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Finally finished this piece after months of reworking. Far from perfect, but I’m glad it’s done. Inspired by the amazing Bruno Redondo, Dan Mora, and especially Dexter Soy.

l0singctrl

siennayaps

30 days to get in your pants I G. Satoru x Reader

Chapter 4- Close (13.7k words I’m sorry 😭) Masterlist

Synopsis: You arrive in Japan with a soft heart and nothing to lose until the meanest, the most popular fuckboy in your class chooses you as a bet, smiling at you like it means something.

While you fall for him counting the petals of the roses he gave you, he's only counting days to get in your pants.

Tags: Angst, emotional manipulation, bet trope, power imbalance, fluff, fear of abandonment, slow burn, smut, college AU, soft reader, rich mean Gojo, lots of drama.

Aesthetic | Playlist

Art Credits: wp_63, -_3aem

The girl approached you like she already knew how this conversation would end.

You were standing near the kitchen counter, fingers loosely wrapped around your drink, eyes still scanning the room every few seconds hoping, and searching for a reason that would make you feel like you belong to this party. Eyes dancing around on bodies for a flash of white hair that would anchor you back into something familiar. The music was way too loud, you didn’t know the song that was playing, bodies moving, laughter spilling everywhere, and yet somehow, you had never felt more alone in a room so full.

“Hey,” she said, casual, almost friendly.

#satoru angst #satoru x reader #fuckboy gojo x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #saturo gojo x reader

siennayaps

30 days to get in your pants | Gojo S. x Reader

Chapter 3 - Rumour (12.8k words) Masterlist

Synopsis: You arrive in Japan with a soft heart and nothing to lose until the meanest, the most popular fuckboy in your class chooses you as a bet, smiling at you like it means something. While you fall for him counting the petals of the roses he gave you, he's only counting days to get in your pants.

Tags: Angst, emotional manipulation, bet trope, power imbalance, fear of abandonment, slow burn, smut, college AU, soft reader, rich mean Gojo, lots of drama.

Aesthetic | Playlist

Art Credits: wp_63, -_3aem

No one had ever treated you like this before. Not like you were something worth being careful with. Not like you were worth loving. With each close friendship or relationship, the thread of being fun and entertaining becoming fragile.

You would never call yourself fragile, you hated that word, the way it sounded like porcelain, like something that could shatter at the slightest touch. You had built yourself to be anything but that. You had moved to a different country for like the sixth time now. You learned new streets, new languages, new ways of being looked at. You learned how to swallow homesickness quietly. You learned how to survive in silence. It’s true that you had a hard time being familiar with new faces but at least this time, you were trying.

Your fault being that you felt everything. You felt the shift in air when someone entered a room. You felt the subtle difference between politeness and warmth. You felt when you were tolerated and when you were wanted. Being an empath wasn’t something you announced. It was something that exhausted you in private. It meant you carried not only your own emotions but the unspoken ones of everyone around you.

#fuckboy satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #satoru angst #satoru gojo x reader #bf satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut

siennayaps

30 days to get in your pants | Gojo S. x Reader

Chapter 2 - Trope (6.2k words) Masterlist

Synopsis: You arrive in Japan with a soft heart and nothing to lose until the meanest, the most popular fuckboy in your class chooses you as a bet, smiling at you like it means something.

While you fall for him counting the petals of the roses he gave you, he's only counting days to get in your pants.

Tags: Angst, emotional manipulation, bet trope, power imbalance, fluff, fear of abandonment, slow burn, smut, college AU, soft reader, rich mean Gojo, lots of drama.

Aesthetic | Playlist

Art Credits: wp_63, -_3aem

You had said “Yes”

And now lays the perfect time to lay his trap!

Level 1: Access

You say yes. And he grins like he’s won something. Not loud or arrogant. Just that slow, lazy curl of his lips as if the universe has tilted exactly the way he expected it to. In his head, it’s the first checkbox ticked. The first yes in a long list of them where ultimately this will end up with “Oh Yesssss! FUCK ME harder Ahhh”. He doesn’t rush it. He never does. Victories taste better when they’re savoured after all.

“Cool,” he says easily. “My friends’ll be there. Come on.”

And before you can overthink it, before your instincts can catch up to your heart. His hand finds yours.

Gentle.

Careful.

Like he’s holding something fragile.

Your breath stutters. This is happening too fast, you think. Why is this even happening at all, you think. You follow him because your feet move before your fear does, because his palm is warm and steady and because somewhere deep inside you’re tired of always choosing loneliness over risk.

You walk behind him through the halls, eyes glued to the floor, painfully aware of the way people stare. At him. At you. At the way your hands are joined like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You’ve avoided the cafeteria since the first day. Crowds make your chest feel heavy . Sitting alone makes your skin crawl. And new friendships…those scare you most of all. They always start the same way. Coffee. Laughter. Late-night talks. Promises. And then a goodbye you never get to prepare for.

So instead, you built yourself a routine. A park nearby. A sandwich wrapped carefully in paper. Kids laughing. Cats stretching lazily in the sun. Chocolate hidden in your bag like a reward for surviving another day.

Safe. Predictable. Quiet.

This is none of those things. The cafeteria is loud. Bright. Alive. And his table, in-fact their table is already full. Suguru. Sukuna. Toji. Haibara. Maki. Nobara.

Too many eyes.

Your palms start sweating immediately. “Hey!”

“Hi!”

“Oh—hey!”

Hands wave. Chairs scrape. Smiles flash.

They look… excited. Like you’re a novelty. Like you’re something new they’ve been waiting to poke and prod and figure out. Gojo squeezes your hand once, reassuring, before letting go.

“Guys,” he says, voice smooth, easy. “This is my new friend.”

He says your name like it belongs in his mouth. Like he has known you forever. “She’ll be joining us for lunch from now on”.

From now on.

The words echo in your head.

He pulls out a chair for you. Actually pulls it out. Gestures you to sit like you’re royalty. Like you’re the only girl that exists, you feel like this is where you’re meant to be.

You feel ridiculous. Flustered. Seen.

Shoko stops by, eyes flicking over you with something like concern, like she’s assessing a patient rather than a person.

“Nice having you here,” she says gently.

You nod. Words fail you again.

Orders are placed. Conversations overlap. Plans are made. You mostly listen because you’re good at listening. You’ve always been. It’s safer to observe than to participate.

And then Gojo turns fully toward you. “What do you want, sweets?”

Your heart stumbles.

“S-sweets?”

He grins. “You look like you’d like sweets.” … “also, yeah! I did call you that, you do feel like a sweet person”.

You giggle before you can stop yourself, covering your mouth like you always do. “Um… I’ll just have a sandwich.”

His eyebrows lift. “Perfect. Same.”

It shouldn’t mean anything.

But it does.

The conversation flows around you. Easy, chaotic, alive. You nod, smile, absorb. And every few seconds, you feel his gaze drift back to you.

Checking.

Watching.

Remembering.

At one point, he lifts his dessert up. Something strawberry, soft, too pretty to eat and holds it out toward you.

“Try this.”

You freeze. “I—I’m okay.”

“You have to,” he says lightly. “It’s my favorite.”

You shake your head. He ignores it.

“Hey,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “Just a bite.”

He gently pushes the spoon to your mouth. Close enough that you can smell him- clean, warm, something faintly sweet and unmistakably expensive. Your resolve dissolves embarrassingly fast.

You give in. The cream smudges your lip.

He laughs.

Suguru gestures subtly. Your face burns as you reach for a napkin but Gojo’s already there.

“I got it.”

He wipes your lip carefully. Slowly. Like he has all the time in the world. Your heart forgets how to beat.

Yesterday, you felt invisible.

Today, you feel chosen.

And then the craziest part of it all is that he doesn’t disappear. Not like the other guys you think.

That’s the thing!

He doesn’t overwhelm you either. No dramatic confessions. No relentless hovering. Just consistency, slipped into your life so gently you almost don’t notice when it becomes routine.

A message the next morning.

“Did you eat?”

Another that afternoon.

“Library today?”

And then it becomes a routine.

He remembers you don’t like loud places. Remembers you go quiet when you’re overwhelmed. Remembers the exact pink hoodie you wore on Tuesday and tells you casually that it suited you.

“I just like talking to you,” he says one evening, walking beside you. “You’re easy to be around.”

Easy.

No one has ever called you that before. All your life you’ve felt like you’re too messy and difficult to be dealt with. Like being around you or with you should come with a manual. Like someone who ever decides to put up with you, your antics, and your crazy load of emotions should get a reward.

And most of all? Why would an almost 6’3 dude who’s a gym rat, is rich, aces his tests and looks like an angel turned human would put up with someone like you?

It’s all a dream indeed and someday…someone might wake you up from this fever dream. Yeah, that’s what will happen. You’re almost sure of it.

At home, your room stays the same. Soft lights, folded clothes, jackets hanging neatly. You change into another oversized hoodie, pink again, curl up on your bed and stare at your phone like it holds something fragile.

It buzzes.

Your name lights up the screen.

“You good? You were quiet today.”

You swore he could read your mind.

Your fingers hover.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

Three dots.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Something inside you loosens.

You’re so addicted to him. You hate how you’ve been wanting to stay in his proximity for these past few days. Who would believe that you met him about just a week ago? Well, you’ve read about the couples who meet and there’s just this instant chemistry and how they know they’re soulmates and get married.

You stop yourself. You were doing that thing again. That thing where even slightest of emotions or care from someone would make you feel special.

Days stack like this. Texts. Walks. Quiet jokes. He notices everything: what you eat, what you avoid, the way you smile when you forget to hide it with your palms.

You learn things about him too. That he boxes. That he’s good at it. That his family is rich in the way people don’t talk about, old money and all. That he dresses effortlessly. Clean lines, expensive fabric, baggy jeans, compressed T-shirts , confidence stitched into every seam.

And yet with you he never makes you feel small. He makes you feel selected. You start waiting for his messages. Start replaying his voice in your head. Start believing dangerous thoughts.

Maybe I’m not too much.

Maybe I’m just right…for him.

You don’t see the pattern yet.

Don’t see how easily he’s woven himself into your days. Don’t see how the warmth you feel is something he’s practiced.

All you know is this: For the first time in a long while, you don’t feel like running. And you don’t know if it should excite you or terrify you.

You don’t know that after shooting that last message to you, he was emptying his balls inside someone (18+). Some other girl whose tits were all over his bed now, you don’t know how he’s scrunching up her hoodie in his hands from the back.

