#but there he is.........there he is indeed
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But what thinks Lazarus?
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1 billion notes and i free him
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elodieunderglass · 17 hours ago
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I’m a little upset because my husband (stressed out little Englishman, old as balls) had never heard Welcome to the Black Parade. What do you mean you’ve never. Like never heard it ever. You’ve heard it, though?? and it turned out that - NO.
And he said: well i wasn’t an American child during the millennium or indeed at any point in my existence now was I? So of course I had to explain about welcome to the black parade, I mean, REALLY. Really? Really!
Anyway unbeknownst to me it CLICKED for him and he liked it in quite a normal, I-will-hear-that-song-again way and he added it to his playlist of what he fondly believes to be similar-sounding songs, which in context affected me like a blow to the back of the head. Sir; your brain. Explain it to me please.
And he was like wdym. Sounds like Queen.
And the thing is. If you are a virgin to MCR and don’t give a damn about anyone or anything and you’re a highstrung little guy who is not an American and is a million years old, and if you spent your ENTIRE teens in a healthy outdoors attitude of underage drinking and smoking and banging other teens on unsupervised hiking trips while being attacked by swans, and other worldly and mentally healthy adventures that did NOT involve being on the internet too young, so that you genuinely wouldn’t know who Gerard Way was if he leapt out from behind a mailbox and bit you suddenly;
If MCR means nothing to you at all, net zero context, net zero interest, genuinely no nostalgia or cringe or judgement or admiration because you are NORMAL,
fuck me. Sure. It DOES - fuck me: okay. You win this Dr Glass. It does - yeah actually you’re right. It’s - it sounds like Queen.
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kyri45 · 2 days ago
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Wait a min is Macmama naked here or it's me who's blind
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Nono he naked indeed. Kind of both visually and metaphysically?
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fushitoru · 3 days ago
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chapter 8: the lake a bridgerton au
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pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader
summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?
warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, making out, touching bare skin pre-marriage (the scandal), eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly
chapter summary ⸺ both you and gojo discover contradictory feelings lodged deep in your heart, and a confrontation (with an unexpected ally) leads to a rather....wet conclusion. (4.6k)
a/n additional warning that this chapter is not beta read. this may seem like a short chapter but it has TEAAAA (if you didnt already guess from the summary). i pushed myself to finish this for the peeps who finished finals this week so it may be a bit messy. anywho see u down below <3
prev. the rebound | next. soon!
general masterlist | series masterlist
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Dearest gentle reader,
This Author finds herself most intrigued by the unfolding events of the Inos' recent ball. It appears that Her Majesty has not yet abandoned her faith in the diamond she so carefully selected. Will her confidence prove to be misplaced? Only time shall reveal the truth. Yet one cannot deny that fortune seems to shine—dare this Author say, sparkle—upon Miss Itadori of late.
Last evening, she graced the ballroom with a strikingly altered appearance, one that left tongues wagging and gazes lingering. Most notable, however, was the company she kept. Duke Nanami himself was seen at her side, engaged in conversation that appeared both earnest and uncommonly animated. A rare sight indeed, for His Grace has shown little interest in the charms of other young ladies this season. Could this be the beginning of something extraordinary? This Author will watch closely.
And who could forget the Gojo house party, where the drama rivaled even the most lurid novels of the circulating library? Whispers abound of a certain Lord Naoya Zen’in, who, it seems, departed the event looking rather... bruised, both in pride and in visage. What transpired to cause such a spectacle? Alas, my sources have yet to provide all the particulars, but one can only assume that tempers flared—and perhaps fists followed.
⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS
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Satoru wipes his knuckles on a spare handkerchief, marring it with streaks of crimson. After the blood coating his hand is cleaned off, it reveals light bruises. 
He always abhorred such physical entanglements. Let other men soil their reputations in drunken brawls or duels over imagined slights; Satoru prided himself on wit and charm, a tongue sharp enough to parry any insult.
However, for the first time, it seemed that the blasé duke-to-be Lord Satoru Gojo, ever so apathetic to others and their struggles, was not so blasé anymore. What affected him was contradictory; after all, he had made a big decision to avoid being affected by the woman herself. So why was he so…inconsistent? Perhaps it is this unpredictability, capriciousness the reason he has to distance himself from any others who may be in harm’s way—the way forged by Satoru himself. There is no space for inconstancy, irresponsibility, whimsicality, or contradiction in his life, especially not with his duties and the weight held over his shoulders. 
But he allows himself this, one last time. Your expression lingered in his mind—the way your lips parted in shock, the stiff set of your shoulders as you brushed past Naoya’s lecherous words without deigning to respond. He had seen the moment your composure faltered, a crack in the armor you wore so effortlessly. The crack only he was supposed to cause.
It was intolerable.
As soon as pale pink ribbons trail out of the room, he moves toward Naoya, completely ignoring the lady who was talking to him and her trailing protests. When he’s right in front of the other man, he gives him a curt nod. “Naoya.”
The other man’s eyes—which were before no doubt prowling on other unsuspecting ladies—flit to him in surprise. “Lord Gojo, what a pleasant surprise. I daresay—”
“Meet me in the courtyard,” Satoru interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Naoya’s brows shot up, but he recovered quickly, a sly grin curling his lips. “A private word? How intriguing. Lead the way, my lord.”
Satoru didn’t wait to see if he followed. His stride was steady, his purpose unwavering.
The cool air of the courtyard carried the faint strains of music from the ballroom, the chatter of guests dimmed by the stone walls. Satoru turned to face Naoya, his stance deceptively relaxed, one hand resting on the pommel of his cane.
“Now, my lord,” Naoya drawled, his smirk widening. “To what do I owe this rather dramatic summons?”
The reply came not in words but in the swift arc of Satoru’s fist, connecting solidly with Naoya’s jaw. The sharp crack of the blow shattered the stillness, and Naoya stumbled, clutching his face as shock registered in his eyes.
“What in blazes—”
“Hold your tongue,” Satoru bit out, seizing Naoya by the lapels of his coat and slamming him back against the cold, unyielding wall. His tone was calm, his voice low, but it carried a menace that silenced all protests. “You will not speak of her in that way again. Do you understand me?”
Naoya grimaced, his defiant eyes narrowing despite the pain. “Ah,” he sneered, a breathless rasp laced with derision, “this is about Miss Itadori, isn’t it? Playing the chivalrous hero, are we, Lord Gojo? Or is it your own wounded ego driving this display?”
The next punch silenced him mid-taunt, burying deep in his abdomen. Naoya doubled over with a strangled gasp, his knees threatening to buckle, but Satoru held him upright, his grip vice-like.
“Speak her name again,” Satoru hissed, leaning close, his voice cold enough to chill even the night air, “and I swear you’ll find yourself in far worse condition.”
The tension between them crackled like a storm. For a fleeting moment, Naoya’s lips twitched into the ghost of a sneer, but his words died unspoken, arrogance muted by the sheer force of Satoru’s fury. Satisfied, Satoru released him with a sharp shove, watching dispassionately as Naoya crumpled against the wall, gasping for breath.
“You are mad,” Naoya spat, wiping at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “You’ll ruin yourself over this.”
“Perhaps,” Satoru replied evenly, smoothing the cuffs of his sleeves as though nothing had happened. “But I’ve never much cared for your opinion, Naoya.”
He turned on his heel, his steps measured, his expression impassive.
The sting in his knuckles was a small price to pay. Unfortunately it seemed that for you, it was a price he would pay again and again.
He had told himself the decision was rational. Logical. Your match had to cease because it had begun to unravel him. You were a distraction, one he could not afford. His life was designed for control, every action measured, every move calculated. A match with you, he had realized, would be unlike any other. It would mean more. It would demand more.
And yet, how could he feel this jealousy? This fierce protectiveness? It was contradictory, maddening even. His resolve to avoid entanglements of the heart warred against the memory of your laughter echoing through his mind. It was absurd, but he could not dismiss the sharp ache in his chest whenever you looked at another man, especially one so undeserving as Naoya Zen’in.
He had known from the start that you were different. No coy smiles or simpering obedience. No easy conquest to stroke his ego. Your instant rejection of him during your first meeting had been a blow to his pride and a revelation he had been too stubborn to acknowledge then.
Satoru was not a man who chased after women. He had no need to. And yet…
But even as he walked away, Satoru couldn’t help but feel the cracks in his own carefully constructed armor widening. What, indeed, was he doing?
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You startle in your sleep, sitting up abruptly on your bed in the dark.
The season has taken a turn for the good, so far. With Whistledown singing your praises and the Queen not yet deciding to behead you, you were on the path of securing great prospects, whether it be with Duke Nanami or someone else.
“But you’re missing something, aren’t you?”
The voice is a low murmur, brushing the shell of your ear like the ghost of a touch. Your heart leaps to your throat as you twist toward the sound, your eyes darting across the dimly illuminated room. The corners of the chamber remain steeped in shadow, the moonlight doing little to ease your apprehension.
“Who’s there?” you whisper, clutching the sheets tighter, your knuckles whitening around the fabric.
The silence stretches, thick and oppressive, before a figure emerges from the shadow near the mantle. He moves with a predator’s grace, his steps silent against the floorboards. Even before he fully steps into the moonlight, you know who it is.
Gojo.
“You look startled, my lady,” he says, his voice carrying an infuriatingly casual lilt, though his gaze fixes on you with unnerving precision.
“This is a dream,” you murmur, your voice trembling despite your effort to remain calm. “You are not real.”
“And yet,” he replies. “here I am. Curious, isn’t it?”
You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to budge. He’s closer now, standing at the foot of your bed, his pale hair catching the silvery light like a halo—an angel or a devil, you can’t decide. “What do you want, Lord Gojo?” you demand, your voice sharper than you feel.
His eyes sweep over you, lingering for a moment too long before meeting your gaze again. “To commend you, of course,” he says. “You’ve been doing well—dancing with dukes, charming the Queen. The season’s darling.”
His words cut, though you can’t say why. “Why does that matter to you?” you snap, sitting straighter, as though defiance could shield you from the heat simmering in his gaze.
“It doesn’t,” he replies smoothly, though the corner of his mouth quirks into a smirk that betrays him.
“Then why are you here?”
His answer doesn’t come in words. Instead, he steps closer, his boots brushing the edge of your rug. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out, his gloved hand catching a strand of hair that’s fallen loose. He rolls it between his fingers, as though testing its silkiness, before letting it slip away. “Because I can’t seem to stay away,” he murmurs. His voice is low, meant only for you, and it sends a shiver through your body.
You scoff, though the sound catches in your throat. “You’re insufferable.”
His chuckle is soft, a deep rumble that seems to linger in the air. “And yet, you don’t look away.”
Your fists clench around the sheets, anger flaring in your chest—anger at him, at yourself, at the fact that he’s right. Before you can stop yourself, you throw the covers aside and rise to your feet. 
He doesn’t step back. Instead, he stands still, a study in casual defiance, though his gaze flickers with something you can’t name as you move closer. His eyes lazily drag up and down your frame, which you notice is only covered in a flimsy, almost translucent nightgown.
“If this is a dream,” you say, your voice trembling with fury and something unspoken, “then it doesn’t matter what I do, does it?”
His smirk falters, replaced by a glimmer of uncertainty that only fans the reckless fire inside you. “Perhaps not,” he murmurs, though the tension in his voice betrays him.
Your hands shake as you reach out, your fingers curling into the lapels of his coat. His eyes follow the movement, then stare back at you, into your eyes. For a brief moment, his breath hitches, and his hands twitch at his sides, as though warring with the instinct to touch you. But the flicker of surprise in his eyes tells you he didn’t expect this.
With a sharp tug, you pull him closer, your lips meeting his in a collision of unspoken longing, yearning, and pining. The kiss is unsteady at first, as if both of you are testing the waters, but it quickly deepens, becoming a clash of fire and desperation. His hands find your waist, his grip firm but not demanding, as if he’s holding on to something precious.
