#I feel so useless when I'm not writing. I don't know what else I'm good for

[luveline]

Girl pls pls write stripper reader and Spencer where she thinks he would never date her bc she’s a stripper and just a sprinkle of angst with lots of comforting fluff and Spencer reassuring

thank u for requesting! ♡ fem, 1.5k

cw mentioned past domestic/workplace abuse, unhealthy eating habits

Someone broke into my apartment. 9:14AM

Spencer reads the message under the table but forgoes discretion when he registers what it says and who it's from. He excuses himself from the round table, something he isn't even sure he's allowed to do, and hurries out onto the landing. 

You answer on the second dial. "Hey, did you see my text?" you ask. 

"Are you okay?" He squeezes his phone. 

"I'm not sure. I'm fine, but my lock is busted and the door won't stay shut." 

"Where are you?" 

If you're surprised that he's steamrolling, you don't show it. Spencer leaves work to meet you at the coffee shop you've chosen for refuge, your eyes tired, a small bag of your most important possessions hanging on a slumped shoulder. He hugs you straight away. 

"I'm fine," you say into his neck. 

He hugs you tighter. "That's good," he says, feeling useless, fingers stroking little paths into your shoulders. He pictured the worst from your text, and seeing you in person is the only true mitigator. You'll talk down bruises and black eyes —you have in the past. 

He pulls the story from you as you walk back to his apartment, shoulder to shoulder in the cold street. "It was open when I got home, the door, but I did what you asked me to." 

"You didn't go in?" he confirms proudly. 

"Not at first." 

"You really won't call the police?" 

"I texted you." 

Spencer takes the strap of your bag from you and throws it over his own. "I'm not that kind of cop. I'm not really a cop at all." 

"No, you're a fed, which is worse. The girls at work told me to stay away from you." You wipe under your eyes sluggishly. Sleep clings to you like a shadow trailing behind you, ever-present. 

He puts his hand behind your back, worried you'll fall up the steps to his apartment building. "They think I'll what, extort you?" 

You shake your head, something sad in the slow side to side. "Girls like me have no business around guys like you." 

"You probably get too much business from guys like me." 

You laugh, but you both know it's not what you meant. Spencers noticed it more and more lately, nothing so obvious until now, this dead set belief you hold that he's one type of person and you're another. He gets that your work isn't what you wanted for yourself when you were growing up. He knows it isn't easy, even on your 'good' nights. It takes a toll to be seen as you are, nothing left private. But you've always said you liked stripping as much as anyone should like their job. "It's a job," you'd said, having barely known him, tired and hungry, curled up on his couch with nowhere else to go. "Only the luckiest get to really enjoy work. S'why it's called work." 

He'd hoped, perhaps in a self-absorbed way, that  having more support might make you feel better about yourself; he wanted his friendship to give you some confidence, basically. Before you met Spencer there was no one else you could depend on. It's why you stayed working for a man who broke your wrist until Spencer weaselled his way into your life and made you a bed in his living room for the time it took to get you out. His credentials helped, of course, but you survived it because you're resilient. You're awesome. You've done everything you can with what you have and you don't think it's enough. 

You and Spencer take the elevator to his floor, and for the twenty seconds it takes to get there, you let your cheek rest on his shoulder. He's just about to drop his head on top of yours when the doors open, and the slice of quiet you'd both savoured slips like sand between his fingers. 

"I can go back and get some of your stuff," he offers, guiding you the short walk to his door. He passes you the key rather than struggle with the lock himself. 

Your hand shakes as you push down the handle. "There's nothing worth going back for." 

"Don't say that, you have all your clothes there, your couch. You have things. I'll take my car." 

"You hate driving." 

"I'd hate someone robbing you even more." 

"Robbing me again," you correct, holding the door for him. 

You didn't have anything worth the trouble, it seems. You keep your savings in a locked box hidden in the bathroom that they couldn't find, and though your apartment is clean and bigger than the one you lived in before Spencer met you, it's mostly empty. You don't have a TV, you're not a collector. They took the radio off of the refrigerator, your microwave oven, and a box of cosmetic jewellery worth chapel change. 

"But it's your stuff. You deserve to have stuff." Spencer drops your bag gently and his with less care by the door. 

"It's only until the locksmith can come tomorrow," you say with a yawn. "Let the junkies lavish in my stuff for the next twenty hours." 

"That's not a problem for you?" 

"I don't have the luxury of that being a problem for me, Spence. What am I supposed to do? The locksmith can't come–" 

"There are a hundred locksmiths." 

"Not that I can afford." You shrug out of your jacket. "Spence, listen to me. It's okay. I can't ask you to do that, anyways. You've done more than enough for me already," you say, sitting on the couch. You perch for a moment like you're trying to be polite until fatigue overtakes you, and you sink into the cushions with a relieved sigh. 

Spencer crosses the space between you and kneels by your feet to untie your shoelaces. 

"Don't do that," you mumble, hand over your mouth as a second yawn in as many minutes catches you. 

"Why not?" He slips your shoes off, letting his hand rest on your ankle. "Wanna watch that weird cooking show–" 

"Why aren't you at work?" 

He climbs onto the couch next to you, unafraid to sit shoulder to shoulder. "You were having an emergency." 

You rub your face with both hand. "I knew I shouldn't have called you. You can't just leave work because of me, Spencer, what if you get in trouble?" 

"Someone I care about needed my help, and Hotch understands that." Spencer puts on his big boy pants with a wince. "Do you get that?" 

"I don't really… I don't…" You falter. "We're never going to work. You'll never…" 

"I'll never what?" he asks insistently, voice lilting up with a little incredulity. He can't help it.

You refuse to answer, turning your face from his. 

Spencer knows what you're going to say. He's bad with girls but he's good at recognising human emotion; he sees the same insecurity in himself as he does in you. He knows the feeling. 

You're not right, is the thing. 

Spencer would kiss you if he thought that would change your mind. But tired as you are, angry with yourself, defeated, he knows it's not a good idea. He takes your hand instead, sewing your fingers together with a deliberate slowness. He brings his other hand to them and strokes the back of your index finger with his thumb, careful not to disrupt your press on nails. He knows they have a tendency to come off with too much pressure, and you're always losing your glue. 

"If they really need me to go, they'll call me. But I'm staying here." His thumb moves down to your knuckle. You have little calluses and cuts and bruises everywhere from dancing. He's seen the contusions that line your thighs on a semi permanent basis. "When was the last time you had something to eat?"

"Spencer," you murmur. 

"Let me take care of you, please," he says, hand curling around your wrist with extreme gentleness. "You need to eat. You need to sleep. Let me worry about everything else for once, I want to." 

You still don't look at him, but you sink down an inch at a time until your cheek is on his shoulder again, like it had been in the elevator. Hesitant, you wrap your arm around his stomach. 

"I'm so stupid," you say. 

He wonders if that's a placeholder for what you really want to say. You think so little of yourself sometimes, but it's like you've told him before. Not everyone has the luxury of enjoying their job. 

"You're amazing." Spencer feels like he's on fire everywhere that your skin touches him. Is he saying the right things? "You are. You're the only person who doesn't see that." 

"The only person here, maybe." 

"You should always be here, then. With me. That way I can remind you." 

You sound more like yourself when you answer, though tiredness lines every word, "Thank you, Spencer. I don't deserve you." 

"Yes, you do."

Spencer rubs your hand until you fall asleep, and then he buys you a new toaster oven on his phone, and an industrial security lock. He doesn't know what it'll take to convince you that you deserve him, you deserve better, but he's gonna try. 

He presses his cheek to your temple and focuses on the softness of your skin where it touches his.  

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

[ms-demeanor]

*screaming*

*continued screaming*

Okay. So. My introductory Visual C# class.

The professor for that class was Alice. Alice was the person who spoke in the introductory video and the person who we were supposed to email if we had any issues.

But all of the assignments, lectures, and quizzes were written and delivered by Bob. On the youtube channel "Bob's programming academy." The quizzes included Bob's name, like "if you do X will it return the string ProfessorBob, Professor, Bob, or Professor.Bob?"

This class was really frustrating for me because it was structured in such a way that you could easily pass the class with zero knowledge of the subject - it was totally based on quizzes that you could take an unlimited number of times and we *had* weekly programming assignments but they weren't graded so there was no incentive to do them (and look, if I wanted to teach myself programming with no incentives I could fail for several years to do that on my own, I don't need to pay fifty bucks a unit for that; the reason I am in a *class* and am not self-taught is because I need external motivation. That's why I sought out a class).

Also when there *was* a problem with an instruction that was unclear in one of the videos for the assignments, or if I thought I'd done something correctly that was very much incorrect, it wasn't Alice who had created the instructions, it was Bob - in 2017 no less - and I didn't really feel like I could ask Alice for help with an ungraded assignment that she hadn't written.

So. Now. My Python class.

Today is the first day of class. Professor is Charles.

I go to the mandatory attendance quiz and it is word-for-word the same mandatory attendance quiz as the C# class, down to the final question "what is your personal email address so I can keep in contact with you after the semester?"

I look at the syllabus.

Class grade is based on quizzes. We have assignments but none of them are graded. There's no textbook, just a series of videos from Professor Bob's Programming Academy.

So I'd been toying with staying at this school and trying to take more CS classes instead of going to another school, just to try to keep my records easier to manage, but since it seems like that *ENTIRE DEPARTMENT* is five Professor Bobs in a trenchcoat, I will probably be going somewhere else (and once again trying to force myself to do projects that I already know are *good for me to do* but *useless for the class and a massive time suck*)

I should drop this class. I should drop this class and apply for the other school so that I can start taking classes there in the spring because if I take this class and then go into the object oriented programming class in the spring and it's another professor bob sock puppet and I end up taking twelve units of programming classes where all I learn is how to google answers in a short time frame (something I already know how to do thanks) I am going to fucking lose it.

Also, again: I have a Bachelor's Degree. I spent five years at a community college when I was getting that degree. I took probably a dozen online classes starting in 2005 and going until 2011 in the process of getting that degree.

THIS bullshit, this "I'm your professor but actually I'm not and all the materials were created by someone else in the department or came directly from the textbook publisher and there is no writing and there are no assignments everything is multiple choice quizzes that are automatically graded" is *dogshit.*

This is NOT how online classes worked back in my day, not even online math classes, and as much as I know adjuncts are getting fucked over by academia in general, this isn't something that these professors should be getting paid as much as they are to do. Alice checked whether or not students turned in a hello world assignment and gave a pass/fail grades for three discussion boards that were responses to youtube videos. Nothing else in the class required her input. If this is the level of instruction that students are getting then the class is already automated and the students shouldn't have to pay for it.

This is crap. This is an incredible level of crap.

[hanniejji]

wild bunny

[ scaramouche x child!reader ]

summary: whenever scaramouche looks at the young child that always stood idly beside him, he is reminded of a certain fledgling that he once lost.

notes: had a sudden burst of writing juice because of the scara cutscene that broke my heart, tis my usual platonic shit agenda lesgo | m.list

words: 972 | warnings: a lil rushed because i typed this while at work LHASHAHAHAHA also mentions of dead pipol lmao

"what the fuck."

scaramouche stares in disbelief, jaw slacked and furrowed eyes pointed at the small cocoon of blanket on the couch in his office. your fluff of hair is disheveled, eyes unusually puffy and teary rather than dull. the small trail of sheen on your cheeks confirms his suspicion.

the unfeeling stray he picked out from the wilderness of inazuma is crying.

he had not seen you express a single emotion other than conflict, anger and bloodlust before, so for you to be crying—alone—it's safe to say that the balladeer is undeniably bamboozled.

"what are you wasting tears for, brat?"

maybe he should have been a little softer when approaching children in their… vulnerable state. but honestly speaking, scaramouche doesn't exactly know if that applies to you. children under the wing of the fatui aren't exactly normal—especially, children who can wipe out a whole team of fatus. nonetheless, you are still a young fledgling, exposed to the truth of this world where the gods are cruel and being weak does not equal to survival.

you remind him so much of kunikuzushi.

he grimace at the reflection, a parallel that coaxed him into taking your battered form under his wing—an unbelievable truth, as much as he denies it.

"i lost the bunny."

"the what?"

he crouches in front of the couch, forearms on his knees with an exasperated look on his face, though his feelings are far from the expression plastered on display. he has an inkling about what's upsetting you, now that he looks over you once more.

you and that thing are practically inseparable.

