#and does a little dance and a spin

[ultipoter]

Joined a Higurashi watch party which the ever wonderful @embbu invited me to, and the bit with Takano spinning inspired me to make this. Volo is just excited to see the plates!

[hiort]

our siren boy

[bananacat76]

I love your works sm AAAAAAAA AYAYAYYAYYAYYYY !!!!!! <333333 EHEHWNSNEKEJDKEVHWNWJWTHEYRE SO CUTEEIEIIIIIEII

haghsbsjsndkdhied tysm omg

hhehehehhehehdhdjsusjjsjdnejdjdjdj manic giggling hehehhehehehenskdm

[lineofdance]

There is not enough love for smooth/standard in this world. Rhythm/latin get so much of the love bc they’re energetic and like sexy or whatever but smooth is just as energetic, it’s graceful and got so much volume, it’s fast and powerful and flirtatious, it’s the push and pull and story of two people, and standard is beautiful too, it’s all connection and dimension and clean lines, it is history and art and science, it’s slow control and quick strength, and both of them are breath, sweat, the ache in your heels and your knees, the burning in you shoulders and back, the performance and the lights, the costume, the floor, the connection between you and the music and your partner and everyone watching.

[somerandomdutchfangirl]

Random headcanon/au thing brought to you directly from my brain:

Swan hybrid Jack Rose

Like mans just straight up has wings (swan wings ofc, they're red with pink tips because i Do Not Care about realism but instead about color schemes and vibes). Little down feathers in his hair. Talons as nails. Perhaps even tail feathers? And definitely feathered ears

Like,,,, imagine the fluff potential y'all.

Or better yet... Imagine the angst potential

[candycryptids]

Chunky and miserable little man

[lonely--seeker]

I don't think any song has ever had the effect Mr. Capgras Encounters a Secondhand Vanity: Tulpamancer’s Prosopagnosia/Pareidolia (As Direct Result of Trauma to the Fusiform Gyrus) has in me .

[phalacrocoraxdreams]

i could have been such a ballet girlie (transmasc-coded) if my dad hadnt traumatized me maaaaan… couldve played sports too

[luvsupa]

STUDY FUCK BUDDIES ?!

tags: gojo satoru x fem!reader, college au, gojo’s hella rich and a player, smut (p in v), cōckwarming, exhibitionism, dumbification, public sex (ish, they’re kinda hidden), i quickly edited this so sorry if there’s mistakes, I’ll fix it up soon!! mdni.

w.c: 1.8k

a/n: THANK U GUYS SOSOSOSO MUCH FOR 1.1K!! I DIDNT REALIZE UNTIL TODAY SO HERES THISS MWAAA 🩷🩷🩷

"can we study together?"

you huff in annoyance, pausing your studies to glare at the white-haired male who's been distracting you for the past hour. studying for physics is hard enough without gojo's constant interruptions. you set your pencil down, leaning back in your creaky old chair, the sound echoing in the mostly quiet library. you're tucked into a corner of the library, somewhat secluded by the shelves but still very visible to anyone passing by.

"gojo, you never study and still get perfect grades. stop rubbing it in my face," you pout, crossing your arms and slouching deeper into your seat. he giggles, leaning on the table, his black satchel sliding beside you.

gojo is the model student in every professor's eyes-good-looking, always attending class, acing exams, and tutoring everyone. it's infuriating. but beneath that perfect exterior lies the campus's biggest player, known for throwing parties and sleeping with a string of girls every week. did you mention he's gorgeous?

your thoughts are interrupted when gojo pulls out a chair beside you, manspreading as your gaze involuntarily roams over him-lower and lower.

ugh, focus.

but he smells incredible, his expensive cologne filling your senses and making your head spin. he's so close that your heart races, his intoxicating scent overwhelming you. you've been near him before, but this feels different.

"m’kayy, let's study," he says, scooting his chair closer, the wood screeching against the floor as a few heads turn your way. he leans in, peering at the cursed physics textbook in front of you.

"is this a bet or something?" you ask kinda off topic, arching an eyebrow as he tilts his head, confusion dancing in his striking blue eyes, now darker in the dimly lit library.

"rich frat student, gojo satoru wins a bet after helping unknown classmate," you say sarcastically, air quoting for effect. gojo narrows his eyes, contemplating before smirking.

"hmm, sounds like a good porno-big dick satoru fucks hot classmate in library," he replies, mimicking your air quotes. you gasp, and he bursts into laughter, drawing a few glares from nearby students who can't help but overhear your conversation.

"so, this is a bet to get in my pants?" you whisper, raising an eyebrow. he leans closer, a little too close, and you inhale more of his addictive scent. fuck he smells so good.

"nope," he says softly, flashing that killer smile as his minty breath fans against your face, his gaze drifting shamelessly to your chest. "but if you wanna fuck, we coulddd."your jaw drops at his bluntness, does he have any shame?

you turn back to your work, but from the corner of your eye, you see gojo smirking as he pulls out his phone, scrolling through random videos.

for the past ten minutes you try to concentrate, but he turns the volume up, his phone speaking blasting his videos loudly- completely derailing your focus. the library is now slightly scattered with students; most students have left, unable to endure the disturbance, but those remaining can still see you both.

you glance at the window, noticing the sun setting. panic rises-your physics assignment is due tonight, and you've barely completed three questions- and you don’t even know if you did it right!

turning to gojo, you find him mindlessly scrolling, his legs still spread wide as he’s gotten too comfortable, causing you to tighten the grip on your pencil out of frustration. he said he would help!

though, you kinda declined his offer...

"satoru, i need help—"

"look at this," he interrupts, shoving his phone in your face. you squint at the bright screen.

spicy library challenges.

your eyes widen in horror at the video montage of couples trying to hide their moans while having risky sex in libraries. gojo bites his lip, clearly enjoying your reaction.

"y-you wanna do this? with me?" you stammer, pushing his phone away, but he nods, an eager glint in his eye. part of you is tempted to experience that with him, but another part just wants to finish your assignment.

