#i like to say that this method takes the same amount of time as i would take doing the work regularly

[heartsforkento]

why you may be putting shifting on a pedestal and how to not do so

today we're talking about putting things like shifting or the void state on pedestal.

we'll mainly be talking about what it means to put something like shifting on a pedestal and how you can take it off the pedestal as well.

note: you can shift under any circumstances, whether you put shifting on a pedestal or not. however, if you do feel like it may be hindering your confidence in shifting, then you can work on it. also note that putting shifting on a pedestal is not the same as using shifting for escapism. they are completely different.

what does it mean to put shifting/the void on a pedestal?

let me give an example first. say you have exams coming up, lots of assignments to complete and it's really hectic. you think, "it's alright, i'll just shift to my IR. i'll be fine." or you think "i'll just try entering the void today." what you're doing here is depending too much on shifting or the void. but see, that's not the problem here.

the problem is you consider shifting to be something that's placed above everything else. something you give a special status to. and that's literally the definition of placing something on a pedestal. considering it to be an activity that has "higher class" than all your day-to-day activities.

and what has this reality taught us about things that are of more importance than regular things, or things that seem to good to be true?

it requires hard work. yes, that's what THIS reality taught us. everything that's good requires a good amount of hard work.

so naturally, when we place something on a pedestal, in this case, shifting or the void, we tend to associate it with something that requires hard work. by placing it above all our work, we may tend to assume that shifting is this tremendous activity, because our work required a lot of effort, think about shifting!

now, how can we not place shifting on a pedestal? how do we stop viewing it as a big thing?

firstly, grasp the concept of shifting properly. you do know that you can shift during the day as well, right? like you could blink and then be in your IR. it's not necessary that you're going to shift at night, or while you're lying down for a method. heck, you could shift while you're doing your assignments as well.

there's a reason why i'm mentioning this. this is so that people understand that you do not have to "make time" for shifting. so that you realize that you don't have to NOT do your assignment, so you can utilize that time for a shifting meditation or whatever.

shifting may be of high importance to you but is it something you put a lot of conscious effort and time over? no. it's like drinking water, which is essential, but i don't really put too much effort into it, it's just something that i do, something that happened.

now, how do i really take shifting off this pedestal? think of shifting as a hobby. a niche one that too. like maybe, taxidermy! it's just a little something you do in your free time and is always something you can do at any point in time, given you have the resources. which in the case of shifting, you already do. all you need is your consciousness right?

by associating it with something else, you'll change the way you feel about shifting. with changing the way you feel about shifting, you can effectively take it off the pedestal.

and of course, do what you have to do. know that shifting is going to go anywhere. you can shift in any point in time. under any circumstances as well. here's where i preach about the LOA as usual. but really, it's all low effort once you understand the LOA.

love,

rin.

[poptartmochi]

i think that i will never be able to rid myself of Magdalena, despite my disdain for her source material, because she's just such a fun little inversion character 🤧

[pibsboots]

I've always had chronic fatigue. I remember being twelve, and an adult mentioned how I couldn't possibly know how tired they felt because adulthood brought levels of exhaustion I couldn't imagine. I thought about that for days in fear, because I couldn't remember the last time I didn't feel tired.

Eventually I came to terms with the fact that I was just tired, and I couldn't do as many things as everyone else. People called me lazy, and I knew that wasn't true, but there's only so many times you can say "I'm tired" before people think it's an excuse. I don't blame them. When a teenager does 20 hours of extracurriculars every week and only says "I'm too tired" when you ask them to do the dishes, it's natural to think it's an excuse. At some point, I started to think the same thing.

It didn't matter that I could barely sit up. It was probably all in my head, and if I really wanted to, I could do it.

When I learned the name for it, chronic fatigue, I thought wow, people that have that must be miserable, because I am always tired and I cannot imagine what it would feel like if it were worse.

Spoiler alert, if you've been tired for a decade, it's probably chronic fatigue.

Once I figured that out though, I thought of my energy as the same as everyone else's, just smaller in quantity. And that might be true for some people, but I've figured out recently that it absolutely isn't true for me.

I used to be like wow I have so much energy today I can do this whole list for sure! And then I'd do the dishes and have to lay down for 2 hours. Then I'd think I must gave misjudged that, I didn't have as much energy as I thought.

But the thing is - I did have enough energy for more tasks, I just didn't go about them properly.

With chronic fatigue, your maximum energy is obviously much smaller than the average person's. Doing the dishes for you might use up the same percentage of energy that it takes to do all the daily chores for someone else.

If someone without chronic fatigue was to do all the daily chores, they would take breaks. Because otherwise, they're sprinting a marathon for no reason and it would take way more energy than necessary. We have to do the same.

Put the cups in the dishwasher, take a break. Put the bowls in, take a break. So on and so forth. This may mean taking breaks every 2-5 minutes but afterwards, you get to not feel like you've run a marathon while carrying 4 people on your back.

Today, I had a moderate amount of energy. Under my old system of go till you drop, I probably could have done most of the dishes and wiped off the counter and then been dead to the world for the rest of the day.

Under the new system, I scooped litter boxes, cleaned out the fridge, took the trash out, cleaned the stove, and wiped off the counter and did all the dishes. And after all that, I still had it in me to make a simple dinner, unload the dishwasher, and tidy the kitchen.

It was complete and utter insanity. Just because I sat down whenever I felt myself getting more tired than I already was.

All this to say, take fucking breaks. It's time to unlearn the ceaseless productivity bullshit that capitalism has shoved down our throats. Its actively counterproductive. Just sit down. Drink some water. Rest your body when it needs to rest.

There will still be days where there is nothing to do but rest, and days where half a load of dishes is absolutely the most I can do. But this method has really helped me minimize those, which is so incredibly relieving.

[winterstonecries]

"don't sew while you're watching your homework videos. you can't multitask (true)"

"it's pretty hard to watch them regularly too"

"well you should just focus. that's all you have to do"

[fatphobiabusters]

That person the other day who said they love seeing photos of thin people holding up 3XL jeans to show all of the "hard work" they put into living "the life they want," there's so much I could say about that.

I could explain that any fat person you see has almost certainly put in that same amount of "hard work" to become thin and then watched as their body refused to stay that way.

I could explain basic, unbiased weight science proving that weight loss is only temporary for the 4 millionth time.

I could explain that fat people are human beings who deserve to be treated with dignity, respect, and humanity, again for the 4 millionth time.

I could explain and explain and explain, but I'm tired of explaining to people who don't listen and pull their views out of their ass. So instead, I think we should applaud photos of fat people holding up the jeans they temporarily wore as a thin person.

Let's celebrate the fat people who once were a size small. Let fat people hold up their old tiny jeans in celebration of:

Beating an eating disorder

No longer experiencing food insecurity

Recovering from an illness that had caused weight loss

Accepting their fat body instead of abusing themself to become thin again

Leaving an abusive family/living situation where they were starved and/or forced to conform to prevent abuse

Having the genes of ancestors who survived famines

Knowing that there is not a single scientifically-proven method of weight loss

No longer wasting time fighting their body's weight gain from health conditions that cause weight gain, like PCOS

Accepting their body that changed due to pregnancy

Accepting their body that changed due to puberty

Accepting their body that changed due to transitioning

Allowing themself to take the medicine they need to treat mental or physical illness no matter the weight gain side effects

Not listening to harassment from bullies, friends, family, or anyone else who demanded they be thin to deserve peace from mistreatment

Literally just getting older and having a body that has changed with time

Loving themself despite the entire world believing that fat people do not deserve love

Existing, because fat people do not need to justify their body and existence to anyone

And so much more

-Mod Worthy

[notmyneighbor]

Let Me in ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 3

Word Count ~ 2.5k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ blood and gore, body horror, character death, minor violence, dubious consent, sexual content

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You sit on the side of the bed that had once belonged to Francis Mosses.

The comforter and top sheet have already been pulled down. You lean over to slide out of your low heeled pumps, tucking the pair of navy leather shoes neatly under the bed.

There’s a bible on the nightstand. A worn looking copy. Beside it a glass with a shallow amount of water resting in the bottom, the remnant of a late night attempt to quench thirst, perhaps.

The doppelgänger watches your movements. How methodical each action is. Slow and deliberate. You’re stalling.

He settles beside you and the mattress creaks as the springs are compressed. That odd sort of shimmer you’d noticed earlier outside the security booth outlines his frame for a brief moment. A surge of light and color as the skin ripples before settling. They still weren’t completely able to disguise what they were. All hope was not lost.

Your own fate, however, seems sealed. You lie down slowly, carefully. You feel as if you are laying yourself to rest in your own coffin. Turning your face ever so slightly to see if there is any trace of the man that had once slept here, some lingering scent or an indent from his face. Nothing but the fragrance of clean linen. The imposter moves as if to join you but you halt him, your fingers closing over his forearm. Your first time touching him and not the other way around. “Take your shoes off.”

The creature snickers, glancing down at the scuffed oxfords he’s wearing. Overdue for a shine. “What possible difference does that make?”

“It’s respectful. You never put your shoes where someone sleeps.”

“He won’t be sleeping here ever again.”

You inhale sharply, wincing. “Please just do it.” You can’t say why you’re so hung up on this. Only that it seems the right thing to do. A small thing in a sea of wrongs that you’re clinging to like a life preserver.

“Fine.” He acquiesces, bending to unlace them. There is no care in his actions. Just brisk, impatient pulls to undo the knotted ties. Then he is lying beside you. Your heads sharing the same pillow. Francis only used a single one, apparently. Preferring to slumber lying with his head and neck rather flat. You always used two fluffy pillows, minimum.

You can hear the sound of music starting to play, emanating from the resident’s apartment next door.

Mia Stone, perhaps. The blonde teacher who was Dr. Afton’s fiancée. You instantly recognize the musical artist crooning through the walls: Billie Holiday.

I say I'll move the mountains

And I'll move the mountains

If he wants them out of the way

You would have loved to play this record for Francis. You envision trying to dance in the cramped space of the living room, twirling around in his arms. “Did he really like my fragrance?” You know the creature could lie, of course. He’d say anything to manipulate you and get what he wanted. But you have to ask. Your heart won’t let you avoid the query.

The dark eyes of the pretender regard you. You detect no malice or dishonesty there. “Yes,” he says simply.

You close your eyes, sighing. “What else did he like about me?”

“Your smile, gifted once you were certain it was really him. The way you covered your mouth when you laugh, making some little relieved joke when you passed his identification and entry request back to him each day. The strands of hair that came loose around your face as the day wore on into late afternoon when he returned from his route. The—”

“—Stop. Please.” Tears well in your eyes. They didn’t sound like the kind of details the deceiver would create on his own. There was a note of truth to them. Genuine recollections. He truly was all that remained of Francis Mosses. A man that had been fond of you. You could have been with him, if only you’d been a little braver.

“You asked me to tell you.”

“I know. It’s just overwhelming.”

Like the wind that shakes the bough

He moves me with a smile

“Your kind is so fond of music. Your milkman was always humming. I don’t see the use for it.”

The your wrenches your heart. He wasn’t yours. Never would be. “It’s a way to expression emotions. When words alone aren’t enough.”

“Hmmm.” He reaches out and you flinch. “Why are you fighting this so hard? This is what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want Francis to die.” You pause, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Why do you want this?”

”Curiosity. An experiment of sorts. There has never been a union between our kind. Not of this nature. A desire to know what it feels like. To see what might result.”

You shudder. An experiment. Using you like some kind of animal for breeding. A mere whim.

He reaches again and this time you force yourself to hold steady, your chin lifting with a short jerk of defiance. Your hair is his goal. Tucking it back behind one ear. Maybe something the milkman had wanted to do. There’s a sudden softness in the doppelgänger’s eyes. As if the human he’d once been was peeking through at you. You find yourself melting again, your defenses coming down.

I say I'll care forever

And I mean forever

He moves closer to you. Inching over across the white fitted sheet. A thumb strokes away one of the tears that has escaped its prison. He captures the other from the opposite cheek, bringing it to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the droplet. “Salt,” he says, recognizing the mineral.

He kisses you.

You’re not sure if it’s better to think of the man you had loved or not. Was it dishonoring his memory or was it a way to keep him present in some vague capacity? There’s no clumsiness this time. He knows the feel of your mouth. The way to shift against you. Tongue mapping past smooth cheeks and dragging along the carpet of muscle at the base of that maw. Maybe it was better to pretend this was Francis after all. You cup the back of his neck, fingers teasing the edges of his milk chocolate tresses. Curling slightly on the ends. It would be time for a trim soon. Would have been. The illusion you’ve created is crumbling again. Your lips falter, your hand dropping away.

Crazy he calls me

Sure, I'm crazy

Crazy in love am I

“Sweetheart,” the invader murmurs, tasting along your jaw, your neck. “I like the way you smell.” Speaking for himself, not Francis. You hear the sharp intake of air. The hand that had been casually laid across your shoulder slides down until it reaches your breast, gently kneading that globe through the layers of your bra and blouse. “Does this feel good?” His voice is octaves lower than you’d ever heard from the milkman. Slightly raspy and sultry, not unlike the singing voice that permeates through the wood and plaster behind the bed. You don’t dare answer, merely whimpering a little and he seems to take this as an affirmative response.

His hand leaves your breast and finds the top button of your shirt. Always sensible, pure white, part of the uniform standard the company requires. Another threaded plastic disc is pushed through the hole. He works his way down until all those that are exposed have surrendered, the remainder still tucked within your skirt. His fingers part the edges of the fabric encasing your torso, peeling them back to reveal the white satin brassiere beneath. He caresses you briefly through this slick material before tucking inside the cup until he brushes across your areola. Your nipple peaks beneath his ministrations as his lips move back to yours. He is surprisingly gentle, lightly pinching and rolling the aroused tissue. Your body betrays you, responding to the creature’s touch. You should be ashamed, disgusted. Instead you find yourself wanting more.

“Off,” he murmurs impatiently, plucking at your bra before his hand departs your chest. You struggle to sit up and he allows it, watching you pull your blouse free from your skirt and unfastening the cuffs before sliding it off your arms. With a swift gesture borne of long practice you easily pinch and release the hook and eye closures resting along the center of your spine, the cups immediately folding down over the underwire, the straps drooping over your shoulders.

The doppelgänger assists you now, sliding the brassiere off the rest of the way, exposing your chest to him. Your cheeks are pink, flushed like the nipples he’s toying with again, his head bending to suckle at one and a lick of flame sears your core. This is part of the invasive species’ learning process, you think. Taste as important as touch. His mouth moving not with the sole purpose of your pleasure in mind, but as a means to explore flavors and textures. Cataloguing. More of humanity’s secrets unveiled.

There is a song you don’t recognize playing next door now. Muffled voices. You’d had no idea the walls were so thin. Francis had never complained.

You’re shoved back down onto the pillow. His mouth wanders, back up to sample a collar bone, the hollow at the base of your throat, then dips in between your breasts and tastes the skin of your abdomen. You wonder if he can detect the floral soap you’d bathed with that morning, the traces of lotion you’d applied during your hygiene routine.

“I like this,” he says, his breath warm on your body. “You’re so soft. Smooth. Not like…I’ve never taken…” It had often been debated if there were sexes in their species. How they propagated. There was still so much unknown. Was there a reason he’d only chosen men to replicate? Was it simply because he was male himself? You could not explain how you knew it, but there was something distinctly masculine about him. Authoritative. Blunter than a woman would be. A lifetime of being raised to respect decorum had been firmly ingrained in you. Society valuing a woman who knows her place. Taught to be demure, deferring to the wisdom and guidance of their male counterparts. Serving and obeying, like you’re doing now.

