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a-kaash-me-outside · 3 months

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˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto.

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you.

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.”

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back.

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in.

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs.

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable.

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest.

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin.

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you.

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?”

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door.

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient.

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body.

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait.

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure.

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration.

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence.

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now.

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils.

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question.

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope.

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think.

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less.

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view.

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates.

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes.

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer.

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest.

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left.

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me.

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated.

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along.

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now.

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?”

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that.

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want.

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever.

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it.

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee.

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee.

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee.

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee.

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee.

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt.

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead.

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful.

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either.

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession.

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too.

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too.

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too.

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again.

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says.

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips.

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body.

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs.

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat.

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act.

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall.

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?”

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out.

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure.

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this.

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out.

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys.

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen.

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes.

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere.

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked.

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?”

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs.

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face.

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering.

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost.

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs.

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together.

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur.

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree.

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?”

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow.

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence.

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump.

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask.

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not.

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement.

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before.

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile.

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak.

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about.

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree.

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response.

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh.

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy.

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case.

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop.

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word.

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky.

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too.

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are.

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles.

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time.

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you.

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop.

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back.

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety.

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur.

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter.

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates.

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder.

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader smut #higuruma smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #actually not really tbh theres no smut in tojis or gojos cant even lie #toriwritesshit

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forbidden-sunlight · 4 months

Text

yandere! holy knight with saintess!reader scenario [part three]

warnings: obsessive behavior, profane language, religious themes, implied manipulation, physical harassment.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

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Part One

Part Two

Epilogue

Hey guys, welcome to part three of this collaborated series with @deathmetalunicorn1! I am currently on break and won't be back until the 14th, but I figured that since I had recently finished this, might as well post it for everyone to enjoy! I will make a post when I come back, so no worries, I'm not going anywhere yet~!

On another note, please keep in mind that no bullying is tolerated on here. If there is, then this segment and the other chapters will be removed in its entirety.

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let's see what will happen in today's episode :)

Yoo Kyung-Mi had been born with beauty and was taught to use it to her advantage. Her mother knew what she was talking about. Why else did she remarry a wealthy man and make their lives so much easier? It was so much better than barely getting by on their own, trapped in a dingy apartment and worrying if there will be enough food money until the next paycheck. Kyung-Mi went to university, found work at a gaming company and subsequently, a shadow to use to elevate her reputation. A lackey really, but she preferred the term shadow. It sounded much nicer.

Her shadow was another game designer; instead of being the literal, living example of a dowdy-looking office worker, her shadow wore nice clothes. She always treated everyone equally in their department, helped whenever she could with their next project and had a nasty temper when provoked. Yoo Kyung-Mi found this out the hard way when she borrowed a coworker’s proposal and presented it at the next meeting, elevating her status as the director in charge of Labyrinth of Love. Her shadow had the fucking nerve to show her the security footage of her being at that extra’s computer, downloading the sample from the desktop and storing it in a flashdrive.

She tried to deny it, playing the cute card of forgetting to mention the extra as being a collaborator because she was so stressed about the meeting before telling the shadow to make sure to finish her proposal on time because time was money. And then the fucking bitch grabbed her by the hair and slammed her forehead against the wall! Her, the goddamned director! She could fire the shadow’s ass if she wanted to! This was workplace harassment!

“You’re not the director yet, you idiot.” The shadow whispered in the shell of her ear. “That was an informal announcement, so you’re still an equal amongst us commoners. Honestly Kyung-Mi, when are you going to stop masquerading people’s creations as your own? I’ve told you back in university, during those seminars, that it would bite you in the ass. But you don’t listen.”

“You wouldn’t be anywhere without me! You cannot live without me!” She spat. Then the shadow backed off, leaving the office as there hadn’t been a confrontation in the first place. Kyung-Mi didn’t know if the shadow was fucking mental or just didn’t give a shit about getting laid off….but she needed her shadow. It was her shadow’s creativity, like everyone else in the company, that helped MorpheusTech make millions from their products. Without them, there wouldn’t be any money. And Kyung-Mi wouldn’t have any ‘inspiration’ to elevate her status in the company. Tit for tat.

On Monday morning, the shadow presented to the board with a game of her own. And everyone fucking loved it more than hers. Claimed that it was a breath of fresh air from the classic otome game formula. More interactions with the extra characters plus the main cast? And your choices will either boost the gamer’s stats like the Affection Meter, Morale, Reputation, or lower them? It would only be available on their digital store, and they could offer free demos to TubeTubers who have played their products in the past? Sold. The Labyrinth of Love was put on indefinite hiatus. Greenlight Fly Me To The Moon. Give her shadow everything she needs to make sure this project is a success. The company was counting on you, Kyung-Mi. Honored beauty.

So she did. She stayed late at the office when it was past time for her to go home or go on a date. She missed her massage appointments, her precious Sundays had spent at home working on fine-tuning the game mechanics instead of shopping. Her toys started to lose interest in her. Yet she preserved because she was the heroine in this world and she would not lose.

But the final straw that broke the camel back had been all the shadow’s fault.

Kyuing-Mi had been eyeing the gorgeous hunk Young-Min from Human Resources for a while. Tall, dark, and looked absolutely ripped in that three-piece Armani suit of his. Oh, did she mention that he was rich and super sweet? Well, now you know. When she had finally mustered the courage to approach him and confess her feelings for him (maybe use him to get rid of a certain someone), she found him with the shadow. He asked the shadow if they could get a cup of coffee later, averting his eyes and looking bashfully at the shadow. His face resembled a tomato when the shadow accepted the invitation, when the shadow smiled at him, and left to go on their break.

Honestly, the shadow should have realized that coveting someone who didn’t belong to her meant being bludgeoned from behind with a stapler. Kyung-Mi will admit that she did….she was a little angry. But if the shadow is dead, the villainess is dead, then that means she has finally everything. Not. She lost everything and got hit by a truck while crossing a busy intersection, desperately trying to search for a job before she lost her townhouse.

Yet there was always a light at the end of the tunnel, right? Why else would she be here, possessing the heroine of Fly Me To The Moon, Cosette Lovelace? Sure, her character is supposed to be a gamer who got sucked into here and must clear it as a redeemed villainess, but where is the fun in that? All Kyung-Mi wanted to do was pursue after her bias, Sir Palamedes the second-in-command of the Holy Temple’s paladins.

Of all the capture targets that were created in the shadow’s game, this is the one she had spent most of the time designing and writing both tragic and smutty endings with him. Thank God the shadow never knew that Sir Palamedes’ character concept looked exactly like Young-Min, from his mannerisms right down his little tic of fiddling with his hands when he was nervous.

Obsessed? No, she was observant, thank you.

With the help of the Affection Level System, her own little playthrough guide, she was able to achieve the objectives needed to enter the Holy Temple of Aesir and unlock Sir Palamedes’ route. Everything was going smoothly until that damned extra, Harry or Harrow, had stopped her from staking her claim on Sir Palamedes. She threw something in her face, and she passed out on the floor. When she, Cosette, regained consciousness, it was almost nightfall.

Swearing under her breath, she scrambled upright and smoothed out her grass stained skirts before all but running towards the cloisters leading back to her new private quarters. However, from seemingly out of nowhere, two older Sisters flanked her, blocking her path. She was about to turn up the innocent charm, claiming that she hadn’t meant to fall asleep under the tree with a cute smile when both of them wordlessly grabbed by the shoulders and hauled her into a cell. A fucking cell! Her! The heroine!

She asked for food, and was given bread with water. When she was cold, she received a blanket and was left alone until morning. The same Sisters came back, grabbed her again and took her to the sanctuary. The pews were filled, every Brother and Sister was in attendance. The paladins circled around the altar. Her precious High Priest was there, and was her bias. So that fucking extra Harry.

She frowned. “My flock, what is the meaning of this -” She didn’t get a chance to finish her question because a bolt of white-hot pain seared through her body. What in the world?! She looked down at the floor and there were runes under her feet, then glared back at the Sisters balefully. They had pushed her into a magic circle. How dare they do this to her?!

Staggering to her feet, she turned her attention to the High Priest. “Father, why am I being subjected to this treatment? What have I done to you, to this congregation?!”

“You dare to ask such a thing when the crimes against our Brothers and Sisters are so heinous that I cannot repeat them?” Harry said. She looked like shit, honestly, and she probably would look worse if she had that stupid blindfold removed.