"yeaa-what, are you a virgin?"

"what? no, i'm not!" you protest, the squeal in your voice betraying your truth, i’m not! he hums, clearly skeptical.

"whatever. what do you need help with?" he asks, frowning slightly as he grabs your worksheet and textbook.

"what about the video?" you counter, referring to the spicy library challenge, meeting his gaze. he looks directly into your eyes, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"looks like someone had a change of heart," he teases, and you look away, the tension between you almost unbearable as you realize you're still in the line of sight of curious onlookers who might be listening in.

and that’s how you found yourself in this tangled mess, a challenge you thought you could conquer like those girls in the video. but this was nothing like you imagined. gojo had pulled you onto his lap, pulling down your panties as well as your pants- only down to your thighs as he made you sit on his thick cock. he filled you to the brim- completely moulding your cunt for him. your velvety walls hugging him tightly as he groans once in a while as you clench hard- wanting to feel more- a little thrust will send you over, but no. he wants you to sit all cute on his cock as you read your book aloud- without making any mistakes.

cockwarming is easy, he said. oh what a liar.

his hands rested firmly on your waist, holding you as you struggled to focus on the words of the book in your hands. each time you tried to read aloud, a soft chuckle escaped his lips, sending shivers down your spine. you try your hardest to hold back a moan each time you read each word.

“c’monn pretty, you were just reading so well,” he encourages, his voice laced with venom as he leans closer to you, causing you to moan at the subtle friction. you can feel every inch of him- every vein down his thick shaft and his as his bulbous tip smushing your cervix. “starttttt here.” he points with his index finger, but you’re trying your hardest to focus- but everything is so overwhelming you mentally can’t.

“c-cursed energy is… nghh- generated by… positive- fuckkk,” you moan loudly, your cunt spasms as one of gojos hands moved swiftly and sharp under the table- slapping your soaked cunt as a punishment, your poor clit twitching at the impact. 

“positive? sweetheart, read that again.” gojo scolds as he smothers your cunt with your slick, rubbing cute circles on your nub as you clench hard- gripping him tighter while bucking your hips forward- causing him to groan in the nape of your neck. 

another moan escapes your lips as your body is now trembling- you could barely sit up straight as rudely smacks your cunt once again- the electricity moving through your body as you slightly regain focus. 

“negative- ‘s negative e-energy,” you stammer as you feel a burning pool in your lower stomach- your head already starts to feel dizzy. you feel like you’re going to burst. 

“good fuckin’ girl,“ he praises as you fall forward onto the paper work- slightly crumbling the worksheet as his brows raise at your reaction, his hand moves away from your heat as attempts to get you to sit up and continue on.

“c-cum… ‘m gonna cum,” you stammer out as your face is practically up against the textbook. at this point gojo nearly loses it, he never been this turned on up until now. his eyes flutter as you start rocking your hips. you’re drunk off him that all you can think about is- gojo, gojo, gojo- that you’ve completely forgotten where you guys are— but he feels so good you can’t think straight. you slowly start a steady pace, moving faster as you fuck yourself on his thick cock, wincing each time at the length as his tip is repeatedly kissing your cervix.

gojo on the other hand is gnawing his bottom lip- holding back his moans as he watches his length disappear into your sopping cunt. he can’t take it anymore that he abruptly stands up the wooden chair now knocked over as he’s digging his slender fingers on your hips as he bends you on the wooden table. both of you unsure whether there’s people still in the library or not. he roughly grabs your flesh as he fucks you hard, ramming his cock in and out as you cry out, soaking your papers with your tears. the sounds of skin slapping echos the library as the table begins to shake roughly, creakkss heard by every thrust met.

“fuckk you feel so g-good,” gojo whimpers as your pussy us swallowing him whole, his deep pace making you see stars as you both moan uncontrollably.

“where do you want it? inside?” he rasps as you can’t think straight, all you want is him to continue fucking you good. gojo brings one of his hands to swat your ass, making you yelp at the stinging pain.

“‘m speaking to you-“

“i-inside,” you manage to get out as he grins, his pace quickening as he continued to babble. your cunt flutters around his cock as both of you come undone with his final thrust. his thick and heavy cum painting the inside of your walls white as you moan at how full you feel- being stuffed to the brim. 

both of you are panting loudly- out of breath as you need a minute to regain full consciousness. gojo carefully slips out with a slight pop!, as you whine at the loss of his length as your cunt clenches around nothing. gojo crouches down to see the mess you two made as both of your mixed cum seeps out of your slit, so thick and goopy. unexpectedly, gojo drags a lonngggg swipe along your achy cunt- his tongue collecting both of your messes as he loudly slurps.

“f-fuck you’re so nasty,” you shudder at the feeling of his tongue entering your sore cunt as he laps up the mess. gojo pulls away, kissing the back of your thighs as he stands up- tucking away his soft cock back into his pants as he also helps you look more presentable than you do now. you look down at the mess you’ve made, papers crumbled and damp, the textbook slightly damaged, and everything else rearranged on the wooden table.

“same time tomorrow?”

[cloudboba]

going for a 15 min walk, telling myself through tears that ‘something is better than nothing’

[yeyinde]

kinda enamoured with the thought of our poor mc going to a dud of party but meeting Kyle and Johnny there (both looking as out of place as you feel) but instead of taking you home, they bring you back to Price and Ghost. a sweet little treat for them all to share.

and they're charming, of course. too charming. but alcohol numbs most of your inhibitions about how touchy they are. how physical. folding themselves into your space, leaning down to whisper in your ear when you can hear them just fine. hands on the small on your back. around your wrist. your waist. knuckles against your cheek—

god, you're such a pretty little thing, aren't you?

warm skin. breath that smells of thick, sweet cream and oaky black tea. hands curling under the hem of your shirt—shush, shush, doe, ahm jus' helpin' ye; yer hot, ain't ye? lemme help ye out o'yer jumper—thick, sunkissed fingers dancing over your skin.

you feel funny, you slur into his—Kyle, he huffs, grinning wide; wolfish: call me Kyle, sweet thing—neck, chasing the scent of spiced vanilla and wild, ripened plums. everything is spinning. spinning—

"god, he's gonna just love you—"

but they'll take you somewhere. home. you nod, nose tucked tight against his warm, steady pulse. "wanna go home—" you mumble into salt-tinged skin, and they laugh.

