𐔌 . ⋮ 𝘈𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘢 𝘗. 𝘕𝘦𝘴𝘴 .ᐟ ֹ

20s, Writer, CriMi, Hunger Games

[freelancelobotomy]

╰┈➤ＮＡＶＩＧＡＴＩＯＮ˚. ᵎᵎ

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁....She/her, INTJ, podcast consumer, professionally annoying 𓏵

ᝰ.ᐟRequests: OPEN ౨ৎ

₊⊹(*I dont write piss, scat, any proshipping nonsense, or anything super taboo so do with that what you will)؛ ଓ .𖥔 ݁ ˖Masterlist༝༚༝༚

[fushihearts]

you and your husband, nerdjo, rewatching his old science vlogs from his high-school days 𑣲 .✦ ݁˖ ۶ৎ

husband!gojo x f!reader, 16yo nerdjo mentioned, gojo has glasses, fluff | wc 1.3k

“…hey suguru, are you sure the camera’s set up correctly?”

you smile to yourself at the sound of satoru gojo’s voice — albeit a much younger and more boyish version of it — coming from your laptop as you put the video into full-screen.

you lean closer into your husband, the present-day satoru, who’s sat by your side with his brows pinched and lip jutted out as he watches his younger self dart across the camera frantically. you’re both curled up, the laptop upon your legs and your head on your husband’s shoulder, his own head resting atop yours. by his side is a bowl of brownies — a friday evening necessity for you two now — and his legs are tangled with yours beneath the blankets.

on the screen, ivory strands of hair flash across the screen as you watch the much younger version of him fuss with the camera, trying to focus it properly on himself. from the little portion of his face that you can see, he’s evidently stressed, chewing so hard on his lip that you’re sure that it’s bound to start bleeding at some point in the video.

after a few minutes of messing with the camera, a sixteen year old version satoru finally comes into view on your laptop. there’s something softer about him, an almost refreshingly naive sense of youth in his features as he beams at the camera, clearly pleased with himself for finally working it out.

“…okay! hello viewers! today’s video is going to be about determining planck’s constant using….” he rummages through the small tray to his left. “ah- this little guy!”

he holds up a tiny blue LED bulb, a huge grin on his face. “it doesn’t look like much, but there’s a crazy amount of quantum mechanics behind making this thing run!”

you snort at that, playfully nudging present-day satoru, who pouts and turns to face you.

“toru, you were such a dork!”

“i wasn’t! it is a pretty cool piece of physics — you just don’t understand!”

you can’t help but laugh harder at that, at which he groans and lifts a brownie to your lips.

“you’re doing too much laughing. just eat.”

you gasp, scandalised, pushing his hand away playfully. “you’re just trying to shut me up!”

“am not.”

you’re about to offer a witty comeback when you’re interrupted by the slightly distorted sound of video-satoru speaking to the non-existent viewers once more.

“…okay..so you can see here that i’ve set up the circuit. here,” he points at a power pack, “i’ve attached the power supply to a resistor. then i’ve attached the ammeter in series to our LED. oh, and of course the voltmeter is in parallel.” he lifts the LED bulb attached to two crocodile clips, holding it beside his face.

“hey, this shade of blue kinda matches my eyes! see?”

you feel satoru physically tense up a little by your side, clearly cringing at his past self too. you put a arm around him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly as though to comfort him that it isn’t that bad even though it really is.

“okay..now you’re gonna want to roll up a piece of cardboard to form a tube…” he demonstrates, eyes fixed on the surface of the table. his tongue is stuck out just slightly in concentration, a habit that seems to have followed satoru even into adulthood, before finally lifting it to his eye.

“it should look a little like a makeshift telescope….tada! like a pirate, i guess…guess you could say that it really looks like i’m about to walk the planck.” you’re sure you hear somebody snort at the terrible pun — presumably shoko, judging by the pitch of the noise.

you have to bite back your own laugh for the sake of your poor husband, who has now dramatically buried his head in his hands with a groan.

“my own wife hates me.”

“i don’t hate you toru! i think you were cute!”

“you think i was a total loser.”

“a cute loser!” you quip with a giggle, pushing his glasses back so you can study his face clearly and propping them upon his head. carefully, you study his features, as though to gauge whether he’s really embarrassed. of course, he’s got his signature pout on, dramatic as ever, but you can still see the slight crinkle in his eyes as he tries to fight off a smile.

he clearly enjoys the attention.

you sigh and playfully flick his forehead. “you are so dramatic! whatever, eyes on the screen. we still need to see the result of this experiment, right?” you pull his glasses back down, fixing them so that they’re now resting upon his nose.

video-satoru steps back slightly so that he’s fully in view, absentmindedly fiddling with the sleeve of his sweater as he speaks.

“okay! so my friend shoko’s gonna turn off the lights now…and then i’m going to use this,” mini-satoru holds up the cardboard tube, “to block out any remaining light from the windows! my eyes are pretty sensitive to my surroundings already so i could technically skip this step, but for the sake of accuracy i’ll do it anyway.”

the lights flick off and you hear rustling on the screen before his voice sounds once more from somewhere in the dim classroom. the quality is too poor to properly make out his features amongst the sea of darkness.

“okay..so i’m going to keep gradually adjusting the resistance until i see it light up…”

as if on cue, the familiar soft white hair and cheesy grin come into view, illuminated by soft tones of lapis blue. the light seems to bounce off his features. the quality of the LED is much too poor to fully light up the room: instead, it flickers weakly, dancing across the boy’s face in uneven patches. nonetheless, the pleased grin on his face is so distinguishable, so satoru, and you feel your heart swell a little at the boyish look he flashes towards the camera.

with a little kick to his legs under the blanket, you mumble, “you were so cute toru…it’s not fair.”

you keep your eyes fixed on the animated actions of his younger self on screen, leaning further into him subconsciously as you pick up a brownie slice and take a bite.

“hey, aren’t i still cute now?”

“…don’t push it.” you mutter between chews.

the laugh he gives off is warm, hints of the sixteen year old version of him you’re watching on screen just slightly noticeable in it if you listen close enough. something about it all, about current-satoru’s messy white hair, the way his brows relax a little as he smiles, the hints of a cheeky grin evident on his face: it’s all so familiar, so unbelievably sweet and reminiscent of the naiver, smaller version of him currently rambling excitedly on screen.

the video comes to an end as you stare at satoru. you’re zoned out, eyes fixed on his features, staring at him as though deep in thought. eventually you realise that the video has already ended and that he’s already moving to shut the laptop, clearly somewhat relieved at the opportunity to turn it off, before you eventually speak up.

“next week we’re watching the most recent one.”

you murmur it with a sense of finality, and satoru can’t help but raise his eyebrow at the suddenness, a tone of worry seeping into his voice when he finally speaks.