Yoo Kyung-Mi had never seen this character in the game, even in the demo trails….so why does Harry look so damned familiar?

She watched Harry step forward from behind the altar, past the High Priest and Sir Palamedes. She walked down the steps, and stopped just a few feet away from the magic circle.

“You know what you have done, Sister Esther. No…You are not worthy of being called a Sister of this Holy Temple. You are a heretic, a liar, and an adulterous beast who has dared to try and defile one of us by using an Asmodian Seed. Where and how did you acquire it?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about-” That was when the pain began again. “You-” And again. Fuck, this hurts. It really hurts.

“Please answer the question and do not try to be clever with your answers lest you actually enjoy being in pain.” Harry said peevishly. “You know what it is because you were the one who had implanted inside Sir Palamedes. Is this not true?” Harry raised her voice. “Were you affected by this wickedness, Sir Palamedes?”

Her precious bias nodded, his beautiful violet eyes hard and cold. “I was, Lady Harrowhark, and swear by the Oath of Fidelity that I was its intended victim. I dare not think what would have happened, if you had not been there to save me.”

“You heard him. Answer truthfully this time.”

So she did. She spat in the bitch’s face. “Allow me to ask you a question, Harry. Who the fuck are you to give me orders?”

Applauded gasps and murmurs bounced across the temple’s walls. One Sister fainted from hearing such profane language, having to be carried out by two of her closest Brothers.

But Harry didn’t react.

Instead, she withdrew a handkerchief from her robes pockets and carefully wiped away the spit. Once she was done, she pocketed the dirty rag. Then she lifted her hands up and moved them to the back of her head, untying the mother-of-pearl cloth. She pulled it down, and two eyes that sparked like a pair of sapphires stared right at her. Sapphires. Eyes. Cosette, Yoo Kyung-Mi, felt her heart drop into her stomach at seeing those eyes.

The eyes that belonged to the shadow. The eyes Young-Min said were so beautiful that they took his breath away.

“I am Reverend Sister Harrowhark, God’s Beloved. I am the Possessor of His Eyes -”

“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST FUCKING DIE ALREADY?!?” Kyung-Mi screamed. “YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME, STOLE FROM ME, AND YOU HAVE THE GODDAMNED NERVE TO LEAVE A PIECE OF YOURSELF IN THIS GAME?!”

“Heretic -”

“YES, I GAVE IT TO HIM! I GAVE SIR PALAMEDES THE ASOMEDIAN SEED BECAUSE I WANTED HIM! IF HE WERE DEFILED, HE WOULD HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO MARRY ME, AND I WOULD FINALLY BEAT YOU! YOU WERE ALWAYS MY SHADOW! YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO COVET WHAT WAS MINE, YET YOU KEPT TAKING EVERYTHING AWAY FROM ME! IS THAT A GOOD ENOUGH ANSWER, YOU BITCH?!”

Harrowhark’s mouth closed, tightening into a thin line before she averted her gaze towards the choir pews, where three cloaked figures sat in silence. “Does this outburst suffice as a confession, Your Imperial Highness?” She asked them.

The one on the right stood up, pulling back his hood and revealing himself to be, indeed, The Glorious Sun of the Helux Empire, Emperor Maximus IV. A tall, broad-shouldered man with golden hair and possessed one ruby eye. He had lost his left one in a war. That was all she knew about him.

But seeing the identities of his companions, once they pulled back their hoods, that brought Kyung-Mi’s muddled brain back to reality: her parents, Viscount and Viscountess Lovelace. Shit. Fuck. FUCK!

“It does. Words cannot express my anger and disgust at the thought that such a heinous crime would be enacted in the House of Aesir. Allow me, Your Holiness, to carry out her punishment here and now.”

Harrowhark frowned. “Your Imperial Highness -”

“I am already here, Your Holiness. And I have only exercised my royal authority once since I ascended to the throne twenty years ago. If it makes you uncomfortable to do it in the presence of the congregation, I am more than happy to privately announce these crimes in the palace’s interrogation chambers. It is your choice, Your Holiness.” He, the most powerful man in the Empire, lowered his head to Harrowhark.

Harrowhark sighed. “I beseech you to not address me in such a manner Your Imperial Highness, nor to humble yourself in my presence. In the Holy Temple of Aesir, we are equal under His Eye. Please, raise your head.” The Emperor did. “In regards to the heretic…she must never darken the footsteps of these sacred grounds again, or anywhere else. What happens within the circle of nobility is no concern of mine. The church cannot be intertwined with matters of the state. We are from entirely different worlds, but we must work together to ensure that our people live in peace. Is this a satisfactory answer, Your Imperial Highness?”

Kyung-Mi choked on her saliva. It would be awful to be separated from her bias, but to also have her silver spoon being taken from her too? She did not want to spend her second life struggling to make a living! She is supposed to be the most beloved person in this game! Everything is supposed to go her way, not Harry’s!

She watched in anxious anticipation as the Emperor, The High Priest, and her parents huddled together, speaking softly until they separated. The Viscount and Viscountess stepped to the side as the others stepped forward.

The Head Priest glanced around the congregation, raising his arms as he spoke. “Cosette Lovelace, daughter of Viscount Lovelace. For your crimes and heresy against this most holy place, you are excommunicated from the Holy Temple of Aesir until the end of your days. May Aesir forgive you, because…in my heart, at this moment, I cannot bring myself to do so.”

He then stepped back, and the Emperor stepped forward.

The Emperor inhaled a deep breath, closing his eye for a moment before addressing the congregation. As he did so, palace guards entered from opposite sides of the chapel near the altar.

“I, Emperor Maximus IV, hereby use my authority in the Holy Temple of Aesir under the witness of all those in attendance. I condemn you to live the rest of your days in prison, in a cell with no windows. You tried to bring darkness to this sacred sanctuary, therefore, you will spend the rest of your days in darkness.”

Kyung-Mi’s knees buckled, collapsing onto the carpeted floor as she stared at the Emperor in shock. No. No, this can’t be happening! I’m the heroine! I’m supposed to live a life of luxury! I can’t go to jail! When she saw her parents descend down the stairs, her anxiety slowly dissipated into hope. No. Not yet! They love me! They wouldn’t allow their only child to starve on the streets like a beggar or rot until she was an old hag, right?!

CRACK.

Kyung-Mi’s face stung from the slap she’d just received from her mother. Quivering, she touched the reddening cheek, peering through the curtain of her blue hair at her parents. Her mother was sobbing quietly, covering her face in her hands as her father wrapped his arm around his wife’s quivering shoulders.

“You are no daughter of mine.” That was all he said before he left alongside his sobbing wife. They left her. They fucking abandoned her when she needed him the most, these….these bastards! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO HER? WHY DOES EVERYTHING HAVE TO GO THE SHADOW’S WAY? IS IT SO AWFUL TO HAVE A HAPPILY EVER AFTER OF HER OWN?!

Then she screamed. She screamed and kicked and cried as the Emperor’s guards tied ropes around her wrists, dragging her down the aisle, towards the doors. Kyung-Mi looked over her shoulder, tears spilling down her face as she stared at Sir Palamedes, hoping Young-Mi would understand she made a mistake and just wanted to be with him, please please save her.

But he did not look at her with tenderness and devotion as he had in the demo version of the game. Sir Palamedes stood rigidly by Harrowhark’s side, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes cold and guarded.

It was over. She had lost again. Fuck. FUCK!

©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2024

Taglist: @sweetbatherodonkey @lxdymoon0357 @certifiedsimpinggalore @queenmimis @amidst-the-tempest @mochinon-yah @tonightwrites @yandere-dark-cupid @average-yandere-enjoyer @thatstrangesheep @faux-ecrivain @cassanderasblog @navierkalani

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eyrieofsynapses · 6 months

Text

why Aurora's art is genius

It's break for me, and I've been meaning to sit down and read the Aurora webcomic (https://comicaurora.com/, @comicaurora on Tumblr) for quite a bit. So I did that over the last few days.

And… y'know. I can't actually say "I should've read this earlier," because otherwise I would've been up at 2:30-3am when I had responsibilities in the morning and I couldn't have properly enjoyed it, but. Holy shit guys THIS COMIC.

