier.

Just hearing them gives you headaches.

Yes, of course, because forcibly restraining the already volatile lifeform will make it cease being hostile. Logical.

A long-suffering sigh exits your lips when you input the code to open 197's cell. It's a code you know by heart now. If not from the regular standard visits, then from the hurried string of numbers your coworkers would scream at you over the radio before getting launched around by a monster several times their size and weight.

It's hard to forget something like that. There are just some faces you never see again.

As soon as the heavily reinforced door hisses open, you're greeted by an immediate build-up of a snarl. As scary as the sound was when you first heart it, and continues to be on an instinctual level, you understand now that it's mostly born out of fear.

Nothing good ever happens when 197 is cuffed and he's right to be frightened.

The moment you step into view and the door slams shut behind you however, he visibly seems to shift gear instantly.

Sitting on the rather uncomfortable tiled ground, specimen 197 has his ankles spread and cuffed to the ground, his wrists joined behind him and his neck nearly choked to the wall. A muzzle prevents the breeder's jaw from elongating as it tends to do when he's threatened. His tail is likewise restrained in two areas. Those cuffs are the best things modern technology can offer, you haven't heard of a single solid monster type that can shatter them. They're likely also tampered with by some more magically-inclined individuals, but you've never been one to dabble in that.

He exhibits the signs you'd expect from any male entering a rut. Excessive sweating, goosebumps, a faster breathing rate, tension, restlessness and a dilated, humid slit. His skin flickers from time to time, signals somewhere between aggression and courtship displays. You would never have associated heat cycles with torture before starting your work here, but seeing the way these monsters are chemically forced into hypersexual, unhealthily exacerbated heats has shown you just how cruelly this biological process can be exploited.

Sometimes they die. A hormonal, frenzied, artificially accelerated metabolism like this is powerful, but it's also very fragile, in a way. Either they're able to maintain their required ridiculous nutrient intake, find a way to preserve as much energy as possible, or simply panic and end up dying from a mixture of stress and lack of sustenance.

Another sigh escapes your lips, you try to clear your head by placing the canisters on the ground.

The breeder in question, who was once nearly pitch black in his effort to intimidate the perceived threat, is now snow white, having registered you as his favorite, the "nice one". 197 shrinks in himself, then begins a litany of keening whines interspersed with specific chirps.

It might be a plea for attention from an already hormone-fried brain, it might also just be a desperate request to be released from his binds.

You're no paragon of morality, but unlike your coworkers, you understand that building a bond with anyone requires depositing some trust in them. And, even if 197 is rutting, you can only continue to build a connection with him if he has a modicum of comfort in this situation. Which is why you steel yourself before moving closer to the specimen in question and inputting the specific combination to unlock all of his cuffs.

The process is timed, giving workers about five or so minutes to leave the cell before the cuffs drop and the monster is freed. It prevents casualties, naturally.

197 tries to thump his tail in appreciation when he realizes what you're doing, quietly rumbling and trying to lean into the small brushes of your fingers as you work.

" There big guy, just give it a second... " You take a few steps back while you wait.

It feels like a small eternity before the restraints begin falling off one by one. First the tail ones, then the muzzle, the neck, the wrists... And the ankles. On that last click, the breeder shrugs everything away and stretches as he stands.

You've studied these monsters and their mannerisms, he's not stretching just to soothe his joints, he's displaying. The exaggerated curve of that spine says it all, you know exactly what reaction he's after. Though, already riled up as he is, you don't think it's a good idea to respond.

In a second, he's closed the distance between the two of you, this near suffocating hovering over your front, hands and arms twitching with the urge to touch you. 197 is not good with boundaries, which was very surprising to you, considering he absolutely detests it when 99% of people touch him.

The 1% being you.

He waits, visibly pained, for the signal.

" You can touch me now. "

And like a sudden wave, 197 nearly crashes onto you, his comparatively massive pale body blanketing over yours as his arms cage your upper body, lifting it along with him. You squealed the first few times, now you know to stay mostly still and lean to the right so he can shove his face in the crook of your neck without bonking his head against yours. Painful.

He takes a couple deep, shameless inhales of your scent. And, if you had to guess, you're probably a bit sweaty from anxiety. Not that he seems to care, 197 actually appears to slow down a little, enjoying the closeness and now familiar odor you possess. His tail coils around your legs and you pat his back when the telltale chirps and trills of elation make it past his throat.

" Yeah, I missed you too buddy. Take a breather. "

This close to the male, you have absolutely no choice but to drown in his musk. 197 can't help it, he's ruttting after all, those pheromones have to come out. Fortunately, as a human, you're not affected by them, though some of your monster coworkers have to wear specific masks when they enter rutting breeder cells. To you, it's just vaguely unpleasant and heavy.

197 would usually give you a bit of room by now, but he doesn't seem interested in that, instead shifting you around so he can smell other parts of your figure, particularly your hair. Your face warms from his excessive body heat and the sensation of being corralled, your protests silenced when a long blue muscle dips to trail from the base of your neck to your jaw and up the side of your face. The movement is quick, and your attempt to reflexively lean away is met with a tighter grasp as he repeats it.

197 has a habit of dulling his teeth to look more humanoid for your comfort, but not today, in the state he is, he likely forgot that detail altogether. This unfortunately means that you feel the scrape of those pointed daggers every time he amorously samples your skin.

" Alright okay, that's enough- "

You butt in when it feels like he's getting a bit too riled up too fast. It's not exactly counter-productive to your task, but letting him get more and more control over the situation will make it difficult to get the samples later. You can't wrangle a breeder in the throes of their rut, you have to do things before that critical stage.

However, the specimen isn't interested in listening to anything you have to say, responding instead to your tone with his own whine and starting to tug at your uniform. That does it. Thoroughly soaked in his drool, you grab onto the breeder's forearms hard.

" 197! " It's not a tone you like to use with any of the breeders here.

He eventually snaps out of his little trance, gulping, steadying himself before frowning and giving you the space you want.

