#reverse age gap relationship

[bloomingpresent]

FERRO ROSSO CHAPTER VII

Pairing: Charles Leclerc/Female reader digital artist older woman

Summary: in your mid 30’s you never imagined you’d be divorced. To help with the healing process you decide to return to your first love: digital illustration. Posting videos of your art online leads you to work for Ferrari. But you never thought it’d lead you to find somebody who’s going to bring you back to trust again in love.

Warnings: NSFW! 18+, swearing mention of sexual words, consensual sex, penetration, cheating, sexually themed. IT’S ALL ABOUT REVERSE AGE GAP HERE. Older woman with a younger man. They are both adults, don’t be judgemental. 

Disclaimer:

I don’t mean any offense to Mr. Leclerc. 

English isn’t my first language so all mistakes are my own. My Italian is basic so be gentle, please.

All the previous chapters are here

You already knew that something was off when almost a week after your last encounter with Charles happened and you haven't heard of him. Both of you were busy of course, but he hadn’t mentioned a thing about coming to London. 

Either way, you are too busy with your art studio, which by the way, is still going and your agent had you packed with activities for it. Ferrari was still on the call but for the next weeks, you were on your own.

At the end of the week, you get Facetime from Charles.

“I might be able to be in London next week” he casually says.

You just smirked “Oh really? Got some free time?”, yep, you are being ironic about it.

“What’s with the attitude?” he asks shifting on his seat.

“Well you disappeared for days and now you come out of the blue and tell me you finally can come to London? What am I supposed to be waiting for you?”.

“Yes” he answers with his bright green eyes wide open, his confidence it’s something else. “As I made time for traveling to see you, you are making time to see me”. 

You grim.  “Where are you now?”. 

“Paris, why you ask?” he raises an eyebrow

“No reason, I thought you were in Maranello with Carlos” you reply casually. You already know he was in France with Piere for fashion week.

“I was, I’m not anymore,” he answers drinking from a glass of water. “You’ve stalking me?” he asks with a cocky smile

“No” you answer, the truth it’s that you had been checking his IG account, and you tried not to think “I work at Ferrari PR, I have to know where you’re up” You wink.

“Well, do you know where I will be next Sunday?” His voice tone changes and he puts his phone closer to his face.

You shrug your shoulders and look at him with a flirtatious smile. "No" you answer almost whispering.

He moves closer to the phone "Inside you, Making you scream my name" 

All you can see is his eyes shining differently as he whispers those words to you.

You can't stop your stomach from jumping and you even think you're blushing. But you played. "Ah well, I think I have time in my schedule for that next time for that" you answer, trying not to show how excited you are.

The next day you casually receive an invitation from Andrea Ferrari, Charles' trainer, and fellow Ferrari teammate, inviting all his teammates to London next Sunday to celebrate his birthday.

"Ah well, he probably isn’t coming to London just to see me," you tell yourself when you see the invitation.

You don't even think about it, you accept the invitation. You don't tell Charles, if he's in London that weekend, it's probably because of his friend.

By the time the weekend arrives, you don't want to set high expectations, but you can't help it. You're excited and a little nervous.

"So we'll see each other on Andrea's birthday?" you send him in a text.

The answer comes insanely fast "We're already in London since this morning" Charles replies.

'We are'. Yeah, he came for his friend's birthday and not just to see you.

Does it bother you? Yes, quite. Does this fit your purpose of not putting too many expectations on this weekend? Probably not. Are you going to admit it? Not even dead. And there's no way you're letting him ruin your fun.

So the mission is to look the most attractive and elegant to any man, not just for Charles.

As you get ready for the birthday party, you can't help but feel a little nervous. You dress up in your best clothes, and you are looking stunning. You know that Charles will be there. 

When you arrive at the party, you start looking around for Charles. You immediately see him in the corner, chatting with one of your mutual friends. You smile to yourself and go around the room greeting everyone.

You’re wearing a form-fitting dress that accentuates your curves in all the right ways. The dress is elegant and simple, yet also sexy and bold. The material is silky satin that feels luxurious against your skin. Accessorized with statement earrings and a pair of heels to complete the look. The makeup is subtle yet natural, and your hair is down, adding to the overall effect. In one word, you feel divine.

Charles is a total heartthrob. He looks dashing and sophisticated. He has a confident and relaxed presence, which only adds to his overall attractiveness

You finally get to Charles, casually greeting him as everyone else. When you kiss him on the cheek, you can smell his perfume. making your skin crawl.

Charles: "Y/N, it's been a while. You look incredible."

Y/N: "Oh, thank you, Charles. Weeks out of the paddock are slow, yes. You look very distinguished yourself.”

You exchange smiles and look into each other's eyes, feeling the electricity in the air but trying to keep it subtle.

Soon, everyone starts asking about their personal lives, and they both keep it vague while maintaining their friendly demeanor and casual conversation.

As they chat, you are careful to avoid giving anything away. This it’s the first time you are in the same room with your co-workers outside your work.

 You talk casually and make sure to keep the conversation light and friendly, while also finding excuses to stay close to each other. But there is a tension in the air, as you both know that there is more. The evening progresses, and as people and friends get increasingly drunk, you and Charles find themselves getting closer and closer together, getting away with subtle gestures that no one notices.

When the music is loud enough and everyone is into their own thing, Charles leans into your ear and whispers.

“There is a balcony next to the room at the end of the hallway. Meet me there” He says and walks away without saying any other word. There is a risk of doing this now and here and with all these people around. 

You think about it for a few seconds until you decide to go. 

The Airbnb apartment in London that Charles rented to have the party could be described as having a chic, modern vibe. The apartment is spacious, with lots of light coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. There's a stylish kitchen and a bright living room, perfect for entertaining guests. Making it an ideal space for having get-togethers. Charles thought of everything.

Walking to the balcony you can already see the view of London from up there. You’ve never seen something like that before, and you’ve been living there for 4 years now.

When you open the door to the balcony the chill air of the British summer hits your face. You can see Charles leaning against the rail watching you. 

“Wow, so this is what a lot of money gets you everywhere you go uh?” you tell him as you take one last look to the hallway making sure nobody saw you following him.

“It’s for my friend, I want him to enjoy his birthday party,” he says, playing with his glass. “And don’t worry, Andrea won't let anyone come near here” he smirks.

You stop when you hear him say that. “he knows?!” 

Charles nods with a mischievous smile “How do you think I convinced him to have his party here?” 

“Awesome, bring more people into this,” you say taking your steps carefully. You haven't had that much to drink yet but the whole situation is making you feel a bit more edgy than usual.

“Andrea always has my back,” he says, coming close to you. 

When you and he are close enough, Charles extends his arm and slowly brings your body closer to his. The bastard knows what he's doing. "Plus I needed an excuse to see you up close again before we go back to work"

You bite your lips and smile. "You're dangerously close and with all these people here, it's not good" You look into his eyes.

"AND?" he answers as you, approach your lips "I already told you, no one will come here."

You are the one who kisses him first. You can smell his perfume again, it's extraordinarily delicious. The combination is extremely sexy for you. You close your eyes and let yourself be carried away by him. The kiss grows in intensity. Neither of you has reservations about using your tongues, Charles's hands holding firmly to the sides of your face. Your hands are on his waist.

You can hear the party noise in the background. Charles notices it. "You know we can go somewhere more private if you're worried about someone seeing us," he tells you as he smiles close to your lips.

You smile flirtatiously "Oh I wonder what place that is?" you answer him

It only takes two seconds before Charles pulls you by the hand and leads you from the balcony through the sliding door that leads to a room. His bedroom. You both laugh like teenagers.

You can barely see what the room looks like. Charles makes sure the doors are locked and the curtains are drawn.

"Very clever of you, Leclerc," you say, taking off your sandals. There is nothing to hide here. You both want this.

"Clever? Why?" he answers and approaches you.

"No one will be able to hear us with all this loud music" you reply.

He sits on the edge of the bed "Come to me firecracker" he says biting his lower lip. His eyes shine in the dark.

You can see him take some condoms out of one of his pants pockets and put them to the side.

"You came prepared, did you expect action?" you tell him walking towards him

"Of course, if you didn't come I'd be looking all over London for you" he stretches and pulls you towards him.

You laugh.

Both of his hands cup your breasts while you are standing in front of him. His gaze is on your chest now, as his hands gently massage and squeeze your breasts. You feel confident in yourself, there is no doubt that he wants you and that ignites a new sense of security in you.

He continues massaging you without saying a word but his eyes are now examining every part of your body in that dress.

His hands now travel to your waist, down your thighs. Your hands are now in his hair. You have been together enough times to recognize each other's tastes for foreplay.

"This is a nice dress. I'd hate to rip it off you," he whispers.

"Then don't do it" you answer and try to get closer to kiss him. But he stops you. You stand up straight again and he continues his way down your body with his hands.

His hands reach to the edge of your dress. Now they go under the skirt in the direction of your panties.

"More than one man is wishing to have his hand where mine is now tonight” he looks at you caressing your folds through the fabric of your underwear.

"Really? I can keep my options open then." You love a good praising.

He smiles "No babe". 

"Oh you can and I don’t?" you say ironically, you know he still sees that girl.

"Don't bring that up now" he tells you, bringing his fingers to the edge of your panties and he starts to slide them down.

Fine. You think to yourself.

When he tries to move your underwear to the side, you grab his wrist and stop him. "What makes you think that he came to this party for you to touch me?" you tell him almost challenging him.

He looks at you and smiles, "You're mad at me aren't you?" he guesses

"No". Actually yes you are, but you won't even admit it to yourself.

"Come here grumpy, I'm going to fuck out of you that attitude" he pulls you towards him. You put your knees on each side of his hips and sit on his lap. His hands are squeezing your ass.

You don't make a sound.

There is nothing like you two together. Neither of you can deny that. As soon as you two get rid of the inhibitions of work, age, and what’s going on in each other’s lives, you two are amazing together.

You kiss like there's no tomorrow. It feels good, without effort, without pretending. And this is new to you.

Charles pulls your dress up, you smile against his lips. “Let me see her” He looks down on you “Oh there she is” he runs his fingers over your folds.

You bite your button lip suppressing a moan.

“Look at you trying to hold back on me” the tip of his fingers now over your clit. “So wet,” he says and then he inserts one finger inside you making you whine a bit “Oh so wet” his eyes open wider.

“Now don’t touch if you’re not going to buy sir” You take his wrist and pull his fingers out of you.

He groans. “Come on!” he chuckles.

You stand up from his lap pulling your dress down.

 “Show me” you point at his groin “I want to see him too”. 

Charles laughs. He has no reservations about unbuttoning his pants, opening the zipper, and revealing to you the angry bulge making a tent inside his boxers 

The sight makes you wetter. You take one step forward thinking about kneeling and have your taste of it. But he stops you.

“No no darling, I’ve said I was going to fuck out of you that attitude” He pulls you against his body and kisses you while he sits on the bed again. You see him grabbing a condom out of the box on the bed “You get to ride me until my cock wipes that brat smile from your face”. He says all of this while taking his cock out, already leaking and hard, and slides a condom on it. 

You are more than ready for this. “You are going to regret this Leclerc” you mewl as you get on his lap again hovering over his hard cock.

“I fucking doubt it firecracker” he grabs you by the hips. You reach down and grab his cock guiding it inside you.

You sit comfortably on his lap full of his cock and both of you moan. 

His hands keep caressing your body, you feel so good with him, he is trying to hold the feeling of you around him. 

You throw your head back moving your hips in circles “Oh god yes”.

His hands go to your breasts squeezing them “i want you to move but…” he pulls down your dress and your breasts fall out of it “I don’t want this to end” his lips lash to your nipples 

You moan out “Good, you know what to do”. You can’t help it, your body starts moving up and down his cock. 

“Shit!” he gasps grabbing your ass and pulling it down “Wet, tight…” he grids his teeth. 

You support yourself on his shoulders to move faster and look down on him. The world outside that room is fading away as your moans get louder. “Fuck Charles!”

“I know baby I know, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop” he looks up to you.

The feeling of his teeth on your neck makes you squeal in pleasure. Your pussy starts pulsing when you feel his thump on your clits pressing it “Oh fuckfuckfuckfuck” you grunt.

Charles chuckles at your reaction. 

The sounds of your bodies against each other make it all more erotic. You can feel your orgasms approaching each time he presses on your clit and it’s driving you wild “Charles that’s …Oh god…” you moan “I’m.not.going.to.last.long” you punctuated each word with each move down his cock.

He grunts “Come on my cock” his voice sounds raspy, maybe a bit shaky. You look down and see his face red gridding his teeth holding in his orgasms too. Beads of sweat on his forehead.

His cock starts twitching inside you and he starts rubbing your clit harder trying to bring you with him. 

You come first, your moans muffled against his neck. Squeezing his cock. 

His hips push up and against your pussy making your orgasms more intense and seeking his release too.

Just a few more seconds and he pushes your ass down his cock grunting and moaning spilling his cum in hot waves. 

He collapses on the bed. You just fall supporting yourself on your hands on each side of his body, catching your breath with him inside you.  

He looks up to you with a satisfaction grim “You sure know how to ride cock firecracker” he runs his fingers tips on your lips.

You smirk and move your face to the side making his hand caress your cheek. Still catching your breath. 

“Let’s not wait too long to do this again. We’re so good at it” he whispers

You slide up and off him with a gasp and lay next to him. “I have to admit we do know how to fuck each other,” you tell him turning your face to him. 

He laughs, and you laugh too.

Both of you are gazing into each other’s eyes when his phone starts buzzing in his pants pocket. 

It snaps you from his gaze. You sit on the bed as he takes out his phone and looks at the caller ID.

“Si Andrea” “Yes Andrea” he answers while you stand up looking around for your panties. “Che cosa?!” “What?!” he says and you look at him. He sits in bed “Quando?!” “When?!” he puts his hand over his forehead in distress. “Fuck!” he says looking at you.

You are frozen in place looking at his worried grim “What?” you whisper.

He hands the call and looks at his phone for a moment “My girlfriend is here” he looks at you.

You stop breathing for a few seconds watching him standing up and reaching for a tissue from the nightstand next to the bed for the condom he just used with you.

“Your…WHAT?!” the whole situation turns into a nightmare out of the blue

“She shouldn't be here,” he says cleaning himself with the tissue.

“What do you mean?! I thought you were here for…” you stop taking as you realize what is going on. “Oh shit!” your jaw drops open. 

“Y/N this was a guy's trip for Andrea’s birthday, she shouldn’t be here,” Charles says fixing his pants 

“What do you mean she shouldn’t be here, you’re dating now?!” you spit out without thinking about the consequences.

“Yes! “ He looks at you not getting your reaction. Honestly, you don’t get your reaction either. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks opening his arms

You shake your head not even believing it. But you breathe in, and start putting your panties on again without saying a word to him. 

“You’re doing it again” he walks over you 

“I’m doing what?” you snap back 

“Getting mad at me because I have a relationship that’s not with you” he keeps coming closer to you

“We just had sex Charles! You can’t blame me!” you almost fall trying to put your panties back on

“So?” he tries grabbing your arm 

You push his hand away “So?!” you finally get your panties on “You don’t travel to another city for just a fuck”

Charles crosses his arms on his chest his jaw clenching. He doesn’t have a good comeback. He is doing it again too, swallowing his feelings. 

You laugh in disbelief.

Booths staring at each other until a knock on the door snaps you both back 

“Bebè?”, a woman’s voice comes from the other side 

You put your hands on your head not believing his silence. The knocking comes back.

He just looks at the door not moving an inch.

You turn around looking for your purse and walking to the balcony door.

“Y/n…” he whispers

“Don’t you dare Charles” You look at him with your eyes full of tears, it’s the first time you allowed yourself to get like this in front of him. 

You open the balcony door. Not giving him a second to say anything else.

You closed the door behind you. The fresh air hits your face. You breathe in fix your dress and walk back to the door to the living room hall. 

You come inside holding your tears in. You see her knocking on the door of the room you just had sex with her boyfriend.

She is pretty, elegant, and…young. 

You put on a smile and greet her as you pass by her. You don’t even care if she suspects something, you just want to get out of there.

You reach the elevator, no one notices you leaving, the party is too good. 

You get into the elevator. The mirrors inside of it show you what you don’t want to see: yourself broken for a man. Again.

You don’t want to share a tear more for a man. You breathe in and walk out of the elevator.

When you are outside the building, you take your phone and start typing away on it.

“This ends now for me”.

Let me know what you think, please.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles lecrelc #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leccler x older woman #reverse age gap #reverse age gap relationship #older woman / young man #older woman/charles leclerc #f1 fanfiction #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fic #ferro rosso

[fideidefenswhore]

🔥 whatever you like

Thanks!

