#.drabble

[nanaslutt]

minors and ageless blogs dni

nanami kisses the side of your thigh slowly, sucking the skin into his mouth, making you clench the muscles in your thighs. you have to bite back a moan at the tease.

“don’t hold back your noises from me, i want to hear you, sweetheart.” another kiss is planted on your inner thigh, closer to your clit this time. you accidentally do as he says, a whine spilling free.

you’re rewarded with his cheeks dimpling with his smile. the most handsome sight one could ever see. “feeling good?” you nod, locking eyes with his when he flicks his up to meet yours. “good. i love your thighs” kiss “so soft” kiss “so beautiful” suck.

you hissed in through your teeth, tangling your hand in his hair. it’s as soft as it looks, and the touch makes him purr against your skin. the vibrations tingle through your body, finding your clit with ease.

“ken… please. no more teasing” your voice is wrecked, pathetic, breathy. his pupils dilate at the sound of it, and you know you’re about to get exactly what you want.

“i could never deny you anything, honey.” you almost cry when his plush lips wrap around your sore clit. thighs twitch unconsciously around his head, and your legs shake from where you stand. his large, warms hands slide up the backs of your thighs, cupping your ass.

moan after moan spills from your lips when he shakes his head back and forth while flicking your clit with his tongue, a long groan in his throat, only adding to the sensation.

“f-fuck kento!” he nods, lapping his tongue to catch the wetness at your entrance between your folds. the feeling is euphoric. “you taste exactly how i imagined. i should have done this ages ago.” your toes curl where you stand when he dives back in to suckle on your clit perfectly.

his mouth is so warm and so perfect, it’s like he knows exactly how to get you off. you regret not asking kento out to dinner years ago, if this was what you were missing out on. one of his hands leave your ass to join his tongue in playing with your pussy, and you have to put extra effort into staying on your feet.

“i’ll be careful. i want to stretch you out with my fingers for a while before we have sex.” he whispers against your clit before pressing a kiss to the sensitive nub. “i’ve only read about this, so let me know if it doesn’t feel right.” what? he’s never?

your brain nearly short circuits when he slides his fingers inside you and crooks them forward repeatedly, rubbing against that sweet spot inside you and sending you spiraling. “is this your gspot? i thought it would be harder to find. you get really right when i touch you here.”

as if demonstrating, he did it again. “fuck! yes kento! this- you’ve never fingered anyone before?” you asked breathlessly, digging your nails into his scalp. he shook his head, eyes locked on where his fingers were disappearing inside of you like he was mesmerized.

“no, i’ve never gone down on anyone either. how are you feeling? is it good for you?” jesus. what a fucking question. you nodded dumbly, pushing his handsome face back against your clit, you hummed when he found your clit and sucked eagerly, timing his sucks perfect with his thrusts. his gorgeous eyes bore into yours, silently begging for a response. for praise. for reassurance that he was doing good.

“yes. so good. don’t stop.”

[cod-sins]

.ೃ࿐ Format: Drabble

.ೃ࿐ Ratings: Fluff/Mild NSFW.

Touchy!König who constantly makes you sit on his lap when you're trying to watching a movie just so he can trace and pick with parts of your skin.

Touchy!König who comes up behind you when your cooking dinner. His hands snake towards your stomach locking together as he plants sweet kisses your neck and nibbles on your earlobe.

Touchy!König who convinces you that sleeping over at his house is more important and that he'll make up whatever money you lost for coming in late to work that day.

Touchy!König who enjoys sharing a shower with you because he gets to properly examine your body. He won't keep his hands to himself, he's lathering you up making sure to cup and fondle your chest.

Touchy!König who let's you lay on his chest listening to his heartbeat while he plays with your hair and mumbles sweet nothings in German.

Touchy!König who plants a kiss on your forehead as you sleep knowing you'll be safe from the harm of the outside world.

