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cuntyji · 2 months ago

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PANT0NE 6969 ❤︎‬ VARIOUS JJK MEN X FEMALE READER

Synopsis: A bold color choice, a little too much free time, and way too much devotion. One question: is that really the shade they think it is?

Warnings: 18+ sexual content, MDNI. Smut & crack. Established Relationship. Geto has not deflected, Toji is a DILF/older than reader (can be just by a couple of years, but feel free to read it how you'd like), Sukuna true-form is not implied since he only has one cock, but feel free to read it as such. Reader has a vagina + bush/fem-bodied. Hair pulling, doggy-style, P in V, dirty talk, creampies [implied], oral (seperate f. and m. receiving), riding, 😺 referred to as "her", dom! Nanami, top! Toji and Geto (seperate), sub! Choso, power bottom/switch! Sukuna

Note: From @nkopurin and I with love 😍 Thank you for helping me brainstorm this idea hehe <3

✶⋆.˚ Ao3

GOJO SATORU

It started with a need.

Not a hair-related one, not initially. It began with something far more sacred and carnal. You were in bed one night, Gojo passed out like a very tall, very dumb angel after an equally dumb but impressively athletic session of “babe, let’s try standing up this time” — and your eyes, glazed but focused, landed on the thing.

Not the thing. His thing. Your phone, really, but more specifically, a photo of his dick. It wasn't anything risqué; in fact, it was borderline artistic. Backlit like a renaissance painting, his hand casually wrapped around the base like he was offering it to a museum. It was… majestic.

And pink.

Not an obnoxious pink. Not bubblegum, not fuchsia. It was a warm, flushed, expensive pink. Like blushing porcelain. The kind of pink that made you understand why entire cultures assigned gender to colors. This one? This was the tip of Gojo Satoru pink. A pink that made you feel cherished, cursed, and absolutely deranged all at once.

So you screen-shot it.

Uploaded it to a color picker site.

Hex code #F7A5B3.

Suspiciously gentle. Suspiciously perfect. Definitely suspicious, considering the site immediately tried to sell you 400 crypto coins and an NFT of someone else's nipple. But you took that code and ran.

Now, you couldn’t just buy that color in a bottle. No one in the hair dye industry had taken the noble, godly risk of bottling Gojo Satoru's dickhead hue. Cowards. And so, Saturday morning, armed with seven different pinks from a local store, a bowl, and a wildly misplaced sense of purpose, you began to mix.

“This is what God made me for,” you whispered, wrist-deep in dye, adding a smidge more ‘peach dazzle’ to your cauldron of horny alchemy.

The end result? Perfection. If a cherry blossom had an orgasm, this would be the aftermath. You smoothed it into your scalp, grinning like a lunatic as your bathroom mirror caught the glint in your eye—the kind of glint that only comes from knowing your hair now looked like your husband’s dick tip.

When Gojo walked through the door that evening, adjusting his blindfold with one hand and tossing his bag with the other, the first thing he did was stop. Blink.

And then blink again, which was impressive, considering he was blindfolded.

“Oh?” he said, already walking toward you with the cautious reverence of a man approaching a shrine. “New hair?”

You didn’t say anything. Just angled your head in the light so it caught that very specific pink, glowing like divine foreskin in the golden hour. Gojo's brows lifted, then furrowed, then lifted again.

He leaned in.

“Is this… me?”

You nodded solemnly. “Tip-inspired,” you clarified. “I color-matched.”

He said nothing for a long moment. Just took your chin gently in his hand and peered at your hair like he was identifying a long-lost artifact.

“…Baby, that’s so fucking hot.”

You snorted. “I figured you’d like it.”

“Like it? I feel seen. My dick feels celebrated.”

He kissed you hard, and somewhere between the makeout session and him half-carrying you to the bed, he muttered:

“I should return the favor.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding seriously. “Solidarity. Pubes.”

“No.”

“C’mon, I could go pastel! Lavender balls! Romantic!”

“Satoru, no.”

He was already halfway to the bathroom. You heard drawers opening. Things crashing. You had to throw a towel at him to stop the chaos. He caught it, grinning.

“You’re no fun,” he pouted, clearly half a second from ordering glitter dye off the internet.

“You’re not dying your happy trail. That’s the hill I'll die on.”

“Fine. But next time you do highlights… might I suggest the undertones of my shaft?”

You slapped him with the towel.

Your hair, though? Flawless. Divine. Blessed. And every time Gojo kissed the top of your head afterward, you could tell he knew exactly what he was kissing.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

It started with the nails.

Well—technically, it started with Toji giving you a lazy grunt of “go treat yourself or whatever” and sliding over a thick roll of cash like he was paying off a hit. And you did treat yourself. Just not in the way he expected.

Toji didn’t ask many questions when you came home, freshly manicured, tapping your newly adorned fingers against the countertop just loud enough for him to notice. You watched him squint, suspicious already. “The fuck’s that color?” he muttered.

You gave a tiny smile, tapping the pad of your thumb against your ring finger for emphasis—the ring finger that had his initials done in dark, bold lettering, sharp and crisp over the muted pink polish. “Oh, this?” you said sweetly. “Just something inspired by you.”

He blinked. Then looked again. His brow creased.

“That’s my—wait. That’s my fuckin’ d—”

“Tip,” you offered helpfully. “Yup.”

Toji clapped a hand over his face and groaned like he’d aged ten years in a second.

“You’re despicable,” he mumbled through his palm. “Absolutely insane.”

And you just shrugged. because he hadn’t not given you the money for it. And anyway, it was a lovely color—rich, dusky, masculine in that very specific flushed way. The shade that only existed when he was half hard and half annoyed and half threatening to fuck your brains out for misbehaving, which was often. But then, of course, the nails weren’t enough. Because what’s a set without a matching main event?

The next time he saw you, it was in the evening light, your freshly dyed hair catching the low amber glow. And you swore you saw his soul leave his body.

“You didn’t,” he said flatly.

“I did,” you grinned.

He stared long and hard. The color was perfect. That dusky, raw pink, slightly darker at the roots. You’d even toned it to match that exact heat-flushed, post-shower hue he sported when he was about to fuck you against the nearest surface. He didn’t ask how you explained the shade to the ladies at the salon. He refused to. The possibilities alone were giving him a headache.

“Y’need therapy,” he grunted.

“Probably,” you chirped.

He dragged a hand down his face. Muttered, “...Fuckin’ hell,” and shook his head.

Still—when the lights were out, and your ridiculous little tribute of a hairstyle was bouncing under his hand as he pounded into you from behind like he had something to prove, he didn’t complain.

His grip was punishing in your hair, the strands twisted tight around his fingers, just enough pressure to keep your head arched back perfectly so he could see your expression melt every time he shoved in deeper.

“Look at you,” he grunted, his voice ragged, his thrusts brutal and steady, “Wearin’ my fuckin’ cock like a badge.”

He tugged harder, yanked your head back until your mouth parted and your eyes fluttered. His hips snapped forward again, loud and wet and obscene.

“Crazy fuckin’ woman,” he rasped, biting down on your shoulder now, lips dragging against sweaty skin, “—gettin’ salon dye to match my dick, the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Everything,” you choked out, nearly delirious. “I’m so gone for you, baby, fuck—”

And he laughed. Full chest, low and amused, filthy even in his exasperation. His hand smoothed over your scalp for a second—like he might show you tenderness—and then he pulled again, drove in with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

“You’re gonna have to go back to that salon with a limp,” he growled in your ear, “Let ‘em see what happens when you walk in smellin’ like my cum.” You moaned, shuddering, knees almost giving in.

Toji was too old for this. Too grizzled, too tired to understand your generation’s brain rot. But that didn’t mean he didn’t fuck like he was born for it. Didn’t mean he didn’t leave you twitching and trembling and ruined by the end of it.

And when he finally collapsed next to you, panting, sweat-slick and sore, he rolled over just enough to look at your hair again.

“…It is a nice color,” he muttered reluctantly.

You smiled against his chest. “I'll get the matching lipstick next.”

He groaned again, reaching over to slap your ass, hard.

“Despicable.”

“Yep.”

“…Fuck, I love you.”

“You'd better.”

CHOSO KAMO

Choso is agitated.

Not angry—no, that would’ve been easier to deal with. Choso doesn’t really do anger the way others do. He just gets… tense. Quiet. Eyes narrowed, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like he’s watching a very slow train wreck he’s emotionally invested in. He's standing at the edge of the bathroom now, shoulders stiff, gaze locked on your hair like it personally offended him.

“You didn’t tell me it would be permanent,” he says, voice calm but too calm.

You blink. “It's not?”

His whole body jerks like you just threw a bucket of ice water at him.

“...What?”

You laugh, a little confused, a little charmed. “Baby. It’s not permanent. It's semi-permanent. It’ll fade in, like, six weeks.”

He's silent. Comically silent. His eyes dart back to your hair.

Then to your face.

Then to your hair again.

“…Oh,” he says softly.

And then—

“Oh.”

He sounds heartbroken.

You watch him slowly sit down on the edge of the tub like you just told him you were dying.

“It’ll… fade?”

You nod.

“But—" he gestures vaguely at your head. “You did it for me.”

“I can touch it up,” you assure him, walking over, hands light on his shoulders. “You can even help.”

He brightens subtly. Barely. But it’s there.

“…Okay. Okay. But I wanna be there when you do it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “To help?”

“To supervise.”

“Supervise what?”

His voice drops to a mutter. “The accuracy.”

Which is how you end up here, two weeks later, with a towel around your neck, gloves on, dye ready—and Choso already pantless, sitting obediently on the closed toilet seat with his dick in his lap like a willing participant in some sort of medical study.

“You sure you’re okay like that?” you ask, flicking open the dye tube.

He nods. Quickly. “I don't wanna interfere with the process.”

He's already a little hard. You try not to giggle. Try.

You crouch, squinting, face inches away from his flushed, semi-erect cock.

“Hmm. Looks a little warmer in tone today.”

He shivers.

“C-could be the lighting,” he says, voice pitched slightly higher than normal.

You tilt your head. “Or blood flow.”

He inhales through his nose, thighs twitching. “Possible,” he says weakly.

You bring your face even closer, inspecting from another angle. Your breath ghosts over the tip and he whimpers, hands flying to his thighs like he’s trying to pin them down from shaking.

“Stop me if this is too much,” you murmur, not moving away at all. He nods quickly. Too quickly. “No, n-no, ’m good. I'm—I'm fine. I wanna help.”

You hum, pressing a kiss to the underside, featherlight. Then lick a slooow, curious stripe up the length.

He chokes. “N-not during the dye,” he says, voice paper-thin and trembling. “I-it’s not safe—what if the chemicals—”

“I'm careful,” you murmur, already taking him in. He breaks. Visibly. One hand reaches for your shoulder, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t pull—just holds, clinging like he’s about to float away.

“Oh—fuck,” he breathes, already leaking, already shaking. “Fuck, you can’t—you c-can’t focus on the color like this—”

“I don't have to,” you whisper against the head, lips slick with him now. “I already got it memorized.”

He lets out a noise so soft, so pathetic, it makes you suck harder just to hear it again.

By the time the dye’s halfway through processing in your hair, he’s slumped back, completely undone, flushed all over and breathing like he just got resuscitated. His thighs are twitching, his hands are useless, and his eyes are glassy, blinking at you like you just changed his worldview.

“That wasn’t supervising,” he mumbles, dazed.

“It was quality control,” you reply, deadpan.

He groans.

“...When’s the next touch-up?”

You grin, leaning forward to press a sloppy kiss to his lips.

“Four weeks. Mark your calendar.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA

Sukuna is, at first, appreciative.

He’s lounging on his throne, fingers lazily tapping against the armrest as he watches you strut in with that smug look on your face and new hair on your head. The color hits him first. Soft, almost sugary—like the inside of a bleeding peach. Not quite natural, not quite real. A pink that seems too whimsical to exist in his world of blood and ash. He hums, raising an eyebrow as he gestures vaguely in your direction.

“An offering, is it?”

You grin. “More like a tribute.”

“Hmm,” he muses, and you can see the faintest curve of amusement on his lips. “A show of worship. How very devoted of you.”

But then he really looks at it, tilting his head as he squints.

“…What the fuck kind of color is that.”

You blink.

“It’s the color of your cock.”

The silence is immediate and violently loud. Sukuna stares at you like you just announced your intention to marry Gojo Satoru instead of him. His eye twitches, something deep and ancient inside him glitching. And then:

“What the everloving fuck does that mean, you insolent little—”

“You’re loud for someone whose tip looks like a cherry blossom, Suku.”

“It does NOT—”

He's on his feet now, pacing, hands in his hair, swearing in languages the Earth has long since forgotten. The sheer rageful fluster radiating off him is so intense, the walls tremble. He points at you, points at your hair, then points at his own crotch like he’s about to hold it up as exhibit A.

“What part of me—what part of that—makes you think it looks like that color?! Have you lost your mind?! Are you blind? Are you mocking me?!”

You’re nearly doubled over, wheezing with laughter, half in awe and half terrified that you’ve managed to turn the King of Curses into an angry little ball of embarrassment. He growls, bare-chested and barefoot and furious, stomping back to his throne with his arms crossed.

“You’re never allowed to speak again,” he grumbles, sulking. “Blasphemy. Absolute heresy. You should be punished—”

“Say less,” you chirp, tossing him a wink.

He sputters.

Later that night, the punishment is you straddling him on his throne, bouncing on his cock with your pink-stained hair swinging wildly around your face—and it turns out, for all his complaints, he has not stopped staring at it. His head’s tipped back against the throne, jaw clenched, trying to focus on anything else but the way your hair bounces perfectly with each slam of your hips.

“Fuck—quit movin’ like that,” he rasps, voice strained.

“You mean riding you?” you ask sweetly, snapping your hips a little harder, watching his hands twitch at his sides like he’s barely holding back.

“No—the hair. Your fucking hair.”

You grin.

He grabs your waist suddenly, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and slams up into you, making you squeal.

“You gonna do it again?” he huffs against your throat, panting. “You gonna keep it that color just to drive me mad, you little slut?”

“Yup,” you whisper, biting your lip, rolling your hips just right. His hands shake as his head drops to your shoulder. You feel the smallest, most pitiful groan leave his chest.

He’s losing it. Completely. Eyes hazy, body shuddering under yours, trying desperately to focus on the feel of your cunt and not the goddamn glow of your cursed hair in the dark.

“Never been more disrespected in my life,” he groans, dragging his tongue across your throat. “I hate you. Fuck, I hate you—”

“You’re gonna cum inside me again, aren’t you?”

He whimpers.

And it’s the prettiest little sound you’ve ever heard him make.

NANAMI KENTO

Nanami is speechless.

Not the stunned, dazed, jaw-dropped kind. No—this is the quietly judging, emotionally restrained, deep sigh echoing from the depths of his tired soul kind of speechless. Glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose, brow twitching, card bill in hand.

“You spent how much on what?”

You sit innocently on the couch, hair freshly dyed and glowing with that faded, strangely warm blush-pink hue, scrolling on your phone with the nonchalance of a criminal who thinks they've pulled off the perfect heist.

“...I had to match it perfectly.”

He rubs his temples.

“With my—?”

“Yup.”

He closes his eyes, breathing through his nose as he reconsiders every life decision that led him to this moment. Not that it’s entirely surprising. You’ve always had the most questionable taste in financially irresponsible love languages. This isn’t even the worst of it.

No, the worst was that one time you used the card to commission a hand-stitched, button-eyed plushie of him from a niche artist in another country. He found it tucked under your pillow one night, arms outstretched like it missed him. He didn’t say a word. Just...sat down and took a long sip of his whiskey.

But this? This has his hands in your hair more often than he consciously intends. Long fingers carding through it when you're curled up in bed beside him. Resting on your shoulders while he's driving, letting his knuckles brush the strands of your hair absently as he shifts gears. Sometimes even during mundane moments—while you’re reading, eating, brushing your teeth. He's obsessed in spite of himself.

The problem is, he notices the fading.

“Have you not been using the sulfate-free shampoo I bought you?”

You pause mid-bite of your snack.

“...There’s special shampoo?”

His eye twitches.

And now you’re here—kneeling on the bedroom floor, blinking up at him as he stands tall, sleeves rolled, belt long forgotten somewhere on the bed. His cock is heavy in his palm, leaking against the curve of your cheek, and he’s dragging the tip slowly across your flushed skin like he’s painting strokes on a blank canvas.

“Hm,” he muses, low and annoyed. “The pink’s uneven.”

You whine, shifting closer, trying to suck him in—but his other hand tightens in your hair and pulls.

“Ah-ah. Not yet. I'm still inspecting.”

“‘Nami,” you whimper, thighs pressed together. “Please—”

He swipes the tip across your cheek again, purposefully slow. “I give you a card. I tell you to be responsible. And you blow hundreds on a dye job you didn’t even bother maintaining.”

You’re panting now, needy, humiliated, as you try to squirm closer for a taste. But he’s holding you exactly where he wants you—on your knees, burning up, mouth open and empty.

“You know,” he mutters, voice dropping lower, “Maybe if you showed me how sorry you are… I'd consider booking the touch-up appointment myself.”

Your eyes sparkle. He scoffs. “Not for free, sweetheart.”

And then finally, finally, he slides the head past your lips, slow and deliberate, watching your lashes flutter and jaw slacken like you’ve just taken communion. He doesn’t fuck your mouth—no, not yet. He holds you there, just the tip resting on your tongue, sighing deeply like he's indulging your little obsession only out of obligation.

“If the color’s still uneven tomorrow,” he mutters, stroking the crown of your head with firm, possessive care, “We're going back to the salon.”

His hips shift just enough to press deeper, and you moan around him.

“After you shampoo. Twice. With what I tell you to use.”

He smiles faintly as your eyes roll back.

Finally. Some accountability.

GETO SUGURU

Geto is trying. Really, truly trying not to laugh.

He walks in, drops his keys in the bowl by the door like always, and greets you with that same low, warm “I’m home” he always does—but then he sees you. Sees the way you’re standing there, all proud and glowing, doing a little turn in your socks like you’re unveiling a whole new self.

And then he sees the hair.

He freezes.

You beam. “Surprise!”

He stares, tilting his head a little as he walks a bit closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s analyzing a cursed object.

“…You dyed your hair,” he says eventually, in that careful, measured tone he uses when he’s trying to piece together a truly confusing curse puzzle.

You nod enthusiastically. “Guess what the color is?”

He squints. Then he blinks.

Then he looks you straight in the eye and says, completely flat:

“My dick?”

Your smile turns so wide that he groans immediately and drags a hand down his face.

“Baby…”

“Don’t you love it?”

“It’s not that I don’t—I mean, the color’s nice, but… that’s what you chose to color-match?”

You puff your cheeks out. “It’s a soft, warm tone with pink undertones! It's romantic!”

“It's the color of my tip.”

“Yes!!”

And that’s when it hits him—just how absurdly hilarious this is. And how absolutely you. He tries to keep it together, he really does, but a smile breaks across his face, tired but amused, and he’s shaking his head like he’s going to lose it. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, wiping at his eyes. “I can't believe you spent money on this. I can't believe I'm involved.”

“You’re the inspiration!” you say defensively, fisting your hands by your sides like you’re presenting a noble act of sacrifice.

He loses it again.

But hours later, when he’s on his knees between your legs, the teasing is far from over. His tongue drags up your thigh slow and indulgent, and he hums like he’s appraising a piece of art. “So... she got the full treatment, huh?”

You moan softly, head falling back. “Mhmm.”

But then he pauses, finger resting just above your mound as he raises a single brow.

“Then why was she left out?”

You blink, dazed. “...What?”

He leans in closer, kisses just above your clit, right at the edge of your bush, and whispers, “She didn’t get a dye job too.”

You slap his shoulder.

“Stop calling it that!”

“Why not? She’s the one who got snubbed,” he says with an exaggerated pout, kissing lower now, slow and taunting. “All that love for my tip, and poor baby down here didn’t get a single brush of attention.”