In this barely minute-long episode, 197 has already kicked into high-gear. Breathing accelerated again, open-mouth panting, excessive drool production, somewhat puffed figure and the tips of his twin cocks already poking out of a pelvic pouch that can barely hold them back. He seems to shiver in his own overwhelming arousal, and though this species is known for having its eyes shielded behind a layer of skin on the face, you know he's fixed on you like a famished animal.

Although your cheeks are moments from setting aflame, this isn't exactly a new sight for you. 197 has gotten aroused in your vicinity several times, you've actually lost count. It'd be nonsensical of you to get irritated over such, given that these males are forced into hypersexuality by the concoctions introduced in their organisms. That paired with his fondness for you probably makes it hard for 197 to not get erections constantly. A hug can set him off, even simple closure paired with your scent is enough to do it.

Well. No time to waste.

While he's mildly disoriented, you grab one of the canisters and move towards a corner of the room with a seemingly randomly arranged pile of fabrics. This, as confusing as it may be to some, is a breeder's nest. And in this species of monsters, the males tend to be the ones who arrange spaces for coupling. 197 has expressed clear discontentment with the fabrics given to him during times of rut to fulfill his instinctual needs, but no one here is ever acting with the specimen's best interests in mind. Besides, he piped down when one of the techs had the bright idea of giving him a jacket you forgot in the workplace. It's right there in fact, the gray hue contrating with a mostly white and pale color scheme.

The nest itself is big, if it fits 197 then it definitely fits you too. And, knowing exactly what you're doing, you let him observe you take a step into it and sit down on the middle, empty canister beside you.

Oh boy.

You can practically hear the popcorn crackles in his brain.

The monster trills loudly, proudly, your supposed acceptance of what have amounted to months of unsubtle courtship from his part being finally rewarded. It's a dangerous moment, you're perfectly aware of such, but it's also necessary to get this over with.

197 drops to a creepily nimble crawl across the floor, rapidly posing over your seated form with blue-tinted cheeks and rabid need. Before you can get so much as a word in, he's dropping some of his weight on you, showering you in hasty licks and clumsy kisses again, this time unable to help himself from nipping at your clothes. The coverings visibly bother him, and the male growls quietly before his instincts tug at him again and he's trying to slot himself between your clothed legs. It takes some yelping, and fussy movement from his part, but you eventually rationalize that stressing him out can lead to a violent response right now.

Might as well let him get away with some embarrassing acts.

Hormone-muddled as he is, 197 has only enough of a mind to hold onto you and press two hot lengths against the front of your body. He's already full-mast, the heat and weight of those things dragging across you when he automatically moves his hips is utterly filthy. He groans, probably the first kind of decent friction he's been getting since he entered this phase of his cycle, the softness and smell of his favorite human getting the monster to leak already, lost in his desperate search for a modicum of relief. As gross and ridiculous as it is, at least he's not tugging at your clothes yet.

You can sense his frustration, the frantic way 197 mechanically bucks against you, the pressure he puts in every thrust, the way his claws puncture into your lab coat and he whines low, this noise that turns into a pleased sort of snarl. Overwhelmed, you shiver beneath his figure, glad there are no cameras to see you fluster and shamefully let a rutting monster grind at you.

You dare say you can get into this.

There's something so appealing about having a monster yearn for you so madly that he's driven to this senseless and primitive display, that even so much as humping you could have them blissed out. Your legs quake around his and you feel your pussy throb in response to the muted friction from his lightly barbed cocks. It's not the first time you've wondered about how it would feel... You've always been a monsterfucker at heart, and 197 is a brutally gorgeous specimen. He's always imploring for even a single touch from you, if you spread yourself out you have absolutely no doubt he would ram those alarming inches into you like a wild beast.

Yeah, maybe your coworkers would call you a sickfuck, but it's not like anyone who works here is moderately normal...

It's a secret. One that you're vaguely paranoid might not be so secret anymore, now that you've been entrusted with this.

In your horny little stupor, you make the critical mistake of forgetting that breeders quickly detect arousal in others. And you are probably making a wet spot in your pants as of now.

With a sudden snort of an inhale, he rises like a man possessed to start ripping at the sides of your lab coat, forcefully trying to rip it off even as he's unable to stop rocking his hips. He knows how to unbutton things just fine, but you bet he can't be fucked to think much in this state.

" Hey- Hey, easy, slow down. " You grab onto his wrists, being ignored.

Okay. Time to think this out while you still can. He's going to rip through your clothes if you let him, and that's not just needless damage, it'll put him in control. But being aggressive about getting him to stop isn't ideal with this type of monster, you need something that distracts him too much to realize he's not exactly holding the leash here. Eventually, an idea graces your mind, though it makes you grimace a little.

Already blazing with shame, you carefully edge a hand between you and, with some hesitation, grab one of the twin members pushed against you.

Instant reaction.

The monster halts, as desired, and looks at you almost oddly, but hopefully. The trick is not giving him enough time to think, so you quickly get a feel for what you're working with, and start stroking him generously.

It's not the frenzied, rushed jerking he inflicts on himself when his own libido becomes bothersome, the fisting of a large hand with little focus and care. You handle him as pleasurably as you can manage, using both hands on him and attentively reading his face. 197 pants openly again, glancing vapidly at your small hands while they work him and he fucks into the motions, strings of thick drool falling from his teeth.

" Good...? Yeah? " You ask, gulping.

He falters and gasps, trying to articulate something. " Please. " Gets dragged out, his dick pulsing in your grasp.

You don't quite know what he's begging for, but you assume he's enjoying himself. Watching the neglected length bob uselessly, you take the opportunity to remove your own lab coat, switching hands quickly when necessary. The shirt comes off too, leaving you in your bra and pants.

By the time you glance back at him, the breeder's skin has shifted entirely to black, and he's hypnotized by the new parts of your body revealed to him, the mounds on your chest breeder females don't have but that he somehow finds pleasing to the eye regardless.

You make a lifting motion, trying to get his attention. " Knees. Come on, knees. Let me show you something. "

It takes a hot second, but he computes the request and does as told out of genuine curiosity. You're about to show an already decidedly horny monster the wonders of oral sex, which is likely not the brightest of ideas, but no one's here to judge your poor decisions.