[keigologies]

gojo knows he's far from boyfriend material, especially when it comes to his job: late nights, early mornings, the constant threat of death lingering over his head. it's a less than ideal situation, so he's never been surprised when nobody wants to stay; when the going gets tough, they always tap out and he's become so jaded that it stopped bothering him a long time ago.

so it surprises him when you stay. you, with your gentle heart and gentler hands and even gentler loving, stay. he comes home and finds you waiting for him, dozing on the couch, wearing one of his sweaters (too big for you, swallowing you whole in black cotton). he comes home to find you cooked dinner, left him a plate on the counter, covered in tin foil to keep it warm. he comes home to find you sitting at the dining table, first aid kit in front of you to clean him up after a fight.

he's never had someone to come home to before, not this many times at least. it goes on like this for months and even when he knows for sure that you would never leave this home permanently, he always finds himself worrying that one day you will, that one day you'll realize you deserve better, deserve more than what he can give you. but he keeps coming home and you keep staying and he hopes it goes on forever.

© keigologies 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

[lskisms]

You asked for ghost requests?

I got an idea for Phantom cause from the clips I've seen. He's like a high-energy puppy.

Relaxing with his partner after a concert, and he's sleepy as he comes down from the high of performing or he still has unspent energy leftover. So two options: soft sleepy smexy times or doing it to release the rest of his energy. Feel free to choose either one.

can attest to the puppy energy !! he was all over the stage in austin and it was the cutest thing i’ve ever seen actually i was giggling at the barricade like a little schoolgirl

anyways bc phantom is SOOOO my baby why not both

sleepy and soft.

say he comes back to the hotel room and once he’s freshly showered, he’s got you in his arms, relaxed in bed and chatting about anything that comes to mind. the adrenaline, all that octane, has burned through him and smothered itself out, but still, he has this urgent need to feel you entirely. he kisses you soft and slow, pressing you back into the plush pillows. when he moves to kiss you neck, little fangs dragging lightning across your skin, you try to tell him he just showered, so he shouldn’t work up another sweat. he doesn’t listen to you, of course, just nips at the junction between your shoulder and neck, the soft skin pricking hotly, and whispers that he needs you.

and because you’ve always been weak to him, you let him shimmy you out of your pajamas and take you as he pleases. his hips roll against yours deliciously, agonizingly slow, but each press of his cock against that spot inside you that only he knows how to get to makes it worth it. his mouth is everywhere, muttering praises into your skin and swallowing up each noise of yours that dares to rise abovea soft moan. he makes sure you come first, as he always does, and his release follows just seconds after. his body eases into yours, skin against skin, breaths mingling between you. he refuses to pull out of you for quite sometime, but you don't complain (you never complain) because he fills you in ways undescribable, an otherworldly feeling of completion.

but he is thoroughly exhausted, sleepiness settling heavy into his very bones. he does get up eventually to clean you up and redress you, but each motion is slow-going, syrupy and languid and perfect. he takes you into his arms again the second he's back in bed, whispers of love confessions falling on deaf ears as you let the remnants of his warmth inside you lull you to sleep.

pent-up.

he doesn't bother to shed his clothes or shower first, doesn't even bother to kick off his shoes. the second he sees you in the hotel room, he's getting himself out of the offending mask and sealing you in a kiss that is all teeth and tongue and spit. it's a way you have him often, messy and fumbling, but that always drives the experience of letting him have you from perfect to life-altering.

he barely gets himself out of his boots, his pants, or even you out of your own clothes, soaked with the sweat of yourself and the people you'd been with in the pit that night, crushed against the barricade. he gets you on all fours on the bed and slips inside without much of a fight, his cock straining against the slick of your walls. the pace he sets is brutal and it has you keening loudly; you're certain you'll have a noise complaint before he's even halfway decided to be done using you tonight.

his hands press bruises into your skin, claws digging deep into the plush of everywhere he can reach. the bite of each pinprick has your eyes rolling into the back of your head, a delicious haze filling your head until all you can think of is his name and the earth-shattering way his hips drive into your ass. he pulls you up by the back of your neck, tongue sliding against the shell of your ear as he asks you who your body belongs to, who gets to use it as they please (it's yours, phantom. all yours, comes your reply, each syllable broken and stuttered). and when he's content with your answers, he pushes you down into the mattress, his hand pressing your back into a perfect arch just for him.

he overstimulates you, focused on nobody's pleasure, just on getting that livewire of energy out of himself. you're lucky he doesn't make you count how many times you come because you lose count after three. and when his rutting finally comes to an end, it's almost as agonizing to not have him inside of you as it is for him to keep fucking you. you're so limp and foggy that it makes him giggle hazily himself, proud to have been the progenitor of your undoing.

he'll do it again after the next concert too, he tells you, so don't worry your pretty little head. he knows how much you adore being brainless for him and it'd be awfully despicable of him to deny you that pleasure.

