#avoidant attachment once again...........

[desceros]

I’ve been thinking about this question a lot recently and was wondering if you could answer it yet? A while ago you said you couldn’t cause spoilers but now that Donnie has confessed again and obviously realized his feelings, maybe it can be answered? If you still can’t that’s okay, I can wait longer!!

yeah i think i can discuss this now!

symphony spoilers slash meta discussion slash discussion of blurple symphony au(s) aka non-canon events under the cut for those who wish to avoid:

so i'm not sure if you're asking specifically about the blurple symphony au or symphony itself. i'll point to both just in case.

for the symphony canon, i kind of already talked about the moment in this ask here. donnie going through old recordings, noting that something's up, and then attaching the word to it once he hears it from you. there's... more to it than that, which will be specifically discussed in the next couple of chapters, but that's the gist of it.

"the" blurple symphony au as it happened in the first half of the fic (the one you're probably talking about) is something that is so different from the rest of the canon fic that it's kind of hard to think of it as the same entity at this point. things would happen very differently, to the point that i haven't really thought about it. i think donnie would get really jealous as you and leo get together, but he isn't sure if it's because you get to touch leo (something he really wants) or because leo gets to touch you (something he really wants). i think it would be a lot more of a slow burn, because he doesn't have that same. hm. freedom to have the "oh shit" moment that we see with the spoon scene in symphony canon. or if he does, at this point he's like. well you're dating leo, he missed his moment, so, too bad. eventually you and leo would notice that something's up, have a discussion, and i think after a looooot of conversation he would finally admit it and then it would work itself out.

any blurple symphony au moments that i conceive of at this point i think would be their own individual spin offs, kind of like. hmm. the blurple symphony multiverse, LMAO. for example, in chapter 29, in the leo make up scene, for shits and giggles i wrote a few paragraphs where leo kisses you instead of pressing his forehead to yours. boom, a blurple symphony au was born where that was the beginning of the relationship. then again in chapter 30, i wrote a little blurb just for fun where leo fucks you on the couch. another blurple multiverse born.

at this point, i think it's just kind of fun for me to be like, "haha, what if," and so i indulge myself for a few paragraphs then delete it because it isn't canon. something something putting leo in the jar and shaking it. but the, uh. canon-ness of any blurple symphony au is always just that: an alternate universe that isn't related to the canon.

[sysig]

Something old and borrowed (Patreon)

[daemon-in-my-head]

One thing about Gortash that keeps bugging me is his desire to share power.

Because obviously, that's a great deal right? That's something special right? A tyrannical fascist geniunely wanting to share power with an old companion? Of all people? An old companion who fell from grace, yet Gort's still devoted to them? Isn't this, moral depravity aside, a great testament to their kinship and all that?

I mean that's certainly one way to read it right? But there's something else about that proposition, somethings leaving a bit of a sour aftertaste here, namely the near impossible level of power imbalance going on.

Gortash knows Durge intimately well. He flaunts that fact immediately and does not care about the repercussions his old companion may face due to the dirty laundry being aired publicly (if he's not looking forward to them outright, that may be their own version of flirting though tbf). Anyway, he knows their name, skills, past, and presumed motivations; they were incredibly close before the incident, and yet he hardly talks about that, brushes it off by saying "I missed you—anyway heres the issues I'm facing rn". He teases that he knows them enough to draw intrigue, but he never follows up, holding that knowledge and the answers Durge wants above their head. He uses their oath as an excuse, that they promised each other not to get involved into each other's messes, that he couldn't do shit, and then immediately asks them to get involved in his mess and sort it out for him cuz all of a sudden the oath not to get involved apparently doesn't apply anymore.

Like, yes, it seems like a "good deal" and something positive at first glance, and yes, he's not lying through his teeth but he's still withholding a shit ton of information on purpose and twisting the narrative to suit him more than anyone else. Instead of truly welcoming back someone who's been missing for months and helping them out a bit, that mf dispatches them to do his dirty work for him and promises shared reign alongside something as mundane as the chance to gain knowledge about themselves as a reward, yk the thing Durge really would like rn. AND considering Durge's notes and depending on what choices you make, sharing power would be more so Durge being merciful than smth Gortash can actually decide or propose (the balls he has for still trying though—sees a murderous demigod that can't remember they liked him once and decides to be a cocky bitch anyway).

Eitherway, he wants to share power. He might even mean it, but he's not willing to actually divulge information concerning anything 'Durge' and instead dangles the fact that he knows them above their head. He wants to share power, but only if Durge is blindly loyal to him and does not question his approach. After all sending the amnesiac gore baby to find their sister in a city and temple they can't remember whatsoever all by themselves isn't particularly efficient or smart but a damn suicide mission. And then he doesn't even provide any aid. He's willing to share power only if he gets to keep his control over the situation and Durge, and one way to confirm that is by sending the Bhaalspawn after their own family with no help nor information (either they come back and he'll be sure they still do as demanded or they'll die down there and thats that, Gortash probably). And only then is he actually willing to share power. Handily also without revealing any further information whatsoever, he's just using platitudes and buttering up to the bloody Bhaalspawn, never actually sharing any information regarding their shared past or what Durge was up to.

In conclusion, Gortash wants to share power the same way a king let's a dagger dangle from his belt while he sits on his throne. He doesn't actually want an equal right now. If he did he would not be doing everything to tip the scales in his favour and blatantly change the topic and refuse to disclose more information than necessary, information regarding the person he "missed so dearly". What he says sounds nice but what he's actually doing is trying to control Durge. This ain't rly about a shared reign or the likes, this is more so getting Durge to blindly tag along while concealing their past for reasons one can only speculate (did they fight, did someone betray the other, why is Gortash so unwilling to share any solid information?).

This escalated but you get my gist.

[askblueandviolet]

With his kiss, can you count it as a love now?

MASTER POST

Asks Start 💙💜🐶

Previous 💙💜🐶

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[lemon-bomb]

Anxious avoidant attachment style has me by the throat

[iman-92]

one of my best qualities is my ability to simply not care. at a moment in time i’ll care a lot. think about it constantly, obsess over it. play things over in my mind again and again. and as soon as i decide i don’t care anymore… i just don’t.

[bookishdiplodocus]

The Neurodivergent Writer’s Guide to Fun and Productivity

(Even when life beats you down)

Look, I’m a mom, I have ADHD, I’m a spoonie. To say that I don’t have heaps of energy to spare and I struggle with consistency is an understatement. For years, I tried to write consistently, but I couldn’t manage to keep up with habits I built and deadlines I set.

So fuck neurodivergent guides on building habits, fuck “eat the frog first”, fuck “it’s all in the grind”, and fuck “you just need time management”—here is how I manage to write often and a lot.

Focus on having fun, not on the outcome

This was the groundwork I had to lay before I could even start my streak. At an online writing conference, someone said: “If you push yourself and meet your goals, and you publish your book, but you haven’t enjoyed the process… What’s the point?” and hoo boy, that question hit me like a truck.

I was so caught up in the narrative of “You’ve got to show up for what’s important” and “Push through if you really want to get it done”. For a few years, I used to read all these productivity books about grinding your way to success, and along the way I started using the same language as they did. And I notice a lot of you do so, too.

But your brain doesn’t like to grind. No-one’s brain does, and especially no neurodivergent brain. If having to write gives you stress or if you put pressure on yourself for not writing (enough), your brain’s going to say: “Huh. Writing gives us stress, we’re going to try to avoid it in the future.”

So before I could even try to write regularly, I needed to teach my brain once again that writing is fun. I switched from countable goals like words or time to non-countable goals like “fun” and “flow”.

Rewire my brain: writing is fun and I’m good at it

I used everything I knew about neuroscience, psychology, and social sciences. These are some of the things I did before and during a writing session. Usually not all at once, and after a while I didn’t need these strategies anymore, although I sometimes go back to them when necessary.

I journalled all the negative thoughts I had around writing and try to reason them away, using arguments I knew in my heart were true. (The last part is the crux.) Imagine being supportive to a writer friend with crippling insecurities, only the friend is you.

Not setting any goals didn’t work for me—I still nurtured unwanted expectations. So I did set goals, but made them non-countable, like “have fun”, “get in the flow”, or “write”. Did I write? Yes. Success! Your brain doesn’t actually care about how high the goal is, it cares about meeting whatever goal you set.

I didn’t even track how many words I wrote. Not relevant.

I set an alarm for a short time (like 10 minutes) and forbade myself to exceed that time. The idea was that if I write until I run out of mojo, my brain learns that writing drains the mojo. If I write for 10 minutes and have fun, my brain learns that writing is fun and wants to do it again.

Reinforce the fact that writing makes you happy by rewarding your brain immediately afterwards. You know what works best for you: a walk, a golden sticker, chocolate, cuddle your dog, whatever makes you happy.

I conditioned myself to associate writing with specific stimuli: that album, that smell, that tea, that place. Any stimulus can work, so pick one you like. I consciously chose several stimuli so I could switch them up, and the conditioning stays active as long as I don’t muddle it with other associations.

Use a ritual to signal to your brain that Writing Time is about to begin to get into the zone easier and faster. I guess this is a kind of conditioning as well? Meditation, music, lighting a candle… Pick your stimulus and stick with it.

Specifically for rewiring my brain, I started a new WIP that had no emotional connotations attached to it, nor any pressure to get finished or, heaven forbid, meet quality norms. I don’t think these techniques above would have worked as well if I had applied them on writing my novel.

It wasn’t until I could confidently say I enjoyed writing again, that I could start building up a consistent habit. No more pushing myself.

I lowered my definition for success

When I say that nowadays I write every day, that’s literally it. I don’t set out to write 1,000 or 500 or 10 words every day (tried it, failed to keep up with it every time)—the only marker for success when it comes to my streak is to write at least one word, even on the days when my brain goes “naaahhh”. On those days, it suffices to send myself a text with a few keywords or a snippet. It’s not “success on a technicality (derogatory)”, because most of those snippets and ideas get used in actual stories later. And if they don’t, they don’t. It’s still writing. No writing is ever wasted.

A side note on high expectations, imposter syndrome, and perfectionism

Obviously, “Setting a ridiculously low goal” isn’t something I invented. I actually got it from those productivity books, only I never got it to work. I used to tell myself: “It’s okay if I don’t write for an hour, because my goal is to write for 20 minutes and if I happen to keep going for, say, an hour, that’s a bonus.” Right? So I set the goal for 20 minutes, wrote for 35 minutes, and instead of feeling like I exceeded my goal, I felt disappointed because apparently I was still hoping for the bonus scenario to happen. I didn’t know how to set a goal so low and believe it.

I think the trick to making it work this time lies more in the groundwork of training my brain to enjoy writing again than in the fact that my daily goal is ridiculously low. I believe I’m a writer, because I prove it to myself every day. Every success I hit reinforces the idea that I’m a writer. It’s an extra ward against imposter syndrome.

Knowing that I can still come up with a few lines of dialogue on the Really Bad Days—days when I struggle to brush my teeth, the day when I had a panic attack in the supermarket, or the day my kid got hit by a car—teaches me that I can write on the mere Bad-ish Days.

The more I do it, the more I do it

The irony is that setting a ridiculously low goal almost immediately led to writing more and more often. The most difficult step is to start a new habit. After just a few weeks, I noticed that I needed less time and energy to get into the zone. I no longer needed all the strategies I listed above.

Another perk I noticed, was an increased writing speed. After just a few months of writing every day, my average speed went from 600 words per hour to 1,500 wph, regularly exceeding 2,000 wph without any loss of quality.

Talking about quality: I could see myself becoming a better writer with every passing month. Writing better dialogue, interiority, chemistry, humour, descriptions, whatever: they all improved noticeably, and I wasn’t a bad writer to begin with.

The increased speed means I get more done with the same amount of energy spent. I used to write around 2,000-5,000 words per month, some months none at all. Nowadays I effortlessly write 30,000 words per month. I didn’t set out to write more, it’s just a nice perk.

Look, I’m not saying you should write every day if it doesn’t work for you. My point is: the more often you write, the easier it will be.

No pressure

Yes, I’m still working on my novel, but I’m not racing through it. I produce two or three chapters per month, and the rest of my time goes to short stories my brain keeps projecting on the inside of my eyelids when I’m trying to sleep. I might as well write them down, right?

These short stories started out as self-indulgence, and even now that I take them more seriously, they are still just for me. I don’t intend to ever publish them, no-one will ever read them, they can suck if they suck. The unintended consequence was that my short stories are some of my best writing, because there’s no pressure, it’s pure fun.

Does it make sense to spend, say, 90% of my output on stories no-one else will ever read? Wouldn’t it be better to spend all that creative energy and time on my novel? Well, yes. If you find the magic trick, let me know, because I haven’t found it yet. The short stories don’t cannibalize on the novel, because they require different mindsets. If I stopped writing the short stories, I wouldn’t produce more chapters. (I tried. Maybe in the future? Fingers crossed.)

Don’t wait for inspiration to hit

There’s a quote by Picasso: “Inspiration hits, but it has to find you working.” I strongly agree. Writing is not some mystical, muse-y gift, it’s a skill and inspiration does exist, but usually it’s brought on by doing the work. So just get started and inspiration will come to you.

Accountability and community

Having social factors in your toolbox is invaluable. I have an offline writing friend I take long walks with, I host a monthly writing club on Discord, and I have another group on Discord that holds me accountable every day. They all motivate me in different ways and it’s such a nice thing to share my successes with people who truly understand how hard it can be.

