#even if it’s taking up all this room and you never actually use it for whatever you’re ‘saving it for’

[tonycries]

Sweetheart Online - G.S.

Synopsis. Isekai-ed into another world, or isekai-ed into your pants?! Gojo Satoru is in danger - in danger of losing his prized, otaku vírginíty, that is.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, otaku! Gojo, isekai, vírgínity loss (Gojo), chokíng, use of “ma’am”, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, begging, nerdy babbling, Gojo wears glasses, cúmming dry, first times, oraI (f + m), face-sítting, cúmming early, spítting, creampíes, cúmplay, p talking, cúmming in his pants, he goes féral, otaku vocab, truck-kun, anime nosebIeeds, Gojo is a LOSER, and so down bad for you, pet names, swearíng.

Word count. 8.8k

A/N. IT’S HEREEEEE-

“Har har. hilarious, Suguru-”

“You know m’not joking, Satoru.” Geto’s taking an infuriatingly long slurp! of his ramen from the other end of the line, and Gojo’s known the man long enough to realize that he’s doing it solely to irritate him. That bastard. “You’re a loser.”

Ah, he’s never wanted to throttle him more. 

Because- listen, Gojo Satoru might be many things. 

He might be the proud president of the campus otaku club, rumored to have never even held hands with a woman his entire life. Complete defamation, of course, Gojo has held hands with his mother as a child. Though…she might be the only one. 

He might be the most annoying tenant at his cramped Tokyo apartment, every inch of it covered with enough of your pretty figurines that he’s taken to sleeping on the couch recently. But you deserved only the best!

And he might currently be the sketchiest man trudging down the streets of Shibuya at 3AM; with a brand-spanking new, life-sized body pillow of you tucked safely underneath one arm.

But that didn’t mean Gojo was a loser. Probably. 

So what if he got strange looks from every unfortunate normie soul he happened to pass? It was limited edition, and he waited eight hours in line for it!

After all, a man with such a prized possession could surely and undoubtedly never be a-

“-oi- oi!” Self-proclaimed best friend, and universally-proclaimed pain in Gojo’s ass grumbles into the phone. 

Snapping out of his reverie, Gojo’s registering that he’s already at that familiar flickering stoplight. Fingers curling even tighter in their tender hold around your form, he saunters down the barren crossing. 

He needed to get home - and he needed to get home fast! A man needs quality time with his wife, after all. 

“Don’t tell me you fainted from her ah- what was it- ‘sheer beauty and unparalleled sex appeal’ again?”

“That was one time and you know it.” He’s hissing into the speaker- honestly, Geto’s probably just cranky that he didn’t get his grubby hands on one of these before he did - Gojo’s seen the other man’s plushie collection of you no matter how much he tries to hide it. “This time, I only got weak in the knees.”

There’s a snickering drawl, “Oh yeah? What wondrous self-control, o’ maestro of virgins.”

And the title is so utterly ridiculous that Gojo finds himself stuttering into a shocked stop right in the middle of the gloomy asphalt. A laugh bubbling up in his throat before he remembers that that particularly sweet nickname was directed at him. 

“You’re a virgin too!”

Scoffing, “Yeah, but I don’t act like it. You, on the other hand, are famed for having your first kiss with the common room tv the moment you first saw that video game character. People were making bets on whether you were going to die a virgin, Satoru. Hell- I bet, too!”

Dammit, when you put it like that it makes Geto sound downright respectable. 

“Actually, she’s more than a video game character, Sugu—” Times like this, he’s letting his words simper out into a whine. Full and well knowing how much it’ll grate against Geto’s eardrums - hah, take that ramen ASMR! Smugly, Gojo pushes up his thickly-rimmed glasses, “She’s the revered princess of a distant land, first in line to rule over the throne with a gentle yet firm hand. Scouring the seas for the perfect consort that will-”

“Are you quoting her Wikipedia-”

“I wrote her Wikipedia.” Gojo huffs indignantly, as if anyone could ever assume anything less. “Because to me, she’s- she’s…”

And, truly, nothing he recited with MLA citations could ever describe you.

Because if there’s one thing that Geto was right about, it’s the fact that Gojo’s been completely and utterly head-over-heels for you ever since he first glimpsed an ad for Sweetheart Online - the hottest, filthiest romance game to hit the industry in the last few years. Maybe ever. 

With one love interest - as if he needed any other - you, and your hand in marriage that Gojo had fought rival after unworthy rival to win 143 times already.

He finds himself wracking his brain for any word in the existing lexicon to describe the perfection that is you. Though, it seems that he doesn’t have to think too hard at all. 

Because before he can even imagine letting the first few syllables formulate on his tongue, there’s a deafening-

HONK!

Gojo turns, only to see the glaringly white headlights of a truck hurtling towards him at full-speed. 

And the first thing he thinks is oh, it kind of looks like the spotlight that dazzles on you 1 minute and 24 seconds into the game’s Coronation Event. The second thing he thinks is…fuck.

.

.

.

“-highness—looks rabid!”

“—that’s rude, but…”

“-oh dear, put your sword down, Itadori.”

Gojo takes a few bleary seconds to pat himself mentally on the back for deducing that he’s died and made his way to heaven. Honestly, it doesn’t matter what Yaga says - he really is a genius sometimes.

What else could the delicate paintings of cupids and clouds on the staggeringly tall ceiling abovehead mean? He didn’t think that the heavens above had a fancy for Baroque - but who was he to judge? 

Certainly not when it seemed like he was sprawled out on a painfully decadent bed. Sifting among layers and layers of delicate silk that almost swallowed him whole - oh, it was fit enough for his figurine collection of you. 

A sharp crick shoots along Gojo’s neck when he turns his eyes towards what seemed like a towering window, wincing at the large glowing ball of light washing warmly over him. If he squinted his eyes it almost looked like…the sun?

Surely, he wasn’t a ghost then.

It hadn’t even been daybreak once that semi-truck had run him over, and even if he was to haunt anyone then it would be to bug Geto into plastering his collection of your posters all over his gravestone. 

And the final piece of celestial evidence being a soft, soothing tone ringing in his ears and already becoming his favorite new song. Coming from the mouth of an angel peering down at him who looked - lo and behold - like your very spitting image. 

“Oh…” It comes out in a hoarse, scratchy gasp. All the air knocking out of his poor lungs once you inch in mere centimeters closer to his glassy view. He can’t help but reach up a trembly hand, “You’re even more beautiful in 3D.”

SMACK!

Gojo flinches when his hand gets knocked away unceremoniously by someone else’s- there were other people here? “You dare attempt to touch the princess? After revealing yourself in her chambers? I should call the guards right now-”

Now, he didn’t know much about the afterlife, but he was sure that demons weren’t allowed in heaven.

“It’s quite alright, Nobara.” The angel speaks up, and oh, it’s not even his name being said but Gojo already feels his heart leap a little and suddenly wishes it was. “Judging by the state of his clothes it seems he’s not from these parts. Maybe he’s lost?”

Gentle hands are suddenly bestowed upon his to softly pull him up, and before he can open his mouth to undoubtedly blurt out something stupid, there’s a ringing PING!

Jumping just about a foot off the bed, he’s scrambling to stand as a strangely robotic voice speaks from somewhere overhead, “Milestone: Touch a Girl reached. System activation successful! Congratulations, user [Satorulovesprincess]. Welcome to Sweetheart Online.”

If the group in front of him heard anything, then they didn’t show a sign. 

Very much the opposite of a thoroughly panicked Gojo, flailing his head towards the source of the noise until his eyes meet a holographic screen hovering just a few inches over his head.

As if something pulled right out of one of Geto’s favorite trashy sci-fi films - fuck being in heaven, he was probably still on those Shibuya streets hallucinating and causing an incident.. 

Gojo treks down a hand to pinch his forearm, just a little harder than necessary when the voice booms once more-

“Quite ingenious, user [Satorulovesprincess]. However, we assure you that what you are seeing is real.” The screen displays those exact words in time. “You have initiated the execution of the system, and are now bound to Sweetheart Online.”

“System- Sweetheart Online-” Great, he’s going mad. Running his hands through tousled locks of cloudy white, “Don’t tell me…don’t tell me this is like one of those shitty isekai anime.”

Oh god it all made sense - the truck, the system, the truck. And Gojo’s watched much more than enough cliché isekai anime with the otaku club to realize. 

But…a truck? Seriously? That’s embarrassingly overused. 

It’s like a pit of ice forms at the bottom of his stomach. He bet that no one but him could see the glaring screen right now. A fact he was especially glad for once the following words roll out-

“Following your sudden and extremely inexperienced death, Mission: No-Longer-Virgin has already started.”

Whispering to himself, “So this is where virgins go after death. Some sort of purgatory perhaps in which the last wishes of the virgin are materialized- although that doesn’t explain the presence of- wait-”

“Good luck, user: [Satorulovesprincess]. May your virginity collapse, and your sex life prosper!”

If Gojo didn’t know any better, he’d have sworn that the disjointed voice sounded amused. 

But wait- no, it wanted Gojo to lose his virginity? His long-held, precious, maiden virginity? After twenty-something years, how crude that this ah- mission marrs his delicate body. Did the system think that he was some sort of harlot to-

“Are…are you okay, strange sir?”

Okay, maybe losing his virginity wasn’t all that bad.

Turning back around slowly, “I uh…”

And this wasn’t quite how Gojo imagined meeting you - glasses askew, hair rumpled, in the very same ratty hoodie and sweatpants he’d camped outside the anime store in - hell, he never thought he’d meet you in general. 

But then you smile, and Gojo falls onto his knees. Right then and there on the polished floor.

You were exactly as he’d seen on-screen. Brows quirking upwards just a slight cheeky degree the same way it did whenever his in-game avatar said something particularly smooth. Gorgeous. The silken skirts of your ball gown looking oh-so-soft to the touch but not as soft as you-

“Your highness, on top of being a madman, he drools at the sight of you!” A younger girl shrieks - Nobara Kugisaki, your trusty attendant, he remembers. Hastily wiping his lips, “Kindly consider having his skull impaled.”

There was nothing kindly about having his skull impaled, and Gojo’s already clutching his head when you chuckle. “Your name?”

Ah, he’s forgotten how to speak. Forgotten how to breathe. “G-Gojo Satoru- my princess- your highness.”

“Apologies, I’m not sure what foreign ambassador you are, but I do welcome you kindly to our kingdom.” You’re letting your eyes roam all over his still-kneeled body, and in them glittered something…dark. 

Sliding over your hand and oh! Gojo remembers this.

He’s drinking in that delicate floral scent of yours, dragging his plump mouth to meet the back of your hand in a lingering kiss. The very moment his lips touch you, Gojo feels lightheaded.

And only after pulling away does he realize exactly why-

“Ah! He’s bleeding!” The young man - your loyal knight, Itadori - yelps, and Gojo’s clapping over the warm wetness smearing over his lower face. A nosebleed? Really? Just from kissing your hand? God, Geto was right - he really is a loser. “Should I call the healers, your highness?”

“No we have him drawn and quartered for such an unseemly display-”

“Nobara, that’s quite alright.” You’re waving off, smooth marble floors resonating out sharp clacks! when you walk even closer. Close. Too close. Until you’re seated on the edge of the bed, “After all, it is my consort choosing ceremony. Isn’t that what you’re here for, Satoru?”

Gojo thinks he could faint at the way you say his name - and he almost does. 

Scrambling towards you, he’s fully kneeling at your feet now. You’re so beautiful - so real - that pearly beads of tears dot his fluttering lashes. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

He swears he hears you mumble cute under your breath. Now he could really faint–

“Oh? And I intend on fulfilling the wishes of my guest.” Speaking somewhere over his shoulder, “You two are dismissed. Lock the doors.”

Kugisaki is, unsurprisingly, the one to protest. “But- but, your highness he’s-” And, honestly, Gojo can recognize the raw expression of what the fuck in her voice. He doesn’t blame her one bit. Not when you tip his head up further to face yours and his nose twitches like he’s about to start nosebleeding all over again. “...pathetic.”

Ouch. Gojo was on the verge of spoiling the ending to her character’s backstory when you’re humming. “I like them pathetic, Nobara.” 

Did he mention you were an angel?

“So…” You’re luring him in, and just that heady lilt of your voice already makes his cottony grey sweatpants tight. Shit- wasn’t this the type of situation that he wrote secret fanfics about?