Level 2: Validation

After that day, things change in ways so small you almost convince yourself you’re imagining them.

He starts walking you to class.

Not every time. Not obviously. Just enough that it feels coincidental like he happened to be going the same way, like it’s destiny, like you didn’t rearrange his entire route in his head the moment he saw you zip up your bag.

“Need help?” he asks one afternoon, glancing down at your notes.

It’s casual. Effortless. Like of course he knows the answer. You shake your head immediately. “I’m okay.”

He hums. “You always say that.”

Not accusing. Almost fond.

And then he explains the concept anyway. Clean, brilliant, simple. He makes it sound easy, like it was always meant to make sense to you. When you look up at him, eyes wide, lips parted just a little in awe, something warm settles in his chest.

There it is.

Validation works best when it feels earned.

Some days, he catches you at your locker.

He’s just come from practice. Hair damp, skin flushed, shirt clinging to muscle like it doesn’t know how to let go. Sweat darkens the collar of his shirt, and when he leans down to talk to you, it’s all heat and his tall height and his beautiful presence.

You have to tilt your head back to look at him.

God.

What must it feel like…to be chosen by someone like him?

Your fingers fidget with the zipper of your bag. He notices. He always notices. “You okay?” he asks softly, like he already knows the answer. Already knows that his magic, his charm is working on your boundaries.

You nod anyway.

He grins “Good.”

He reaches down to grab a pen you’ve dropped, sinking to one knee without thinking. His eyes flick up for half a second too long on your legs before he hands it back, fingers brushing yours.

Your breath stutters. He pretends not to notice.

He texts you. Constantly.

Nothing heavy. Nothing demanding.

“Practice sucked today.”

“Did you eat?”

“You’d laugh if you saw Toji right now.”

You smile at your phone more than you’d ever admit. Meanwhile, girls drift in and out of his life like cigarettes. Names you don’t know, faces you never quite see.

And you’re not supposed to care.

Right?

One afternoon, you’re studying together in the library. He’s sprawled across the chair, chin propped on his hand, watching you more than the page.

His phone buzzes.

He glances at it, sighs, it’s another girl he’s been wanting to hook up with with. He turns away from you slightly as he answers.

Japanese flows easily from his lips—lazy, dismissive.

“Relax,” he murmurs into the phone. “She’s nothing. Just… there. Like décor.”

You don’t understand the words of course. But it’s his voice and his words so it must be something kind and beautiful.

Right?

When he turns back to you, his smile is exactly the same.

“Sorry,” he says lightly. “Where were we?”

You nod. Smile. Keep reading.

You don’t know that an hour later, his bathroom was a mess clothes draped over the sink, towels stacked neatly because he always keeps extras. He doesn’t mind when girls take them. Doesn’t mind the shower running after. Doesn’t mind the mess.

He likes when people enjoy themselves.

You don’t know any of that.

All you know is that when he looks at you, it feels like the world narrows.

He insists on going shopping with you. You try to say no. You really do. But he smiles like it would be the world’s greatest honour to do so. Like it’s already decided.

You don’t tell the others. It feels like something just for you.

He hovers close the entire time. His hands brushing, fingers grazing your wrist when he passes you clothes. Compliments slip out of him like poetry.

“You’d look amazing in that.”

“You have really good taste, you know.”

“Pink suits you.”

You laugh nervously, cheeks warm. He insists on buying you all of it but you pay for your own things. You always do. Your father is a successful businessman and you might not be as rich as Gojo but weren’t far away either.

He doesn’t argue.

But later, when you’re not looking, he buys a few things anyway.

Pink.

Of course.

When he hands the bag to you outside the store, your eyes go wide.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he says simply.

That’s all.

That night, you lie in bed replaying everything as you watch “The fragrant flower blooms with dignity”. You can’t help but notice the quite resemblance of it. How Gojo is so tall like Rintaro. How you’re a big foodie like Kaoruko. It’s stupid really but can you blame yourself when all yourself when the past few days of your life have been nothing but magic?

The touches. The looks. The way he says your name like it’s a secret he likes keeping.

You don’t know that you’re one in a massive pool with multiple objects of his desire. You just know that he makes you feel special.

And that, is everything you’d ever wanted.

Level 3: Escape

It starts with skipping one class. Just one. He says it like it’s nothing, like it’s not a moral crime you’ll carry in your bones forever.

“Come on,” he murmurs, already slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll teach you better anyway.”

You hesitate. Of course you do. You always hesitate. Your parents’ voices live rent-free in your head. Discipline, rules, schedules, consequences.

He notices the pause.

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” he says, softer now. “You’re just… having fun sweets.”

“Sweets”.

Hell, you loved when he called you that. Moments where you feel like you’re his girl. “Gojo’s girl” does something to your abdomen and brain chemistry.

The word makes you feel cute and truly special.

So you go.

And the sky doesn’t fall. No alarms blare. No divine punishment arrives. You sit with him instead on cool steps, on a patch of grass, in places you were never supposed to be during class hours and he explains everything with that lazy brilliance of his, like knowledge is something he casually hands out.

You laugh more that day than you have in weeks. God, when did you start laughing this much?

Later, when your parents asked where you were, you lie. A small one.

A harmless one.

And lord knows how freeing it feels.

He learns about your parents slowly. Not because you tell him everything, you don’t. You’re too careful for that. But he listens when you slip. When you mention curfews. Expectations. The way you were raised to be good before you were allowed to be happy.

He never mocks it. He just says, “That sounds heavy.” And somehow, that makes the burden lighter.

Around him, you’re braver. Louder. You tease him back. You roll your eyes instead of shrinking. You think, This is who I’d be if I wasn’t scared all the time.

This must be what it feels like to be Gojo’s girl.

Even if you refuse to call it that.

Yet.

Day 9 and he starts touching you like it’s instinct. Forehead kisses when you’re quiet too long. Knuckles brushed against his lips like it’s a habit. His hand warm at the small of your back when you walk through crowds.

You tell yourself this is normal.

This is what close friends do. You’ve just… never been close to a guy before. Still, your body betrays you. You lean into him without thinking. Your fingers toy with the fabric of his sleeve, knead lightly at his arm when you laugh. You crave his touch in a way that makes you dizzy.

And every time that thought forms, another one follows, sharp and cruel:

Why would he want me?

You list the signs. The texts. The kisses. The way his eyes soften when he looks at you and ignore them all. Alarm signs all over but fuck pink because Red is your favourite colour now.

And still something in your gut whispers that luck like this doesn’t happen to people like you.

Especially not in love.

The next afternoon, you’re sprawled on the grass together. You’re playing with his hair, sliding your little clips into it, giggling when he pretends to be offended.

“Absolutely humiliating,” he says, deadpan.

“You look cute,” you argue.

He lets you.

Lets you take pictures. Lets you decorate him like he belongs to you. What you don’t see is how still he goes. How aware he suddenly is of your hands, your laughter, the way you hover over him like something precious.

Get it together, he tells himself.

You’re overthinking. She’s just… different. That’s all. He dresses better on days he sees you. Tries harder. Uses all his charm and still feels like it’s not enough.

Annoying.

He fucking hates that.

That same evening, Gojo and your friends decided to an arcade. Lights flashing. Music blaring. Friends shouting over each other.

You look beautiful.

The plaid skirt. The cute, elegant top. The new shoes your father bought you as an apology wrapped in leather and laces. You glow in a way that makes people look twice.

He definitely does.

Your confidence shocks everyone.

Game after game, you win. Not loudly. Not obnoxiously. Just effortlessly like this is another part of you no one ever bothered to ask about.

Instead of competing, he hands you his tokens. “Play for me, sweets!” he says, leaning close. “I like watching you win.”

Your cheeks feel hot and red. All eyes are on you. You feel special. Seen.

Alive.

For the very first time in your life. Aware of all the cells, organs and other shit in your body.

He notices everything! The curve of your neck when you tilt your head, your collarbones catching the light, the way your lips flush when you’re excited, the sway of your hips when you walk.

He can’t WAIT to rearrange your guts and make you moan his fucking name. No Gojo bullshit, you screaming “Satoru” with your plush lips. Him making you loose your damn mind, hair displayed on his pillow, legs open, back arching while he fucks you with a burning passion. He’s at the arcade for games but the game running on his mind? It’s far more enticing than anything.

His daydreaming stops as he watches your ass. God, he notices it each day like it’s a ritual. Ass, back of the head, and then your chest. Almost like a small routine.

He looks away before it gets dangerous.

Later, when it’s quiet, when the night has settled into something soft and forgiving, you realize something terrifying.

You don’t want to go back to who you were before him.

You like this version of yourself. Gods be good you LOVE this version of yourself.

The one who skips class.

Who lies a little.

Who laughs louder.

Who isn’t afraid all the time.

And somewhere deep down, you wonder if freedom feels like this…what happens when you can’t live without it anymore?

—-

You reach home at NINE.

Fuck.

The door barely closes before the noise hits you.

Voices: sharp, loud, disappointed. Accusations hurled like stones.

“Do you know what time it is?”

“This is extremely disrespectful.”

“You’re becoming arrogant.”

“This is not how good girls behave.”

“We didn’t raise you like this.”

Seven.

Seven was the rule.

You stand there with your bag still on your shoulder, the echo of the arcade lights still buzzing behind your eyes, his laughter still warm in your chest and for the first time, something inside you doesn’t fold.

You don’t argue.

You don’t cry.

You don’t apologize.

You slip your earphones back in. I thought I saw your face today by She & Him playing in your ears.

Your mother’s voice follows you, frantic now. She says she cooked dinner for you. She says she waited. She says you’re ungrateful if you don’t eat.

“I’m not hungry,” you say, quietly.

And it’s true.

Because earlier, much earlier- he made sure you weren’t.

Massive burgers. Greasy fries. That bitter coffee you like, the one most people hate. He watched you eat like it was the most interesting thing in the world, like you weren’t someone who used to panic over a single spoonful of rice in front of others.

“You’re not going home hungry,” he’d said easily. “That’s non-negotiable.”

You remember the way he looked proud when you demolished your food. The way he laughed when you won yet another game. The Digimon figure you’d shoved into your his hands. Tiny, ridiculous little collectible he insisted he’d “loved.”

As if he was capable of loving anything.

“You’re insane,” you’d told him.

“Yeah,” he’d grinned. “But you’re incredible.”

Upstairs, in your room, the shouting fades into background noise.