The imposter returns his attention to your face. Licking your mouth back open. He likes this, you think. All of what you’d shared thus far, but perhaps the kissing best of all.

The background melody silences and you think you detect the front door opening and closing. You wonder if the couple will be going out to an early dinner. Curious when they find there is no one guarding the building. But not alarmed. Not yet.

Your skirt is being lifted, polyester dragged upward after the copycat’s hasty reach downward to gather the hem. Immediately sliding back down, stroking over your exposed thighs that are clad in nylons that stop midway across each of your upper legs. Nothing fancy, just utilitarian features in a shade of nude slightly more tanned than your own complexion. He nudges against the seal you’ve created by pressing your legs close together. “Let me in, sweet girl.” An echo of what he’d said earlier in an attempt to gain access to the building, now seeking entry into you. You feel your limbs parting for him nearly as promptly as you’d opened the door.

The pretender works his way back up to the fork of your body, teasing along the crotch of the white panties. You gasp and he smiles against your lips. His palm drags over the fabric until his fingers find the elastic waistband and he dips beneath it, running overly the neatly trimmed hair on your pubic mound, following the curve of that padded flesh until your sex is palpated.

Another gasp and a moan escapes you. “So wet,” he remarks, fondling the pink lips, parting the petals with his middle finger to slide through the slick arousal your body is creating, working the lubricant up and down, passing over the hooded nub and then delving back towards your entrance, where more fluid escapes.

It feels good and yet it doesn’t, his fingers too rough and just shy of where you need him. You squirm and wince at the harsh handling of your clitoris and he pauses, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Show me. Show me how you like to be touched.”

You reach down cautiously, guiding his fingers to one side of your sensitive bud, lightly pressing and rolling a fingertip so that your clit is ground slightly against the bone beneath. Alternating now, reaching back down to gather more of your slick before spreading it over that hooded button, a few direct strokes applied before beginning the process again. He replicates your actions and your body responds immediately, a hum of pleasure heating you. You close your eyes and you think of the milkman, the real one, with his kind smile and his tired eyes.

“Francis.” The name escapes your lips and you freeze, the rocking motion of your hips against the imposter’s hand abruptly ceasing. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Alarmed by how easily you’d allowed yourself to give in to the desire, accommodating this make believe passion.

“It’s alright, love. It’s me. I’m here.” His tongue laps at your ear, at the sensitive patch of skin behind it. You shiver and resume grinding against his fingers, letting yourself be deluded once more, your hand curling over his forearm.

“Francis,” you say again, hoping he can forgive you, in whatever form he now occupies, if he is saved as his faith professes he would be, finding redemption and peace, somewhere far from your sinning body that writhes in pleasure from his murderer’s touch.

You push against his hand and he allows it, applying force against the hollow cavity that leads to your womb. “Let me in,” he breathes, and you feel a finger invading your body, shoving through the narrow confines of that muscular tunnel. Withdrawing and spearing again, the digit saturated with your arousal. You moan and lift your pelvis to meet him. Curling inside, massaging that dip of spongy tissue. Crooking each time he enters as if he is leading you forward, beckoning, his thumb drawing circles over your clit. You feel as if you’re on the edge of a chasm, teetering on the rim, about to drop forward into heat and darkness. Keening now. Thighs tremoring violently. Your face turns and your teeth sink into the pillow. “There you go, love. Give it to me. Give in to me.”

The coiling pressure within you snaps and you find release at last, the fabric clenched in your teeth doing little to muffle the sound of your orgasm. You’re drenched in sweat, the aftershocks of your appeased nerves still sizzling through you. The doppelgänger cradles you through all of it, holding you as you ride the waves that exhaust your limbs, making you feel boneless and limp.

“Francis.” It’s a yearning plea, a futile prayer, answered by the thing that is not him, but masquerades as such, crooning to you, whispering false promises, draping you in synthetic affection, a lie you want so desperately to believe.

[kaysungshine]

𝓛𝓸𝓯𝓲 𝓛𝓾𝓼𝓽 ♡

{ Pairing } - Producer.bf!Jisung x afab.gf!reader

{ Genre } - NSFW; s/f/d(dark)*, PWP, established relationship

{ Synopsis } - Your boyfriend doesn't know any other method of stress relief, other than creating music. He can get so consumed by it, it can become the stressor. So you decide to present him with a new method. That's how you found yourself walking down the street in nothing but lingerie and a long coat.

{ WC } - 2.9k

{ Warnings & Tags } - 18+ MDNI, *forced orgasm/slight dubcon if you squint, everything is consensual but there is begging for more when reader might be at her limit so that's why I'm including dubcon (for those who may find it triggering)*, use of pet names (baby, angel, mine, my love, good girl & Ji), very lowkey needy/soft dom & romantic sub dynamic, worshipping reader, oral (f. recieving), squirting, overstimulation, unprotected piv (do as I say & not as I write, pee after sex too!), creampie, cum feeding & eating, fingers in mouth, pussy worship, I may just have gotten carried away with oral fixations okay? FORGIVE ME.

{ Disclaimer } - This work is in no way associated or depicting the actual life of the members of SKZ. It is a fictional piece of work, and I do not own Stray Kids. All works of fiction are loosely inspired by SKZ, and in no way am I saying it is true to their character.

{ A/N } - I originally was going to post a Hyunjin oneshot next, but I wanted to finish this one in time for Jiji's birthday! It's 2 am on the 14th where I am heheh. Hopefully you all like it. Han producing music will always be hot asf for me personally lmao. Barely proofread.

The air was cool, seeping underneath your long wool coat. In any other circumstance, on a late fall night, the coat would be enough to keep the chill out. Today however, it wouldn't. But you still kept walking, determined to make it to Jisungs studio. 

You focused on the clicking of the heels on the boots you wore. And the sound of the wind picking up, signalling a blustery night ahead. The small sounds calm your nerves. 

You were anxious about Jisung's reaction, he was in one of his moods again. You understand, you truly do. Juggling everything he has to on his plate, it was no easy feat. There were times he'd just let that dark veil take over, and shut everyone out without even meaning to. 

You knew he was in that state again when you hadn't seen or heard from him in three days. It wasn't for lack of effort on your end either. Every phone call sent to voicemail, every text sent by you was met with the same response;

'At the studio, I'll text you after, angel'.

You knew it was time for intervention when Chan texted you that he was only coming home, at 2 in the morning no less, to shower and change. No eating, no resting, just back to the studio afterwards.

This had happened twice before in the almost year you've been dating. Each time you remember talking with him afterwards, he always said the same thing;

'making music is my stress relief.'

That may be true, but it doesn't change the fact that he is also a workaholic. One who easily gets lost in the creative space he has built a career off of. And once that diligence sets in, it's hard to shake off. 

So here you are, ready to try a new approach. Ready to offer a new kind of relief. An alternative. 

You and Jisungs sex life was far from boring. Far from infrequent, you'd say too. But it surely was more... monotonous. You'd never complain about it, and neither would he. There was nothing wrong with it. It just happened at the 'perfect' times in your relationship. 

Before bed, after date nights, on monthly anniversaries, to express massive amounts of love, etc. 

It was never to celebrate happiness, calm anger, or comfort sadness. Never to relieve stress. 

You were determined to change that. There was no reason you could not help him in any way you could. And in this aspect, you knew you could. 

Still, you were nervous. This would be new, he never did well with new. 

Your footsteps stopped, leaving only the sound of the wind in your ears. Until you pressed your badge against the card reader, listening to the beeps, to the gears unlock. 

Once inside the lobby, the clinking of your heels against the vinyl tile filled your ears. Each step matches the thumping in your heart, you find yourself speed walking.

 You smiled and gave a little wave to the staff in the lobby, and they returned it. 

In the elevator, the sound of its melodic music filled your ears next. The whirring background noise the machinery made, stopped, as you reached your desired floor. 

There was silence when you stepped off. The flooring is carpeted now, and soundproof rooms lined the hallway leaving the night quiet. 

You took a deep breath and made your way to the door you knew was your boyfriend's. It was unlocked, thankfully. 

You let yourself in, seeing the silhouette of your boyfriends back facing the door in the blue lighting. 

He was all about ambiance in this facet of life, having LED's lining the ceiling. The only source of light in the room, besides the glowing screens of his monitors. 

He was sat in his chair, headphones on, hood up, head nodding in tandem with his fingers tapping. 

You took the opportunity to slide your boots off. Opting to keep your coat on, you brushed your hair over one shoulder. You took your badge from around your neck, and tossed it on the leather couch that was against the wall. 

Padding your way over to him, you place your hand on his shoulder lightly. He tenses under your touch, and turns his head. He's frowning when he first faces you, eyebrow furrowed together. 

When he sees you though, he softens. The corners of his mouth slightly upturning to a small smile. 

"Baby..." He whispers, sliding his head phones off. Soft lofi music is filling the room from them. 

He grabs your hand off his shoulder, bringing it to his lips. He's pressing soft kisses to your palm, and placing it on his cheek. 

"It's late my angel, why are you here?" He says in a husky voice with more volume. 

Your heart flutters at his gentleness, and you bend down to press your own lips to the top of his head. A musky, yet spicy vanilla scent fills your nostrils. His scent. 

"I'm here to help you baby." You murmur to him softly. 

That caught his attention. He fully swivelled around to face you, taking both of your hands in his. He gazed up into your eyes, a curious look on his face. 

You smiled down on him, feeling nothing but love for this man. You'd relax him in any way you can. You placed a hand on each side of his face, bending down again. No more words were said as you kissed him. As your hands slid down his neck, his found themselves on yours, pulling you closer to him. Matching your eagerness.

You let your hands fully slide off him, and tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Your trembling fingers were working the buttons on your coat. One by one, releasing the fabric from your bare skin. 

You stood up, letting the coat fall from your shoulders.

Jisung lets out a soft gasp, and licks his lips. 

Exposed to him, was his favorite lingerie you owned. It was a bra and panty set, satin and lace. Revealing. 

All white. 

Your boyfriends favorite part. He always said that the contrast against your melanated skin was a work of art. He joked about commissioning Hyunjin, if he didn't have to see you essentially naked.

So here you stood before him, presenting yourself to him. Silently willing him to do as he pleases. To take your body and use you to decompress. You were too nervous to say it.

He traces the swell of your breast with a finger, curving around the delicate lace. It's a simple touch, but it still sends a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps blooming on your skin. 

"So sexy." He mumbles, eyes roving your whole body. 

He stands up, kissing you desperately, and walking you back to the couch. Your knees hit the back of it, and you're forced to sit. Lips ripping away from his, panting at the desire in his eyes. 

All your nerves were gone. New or not, it would never change the fact that Jisung craved you as much as you craved him. 

He held himself up with his hands on the back of the couch, and hovered above you for a moment looking you in the eyes. 

Then he was sinking to the ground, on his knees, between your legs. His hands smooth over your thighs, making them pliant with soft kisses, before he spreads them open. Your pussy is glistening behind the lace, and he licks his lips again. 

His hand glides from your thigh, to your heat. Thumb brushing against that sensitive bud, the friction eliciting a whine from you. 

His eyes snap up to you, and he holds your gaze as his tongue licks a stripe up your clothed core. The tip of it flicking deliciously against your sensitive clit. 

"Mmmm..." He groaned at the taste of you, "All for me?"

You moan at his tongue swiping against you again, and again, "All for you, my love." 

His fingers hook underneath the band of your underwear, and he peels them off you. He's whimpering, watching as strings of your arousal stick to them. The cool air is hitting your sex, before puffs of hot air from his mouth is. And you're shivering again at the sensation. 

A gasp escapes you when his tongue slides between your folds. Lapping up your juices, and suckling at that bundle of nerves. You listen to the wet sounds his mouth is making against you, along with the broken melody coming from his head set. You get lost in it. 

Your hand finds his hair, and you're grinding against his mouth. He's whimpering and moaning with you, one hand palming at his bulge. The other has fingers teasing your entrance. 

You let out a loud moan when two fingers push into you, and your grasp on his hair loosens. He takes the opportunity to get air, panting, mouth hanging open. His cheeks, chin and lips all shine in the dull blue light. 

His fingers continue to pump into you as he watches your face contort for him. He's smiling with lidded eyes, basking in the fact that he's making you feel so good. 

"Ji..." You moan, needing more.

"My beautiful baby, let me worship you a little longer." And he's diving back down.

His tongue focuses on your clit, and fingers coaxing that gummy spot inside you. He's pulling moan after moan from you, making out with your lower lips, bringing you closer to the edge. Your thighs start trembling around his head, and he has to grip the fleshy part of one of them to stop you from squeezing him before he's finished. 

You're spilling over the edge, body alight and your release coating his fingers, and face. He's lapping up every little bit, determined to taste your pleasure on his tongue. Only when you start to whine from constant overstimulation does he stop. 

He's kissing his way up to your lips, leaving a wet trail behind him that you couldn't bring yourself to care about. 

You're not sure when he managed to discard his pants and boxers, but you feel his hard, bare length pressing against your inner thigh. 

He's rubbing his member against your pussy now, letting your slick and his saliva cover him. Kissing your neck as he's rocking against you, he whispers, "Angel, do you have another one for me?"

Of course you did, you knew you did. You needed to feel him, you needed to please him. So you started nodding fervently, eyes rolling in the back of your head when he sucked lightly near your ear and jaw. 

He had a grasp of his cock now, dragging the head through your folds with added pressure. Each squelch of your juices sounds like music to your ears, anticipation building in your body.

"'Gonna make you feel s'good." He's whining into your neck. 

He has your legs around him now, as he fills you slowly, both of you savoring the sensations it brings. Your pussy spasms around him, and it has him grunting. 

"Always feel so good squeezin' me..." He mumbled, letting you adjust, "...exactly what I needed..." 

Then he was pumping into you, and you felt it. All the frustrations he was holding onto, all the stress, all the vexation. He was translating it into the energy he used to pleasure you. Letting go of it all. 

You couldn't hear the soft lofi music coming from his head set anymore, instead the slapping of skin and heavy breathing mixed with moans were filling the room. You'd never be more thankful for a soundproof space. Neither of you were holding back. 

Your moans only being interrupted by quiet curses, and his being peppered in between praises of how good you feel for him. He made it known he was chasing your high before his, begging you to cum for him. 

"Please angel," he whispers against your lips, "need to feel you cumming on my cock."

His pace became quicker as he kissed you, and his hand slithered down to play with your clit. Your back arched off the couch at that, angling him deeper inside you. He groaned, and his thrusts faltered for a second indicating he was close. 

Regardless he was determined to finish you, and his tone grew more demanding, "Be a good girl... cum for me, angel."

And that was all your body and mind needed to let go, legs locking around him and body shaking. Your hands slid under his hoodie, and nails dug into his back. It was the kind of intense orgasm, that your moan got stuck in your throat, instead a rough growl coming out. 

You sounded absolutely feral for him, and you were. 

That was what pushed him over the edge, a slew of curses leaving his mouth as his hips stuttered. With a final harsh thrust, he cums deep inside you. All of the negativity has dispersed from his body, and he collapsed back to his knees. 

You're both panting, trying to catch your breath. You jolt when you feel his fingers in your folds, over sensitivity taking over yet again. He's spreading you open, hypnotized by the way his cum is drooling out of you. 

"So perfect, fuck." He says as he drags his finger through it. 