So, there's been a few articles in the past decade or so that express distaste at the comparison of Princess Diana & AB (and a fair amount of umbrage in misc comments on social media at any parallels being drawn whatsoever, generally, I'm not gonna lie, from C/oA stans...Catherine was the Princess of Wales, Catherine was the one that was popular and beloved by the people, I think these are the broader strokes they believe should be associated with her more...that Catherine was the older of the pair does not seem to matter, that Catherine was, like Camilla, the one that knew 'the prince' the longest doesn't matter, because Camilla was Other Woman and AB was Other Woman, and as such they were both hated by the public, they will never see past any other elements of the story/stereotypes than those, esp. because ultimately they believe all the animus directed at both of those women was/is entirely deserved and justified);

But what's interesting is it's not even so much on the grounds that there are always pitfalls in sanctifying people in general, it's generally pearl-clutching about how Diana deserves sanctification, deserves every possible iteration to be made of her life, and AB does not...the answer to the 'moral quandary' presented in the The Times' BSR review, "Anne Boleyn is being rebooted — but was the tragic Tudor queen a whore and a witch or the Princess Diana of the Tudor age?" by Alison W/eir was basically that she wasn't a whore or a witch, but again, her oh-the-humanity answer of "she wasn't a very nice person" and deserved her "unpopularity in her own time", and was so far from Princess Di, woe to those that popularize AB, somehow she omits herself from that list, how stupid they are to ever believe otherwise, etc

The implication of the above is more what's funny to me... she shouldn't be treated as Princess Diana, because Anne 'had a mean streak' (using "words as one would not address to a dog", from a source no less than above reproach than that of an ex-flame)... but, Diana didn't? The woman who pushed her stepmother down a flight of stairs? The woman who confronted her children's nanny with an entirely personal, private (and leaked, to her belief, although it was later revealed it was another doctoring by Bashir) medical document? Diana was sanctified because she died tragically; if she were still alive today, she would almost certainly be "cancelled"; famous (women, particularly...they are generally judged more harshly) people have been cancelled for much less.

And then we have author Vanora Bennett, who did compare them, but not favorably, and rather misogynistically (to other women, as well):

[Anne] didn’t have the knack for self-reinvention that has brought modern celebrities such as Victoria Beckham long-term success, or the tight-lipped compliance that saw Kate Middleton claim her prize after eight years of waiting for Prince William to propose.

If anything, Anne reminds me more of Princess Diana – both of them charming and glamorous, yet unable to maintain smooth relations with the royals around them; manipulative and sometimes vindictive, yet posthumously elevated to icons of victimhood; dying too soon and leaving young children to cope with their tragic legacy.

Unfortunately this assessment has also been given academic gloss, but luckily this has mainly been limited to GW Bernard's asinine, quasi-profound remark that since Diana had sex outside of her marriage, AB probably did, too.

Idk, I've honestly just been thinking about this because I've been thinking about fan reactions as I watch The Crown, puzzled by how Peter Morgan is so good at writing those royals, but so bad at writing these royals...

Because, really, I think there are elements of both Camilla and Diana's stories in AB's? On the surface level, you have ebullient, charismatic, cheated on by her husband, husband dated her sister 1st, (honestly, never not going to be a weird thing, it must have been borne out of...I suppose, both the utterly limited society of 'acceptable' people to interact with for those of extreme wealth and the entitlement and belief you're above such provincial concerns as ‘That's Weird’), which is probably what led to that being motif in the Kristen Stewart as Diana movie.

And then, Anne was unpopular, but it was said basically, that...those who knew her, loved her, and those that didn't were, at the least, captivated by her despite themselves.

How much of her contemporary slander was from people that had only ever glimpsed her? I think we forget that when we forget how late the sixth-finger and other misc. deformities were alleged. 'Goggle-eyed whore' is the mark of someone who saw her from enough of an distance that the only feature of note was those infamous, large eyes.

Often people confuse charisma with popularity, very often they go together but they are not interchangeable, not synonymous. Charisma can only take effect within intimate contexts. As such, it's true that Anne had one but not so much the other.

Who knows how she might have fared, popularity-wise, if she'd had the powers of radio, TV, etc at her disposal...they're creative reimaginings out of her control/remit, but she has those now and seems to have done better on that front in immortality than she did in mortality/life.

What we have basically is two elements -- "royal mistress" and "threatening the image of the monarchy", and maybe even a little “marrying for love [when royal]”. These are all broad narrative stripes that are seen as “scandalous”, all seen as disruptive, against status quo, so they are always going to inspire creators. At the end of the day, the hand-wringing over that inspiration rings ... insipid? Naiive? Take your pick. 

#i just want to be hated.gif #this ask is showing how old i am aghbrfsdkl #katherynparr #which is just . ancient #i do hate the kids just cancelling everyone left right and center these days and like. the bloodsport glee they get out of it; tbh #it allows no room for humanity or redemption. i just see all the glittery tiktok edits of diana by them nowadays #and am like...you would hate her? HATE her is she were still alive. #she was human and complex and flawed and 'difficult' #but yeah that catherine was the older of the pair does not matter at all; i guess it's more the idea of her being first? #there are now two edits to the 'i'll get older but your lovers stay my age' which.. hgofsd. alright #1) when you know what relationship that song is inspired by. one with an age gap but larger and in the reverse...kind of funny #2) catherine howard was 24; was she? catherine parr? b e s s i e b l o u n t? #you can hate henry for other reasons but he wasn't a leo dicaprio figure when it came to his romantic relationships #they were all (some of them; very) different women of different ages... #YA BURNT tho .

[kcsavageauthor]

JADEN I’ve got huge plans for my life. Falling for someone is not in those plans. College first, then making my dream of owning, and being the head chef of a restaurant in New York City a reality. One Friday night while working, I catch sight of the most stunning woman who’s ever entered The Oasis, sitting at the bar with her friend. Blaire shook my plans upside down and sideways from the moment we met. BLAIRE One night at The Oasis and my life is never going to be the same. After my divorce, I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I have a young daughter to raise. His inviting smile and mischievous gaze draw me in, and I can’t think straight. He’s amazing. So young, fit, and gorgeous. So, in tune with me and all my wants and needs. After we spend two magnificent weeks together, I go back to work at the university, where I’m a culinary instructor. My heart stops when Jaden walks into my classroom.

#forbidden love #reverse age gap #he falls first #single mom trope #teacher student relationship #instalove

[fairymosh]

bruh

#i personally cant stand when people ship logan & louise in bob's burgers #like first of all he's in HIGH SCHOOL & she's in ELEMENTARY #like idgaf that 'after a few years the age gap wont matter!' its creepy and weird #he's 7 years older than her AND he's a bully???! hello??! #logan is a DICK to her and her siblings jfc chasing them and shit just to torment them hell no #it also feels very strongly like some misogynistic bs #that ship is giving 'boys are mean to the girls they like' like supposedly these die hard bob's fans that ship them together want her to be #in an awful relationship where she 'fixes' him somehow and thats gross #i read a fanfic once about them in a bob's comment section (so against my own will and i wanted to throw up) this lady made this whole #ass elaborate story about louise meeting logan again 'in college' #like ew bitch louise would be like 19. he should be interested in dating women his own age group. & that aside like #he's a horrible bully to her. he stole her bunny ears and lied to her about it and she didnt even do anything wrong. those boys wouldnt let #kids cross that area to get home and louise was like nah fuck that im gonna say something. her interactions with logan are used as a device #to tell stories of her bravery. and gene's bravery that time he stood in for her when logan wanted to give her a reverse norwegian #stinkhold (she's a child. fuck logan for wanting to do that to a 9 year old girl just bc she pissed him off) and gene didnt deserve that #that said. her interactions w him are a device to express bravery and courage against an ANTAGONIST character. not some gross 'romance' #and hello??! are we ignoring the fact that louise was freaked that rudy liked her then was disappointed that he liked chloe?! #she literally kisses rudy & ppl are still being dumb as fuck out here shipping her w logan. hell no. find another set of characters to ship #ask yourselves why the fuck you like louise and logan together so much. you're projecting and what you're projecting is very distorted #im not sorry for my opinion. i feel its morally balanced and its very Immoral for people to ship those two characters

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ IN YOUR ARMS (I’M WARMEST) — GETO SUGURU.

contents. it’s a bit of a prequel to this drabble about the shower scene, but can be read as a stand alone, post hidden inventory arc, depressed suguru :(, small spoon suguru bc he deserves to be held, reverse comfort, established relationships, healing suguru agenda !! i’m passionate about this agenda !!!!!!!

usually, instead of you sneaking into suguru’s room, it’s the other way around. usually, he slips under your sheets and curls around your body, your combined giggles seeping into the sheets as he sneaks in a few hours of sleep with you in his arms before he inevitably has to leave before he’s caught.

tonight is different, though—suguru hasn’t come to your room to sleep with you in more than a few days. you don’t even think he even sleeps anymore, if the dark circles under his eyes are of any hint.

so you do the only thing you can think of: sneak into his room.

“hey, are you asleep?” you poke his shoulder—he’s had his back facing the door since you stepped in, and he’s made no move to face you.

“yes,” is all he says.

“wow,” you roll your eyes, “i’m risking a lot of wrath with yaga to be here, y’know. least you could do is face me.”

“you should sleep,” he mumbles, “you have a mission tomorrow.”

“it’ll be easy,” you say wave off, “i’ll be back before lunch time. we can eat together,” you offer.

suguru has hardly been eating—you notice this instantly. if you’d just get one chance to sit and have a meal with him, you’d force a few bites into him, but it’s been a busy week. for all of you. you haven’t properly seen satoru in what feels like ages—the newest missions he’s been assigned have been much more complex, much more difficult for anyone else but him to handle.

he hasn’t known rest since that day.

suguru is alone more now, on missions and once he’s returned. the gap between him and everyone else feels like it gets wider and wider every day. he’s become more distant, in more ways than one.

“you shouldn’t say that. you never know what happens on a mission,” he says seriously. “be careful.”

the last part, barely, just barely, sounds like a plead.

you sigh, wrapping yourself around his back and pulling him against your chest, slipping a hand under his shirt and rubbing slow circles into his bare skin. he likes the feeling, it’s always soothed him.

“i’m always careful,” you murmur, “i’ll bring you soba on my way back. will you eat for me, sugu? just for me,” you pout theatrically.

suguru is always weak to your dramatics—it’s your appeal. he finds it cute, always gives you a chuckle as he caves and gives you exactly what you want.

this time, he doesn’t offer you so much as a hum.

“if i’m hungry,” he mumbles.

“baby,” you sigh, nose burying into his hair. the strands are slightly knotted—something that suguru never lets happen with his hair. “you need to start looking after yourself more. i’m getting worried about you.”

“you don’t need to worry about me,” he mutters, “you should go and sleep.”

deep down, you know he’s gently telling you to leave. suguru is asking you to leave—but you know if you leave, something might change. something irreversible. so you wrap your arms tighter around him, pull him closer as hold his body against yours.

“i always worry about you. and you should sleep too,” you say simply, “we can sleep together.”

he’s silent.

so you let him stay like that, rubbing over his abs slowly and tracing the skin, writing your name with the tip of your finger lightly so he knows he’s yours even when he acts like he’s alone. you press a kiss to his head, and because he’s still your suguru, he melts just the slightest bit against you.

progress.

“hey,” you whisper, chin resting on his shoulder. you watch his head turn slightly as he looks at you from the corner of his eyes.

“what?” he sighs.

“i’ll take care of you, so you don’t have to, okay?” you promise gently. if suguru can’t find it in him to look after himself, he doesn’t need to—not when you’re here. “we’ll start slow, yeah? tomorrow you’ll shower. and then i’ll feed you.”

“you don’t have to—”

“shh,” you hiss, reaching over to press a finger to his lips, “i’ll bring your favorite, and then i’ll feed you like the princess you are. it’ll be nice, trust me.”

“but—”

“i’ll even give you a kiss for every bite. how does that sound?”

he sighs, hand resting on top of yours as you stay rubbing circles into his skin.

“good,” he whispers, “sounds good.”

“i love you, baby,” you kiss his head again, “i’m sorry i haven’t been here all week.”

“it’s not your fault,” he insists, “it’s…it’s been busy for us all. i don’t mind—”

“i’ll make more time for you,” you say firmly, “i promise. okay?”

you’re not sure if you imagine it, but you think his exhale might be a little shaky. and then he nods against you, leaning back so his body is pressing into yours even further. you wrap your arms tighter around him and pull the sheets until they’re under his chin, making sure he’s covered all the way.

it’s cold in his room at night—you can’t always make it warmer, but you can try to share your heat.

“okay,” he says after a while, “i’ll shower tomorrow.”

“good,” you nod, “i’ll handle the rest. now get some sleep, yeah?”

he nods—but even as you slowly doze off, sleep doesn’t come to him. but it’s not so lonely to stay up tonight, and the bed doesn’t feel stiff under his back. his hand is still on top of yours, finger tracing lightly over your knuckles.

“i love you too,” he mumbles—you don’t hear it, but he still wants to say it.

it’s a start.

i should just write a progressive series of suguru slowly healing and then we can have teacher suguru bc imagine him writing on a chalkboard with chalk. yeah. it’s okay if you moan at the idea i did too. i won’t judge !!

#operation: heal suguru! #teepods.writings #drabbles. #geto x reader #geto x you #geto fluff #geto angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk angst #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru fluff #geto suguru x you #geto suguru angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst

[sarahreesbrennan]

Are all the themes in “in other lands” supposed to be a commentary on something? Or do you just like writing sex scenes between minors, age gaps, and reverse misogyny?

Genuine question.

Ohhh, my dear anon, I don't believe this is a genuine question.

But it does bring up something I've been meaning to talk about. So I'll take the bait.

Firstly. Yes, my work contains a commentary on the world around us. I wonder what I could be doing with the child soldiers being sexually active in their teens (people hook up right after battles), and the age gap relationship ending in the younger one being too mature for the elder. What could I possibly have been attempting when I said 'how absurd gender roles are, when projected onto people we haven't been accustomed by our own society to see that way'? I wasn't being subtle, that's for sure.

Secondly. Yes I do enjoy writing! I think I should, it's my life's work. Am I titillated by my own writing, no - though I think it's fine to be. The sex scenes of In Other Lands aren't especially titillating, to be honest. It is interesting to me how often people sneer at women for writing romance and sex scenes, having 'book boyfriends,' insinuating women writers fancy their own characters. Women having too much immoral fun! Whereas men clearly write about sex for high literary purposes.

… I have to say from my experience of women and men's writing, I haven't found that to be true.

I’m not in this to have an internet argument. I prefer to leave my anons open since not everyone has a tumblr, as @neil-gaiman says it’s an internet backwater, but a lovely one for those like myself who enjoy an essay about fictional characters! Still I will close my inbox to anons if I must. Mostly people use bad faith takes to poke at others from the other side of a screen for kicks. But I do know some truly internalise the attitude that writing certain things is wrong, that anyone who makes mistakes must be shunned as impure, and that is a deeply Victorian and restrictive attitude that guarantees unhappiness.

I've become increasingly troubled by the very binary and extreme ways of thinking I see arising on the internet. They come naturally from people being in echo chambers, becoming hostile to differing opinions, and the age-old conundrum of wanting to be good, fearing you aren't, and making the futile effort to be free of sin. It makes me think of Tennyson, who when travelling through Ireland at the time of the Great Famine, said nobody should talk about the 'Irish distress' to him and insisted the window shades of his carriage be shut as he went from castle to castle. So he wouldn't see the bodies. But that didn't make the bodies cease to be.

In Les Mis, Victor Hugo explores why someone might steal, what that means about them and their circumstances, and who they might be - and explores why someone else is made terribly unhappy, and endangers others, through their own too rigid adherence to judgement and condemnation without pity. The story understands both Jean Valjean the thief and Javert the policeman. Javert’s way of thinking is the one that inevitably leads to tragedy.

Depiction isn't endorsement. Depiction is discussion.

Many of my loved ones have had widely varying relationships to and experience of sex (including 'none'). They've felt all different types of ways about it. If writing about them is not permissible, I close them out. I'd much rather a dialogue be open than closed.

I do understand the urge to write what seems right to others. I've been brain-poisoned that way myself. I used to worry so much about my female characters doing the wrong things, because then they'd be justly hated! Then I noted which of my writer friends had people love their female characters the most - and it was the one who wrote their female characters as screwing up massively, making rash and sometimes wrong decisions. Who wrote them as people. Because that's what people do. That's what feels true to readers.

I want my characters to feel true to readers. I want my characters to react in messy ways to imperfect situations. I love fantasy, I love wild action and I love deep thought, and I want to engage. That's what In Other Lands is about. That's even more what Long Live Evil is about. That sexy lady who sashays in to have sexy sex with the hero - what is her deal? Someone who tricks and lies to others - why are they doing that, how did they get so skilled at it? What makes one person cruelly judgemental, and another ignore all boundaries? What makes Carmen Maria Machado describe ‘fictional queer villains’ as ‘by far the most interesting characters’? What irritates people about women having a great time? What attracts us to power, to fiction, and to transgression?

I don’t know the answers to all those questions, but I know I want to explore them. And I know one more thing.