I intended to just do a generalized "hello this is all the things I love about this story," and I wrote a paragraph or two about art style. …and then another. And another. And I realized I needed to actually reference things so I would stop being too vague. I was reading the comic on my tablet or phone, because I wanted to stay curled up in my chair, but I type at a big monitor and so I saw more details… aaaaaand it turned into its own giant-ass post.

SO. Enjoy a few thousand words of me nerding out about this insanely cool art style and how fucking gorgeous this comic is? (There are screenshots, I promise it isn't just a wall of text.) In my defense, I just spent two semesters in graphic design classes focusing on the Adobe Suite, so… I get to be a nerd about pretty things…???

All positive feedback btw! No downers here. <3

---

I cannot emphasize enough how much I love the beautiful, simple stylistic method of drawing characters and figures. It is absolutely stunning and effortless and utterly graceful—it is so hard to capture the sheer beauty and fluidity of the human form in such a fashion. Even a simple outline of a character feels dynamic! It's gorgeous!

Though I do have a love-hate relationship with this, because my artistic side looks at that lovely simplicity, goes "I CAN DO THAT!" and then I sit down and go to the paper and realize that no, in fact, I cannot do that yet, because that simplicity is born of a hell of a lot of practice and understanding of bodies and actually is really hard to do. It's a very developed style that only looks simple because the artist knows what they're doing. The human body is hard to pull off, and this comic does so beautifully and makes it look effortless.

Also: line weight line weight line weight. It's especially important in simplified shapes and figures like this, and hoo boy is it used excellently. It's especially apparent the newer the pages get—I love watching that improvement over time—but with simpler figures and lines, you get nice light lines to emphasize both smaller details, like in the draping of clothing and the curls of hair—which, hello, yes—and thicker lines to emphasize bigger and more important details and silhouettes. It's the sort of thing that's essential to most illustrations, but I wanted to make a note of it because it's so vital to this art style.

THE USE OF LAYER BLENDING MODES OH MY GODS. (...uhhh, apologies to the people who don't know what that means, it's a digital art program thing? This article explains it for beginners.)

Bear with me, I just finished my second Photoshop course, I spent months and months working on projects with this shit so I see the genius use of Screen and/or its siblings (of which there are many—if I say "Screen" here, assume I mean the entire umbrella of Screen blending modes and possibly Overlay) and go nuts, but seriously it's so clever and also fucking gorgeous:

Firstly: the use of screened-on sound effect words over an action? A "CRACK" written over a branch and then put on Screen in glowy green so that it's subtle enough that it doesn't disrupt the visual flow, but still sticks out enough to make itself heard? Little "scritches" that are transparent where they're laid on without outlines to emphasize the sound without disrupting the underlying image? FUCK YES. I haven't seen this done literally anywhere else—granted, I haven't read a massive amount of comics, but I've read enough—and it is so clever and I adore it. Examples:

Secondly: The beautiful lighting effects. The curling leaves, all the magic, the various glowing eyes, the fog, the way it's all so vividly colored but doesn't burn your eyeballs out—a balance that's way harder to achieve than you'd think—and the soft glows around them, eeeee it's so pretty so pretty SO PRETTY. Not sure if some of these are Outer/Inner Glow/Shadow layer effects or if it's entirely hand-drawn, but major kudos either way; I can see the beautiful use of blending modes and I SALUTE YOUR GENIUS.

I keep looking at some of this stuff and go "is that a layer effect or is it done by hand?" Because you can make some similar things with the Satin layer effect in Photoshop (I don't know if other programs have this? I'm gonna have to find out since I won't have access to PS for much longer ;-;) that resembles some of the swirly inner bits on some of the lit effects, but I'm not sure if it is that or not. Or you could mask over textures? There's... many ways to do it.

If done by hand: oh my gods the patience, how. If done with layer effects: really clever work that knows how to stop said effects from looking wonky, because ugh those things get temperamental. If done with a layer of texture that's been masked over: very, very good masking work. No matter the method, pretty shimmers and swirly bits inside the bigger pretty swirls!

Next: The way color contrast is used! I will never be over the glowy green-on-black Primordial Life vibes when Alinua gets dropped into that… unconscious space?? with Life, for example, and the sharp contrast of vines and crack and branches and leaves against pitch black is just visually stunning. The way the roots sink into the ground and the three-dimensional sensation of it is particularly badass here:

Friggin. How does this imply depth like that. HOW. IT'S SO FREAKING COOL.

A huge point here is also color language and use! Everybody has their own particular shade, generally matching their eyes, magic, and personality, and I adore how this is used to make it clear who's talking or who's doing an action. That was especially apparent to me with Dainix and Falst in the caves—their colors are both fairly warm, but quite distinct, and I love how this clarifies who's doing what in panels with a lot of action from both of them. There is a particular bit that stuck out to me, so I dug up the panels (see this page and the following one https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-30/):

(Gods it looks even prettier now that I put it against a plain background. Also, appreciation to Falst for managing a bridal-carry midair, damn.)

The way that their colors MERGE here! And the immense attention to detail in doing so—Dainix is higher up than Falst is in the first panel, so Dainix's orange fades into Falst's orange at the base. The next panel has gold up top and orange on bottom; we can't really tell in that panel where each of them are, but that's carried over to the next panel—

—where we now see that Falst's position is raised above Dainix's due to the way he's carrying him. (Points for continuity!) And, of course, we see the little "huffs" flowing from orange to yellow over their heads (where Dainix's head is higher than Falst's) to merge the sound of their breathing, which is absurdly clever because it emphasizes to the viewer how we hear two sets of huffing overlaying each other, not one. Absolutely brilliant.

(A few other notes of appreciation to that panel: beautiful glows around them, the sparks, the jagged silhouette of the spider legs, the lovely colors that have no right to make the area around a spider corpse that pretty, the excellent texturing on the cave walls plus perspective, the way Falst's movements imply Dainix's hefty weight, the natural posing of the characters, their on-point expressions that convey exactly how fuckin terrifying everything is right now, the slight glows to their eyes, and also they're just handsome boys <3)

Next up: Rain!!!! So well done! It's subtle enough that it never ever disrupts the impact of the focal point, but evident enough you can tell! And more importantly: THE MIST OFF THE CHARACTERS. Rain does this irl, it has that little vapor that comes off you and makes that little misty effect that plays with lighting, it's so cool-looking and here it's used to such pretty effect!

One of the panel captions says something about it blurring out all the injuries on the characters but like THAT AIN'T TOO BIG OF A PROBLEM when it gets across the environmental vibes, and also that'd be how it would look in real life too so like… outside viewer's angle is the same as the characters', mostly? my point is: that's the environment!!! that's the vibes, that's the feel! It gets it across and it does so in the most pretty way possible!

And another thing re: rain, the use of it to establish perspective, particularly in panels like this—

—where we can tell we're looking down at Tynan due to the perspective on the rain and where it's pointing. Excellent. (Also, kudos for looking down and emphasizing how Tynan's losing his advantage—lovely use of visual storytelling.)

Additionally, the misting here:

We see it most heavily in the leftmost panel, where it's quite foggy as you would expect in a rainstorm, especially in an environment with a lot of heat, but it's also lightly powdered on in the following two panels and tends to follow light sources, which makes complete sense given how light bounces off particles in the air.

A major point of strength in these too is a thorough understanding of lighting, like rim lighting, the various hues and shades, and an intricate understanding of how light bounces off surfaces even when they're in shadow (we'll see a faint glow in spots where characters are half in shadow, but that's how it would work in real life, because of how light bounces around).

Bringing some of these points together: the fluidity of the lines in magic, and the way simple glowing lines are used to emphasize motion and the magic itself, is deeply clever. I'm basically pulling at random from panels and there's definitely even better examples, but here's one (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-16-33/):

First panel, listed in numbers because these build on each other:

The tension of the lines in Tess's magic here. This works on a couple levels: first, the way she's holding her fists, as if she's pulling a rope taut.

The way there's one primary line, emphasizing the rope feeling, accompanied by smaller ones.

The additional lines starbursting around her hands, to indicate the energy crackling in her hands and how she's doing a good bit more than just holding it. (That combined with the fists suggests some tension to the magic, too.) Also the variations in brightness, a feature you'll find in actual lightning. :D Additional kudos for how the lightning sparks and breaks off the metal of the sword.

A handful of miscellaneous notes on the second panel:

The reflection of the flames in Erin's typically dark blue eyes (which bears a remarkable resemblance to Dainix, incidentally—almost a thematic sort of parallel given Erin's using the same magic Dainix specializes in?)

