#Cool what is that where is that when can I do that what do I need to bring for it. who knows. Not the website

[coffee-and-geto]

DRIVE ME INSANE

“You drive me insane!” you snap, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Yeah, I’d say the feeling’s mutual, sweetheart,” he retorts, raising an eyebrow, his gaze dropping momentarily to the finger poking his chest as though he’s admiring your nerve.

pairing: CEO! satoru gojo! x f!reader

summary: cheating on your husband who couldn’t care less about you, satoru gojo — your fervent lover — has a nasty habit of showing up unannounced, threatening to ruin all the lies you’ve built for your husband so far by leaving all too visible marks after a hot session. however, after a very first argument with him, you’re determined to throw all your anger at him. but neither of you can ignore the tension between the two of you, especially when satoru is ready to take full responsibility.

warnings: +18 MDNI, smut, nsfw, cheating (the husband does it first but according to the timelaps it’s explained all along in this silly fic :p), CEO! gojo, lover! gojo, kinda slight toxic! gojo but he’s just desperately in love, angst, hurt/comfort, angry sex (i tried at least), sex (p in v), rough sex, possessive! gojo, overstimulation, unprotected sex, fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! receiving), he’s rich asf, fanart by @/kiyoro2 on X.

wc: 8,193

a/n: second warning before reading this fic if you didn’t read the warnings: you need to know that the husband in this story cheats on the reader BEFORE her. he’s cold, not loving her anymore and cheating on her BEFORE the actual timelaps but you’ll know it only while reading through, got it?

i don’t like writing about cheaters because they’re horrible but this is just a “revenge” not really said out oud (you have to guess). this is just a warning so some of you won’t catch me with hate/discourse or anything around it because i would have written an “unfair cheater” lol. enjoy reading, tho!

“Hey, darling.”

The sweet melody of Satoru’s voice rings to your ears, sending a crude shiver that runs down your entire spine. Among all of the several times you were alone, with your husband gone to work like a hooked on it, the white-hair man always shows up at your door when you do not expect it.

So, of course, you’re always on the lookout, nervously stealing glances here and there at the door, through the window to check the parking lot of your apartment block, or even your phone if the miracle of him sending you a message occurs. Despite the thousands of times you’ve warned Satoru, the latter doesn’t seem to listen to you.

Your lover goes into your apartment, a classy decoration without any warmth of household — just a simple apartment.

From the cooling fireplace, to the pristine couch and the American kitchen where you are doing the dishes, Satoru always comes to the ‘warmth’ he was craving at your place.

You.

As simple as that.

He’d ignore your groans when his arms find your waist to hug you from behind. And the only sensation of the flat of his torso pressing to your back quiets down every thought, every breath you’d take, every worry and word that would escape the barrier of your lips.

It was just him. Satoru Gojo.

Not your husband. But your lover.

Maybe a word that had a deeper meaning behind any kind of link.

And what hurt the most was the fact that you would crave calling any man that was yours ‘my husband’ in any situation to bring that pride up your chest.

Yet, the last time you’ve pronounced those exact words, was the day you met Satoru.

You were doing the queue for a coffee shop near his headquarters, but how would you know that detail, hm? It was fate, he thought when he approached the queue and ended up behind you as your eyes were glued to the menu card in order that you could choose your drink.

And yet again, he couldn’t help but feel intrigued by you. Your silhouette standing still, vaulted shoulders, a small frown on your lips portraying your hesitation and two beautiful and mesmerizing eyes...

Oh, Lord, that was the only detail from you that this poor man will never forget and will haunt him every single next second.

And, of course, Satoru Gojo isn’t that kind of man who lets fate dictate his life.

He was the only one distracting it. Wanted or not. Period.

“An Americano coffee?” he spoke with his lowest voice to not scare you. He stepped closer to you, his form hovering you as his face lowered to the height of your shoulder. “Thought pretty girls like you always chose espresso.”

Your head jerked up and your eyes met him for the first time.

“W-What…?”

The most unfair, charming smile tugged at Satoru's lips’ corners. “Why don’t you take an espresso? Is it because of the price, darling?” he cooed.

Unsettled by his more-than-strange intrusion, you replied without thinking twice, “Since when, espresso is better than americano?”

And, oh, dear, dear Lord, why were you testing him like this with such an angelic mortal like him? Couldn’t you let him live his life like it was meant to be? Why does this futile and innocent frown have such a ravishing effect on him? Tearing his heart apart, grabbing and stealing his breath to run away with it so he won’t be able to find any air but yours to use to survive in this old world?

“I don’t know. It’s more boring. Not elegant, and not fitting the vibe you give off, darling.” His blue eyes fell down on the ring around your finger, and his mind unconsciously prayed that you weren’t taken.

“It’s my husband’s favorite coffee,” you just responded like an irreversible sentence.

But Satoru didn’t let the situation get him down.

“Oh, so my pretty lady is taken? What a shame.” A little smirk spread his lips, and widened even more when he noticed how low was your affirmation. “I suppose he has bad taste in everything… but for women.”

A furious blush flustered your cheeks. “How dare you—”

“Yes, I dare, darling,” he almost hummed. “You really need someone to show you what is good coffee. Nothing but starting with that. What do you think?” he offers.

The queue moved on, and the chic café provided all the atmosphere of having a nice cup and a nice drink just to chat with anyone on a sidewalk seating area.

But, no, you were newly married. Your husband would be devastated that you’d let yourself be seduced by a complete stranger.

Although not so simple, considering how beautiful he was, with his perfect good looks, no one seemed to see anyone but him. And he couldn’t see anyone but you.

“So what, darling?” he insisted with a gentle tone. “Let me take your order and show you what coffee is.”

He pauses.

“If you may.”

The thought of letting him buy you a cup of coffee had obviously heightened your sense of unease and betrayal. But the memory of your husband leaving early in the morning without hello in your bed, his eternally neutral and unpleasant tone, his female co-workers leeching off him and all the effort you put into making your house feel like home haunts your mind.

With a resigned nod from you, Satoru almost jumped for joy and did a happy dance in front of the whole café.

How long had it been since he’d wanted to act like a child?

Satoru requested a small bottle-green round table on the sidewalk seating area, whose sunshade above unfurled like a fan protecting you from the bright sun of the day.

“By the way, I’m Satoru Gojo,” he introduced himself. He settled into the chair opposite you as the waiter left to take your orders.

You quickly introduced yourself. But the young albino didn’t fail to notice how lovely, humble and charming you were.

The perfect woman for him.

“I’m a CEO,” he added, maybe to impress you.

Surprise streaks your features. “Oh.”

He had expected more of a reaction from you, but you ended up disappointing him.

So he tried to restart the conversation to break the ice that had formed between you and him. He wasn’t one to usually go after people who were already taken. Yet, his instincts told him to stay with you. As if the north and south poles couldn’t help but attract each other, Satoru was slowly but surely drawn to you.

The orders were placed delicately on the table, and your lovely espresso cup, so exquisitely prepared, almost broke your heart at the thought of ruining its beauty by drinking it.

“This café serves the best coffee in town, you know. I come here often enough to say that with confidence, and also to notice that you didn’t know it,” he said, taking a sip from his own cup before propping his elbow on the glass table to rest his chin against his hand. “Admit it, you walked in here by chance.”

You almost choked on your sip of espresso, startled by his perceptiveness.

“It’s written all over your face, darling,” he said with a grin.

Still reserved, a hint of embarrassment flushed your cheeks with a soft blush that Satoru could have died to kiss.

“So?” he changed the subject. “How’s the espresso?”

“Very good,” you mumbled, lifting your gaze to meet his. Then you hesitated to continue with your real thoughts. Would he get bored listening to you like your husband usually did? Would he cut you off to end what he might see as pointless chatter?

“Just very good?” His eternally sincere and attentive smile lingered on his lips. He was definitely ready to hear every word you had to say.

You took a small breath. “Actually, the espresso has a sweet vanilla aroma that gives it a smooth taste on the palate, lingering just enough to make you want more. The foam is also very pleasant because it’s neither thin nor too frothy. The texture is creamy and at the perfect temperature to avoid burning your tongue.” You let out the last breath that the whole monologue had cost you.

“In short, it’s perfect,” you added softly.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Satoru murmured, his eyes locked on yours as if they would never let go, haunting forever the memory of the moment you two met.

“Glad you like it, by the way.”

For a first meeting, it could have seemed trivial. When it was time for you to leave, Satoru found the courage to ask for your phone number. To your own surprise, you accepted without hesitation. His company was pleasant, after all. He listened to you without ever interrupting, and seemed genuinely interested in you. And as a bonus, he was easy on the eyes.

So, was it really surprising that you looked forward to your next meeting with him?

“It’s not a date,” you reassured yourself in front of your mirror while applying gloss and straightening your clothes to keep them spotless.

The second time you met, it was at the same café.

The same orders.

But with a little more joy.

And with every meeting, there were a little more laughs, more teasing, more good moments, fewer bad memories flying away, and your doubts fading into the tranquility that Satoru Gojo brought you.

He quickly became an excellent friend. As you started opening up more and more to him, he began to allow himself to give you advice, rolling his eyes approvingly during your ranting sessions about your husband, where, despite the pang in his heart, Satoru kept repeating that you deserved better.

And as time went by, your bond with him grew stronger. You didn’t feel so alone anymore. He always found time for you, even when he was busy at the office.

Your husband’s absence quickly became just a minor detail in your life.

Especially when Satoru started showering you with gifts you categorically refused. If it was a dress one time, the next it was a necklace of genuine pearls, or lunch at fancy restaurants you never thought you’d set foot in.

The guilt inevitably crept up on you from every angle.

Whether it was over the fact that Satoru’s devotion to you made you feel illegitimate in receiving so much from someone who wasn’t even your partner. Or your husband.

Was it betrayal?

You weren’t cheating on him.

You were just spending time with someone who made time for you.

How could one equate cheating with this friendship, right?

This question lingered until the day, during a dinner with Satoru, when he had stepped away for a few minutes to settle the bill, a young man approached your table, trying to flirt with you and convince you to end the evening at a nightclub his friend owned, where they’d be delighted to meet you along with the rest of their crew. With all due respect, you refused, despite the young man’s persistence.

And when Satoru returned to the table, he immediately sat beside you, his arm infuriatingly well-placed around your waist to keep you close.

“Can I help you? My wife seems tired; tell me what you need,” Satoru chimed in, his tone icy as he glared at the young man.

“You’re married?” the man choked out, his tone echoing the same shock you felt internally.

“Yes, I’m her husband. Isn’t it obvious?” he confirmed.

Later, in the chilling silence outside the restaurant, Satoru restrained himself from pulling you into a tight hug as the two of you walked down the street. You walked at a more reasonable distance from him, your chin lowered in guilt toward the ground.

The night sky was a deep navy blue that evening. The stars barely sparkled, and only the snow added a touch of brightness to the urban landscape, where the yellow and orange streetlights could never match the glitter in the sky.

“You alright?” Satoru asked softly, stealing a concerned glance at you.

“I’m… fine,” you muttered.

He couldn’t hear any more of that. “Hey, if this is about what I said earlier—”

“Who said it’s about that?” you snapped defensively. Suddenly, it felt like all the perfect moments had turned into nightmares.

“I didn’t mean to make you unco—” he began, but you cut him off again.

“Who said I was uncomfortable?” you bit out, your brows furrowing as if you couldn’t take any more. “It’s not like I feel like a cheater—”

“Don’t call yourself that. It’s him,” Satoru interrupted sharply, immediately grabbing your wrist to hold your hand. “It’s all his fault. So, please, don’t feel—”

“God, I’m a married woman, Satoru, for fuck’s sake!” You tried to pull your hand back, but Satoru held it tighter.

“And a woman who also deserves better than to feel bad for her shitty husband who’s probably cheating on her!” he fired back with the same intensity. “Do you even see what you’re losing with him, at least?”

“Where is this conversation going?” you asked, squinting. “What the fuck do you mean? For weeks now, you’ve been telling me I deserve ‘better’!”

The situation felt so wrong yet so right at the same time. But it was only in Satoru’s eyes, watching you with a worried crease between his brows, that the truth lingered.

Of course, he didn’t want to lose you.

“Because you do,” he mouthed.

“But with who?” you cried out in despair.

“Isn’t that obvious?” he whispered, echoing his earlier words.

Even though the two of you had stopped walking and now faced each other, the wintry wind continued to swirl around you, biting at your cheeks already burned by the cold, screaming the answer behind his words. Snowflakes tangled in your hair, scarf, and coat. On Satoru, it was different — the snowflakes melted into his hair, his nose and cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and every exhale left a white cloud trailing from his lips.

Only his eyes remained untouched. Fixed on you. Truthful.

“You can— You cannot,” you finally sighed, ignoring how your body felt simultaneously on fire and frozen. You staggered toward a nearby wall. “Take back what you just said, not to me,” you whispered almost pleadingly. You shut your eyes for a moment, as if trying to wake from a nightmare.

Satoru closed the distance between you in a single stride.

He gently took your hand and placed it against his chest. “Yes, you’re right. I cannot. My heart is yours. I cannot deny it. I cannot control it. I cannot help it. Do whatever you want with it. Even broken and unrequited, my heart is yours and only belongs to you.”

His breath brushed your cheek so tenderly it felt unreal — yet so undeniably real.

And this time, from your point of view. No longer his.

The suffocating closeness became unbearable. You were about to break. He needed to step back, to leave, to go.

“I— I…” you stuttered.

Thoughts swirled in your mind, just like the snowflakes around you both. Every thought blurred together, and only one tried to rise above and clear the chaos.

But it was the worst thought of all.

And yet, the only one capable of deciding the next move.

In a spontaneous gesture, you bent your head toward Satoru’s lips, sealing both the kiss and the fate he had always fought against.