“mm? why that one specifically?”

“…shoko told me you blew something up.”

“oh. that one.”

author’s notes: filler post since exams start tomorrow💔this is so embarrassing but i had to check the notes whilst writing this because i forgot how to do the practical anyway physics paper 1 tomorrow and i’m writing a fic about one of the practicals do we think i’m getting that A* taglist (thank you!!!): @mayegasm @nonchalantfiend @mochiakun @rielovesphel @yujismissingfingers @megumigooner @vanillaascented @megumisrighttoe @catgvrl @dreamydaredevil @mariisagb @renrenrenren17 @bowiesprettieststar2 @733164 @palanggaaa @megssleepygirl @rengoatku @hangenism @yujisdreamgirl @nonamedreams @auryyymarix @ivankinnieclatter @sugerfilled @silverstar111 @dreamyreadinglover @v4mp1r3b4tzz @dev1lw4arsprada @megantheestallionswife @magicalpeenpoo @qrxswan @silverwfern @luvhza @rozzaa0scentzz1 @azizxxxah @eyayur @strawberrychansora @qrxswan + join!

divider creds @/dividers-are-us and @/cursed-carmine!

[whoswitchybabyanyway]

ye olde meet cute

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

summary: spencer goes to a renaissance faire for work and accidentally gets ambushed by a glitter-covered fairy

includes: renaissance faire setting, meet cute, spencer reid being terminally charmed, whimsical reader, reader in a fairy costume, mutual profiling as flirting, book talk, flirtation disguised as deduction, glitter, bug enthusiast reader, awkward spencer reid, soft humor, handcrafted costumes, emotional sincerity, light case-fic background, garcia interrupting at the worst possible moment, strangers to maybe-something

based on this request by @tulipsxbooks

The renaissance faire sprawls across the park in ribbons of color and noise.

Fabric banners snap overhead in the wind. Children race past with wooden swords. Somewhere nearby, someone is playing a flute with the confidence of a man who has never once feared public humiliation.

The entire place smells like cinnamon almonds, leather, trampled grass, and smoke from roasting meat.

Spencer Reid stands in the middle of it looking deeply unconvinced by existence.

Not by the faire itself.

By the crowds.

There are too many people packed too closely together, too many overlapping voices colliding in his ears. Bright colors flash in his peripheral vision every few seconds. A woman dressed as a queen just walked past carrying an enormous turkey leg like a medieval warlord.

He adjusts the strap of his satchel higher onto his shoulder and checks his phone again.

No new texts from Garcia.

Which means he is still technically waiting.

The BAU is in town on a case. A local victim was last seen at the renaissance festival two nights ago, and while the team splits up to follow leads, Garcia had sent Spencer to confirm whether a specific vendor sold rare antique books to attendees.

Simple.

Straightforward.

In theory.

In practice, Spencer got distracted twenty-three minutes ago by a stall selling historical reproductions of first edition classics.

Now he’s staring at a handwritten sign discussing annotated copies of Victorian detective fiction while a man in tights passionately explains paper quality to another customer.

Spencer barely notices the world narrowing around him.

Until—

“Let me guess.”

He glances up automatically.

A mistake.

Because now he sees you.

And his brain stalls like someone tossed a wrench directly into the engine.

You’re standing beside the stall with glitter dusted across your cheeks like scattered stars.

Layers of gauzy fabric spill around you in shifting shades of twilight blue and soft violet, the colors changing every time the sunlight catches them. Tiny crystals are sewn into the skirts and sleeves, glittering like dew on spider silk. 

Your corset is embroidered with silver thread curling into vines and crescent moons, and delicate translucent wings shimmer behind you in iridescent flashes of lavender and sapphire whenever you move. 

Small golden bells are tied into strands of your hair, chiming softly in the breeze. There’s a jeweled beetle pinned to the neckline of your corset, emerald-green and sparkling.

You look less like someone attending the renaissance faire and more like something the forest itself made by accident.

Spencer blinks once. “What?”

“Let me guess.”

“…Guess what?”

“Your favorite book.”

Spencer stares.

You stare back with devastating confidence.

Then, before he can answer, you start circling him slowly.

His posture goes rigid immediately.

“You read constantly,” you murmur. “Not casually. Recreationally and professionally. Your shoes are practical, your watch is functional, your sleeves are rolled unevenly because you did it while distracted…”

Spencer opens his mouth.

Closes it.

“You notice details,” you continue. “You correct people in your head but usually not out loud unless they’re really wrong. You probably had weird hobbies as a child.”

“I still have weird hobbies,” Spencer says before he can stop himself.

Your grin flashes instantly. You stop in front of him again, hands clasped behind your back.

“You like books where intelligence feels magical. Not fantasy magical. Human magical.” You tilt your head. “Your favorite author is probably… Arthur Conan Doyle.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rise despite himself.

“And your favorite book,” you continue triumphantly, “is The Hound of the Baskervilles.”

A beat passes.

“…How did you do that?”

Your expression turns deeply smug. “The fairies told me.”

“That’s not actually my favorite book,” Spencer admits after a second.

Your face falls with exaggerated devastation. “No?”

“But it is my favorite author.”

You narrow your eyes suspiciously. “That still counts as wizardry-adjacent.”

“It’s profiling.”

“Same thing.”

The bells in your hair chime softly as you lean against the edge of the book stall, smiling at him like this entire interaction has already become one of your favorite stories.

Spencer realizes, abruptly, that he’s smiling back.

Dangerous.

Potentially catastrophic.

“Okay,” you say. “Your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Guess my favorite book.”

Spencer blinks. “Oh. Um…”

You wait expectantly.

Which makes this worse.

He looks at you properly this time, trying to gather information instead of simply reacting to the overwhelming phenomenon of your existence.

Fairy costume. Handmade, probably. The stitching near the sleeve hem is slightly uneven but reinforced carefully, meaning you made it yourself and anticipated wear. Glitter on your cheekbones. Tiny paint stains on your fingertips. The jeweled beetle pinned to your corset is slightly chipped near one wing from frequent handling.

There’s also a pressed flower tucked into one of your bracelets.

And—

“Is that a luna moth embroidered onto your bag?” he asks before he can stop himself.

Your eyes light up immediately. “Yes!”

“You like insects.”

“I like friends,” you correct. “Some of them just happen to have exoskeletons.”

Spencer’s mouth twitches.

You are deeply strange.

Not strange in the dangerous way he’s learned to look for.

Strange in the way constellations are strange. The way antique stores smell strange. The way people become when they’ve decided embarrassment is a waste of time.

It’s… nice.

He clears his throat and tries to refocus.