The flowing of fabric in the wind and associated variation in the lineart

The way Erin's tattoos interact with the fire he's pulling to his hand

The way the rain overlays some of the fainter areas of fire (attention! to! detail! hell yeah!)

I could go on. I won't because this is a lot of writing already.

Third panel gets paragraphs, not bullets:

Erin's giant-ass "FWOOM" of fire there, and the way the outline of the word is puffy-edged and gradated to feel almost three-dimensional, plus once again using Screen or a variation on it so that the stars show up in the background. All this against that stunning plume of fire, which ripples and sparks so gorgeously, and the ending "om" of the onomatopoeia is emphasized incredibly brightly against that, adding to the punch of it and making the plume feel even brighter.

Also, once again, rain helping establish perspective, especially in how it's very angular in the left side of the panel and then slowly becomes more like a point to the right to indicate it's falling directly down on the viewer. Add in the bright, beautiful glow effects, fainter but no less important black lines beneath them to emphasize the sky and smoke and the like, and the stunningly beautiful lighting and gradated glows surrounding Erin plus the lightning jagging up at him from below, and you get one hell of an impactful panel right there. (And there is definitely more in there I could break down, this is just a lot already.)

And in general: The colors in this? Incredible. The blues and purples and oranges and golds compliment so well, and it's all so rich.

Like, seriously, just throughout the whole comic, the use of gradients, blending modes, color balance and hues, all the things, all the things, it makes for the most beautiful effects and glows and such a rich environment. There's a very distinct style to this comic in its simplified backgrounds (which I recognize are done partly because it's way easier and also backgrounds are so time-consuming dear gods but lemme say this) and vivid, smoothly drawn characters; the simplicity lets them come to the front and gives room for those beautiful, richly saturated focal points, letting the stylized designs of the magic and characters shine. The use of distinct silhouettes is insanely good. Honestly, complex backgrounds might run the risk of making everything too visually busy in this case. It's just, augh, so GORGEOUS.

Another bit, take a look at this page (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-15-28/):

It's not quite as evident here as it is in the next page, but this one does some other fun things so I'm grabbing it. Points:

Once again, using different colors to represent different character actions. The "WHAM" of Kendal hitting the ground is caused by Dainix's force, so it's orange (and kudos for doubling the word over to add a shake effect). But we see blue layered underneath, which could be an environmental choice, but might also be because it's Kendal, whose color is blue.

And speaking off, take a look at the right-most panel on top, where Kendal grabs the spear: his motion is, again, illustrated in bright blue, versus the atmospheric screened-on orange lines that point toward him around the whole panel (I'm sure these have a name, I think they might be more of a manga thing though and the only experience I have in manga is reading a bit of Fullmetal Alchemist). Those lines emphasize the weight of the spear being shoved at him, and their color tells us Dainix is responsible for it.

One of my all-time favorite effects in this comic is the way cracks manifest across Dainix's body to represent when he starts to lose control; it is utterly gorgeous and wonderfully thematic. These are more evident in the page before and after this one, but you get a decent idea here. I love the way they glow softly, the way the fire juuuust flickers through at the start and then becomes more evident over time, and the cracks feel so realistic, like his skin is made of pottery. Additional points for how fire begins to creep into his hair.

A small detail that's generally consistent across the comic, but which I want to make note of here because you can see it pretty well: Kendal's eyes glow about the same as the jewel in his sword, mirroring his connection to said sword and calling back to how the jewel became Vash's eye temporarily and thus was once Kendal's eye. You can always see this connection (though there might be some spots where this also changes in a symbolic manner; I went through it quickly on the first time around, so I'll pay more attention when I inevitably reread this), where Kendal's always got that little shine of blue in his eyes the same as the jewel. It's a beautiful visual parallel that encourages the reader to subconsciously link them together, especially since the lines used to illustrate character movements typically mirror their eye color. It's an extension of Kendal.

Did I mention how ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL the colors in this are?

Also, the mythological/legend-type scenes are illustrated in familiar style often used for that type of story, a simple and heavily symbolic two-dimensional cave-painting-like look. They are absolutely beautiful on many levels, employing simple, lovely gradients, slightly rougher and thicker lineart that is nonetheless smoothly beautiful, and working with clear silhouettes (a major strength of this art style, but also a strength in the comic overall). But in particular, I wanted to call attention to a particular thing (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-12-4/):

The flowing symbolic lineart surrounding each character. This is actually quite consistent across characters—see also Life's typical lines and how they curl:

What's particularly interesting here is how these symbols are often similar, but not the same. Vash's lines are always smooth, clean curls, often playing off each other and echoing one another like ripples in a pond. You'd think they'd look too similar to Life's—but they don't. Life's curl like vines, and they remain connected; where one curve might echo another but exist entirely detached from each other in Vash's, Life's lines still remain wound together, because vines are continuous and don't float around. :P

Tahraim's are less continuous, often breaking up with significantly smaller bits and pieces floating around like—of course—sparks, and come to sharper points. These are also constants: we see the vines repeated over and over in Alinua's dreams of Life, and the echoing ripples of Vash are consistent wherever we encounter him. Kendal's dream of the ghost citizens of the city of Vash in the last few chapters is filled with these rippling, echoing patterns, to beautiful effect (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-14/):

They ripple and spiral, often in long, sinuous curves, with smooth elegance. It reminds me a great deal of images of space and sine waves and the like. This establishes a definite feel to these different characters and their magic. And the thing is, that's not something that had to be done—the colors are good at emphasizing who's who. But it was done, and it adds a whole other dimension to the story. Whenever you're in a deity's domain, you know whose it is no matter the color.

Regarding that shape language, I wanted to make another note, too—Vash is sometimes described as chaotic and doing what he likes, which is interesting to me, because smooth, elegant curves and the color blue aren't generally associated with chaos. So while Vash might behave like that on the surface, I'm guessing he's got a lot more going on underneath; he's probably much more intentional in his actions than you'd think at a glance, and he is certainly quite caring with his city. The other thing is that this suits Kendal perfectly. He's a paragon character; he is kind, virtuous, and self-sacrificing, and often we see him aiming to calm others and keep them safe. Blue is such a good color for him. There is… probably more to this, but I'm not deep enough in yet to say.

And here's the thing: I'm only scratching the surface. There is so much more here I'm not covering (color palettes! outfits! character design! environment! the deities! so much more!) and a lot more I can't cover, because I don't have the experience; this is me as a hobbyist artist who happened to take a couple design classes because I wanted to. The art style to this comic is so clever and creative and beautiful, though, I just had to go off about it. <3

...brownie points for getting all the way down here? Have a cookie.

#aurora comic #aurora webcomic #comicaurora #art analysis #...I hope those are the right tags???#new fandom new tagging practices to learn ig #much thanks for something to read while I try to rest my wrists. carpal tunnel BAD. (ignore that I wrote this I've got braces ok it's fine)#anyway! I HAVE. MANY MORE THOUGHTS. ON THE STORY ITSELF. THIS LOVELY STORY #also a collection of reactions to a chunk of the comic before I hit the point where I was too busy reading to write anything down #idk how to format those tho #...yeet them into one post...???#eh I usually don't go off this much these days but this seems like a smaller tight-knit fandom so... might as well help build it?#and I have a little more time thanks to break so #oh yes also shoutout to my insanely awesome professor for teaching me all the technical stuff from this he is LOVELY #made an incredibly complex program into something comprehensible <3 #synapse talks

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suguru-getos · 7 months

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I'm rather new to your blog and on my fucking knees already orz. The sukuna headcanons got the hamster-wheel in my brain doing overtime cuz holy shit. They're not only in character but just so fucking delicious jshshabaua. Plz spare more crumbs if possible 🥹 The newer manga chapters are..... full of fuel to say the least.

