Zuko who’s genuinely inlove with his wife . Zuko, who’s a daughter is a loud mouth . Zuko and his sweet lover after being resurrected . Zuko who cannot keep quiet* .
♱ Toph Beifong
coming soon…
♱ Aang
coming soon…
♱ Katara
coming soon…
♱ Sokka
Sokka who won’t initiate anything because his all bark and no bite* .
BLLK
coming soon…
DC COMICS
♱ Dick Grayson
Adventures of having a partner with vasovagal syncope . Dick holding your hand while his inside you* . Why do you like Dick Grayson’s girlfriend? .
♱ Jason Todd
coming soon…
♱ Tim Drake
coming soon…
♱ Roy Harper
coming soon…
♱ Wally West
coming soon…
Haikyuu (On hold.)
♱ Kenma Kozume
Kenma has such a sweet lover! .
♱ Tooru Oikawa
Oikawa who’ll fly back to Japan to see you graduate .
ᦸ 𝓕𝐮𝐧-𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭: one thing I never share here is that I have ADHD, so that might make sense to a few of you with how I write, because I know sometimes after posting my work, I read it back, and it feels jumbled & sometimes I'm like, "Oh my god, I just wrote peak."
tip one : really visualize the character you're writing.
While most of what I write comes from requests, suggestions, or ideas from songs I listen to, I need to really mesh with what I'm writing, or it'll come out feeling sloppy. So I like to scroll on Pinterest a lot & search for things that make me think of the character I'm writing.
ex. here's some of the photos I keep for my frat!sukuna mini-series.
tip two : give yourself the time to write.
Sometimes, an idea can come to you, and you just want to get it done so fast that you rush through everything—that's fine; it's how some of my biggest fics were made, but letting yourself take a few days to plan a fic & plot it through can result in the fic coming off clear & cleaner.
tip three : practice, practice, practice!
My writing is nowhere near perfect; no one's is, & all we can do is practice. I write a lot of stuff knowing that it'll never see the light of day, just so I can try to be a better writer. I think the more you do, the better you'll be (I might be biased, but I definitely see an improvement in my writing from just a few months ago) & I think anyone is an amazing writer if you can tell they're proud of their work.
tip four : making your posts feel cute can make you want to write more.
Sometimes, when I first started writing on here, I hated writing. I was struggling to find a theme & aesthetic that I liked for my account; it takes time, though, so I'd suggest experimenting with your account, writing style, and what you want your account to look like. Just because something works for others doesn't mean it'll work for you.
tip five : write from experience.
Writing what you know comes off more naturally most of the time—I know some of my fics I tried to write things that I was not that aware of; while they weren't bad, they definitely weren't the best.
tip six : if all else fails music. music. musicccccccc.
thismightjustbeanADHDthing but listening to music I can relate to the fic I'm writing really helps me out; picturing the fic in my mind, following all else, music can be the cherry on top to fully immerse me in the writing process.
honorable mentions : watching rom-coms, watching edits, looking up fan-art ( my fave artists is @/torucider), & talking to a friend / another writer if you're really really stumped.
r18. everybody knows gojo satoru doesn’t like you. he makes sure you know it every time you’re in the same room, never missing a chance to remind you that suguru only keeps you around to fuck you when he’s bored.
ⓘ bullying, misogyny, toxic dynamics.
the first thing he said when he walked into the bar was, “there she is. suguru’s favorite side piece.”
the men at the table laughed.
you smiled anyway.
years of working as a hostess had taught you how to do that. smile when they’re rude. smile when they’re drunk. smile when they think you’re less of a person because they’re paying for your time.
but gojo satoru wasn’t paying. that was what made him worse.
he sat beside suguru, long legs stretched out beneath the table, blue eyes immediately finding you across the room.
like always.
like they always did.
“you know,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear, “i still don’t get it.”
suguru glanced up from his drink. “get what?”
“her.”
your smile stiffened.
satoru pointed in your direction.
“you’re rich. you’re attractive. you could fuck anyone. why waste your time with a girl who’s literally paid to pretend she likes men?”
the table went silent. you felt every eye land on you.
suguru only chuckled.
“you’re being an asshole again.”
“am i wrong?”
no one answered.
because he wasn’t.
at least not entirely.
you spent your nights laughing at jokes that weren’t funny and making lonely men feel important. you knew what people thought of women like you.
most were simply polite enough not to say it aloud.
satoru never was.
the rest of the evening passed the same way it always did.
a comment here.
a cruel joke there.
every sentence designed to remind you exactly where you stood.
and every time, you stayed quiet.
because arguing would only prove he got under your skin. and because deep down, part of you thought you deserved it.
gojo satoru never said don’t sit with us.
he didn’t have to.
it would happen in small ways. ways that were easy to dismiss if anyone called him out on it.
whenever everyone met up at a pub, there would always be just enough seats for the group. you’d arrive a little later than everyone else, usually straight from work, still tired from sleeping only a few hours after your shift.
and somehow, the last empty seat would always disappear the moment you got there.
you’d watch satoru casually toss his jacket over it.
or his backpack.
or stretch his legs onto the chair beside him.
the first few times, you thought it was an accident. then you noticed he only ever did it when you showed up.
“scoot over,” suguru would say sometimes.
and before you could even feel relieved, satoru would click his tongue.