"i lost the bunny you gave me."

and by bunny, you meant the stuffed bunny he gave you a few months after he plucked you from the wild.

the one scaramouche gave because the first time he saw you was when you were blankly staring at the lifeless bunny on the ground. it died from the aftermath of a wild goose chase. a few weeks before he found you, fatuis and random nobushis would turn up dead in the wilderness of inazuma. it infuriated scaramouche. camps upon camps of fatus would be thrown into disarray and their rations are emptied. when he sent his underlings after the perpetrator, they'd fail to come back with good news. worse, they won't come back at all. he'd come upon them sprawled on the dirty ground somewhere else, dead.

so he went after the menace himself.

that's when he found you in the middle of a fatui camp, his underlings basically useless at this point, slumped on the ground and the poor innocent bunny in front of you. it's later then after he apprehended you that he found out that you were protecting the tiny mammal.

you were just a kid trying to survive in a world filled with monsters, strong enough to protect yourself but helpless and clueless when it comes to the life of others.

when his eye caught sight of a ragged stuffed bunny in an abandoned village, he grabbed it on impulse, faltering only when he was about to hand the now clean stuffed bunny that he stitched up himself. despite being confused as fuck, he casually tossed the thing at you, telling you that it's of no use to him and that you should act like a kid more because your indifference is creeping him out.

he prefers you over any kid by the way. don't tell him i told you.

"i'm sorry," his eye twitched, irritated at how you seemed to be so bothered. it's just a random stuffed bunny, nothing great about it. but he supposes that for someone at your age and comprehension, it must've meant something special for you.

and it does, a lot.

"it's just a toy."

"you gave me that bunny."

he sighed audibly, rolling his eyes before pushing himself to full height, arms crossed.

"it's not the only stuffed bunny in the world, idiot."

"it's the one you gave me. i don't want just any stuffed bunny."

now this, caught him off guard.

you seemed to be genuinely sad about losing the bunny, an expression he only saw on the day you first met. the same look on your face when you failed to protect something you deemed precious. if you're directing such sentimentality towards the stuffed bunny, then you must've really loved it.

more so because it came from him.

scaramouche is brought back to centuries past, an image of a different child flashing before his eyes.

he feels his chest tighten, but he dares not linger at the thought.

"look, you little gremlin," scaramouche grumbled, masking this unfamiliar feeling with exasperation and irritation—he dares not display such thing. "we can just get you a new one and it would still come from me. who the hell do you think provides for you, huh? me, no one else."

he sees your eyes brightened in the slightest, now facing him. he can literally imagine an invisible tail wagging with how you seemed to perked up. another unfamiliar sight, but not unwelcomed. if anything, it's going to be what he thinks of for the next few weeks, unbeknownst to him.

"but how about the one i lost?"

"forget it, it's ragged anyway," he gestures you to follow. "move your little feet, we have places to be and things to do."

the sound of your feet trailing behind him is something he would come to love listening to. that and the slight tug on his sleeves where your little hand naturally clutches around.

a week passes, you found a pristine white bunny in your quarters. it looks different from the one you used to have, but the stitches are familiar and the small electro symbol on its torso is one that you will not mistake for a different person's handiwork.

#genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin x gn reader #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin hcs #genshin scenarios #genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche scenarios #scara x reader #scaramouche imagines #kunikuzushi #scaramouche genshin impact #scaramouche genshin x reader #scaramouche genshin #honey writes #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche headcanons

[grandlinedreams]

hi i literally love all of ur posts u nail all of the characters its crazy.

one of my favorite tropes is hidding an injury and getting the classic “who did this to you.”

if ur still taking requests and are in an angsty mood would u plzzz write this with zoro?

Hhjg I try, thank-you!! But also mood it's just so GOOD and I hope that I can do this justice for you!!

[Heads up!: mentions of canon typical violence, blood/mention of an infected wound, angst]

Staring down at the gash in your side, you bite back a hiss as you prod at it, the weep of milky fluid from it. The split skin is puffy and an angry red, heat eminating from it ㅡ it doesn't take a genius to know that it doesn't look good.

Normally you'd have the little handful of supplies from Chopper, tucked away in your backpack ㅡ but it's gone, along with everything else beyond your weapon.

At least you're not wandering around by yourself, though. As if on cue, there's the sound of footsteps behind you, and you drop your shirt back over the poorly bandaged wound.

"What are you doing over here?"

"Just fine," you answer as you turn towards Zoro. "I wanted to see if we could reach a clearing and get a good read on where we are."

"Fair enough." Zoro studies you for a minute, and you worry that he's going to know about the wound on your side ㅡ the one you'd casually "forgotten" to mention to him. "So which way should we be heading?"

"West," you answer, glancing up at the sky. The sun has begun its slow arc of descent, and you sigh. "We need to hurry, or we'll end up needing to camp for the night."

"Right." You turn to watch Zoro go, feeling the irritated twitch of a muscle in your jaw.

"Zoro. That's east."

ㅡ

By the time the sun has set, it's clear that something is wrong.

There's a fine layer of cold sweat on your face that you scrub at, trying to ignore the heaviness of your limbs and throbbing ache of your side. "We should stop for the night," you hear yourself say, "it's useless to try and navigate after dark."

Zoro grunts his agreement and turns to look at you, brow furrowing. "Are you sure you're alright?"

You want to answer him, you really do. But your ears are ringing, mouth full of cotton when you try to answer. Dark spots dance around the edges of your vision, and you're distantly aware of Zoro's noise of alarm when your legs finally give out.

"'m fine," you finally manage before the dark spots expand, sinking you down into the silent black of unconsciousness.

ㅡ

You wake to the awkward bulk of a backpack under your head and the smell of woodsmoke. Sitting up, you blink when a damp cloth drops from your forehead into your lap.

"Finally awake?" Sitting nearby, Zoro prods at the fire with a long stick before he turns towards you. "You have a fever."

Your hand slides to your side, feeling the stiff press of bandages underneath, the answering throb of the gash beneath.

"Took care of that too." Zoro's gaze is sharp. "I'm not Chopper, but it'll do for now. Mind explaining who did that and why you didn't bother telling me?"

It's clear he's far from amused, and you look away, feeling guilty. "Happened when we all got separated," you say, "and I didn't think it was going to be that much of an issue."

Zoro wants to scold you, but he knows he'd be a hypocrite if he did given the amount of times he's blatantly ignored his injuries. Instead he sighs, watching the logs crackle for a moment. "Hope you killed the guy who did it."

"Of course I did," you answer with a hint of pride, and Zoro smirks.

"Good."

ㅡ

"I think this is a little excessive, Zoro."

"You still have a fever," Zoro says as he adjusts his grip on your legs, "and we won't get anywhere if you collapse on me again." He feels you tense, and he frowns. "How are you feeling, anyways? And don't lie."

"A little better." You rest your forehead against his shoulder, and though he won't admit it out loud, the fact he can feel warmth radiating from your skin worries him. "I'm sorry about this."

"Still should have told me," he says, though his tone is softer, his grip tightening on your legs. "Idiot. We're crewmates, aren't we? We're supposed to trust each other."

"I do trust you."

"Then act like it." He stares ahead, footsteps steady. "Don't go getting hurt and then hiding anymore, you hear me?"

"I hear you." You pause. "Zoro?" He grunts in answer, and you exhale softly. "Thank-you."

Zoro tells himself that his heart doesn't pick up a little bit at how soft your voice is, the cling of your body against his. And that he definitely isn't blushing, just a little. "Yeah, yeah. Can't have you die on me and leave me to deal with that stupid cook all on my own."

#ㅡmine. #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #ㅡanswered. #anonymous

[mindfulstudyquest]

❥﹒♡﹒☕﹒ 𝗽𝗿𝗼 𝘁𝗶𝗽𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗮'𝘀

having good grades doesn't necessarily mean you're smart, a test or exam can't always determine someone's intelligence, but it's academic validation we crave, right? so here are some tips thanks to which you will get straight a's.

𝟭. understand what the professor wants ( 🪼 )

learning the entire book by heart is tiring and basically useless. we take our education seriously, but it's impossible to know everything about everything, so inevitably there will be topics we can gloss over. check old tests, listen to the teacher during the lecture, talk to students who have already attended the course and passed the exam. understand which aspects your professor particularly cares about and concentrate on those, your exam will certainly go well.

𝟮. strengthen your memorization ( 🦋 )

very often the amount of things to study is just too much and, even though you spend all day in the library rereading the topics again and again, you feel that it is not enough. you get confused, you forget steps, you get lost in the labyrinth of the subject. investing in understanding your form of memorization will benefit you in the long run. identify your type of memory (spatial, photographic, echoic, etc.) and focus on how to improve it. having a good memory will make your studying for the exam much faster and easier.

𝟯. pay attention in class ( 🫧 )

attend all lectures and take notes. much of your studying comes from your professor's lecture. underline the important things in your textbook, carefully follow their speech and - if there are any - their powerpoint slides, writing only the things that the teacher adds and which are not written either in the book or in the extra material, if necessary, record the lesson so you can listen to it again at a later time.

𝟰. organize your notes the same day ( 🧃 )

when i take notes in class i write badly and quickly to keep up with the teacher, shortening words or omitting passages.  by reorganizing your notes that same evening (at most the next day, if you really don't have time) you can revise your work when the lesson is still fresh in your mind; if you wait too long, you will forget most of the things and you will find yourself staring blankly at pages of notes which, at that point, will seem more like hieroglyphics to you than anything else.

𝟱. use ai responsibly ( 🪴 )

artificial intelligence is everywhere nowadays and why not use it to our advantage? of course i'm not suggesting that you let an ai take care of all your tests and essays, it wouldn't make sense, however very often it helped me make a list of key points to develop in a research paper, or gave me excellent ideas and insights for projects. they can also be used to create flashcards, summarize and simplify articles, or create practice tests based on the material you will have to study.

𝟲. delve deeper into your “whys” ( 🌾 )

sometimes when i study i stare into space and wonder why i am studying something that seems completely irrelevant to my path. i'm sure it happens to you too, don't ignore this feeling. don't be afraid to explore themes and topics that aren't clear to you, if two statements seem contradictory ask yourself why, if you don't understand some passages, don't be afraid to ask a question. we study for ourselves, before studying to graduate, to work. there is no shame in not understanding, your intelligence lies in striving to clarify what seems obscure.

#school #note taking #college #studyinspo #academia #education #university #study tips #study inspiration #study notes #study motivation #student #study aesthetic #study blog #studyblr #studyspo #pro tips to get straight a's #straight a student #straight a's #architecture #architecture student #architecture studyblr #university life #univeristy #uni life

[allysunny]

hiii! first of all, congratulations for 200 followers! im so proud heheee! and second, i just read your nanami's fic (patching up wounds) AND IT'S SO GOOD 😭😭🤍🤍 WE LOVE FLUFFY FLUFF NANAMI

and third! i wanna make a request hehee

15+28 with a make up prompt with nanami 🤍

"Is it someone else?" + "Do you trust me?" / "Always" + Make up x Nanami Kento

Words: 4.3k words

Warnings: Angst, mentions of infidelity, arguments, some angst? Some suggestive themes, but nothing downright explicit, I would say? I'm so bad at tagging omg if I missed anything!

A/N: Hey everyone! Here's another one of the entries for my 200 Follower Event!!! I missed writing for my man Nanami sm, I love this man so bad... <3<3<3

Anyway, I would ALSO like to say that my Event is now CLOSED!!!! I'll of course finish the requests I have in my inbox, but regarding this event in particular, I won't be taking any more! I feel like if they keep on coming, I'm going to panic and not be able to finish any of them.

Thank you for everyone that participated and sent in their great ideas; they're all genius and I am having a blast writing them. Thank you so much!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this little piece!!!

You'd long stopped waiting for Nanami to come home

Asking him to please come at a more decent hour, and letting you know whether he was going to make it to dinner or not proved to be useless, as he often did not check his phone, and even when he did, he'd give you one-worded replies that did nothing to soothe your nerves. You loved your husband; knew him inside out and loved everything about it. But sometimes, these little quirks managed to annoy you.

Were you being selfish? All you wanted was for your husband to come home to you, have some dinner, ask how your day was, maybe make love to you once or twice. But as days turned into weeks, it seemed like none of those were a possibility.

Dinnertime together became "Sorry. Won't be able to make it in time. Don't wait for me." texts, casual conversations about your jobs became "I had an exhausting day. Can we not talk about it?", asking your husband for a bit of affection became "I'm really tired. Some other day." It was starting to become unbearable.

You knew Nanami to be a hard worker. He was a very thorough man, efficient and determined, and he always gave 101% of himself in whatever he did. But lately, it seemed that he was lacking in terms of your own life. It hurt to eat by yourself, it hurt to read or watch TV on an empty couch, it hurt to go to sleep in cold sheets.

You'd tried to talk to him once, ask what was happening. Not only did he brush it off as him simply being busy, but he also failed to provide you with information as what to what kept him busy. He was never a man of many words. You knew this. But it was one thing for him to be quiet and reserved. It was another to simply refuse to tell you certain information about what he did for a living.

All he'd told you was that he worked at a high school, as a teacher. Taught something about finance. On one hand it made sense. All the books and certificates inside his study were clearly not for show, and he'd always been extremely intelligent. But on the other hand, it was weird. Nanami never expressed much interest in teaching. Hell, you didn't even know he had the qualifications for teaching. But apparently, he did, and that's what he wanted to do from now on.