The productivity books taught me that if you want to make a big change in your life or attitude, surrounding yourself with people who already embody your ideal or your goal huuuugely helps. The fact that I have these productive people around me who also prioritize writing, makes it easier for me to stick to my own priorities.

Your toolbox

The idea is to have several techniques at your disposal to help you stay consistent. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket by focussing on just one technique. Keep all of them close, and if one stops working or doesn’t inspire you today, pivot and pick another one.

After a while, most “tools” run in the background once they are established. Things like surrounding myself with my writing friends, keeping up with my daily streak, and listening to the album I conditioned myself with don’t require any energy, and they still remain hugely beneficial.

Do you have any other techniques? I’d love to hear about them!

I hope this was useful. Happy writing!

[ep1thymy]

Look I’m not being funny but my attachment style needs to stop having a laugh at me, ok thanks

[forlorngarden]

on the contrary the ninth house is all contrast - their colours are the black of their robes and the white of bones. the beginning and the end. gideon also contrasts it kind of sideways - red hair and gold eyes to harrow's all black (while cam and pall both have grey eyes! they are different shades but when they are sharing a body no one who's not close to them seems to notice!). the ninth house as a whole seems to avoid the others as much as possible, beholden only to its tomb, to the detriment of its own residents. and gideon desperately wants to escape it, and for a long time in the first book we might think that she and harrow might finally escape each others miserable company, except its really the only company that matters. they are drastically, painfully different, but they are the only survivors of an entire generation, and they are the only ones who intimately know each other's extremes. not a lysed singular being, but opposite magnets, or yuing and yan.

because we love overthinking in this house - i am thinking tonight about how gray is the colour of the sixth. and how intentional it feels. it is a cool, contemplative, boring colour. they are librarians, calm and collected nerds. and yet it is also the colour of enmeshment, blurred boundaries. palamedes and camilla are both incredibly capable and self-sufficient in their selves - a dangerous fighter and a brilliant mind. and behind their faces a visceral desire to become one. they refuse to speak the eighthfold word and become not quite a full lyctor, not quite a usual person. a lump of gray matter, two souls blurred into one. life is too long and love is too long.

[hoesoflamentation]

⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊ 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊ toji fushiguro x f!reader, 18+

// content warnings for babysitter!reader x boss!toji, age gap, power dynamic, fingering, oral (both m&f receiving), rimming (f receiving), p-in-v sex, daddy kink, size kink, spanking / slapping

" W E ' R E headed for another heat wave! Rising temperatures have led to a heat advisory, so blast that air conditioning and stay indoors."

That meteorologist didn't need to tell you twice: you were already sweating in your strappy sundress. Despite both an air conditioner and a fan, the air was thick with the haze of summer.

The TV blasted the weather report in the background as you sat on the floor, coloring with little Megumi. He grasped the crayon in his tiny fist, wearing a serious frown that reminded you of his father.

You reached for the remote to change the channel to a children's show, then leaned over Megumi's shoulder.

"Whatcha drawing, buddy?" you asked curiously.

He scowled and hunched over the drawing protectively.

"A picture for my dad," Megumi grumbled.

You smiled.

"I bet he'll love it," you replied cheerfully. "Maybe he'll even hang it on the fridge."

For the briefest of moments, the dark cloud over Megumi's head lifted.

“…maybe," he agreed reluctantly.

Before long, playtime was interrupted by the sound of turning locks and heavy footsteps.

Megumi's father, Toji Fushiguro, walked into the living room and slung his bag and hard hat onto the floor. He was still dressed in his work clothes, covered in a fine layer of sawdust and sweat.

"Hi Daddy," Megumi greeted without looking up.

Megumi was still intensely focused on his artwork, his brow furrowed as he scribbled. He didn’t even seem to notice when you rose to your feet, leaving him the only one still laying on the floor.

Toji rubbed his scarred mouth, doing his best to hide a smirk.

"Hey, kid," he greeted. "What are ya drawing?"

"I made you a picture." Megumi stared up at his father with bulging, round eyes. "Do you... like it?"

"Nah," Toji teased.

Megumi's face fell. Toji chuckled and ruffled his son's hair before dropping the punchline: “I love it. I'm gonna hang it in my locker at work. All the guys will be jealous."

Megumi beamed. Meanwhile, you seized the rare opportunity to sneak a glance at Toji, blushing at the way his sweaty shirt clung to his bulging muscles.

When you first started nannying for the Fushiguros, you were terrified of Toji. Soon, however, you realized that no matter how intimidating he looked, Toji Fushiguro was nothing but a big teddy bear when it came to his son.

As cliche as it was to admit it, you could say you had developed a little bit of a crush on your boss.

“Oh, right,” Toji blurted.

He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled handful of fifty dollar bills.

“This is for you, for this week…and last.” Toji cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thanks for understanding. About the, uh, money thing.”

You tried not to stammer as your face flustered.

“Really, Mr. Fushiguro, it’s no problem… watching Megumi is my pleasure.”

Toji frowned, his face crinkling in the same genetic pattern as his son’s.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Y/n?" He rolled his eyes. "Call me Toji.”

Your cheeks burned while testing out the moniker.

“R-right… uh, Toji.”

Truth be told, you had been avoiding using his first name. It was dangerous to let yourself get too attached; dangerous to give into a fantasy that would never, could never, happen.

Toji cocked his head. He eyed you curiously as you stood before him, open-mouthed. You were too flustered to even consider what he could be thinking about.

“…well, take care of yourself, Y/n," Toji finally said.

You nodded in agreement as you gathered your things with a hard swallow, giving Megumi a pat on the head in parting.

“I’ll be back on Monday, alright?”

Once again, Megumi didn’t look up from his artwork. He had pushed aside his first drawing: an assignment from school, to draw a picture of his family.

Stick figure versions of both you and Toji stood on either side of Megumi, both of you holding his hands and wearing big grins. The sight of it made you smile, then frown.

You wondered how Toji would feel when he noticed that Megumi had included you in his “family portrait.” It had been a long time since Megumi had lost his mom, but you sincerely hoped you hadn’t overstepped any boundaries.

Well, at least one person didn’t seem worried. Now, Megumi was scribbling what appeared to be a dog in black crayon.

“See you later, Miss Y/n,” Megumi said, without so much as a blink.

You shook your head with a smile and gave him a little wave. “Bye, Megs.”

As you turned to head out the front door, you were interrupted by a beefy forearm thrust against the wall, painfully close to brushing the bare skin of your exposed shoulder.

Goosebumps broke out along both of your arms as you looked up at Toji from beneath your lashes. He wore a serious, almost threatening expression, tracing his tongue along his lower lip like he was tasting blood.

Your heart raced as his breath blew warm and sweet against your face. You could almost taste a faint hint of breath mints mixed with tobacco smoke; could almost smell a tantalizing whiff of his musky cologne.

“Um, did I forget something?” you mumbled bashfully.

The moment you made eye contact, Toji seemed to break out of whatever trance he was in. He blinked hard and took a big step back.

“Uh, no. Just… stay cool out there.” Toji awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, muscles flexing underneath his sweaty shirt. “Heard this week’s supposed to be a scorcher.”

You folded your arms across your cleavage, stopping your hard nipples from peeking through the eyelet lace of your dress. Hot as it was, Toji’s attentive gaze sent shivers down your spine.

“Yeah," you exhaled breathlessly, "I’m feeling hot just thinking about it.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

On Monday, the cruel sun continued to blaze even as Toji was getting home from a long day’s work outside. And for the first time since leaving his criminal past behind, he felt bloodthirsty.

Something about the way those denim shorts hugged your perfectly-round ass had him pinned by the throat… or, more accurately, wanting to pin you by yours.

You were chasing after Megumi and his friend Yuji, playing a game of 'floor-is-lava,' when Toji arrived home.

When you bent down to scoop up Megumi in a playful airlift, Toji wondered if this was a special kind of torture invented just for him. After all, the only thing that could possibly make him want you more than seeing you bend over in that outfit was seeing the way you acted with his kid.

You were so caught up in the game that you didn’t even notice Toji come home until Megumi said something mid-air.

“Hi, Daddy.”

You gently placed Megumi on the ground, dusted off your skimpy outfit, and flashed Toji those innocent doe eyes of yours.

“Welcome home, Mr…" You swallowed, then rephrased: "-um, Toji.”

Toji. Hearing you finally say his name, after months of telling you to stop calling him damn “Mr. Fushiguro,” was the last straw.

It was all he could do to push away the intrusive thoughts of you breathlessly screaming his name — Toji, Toji, Toji! — as he plowed into you from behind…

…was it just him, or had the air conditioner stopped working?

But before Toji could say anything to save himself, the neighbor’s brat Yuji ran up to him and pulled on his pants leg.

“Hi Mr. Fushiguro!" Yuji exclaimed with a grin. "Want to play 'the floor is lava' with us?”

Toji couldn’t take the heat anymore. He had to do something.

“Sorry, kid, can’t," he grumbled. "Got to talk to Miss Y/n for a second.”

Megumi suddenly ran out from behind your legs and tugged on his dad's pants.

“Can I come with you?” he mumbled, barely audible.

Yuji jumped up and waved his hands around, seeming to fill the whole room with his clumsy limbs. “Me too! Me too!”

Toji ruffled Megumi’s hair with a chuckle.

“Not this time, kid," he said fondly. "Got to talk about grown-up stuff. Go hang out with Yuji in your room.”

Megumi heaved a sigh.

“Okay... Come on, Yuji.”

Megumi grabbed the pink-haired boy’s hand and dragged him up the stairs. Yuji stumbled after him, making no effort to lower his voice as he questioned, “What do you think they’re going to talk about? Do you think they’re going to kiss?”

Toji’s cheeks burned as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Sorry ‘bout him," he mumbled. "I appreciate you watching ‘em both.”

You shifted awkwardly. “I don’t mind. At least Megumi seemed to have fun.”

Nervously, you took a step closer. “So... what did you want to talk about?”

Your voice shook slightly, as if you were afraid to get in trouble. Toji, on the other hand, knew he was already in deep. You were close enough now to give him bad ideas, like reaching out to put his hand on your thigh, or slowly sliding it up higher…

Toji cleared his throat. “Uh, it’s-“

Well, shit. He hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“-it’s about your outfit,” he blurted.

You cocked your head slightly. “My outfit?”

Your voice took on a teasing tone. “I didn’t realize you were into fashion, Toji.”

And Toji hadn’t realized you were such a brat. Your attitude only made his body temperature climb even higher.

You were exactly his kind of woman - minus about 20 years. And here you were walking around, teasing him, with no idea what you were doing to him.

It had to be some kind of cruel punishment, delivered straight from God himself. Toji was growing impatient.

“I don’t give a shit about fashion, Y/n," he fired back. "I called you here to ask you what the hell you were thinking, wearing that to work.”

“This, really?” You raised your eyebrows, squirming uncomfortably under his intense stare. “It’s just shorts and a T-shirt.”

‘Just’ shorts and a T-shirt? Yeah, right.

“You call those shorts?" Toji snorted. "They barely cover your ass cheeks.”

His eyes lingered on the hem a moment too long, the borderline pornographic way the denim rode up between your soft, fleshy thighs.

“And that shirt is practically see-through.”

Toji's gaze traveled up your torso, fixating on your supple breasts and hardened nipples underneath the thin white fabric...

...he found it infuriating. How could you not have noticed what you were doing to him? How could you not have expected it, when you left the house looking like that - looking like a chew toy ready to be torn into shreds?

You gulped. Toji must have scared the shit out of you, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to care. In that moment, he swore you deserved it.

“I’m sorry, Toji-“

“Sir,” Toji interrupted, unable to help himself. “Call me sir.”

You might have been confused by his mixed signals — after all, he had asked you to call him Toji a million times — but if you were, you didn’t let it show.

Your reply came out as a mere whimper: “Sorry, sir.”

Fuck. The breathless tone of your voice sent shivers down Toji’s spine.

Toji turned to brace himself against the kitchen countertop, making a pathetic effort to conceal the hardening bulge in his jeans. His knuckles went white as he gripped the marble with the same force he wanted to use to pin your wrists against his headboard.

“...go home, Y/n,” Toji finally choked out, his voice low and hoarse. “And wear something different tomorrow. Unless you want me to do something stupid.”

Wide-eyed, you nodded hard, quickly gathering up your things and clutching them close to your heart. You made a beeline for the door, while Toji stood frozen in place, chest heaving.

He half-expected you to quit right then and there. But before you could rush out the door, you turned over your shoulder and called out, “See you tomorrow, sir!”

The door slammed behind you, and Toji let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding as he moaned into his hands.

"What the hell is she doing to me?"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You figured Toji probably didn’t mean it. After all, he was ten years your senior, and probably much more experienced.

When you woke in the middle of the night, sheets drenched in sweat from the unbearable temperature, you wondered if it could have been some kind of shared fever dream brought on by the heat wave...

...but even knowing you were hallucinating didn’t stop you from riding the hell out of your vibrator. For what felt like hours, you whimpered Toji’s name until you eventually drifted back to sleep.

Your heart raced with anxiety as you showed up to work the next day and rang the doorbell.

Awkwardly, you tugged at the hem of your too-short skirt and skin-tight camisole, wondering if you should throw on the extra shirt you had thrown into your bag this morning - just in case you changed your mind.

Had you mistaken him? Had you taken Toji’s words too close to heart; decided to hear only what you wanted to hear?

The door swung open, and Toji’s jaw clenched. His hands balled into fists at his sides.

