#this was much more fun to write than it had any right to be

[satorus-princess]

gimme some sugar (mama)

synopsis: oops, gojo fell for his sugar mama - you, the founder and owner of a renowned fashion company. his behaviour becomes oddly domestic, and his actions selfishly jealous when another fashion figure approaches you at one of your events. you aren't exclusive but he still gets claims on you, right?

cw (minors please dni): fem!reader, switch!reader and switch!gojo, age gap (reader early 30s, gojo early 20s), suggestive jokes, playful banter, possessive gojo, he’s so down bad, semi-public sex (backseat of a car, bathroom), mirror sex, fingering, finger-sucking, handjob, mommy kink, so much begging, spitting, creampie, a lil aftercare.

word count: 7.5k (i thought it was gonna be 5k... it has plot i promise)

a/n: if you saw this earlier, no you didn't

fem!reader x gojo satoru, canon-divergent au, nsfw

With a strawberry lollipop trapped between his lips, tongue lolling around the candied treat, Satoru stands in front of you. He peers at you with his crystal eyes over the lens of his sunglasses as you measure his hips and waist.

There’s a cheeky smirk strewn across his lips, knowing that you’re purposely ignoring the slight bulge in his chinos. “If you wanted to be so close to my dick, you could’ve just said so,” the words drip from his mouth almost sweeter than the lollipop now held between his fingers so he can speak.

You roll your eyes, telling your assistant the measurement of his waist as she writes it down in a notepad for you. “Shut it before the only thing going near your dick is your hand.”

“But I'm boreddd. There’s only so much time I can go without talking,” he huffs, slightly muffled as he sucks the lollipop back into his mouth, leaving a lump in his cheek. “Do I at least get a say in the suit I’m gonna wear?”

“Do you have any preferences?” you ask, standing straight and looking up at him. He takes a look over your work outfit - a blouse unbuttoned at the collar, tucked into an a-line skirt, and to bring it altogether, a cropped blazer.

His eyes flit back to your face. “Mhm, for the colour. Don’t you think I’d look sooo handsome in navy blue or black? Make my eyes pop, you know,” he grins.

“I’ll do navy blue for you,” you confirm, glancing at your assistant to wordlessly notify her of the colours.

“And what will you be wearing?”

“That’s for you to find out. You remember when the event is, right?”

“Yes, yes. Next Friday at 6 pm, you’ll pick me up at 5. And I can’t be late, or even fashionably late,” he says, repeating the words you had told him prior when you informed him of the event that he has to accompany you to.

The purpose of the event being a party of sorts, black-tie but also fun, and to build connections, or strengthen them.

“Good. Now, all I have to do is measure your shoulders, so turn around for me.”

“They’re quite broad, ya know. You might need a longer measuring tape,” he jokes, while doing as you say, his back towards you but you hear him snort in amusement.

You roll your eyes again, but this time a laugh slips out. “Who inflated your ego?”

“Me. After a terrible, terrible break-up, I urged myself to improve,” he sighs dramatically, a hand flying up to rest over his heart as if in pain. “Besides, I don’t hear you disagreeing. So, you inflate it even more, even if it’s unintentional.”

“Ugh, I’m my own worst enemy,” you mutter to yourself jokingly, knowing he can hear you. You tap his shoulder once you’re done gauging the length of his shoulders, letting him turn back around to face you, amusement playing on his features.

He snorts. “As if. I bet you pray to whatever deity to express your thanks for making us meet.”

“As if,” you mock him in response to his relentless teasing. So much for being the mature one.

You gather the measuring tape and roll it into a circle before placing it on your desk, which you lean against. You double-check the notes your assistant took to ensure that the measurements are correct before you thank and dismiss her. As soon as the door to your office closes behind her, Satoru steps towards you, almost trapping you against the desk as he rests a hand on your waist.

“Is there anything else you need from me?” he asks quietly, leaning in closer so that your foreheads are almost touching.

“Yeah, actually,” you whisper in a sensual tone before pausing and looking up at him mischievously. He misinterprets that as something inappropriate and you see his smirk widen before you land the blow. “I need you to go, so I can work.”

The bewildered expression on his face makes you laugh as he pulls back slightly, still confused and almost hurt. “C’monnn, you can’t just leave me to suffer from blue balls,” he complains, leaning back in to drop his head onto your shoulder. “Don’t think I didn’t see you staring at my dick.”

“I was not staring. It’s just quite… hard to overlook, it’s not my fault. Why were you hard anyway?”

“Are you seriously asking me that when your hands were incredibly close to it? It took everything in me not to grind against your hand.” He shifts his head, turning it so that he can inhale your sweet perfume before his lips press against the skin of your neck, his lips sticky from the lollipop he finished earlier. He starts above the collar of your blouse, trailing slow kisses up to your jaw, which he cups to tilt your head to the side.

He hears you swallow thickly, smirking against your skin as he knows your resolve is wavering. “I need to get back to work.”

“I’ll be quick, promise,” he murmurs.

Oh, you know this familiar pattern of events - Satoru getting horny, him swearing to be quick, and you ending up not going back to work because he, in fact, wasn’t quick. And somehow, you manage to fall for it each time.

“Satoru, you say that every time and it never is,” you remind him. “Well, you may be quick, but it’s never just one round.”

He gasps in offence at your subtle jab at his capabilities. “Hey! I’ll have you know I can last long. It’s not my fault your pussy squeezes me so tight, she doesn’t wanna let me go.”

“Whatever,” you brush off, preventing the conversation from going on a tangent. “Regardless, I really do need to get back to work. And I have to finish up the arrangements for my event, and make sure your outfit is made.”

He sighs defeatedly, stepping back away from you. “Fine, fine, I’ll let you work. I think I deserve double the amount of ice cream mochi for my distress.”

“I’ll do you one better, and give you double the amount of mochi and let you choose lingerie for me to wear the night of my event.”

His disappointment suddenly disappears, a grin filled with excitement replacing it. “The lingerie you’ll wear for me, right?”

“No, for my other sugar baby,” you joke sarcastically.

He gasps in mock incredulity. “You’d never have another sugar baby. I’m already enough of a handful.”

“Glad you’re self-aware.”

He pays no mind to your words, already thinking about the type of lingerie he wants to see you in. “Well, now that I have something to do, I can leave you to your work.” He presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek, an action that you’re used to from his overly affectionate self, before he grabs his jacket from the chair it was draped over. “I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

A while later, as you’re checking your emails, your phone buzzes on your desk, a notification from your bank to inform you of a purchase of just over £100. Then, another buzz, a message from Satoru.

Now all I need is my ice cream mochi ;) life is good

It’s become a consistent habit for you to roll your eyes ever since Satoru became your sugar baby, his antics never-ending and sometimes ridiculous. Well, this was on the milder side of his antics. You gave him permission to buy you whatever lingerie he wanted to see on you, after all. And considering his preferences, you assume that he picked out a baby blue set to match his eyes, of course.

You continue your paperwork before moving onto the event organisations, making sure that everything is in order for your fashion event - the food, the decorations, the invitations sent out. And Satoru’s suit.

In the room beside your office is your own studio to make clothes, separate from your fashion line. You take the notepad with his measurements and the details to make a start on it using the reference you had drawn earlier, ordering the material for the suit jacket. In the meantime, you make the slacks.

It’s a few hours later when you finally finish up at work and make your way home. The sound of clattering metal as soon as you step through the front door makes your eyebrow raise in suspicion until you hear music playing in the kitchen with a terribly familiar, tone-deaf voice singing louder than the lyrics.

As you approach the kitchen, you can’t help the amused smile on your lips which unconsciously softens when you realise that Satoru is cooking. A mingle of spices wafts through the air, sneaking into your nose as you stand in the doorway of your kitchen watching him sing while he stirs a pot with a wooden spoon.

“I’m working laaate ‘cause I’m a singerrr. Oh, he looks so cute wrapped ‘round my fingerrr--”

“Oh, you have a sugar daddy now, huh?” you snort, taking a few more steps to reach him and you see his tall figure jump slightly in surprise.

You stand behind him, tiptoeing to peek over his shoulder and get a glimpse of what he’s cooking, oblivious to the gentleness of his gaze as his eyes lock onto your curious face.

It takes him a moment before he focuses again, getting his thoughts back in order. But then, you turn your head to look up at him and he swears his heart falters; he could have been declared clinically dead for a second.

“Hey, the food. It might burn.”

“Huh? Oh, shit, my bad,” he mutters, turning the stove off and clearing his throat. “Anyways, what did you say earlier?”

“I asked if you have a sugar daddy now because of the song you were singing,” you repeat, reaching behind you to let down your hair from its bun and his blue eyes follow your movement. “Or did your crush finally ask you out?”

“Have you been talking to my friends? I am not gay.”

“Mhm, whatever floats your boat. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Well, it sounded like you had a lot of work to do today, so I assumed you’d get home late and probably too tired to make anything,” he says casually, moving around your spacious kitchen as if he lives there. “Why don’t you change and freshen up? I’ll plate up.”

The domesticity of the moment feels weirdly normal, familiar even, as if this is how it’s supposed to be. The only reason he even knows the passcode for your house is because he ridiculously proposed, “What if you need my company so badly and I’m stuck outside? That’s my job, isn’t it - to keep you company?” to which you questioned why you wouldn't let him in and he only changed the topic. He got his way in the end, regardless.

You simply nod, leaving the kitchen and going upstairs to your walk-in closet adjacent to your bedroom. There’s some of Satoru’s clothes scattered - just comfortable loungewear such as t-shirts and sweats - “just in case”, he had said. In case of what? You didn’t know. But you don’t notice them anymore, it’s something you see every day now even when he isn’t around.

Grabbing a pair of loose shorts and a tank top, you bring them with you to change into after taking a quick shower.

Soon, you’re making your way back downstairs in the kitchen and at the sound of your feet padding against the steps, Satoru gets a plate to spoon the herby, tomato pasta onto it. He grates cheese onto yours, the perfect amount that he knows from going to restaurants together and the few times he's made pasta for you prior.

As you both dig into the food that he made, a comfortable silence settles around you. But he finds himself stealing glances at you in between bites and for Satoru, silences don’t particularly last long.

“Soooo… how’s my suit coming along?” he asks, with genuine curiosity.

Your eyes flicker from your plate to him, a strange twist of your heart happening when your eyes meet his gleaming, azure ones. And for once, you find yourself unable to maintain eye contact. “I ordered the material for it, and got the slacks done at least.”

“Mhmm, and I still don’t get to know what you’re wearing?”

“No,” you reply bluntly, though with a teasing smile. His eyes drop briefly to your lips wrapped around your fork and he can still make out the slight, amused tilt of your mouth.

Satoru never thought of himself as one to enjoy surprises, well, not when it was directed at him. He’d rather indulge and not be stuck in suspense. 

But, oh, what a pleasant surprise this was.

He had swung his apartment door open without looking through the peephole, knowing it was you as you had messaged him that the car was parked outside his building. And he froze at the sight. He thought he might've died and gone to heaven. Or maybe died and reincarnated as a suitor to a princess.

A royal blue dress hugs your body loosely, draping down and skimming the floor, with cape-like sleeves and a leg slit on the side. It’s as if you bleed gold, staining the dress and making it shimmer in a similar way to his suit jacket.

If you weren’t so preoccupied with eyeing him dressed in his formal attire - dark slacks, a black button-down that he chose to keep unbuttoned at the collar, and a fitted navy blazer dusted with gold at the shoulders that catches in the light, cloaked over him the same way the starlit night sky envelops the day - you would've been able to notice the stars in his eyes.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he teases with a smirk, fixing the cuffs of his shirt and straightening his suit jacket.

“Pfft, don’t act like you weren’t just ogling me with certain thoughts running through your mind.”

“Well, I’m not trying to hide it,” he quips back. “I thought I was accompanying my sugar mama, not a princess.”

“Oh my god, shut up, you’re so goofy.”

“Hey, I’m just saying it how I see it. You really do look… divinely stunning, you know.”

“Thank you. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“I look amazing, and you know it. I must have a real good fashion designer.” He winks at you.

Rolling your eyes, an amused huff leaves your lips in response. “Come on, we need to make a move.”

He nods, letting his gaze linger on you for a few moments longer before he grabs his keys and phone, tucking them into the pocket of his slacks. After locking his apartment, he follows you towards the elevator, eyes trailing along your figure and another smirk dances upon his lips.

“So, I’m expected to keep my hands off you at this event?” he asks once you’re both standing in the elevator as it travels down to the ground floor.

“Yes, of course.”

“Even after knowing that you’re wearing the lingerie I picked out for you under that pretty dress?”

“Yes, Satoru,” you sigh, despite the way your body aches and craves him since seeing him in that suit. And because of the anticipation that makes your skin tingle, knowing what’s to come after the event is over.

He exhales a dramatic sigh of his own, a subtle pout tugging at his mouth at the fact that he has to restrain himself, mumbling something about formalities. You snort, entertained, strolling out of the elevator and exiting the building where the car waits outside, your heels clacking against the concrete.

Satoru quickens his pace slightly to get a step ahead of you, reaching for the door handle of the backseat to open it for you and the small smile you give him makes him grin, eyes lighting up like you just handed him the moon. He slides in after you, sitting beside you with his arms and legs pressed against yours, and a hand rests on your thigh, almost dangerously high.