It didn’t matter if you both ended up hurt.

No matter what the consequences.

Now was not the time to think about that.

As you tried to pull away from Satoru to catch your breath, he pulled you against him the next second to taste you once more, the heat intensifying even more to the point of melting the snow falling on you. Each kiss exuded forbidden desire and despair.

And even when you two pulled away, you didn’t keep any gap.

Just you and him.

As it was always supposed to be.

To feel.

To live.

Fluttering your eyes open, you come back to reality.

How did you get here?

It's a familiar scenario, or not.

Satoru arriving unannounced, you busy with household chores, your husband away for perhaps the next day.

But a premonition clouds all common sense.

This day is different. You don’t know from where, or who or what, but one thing is sure.

This time spent rambling has made you forget all about the dishes still waiting for you, while a plate and a sponge damp with foam hang from your hands. Another very humdrum day. Grey sky, water-logged clouds ready to pour and burst in a storm that never comes.

Satoru’s arms wrapped as a feather’s touch around you doesn’t feel as good and soothing as before. 

“Missed ya,” he mumbles close to your ear. “How are you, darling?”

“You know that he could be here,” you scold in a low voice. “You can’t keep showing up at my door unannounced.” You continue with your dishes without returning any embrace. Nothing seems to fit. Your response is borderline nasty.

“You’re alright?” he asks softly anyway, not detaching himself from you.

His voice resonates like a cave inside you. A cheater who’s also unfairly mean, how can a better description describe you? you think.

You hum.

One of Satoru’s large, rough hands tenderly caresses your waist. “Do you have time for me? If you’re not tired, of course. I can’t help but need to crave your presence.”

Your heart slowly contorts in your chest, hidden beneath the cage of your ribs. “I didn’t mean to be rude, sorry—”

“Don’t apologize, love.” He presses a sluggish kiss on your cheek. “You must be so tired.”

Only the sound of the water rushing down in the sink can be heard in the kitchen. You close the tap and sigh, hands resting on the edge of the sink. “I need to finish the dishes and some chores, maybe you can sit on the couch and rest?” you offer, slightly turning your head around to meet his gaze.

How can a man be so perfect?

“I can help you,” he offers too, then puts a long forefinger on your lips to quiet you. “It wasn’t a question.”

If only this man could be your husband. Life would be easier in his company, wouldn’t it?

About half an hour later, Satoru fully joins you in your cleaning mission, tackling everything from the remaining dishes to the dusting and other tasks that make him scrunch up his nose in mild disdain.

As he wanders into the bedroom you share with your husband, Satoru passes by a photo frame he hasn’t truly noticed before. It’s a simple picture of you, smiling brighter than ever alongside a man who should be him. The man with HIS arm wrapped around your waist. The man with HIS lips pressed against your temple while, in Satoru’s eyes, you radiate as the sole light of his life in your wedding dress.

You pass quietly behind Satoru, a clean cloth in hand.

“Toru?” You rise slightly onto your toes to peek over his shoulder, noticing what has held his gaze for so long, leaving him as still as a statue. “Oh. I was going to clean that.”

Taking the frame into your hands, a pang of guilt twists your heart as Satoru’s blue eyes follow every inch of the photo. His gaze weighs on you, heavy and suffocating with discomfort.

One sweep of the cloth, and the modest frame gleams.

“Why do you keep it?” he asks in a breath.

You look up, your gaze as lost in his as you are. “What do you mean?”

“This picture,” he says, pointing at it with his finger. “Didn’t you say you wanted to throw it away?” His low tone brushes your cheek with a soft rumble, and his features tighten in a small frown of confusion, the weight of which seems to press on your soul.

“I—” You sigh. “My husband put it here. I don’t know why.”

“And you didn’t throw it away.”

You open your mouth to respond but hesitate, unsure of what to say.

“...You know I can make your life easier, don’t you?” Satoru murmurs as he slowly, almost theatrically, lets his arms wrap around you after tossing your cleaning cloth aside.

“I know,” you murmur, as if it’s the most obvious truth. As always, your body melts against his, the way two souls inevitably fuse together.

“Would you leave this life behind and finally settle down with me?” His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against him as he takes a deep breath into the crook of your neck. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.”

The atmosphere in the room thickens suddenly. Guilt surges within you, as it always does. It seems like it can never leave you alone.

Of course, Satoru is hurt—that much is clear.

“I really would, Satoru, but right now, it’s complicated,” you breathe against his collarbone, the corners of your lips tugging downward.

“When will it stop being complicated, then? If not now, when?” His grip on you tightens.

“It’s not that simple.” Familiar terror coils in your stomach now, threatening to drown you. This conversation is heading toward turbulent waters.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to align his face with yours. His eyes search yours for answers. “You know, sometimes I wonder how long I can keep waiting for you to finally decide if I really matter.”

You blink twice, stunned, before resting your hands on his shoulders. “Hey. What do you mean by that? You matter to me—you know that, don’t you?” Your brows furrow gently, your expression softening despite the rising tension.

“I don’t want to hide anymore. And I don’t want to see you stressed about hiding either,” he whispers in a gruff tone. His expression mirrors your own: lips slightly pursed, brows furrowed, and eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and worry.

“I’m… sorry,” you murmur, the only words you can manage. They are genuine. They are truthful. Just like Satoru always is with you—never a lie.

Even when he leans down to kiss you slowly, you can feel his emotions pouring into it.

Hurt. Today, you ponder, returning the movement of his lips as your eyes flutter shut.

Quickly, the pressure of his lips grows more intense. Each time your mouths part, Satoru makes sure they reunite as swiftly as they separate. Breath soon becomes scarce, and things take a turn when his hands grip your hips so firmly you fear marks might be left behind. You try to pull away quickly.

“Satoru, wait— I need to be careful this time, you know,” you whisper softly against his fervent lips. “It’s been a while now that he’s started wondering why I don’t want to have sex with him.”

“You always come up with an excuse, don’t you? A few marks won’t mean anything,” he mutters, eyes closed, as though the fire within him burns hotter than ever for you.

“He’ll see them. I just want you to be careful,” you insist. But your attempt is futile, as his kisses grow more passionate. Each one is placed meticulously on the sensitive spots of your body while he gently guides you toward the bed, lowering you onto it.

“I want to please you so badly,” Satoru confesses, his vulnerable gaze meeting your half-lidded eyes as he hovers above you. His eyes brim with an intensity that makes your heart ache.

“Let me take care of you.”

Your expression softens immediately, the growing heat between your thighs matching the fire in your chest. “I want it too, baby. But are you sure you want to do this?”

He nods firmly. “I’m sure. And you?”

“I am.”

In the moments that follow, you no longer plead for him to avoid leaving marks. Deep down, you doubt he’ll listen to you on that.

Especially when his lips press against your neck, your collarbone, the shell of your ears, and the valley of your breasts. His mouth kisses, sucks, marks, nibbles, and even gently bites at your skin—all to draw whimpers, moans, and sighs of pleasure from your lips. The same lips he endlessly worships, just as he does every inch of you.

~~~~

Fresh out of the shower, alone but with your phone, you receive a message that immediately catches your attention as you sit cautiously against the edge of your bathtub.

I might be a little late tonight. Have dinner without me.

Your heart immediately falls into the pit of your stomach.

Is this for your co-worker again? Can’t she finish her work on her own like everyone else?

A minute later, a message appears:

It’s normal, I’m her superior.

At the same time, your eyelids contract around your eyeballs. You feel a rush of heat, and adrenalin tingles your insides.

You know I don’t like her. And yet you continue to spend more time with her than with me. Do you think that's normal?

Why do you always have to get mad? Just admit that you’re jealous.

And the last word is like a slap in the face.

This is how you started.

Part of you knew it all along. But another part was in denial. It was shortly before Satoru became your lover that your husband started seeing a female colleague far too often, making eyes at her while you stood there like an idiot, watching them exchange glances where your voice would carry the same weight as the silence of their own eye contact: nothing.

Satoru had warned you.

He tried to prevent your heart from breaking as much as possible.

And this is the result when denial wins out over reason:

...You like to call me ‘jealous’ these days, tell me?

And the irony reeks in your message.

Of course, he started calling you ever since that infamous colleague showed up.

It’s as if he’s implying every time that you’d be envious of something you don’t have. So, it’s easy to figure out now, isn’t it? Why would he even talk about jealousy otherwise?

And why does he just leave your message on ‘read’?

~~~~

“I told you to be careful.”

“You always know how to escape him.”

“I’m running out of excuses.”

“You’re smart. You’ll fix it. As you fix everything.”

And who to fix me?

Sitting in front of your vanity, you swallow, feeling sick to your stomach as the purple and blue marks Satoru has left on your body from his hickeys don’t disappear from your view even as you discreetly pinch your arm to check you're in a nightmare.

Unfortunately no.

After pressing your anxiety-stricken face into your trembling hands, you lift your head to meet your reflection once more. In the corner of the mirror, Satoru’s silhouette lies casually, a smug, teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Your shaky fingers grab hold of your cheap foundation, the cap refusing to budge under the weakness of your frantic movements. Every second wasted only fuels the growing panic — your husband could walk in at any moment.

The beauty blender, however, seems just as uncooperative. Each attempt leaves you looking more like a clown. No coverage.

Only regrets. Regrets you can no longer conceal, no matter how much you try.

A heavy, trembling sigh escapes you despite your best efforts to stay calm. From behind, Satoru lets out a distinct chuckle, rich with amusement at your growing frustration.

He’s moved closer now, standing right behind you, his gaze almost entertained as he watches you struggle to mask the marks with concealer this time. But no layer of makeup can save you. None is thick enough or looks natural enough to hide what you’ve done.

“Why are you even trying? It’s not going to work,” Satoru whispers close to your ear. “Why not just give up and tell him the truth?”

“Satoru, get out.”

“Make me.” His tone is dripping with that insufferable grin.

You clench your fists, fighting the urge to smash it right off his face. Your heart hammers in your chest like cannonballs, threatening to break free from your compressed rib cage.

Everything can’t fall apart this quickly, can it?

Not after all the effort you’ve put in.

“You look like a clown, by the way,” he quips, the bluntness of his words scratching your heart. You let out an involuntary, quiet, “Ouch.”

“Did you just come here to use me as your personal slut? To call me a clown? If I knew, I wouldn’t have let you in at all,” you spit as you turn your head, locking your glare onto his.

Satoru’s expression softens at the sight of your deepening frown. “I didn’t come for that. And you’re not a slut. Why are you so mad?” He cautiously places his hands on the backrest of your chair, his movements calculated.

You scoff bitterly. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“You’re still mad about the marks? It’s just a few bites and hickeys—it’s not that big a deal,” he says, though his face mirrors yours: tense, confused, and searching for answers.

He’s never been like this.

“If you’re hurt, then I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I just want you to stop stressing over some bites. I’ve always done this. I haven’t changed, you know.”

You turn completely in your chair to face him, blood rushing in your temples. “Tell me this is a joke. Or a prank.”

“I said I’m—”

“Why didn’t you listen to me about the marks? About the fact that I don’t have any excuses left? He’s going to find out now. And instead of helping me, you’re mocking me because I look like shit with this?” you shout, pointing at the streaky, cakey makeup smeared over your collarbone.

Is this what a couple looks like? Fighting to hurt each other as much as possible?

Satoru can see how deeply his behavior wounds you. The way you swallow carefully, trying to keep your emotions at bay. The way your eyes are beginning to redden, signaling the impending arrival of tears.

Lowering his voice, he speaks, hoping against hope that you’ll break down and let him handle everything. Let him erase this life with your husband and give you a better one. He knows you can keep living under a mountain of lies, but he’s suffocating.

“Okay, I’m really sorry if I hurt you,” he murmurs.

“If you were that sorry, you wouldn’t lie about using me whenever you please. You wouldn’t just act how you want without asking me what I truly want or need. Why? Because you’re selfish, Gojo,” you snap, your voice cracking slightly. You rise abruptly from the chair, intent on leaving the room before you explode.

He immediately grabs your wrist, pulling you into him, and tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. The panic in his movements betrays him—he’s afraid you’ll say something that will tear him apart.

“Don’t—Don’t call me that. Sweetheart—”

“You know what? Just tell me I’m your slut. Because that’s clearly what I’m meant to be for you,” you cut him off, tears pooling in your eyes and threatening to fall. You yank your wrist out of his grip with a sharp movement.

His hands move to cup your face, desperation bleeding through his trembling fingers, even as he tries to conceal it.

“Okay, I messed up. But please, don’t degrade yourself. You’re not my slut. You’re the only person I love and care about. I—” He exhales shakily, his jaw tightening and relaxing in quick succession. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just… I’m so damn jealous. I get so jealous when I think about him… with you. I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Is that all this is? Jealousy? What’s the fucking point of it?” you retort, shoving his hands and arms away with enough force to make your blood boil. Then, in a blind fury, you hurl the concealer bottle across the room, the sound of it hitting the wall echoing like a final, deafening blow.

Satoru flinches slightly at the sound of the concealer bottle hitting the floor. He knows you’re holding back, teetering on the edge of exploding. “It’s not just jealousy,” he admits softly. “It’s fear, anger... and love, I guess.” He runs a tired hand through his snowy hair, sighing deeply. “And knowing I can’t have you the way I want to… that drives me insane.”

A vein pulses visibly in your temple, your frustration bubbling over. “You drive me insane!” you snap, jabbing your finger into his chest.

For a brief moment, Satoru’s lips almost curl into a smirk, but he stops himself when he sees the fire blazing in your eyes. He knows you’re serious, that this isn’t the time for his antics. Yet he can’t help but find you captivating like this—unapologetically yourself.

