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#it’s just very uncomfortable

tragedykery · 1 year

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I ❤️ self-loathing characters, characters who struggle with monstrosity (either fearing or embracing it), characters who are so lonely, who have a gaping hole in their chest, who bottle up & repress their feelings, who claw their way up & have ambitions, who fall down & lose everything, who search for identity & purpose yet can’t see themselves outside of what others want from or expect of them, who are hurt & hurt others, who long & grieve, who lie & pretend. characters who are messy & flawed & human

#edit: please don’t tag this with hp characters it makes me very uncomfortable. and if you really want to at least block me after #tropes #I’m just saying words but. Ugh #elli rambles #this isn’t about one character in particular #more like snippets of different characters #sokka tané priya malini azula sabran ty lee etc etc #niclays too. sadly #I hate him (lovingly)#or I love him (hatingly). I haven’t decided yet #alternatively: I ❤️ ampersands #breached containment (derogatory)#a

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 5 months

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come rest your bones next to me ; satoru gojo, suguru geto

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most.

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes.

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks.

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth.

it’s beautiful.

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded.

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere.

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again.

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling.

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.”

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face.

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips.

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs.

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!”

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there.

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot.

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.”

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word.

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology.

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown.

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again.

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it.

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.”

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?”

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.”

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.”

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow.

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice.

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter.

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself.

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest.

he hopes it never goes away.

#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3 #i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :’3 hes so Mother #i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him… he likes doting on u #but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it #and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child #im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but...#the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good.#listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #……… thats… a lot of tags.

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hotluncheddie · 7 months

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having autistic high masking steve thoughts..

steve harrington who’s black and white is these are the rules and you follow them. you turn up at school, you show your face at dinner, you do your hair and brush your teeth and speak when your spoken to. steve harrington who doesn’t want to be alone at lunch, knows that making friends in important because it’s the only thing his mother asked him after his first day, and he wants to be able to say ‘yes’ if she ever asks again. steve who loves to swim but hates how the shower water beats on his skin after, how the shampoo always get all over his face and he’s never given time to wipe it off in the right way, can’t seem to say how it makes him want to scream. all he knows he can’t scream because that’s ‘bad behaviour steven’ and then he won’t be able to swim. so he swallows it, he detaches, he only half exists in the shower and he feels a mass of dark smoke churn in his chest.

steve harrington who heard what the other kids said, how they spoke about the older kids, how people spoke on the tv. learned that when he grew up that he’d need to talk to girls like he wanted to date them, kiss them. talk to guys like he enjoyed hearing about their weekends, even if they were mean and annoying. even is he didn’t care and noticed how they never asked about him. but you’re not allowed to say that; your annoying, i don’t care, you make me feel bad. you have to listen and smile and fit in and be liked. not matter what.

steve harrington who’s smart and sensible and is good at recognising patterns. who knows how to survive, no matter how uncomfortable he is. no matter how tired he is by the evening, mind blasting static, no room do anything other than lay there. he doesn’t really know what he likes because he has no energy to do anything, anything other than going to school and go on dates. he got good at hiding how reading takes so long and writing never comes out in the right order first time. how so often he feels like his skin needs to just come off. how that scream is still sitting at the base of his throat.

he dreams of running away, to hide and just, be quiet. everything just need to be quiet and dark, for a little bit. for a while. but it can’t be, because he has to show his face, has to do his hair.

and then monsters exist. and steve survives, because he has to, because he can. he knows his role in the story, so he fights and he cares and he protects and he keeps talking to girls and he keeps brushing his teeth and when he gets beaten up it hurts, it’s uncomfortable, but what’s more discomfort when every day is uncomfortable. he’s always been uncomfortable but how can he ever not be, he has to follow the rules.

hurt/comfort pt2 & snippet pt3

ao3

#sad stevie baby hours #hotlunch #autistic steve harrington #steve harrington whump #kinda #just #i dunno #it feels very him #not to project #and not to be too ooc i hope #maybe i’ll add and make this happy but for now he’s just uncomfortable #also #dyslexic steve harrington #my fic