“The drive is about 45 minutes, right?” he murmurs, turning to face you as your driver, Ijichi, sets off smoothly.

When you nod in affirmation, he hums, leaning in further and the fresh, citrus scent of his cologne drifts into your senses.

The hand on your thigh sneaks between the slit of your dress to feel your skin beneath his fingertips as they trail upwards and the other hand presses a button, bringing the partition up to block the two of you from your driver’s view.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he mutters against your neck as he begins to press his lips along it, peppering it with kisses. “Luckily, I have 45 minutes to touch you before the event.”

You don't resist or push him away, you melt against him instead, tilting your head to the side as his lips make a trail from beneath your ear and down the side of your neck. The cape sleeves slide off your shoulders allowing him to continue his trail of kisses along the soft skin of your shoulders and further down to just above your breasts.

“I made sure the lingerie’s crotchless exactly for this reason,” he whispers against your skin, hot breath fanning it, mirroring the heat pooling between your thighs.

You knew it was for the easy access, and your suspicions are further confirmed when his fingertips tease your slit, soaked and sultry. He smiles at how wet you are for him, as his lips press one final kiss to your collarbone. His hand cups your jaw, turning your head towards him and he hungrily captures your lips with his, swallowing your moan when he slips a single finger inside.

A groan of his own escapes at the way your weeping walls suck his finger in eagerly. Curling and plunging slowly, he feels your juices dribble down his palm, a wet squelching sound filling the space.

“Fuck… you’ve been thinking about it as much as I have, haven’t you? Sitting all pretty in your dress, acting like you weren’t soaked,” he rasps in your ear as he tugs the lobe between his teeth, curling his fingers but not where you need him, purposely teasing.

“Just… stop fucking teasing,” you breathe out, voice laced with frustration.

Pulling back to look at you, his eyes scan your face with a smug smirk, memorising the pleasurable twist of your expression. “Yes, ma’am.”

Finally, his finger hits that sweet spot and your hips jerk against his hand. His index finger joins his middle one, stretching you out further with his dexterous fingers and increasing the volume of your arousal - the amount and acoustics.

“God, you’re so wet for me. Tell me what you were thinking about that got you so worked up,” he whispers, skimming his lips against your jaw and back up to your lips, ghosting a kiss.

“Mm, fuck… thought about riding you with your suit barely off. As soon as I get the chance.”

“Yeah? You’re barely restraining yourself, too?” You can hear the smirk in his voice without having to see his expression. The pace of his fingers speeds up slightly, maintaining the precision of nudging your sweet spot as his palm grinds against your clit.

Another sweet moan is brought forth from your lips and eagerly consumed by him. “K-keep going… s-so-- hngh!”

“Heh, where are your manners, mommy? Say ‘please’.”

“Fucking--… I’ll do it myself,” you curse breathily, trying to come off as intimidating but with the needy rock of your hips against his hand and the whine in your tone, it only urges him to tease you more. He lightly swats your hand away when you attempt to rub your clit.

“Ah, ah, I’m happy to please. It’s just one little word. Puh-a-lease,” he sing-songs in your ear, emphasising each syllable. His fingers move at an excruciatingly slow pace and a frustrated groan rips from your lips.

“Please, keep going. Please, make me cum,” you beg through gritted teeth, shooting him a small glare which quickly turns into a lewd show of your eyes rolling back when he gives you exactly what you need.

“Thereeee we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he rejoices. “You sound so pretty begging for me, mommy, wanna feel how hard I am?”

“Shut up, just shut up and make me cum.”

Something twitches in his slacks.

“Shit, that just made me harder. Heh. So mean and demanding.”

Despite his teasing, he gives in to your demands. He scissors his fingers inside of you, curling with each thrust as his thumb finds your swollen, neglected clit. Vigorously, he circles it with his thumb with a pressure that has your thighs trembling and your hips continue to buck against his hand, chasing the inevitable pleasure.

“S-Satoru… right there, right there, right fucking there… ah!”

“I know, pretty, I know. Let go for me, yeah?” He provokes softly, breath fanning your neck as he watches your expression contort with ecstasy.

A few more come-hither motions of his fingers and he feels your walls clench around them like a vice, juices gushing and soaking his fingers. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, eyes forced shut as your hips move against his hand, riding out your orgasm until your body begins to twitch, overstimulated.

“That’s it. So fucking pretty for me.”

He brushes his lips down your cheek in caressing kisses, soothing you as you come down from your high, breath shaky.

It doesn't take long before you're undoing the zip and button of his slacks, pulling his erection free. His fingers are still buried inside you, unmoving. But he slowly slides them out, evoking a soft whine from you.

“Oh, eager, are we? Aren't you gonna take me out to dinner first?” He chuckles quietly at his own joke. That morphs into a shuddering moan when your skilled hand wraps around his length, the continuously dripping precum aiding the glide. “Ah, shit. Your hand feels like heaven.”

With your other hand, you take his that was just inside you and bring his dripping fingers up to his lips. Wordlessly, without a second to waste, he parts his lips and eagerly sucks his own fingers in, your dewy sap setting his taste buds alight.

He moans at the taste, as if it’s the first time he’s been allowed to indulge in such a delicacy. His pink tongue rolls over his digits, drool running down them and he pushes them deeper, a choked gasp escaping him.

“Look at you - drooling all over your own fingers,” you mock, caressing his leaking slit with your thumb and his pelvis shoots upwards into your touch.

“F-fu-- nngh! J-just like that… So good to me. Don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” his voice is muffled around his fingers, but the neediness in his tone is evident.

After teasing his mushroom tip, you start to stroke him again, unexpectedly fast and a whine is pulled from his throat. His hips are nonstop thrusting into your touch, appetent for more, for you, for anything you have to offer to him. And you have no intentions of stopping, pulsing your grip around his cock with each stroke, mimicking the way your pussy would take him in.

Leaning back against the leather of the car seat, he’s completely limp under your touch. He’s still sucking on his fingers, making a show of it as he purposely causes himself to gag on them, his dick twitching in your grasp.

“Make me feel like a fucking virgin every time you touch me,” he groans, unable to control himself around you. Feeling hot all over, fingers jittery, breathing unsteady and heavy, dick dripping with more precum just at the sound of your voice.

He has to think about the news that was irrelevantly playing on the TV in the background this morning to stop himself from cumming too soon.

He doesn't even realise he's slurring a string of “Please, please, please… hah…”

Until you ask him, “What are you asking for, hm, pretty boy?”

He moans in response, fingers falling from his mouth and he traps his lower lip between his pearly whites. “I don't know. Fuck… anything. Give me anything. Just don't stop, please.”

Your hand begins to pump his cock faster, thumb rubbing his frenulum and his entire body convulses, sensitive. Leaning closer, you capture his lips with yours, kissing him slow and deep; a stark contrast to the way your hand furiously moves up and down his length.

“O-ohhh… Hah… Fucking ruined m-me… Takes so long to… fuck… make myself cum without you. Always hafta think about you. Always you. Only you,” he mumbles against your lips, panting.

Smirking, your lips brush against his as you respond quietly. “Me too,” you admit.

He whines. Loudly. Cock throbbing in your fist as precum dribbles heavily from the slit of his tip. His hips buck into your grip as if he has no control over them. His head lolls to the side, mouth fallen open, breathy moans dripping from his lips.

You think about him when you're getting yourself off? He's the one that manages to make you cum, even when he isn't there in person?

The simple admission is enough to make him lose his mind.

“Nngh… Shouldn't have said that. Shouldn’t-- Fuck, fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna cum for you. Can I cum, please?”

“Go ahead, pretty boy,” you say in a hushed voice.

But, not wanting to make a mess of either of your clothes or of the car, you lean down and wrap your glossed lips around the reddened, leaking head of his cock.

A surprised, yet aroused, gasp rips from his throat when he feels the humid warmth of your mouth and your slick tongue flicking just below his tip while your hand maintains the same pace to work him over to the edge.

A split second later, he's squirting thick ropes of ivory into your mouth, eyes fluttering closed as his throat bobs with strained groans as if the pleasure is too much to handle. His fingers dig into the leather of the seat, trying not to push your head down further.

“Oh my god… you fuckin’-- you… mmm, fuck…”

He cums a lot, almost enough to make you choke as you attempt to swallow it all. His body shudders with each rope of cum that shoots from his dick while he rambles incoherently. Something about how good that was, something about how much he loves it - you or the handjob? Who knows. You don't register it anyway.

Once he comes down from his intense high, you pull off and wipe anything that dribbled from your mouth. His sky-blue eyes lock onto your face, a gaze that looks like he's staring at an angel that bestowed a blessing onto him.

“You should really eat some more fruit that doesn't come in mochi,” you say after a couple of moments of him catching his breath.

Bursting into breathless laughter, he shakes his head with amusement. “Fuck off. You're the one that decided to swallow my cum,” he points out, chest still heaving with pants.

“Didn't wanna make a mess.” You shrug casually, taking out a small mirror and your lip gloss from your purse to reapply it.

For the last few minutes of the drive, both of you fix your attire and appearances, leaving no evidence of what happened on the way. Well, safe for the lip gloss stains on his mouth which you hastily grab tissue for, wiping it away as much as you can.

“Hey, easy. I think the just-fooled-around look is kinda sexy,” he humours, using the rearview mirror to rearrange his hair once the car is parked outside the venue and the partition is down again.

“Oh, yeah, it’d be a great idea for me to show up like that to my own event,” you retort sarcastically, and he snorts out a chuckle while reaching over to gently brush your hair back into place.

Once both appearances are fixed, Ijichi opens the backseat door. Satoru gets out first, tugging the hem of his suit jacket to straighten it before he stretches his hand out for you to take. Gingerly, you do, using his hand as leverage to step out of the car and he follows your elegant movements with a half-lidded gaze, appreciative but not lustful. Bordering on something romantic that he wouldn’t dare verbalise.

With your hand still held in his, he places it on his bicep and you don’t pull away which makes him smile, a warmth blooming in his chest. Both of you walk towards the venue where the event is taking place and you’re pleased that everything turned out the way you had planned.

The gold accents of your dress and his jacket shimmer under the grand chandelier that hangs in the middle of the room. While your eyes scan the room to make sure everything is in order, Satoru’s eyes linger on you. A longing gleaming in them. Lips parted as if he wants to say something.

He has to force himself to tear his gaze away from you, attempting to focus on the words that spill from your sweet lips. Are you talking to him or the staff? He has no clue.

“The guests should be here soon.”

“Mhm,” he hums absentmindedly in response.

At his barely verbal response, you turn your head towards him, sparing a curious glance his way. “Are you okay? Do you need fresh air? You look a little red.”

He shakes his head. “No, no… I’m fine. Just admiring how pretty everything looks,” he replies charmingly, brushing his knuckles over your hand that rests on his arm before letting his hand fall back to his side. “You really did an amazing job.”

“Thank you, Satoru,” you say softly, touched by his genuine words.

Soon enough, your guests begin to arrive, the ones who want to make a good impression by being on time.

Throughout the event, while you greet your guests and friends, Satoru never leaves your side. When your hand unintentionally drops from his arm, he immediately puts it back. He makes sure the short trail of your dress doesn’t get stepped on or soiled by anyone, including himself.

And he notices when your smile falters for just a second, the light in your eyes fading slightly. Despite being in a career and position that requires you to have to talk to people almost all day, every day, your social battery can start to drain quicker than you expect.

When a friend of yours, Nobara, ends the conversation and waves over to someone else she knows, Satoru hunches down slightly to lean in close to your ear. “Tired?” he questions quietly, already knowing the answer.

“A little,” you reply in the same hushed tone.

“I’ll get you something to drink. Stay here,” he offers. “Just water, I don’t want you to get dehydrated.”

Your eyes flick up to him, appreciative of his thoughtfulness. Soft words of gratitude are spoken before he grins at you, happy to do anything for you. He would probably jump off a bridge if you asked him to. Maybe even step on Lego if you sprinkled in that smile of yours.

He filters through the groups of people dressed in fancy wear, with tunnel vision towards the refreshment table. He grabs two water bottles, the first for you and the second just in case you need more. His eyes languidly skim over the snacks on the table, contemplating what to pick up for you.

Individual cups of charcuterie catch his eye, and he picks up two of those, too.

He makes his way back to where he had left you, hoping you were still there. Once you come into sight, a wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. Not because of you, no, never because of you. But because of the male, a similar age to you, standing a bit too close to you, a sleazy grin thrown across his lips as he converses with you.

Satoru hurries his pace towards you, and the crack of a water bottle being squeezed in his hand is heard when he sees that same man run his filthy fingers over one of the cape sleeves of your dress.

Shortly, an arm is slung over your shoulders and you know only one person in the venue who would do that - your sugar baby. He tugs you into his side possessively, shooting a faux courteous smile to the older man before he faces you with a softer smile, real, sincere.

“Hey, I got you the water and a snack,” he says, opening the cap of the water bottle for you. “Whatcha talking about, huh?”

“Does it concern you?” the older man scowls, scrutinising Satoru and he eyes him back, cocking his head to the side as if offended.