“You probably read emotionally driven narratives,” he says slowly..“Character-focused stories. Escapist elements, but with strong interpersonal relationships. Optimistic endings statistically increase reread value, so…”

Your grin widens by the second.

“You think my favorite book is a romance novel,” you say.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it with extreme confidence.”

Spencer exhales softly through his nose, trying not to smile while simultaneously already failing.

“Okay,” he says. “Fine. I think your favorite book is probably a romance novel.”

You place a hand dramatically against your corset.

“Sir,” you whisper, scandalized, “I am a fairy.”

“I’m aware.”

“I collect moss voluntarily.”

“That doesn’t eliminate romance as a category.”

You narrow your eyes at him like he’s personally offended woodland creatures everywhere.

Spencer studies you again, more carefully this time.

Not just the costume.

The details.

The handmade jewelry. Ink stains on your fingers. Tiny stars painted near your temples. The way you move like your body naturally follows music no one else can hear.

And beneath all of that, there’s intelligence in your eyes. Quickness. A playful sort of calculation.

“You like stories that feel hopeful without being naïve,” he says slowly. “Emotionally sincere, but strange enough that they don’t take themselves too seriously.”

Your expression shifts.

Not enough for most people to notice.

Enough for him.

Spencer tilts his head slightly.

“You reread comfort books,” he continues. “And you romanticize ordinary things on purpose.”

Your grin starts to return. “Oh, he profiles.”

“You also like nature symbolism, transformation metaphors, and unconventional protagonists.” Spencer pauses. “So… I’m guessing your favorite book is probably…” He searches your face once before deciding. “Howl’s Moving Castle.”

Silence.

A bell in your hair chimes softly in the breeze.

Then your entire face lights up.

It’s immediate. Bright. Unfiltered.

Spencer feels something warm and startled unfurl in his chest at being the cause of it.

“You got it,” you say, delighted.

His eyebrows lift. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re serious.”

“I contain whimsy, not dishonesty.”

“That feels statistically unlikely.”

You laugh, and Spencer realizes he likes the sound instantly. It bubbles out of you without restraint, soft around the edges but full in a way that makes nearby noise seem dull by comparison.

Then he narrows his eyes slightly.

“…Although,” he says slowly, “I do have a feeling you would’ve told me I was right no matter what I said.”

You wink at him cheekily. “You'll never know.”

Spencer opens his mouth to argue that technically he could know with enough behavioral analysis and baseline comparison over time—

His phone rings.

The sound slices cleanly through the moment.

You glance toward the noise while Spencer fishes the phone out of his pocket, the screen glowing with Garcia’s name.

Reality returns all at once.

Case.

Crowds.

Work.

The tiny strange bubble around the two of you flickers but doesn’t disappear entirely.

Spencer clears his throat and answers. “Reid.”

“Boy Genius!” Penelope Garcia chirps immediately through the speaker, loud enough that even you can faintly hear her. “Please tell me you found the antique vendor and not another extremely niche literary side quest.”

Spencer glances once toward the book stall. “…Define side quest.”

You grin shamelessly.

“I’m waiting near the east entrance,” Garcia continues. “Morgan found someone who might’ve seen our victim talking to a guy near the performance tents. We need your brain immediately.”

“Okay,” Spencer says automatically. “I’m on my way.”

He pulls the phone away from his ear.

You’re still looking at him.

Still smiling, though softer now. Less theatrical. More real.

For a second, neither of you moves.

The renaissance faire swirls around you in a blur of color and noise. Someone nearby cheers loudly as metal clashes against metal from a staged sword fight. Bells jingle somewhere behind the booths. Smoke curls lazily into the late afternoon air.

Spencer should leave.

He knows that.

The case folds itself back into place inside his mind with practiced precision. Victim timeline. Witness statements. Geographic radius. Probability mapping.

But some stubborn, inconvenient part of him stays rooted exactly where he is.

“Duty calls?” you ask lightly.

He nods once. “Yeah. I should…”

His sentence trails off uselessly as he gestures vaguely in the direction of somewhere.

You glance toward the path behind him, then back to his face.

Then, suddenly:

“This is really forward,” you blurt.

Spencer pauses mid-motion.

“But can I have your number?”

Silence.

Not awkward silence.

Catastrophic silence.

The kind where Spencer Reid’s brain, normally operating at approximately seventeen thousand thoughts per second, suddenly blue screens like an overworked laptop dropped directly into a pond.

You watch it happen in real time.

His eyes widen slightly.

Then blink.

Then widen again.

“Oh,” he says.

A beat.

“Oh.”

You immediately start laughing.

Not meanly.

More like you’ve just accidentally startled a very intelligent deer.

“I can retract the question,” you offer, grin crooked. “Pretend I was briefly possessed by boldness.”

“No,” Spencer says instantly.

Too instantly.

Your eyebrows lift.

“I mean,” he corrects rapidly, “you don’t have to retract it. Direct communication is actually more effective than prolonged ambiguity in establishing interpersonal—”

He stops.

Because you’re looking at him with poorly concealed delight.

Spencer clears his throat.

Right. Human conversation.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Yes. You can have my number.”

You beam so brightly it honestly feels medically significant.

“Cute,” you announce.

His brain catches on the word like a loose thread in machinery.

“…What?”

“The flustered thing,” you say casually. “Very cute.”

Spencer physically short-circuits.

Not metaphorically.

Actually.

A nearby child runs past waving a wooden sword and yelling something incomprehensible about dragons. Spencer looks about as internally stable as that child.

He fumbles for his phone so quickly he nearly drops it.

Your grin turns helplessly fond.

“You’re adorable,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Spencer finally manages to unlock his phone after one failed attempt and holds it out toward you with the careful concentration of someone handling explosives.

You take it gently, bells chiming softly in your hair.

Your fingers brush his for maybe half a second.

It should not matter.

It absolutely matters.

You type your number in, then pause.

A mischievous little smile curls at the corner of your mouth.

Spencer notices immediately.

That is rarely a good sign.

When you hand the phone back, he glances down automatically.

🪲 fairy girl 🧚‍♀️✨

Spencer stares at the contact name.

Then up at you.

Then back at the phone.

“You put bug and fairy emojis in your own contact.”

“Yes.”

“You understand that this tells me nothing.”

“It tells you everything.”

“That’s objectively false.”

You smile. “I get the feeling you'll know exactly who that contact is.”

He smiles before he can stop himself.

Again.

You notice that too.

“Text me sometime, Spencer Reid,” you say, his name warm and easy in your voice like you’ve already decided it belongs there. “Preferably before the apocalypse.”

His pulse does something deeply inconvenient.

“…I have to go,” he says, equal parts apology and regret.

“I know.”

But you don’t sound disappointed.

You sound certain.