“Yeah, I’d say the feeling’s mutual, sweetheart,” he retorts, raising an eyebrow, his gaze dropping momentarily to the finger poking his chest as though he’s admiring your nerve.

The silence that follows is suffocating. The only sounds are your heated, shallow breaths, echoing in the small space between you.

You take several slow, deliberate steps back, your eyes fixed on his ocean-blue gaze. You catch the flicker of a moment—a split second where his eyes dart to your lips.

The tension between you is almost unbearable. The faint brush of his hips against yours as he steps closer sends a ripple of unease and anticipation through you. Your breaths mingle in the narrowing space. You both know exactly what’s happening, yet neither of you moves to break it.

“I hate you, you know that?” you whisper, pouring all the bitterness and hurt from your chest into the words.

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his face a mere breath away from yours. His broad, powerful form looms over you, trapping you against the wall without lifting a single hand. The tension radiating from him is magnetic, suffocating.

“That’s a lie, and we both know it,” he says, his voice soft and calm, but laced with that maddening confidence.

His heart pounds wildly in his chest, the light graze of your body against his and the fiery defiance in your darkened eyes making him dangerously close to losing control. He wants to kiss you—devour you—so badly it hurts. But he knows he’s already crossed lines, already messed up.

He clenches his fists, willing himself to stay composed. He would never take advantage of you like this. He’d rather let you hurt him, use him, break him into pieces.

Oh, screw it.

“Sweetheart,” he mouths, barely audible. His lips form the words so softly that you have to read them. His intense eyes stay locked on yours, unwavering. “What are you thinking right now?”

“This isn’t the time for your stupid jokes—”

He silences you with a single, long finger placed gently on your lips. “Answer the question, love.” His towering frame looms closer, his voice a deep rumble, and the tension only thickens.

You take a shaky breath. “Y-Yell at you, hit you, throw everything I have at you to finally make your goddamn mouth shut for good,” you hiss, your anger slipping through the cracks in your voice.

“Do it, then. I’m the one who’s wrong.”

Your lips part, and your eyes widen in surprise.

Satoru grabs your trembling hand and firmly places it against his chest, right over his racing heart. His voice softens. “Go on. Yell at me. Hit me. Use me however you need to.”

His pulse mirrors yours, beating in sync, loud and unruly.

Your gaze catches the subtle flicker of his eyes darting to your lips again, the ever-so-slight sway of his body bringing him closer.

When you lift your hand, Satoru doesn’t flinch. He braces himself, ready to take whatever you’re about to give him.

But instead of striking him, your hand fists the collar of his shirt. With one hard tug, you pull him down, crashing his mouth onto yours in a desperate, fiery kiss as though it’s your last breath.

Satoru responds immediately, kissing you back with the same raw intensity. His large hands snake around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips, teeth, and tongue all move in a fervent, chaotic dance with yours, each touch more intoxicating than the last.

When he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged, his lips still brushing against yours. He doesn’t let you go, his arms holding you close as if letting you go would shatter him.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice low and rough, chest heaving against yours. His hand trails to your neck, then your jaw, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “What are you thinking now?”

His warm, uneven breaths ghost over your lips, and you fight the overwhelming urge to kiss him again. Your anger hasn’t fully subsided, still simmering beneath the surface.

“You. You’re haunting me. Sometimes so much that I can’t think of anything else,” you admit, your voice trembling with emotion.

His eyes burn brighter, the ardor in them impossible to miss. “God, sweetheart…” he murmurs, pressing soft, fluttering kisses along your neck, his lips scorching your sensitive skin. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this. Wanted you. Only you. No more lies, no more heartbreak.”

Each kiss he plants on your skin draws breathy, unsteady sighs from your lips. “Y-You’re selfish…” you manage to say between ragged breaths, your nails digging into the firm muscles of his biceps. “So fucking selfish…”

“If being this desperate for you, for your love, is selfish, then I’m on my knees, my love,” he replies, his voice like velvet. He kisses the marks on your skin, the ones you tried to cover, with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “I’m all yours. Completely yours.”

He slides the strap of your tank top down, revealing more of the skin he adores. His lips graze it gently as he whispers, “I didn’t mean a single word about you looking like a clown. I just want you to be happy… with someone who loves you and doesn’t cheat on you.”

His hands cup your face delicately, tilting it up so your eyes meet his. His voice drops to a whisper, raw and sincere. “I’m deeply sorry, sweetheart.”

The genuine vulnerability in his gaze hits you hard.

You punch his chest — not out of anger, but because you don’t know what else to do with the emotions clawing at your chest. “I hate you, remember?”

A smile spreads across Satoru’s face, soft and warm, despite the tension in the room. “As much as I’m obsessed with you.”

Your free hand tangles itself in his silky white hair, tugging lightly as your fingers weave through the strands. With just enough force, you pull him down once again, capturing his lips in a searing, passionate kiss that holds every ounce of anger, frustration, and longing you feel for him.

As surprising as it may seem, Satoru lets a smile stretch against your lips — pressed together in a sloppy, wet kiss that blends tongues, lips, and teeth. Your chest, magnetized to his, feels the pounding of his heart, each beat drumming against you like a bass drum.

Your teeth part, biting his lower lip cruelly, hard enough for a faint taste of blood to seep into your mouth. Yet, he doesn’t seem fazed by it. In fact, he lets himself get intoxicated by your steamy breath, swallowing every gasp of air you exhale as if it’s his only source of oxygen.

With a natural ease, one of Satoru’s hands grabs yours and pins them above your head, pressing them against the wall as his pelvis grinds into yours. You feel the growing bulge you’ve provoked pressing against you.

“See what you do to me?” he breathes in your ear, breaking the kiss sloppily.

“And you’ll lose it completely when I fuck you until I’m the only one you’re thinking of,” you snap back, wrapping one leg around his hip before climbing fully onto him. With both legs now locked around his waist, your back is pinned to the wall, and your newly freed hands are poised to ravage your lover.

Blood rushes through your temples, creating a buzz in your ears. Your flushed ears mirror the crimson tips of Satoru’s. Supporting you with one arm, he uses the other to trace a finger across your lips, smearing the remnants of his blood there.

“Can’t wait to think even more of you — even though you already fill all my dreams and nightmares,” he murmurs with a sly grin. Then, both hands slide to your thighs, gripping them as he carries you to the bed—the same bed where you had your last steamy session with him.

Kneeling at the foot of the bed, Satoru settles between your legs while you lay back comfortably, fully aware he plans to take care of you before you ruin him. With practiced ease, his rough but tender hands remove your pajama shorts and panties, discarding them to the floor with a soft rustle. Your skin is adorned with earlier marks—purplish bruises, handprints, and hickeys — all of which tell a story (a decidedly sexy one, at that).

Just the sight of your spread legs, offering him an unobstructed view of your glistening, swollen folds — still slick from earlier—ignites a fiery tremor in his core. He’s practically salivating at the sight but regains focus when your heel presses sharply against his shoulder, a silent demand for urgency.

“Don’t make me wait,” you mouth, locking your gaze with his as his mouth inches dangerously close to your core.

Impatience mingles with the tension crackling between you. The moment his lips close around your clit, a hiss escapes your mouth.

Your fingers thread through his snow-white hair as though it’s the only lifeline keeping you from falling into the abyss. His warm, skilled tongue laps at your folds with slow, ravenous intensity. Every stroke of his tongue sends jolts of pleasure surging through you, spurring him to drink you in until his thirst is quenched.

“Satoru, f-fast—ah,” you stammer when his tongue flicks your now puffy, sensitive clit with pinpoint precision.

Your eyes roll back, your breath quickens, and your body trembles with each wave of pleasure. Your hands tug incessantly at his hair, driving him absolutely wild.

“Faster?” He looks up at you, his mouth still latched onto your center. “Is that what you—lick—want? Keep ripping my hair out, then.”

And that’s exactly what he makes you do. Your hips buck involuntarily toward his face, and he grunts in approval, gripping your hips with his large hands. Then, he lifts your legs over his arms and shoulders, perfectly positioning himself to devour you even more deeply.

Determined to make you cum as quickly as possible, the tip of his tongue teases your dripping, needy entrance. He feels your walls fluttering, your core pulsing and throbbing, empty and desperate.

The idea of filling you crosses his mind.

“Poor thing needs to be filled, huh?” he chuckles darkly, his voice thick and gravelly.

When he slides a long finger into you — slowly, carefully — the way your velvety walls clench tightly around him nearly makes him lose control on the spot. You grip his digit so tightly, drawing him deeper, that every movement inside you elicits louder, breathier curses laced with frustration.

“Don’t try to mock me, you bast— ah!” you moan, throwing your head back on the mattress the second after the pad of his forefinger reached your cervix — a spot that you can never reach yourself and even your husband. “Oh my God, I hate you so much…”

“You know what I love the most when we’re doing it?” Satoru whispers with a smirk, bringing his damp lips back to your clit to suck your bud at the same time as he’s fingering you. “When you lose all—kiss—your—lick—control—suck—only from my touch, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he purrs against your core, his finger curling up right in your sweet spot. “Say you hate me baby, I’m just waiting for you to be ready and take care of me.”

“I—you buck your hips harder—hate you,” you groan louder and firmer than earlier and clench around him right before cumming hard, hips bucking up against him and arching your back with no control over it.

Your vision blurs and star-like spots pop on your darkening vision. The intensity of your orgasm crashes over you so hard that for a few seconds, you’re losing almost all your senses — hearing, sight and touch — because of your mind going dizzy.

When the sensation wears off, a quick glance to the side reveals an already undressed Satoru, his impatient length just waiting for your attention — already twitching and hard like rock for you.

With a wry smile plastered to his lips, he reaches over you to grab your hips and gently lift you up and switch places — him lying on his back and you sitting so sensuously on top of him with your thighs delicately wrapped around his hips. He can't resist submitting to you completely.

Your still pulsing core rests straight on his cock, like you are riding him for real — or not yet.

Your senses restored, you don’t wait long before raising your hips, Satoru’s hands still holding them, and taking in his drooling length of precum with one hand. As you lower your hips, the fat tip of Satoru's dick pushes forward your hole and gets trapped in your walls glistening with your juices.

You both moan at the same time, head throwing back and mouth open ajar from the strong pleasure. Each inch that was moving further more into your cunt until the mushroom tip kisses your cervix was already being milked because your walls are so fucking sensitive that it’s making Satoru’s eyes roll back and babble nonsense.

“Sweet— Sweetheart, don’t squeeze y-yet, I need time to—” But you cut him off with your forefinger pressed against his handsome lips.

“Nuh-uh.” You lean in with a mischievous smile plastered on your face, eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of being on top of him. “You’re going to be a good boy and take my pussy, understood?” And you punctuate your warning with a sharp bounce of your hips that makes him moan with pleasure then nod hurriedly.

“Mhh—hmph!”

So you start moving your hips up and down with purposeful slowness.

Your hand wraps around his throat and squeezes gently. Your hips bounce harder each time, and you ignore Satoru’s uncontrolled moans, which, despite his clenched jaw, can't help letting out moans and whimpers of pleasure.

“Who’s a good boy, tell me?” you ask, thrusting down your hips along his cock harder once more.

“N-Not gonna say it, sweetie,” Satoru chokes out between breathless hiccups because your hand squeezes his throat harder. “You can bet it— God…” He can feel your walls tightening around him, your core pulsing and his length throbbing inside you and at the verge of spilling out all the cum his sensitive balls were holding back. His hands grip your hips with more force that it’ll leave marks but you both don’t care anymore.

It’s just you and him having sex to see who will break first.

Your heavy, noisy breaths — not to mention the wet sounds of your skin slapping against each other — fill the room. Hot blood courses through both your veins, but nothing can stop your hips from slamming mercilessly into Satoru, tightening every time you’re bouncing on him.

Even though you two are at the verge of reaching orgasm, you wanted to have your way with him this time.

“I hate you, Satoru Gojo,” you groan, leaning your chest against his before moving faster as your breath. His arms wrap around your back to get you close and then he can start matching your movements.

He presses his lips on your ear and whispers breathlessly, “I’m your, utterly yours,” right before cumming at the same time as your, his semen filling immediately your cunt as you clench around him and let out a similar pathetic whimper like him.

Toes curled up and eyelids shutting down, you both hug each other until the orgasm goes away. Not before a good one minute. Silence fills the room before your brain melts away to focus on the still rapid beating of your heart against Satoru’s chest.

“After this, I’ll help you pack your important things and we go home. Our true home, okay?” he murmurs against your ear. “I’ll give you the life you want and deserve, sweetheart. No need to think about anything or anyone else.” And he concludes with a loving kiss on your temple as you nod, resting your cheek on his collarbone.

His big hand runs through your tousled hair before continuing to tenderly kiss your burning faces.

“I hate you,” you mumble, your mind growing heavy for a sleep.

“I love you too.”

a/n: it's been a while that i didn’t write a long one-shot like this one but it’s relaxing in a way lol. a big thank you for @/lymsfm for helping me through this hell, i genuinely don’t know what i would do without you and sorry for all my rants and your patience by listening to me getting crazy for literally everything 😭. so on this, i hope you guys enjoyed this fic and see you soon! <3

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422

@drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wawuwe @catrizzz @sanemistar

@monokaix @moonlitwitchdaisy

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

3 times bakugou tried to kiss you + 1 time he actually did !!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ teddy’s notes: i can never not write something cute with katsukiii, actually no it’s most of my faves ngl. anyways no warnings here! reader is gender neutral and this is just pure fluff!!

1.

the gym was hot and noisy, filled with the sound of fists hitting pads and shoes squeaking against the mats. bakugou wiped the sweat off his face, barely winded, but when he turned around, there was you, standing at the edge of the ring, smiling at him like he’d just won a damn medal.