“Uh, yeah, actually. It’s in my contract. Gotta know what’s going on in her work life,” he fibs confidently, sass evident in his tone.

“You’re her assistant?”

“You could say that. I do help with a lot of… work stresses,” he smirks. “Anywho, I’m gonna have to steal her away. There’s a bit of an emergency elsewhere. Something more important than this.”

Satoru doesn’t wait for a response from the man before he’s tugging you away from him and away from the main hall.

He barely even gives you a response when you ask where he's taking you.

However, you don't have to wait long for an answer when he has your dress hiked up over your hips, one of your legs propped onto the fancy bathroom counter as he grinds against your folds from behind through the crotchless part of your lingerie. Your sticky sweetness already stains the black fabric of his boxers where he’s undone his slacks just enough.

Soft lips embed feathery kisses into the skin of your nape, large hands roaming over your hips and thighs, goosebumps forming in their wake.

A pleasurable sigh emits from your lips when he nips at your neck and his clothed erection twitches against you. He sucks your skin into his mouth harshly, bound to leave a mark for several days - exactly his plan.

“Satoru, no marks,” you complain, knowing you’ll have to cover them up with makeup for work. Your eyes follow his antsy movements through the mirror you’re propped in front of; teeth, tongue and lips finding every bit of skin they can.

“Just this once. Just for me. Please,” he murmurs, tongue dragging down to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, teeth grazing against the perfume-infused flesh before he sucks.

As his hips continuously drag his bulge along your folds, his hands roam over your heated body, his lithe fingers travelling down to spread your sopping lips. He groans, sounding ruined already at the feeling of how wet you are for him. 

“So wet and I've barely touched you.”

“Then, fuck me already,” you mutter back, frustration mixed with desperation creeping into your voice.

“I’d tease you for being so desperate, but fuck, if I’m not as needy.”

Using his other hand, he pushes his boxers down and frees his lengthy cock that already drips with precum. He teases the tip over your slit, shuddering as your juices coat him and he can’t deprive himself from sinking into your pussy no longer, bottoming out in one thrust that has both your moans echoing in the bathroom.

The stretch is so delicious, lips bulging around his girth and he’s so deep it feels as if you can feel him in your throat, which must be why your words get lodged before they can exit your mouth. There’s a buzz in your ears so you don’t even hear Satoru’s almost-delirious words about how good you feel.

He has to take a few moments to ground himself and stop himself from going insane, his fingers twitching as he stills inside of you.

Every single time he’s slid his dick inside you, it has always felt like taking the first step through the gates of heaven. And this time is no different. A shaky pant escapes his pink lips when he feels your pussy clench around him as if trying to suck him in, begging for more wordlessly yet so loud when he stirs his cock inside you, an obnoxious schlop.

It’s a slow pace at first, savouring the drag as he withdraws until only his tip is inside before slowly thrusting back in, mouth watering at the way your walls massage his cock with each push and pull of his hips.

“Ngh, ah fuck… S-so fucking good… Always feels so good f’me. Only me,” he rambles, voice saturated with pleasure and something else your mind is too hazy to ponder on as he ruts into you from behind.

One large hand kneads the thigh of your leg that is pushed onto the counter, his grip so tight that his knuckles become ash-white. He’s already so debauched, so pussy-drunk, the apples of his cheeks flushed, skin becoming sticky with sweat, brain fuzzy with thoughts of only you, you, you.

“W-were you jealous?” you manage to stutter out the question that’s been on your mind, your eyes meeting his in the reflection as he latches onto the side of your neck, blue eyes darkened with lust flitting towards the mirror.

“Jealous?” he repeats, almost incredulously. “Is that even a question? Of course I was… hah… Don’t want anyone else seeing you like this… Hearing you ngh like this… Is that so bad?” Each sentence and question is punctuated with thrusts of his hips, faltering slightly when you clench around him so sinfully.

The ability to formulate a response is snatched away from you when the curve of his dick hooks up into the spongy spot within you, a saccharine moan falling from your lips as your fingers clutch the edge of the marble counter, another gush of arousal soaking him and he groans. His head falls forward to rest on your shoulder, his body burning all over with overwhelming ecstasy and melting, he can barely even keep himself up straight.

His lips imprint on the skin below your shoulder, moans vibrating against you as he maintains the steady pace despite his hips stuttering every now and then, the indulgent feeling of your cunt drenching him rendering him mindless. Literally. Barely any thoughts floating in his brain.

The energy between the two of you is charged with a different and foreign type of intimacy; one that’s less lustful and carnal, and more… passionately tender in some ways. The slow rocking of his hips into you, the way his lips travel along your skin reverently as if on a pilgrimage, the crooning utterances of your name that tumbles off his tongue and seeps into your flesh.

Obscene squelching mingles with the lewd cries that tear from both his and your mouths. He gyrates his hips, pelvis flush against your ass and you tremble in his hold, gasping loudly when he manages to hit all the sweetest spots inside you, your eyes briefly rolling back.

“‘T-Toru…”

“Oh, fuck, you sound so pretty moaning my name like that. Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Uh-huh… S’deep. Want more,” you whimper, not even caring about how pathetic you sound.

He laughs, almost hysterical, somewhat smug, completely drunk off of you and the pleasure. “Mm, I don’t think you’ve ever been this fucked-out and compliant for me. So fucking gorgeous like this. Not gonna last long if you keep squeezing me like that and sounding so… hngh… pretty. Driving me fuckin’ c-crazy.”

“You talk too much.”

You reach behind you to grab tufts of his hair, tugging his head up from your shoulder and angling your head to meet his lips in a messy kiss of teeth and tongue. A moan of his vibrates against your lips, allowing your tongue to tangle up with his in a passionate dance.

The pace of his hips quickens slightly, switching from calculated thrusts into your G-spot to completely needy, urgent movements, chasing that sweet, decadent release as he gets addicted to the taste of you and the feeling of your soft, candied lips.

“F-fuck… Spit in my mouth, please. Need it s-so bad,” he begs, almost whining as if he can’t wait any longer without it.

Your manicured fingers cup his jaw, thumb brushing his bottom lip as you gently force his mouth open even further. His tongue lolls out slightly, waiting impatiently, eager, desperate. And he groans loudly when your warm saliva lands in his mouth, immediately swallowing it like it’s the only thing that could quench his thirst.

“Ugh, how are you real? Like you were made for me. ‘M so lucky,” he babbles, hips moving with a mind of their own and fingers following a path down to play with your neglected clit.

It throbs and your pussy cries tears of joy when he circles it firmly, the dual stimulation making you reel from the pleasure. His chest is completely pressed against your back, his other hand still a vice on your thigh as he begins to pound into you, unable to control himself when your walls strangle his cock as the most euphoric method of torture.

“I-I’m gonna cum, fuck… Tell me I’m yours, please, say it,” he begs, whiny and breathy as he practically drills into you from behind with shallow thrusts delivered by his stuttering hips.

“Ah, oh my-- fuck… You’re mine,” you moan out, barely even thinking about the words you said when you can taste your peak on the tip of your tongue, eyes fluttering closed.

“O-ohhhh, shit. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours,” he repeats like a prayer while he cums like a tsunami crashing over him, dick twitching as he paints your walls white and his mouth drops open, incoherent groans and curses waterfalling from it. “Fu-- ah! Hnngh, squeezing me… Fuck… squeezing me so good…”

With hazy, half-lidded eyes, you catch sight of his own rolling back in the reflection, his head slightly tipped back, and his Adam’s apple bobs with each depraved sound that emanates from his bitten lips.

He looks absolutely heavenly. A ruined angel from a hedonistic heaven.

And you think you might be ascending to heaven, too, when your body convulses almost violently, pointed nails digging into your palms as you choke out a gasp of his name, doing all you can to hold back a scream as he doesn’t stop the stimulation on your clit, nor the onslaught of his hips.

Dripping all over his cock and down to his drawn-up balls, your walls cling onto him, sucking him back in with each small thrust to help ride out both of your orgasms. Legs buckling and upper body collapsing over the sink before he gropes your tit through your dress that’s exposing you in all the most scandalous ways if someone were to see the two of you.

“She’s fuckin’ milking me. Oh my god… T-take it all, baby… ‘S all for you, all yours,” his words gush out of his mouth while your juices gush out of you, his white cum frothing around his dick where you’re connected. It’s a lot. As if he was holding it alllll in for you. It starts to trickle down your thighs and patters onto the floor.

But he couldn't care less. Because an ethereal, succubus-like woman is making a sweet, beautiful mess on his (still-hard) cock, mewling his name, moulding to him.

He’s caught in a trance, hypnotised. Neither of you registers the twitch of his length hardening completely back to life inside you until you finally come down from your prolonged highs that could’ve been considered an exorcism.

You both work to bring oxygen back into your lungs and once his breaths become steady, he leaves a trail of kisses down your spine, words humming against your skin, “Do you think anyone would care if the host disappeared?”

You laugh, breathless, not even having the energy to roll your eyes. “Yes, probably. But I don’t really care. I want real food anyway.”

“Then, let’s sneak out. We’ll get some food and maybe have another round or two?” he suggests with a smirk, a slightly hopeful glint in his eyes when they meet yours in the mirror. 

He gently lowers your leg from the counter, caressing your thigh to soothe it and he reaches for tissues to clean you up the best he can, running them under warm water. Turning you around to face him and straighten your dress, he brushes your sweat-dampened hair back from your forehead and pecks your lips.

One of your eyebrows arches. “You’re insatiable.”

“What, can’t keep up, grandma?” he teases, referring to the 10-year age gap between the two of you.

“Oh, shut up and let’s go. We’ll see who can’t keep up.”

“Mm, yes, ma’am.”

[dollfacefantasy]

dont think ive ever tried requestig from you (hello i love the way you write) and if its okay could you write old man logan with like a daddy kink... or one where hes being a little cocky or teasing her about liking it while shes sat on his lap

older bf!logan howlett x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fingering, daddy kink, in public, slight intoxication a/n: thank you so much <3 i hope you like it, i feel a little rusty with logan lol

i just can’t get you out of my head.

the words blared through the club’s speakers with a beat of drums thumping behind it. pink and blue lights swirled around the dance floor to the rhythm.

normally, logan stayed outside places like these. he sat in the parking lot behind the wheel of the limo until the bachelorette party or group of drunk twenty-something’s came staggering out, ready to be driven to their next destination.

but tonight he’s inside. he’s in a booth in the back corner of the room, drink in hand. that group of drunk girls with IDs that show they’re not far past twenty-one are here too. half of them are seated at the table next to him. the others are out on the dance floor, hips rolling and arms raised as they dance along to the song.

his eyes lingered on one in particular. you.

you’re out there in your shimmery dress you’d bought last week, heels on your feet that boost your height several inches. he watched from a distance as you laughed and spun around to the song. your hand stayed linked with your friend while the two of you danced.

he had tried to get out of coming here with you tonight. as much as he loved you, he was often wary of flaunting your relationship to your friends. he didn’t need people seeing you, young and vibrant and in the prime of your life, with him, someone who couldn’t be hurdling any faster towards the end if they tried.

but you’d begged and pleaded, thrown in some puppy eyes and claimed that some of your other friends would have plus ones as well. so here he was.

and even though this wasn’t really his scene, he couldn’t deny that he liked watching how your skin glowed under the lights. and how your body bobbed around in perfect time to the music.

when the current song ended, another one started up, but your dancing came to a slow stop. your eyes found his across the room. you grinned before starting to make your way back to him.

your walk was bouncier than usual, still going along with the beat of the music. you did a little spin and swayed your hips extra. your friend trailed along behind you, but she diverted in paths to go to the booth beside the one logan occupied.

“having fun out there?” he asked once you were within range of his voice.

you nodded quickly. “mhm,” you hummed, doing one more twirl before plopping down in his lap.

his arm came to loop around your waist while his other hand smoothed out the skirt of your dress, making sure it wasn’t riding up and giving a show to any other set of eyes in this place.

you smacked a breathless kiss on his cheek. “did i look good out there?” you asked above the loud music.

“‘course you did. you even gotta ask?” he said. his voice was much lower than yours. husky and rough, spoken right into your ear.

that same coy smile you had out there reappeared. “i know i did. i saw you watching me. and you looked less grumpy than normal,” you teased.

“oh yeah?” he said, raising his brows to indulge you. “well, knowing i have the prettiest girl in this place all to myself does make things a little more tolerable i guess.”

that brought a giggle out of you. you looked away and brought your drink to your lips, swallowing down some more of the bright green liquid inside.

maybe if logan had a better head on his shoulders he’d tell you to ease up on the drinking since you were clearly already a little buzzed. but at the same time, if you wanted to get tipsy and cute, who was he to tell you no? he’d be the one taking care of you anyways.

you plucked the cherry out from your glass. sucking it into your mouth, you detached the small bulb from the stem. he watched you swallow it down before you tugged on his collar and brought him in for a kiss.

that saccharine syrup was all he could taste as your mouths made contact. you weren’t being coy about this. the kiss wasn’t a chaste peck, far from it. your tongue swiped against his own as your breath fanned out over his face.

“you gettin’ antsy? feeling ready to leave soon?” he murmured as you began to pull away.

“maybe…” you said.