If the moral thing to do is shut people out and shut people up? Count me among the villains.

#bookblr #discourse #in other lands #long live evil #les mis #carmen maria machado #writing

[aha-chuu]

Here's the thing. "Renheng but Blade is immortal and nothing goes wrong" goes totally against the themes set up in HSR. But it's so fucking funny.

So, Dan Feng loves Yingxing whatever. They decide to make Yingxing immortal together and then BAM no one finds out (so no big crime to be arrested for) but there's two ways to play it. Either they have to slowly gaslight everyone into believing YX was a long life species this whole time, or they have to somehow pretend this is not YX, this is some other 100% naturally immortal dude and Dan Feng just has the Most specific type ever, to the point that he basically got his exes twin but immortal with a cooler haircut.

And with the gaslighting idea - I think it could work. No one's gonna notice that YX isn't aging for at least a few years, probably more since everyone they know is long-life and they likely have a warped perception of how regular aging works. So DF & YX just gotta wait like 5-10 years, slowly dropping hints that "oh yeah can't wait till our 150th anniversary!!" And Jing Yuan is like "... Hmm is that normal? That's probably normal?".

Cos also. Who's gonna mention it? Like it's gonna take so long for anyone to notice, is Jingliu gonna eventually sit them down like "you did a big sin didn't you" and then YX and DF just play dumb: "what??? Jingliu what are you on about? Is Mara eating all your memories of YX definitely being immortal this whole time?" So that's not good for Jingliu's mental health but whatever.

Anyway so Dan Feng and Yingxing have successfully scammed everyone but DF is still definitely the High Elder and absolutely no one wants him to be dating this guy. Also the dragon heart is missing cos it's in YX's chest and surely the Preceptors would check up on that? Like a renewal service? Some sort of 200-year check-up? Does DF have to take his bf with him so the aura is nearby? It's just a game of "how dumb are these guys?" Until all those preceptors reincarnate into ones who DF can convince "oh no the High Elder is supposed to give the dragon heart to their beloved. Yeah it's a ritual. Oh the immortality uh no Yingxing had that forever obviously".

Eventually YX is gonna get stabbed and he's definitely more immortal than everyone else. More gaslighting ensues probably, cos otherwise it's like?? He's just an abundance monstrosity (Jingliu is seeing red rn) and Jing Yuan has sussed it out at this point but yknow he likes YX; he prefers him being alive than dead. Jingliu is gonna stab YX for being an undying monstrosity and JY steps in - "nooo don't you know I mean ig your parents never told you but if uhhhh you suck enough dragon dick this is totally normal -" and anyway Sanctus Medicus get a lil fetishy sex crazed from that conspiracy theory.

Then later DF has to be reborn which is sad, but I like to think YX just takes like. A gap year from their relationship. He's a divorced old man he deserves a mid life crisis while DH gets the "plss don't fall in love this idiot guy again" speech from the other Vidyadhara but it's working like reverse psychology, DH is all "pshh I'm way too put-together for that!!" And anyway YX is still a hot piece of ass so DH fails immediately.

One day DH gets a dream memory about the whole sinning part of their relationship and has to come to terms with That™ meanwhile YX is sipping a mimosa while he's having a moral dilemma. "No babe it's fine it's like. Yeah it is a hellish sin but it's cute that you're so worried about it. No they can't try us for crimes we did so long ago don't worry" meanwhile JY is still dealing with the paperwork nightmare from YX's birth certificate definitely not being that of a long-life person's but ehh.

Basically fluffy unproblematic renheng where no one gets amnesiaed or tortured is great and good even if it laughs in the face of canon.

#renheng #yingyue #hsr #blade hsr #dan heng #dan Feng #Yingxing #imbibitor lunae #Honkai star rail #jing yuan #jingliu

[comfortless]

would König ever agree to be a sugar baby? 🤔 most people write him as the rich one in the relationship so I'm curious if the dynamic can be reversed

you’re calling to my weakness of König being taken care of for once here…!! cue König being the absolute worst sugar baby that has ever existed (lovebombing!). implied age gap (König is maybe 24-26 here, reader is anything above), porn mention, masturbation, slightly suggestive but mostly fluff. minors do not interact.

Begrudgingly, a younger König probably would.

He isn’t sure how these relationships even work. There’s plenty of money in his bank accounts, he’s got a decent enough apartment, a car, (some) clothes that aren’t riddled with holes or tears... Hell, there isn’t even really anything that he wants. His curiosity only begins to spike the second his thumb stops its scrolling, lands on a picture of her, and his world comes to a grinding halt.

The woman in the photo is the most gorgeous, sweet creature he has ever lain eyes upon. Just the image of her smiling softly at the camera, her hands placed in her lap whilst she’s seated on a couch is enough to send his heart hammering. She doesn’t look the part of some vapid, cruel thing he had anticipated on a site like this. No, the woman only looks gentle, her eyes are even a little sad… She's all alone, her bed is cold, and König is already hard at the thought of how this could go if he had just a little luck in his corner.

He makes the decision to message her without thinking. It’s late, she probably wouldn’t even see it until morning, and he doubts a woman this cute would want to bother with him anyway.

A polite, articulate: hey do you wanna fuck

Followed by: you don’t even have to pay me XD

He settles for pulling up some porn video with the faces just out of frame, jacks off to the hypothetical of it being she and him one day and falls asleep with his phone on his chest and come stains in his boxers.

There’s nothing about him that’s deserving of this woman’s time nor her response, but he wakes to the chiming of his phone and a sweet message from her anyway. One in which she asks him if he would like to meet for drinks so that they can talk, she clarifies that she will pay, and even tells him that she thinks he’s handsome.

Handsome. Something only his oma had called him when she patted him on the cheek as a boy.

His response is insistent, demanding almost, when he suggests that she come to him, meet immediately that same day. Who cares if it’s only afternoon by the time she arrives, he could go for a beer and a sweet, tight pussy at any hour, doesn’t hold himself back from telling her this either while he grins at his phone like he’s possessed - all teeth and wild eyes.

There’s a part of him that believes this woman will be scared off, stand him up entirely and block his account, but to his surprise, she does actually show up. She’s there before even he arrives, seated in a booth at the back of the bar with his order and her own placed neatly on the table in front of her.

His chest feels too tight when he places himself across from her, all cockiness diminished in light of something he hasn’t felt since he was two feet shorter and more than a decade younger.

He’s fucking petrified.

His to-be-sugar-mommy eases him with her softspoken voice, going over the less than rigid terms of their agreement and praising his looks as well as his ability to handle his alcohol.

She isn’t asking for sex, just someone to care for. She tells him that he’s beautiful, while he feels like a smear on the pavement in comparison to her. And fuck. He isn’t handling his alcohol well at all, he’s just nervous and needs to keep his hands and his mouth busy, because all he wants to do is bend this adorable woman who compares his ugly face to that of an archangel’s over this table and fuck her like a stallion, spit such filth into her hair that no amount of repentance could ever make her feel clean again.

He can’t. He can’t when she suggests in that same cooing voice that she take him shopping for boots that are less scuffed, offers her hand to him as though it’s natural for a lady so ethereal to tether herself to a beast. Her hand is so dainty and cold, whereas he feels like a boiler on the cusp of bursting the second their fingers slot between one another.

His head is a mess of thoughts, memories of being dragged by the collar to attend services with his oma where he never prayed. Shit, maybe he should start, because surely he has someone or something to thank for this, for her.

Their first date becomes the strangest ordeal of his life as she seats him on a bench and helps him to try on boots as though he were only a boy who didn’t yet know how to tie his laces. She even kneels before him and ties them up herself before placing his foot back on the store’s floor; doesn’t even comment on the obvious hole in his sock or the awkward, longing way that he’s staring at her, only presses her chin to his knee and smiles up at him with so much affection he thinks he might actually pass out for a moment. She buys the ones he likes, three pairs of them, and doesn’t even bat an eye at the price.

That’s when he decides it’s all too much: he tells her that he can buy his own stuff, that he doesn’t need her to do it or tie his shoelaces or anything because he’s a man, after all. He should be showering her in flowers and soft dresses, paying for her nails and hair dye.

His lady only laughs and asks if he wants to come home with her, he doesn’t have to stay, just sit with her for a bit. So… he follows her home like a sulking shadow, hovering just behind her lost entirely in his head. He had barked at her like a rabid dog and she still brings him back to her place, strokes her thumb against the back of his hand, offers him little smiles of assurance when he goes completely silent.

He wants to hate it, wants to tell her something dirty and toss a stack of cash her way when she opens her door for him. Instead, he finds his head in her lap while she pets his face, running the tips of her fingers over every scar.

Her compliments are the most ridiculous, beautiful things that he’s ever heard, ranging from outright calling him her angel to telling him that he’s charming, that the scars are pretty… He loves every second spent with her like this, with each soft brush of her fingers as they pet the top of his head down to his neck, the way she hums some pleasing song to him when she massages at his shoulder.

He’s never been pampered or coddled like this before, and it feels good. The boner threatening to tear its way out of his pants isn’t something he’s proud of this time; he only wants this sweet little fairy to feel as comfortable as she’s making him.

Maybe he could do that if she let him pull up her skirt and make love to her: he could be gentle if he tried, play with her hair and her clit while he slowly spears her open until she’s pliant and panting, take it slow until she comes around his cock and her pussy calls him to utterly defile it as well as the rest of her. There wouldn’t be a part of her left untouched.

When she asks to be held instead, he swears he’s getting all of that and then some: she puts herself right in his lap, her chest to his and her legs parted just enough to straddle his hips. Her head tips forward against his shoulder as his fingers dance across her back, squeezing at her hips before smoothing back up her sides. She’s so soft… the most pleasing thing he’s ever touched, smoother than gunmetal and the flat of a blade. The way she smells is even sweeter, like spiced tea and blooming flowers.

She doesn’t even slap him when he bucks upward against her pussy, grinds the throbbing bulge in his pants against the place that she’s warmest. No, she only kisses his cheek and tells him what a wonderful day she’s having, what a gentleman he is even if he knows that part is certainly a lie.

Her breasts are soft in his hands when he finds the courage to squish them, against his cheek when she guides his head down to her. She pets his hair, tells him how she’s always wanted to hold a man like this… that she’s been waiting for someone exactly like him for longer than she even knows.

She even laughs when she asks, “You think that I’m pathetic, don’t you?”

All thoughts of just getting a good fuck out of this woman die someplace beneath his skull. Who would ever even think to call someone so lovely and kind pathetic? He couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t imagine ever doing anything more than protecting her fragile little heart and letting her stroke at him like an overgrown kitten, not anymore.

“Nein… no…”

He swears he could almost see tears in her eyes when she shoots him a glance then. Appreciative, contented tears that he prays she won’t shed. He’s a man, he’s not going to cry, but… fuck, he might if she did right now. Everything feels so doughy and warm, cotton candy and summer rain when his grip around her tightens to pull her in even closer.

She wipes away those unshed tears as she nuzzles against his cheek, slowly rubs her nose there and leaves a trail of kisses up to his temple. His mind is devoid of anything but outright infatuation, some impromptu dedication. He would tell her right now he loved her and know wholeheartedly that he meant it, but love isn’t in the agreement.

His lady only just wants to give herself away for nothing in return, not for a dick to make her cry or his own money layering her pockets; she just wants to pretend he’s her own personal angel, bury him in all the love and gifts she’s never been able to give to anyone else.

He watches her when she falls asleep curled up in his arms, takes in the way she smiles even in dreaming when her soft breaths break up the quiet. He presses his mouth to hers until her eyelids flutter and her breath catches in her little throat. She wakes to the kiss and only reciprocates it with the same softness she’s displayed with every prior action.

Her lips part to take him in, and she doesn’t even moan when he laps into her mouth with a grunt. There’s no lust in this for her: only the most senseless adoration, all love and tenderness, the things he’s yet to properly learn.

She tastes like vanilla and honey, her tongue yields beneath his own… and finally he pulls himself away, staring into her eyes like he might find a treasure there, as if he wasn’t already convinced that every part of her wasn’t something divine and holy.

“Do you have any others?,” he asks, devoid of any trepidation.

There’s not a care in the world of how she might view him. He’s convinced, certain that whatever he’s feeling has to be mutual. There are butterflies fluttering like the gentlest tornado in the pits of his stomach, and just by the wounded look she gives him then he just knows she must feel them too.

“Only you.”

“Gut… gut.”

There’s another kiss, one that is initiated by the both of them and steals all breath from his lungs. It’s not her harboring tears this time, but him who feels the dull sting, separates from her and turns his head away to rub at his face. He knows that he’s the pathetic one now, burdened down with the thought that he’s head over heels for a woman for just treating him as if he deserves anything at all.

Damn her for the way she readily reaches for him to pull him back in, to kiss at the outer corner of his eye and tell him in such a quiet way that she knows… In just a day she’s noticed him more than anyone, given more than anyone.

When he guides her back towards his mouth with a firm hand at the nape of her neck, could he really be faulted for whispering a confession? “Ich bin in dich verliebt,” spoken nearly inaudibly before he shuts her up with his lips over hers.

There’s no need for an answer, he knows the agreement had nothing to do with love. She wouldn’t accept his money in turn, but maybe a heart would suffice. He promises he’ll send her letters each time he’s deployed between mashing his mouth against her own, swears he will come running back to her when those greedy kisses slip down to her jaw. This sweet dove only laughs and squirms in his lap, tells him she would love to see him any time before he shushes her again.

Shouldn’t sweet things like this know not to feed a stray?

#könig x reader #konig x reader #Kö saying ‘i love you’ way waaay too early is entirely self satisfying for me ^^ #he would still want to buy things for her instead probably play the role of some rough tough alpha male #but secretly every time she’s snuggled up to him he’s in shambles trying to control his breathing and not propose on the spot

[bloomingpresent]

Ferro Rosso Chapter V

Pairing: Charles Leclerc/Female reader digital artist older woman

Summary: on your mids 30’s you never imagine you’d be divorce. To help with the healing process you decide to return to you first love: digital illustration. Posting videos of your art online leads you to work for Ferrari. But you never thought it’d lead you to find somebody that’s going to bring you back to trust again in love.

Warnings: none, this one it's pretty much fluff. Some swearing.

Disclaimer: I'm sorry it took me so long to update this. I've been so busy lately. But I don't want to leave this story. This chapter it's pretty much fluff. I tried to set the grounds for what's come. These two are fighting their own demons. All errors, grammar mistakes, and misspellings are my own. English isn't my first language.

You can find all the previous chapters on my Masterlist

The first races of the season were a disaster for Ferrari. Bahrain was disappointing for the whole team. But for Charles, it was incredibly frustrating.

You would have wanted to be there to support him, but with this policy of sex, "emotional support" does not apply. This was starting to get a little complicated. Not knowing how to act in this situation was beginning to take you out of your center. And that was not right.

Finding yourself thinking about him in certain situations, staring at him when they film material for the networks, and even not responding to other men's flirtations. Nothing was right. Your first reaction: don't talk to him, text him, or start anything. Your way of protecting yourself in this new situation is for you.

Seeing it from the outside you were the wonder woman: professional, running your art studio, working for Ferrari, traveling, meeting people, and experiencing new things. Inside a battle is taking place.

The race was devastating for everyone, but Charles felt it, and it showed on his face.

After the race, a battle raged inside of you. You wanted to give him encouragement and perhaps a hug. But your work situation and your sentimental situation do not allow it.

Every time his face appears on the screens you stop yourself from running to hug him.

Up to the next race you got, holding yourself from trying to contact him.

After the race in Saudi Arabia.Charles is angry, sad, and anxious, but most of all he feels trapped. He can't and won't show how he’s feeling. He chooses quiet and privacy. Chooses the safest path. He prefers to spend time in the hotel room. Doing whatever it takes to not drown and stay positive and open to new possibilities.

Safe mode for Charles means not showing himself out of control, which he clearly doesn't know how to do when you're around him. So he chooses to step away.

The weeks off are approaching and he believes that can help not thinking about you.

Both have buried all emotions you  may have felt for each other. Or at least they both believe so.

You in your work, he in his.

On race day you stick to your tradition of having lunch alone, away from the Ferrari hospitality area. Sitting at a table, watching the pre-race fuzz from outside. Watching how people come and go, you take notes of what inspires you, and what makes you feel. Just dumping thoughts before getting back into the madness of formula one.

Professional treatment is always there. You have to have a contact for your work.

While filming footage for the Ferrari C2 Challenge, one of your teammates noticed the way Charles was looking at you. "Why is he looking at you like that? Is he looking at you? Do you notice that look?" he comments to you while he watches the images on the monitors.

You flatly deny it and continue with your work. There is so much work to be done these days, you don't have time for this.

Race time arrives, and Australia is ablaze with Formula One passion as the red lights go out and the race begins.

It does not go beyond the first lap and the number 16 Ferrari car goes off the track. The race is over for Charles. The radio goes silent for a few seconds. Until the voice of the engineer asks if he is okay. The sigh of Charles's response from the other end breaks your heart.