[mikichko]

i have been laughing my ass off all day at these setsubun day videos and all i can think is that nanami would do this for his kids too

obviously he wants his children to learn about japanese culture, along with the danish bits he got from his mom, so he decides to dress up.

what he didnt anticipate was your daughter’s reaction.

she takes one look at him in the mask and just takes off running and screaming at the top of her lungs. doesn’t even look at yuuji (yes he’s here too, he’s adopted) when he tries to give her the bowl of soybeans to throw at him, just immediately takes off.

you’re trying to call her name in between giggles but all you hear in response is her screaming as she moves around the house. you’re really trying to keep it together since you’re recording for your family back home but you lose it once she’s back within eyesight.

she managed to do a loop around the house, picked up one of your slippers in the process, and was heading straight for nanami. continues to ignore yuuji and the bowl of soybeans, choosing to start smacking nanami with your slipper.

nanami, goes bless his heart, just takes it like a champ. dont get me wrong, he’s so surprised his sweet angel baby girl started attacking him but he instantly starts cowering. backing up and trying to open the door with one hand while she keeps smacking him and he tries not to laugh.

finally he manages to get out the door and your daughter finally stops yelling. just standing there huffing and puffing at the door while you and yuuji try to regain your composure. she still keeps the slipper on her in case he’s coming back.

a moment later nanami steps back in with his hair disheveled and some little red indents on his face (from where she smacked the mask into him). your daughter instantly brightens up and runs to him arms wide open.

“papa I scared away away a demon!”

he lets out a laugh and bends down to scoop her up, “is that who i saw running out of here? he seemed pretty scared coco, you must have done a really good job”

she just beams up at him, “i did my best papa! because you told me to be brave and protect mama when you’re not here!”

nanami just melts and gives her such a loving look before pressing his lips to her forehead, “you did so well coco, i’m so proud.”

tiktoks that inspired this: (x) (x) (x) (x)

[extravagantliar]

They line up like chattel.

Cattle.

Oxen.

Steer. 

He summons other words to keep his mind abuzz. He's heard all of this before, how to step in time, how to play the game, but the sky is split, and he's in a room with Tiny, Curly, Chuckles, Hero, Sparkler, Cole - the kid, and him on the end. Height order and all, and all always on the fucking end. Solas is somewhere in the middle, having something shoved at him (  hat! Solas owes him! ), and Varric laughs too soon as it catches the eye of the ambassador, and Varric finds himself trying to remember how to fall in line.

He's not a soldier, and he’s barely a rogue, if he's honest. Barely present for this as there's a nagging pain in the back of his head from drink and low light. “Master Tethras.” It’s said like a Chantry sister scorning him ( true! He had admitted he did not know the chant, and Chantry boy’s mentor had laid into him for it - as if he was lapsed. No, not lapsed, just stubborn ). Alas, and thankfully, Josephine is nicer than a Mother - when not crossed, when not on metaphorical pins and needles.

“Now, Master Tethras was my father.” He reminds as if he were some great jokester, as if he never gave up his position as jester in Kirkwall - as if that was the mask that hid the true face. Solas laughs. Good, at least one of them has a sense of humour. “Ruffles, is that a coat?”

“Yes, and it has buttons.” If they expect Varric to groan at this remark, they do not know him well enough, which is fine by him.

Great. He honestly doesn't mind, but the wool is red and rough against his hand, the sash a royal blue. “I thought our official colour was navy?”

“We - we cannot wear the same colour as the Empress.” 

That, that makes sense. “Ah,” he ends up holding the jacket like it is a snake waiting to strike.