He's bringing it up to your lips, and your mouth opens instinctively. You're sucking his finger into your mouth, his essence salty but familiar on your tongue. 

His eyes are locked to yours as you work his finger, licking it clean. He slips a second finger in your mouth, letting you cover them in your saliva before he dips back down for a taste himself. 

You're whining around his fingers when his tongue glides against your clit, and your hips try to retract into the couch. Quickly, he has both hands on your hips, securing you in place so he can continue tasting you. 

"We taste so good together, my love..." He's mumbling against you. 

His words will never fail to coax submission out of you.

Your hand flies back to his hair, as good as it feels you're trying to pull him away. He's just burying his face deeper, tongue dipping into your entrance to make sure he's tasting everything. 

"Ji... s'too much... I can't-" You're pleading, even though you feel yourself succumbing to the overwhelming brushes of his tongue.

He hisses when you finally succeed in pulling him off you, "Please angel," He's begging again, "Just one more. I know you have one more for me." 

"Fuck, Ji, I-" 

He silences you with his tongue flat against you, another lick up to your clit "Please, need to hear you cumming one more time for me." He whines and starts leaving sloppy, wet kisses on your pussy. 

You always knew he was more of a giver. That even though it was you who had cum twice, and he only once. He preferred it that way. Even if he was the one needing the release more, he thrived more on your pleasure.

"Just be gentl-" You try to say, but cut yourself off with a groan. 

He's eagerly slurping at your core. Lost in the moment, all he has is your pussy on his mind now. Messily licking and lapping at every inch. He's shaking his head and moaning into it, keeping you pinned in place by your hips. 

You feel another orgasm starting to build quickly, clenching around nothing. He risks you bucking your hips roughly into his face, and takes a hand off your hip. He's pushing two fingers into you yet again, and you're seeing stars. 

His fingers curl, and his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly. You feel your release slip away from you, and your cumming on his face again. Yelling his name. He only grows more determined.

He leans back so he can watch the beautiful, writhing, mess he reduced you to. The thumb of his other hand is replacing his mouth, continuously flicking your bud. He doesn't slow his movements as you ride out your orgasm, instead picking them up. 

Your world turns white, and you feel yourself squirt on his hands. He's watching you in awe, whispering more praise for you as your juices spray over him. 

"So fucking sexy, my good girl."

"That's it, let go for me, let it all go."

"Knew you had one more in you, all for me."

"My perfect angel."

It's when you start to slip into that floaty space that he finally stops. He doesn't want you too gone, he's limited in the care he can provide here.

He's positioning you to lay on the couch, and he's laying behind you. You're both wet and sticky, and heaving for air. Yet, it's blissful. 

You lay there for what could've been minutes or an hour, you weren't sure. You were content in each other's touch. Your arm reaches back to caress his head, fingers combing through his hair. He's humming. 

"I love you." You finally murmur. 

"I love you more, angel. Thank you for this." He says, and kisses your shoulder. 

"You caught on quickly to my idea." You giggled.

He laughed with you, "I caught on halfway through it, actually. I was just beside myself with desire for you." 

You blushed at that, and you were thankful he couldn't see it. 

"I mean you showed up in my favorite set..." He whispers and starts toying with the lace on your bra, his finger slipping underneath to flick your nipple, "In ONLY my favorite set. How could I not show you how much I admire you." 

You felt his length harden against you again, and he rolled his hips slowly as he gripped your hip. 

You knew the night was far from over. 

As for how you were both going to escape and clean up? Well that was a problem for future you. 

Taglist:

@eczlipse @sailor--sun @maisyyyyyy @jupire @prettiichocolateprincess

@meowmeowminnie @joyofbebbanburg @adieu-lisette @sleeping-beau-tay @staytinyluv

@lookitsjess @majorlymismanaged @kpopsstuffs @helloimacalumgirl @bbokarimenu

@bubblepop-stay @mauvemelon @ohhlittlegirl @ang4lheart @spnwinchestersd

@adieu-lisette @loud-minhoe @juwire @anylady-fics @antisocialties

@nebugalaxy @wowitsafemale

As always, please let me know if you'd like to join the taglist. And if you do, pretty please interact with my fics besides liking (ie; replying/commenting/reblogging). Although I will always appreciate liking as well! Feedback is always cherished! ♡

But again, please be gentle in your criticism! I am but a sensitive soul.

[moonlightndaydreams]

hey ml, i love your work so so sooo much so i thought i’d send a request!! Could you do a fem reader x chan or lee know where reader is very shy and she unconsciously plays with his happy trail? (leads into smut)

@ihrtlix 😘 Naww thanks so much! I’m so happy you’ve been enjoying my little fics! What a wonderful request 🤗 (I’m baby clapping over here). I ended up choosing Chan because I don’t think I’ve written him for a long time (outside of 3Racha and group stuff). I hope you enjoy xxx.

CW: size kink, stretch kink, blowjob, fingering, orgasms, surprise daddy kink, reader is a virgin.

🫠🫠🫠🫠

“Something on your mind babygirl?” Chan stroked your shoulder. “You seem like you want to say something.”

You and your new boyfriend Chan were laying on his bed watching a movie on his wall mounted tv.

He was topless and only wearing thin sweatpants, the type that doesn’t hide anything.

You’d notice he’d been shamelessly hard for the past fifteen minutes. The same amount of time you’d been absentmindedly been playing with his happy trail.

You weren’t sure if your touch was what was keeping him hard, but all you knew is that you wanted to see, to touch him, there.

You bit your lip. “Channie?” You say timidly.

“Babygirl. Talk to me. You can tell me absolutely anything.” He kissed your cheek.

Your shaky hand moved closer to his waistband and you swallowed nervously.

“You want to see what you do to me, hmm?” He smirked. Your cheeks reddened.

He shimmied his sweatpants down, revealing his very hard, very large cock. Your eyes widened. It was thick and heavy, leaking, and laid against his taut abs. It had obscenely prominent veins and an angry leaking tip.

It’s too big. How will that ever fit inside you. You were a virgin. He’s going to split you apart.

Yet your mouth watered at the sight of him, and your pussy clenched at the thought of him making it fit into your tight little virgin hole.

“You can touch it if you want. Taste it, even.” Chan encouraged you, stroking your back softly.

Your eyes snapped up to his. “He won’t bite.” He chuckled softly. His eyes were soft and encouraging, not a hint of expectation for you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with.

You kneeled beside Chan and wrapped your hand around his cock near the base. Chan hissed through his teeth, and more precum oozed from the tip.

You’d been so nervous to make a first move, but now that you had him in your hand you felt an urge to please him. You wanted to do good. You wanted to show him that you’d thought about doing this for weeks.

You licked the precum from the tip. Chan whimpered. Then you took your mouth to the bottom of the shaft and licked the underside of his cock from base to top. Chan groaned this time.

“Babygirl! Have you done this before?” He asked, surprised by your methods.

“I might be a virgin, but I’ve done this lots.”

“Lots?” He sat up and looked at you shocked.

“Well… I had this guy friend, Jisung. I used to practice on him.” You said like it was no big deal. And it wasn’t. He was just a childhood friend, that when you became teenagers let you practice sucking his cock.

“He wasn’t as big as you.” You added and began to sink your mouth down over his cock.

Chan flopped back on the bed.

“Your mouth feels so fucking good, babygirl.” He moaned as his eyes rolled back in his head. You spent the next five minutes giving Chan your everything. Taking in as much you could. Using your hand to give a little twist on the upstroke, you didn’t forget his balls either.

Chan wasn’t a quiet guy. He moaned loudly, cursing constantly, sometimes he’d make a high pitched wine. It made you so wet. Would he sound like if you were to ride him in the future?

You felt his hand caress the back of your thigh.

“Babygirl, can I cum on your pussy?” He panted. “Please? It’d look so hot.” He rocked his hips, sending his thick cock further into your throat.

You popped off just long enough to answer “yes” then sunk down as far as you possible could. You used your hand to squeeze and stroke what couldn’t fit.

“That’s is… that’s it.. fuck…yes… okay quick! On your back.”

He swiftly laid you on your back and pulled your shorts and soaked panties off.

He knelt between you legs and pushed the tip of his cock up and down through your glistening labia while he pumped his length. You whimpered as your cunt begged you to ask him to put it inside.

“Fuck!” He cried out. With his eyebrows furrowed, he spurted ropes of cum all over the your pussy.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to see what mess he’d made. There was so much.

Chan took his finger to your pussy, smearing his cum all over your clit and down to your entrance.

“Babygirl.” He said as he rubbed your swollen clit. “Did this Jisung ever put his fingers inside you?”

You shook your head. “Only mine have been in there.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “And how many fingers does Babygirl fuck herself with?” He purred.

“Three!” You panted.

“Three? So two of mine should be fine then?” He concluded.

He scooped up as much cum and your arousal on his middle and index finger as he could and pressed them inside your tight heat.

You whimpered at the stretch.

“That’s it. I know it’s a big stretch. Channie’s got you, yeah? Relax for me”

He finger fucked you gently, watching your reactions. When you were crying and babbling incoherently, he curled his fingers to dig into your sweet spot. You automatically started your rock your hips, seeking more. More friction, more intensity. Your fingers flung to your clit. You were about to break. You needed to cum.

“That’s it, babygirl. Cum for me. Cum for daddy.”

Daddy? Oh god that sent you over the edge. You cried out as your walls pulsed around Chan’s fingers. He helped you through it until the overstimulation was too much, and he withdrew them and held you close as you quivered from the intensity of your release.

After a few minutes, Chan ran you a bath and helped you clean up before snuggling in next to you in bed.

“Channie?” You said softly.

“Yes babygirl.”

“Next time I want you inside me.” You felt your cheeks go red and you were grateful the lights were off.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.” He smiled to himself.

Read part 2 here

@channieandhisgoonsquad @itshannjisung @noellllslut @kangnina @weareapackofstrays @chansbabyg

[kotoku]

can i req sunday and aventurine with an s/o whos like the opposite of their personality? like for sunday, maybe his s/o is like short tempered and easily triggered while for aventurine, maybe his s/o is like not a risk-taker and stuff

ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ꜱ/ᴏ ᴡʜᴏ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴛᴀʟ ᴏᴘᴘᴏꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇᴍ

pairings - sunday x reader / aventurine x reader

content - reader is gender-neutral/ established relationship/ opposites attract trope

warnings - none

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

↻ In contrast to Sunday’s calm and methodical nature, you are much more expressive with your emotions and follow the flow of things

↻ You’re a spontaneous person, if there is something that has caught your attention, you’d buy it immediately, if you wanted to go somewhere, you would go without a second thought

↺ Your unexpected disappearances would worry your boyfriend to no end, coming home to scattered feathers and a clingy Sunday

↻ There would definitely be some arguments between the both of you, mainly about your reckless and careless behavior which would worry Sunday to no end, on the other hand you’d probably point out his slightly controlling habits which he actively denies…

↺ You’d both apologize to each other and make amends in the end, tuning down the extremities of your behaviors

↻ When the two of you first met each other, I can imagine him taking a bit of a dislike to your personality and vice versa (it’d be an enemies to lovers lol) 

↺ Someone would’ve had to force you two to interact with each other, and the both of you would be pleasantly surprised to see that you both enjoy the same things

↻ The two of you balance each other out, like hot and cold, snow and fire, winter and summer

↺ You help Sunday loosen up a bit, teaching him to let things go and relax while he helps you be more organized, teaching you to manage your emotions healthily instead of immediately lashing out on people

↻ Sunday is your celestial moon and you are his blazing sun

↻ There is a stark difference between yours and Aventurine’s personalities, while he’s quite the risk taker and devious individual, you are a cautious and blunt person, you wear your heart on your sleeve for the world to see

↺ No wonder why it was so easy for Aventurine to befriend and rope you into his antics, you were in for a long and wild ride

↻ You can’t count the amount of times you thought shit was going to hit the fan whenever you got caught up in Aventurine’s schemes, feeling your heart palpitating and breath quickening only to find out that everything was okay

↺ You found yourself almost wanting to hit him whenever he pulled this shit on you, but maybe he would like that

↻ Aventurine enjoys your reaction, always seeking to get some sort of rise or say from you (he really loves your attention huh)

↺ He finds it so easy to read you and what you are thinking of, too bad he uses this to his advantage

↻ Aventurine loves taking you to the casino he frequents just so he can observe your reactions to the game (he’s such a smug asshole to you lol)

↺ You’re always at the edge of your seat when it comes to betting, wondering just how much he’s putting on the line (--and by some miracle he always gets his way, you have no idea how he does it)

↻ Sometimes you find yourself scolding him everytime he takes a huge risk, especially if he gets injured and you need to help patch him up

↺ It feels being genuinely taken care of and worried for, but he basks in your attention so it doesn’t bother him one bit

↺ If he purposely got injured just to get taken care of by you, you’d probably patch him up, punch his arm, and then ice it again because you love him too much 

↻ Sigh, Aventurine sure is the death of you

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

[pinkchrissysposts]

☆LAST POST,THE FINAL ADVICE☆

(Basically answers to asks I got)

Ok first thing first there is no one here to help you manifest,not the bloggers,not me, no one,if reading multiple post on same topic can't help you then why do expect bloggers to help you who are gonna give you same advice,they have been mentioning on their posts. It's not like they are writing about different things,every bloggers are telling you the same thing YOUR 4D/imagination is the true reality,you just have to PERSIST and be CONSISTENT. No like seriously I really feel like you guys are just lazy,why are you depend on bloggers,Im not saying that you can't ask for help and by help i mean understanding certain concept or doubts but you straight up ask to help you manifest or coaching don't do that until and unless they themself mention about being a coach,because see we have a life of our own too,we are God but also human who are busy in their life. Bloggers post this amazing posts talking about law and how beautiful it is. But y'all are so into the victim mindset,as if you are the only one suffering,which is correct YOU are the reason you are seeing the person taking away your sp,you are so into imagining yourself in a broke state and dwell in it,because you feel comfort in it,get a bit uncomfortable dear,you'll endup being comfortable.

You cannot just get comfortable when you are transfered in a new school,new class and the new environment,you first adjust,you go to the school everyday and get used to the new environment then you get comfortable isn't it guys. Manifesting is exactly like this you get in the state of having the desire,it feels uncomfortable,fake,delusional but the more you persist the more you get used to this feeling of knowing. It's not even necessary to be in the state a 24/7,because we are in different state all the time,just when you remember about the desire get in the state or do whatever fulfills you.

No amount of methods won't be useful if you are not even persisting and keep look for 3d validation. To sum up everything all you have to to is persist. Bloggers won't be there for you all the damn time,most of you want to manifest being independent but with a mindset of a dependent person,who are depend on other's for method and doesn't even persist in it then cries,and trauma dump on other's dm.

There is no use of DMing us too you know,we as bloggers are the one end up getting bored or annoyed,because I'm telling y'all legit leave another method and come up with a new one,I have about 50+ dms and asks asking me how to manifest or trauma dumping telling me how they aren't able to manifest,dear of course you won't be able to manifest if you keep looking for validation. I'm not saying that your circumstances aren't that bad,it's probably really hard for you but darling,everyone had faced this challenge,it's hard but learn to ignore the 3D even if it was right on your face. Be stubborn when it comes to manifesting,it took me alot of time as well to adapt that mindset,so I read alot of fanfics where reader gets whatever they want this really got me into the brat mindset,you can also find methods or ways that you help you feel fulfill,I don't care what method you are using JUST DO WHAT FULFILLS YOU NOT ME,I've got alot of asking if they should do or this,you know honey do what you believe is gonna work for you,I'm not the one using that method,i purposely don't even reply because I want you guys to try it out yourselves. That's what every bloggers did too,they learn to trust themselves and their imagination.