If you took off the sunglasses you're wearing, everyone could see your glassy eyes. It's not fair. It's all you can think of.

Charles doesn't even go through the garage, he just goes to his private room to wait for the race to finish.

The whole team has to be there for Carlos now. But you can only think of going where he is to cheer him up.

The race doesn't end well for Carlos either. Ferrari gets no points and everyone is discouraged. All that remains is to pack up and go home to recharge.

After everything is over, only the employees and those close to Ferrari remain in the hospitality area.

You are finishing coordinating the itinerary that will be filmed tomorrow for the networks, when you see Charles and Carlos go to the area where their private rooms are.

You consider the possibility check how he was.. One second, two seconds... and that's it, your emotions betray you. You take the sheet that has the itinerary for tomorrow as an excuse, and go up the stairs to his room.

On the way you don't even doubt it, but when you arrive at the door of the room, all the fears asault you. Still, you want to see how he is.

You knock on the door, footsteps are heard approaching to open.

When you look up to see who's opening the door, your blood freezes in your veins.

"Can I help you?" his girl asks you.

"Shit! when did she get here?!" your mind screams. “I…I….” Words fail you “ I came to give this to Charles… I mean Leclerc…. I mean Charles…” you suddenly forget how to speak.

“I think he’s the ingenier meeting, I can give to him for you…” she says, taking the sheet from your hands.

“Thank you…” you reply looking at her hands “oh I love your nails….” Words just ramble on out of you making no sense. 

She gracefully thanks you and you begin to walk back to leave. 

When the door starts to close and you turn around to leave and your face hits Charles’s chest.

“Y/n?! What are you doing here?” he asks you looking around. You can see on his face how upset he is. 

“ I just came to leave the schedule for tomorrow shooting…" you lower your voice in case his girl was listening “…. And to see how you are” you look up and smile.

Charles instead looks annoyed.

 “I’m fine, I’ll be on time for the filming” he says with a dry tone and walks past you like nothing. 

You turn around in shock as the door closes behind Charles. 

You feel the urge of punching the door open and ruin that pretty face of him. 

A few seconds ago you worried and sad for him and he just dismissed you. That’s fucking it. You weren’t up for this shit, for his shit. 

And that’s how this horrible day ends. 

You leave along with your coworkers with the promise of not even looking at that man again.

No one in the team is actually it’s up to go out and celebrate the few weeks away ahead. But everyone gets together for dinner at the hotel restaurant. Mechanics, engineers, hospitality staff, media team…everyone, except for the drivers.

On your way up to your room you crossed paths with Esteban Ocon. Both of you had chat around the paddock after that party in Barhain. He is a cool and friendly guy.

“You looked tired” he says walking along the hallway on the way to the elevator. 

The hallways are buzzing with f1 people preparing stuff to leave the next morning.

“I am tired..” you smike looking down at your feets while walking “...Haven’t you heard? Were the shitties team of the grid now”. 

“Oh please!” Esteban gives you a light pat on the back “ Don’t give that shit to me ok? I know what lausy teams are and Ferrari isn’t one of them. You’d be back on top in no time.” he says.

Even though you appreciate his nice gesture, you are feeling like crap at the moment and nothing it’s working to cheer you up.

Both keep walking along side each other, talking about random things and laughing until you reach the elevators.

“It’s the king of Ferrari’s shity weekend himself, Mr. Charles Leclerc” Esteban says out of nowhere

Your gaze down as he said that. Your eyes quickly loock up to find him and his girls waiting for the elevator too.

You’re modified and your face surely is showing it up, because you feel you cheeks burning. 

Charles on the other hand doesn’t even look at you, he just smiles at Esteban’s comment, shakes his hand and introduces his girl to Esteban. 

He completely ignores you. 

An awardk silences falls upon everyone as the four of you wait for the elevator’s doors open. 

You start biting your nails in a nervous gesture. You don't know why you're nervous, you're not doing anything wrong or out of the rules, but you're about to faint. Nerves, anger, embarrassment, all mixed up.

"Don't bite your beautiful nails" Esteban says as he removes your hand from your mouth.

You freeze at that. You look at Charles, and nothing, his face is blank. As if he hadn't heard anything.

You smile nervously.

When the doors open, you panic and excuse yourself by saying that you forgot something in the restaurant. You don't get on an elevator with them.

You stay in the lobby walking in circles with your nerves on edge. You don't really know why, but you know that it didn't look good.

After a few minutes you go up to your room, take your phone and start typing away a text message. 

Charle’s POV

This has all been a mistake from the start.

He’s always in control of all situations in his life.

This time it is not the case. His giving in to the instinct to be with y/n was a mistake, because now there is no turning back for him.

He started dating someone else to stop thinking about her. But everything is useless. Now she works at Ferrari and he has to see her day after day.

The "friends who have sex" deal was a mistake too. On nights when everyone goes to the hotel rooms, he only thinks about going to bed with her and he can't. He can't because of the agreement, he can't because he thinks she's fine that way, he can't because he's seeing someone else, he can't because they work together....he can't, he can't, he can't...

"Damn the moment I let her get under my skin."

Both are so tough that neither will be willing to give in to their true desires.

She had this habit of having lunch alone and away from everyone before the races. Charles managed to watch her from afar, like a hunter, or more exactly like a stalker. Sometimes through the windows of his room in the Ferrari bunker.

She is just sitting there eating her food, reading something, writing, watching how people walk past her. She looked so at peace, so free to do what she wanted without anyone caring. And he just wanted to share that with her.

Charles wants to be with her, but he's always in control, he always knows what to do, and he's sure he'll get through this.

Spending the night with her whenever they can slip away from the world is enough for him. Or it isn’t?

The races have been so bad for him, for the team, that he constantly found himself needing to share things with someone who really understood what was happening to him. And he constantly found himself looking up her name on her phone to contact her. But he always stops himself, he's not going to succumb to her, he's not going to show anything.

The season it’s crap. Everything goes wrong.

After the races it's hard to stay positive and in control.

He then asks his friends and his girl to come join him.

Everything is relatively in control.

All of that changes every time she tries to contact him.

Back in the Ferrari hospitality area after this Australian race, he meets her at the door of her private room. And the whole facade almost falls apart when she asks him how he is. She has clearly seen that his girl is with him.

His mind only thinks of not thirsting. He just answers her curtly and goes to his room, where the torture of pretending to be okay awaits.

He gets to feel better after having dinner with his girl and his friends.

Walking towards the elevator, he sees her in the distance, walking next to his friend Esteban Ocon, laughing happily chatting.

"What the hell...?" he mutters under his breath. His girl is next to him.

When the four of them arrive at the doors of the elevator, an awkward silence falls over them. Esteban dares to touch her and tell her not to bite her beautiful nails.

Every cell in his body is on fire with jealousy. But he knows that he can't do anything. And he won't do anything because he is in control of everything.

He knows that she is not comfortable because she decided not to get on the elevator with them.

On the elevator, things start to get out of hand for him.

"Chatting with the enemy?" Charles tells Esteban, who is laughing at something he is seeing on his cell phone.

"Uh? who? y/n?" Esteban answers looking at him.

Charles nods.

"Oh! We've talked a lot these days. She's nice. Maybe I'll buy some artwork from her to decorate my new apartment" he replies casually.

"You've talked a lot?...I see" Charles answers, biting his lip, refraining from asking anything else.

By the time Charles arrivesin his room, nothing is under control.

Charles is jealous. Who knows why, she's only been talking to Esteban. But even so, he no longer has control over what he is feeling. And that's not good.

The couple enters the room, the girl falls on the bed and turns on the tv.

Charles goes to the bathroom, and looking in the mirror washes his hands while he chews on his feelings.

He returns to the room, and begins to remove his bracelets and watch. His mind wanders everywhere.

Then his phone vibrates with a text message.

From: y/n

"I just went up to your room to check on you. I know it's been shitty weeks for you. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise to keep my distance."

Charles's eyes read the  text message.

 "Distance?, from me?" he thinks

His mind goes blank, he is purely instinct now. 

"I have an emergency meeting with my team. I'll be back in a bit." It was the last thing he said before closing the hotel room door behind him.

Already in the elevator, with his phone in his hands, he could only think that he did not want to put distance between him and her.

His feet seem to have a mind of their own when they walk towards her room.

He knocks on the door.

"I don't want distance between her and me," he thinks as he listens to her footsteps approaching to open the door.

Note: I would love your feedback, please.

#charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc x reader #charles lecrelc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclarc x female reades #charles leclerc x older female reader #charles leclerc x older woman #reverse age gap relationship #reverse age gap #older woman / young man #older woman/charles leclerc #charles leclerc x lectora mujer #charles leclerc x mujer mayor #ferro rosso #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic

[hana-no-seiiki]

Good news. Did some decent progress on What’s Up Danger so you guys will finally get fed this Wednesday! Bad news, the quality might not be the best since I’m fasting while writing it oTL

Anyways, here are some Batfam w/ Cat Villain! Reader moments/snippets.

TW YANDERE AND MENTION OF NONCON/SOMNO

Both Jason and Reader’s first words to each other were, “What the fuck.”

Reader referring to Jason being a giant, and violent asf esp in comparison to Dick. While Jason was confused at his heart beating so fast and mildly crushing on you while you were fighting.

Bonus points: You guys did the spiderman point meme.

You have the biggest age gap with Dick. I headcannon the boys to be close in age so there wouldn’t be any not so good implications when it comes to relationships, but it’s almost unavoidable unless Batman switches sidekicks every year or so. (You are younger than Jason but older than Tim)

But that is also another reason why you two didn’t click as well as you did with Jason

You’d often make jokes or use slang and Dick would just be “???” He tried his best though.

On the reverse side of things, and like I mention before Tim and you got along too well as friends. He’s one of the few people you could gush to about literally any fandom and he somehow (through stalking your searches and literally every gadget/appliance you owned) knew everything about it already.

You two have written several theses on fellow vigilantes and villains (mostly ‘dumb’ ones like who has the best cake based on so and so criteria)

Damian is the best when it comes to bantering with you mid-fight. It’s the combined years of sass and assassin training. Went from plain insults to whole ass (not so) subtly being horny when you beat each other down.

He’s also the worst (best?) when it comes to your nicknames. He insists that you two use it on each other. Some exclusive while others he’s usually fine hearing from other mouths.

There was one point in time where you were called Kitten while the boys forced/bribed you to call them Daddy

Tim and Jason have tattoos of you/related to you.

For Jason it’s your name with a few paw prints, and for Tim it’s when he first fought you (and got his ass whooped)

After Jason came back and revealed himself to you, he tattooed the scratch marks you left him on his back after doing the deed.

Damian secretly practices doing henna so he can draw on you during your “wedding” since he doesn’t want anyone touching you. Sort of defeats the purpose, but go off king.

Being the thorough guy he is, he uses lab equipment to make his own blends.

Bruce? Bruce hates your ass. Sometimes it’s in a hatefuckey way but most of the time he blames you for corrupting his kids.

So he corrupted you in turn.

I feel like he gets off to cucking them honestly (blame that one comic) but if Reader is AFAB I wouldn’t be surprised if he impregnated them.

He’s a softie at heart when it comes to you though, courtesy of your similarities with Selina.

Speaking of, Talia adores you.

Like if there was anyone she would want with her son it was you.

She thinks the fact that you haven’t been put behind bars is a testament to your skill, and after getting over your similarity to her “rival in love” she would actively get you to be with her son.

Eventually she realizes she loves you more than Bruce and well, that’s a story for another fic.

You have at least a dozen trackers on you at all times.

Most of them you’ve ingested and pooped out.

It’s mostly Tim of course. But the duty of actually feeding you that stuff usually goes to Dick.

Dick has uh- somnophillia’ed you a fair bit after the break up.

He really, and I mean really likes to watch you sleep.

It reminds him of those ‘catnaps’ you’d take while watching over the Titans.

There would be times where he’d just be in a daze/in autopilot for hours reminiscing about your past together

His favorite memories to go back to were your first fight together, first kiss, and times under the sheets, and a date you guys had before in a festival/circus.

He never takes the antidote for Poison Ivy’s sex pollen and always comes to you for it, regardless of his or your relationship status.

Tim has at least a million typewritten chats with AI you, and around a few hundred hours of voice chats.

You did eventually take his virginity.

He came as soon as he was inside you/you were inside him.

You have been offered to be a part of the bat crew or a vigilante. But,

you massacred many after Jason’s supposed death and feel too guilty to call yourself anything other than a villain.

Chokers with bells. It’s a popular gift to give you. Especially ones that are custom made with expensive ass materials and engraving.

Sometimes Tim just gives you weapons.

Alfred is your best source of blackmail material.

You’ve actively tried cursing him (with immortality). You love the man.

He’s secretly the president of your official fanclub/fansite but you didn’t hear that from me.

You fight a lot with Damian’s pets. Like in a way that you turn into a literal cat and hiss at them.

And last but not least, you’re vv close with every member of the Teen Titans (besties with Rachel and Garfield)

NOT PROOFREAD!!!

@sophiethewitch1

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagine #yandere fic #Rachel helps you a lot with countering the stalking fr #yandere scenario #yandere best friend #yandere writing #yanderecore #tw yandere #yandere prompts #yandere core #yandere batfam #batfam #yandere batfam x reader #jason todd #jason todd x reader #yandere jason todd #yandere jason todd x reader #yandere tim drake x reader #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #damian wayne #dick grayson #batman #dc #yandere dick grayson #yandere dick grayson x reader #yandere damian wayne x reader #bruce wayne

[javarium]

ensō (in paradise)

gojo satoru x student! reader — [tffts]

throughout heaven and earth, he alone is the honored one. but he doesn’t want either. he wants his paradise; he wants to be back in the field of lotuses and lilies with the one that treats him like he was never a god, but as if he was always human

w — teacher/student relationship, underage, adult/minor relationship, age gap, mostly Gojo’s POV, implied! slightly chubby reader, minor gore, prose, word vomit in some areas haha, no dialogue except maybe a few lines lmao, ANGST, and JJK manga spoilers for 236

[ ending line divider goes to @/saradika]

Nothing in his life could have ever prepared him for this. No amount of training or mental fortitude could ever prepared him for losing the fight — for defeat — and the aftermath that he knew would ensue. He didn’t like it, but it was what it was.

The only problem? He wasn’t satisfied. 

With this? Never.

Satoru had won. The fight was over. He had bested the King of Curses with his Unlimited Hollow, hollowing out a massive chunk of Shinjuku. The body of the boy that Satoru swore to take back was battered, missing limbs and out of energy and done.

He won.

What went wrong? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his torso had been suddenly cut, split almost in half with entrails visible for the world to see. To see that he was nothing more than a human— a human playing the part of a god that he was not. He remembers losing feeling below his ribs, the warmth of the fish of blood, then falling, sliding backwards from atop his lower half. He doesn’t like to see that his legs are still standing, that blood coats everything from where he was cut to his knees. He’s sure there’s a puddle gathering beneath the feet his head was separated from. 

All he knows is that he’s dying, and that he won’t be coming back.

He doesn’t need to close his eyes to see Suguru, Nanami, Haibara, and Masamichi in the afterlife. That’s unnecessary, he thinks. They talk in the final moments of the life of Gojo Satoru, in his state of limbo of his soul coming to pass into the pearly gates he knows he doesn’t deserve to go through.

He calls out to his old teacher in the afterlife, yelling at him over the saying that there’ll never be a sorcerer that won’t die with regrets.

Because despite the facade that he doesn’t have any… maybe, just maybe… he has them.

It may have been a worthy fight, a worthy end for Gojo Satoru, the most powerful sorcerer of the modern era, but he wasn’t satisfied. He had regrets (he wouldn’t have called out to his teacher otherwise) about… maybe a few things. Perhaps several. He was supposed to die alone; he was supposed to show Sukuna he understood the magnitude of solitude the King of Curses bore as the strongest; he was supposed to foster a new generation…

Ah… He almost closes his eyes. His students…

Satoru’s voltage had just began to ramp up, his reverse cursed technique back at full force thanks to Black Flash. He had won. Hollow Purple had brought the mighty King of Curses to his knees, no matter the expense to Shinjuku. 

But now, it was too late. It had all been too sudden for even him to comprehend: that he had been cut through by Sukuna’s newly acquired technique. 

Satoru heard his lower half finally hit the ground, inches, centimeters even, from his severed upper. He could feel the blood splatter onto the stumps of his arms, guessing its proximity. 

How was one supposed to fix this? He knew he probably could, even if it did re-exhaust the reverse cursed technique bar he’d just filled back up. That wasn’t a problem, if he could just think hard enough. 

The problem now was fighting the peaceful slow of his heart with the regrets he wasn’t allowed to have; the problem was the fighting the serenity of death with the unsatisfactory, unsatisfied way he was going to leave the planet — leave his fellow peers and students behind. 

His students… A faint hum rumbles from his throat. You.