“what the hell are you smiling at?” bakugou barked, storming over.

you blinked up at him, your hands clasped in front of you. “you’re really amazing, you know that? you’re so strong!”

bakugou’s heart stumbled over itself. His brain screamed, say something cool, idiot, do something cool! instead, he muttered, “tch. whatever,” and leaned closer, his face hovering inches from yours.

your smile faltered. you took a step back, eyes wide. “sorry, katsuki! did i do something wrong?”

the words hit bakugou like a slap. this was totally going in the wrong direction. “what? no! you—” he cut himself off, growling in frustration before spinning on his heel. “forget it!” he snapped over his shoulder, storming out of the gym.

behind him, you continued to stare after him, completely baffled.

2.

the rain pattered against the umbrella as bakugou held it over both your heads. it wasn’t a big umbrella, which meant that you had to stick close to his side, your shoulder brushing against his every few steps.

“thanks for walking me home,” you said, your voice soft, almost drowned out by the rain.

bakugou swallowed hard. “whatever. not like i had anything better to do.” liar.

the warmth of your presence was messing with his head. his eyes flicked to your face, droplets of water clinging to your fluttering lashes. his heart kicked into overdrive.

he shifted the umbrella slightly, leaning closer under the guise of adjusting it. your lips were right there, soft and pink and—

“oh!” you crouched suddenly, eyes wide as you scooped something off the ground. “it’s a kitten!”

“eh?” bakugou froze mid-lean, almost dropping the umbrella.

you cradled the soaked little animal in your arms, smiling. “look how cute it is! poor thing.”

katsuki gritted his teeth. “yeah, cute,” he muttered, glaring at the oblivious cat like it had just personally insulted him.

3.

the room was dark except for the faint glow of the tv screen. the others were all passed out on the floor or slumped against the furniture, leaving bakugou and you alone on the couch.

you were snuggled under a blanket, your eyes glued to the movie. you weren’t even paying attention to him, which was just as well, because bakugou could barely breathe with you sitting so close.

his fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants. come on, just do it. it’s not a big deal. just lean over and—

you shifted suddenly, yawning as you stretched your arms above your head. one of your hands smacked him right in the face.

“ah! oh my god, i’m so sorry!” you gasped, sitting up straight.

bakugou clutched his face, cheeks burning. “what the hell?! watch where you’re swinging those things, idiot!”

“i didn’t mean to! are you okay?” your fingers tried to pry off his hand, but he reflexively waved you off.

“i’m fine!” he snapped, scooting to the far end of the couch, crossing his arms, and glaring at the screen like it was the movie’s fault. he didn’t look at you for the rest of the night.

+ 1.

the city stretched out below them, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. you sat on the edge of the rooftop, your legs dangling over the side. you looked sad, your usual brightness dimmed, which really concerned bakugou.

“i just… don’t know if i’m good enough,” you said softly, your hands twisting in your lap.

bakugou leaned against the railing a few feet away, his jaw tightening. “that’s stupid,” he said gruffly.

you glanced up at him, surprised. “what?”

bakugou rubbed his face, tugging his mask higher over his forehead before directing his gaze at you.

“you’re good enough,” he said, his voice low and rough, like he was choking on the words. “you’re better than good enough. you’re—” he cut himself off, scowling.

your lips quirked into a small, tentative smile. “thanks. that means a lot. you’re… nicer than you act, you know.”

katsuki’s chest felt too tight, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. “screw it,” he muttered under his breath. before he could lose his nerve, he crossed the space between you and him in two quick steps, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.

you gasped softly against his lips, but didn’t pull away. instead, your hands found their way to his arms, holding on gently as you kissed him back.

for the first time, bakugou felt like he wasn’t completely screwing everything up.

[oatmealaddiction]

Can we talk a little about how hard popular opinion turned on LMM without him really even doing anything? By all accounts he seems like a really sincere artist, who I feel like at this point the worst thing you could accuse him of is just being misguided sometimes. I think it's kinda nice that he really believed in such a goofy concept like "Hamilton" and took it seriously and didn't blink. It's interesting that we talk about Hamilton more for its historical accuracy and its political themes, vs. it just being a big joke that we all mock, and that's because LMM took the project seriously. The guy's got a real talent for bi-lingual writing as well, as he did the lyrics for the 2011 West Side Story where all of the Shark's lines were translated into Spanish, and his work on Moana is actually really cool in how he manages to have a song in both Tokelauan and English while maintaining a consistent melody, that's actually a lot easier said than done.

And yet everyone makes fun of his singing voice, or calls him cringe, or likes to pontificate that because he's a rich theater kid he has no actual experience with discrimination or that he's some kind of mega lib? Like he didn't get all kinds of racist push-back when Hamilton first debuted. He's making bad Disney music right now, and it's like, has anyone at Disney been making good art in the last three or four years? We've already had the song-writers on Wish essentially say they were given two weeks to do all of the music, without being told any context of what the story was going to be about. While LMM had to essentially go rogue to get the music in Encanto the way he wanted it. I'm not surprised the song for "Scuttle the Seagull" in the Live Action Little Mermaid was garbage and I'd be shocked if you could find one musician on Broadway who could make that work. Like IDK, it's weird that this by all accounts this nice guy who's made a lot of music that everybody liked, is essentially just a punchline at this point.

Lin-Manuel Miranda is not untalented but he shouldn't be making billion dollar disney movies or whatever. This guy should be in a garage making deeply earnest but unpolished rap opera concept albums and posting them online for a niche fanbase of no more than 100,000 too-online theatre nerds. Hiring him to make forgettable paint-by-numbers radio friendly disney princess pop is trying to raise devil's pupfish in captivity. You have to stop giving him money and let him go make cringe in his natural habitat or you're never going to get anything good.

[kashverse]

sukuna, for all his ruthlessness, for all his "king of the corporate world" nonsense, is a hopeless man when it comes to you. so when your birthday rolls around, it’s obvious what he’s going to do. "a thousand roses," he declares, arms crossed, smirking. "biggest fucking bouquet in the world. it’s gonna—"

"no."

he blinks. looks down. his daughter, all of five years old, stares up at him, hands on her hips, expression dead serious. "no?" he repeats, incredulous. "no what?"

she lifts a tiny finger. "no roses."

"the hell do you mean, no roses?"

"bad word!" she yells.

he sighs. "fine, fine—heck do you mean, no roses?"

she frowns, tapping her chin. "mama already gets roses. mama should get something cool." sukuna squints at her. "…like?"

his daughter suddenly beams. "LEGO!"

pause.

"…you want me to get your mom a lego set for her birthday?"

she nods enthusiastically.

sukuna, a grown-ass man, has never been stared down by someone so tiny and felt so defeated. "…fine," he mutters, rubbing his temples. "lego it is."

so that’s how he finds himself sitting at the dining table with his daughter at 11 pm the night before your birthday, helping her put together a lego flower bouquet.

"alright, gimme the little green stem—"

"papa, no! that not where it go!"

sukuna looks at her. then at the piece in his hand. then at the instruction booklet.

"…yeah, it is."

"no, it go here!" she insists, slapping his hand away and shoving the piece in the completely wrong spot. he stares at it. he stares at her.

"that’s not where it goes."

"yes it is," she says confidently.

"no, it fucking isn’t—"

"BAD WORD!"

he groans. "—no, it freaking isn’t!"

she glares at him.

he glares back.

…then sighs.

"fine," he mutters, leaning back. "you’re the boss."

"yes," she nods. "i am."

he exhales, watching as she enthusiastically shoves pieces together. she suddenly pauses.

"papa."

"what?"

"we add angel and labubu."

"why?"

"protection."

he stares at her. then, without a word, he gets up, goes to her hoard of sonny angels and labubus, and hands her two of them. she grins, placing them carefully on either side of the bouquet. "perfect," she declares.

when you come home, exhausted from work, you’re immediately ambushed by your daughter.

"MAMA!"

"happy birthday," sukuna calls lazily from the couch, arms crossed behind his head. before you can respond, your daughter shoves the lego bouquet into your hands, bouncing excitedly.

"LOOK!"

you blink, taking it in. a full lego flower bouquet, colorful, adorable, and—

"…is that a sonny angel and labubu?"

"yes!" she nods aggressively. "they keep it safe!" you laugh, heart swelling, before crouching down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. "baby, this is amazing," you grin. "thank you!"

"papa helped!" she says, beaming. you look up at sukuna, amused. "you built legos?" he grunts. "against my will."

your daughter gasps dramatically. "papa! you like it!"

"…i tolerated it," he mutters.

"you LOVE it!"

"alright, chill out," he grumbles, ruffling her hair.

you shake your head, placing the bouquet on the table. "best gift ever," you say sincerely, smiling at them both. sukuna watches you. then, quietly, he smirks. "yeah," he mutters. "best gift ever."

[prlssprfctn]

In his new room - in his new house - Jason searches up for a circus performances and stares at them for hours. First, he watches at them mindlessly, unconsciously curious, and then, he starts to take notes.

He is a street kid, and everything about him screams of that. So, he is nowhere near the grace of these performers on the screen. His arms are not that strong, too, but he is agile, and his legs are much stronger - he can think of something.

He can be just as good as the boy he is replacing.

It is not like someone tells him to match Richard Grayson, and it is not like someone admits that Jason is here to replace the first Wonder Boy, but Jason heard Bruce's conversation with Dick earlier. It was meant not for his ears, but it doesn't matter now.

"So, now what, you exile me, and bring a boy to replace me?!"

Jason is not mad. All of it ‐ adoption papers, the manor, the school - is much more than he ever thought he would get in his life. Being replacement doesn't sound as bad anyway; especially, if his brother is so cool.

So, he makes notes on circus performances and slightly chopes his hair. They are much curlier than Dick's - he has more of a wavy ones, and the only ever look that way, when they get long; his childhood photos with short hair looks too straight - but the cut does its magic.

The next day, Bruce compliments his hair absentmindedly and is positively surprised by his new moves on the patrol, asking where he learnt it from. Jason lies about not remembering, but his cheeks are flashed, and his smile is all about teeth. He can't wait to show it to Dick once they finally get on a mission together.

Expect, when they do, Dick just nods and mutters a light-hearted "good job" before leaving to talk with his team. And Jason knows Dick doesn't want to be mean - he gets it; no one feels good about having a replacement, especially the one that seems so cheap in comparison - but he still cries that night in his pillow, feeling himself a little kid, even if he isn't one. Even if he never was.

Jason wonders if his own replacement would make him understand Dick.

But Jason never gets replaced.

No matter the taunting voice of the Lazarus Pit in the back of his head - that sometimes sounds suspiciously like Talia's; you remain unavenged and replaced - and his own intrusive thoughts that spiral in uneven lines, Jason doesn't think Tim was ever meant to be his replacement. Being replaced means to match the person that was meant to be left behind. And no one asked Tim to be like Jason.

If anything, memory of Jason was thrown under the rag, hidden and locked securely in heads of those who survived. And if they brought Jason up, then it was always an example of what Robin shouldn't do: run away, disobey, and allow emotions to consume you. So, not much of an exemplary original. More like an opposite.

Jason feels an urge to explain that to Tim once; when they sit together on the rooftop, almost like a proper family, instead of broken pieces of someone's idea of a one.

'You could never replace me,' he says, and the instant it leaves his mouth, he knows it came out wrong.

Tim rolls his eyes.

'Yeah, dude. Whatever.'

'No, I mean—' He grits his teeth, scrapping slightly the back of his hand. 'I mean... You could never replace me, because... Because you were always better.'

Tim freezes. His big blue eyes shift in something more confused, and it is almost as if he is not sure how he needs to react — to protest? To agree? To thank him?

Jason doesn't know what to do, too.

He wants to say: it is easy as that, babybird. They wanted to have someone who would have nothing in common with me — someone who could help them to forget about my existence, about the existence of the failed Robin.

But he can't make himself speak again. And he is not sure he wants to stay any longer to hear Tin manging to put his thoughts in the words; he is better than him at this, too, and he almost always sounds convincing.

So, he leaves.

In his room - in the building he owns now - he ruffles his outgrown hair, fluffs up the white streak, and passes by his only remaining photo with Bruce in the frame, on the shelf under the stolen tire.

He still does this semi-circus move in his fights - almost frozen in the air, with his back arched - but he doesn't expect anyone to compliment him anymore.

[bigwishes]

Hey Magic Genie!

My wish is to be transformed, not just a little but HUGE changes. I want to be Massive, I want to explode with muscles. I wanna be the biggest hairiest bodybuilder ever,I dont care if im carrying a roidgut with me, or if im balding, if im just a dumb slab of meat. I just want to grow, my muscles, my height, my feet, just everything, make me almost immobile. Man I really dont care what you punish me with, just make me fucking massive! Make everybodies heads turn, make me the god of all gyms and make me arrogant with it! Make my Ego as massive as me!

Thank you magic Genie!

Sure thing.

That is definitely something we can do little guy or should I say big guy?

First things first you need a little bit of muscle, or rather a lot! pumping you up to look like a fitness model. Of course we cant just let you go with some free muscle, you said you want punishment well its simple. You cant be big like that and still be smart. You'll be as dumb as a rock, obsessed with your body. Trying to show anyone your body. You'll constantly strip and pose no matter where you are just begging for attention like a fucking slut.

Next, because of course we cant just leave you here. You'll find yourself constantly hungry. Like a big muscle piggy you'll rind yourself opening the fridge every 30 minutes looking for something else to stuff in your face.

Stuffing yourself you'll find that you are really starting to pack on the pounds. Both fat and muscle expanding your body. Slowly your body starts to reach its genetic limit for muscle and what was left over was simply being pushed out to blimp you up with a rock solid muscle gut.

lumbering around the gym like a idiotic giant you'll always be seen with a protein shake in one hand and a meal in another.