Barely hearing the creaky SLAM! of the double doors to your royal chamber. Clouded pants waft over your satisfied features, he’s peeking up at you over his large spectacles. Lolling closer and closer-

Mumbling, “Yes, my prin- oh!”

Gojo’s pouted strawberry-pink lips wobble cutely when the golden points of your heel dig into the fleshy mound of his thigh. Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing, “Y-your highness?”

“What’s this about a-” Watery eyes widening wordlessly when you’re sliding it all the way up, up, up along the shockingly curvaceous muscles to press right down on the straining inches of his fattened cock. Needy. Bulging. “-virginity loss mission-” Hard. “-Satoru?”

And Gojo doesn’t know what comes first - that sharp inhale at the realization, or him.

Fist flying up for him to sink his pretty pearly whites into when he’s biting back a whimper and cumming.

You could feel the way that Gojo’s sloppy mushroom tip was just bawling with every lazy grind up and down his sappy slit. 

Milking out the thick, goopy ribbons being sprinkled from his rounded mushroom tip. Volumes upon volumes. So much of it. That warm texture clinging against the flats of your shoe and puddling out mushy dark splotches into his sweatpants.

Shit. Shit shit shit - cumming just from that. All in front of the woman of his dreams. Part of him almost wants to apologize.

But the way your mouth curls into a sleazy grin makes Gojo’s heart race, every minute action only keeping his achy length even harder. 

He so can’t help himself from grabbing your calves to halt with a few twitchy fingers - only to be going against his own yearnings. Hips humping yours once like a fucking dog as his breath hitches, “You- you know?”

“Awww, of course I know, Toru. I can see the screen.” Fuck- he hopes you can’t feel the wet splat! of another buttery wad of cum being dolloped out generously from his depraved divot. Leaning in, “S’this the first time anyone else has ever made you cum?”

He knew you were teasing - he knew it. But that doesn’t stop Gojo from panting out a strained, “Yes.”

“Hmmm, well-” You’re tapping your chin in thought, despite already having made your decision. But it was just so fun to see this beautiful man shivering and pleading on his knees. “I don’t know where you transmigrated from but…I still am a benevolent ruler, after all.”

He gulps. Cupping one flushed side of his face, Gojo’s practically a steaming hot mess of putty in your hands. “And I can take care of that little virginity business for you.”

Croaking out, “P-please.”

“Hmmm, not good ‘nough.” You’re rovering down even further to press a slight smooch of pressure against his fatly filled-up balls. Thighs squeezing at just how big they were - breeder balls. “Is that how you speak to your princess?”

“No- no no no-” Gojo’s shaking his head so hard that it makes him a little dizzy, or maybe that was the way that you were fisting your determined digits into his faded hoodie. “Please…ma’am.”

“Much better.”

Before he can even blink, he’s being dragged upwards according to your every want and whim. Thrown onto the bouncy king-sized mattress with such strength- of course, he shouldn’t even be surprised. You are the future queen for a reason, after all. 

In fact, he’s never skipped a single cut scene that showed you training your battle skills-

“Now now, don’t tell me you’re tapping out already?” Your voice drifts its way into his melty mind, words so sugary sweet that he could almost taste them. “At least gimme a lil’ kiss now-”

And it’s more than anything he could’ve ever dreamed of.

Muffling back a muted yes, Gojo’s surging upwards to clash his lips into yours. And oh shit, just-now realizing that he’s lost his first ever kiss. 

Then his second. His third. His fourth.

It’s messy. It’s hot. 

Tugging you even closer with a forearm around your waist. Gojo’s sloppy tongue is licking its way past your ravenous entrance, fucked-out bubbles of spittle pop up at the edges of his pursed lips when you’re breaking away-

“N-nooo-” He’s letting off a shuddering whine, chasing after you with a sluttily half-parted maw. “Gimme- wanna ‘nother kiss, princess.”

So greedy. The fat curve of your thumb positions itself on Gojo’s prettily dimpled chin, prying open his dewy lips even further. “Open that mouth f’me, Toru?”

He’s doing exactly what you’re saying before he even realizes it. The glistening muscle of his tongue splayed-out perfectly on display for you - for you to spit out a heavy mass of saliva right onto his pinkish tastebuds. 

Gojo moans at the contact - and you can feel it before he does. The subtle jolt of his weepy cockhead, before your languidly gyrating kneecap is dampened with another wiry slather of cum. Warm and wet. 

“Cumming again?” You coo, eyes darting between the ever-growing pool of a frosted mess between his long legs, and his face. Gojo looked so pretty like this - glasses sliding down his button nose, eyes shuttering with each heaving pant - gasp. Face flushed and slicked with a slight shimmer of sweat, stray locks of white curtain and stick to his reddened forehead. He looked so pretty. “Just from that?”

He’s squirming his depraved hips to smudge a faint glaze of seed down your mounds of flesh, one palm dancing upwards to stop himself from having a nosebleed all over again. “C-can’t help it…The average time of ejaculation for a man is five to seven minutes based on psychological factors and age. And as a healthy young man just because I-”

You’re shutting him up with a kiss, and Gojo almost wonders why more people don’t do this time - that is, until he remembers they’re not you.

“Sounds pretty serious.” You’re nodding, a mask of teasing graveness taking over your face. Swiftly shuffling down the seemingly endless expanse of the bed. Doughy fingerpads delicately hooking onto the hem of his drenched pants, “Better get a taste before you run out, then.”

Gojo lets out such a breathy pant at the implication, “N-no it won’t, considering the volume of the seminal vesicle and- ah!”

Whatever drunken rambling of his is cut very, very short as soon as you tug down those useless sweatpants and let Gojo’s red, painfully angry cock smack! against his abdomen with a wet smear.

He was so…big.

Such girthy, solid inches upon inches that twitched needily right before your very eyes. A rummaging, left-leaning curve being nestled above two pretty pink balls. 

Your mouth waters once you’re curling your fingers dexterously around his plump circumference, making his cerise cockhead waterfall out in another lazy sheen of pre. It’s honestly a bit of a strain to even get your fingertips meeting each other properly with his incredible size, and that just makes you want him more.

Gojo’s knitting his ivory brows nervously, “S-s’it okay?”

It’s more than okay.

And you’re about to show him that.

Cerulean irises crossing together until they were all heart-eyed when a saturated coating of your saliva tops his bloated tip like a layer of icing. Before he feels himself fall in fucking love just at the gummy peck of your mouth onto the rotund ends of his length.

“W-woahhh—” He’s breathing out, eyes locked lecherously right with yours when the steaming hot cavern of your mouth sinks in more and more and more- “This- what- fuuuck-”

And then you’re huffing out a slight chuckle through your nose, hitting his drenched base and making him keen. Slender hips of his lurch the perfect angle off the luxurious bed to bump his mountainous head against the very back of your throat. 

Gasping - begging. 

“You’re seriously gonna…take me?” Prattling through clenched teeth as you grace him with a few more flooding masses of spit. It makes him feel so used. Feel so good. “Like you- you’re gonna put me in your mouth?”

“No.” You’re snickering at the utterly crestfallen look on his face, full mouth downturned, puffed-up tip tinting an even more blasphemous red as if to tempt you. Your fingers tangle with his to claw at the crown of your head, “You’re gonna put yourself in my mouth.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Shit-” Gojo whispers - more to himself than anything. “You can do this- can- can do this- just suck on m’cock-” Rubbing out a translucent lipstain all over your ajar maw before plugging his proud girth inside. “Please- wanna know what it feels…”

Gojo can’t remember what he was saying. What he was thinking. 

Because just a few vulgar sucks of your tenderized mouth around his inflated cock and he’s drunk. Fuck dying by a truck, he was about to die just by this. 

Head lolling all the way back against the poofy pillows, white-hot bliss flashing behind his eyes and- when had he even closed them?

“Wh-why does it feel so–” he’s clenching his jaw, dredging out every single ounce of will in his being to peer at the heavenly - hah- sight below. “-so- good- c-can it feel so good- hngh- please-”

Gojo’s drawing up the hem of his hoodie to cover that brightly blossoming blush. So adorable. He even tasted sweet, like the best of salted caramel that made you infinitely want more. 

Your salacious tongue is repeatedly wetting down his lightning bolted veins. Up and down up and down up and down to draw little hearts on those bumpy lines. 

His sobbing cockhead mushing back into the velveteen walls of your mouth, and Gojo could cum just from the voluptuous curve being outlined into your cheek. He’s finding it almost fucking impossible to grunt out over the raw squelches! emanating from where you were making out with his throbbing cock, “Must be illegal- that’s it! It f-feels so good this must be- ngh- outlawed.”

You’ve rendered him stupid. And he’s so hot and heavy in your mouth, it makes your core stir up to think that you’re the first.

Every choked-up plea only resonates off of the numerous corners of your bedroom even louder once your fingers latch onto the gluttonous curve of his fattened balls. Squeezing-

“S-so dirty- so dirty, princess…” And part of Gojo doesn’t know why he’s letting his traitorous hands wander onto the back of your scalp. Doesn’t know why he’s plunging just a few more inches past your prettily-pouted lips - you were his princess and he was…not treating you like royalty.

The Gojo in this game had always been so smooth. So suave. Taking his sweet, sweet time to hold your hand and talk to you about the politics of your kingdom.

Right now he was curving his thick thighs to flex around your shoulder and feeding you every saccharine inch you could possibly swallow up. “Can you- can you take more? Take this biiiig fuckin’ cock?”

You’re being choked in a locked hold by his powerful legs, and you’ve never been wetter. Practically puddling out a syrupy pond on the sheets underneath you.

Tugging out the thick nub of his thumb to smear those honeyed splatters of his precum at the corners of your mouth, you can only grin as you let your sentence translate into thrumming vibrations. “Mhmm— Settling into it s-so well, aren’t ya, Tooooru?”

“F-fuck!” Gojo’s blushing tip glides shyly down the tight back of your throat, rovering all along each n’ every millimeter of space inside you. It only made your head bob faster to imagine how he would feel down there- “Don’t talk- don’t talk. Please don’t talk s’gonna make me…”

But you.

Oh, Gojo Satoru has read your character profile over 2489 times by now.

He’s memorized every factoid and morsel of knowledge there is to know about you - so of course, he should’ve known. Should’ve realized that babbling away those words would only make your sultry motions increase.

“Cum f’me like a good boy.”

And he does. 

You can only watch in awe when a pearlescent globule of cum gumdrops from his weepy orifice, one. Two. Three. Until Gojo was just drenching the entirety of your mouth with thickly viscous coatings of seed, until you were just drooling with a wadded mess of spittle and seed.

Salty flavor dripping down your tongue and flooding out. So much of it. Too much, Gojo was spurting out the thickest ribbons of creamy white as if he’d never cum before - and doesn’t plan to stop any time soon. 

More, more, more like it was the sound of your voice making him shiver. Making him whine like a zillion volts of electricity was running down his greedy spine. 

The moment you pull away, hefty oodles of cum hit Gojo’s toned abs with a wet splat! And your dear subject is wrangling out his hands towards you like he never wanted to let go.

“No- no! Please- please come back-” Crinkling tears trek their way down his dewy face, sensory pads of his fingers reaching out for you desperately, only for you to part away. “N-need your pretty mouth on me.”

You’re raising a brow, thumbing over his still-crying divot, “But don’tcha want something…else, Satoru?”

“Something- else?” He’s rasping out haltingly, head thoroughly swimming with nothing but you. Your heart glows with pride at the way he can barely form coherent sentences, “What…oh.”

But Gojo gets the idea soon enough when you’re hastily shedding away your outer robes. He fumblingly tries to help, of course, but the simple idea of helping a woman undress is too much for him - and he’s banished to simply watching you, one hand held underneath his nose in case of another…incident. 

Gown and undergarments hitting the floor, your gorgeous legs come to hike up, up, up- driveling mouth falling slack the moment they’re ending up rested on either side of his intoxicated head.

“Oh.” He wheezes intelligently up at your glistening cunt.

“Nothing else ta say?” Your heady purrs only make him blush, nuzzling his feverishly burning cheek against the spattered sheen of slick at your inner thigh. He’s making such a mess on purpose. Making himself a mess. 

“Well-” Gojo bats his long lashes up at you dangerously, clear planes of his glasses digging into the handsome apples of his cheeks. But he didn’t mind. Couldn’t even feel anything but the sweltering heat of your arousal. “-jus’ that- I want you to spit in my mouth, princess.”