He can only imagine how you’re feeling, seeing him severed in almost half and a bloody mess. He knows how he would feel if anything like this happened to you. He can’t even imagine it… To flatten the entire landscape, the Earth even, to obliterate everything and everyone on it, would not be enough, nowhere near enough, to satisfy his rage. Because it wouldn’t bring you back.

Nanami was half right. He does use jujutsu as a means to satisfy himself. He is weird; he’ll definitely agree. However, as of just a few months ago, that’s changed. It’s changed because you dropped into his life. It’s changed because you didn’t see him as a god like the rest of jujutsu society. You didn’t revere him, the very pinnacle of sorcery itself, not like Yuuji did. Although he tried at first to get you to see him the same way everyone else did, he quickly gave up. Because it felt nice. For some reason, he didn’t feel like he had to be at the top. Not with you. Yes, he immediately knew how strange it was, but what he didn’t do was question it. And that was something he wouldn’t regret.

“…toru!” 

Satoru didn’t know why he was hearing your voice. The universe granting him one last wish?

He prayed that you weren’t here on the battlefield, here in front of Sukuna. He prayed your voice was nothing more than a figment of his imagination — the overactive brain that made him so childish and hyper. Satoru hoped it was your voice carrying across the wind, across the spiritual plane, because if it wasn’t, he was truly going to hate himself for not getting up. Especially when he knew he could. He just… didn’t want to.

Satoru felt the cold, then a familiar firmness press against the severed portion of his body. His lower half. His legs and partial torso were being put to the rest of his upper body, his arms being connected to remaining stumps.

His hearing was still intact. Muddled just a little bit, like being underwater, but it was coming back to him. 

The first thing he hears clearly is crackling. Like electricity. Like lightning. He knows what’s happening even while he’s dying.

Kashimo must be on the field, he thinks. And he’s surprised he can still think. Because there was a moment earlier where thoughts were thick fog, hazing over his overworked brain to tell him to sleep and get some rest even though it would be the last time his eyes would close. 

Things get clearer; his hearing increases, his thoughts begin to speed up, his vision goes form opaque to crystal, and finally, his sense of touch comes back. 

“Satoru!”

He’s right. Kashimo is on the field, fighting Sukuna. Shoko is also there, along with Yuuta. Both are utilizing their reverse cursed energy to the maximum output. And, to his fear, so are you.

He’s right. You’re on the battlefield as well. It makes his heart sink in upset. You’re helping heal him, too. Out of the three of you, you have the highest output of healing capacity. You match him so well, just with the opposite powers; two sides of the same coin.

Satoru hates the tears running down your cheeks. He hates that your eyes are swollen and puffy and red and that you’re going to have a massive headache come tomorrow. He hates that you’re this sad, this upset, and it’s all because of him. He’d like to rip his own heart out as recompense, but he knows that would only hurt you further.

The only way he could make it better is by healing and getting up off the ground.

Satoru’s going to make it better. He can’t leave you alone and afraid and in this current state that breaks the heart inside his chest that he found out is still human. After all this time, he’s still human. And he still has to thank you for showing him that. 

Heaven with his friends was amazing. Earth with his students and peers was exciting. But that wasn’t enough. You were the paradise that made him feel human, feel something he hasn’t known before. It was new, something more than just fun and exciting, and he wasn’t willing to let that go. Not yet. Not ever.

He can feel his brain pulse with the strain, lifeforce dwindling as he searches and searches and searches and searches and fucking there it is.

Satoru fires up his reverse cursed technique, smoke billowing from his waist and arms, the energy encompassing his broken body. A heavy, soul-shaking thunderclap echos in his ears the second his heart restarts. The suddenly inhale of oxygen almost overwhelms his lungs and he’s alive again.

Shoko and Yuuta’s hands are still on him, unwavering while aiding in the process. You, however, pull away. He knows why. He knows you too well: that you fear your touch might make things worse instead of better. 

Silly girl, he thinks with a smile. You could never hurt me.

Everything hurts. Reverse cursed energy may heal wounds, but scars would still surely remain.

He uses his repaired arms to lift himself off the ground. He whines childishly at the pain, earning a deadpan look from Shoko and a heavy sigh from the second-year, along with a cloth to wipe the blood from the sides of his mouth.

“Knock it off, Gojo.” Shoko lights up another cigarette. She takes a long puff, one that makes his, Yuuta’s, and your sweet and puffy eyes go wide. “You need to recover. Properly, this time. Come back to base. You can fight him again if Kashimo loses.”

His shining blue eyes go to Sukuna and Kashimo. He wants to say something, that he should finish what’s been started. But the second his eyes land on them, his peripheral sees you. Devastated, sweet, upset, lovable little you that just witnessed the near loss of someone who was more than just a teacher to her.

He bites his tongue. He can’t. 

“Okay~”

Satoru is hugged by his students and applauded by the rest once he’s back. Maki, however, true to Maki fashion, punches his chest in worry. It hurts, thanks to her Heavenly Restriction, but he’s glad to feel it. (She’s stronger than Toji, that much he’s almost sure of.)

He doesn’t shower, but cleans up with water and cloth and changes into new clothes, ready sooner rather than later if he’s needed again. Which he doesn’t doubt that he will.

But Satoru wants to rest now. He wants to watch as Kashimo (and maybe his students) take down Sukuna and Kenjaku. He doesn’t want to fight anymore. He does, but he doesn’t. The longer he’s away from the battlefield and by your side, the more he’s tearing away from his desire to fight. He may come when called, but for no reason other than that. Satoru wants to hand the torch off. It’s time. 

He can hear the fight; he doesn’t need to see it. His eyes need rest anyway.

He wants to indulge in the luxury of not being needed. He want to indulge in the paradise of being human, of being content and finally satisfied with something other than being the world’s strongest jujutsu sorcerer. And with you, he can do that. You provide that sanctuary for him. You give him things he never thought were possible for someone like him.

Satoru’s big arms are looped tightly around your waist, holding you close to him. His head is buried into the soft squishiness of your tummy while he rests. It’s his favorite place to be. Your tummy is the perfect pillow to rest his head, a little piece of heaven that grants him rest he doesn’t often come by. It’s warm and soft and cozy and he genuinely doesn’t understand why you don’t like how soft you are.

He hopes you stay soft. As soft as possible anyway. He doesn’t want you hardened, not like him. He wants your heart to stay soft, your hands smooth and stomach plush and comfy so he can feel every day the fruit of his sacrifice of being The Strongest.

As for you, you can’t help but feel like you’re about to explode. Not even an hour ago, the man laying on your lap, your teacher, was drifting into the afterlife, his blood all across the ground and staining his lower half after being cut into two (four, but you can’t bother to think about it any further).

Now, he’s nestled into your tummy with a content grin on his face, using you as a pillow and relaxing as if he hadn’t just fought the fight of his life against the most powerful being in known jujutsu history — like nothing ever happened. Your hands are threaded through his stark white locks, fingertips gently rubbing his scalp to the point where you were sure he was falling asleep.

“Easy,” comes Satoru’s voice. He isn’t asleep. The tone he uses is not his high pitched one; it’s the deep one that he uses on rare occasion, the one that grabs your attention because it’s important. “Stop thinking so much. I’m still here.”

His ethereal blue eyes gaze up at you sweetly, like one would a lover like you’re more than just his student, and you are. They’re filled with such emotion it makes you turn away in embarrassment. You don’t know why he looks at you like you’re the world to him, but he does. It’s because you’re different; they’re filled with love, because he knows in his heart he’s in love. Even if he has to wait a few more years, he knows that you’re it. You’re the one for him.

You’re his paradise, his well-deserved peace and tranquillity. Together with you, he’s at his best.

Behind him on the screen, Kashimo decimates Sukuna further. He’s on his knees, and Yuuta takes over from there. Sukuna’s soul is separated from Megumi’s body, leaving the boy comatose from his own soul being crushed under the weight of Sukuna’s evil. All that’s left is Kenjaku, and Satoru knows he can easily defeat the man holding his late best friend’s body and put an end to the Culling Games once and for all.

Satoru can’t wait until this is all over. He can’t wait to properly bathe in the glory of the peace and serenity of the paradise that he’s never had until now — the paradise he’s more earned. Death hasn’t earned him yet.

Satoru burrows himself deeper into your stomach, curling his legs up on the sofa, making you giggle from being ticklish there. He’ll come if he’s needed. But for now, he’s going to stay behind, and keep you out of harm’s way doing it.

Right here and right now, he’s going to be a selfish little bastard and enjoy the paradise on Earth that Heaven could never have afforded him.

here’s the fix-it fic guys time to take a tylenol and hit the pillow. i have absolutely no shame in giving myself carpal tunnel for this. gojo dead? naw he just gotta wait for backup everything’s fine :’)) also this is a jumbled mess and probably shit that’s the only thing I’ll apologize for bc I kept on getting upset and crying while doing this like 🥲 gojo come back

taglist (for now): — @vagabond-umlaut @heresan @nayrring @satorunin @satoruhour @aeanya @greycaelum (we don’t talk much babe but I thought you’d be okay with me tagging you since you commented on a couple of my works ☺️ and I’m such a huge fan of urs)

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo fluff #gojou satoru x reader #teacher gojo x student reader #gojo x student reader #gojo x y/n #gojo sensei #gojo angst #jjk oneshot #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk manga #jjk manga spoilers #jjk 236 #jjk chapter 236 #the fix-it fic 😭 #[ TFFTS ]

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

i think it is very telling that the best documented case of women buying sex from men are white western women going on vacation in west african countries such as gambia to prey on impoverished and usually younger black men. it highlights that prostitution - any prostitution - is an exertion of power from a more privileged group against a less privileged group. that prostitution is a system that profits from and reinforces oppression and inequality. here, the axis of oppression is not sex, but race. its a symptom of neocolonialism, like most sex tourism.

nonetheless i always have to laugh when the articles, documentaries and research desperately try to act like female and male sex buyers are exactly the same - usually the argument hinges on the fact that the motivation is the same, companionship and sexual gratification. but male sex buyers are motivated by so much more: fetish, sadism, violence, domination. this does not tend to be the case with women. also, unwanted penetration is a different level of violence, having something inserted in you. female sex buyers dont request painful acts such as deepthroat or anal. there are no brothels full with men, the men dont have pimps, and usually in the case of female sex tourists, the arrangement is loose: companionship and sex with no fixed payment but pleasantries, gifts and such. additionally, women dont tend to be able to physically overpower men, or get off on enacting violence like hitting and choking. men who prostitute themselves for women are also less stigmatised than those who do so for men, or prostituted women. and more men sell themselves to other men than to women. and: women who buy sex tend to be single, while the relationship status of a man is no indicator of likelihood to buy sex.

female sex buyers highlight that besides sex, economic class and race determine who is prostituted and who buys sex. that prostitution is an issue of intersectional inequality. and that misogyny is still the key motor of prostitution: male sex buyers are any age, any class, any race, because any man can be a misogynist. but women only become sex buyers under specific conditions; for example motivated by racist fetishisation. another key factor here is gender. buying sex is considered masculine, but women buying sex break with gender norms. consider also the orgasm gap: most women are not satisfied by their male sexual partners. hypothetically it would make more sense for women to be the majority of sex buyers to enforce sexual satisfaction they lack in consensual sexual relationships. yet privileged women who lack sexual satisfaction are more likely to prostitute or otherwise objectify themselves than buying sex.

any form of female-on-male prostitution has its male-on-female (and sometimes male-on-male) equivalent that is more violent and more common. meanwhile many forms of prostitution dont have a female-on-male version, for example prostitution in brothels. men prostituting themselves for women are at a lot less risk for physical violence and abuse or being trafficked. there is even a phenomenon of heterosexual men having to prostitute themselves for men because there is just not enough demand from women. and female-on-female prostitition is almost unheard of, if anything this occurs in a male-female-female constellation. there are no gangbang parties with one or two men and groups of women.

people are so obsessed with pretending like women as consumers in the sex industry - whether that be as sex buyers, porn watchers or stripshow enjoyers - are just the same as men when there are clear differences. gender relations are always relevant in a patriarchal system and reversed roles dont produce the same outcomes.

#mine #anti prostitution #sex matters

[writers-potion]

Romance Novel Tropes & Subgenres: a comprehensive list

This is a list that I made for myself so that I can try out the tropes that I like the most! If you're a romance writer who's confused about which trope they can do best, here's a list for you:

Friends-to-lovers

Enemies-to-lover

Forbidden love

Secret identity romance

Billionaire romance

Royalty/celebrity romance

Second chance

Soulmates/heartmates

Best friends' brother/sistercousin

Office romance

Anmesia/mistaken identity

Wedding fever - runaway bridges, best men, wedding planners

Fake relationship

High school/college romance

Sports romance

Holiday romance/flings

Forced proximity

Erotic romance

Religious/spiritual romance

LGBTQ+ romance

Historical romance

Fantasy romance

Romantic comedy

Young Adult romance

Social media/dating app romance

Belated love realization

Bad boy/Bad girl

Opposites attract

Work rivals

Age gap/reverse age gap

Damsel in distress

Revenge gone romantic

Dating service gone wrong

Love triangle

Unexpected abay

Arranged marriage

one-night stand gone romantic

blind date

childhoos sweethearts

Men in uniform

Long distance/pen pal relationships

Bully romance

secret admirer

Accidentally married

Sharing accomodation

Ugly duckling finds love

Suspect and investigator

Political marraige

Inheriting a property/shop

#writers of tumblr #writer #creative writers #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #creative writing #helping writers #let's write #poets and writers #resources for writers #writing #how to write #writerscommunity #female writers #writer stuff #writing community #on writing #writeblr #writing inspiration #writing advice #romance books #romance writing #writing romance #writing routine #writing tips and tricks #writing tips #writing things #writing tropes #writing thoughts #writing tag

[lilac-5ky]

Oh then! Can I request a scenario where Toji eavesdrops on a convo between Reader and Gojo (or whoever) where Reader confesses to having a crush on Toji?

Thank you so much!

Confessions of a Confection Thief (Toji x Teacher!Fem!Reader)

Plot: On a warm summer day, you confess your love for the man once known as the Sorcerer Killer to the man who, twelve years ago, spared his life. What you don't count on is the man in question listening in, nor the consequences of a mere lunch invitation.

Tags: au in which Gojo heals Toji's ass with reverse jujutsu and makes him his bitch, reader is megumi's teacher, parent/teacher relationship, age gap (reader early 30s, toji early 40s), character development!toji, soft!toji, confession, unprotected sex, oral sex (m. receiving), facial, doggy style, petnames (teach', sweetheart, baby, doll), MDNI (obviously)

A/N: You can tell I got inspired since this took me 9k words to develop that feature not only the confession, but the date and the "happy ever after" ehe. Hopefully this was worth the wait!

“Damn machine!” You grunt as you kick at the vending machine’s side, lamenting over the 1,000 yen bill you were just robbed of.

“Let me give it a try.” The man beside you suggests and you clear the stage for him to work his magic. His right hand lifts from his pocket, open fingers coaxing an entire bundle of sodas out without even making contact. What a show-off.

He gathers the cans off the ground and hands you the one that is your favorite, making you wait while he places the rest on top of the vendor for a lucky student to find.

“Isn’t that considered damaging school property?” You raise a brow, yanking the ring close to the tab with a pop.

“Is it?” He chuckles, bringing his refreshment to his lips. “It was already damaged when we got here. Ijichi’s gonna get an earful later.”

“I don’t think that falls under Ijichi’s responsibilities, Satoru. Cut him some slack already.”

“No harm in harassing your cute underclassmen from time to time, Y/N.” He smiles. “You should try it too.”

Right, you mutter under your breath, already regretting your decision to spill your heart’s contents on someone with such little regard for others. Shoko would’ve been a better choice. Utahime, too. You could wait until the weekend, get on the first bullet train to Kyoto, and have a girls’ night out like you used to before life and work got in the way. They’d surely talk you out of the horrible mistake you’re about to commit. Maybe that’s why you chose Satoru. He’s the only one who’d give you the final push down the cliff, and you don’t mind the fall.

“So what is it that you wanted to talk about?” He brings you back to the parching reality of Jujutsu Tech’s grounds, with the sun glinting across every metallic surface and body of water in the perimeter. The heatwave has only begun, and thankfully, the outburst of curses has finally simmered down, or else you’ve no idea how you’d survive abandoned building-hopping with those three rascals.

You take a sip from your soda, the taste of honeydew melon cooling your throat like the sweetest form of redemption. You struggle not to gulp it all down in one go, eyeing the remainder of drinks that have vanished in the horizon—or rather, you have, your steps leading you toward a path of tori gates that itself leads to the school’s Inari shrine. This should be safe. No one comes around these places.

“I have a confession to make.”

Satoru stops in his tracks, awaiting a follow-up that doesn’t come. His sunglasses come off, and a knowing smile slowly creeps up his lips. “I know.”

“Y-You do?” You blink in surprise. What does he know? How does he know? Since when does he know? “Satoru—”

“You’re the one who ate the last Manzu.”