He'd told you it was a high paying job. He wouldn't be as miserable as he was as a salaryman, and you two would be able to take that lovely vacation in Malaysia, the one you'd been envisioning for years now. But how did a high-school teacher earn so much? And why did he have to spend so much time at his school?

The sound of the door broke you out of your thoughts, and you looked behind you from your place in the couch. Your husband walked home, hair slightly dishevelled and jacket hung on his arm.

"I'm home," he said softly, before taking off his shoes and hanging his coat.

"Hey," Your feet instantly carried you from the couch to him, as if second nature. Your feet would carry you anywhere Nanami Kento was, that is how deep your love for him run. Because where was home, if not by his side?

"I stopped by the bakery on my way home," he mumbled, placing a white paper bag on top of the couch. "Brought you those croissants you like."

There he was, your sweet husband, remembering you even when you worried and worried. Here you were, chewing the inside of your cheek out of sheer preoccupation, and he was out there buying you croissants. You felt a little bit guilty.

"Thank you," you smiled, returning to his side, and continuing to speak, "How was work?" It was when he flexed visibly in front of you when you moved to undo the knot of his tie that you had realised, you'd asked the wrong question.

"Tiring. I don't want to talk about it," he answered, moving past you towards the kitchen.

The guilt you'd briefly felt earlier washed away, if only a little bit.

Dinner was uneventful, as usual. It was nice having his company, but it was almost as if it didn't even make any difference. He was quiet, more so than usual. You tried getting a few conversations going, talking about your day, gossiping about your coworkers, but only received one-syllabic words, or soft hums of acknowledgement. You tried to get him to talk about his work, but he wouldn't budge. You asked about his students, and he shut you down. It seemed as if there was a barrier coming up between you and your husband, and you didn't like it one bit.

He offered to do the dishes for you while you decided to go take a quick shower, and when you came back, you found him sitting on top of your bed, quietly reading a book.

"Aren't you heading to bed?" you asked.

"I came home late enough the other days. I'd like to enjoy a book for a while before I go to sleep. Is that so wrong?" There was a slight harshness to his voice that you didn't like, and you became defensive.

"I'm sorry – it's just, you've been so tired every other day, I thought you'd maybe like to get some actual sleep."

Nanami must've realised the tone he'd taken with you and took a deep breath to calm himself.

"I appreciate your concern, honey, I really do. But I'd like to relax for a bit. I promise to get enough sleep."

You nodded and grabbed the remote, turning on the TV in front of you to zap through a few channels. When you couldn't find anything that amused you, you picked up your phone and scrolled through social media, internally sighing at the photos of your friends and their respective partners on their own private vacations. It reminded you of Malaysia, and it made you frown just a bit. You had half a mind to ask your husband, but there was no way you wanted him to think you were annoying, so just kept quiet.

After a while, he put down his book and walked towards the bathroom to get ready for bed. You would've done the same, but he closed the door behind you, causing you to wait for him. When you were able to brush your teeth and go through your whole skin care routine, you returned to bed.

Nanami was already lying down, facing away from you.

It hurt. A lot. You used to sleep pressed close against each other. He would hug you close to him, and you'd fall asleep to the beating of his heart. It nearly made you cry, until you realised you were made of tougher things, and would do your best not to let it get to you.

You laid down, pulled the covers over your body, and looked at your husband's back, admiring the broad planes of his shoulders and the pale skin you so adored to touch and kiss. It had been a while since you'd done both.

You don't know what made you do this. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe you just missed your husband too much and seeing him like this before you awakened memories in you that had your cheeks heat up and your thighs clench instinctively. But something made you press against Nanami's back and snake your arms around his chest.

He all but whispered your name, and you couldn't tell if in exasperation, or desire.

"I miss you so much," you mumbled, pulling your body up to sit beside him, and leaning down to press kisses against his neck and jaw. You felt him tense, and something inside you churned. Why was he tensing before you? Before your touch? He was your husband. Were you so unfamiliar that he would flinch away from you?

"I'm tired," he sighed, rolling so his body would stay even more out of reach.

"We don't have to do much;" you mumbled, scooting closer to him. Your hands carded through his hair. "I just miss you. Miss your touch, miss your body," each word was punctuated with a kiss on his jaw, and you heard Nanami sight. "Please, Kento. Don't you miss me?"

Why you kept going, you had no idea. He had arrived home extremely tired and had not given you any signal that he wanted this. In fact, the only thing he'd demonstrated was wanting distance, peace, and quiet.

But still, you kept going, kissing his soft skin, and playing with his golden hair.

"I have to get up early in the morning," he said, but you could tell his voice was breathy, husky. You gloated internally, happy over the fact you still had this effect over him.

"We can be quick. Can't we?" He could. You could. Nanami liked to take his time with you – and lord knew how much you liked it when he did. But you also knew he was efficient. You'd been pressed against several walls inside bathrooms or broom closets, mouth against the column of his neck to stifle your broken moans to know it. "Please? You know I'll make you feel good."

Nanami remained quiet for a few seconds, and for a while you thought he might say yes. Then, he promptly moved away from you, his voice cold as ice.

"I'm tired. I need to get up early tomorrow, I don't have the time for this."

"But Kento – "

"Can't you listen to a word I say? You've been going against my wishes all night." This time, he turned to face you, a hint of cruelty in his eyes, something that made you tear up immediately. "All I want is to get some rest. I can't do that with you all over me."

You said nothing, staring at the man before you. Is this how he felt? That you were all over him? That you'd been going against all his wishes? It's not your fault you wanted to talk to your husband, to be worthy of some of his time.

"I just wanted to spend some time with you," you replied, brows furrowing in confusion. "What's so wrong with that?"

"I've told you before, I'm tired. I got home late today; all I want to do is just get some sleep – "

"You're always getting home late now!" You raised your voice, sitting up completely and crossing your arms over your chest. "And you're always tired. What am I supposed to do?"

"Not disturb me, when I'm working so hard for us."

"At a high school? I love you, Kento, and I love how dedicated you are to your work, but what's a high school got that makes you get home at nearly 11PM?"

"It's complicated," he muttered, looking away.

"Is it now?"

"Yes! It is! And I wish you would just let it go and let me sleep. God knows I need it."

That's when you ask the question that's been plaguing your mind for a while, the one you'd never been brave enough to ask, the one you never wanted to ask, afraid of what the answer could be.

"Is it someone else?"

You could've asked anything, and yet Nanami would've never guessed what you'd just said. Why would you ever think such a thing? Did he ever give you reasons to think he loved anyone else other than you?

It seemed almost silly to ask, because as soon as he thought the question over in his head, he realised just how much he'd been neglecting you.

"It's not," he reassured you, sitting up and turning to face you, now sitting up as well. He hadn't realised you had started to cry, only noticing it when he saw small tears running down your lovely face. He'd made you cry. He had been an asshole and now you were crying because of him. Just great.

"I'm just working hard. For you. For us."

"Don't give me any of that bullshit. No high school teacher has to stay inside the school until close to 11PM. You can't even make it do dinner most nights. Just what the hell are you doing in there? Is it someone else, Kento? Fuck – just tell me if it is because I can't take this any longer! If you’re just staying with me because you can’t be bothered to get a divorce, then I don't want it!" You said, crossing your arms over your chest. You couldn't control the tears that had escaped, and once they started to fall, you feared they wouldn't stop.

"It's not someone else!" He said, running a hand through his blonde locks. "Look, darling, I only love you – "

"Then tell me why the hell you stay in there until so late."

Nanami was stunned into silence.

You'd never really asked about his job. He had told you he was a teacher and made up some believable enough financial-like class. You'd believed it, and he thought it would be the end of it. But Nanami should've known better. You were curious, and worried about him a lot. It was very endearing, and he loved you even more for it, but sometimes – like now – it could be a tad impractical.

"I'm working," he whispered.

"Bullshit. Again, with that stupid excuse – I don't believe you, Kento." It was the first time in 6 years together that you had ever doubted your husband. And it tasted foul. Doubt tasted foul, taster bitter in your mouth, and you hated how quickly its taste spread over everything you said. "Just tell me the truth already!"

"I'm telling you the truth, I'm a teacher, and I'm working!"

"I know high school teachers, Kento!" you yelled, "And they might bring some work home, but they're usually there in time for dinner. Hell, every teacher I've spoken to gets home much earlier than you, and everyone has said that your working hours are unusual. And there's of course, the matter of the bruises."

Some big, some small, but it has become more and more usual for your husband to arrive home injured. At first it was nothing. A paper cut. An accident while cutting bread. He slipped. He tripped. He fell. The excuses started getting weirder and weirder, and you’d become suspicious as hell.

"They're just accidents honey, I told you – " Nanami's words do little to soothe you, instead enraging you even further.

"No, they're not! You've never been clumsy Kento. You've never tripped, never fallen, never had accidents with knives! Just tell me what's going on? Have you gotten yourself into something dangerous, Ken? What is it?"

Nanami looked at you, at your eyes wide with worry and heartbreak, at your pouting lips and cheeks wet from the small pearly tears. And as much as the sight broke him inside, this wasn't the time nor the place to try and talk sense into you. He couldn't tell you about what he did, couldn't introduce you to the world of Sorcery and Curses. He'd only endanger you, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Nanami sighed.

"I think you should need some sleep. We should both get some sleep and continue this conversation in the morning."

That was the last straw. How dare he dismiss this conversation, as if it weren't something important and worthy of your attention? As if your whole relationship, your trust, your life wasn't on the line?

It was too much.

"Out." You uttered, pointing at the door.

"What?"

"Out." You repeated. "How am I supposed to share a bed, let alone a life with a man I don't trust, with a man who insists on lying to my face like this? I can't sleep on the same bed as you."

"Honey, you can't be serious – " Nanami pleaded, but you were intent on interrupting him.

"Out! I won't share a bed with you until I trust the man sleeping beside me!"

With this, Nanami nodded silently. He got up and promptly left the room, leaving his pillow where it was on the bed next to you. He knew you – you might be upset, but you still loved him, and you couldn't fall asleep with some sort of presence from him next to you. He'd found you once or twice hugging his pillow as you slept, and it made him smile. Ever since, he’d sprayed it once or twice with his cologne or aftershave, to see which scents made you relax more. It was corny and lame as hell, yes. But it helped you a lot, and he was glad for it.

Once the door of your bedroom was closed, you simply let go.

Loud sobs erupted from you, and you hid below the blankets, hoping the small fortress of cloudy fluffiness would save you from all the anguish you were feeling, and wishing sleep would take you soon.

With Nanami's pillow hugged close to your body, you found that it did, and you were out in just a matter of minutes.

The following morning, you woke up to the smell of pancakes and orange juice.

Weird, you thought, who the hell is making pancakes?

You got up and ready, going through with your usual morning routine before putting on some clothes and walking downstairs. You’re not used to having company on your day off, let alone wake up to some delicious as hell smells.

When you walk into the kitchen, you spot your husband in front of the stove, a spatula in his hands, whistling some tune he seems to be hearing from the radio.

It was as if last night hadn’t happened at all, as if instead of refusing your touch and walking away, he’d turned to you and reciprocated everything.

Nanami turned to you, having heard the soft thud of your fuzzy slippers against the floor. He was wearing his “Kiss the Cook” apron, the one you’d jokingly gifted to him a few years ago and hadn’t seen him wear in a long time. If you weren’t so upset at him, it’d have made you smile.

“Good morning,” he said, placing a plate of pancakes and a glass of orange juice on your usual spot at the table.

“What’s all of this?” you asked, hesitant to sit down. Was he going to pretend it was all okay?

“An apology.”

You stopped in your tracks. An apology. Huh.

“I behaved terribly last night,” Nanami sighed and placed the rest of the pancakes on a separate plate, also putting it on top of the table. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded and sat down, taking a sip from the orange juice. It was great, and it took you every bone in your body not to jump on your husband and shower him with kisses. It’d been a good while ever since he prepared you breakfast like this.

Well, since he’d gone out of his way to do something nice and apologise, you wouldn’t play games. You and Nanami had long gone past that stage.

“Surely, you understand everything I said came from a place of worry,” you told him, grabbing your favourite jam (that Nanami had so attentively put in your reach) and smearing it all over a pancake. Your voice was calm. Not too sweet; firm, but still somewhat soft. “You’re barely home nowadays, Kento. And I miss you. You come home with scratches on your face and bruises on your arms. What am I supposed to think?”

Your husband sat before you and grabbed a glass of orange juice himself, before starting to speak.

“I understand. And I can guarantee that everything I have told you is the truth.”

You stopped your arm, fork up in the air.

“The truth? Please, Kento, I’m tired of that.”

“I’m serious.”

He shifted in his seat and sighed.

“Look – I didn’t lie to you when I told you about my new job.”

“Hm. But?” you asked, taking the forkful of pancake to your lips.

“But – “ he sighed again, “I wasn’t entirely honest either.”

“I see.”

“The truth is, I can’t tell you all about my job.”

You raised an eyebrow. Is this how he was planning to get on your good graces again?