“ah-ah. not gonna be a maybe if you’re kissing me like that,” he said, taking hold of your chin.

you bit your lip and looked at him, lashes fluttering over your dilated pupils.

“but i might wanna dance more…” you said.

“really?” he asked, his voice lilted enough to let you know it was a challenge. his hands came to grab your waist and boost you to your feet. “be my guest.”

“wait-“ you whined, hooking your arm around his neck to keep you there. “not yet.”

“and why’s that?”

“causeeee…” you said with a subtle pout.

his hand delved south to give your thigh a rough squeeze. “what’d i tell you about whining?” he asked, his voice quiet and raspy.

he could see that switch flick in your eyes, that spark that would soon be a full-fledged flame.

“because…” you went to correct yourself. “i’m still catching my breath from before… and i want daddy to take care of me.”

you were so easy. he shook his head slightly and let out a low chuckle.

he hummed in feigned realization. “i see,” he said. his hand on your waist slid around, rubbing over the small of your back down to your hip in a massage of sorts.

“mhm. my legs are tired. and i missed youuu while i was out there,” you mumbled, slotting your face against his neck.

“my poor baby,” he said.

he shifted a little in the booth, shifting his position enough that your lower half would be almost entirely shielded by the table. you were already separated from your friends by the partition between booths. and two of them had made their way over to the bar again, meaning you’d have a couple of minutes to yourselves guaranteed.

his fingers dipped underneath your skirt and found your panties in seconds. he wouldn’t waste time while you were out in public. they swiped over the cloth a few times, almost testing the waters.

“you’re lucky you have me, huh?” he said as his digits hooked under the garment and pulled it to the side. “i don’t know how you get through nights out on your own.”

you whined softly against his throat, spreading your thighs a few inches.

“i know,” he whispered. “daddy’s got you right now. you don’t have to worry.”

his fingers slid into your slick warmth. you inhaled sharply as he filled you up in one go. he just held them there for a few moments. you wanted more though, and you wanted it now.

you tried rocking your hips a bit to get some friction, but his other hand held you still.

“be good or you’ll have to wait until you get home,” he said.

it was quiet and curt, but it was the only direction you needed. from then on, you kept still.

you gasped quietly as he drew his fingers back and then pumped them in again. your body remained motionless though. you stayed in the same position as he began thrusting them at a consistent rhythm. in and out, in and out.

the music in this place was loud enough to conceal any tiny noises you let slip. all your little squeaks and whimpers were reached logan’s ears only.

“i can’t believe you’re letting me do this,” he mocked quietly. “never knew my little girl could be so dirty.”

your nails dug into the shoulders of his suit. “fuck, just need it,” you whimpered.

“i bet you do. if i made you go out there to dance for me some more, you’d be lost, wishing my hands were all over you, giving you something to grind on instead,” he rasped.

your own hand flew to your mouth to muffle the noise threatening to come out that would undoubtedly be louder than the others.

his breath on your neck combined with the music thumping throughout the place and the liquor in you had your head spinning by now. even through the haze though, you could feel release creeping up on you.

you looked at him, wide eyes pleading for permission.

“ask me, baby. ask like you’re supposed to,” he said.

you peeled your hand an inch or two away from your mouth. just enough to squeak out. “please, daddy. please. please. need to cum.”

“good girl,” he praised. “let go, sweetheart. let me feel it.”

your legs went taut beneath the table and your hand clamped over your lips once again. you could only hope no one was looking over here as you let yourself hit the high. your eyes rolled back as you melted into his strong arms.

he held you close and worked you through it. he turned enough that you weren’t exactly in plain view of just anybody. his fingers kept at their task until your walls no longer spasmed around them.

“atta girl,” he said, pulling them free. he gave you a squeeze to coax you back down to earth. “did so good for me, honey.”

you sat up just a little bit before nuzzling further into his neck. he chuckled and wrapped both his arms around you, giving you a couple of moments to calm down.

after a minute, you pulled back and looked at him. your forehead shined slightly with a sheen of perspiration while your eyes had that faint fucked-out look.

“you still want that last dance?” he asked knowingly.

as he expected, you shook your head. you were more than ready to stand from the booth and head home now.

[gothicfied]

Teen reader who is comforted and taken care by the other players because of her young age?? Father and daughter relationship, big sister and lil sister,etc. btw I love your ficss!! ♡

Squid Game (S2/S3) characters with a teen (18) reader

Pairing: Various characters x teen!fem!reader, !!platonic!!

Warnings: Mentions of killing, gunshots, death, fights, violence (typical squid game stuff), reader is !!18!! years old, slight swearing, this is set in Season 2, other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (English isn't my first language)

A/N: The req is 6 months old, SORRY. But, I still had fun writing this since it's easier to imagine yourself in that position lololol This is also probably the last squid game fic I'll write, either for now or even for longer, unless I get a request again. It's sad that this era is over now, I still remember how excited I was for Season 2 back in 2021 ):

જ⁀➴ For as long as you could remember your parents struggled with debt and you never questioned it when they would disappear the whole day for work just to put food on the table. So, when you turned 18 and graduated secondary school, you didn't go to University, but started to work jobs here and there to help your parents out. Some of them were sketchy, some of them didn't pay enough for the work you were doing, some of them were exhausting.. but an opportunity came when a man made you a strange proposal: Play ddakji with him — If you win, he'll give you money, if you lose he'll.. slap you?

જ⁀➴ Ultimately, the guy in the suit couldn't bring himself to hurt him (maybe because you were so young) and just handed you a card with a number on it. Yeah, turns out participating in this weird stuff was the worst decision of your life. Waking up in this dormitory, suddenly wearing a green tracksuit instead of your usual clothes and finding out you're stuck here with 455 other people already scared you shitless.

જ⁀➴ When other people started to notice you and how young you looked, you immediately became the focal point of their attention. People left and right were asking you all kinds of questions, if you were okay or not, how old you were, what the hell you werr doing there. You quickly understood that everyone here had a debt problem... but everyone here was also at least in their mid twentys.

જ⁀➴ After the gruesome experience that the first game was, with people getting shot and dying because of a game (or so you thought at the moment) there was one particular group that took you in. Two marines, one pregnant lady, a guy that claims to be the winner of one of the previous games and 001 himself, who seriously freaked you out.

જ⁀➴ Jung-bae and Gi-hun became your biggest protectors — Next to Jun-hee, who was carrying her baby, you basically still were a baby. Whenever the pink guards gave out food, those two split it up between you and the other girl, saying that you guys need it more than they do. Particularly Jung-bae was shocked at hearing your reason for being here: "You shouldn't have done this, financial problems are the worries of the parents!" He scolded you, but never meant it.

જ⁀➴ Dae-ho, the other marine, kept telling you how much you reminded him of his sister. Even though he was the youngest child back home, he was fully blooming in this new big-brother-role that he adapted when it came to you. He spoke up for you whenever someone else decided to be an asshole to you, he laid awake in his bed most of the time to watch over you (ever since Gi-hun told him about ambushes at night he's been paranoid) and would actually sacrifice himself in one of the games if it meant you'd be safe.

જ⁀➴ Jun-hee and you were much closer in age than you were with any others. She became comfortable with you in an almost instant, mostly because you were also a woman. She woke you up to ask you if you'd come to the bathroom with her in the middle of the night, to which you were joined by an older lady, Geum-ja, and another woman, Hyun-ju.

"You are so young.. oh, my heart breaks for you, my child." Geum-ja told you once you were escorted to the bathroom, to which you were only able to nod. What else was there to say? You really just wanted to help your parents out. "I just.. you don't understand, we really need the money." Geum-ja looked at you sympathetically, but she was just really disappointed in the world for making someone like you worry about debt. "Hey," Hyun-ju spoke out, "If you need anything, yell for me, okay? I'll make sure nothing happens to you. You have.. so much ahead of you."

જ⁀➴ You mostly felt cringe and maybe also a bit uncomfortable when hearing people talk to you like you were a child. Then again, these people didn't have the humanity to deny participation to a pregnant woman and a teenager, so you were kind of glad to get special treatment from the other players. Even Young-il, the guy that creeped you out the most, had a pity expression on his face whenever you joyfully talked about things only someone at your age would talk about. Video games, the grades you finished school with, friend group drama... it was obvious you didn't know anything about the world yet and it was even sad for him to hear it so clearly.

જ⁀➴ After another failed round of voting, the two idiots from the 'O' side of the dormitory started approaching your bed. Thanos and Nam-gyu, you quickly learned, were the one's causing most of the trouble and now it seemed like they wanted to manipulate you as well. "Hey there, little Dove," the purple-haired junkie started, to which you told him to fuck off, basically. "Woah, hey? Watch your mouth, kid. I definitely didn't know those words when I was your age." For about five minutes these two tried to talk you into voting 'O' next time, because "It would only benefit you!" and "You wouldn't have to work for a bit with that money!" You called out for Hyun-ju who quickly made them go away.

જ⁀➴ In the end, you understood you were doomed as soon as more players started to die due to fights and lights out. There were plenty of others who were there to protect you, who promised you that you'd get out alive, but now you weren't so sure anymore.. the revolution Gi-hun wanted to go through with seemed like the only option for everyone to get out of here.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

regarding Dust's depiction in the fandom.

i’m not sure if i’m the right person to speak on this, especially since my diagnosis has changed multiple times. at first, i was told i had hallucinatory delusional disorder—only to later be told that diagnosis doesn’t even formally exist. another psychiatrist changed it to bipolar II, and eventually, all of that was scrapped. i’m still in the process of trying to find real answers.

My therapist just told me that I don't even have delusions, just very extreme intrusive thoughts and severe depersonalization.

what i do experience is intense dissociation, and what could be described as “hearing voices,” though it’s not exactly a sound. it’s something between a thought and an external voice. sometimes i can hear a direction, or distinct tones like different people speaking, but what they’re saying rarely makes sense. it’s like fragments of a conversation, but the context is missing.

for me, what’s pushed me into dangerous territory hasn’t necessarily been the voices themselves, but the nightmares that come with them—and how much i’ve overanalyzed what they seemed to be telling me. trauma plays a huge role in how that spirals. i won’t go into it here, but it’s a big part of the picture.

that’s why i’d really love to see a more layered depiction of Dust. i actually have my own fanfic where i try to explore these kinds of things, but looking back, i worry that in trying to vent through him, i might’ve accidentally written something that came off as ableist. it’s hard to toe that line when you’re writing from pain.

i think what i want—more than anything—from portrayals of Dust is for his symptoms to go beyond just “hallucinating Papyrus.” i want to see the paranoia, the delusions, the intrusive thoughts, the nightmares, the flashbacks. the dissociation. the disorganized thinking and speech. the whole picture of what it feels like when your mind isn’t a safe place anymore.

right now, i’m still going through a diagnostic process. i’m crossing my fingers that i don’t get hit with another heavily stigmatized label—and honestly, that whatever i have is something treatable. but more and more, i feel like it all traces back to trauma. i relate to Dust so deeply it almost scares me sometimes, he has so much potential.

You and I are on the same page about wanting to see more depictions beyond hallucinations, although I was of course thinking of wanting to see more of those depictions with Killer.

Unfortunately, it’s very common in this fandom for Killer’s own psychosis to be ignored, overlooked, or just not know about—which is one reason why the common depiction of Killer making fun of Dust’s hallucinations doesn’t make any sense, given Killer hallucinates too.

And he has various forms of hallucinations, from vivid and real, to shadowy figures that watch him or attempt to reach out and touch him. He has full on and back forth conversations with “Chara” despite them not being real, when asked where Chara is he points directly at his own head—“it’s all in your head” is a common phrase associated with Killer.

He has flashbacks, hears multiple voices in his head in different ways—voices from flashbacks, the internal voices he relies on to make any choices on his own—he dissociates heavily, he experiences black out amnesia with Stage 4 and loses control over his own body. He struggles to tell what is and isn’t real thanks to the constant Resets, he constantly feels like he’s being watched by Chara.

He views himself as just something with Sans’ face. He often is showing having back and forth conversations internally and externally as if he’s watching himself argue with himself, his internal conflict is so severe that he sometimes even verbalizes it—which often comes out in confused, contradictory statements, especially when asked anything about himself. When asked how he’s feeling, he answers like “I’m fi—I don’t know. …I’m okay.”

And that’s just one example of it, the entire first page of the Something New comics shows his fragmented thought processes pretty clearly. He shows a deep awareness that something about him has changed, that he’s not the same as he was, but he doesn’t why and he doesn’t seem to know how to stop it.

He seems to struggle a lot with distressing cognitive dissonance, such as killing because he wants to feel something but knowing it doesn’t actually make him feel anything—seemingly believing he only exists because someone else wanted him to. [“Killer Sans exists because of you.”] Feeling more like a role or script than an actual person living a life.

All of this comes from both trauma, and externally induced dissociation + coercion, manipulation. This is a man who doesn’t know who or what he is anymore.

Both Murder and Killer are characters where their mind has become a deeply unsafe place, but for different reasons. For Murder it’s trauma and mental illness, for Killer it’s because of intense prolonged external control and manipulation—and as a result, he is suffering from trauma and mental illness. Even Killer’s own body has become his enemy.

[orellazalonia]

could I possibly request?