And he couldn’t be any more off the mark.

You sigh. “That’s not it.”

“It’s not? Huh.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his palm after chugging his strawberry-flavored soda. “Guess I’ll have to ask Ijichi about that too.”

“Please don’t torment him for useless things.” You cast your gaze to your feet, kicking a pebble as you speak. “What I want to confess is… my feelings.”

The cicadas come to a stop, leaving space for your words to take root. You are hesitant to move forward, cautiously treading on the shells of emotions you recently began to accept. Almost there, you encourage yourself as Satoru invades your personal space, cornering you against the red gate’s pillar.

“Finally decided to profess your love for me?”

You shove his smug face away and roll your eyes at the notion. “Dream on, Shit-toru.”

He takes a step back, acting as if you just delivered a fatal blow to his heart. You chuckle at his childish antics while shaking your head in disapproval. To think the future of the entire Jujutsu world rests on the shoulders of a conceited guy who makes everything about him.

“Then who’s the lucky guy?”

Your anxiety resumes before it has the chance to fully dissipate. You close your eyes and lean back against the pillar, the familiar name on your tongue feeling foreign. “It’s… Fushiguro.”

“Fushiguro?” You nod. You understand it’s a lot to take in and give him a moment to process it, yet the longer he takes to answer, the more tempted you are to say this was a joke and call things off. “Don’t you think there’s a bit of an age gap?”

“I mean… I suppose there is.” You sound defeated. If even Satoru saw this as an issue, then there’s no reason he wouldn’t. “You think it’s that bad?”

“Bad?” His lips twitch. “The heart wants what it wants, Y/N. Give it a few years, and the difference won’t matter.”

“You think I have a chance?”

“Oh, definitely! I saw Yuji move some of his American-star posters into his room last week, and he didn’t throw any away. Jennifer Lawrence ‘s your age, right?”

Your memory is put to the test as you go through various Jennifers. Is she the one from Friends or the one married to Ben Affleck?

“I think she’s older by a few years.”

“Older?” He snorts. “Well, if it makes you feel younger, then who am I to argue?”

You decide to let his comment slide for the sake of picking on the dissonance in his words. “But what does a Hollywood actress have to do with this? And Itadori—what are you talking about?”

“Y/N, you should get to know him a bit better before confessing, don’t you think?” Satoru says, as he finds your beloved pebble and tosses it in your direction. You catch it with your heel. “The kind of woman he likes; his best friend; the ages of top-paid actors. These things shape up a guy’s adolescence. They’re as crucial.”

By the time he finishes talking, all the puzzle pieces fall into place, and you have to mentally control every joint in your body to prevent it from lashing at him with fury second only to the Curse King’s. Even by Satoru’s dubious standards, this is plain outrageous.

“Are you outta your mind?” You yell, pushing your hair off your sweaty forehead with both palms. “How could you—why would you—what do you take me for?” You fail to put your thoughts in order until you suck in a deep breath. “I would never crush on any of my students, or any other minor, for that matter!” You declare.

Thin white eyebrows furrow in genuine confusion. “But you said—”

“Fushiguro! The man I’m in love with is Fushiguro Toji!”

And not a single soul is left on campus who hasn’t heard your confession, no matter how far and wide or close you think they are scattered.

Toji’s never set foot on these damned grounds without cursing to himself as if the paths his shoes traverse are paved with nothing but shit. Even after all these years, something about marching through the front door just doesn’t feel right. It’s not hatred, that’s for sure. He’s spent more than two-thirds of his life cultivating his loathing for sorcerers to the point where he can tell it apart by taste alone.

No, what’s tainting his palate right now and will continue doing so in the days to come is more akin to chagrin than resentment. It’s failure. A failure that’s branded onto the bare skin of his torso and that he can’t pawn off for as long as he stands, because if a fate worse than death exists, then that’s surviving on a snotty brat’s pity.

Wiping some of his sweat and plenty of his regrets against his pants, Toji remembers his reason for being here has nothing to do with Six-Eyes or his past shortcomings, as he’s here to share the news of his divorce papers finalization with the only person he’s keen on letting know: you.

A decade has passed since he last heard from his wife—his ex-wife who had no qualms about leaving everything behind (her daughter included) and ran back to her parents, never to be seen or heard from again until a hotshot big firm lawyer showed up at his doorstep with a bunch of papers and a platinum-coated Montblanc in hand.

And with that, another overdue chapter was closed, the rest of the pages flipping through the wind. By the end of summer, the goalkeeper in his relationship with his son will be heading off to college, and with Tsumiki gone, Megumi decided he’d grown old enough to slam the door on his face and choose that faux albino sorcerer over his own blood.

It was that very rebellion that roused Toji to reevaluate his lifestyle. He stopped counting the years after the candle with the number 4 became prominent in each birthday cake, but that didn’t stop time from moving forward. He was aging. And while one-night stands do a decent enough job to distract him from searching his scalp for graying hair, the nights he catches himself wishing his bed could stay warm the morning after add up.

None of the silly little girls he fools around with are capable of that, not the way you are. Since that first PT meeting he begrudgingly attended two months ago, a rusty cog in his heart began turning again.

You don’t match any of his previous criteria. You don’t come from a wealthy family and aren’t an airhead either. You live in the dorms because you can’t afford rent in the city, and you are smart enough to have graduated from a big university. You are one of them, but you’re also proof that not all beauty was lost with her.

Toji doesn’t want to screw this up. Just once, he wants to do things right. He waited until he was a free man in the eyes of the law, wore his good jeans on a day when wearing jeans should be considered a criminal offense, and kept enough cash to afford however many side dishes you ordered—assuming you accepted his lunch invitation in the first place.

The jittery, four-eyed guy he ran into on his way to your class pointed him in the direction of the school’s shrine. After a while of wandering around, Toji spots two sets of imprints in the soil, the smaller ones belonging to your heels and the larger ones undoubtedly being that brat’s. Luck isn’t on his side today. His stride overlaps with Gojo’s as he childishly covers the younger man’s tracks, leaving yours intact, and eventually, the sound of clamor confirms his lead.

He strays off the pebbled path and mingles with the shadows of the dense forest, scoffing as Gojo’s shit-eating grin becomes apparent. That beanpole’s standing way too close to you. Toji almost intervenes when you finally push him. A kick to the nuts would do him better, but that’s enough for a tiny smile to rise on his scar. That’s my girl.

There’s no reason to stay hidden anymore. After all, that brat is already aware of his presence. He takes a few steps forward, turning into a pillar of salt at your sudden outburst.

“The man I’m in love with is Fushiguro Toji!”

His hand nearly reaches inside his back pocket to double-check the name on his ID. Looks like some of his luck returned to him. Asking you out just got a whole lot easier.

“Fushiguro Toji?” Gojo twists a finger in his ear. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Toji hisses, his fist itching to knock some teeth off his face. That ought to jog his memory, but he holds back, realizing that’s all part of Six-Eyes’ plan. To egg him on into a brawl he can’t win.

“He wiped the floor with your face only a few years back, Satoru.” You sound as irritated as he is. “How could you possibly forget?”

The man folds his arms over his chest, sparing a glare in Toji’s direction as he reclines against the tori gate. “Was it at the arcades? Man, no need to rub it in.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. You sigh, hogging the unoccupied pillar with no intention to play his game.

“What about Megumi’s old man won you over?” Gojo gives in. “His kart skills?”

“So you do remember, after all.” You murmur in a low voice. “I don’t know. He’s just… nice.”

“Nice?” Gojo asks with utter disgust painted on his face.

Nice?

You nod, fumbling with the hem of your navy-blue dress. “Hey, Satoru. You know what makes for a good parent?” You don’t let either of them consider their answers. “It’s effort. Not success, but effort. Mister Fushiguro hasn’t missed any of his son’s PT meetings, even when the two of them are clearly at odds.”

Toji feels too guilty to step in and correct you that his priority is to see you. Not that Megumi doesn’t matter, but what’s the point of hearing his son excels in everything he never could for the nth time in a month?

“And?”

You glance at the clear sky. “And you remember those forms Yaga gave us for the kids to fill out? Nobara said her dream was to buy out Daikanyama. You can guess what Yuji’s was. As for Megumi, he left his blank, and when I asked him later, he said that he doesn’t have time for dreams; that his goal is to repay his dad the money he lost from the Naobito deal, so he owes him nothing.”

The two men blink in surprise. “Didn’t think he knew about that.”

“You aren’t exactly a quiet speaker, Satoru.” You shrug. “Point is, he doesn’t know. Neither of them do. Megumi doesn’t know his father attends his PT meetings, and Mister Fushiguro doesn’t know about his son’s dream. Isn’t it funny? They both care about each other but are too awkward to admit it.”

“And you call me twisted.” Gojo yawns. “You wanna act like a bridge between them? Is that it?”

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t want to interfere. Megumi placed his trust in me as his teacher when he disclosed that, and Mister Fushiguro… We are nothing to each other.”

Yet, Toji mentally added.

“You might think it’s crazy, but I think Mister Fushiguro’s heart is full of raw emotion he can’t put in order on his own. He’s not taught how to, and I… I think I could help him out with that; be someone he can direct those feelings to. No, I—” You shake your head again, except this time you do so with a little smile of conviction tugging at your lips. “I want to be that person. I want to be his person.”

Gojo doesn’t say anything for a good while, and you end up nearly as flustered as Toji himself. “Of course there are plenty of other things I like about him! He is funny, charming, has his own house,” your voice drops in volume, “he is very attractive, and we have the same taste in seafood.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve got it all figured out.” Gojo let his hand drop after fixing his sunglasses over his nose bridge. “But you should know, Fushiguro, or rather Zen’in Toji, is a lot more than that. He’s killed more sorcerers in his prime than most curses combined. Not sayin’ that to be a buzz kill, but you should be careful around him, or else,” his tone drops a menacing octave as he peers over his shades, “I’ll have to terminate that relationship myself.

“You get it, right?” He switched back to his usual voice with a lighthearted chuckle. “Wouldn’t want to lose another precious friend.”

Silence reigns between you, and that’s Toji’s cue to walk up. He’s heard enough. The few fallen leaves rustle under his weight, caution thrown to the wind as tiny twigs crunch below his sandals. He’s close enough for you to tell someone’s coming, but not close enough to tell that someone is him.

“Got nothin’ better to do than gossip about others, Six-Eyes?” Toji paces in the middle of you two, his eyes flickering in your direction. He has to brace himself not to smile at how red your face has gotten, his resolve giving way to a suggestive smirk. “Teach’.”

“Mister Fushiguro.” Your smile is shaky, but there. Always there for him.

“Yo, it’s been a long time!” Gojo springs forward. “Came for a rematch?” His hand travels up his neck, rolling his shoulder blades one at a time. “Could use the exercise.”

“I’m done fighting kids.” Toji deadpans.

“Is that so?” Gojo scratches the back of his head. “Your hands must be full with all that jell-o they feed you at retirement house,” he chuckled at his own joke. “What then? Remembered to pay the med bills twelve years later?”

“Satoru!” You object.

“Only if you remembered to hand the Star Vessel cash back.”

“Mister Fushiguro!”

“Money belongs to Amanai,” Gojo raises his volume. “I don’t think she’d want you to have it.”

“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, corpses don’t talk.” Toji grits his teeth and unwillingly finds himself at the end of your right palm, the other one prompting Gojo to maintain his distance.

Your eyes are round, but the look behind them firm. The same look you assume when you reprimand your students, he bets. His gaze is drawn to your fingers, small and slender as they graze his shirt. You’ve never been so close to him before. If it weren’t for the walking parasite to his left, he might’ve been enjoying the proximity.

Perhaps for the first time in his life, Toji is the one to back away first, clearing his throat with a soundless cough. His eyes remain on Gojo’s while he speaks. “I’m here to take her out.” He stops and considers adding “to lunch”, previous occupation and all, but deems that should be obvious enough.

“You got time?” His tone softens, still bearing hints of the annoyance he failed to submerge.

A single finger pad skims over his chest as you withdraw your hand, slower than you did the other. So cute. He promises to give you plenty of opportunities to touch him later.

“I have an afternoon class, but Satoru can cover for me.” You smile sweetly at Toji and click your heel down on Gojo’s foot. “Right, Satoru?”

He’s inclined to agree, his face lightening up behind his shades. “As long as you agree to grade my papers for the next three months.”

“I’m already stuck grading the papers from when you went to Hiroshima,” you mumble under your breath, your nose scrunching in an expression that’s new to Toji. “Fine.”

“Mister Fushiguro?” You turn to him.

Toji shoots Gojo a stunted glare before his large palm finds its place in the small of your back, prodding you to move forward.

On the way to the car you find yourself making small talk about the weather, and on the way to the restaurant, your getaway is Megumi’s recent success in domain creation. This isn’t the first time you’re alone with him, but with every mile you count away from school grounds, you shrink into an ever-growing bundle of nerves that threatens to unravel on his passenger seat.

You’re in the middle of your third recounting of the kids’ excursion in Saitama when a hand moves to your lap and muzzles your every thought.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous, Teach’.” Toji says once you’re stopped at a red light.

He’s careful to keep his fingers over your dress, only his thumb looming over the bare skin of your knee. Your glance loses momentum as it travels from his knuckles to his wrist and then his elbow, reveling at the sight of muscles bulging underneath his rolled-up white shirt. You’re glad half of his attention remains on the steering wheel, because if you got to see the other side of his lopsided smile, then you might say something that’s unbecoming of an educator—and you almost do, after his hand drops to the gear stick.

“I don’t normally do these things, Mister Fushiguro.” You admit, preserving some of his leftover warmth with your own palm.

“Hmm? What things?”

“Going on dates with parents—it’s a first for me.”

“Oh? So that’s what this is?” He chuckles lowly, as if the notion were new to him. Other than the few visible wrinkles around his eyes, you wouldn’t guess this man was roughly ten years your senior. “You can relax. Got a long way before the main course, sweetheart.”

Embarrassment flares up in your cheeks at the pet name. You can’t remember the last time you were asked out, let alone called something of that volume. You don’t mind it. If anything, you like the ring.

“Ah, and do me a favor, won’t ya?” His head cocks to the side, tousled black strands falling forward. “Quit callin’ me that.”

“Calling you what?”

“Mister Fushiguro.” He grimaces. “It’s ex mister Fushiguro now.”

“What?” You exclaim with more excitement than you’re entitled to.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. “Check the compartment glove.”

You do as you’re told, discovering a bitten-off subway that’s wrapped around at least four layers of napkins. His sloppy eating habits mustn’t be what he’s so eager for you to see. You nudge it to the side and dig out a few crane toys that are too adorable to be his, and then finally, a stack of creased official documents that you have to separate from the massage parlor flyers stuck between the pages.

You quickly go over the lines, the most notable by far being the words “Divorce Agreement” written in all capitals on the front page. “Is this…?”

He nods. “Got ‘em this morning. Thought you’d take proof over my word.”

“That’s amazing, Mister Fushig—” You bite your tongue. “Looks like you got to keep all your assets, too.”

“All, except that name.”

You remember pondering why, even though Toji was born into the main family, both he and his son left the Zen’in surname behind. Others would kill for a chance to be written in their family registry—but then again, it was just like the Zen’ins to keep clan matters private.

“You can call me Toji until I take on a new surname.” He continues, his voice reflecting his lax smile. “Am open to suggestions.”

You return it, piecing a non-existent strand of hair behind your ear. “Already proposing that I should marry you?”

“Better strike while the iron’s hot,” quietly adding, “figured that should give ya enough time to sort my shit out.”

“What was that?”

He grins as he cups your hand with his own. “We’re here.”

Toji’s restaurant of choice turns out to be a cozy little family restaurant by the park in Nerima. He asks if you’ve been there before, but you shake your head. Having no car means you rarely get to go around Tokyo without Ijichi, the kids, or Utahime whenever she decides to pull a surprise visit. You’re a tourist in your own town.

At this time of the day—neither appropriate for lunch nor for dinner—the tables are mostly empty, and you’re free to choose your own seats. He points at the bar, and you point at the window. He pulls your chair and then plops down on his own, chin quick to balance atop his wrist while he stares off at the greenery on the horizon.

You thought sitting closer to the window would be cooler, but the heat is reflected through the glass. You should have listened to him.

A waiter drops off your menus with a tired smile, patting some of the perspiration off his forehead with a napkin. “Sure is hot today, isn’t it?”

You nod politely and start browsing the list of appetizers. All those nights you spent bent over your tiny desk lamp pile up against you as your stomach lets out a low grumble—overjoyed to be presented with something that doesn’t require a microwave.

“You drink?” Toji waves the wine menu in your face.

“If the occasion calls for it.” Your reply paves the way for his next question. “I’d say a glass of champagne is due to celebrate your freedom.”

He flings the menu at the next table. “Don’t have that here. Maybe next time,” he says, and you almost stand in ovation at the prospect of there being a next time.

“You don’t want anything?”