You press closer, letting the reckless freedom the dream gave you sweep you away. His lips part against yours, and the kiss turns slower, more deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment, savoring you, devouring you. But then, his hands shift, moving from your waist with a slow, tantalizing seductiveness. They skim over your hips, his touch deliberate, before trailing down to the curve of your thighs. His fingers brush over the soft fabric of your nightgown, the heat of his touch searing through the barrier like it isn’t there.
Your breath hitches as he lingers, his thumb tracing a path along the sensitive skin just above your knee. The sensation is electric, and yet it feels like forbidden ground—an intimacy you’ve never dared to imagine, even in your most audacious thoughts.
It’s then that the dream begins to unravel.
His form flickers, as though caught in the haze of a mirage, the sharp lines of his figure softening. The room darkens, the corners of your vision blurring as though the world is folding in on itself.
“No,” you whisper, the word barely audible over the sound of your own pounding heart.
He looks at you one last time, his eyes filled with an intensity that feels as real as your racing pulse. And then he’s gone, the dream dissolving into nothingness, leaving you gasping and clutching the sheets. When you wake, the echo of his touch lingers, the heat of his hands on your thighs an ache you can’t explain. You press trembling fingers to your lips, your breath catching as though the kiss was still happening.
But no matter how much you try, you can’t shake the memory of his hands, of the way he’d touched you like he belonged there. Like he had always belonged there.
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You choose to blame the irregular slumber you have gotten this past fortnight as the reason why you are being so discourteous. For Duke Nanami’s words drift your mind, never truly being registered, as you both had strolled, promenading hand in hand. 
It is not merely His Grace who suffers from your inattentiveness. Any suitor who dares to approach is met with the same distracted gaze, your thoughts elsewhere. Whether it is the lingering remnants of that unbidden dream—one you’ve tried and failed to forget—or the fleeting moments where you think you spot Lord Gojo across the green only to realize it is a figment of your imagination, your mind is a battlefield.
A few awkward conversations—where you are not truly present—pass and go, until you sit by the lakeside of Surrey Park, deciding to take a break from the conversations that awaited you if you were to stroll towards your family’s pavilion.
But not now, for here, nature offers solace. The gentle ripple of water, the soft rustling of leaves, the occasional bird song—all soothe the cacophony in your head.
You settle onto a bench, your gown fanning around you, and allow yourself to breathe. But even as you close your eyes and tilt your head toward the sun, the peace does not come. Your thoughts betray you, circling back to him—his infuriating smirk, his piercing gaze, the way his voice seemed to linger in the air long after he was gone. The dream was completely unbidden, unexpected. You had only started to move on and start this season anew. It seemed as your consciousness was working against you in an effort to bring fictional desires to life. 
You knew clearly that Gojo was infuriating, and had colored your name. So why must your mind actively go against what was clearly a certitude?
Before you could ponder on your thoughts for much longer, you heard her.
“You do seem terribly at ease for someone of your…reputation.”
The voice startles you, cutting through your reverie like a blade. Your eyes snap open, and there stands Lady Mei Mei, her expression a mask of genteel venom. You sigh inwardly, and bring on your best smile, albeit artificial. “Lady Mei Mei,” you greet, striving for composure. “To what do I owe this very unexpected…interruption?”
“Interruption?” she echoes, feigning offense. “How quaint. I merely wished to congratulate you on your newfound popularity. Though, I must say, the…boldness of your wardrobe choices does make one wonder.” Her gaze drags over your form, disdain dripping from every word. “Are you seeking a husband, my dear, or something far less respectable?”
Your fingers curl into the fabric of your skirt, but you maintain your poise. “Boldness, Lady Mei Mei, is often mistaken for confidence by those unfamiliar with either.”
Her lips twitch, but the venom remains. “Confidence, or desperation? It is difficult to tell with one so eager to flaunt herself before the ton. Tell me, do you find it tiring? Whoring yourself out for attention?”
The word lands like a slap, sharp and stinging, and you feel the surge of heat rise to your cheeks. Slowly, deliberately, you rise to your feet, smoothing the folds of your gown as you stand. Your chin tilts upward, a shield of composure against the venom Mei Mei has hurled your way. You desperately fight the urge to slap her into nonsense, but there are eyes, no matter how hidden from public view you may think yourself to be.
“I find it far less tiring than wielding envy as one’s primary weapon,” you reply, your voice cool yet cutting, every syllable sharpened to a blade. “But then, I would not expect you to understand.”
Mei Mei’s lips twist into something that might have been a smile, had it not been dripping with malice. Her eyes narrow, the sunlight catching the cold glint of her stare. She shifts closer, the deliberate grace of her steps at odds with the tension crackling in the air. For a moment, you think she might lash out—a slap, a shove, something physical to match her words.
But before the storm can break, a voice, smooth and deceptively warm, cuts through the charged silence.
“Lady Mei Mei.”
Your breath hitches, and you whip your head around to see him. Lord Gojo strides toward you both, his movements as fluid and effortless as a ripple across the lake’s surface.
For a moment, your mind stutters, unable to reconcile the sight before you. He’s here. Not lingering at the edges of the crowd, not offering a polite nod of acknowledgment before disappearing into the fringes of Surrey Park. No, he’s walking toward you with purpose, the light catching in his silver hair, his focus unerringly fixed on the scene unfolding before him.
The man who had, for days, seemed to find every excuse to avoid you (and you him), whose gaze had flicked past you as though you were nothing more than a fixture of the lawn—he was now approaching with a startling intensity, his presence impossible to ignore.
His expression is inscrutable, but the faint furrow of his brow betrays something darker beneath the veneer of his charm. The tension in his jaw, the faint set of his shoulders—it all speaks of an intent that sends a shiver down your spine.
“Lord Gojo,” you whisper under your breath, your voice barely audible over the blood rushing in your ears. What is he doing here? And why, when he looks at you, does it feel as though the air has shifted?
Lady Mei Mei recovers first, her voice cutting through your disarray like a blade. “Lord Gojo,” she purrs, her saccharine tone a stark contrast to the venom she had wielded moments earlier. “What a surprise to see you here.”
But you can’t take your eyes off him. You’re too stunned, too disoriented by his sudden appearance and the sheer force of his presence. Why must he appear now? 
His gaze flicks briefly to Mei Mei, his lips curving into a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before his attention returns to you. And when it does, it’s as though the world narrows to the space between you.
“Not half as surprising as overhearing this delightful conversation,” he says, his tone light, almost lazy, but there’s an edge to it—a sharpness that wasn’t there before. His eyes meet yours again, and this time, the intensity in them is impossible to ignore. Your breath holds itself in, your confusion and shock colliding with something you can’t quite name. There’s no teasing quip, no playful smirk to soften his words. Just the weight of his gaze, pressing down on you as though he’s searching for something you don’t understand. Then, he returns it to Mei Mei. “I was unaware you had taken to dispensing moral judgments, my lady. Though I suppose one must occupy their time somehow.”
The barb lands, and Mei Mei’s smile falters. Her spine stiffens, her fingers twitching at her side, but Gojo doesn’t stop. He steps closer, his boots crunching against the gravel, and the shift in his demeanor is subtle but unmistakable.
“I would suggest, for the sake of civility,” he says, his voice softening to something far more dangerous, “that you refrain from such remarks in the future.”
The crowd, drawn by the commotion, murmurs from a distance. You feel their gazes prickle against your skin, their curiosity thickening the already-tense air. Mei Mei’s cheeks flush a pale pink, and her hands clench at her sides, the effort to maintain her composure palpable.
“You dare—” she begins, but Gojo cuts her off, his voice a degree colder now.
“I dare a great many things, my lady. Do not test the limits of my patience.”
The words hang heavy in the air, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. Mei Mei’s breath quickens, and though her lips curl into a sneer, the fire in her eyes dims. After a moment, she dips her head again, but this time it’s no longer polite. It’s forced, a concession.
“Very well, my lord,” she says, her voice tight. “I can see when my presence is no longer welcome.”
Lady Mei Mei walked past you to exit the scene, clearly disgraced after Lord Gojo had surprisingly butted in to your defense. Her turn was sharp, and her skirts flared. Then, she did something you hadn’t expected. After all, you were nonplussed from Gojo’s appearance in of itself that you did not have much awareness of your physical environment. Foremost of all, you were furious. How dare he waltz into the scene, aiming at playing hero and gentleman after all he has done to you this season? The anger consumed you, leaving you ignorant to Lady Mei Mei's schemes.
The movement came quickly—a flick of her hand, subtle yet purposeful, as though she intended to brush away an inconvenience. Only, her target was not the hem of her gown or an errant lock of hair. It was you. That is, that was the intention of the action. However, fortuitously enough for you, Lord Gojo had noticed it.
With a sharp tug, his hand closed around your wrist, pulling you aside just as Lady Mei Mei's push landed—on him.
The splash was enormous.
For a moment, the world stood still, the lake swallowing the ripples as though it too were stunned by what had just transpired. Around you, gasps echoed, punctuated by the soft clink of champagne glasses dropped in surprise. All eyes turned toward the water, toward the spot where Gojo had disappeared.
Your pulse pounded erratically, caught between the shock of it all and the mortifying realization that everyone was watching. Watching and waiting.
And then, like something out of a scandalous painting that no young lady of good breeding ought to admit having seen, Gojo emerged.
The water clung to him as though reluctant to let go, his white shirt turned sheer and pasted to his torso, revealing every lean muscle and curve beneath. Droplets trailed from the tips of his silver hair, tracing maddening paths down the sharp edges of his jaw before disappearing beneath the soaked fabric. His black necktie clung damply to his throat, accentuating the hollows there, and when his eyes met yours—gleaming with mischief and something darker—your breath hitched.
It was obscene. 
The crowd seemed to agree, though their response was far less scandalized than you might have expected. The ladies weren’t laughing; no, their gazes were riveted, their fans fluttering in a feeble attempt to hide their obvious fascination. Their admiration was palpable, their whispers laden with awe.
Flustered, you took a few steps back to give him space and to not drench yourself (a/n lmaooo you’re drenched already bestie), but you mentally noted to yourself to make his pectorals bigger in your dreams (not that you would continue to have such salacious dreams, of course. It was the mind creating desires you never had, obviously.) It was apparent that you were still very distracted, for you did not notice the two pairs of footsteps rushing towards your direction, towards Gojo.
“What happened?” Duke Nanami looked at Gojo’s very…wet state, concerned and alarmed. “What did you get yourself into this time, Satoru?”
Gojo, who was still wiping water from his hair and grinning like a fool, gave him an exaggerated look of innocence. He ran a hand through his damp, platinum hair, the gesture almost too casual for someone in his drenched state. As he did so, the hem of his shirt inched upward, revealing a tantalizing sliver of bare skin, a sliver that led downward to a trail of white hair disappearing beneath his waistband—
“Kento,” Gojo laughed heartily, as if there were nothing amiss. “You worry too much! A little water never hurt anyone.”
Lord Geto, on the other hand, had been trailing behind Nanami. At the sight of Gojo, he started laughing, snickering mischievously at the sight.  He had a knowing look on his face, as if he were fully aware of the scene he was witnessing—Gojo’s accidental plunge into the lake being just another moment of unintentional chaos.
“Oh, Satoru, you're impossible.” Geto stepped closer, shaking his head in mock disbelief, but his smile was far too amused to be truly accusatory or reproachful. "Did you get knocked into the lake by your own... charm?" His voice dripped with sarcasm as he glanced at the crowd of ladies now eyeing Gojo as though he were some mythical creature freshly emerged from the depths.
Nanami sighed, his brow furrowing as he crossed his arms in that ever-earnest manner that seemed to constantly play contrast to Gojo’s reckless energy. “This is exactly why you need a keeper at all times, Satoru.”
Gojo, still basking in the odd mix of amusement and the lingering attention of the nearby ladies, merely shrugged. “I’m fine, Kento. Just a little... refreshment is all.”