OK here, since most of you ask me to help manifest I'm challenging you,for the next two weeks,affirm robotically for your desire,lazy to affirm? You shouldn't be,because majority of you complain about not being able to get in a state and endup saying you'll affirm,then do exactly that.

Wavering? Keep affirming and persist.

Don't believe the affirmations? Keep affirming and persist.

Seeing the opposite? Keep affirming and persist.

Make those affirmation your dominant thought,you will know when it will become your dominant thought when it come up on it's own and you don't get effected by the negative thoughts.

But Chrissy some say affirmation don't work. SO? Keep affirming don't be a weakling just because it didn't work for them doesn't mean it will not work for you,you are not them,you are YOU ,they probably didn't even affirm enough or probably checked their 3D,there are many successful people who affirm Jennifer Lopez,Ice Spice and my fav Taylor Tookes despite being petite she still become a model and even walk on runway and now in cover magazines,if they can do it why can't you,they also affirmed right? Not gonna lie majority of the successful people who are into manifestation are into affirming.

Also log out of X and Tumblr,yes it can be motivating to see success stories or reading motivation but they are of no use,you might see a new post talking about a new method and end up leaving affirming and start following that method. Instead you should've scroll on tiktok,or youtube or making vision board while affirming,it's way easier to then wasting your time here reading posts on same topic written in different ways or perspective. So instead just log out and affirm and PERSIST.

If you are so stubborn about the fact that you can't manifest,then start being stubborn about the fact that you can manifest.

This is now my last post I will be logging out might come to check in sometimes happy manifesting🪷.

[astrostaydelulu]

Astrology observation

__________________

__________________

Sun conjunct Mercury is one of the most powerful aspects someone can have because the amount of enthusiasm and intelligence it gives is sharp. Their speech is just enough to make their influence prominent and on top of that the presence of mind is also brilliant.

Mercury in the 4th house can have some very smart people in their household. Teachers or someone from the education sector can also be present in their family.

Moon in the 6th house people can have a special spot for self-care, depending on the sign they can love it or ignore it but in some manner, it's healing for them.

Mars/Aries prominent people always have that one nearby death experience. It's like if you have this placement you need to take those major risks.

This a random observation but Taurus placements smell so good. They are like kings/queens of fragrance especially if they are Taurus Venus/moon/ Taurus in 2nd house.

Neptune placement and their sleepy eyes, end the discussion. They can look stunning and nonchalant at the same time as if it's effortless.

Virgo-rising girls are the most 'clean girl aesthetic ' I have ever seen. They have that sophisticated look in them at first glance you can say that they are a disciplined and methodical individual overall.

Saturn in 3rd people are either older siblings in their clan or have a beef with their older siblings. They just lack communication with their older siblings and most of the time they have a very strict one so it's hard for them to talk about things.

Chiron in 1st/10th house or aspect with asc /Mc people, how many times people have told you that you look sad as if you are in a funeral while you are just not showing any kind of emotions or chilling? This individual is prone to a Resting Sad face or a tired-looking face which makes people think they are sad even if they are not.

__________________

[reidsdimples]

When Everything Changed | Part 1

Enemies to lovers | Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Angst 🖤

Spencer isn't a fan of the BAU's new genius (you).

You didn’t have a particular like or dislike for Dr. Spencer Reid. For the most part you felt fairly neutral. He was a colleague, one of the team. The two of you weren’t super close but Garcia says that’s because there’s not enough space in the BAU for two genius’s.

He didn’t seem to care for it when you blurted out facts that Hotch asked for or knew a statistic down to a closer decimal than he did.

“If you would do your reading on rapidly updated internet databases instead of printed out media, your statistics wouldn’t be a month behind,” you sniped at him after he sassed you.

Hotch gave you a pointed look.

“He said 13.6% and you said 13.2%- that discrepancy is not one I’m concerned with. 13% would have been fine,” Hotch said and looked back down at the case file before him.

The jet hummed softly, Rossi raising his eyebrow at Reid who seemed to have something to say.

“Reid what do you know about sharp force injuries to the ears?”

“The ear canal is a sensitive and vulnerable part of the body, often associated with communication and hearing. The criminal may have chosen this specific method as a way to assert control or power over their victims by targeting a vital sensory organ. Depending on if he wound it into the brain slowly, it may have been a sadistic killing,” he answers rapidly.

“You think this was torture? It looks more like an instant death,” you answer.

“Ancient torture methods focus on the ears as a way to deal pain by shattering the ear drums and rendering the victim deaf. Given the amount of blood in the right ear I’d say it was done antimortem as a form of torture while the pick through the left ear was the killing blow. He even angled this ice pick upward and into the brain,” he runs his long fingers over the crime scene photos to show you.

You’re almost in awe that he was able to deduce that before seeing the bodies but you say nothing.

"The first two only had an ice pick to the ear which killed them," Hotch said.

"Maybe he hadn't learned yet that he enjoys the torture," Rossi adds.

“Either way this unsub has a fascination with ears,” JJ says.

“Maybe he’s deaf himself?” Morgan chimes in.

You accidentally kick Reid’s ankle while adjusting in your seat across from him, he snaps his head up and narrows his eyes on you.

The conversation spurs on all the way to Portland, Maine where the smell of saltwater invades your nostrils as you step off of the plane.

-

The following day you’re partnered up with Reid to sort through a series of clues left by the unsub. Two more bodies dropped in twenty-four hours, leaving 8 riddles on 8 bodies that needed to be decoded.

“I can take care of this myself,” Reid argues with Hotch.

“I know you can but an extra set of eyes can’t hurt, we’re on a time crunch. Monica Dentz went missing four hours ago. If he sticks to his MO, she only has ten hours left,” with that Hotch exited the room.

Reid rather aggressively tossed his should bag on the table before snatching up copies of the riddles from the table and pinning them to the board.

“I’m not trying to get in your way,” you sigh. You watch him organize the riddles on the board.

“Try harder,” he snaps.

You scoff but your eyes scan over his tall frame as he puts the board together. Nope.

“I think the first one is talking about a ship, same with the third and fifth,” Reid says as he flips a pen in his fingers.

“If you’re taking it literally. ‘Alone in the tide’ could just be a metaphor for loneliness,” you point out.

“And what do you make of ‘the bow takes charge, towards the arctic waters where she sleeps’?” He asks. He’s less condescending this time, more curious but still annoyed.

“That.. that’s probably about a boat,” you accept.

“If you look at these as a story, where you read them from the first lines strung together and then the second lines… it reads like a book. I think someone he loved died at sea,” it seems to click for Reid and he starts scribbling on the board. “And here… I think this means there was an explosion. A boiler room maybe?” He’s moving around the two boards quickly, talking fast, pushing his hair back from his eyes. For a moment you almost find it adorable.

“Maybe he went deaf in a boating accident that killed someone he loves…” you add, standing to look at the board.

He calls Garcia and then Hotch.

“He’s killing them on a boat, it’s symbolic for him. We think he was a victim of a boating accident and lost his hearing…” he continues to speak but you become distracted.

Why were you becoming attracted to him? He was never ugly but you had never noticed him this way before. He was too busy infuriating you with his attitude. Yet he was growing on you in the last few months. Weird.

“Now what?” You ask him.

“We wait for them to get names. Hotch will tell us where he needs us next, we’ll continue to work the profile from here,” he places the pen in his mouth and flips through the victim profiles again.

“Don’t you have an eidetic memory? Why do you keep going through those…”

“Helps me deduce the information,” he shrugs dismissively.

You frown.

“Ya’know,” you sigh and pull up a chair across from him. “I have no intention of overshadowing you.” He glances up from the file.

“So why do you go out of your way to correct or narrow down my answers?”

It’s a perfectly reasonable question. You didn’t know why you did it.

“Habit? I’m used to being the smartest person in the room,” you admit.

“Right,” is his only response as he opens another file.

You don’t know what else to say so you take a look at the profile the team has built.

2 hours pass in awkward silence before Hotch calls the two of you to meet them at the east harbor for a raid of the now named suspects boat.

Once you arrive, Morgan and Prentiss greet you while you’re fumbling with your vest. After a moment and a frustrated sigh, Reid steps behind you.

“Here the strap is twisted up,” he says.

His fingertips graze your hip where your shirt is riding up. Your breathing hitches but you try not to appear affected.

“Thanks,” you tell him.

“Sounds like a plan,” you answer Prentiss who had been explaining the entry points.

“The two of you friends now?” Morgan asks Reid.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Reid answers stoically with his hand propped on his gun. You scoff and shake your head.

“What?” Reid turns his head to you.

“Nothing, let’s just do this,” you snipe. Morgan and JJ exchange an concerned glance.

The man was impossible. You understood if he had walls up, if he didn’t like new people or the competition. But he’s not even trying to welcome you in the slightest.

The scent of ocean air and dead fish fills your nostrils as you follow behind Morgan down the dock. Reid and JJ creep onto the stern of the considerable sized old yacht while Hotch, Rossi, and Prentiss took the bow. You and Morgan are entering through the main entrance of the cabin with deadly stealth.

You hear varying 'clears' come from your coworkers before you point Morgan to a hatch leading below deck. You think you can hear shuffling of some kind happening but it's hard to tell with the sway of the ship.

The rest of the team enter behind you but its Morgan who insists on jumping down first, forgoing the small ladder.

"Randy Lional, put your hands up," he's shouting as you drop down behind him.

You raise your gun as you take in the scene, someone else drops down behind you, it's Reid based on the silver revolver in your line of sight.

The man is crouched over an unconscious Monica Dentz, one of her ears bleeding and her wrists bound. You think she's still breathing.

"Put the gun and the ice pick down man," Morgan yells and then Hotch is next to him.

"He can't hear you," you tell Morgan when Randy drags the barrel of the gun over the girl's half naked body as though he's lost in a trance. His burly back is turned to the team and the situation is so unique that none of you know how to intercept him.

You push between Morgan and Hotch to slowly approach him. It's Reid who grabs your arm and shakes his head, something like concern playing in his hazel eyes. You take your arm from him and turn to the unsub.

An idea strikes you so you pull off your earring and toss it in his direction, it slides across the floor into his line of sight, causing him to jump up and turn around.

The man's eyes are wide, dark bags below them. He's frantic as he shakily points the gun at you. His stringy strands of hair are oiled to his chubby aged face and he appears to be shocked by the FBI's presence. He's aiming the gun at Monica's head.

"Put the gun down," Morgan yells again, gesturing at the weapon.

You begin to use sign language, after putting your own gun back in its holster. Reid steps closer to you, his revolver still raised.

"I know that you're hurting. I know what happened that night. I'm so sorry about your parents," you begin to sign. "But torturing others this way is not going to change what happened to you."

Reid glances at you, seemingly impressed by your use of ASL.

"She's trying to talk him down," Reid informs the rest of the team.

"Please, drop the weapons," you sign to him again. He looks more sad, defeated than before and you're hopeful.

"Does he profile as suicidal?" You ask the team.

"Yes," Hotch answers. You swallow hard.

Just then Monica stirs awake and begins screaming against the cloth gag in her mouth.

What happens next feels like slow motion, you don't even know how to process it.

Randy raises the gun and fires at you, three shots in rapid succession before you can blink. And then Reid has stepped nearly completely in front of you, firing two shots along with a barrage of shots from the team.

You hit the floor in a daze and chaos ensues.

"We need medics!" Prentiss is screaming into her ear piece.

"Two agents hit, one victim, subject deceased," Hotch is speaking into his mic as he rushes over to you.

The blinding pain is in your shoulder, the blood hot as it oozes out of you.

"Reid," you search for him.

"Ah, I'm okay. I'm okay," he doesn't sound okay.

And then you see it, the wound in his neck, the blood pouring from his mouth. Reid is grabbing at his throat for the wound, blood coating his hand. Crimsons running down his slender wrist and long fingers. Then Morgan is applying pressure to the wound while JJ is tending to you.

You wince in pain as she is pressing down on your shoulder. You can physically feel the metal bullet sitting inside of your body, sending pain radiating in all directions. People are talking all around you, JJ's eyes are full of tears as she tries to get you to stay conscious.

"Come on kid, look at me," Morgan is pleading with Reid. no no no.

"Why did you..." you try to ask why he stepped in front of you but the room begins to spin. You start to see double and you don't know if its you or Reid groaning in pain. Reid's eyes are rolling back in his head and he's starting to go limp in Morgans lap.

Reid took a bullet for you, and it may kill him. What if he dies thinking you hate him?

A blur of paramedics enter the space before you lose consciousness murmuring Reid's name.

A/N- Hope you guys love this. I'm already working on the 'lovers' part.

[linkspooky]

Love your JJK metas - apologies if I missed it, but any thoughts on Gojo feeling that he was "left behind" and has to "catch up" to Geto before slaughtering the higher ups?

I don't think the impact Shibuya had on him was really explicitly explored, except for that one panel where he said it was his responsibility, but him internally seeing it as following Geto's path in a way surprised me - it makes sense to me, but it doesn't at the same time.

This is a question I really wanted to answer, but delayed for a long time because I wanted to think it over. When the exhibition changed and Gege released his original draft for this scene, it helped clarify a lot of my thoughts on this scene.

"If you want to kill me, kill me. I wouldn’t mind if it were by your hand. But make sure mine is the only life you take.”

These lines become more meaningful if you think of them in the context of earlier events in Hidden Inventory. It sheds light on a lot of scenes from the flashback arc.

In particular this scene.

In his post-enlightenment high Gojo could kill the entirety of the Star Plasma Cult and feel nothing about it to punish them for Riko's death, but he lives the ultimate decision up to Geto.

In that moment Geto convinces him that killing these bystanders would be pointless, because society has other methods for punishing the members of this cult. Specifically he tells Gojo that it's not their job as Jujutsu Sorcerers to punish these people. He basically confines Gojo to the morality of a Jujutsu Sorcerer. Sorcerers kill curse users yes, but they never use their curse techniques on other people like the members in the crowd who don't fight back. Jujutusu Sorcerers aren't a part of the japanese justice system, they exist for one job and that is to deal with curses and curse users in order to prevent them from hurting normal people.

So Geto's lpong explanation to Gojo to talk him down from slaughtering the crowd that's applauding for Riko's death amounts to "That's not our job." He also emphasizes how killing these people wouldn't accomplish anything, because the group was going to disband anyway, and these are just rank and file believers the leaders of the cult are already gone. So in total two reasons, 1) it's not our job, 2) this murder wouldn't accomplish anything.

In the KFC breakup, Gojo parrots Geto's own arguments about killing right back at him. Notice that when they're having their argument Gojo never brings up the fact that killing is wrong, but that killing non-sorcerers is pointless because the sheer amount of number of people you would have to kill is so enormous it's impossible.

Geto's methods are wrong not because they're immoral but because they're impractical. It's not whether or not killing is right or wrong. It's meaningles killing vs. killing with a purpose. Geto's goal is completely impossible for him to accomplish, so all the people he killed in name of that goal died for no reason.

Gojo and Geto are specifically arguing about methods, not morality. Gojo is especially troubled because he's trying to appeal to Geto using the morality that Geto taught him, obligation as a sorcerer, justice, killing with purpose, but now it's all falling on Geto's deaf ears. I think it's poignant Gojo at this stage in his life can't really form a moral argument of his own just repeat Geto's words back at him, it shows how much Gojo was using Geto as a guidepoint.