"oh, don't worry, beautiful. we'll get you right where you need to be."

you trust them, of course. let them usher you into their car, curled up against a broad, warm chest. lulled under a blanket of security wrapped tight in strong, firm arms. and if his hand wanders, fingers tickling the insides of your thighs. well—

you can't deny they're attractive. maybe you can get their number after and call them in the morning.

but that doesn't happen.

you wake to the sound of voices. hands sliding under your knees, around your shoulder. carried into a house that isn't your own—some strange cabin deep in the forest. the glow of the wood stove in the only light on inside, and you struggle to adjust to the thick orange haze.

"what's going on?" you ask, blinking at the sight that greets your liquid eyes.

Kyle places you down on a rug, holding your hips tight when you fumble. laughing, just a little, under his breath when you gasp.

sitting in an old, wooden chair is a man you've never seen before. big, broad. intimidating. his thick legs spread lazily—one kicked out against the rug, the other bent at the knee. and elbow rests on it. in his hand, a lit cigar. the other dangles, loose and lax, off the armrest. fingers curling, unfurling, into spasmic fists.

his eyes burn caeruleum in the flickering gold.

you fight back a shiver, but feel it slide like hot oil down your spine.

"what—?"

"my boys didn't explain it to you?" he asks, voice a rough, abrasive scratch in your head. gritty. porous. you feel it against your skin. fingers digging into your nape. bad girl. there's something about him that commands attention, and you give it easily as he tuts, pale lips pulling into a condescending sneer beneath the thick of his beard. "or maybe you just weren't payin' attention, sweetheart."

"attention to what—" sir almost trembles out. his lips twitch like he heard all the same. "i just want to go home—"

the hand dangling over the ledge flares to life. he flicks it careless around the room with a hum. "you are home."

"my real home—"

and then you see it.

he moves like liquid through the shadows. folds himself into the dark like its where he belongs. and you thought—and still very much do—the man sitting on his throne was large, intimidating, but it pales at the absurd height of this thing that slinks out of the corner with a heavy, laden gaze. powdered charcoal. endlessly black. flat, though. amused.

when he speaks, it's all brass. "what's this? Johnny brought 'ome a stray?"

"nah," you hear Kyle's grin. feel the phantom shift of sharp teeth against your neck. breathless laugher. warm hands. baby, you feel so good. "we found 'er in a club. lost little lamb."

"and you dragged her back to the wolf's den, mm?"

"you complainin', cap?"

it takes all of your willpower to tear your eyes off the man, but you manage. ripping them away until you find him—Price—again. he stares back with a lidded, heavy gaze. unflinching. hungry.

"not in the slightest."

Kyle purrs. "Johnny couldn't keep his hands off her, sir. might have some competition for who goes first."

cold air on your nape. dread bubbles up in your belly. "no—"

they continue like you hadn't spoken. like you don't exist. the man in the corner folds his thick arms over his broad chest, shaking his head a chainsaw-like grunt. laughter, you think.

but Price doesn't seem to find it nearly as funny. his teeth sink into the butt of the cigar with a growl. "gonna fight me for first, Sargeant?"

Johnny snorts, and rubs his finger under his nose.

"she's sweet," he murmurs, all wide-eyed and feverish. cheeks pinked under the warm spill of orange. "cannae blame a man fer wantin' such a pretty little thing—"

"back of the line," Kyle prods. and you wish his touch made your stomach churn, but that thread of intrigue, alcohol spooled want, still thrums in your veins.

"i just—" you stammer, eyes widening as real, tangible fear sets in. skewers into your belly. heart in your throat. the erratic echoes pounding in your ears. "i just want to go home."

"you are home, birdie—" he speaks and it feels like the walls shake. "didn't get a bright, did you, Johnny?"

"tha's mean, Lt—" his hands snake around your waist, pulling you into his hard chest. "didnae anyone teach ye 'ow tae chirp at birds?" the shorn sides of his Mohawk scratch against your cheek when he nuzzles, kittenish, against your face. "don't listen tae 'im, doe. yer th' sweetest, brightest lit'le thing—"

"mm, and such a bright little girl would know how to behave, wouldn't she?"

even with the alcohol dulling your senses—thoughts scattered and thin as two pairs of hands start pulling at your clothes, stripping you down to nothing—you can still see his words for what it is:

a threat.

as if to reinforce this idea, the man—Ghost, Johnny whines into your burning, stinging cheek, skin chafing from the graze of his buzzed sides: gotta 'ave a taste, Lt—moves, his body spilling out in a dizzying tumble of thick limbs. he stands by the door—the only one—and folds his arms over his chest once more, head cocking to the side as he stares down at you.

"don't worry, Johnny," he rumbles, lids slipping to half cresences over the ink black of his eyes. "i intend to."

the air stills when Price hums. your attention is pulled back to him instantly, but a part of you—all animal—halves it down the middle, keeping Ghost in your sights at all times. turning your back on him feels—

stupid.

you shiver.

Price shifts in the chair, reaching up for the cigar still pinched between his teeth. the look in his eyes is a startling, heavy thing. doom tastes like ash between your teeth.

"an' you're a bright girl, aren't you?"

it's not really a question. you nod anyway, feeling the fight in your body dissolve like wisps of smoke in the dense, thickened air. excitement, desire, hums—an electrical current—in the air, bubbling up between them. they move around you in a way that's dizzingly coordinated—a living, thrumming dance. stigmergy. as your clothes fall, as their hands grab your flesh, pinching and caressing, moaning in your ear about how soft you are, how sweet, one, horrifying thought thickens in the back of your head:

you know, then, that you're not going home.