“By the looks of it,” Geto continued with a raised brow, “I’m more concerned about you than you are of yourself.” He gestured with a lazy wave, motioning toward the way the water had soaked through Gojo’s shirt, revealing a lot more than was likely intended. “And, I mean, look at that—those ladies aren’t gazing at you for your intellect.” (a/n LMAO ate him up)
Before Gojo could lob a retort, Nanami interjected with his trademark no-nonsense tone. “Enough of this,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re soaked to the bone. Let’s get you inside before you catch a chill—or create an even bigger scene.”
Gojo lingered for a moment, casting a leisurely glance around the gathering. The ladies, previously locked in their own conversations, now shamelessly ogled him, their fans fluttering uselessly against the rising heat in their cheeks. Their gazes trailed after him as he started to walk away, and you swore you caught more than one wistful sigh among the crowd.
And yet, even as he moved farther from the lake and closer to the house, his steps deliberate and unhurried, he suddenly stopped. Slowly, his head turned, and his piercing blue gaze found yours with unnerving accuracy, as if he’d felt your bewildered stare all along.
His smile appeared—lazy, confident, and maddeningly seductive. The corner of his mouth tilted up just enough to make your stomach flip, and his eyes... Oh, his eyes. They gleamed like a predator’s, sharp and teasing, and yet impossibly inviting.
The world seemed to tilt, the air around you thickening. Your chest tightened with the realization: that smile wasn’t for the crowd, nor for the fawning ladies he left in his wake.
It was for you.
Your cheeks burned, your thoughts a chaotic mess as he turned back and sauntered away, water still dripping from his hair and shirt. The ladies continued to gawk openly, but you remained rooted to the spot, your heart pounding erratically.
Oh, that bastard.
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prev. the rebound | next. soon!
general masterlist | series masterlist
a/n so....erm this was definitely a CHAPTER.....BUT AH POOKIES ITS HERE i got so excited bc i got the idea to write his lake fall so i finished this chapter. it's a bit messy, like i said, but i hope you liked it <333
I WANT TO SUCK GOJOS DICK BADLYYY i think this chapter was posted so fast after the last bc im on my period and im horny so hence the lake scene was born like i rawdogged this shit in five hours
ANYWYAS THERES PUSH AND PULL YEARNING PINING...so much contradiction hmmmmmm
miss itadori malfunctioning when gojo got out of the water (like a complete SLUT)
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anyways i hope some of you WHORESS that simped for bridgerton!geto will be coming anew to simp for our main MAN. this debauchery i approve of. i fear all anons, especially zaynesbathrobe anon and anon in my walls, will be having a field day with this one
thank you for readinggg! please comment and reblog to let me know ur thots :3 (esp reblog, a lot of people have been binging bridgerton!gojo recently and spam liking. tumblr daddy might lock me up and shadowban me/mark my account, so reblogs would be appreciated <3)
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@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs
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@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1
@hyori2 @babyblue0t7 @iwanttoberich420 @rosso-seta @ladytamayolover
@kalulakunundrum @r0ckst4rjk @mo0sin @angelina7890 @jaeminaur
@yamiyas @cherry-blossoms-in-red @r3inae @lagataprrr @sasfransisco
@fortunatelyfurrygiver @aurora-tiny @gojonegs @luna-v-roiya @xxemmarldxx
@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2
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Taz remembers Kazuma telling the group that Kazuma saw the killer wearing a Metal Zilla mask. So this is the suit that Meko used to commit the murders that is the beginning of this whole mess.
"This suit is going to be harder to take down than Destroyah. Sure, it's a bit damaged but it's enough to kill you all!" Meko as Metal Zilla is laughing. He is laughing manically. "Holy shit! I should write a fucking book about this! I can become famous after I kill you all and be the sole survivor! I WILL BE-"
But then suddenly...
Kazuma blinks as there are sudden sounds of snaps going off like domino effect then squishy and gush sounds are heard. As if it something happened inside the suit.
"What the??" Megumi saw this and noticed the gush like noise heard.
"Ummmm..Is that.." Nobara noticed it too as she sees red liquid seep out from the suit and Metal Zilla falling on it's knees.
"UGH! W..what the hell?! What is going on!? Come on move you stupid.." he tires to move but more snapping like noises were heard. Almost like bones breaking but the group tenses seeing even more liquid seeping out a lot more faster. What was the suit doing? They even heard Metal Zilla cough from inside the suit with blood hacked up from the mouth area.
Seeing the door go down, Yuji panted seeing it was pretty dark. The others look wondering about the room. Seeing it had such florescent lighting that's low with rust pipes leaking. However, they saw something else. Something metallic.
"You got to be kidding me.." Megumi said with eye twitching seeing another suit! How many does this idiot have!? Though, he saw this one was similar to Zilla. Having orange lights and looks more robotic. Even showing hand prints that was bloody. Though they did look familiar.
"That's…." Kazuma points out, "That's the thing that took the kids and made them go missing!"
"Huh!?"
"That's right!" Meko laughs as he is now inside a MetalZilla. "I tricked the brats thinking it's Zilla! I can't seem to make a perfect copy of it so I spray-painted it green and blue, they're so easy to fool!"
"You really have gone crazy!" Kazuma shouted but Meko kept laughing insanely still smiling.
"Yeah I might be crazy but my plan worked. It was fun killing those snot nose little rats...even better when I didn't have to hear them crying anymore." he said.
"Y..You son of a-"
"Oh please! It's true. Brats till the end!"
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somnoir · 2 days ago
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Gotham's newest Crime Lord - part 4
Part 3 | Masterpost
Danny wasn't expecting for Red Hood to corner him. He would be lying when he says he wasn't panicking. First of all, they had quite literally strung up the bodies of prominent figures of the court of owls in very public places, then proceeded to order Technus to spread information about the court and their wrong doings.
The next step of the plan had been to publish a list of names—members of the court. Rich fruitloops that they were going to rely on the public to destroy. If the public and the GCPD couldn't do it, Danny had his ways to do so. Hauntings usually drove people mad if done a certain way.
But nevermind that!
His heart was practically trying to escape his chest—not that it was beating but it was there, in spirit (ha). He just wanted to see if little Emily and her sister were being fed by their mom and check if he needed to whisk the kids away and have them reside in one of their headquarters. Dan was more than willing to convert one of their facilities into a safehouse for children. Jeremy and some others were the ones who usually dealt with the house—others being parents are older siblings who got into crime for their family's.
"Phantom."
"Hood."
AAAAHH! The hot revenant really was looking for me! Thankfully, none of his siblings were there to witness how Danny was silently punching the air in absolute joy. Fuck yeah! Hot Crime Lord!
"Lemme guess... The big bad bat ain't too happy about the trouble we caused?" Danny chuckled, tilting his head as he narrowed his eyes. Organized crime was much better than his kingly duties, especially when it wasn't him playing the leader. Dan was doing pretty good as a boss, though Danny was reluctant to admit that in honor of his role as a younger brother.
"Sure as hell." Red Hood snorted, "But that ain't why I'm here, ghosty."
Danny rolled his eyes, gesturing for the other man to keep talking.
"You dealt with the court. Wraith led the mission... Personally. Not you. Not anyone else. It was Wraith, right?" Red Hood hummed, his helmet and modulator hiding everything. It frustrated Danny.
The mission was indeed led by Dante himself. But the operation had been split into three. Dan's team (Skulker, Amorpho) taking on the leaders of the court and disposing of them immed. While Danny's team (Wulf and Ember) were tasked to deal with the talons. Meanwhile, Elle's team (Johnny, Kitty, and Shadow) were tasked with saving the kids that weren't turned into Talons. But even then, Dan took full command of the situation.
It had been Dan who personally hung the Judge of the Clocktower and smeared his blood with some rhyme. It had been Dan who took charge of the remaining Talons once their leaders were dead and hung.
But it has been Danny who took the main Talon, dragged their body to Arkham, and painted a message in glowing, neon green paint. Maybe mixed with a bit of Ecto for better effects.
At the moment, all of the living Talons were in another one of their facilities—one outside of Gotham. Dan was a paranoid bastard, rightfully so, and had ordered the rehabilitation of these mindless soldiers outside of the Bats' territory. They didn't need anyone meddling with this. Not when it was Dan's first time choosing rehabilitation over elimination. In truth, these Talons were just innocent kids turned into weapons by the real monsters.
"Yeah, Wraith personally led this one." Danny pressed a hand against his hip, defiantly looking at the brick house that was the Red Hood. God, he almost didn't want a growths spurt if this was their height different. "Heard you've been snoopin' around, Red. What? Didya miss me?" It was teasing, a joke. He didn't expect much from it. He leaned in, grinning even when his mouth couldn't be seen, before pulling back as fast as he could.
But Hood sighed, letting out the hottest quiet laugh he could ever muster and tilted his head. "Yeah... Kinda missed you, ghosty. The kids were lookin' for yah. Emily was screamin' for yah on the roof two days ago."
Danny blinked.
Oh....
OH!
"Sure, sure." He immediately dismissed it, trying his best to make sure that his fast didn't go all purple, because apparently, that's the ghost version of blushing. Shit. "But the big bad Bat ain't too happy with us, yeah? I mean. Stringin' up the Judge and Talon gets you on his naughty list."
"Can't say he's pleased about it."
"Yeah, well, we ain't apologizing for that shit. The court wasn't on our radar before but they took one of our kids. Wraith is known for being one hell of a monster when it comes to kids." Danny scoffed, "They were turning them into weapons, Hood. I'd be okay if you want to throw them into Arkham, but the Judge and Talon? Somethings are more important than morals."
And Danny fucking knows that. He knows that some things should be out above morals, that they should be more important. His parents had failed to do that, failed to put their family above their morals and beliefs. The reveal was never going to be good. Not when Maddie Fenton fell to her knees, unable to accept that her baby died and demanded for him to give her back her son. It had hurt when she couldn't accept that Danny was Phantom and Phantom was Danny.
It got worse when they found out about Dan and Elle. They were hysterical. They stopped eventually. No more hunting, no more trying to protray ghosts as evil. They stopped helping the GIW. But they still couldn't accept it. They just vanished after that, leaving Danny and Jazz with Vlad, who had thankfully redeemed himself.
Danny knows what it meant to put something above your morals. Knows how valuable that is.
He shook his head, once again getting his head out of his heart and turning back to Red Hood. "Get to the point, Hood. You weren't looking for me for no reason."
"Well I've got someone who wants to meet the Wraith. The Court... They were almost involved in the court and was targeted." Red Hood tried to explain, making sure to sound as vague as possible. Danny could—kinda—understand why he was. Keeping someone anonymous until they couldn't. "Was wonderin' if you could set up a meeting. I don't think there's anywhere in Gotham that's basically neutral ground at this point but I'm willin' to bet on an area that you guys won't start a fight."
Danny paused, trying to simplify that damn request in his head. Hood wanted a meeting with Wraith, to introduce someone. And about the location? He was right. The entirety of Gotham was someone's haunt, every part of it was claimed. Even when the people were living, some were so damn liminal that certain areas were basically haunts now. Crime Alley being one of the biggest areas to end up becoming a haunt.
He could only think of three places that could somehow be considered their haunt: The Hill, where their main base was, the Narrows where Dan was trying to take over Arkham to make the security better, and possibly the Docks and Harbor. But there wasn't a solid claim on any of them, except for the Hill. It was one of the poorest and most crime-ridden areas of Gotham. The locals were hostile as hell when they first arrived, but after the Ghosts started cleanin' up the streets, helping people by offering a steady income, and keeping the kids safe, they eventually welcomed the Ghosts with open arms. It helped when Dan started weeding out people that were extorting the area.
That area was a no-go, obviously. Not their base.
"Gimme a second. Gotta ask about this before discussing a location." He whipped out his phone, modified perfectly by their resident technopath, Tucker-fucking-Foley.