You waited in the scorching heat for what felt like an eternity, sweat beading on your back as the sun beat down on your exposed skin.

Then: “Remember what I said to ya yesterday?”

You nodded, knees suddenly growing weak.

Toji dropped his head and swore, running a calloused hand through his shaggy hair.

“Fucking hell, then…” He laughed as if in disbelief, then looked up at you with a hungry smirk. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

In an effortless swoop, Toji picked you up with one arm and tangled the other in your hair. You wrapped your legs around him instinctively while he backed you both toward the bedroom, feeling his enormous bulge press into your stomach as he parted your lips with his own.

Toji kissed you hard and deliberately, as if he had carefully planned out each stroke of his tongue - as if he had been rehearsing this moment for weeks in his head.

“Wait, what about Megumi?” you asked breathlessly as Toji threw you down on the mattress.

“Still asleep,” Toji growled into your neck, nipping at your earlobe.

You nuzzled into his chest to hide your smile as Toji, your boss, left violet marks on your shoulder…

Coming to work early had certainly paid off.

“Dunno what the hell I’m thinking, messin' with a girl this young-“ he grumbled into your skin, licking stripes down your neck as his other hand slid under your top.

“-damn, Y/n - no bra?” You yelped softly as his rough fingers began to toy with your nipples. “Ya really came here begging for it, huh?”

Your cheeks burned hot as you realized there was no more denying how intentionally you had planned this moment… but Toji only laughed, his teeth grazing your shoulder.

“A stronger man might’ve fired ya, y’know,” he murmured into your skin.

Toji forced his knee between your legs, coating the denim in your slick.

“Fuck, no panties, either?" He shook his head and laughed. "Girl, you’re either brave or crazy.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, turning to hide your embarrassment in Toji’s satin sheets.

“Sorry?” Toji scoffed. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t make me laugh.”

In an unexpected move, he kissed you sweetly, allowing his lips to linger; a string of saliva connecting you even as he pulled away.

“You’re gorgeous, ya know that?" Toji snorted at his own thoughts. "And I’m...probably old enough to be your dad.”

You furrowed your brow, absentmindedly trailing a hand down Toji’s clothed spine.

“I don’t think of you as old," you gulped, avoiding his eyes. “But...you’re probably a lot more experienced than I am.”

Toji snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about impressin’ me, girl.”

You glared at him stubbornly as a shit-eating grin crept its way onto his face. Of course he was right, but you weren’t about to let him know that.

A sharp breath escaped your lips as Toji rolled on top of you. One hand pinned your wrists above your head; the other bunched the hem of your tank top under your breasts.

“Sweetheart," Toji hummed, "lookin' like that... you couldn’t disappoint me if you tried.”

He leaned down and pecked you on the lips for emphasis.

In one skilled maneuver, Toji flipped you onto your stomach and pressed his weight down on top of you. One hand reached around to roughly tug at your breasts, while the other lifted your skirt to expose your needy little cunt.

Soon, you found yourself babbling nonsense, tears threatening to burst as the worn-down pad of his finger circled your throbbing clit. Each of his touches seemed to know exactly what your body needed, as if he reached deep inside your subconscious to pull it out.

“That’s it, girl… let it all out,” Toji whispered into your ear, hushing you as you cried and moaned into the downy pillows. “Daddy’s got ya. And he’s gonna take good care of ya.”

He tongued your earlobe as you reached clumsily behind you to palm at the bulge in his jeans. You weren’t surprised that Toji knew exactly how to push your buttons… but what did surprise you is the way he groaned at even the slightest of your touches, hips bucking away from you as if every stroke of your hand made his skin burn.

“Hmmm, that’s not fair, Y/n,” Toji hissed between gritted teeth. His breath grew quicker and shallower with each of your sultry movements. “I’m not finished with ya yet.”

Toji dug his claws into your sides and pulled your arched hips up to meet his mouth. His enormous hands covered your ass cheeks as he spread them for a better view of his meal.

Toji groaned as he licked a long stripe from front to back, lapping up every last drop of the juices that threatened to drip onto the bedsheets. At the top, he prodded his tongue into your untouched asshole, relishing the way your tight walls puckered and clenched around his strokes.

“Fuck, Toji - more, more, more!” you mewled, drool running down your chin and into his pillow.

Toji chuckled into your puffy mound, his sweet vibrations sending a jolt between your legs. Your legs trembled as he plunged two fingers into your dripping cunt, a stream of your juices leaking onto the bedsheets. He kissed and kneaded at your luscious ass cheeks, hugging your thigh with one hand and eagerly trying to stuff every last drop of slime back inside with the other.

“Such a sloppy thing,” he babbled into your thigh. “Makin’ all this fucking mess f’me…for your daddy.

He palmed your ass, then hit it with a smack that reverberated through the walls.

“What should I do with ya, hm?”

You whimpered as he pressed you deeper into the mattress, slapping your other ass cheek as he devoured your pussy.

“Should I let ya take my cock for a ride? Ya want big, bad ‘Mr. Fushiguro’ to fill ya up?” Toji cooed mockingly.

You were helpless to do anything but moan and rut your hips as Toji backed away from your cunt.

You rolled onto your back, leaning back on your elbows. Strings of your slick stuck to his stubbled chin, Toji made a big show of wiping it off with his thumb and stuffing it into your open mouth.

“C’mere, sweetheart," he said, holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Show me how well you can suck."

Toji kneeled and unbuckled his belt as you leaned forward on all fours, tits dangling below your bunched-up shirt.

His cock sprung from his jeans, girthy and veiny and throbbing - and already leaking from the tip. You swirled your tongue over his head like a lollipop, mopping up every last drop.

“Hah, fuck, darlin’… you make that look too easy.” Toji smirked down at you as he pushed your head onto his length, thrusting back until his mushroom tip brushed your tonsils. “C’mon, I know ya can take more of it than that.”

He chuckled, tangling his hand in your hair, as you gagged on his pulsating shaft, your slobber pooling with the dark tufts of hair crowning his base.

“That’s it, girl, hah-“ Toji squeezed his eyes shut as yours bulged with the force of his thrusts. “Ah, fuck… you’re lost on boys your own age, ya know that? Ya telling me you’ve been runnin’ around givin’ head like this? To some fuckin’ kid who couldn’t even find a fuckin’ clit?”

Between slurps, you squeezed out a reply: “No, mmpf- this is just- hah- just for you, Toji- mmmph.”

"Fuck, Y/n." Toji pulled back, releasing his cock from your lips with a pop. He wrapped his hand lightly around your throat and gazed directly into your eyes. "Don’t go saying shit like that…. Daddy’s still got work to do, yeah?”

He leaned down for a sloppy kiss, filling your mouth with the taste of you. You were pretty sure you heard him mumble something like 'too pretty' into your lips — but to be honest, you were already too dizzy with the thought of his cock splitting you open to remember anything else.

Toji pulled you onto his lap. You straddled him, hovering anxiously over his fat tip as your heart thudded in your ears.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” Toji murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “I know ya can take it...nice ‘n’ slow...”

Both of you gasped as you lowered yourself onto his shaft, his wide girth stretching your gummy walls. Every inch left you aching for the next one as you slowly tested his length, flooding around him.

“Tojiii,” you found yourself whining, in a desperate tone that made you sound like a stranger to yourself, “you're too big.”

Toji snickered. “Heh, not even halfway in and already begging for mercy?”

He slowly lifted his hips, pushing himself another inch further into your needy cunt.

“Thought you were better than that, darlin’," Toji teased with a grin.

You glared at him and, spitefully, sunk further down. Both of you gasped at the obscene squelching noises your pussy made as it gushed around his width.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Toji sighed. “Ride it just like that, mama.”

He dug his enormous fingers into your fleshy thighs, easily using you to milk his shaft. You dug your fingernails into his biceps, whimpering as he took one of your neglected breasts into his mouth.

Toji’s teeth grazed your nipples as he growled into your skin, bouncing you on his cock with an increasing sense of urgency. You felt yourself melt around him, a haze clouding your vision as your ears started to ring.

“Mmm, Toji, ‘m close,” you purred, closing your eyes as he released your tit with a pop.

From the cracks in his cool facade, you could tell Toji was approaching his high, too.

“Yeah, hah- I bet you are,” he teased with a chuckle. “You’re, mmf- a sensitive little thing, aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

You bit down on his shoulder, hiding your face in his muscles.

“Ah, fuck- what’s wrong, darlin’?” he teased cruelly.

Toji started to massage your hip creases with his thumbs, making you moan.

“Is this- hah- too much for ya?”

Too dizzy to speak, you nodded. He hummed, as if that were the answer he had been looking for.

“Oh, sweetheart," he laughed meanly, "I’m barely even touching ya.”

Toji thrust his hips upward, his dick curving into your cervix in a way that had you seeing stars. You bucked your hips, trying to run from the intense sensation, but he held you tight and pushed you down harder until electricity started to gather between your thighs.

“You telling me it’s- hah- this easy to make ya cum?” Toji stroked and pulled at the coarse hairs that crested your mound, his fingers inching dangerously close to your swollen clit. “At least give me a challenge next time.”

His palm rested on the soft pouch of your lower belly, thumb hovering over the sensitive nub. You let out an involuntary whine as his heat warmed your core.

“Talk t’me, girl," Toji hissed. "Is this what ya wanted?”

“Fuck- yes, Toji, that! Exactly that-“

The words barely escaped your lips before Toji pressed his thumb against your throbbing center, making quick, tantalizing circles over the hood.

Despite yourself, you were surprised that a man so rough knew how to be so gentle. Even as his cock was tearing you apart from the inside, Toji was able to control his touch just so.

You thanked him for his service by forcing him to bottom out inside of you, his balls hitting your slit with a wet ‘slap!’

“Shiiit, mama, that’s-“

Toji squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his grip on your waist with one hand. His other hand pressed down on the bulge in your stomach as his thumb kept up a consistent rhythm.

“Speechless?” you mocked.

Toji let out a deep rumble of frustration. “Nngh- think you’re cute, huh?”

He brushed his lips against yours, captured your lower lip between his teeth, and pulled back slowly.

“Shut up and cum for me, little girl.”

Toji gave your clit a punishing smack, and you felt your toes start to curl.

“Gonna cum,” you hummed.

“You on the pill?” Toji mumbled, nipping at your throat.

You nodded, your clit throbbing in anticipation of your imminent release.

Toji grinned maniacally. “Want me to cum inside f’you, sweetheart?”

His question alone was the final push. Your hole swelled around Toji’s thick shaft, dripping creamy fluid into a puddle around his base.

“Gonna, nngh- gonna take that as a yes,” Toji breathed as your clit shuddered beneath his touch.

“Yes, fuck, yes, cum in my pussy, fuck, cum with me, daddy!” you babbled mindlessly, tears and drool streaming down your fucked-out face in a sloppy concoction.

“Heh," Toji laughed, strands of hair clinging to his forehead with sweat. "As you wish, pretty girl.“

As if you weighed nothing, Toji wrapped his arms around you and folded on top of you. He lifted your legs atop his shoulders to plunge deeper inside of you, the veins in his muscular arms straining as he pants into your mouth, his swollen cock stretching the limits of your plush walls.

Streams of his warm seed flowed into your cunt as Toji closes his eyes, strands of black hair clinging to his forehead with sweat.

“Mmph!”

You were caught off guard as Toji violently captured your lips with his own. As he kissed you, you dared to wrap your hand around the back of his neck, pressing your forehead against him, watching him intently as he painted your walls white.

Without moving, or tearing his gaze away from yours, Toji hissed, “If you leave this bed, I’ll fire ya…do I make myself clear?”

The weatherman was right: this week was gonna be a scorcher.

a/n: i've been waiting for warmer weather to post this... well, it's HOT AF where i live this week, so i figured it's finally the time! i promise the final installment of short 'n' sweet is up next, i just thought i'd post this to hold you all over while you wait. hope you enjoy the treat xx.

[gothgoblinbabe]

Belt Buckle

Logan Howelett x fem reader

A/N: okay, so this. Uh. Hear me out - I can’t be the only one who’s thought about this. It’s exactly what you think it is. Also it’s not very long just cause I’m still working on requests but it’s been collecting dust in google docs

Warnings: NSFW 18+

Word count: 840

divider credit

You couldn’t quite place where the fascination began.

Maybe it was because it sat right above the bulge in his jeans or because you were always yanking the stupid thing out of the way to get his pants down his thighs, but your eyes were always on the buckle of Logan’s belt lately. He had a couple different ones - all obnoxiously big - and of course you teased him, calling him a cowboy or a show off.

Lately, though, you’d been struggling to keep your mouth shut. Every time he’d stand in front of you now, you couldn’t tear your eyes from whatever chunky adornment was attached to the front of his belt.

“What are you lookin’ at, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flickered back up to his and you shrugged.

“Nothin’.”

He titled his head, “really?”

“Mhm.”

“Why’re you starin’ like that, then?”

Shit.

You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. You’d been together plenty of times, admitted almost everything to each other, but you still found yourself too embarrassed to admit what it was that had you staring so much.

You finally had to tell Logan while sitting on his lap in bed, his hands kneading your hips to pull you back and forth over his hard cock beneath his jeans. With his eyes closed, lost in the feeling of your tongue in his mouth, he dragged your hips forward a little farther than intended, inadvertently dragging your thinly clad pussy right over his belt buckle. Usually he’d pick up on the little things like that - how loud you whined when he pulled you forward - but you tried not to make the noise again, embarrassed.

He did, anyway.