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meownotgood · 7 months

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no even if it was the doggy position he'd lean against your figure and nuzzle his face to the crook of your neck, one arm embracing u tightly that man CANNOT even fuck you without making sure you know you're loved - bnuuy bunny bun

oh you're so right... I've always thought that too...

aki is just the sweetest to you, even when he's fucking you from behind he's still treating you so softly — he presses his body close to yours, practically leaning against you, and he grabs your chin and tilts your head up so he can kiss your forehead. he's so slow and gentle with every deep rock of his hips to make sure he won't hurt you.

and since he can't see your face from this position, can't look into your eyes, can't kiss you as easily as he wants to, he ends up talking a whole lot more; aki leans in close to your ear and mutters constant breathy words of reassurance, telling you how good you're making him feel, how perfect you are, how much he loves you.

god, you're beautiful, so beautiful, he's mumbling in his smooth tone, he holds your waist steady with one hand and drags his palm over your back, your side, down to your thighs, his touch so gentle it could only be his. you can hear him breathing hard in your ear, can feel his heart pounding in his chest when he wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer. he kisses your nape, rests his hand over yours when he sees you grabbing a tight fistful of the pillow, his fingers caress your knuckles ever-so delicately as he fucks into you nice and slow until his pelvis is flush with your ass. you feel so good, want you to moan for me louder- can you say my name baby? that's it... I've got you... I love you, love you more than anything...

#I was happy when I first saw your ask because I always think of this too lolol #he's just.... so soft....#okay maybe he could look into your eyes by making you tilt your head back and that'd be kind of hot #but that's super uncomfortable for your neck and he wants you to be comfy #he'll run his fingers through your hair while you bury your face in the pillow and scream #it's like... I've always thought doggy is kind of an impersonal position because you can't see each other (maybe u understand)#but aki makes it *very* personal #he's constantly running his hands all over you and making sure you're hearing his voice #aki. I need you #ask mags #aki <3 #aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #aki hayakawa smut #aki smut

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miriaocs · 15 days

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GET TO KNOW YOUR TWST OCs (and their relationships)

(Or how I make up excuses to blabber about my OC lol. Most of the "who" questions are aimed at the twst cast, but feel free to include other twst OCs as well!)

Name: What does your twst OC's name mean? Why does Rook/Floyd call them [insert nickname]?

Inspiration: Is your twst OC inspired by any villains? Concepts? Anything Disney-related?

Age/Birthday: How old is your twst OC? When is their birthday? Whose birthday (among the cast) is closest to your twst OC's? Does the horoscope lie or do they get along well?

Dorm: Which dorm is your twst OC in? Why? Which qualities they have make them suitable for said dorm? Do they have a roommate and how is their relationship?

Class: Who is your twst OC's classmate(s)? How would you describe their relationship? Did they have different classmates in previous year and did they get along?

Height: How tall is your twst OC? Are they conscious about their height? Are they close to someone with similar leg length?

Hair/Eye color: What are your twst OC's hair and eye colors? Who got the closest/opposite palette to them?

Homeland: Where is your twst OC from? Do they know anyone from the same hometown prior to NRC?

Club: Which club does your twst OC join and why? Is there anything memorable about the club fair day/their first day at the club? Which clubmate is their favorite?

Subject: What is your twst OC's best subject? Worst? Do they study with another whom excels at the same subject? Do they ask anyone for help with the subject they are bad at?

Hobby: What are your twst OC's hobbies? Who among the cast will they possibly ask to join in their pastime?

Pet peeves: What are your twst OC's pet peeves and which one in the cast accidentally (or not) commit the "crimes"? How will your twst OC deal with that person?

Food: What is your twst OC's favorite and least favorite food? Why (optional)? Is there anyone they can share their favorite food? Is there anyone they can count on to take over the food they dislike?

Talent: What is your twst OC's talent(s) and who can properly appreciate that?

Unique Magic/Signature spell: What is your twst OC's UM (if applicable)? What can they do? What is the incantation? Is there any weaknesses/loopholes and who can exploit those?