“I’m a teacher, yes. But my job, it’s… It’s hard to explain. It’s dangerous. And I don’t want you tangled up in that world.”

Your stomach twisted in an unpleasant knot. Dangerous?

“Kento, did you get involved with the wrong people?” you whispered. Surely, that couldn’t be true. The sweet man before you would never dabble in those nasty, sketchy business you always saw out there, the kind that would have him trapped for life and made a slave to their every whim.

“No! No – Christ, no,” he was quick to reassure you, reaching out to hold your free hand. You decided not to move it, allowing the warmth of his palm to spread through yours. “It’s not like that. I did not get involved with any kind of bad people. I promise you that. But my job is dangerous, and I would be putting you in danger if I told you all about it. But I can’t stand keeping you in the dark like this – it hurts to see you suffer.”

Now you were getting scared. What the hell had your husband gotten himself into? A dangerous job? That would put you in danger? What was he talking about?

“Fuck, it’s,” he released your hand, and you immediately missed his touch. Nanami rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and shook his head. “It’s so complicated. I don’t even know where to start. I don’t even know if you’ll believe me. I just… I just need some time. Please. If you’ll have me, if you love me. I just need some time, and I’ll explain everything to you.”

“Is this what you want to do?” You asked

“Yes.”

“And you’re saying it’s dangerous.”

“It is.”

“Is that why you’re injured sometimes?”

“Yes. But I promise you – everything is okay. Everything is fine. I promise you darling – it’s okay.”

You looked at him, and he looked at you.

And there was something in his eyes that made you understand.

Not what he did, or how he did it or when.

But that he was having a tough time explaining it to you. You could see his internal dilemma clearly, and it made you ache a bit, because you saw just how conflicted he was. You loved reading. Books of all kinds. Long, short. Fun or emotional. But even after all these years of reading page after page after page, it wasn’t books you’d learned to read best.

It was your husband.

He reached out to hold your hand again. It was warm and it provided comfort. So much comfort – something you needed more than anything right now.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, speaking to you in that barely-a-whisper voice of his, the one he uses to murmur soft words against the skin of your shoulder, the one he used to say his vows to you on your wedding night, away from prying eyes, the one he’d used when he first told you he loved you.

You knew all of Nanami’s voices. Knew his monotone one, directed at coworkers and bosses; knew his warmer one, the one he used when thanking shop clerks, baristas, waiters, workers; knew his joyful one, the one you got to hear every once in a while, deep and rich and warm, accompanied by one or two chuckles if you were lucky; knew his husky one, saved especially for late-night lovemaking or mind-blowing quickies; knew his sugary sweet one, saved only for you.

And of all the voices you knew your husband to have, this was the one you trusted the most. It meant he was serious. It meant he wasn’t lying, it meant he was offering you the whole truth; he’d offer you the whole world with this voice, and you would take it.

“Always,” you found yourself replying, turning your palm, and giving his a soft squeeze.

Because it was true. You’d follow Nanami Kento to the ends of the earth. You trusted him, more than anything. And if he told you he had a hard time telling you, then you would believe him. If he told you everything was going to be fine, you would believe him. You trusted him to tell you what this dangerous job of his was and were ready to support him until the end.

You'd long stopped waiting for Nanami to come home.

But you’d start doing it. Again, and again, and again.

You would wait for him until he came home.

Whether he came home early or late, it didn’t matter. You would know he had been working. You’d know he hadn’t broken the promise he made to you the day you got married and would not lie with someone else. You’d patch up his wounds and kiss his injuries and shower him with love – so, so much love.

All that would matter, is that he would come home to you, and you wouldn’t worry.

Because you loved him, and he loved you.

And as long as you held on to that promise, you knew everything would be okay.

A/N: And that's it! I hope you guys enjoyed this little piece! I love Nanami so much, he'd be the most understanding husband, and a great communicator okay.

Once again, I ask for your patience, as uni is kicking my ass real bad, and it's taking me longer to write stuff. I fear it's only going to get worse, and I may have to take a break.

But I'll keep trying until then!

I hope you're all doing well, and have an amazing day!!! <3

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x y/n #nanami drabbles #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami headcanons #nanami kento fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfiction #nanami kento #kento nanami

[mindofadoll]

I Imagine making mommy real mad. I don't really know how. Maybe I flirted with her friends a little too much. Maybe I came home with a mark from someone else (I was just playing around of course). Maybe she caught me touching something that belongs to her. But either way she pissed, she decides that I need to learn that not everyone is as nice as her. So one day she tells me she's taking me out to dinner and ask me to dress sexy. I do, only for us to pull up infront of some sleazy girls bar. I try to question her but she brushes me off and tells me to get out of the car. When I do she grabs my hand and we walk in. As we walk in some girl at the bar asks "Is this her? " to which mommy responds with a "Yes" before I can give her a questioning look she throws me onto a sturdy table. I begin to scream and cry as some girls from the bar strap me to the table. When I look at mommy I see her taking money from who I could only assume to be the owner. After taking it she begins to coo me "Aww baby are you scared. You should be, I tried so hard to make you a good girl but you want to act like a slut. So today I'm going to let you get all that out of your system. " I begin to sniffle as I feel other female hands grab at my body. As Mommy begins to walk to a chair I hear one of the girls groping me say "What about her pretty clothes. " to which mommy responds "Just rip it off of her." For the rest of the night mommy just smokes as she watches as girls come up and fuck me. They shove their fingers where ever they can fit. They smack me how ever and where ever they wish and most humiliating of all they write on me. With their marks they tally how many times I've came. They circled my clit and labeled it useless. The wrote their names and phone numbers and anything else they could humiliate me with. By the end of the night when mommy unstraped me I was a fucked out mess of marks and numbers, just sobbing into mommy chest. But by the time I got home I realized "Mommy was right not everyone is as nice. "

♡*♡∞:｡.｡ 𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 ｡.｡:∞♡*♡

#wlw nsft #wlw ns/fw #sapphic ns/fw #lesbian ns/fw #lesbian smut #sapphic nsft #lesbian nsft #cnc wlw #lesbian scenario #wlw mommy #wlw bodywriting

[ellephlox]

Lie Detector

Pairing: Matt x f!reader

Summary: Matt thinks that you can't successfully lie to him. The only way to settle the dispute is to challenge one another to a bet, but trying to deceive a human lie detector isn't quite as easy as you'd expect.

A/N: Finally on summer break and I've had time to do some writing. I'm really drawn to a reader/matt dynamic that's super competitive, so... here we are, with yet another "game". Hope it's alright!

Sometimes, having a lie detector as a boyfriend sucked.

You realized this early on, when all of the sudden the white lies that you told habitually in order to protect others' feelings crumbled into a big dust cloud of useless whenever Matt heard them.

Last week at supper, for instance. Matt had cooked a beautiful meal — homemade rolls, oven-roasted vegetables, and your favorite pasta — and it was all delicious. Except for one experimental vegetable thrown in that you were... less fond of, to say the least.

But of course he asked you if you liked it, of course he did.

"It's incredible," you told him, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "The pasta is cooked perfectly. Also, homemade rolls? I mean, these can't even compare to the local bakeries. It's all really good, Matt."

"And the... new vegetable?" he asked, taking a bite.

Shit.

You sat stock still for half a second, your mind whirring. Fortunately, you'd gotten better at dodging situations where typically you would just save yourself with a white lie, but with Matt, there was rarely a safe way out of a question.

"It's got such a unique flavor!" you said warmly. Truth. "I don't think I've ever had it before. Where'd you get the recipe?"

"Foggy's sister. It is unique," he agreed. "You like the taste?"

Damn it. Something told you that Matt suspected you didn't like it; why else would he be so persistent about asking? "It's so unexpected," you hedged. "You cooked it really well."

Which was also a truth. The texture was good, at least; Matt had roasted it perfectly. It was the flavor you were less keen on, and you had to fight the urge to drink water after every bite.

Matt's lips turned upwards. "Sweetheart, you don't have to choke it down for me."

From there, everything unraveled. "I love it," you tried to say, but Matt's eyebrows were raising and you yourself could feel that your heart was speeding up. "Really! I love it, it's fantastic—"

You loaded your fork with it, preparing to take a large bite out of a manic desire to ensure Matt didn't find out the truth, but he deftly reached forward and grabbed your wrist. "Lost cause, Y/N." His thumb grazed your wrist, as though to match the sensation of your pulse to what he could hear.

You reluctantly put the fork down. "Come on, Matt, stop reading me for once! You cooked a beautiful supper and I want you to know how much I appreciate it—"

"You can appreciate it while letting me know you don't like a certain type of food. I promise my ego isn't dependent on a single vegetable."

"But I feel bad!" you protested. "And with anyone else, I would have just lied and said it's amazing, but with you, I have to be a schmuck about it!"

"You're not a schmuck."

"Matt, I'm a schmuck." You pointed at yourself. "Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad schmuck. Plus, it's unfair. I'm sure you lie to me all the time, and I probably just don't even notice it. Like last week, when I asked you if I have a nice voice to listen to and you told me that me that it's music to your ears, or some crap like that."

"It is music to my ears."

"I call bullshit. Unless by 'music' you meant death metal or country."

"So start lying to me," Matt said, his fingers absently moving up your forearm. "If you're able to control your nervousness when you do it."

"Is that a challenge? I'm sensing a challenge."

Matt was smiling now, and it wasn't his charming smile, it was what you thought of as his shit-eating grin. "Aw, let's not call it a challenge. I know how upset you get when you lose."

"That's it." You slapped his hand away from your arm. "Prepare to be lied to. Constantly. And if I succeed, and you don't notice that I've lied to you, then you have to..." You thought for a moment. "You'll have to wear your Daredevil suit to Foggy's when we have dinner with him and Karen on Sunday night."

Matt's smile dropped instantly. "Why the hell would I do that?"

"Um, obviously because it would be hilarious seeing you uncomfortable, and Foggy and Karen would take some awesome pictures of you?"

He grit his teeth as though contemplating. "Fine. And if I win, and I notice every lie, you can go through all of the old archives sitting in Karen's filing cabinet at Nelson and Murdock and make copies so that they can all be organized by legal topic as well as by date."

"What? How is that fair? That's hours of my time!"

"I thought you said you were confident that you'd win?"

"Well. Yeah." You leaned over to playfully shove at him. "Okay, then. I'm in."

"But if you actually are apprehensive about this bet, then we don't have to do the challenge. I won't hold it against you."

Bold way to throw down the gauntlet, Matt. There was no backing out now. "Nope. Deal accepted," you said, and stood up to clear the plates. "Oh, and by the way, I don't get 'upset' when I lose. I'm a fantastic loser."

"Lie," Matt said, almost lazily.

Damn.

That was how it began. Of course, together you enumerated more rules, both printed and in braille, and posted them on the fridge.

Rule Number One: A lie had to be the subject of whatever you were talking about. It couldn't be a throw-away comment unrelated to the conversation itself, nor could it be anything so minor that it didn't even matter. It was forbidden to, for example, tell Matt about your day and say green shirt when you were actually referring to a blue shirt and count that as a lie. It had to stand on its own, loud and proud.

Rule Number Two: You had forty-eight hours to complete the challenge. Which, admittedly, didn't give you a lot of time. Matt was on his guard every time you opened your mouth, which meant you'd have to be strategic about this, if you wanted to win.

Rule Number Three: The lie had to be delivered in heartbeat earshot. That meant you couldn't lie to him through text messages or a long distance phone call.

Rule Number Four: If Matt falsely accused you of lying more than twice, then you won. You argued this rule in as a safeguard; otherwise, he could call out your lies on whims without any consequences.

And, finally, Rule Number Five: A lie had an expiration on it of ten seconds. If Matt didn't name the lie within ten seconds of you delivering it, then you won. You had even argued for more time, but it was Matt who had told you, with a particularly cocky wave of his hand, that he'd sense it within that time.

Several times you had tried lying to him since the start of the challenge. Each time, he'd sniffed it out immediately — almost instinctively, even — so that it was almost embarrassing at how readable you were.

"You heading out tonight for patrol?" you asked him when you emerged from the shower that night, wearing only a tee of Matt's and a towel around your head.

"Only for a bit. I've got to catch up on some paperwork this evening."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No, it's just prep for my opening next Wednesday." Matt tilted back in his chair, stretching with a restlessness that told you he'd much prefer to be out on the rooftops than reading through paperwork.

"Well, let me know if there's anything I can do," you said, and then added the lie: "I'll go do some reading, then."

Matt didn't hesitate. "What're you really going to be doing?"

You scrunched your nose at him, irritated. "And I thought I was so nonchalant. My heart is a traitor. Slow down, you." You slapped at your upper chest and lied again. "I actually wanted to do some online shopping. I need a new pair of sunglasses."

"No, you don't."

You released a dramatic exhale. "Fine! I'm going to journal a bit."

Matt listened for a moment, and then nodded, clearly placated. "I'll come say bye before I head out."