D1: Got Hood here.
D2: Ew
D2: I don't wanna hear you moon about your revenant
D1: you're a bitch
D1: fuck you
D1: 🖕🖕🖕
D1: but that's not it
D1: he wants to set up a meeting. Said he'll introduce someone that Court tried recruiting
D2: Bet Vlad's castle that it's Nightwing
D2: he fits the Court's recruits
D1: what??
D1: all of the bats fit the MO
D2: yeah but Nightwing's the most flexible one. Idk
D2: Gut feeling
D2: Tell em I'm willing
D2: only on Sunday tho.
D1: K
"Good news! He's willing to show his ugly mug."
Red Hood snorted.
"Bad news—" and now he stiffened, "Wraith's only available on Sunday. Busy sched, see."
"Alright," Hood sighed, "Where are you guys willing to meet?"
Again, that was a problem. Danny might suggest the Bowery but that was too close to Hood's haunt. It wasn't until he felt the tug in his shadow that he goes stiff, blinking before he saw Hood's shadow move behind him. Instead of a hulking man, it was transforming into a classy looking woman—it reminds him of that lady from Resident Evil. The shadow moved, holding up what seemed to be a cigarette. The blankness of darkness morphed and now there was a white grin spread across her face.
Lady Gotham adored her knights but he was sure Red Hood was her favorite. Danny suspected that the city spirit had a hand in his resurrection—to which he was sure that had paperwork he'd need to process soon. But the city spirit was accommodating and welcomed them into her territory, with the promise that their intentions wouldn't turn malicious and destroy the city.
Danny couldn't help but laugh, eyes glowing green and Hood took a instinctive step back. "Heard you bats and birds got yourselves a cave." He tilted his head. "Gotham Cemetery. It's where you'll find ghosts."
The cemetery. The one area that was a haunt to all the dead and never the living.
Before Red Hood could even say another word, Danny floated of the ground, mockingly saluted the revenant, and phased through the wall.
NAILED IT!
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"Lil' wing, I'm not sure about this. Doesn't it sound creepy that they want to meet in the cemetery?"
"I have a theory. I am 90% sure that the Ghosts of Gotham are actual ghosts."
"Why's you say that?"
"I had Tim and Babs help me investigate the other known members. All of them can't be detected by cameras cause the footage gets all fucked up. So we had to resort to teaditional means. Seriously, the demon brat and I had to follow that Johnny and Kitty duo around Gotham just so he could draw them properly! I kid you not, I saw those two phase through other vehicles when they were zoomin' around the streets."
"And?"
"There's a possibility that those two are from Gotham. But get this... All the matches are people who were confirmed to have died decades ago. Like... When B was a teenager."
Dick flinched. Okay. The new rogue organization might actually be made up of legitimate dead people.
"Shit."
"Right back at you."
The cemetery was already in their line of vision. Even if Dick Grayson was the target of the Court, Nightwing came with the package. Meeting Wraith as Nightwing was pretty reasonable if you had to ask him. And Jason had done his best to hunt down Phantom after Bruce forbade them from interacting with any of the ghosts unless they were starting trouble first.
Hopefully, this meeting would go well...
The cemetery is quiet once they start walking. The shadows seemed to be more lively, moving and rising like curious children wanting to catch a glimpse.
"BOO!"
His escrima sticks were already in his hands and Jason was already cocking his gun.
Phantom was floating there, upside down as Lazarus green eyes stared back at them. The obvious echo of laughter making the graveyard more eerie.
"Quit that!" Jason snapped, glowering at Phantom but slowly lowered his guns.
"Awww! C'mon now, Hood. You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost—but a really good-looking one!" Phantom promptly runs his fingers through his hair, winking at Jason before laughing it off like it was nothing.
"You're horrendous."
"Hey, hey, hey! I'm supernatural and beyond this world!" Phantom proudly declared, clearly on the roll. But Lazarus green eyes fell to Nightwing. The reaction reminded Dick of a curious cat.
"Shit, it really was Nightwing you were talking about. I owe Wraith a hundred bucks now, birdie." Even though his mouth couldn't be seen, Dick was pretty sure that Phantom was pouting. "C'mon, birds. The boss is talking to some ghosts over there."
"So... You're really ghosts?" Jason asks, walking beside the floating ghost while Dick trailed back a couple of steps.
"Kinda? There are different kinds of ghosts, really." Phantom shrugged, going silent again. "We usually help out the other ghosts that can't meddle with the living realm. Lotta ghosts in Gotham with unfinished business."
"What kind of business?" Dick frowned.
Phantom turned to him, mischief in his eyes as he pressed a finger against the place where his lips should be. "Now, now. I ain't tellin' you, birdie. Client confidentiality and all that."
Jason grumbled something unintelligible.
"Now that ain't nice, Hood."
And then Jason grunts in response.
"C'mon, Hood!" The way Phantom whined, Dick was very sure he was pouting. "Tsk, tsk. Stop ghostin' me, wouldya?"
Dick held back a snort. While Jason's glare could be felt through his mask.
"What? That wasn't so bad! Wow... This crowd is dead."
Jason groans and Dick didn't even hide his laugh. Okay, maybe Phantom was pretty okay if you could ignore the fact that his group was pretty homicidal if needed.
"And there he is!" Phantom sounded almost mocking, the tone so strangely familiar to Dick. (Twas the sound of a younger sibling rolling their eyes). "Wraith! Brought the birdies!"
"Seriously?" Jason groaned again but stopped. Dick didn't think he was being unreasonable because holy shit!
Wraith had the same white hair as Phantom with skin paler than the damn moon. But unlike Phantom, the ends of his hair looked like fire. Red eyes instead of green... And built like a brick house, because what the fuck was that?! He was taller than Jason and Bruce! Maybe even standing taller than Superman if he stood a little straighter.
He wore the same monochrome outfit that Phantom wore and a mask that covered his mouth. With round, red tinted glasses over his eyes. Wraith was talking to the air, well, the dead. Dick could see the faint outline of a young woman.
The fucking fridge, Wraith, turned towards them once Phantom called for him.
"You fuckin' twerp, can't you see I'm still talkin'? Rude little shit."
And Dick may have realized something else. Oh. OH! That's why it was so familiar, that behaviour and mocking tone! Fucking shit, were Wraith and Phantom brothers?
Red eyes were soon trained on him. Wraith looked him over once, before humming with a smirk.
"So I was right... Nice to meet you, birdie."
Masterpost
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davinawritings · 11 hours ago
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Monster Husband’s Favorite Sex Toy
Minotaur husband loves nipple clamps that are connected by a chain. He loves the sound of the chain when he bounces you up and down on his cock. He also loves to give it the occasional tug, cock throbbing at the whimper that leaves your lips.
Ghost husband who loves a spreader bar. The bar keeps your legs open for him so he can tease and overstimulate your cunt for as long as he wants. He loves watching you struggle to close your thighs as he makes you cum over and over again.
Werewolf husband who loves knotted dildos. He originally got one to start trying to work open your ass so he could eventually knot you there. He knows he’s massive, and it will take some time to finally get there. He slowly works you open on different knotted dildos over a few weeks, increasing the size every few days, so your ass can adjust without too much discomfort. He becomes obsessed with watching your ass take knot after knot. But his love for the dildos is indeed finalized the first time he knots your pussy while you have the knotted dildo in your ass. The raw euphoria for both of you is just pure heaven.
Dragon husband whose prized treasure (besides you) is the solid gold butt plug that has a large ruby embedded in the base. He loves looking down as he works you open on his cock and seeing the ruby glistening between your cheeks.
Orc husband loves the sex swing he installed in your bedroom. His cock constantly throbs at the sight of your naked body suspended in the air, wet and ready for his cock. He loves how easily he can work you back and forth on his massive cock, listening to you scream his name as you squirt around him.
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strang3lov3 · 11 hours ago
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Jingled Balls
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What has four paws and ruins not only Joel’s Christmas, but his orgasm, too?
Alternatively, you and your cat stay with your dad’s best friend over Christmas.
Tags - dbf!joel, smut, age gap, unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, JOEL JORKS IT IN THE SHOWER, sexual tension, blow jobs, rough/angry sex, first aid, Joel is all grumpy and the target of all sorts of misadventures including but not limited to cat claws in Joel's balls and his butt cheeks, cats pushing shit off of Joel's counter, destroying Joel's house, etc. Some mentions of blood and injury but it’s not bad, I promise. 6.8k words. A/N - this fic is based on a true story of real crimes that have been committed by my dear Gizmo. Names have been changed out of respect for the victims. @endlessthxxghts thank you for editing babyyy i'd be lost without ya
My submission for @beefrobeefcal’s festive failure! I hope everyone has a safe holiday!!
December 20
Joel twiddles his fingers as he waits by a row of empty seats at the baggage claim area of the Austin airport, trying not to pace. He got here too early, been waiting a couple hours for your flight to land. He just couldn’t sit still at home. Already twice cleaned the house top to bottom, fluffed the guest room pillows three times each. 
You. You’re staying with Joel this Christmas. It was a last minute thing; your family, well…they forgot about you. It wasn’t intentional, all accidental. Your parents offered up every and any extra amount of room they have to extended family and in doing so, gave away your old room. Whoops. 
And so Joel got a call from your dad, his best friend. Joel was supposed to spend Christmas with your family anyway, so your dad reached out to Joel to ask if he’d be willing to take you in while you visit Austin for the week. Joel, of course, didn’t hesitate to say yes. He’d do anything for you, the sweet little girl he watched grow up. He’s missed you a lot since you left home. 
Finally, there you are. He’d recognize your smile anywhere. You wave excitedly at Joel, doing your little jog to greet him. Joel takes long steps to meet you halfway, in total disbelief at how grown up you are. Where did the time go? It was only yesterday that you were barely tall enough to reach Joel’s waist, and that was standing on your toes. He remembers teaching you to ride a bike and cleaning up your scraped knees with hydrogen peroxide, and after he bandaged you up he’d let you punch him in the arm as hard as you could to make it square. Look at you now - a beautiful woman, all grown up. 
You set your carry-on on the ground and wrap your arms around Joel, squeezing him so fucking tight it steals the oxygen right from his lungs, not that he minds. But the way you kiss his cheek makes his skin burn and his heart pound harder.
“Joel,” you whisper excitedly, hugging him tighter.
Joel lets out a wheezy chuckle. “Hey, kiddo. I missed ya,” he tells you. “S’been too fuckin’ long.” 
“Indeed,” you agree. 
Joel notices the suitcases from your flight begin to come out on the conveyor belt and squeezes your side twice to alert you, “Better go grab your suitcase, hm?”
“Oh, yeah. Duh. Here–” you laugh, pulling away from Joel to bend down. You pick up your carry on and put it in Joel’s arms, and he grunts at the surprising weight. “Hold this. Be right back.”
Joel inspects the boxy bag you placed in his hands. He turns it to the side and behind a mesh screen are two big green eyes, all wide and untrusting. “Uhhh…” Joel murmurs, further inspecting as he raises an eyebrow. It’s a cat - black fur all puffed up, growling at Joel as its eyes dart left and right. The cat hisses at Joel, causing him to nearly drop the carrier. 
You greet Joel once more, this time with your suitcase rolling behind you. “Uh, hey. Who’s this?” Joel asks, suspicion lacing his tone. 
“Gizmo!”
“Huh. Gizmo.” The cat hisses again at Joel, startling him. “You didn’t tell me that Gizmo here would be a guest of mine.” 
“Oh, I know. I’m so sorry, Joel. It was all so last minute - I found out I was staying with you and then I called kitty daycare,” you begin explaining, Joel leading the way out of the airport and to his truck. He takes your suitcase and carries both that and the carrier. “And get this - they told me they wouldn’t allow me to board Gizmo because he was too bad the last time. Can you believe that?”
“Yeah, how ‘bout that,” Joel mumbles, not so surprised.