Gege even says in the databook the reason Gojo stopped himself from killing the cult is that he was using Geto's moral reasoning and not his own.

So in a way, it's Geto's words that prevented Gojo from being a monster all the way back in Hidden Iventnory. Yet, we see in premature death Gojo's completely unable to talk Geto down from the ledge he was standing on.

Even though the words he's using are Geto's words. Perhaps, because the words he's using are Geto's words. Gojo's faith in Geto as a partner and a moral guidepost was so unshakable he's not capable of reconciling with the fact that the person standing in front of him right now slaughtered a whole village.

Geto leaves, and Gojo lacks the words to make him stay. However, in spite of the fact that this scene is called the KFC breakup this, Geto and Gojo aren't ending their relationship. In Jujutsu Kaisen Zero, Geto is surprised by the fact that Gojo still trusts him and feels the same way years later. In Gojo's dying dream, he states that he would have been satisfied losing to Sukuna if Geto was there to wish him good luck before he left. The Geto he pictures is the one in his Gojo-Gesa, the corrupted adult Geto, and not the one he used in childhood.

This is also after Geto expresses jealousy that Gojo wanted to provide a challenge to Sukuna and force him to go all out, because Gojo understood Sukuna's isolation from being the strongest. Because Geto and Gojo's relationship began from the fact that Geto was the only other special grade in their year and therefore the only one able to understand Gojo by being just as strong as he was. Only for Gojo to immediately say that he wasn't satisfied going all out against Sukuna, because Geto wasn't there. It wasn't Geto's power he needed, but his presence.

Geto wasn't leaving Gojo. He was leaving Jujutsu Society. However, since Gojo is such an integral part of Jujutsu Society, it's essentially the same thing. They're not breaking apart because their no longer friends, but because their morals are so different. Even if his attempts at reform wasn't so radical as killing all human beings, Gojo still wouldn't be able to leave with Geto because without Jujutsu Society there is no Gojo Satoru.

Gojo doesn't believe that massacring half the world is possible, but in a way he probably wouldn't believe even a less extreme reform is impossible as long as it was accomplished from the outside. Gojo has always been an internal reformist while at the same time being a radical. Gojo stated this early on he can just kill the people on top but that would make him a monster.

Remember what I emphasized above, Geto convinced Gojo not to slaughter the members of the Star Cult because it's not a Jujutsu Sorcerer's job to punish people like that. If he crossed that line he'd no longer be a Jujutsu Sorcerer. Gojo not only lives to be a sorcerer, but the time in his youth when he was with Geto was the only time he ever felt understood and that there was someone he could rely on.

Geto crossed that line and when he killed the people of Nanako and Mimiko's village (the way that Geto wanted to kill Riko's murderers that day), he was no longer acting as a sorcerer. Geto stopped being a sorcerer, but Gojo couldn't follow him because Gojo lives to be a sorcerer.

Gojo's plan is therefore create sorcerers strong enough that they can support each other the way that him and Geto should have. Create strong allies so that in the next generation no-one will be left behind.

Gojo's belief is that what he needed was stronger allies, not a systemic issue. When his attempts at reform fail, and he wakes up to see that all of his students have had execution orders placed on them by the higher ups he finally gives up on the notion of internal reform.

Gojo eventually ended up committing a mass slaughter for his perceived greater good. The same kind of mass slaughter that Geto prevented him from doing that day he avenged Riko's death. By doing that, he stopped being a sorcerer.

Now that we've finally come full circle I'm going to explain what I think Gojo means by "I can't do that. That day I was left behind, so I have to catch up."

The most direct interpretation is that Gojo is echoing Yuta's sentiment. Geto became a monster all on his own and left Gojo behind. Now, years after the fact Gojo is realizing that Geto's violent action was necessary and he's essentially leaving his role as a sorcerer to become more like Gojo. He's finally understood why Geto did what he did, years after the fact, and far too late.

In one sense Gojo is becoming Geto in this scene. In another sense, he's recalling how he felt years before when he watched Geto walk away. Geto is the one who kept Gojo from being a monster and kept him on the path of being a sorcerer, only for Geto to go off that path himself. Not only that though, but in their final conversation, Geto made sure to still try to keep Gojo on that path.

Remember this line from the original draft:

"If you want to kill me, kill me. I wouldn’t mind if it were by your hand. But make sure mine is the only life you take.”

This line is essentially the same as this, but look at the paneling.

Gojo is about to unleash a hollow purple on Geto, but when Geto disappears into the crowd of people he stops. In order to kill Geto, he would have had to kill several innocent people in the crowd so Gojo hesitates.

The original draft lines indicate that Geto did this on purpose. He told Gojo to be sure only to kill him and not kill anyone else because he still wants Gojo to remain a sorcerer. Geto was resolved to become a monster on his own and didn't want to drag Gojo down with him.

Geto is leaving and he doesn't want Gojo to become with, because Gojo is the happiest when he's a sorcerer.

In the Hidden Inventory Gojo is playing the role of Yuta, begging Geto not to become a monster alone only to be left behind. In the future Gojo resolves to become a monster like Geto. Even though he's finally trying to understand his friend, he's a year too late. Geto is dead and he can't catch up now.

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Uvogin NSFW Profile

Yandere! Uvogin x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of non-con, masturbation, non-consensual aiding of masturbation (? not sure what to tag this but you'll see what I mean), excessive cum-play, snowballing, facials, stalking, kidnapping, mentions of degradation, exhibitionism, implied that Nobunaga jerked it to you I'm so sorry for your loss, kind of allusions to breeding but nothing explicit, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 10K

HABITS:

In general, Uvogin is no stranger to sex. He’s had his fair share of hookups over the years, and while he’s never really had a long term partner (being a criminal and always on the run makes it a bit difficult), he’s got a good, solid amount of experience under his belt.

And so, while he may be intimidating and a bit scary, there’s always plenty of drunk women at the local bars or clubs who are more than willing to take their chance at managing to take him.

And for the most part, Uvogin is completely satisfied with this – hookups and flings are fun, and he’s able to get his rocks off whenever he pleases.

However, once you step into his life, his frequent sex with strangers take an abrupt and very strict hiatus. Not only does it feel wrong to sleep with any woman besides you, he simply doesn’t find the allure anymore – if he were to sleep with anyone aside from you, he’d spend the entire time focused on all the things that are different from you rather than actually enjoying the experience.

Maybe their hair is different – yours is prettier, he thinks.

Maybe your voice is different – it’s not as annoying and shrill and whiny as the other woman’s, and Uvogin can very confidently say that he likes yours much, much more.

Maybe their body is different – your curves are different, better for him, and you’re softer and warmer and just better.

Hookups are out of the question once he really decides that he wants you – but unfortunately, the same can’t be said of his hormones. He still craves sexual contact and release, perhaps even more so now that he has you to actively imagine and think of and desire, but his tried and true method of finding someone random to relieve some pent up stress isn’t an option anymore.

And so, once his obsession develops, he finds himself masturbating much, much more often.

It’s not as nice as having a living, breathing person there to help him out, but it’s his only option – you’re not an option yet, as much as he desperately wishes you were, because while he’d give anything to sink into what he’s sure is your tight, warm, soaking wet cunt, he doesn’t want to reserve the progress he’s made in worming his way into your life all for one night of pleasure.

And so, he falls back on pleasuring himself with a bit of an aid – it’s not enough to simply fist himself and imagine your body or your sounds.

No, it’s not nearly enough – so instead, Uvogin finds a way to seamlessly involve you in his self-pleasure, all with the wonderful caveat of you having absolutely no idea of your role.

Uvogin’s already reaching for the hem of his shorts as he plops down onto the ratty couch in the living room of his current hideout. He’s quick to shimmey them down, all the way down to his ankles, only to unceremoniously kick them off to some corner of the room.

His cock is already semi-hard, the knowledge of what’s coming next unconsciously exciting him. He sighs and lets his head roll back slightly, resting on the frame of the couch, his hand sneaking down the plane of his abdomen and settling lightly over his cock.

Idly groping at his balls (just soft, teasing squeezes – nothing too serious yet, not when the action hasn’t begun), his free hand reaches to the next cushion and picks up the cheap burner phone Shalnark had provided him with last week. There’s only three numbers saved in it – Chrollo’s, Shalnark’s, and yours.

With a sharp swallow, Uvogin presses on your contact listing, listening as the familiar dial tone rings through the speakers. Your voice is surprised as you pick up, a delighted little oh, I wasn’t expecting a call from you!

It makes him bite his lip, squeezing at his balls just a bit harder.

 Yeah, sorry, but I was bored and wanted to hear your voice. He smirks at the soft little sound of surprise you make at that.

Oh! Oh, sure, yeah! Okay, well, uh, how has your day been?

And although you’ve said absolutely nothing even remotely suggestive, Uvogin’s cock twitches against his forearm, making his thighs tense slightly.

Good, drank some beer and watched the hockey game, the usual. I want to hear about you, though. Tell me everything about this week, yeah?

And with that, he settles back further against the couch, truly getting comfortable as you start telling him about how this week you’ve done this and that, then this, then that…

He’s not really listening, and some part of him – the part not currently imagining the way you’d look with his cock down your throat – feels guilty about not giving you one hundred percent of his attention, but as you suddenly gasp and say oh then this happened he finds himself not caring.

Soon he’s transitioning from groping his balls to wrapping his fingers around his length, careful not to hiss into the phone receiver as he slowly, almost painfully slowly brings his fist up to his tip, squeezing a bit, then bringing it back down.

Your voice is a constant through the phone, the familiar lilt and pace of your words only slightly distorted through the device, and as he slowly works himself, he closes his eyes to listen more carefully. He likes the way you pronounce things – occasionally you say his name, and his hips jerk up a bit to fuck up into his fist each time you do, making him hold in a grunt each time.

Slowly he picks up the pace, moving his wrist a bit faster with every sentence you say, letting his eyes flutter closed again while his head lolls back slightly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

He can practically imagine you here with him – the way you’d be straddling him on this couch, your soft thighs pressing against his hips, your pussy rubbing and grinding against him because you want to tease him, your hands splayed across his chest as you tell him that you want him, that you need him, that you need him to touch you and taste you and feel you and fuck you –

Uvogin? Uvogin? Are you okay? You sound like you’ve just run a marathon…

Your voice brings him back to reality, and immediately his eyes are snapping open and his hand freezes, his heavy breaths ringing through the receiver. After a beat, he swallows and reassures that he’s fine! Sorry sorry, that stupid neighbor of mine just stood outside my front door – you know how loud he breaths. Don’t worry about it, keep going. I like listening.

You seem a bit hesitant, but you keep going, and Uvogin makes sure to mute himself this time. Now he can listen to you talk and not worry about being too loud. Immediately he’s picking up where he left off, hips coming up to help fuck up into his fist, grunts and groans of your name slipping past his lips all the while you chatter on about last Wednesday.

Uvogin’s feet plant flat against the floor as he uses them for leverage to thrust up, pretending you’re perched in his lap with his cock buried between your legs, your pretty tits squished up against his chest while you gasp and moan and cry out his name, his thrusts only getting deeper and harder and stronger, the desire to truly fuck you and mold your cunt to the shape of his cock getting the better of him.

Soon he’s fully groaning out phrases into the phone, going on about how you’re so damn tight, fuck baby just like that, shit clench just like that, oh fuuuck! His hips are making an audible sound as they smack back into the couch cushions with every thrust, and with wild eyes he stares down at his lap, imagining the sight of his cock sinking into your cunt over and over, your slick spilling down your thighs and getting everything wet and sticky, the sound of his balls clapping against your ass over and over.

He's close, feeling the trace edges of his orgasm approaching, his toes beginning to curl and his abs starting to tighten and his balls starting to clench and oh –

I missed you that day, Uvogin, I wish you’d been there.

He comes with a near shout of your name, his hips pistoling into his fist as ropes of cum spurt onto his chest, his breathing heavy and uneven as he shakes, his hand trembling slightly as it grips onto the phone so tightly it nearly breaks.

You’re still speaking, but Uvogin’s not listening as he replays your words over and over in his head – you wanted him there, wanted to see him, wanted to be with him. He’s still saying your name over and over, his breathing slowly calming down as his cum slowly dribbles down his chest, and he lets a smile sit on his lips. Running a hand through his hair (still slightly stained with cum, but the euphoria swimming through his veins makes it hard to care), he swallows, saying your name one last time with a small chuckle.

Fuck, only you can make me like this, huh? You’re making me into a real loser, you know that? Fucking himself and pretending you’re here with me. God.

Soon, once he’s gotten enough of a grip on his breathing, he unmutes himself, just in time for you to finish up your report.

That’s about it, sorry for rambling! But anyways, what are you up to?

He smiles at that, giving his cock one final squeeze and licking a bit of cum off his finger.

Just wondering if you wanna get dinner tonight, how about that Italian place you were talking about the other day?

And when you agree, eventually hanging up, Uvogin can only sigh and slap his thigh.

Soon, very soon, he’s sure he won’t have to imagine anymore – soon it’ll be your hand instead of his.

Just the thought makes him groan, blood already rushing south again.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your Ass

Uvogin likes every part of you, but he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t have a special spot for your ass.

It doesn’t matter the shape or size – it’s yours, and by extension, Uvogin wants to touch It and squeeze it and grope it.

Constantly.

He’s generally a touchy person, both in and out of sexual contexts, and while his handsiness is often innocent regarding you, his hand finds its way to your backside much too often to be considered truly accidental.

He’s a bit fan of idly groping you, letting a hand wander down and give a playful squeeze, only to feel you jump a bit out of surprise.

(He’ll always send you this toothy grin afterwards, telling you that he can’t help it baby, it’s just right there and it’s so damn cute and fuck, if you could see it you’d understand.)

He likes to come up behind you and hug you, pressing himself directly against your backside – your heights likely mean that his cock doesn’t directly sit against your ass, but even feeling his legs against the soft area makes him lick his lips, already imagining the way the soft skin would feel under the rough pads of his fingers.

He likes to smack your ass when you walk by him – it’s always, always light, of course, just enough to startle you but not enough to actually hurt.

He likes the way you get irritated and swat at him, telling you with a cheeky wink and grin that you can always return the favor, babe.

And when you’re actually intimate with one another, this habit of his certainly doesn’t change – he’s always slapping your ass when he’s fucking you in doggy style, going on about how you look so pretty from this angle, all the while groping and squeezing at your poor cheeks until they’re nearly purple.

He’s always cupping your ass when you’re riding him, helping move you up and down with a palm on each cheek, squeezing and holding you so tightly you nearly have no control over your own movements.

He’ll fuck you in a prone bone position, all the while staring at how your ass jiggles with each smack of his hips against it, his fingers (that he’d intertwined with yours above your head) clutching onto yours even harder at the sight.

He’s just genuinely in love with the way your ass looks and feels, and although he wouldn’t bring it up unless you wanted to, Uvogin would love to have you sit on his face, letting your pretty ass be the only thing he sees as you grind and scoop and use him, letting his tongue brush across your clit over and over again all while he gets to admire.

(He wouldn’t even mind if you wanted to scoot forward a bit, letting your pussy rub against his chin while his tongue works diligently at the tight, taboo little hole you don’t normally let him touch. He’s sure it'll feel good, that you’ll enjoy it, that he’ll enjoy it, because it’s just another way to be close to you, another way to claim something of yours as his his his.)

Expect your ass to fondled and groped and smacked at least twice a day, if not more – he just can’t control himself, and surely you understand?