197's girths hover far too close to your face while he waits a tad impatiently. Studying the things you'll be pleasing soon, you nearly pale a couple shades, knowing it'll take some prayer not to end up hurting your jaw. The male has lived in captivity since the day he hatched, you've enjoyed showing him some of the nicer things in life from time to time, this is just another one of them.

Carefully grabbing onto the left one, you glance at 197 as you deliberately slip your tongue out, so he doesn't just assume you're going to try biting his genitals. He tenses, because of course he would, but you take your time, stopping the moment only his tip is inside your mouth. The breeder is a tad confused and quaking slightly with ambiguous anticipation.

Then you suck.

And it clicks instantly.

God, just this little of his length is already forcing you to open wider than you've ever had to with previous partners, still, you strain to take a few more inches down and focus on that part.

The male exhales tremulously, experiencing the feeling for the first time ever, you're certain. 197 has to straighten slightly as the first intense waves of pleasure course through him, and bless the big dorky monster, he has no idea what to do with himself or his arms. As your jaw adjusts, a tad uncomfortably, you start truly gouging how much of him you can handle. Not that much honestly, but it's to be expected. It's already more than enough to please him, if the increasingly louder growled trills are any indication.

Oh, you bet this is the closest thing to heaven for him. His favorite human, with a mouth warmer than he could have ever expected, lips much softer than any of his species', no apex predator teeth to get in the way, and a tongue that although flat and short, can still chase after those wonderfully sensitive spots.

He has exactly zero idea how to react beyond making bestial noises and drooling on his own chest like a vapid animal. The way his cock pulses in your mouth is a tad bothersome to the rhythm you're trying to keep, but you figure you don't have to show-off to someone who's never had oral before, he's already blown away.

Humorously, 197's hands land on your shoulders, and that's the only way he can apparently steady himself while he's sucked off. His spare cock oozes precum that smears onto your bare chest and you half-heartedly pump it when you pop off his other dick.

" Is this okay, hm? " Needless question, really.

The breeder doesn't even make an effort to reply, whining at the loss of friction and edging forward until both his members nudge against your cheek and lips, begging without words to have that bliss again.

Feeling vaguely in control, enough to be playful, you lean away from the one closest to you and take the right one into your mouth, sucking it as far in as you physically can before switching to the other one, all just so you can hear 197 gasp and grunt out moans. His desperation causes him to buck, and as you gag, a little lightbulb fizzles above his head.

Oh.

Oh no.

The next time you try to pull away, his hands rise from your shoulders to the sides of your head. Each dark finger nearly curves over the perimeter of your skull, and you freeze instantly, not wanting him to tighten his grasp by any means. Everything is fine so long as he only holds onto your head this way, gently.

He's the one moving this time, apparently marveling at the sight of his length disappearing past your somewhat swollen, drooled lips. Except, as expected, he's going faster and deeper than you'd like, getting into it enough to trigger harsh flutters in the back of your throat. Your gagging and subsequent reflexive jerks are met with warning rumbles and one of his hands caging you in place by the back of head.

He learns fast, needless to say.

The more he drives into you, the less you can control your saliva, creating gross pops and slurps as you have little choice but to huff through your nose. Merciless, not even the odd cough around his dick will stop him now that he's nearing orgasm, or so you're willing to guess by his franticness.

Eventually, he makes the mistake of shoving his cock far enough that your jaw strains and your stomach flips, a grossly loud hurl being his response. The horrid noise finally jolts him to a still, giving you enough space to pull away and catch some much needed breath, controlling your belly before anything unfortunate happens.

" Fucking Hell! " You groan hoarsely, irritated. " You're hung like a horse, be careful... "

The rutting male's fried brain only understands that you sound wounded, a concerned chirp followed by soothing sloppy laps to your jaw being his response.

Not an ideal development at all, and yet, progress.

197 is usually very violent with the breeders they tired to pair him for mating. Which is to be expected, being the golden goose of the facility comes at a cost- The rush of hormones in his machine of a metabolism doesn't just contribute to more virility than his male peers, it also causes bursts of hyper aggression not easily controlled. And the only socialization this one usually gets is fights with other males who feel threatened by his presence, understand that they are being hurt by techs because they fail to live up to the standard 197 created, that they might be killed for such.

The females, likewise, fear him.

197 is bigger, louder, scarier. He has a reputation amongst the other breeders, and some of them were more likely to try fighting him off during their heats than accept getting sexual with him. This has led to 197 rejecting all breeders regardless of the context, which resulted in many of the paired females being immediately fatally attacked whenever a scheduled session was arranged. Sometimes he would simply slaughter them, other times he would actually instinctually attempt to mate, and end up ignoring cries of distress, nothing but rage and hormones in that brain causing him to end up killing them mid-coitus.

Shitshows, complete shitshows you've had the displeasure of partially witnessing in the past.

Which is why you're so incredibly shocked he stopped when he heard you nearly throw up. Then again, you're no breeder, and you like to think you've created as decent a connection with him as possible. It could be that.

When the monster thinks you've recovered enough, he attempts to get you to sit in the same position from before so things can resume, and if the way he's insistent on keeping a hold of your head is any indication, then he's learned he prefers to take control of this. And you won't be the fool that argues with him in this state.

After licking your lips a few times, hearing his impatient little huffs, you take one of those slicked cocks into your mouth again, letting him build the pace back up. On the one hand, you're glad you don't have to pretend to keep any composure, letting yourself drool as much as possible for the sake of making the process easier, and uncaring of the filthy noises that only seem to make his thighs quake. On the other, you need a solution so he doesn't just peirce past the back of your throat.

So, experimentally, the next time 197 pushes far enough to have your eyes rolling, you get a firm grasp of the base of his tail and tug.

The appendage lifts and his spine curves back in sudden shock. You doubt it's pain that has him straightening like a plank, after all, you know these beings can oftentimes carry their young by the tail, so if it can handle their body weight, then it can handle a yank from a human's hand. It's more so a sort of "freeze reaction", effective in getting the male to pull back even if he grunts in mild agitation.

It's only fair, in your eyes.