"oh, sweetheart," Price drawls like he knows what you're thinking. a mocking little coo as he tucks his knuckles under your chin, lifting your head up to meet his burning gaze. there's something in there, you think. something awful. something hungry.

"you already are."

[eclips-moon]

Cute things the Batboys do in a relationship:

Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Morning Texts: This dude lives for sending those “Good morning, beautiful ” texts, usually with some goofy selfie where his hair’s a mess. He just wants to be the first thing you smile about.

Random Dance Breaks: If you’re in the kitchen or just standing around, Dick will 100% spin you around for a random dance. He’ll hum some random tune and make you laugh like it’s a movie moment.

Spontaneous Picnics: Out of nowhere, he’ll hit you with a “meet me at the park” text, and you show up to find he’s got a whole cute picnic setup. The dude’s got snacks, a blanket, and everything ready like a rom-com lead.

Cuddle Monster: Watching a movie? Cuddling. Sitting on the couch? Cuddling. He’s got an arm around you, pulling you into his chest every chance he gets. And don’t even get me started on bedtime—he’s glued to you.

Pet Names: You’re never just your name. It’s always “Sweetheart,” “Princess,” or something that’ll make you blush and roll your eyes. He loves seeing you react.

Jason Todd (Red Hood)

Cooking Shenanigans: He’s lowkey a beast in the kitchen, but acts like he needs your help. Next thing you know, you’re tossing flour at each other, making a mess, and laughing like idiots.

Protective as Hell: Jason’s that guy who’ll drape his jacket over you before you even realize you’re cold. If it’s raining, he’s got the umbrella over you—he doesn’t care if he gets soaked.

Books & Notes: He’ll leave books for you to read with little handwritten notes inside. Some are funny, some are deep, but he’s always thinking about you even when he’s not there.

Late Night Rides: He’s all about taking you on rides around the city late at night. It’s quiet, and the world feels like it’s just the two of you while the cool breeze whips by.

Forehead Kisses: Not super into PDA, but will definitely kiss your forehead when it’s just you two. It's his way of saying “I got you” without saying a word.

Tim Drake (Red Robin)

Study Dates: Tim’s ideal date is just chilling in a coffee shop, both of you working on stuff, but occasionally reaching over to hold hands or sneak in a quick kiss. He’s not the clingy type, but loves quiet closeness.

Geeky Gifts: He’s that guy who’ll surprise you with some gadget or comic you mentioned once. His memory for stuff you like is insane, and he’ll always find something that makes you smile.

Random Nerd Facts: You’ll be mid-conversation and he’ll just drop some random fact about the universe or tech that he knows will make you roll your eyes. He lives for those reactions.

Caring Vibes: Tim’s the type to bring you tea when you’re stressed or randomly tell you to take a break. And when you’re sad? He’ll pull you into his lap without saying anything—just wants to make sure you’re okay.

Subtle Compliments: He’s not super vocal, but you’ll catch him staring at you, and when you ask why, he’ll just casually be like, “You’re stunning,” with the softest smile. Smooth af.

Damian Wayne (Robin)

Low-Key Sweet: Damian won’t say it, but he shows love in little ways. Your favorite snack? He’ll just get it. Something broken? Fixed. His love language is basically “silent but effective.”

Learning Your Hobbies: Whatever you’re into, he’ll make it his mission to learn it. You mention an interest? Bet, he’s researching it like it’s a case for Batman. It’s his way of being involved without being obvious.

Animals Everywhere: He’s constantly bringing over animals, like “This cat needs to meet you.” If his pets like you, that’s basically a proposal in Damian-speak. And they always like you.

Art Hangouts: He loves painting, so sometimes he’ll invite you to join him, and it turns into a competition of who can make the dumbest art. Expect lots of teasing.

Acts of Service: He won’t say “I love you” all the time, but you’ll feel it in the way he does things for you—like carrying your stuff, fixing something, or just being there when you need him.

[pucksandpower]

Suck Him Dry

Day 3 → Oral Fixation 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The room is dark, the kind of deep, enveloping darkness that sinks into your bones. The only light comes from a sliver of moonlight peeking through the heavy curtains, casting shadows that dance lazily across the ceiling. Charles is breathing softly beside you, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that, on any other night, might lull you back to sleep.

But tonight is different. Your mind is restless, thoughts spinning in circles, too fast and too loud to let you sleep.

You stare up at the ceiling, your eyes tracing the shadows. You don’t know how long you’ve been awake — minutes, maybe hours. Time loses meaning when you're stuck inside your own head.

You feel like you’re trapped in a loop, a constant replay of every worry, every doubt, every little thing that could possibly go wrong. It’s exhausting, but there’s no way out. Not tonight, at least.

Beside you, Charles stirs. You freeze, holding your breath, hoping you haven't woken him up. But then you feel his hand slide over, warm and reassuring, finding yours in the darkness. He squeezes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice is soft, rough with sleep, but there’s a thread of concern woven through it.

You shake your head, even though you know he can’t see you. “No,” you whisper. “I’m just … stuck in my head again.”

Charles hums, a low sound that vibrates through the silence. He turns onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. Even in the dark, you can feel the weight of his gaze, steady and unwavering.

“What’s going on in there?” He asks gently, tapping your temple with his finger.

You sigh, closing your eyes. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” He’s quiet for a moment, just watching you. Then he shifts closer, his hand moving to rest on your hip, his thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing motion. “You need something to get you out of your head,” he says quietly.

You don’t respond. It’s not like you haven’t tried everything already — reading, counting sheep, focusing on your breathing. Nothing works.

Charles seems to understand. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I have an idea,” he murmurs. “But you have to trust me.”

You open your eyes, turning your head to look at him. There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes, something tender and a little mischievous. You nod slowly. “Okay. I trust you.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Good.” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Come here,” he says, tugging you gently toward him.