“she’s fine.”
as if standing wasn’t a problem.
as if you weren’t part of the group anyway.
nobody argued.
nobody wanted to deal with him when he got like that.
so you’d end up leaning against a wall while everyone else sat around the table.
listening.
smiling when appropriate. pretending it didn’t bother you.
he never raised his voice. never started a fight. never said anything cruel enough for people to call him out.
just little comments.
little actions.
tiny cuts that added up over time.
and every time satoru noticed, he’d lean back in his seat with that infuriating look on his face.
like he’d won something.
like making you feel unwanted was exactly the point.
the conversations weren’t any better. they’d talk about professors they hated. midterms. group projects. people getting suspended. parties on campus. things that happened in lecture halls. things that happened in dorms.
entire memories built around a life you weren’t living.
you worked nights.
while they were sitting in classrooms, you were sleeping.
while they were studying for exams, you were getting ready for another shift.
it never started with anything obvious.
just small conversations that drifted into things you couldn’t fully relate to — classes you didn’t take, professors you didn’t know, places on campus you’d only ever passed by.
you usually stayed quiet during those parts.
not because you didn’t want to join in.
but because it was easier than being reminded, over and over, that your life didn’t quite line up with theirs.
tonight was no different.
they were crowded around a low table, half-lounging on mismatched chairs and cushions in someone’s apartment, the air warm with cheap alcohol and the kind of laughter that came from people who didn’t have to be anywhere else in the morning.
you sat slightly to the side, glass in hand, listening more than speaking.
suguru was in the middle of it all like he always was — relaxed, easy, occasionally glancing your way like you belonged there when he felt like acknowledging you.
and satoru was there too.
which meant you were already waiting for something you couldn’t name.
because with him, it was never random.
it was timing.
it was attention.
it was the way his eyes would land on you just long enough to make you aware that he was watching, even when he wasn’t speaking.
and tonight, he had been quiet for too long.
someone had been talking about a party the night before. loud music, cheap alcohol, strangers crowding the living room like it meant something.
you weren’t really listening until someone turned to you and asked if you went to things like that too.
you opened your mouth to answer.
you didn’t even get the chance. satoru beat you to it.
“why wouldn’t she?” he said, leaning back in his chair like he was bored. “she works in a club. she’s basically already at a party every night.”
a few soft laughs followed. not mean enough to stop him. not kind enough to help you.
you forced a small smile.
“it’s not really the same thing,” you said quietly.
satoru tilted his head, like he was considering you.
then he shrugged.
“sure it is.”
he looked around the table, addressing everyone now, not just you.
“guys buy her drinks. guys pay for her attention. she knows how to act interested when she has to.”
your stomach dropped at the casualness of it. the way he said it like it was fact. like it was just… obvious.
nobody stopped him.
you tried to speak again, but your voice came out thinner than you wanted.
“you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
satoru smiled a little at that. not warm. not amused. just sharp.
“i know enough,” he said. “don’t i?”
the silence after that wasn’t loud.
it was worse.
because it meant everyone had heard him. and everyone had chosen not to argue.
you sat there, fingers tightening around your glass, feeling the heat crawl up your neck while satoru went back to his drink like he hadn’t just reduced you into something bite-sized for the room to swallow.
the room stayed quiet for a second after satoru’s words settled.
not the kind of silence that felt like shock.
the kind that felt like hesitation.
like everyone was waiting to see whether it was going to be a joke they were allowed to laugh at.
you didn’t look at satoru anymore.
you couldn’t.
your grip on your glass tightened instead, nails pressing into the cool surface like it could anchor you back into something normal.
“that’s enough,” someone muttered under their breath.
too soft to matter.
satoru didn’t even acknowledge it.
he just took a sip of his drink like he hadn’t said anything at all. like he hadn’t just stripped the conversation bare.
your eyes flicked, almost unwillingly, to suguru.
he was leaning back in his seat, one arm draped lazily over the backrest.
for a moment, he didn’t say anything.
didn’t move.
just watched the table like he was deciding whether this was worth interrupting his evening for.
then he sighed.
not loud.
not angry.
just tired.
“satoru,” he said finally.
that was it.
no sharpness. no correction. no defense.
satoru hummed in response, not even looking up.
“what?”
suguru glanced at you briefly — quick, unreadable — and then back to him.
“drop it.”
two words. flat. unbothered.
satoru’s mouth twitched like he found that amusing.
“or what?”
suguru didn’t answer right away.
and in that pause, something inside your chest tightened in a way you were used to now.
not surprise. not even disappointment.
just confirmation.
he wasn’t going to defend you.
not really.
he never did.
suguru reached for his drink again.
“just stop making it weird,” he said.
like the problem wasn’t what was said. like the problem was the attention it brought.
satoru leaned forward slightly then, resting his elbow on his knee.
his eyes flicked to you again. still sharp. still fixed.
“see?” he said lightly. “he’s not even mad.”
no one laughed.
but no one disagreed either.
and suguru…
suguru didn’t look at you again after that.
the thing with suguru geto had never been complicated.
at least, not for him.
he’d text you late at night asking where you were, and somehow you’d always end up at his apartment. sometimes he’d order food afterward. sometimes he’d let you stay until morning. sometimes he’d brush your hair behind your ear and ask about your shift like he actually cared about the answer.
those moments were what kept you around.
not because they meant anything.
but because they felt like they did.
you met suguru geto at the club where you worked, on a night that ran too long and felt too loud.
he came in with friends, but kept looking at you instead of the table. when you introduced yourself, he said your name like he’d been waiting to hear it.
after closing, he was still there. he offered you a ride, you took it, and somewhere between the quiet streets and his apartment lights, the night stopped feeling like something you could walk away from.
you told yourself it was just one night.
but you still ended up in his bed anyway.
suguru never called you his girlfriend. never introduced you as anything more than a friend. never promised you a future, exclusivity, or even consistency.
and yet he’d sling an arm over your shoulders in public when he was in a good mood, save a seat for you when satoru wasn’t around, and look at you with enough warmth to make you forget where you stood.