“I know. It’s bullshit. But don’t worry about Gizmo, Joel. You won’t even know he’s there.”
“M’not really a cat person, you know,” Joel says. “Pretty sure I’m allergic to the bastards, actually.” 
Joel puts your luggage in the backseat of his truck, then opens the door for you to get in the passenger side. “Watch your step,” he warns, giving you his hand as you slide in. Joel closes the door, rounds the front of his truck and joins you, promptly starting the vehicle. The loud engine makes Gizmo cry. 
“So…” Joel begins, turning onto the busy highway. “How’s it all going? How’s work and whatnot?”
“Good,” you answer. “I don’t know. You know - work’s work. You?”
“Yeah, I hear that,” Joel replies. “Work’s work and Tommy’s…Tommy.” His joke earns him a little giggle from you. “What else is new? Got a boyfriend?” You give Joel a look, and he shrugs. “What?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, old man?” you tease, talking over Gizmo’s crying. “No, I do not. What about you, Joel, do you have a boyfriend?”
“Cute. Yeah, I do actually. Your father.” Another giggle. Joel laughs too, and he has to fight himself to keep his eyes on the road. You just look so fucking beautiful. 
Gizmo whines some more, and Joel looks both irritated and concerned. “It’s okay, Gizmo,” you coo, reaching back to touch his carrier, though the effort does little to soothe him. Joel’s truck chimes when you unbuckle your seatbelt and throw your torso over the front seat, your ass right next to Joel’s head makes him cough and clear his throat. 
“What the f-”
Thump. You land in the backseat and open Gizmo’s carrier to pet him and calm him. “It’s alright, Giz- oh, Gizmo, did you have an accident?” Joel’s mouth drops as his eyes dart frantically between the road ahead and the rearview mirror to watch you in the backseat. He’s got a bad taste in his mouth about this.  
-
Now at home, Joel listens to the awful sounds of Gizmo wailing and your shrieks as you bathe the cat after his accident. He had to clean the backseat of his truck, but he didn’t tell you that. When you’re done washing Gizmo, you wrap him in one of Joel’s nicer towels, the one he set aside for you. 
It’s evening when you come downstairs, clutching your soggy cat in his towel. You’re already in your pajamas, and Joel’s at the door paying the delivery person for the pizza he took the liberty of ordering. 
“Ooh, is that pizza?”
“Sure is. Plain cheese and pepperoni. Sit down, I’ll serve ya,” Joel says. “What would you like?”
“Cheese. Please and thank you.”
You smile as you sit down on Joel’s couch, scratching Gizmo’s damp little head as he purrs happily in your arms. With hands full with plates and cans of pop, Joel makes a disgusted sort of face as you kiss Gizmo’s nose. “Here,” he says, handing you a plate. Gizmo hops off of your lap. 
“Thank you.” You take a can of pop from Joel as well, cracking it open as Joel sits right next to you. He turns the TV on, Die Hard already a quarter through on whatever channel his TV was set to. It’ll do. 
You and Joel eat pizza together, talking here and there until the conversation fades away and only pizza crust remains on your plates, which are haphazardly set on the coffee table in front of you. At some point, you’ve slid closer to Joel, now pressed against his side with your head resting on his shoulder, dozing off to sleep. He smiles warmly, you poor thing. All worn out after a long day of travel. He doesn’t mind being your pillow.
Scrrraatchk, skrecht. Joel hears the odd, rhythmic noise of…something. “Hey, hon–” Joel wiggles his shoulder. “What’s that noise?”
“Mm?”
“That sound, it’s–” Out of the corner of his eye, Joel catches Gizmo scratching on his leather recliner - his favorite recliner ever. La-Z-Boy just doesn't make them like they used to. “Oh, god bless it. The fuckin’ cat’s scratchin’ on my chair.”
“Oh, shit. Psst,” you whisper, patting the couch to get Gizmo’s attention, who gives you and Joel that deer in the headlights look. “Knock it off. You know better than that, baby,” you scold in the sweetest, most indulgent tone. Joel rolls his eyes. This is getting old already. “Sorry, Joel. He’s just nervous, trying to make himself feel at home.” 
“Mm,” Joel grumbles. “You know, this is exactly why people get their cats declawed. You never considered that for Heathcliff there?”
“No,” you deadpan. “It’s inhumane.” 
Joel raises his hands in surrender, then eyes Gizmo as he walks around the perimeter of the living room, stopping to sniff and bat at Joel’s Christmas tree. “Watch him,” he warns, voice dripping with irritation. 
You smack his arm. “Oh, relax, old man. He’s not gonna do anything. Pretty tree, though.” 
“Thanks. Decorated it myself.” 
“I can tell. It’s missing ornaments in the back,” you tease. Joel rolls his eyes, though unoffended. “Still. It’s nice to be around a Christmas tree. I don’t have one this year.” 
“You don’t?”
“Mm-mm. Gizmo’s too naughty.” 
Joel turns to look at you, baffled by your cognitive dissonance. He just shakes his head, and you go right back to almost-snuggling him. 
Gizmo loses interest in Joel’s Christmas tree and continues making his rounds, checking out the window and pawing at the blinds, which makes Joel cringe. Before Joel can say anything you shiver, tucking yourself closer into his side. “You cold, kiddo?”
“A little. But I’m fine.” 
“Bullshit.” Joel nudges you away from him so he can get up, then pulls a blanket from a basket on the floor. It’s one of those fleece tie blankets, with the repeated logo of the Dallas Cowboys patterned on one side, plain navy on the other. You made this blanket for him, actually. Years and years ago. It’s his favorite - used to be soft at one point, but it’s all scratchy and worn now, well-loved by Joel. He drapes it over his lap and holds one end up, inviting you to get cozy underneath it. But before you do, Gizmo jumps on Joel’s lap. “Awwwh,” you murmur, smiling warmly at your cat. “He stole the blanket.” 
“Yeah, but s’alright. We’ll jus’ move him,” Joel says, reaching for Gizmo. 
“No, no, he’s fine,” you insist, petting Gizmo’s back. “I think he likes you.” 
“Oh, great,” Joel says sarcastically. Gizmo curls up happily on Joel’s lap, kneading the blanket right over Joel’s crotch, which is an uncomfortable sensation. Joel winces and grunts when Gizmo paws his balls. “Watch it, you little shit.” 
“Be nice,” you scold, swatting Joel in the arm.
“Uh-huh.”
You and Joel finish the movie and start another, all with Gizmo sleeping happily on Joel’s lap. At some point, you’ve curled yourself up and are now sleeping on your side, feet pressed against Joel’s thigh. “Alright. Time for you to fuck off.” Joel pushes Gizmo off his lap, earning a disgruntled meow from the cat. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, shooing him away before pulling the fleece blanket over your sleeping form. “If it were up to me, you’d be sleepin’ in the garage. So don’t you wake her,” he warns, wagging a finger in Gizmo’s direction. “Asshole.” 
December 21
A bit of golden light peeks through Joel’s curtain, gently waking him up. He yawns and checks his digital alarm clock, though he can barely make out the time. Meh. It’s sunrise, whenever that is. 
You’re probably still sleeping, Joel guesses, so he’ll grab the first shower. If you’re anything like when you were younger - and you are - if Joel doesn’t shower first, he’ll never get any hot water. He doesn't understand your unique inability to ever shower under 45 minutes, but he can work around it. 
Groaning, springs squeaking with his shifting weight, Joel gets out of bed. He takes lazy, heavy steps toward the bathroom, hair sticking up in six different directions with bags under his deep brown eyes. He turns on the water and lets it warm up for a moment, grunting as he tugs his boxers down his thighs, erection slapping against his tummy. He’s hard as a fucking rock - morning wood. 
You. You shouldn’t be in his head, but you are. Joel dreamed of you all last night, doing all sorts of filthy things with you, to you. It’s probably nothing - you’re a pretty girl, and Joel’s not gotten laid in however long. Biology. Inappropriate. Wrong. But biology, nonetheless. 
Joel steps into the tub, facing the showerhead. He wets his hair, water trickling down his broad, freckled shoulders. He first scrubs his hair using some 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner, tangling his fingers in the sudsy strands, then rinses and finger-combs his hair back. Next, he grabs a bar of soap and lathers it in a rag, washing over the broad planes of his chest, his soft tummy, all down his legs, then rinses and wrings out the rag. 
His left hand on the wall, right hand palms his cock. Joel wraps his fingers around himself, sliding his hand all the way down, squeezing the base of his shaft. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, dragging his hand back up. 
Joel fucks his fist with abandon, and in his head, he’s picturing you. “Oh goddamn, kiddo,” he moans, eyes squeezed shut. Your eyes are all big and wide with your mouth full of his cock, drooling down his shaft and onto his balls. Or you’re on top of him, hands on his chest as you fuck yourself on his cock. He’s behind you, big hands gripping your waist as he pounds against your ass, leaning over you to lick and taste the skin between your shoulder blades. 
With his eyes closed as he pumps his cock, what Joel doesn’t see is Gizmo. Gizmo, wedged between the shower curtain and the liner, sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, tail swinging wildly back and forth. His pupils are big as droplets of water roll down the clear liner. 
Joel’s dick is red and throbbing, his cheeks are flushed pink as he approaches orgasm. “Fu- oh,” he pants, quickly reaching for his damp washrag. He bites the fabric to quiet his noises of pleasure. His brow knits together, the wrinkles on his face handsomely defined as he grimaces when his cock begins to throb. He’s about to fall over the edge when it’s all ruined - a sharp pain in his ass cheek, dragging down his flesh. “AHHH!” Joel screams in both shock and agony, looking for the source of his pain. 
Of fucking course - Gizmo. Gizmo, with his little, fuzzy arm raised high, claws poking through the shower liner and right into Joel’s ass. He’s squirming, stuck like that of course, go figure. “Get the fuck out of here you fuck-” Joel yells, violently shaking the shower curtain. Gizmo sprints out of the shower and around the bathroom in circles, anxiously pawing for any way out. “God fuckin’ - SHIT,” he rages, stomping out of the tub sopping wet and inadvertently kicking Gizmo with every step he takes. Joel frantically opens the bathroom door, wet hands slipping on the handle. “Scram, you fuckin’ asshole,” he spits, watching Gizmo slip out of the bathroom. 
“JOEL?!” 
Gizmo jumps right into your arms, and Joel gawks at you. 
“What did you fucking do to my cat?”
“What did I do?” Joel seethes. “He clawed my fuckin’ asscheek!” 
Joel can’t believe his eyes. You’re shooting him dirty looks as you kiss Gizmo’s little head, and Gizmo’s headbutting your face in return. He rubs his cheeks on your nose and curls his furry little body into yours, and you pout as you soothe him. “Yeah, sure. Worry about the cat. I’m fuckin’ fine, I guess,” Joel bites, catching a glimpse of a small amount of blood running down his thigh from his ass. 
Joel shuts the door then, and gets back into the shower. He washes the scratch with soap and water, wincing at the sting. When he’s done with his shower - and only his shower, as it’s now too late for him to make himself come, Joel apologizes to you for losing his temper. 
“Well, don’t apologize to me, Joel. Apologize to him.”
Joel pauses, jaw twitching, balling his hands into fists as he glares at Gizmo purring contentedly in your lap. “Sorry.” It’s the most painful, undeserved apology he’s ever had to make
Between the holidays and your cat, Joel can already tell it’s gonna be a long fucking week. 
December 22
Joel’s current job site isn’t too far from home, so instead of eating a packed sandwich in his truck, he decides to come home one afternoon to make himself something for lunch.
He enters his house through the garage and sees you napping peacefully on his couch, snoring ever so quietly. Your lips are pouting, drooling a little onto his leather couch as the TV plays at a low volume. Joel chuckles quietly, shaking his head. It makes Joel happy to see you comfortable like that, so at home at his house. 