Another laugh, this time from Dorian and a thoughtless, thoughtful word from Cole. “Is crimson not your colour? Or is it fixation on a navy-clothed figure, lost? Lost and found, against odds?”

“Kid, stop saying odd shit.” Something he nearly hushes without a thought, and it pulls a peel of laughter from not only Solas but from The Iron Bull. That causes him to frown, the wool crumpling in his hand, “Ha-ha…are we sure it is a smart idea to bring those two?” He forks a thumb at Solas mainly, but Bull is behind him, repeating another joke from another mission. Yet, Josie is firmer than anything said, silencing Bull with a glance, and Solas’s eyebrows would disappear into his hairline if there had been one.

“Mean,” Cole repeats for the class, as if he's pinging off Varric's thoughts. So he scowls, and Cole cocks his head to the side as if he's questioning him on a deeper level. “Is it not?” 

“Stop.” It is not Ruffles or Josie who says those words; instead, it is the Ambassador who draws them to a hush, causing all of them ( but Cullen, who was not complicit in at least this ) to fall into line. “Those who have uniforms and orders, or are Master Tethras - can go.” He moves before the others; he doesn't mind the missed manners here, as there's not much that can be done. After all, he is the lost one ushering others to the door with a nod of his head - yet Solas is the only one who moves in time with him.

Makes sense, well, mostly. If he's honest, this stopped making sense when Solas grabbed him by the back of his jacket - the both of them wide-eyed as the conclave became nothing but ash, the elf’s hand grabbing the back of his jacket as he moved, thinking the explosion was something else, somewhere else even. He shakes that time, that time he sees too often, from his vision. 

Solas holds up the ugliest hat Varric has ever seen.

“That’s…a choice.” Varric states, shaking out the wool of his own uniform. It is also a choice, a shade paler than the crimson he normally sports; maybe he can finagle his Kirkwall pin onto the shash.

“A strong choice.” Solas agrees; for a moment, Varric wonders if the elf is debating setting it on fire in his hand. It reminds him of a trick Bartrand taught him, how to lean into a flame and catch parchment - but not sleeves. “Consider yourself lucky,” the man states, holding up the hat one more time.

Varric laughs, “You owe me.” 

“I have no recollection of agreeing to those terms.” 

“Oh, you don't?” Varric laughs as they move through the Keep. “I think I could summon the conversation if I tried hard enough. Didn't you have the winning hand and the call card in yo—” He doesn't get the chance to finish.

“Well enough, Varric.” Solas finishes for him, yet the hat is still one piece. Varric frowns at that. It's a stupid thing to frown at, but they need the smallest wins these days. They close their eyes and celebrate the smallest things. A meandering stroll that ends at a fireplace and a wall, a door ( their meaningless partition ) and meaningless darkness. Written word or fresh fresco, finding either of them.

“Well enough, Solas.” Varric parrots, stopping in front of the fireplace, he half calls home, half calls a refuge. “You’ll be alright?” 

“Well enough.”

“That is not what I asked.” Semantics matter, after all, and Varric runs his hand against his uniform again. Thoughts always swirl, always leading him to some sort of what-if, some kind of world where it’s penned in tandem rather than the bleary singular. Rather than the dull grey he finds at the edge of his vision, yet a smirk is present ever still as fast fingers grab the hat and tuck it among his things. “Oh no.” 

Solas laughs. 

The big things do matter, but these small matters end up as one, one bigger matter they all seem to be clawing after, some sort of survival. “Cards?” Varric offers, stepping away from the fire - away from the shared wall, sure does it blur, but he ignores it and the glimmer of white-hot fire.

“Drinks?” Solas counters, all but missing that damned hat. Hand on that doorknob.

“And bets.” Varric cements, holding up the hat, nearly ready to fling it wide into the fire. Yet it is handed back. “This will look hideous on you.” 

“Noted, but you will look like a holiday roast.” It’s the best insult he's heard in years, so he laughs at the dichotomy this all is. So Solas disappears beyond that door, and Varric walks away.

Points tend to divert anyway.

[radiaking]

Oct. 23, 2077

"Is it your thumb or mine?"