And then you even thought that you might get him when he came back, because it was past two in the morning and he'd taken a faster shower than usual — an indication he was anxious to get to bed —but when he crawled under the covers, apparently he was still on guard.

"Come in closer," you whispered, half-asleep yourself despite your hope of lying to him. "I meant to stay up for you, but I fell asleep."

Which wasn't true, even though you did often stay up for him. Tonight you had slipped into bed and fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

But Matt caught it; his hand nudged at your arm to acknowledge the lie. "Even this late, you're still trying to win the bet?"

Loopholes in the rules were hard to find, you realized. Matt seemed to appreciate your attempts to bypass them the next day — in fact, the closest you came to successfully lying was that morning, when you had about thirty-two hours left in the challenge. You had left to pick up bread for breakfast, and had just stepped out onto the street when you put your plan into action and dialed Matt's number.

Because technically, here on the street, right below the apartment, Matt could still hear your heartbeat, if he sought it out. But you hoped that if you were talking with him over the phone, then he wouldn't pay attention, and that he'd be distracted by the background fuzz of the call.

"Hey," you said, walking slowly down the sidewalk; you didn't want to be accused of leaving the earshot radius. "I just got a text from Foggy. He asked if I could bring that book I was telling him about the other day to dinner tomorrow night. Is it still on my dresser or did I return it to the library? I can't remember."

It was a clever lie, you thought. You had told Foggy about the book, and he did text you about bringing it to dinner. You did, however, specifically remember leaving the book on the dresser and not bringing it to the library the other day. It wasn't violating Rule Number One, either, because the question you asked Matt pertained directly to the lie.

There was a brief noise on the other end of the line as Matt presumably cocked his head, sweeping his senses out for a book on your dresser. In your head, you counted down the time. Ten... nine... eight... seven... six...

"The thick one?"

"Yeah."

Four... three... two...

"Lie," he said suddenly, and you could hear the smile on his face. "Nice try. Almost got me on that one."

"Crap," you said, sighing and adjusting your jacket as you picked up the pace, crossing the street after taking a quick glance left and right.

"If the lie hadn't been about a book, I wouldn't have thought to listen to your heart," he continued. "You care too much about your books to not know whether you've returned one to the library or not."

"Crap," you said again, but this time it was because the convenience store was closed; you'd have to go a couple blocks further to the larger supermarket. "Matt, I'm going to take a few minutes longer. The store's not open until nine."

Matt was quiet for a moment. "If that was a lie, that doesn't count. I can't hear your heartbeat from here."

"Nope. It's the truth. Anything else you want me to pick up while I'm at the grocery store? Ibuprofen, Advil, ice packs?"

Matt answered, but you didn't hear; an idea was formulating in your mind. "Sorry?" you said after a moment, picking up your pace as rain began to fall.

"Just more tea, I think."

"On it. See you in a bit," you said, and hung up.

Rule Number Four, you realized, was your ticket to winning. If you could get Matt to call you out on a lie when you weren't lying — and if you could get him to do it three times — you'd win.

So, the trick was to get your heart rate going at precisely the right moment. You left the grocery store with bread, tea, and a large espresso from the café next door.

And, miraculously, it worked. You walked in, your heart already feeling a bit more spry since you downed much, much more caffeine in the span of five minutes than you typically had over the course of an entire day, announced to Matt that the grocery store had been strangely busy today, and—

"Lie," he said, almost without even paying attention.

"Ha!" you said triumphantly, setting the bread down on the counter. "Wrong, Murdock!"

His brow furrowed. "What?" You could see him reaching out with his senses now, seeking what his mistake was, and...

"Espresso," he said, so quietly and forlornly that you laughed. "Damn. Your heart is racing."

"Brilliant, right? The grocery store really was packed." You waved the bread at him. "I'm starving. Can we make French toast with this?"

"Yeah. And don't get too happy yet, sweetheart. You haven't won yet."

"And there's the key word: yet," you reminded him.

Matt was on guard after that, so you waited the rest of the day before trying again; too often, and each effort would be futile. You could tell he was listening with far more diligence every time you spoke, and while it was slightly unnerving knowing that your heart rate was under constant scrutiny, it was worth it. Matt felt threatened that you would win. Even if you didn't end up winning the bet, that gave you enough pleasure to make the entire game worthwhile no matter what happened.

Step Two was getting Matt to watch a horror movie. You were a bit limited in your options, since Netflix didn't have many scary movies with audio descriptions available, but you agreed on one eventually and started it only once the sun had set.

And you waited. Waited, with Matt's arm wrapped around you, watching the movie and letting yourself get absorbed in it, because you were relying on your own natural adrenal responses to secure you the next false lie through Rule Number Four.

Fortunately, it was actually terrifying, so it didn't take much effort for you to feel a chill genuinely running up your spine.

"A door slowly creaks open," the audio description narrated. "The bathroom mirror suddenly swivels open. Standing in the reflection is a dark figure."

You physically jumped — thank you, jump scare — and seized the opportunity as your heart beat doubtlessly spiked. "Matt, I found some fan fiction that people posted online about the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. And I read it. Every last bit."

Matt's confusion was so palpable that you had to bite back a laugh. He reached over for the remote and paused the movie, his head tilted. "This feels against the rules."

"And yet, it's not," you said, rubbing his arm. "So, was that a lie? Or not? I'll give you a solid ten seconds starting now to answer."

"You can't just say something insane at the very moment your heart rate jumps from a movie!"

"Tick, tock."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again — you'd make a good lawyer."

"Aw. Thank you. Five. Four. Three."

"Come on!"

"Two. One."

"Lie," he decided, his jaw tight. "And for your sake, I truly hope it's a lie, because there better not be people writing fan fiction about me—"

"Sadly, it's the truth, Matt. Both that people have written it and that... I've..." You trailed off at the look on Matt's face. "Uh, that I might've possibly glanced over some of it."

"Please tell me there's not much of it."

"Um... well, there's a fair amount. People are fascinated by real life vigilantes, I guess. If you wanted you could always sue them for defamation."

"Sue? Sue as Daredevil? Show up to court wearing the suit?"

"Better yet, hire Nelson and Murdock as your lawyers, and you can switch back and forth during the trial between your lawyer suit and Daredevil suit, playing both roles. It'd be hilarious, like a real-life Mrs. Doubtfire moment."

"You find all this so amusing, don't you?" Matt tipped you back, his hands against the back of the sofa and caging you in. Goosebumps pricked up your arms as you glanced at his forearms; he'd rolled up his sleeves, and you could see the toned muscle in the dim lighting.

"Not at all," you said, your voice a bit higher.

"Lie," he breathed out, and leaned in to kiss you.

The next day passed, with every hour sliding by and bringing you nearer to the end of the bet. Once again you didn't dare press your luck, and chose to instead act naturally. The following morning and midday passed without only one or two halfhearted attempts to lie. ("Matt, did you hear that Captain America is starting up his own jazz band and he's going to be doing a world tour?" "Yeah, I did, right after the news segment announcing Black Panther's new clothing line of lingerie that he's founded.")

The loophole of Rule Number Four, however, was proving to be no longer viable as your winning method. Matt caught on to every truth that was meant to make him accidentally call you out on lying. In desperation you even did fifty jumping jacks to raise your heart rate, to Matt's amusement, but he had somehow latched onto the subtle difference between a heart rate raised by the adrenaline of exertion as opposed to the adrenaline of a lie.

So — you'd have to brainstorm instead.

With only about an hour to go until the bet ended, you set your alarm on your phone to go off just three minutes shy of the actual forty-eight hour mark.

The only challenge now was making sure Matt didn't check his own watch between now and the alarm.

"Time's almost up," he said, with the audacity to smirk at you, catching your arm as you went by him towards the bedroom. "Where are you headed?"

"To get something presentable on for supper," you said, gesturing down at your outfit.

"Karen and Foggy wouldn't mind if you showed up wearing that."

"I love you, Matt, but I look like a clown right now. I wish you could see the color combinations I've got going on. Think blue raspberry slushie dumped on top of black raspberry ice cream."

"Well, if you're changing, then what should I wear?" he said, mockery edging his voice. "That plaid shirt you got me? A white top? Or a sweatshirt? Y'know, since I won't be wearing the Daredevil suit, of course."

"Don't speak too soon. We still have a few minutes left." The bet still had five minutes, in fact; but the alarm would go off on your phone in two minutes. On a sudden whim you wrapped your arms around him, loosely holding your hands together around his neck as though you were about to slow dance together. Matt's hands naturally went to your waist, fingers grazing your hip bones. "If, in the extremely unlikely case that I do lose, you should wear your loose-fitted button-down from your birthday last year."

"Is that too fancy?"

"I don't think so. I'll be wearing a sundress. It's casual enough."

Matt spun you around, backing you into the wall. His eyes were intense, unblinking. "I know you're trying to keep my attention off of you. It's not going to work. I know you too well."

"Maybe you know less about me than you think," you challenged him.

"I doubt it."

"You'd be surprised, Matt. I've got secrets and ways of keeping them."

"Want to play that game, love? Because I can play that game." He tilted up your chin with his left hand. "That mosquito bite on your neck is still itching you, even if you've resisted scratching at it. You've still got the taste of mint in the back of your throat from when you brushed your teeth a few hours ago." His hand left your chin and brushed at your temple. "You got dehydrated this morning and had a headache, but it's gone away now. And your blush is practically a heat lamp right now, getting hotter with every second."

"Point taken," you muttered, but Matt wasn't finished.

"Down here," he continued, his hand now trailing down to your lower arm, "there's a bit of residue from the jam you got on your forearm during breakfast."

"I washed it off!"

"And I can still smell it." Matt lightly let go of you. "I could continue, if you'd like."

And then — your phone buzzed out a loud jingle, jolting both of you simultaneously. You fumbled in your pocket for your phone, shutting off the alarm. "Shit."

"Time's up," Matt said, with far too much pleasure in his voice. "I'm looking forward to spending a day at the office with you. Maybe we go in on the weekend?"

"Saturday I'm free," you said, as casually as you could possibly muster. "On Sunday I'm visiting a friend."

Which was a complete lie.

And Matt...

Didn't notice.

"We'll go in early," he said. "I had to go in this weekend anyway to get work done."

"Mm," you said, counting down the ten seconds in your head. "And I'm assuming you wanted me to help organize the files so that you wouldn't have to go into the office alone this weekend? This was all a ploy to get some company?"

"Of course. What kind of weekend would it be if I didn't get to spend it with my favorite person?"

"Foggy will take offense to that."

"Well, maybe I'll invite him too. And Karen. We can have a whole work-weekend at Nelson and—"

"Yes!" you shouted, so loudly that Matt tensed, as though scanning the room for a threat. "Get your suit on, Matt!" Without waiting for his answer you strode to the closet and pulled out the familiar red suit and mask. "A certain swindled devil now needs to make his appearance at a certain dinner party tonight."

Matt's expression was baffled. "But I won."

"Check your watch."

His fingers immediately felt for his watch, and then his face dropped. "You set the alarm early."

"And then proceeded to successfully lie about visiting a friend on Sunday. Oh, I can't wait to see Karen and Foggy's reaction when you arrive on the fire escape, dressed to the vigilante nines—"

"I can't believe you."

"Me either," you admitted. "I was getting nervous towards the end."

"I can't believe you," Matt repeated. "You're going to pay, sweetheart. That was playing dirty."

"Enjoy your retribution sometime else," you told him, tossing the mask over. He caught it, plucking it from the air without turning his head in the slightest. "We've got a dinner party to go to."

And maybe you'd still go into the office that weekend to help him out, you decided, a bit of guilt still stirring inside you, because he did just want you to be there with him, keeping him company.

After all, having a lie detector for a boyfriend really wasn't so bad.

#daredevil #marvel #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #reader #reader insert #x reader #mcu #matt murdock x fem!reader

[tfyoulookingatgiuxs]

Needy Boy

Sub!Eddie Munson x Dom!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Needy. This was your boyfriend, Eddie Munson who liked to submit to his sweet woman.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 +18!!SMUT!!MDNI!!! Sub!Eddie, Dom!Mommy!fem!Reader, no use of Y/N, bondage, ball gag, impact play, masochism, slight sadism, degradation (whore, slut etc...), begging, cums in pants, pet names (good boy, pretty boy etc...), praise kink.

𝐀/𝐍: Sub!Eddie Munson is stuck in my head now 😫. Sorry for the delay. I've been really busy lately and it's been hard for me to keep writing and being active on Tumblr!! Sorry for my english this is not my native language. Please support and reblog. Hope you enjoy this one! (DIVIDER NOT MINE)

Eddie Munson is your boyfriend.

Obviously everyone's reaction was the same. Everyone was shocked and speechless, needless to say the news spread throughout the school, I mean, you were the girl all along, with excellent grades, polite, professional, kind, and you ended up being in a relationship with the crazy guy in the school. Your opposite. But that didn't matter to you. You didn't care what others thought, you didn't want insignificant obstacles in your way let alone useless words from people who didn't really know Eddie.