And the very moment that sugar-coated sap, Gojo moans.

Eyes flickering shut at the taste of himself - the taste of you. A candied little tinge that he oh-so-badly needs more of - and without even a second of hesitation, he’s stuffing himself right there between your pretty legs. 

It doesn’t matter the rhythm. It doesn’t matter the rhyme. 

And Gojo doesn’t even know any - the very moment your puffy lips are meeting his kiss-bitten ones in a French kiss, he already knows that your cute cunt has taken him hostage.

Jaw clenching as he tries to memorize all those fanfics he guiltily read night after night, Gojo’s bumping up his cloudily condensed glasses further up his nose when he leaves one kiss. Two. “Ohhhh, your pussy tastes s-sooo good.”

And they each get messier and messier after the other. 

Letting the heaping dollops of your juices flood onto his roughened tastebuds, he’s letting his long tongue peek apart your gluey pussylips. Sliding the very tip up and down and round n’ round your slicked entrance. 

“The- the oh!” Gojo flinches just as your body arches even deeper once he pokes his fat muscle past your tight ring. Leaving such a slew of wet slurps with every drag, he was dirty. “-according to what I’ve read, th-the clitoris is found at the top of the vulva. It should be located where the hah- labia-”

His words cut off with what you swear sounds like a strangled whimper when you harshly fist your digits into his silken-soft strands and push.

And you don’t notice it at the time, hell, even Gojo doesn’t notice with just how ruined he was right about now. 

But the sole moment you’re manhandling him to your will makes his flushed crownhead geyser out a torrential of cum. 

Fountaining out waves and waves of seed that paint his hefty base with a frosted ring. Such thickened volumes for the nth time tonight. Just from the roughened way that you were pushing him to make out with your pretty pussy.

He wanted to be used.

“Used, huh?” You’re letting out a murky pant of laughter- fuck, did he say that out loud? “Wanna be u-used, Satoru- wanna keep that big mouth of yours hngh- full?”

He’s nodding. Nodding and nodding and nodding with every sloppy gyration that you bestow all down his features. Huffing and puffing through every gasping breath he manages to shudder in, he’s shooting out a good mass of saliva. “Yes- ride me. Ride me. Fucking ride my face. A-always wanted you to ride me- hngh- please.” 

And how could you deny him when he’s all begging like that?

Gluey ropes of spit and slick lacquer Gojo’s chin like a smooth polish, and he’s sticking against you like he was just as clingy. Jaw grinding against your kinetically moving pussy, the pointed edge of his nose weaves from between your leaky slit and ends up pressing right onto your clit-

“O-oh!” Your head tumbles backwards with an ever-tightening grip onto his sweat-dampened locks. “Yeah- right there–”

“Here? Here?” He sounds like he couldn’t quite believe it. The ravenous edge of his thumb curling right up your soppy slit and pinning down your hooded clit. Hard. “The glans clitoris r-right here. And I found it- I found it.” Breathing out a long whistle that makes your heated skin bristle with goosebumps, “I always wondered what would h-happen if I…”

You barely even have the time to react before you’re staring at the glisten of Gojo’s sharp canines sneaking up to your sensitive nub and biting.

And he didn’t expect this.

He didn’t expect it to be better than the fanfiction-

Because your generous cunt just cascades in another jet of sappy juices, glazing Gojo’s features sexily all the way from his dimpled grin up to his glasses. 

They’re dripping wet, waterlogged with treacly film of slick that forces him to gawk up at you from below with such a loving gaze. Just the way he’s peering up at you is enough to make your breaths hitch.

“Gonna- gonna write about this, y’know? H-hope you know that this changed my hah- fuckin’ life, my princess…my girl.” Gojo drawls out lazily, movements as slow as if he was slipping through molasses when he sinks the rounded tips of his cushy fingers into your slick-flooded entrance. “Gonna h-have you for breakfast- for ah- lunch…aaaand for dinner.”

With a pitchy whine, you’re tightening your hold onto his thick locks and mushing his face so close. Close enough that you could already feel the mushy pout of his lips and that lazy chuckle.

Only then do you realize that he’s doing this on purpose. Mouthing off until you’re making both his chilling frames and his regal nose clash at the target of your clit with every repeated swivel, each glissading snog of his tongue making you throb. 

Everywhere. Anywhere. Everywhere and anywhere that he could reach.

“Such a dirty boy, huh?” You muse, swearing that that only makes him even sloppier. “S’that what you are? Ngh- bet you’ve never tasted a p-pussy before, huh?”

“N-nooo- haven’t. But are they all so…fucking delicious?” And he’s lapping up every sensual ounce, not letting even a tiny speckle go to waste. Because Gojo Satoru was kissing your pretty pussy like he could only dream of those long, lonely nights. 

You were a fucking dream - his dream.

The full force of his desperation hitting you when Gojo’s letting his drunken head loll ever-so-slightly backwards to take a good, long admiring look at your cunt. And you wonder if he could even see with his glasses all sodden and filthy like that. 

You wonder if he even realized when he’s leaving a lingering swat! of his plush fingertips right onto the bullseye of your pulsing button, and then another few at your fleshy channel. 

And it was so unfair how he was pummeling your poor gummy walls with swipe after swipe of his eager fingerpads working your glutinous walls open. Probing his neatly manicured fingers perfectly into your most tender spots. “Like that?”

“Sh-shiiit–” You’re mewling at the tautly coiling build-up at your cunt. Further and further. You felt like you were about to snap. “-is- is this my first time or yours, Toru–”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” And Gojo’s palming his engulfing hands over the jiggling mounds of your ass to drag you like some ragdoll even deeper onto his sloppy maw. You’re forced to slap your hand onto the royal headboard to get at least some semblance of balance. “Jus’ want you- need you.”

Gawping up at you - he looks just as fucked-out as you feel. Blushing oh-so-innocently with his lecherous mouth slithering to steal a loud mwah! planted onto your salivating pussy. And then a final, weighty wad of spit. “Need me to be yours.” 

With a final, trembling shove of Gojo’s pretty face pliantly against your hot core, you’re cumming. Riding out your peak with stuttering rotations all over his lolled-out, bumpy tastebuds.

“Fuh-fuck!” You didn’t even care if you were getting his glasses messy at this point - he’d already made enough of a mess out of you. Embarrassingly so. “S’s-so good. Hah- gotta put your mouth to work more o-often, Satoru.”

And you can’t stop the way that your jaw parts into a soft oh! every time he pinches your bulbous clit at the very tip of every single one of your peaks. Right on time. More on sheer animal instinct than anything because Gojo’s still reeling from the fact that he made you cum.

He made you cum.

He made you cum.

He made you cum.

Babbling away just as stupidly as he had mere moments before, your orgasm is…magical. None of these haughty princes or dukes could ever compare to this. “S-such a good ngh- boy f’me.”

That is, until you feel Gojo tenderly curl his fingers around one of your stray ones to form a fist. Nudging it against one of yours in a…fistbump? 

“You have…no…fucking idea.” He’s letting out a drenching ptwah! of spittle, all the masses and rivulets of your sickeningly sweet juices sliding all the way down his tongue and pooling at the back of his throat. Like he always wanted your taste there.

And you’re still feeling the twinging tremors down your spine, flurries of stars bursting behind your hooded lids when he lets his sinfully long tongue slather your fluttering cunt with another hot kiss. 

Nose crinkling at how you’re stagnating your vigorous cadence, he bats his lashes up at your shocked stare - and you already know what his sapphire gaze is begging for before he even asks.

“Toru-”

“More.” Gojo interrupts you - and he knows he’ll beat himself up for it later. Maybe he’ll even…make it up to you. But for now, the only thing replaying on his cottony mind was just how perfect you looked cumming all over his mouth - even the specially-paid NSFW scenes didn’t go into this much detail. 

He was in heaven. 

You feel the humid brush of his tongue between your saturated pussylips, pleading. Begging. “Wan’ more- wanna taste you more, princess- please-”

And Gojo looks so fucking heartbroken the very moment those lips part with such a wet slurp! A low whine curdling at the back of his throat, his glossy lips curve downwards into a jutted-out pout.

He’s chasing after your pussy with absolutely no shame, greedy fingertips digging into the curve of your ass while he nudges you closer and closer. Stealing tiny kittenish licks, stealing longing whiffs just to smell the scent of your pussy.

“No- no- want- please-” He’s rambling away, half-lidded eyes widening with alarm. Like you were taking away his favorite dessert right from under his nose, and Gojo was not having it. 

But you knew a thing or two about ruling. 

And it’s with such smug satisfaction that you get to push down a wolfish Gojo so hard he collides back onto the mattress and bounces. 

Giggling - giggling, “S’this mean I get to…fuck you now?”

Oh, it’s spoken like a mantra. A true confession that he never even imagined would come out from those lips of his. 

You’re nodding, “Mhm— m’thinking that good boys get to hah- fuck me.” 

He’s ogling you right now when you meander between his milky legs just as you did before. Except, this time, you’re stopping right at the defined v-line of his sculptured hips. Darting thumb rubbing back and forth over the pooling streaks of cum from just before. 

“Did you cum without me ngh- again, Toru?” You’re teasing, and he almost feels so pathetic the way his mouth latches onto the curve of your sheened digits and sucks. “That’s not what a good-”

“I am I am-” Gojo insists, brows furrowing. He’s so unsure what to do, so unsure what to even think other than looping his arms around your waist to tug, tug, tug you ever-closer. It’ll never be enough. “Promise I’ll be a- ngh-”

Shit.

Your fingers shackle a tight grip around his pale, prespired neck. He looks so gorgeous squirming underneath you like this - squirming for more, that is. 

“Then you better promise to fuck me really good, Satoru.” Your whispers come out in a honeyed tone that wafts against his reddening ears. Maybe because of that, maybe because of the way your nails claw marks, you feel his plumpened head twitch. “Really good.”

His head lolls all the way into your grasp, he was done. Murmuring, “I’ll be a really, really good boy- ma’am.”

That did it.

And before Gojo knows it, you’re letting his syrupy mushroom tip slip in a few thick inches with ease. Geysers of his pre trickling out from between the tight stretch of your gluey hole, sinking in more and more.

Gojo’s mouth opens with a slow leak of drool with just how warm you were hugging him from the inside. Your candied walls so fucking clingy that he finds himself choking out a huff, planting two steadying hands on either side of your waist and pushing-

“Oh fuck- oh fuck.” His eyes grow adorable wide, stare perched right down where he was disappearing in and out of you in mindless, rapid ruts just to bully himself inside. “Th-this feels nothing like my P-Pocketpussy3000-”

“Toru…” Your words come out in a growl, crescent nail leaving neat indentations on his column of skin. 

“J-just feels so much better, my girl.” Gojo insists, something swirling deeply in his eyes that makes your heartbeat irregular. “You’re so…so warm and- and wet. That stupid rubber could never compare to the adventitia and musclaris and- and I’m really fucking you.”

He is. 

He was, at least until only a few vulgarly deep strokes probing in about halfway down his swollen shaft makes Gojo bump his ridged slit against one of those spots. The globe of Gojo’s proud cockhead leaves a hefted thud! that thunders pure bliss into your fuzzy head and makes you clench.

And it makes him cum. Again.

Wet spurts of warm seed splashing into each n’ every inch inside of you and filling you all the way up to the brim. There’s so many of his copious ribbons sloshing around inside of you, and it doesn’t even make Gojo’s tempo slow down.

It doesn’t even make him falter. 

“Sh-shiiiit-” He’s hissing, lower lip worried and fussed between his teeth until you were sure he’d be drawing blood. “Cumming—!”

Dipping down a few fingers to part your soppy lips, Gojo’s thrusts get more relentless when he catches his eyes on the steady waterfall of cum and slick seeping into his hoodie. Fucking the webbed mess deeper - but it only wrings out more pearly wads streaming down. 

Gojo’s voice wrenches out from the very back of his throat in a stubborn mewl, just about five octaves higher than you’re used to. “I came…inside.”

The one n’ only warning you get before he hooks an arm around the small of your back and flips the two of you over. Easily. 

Back sinking into the velvety bed-covering, your spine arches in a geometrical semicircle off the mattress as Gojo takes the blasphemous opportunity to bottom out. His meaty tip finally meets the target of your spongy cervix, breeder balls clashing stickily into the split end of your folds with a hulking thwack!