for a few hours, you could pretend.
pretend you weren’t just someone he called when he was lonely.
pretend you weren’t waiting for scraps of affection from a man who had never once asked you to stay.
which was exactly why satoru’s comments hurt so much.
because unlike everyone else, satoru saw right through the fantasy.
the conversation moved on eventually.
it always did.
maybe that was the worst part.
nobody lingered on what satoru had said. nobody looked uncomfortable for very long. within minutes, someone was complaining about a professor, someone else was arguing over a grade, and the room slipped back into its usual rhythm as if nothing had happened at all.
you tried to follow along. you really did.
you smiled when everyone else laughed and nodded when it seemed appropriate, but the longer the night dragged on, the more disconnected you felt from the people around you. every laugh sounded distant. every conversation felt like it was happening through a wall.
across the room, suguru looked perfectly at ease.
he sat sprawled against the couch with a drink balanced loosely in one hand, listening to shoko tell some story about a classmate she’d nearly gotten into a fight with. every so often he laughed, the sound low and warm, and for a moment you found yourself staring.
waiting.
hoping.
for what, exactly, you weren’t sure.
an apology, maybe.
an explanation.
some sign that he’d noticed the way your smile had faltered earlier. some sign that he cared enough to bring it up once everyone else had stopped paying attention.
but he never looked your way.
and every minute that passed made it harder to ignore the truth.
suguru wasn’t going to say anything.
he never did.
that realization shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. after all, this wasn’t the first time satoru had made a joke at your expense. it wasn’t the first time he’d found a way to remind everyone exactly what you did for a living. and it certainly wasn’t the first time suguru had chosen silence over confrontation.
still, something about tonight felt different.
maybe because you were tired.
maybe because satoru had looked directly at you while he said it.
or maybe because some stupid part of you had spent so long convincing itself that suguru saw you differently that hearing nobody disagree had finally cracked something open.
as the night wore on, people began leaving one by one.
the apartment slowly emptied around you. jackets were pulled on, goodbyes were exchanged, and the front door opened and closed often enough that cool air occasionally drifted through the room.
normally, you would have left too. instead, you found yourself lingering.
partly because going home sounded unbearable, and partly because leaving would mean sitting alone with thoughts you didn’t want to examine too closely.
so when someone started gathering empty bottles from the coffee table, you offered to help.
it gave your hands something to do.
you collected abandoned glasses, stacked empty cans, wiped rings of condensation from the table with a napkin. none of it actually needed to be done, but the small tasks kept your mind occupied.
or at least they were supposed to.
because no matter what you focused on, your thoughts kept circling back to the same thing.
satoru’s voice.
the look on suguru’s face.
the silence that followed.
eventually you carried an armful of glasses into the kitchen and set them beside the sink.
the apartment had grown noticeably quieter by then.
you could still hear voices somewhere near the front door, but they sounded distant now, muffled beneath the hum of the refrigerator and the rush of water as you turned on the faucet.
you stared down at the glass in your hands and watched soap bubbles slide across the surface.
for the first time all evening, you allowed yourself to stop pretending.
your chest ached.
it was ridiculous, really.
you weren’t dating suguru.
he hadn’t promised you anything.
you had no right to expect him to defend you.
and yet the hurt remained anyway, stubborn and humiliating.
you were so lost in thought that you didn’t immediately notice the apartment had gone completely silent.
it wasn’t until several seconds passed without hearing another voice that something in your stomach tightened.
the front door had stopped opening.
the conversations had disappeared.
even the music seemed quieter somehow.
you frowned slightly and glanced toward the kitchen entrance.
nothing.
just an empty hallway.
for a brief moment, you wondered if everyone had already left.
then a familiar voice spoke from somewhere behind you.
“you know what’s funny?”
your entire body went still.
because you would have recognized that voice anywhere.
and because somehow, before you even turned around, you already knew exactly who was standing there.
your entire body went still.
for a second, neither of you moved.
the faucet continued running between you, water splashing softly against the bottom of the sink, filling the silence neither of you seemed interested in breaking.
you stared at the glass in your hands.
then slowly set it down.
only then did you turn.
satoru was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
his jacket hung loosely over one shoulder, one hand shoved into his pocket. he looked completely relaxed, like he’d wandered in by accident. like he hadn’t spent the better part of the evening making sure you felt unwelcome.
for a brief moment, you wondered where everyone else had gone.
whether suguru was still here.
whether someone would walk back in.
but the apartment was quiet.
too quiet.
and judging by the look on satoru’s face, he knew it too.
“what?” you asked.
your voice came out flatter than intended.
tired.
he studied you for a moment.
his gaze lingered just long enough to make your skin crawl.
“nothing.”
you almost laughed.
“right.”
his mouth twitched.
not quite a smile. more like amusement.
“you’re easy to read, you know that?”
you looked away first.
you hated that.
hated that he always seemed to notice things you worked hard to hide.
“horrible night?” he asked lightly.
you reached for another glass.
“don’t start.”
“start what?”
you didn’t answer.
because there was no point.
because somehow every conversation with him ended the same way.
you frustrated.
him entertained.
the silence stretched.
you focused on washing dishes.
he stayed exactly where he was.
for a moment, you thought maybe that would be the end of it.
that maybe he was finally leaving.
then he spoke again.
“you cried once.”
your hands froze.
the words were so unexpected that for a second you weren’t even sure you’d heard him correctly.
slowly, you looked up.
satoru hadn’t moved. his eyes remained fixed on you.
calm. observant. annoyingly attentive.
“what?”