Your giant beefy frame will cause your furniture to bend under you and squeak. The metal of the workout machines will moan as you constantly slam the maximum weight up and down.

but people staring at you would probably just think you are a big guy in his bulk phase and we need everyone to know you are a disgusting muscle mutant.

Your muscle gut will expand and push outwards into a swollen roid gut. Rock solid with muscle you body looks like its been abused by HGH for years permanently shaping you into a morphed muscle blimp. No matter what you wear (when you wear clothes that is) you wont be able to stop your roid gut from lifting up your shirt to show off you abs and belly button that was forcefully pushed into an outie by all that meat on your gut.

all the eating wont help either, constantly stuffed to the brim you'll moan as your hear your roid gut churn and bubble like a boiler, your work outs, conversations, eating and even sex will all constantly be interrupted by your stomach painfully gargling forcing you to stop whatever you are doing in the moment to massage your roided up gut.

"BUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP"

there you go sounding like a fucking roid pig. Oversized with mass and stuffed to the bring you wont be able to help belch like a nasty pig.

But we still aren't done big guy. Soon you'll find thick black hair sprouting over your entire body. Itchy and thick you'll always be scratching your beard and the hair covering your pecs and gut.

It'll also lock the heat coming out of your body making it harder and harder to cool off. You'll constantly sweat and your pits will always be soaked with sweat, so bad it'll be running down your lats causing you to always have massive pit stains on your tank top that goes all the way down to your waist.

Finally its time for your final set of gifts.

You'll find yourself at the gym, as normal. Taking a break from working out, reaching into your gym bag pulling out three protein bars with you ruthlessly shovel into your moth like the starving muscle pig you are.

Your body starts to get hotter and hotter, the sweat that normally pulls in your pits is now soaking your back. Slowly your body is expanding, bigger and bigger but you are too busy rubbing your abs to take notice, and too stupid to notice the pudge starting to form on your gut and body.

A pool of sweat is now starting to form under you, like someone spilt a mop bucket under you. Suddenly your feet ache and you watch them tear out of your shoes, almost tripling in size.

Your clothes start to tear of your muscles falling to shreds on the ground around you. Slowly you can feel the metal bench under you straining and it finally lets out.

a loud crash fills the gym as your body falls to the ground splashing in the massive pool of sweat. You try to get up but slip, falling down slamming your gut and letting out a monstrous burp.

One of the gym attendants come up to you finally able to notice you. He reaches out a hand asking if you need help getting up or if you are hurt.

You look up at him the sweat now dripping off your face, you take a moment but the only thing you notice about the gym attendant....is his lunch he's holding in his other hand.

UUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRPPPPP

"you gonna eat that?"

The attendant was shocked and he failed to mutter an answer before you could heave your colossal frame off the ground, take his lunch from him and shovel it into your mouth with your hands.

Dropping the container on the ground you simply smirk and flex in front of him.

BUUUUURRRRRRRRPPP!!!!!!!!!

"thanks pipsqueak, that was good"

You clumsily shove past him your freakish size and weight knocking the attendant to the ground. You stupidly laugh telling him he should try eating a sandwich to gain some size.

You stumble to the changing room, at one point getting stuck between two machines and simply pushing them apart to make way for yourself like it was nothing.

sitting down on the wooden bench in the changing room you hear it creak and start to splinter under your weight.

"aw, fuck yeah, big....big.......me biiieeg"

burp.

Your brain starts to enter a fog, hearing the sweat dripping from your back and ass drip onto the tiled floor, unable to focus on anything but your big size and how hungry you feel. You were sure someone would have something to eat in their gym bag, surely they wouldn't mind if a big guy like you got to eat it. you need it more than them.

enjoy your life of flexing and stuffing yourself you dumb fucking muscle pig.

[uncle-fruity]

I organized a booth at my local pride where we gave out free water and did a pay-what-you-can art store to increase accessibility for poor people at Pride. We raised enough money to cover the cost of the booth AND the cost for the 2025 booth AND some.

I also helped organize, alongside some friends of mine, a bake sale to help our friends keep their home, which was being threatened with foreclosure. These were disabled trans folks who had fallen behind on payments because of lack of access to transportation, limiting their job opportunities. We didn't raise enough to fully pay stuff off, but we raised enough for at least one of their mortgage payments, which bought them some time & wasn't nothing.

My friends helped pay for me so I could take a road trip with them to visit our other friend who lived a couple of states away from us. I got to meet an online friend in the process, and we all went on a float trip and to a really cool museum and a great production of Much Ado About Nothing. It was a lot of fun and I got to hang out with a bunch of my old college friends.

I started the year with the intention to interact more with my friends and the general community and succeeded. I joined a comic maker's group and got two of my comics published in their anthologies. The local queer art group that I founded back in 2018 started having in person meetings again after we had to stop in 2020 due to covid. I made an effort to reach out to the people I care about more than I had been able to in past years. My socializing really improved and my goal to meet new people and foster relationships with already existing friends was a success!

I started going to the library more, and tbh learned a lot about the things they offer there and found some really interesting books that would have never occurred to me to look for in a book shop.

There were some bad things that happened, too. Bad things are inevitable when you're living in poverty and your local government couldn't give two shits about you or your neighbors. But the good outweighed the bad, and I felt that I contributed positive things to my community and that my community came through for me as well.

Despite everything, my sense of self worth has seriously improved. My life has significantly improved in the last two or three years because at some point I decided I wanted to be an active participant in it. There were several years where I was extremely depressed, bitter, and isolated. Years of burnout and anger brought on because I took the extremely difficult steps to stop talking to my abusive family. I struggled with everything and felt like very few people would be there for me if I fell through the cracks. But you know what? I came out on the other side. My friends proved my paranoia that no one loved me wrong. It's not all perfect and there's still plenty of difficulties that I face, but I am generally happier and healthier and kinder than I used to be, and that's huge.

I know things look bleak and hope can feel foolish sometimes in the face of great hardships, but finding joy is an action you must take upon yourself when you can. Even if all you can find are the little things. And when you can't, I hope you have people who love you to make it hurt less. I hope good things come your way soon. I hope good things come for all of us. Let's do our best to make it happen for ourselves and the people we love in 2025!

hey honest question, did anybody have GOOD stuff happen to them in 2024? cause it was really bad for me and for most people i know, so it would be nice to hear about anything that's been going WELL for any of you. even if it's small stuff. just to know there's light out there.

[cherrysweets-world]

Invidia II

masterlist - part one

Pairing: Geta x unrequited!Reader, Caracalla x Reader

Summary: Geta takes satisfaction where he can. Basically, he spies on Reader and Caracalla having sex.

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, porn without plot, yearning, unrequited desire, non-consensual voyeurism, unedited, masturbating, piv sex

Word Count: 1.2k

Geta waited a respectable fifteen minutes before getting out of bed and yanking on a robe.

His hands shook as he tied it around his waist but still, he did not stop. If he paused too long then he might actually think about what he was about to do and he did not want to risk talking himself out of his own reckless idea.

Caracalla had shared women with him before. Concubines and the occasional noblewoman if they desired a challenge. However, you were his wife. And it did not require an intelligent person to see that Caracalla would never share you.

It did not change the fact that Geta needed to know more about you. The visions he conjured in his mind were not nearly enough and tonight had proven to him that the concubines could no longer provided him adequate satisfaction.

The part of him that was Caracalla's brother told him no, that it was a terrible idea. The other part though, the Emperor, told him that he could do as he wished, for who would stop him?

The floor was cool beneath his feet as he dipped from his room. The Praetorians turned to him, surprised to see him after he had retired.

"I need to see my brother," he said, as if he owed them an explanation. Needed to see you. His lips tightened and he said no more.

Caracalla's chambers had been moved after he had married you. More privacy. Shamefully, Geta did not even try to talk himself out of his plan in the five minutes it took him to reach his brother's rooms. Instead he was exhilarated, his steps quickening the closer he got. Despite his earlier romp with the concubine his cock was already twitching beneath his robe. Flushed, eager and aching.

When the Praetorians outside of Caracalla's door saw him they raised their fists to knock. Geta hushed them, gesturing for them to lower their hands.

"His wife may be sleeping," Geta lied, "now step aside."

They did as he demanded. Geta opened the door and it was mercifully silent. He slipped inside and gradually pulled it shut.

Caracalla's rooms were mostly dark. The section he was in now was the receiving room. Geta paused for one moment, debating. If Caracalla caught him it would not be pleasant. And what would you think of him? Would you be disgusted to find your brother-in-law lusting after you?

Geta was debating on turning around when he heard it. A single, lyrical sigh. It was as if you were telling him to stay, to indulge.

All thoughts of leaving fled. Your siren song lured him deeper into Caracalla's rooms. Shallow breaths were all he could manage, the dark masking his approach. The sounds grew louder as he approached a privacy screen sectioning off the sleeping quarters from the rest of the room.

"Caracalla," you sighed, "please."

Geta's mouth was dry. He used his tongue to whet his lips as he pressed himself against the privacy screen, moving along it until he reached a gap between two sections. It was barely enough to see but oh, he saw.

You were on your back, thighs locked around Caracalla's head as he feasted on your cunt. Geta felt sick with want and fisted a greedy hand around his cock, squeezing as he imagined you might. His eyes could not find a single thing to settle on; they flashed eagerly over your naked body, drinking you in as much as he dared.

You had one hand tangled in his brother's hair, the other roaming your own breasts, tugging, pinching just as Geta would. From this angle he could imagine that it was him between your legs, not Caracalla. His tongue traced patterns on his lips, mirroring what it wanted to do to you between your thighs.

Writhing on the sheets, you chanted Caracalla's name as if he were a god. You were more than a dutiful wife.

There was a moment when you were rendered speechless, back arching off the sheets, and Geta began to stroke his cock at an almost harsh pace. If you were going to cum then he wanted to be right alongside you. It was the closet he could get to you.

Caracalla drew back though, pulling a long whine from your lips as you reached out to him, hips tilting.

"Almost, wife," Caracalla teased, leaning in to share your own taste with you. "I want to be close with you when you enter paradise."

"Paradise," you echoed.

Jealousy seethed and his cock throbbed. Geta watched as the pair of you locked together as you likely had countless other times. The familiarity was obvious and Geta wanted to rip his brother off you, wanted to enter you himself before either of you could protest. He was better at ruling Rome than his brother - could he not also be better at fucking his wife?

His thoughts were becoming reckless again so he leaned in, desperate to distract himself with your small sounds and movements. Caracalla entered you and you smiled. Radiant, lustful, his. Geta had seen his brother with women before but he was different with you. No doubt he had changed himself to give just what you desired.

The slick sound you produced made Geta dizzy as he panted through the gap in the screen. Caracalla muttered filthy things to you and you appeared to love it, answering him in kind with words that Geta had never thought he would hear spill from your lips.

He closed his eyes and pretended you were saying those things to him but then snapped them back open, unwilling to miss anything. His heart was clambering into his throat as his climax shot towards him like an arrow to the chest.

There was a delicate sheen of sweat on you and Caracalla as his hips rolled into you, coaxing mewling, desperate sounds from you as though he had done it a thousand times before.

"Please, husband," you breathed, "I want to give you an heir."

That did it for both Geta and Caracalla. Geta had to bite down on his lip to silence his climax, pearly white dripping through his fist and onto his robe and the floor. The room span and it was an effort to stay upright. His knees were weak and threatened to let him pitch forward, revealing himself.

Caracalla was much more vocal, his voice climbing in pitch as he set a near brutal pace. Your own climax seemed to center on Caracalla's and it made Geta sick to see you both tense and then collapse together. Caracalla nestled his face in your neck and you turned your head, whispering sweet nothings to him.

Caracalla's hands still roamed your body greedily. Your neck, your breasts, your thighs. He pushed into you one last time before pulling out. Geta leaned in as though he might be able to see what Caracalla currently gazed at.

He swiped a finger through the wetness of your cunt and held it up to the light, grinning. "Pretty, wife."

Geta could not bear to watch anything more. He wanted to see that part of you, glistening and satiated. He wanted to be the one who had caused that blissful look on your face, the way you melted into the bed.

He stepped back into the dark before he was caught. He did not want to push his luck. If he was caught now then he could not come back tomorrow night, and perhaps the night after that. The Emperor of Rome would take whatever scraps he could get.

Authors Note - a few people had been asking about this fic and I felt like this is what it needed to round it out. Let me know what you think pleaseeeee

Taglist - @prestinalove @justasmallbean @1950schick

[oneofreid]

Under the Table

Summary: Smut without any plot.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: (18+ Content) Handjob, oral with m receiving, explicit language, unprotected sex, p in v, all the good stuff, Spencer being the secret dom we all know (and don’t deny it, love), use of calling a man daddy lol, etc.

A/N: raw. next. (if you saw the first draft where i had a typo, no you didn’t) k, here’s my masterlist

“Good girl….that’s a good fucking girl.”

You moaned in response, shoving his cock even further down your throat. The enlarged veins rubbing your mouth completely raw while you gagged on his above average size. Still shocked at how such a lean, and to be honest skinny, man could fit that into his pants.

Struggling to fit all of him in, his hand grabbed a fist full of your hair to steady himself. Leaning his head back to close his eyes, clenching his jaw from the overwhelming yet exhilarating feeling of your lips wrapped around his shaft.

“Fuck, yes. Just like that, baby,” Spencer Reid moaned.

The cool marble tile of his hotel room floor making yours knees ache. Yet, you could care as you continued to swirl your tongue around his shaft, your mouth growing sore due to the weight and size of him. His cock slipping out of your mouth just before the tip only for him to thrust full force. Jamming the back of your throat while tears continuously ran down your cheeks.

His warm brown eyes never leaving your teary eyed ones. The sight of you bruising your precious knees as you took every inch of his cock sending him absolutely feral.