It takes a moment for her words to filter through, but even as you kneel beside her, cake held loosely in your hand, you can tell something isn't right. Her breaths come quick and shallow, eyes wide in fear off in the distance, her thumb held up in front of her like you just showed her. Your eyes follow hers out toward the horizon as you stand, a plume of smoke billowing in the distance.

"That's smoke, Janey; that's just a fire."

You almost even believe it, too, despite that sinking feeling in your gut, the way the hairs on your arms and the back of your neck rise. But as the cloud mushrooms ever larger, you know it's not just a fire. Your mouth falls open in shock as the thing engulfs the city down below, covering towering skyscrapers, and you know when the smoke clears, they’ll be nothing but rubble.

It’s eerie, too—happy voices sound from inside, muffled by the glass, the party goers as yet unaware of what’s going on outside, miles away. Everything else feels quiet, the calm before the storm. Then you see it, some kind of shockwave and you have only a moment to react as it rushes toward you.

So what do you do? Of course you grab your daughter, your little girl, placing your body in front of her, shielding her as the glass shatters behind you, those inside alerted at last. That’s when all hell breaks loose. As the party goers scramble, already fighting one another to get out, to get to their cars, to get to their makeshift fallout shelters, you grab her, Janey and you run.

You don’t think about the futility of it all, don’t think about the words of your captain you’d only just shared with her a minute ago. You run. You throw her on Sugarfoot and hop on, spurring the horse into action. People pass you frantically on their way to their cars, kids screaming and crying, parents shouting in fear to one another. But you don’t stop, you have one thing on your mind, the safety of your little girl.

Where will you take her? Where’s her mother? Did she know it would happen today? She can’t have, you decide the moment the thought enters your mind—not knowing you have Janey, she wouldn’t have done that, couldn’t have. You refuse to believe that possibility and you just keep running, fleeing down Mulholland Drive. More bombs fall, a blinding flash accompanying each one. They’re getting closer and closer.

Still, you don’t stop, gripping the reins tightly in one hand, your other holding Janey tightly, carefully, she’s the only thing that matters. Until you can’t anymore you’ll just keep running—you have to. You have to keep her safe. You have to.

She’s the only thing that matters now.

[thebrandywine]

Ohhh it's so hard to pick one, I see what everyone else was saying now...

🦷+ Leon, please? :)

🦷 Bite down on this

"This is going to hurt," Piers says grimly. "I can tell you that from experience."

Leon laughs raggedly, eyes too wide in his face, pupils so, so dark. "Just get it over with. We'll match."

Chris tightens the tourniquet above Leon's right elbow, the man spasming at the pain, the pressure. "We really need to talk about your sense of humor."

Leon just laughs again, already peaky in the face as he glances down at his arm, at the rebar that has him pinned to the poured concrete floor, the curve of it locking him in place and keeping him from sliding off the metal. There's no time to look for bolt-cutters, the building already shivering under their feet.

"It's fine to pass out," Chris says as Piers gets to his feet, jogs across the room to bust open the glass case holding the fire axe with his elbow. "I can throw you over my shoulder without a problem, alright?"

"No bridal carry?" Leon asks, and he's laughing again, higher pitched, panicked, edging on hysterical.

Piers grabs the axe and darts back to Leon's side as Chris adjusts him so that his arm is fully extended, perfectly bared. He hefts the axe with a shaky breath, making eye contact with Leon and reading the distant horror there with sickness and grief in his throat.

Chris presses his belt to Leon's mouth, says, "Bite down on this."

Leon grins up at Piers sharp and savage. "Don't miss."

[exurgedomine]

🎧 "And from dusk to dawn we suffer from our immortality" or from the same song "After the dead lover's kiss you fall into a dreamBut with your second birth you're a prince in our mournful realm" I simply could not choose between the two. Nagato and Orochimaru

🎧 Drabble || Accepting

Pale, sickly fingers caress over the contours of a dead jaw. Pads tracing over all the angles of a dead man, marking the features of a cadaver that had once lived, yet now lived again in undeath. 

It was a precious item atop God’s lap.One of his many deific masks of which he postured for worship, gathering both the admiration and ire of those who seek either conviction or forgiveness.