“after that party last semester.”
your stomach dropped.
immediately.
because you remembered.
god. you remembered.
it had been months ago.
some stupid gathering at their friend’s apartment. too many people packed into too small a space. too much alcohol. too much noise.
someone had made a joke.
another person had laughed.
then another.
and somehow the conversation had shifted toward hostesses.
toward women who worked in clubs.
toward women like you.
you’d excused yourself shortly afterward.
locked yourself in the bathroom.
and cried for exactly five minutes before pulling yourself together.
nobody was supposed to know.
your face tightened.
“satoru—”
“bathroom near the hallway.”
he shrugged.
“you forgot the walls were thin.”
humiliation flooded through you so quickly it made your stomach hurt.
“why are you telling me this?”
“because i remember thinking it was weird.”
you stared at him.
he continued before you could respond.
“you spend every night around men who say worse things than anything i do.”
the words landed heavily.
because they weren’t entirely wrong.
customers could be cruel. drunk. entitled.
you’d heard every insult imaginable at work.
every assumption.
every degrading comment.
satoru tilted his head.
“so i’ve always wondered why mine bother you so much.”
your chest tightened.
you looked away.
because suddenly you didn’t want him seeing your face.
didn’t want him seeing how easily he’d landed on the truth.
because his words hurt precisely because they came from him. because somewhere along the way, you’d started caring what he thought.
and maybe that was the most embarrassing thing of all.
“they don’t.”
his laugh was immediate.
quiet.
disbelieving.
“okay.”
you gripped the edge of the sink.
“satoru, what do you want?”
finally.
there it was.
the question hanging between you.
because he hadn’t stayed behind for no reason. he hadn’t followed you into the kitchen because he was bored.
satoru’s expression shifted slightly, becoming harder to read.
for a moment he simply looked at you, taking his time. like he was deciding how honest he felt like being.
“i don’t get you.”
you blinked.
“what?”
“you keep showing up.”
his gaze narrowed.
“every single time.”
you frowned.
“because i’m friends with everyone.”
“are you?”
the question was so immediate it almost felt rehearsed.
you stared at him.
he stared back.
and suddenly the kitchen felt too small.
too warm.
too quiet.
“suguru invites me.”
the moment his name left your mouth, something flickered across satoru’s face.
gone so quickly you almost missed it.
“yeah.”
his voice was flat.
“that’s kind of my point.”
confusion twisted through you.
“what is that supposed to mean?”
satoru looked away briefly before letting out a quiet breath through his nose.
like he was already annoyed with the conversation.
annoyed with you.
“you really think that’s why?”
“why what?”
“why he keeps you around.”
you stared at him.
your heartbeat beginning to quicken.
slowly.
uncomfortably.
because suddenly you didn’t like where this conversation was headed.
and judging by the look on his face — neither did he.
but he continued anyway.
“you think suguru actually likes you.”
it wasn’t a question.
it was a statement.
a realization.
and the second he said it aloud, the room seemed to tilt slightly beneath your feet.
you felt exposed.
like he’d reached into your chest and dragged something private into the light.
your expression hardened immediately.
“fuck off.”
his eyes widened slightly.
not because you’d denied it.
because you hadn’t.
and he knew it.
“wow.”
the word left him softly. almost incredulously.
“you do.”
heat rushed into your face.
“i said fuck off.”
but your voice lacked conviction.
and that only made it worse. because now he was looking at you differently.
not with amusement.
not with irritation.
something closer to disbelief. as though he’d finally solved a puzzle.
and hated the answer.
“that’s actually insane.”
humiliation crawled beneath your skin.
“satoru—”
“no, seriously.”
he laughed once.
running a hand through his hair.
“you think this is going somewhere?”
every word felt sharper than the last.
you wanted him to stop.
wanted to walk away.
wanted the conversation to end.
instead, you remained rooted to the floor.
because some awful part of you needed to hear what he was going to say next.
“suguru isn’t your boyfriend.”
you looked away.
“i know.”
"then why are you acting like one?"
your throat tightened.
silence.
satoru watched your reaction carefully.
too carefully.
the realization seemed to settle deeper the longer he looked at you.
and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
crueler.
because now he wasn’t guessing anymore. now he knew exactly where to aim.
“you really don’t get it.”
your stomach dropped.
“satoru.”
“he fucks you because you’re there.”
the words hit so hard they barely registered at first. for a moment, all you could do was stare.
he continued anyway.
merciless.
“because you’re convenient.”
your chest tightened painfully.
“because you make it easy.”
“satoru, stop.”
but he didn’t.
“you think you’re special because he calls you afterward?”
his eyes locked onto yours.
“because he invites you to hang out?”
you felt sick.
genuinely sick.
the kind that settled somewhere deep in your stomach.
because every sentence sounded like something he’d been thinking for a long time.
“do you know how many girls would say yes to suguru?”
he laughed softly.
without humor.
“the difference is they have enough self-respect not to build fantasies around it.”
you flinched.
and he saw it.
god.
he saw it.
for the first time all evening, something uncertain flickered across his expression.
a split second.
gone immediately.
but not before you noticed.
not before you realized he hadn’t expected that reaction. he hadn’t expected to actually hurt you.
which would have mattered more if he hadn’t kept going.
“you’re not stupid.”
his voice was quieter now. lower. somehow worse.
“so stop acting like you don’t know what this is.”
your eyes burned, and you hated yourself for it.
hated that tears were even threatening.
especially in front of him.
especially now.
satoru looked at you for a long moment.
then let out a slow breath.
and when he spoke again, his voice was almost tired.
“he doesn’t choose you.”
the words landed with terrifying precision. because they struck directly at the fear you’d spent months avoiding.