He pulled your lips from his with his hold on your face, his thumb and fingers gripping your cheeks to the point that your lips were squished into a pout.

“You got somethin’ you wanna tell me, pretty girl?”

You knew you could tell him anything, but this felt far too humiliating - as if you were positive he’d scoff at the idea and tell you that you were gross for even thinking it.

You tried to shake your head, but he knew you far too well.

He grabbed you by your hips and lifted you off his lap.

“Spit it out, princess.”

You sharply inhaled, eyes dropping to his belt.

“I…um, I was thinking…” you tried to say something, anything to even hint at what you wanted, but it seemed stuck in your throat.

Logan clicked his tongue, “Baby. If you want somethin’ you gotta say it.”

You hated that he was right. You had to just get it out, say it all at once like ripping off a bandaid. 

“I wanna ride your belt buckle. It’s big, I think it’d feel good.”

Your words hung in the air, met with deafening silence. 

You watched his parted lips curl up into a smug grin, his eyebrows raised in mild disbelief.

“Jesus, that’s filthy. You really think about that?”

Your face burned. You opened your lips to speak but nothing came out. He was definitely going to call you weird, tell you that’s gross and get up from the bed.

Instead, he wordlessly leaned forward and hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties to pull them down your legs. He threw them to the floor and leaned back with his hands behind his head, leaving you sitting in front of him in only one of his t-shirts with nothing underneath. You looked at him curiously, eyes flickering between his face and his lap.

“C’mon, you want it or what?”

You hastily climbed back onto his lap, positioning yourself so that his erection was behind you and your bare pussy was against the cold metal of his belt buckle. You weren’t sure exactly what to do at first. He usually held your hips when you were in his lap, helping you grind down onto him. Now, though, they were locked behind his head as his eyes bore into yours.

“You asked for it so you gotta do the work, baby.”

You huffed, placing your hands on his chest so you could lean forward and roll your hips. You slid your swollen pussy across the ridges of the cool metal of the buckle, your slick already coating the front of it and the top of his jeans.

You looked up to see Logan’s stare glued to his lap, watching hungrily with his bottom lip caught between his teeth as you rocked yourself back and forth.

“Feels good?” He asked, already breathing heavily from the way your ass grazed the tip of his cock when you dragged your hips back.

You nodded, nearly slack jawed with your eyes closed.

“Use your words,” he demanded, eyebrows furrowing.

You groaned in annoyance at the familiar phrase, one he loved to use when you were too turned on to speak.

“Yeah, feels good - fuck,” you cursed when he lifted his hips a little, pushing against you as you continued to grind yourself down. 

“So you guessed right, then, huh?” 

A/N: short and sweet but ya idk I couldn't get it out of my head <3

[grotesquevi]

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎after she's injured she has nowhere to go but your place.

18+ mdni, men go away, thigh grinding, titty love, fingering, dirty talk, pet names, slight degradation/dumbification blink and miss it, ass play, spit, there are descriptions of a 'wound', but i'm no doctor sorry if you are. 2.5k

side note — if you recognize this it may be because my previous account @vicorices got deleted out of nowhere, i'm trying to get all my work back up again cause of tumblr's dumb ass, check out my masterlists to help me out fic hunting!

it’s not fair she’s so into you.

makes her weak cause she has to surrender to you in the end, no choices allowed cause sevika knows, deep down, it's not going to stop as much as she'd like it to. not when you're grinding on her leg like that, when you're coating her skin with arousal so deliberately, making her look down just to find out the wet splotch in your underwear getting bigger and bigger with each roll of your hips, the moans filling the air of your living room — she has no use but to let you get off from something so simple as riding her thigh, mainly ‘cause it's a personal need too.

"you're takin' good care of me, aren't you sweet girl?" now usually, she does a better work staying away from you, avoiding you as much as it's possible; but it gets difficult when she knocks on your door at three in the morning, bleeding out and capable of tossing her pride aside in no time, whatever cost it may bring. "lift up your shirt and let me see those pretty tits, i deserve to see more of my girl."

well fuck, when did it get so personal?

must be when you have told her not to come near your street several times, a non-spoken rule she respects until she has nowhere to go, opening the door so damn mad she thought you were going to kick her out for a second cause she can help but be a damn flirt around you, leaning into the wall even when she's bleeding — seeking for your attention.

it's always like that when she gets too attached to someone, as much as she tries to avoid it she ends ups carrying them too close to her heart: silco in the moment, crazy ass jinx, that damn kid who’s always following, she gives loyalty like dog, so it's suffocating. cause you don't kick her out like she secretly wishes to, but instead, you push her inside, helping her walk to your sofa as you kneel between her legs, bitching about not being a doctor, about not being able to help her as you look at the cut closely.

and sevika knows she shouldn't have come to see you cause you look so damn inviting it's annoying, alluring with those big eyes you give as you look up to her, the concentrated face as your fingers shake over her skin, helping her out like she asks you to, shivering under her words of encouragement when you're sewing her skin back together after five minutes of pure whining.

it’s safe to say it slowly consumes her, your breathing against her sore skin. does things for her, half delirious for the amount of times she's been trying to excuse herself by saying she's dizzy from blood loss, a fucking lie you can tell already — “stay there for a while” she asks when you finish, cupping your face in the palm of her flesh hand, thumb rubbing against your cheek, tracing the outline of your lips afterwards "there's not a single thing you do wrong huh? not even stitch me up on a lonely friday night."

“what are you doing?”

“you know damn well what i’m doing, bunny. i miss you," everything's so fast after that, her voice is husky as she speaks, playing with the strands of your hair, twirling it in her index finger, relishing the sensation of you close to her once again — "i miss you. fuck i miss you so much it's burning me alive."

it's an old habit, it's enough to make you crumble cause you're allowing her to make you sit on her leg, gasping as the cold metal of her mechanic arm holds you down while the other caress your side without a rush: she has nowhere to be but there, with you on her lap.

you'd like to be difficult now, play hard to get even, but it's so right in the moment, like you've been craving it for weeks you don’t dare to say a single word — "you're going to pull out your stitches like that" you mutter instead, voice raspy when she's moving your hair to the side, sucking on the skin of your neck until she's sure it will leave a mark behind, reminders of all being real. "sev-"

"i can handle pain, i don't care" sevika fully believes it, squeezing the skin of your waist. she missed having you like that — "don’t make up excuses, just tell me to stop. tell me if you want me to leave, cause i won’t do it on my own."

it’s tempting, yet you cannot say it as you stare at her, at her gray eyes, the new haircut and the blueish scar in her cheek: you want her there. "you’re injured, you’re not going anywhere like that."

“no,” she shakes her head in denial, not quite the answer she expected to hear — “tell me you want me to stay cause you want me to, not because of a wound. because you miss me too.”

greedy bitch. she’s enjoying every second of it, knowing damn well she got you under her skin already, that she can get out a response from you every time she puts a finger on your skin. “you know i miss you."

fuck her pride. fuck anything else but the taste of your lips, the sounds you make when you enjoy something too much muffled against sevika’s hungry cavity. it’s almost feverish as her tongue rolls inside your mouth, squeezing your cheeks as she stoles the air from your lungs, your heart racing by the seconds.

that’s how you got to that point at least, cause she's kissing you dumb for a moment and the next one she's holding your ass with a tight grip, pushing you against her just to make you remind her about her stitches, her recent wounded state, but in all honesty she's not really listening to any bitching, no; sevika's deeply lost in her senses, the sight of you getting messier with each one of her kisses, the scent of the bubble-gum induced taste in your mouth mixing up with her own saliva — the engulfed moans that somehow makes you look needier than you already are.

and you're not telling her to leave, not receiving any complain as her flesh hand tugs on the fabric of your shirt like a fair warning that you already know what it means, you're not being rational cause you miss her deeply, so much time needing her you cannot help but give in, even when you'd call yourself insane sooner or later.

"i miss you," it's like a poem sevika wishes to hear over and over again, how you, very much like her, are being thrown at a constant state of aching. "i miss you a lot, and it's not fair. keeping me around like this-"

your hand rest over the stitches you covered with gauze, and fuck, she must be damn tripping, cause you're straddling her lap, shirt riding over your stomach giving her the damn royal treatment and you have the decency of being careful with her, gentle.

no. she does not want to be in love, not ever again, but she's betrayed once again as her silent big heart is choking because she's seeing you again, falling apart like you used to, taking the privilege of something so private for herself, surrendering to an act of pure war and love cause that's what she came for in the first place, you.

"don't move. i can do it for us both," do you have any idea of how difficult it gets for her? with you speaking like that? "please. don't bleed out on my couch. need you alive tomorrow, don't move much."

"you're takin' good care of me, aren't you sweet girl?" — your hips began to move against her tight and it's like you want to show her how much you love grinding on her leg like a fucking puppy, how you missed the pleasure she can only bring, how you been missing her."lift up your shirt and let me see those pretty tits, i deserve to see more of my girl."

she lights the cigarette you were smoking cause she don't want to piss you off, enjoying the simple pleasures of life cause she loves it when you take control, giving you space to remove your shirt only to let her see you fully, the sweat going down your skin, the movements in your waist as you try to ride her better.

hell of a show.

and even as you try to muffle your moans, it's pretty impossible when your underwear sticks to your pussy cause of the stupid amount of arousal that now stains the fabric, the constant contact with her pants that being so sensitive makes you docile, compliant to any of her wishes, the hungry look she gives you comfortably seated, the weight of sevika's gaze traveling from your half lidded eyes down your chest until between your legs, a triumph half-smile on her lips as as the smell of your apple tobacco fills the air.

"you're dripping in my pants baby, can't wait f'me to take them off?" she asks, and her fingers create this line as they touch from your neck to your mount, stopping over your breasts, kneading them in her whole hand — "can't be this wet just for riding me bunny, i haven't even touched you yet. do you miss me that much ma'? miss being my pretty whore?"

she knows where to touch, where to kiss as if she forgot about the damn pain in her sore muscles, like the entire world narrows down to you. the cigarette consumes on the ashtray as she leans to suck on your already hard nipples, tongue roaming from one to another, tugging and biting at her will before you make her breathing hitch on her throat — "stay with me tonight."

it's a bad idea, but your hand guides hers down to your cunt and it's physically impossible for sevika to say no to you, deny your wishes cause she's so down to give you whatever you need, an invitation that makes her chest full of pride as she makes your underwear to the side, quickly coating them with clear gush as they slide between your soaked folds.

"vika-" whatever you might say dies in your tongue, gets lost in the air as two fingers come up to your swollen clit, sensitive already against her touches that do not go past the necessary, a back and forth motion that pushes you tantalizingly close to the edge — "baby."

"want to you feel you through my pants," your hole is clenching around nothing, forcing you to move as her mechanic hand shoves you against her leg. "be good and cum all over your pretty underwear."

your body shakes involuntarily, cause it only takes her muscular thigh, dirty words and her fingers on your clit to make you act up all desperate, a loud moan escaping your lips when finally reach your much desired peak, watching in awe how you disintegrate for a moment and everything seems to become meaningless.

"i cannot touch you with these on," sevika mutters seconds after, not close to having enough as she pulls on the string of your soaked underwear, unusable now as she makes you stand between her legs before she's all over you, struggling to keep the hands to herself as she hugs you, gripping the curve of your ass to pull you against her, face resting right over your waist as your hand caress the black strands of her recently trimmed hair.

you’ve heard it before, the advice you tend to ignore: she’s no good for you, she's no good for you as she makes you turn around, coaxing you with praises only to have you bend right over the waist, when she makes your underwear fall to the ground and you're leaning to bare yourself to her eyes only.

and it makes sevika salivate, needy at it's worst when she can notice your wet folds, the way you're dripping down, creamy white right in your untouched hole, messy and asking for more. your clit’s already puffy, pushing her to just touch, make you beg for more so she's weak, weak as keeps you there, showing your ass like it was all her's to take, warm and pliant as she plunges two fingers inside your needy cunt, slowly making room for her thick digits until she’s stretching you open.

your legs shake as sevika's fingers sink inside, and she's so eager to see, the zaunite finds herself moving to have a better view of the traces of your already wet cunt sticking to her hand, of your pussy already twitching, sucking her back in.

"look at this" the woman trails off, drunk on the sight of you spread in front of her eyes, the bliss when you're looking at her from over your shoulder with a cheeky smile that will stick on her memory — "makin' space for me s'good bunny, can you hear that? the sounds of your cunt taking me perfectly?"

there's no time for answering cause sevika's taking, too high on you, on the reactions of your body as she spreads you open, kissing on your ass cheeks before her face's there and her tongue is pushing against your pucker hole, gathering a good amount of saliva to spit on it.

"mmf-please," you loudly whine "m'gonna cum-"

sevika wants the moment to linger, make you cum over and over again but she cannot stop when she's seeing the transparent color of her saliva mix up with your arousal as her fingers fucked you at a much faster pace now. her nose darts against your skin, and she has to help you stand when she's licking your rear so eagerly, circling the ring, teasing you with focused licks, pushing dangerously against your tight hole.

and the sight of it is nasty, blush creeps upon your neck as her mechanic arm grabs your hand to place it in your back, the slam of her own fingers almost irritating her as they make you move forward with each thrust, far from her mouth.

sevika’s oblivious for a second. it's not her fault either way, cause you cum right in her fingers, panting out your ex-girlfriend's name as your body goes limp and she has to take you right in her arms cause you cannot seem to hold your own weight.

it’s imposible to think about the stitches, and more importantly — about the fact that she cannot stay by any means. no when you're always better off without her in the picture.

could it get any better in her safe heaven?