Love your writing, literally has me giggling like ans kicking my feet like a school girl.

aww thank you nonnie you just made my day 🩶🥹

warnings -> gore, nsfw, etc etc -,- its yan sukuna this post is a warning in itself

yandere sukuna hcs -> extended

he loves branding, he discovered that when one time he wrote his name in kanji on your lower back, like your very own tramp stamp. and he’s never been more turned on. “might have to make sure that scar.” he chuckles, “you’re my little slave and you need a mark of slavery yeah?”

he is fine with you using new tech gadgets like phones and stuff but of course — you have to be available at every beck and call for sukuna. there was one time you couldn’t hear him calling for you, and you were busy & then he made you record how he spanks you & made you rewatch it. over and over and over until your eyes were strained & your pussy was wet.

cockwarming all the way just because he thinks it’s your ‘training’ to get you used to his massive girth and length. he can feign some indulgence to your stupid netflix shows because there’s nothing you can do except sit pretty for hours so !!

he loves to tongue fuck you with his massive mouth on the tummy so don’t be afraid if he’s caressing your womb like that while his other mouth is busy degrading at how you clamp down on his tongue 😔

he is a mean ass bitch. this one time a conversation came with your exes and he summoned them only to let them watch in horror, how he fucks you and how a bloody demon takes care of his little slave. he cleaves their arms and dicks off but makes sure they’re high on adrenaline so they don’t pass out. yep — crazy motherfucking demon

as i said you can’t really wear clothes so during winters he makes sure the room is heated up enough. because he doesn’t want you to fall sick. why? well — its no fun when you’re frail and sick and some sadistic part of him dislikes the idea of playing with you when you’re not at your best. he tries to use his rct on you from time to time given the damages he does, soo 🤷🏻‍♀️

#yandere sukuna #sukuna imagines #sukuna #jjk sukuna #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #jjk hcs #sukuna hcs #yandere sukuna hcs #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #yandere sukuna x reader #yandere jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna smut #jjk smut #jjk thirst #sukuna thirst

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thenightwolf51 · 11 months

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So i originally had this idea when i reblogged this post by @saphushia but i wanna just seperate it out as its own little prompt.

A quick context is that Danny seems to be roaming around Gotham like some homeless cryptid, kinda Bus to Nowhere style but with more vigilante interaction and casual offerings of first aid. And the batkids are keeping their adoption bait First Aid Cryptid(tm) secret from Batman.

One set of tags in the reblogs from @little-pondhead caught my attention

I came up with both funny answers and an angsty answer for that "#why?" but here's the angsty one (though i promice i actually envision it to be more hurt/comfort with a lot of family fluff)

Actual Prompt⬇️⬇️

Something happens, maybe a reveal gone wrong, maybe he got capture by the GIW, maybe he lost Jazz and his parents somehow.

Whatever it is, it leaves Danny with a need to escaped to a new dimension which just so happens to end up being the DCU. He winds up in Gotham and is just trying to start over, easier said than done but at there's plenty of heros around so he doesn't need to go ghost and he can still patch up the local vigilantes to feed his obsession. He's just not up to being Phantom yet and he's still recovering from whatever happened in Amity, whether it be mentally or physically.

Plus these vigilantes are kinda fun to mess with. Danny can practically see the gears turning as they try to put together and make sense of his little "lore drops", that Red Robin almost reminds him of Wes in a way.

Its not like he really needs to hide anyways. There's no GIW here, no Anti-Ecto Acts, if it really comes down to it he could probably pass as meta and fall under those protection laws. Judging by Signal, Danny's pretty sure Batman's bluffing on the whole "hating metas" thing anyways.

It takes awhile before Danny actually does meet the big bat himself and the reaction he gets is nothing anyone was expecting.

You see theres one little detail danny couldn't have been warned about, and its that there just so happens to be a version of Jazz here.

Except this Jazz lost her Danny when they were in high school, as in full on dead and gone Danny, no halfas here, the portal simply did not work and it was just regular ole lethal electrocution that hit her little brother.

What if she grew up with a young Bruce somehow, whether it be because CPS took her from the Fentons after her Danny's death or Amity Park simply doesn't exist in the DCU making Gotham the city with the thinnest veil and thus where the Fenton's chose to settle down.

This Jazz is an adult in her 40s but was once a kid smart enough to go to Gotham Academy on scholarship (or maybe the Fenton's had enough money from patents?). A kid who took one look at young Bruce's grumpy little face and decided he needed a honest friend, one that wasn't after status or money.

This Jazz grew up being a secondary voice of reason for Bruce, ganging up with Alfred in their own crusade to enforce healthy habits on him in between their weekly tea sessions.

This Jazz lost her brother and could not only understand Bruce's resoning on a minor level but encouraged his planned "journey of self discovery and healing". (Though the bat costume he made when he came back was unexpected and she gave him a look to rival Alfred for it)

This Jazz grew up to be a social worker because if anyone had cared enough to take her away from the Fenton's sooner then her brother might've still been alive

This Jazz being the one Bruce calls when he first gets Dick because holy shit he has no idea what hes doing and "Jazz, i just became a father, help!"

This Jazz being a sort of aunt to all the Batkids and is a major influence that has led to their dynamics being similar to Wayne Family Adventures

Bruce goes pale and later calls Jazz after he finally gets a glimps/meets the so called "First Aid Cryptid" his kids have been obsessed with. Because this kid that he's looking at with the barely visible lichtenberg scars... that's a face he hasn't seen in little over 20 years, that's his old friend's long dead baby brother.

Bruce sees danny and his mind rapidly jumps to all sorts of possibilities. Is this a clone? Is this a trap? Are the Lazarus pits involved somehow? Time travel? He does consider a ghost but this kid is too solid and they're nowhere near the old dilapidated Fenton Works building

Eventually, down the line when they get the full story of Danny being from an alternate dimension, Jazz might try to adopt him. Which has potential to be unhealthy but i fully believe Jazz would be aware enough not to project her decades old grief on this Danny, who is so similar but so different to her brother.

(Because I think a Gotham raised Danny would've been similar to a young Jason in street smarts so this Amity raised Danny is noticeably different)

Danny on the other hand... not sure if i could say the same, especially if he just lost his Jazz before winding up in the DCU. But again, this is an adult Jazz in her late 40s with professional experience dealing with traumatized kids, and she'll do her best to help him through it

Im imagining Jazz and Bruce to have a more platonic friendship, maybe even see each other as family, but you could go with Parent Syndrome if you want

(And because i love to see other peoples ideas and opinions, @omnicrafts @ailithnight @atiyasnake @hdgnj @nelkcats @nerdpoe @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @dcxdpdabbles. Sorry i tag you guys so much but i like your writing, im eager to offer ideas, and your posts have been major sources of joy while ive been hyperfixating on DPxDC)

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #dcxdp #danny fenton #batman #jazz fenton #bruce and jazz know each other #bruce and jazz are childhood friends #at least in another dimension #jason reminded jazz of her danny #she did her best to help with the bat kids #writing prompt #fic prompt #found family #is it found family if one person is your biological sibling from another dimension?

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astroph1les · 3 months

Text

only on camera | e.w

summary: you and your girlfriend, ellie, find an old camcorder at local thrift store. it’s fun, domestic, and sweet until the two of you decide to use it to make your own personal movie.

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

contains: mature content, modern! ellie, established relationship, fluff, smut— oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), reader and ellie are roughly 19-20, ellie is obsessed with reader, reader is described to have a soft stomach and stretch marks so its open to all body types.

word count: 3.3K

a/n: i’ve been debating to post another ellie oneshot and even writing anymore for a while now because of everything that has been going on gaza. i hope you guys click on the links below to educate and keep yourself updated on the horrors that the people of gaza are going through. free palestine.

FREE PALESTINE | DAILY CLICK | DO NOT BUY TLOU2 REMASTERED

It started on a simple thrifting date.

You and Ellie often shopped at your local thrift stores for a multitude of reasons: it's cheap for not only clothing but accessories as well. You had a slight addiction to the purse and jeans section. There was nothing you loved more than finding a good pair of jeans.

But today, you decided to linger in the electronics section. Ellie trailed behind you with a shopping cart that already had a bunch of pants and cheesy graphic tees for the two of you to try on.

You picked up a small speaker, examining it for its quality.

“Ellie?” You hum to Ellie who was already holding up a chunky VHS camera.

“Babe, check this out,” Ellie walked around the cart to hold up the flipped screen to you.

You set the speaker down on the metal shelf, leaning over to see that the early late 90’s camera was still working properly. With just your luck, too, there were a few tapes next to where Ellie had picked it up from.

“Holy shit, this still works?” You grin as you fidget with the settings. “Should we get this?”

Ellie let out a scoff before nodding: “Fuck yeah. We could record videos to look back on when we’re miserable and old as shit. Like thirty or something.”

You shake your head at her dramatics.

“Thirty is not old but yeah, it could be fun.” You lean into her side, pointing to the tapes and charger that were still plugged into the camcorder. “Grab the tapes, please?”