You follow his lead, letting him guide you until your head is resting against his thigh. He strokes your hair gently, his touch soothing. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. Charles shifts, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, guiding you further down. You feel the warmth of him against your cheek, the soft fabric of his boxers brushing against your skin.

“Open your mouth,” he says softly.

You do as he says, parting your lips. He guides you with gentle pressure, and you take him into your mouth, the familiar taste and feel of him grounding you in a way that nothing else does. You close your eyes, letting out a slow breath through your nose as you begin to suck gently.

Charles lets out a low groan, his hand tightening in your hair. “That’s it, just like that,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so well, mon amour.”

You focus on the sound of his voice, the gentle praise in his tone, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. You feel yourself start to relax, the tension in your body slowly melting away. The constant buzzing in your head quiets, replaced by the rhythmic motion of your mouth and the soft, reassuring sounds Charles makes above you.

He strokes your hair, his thumb brushing over your temple in a slow, soothing rhythm. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers. “So perfect. Just keep going, mon cœur.”

You hum softly around him, the vibration drawing a soft curse from his lips. He tugs lightly on your hair, guiding you a little deeper. You take him easily, your jaw relaxing as you find a steady rhythm, each motion smooth and deliberate.

Charles lets out a shaky breath, his hand tightening in your hair again. “God, you feel so good,” he murmurs. “So fucking good. You’re amazing, you know that?”

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He knows. He always knows. You focus on the feel of him in your mouth, the steady pressure against your tongue, the way he throbs gently with each pass of your lips. It’s comforting, in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s like everything else fades away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, intimate moment.

He shifts slightly, his thigh muscles flexing under your cheek. “Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Do you need to stop?”

You shake your head slightly, your mouth still full. You don’t want to stop. Not yet. You need this — the steady, grounding presence of him, the way he makes everything else disappear.

He chuckles softly, his fingers threading through your hair again. “Okay,” he says quietly. “We’ll keep going as long as you need, mon ange.”

You don’t know how long you stay like that — minutes, maybe hours. Time loses meaning when you’re with him like this, when the only thing that matters is the steady rhythm of your mouth and the quiet sounds of his pleasure. You start to feel yourself getting drowsy, the tension in your body melting away completely.

Charles seems to notice. He strokes your hair gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You’re getting tired, aren’t you?” He murmurs.

You hum softly in response, your eyes fluttering closed. He chuckles again, a soft, affectionate sound. “That’s okay,” he says quietly. “Just let yourself fall asleep, mon cœur. I’ve got you.”

You do as he says, letting your eyes close fully. You keep sucking softly, the motion slowing as you start to drift off. Charles hums a soft, soothing tune under his breath, his fingers still moving gently through your hair. You feel yourself slipping into sleep, the last thing you hear is the soft, steady sound of his breathing.

As you fall asleep, still sucking, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. For the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet, your body relaxed. And you know, without a doubt, that as long as Charles is here, you’ll always have a way out of your own head.

***

You wake slowly, consciousness returning like a gentle tide washing over you. The world is soft and quiet, the room bathed in the faint blue light of early morning. For a moment, you’re disoriented, unsure of where you are or why you feel so warm and cocooned. Then you realize your mouth is still full, lips stretched around the familiar weight of Charles.

Your head is still resting on his thigh, and you can feel the solid muscle beneath your cheek. The sheets are warm and heavy around you, cocooning you in the lingering scent of Charles — clean and musky, with a hint of something uniquely him that you’ve come to love. His hand is still tangled in your hair, his fingers relaxed but still holding onto you, as if even in sleep, he doesn’t want to let you go.

Blinking your eyes open, you adjust to the dim light. Charles is still asleep, his chest rising and falling with each deep, even breath. You can feel his thigh move slightly under your cheek with each inhale, the slow rhythm of his breathing a comforting reminder that he’s here, right here with you. You don’t want to wake him, but you can’t help the way your tongue instinctively moves, brushing against the sensitive underside of him.

He stirs, letting out a soft sigh in his sleep, his grip on your hair tightening for just a moment before relaxing again. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, pooling low in your belly. You can feel him harden in your mouth, his body responding even in sleep. It’s intoxicating, the way you can affect him like this, the way he trusts you so completely, even when he’s not awake.

You shift slightly, adjusting your position under the sheets. Your lips tighten around him, your tongue pressing more firmly against the sensitive spot that makes him shiver. His breathing hitches, a soft groan escaping his lips. He’s still asleep, but his body knows you, recognizes your touch and responds to it.

Encouraged, you start to move more deliberately, sucking gently, your head bobbing in a slow, steady rhythm. The taste of him floods your mouth, salty and intoxicating, and you can’t help the way your body reacts. Heat blooms between your thighs, a low, insistent ache that makes you press your legs together, trying to find some relief.

But you don’t stop, don’t even slow down. If anything, you speed up, eager to taste more of him, to coax him awake with your mouth.

Charles groans again, louder this time, his hand tightening in your hair. “Merde,” he mutters, his voice rough with sleep. You feel him stir, his body shifting slightly as he wakes. “What …” His voice trails off into a low moan as you take him deeper, your lips stretching around him as you suck harder.

“Fuck, mon amour …” His voice is thick with sleep and something else — something deeper, more primal. You can hear the way his breathing changes, growing faster, more uneven. He’s fully awake now, and you can feel his body tense under yours, his muscles tightening as he tries to hold back.

You don’t let him. You move faster, sucking harder, your tongue working against him with a practiced ease that you know drives him crazy. He groans, his hips jerking up involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. “God, you’re �� you’re perfect,” he mutters, his voice barely more than a breathless whisper. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop …”

You hum around him, the sound vibrating through your throat and sending a shiver down his spine. His reaction spurs you on, and you take him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate him. He curses softly in French, his fingers tightening in your hair, guiding you with a gentle but insistent pressure.