“You take me so well, honey,” Spencer praised, “Mouth full of me. You like that huh? I can only picture how beautiful your pussy would look wrapped around it.”

A strangled moan escaped from your mouth, your thighs already flooded with your own arousal at the thought of you bouncing on his dick. Or your legs over his shoulders as he deeply penetrated the furthest parts of you pushing you to climax.

His hand softly caressed your jaw while you stared up at him, a sight he would truly never get tired of. Seeing you submit yourself to him. His thrusts only gaining more momentum, more sloppy with every hit that it took towards the back of your throat.

Every moan that escaped from your mouth vibrating off the base of his cock. Pushing him further and further towards his own high that he chased.

Feeling one last twitch of his cock before his release spilled all over your tongue. Slowly retracting his dick from your mouth. Your eyes still completely on him as you swallowed every last bit of his cum. The bitter, yet sweet and familiar taste, lacing your throat with some relief.

Spencer brushed his thumb against your cheek, wiping the remaining tears that had fallen. Slowly collecting the saliva and left over cum that had dripped down your chin, grazing his thumb against your bottom lip while you sucked on it.

He couldn’t help but smirk, cock still at your eye level as he slowly began to pump himself. Rubbing his own hand up and down his already hardening cock. “What do you want darling?”

Growing impatient (and more needy) at the cocky and unbearable teasing man who stroked his own dick in front of you. Your thighs still completely covered in arousal as your knees continued to dig into the floor. Desperate to feel him deep inside of you. You snapped, “You know exactly what I want.”

His eyes furrowed, your heart sinking as you realized the mistake you had just made. If there was anything about Spencer Reid, he hated your sometimes spoiled and bratty attitude when you were horny.

“I would watch that pretty little mouth of yours, darling. You wouldn’t want me to give you a lesson on manners, right?” Spencer taunted.

Yanking you by the arm to stand off the floor you had grow very accustomed to within the last thirty minutes since you have arrived. Pulling you towards him in a heartbeat, his lips fiercely kissed you. Hungry to taste you, the lingering taste of his own cum still on yours. Lips melting over your own as he bit your bottom lip roughly, earning a moan from you. Slipping his tongue into yours while moving your sweaty bodies towards the bed.

The back of your knees hitting the plush white comforter before Spencer tugged you down. Hovering over top of your already naked form as he continued to pepper kisses along the side of your jaw.

Your hands roamed the chiseled muscles of his chest only to fall to palm his dick. Pumping his cock with your own hand, up and down, gripping ever so slightly as you reached towards the tip of his cock. Leaving him completely breathless while he sucked on the skin of your left breast. His tongue finding its way to circle your nipple, drawing intricate patterns.

“I need you,” you managed to get out in between the collection of moans that came from you two.

Moving yourself to straddle him, placing each of your thighs on either side of his legs. Grinding your hips forward as his erection ran slid across your slick folds.

Spencer’s breathe hitched, “You’re fucking insane.”

You had no time to respond before Spencer grabbed you by your hips to place you on your back. Placing your legs up to your chest as he centered his dick to your entrance before pushing you deep into the white plush comforter.

Giving you no time to adjust as he thrusted roughly in and out of you. Looking down at the delicious sight of your soaked cunt taking him completely whole.

Your eyes rolled towards the back of your head. Mewling at the sensation of his cock stretching your velvet walls, the tip hitting your center in spots it has never reached before. Spencer’s mix of praises and degrading remarks sending you completely over the edge.

“You like it when I fuck you like this? Yeah.”

“Who has the biggest dick? You know nobody can fuck you the way that I can, I make you feel so good”

“My dick looks so good inside of you”

“You take it so well, baby. Just one more.”

“That’s it, sweet girl. About to have you struggling to walk for days.”

“Who’s gonna be daddy’s good girl and wait till I let her come?”

Gasping for air, you struggled to regulate your breathing as your stomach tightened. The coil building as Spencer continued to pound into you. Your hands still restrained by his grip on yours as you cried out to touch him.

“Spencer, please….Please. I can’t.” You cried.

His loose hair falling over his face while his warm brown eyes stared lovingly, hungrily at your own. Another stream of his release building in his stomach as he watched you plead for him to let you come.

“I’ll tell you when to come,” he demanded. Continuing to thrust into you. At this point, you were sure you were starting to see actual stars.

Becoming a withering mess underneath him, you sobbed as you begged Spencer to let you come. The pressure that grew in your stomach becoming all too much.

“Please, Spenc-“

“I told you to wait. Now be a good fucking girl or else I’m never going to let you come.”

Your walls clenched around him causing his cock to twitch inside of you. Spencer’s thrust becoming rapid and lousy as he dipped his head down to finally press his lips onto yours.

One last moan leaving his lips as he filled you up. His cum coating your walls as his cock continued to pulse inside of you. The warm sensation dripping down your thighs.

Spencer broke apart from your heated kiss, pressing his forehead against yours, nodding at you. Giving you the approval to come around him as you ran your hand through his curls. Deepening the kiss between you two as you moaned into his mouth, finally reaching your own high. His last few thrusts sending electric shocks through your body.

His sweaty body falling on top of yours. As you both laid there, your chests heaving up and down from the sudden rush. Spencer looked up at you, reaching up to brush a few damp strands of your hair from your forehead. Placing a delicate kiss on your temple.

Lust still clouded his warm eyes as he longed into your gaze. His cock twitching for another orgasm from you, missing the feeling of your warm cunt soaking his length.

Pressing your lips to his, you moved to straddle Spencer’s lap again. Grinding your hips against his again, rubbing your palms down his broad shoulders. Slowly working your way to squeeze his triceps, his cock twitching at the touch.

Spencer sucked in a breathe, “You’re such a tease.”

Sucking in your own breathe, you began to roll your hips on his groin. Feeling him grow hard beneath you with every circular motion you made. Your pussy beginning to soak him in your arousal once more as you toyed with him.

His patience wearing thin as his hands gripped your waist. “What are you doing?”

Cutting him off before he could get an answer out of you, you pushed your lips onto his. Lifting your hips slightly while your one hand guided his tip into your entrance. Sinking down as you adjusted to his immaculate size again, a moan erupting from the both of you. The exhilarating and electric feeling of being connected once again surging through you both. You continued to bounce up and down as Spencer bottomed you out. Thrusting into you from underneath. His hands roaming to touch every part of your body, from your thighs to your breasts.

Both of you becoming a heated mess all over again as you continued to find your rhythm. Allowing yourself to explore each new angle he hit with every thrust as you bounced on top of him.

One hand against the headboard while the other gripped his shoulder for support. The coil in both of your stomachs quickly forming. A sign that you were both reaching your peak.

You watched each other intently as you both came completely undone. A combination of both of your cum dripping down your thighs and over his lap. Moaning, panting, and a spill of profanities that surely the room across could hear. Yet, you didn’t care.

Catching your breathe, you just laid there on top of Spencer with no energy to climb off of him. Finally taking time to recover before one of your many orgasms of the night. His brown eyes never once leaving yours as he traced pattens and shapes on your sides.

[msfantasy]

Moving Day

Ghost Spirit x Reader

Summary: You buy an abandoned property

“Okay- something’s is clearly wrong with this place. There’s no way the selling price is this cheap.” You say to the realestate agent who stands nervously at the door. Her eyes darting around the house fearfully.

“The initial owner passed away suddenly in this house.” Your heart clenches painfully at that fact. “A lot of potential buyers have been disturbed by this.”

“That’s terrible…” You mutter sadly looking towards the rooms in question.

The agent swallows nervously. “Well- there are some owners and tenants claiming to feel the presence of a ghost. We even had some break their leases because of it.”

“Seriously? I would tolerate it for this price.” You really weren’t kidding. It was either this aesthetic family home or the more expensive mouldy apartment.

Stepping inside of one of the rooms, you are instantly hit with nostalgia. The room looks like it hasn’t been touched since the early 2000s. “Why has no one touched this room? Is there something wrong with it?” You call out to the agent that seems to be turning more pale.

“No one’s stayed here long enough to change it.” Now that’s peeked your interest.

“Really? This is actually so cool. If this were my house, I would just clean it up and leave as is- it’s like a time capsule.” The agent smiles kindly at you but you can see she’s antsy to leave. “Where do I sign? I love this home.”

Moving day was painfully long.

After all of your furniture moved in and the boxes were allocated to its intended room, you start with cleaning up the room filled with early 2000s decor.

You stripped down the bed and washed the sheets. Dusted all of the surfaces and vacuumed the floors. You even found a closet full of clothes that look well preserved but decided to wash them and fold them all anyways, just to keep them fresh. The room was sparkling clean when you were done with it. By the end of it, you were too exhausted to finish the rest of the house since you pretty much spent the whole day finding nostalgic items, and gushing on how you ‘always wanted this’ or ‘I use to have that’.

You took a long shower to wash off the days grime, feeling the sensation of being watched. After that, the presence only grew stronger as you pranced around your towel looking for your box of clothes, but you inevitably resign yourself to loosing your clothes box and end up taking some of the owners baggy boxer shorts and shirt. “Good thing I washed them!” You praise yourself for your accidental forward thinking and end up ordering some pizza and coke for dinner.

When the food arrived you prance happily back to the bedroom and put on Rush Hour on DVD and giggle happily at all the nostalgia of eating a huge pizza in a 2000s bedroom.

It wasn’t long until you fell asleep, letting the movie continue playing in the background.

It’s amazing what you can sleep through, especially with a faceless man hovering over your sleeping figure as he tugs your hair behind your ear.

You felt the sensation of someone watching you again as you pull out your box of pyjamas from the fridge… “What the hell?” As soon as you went to take a seat on the dining chair you felt the sensation of sitting in someone’s lap, which caused you to shoot back up and inspect your empty surroundings.

But other than that, the ghostly presence seemed to just enjoy observing you. It never got in your way or taunt you- it would just watch. You really weren’t sure what the big deal was.

Except on the odd occasion when you feel the sensation of someone’s hand touching yours. That was a little unsettling but not completely unpleasant.

“Girlllll~ congratulations! You’re officially living in this creepy ass house.” Your best friend says over your FaceTime call. He leans into the camera, his eyes fixating on your background. “Girl, you better hire a damn priest or somethin’ to cleanse this house. There ain’t no way you volunteered to live in a haunted home like some dumb movie character.” Victor lectures with a dramatic flare.

“Relax- it’s fine.” You reassure yourself more than anything. “If it wanted me dead by now then I would be.”

Victor gasps at your statement. “Bitch! Are you crazy? Don’t dare the damn thing!” Victors reaction has you in stitches. “Do you think it’s a male or female?”

“Male. Definitely male.” You say, looking down at your screen to see Victors brow shot up.

“Miss Ma’am, how are going to be answering that so damn confidently.” You giggle again, scanning your surroundings as if you were checking to make sure the ghost wasn’t there … as if you could even see him.

“Sometimes when I shower-“

“Oh my gawd - you have yourself a crazy ass ghost that watches you shower?! Bitch it was nice knowing ya.” Victor says cutting you off, flailing in shock. “Wait a damn minute-“ Victor says, leaning into the call his brow raised. “You got yourself a lil ghost boyfriend?”

You belt out laughing. “Victorrr.” You drawl.

“Wha? I’m just saying it’s convenient! You get you a lil ghost boyfriend, you didn’t even have to leave the house which is a bonus for you.” He list on his fingers, before giving you a cheeky smile. “And maybe the ghost sex would be mind blowing!” Your giggling was interrupted with Victors screams.

“Victor?! What’s wrong?!” You ask worriedly watching Victor properly flailing around in a panic.

“Bitch did you not hear that?! How did you not hear that?!” Victors continues to panic waving his arms.

“Hear what?” You press, your heart racing.

“I heard a man’s voice literally say ‘I like him’! Girl I told you not to move into the ghost house and now the damn ghost is talking to me!” You begin to sweat nervously at Victors panicked reaction.

“Victor stop scarring me!” You whine, jumping up from the couch and taking refuge in your bedroom. Only you can’t. Your bedroom door remains locked, the door not budging and the handle remaining stuck.

“Oh girl I knew it! The ghost is trying to bed you!” Victor flails as you roll your eyes.

“The house is just old- sometimes the doors expand and get stuck…”

You look down at your screen and see Victor giving you the eye.

“Right … right… so you gonna sleep in his bed now?”

“…yeah.” Victor hums in a ‘I told you so’ tone.

“When you end up fuckin’ I wanna hear what it was like.” Victor states signing off for the night.

There’s no way … right?

[remastered-feedback]

I feel like FMA did the best job of any media I've seen in presenting a compelling depiction of why a character with a cool advanced fully functional robotic limb still definitely has a disability.

Yeah, Ed's automail is really cool, highly functional, and allows him to escape death multiple times due to things a metal arm or leg can do that a regular one can't. It has a lot of objective positives, especially with how he can alter it situationally.

It also breaks multiple times under completely normal circumstances because mechanical parts only have certain specifications. And has clear limits on what it can do because you've got a limit on what you can pack in before it becomes unusably heavy compared to your other limbs, limits that are pretty consistently lower than what characters with organic limbs are able to accomplish with training and exercise. And it has to be replaced and updated multiple times because Ed is a teenager, so he is still growing, and you're gonna fuck up your spine if your meat leg grows 2-3 inches longer than your metal one. For similar reasons it has to be recalibrated to match his organic limbs in strength and size to avoid joint/spinal/posture/etc. problems. It also has to be replaced when he goes somewhere particularly cold because the metal it uses is too reactive to temperature (Or something like that it's been years and I'm not a metallurgist so I forget the exact details) and would give him frostbite where it connects to his body. The cold-weather replacement is less durable because of the different metal it uses and conks out during fights because he's used to pushing it how he pushed his normal prosthetics. Any time it breaks, he has to find a mechanic, and the mechanisms in it are so complex that he basically has to call its original designer and ferry them out to wherever he is to get repairs, so an "injury" that would take an organic limb a week or two to recover from can put him fully out of commission for months. And while it does have a process for interfacing directly with his remaining nerves and giving sensations of feeling and touch, I'm pretty sure I remember it being explicitly said that the sensations are significantly diminished compared to those he has in his organic limbs.