You sit on your bed, shoes still on, heart still racing but not with fear, with something lighter.

Something happier.

For the first time, you don’t care what they think. Life isn’t supposed to be this rigid. It isn’t supposed to hurt this much to exist. You stare at your phone.

At his name.

And you think that maybe this is who I’ve always been. Maybe he didn’t change you. Maybe he just let you breathe. That thought settles deep. That’s the danger.

Level 4: Intimacy

It starts at night. Not all at once. Just… quietly.

A message from him when you’re already in bed, lights off, ceiling fan humming above you.

“You awake?”

You stare at the screen longer than necessary before typing back.

“Yeah.”

Three dots. Gone. Back again.

“Good. Talk to me.”

No one has ever said that to you like it’s a given. Like you’re supposed to be there. Like your presence is assumed, wanted even.

You talk about nothing at first. About your day. About a professor who annoyed you. About how you couldn’t find your favorite lip balm and it ruined your mood more than it should have.

He listens. Really listens. Asks questions no one ever bothers to ask.

“Why does that matter to you?”

“Did it make you feel small, or just tired?”

“You always downplay things that hurt you, you know that?”

You freeze with your phone pressed to your chest.

You’ve never told anyone that.

You type slower after that. More carefully. And somehow, you say things you promised yourself you never would. About your parents. About the constant pressure. About the feeling that you’re always one mistake away from being disappointing.

There’s a pause on his end. Then you see three dots on your screen again.

“Hey.”

“You don’t have to be perfect to be worth loving.”

Your throat tightens.

Silence follows but not the uncomfortable kind. Not the kind that makes you scramble for words. This silence feels… shared. Like you’re sitting beside each other, not speaking, and it’s enough.

You fall asleep with your phone in your hand.

The days start to blur after that.

Libraries become your thing. Quiet corners where you sit across from him, knees brushing under the table. Sometimes you study. Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes you just watch him lean back in his chair, legs stretched out, eyes half-lidded as he watches you pretend not to notice him watching you.

Empty classrooms. You perched on a chair, he sitting on the desk in front of you, swinging his legs like he owns the damn world.

“You always dress like you know exactly who you are,” he says once, eyes dragging over you slowly. “It’s hot.”

You laugh it off. You always do.

But later, alone, you replay it in your head.

Parks. Quiet streets. Your hand in his, just like friends, you tell yourself. Even though your fingers lace together without thinking. Even though he never lets go first.

His scent is everywhere now. Clean skin. Sweat. Something warm and expensive and distinctly him. You breathe it in like it steadies you. You refrain from washing your sweaters sometimes because they faintly smell like him and you’d want to sleep while hugging them, thinking of all the things that you both could do in your bed, how he would brush your hair to the back of your hair, how he’d feel under you, how his abs would tense when you’d touch him, how his name from your name would sound like when he’s breathless, how his hot mouth would feel around your nipples.

Hand-holding had started lasting too long nowadays. His thumb brushes your wrist absentmindedly when he talks these days. His fingers trace the back of your hand when he thinks you’re not paying attention. Once, his hand settles on your thigh while you’re sitting close like it had always belonged there.

You don’t move it away. You tell him everything now. What you ate. What you bought. The recipe you tried. The fight you overheard at home. The way your parents looked at you like you were slipping through their fingers.

His opinions start to matter more than you realize. “You’re not wrong,” he tells you, easy and confident.

“They’re just very controlling,” he says about your parents.

“You deserve more space than that,” he says about your life.

His voice becomes the calm one in your head. The one you trust. The world doesn’t feel so sharp when he’s around. Your anxiety quiets. Your shoulders drop. You laugh more. You breathe easier.

Bad days feel survivable because he knows about them now. Because you have someone to share them with. Because he understands you.

And somewhere along the way, escape turns into need. You sit in the front rows of his football games. Everyone sees it. The way his eyes find you in the crowd. The way he grins when he scores, like it’s for you.

You feel chosen.

Different.

Special.

Like Gojo’s girl.

You believe, truly believe that he would never hurt you. The world might. Your parents might. Life definitely will.

But him?

No.

Never.

He’s different.

A reward, you think, for all your good deeds in life. For all the times you endured quietly. At night, you scroll through his Instagram.

Further back than you should.

Your chest tightens at pictures you don’t recognize. Girls you don’t know. Captions that make your stomach twist. Jealousy rises fast and ugly, bile at the back of your throat.

You hate this about yourself.

You’ve always hated how deeply you feel. How intensely you want. But with him, it’s worse.

A hundred times worse.

You tell yourself it’s fine. You’ve only known him for days. Ten. Fifteen. That’s nothing.

And yet you’re sure!

You swear it’s different. You start craving him in ways that surprise you. His hands. The veins along them. His rings. His jaw. His lips. The way his body fills space so effortlessly.

You’ve never been like this. Never thought like this. Never wanted like this.

And yet.

Late at night, alone, you touch yourself with shaky fingers trying to imagine its his instead, your tiny fingers trying to fuck yourself thinking it’s his long ones instead. Heat pooling low in your belly , his name caught between your lips like a secret oath.

You feel ridiculous.

Overwhelmed.

Gone.

You don’t know that intimacy doesn’t always come with promises. Sometimes, it comes disguised as safety. And you’ve already given him the most intimate thing you own- your belief that he couldn’t possibly hurt you, ever.

Level 5: Dependance

He becomes your routine before you realize you’ve lost the ability to function without him in it. Mornings start with his name lighting up your screen.

“Want me to pick breakfast for ya?

“What’re you wearing today?”

“Send me a pic when you reach.”

If you reply slower than usual, he notices. Everything about him is attention trained to sound like care.

“You okay?”

“You’re quiet.”

“Did I do something?”

Your chest tightens every time. Not butterflies, there’s rats in your stomach now. You rush to reassure him.

“No, no, it’s nothing.”

“No, you’re perfect.”

“No, I’m fine.”

Distance feels like punishment now. Silence feels like abandonment. But something in your intuition warns you to move ahead carefully.

Rules break easily these days. Without guilt. Without second thoughts. You stay out late. You lie smoothly. You skip classes when he says, Come on, I’ll teach you better anyway.

Life feels bright—almost painfully so until the days he doesn’t show up.

The campus looks dull when he isn’t there. Food tastes flat. You don’t feel like having chocolate those days. Music doesn’t hit the same while taking the subway even when you’re listening to Jealous Type by Doja Cat lol.

You catch yourself thinking ridiculous things. People fall in love fast all the time. When it’s right, time doesn’t matter. This is just how it’s supposed to feel. He’d ask you out soon.

You fall asleep smiling. He falls asleep counting the process of his task i’e You. That morning, he brings you a rose.

Just one.

Deep red. Perfect. Heavy in your hand.

“Valentine’s over,” you say softly, smiling anyway.

“So?” he shrugs. “Should feel like that every day.”

You keep it pressed between the pages of your notebook all day. Counting the petals in your head like a secret prayer.

He loves me.

He loves me not.

Across campus, his phone buzzes. A group chat. “30 days to get in Y/N’s pants”.

Jokes.

Screenshots.

Updates.

You don’t know about any of it it.

Of course.

He types casually: detached fingers, lazy grin.

“She’s gone soft lately boys”

“Can’t stop touching me *sighs*”

“Looks at me like I’m oxygen.”

Someone sends a laughing emoji.

Another makes a crude comment.

He doesn’t stop them.

He adds more.

He’s not cruel about it.

That’s the worst part.

By nightfall, he’s restless.

It’s racing night.

Engines. Noise. Speed. Tokyo streets bleeding neon. He lives for it. “Come with me,” he tells you like it’s obvious.

You don’t hesitate. You’d follow him through hell at this point, all he needs to do is ask. You dress carefully, more carefully than usual. A skort this time. A fitted shirt. A soft cropped sweater with a shallow neckline, a red scarf, Glasses perched on your nose. Earrings matching your shoes.

You look… different. Brave. Pretty in a way that makes your heart pound.

It’s late. Around ten…

You don’t think about your parents. You don’t think about consequences. All you think about is him.

He’s already there when you arrive. White shirt clinging to his frame. Baggy jeans. Silver rings catching the light. A chain at his throat. Helmet tucked under his arm.

He looks unreal.

His eyes soften when he sees you. You step closer without thinking. He hooks two fingers under your chin, tilts your face up.

“Sit at the back,” he murmurs. “Be my lucky charm.”

You laugh nervously. “Can’t afford to loose?”

He smiles slow and confident.

“Baby,” he says, “I always win.”

Someone whistles.

Someone claps.

Toji laughs loud enough for everyone to hear. “Since when does Gojo let girls ride with him?”

It’s true.

He never has.

Your chest swells with something dangerously close to pride. He helps you on.

“You can hold me,” he says over his shoulder. “Tight.”

The bike roars to life beneath you.

Your arms wrap around him. Your cheek presses to his back. You feel small. Safe. Claimed. The city blurs. Wind tangles in your hair. Your heart races faster than the engine.

“Don’t lose me,” he says casually.

But all you want—

is to lose yourself.

In him.

In Gojo Satoru.

The engine roars beneath you.

The vibration travels straight through your thighs, up your spine, into your chest. You’ve never been this close to him.

Your arms wrap around his waist at first, tentative. But the second the bike shoots forward, instinct takes over. You press closer. Your palms flatten against his stomach, fingers curling into the fabric of his tight white shirt.

God.

He’s solid.

Warm.

Every shift of the bike makes your body slide into his. Your fingers move before you can stop them tracing over his abdomen, feeling the ridges beneath cotton. Your nails drag slightly, unintentionally.

He inhales sharply.

“…fuck,” he mutters under his breath.

You don’t know if you were meant to hear that.

You pretend you didn’t. The race blurs into streaks of neon and wind. His body leans, adjusts, controls. You feel every flex of muscle beneath your hands. Every controlled movement. Every ounce of power.

And he wins.

Of course he wins.

By a ridiculous margin. Toji, Sukuna, Haibara, Geto all of them trailing behind like background noise. He slows to a stop and doesn’t even bother celebrating at first.

Just lifts both hands off the handles for a second, flashing a lazy peace sign like this is routine. Like he does this every night.

He glances back at you.

Winks.

Blows you a kiss.

“I knew it,” he calls out over the engine’s dying hum. “You’re my lucky charm.”

The boys catch up, hooting, clapping him on the back.

“Guess we know why you won.”

“Damn, look at you two.”

Your cheeks burn.

You feel so so so special.