You tilt your head with a smile at her. Ellie blushes at the eye contact you made with her, kissing your cheek before taking the tapes and charger into her hands. She nervously scratched at her ear as she set the objects into the cart where the child seat was, hoping you didn't see how pink her cheeks turned.

God, she was so adorable.

She would deny the accusation constantly with a shake of her head and a mutter of ‘no, I’m not’ being the stubborn girl she is.

After trying that on all of the clothing, you ended up only narrowing down to a few pairs of jeans and the camera plus the equipment. Once you got back to Ellie’s place, it started out with a few recordings of you doing nothing.

“So, vlog, my beautiful, hot, and sexy girlfriend is getting ready for the day,” Ellie pressed record and held up the camera to you who was applying sunscreen to your freshly washed face. “Not that she needs to because, damn, look at her.”

You let out a groan as you shake your head, now applying your moisturizer right after.

“Babe, you can record at any other time. Why right now?” You chuckle as she just gets closer, zooming into your eyes.

“What do you have to say to your future self who is probably already very happily married to me?” Ellie ignores your complaint, grinning as she backs up a little to get your entire face into the frame.

“Is she still giving that good top?” You deadpan to which Ellie chuckles at.

“I wish I could stop, baby,” she cups your face with one hand, smirking from behind the camera.

“Els,’” you trail off, almost warningly as your cheeks flushed.

Without missing a beat, you playfully slap the camera out gently of your face. Ellie dramatically gasps at your actions, holding the camera at an angle so she can clean the lens with her black wife pleaser.

“Hey! You brought it up.” She shrugged her shoulders as if it were nothing, showing off her outfit in the full-body mirror on the back of the bedroom door.

You smile adoringly at her from your set-up in your vanity mirror, hearing her hype herself up. You had just applied a good amount of your base before motioning for her to come over to you once again. Ellie walked over to you, grinning happily.

“It’s your turn, Els,” you grab the chunky camera from her.

She reluctantly lets you take it from her and crosses her arms in front of her chest, looking at you patiently. You pan the camera up and down as she was wearing a very basic outfit but damn, she always looked good. The way she crossed her arms accentuated her biceps and the big tattoo on her forearm.

“What do you have to say to your future self, baby?” You look at her through the small screen and then at her in real life.

Ellie hummed as she scratched at her jaw. The awful lighting from just your open-blind window made it more homey to you.

“You better not fuck it up with this perfect girl right here.” Ellie points to you with a slight grin as she notices your own smile from behind the camera.

A lot of the videos were just like that. Domestic and homey as the locations changed between your house and hers. Joel even made a few appearances like, for instance, his 58th birthday. All of your family and Joel’s threw a barbecue to which you and Ellie had traded interviewing your sides of the family.

Sarah gave a few loving words for her dad, Jesse, and Dina covered the lens the entire time Ellie tried to record them, and your parents made a few jokes about him being ‘damn near in the grave already.’

Now, you were standing in front of Joel who was working the grill. Ellie was busy already tearing into a few hot dogs so you took the time to ask him some questions.

“So, Joel, how do you feel being fifty-eight?” You record him.

“I feel the same as last year. Ain’t nothin’ special,” he shook his head as if you were bothering him but you knew he was just being a grump for the camera.

“Well, birthday boy, describe what it's like being almost sixty,” you chuckle as he places a hand on his hip, looking at you this time with raised brows.

“Old as hell. Now, here, eat.” He grumbled as he grabbed a hot dog for you and placed it on a paper plate.

You giggled as his southern accent was hilarious when he got all grumpy. He just sounded like a Texan grandpa who’s always complaining about kids these days.

“I figured. Happy birthday, Joel.” You warmly smile at him as you shut the small screen and walk over to hug him.

He tensed for a moment, holding the tongs out of the way. He relaxed into your embrace before pointing at your hot dog.

“Thanks, kid. Now, eat before the damn flies get to it first.” Joel kissed the top of your head before releasing your body.

You let out a soft laugh as you grabbed the white plate before walking over to where Ellie was sitting with her step-sister, Sarah. You send Sarah a smile as you set the camera down next to Ellie, watching her lick the mustard off of her fingers. You grimace at her messy eating before Sarah tells her to stop being gross.

Ellie put her middle finger up at her with an annoyed expression. You grabbed her finger and put it down as your parents were only a few feet away from the two of you.

A few more days passed and you and Ellie had a rather sensual make-out session in her bedroom. Her hands were already up your Beatles oversized t-shirt, the feeling of her palms groping at your tits sending shivers up your spine. You were underneath her, your own hands cupping the sides of her face as you moaned softly into her mouth.

Ellie pulled away suddenly which only caused you to whine, missing her touch.

“Can I get the camera, baby?” She asked you, moving one of her hands down to your hips underneath your shirt and squeezing the flesh.

You nod your head frantically, not even hesitating. The idea was brought up maybe two minutes after purchasing the camera. Ellie said it as a joke but you knew that you would make a million sex tapes with your girl. She made you feel like the sexiest version of yourself and you were curious to see what that looked like on video. Plus, no risk of it getting stuck on the cloud of either of your phones.

Ellie leaned down to peck your lips as she stood up from her bed to grab it from the top of her dresser, right next to her cologne. You sit up slightly as you wait patiently for her to start the camera fixing your hair a bit. You knew the footage was solely going to be between you and her but it didn't hurt to try and make sure you look good.

“Look at my pretty girl,” Ellie’s voice is dripping in lust as she points the lens directly at your flushed and panting figure on the bed.

You somehow managed to blush even more, practically beaming at her compliment. You didn't know what to do now that it was a reality. All you were doing was looking up at her from her standing figure.

How did pornstars do this?

“What do you want me to do, hmm?” Ellie cupped your cheek, her inked arm coming into the frame.

Your face leaned into her touch, sighing at the feeling. Her thumb teasing ran over the swollen skin of your bottom lip. Being the horny shit you were, your jaw fell open in hopes Ellie would slip the finger into your awaiting mouth.

But no; she continued to trace the supple skin with a cocky grin on her face.

“You want my finger, baby?” Ellie hums as she tightens her grip ever so slightly.

“Maybe.” You raise your brows, your pupils blown with desire practically giving you away.

“Maybe?” She looks at you with her head tilted, her own brows raised to match yours. “The way you instantly opened your mouth said something way different.”

You shake your head and take her thumb into your mouth seconds after that, sucking on it with a smile. Ellie muttered a curse under her breath as she watched you through the pixelated screen, wondering how she got so lucky with you.

You, being the tease you are, pull away after about a minute to look up at her with need in your eyes. While still looking up at her, you removed your oversized tee to reveal your bare chest. Your hair settled over your shoulders, framing your face perfectly. You were only in your cheeky cotton maroon panties.

“Jesus, fuck me.” Ellie angled the camera down to your tits, having a little too much fun holding it.

“Alright, give me it, Els.” You snatched the camera from her, pointing it up at Ellie’s towering figure. “You want to eat me out or what?”

Ellie couldn't help but chuckle at your bluntness and confidence now that the camera wasn’t on you. Regardless, she kneeled down on the bed with a ready sigh. She leaned over the camera to capture your lips into a gentle kiss, making you smile giddily.

Your smile was infectious, Ellie, too, smiling so much to the point where she had to pull away. Ellie began to scoot more down your body as you pointed the camera down at her figure. She was caressing your sides as her lips kissed at your chest, moving more and more downwards to your tits. Your breath hitches as she takes your left nipple into her mouth, the warmth and wetness of her tongue sending pleasure down your spine.

Ellie palms both of your tits, looking up at the lens and then your flushed face from behind it. She continues to suck on your hard nipple, smirking when your hips buck into her own.

“Feels good, Els,” you whimper, your arms already becoming weaker.

Ellie hums against your damp skin, pulling away to grope and admire them. She was annoyingly still in her sports bra and her boxers, revealing nothing to you. If you weren't so clouded by the want of her mouth on your pussy, you would’ve said something.

Ellie’s long fingers hook at the waistband of your panties, looking up at you with a silent question of if it was okay. You nod with a grin, lifting your hips to help her. Ellie slid the dampened underwear down your legs. You could see the wet patch on the crotch area, a slight pang of embarrassment flowing through you.

Ellie, thankfully, began to place feather-soft kisses on the plush of your stomach. You watch her trail her lips down from your skin, inching closer to above your pubic bone.

“Fuck, baby, look at how wet you are,” Ellie teased your drenched folds, the obscene sound causing you to blush shyly.