And again, despite all these drawbacks it has clear benefit and saves his life multiple times. It is a very valuable part of his arsenal, and it has a ton of practical, objective benefits throughout the show. But its drawbacks are big enough that you understand why he states how important it is to him to get his old body back, and they're realistic enough that it doesn't feel forced.

bucky has a disability??

he doesn’t have an arm.

[imsofreakingtired]

After a brutal fight, you scream at Sevika, accusing her of caring more about Silco than she ever did about you, and she agrees and calls you a distraction.

when you leave she regrets it but she’s to late

my god i love that. thanks for the prompt!

the cut that always bleeds

content warning(s): wives fighting 😔

"i don't love you anymore, a pretty line that i adore five words that i've heard before 'cause you keep me on a rope and tied a noose around my throat you're gone, then back at my door"

~~~

It had finally happened.

You’re sure of it, and it makes you go cold all over.

Your head is heavy from lack of sleep, but you can’t even stand the thought of lying down. Your heart’s pounding something awful in your chest, as if you’re waiting for the knock that would come any second, bringing the brutal news that you had lost your wife for good.

Sevika had promised you there was no external business tonight. She had promised that she would come directly home after the Chem-baron assembly, she had given her solemn word.

So either she was really dead, or—

The door swings open, hard, so that a thin rain of plaster and dust showers onto the floor. You see Sevika’s tall figure in the doorway.

You stand up.

“Shit,” Sevika mutters. “You spooked me. Why aren’t you asleep?”

Your voice is dangerously low. “Where have you been?”

Sighing heavily, Sevika takes off her cloak and throws it carelessly over the chair. “Silco needed me to take care of some loons trying to steal supplies near the harbor.” Without meeting your eye, she goes to the icebox and takes out a bottle of beer. “Then there was a misunderstanding with some fool merchant about a shipment for Topside—”

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

Sevika looks at you over the bottle. “What?”

“What,” you echo. “Very nice. What. Because you can run around all day, all night at Silco’s beck and call without a care in the world, and I can just sit here worrying myself sick, right?”

“Baby, don’t start. I’m not in the mood.”

“Don’t baby me.” You slam your fist against the table, causing the empty glasses to jump.

Sevika just looks at you. Her cool silence makes you angrier than any insult could have done.

“I must mean nothing to you, don’t I?” You yell. “Is it too much to fucking ask that you send a message in advance, telling me you’ll be late?”

Sevika tips the bottle back, draining the whole thing in one sip. Then she calmly set it down on the table.

“You think I like sitting up here alone until the fucking morning, not knowing whether you’re alive or dead? If I matter less to you than a fuckin’ object, what are you keeping me around for? You might as well save us both the trouble and stop off at Babette’s every night after work.”

“You’re right, maybe I should.”

A deathlike silence falls.

You stare at her, shaking slightly, as her words sink through the air between you like stones in deep water.

Sevika must have seen the way your face changed, the shock in your eyes, and she must have realized the weight of what she just said, because she tries to backtrack. But the damage is done.

“This isn’t a relationship,” you say quietly. “The relationship you’re in, the one you’re fucking devoted to, is with that man in the office above the Last Drop. Just say so.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Fuck you!” You scream.

Sevika stands quickly, her eyes stony with anger. “What did you expect, then?” she says harshly. “Tell me. What’d you expect—honeymooning around the riverside, flying off to Noxus, for Janna’s sake? We’re at the brink of war.”

“Is that what you think? What am I, your fucking toy bride?”

“You’re not a toy,” she snaps. “You’re a distraction.”

A moment passes before you repeat, “a distraction.”

She glares at you. “Silco was right,” she says. “This whole thing—you—it was all just holding me back.”

The slap rings through the empty room.

Sevika stands unmoving, like she’s carved from stone. You watch her, eyes burning, palm stinging, waiting for a reaction, waiting for her to hit you back, yell at you, curse you out—anything. Anything to show that she felt something.

But she doesn’t say a word.

You shake your head, slowly. “You’re a jackass.”

Still no answer.

You turn on your heel and storm into the bedroom you shared with Sevika. You rip your few spare pieces of clothing off the hooks on the walls and roll them violently into a bundle, then stride back into the front room and yank open the door. Sevika is still standing in the same place, staring at the floor as if holding a silent argument with the floorboards.

Before you leave, you turn and say, “Sevika.”

She looks at you.

“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

The door slams behind you.

~~~

Sevika listens to the dust settle. She stands in the dark room, feeling strange and vaguely angry. Suddenly she lets out a yell and grabs the empty beer bottle and hurls it against the wall. It shatters upon impact, the shards dancing across the floor.

Sevika stands, unsteady on her feet, swaying slightly. She grabs the back of a chair, ready to break it as well, then changes her mind and goes to take out another bottle of liquor.