And you’re almost wondering at just how it was possible that Gojo - nervous, bumbling Gojo Satoru who’d never even held hands with a woman before - had the willpower and strength to overpower a seasoned fighter like you.

But that’s when he tugs his utterly sullied hoodie off and you’re rendered thoughtless. Mouth watering at the toned ridges and curves that bulged all over his Herculean body.

Gojo wasn’t just toned - he was fucking jacked.

And all yours for the taking.

Just your greedy stare is enough to wash his cheekbones with a scorching blush, as if he wasn’t near-nine inches deep inside you already. You gasp when his tongue pokes out to catch a few dripping splat! splat! splats! of your slick still dripping from his glasses. “I-I read in a director’s cut that you like men with abs so I…” 

And before you can even respond, his hips do all the talking for you. Striking your own with a deafening pap! of skin-on-skin, broad pecs heaving with a sharp inhale as if he didn’t even realize what he was doing. Wasn’t in control. 

Two of his doughy palms veer underneath your now-jittery thighs and hoist them up effortlessly to dangle over his shoulders. 

Gojo’s letting off a low grunt when his curvaceous knees slide wider across the pricey bedsheets. All the while mumbling, “N’ just because m’a hah- virgin doesn’t mean I don’t know a thing or two. Like- I saw this thing ngh- o-online called a…” Bending you like a pliant lawnchair down, down, down- “-a mating press.”

Online? Mating press? You didn’t know what he was rambling on nonsensically about now, but maybe you could excuse that with the fact that he was stretching you out stupid. 

“What a pretty boy.” You’re managing out, fingers unsticking a few strands of pearly white plastering onto his forehead. “Now s-stop teasing and hngh- fuck me.”

Your words are jolting such a dark, primal part of his brain. Eyes hooded, teeth pulling back with a low whimper of ah! The bed sings out a protesting creak when Gojo’s hand comes slamming! down onto the poor frame. Spitting out, “I-I can’t stop…fuck- I can’t stop. Won’t-”

He’s pushing and pushing his ravenous hips in animalistic little humps, the cylindrical shape of his cock swabbing in sultry circles around your gooey insides. Already splitting you apart snugly to the brim, but still he’s drilling in for more.

“You hafta move, Satoru-” Even your most gentle tone is enough to make his strawberry divot sugarcoat you in a thickly viscous few spatters of pre.

And when he talks he sounds wild, “Do I- haaaah- do I really hafta move? Jus’ wanna lose my virginity like this. Wanna stay inside you forever and ever and ever.”

He was already pussydrunk.

And it’s so cute it makes your heart clench. All over six feet of him melting into you by now; head heatedly shoved against the crook of your neck, motions glissading a slip n’ slide of his sexily defined abs pinned to your front. Powerless. 

Gojo blinks up at you through thoroughly hazy eyes when you tilt his face back up to face yours, and the deep eye-contact makes him blush. 

“But I really, really wan’ you to hah- fuck me.” You pout, and you already know by the stutter in his labored breathing that you have him wrapped around your cute lil’ finger. Jostling your hips in a slight buck, “Look-she’s begging for ya already.”

Oh. 

“Is- is she really?” Gojo sighing out in surprise, eyes pondering down to where he was making your puffed-up pussy folds bulge. Slipping out a gasp before he’s clutching onto his nose to stop any more bleeding.

Your slobbering lips coated with a glimmer of his spit and cum, so very his that Gojo finds himself subconsciously nodding along to the sappy squelches bubbling from below. 

“Yes- yes you’re right–” Propelling a slow drag of his hips to sweep every hidden orifice of yours inside, “Oh! Ya got l-louder- so you agree-”

He’s hiking up your legs even further up his shoulders, interlocking them with one massively flexing bicep held behind his head. Eyes still locked below - only then do you realize that he’s not talking to you. 

And then again. And again. And again and again until Gojo was striking your poor cervix with repeated battering rams of his plump cock. Dense balls stinging against your ass with ringing thwacks. Spherical bruises of his circumference being indented over n’ over it’s like he doesn’t even realize. 

Didn’t even know he was doing anything other than wrenching out the most sinful noises from your goopy pussy. 

“Mhm- such a pretty ngh- pussy.” Spitting out the very word like it was embarrassing, two sizeable fingers latch around the plump peak of your clit. Transfixed. You wondered whether he even remembered his own name. “Such a pretty clit.”

“Fuck!” You’re halfway through sobbing when he sends shockwaves of pleasure all across your body. And even more so when one tilted drive of all his inches leaves a skidding skim down the area of your g-spot. “There- right there, Satoru-”

He’s gaping up at you as if suddenly snapped out of a hypnotic trance, only to fall into an all-new one. Disbelieving mouth parted slightly, he breathes, “I’m…fucking you. I’m actually- ohhh fuck m’fucking you- like really, truly. This isn’t a dream.” Like he just realized - and he just did. “M’giving you my cock- making you t-take alllll of it-”

Never in his life did he think anything could ever feel this good. He was never going back. He would never be the same. 

Your drooling pussy was molding around him so nicely, taking onto the very shape of his long shaft. Massaging every inflamed vein poking against your splashed walls, so warm with the leftover puddles of his own sticky cum.

 He’s worshipping you, tilting his head to place a heady trailway of wet kisses down each of your ankles. “M’yours so m’-” Then your calves, your tits, your collarbones, everywhere and anywhere-

“-m’gonna make feel h-hah good.” His nose scrunches with focus, a few fat ends of Gojo’s fingers come down from pinning your ankles to splay out on your tummy. All bloated with his thick outline that even through his fogged-up glasses, he swears he could see a bulge. “Need to find it- need to.”

Pound after pound being placed desperately onto everywhere he could reach inside of you. You can feel the baking hot swash of his sap coating you in a second skin. Each dab of his ballooned crownhead leaves behind a marking bead of buttery pre. 

And maybe it was the way you’re feeling the slow trickle of all his sappy torrentials inside you, but you’re gurgling out a little, “What- what are you-”

“The g-spot.” Gojo answers your messy blithers of syllables with a tender rub onto your clit. Though, he wasn’t too far behind himself, if the way his digits trembled told you anything. “It’s s-supposed to be somewhere in the hah- anterior vaginal wall, between your pretty hole and the urethra. Often said to be stimulated about a few inches ngh- up-” 

But this time, you’re the one cutting him off. With a rapid, deprived rut that bustles his left-leaning curve to head in a jackhammer precisely towards your bulging g-spot. 

And then you see white. 

Perhaps from the sheer shock of him leaving a good French kiss that tenderizes your sweetest hidden coves, perhaps from the way that the both of you are cumming. 

“Shit- shiiiit-” You’re perking your ass to smack against his in lewd little paps, half-formulated moans flooding your mouth with each delicious thrust being planted right onto that spot. Gojo’s fucking you through each of your edges, over and over until you feel yourself crashing back-to-back into not one, not two, but three orgasms. “Really did fuck me- hngh- ah-”

Before you even realize, you’re throwing your arms around Gojo’s rippling shoulder muscles to claw a few artistic lines of red. And he loves it- fuck, it makes him cum even harder. 

“S-spit in my mouth, ma’am.”

And when you do, he latches onto yours with a messy, messy open-mouthed makeout. Groaning around his second-favorite activity of sucking your cute tongue - his most favorite activity being fucking this depraved cunt of yours. 

Cumming and cumming until he physically can’t. Steady rivers of seed logging up whatever remnant space inside your snug cunt before he sputters out sheer nothingness. 

A shiver wracks through Gojo’s body with the way he was cumming dry. And once he spies down a few whipped globs of it spilling out to form a velvety ring around his base, he’s plugging your leaky entrance with a few free fingers.

Lapping up that trickling excess with a slow suck peering right into your eyes before he seals you with his jostling digits back up again.

“Love it- love it love it love it-” He’s letting loose with each spasm of parching cum overspilling your flooded insides, those ribbony meshes swirl all around his pumping cock and trickle down in a creamy stream. Coating his twitchy balls no matter how much he tries to make you milk up every ounce, so much of it. Hot. “Love it- love being your good boy- I love you.”

Gojo’s heart races when you only plant a cute peck onto his sheened glasses, and then another onto his mouth. Resting your sweaty head against his very own, “How would ya like to be my own royal consort, Toru?”

Ah, it was virtually a proposal. To stay by your side forever and ever and ever - the only thing he’s ever wanted, really.

And Gojo’s about to kiss your awaiting lips senseless as an answer- that is, he was about to before both your ears chime with an undeniable PING!

Before an agitating, gratingly familiar voice rings across your heady atmosphere, “Congratulations user: [Satorulovesprincess] on completing Mission: No-Longer-Virgin!” You’re wincing at the sterile glow of that screen once more. “Please await the new updates to the program Sweetheart Online.”

And you both barely even have time to register those words before there’s a thunderous creak! from the empty space of your royal bed.

Except…the bed wasn’t so empty anymore. 

Right with your heated proximity was a man - a beautiful man. All long legs, and inky hair that ran down to his slender waist, twinkling amethyst eyes rounded in the exact same shock that shone in Gojo’s right about now. 

“Suguru?”

“Satoru!” Before he’s tilting his head towards you, and perhaps most glaringly, the way that Gojo was still scouring deeply inside you. A delicate blush tints his - Suguru’s - high cheekbones, voice cracking embarrassingly at the end. “P-princess.”

And something about his tone made your cunt quiver - just in time for Geto to shuffle the tightening crotch of his pants. Something that Gojo noticed, if the way he was crushing you to his body even tighter said anything.

“Let me guess-” Gojo tilts his head, a sleazily drunken smirk curving the edges of his ruddied lips. “-the truck got you haaaah- don’ squeeze me like that, my girl– too?”

“It- it was ramen poisoning actually…” Geto’s deep baritone trails off, struggling to rip his eyes away from you as the screen flickers once more. 

“Sweetheart Online updates completed! Commencing Love Rival (Three’s Company) arc. User: [Sugulovesprincess] joined.”

A/N. MAN I love loserboy Gojo hehehe- hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[cherrygirlfriend]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ pilates princess

pairing: sunshine!reader x bf!rafe synopsis: rafe catches reader working out tags / warnings: fluff, smut (no actual sex but graphic descriptions of fantasies) wc: 900

a/n; this is for the pilates princesses (also originally this fic wasn't in the sunshineverse but it is now... mwahahahaha) originally posted 10/12/2024

rafe was knocking on your door impatiently, wanting to see you more than anything after the day he had, finding out that the development he had been busting his ass for for months had been delayed, but you weren't answering the door or even his texts telling you to open the door; that didn't stop him, the man knowing where your parents kept the spare key, getting it out of a pot of asterias, opening the door. you'd told him he could only use it 'only in case of emergencies', but to him, this constituted as an emergency.

rafe didn't bother to put the key back as he walked further into the house, hearing the noise of the television coming from your living room. he made his way to the living room, his eyes widening slightly when he saw exactly what had you so busy.

you were splayed on the floor, a pink workout mat underneath you, watching some workout video on your tv while your headphones were on, wearing a pair of pink fitness shorts that made your ass look so good he was almost drooling, along with a white sports bra, turned away from him, one of your hands splayed on the ground while the other one was bent on your head, one of your knees on the mat while your other was reaching up.

"jesus christ." he mumbled as he stared at you, the curve of your ass in those pink shorts causing his dick to stir in his shorts.

only a few seconds later, you moved to sit down on the mat, only to be startled by your boyfriend shamelessly ogling you, letting out a small gasp as you basically fell on your ass on the mat, your eyes widening.

you took off your headphones, throwing them onto the couch behind you, and even though your face was already warm and flushed, it seemed to get worse when you noticed him staring at you. "rafe!" you exclaimed as you stood up, his eyes now locked onto your hardened nipples under the sports bra, your tits almost pressed together, a sheen of sweat running down your cleavage.

"jesus fucking christ." he said, licking his lips slightly as you took your pink zip-up jacket and put it on, yet the way it clung to your body and the small sliver of your sports bra did almost nothing to hide how delicious you looked. "no, no, baby, don't stop on my accord." rafe grinned, his hands on your waist, aware that he was sporting a pretty obvious hard-on as he pulled you closer.

"i don't want you to see me all gross and sweaty." you pouted, and the way you sucked your lip in made nothing to calm down the obvious tent in his shorts.

"you look so fucking sexy right now." he said, pulling you closer to him, and you could feel his hard-on press against your abdomen, the blonde letting out a small groan from only that contact. "literally, i've never... jesus."