And when you quietly say, “Gojo… it’s almost midnight. I should go home,”

He tilts his head.

“There’s just one place I need to take you first.”

—-

The city looks unreal from up here.

Tokyo spread out like spilled stardust. Lights blinking. Buildings glowing. The moon hanging heavy and silver above it all.

He parks at the overlook. You sit sideways on the bike, hands folded in your lap, red scarf falling softly over your shoulder. The wind is cooler here.

He stands in front of you.

Close.

So close.

“I didn’t think I’d meet someone like you,” he says quietly.

Your heart stumbles.

“Someone kind. Soft. Beautiful.” His eyes don’t leave your face. “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.”

You swallow.

Your pulse is loud in your ears.

“You’re amazing Y/N,” he continues. “Now I wake up curious about the day. About what you’ll say. What you’ll wear. What you’ll think. Fuck, I look forward to my days now”.

The words sound effortless. Natural. Like they were always meant to come out of his mouth.

And maybe they were.

You’re shaking.

“Gojo…” you whisper.

He steps closer.

“I like you.”

Your head snaps up.

“What?”

“I like you.” His voice is firmer now. Certain. “I really do.”

Your ears burn. Your palms are sweating. Your vision feels slightly dizzy around the edges.

“You can’t be serious,” you breathe. “You’re not—”

And then.

He kisses you.

The world stops! It isn’t rushed. It isn’t sloppy. It’s deliberate. His hand slides into your hair, fingers curling at the back of your neck. The other settles at your waist, pulling you off the bike just enough to press you fully against him.

The kiss is slow.

Measured.

Like he’s taking his time memorizing you.

His lips move gently at first, testing. Then deeper. Warmer. His thumb tilts your chin to adjust the angle. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

It feels like being consumed.

Like the world shrinks to the space between your mouths. Your fingers clutch at his shirt. Your knees feel weak. Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can feel it.

You’ve read shoujo your whole life. None of it compares to this. You pull away first, breath uneven. “Are you sure?” you whisper.

“Yes,” he says immediately. “Yes. I’m sure sweetheart.”

He leans his forehead against yours.

“Will you go out with me?”

You giggle nervously, hands flying to cover your mouth. He catches your wrists gently, pulling them down.

“Stop hiding that smile,” he murmurs. “And kiss me again.”

So you do.

“I like you too, Gojo,” you say breathlessly.

He bumps your nose with his.

“Satoru.”

Your heart might actually stop.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, Satoru. I’ll go out with you.”

He kisses you again.

Longer this time.

Like he’s sealing something. Marking something. Engraving it somewhere deep inside you. His fingers tangle briefly in your red scarf as he pulls you closer.

Third time’s the charm.

—-

The ride back feels like flying.

Your cheek pressed to his back. Arms tight around him. The city lights softer now. Warmer. You feel like you’re glowing from the inside out. When he drops you home, you can’t even meet his eyes properly.

You mumble goodbye, jump and float toward your door. Smiles not leaving your face for even a bit.

You collapse onto your bed, smiling into your pillow.

Meanwhile…

He sits on his bike a moment longer.

The red scarf still looped loosely around his neck. He notices it when he reaches to take off his helmet.

He stares at it.

Soft fabric. Your scent faint on it.

Well.

He could just toss it in the trash on his way home.

You fall asleep believing you’ve just found love.

He rides home thinking, Level five complete. ✅

A/N: And with thatttt, Chapter 2 comes to an end!!! Holy shit, I enjoyed and cried while writing this chapter FUCK.

Pleaseeeeeeee let me know what you guys think of it in the comments and reblog if you liked it.

Taglist: @myhellomi @bm8ilovesmut @hrt4hoon @juiceboxluvr @utterly-hoplessarenti @mashtura @aurorab-0-realis @eyrynx @@mywifehanji @ckilhj @zlinguss @pink127 @eri-itsuki @pandabiene5115 @beloved-yeosang @man1cslut @light-dust-blog @likstars @nooshie11037 @dazqa @in-aa @pridooodles @kitkat-13 @gorf333 @princess-saki1 @hijoliii @cinnamon7girl7 @rainlina @gidyuap @erencvlt @bitchystudentninja

How are you holding up?

Fuckk, what was THAT

I’m deceased

Voting ended onMar 3

#gojo satoru fic #fuckboy gojo x reader #fuckboy satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru angst #satoru art #satoru fluff #satoru fic #mean satoru gojo

siennayaps

30 days to get in your pants | Gojo S. x Reader

Chapter 1 - Transfer (3.3k words) Masterlist

Tags: Angst, emotional manipulation, bet trope, power imbalance, fear of abandonment, slow burn, smut, college AU, soft reader, rich mean Gojo, lots of drama.

Aesthetic | Playlist

Art Credits: wp_63, __3aem

“Hey, Uro,” Gojo murmurs, voice low and lazy, fingers already hooked into the thin strap of her top.

“You wanna drop that for me, or do you want me to do all the work?”

Uro looks up at him like she’s already lost. Bites her lower lip. Smiles the way girls do when they think they’ve won something rare.

“I’ll have you do it instead.”

Of course she will.

He leans in without hesitation, fingers sliding the strap down with practiced ease, with no rush, no reverence. He kisses her shoulder first, like he’s being gentle on purpose. Then her neck. Then her lips, slow enough to make people look, careless enough to make it mean nothing.

“God,” he exhales against her mouth, amused, almost bored.

#men deserve to suffer #gojo x reader #fuckboy gojo x reader #mean gojo x reader #bf gojo x reader #gojo smut #satoru smut #mean satoru x reader #fuckboy satoru x reader #satoru angst

honeysucklewatr

worship like sunday morning

soft smut | domestic life w’ jason | fluffy

synopsis: waking up to find jason slumped asleep on top of you. part of you feels bad that he must be tired. but mostly he just wants to keep you in bed, with whatever necessary method.

it’s past noon when you wake up to jason laying with his head on your chest. his face literally buried between your breasts like it’s a pillow or something. snoring softly as though completely content.

you probably wouldn’t have woke up if it hadn’t been for the blinds being open because his weight over you just felt like a blanket. warm and inviting. his suit still on him like he just collapsed here somehow. watching the rise and fall of his back since his chest was to your stomach and the soft ruffle of his hair, you smile to yourself.

when you finally try to get up, he’s not budging even a smidge. if anything, he seems to get heavier, and he doesn’t make a sound still completely asleep. but you know he sleeps at odd hours and lord knows when he got home and collapsed on your sleep-ridden form.

fine, you think to yourself, i’ll give him another ten minutes.

though ten turns into twenty and now it’s 1pm. you shake him a little harder and groan out his name.

“jason, get up. you’re crushing me.”

he mumbles something against your chest and rubs his face there before turns it to the side. hands spanning around your waist to keep you from squirming further.

you groan a little louder and laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. “half the day is gone and you’re here suffocating me.”

that’s when he lifts his head to look at you. sleep heavy on his eyelids and a soft pink to his cheeks from pressing his face to the fabric of your clothes. the soft imprint of your ribbed shirt against his skin.

“you aren’t suffocating if you can talk ma.”

#jason todd fluff #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x femreader #jason todd fic #jason todd x f!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x yn #jason todd x reader smut

hanasnx

MINORS DNI 18+

it’s that voice. a hand comes to the small of your back n you subconsciously lean into BRUCE WAYNE’s direction, you feel his lips brush the outside of your ear, warm breath washing over your pebbling skin, “a little boring, isn’t it?” he remarks, poking fun at his stuffy birthday party. the way he talks, low and gravelly, huskily whispering to you like a secret. you don’t even realize you’re smiling as you fit into his side like puzzle pieces, his thick arm strapping around you. you’d expect him to rear by now for decency’s sake, but he closes in the minute space again, “you wouldn’t be interested in… taking a tour, would you?” it’s some kind of bid for a thrill, chasing you down into an abandoned corridor to get your back up against a wall. cupping your cheek so he can mouth at your neck, his nose bumping your dangling earring with a melodic jangle. he’s subtle in the way he herds you deeper into his mansion, wandering hands causing you to squeak n scurry a little faster when he tries to pull a dress strap down or pinch at your behind. away from prying eyes, he can express his want freely, and he knows how much you love feeling desired - the kind of lust that causes him to throw away propriety, act like a debased man trying to get you to giggle n scold him. that knowledge evokes his reaching fingers, boyishly clutching at the skirt of your dress just at the underside of your ass to tug you back into him. it earns him a chide of his name, glancing at him over your shoulder when he’s able to press your backside into his hips. in an embrace, he grasps your jaw to turn your head so he can capture your lips in a kiss, his other hand frisking you over your outfit while he swallows your weak protests. it’s all in the name of fun, of course, the possibility of getting caught in the hallway outside the party room gets your blood pumping. he speaks against your lips, “why don’t i show you the master bedroom?” you grin, and you nod in his hold.

#hell yeah #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne thought #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fic #ch: bruce

haydenssweetheart

james kelly x reader

based on this request xo

warnings: a few brief mentions of sex, angst. pure angst no happy ending

you had been with james kelly for a few months. if you include the duration of on and off talking after the first time you slept together, it could be considered longer. you choose not to for your sanity. you had met at a bar, not really assuming anything would come from the one night stand. but it seemed like you both appreciated how things went, which led to more visits. and maybe you both liked the company of each other, so you started spending time together. real time, not just pillow talk and late mornings. you would go for dinner and drinks, happy hour if he got off work in time. to you, this was movement towards a real relationship.

you hadn't been in a relationship in a while, maybe a few years. you weren't entirely sure about this situation at first, but you got more comfortable with james. and maybe that's where you went wrong. you hadn't fully asked his thoughts on what you were, or if you would be anything, but you'd tried to drop little hints. something that would maybe put the idea out there that you were thinking about it.

"we've been together a while, you think?" you had asked one night, swirling your wine in your glass, trying to find a motion to distract yourself. he was looking over the menu and barely acknowledged your question, simply nodding. "mhm... oh have you seen the special?" you had released a sigh out your nose, faking a smile. "no, let me look!"

trying again a few weeks later, in his car as he drove you two to go on a walk around a pretty park.