Certain in the way people sound when they fully expect to see someone again.

And that feels far more dangerous.

Spencer starts backing away once.

Then stops.

“You never told me your actual favorite book,” he says suddenly.

You smile, sunlight catching in the glitter scattered across your cheeks.

“I’ll save that for the second conversation.”

Then you turn, skirts swaying behind you in shimmering twilight colors, and disappear into the crowd like something enchanted slipping back into the woods.

[neurohungergames]

Spencer Reid in season 2

[melissax7777]

i am such a pervert obsessive freak but its okay because my heart is pure and i'm a girl

[opiodistic]

your boyfriend ragebaits himself and then fucks it out in you!

hey, satoru never claimed to be very sensible when it came to you.

it had started long before you had even agreed to go out with him. back when he still had a big, fat and very poorly concealed crush on you. his mind was his biggest opp, truly.

sitting down in class, staring at the back of your head as he imagined scenarios of some other douche asking you out - and his biggest nightmare - you agreeing.

or, the thought of there being someone else who would snatch you right up before satoru built up the courage to ask you out.

back then, these thoughts gave him the push he desperately needed. he asked you out, you agreed, and he's been living his blissfully happy life ever since.

except...

satoru had his weight pinning you down in a mean mating press, his thick cock particularly hard today as he thrusted inside you like a mad man.

"'t-toruuuu-" you sobbed, your fingers digging in the skin of his back as you held on for dear life as your boyfriend pounded in you. the bed was creaking under the weight of satoru's hurried thrusts, making sounds that were lewder than the symphony of moans and cries leaving your mouth.

"y-y'belong to me," satoru panted, bringing his head to the side of your neck. he bit down on it, making your arch up and cry out.

"p-plea- hngh- haaah," you moaned, trying to twist your neck off his jaw, "s-slo- p-pleas-"

he brought his hand under your thigh, pulling your leg over his shoulder. the angle made you gasp out as satoru's weeping cock hit that particular spot, over and over again.

"say it," he gripped your jaw, turning your face towards his. his cock twitched at the sight of your fucked-out expression, his pupils dilating as he felt a surge of pride.

i did this, he thought, turning his hips up a notch. mine, she's mine.

"s-say it," he repeated, releasing your jaw, "you're mine, ngh-"

you moaned out some gibberish, too far gone to concentrate on what your boyfriend was saying as you tried to survive his relentless thrust, mind more focused on your oncoming orgasm.

"baby," he dipped down, taking your open mouth in a sloppy kiss before biting down on your lower lip, "y'r mine, baby, please, say it."

you nod, tears streaming down your face as you clench down hard on his cock, “‘m- m’yours- hic- youurs—”

“atta girl,” he presses a kiss on your calf, gripping your hips as he slams inside of you, grinning when your mouth falls open in a silent gasp as you cum all over his cock, fists gripping the sheets as you arch off the bed.

“s-so- fuckkk… so pretty,” he doesn’t slow down, fucking you through the orgasm as he bends down, “so pretty.. ngh- a-and all f’me.”

“satoruuuu,” you garble against his mouth as he kisses you again, pressing his entire weight on top of you, “slow down— please— hic!”

“we’ve got a long night ahead, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to your tear stained cheek, licking up the salty residue, “need to make sure this pussy moulds to the shape of my cock.”

[aliienangel]

𝜗◞ ♡ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ; gazing at 𝒈𝒐𝒋𝒐 & his lifted shirt results in him dry humping you ꒱

every time you catch sight of gojo's happy trail your heart skips a beat. his arms lifting over his head to stretch his limbs out, the t-shirt he's wearing lifting up just enough to display the enticing visage of his lower abs leading down into his pants. white tufts of hair creeping out his pants and trailing upwards enough for you to see and feel a certain way about.

you avert your eyes after staring for far too long, long enough for gojo to pause mid stretch and tilt his head at you. his gaze trailing down his own body, trying to ascertain where you were looking. he doesn't seem like the astute type but you can practically feel the amusement rolling off him, easily picking up on what caught your attention.

"if you wanted me to take my shirt off... you could just ask."

you grumble back at him, annoyed by his ability to notice everything about you, "i don't want you to take your shirt off."

he hums a lilted tune, "hmm, certainly didn't seem that way with how you were eye-fucking me."

"i was not!" you gape at him, "you're imagining things, i fear your ego is growing too large for you to handle."

gojo walks the short distance to where you're sitting on the couch, his form leaning down so he's in your space. lips already hovering over yours as he asks, "so, we're not going to have sex on the couch?"

“i’m not that easy.”

a light laugh leaving him, “i am, you looked at me and now i’m all hard.”

"that's not my probl—"

his lips on yours shut you up, kiss heavy and already needy. he doesn't waste any time slipping his tongue into the mix, the taste of you making him shiver and whine. a sudden pressure around your wrist alerts you to his hold, his hand guiding yours. he places it under his shirt, your palm resting against the same trail of hairs that landed you in this situation.

the thrill that moves through you has you gasping into his mouth, pussy fluttering from how easily he overwhelms your senses. melting into him, letting him kiss you stupid. growing too horny to continue this way, you hold onto him and somehow manage to get him to lay on the couch.

his back resting on the cushions with you straddling him. "i wanna ride you," words spoken soft and tantalising, hand slipping under his shirt again to rest where it once was.

gojo's shirt rides up with your touch, the warm pressure of your soft palm has his cock twitching in his pants. "are you waiting for an invitation?"

"more like a plea," you challenge his glib attitude.

"pleaseee sit on my dick, pretty," his hands slide up your thighs to grip your hips, "i'm aching for it." and as if to prove his point, he ruts his hips up under you. grinding his erection against your clothed cunt.

your nails lightly scratch against his skin, lungs shuddering from the much needed stimulation. you're digging your teeth into your lower lip to stifle down any pathetic sound he might be able to pull from you. failing completely when he tugs you down at the same time that he's rutting up.

"fuuuuck– hold on– hnn– this feels soo—" he doesn't finish his sentence, head tilting back as he keeps dry humping you.

his skin is all flushed and radiating heat, eyes dazed and lost in the muted pleasure he's gaining from this. he's acting like a dog as he keeps relentlessly grinding against you. a small and pitiful whimper leaves him and you're keening into it. hands tugging his shirt up more, palms perched on him as you meet his grinds.

"wait– wait– hng– i'm gonna—" even though he's asking you to wait he doesn't stop his hips, continuing until he's shuddering through his own orgasm.

his pants growing damp as he cums in them, gojo can feel the way his seed clings to his clothes. coating his dick in his own sticky release. if it hadn't felt so fucking good he'd probably be embarrassed but he's in complete bliss right now.