She holds up her pointer and middle finger, the clear slick of your arousal glistening. She practically shoves them into the lens as you groan at her actions.

“Els, please, don’t. I don’t want my… juices on the camera.” You cringe at the way you phrased it but end up giggling at Ellie’s disgusted face.

“Well, I love your juices,” Ellie quickly grinned devilishly as she sucked off those fingers.

She drove you insane with the smallest things. When she kissed and caressed the plush of your hips and thighs, whispering how ‘sexy’ and ‘perfect’ you are to her. Even touching into the stuff you tended to be more insecure about like the stretch marks on your body.

You never worried about those toxic mind-consuming thoughts with Ellie.

”Can I see the camera, baby? Wanna get this view right here.” Ellie reached for it to which you handed back.

She aimed the camera lens more towards your crotch, legs spread to reveal how much your cunt was needing some release. You suck in a deep breath and adjust yourself as Ellie muttered praises as she ran her fingers carefully over your throbbing clit and soaked folds.

Beginning to grow impatient, you let out a soft noise. Ellie notices that you are becoming more and more needy for something, anything, so she leans over your panting body and sets the camera on the bedside table. The small screen was flipped so that Ellie could adjust it so that the two of you were in the frame. Your hands find their way over Ellie’s body and up into her hair.

You tug her down into a messy kiss, humming as Ellie is caught off guard by your force and nearly slipping from how she was holding herself up with one arm. She moaned softly against your lips, enjoying how your nails were scraping against her scalp.

She hungrily moved down your body, growing impatient herself. You pant softly as you watch her place messy kisses on the curves of your skin as she finally makes her way to your desperate cunt. You let out a soft sigh as she licks one teasing stripe over your clit.

“Look so pretty, Els.” You murmur as you move her falling strands of hair out of her face, a slight whine leaving your mouth.

And, god, she really did. Her eyelids were heavy over her gorgeous eyes as she looked up at you with a slight smile on her lips. She lazily kissed over the sensitive bud, that cheeky smile growing as your hips stuttered.

“My sweet girl.” She teased two fingers over your wet folds, letting out a groan at the obscene sight.

You continue to caress her face and head of hair, never wanting to tear your eyes away from your girlfriend. She glanced up at you as she carefully slid her middle finger into your warm cunt. She kept telling you how good you felt around her fingers and how much she missed your ‘perfect pussy’.

For a moment, you forgot about the camera that was recording your every move. The mic picks up every whine, moan, the sound of Ellie’s fingers fucking into you.

“Baby,” you pant, allowing your hips to grind and follow her curling fingers.

Ellie merely hummed in question as she peered up at you with hooded eyes. You nearly forgot what you were going to be begging for.

More. You just needed more. More of her touch and her lips everywhere. The tightening coil in your lower abdomen and the desperate hump of your hips alerted you that you were getting closer to your orgasm.

“I’m gonna cum,” you admit, feeling almost embarrassed by how quickly it was happening.

Ellie pulled her mouth off of you as her arm continued to pump her fingers inside of you. Your chin tilts up, hands reaching up to cradle her face. Ellie hungrily leaned down to kiss you, moaning at the sound of you whimpering against her slick-covered lips.

You were whispering pleads as she continued to fuck you like her life depended on it. Ellie leaned back to look down at her movements before glancing at the camera.

“Cum for me, baby. Need something to help me later on when I watch this over and over just to see how beautiful you look cumming for me.” Ellie groans into your ear.

Your hand reaches down to grip at her wrist but Ellie grabs your hand to kiss at your palm as another form of stimulation. You whine as your hips stutter and you feel a sharp feeling running down your spine. Ellie mutters curses as she feels you clamp down on her two fingers as your orgasm takes over.

You let out a few louder moans as you sit up carefully to let yourself ride out the orgasm.

“Fuck, Els,” you whisper as you try and come down from the high as easily as possible.

“Hey, hey, lay back, baby,” Ellie ever so slightly pressed on your lower abdomen so that your back was against the mattress once again.

Feeling light and lazy, you do as she had told you. You take slow breaths as you shut your eyes. Ellie’s body hovers over yours for a moment and you hear the hard plastic being lifted from the bedside table. You open one eye to see Ellie was aiming the camera towards the cum that was leaking. Her already wet fingers were running through your folds, being as filthy as ever.

“How’s it look?” You hum with a playful grin.

“You know, perfect, I guess,” Ellie shrugs her shoulders but her grin tells you she’s matching your energy.

As tired as you were, you wanted to make Ellie feel good too. You sit up to come face to face with her, leaning close to capture her lips into a gentle kiss. Ellie hums against your lips, setting the camera on the empty mattress right next to you both. Pulling away, you take her hand that was inside of you and raise it to your lips.

“You're gonna wanna record this, Els,” You tilt your head towards the still-recording camera.

Ellie didn't have to be told twice as she leaped for the boxy hunk of plastic and aimed the lens at your pretty plumped lips. You lick up the length of her fingers, tasing your own arousal. Ellie watched you through the small screen, wondering how fucking lucky she got with you.

You had no idea who infatuated the freckled girl was with you. Your eyes flickered to Ellie behind the camera, her pale skin practically a poppy red shade from how flustered she was. You popped off her long fingers, kissing the pads of her middle and ring fingers before sitting back on your ass as you looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“You think I’ll be a star?” You ask again, playing into the pornstar role-play.

Ellie blew a huff of air as she cupped your face to peck at your lips: “Without a doubt, babe.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x you #wlw smut #sapphic #wlw #ellie tlou2 #lgbtq community #lesbian

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504py · 7 months

Note

Its me again (i hope you don't mind i am in you ask again 😅)

So uh do you have headcanon for yandere russia and canada with their s/o?

Thx 🌻

holy SHIT i got carried away 😭😭😭 this was supposed to be a short post, but i got too deep into their characterization. and don't worry!! i appreciate your asks! anyways, here we go guys... please heed the warnings!

Yandere Russia and Yandere Canada Relationship Headcanons

Gender neutral, domestic violence, implied NSFW, self-harm, manipulation, forced feminization, dubious consent, stalking, long post ahead!

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

Russia

How the relationship started

Your relationship with Ivan first started with you doing some mundane thing, but he was there at the right place and the right time, and something about you intrigued him. Be it at a restaurant eating a strange food combination, seeing you early in the morning with your hair wet and rushing to get somewhere, or even getting a glimpse of your mismatched socks when you walked past him and didn't even pay him any mind. That was enough to seal your fate as his property. His mind can't seem to stop running with thoughts of you, how are you, why are you, and he needs to scratch that itch.

Ivan sends out a private investigator to stalk you basically, and provide him with your daily schedule. Once Ivan has your schedule, he dismisses the investigator, and takes matters into his own hands by stalking you himself, and trying to insert himself into your daily life.

Then, it was just a matter of getting to know you, courting you with expensive gifts and dates, then fully dooming yourself when you accepted him as your boyfriend.

Expectations

Ivan is very blunt with what he wants. Not very long into your relationship, around a month or so, he asks you to move in with him. Any sort of opposition or protest will be stonewalled by this; "We will be married and living together someday anyways. Why fight it? Don't you love me?"

So, whether you like it or not, you move in with him in his giant, lonely house.

There are no maids and none of the Baltic states to be seen, and this is because Ivan expects you to fulfill the role of a housewife, regardless of your gender. So he'd like for you to do chores yourself and to clean up around the house while he's gone. He doesn't expect perfection from your cleaning, in fact, he finds it a little charming when some areas aren't clean or spotless. His house was huge and you were only so small.

On the topic of fulfilling the role of his housewife, he expects you to do other things that make you fit the role even more, such as giving him affection, cooking for him, and keeping up a good front when guests are around. He wants the two of you to evoke the image of a traditional married couple so badly, and if you fail to meet those requirements...

Punishments

Ivan can be cruel. He doesn't tolerate rebellion very well, and his punishments are always physical.

He is a very touchy man, and if you fail to reciprocate his touch, or actively shy away from it, he'll only get more aggressive. His hugs will feel more suffocating, his grip on your jaw while he kisses you will feel bruising, and you swear, it feels like he's trying to crush your hand while he holds it, despite the sweet smile on his face..

If you continue to refuse him, he'll be much less subtle with his harm. One day, when you try to shove him away from you, his grip on your arm tightens to the point it feels like he might just snap it, and he pulls you close to whisper a threat into your ear; "Will you continue to be like this?"