"i'm not sexy right now." you roll your eyes, pushing away a stray hair that had stuck to your cheek, trying to look down in embarrassment.

"you're kidding, right?" rafe snorted, his hand going lower and lower, almost going to the curve to your ass. "i think you can feel how sexy you look, huh?" he took hold of your chin with his fingers, and lifted it up, making you look up at him. "if you didn't want to wait longer, do you know the things i'd do to you?"

"w-what?" you asked in a way that was almost a whisper, biting your lower lip as you looked at him through your lashes.

"fuck, i'd just rip that cute little set off and take you right here on the couch. i'd make you ride me, give you a workout that's much better than this crap you're doing, your tits bouncing in my face, my hands gripping those pretty thighs... shit, i might cum just thinking about it."

you softly smacked him in the chest, feeling a warmth in your abdomen only he managed to cause, sure that you'd never blushed so hard in your life. "raafee..."

he brings your face up to his, bringing your lips to his as he bent down slightly, the kiss much more heated than any other kiss that you'd shared, his hand now on the curve of your ass, squeezing it in a way that made you gasp against his lips, his other hand now in your hair.

after a moment, you pulled away breathlessly, his erection had somehow gotten even worse than before, your lips swollen and a doe-eyed look in your eyes. "we should... uh, we should stop, since, you know..."

"yeah, i know baby." he rolled his eyes exasperatedly, before chuckling softly. "god, i'm not gonna forget this little outfit in a while. lemme take a pic of it?"

"noo, i look gross!"

"don't talk about my girl like that." he tsked, taking hold of your jaw. "come on, i need something to get myself off to later."

"alright, fine." you scoffed and rolled your eyes, before letting out a small chuckle as you started unzipping your jacket.

[tookishcombeferre]

I'm a 30 year old transmasc non-binary person. I saw the movie Atlantis: The Lost Empire when I was 7 in the theater. My dad's dad had just died, and we weren't all that close. But, it really helped me to see Milo process the death of his own grandfather at the time. I think Atlantis came out about a year(?) after my dad's dad died? Anyway, I really always related to Milo even if I couldn't understand why at the time. (Now I get it.) I just watched the movie again because I wanted to, and my toddler watched bits and pieces with me while we shared some tea. They watched me *bawl.* My mom's dad, though we never got to talk about the fullness of my experience before he died a little less than two years ago, was the only family member who just understood me with no words. He never knew my name or pronouns - so he never used them. But, he got *me.* His yard was where I could climb trees, feed birds, roughhouse, and do all the "forbidden boyish" stuff. I watched Robin Hood and The Sorcerer's Stone in his living room. I built towers up to the ceiling. I got to read Frankenstein on his porch when I was in the seventh grade. I'm pretty sure my first unabridged copy of the Sherlock Holmes mysteries was purchased for me by him. He was basically my dad or second-dad. Later, he would listen to me talk about my papers, my poems, and my stories and, in turn, I'd listen to the latest of his research in biophysics, when he was still a researcher, or I'd listen to him explain, in layman's terms, the newest experiments he would read about after he stopped doing his own stuff. These were our lost civilizations and genuine arrowheads. When Mr. Whitmore handed Milo the Shepherd's Journal and said the line "Our lives are marked by the gifts we leave our children, and this is your grandfather's gift to you." My own kid was pillowed on my shoulder. I heard that line at 7. I cried in the theater because it's sad. You don't have to have lived the line for it be sad. I needed to learn loss young so I could feel loss better older. Because, now? That line collapsed on me like a ton of bricks, but I didn't get crushed by those bricks. I had a hard hat and padding to protect me. Like I said, my grandfather was like my dad. He's not coming back. But, he has given me so much. He has left me so much, and I get to decide what I want to leave to my own kid someday. I get to decide what world, what legacy, and what I leave for my own child. Because, it wasn't just the journal that Thaddeus left for Milo. It was the values that allowed Milo to remain steadfast when standing up to people physically stronger than him. I remember that right now. Especially right now. It's not just the intellectual gifts my grandfather left me. It's the tenacity. It's the love. It's protectiveness. It's the gentleness. It's the grace. It's the desire to be curious. It's the *need* to know. It's quiet faith. It's the desire to do justice. It's the desire to see peace for the next generation. It's the desire to listen to all sides of an argument before saying my own piece while also knowing when things have gone way too far and need to be shut down. It's knowing when and how to give people space to grow in their own way and time. Because, while everyone else in my family was forcing me into dresses, my grandfather was letting me climb trees in jeans and sneakers. He also didn't bat an eyelash when I cut my hair off my junior year of high school. So, he may not be here. But, he lives in the gifts he left me. So, while, I got my vaccine at 7, it didn't take effect until 28. Even then, I'm only just starting to feel like I'm actually inoculated at 30.

We can't be afraid to keep inoculating the youth. Kids need to see death, loss, and such like in their media. Withholding it from them just makes them less equipped for these exact moments when they're older. I firmly believe that.

Dear, sweet, Littlefoot, do you remember the way to the Great Valley?  I guess so. But why do I have to know if you’re going to be with me? I’ll be with you. Even if you can’t see me. What do you mean I can’t see you? I can always see you.

The Land Before Time(1988) dir. Don Bluth

[frownyalfred]

what else can you tell us about bruces pov in the whole 'love comes quickly' story?? like wdym he felt for clark even BEFORE the whole hal thing???? im DESPERATE for more details!!!!

Honestly I feel like I need to write a whole second fic just to cover Bruce’s POV on this! He was in just as much denial as Clark, but it was a totally different flavor.

He slept with Hal because he was pining over Clark and needed to compartmentalize; in my head they did this somewhat regularly, ie a couple times a year

He built the man a Kryptonite recovery suite with sun lamps three years ago and never told him! Truly I think that’s when Bruce realized he was in love — when Clark went down the last time he got hit with K

He punched the wall and yelled because, as someone correctly identified on ao3, Clark called him beautiful and he at the time didn’t think Clark loved him and having that all at once was too much

He blamed himself for all the times they slept together after the agreement — he thought he was taking advantage of Clark in some way

He genuinely proposed their arrangement because he is normally able to separate sex from attraction or emotion and figured even if it killed him, it would help Clark because surely Clark didn’t feel the same way as he did

Hal was actually a great bed partner and Bruce has 0 issues with him

Bruce really did think Clark was initially slut shaming him for sleeping with Hal, he could not compute at first that Clark could be jealous

Clark really did almost get close to dying on the operating table so Bruce kissing him desperately after that was a reflection of his fear/worry

Bruce was going to try and leave the sun lamps room if Clark didn’t stop him

Bruce came up from the Cave post patrol in his shorts because he knew if Alfred was having tea with Clark something was wrong and he’s subtly possessive of his man, esp after he was injured

“Distant” and “irritable” were all polite ways of saying “Bruce has been destroying practice dummies downstairs and losing it” by Alfred

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

fuckboy

unnamed ppu character x f!reader | wc: 3.5 k | explicit, mdni

summary: you meet this guy at a bar, drink too much and he shows you his questionable definition of making out aka storage room sex. spoiler: it's never just the tip.

warnings: filth, very dubious dub-con, drunk reader, her consent is questionable, gaslighting, manipulating, he's an insufferable fuckboy and needs to go to hell actually, he's a bad lay, unspecified but legal age gap, fingering, rough-ish unprotected PinV, creampie, petnames (baby, cockslut), dick+pussy pronouns, two ass smacks, no use of y/n, reader is able-bodied

a/n: this bitch was supposed to be a tiny drabble. oops. inspired by this post. @iamasaddie, you wanted me to elaborate, here you go, i hope this tingles in adult ways, at least a little bit. thank you for your help with the header <3 and thank you @guiltyasdave for the same as always: everything (aka beta and unlimited support and love 💕)

The bar is brimming, buzzing, the bass vibrates through every single person in the room, raw dogging each one of them, one after another and all at the same time.

He looks ridiculous. Too old for a place like this, hideous but somehow sexy Hawaiian shirt, of course only buttoned up halfway to show off his toned chest and a gold chain necklace, and he wears sunglasses, indoors. Big violet mirrors, aviator shaped, hiding behind them. Hiding his intentions but they are oh so clear.

The guy purses his lips, eyebrows dancing, hips moving side to side and back to front, obviously a preview of what’s to be expected if someone hooks up with him.

It was the blondish-white strand in the otherwise dark hair that made you weak for him. You don't even know why. While the rest of the man screams ‘fuckboy’ the blonde strand purrs ‘baby boy’.

The strand looks so pretty, whenever the color of the lights changes, always tinted in red or orange or blue. The strand looks really pretty in the storage room, too. It begs to be touched and tugged.

So you do. You touch it and gently tug it while he touches your thighs and tugs on your panties. Then he tugs them aside and you whimper when he runs his thumb through your slit without a warning.

“How old are you exactly?” he rasps against your neck, licking your skin while his thumb searches for something. Your clit probably, you think and moan when he finds it for a moment.

“Old enough to drink alcohol,” you mutter and let your head fall back against the tiled wall. The turned over crates bite into the flesh of your ass, empty bottles rattle when he pulls you closer towards him.

“So you're old enough for this bad boy.” He grins at you, a stupid proud grin, and takes your hand away from his hair and guides it to the bulge in his jeans. When you don't start moving your hand, he does it for you, over the whole length and back. “You want him? Wanna see him? You do, right?”

His damp breath brushing your ear adds to the dizziness in your head. Your head is spinning a little from the music and the drinks. Spinning, just like his thumb, that is now circling close enough around your clit to finally feel good.

“I dunno,” you murmur and try to get your swimming mind to focus.

“That's not a no, baby. So you want him. I knew it.” His free hand fumbles with his zipper. The crates you're sitting on quake when he pulls down his jeans. And before you know it, you feel something in your palm. Smooth and hard and hot, heavy, jumping in your hand.

It’s not exactly what you signed up for earlier, when he paid for two of your drinks and sucked on your earlobe. When he said something about you being so cute and making out with him. Just kissing. I promise, baby. I know a place. And then he dragged you along with him into this crammed storage room that smells like booze and sweat.

You kissed, for a minute or so. But now you have his cock in your hand. You look down and his thumb swipes over your clit, making you moan and him twitch. Why do you have his cock in your hand? He feels so heavy and warm. He feels a bit good, actually.

His hand moves to cup your cunt, the ball of his thumb pressing against your sensitive nub and a nimble finger -or two?- is slipping into you and immediately back out. At least that's what it felt like, you're not sure. But you feel yourself clamp down on nothing, chasing what was there just a second ago. His tongue moves over your pulse and a whine escapes you.

“Oh, I know, baby, you like him, right?” He moves closer, trapping you between the cold wall and his warm body, between the plastic crate and his dick. A finger dips into your heat again, deeper now, deep enough for you to be sure about feeling him inside of you. This is definitely not just kissing, but it somehow feels good.

“Baby, she wants me. You feel it, too, right?” His tongue runs along your neck and to your ear, his hips buck and your fingers tighten around his cock. He’s so hard beneath all the hot smoothness.

His fingers are pushing in deeper now and you clench around him. “See? You want me. You're so wet, baby. You know that it means you want me.” He pulls his fingers out and presses them back in, matching his thrusts in your palm with the rhythm of fingering you.

You groan out a curse and start accepting your fate. Fine, then you're getting fingered in exchange for a few drinks. That's okay, he's not too bad at it. The thickness of his fingers is half the battle.

The small blonde strand is catching your attention and lures your hazy mind in. Baby boy. Your body already surrenders to his ministrations and you roll your hips, moaning when he slips in another fraction of an inch.

“Mhmm, jus' what I thought. Desperate, that's what you are. You want more? You feel good?”

You dumbly nod your head because all you're able to think about is the throbbing ache in your pussy and the smooth movement of his cock in your hand. Yeah, he makes you feel good. With a wet sound he pulls his fingers out again.

“I'll give you more then, if that's what you want.” He nudges your hand off his dick and grips himself at the base. “Baby, look. He's excited for you.”

You look between your bodies again and squint to get a clearer vision. Precum. He's leaking. There's a clear drop forming over his slit. No, this definitely is not just kissing. Your eyes meet his again and when you open your mouth to speak he shifts forward and wedges the fat head of his cock between your folds.

You're whining again, your hips bucking into the sensation. A moment of clarity forms between your dazed mind and your nudged clit: Fuck. Shit. No. You don't even know his name.