“he just sleeps with you ‘cause you’re free & easy.”
and suddenly the kitchen felt impossibly small.
the air too heavy to breathe.
the silence afterward deafening.
because for the first time since he’d entered the room — you had nothing left to say.
your manager caught you just as you were stepping off the main floor to grab another tray. there was a particular look on her face that immediately told you this wasn’t a normal client request. she held a reservation slip between two fingers and glanced toward the staircase leading to the vip section.
“table 9,” she said. “private room.”
you nodded automatically, already reaching for the slip.
“requested you specifically.”
that made you pause.
for a brief second, you considered asking who it was. then you saw the spending limit attached to the reservation and didn’t need to. there were very few people who could casually spend that much money in a single evening, and even fewer who would specifically ask for you.
the realization settled heavily in your stomach.
gojo satoru.
of course.
you thanked your manager, fixed your dress, and headed upstairs.
the walk to the vip rooms gave you too much time to think.
two days ago, you had walked into suguru’s apartment with a spare key and found another woman in his bed. you hadn’t screamed. hadn’t cried. hadn’t even made a scene.
you’d simply stood there long enough for the reality to settle over you before turning around and leaving.
maybe that was why it hurt so much. there had been no dramatic ending. no fight. no closure. just confirmation of something you'd already known for months.
and now somehow satoru knew too.
the room was dim when you entered.
soft amber lights reflected off dark wood and expensive liquor bottles. the music from downstairs was barely audible from here, reduced to a distant pulse beneath the floorboards.
satoru sat alone on the leather couch, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, a glass of whiskey balanced loosely between his fingers. at first glance he looked relaxed. comfortable. bored, even.
then he looked up.
his eyes immediately found yours.
for a moment, neither of you spoke.
you were used to being looked at. men spent entire evenings staring at you for a living. you knew the difference between attraction, curiosity, desire, and drunken fascination.
satoru’s stare had never been any of those things.
it always felt more invasive.
as if he were trying to figure out something you hadn’t told him.
as if every interaction between the two of you was a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet.
and tonight, for whatever reason, he seemed especially focused.
his gaze lingered on your face longer than usual. not your body. not what you’re wearing. your face. his eyes moved carefully over every detail, and before he even opened his mouth, you had the unpleasant feeling that he was cataloguing things you wished nobody would notice.
the exhaustion.
the lack of sleep.
the fact that your smile wasn’t reaching your eyes.
something flickered across his expression.
then it disappeared.
“well,” he said finally, leaning back against the couch, “if it isn’t suguru’s favorite side piece.”
there he was.
you almost felt relieved.
cruel satoru was familiar.
cruel satoru made sense.
you slipped easily into your professional smile and approached the table.
“good evening, mr. gojo. i’ll be taking care of you tonight.”
instead of answering immediately, he watched you reach for the bottle. watched you prepare a clean glass. watched you perform every practiced movement with the precision of someone who had spent years learning how to be pleasant no matter what kind of person sat in front of them.
when you finally looked up again, you found him still staring.
“mr. gojo?” he repeated.
his mouth curved slightly.
“that’s cute.”
you ignored it and poured his drink.
“would you like ice?”
“would you like to stop pretending?”
the question landed between you.
most people wouldn’t have noticed how quickly it came. how little time he spent dancing around the topic. satoru had never been subtle when it came to hurting you.
you continued pouring as though he hadn’t spoken.
“one cube or two?”
he laughed.
not because anything was funny.
because he was frustrated.
and somehow that realization unsettled you more than his insults usually did.
“you walked in on him balls deep in someone else two nights ago.”
there it was.
direct.
blunt.
inevitable.
you set the bottle down carefully before answering.
“i’m here to work.”
“that’s not what i asked.”
“and i’m choosing not to answer.”
for a second, the room fell quiet.
satoru stared at you.
you stared at the whiskey bottle.
somewhere downstairs, the bass from the club vibrated faintly through the walls.
“you know what’s amazing?” he said after a while.
his voice had changed.
it was softer now.
less mocking.
which somehow made it worse.
“i spent months telling you exactly who suguru was.”
you didn’t respond.
“months.”
his fingers tightened around the glass.
“and every single time you looked at me like i was the asshole.”
only then did you glance up.
because that sounded strangely personal.
strangely bitter.
more bitter than someone should have been about a situation that technically had nothing to do with him.
“you were being an asshole,” you said quietly.
for the first time all evening, a genuine smile appeared on his face.
small.
brief.
real.
“fair.”
then it vanished.
and his eyes returned to studying you.
not mocking.
not teasing.
studying.
as though he couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing.
because you weren’t angry. you weren’t crying. you weren’t defending suguru. you just looked tired.
painfully, unbelievably tired.
and somehow that seemed to bother him.
a lot.
more than finding out suguru had cheated.
more than proving himself right.
more than the satisfaction of winning an argument he’d been having for months.
satoru looked at you for a long moment before exhaling sharply and reaching into his wallet.
the stack of bills landed on the table with a heavy thud.
you frowned.
“what are you doing?”
“buying your time.”
“you’re already doing that.”
“not this time.”
his gaze lifted to yours.
steady.
serious.
“this time i’m buying the rest of your shift.”
you looked from the money back to him.
confused. suspicious. tired.
and for the first time that night, satoru seemed to lose patience entirely.
“go home,” he said.
when you didn’t answer, he shook his head and laughed once under his breath.
“seriously. go home.”
his eyes drifted over your face again.
taking in every detail you had been desperately trying to hide from everyone around you.
and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it.