Quote: Give me something your twst OC will say. Either something they always say or something iconic they said. Something that helps solve the problems or something that is a catalyst to even more issues.

(Ok I'm kinda running out of ideas here) Personality: Give me 3 adjectives to describe your twst OC. Or an essay. Whichever works. Whose personality among the cast is closest to your twst OC and do they get along?

Backstory: Tell me anything about your twst OC's backstory. Their childhood, their parents, their siblings etc. Does their backstory affect how they are as a character now and how they interact with the cast?

Pick only one: Let your twst OC pick only one and explain the reasons: only one favorite from each dorm, only one favorite housewarden/vice housewarden, only one favorite first/second/third year etc.

(For my beloved yume shippers) Partner: Who do you ship your twst OC with? Are they in a relationship? If yes, how did it start/end? If no, why?

#ask game #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #uh yeah I look around and I couldn't find any basic get-to-know ask game #so yeah hence this happened #it's just kinda an excuse for me to chitchat about Rory but feel free (read: I'd be very glad if you do) to use for your own twst OCs!#of course this is all fun and games so never feel pressured to answer ALL of the questions if you don't want to #it has never been my intention to make anyone uncomfortable #also! feel free to add more questions!#this is very very basic purely expanded from twst character profile #twst ask game #twisted wonderland ask game #oc ask game #original character ask game #twst oc ask game #twisted wonderland oc ask game #get to know #get to know my twst oc #get to know your twst oc

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thranduel · 9 months

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some thoughts about astarion because i'm tired of the internet reducing him to one thing

when bg3 came out in early access, astarion was always seen as the extremely flirty, confident guy who enjoyed sex (or so we thought) and spoke about it like it was his favourite thing. he was also kinda marketed as the “sexy vampire”, so you can understand why many people saw him that way based on the little amount of content we had. even while playing act 1 and act 2, many players still might think of him like that because he does have a very charismatic personality and he asks to sleep with you very early on, so it just automatically makes you think he’s genuinely happy doing that and being totally serious.

BUT!!!!!!! we end up finding out later on that’s NOT the case and it was all part of a plan to seduce us in order for him to gain protection. he opens up about his past and his trauma and how he was forced to use his body to lure people back to cazador. he struggles with intimacy and relationships in general because of this. that’s why i really hope that people stop reducing him to “hot sexy vampire that loves flirting and having sex with everyone” when that is not who he is, he’s literally traumatised because of sex due to being forced into it and he’s slowly trying to heal. he’s also so much more than just “the hot vampire”, ya know? if you actually put in the effort to get to know him, you will see who he truly is underneath and he has many loveable traits to appreciate.

you may not see the “soft” side of him very often because he hides it, but it’s there!! one thing i noticed that really stood out to me was that when i gave food to an orphan in act 3 and he approved. back when you first met him, he probably would’ve done the opposite or had no reaction at all. i also saw a clip of someone trying to romance karlach and astarion and he literally told tav to choose karlach over him because he can see that karlach loves her. he said normally an arrangement would work for him but after everything karlach has been through, he doesn’t want to get in the way or see her hurt. letting tav go is also hard for him as well but he still thought about someone else. he could’ve whined or been possessive or jealous but he didn’t do that at all. where are all those people who reduce astarion to “the guy that flirts and sleeps with everyone” now? seriously. that’s not what he does, and when he was forced into it by cazador, he was trying to survive, he didn’t do it for his own pleasure. it’s not a “hot” personality trait of his, it’s literally trauma. and because he did it so much, he got used to it, and that resulted in him disassociating and feeling empty.

apparently if you ask him to join you and sleep with the drows at the brothel (something i will never make him do in my playthroughs), he only says yes because he struggles to say no. but he disassociates. and if you’re in a high approval relationship with him and he loves you, he will feel safe enough to express his feelings and say he’s not comfortable. this happens before you fight cazador. i’m not sure if he gives the same response after, but either way, if he joins in, he will always disassociate and it’s not something he wants to do despite what he may say.