If you were as deeply obsessed and attracted to yourself as he is, you’d have to understand that he physically can’t help himself – not when you’re so goddamn tempting.

His mouth

Because Uvogin is such a pleaser in bed, he’s very quickly exploring the variety of ways he can utilize to get you off.

Of course, he likes the tried and true fucking, making you melt on his cock, but something about it feels a bit barbarian, a little bit too rough sometimes, even if he’s addicted to the feeling of your pussy.

Even his fingers are sometimes a little too much, just because you always tense up so much, your walls clamping down on him and making it difficult to move, the stretch from them alone feeling like the size of any of your previous partners.

 Of course, he still likes fucking you and fingering you, but there’s something about using his mouth on you that he simply can’t get enough of.

Maybe it’s because it’s so much more intimate, like something special the two of you are sharing. He’s tasting the most private part of you, a place only a handful of people have ever gotten to see (much less taste), and something about that knowledge makes him swell with pride, a smirk settling across his lips.

Regardless, Uvogin takes every opportunity to use his mouth on you that he possibly can – the two of you are sitting on the couch while you read one of the few books he picked up for you and he watches TV, and suddenly he’s between your legs and pulling down your lounging shorts, looking up at you and licking his lips with a positively feral expression, murmuring that he’s feeling a little hungry, yeah?

Every sexual encounter between the two of almost always including Uvogin’s lips against your cunt in some capacity – he’s a very firm believer in the necessity of foreplay (particularly due to his size), and he spares no expense in making sure that you’re properly wet for him, that you’ve come at least once his tongue, that you’re as prepared and ready as possible in order to take him with minimal pain.

And Uvogin is good with his mouth, too – he’s got amazing stamina, and is able to stick with a consistent speed and tempo.

His fallback is to lick small, tight circles with medium pressure, but he’s always stealing glances up at you to check your facial expressions, adjusting anything and everything he think she needs to in order to get your eyes rolling to the back of his head.

He’ll start with light kisses spanning along your inner thighs and all around your core, pressing butterfly licks against your folds that are barely there and leave you wanting more more more.

He’ll press kisses against your clit, coming down to kitten lick and stare at you the whole time, a smirk sitting on his lips each time you bite your lip or keen.

He'll slowly add more pressure, building up the pace a bit too, until he’s licking shapes against your bud and occasionally sucking it into his mouth lightly, feeling the way your thighs tense up a bit around his head, loving the way your eyes flutter closed and you grasp onto the pillow underneath you.

He’ll occasionally dip down to lick long stripes along your folds, dipping his tongue in to tease your entrance, making lewd, obnoxious slurping noises just to hear you get embarrassed.

He loves it, and as soon as he gets to a pace he thinks you’re liking, he’ll stay down there for as long as it takes to get you coming, whether that be five minutes or an hour – it’s worth it, because when you get all doe eyed and shake and writhe and cream on his face, you look so fucking pretty, so perfect he can’t help but grind against the bed, anything to relieve some of the ache.

DRIVE:

In general, his sex drive is high. It’s always been that way, really, even before you stepped into his life – the thrill of combat and sex are two of his guiltiest pleasures, and he’s absolutely no stranger to hook ups.

He’s not unbearably horny, but he toes the line quite well, needing to get off at least two times a week in order to stay functional and sane.

So really, once his obsession with you forms, sexual thoughts revolving around you are very, very quick to follow.

Frankly, when he first realizes that he’s drawn to you, that there’s just something about you that he can’t seem to leave alone, he genuinely believes it’s simply a sexual attraction to you that’s messing with him. He rationalizes these infant stages of his infatuation with you as simply wanting to fuck you, rather than wanting to have you.

And Uvogin is a man of opportunity – he can’t not imagine stripping you bare and cupping at your tits, smacking your ass, perching you on his lap and bouncing you up and down like you’re just some glorified sex toy.

The images come quickly and startingly easily – too easily, really, because imagining all the different ways he wants to get you screaming his name and gushing for him really should’ve clued him in to the fact that his feelings for you go way beyond physical.

And eventually, once he decides that you’re more than just a hot piece of ass, he can’t just forget about the multitudes of nights he’s fantasized about spending hours with his face between your legs, or the number of times he’s soaked his fist with cum from merely thinking about how you’d look with your pretty face pressed into the mattress, his form caging you into a prone bone position while he absolutely destroys your tight little pussy.

He can’t – won’t – forget, and so as his obsession becomes richer, deeper, more hopeless, Uvogin’s sexual fantasies revolving around you become harder and harder to control and fight. Because really, how can he not imagine even more once he’s realized he’s in love with you?

Sure, he still wants to shove his cock down your throat and hear you choke and struggle with his girth, but now he also wants to trace his tip along the shape of your lips, to see your pretty eyes sparkling up at him with a few tears dotting the lashes, to feel you moan around him at his taste.

Sure, he still wants to bend you over and feel that perfect, tight little pussy of yours, but now he also wants to thrust softly and sweetly, to get deeper and brush against the spot he knows you like, to make you cry out his name rather than just scream and gasp.

The sexual fantasies are still explicit, but they’re more loving, more like making love rather than just animalistic fucking – and of course, once these thoughts develop in their entirety, Uvogin has to exercise an extreme amount of self-control to not act them out.

He’s painfully aware of the fact that you likely aren’t clamoring to sleep with him, partially because you’re infuriated at him for kidnapping you, and terrified of him because of his physical stature and criminal status.

He’s sure you don’t particularly want to be with him in a sexual way (though he hopes, desperately, that one day you will), and the last thing he wants is for you to be even more afraid of him, or to hate him even more.

And so, Uvogin won’t force himself onto you.

He won’t force you onto your knees or strip your clothing off of you or anything of the sort. He wants to, of course, so badly that it nearly drives him insane, but he won’t do it out of respect for you and a selfish desire to get you falling in love with him.

What he will do, however, is make it perfectly, abundantly clear that if you’re ever in the mood, he’s more than willing to oblige.

He’ll tell you, pretty much from the beginning of your captivity with him, that if you ever desire absolutely anything physical at all, he’ll be naked and eagerly waiting for you within seconds.

And that includes everything: simply using those massive palms of his to grope and squeeze at your breasts, calloused fingers gently rolling a nipple between them and listening to the way you sigh out.

(He’ll approach you with this particular offer when he knows your menstrual cycle is nearing, when you’re bloated and soar and desperate for any kind of reprieve – you need someone to hold those for ya, babe? They’re looking awfully heavy, and you’d be surprised how gentle these fingers can be.)

He’ll offer to finger you when you seem stressed, that grin of his wolfish and eager but also strangely genuine, as if the prospect of pleasuring you isn’t just some sexual urge and rather something he wants to do, as if it pleasures him, too.

(This offer is always accompanied with a rather showy wiggle of his fingers, making sure the veins and tendons in his hand are visibly flexing, just to try and entice you even more – and it works, because although you shake your head and tell him that you strongly pass, he can see the way your eyes are glued to his fingers, how your thighs press together ever so slightly, how you can’t hide the desire swimming in your eyes.)

He’ll offer to let you sit on his cock when you’re feeling lonely, telling you that he’ll be there the whole time, how you can’t possibly feel lonely when there’s literally someone inside of you, patting his groin – with pants barely holding back his straining erection – and telling you that he won’t try anything funny he promises.

(And he’ll stay true to that promise – it’s actual torture to not fuck up into you, to not bounce you up and down in his lap and feel the way your walls desperately clench down on him, but he holds himself back. Besides, feeling you slowly, slowly work your way down his length is a treat enough, each inch stretching you further than you though possible, your little hisses and whines and whimpers making him physically throb inside of you.)

He’ll even offer to fuck you when the mood feels right, telling you that he’s never left a partner unsatisfied, that he knows how to treat you, that he’ll be slow and gentle and soft and sweet, something that he means with every fiber of his being.

(At least, he’ll be all those things the first time he gets you naked in his arms – after that, anything goes. He can’t always be expected to control himself, after all.)

It’s mildly intrusive and will make you uncomfortable in the beginning, but as time passes and he doesn’t actually force anything onto you, merely offering, slowly your walls will start crumbling.

If you’re stuck with him, maybe it isn’t the end of the world if you get something out of the ordeal – you’re trapped with him, but does that mean you aren’t allowed an orgasm?

Sure he’s kidnapped you and keeps you locked away in a modestly furnished home, but is it really so wrong of you to accept the pleasure he seems more than happy to give you? Does that make you a bad person, or a selfish person?

With time you’ll start thinking no, that perhaps letting Uvogin eat you out for hours and bring you high after high wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world – and he’ll be very, very happy to oblige.

(And you can tell, too – the way he groans and growls against you makes it hard to ignore, as does the way something warm and wet and thick splatters against your thighs when he’s got you hovering over his chin.)

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Size Kink

Uvogin is more than aware of the size difference between the two of you.

It doesn’t matter how tall you are, or how large you are – he is bigger than you, both in stature and presence and every other measurable way. He’s a hulking figure that takes up the entire side of the dining table you share meals at, needing to wear shirts that literally fall off your frame, dominating and bigger than you in every sense of the word.

And he knows this - he’s completely aware of how you’re so small compared to him, so tiny and adorable and breakable, and when it comes to really anything between the two of you, he has a tendency to take this fact to heart, to be beyond careful in making sure that he does absolutely nothing that could ever put you in harm’s way.

Though he won’t admit it, having you hurt or afraid of him in any way is genuinely one of his worst fears, and although he knows he can do nothing to change his physical appearance, he takes care to come across as least threatening and as welcoming as possible.

And when it comes to the bedroom, Uvo is even more hyper aware, because when he’s buried inside that tight, cute little cunt of yours, his orgasm rapidly approaching, it’s almost disturbingly easy to lose control, to just pin you down and fuck the absolute shit out of you, until you’re nothing more than a quivering, split open mess below him.

He has to keep an incredible amount of focus when his orgasm looms near to make sure that he doesn’t dig his fingers into your skin too hard lest he leave bruises, or that he doesn’t fuck into you at the pace he truly wants to lest he push a little too far and tear something.

He doesn’t want to hurt you, so he tries his absolute best to keep you on top, to keep you controlling the pace and everything else in order to keep you safe and feeling good.

(Besides, he’s got a great view when you’re on top – he can see, all in the same glance, your pussy sucking in his length over and over, your breasts bouncing and jiggling, even your face all twisted up in ecstasy as you ride him as hard as you can. He’s not particularly hands-off during sex, but often he’s tempted to simply lay back with his arms crossed behind his head, content to watch your show and let your cunt bring him steadily closer to orgasm. His desire to see you gasp and stare wildly at him in shock and pleasure often outweighs this urge, however, because he almost always settles his hands on your hips and helps guide you, suddenly thrusting just a hair deeper into you and hearing your cry of a-ah Uvo too deep!)

However, that isn’t to say that Uvogin doesn’t enjoy the size difference between the two of you – on the contrary, he thinks it’s beyond cute, that it’s adorable just how tiny you are in comparison to him.

And while the fear that he could hurt you is very much omnipresent, he can’t deny how it makes his heart race and blood pump to his cock when he sees how just one of his hands engulfs your entire thigh, how you struggle to straddle him because his waist is just so muscular and wide, how your breast is completely engulfed by his palm when he roughly fondles and kneads at it.

It’s endearing in a way, how cute and small you are beside him, and even more obvious when you have your hands wrapped around his cock, your fingers not able to close completely around his girth.

Seeing you struggle so much to simply jerk him off makes Uvo smug, a smirk falling across his face while he groans, little murmurs of your name tumbling past his lips while you work at him, trying desperately to get him to come, to get him to tell you how you’re a good girl, fuck look at your hands, ngh wanna – gonna stretch out that tiny little cunt with this fat cock, you want that?

It’s most definitely a guilty pleasure, something that makes him feel big and strong and important, and in the context of your sexual relationship, there’s just simply no way to get around the fact that Uvogin quite literally towers over you.

(Especially when you’re on your knees, staring up at his imposing stature and the large, swollen, veiny cock sitting at eye level, his voice teasing as he tells you to go on, it won’t bite, I promise. Only I do that.)

Praise

Generally Uvogin isn’t particularly derogatory in bed. He’s not a big fan of degradation in general, both in and out of the bedroom, partially because he’s not a naturally mean person (aside from the criminal activity and murder, of course), and partly because he really does cherish and love you. He thinks you’re beautiful and perfect and everything he could want in a woman, and his honesty bars him from ever saying anything to the contrary.

He doesn’t want to tell you that you’re just a slut, that you’re a hole for him to fuck, that you should stay quiet and let him get what he wants – he wants you, in more ways than one. He loves you, in his own twisted, fucked up way, and he wants your time in bed together to reflect that sentiment.

And so, Uvogin falls on the opposite side of the spectrum from degradation – that is, there’s a nearly overwhelming amount of praise in the bedroom.

Comments about how pretty you are or how good at something you are constantly slip past his lips, his voice gruff and low as he tells that you look so damn pretty on your knees baby.

He’s got a compliment or praise ready for every possible situation in bed – you’re undressing, struggling to get the giant shirt Uvogin had forced you into this morning up over your head? He’s chuckling, grinning, slapping your ass and telling you that you’re so damn cute, princess, makes me go crazy when you wear my shit.

You’re kissing him, pinned below him with your wrists over your head? He’s licking his lips as he pulls back, planting kisses against your neck and telling you that you taste so good, you’re so fucking pretty.

You’re biting your lip and carding your fingers through your hair as he sucks and playfully bites at your nipples? He’s burying his face between your breasts and vigorously shaking it, laughing and telling you that these tits are so perfect babe, god I always wanna touch ‘em and kiss ‘em, how about no more bras around the house? Or maybe no more shirts at all – don’t expect me to control myself, yeah?

You’re sinking to your knees while he sighs and grabs the base of his cock, running his tip over your lips while he stares down at you? He’s telling you that you look so pretty babe, can’t wait to see these lips with my cum on them instead.

You’re perched on his lap, his tip barely nestled inside you while you wince and bite your lip? He’s running soothing hands up your sides, cooing at you that you’re doing so good baby, ‘m so proud of you, fuck you’re tight, feels so damn good.

You’re on your hands and knees, chest and face pressed in the mattress while he mounts you from behind, hips flush with yours and pummeling into you with no mercy? He’s leaning all the way over you and growling into your ear that you’re mine, babe, fuck don’t you ever forget, god this pussy is so good, y’so damn tight and wet, gonna make me come baby, you want that? Yeah? You want my cum?

You’re underneath him, tits bouncing every which way and body physically thrusting back and forth as he fucks into you with a sturdy hand pressing right over your naval? He’s laughing breathlessly, using his free hand to push back his hair and telling you to take it baby, fuck yeah just like that, you look so damn hot like this.

Even when he’s in the middle of coming, thick spurts of white shooting from his swollen, red tip, he’s praising you – telling you that you take him so well, that you always take – fuck, take it all, look so damn pretty with my cum in you.

He just genuinely believes that you’re beautiful, and because he’s naturally quite talkative, this shows in the bedroom – he can’t not comment on how you look, how you feel, how smell, how you taste.

It would be wrong to not let you know how much he’s enjoying being with you, how badly he’s dreamed of fucking you, or how long he’s dreamed of touching you – so really, even if his constant praise embarrasses you, you’d best get used to it. He won’t stop, and if you were to return the favor?

Well, his ego isn’t particularly fragile, but he can’t deny how it affects him any time you moan out about how good he feels or how big he is or how you’re close – oh god, ‘m gonna come, oh god Uvo Uvo Uvo-!