“Just like that,” he breathes. “Mon dieu, just like that. You’re doing so good, so fucking good …”

You moan softly around him, the sound muffled by his length filling your mouth. The taste of him, the heat of his skin against your lips, the way he reacts to your every touch — it’s intoxicating, overwhelming. You feel yourself growing wetter, the ache between your thighs intensifying with every passing second.

Charles lets out a low groan, his hips bucking up slightly as he nears his release. “I’m close,” he warns, his voice strained. “Fuck, I’m so close …”

You don’t stop, don’t slow down. You want this — you want to taste him, to feel him lose control in your mouth. You suck harder, your tongue swirling around him with a renewed fervor. He lets out a strangled moan, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully as he finally lets go.

He comes with a shuddering groan, his hips jerking up as he spills into your mouth. The taste of him floods your senses, warm and slightly salty, and you swallow eagerly, not wanting to waste a single drop. He groans again, softer this time, his body trembling with the force of his release.

But you don’t stop. Even as he starts to soften in your mouth, you keep going, your lips and tongue working with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. He lets out a surprised gasp, his hand tightening in your hair again.

“Mon amour, what are you …” His voice trails off into a moan as you suck harder, your tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of him. “Fuck, I-I can’t …”

You don’t listen. You don’t want to. You want to taste every last drop of him, to drain him of everything he has to offer. You feel a surge of satisfaction as he starts to harden again, his body responding to your insistent touch.

“Jesus, you’re insatiable,” he mutters, his voice thick with a mix of awe and arousal. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

You hum around him, your lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. You can feel him starting to tremble beneath you, his body on the edge of overstimulation. But you don’t stop. You can’t. You want more — need more.

Charles groans, his hips twitching as he tries to pull away. “I … I can’t, it’s too much …”

But you don’t let him. You wrap your arms around his hips, holding him in place as you suck harder, your tongue pressing against the sensitive spot that you know will drive him crazy. He lets out a choked moan, his body tensing under yours as he teeters on the edge of another release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck …” He’s barely coherent now, his words slurred with pleasure and overstimulation. “Please, I … I can’t. I’m gonna …”

He comes again, harder this time, his body convulsing with the force of his release. You swallow every drop, your lips never leaving him, even as he starts to soften once more. He’s trembling now, his body twitching with aftershocks, but you don’t let up.

Charles gasps, his hand weakly pushing at your shoulder. “Mon amour, please … I can’t — it’s too much …”

But you don’t stop. You suck harder, your tongue working against him with a desperate, insistent rhythm. You’re close now, so close, the taste of him pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel the tension building in your core, a tight coil that’s ready to snap.

He groans, his voice hoarse with pleasure and exhaustion. “Please, I … I need you to stop, I can’t take it …”

But you’re too far gone to listen. You’re on the edge, teetering on the brink of release, and you can’t stop, not now. You suck harder, your tongue pressing against him in a way that makes him shudder.

And then you’re there, the tension finally snapping as your orgasm crashes over you in a wave of pleasure. You moan around him, your body shaking with the force of it, your mouth never leaving him. You keep sucking, keep licking, riding out your orgasm as you drain him of everything he has to offer.

Charles gasps, his body going limp beneath you as he finally gives in, his head falling back against the pillow. “Merde …” he mutters, his voice barely more than a breathless whisper. “You’re … you’re incredible …”

You hum softly in response, your body still trembling with aftershocks. You finally pull away, your lips releasing him with a soft pop. You rest your head against his thigh, your eyes closed as you try to catch your breath.

He strokes your hair gently, his touch soothing. “Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Did I … did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, a small, contented smile spreading across your lips. “No,” you whisper. “I’m perfect.”

He chuckles softly, his fingers still moving through your hair. “That you are, mon ange. That you are.”

You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing completely against him. You feel a deep sense of satisfaction, a contentment that you haven’t felt in a long time. For the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet, your body at peace.

Charles hums softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I love you,” he murmurs. “So much.”

You smile, your eyes still closed. “I love you too,” you whisper. “More than anything.”

He chuckles again, a soft, affectionate sound. “Good,” he says quietly. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

[chiscaralight]

don't fuck your enemy!

synopsis: you just so happened to end up drunk with your enemy in the club bathroom. what would be more fuck than punching him in the face? fucking him!

includes: nsfw! scara x reader public sex ish. slight degradation. unprotected bathroom sex, p in v sex, mentions of oral sex, reader is under the influence but its all consensual. slight car sex, little bit of regret. this feels new to me, but I absolutely loved writing it! based off a request that I will link here

“scaraaa…”

“quit whining.”

you’re wiggling your hips to him, as he struggles to get his belt off.

“you’re obnoxious. is this how you treat everyone you say you hate? slut.”

“and you’re the one feeding into it. just shut up and-“

the moan you let out is drowned in the music. it’s not loud enough to draw attention, but if anyone else is in the bathroom, they’d definitely hear it. it’s not your fault you’re in this position, after a couple of rounds of shots, this stupid, sexy man wouldn’t stop staring at you in what he says is ‘disgust’. hard to believe when he wasted no time in following through with your advances, pressing you against the stall wall and crashing his lips onto yours.

but yes, you’re a slut for letting him push his cock past your lips, keeping your eyes trained on him as he groaned about how good that felt when you weren’t spewing bullshit, or you nuzzling your head into his hand as he tangles his fingers in your well-done hair.

but no, he’s not a fucking whore for dragging you off the ground and for bunching your short dress up at your hips. nor is he one for pressing his lips against your skin, marking up and down your neck as his fingers glide over your clothed hole before pulling your panties into the side.

you won’t let it get to you now though, because the mixture of the alcohol making your mind spin, with the way the heat from his fingers is dancing around your body, tracing obscure shapes into the fat of your hips before sliding up to cup your breasts is enough to keep any other words out of your mouth, save for his name.