He strolls into the kitchen and opens his refrigerator, grabbing some lunch meat and cheese. He tosses them onto the counter, then grabs a jar of mayonnaise and a loaf of bread sitting on top of the refrigerator, sets those down too. Joel grabs a plate, and when he turns back around, Gizmo’s on the counter. 
“Get down from there,” Joel hisses, shooing away the cat. “Go on, git.” 
Gizmo blinks at him nonchalantly, which pisses Joel off. He knows that fucking cat speaks English. So Joel takes the liberty to shove Gizmo off of the counter, Gizmo landing on all fours with a thump and a discontent meow. “Yeah, shut up.” 
Joel pulls two slices of bread from the loaf and opens the jar of mayonnaise, spreading a thin layer on each piece. He moves the jar out of the way and begins assembling his sandwich, and Gizmo hops right back onto his spot on the counter to stare at Joel.
“Oh, you little…” Joel whispers, trailing off and shaking his head. Joel cuts his sandwich on the diagonal, then begins making another - for you, of course. You always told Joel sandwiches taste better when he makes them. You’re a master fucking manipulator, with Joel wrapped tightly around your finger. 
Gizmo reaches for the cheese. “Don’t even think about it, Heathcliff,” Joel gruffs, swatting his paw away. “Sandwich is for her. Not. You.” 
Joel puts your sandwich in a little baggy and places it in the refrigerator before writing a note for you on a post-it. When he returns to the counter, Gizmo’s surreptitiously dipping his paw into the mayonnaise. “Hey!” Joel snaps, “Get yer fuckin’ mitts outta there.” 
December 23
It’s late at night when Joel wakes up to a horrible suffocation. His eyes fly open and his heart pounds with the heavy weight on his chest, and in his hypnagogic state, he begins to panic. Fuck, he’s having a heart attack. Confused and scared, he tosses his body with the little strength he has, and that’s when he feels it - two paws rhythmically pressing into his chest, a low purr. 
Gizmo. 
“Get the fuck off of me,” Joel whispers, pushing Gizmo off his chest. 
Gizmo makes a little mrrp noise on the floor, then leaves. Joel rolls his eyes and tosses onto his stomach, then tries to drift off to sleep. 
But he can’t. Joel’s up now, as there’s nothing like a middle of the night panic to jolt the nervous system wide awake. So Joel groans softly as he sits up in bed, yanking the blankets off his body. He takes slow, sleepy steps out of his room and down the stairs, grabbing himself a glass from the cabinet above the sink. “Fuckin’ cat,” he mumbles quietly as he fills the glass with some water. Joel takes a few sips, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of his house. In his living room, he can see some ornaments are strewn across the floor, lights pulled off the branches of his Christmas tree. As if on cue, Gizmo brushes up against Joel’s leg. “I know what you did, you motherfucker,” Joel grumbles, gently pushing Gizmo away with his foot. Joel sets the glass of water down, then makes his way to the living room. 
He first puts the lights back on the tree, and then he gathers the ornaments and places them back on the branches. 
Skrrrch.
Joel looks back to see Gizmo on the counter, nudging Joel’s glass along the surface with a gentle bat of his paw, inching it closer and closer to the edge. “HEY,” Joel whisper-yells, warning the cat, “I fuckin’ dare ya, cat. Watch what happens.” 
Gizmo makes direct eye contact with Joel as he pushes it off, and it lands with that signature, awful sound of broken glass.
“God bless it.” 
Joel stomps over to Gizmo, who frantically jumps down off the counter and skitters off into another room. Joel chases him down and turns on a light, then corners him and grabs his little body. He cradles the squirming, whining cat and inspects all four paws to make sure he didn’t step on any glass, then tosses him back onto the floor, where Gizmo then runs up the stairs and into Joel’s guest room to join you in a peaceful slumber. 
Joel sweeps up the broken glass, defeated. 
December 24
Joel’s off work for both Christmas Eve and Christmas day, so finally, he gets to spend some time with you. He’s in his pajamas making eggs and toast for you at the stove, and you’re at the kitchen table, sipping on the orange juice Joel poured for you. “Vitamin C,” he’d said. “S’good for ya.” 
Joel plates your eggs, done just how you like them, and butters your toast. “Here ya are, darlin’,” he murmurs, setting down both yours and his plates at the table. 
“Thank you, Joel,” you smile. Gizmo’s weaving in and out between your feet on the ground. With the side of your fork, you cut off a small bite of your eggs and drop it on the ground, smiling at the way Gizmo darts out to eat it. Joel just watches, completely dumbfounded. 
“You and that cat,” he sighs. “You know, your cat there has been causin’ me all sorts ‘a trouble all week.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that,” you argue, leaning down to scratch Gizmo between his ears. 
“Well, you should. He’s the fuckin’ devil. Broke a glass last night.” 
“Did not.”
“Did too. An’ he’s been fuckin’ with my tree,” Joel adds.
You roll your eyes. “It’s just a little cat, Joel. Are you being bullied by a tiny little cat?”
“As a matter ‘a fact, yes. I am.” 
You and Joel spend the rest of the day relaxing and watching Christmas episodes of sitcoms together. Joel has you wrap his presents, claiming it’s what you owe him for allowing you and your devil cat to stay. 
In the late afternoon, you and Joel get ready to go to your parents’ house for Christmas Eve dinner. Joel wears a dark green flannel and runs a comb through his hair, and you put on a nice dress, one that hugs your curves beautifully. 
You knock twice on his bedroom door. “Joel?”  
“Yeah, kiddo. C’mon in.” 
“Just wondering if you can zip me,” you ask quietly, spinning around for Joel to pull the zipper up your dress. 
“Can do,” he answers. He puts a hand on your waist and tugs the zipper all the way up, then smoothes out the fabric. “Y’look beautiful,” he tells you. “Know that?”
“Joooel,” you murmur bashfully, elongating his name. 
“I mean it,” Joel says, spinning you around and pushing a bit of hair out of your eyes with his pinky finger and smiling at you, which makes you all flustered. Joel clears his throat then, ushering you out of his room and down the stairs. “M’nervous about leavin’ that cat of yours all alone, you know. If we get home from this and that asshole destroyed my fuckin’–”
You squeeze Joel’s arm. “Relax,” you tell him, but your words do little to soothe the man. The whole time at dinner, all Joel can talk with your parents about is how awful Gizmo is. All the trouble he’s caused, and how you think the little bastard can do no wrong. “Your daughter feeds him,” Joel tells your dad, watching your reaction. “Right from her plate.” 
The night comes and goes, much like it always does. Christmas comes so much faster than it ever used to, and it doesn’t last as long. Joel drives you both home and to Joel’s surprise, his house is in one piece. But not the present he got you. 
“Goddamn it,” Joel grumbles, seeing the gift bag he left under his tree for you in shreds. He picked out a little black cat ornament for you, and thought you’d like it. He put some cat treats in the bag too. Go fucking figure that Gizmo ruins it. 
You help Joel clean up the mess of shredded paper and plastic, all the cat treats are, of course, eaten. “Fuckin’ cat’s probably pukin’ in my bed,” Joel gruffs. 
You put your ornament on Joel’s tree and squeeze his shoulder sympathetically. “You’re thoughtful,” you tell him. 
Joel smiles with his lips pressed together. He’s so ready for this week to be over. He’ll miss you - god, will he miss you when you’re gone, but he will not miss your asshole fucking cat. “How ‘bout another Christmas movie, hm?”
“Yeah,” you agree, smiling. 
“M’takin’ requests. Got any?” Joel opens his entertainment center cabinet to show you his array of DVD’s, the Christmas movies all already set out. 
“This one.” You tap the Bad Santa DVD case. “‘Cause he’s hot.” 
“Who is? Billy Bob Thornton?”
“Mhm,” you nod, smirking. 
Joel makes a disgusted face and gives you a look, but puts the movie in the DVD player anyway. Some of the vulgar jokes make Joel blush, which is uncomfortable for him and entertaining for you. 
When the movie’s over, it’s time to go to bed. For real, too. You and Joel have to be at your parents’ house again in the morning and will likely spend the entire day there, getting no alone time or space from anyone. Joel bids you goodnight and kisses you on the cheek, then heads to the bathroom for a night time shower. He doesn’t wanna fight you for it in the morning. 
Joel keeps only the night light on in the bathroom. He’s exhausted, eyes are dry and stinging with tiredness. He pulls off his t-shirt, unbuckles his belt and slides his jeans and boxers down his legs together, then toes off his socks, yawning as he scratches his balls. In a sleepy haze, Joel gets into the tub and turns on the shower. 
He’s met with that sharp, awful, excruciating pain of claws in his skin, only it’s not in his thighs. Not in his ass. 
His fucking balls. Your cat’s claws are in Joel’s balls, and dragging down his sack. Joel feels like puking as it happens, and at the same time he’s being blasted with cold water as Gizmo panics and scratches his body further. It’s like a cartoon, when two characters fight and it’s just pure chaos - a cloud of screaming and other concerning noises, concerning noises that startle you awake.
“FUUUUUUCK!!” Joel yells, scrambling to get out of the tub. He clutches his scrotum and wraps a towel haphazardly around his waist, feeling dizzy as he bleeds into his palm. “Fuck - y–” 
You fly out of bed and sprint to the bathroom, where Gizmo is clawing at the bottom of the door. “Joel?” you knock frantically. “Joel!”
Joel unlocks the door and Gizmo sprints out, soaking wet and leaving a path of water droplets in his wake. Joel’s white as a fucking ghost. “Joel?”
“H- he-” Joel can’t even get the words out. Still holding his towel in place, Joel checks the palm of his hand and sees a mess of crimson. “Oh my god,” he says with a weakened voice. 
“Joel, what the fuck? What happened?!” 
Joel shakes his head, vision going spotty as he waddles to his bedroom and sits on the bed. You follow him, shutting the door behind you and turning the light on in his room. “Joel.” 
Joel says nothing, only peeks slightly at his crotch. He does his best to protect his modesty with you there but fuck, he’s gonna faint. And unfortunately, you might see more than you should, should that happen.
“Did he scratch you?” Joel only nods, swallowing thickly. “Okay, alright. Where’s your first aid stuff?”
“Bathroom vanity,” Joel chokes out. 
You hurry to the bathroom and grab Joel’s first aid kit, then return quickly to him. 
Joel has a strong stomach, however, the sight of his mangled scrotum is too much for his heart to take. If he looks, he might puke and faint and that’ll make everything worse. “You gotta do it,” he tells you, urgency in his voice. “I can’t look. Cat fuckin’ butchered me. I’m a eunuch.”
“Okay, okay,” you whisper, sitting beside Joel. You take his hand in yours, the one that’s clutching his towel shut. He’s shaking, trembling, and you move it to the side so you can open his towel. 
“I’m gonna be sick,” Joel says. 
“You’re fine,” you reply calmly, though in all honesty you’re pretty nervous too. “I’m gonna open up your towel, okay?”
“Yeah, go ‘head and do it. M’so sorry, kid. Jesus christ,” Joel groans. He leans back so that he’s laying flat on the bed, palms pressed into his eyes as his tummy rises and falls with panicked breaths. 
You open the towel and asses the injuries. 
It’s not bad. 
Really. 
It’s not. But you still wouldn’t trade places with Joel, right now. There’s quite a few scratches here and there, some deeper and longer than others. Nothing a little cleanup and some antibiotic ointment can’t fix. “Okay, Joel. I’m gonna be right back, I need to get a soapy rag.” Joel gives you a weak thumbs up. 
You run the water on warm and lather a clean rag with some soap, then return to Joel to wash the scratches. “Might sting,” you tell him, dragging the rag gently over his sack. You do your best to remain professional or something of the sort, to ignore how Joel’s cock thickens at your touch. His thick thatch of hair spattered around the base of his dick, gray, wiry hairs sprinkled amongst the brown. He’s thicker than you would have guessed, longer too, curved so beautifully. And his thighs - gorgeous, toned. Belly is soft, arms are strong. He’s gorgeous, all laid out like this.