God stared down upon its resting face, a body present, his thoughts absent; he was ignoring his guest.

Orochimaru. The Ouroboros. The legendary sannin. Nagato committed the rumored titles well into memory, especially after the sweet fondness his previous master used to speak of it. Though, the old sage spoke of his companion as a man with ambition and personality, yet all God sees is inscrutable living-flesh chasing the supplanted pleasures of accrued knowledge. 

Chasing? Hunting. 

Nagato’s companion here felt starved for eternity— seeking immortality with a subtle urgency. To a Layman, the ravenous desire was not obvious, but Nagato was not any man, for his eyes burdened him with far too much.

Insofar, immortality has not graced this man in any divine way other than under the suggestion of a steel scalpel and borrowed technique. And yet, it seems the concept was the connecting bridge between God and this non-believer.

Eternity was of latter concern. God’s work was in the present and will not be finished until his goal is complete. However, he supposes that he could live a life infinite. It only crossed his mind whenever Orochimaru drew near with a golden gaze that itched to swallow Nagato whole and curious hands that longed to drink all such potential from whatever remained of his holy body. 

Perhaps he is mistaken. Perhaps, he wishes to be mistaken. The longer the other lingered, the more this meddling feeling troubled his divinity, this idea that what connects these two men was kinship. 

Kinship under bloodied, conquered immortality. 

God’s doubt deluded him that the white snake found itself an ephemeral match of no comparison. Beings of a higher consciousness with a timeline as generous as a millennium. Orochimaru’s touch was warm against his cool skin, his voice honeyed with deceit and innocuous interest. He touched on him with what felt like envy, but grasped with what tasted like fear. Death chased him like how fire clamored after the wax on a candlestick and while Nagato was not the answer to his solution— he was a step in the right direction.

Deities were iconographies. Ideas to behold, philosophies to be pondered. God did not mind extending his mercy and grace towards this wayward soul, yet it seemeth the more he flayed his dermal flesh towards the snake, the greedier he clung to it, sinking his teeth into the ever-rare warmth in a world so terribly cold. 

It was beyond Nagato’s understanding what Orochimaru wanted. Truly wanted. What he had yearned for, nor did he care to know. 

“ Orochimaru, “ God breathes, removing his loving hand from his favorite corpse and laying against the sunken cheek on a skull with its flesh strung too tight, “ indulge me your desires. “

[parasitxs]

the thoughts in his head - he knows they aren't always his own. the ramblings of many men and women ---- all at once. he thinks on the past and can't help the hatred that fuels a fire someplace inside. a sharp pain, their memories are the twist of a knife; the searing scream that comes with the agony of grief. a memory he'd not lived but one he can recall.

his people, taken. ' loved ones ' -- gone.

to close his eyes is to see the smiling faces of their oppressors - the saiyans, ever so proud in their grizzly pursuit of power. beneath their heel, a tuffle's skull. to feel it has him furious, to close his eyes and see such a thing - has him haunted.

truthfully, it's a curse. to know how they felt, to see what they saw. but it must be done. his curse must be carried for the weight of their burden will offer unto him a strength. a will. the power to do what they couldn't. death to the oppressors; vengeance on behalf of his people.

he furrows his brow; a second lost to thought, a second too long. breath exhaled and heels hitting the ground, he casts eyes across a long landscape before him. the dirt is settled, the soil - still. in the air, he smells something sweet and in the close distance, he can hear the hustle and bustle of village vendors and shoppers alike. what a shame that they should die.

would the people of earth one day remember his kind as he sees the saiyans? perhaps. but in truth, he doesn't want to think about that and in truth --- he doesn't really care.

[nanaslutt]

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

gojo and shoko who get a little too drunk together accidentally and find themself inside a bar bathroom dry humping each other

gojo is grabbing her ass, making her grind against the thigh he shoved between her legs. he hasn’t been drunk since he was in high school, and he forgot how much it amplifies the feeling of touch. he’s not drunk enough where he doesn’t know what’s happening, but he has a buzz in his head… and other places, lowering his inhibitions

“shoko…” he breathlessly moans between thrusts when she grips the outline of his cock through his pants. he has to bite his lip to suppress a whine when she finds the head and squeezes it through his pants.