He can’t deny the way his cock jumps, how it twitches and pulses and oozes out precum at just hearing your voice and words, hearing his name and feeling the way your body seizes up all because of him him him.

 He’s a sucker for it, so expect sex with him to be loud and full of compliments – even if they’re a little vulgar sometimes (fuck babe, these tits – I wanna fuck ‘em, get them all messy and covered in my cum fuuuck-) or oddly specific (god you taste good, those panties of yours don’t even come close…).

He just can’t help himself, so get used to it – he won’t stop, even if you beg him to.

Cum play

He’s possessive, and it shows in the bedroom.

He’s always got a hand on your body, hickeys bruising your throat, collarbone or inner thighs, handprints decorating your ass, or even a light bite mark here and there along your thighs and stomach.

He likes the concept of claiming you and physically showing that you’re his, and while this presents itself in normal ways like previously mentioned, Uvogin’s favorite form of showcasing that you belong to him is by getting his cum absolutely everywhere on your body.

He produces an insane amount of it with every orgasm – it just keeps coming, spurt after spurt shooting from his swollen tip and landing on your body or the sheets underneath you, all the while he’s groaning and his hips are involuntarily thrusting, making everything even more messy.

His orgasms last easily twenty seconds, with a constant stream of white, and Uvogin loves nothing more than to absolutely paint you with it.

When your hands – so small and cute and soft compared to his calloused skin – are wrapped around him, pulling and tugging, the slick sound of spit and lube clicking in his ears, he’ll give a warning of here it comes, shit baby take it – and immediately your hands are covered in it, pools of cum dribbling down onto your fingers, slipping down your wrist and leaving everything sticky and wet and warm, Uvogin’s chest rising and falling with both the force of his orgasm and the sight of his cum against your skin.

(He’ll always grab your hands afterwards, slipping your fingers into his mouth one by one and licking away his cum, only to kiss you afterwards and push it all into your mouth, entertained by your surprised sound and the way you squirm against him.)

When you’re struggling to fit him into your mouth, only able to take the first few inches and leaving your hands to deal with the rest, he’ll dig his fingers into your hair and hold you there, biting his lip and telling you to swallow every last fucking drop, don’t wanna see any wasted babe before letting go, listening to the way you gag and eagerly swallow everything he’s giving you.

He’ll pull away with harsh breaths, watching the way you eagerly suck in air, your lips wet and glistening with spit and cum, your tongue still painted a white color.

(Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly possessive, he’ll instead pull back right before letting go, telling you to stay sitting on your knees while he stands, fisting his cock at a near inhuman speed before pointing it right at your face, letting go and watching as ropes land across your cheeks, nose, lips and forehead, your entire face streaked with him in a way that makes his knees weak. Often, he’ll shake his cock a bit right at the end, eager to get every little bit out and onto you, groaning in satisfaction when the last, weakest little spurt lands right on your outstretched tongue. He’ll lean in closer and smear the cum across your skin even more, his voice sounding genuinely awed as he tells you that you’re so damn beautiful baby, fuck, get on the bed, I need to fuck you. Now.)

He loves to have you take his cock between your breasts, regardless of their size – he wants you suckle on his tip and rub your skin against him, feeling your pebbled nipples and the soft plush.

When he gets close, he’ll pull back and finish himself off, having you lay on your back while he straddles your waist, painting your breasts white and paying special attention to smear it across your nipples, pinching and twisting and pulling at them.

And even when he’s actually inside you, his penchant for being picky about where his cum goes doesn’t change – nine times out of ten he will come inside you, pushing his hips all the way the hilt so that he can finish as deeply as possible, the groan he lets out sending pleasure racing up your spine.

You can often literally feel it inside of you – something warm and wet filling you up, his cock spasming with every spurt, his balls clenching and tightening against your ass as he whispers your name under his breath.

(Most of the time, there’s simply too much to keep inside of you – it just never seems to end, and eventually there’s some dribbling out of you, smearing against your folds and dripping down the curve of your ass, sometimes even leaving a small pool against the bedsheets. Uvogin is equal parts proud and irritated when this happens, though – proud because god, you look perfect with his cum leaking out of you, but irritated because all of that really should be inside of you, not wasted and sitting on the bed. So, he'll scoop it up with his fingers, pushing it back inside you and fucking it up into you until he’s satisfied, the wet shmucking noise making him grin.)

Sometimes, though, he’ll pull out right at the last minute and instead come onto your cunt, letting the white settle against your inner thighs and coat your folds, leaving everything in a layer of opaque cream as he growls out your name.

He’ll often have you keep your legs spread even after he’s finished, moving closer to peer at his handiwork, getting so close and staring so hard that you inevitably get embarrassed, especially when he uses both thumbs to spread your folds and watch the cum dip down inside, even a few drops dribbling down inside you, the sight making him inexplicably satisfied.

Really, Uvogin just likes seeing you with his cum – whether it’s on you or inside you, he will find a way to incorporate it – it helps quell his possessiveness, and he can’t deny that the sight just looks so right, like something carnal and primal and natural.

(Unfortunately, though, he is a bit sensitive about you trying to clean it up – he often won’t let you shower after sex, telling you that it's better if you keep it on you or in you, and if you were to complain about it, he’ll just grab a pair of your panties and force them up your legs, the mess he’d left between them soaking into the fabric and making them damp every time you sit down or move. Again, don’t try to fight it – you won’t win, and Uvogin will often reach down between your legs just to ensure that you haven’t cleaned up – it’s a waste, he’d say, and he knows his girl isn’t wasteful.)

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Overstimulation

In general, Uvogin loves to please you.

He’s by no means submissive, but there’s something about bringing you pleasure and watching you fall apart for him that gets him harder than he’s ever been, all the blood rushing to his cock so quickly it nearly makes him dizzy.

He just loves the way you look on the brink of an orgasm, how you look at him with such wide eyes and need, how you clutch onto him and chant his name over and over. He likes how your hips twitch and jerk in his grasp, how he has to physically hold you still so that he can keep his tongue working over your clit or his fingers thrusting into you.

It’s addicting, honestly, in some ways even better than his own orgasms – and so, Uvogin finds himself making it a priority every time he gets you naked that you find your high, unwilling to stop until you come at least once.

And that’s really the key – at least, because any given sexual encounter with Uvogin generally results in you having at least three orgasms. He absolutely loves to overstimulate you – watching you come is one of his favorite sights, those dark eyes of his always hyperfixated on your pretty face as you fall apart, and the face you make when he doesn’t stop?

When he keeps his fingers on that cute clit of yours, still rubbing and pressing and making you feel good even as you gasp and whine about how it’s too much?

Well, it makes Uvogin grin, pearly teeth on display as he tells you to take it baby, be a good girl for me, yeah?

He likes the way you squirm and beg for him, your legs shaking like crazy and your abdomen visibly clenching and unclenching.

He likes the way you get so sensitive and grasp onto him like he’s your lifeline, pushing him to get you off twice, three times, four times, sometimes even five in a single session.

Of course, he likes seeing you pleasured, but there’s a bit of selfishness at play too – because when you’re holding him so tightly and moaning out in that perfect voice of yours please – please Uvogin (he’s not sure whether you’re begging for him to stop or for more – and he suspects you’re not sure either), how can he not feel utterly self-satisfied?

How can he not feel like a good lover, not feel like your dependence on him is growing more and more with each orgasm?

He views it as a good way to simultaneously get you a trembling mess for him and to also solidify your growing feelings for him - plus, he gets to lick his fingers clean of your wonderful taste while also getting to sink himself inside your soaking wet, twitching, hypersensitive cunt already practically milking him for everything he’s got…

It doesn’t take him long to come after that, and the sight of you exhausted, twitching, and leaking thick, white globs of cum is positively droolworthy.

Femdom

But in a very specific way – you’ll never be truly in charge in bed with him, if only because there’s not a single submissive bone in Uvogin’s body.

Sex with him is under his terms and conditions, but he’s generous enough to care about your pleasure and your desires, too.

That said, Uvo is incredibly entertained by your attempts at dominating him – it’s not necessarily hot or attractive, but it’s incredibly endearing and sweet, and serves to make his heart melt and his cock swell with the knowledge that eventually he will be shattering this fragile illusion of control you’re creating.

He likes when you get on top of him, your poor hips struggle to straggle the expanse of his own, his cock pressing harshly and insistently against your ass while you bite your lip and steel yourself.

He likes the way you try to move his arms over his head forcefully (you aren’t actually moving them, even if you think you are – he’s letting you, manually moving them for you, letting you believe that you’re doing it when it reality it’s all him), seeing the way your eyes light up and your thighs squeeze around his hips tighter.

He likes the way you lean down to kiss him, your tongue rushing into his mouth, your kisses noticeably more aggressive than usual but still nothing particularly dominant.

And yet, Uvogin lets you take the lead, letting you control the pacing, the angle, everything just to maintain this illusion of dominance.

He’ll let you tie the blindfold around his head, limiting his vision but not hindering any of his other senses, conveniently forgetting to mention to you that he can still feel your every breath, hear your every movement, practically taste what you’re going to do next.

He’ll let you slowly sink down onto his length, pulling back every few moments to tease his length and leave him wanting more.

Uvogin will take it all in stride, entertained at the way you try to be dominant and in control, only to shatter it once he decides you’ve had your fun, once you pull off of him one too many times and leave his cock wet, throbbing and needing your pussy so badly it hurts –

It’s not hard to rip his wrists out of the dingey bindings you’d placed them in earlier, fingers immediately digging into the plush of your hips to force you back down onto him, setting a brutal pace combined with his own thrusting hips and moving your body up and down so that every brush of his cock into you leaves you gasping, panting for air because it’s all so unexpected and he’s just so deep and big and god…

You can try being dominant all you want, because he finds it entertaining and endearing, but know that at the end of the day you will be the one at his mercy, your body simply his to toy with and tease as he sees fit.

BIGGEST FANTASY:

It's no secret that Uvogin is possessive – you’ll learn this from the very moment you become aware of his feelings for you. He firmly, whole-heartedly views you as his, just as he is yours.

And in the context of your sexual relationship, this mindset of his is only more apparent, more blatantly obvious with the way he clutches onto you and tells you how much he loves his little pussy between your legs, the way he leaves bruises on your hips and ass from smacking you or holding on just a bit too tight while he’s fucking you, or even sinking his teeth lightly into the flesh of your shoulder so that you’re marked as his.

It satisfies the intense desire he feels to keep you by his side and away from everyone else, all with the added benefit of getting you writhing and moaning his name.

And so, most of Uvo’s fantasies in the bedroom tend to branch off from his possessiveness – specifically, while it would be unlikely to happen, he desperately, desperately, wants to fuck you in a semi-public space so that his fellow Troupe members can hear.

He wants them to hear you screaming his name, your pleas and cries sounding like music to his ears and showing them exactly who gets to touch you, who makes you feel good, who’s allowed to dump fresh, potent cum in your cute little hole.

It makes him giddy, genuinely, excitement brewing in his chest because he loves the idea of publicly claiming you, about making sure that everyone knows that you’re his, that every part of you belongs to him.

He likes everyone knowing that only he gets to touch you and make you moan and scream, that it’s only ever his name that’ll be leaving those pretty lips of yours.

Plus, this fantasy fulfills that possessive urge without actually letting other people see you – he can’t stomach the thought of any of his fellow Troupe members actually seeing your naked body or the way you look at the height of your pleasure – Shizuku can’t ogle like she does, Shalnark can’t fist his cock to the sight of your tits bouncing, and even Franklin can’t swallow and ghost a hand over his crotch at the sight of your body taking his too-big cock.

It’s perfect, a fantasy that he’s harbored since the early days of his infatuation with you – and while it’ll take a while for him to actually act out, he wants nothing more than to utterly claim you all while his friends can hear.  

            “You gonna scream for me baby?” Uvogin grunts, his hips snapping into yours just a bit harder.

            Everything feels like too much – he’s holding you up against the wall, the cold brick digging into your back just mixing with the onslaught of pleasure his cock is giving you, bullying its way inside you and leaving you clenching down on him with every thrust. He’s so big – stretching you out nearly past your limits, making you drool and moan and shake, thoroughly destroying you long before he’s even bothering to reach for your clit.

            You’re a mess already, and Uvogin knows it. It makes him smirk, staving off his own orgasm in favor of making sure he fucks you just right, just to make sure the rest of the Troupe can hear you on the other side of the wall.

            “I can’t hear you.” He growls, burying his face in your neck and biting his lip to hold his release at bay. It’s hard to – you’re so damn tight and warm around him, and each time he pushes just the tiniest bit deeper inside you, you squeeze up like a vice, massaging and pulsing around him so well that it makes his knees weak.

            “Fuck, Uvo Uvo Uvo Uvo -!” You’re chanting his name, the words slurred together and sounding strained, and it only makes him thrust into you harder, enough force landing on each push of his hips that it physically gets you bouncing, even mid-air.

            He can hear faint, muffled talking from the other side of the wall, and it only makes him bare his teeth, lightly biting the shell of your ear. His fingers dig into your thighs, his grip on them firm and tight.

            “Shit baby, tell them who’s fucking you like this,” He starts, only to cut himself off with a groan when you clench down on him particularly hard. His hips stutter for just a moment, and you claw at his back at the sensation.

            “It – it’s you, Uvogin!” Your voice is strained and slurred, and it makes Uvogin grin.

            “Who’s cock is this perfect little pussy taking? Who’s it belong to, huh?” His voice is gravely and deep, husky and making your toes curl as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

            “Uvogin Uvogin Uvogin!” You’re practically screaming at this point, and he hears a dull thud from the next room over.

            He barks out a laugh and buries his face into your neck, forcing his hips to go faster, harder, deeper, anything to get you louder.

            And it’s working – you’re physically trembling, hips twitching and jerking wildly in his grasp, a non-sensical slurry of words spilling from your lips that make his heart and cock ache, each sound you make sending him closer and closer to his end.

            “Tell me what you want baby, fuck fuck fuck, tell me where you want it.”

            “Inside! Please Uvo, inside, need it inside me –“ You’re blabbering, but he doesn’t mind. A finger comes down to roughly press circles against your sensitive clit, and your reaction is immediate – you tense up, every muscle in your body seizing up as the pleasure mounts and mounts, his hips never stilling and drilling into that spot inside you over and over and over again –

            You come with a scream of his name, your cunt fluttering wildly around him, squeezing and pulsing and massaging him in a way that gets his knees scarily close to buckling, his own orgasm right on the brink as he presses you even tighter against the wall, leaving no space to breath as he literally fucks you into the brick.

            “Don’t you dare stop,” He warns you, each word punctuated by a sharp thrust.

            Another loud bang comes from the other side of the wall, and Uvogin freezes for just a moment as he hears the faintest sound of panting, of someone cursing under their breath, of something muttering out an oh fuck…

            He comes with a loud groan of your name, spurts of warm, thick cum settling inside you and making you cry out again, the sound music to his ears. A muffled groan sounds from the other side of the wall, and pride swims in Uvo’s gut as he watches you try to recover, your body shaking and your lips all swollen from biting them. He kisses you, hard, his tongue slipping into your mouth immediately, before helping you stand on your own and paddle to the bathroom to clean up.

            Once the shower starts running, Uvogin sighs and slips out the door, walking into the other room with a smirk spread across his lips. Feitan, Phinks and Nobunaga all look at him, the first with a disgusted look, the second with a noticeable blush, and the third with dazed eyes, clearly in the aftershocks of his own pleasure.