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug like angel

I bet on losing dogs

It's been a while since you left the manor.

Around a year or so.

Since then you'd come back to Gotham to fight anomalies and stop by to secretly steal some of Alfred's food and come back home immediately.

You would see some of the Batfam watch you while you were in costume.

They'd be interested in the new vigilante.

You'd always go out of your way to avoid them.

You noticed how they seemed interested.

You hated that.

Where was that interest years ago?

You'd swing away and leave before they could ever get to you.

You hated how it seemed that now they were interested.

You hated how you could see Bruce's calculating stare, probably trying to see if he could adopt you.

You hated how you could see in Dicks eyes how he would see your flips and tricks and look amazed.

You hated how you could see Jason try up to you and talk to you.

You hated how you could see Tim trying to see your watch, which seemed like the technology was years ahead of theirs.

You hated how you would see in Damian's eyes that he was in awe.

You hated how much you yearned for this years agoAfter a while of hiding, you realized you should probably get your stuff.

So you would sneak into your room once in a while to grab your stuff and quickly come back.

You once almost got caught in the kitchen eating some of Alfred's food because you didn't realize he was there.

It was a hot summer noon and you and your friends were hanging out again

It was in celebration of no longer being around your "family", or "sticking up to the big bad wolf" as Hobie would say.

The day right after you had left the manor, your friends blew up the group chat, excited about how you had finally left that household.

They were so tired of having to see you sob and be angry over them and their unfair treatment of you.

They weren't tired of you, they could never be, they were tired of how they treated you.

They hated how they treated you like nothing when you were so sweet.

You would always care for everyone, you'd always cheer everyone up.

They didn't deserve you.

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, you guys went to band practice and ended up going to get ice cream and walking around malls and buying things (you paying, ofc)

It was nice.

Usually, you hated shopping, it was boring and you didn't have anyone to go with so it was always lonely for you.

That was until you realized how fun it was with friends.

You guys went universe hopping at different malls, avoiding your universe mostly because you hated seeing all the merch of Gotham's vigilantes.

And you didn't want them to see you.

You tried to avoid the thought, you didn't want to think about them.

You guys spent a while together, before deciding to head home for a bit.

You went to your and Miguel's apartment and immediately ran to your room (which was the guest room turned into your room) and fell asleep immediately.

You woke up a couple of hours later.

You decide you should go visit him in his office like you usually do.

You were used to coming in there and just being in his presence and just being near him.

When you first met him years ago, you didn't want to like him.

You avoided him like the plague.

You didn't want to get attached to him for fear he'd turn out like Bruce.

When you finally got to know him, which was a few weeks later, you realized he was nothing like Bruce!

Yeah, like Bruce, he could be scary, mean, brooding, and quiet sometimes, but unlike Bruce Miguel treated you like his daughter.

He would take you out to eat.

He'd remember your birthday.

He'd celebrate your talents and interests.

He'd come to your performances and concerts.

Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

He treated you like the light of his life, like how you'd seen other dads look at their kids!

The same way Bruce would look at your brothers...

You pushed away that thought, you wanted to go to his little cave.

You went through a portal, not realizing how you had your watch broken.

As soon as you felt yourself glitching, which was not normal, you felt yourself hit a brick wall.

Shit.

You looked around for a moment.

Gotham.

You shouldn't be here.

You didn't wanna be here.

You decided to patrol for a bit, you might as well deal with some things for a bit before heading home.

You sort of missed it here.

You went around looking for anomalies, and thankfully there weren't any.

You stopped a couple of petty crimes.

You saved someone getting mugged and felt a slight pain at your side and decided to ignore it, for now you needed to get home.

You booted up your watch, only to realize it wasn't working.

It started to rain and you got worried, what would you do now?

You didn't know if anyone here had the tools to fix this.

And then you remembered you did know some people.

Your family.

You hate to do this, but you need to get home.

So you started making your way to the manor.

You tried to swing but you were too tired and felt sick whenever you swung due to your side hurting.

So you ran.

The rain was making it hard to see.

Your mask was making it hard to breathe, so you took it off.

Only for your hair to stick to your face and make everything worse.

Great, now you have to be around your family and be sick the next day. Thanks, spidey luck.

When you finally got to the manor and identified yourself, it seemed like the manor door swung open.

Inside was Alfred, who was looking at you like you were a ghost.

"Master Y/N?" He stood there in shock.

He could smell a slight metallic smell coming from you.

"Hey." you visibly cringed at how casual you sounded and how your voice cracked.

He quickly signaled for you to come in, seeing how drenched you were.

Alfred watched as you walked in and just stood there awkwardly.

You didn't know what to say or do.

For all they knew, you had been missing for a year.

You had grown an inch or two, and you were still in your suit.

Your skin was paling, but you didn't know why.

Then the realization hit Alfred.

You were the vigilante.

The one that would show up every once in a while to stop people who cause trouble.

The one that made the family lose many hours of sleep investigating the mysterious spider.

He wanted to cry.

He wanted to cry and hug you and make you stay at the manor.

He knew he had to call the others.

As soon as he was about to speak up, you swiftly cut him off

"I need help right now. Could you please call the others and ask if they could help me?" you asked him, practically pleading.

"At your service, Master Y/N" He turned away and started calling the others.

You smiled and mentally prepared yourself for the awkwardness that would happen between you all.

It felt like hours later when everyone got there. You were scared.

Everyone was patrolling when they got the call that you were home.

Jason thought it was a sick joke from Alfred, that was until he got to the manor.

There you were, on the fancy couch, looking sheepish.

Dick ran to hug you in a bear hug, catching you off-guard due to you never receiving a hug from him.

You didn't even hug him back, you just wanted to go home.

As soon as he sat you down, you started talking.

"I need everyone's help." you started, gesturing with your hands for everyone to listen.

"Why are you in a Araña costume?" Tim asked, pointing out you still being in your suit.

"I'm Araña. Anyways-" You tried to get back on track, only to keep getting interrupted.

"You're Araña?! Do you know how dangerous that is?! you could've gotten hurt!" Bruce spoke up.

"listen," you started "I just need slight help, and I'll be on my way home. I'll get out of your hair, I swear."

Everyone sat down to listen and you spoke up

"Okay, so I need to go back home, and my bracelet thing to make me go there is broken. I need to use your guy's computer to see if I can contact Miguel or Peni to fix it. I'll leave once I'm done."

"And why should we listen to you? You walked out over a year ago, why should we help?" Damian tried to put you down, only to be smacked in the back of the head by Jason.

You could hear all of your brothers bickering at once.

You put your head in your hands.

You just wanted to go home.

"Can you guys shut up?" You dragged your hand across your face and everyone became quiet.

You took a deep breath.

"I need to use your fancy computer. I need to contact someone. Just let me inside for a bit, someone will come to pick me up, and I'll leave. Can someone lead the way?"

You finally got to the giant bat computer.

The same one that you wanted to see so badly as a child.

It only took 10 astonishingly long minutes to get there.

What made it worse was you walking slower than usual, and everyone insisted on helping you and staring at your side.

You didn't know what was going on, and you didn't want to.

You just wanted to go home.

Once you were in front of the bat computer, you tinkered around with your watch for a bit, trying to get the USB drive out of it.

After a minute or two, you finally got it out.

It would've taken less time, but everyone was watching you and that made you anxious. You were also slightly drowsy for some reason, which didn't help at all.

You saw how beat up it looked and hoped it would still work when plugged into the computer.

After 10 agonizingly long seconds, Lyla popped up.

"LYLA!" you hopped up and down, you could finally go home!

"Y/N! What's going on?" You could hear and see her glitching.

"Uhm, I'm kinda stuck in my universe, and I don't know how to get back! Oh god, I should've listened when Miguel gave those classes on what to do in case the watches broke instead of napping-!" You started rambling and pulling your hair, a trait you got from seeing Pavitr doing so often.

"Y/N, breathe. It's alright, I'll contact Miguel and tell him what's going on, also why are you bleeding?"

You looked down to see what everyone was freaking out about.

Turns out you got stabbed, must've been the adrenaline hiding the pain.

"huh. so that's why it hurt." You passed out and the last thing you saw and heard was everyone freaking out about you.

When you passed out, Bruce immediately called an ambulance, this wasn't something he could fix by himself.

He needed Leslie's help.

He shoved you into the batmobile and made his way to her clinic.

You were dying.

He didn't want to lose you, not again.

You were lying out on the car seats.

Your brothers were in the seats behind you.

Usually, they'd be bickering about the lack of space or who gets which seat, but they were worried.

About you.

You woke up an hour later.

You were laid out on a hospital bed.

You were sweaty, cold, and tired.

You just wanted your dad to go home.

You had a couple of monitors around you, along with some wires connected to them.

As soon as you sat up, which took a lot of strength, you felt yourself get dizzy.

After the sensation of the room spinning wore off, you saw everyone surrounding you.

You could hear people talking, but everything was loud and muffled.

You covered your ears like a child.

You were so tired.

You wondered if Miguel was on his way.

You saw a woman with white hair and a doctor's outfit walk in and start talking.

You tried to focus, and you did, but it was kinda hard.

You felt a slight, familiar humming coming from the hallway of the surgery room.

It took a couple of minutes, but everything was heading back to normal.

That was until you looked down to where the cut was.

It was gross looking and probably infected.

That's when you heard it.

"We are going to have to take the blade out, alright?" The operator said, putting on her gloves.

You could see the vague outline of Miguel's costume out the door.

He was running.

He was running for you.

"Wait, not yet!" you exclaimed, still half asleep.

Miguel was almost at the door, and the operators started to take out the blade anyway.

You screamed in pain.

"I WANT MY DAD!" You tried reaching out for Miguel, only for Bruce to reach out and try and grab your hand.

"I'm here, it's alright." Bruce would never admit it, but he was glad you still called him your dad.

It surprised him though, you'd always call him father.

You pushed him out of the way. "Not you! DAD!" Miguel finally made it past security.

He immediately took hold of your hand despite your family's surprise.

Tears were streaming down your face.

You hugged Miguel tightly.

You cried more. You just wanted to go home.

You ended up passing out from the pain.

oof this was bad sorry

again im hafl asleep so lkke igmore eveey spellung mistake

taglist(please lmk if i forgot you!):@bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla @kaitense1 @star-girl-interlud3 @sukaretto-n @welpthisisboring @itsberrydreemurstuff @lovebug-apple @crazycaoticsimp @bellethesleepypotato @blackhood1229 @jsprien213 @sirenetheblogger @awawage @holybatflapexpert @vanessa-boo @ryuushou @whiskeygirl7 @seemeee3 @inojinieeee @oliviaewl @djpuppy-kittens @w31rd3rg1rl @br33zy-blizzardz @eyeless-kun

[laumier]

LOOSE 𓂃 𓈒 ࣪ LHS.

resumé. heeseung getting you to let loose, making you let him take care of you.

! [slight dacryphilia, reader is ovulating, pet names, maybe a creampie idk :p, fingering, not proofread]

lala’s note. this is a thought that i have daily.. also ser’s idea. but i can’t write so this lowkey sucked butt.

the apartment was filled with silence. well, not completely. the sound of the tv in the living room played as you stood in the kitchen, cutting up ingredients for dinner.

there was tension in the atmosphere. one that even heeseung could feel, but he wasn’t sure of what it was. you’d been avoiding him since you both woke up.

you were out of bed before him, which was quite unlike you. even if you were awake before him, you always remained in bed, waiting to wake him up with kisses.

you wouldn’t even let him touch you. or come near you—you put a distance between the both of you and he couldn’t take it.

he knew he didn’t do anything wrong, so what was the problem?

“baby?” he called from behind you, making you jump slightly.

you hummed in response, continuing to cut up vegetable and throw them into a bowl.

he pushed himself off of the kitchen walk, walking toward you.

“what’re you up to?” he asked, his hands coming to rest on your sides, the warmth of them on your exposed skin making you shiver.

“dinner,” you replied flatly, trying to inch away from him. “making dinner.”

his grip on you tightened, pressing his fingers into your sides as he leaned down towards your neck. you could feel his lips hovering over your skin as you attempted to lean away from his touch.

“babe—“

“heeseung, i can’t do this right now.” you let out a shaky breath, continuing to move around the kitchen with him attached to you.

“ ‘heeseung’ ?” he repeated, his brows furrowing. “what happened to ‘baby’ ?”

you didn’t respond, still shifting away from him every time his hands inched higher.

“what’s going on with you?” his hands tightened as he spun you around to face him, making you drop the utensil you were using.

you avoided his gaze, “hee, i need to finish—“

“i feel like i can’t even talk to you without you avoiding me. did i do something wrong?” he said, hand smoothing over your hair gently.

you didn’t say anything, your eyes still everywhere but his face.

“hey,” he gripped your face, squeezing gently. now you had no choice but to make contact, shivering once you met his gaze.

you could’ve melted right there. his big brown eyes staring right into yours, expression soft with concern.

“you wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked again, his face inching closer to yours. you bit your lip hesitantly, suddenly leaning into him now.

“every time you touch me, i just—“ you whispered, your breath hitching.

“when i touch you?” he repeated, confused. but he soon realized what you meant, his hand tightening on your side.

you blinked up at him like a lost puppy, eyes now watery, shimmering in the dim light like you had no other thoughts behind them.

“oh, honey,” he said softly, his lips hovering over yours. your tummy fluttered as he got closer to you, the need to feel him against you growing stronger.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

your lips parted to respond, but you couldn’t. your head was too empty at this point.

he pressed his lips against yours, his other hand still gripping your face, pulling you closer to him.