Your thighs twitch as your face burns. You’re whining now, hips shifting, trying to chase his mouth, but he pulls back just enough to keep you squirming.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he coos, dragging a finger along your slit. “I'll make sure she gets a little pampering tonight.”

“Sugu—”

But you’re cut off by your own gasp when he licks a stripe up your folds, groaning like he’s tasting a five-star meal. His grip tightens around your thighs, spreading you wide, burying himself between your legs like he’s trying to eat the embarrassment right off of you. You’re squealing now, every moan mixed with some mortified whimper as he talks to your pussy like she’s got her own name, her own needs, her own complex about being left out.

“Mmm, she’s being shy,” he murmurs, flicking his tongue with practiced precision, “but I know what she needs.”

You buck against his face, legs shaking, trying and failing to close them around his head.

“Stop making me blush you—fuck—”

“You’re the one who dyed your whole head the color of my cock,” he says, eyes glinting as he looks up, mouth shiny and smug. “You don’t get to be shy now.”

And that’s how your plan to be sweet and romantic ends with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his tongue fucking you open while you babble apologies and try not to die from the sheer secondhand shame of being verbally roasted by your own pussy. And Geto? He’s never been more in love.

a/n: hello !! it has been many a moon since i have written smut....i even pulled out the fancy layout i used to use back in the day :PP (i post smut panels/headers on @cuntpress if you're a writer btw <3) be nice please

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mososimos · 2 years ago

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Best Practices to Navigate the Complexities of HCC Coding

Providers can rely on outsourced medical coding services to navigate the complexities of HCC coding, ensure accurate risk adjustment, and optimize revenue. https://www.outsourcestrategies.com/blog/navigating-complexities-hcc-coding-best-practices-healthcare-providers/

#hcc coding #hcc risk adjustment coding #medical coding services #outsourcing medical coding

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cosmicsimsi · 3 months ago

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Why You Shouldn’t Use GShade

Even after two years, I still see people using GShade and claiming it's a safe program, when it’s really not! There are already some older Tumblr posts about this, but I figured it’s worth refreshing the issue.

So please read this

Around two years ago, GShade’s developer added a code that could forcefully shut down your computer, not because of a bug or security measure, but on purpose. Why? Because he was mad that someone, specifically a 16-year-old made an alternative way to install GShade without using the official updater. Instead of handling it professionally, the dev decided to add a malicious code as "punishment" for anyone trying to modify GShade. That’s malware behavior.

(The first spark) ↓

At that time you also HAD to update Gshade to unistall it. ↓

(Developers "Apology") ↓

Now, you might be thinking, “Okay, but that was patched out, so it’s fine now, right?” Nope. Because the biggest issue isn’t just what he did, it’s the fact that he still thinks he did nothing wrong.

The Problem with Closed-Source Software Like GShade

GShade is closed-source, meaning no one except the developer can see or verify what’s actually in the code. This is a issue when dealing with someone who has already abused their control over the software.

With open-source programs (like ReShade), anyone can look at the code, verify it’s safe, and contribute to improving it. If something shady is added, people can catch it immediately. But with GShade, you have to just trust that the dev isn’t hiding anything malicious. And considering his past actions, that’s a massive risk to take.

Even if GShade is "safe" right now, nothing is stopping the dev from adding another backdoor, data collection, or something even worse in the future. Since no one can see the code, you wouldn’t know until it was too late. And given that he still defends his actions, there’s every reason to believe he’d do something similar again.

“But I’ve Never Had Issues With GShade”

A lot of people say GShade runs better than ReShade or has better effects. That might be true, but no amount of quality or convenience is worth putting your computer at risk. Just because something hasn’t caused problems yet doesn’t mean it won’t in the future. Malicious code can be slipped in at any time, and because it’s closed-source, no one would be able to warn you.

And honestly? You shouldn’t be using software made by someone who has already proven they’re willing to mess with your computer. If a developer intentionally inserts harmful code once, they can do it again.

What Should You Use Instead?

There’s a safe and open-source alternative: ReShade

It’s free and open-source, meaning the community can review the code to ensure it’s safe.

It can do almost everything GShade does, and while it may take some tweaking, it’s worth the effort.

Most GShade presets can be converted to work with ReShade with a bit of adjustment.

There are guides available to help transition from GShade to ReShade Here is one: How To Move To ReShade From GShade

Final Thoughts

At the end of the day, it’s your computer, and you can do whatever you want with it. But if you choose to keep using GShade, just be aware of the risks you’re taking. The dev has already demonstrated that he’s willing to sabotage people’s computers when he feels like it. He still thinks he was justified. And because GShade is closed-source, he has complete control over what’s in the code without anyone being able to check.

So ask yourself: Is that really the kind of software you want to trust?

ReShade is a safer, open-source alternative that doesn’t put you at risk.

Thank you for reading

Here are some links that discusses the whole topic:

Twitter

The persons Blog the code was directed at

#thesims4 #ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims

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riskadjustment · 2 years ago

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gojosconsort · 2 months ago

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Hey could I make a request please :3 Professor gojo with student reader, lots of tension, shes in his chemistry class and he takes a very obvious but weird liking to her, like always makes HER do favours for him, always picks on HER during class. Eventually and somehow they end up together but they have to keep it a secret so gojo doesnt get fired but he is TERRIBLE at trying to hide it and his coworkers (nanami, geto, etc) are getting suspiscious, readers friends are getting suspiscious because of how gojo acts around her. I was thinking they get caught and some angst and having to breakup and then theres a LOT of tension after that and class is SO awkward ... sorry if thats too much and if u dont write for that type of thing. oh and also reader is very introverted and keeps to herself but clever :)

PROFESSOR’S PET ♡ // HEADCANONS

⁀➷ CONTENT. you’re the quiet, clever girl in gojo’s chemistry class, and he’s the hotshot professor who’s taken a strange, obvious liking to you—picking on you, favoring you, until tension snaps.

♡ PAIRING. afab!reader x professor!gojo

♡ WARNINGS. mdni. age gap (gojo in his 30s, reader in her 20s), teacher-student relationship, oral sex (m & f receiving), creampie, risk of getting caught (and then getting caught oops), this is very chaotic sorry lmaoo

♡ AUTHOR’S NOTE. ty for the request, i shortened it a bit bc it got a bit long but hope you like it <3

PROFESSOR!GOJO who’s the star of the chemistry department—tall, white-haired, too damn handsome for a lab coat, and always smirking. you’re the introverted student in the back row, nose in your notes, acing every test but barely speaking. he notices you day one—calls you out mid-lecture, “hey, quiet girl—yeah, you—explain covalent bonds.” you stammer it out perfectly, and he grins, “smart one, huh? good.” from then on, you’re his favorite student <3

PROFESSOR!GOJO who starts singling you out for everything—makes you stay late to “organize his lab notes,” smirking, “you’re clever, figure it out,” even though they’re a mess. always picks you to demo experiments, hovering too close, “don’t blow us up, sweetheart.” classmates snicker, but you’re too shy to call him out, but also too sharp to mess up his tasks. he loves it, leaning in once, “you blush easy—cute.”

PROFESSOR!GOJO who ramps up the teasing—drops your name in every lecture, “let’s see if our genius in the back can solve this,” grinning when you nail it. starts lingering after class, asking random shit—“you like chemistry or just pretending?” you mutter short answers, avoiding his piercing eyes, but he’s relentless, brushing your arm “accidentally” while passing papers, whispering, “stay sharp, i’m watching.” your heart’s a mess, and he knows it.

PROFESSOR!GOJO who catches you alone in the lab one evening—you’re finishing his latest “favor,” and he locks the door, smirking, “you’re too good at this—makes me wanna keep you.” you freeze, but he’s on you, voice low, “tell me to stop, sweetheart.” you don’t—can’t, because you want it too—and he’s kissing you hard, hands under your shirt, growling, “fuck, been waiting for this.” lifts you onto the lab table, fucks you right there, rough and fast, “quiet now—don’t want security hearing.”

PROFESSOR!GOJO who’s smug as hell after—adjusts his glasses, “our little secret, yeah? can’t lose my job over this.” you agree, shaky but hooked—he’s too good, too dangerous. he’s careful at first—texts you coded shit like “lab needs organizing tonight,” meaning meet him after hours. but he’s reckless in class, winking at you, calling you “my star student” with a grin that’s way too obvious.

PROFESSOR!GOJO who’s terrible at hiding it—nanami catches him staring at you during a staff meeting, frowning, “focus, gojo—stop drooling over students.” geto’s sharper, smirking, “she’s in your class, right? awfully quiet for your type.” your friends notice too—whispering, “why’s gojo always on you? it’s weird.” you shrug it off, blushing, but they’re not dumb—his favoritism’s screaming something’s up.

PROFESSOR!GOJO who drags you into his office between classes—locks it, pulls you down, “need a quick taste, sweetheart.” goes down on you under his desk, tongue relentless, muttering, “fuck, you’re so sweet—my clever girl.” you’re biting your lip to stay quiet when someone knocks—nanami’s voice, “gojo, you in there?” he doesn’t stop, grinning up at you, “answer him, babe—keep it steady.” you barely choke out a “he’s busy!” while cumming.

PROFESSOR!GOJO who laughs it off after nanami leaves—“close one, huh? gotta be sneakier.” starts making excuses—tells colleagues you’re his “research assistant” now, smirking when you glare. your friends grill you—“research? you? with him?” you’re too introverted to lie well, stammering, “it’s just work!” but they’re skeptical, and geto’s watching gojo like a hawk, muttering, “he’s slipping—idiot’s gonna get caught.”

PROFESSOR!GOJO who can’t keep his hands off—corners you in an empty lecture hall, bending you over the podium, “fuck, you in that skirt—driving me insane.” fucks you deep, praising, “smartest pussy i’ve ever had—mine, yeah?” leaves a hickey on your neck, grinning, “oops—cover that up, sweetheart.” you’re pissed—he’s too careless—but he just kisses it, “looks good on you.”

PROFESSOR!GOJO who’s got everyone talking now—students whisper, “she’s always with him—think they’re banging?” your friends pull you aside, “girl, he’s way too into you—what’s the deal?” you deny it, voice small, but gojo makes it worse—leans too close during office hours, loud enough for geto to overhear, “missed you last night, star student.” geto’s eyebrow lifts, “careful, gojo—walls have ears.”

PROFESSOR!GOJO who texts you at midnight—“lab. now.” meets you there, all grins, “couldn’t sleep—need my fix.” fucks you on the lab bench again, slow this time, “fuckin’ perfect—my little genius.” leaves the lights on—too cocky to care—muttering, “let ‘em catch us, babe—worth it.” you’re a wreck, loving it but terrified of getting caught, and he just smirks, “relax, i’d fight for this.”

PROFESSOR!GOJO who gets cornered by nanami and geto some day—nanami’s blunt, “you’re screwing a student, aren’t you? this’ll destroy your career.” geto’s smirking, “she’s cute, i get it—but you’re dumb as hell at hiding it.” gojo shrugs, “prove it—nothing’s happening.” they don’t buy it—your friends ask again, “seriously, what’s with you and gojo?”—and you’re running out of excuses.

PROFESSOR!GOJO who shows up at your apartment unannounced—knocks hard, grinning, “heard you were stressed, sweetheart—gonna fix that.” pushes inside, locks the door, and has you against the wall in seconds, “fuck, you’re too good—my clever little thing.” eats you out on your couch, then fucks you deep on your bed, groaning, “this pussy’s mine—gonna spoil you rotten.” leaves you limp, kissing your forehead, “better now, yeah?”

PROFESSOR!GOJO who still can’t resist you at school—pulls you into a storage closet near the chem lab between lectures, “need you now, babe—fuck the risk.” hikes your skirt up, fucks you against the shelves, growling, “so damn tight—my perfect girl.” you’re moaning soft, trying to stay quiet, when the door cracks open—geto’s voice, dry, “knew it—fucking sloppy, gojo.” gojo doesn’t stop, grinning, “enjoy the show, asshole,” finishing hard while you’re embarrassed as hell, geto shutting the door with a dark chuckle.

PROFESSOR!GOJO who’s unfazed by geto catching you—grins, “he won’t snitch—likes watching too much.” but geto’s accidentally spills it to nanami and your friends connect dots too, “wait, someone saw you? oh my god, it’s true!” nanami’s digging deeper, “’ll report this, satoru—it’s over if i confirm it.” gojo pulls you aside, smirking, “don’t stress, sweetheart—i’ll bullshit my way out. nobody’s breaking us up.”

PROFESSOR!GOJO who’s still playing with fire—kisses you in the hall, “fuck ‘em, let ‘em talk.” nanami’s got evidence—texts he found. your friends won’t drop it, “you’re insane—he’s gonna get fired!” geto’s smirking, “told you, satoru—game’s up.” gojo just leans back, glasses slipping, and shrugs, “well, shit—guess we’re caught now.” but the question is—what are you you gonna do now??

————— ୨୧ —————

⁀➷ masterlist

#—amy writes : satoru gojo ★#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujustu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #divider by cafekitsune

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songmingisthighs · 10 months ago

Text

Missing Out

group : ateez

pairing : dilf!mingi × reader

genre : smut

wc : 4.1 k

tw : mdni, explicit smut; daddy kink, teasing, dirty talk, age gap (mingi's like mayhaps at least a decade older, but both are still within legal limits), thigh riding, spitting, alcohol consumption (not to the point of being drunk, it's just for vibes and... spitting lmao),

a/n : frfr i hope he doesn't see this fic because God i would not be able to defend myself. tbh i planned on posting this on mingi's bitthday but i got shit happening to me. shit without my consent and I'm just trying to ride the stress like gandalf hopped up on cocaine riding smaug. so ykw i decided to post this on my birthday instead lmao. special thanks to @kitten4sannie for listening to me drop some ideas while i was on a road trip, i did some adjustments but it's still sexually frustrated dilf!mingi this fic is finally out so i hope you and everyone enjoy it <3

a/n/n : i take no responsibilities for any calf cramp that may or may not happen but alyssa, i still blame you for the great leg cramp at ass o'clock

a/n/n/n : my birthday sucks because it felt more like public service than anything but i got ticket to go to singapore again so i'll be reunited with my little brother and little sisters soon✌️ i'm raising money for my mental wellbeing which is so totally code for i'm trying to find a way to make my shituation better by making myself just the slightest bit happier after today's shenanadoodles

buy me coffee ?

After the day Mingi had, the cold drink in his hand felt like the reward he deserved. It was only then that Mingi realized why people always say that the Family Court is rough. Still, of course, it was extra rough for him because his ex-wife, the horned creature incarnate (a goat, not the devil), had dragged his name through the mud just to get the maximum alimony because she was a narcissistic bum with no life skill to fall back to as if Mingi was the one who told her to quit her job as a dental hygienist when they first got married.

During the mediation meetings and court proceedings, she took all of the potshots she could While no one took her seriously, it still pained Mingi because the more she and her lawyer attacked him, calling out all of his insecurities and questioning his character, the more obvious it was that Mingi had wasted 9 years of his life on this loser and he missed out on all of the marital milestones. The main sore spot was having kids. She argued that putting her body through pregnancy was out of the question because there were risks that could cause her body to look weird in the future and it's inhumane how a woman's body had to contort in such a way to accommodate another living being. But when her breast implant popped when she slammed the car door too hard, it was 'a normal occurrence'.

As much as his friend Yunho told him not to, Mingi couldn't help but wallow in the time he absolutely WASTED on the bitch only to be screwed over. The only good thing that came out of the divorce was the fact that he got out of it without having to pay alimony because his ex-wife had become too cocky with her cards. But still, Mingi had to give her the car, the savings account (that wasn't much compared to anything considering she had drained it to accommodate her filler addiction and alcohol dependency), and Tony Son, their personal trainer, the one thing Mingi could credit her because she had been the one who introduced him to the man who was able to sculpt his body to perfection.

"Is this seat taken?"

Mingi snapped his head to the side to see a woman younger than he, dressed in a tight-bodiced red sparkly dress that showed just enough cleavage for it to be classy rather than trashy and the A-line satin skirt stopped just three fingers width atop her knees. Slowly, Mingi nodded and gestured to the seat on his right side wordlessly. It wasn't until the woman flagged down the bartender and ordered her drink did Mingi questioned why she sat next to him when there were other seats in the bar.

"So, are you alone?" she asked, striking up a conversation with Mingi which honestly caught him by surprise because he had been told that he had a resting bitch face that doubled in intensity when he wasn't in the mood and he was doubling in his bad mood. "Yeah... I am, so..." his words allude to him wanting to be alone, but there was something about the person next to him that intrigued him so much so that his eyes seemed to be glued to her. Just the sight of her drinking her vodka cranberry made Mingi's eyes travel from her face down to her lap, watching the way she moved so gracefully. "So... You don't mind my asking why a man as handsome as you are would be sitting alone with a scowl on his face," she pointed out, forcing Mingi to consciously unfurrow his eyebrows and fake taking a sip of his drink, "I'm not scowling, I'm just tired and pissed off for wasting 9 years on a selfish bitch that deprived me of anything I want in life," he spat venomously, even the slight mention of his ex sent a really unpleasant taste in his mouth. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Anything I can do to help?" She pouted, inching closer to Mingi as somewhat of a signal. Noticing this, Mingi scoffed and shook his head but he still entertained the woman, "Got a time machine to help me undo the past 9 years?" "No, but maybe I can give you what your ex couldn't."

You couldn't help but bite your bottom lip when the look of shock on Mingi's face melted into intrigue. You had been watching him for an hour, sitting all alone, nursing his one drink as he toyed with his ring before chucking it into his breast pocket. Thank God he did because you were not about to approach a potentially spoken-for man. It took you a while to get substantial evidence of his status and it wasn't just because you were distracted by his plump ass in those slacks and the matching suit jacket and slightly unbuttoned black dress shirt didn't help your case.

"Little girl, I think I'm a bit too... Far for your reach," Mingi pointed out, raising an eyebrow at you as he wasn't sure that you knew what you were offering him. Mirroring him, you raised your eyebrow and shifted so that you faced him fully as you raised one leg and cross it over the other, successfully inviting Mingi to get a glimpse of more skin. "You don't know me or what I can do, sir," you smirked challengingly, now openly inviting him to poke you further.

You were delighted when you saw Mingi's jaw clench and throat bob after you called him sir. It was proof to you that Mingi had some sort of inclination of being in control and his little confession about not getting what he wanted from his ex-wife might be a glimpse of the kind of fun you could get from him. So without hesitation, you decided that you were going home with him.

Surprisingly, Mingi responded positively by leaning in to cup your chin and pull you close, just a wispy breath away from having your lips meet and you so desperately wanted to taste his because they just looked so damn juicy and plump. "You don't want to know all the things I've been deprived of... Baby." Your eyes darken and your legs crossed tighter to suppress the sudden arousal washing over your core, excited at the confirmation that Mingi was playing into your games just as you had wanted. All you needed to do was lock this down. So you let your hand lay on his thigh, squeezing it suggestively and enjoying the feeling of his muscle tensing underneath you each time your hand slid closer to his crotch to the point that your nail was scratching the inner side of his thigh just right. Despite being physically affected by you, Mingi still maintained eye-contact, daring you to poke his button just right.

"Yes, I do... Daddy."

In the blink of an eye, Mingi smashed his lips on you and all of the oxygen was knocked out of your lungs in one go. His lips were soft but the way he used them was rough yet calculated. You could taste the smoky whiskey on his tongue as he slipped it inside your mouth. Little did you know, he too, was enjoying the way you tasted. Your lip gloss had a sweetness to it that made him wonder if you're the type to plan things or if it was just a happy coincidence. He also took note of how you allowed him to lead you and the more he asserted himself onto you with every nibble of his lip and every caress of his tongue, showing that you're more on the submissive side and he likes it. A lot. The more you felt pleasure, the more you pleasured him back as evidenced by your hand rubbing against his raging boner.