The moment you let go, 197 continues to fuck your face as he pleases, moaning and curving over you once more to find his own pleasure, until he drives in too much again and you repeat the gesture. Over and over, so he understands there are limits.

It seems to succeed in getting the message across. If he wants to keep getting sucked off by your hot little mouth, then he needs to be minimally considerate.

This goes on for a while, you're almost proud to feel him eventually actively hold back from going too far. Because that would halt the friction, and judging by the way his tongue lolls out in pleasure, 197 wants to come really bad.

He seems to have enjoyed your antics from before, because the male actively pulls out of your mouth with another lurid pop and positions his spare length against your lips, fucking into you a couple times before switching to the other one, doing this enough times that you honestly struggle to contain some laughter.

His throbbing increases and you know his peak approaches, quickly reaching beside you for the container as fingers race to open it. Your spare hand makes an extra effort to stroke the length 197 can't fit inside you and with as much vigor as possible, you complement his every motion.

The second you back away to breathe, strings of saliva still clinging from your lips to his dicks, offers the monster enough of a nasty view to trigger exactly what you need. 197 snarls at the top of his lungs, rapidly fisting both cocks before you. It's a decidedly disgustingly arousing display that has you staring heatedly, until the first rope of thick pearly cum lands on your cheek.

It jolts you into flustered movement, holding the canister up to the closest of his girths, you try to get as much as possible inside, unable to shield yourself from the rest of his load as it lands on your neck and tits, warm globs marking you in the throes of the specimen's ecstasy.

It's immensely relieving for him, the sighed, low and needy moans that rip out his throat evidence enough that 197 had been pent up for more than a while. And you... You're soaked in warm seed, observing his maddened jerking slow down.

This is your job now.

Personally collecting from the golden goose of the facility. All for a bonus.

Whatever, just don't think about it too much.

Giving into the guilty sense of pride you feel over making 197 stare at the ceiling in total bliss, you lean down to catch the trails dripping down those teal blue lengths, cleaning him. You don't have to, by any means, but you've already sunk so low today, what difference does it make if you let yourself go a little?

The specimen's legs tremble and he glances down at you with this utterly cum-drunk, infatuated smile. Dark, stained digits rise to comb through your hair in some kind of comforting gesture until you eventually pull away and allow the male to recover.

Now, two things.

You need to clean up somehow, you don't want his cum to dry on your skin.

There's also the matter of the second canister, you think while you grab one of the cloths in the breeder's nest to wipe your face and chest on. You probably won't be allowed to leave his cell until they're both full.

Reaching for the one already warm with 197's sample, you seal it tight, the small device in it emitting a faint green light and beeping quietly. The signal that one container has been filled is then sent to whichever tech is keeping track of this particularly... Unique task.

A pang of shame courses through you at the thought of one of your coworkers now knowing that you've made 197 orgasm.

Time to get the other one and hurry this up.

Unfortunately, as soon as you're about to set a foot outside of the nest, a huge black hand captures your leg, and you're possessively tugged back by a disgruntled breeder who barely gives you enough time to scream before he starts shredding the rest of your clothes...

Hours have passed. You're sure of it.

As far as anyone's concerned, your work has been accomplished. Both canisters are practically overflowing with untainted samples, sitting in the corner of the room so that nothing happens to them.

You're naked, sticky and likely to bruise in some areas from 197's lack of strength mediation, but you did it.

At any moment now, coworkers of yours will enter 197's cell, and you know it's going to be a total wreck. Between his likely immediate aggression, the damage they'll cause him and your less than sightly state, it'll be unpleasant.

But you can't bring yourself to care.

Not when a tireless tongue continues to groom your already exhausted form and 197's meaty cock lazily fucks globs of his hot cum back into your puffed pussy while he trills soothingly. His breathing has steadied and his heartbeat slows.

Any moment now, he might fall asleep inside you, enjoying a sweet moment of bliss before you're taken away again.

It's almost cruel.

#Bregory #monsterfucker #terato tag #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monster boyfriend #monster x human #not sfw #minors dni #pinnie's art #terat0philliac

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mangalho · 1 year

Photo

Ex-warbot OC

They don’t have names yet.

The two bots with the scary faces were specifically made for war, and now that it’s over, they still maintained their original ‘warface’ even though it has stigma associated to it. Many robots changed their faceplates post-war, as it made it easier to find jobs and not get into unnecessary conflict.

The sleeker looking guy used to be in their company, though he wasn’t made in the same factory as them; he isn’t their ’batch-mate’.

After the war he completely modified his frame, and now has an idol career. He desperately wats to erase his past, as people (and robots alike) will respond better to a ‘new’ and untainted idol.

The two warface bots are “brother and sister” and they do odd jobs here and there to make ends meet and to be able to afford things they want. Rich people hire them as bouncers a lot since they are a symbol of terrible times. Sometimes they earn 15k in one night for just one gig it’s crazy. They both really love clothes since it distances them from their body’s original purpose while simultaneously not erasing their past. Also they look cute and cool!

The idol bot once meets the warfaces by chance in the street and pretends he doesn’t know them AGAHAKALAK I think he’s insane… completely erasing your past and the person you were is psychopathic to me idk. Anyway

There arent a lot of warfaces going around anymore. since they either died during the war or changed their frames. Pre-war bots were re-fitted during the conflicts and just had to go back to their former unweaponized frames after it was all over so they’re fine. All of these robots can download information and i want that type of learning to mostly disappear if its deleted, but if they learn things like we do or experience real events, those memories and skills can’t really truly be erased; if they do try erasing them, they will still remember them, just not with HD video clarity, which brings them immense suffering sometimes. “How to people live like this?!” Well buddy it sucks idk we all cope

Newly minted robots are wack because they don’t exactly have a ‘soul’ yet they just do things they’re supposed to do, but after some time, all of them actually develop real awareness and shit… my war bots had like a 78% chance of dying everyday when they were activated, but they survived and attained sentience at like one year post birth and they wised up rly fast after that. They remember their first year, but they describe it as a ‘weird haze’

These robots feel pain so they wont like dive into a hole or damage themselves too much. Self preservation means longer-lived machines which means less repair costs and less human lives on the line as well.. slay !!!