When you start squirming he grabs you by your waist, firmly but not painfully. He hums, sounding a bit strained now. Slowly, slowly his dick glides back and forth through your slit, pushing at your nub whenever he reaches it.

“Baby, what's the problem? It feels good, doesn't it?” His eyebrows dance and he looks at you like a kicked puppy. “God, you're so messy, listen.”

It's true, you can hear the squelching over the soft clinking of bottles in the crate whenever he guides himself all the way to your entrance, rubbing his shaft against you.

“Yeah, but…” You groan quietly when he moves his hips back and drag himself along your clit. “A condom. You have one?”

He just laughs and continues his movements through your slick folds.

“What would we need a condom for, hm, silly girl? They're just cuddling. She hugs him, baby, hugs him real tight.” He pushes his cock forward to your clenching hole, but never makes the final move, never dips in. Your mind tells you no, yet your body clearly wants it, to be fucked.

“And he likes her. Look, they're kissing.” He draws his hips back, cock in hand, and starts dabbing and tapping and burrowing the thick, plush tip against you. “Just making out, like us. That's okay, right? Kissing?”

He pushes deeper again, only to move back immediately. Back and forth, just his tip rubbing you, just the fat rim teasing and teasing and teasing your aching clit. It looks good, the way he appears and disappears again, all glistening.

“That's okay, yes,” you mutter breathily, trying to suppress another moan. He doesn't let up, keeps the slow rhythm of back and forth. God, you need his fingers again, he needs to numb the pulse inside of you.

“I know it's okay. Feels good, hm?” he whispers sweetly against your lips before flicking his tongue against your top lip. “She feels so good, baby… You like how he feels? Like how my cock feels?”

You nod your head again and meet his movements halfway, tilting your hips so you can feel him prod your entrance a little more. The emptiness inside starts hurting and you whimper with his lips ghosting yours. He smells of beer and body spray, all mixing together with a whiff of arousal.

“I need… I need…” you gasp out and try to grind against him as good as you can.

“You want me to stop? Is it too much?” His movements come to a halt and he pulls away slightly, grinning and hiding it behind a sweet little peck.

You squirm again, this time closer instead of away. One hand clutches his, the one he pumps himself with. You swallow, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. They taste like booze and beer.

“No, no, god, please. I need a lil' more?” You tug on him, trying to guide his hand back right up against your core.

“Oh, I'm not sure, baby…” He gives in a little bit and lets his leaking cock rest against your sensitive nub again. “You really want more of me? Of him?”

You tug more on his hand, frustrated with his hesitation. “Need you inside,” you groan and pull on his fingers, wanting them back in your aching cunt.

“Inside? Are you sure?” He lets you squeeze his fingers into the wetness of your slit, carefully letting his dick follow.

“Yes! Please,” you whine and let go of his hand when he prods you with a single digit. Thank fuck, you think.

“But jus’ the tip,” he murmurs almost apologetically.

Your question about what the hell he is talking about is knocked out of your brain the moment you feel a stretch that’s not coming from his fingers. He presses inside of you. Just the tip, like he said. Like you never meant it. But he stretches you so perfectly on the first inches that you can’t even protest. Until he withdraws himself again.

“That good, baby? That what you want? Say yes,” he pleas, his breath hot against your ear and you feel him shift again. His dick slides all the way through your slit to your clit and back, slowly pressing back into you again.

“Fuck, yes.” It feels good. Better than the aching. You just want to feel stuffed. Your forehead drops onto his shoulder and you whimper when he continues to sluggishly fuck you with his fat tip. “But… a condom?”

He sighs and when he pulls out he stops moving again, leaving you hanging and you pussy clenching desperately.

“This isn't even sex, baby. It's just. The. Tip.” He tilts your head up and looks at you over his stupid aviators. “Listen, we can stop if you don't want this. I'm doing this just for you. Because you asked me to. You wanted more, right? Wanted to feel good?”

Your head nods, maybe a little prompted by his fingers under your chin.

“See, there we have it. You want this and they're just making out. Tongue kissing.” He pushes back in and it feels better than before. But you can't really say if he’s in deeper? You don't care too much. Tongue kissing. It makes sense. “I'm just doing this for you, baby. Because you seem to need it so badly.”

He smiles a friendly and seemingly sincere smile while pulling out and pushing back into you, painfully slow. Like scratching an itch with nothing but a tickle.

“I really care about you, hm?” His whisper fleets to your ear when he drops your face back to his shoulder. The next shallow thrust makes him grunt and your pussy clamps down on him. He slips past the tight spot -accidentally probably?- and you feel full for a second. Filled and good and you want it again.

But he draws back again, moaning into the crook of your neck. “Sorry ‘bout that, baby. But you're so wet. Got a slip and slide pussy there.”

His hips roll and his tip nudges back into you. Again and again, until your fingers are clutching him and your body writhes towards him, desperate for more depth. The edge of the crate cuts into the meat of your ass, the bottles rattling with every small thrust.

There isn't much to it. In your hazy mind this thought appears like a beacon. He's been inside already. The damage is already done, nothing you could take back now. He could fuck you stupid instead of feeding you this sample sized version of sex.

He wedges his hard cock back into your hole and slips out again, leaving your cunt sopping and clenching and empty. You can feel your slick slowly running down your thighs. You rarely ever felt this horny, this desperate for a dick. It’s almost like he teases you on purpose.

“Fuck me,” you whine and command at the same time. “God, just fuck me.”

“You sure? I don't have a condom. Are you clean?”

You manage to scoff at his audacity but… maybe he wouldn't ask this if he wasn't clean himself? That's good. It's safe, somewhat safe.

“Of course I'm clean.” You want to sound confident and pissed off but your voice is whiny and morphs into a moan when he thrusts into you halfway.

“I'm trusting you then. Don't lead me on.” He sounds strained now, strangled, with your snug cunt squeezing him.

A handful more slow strokes and he's buried balls deep. Both of you pant, you because your aching gets soothed and he because you pulse around him. Your body tries to egg him on to fucking move, but he just stays still.

“Shit. She tight.” He lets out a single hoarse laughter before his hips buck just a little deeper into you and you swear he must be somewhere in your guts. “Christ, she’s gripping him.”

He pulls out, almost completely, and fills you back up with one harsh thrust.

“Fuck,” you moan and hook your legs behind his ass when the tower of crates beneath you starts shaking from the impact. And then he starts fucking you, hard. Fast. The bottles rattle rhythmically in time with his thrusts.

His hands dig into your hips when he grabs hard enough to feel your bones. He pulls you onto him, fucking himself with you.

He's not good per se, just slamming into you over and over again, his balls slapping against your ass with every harsh pump. But he has a good sized cock, just an inch too long and a little too girthy. The stretching is never ending, the slight sting hurts just right, and his pelvis hitting your poor, swollen, teased clit is going to finish you sooner or later. You just feel so full. The way he stretches you out on his cock makes you dumb.

“You always do this?” He snarls, using the wobbling crate tower for more leverage. “Getting a guy to fuck you in the backrooms? You just need it that bad?” His thumb somehow finds your pulsing nub and he starts to rub it roughly until your legs quake around his waist from the stimulation.

“Oh… oh fuck…” Your nerve endings are on fire and your muscles twitch and clench. You clutch his arm, nails digging into his bicep when he won’t stop to harshly flick and rasp over your clit. Despite it all, you feel the familiar tug behind your navel. The heat is not building slowly, it’s approaching you violently.

“Don’t tell me you're close already, baby?” You see him grin before your eyes roll back, your vision turning black. “I thought I would be special. But you're just using me. Just want my cock.” He lets his hips snap into you, thrusting in too deep but in a good way. “Little cockslut.”

You whine, wanting to protest but you’re pinned down on the tilting crates, spread over this guy’s girth with your toes curling in your shoes. Complaining is the last thing on your mind.

“You gotta pull out.” Probably the only coherent thought you have left. You’re on birth control, but having this stranger’s cum dripping down your legs later when you're back with your friend?

“For real? A cockslut but not a cum dump? Such a rare breed, aren’t you?” His laughter sounds choked, breathless, the wet slapping of his slicked balls against your ass just as loud as his words. “I’ll pull out, don't worry, baby.”

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and plucks your leg off of his waist. Even though your muscles are already tense and twitching he straightens it out over his chest. “But first I’ll make you come on him.” Another hard hip snap and the changed angle makes you see twinkling stars on your retina when he hits you deeper. He grins down at you when you cry out your pleasure. “That's right, baby, let me hear you. Let the people hear that you're my little cockslut.”

His lips latch to your ankle that's resting on his shoulder and sucks on your skin as if he wants to brand you. And while he somehow manages to fuck you harder you wonder how many women in this bar have a hickey on their ankles.

And then you stop thinking. His thrusts turn sloppy, sweat forms on his forehead and runs down your leg and adds to your slick. “I’ll make you come so hard. You can feel it, right? Make you gonna black out on my cock, baby.” A nip to your ankle and then a smack on the side of your ass and your pussy starts clenching and choking on his girth. Still he keeps on fucking into you, struggling with how hard your muscles tighten around him.

“I’m… I’m gonna…”

Your yelp makes him grip you tighter and with a last thrust you fall right over the edge. His moans ring in your ears when his hips stutter, but he keeps fucking you through it. Your spasming body is held securely in his arms, preventing you to hurt yourself on the wobbly crates.

“Fuck, that's it, baby. Best pussy I ever fucked, I swear,” he hisses when his hips start stuttering. “Gonna make me fucking come. Gonna come for you. You want that?” He slams into you and somehow prolongs your orgasm with how he spreads your quaking cunt open over and over again. More of that, you want more of this orgasm.

So you nod your head and moan, trembling like the stacked bottles beneath your body. “Yes, I want that, please. Jus’ don’t stop.”

Another smack lands on your ass and he gives you a few last pumps before he pushes into and against you so hard that it makes you wince. Through the pulsing of your walls you feel him throbs and twitch, spitting out his cum so deep into you that you feel stuffed, really fucking stuffed. And it feels so good.

After a second he starts rolling his hips, letting himself be milked by your pussy until he finally and unceremoniously pulls out. He tilts his head, looking at his handiwork over the rim of his aviators. “Fuck yes. She’s so pretty like that, all wrecked.” The tip of his cock squeezes through your swollen and ruined slit once more, slipping into your gaping hole to draw another moan out of you. When he pulls out again some of his cum gets pushed out and starts running down to your ass.

“You… you didn’t pull out?” Despite your anger your body still vibrates and twitches.

“Couldn't. She gripped me too tight. It’s her fault,” he smirks and pets your mound. “But don't worry, I'm snipped, baby.”

He wipes himself dry with his hand, doing a poor job but he doesn't seem to care. Still half hard and sticky he stuffs his dick back into his boxers. “You want my number, baby?”

“Fuck you,” you hiss and search the storage room for some tissues.

“I knew you'd break my heart, baby,” he chuckles and watches you clean yourself. “But I really like you. You're special. Got a perfect pussy, too. Here, if you wanna use me again, I'm all yours.”

He pulls out something off his pocket, like a business card. No name or number printed on it. He puts it on a crate next to you before kissing your forehead. “God, baby, I think I’m in love with you,” he croons with a shit eating grin.

“Sure you are, fuck off.”

He lifts his hands and walks backwards until he reaches the door. “Gonna miss you.” He purses his lips, making a little kiss noise and disappears back into the bar.

You look over your own appearance and see the blank business card. When you turn it around you see it. A fucking QR code. A fuckboy with a QR code. Some more cum leaks into your pulled back panties and you bite the inside of your cheeks.

“Fuck it.” You put his card into your bra. Stupid cockslut.

you liked this? that's alright, we are all filthy little animals here. commenting or reblogging is appreciated, thank you! <3

want more dub-con? maybe you like this short Dave York fic: tainted heart

find my general masterlist here

dividers: as always @/saradika-graphics

[yearsbecomingcool]

dress | dmitri kravinoff

donate to gaza here | masterlist

pairing | dmitri kravinoff x f!reader

synopsis | dmitri takes you dress shopping for the grand opening of his fathers new club

warnings | 18+!!!!, sexual content, insecure!reader, reader has sensory issues, teasing in public, bratty!dmitri.

word count | 2k

a/n | this is the dress i describe in the fic. i deserve financial compensation for rewatching kraven for this i stg. everyone involved in the film deserved a better film because i truly don't know what it was they put out. anyway if y'all want a part 2 let me know

You had never been to a store this nice, well actually, you had. In high school and college you used to love going to the luxury stores at the nicest mall in the city. You could never afford any of the pretty clothes and sparkling accessories that filled the stores but you loved to look. After hours of wandering through the nice shops you’d make your way back down to Forever 21 and H&M and regret ever stepping foot in a dressing room. Nothing ever fit right, or felt right. These pants were too tight or this color washed you out, the lack of AC would get you overwhelmed even quicker and eventually you’d storm out with just a pair or two of socks. Dmitri had insisted on taking you shopping, the dresses you kept in rotation for dates were nice…enough. But he wanted you to have something nicer, he wanted to spoil you. You were hesitant at first, but eventually he’d convinced you to go.