"you ever think about being in a relationship? a real one?" he taps his fingers on the steering wheel, not casting a glance in your direction. "not really, why?" his free hand rests on your thigh, giving it a squeeze. nerves, maybe something else, got the best of you that time. "oh just wondering." you ignore the heaviness weighing on your heart, that same empty smile appearing on your face once more.

the next time, maybe it was because you had a bad day. work was especially aggravating, your dinner conversation seemed empty. you had more to drink than usual. everything was building up in your system and james was the height of it all. as usual, he seemed unaware to your mood. you arrived to your apartment, james mentioning he was going to use the bathroom, leaving you alone in the kitchen. your thoughts hit all at once. how this didn't mean anything to him, not really. you were a placeholder until he got bored. otherwise he would've pushed this forward, right? you place your hands on the kitchen island to steady yourself, the mix of feelings and alcohol taking over your system.

"hey, you good?" his frame stands at the center of the room.

"why aren't we dating?" you don't look at him, keeping your eyes on the marbled counter, trying to steady your breathing.

"what?"

"you heard me james."

he pauses. the silence is defeaning, you can hear your heartbeat in your chest.

"isn't this close enough?"

you cock your head, looking at him. he looks exhausted before the conversation has even really begun. "james i just want to know i'm in something real. that you won't up and leave one day, that i'm not disposable. that this really means something to you."

he bites his lip, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "you know you mean a lot to me." a tear falls from your eye. you watch it drop, landing on the marble, splashing up as it hits. the gravity of what he's saying is hitting you, you don't want it to be real, but you know what's coming.

"a relationship just isn't what i want."

you step back, facing him fully now. you've taken a grim expression, irritation starting to lace its way into your emotions.

"then why do all this? why treat me like a girlfriend if i was going to just be nothing in the end? why act like i could be something more?" your voice wobbles and you will yourself to keep it together until this is done.

"we never outlined expectations of this. thought this was us just enjoying each others company and the sex. nothing more." he shrugs.

he shrugs.

the shooting pain in your chest is multiplying as you swallow the lump in your throat. right. of course. this had to be your fault.

"so that's it. you just never want a relationship, just sleeping around for the rest of your life?"

he runs a hand over his face, sighing. "it's just not what i want right now. sometimes you're a lot for me."

"you're an asshole." your vision blurs, the tears starting to run without any real sobs or blinks. just falling by themselves, as if a dam broke, and there's nothing you could do to stop it. you don't really want to know what else he thinks, especially when the last part had nothing to do with what you asked- assuming you hit a sensitive spot and he had to subtly retaliate.

"i wish you the best." he frowns as he turns towards the door. "i'm sure you'll find someone that will make you happy."

you don't tell him as the door clicks shut that he's what makes you happy. something real would make you happy, but with him. because it's useless anyways, he's made up his mind. pleading with him would make you look desperate and you couldn't have that. so instead you collapse on your kitchen floor, head buried in your knees, letting your tears flow, the sobs erupt. wishing he would just come back, hold you, tell you he didn't mean it.

but that won't happen.

tag list: @mythicalcowboyatheart @florsials @samanthaw16 @l0singctrl @onbevreesdofficial @velvetdahliaa @mark-renton-luvr

divider by @/pixopix

#all men are the same #hayden christensen fanfiction #hayden christensen x reader #james kelley x reader #james kelly fanfiction #james kelly x reader #james kelly #hayden christensen characters #hayden christensen x you #hayden christensen fic

thesituation

sorry i don’t think ill ever get past the blatant racism in the fact that the italian and irish mobs are heavily romanticized and almost idolized while latino/african american mobs and gangs are seen as the scum of the earth who single handedly ruin society. not saying either is good or anything but the absolute polar opposite way that white organized crime vs non-white organized crime is treated by media and white society is fucking nuts to me. just blatant stone cold hypocrisy

thesituation

like white people organized crime is cool and sexy and movies and tv shows about it are classics (the godfather, the sopranos) but if black or latino people have organized crime and make music about it then it’s the reason society is collapsing or whatever and it’s glorifying violence. what if everything was equally nuanced

#fr #ctrl+alt+del

hanasnx

breeding kink + size kink. MDNI

for @silxani.

you’re not sure exactly what it is. emotionally, you’re far from being ready for an heir, you can’t imagine bringing a child into this world and you know—with certainty—that right now you can’t give them the attention they would deserve. and yet, every time you walk alongside HAK, you imagine a new life with him. it’s for fun, you justify, picturing you two as parents - him as a father. how your little one might inherit his hair or his strong head. you think about how he’d teach them like he taught you, how he’d pick them up like he can do to you so easily. your eyes drift to him while you ponder this fake reality, looking up at this towering figure and asking the dangerous question of: why not? letting your insides lead your logic around naively. if it feels this good, it can’t possibly be wrong. the process of baby-making certainly appeals - and it’s not like neither of you have brought up your stances on children before… still, it’s complicated. you press your lips together, biting down on them from the inside as you watch him lumber next to you, when he curiously—and rightfully—eyes you from the side, your gaze snaps back to your front, a familiar heat blooming on your cheeks at the idea of being caught just fantasizing about it.

you really don’t mean to, but cooped up in this little tent it’s not long before all that’s left to do to pass the time is tangle in one another’s embrace. you let him push your clothes apart, hastily dishevel his own, all in the name of the desperation to put his skin to yours. “come here, why’re you being shy?” he questions impatiently, and forgoes your right to answer by swallowing up whatever half-assed response you had. his open mouth returning to your own as his tongue halts yours and feels big in between your teeth. you have a mind to tell him to not talk to so loud, the dragons are camped right next to this one and they already know the… intimate nature of your relationship with hak - something that arguably goes beyond even the emotional or physical connection normal people seem to have, venturing further into vicious codependency more than anything. anything too audible, and you know someone nosy will try to listen in for further confirmation of your affairs. he can tell you’re distracted, and to keep your attention on him, his hand clamps down on your hip to yank you farther down the mat. propped up on his elbow, he hovers over you, enveloping you completely, reminding you of how little power you hold in this situation when you can fit the length of your body inside the span of his, even your feet toe just below his knee.

“if you want me to stop - just say so.” he repents, in case his show of strength manhandled you instead of enrapturing you. unfortunately, his way of speaking often comes off as exasperated instead of comforting. you don’t know what to do, but he can feel your neck rearing, and your hands begin to push at his chest being this overwhelmed. organically, your body is retreating, and he takes the rejection. he breaks the contact, “okay, seriously, what is it?” that frustration peeks out again, not at the lack of consent but at your hesitance to show a backbone. it’s a common reoccurrence. the paleness of his skin is blotched with a crimson stain of want, his blue robes falling off his shoulder to display the chiseled lines of his chest - he’s completely indecent, and even in the dull light it’s plain to see the outline of his interest draped in his clothes. your throat is closing up, swallowing dryly as your cold hands juxtapose the hot skin of his muscle.

“i’m… i’m scared.” you speak without thinking. a pregnant pause sits heavy in the air as you watch him process this. he sits back on his elbow, brows furrowed, lips parted, and fingers laced together. his tongue toys with his inner cheek as you set yourself up to be a little more level with him.

there’s a lot to take in with a statement like that, and he’s restraining himself so as to not jump to disastrous conclusions. “scared? scared of what?” he asks, very carefully. he can feel you retreat into yourself. “princess.” you peer at him.

“i think i want…” you begin, but looking at him like this… it’s too much. “i want to keep going.” you don’t give him time to deny you, surprising him by practically pouncing on him, rolling him to his back while you straddle and take his mouth. you’re avoiding the real problem, and he makes a startled noise until it dissolves into a moan you draw out from your tongue swirling around his. his suspended hands didn’t know where to go before, but they find their home on your back and the curve of your ass. what’s left of his robe on him is bunched up into your hands, pressing him hard into your mouth. you can’t get the thought of it out of your head—baby, baby, baby, hak’s baby, hak’s, hak’s, hak’s. you don’t even realize your scrubbing yourself down on his abdomen at the fantasy. you can’t tell him you want this, but you can pretend for a little while that this is what you’re both doing. you can privately pretend that tonight you and hak are trying for a baby. mistakenly, in your haste, you go for his neck, kissing down the thick column to feel his rough n salty skin between your teeth.

“woah, woah, hey. i’m not—ngh—going anywhere.” he tries to tell you, but he can’t say no to the way your tongue feels against his pulse point. once more, he tries to calm your sudden descent by palming your upper arms but you won’t have it.

“hak.” you whine, desperate for any kind of relief from the craze you’ve been in, rocking on his abs, begging with your body. “please.”

he’ll feel like shit for it in the morning, but he can’t say no to you at all. being on top doesn’t last long, cupping the back of your head to protect you when he spins you back around, landscaping your body with his as he swiftly maneuvers you. in a flash, he hikes your skirt up, snaps your legs up, and fishes himself out of his pants - he’s not waiting anymore. and yet, he finds your gaze, “don’t make me do this, princess.” it’s a playful statement that gives you one more out. your expression of determination when you nod your head is all he needs before he lines himself up, holding your eyes the entire time his tip searches for the give. he knows it’s a bad idea after what you said, he knows, but when you ask him for it, he feels shame for withholding it.

his head sinks in, and you gasp. even that’s thick enough to stretch you with a sting. you squeeze your eyes shut, clutching onto what little clothes are left cascading off his herculean form, you’re readying yourself for the pain of more, but it doesn’t come. he doesn’t even rock shallowly like you usual. curiously, you peel open your lids one by one to question it. he’s staring at you, he’s in but he’s studying you with a different glint in his gaze. it’s searching, it’s patient, it’s kind. you flutter your lashes. “do you want me?”

what an inquiry. “mhm.” you respond.

you can feel yourself closing up; he can, too. his hover above your hips rears, and then pushes in again, just the tip. it takes you a second to realize he’s feeling vulnerable right now, the great thunder beast of the kouka kingdom has been the victim of your mental distraction, and now faces the fear of being used instead of desired. your hand tenderly strokes down his hair, for you have been thinking about him the whole time and he’s right in front of you.

“yes, yes. i’m sorry.” you clarify, although you’re not sure you’re convincing him. you fear you won’t be off the hook until you tell him exactly what you’ve been pondering as of late. that’s simply not possible right now… at least, not in the way you’ve been expecting it to. “can we, maybe, try something else?” your hands settle to clasp at the back of his neck while he massages the rim of your hole with his head. his gaze narrows at you. “i wanna…” you hesitate. “i wanna pretend with you.” his brows give it all away, pinching together and arching inquisitively—even apprehensively. “like, um,” you regulate by glancing at the canopy of the tent, trying to find the words. “when people try to have kids, i want to do that.”