“you don’t have to say anything. just let me take care of you.”

══════════════════

as you settled into the sheets beneath you, you could feel heeseung’s lips everywhere as he slid himself between your thighs.

he nipped at your neck lightly, pulling a whine from your lips.

his hand came to rest at waistband of your sweats, tugging at them gently. you shifted, trying to squirm out of them, making him chuckle.

he pulled them down just enough to reveal the plush of your thighs, seeing the wet patch that clung to the center of you.

heeseung ran his fingers over it slightly, making you tremble.

“fuck,” he groaned, pressing his finger against you.

you whimpered quietly, hand coming down to meet his, trying to tug your panties down.

“patience, baby.”

you whined again, annoyed this time. but he didn’t say anything, knowing that you were just worked up.

his fingers finally hooked around your panties, tugging them all the way off along with your sweatpants.

the cool air hit your center, your legs closing around his hips before he spread them again.

his fingers met your heat again, gliding them through the wetness that clung to you.

“hee, please—“ you whispered, gripping his forearm tightly. “just wanna feel you inside..”

his fingers pressed deeper, almost against your hole but not quite pushing them in yet. “i know, but i don’t wanna hurt you, princess.”

his voice was soft and gentle, a stark contrast to what he was doing to you right now.

he toyed with you for a bit, his fingers continuing to glide through your arousal before pushing them in.

a strangled moan left you as your head fell against the pillows below you. the pace of his fingers was agonizing, stretching you slowly.

“faster,” you breathed heavily. “please.”

“i really don’t wanna hurt you, babe.” he replied, eyes still filled with the same concern from earlier.

you spread your legs, trying to feel more of the ridges in his fingers glide against your walls. you moaned once he pushed them all the way, before pulling them out, his digits soaked and glistening.

they pushed back in with a squelch, your thighs trembling with each movement.

“so wet for me, princess. just for me.” he kissed your cheek, curling his fingers in all the right places.

your whines became more desperate as your stomach started to tighten, some of that arousal skipping past heeseung’s fingers and onto the sheets below you.

“please, hee, i’m gonna—“ you gasped softly, your eyes fluttering shut as your orgasm hit you sooner than you thought. but he didn’t stop.

his fingers kept working inside you, still going at the same pace before he pulled them out, spreading your release over your swollen lips.

he stayed there for a moment, fingers still running over you before you made a noise out of impatience.

“alright, alright, i hear you.” he chuckled moving away from you to peel his shirt off. before he could even get to them, your hands were on the waistband of his pants, pushing them down.

“such a needy girl,” he hissed, letting you pull them down his thighs, along with his underwear. his length hit his stomach softly, the base of it already hard and twitching.

you bit your lip in anticipation, looking up at him through your lashes, eyes still sparkling.

“fuck, don’t look at me like that—“ he groaned, leaning in once more, his lips finding yours. you slipped your tongue into his mouth as he hovered over you again, length brushing against your thigh.

you reached down to grip him, feeling the thickness of him as your hands moved to stroke him.

he hissed, moving his hips in sync with your hand.

“hee.. just put it in, please..” you murmured against his lips. he gave you a nod, hands meeting yours as he gripped himself, positioning between your legs.

he pushed the tip through your folds, groaning as he watched the slick gather onto it.

you continued to hold onto him, helping him push into your hole, fitting himself inside with one thrust.

you both moaned at the fullness, his cock already twitching inside of you.

your hips moved against his, silently telling him to move.

he pulled back, before burying himself to the hilt, his hips flush against yours. he kept doing so until he gained enough stamina to pound up into you.

“oh, f-fuck, hee—“ you let out a drawn out moan as his hips smacked harshly against yours, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the room.

he grunted against your neck, pressing a small kiss there. “this what you been wanting all day? for me to settle the ache between those legs?”

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t—just a small nod as you cried out for him.

heeseung leaned back slightly, his hand gripping your shirt to pull you towards him, meeting his thrusts.

“just like that, angel,” he hissed, his eyes focused on where you were connected, your slick covering his length every time he slid out of you.

“look at the way you’re taking me.. so good.”

your eyes closed as you felt tears well up into them, your back arching from the sensation below you. though it was overwhelming, you couldn’t help but open yourself up to him, thighs trembling.

his eyes scanned your body, then landing on your face as he saw you sniffling, tears falling down your cheeks.

he groaned again, his hips stuttering.

“feels so good, hee. ‘s so big,” you sobbed, more tears pouring as his thumb came to swipe them away.

“yeah?” he cooed. “it’s so big but you take it so well, princess.”

his hips only sped up, angling them to hit a deeper part inside you, your back arching once more.

more of your arousal continued to spill past where heeseung was buried inside of you, making everything so much easier for him.

he shifted you legs up higher on his waist, trying to get as deep as possible. he placed his hand against your stomach, feeling where he was hitting the most.

you whimpered, your eyes squeezing shut again.

“feel me in there, baby?”

you nodded, more whimpers and whines spilling from your lips as you felt that knot low in your tummy again.

“babe, i can’t.. i’m gonna—“ your breathing became uneven as he pressed down on your abdomen, hips continuing their brutal pace.

“you can,” he whispered against your lips. “make a mess for me.”

the bed creaked quietly under you as he continued to rock his hips into yours, making you coat his cock once you came.

you cursed silently as he fucked you through it, the slight overstimulation making your eyes well up again.

“d..don’t stop,” you gasped, locking your legs around his waist before he spilled into your with a groan, his hips still moving.

both of your releases now mixed together, white coating him as he moved faster.

heeseung moaned, “you feel like heaven, baby, fuck.”

you hummed in response, squeezing around him just to feel his hips stutter again before they stopped completely.

he breathed heavily against your neck, his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath. his skin was flushed, glistening with sweat.

you hissed, feeling the stickiness between you as you tried to close your legs around his waist.

he chuckled, before slipping out of you, rolling to the side.

he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in to his chest as he kissed your head.

“promise me you’ll say something next time?” he mumbled into your hair.

you nodded, humming in content as you snuggled into him.

“don’t get too comfortable,” he said, softly. “gotta run you a hot bath before bed.”

[kenyummy]

✰ 05. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 05. your closed-off heart.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: avoidant attachment damian is canon to me okay. it's canon to me... </3 also pretty long chap idk how many words but it's a bunch

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

The sky has fallen to an ashen black by the time you've all settled down and watched a fun game show together; so different from the ones back home.

After those hours of catching up—you've made sure to be careful with your words and not mention anything about any alternate universes. You can't—not with that lingering stare behind you, after all.

Whether they realised your avoidance of the topic or simply didn't think to bring it up—you were glad the rest of your friends never even hinted at it once, either.

Now you were back, sitting on the couch under a low, flickering light and cuddled up beside Johnny and Franklin.

"Franklin..." Your voice is low. Said boy is cooped up to your side, snoring softly as he drools onto you. You avert your gaze toward Sue and Reed. "How's his... mutation going? It's pretty rough being so strong so young."

Johnny glowers at the sight of Franklin so attached to your left arm—even though he's just as close, if not closer to you than his nephew is. If he were sunken any farther into you, he'd practically be in your lap.

Sue sighs, pressing her palm against her face with an exasperated look. "After that whole incident with Annihilus, his power has been developing so drastically, we aren't sure on what may occur next. He's so... he is so strong. We asked the Professor about it, and his only advice was for when we believe we cannot properly help him develop, to send him to his school."

Reed slinks his hand into his wives', gripping tightly. "But I don't think it'll come to that. Franklin... is a good kid. I don't believe he will ever lost control of himself, not like the Professor is afraid he will. Regardless—he's doing fine, and that was the reason we took him with us."

The mood is sunken, a little bit quieter as you rake your nails over Frankin' scalp—gently. Such a power so young—you remember the first time you were told this young boy was creating pocket universes under his bed at three. Two years later, and he's developed the abilities comparable to that of a god.

To be so incredible is a blessing—but for a child like Franklin, it can feel like a curse often times. You would know, you think solemnly, palm falling over his cheek.

Ben sinks into the dented couch, leaning back with a knee crossed over his leg. He breaks the silence with ease and that lovely Yancy Street accent, "That, and we didn't wanna let Tony babysit again."

"Oh yeah," Johnny grimaces. "Last time he was left alone with Frankie, he made him a suit and he flew all the way to the Carribean!"

You slap a hand over your mouth, turning to Johnny and laughing, "I heard about that! Didn't you nearly get sunk by Namor and his Atlanteans?"

Johnny hisses and looks to the side—the tips of his ears alighting with a flicker. You reach up and pat out the flame, brushing his hair back as he hides his face from your view.

Judging by the smug, knowing look Sue shoots her younger brother, you assume he was pretty annoyed by your pampering.

Despite this, the mood has become lighter. You aren't worried about what may happen in the future, or what could possibly go wrong with the young child beside you.

"Don't even mention him, or any bad guy—" Johnny slumps down, head reeking back dramatically. "I'm going stir-crazy not being able to get out and fight 'em."

Ben gives him a pointed look, "brows" furrowing, "Yer sounding less stir-crazy and more batshit mental. Ya gotta get out more."

"Tell that to him!" The blonde juts his thumb towards Reed, who simply averts his eyes. "He's the one who said we can't be seen in this unknown place."

"Yeah, it's a shame, isn't it?" You cross your arms. "While you're all resting here, I have to go out and fight crime all day. Lucky me."

Johnny raises his hands in defence, "Yeah, you are lucky. I'd kill to get out and get some action. I'm tired of being cooped up in here all day like the world doesn't need me."

"Don't go getting a big head, Johnny." Sue frowns. "This world has survived fine without you. I'm sure it'll live even without you, as well."

Johnny and Sue start to bicker in the traditional sibling fashion—shooting the other glares and mocks, all the while Reed seems to be deep in thought. (And as always, Ben is simply enjoying the scene in front of him).

"Actually..." Reed speaks up—catching the attention of everybody in the room with ease. "Perhaps... it could be a good thing to go public. It would give us an easy way to collect materials we need if we could go out and use our powers freely."

"... Reed? You can't be serious—" Sue blinks in shock.

Ben slams his two rocky fists together, "Hell yeah! It's been a minute since I said my favourite line—"

"—It's clobberin' time, we know." Johnny shakes his head. Ben simply shoots the matchstick a glare.

"That aside; it'll help us make that..." Reed hums, glancing at you for a moment, "That very intricate device we'd been needing to create. The last one was created by the combined nature of me, Tony, and Hank—so making it alone may provide more difficult, but absolutely not impossible. Not much tech to work with, either... this might take a while..."

Sue places a hand on her husbands shoulder, and he seems to break out of the strange mumble he reduced his voice to. "Thank you, Susan. But yes—given we collect the right resources and I have time to work on this, we should be able to remake it."

"That's great!" You smile, grin brightening. You could go home! You could actually go home! Not sure when—but soon couldn't come soon enough. "You guys can fight alongside me, and now this! This is great news!"

"Eh ... I already told you Reed was making some of that crazy tech stuff, didn't I?" Johnny shrugs, resting his head to the side. "Besides—It's Reed. Why wouldn't be tinkering with some weird invention?"

"... Thank you for the vote of confidence, Johnny." Reed murmurs, eyes falling to the side. "If we want to make something as intricate as... that, from scratch, we'll definitely need the most brilliant minds helping."

"Ah... yeah. Too bad Tony isn't here, huh? Hank, too. They'd be a real help." You smile sadly, looking to the side.

"Actually, [name], I'd rather like you to look over some of the teleporters with me. Give your opinion on what I should do with what I have."

"R... really?" You look up at him with sparkly eyes. "You really...?"

He nods, smiling. You bite down on the insides of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning madly—instead, you opt to rushing over and wrapping your arms around his neck, jumping up and down.

"Thank you! Yeah, I'd be—" You pull back, coughing with a flushed face. "I'd be totally honoured. Yeah. Um—I promise to not get any webs on them this time!"

"I'll take your word for it," Reed chuckles. Happiness practically bursts out of your chest at the recognition from the smartest man in the world.

Perhaps you were more than you gave yourself credit for—and way more than what that family gave you credit for.

You sit back down and Franklin crawls back into your lap, snoring softly. Johnny attaches himself to your side and keeps a warm arm snug around your shoulder, smiling down at you.

The warm fuzzy feeling pools down at the bottom of your stomach and each time you laugh, you feel your heart grow fonder.

You had never felt so at home in this strange place. These four—these five—this was your family, and you'd never feel otherwise.

Damien feels a tug in his chest. More than a tug, actually—it's like a rope has tied a noose around his ribs and is rattling them repeatedly.

He's biting down so hard on his lips and the inside of your cheek that blood seeps from between chapped lips. He chews them raw—not even noticing the pain.

He hadn't even realised when he pulled his katana out from its holster on his back. He hadn't realised when he gripped it so taut his knuckles turned a milky white. He hadn't even realised when his eyes zeroed in on the sight of you cuddling up with that dark-haired boy.

Allowing him close to you—clinging to your arm so pathetically and pressing his face against your stomach as if he'd done it a hundred times over and acting like you're his older sibling or something stupid like that—

Damian steadies his erratic breathing. Unscrunching his face, but he cannot seem to stop glaring daggers. Even when he makes eye contact with that man—Reed, he believes you referred to him as—he does not tear his sharp gaze away.

You stare so tenderly at the young boy (younger than Damian is. By a few years or so, most likely). You cradle his cheek in your hand with such love it makes your actual brother, your blood brother, feel sick to his stomach.