"did you just cum?" you ask him, somehow even more aroused. his relaxed and borderline fucked out expression making you want him more.

he's panting softly, eyes glazed over as he answers, "you shouldn't have looked at me like that."

[kamiflix]

▶︎ Want You (starring . virgin!nerdjo)

synopsis . In which nerdjo gets turned on by bimbo!reader's harmless teasing in the middle of putting together a puzzle. content . afab!reader, virginity loss, dorkjo, awkwardness, reverse cowgirl, praise, really premature ejec, etc. (Inspired by this post)

“It’s too big, ‘Toru,” You’d whine, followed by an awfully innocent, “Stop trying to squeeze it in there!”

Puzzle pieces. The two of you are talking about puzzle pieces, obviously. So, why the hell is his cock swelling up against his pants?

Oh, that’s right. Because your comments are making his mind go somewhere dirty each time he closes his eyes, the only thing keeping him sane being the use of context in the situation. His hand had brushed over yours one too many times and he's stuttered halfway through every sentence of his during the duration of this little game. The two of you were just spending your free time putting together a really cute 'n friendly jigsaw puzzle and now he was using a nearby pillow to cover up his boner.

You're aware that your nerdy friend Gojo is the biggest loser ever but, you don’t seem to mind it too much. The only thing you do is tease him until he's sitting next to you with a mess of blush plastered all over his face. "Hey, why'd you stop?" You'd ask after noticing the way he's siting awkwardly on the floor beside you, "I know I said that piece was too big but if we stop now we'll never finish this tonight."

"Uh," Gojo's voice is coming out in that dorky pitch for a moment before he quickly clears his throat and brings a hand up to readjust the thick frames decorating his face, "Well, I just wanted to take a break, y'know? We've been doing this for hours and-"

You cut him off with a light scoff, "Oh c'mon, there's no way you're tapping out on me already." Then you're standing on your knees, shuffling closer to him, and reaching over him for one of the further puzzle pieces below. It was fine. He was fine.

Then he looked down, noticed the skirt you had on started to rise against your thighs, and... fuck. You've got the prettiest pair of panties on—the color of them peeking out just a fraction enough for him to catch its hue. Blue. Just like his eyes. Of course you decided not to wear some shorts under your skirt today. Of course. Now he's left gawking at a lacy pair of panties and letting out a strange noise without thinking, earning a glance over your shoulder that only makes you look sexier.

"Satoru?" You call out moments after, to which his eyes fly back up to where they should've been this entire time, on your face. Watching the man gulp like the biggest dork you know him to be, you flash a smirk, "Did you just look under my skirt?"

There's no way you didn't know what you were doing. He may be a big nerdy virgin who never got any sort of play but he was far from stupid. Gojo swallows down something pathetic before shaking his head hurriedly, "N-No? Pfft, what? Why.. Why would I-, hah, why would I do something like that?"

You cock a brow, "Because you're a loser who acts like he's never seen what a woman looks like under her clothes? I dunno."

He blinks dumbfoundedly, "You think I'm acting?"

You send him the same bewildered stare, "You're a six-foot tall, nerdy, pretty boy with glasses, there's no way you're some kinda virgin."

"Well... uh..." He gulps thickly and leans back, the pillow in his lap faltering with the way he readjusts his long legs to try and ease the rather annoying ache in between them, "I kinda am..."

Now you were giving him that cute deer-in-headlights kinda look as if there wasn't a single thought inside your head, the same look that has him flustered for some reason. Followed by which is a turn of your head before you casually return to reaching for that needed puzzle piece, "That's surprising. 'Thought a guy like you would have tons of women."

Gojo looks around for a second before pointing at himself, "You though I would have tons of women? Me?" He scoffs as if that were the most ridiculous thing in the world. "I mean, I know plenty of women who talk to me, sure. But, I've never slept with any of them."

"Why's that?" You ask, knees shifting against the floor so that you could find the desired spot for the piece in your hand, "If you don't mind me asking, of course."

You seem to be entirely oblivious to the way your skirt is still rising against your thighs, especially as you bend down a bit to plop the little puzzle piece into place. Gojo finds himself looking up at the ceiling now, hoping for you to become self aware any moment now, "I dunno, I'm not good at flirting, I guess." He says with a shrug of his shoulders.

The sound of that makes you glance back at him again. This time you look down at his now uncovered crotch and spot the boner prettily resting there. Smiling a bit, "I could teach you." You offer sweetly.

His cock drools at the idea alone before he's fixing his glasses against his face and looking at you again, "Really? You'd teach me how to flirt?"

You snort, "No, silly. I'm offering to teach you how to fuck."

Now, Gojo is many things. Filthily educated in Digimon? Well, of course—he's even got it plastered all over his shirt right now. The most studious individual in every academic institution he's ever attended? Duh. And a completely closeted freak who does nothing but imagine what it'd be like to feel pussy for the first time? Well, yeah...

So when you offer to teach him how to fuck and essentially, take his virginity, he doesn't think he's ever nodded his head faster in his life.

Next thing he knows and your legs are sprawled out over him, caging the sides of his lengthy limbs in between yours as your ass hovers in the air and you move a hand back to tug your panties to the side. Your cute nerd of a friend thinks he's in love as your gorgeously soaked cunt is revealed to him.

He almost reaches out to touch it-, to touch you but, he controls himself and lets you do all the work. After all, he has no idea what he's doing. Gojo only knows things about sex through porn and... well, that can only teach a person so much.

"Y-Y'know," And then he's starting already—yapping as if that would hide his nervousness. His cock is out and you're rubbing two pretty fingers through your folds before moving your hand in between your legs to grab ahold of him. "S-Shiit... Y'know this uh, this puzzle we got-, oh... it-, oh, that feels good-, it was a limited edition-"

"Satoru, you're cute but," You giggle as the lips of your pussy begin to close around his drooling cockhead, "If this is your idea of dirty talk then you have so much to learn..."

He tries to swallow a whine down his throat but it unfortunately escapes him as he continues his rambling, "I just-, goddamn... I thought you'd wanna know that," Gojo utters with a nervous chuckle, hips bucking up slightly to sink himself deeper into the dewy warmth that's currently swallowing up his length. "'Cause o-only a thousand," his breath hitches as you get about halfway down on him, "You're so fuckin' warm... Only a-ah.. a thousand of those sets were s-sold..."

Biting back your own moans whilst his thick cock stretches up into your welcoming walls, "Yeah?" You chime as if you genuinely cared about what he was saying. It's not that you didn't care at all but, the puzzle was the last thing on your mind with the way his dick felt slowly splitting you open. "T-That's... so nice, sweetie."