“i’ve spent months making fun of you,” he said. “i know exactly what you look like when you’re trying too hard.”
his gaze didn’t leave yours.
a month had passed since that night in the vip lounge.
you still didn’t know what had possessed you to take the money and let him drive you home. you didn’t know why you hadn’t told him to fuck off when he kissed you against the door of his apartment instead. and you definitely didn’t know why you kept coming back.
but you did.
three, sometimes four times a week, you found yourself here — in satoru’s apartment, letting him peel your clothes off like he had every right to.
tonight was no different.
the lights of the city bled softly through the tall windows, painting his bedroom in cool blues and warm golds.
you were underneath him, skin flushed and warm, legs parted wide as he took his time with you.
satoru kissed you slowly, almost lazily, like he had all night to ruin you. his hand slid down your body, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist before slipping between your thighs.
he groaned quietly against your mouth when he felt how wet you already were, slick coating his fingers.
“always so ready for me,” he murmured, voice low and rough. two fingers teased your entrance before pushing in deep, curling slowly against your walls. “this pussy misses me even when you pretend you don’t.”
you gasped softly, hips twitching against his hand. he smiled against your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your skin as he worked his fingers deeper, stretching you patiently, thrusting them in and out with wet, obscene sounds.
“look at me,” he said.
when you met his eyes, he added a third finger, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face as he pumped them steadily.
“that’s it,” he whispered. “just feel me. don’t think about anything else.”
he kept that slow rhythm until your breathing turned ragged and your thighs trembled around his wrist. only then did he pull his fingers out, slick with your arousal, and settle between your legs.
he rubbed the thick head of his cock against your soaked folds, teasing your clit before finally pushing in — slow, thick, and steady, stretching you open inch by inch.
a quiet moan slipped from your lips as he filled you completely. satoru let out a long breath, forehead dropping to yours.
“fuck… still so tight,” he breathed. “every single time.”
his forehead rested against yours, white hair messy and damp with sweat. one of his hands gripped your thigh, holding you open for him, while the other braced beside your head.
“look at me,” he murmured, voice low.
you did.
his eyes were too blue, too sharp, even in the dark. they always saw too much.
“you’ve been so fucking quiet lately,” he said, rolling his hips deeper, pressing you further into the mattress. “still thinking about him?”
you shook your head, but the way your breath hitched gave you away.
satoru let out a soft, mocking laugh that didn’t quite hide the edge in it. he dipped his head, lips brushing your ear.
“liar,” he whispered. “you still get that sad little look in your eyes sometimes. like you’re waiting for him to text you again.”
he thrust a little harder, just enough to make you gasp, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls.
“but you’re here instead. letting me fuck you raw every time i want.”
your fingers dug into his shoulders. not pushing him away. just holding on.
“satoru…”
“yeah?” his voice dropped, rougher now. “say it. tell me whose bed you’re in.”
“yours,” you breathed.
he hummed in approval, slowing down again, dragging it out until you felt every inch of him sliding in and out.
“good girl. at least you know that much.”
he kissed the side of your neck, almost gentle. almost.
“you’re tighter when you’re like this,” he murmured against your skin. “all soft and needy. makes me wonder how long you’re gonna keep pretending this is just revenge.”
you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. not when he was moving like that — deep, steady strokes that made your toes curl and your mind go fuzzy. not rough. not frantic. just overwhelming in its intensity, his cock filling you perfectly with every thrust.
satoru shifted his angle slightly, hitting that spot that always made your back arch. a quiet moan slipped out of you before you could stop it.
“there she is,” he breathed, sounding almost fond. “been thinking about this pussy all day, you know that?”
he rocked into you again, slower this time, savoring the way your walls clenched around him.
“thought about canceling my last class just so i could drag you here and fuck you properly. been hard since lunch, baby..”
your face burned. you turned your head slightly, but he caught your chin and brought your gaze back to his.
“don’t you dare look away.”
he kissed you then — deep, possessive, a little messy. when he pulled back, his voice was quieter.
he kept his pace steady, grinding against you with every thrust, one hand sliding down to rub slow circles against your swollen clit. the pleasure built gradually, thick and consuming, until your thighs started trembling around him.
“that’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “come for me, baby. let me feel you.”
and you did — quietly, breathlessly, clenching hard around his cock as the orgasm rolled through you in long, slow waves. satoru groaned low in his throat, burying his face in your neck as he followed right after, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you, filling you with warm pulses.
for a long minute, the only sound was both of you breathing.
he didn’t pull out right away. he stayed there, heavy and warm on top of you, lips occasionally pressing lazy kisses against your collarbone like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment end.
eventually, he shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest without a word. his fingers traced slow patterns on your bare back.
you hummed, eyes already heavy.
your phone lay on the nightstand beside his bed. it had been on silent, but the screen suddenly lit up with a new message notification. then another. and another.
satoru noticed immediately.
he reached over and turned the phone slightly toward him before you could stop him. the screen showed multiple unread messages from suguru.
satoru’s body went still.
“you’re still talking to him?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.
you froze.
he let out a short, amused scoff — surprised, almost disbelieving, but with that familiar sharp edge underneath.
“really?” he sat up a little, one eyebrow raised, staring down at you. “after he fucked someone else in front of you basically… you’re still replying to his messages?”
you looked away, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked.
“…because he’s nice sometimes,” you said quietly. “he can be sweet when he wants to.”
the silence that followed felt heavier than anything he’d said all night.
satoru stared at you for a long moment. something shifted behind his eyes — a slow, bitter realization settling in. his usual smirk was gone. in its place was something colder. disappointed, almost.
he let out a low, humorless laugh and ran a hand through his hair.
“fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “you’re still looking for him.”
he said it like he was stating a fact he’d been trying to ignore for weeks. like the truth had finally hit him square in the chest.
even after a month of fucking him, of letting him hold you, fuck you raw, keep you in his bed — you were still waiting for scraps from suguru.
satoru leaned back against the headboard, jaw tight, blue eyes fixed on the ceiling instead of you.
and for the first time in weeks, the silence between you felt like the old kind again.
tshd started out as a seemingly sad manga about a gay teen who lost his best friend and now has to experience the Horrors then BOOM! you were wrong. it's a hopeful story that tells you that there's always a way for you to be happy AND queer. you have a way out even in the worst scenarios. you deserve hope and happiness and to be with who you love. you deserve to exist without hiding. happy pride to yoshikaru
I don’t care how disgusting or fucked up a fic is. NO writer should EVER be harassed for writing taboo fics, especially when the warnings are properly tagged and you choose to go ahead and read them on your own free will.
you’re not morally superior for harassing real people for the sake of fictional characters and fictional stories. you’re just a bully.
You were gripping on Satoru’s shirt as you bite down on the book. The old musty taste is settling on your tongue as you fight back the muffled moans escaping you in the library.
This was supposed to be a study session but it turned into a make out session then a fuck session and you weren’t complaining when Satoru’s dick was hitting every spot perfect. His thrusting into you as he holds you as against the bookshelf.
The loud clapping sound is all you can hear if you’re in the corner of the library, “pretty girl, are you learning? Are you learning I can fuck you so good?” He says through his teeth as you clench on his dick, your head throwing back against the books as you bite down harder on the book in your mouth.
“Such a dirty girl…” he teased as the sound of balls slapping skin can be heard, “getting fucked in the library. You wanna get this cum?” He grinned as his thrusts became more frantic, and all you could do is nod. “Good answer” he said before slowing down and cumming inside, the cum warming your inside.
Before you could cum, he pulled out. “Dirty girl.” He teased.
Hey guys! As someone who has lived through pancreatic cancer and whose anniversary it is today, I would like you to PLEASE share this information! Cancer of any kind is a major warning sign that you should take seriously! Please get your checkups‼️‼️
Find opportunities to connect with other survivors and caregivers within group settings in person, online or over the telephone.
please PLEASE, leave aside the “aesthetic” for u blog or idk, please TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY cus cancer is REAL and don’t make exceptions!! CANCER RUINS LIFES, PLEASE TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY!! MAKE UR EXAMS!!
you do know that in an other univers fictional characters are real and whenever you write bad thing those things happen for real in a otherunivers. read up on the multiverse theory if you don't belive me but it's real. every bad thing in this reality is because a person in an other reality is writing about it and therefore creatinh it in our univirse!
ok good that means my ship is real and canon somewhere too ❤️
Reasons Why Fans of Color Leave/Don’t Interact with Fandom
Casual racism that is brushed off as “an innocent mistake” or “they didn’t mean it” and then everyone pretending like it didn’t happen and moving on with their day (repeat)
Speaking over fans of color about issues that pertain to them specifically
When fans of color speak out about something that makes them uncomfortable or why that don’t interact with it (usually because of the racial/ethnic bias) they are accused of being anti’s or pro-censorship
Characters of color being used as scapegoats/bashed/plot devices
Characters of color never getting happy endings/real development
Backlash against characters of color if they do anything other than be a white character’s side kick/best friend
Actors of characters of color being harassed for something their character did or didn’t do
White characters/actors getting all the attention/credit despite the fact that they are a side character to a POC or on the same level as the POC
Fanfic authors patting themselves on the back for writing a “realistic” character of color and it’s just a bunch of stereotypes
Being told that they should be happy they were even included when they call out the above people
White fans crying about persecution/exclusion because their fav character/trope/kink/ship isn’t loved by all
Fan artists re-imaging characters of color as white/lightening skin tone
Everyone rushing to a white fans defense after a well deserved call out while the fan of color receives hate
Never having a safe fandom space and always having to be on guard with new people/fandoms/chats etc because they’ve been burned before
Seeing how writers across all platforms and different fandoms are dealing with so much more hate, censorship and publicized gossip is truly disheartening to see.
This “call out” culture that’s becoming more prominent in fandom spaces quite literally goes against the entire purpose of fan fiction. Fandoms are supposed to be safe spaces for people to express their ideas and if you don’t like a certain blog/type of writing, you simply block them and move on.
By “calling out” or demanding certain changes be made to how a person writes, you are stripping away the concept of fandom being a creative, judgment free space. Fan fiction censorship is as dangerous as book censorship; it’s the act of silencing those you don’t agree with.
I had to learn this the hard way when I made this mistake in the past, realizing the topic I was “calling out” was simply me trying to censor something I didn’t like. The reason this action becomes dangerous is that there is no stopping point to what can be called out and therefore censored, and it opens up the potential for hatred, bullying, and other harmful behavior towards those engaging in the “controversial” topics.
If you see something you don’t like, then don’t interact. It’s simple and doesn’t cost a thing to you. Stop promoting these forms of isolation and harassment.
***side note, just because you’re not “calling out” or openly condemning a certain topic does not mean you are agreeing with or condoning it, either. It simply means you respect the principle of writing what you want and disengaging with those that write what you don’t like.