Joel’s…Joel is feeling every emotion. Embarrassment, because his best friend’s daughter is between his thighs and carefully tending to his lacerated balls. Rage, because her fucking shithead cat is the reason he’s in this predicament. Aroused, because he’s only a man, and you’re too fucking pretty for him to not get hard from your touch. 
“Are you doing okay, Joel?” you whisper.  
“Ask me later.” Joel wipes some sweat from his brow. “Sorry about the…my…uh…”
“It’s fine,” you assure him. “Didn’t know you were hung like that, Joel.” 
“Jesus Christ, kid, don’t say shit like that.” 
You stifle your laughter as you toss the rag to the side, the bleeding now stopped. You unscrew the cap of some Neosporin, then squeeze a generous amount onto your fingertip. 
“I’m gonna touch you,” you warn. “Just some Neosporin. Okay?”
Joel nods. “Go for it.” He clears his throat when you touch his shaft, moving it slightly out of the way so you can dab the ointment on his scratches. Fuck, he’s struggling to conceal his moans and his stuttered breathing. 
Gizmo hops on the couch then, and headbutts Joel’s bicep. 
“Get that goddamn cat away from me before I put him through the fuckin’ wall,” Joel seethes. 
You don’t push. You know Joel means business, and Gizmo really did fuck up this time. “Psst, Gizmo. Get down. Leave Joel alone,” you whisper, swatting Gizmo onto the floor. “Gizmo’s really sorry,” you murmur, still rubbing ointment onto Joel’s balls. “He didn’t mean to, Joel. He must’ve thought—”
Joel holds up a hand to stop you. “Don’t. Jus’ don’t.”
“Okay,” you whisper. You lift Joel’s ballsack to see if you missed any scratches, but you didn’t. “You’re all done, Joel.”
Joel scoffs, and you stroke his thigh soothingly to calm him. He says nothing, only collects his breathing. His cock is still achingly hard, a pearly, pretty bead of precum at the tip. 
It’s a risk, but you take it anyway. You lean down and press a kiss right against his ballsack, conscious to avoid any scratches inflicted by Gizmo. 
“Woah, woah, woah-”
“Shhh,” you whisper. “Do you want this?”
“Yeah, but-”
“But nothing.” You kiss Joel’s sack all over as much as you can, and once you’ve exhausted that, you kiss up his hard shaft. “I’m kissing it better.” 
You lick up the length of Joel’s shaft, then circle your tongue a few times around the tip. With one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, you rest the other on his tummy. 
“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel sighs, voice dripping with relief as his hips thrust up, almost as if to chase your mouth. He sits up and reaches for your head, softly dragging his nails over your scalp rhythmically. “You’re a good girl.”
You take his tip into your mouth, working your way down his cock to take him fully inside. Joel tastes salty, sweaty, heady and so masculine, just like you always imagined, and it makes you wet. And you, with your warm and wet and inviting mouth, Joel’s imagination didn’t come close to mimicking this. You bob your head up and down his shaft, bouncing your nose into his pubic hair. 
“Jus’ like that,” Joel grunts. “Attagirl.” 
His words only worsen your growing arousal, and you can feel yourself making a mess of your panties. You fuck Joel’s cock with your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and spitting down his shaft and your knuckles. 
Joel pulls your head away from his cock. “Wait a second,” he tells you. “Wanna look at the mess you’re makin’,” he mumbles, admiring the slick, wet mess of your saliva on his cock. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he murmurs, then pushes you back down onto his cock. 
Joel thrusts into your mouth a bit harshly, though maintaining a certain gentleness to it. He ruts into your mouth, grunting your name as you drool on him, just as he pictured before. 
You reach into your skirt and pull your panties to the side, the cotton is all but soaked with your wetness. Dragging a finger up and down your folds, you moan onto Joel’s cock, sending vibrations down his shaft. 
“Whatcha doin’ there, kiddo?” he rasps. 
“Nothing,” you murmur, pressing kisses against his dick. 
“Sure don’t look like nothin’. C’mere.” Joel pulls you close to him and tugs the zipper of your back down your dress, then helps you out of it. He unclasps your bra and pulls your soaked panties down your legs, clutching them in his fist before shoving them behind his pillow. 
In a swift motion that has you yelping excitedly, Joel flips you on your back, the bed beneath you warm with his body heat. Joel settles between your thighs and pushes your knees back toward your chest. “Yeah, s’it. This what you wanted, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, settling into his pillows. Joel’s hot breath fans over your hot, pulsing sex as he places his large, meaty hands on the backs of your thighs. Fuck, the way you smell has Joel’s head spinning, dizzy with lust. He presses kisses against your inner thighs first, working his way toward your center where he kisses sloppily over your clit. 
“Makin’ a mess of my sheets, y’know that, kid?” Joel teases, admiring the puddle of arousal you’re dripping onto his bed. He feels the heat of your cunt radiating against his face, inviting him in. He squeezes the meat of your thighs as he licks one long stripe up your pussy, then rubs your skin in circles with his thumbs. 
With a flattened tongue, Joel continues licking, rounding your clit before repeating the motion. He memorizes your folds, your taste, your scent. You moan his name and clutch his head against your cunt, your wordless plea for more. 
“I’ll give ya more, sweetheart. I know what you want,” he says, tongue now circling your entrance before dipping inside to taste you. He drags his tongue back up and flicks it up and down over your clit. Urgently, you tug on his graying, dark curls, pleasure blooming in your gut. You’re soaking his face as your climax approaches, thighs twitching beneath his palms. “Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant. 
“Let go, darlin’.”
You’re about to come when -
CRASH
It’s a loud, thundering crash, the sound of broken glass and heavy objects hitting the floor. Joel growls against your pussy and violently punches the bed on either side of you before tearing himself away from your cunt and stomping downstairs with a renewed anger for your cat. 
“I swear to fuckin’ Christ,” he fumes, seeing the mess Gizmo, of course, made. You’re right behind Joel, your jaw dropped in shock. 
Ornaments all over the floor, some shattered and others still in one piece. The Christmas tree is somehow in two pieces - god only knows how gizmo managed to do that. The Christmas lights are strewn all over the place and there’s your precious cat, tangled up in the mess. Joel seethes as he makes his way toward Gizmo to free him of the lights, “You get the fuck outta here,” he hisses. 
“It was an accident!”
Joel turns around, chest heaving with his angry breaths. “Not another fuckin’ word,” he says, grabbing you by the arm and forcing you over the leather recliner. Joel laughs without humor when he sees that it’s been further scratched by Gizmo.
He parts your legs with his foot, then lines up with your slick hole and enters you in one swift thrust, the action both mind-splittingly painful and pleasurable. 
“Joel,” you moan, reaching behind yourself to grab at his thigh as he sets a quick, brutal pace. 
“You are…” he starts, “Never…bringing…that fucking cat…here…ever again,” Joel pants, fucking you with anger. “Do you fucking understand me?”
“Y-yes,” you whimper, voice muffled with your face pressed into the chair. 
Joel draws out of you all the way, admiring your milky arousal glistening on his cock underneath the glow of the ruined Christmas lights. He plunges back in, then fucks you harshly. He draws in and out of you so quickly and steadily, the head of his cock brushing over your g-spot with each of his thrusts. “Fuck,” he grunts, pulling you by your hips onto his cock repeatedly. 
He breathes loudly through his nose, fucking fuming with rage as he uses your cunt to relieve himself of the stress you - yes, you caused him. That cat may be Satan’s spawn but he’s still yours. You are responsible for this.
Pleasure builds quickly in you, and Joel can tell. He leans over you to press his fingers against your clit; he doesn’t even have to move them to make you come. Just the pressure and the motion of his rough fucking is enough to send you over the edge, pussy pulsing and gushing on Joel’s stiff cock, making a mess of him.
Joel pulls you against his chest and bites your ear as he pounds into you, chasing his own orgasm. His balls tighten and his body tenses before release, and then he’s spilling into you, spurting milky white ropes of his hot come inside you. “Fuck, goddamn,” he grunts, fucking himself through his climax. When he’s finished, he pulls out of you unceremoniously, your combined arousal spilling onto the ground. What’s another fucking mess to clean up.
Joel rounds the chair and plops onto the couch, pulling you down with him. You yelp as you fall but he catches you in his strong arms and hugs you close against his body, kissing your forehead and cheeks. “I fuckin’ hate that cat,” he tells you, panting. 
Gizmo mrrps then and jumps onto Joel’s lap with you, walking over both of your bodies to greet Joel specifically, bunting Joel’s face as he purrs. 
“He’s really sorry,” you giggle. 
“Yeah, m’sure.” Joel surprises you both and brings a hand to Gizmo’s face, gently petting his head. “I mean it,” Joel warns. “Never. Again.” 
IF YOU ENJOYED!!! Please leave me a comment or say something nice in your reblog, or send me an ask ♡ i love when you make this blog feel like a community ily. ty so much <3 <3 <3
475 notes · View notes
leffee · 2 days ago
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omg bashful scoot so cute!
I adore the way you draw Scout he's so silly!!
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YAHOOOOO!! thats a big compliment thank you :D!!!
he is indeed very silly hehe i like drawing him
656 notes · View notes
alexvolleyball · 3 days ago
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♂BREAKING DISHES!♂
They're filming the tiktok trend with you.
characters: Sylus; Xavier; Zayne; Rafayel.
warnings: Rafayel! I'm not trying to impose complexes on you! Every girl is beautiful!
a/n: English is not my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes. Requests are open.
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Sylus:
• Initially, he was reluctant, insisting he didn't want to waste his time on "nonsense."
• Eventually, though, you managed to persuade him. You showed him several videos demonstrating the trend, and he nodded in understanding. “Why should I put you on my shoulder when you could just sit on my face?” he asked with a cheeky grin.
• You playfully slapped his forearm and shot him a disapproving look. “Sylus! I plan to post this on TikTok!” you exclaimed, half-amused and half-annoyed.
• “Well, if we film something else, then you can post that on—Ouch!” He barely finished his thought before you poked him in the side, pretending to be offended. You turned as if to leave, but he quickly grasped your wrist and pulled you back towards him. “Alright, kitten, don’t sulk, okay?” His voice was gentle as he pressed a soft kiss to your nose, only to follow it up with a playful bite, chuckling at the way you scrunched up your adorable nose in response. “I’ll do it for you.”
• What can I say? He nailed the trend effortlessly. You didn’t even need to jump, as Sylus effortlessly tossed you onto his strong shoulder. A man says it, a man does it. A man of his word indeed. 10/10!
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Xavier:
• He was sleeping sweetly until you jolted him awake. You should have seen the look of confusion on his face! Xavier genuinely struggled to comprehend what you wanted from him, his brain still in a fog.
• After a few attempts, he finally nodded and got out of bed, tousling his hair. The man stretched, revealing a hint of his stomach and showcasing his delicious abs. You swallowed hard, pulling yourself together, and placed your phone on the nightstand, turning on the camera.
• To say you nailed it would be an understatement. Xavier still didn’t quite grasp what he was supposed to do. A couple of times, you fell, but his quick reflexes kept you from kissing the floor.
• By the tenth attempt, Xavier somewhat figured things out.
• Well, "figured out" might be a stretch. He just hoisted you up by your arms and legs, tossing you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes! “Xavier! Not like that!”
• And what was the end result? After a couple of hours, you finally captured that trend! But he’s such a sweetheart. “Did I do everything right? Am I a good boy?” The hunter looked at you with puppy dog eyes, flashing a charming smile. How could you stay mad? But for dropping you a few times, you rated him a solid 7/10.
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Zayne:
• The cream of the crop.
• He was deeply engrossed in his work at the computer, but the moment you walked in and shared your idea, Zayne immediately set everything aside just to give you his undivided attention.
• It only took him one video to grasp exactly what needed to be done.