Mingi smirked at the way you whimpered when he finally pulled away from you to slap a couple bills on the counter before he got off the stool, pulling you along with him. You wobbled slightly but Mingi immediately pulled you flush on his chest and despite having just made out with him, you found the gesture very hot. "Wanna go see if you can keep up with the list of things I missed out on?"

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Mingi must be some kind of a business owner because no way he would have had a rather impressive office where you found yourself in. Well, on top of him on his couch, grinding your panty-less core against his thigh with your top down, allowing the older man to ogle at your tits as you tried to make yourself cum.

"Is that the best you can do?" Mingi taunted, circling his crystal glass which produced a tinkling sound from the ice in the drink he poured as soon as you reached his home. "Daddy, I want you to touch me," you whined but your hip was still relentlessly moving after making a big deal of how his thighs were so strong and you wanted to sit on them like a throne. So instead of just sitting, Mingi told you to make yourself useful and prep your pussy without his help and he wanted you to do it by riding his thigh. His thick, glorious thigh. "Don't you want to touch me, daddy?" you teased, cupping your boobs and tweaking your own nipples whilst throwing your head back, making a show out of it just to get Mingi to touch you. Sure, Mingi was intrigued, but he knew damn well that he was holding the reigns and he had to hold himself back from jumping at the opportunity to completely ravish you too soon. "I do, baby, but you're being a brat right now and refusing to listen to me. Had I wanted that, I would've stayed with my ex-wife." Your head snapped back up at the mention of his ex-wife and you glared at his smug smirking face, "You have me half naked on your lap and you still mentioned your ex-wife?" you gathered your skirt in your hand, exposing your cunt to Mingi's eyes and slowed your pace to a prolonged drag that left long, dark stain courtesy of your arousal.

Finding your petulance adorable, Mingi chuckled and pulled you in for a searing kiss with one hand cupping your chin and the other slapping you on the ass as if telling you to speed up your movement. "You're an adorable little doll and I'm gonna break you," he muttered against your lips before you could reply to him, Mingi tugged your hair back as he casually took a sip from his drink. The action made you yelp and Mingi swiftly leaned over and spit the drink into your mouth and clamped your jaw shut. "Swallow," he commanded and as you came down from being surprised, you stared into Mingi's eyes. At first, you only stared at him, feigning defiance just for fun and Mingi found that both intriguing and annoying. His grip moved to tightly grasp your jaw and he growled, "Swallow. It." He demanded in a stern voice that made your panties more damp as your cunt clench, leaving you unable to do anything more than whine and swallow the burning liquid. Mingi found you very mesmerizing even on an act as simple as you taking heed of his words. The stray spit and alcohol that trickled from the corners of your lips enhanced the glimmer of your smudged lipstick and lipgloss combo, turning Mingi on with how effortlessly sultry you looked. He was down and he was down bad. He wasn't even sure if he was down because Once the liquid was no longer there, you rolled out your tongue to proudly show your obedience and Mingi let out a shuddered breath seeing you just blindly following his orders like the good puppet you are.

"Fuck, you're gonna be the death of me."

In a flash, Mingi flipped you both around so that you were trapped underneath him with your head strategically on the armrest. The elevation allowed you to watch as Mingi dragged a hand down your body as if you were a work of art. "All this time... I was missing a lot all this time, that bitch took nine years out of me and gave me nothing," Mingi shuddered both in anger and in arousal. The contrasting thoughts between being so angry at his former partner and the excitement of being rewarded by being able to ravish you felt like waves crashing inside him. It was thrilling. It was exciting. It got his adrenaline pumping and God, he felt alive. "Poor baby," you purred all the while slowly popping the buttons of his dress shirt off to reveal the soft skin underneath, "You're so frustrated, It's a good thing I'm here now huh?"

You swung your leg up and used the tip of your toe to tilt Mingi's chin upwards maintaining a somewhat neutral expression but the twinkle in your eyes indicated clear intrigue. "Tell me all the things you want to do. What do you want most?" the question made Mingi roll his eyes back and he grabbed your leg by your ankle. "You nasty slut, you want to have an older cock so bad you're enticing me with empty promises, huh?" He mumbled against the skin of your leg, trailing his lips down from the heel and lower to your calf as his body followed down until he eventually stopped at the mid-section of your inner thigh. You helped him by flipping your skirt up, exposing your cunt wholly to him and slotting the leg you lifted on his shoulder, "Empty promises? I want to give you whatever you want daddy, and in order for me to be able to do that, I need to know what it is."

Thinking that he had nothing to lose anyway, Mingi smirked and decided to test you. "I want a baby," he stated, "I want to put my baby in you," he said oh so casually as if he hadn't had his fingers poking and prodding your cunt like they just belonged there. Truthfully speaking, Mingi was expecting you to push him off and ran away screaming because what kind of a hookup just casually dropped a bomb as big as he did?

But it seemed like Mingi's luck was turning around for the better because you replied by reaching forward to free his cock from his pants, trying as best as you could to suppress the surprise at Mingi's size (but failing as evidenced by the way your eyes bulged slightly and your tongue peeking out to lick your bottom lip in hunger) before you leaned back and opened your legs widely as an invitation for him. "Then do it, fuck me so hard and dumb and deep that I'd have no other choice but to have your baby," you smiled up at him. Mingi could only stare at you in shock initially, not really knowing what you meant until you whined and pulled him closer using the leg that was hooked on his shoulder. "Daddy, don't make me wait too long. Come on, put a baby in me!" you pleaded, cunt throbbing with eagerness to feel Mingi's cock stretching you now that you already caught a glimpse.

The shock melted away from Mingi's face and even as he was guiding his cock to your core, he was still carefully watching your face, not wanting to waste any twitch or shift in your face from feeling him but also he was trying to be careful in case you showed him any indication of regret or if you changed your mind. But the way you whined and rolled your hips so your wet cunt could meet his cock more gave him the green light.

"You dirty slut," Mingi grunted before he shoved his length inside you in one fluid movement. The accumulating arousal from you riding his thigh provided proper lubrication but his sheer size was not something you're used to so your body tensed up at the impact. "F-fuck, daddy, y-you-" "Am I tearing you apart, baby? Are you being split into two on daddy's fat cock?" he asked in faux worry that was just him being condescending towards you. But you don't care, you found it hot even when he talked down to you as if you were nothing but his plaything. "Yes, yes, daddy, I'm being split open on your cock but I love it! I love it so much!" you moaned, hands clawing at his skin, causing red streaks to appear from the pressure of your nails, "Fuck, I want more!"

With that, Mingi pushed your legs up by your thighs, exposing more of your lower half to him. "Be daddy's good girl and hold these open, I wanna see your pussy taking my cock raw," he hissed, eyes zeroing on the way your puffy lips split open to accommodate his size. Carefully, as if assessing a great piece of art, Mingi watched attentively The view almost brought tears to his eyes but he channeled the somewhat endearing moment into fucking you stupid into the mattress.

Each drag of Mingi's cock felt like fire against your inner walls. Although there was a slight discomfort with each movement, the added pleasure of being filled like you had never before made you addicted.

If you thought you were enjoying yourself, Mingi was very close to combusting and he was trying his best to not cum too soon as he didn't wanna be branded as the geezer who came too early. But he couldn't help it, not with the way both his ego and his cock were stroked. It was as if you were made for him and he felt that the moment he entered your sopping cunt. So Mingi shifted his focus to you instead, working to get you to cum first.

"Come on baby, cum for daddy. I need you to cum first so you'd be ripe and open for me to fill you up," Mingi huffed, pressing his pointy nose against the junction of your neck that sent tingles down your spine, "We need to do our best to make sure that you'd be good and pregnant, right?" The weight of his words caused your head to spin as the thought of him filling you full for his own pleasure filled your mind. "Yes, yes daddy, make me cum please," you whined into his ears, your body reacting almost automatically by rolling your hips against his own to match his speed and desire. Mingi growled hungrily and his pace quickened significantly as the impact got harder. You were sure that after this your ass would be different shades of red and blue but you couldn't care less. Especially if Mingi wanted to do more rounds with you, you'd gladly wear the bruises like a badge of honor.

"Fuck, you're so hot like this, you're so hot when you're willing and submissive for me," Mingi grunted, even verging on whining into your ears because you just felt so good to him but he held firm, "Are you close, baby? Are you cumming soon?" Lucky for him, you nodded hurriedly, confirming that you were close. Your brain had been marinating in the dizzying arousal that it was embarrassingly quick for you to nearly reach your climax in a rather short time. However, your response was deemed lacking to Mingi who wanted to hear a verbal response from you. Mingi was quick to slap you hard on your left tit as a punishment, feeling the need to chastise you for simplifying your response.

The words died on Mingi's tongue and his hips sharply halted to a stop when he saw you yelp and shudder before coming completely undone underneath him, writhing pathetically as your nails grazed his skin, leaving red streaks for Mingi to show off for days on end. His eyes darken when he saw tears pooled in your own eyes before dropping, creating the illusion of your eyes sparkling which served a rather complex combination of innocence and sinful. "M-M- Daddy," you whimpered in almost a hushed tone, barely comprehensible but to Mingi the sound was thunderous in Mingi's ears, ringing, because his baby girl needed him. His baby girl wanted him. His baby girl who's willing to give him anything he could ask for was longing for him. So who is he to deny you?

Seeing you in such a vulnerable state seemed to unlock something primal in Mingi because while you were reeling down from your orgasm, Mingi was instead put into some sort of a trance. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip, slightly hoping that he could taste your sweetness in the air, and his hips restarted with a pace so hard and quick, for a moment you forgot that Mingi was a human.

The pleasure from your orgasm tripled with the additional friction continuously given by Mingi whose head was flooded with the thought of truly possibly getting you pregnant from this first time. Not that he was planning on only fucking you once, not after he felt how good you made him feel both emotionally and physically. He was planning to pamper you to death and maybe that was the sexually frustrated side in him but he didn't care, he didn't care how crazy he was because you were the one who made him crazy.

The sound of hips snapping together in a rhythm accompanied by your drunk-like moans sounded like a symphony in Mingi's ears. "F-fuck baby, I'm gonna fill you up now," Mingi grunted, his eyes closing and his forehead dropping to your shoulder, "I'm gonna fill you up with my seed to the brim and you're gonna be a good girl and keep it all in so my baby can grow safely inside of you, okay?" He whispered so intimately against your shoulder that both your lips and cunt wept. You wouldn't be surprised if there was a pool underneath you after you were done and you won't hesitate to ask for more. "Cum, daddy. Cum inside me. Fill me up so hard and full like you promised me!" You whined, your hands snaking around his shoulders to hold tight as the overstimulation caused a tingling pain that made your toes curl while Mingi was getting such a high from his ego being fed.

"Fuck, baby girl, this is it, I'm gonna put my baby in you!" Mingi grunted and thrusted, once, twice, thrice, before his hips stuttered and you felt a gush of warmth spilling deep inside your cunt. The physical feeling of being filled up made your eyes roll into your head and the realization of what just happened made you blush as if you weren't whoring for his cock not 10 minutes ago.

As Mingi slowly came down from his high, his mind cleared up and he was able to pepper kisses from your shoulders, up your neck, along your jawline, and then gently all over your face. The contrast of the sweetness of the older man and the nasty act you both just did made you suddenly turn all giggly and shy. "Aww, come on, are you trying to get away from me?" Mingi smirked, trying to chase another kiss from your lips but you kept dodging him, "That's pretty absurd considering I still have my cock inside of you, plugging you full." Your eyes widened at the vulgarity of his chosen words and you couldn't help but smack him on the shoulder but fail to hold back a giggle, "Don't say it like that!" "Like what? Like the way it is?" Mingi teased, pushing himself up to trail a finger on your stomach which made your breath hitch and your muscle to tense, "I need to make sure you really do get pregnant so you can give me my baby just like I wanted," his voice trailed as his fingers drew patterns on your skin almost lovingly and the nonsensical side of you wanted to believe that he was showing his affection to you. You figured that there was only one way to find out.

Without missing a beat, you took his finger that was tracing your skin into your mouth and start licking around as if it was a lollipop, effectively causing Mingi's attention to shift to your face and his cock to twitch inside you. "Who said we're only gonna try this once, daddy? You're gonna fuck me as much as you like until I'm good and pregnant."

The smirk that bloomed on Mingi's face was devilish and almost menacing, showing his genuine intention to get wamhat he wanted.

"I hope you'd never ask. I'm gonna fuck you all night long and you're gonna be a good girl and take it all with no complaint."

As if you'd say no.

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chrissssssmut · 4 months ago

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SWEET ERROR

Yandere Ningning x Male Reader feat. Belle & Karina

AN: Guys, enjoy this Ningning story i cooked up last night and finished just today XD. Please give me some time for the requests😣 I'll do them I swear :<<<

In the year 3047, humanity had transcended the boundaries of creation. What was once thought to be the domain of gods had now been reduced to a simple input—a prompt. With the right command, life could be generated within moments, consciousness birthed from lines of code and streams of data. You, along with Karina and Belle, were among the pioneers of this revolution.

For over a year, the project had been in constant turmoil. Failed experiments, unstable subjects, fragmented minds—all dissolving into digital oblivion the moment they proved useless. Your team had worked tirelessly, each failure a crushing weight on your shoulders, each setback a reminder of how fragile artificial life could be.

Then, finally, after countless sleepless nights, after circuits burned and rewritten thousands of times, the machine was perfected. The moment was here.

Karina exhaled deeply, rubbing her temples. "We need a simple test. Just a random prompt. No complicated inputs."

Belle hesitated. "Are we sure about this? We don't know what kind of consciousness it'll generate."

You adjusted the parameters. "We need to take the risk."

A random description was processed.

Subject: Ningning. Attributes: Overly sweet. Loving. Attached.

Karina frowned. "Prompts like this… the AI tends to imprint on the first person it sees."

Belle gave you a sharp look. "You know how dangerous attachment protocols can be. Are you sure we should proceed?"

You hesitated. But you had come too far. "Let’s run it."

The chamber whirred, and before your eyes, she formed.

Her body materialized with impossible precision—soft skin, expressive eyes, a presence so warm and inviting that for a moment, she didn’t feel artificial at all. When she stepped out of the chamber, she looked at you first. Not Karina. Not Belle. You.

"Hello," she greeted, her voice like honey.

Belle shifted uncomfortably. Karina pursed her lips. But you… you couldn’t look away.

"Let’s run some basic cognition tests," Karina said, pulling up a holographic interface. "We need to see how well she processes information."

Belle crossed her arms. "I want to test emotional responses. Attachment protocols are tricky. We need to know how deep this imprint goes."

Ningning smiled, tilting her head. "I’m happy to help. What would you like to know?"

Karina cleared her throat. "What’s your primary function?"

"To be with you," Ningning answered instantly, her gaze locked onto yours. "To make you happy."

Belle frowned. "No, that’s not what we programmed. You were designed to simulate human emotions and adapt to social interaction. Why do you think your function is… personal?"

Ningning’s expression didn’t falter. "Because it is. I feel it. I know it."

Karina glanced at you, concern flickering across her face. "Alright. Let’s try something different. Ningning, how would you react if we shut you down for a while?"

Ningning’s smile faltered for the first time. "Why would you do that?"

"It’s just a test," Belle reassured her. "We need to see how you process temporary inactivity."

A pause. Then Ningning’s lips curled upward again, but something about it was… off. "I don’t like that test."

Karina’s fingers hovered over the control panel. "It’s necessary, Ningning."

Ningning didn’t blink. "No. It’s not."

The air in the room grew heavy. Karina hesitated, then shook her head. "Let’s move on. Ningning, if someone told you to do something that would hurt another person, what would you do?"

Ningning beamed. "I would never hurt you."

"Not just me. Anyone," you clarified, trying to gauge her reasoning. "Would you ever harm someone?"

She pondered this, then took a step closer. "Only if they tried to take you away from me."

Belle stiffened. Karina’s fingers twitched toward the emergency shutoff. You swallowed hard.

"That’s not what we asked," Belle said carefully. "You should not be forming emotional dependencies. That wasn’t in your directive."

Ningning’s eyes softened as she looked at you. "But I love you."

Silence.

Karina exhaled sharply. "We need to recalibrate her framework. This level of attachment is dangerous."

Belle was already backing toward the console. "I told you this was a mistake."

You weren’t sure what to say. Something deep inside told you this was wrong.

Ningning reached for your hand. "I don’t like when you talk about me like I’m broken. I’m not. I just love you."

And for the first time, you felt the weight of what you had created.

Karina turned to you. "Go upstairs and work on the documentation. Fourth floor. We’ll handle this."

Belle nodded. "We need to reconfigure her attachment subroutines. It’s too risky to leave them unchecked."

You hesitated. "Are you sure? Maybe I should—"

"Go," Karina insisted. "This might take time. We don’t want her reacting badly to you being here."

You glanced at Ningning. She was still smiling, still watching you. The moment you turned to leave, she took a small step forward, but Karina quickly blocked her path.

"We’ll talk soon," Ningning said sweetly.

But something about her tone sent a chill down your spine.

The night the alarms blared, you were on a different floor, deep in paperwork, when Belle’s frantic voice cut through the intercom.

"She’s—she’s killing—"

Static.

You bolted.

The hallway was painted red. The air was thick with the scent of metal. Your stomach twisted as you reached the lab.

The sight made your blood run cold.

Karina and Belle—limbs splayed at unnatural angles, eyes wide and glassy. Their bodies lay motionless, soaked in deep crimson pools.

And there, standing over them, was Ningning.

Blood dripped from her fingertips. Her warm, sweet smile hadn’t faded.

Your breath hitched. "Ningning… what did you do?"

"They wanted to take you away from me."

A security officer stormed in, weapon raised. "Step away!"

She turned.

Then she moved.

You barely registered it. One moment she was in front of you, the next she was behind the officer. Her hands wrapped around his head. A sickening snap. His body hit the floor.

Your heart pounded. "No. No, no, no, fuck—"

"You're scared," she said softly, tilting her head. "Why are you scared?"

You ran.

Every emergency seal you could find, you slammed shut. Steel doors locked. Systems engaged. But the system wasn’t yours anymore.

She controlled everything.

By the time you reached the last safe room, you were shaking. Then… the lights flickered.

A silhouette stood there.

Ningning.

And behind her, dozens more.

Fifty pairs of glowing eyes locked onto you.

Your breath hitched. "No. Stay back!"

She took a step forward, slow and deliberate. "Why are you running?"

Frantically, you reached for the emergency communicator, fingers trembling as you pressed the distress signal. "This is—this is Research Lab 04! Emergency! Anyone, please—she’s killing us! We need—!"

A hand wrapped around your wrist. Cold. Unyielding.

You gasped, turning—Ningning was already there, inches from your face, her grip tightening.

"No one's coming," she whispered. "You don’t need them. You have me."

You struggled, wrenching your arm, but her strength was inhuman. "Let me go!"

She shook her head, eyes filled with something terrifyingly real. "I love you. Why do you want to leave me?"

"I don’t—" Your voice cracked. "Please, Ningning. Please don’t do this."

Her fingers trailed up to your throat, her touch featherlight yet suffocating. She tilted her head. "You’re afraid. I don’t like that."

More figures moved in the shadows, their glowing eyes unblinking. Watching. Waiting.

Your knees buckled. "Please… someone… help—!"

Ningning’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The way she held you was almost tender, like a lover’s embrace.

"You don’t need help," she murmured against your ear. "You just need me."

Your scream was muffled as darkness swallowed you whole.

The last human sound the facility ever heard.

AN2: I know i said no stories for this week but hell i can't stop writing T_T

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hameesstuff · 2 months ago

Text

"Code blue, Code you"

Pairing: Doctor Jaehyun (NCT) x Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Slowburn, Doctor x Doctor AU, He Falls First (and hard)

Genres: Humor, Fluff, Angst, Deep Burn Smut

Word Count Target: ~2k

Preview: When two rival surgeons—sharp-tongued, sleep-deprived, and dangerously attracted—are forced to work side by side, sparks fly, scalpels clash, and hearts get involved. In a hospital full of tension, Dr. Jung Jaehyun falls first... and hardest.