****extra side note, this is exactly why ao3 doesn’t censor fan fiction posted on there unless it’s an extreme case of something being inappropriate.
fandom spaces have started to confuse discomfort with danger, personal dislike with moral emergency, and curation with public punishment.
fandom should be strange, excessive, embarrassing, tender, horny, indulgent, experimental, full of things you personally would never touch and things that feel like they were written with a knife pressed directly into your ribs. that is the point. it is a library with too many locked doors, and you are allowed to choose which ones you open.
you are allowed to dislike things. you are allowed to block, mute, scroll past, close the tab, protect your own peace.
genuinely, please do.
curation is healthy.
what scares me is when “i don’t want to see this” becomes “no one should be allowed to write this.” and no, refusing to join a public stoning does not mean you secretly endorse everything ever written. it means you understand that fiction is fiction, your discomfort is yours to manage, and someone else’s imagination is not automatically a crime scene.
block, mute, move on, build your corner, protect your joy. but once we start cheering for censorship, we never get to decide where it stops.
── .⭑🩰She’ll be there holding flowers for you… according to Cassandra Cain
જ⁀➴ Parental Figure: One who represents, behaves as, or is regarded as equivalent to a parent for another person or group of people.
request
Bruce is incredibly busy, he can’t show up for every event no matter how much he wants to but Dick definitely will in his place. When Dick hears Cassandra has a ballet recital tonight and Bruce couldn’t attend or Barbara because of an important mission.
The initial plan was to go by himself, you were a busy woman. You didn’t have time be in a place like Gotham but when you caught wind, you were immediately asking him to go with to support Cassandra.
You both were late because you had insisted on getting her flowers, it was the most proper thing to do at a ballet performance. Everybody did it in the shows.
Dick gently guides you through the crowds, a hand behind your back as he guides you. You smiled as you moved along side him before getting settled in the seats, assigned to by the assistants in the hall. The room was dark and Dick switched his phone to dnd to prevent any distractions from occurring.
The curtains opened and what graced the stage were the most beautiful women, in their attire. Yet in all those women, Cassandra stood out to you. You smiled as you gently clutched the bouquet of flowers to your chest.
You couldn’t help but be enamored by how fluidly she could move across the stage, with utter poise and confidence. You’d seen her fight and it was the exact same, it was like watching her fight on stage, she’s so swift and gentle in the way she would move into the Grand Jeté or how gently her expression could be, an stark contrast to how she’d look when she was training.
This was her element, she was in her purest form and it was beautiful. Dick leans over and smiles at you when he sees how in awe you had been in, it warms his heart to see that so infact care so much about his family like he did.
The performance comes to a close and the room erupts into claps. You and Dick decided to go stand up and clap for the girls on stage, the flowers still in hand. The backstage was filled with the girls who were too excited to really pay attention to you and Dick as you approach Cassandra’s dressing table where she was undoing her hair, you placed the flowers down on the table causing her to still immediately as she looked up at you and Dick. Wide eyed.
“Hey Cass.” You smiled at her before she pushed herself up from her chair to hug you, “thank you!” She said breathlessly as Dick began to smile at the sight. You pulled back as you cupped her face, Dick gently patting her back, “we’re proud of you, you did fantastic out there Cass,” he praised her as she smiled at the two of you.
“You guys didn’t have to bring flowers.” She weakly said.
“It was her, not me,” Dick nudged him.
“In the movies they give the ballerinas flowers!” You defended.
Just came across your page and ooooh you write so well! If you're okay writing it, could we get some Dick Grayson x Reader being sort of honorary parents of the batkids, especially Jason or Damian. May be some fluff or whatever suits you tbh, would read anything by you at this point.
Hi Nonnie, I am extremely late but I was burnt out and I’m writing a fanfic for another account so I’ve been putting whatever little energy I have into that so sorry for the late response to your request.
I went about it in a way to breakdown each relationship in different parts yk because I find it hard to write one whole thing. It’s in alphabetical order…
Thank you for being so nice about my writing! I hope that you can accept my apology 🫶🏾
Choso loves your boobs, he thinks they’re generally beautiful, he’ll constantly encourage you to walk both shirtless and braless around him so he can stare at them move like right now.
His trying not to let his mouth hang open and his actively trying to not drool at how your boobs move so swiftly as you get dressed. The bed creaks under his weight as he slightly shifts to grab your attention, and the creaking did Infact grab your attention as you turn to him.
“Yeah?” You asked him and he can see your side boob and how hard your nipples are, it’s so beautiful to him but he chooses to stare at you rather, “just come closer please,” he said hoarsely.
You happily obliged as you walked closer to him, he widens his leg and you could see the bump in his pants, a gently hand hovering over it before you gently rubbed his clothes cock, you lean forward as your tits hang, “what’s up?” You teased him as his hands slowly reached for your tits, hands getting grabbing him before the buds of his thumbs began to make circular movements of your nipples.
You bite your lip as you throw your head back, “woah—ngh—“ you mewled.Your unsure if the sound is coming from a place of discomfort or pleasure but you move to straddle him, positioning yourself to have your boobs in face, he puts in a nipple in his mouth and sucks.
“Yeah!” You moaned as you attempted to drag your clothed centre on his hard on for any form of friction, Choso moans against your nipple before biting on the nipple, “oh, Cho—Mhm,” you whispered to your as he thrusted into you.
It felt like fucking like rabbits but there so little friction between the two of you, you needed him but the sensation of the sucking and bites were so good and it sent a strong feeling in your core, making you wet. Choso. Choso could agree the position he was in was hot, he was getting closer as his dick began to pain only more as he got closer, sucking your boobs harder as he humped up, into your panties.
“Ah—ah” you moaned into the air as the churn in your stomach tightened like it were about to explode, “faster!ngh—Choso, you’re good!” You murmured as you played with his hair, and that would be his final push to cumming in his pants and you’d wet you panties.
He continued to suck your tit as he played with the other.
If I’m not wrong he lived with uncle. How is he apart of the Wayne Family? I’m genuinely lost, we hardly see him in comics so I cannot find the answer to this.