Here's my request if you find it interesting: 1940s right before the war where the reader has been diagnosed with polio and now struggles to get around and is often made fun of or things similar to what Steve faced before the serum and Bucky learns about the discrimination reader is facing one day and now protects the reader and helps her? Could be an x reader or just fluff (idk maybe even possessive bucky x reader)

Thank you so so so so so much!!!!! I love your writing

Hello there! Definitely an interesting request, thank you for sharing! I apologize in advance if some detailed aren’t entirely accurate but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. Happy reading!!!

Worth Fighting For

Summary: After being diagnosed with polio in 1940s Brooklyn, you quietly endure cruel stares and mocking until Bucky Barnes steps in as the first to defend you, then to stay. Protective, possessive, and unexpectedly gentle, Bucky becomes the one constant in your life who never treats you like you're broken, only like you’re his. (Possessive!Bucky Barnes x reader)

Word Count: 2.5k+

Main Masterlist

The world hadn’t stopped just because your legs had.

Brooklyn still bustled with its usual rhythm of horns honking from yellow cabs, newsboys yelling out the day’s headlines, mothers hanging laundry while children darted between buildings like moths chasing light. The war hadn’t come yet, but everyone could feel it in the air. Tension clung to the city like humidity, and neighbors spoke in low voices when they mentioned Europe.

You had your own battle.

The crutch thudded rhythmically against the uneven sidewalk as you made your way home, careful with every step. One wrong tilt of the foot, and your balance gave way. The heavy metal brace strapped to your leg bit into your skin with each movement. It was awkward and very noticeable. You hated it.

Polio had taken your strength, the way it had taken so many children before you. Your body had been fevered and limp for weeks. When the fever broke, you thought you were better. But then came the brace. The limp. The quiet, disappointed sighs from relatives who thought maybe you'd bounce back like the others had.

Now, you weren’t the girl who used to run from street to street, laughing until your sides ached. You were the girl people looked at with a pitying glance. The girl who didn’t go dancing on Friday nights. You took the long way around, avoiding the louder streets, the crowds, the pitying eyes.

You tried not to hate it all. Your limp, your silence, the brace, the way people spoke louder to you like your legs had broken your ears too. But some mornings, like today, you’d wake up already tired. Tired of being stared at. Tired of pretending you didn’t notice. Tired of holding your head high when everything else ached.

The bakery was three blocks from your apartment. You used to run there barefoot for warm rolls, waving coins in your hand. Now, it felt like a trek. But you missed the smell of yeast and flour, the warmth in your palms.

And more than anything, you missed feeling normal.

The corner outside the bakery was always busy around mid-afternoon. Boys loitered against stoops, smoke curling from their lips as they passed time talking about girls, sports, or who was getting drafted next. Most of them didn’t know your name. You were just the girl with the brace. The limp. The crutch.

Today, you had just wanted a roll and maybe a breath of something warm that didn’t taste like pity.

You’d almost made it past the cluster of boys, half in uniform, half pretending they should be, when it started.

“Hey, sweetheart,” One called out, loud enough to cut through traffic. “Need help dragging that leg along?”

You kept walking.

“Aww, don’t ignore me. She probably didn’t hear, cripples got slow ears too, huh?”

The others laughed. It was sharp and cruel. The kind of sound that made your chest squeeze tight.

You gripped the crutch tighter, eyes ahead. Trying not to give them any reaction.

One of them mimicked your walk, dragging his leg in a jerky rhythm, swinging his arm stiff like a puppet. “Look, boys! It’s the Brooklyn shuffle!”

Another round of laughter. You were only a few feet away when a pebble hit your brace. Not hard, but enough to make the metal clang against your shin.

Then–

“Say that again.”

The voice came low. Not loud, but unmistakable.

The kind that made people stop.

You turned slightly, just in time to see him: James Buchanan Barnes, standing a few yards behind you with his sleeves rolled up and shoulders tense. He looked like he’d walked into the middle of something he didn’t like and he was about to make sure everyone else didn’t like it either.

The boy who’d thrown the pebble turned. “Barnes, it’s a joke. What’s it to–“

Bucky closed the distance in two long strides and grabbed the front of the boy’s shirt.

“You think you’re funny?” His voice was quiet, steady.

“Hey, take it easy–“

The kid’s back hit the lamppost with a clang that turned heads across the street.

Bucky didn’t punch him. He didn’t have to.

“You pick on someone just walking, trying to mind her damn business again, and I’ll make sure you don’t walk straight for a month. We clear?”

The kid nodded, eyes wide.

“Good.”

Bucky let go then turned to you.

Your breath caught in your throat when he looked at you, directly this time. Not past you. Not at your brace. Just you.

“You alright?” he asked.

You managed a nod, even if your voice failed you. “Y-yeah. I… I didn’t expect…”

He shrugged like it was nothing. “People like that? Not worth your time.” Then, a pause. “But they don’t get to talk to you like that. Not while I’m around.”

It was so sudden. So matter-of-fact. He stood beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world like it had always been his place to.

You weren’t sure what to say, or even what to feel. Gratitude? Embarrassment? Relief? All of it tangled up in your chest.

“I’m Bucky,” He added, a little softer now, like he was offering something private. “Bucky Barnes.”

“I know,” You said, surprising even yourself.

His grin flickered up. “You live near Clinton Street, right? I’ve seen you around.”

You nodded.

“Then let me walk you back unless you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

You didn’t anymore. So you let him.

The two of you walked slowly, but Bucky never once glanced at your crutch or the way your foot dragged a little more the longer you walked. If anything, he adjusted his stride without comment, his hands tucked casually in his pockets like this was how he spent every afternoon.

You hadn’t said much, still wrapping your head around the fact that he was walking beside you. Bucky Barnes. The man everyone seemed to know. The smooth-talking, devilishly grinning kind of guy mothers warned their daughters about but secretly liked.

And yet… he was quiet with you.

No teasing. No bravado. Just presence. You could feel it like warmth against your side.

“How long you had the brace?” He asked finally, glancing over.

You hesitated. “Since last year. Summer.”

He nodded once.

“That when the polio hit?” His voice wasn’t probing. It was careful. Like he didn’t want to touch a bruise too hard.

“Yeah,” You answered softly, eyes on the sidewalk. “Fever came fast. It took a week before I could sit up again. Then they said my leg was–” You paused, frowning. “Not coming back all the way.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked, like he hated the idea of it. Hated the memory of someone telling you that.

“You walk better than most guys I know after a long night at the bar,” He said after a beat. “And you could do it in heels.”

You snorted. “I don’t wear heels.”

He looked mock-offended. “Well, you could. That’s the point.”

You laughed, and something shifted in his expression. Softer. Proud.

When you reached your street, the air had cooled into that golden, hazy kind of warmth that made summer in Brooklyn almost romantic. You didn’t want it to end, but your building was right there.

Bucky didn’t move to leave.

Instead, he turned toward the sidewalk, narrowing his eyes across the street.

You followed his gaze and saw a couple boys on bicycles parked at the corner. They weren’t doing anything. Just watching.

But that was enough.

Bucky stepped in front of you slightly, posture stiffening.

You blinked. “They’re just kids.”

“They’re staring.”

“They didn’t say anything.”

“They were about to.”

You laid a hand on his arm before you even thought about it. “Bucky.”

His eyes flicked down to your hand… and stayed there for a beat too long.

He didn’t say anything, just let out a long breath and relaxed his shoulders. But you could tell something in him had snapped tight. Like a cord wrapped around the part of him that couldn’t stand watching you get looked at like that. Like something weak. Something broken.

“Let me walk you again tomorrow,” He said quietly.

“I can manage–“

“Yeah,” He cut in, looking at you. “But I want to.”

You swallowed hard. “Why?”

He shrugged, but it wasn’t careless. It was honest. “Because someone ought to. Because no one should ever make you feel small just walking down the street.”

It wasn’t said angrily. Just a promise.

And you knew then, this wasn’t a one-time act of kindness. Bucky Barnes had chosen a side. Your side.

Three days passed. And somehow, Bucky hadn’t missed a single one.

He’d show up just before noon near the deli like he hadn’t been waiting, like it was just coincidence. But his hair was always neat, shirt sleeves rolled up, and he’d have some dumb story to tell to distract from the way his eyes swept the street for anyone looking too long in your direction.

At first, you thought maybe it would fade. That his attention was temporary. A nice gesture. Maybe he’d get bored or distracted by a prettier girl, someone with a full stride and polished nails.

But Bucky was still there. Still watching. Still falling into step beside you like it was muscle memory.

And by Friday, he started waiting inside the bakery.

You spotted him by the window, tapping the counter with a grin when he saw you. “Took you long enough.”

“You’re the one not working,” You pointed out as he handed you your favorite roll, already paid for.

He smirked. “You don’t think protecting you is a full-time job?”

You gave him a look, and he just winked.

That was the thing about Bucky, he flirted like breathing, but something in the way he looked at you made it feel different. Like he wasn’t performing. Like he meant it.

You were still talking when someone shoved the bakery door open hard enough that the bell cracked against the frame.

A familiar voice. One of the boys from last time.

“You’ve got some nerve,” He said, glaring at you before his eyes flicked toward Bucky. “Both of you.”

Bucky didn’t even flinch.

“Want to run that by me again?” He said casually, stepping slightly in front of you, not enough to block you out, just enough to make a point.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Barnes.”

“Yeah?” Bucky said, his voice low, almost amused. “Then you’re already making your second mistake.”

The tension sharpened in the air. You could feel it thrum through Bucky’s arm as he shifted his stance, calm but coiled.

Then you heard another voice, softer and lighter, “Buck?”

A smaller man stood just inside the bakery door now, hands in his coat pockets, brows lifted. He was blond, a little scrawny-looking, but his presence filled the space in a quiet, grounded way.

Steve.

You recognized him. Everyone in this part of Brooklyn knew Bucky’s best friend, the artist with a heart too big for his lungs. The one who still stood up for every lost cause, even when he couldn’t stand for long himself.

Bucky didn’t take his eyes off the guy across from you. “Steve, take her outside.”

You started to object, but Steve had already come to your side.

“C’mon,” He said gently, offering his arm. “Let’s wait across the street.”

“I’m fine,” You muttered under your breath, but Steve just gave you a look that was too kind to argue with.

So you went. The moment you were out the door, Steve nodded and let it shut behind you. You looked back once through the glass. Bucky hadn’t moved. But something about his stance was different now. Tighter. More dangerous.

You never heard what he said, but the other guy didn’t walk out, he stumbled.

Literally.

Tripped over the doorframe and scurried off, red-faced and muttering.

Bucky came out two minutes later, smoothening out his sleeves and brushing his hands like he’d just finished taking out the trash.

Steve just whistled. “You know you can’t keep doing that every time someone runs their mouth.”

Bucky ignored him and looked straight at you. “You alright?”

You nodded slowly. “What did you say to him?”

He shrugged. “Nothing you have to worry about.”

You stared. “Bucky–”

“I mean it,” He said, voice low, firm.

Then he glanced at Steve like he already knew what his friend was about to say.

Steve didn’t argue. He just smiled faintly and turned to you. “He gets like this when he gives a damn.”

You blinked. “Oh?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Don’t start, Steve.”

Steve just grinned. “Too late.”

Your stomach fluttered. And Bucky, who had barely let anyone near you all week, didn’t argue. He just looked at you like you were something that belonged with him.

And heaven help anyone who thought otherwise.

Your relationship with Bucky continued to grow from there. It started small with little things he did without asking. Things you didn’t even realize he was doing until it became routine.

Like the way he always took your crutch before you sat down, never rushed, never awkward; just slid it out from under your arm and leaned it carefully against the wall. Or how he’d wait at the bottom of your apartment steps, holding out a hand with a quiet “C’mon, doll,” before you even got the chance to ask for help.

Sometimes, you didn’t think he realized how tightly he was wound around you.

But everyone else did.

You were at the corner store when it happened again.

The grocer’s son who was always a little too bold, leaned across the counter and smiled. “You know, if you ever wanted company, I got two strong legs and a truck out back.”

You froze mid-reach for your wallet, unsure if you’d heard him right.

Then came the voice behind you.

“Back off.”

Two words. Cold and angerous.

The boy looked up, eyes wide just as Bucky stepped into view.

He wasn’t even doing anything. No fists, no shouting. But his eyes were darker than usual, and the way he stood behind you, close enough that your shoulder brushed his chest made it clear the only thing holding him back was you.

The boy stammered something, and Bucky leaned in just enough to make the space feel smaller. “She’s got company. Mine. Always has.”

You didn’t speak until you were outside again, groceries in one hand, your cheeks warm from more than just the summer heat.

“Bucky…”

“He was looking at you wrong.”

“He was looking at me like I’m not made of glass,” You muttered, unable to meet his eyes.

He stopped walking.

“I don’t think you’re made of glass,” He spoke softly, and when you looked up, his expression was serious. “But if someone treats you like you’re easy to take? To mock? To lean over like you owe them something?” His jaw flexed. “I don’t care how polite they are. They’ll still answer to me.”

You didn’t know what to say really. Not when he looked at you like that, like the whole world narrowed down to you and what you deserved.

So instead, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

He went still, breath catching just slightly then the faintest flush rose up his neck, betraying him.