Soon the world is comfortably fuzzy and nothing was ever real, your voice fades pleasantly into the back of her head like the thin buzz of electricity...

~~~

Sevika wakes up among glass shards and splintered wood. Her head throbs like it’s ready to split open. She sits up with a groan, blinking in the daylight seeping through the small window. What time was it? Why was she sleeping on the floor? Why hadn’t you woken her up?

There had been this strange, funny dream she had…this dream where you were real mad at her…she should tell you.

Then she sees the open door of the bedroom, and the empty bed beyond it. Then she remembers—the fight, your anger, the sharp sting of your hand against her cheek. “No,” she mumbles to herself. She gets to her feet clumsily, staggering. “No.”

Stupidly she goes into the bedroom, as if you might be hiding somewhere in the corner or beneath the bed. She sees the empty hooks on the wall. She walks back out and opens the front door, looking up and down the apartment hall. She calls out your name in a hoarse voice.

But you’re not there.

[daeniradraconis]

Banter Between the Lines - Hughes Brothers

Author's Note: Hey, so here’s another quick chat-style piece! I haven’t had much time to sit down and write properly lately, so short and sweet it is for now. 😊 Feel free to send me some requests if you’d like! (You can check out the "rules" here: link). I can’t promise when I’ll get to them, but I’ll definitely find time soon.

Summary: A little fluff with a touch of smut (nothing too crazy, just some extra flirting). Quinn’s girlfriend roasts the boys while calling them out in their group chat.

Warnings: Nothing major, just some mention of 🍆.

It was one of those quiet Sunday nights where everything felt slow. You'd spent the evening catching up on your favorite shows, but it was hard to concentrate when all you could think about was Quinn. The constant distance between you two had become harder to ignore with each passing day, and as much as you loved how happy he was with his team, you missed him. And, truthfully, you missed the whole family.

You’d gotten close to Jack and Luke over the years, and now, with Quinn playing for the Vancouver Canucks and Jack and Luke together on the New Jersey Devils, the family dynamic felt a little more spread out than you liked. Sure, they’d all make time for you when they could, but it wasn’t the same as those days when you’d all hang out together.

Tonight, instead of a call or a quick text, you decided to turn to something a little more familiar. You opened up youtube and searched for their latest highlights.

All three of them were struggling on the ice, and it showed. It hurt to see them like this, especially when you couldn’t do much to help. So you did what you always did in times like these—opened the group chat and prepared to roast them into oblivion. If nothing else, it might make them laugh.

you: just finished your highlights. Quinn, congrats on being the saddest guy on the ice again 🥇. Jack, loved the mini tantrum energy 👏. Luke, did you forget which team you play for? because those turnovers were next-level.

Jack: wow, you really woke up and chose violence.

you: always. someone has to keep you humble.

Luke: humble? this feels more like a personal attack.

Quinn: what would you call it, then?

Luke: bullying.

you: oh, Lukey, don’t take it so hard. I tease because I care 💕

Jack: you literally plotted my ex’s demise last month. is that “caring” too?

you: first of all, it wasn’t a plot. it was more of a… fantasy.

Quinn: putting her in the ground “while she’s still breathing” doesn’t sound like a fantasy…

you: listen, if she hadn’t been such a manipulative little snake, I wouldn’t have had to consider it 🐍

Luke: terrifying. but honestly? fair.

Jack: I could’ve handled her myself, you know.

you: oh, really? because from where I was sitting, she had you wrapped around her finger like a puppet.

Quinn: she’s not wrong!

Jack: whose side are you on?

Quinn: hers. always.

you: damn right honey. and don’t worry, I’m not plotting her demise anymore… unless she tries to come back. then all bets are off.

Jack: remind me to never date again. you’re scarier than Quinn’s slap shot.

You grinned as the banter flew back and forth, but your focus shifted to Luke. His disastrous date still didn’t sit right with you.

you: okay, but seriously, Lukey. I've heard some gossip. how does a girl ditch you mid-dinner? you’re literally the sweetest human alive.

Luke: THANK YOU! finally, someone gets it.

Jack: don’t encourage him. he needs to toughen up.

you: excuse me? let him be sweet! not every guy needs to have your level of 'I’m too cool for feelings,' Jack.

Quinn: valid point.

Luke: thank you, Quinn.

you: honestly, Luke, I’ll never understand how she left. did you say something weird?

Luke: no!!! I was perfectly normal.

Quinn: “normal” is a stretch…

Jack: is this really the same guy who told a girl on a first date he’d make six different accounts just to sort himself into Hufflepuff six different times because he didn’t 'trust the algorithm'?

Luke: OKAY, THAT’S DIFFERENT. I was being honest!

you: oh, Lukey. you’re lucky you’re adorable because that is painful 😂

Luke: this is why I didn’t want to tell you guys.

Quinn: bro, it’s fine. just embrace the awkward puppy vibe. it’s clearly your brand.

Luke: I hate you.

Jack: ugh, why does he get the sympathy? roast him more guys!!! I can’t be the only one taking L’s here.

you: because Luke doesn’t put ketchup on his eggs like a serial killer, Jack.

Luke: yeah, what is WRONG with you? ketchup on eggs? really?

Jack: you people are so dramatic. it’s normal.

Quinn: nothing about that is normal.

you: thank you, Quinn. once again, the only rational person in this chat.

Jack: stop flirting with my brother. it’s disgusting.

Luke: seriously. I can feel the weird vibes through my phone.

You smirked, knowing exactly how to push their buttons.

you: you’re just mad because Quinn’s risotto is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

Quinn: best risotto AND lasagna. don’t forget!

you: how could I? it’s the only reason I keep you around. And of course your magic 🍆

Quinn: oh, not my sparkling personality? btw you're objectifying my body...

you: hmm… maybe that too. but i have my priorities straight!

Jack: 🤢 STOP. this is disgusting.

Luke: seriously. this is TMI guys!!

you: just jealous, you two can’t even scramble eggs properly.

Quinn: cooking skills = key to a woman’s heart.

Luke: ugh. golden child strikes again.

Jack: some of us don’t need to cook because we have charisma, thank you very much.

Quinn: does your charisma excuse ketchup on eggs? because it shouldn’t.

Luke: still the biggest red flag in this chat.

Jack: Y’ALL ARE SO DRAMATIC.

You smiled at their bickering, your heart full, untouched by their chaos.

you: okay, but for real… I miss you guys 💔.

Luke: aww, finally some love.

Jack: are you feeling okay?!

you: don’t get used to it. but yeah, I miss you. Quinn, risotto night when you’re home! Jack and Luke, you can come eat it too.

Quinn: deal. but I’m ignoring them for the first hour I’m back. i need my time with you!

Luke: RUDE!

Jack: gross. is this the flirting portion of the chat? can we not?

you: love you too, boys. even if you’re disasters.

Jack: love you too. now stop flirting with Quinn before I puke.

Luke: seriously. save it for your own chat.

Quinn: jealousy doesn’t look good on you two.

Luke: jealous of what? your cooking? maybe. your 🍆? absolutely not.

you: you should be Lukey! your brother got some great 🍆

Jack: I’m OUT.

Luke: same.

Quinn: good job hon. guess it’s just us now. you: just how I like it 😘

[moonstruckme]

hiiii! I’m usually a very quiet reader, but I just had to request something for prince!sirius too! 

I had in mind that she needs to learn how to ride a horse (besides all of the other things she needs to learn) and is scared of horses. So, when she's not in her official practice, maybe she and Sirius are riding out together and he tries to calm her anxiety?

It's totally fine if it doesn't ignite that writing spark

Thank you for requesting!

cw: some fear/trepedation of horses, talk of family expectations/fitting into high society

prince!Sirius x princess!reader ♡ 1.1k words

For all your loveliness, Sirius has watched you embarrass yourself in many ways since he’s met you. Some he can help with, like nudging you in the direction of the correct fork or telling you when a particular courtier is trying to make a fool of you, and some, like when you accidentally light your skirts on fire standing too close to the fireplace, he unfortunately cannot. 

This, Sirius thinks, is something he can help you with. 

He should probably be embarrassed to admit he’s been watching you, but really he isn’t. There isn’t all that much to do for a visiting prince in the hours between meetings and events, and Sirius has found that whether you’re with him or otherwise engaged, you tend to dominate his attention. Also, the lawn where you have your riding lessons is viewable from his window. 

You’re not a terribly cloddish thing by nature; a bit awkward at times, yes, but that seems permissible when you’re walking in new shoes and cumbersome dresses into unfamiliar situations. The way you hold yourself on your horse seems a stiffness more borne of mental unrest. 

You’ve been given the oldest, gentlest mare in the stables for your practice, and still you sit taut as a drawn bow on her back. 

It’s humiliating to watch, honestly, and as someone who cares for you Sirius can’t allow it to continue. He’s supposed to be your ally in all this. Fork usage, snooty courtiers, and horses, he can help you with. 

“Is Rayan not meeting us?” you ask, naming your riding instructor as you follow Sirius outside. The sun is bright, sitting central in a clear sky. Sirius feels his skin warm despite the cool spring breeze.

“No.” He tips his face up to the warmth as he walks. “He wasn’t invited.” 

A little laugh stumbles out of you. And Sirius loves to make you laugh, but he thinks he detects some trace of nerves in this one. “What, so we’re on our own?”

“Mhm. Problem?” 

“No, just…” You watch him approach the stables skeptically. “Who’s going to let us in?” 

Sirius meets your stare as he gives the front door a push, letting it swing open. Your answering smile is worth all the gold in his family’s coffers. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised.” 

“No, you shouldn’t.” Sirius winks at you. He learned long ago that a flirtatious smile and a genuine eagerness for conversation could get him anywhere; after a friendly chat this morning, the stableboy was more than happy to prepare things for the two of you and leave you to your own devices. 

“You’ve got to start learning to throw your weight around,” he says, going to fetch your mare. “You’re a princess.” 

“I don’t identify with that,” you counter lightly. Staying, Sirius notes, well away as he leads the horse outside. “And I don’t think I’d like to throw my weight around.” 

You don’t say it with a hint of judgement. You really are too sweet for your own good, sometimes. You take the reins when Sirius passes them to you, but even after he’s collected his own horse and mounted, you’ve made no move to get on. 

Sirius wants to laugh as you eye your horse warily. She really is a lovely thing, dappled gray with a dark mane and emanating calm even as you fret and fidget at her side. 

“She’s not going to bite,” he says, meeting your worried gaze with a smile. “Do you want a hand up?” 

You look like you’d rather scurry back inside, but you take Sirius’ hand, allowing him to encourage you into the saddle. It’s a clumsy process; you suck in a breath when your mare stirs at your shifting weight. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Sirius grasps your arm before remembering it’s not you he’s supposed to be soothing. He sets his hand to the horse’s flank. “You’re both okay. She’s just an old girl.”

“I know,” you say, voice heavy with dread. “I feel like I’m going to break her poor old back.” 

He grins at you. “Is that what you’re so afraid of? That you’re going to hurt her?” 

You go a tad sheepish. Not quite looking at him, one shoulder lifting. “I’m afraid we’re going to hurt each other,” you admit. 

Sirius laughs. “Gorgeous, this old girl has pranced around with men twice your weight on her back. She can handle you.”

Still, you look wary. Sirius takes your hand and brings it to the mare’s neck. He encourages you to stroke it slowly. 

“See?” he says. “She’s a sweetheart, too. You’re suited to each other.” His own horse stirs beneath him, restless. “Mine, however, is ready to go. Come along.”

He starts out at a slow pace without waiting for you to follow, and is gratified when you do. Your posture straightens immediately, tense and unnatural. Sirius reaches over to poke your middle. 

The sound that escapes you is half cry, half laugh. You twist away from him, instinctively directing your mare to put distance between you. 

“What was that for?” 

“You need to loosen up.” Sirius jabs for you again, pleased when you pull the reins to evade him. “Look, you’re guiding her perfectly. You’ve got it, doll.” 

You look down at your mare like she’s done this all on her own. At another gentle tug from you, she turns until you’re ambling along parallel to Sirius again. 

You gnaw your lip as though mistrustful of this newfound competence. “I don’t see why I need to learn this. How often am I going to be expected to ride a horse?” 

“More often than you’d think.” He winks at the bemused look you send him. “Relax, you look good up there.”

You huff a laugh, looking away as you do whenever he gives you a compliment. One of these days, Sirius is going to get you to take one. “The list of skills I need to pick up just to exist here…” You blow out a breath. “Your resumes must be insane.” 

“Our what?” 

You gawp, and Sirius grins. 

“Joking. We have heard of those even within royal society.” 

Another huffed, begrudging laugh. But you’re loosening up, your posture easing and grip loosening on the reins. You look almost comfortable. 

“You can nearly put this one on your resume, though,” he praises you. “You likely won’t ever need to go faster than a walk like this. Just work on looking a bit more regal and you’ll have it.” 

You shoot Sirius a suspicious look as you straighten your shoulders. “Don’t poke me again.” 

He teases back, “Don’t be so awkward, and I won’t have to.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Just Luke and reader being camp halfblood parental figures.

Percy: why do you call Luke and y/n your parents?

Annabeth; it’s hard not to, epically not when Luke watched over me and made sure my wounds were healed, nurse me back to health when sick like a mother. Whereas y/n would advice me to crush my enemies, destroy their egos with my intellect and ability to think on the spot, but in the same breath beat the shit out of anyone that looked at me wrong.

Annabeth: they both essentially raised me when we were together with Thalia. Who in this situation would be my cool aunt.

Percy: *whispering to himself* note to self, if I am to ever date annabeth, hypothetically, don’t piss off the parental unit known as y/n.

…

Luke: where have you been young man? You’ve had us worried sick.

Percy: who are you meant to be my dad?

You: no I am your dad/parental unit, now answer your mother.

Percy: *crosses arms* it’s none of your business.

You: *also crosses arms* would you like to repeat that again since you’re feeling sassy today?

Percy: …no…I was with Grover and Annabeth.

Luke: we’re only looking out for you, that’s all. *pats his shoulder with a smile* but you do know you’re not allowed to sneak out of your cabins after curfew.

You: which is a rule you broke that thus punishable, so you know what that means ~

Percy: I’m cabin grounded…

You: yes you absolutely are, now get to bed and think about what you’ve done to your poor mother. *cradles Luke in your arms as he tries not to laugh*

…

You: the both of you get on top of your bunks! Get up there!

Connor and travis: *climbing their bunk beds* THIS CABIN IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE!

Luke: this is what you get for replacing shampoo with hair remover, poor Lucas from the Aphrodite cabin can’t look himself in the mirror anymore.

(I like to imagine that Connor and travis sleep on the top bunks of their beds so they can scheme to one another)

…

New camper: *points to you and luke* mom/dad/ etc and dad?

You and Luke: uhhh…yeah! 👍

…

(Good guy Luke au)

Nico: *sweet boy with the sweetest smile, complete deck of mythomagic cards that he wants to talk about, bright eyed and bushy tailed, just over all needs to be protected*

You: *cradles him to your chest* you sweet little boy! I know your pain and you’ve been nothing but brave this entire time.

Luke: *joining you* absolutely the bravest our sweet child of hades, we’ll keep you safe from now on.

Nico: I don’t know what’s going on but do you want to listen to me talk about my card game? *shows you both his cards with a beaming smile*

You and Luke: *sitting yourselves down In front of nico* oh absolutely we do. Nothing would make us happier.

[sweetcherriexs]

good girl; b.e.

smut...

It had started innocently enough. billie was on tour, thousands of miles away, and the distance was starting to wear on both of you. you’d been texting throughout the day, little updates about your lives, but the conversation had taken a turn after dinner when billie sent a photo of herself backstage. She was leaning against a wall, all sweaty with hair stuck to her forehead and eyes hooded. she had that damn eyeliner on that made your pussy throbb and pulsate with need each time you saw her wearing it. the picture was casual, but the look on her face was anything but.

you had responded immediately. you’re killing me, bils. I can’t handle how fucking hot you are.

billie’s reply came swiftly. I know. and I know you’re lying in our bed, thinking about me.

how do you always know? you had typed back, cheeks flushing.

because I know you, baby. I know how bad you want me right now. for me to be inside you, for my mouth on your wet pussy

The flirting escalated quickly. billie’s messages became more explicit, her words laced with the kind of confidence that only she could pull off.

I’m thinking about how soft your skin feels under my hands. how you whimper when I kiss your neck. how you beg for my cock to be inside your pussy.

your fingers trembled as you typed. I miss your touch. I miss the way you make me feel. fuck, bils, please.

then tell me what you’re doing right now, billie pressed.

you hesitated, heart pounding. I’m in bed… thinking about you.

Are you touching yourself? billie’s message was direct, leaving no room for evasion.

your breath hitched. not yet

mm, will you?

you gulped at the message, hand itching to touch your pussy yes

send me a picture, pretty

The request made your stomach flip. you'd done this before, but it still felt daring—exhilarating. you propped your phone up, took a moment to adjust the lighting, and snapped a photo. your skin was flushed, hand resting on your thigh, and your lips parted. your sent it quickly without overthinking.

billie’s response was immediate. fuck, baby, you’re youre so hot. I wish I could be there to take care of you.

then tell me what you’d do, you typed back, fingers moving faster now, eager to know what billie's thinking about doing to you.

call me.

you didn't hesitate, pressing the call button in a second and she accepted the call immediately, her smooth voice ringing out "hey, baby" she mused, a smirk noticeable in her tone.

"hey, bils..." you panted out, breath heavy even though you haven't done anything. "tell me, please" you begged, already so worked up and desperate. you heard her chuckle on the other line before she spoke again;

"I’d start by kissing you. softly at first, just to tease you. then I’d bite your lip, just hard enough to make you gasp. would you like that?"

“yes,” your breathed, your free hand drifting lower.

“and then I’d move down your neck, leaving marks where only I can see them. I’d make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

you moaned, fingers brushing against yourself through your pants. “billie…”

"ah- ah - ah... mm, I want you to strip for me, slowly. take off those clothes, pretty" billie's voice was like velvet, commanding yet sensual.

obediently, you began to undress, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. billie smirked to herself, listening to your eager fumbling.

"That's my good girl. Now, slide those pants down... god i wish i could see you." billie's words were like a drug, sending a rush of heat between your thighs.

you complied, your movements becoming more fluid as you reveled in her instructions. the cool air caressed your naked skin, and you shivered, not from the temperature but from the intensity of her gaze, even though she was miles away. when the cool air of you and billie's bedroom hit your drenched pussy, you gasped the slightest bit, biting your lip in anticipation.

"good... now lie back" she instructs and you comply, shifting back and lying down with a shaky breath. "now, touch yourself, baby. slide your fingers down and tease that clit. I want to hear you moan for me." billie's voice was hoarse with desire, and you could almost feel her breath on your neck.

your fingers trembled as you brought them to your core, circling your clit gently at first, then with increasing pressure. "fuck, billie!" you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut at the sensation. "fuck fuc-... mmm, yes, yes. please-" you gasped out almost incoherent phrases.

"that's it, baby. rub that pretty pussy. imagine its my fingers, hmm? stroking you, making you wetter." billie's words were a symphony of filth, and you were her willing conductor.

you moaned, your fingers working feverishly, picturing billie's long, slender digits joining yours, claiming your pleasure as her own.

“keep going, baby,” billie encouraged, her voice a mix of tenderness and authority. “tell me how it feels.”

“so-... so good, fuck." you moaned "I wish it was your hand, though. your mouth.”

billie’s exhale was sharp, as she drank in your words “I’d make you come so hard, pretty, I’d take my time, make you beg for it,"

your hips lifted off the bed, body craving the release only billie could give you. “please…”

"stop" you whined at the single command, but your body knew better, obeying her immediately. "good girl. touch your pretty tits"

you inhaled deeply, moving your wet hand up your body until it reached the plush mounds on your chest, squeezing them.

"that's right, baby. imagine my fingers playing with your nipples, pinching and rolling them between my thumbs and forefingers."

you whimpered again, rolling your hardened nipples between your fingers. tugging, rolling, repeat and anything in-between as you let out soft gasps.

your fingers slipped deeper between your folds, slick with desire, and you moaned as you imagined billie's hand moving in unison with yours, claiming your pleasure as her own.

"that's it, baby. you're doing so good. such a good girl" her voice only intensified the burn in your stomach further, breath coming in short gasps as your fingers pumped in and out of your sopping cunt, the sound of the wet squelching noticeable through the phone as your chest rose and fell with each thrust of your fingers.

"bils... bils- fuck, baby-" you moaned, rutting against your own hand. "I- shit, please-" your wrist was burning, but you couldn't stop. your fingers were plunging in and out of your wet pussy at an erratic pace, desperate and needy for release. for billie's touch.

“you sound so pretty when you’re like this,” billie murmured. “so desperate for me. I love hearing you fall apart.”

"I'm gon- please-... fuck, fuck... I'm gonna cum-" you moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you imagined billie's fingers being the ones fucking you so good. "can-... can I? please, please" you panted, feeling your clit throb, needy for a touch as the knot in the bottom of your belly threatened to snap any second now.

billie hummed, the sound spurring your orgasm on even more and you whimpered. "I don't know, baby... can you?"

"please-" you gasp out again " I've been a good girl, bils. please-.."

billie smirked, letting out a breath before speaking. "cum for me, pretty girl. cum all over your own hand as you imagine it's mine"

the coil snapped, making you gasp loudly, back arching off the bed as you surrendered to the pleasure, your body convulsing as you climaxed, your cries echoing through the night. your body tensed as waves of pleasure crashed over you and you cried out billie’s name.

as you lay panting, Billie's soft laughter filled your ears. "Gosh I wish I was there... tasting your sensitive little pussy" she muttered, breath noticeably heavy and her voice husky.

"yeah?" you breathed out, your heart still pounding in your ears. "I'll do it for you-..." you said and your head came up to your lips, taking your drenched fingers into your mouth and moaning around them, pushing them deeper as you gagged around them before pulling it out.

"fuck" billie huffed "do you taste good, baby? hmm? tell me" she asked, her voice dropping an octave as the desire caught up to her.

"yes, yes I do" you nodded, though she can't see. "wish I was sucking your cock though" you heard billie groan on the other line, then some rustling before she spoke again.

"keep it up, pretty. it's my turn"