it’s almost insane how good he is because he’s rocking just enough to hit you with enough force, but not enough to shake the plastic frame of the makeshift wall. your hands are finding his wrists, trying to ground yourself to something, anything while he fucks your senses away in the bathroom of some upscale nightclub, trying to ground himself from how good you feel. this has to be wrong on so many levels, fucking you, after everything you’ve said, he’s said, you’ve done, he’s done?

that seems to be the least of your worries now because he can see your eyes rolling back, tongue lolling out of your mouth as he slides a finger into the heat of your mouth. your reactions to his touch are quick, the way you jerk into his hand, or close your lips around his fingers like it was nothing. like it’s what you were made to do. his wet digits now slide back down towards your swollen clit, applying a certain pressure that has you crying out his name with that grating, gorgeous voice of yours. he doesn’t even have it in him to silence you, he’s twitching at the way it rolls off your tongue. fuck, if he knew you’d be this perfect, he would have cut the bullshit and bent you over long ago! but maybe it was more rewarding like this, fleeting memories of all the times he’s pumped his cock to the thought of your face moving through his mind, as your lewd expression brings him back to you.

he’s craning his head the slightest bit to catch your eye. when he does, you smile. and he could cum right then and there from the way your eyes crinkle at the corners through the flush of your cheeks. you mouth out a silent ‘kiss’, and he’s on you in an instant, tongue sliding against yours as the bitter taste of the alcohol finds its way toward him. but he doesn’t care about that. he’s more concerned about the way you’re starting to writhe and shake against him, becoming more and more unsettled with the lack of your own movement. so you do your best to stop him, pushing him off of you as you finally get to breathe. your words come out with a sweet giggle, finger pressing against his chest as your drunken state blurs your vision the slightest amount.

“wanna ride you, pretty boy.”

if anyone who didn’t know the two of you were to for some reason swing this door open now, they’d think the two of you were insatiable lovers who just couldn’t wait to make it home. to anyone that doesn’t know you, they’d probably have to wipe their eyes twice to pretend they weren’t seeing you bounce on scaramouche’s cock like this. he’s seated on the closed toilet lid, absolutely dazed as you ride him to bits. your nails are digging into his shoulders hard, giving you strong balance as you move with a determination even he can’t fathom. but you’ve been dreaming of this, finally getting him to shut up with that pussy or yours, it’s a shame you didn’t get to shove his face in it; but maybe it’s for the best. even in this mindset you know tomorrow is going to be full of headaches and a lot of unanswered questions, so why not enjoy the now? keep anything from getting too far. what exactly is too far you ask? you’re not sure either, because licking into each other's mouths while he fucks up into you would be seen as pretty far for some people.

and he breaks away first, lazy eyes searching yours as he mumbles about his coming orgasm. you’re smiling that stupid smile that makes his dick twitch again, and giving him a polite nod. his eyebrows furrow.

“inside? you sure?”

you’re rolling your eyes at the obscurity of it all. he can ‘discretely’ slide your expensive lace panties into his pocket, press you up against this gross wall, and even fuck you presumably drunk. but cumming inside you is weird.

“yes-yes! i’m sure. just-just hurry up,”

and he’s smacking his teeth at the tone of your voice, hand coming down strong on the swell of your ass while he starts to chase his orgasm. your breaths are shallow, deep with intent as you grind against him, brushing up close to him so you can release in tandem with him.

it works a little too well, because you’re spasming against him in a way that he’s never seen before. your orgasm, plus the feeling of his cum starting to paint your inside white hot with thick spurts is peeling away any reservations you had about this whole situation before, moans loud and cracking as you ride it out for the two of you. his head is hung back, adam’s apple bobbing only a slight bit as he comes to, the soft bite you give it making him snap his head back down before he pinches your thigh. you pout, but begin to get up nonetheless, because you’ve probably spent way too long in here already.

you're much more sober now, trying to ignore the daggers that scaramouche is glaring into your back as you adjust your outfit in the mirror.

"was the sex really that bad?"

the statement is supposed to sound snarky, but it comes out more desperate than anything. you clear your throat, focusing your attention on the paint on the floor instead, dreadfully anticipating how he will bite back this time. but he doesn't. instead, you're greeted with the plush of his lips against yours, hands finding a home on your hips omce again as you grip at his collar. you're moaning into his mouth once more, attempting to slide your tongue against his.

but he pulls away before you can, beelining for the exit door instead. your lips are in a hard pout. as you hear him mumble something about needing to go home. you also happen to catch the part where he more clearly states the exact parking space his car is in right now before letting the door swing shut.

you're alone with your thoughts now. your mind is much clearer, and you're visibly torn between doing the right thing, that is, going back to your friends and enjoying the party like you should've been, or going down and potentially making the same albeit lovely, very rewarding mistake twice. the way the 'fuck it' rolls off your tongue now is a secure answer to what you decide to do, quickly making your way towards where you hope your friends are before announcing that you'll be on your way.

it's been minutes, seven exactly, scaramouche is counting. he shouldn't be here, he should've left immediately he stuck the key in the ignition. but he's waiting rather impatiently, in hopes that you'd find your way down. he knows you're not stupid, he knows you would regret it, hell, he should be regretting it too. but that annoying little feeling in his heart won't let him pull out of the space just yet. and thank archons for that, because he can see the pattern of your dress outside his tinted window as you tap on the glass.

the silence once you get in is stupidly uncomfortable. the air is thick with tension, both of you avoiding each other's gazes as the impact of your previous actions weighs in the air. scaramouche takes the initiative to speak first.

"we should-"

"your windows are tinted. can you eat me out?"

he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"you're absolutely insufferable."

"l-less talking, please."

he'll roll his eyes, but dip his head back down between your legs all the same. you're sprawled out in his back seat, fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue assaults your folds. maybe the first kiss was a mistake, maybe him fucking you against the wall was a big mistake. but his fingers sliding into you now? curling just exactly where they should be? there's no mistake here.