While the conflicts went on, most robots achieved sentience and decided to stop fighting so there was like a robots rights movement and eventually the war stopped altogether and now the robots have a salary and a normal life mostly. They arent organics, so they need other things. They are solar powered and need oil sometimes and also they need new nanomachines once in a while like we need vaccines. Get your boosters… its not just tetanus and coronavirus anymore now they gotta think about like..the trojan horse 9000

I want them to have this aversion to organic things dying bc they are universally gross. Like they dont like seeing living-machines die either but a rat being squished by a car is also gross!

There are probably some tensions between humans and robots but like i kinda get it bc i wouldnt mess with a guy who has like lead pipes for arms. also most robots ARE normal but some are insane idk 🙆‍♀️🤷‍♀️ just like people are.

mine are normal tho they’re just vibing 💖🗣🤙

#drawans #OC #warface

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leviathans-watching · 1 year

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Hello hello! I was wondering if you could do headcanons with the brothers with a low vision MC? (I.e. Thick glasses lenses, having to be very close to read small print or having to have the print in large letters, who bumps into things easily and a hard time with peripheral vision) please?^^

mc with glasses

includes: the brothers x/& gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned

wc: .6k | rated g | m.list

a/n: haha i love prompts that bring out their stupidity. i hope you enjoy lol. my inbox is open to chat, req, or leave feedback, so come say hello!

please reblog <3

➳ lucifer pauses, seeing your contact lense brand. “do you have astigmatism?” “yeah, how do you know?” you reply, confused. “i wear the same brand. it’s for astigmatism only,” he explains, and you laugh. “i always forget you wear contacts. you should wear your glasses more often, you look really charming.” he flicks you an appraising look. “only if you do. you look cute when you wear yours.”

➳ mammon blinks, looking around. “damn, i knew you needed glasses, but i didn’t know you were frickin’ blind.” slowly, he waves a hand in front of his face. “very funny,” you say sarcastically, reaching for your glasses and pulling them off of his face. “of course i have bad vision. that’s why i need glasses.” “how many fingers am i holding up?” mammon asks, looking at you seriously, and you give into the urge to shove at him.

➳ levi sighs wistfully, taking the papers from you. “this is just like my ninth favorite anime, my best friend is blind both literally and of my feelings toward them.” you fix him with an impatient look. “yeah, yeah, i get it. just please read me off the content, i left my glasses upstairs and really need help.” finally, he does as you ask, and you sigh in relief, continuing to fill out the form on your laptop, ‘control plus’-ing a few more times.

➳ satan always finds your glasses in the most random places. “seriously, mc? under the couch? you had them earlier, i don’t understand how they could have even made it there.” “oh, thanks,” you say gratefully, taking your glasses from him and wiping off the lenses with my sleeve. “i was wondering where they went.” “again,” satan says impatiently, “i found them under the couch. the couch! seriously, you’d lose your damn head if it wasn’t attached to your neck.”

➳ asmo pleads and pleads for your prescription, which is a really weird thing to want, so obviously you don’t give it to him. “why do you even want it?” you ask exasperatedly. “what are you going to do with it?” asmo rolls his eyes. “i’m gonna get you new frames, duh! the ones you have right now are like, totally ugly! in fact, i’m gonna get you several new frames so we can mix and match to go with your outfits!” “no,” you say. “that’s dumb. and i like my current frames, thank you very much!”

➳ beel is sweet, but he doesn’t really get it. “so wait, when you’re not wearing your glasses you’re totally blind? like, unable to see at all? man, humans are weird.” it takes you a moment to find a response. “beel, i love you, but that was the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. of course i’m not genuinely blind. things are just blurry!” “oh,” he says, thinking hard. “isn’t everyone’s eyesight a little blurry?” wait, does he need glasses?

➳ belphie thinks they're dumb and get in the way. “how am i supposed to sleep comfortably without being worried about rolling over onto them?” he complains. “you should just get lasik already.” “well, if you would stop pulling me into bed and trapping me like a freaking octopus, i’d be able to take them off and put them on the nightstand,” you retort. “and that surgery is expensive! do you think i have money like that? that’s like me telling you ‘oh, belphie, your nose gets in the way when we kiss, go get a nose job.’ it doesn’t work like that!”

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

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weltato · 5 months

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Writers of Tumblr, listen up! This has probably been said before but I'mma say it again:

Do you feel like you're procrastinating on your current fic by writing down another one because an idea struck you at 2am? No you're not.

Do you feel like you're procrastinating on your current fic because you've been doing school/uni/job work? No you're not, that stuff is more important than how many socks Deku wears on any given day.

Do you feel like you've been procrastinating on your current fic because you just haven't had the energy and all you want to do is binge YouTube videos and eat ice cream? No, you're not, take care of yourself!

Are you down because you've got three WIPs open and can't think of how to fit some scenes together? Don't bother, just keep writing the fun and interesting scenes.

If writing is a fun hobby for you, don't make your fun hobby into a chore.

If writing is your job, don't turn your job into a chore.

We as humans work better when we're enjoying what we're doing - just think back to when you were in school: what lessons do you remember the most of and which ones did you enjoy?

As Star Trek keeps telling us: time isn't linear, it's relative. So why do we have to write things in linear order? No one ever really told us to do that, school systems just assumed it. They said "write a beginning, middle and end, in that order" because it was the easiest and most streamlined approach.

But this is your fic or your book or your assignment, you don't have to write it that way. Write it in the way that the ideas come.

If the opening is hard, write the big fight at the climax. If the connection is eluding you, write the scenes it's supposed to connect between and see what happens. You'll get there, I believe in you <3

At the end of the day, please enjoy writing! Enjoy reading too! If you have kids or know kids, encourage them to read! Little kids especially have a tendency to copy what older people do, so show them books you love.

Don't feel bad because you haven't updated a fic in months. You've been letting the ideas cook and they just have a really long cooking time. Re-read some stuff and maybe some ideas will come up. Listen to music, watch your shows and films, read other books and fics. Go for a walk, even - you can get inspiration from anything.