“so hard from just a little kissing, gojo?” she teases, biting his bottom lip and making him groan.

“you’re being so sexy, it’s not fair.” he practically whines the words, pouting when she starts stroking the length of his cock. the pressure of her small hand feels so fucking good, even through the fabric, he’s unable to stop himself from thrusting into her hand.

“mmm, i like you like this.” her legs shake when she rubs her clothed pussy perfectly against his rough pants. her dress rode up over her ass, and the only thing between them is her thin panties and his pants.

“like what?” gojo asks, grunting when she squeezes his cock before turning around and pressing her ass against his cock. gojo keeps his thigh between hers, wrapping her arm against the soft of her stomach before his greedy hands slide up to find her tits.

“i like these… so big.” gojo rests his forehead against her shoulder and begins dry fucking her ass. shoko moans, pushing herself back against him thrust for thrust.

“like that, you’re not irritating me when you’re drunk. you should do it more often.” she moans. gojo grunts in return, wrapping a hand around her throat as he kisses the side of it, using his hand to keep her in place. his other hand slides inside her shirt to slip under her bra and find her bare tit.

she stifles a whine between her teeth when he pinches and rolls shokos nipple. “they’re so soft. god i knew they would be soft. i think about these a lot.” he whisperers into her neck. the heat of his breath tickles her skin, makes her legs shake with the sensitivity.

he’s so hard against her plush ass, rutting desperately with panted moans and low grunts. his cock is sliding between her ass perfectly, warming him even from inside his pants. pre-cum leaks from the tip of his cock, wetting the inside of his boxers.

“jesus satoru, you’re so big.” shoko moans, her toes curling in her shoes when he shoves his knee further between her legs to stimulate her clit, she humps against him greedily, squeezing her thighs around his.

gojo giggles, “are you talking about my dick? i thought you said it was smallll” shokos head tips back against his shoulder, baring her throat to him more as he peppers kisses and bites along her pale skin.

“kinda hard to think that when i feel you like a snake between my ass.” she jokes between moans, feeling that familiar warmth coil in her stomach.

“you know what else is kinda hard?” gojo whispers in his best seductive voice.

shoko shakes her head and reaches behind her to grab his ass, digging her nails into him. he grunts, hips stuttering while he dry humps her with such vigor the mirror on the wall is starting to shake. she’s practically being fucked against the sink at this point.

“stop” pant “fucking talking, and- make me cum, gojo.”

his hand tightens around her next and shokos mouth opens wider when the lack of oxygen makes her orgasm rush in faster. “shoko… shoko, fuck shoko.” gojo breaths into her neck between kisses. she gasps when he starts bouncing his thigh, adding more pressure to her clit. “cum for me shoko, pretend i’m inside you and cum all over my big cock.”

his words were so corny, but shoko was unable to fight her orgasm as it wracked through her body. gojo wraps both arms around her stomach, burring his head deeper into her neck when his balls release his seed into his boxers. he’s fucking her hard through stuttered thrusts, pretending he’s pushing his cock deep inside her pussy and filling her with his cum.

“fuck.” she gasps. gripping his arms with shaky hands as they fall against the sink together in a pile of messy, sticky, sweaty limbs.

“fuck is right, my boxers are soaked.” gojo breaths heavily.

“god… i mean it by the way. you really should get drunk more often.” she breaths, slowly regaining the feeling in her legs. if he was able to make her cum this hard from a little dry humping, she wondered what he could do with his cock inside her.

“you know we can have sex when im sober.” gojo retorted, looking at her though the mirror while continuing to massage her tits. his other hand joined the party and started treating them like stress toys.

she shook her head. “no, i need you to be at least tipsy before you fuck me. you’re cute like this.”

gojo pouts. “you just want to take advantage of me.”

shoko scoffs and grips his wrist. “you’re the one with your hands on my tits fucking my ass. besides, you had one shot, you big lightweight.”

gojo squinted his eyes at her like he was going to respond, before his forehead dropped onto her shoulder, his fluffy hair tickling her neck as he continued to massage her boobs. “couldn’t think of a clap back. alcohol makes me dumb.”