“you want to try for a baby right now?” he does that hak thing where he comes to the crude conclusion you hate saying out loud, and speaks it so flippantly you want to yell and hit him. you can hardly scold him right now, pressing your lips together.

“no.”

“then what is it?” his impatience towards your ability to beat around the bush shines through, yet his faithful rutting into your heat is speeding up.

“i just wanna fantasize about it, okay?” you snap defensively, and out of habit to taming your inner brat, his free hand traps both of your wrists above your head.

“you really have terrible timing, princess.” your insides are soaking, naturally anticipating his venture as he sinks deeper and deeper in. “an heir is a serious topic, shouldn’t be talking about this when i’m inside of you.” he’s admonishing you in his own way too, but his tone conveys his sense of playfulness on the matter. your passionate reactions are getting him frisky.

“i don’t want an heir, i just wanna pretend we’re normal people with—ah—normal lives.”

“you want a husband? you wanna be the little woman, padding around with bare feet? pregnant and in the kitchen? that doesn’t sound like you, princess.”

“not all of it…just thought it would be… fun.”

he’s hitting the kind of depths that make it hard to think now, squeezing his fat cock into your hole, forcibly expanding the confined space as he goads you to keep talking about what’s making you hot n bothered. “to want my baby?”

“hak-k!”

“well, that’s it, isn’t it? you want me to fuck a baby into you?” he palms your knee, massive fingers spanning past it as he forces it to bend up to your ear. “we’ve talked about it before, it’s not a new thing.”

“why can’t we fantasize about it - i’m not ready to do it yet.”

halfway in and he still feels too big, crying out every time his tip kisses your cervix. he’s always been too big for you, the kind of length that can’t bottom out in your cunt no matter how hard you try. “oh, i don’t believe that. you’re ready, look at you.” he taunts. “bet you spent all day thinking about it, thinking about us, thinking about giving me a kid. you wanna make me a dad?”

your hands fly to cover your hot face, hiding from how quickly he’s honed in on his weakness. “why’s it so bad to think about?”

“s’not. it’s not at all, princess. you think i don’t imagine filling you up like that? you think i don’t wanna pretend we’re ‘normal people,’” the phrase you coined, “makin’ a family?” his pace picks up and he abandons your wrists to trace down your little body, callused hand leaving goosebumps in its wake until it can thumb at your clit. “is getting knocked up what does it for you? or do you just like the process?”

“hak, be quiet.”

“you wanted to talk about this.”

“yes, but i don’t want everyone to—ah!—hear.”

“let ‘em. not everyday the crown princess of a kingdom wants to have a lowly general’s kid—“

“don’t talk like that!”

“it’s true, isn’t it?”

“i don’t care about all that, i just want to have your baby - your baby! i want it, hak, i want it so bad. if anyone should get it, it should be me. i want you in me like that… i want that piece of you…” you trail off in your outburst, embarrassment creeping up when you realize what you’re saying. hak’s always had a smart mouth, one that usually teases you to tears because you’re so easy to rile up. it appears that you’ve tied his tongue this time, because he’s staring down at you with wide eyes. halfway seated inside of you, as far as you can have him right now, n he’s still absentmindedly circling your clit. he wasn’t expecting this.

the emotional intimacy of the confession only serves to spur him on, revving back up into a steady pace, evolving into slamming into you - as much as you can take. it’s a new fervor, one that shoves choked sounds of strained pleasure out of your mouth. it hurts but in a good way, your core begging for mercy while your brain is turning off from the overwhelming sensation.

“oh, i’ll fucking give you one right now.” a vindictive threat spills from his grit teeth as he pins you between the mat on the ground and his hips, ramming into your narrow sex as if he’ll be able to fit fully inside by sheer willpower alone. you don’t get any other words from him, no promises, no praise, just determination and husky grunts that push out from his nose. endless endurance keeps you exactly at the edge, loyally hits just the right spot over and over again, until you can’t speak on on your own behalf. you’re a doll.

you’re a doll, at least until you feel the familiar stuttering of his impending release. the alerts in your brain compelling you to bring your wobbly legs up to lock around his abdomen.

“what are—what are you doing?” he chokes out.

acting on instinct, you would’ve said.

#baby trap that man #ch: hak #hak smut #hak x reader #hak x fem reader #son hak smut

guys if im ugly someone just tell me now

#ctrl+alt+del

amoebadue

Track 9: Two Princes ft. Hal Jordan and Barry Allen

Hal Jordan x Spider-Woman! Reader (x Barry Allen but not really)

RETURN TO PLAYLIST

NOT PROOFREAD

It’s only now, stuck in a spiderweb hundreds of feet above the ground, that Hal Jordan realizes he is way out of his depth.

A red flash of light zips around below him, moving civilians out of the way of falling debris.

“Show off.” The brunet mutters, scoffing under his breath.

A laugh comes from behind him, followed by a familiar voice.

“I doubt he’s trying to impress any of the people down there, they already love him.” You grin, ripping away some of the webs.

“It’s not them he’s trying to impress.” He mumbles, leaning into your touch.

You pull away too soon, already turning around to swing. Before you do, you look over your shoulder to wink at Hal.

“He’s not the one I’m focused on.”

And then you’re gone again, leaving behind a glimmer of hope.

—

He’s noticed in his constructs, the lack of focus, the lack of inspiration. Every day, every fight, every meeting—it all becomes monotonous without you.

Even when you’re there, just out of reach, he feels it.

He glowers at Barry’s back, turned to face you, arms waving as he animatedly recounts their latest mission together.

It just figures that his best friend is also in love with you. And why wouldn’t he be?

“Lantern. You’re on Monitor Duty. Tell Spider-Woman she’s with you.” Batman speaks with a clipped voice, nodding at you when you turn, hearing your name.

He leaves before Hal can protest.

On one hand, he gets to spend all night beside you, without Barry Allen’s intervention. On the other, he has to be the bearer of bad news and ruin your plans for the evening.

He really hopes you don’t hear the way his joint creak as he stands, making his way over to the two of you. You’re already watching him as he approaches, making him sickeningly self aware of every movement he makes.

“Hi.” You pipe up, smiling brightly as he stops beside Barry, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Hey yourself, sweetheart.” He glances at Barry before continuing, “Unfortunately, you and I are stuck on Monitor Duty all night.”

“That’s too bad, at least we’ll get to hang out.” You shrug, glancing back at Diana with a wave as she leaves the meeting.

Before Hal can say anything, Barry interjects, because of course he does.

“Don’t worry about it, man. I can take your place tonight and you can go see that movie you’ve been waiting to see.”

Your eyes light up as you look at him, “Yeah, Hal. If you want to see a movie, you should. You work so hard all the time.”

“It’s okay, really.” Hal stresses, staring down his blond friend. He stares back, equally as challenging. “I’m happy to be on Monitors tonight.”

“So am I.” Barry bites back, not looking away.

Your smile drops slightly as you look between the men. “In that case, why don’t you take my spot, Barry? You guys can hang out instead.”

They gape at you. This cannot be happening.

You force a smile, patting Barry’s shoulder as you pass. “Thanks, Barr! I owe you one.”

—

That night was probably the quietest Monitor Duty ever, in the history of the Justice League.

Neither man wanted to speak to the other, only shooting the occasional unimpressed look their way.

“This is all your fault, you know.” Barry finally speaks up, casting a glare at the brunet.

“How is this my fault? You’re the one that offered.” Hal scoffs.

“You could’ve just gone to the movie that you’ve been talking about all week.”

Hal gasps, standing to glare at the other man. “You know I’ve only been bringing it up to see if she wanted to go with me!”

“Don’t you think she would’ve gone with you by now if she wanted to?”

“She’s been busy.”

“Yeah, with what? Patrol? Please, Hal. She’d make time to be with you if she wanted to. She makes plenty of time for me.”

Even Barry wasn’t fast enough to stop the punch that Hal aimed at him.

—

Tiredness seeps into every fiber of your being as you slide through the window. Barry taking your Monitor Duty meant you could finally have a night dedicated to patrol—something that’s happening a lot less recently, now that you’re working with the league.

Maybe it’s time to stop, you think. But then you wouldn’t get to see Hal as often.

And maybe New York can take the back burner if it means you get to see Hal Jordan. Surely the great people of New York would understand—at least until another city block is destroyed by Green Goblin.

Ugh.

Peeling off your suit as you hop through the apartment, heading straight for the fridge.

Three slow knocks on the door stop you in your tracks.

“Coming!” You shoot a web at a hoodie draped over your couch, throwing it over the rest of your suit before pulling open the door.

“Hey.” A familiar face greets you, partially covered by his sunglasses.

“Hal?” There’s bruises spreading across his jaw and you can only assume he has more under his shades. “Come in!” You grip his arm gently, tugging him inside.

He only lets out a shallow huff of breath that is probably meant to be a laugh. Before he can say anything, you push him down onto a stool at your counter.

“What happened?” You murmur, ripping open the first aid kit that resides—at all times—on your counter.

“The usual.”

“Liar.” You grimace, pressing a cotton ball against the cut on his lip, he winces. “Sorry. But you don’t just show up at my apartment after the usual fight.”

“It’s nothing, really. Shouldn’t even be here.” His eyes, finally visible to you as you peel his glasses off, glance down at your lips before meeting you’re again. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, darling.”

“Hal Jordan, do not flirt with me at a time like this. What happened?”

He scoffs lowly, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Glad you finally noticed, sweetheart. Was beginning to think your spidey senses weren’t working.”

“What do you mean?” Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at him, ignoring the fact that he’s avoiding your question. For the time being, at least.

“You mean you haven’t noticed me flirting with you this entire time?!”

“Well, sure, but you flirt with everyone.” You shrug, hands settling on his thighs as you blink slowly.

“Yeah, but it means something with you!” He groans, gripping his hair like he wants to pull it out.

You’re quiet for a minute, waiting for his breathing to slow as his eyes dart between yours. His face is only an inch away. “I didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter anyways.” He shakes his head harshly, “You have Barry.”

Your eyes widen, probably surprised he called you out on it, before you let out a loud laugh. “I don’t have Barry. We’re just friends, and sure, maybe we could be more, but there’s someone else I’ve been holding out for.”

His scowl deepens. Great, another person he had to fight for your attention.

“You, Hal.” You add, when he doesn’t take the hint.

He can’t look at you, even as you lean closer. Then your words settle in, alongside a warm feeling in his chest. “Me?”

You nod slowly, reaching your fingers up so they just barely brush along his jaw. “It’s always been you.”