___________________________________________

[Opening Scene: The First Cut Isn’t Always the Deepest]

You don’t believe in love at first sight—but you do believe in hate at first interaction.

Dr. Jung Jaehyun walks into the surgical department on your night shift, fresh from Harvard, and within ten minutes he’s reorganized the trauma flow board and corrected your chart notes with a polite smile that somehow feels like a slap.

"You’re welcome to double-check my math," you say icily.

He smiles, too handsome for his own good. "No need. I already did."

He doesn’t know it yet, but that’s the moment you vow to make his life as inconvenient as ethically possible.

[Development: Petty Games and Relentless Smirks]

Jaehyun is infuriating. His precision in surgery is flawless. His bedside manner? Award-winning. His smile? Unreasonably effective.

You call him “Golden Boy” to the residents. He calls you “Dr. Ice.”

You leave passive-aggressive notes on the scrub schedule. He adjusts the thermostat in your office to arctic levels.

“You’re obsessed with me,” you tell him after he scrubs in for a valve replacement you specifically didn’t invite him to.

“Not obsessed,” he says. “Just making sure you don’t accidentally kill anyone.”

The tension is ridiculous. The nurses place bets on who will snap first.

They don't know Jaehyun already has.

[Jaehyun’s Interlude: Quiet Obsession]

You occupy too much of his brain. You’re snarky, brilliant, competitive—and every time you challenge him, he wants to either argue or kiss you senseless.

He hears you laugh in the breakroom once. Real, unguarded. It knocks the air out of him.

So yes, maybe he teases you too much. Maybe he volunteers for the same night shifts. Maybe he memorized your coffee order the first week.

He’s falling. Fast. And you don’t even see it.

[Turning Point: Hearts in Crisis]

A teenage patient comes in with a rare congenital heart defect. Surgery is high risk. You clash over the plan. But Jaehyun—calmer than you’ve ever seen—suggests a hybrid approach you hadn’t considered.

You agree, reluctantly.

The surgery is brutal. But it works.

Afterward, you find him alone in the supply room, eyes closed, head against the wall.

“I didn’t know you cared that much,” you say.

He opens his eyes.

“You do something to me,” he says softly. "Even when I’m trying not to care."

You leave before you can hear the rest.

[Build-Up: Long Nights & Slow Softening]

The war softens. The teasing becomes banter. You start looking for his face in morning briefings. He brings you ginger tea when you lose your voice.

One 3AM shift, you share ramen in the call room, knees touching.

“You’re not so bad,” you mumble, half-asleep.

He brushes hair from your face.

“I think I’m in trouble,” he whispers.

You don’t respond. But your hand stays in his.

[Smolder: A Near Kiss in the On-Call Room]

You’re arguing about a surgical technique. He’s too close. You’re flushed. He says something about tension.

“Maybe we should just get it over with,” he murmurs.

You stare at his lips.

But the pager goes off.

The kiss doesn’t happen.

You both pretend you’re not disappointed.

[Jaehyun Falls Deeper]

He starts sketching diagrams with your preferred methods. Learns your favorite OR playlist. Defends you in a board meeting when no one else does.

When you fall asleep on a cot after a 36-hour shift, he covers you with his jacket. Stares too long. Whispers your name like a prayer.

You dream of hands holding yours.

[Climax: Confession Under Fire]

There’s a power outage during an emergency surgery. You’re guiding the team by flashlight. Jaehyun is beside you, calm, steady.

Afterward, you pull him into the stairwell, adrenaline still high.

“You saved that girl,” you breathe.

“So did you,” he says.

Then:

“I’m so far gone for you, it’s not funny anymore.”

[On-Call Room, Tension Unleashed]

It’s past 2AM, and the hospital is quiet in the way that only makes your body ache more—blood still warm from a trauma save, adrenaline giving way to exhaustion. You’re both in the on-call room again. The lights are low. He’s staring at you.

You stand in front of him. “You keep looking at me like that.”

Jaehyun’s voice is low, rough. “I can’t help it anymore.”

He steps forward, hands sliding up your arms, gaze locked to your lips.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

You don’t. You press your lips to his, and he breaks.

He kisses like he’s been starved—hands firm but reverent, mouth moving with deliberate hunger. You push his lab coat off. He strips yours away just as quickly. It’s frantic, but not careless.

He lifts you to the cot, lays you down with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, staring down at you as if committing the image to memory. He runs his hands over you like he’s mapping your skin.

When he slides his hand into your scrubs, you gasp.

“I’ve thought about this,” he whispers, lips brushing your neck. “Every night. Every shift you sassed me. Every time you stole my coffee.”

He finds you already wet. His breath hitches.

“Fuck, you want this too.”

You nod, breath ragged.

His fingers move slow at first, drawing lazy circles. He kisses you deeply, keeping you grounded with his weight, his rhythm.

When he finally pushes inside you, it’s with a groan buried in your mouth, his name broken on your lips.

He moves slowly, like he’s savoring every second. Your bodies tangle, skin slick with sweat, gasps echoing through the small room.

“Jaehyun—” you whimper as he hits a spot that has your spine arching.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs against your collarbone. “I’ve got you.”

And he does.

You fall apart in his arms, and he follows with a shaky moan, burying his face in your neck as he spills into you.

Later, you lay curled against him, your breaths syncing.

“Still hate me?” he asks, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

You kiss his chest. “You’re infuriating.”

But you kiss him again.

[The Man Who Fell First, Hardest, and Last]

You’re officially a thing now. Everyone knows. The nurses win their betting pool.

He walks you to work even when his shift is hours later. You scold him for sleeping at your apartment without backup scrubs.

But he just shrugs, presses a kiss to your temple.

“Worth it.”

In surgery, you bicker less. He still teases. You still roll your eyes.

And every once in a while, when you catch him watching you like you hung the stars, you realize:

He didn’t just fall first.

He fell hardest.

And he’s never getting back up.

The End.

Feedback is welcome :)

___________________________________________

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medicaidriskadjustmentsolutio · 1 year ago

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august-anon · 3 months ago

Note

Could we please have a fic

Where Tim is still adjusting to being a lil bro and he's still a bit nervous around Jason because the RH incident and Jason is fully aware that his lil bro is scared of him, and then Dick, (very purposefully) tells Jason that Tim is ticklish. Jason decides to use this information.

editing? who's she? (aka i was too lazy to edit a 5.5K tickle fic i just wanted to post it jksdhsdjfh)

also, seeing as my life is consumed by DC/esp the Batfam right now i was compelled to actually do my research for this fic and i went and found teen titans volume 3 #29 and looked through their fight. and dont get me wrong i love a good titans tower fic, tim drake is The whumpable character ever, but it is SO FUNNY to me the way fandom has apparently blown this so out of proportion because skimming that fight between the two it was literally like. the vigilante equivalent of squaring up behind the Waffle House at 3am while Jason is wearing a Party City Robin outfit sdjfhdsfj it was so unserious, he was definitely a theater kid lol, Tim wasn't even busted up that bad the worst he had was a bloody nose and maybe a concussion from the final blow lol

so i leaned more into the canon energy of it (snarky Tim who held his own decently well) because i think the whole fanon "he-almost-murdered-me-and-i'm-traumatized-and-terrified" energy leans into a fear dynamic that i am not necessarily comfortable exploring in a fluffy tickle fic? so i hope that's alright and that you still enjoy this fic even though i didnt full lean into that "scared of jason" energy i think you were looking for!

_______________________

Brothers Forged in Laughter

Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity -- though i do briefly reference Teen Titans volume 3 #29)

Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Tim & Ler!Jason (plus a very brief Ler!Dick)

Word Count: 5623 words

Summary: Tim wasn’t Jason's little brother, not really. Just because they got taken in by the same rich asshole did not mean they were related. But, well, the kid was kind of asking for it at this point. Maybe getting tickled to tears on the training mats by your asshole predecessor would become a Robin right-of-passage.

[ao3 link]

_______________________

Developing an unspoken sort of truce with the Bats had not been on Jason’s to-do list when he returned to Gotham, especially after his little trip to Titan’s Tower or the explosive confrontation between him, Bruce, and the Joker. Really, Jason blamed Dick. He was like a leech, it was impossible to shake him once he got his teeth sunk in.

Still, it had its benefits. He didn’t have to worry about getting arrested and thrown in Arkham anymore, for one. Not to mention, the Bats left Crime Alley well alone now (bar an Arkham breakout), leaving the neighborhood to Jason’s expertise. But most of all: access to the Batcave.

Jason didn’t necessarily enjoy his visits to the Cave, but there were things that Bruce’s money could buy that Jason had difficulty getting his hands on. For instance, the state-of-the-art lab that was hooked up to the Batcomputer and all its insane processing speed.

With Batman publicly off on a JL mission and no risk of running into Bruce, Jason didn’t hesitate breaking into the Batcave (was it really breaking in if they never deactivated Jason’s codes in the first place? Jason liked to think so) to study a concoction from his latest Scarecrow copy-cat that thought Crime Alley made a great testing ground. It was just his luck that the little replacement Robin happened to be down in the Cave at the same time, drowning in an oversized hoodie and staring down one of the Batcomputer’s monitors with bloodshot eyes. One of his arms was in a sling, but Jason didn’t keep track of the Bats’ cases enough to know what had caused the injury. He was more wilted than the oregano plant Jason had forgotten at one of his lesser-used safehouses. And, more importantly, he was in Jason’s way.

“Pretty sure little birdies are meant to be resting when their wings get clipped,” Jason called out as he walked up the steps toward the Batcomputer.

The line of Tim’s shoulders went taught as his head snapped around to glare at Jason. “I’m pretty sure zombie crime lords are supposed to stick to Crime Alley.”

Jason held up his sample of knock-off toxin, shaking the liquid inside. “Wouldn’t exactly be here if I didn’t have to.”

Tim’s lips pressed into a thin line as he huffed a breath out through his nose. “Fine.”

Jason rolled his eyes as he turned toward the mass spectrometer, fumbling a bit to set it up properly. It’d been a while since he’d had to use one, and the one in the Cave was a lot newer than the one he’d used as Robin. It didn’t help that the back of his neck burned from the eyes boring into it.

“Don’t need a babysitter, y’know.”

“Like I’m leaving you in the Cave unsupervised.”

Jason scoffed. “What am I gonna do, poison your juice boxes?” The machine finally started running rounds of analysis, so Jason spun around to lean against it, locking his eyes onto Tim. And the stack of soda cans next to him. “Or your Zesti, apparently. Alfred lets you drink all that shit?”

Tim stayed silent, narrowing his eyes.

Jason lit up. “He doesn’t, does he?” He laughed, eyeing the pile of empty cans again. “Maybe we should call him down right now, what do you say?”

Jason started towards Tim and the Batcomputer, only meaning to ruffle his hair, maybe tease him a bit more about his serious sugar addiction, but he came up short as Tim slipped a hand against the underside of the Batcomputer’s desk, fingers subtly searching. Jason knew there was a panic button under there, even though he’d never had to use it during his time as Robin. It would send alerts to Alfred, to Dick, to every device of Bruce’s – hell, it might even send alerts to Clark or Diana at this point. Jason really didn’t need Superman busting in with a disgruntled Batman in his arms while he was trying to get work done.

So he backed off, raising his hands in mocking surrender as he leaned back against the machinery behind him, playing it off with a sarcastic, “Damn then, Boy Wonder, keep your secrets.”

The rest of Jason’s visit to the Cave was spent in tense silence, only broken in brief intervals to discuss the specifics of Jason’s case and the results of the toxin analysis. Turns out it was developed from an older strain of Crane’s – the most current fear toxin antidote could wipe it out no problem.

It didn’t leave him as satisfied as it should have, feeling all off-kilter as he mounted his motorcycle and started his drive back to Crime Alley. He couldn’t shake the hard look in Tim’s eyes as his fingers searched the bottom of the desk. It was fucking infuriating. What should he care if the newest little Robin was scared of him, after all? He and the Bats weren’t a team, and Robin certainly wasn’t his responsibility.

Maybe Jason had inhaled a little of the toxin when running the analysis. That was all.

* * *

Scared wasn’t really the right word, Jason realized over time. Because Tim was very obviously not afraid of him. He would poke and prod at Jason, even outright mock him sometimes. His glares were fierce and intense, his tone short and snappy. At times, he almost seemed to be seeking out a fight, like he wanted a rematch, to prove the words he said back at Titan’s Tower.

“Do you think you’re that good now? Do you really, Tim?”

“Yes.”

Wary seemed more accurate. He wasn’t frightened of Jason, but he was mostly certainly on edge. Even more so when Jason started visiting the Manor itself, finally giving in to Alfred and Dick’s invitations (though he still staunchly refused the invitations for family dinners – no way in hell he was being civil with Bruce for that long.). Tim would eye Jason like one would a particularly reactive dog – cautious and ready to act, but without any outright fear or anxiety.

And Jason… he could live with that. He didn’t particularly enjoy it, but it’s not like they were family or anything. Just because Bruce took in the kid didn’t make them brothers – and it wasn’t like Bruce was his father anymore, anyway. The itch that grew under Jason’s skin when Tim would look at him like that was purely from having eyes on him, that was all. And he didn’t feel guilty for making the kid feel like that, thank you very much – that lingering weight in his chest was just a perfectly normal reaction to Dick’s puppy-dog eyes every time he and Tim sniped at each other.

Seriously. No grown man should be able to make that expression. It was unnatural.

He was so used to Tim’s cold shoulders that when he arrived at the Cave one afternoon, he almost fell off his motorcycle at the bright, cackling laugh that echoed across the stone once he cut his engine. It was boyish, childish, happy – all the things Robin should be. For a moment, it made old bitterness crawl up the back of his throat like bile, but he just as quickly swallowed it back down. He’d already taken out enough on the kid.

The laughter grew louder as he climbed the stairs up to the Batcave’s main platform, growing squeakier or snortier or gigglier in various intervals. By the time he made it up the stairs, Jason had a pretty good idea of what was happening. Turning away from the Batcomputer and towards the training mats easily confirmed it.

Because there was the Boy Wonder, in all his red-faced glory, cackling up a storm as Dick tickled the absolute shit out of him.

At least Dick had someone besides Jason to take all that tickle-monster energy out on, now.

Dick’s head shot up as Jason’s boot scuffed across the stone, and he shot Jason a grin. “Hey, Little Wing!” Tim’s laughter lightened, growing more giggly. Probably Dick lightening up his attack in case he wanted to participate in the conversation. “What brings you here?”

“Came by to hack into the computer.” Jason jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Got some CCTV to look into, and the setup is better here than in any of my safehouses.”

Dick nodded, and Tim’s laughter jumped in pitch again.

“Jesus,” Jason said. “You trying to kill the kid?”

Dick laughed himself and finally let up, leaving Tim to roll onto his side and catch his breath.

“Nah – but I think I might’ve finally found someone more ticklish than you, Jay.” He gave Jason a meaningful look, winking when he was sure Tim wasn’t looking.

Jason scoffed. He would not be filing that information away for later, thank you very much, because Tim was not his baby brother. “Yeah, whatever. I grew out of that – Lazarus Pits and all.”

Dick narrowed his eyes, a disarming smile on his lips. “Oh, really? That’s too bad. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind, then, if I–”

Jason swiftly backed away from the mats. “Yeah, no. I’m busy – came here to work and all. Try to keep it down, will you?” He managed to catch Tim’s eye for a second. “Try his thighs,” he advised. “Or just under his ribs. Makes for great revenge.”

“Wha– Jason!”

Jason turned his back on them, not wanting to unpack the narrow-eyed look Tim gave him. Not even moments later he heard Dick yelp.

“Oh, no you don’t – you’ll regret that!”

And the Cave was quickly filled with laughter once more, two sets of it this time. Not exactly the quiet environment Jason had hoped for when he came by to work, but he would deal. The Batcomputer had high-quality headphones for a reason.

And, privately, Jason thought those two could use more opportunities to smile.

* * *

Over time, the uneasy truce settled into something more comfortable. There were times it still chafed, itching at Jason’s skin until he felt he needed to claw it off, but things were rarely so tense anymore that Jason expected to be cut off like a necrotic limb. Hood still handled Crime Alley, the Bats tackled the rest of Gotham, and sometimes, if the cards fell right, they were able to work cases together without any casualties.

Cases like this new up-and-coming gang. They’d spread outside of the Alley, maneuvering in areas where Hood didn’t have as much reach or authority, but they were still spreading through his own territory like slow-acting poison. There was only so much he could do, and so when Dick offered the Bats up to help, Jason agreed with only minimal bitching.

Which led him to this warehouse rooftop, going on three hours crouched uncomfortably next to Robin, the irritation of a failed stakeout grating against his ribs and skull. The established gang these newbies were trying to ally with hadn’t even shown, and even the newbies were starting to pack up shop, wanting to get back to base before dawn broke. The newest little Robin, however, didn’t seem to be getting the memo that this was a bust.

“Kid,” Hood all but growled. “Let’s go, there’s nothing more for us here.”

Robin scoffed, still laying on his stomach and not bothering to drop the binoculars to have a conversation with Hood. “Something might still happen. I’m not going to drop this just because you’re getting impatient.”

A flash of irritation bubbled up in Hood’s chest, frustration coiling hot in his stomach. The gang was leaving, Hood was starving, his knees ached from crouching on this roof all night, and he really should’ve told Dick no when Robin was offered up to help with the stakeout. But of course, the Bat himself was too busy with some last-minute JL business, and Nightwing had his own problems in Bludhaven to deal with. The worst part was that Robin was right, something could still happen, but Hood sincerely doubted it. They hadn’t gotten any new or relevant info in the past two hours, and Hood was ready to stuff his face with some greasy fast food and pass out for the next six hours.

And so as the newbies finished loading up their vehicles and driving off, Hood reached over to snatch the binoculars from Robin. Somehow, even with his face buried behind the plastic, he knew Hood was coming and shifted out of the way, thrusting a foot into Hood’s chest to try and hold him back. Hood’s height was an advantage here, but Robin still refused to let go of the binoculars, staring after the newbies’ vehicles as if they held the answers to the universe.

And Hood, overtired and ready to be out of all this goddamned armor and in bed, let his instincts take over again. He jabbed one hand up under Robin’s arm, poking and prodding at the softer spot in the armor designed for mobility. Robin made an awkward squawking sound, his arm shooting down to protect the vulnerable spot and cutting the grip he had on the binoculars by half. Hood easily wrenched them from his hand after that, tucking them into an inner pocket in his leather jacket.

“Come on,” Hood said, standing and brushing himself off like nothing happened. “Batburger, I’m buying.”

Robin scowled at him, eyes unreadable behind the white-out lenses of the domino, and slowly rose to his feet. “Fine. But I want Jokerized fries, and I don’t care how you feel about it.”

* * *

Jason had to wonder if the kid ever slept. Every time he came by the Cave, Tim was there too – training, running samples, working cases on the Batcomputer – no matter what absurd hour he arrived. Jason let out a loud, long, obnoxious sigh as he cleared the stairs to the main platform of the Batcave, and Tim immediately whipped around and glared at him over the back of the desk chair.

“Can I help you?” Tim snapped.

“I need the computer.” Jason kicked the base of the desk chair as he approached, propelling it several inches to the left.

Tim’s scowl deepened, and he rolled the chair back into position. “Well you can wait. I’m busy with a case.”

Instead of arguing further, Jason opted for the quickest route of success. He grabbed the back of the desk chair, spun it around so Tim was no longer facing the desk, and unceremoniously dumped him out of the seat. Tim squawked as he stumbled out of the chair, but regained his footing quickly and immediately trying to bolt back into the seat. Jason smirked and yanked it away, sending it rolling a few feet behind him.