[cod-sins]

Something about Ghost with a sir kink.

He secretly gets off to his favorite new rookie who'd get on their hands and knees to please him.

"Can I fetch you some water sir?" "Is there anything I can do to help you sir?" "Anything to pleasure you sir!"

He notices the slight glimmer in your eye with that last line. It's only a matter of time before he pulls you into his office and has you bent over draining the cum from his balls.

[keigologies]

this is wrong, so wrong, and alhaitham knows it, but he can't do anything to stop it. he won't, not when it feels so good, so perfect despite the perverseness because how can something like this possibly be bad when it feels heavenly?

language escapes him when he looks down at you, knelt so beautifully between his legs, your throat taking his cock so well it nearly makes him short circuit. your tongue, your mouth work him over so entirely he can't help but think this is something you were made for this, for him.

but it's not possessiveness that overtakes him, it's piety. and it's you who he's worshipping, panting out your name like a prayer, a near beg to give him the release he's so desperately in need of. and you do, you give it to him. he finds that he doesn't need words when this is the language you're sharing right now, primal and unbridled pleasure.

© keigologies 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

[lskisms]

pairing steve harrington / gn!reader genre romance, fluff warnings steve is a sweetie

you really hadn't meant to fall asleep, really. you were supposed to just be studying, but steve had convinced you to do your assigned reading in bed and because it's steve, nothing could ever go the way you planned it; he's always had too much power over you like that.

when you open your eyes, the sun has long since set; the clock on your bedside table declares just a little bit after ten pm. you inhale deeply, stretching your legs, toes brushing against steve's calf. shifting to get a little more comfortable, you look up and see steve is stirring too.

his arms tighten around you and he groans sleepily, pressing his cheek into your hair. "did we fall asleep?"

you flush at his groggy just woke up voice (doesn't matter how often you hear it, it'll always have an effect on you), thanking god he's still trying to fight to stay asleep. you hum in assent, not wanting to move your head and disturb your cute boyfriend. "yeah... i think so."

steve hums and lets out a sigh, going quiet afterwards and you think for a moment that he's gone right back to sleep. you wouldn't put it past him.

"what time is it?" his words are warm against your hairline. when you tell him, he laughs silently a few times before tethering you to him even more. "let's just go back to sleep."

you want to protest, but you are still tired and the homework you were supposed to be working on isn't due until next week anyways. so you snuggle in close, shut your eyes, and let his breath lull you back into the dark.

© lskisms 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

[dcccivcr]

Ji Xinzhan was a stern, but ultimately caring man. He was cold and strict in his affections, but gentle in his scoldings. He had an undeniable soft spot for his only son, as the eldest of four siblings who often starved growing up. The death of his youngest sister only accentuated this tender nature until it became more of a vice than a virtue, nearly ruining himself supporting the drunk of his own father. He never openly expressed his relief when speaking about his passing, but Xinyuan has always had a keen instinct for reading between the lines.

Because Xinzhan was raised a survivor, he trained his child for honor and glory, Xinyuan remembers fondly. And what greater honor than to serve the Emperor. Humbler goals were of equal help to their glorious nation — teachers and civil servants are equally reputable pillars of it —, but Xinzhan dreamed with seeing his son earn a place in the Chinese court. He fantasized with the image of visiting the capital in his elder years, and being greeted by the product of his hard labor serving the imperial family themselves.

And so, he taught Xinyuan everything he knew, and whatever he did not know, he hired others to teach him. By the age of twelve he could recite entire passages of the military classics, which his father asked him to do every morning. He was taught to shoot a bow as soon as he could hold one, and ride a horse as soon as he was tall enough to. His father spent a small fortune in an old, bony beast for him. Ri Chu was unremarkable as far as horses go and had seen better days, but Xinyuan's eyes light up when he reflects on the excitement he felt when his father first brought him home.

He wishes he had known the sacrifices the man had to make for him, if only to appreciate them when he still had the chance to.

Ji Xinzhan was a humble and truly wonderful man, Xinyuan recalls.

The greatest man he's never known.

🦂