You’d never dated anyone like him, you never imagined you’d end up with someone so…rich. Growing up you thought a two story house meant you were rich so when you saw Dmitri with his private drivers and penthouse apartment you were awestruck. You’d met him at his fathers club, your friend had gotten a promotion and took you and a couple other friends out to celebrate. You caught his eye in your backless dress and he was quick to approach you. You thought he was cute, a little shy at first, but still cute. He’d comped you and your friends' bill in exchange for your number. It didn’t take long for him to invite you back to the club for a private dinner, it was the most romantic thing a guy had ever done for you and you fell for him quickly. His father would be opening another club location soon and Dmitri insisted he buy you a new dress for the grand opening. 

“I think it would look a lot nicer if we matched, don’t you?” He said, stroking your hair. Your back was against his chest as you laid on his couch watching a movie together. You knew he wanted you to be at the opening and already had a dress in mind, but he had other plans. 

“Yeah…I don’t think any of my stuff matches yours. The material is gonna look a little cheap next to all the nice stuff you’ve got.”

He smiles down at you, “Then we’ll just go get something to match each other so we don’t have that problem. I wanna get you something nice and silky.” 

You bite your lip and smile, “Like the one I had on when we met?”

He groans at the thought of it, “God that dress…still my favorite on you. Gives me a lot of access,” he teases. 

“Is that what you want in a dress? One that lets you put your hands wherever you’d like?” 

He moves his hand down to the hem of your shirt, sliding his hand up to your breast, beginning to massage it. “I think we both like that, hm?” You melt into his touch, moaning softly as you throw your head back against his shoulder. He smirks down at you, starting to leave soft kisses on your neck, “Let me take care of you.” You giggle and let him continue.

That was all it took to convince you to let him take you shopping. You didn’t tell him about your insecurities with trying on clothes, you were hoping you’d feel comfortable enough with him there that it wouldn’t be as bad but as soon as he led you into the shop you felt inferior. Everything about the store just screamed money. It was mostly empty, save for a few employees dressed in all black, designer clothing lining the walls. Dmitri picked up on how you were feeling pretty quickly, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into him. “You okay?”

You nod, “Mhm, I’m fine Dima…just haven’t even shopped in a place like this before. It feels like I shouldn’t be here.”

He scoffs, “You definitely belong here. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you don’t, hm? C’mon, you said I could take care of you.” He kisses your cheek and leads you over to a rack full of dresses, an employee approaches, ready to help. 

You let Dmitri take the lead in explaining what you’re looking for as you look through the rack. You see a couple dresses you like but as soon as you see the price tag your eyes go wide. “I didn’t know a piece of clothing could be this expensive…” you mumble to yourself. 

Dmitri hears you and chuckles, “Hey, I’m paying. Stop looking at the prices and just pick what you like, you know I can afford it.” 

“I’ve never shopped like that before, it feels…wrong,” you sigh, scratching the back of your neck nervously.

“Just try for me, yeah? I’m gonna look at some suits, I’ll meet you in the fitting room. He kisses your cheek and heads to the other side of the store to look for himself. The employee he had just spoken to stays by your side to help you out. 

After about an hour of looking you feel decently confident in your choices. You picked dresses in all different colors, materials, and lengths. You know he wants you in something silk but you wanted to keep your options open. All the dresses are hung up for you in the fitting room already and Dmitri’s is set up right across from yours. As soon as you step in and shut the door you feel a tightness in your chest. The bright lights and floor length mirror bring back the anxiety you feel every time you step into a fitting room. You strip off to try on the first dress, it’s knee length and velvet. It’s a rusty orange color with a built in corset and off the shoulder straps. You run your hands down it and cringe, the feeling of the velvet under your nails makes you want to puke. 

“How’s it fit?” Dmitri asks, knocking softly on the fitting room door. You open the door to let him take a look. He leans against the doorway, “You look amazing, do a spin for me, c’mon let me see it.” He makes a little spinny motion with his finger and you smile and oblige. He grabs your waist and pulls you towards him, “Do you like it?”

You hang your head and mumble a quick, “No.” You feel bad, you should like it, but the material ruins it. 

He grabs your chin and lifts your head up to look at him, “What’s wrong with it?”

“I-It’s stupid…”

“It’s not stupid, just tell me what you don’t like about it.” He’s always sweet with you.

“The material feels awful to touch…I don’t know why I thought I’d like velvet this time…” You mutter.

“No more velvet then, yeah? We’ll get you something that feels nice.” He kisses your cheek and moves his hand to unzip your dress.

You put a hand on his chest and your eyes go wide, “Dima! The door is still open,” you giggle. 

“Hurry up and take it off for me, I wanna see the silk ones,” he says, continuing to tug the zipper down as you try to hold the dress up. He lets go of the zipper and shuts the door, going to his fitting room to try his suits on. 

The next dress is much better, a floor length silk gown with shiny embellished flowers. It has just one drawback, the color washes you out. You look in the mirror, groaning in annoyance at how lifeless it makes you look. Two dresses in and you already want to scream. You open the fitting room door and knock on Dmitri’s. “Dima, do I need to show you every dress?” 

He opens the door wearing a suit of a similar color to your dress, “Not if you don’t want to. Why? Is this one not a winner either?” He smiles.

You shake your head, “Washes me out. The color’s cute on you though.” You reach out and feel the material of his suit. “I wish I looked good in this color, I like this suit.”

He blushes, “When you find one you like just show me, yeah?” 

You nod and head back into your dressing room.

You feel like you’ve tried on half the store by the time you get to the last dress, it’s one you’re not sure of. It’s silk, just like Dmitri had wanted. It’s strapless and would be practically floor length on you, it’s a beautiful red wine color. You slip it on running your hands down the fabric and smiling to yourself, it’s nice and smooth. You look in the mirror and smile, you’ve never felt better. It hugs all the right places and feels secure, unlike other strapless dresses you’ve tried before. You call for Dmitri to have a look, opening your door for him. He comes out of his fitting room, having changed back into his normal clothes already. “What do you think?”

His jaw drops as he looks at you. “Fuck…it’s perfect.” He grabs your hand and spins you around to get a look at the back. “This is the one, it has to be. I have a suit in there the same color, it’ll be perfect.” He pulls you closer to him, his hand going to your lowerback. You bite your lip and look down.

“You really like it, Dima?” 

“I love it baby, god…you’re gonna kill me. Go find some shoes to go with it, yeah? I wanna get the full picture.” He says, calling for an employee to come over. “Could you find them some shoes to go with this?” The employee nods before going off to find some shoes for you. Dmitri calls out your size, realising he hadn’t told her.

He pushes you back into the room, “I’m gonna worship you when we get home…it feels impossible not to do it here. But, Papa would have a field day if we got caught. I can imagine the headlines now, ‘Son of Nikolai Kravinoff Caught Fooling Around in Fitting Room’.” You laugh and shake your head at his imagination. He kisses you, wrapping an arm around your waist and his other snaking up to cradle the back of your head. You melt into the kiss, you can never get enough of him. He pulls away when he hears footsteps.

“I found a few pairs that might work, Mr. Kravinoff.” She’s got a couple boxes of shoes for me to try. Dmitri thanks her and has you sit down on the bench in the fitting room.

“You’re gonna put them on me?” You chuckle.

“Mhm,” he responds, grabbing the first box. He pulls out a nude pump, holding it up for you to see. He grabs your foot and presses a kiss to your ankle before sliding it on.

“Dima…” You whine. 

He smirks and repeats the motion as he slides the matching pump onto your other foot. “Something wrong, love?”

“You tease…”

“Not teasing just…being a gentleman…” He says, blushing.

You roll your eyes at him and stand to see how the shoes feel, “Hmm, not bad. I wanna try the rest though.” He kisses further up on your leg when he removes the shoes. For every pair he puts on and takes off you his kisses get higher, you know what he’s doing and he looks so smug about it.

“Dima…” You warn, raising an eyebrow once he starts to lift your dress.

“I’m being good, don’t scold me.” 

You laugh and shake your head at him.

Eventually the two of you decide on a pair of matching pumps in a similar silky material. He grabs your items and makes sure to stand in front of the card reader so you can’t see the total. “No peeking, just let me spoil you, love.” You roll your eyes but comply anyway. 

Once you’re back in the car you lean into him, “When we get back to your place you’re so getting it…teasing me like that…Dima you should know better.” 

He chuckles, “I’ll never learn…” 

[henry7931]

Head Swap Shorts

Borrowing My Son’s Body

Dan:

After I broke my leg, I wasn’t sure how I was going to make dinner for the family this year for big get together. Luckily, my son Sam had a great idea! Just borrow his body to get the job done.

So now I have Sam’s young body while he’s laying in my bed with mine on. The only thing that keeps throwing me off is how much I like having his body.

I feel weird to even think it but my son’s fit and it seems to get turned by the littlest of things. I really forgot what it’s like having a body this age I’ve had a boner all day long and I don’t really know what to do about it.

And now that I’m done cooking and the family shouldn’t be here for a couple more hours… I guess I can take care of it real quick?

So I went inside and went upstairs to check on Sam first. I carefully cracked the door to peak inside just in case he’s asleep— and to my surprise I see Sam literally jerking off and playing with my dick!!!

I almost said something but hey! I might as well do the same with his body.

So I headed to his room and stripped off all of his clothes. I looked down at my son’s perky junk and without any hesitation I started playing with it.

I start stroking his junk faster and faster. But in a matter of minutes, cum squirts out!

I clean off his body and walk to my room. This time I just walked right in.

Sam must of just finished up because he still had my dick out and was covered in my cum.

“Shit! Dad!!”

“Hey bud! Having fun in here?,” I say winking at him.

“Umm… yeah, sorry! This is isn’t what it looks like!”

“Listen son, it’s okay! I just finished up doing the same thing. Although, yours didn’t last that long. I wanted to see if we can stay like this until tomorrow.”

“Wow! Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I’m enjoying your body and it seems like you’re enjoying mine.”

I look down at my older dick and grinned at it.

Sam began to laugh and said, “yeah I like your body a lot. We can stay like this as long as you want dad.”

“Thanks son!”

Teddy

Christian:

Oh shit! I don’t know what to do. Here stands my uncle Cameron’s body withy freaking childhood teddy bear attached it. I was playing around with a couple of spells when he walked in and then this happened …

The weird part is his head isn’t communicating at all and yet it seems like the teddy bear is in control of his body.

I watched as the teddy bear feels up and down his new hairy arms down his new chest all the way to his legs thighs… he gets to my uncle’s junk and generally pats at it.

I watch as he tries to navigate his shorts he had on and gently peels them back. He put one of my uncle’s hands into his pants and begins peeing around.

“ hey can you hear me?” I asked the bear.

He stops for a second almost like he was looking up at me.

“So you can hear me,” I say to him.

He walks towards me and I feel a little nervous. I wasn’t sure what he was gonna do, but then he embraces me into a giant hug.

Not gonna lie it feels kinda good having my uncle’s big strong lawn wrapped around me. My uncle and I are very different. He’s a very stereotypical straight man, but one thing I would never actually admit is my attraction to his body.

I feel the teddy bear began to explore my body like he just did my uncles.

He gets to my bulge and begins to fondle out a bit. I taken my surroundings and realize it is just us in the room.

So I begin to fondle his junk as well.

We both eventually pull off our shorts. Standing close together, slowly, jerking each other off.

I begin to play with his nipples. I even put one in my mouth which is causes him to squirm a bit. I pull his body in for a tight hug. A rock hard dicks are rubbing up against each others. I squeeze his hairy ass.

He even does the same to me and then he does something that surprises me. I feel him insert one of my uncle’s fingers into my hole.