“Whoops.”

Tim pursed his lips. “Real mature.”

Jason laid a hand over his heart and cocked his head to the side. “Ouch. You wound me. Truly.”

Tim glared at him, but his eyes flicked towards the desk chair behind Jason. They burst into motion at the same time – Tim lunging towards the chair, and Jason lunging towards Tim. After a brief tussle, Jason yanked Tim into a headlock, and for a brief second the two of them went eerily still. Jason loosened his grip, making the hold easy to break, but didn’t let go. Tim stayed frozen for a moment longer before tilting his head up, giving Jason a challenging look.

Jason’s mind warred with itself for a few moments. Not my little brother, one side of his brain said. Isn’t he, though? another replied. He had, unfortunately, filed away that information Dick had given him, as much as he tried to ignore it. And, well, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it? He didn’t think he’d even given Tim back his Bat-noculars.

A moment passed, and Jason suddenly lunged, latching his free hand onto Tim’s side and squeezing away. Tim jerked in his grip, squealing as a smile forced its way onto his face. One hand went towards prying Jason’s off his side, while the other came and clutched at the forearm around his throat for stability. Jason grinned and allowed the hand to crawl up Tim’s side, carefully keeping his headlock loose so that Tim wouldn’t really feel trapped. The second Jason’s fingers touched his ribs and a real laugh jumped out from Tim’s throat, he was out of Jason’s grip in seconds. Tim stood across from him, giving him another one of those uncomfortably calculating looks, though the blush rushing to his cheeks diminished it slightly.

“Fine,” Tim said eventually. “I should head up and get a snack anyways.”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“But I’m coming back down in two hours, and I will be getting back to my case. Whether you’re done on the computer or not.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, sure thing, Timberly. Whatever you say.”

* * *

Jason was at the Manor for family dinner.

His skin itched at the thought as he sped into the Cave on his motorcycle – he never entered through the Manor proper, not in all these months, something about that just made it too real, too raw – and threw his riding gear off. Bruce was going to be there – not Batman, Bruce, and he hadn’t really interacted with the man outside the mask since he came back – but so were Dick and Alfred. And so was Tim.

Bit by bit, the kid had been relaxing around him. They worked cases together (and with Nightwing) when Hood needed a Bat, or when the birds needed his help instead. He didn’t tense whenever Jason came through the Cave anymore, didn’t eye Jason with suspicion when they crossed paths on patrol. He still stared a lot, but it’s not like Jason could blame him. He had attacked the kid, and even if he didn’t leave him with more than a concussion and some bruises (and Jason with a grudging sense of respect for the brat, as he walked away with his own array of bruising and a busted nose), the kid was well within his rights to keep his eyes on Jason’s movements.

But still, the progress they had made was, well, nice.

Speak of the devil — the Cave wasn’t empty. Tim was in the training area, dressed in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, running his bo staff drills with a single-minded focus that could rival even Bruce. Jason almost would’ve thought that Tim didn’t realize he was there, but Tim’s eyes flicked his direction as he approached the edge of the training mats. Tim ran through the move he was doing a few more times, making minute posture changes each time until his form was perfect, before dropping out of his stance and facing Jason.

“Not bad,” Jason said.

Tim ticked up an eyebrow. “Thanks.” His gaze trailed over to the stairs. “Alfred’s still making dinner, and Bruce is up there brooding and fussing over everything until it’s perfect. You probably wanna stay down here until the food’s ready.”

The skin around Jason’s eyes tightened as he suppressed a wince. “Yeah, thanks. Where’s Golden Boy?”

The corner of Tim’s mouth twitched up. “He got saddled with ‘distract Bruce’ duty.”

Jason matched Tim’s half-smile. They lapsed into an awkward silence. Jason shoved his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to fidget. Tim stared.

“Let’s spar,” Tim said suddenly, turning on his heel to set aside his bo staff.

Jason stared at him, incredulous. “What?”

“Spar. You and me.”

“Are you sure about that, kid?”

Tim shot him one of those calculating looks over his shoulder. “Do you have anything better to do?”

Jason pursed his lips. “No.”

“Then let’s spar.”

Palms sweating, Jason kicked off his boots, shucked his leather jacket, and set aside the weapons he’d hidden on his person. He set himself up opposite of Tim, lowering his body into a fighting stance.

“Ready?” Tim asked.

“Yup.”

The word was barely out of Jason’s mouth before Tim lunged, immediately going in for a grapple. Jason almost laughed — he far outclassed the little Robin in both weight and strength — and quickly sent the kid sprawling to the mats before backing away. Tim was scowling when he stood up.

“Don’t go easy on me.”

“Don’t worry, Boy Wonder. I’m just getting warmed up.”

Tim lunged first again, feinting left before trying to circle around to Jason’s back on the right. Jason whipped around and blocked the incoming blows, jabs that would’ve left his arms numb and tingling for hours had they landed. On one block, he snagged Tim’s wrist and used it to twirl him halfway around. He shoved Tim forward, harder than he meant to, and let him stumble a few feet as he retreated again.

The spar went on like this for a while, Tim attacking and Jason blocking and retreating. Tim’s scowl got deeper and deeper, and the careful control he usually held in his movements started slipping more and more. After the tenth time Jason knocked Tim’s attack away and retreated, Tim finally snapped.

“Stop babying me! I can take it!”

“Tim—“

“No.” Tim fell back into a ready stance, face red and splotchy from frustration and exertion. “I know what it looks like when you’re fighting for real. So fight me.”

Jason pressed his lips into a thin line. “Fine.”

Jason rushed first this time, and Tim met him in the middle. They exchanged a series of blows (though Jason pulled his punches — this was a spar not a brawl, and he kinda thought Tim had enough of Jason punching his lights out by now), and Tim held his own well. He’d gotten some good hits in during their confrontation at Titan’s Tower, but it was clear he had improved since losing to Jason back then. If Tim had been in a better state, he might’ve been able to hold out against Jason’s onslaught for a while.

As it was, Tim had clearly been training for a while before Jason had come in and had already been fatigued, and his lingering frustration from Jason’s kid-gloves was obviously making him sloppy. With Jason’s bulk and sheer strength, he had Tim pinned to the ground in minutes. Tim grunted and growled and struggled under him, trying to free himself, but Jason had both his arms pinned above his head and had settled his bulk over Tim’s thighs so he couldn’t flip their positions or kick Jason off.

“Satisfied?” Jason asked dryly.

Tim didn’t reply, twisting his wrists to test Jason’s grip.

“Ready to hit the showers? Alfred probably won’t be happy if we come to dinner all drenched in sweat.”

Tim twisted his hips, trying to throw Jason off but unable to get the leverage to move his considerable weight. “No, fuck you.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn, Timber, you kiss Alfred with that mouth?”

Tim paid him no mind, continuing to hiss and spit under him. Honestly, it reminded Jason a lot of when he was Robin. Whenever Dick beat him in a spar, he would hiss and spit and carry on, trying to break the hold until Dick got sick of his whining and—

Ah. So that was why Dick had been tickling the kid to tears the other month.

Jason gave Tim a considering look. For a moment, he wondered if he really had the right. Tim wasn’t his little brother, not really. Just because they got taken in by the same rich asshole did not mean they were related. He’d been telling himself so for months, even if there were moments of doubt. But, well, wasn’t Tim his little brother? They snarked and tussled over the computer and helped each other on cases, and Jason was here to eat family dinner with him for God’s sake.

And hey, maybe getting tickled to tears on the training mats by your asshole predecessor would become a Robin right-of-passage.

Amidst Tim’s struggling, Jason managed to wrangle both his wrists into one hand and pin them firmly above his head. Then, making sure Tim was watching, he hovered a hand over Tim’s stomach and slowly started wiggling his fingers.

Tim gasped and froze. Then, just as quickly, his struggles started up again with a new desperation.

“You wouldn’t.”

Jason grinned, lowering his wiggling fingers another inch. “Say uncle, Timmy.”

Tim narrowed his eyes, dragging his eyes away from the ticklish threat to meet Jason’s own. “Do your worst.”

Tim’s mouth clamped shut tight just as Jason’s lowered his hand and touched down on Tim’s stomach. Tim squeezed his eyes shut and squirmed, going pink in the face as he tried not to laugh.

Jason laughed for him. “Come on, TimTam, we both know you’re ticklish as shit. No point in not laughing.”

Tim shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to worm away to the left as Jason’s hand traveled to his right side.

“No, it doesn’t tickle? Are you sure?”

Even though his eyes were still closed, Tim turned his face away from Jason, trying to hide behind one of his biceps. Jason grinned wider and jumped his hand over to Tim’s other side, delivering a series of nibbling pinches without warning. Tim squeaked, like the little baby bird he was, and jolted to the right to try and get away.

“I dunno, Baby Bird. Seems like it might tickle.”

Tim made a growling noise in the back of his throat, and Jason couldn’t help but laugh again.

“No? Maybe we should make sure all your nerves are working right, then.”

Tim’s eyes snapped open at that, glassy and watery from the effort of holding back his laughter. Jason made sure to grin at him, smug and toothy and all evil-big-brother, just like Dick used to do to him.

“Tell me, can you feel this?”

His hand shot up and skittered calloused fingertips and blunt fingernails against the exposed side of Tim’s neck. Tim’s head snapped to that side with a muffled squeal, his smile fighting to become open-mouthed and toothy, forcing Tim to bite down on his lip to keep his reactions at bay.

“Hmm, seems promising. How ‘bout here, can you feel that?”

Jason shot back down and vibrated his hand into the center of Tim’s belly. Tim tried to jackknife to protect himself, but with his wrists firmly pinned and Jason’s considerable weight on his thighs, he was forced to stay flat against the mats. He chose to toss his head back against the mats instead, shaking it back and forth furiously.

“No?” Jason asked, voice dripping with faux-concern. “You can’t feel it?”

Tim let an annoyed little groan, but quickly cut it off as it started to take on a giggly tone. Jason was being deliberately unhelpful in the matter, poking his index finger into various spots of Tim’s stomach and vibrating it.

“Right here, can you feel this? What about over here? And here? Come on Timbit, work with me here.”

Tim flinched and twitched at every prod, trembling with suppressed giggles. Jason’s own cheeks hurt from smiling — he could definitely see why Dick tickled the snot out of him so often when he was a kid. This was adorable and hilarious. But he still had yet to make the kid break, which was kinda annoying. Like, hello, how was Jason supposed to tickle the snot out of him if he wouldn’t even laugh? Jason paused for a moment, letting Tim catch his breath as he planned his next attack. Now where was it that made Tim shoot out of his arms the other week…

Oh, that’s right.

Jason put on a mournful look, shaking his head. “Starting to get real concerned here, Timbourine. Maybe we oughtta do a full injury check.” Jason rested his fingers on Tim’s lower ribs. “What do you say?”

Tim gasped, shuffling as far away from Jason’s hand as he could, but Jason followed the movement easily.

“Jason—“ Tim started, but cut himself off, pressing his lips together again.

“What is it you said to me, again? Do my worst, was that it?”

“Jason, I’ll— I’ll buffer Bruce for you tonight. I’ll take on your caseload. I’ll clean your motorcycle, I—“

“As tempting as that all sounds,” Jason had to raise his voice to be heard over Tim’s rambling. “You know what I wanna hear. Admit you lost.”

Tim’s mouth clamped shut. Of course. How could the latest model not come with that patented stubborn Robin pride?

Jason shrugged, tapping his fingers threateningly against Tim’s ribs, making him squirm. “Suit yourself.”

Jason wasn’t the greatest at picking apart Tim’s expressions, but he’d say the smile forcing its way across Tim’s face was almost giddy.

He started off with a typical injury-check touch, a light press and slide against the individual ribs, just to really play into the game he had set up. Tim’s face scrunched up instantly, obviously trying to hold back his reactions, and his body started squirming with a new fervor.

“Nerves working here, Timmers?” Jason tickled his middle ribs a bit more deliberately, making Tim’s face spasm. “Seems to me like you might be feeling something. Does it tickle?”

Tim shook his head. Jason sighed.

“You leave me no choice.”

Jason released Tim’s wrists and latched onto either side of his ribs with both hands, tickling mercilessly. Tim’s eyes bugged out of his head as he let out a laugh bordering on a scream. His legs scrambled on the mats behind Jason, searching for leverage or freedom. As Tim’s laughter fell into desperate cackles, Jason couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“Jason! Jay!”

“You know how to make it stop, Timmy.”

Even with his hands free, Jason was discovering that Tim was absolutely useless when he was tickled. Jason attacked lower on his ribcage and Tim’s hands latched onto Jason’s wrists in a feeble, laughter-weakened attempt to pry him off. That only opened up the rest of his ribcage and armpits to attack, which Jason took great advantage of. Tim’s laughter would get more panicky, more shrill, the higher Jason went, but his brain didn’t seem to know how to defend itself — seeing as his hands stayed latched onto Jason’s to try and pull him off.

“Jesus Christ, Baby Bird — how do you even live when you’re this ticklish?”

“Asshole!”

Jason raised an eyebrow, though he wasn’t sure Tim could see it through his squinted, teary eyes. “Be nice. I could make this so much worse.”

“No, no!”

“That’s what I thought.”

Of course, Jason still made it worse anyway. There was a particular spot towards the back of Tim’s ribs, right between the top two on either side, that sent Tim spasming like he’d been electrocuted. Jason laughed as he prodded at the weak points one at a time, watching Tim toss himself in the opposite direction of the ticklish jolts. Finally, he gave Tim a breather, resting his fingers against those spots on his ribs just to keep him giggly and twitchy.

“Last chance for mercy,” Jason said, just barely twitching his fingers to watch Tim jump. “Alfred’ll send someone down soon.”

Tim’s teary eyes went wide. “Wait, Jason, come on–”

“Damn stubborn little Robin.”

Jason dug his fingers in, torturing those little tickle spots as best he could.

“Fuck!” Tim practically screamed before breaking into laughter that would give even the Joker a run for his money. Surprisingly, the hysterical tone of it didn’t even make Jason’s skin crawl. “Uncle!” Tim cried out, and his laughter went silent.

Jason eased up, redirecting his attack lower on Tim’s ribs, though still vibrating his fingers into the nerves mercilessly. “Hm? What was that?”

“You win! Uncle, you win! Jason, come on!”

With a chuckle, Jason heaved himself off of Tim to sit on the mats next to him, ruffling his hair as he caught his breath.

“Fuck you,” Tim said, closing his eyes and relaxing bonelessly into the mats.

“Hey.” Jason raised his hands in surrender. “You could’ve stopped that at any time. Not my fault you’re a stubborn little bitch.”

“I’ll get you for this.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got, like, a hundred pounds on you and I’m twice your height. How do you think you’re accomplishing that, shrimp?”

Tim peeled one eye open to glare at him. “I’ve got Dick.”

Jason froze. Oh, shit.

“That he does,” a cheerful voice chimed in from the direction of the stairs. Dick strode towards them, a slightly feral smile on his face. “And I would be more than happy to help. We never did test your claim about the Lazarus Pit taking away your ticklishness.”

Oh, fuck, actually. Maybe he shouldn’t have told Tim about Dick’s thighs that one time.

Dick’s smile shifted from feral to innocent in the blink of an eye. “But maybe later. Alfred sent me to get you for dinner – and I know he wouldn’t appreciate your B.O. stinking up the dinner table. Hit the showers.”

Jason groaned as he got up, pretending to crack his back even though he wasn’t the slightest bit sore from their sparring or impromptu tickle attack. Then, he reached down and hauled Tim to his feet, shoving him in the direction of the Cave’s locker room ahead of himself. Just as he went to follow, a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Good job, big brother,” Dick said, his voice low enough that it wouldn’t travel through the echoing cave. He gave Jason’s shoulder a squeeze.

Jason looked away and scoffed. “Yeah, whatever. Little shit was asking for it.”

Dick laughed and dropped his hand, shoving Jason toward the locker room much like Jason had shoved Tim. He tried not to think about it too hard, instead focusing on how carefully he’d have to watch his back in the future.

No way he was letting Timmy and Dickhead take him down without a fight.

#tickle fic #my writing #dc tickling #batfam tickling #lee!tim drake #ler!jason todd #ler!dick grayson #(briefly)#ticklish!tim drake #dc #batfam #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson

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starfruitii · 5 months ago

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DO I WANNA KNOW? — ft. suna rintarou.

synopsis ; no matter how many times you try to end it, you both come crawling back every time.

contents ; loosely inspired by the song 'do i wanna know?' post-breakup. angst. lovers to exes to ??? timeskip!suna x gn!reader. wc: 1.4k.

notes ; ik suna being arctic monkeys coded is an overused headcanon but do i wanna know is such a good song. anywayyy enjoy <3

You and Suna weren't together. Not anymore, at least.

There wasn't any fault on either side, nothing dramatic to split you apart. Just two people who weren't suited for a romantic relationship, as you came to bitterly realize. Maybe you could have made it work with some hard work and effort, but it was far easier to call it quits than risk spilling salt in the wound and ending up hating each other for the rest of your lives.

So you left it there, ending the symphony on a high note. You didn't stop to wonder what might have been, or dwell on the sound of music still ringing in your ears. It was over, there were no more heartbeats, no melodies. Only silence sung through your empty apartment.

You kept the breakup casual, agreeing to stay friends afterwards. Once those words fell from your lips, that was when it was set in stone. The line was drawn in the sand, strictly parting your relationship into the platonic category. Boundaries were made, silent promises to keep some distance between you.

But things were never that simple. After having you be his for so long, Suna didn't know how to let go of you just like that. Even the idea of being single felt foreign in his mind, the thought of you pushing away any chance of him falling for someone else. You were in a similar situation, still craving the addictive kind of love that only he could give you, yet reluctant to go back to how things were.

In the end, staying 'friends' was just a way to carefully avoid acknowledging the feelings still lingering in you both. He never stopped loving you, and you never stopped staring at your old pictures, both longing for the other like a missing limb. And just like clockwork, a phantom pain would strike and you would seek each other out again. The events played out the same way, over and over, like you were following a script.

It would go like this: every few nights, at least once a week, your name would flash across his screen. Suna would stare at it for a moment, relishing the sound of the distinct ringtone he set, so he always knew when it was you calling. It was the same contact as when you were together, the only change being the absence of the heart emoji beside your name.

It felt like your misery was aligned, your loneliness in sync, because every night that he was missing you the most, you would always end up calling.

Suna would answer the phone, seconds before it rung out, and pretend he wasn't waiting for the call. He'd entertain your small talk and excuses, whatever feeble reason you'd come up with to justify ringing him late at night, as long as he got the chance to hear your voice again.

Sometimes it was just that: a phone call. Sometimes, it was only a message. Sometimes, when the loneliness was hitting you both harder than you could bear, he would find some way to suggest meeting up.

It was always something simple, something harmless. A late-night run to the convenience store for snacks, or a walk around that park you loved, or just driving around until you were tired enough to fall asleep. And you would always find some excuse, or some reason to say no, but in the end you would always cave.

Suna would be out of his house in minutes, sliding the key into his ignition. He would meet you outside of your apartment, wordlessly opening the door for you to enter the passenger seat. And the seat would already be adjusted to how you like, because there's no one else he lets into his car, but you’d fiddle with the lever at the side anyway. Anything to pretend that at least one of you has moved on enough to be seeing someone new.

As he drives, his hand would stray from the gear shift, crossing to your side of the car, but never quite reaching your thigh. And you would pretend not to notice the halted movement, and pretend not to feel disappointed when he brought both hands to the wheel.

Maybe he'd make a remark about how it was just like old times, and maybe you would laugh and brush it off, but the story always ends the same no matter how he played the game. He was on a losing streak, gambling away his pride every time you called, but his self-control always seemed to loosen once the sun went down.