“Not a drinker.” He doesn’t care to elaborate. You go back to scanning the pages, and you must’ve taken long enough for him to grab onto your menu. “I can recommend you some.”

Your stomach gurgles again, and this time he hears it. His stare lowers over your body, and you shift in your seat, offering him the menu to distract him from your issue. His bottom lip curls in amusement.

“The stake’s good here since their stuff’s from Kobe-hmm,” Toji pauses as he zeroes in on an item that he taps with his index. “The barbecue ribs are the real deal.”

His green orbs spin like pinball in his eyes while he flips through the pages, pointing out what’s good and what sucks, as those are the two main phrases he uses to describe the specialties. This is the most you’ve heard him speak in a row, and admittedly, you miss out on most of what he says taking in his mannerisms.

His surprisingly well-trimmed nails drum on the table when they aren’t shifting to a different page, while his cheek prop up his fist. He makes a habit out of licking his slanted scar at every nasal consonant, and there’s a slight drawl whenever he stumbles upon a foreign word, his thin brows furrowing in uncertainty. However, his most distinctive quirk of all remains the unintentional frown his lips shape; a trait shared with your young protege.

Toji might be a little rough around the edges, but still carries some of that boyish charm.

“So?” He slaps the menu shut.

You suck on your teeth, unable to remember a single specialty. “I’ll have what you’re having. You sound like you come here often.”

He gestures for the waiter to come over. “The kids dragged me here all the time. There’s a park here,” he points outside the window, as if that’s self-explanatory. The image of a little Megumi and a little Tsumiki tugging at their father’s pants to play hide-and-seek makes your heart swell.

The waiter arrives approximately a minute later, and Toji places your orders. You’re apparently having the aforementioned ribs, along with a beef bowl, some chashu, and a few standard vegetable dishes that, for some reason, should not contain any red bell peppers. He chose plenty, but he chose smart. None of these break the bank.

“Why not bell peppers?” You ask once the waiter goes off to fetch your water. Toji scratches his jaw as if he’s got no idea what you’re talking about, until the realization hits him on the head.

“Fuck, Megumi’s the one who hates ‘em.” He curses and motions for the waiter again when you catch his hand in mid-air and bring it down onto the table.

“I’m not a big fan either.”

Your eyes lock with his and slowly dart to where your hands meet, watching as his fingers decisively slip between your own. He forces your wrist to prop against the wood, your knuckles hugging, while he tests out what it feels like to be holding hands. Ever since the only woman he let himself cherish passed away, he’s avoided the slightest illusion of romance, and if you could peer into his brain, you’d see him contemplating how your hands are small like hers—how they’re soft like hers.

They’re just hands; he dismisses the stupid notion that hands can be anything beyond what they appear to be, and yet yours feel special to him. He looks back at what you told that asswipe and wonders if those shards you claimed to see could ever amount to love or if you’d be cut like all the others he purposely hurt. He wonders if you are dumb enough to love him. He wonders if he’s smart enough to love you.

“Here’s the seasoned spinach and the chilled tofu—” The waiter cuts in, and the table clatters after you fail to retrieve your hand. The man makes room for the plates and the glasses, standing there with an awestruck smile until Toji harshly orders him to “Scram”.

Another man with a lousy temper.

Metallic chopsticks replace your hand as Toji transfers about half of the spinach to his plate. “Man, I’m starving.” He declares and wastes no time to dig in.

You follow his lead and quickly forget all about his rudeness as your eyes well up at the euphoric taste that floods your taste buds—your insides sincerely thanking him for each bite that makes it down your throat.

The conversation dies down while you share the appetizers unevenly, with him discreetly claiming the last bites under the guise of asking you whether you’re going to eat that. You don’t mind. After all, he is paying, and he’s ordered enough for your belly to gain that five-month pregnancy bump without your stolen share.

However, when the main dishes arrive, he does the unexpected and takes on your plate first, separating the meat from the bones without your asking. It’s a clumsy way to compensate, but you can’t help but think it’s more of a reflex than a tactic, considering all the times he must’ve had the kids slide their plates his way. You thank him by dropping an extra three chunks of meat on his plate, which he gladly accepts—no returns.

The waiter who didn’t dare approach your table after delivering the ribs comes back with the dessert menus and picks up the dishes. You don’t fuss over your choices for long—Toji decides on chocolate chiffon cake and you on coffee jelly. It is then that you realize your impromptu date is coming to an end, and you haven’t asked him one question about himself.

“So what is it that you actually do?”

No sorcerer who hasn’t heard the name “Sorcerer Killer” exists, yet only a select few know the urban legend behind it has retired—a decisive factor in his deal with Satoru.

“You mean when your little friend ain’t tasking me with his dirty business?” Toji shrugs. “Stocks, mostly.”

“Stocks?” That’s not at all what you expected.

“Takes about five minutes of your time, and if ya get lucky, you’re settled for life. Rest is knowing how to read people and the market.”

Judging by the sound his car engine emits, he must be still waiting for his big break.

“Would you say you’re good at reading others?”

“The market? It depends. The people?” Toji smiles confidently. “Yes.”

“What’s your reading on me then?” You take the bite.

“Hmm.” He rubs his chin while sizing you up. “I bet you were one of those four-eyed nerds at school.” His serious tone makes you snort out loud. “Eighty percent of your experience comes from dating shows, and the other twenty from group dates with your gals. Y’are too damn trusting and find good even in rotten apples, but don’t mind losing a shoe if someone gets on your nerves.”

“Oh, really?” You snicker into your palm and shake your head once he asks you if he’s wrong. “I’d say eighty percent right?”

“Heh, told ya I’m good.”

The waiter interrupts you as he drops your dessert in the middle of the table. He apologizes and points at a few tables away, where a little girl is devouring the last piece of chocolate cake available. Toji huffs in annoyance, attempting to bewitch the cake from the girl’s plate with his glare alone.

“We can share if you want.” You offer him a spoon, which he begrudgingly accepts.

A few spoonfuls and half a dessert later, he points the spoon at the family behind you and asks if you want one. “Kids,” he specifies. “You like ‘em?”

You tap your spoon against your lips. “Would you believe me if I said I see them as walking-talking grading papers? Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and lucked out with our first years, but this was supposed to be a co-teaching gig before Satoru offloaded even the second years on my back.”

“Want me to teach that brat a lesson?” Toji flashes a grin.

“I think his confectionery going missing before he gets to try any is enough punishment.” You smile mischievously. “I can save you some. Wagashi or castella?”

“I’m beginnin’ to like you more by the minute.” He blurts out and perhaps it’s a slip of the tongue because you catch him cocking his eyebrows upward right after.

“I like you too.” You earnestly say. “God, I sound like a teenager.”

“Nah, pretty sure you’re my dream woman.” You both scoff in unison. “Now that’s lame.”

“Yeah, it was.” You hide your blush by pretending to search for the waiter. “Shall we get the check?”

“Thanks for driving me hom—well, back.” You give a little bow, having yet to unbuckle your seat belt.

“Don’t sweat it.” Toji leans against the steering wheel. He looks even more handsome in the late-afternoon light, the shadows that contour his face bringing out his defined jawline and jade eyes. You aren’t prepared to part with the sight. Not when you were just getting accustomed to it, but every word that follows leads to a quicker parting.

“I had fun today.” He nods.

“Let’s do it again sometime.” He nods again.

“I’ll be going now.” He is reluctant to, but nods a third time.

You open the door and step out of the vehicle, your waving turning into a grip as you tug the car door back open. A perplexed look wanes into a full-blown smirk when you ask him if he’d like to come in for a bit.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Your desk chair looks comically small wobbling beneath Toji’s weight, a long arm draped over the backrest while he gawks at your crouching form, half your body—save for your backside—swallowed by the mini fridge. He hears a lot of rattling. The dorms are quiet after sundown, and with the expulsion of the third years, the sound of empty drawers being flipped inside out (just in case a minuscule bottle of Ramune has slipped between them) echoes throughout the east wing’s desolate floors.

You should’ve grabbed those soda cans when you still had the chance. You consider running outside, but in the unlikely event no one’s gotten to them first, you doubt they’re safe for consumption after boiling under the hot sun for hours on end.

“Damn, kid screwed this one up badly, huh?”

You glance over your shoulder at Toji, who’s going through the scattered papers on your desk, finding the one test Megumi flunked in his entire four-month career at Jujutsu Tech. You close the fridge and pad toward the desk, balancing against the edge to peer at the answer sheets in Toji’s hands.

“Everyone failed that test.” You trace a finger over the bright red 48 mark. “Megumi actually did better than most; rest scored below 20.”

“Of course he did.” Toji scoffs.

He leaves the papers on the desk and quirks a brow as he takes in your image. Your dress has lifted higher up your thighs now that you’re propped on the furniture, revealing a slit that his eyes discreetly follow to where his imagination needs to fill in the blanks. He’s not here to fuck you, he reminds himself. He’s here because you were kind enough to offer him a drink for giving you a lift, but your hands are notably empty.

“What happened to the drinks?” Toji forces himself to look you in the eye, supposing that your eyes existed on the same level as your tits—perfectly delineated under your dress’ square neckline. He hasn’t even kissed you, and he’s already picturing what your nipples would look like sucked between his lips.

He shouldn’t go there. He really isn’t here to fuck you.

“I… forgot to do my shopping this week,” you answer, oblivious to his lewd thoughts. “Sorry, I brought you up here for nothing.”

“It’s fine.” Toji glances at the wall clock. Time’s the greatest excuse. “I should go. It’s getting late.”

And he really thinks he’s made the right call, until your dangling foot pushes against his chest to prevent him from getting up—slowly traveling down his lap while his eyes travel up to your actual ones, picking on a glint he previously missed.

“It’s not right for me to let you leave empty-handed.” Your voice assumes a sultry intonation that contradicts your angelic smile. The spread of your legs widens to reveal a thin white strip that clashes with the dark blue of your dress. He feels a strain in his pants; his conviction is wearing thin. It’s more of a “maybe” now, if anything.

His hand slides from your ankle to your knee, rubbing rough circles that purposely stray away from your sensitive parts. “Whatcha offering, doll?” Toji rasps.

“How’s twenty percent of what you got wrong sound?” Your toes create friction as they curl against his crotch, swaying back and forth. He doesn’t answer. He expects you to go on. “I was a big-time nerd. Got in college with a fully covered scholarship and all.”

His breath hitches as he moves closer to your thighs. “Expected that much.”

“And I did go on a lot of group dates. The girls wanted to meet guys whose names didn’t start and end with Gojo Satoru.” Your heel presses firmly onto his length. He’s big. You can’t tell exactly how big, but you know it won’t take long to have his cock plugged in one of your holes.

“And you didn’t?” Toji asks, rolling the plush flesh in his fingers like play-dough.

“I valued my precious dating shows a lot more.” You feel the stretch of his lips as they lay on your inner thigh, peppering kisses until the lower half of his face disappears past the layers of your dress.

“Seems to me I read ya like an open book,” Toji inhales deeply, growling a low “Shiiit, Y/N” when his nose nudges your dripping cunt, his jade eyes flickering shut while you shiver. You’ve never heard him use your name before—all pretense of respect in the form of his little Teach’s drops the second you start to rut your pussy into his face.

Before his hands can slip into your underwear, you prod him back onto his chair and get off the desk. His glare fades as soon as he watches you kneel in front of him and rest both your elbows on both sides of his knees.

“Skipping dates doesn’t mean I missed out on the experience.” Your smile drips with honey while you palm him on the way to unzipping his jeans.

You tug them down, and his hips wiggle to accommodate you. It’s a lot tougher than you thought, with the tight fabric stubbornly adhering to every muscle of his bulky thighs until it recedes. His boxers come down with greater ease, and your hand finally wraps around his cock, feeling his girth out in your open fist.

“I told you at the restaurant, but I really like you.” You give his length a slow stroke that has him sucking his teeth. “I’ve liked you since the moment I saw you barge into my classroom. I like you so much I think I can love you.”

Toji bends forward and pinches your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting your head until his lips find yours—soft when they fumble around and rough when they part for his tongue to sneak into your mouth. Your delicate fingers insist on pumping his cock as he cups your cheek, ending the kiss with a playful bite across your bottom lip.

“I know,” he grins. “Heard ya talkin’ to that brat earlier.”

You would be shying away if it weren’t for his cock throbbing in your grasp, his swollen tip flushed with the exact same shade of feverish red as your cheeks.

“Eavesdropping isn’t so nice, Toji.”

“I’m not so nice either, but you overlook that.” Toji throws his head back, holding onto his breath, while you drool all over his cock head—clear strings of saliva streaming down the veiny shaft. “Y’know what’d be nice, hah—having that nice little mouth of yours wrapped around me.” Your hand drops to his balls, pink lips eager to fulfill his wish, with your cheeks barely hollowing around the tight fit. “So fucking nice,” he hisses.

His filthy praises are muffled out by his groans, which grow both in volume and in pitch the more inches you manage in your throat, his raspiness fading into the breathiest of moans once your nose tingles his unkempt base. You let go with a plop, air returning to your lungs through heavy pants. Your fists take over instead, appearing beyond puny as they struggle to engulf his hefty girth. Toji’s by far the biggest you’ve had; another of his assets you’re elated to discover.

You steal a lick from the precum that’s glazing his tip and purse your lips together. It’s a bit strong in flavor, but you don’t mind. It’s his.

“I meant everything I said,” you beam. “I still think of you as nice.”

“You’re bound to milk some kindness out of me if ya keep goin’ sweetheart.” Toji jokes, taking hold of his cock. He starts jerking himself to the sight of you, and you may have all your clothes on, but the way you genuinely smile at him, lips glossy from spit, almost sends him over the edge. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbles. “Even thought you were pretty in that—ugh, what was it?”

“Tunic?” You ask, recounting your first meeting.

“Yeah, right. That ridiculous grandma’s tunic you flaunted.” Raven strands flap over his forehead. “Wanted to rip that right off your body and fuck you on the spot.”

His words send pleasurable tingles throughout your body, with the pool in your panties overflowing your thighs. “What stopped you?” Your lips attach to his balls, your wet tongue lapping around until it finds a spot that has him fisting his cock at a faster pace, the tip rhythmically smacking your forehead.

Toji fails to gather his thoughts; his mind is solely focused on chasing after his incoming release. You feel his balls tighten and back away, setting your palms flat against your lap—eyes marveling at how the man who kept you tossing and turning in an empty bed for months on end is about to spill his load all over your face. A man whom you, up until a few hours ago, dreaded would reject you.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he pants out. “Gonna make you even prettier. Gonna make you into my pretty girl—fuck, all mine.”

“All yours, Toji.” You repeat, lulling your tongue out. “Cum on my face, Toji. Please, gimme your cum.”

And it is that please that gets his cock to spurt his milky cum all over your lips and chin, with only a handful of his velvety ropes making it onto your tongue. He grunts, squeezing the final drops from the tip until it stops twitching. He wipes it clean against your lips and helps you to your feet, taking advantage of your imbalance to hold you by the waist.

“Is there something on my face?” You ask, seeing as Toji blatantly drills holes into your skull.

Heavy eyelashes flutter over his low-hooded eyes. A dark chuckle rings against your skin as his mouth presses against your jaw. “Aren’t ya cheeky?” He licks a portion of his cum off your chin and feeds it to your tongue, all nice and slow, in a heady kiss that brings your bodies closer to one another. Your cunt is still soaked, pulsing around nothing, and his cock is still rock-hard, throbbing against your stomach.

Holding turns into groping as Toji gives your ass a squeeze. “Better not fail Megumi from now on.”

Your teeth clash together as you break into a sudden cackle. “Someone might think you’re only doing this to secure his grades.”

“Among other reasons,” he states.

“Is this how you care for your son’s education?” You humor him. “By seducing his teacher?”

“Nah,” Toji pauses to tug at your dress’ strap. He’s going to have to unzip it if he wants to move things forward. “My kid’s plenty smart on his own. Besides, the teacher’s the one doin’ the seducing here.” He caresses your curves and smiles in triumph once he spots the zipper on the side. “Wouldn’t fuck ‘er if she’d let me go back to my car to jerk it like a responsible man would. Would’ve waited until the second date; buy her something good—you like flowers, right?”

You lift your arms for him to strip you. He leaves you to stand in your unmatched underwear, black lace on your tits, and white cotton around your hips. His tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip. “Is it too late to enroll?”

Your eyes perform a full circle. You almost shove his hands away from your bra when you realize it’s already off. He thumbs at your nipples with his palms cupped around your breasts, refusing to let an inch of your soft skin spill from his calloused, practiced fingers.

“I’m afraid you’re behind the rest of the class.” You go along with his game of role-play. “I’d have to give you private lessons.”

“Sign me up.”

Toji steps back to remove his shirt, undoing his buttons so quickly that you’re certain they’ll fly right off. He discards it on the floor, and you take stock of his physique, inevitably gaping at the jagged scars that span from below his left shoulder to the center of his torso. Your fingers carefully trail over them, as if the violence that caused them still lurks beneath.