[pumpkin-bats]

One Piece Boys As Lovers - Headcanons

The poll has spoken! I kinda figured this was gonna be the result but I was curious anyway. So without further ado-

Law:

Works with you asleep in his lap.

Doesn't get jealous often, but it's obvious when he is.

Not big on PDA but loves subtly showing people that you two are together, and looks real smug about it the entire time.

Massages your hands when he's distracted or thinking about something and accidentally made it into a habit, so now he does it to bring him comfort.

Lots of late night cuddles. He's a big koala. The stickiest parasite, does not let go even when bribed.

Huffs at a lot of your most energy draining ideas, but always goes along with what you want or say regardless. Often has a fond smile as soon as you aren't looking.

Zoro:

A lot of nap time sessions where he's your pillow and blanket. But he'll wake up the second you ask him to.

Spars with you and tries to teach you to swordfight because he likes sharing his interests with you.

Does not make it obvious, but he worries about you a lot.

Doesn't like it when you're out of his sight for extremely long periods of time, it makes him antsy.

Holding hands almost all the time in public. Not as much in private, because the private time between the two of you is a different kind of safe intimacy.

Has a sixth sense for when you're upset and acts on it instantly.

Sanji:

Favorite foods, all the time, at all times. No food request is off the table, he'll make anything you crave when you crave it without any fuss. Sometimes he'll make it just because.

Really likes to dance with you, whether it's wildly spinning around the room or slow dancing under the moonlight.

The physical embodiment of 'just to be the man who walks a thousand miles to fall down at your door.'

He's very weak to cheek kisses. Melts. Like butter.

Rubs your shoulders when you're tired.

Matching couples outfits. His idea of matching with you is wearing a shirt or tie that matches the general color of your outfit.

Ace:

He occasionally takes you stargazing where you spend the entire time making up constellations and the stories behind them. Eight times out of ten you end up huddled together and asleep outside.

Cuddling gets rough in the summer because his temperature runs high, but it's non-negotiable during the colder months. Personal heater go brrrrr.

Holding hands while walking down the street, swinging your arms and laughing like love struck fools.

A lot of adventure themed dates. Amusement parks, hiking, canoeing, or even little walks through the park.

Needing to label your food in the fridge so he doesn't eat it all. He eats it anyway, but always apologizes and makes up for it.

Brags about you a lot to his friends.

Mihawk:

Candlelit dinner dates that become regular dinner nights because they happen so often.

Makes you breakfast every morning and knows how you take your coffee/tea like the back of his hand.

Pet names. It's always 'my dear' or 'darling' and never just your name.

Not the most physically affectionate but always takes care of you.

Occasionally he'll do something for you and you'll be like 'oh I love this' and then he'll proceed to respond with 'I know, you- [brings up extremely obscure habit/interest/trait/tic of yours]'.

Sleeps significantly better with you in his arms and the morning after a night without you he'll offhandedly mention how he slept well but not that well.

Buggy:

You do each other's nails and makeup. Sometimes when he's too tired, he'll ask you to do his makeup for him.

He adores it when you play with his hair. Whether that be styling it, washing it, or simply just running your fingers through it, he loves it all. Goes literally weak in the knees and has to sit down.

Bad jokes when drunk that are so bad the both of you spend an hour straight just laughing.

He gets very easily embarrassed whenever you do nice things for him or compliment him. His face gets redder than his nose- which you may or may not tell him.

A lot of singing together. All kinds of songs and tunes, at any time of the day. Also very loudly. Sometimes off key.

He'll try to be straight faced around you, but the second you say something or make physical contact he giggles like an idiot. He's very shy about physical affection, and acts nervous about it every time.

Crocodile:

The physical embodiment of 'they asked for no pickles.'

He really likes to keep an arm around you whenever he's next to you, and will occasionally tug you a bit closer.

Long, mellow conversations that turn into late night talks.

It's hard to tell when he's jealous because he tends to glare at anyone and everyone that gets a bit too close to you.

Buys things for you. Not to be nice, it's actually a genuine problem. He buys way too many things for you because he tends to get something if it reminds him of you, which happens often.

Does face masks with you on the weekends and you can occasionally convince him into doing a spa night with you

[yandere-romanticaa]

Yandere Fae!, who keeps you hidden away deep inside his castle, away from any unnecessary prying eyes, be it human or the eyes of other immortals such as himself. Your meeting was one of chance and the years of fighting have taught him to cherish all the things he wishes to keep.

Keep your enemies close, but your friends even closer. That was his own personal spin on that old saying.

Yandere Fae!, who is just content with you being close. It does sting with how hard you try to escape but he is sure that his home will grow on you.

He is a lonely man. He has fought valiantly for his king, serving as a knight for his realm for ages. Many of his peers said to him that he ought to take on a human lover, or several if he so wished. While eternal life was tempting to many, the taste and vibrancy of humanity was too good to just be ignored. Humans always aim to please, which always made them such marvelous little lovers. He never understood how so many of his brothers and sisters fell head over heels for a human by simply glancing at them.

Yandere Fae!, who upon first seeing you all alone treading deep within his mortal domain, cannot help but to be smitten. You reek of sweat and sweetness, his pupils dilating dangerously as he pictures what it would be like to sink his teeth into your soft neck. He feels his wings fluttering behind his back, urging him to make a move.

Even from this current distance, he can sense the hot blood pumping through your veins, deceiving you into going straight into his arms. Gentle specks of magic dance carefully on his fingertips, the glow just barely visible in the lush green of the forest.

He may be immortal and eternally youthful but it all paled in comparison to how he felt about you.

Yandere Fae!, who showers you in endless silk and gold, also cannot help but to mess with you just a wee bit.

It's in his nature, he cannot help it.

His tricks keep you on the edge of your seat - will he trick you into thinking you're back home just to see how you'll react? Will he cast a completely different illusion on you? Will he put something inside of your food, forcing you to either dance or weep against your will?

It was horrifying, trying to keep up with all of that.

But, that was the nature of the Fae.