WIP owners: I believe in you. You can do this! They might sit there and taunt you, or beg to be finished, but if you can't do it right now then you can't do it right now and you should take a break. Save it, close it, do something else. Come back to it when you're ready.

💜💜💜

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spaceshipkat · 2 months

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honestly that "start your story with action" advice really fucked a ton of writers over because it provides no actual details on what that actually means, so a lot of writers don't approach it right. it does not mean throw your characters into some high stakes shootout on page 1 because "action is hooky" (it can be, but with a lot of caveats, which i'll go into detail about below). it means you need to ensure that something happens in the beginning of your story (rather than your character sitting in a room describing the furniture), and while that something should absolutely be influenced by the category and genre in which you're writing, we have to actually care about your characters from the beginning or we're not gonna give a fuck if they're getting shot at by some nameless, faceless baddies.

so slow your beginning down. give us time to settle into the head of your narrator and their surroundings. give us something about them that makes them interesting to us, that makes us want to follow them to see where this story is going. if there's some high stakes shootout, start a minute or two before the first gun fires. your narrator sits behind a low brick wall, loading her gun, reciting a nursery rhyme in her head because it helps calm her down, helps her settle into a mindset required to shoot straight, and even gives her a tempo upon which she can base how quickly she fires. she always chews on a piece of gum because if she doesn't she might chew through her cheek. her hands shake and her palms sweat (this humanizes her), but when she raises the gun, she and everyone around her trusts that she can do her job (which makes the reader trust her). to her left is her best friend (who is going through her own pre-shootout ritual of explaining how to load a gun to her lucky rubber duck humberto, who has been glued to her left shoulder pad) and to her right is the man she absolutely is not attracted to and actually hates quite a lot thanks for asking (who is also going through his supposed pre-shootout ritual of singing lollipop by the chordettes and popping his lips off tempo because he likes making the narrator glare at him--it distracts her from the fact she's leading this platoon into almost certain death and from the fact they've already lost seven soldiers today, though why he should care about her wellbeing in this regard is not something she wants to think about)

and then the first gun fires and all hell breaks loose, and the action can begin. but at this point, not only do we know your narrator, we know a bit about her--her mannerisms, her pre-shootout rituals, the people she has surrounded herself with (the kind of best friend she has, the kind of person she's attracted to--even the fact she has a best friend and a potential love interest, which further helps humanize her), the fact she's leading a platoon that has already lost nearly half its numbers (which implies she's important and smart enough to lead but that the situation might be one in which she's in over her head)

we don't need the gunshot to be the first thing we witness. we need the characters to be, because characters are what make a reader want to settle in and find out what's going to happen. if the reader doesn't care about the characters, they probably won't care about the plot (even in a plot-driven story)

#writing advice #writing tips #writeblr

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seravphs · 9 months

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — ASTRONAUT! GOJO x MISSION CONTROL! FEM READER

Your job description entails taking care of one (1) astronaut on his way to Mars. It doesn’t say anything about falling in love with him.

wc — 1.6k

tags — the beauty of space (and Gojo Satoru), rom com, fluff

When you’re assigned to Gojo Satoru, the first thing you hear is ‘good luck’. It’s Nanami who says it. You suppose he would have strong feelings, being one of the few men who were going up there with him.

They’re in the news constantly now. Of course they would be - brave pioneers of the new frontier. The first men to attempt a Mars landing.

Even for you, who sees them every day, it’s hard not to get caught up in the mythos of it. Glory burns bright and beautiful around them, a halo born of the knowledge that they’ll someday be in history books. Maybe you’ll be there too, a footnote riding on the coattails of their fame.

They take care of humanity’s future, and you take care of them. Mission Control doesn’t have the esteem the astronauts do, but your jobs are just as important. You’re proud of the work you do.

Though sometimes, your work is just silly. He is, anyway.

“Helloooooo? Mission Control, come in.”

“You’re not supposed to use the main line for personal matters, Satoru,” you remind him, a smile twitching at your lips. Director Utahime thinks you’re too soft on him, but you can’t help it. It must be terrible to be stuck up there for months, even if he says he loves it.

You’ve seen his interviews. Gojo Satoru, golden boy of the astrophysics department at one of the most prestigious universities in the world. A prodigy, the youngest ever Nobel laureate for his work in quantum particles and space time.

When he first declared that he would be going on the Mars mission, the world erupted in an uproar. He had transformed an esoteric field of dusty archives and chalk formulas into something real people cared about and tuned into his radio show to hear, even if it originally started because people loved his charming face.

It was too risky. No one wanted to lose such a young talent to the vast and uncaring cruelty of space.

Gojo heard these concerns, shut down his radio show, and appeared outside headquarters the next day without an appointment.

Some say he’s pushy. Some say he’s determined. Whatever they think, one thing is true. Gojo Satoru gets results, which is why administration always lets things slide when it comes to him. Even when he clutters up the main communication line trying to talk to you.

“If you wanted to get me alone, you could just say so,” he jokes, before he switches over to your private comm.

“Mhm,” you hum. You’re distracted, doing your daily check on his vitals.

“Looking at my heart again?”

“Yep! All good, though I’m going to ask you to take a double dose of vitamin c tomorrow.”

“Come on,” he moans. “They’re terrible. You’d think with all the scientists we have they’d manage to make it taste a little more like actual oranges.”

“You know how hard it is to make things that last in space,” you tell him.

The thing about Gojo’s genius is that it’s hard for him to understand others. He can do anything if he puts his mind to it, so hearing ‘no’ and ‘it’s impossible’ simply doesn’t compute to him. It’s why he started his radio show, or so he told you. He dreams of teaching people to see the world through his eyes.

His beautiful eyes.

Your cheeks heat. That’s not something you should be thinking about, but lately, it’s been getting harder and harder. You spent almost all your time with him, after all.

As much as you try to be professional, you’re not immune to his stunning beauty. You know the voice on the other end of the line belongs to an man whose features are nothing short of otherworldly. He could be a model if he wasn’t an astronaut. He could be anything, actually, but you know why he chose this.

The first time you heard Gojo speak on space, you fell in love a little bit. With him and with the cosmos.