Gojo's hips snap up at the sound of the praise—wether or not you meant it to be sarcastic—and it's instant the way he brings a hand up to your hip to hold you down as the rest of his lengthy shaft disappears inside you. "Fuck, that felt good," He gasps as if this were some kind of new discovery for him, "C-Can you say that again? Praise me more?"

You work up a steady rhythm of lifting and then slamming your hips down on him after only a few moment of adjusting to his staggering inches, your jaw quickly falling open with slutty drool dangling out past your lips, "You're into that?" You huff softly before glancing back at him, "Y-You want me to-, mmnh, praise you more?"

Gojo's eyes are a little glossy from pleasure and he nods cutely, "P-Please? I'm being good so far, aren't I?" Then he looks down and you feel his cock throb inside of you, "Fuuuck... I haven't even-, ohgod... h-haven't even told you any more s-stupid facts. Aren't you proud of me?"

Another laugh exits your lips before you still your hips down against his, grinding with his cock buried inside of you instead of bouncing on it, "Yeahhh, I guess you have a point," You snort. Then you turn your face forwards and reach for a new puzzle piece before placing it somewhere. Your honeyed pussy clamps around his bulging girth and you hear the way he chokes out a gasp. "I'm so proud of you, 'Toru. Bein' such a good boy for me, aren't you?"

What you don't expect is the thick cum that spills out inside you. The hand he has on your hip grips a little tighter and he groans loudly, tossing his head back losing it at the sound of those words on your tongue. Well, that and the way you'd went back to those puzzle pieces as if this was just another Thursday night for you...

You have a little smile on your face as you feel him finishing inside you and by the time you look back at him, Gojo seems to be completely out of it—as if that was singlehandedly the best nut of his life. Glasses crooked on his face now, hand still anchoring your hip against him, hair tousled, and heavy pants exiting him, you can't help but tilt your head.

"Wow, two minutes. Impressive, really." You snort.

Gojo looks at you, just barely, and then pouts, "It was my first time, I'm sorry."

banner art by rororogi mogera || perm gojo tags (1/2):

@imyourightnow @cupidstrace @billiondollarworth @navyllll @aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa444 @sugo-jo @etsuniiru @not-a-glad-gladiator @2kool4skoolll @yulissacastillo11

@daxphoriax @gorouenjoyer @oookore @blubearxy @wonderfullymickey @iaintblockinnobody @anothergojostan @kitassecretgf @nanasukii28 @iam-souless

@nanamitiddiechomper @ohreallyfriend @kunababy @withersworld @suguphile @megottheswaskikacooooke @kvsqkiii @forest-nymph666 @yourlocalcatscammer @viiennie

@1stmagnoila @moonmilk102 @v33326 @lucy-lulu @sukubusss @sweetieelilii @lisabelhyhn @serenadesvt @bloxdhawks @riameriash

@arminseas2 @palanggaaa @makingtimemine @theodoresvalentine @salmon-ella @miss-f0rtun3 @jinjen @blcknebula @babblybebe @iluvatsumuuuui

[freelancelobotomy]

- ͙۪۪̥★˚┊❛ Miss me? ❜┊🩹˚ ͙۪۪̥◌

༉‧₊˚.Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚Summary: Cleared for physical intimacy post-shooting recovery, your boyfriend Spencer Reid's recent moodiness, initially assumed to be about loss of control, was a revelation: he was "frustrated" by how insanely good it felt to be hurt by you. *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟWC: 1.7k including both parts ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚CW: pain!kink spencer propaganda, smut, fluff, references to gun$ +being shot, mention of bullets, switch!spencer, takes place s9 during the Blake era after he’s shot in the neck. ੈ♡˳A/N: hi guys sorry i went on an unannounced hiatus uni was slapping it on my tongue. ANYWHO i hope you guys like this one. This won a poll i did a couple months ago and was collecting dust in my drafts (SORRY) I DID HAVE TO POST THIS IN 2 PARTS BECAUSE TUMBLR HATES ME AND WOULDN'T LET ME OTHERWISE OKAY BYE BYE

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

꒰ “I CAN GET IT MYSELF.” Spencer huffed as you grabbed a tin of medicated ointment from the table adjacent to your shared bed.

“Spencer, I’m trying to help you, okay? I know it's hard for you because you're so independent, but you need to be taken care of right now.” Spencer rolls his eyes, sitting up a little straighter against the mountain of pillows you arranged behind his head for his comfort so you could more easily apply his prescribed medicated cream to his wound. You sigh, but you’re unable to hold back the smile that creeps onto your lips from his fussiness. He took a .308 bullet to the neck in Texas last month, but he’s still as impertinent as ever. “It’s been almost seven weeks since you came home from the hospital. I’m not going anywhere. You can’t do it by yourself.” Spencer intercepts your hand as you reach for the balm you’ve just fetched. “Oh God,” He breathes, his voice husky. “Please be gentle, okay?” He’s referring to the ointment. It’s new. The doctor prescribed him a different gel, switching him from polysporin with lidocaine to neosporin since Spencer couldn’t stand the strong smell of the lidocaine. He’s nervous because the Neosporin doesn’t have the numbing agent that's in the old cream. You plant a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Alright. I will. You’re gonna be fine.” You un-screw open the lid of the little metal container, dipping your index and middle finger into the gel before lightly applying it to the freshly cleansed but closed wound on Spencer’s neck. He hisses, which makes you furrow your brows. He’s usually good with you applying whatever creams or pastes that the doctor gives him and takes them like a champ. “Does that hurt?” You ask, worried. “Ah–mhm. A little.” He whispered, shutting his eyes and slightly recoiling as your two fingers spread the ointment a little further down his neck, hesitantly. You frown, unsure of what to do. You can’t wipe it off because that would irritate his skin more. His eyes screw shut, and he begins whimpering quietly as your fingers work as quickly but softly as they can. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry.” You sigh when you realize you need to re-dip your fingers into the gel. “I’m gonna get the ointment with the lidocaine. Would that be better–” “No.” He says, his hand gripping your wrist. His eyebrows pinch together, and he glances up at you with a look you’ve never seen from him before. “Wha-why? I thought you said it hurt? You’re literally writhing in pain—you hate the smell that bad?” His chest heaves, expanding and inflating with each deep breath. The shirt he’s wearing is thin, and you can only recall seeing it on him once, maybe twice. You always see it in his go bag; he probably grabbed it from there since you were doing laundry. His shirt’s riding up on the side, revealing his lean waist and the sparse fawn brown hair trailing up from your boyfriend’s– “Touch me again—please.” He whines through gritted teeth. Your face burns, turning a deep crimson as you blink at him, perplexed by his sudden shift in tone. “The balm. Keep going.” His eyes, so round and glittering from the tears beading on his waterline. Spencer decides you’re taking too long and moves to hold the wrist of the hand hovering above the tender skin of his neck. He forced your hand to make contact with his healed scar, his breath hitching as the digits of your fingers pressed against him. Heat crept up past his neck to his face. You’re not stupid. You know how your boyfriend gets when he’s…eager. But to be sure, you lean in real close to him and press the softest kiss to his neck. His hand twitches, and his grip around your wrist tightens as he stifles a moan. You smile to yourself, satisfied. You’re gonna have a lot of fun with this. CLICK HERE FOR PART 2!!!