            Uvogin laughs, settling a hand on his hip. “Like what you heard, huh?”

            Nobuanga nods, Phinks’s blush only settles deeper, and Feitan snorts.

            Uvogin’s smile drops at that, his nen flaring up. “Too bad you’ll never even touch her.”

            His cock twitches at the mere thought, and soon he’s sliding open the glass door of the bathroom, pressing your chest against the tile wall, determined to see if his friends can still hear you over the sound of the rushing water.

[windvexer]

Ritual Gestation and Birth: A relatively low-spoons method (at least I think so) of creating powerful* servitors, enchantments, etc

*Powerful as compared to other techniques that work worse.

A common spellcasting method is to immediately deploy the spell once the casting is complete. In fact, deployment is often a part of the casting ritual in and of itself.

A different option is to keep the spell vessel in a state of magical gestation over a period of days or weeks, so that it slowly matures, gains strength, and solidifies, until it's born into this world, ushered by your hands.

This method is opposed to one where huge amounts of energy need to be raised at once. It's not a technique I'm able to manage in a sustainable way, and I find the results to be a little too... jittery.

If you are a witch who must not, or may not, raise lots of energy at once, this technique may be more manageable. It involves supervising a pot of spell, a bit like a simmering pot of stew, but overall I find it to be less of a draining process. Perhaps other people will find the same.

I believe that creating a magical seed (or embryo, if you like), and tying it to a physical object - such as a candle, crystal, piece of jewelry, charm bag, poppet, and so on - is in and of itself a powerful act of magic. This is why a candle can be enchanted, immediately burned, and still result in miraculous effects.

However, I also believe that giving the seed time to magically gestate can produce deeply powerful, effective, and long-lasting (or perhaps better to say, permanent) results. This isn't the same as completing a casting and letting the enchantment sit until you're ready to use it - it's an active process of nurturing.

Instead of immediately sending a spell to go out and work, sending it to a gestation phase is an easy change. If our spellcasting methodologies are anything alike, all you've got to do (in crude terms) is to swap out your targeting/release portion of the spell with an introduction to the magical womb, or egg, or embryonic sack, (&etc), within which the spell will grow and gain strength.

Examples:

If you direct energy as you raise it, instead of chanting, focusing, writing, or affirming that the spell goes to the target as you raise the energy, instead C/F/W/A that the spell goes into the gestational vessel.

If you gather energy and imprint/program it before you deploy it, send it to the gestational vessel instead of the target.

If you fully enchant a spell vessel (such as enchanting a candle, or creating a poppet), after the spellcasting is complete, instruct the new spell to rest and grow strong within the gestational vessel, until it's time to be fully born.

After the spell is cast, and you have magically moved the spell into its gestation phase, the spell components should be placed securely within the gestational vessel and tended to until they're ready to be born.

The "gestational vessel" is a physical object - in Traditional Witchcraft, this is most suitably the cauldron. But the gestational vessel only needs to meet a few qualifications, regardless of its ability to make campfire stews:

The gestational vessel must have a secure lid, even a makeshift lid, which blocks out the light.

It must be large enough to completely hold the physical components of the spell which it gestates.

It must be able to be stored without disruption, where no unqualified persons may accidentally remove the lid or disturb it.

Additionally:

Moving the vessel doesn't seem to typically disrupt what's growing inside. It can be taken down from a shelf, etc.; as long as the lid isn't opened without due cause.

I do not personally consecrate gestational vessels to that special purpose. I tend to use multi-use vessel which I'll use for other things later.

When the spell is inside of the magical egg (tired of saying gestation), it becomes your job to tend to it by providing energy. This can take many forms, and is an intuitive process.

Feeding the spell can be done in any manner which you usually recharge objects, or provide offerings to spirits. The line is blurred here, I think.

Feed the spell more of what you fed it in order to create it; that is, more of the same energy you raised, more of the same emotion you spent, and so on.

If preferred, feed the spell food, candle, and incense offerings. A general offering of "white light," or another creative energy, also does well here.

Intuition may advise that different foods are wanted by the spell at different times. Do with that as you please.

Those able to "tune in" to the energies of their spells and environment may find it to be very easy to keep track of the embryonic spell's hunger. Otherwise, follow a simple schedule.

I usually do not find that spells need to be fed every day, and when they require feeding, I do not find that they respond to huge amounts of energy or offerings.

Feeding about every three days is a safer bet for me.

I notice that an excess of provided energy just seems to pool up and go to waste.

A feeding may be as simple as placing a bit of your dinner next to the gestation vessel along with an offering charm, or if you're able to, lighting a single tea light.

Persons interested in psychism may have an excellent time noting the energetic change in the spell as the gestation develops.

The lid may be carefully opened to peek inside, especially if normally helpful intuition fails without peeking in; but treat the vessel gently, as if a tiny embryonic baby chicken is inside. Be quiet and gentle, and avoid disrupting the lid unless you really need to.

Ahead of time, before you even cast the spell, you should have decided how long you're going to gestate it for. Three days, or a full moon cycle, or dark to full moon, are a good bet; so is one week if you're doing a planetary thing. I find that even a shorter gestation period provides delightful results compared to doing none at all.

Intuition may advise that the spell is ready to be born early, or would like to stay a little longer.

If intuition is not your ally in these matters, follow the schedule you've set. All will be well.

The appointed time has arrived - the spell is to be born! (Celestial enthusiasts may be wise the the idea of birthing their spell at a special hour, day, or election).

Frankly, popping off the vessel lid, saying, "your time of rest is done, you are now at full power, go now and begin your duties" will perfectly suffice.

But better can be achieved.

If possible, consider employing a birthing ritual. Here are ideas, in no particular order:

Symbols of a gateway or passageway are very good, even something as simple as two stones or two candles to mark a 'gate'.

Using an actual doorway, especially moving from indoors to outdoors (or vice-versa, depending on the nature of your spell).

Using a hag stone to represent pulling the spell from the faerie world into our physical one; the reverse process of how such a stone is often employed.

Using a family tradition, or religious or cultural tradition, to celebrate the birth of a new baby; even if this tradition is only symbolically simulated through key points ("I am the grandpa of this family, and as the grandpa, I announce the new baby's name!")

Doing something celebratory and evocative, like that Lion King scene where Rafiki holds up baby Simba, etc.

In general, the spell should be removed from the gestation pot in a ritualistic way, glistening with the gravity of ushering new life into this world.

The spell may be carefully taken from the vessel and passed through a doorway or liminal space; symbolically drawn through a hag stone or other physically impassable space; held up to greet the first light of the day, or the light of a certain moon phase; be passed over a fire; or any number of ritualistic acts to denote movement into a new phase of life.

At this time, you should magically assert that the spell is born, and ready to do its task.

Of course, you do more. And in these matters, I find that more is better.

A christening ceremony, or a baptism, is most excellently employed to further empower this new life to be a living being in our world, capable of great influence and change - as we all imagine our children will be.

A bit of anointing oil, a touch of holy water, a formal naming ceremony ("I name you, My Paycheck is Cleared. Your name is My Paycheck is Cleared."), whatever you like - especially include a small gift to the spell (perhaps a few coins to set it on the right path in life), or - I suppose this post has gotten long enough. You can perhaps imagine what more could be done.

When all is said and done, employ the spell; light it if it's a candle, whisper things to it if it's a poppet, hang it up if it's supposed to be hung up, and so on.

Do mind that such things, having being born into this world and given real life, do not tend to quit it so quickly as only bornless energies that are diffused just as they were raised; like waves, forming and dissipating.

Things with birthdays and names and birthday presents and baptisms and godparents tend to feel as if this world is theirs, too.

I am generally not very much of a "be careful" sort of poster, but for this sort of technique, I'd recommend being careful. It really does work fantastically, and that's the problem.

Feed the spell with your blood at the moment of conception, and at the moment of birth, for something extra delightful.

[cloudiinumaki]

can't you see? (when you're oblivious)

NOTES ! — could've written these two scenarios into oneshots.... was NOTT bothered. anyways man ive been misreading satoru as santa a lot lately i keep on thinking "damn since when was santa in jjk" . honestly need to take a nap asap bc its happened too much... CHARACTERS ! — yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro (separate)

WARNINGS ! — lowercase strikes again (intentionally i swear), but its fluff so no warnings really

REQUESTS OPEN !

YUJI.

— quite simply, you guys are made for each other. sure, i'm well aware of how smart and determined yuji can be, but i know that that doesn't translate into romance, he's definitely oblivious too.

— when he notices his crush on you first forming, he's definitely the type to sigh forlornly and talk to nobara and megumi about it, dramatic and all about "how cool they are" and so on and so forth. and the whole time he's on this dramatic spiel, she just wants to hit him over the head with her hammer, because how is it not obvious that you've already been liking him for a while???

— unbeknownst to yuji, nobara's already been dealing with terribly similar conversations from you, both of you just as infatuated with each other. that infatuation means that nobara's had to deal with your pining for a while, and you always seem to end up repeating yourself, looping back into the phrase of "can't you see how cute he is?"

— no. nobara cannot see that, but she does allow you to vent your frustrated feelings as one of her closest friends. it's almost sweet how you two mirror each other despite not even knowing. but, it's you two, so she won't actually say it is.

— it's surprising because usually you're quite competent and honestly smart, exorcising and working in a way that's almost methodical, even from megumi's eyes.

— but, megumi's also noted the fact that that same competence of yours obviously didn't translate into competence with crushes, as you were the sole cause he was having to deal with yuji's complaining, overly-dramatic self, and his statements of "they're so cute, you don't get it".

— no, megumi didn't 'get it'. you two were both as stupid as each other, honestly.

— still, nobara insisted that this situation be solved between you and yuji alone, it wouldn't be right for them to interfere anyway… (even if they were starting to reach their wit's ends). all they could really do was push yuji to make his efforts more obvious, if that was even possible.

— but, even when yuji starts trying to leave hints (they're hardly even hints with how obvious he makes it), somehow you manage to not notice it.

— maybe it's a one time thing, he thinks, but as he tries a few times more to make it clear, you're speaking just as usual without missing a single beat.

— he gets you your favourite plushie from the arcade after toiling for ages to beat the clearly rigged machine...

— you both go into one those purikura photobooths with the built-in filters, making the photos as silly as possible, and take an excessive amount of photos.

— you even go and watch the new addition to the line of 'human earthworm' movies together, sharing from the same bucket of popcorn. all things done with just the two of you, looking and feeling just like a date and a confession rolled into one.

— could it really be more obvious how he feels??? (it couldn't).

— honestly, after a while, he did end up wondering if you didn't like him back at all, considering if this silence was just your way of trying not to ruin the really good friendship you guys already shared.

— maybe you'd changed your mind and just didn't want to offend him by saying so..

— maybe he'd misread the situation...

— meanwhile you're mentally freaking out about how good of a friend he is that it almost feels like more, trying and failing to stop yourself from feeling something that you're so certain is unreciprocated.

— this same song and dance continues for a while, until one day, even yuji's generous patience runs thin, and he decides to just tell you upfront.

— he's more careful with his words than usual, not wanting to burden you too much with these feelings and yet having to get them out because he's being driven to insanity with how everything is going…

— at his confession, you look genuinely surprised, replying that you didn't know he felt like that too.

— too???? his mind is sent for a spin at that one word, and you two quickly clear up the matter, both relieved and slightly embarrassed at how incredibly slow you'd been to pick up on the other's feelings.

— yeah, you guys are made for each other.

MEGUMI.

— he's not sure how much longer he can take this.

— honestly, when megumi realised what exactly his newfound and highly unusual feelings were, he did feel a sense of foreboding. part of that was probably down to the fact that he realised that he'd have to navigate these new and somewhat uncomfortable feelings towards you…

— and the other part was the fact that if he wanted you to know these feelings, it would take effort.

— from the way megumi had seen you accidentally brush off people who'd been interested in you before, without even knowing that they were interested in you, it was quite obvious that you were the textbook definition of oblivious.

— in battle, you were a capable sorcerer. in training, you were dedicated and hard-working. in matters of like or love… absolutely atrocious, so bad that even he was noticing.

— megumi's not the type to make confessions. he knows he isn't. but he's also quite aware that if he doesn't tell you upfront, you'll never know.

— and, since he's still unsure of what exactly you feel, he's resigned himself to that scenario. the feelings will pass, eventually.

— and, eventually, gojo and nobara will stop teasing him about it. he's really not that obvious, having grown accustommed to keeping his emotions and thoughts safely concealed behind his usual impassive expressions. but, somehow, those two can tell like sharks sense blood, like they have a penchant for finding anything to embarrass megumi with. — it doesn't help that he finds his gaze annoyingly pulled towards you again and again, no matter if you're doing the most mundane thing ever. it certainly doesn't help that whenever he's caught out doing so, he finds his ears going annoyingly red, making it clear to anyone who's noticed this quirk of his that he's embarrassed despite his perfectly calm facial expression.

— after a typical mission for nobara, yuji and him, the topic of you comes up again whilst they're walking back. there's the usual teasing and jokes made lightheartedly, almost routine, and megumi knows their words have no true bite to them.

— but, then nobara asks, "but really, you're not going to tell them about it?" her tone's almost concerned by the prospect, clearly disapproving of his current plan. "you shouldn't just assume their answer will be a straight 'no'."

— he hears her words, recognising the truth in them with reluctance… but, why should he complicate what's already good enough with these clunky feelings of his? it's really not as important as they're making it out to be.

— megumi doesn't entertain her with an articulated response, simply humming in acknowledgement. what was he even supposed to say?

— when he glances at the two a few moments later, the silence stretching uncomfortably long, he notices nobara and yuji fixing him with the same, slightly judging look.

— he rolls his eyes, and lets the conversation slip back into less controversial topics, but he can't help but think about what nobara said for a while after.

— perhaps it's better to say something, anything. if it doesn't go to plan, then he can just act like he never said it and disregard any memory of it. right? those thoughts didn't ease his mind much.

— as he's heading to his dorm that night, he overhears the slight voices from inside your room, clearly you and nobara chatting about something, the door left ajar. he's not an eavesdropper, never has been one, so he continues walking down the hallway until he unintentionally hears something that makes him freeze.

— you were complaining about how you still liked your crush even though he didn't care… he hadn't even known you'd had one?

— and, then before he'd even had the time to deal with the slight stirrings of jealousy he felt bubbling up, you mentioned him by name??? as your crush??

— what was he even supposed to do with that information?

— he obviously wasn't meant to learn this knowledge, was almost about to give up his feelings anyway, yet this was the moment he found out? the universe had a weird sense of humour.

— before he'd had the chance to mentally unpack this new information, he'd heard the shuffling of you getting up and your brief explanation to nobara of "getting some water". so, of course, you'd see each other, standing in the hallway silently.

— and, of course it was the most awkward silence for a few moments before you asked in your usual voice, trying to remain calm and go insane, just to confirm that you had the worst luck of any jujutsu sorcerer yet, "did you hear all of that?"

— …there's not even a point in him lying to save face.

— needless to say, after one painful but relieving conversation outside (he couldn't confess to you in a hallway, especially not when nobara might hear), you'd both cleared up the misunderstandings that had plagued you and were now officially... something. you didn't want to rush it, and neither did he, but nobara noticed you returning to your dorm with your glass of water in a distinctly happier mood, your earlier complaints about megumi suddenly subsiding.

— you didn't tell her specifically what had happened, but it was already quite clear. you were oblivious to more than just love, nobara was beginning to notice. you were also oblivious to the fact that you were stupidly easy to read.