And for once, you were the one who made James Barnes speechless. And it made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you were someone worth fighting for.

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

A snippet I wrote yesterday. It was so fun to write, I love plot twists.

-

Will stopped abruptly, and closed his eyes. Mike immediately prepared for the worst, flashlight searching and knife gripped so hard his fingers were white.

“Will?”

“He is here”.

His voice sounded… weird. Not scared, not nervous, just announcing something, like when his mom said she bought the milk his dad liked.

“What?” Mike looked around, as if he expected Vecna to jump from behind some tree and attack them. Now that Mike thought about it, he didn’t know how Vecna looked like. Nancy had described him and said something about Freddy Krueger, weeks ago. Mike hoped that she had been fucking with him.

“Somewhere.” Will continued, eyes still closed. As if he was listening, Mike suddenly realized. “Somewhere around the upside down. I can… hear it.”

“Hear what?” Shit, why had Mike volunteered to go? Why was he in that situation? Because you couldn’t let Will go alone, his mind said. Because you wanted to help, because you didn’t want to be useless and let others do the action, because if Holly died you wanted to know that, at least, you tried to do something. Right, thanks.

Because you’re a child, a voice in his head said. Because you’re a child who wants to do something and feel important but doesn’t consider the risk. Because you’re convinced that you’re some kind of paladin and hero when in reality you’re an incompetent coward, and the closest you ever got to be something was at 10 years old, reading and playing with your friends and pretending that your stick was a sword you could grip, because you know your hands will never fit around one. Because you are nothing. Because you have always been nothing, and you know it. Because you’re a regular guy who likes to pretend that the shoe fits, but it doesn’t. See how it doesn’t fit? See how scared you are, how your heart is wild, how your hands shake? Bet Nancy’s wouldn’t shake. Will’s certainly don’t. So why do yours? You’re not Luke Skywalker, Mike. You’re not even Han Solo. I won’t tell you to stop trembling, because that’s all you know how to do, all you’re capable of doing.

What the fuck. That didn’t sound like his head. That voice was deep and grave.

“His heartbeat.”

“What?”

“I can hear his heartbeat. I bet I can follow it too. Maybe I can lead us.”

Mike stared at him, astounded. Will’s eyes were still closed.

“Lead us where? To him?!”

Will nodded. Why didn’t he open his eyes?

“No, that’s- that’s not the plan. We’re not supposed to go and find him, we’re here to take a look around and see if the upside down changed much with the gates opening. That’s it.”

Will finally opened his eyes. He seemed determined, in the way he hardly had been for days.

“But he doesn’t know we’re here. Think about it. Isn’t now the best moment to attack, when he doesn’t expect it?”

His voice was confident, his words sure, his eyes a bit weird.

His idea was insane.

“What? We already made the plan to kill Vecna, we all go together and-“

“That’s the problem!” Will interrupted him. He was very determined. He seemed like he wouldn’t accept any other answer from Mike other than “you’re right”. Mike knew he really wanted to kill Vecna, and he understood being there maybe made him more desperate. That was what he sounded like, desperate, like he was very close to begging Mike to go through with it. Mike knew Will shouldn’t have came to the upside down. He fucking knew it. But, of course, no one listened to him. “If we all come together he’ll definitely know. But just the two of us? He isn’t expecting us. Sauron was defeated because he was attacked by surprise, how is this any different?”

Because Sauron isn’t real and Vecna very clearly is, because Max is in a hospital bed and you have a scar on your abdomen of when they got the mind flayer out of you. Because we’re not Sam and Frodo but two teenagers. He doesn’t say it, mostly because Will interrupted him again, but he was pretty fucking close to.

“I can hear his heartbeat. I didn’t even know he had a heart but apparently he does and I can hear it. I think I’ve been hearing it for days, but I just realized what it is. I can listen and guide us to where he is. Then, we attack him and kill him. Finished. That way we also save the others the trouble of coming here, and we save time. Time is running, Mike. Don’t you think less time wasted will be better for Holly?”

Holly.

He had a point. A very insane point, but he had it. Holly and her unusually blonde hair. Holly and her smile full of teeth.

The wise thing would be to refuse and drag Will back up screaming if he had to, but Mike found himself thinking about it.

“How will you kill him?”

Will smiled. It seemed he knew that was Mike’s way of agreeing.

“I have a gun with as many bullets as possible, and a knife on my side.” He had a knife? Mike didn’t even notice. “You have yours, we can probably stab him or shoot him.”

“Stab him… Right. And you’ll shoot him? You didn’t shoot that demogorgon.”

Will pressed his lips into a line, and looked forward. Mike looked aswell. There was nothing there.

“It was just an animal, it didn’t feel fair. But Vecna is evil, he’s hurting us, purposely. It’s different.” He turned to him, Mike thought he saw something weird in his eyes again. “Do you have something I can use as a blindfold?”

“What?”

“Something to cover my eyes. To focus on listening better.”

He opened his backpack and grabbed the bandages. Thank god Will was gonna use them on his eyes, and not on any other body part.

With struggle, his bandaged palm aching, Mike helped Will wrap them around his head, with several layers, until he said he barely saw anything. Mike tied them behind his head, careful of not being too tight, and tried to ignore the way his heart halted in his chest and the feel of Will’s hair under his fingers and the proximity of his body to his. He wondered if Will heard it, and if he too felt the the warmth.

Probably not.

Mike realized too late, once Will was blind, what exactly that meant. Someone had to guide him.

After a few seconds of internally hyping himself up, and spoke,

“I’m going to grab your arm, to guide you. Because you can’t see. And I don’t want you to like, fall to your death or something.”

Real smooth, Mike.

He saw Will smile, and he offered his left arm. Mike didn’t dare take it, simply grabbed it with one hand, right above Will’s elbow.

“Uh, where to?”

Silence. Concentration. Then,

“To the left.”

And so they went.

They walked in a silence that was only broken every once in a while, by Will signaling which direction to take. To the right. To the left.

Having only the job of guiding Will and stopping him from tripping, Mike was left with a lot of time with nothing to do but think. His head running with thought after thought, and for some reason they all came back to Will’s eyes.

Not in the usual way.

Mike liked Will’s eyes, he thought about them often. He thought about the color, he thought about Will looking at him, how sad they looked like when he was also sad, like he couldn’t hide it, like all of his feelings had to come out from somewhere if he didn’t let them out willingly, and they all poured from his eyes. How they lit up when he was happy, how they crinkled when he smiled.

He wasn’t thinking about Will’s eyes in the usual way he thought about them. He was thinking about how they were minutes before, before putting on the makeshift blindfold. They were weird, familiar in a way Mike couldn’t put his finger on. He would try to look again, see if maybe something rang a bell, but his eyes were covered.

He almost tripped on a rock himself and sent Will to the ground with him when something finally clicked. Will’s desperation and determination to seek Vecna. Now that Mike thought about it, Will called him Vecna before. He never called him Vecna, Mike did, but not Will. Moments and moments began to flash. Will not looking at him. Will’s eyes being different. Will mentioning Holly to try to get Mike on board. Whatever voice he heard in his head before (which he was sure he probably made up or were maybe his thoughts). Will’s eyes being darker minutes ago. Will currently leading him to Vecna, armed only with a shotgun and a knife. The demogorgon from before, which maybe went to find them and tell Vecna where they were. Will currently tugging his arm, urging him, as if he couldn’t wait.

Mike stopped.

“Mike, c’mon.”

Another tug. Mike remained in place.

“Mike.”

“Will.”

Will stopped, he seemed confused.

“Take off your blindfold.”

“What?”

He had to see Will’s eyes, he remembered how they were years ago, in the shed.

“Take it off.”

“No.”

Hard, almost angry. Mike was right. Mike was fucking right. It didn’t matter how or since when it had been going on, because Mike was fucking right.

[panlight]

A post i saw recently had me thinking:

i do wonder, how much of the story would have happened if the Cullens *actually* did a good coverup back in the baseball field with james's coven? if Laurent asked about them bringing a "snack" ie. Bella, would things have played differently if they cullens actually played along with it? (ex: "You brought a snack?" "Yeah, we'll be having her after the game :)" ) after all, they were just passing by, and were about to leave anyway, so it's not like they (the cullens) are obligated to "eat their snack" right away. sure, edward probably could've still acted defensively, but given what midnight sun explained away jasper's powers in that scene, he couldve either made james not pay attention to him, or calmed edward tf down in some vampire version of a drowse pill if needed

like i'm pretty sure (if your polls and some of your posts indicate) that the cullens kinda do a shit job at their coverups LOL that most of it is just the writing (the author) relying on the reader to suspend their disbelief so high through the roof just to avoid the glaring issues

the cullen "kids" attend high school but never socialize with anyone but themselves, "never wear the same clothes twice", don't at least participate in any sort of afterschool activity, show up in ridiculous expensive cars (in bella's case, gift cars that are far too exclusive ie. ""missile proof"" cars meant for diplomats). iirc i think the graduation party they threw for the school in eclipse was at least some semblance of socialization they got (yeah i know edward and alice later share a table with bella's human friends but it just feels more like they're really only there for bella)

They are really so bad at blending in! And you're right, if they have been able to roll with "you brought a snack" they might have been able to salvage the situation. If Bella had been like, "omg, what?!" and freaked out and the Cullens were like "look what you did, you made Edward's lunch upset" or whatever and played it off as a vampire faux pas . . .

The Cullens need to take some improv classes I guess!

And then there's Edward recycling the same story for Renesmee that they used for Rosalie and Jasper. In the public story, Rose and Jasper are twins and Esme is their aunt who took them in. In the public story, Renesmee is the daughter of Edward's bio brother and he took her in after her parents died. Really. Happened twice. In the same family.

(Of course there IS no good explanation for Renesmee and I guess I should just be happy that they didn't do 'found her on the doorstep' or whatever. But surely the PUBLIC STORY being that Esme and Carlisle adopted this kid, maybe Edward's bio half-sister or whatever, makes a ton more sense than social services giving a baby to a teenager who just graduated high school and has been married for a month.)

The vampires are supposed to be super geniuses but they can't be any more clever than their author is. It's like how Alice is supposed to be a fashion icon but her fashion taste is limited by SM's own. Carlisle's supposed to be a brilliant doctor and uber compassionate, but his medical knowledge and compassion are constrained by SM's understanding of both. The Cullens are supposed to be geniuses, but they come up with half-assed cover stories because SM doesn't like, care about that much. She's here for the love story and Bella's power fantasy and that's her right. It's more important that Bella is acknowledged by everyone as Nessie's mom, even in the public cover story, than giving a plausible explanation. The Cullens have to be in high school for the story to happen, but it's more important they are rich and mysterious and cool than them actually putting effort into blending in. And the James chase thing needs to happen, so instead of fighting him right then, or playing along with the snack idea, they get this convoluted 'plan.'

And look, sometimes that's fun! There's a lot about the James thing that's fun. He's a menacing delight in the ballet studio, the bit with using the old video/audio of her mom . . . fun! Creepy! I enjoyed it! But sometimes it feels like there's a Point B the story needs to get to from Point A and SM just . . . doesn't super care to do it in a plausible way. The tent scene, too; it's just so glaringly obvious to me at some point she realized that with Jacob being hot and Edward being cold there was potential for Jacob having to snuggle with Bella to warm her up and so she comes up with this weird plan where they are camping on a mountain and a random snow storm shows up in June that Alice apparently didn't see and Edward didn't prepare for, all so the snuggle for warmth scenario can happen. And like, fine I guess?! But feels contrived and there had to be a better way to get there.

[angelltheninth]

Jinu Uses You For His Pleasure

Pairing: Jinu x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, dub-con, rough sex, creampie, breath play, enemies who fuck, being pinned down, growling, possessive sex, edging, cum swallowing, slight breeding kink, marking, cunnilingus, blowjob, demon x human

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: I've had multiple requests for more dub-con with Jinu, so here it is! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it because I really enjoyed it.

Jinu hated you right now, more than he usually hated you, which was probably the reason he was so rough and forgiving as he pounded your cunt relentlessly. "You thought I'd let you get away with that? You thought you were innocent when you batted your eyelashes at all those fans, blew kisses at them while signing pictures for them. Did you think I wouldn't notice when others look at something that's mine?!"

He didn't care how you squirmed or fought back against his grip, you can't break it, it only makes him grip your wrists tighter, pin you down against the couch harder.

"You don't own me, and the fact that you act like you do… it's funny to see you pissed off." Jinu growled at your taunting insult, his marks appearing around his body more clearly, his human facade fading the angrier he got. You couldn't help but think how attractive he was, half way between the human idol everyone worships and half the demon you've been fighting for what feels like lifetime.

"You say that and yet your body wants me, your pussy so tight I can hardly pull out. You can fight, scream, curse me out all you want until your voice is gone but until I make sure your body knows who it belongs to, who can use it, I won't stop." His cock twitched inside of you, the fat tip hammering into your womb, pushing more and more of his seed in and showing no sign of stopping.

You didn't exactly want to piss him off, you didn't even want to see him, ever again. But given that it was inevitable and he was a complete asshole to you last time he fucked you it was only right that you got some payback. Even if it hurt to get fucked like this, it made your whole body ache, it made your head dizzy, but it was worth it to see Jinu lose control.