He wasn't as everyone described him, perhaps on the surface he might seem serious, scary and insensitive, but in reality Eddie was just a misunderstood boy who knows how to love, in fact he is very attached to his friends and his goals, in fact when he wants he knows how to commit and even if he seems to have a hostile air he is actually shy.

There are so many things no one knows about the "freak" Munson, and you were so honored to know every side of him, every hidden temptation. His every sexual pleasure that makes him hard immediately. Here's something else no one knew, something only you and not even his closest friends know. Eddie Munson, the scariest boy in Hawkins School, likes to be submitted. He can't help it. Your boyfriend loved it when you took control, when he lay on the floor feeling your heels crushing his back, and his little moans at the mere touch made you push harder.

Eddie praised you and adored you, he couldn't do without you, and when he was needy he started acting like a naughty child. Needless to say, when it got too much you went so far as to tell him that you wouldn't fuck him until next month.

Today, however, you couldn't deny that Eddie had done so well that he deserved to be fucked well. It was there. Kneeling before you, his wrists trapped by his favorite handcuffs, they tied high to a bar you added to your bedroom for this type of activity. You weren't going to touch him, you weren't going to. You didn't want to punish him, besides he hadn't done anything to deserve it, but Eddie liked that adrenaline rush, when he begs you to be touched and you denied it to him by doing so making him react by whining and squirming, it reminded you of kindergartners banging feet when they don't get what they want.

In front of him you looked at him with a dominant look while with a whip you hit his bare chest full of tattoos, it was really nice that you would have filled his body full of bruises and scratches.

"Mommy, please touch me I need it" the metalhead begged you again. In response you hit him in the face with the riding crop making him let out a pleased moan "Again..." he almost whispered. You let out a smirk. “Slut likes getting hit in the face?” He nodded as he panted, you noticed how his erection was showing under his jeans, you brought your heel close to it, he tried to say something but gave up, letting out several moans.

“You filthy whore, all you do is whine, what kind of man whines to be touched by a woman?” You exclaimed in a stern tone. You could see a few drops of sweat running down his face "Me mommy, I'm that filthy whore that whines for your touch..." he replied. It was incredible how despite everything he couldn't shut up. Eddie is the kind of guy who does nothing but talk, even in activities like these. You really wanted to slap him until his cheeks turned purple, just to remind him to shut up when he talks too much. A thought no matter how excruciating, you knew he wouldn't mind. You felt Eddie start to rub his erection on your heel. You tugged on his curly hair “What do you say?” He stopped and then looked at you with sweet, innocent eyes. Damn if you loved him...

“Please…” he panted.

“Well done my big boy” your teasing tone could resonate off the walls of the room. Eddie then started riding on your heel again. The metalhead just kept babbling. Jesus, you would have frustrated him for months. You stepped away for a moment to reach for a ball gag in your desk drawer. Your boyfriend couldn't help but hope to go to heaven at the sight. You put the ball gag on him and exclaimed "And now shut up, I can't stand you when you babble too much" he was trembling, a thought about what you would do to him if he disobeyed "Now start again, and don't let me hear you, otherwise I won't make you come, it's clear?" He nodded quickly and then started again. His ears were red as hell, as was his chest, which was breathing slowly to try not to make too much noise.

You caressed him. He was finally behaving as you wanted "Well done Eds, keep going" you praised him and he accelerated his movement "Yes, don't stop my love, I want to see you reach the limit, can you do it for me?" He nodded again and you heard how he spit air out of his nose intensely. He looked up, small tears coming out of his eyes as he looked at you like a perfect submissive could. A hand took care of her unruly curls making them feel loved.

His erection under his jeans felt very good as it rubbed against the top of your foot and the red shoe. He came in his pants with a grunt and stopped looking exhausted.

"How good my Eddie. A really good boy, isn't he?" He nodded again.

"Why that face? I'm not done with you needy boy..." a seductive tone took over your vocal cords sending a shiver down Eddie's spine.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things eddie #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #sub!eddie munson #sub!eddie #eddie munson smut

[makeyoumine69]

Babe I LOVE your writing, and if your comfortable, Can you please write a little blurb about the reader digging her nails in Patrick's back,

im trying to think if he would like that he could make you feel good like this or hate it because your marking his beautiful skin.

Do you think he would push your hand off his back and tell you to take it or what???

Toxic

◥ PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

◥ SUMMARY: Everyone knows that Patrick Bateman is such a toxic guy, his blood is like a deadly poison. Once you taste it, you are lost.

◥ CONTAINS: oral (f), p in v, creampie, Patrick is in predator mode, pretty aggressive foreplay and some more :)

◥ WORDCOUNT: 1.6k

◥ SONG REC: Britney Spears - Toxic

◥ A/N: Britney's song suddenly inspired me so much that I couldn't stop myself from writing it, thank you sm for your request, I hope you like it! 🖤

◥ LINKS: [MASTERLIST] 🪓

You and Patrick were in the middle of a really serious fight, and the fact that you were stuck in his vacation house in Hampton was more than worrisome.

"I don't know why you're still trying to argue with me," Bateman blurted out, strolling around the large modern kitchen wearing nothing but tight gray pants. "You looked great yesterday."

"'Great'?" You almost choked on the air, crossing your arms over your chest. "So, in your opinion, looking great means looking like everyone else? Skimpy dresses, extremely high heels, red lipstick, stockings. Oh my God, Patrick! Why can't you just accept me for who I am?"

Patrick hummed and poured himself a glass of fresh orange juice, then took a quick sip; a small drop of liquid ran down his massive chest. "What do you mean?"

He seemed to be joking or mocking you on purpose, because your slightly irritated face only amused him.

"Stop trying to change me and -"

"Wait a second, honey," he cut you off pretty harshly, and in addiction, Bateman raised a finger in a warning gesture. "I can do whatever I want, you know why? Because I'm so fucking rich!"

"You don't own me, idiot!" You bellowed, instinctively closing the distance between the two of you. He did the same. "And I don't care about your money … you're so selfish and narcissistic that it's completely messed up your mind and you can't see anything good in people!"

You stood almost face to face, your lungs burning from your rapid breathing, while Bateman looked so calm and cold-blooded.

"You don't care about my money, but you always accepted all the gifts I gave you. How hilarious!" he almost spat the words right in your face, staring at you arrogantly until the vein under his eye became too noticeable. "If there's something you don't like - nobody's keeping you here. But since I'm very kind today, I'll give you a chance to apologize for this little accident."

Who knew what was in his head when he leaned down to kiss you, but he would surely regret it as you bit his lower lip hard, tasting his poisoned blood on the tip of your tongue.

"You fucking bitch!" He yelled, trying to catch you, but he was too slow from the aftershock of your action, so you managed to run away.

Scared, you rushed upstairs to the bedroom because you couldn't leave the house wearing just your underwear and his white shirt. God, your skin was literally burning from the expensive fabric of his shirt, so as soon as you got there, you took it off, forgetting to close the door. But to be fair, it was a pretty useless waste of time - he would open it or just break it, depending on how angry he was.

Panting nervously, you dashed to the bed and started to pick up your clothes when you heard his loud footsteps behind you. Time stopped for you as Patrick grabbed you roughly and pushed you onto the bed.

"No! N-no!" You struggled to slip away and climb further onto the bed, but he caught your ankles and pulled you to the edge of the bed with ease.

As soon as he rolled you onto your back, he grasped your neck and squeezed it painfully, pushing almost all the oxygen out of your chest. In response, you tried to claw at his hands, fighting back as hard as you could.

God, you thought you were going to die.

"What's wrong, honey? Not so brave anymore?" He nagged from above, settling down on the bed to press you even harder.

With a devilish grin, Bateman shook you several times, just to hear your miserable whimpering as he enjoyed the way you kept trying to push him off.

"E-enough, please." You trembled as you felt your strength running out.

"Jesus Christ, you're so pathetic and silly," he suddenly let you go, and you fell onto your back, breathing heavily. "What were you even thinking?"

It was definitely a rhetorical question, because the next moment Bateman was already pulling down your lace panties while you took a second to recover and continue struggling.

"Patrick, let me go! I don't want-mmm ..." You stammered as he dragged you even closer to the edge of the bed.

"You better shut up … unless you want me to test you on how long you can hold your breath."

Patrick quickly brushed off the drop of blood that formed at the corner of his lips before reaching down to spread your thighs and giving your blushing clit several flat licks. You squirmed almost immediately, feeling yourself so sinful and yet so damn good.

"P-Patrick," even if it wasn't a moan, it was enough for him to keep attacking your delicious little pussy as he sucked on your lower lips, one by one, until they both swelled. "God, e-enough!"

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" he looked at you, his chin glistening with your sweet flavor. "You're so fucking soaked, why am I not even surprised?"

Frowning, you stared back at him and asked cheekily: "Shouldn't your lip hurt?"

"Oh, don't worry," Patrick smiled smugly and fixed his messy hair. "I'm ready to ignore any pain for this lascivious tight pussy."

Holy shit.

The wild lust you just saw in his eyes was terrifying and exciting at the same time. Seizing the moment of your reverie, Bateman forced you to lift your legs so he could sink his strong tongue further into your hot cunt. And this time you couldn't keep a loud moan from escaping your tense chest as the pleasure coursed through your body like electricity.

And then, Bateman stopped unexpectedly, causing you to sigh in slight disappointment, but then you were very vocal all over again, especially when his red, leaking tip was poking at your dripping opening.

Patrick thrust into you so roughly, climbing on top of your tiny body, almost tearing you apart from the inside, and of course he did it on purpose as he reveled in all the pitiful reactions you were making.

"No way, girl," he pushed on your wide open hips, pinning you almost flat against the bed, pounding into you with shameless flesh-meeting-flesh sounds."Stop whining, I was kind hearted enough."

Oh God, his hips — they seemed to be made of steel, they were so rock hard, so strong; every push you felt with your whole body, with your every little pitch.

"Argh, fuck, you feel so good, baby… so tight and hot." He groaned, picking up the pace; his thick dick hitting your belly mercilessly.

Bateman seemed to be really crazy as he lowered down to your face once again, without any fear of getting a bite, and for a second you had the illusion that he was waiting for it, and that drove you really wild.

To his surprise, you moved towards him to take his bruised lip in your warm mouth to suck on his wound. It definitely itched, but Patrick just hissed through your passionate kiss as you both tried to take the lead, greedily devouring each other as if it was some kind of competition. Meanwhile, your trembling arms ran down his broad back, squeezing his strong muscles from time to time. The more you tugged on his lower lip, the more relentlessly he fucked you into the bed, pressing you down and holding you there with his huge, muscled body.

"Mmm, P-Patrick, aaaahh!" You moaned lustfully, feeling the salty taste of his blood on your lips.

Huffing, you cupped his tight ass with one hand while another was busy clawing at his soft skin. Inch by inch, your sharp nails dug deeper and deeper, leaving red lines across his back.

In reply, Bateman only began to fuck you harder, almost shifting into a mating press position, but that was still not enough for you. Slowly, you slid your hand from his butt up to his loin, sinking your nails into his skin again and again, leaving more and more scratches. His low, sexy groans almost made you fall apart right here right now, but you continued to paint red lines all over his body, using his skin as your canvas.

"Ahh, (Y/N) … you're mine to tame," he snarled and began to squat down, creasing you beneath him and burying his beefy girth as deep as he could. "Mmmh, did you already take your birth control pills?"

Both of you were breathing so heavily that the air around you seemed to be hotter than lava.

"Awww, y-yes … YES! I did," you looked into his dark eyes, full of savage passion. "Patrick…Patrick!"

Damn, his cock was so huge, you could feel every vein on it throbbing in ecstasy as he was so close to reaching his high. Instinctively, you lifted your legs higher, opening them even wider. The level of penetration was overwhelming, with each thrust he made, the mixture of your juices poured down on your heated bodies with a slick, obscene sound.

Growling gutturally, Patrick rammed into you several more times before you felt his grip on you tighten as he unloaded his warm seed inside your sore womb and that feeling, along with the way you played with your oversensitive little bud, left you no choice but to fall over the edge as you climaxed with a loud, long-drawn moan, shaking so vigorously in his arms that you almost hit your forehead against his as he bent down to kiss your temple, admiring the way you were sinking into the ocean of pure pleasure.

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #american psycho x reader

[olderthannetfic]

I found myself rereading an old discussion about AO3 commenting culture (ye olde "Authors aren't owed comments" vs. "Readers aren't owed fic either" wank). And you know, it strikes me that a lot of the drama in such discussions is rooted in the fact that people only ever seem to engage with the worst things the opposite side says. And of course that leads to miscommunication, because the extremes are not generally applicable to most people.