[freelancelobotomy]

This fic didnt get its flowers bc tumblr had to nerf me go read it or you think im a stupid sloppy stinky whore that should die thx x

[freelancelobotomy]

- ͙۪۪̥★˚┊❛ Miss me? ❜┊🩹˚ ͙۪۪̥◌ PT.2!

༉‧₊˚.Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚Summary: Cleared for physical intimacy post-shooting recovery, your boyfriend Spencer Reid's recent moodiness, initially assumed to be about loss of control, was a revelation: he was "frustrated" by how insanely good it felt to be hurt by you. *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟWC: 1.7k including both parts ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚CW: pain!kink spencer propaganda, smut, fluff, references to gun$ +being shot, mention of bullets, switch!spencer, takes place s9 during the Blake era after he’s shot in the neck. ੈ♡˳A/N: hi guys sorry i went on an unannounced hiatus uni was slapping it on my tongue. ANYWHO i hope you guys like this one. This won a poll i did a couple months ago and was collecting dust in my drafts (SORRY)  CLICK HERE IF YOU MISSED "PART 1"

┆ ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °

꒰ YOUR LIPS press sweet, feather-like kisses onto Spencer's neck. Your free hand creeps down his stomach, running your fingertips along his happy trail, which makes his hips jolt and buck.

“y/n,” He chokes out. “Don’t tease me, plea–oh” Your lewd hands palming his hardening dick through his pajama pants cut off his sentence. “Oh?” You purr, mockingly. “Does that feel good, Doctor?” Now you’ve got him. Spencer swallows hard, “Yes…yeah, it does,” he breathes, the right side of his mouth perking up and morphing into a smirk. “It’s been a while.” “Not true,” you chuckle lightly. “Since we’ve had actual sex, yes, it’s been a while.” He says, quietly but matter-of-factly. He’s technically right. You guys haven’t actually fucked since he was shot. 7 weeks ago. To say that you’d been feeling a little frisky because of your circumstances is an understatement. “You don’t…miss me?” He asks, timidly. You exhale through your nose, “Of course I miss you, it’s just…” you sigh “I don’t want to hurt you, Spencer.” “I’m cleared, and you know that. But if you really don’t want to, then…that's totally fine too.”

“K-kiss my neck again, pleasepleaseplease,” Spencer begs, his voice destroyed as the plush of your ass collides against his skin as you slam your hips down onto his cock over and over again. 

You do as you're told, leaving open-mouth kisses on the unharmed side of his neck. You nip at the skin before sinking your teeth into the flesh of his neck. You take his arms that are hovering over your body and move them to your waist, the erotic sound of your sopping wet pussy taking his fat cock. He hits that spot inside of you that makes you whine and makes your eyes glaze over.

“Feels s’good…oh my God,” He sobs as you clench around him, his hands moving lower as he pathetically gropes at your ass. “I love you so much.”

“You mean you love it when I use you like this?”

Spencer shakes his head as he babbles some nonsense about loving you so much and how he’s never really loved anyone before you. 

“You like fucking me raw?” “You’re so perfec— your…. pussy’s so tight ah– around me.”

You dig your nails into his shoulders, your hips rising higher, almost lifting yourself completely off of his dick, before taking all of him again.

Spencer loses it, hips bucking, swearing in between every word that isn’t your name.

Your finger grazes Spencer’s neck, and all of a sudden, you're flipped on your back.

“Sorry—“ He looks into your eyes, “need you like this for a sec’nd, kay, pretty?”

Disoriented and overwhelmingly aroused from the position change, you nod, completely fucked out, and his hips have only just started thrusting into you like this. It's the eye contact that has you. He’s not just desperate, he’s starving. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips are parted, and that gossamer happy trail—Jesus Christ, how lucky are you to have someone like him rearranging your insides right now. And how stupid are you for waiting so long to get back to fucking him? 

As he starts to pound into the gummy spot inside of you, you begin to moan. Loud and senselessly with reckless abandon as your cunt throbbed around him. 

“Y’Sound so -hck good, sweetheart.” He hiccups, “It’s so cute when you go limp, and lemme take care of you. You like it too, don’you? Hm? When I ragdoll you on my cock?”

When he’s drilling you like this, and he’s looking at you like you’re good enough to eat, it’s hard to answer with a sentence that isn’t a string of whines or ‘I love you.’

He holds the side of your face, and you lean into his touch. “Oh, I know, baby. It’s been so long. You’re taking me so good—fuck.”

Shamelessly, you start running your hands over wherever they can reach. His face, his biceps, and his nipples, which earns you a shudder from him.

“Like what you see?” He exhales.

“So—‘ansome. Missed you so much.”

“Do you feel that stretch?” Spencer says, moving your hand to your stomach, right, where it bulges from his cock that's currently stuffed inside of you. You whimper in response when he does this. 

“My pretty—“ moan “Cockdrunk girlfriend. My caretaker.”

“I missed you,” you slur.

“As you’ve said.” He chuckles, breathily.

“‘M sorry if you thought I didn’t. I was jus’ worried about you.”

“I know, honey. S’okay. You take care of me, I'm gonna take care of you, yeah?”

Your hand moves to rub your clit in tight circles. “Show me how much you missed me.” He coos, “Make yourself come.”

Closer to the edge, your walls begin to flutter around him. “I can feel you gripping me. Are you gonna come, slut?” 

“Mhm,“ You hiccup. “Oh fuck–” You come with a high-pitched whine, legs basically thrashing. He holds you tighter, pushing you into the mattress until he buries his head into your shoulder and starts rutting into you. Using you—your body—to get off. Taking all his frustrations over his circumstances and limitations out on your cunt.

“Your pussy feels so good–” plap plap plap “fucking milking me,” He whines.

He buries his head into your shoulder, pushing his full body weight on top of you while fucking into you impossibly deeper. The plush of your slick-coated thighs tremble against his as your second orgasm ripples throughout your entire body, lingering in your legs. Spencer presses himself to the furthest point inside of you before flooding you with his essence. 

Spencer cranes his head up from your neck to look at you before planting a chaste kiss on your lips. You look into his rich, warm eyes, and your hand instinctively finding his cheek.