So that’s what sustaining limitless leaves you with, you momentarily muse, before your sympathy dissolves into a quarter of a smile. You don’t want him to think you’re pitying him—because you aren’t. Both he and Satoru made their choices, and you refuse to be the judge of their decade-long feud.

His hands return to your waist, while yours meet behind his neck. You kiss again and again, the action of mouths stealing each other’s oxygen repeating until the edge of your desk digs into your lower back. His strong arms smother you like he’s never embraced another before; overwhelming you to the point where you’re moaning despite his cock not being in yet.

“Just so you know, this gonna be a regular thing.” Toji mutters, his green eyes confirming his sincerity in the way he pulls your thighs apart. He doesn’t think he’s never said that phrase before. It’s always the opposite.

He dips a hand into your panties, lathering his palm with your slick, and then strokes his dick. “Not ‘ere for the sex only.”

“You’re gonna stay over and buy me breakfast?” You entertain the idea.

“As long as convenience store Onigiri cuts it. A bit tight this month.” Toji leaves you some breathing space, kicking his pants off his ankles. “A’right. Turn around and arch that back for me.”

A wicked smirk rises on his scar as you face away from him. “I was hoping to fuck you on your little classroom desk, but this will do just fine. You can look back on it next time ya feel swamped with papers.”

“I won’t be able to get any work done!” You protest.

The aforementioned papers glue to your breasts when you prop yourself on your elbows. You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of Toji positioning himself between your legs. You feel him run his cock between your now-bare folds, your panties having dropped in a pool around your feet like tasteless anklets.

Toji kneads your ass with one hand, the other stroking himself along your clenching holes. “You can think of this as my confession.” He trails off as he drives his thick cock into your wet pussy, and he does it slowly enough for it not to hurt, but it’s him who ends up needing a good minute to adjust after he bottoms out.

He knows it’ll feel even better once he moves, but it already feels perfect as is. So warm; so tight; so good that he’s afraid he’ll lose composure and jackhammer into you until the desk legs break.

“Haven’t had such perfect pussy in ages.” Toji grunts, his nails digging sharp crescent moons into the fat of your ass.

He’s had his fair share of pretty girls with empty brains and tight cunts, but yours is something else. Yours, he wants it owned. He wants it to lull him to sleep every night, only to wake up the next morning to the mess you’ve made creaming around his cock all night long. He wants to make you into his personal cock warmer, and he nearly cringes at the thought, until he feels you pulse around him and realizes you probably want that too.

“Fuck me, T-Toji.” You stammer, pulling your body forward only to slam it back on his length.

That’s all he needs to get going. His hips mercilessly slap against your own while he drills his cock in and out with such vigor that he feels it kissing your cervix. The desk bangs hard against the wall, almost overpowering the sounds of your soft whimpers. He forces you to meet his tempo, using the leverage on your ass to cut down on the distance between his leaking head and your puffy cunt.

“‘member what I told ya when I first saw ya?” Toji slows down, his fingers reaching between your thighs to swipe at your clit while his hips switch to languid rolls.

“Y-You mean after you—fuck, put your shoes on my desk thinking it was Satoru’s?”

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” He huffs and brings your arm behind your back, pressing down on it. “Remember,” he mouths hot kisses down your nape and shoulder, his palm cupping your entire cunt while your walls flutter around him. “Remember how I said you’re too hot to be stuck ‘ere teaching brats manners?”

You fist at the table, desperately searching in your foggy mind for a memory you can’t seem to find or a place to grip, the only answer you can muster being, “You never said that.”

“I didn’t?” Toji flicks the sensitive nub upward. “Well, not every thought’s meant to be shared, mhm?”

He pops your dialogue bubble by nipping at your neck, his cock scratching an itch that has you writhing in pleasure.

“Shhh, baby.” He coos, the warm timbre in his voice soothing the shrill ringing in your head. “Promise I’ll be more vocal now on. Tell ya all about how good that sloppy pussy’s flooding me, or how gorgeous your cute face looks lighting up whenever ya see me.”

The flames in your stomach shoot up to your heart, beating so loud you swear it punctuates his every word.

“How many times was it?” He asks. “Eight PT meetings in two months? Or ten? Ya think I wouldn’t notice I was the only parent called?”

Your head droops forward. “Would’ve been eleven if you didn’t come today. Wanna see more of you, Toji. F-fuck, wanna see you all the time.”

“And you will,” he detaches from your neck and picks up his speed, keen on having you see starts with the way he thumbs your clit. “Gonna make you cum around my cock every day, sweetheart. Just call me and—ugh, I’ll come runnin’. No need for that PT crap.”

Your bitten lips do nothing to contain your unregulated cries as you tighten around him like a vice—the only coherent words among your long-drawn vowels being “I’m cumming, Toji!” that you scream at the top of your lungs.

Toji begrudgingly pulls out, letting you ride your high alone. If he stays in a second longer, he knows you’ll end up with a nine-month trouble that will escalate into a lifelong problem in the form of paychecks for him and test sheets for you.

He plops down on the chair to cool down for a moment, proudly admiring your stupefied expression, eyes blown out with sheer ecstasy, and lips gasping for air.

“Hey. Are you free tomorrow?”

Maybe you are worth the trouble.

The delightful buzzes in your head are replaced with a series of acute knocks against your door. You barely have time to locate your rug of a dress in the corner of the room and zip it up, hoping the fabric’s enough to keep the marks on your body out of your visitor’s field of view.

“Should’ve known,” you groan, wishing you'd shoved your head in the pillows and pretended you were missing—except, there's no hiding from him. You step outside and close the door with your back, folding your arms over your chest. “What brings you here, Satoru?”

“Mornin’ to you too, Y/N.” His mouth is full as he speaks, rice grains framing both sides of his lips. “How was your date?”

“It was…” you pause, focusing on the plastic convenience store bag he’s holding rather than his eyes, “good.”

“Good, huh?” He grimaces. He doesn’t have to tell you he was hoping it’d fail. “Anyway, came to drop these. Someone left them on your doorstep.”

You peer into the contents of the bag, full of onigiri in different flavors—two that are tuna mayo, two with shrimp tempura, two with salted salmon, and lastly, a spare pickled plum.

Your lips curl into a smile as you pick your favorite from the bunch. So that's your answer.

"Thanks, Satoru." He is surprised you didn't scold him, gladly taking his chance to leave before you speak again. "Wait."

"I was the one who stole your Manju."

#Toji x reader #toji smut #fushiguro toji #toji x y/n #jjk x reader #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #toji <3 #toji headcanons #toji fic #toji x you #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[thewritetofreespeech]

omg i saw the recent knb request and screamed. 😳 how would the gom react if they fell in love with someone a few years older than them? (assuming everyone’s adults!)

KnB Boys + older reader s/o

Akashi has always been attached to older women as he’s extremely mature, and most girls his age are, well, not. Age difference isn’t that big of an issue for him as his parents had a pretty big age gap; in the reverse though. A few years isn’t that big of a deal in the world he grows up in, and is probably also introduced to a lot of his father’s friends business contacts eldest daughters as a way in to the Akashi Group.

Aomine is not really into older women. He just feels like he’s dating his mother, or older sister; not that he has an older sister but he’s sure that’s what it would feel like. It also makes him feel insecure that they do things or learn things before him. Especially with how dense he is in school. He’d **** an older girl but doesn’t really want to have a relationship with them.

Kuroko does like older women. They are usually a lot calmer and like to be in a more low key environment, which he enjoys. Kuroko is a good, even keel guy that most older woman gravitate towards, so he has a lot of suitors in this bracket. The one most open to a large age gap.

Kise meets a lot of older women on his modeling jobs, and dated his fair share. Age isn’t really important to him. It’s more the vibe and how compatible they are as a couple. The one most willing to be a sugar baby for an older woman; yes it’s shameful, but he likes nice things.

Midorima canonly likes older women, so this isn’t much of a stretch. Girls his age are usually frivolous, catty, and have no sense of direction. Midorima wants a woman who has a path in life. Preferably one his is already established on it he can come along beside. He’s not an overly affectionate person, so he needs someone who is secure in themselves and their relationship to not be threated by that. Which is usually older women.

Murasakibara doesn’t really have an opinion on anyone’s age. He’s always looked tall for his age, so people have always thought he was older. Then he opens his mouth and people think he’s younger. He’d really only be interested in older women because they are taller. Murasakibara doesn’t like to stoop. He does like their energy though. Something about older women is very soothing to him.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers) #kuroko no basket #kuroko no basket headcanons #kuroko no basket hc #knb headcanons #knb hc #akashi seijuro #knb akashi #akashi seijuro x reader #aomine #aomine daiki #aomine x reader #knb aomine #kuroko tetsuya #knb kuroko #kuroko tetsuya x reader #kise ryota #kuroko no basket kise #kise ryota x reader #midorima shintarou #midorima shintaro x reader #knb midorima #murasakibara atsushi #knb murasakibara #murasakibara x reader

[tarotwithlove]

PICK A CARD ⋆ the relationship with your fictional other

a fictional other is defined as: f/o usually stands for fictional other, which is a term often used by self-shippers, mainly on tumblr. you can have romantic, familial and platonic f/os.

· what would they think about you?

· what would your relationship be like?

reminder that this is a general reading and messages found here may not apply to everyone. take what resonates, leave what doesn't, and don't force anything if it does not fit.

BOOK A READING WITH ME · LINKTREE · 18+ PATREON · SUGGEST A PAC TOPIC · TIPS ♡ tips and feedback are highly appreciated!

the 18+ version of this PAC is on patreon!

GROUP ONE

cards · ace of swords, two of swords, the hanged man, page of pentacles, king of cups (reversed), ten of swords. 

channelled songs · i don’t care by 2ne1. blessed with a curse by bring me the horizon. far by sza. nobody by miraa may. 

my dear group one ♡ your fictional other would have an immediate attachment to you. they feel like they're surrounded by people who are somewhat inferior to them, unable to hold a proper conversation with them or talk to them as an equal would. they're someone who may thrive on intellectual conversation, which may be at odds with how people perceive them. 

i’m thinking of a character like asmodeus from obey me, so your fictional other may be seen as somewhat airheaded, unintelligent, and self-absorbed. people may not make an effort to connect with them or get to know them beyond the superficial or surface level. yet, right from the start, you treat them differently. you don’t treat them as stupid. you speak to them as an equal - enthusiastically conversing about a shared interest with ease or without putting on any airs. 

you may be one of the only people who your fictional other feels comfortable around. more than anything, as a friend. they always feel like people want something from them or are only getting close to them because of how much they desire them. but because of how you treat them from the beginning, they have a lot of respect for you and feel at home around you. 

this also brings us to what your relationship with your f/o would be like. 

your fictional other may see you as a close friend. actually, as their closest friend. even though this is not just friendship for you and you also have romantic feelings for them. 

you two will spend a lot of time together, with the people around you joking about how attached at the hip you are. and about how funny it is that your f/o has just adopted you as theirs. 

you will likely keep your romantic feelings a secret for the longest time because you don’t want to ruin the friendship. however, you will finally admit your feelings and end up pushing them away. far, far away. they will feel betrayed - as if they lost the only person they could really trust and be themselves with. this confession will also make them overthink your entire relationship and wonder how much of what you were doing was only because you had romantic feelings for them. 

GROUP TWO

cards · queen of pentacles, ace of pentacles, wheel of fortune, seven of cups, strength, the fool. 

channelled songs · lettera a mio padre by ermal meta. candy drip by lucky daye. whoa by rakiyah. heat lightning by mitski. 

my dear group two ♡ there may be an age gap between you and your fictional other - for some, i’m getting that this is thousands of years. i’m not all too familiar with baldur’s gate, but some of you may be reading this pac with astarion in mind (who, if google is to be trusted, is about 200 years old). 

your fictional other thinks of you as an incredibly grounded and mature person. they see you as a person with a good head on their shoulders, who can be relied upon, and who makes a good addition to any team. 

this idea of the team seems so important, as if your fictional other doesn’t really keep people around unless they can provide them with something useful. a skill or resource, or anything else that uplifts and serves a purpose in their life, and in the grander scheme of things. if they saw you as deadweight - no matter how much they’ve come to like you - they would probably leave you behind or go out of their way to teach you something useful. this, too, would depend on how much they actually like you and the potential they see in you. 

but that’s not something you have to worry about, because your fictional other already sees you as a major asset. they already see you as someone they not only want by their side but trust to have by their side.

the relationship between you and your fictional other is honestly so sexually charged, with your f/o seeing you as not only an attractive person but a highly sensual one. i won’t be going into detail about this, but if you’re interested in the sexual relationship between you and your fictional other, there is an 18+ extended version of this pac now up on my patreon!

but! anyway! your relationship with your fictional other may be complicated for some time. there may be this overwhelming sexual and romantic tension for some time - from the time you first meet - but the dynamic of the relationship or your fictional other’s own emotional invulnerability may be keeping them from progressing the relationship beyond this. 

your fictional other will, in many ways, favour you. keeping space for you, buying you things, cooking things just for you - all of these things that can be seen as just something you do for a friend but is inextricably tinged with unspoken desire and love when they are done for you by your fictional other.

GROUP THREE

cards · the fool, three of swords, queen of swords, three of cups, the world, two of swords. 

channelled songs · shrike by hozier. two hearts and no brain by kane strang. drumming song by florence + the machine. high highs to low lows by lolo zouai. 

my dear group three  ♡ your fictional other may be inexperienced where love is concerned, though they are quite cocky, flirtatious, and love the idea of love. someone like sanji from one piece actually comes to mind. this is someone who feels mentally and emotionally challenged by you - in particular, you challenge their idea and past approaches to love and relationship, as well as the ways in which they view themselves. 

honestly, i’m getting a lot of overwhelmingly sad energy for this group, with your fictional other often wondering if they are good enough for you. even just good enough to be around you. 

they see you as someone who is as free-spirited as you are disciplined. they see you as someone who is intelligent, talented and fiercely independent, and they fear that if you see them for who they are instead of who they pretend to be you will immediately dislike them and not want to be around them any longer. so your f/o may walk on eggshells around you, putting on a show as they always put on a show - because, then, you will want to stick around for longer. 

your fictional other may put you on a bit of a pedestal, though to an extent it may be that they have such a low view of themselves. 

for what this relationship itself will be like, it will be a lot of fun. but it will also be lacking in a lot of emotional connection - something which seems to be a purposeful decision on your fictional other’s part. they think that as long as you are always having fun and keeping busy you can have a good relationship without having to get too close. or, more specifically, without you having to get to know them too well. without you ever having to see the real them. 

they will likely keep you laughing, always telling jokes and doing things to keep you entertained. 

travel and adventure is so important to your relationship with your fictional other, with you hardly ever just having a normal day. with you hardly ever just having a day to do nothing or relax around doing nothing. you will both like it this way, though, in many ways chasing after this excitement - not just together but likely with a group of friends or close companions. 

GROUP FOUR

cards · six of wands, four of pentacles, ten of wands, king of pentacles, two of pentacles, death. 

channelled songs · skip skip by purple kiss. not friendly by flo milli. every other freckle by alt-j. budget by megan thee stallion & latto. 

my dear group four ♡ in the nicest way possible, your fictional other comes across as quite pathetic. they may be someone who throws money around in an attempt to buy affection or someone who uses money to make up for their perceived flaws. though, in the same vein, i don't see your f/o as someone who focuses too much on their flaws - in fact, they may think that they're perfect - they've just always been taught that money has more power than anything else. and, if they want something, they can just throw money at it and get it. 

but this does not work with you. no matter how much money they throw at you, you can't be bought or swayed, which, in and of itself makes them cling to you. 

they see you as someone who is overconfident. you may be similar in this regard, though they do not see themselves like this at all. to them, you are someone who could benefit from more money (or jewels or gifts) so they don’t understand why you won’t just accept the things they are giving you. 

it’s kind of funny, because it’s probably the first time your fictional other has even thought this much about another person in their whole life. thus, they feel kind of overwhelmed by it. they wonder if you’ve gone through some kind of childhood trauma that’s made you like this. you pique their interest and they want to know everything about you. 

saiko metori from the disastrous life of saiki k comes to mind, so that may be who some of you are reading this group for. 

your relationship with your fictional other may be… complicated. they may obsessively pursue you - half because they’re genuinely intrigued by you and want to be with you and half because they feel a desire to own you. this desire to own you is driven by their upbringing and values; these values that tell him if they like something that means they have to own it. 

you may be attracted to this fictional other or like them enough to be friends with them, but as you get to actually know them you may for a time try to put distance between you two. even if only to sort out your thoughts about this person, this relationship, and where you want this connection to go. 

this relationship may change drastically after you put this distance between you, as this sends the message to your f/o that you are not ashamed to set boundaries and stand on them. after this, they may try their best to listen to you and communicate with you as two equals instead of a rich kid and the person they’re trying to woo. though at times they are doing this in a more obviously begrudging manner just because they don’t want to put distance between you again. 

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