He swallows thickly, eyes darting back down to your lips again. They stay there, even as he speaks. “I’ve never been any good at this.”

“Really? That’s hard to believe after what I’ve heard.” You laugh, still not pulling away. His hands settle on your hips.

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What have you heard, sweetheart?”

“Well for one, that you’re the best kisser in the Justice League.”

“Who told you that?” As far as he knows, you haven’t talked to anybody that he’s kissed.

“Barry.”

“Barry Allen?! No, he did not.”

“He did!” You giggle, pressing a hand against his chest as you lean closer. “He’s spent the past three weeks bugging me about how great you are and how I should just give you a chance.”

“No, he did not.” Hal repeats, jaw dropping further.

“Most of it was baseless, I’m sure.”

“No, definitely not baseless! I am totally the best kisser.”

“Yeah? Then prove it, flyboy.” You taunt.

“Gladly.” He grins, pulling you in as his lips finally press against yours.

Maybe Barry was right, Hal is the best kisser in the League.

—

Hal groans, rolling over in bed as the sun beams directly into his eyes. Your fingers reach for him as he pulls away, brushing over his bruised sides as he moves.

His phone dings beside him, glowing faintly from the nightstand. There’s only one text on it,

BARRY ALLEN (WORK)

You’re welcome.

A/N: Barry asked what his contact name was on Hal’s phone and Hal immediately changed it to what he knew would make him the most mad

Also…Barry is literally only trying to be a wingman/make Hal jealous enough to finally make a move and he got beat up for it 💔 (No friendships were ruined)

#need that old man #hal jordan x reader #spiderwoman reader #x reader #dc x reader #spider woman!reader #hal jordan x y/n #hal jordan x you #hal jordan fluff #hal jordan fic

amoebadue

Track 13: Iris ft. Roy Harper

Roy Harper x Batsis! Reader

Inspired by this request

RETURN TO PLAYLIST

NOT PROOFREAD

BatBurger isn’t the fanciest place, but it’s definitely the dirtiest. At least, since the previous owner was shot and it was taken over by new management.

“Ew, Roy. There’s literally a dead rat behind the counter. It’s staring at me.”

“You’re fine, sweetheart. A little rat poison won’t kill ya.” Roy mumbles between bites of his fries.

Unfortunately, being raised by Bruce Wayne means your standards for health and safety concerns are much higher than the average person. Fortunately, that’s kept you from catching any food borne illness from, hmm, say, a dead rat being in your food.

“Yuck.” You poke at the burger on your plate.

“If you’re not going to eat it, I will.”

Sighing dramatically, you grip his hand tightly in your own. “And here I thought I’d lose you to vigilantism, but it’ll actually be rat droppings. Or dysentery. Or the plague.”

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Yes, please, please, please, please, please. Baby, I will make it worth your while, just get me out of here.” You plead, glancing back at the rat. “Immediately.”

“Come on.” He pretends to look put out as he wraps an arm around you, ditching your food at the table. “Pizza?”

“Sure.” You grin, leaning into his side.

He leans down to press a kiss against your lips but you dodge. “Hey!” He mumbles, looking downright outraged.

“I am not kissing you until you wash your mouth out.” He pouts. “I’m not joking, Roy Harper.”

He grimaces but nods anyways, at least he can still hold your hand.

The pizza is ordered and on its way by the time you and Roy get back to your shared apartment, settling down onto the couch while you wait.

“So…can I please kiss you now, your royal highness?”

“Not with that attitude.” You snip, looking away.

He flops down, laying all his weight on top of you. “I’m so sorry, please let me kiss you, love of my life, pumpkin pie, cherry pie, sweetie pie, pi formula—”

You kiss him quickly and he grins against your lips.

You pull away much too soon for his liking, but at least his plan worked.

“Really? Annoy me into kissing you?”

“Don’t hate the player.”

“Ugh, gross.”

“You love me.” He mumbles, kissing you again.

“I do.”

The doorbell rings before he can insist you actually say the words, making him stand with a sigh.

“I will miss you greatly.”

“The door is literally five feet away.”

“Too far.”

“If you don’t hurry, I’m going to answer it.”

“And risk the pizza delivery guy falling in love with you? Absolutely not.” He shakes his head dramatically, pulling open the door. “Ew, actually, that’s not a problem.”

You peek your head up over the couch, only to come face to face with your oldest brother. There’s three boxes of pizza perched in his left hand as he grins. He’s even wearing the uniform. How he got it? You have no clue.

He pushes past your boyfriend, ignoring his indignant shouts as he hops over the back of the couch. “I figured I’d bring you guys pizza, see what you’re up to.”

He looks around the room, settling into the middle cushion before grabbing the remote. “Movie?”

“We’re actually in the middle of a date.” You say slowly, eyes narrowing at Dick.

“Oh, I don’t mind.” He shakes his head with an easy grin as he props his feet up on the coffee table, really making himself at home.

You share a glance with Roy.

It’s gonna be a long night.

—

“Do you have a reservation?” The man behind the desk sends a disgruntled look at Roy, or at least at his attire.

You nod slowly, “Yes. It should be under Wayne.” Your nose crinkles as you frown at the immediate change in the man’s posture.

Of course.

Roy was wearing a suit too! Just because it’s not Tom Ford or Couture, doesn’t mean he should be looked at like that.

The host immediately straightens, eyes widening as he gestures towards the back. “Right this way, Miss.”

Wrapping your arm around Roy’s, you lead him down the aisle. He unravels himself from you at the table so he can pull out your chair, pressing a quick kiss against your neck as he pushes your chair in.

A flush of heat runs through you at the action but he just winks as he settles into the seat across from you.

Glancing across the table, he must decide you’re too far as he scoots his chair closer to you.

Biting back a laugh at the waiters shocked expression, you order a soda for the two of you and dismiss the man.

Roy shoots you a grateful look after you insist that you do not want any champagne or wine or anything of the sort, despite the waiters insistences.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, flipping through the menu. His eyebrows pinch together, “There’s not even any prices on here.”

“They’re secret prices.”

“What?”

“It’s a secret.” You shrug, reaching over to pat his hand. “And you don’t have to worry about the prices.”

His grimace makes you snicker, pulling your hand away before he catches it, interlocking your fingers with his.

In an attempt to rid your mind of the dead rat from the previous date night, Roy suggested a new Italian place downtown.

He’d intended to pay, but there’s no way you’d let him. Not when you have access to Bruce Wayne’s bank account.

Or your trust fund.

But that didn’t mean Roy was any happier about you paying for a date he asked you to go on.

“I just think—” His words are cut off as a new chair is dragged to your table.

You glance up at the noise, an annoyed pinch in your brow before you see who it is.

“What are you doing here, Tim?” Your brother grins widely as he sits, immediately slumping into his seat at your table.

“Same as you. I’m having dinner with Roy.”

“No, you’re not.” You grimace, sipping from your water.

“Hey, man.” Your brother ignores you in favor of smacking Roy’s shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“It was going fine.” He mutters, sharing a glance with you. “We’re kind of having dinner here.”

“Me too!” Tim grins, snatching your menu from the table. His eyes scan the pages as he continues, “What are you guys getting? I’ll get the same. Should we order an appetizer for the table?” He glances at you, “You are paying, right?”

—

You hear the window slide open as you’re finishing the final touches of your makeup.

“Roy, is that you?”

“No,” a familiar voice scoffs, “and what’s Roy doing at your apartment?”

You meet Jason’s gaze in the bathroom mirror before rolling your eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes.”

“Don’t lecture me about my boyfriend.”

“He was my friend first.”

“He literally wasn’t.” You argue before turning back towards the mirror to check your lipgloss.

“Whatever. Just don’t—”

A sneeze from behind him cuts him off, and your attention is suddenly drawn to the much shorter boy in the apartment.

“Damian?”

He scowls, arms crossed and nose red as he huffs. “I don’t need to be here. I’m just fine to patrol.”

His voice comes out nasally and you have to stop yourself from cooing at the sound.

“Yes, you do have to stay.” Jason huffs. “He’s sick. And I need you to watch him.”

Your face darkens as you turn back towards the older man. “It’s your turn to babysit.”

“I don’t need a babysitter!” Damian scowls but you both ignore him.

“I have to cover his patrol, which takes precedence over your little date.” Jason taunts, already backing his way out of the doorway.

You stomp after him, arguing profusely but he’s already out the window before you make it into the hallway.

Figures.

You turn to Damian with a soft smile, breathing returning to normal now that Jason has left.

“I’m going to change, if we’ll be here all night. Why don’t you find Roy and pick a movie?”

—

Halfway through the movie, Damian passed out on the couch.

“He must be really sick.” You murmur, worry filling your voice as you press a hand against his forehead.

He definitely has a fever.

“Can you carry him to the bed? I’ll get a washcloth.”

“Carry him?” Roy hisses, jumping away from you at the idea.

You roll your eyes, already standing. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“He’ll kill me if he wakes up!”

“Then you should be quiet.” You whisper back, sneaking off to the bathroom as Roy does what you said.

Once Damian is all settled in bed, the fan blowing just the way he likes, damp washcloth resting on his forehead, and a glass of water on the nightstand, you sneak back towards the living room with a sigh.

“I can’t believe you made me do that.” Roy groans, arm thrown dramatically across his face as he lays on the couch.

You laugh softly, settling onto his waist. “Oh, honey.” You coo, running a finger along his jaw. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

He sits up immediately, arms slinging around your waist as he pulls you closer. “Oh, yeah?” His voice drops.

You grin, pressing your lips against his.

The window opens again, but neither of you hear it, too preoccupied with eachother.

“Ew, gross!”

You jump off Roy’s lap, almost falling to the floor, but he throws an arm out to catch you.

“Do you have any bleach? I need to clean my eyes.” He continues, clutching his face like he can push the vision from his mind.

You groan, dropping back beside your boyfriend as Jason stomps towards you both.

“Move over.” He glower.

Roy raises an eyebrow but does as he says.

Your brother settles between the two of you on the couch, spreading his legs as much as possible to widen the distance between the two of you.

You blink at him, “What are you doing here?”

“Finished patrol.” A pause. “I don’t want to watch this.” He snatches the remote.

“Okay, but why don’t you just go back to your place?”

“Yeah, right!” He scoffs, “I had to travel all the way over here, without dinner, no less, just to see you two making out.” He gags as he says it, disgust filling his face as he points at your boyfriend. “And now, it’s my brotherly duty to make sure this guy keeps his hands to himself.”