that being said, it’s obviously still okay to appreciate his beauty and attractiveness, because he is very beautiful. he appreciates it and even likes being called beautiful. calling him “hot” and “sexy” isn’t a bad thing either, we know he can be and i'm sure he knows it too! it’s just annoying when people act like that’s ALL he is and they don’t even mention anything else about his character. the love scenes are beautifully done too (i personally prefer the second one after you’ve stopped him from doing the ritual, because that’s the one where he decided he truly wanted it and felt safe and comfortable because he genuinely loves you), and i actually would’ve been fine if they didn’t have any scenes like that at all because it’s totally understandable and valid if he didn’t feel comfortable, but i just hope that people don’t take things too far and over-sexualise him just because of how he appeared to be in the first half of the game and the way he’s often marketed on social media. and yes i know he’s fictional and nothing on the internet is going to hurt his feelings!!!! it’s more about the fact that he canonically has sexual trauma and many people still say really disturbing stuff even AFTER they find out about that, and it just makes me uncomfortable to think that people are okay with treating someone like a sexual object especially when they've said they're traumatised and it makes them uncomfortable. idk if this makes sense 😭

but yeah he doesn't want to flirt and sleep with everyone as i've seen people claim. and if in an alternate universe he did, and he did it on his OWN terms, and the other people he had relationships with enjoyed it too, then good for them! absolutely nothing wrong with that if there's consent, respect and honesty. however, that's not the case with what happened with astarion, because 1. he was forced into using his body WHEN HE DID NOT WANT TO and 2. he misled people and lured them to a miserable fate. it's so horrible and devastating for everyone involved. sex was never something fun for him, and it certainly isn't a "personality trait" of his. it was a survival tactic. he was forced to. he didn’t want to.

obviously when he becomes more comfortable, then it's totally understandable to get excited when he flirts and shows physical affection. he can be so charming, funny, sweet and romantic and i love that. it’s so beautiful to see him heal, genuinely find comfort in someone for the first time and experience intimacy that he feels ready and comfortable for. he deserves to love and be loved on his own terms instead of being forced. but again, he is so much more than the guy we were introduced to at the beginning. the internet just sees one thing and sticks with it but i really hope people start to actually appreciate him for who he is and the complexity of his character.

aaaaand i just had to leave this here <3

#astarion #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #sorry for rambling i’ve just been very emotional about him recently 😭#also i hope people remember that even if he NEVER EVER wanted to have sex again he is 100% valid #he does not have to change or force himself to feel a certain way #especially after everything he’s been through #and if you think he does then you’re gross. he doesn’t owe anyone ANYTHING #anyways #when he kept apologising for not sleeping with tav i wanted to cry #there is literally a scene where if you tell him halsin is interested in you he says it’s ok to go to him #but then he gets concerned and asks if it’s because he hasn’t slept with you for a while #and i wanted to cry #he should NEVER have to feel guilty for that #honestly the only reason why i think he might eventually feel comfortable with sex again is because ->#in act 3 after his genuine love confession after you help him defeat cazador he initiates it himself #and it feels like it’s something he truly wants after developing a strong emotional bond with someone for the first time #and i think that’s really beautiful that he chose to do it on his own terms when he felt ready #but also #for a while i wasn’t sure if he was repulsed and uncomfortable by sex in general and hated it entirely #or if he only feels comfortable after he develops a strong emotional bond #the only reason i think the second one now is because of what happened in act 3 #but regardless whatever it is i just want him to feel safe and comfortable and happy #my posts

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hoofpeet · 23 days

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I'm going to try and say this in the nicest way possible: you are not the only person with problems, and the people who look at your art are not obligated to have to see your, frankly, very uncomfortable venting. The "this is like coming into someone's house" argument doesn't work in a situation like this, because at the end of the day we are strangers. We don't know each other and at this rate we won't be friends, either. It's your house that you're inviting STRANGERS to.

what is happening here. can I please post what I want to in peace

#mailbox #also 'very uncomfortable venting....' fuck you man that's just part of my life

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