Like, for instance. Someone going "I comment so regularly I practically gave myself burn-out commenting". Authors complaining about people who act entitled to stories aren't talking about you, I promise. They're talking about people who genuinely can't be bothered or go on flippant "Why don't you just write for yourself?" rants, while still enjoying other people's work. Ditto on the other side: people get offended at being called entitled authors, but odds are good the person isn't referring to you, who would simply like to not shout into the void, odds are good they're referring to the asshole authors they've met who'd throw hissy hits over comments that weren't phrased exactly to their liking, because yes, people like that do exist so it's simply flat out wrong to say "Just comment, authors are always happy to see comments, no matter how short! :)"

Also, a particular comment jumped out at me:

"It's not a consumer's job to compliment a promote an artist's work"

I generally agree that acting like people are owed comments is useless and stupid, but if I had to pick a phrasing that sums up my misgivings about common commenting culture, it's this. So many people seem to act like authors are getting a paycheck for this and don't need any additional motivator.

The other thing that bugs me is when people talk about all the reasons they don't comment (low spoons, anxiety, tired, etc.), but ignore the fact that authors have to deal with all of the above, too. And not just in fanfic. It seems any time there's any kind of social conflict being discussed (like, say, replying to a friend's messages in a vaguely timely manner) a ton of people will trot out excuses for why they can't do [insert what's generally seen as the vaguely courteous thing to do], but inadvertently act like that makes them special and like they're the only ones who have these legitimately valid excuses.

This started in one place and led to another, sorry. I guess I'm just frustrated with the Tumblr mental health culture of "I have a semi-specific reason I struggle with this so I'm not even going to try". I think people overcompensate too much for "Just don't be disabled!"-style ableism and swing too hard in the embraced helplessness direction.

Back to fanfic, every time I see the "I can't do it because of X" thing in the context of commenting, I can't help but think of how many authors also deal with depression, anxiety, self-esteem issues, low spoons, etc. and how easy it would have been for them to give up, but they got through it and posted the fanfic anyway, and how often they're then met with silence because the prevailing attitude among their audience is e.g. "I read this before bed and was too sleepy to comment, and too forgetful to comment the next day". I think about some of the fic I've written, often fic written when I maybe should have been doing something else, or fic written at the cost of sleep, or hyperfixating at my keyboard for six hours instead of going for a nice hike with my family, and it's hard not to get a little bitter, you know? Talking about legitimate reasons for why commenting is hard just so often comes across as "You're free to make sacrifices to write the stuff I read, but I won't make any"

I also feel a bit bitter that it's impossible to even discuss these things in a vacuum without someone going "Discussions like this are why I've stopped commenting", as someone inevitably will in the notes of this post. "Just shut up and make your Content(TM) and don't complain about anything", is what it feels like.

--

The entire phrasing of reward and owing is stupid.

The reality is that lots of people won't produce work unless they feel like someone cares. No amount of moralizing or excuses will change that.

It's also the reality that posting to the masses on AO3 or tumblr will result in maybe one like or other interaction per hundred hits if you're really, really lucky. The rate has never been much better than that, and it never will be. It's often very much worse.

If one personally wants to encourage people, sure, go out and do that, but any call to action that ignores the above two realities is like fighting the tide.

I do think "It's not my job to promote you" typically comes up in the context of meltdowns about letting artists "languish in your likes" instead of being reblogged onto your actual blog and/or contexts where the artist/author/etc. is selling their work.

Here's the thing: people who never comment do not count.

They think they're part of a community. They're not. If you don't participate, you're a ghost.

When some author moves to a more enclosed space, a lot of people who saw themselves as part of something are suddenly left out in the cold, wondering why. But the fact is, if you don't pay the entry fee of socializing with others, you're nobody to them.

The entitled randos don't matter. If they bug you enough, take your toys and retreat to a discord with your friends.

[theaveragepsychoticbitch]

Sigh.... I'm a woman lover, but right now, I'm falling heels over head for a man. Also unfortunately this is very specific to me so I'll be writing- I know, I know, - Fem reader.

Fem!Reader x Toji (JJK) || NSFW || Warnings: daydreaming, Toji being himself, at least from what i know of him, grinding, riding, belly bulge, lowkey crack treated seriously, masturbation, secret phone masturbation ??,😨 getting caught and bottom reader (i know, who even am I?)

Fuck.

You check the time again: it's 12, and you haven't gotten up yet.

You're starving, you're dehydrated, and honestly, you've gotta piss, but the insistent throb of your clit and the nasty images your mind keeps conjuring up keeps you chained to the bed, an unwilling prisoner to your desires.

You flip over on your back, hands moving to hold your breasts as air rushes over your soaked cunt. Why him? Why did it have to be the most cruel, useless, broke and lazy man you know? Was there no one else? Were you really that desperate?

Another scene pops into mind. It's Toji holding your breasts. His weight holds you down as he grinds his cock up and down your pussy, agonizingly slow. He was teasing you, and his cocky smirk paired with that unwavering gaze proved it.

Your back arches, your clit getting particularly sensitive as he grinds down harder, pinching at your nipples to coax little sounds out of you. The flex of his abs as he rolls his hips proves hypnotic, and before even you know it you're begging him to put it in, to fuck you stupid and fill you up with his cum. But oh, he's deaf to your pleas, dragging orgasms out of you from his torturous humping alone.

"Ughhhh." You huff and turn on your side, feeling your stomach growl.

God, you wish he was deep in your stomach right now.

Fucking you from the side just like this, your leg over his shoulder and the other wrapped around his waist as you scream, eyes rolling to the whites as he abuses that sweet spot inside you.

You're so wet you can hear the squelch of it all when he thrusts inside. It's coating your stomach, your thighs, overflowing around his thick cock and leaving a lewd ring around it. You're gonna have to throw the sheets out. You've never been fucked this good in your life.

And he knows it.

He reminds you when he leans down to whisper in your ear, his right hand leaving your hip to hold your face, dragging a calloused thumb across your bottom lip. "See how perfectly it fits inside?" He says. "Do you feel it?"

And you cry as you let out a warbled, "Yes,"

"I don't think you do."

He removes your hand from the death grip it has on the sheets to your stomach, and, for fucks sake, this idiot wasn't lying;

You really were feeling it now.

With each mind numbing thrust, a bulge could be felt. It was him, stupidly deep inside of you, leaving his mark so that no matter who you take after him, you'll always remember this spot as his.

Your phone goes off, and you think you might cry. Lying butt-ass naked in bed, pussy overflowing onto the sheets, clit begging to be touched, even just a little bit– and somebody has the audacity to call you? Didn't they know you were busy getting dream fucked?

It takes a lot of willpower, but you answer it.

"[Name]."

Of all fucking people.

Toji's deep rumble rolled out of your phone speaker like incoming storm clouds. You could feel another gush of arousal pouring out of you, and a sickening idea crosses your mind.

Fortunately, he doesn't comment on it. "Just waking up at this hour? I thought Miss Goody Two-Shoes would be up at 8am on the dot getting shit done on a Saturday like this one."

"He- hello, cough, um." Oh my fuck did you just SAY cough?!

You sit up, back to the wall. Your head tilts up as your hand creeps down your skin, it's goal burning hot with desire.

"Shut the fuck up, Toji... What did you need? You don't... Call me, ever, actually." Focus. You just need to keep him talking. And try not to make it obvious you're riding your fingers.

There's a bit of silence from him, probably confusion at your airy tone and disconnected speech. Then, "Tsk. I can't call a dear work buddy on our day off? I thought maybe we could go out, get to know each other-"

The only thing you wanted to know is if fantasy lived up to reality, but you digress. "How much do you need?"

He chuckles, and you have to bite back a moan. You're three fingers deep and it's still not enough, but you can't risk going to get anything bigger. As wet as you are, he'd hear the sounds and clock your shit instantly.

"Straight to the point. I spent my cut from our last job on.... Well, I'm sure you can guess." You can basically hear him wink. Ugh, why him? "I'm not much in the mood for cup noodles today. Slide me a couple bucks?"

You place the phone between your cheek and shoulder so your other finger can show your clit the appreciation it deserves. Your fingers match each other's pace, and soon you're rutting into your hand like a proper bitch in heat as his voice fuels your movements.

You try to groan, but it sounds frighteningly like a moan. Probably because it was a moan, but, you digress.

"Is this good enough, [Name]?"

You slide from the wall to the bed, letting the phone fall next to your ear. You were so close, just a few more minutes, you just need to hear him say your name.

He chuckles, and in the back of your mind you think you hear yourself say his name.

You choke, both on your shock and the force of your orgasm. It shoots out of you in the form of squirt, soaking your bed and covering you in your own sinful fluids. Your fingers keep going, the pleasure as torturous as it is addictive.

"It was cute, hearing you try to hide your moans."

Your hips aren't your own– rather, they have a mind of their own, rutting into your hand as long as they please, regardless of how hard your legs twitch or how loud you cry.

And there he is, right in your ear, even better than you imagined.

With a gasp, your legs give out and finally, it's over.

Your vision is blurry, and for a few blessed moments, it's silent on both ends. Then, you hear him slurping a straw from a very obviously empty cup.

"That's worth a couple hundred at least, right?"

You sigh. Yeah. Yeah it was.

-------

A/N: I wrote this but I guessed his speech pattern solely off what I know about his character sooooo. I'll be back to see if I can improve. Otherwise! Bone apple teeth:D

Sigh. This isn't as good as my other writing, but it was made with both love AND cum, I promise.

#the psychotics writing #jjk #jjk smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji x you #toji smut

[justyanle]

could you please write some sappy Lo’ak x gn!reader head cannon’s?

Sappy Lo'ak headcanons!

a/n: i was literally clenching so hard trying to write this because i didn't know how to stop hcs from turning into a full on story 😭 anyways, lets gaur!! reqs r still open

You and Lo'ak met while joining the warriors at the ground, the two of you supposed to be spotters, yet still disobeying orders and getting to the group of warriors handing out the rifles.

"Hey! Aren't you the Olo'eyktan's kid?" you yelled at the younger Sully son.

His eyes widened and lips parted slightly when he turned his head to turn his head to the source of the sound, the view he was being met with was almost sending him into a permanent shock, stunned by your features.

"Y-Yeah, aren't you one of the spotters that were at the campsite earlier?" he gives a wide smile at the sight of you, not believing that someone as beautiful as you could talk to him.

You laughed, "We aren't supposed to be here!" a giggle erupts from you, cocking the weapon handed to you.

A few months had passed since your first encounter together, growing closer since then, getting into more frequent trouble than ever.

The two of you would always be found leaving a place that looked like that was wrecked by a Thanator, you and your best friend being the cause of the ruckus.

He would often be bringing you trinkets, babbling you about the "useless shit" he found - in reality, he was practically blushing really hard from both the embarrassment and shyness he developed around his crush because he has observed that they keep all of the items he had retrieved for you.

He was also VERY, VERY, touchy whenever you guys are sneaking out, usually telling you something along the lines of "Shut up, I'm only doing this so you can go back alive to the camp in one piece or else your dad would kill me." but, he was always feeling jittery when he held you close to him, wanting to rush into his bed face first and let out a girly squeal with his legs kicking in the air due to the minimum distance you guys shared.

Once he introduced you to his family, you all basically clicked, although, he was being extra possessive and much more of a show-off when you two were close to Neteyam, being insecure that Neteyam would once take the spotlight again.

When the two of you would play with Tuk, you guys would play pretend marriage, smiling to yourself at the thought of Tuk in a make-shift gown made out of leaves.

"You may now kiss, newly wed!" The youngest Sully exclaimed, in the middle of you and Lo'ak that were facing one another.

Both of your hearts thumped in your chest as both of you awkward teenagers were just facing one another holding eye contact as if telepathically communicating.

"Well?! What are you two doing?! Waiting for air to push the both of you?! I said you may now kiss!"

Lo'ak engulfed your smaller build of hands into his five fingered ones, cupping them into his hands and landing butterfly-inducing pecks on your palms and fingers. Tuk squealing in the background.

He then soon lets go of your hands, cups your face, gazing at your perfectly sculpted features before bringing his lips closer to your forehead, leaving you blushing as your delicate skin and his hydrated lips made the intimate touch.

"OH MY GOODNESS!! AHH!! I DON'T THINK THIS WOULD JUST BE A PRETEND MARRIAGE ANYMORE!' Tuk cheerfully screamed with the butterflies in her stomach, thinking she could have just potentially found her sibling in law.

Ever since Tuk shared the eventful evening to her whole family, they were basically teasing Lo'ak to the point he couldn't even achieve a wink of a sleep.

They were all rooting for Lo'ak to make a move on the sweet Na'vi named [Y/N].

"Hey bro! Better make a move before they mate with someone else!" Neteyam says as he shrugs by his younger brother.

Though, not only his family was the only one teasing him. Your family was secretly observing the two of you from afar, often saying things like "Ah, our baby's all grown up already, ready to have a mate!" making you have a purple hue out of embarrassment.

More moons have passed, you and Lo'ak have made it a hobby to sing each other's songcords to one another.