If you say no and apologize, which would be your best option, he'll let out a strained breath and try to relax his clenched jaw, before letting up his grip on your arm and muttering an apology under his breath himself.

If you say yes... His jaw will tense up, and the look he gives you is bone-chilling. "Alright." He says, and doesn't give you much time to think before he drags you to the front door, and throws you out into the harsh cold, with only the clothes on your back.

You can cry and scream apologies and bang on the door all you want, but he's already walked away and drinking a bit of vodka to soothe his own nerves.

He'll keep you outside till you are on the brink of getting mild hypothermia. He waits there, thinking of how long it'd take for the cold to get to someone of your size and shape. He knows everything about snow, and he knows everything about you.

Right before you start to ebb in and out of consciousness, he opens the door, and drags you back inside, wiping the snow off of you and taking your weak, shivering body in his arms.

You cling to him, wanting to live in his house, his coat, and in his arms forever after experiencing the unforgiving hellscape that is the Russian winter.

Ivan mutters sweet nothings, the alcohol in his breath and the powdery smell of his clothing enveloping all your senses. He says that he wouldn't have to do this if you would've just obeyed him, that this is all your fault, and that he didn't want to do this and that he just loves you too much.

If you had any sense of self-preservation, you'll listen to him from now on, and if not... He wouldn't be above breaking a few bones. But you won't disobey him again, right? It's for your own good.

"I'm sorry, моя любовь.."

Rewards

Ivan is a very affectionate man, but he isn't the best at showing it vocally. He shows it in the lavish gifts and dates he goes on with you— Yes, he takes you out on dates. Only for special events or when he's feeling particularly affectionate, but he does it too because he feels he also has a role to fulfill as a doting, providing husband. He'd feel too bad if he just kept you locked up your whole life as his wife (and, also, he wants to test you.. He wants to see if you'll act up in public, and to see if he can trust you). Ivan feels it adds to the aesthetic of a married couple, too.

Besides that, he is INCREDIBLY physically affectionate. He has no sense of personal space at all, which may or may not be a bad thing to you, but regardless, what you think doesn't really matter, and he'll continue to invade it anyways.

He always calls you over to sit on his lap, he sleeps way too close to you, and he's always looming over your shoulder no matter where and what you're doing. As long as he's home, it's GUARANTEED he will be touching you in some way, shape or form.

Because of such things, Ivan is.. prone to getting intimate with you.

Unlike everything else, he actually sort of values your consent when it comes to the bedroom. Yes, he will make advances and be very touchy-feely, and maybe intimidate you a bit, but at the end of the day, if you keep refusing it, he'll let up, but his mood will noticeably be more tense.

Ivan is especially prone to this because clothing is one of his favorite things to gift you, he enjoys dressing you up in things he finds cute. And I mean literally. Whatever he buys for you, be it dresses, coats, or underwear, Ivan will want to be there to undress you and then dress you up in the things he bought himself. You're like his own cute little doll.

Regardless of your gender, Ivan will buy you feminine clothing and accessories. He may even be inclined to forcing you to grow out your hair.

He likes sniffing you. He rests his nose atop your scalp while hugging you, just to breathe in your scent. It calms him like nothing else in the world, and he feels alive again.

And during not-so-often times like these, he'll speak and voice his affections.

"I love you.. We are going to have a great life together."

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Canada

How the relationship started

Matthew would be completely enamored by you just.. noticing him on a regular basis. Nodding your head at him whenever you two walked by each other in the hallway, mumbling a hello whenever you two sat next to each other, and the mere act of your eyes meeting his. Fully looking at him, and not just straight through him. It always left him red and unable to calm his heart for the rest of the day, so it was only natural he'd fall head over heels for you.

His crush on you kept festering day by day, with him being too shy to continue the little interactions you have, and having such little experience with socializing that he wouldn't even know how to continue furthering this "relationship."

Matthew is rather delusional. He spends his days fantasizing about talking to you, hanging out with you, being with you romantically, and, more often than he'd like to admit, rather impure things... all while you're seated next to him, or while you're across from him, a heady stare through his foggy glasses.

Eventually, Matthew starts to believe that you two were already in a romantic relationship, despite being acquaintances at best, and he starts to get really insecure. What if you forget about him someday? What if you stop noticing him, and you just disappear from his life? He believes that other people you notice, any other person you notice, will jeopardize that oh so special relationship you and Matthew clearly have.

So, Matthew bites the bullet, and asks you out for lunch one day. You smiled and blushed at him so brightly as you accepted, and at that moment, he knew he'd dedicate everything he had in his life to worshipping you.

Expectations

Matthew still puts in an effort to appear like a normal boyfriend, unlike Ivan, so your relationship with him would progress much more naturally.

That doesn't mean he hasn't been doing anything weird, though.

Matthew's already been envisioning what it'd be like to have a family and grow old with you the first moment he heard your voice. All you said was, "Good morning." So what more now that you two are in a real, established, romantic relationship?

He fantasizes constantly about clinging to you like a lifeline and crying about how much he loves you, and to hear you feel the same way he does. He wants to pin you beneath him, letting him do all the work, and showing you just how much he loves you, while whispering praises and prayers to you with a crazed, devoted look in his violet eyes.

You two have only been together for three weeks.

...If it wasn't apparent, all he wants is for you to always, always be by his side.

He doesn't care much for appearances or services like Ivan does. If anything, Matthew wants to be the one to do nice things for you, though he would like it too if you did nice stuff for him once in a while. Though, just kissing him on the cheek is enough to keep him overjoyed for like a week straight.

He spends a lot of time doting on you and trying to prolong the time you guys have together for as much as he can. Honestly, for the most part, Matthew would play the role of a normal boyfriend rather well, and your relationship wouldn't be really turbulent, except for, well...

Punishments

Matthew hates it when you have to go. Usually, he very reluctantly drives you back home after a bit of a fight, but he's just so pitiful you could never find it in yourself to be mad at him. I think he'd be the type to cry whenever you two had any sort of disagreement.

When he's lucky, he can get you to stay the night, which absolutely sends him on cloud nine, but it's not often enough for his liking...

Things would boil over, though, when you had to leave earlier than usual because you had to go to do something, like hang out with a friend, visit your mother, anything of the sort, and Matthew gets really upset.

He starts this whole thing of begging you to stay, that "Aren't I more important than them? Please don't leave." and he's tearing up, his shaky fingers holding onto your sleeve.

"Matthew, please, just for tonight."

"I-I don't want you to go, though."

Then he's crying. Harder than he usually does, and he's looking at you like a kicked puppy.

How could you still go after seeing him like that?

Matthew then learns that he can win you over with his tears. If he just cries for you, you'll stay, won't you?

He'd never lay his hands on you, but he'd constantly guilt-trip you and manipulate you for things to go in his favor.

Violence is something he'd see as a last resort, but it's still something he'd use against everyone else and himself, but never you. He hates to hurt others, but if they get in the way of him and you, he'll do it. I feel like people forget that, while nowhere as strong as Alfred is, Matthew is still a pretty strong guy. He wouldn't ever kill anyone, but he'd severely hurt them, and he'd be hiding his face the whole time.

And yes, he'd hurt himself for you. Those crocodile tears are bound to stop working on you someday, and when that time comes, he'll harm himself and say that he'll just keep hurting himself if you aren't with him.

Then you'll just have to run back to him, tend to his wounds, and reassure him that you still love him and that you'll stay.

...But if you keep trying to run, he'll have to just lock you up so you won't look at anyone else ever again.

Rewards

Matthew is affectionate in every sense, though he tends to show it through the way he wants to do anything and everything with you.

He's always holding onto your hands, massaging little circles into it, getting your favorite snacks when he does his groceries, drying your hair after showers, arranging dates and cooking and cleaning for you as much as he can. He's naturally very doting.

He does his best for you, he really does.

Besides acts of service, Matthew just likes to spend time with you. Lazing around with you on the couch, playing with your hair, and gazing right into your eyes like you were heaven-sent. He always has the most lovestruck expression on his face whenever he's with you.

"...You're the only one for me, you know that?" He mumbles, almost as if he doesn't know he's even talking.

And he says this next line with such devotion dripping from his voice that it makes your blood run a little cold.

"...I love you so much. Never leave me.."

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(....guys was that decent. anyways! all art used is mine so if you're reading this, go give the original posts some love on my blog!)

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