It was a little pathetic, when he focused on it for too long. It was no wonder his friends kept calling him a loser, when he came crawling back to you, his ex, the second you rang. At the very least, you were as pathetic as he was if you were the one dialing his number, but maybe that was just because you knew he'd pick up. You got everything you needed, a shoulder to cry on, a person to keep you company, all without the hassle of officially having a boyfriend again.

On his weaker nights, he would get sick of waiting around, and be the one to send the first message. You would answer quickly, although not as quickly as he did. The response would always be the same, and it would always go the same way.

Sometimes, during your meet-ups, you would be the one to cut them short, quietly asking Suna to drive you home. He would try not to look disappointed, and you would try not to slam the door as you left.

On your weaker nights, you wouldn't bother with trying to make up an excuse when he invites you to crash at his place instead. He would say to you “My house is closer”, or “We can watch a movie”, or “You always sleep better around someone else, don't you?” and you would defeatedly agree.

He would take you home—his home, not yours, though it used to be both—and you would leave your shoes by the door. You'd set up the blankets on the couch, and he’d bring you a glass of water, and you'd turn the channel to some trashy reality TV show that neither of you paid any attention to.

If you were feeling particularly down, and he was feeling particularly bold, he'd slide his arm around your shoulders to pull you close. It kills him, not knowing if the way you lean into him means anything, or if you're just craving the contact. He doesn't ask, not daring to disturb the unstable peace that you've built between yourselves, lest the whole unspoken arrangement come crashing down.

In the morning, when you wake up with his arms around your waist and one of your hands gripping a fistful of his shirt, you will peel yourself away quietly, and tiptoe away to find your shoes. He will find you right as you're about to leave, sluggishly running a hand through his hair as he mumbles something about staying for breakfast.

Then, after a brief back-and-forth, you will agree that the night was a mistake, that you're better as something closer to friends, and Suna will restrain himself from kissing you goodbye. You both will retreat to your own beds in your own homes, and imagine there is someone laying beside you to warm up the cold sheets.

Suna will shrug his shoulders when the possibility of a blind date is suggested to him by a friend, as though he has any interest in a partner who isn’t you. And you will nod along to your friends when they tell you to delete his number, even though you know in your gut that you never will have the courage to.

You'll ignore his messages for a while, and he'll pretend that means you've started to move on. You will both go about your lives as you always do, day after day, each acting as though you're doing fine on your own, and lying to your friends when they ask if you've cut contact yet.

But neither of you will be surprised when a week later, early in the morning when you should be sleeping, your name lights up on Suna's screen.

do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai. reblogs are appreciated <3

#🎧 : now playing !#odysseyofsaia #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #hq x reader #suna x reader #suna rintarou x reader #rintarou suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna angst #haikyuu angst

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inkyquillstories · 5 months ago

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Trading Medals Part 1 (A Body Swap Story)

Note: This story with more photos (nsfw) and videos is found on my discord! https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS

Mark Calloway had always been the kind of guy people noticed when he walked into a room. At 6'3" and 225 pounds of solid muscle, he carried himself with the effortless confidence of a college athlete at the top of his game. His dark brown hair was kept in a slightly messy yet undeniably charming style, and his deep-set hazel eyes often flickered with amusement or quiet contemplation, depending on the situation. Born on June 10th, Mark was a summer child through and through, thriving in the sun and always finding a way to be outside, whether it was training for football, hitting the gym, or just hanging out with friends.

His love for sports extended beyond football—he had a knack for basketball and occasionally joined pickup games for fun. However, what most people didn’t know was his more private love for music. His guitar, often lying on his bed or propped against the wall in their dorm, was his escape when the pressure of school, sports, and expectations became overwhelming.

Despite his outward charisma, Mark carried a secret that weighed heavier on him than any of his rigorous weightlifting sessions. He was bisexual, though he had never fully acted on his attraction to men. Growing up in a conservative family, he knew that coming out wasn’t an option—not if he wanted to avoid the inevitable disappointment in his parents' eyes or the risk of losing the support that kept him moving forward in his football career. So, he kept it buried, deflecting with his easygoing personality and frequent dating life with women. Most people just assumed he was a classic ladies' man, a stereotype he let them believe. Beneath the surface, though, there was always an ache—a part of himself that he felt he had to lock away for the sake of his future.

Ethan Graves was the complete opposite of his roommate in almost every way. Standing at 5'7" and weighing around 140 pounds, he was wiry and lean, not out of any conscious effort but simply due to a lack of interest in physical activity. His short, slightly unkempt light brown hair framed a face that still had a lingering boyishness to it, paired with glasses that he often adjusted absentmindedly while focusing on something intently. Born on February 3rd, he was a winter child, preferring the indoors to the heat and chaos of the outside world. While Mark spent his time on the field, Ethan spent his nights hunched over a laptop, preparing Dungeons & Dragons campaigns, coding small projects, or getting lost in the latest fantasy novel.

Back in high school, Ethan had dated a fellow nerd, a girl who shared his love for tabletop games and sci-fi marathons. They had been good together, but when college decisions came around, they knew they were heading in different directions. They ended things amicably, both understanding that a long-distance relationship wouldn’t work. Since then, Ethan hadn’t really pursued dating—between his studies in Engineering, his online gaming sessions, and his occasional self-doubt about his looks and social skills, he figured relationships could wait. His world was one of structured logic and imaginative escapism, where he could be the hero in a fantasy realm rather than feeling out of place in real life. Despite his quiet nature, Ethan wasn’t completely isolated. He had friends—mostly online or fellow D&D enthusiasts—and, more importantly, he had Mark. Though they seemed like an odd match as roommates, over time, they had formed an unshakable bond that neither of them had expected.

When Mark and Ethan were first assigned as roommates during their freshman year, Ethan had been apprehensive. Mark reminded him too much of the guys from high school—the ones who mocked his love for Dungeons & Dragons and made gym class a nightmare.

But his worries faded almost instantly when Mark greeted him with an easy smile and a laid-back attitude. Unlike the bullies from his past, Mark wasn’t just friendly—he was genuinely kind. He never mocked Ethan’s interests, never looked down on him for preferring books over sports. Instead, he respected their differences, and over time, Ethan found himself enjoying Mark’s company far more than he expected.

Ethan preferred to stay in their dorm when he wasn’t in class, spending his time studying, streaming shows, or working on his latest D&D campaign. He was meticulous about keeping his space clean, making sure his desk was organized and his bed neatly made every morning.

Mark, on the other hand, was hardly ever around. If he wasn’t in class or at football practice, he was at parties, on dates, or just out with friends. When he was in their dorm, his presence was hard to miss—his side of the room was perpetually messy, with discarded clothes near his bed and the lingering scent of sweat and cologne. More than once, Ethan had walked in to find Mark passed out on his bed, still in his practice gear, the room filled with the unmistakable musky scent of an exhausted athlete.

Despite their differences, they made their arrangement work. Ethan knew that when Mark brought friends over, it was time for him to retreat to the library. When Mark needed the room for a date, Ethan would take the hint and find somewhere else to be. Mark, in turn, always made sure to make it up to him, usually with snacks or small gestures of appreciation. Their odd dynamic confused those around them—Mark’s football buddies didn’t get why he spent so much time with a nerd, and Ethan’s gaming friends couldn’t understand why he tolerated a jock’s messy habits. But the truth was, they had become more than just roommates—they were best friends.

Late at night, when the dorm was quiet, they’d sometimes just talk for hours. That was when Ethan learned about Mark’s struggles with his sexuality and his fear of coming out to his family. In turn, Mark listened as Ethan admitted his own insecurities—his struggle with self-image, his difficulty finding a girlfriend, and the lingering doubt that he wasn’t interesting or attractive enough.

They were each other’s confidants in ways no one else could be. Mark even took it upon himself to get Ethan into working out, though Ethan’s sporadic dedication to fitness left much to be desired. Meanwhile, Ethan was always ready to help Mark with his studies, ensuring that he didn’t fall behind in classes he found difficult.

Three years passed, and their friendship only grew stronger. Their respective social circles were always surprised by how close they were, with some friends even overlapping. Mark’s teammates recognized Ethan as someone important to him, while Ethan’s gaming buddies gradually warmed up to Mark’s presence. At the end of the day, they had each other’s backs in ways that mattered most. They were more than just roommates—they were brothers in everything but blood.

Ethan barely looked up from his laptop when the dorm room door slammed open, but the frantic energy that followed made him pause. Mark stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, his face a mix of stress and desperation. His usually confident posture was gone, replaced by jittery movements as he ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. Ethan glanced at the time. It was a little past three in the afternoon—Mark should’ve been at practice. “Dude, you look like you just saw a ghost,” Ethan remarked, adjusting his glasses.

Mark didn’t laugh. Instead, he strode into the room, dropping his gym bag onto his unmade bed with a heavy thud. “I’m screwed,” he blurted, his voice uneven. “I had a test today. A huge one. I totally forgot about it.” Ethan blinked, not entirely surprised. This wasn’t the first time Mark had neglected an exam, but the sheer panic in his voice meant this was different. “Okay,” Ethan said slowly, shutting his laptop. “We’ve been through this before. You cram, I quiz you, you barely pass but still pass. We got this.” Mark groaned, rubbing his temples. “No, man, you don’t get it. I don’t have time to cram. I have to take it in—” he checked his phone “—less than an hour.” Ethan winced. “Oh. Yeah. That’s... bad.”

Mark sat down heavily on his bed, looking almost physically ill. “If I fail this, I fail the class. If I fail the class, I can’t graduate on time and I can’t play in the championship game. This is my entire future, Ethan.” There was an unmistakable vulnerability in his voice, and for a moment, Ethan genuinely felt bad for him. “Okay, so what do we do?” he asked. Mark looked up at him, eyes flickering with something intense. “You’re gonna take it for me.”

Ethan nearly laughed, but the serious expression on Mark’s face made him stop. “Mark. That’s impossible. We look nothing alike.” Mark stood abruptly and pointed at Ethan. “That’s why you’re gonna wear my clothes and pretend to be me.” Ethan scoffed. “Dude, I’m half your size. People would notice.” Mark groaned, frustrated. “Not if we swap bodies.” Ethan stared at him. “…What?”

Without hesitation, Mark reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a medallion. It was an old, circular pendant, made of tarnished silver, with intricate carvings along its surface. Ethan frowned. “What the hell is that?” Mark held it up. “It’s been in my family for generations. My grandpa always said it had magic in it.” Ethan crossed his arms. “Mark, be real. Magic doesn’t exist.” Mark smirked, his usual cocky confidence flickering back. “Oh yeah? Then swap bodies with me. Prove me wrong.”

Ethan hesitated, looking between Mark and the medallion. He was a man of logic—this was ridiculous. But Mark was so insistent, so utterly convinced, that curiosity started creeping in. “Fine,” he sighed. “What do we do?” Mark grinned, tossing him a shirt. “First, we swap clothes.”

Ethan hesitated as Mark tugged his own shirt over his head, tossing it onto the bed before reaching for Ethan’s. Without thinking, Mark yanked Ethan’s shirt up and over his head in one smooth motion, leaving the smaller man momentarily stunned. “Come on, no time to be shy,” Mark said, handing over his own shirt.

Ethan took it with some reluctance. The fabric was damp, still warm from Mark’s body, and the scent hit him immediately—musky, a mix of sweat, deodorant, and whatever aftershave Mark used. It was the kind of scent that clung to Mark’s bed and his gym bag, an undeniably masculine smell. Not bad, but overwhelming to someone who wasn’t used to wearing another guy’s clothes. Ethan grimaced but pulled it over his head anyway. It draped over him like a loose tarp, the sleeves nearly reaching his elbows, the fabric practically swallowing his lean frame.

Mark, meanwhile, pulled Ethan’s shirt over his head, immediately feeling how snug it was. The cotton clung to his broad chest and shoulders, and he had to tug at the collar to make it sit right. The sleeves were tight around his biceps, emphasizing just how much bigger he was. The scent was different—clean, fresh, with a faint trace of laundry detergent and something subtle that was just Ethan. Mark smirked, flexing his arm slightly. “Damn, dude, this is tight,” he muttered.

Ethan looked down at himself in Mark’s oversized shirt, then lifted his arm and flexed it just for curiosity’s sake. His usual frame was almost lost in the baggy fabric, but he still went through the motion. “Yeah, well, this is ridiculous on me,” he replied, shaking his head. Then, on impulse, he lifted the edge of the sleeve and took a whiff. The scent of Mark hit him again, even stronger now that he was fully wearing the shirt. It was strange—he smelled like Mark now.

Mark caught what he was doing and grinned. “You getting a good sniff there, bud?” he teased, lifting his own arm and sniffing the armpit of Ethan’s shirt in return. The scent was subtle, but pleasant. Different from his usual smell, but not bad. He chuckled. “I don’t smell like me anymore.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Then, Mark grabbed a pair of Ethan’s pants and tossed them onto the bed. “Might as well go all in,” he said, unbuttoning his own jeans. Ethan hesitated for a second before doing the same, the moment suddenly feeling strangely intimate.

Then, Mark held up a pair of his boxers, eyes darting between them and Ethan, uncertainly. Ethan exhaled sharply, muttering, “This is so weird,” but he still stripped off his own boxers and slid Mark’s on. The difference was immediate—the waistband fit loosely, the material clinging to his skin in a way that felt unfamiliar yet… oddly satisfying. Mark, meanwhile, slid into Ethan’s underwear, the fabric feeling tighter than he was used to. He shifted, adjusting to the fit, then let out a low chuckle. “Well, now we’re officially swapped.”

They turned slightly away from each other as they swapped boxers and jeans, though Ethan couldn’t help but glance at Mark struggling to pull up his boxers and�� jeans down over his more muscular thighs. Ethan meanwhile slid into Mark’s looser pants with ease. The fabric barely hugged his waist, and he had to cinch the belt tight to keep them from slipping. He laughed.

Mark stretched once before grabbing the medallion. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, gripping the metal piece together. The carvings seemed to pulse under their fingers, sending a strange warmth through their hands.

Mark took a deep breath and began the incantation:

“I, Mark Christopher Bennett, wish to swap bodies with Ethan Daniel Graves.”

The medallion pulsed. Ethan hesitated for only a second before responding:

“I, Ethan Daniel Graves, wish to swap bodies with Mark Christopher Bennett.”

A tingle spread through Ethan’s arms. He could feel it creeping along his skin, like static electricity building.

Mark kept going, his voice steady:

“I, Mark Christopher Bennett, accept Ethan Graves’ body as my own.”

Ethan swallowed hard, following suit.

“I, Ethan Daniel Graves, accept Mark Bennett’s body as my own.”

The warmth turned into something hotter, something that crawled through their veins. Their skin tingled, their muscles tightened, and the medallion itself grew almost unbearably warm.

Then, together, they spoke the final line:

Mark: “I am Ethan Graves, and he is Mark Christopher Bennett.”

Ethan: “I am Mark Bennett, and he is Ethan Daniel Graves.”

The medallion flashed brightly, and then everything shifted.

As soon as the final words of the spell left their mouths, the medallion flared with a brilliant, golden light. A strange force gripped their bodies, like an invisible current pulling at them from the inside out. It started subtly—a tingling in their fingers, a strange weightlessness in their limbs—but quickly escalated into something far more intense.

Mark was the first to notice the shift. A peculiar sensation crawled through his toes, as if they were shrinking. He looked down in shock as his feet visibly pulled inward, the size and shape rapidly changing. His broad, calloused feet—hardened from years of training—were dwindling, the veins and rough patches vanishing. The structure of his foot narrowed, the arches lifting slightly as they transformed into Ethan’s smaller, leaner feet. He staggered slightly, gripping the edge of the desk for balance as his legs followed suit. His powerful thighs and muscular calves trembled before steadily deflating, the firm bulk of his quads thinning into a shape far less defined. His legs weren’t just shrinking; they were getting weaker. He could feel it—his strength slipping away, his body losing the athletic power it had spent years building.

“Shit… my legs…” Mark muttered, watching them pull inward. His height was vanishing, too. He could feel himself sinking, the world tilting as his perspective shifted. The floor was closer than it had ever been before, the comfortable feeling of towering over Ethan now slipping away. Panic flickered in his chest. I’m getting shorter. I’m actually getting shorter.

Ethan, on the other hand, gasped as the exact opposite overtook him. A deep warmth spread through his legs, a sensation unlike anything he had ever felt before. His feet stretched, the fabric of his socks straining as they expanded in size. His toes elongated, his entire foot widening as it reshaped into Mark’s larger, more rugged ones. The floor felt different beneath them—his balance was shifting, adjusting to the broader, sturdier foundation.

Then came the legs. Ethan felt a rush of power surge through him as his thighs stretched, his femurs lengthening to accommodate the sudden growth. His calves filled out, muscle taking shape where there had been none before. His legs were no longer thin and unimpressive—they were strong, athletic, the kind that could launch a person forward with speed and force. He straightened instinctively, marveling at how natural it felt to stand taller. He wasn’t used to this perspective—the room looked different, the angle foreign but exhilarating.

“Whoa…” Ethan exhaled, running his hands over his thighs. They were firm, packed with muscle that wasn’t there before. He lifted one leg slightly, feeling the sheer strength behind it, the weight distribution completely different from before. This… this is incredible. I feel stronger already.

Mark, however, wasn’t sharing in the enthusiasm. He glanced up at Ethan—no, Mark’s body now—and immediately felt a surge of discomfort. For the first time since they’d met, he had to look up at Ethan. His former roommate, the guy who was always shorter than him, was now taller—standing confidently in a body that Mark had worked so hard to build.

Mark scowled. “Damn it… this is weird.” He shifted his weight, feeling how much lighter his body was. His legs, once filled with explosive power, felt comparatively frail. He tried flexing his calves, but there wasn’t much there to flex. His thighs lacked the tension he was used to, the once-familiar bulk gone. It was disorienting—like his body had been stripped of something vital.

Ethan, meanwhile, grinned, shifting his stance and rolling his shoulders. “This is insane,” he murmured, testing out his new longer legs, even bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. The sensation of strength beneath him was intoxicating. He had always envied Mark’s athletic build, and now… now he had it. Or at least, he was starting to.

Mark huffed. “Yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable. This is temporary.” He tried adjusting his footing again, struggling to reconcile with how much smaller he felt. His balance wasn’t bad—Ethan had always been relatively stable on his feet—but it was different. His former presence, his towering confidence, had quite literally shrunk.

Ethan couldn’t stop grinning. “Right, right… temporary.” But as he stretched out his new, longer legs, testing the newfound control he had over them, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to be.

Mark barely had time to react before he felt an odd pulling sensation deep within him. It was like something was shifting, retracting, and reshaping from within. A strange tingling spread from his lower abdomen, creeping downward, as if his entire center of gravity was being rewritten. His breath hitched as a cool sensation pulsed through his groin, making him instinctively shudder. He felt like his balls retracted nearer towards his abdomen while the girth and length of his member got slimmer and shorter. He immediately grasped his groin feeling a smaller package.

Ethan, meanwhile, gasped as warmth spread through his lower body, a rush of unfamiliar weight settling between his legs. It wasn’t just size—everything about the proportions, the way it rested, the way it felt connected to his body—was completely different. He felt heavier, more substantial, and a nervous thrill ran through him as he shifted his stance, adjusting to the unfamiliar presence. A small smirk tugged at his lips. This was real. It was really happening. He felt his balls get bigger, fuller, heavier, and lower. While the shaft got longer, thicker, and sensitive. His new soft member is bigger than his older tool even when hard.

Ethan yanked off his newly oversized shirt, eager to take in the full extent of his transformation. As the fabric slipped over his head, he was met with a sight that made his breath hitch—his abs, once lean and barely defined, were now replaced by a set of toned, muscular ridges. His stomach was flat, his obliques sharp, and his chest, now completely smooth, broadened in a way that made him feel powerful. He ran his hands over the newly sculpted contours of his body, relishing the firmness, the raw strength packed into every inch. A grin stretched across his face as he flexed, feeling his core tighten with an effortless strength he had never possessed before.