• The doctor unfastened the buttons on his sleeves to roll them up, revealing his veined arms.
• No jumping was necessary. The man effortlessly lifted you by the waist and hoisted you onto his shoulder. With one hand securely holding you, he casually slipped the other into his pocket. Zayne caught sight of your beaming smile and couldn’t help but grin back. Tilting his neck towards you, he gently kissed your leg and rubbed his cheek against it. “You're so light, my princess.”
• Too hot and too sweet all at once! ♾️/10!!!
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Rafayel:
• After your request, he rolled his eyes. You were already losing interest in filming with him. “Fine, I'll just shoot with your assistant; he looks strong.”
• “What?! Don't you dare!” the artist shouted, feeling a pang of jealousy. “Alright, I'll do that silly trend with you!”
• Well, you knew just where to push his buttons.
• He had come across that type of video a few times, so he knew what to do. But Rafayel wouldn’t be Rafayel if he didn’t start teasing you. He pretended he couldn’t lift you at all. “Damn! You're so heavy!”
• He had you in tears. Rafayel literally knelt before you, begging for your forgiveness. “My little fish, I was just kidding! You’re the lightest girl in the world!���
• In the end, you nailed the trend. The artist effortlessly sat you on his shoulder. For the teasing and reducing you to tears, he gets a 1/10.
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© 2024 do reblog, but don’t copy or publish my work on other platforms, or translate (without my permission) into other languages. Any coincidences are coincidental! The dividers belong to me! If you want use them, just tag me: @alexvolleyball
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kyri45 · 2 days ago
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The way you draw SWK’s kaiju form is lovely! I love the light effect you add to him throughout your comic. Yet again, I thought of something and hope you will find it amusing!
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Also:
I really appreciate you complimenting my art! It means a lot coming from you and my hope is that I can convey my gratitude for your words with even more drawings! ❤️
Is it okay for me to reblog my asks to you where I share my art on my blog? I know your rules prohibit reposting, so I thought to ask you first.
LMAO he’s a portable lava lamp indeed.
You’re welcome!
yeah sure!
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cuntphoric · 1 day ago
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gojo has had his dick in your mouth plenty of times before. but something about having his cock in your mouth in the dim light of the living room felt so different, so much more real. maybe it was the way he was staring down at you. maybe it was the way his eyes fluttered closed as your tongue swirled around his tip. maybe it was the fact you were on your knees and just looking so pretty.
it didn't matter though. the only thing that mattered was him. the only thing you could think about was him. it was him that made you sink down further on his dick, taking him in your mouth, feeling his shaft drag along your tongue and fill up your throat. it was his fingers laced through your hair that made you bob your head back and forth. it was his moans and whimpers that made you feel like you were floating, drifting up and away. being cock drunk with gojo is crazy.
you hollowed out your cheeks, sucking in as hard as you could. your eyes flutter closed and you heard him suck in a breath, his cock throbbing against your tongue. you feel the familiar, hot, heavy weight of his cock against your tongue, and the way it slides back into your throat. you swallow around his length and the noise he makes is beautiful. his legs were twitching, his hips bucking up into your mouth.
you felt his cock throb in your mouth. you opened your eyes, and were met with his. his lips were parted, his breathing was heavy and late. you could see his chest heaving, and you could feel his hands on your hair tightened, shaking. you knew that he was close.
you felt him start to tremble even more, his hips bucking forward and fucking into your throat even rougher. he was chasing his high, his body starting to move of its own accord.
"shit," he muttered, his fingers tugging your hair. "i'm gonna cum."
his cock pulsed in your mouth. he groaned, his hips stuttering. he pulled his cock out of your mouth, stroking it a few times before cum spilled onto your face, hot and thick. you closed your eyes as he continued to stroke himself, milking his orgasm and making sure you got all of it.
you felt the warmth of his cum drip down your cheek. you opened your eyes, and you could see his eyes glued to the mess he had made on your face.
"s-so beautiful." indeed!!
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hvbris · 13 hours ago
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𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy
With their game plan decided, it was indeed time to set everything in motion. Violet stood up from her chair, the sketch she had made for Theo still in hand. She had been alone with Sloane earlier and wasn't worried anymore -though she felt a little bit weird about pretending to be his daughter.
Samantha seemed quite pleased that Sloane liked her idea, and Violet recognized in her eyes the pride and excitement she felt whenever her dad praised her inventions. It broke her heart a little bit. They were all so close. Like a family. But it would end terribly, one day.
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Theo dragged her out of her thoughts when he handed her the drawing he'd made for her -all neatly folded up. She took it with a happy smile. Maybe now was not the time to look at it, so she carefully put it in her pocket. "Thank you! Here is your prize, too." She folded the sketch and gave it to him. The trap was all done. It functioned like a bear trap, only much, much worse. The kind of bear trap that would work on a Dark Young.
His encouragements left her speechless for a short second. "Thanks," she said softly, touched, "you've got it this too." With that, she followed Sloane out of the room while Samantha walked up to the stage to help Theo pick up the trap.
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"See you in a bit," she told them, as if they were simply splitting up to run some errands.
"That sounds like a good plan to me," Sloane said of Violet joining him, to him he didn't really worry too much but he was aware she had encountered a version of him who had been particularly horrible, unaware that at present, he was actually the exception to the usual rule. As for Samantha's plan, Sloane was sure to smile and give her a thumbs up and pat on the shoulder. "That's a good one too," he told her warmly.
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"Now, get to work, O-Cell." He instructed as he moved to start walking towards the doors, watching his pace so to not leave Violet behind but it was time to move.
Theo took his opportunity though, snatched up his drawing and handed it to Violet, folded for her convenience and with a wink. "A deal's a deal." He was sure to say as he turned to get ready to go and help Samantha to move the trap.
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"You've got this, I know you do." He told her encouragingly even if he had his doubts, they were at least faint for now. He had after all been wrong before.
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“fuck that shirt.”
needy!chan x fem reader
genre: smut, no plot
word count: ~1.2k
warnings: unprotected sex..? is that all?
an: inspired by this video.. because.. hey what the fuck? i’m feral.
masterlist
‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼ adults only • mdni ‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼
“baby.. i need you.” he said, almost pouting. he was dressed in his slacks and white button down, still left over from his meeting. you rose from your place on the couch, holding back a giggle. he looked so needy, his eyes pleading, as if you would ever deny him. you would think he would know by now that you’re just as needy for him as he is for you. you approached him, and spread your palms against his broad chest. you could feel his warmth radiating through the fabric.
he closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and inhaled deeply. like he wanted to fill his entire being with your scent, like just the weight of your hands were enough to bring him some form of relief. you traced your fingertips along his chest and up to his shoulders. you squeezed them gently before guiding your hands up and around his neck. your fingers tangled in the hair at his nape, the spot of his usual ‘duck tail’ that you loved so much, but tonight he had his hair done and straight. you tugged on the strands lightly and guided his lips to yours.
the kiss started soft and gentle but very quickly escalated, thanks to him. he was indeed needy, it seemed. his hands initially cupped your face, cradling your head in between his palms. but once the kiss became more fervent, his hands traveled south. he gently caressed your breasts through your sleep shirt, which was just an old shirt of his. once his tongue found its way into your mouth, his fingertips found their way under your hem. he rubbed at the skin of your tummy, and slid his hands around over your hips and to your back, pulling you tighter against him.
his teeth nipped at your bottom lip as he bent his knees and scooped you up, his hands on your ass, your legs wrapped around him. you let out a small squeal at the sudden liftoff, but soon giggled against his lips. he carried you down the hall and to the bedroom. you moved your kisses from his lips to his jaw as he walked. he groaned when your lips made contact with the sensitive skin of his neck. he kicked open the bedroom door, moving as quickly as he felt comfortable with. he didn’t want to drop you after all, you are precious cargo.
he reached the edge of the bed and gently tossed you down onto the covers, your body giving a slight bounce. you propped yourself up onto your elbows as you watched him. he was already barefoot, having taken his shoes off at the door. he began unbuttoning his shirt, but grew impatient half way through. his strong hands balled up the fabric and yanked the two sides apart, little plastic buttons flying all over the floor.
“channie, im not going anywhere.” you said. “there’s no need to ruin your shirt.”
he reached out and grabbed you by your ankles, and swiftly pulled you to the edge of the bed. he pulled your panties down and threw them to the side. “fuck that shirt.” he growled. “i need you. now.”
his skilled fingers rubbed at your clit for a moment. a gasp escaped your throat as he slid two fingers inside you, doing his best to prep you as quickly as he could. his erection growing almost painful in his pants. he used his free hand to undo his belt and his zipper, pushing his pants down just far enough to free his aching cock.
“you’re prepped, aren’t you baby?” he asked, rubbing his tip through your wetness. “can i please?”
“you’re big, channie.” you reminded him. “just take it slow to begin with. let me adjust.”
he nodded. “slow, yeah. slow.”
he pushed his tip in and groaned, his head falling forward at the relief of finally being inside you, even if only a little bit. his fingers dug into the skin of your hip and he tried to ground himself, slowly sinking further and further into your heat.
“fuck.. fuck..” he whined, before his hips met the back of your thighs and he was fully inside you. he tried to stay still and let you adjust to him. but you could feel him twitching inside you, his grip on your hips surely would leave a bruise, his body practically shaking. “please. please baby.” he begged.
“go ahead, channie.”
he hooked your legs over his arms and fell forward, his hands on either side of your head now. he leaned down and kissed you softly, before slamming himself in and out of you repeatedly. you couldn’t recall the last time chan had fucked you this hard. usually he was a slow and doting sort of lover, more focused on your pleasure than his own. more focused on worshipping your body and taking his time with you. coaxing orgasm after orgasm from your writhing body before he even considered sinking his length inside you. but that is not how tonight would go. no, he was far too needy for that. far too sensitive. he was already shaking, his thrusts sloppy, panting his babbling incoherentness into your ear.
seeing your usual stoic boyfriend be this far gone, brought you close to your peak quickly. you gripped onto his shoulders, nails digging into the hard muscle. your pussy fluttered around him, on the brink of release.
“fuck. fuck, baby i’m not gonna last.” he whined. “need- fuck. need you so bad.” his head drooped into the crook of your neck, his whining breath tickling your skin.
“that’s okay, channie.” your hands explored his body, from his muscular back, around to his toned stomach and chest. “i’m- ah- i’m close anyway.”
“yeah?” he asked, though he wasn’t looking for an answer. “cum, please. baby please.” he let out high pitched, staccato moans as he tried to hold back and wait for you. “ple- cum- fuck. please. please. fuck.”
“cumming channie.” you breathed. your vision went dark as your high crashed over you, your muscles clamping down around him, making it hard for him to continue thrusting. but that was okay, because as soon as the words left your mouth, he was filling you up.
“baby. fuck.” he breathed, his cock still twitching. “you feel so good.” he leaned back, fully extending his arms to prop himself up and look down at you. he looked completely fucked out. his hair was everywhere, his eyes were hazy, his skin covered in a light sheen.
you reached out to touch his cheek with your fingertips. he turned his head and kissed your fingers. “so needy, channie.” you said, giggling.
his ears turned pink and he looked away. “i mean..” he chuckled nervously. “been thinkin’ bout you all day.”
his body fell on top of yours, his strong arms wrapping around your middle, his face buried in your chest, as he squeezed you tightly. he was sweaty, but you didn’t care. “love you.” he mumbled into your shirt.
you tousled his hair as he continued to nuzzle into you. “love you too, channie.”
♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡
©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.
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gordonsicedcoffee · 10 months ago
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SCOTT PATTERSON as PETER STRAHM SAW IV (2007) dir. Darren Lynn Bousman
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s0up1ta · 4 months ago
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ANYONE ELSE WANT A PIECE 🤬🤬😡👹🗣️
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alt versions under the cut:
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couldn't decide so take all of them
edit: I MADE A DESKTOP VERSION !!
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