Raking your fingers through his hair like you'd never done with your siblings before. Holding him close like you wished to protect him from the world and all the horrors within it.

How could you possibly hope to protect this... Frankie, when you cannot even protect yourself? The scarring left from the bullet still lay on your shoulder, a ghostly reminder of how you became victim to the evil this city holds.

A reminder to Damian on how he must protect you now. As his duty.

In this cruel world, you have lost to it—and yet, you choose to coddle others? You choose to keep others safe and close to your heart, but never your family?

His heart is lit aflame with rage. His jaw is taut and clenched tightly—feeling his teeth grit beneath his tongue and his mind fizzle with boiling anger. He hadn't felt this irrational in so long. Not until...

He doesn't remember ever seeing you in a such a light. He doesn't remember seeing you.

But now he does—and now, he feels so much fuming ferocity. Watching you send the softest of smiles to him and allowing him to feel your soft, untainted touch.

(A touch not tainted by years of relentless crime fighting—a silky grasp that could only be given by that kind of regularity Damian had never known).

Much earlier, he had realised you were that vigilante he met so long ago. That spider-like fiend who seemed to have those never-endingly sticky webs.

This is why you'd been skipping classes so often, and why he never saw you around. That's why he hadn't seen those pitiful eyes be directed toward his two, barely there elder brothers, after each and every violent patrol.

That is why you have become so distant. So far away—Drake had described it. Damian didn't bother to listen because he didn't care enough to.

That doesn't matter. In the end, none of it matters. Not to him. It didn't change his image of you.

He hadn't known you long enough for it to shift in any way—nor had he ever tried to. Despite this, he is content. If this new version of you is all he will ever know, then so be it. This will be his you—the sincerity in your touch and the love in your eyes.

(Yet, never seen toward him).

He has little time to ponder and brood. Before he knows it—the glass door is sliding open and, on that balcony, he is no longer alone.

You hesitate for a moment before speaking. "Damian?"

He blinks. He is not used to hearing his name from your mouth in anything but a furious tone. Yet, despite this—it is anything bur the saccharine way you told that Franklin he's your favourite—

"Damian. Why did you follow me?" You demand, voice more firm than your question-like tone before.

You stand before him, arms crossed under your chest and a hard expression on your face. Stern. Like a real older sibling. He had never seen you make that kind of face before.

(For whatever odd reason, he feels small again. Like lowering his head and apologising for something he had not even done—you've never had that sort of effect before).

... And yet, despite all he's acted like in the past; in this present moment, he doesn't know what to say to you. Very uncharacteristical.

(For that Franklin, it came so easy. Like running up to you with those stupid googly eyes was the most regular thing to him. Damian doesn't believe he will ever be able to feel as normal as that).

Fortunately, he manages to scrounge up some words to say like it was a board game. "I... happened to catch you swinging here. In that ridiculous costume and to your even more ridiculous friends."

Your brow twitches in annoyance at his words. He notices it so wholly that it strikes deep into his chest. Why are you so dissatisfied with him? Why does it make him so unfathomably upset?

"One, my costume is cool. Two, my friends aren't ridiculous. Don't talk about them like that." Your tone is upset.

All these strong emotions hit him like a freight train and suddenly he doesn't know how to speak properly. Don't look at him like that. Why are you so kind to that other child, but you are so cruel toward him? It's unfair. Absolutely unfair.

He must've been quiet longer than he realised. Clutching the bottom of his cape tight into his blood-bathed grip, practically shaking. He must look so utterly pathetic for you to offer him menial pity.

(Just like you used to—except now it feels like a wave crashing against the shore, covering the burning lava stones in a cool tide).

"So, you know, then?" You glance downward at Damian after pinching your temple. He breaks his eye contact with the concrete and looks back to you. "That I'm that spider hero."

...

"Yes. After seeing your school bag webbed up, it was far too obvious."

You glance downwards once more. To the strap wrapped around his shoulder, connected to your bag. He tries to shuffle it discreetly behind him, but he knows you've spotted it when a smile crawls onto your lips.

Gritting his teeth—yet this time he does not feel that same blaring anger as before—he decides that hiding it was useless and opts to shove it into your arms roughly, before he can even think.

"The leather is crumpled. You need a new bag," He says, matter-of-factly. You grasp onto the leather with wide eyes; gaze shifting from it to him.

"... I know. It's been like this..." You aren't exactly sure on how long, exactly—but you're sure it's been... "For a while. I'm used to it."

Damian pauses, eyes narrowed and lips turned down into a sneer. He's practically offering, and yet you still deny? You pretend everything is fine and you are strong.

...

You lean down the slightest. "... Still. Thanks for considering me."

You almost can't believe you're thanking this younger brother for the bare minimum—but from what you've seen, that bare minimum isn't seen much in your household. (Especially towards you).

Despite this... you have always had a soft spot for kids. You ruffle his dark hair and he practically squawks, slapping your hands away like it burnt.

He recoils back, hissing, "Who do you think you are?! Don't patronise me!"

You chuckle and move back, brushing off your hands. He watches that action like a hawk. "... Are you going to tell them?"

"TT. About your little side hobby playing dress up?"

You want to point out how he does the exact same thing. But you don't, because you know it will lead to nothing good.

Damian sneers, turning his head to the side, "I don't care for what you do in your spare time. As long as I do not have to be there to save you every time."

"Fair enough. This can be our little secret, then." You nod. "... You can go now. I'm just going to suit up and sneak back in."

"Is that what you have been doing for the past several weeks?"

"Guilty as charged," you shrug, pressing on the necklace pendant sitting comfortably between your collarbones. "If nobody notices, then I don't think it's that big of a deal. I mean—"

He watches in fascination as the minuscule robots crawl over your body and form into the familiar Spidey suit.

You tuck your hair in as the mask forms. "—Most of them are barely home to begin with, and it's not like Bruce has spare time to be worrying about this."

... "Don't you mean father?"

You stare at him weird. "What?"

"You called father Bruce." His eyes narrow furthur.

"Oh. Right." You must've become accustomed to not saying father. Uncle Ben was the only father you'd ever had, and it wasn't like you were going around calling him that, since you know—he was your uncle. "Yeah. That's what I meant."

Damien doesn't reply this time. He throws on the hood of his costume, turning his back toward your costumed form.

You walk back inside into the dimly-lit room, engulfing those people in warm hugs you'd never spared any of them before.

He leaps off the roof and swings away into the night, face unreadable; mind consumed with little crime and more thoughts of you.

Perhaps he was... wrong about you. Less helpless, but still just as weak. And a lot more confusing. Unfair. So much confliction.

Though, he feels his chest beat strangely warm when he tousles his hair back to its regular style.

Swinging in through the window in your room and with one click on your necklace, you land flat on your heels.

Peering around, you hum at your empty, dark room and change into a pair of pyjamas.

It's been a day or two since you'd eaten here. Usually you'd go around as Spidey and picking up some takeout as you swing back home, or go to Harry's house for some dinner (since Norman had taken a strong, un-evil liking to you in this world).

But today, you'd been too wrapped up to even think about dinner. You'd missed the familiarity of Sue's warm cooking but you hadn't even thought to ask while you were there. Damn.

It's way too late to go out and get something now. Crap. You really got ahead of yourself, didn't you?

You put on your pair of fuzzy slippers, and swing open your door. It's late, so most of them should be out on patrol.

You'll probably only run into Alfred, at best. You can live with those kinds of odds.

You walk down the stairway and towards the kitchen (it took you a bit—learning the ropes of this place was harder than it looked). Your steps sluggishly drawl across the floor as you yawn.

Being Spidey sure was tiring. Post-patrol naps were always the highlight of your week, but you could never do it on an empty stomach.

As quietly as possible, you begin to rummage around in the larger-than-life fridge. Fruit, condiments, almost all ingredients than actual food.

You groan. You hate rich people. Aunt May always used to just buy a bunch of pre-cooked meals whenever she was away—you'd become so accustomed to it.

Maybe there were leftovers? ... Do rich people even keep leftovers? You slouch down at the thought.

You open a few drawers just to find a pile of spinach of all things. Then fruity flavoured drinks. Some more vegetables. Lots of vegetables. A child's waking nightmare.

"There's a pack of pizza pockets in the third drawer in the second row."

You barely even react, hand already inching for the drawer. You open it, and find it. You hum.

Your sense acts up when you hear footsteps approaching—you glance over your shoulder to see a man you have not previously met before, but have seen.

That blob of red—that figure you saw before everything went black and when a bullet was lodged in your shoulder. It was him.

A white tuft of hair in the middle of his forehead and a jaded expression. A red helmet under his arm and a pizza pocket in the other hand.

It was undoubtedly him.

"Jason..." You try your hardest to not make it sound like a question.

His expression remains unchanged. "[name]. You... your shoulder is all healed up already."

You glance at your exposed shoulder. There is barely any visibly sign of a wound ever being there. Perks to a healing factor—well, you heal. Downsides to a healing factor—people start asking questions.

"It didn't hit me too deep... and Bruce got me the best hospital stuff, too." You put the pizza pockets on a plate then stuff it into the microwave. The beep resounds in the quiet as you lean back on the counter. "Guess I got lucky."

"Didn't feel so lucky when you were bleeding out in my arms, did you?" His eyes narrow and you think you may have said the wrong thing. "What the hell were you even doing out at that hour? What the fuck were you thinking?"

Oh, I was just dropped in from another universe and switched places with Wayne-ie here. No biggie.

Yeah, no way in any of the layers in hell. Facing Galactus head on feels like a safer task than telling him that. You shake your head, trying to formulate a proper excuse.

"I was hanging out with my friends. Lost track of time."

His eyes widen at your sheer audacity to say that—then, his brows furrow and he steps forward, "Don't give me that shit. You never go out past ten. Bruce won't let you. We drilled it into your head you'd die out there. And look—you nearly did. Don't you dare sit here and lie to me, [name], because I swear to God—"

Your jaw clenches and you have to hold your hands behind your body—pressed against hard granite—to stop yourself from pushing him back.

You hiss, low and tense, "What do you know? You'd never stay long enough to find out."

You remember flipping through that diary. The words getting scratchier and the paper getting more crumpled as you went on.

"You'd never stayed longer than a few days. You'd never even looked at me even then."

As you became older, you became hateful.

"You could see Dick. You could hate Tim. And despite everything, you could bring yourself to like him. You even tolerated Damian."

But you also became sad. Increasingly so. So miserable, trapped in that newborn skin you'd never truly seemed to break out of.

"I didn't care that you killed people. I didn't care that you never stayed for long. I didn't care that you hated Bruce."

So lost, so desperate for that touch you'd received so long ago; you never really grown up, had you?

"I didn't care that you'd never stay for him. For Dick. For any of the others."

So bitter. It's no wonder you'd never talked to them. It's no wonder—

"But damn it, Jason—"

"I really thought that you could've stayed for me."

—that he's staring at you in such horror.

None of this came from your heart. This entire speech was scripted on a piece of paper—by a version of you who felt so much pain and hate for those who abandoned you so easily.

But... looking at his expression now—you think it's something he needed to hear. Something that couldn't be left unsaid any longer. All the feelings pent up in them (in you, one could say) and the words they were to afraid to speak aloud. The words you were not afraid to say.

His lips parted, eyes wide as he doesn't reply. How can he? What could he ever, possibly say?

That he was doing this for your own good? That he never wanted you to see the man he had become? To never want to sully that image of that older brother who played tag with you when you were younger?

How does he tell you about the bullet he put through the skull of the Penguin goons with smoking guns he'd found minutes after he saw you bleeding out in a dirty alleyway? He couldn't possibly tell you about that.

How could he ever tell you that this was all for you—when you were hurting so badly?

(Hurting without him? Had you missed him all these years, so terribly? The thought brings some sort of twisted satisfaction. Sick reassurance. That, despite everything, you still loved him).

How could Jason Todd ever show you that he cares without destroying everything he was before? The answer was simple to him—he can't. He thought you knew. He thought—

...

Now, everything doesn't feel so simple. His sunken eyes search all over your face in frantic motions. Your eyes are so blank, and you don't even look to be feeling anything.

Are you tired? Of this? Of him? Just what did that bullet do to you?

The beeping of the microwave catches both of your attention before he has a chance to say something he will likely regret.

You turn your head to the side, and slip away from where he had cornered you against the granite. "Pizza pocket's done."

You glance his way, and he feels pathetic. Absolutley, spectacularly pathetic. "... Want some?"

You sit in incredibly uncomfortable silence, chewing on the food. At least it was good. Familiar.

Clearly there was a lot to discuss between the both of you. ... Jason and this other you, at least.

(Or was it you, the one who was shot? You could never truly tell).

There's so much to say, so little time. Jason could never stay, and definitely not around you. All these years—this world's you thought he hated them. Despised them.

Now, his expression feels like the complete opposite. Longing.

You shove the rest of the pizza pocket into your mouth, wiping off the stray greasy cheese off the corners of your lips.

"I meant what I said earlier." You clarify, as if he needed it. "And I don't appreciate you only getting on my ass after all this time, only when something bad happens. You don't get to do that. That's not how this works."

You gesture between the two of you and his heart feels like its been stabbed with the sharpest of knives.

Then, it twists.

You were always his favourite. The sweetest. The little kid he'd once held so dearly and near his heart. Until that heart stopped and turned into the deepest black, poisoned and compromised.

How could he ever risk poisoning you, too?