He’s the one who teaches you that the stars we see are already dead and gone. That light and time are intertwined in ways you didn’t understand before, that the little pinpricks of gold in the distance have fizzled out years ago and are reaching you now only as a eulogy.

You tuned into his radio show on a whim, wanting to get to know the man you’ll be working with better. You stayed because his love for the universe is magnetic.

Gojo’s favorite thing about space is infinity. He was a proud supporter of the alien theory. There had to be some life out there, in that great vastness. Anything is possible in space, he says. There might even be a planet where he can float or unleash devastating destruction with just a flick of his fingers.

Before long, you were listening to his voice explain worm holes and cosmic inflation any spare moment you got. He was with you on the commute to work and in the shower while you scrubbed your hair. It was Gojo’s voice that lulled you to sleep every night, slow and relaxing in his special bedtime series.

So you’d known him long before you met him. In your first real interaction, where he was so quintessentially Gojo in a way that completely put Utahime off, you laughed. His eyes widened, surprised by your reaction, then his lips split in a toothy smile.

“At least one of you has a sense of humor,” he quipped, making a lifelong enemy of Utahime and a lifelong friend of you.

You’re the only one who can put up with him, so when Gojo had been chosen for Project Ares, you landed an adjacent job as his handler in Mission Control. You’d known you’d work on Project Ares for a while now, but not that you’d be working so closely with him, or that it would feel so right.

Of course you would be his handler. It was as natural as Gojo becoming an astronaut, which you’d always known he’d manage. It’s Gojo, after all. He would go change the future of humanity, and you’d keep him tethered to Earth.

It had been a relatively easy few years, for a space mission anyway. Anything short of death was considered optimal in those conditions. You hadn’t realized you’d miss him like this, however. All this time, and so much of it was only his voice. In a way, it was reminiscent of the days before you’d met, hearing a beautiful mind work through the radio.

“Oh, Houston?” Gojo calls through the line, singsong. “We have a problem.”

His lighthearted tone doesn’t deceive you. You’re up in a second.

“Satoru? Satoru? Come on, talk to me. What is it? You okay up there?”

“I’m experiencing heart pains,” he says, letting out a low grunt of pain. “Palpitations.”

Your blood runs cold.

Space is Gojo’s passion. You’re happy he gets to pursue it. But in these moments, you wish he’d never heard of astrophysics because in space, you can’t reach him. If he gets hurt, all you can do is talk to him.

He’s said he appreciates it.

“It’s nice, you know? Gives me something to listen to other than the voices already in my head.”

“Should I schedule a virtual visit to the psychiatrist, Satoru?”

You joke around, but you know that’s all you can be for him. A voice in his helmet.

Your hands are creeping towards the switch that’ll open your communication line to Nanami. At least if something happens, Nanami can actually get to him.

“Fuck,” Gojo whispers. You freeze. You’ve never heard him talk like this, his voice low and raspy with pain. “It hurts.”

“Tell me where it hurts, honey,” you murmur back, your voice instinctively lowering into something syrupy and sweet. Comfort comes naturally to you. You’ve always been a doting personality. It’s part of why they chose you for this assignment, other than, as you learn later, Gojo’s insistence that you be his line to Earth. “It’s going to be okay.”

“It aches, sort of?” Gojo says. “Happens when I hear- ugh.”

“Hear? Hear what? If you can’t tell me, I can’t help you, sweetheart.” You have no idea where these pet names are coming from, but they just burst out of your mouth, as if tenderness for him is uncontrollable. Is it because you’re scared it’ll end like this? The chance of whatever you feel for him dying unspoken terrifies you. You wish you’d told him sooner.

“Happens when I hear your voice,” he says. Is that nervousness you detect in his voice?

Suddenly you have a very clear idea of what he’s playing at.

“Satoru,” you say very calmly. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to call Nanami and you can explain it to him.”

A flurry of panicked noises on the other end. “No, wait, no, don’t do that! I can explain. Just. Give me a second.”

Ragged breathing.

“Okay,” he admits. “I didn’t think this through.”

“Satoru.”

“I’m sorry! You know how I am!”

You do. Which is why you’re not immediately calling Utahime over to reprimand him.

“I was going to wait,” he says. “This isn’t very romantic.”

“I would say that’s more because I thought you were going to die from a heart attack in space than anything else, but go on.”

“Sorry,” he says. “I love you.”

You were half-expecting it. After all, he’s right - you do know him. Somehow his straightforwardness still catches you off guard so badly your knee jerks and slams right into your desk. It’ll leave a nasty bruise when you check in the shower later. Most things are too soft to be picked up by your mic, but that was definitely loud enough.

“…You okay?” Gojo asks, hesitantly.

“When you come back to Earth,” you explain to him in clipped tones, “I am going to gut you. Then we are going to go on a date.”

#sera writes #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojou satoru fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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mediocreanomaly · 10 months

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NESTING? PLS 😭 like ARE WE CONNECTED SOMEHOW this is so good

i have drowsy knives purring himself to sleep stuck in my head now--THIS IS LITERAL GOLD 😭 it would take a v special s/o to pick up the slight nuances of his emotions too n he'd be head over heels 🥺

but nesting instincts 🥺 please for the love of everything knives elaborate i i i wanna know all there is to know ab this man 🥺👉👈

n maybe vashy seperately too?? 🥴

Authors Note: Turned this into a full post because I'm procrastinating my drabbles anyways lmao this is going to give away a teeny tiny bit of my uncanny Vash post I'm making but I love talking about the Twins and their less than human instincts

Savern Twins Nesting HC's

Knives

•Knives is surprisingly the less embarrassed of the twins about nesting instincts, this is solely based on the fact that he doesn't see his plant qualities to be anything to be ashamed about, it's just another thing that sets him apart from humans

•Although, no one (besides you) knows about Knives nest. You may wonder how the two points can co-exist but that because a Plant's nest is supposed to be somewhere secure and safe. So while he's not embarrassed that he has a nest, he's not going to openly talk about it and risk giving away someone trying to get a peek of it (not that he really openly talks about anything)

•Knives nest is big, he had a bed custom made that's larger than a kings but circular and with plush raised walls so it feels not secure and less in the open. He's collected various blankets and pillows that fill the empty space so that he can bundle up under them, all of it is white because he refuses to let his nest look ugly or disorganized

•He's a perfectionist too so he spends a lot of time organizing and reorganizing his nest. Every time he gets a new blanket or pillow to add he has to redo the whole thing to make sure it's in the perfect spot or else he refuses to sleep in it

•Now Knives doesn't have to sleep much like he doesn't have to eat, but sleeping is something enjoys. He stresses about his plans a lot even if he doesn't show it outwardly. What better way to destress than napping in his nest?