You had already made it a routine to a point you had memorized his songcord, you had stopped because you had expected it to end already - though, what you failed to notice was that Lo'ak had added another cord to his songcord.

"I thank Eywa, for the gift she had given in the form of you. I let my heart choose, leading me off to, you. Ma [Y/N], Ma [Y/N].." his new cord ends as he kept his gaze on you.

"Ma Lo'ak."

a/n: its like 2 days ever since i started writing fanfics guyz pls spare me i dont know how to write good yet 😭😭😭 i literally dont know how to write headcanons bcs theyre not supposed to turn into long ass stories 💔 anyways, reqs still open

#atwow #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #avatar #avatar movie #neteyam #neteyam sully #avatar neteyam #avatar lo'ak #lo'ak atwow #lo'ak avatar #lo'ak #lo'ak sully #lo'ak fluff #lo'ak x reader #lo'ak x you #lo'ak headcanons

[leonsbbg]

leon kennedy x reader

(890 words)

sweet leon helps his partner through a particularly rough night.

notes: FLUFF, bit of angst?, reader has a mini panic attack, no yn, gender neutral (leon is so sweet here please i cried writing this) this one is for anyone having a rough time. i wrote this in a time where i was very deep in my head and it helped me so i hope it can help someone too<3 ily all

"leon i- can't-" you stumble over your words. too many thoughts you want to articulate but can't quite distinguish them enough to get them out. you put your head in your hands, tears starting to spill down your face, frustration heavy on your heart.

"baby it's okay. don't cry. i know, i know." leon wraps his arms around your head and pulls you to his chest, resting his chin on top of you. he rubs his hand down your back in a comforting manner, rocking you slightly.

all of this should be enough to comfort you enough to calm you down, (it does) but you just feel so helpless. helpless that you can't express your emotions and feelings like leon can seem to do so easily.

and so you cry.

you cry because even though you can't always say what you're feeling, leon seems to know anyways. because leon is so soft and his presence can bring the greatest warmth on the coldest day and you feel like you do the exact opposite.

leon kisses the top of your head and pulls back to hold your face in his hands. he wipes away his beautiful partner's tears with the pad of his thumb and hates that he can't do the same to all the worries running around in your head.

"baby look at me." you hesitate but you trust leon with your life, your feelings, and everything else. so you look into leon's eyes and feel and see the love pouring out of them like honey.

"there you are. hi my love" leon smiles and he sees the way your eyes light up, even if it's only a little.

when he senses you still don't feel like talking, leon speaks up again.

"you don't have to talk right now. i understand, and i will wait for you forever." leon can already see the negative thoughts clouding your brain as he says that, so he quickly starts again.

"but don't you ever feel bad for it. i'm here for you because i want to be. you're not forcing me to be here, so please don't feel guilty. you have been there for me every time i've needed it so let me be here for you." leon holds both of your hands in his and squeezes ever so slightly as if to transfer his sincerity through his touch.

you search leon's eyes and see nothing but love and comfort. you know leon's right. you shouldn't feel bad. you were dating after all. but you can't help it, years of self-deprecating thoughts eating away at you.

you aren't good enough.

leon doesn't really care about you, he's only pretending.

why would he care about someone who's so messed up and broken?

you mean nothing to him.

you're useless.

leon could do so much better than you.

you cant do anything right.

you're such a fucking—

"hey love you're okay, it's okay, i'm here." you come back to yourself with your head pressed in between your knees, breathing erratically. leon's hand is running up and down your back.

"you're okay. you started to have a panic attack but you're okay." leon says in a soft voice.

i'm okay.

it'll be okay.

your breathing slowly, but surely, goes back to normal, your eyelids suddenly feeling heavy.

"come on baby, let's get you to bed, you look exhausted." leon lovingly helps you up and guides you to the side of the bed. you start to protest and tell leon you can do it yourself, but if you're being honest with yourself, you like being babied by your boyfriend every once in a while.

leon lifts the covers for you to slide under and pulls them up to your chin. he gently pushes aside a lock of your hair and gives you a light kiss on your forehead.

"leon i'm sor-" you start.

"nope. none of that. you have nothing to apologize for." leon insists as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"go to sleep. you need to rest." leon smiles down at you softly brushing his fingers through your hair.

your eyes began to droop, sleep evident in them.

leon could tell you were resisting sleep in favor of staying up with him, and he smiles at the thought.

"sleep baby, i'm right here. i'll always be right here with you."

as if a switch was flicked in your brain, you let your eyes shut and your mind wander somewhere else.

although leon knew what drowning in negative thoughts felt like, he also still found it hard to believe that his beautiful, loving, and caring partner could feel so bad about themself.

to leon, you were the most kind-hearted, hard-working, goal-driven person he'd ever seen. he found it sad how much you believed these lies you'd made up about yourself.

you lay peacefully, eyebrows not tense for the first time that evening.

leon knew it would take time, but he'd make it his personal goal to make sure you knew just how loved and important and wanted you were.

for now though, leon crawled on the bed alongside his partner and wrapped them up in his arms, pulling your back to his chest.

"you're okay. everything will be okay."

with one last peck to your exposed shoulder, leon finally let himself be pulled into blissful sleep next to the person he loved and cared for the most.

#leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil 4 #re4 remake #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil 4 remake #reader insert #gender neautral reader #sweet boy leon

[moonswolfie]

Capricious feelings

Atsumu x gn!reader

(this could be read as pre or post timeskip tsumu so have fun with it 💙)

I am back on my "haikyuu fics based off vocaloid songs" grind after the first one was moderately successful, so I bring you:

Kimagure Mercy and Atsumu except the ending is good because i am smitten for atsumu and cannot write him as an asshole even though he absolutely would be one😭

Warnings: a few swear words, sort of angst to sort of fluff

He's calling you again. You only roll your eyes, waiting for your phone to stop ringing and turning away to focus on whatever else you're doing.

You know why he's calling, anyways. It's cuz he wants your help, or wants to borrow some money, or has some other favour that he wants from you.

You see, Atsumu's your boyfriend on paper, but in practice, things couldn't be more different. The "relationship", if you can even still call it that, is on the verge of collapsing. He only ever calls you when he needs favours, constantly making excuses for his distant behaviour.

The phone stops ringing, and you take a breath of relief, only for it to start ringing again a few seconds. God, he must really want a favour if he bothered calling twice in a row. You sigh, picking up the phone.

"Hi, how are ya?" He's using a sweet, gentle tone to butter you up as always. You regretfully know all of his little tricks by now.

"I'm fine. Why are you calling?" You're aware that you sound a little cold and harsh, but what's the point in useless small talk when you already know that isn't why he's calling?

"Come over, will ya?"

Those words froze you for a second. Whenever he asked you to come over, it would always end with him sucking your face off and then ignoring you until you leave. It always leaves you feeling sick and empty, knowing those kisses mean nothing to him.

Yet someway, somehow, you find yourself feeling giddy whenever he takes your hand or wraps his arms around your waist. And you hate that you do.

You absolutely hate the thought of falling in love with him. Not with that selfish, self-obsessed asshole who only uses you for favours and doesn't give a damn about you. But your heart insists on betraying your mind, your reason.

"Are ya there? You've been real quiet..." his voice snaps you out of your train of thought. "Yeah, I'm coming."

You don't know why you still bend to his will every time, you could easily say no, break up with him and never talk to him again. Maybe you actually do know why... and you don't like the reason.

"Lovely, I'll be waitin'. Bye now." he hung up the phone. As always, he has you wrapped around his finger, otherwise you wouldn't be making your way to his house right now. You live relatively close to him, so the walk isn't long. You briefly think about turning around and going back home. But once again, your stupid heart wins.

You ring the doorbell, and a sudden wave of regret flushes over you. Should you really be falling into his arms again? Should you have ignored your mind, telling you to turn back?

Before you even have a chance to run away, the door opens. "Heya, sweets. Come on in." That smile is a deceptive mask, and you know it. You silently walk in, sitting down on the couch, your usual make-out spot. You just have to get it over with and hope your stomach doesn't churn from guilt later.

He sits down beside you, and you close your eyes in anticipation to be roughly grabbed by him. But it doesn't come.

"Are you good? Ya look a lil' pale." the concern in his voice was completely unexpected.

"Since when do you care how I'm doing?" You have no idea what came over you in that moment. Normally you would brush it off, lie to him, or assure him you're fine. But he'd never asked you that with such concern before, and you don't know what to do with yourself anymore.

"I'm yer boyfriend, of course I-"

"Oh, shut up! You only care when you want a favour from me!" You stood up, clenching your hands into fists. "You don't actually give a damn about me, do you?! You don't love me, you only love yourself!!" All your repressed feelings suddenly came spilling out.

He looked awfully surprised by your behaviour, probably because you finally didn't bend to his will once. Because you finally said what's on your mind. It felt good, but at the same time, your heart felt a pang of pain once the words you said finally registered in your brain.

"I... this is what I called ya over for, actually...." he looked to the ground, wearing a solemn expression. His mask of confidence was breaking.

"...What?"

"I know that I'm a horrible boyfriend, but I'm goin' ta fix that." He looked back up at you, determination shining in his eyes.

This was a conversation you never ever expected to have. Is this a cruel prank? Would Atsumu do that to you?

"I don't... understand. Why now?" You weren't sure what to think right now. You're honestly thinking too many things, feeling too many emotions at once right now.

"Because, I ended up realisin' that ya deserve better than this. Honestly, yer too good fer me." Knowing Atsumu, it must've taken a lot for him to throw away his pride and ego just to admit this.

At your silence, he continued. "My point is, I wanna be better for ya, give this whole love thing a shot, ya know? But if ya really feel that way, you can break up with me, I won't mind..."

"Atsumu, you ass." He flinched slightly at your response, searching your face for your emotions. "You can't do this to me." Right when you finally felt strong enough to call him out, he decides to pull you right back in and make you feel all horrible.

You sigh. "You're a lucky man, Atsumu. But these better not be empty promises." Your hopeless heart wins you over once again. Yet this time, you feel assured. Assured that Atsumu will do the right thing.

Atsumu finally felt like he could breathe again, placing a hand on his chest. "Would I ever break a promise I made?" He asked with a relieved smile.

"Honestly.... you seem like you would." You rolled your eyes playfully.

"Hey, I didn't promise to better myself just so you can insult me!"

#˗ˏˋ ★ ☁︎ 「Wolfie’s works」 ☾ ★ ˎˊ˗ #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #atsumu miya #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #hq atsumu #msby atsumu #x gender neutral reader #gn reader

[belethlegwen]

What is a niche aspect of G/t that you dearly love that you don't get a chance to really talk about?

How it reflects on self-image.

I think that's the niche one that I don't talk about enough, though I bring it up a little bit in my works. The idea that, particularly in most media where you aren't used to being at the perspective you're suddenly in (you're small around people who are bigger, or big around people who are smaller, and it's something you've either never experienced before or haven't experienced much) how that will change how you see yourself.

Melanie in The Rescue for example has existing concerns about her appearance and how people see her to begin with, and that becomes wildly amplified when someone small is nearby. She covers her mouth while she's eating, she tries to keep her head and face pointed up and away when she's feeling extremely self-conscious.

If you hate the idea of constantly being noticed, judged, critiqued, scrutinized, etcetera, then suddenly being a Giant to someone else/other people has to be fucking hell. Any issues you have with your self-image normally aren't exactly put aside when your face is the size of a movie-screen and you know people's eyes don't usually come with those lovely hollywood-glam filters they put over actors in film.

As a Giant are you now more worried about being in the way? About being a problem for people? About causing damage or harm accidentally? Or are you being pressured to do more, be more simply because of how other people see you?

On the flip-side of that, if you're suddenly small, do you feel much more vulnerable? Do you feel like you're under significantly more threat? Have you lost a feeling of control that you desperately needed to keep a sensation of being safe?

Do you feel disposable? Do you feel useless? Are you more of a burden now than you were before, so reliant on others in a world that isn't built to help you? That might not feel like it's even interested in helping you?

Do you feel invisible? Easily forgotten? If you were used to being the center of attention before, does this absolutely shatter that or suddenly make that lifestyle feel like a waking nightmare? \

Do you feel like you're not enough?

If you were having those issues and feelings before, how are they amplified or changed now? How are they messed with, skewed, possibly erased in some cases?

I try to bring a good bit of these perspectives into my writing where I can, but it can be exhaustingly introspective and feel extremely heavy both to read and to write, but I can't say that I'm not fascinated by it.

Thank you so much for the ask, love! <3

#asks and answers #g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #g/t author #g/t writing #gtauthor #author thoughts #gt #big little thoughts #g/t community #sfw g/t #size difference #For an exceptionally good look of a change of perspective fuckin with you real bad please see: Atticus LaPorte of the Rose&Laporte series #adjacentperception's Rose & Laporte directory is full of Small Man Big Struggle in this regard and I really absolutely get lost deep in it #I feel bad enough about blemishes and pimples and the like NOW #if I was big? #Hell on earth my man #Fo real