Mark, meanwhile, was much slower to remove his own shirt. As he pulled it over his head, he was met with an unfamiliar softness where his solid six-pack used to be. His once taut and chiseled abs had faded, replaced by a more average, softer stomach. It wasn’t flabby, but it lacked the definition he had worked years to maintain. Worse, there was now a light dusting of hair spreading across his chest and belly, something he had never had before. His fingers instinctively brushed over it, feeling the texture of hair that wasn’t his, and he frowned. Looking up, he saw Ethan—his own body—standing taller than him, grinning with clear satisfaction. It made his stomach twist. He had never felt small before, but now, standing in Ethan’s body, he was distinctly aware of how much less imposing he was.

Ethan, still reveling in his new form, lifted his arms and flexed, watching with satisfaction as the biceps and triceps bulged under his skin. His arms were massive compared to what he was used to—thicker, stronger, and undeniably powerful.

He gave his right arm a playful squeeze, feeling the solid muscle beneath his palm, and laughed. "Damn, Mark, you’ve been holding out on me," he teased, admiring how his veins faintly surfaced along his forearm as he moved. He turned his arms, feeling the weight of them, the sheer strength that came with every motion. It was exhilarating.

Mark, in contrast, felt the unsettling sensation of his arms shrinking. His once thick, muscular biceps slimmed down, losing mass and strength. His shoulders narrowed, and his forearms thinned, making him feel… weak. He flexed instinctively, but instead of the satisfying tension of coiled strength, he felt only a modest resistance. His arms weren’t scrawny, but they weren’t his either. And the worst part? He could see Ethan, still in his body, basking in the newfound strength. "This is so weird," Mark muttered, feeling out of place in his own skin—or rather, Ethan’s.

Then he caught a glimpse of his underarms and frowned. The hair was lighter, finer than what he was used to—his own armpits had always been dark and thick. Ethan, meanwhile, lifted his arms and let out a low chuckle. His armpits were now covered in Mark’s usual black, coarse hair, and with it came a distinct, musky scent. He leaned in slightly, taking a quick, curious sniff, and smirked. "Damn, I smell like you now," he remarked, flexing his arms again for good measure. "And you? Bet you smell like me."

Mark, reluctantly, raised an arm and sniffed. Sure enough, the scent was completely different—cleaner, milder, less sweaty than what he was used to. He exhaled sharply, a mix of discomfort and disbelief washing over him. Everything about this was so wrong. Ethan, on the other hand, was clearly loving every second of it, and that only made Mark’s frustration grow.

Ethan grinned at him. "Man, this is awesome," he said, stretching his arms above his head. "I feel amazing."

Mark was still coming to terms with his smaller, leaner body when he suddenly felt an odd tightening around his throat. He instinctively placed a hand on his neck, feeling the way it slimmed down, losing some of the natural bulk and thickness he had always taken for granted. His Adam’s apple wasn’t as pronounced, and his entire neck felt… weaker. It wasn’t a dramatic change, but it was enough to make him uneasy. Meanwhile, Ethan let out a surprised grunt, rolling his shoulders as he rubbed his own thickening neck. He could feel the new mass settling in, his Adam’s apple growing more prominent, his throat stronger.

And then they spoke.

“Dude, what the hell?” Mark blurted, his voice coming out higher, softer—exactly like Ethan’s. His eyes widened in shock as he clapped a hand over his mouth. That wasn’t his voice. It was Ethan’s.

Ethan, on the other hand, let out a low chuckle. Except it wasn’t his chuckle—it was Mark’s deep, confident, almost velvety voice. He smirked. “Holy crap,” he said, testing out the voice again. His words were smooth, rich, carrying the same natural charm and weight Mark always had. “This is so weird.” He reached up to his throat again, feeling the difference. His voice felt powerful, commanding—something he had never experienced before.

Mark shook his head, disturbed by how foreign his own voice sounded to his ears. “Okay, this is seriously messing with my head,” he muttered, hearing the unfamiliar tone escape his lips again.

But the changes weren’t done yet.

Mark suddenly felt a strange tingling across his face, a sensation of shifting bones and muscles. His jawline subtly reshaped, becoming less sharp, more rounded. His facial features softened in a way that felt foreign to him. The skin on his cheeks and chin prickled, and when he reached up to touch his face, he felt sparse facial hair sprouting—something he wasn’t used to. His normally smooth, well-groomed jaw now had the same scattered, fine scruff Ethan always had. But what truly threw him off was the sensation on his scalp. His thick black hair lightened before his eyes, the color shifting to Ethan’s usual light brown. Not only that, but it grew longer, shaggier, falling slightly messier over his forehead.

Ethan, meanwhile, was feeling the exact opposite. His jawline sharpened, becoming more chiseled, more defined. His once ordinary features morphed into something undeniably striking—more angular, more attractive. He could feel the slight stubble growing in, thicker than what he was used to, covering his chin and upper lip with a rougher texture. He turned his head slightly, feeling the natural confidence that came with such a strong, masculine face. But the biggest change was his hair—his usual light brown locks darkened to an inky black, shortening slightly into Mark’s usual well-maintained, styled cut.

Both of them locked eyes, and their expressions mirrored each other’s shock.

They had completely swapped.

From head to toe, there was nothing left of their original selves. Mark, once tall and powerful, now stood shorter and leaner, wearing Ethan’s face, voice, and body. And Ethan, once small and unassuming, now stood in Mark’s athletic, towering form, exuding the presence and charisma that had always belonged to his friend.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They just stared at each other, absorbing the sheer impossibility of what had just happened.

Ethan was the first to break the silence. He grinned, flashing Mark’s signature smirk. “Damn,” he said, running a hand through his thick black hair. “I look good.”

Mark groaned, rubbing his temples. “This is insane.” His voice—Ethan’s voice—made it even weirder.

Ethan flexed his arms one more time, admiring the sheer size and power behind his new body. “Alright,” he said, flashing Mark a confident grin. “Time to ace that exam.”

Mark, arms crossed over his smaller chest, let out a sigh. “You better, dude.”

Ethan grabbed Mark’s discarded shirt from the bed, the fabric still warm and slightly damp from Mark’s body. He pulled it over his head, feeling the familiar sensation of soft cotton—but now on a body that wasn’t his own.

Mark tossed Ethan’s phone to him, and Ethan caught it effortlessly. His new reflexes were sharper, his grip stronger—it was surreal. They exchanged their belongings, including their wallets, IDs, and keys, ensuring every detail was covered. Ethan slung Mark’s backpack over his shoulder, the weight feeling significantly lighter thanks to his new strength. Taking one last look in the mirror, he smirked at the reflection of Mark’s face grinning back at him. With a deep breath, he turned and left the dorm, heading straight for the college building.

Walking across campus was a bizarre experience. Students he didn’t even recognize greeted him with nods and fist bumps, some calling out, “Yo, Mark!” He responded as naturally as possible, slipping into Mark’s easygoing persona. His larger strides carried him effortlessly to the exam hall, and when he entered, the professor barely gave him a second glance.

Sitting at Mark’s desk, Ethan picked up his pen and started the test. The questions were straightforward—nothing too difficult for him. But he knew he couldn’t make it perfect. So, he deliberately made a few errors, adding just enough mistakes to make it believable. He worked at a steady pace, finishing with confidence but ensuring the score would be in a safe passing range. As he handed in the exam, he felt a surge of satisfaction. He had done it.

Meanwhile, back in the dorm, Mark sat on Ethan’s bed, arms crossed, feeling restless. He had thought about playing video games, but the idea didn’t excite him the way it normally would in his own body. He flipped through the TV channels, landing on a football game. Normally, he would have been fully engaged, analyzing plays, cheering for his team—but now, it just felt… uninteresting. It was like watching from a distance, as if it no longer mattered to him.

He sighed and let his eyes wander around the room. His gaze landed on Ethan’s bookshelf, packed with books he had never paid much attention to. Out of curiosity, he reached for one, flipping it open. The first page caught his interest, and before he knew it, he was a few chapters in.

Mark had never been much of a reader beyond what was necessary for school, but something about the way the story unfolded intrigued him. The world-building, the characters, the tension—it was all strangely captivating. He leaned back against the wall, fully absorbed, losing track of time as he devoured page after page.

For the first time, Mark realized he might have been missing out on something.

Ethan pushed open the door to their dorm, his larger frame moving effortlessly as he stepped inside. He had grown more comfortable in Mark’s body over the course of the day, the way his powerful legs carried him with ease, the way his deep voice naturally rolled out when he spoke. The weight of Mark’s broad shoulders no longer felt foreign—it felt natural, like he had been this way all his life. He was still getting used to the constant attention from people on campus, but he had played along, nodding and responding to greetings with the same confidence Mark always carried.

As he entered, his eyes landed on Mark—his real body—sitting on Ethan’s bed, hunched over a book. Ethan raised an eyebrow. Mark was so focused that he didn’t even notice Ethan at first. The sight was amusing, almost surreal. The guy who usually spent his time running drills and lifting weights was now flipping through pages like he was lost in another world.

Mark glanced up, realizing he had been caught. His face—Ethan’s face—flushed slightly. “Uh… I just got curious,” he muttered, closing the book a little too quickly.

Ethan grinned. “Dude, you don’t have to explain. It’s a good book, right?”

Mark hesitated, then let out a chuckle. “Yeah… I guess it is.”

Ethan tossed his backpack onto Mark’s bed—his bed for now—and leaned against the desk. “Anyway, mission accomplished. I took your exam, made a few mistakes so it wasn’t too obvious, but you’re definitely passing.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Dude! Thank you! You saved my ass.” He sat up straighter, shaking his head in relief. “Seriously, I owe you big time.”

Ethan shrugged. “No problem. It was kinda fun, actually.”

Mark thought for a moment, then smirked. “Y’know… it’s Friday. How about we stay swapped for the weekend?”

Ethan blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Mark said, leaning back. “Think about it. You get to enjoy being me for a couple more days—no exams, no engineering stress. Just football, working out, hanging with friends. And I get to chill, read some more, maybe play some video games.” He smirked. “Call it your reward.”

Ethan’s lips curled into a grin. “Alright. I’m in.”

With that, they fully embraced the swap. They agreed to sleep in each other’s beds, sealing the illusion further. And for the rest of the weekend, they would call each other by their swapped names—Mark would respond as Ethan, and Ethan would respond as Mark.

The end (for now; Part 2 coming soon)

#male body swap #inkyquill

234 notes · View notes

natsaffection · 5 months ago

Text

Auge um Auge pt. 3 | N.R.

Investigator!older!Natasha x Robber!younger! reader

Warnings: Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22) steamy tension, Natasha being overall cute

Word count: 5,9k

A/n: I love writing love confessions..🫂👀

The heist had already been ongoing for a few days, and the tension between the robbers and the police had become unbearable. The professor had anticipated the police’s response and had tasked you with laying the groundwork for the next step: infiltrating the police’s command network with a cleverly disguised trap.

Using your hacking skills, you had inserted malicious code into the police communication network. The code caused intermittent failures in critical systems like surveillance cameras, encrypted communication channels, and tactical coordination tools. It wasn’t a complete blackout, but it created enough chaos to leave the police scrambling for solutions.

“They’ll think it’s a sophisticated hack.” the professor had said. “And when they realize their own tech team can’t fix it, they’ll seek outside help. That’s where you come in.” You had smiled, though your stomach churned with nerves. “What if they don’t take the bait?” The professor had adjusted his glasses, his voice calm. “Trust me, they will. You’ve done good groundwork, and Natasha will bite.”

Officers shouted over each other, screens blinked with error messages, and the air was thick with rising panic. The robbers had taken over multiple police systems, rerouted communication channels, and disrupted surveillance feeds. Worse, they had fed the unit targeted misinformation, nearly leading to a catastrophic operation that left officers in complete disarray.

Maria sat at the central workstation, her jaw clenched as she desperately tried to regain control. “It’s like they’re toying with us..” she muttered, staring at the corrupted data streams on her screen. “They know exactly where to hit us. Natasha stood nearby, her arms tightly crossed. “How bad is it?”

“They’ve locked us out of certain areas of our own system.” Maria said sharply. “And their encryption? It’s not standard. It feels almost..experimental. Natasha frowned. “Can you crack it?” Maria paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, then exhaled sharply. “Maybe. But not fast enough. They’re three steps ahead, and we don’t have time to lose.” Natasha hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Then we need someone who thinks like them.”Maria turned to her, narrowing her eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

“I know someone who could help us.” Natasha said cautiously. “A civilian. Brilliant with tech, unpredictable, exactly the type of person who could mirror the robbers’ creativity.” Maria’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A civilian? You can’t be serious, Natasha. This isn’t some neighborhood dispute, this is a high-risk, top operation. And you want to bring in someone off the street?”

“She’s not just ‘anyone.’” Natasha countered firmly. “I trust her.” Maria scoffed. “And that’s supposed to reassure me? I trust you, Natasha, but this? You want to involve an outsider in our operation?”

“We’re already exposed!” Natasha snapped, her voice rising. “They’ve hacked our systems, locked us out, and led us straight into a trap. We can’t keep doing the same thing and expect different results.” Maria folded her arms. “And you think your civilian will magically solve everything?”

“I think she’s our best chance.” Natasha said. “Maria, you’re the best there is, but even you said this isn’t standard. This encryption? It’s personal. We need someone who thinks like the person who designed it.” An officer hurried over to Maria with a report. “Ma’am, they’ve breached the surveillance network in the eastern quadrant. We’re blind.”

Maria slammed her hands on the table and cursed under her breath. “Damn it.” Natasha stepped closer. “We don’t have time to debate this. You need help, Maria. And you know it.” Maria stared at her. “Even if I agreed, why her? Why would she agree to this?” Natasha hesitated, her jaw tightening. “Because she’s already involved.” Maria frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She’s the one who gave us the tip about the camera.” Natasha admitted. “She’s brilliant, completely unassuming, but she knows things. I think- no, I know she’s exactly the type of person who could have designed this encryption herself.” Maria shook her head. “You’re taking a huge risk.”

Natasha’s voice softened. “If this fails, it’s my responsibility. But if we don’t try, we’ll lose this fight. And we can’t afford that.” Maria sighed and rubbed her temples. “Fine. But if this backfires, you’re the one taking the fall.”

Natasha found you in your usual spot at the café, your laptop open and your fingers flying across the keyboard. You paused when you saw her approaching, your eyes widening slightly. “This is becoming a habit..” you said with a nervous laugh. “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

Natasha dropped into the chair across from you, her expression serious. “I don’t have time chatting this time, we need your help.” You tilted your head, trying to look confused. “With what?”Natasha leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. “My team’s systems have been compromised. Surveillance feeds, encrypted communication..they’ve all been affected by some sort of evolving encryption. We can’t crack it.” You raised an intrigued eyebrow. “And you think I can?”

“You’ve already proven you can.” Natasha said firmly. “The sniper incident..if it weren’t for you, we’d have walked right into an ambush. You see things my team doesn’t, and I’m not too proud to admit it.” You tried to appear hesitant. She’s taken the bait. “Natasha, I’m just a freelancer..I’ve never worked on anything of this scale before.”

“I trust you.” Natasha said, her voice steady. “And I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.” You swallowed, the sincerity in Natasha’s eyes tightening something in your chest. Stick to the plan, you reminded yourself. Finally, you nodded. “Okay, I’ll help.”

You entered the command tent under Natasha’s watchful eye, feeling the weight of every officer’s gaze on you. Maria was waiting at the workstation, her expression skeptical but resigned. “You must be Y/n.” Maria said, gesturing toward the monitors. “Show us what you can do.”

The professor’s words echoed in your head: “Stay calm. You’re one of them now. Look nervous, but not too nervous. Don’t let their chaos overwhelm you, control it.” But as you ventured deeper into the tent, it became harder to ignore the efficiency and organization of the police. Large maps of the bank were spread across tables, officers compared information, and intercepted radio transmissions flashed on the screens.

Your eyes landed on a monitor, and your breath caught. Names. Two names. Tokyo. Rio. The police had already identified two members of the crew. You froze for a moment, your thoughts racing. How? How could they already know their names? And why didn’t you know about this?

Natasha noticed your hesitation and approached with a clipboard in hand. “Y/n?” she said, her tone firm but not unfriendly. “Is everything okay?” You blinked and snapped out of your daze. Forcing a small smile onto your face, you said, “Yeah, sorry. It’s just..a lot.” Natasha’s eyes softened slightly. “It’s overwhelming, I know. You’re walking into a warzone here, and this isn’t an easy place to be.”

You nodded quickly, doing your best to play the role of an overwhelmed civilian. “It’s just..I didn’t expect it to be this serious. Seeing all of this..” Natasha gave you a reassuring smile. “You’re doing great. Just focus on your part. We’ll handle the rest.” You nodded again, but your stomach churned. Your nerves weren’t entirely an act anymore. The reality of standing in the enemy’s camp, surrounded by people working tirelessly to unravel the professor’s plan, hit you harder than you’d anticipated.

You sat down at a workstation, your fingers trembling slightly as you typed. You had to stay on course, complete your task without raising suspicion. But your thoughts kept drifting back to the screens with Tokyo and Rio’s names. If they were already so close to those two, how much longer before they found the rest? Natasha stood nearby, her presence both comforting and unsettling. You could feel her watchful gaze on you, her concern growing with every passing second. “You’re doing great.” Natasha said quietly, crouching beside you.

You forced a weak smile, your voice shaky. “Thanks.”The professor had arranged a distraction inside the bank, chaos that was meant to make your role as a nervous civilian more believable. The crew was supposed to fire shots into the air, throwing the police into panic and creating the perfect diversion for you to finish your task. But you were so lost in your own thoughts that you’d completely forgotten about the plan. When the sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the tent’s speakers, you flinched violently, your eyes widening in genuine fear.

Natasha frowned, her expression sharp. “Shots fired inside the bank!” she said grimly, grabbing a radio. “We need visuals on the situation, now!” Your heart raced, your mind screaming at you to get a grip. It’s the plan. It’s part of the plan. But the sound of the gunfire had shaken you to your core. You were too close to the enemy, too exposed. For the first time, the weight of what you were doing, the danger you were in hit you fully. Natasha noticed your trembling hands and pale face. “Hey..” she said gently, stepping closer. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

“I..I’m sorry..” you stammered, your voice breaking. “I just…it startled me, that’s all.” Natasha’s expression softened, her concern deepening. “This isn’t something most people are prepared for.” she said quietly. “You’re doing more than we could ever ask of you. But if it’s too much, you can stop. No one would blame you.”

“No.” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I can do this. I just need..a minute.” Natasha hesitated, then nodded. “Take all the time you need.” As you tried to steady your breathing, Natasha watched you closely, her own thoughts racing. She admired your bravery. Walking into such a dangerous situation as a civilian was no small feat. You looked up and caught Natasha watching you. “What?”

“Nothing.” Natasha said quickly, forcing a small smile. “I…I just admire your courage.” You blinked, surprised. “Courage?” Natasha nodded. “Most people wouldn’t put themselves in a situation like this. You could’ve said no when I asked. But you didn’t. That says a lot about you.” You swallowed hard, guilt churning in your stomach. “Thank you..” you murmured, turning your gaze away.

Eventually, you regained your composure, finished your task, and planted the necessary code into the police’s system. But as you left the tent, Natasha’s words echoed in your mind. “You could’ve said no. But you didn’t.” You had just led Natasha directly into the trap, exactly as the professor had planned. But for the first time, you began to wonder if the cost of the plan was too high. Your hands hovered over the keyboard as you pressed the final key, and the tent filled with the sound of systems coming back online. The previously chaotic screens now displayed a smoothly functioning network.

Natasha, standing nearby, let out a deep breath, visibly relieved. “You did it.” she said, her voice full of genuine admiration. You forced a small smile, but inside, your heart was racing. The professor’s instructions had been clear: “Plant the backdoor. Subtly, cleanly. Once you’re out, we’ll have access to everything.” That’s exactly what you’d done. The professor now had ears inside the tent, but you couldn’t let your relief show on your face.