•Whenever he decides to officially make you his mate (yes he calls it that, what else is he supposed to call it? Everything else sounds too human) all his instincts will scream at him to burrow into his nest

•For awhile you'll actually be hard pressed to even be allowed out of the nest, because why would you want to leave? As your mate Knives needs to keep you safe, and where's the safest place in the world? His safest place in the world, so please stop trying to leave the nest- you're hungry? fine he'll bring you food that you can eat in the nest

•I honestly don't think Independents hold body heat because their sisters live in water, which is one of many reasons they nest. It's also why Nai will drag you in with him when he wants to sleep so he can bum off your body heat. That's when when you learn he can purr (yeah thats right Plants purr propaganda) naps like this are the best. It's hard to stay awake when he's got you cuddled under blankets, gentle rumbles lulling you asleep

•After awhile you'll be allowed out so long as you are by his side or being escorted by Legato, or atleast unless you get pregnant

•If Knives manages to get you pregnant...you are banished to the nest again. It's not so bad though, besides he likes you like this. All round and full of his child, surrounded by plush comforters and pillows that cradle your form. At this point he won't leave your side unless he has to, if his instincts were bad before then they are haywire now, he stays curled up with you because theres no way you'd be able to defend yourself in a state like this, it's his job as your mate to keep you and his unborn child safe and sound, tucked away from the rest of the world

•When the baby is born it's where you'll spend most your time too, I mean...c'mon think about it. Your little one all tucked against you and Nai curled protectively around both of you, gentle purrs from both him and your baby as both their plant markings glow ever so slightly? If there's such thing as heaven this is it

•Knives has purposely made his nest large enough to hold his growing family, so no matter how many children you have you'll all get to curl up in the nest to find comfort or just to sleep.

•I think unfortunately once the children hit a certain age they are kicked out of the nest lol, it's more reserved for a Plants mate and young ones, so starting at maybe teen age it's time for them to make their own nest

•This isn't to say they aren't ever allowed in at all though. If Knives children are in any sort of distress his instincts kick in telling him to make sure their safe so in times like that they are still allowed in, the purpose of the nest is to provide him and his family with safety and comfort so no matter what it's there waiting for you

Vash

•Vash is admittedly a bit more embarrassed about the fact that he nest

•He tries his best to blend in with humans and thinks that people might find it weird that his instincts are constantly telling him to grab every soft thing he can find and hunker down

•Not that it really matters because he's always on the run anyways, he doesn't have time to stop and nest in the first place which makes it an easy an excuse to not nest at all, so Vash doesn't have a nest...right?

•Wrong. Like I said it's instinct and even Vash can't help but begin to nest in whatever shitty motel room he's in, especially if he's had a really rough day and just wants to sleep.

•Vash's nest is...admittedly a bit more pitiful than Knives. Knives has the advantage of staying in one spot, Vash does not, so he doesn't have a single nest but more so a hastily made one consisting of anything soft he can find. old blankets, pillows, clothes, rags, and even his own coat all make up his haphazard resting place.

•When he meets you though oh boy does it make it harder to resist the urge to stay and make a nice big nest for the two of you to hide away in

•It takes awhile for you to learn of Vash's little habit because he tries really hard to hide it away. He doesn't want you to think he's weird so when he does show it to you and you don't react negativly he's shyly asking, "do you...want to get in it?"

•Please say yes, his heart can't take any other answer. After that Vash is more keen on nesting even though the two of you travel, you even buy him a couple blankets that you pack up and bring so that he has something more consistant to nest with. The two of you will arrive at the motel for the night and you sit on the bed watching as Vash sleepily mulls over the blankets, pillows, and clothes he's choosen and organses it in a satisfactory way before he weakily pulls you in with him, purring as he cuddles up to you

•If you run your hand through his hair you'll be rewarded with more purrs and him nuzzling into your hand, but don't comment on it or he'll get embarrassed and hide his face into the blankets while he pulls away

•Vash wouldn't try to get you pregnant unless it was after he dealt with his brother and at that point I think he'd have a more permanent nest. Whether that's on Ship 3 or your own little home he's finally got a spot that he knows is always there, perfect to keep you in while you grow your baby!

•Vash loves spending time in the nest, it's from a mixture of putting off his instincts so long when he was on the run and the fact he actually has a place of comfort for once that does it, so if you can't find your partner...he's most likely buried in the nest

•It's super cute though, you'll walk in the room and softly call "Vash?" and his head will peak out of the mountain of blankets eyes still half lidded with sleep and hair all messy as he says a soft "hmm?"

•This nest is still a bit more messy and it's one of those "it looks disorganized but Vash know exactly where everything is" situations, he doesn't really care about colors or anything, infact it's proably mostly blankets that other people have gifted him over the years, he feels like it tells a story

•Unlike Knives, you'll have to be the one to eventually kick the kids out of the nest once they get older because "what do you mean they can't stay in here with us? Their still our baby!" "Vash their 20" "and?"

•Vash's plant marks always appear when he's in the nest, he can't help it! It's so comforting, besides he has you here warming him up and your kids cuddled in the covers- oop he's crying, don't worry they're happy tears

After note: I hope you liked it!!! I wanted to add more stuff about you being able to read Knives but it didn't really fit so that might have to be saved for another list I'm a firm "the boys do weird but cute animal things" believer and it's my job to infect people with that propaganda

#vash x you #knives x you #vash x reader #knives x reader #trigun x reader #trigun x you #Zero responds

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