—

“Are you sure nobody will catch us?” Roy whispers, lips pressing kisses along your jaw as you giggle into his neck.

“I’m sure.” You breathe out, pulling him closer with a teasing grin. “Why? You’re not scared, are you?”

“Of Batman?” He shudders, “Yes, I am scared of Batman.”

He ignores your laughter to pull away, shooting a nervous glance down the hallway.

“I’m sure. They’re all out patrollling, it’s just us here.”

“Not just you, miss.” A familiar British voice rings out from the door beside you, making you yelp as the two of you jump apart.

Now at a respectable distance from each other, Alfred nods. “Carry on then, I’ll just be in the kitchen.”

You breathe heavily, clutching your chest as he wanders down the hallway before disappearing into another room.

Roy looks at you before hissing, “You said nobody was home!”

“I forgot! And you cannot be freaking out about Alfred catching us.” You cross your arms, eyebrows pinching as he gestures wildly.

“That’s worse than Batman! He actually kills people!”

“Don’t talk about sweet Alfred like that!” You tsk, “He made you cookies earlier.”

“You said you made those!”

“I lied!”

—

Advertisements were still playing on the screen when you and Roy found your seats.

The lights were dimmed and the air smelled like artificial butter from the popcorn.

Perfect.

He clutches your hand, keeping your arms together on the armrest.

You turn to look at him as he snatches a handful of popcorn. The lights from the screen flash across his face, momentarily gifting you glimpses of the man you love.

He turns to meet your gaze, smiling softly. It’s been ages since you’ve gotten to be together, just the two of you. It seems like every time you’re alone now, one of your siblings finds a way to interrupt.

The door to the theater opens again, and a crowd of three hustles in. You ignore them, instead pressing a quick kiss to Roy’s lips as he smiles at you.

He follows your lips after deciding you’d pulled away too soon, grabbing your neck to kiss you properly.

“Aww, you guys are so cute.” A sickeningly sweet, yet familiar, voice coos.

“Ugh.”

The two voices overlap with a snicker from their third counterpart.

You pull away with a groan, already recognizing them. Steph, Cass, and Duke all stand in front of you, each with varying degrees of excitement written on their faces.

“Hey, guys.” You don’t look away from Roy, even as you speak. He grimaces.

“Hi.” Cass grins, “You don’t mind if we sit here, do you?”

You stare blankly at your sister. She stares back.

“Fine.”

Out of all your siblings, she’s definitely the least intrusive. Nothing to—

“Move.” She turns her stare to your boyfriend.

Your jaw goes slack as you grip his hand tighter. “You can’t tell him what to do!”

She shrugs but Steph cuts in before she can say anything else. “Come on, the movies about to start. Plus, she’s right. Move it, Harper.”

“He’s fine where he is.” You glare, swatting her hand away as she attempts to push him.

“Really, I want to sit here.” Roy insists, biting back a groan as someone behind you yells about being quiet in the theater. Ironic.

“That’s the problem!” Steph hisses. Duke nods in agreement.

“Yeah, but with your track record, man, you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yes, I can!”

“Can’t.”

“Can.”

“Can’t.”

Cass takes his momentary distraction to pull him from his seat before settling down next to you. She offers her box of candy towards you without a word.

You send an apologetic glance towards your boyfriend, who is now stuck sitting beside Stephanie, as you accept the candy.

Throughout the movie, Roy tries to catch your eyes, pouting every time he manages to. You just shake your head at him with a smile.

That makes him soften slightly. Just a bit.

Every time there’s a jumpscare, Duke begins to glow faintly on your other side, resulting in multiple containers of popcorn being thrown at you alongside shouts of not being on your phone during a movie!

So overall, it was a pretty typical date for the two of you.

Roy catches your hand as soon at the movie is over, nearly lunging at you from his seat as he pulls you outside. “I’m so sorry to say this, babe, but this was not worth convincing Ollie to babysit for.”

“No, no, I completely agree.”

—

“It’s just milkshakes, babe. We’ll be here for like five minutes.” Sighing, you slip the bag from your shoulder, hanging it on your chair.

When you suggested milkshakes after leaving the movie theater, you figured you were in the clear. The date has already been interrupted once, there’s no way it’ll be interrupted again.

“That’s what they want you to think.” He mumbles, ignoring your words in favor of continuing to scan his periphery. “But they’re everywhere.”

After several interrupted dates in a row, Roy has developed a complex of some sorts, constantly on the lookout for your siblings.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t accounted for your father.

“Harper.” He gravels, a pointed look sent in your boyfriend’s direction before his gaze softens on you. “Sweetheart. I didn’t realize you’d be here.”

He slides into the booth across from you, since Roy is sitting beside you.

You sigh loudly, “That’s hard to believe.”

He feigns offense, “You mean, you think I came here just to crash your hangout?”

“Date, dad. It’s a date.”

“Sorry. You think I came here just to crash your play date?”

You stare at him. He blinks.

“Okay, that’s it. Dad, I need you to listen very closely so you can tell the others.” You breathe sharply, “If any of you interrupt one of our dates again, we’re eloping.”

“Babe—” Roy starts at the same time your father speaks.

“Honey—”

“No!” You wave your hands frantically, ignoring the loos from the other patrons in the diner. “We will be gone and you won’t find us. Do you understand?”

Bruce swallows thickly before nodding. “Is that all?”

You sit back down with a huff, accepting Roy’s arm around your shoulder. He rubs your arm soothingly as you grumble. “Yes.”

“Okay.” He considers his words, glancing between you and Roy and then back to you again before frowning. “But you wouldn’t actually elope, right?”

“Dad!”

#roy harper x batsis #roy harper x reader #roy harper x you #arsenal x reader #arsenal x you #dc x reader #x reader #batsis reader #batsis x batfam #roy harper x y/n #roy harper fic #roy harper x fem!reader #roy harper fanfic #roy harper fluff #dc x reader fluff

bambismoon

apocalypse - one undergroundboxer!kuna x reader [soulmate au]

warnings [mdni] - angst | implied trauma | mean sukuna

wc - 7.3k

series masterlist

∞

ryomen sukuna knew three things about his soulmate.

she drank too much caffeine, she slept curled on her side whenever anxiety crawled beneath her skin and whenever she read for hours on end or colored, the noise in his head quieted enough to let him breathe.

it was fucking irritating.

the first time she got under his skin, it was in the middle of his first match.

he’d nearly put his fist through the guy, rage sitting ugly beneath his ribs as blood pooled in his mouth and sweat dripped down his spine.

then suddenly, he was overcome with serenity he’d never experienced before.

a calmness that wasn’t his own, never his own.

something soft slipped beneath his skin then, warm and quiet in a way he wasn’t used to. like somebody had pressed cold hands against the back of his neck after years of burning where he stood.

he’d won that match.

“again?” toji muttered from across the gym, cigarette balanced lazily between scarred fingers.

sukuna rolled his jaw once before slamming another punch into the heavy bag hard enough for the chains overhead to rattle violently.

“fuck off.”

toji smirked, tongue peaking out to lick at the scar against his lip.

the gym smelled like rust, sweat and the metallic ting of blood that both men were used to. it was a shitty set up buried beneath the city in the lower levels of an abandoned parking structure. it barely looked legal from the outside and the inside wasn't much better.

the concrete floors, flickering lights and men all too violent to exist comfortably above ground.

and it was the place ryomen sukuna felt alive.

#all men should die #all men do is disappoint #soulmate!kuna #sukuna fic #sukuna smut #sukuna drabble #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #jjk fic #jjk sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna angst #sukuna ryomen angst #im simply too seated

wonderrheartt

GENIE IN A BOTTLE

spin the bottle with ROY HARPER & WALLY WEST

BLURB ꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ MDNI

contains: poly titans, spin the bottle, f/m/m, f! oral, batsis! reader, ends kinda abruptly because i'm a little burnt out, also — froggi shoutout!!!!!!

"YOU GOTTA RUB ME THE RIGHT WAY."

You watched as the empty Heineken bottle spun round and around hoping it wouldn't land on you. Gazing as it slowed down and eventually it stilled pointing right at you. Immediately sighing and looking up at the man, seeing the wide toothy grin on his face. “Must be my lucky day…” Roy commented playfully, and crawled out towards you, his hands reaching your cheeks and holding you still as he planted a kiss on your lips. His plump lips were like cotton pillows, slightly dry but plush — his tongue snaked its way in and massaged yours, the faint taste of Heineken overloaded your senses.

#ginger slut #dc comics x reader #batfam #roy harper x reader #wally west x reader #wally west #roy harper x y/n #roy harper x you #roy harper headcanons #roy harper smut #roy harper fic #roy harper dc #wally west x you #wally west x y/n #wally x reader #wally west fanfic #wally west smut #roy harper x wally west

superbassbuck

Call Me Maybe !

pairing: neighbor!bucky barnes x f!reader

warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, fluff, sexual tension, reader is a college student, age-gap (reader is early twenties, bucky is presumed mid 30s) voyeuristic and exhibitionism, homoeroticism, "slut" "good girl" "whore" public sex, fingering, dry humping, groping, dirty talk, degrading, size difference, mechanic!steve, slight steve x reader, reader is a pervert but bucky is too highkey, player!bucky, bisexual awakening!!!!

word count: 10.2k main masterlist

a/n: happy pride month!!! if it wasn't obvious enough, yes, it is based on the song call me maybe by carly rae jepsen. real ones know the parodies to this song on youtube. wasabi productions ifykyk. gif by sebstangif

synopsis: There’s a new guy who moved in right across from you. He’s a total mystery, but his looks certainly aren't. Since he's subtly trying to get your attention, how could you not entertain him? Especially when you have your best friend, Steve, in your ear telling you to go for it.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x you #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader smut #bucky x y/n #bucky smut

l13

*✩‧₊˚ YOU TAKE HIM BACK (sorry:/)

( PART ONE & PART TWO / comic masterlist / main masterlist / taglist )

⋆ starring: ONLY JASON MF TODD! ⋆ cw: NSFW 18+ mdni, f!reader, slight angst, explicit texts, swearing ⋆ a/n: unfortunately i could only write a continuation for jason. the rest of them gave me the ick BAD so they'll stay blocked!!

#dc texts #dc textposts #dc smau #dc x reader #dc x reader texts #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #dc angst #dc x reader angst #jason todd angst #jason todd x femreader #jason todd x f!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd

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