He wanted to keep you safe, and somewhere, somehow—he came to the conclusion that the only way you'd br safe is if you were away from him. Kept at a distance. Staying at arm's length.

Now, he isn't sure he was ever thinking of how safe you'd be. Not when he'd seen you, light-headed and bleeding. Not when you were practically dying in his arms and he couldn't do shit except kill those stupid fucking goons; because what is he good for if not revenge?

"I miss the old days," you say. But there's a distinct lack of emotion in your voice. As if it wasn't even you who was saying this. "But to hang onto them forever—when will we ever move on?"

...

He doesn't know. He doesn't think he can. Those are the only memories he has of you. Of himself.

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling his heart pound and stomach feeling sick. This sort of uncanny, soul-consuming feeling—it only ever happened whenever he would look at you.

Eyes blurry and vision failing him, he wants to go. To run. But at the same time, he wants to keep you close. Make sure nothing will ever happen again. Make sure you never feel that pain again.

His head is going to split. He doesn't know what to do.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His hands sink into his hair, and his jaw is clenched impossibly tight.

"I just..." His voice is quieter than he wanted it to be. Shakier. Almost timid. He feels like a boy again. That same child you'd stare at so reverently. He doesn't know when he was beginning to forget that. "I just wanted to keep you safe. That's all I ever wanted."

You're almost tired of this. Pissed off. Is that all they say? Is that really all they say to tell you why they'd kept you so far away? The distance was all-consuming. You'd noticed it in the first week you lived here. You couldn't even begin to imagine that kind of "love" all your life.

"Then, you were doing it all wrong." You say, simply. It sounds like you know. Like you have experience. Like a wise old wizard who'd "seen it all before". "I'm not incapable (truly, you are not) and my life is my own. Keeping me safe isn't trying to keep everything the same, like it is as it was."

He lifts his head from his hands when your chair pushes behind you, screeching across wooden boards.

"I'm sorry you had to find me like that. But... you don't get it. You don't know..." You swallow. "You don't know enough about me now to judge whether I need protecting or not. You never did."

... You're right. He never did. He still doesn't. Jason never watched you grow up. He never got the chance to see you go through your awkward teen years. Get your first boyfriend. Scare the shit out of him. He didn't get to hang out with you and get ice-cream after school.

He never got the chance to do anything of these things. Not with you. Never with the one most dear to him, and his small, dark heart.

But that could change. Starting now, he could change. He would. He could. He will. For you.

He stares, eyes blankening. Then, they fill with something dark. A nervous shiver runs down your spine and your sense starts tingling in the back of your mind.

He speaks, low and steady. The shakiness is gone and you're not sure what went on in his head—but he sounds so sure now. So certain.

"Then, I will."

It's not a threat or a claim—but a withheld promise. The heaviness of it weighs down on you, and you aren't sure whether you should feel safe or scared.

He gets out of his chair and walks over to you. Unconsciously, you hold your breath, blood running cold as he stalks closer. That huge imposing frame that (probably) used to hold some semblance of comfort toward you; now terrified you to the bone.

His big hand rests atop your head, and ruffles your hair. "Starting now, I'll get to know you again. Then, everything can go back to normal."

... Did he even listen to a word you said?

He sends you a smile as he leaves the top of your head a tangled mess, slipping on his helmet and walking away.

You're left alone, heart pumping wildly in your chest and your brain throbbing with that buzz. Every sense and nerve on full alert—you sink down into that chair and pull your knees to your chest.

You think you may have bitten off a bit more than you can chew.

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[mdsbabygirl]

Being their fuckbuddy

Pairing: Otoya Eita/Itoshi Sae/Bachira Meguru/Shidou Ryusei/Chigiri Hyoma/Barou Shouei x FEM!reader(separately)

Part2

Synopsis: you're currently emotionally unavailable, yet you still wanna satisfy your sexual urges.. so what do you do? You become fwb with these egoists

Note: I didn't proof read this, so that's why you may find mistakes or parts that are longer than others.

Cw: emotionally unavailable reader, very horny men(especially shidou ooff), womanizer/fuckboy/pegging/roleplays(otoya), views this relationship as purely transactional/hates gossip and rumors(sae), obsessive/simp(Bachira), straight up devil/ has a humiliation kink/kinda harassing ngl/sextape(shidou), very much in love/pussy drunk/simp n°2(chigiri), vengeful/has a superiority complex/he thinks he's your king lol(Barou)

Otoya:

•He's very pleased with this, liking your relationship very much.. he's a free man who likes women, so when you came up to him suggesting the idea, he couldn't deny you. Having such a pretty girl to fuck with no strings attached was hot af to him. He liked the idea of having fun with you in bed, getting to know you on such an intimate level, and the fact that this was in fact ephemeral, meaning he could get out of this whenever he wanted, made him very excited.

•he would come to your house many times a week, just straight up knocking at your door, flashing you one of his sexy smirks when you open the door. With his frame towering over yours, he'd look down at you with lust filled eyes, chasing you with his antics so you'll let him in and ravage you.

•Each encounter with him is very passionate, a unique experience where the both of you get to feel immense pleasure. Otoya would like to keep things fun and exciting, meaning you'd likely experiment with different positions, techniques and scenarios. The both of you had tried everything really, ranging from him fucking and bending you in every position possible, you roleplaying as a little bunny or fox for him, to even pegging... Oh damn he really did enjoy that, the feeling of being dommed by you made him a different kind of tingles down there, the kind that he would love to feel again once you meet up for another encounter.

Sae:

•i think sae would enjoy this kind of relationship too, since it means he won't have to stray much from soccer. Your little link is purely and entirely transactional, you both give each other pleasure and that's it, then everyone goes his separate ways. Sae is known to have a very busy life, meaning he would want to waste time on a gf, that he'd most likely neglect. So in order to spare a poor girl this pain, he'd rather get fwb so that way he can satisfy his urges, without caring about the aftermath.

•Sae would be very strict during the times he meets you, he required you to have no phone, no camera and no recorder whatsoever whenever the two of you meet, he wouldn't want rumors about his personal life spreading around like a wildfire, which is why secrecy means a lot to him. He'd often arrange your meetings at some hotel, avoiding doing it in either of your houses for the reasons mentioned before, that's why all of your fucking sessions happen at luxurious suites or extravagant penthouses.

•whenever Sae fucks you, it's heavenly. He made sure that the two of you are on the same page, setting clear boundaries, and making sure your wants are aligned. His fucking style would be deliberate, going straight to the point, making sure the both of you get the most out of this experience. That's why he wouldn't waste a single second in putting you on all fours, forcefully thrusting behind you so that you're seeing stars and moaning so slutty loud.

Bachira:

•oh man, Bachira is excited beyond imagination at the thought of having such relationship with you. Not only is he such a sucker for good sex but also he's a simp for you. I reckon he'd like having you, touching and pleasuring you, enjoying every second he spends thrusting inside you.. He's never had such an intimate link with someone, so all the freshness this relationship brings to his life, makes him look forward to every one of your encounters.

•Though I think the "no strings attached" part of your relationship would kinda piss him off. I mean, since it would be his first time experiencing something like this, he'd grow somewhat fond of you, getting easily attached and even possessive of you. He'd always want to be by your side, even if it's not in a sexual context, which makes you think he's cute. Still, you remind him whatever you have is purely transactional and it shouldn't spiral into something bigger. He'd always brush you off, pretending to understand and agree with you, while deep inside he'd be thinking about a way to finally make you his.. maybe he could poke holes in the condom next time you meet.. he doesn't know yet, but he will make you his one way or another.

•As for the sex with this man, I think it's be a very funny yet exhilarating experience. Bachira is known for his creativity, meaning he'd always find a way to ignite a new spark to your already interesting sex life. He could do this by exploiting his oral skills, using his destrous tongue to lap at your soaked folds, sucking on your swollen clit, to make you writhe and shake under his touch, or even use his cock.. he'd hold your head in place, using your throat as his fucktoy as he'd play around with the remote of the little vibrator that is pushed deep inside your dripping wet cunt..

Shidou:

•ok this man.. pure filth.. things might've started just as a one nightstand but they quickly spiraled into something way freakier. This man is not only horny, but he's also very um.. unique? I mean, he didn't verbally tell you to be his fwb, he just started showing up at your door frequently, entering your house as if it was his, sitting on the large sofa of your living room, telling you to "come please your demon.." umm.. ok Ryusei, IG the only thing that saves you is your hotness paired with your cock size.. fine with me. So that's how you'd always end up in shidou's lap, legs squished against your chest as his big fat cock bullies its way into your sopping wet cunt. Yeah getting fucked like this in your living room was a very frequent if not daily occurrence.

•since I mentioned earlier that this man is indeed a sex addicted devil, it means that he'd follow you around everywhere, if he doesn't find you at home for your daily sassy time sesh, he'd go out to look for you, and once he finds you, he'd have no shame in just pointing out the fact that you ditched your "date", shidou went as far as to point that out in front of your friends, humiliating you in the worst way possible. After managing to get you home someday, he'd squeeze the plump flesh of your ass, whispering seducingly in your ear, how horny it had made him humiliating you in front of everyone..

•Ryusei would most likely fuck you in the freakiest, most mind-blowing ways. He'd be big on making you go dumb on his dick, reducing you to putty in his hands, and making your mind go blank from all the pleasure he's making you feel. I feel like shidou would also like to film your sexy times, insisting that having a camera pointed at him during such an intimate moment makes his duck ten times harder.. you don't deny him, since this bullshit he's into is kinda hot too.. so whenever your sucking him off, taking his whole length down your tight throat, or riding him like there's no tomorrow while your ass bounces on his fat cock, all while he's moaning like the most slutty pornstar and babbling filthy nonsense.. his little camera is there to record each second of your shared sins..

Chigiri:

•once he laid eyes on you, chigiri felt a burning lust igniting within him, a surging need for your body that left him so needy and starved for your touch. He was so relieved when he finally got to have you, the feeling of your skin on his, the feeling of your tongue on him and your warm wet pussy on his dick was way too addicting.. he wanted more, he wanted to have you more and more each time he got to fuck you. Chigiri didn't consider himself the type to get a fuckbuddy, always opting for a traditional relationship where he could have a living gf he'd love ve and cherish.. but not this time. This time, it was his dick that thought for him, his impeding greed taking over his rationality, making him fall in a dark pitch where only your body was his only salvation.

•chigiri wouldn't mind dating you, really, I mean you're totally his type, plus you're so good at sex, as you always make him feel like he's reaching heaven with how much pleasure you make him feel.; but alas, he doesn't know you enough and since you told him that you wanted no strings attached he couldn't do anything about this anymore. He just had to grip at whatever y'all had, and not let it go no matter what happened. He wasn't possessive, always respecting your boundaries, but deep inside he couldn't deny the lingering feeling of wanting you to be fully his, the endless scenarios of how his life would be if you were more than just his fuck buddy.. yet again, he'd always let those thoughts sink deep within his conciousness, opting that keeping whatever y'all have was better than nothing at all.

•chigiri was so passionate and romantic during sex. His intimate touches, and soft gestures always made you blush and quiver under him so vulnerably. You'd always ask why he'd be so gentle w you, but he'd always smile softly, caressing your face, saying that that's how pretty ladies should be treated.. still, this doesn't mean he couldn't just bend you in whichever position he saw fit and fuck you till you saw stars. In fact, whenever chigiri was very horny, especially after any matches or training, he'd pound you so mercilessly, the fast and rough pace of his thrusts made you so weak in the limbs, making him hold you close to his body, kissing your neck and shoulders as he felt your pussy clench around his cock, milking him of all he's worth, "ahh I'm so close" he'd whimper, biting down on your shoulder..

Barou:

•Barou didn't like one night stands or this fwb trope, he really didn't; or at least that's what he told himself.. it was until he net you that he thought, maybe he could make a little exeption. He did try at first to win you over, doing everything he could to get you to be his gf, but you just didn't want any of that. He felt a bit pissed, not understanding why you wouldn't want him as your bf.. but then when you mentioned your reasonings and the fact that you were open to having a sexual relationship with him, he started to think about this possibility.. I mean, he did like you, surely, but he did also have quite the hunger for your body. He noticed the way you'd sway your hips when you walk around him, wear mini skirts and quite the revealing tops in his company so he thought that if that's what you wanted then he could try it out.. still that didn't mean that if this didn't work out he wouldn't leave.

•since you refused his feelings, it remained only the lust lingering between the two of you. Barou insisted to himself that it was going to be a one time fling, your nonchalance for his emotions already a huge turn off of him, yet he still couldn't get enough of your body, each time he felt the touch of your hands on his chest, the kiss you'd leave on his lips, the squeeze your cunny would give him was way too agonizingly addicting. He shouldn't have given you a chance, he thinks, he should have never accepted your stupid offer, but here he was, laying beside you as he was fingering you, getting you nice and ready for your steamy session, as you were jerking him off. This was your little ritual, the start of your passionate and burning desires, that always left his body satisfied, unlike his mind that was always wandering..

•barou would fuck you roughly, mostly because he likes it that way, but also because it was his little revenge on you for rejecting him. He's quite the revengeful person, so he'd grab at each opportunity he gets, to show you who's your king. That's why, whenever shouei is fucking you in doggy, pressing your head into the mattress, and sinking his cock so deep it might breach your cervix, he'd always ask you who you belong to, reminding you of your weakness against your king's power. "That's right baby, who's your king huh?! Who's your fucking king?!" He'd loudly groan while his dick is stretching you out to the max, making you whimper, cry and just obey this egoist whose insatiable hunger for you turned him into a devilish monster.

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