Jinu groaned as your hips snapped up against his, not enough to knock him off, not nearly enough. "I love it when you fight me." You blinked and there he was, fully in his demon form. "Women like you are my favorite to break, so strong, so beautiful, and before you know it, all mine. Mine to use, mine to have whenever I want, mine to fuck and fill you up with as many babies as possible."

"You're delusional if you think that's going to happen. I'll never… ugh.. submit to the likes of you. You're nothing but a lowly… demon. Nothing but a- mmn… wh-" He sopped. He was fully buried inside of you but he wasn't moving. You hiccuped, voice breaking from the sudden lack of stimulation. "What are you doing?"

"Having fun with my human. What else?" He moved back slowly and then even slower slid back in. "Mmm, let me enjoy your sweet pussy, so warm and tight, already full of my seed. Bet your fans would think of you differently if they knew how much you were craving a good fuck. Saw how utterly full of cum you are, and wanting more. Tch. Not very idol-like of you, is it?"

"Shut up. I don't want to hear that from you. You god damn hypocrite!" You moved up as much as his grip allowed you to, a hair between the two of you. "Are you scared you can't measure up? Is that why you do this? You know you can't get any unless you're being forceful with me?" You could see your words were making him angry, but never the less his cock reacted, his hips too, snapping harder and faster with every taunt.

"Human… you need to learn some manners." Jinu pulled out of you entirely, all his cum spilling from your pussy. What was even more surprising was that he let you go, at least you thought he did before his legs pressed against your arms, once again pinning you down on the couch. "You have quite a mouth. Let's make you put it to a better use shall we?"

With a sharp growl he plunged his entire cock down your throat, fucking your mouth mercilessly, making you choke on his dick, gasp for air. You moaned and gurgled around his cock, every word you tried to speak only adding to his pleasure as your tongue lapped against it. Jinu leaned over and wrapped his arms around your hips to pull your lower half up, letting his cum drip down your ass as his tongue lashed at your clit.

"What's wrong, is my bitch struggling to breathe? My cock too much for you? You better come quickly then. Cause I'm gonna keep fucking you until you do. Teach you to mouth off to me. Oh, and all of this…" Jinu pushed two fingers into your aching pussy, "…for every drop of cum that you waste I'll fuck more into you, so don't think I'm gonna let you go so easily."

His still full balls smacked against you as he fucked your mouth and throat, his tongue drawing patterns on your clit, fingers fucking you hard but not enough. You didn't want to let him win, but you also didn't want him to have you in this humiliating position, making you choke on his cock. Tears of frustration welled up in your eyes as you begrudgingly focused on his cock, your tongue licking the salty cum that dripped down, licking the pulsing veins, your hips rocking towards his face.

"That's a good girl. Yeah, you're mine. Best to accept it. Let yourself be mine, all mine. Let yourself come." His knees lifted from your arms and you felt shame well up inside of you as you gripped his thighs to keep his cock in your mouth as you came, swallowing around it, making him release down your throat, greedily gulping it down. "Such a good slut."

Jinu's let your legs fall against the couch and pushed himself off. He looked down at you, your face flushed, eyes red, tears running down your face, his seed leaking from between your legs and from the side of your mouth.

As he grinned you felt the urge to hide. "Pretty cumslut, filled with cum on both ends." You threw your arm over your face and chewed on your bottom lip. A mistake as you tasted his cum even more intensely. "I'm feeling nice so I'll let you catch your breath for a moment." Jinu walked around and pushed himself between your legs, his still hard cock nudging between your dripping folds.

His hands massaged across your body almost gently, helping to ease the tension enough to push his cock back in. "That… I… can't anymore…"

"Yes, you can." He sighed as he bottomed up, his mouth curling upwards at the whimpering sound you made. "Shhh, this is all I'm doing. Just want to be inside of you. Rest up, my darling. Because I'm not sure how long I'll be able to hold myself back."

[sylusgworl]

ETERNAL VOWS ft. love and deepspace

you go in for a bridal fitting, but you don't expect their reaction, at all.

content: fluff, afab! reader but no pronouns used, slightly suggestive in sylus's part, dress fitting

a/n: the new banner is releasing soon, so i had to join into the fun too, i honestly enjoyed writing this one sm, although it took me more than three days to finish :( not proofread !! wc: 1.6k. rbs are very appreciated <3

m.list

Not even in Xavier's most hidden dreams did you look so... ethereal.

That morning he woke up because you kept tapping his cheek. As soon as he opened his eyes, he was greeted by raw excitement. 

“Do you remember what day today is?” you said in a squeaking voice, but still lying down because his arm pinned you to the bed and was too heavy to push. 

Xavier closed his eyes, amused, but still with a foot in the land of dreams. 

“I remember, starlight, you've been yelling in my ear for two weeks,” he faked annoyance while a smile tugged at his lip, shy, but daring enough to display. 

You patted his shoulder, scoffing, “c'mon, get up, we're going to be late!” 

Which takes you to where the two of you were, at this precise moment. 

Xavier, leaning back against the black sofa, looked around him, feeling out of place while being surrounded by an insurmountable amount of gowns—white wedding gowns.

With frills, no frills, ball gowns, mermaid, trumpet, lace corsets of any kind... he didn't understand much of it, after all, he knew you looked good in anything.

He couldn’t, however, deny this blooming feeling inside of his heart, the happiness of finally making a dream come true. Finally the two of you would be united forever.

“Sir?” a feminine voice shook him out of his thoughts. He glanced up, 

A long soft gown, adorned with little ornamental flowers, while the corset was covered by flowery lace. The dress fell off the shoulders, the contrast with your skin making Xavier gulp. His eyes hadn’t blinked ever since you arrived.

You made a small twirl, a grin plastered on your lips, “so, how is this one? I think I like this the most.”

Xavier thought he’d forgotten how to breathe. glancing at his cute reaction, you noticed his flushed cheeks and mouth agape. “Like unreachable stars, you shine above all,” he muttered, finally breaking the silence.

Then, to the shop clerk, “we’ll take this one.”

Xavier couldn’t wait for the wedding day to see you with the dress on. 

Sylus dropped the catalogue in his hands, Mephisto froze in place.

The latter wasn’t supposed to be with you at your dress fitting. At all. Except, he simply tailed the two of you, ignoring Sylus’s orders. And now, he just stopped moving altogether, as if his mechanical parts had been consumed by rust.

Then, a flap of wings, followed by several caws, to the point that Sylus had to pinch his beak to shut him up, even though he totally agreed with him.

You stood there, awkwardly at first. You were used to your fiancé—Sylus—being the type to never be intimidated by anyone and anything.

However, now his ruby eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t exactly pinpoint.

Was he disappointed? Did he not like how the dress fit you? After all, it was unlike any traditional wedding dress, the gown being an inch above the knee, while several feathers trailed along the corset, down to the skirt.

Sylus slowly got up from his seat, Mephisto, now silent and offended, comfortably leaned back in Sylus’s spot.

He walked, slowly, until he was right in front of you.

“The dress really suits you, kitten,” his teasing voice made a comeback. You sighed from relief, slapping his arm jokingly. However, you noticed how his serious expression clashed with his amused tone.

He raised a hand, subtly grazing your cheek, his gaze softening while never leaving yours.

“It captures your freedom perfectly. I know you like to escape the most,” then he lowered his head, his breath hitting your ear as you shivered.

“But I do think I can’t wait to take this off, sweetie,” your breath hitched.

Sylus pressed a kiss behind your ear, then backed slowly. His lips now stretched in his usual grin, but a blush was indeed tinting his face. 

It took Caleb a double take, before sprinting up, then sitting back down, his mouth ajar.

“Pips…” was the only thing he managed to mutter, gulping dryly, like a man in the desert in a search to quench his thirst.

You giggled, clearly enjoying his reaction, and slowly stepped forward, twisting so that he could have a full view.

In Caleb’s head, the day of the wedding had already arrived. He was ready to make you his wife right then and there, how could you look so perfect in a simple piece of clothing?

His deep purple eyes beamed with realization. It was happening—what he dreamed of most was on the point of manifesting.

“Baby?” you called out to him.

He hummed in response, then sprung up on his feet, the necklace you’d gifted him years prior tingling against the zipper of his jacket.

With wide steps he was right in front of you in half a second, towering over you as you looked up and met his gaze.

Completely smitten, head over heels, you name it. Caleb wanted you more than anything, and he was finally going to have his long-time wish granted.

“This dress fits you perfectly,” he took a hold of a stray lock of your hair, and kissed it, before gently brushing it past your ear.

Then, with no prior warning, his lips were on yours, desperate, domineering, the boutique worker gasping and turning around, embarrassed.

His warm hands cupped your cheeks, as he leaned further in, the warmth of his breath hitting you with a familiar wave.

“Sorry Pips, I couldn’t resist,” he smiles against your lips, pecking them one last time, before letting go. Your cheeks warm up, conscious that you’d just made out in front of people without care.

However, you found no trace of your embarrassment on Caleb, who wet his lips with his tongue and turned to the woman you’d flashed.

“This one’s perfect.” 

Rafayel tried to feign uninterest, until he could not anymore, the sight of you too beautiful and perfect to ignore.

He was sitting, his arm slouched behind the backrest of the black sofa, eyes studying the interior of the shop with little interest while waiting for you.

You’d taken your time, clearly inexperienced in putting on a wedding gown.

Still, Rafayel was only pretending to be cool and alright, his heart thumping against his ribcage with brute force at the realisation.

He was finally going to be reunited with you, his bride, to never be separated again.

He honestly couldn’t wait.

As soon as you stepped out of the changing room, your white heels clicking against the marbled floor, Rafayel gulped, hard.

He’d loved you in each of your lifetimes, but the sight in front of him etched into his heart the desire he’d long kept unfulfilled—for external reasons.

You smiled at him, softly, a little twirl to show him the back of the dress. His eyes fell on the pearls that adorned it, his breath hitched.

Getting up slowly, there was no point in keeping the facade any longer.

You had had him imprisoned in your cage, lulled him in with your striking beauty, like a siren does as she sings to her prey—that was supposed to be his role, draw you in, into his grasp, stop you from slipping away. But oh, you beat him to it, and you did it every single time.

As he finally reached you, his reddish eyes fixated on you, like you were the only existing thing in that room.

“You look…”

“Nice? Horrible? Ugly?” you teased him, eyeing how his chest heaved, eyes checked your body from top to bottom, how he eased the collar of his shirt, feeling suddenly out of breath.

“Otherworldly,” he concluded. Your heart skipped a beat, a tint of red spreading over your cheeks. You weren’t expecting the compliment, that’s for sure.

Rafayel’s fingers hovered over your cheek, brushing it so lightly you’d thought it’d been a dream. 

“Oh,” you stupidly said, what could you have answered after all?

“Eight-hundred years… and I finally can make you mine,” he let out, the thumping in your chest got louder, faster.

Yes, he liked the dress alright. 

The way you looked made Zayne question why on earth didn't he propose earlier. 

The stoic and unfazed doctor, with an enviable reputation at Akso Hospital, was now at your mercy, his eyes drinking in every detail of yours until his mind swirled with thoughts, some of which he dared not tell anyone about.

“So, what does the gentleman here think of the dress?” the shop clerk asked politely, lips stretched in a wide smile as her gaze switched from you to your soon-to-be husband.

Zayne ignored her. Not that he meant to, he wasn’t the kind to dismiss basic etiquette. He would’ve said something, the point is he was unable to.

The corset hugged your waist perfectly, the visible cleavage making him gulp dryly, and the soft tulle of the gown fell down your legs smoothly, perfectly.

You stood there, feeling shy all of a sudden, under Zayne’s clouded gaze, his lips parted while his cheeks were tinted in a soft, subtle pink.

The shop clerk coughed, awkwardly, and dragged Zayne out of his trance.

“So perfect,” he answered, renouncing the fact that she was asking about the dress and not about you.

You felt warmth wrap around you, a smile slowly shadowed your lips, and slowly stepped forward. Zayne met you in the middle, pulling his tie, stifled. His eyes, green and warm, full of affection, never left yours.

His head dropped, lips brushing your ear as your heart almost burst in your chest.

“I can’t wait to make you my wife,” he whispered, not an ounce of tease or amusement coating his words. He was dead serious, and you loved his confession, heart fluttering and hands quivering.

His lips kissed your forehead, softly, then a smile slowly crept up on his lips, his features softening. 

He squeezed your hand, subtly, until they stopped trembling, and turned to the clerk, coughing slightly.

“I like this dress,” he told her, his tone flat, back into the role of Dr Zayne of Akso Hospital.

© sylusgworl - 2025, all rights reserved / i don't allow anyone to copy, repost on other platforms or sell my works.

[hey-itsdollie]

Hihihi we're back again for an extra ask

So since I found out you're writing for bsd, I was wondering if you could maybe write a dazai x reader hurt/comfort (or maybe angst idk) one shot or drabble where reader patches up dazai after one of his usual attempts but the thing is—in this case, reader used to have a friend (a super cool Gyaru friend btw) whom she lost to an attempt. Due to this, she has a bit of trouble with the topic in itself, but still helps dazai through his times? At one point, she tells him about the friend and from then on you can decide how it goes!! Hope it's not too much and if at any point you feel uncomfortable with this, feel free to skip it <33

Make sure to have a super sparkly, exciting, fluffy, squishy, fun day (and drink lots of water don't be dehydrated like me) and I'll see you around soon!