“So pretty,” you say under your breath without thinking. He smiles, his face reddening

“Are you flustered from me calling you that?” Spencer chuckles, his head returning to your shoulder to hide how embarrassed he truly is in the moment. How whipped he’s become. “Spencer, you’re literally inside of me right now.”

“You’re so mean to me.” He whines, his voice hoarse. “Don’t act like you don’t like it, Doctor.” You whisper, your tone comically seductive. Regardless, he winces, his hips instinctively rocking against yours.

“Sorry, sorry.” he cymbals, “You just feel so good—so warm.” he mumbles that last part.

Your hand gently runs down to his neck, and suddenly he bucks into you again, his cock half-hard again. And this time you don’t have to wait 7 weeks.

[freelancelobotomy]

what’s your favorite slur?

nyukka

[blingblingtual]

lets all jump klay thompson

[chososprettygirl]

⡴ choso loves when you call him “good boy” (fluff + smut, oral) ⡴ 0.4k words

whenever you say “good boy” to him, he swears he’s in heaven. he swears you could control him with just two words to do anything and everything.

“be a good boy for me and take out the trash, cho’?” done. instantly he’s getting up, throwing on slides and doing it because of how goddamn sweet your voice sounds, practically entrancing him to do it.

he’d do whatever you want already, but the second your pretty lips move to say “good boy” he’s like a sailor being lured by a siren. his self control and any smidge of doubt is sent out the window.

and when you utter it softly as his flexed tongue laps at your pussy, he’s gone. he’s gripping your thighs harder and shoving in his face deeper like your words are his fuel. his tattered, calloused fingers are digging into the pudge of your thighs, tensed and spreading them apart. your fingers are doing next to the same in his hair, clumping the thick, black strands and scraping at his scalp.

“hngh—good boy, choso,” you moan out, saying those simple words that makes him go so fucking feral again, head thrown back in pure ecstasy. he pushes your thighs up, kneeled over infront of you, giving him a better angle to drive straight into your cunt. his soft, round nose nudges at your clit, driving a jolt out of you and making you clench around his fervent tongue. “so fuckin’ good for me, cho.”

he moans. moans out into your pussy, muffled by the flesh he’s dived into. he’s drooling, saliva pooling at his chin after falling from his lips, mixed with the wetness from your cunt you’ve been dripping on his pussy-drunk mouth.

“such a g’boy,” you heave out, voice strained from how much you’ve wailed for him already. he whimpers, you’re pretty sure he’s crying now, hell he might be enjoying this more than you.

your cunt pulses on his face, the one currently staring up at you with pleading, blown out eyes. tears are streaming down his face as he continues to feast on your pussy, practically drowning in it.

he swears out a muffled cry for you as you cream on his tongue, orgasm leaking down his tongue and running off his chin messily.

he pulls back, looking more dazed than you.

“did so good, baby.” you say, ruffling his dark hair, his face scrunching as he moans when you do.

[artdcnaldson]

HAPPY CHALLENGERSIVERSARY

[dashadinkydu]

[WHIMPERS] [MOANS] [KISSING NOISES] [BREATHLESS] “TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT” [KISSING NOISES AND WHIMPERS] “DO YOU LIKE THAT” [MOANS] [PANTS] “MY GOD YOURE SO PERFECT” [WHIMPERS] [KISSING NOISES] “GOD I WANT YOU SO BADLY” [MORE KISSING NOISES AND WHIMPERS AND MOANS]

[iovejareauu]

the horrible posture twins

[chososprettygirl]

⡴(frat!gojo) is down bad for his bsf’s sister ⡴ 0.7k words

why of all people on earth does he have to be obsessed with you, his best friend, suguru’s, sister? he’s convinced whatever god that’s up there is getting back him for being to rude to utahime back in grade school by making you essentially off limits. if he could go back in time and prevent himself from being sworn in to ‘bro-code’ he’d do it in a heartbeat. because that’d mean he’d get to have you.

he swears it was something straight out of a shojo when he first saw you. it was when you had met up with suguru back at the frat house so you two could go home for winter break together. you walked into suguru’s room, right across from gojo’s, nagging for him to hurry up. and trust him, he’s not a perv, he respects women… but from his doorway he got an amazing view of your ass in those god-damn yoga pants. like amazing amazing.

he’d heard the stories from suguru’s childhood of you, the stories about how suguru forced you to do stuff, arguments you had, how he used to practice wwe moves on you, but never did he show a photo of you, never did he mention that you look ethereal. thinking about it now, he’s only ever said “my sister” when talking about you—was your name pretty? probably. it’d only make sense. what did you even major in that he never saw you on campus ? if he had seen you before maybe he’d be able to get away with the “oh sorry, didn’t know that was your sister. kinda fucked her tho” excuse.

maybe he could try his chances with being friends atleast ? sure it would hurt a little if you never ended up liking him but it would be pretty nice to have a hot friend.

“oh uh, hey.” he says, catching you attention and making your look over your shoulder, ass still perfect in those pants. “i’m uhh suguru’s friend. satoru…gojo.”

you turn around fully now, and now he sees your tits peaking out from your hoodie and surprisingly low cut top for the weather. “no way ! i hear so much about you from sugu !” you look up at him with a smile as you speak. god you look so cute. “glad i could finally meet you. is ‘satoru’ okay?” yes. yes it is. please feel free to call him satoru. but instead of saying that he just nods.

“‘kay let’s go. i got my bags.” oh right, suguru’s here. you do a little finger wave as you walk through the hallway, suguru trialing behind you.

before he can even think of what he’s saying he yelps out, “wait—i, i never got your name!” oh god. why did he do that. he’s sure you’re infecting his brain—you have to have some weird siren hold on him that makes him not able to process his thoughts. he’s not in a fucking romance movie, why god, why did he do that. especially with suguru right there.

you tell it out back before trekking down the stairs while suguru looks back at him with a semi confused look and carries down his bags.

and then, yes, like a desperate dork the moment you leave he searches for your instagram account and requests to follow immediately. he was practically jumping on the bed like the monkeys in the nursery rhyme when he sees you accepted and followed him back. and then nearly cried when he remembers your his best friend’s sister :(

somehow his obsession has gotten worse and better at the same time. you come around the frat house more so sometimes he’ll see you when he gets back from the gym and you pass him, coming out from the shower because your dorm shower broke. and sure that’s great, he’s even gotten closer to you when you come to mixers and he pours your drink—but now it’s so goddamn hard not to combust when he sees you in a new, thin tank top. and his dick is so goddamn hard when you come over.

and he has to act all normal when suguru mentions you, knowing full well he’d give up the afterlife to kiss you once. and he has to act all normal when you get a boyfriend—except he doesn’t act normal, he cries in his room at night and prays you break up as soon as possible.

sigh. he wants that cookie so effing bad.