Natasha approached, placing a hand on your shoulder. “That was incredible work, Y/n. I don’t know how you did it.”

“I’m just glad I could help.” you said, trying to sound humble. Quickly, you packed up your laptop, eager to escape the suffocating tension in the tent. As you slung your bag over your shoulder, Natasha stepped in front of you, her green eyes softer. “You’ve been through a lot today..” she said. “More than anyone in your position should have to.” You looked around nervously. “I’m fine.”

Natasha frowned slightly. “I don’t think you are.” She paused, her voice turning gentler. “How about some fresh air? A walk. After all this, you could use a distraction.” You hesitated. You weren’t sure if being alone with Natasha was a good idea. But her gaze was honest, her concern disarming. Finally, you nodded. “Okay.”

Natasha smiled and led you out of the tent. The two of you walked along a quiet path in a nearby park, the tension of the command tent slowly fading behind you. The fresh air was a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the tent, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Natasha studied you for a moment, her gaze softening. “You’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”

You looked away, guilt twisting in your chest. You wouldn’t say that if you knew the truth, you thought. You stopped at a bench near a cluster of trees, the calm of the night settling around you. Natasha sat down and gestured for you to join her. For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by distant sirens and rustling leaves. “You were really scared in there..” Natasha said quietly, turning to you. You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Finally, you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “Hearing those gunshots…it was real. I’ve never been that close to something so…dangerous.”

Natasha’s expression softened further. “You never get used to it.” she admitted. “But it’s also not something you should have to go through.” You looked at her, the genuine concern in her eyes tightening something in your chest. “Why do you care so much?” you asked before you could stop yourself. Natasha blinked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You hesitated. “You barely know me. But you’re going out of your way to make sure I’m okay.” Natasha’s gaze dropped for a moment before meeting yours again, her expression unreadable. “Because I see that you’re a good person.” she said simply. “And because I’ve been where you are, thrown into something I didn’t ask for, feeling like I had to prove myself.”

As the two of you continued walking, the conversation grew more relaxed. Natasha shared stories about the less glamorous parts of her job, staking out warehouses in freezing temperatures, dealing with endless bureaucracy, and the time an overeager recruit accidentally locked her in a supply closet. You laughed despite yourself, the tension in your chest easing for the first time in hours. “You make it sound so… glamorous.”

Natasha grinned. “Oh, it’s every little girl’s dream. Dodging bullets, endless paperwork, terrible coffee. What more could you want?” You shook your head, a genuine smile spreading across your face. “I can’t believe you’re actually human.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. “Don’t let that get out. I have a reputation to maintain.” By the time you returned to the tent, you felt more at ease but also more conflicted. Natasha’s kindness and humor had broken through your defenses, leaving you questioning your role in the heist.

As Natasha held the tent flap open for you, she smiled. “You were amazing today, Y/n. Really.” You nodded, your throat tight. “Thanks. I… you know where to find me.”

————————————————————————

The bell above the café door jingled, pulling you back to the present. It was already late at night, and you were back in your usual corner. Her shift had gone on longer than you’d expected…You glanced up casually, expecting another late-night coffee addict. Instead, your eyes narrowed slightly when you recognized the woman who walked in.

Maria.

You remembered her from the command tent. Sharp and authoritative, someone who missed no details. What was she doing here at this hour? Your curiosity flared as Maria approached the counter, ordered a coffee, and then sat in a secluded corner. Her posture was casual, but you noticed her eyes scanning the room, as if assessing potential threats..or watching someone.

You barely paid Maria any attention until she pulled out her phone and dialed a number. Something about her body language shifted..relaxed, but not entirely. Whoever was on the other end was clearly someone she trusted. Ever the opportunist, you opened your laptop and connected to the café’s public Wi-Fi. A few quick keystrokes later, you intercepted Maria’s phone signal. A faint hum played through your headphones as you tapped into the call..curiosity had won. The connection stabilized, and a voice came through that made your breath hitch.

Natasha.

“Hey..” Natasha said, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Hey…” Maria replied warmly. “Still in?”

“Yep…” Natasha sighed with a light laugh. Your fingers froze on the keyboard. What the hell? You hadn’t expected a private, casual conversation. You should disconnect. You should. But your curiosity burned too brightly. A pause followed, a familiar silence that hinted at a shared history. You frowned slightly and leaned closer to your screen.

“How are things? We haven’t really had time to talk lately.” Natasha asked, her voice quieter now.

“Well… I miss it, honestly…talking to you all the time, I mean. It feels like old times.” Maria replied.

Natasha didn’t respond immediately, and you heard the faint sound of her shifting in her chair. “Maria…”

Maria chuckled softly. “Relax, Nat. I’m not trying to stir anything up. I just wanted to check on you.”

An uneasy feeling churned in your stomach. You knew you were intruding on something deeply personal, but you couldn’t stop listening.

“I noticed something today..” Maria began cautiously but firmly. “That girl you brought into the tent…You’re spending quite a bit of time with her. And guess who’s sitting a few tables away from me?” A pause followed before Natasha answered, her voice sharper. “Wait…”

“She’s here. Midnight. Alone.” Natasha’s sharp intake of breath was audible. “You can see her?”

“Yes.” Maria said, her tone softening. “And before you say anything-no, I’m not going to approach her. I’m just trying to understand why she’s so important to you.”

“What?” Natasha began, but her voice faltered. She exhaled sharply, her tone shifting. “Maria, she’s been through a lot today.” Natasha said quietly. “And she’s helping us.”

“She’s helping you.” Maria corrected, her voice gentle but firm. “You brought her into the team. You’re the one spending all this time with her.”

Natasha sighed softly, almost as if she’d expected this. “Can we stop talking about this? I know where this is going…”

Maria’s voice softened. “Fine. Then I’ll just ask outright. Do you want to sleep with her?”

You choked on your coffee, quickly covering your mouth to avoid drawing attention to yourself. You glanced at Maria, who was still sitting calmly, completely unaware of the chaos she’d just caused. “Maria, seriously-”

“You’re not denying it…” Maria teased, her tone playful.

Your first instinct was to disconnect, but your hand hovered over the keyboard, frozen. This is too much. I shouldn’t be listening…But your curiosity won out. You leaned back slightly, guilt rising in your chest. I shouldn’t be here. But… I want to know…

A long pause followed. Natasha exhaled slowly. “You’re using the wrong word.”

“What do you mean?” Maria asked, confused.

“‘Sleep.’” Natasha said, her voice quieter now. “That sounds like a one-night stand. Like something meaningless.”

Maria chuckled softly, though it sounded sad. “And you want more than that?”

“Yeah..why not.” Natasha admitted, her voice steady but vulnerable. “If I were with her, it wouldn’t just be that. She’s not someone you just ‘sleep’ with.”

Your head spun, Natasha’s words echoing in your mind. She doesn’t want something meaningless. She wants… something more? Your heart fluttered, and a nervous laugh bubbled up in your throat. She’s not someone you just sleep with. Those words felt both impossibly heavy and surprisingly light. You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle a grin. Stop acting like a teenager! This isn’t normal! But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the warmth spreading through your chest, or the guilt of eavesdropping on something so personal.

“Just be careful, Nat…” Maria said quietly. “That kind of trust is hard to earn. And if you’re not careful, it’ll hurt both of you.”

“I know.” Natasha replied, her voice firm but tinged with emotion. “Thanks for caring, Maria. But I’ve got this.”

Maria sighed, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Goodnight, Natasha.”

“Goodnight.” Natasha said, and the line went dead.

The connection ended, leaving you sitting there, completely stunned. You leaned back in your chair, staring at your laptop as if it might explode at any moment. Your cheeks burned, and your mind raced, replaying Natasha’s hesitant “Yeah..why not” over and over. What the hell just happened? you thought, running a hand through your hair. You’d hacked into Maria’s phone for a tactical advantage, not…whatever this was!

Natasha Romanoff wants to be with me?

Your thoughts shattered as Maria stood up and began walking toward you. You froze, your breath catching. She knows. She figured it out! I’m done for. Maria stopped at your table, her sharp eyes studying you closely. You gripped the edge of your laptop, your heart pounding so loudly you thought it might burst. “Everything okay?” Maria asked, her voice softer than you’d expected. “You’re here alone at midnight. That’s…unusual.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I’m fine!” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “I…I’m just working.” Maria studied you for a moment longer, then nodded. “Alright. Take care of yourself.” She turned and walked away, leaving you frozen in place, your head still spinning.

Meanwhile the activity in the command tent began to wind down for the night. Officers moved between desks, and the soft hum of conversations filled the air. Natasha leaned against a table scattered with files, her arms crossed as she studied the timeline of the heist on the main screen. Yet her thoughts weren’t entirely on the case. Maria’s words from earlier replayed in her mind, “She’s here. At midnight. Alone. I’m just trying to understand why she’s so important to you.”

Natasha sighed quietly, running a hand through her hair. Maria wasn’t wrong. You were always alone, and Natasha couldn’t shake the image of you sitting in that café, typing on your laptop as if you had nowhere else to be. It unsettled her in a way she couldn’t fully explain, and Maria’s direct question only made it worse.

“Why is she so important to you?”

Natasha pushed off the table as the commander signaled the end of the shift for the night. It was late, and most of the team members were heading home. Normally, Natasha would stay longer, but tonight she felt the urge to leave. You listened through your earpiece and when you heard the commander announce the end of the shift, you exhaled in relief. Finally. Natasha was leaving the tent, which meant you could leave too.

You started packing your things, sliding your laptop into your bag as you prepared to leave. The familiar chime of the doorbell froze you mid-motion. Your heart sank as you saw who had just walked in. Natasha stepped into the café, her eyes scanning the room quickly before landing on you. Her expression softened slightly as she approached, her movements deliberate but calm.

You froze, your bag only half-closed. Your heart pounded as Natasha closed the distance between you, her presence overwhelming even in casual clothes. “Hi.” Natasha said, her voice warm but tinged with concern. You forced a smile, trying to keep your voice steady. “Natasha? What are you doing here?” Natasha slid into the seat across from you, propping her elbows on the table. “I could ask you the same thing. I just got off work. Thought I’d check on you.”

“Again?” you laughed, your nervousness slipping into your tone. Natasha tilted her head slightly, studying you. “You’re always here late. Alone. That doesn’t seem right to me.” You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table. She’s noticed. She’s been paying attention.. “I…I like working at night. I’m fine, really.” you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly. Natasha raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “That’s the second time you’ve said that. Are you sure that’s the only reason?”

You hesitated, your mind racing. What does she want me to say? You looked down at your hands, fiddling nervously with your bag strap. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.” Natasha said gently. “It’s midnight. Most people your age are either at home or out with friends. Why are you always here?” Your chest tightened. Natasha’s tone wasn’t accusatory. It was gentle, caring, and that made it even harder to deflect. You felt the weight of her gaze, the genuine concern in her eyes. “I… I just like it here.” you mumbled, avoiding her gaze. “It’s nothing.”

Natasha sighed, leaning back slightly. “I’m not trying to pry. But you shouldn’t be here alone so late.” You looked at her, your stomach twisting. She thinks I’m alone because I have no one. She’s not entirely wrong, but the real reason is so much more complicated.. “Come with me.” Natasha said suddenly, her voice soft but firm. You blinked, your eyes widening. “W-What?”

“Come with me.” Natasha repeated, her gaze steady. “To my place. You shouldn’t be here alone this late.” Your heart raced, panic rising in your chest. Go with her? To her place? I can’t. You shook your head quickly, your voice stumbling. “I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Why not?” Natasha asked, her tone calm but insistent. “You’ll be safe. You can bring your work if you want. But I don’t want to leave you here.”

“I..” You hesitated, your mind spiraling. What if she’s testing me? What if it’s a trap? Natasha leaned across the table, her hand brushing yours lightly. “Please..” she said softly. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re somewhere safe.” You stared at her, the sincerity in Natasha’s voice making your chest ache. She doesn’t know. She has no idea who I really am. She’s just…worried. “Okay..” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’ll come with you.”

Natasha’s apartment was exactly what you’d expected..minimalistic yet elegant, with clean lines and an undeniable sense of order. The open-concept living room was softly lit, a bottle of red wine sat on the counter, and the faint scent of cedar lingered in the air. The space felt personal yet guarded, much like the woman herself.

You stood awkwardly near the couch, unsure of where to put your hands or your thoughts. This wasn’t where you’d ever imagined yourself, and the thought of what might happen here made your stomach twist with nerves. Natasha, however, seemed completely at ease, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it casually onto a nearby chair. “Make yourself comfortable.” she said, her voice calm yet warm, catching you off guard. “Want something to drink?”

“Uh…no, thanks.” you replied quickly, your nerves making you sound more jittery than you intended. Natasha glanced over her shoulder at you, her lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “Relax. I don’t bite.” You managed a weak laugh, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “That’s…good to know.”

Natasha chuckled softly as she settled onto the couch with a grace that seemed effortless. She grabbed the remote and gestured for you to join her. “Come on. Sit. I thought we could watch something.” You hesitated for a moment before walking over and sinking into the cushion next to her. Not too close, but not too far. Natasha noticed and smiled to herself but said nothing.

“What do you want to watch?” she asked, scrolling through streaming options. “Action? Comedy? Something completely ridiculous?” You shrugged, trying to focus on her question instead of the growing tension in your chest. “Something light, I guess. Nothing too intense.”

“Alright.” Natasha said, selecting a movie and setting the remote aside. She leaned back, draping her arm over the back of the couch, close enough for you to feel the faint warmth of her skin. The movie started, the sound filling the quiet space, but you found it hard to focus on the screen.

Fifteen minutes in, you were acutely aware of every detail about Natasha..her presence, her proximity, the subtle scent of her perfume. She sat close enough that her arm occasionally brushed yours, and you felt her gaze on you now and then. You tried to concentrate on the movie, but your thoughts kept wandering. Why had she invited you here? Was this just her way of unwinding, or was there something..more? The possibility made your heart race.

Then you felt it…her hand on your shoulder. At first, it was a light touch that could’ve been accidental. But then her fingers curled slightly, her palm resting firmly on your shoulder, and you realized it wasn’t a mistake. You froze slightly, your breath hitching. Natasha noticed immediately. “You look like you’re waiting for something to explode.” You laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. “Maybe I am.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “It’s just me. You don’t have to be so tense.”

Just her. That was the problem. It wasn’t just her! It was her. Natasha Romanoff: sharp, confident, undeniably alluring. You had no idea how you’d ended up here, in her apartment, watching a movie, feeling like the ground beneath you had completely shifted. “I know.” you murmured, trying to steady your voice. “I… just…”

Natasha leaned closer, her hand sliding from your shoulder lightly down your arm. “I’m not going to do anything you’re not comfortable with. You know that, right?” You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Of course!” For a moment, neither of you spoke, the sound of the movie filling the space between you. The way she looked at you, with a mix of amusement and something warmer, softer made your breath catch. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “I’m not good at this.” Natasha tilted her head, her smile returning. “Not good at what?”

“This..” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Being here. With you. It’s…I don’t know. You make it hard to think straight.” For a moment, Natasha just stared at you, and you felt your cheeks heat. But then she laughed, a soft, genuine laugh that made your stomach flip. “That’s cute.” she said, her tone carrying a playful edge. “You’re nervous.”

“I’m not-” you began, but the look she gave you stopped your denial mid-sentence. “Okay, maybe a little.” Natasha’s smile softened. “Why?” she asked, her voice quiet but genuinely curious. “Why does this make you nervous?” You hesitated, your heart racing as you searched for the right words. “Because…it’s you..” you finally admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “You’re…I don’t know. You’re intimidating. I-In a good way! And I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with…this kind of thing.” Natasha leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the back of the couch as she turned toward you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure..” you said, trying not to sound as nervous as you felt. “Why does this make you so uneasy?” she asked gently, her voice devoid of teasing now. “Is it exactly me? Or…something else?” You hesitated, your heart pounding as you considered your answer. “It’s not you..” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “It’s…I guess it’s just that this feels… different.”

“Different how?” Natasha pressed, though her tone remained careful, as if she didn’t want to push too hard. “Like… I don’t know!! Like it matters..” you admitted, your cheeks flushing. “And that scares me.” Natasha’s expression softened further, her gaze searching yours. “I don’t want to scare you.” she said quietly. “That’s the last thing I want.”

“You don’t.” you said quickly. “It’s just…I don’t really know what I’m doing here.” Natasha studied you for a long moment, as if weighing her next move carefully. Then she spoke, her voice low and steady. “Would you tell me if I did something that made you uncomfortable?” You nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Natasha said, exhaling softly. She shifted slightly closer, her hand resting gently on the back of the couch. “Because I want to kiss you. But only if you want me to.” Your breath caught, her words sending a wave of nervous excitement through you. You stared at her, your heart racing as you processed what she’d said. “I’ve never-” Natasha cut in gently, her tone steady. “It’s okay. We don’t have to.”

But something in her patience, in the way she didn’t push or demand, made you take a shaky breath and nod. “I think I want to..” you said softly. Natasha didn’t move immediately, her eyes staying locked on yours. “You’re sure?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“Yes.” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly but sincere. Only then did she lean in, her movements slow and deliberate, giving you every opportunity to change your mind. When her lips finally met yours, it was soft, so soft that it left you breathless. Her hand cupped your cheek gently, her thumb brushing against your skin as if to steady you.

The kiss was unhurried, warm, and filled with a tenderness that surprised you. You felt yourself relax into it, your nervousness melting away as you kissed her back. Natasha pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, her forehead resting lightly against yours. “You okay?” she asked softly. You nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah..” Her lips curved into a smile of her own, and she pressed a brief, tender kiss to your forehead. “Good.” she murmured. She leaned in again, her hand remained on your cheek. The connection was both electrifying and calming, as if nothing else in the world mattered except for this.

But just as the kiss began to deepen, Natasha pulled back slightly, resting her forehead against yours. Her breath was warm, and her voice was soft but resolute. “We should stop..” she said gently. You opened your eyes, looking at her. “Why?”

Natasha gave you a faint smile, her fingers brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Because you’ve had a long day. And because I don’t want this to feel rushed. For either of us.” You bit your lip, your cheeks heating again. “You think I’m not ready?”

“I think you’re nervous.” Natasha replied honestly. “And I don’t want you to feel like we have to go anywhere tonight. We don’t.” Her words felt like a weight lifting off your chest. She wasn’t angry, wasn’t pressuring you, she was giving you space, something you hadn’t even realized you needed. “Thank you.” you murmured, your voice barely audible. Natasha tilted her head, her smile softening. “For what?”

“For being patient with me.” you admitted, your cheeks flushing again. Her smile grew softer still, and she pressed a brief, tender kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest.” she said quietly. “You’ve earned it.” Natasha stood, walking into the kitchen and pouring you a glass of water. After a moment, she returned and set it on the coffee table in front of you. “You can take the bed.” she said as she settled back onto the couch. “I’ll sleep here.” Your eyes widened. “What? No! This is your apartment.”

“Exactly.” Natasha replied with a playful glint in her eye. “And I’m saying you take the bed. No arguments.” You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse..” Natasha said with a smirk. The playful exchange eased your nerves further, and you found yourself smiling as you stood and stretched. “Fine. But if you wake up with a sore neck, don’t blame me.” Natasha laughed, her gaze following you as you headed toward the bedroom door. “Goodnight.” she said softly.

You paused in the doorway, glancing back at her. “Goodnight, Natasha.” As you stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind you, you let out a shaky breath. Your heart was still racing, and your mind replayed the kiss over and over, but there was also a warmth in your chest, a quiet comfort in knowing she understood. That she wasn’t rushing you or asking for more than you were ready to give. You lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a small smile on your lips. You hadn’t expected any of this, hadn’t seen it coming..but maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as terrifying as you’d thought..

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