Yours truly, 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎 friendship girlie 💗

If youre wondering, no I didn't lose any of my friends to this cause (though my heart goes out to all who did, and I offer my condolences as well) but this is for more of a hypothetical situation rather than personal experience.

Oh Dazai...

‧₊˚ ┊ In which you patch up your friend

୭˚. ᵎᵎ featuring » dazai.

⋮ ⌗ ┆cw ⪼ angst/fluff, fem reader, mentions and implications of sh, friends to ???

⚠︎ This will include mentions/implications of sh, please do not read this if you are uncomfortable with the topic. I have plenty of other works within my account for you to read. I love you and please take care of yourself<3

── .✦ Osamu Dazai

The atmosphere was quiet, tension thick as you sat before your brunette-haired friend. His eyes looked around with sparkles as if he had never been in your small apartment before. A medkit sat next to you as his unbandaged arm laid on your lap, a fresh coat of medicinal serum was placed on his fresh wounds.

Dazai never flinched nor whined, not even playfully like he would with the others. He just sat still looking anywhere but at you as you bandaged him up.

“Thank you.”

The male’s words broke the silent tension. Your eyes went up to look at him only to find out he was already staring down at you. His eyes held an emotion only he would show to you. Or that’s what you thought since you never saw him look at anybody the same.

“You don’t have to thank me.” You replied, going back to focusing on his arm, your fingers gently running up his new bandage. “You never have to thank me for doing things like this…”

Your words made Dazai tilt his head slightly, watching your face contort with the differentiating emotions. Dazai could remember many things, though he didn’t understand most emotions or how people seemed to regulate their lives due to emotions.

He could easily read you. The way you would run to him no matter the situation or what state he was in. He knew of your past, what happened to your friend. Dazai knew how much it pained you, yet you were always there for him. Always there to patch him up–over and over again.

“Still I want to thank you.” He spoke after a bit of silence. “It wouldn’t sit right with me if I don’t.”

His words were absolute, leaving no room for you to deny or object his words of simple praise. The two of you knew that this was your way of redemption. Yes, you cared for him. That is the exact reason why you weren’t going to let time repeat itself.

©hey-itsdollie please don't copy, change, or steal my work. Thank you!

[literallypyro]

Requests are open again yippee!!

How would the mercs (or just pyro and whoever you wanna write for 👀) react to their colleague (and crush) saying they wanna marry them? In a very random setting.

Ok luv u bye❤️‍🔥

Oh, interesting! I love the spontaneity! I'm not sure how well I did on this one tbh 😅

I'm gonna do the offense class since it includes Pyro!

Hope you enjoy!

Taken by surprise

Scout:

-Big ol blush but he tries to play it cool (he fails)

-"Really?! I mean, y-yeah, obviously you would. Look at me! I'm all anyone could ask for!" Sure, buddy

-He probably would've been a little less awkward and flustered if he had expected it, but that's just not how it played out

-His goofy ass would rub his neck and ask if you wanna start dating since he can't exactly pay for a wedding at the moment

-Would also probably ask what kind of things you would want in a wedding. He's a little awkward about it, but he remembers everything. At least long enough to write it down so he can make sure he doesn't forget

-Other than that, he's just trying to make sure he doesn't mess anything up and drive you away by being too much

-It takes a minute for him to calm down, but once he does, he's just holding your hand and sitting still

-Cherish this guy, please. He loves you to the ends of the universe and desperately wants to do right by you

Soldier:

-Bro's got the biggest smile on his face

-He's scooping you up in the biggest, bone crushing hug ever

-This guy will literally start trying to plan yalls wedding right then and there. Not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, or even financially competent, but he's super sweet about the whole thing in his own way

-He is now hellbent on planning the perfect wedding, and that really just means whatever you want + his few preferences

-He's lowkey bragging to everyone. You see his partner? This person right here? The best goddamn fiance any American could ask for

-He's already making you fucked up gifts for you. Do you want ears or tongues on your necklace? He might be able to do teeth if he can find a drill

-You really can't tell him to chill, but I'm sure you already knew that. I mean, do you even know who you just told you want to marry? Praying for you, bb 🙏

Pyro:

-A moment of silence, then giddy laughter as they hug you

-Stage 4 clinger, I fear. They must be holding your hand as often as possible now that they know you love them

-Not really sure exactly what a wedding is supposed to be like, but they get the gist. They have a lot of ideas, and you're gonna have to humor some of them

-Something tells me they wouldn't really care how long it takes to actually get there. They have enough fun planning it through colorful drawings

-Would get a lot more chill as time went on and eventually be able to approach the topic somewhat like a normal person

-Honestly, they're just happy you love them that much

-The skrunkly is pleased

-Would actually get you a normal ring since ring pop wasn't officially launched until 1980

[imhalfplastic]

some stories aren’t yours

⊹ overview - pairing: wonwoo x mingyu x f!reader | short fic genre: love triangle (but the love interests end up with each other) · fluff

themes: emotional detachment, mutual pining (just not for you), third-wheeling cw: implied past flirtation, gentle romantic rejection

summary: a love triangle where the girl doesn’t get the guy. or the other guy. instead, both fall for each other. slowly and awkwardly while she watches it all unfold like a plot twist she accidentally directed.

from kai: my first request! someone asked me to write something inspired by those reverse trope writing prompts with minwon and this one felt like it fit them the best. i really loved writing this silly little story! i had so much fun with it, even though i struggled to find a song that really matched the vibe (still not sure i chose the right one). any recs? i’m all ears.

now playing: can i call you tonight? - dayglow

so technically, you were supposed to be the main character.

it made sense. 

mingyu was clearly into you. 

he always texts you first. a random meme, followed by a “this reminded me of you” that makes you stare at your screen a little too long. he's all sunshine and chaos and way too much cologne. but he listens when you talk and remembers the tiniest things. he once showed up at your door with your favorite snack after a rough week, like it was no big deal. it kind of is.

you think: this could be something.

but then there's wonwoo. quieter. more subtle. he sends you playlists instead of memes, walks you home when it rains, doesn’t say much but always says the right thing. he remembers your cat’s name. asks how your mom is doing. texts like he means every word.

you think: oh. maybe it’s him.

and for a while, it’s both.

they’re also your friends. which complicates absolutely everything.

and so the joke becomes... not a joke. not really. 

just something you all keep circling around. drinks on a friday night, someone goes “okay but if this were a rom-com...” and someone else immediately groans. mingyu buys you coffee. wonwoo texts you about that weird movie you said you liked. they both show up when you need help moving your couch.

you flirt. a little. 

they flirt back. more than a little.

you’re not immune. 

but you’re also not delusional.

so you’re in the middle, two equally attractive but emotionally unavailable men gravitating toward you like it’s netflix and you’re the plot device.

people ask. so, who’s it gonna be?

and you honestly didn’t know.

mingyu makes you laugh until your stomach hurt. wonwoo makes you think about things you didn’t know you cared about. both of them make you feel like something might be about to happen.

and you are happy. because it does feel a little like a love triangle.

you're the common denominator. 

the center of gravity. you’re not leading anyone on. 

you’re just… seeing where things go.

and they’re both going. toward you. clearly. until they’re not.

it’s not like it's obvious. you’re just… extremely observant.

and maybe a little too aware of patterns.

like how mingyu starts showing up in photos with wonwoo’s cat. like how wonwoo starts driving mingyu home without being asked. like how they start arguing about trivial things like what kind of soy milk is superior and it sounds suspiciously like foreplay.

you don’t say anything. you just watch.

you shift from romantic lead to honorary producer. this is your rom-com now, just not in the way you expected. you get front-row seats to whatever this slow-motion pining is.

and honestly? it’s hilarious. especially when neither of them seems to realize it’s happening.

so you start keeping mental score.

wonwoo shows up with coffee for mingyu like it’s instinct: +1

mingyu tells wonwoo he looks good in blue: +1

they argue over who gets the last dumpling and then split it like an old married couple: +4

mingyu calls wonwoo “darling” by accident (you think): +10

at some point, it just becomes entertaining. you’re just sitting with the audience with popcorn, waiting for the kiss scene.

and then there’s the hoodie situation. wonwoo wears one that looks suspiciously like mingyu's. oversized, dark gray, fraying a little at the cuffs. you say something about it, just to test the waters. and wonwoo freezes for half a second before going “uh. laundry day.”

“sure.” you say, sipping your drink.

“just make sure your boyfriend gets it back.”

wonwoo, without missing a beat says:

“it's not from a boyfriend. just from mingyu.”

mingyu just shrugs.

the best part is how natural it is after.

you thought it might sting. it doesn’t. you thought it might get awkward. it doesn’t.

if anything, it gets funnier. they’re still idiots. just idiots in love now.

they drag you to brunch like nothing’s changed. still text you memes at 2am. still call you when they’re fighting about whether or not a hotdog is a sandwich.

you get used to seeing them shoulder to shoulder. used to watching mingyu tug the hood of wonwoo’s sweatshirt up when the wind picks up, then keep talking like nothing happened. used to wonwoo smiling at his phone like he’s reading poetry when it’s just mingyu’s “u up?” text with eight typos.

you start making bets with yourself about how long until they go fully official. (you win when mingyu soft-launches a couple photo and captions it: i guess i’m the boyfriend now.)

months later, someone asks if you ever had feelings for them. if it was hard watching them fall for each other. you think about it for a second.

about mingyu’s terrible jokes. wonwoo’s deadpan delivery. the way they bicker like an old sitcom couple and still always end up sharing dessert. about how you never really wanted to be the center of the story, just close enough to see it unfold.

you smile. “nah...” you say. “it was honestly the best seat in the house.”

[istibaethoriel]

I wrote some Durgetash fic... :D 

[inthehouseoffinwe]

The ships burn and Fingolfin hates.

…the ships keep burning and Fingolfin fears.

Mad cackling can almost be heard a continent away and he can’t figure out whose it is: Morgoth’s, or his brother’s.

In either case, he knows the people Fëanor has just taken to the other side, Fingolfin’s dear nephews most of all, are in great danger. He knows his brother. And he knows what happens to the people around him when his passion meets rage in a merciless, all-consuming flame.

No one deserves to be in that line of fire.

So when his children and remaining nephews and niece cry out their betrayal and curse their uncle and cousins, he turns a firm eye to them.

“If I’d commanded it, would you not have done the same?”

They begin to shake their heads, and he frowns.

“Do not lie to me, children.”

They turn away. Fingon’s relief at his father’s words breaks his heart, his eldest should know he cares deeply for Fëanor’s sons. Surely? Has he become so distant? Would any of them have confided in him earlier if he’d just opened his arms a little more-

No use in what ifs.

He turns back to the burning ships and sends a small prayer to whoever might still listen to keep his nephews safe. Fëanor is gone, mind shattered with his father’s death, and he’s dragging his children down with him to ash and blood and ruin. They just have to survive long enough for Fingolfin to arrive. He’ll talk sense into his brother, he’s the only one who can. He’ll get the children their father back and fix all of this, pride be damned.

The Helcaraxë is the only option. His nine children spit venom at their half uncle, but no longer complain of their cousins. A year following him into this hellscape, a year of leaving the weakest to the blizzards lest everyone freeze yet refusing to turn back, has shown them exactly what they’d have done were the positions reversed.

It’s a sobering thought. He wonders what he’s done to deserve such dogged loyalty.

Wonders when he started taking advantage of the same things he hated and admired most about his brother.

Time passes. He wakes one day to a coldness in his fëa and sends another desperate prayer. A bad feeling takes route that grows day by day, fear and a strange fire dancing in his periphery urging him and his people on.

Time is running out Nolofinwë.

Ice slowly gives way to solid rock, then slush, then grass and he arrives at Mithrim in relief, all but running to the fortress, only to see little Makalaurë greeting his host. Eyes hardened, crowned in silver, heavy shoulders draped in a frayed red cloak-

And he knows it’s far, far too late.

Agony and despair are hidden behind a stony mask that he sees right through but can no longer reach. His open arms greeted with caution. Watching. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. His kind words with narrowed eyes, all but daring pity, and Fingolfin could weep.

There’s no reconciliation that can prove his love, his understanding, now.

Fëanor is gone.

His children are being consumed in the blaze left behind.

…and Fingolfin doesn’t know how to fix this.

[aq2003]

i saw a post saying boom was good bc it feels like it could be done with any doctor/companion duo and honestly that was one of the things i felt was wrong with it

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

My gf is the GM of a cool little ttrpg group I'm in, but she's been busy this week and the session was going to be cancelled

I couldn't deal with losing the weekly game night, so I asked if I could GM a "beach episode" (which ended up being a holiday episode actually since I've now written it)

I've never been a GM before. I want to, desperately, but it's daunting. So I figured a holiday episode would be a really good start!

It's two days before the session. I've never been a GM. Never planned a session. I got the idea while procrastinating my job and immediately asked my gf if I could. I didn't think it through.

Consequences of my actions

But I actually kind of wrote down what I want to do and it's been very fun, and I have another day to finalize this plan