He does it so carefully, and if I didn’t know any better I think he’s done this before.

I say to him, “ let’s go to the room.”

I lead him to my uncle‘s bedroom and we both hop into bed.

I climb on top of him and make my way down to his dick. It’s a beautiful dick, thick and long complemented by a big hairy bush and big hairy balls.

I run my tongue from the head of it down to his ball sack. I get his dick, nice and wet before I get directly on top of it.

He helps me ease it into my hole. It’s just so tight getting in. But once we get going, he begins to start thrusting back-and-forth on me.

Moaning loudly and he’s using his hands to gently play with my cock.

I’m nearly screaming and our bodies are sweaty, and we can’t stop touching each other all over.

I turned my head around and I look at my uncle’s big hairy, stinky feet. I wanna suck on his toes so bad but I don’t wanna stop this moment.

 I watch his toes wiggle from excitement and it sends me over the edge. He’s thrusting in me faster and faster. He’s even going harder. I can’t take anymore, but somehow in the same time I cum and I feel his dick pour loads into my hole.

I looked down at my uncle‘s cum cover chest and I pull his dick out of me. His dick is still leaking and I even get a taste of it.

I turn around and lay back to my face or directly next to his feet. They take a big with his feet smell like a dirty gym. He just got back from a run earlier when he first walked in, and I realized he wasn’t even wearing socks.

I run my tongue up and down his soul. I realize it’s tickling the teddy bear a little bit.

A kiss each of his toes before I crawl my way back up. I feel him wrap his arm around me and I lean into my uncles chest.

I look up at the teddy bear and I say, “ do you want to stay this way forever?”

He gives me a thumbs up.

“Okay but we will have to work on your head. It’s cute but it will freak people out,” I say to him.

He pulls me in tighter and I can feel his fingers running up and down my back. Soon I fell asleep in his arms.

Two weeks later, Ted, which is what I like to call him now and I have gotten really close. He’s very smart and all they can’t speak. He does write to me.

I wanna show him so much, but I need to figure out how to change his head. I may be getting close in my spell book, but I want to be 100% sure.

So for now, me and Ted will just stay in the house. Honestly, it’s fine by me because the sex is amazing.

Coconut Head

Kent:

On vacation and something very strange happened to my older cousin. He was walking out back from the beach when all of a sudden a coconut fell off of a tree. It was so powerful that it knocked off his head and landed right on its shoulders.

I tried to help him pull it off, but it won’t move. We even took him to the hospital and they said just be patient. The coconut is on his neck so tight, but it will eventually loosen up. They said it could take weeks or even over a month.

So now I’m having to spend a lot of time taking care of my cousin’s body and his head.

Although it’s nice is if he does get a little sassy or bossy with me can always just leave his head in another room.

But what’s been really fun is while his head is away I get to explore his sexy body. My cousin is super hot and super ripped. I don’t even mind the coconut me and them because it lets me do whatever I want.

I’ll leave his head in another bedroom at night, which just leaves me in his body alone together. I’ll stay up all night, smelling and licking his pit and feet. Sucking off his cock licking his hole. I’ve even taught his body how to jerk me off and how to give a good foot job.

I’m not gonna lie I kind of hope the coconut gets stuck forever. He’s really talented with my cousin’s toes and he’s a great cuddler at night.

[uncle-fruity]

I appreciate everything OP said here, and so much of it rings true. And while we're on this topic, I wanna bring up something I've been mulling over that I think is related.

We have got to stop thinking of marginalized people as a monolith -- even when that homogenized version in our heads is mostly positive. What I mean is that not every trans person is a good person. Just like not every cis person is a bad person. There will be trans people who are uninformed, willfully ignorant, rude, mean, abusive, manipulative, misogynistic, hypocritical, and honestly pretty bad allies to anyone who they don't understand or don't like or who challenges their worldview. There will be cis people who are extremely well-read on the issues, understanding, supportive, encouraging, open-minded, willing to listen & learn, kind, respectful, dedicated transfeminists, and honestly some of the best allies you'll ever have.

There is this sort of underlying assumption that trans people will always understand each other better than anyone else, that we are safer with our own, but that's not always the case. It is fair to assume that trans people are more likely to connect with and understand each other, but it is (clearly, as demonstrated) not guaranteed.

That's because we are humans! Humans are messy, complex, often hypocritical, nuanced beings. We all have different experiences, surroundings, relationships, beliefs, and priorities that make us who we are. Gender is just one facet of the many many things that come together to make us wholly human. Being trans doesn't make you a good person; it makes you trans. And while being trans may give you valuable insight on gender dynamics and trans oppression via direct exposure, it does not automatically make you a scholar or expert on all trans experiences or the historical context that feminism & transfeminism is built on. That kind of information must be actively pursued if you want a fuller picture.

This is why I've been going off about critical thinking so much -- because if you aren't being critical about this, it gets very very easy to fall into a reactive and/or bigoted and/or narrow mindset, and that can be genuinely harmful to yourself and others if you're not careful. Especially on Tumblr, where someone could very easily misrepresent their identity to stir up shit and push transphobic rhetoric behind the mask of an assumed ally. Thinking critically is a vital tool to help us avoid being manipulated by a false or disingenuous narrative.

When we say, "Listen to trans people," we mean that you need to pay attention to a wide variety of trans people and what we're talking about -- because we will and do agree AND disagree with each other on a number of issues all the time. But the more of us you listen to and consider, the more likely you are to see patterns of oppression and common trans experiences that will broaden your worldview and help you make a better informed decision about what to believe or what to look further into or how to spot common anti-trans sentiments/dogwhistles. "Listen to trans people" is not followed by the secret phrase, "and thoughtlessly accept everything they say about trans issues." Anyone who demands that you agree with them without room for question or comment or criticism is trying to control the narrative. Even if there is good reason to believe someone knows their shit, it never hurts to dig deeper into the worldview someone is trying to get you to internalize before you do so.

So, with that in mind, I encourage everyone to really take stock of their priorities & values within activism and judge people on their actual behaviors & impact & quality of information they present, NOT just their stated identities. If something a fellow activist said feels uncomfortable or rubs up against your values, it's okay to examine that feeling and ask questions to figure out what's at the root of it. The trans women who act the way OP described are not representative of all trans women, nor are they necessarily our allies. The same goes for misogynistic & transmisogynistic trans men. Or trans people of any sort who subscribe to any flavor of gender/bioessentalist ideology. That isn't to say that we don't fight for their rights or support them when they fall victim to systemic violence or ignore their issues or give up on trying to educate & elevate where we can -- we are still fighting the patriarchy for everyone's benefit. But, critically, we also don't have to accept hateful rhetoric into our communities and theories just because the fuckos spouting it off are trans.

honestly, as a trans woman who's running a fairly 'popular' or whatever queer blog, i've noticed so much shit in the past 2 years and i'm just gonna lay it out for y'all. it's a new year. it's 2025. i do NOT wanna carry any more of this bullshit forward. i'm calling everything for what it is. if this pisses you off, unfollow or block and move on.

as someone else put it in the tags on one of my other posts:

i am sick and tired of not talking about extremely important queer conversation topics for the sake of "keeping the peace".

this is not giving trans women and transfemmes a better quality of life to attack literally every every and all trans men for being trans men. it's making people fucking scared shitless of us. i hope people realize this isn't helping improve the opinion other people have on trans women and transfemmes. it's making people absolutely fucking terrified to even exist around us, because we've gotten to the point where we're attacking literally everyone and anyone who says something we don't like. people are fucking terrified of talking around transfemmes and trans women and it's time we broke the silence on that.

other transfemmes and trans women: do you seriously, really want other trans people to be scared to death of you? do you really want other trans people to be absolutely fucking terrified to speak around you because they're scared of getting fucking yelled at? do you really want other trans people to be utterly terrified to speak up about their own trans issues for fear of being told they hate you? do you really want other people around you to feel utterly terrified to talk about anything queer related at all for fear of being corrected, looked down upon, or verbally harassed?

i am just completely done with this environment we've fostered where basically everyone is on pins and goddamn needles holding themselves back from having real, genuine, impactful, substantial conversations about gender because they're absolutely scared shitless of being called transmisogynistic and publicly cancelled and harassed at all times for saying something as simple as "trans men don't have it easy" or talking about how AFAB people can also be trans. it really does not take much at all to set people off on this website and start accusing people of being transmisogynists left right and center.

i'm not participating in this weird mind game anymore. i do not like how this is being used to control the narrative on transness and trans experiences.

i am done with having to walk on eggshells in every. single. conversation. we have about gender.

i am done with acting like talking about transmasculinity and transmanhood is somehow magically attacking and silencing trans women and transfemmes.

i am done with people having to tack on massive disclaimers saying that they're not attacking trans women and transfemmes just for talking about their experiences on just about every post people write about gender.

i feel like every conversation about gender on here has to be so fucking sterile and calculated and meticulously planned out and stripped of most of its contents in order to not immediately get slammed with a "oh so you hate trans women" or a "oh so you're transmisogynstic." it's fine to point out genuine transmisogyny, i'm not gonna say you have to put up with it when it's real, but can we acknowledge that people are leveraging the fear other people have of being called transmisogynistic to shut people up?

at this point it's being used as a scare tactic and i'm so over it. i loathe how accusing people of being transmisogynistic is a default insult. trans men can't make a post about transmasculinity without someone getting pissed off and calling them transmisogynistic. trans men can't talk about a goddamn thing without being told to shut up, for some reason? why is this happening? like literally why are you doing this? trans men can't talk about ANYTHING at this point. like they needed to be able to coin words for the specific types of oppression they face so they could talk about it, and instead they just get fucking yelled at and told they're being copycats and that the violence they faced wasn't real? what the actual hell is this accomplishing?

why are we acting like we own oppression and no one else can even come close to understanding what its like? come on now, we don't own the goddamn concept of oppression. we also don't own transness. i am sick to death of this idea that transfemininity and trans womanhood are the only "real" ways to be trans. we do not own the concept of transness. it's not just about us. "trans rights" applies to more than just us. it can't be about us all the time. WE are the ones being self centered right now. WE are the ones who are forcing the conversation to be about us in situations where it's completely and totally inappropriate.

we need to say it for what it is: we're fostering an environment where, at this point, only trans women and transfemmes are allowed to talk about anything queer related at this point. like can we call it for what it is? for some reason, trans men and transmascs aren't allowed to talk about trans manhood or transmasculinity at all. ever. they're not allowed to say a fucking peep. they have to shut up and listen to a trans woman explain it to them, because for some reason, the trans woman knows trans manhood better than the trans man. this is out of fucking control, we should not have trans women explaining trans manhood to other people unless they are also a trans man. this is just unacceptable. transfems attack transmascs who speak for transfems, and yet this is seen as good and the norm?

you are not cool if you hate trans men and misgender them on purpose. this isn't feminist. this isn't progressive. you're not getting back at the patriarchy- most trans men do not benefit from patriarchy and never will- you would understand this if you listened to them. instead of talking over and for trans men, and listening to people who talk over and for trans men, if you listened to trans men, the source, you'd understand that no, transmasculine lives are NOT easy and no, trans men do not instantly benefit from patriarchal society if at all, ever. if you listened you'd understand that T doesn't make people aggressive and hostile and evil. if you listened you'd understand that there are a lot of wonderful, loving trans men out there are who are not transmisogynistic just by virtue of existing.

nobody is saying that we want to you prioritize men over trans women when we talk about trans men's rights. we're not saying that we need to talk about men all the time and never talk about women, and that men are the only ones allowed to talk, now. we really have to let multiple people participate in conversations. we can't keep doing this thing where One Gender Has To Be Superior Over another. that's gender essentialism. why must you keep yourself trapped inside the binary like that? why are you so desperate to stay stuck inside of the machine that's trying to destroy you?

challenging someone else's transphobia is not being transphobic. challenging someone else's behavior is not hating them or their gender. criticism is not an attack on trans womanhood and transfemininity. transfemmes are trans women are not immune to criticism and we need to stop acting like we are. we're not. we've created an echo chamber where only trans women and transfemmes are allowed to talk right now and it's not transmisogynistic to point that out, because it's literally happening before our eyes.

if we're demanding that other people treat us better, why are we treating other people like shit in the process to get it?

stop silencing other people talking about other trans experiences. transfemininity and trans womanhood are not the only ways to be trans. stop forcing yourself into conversations you don't belong in. if you don't want trans men do that, don't do it as a trans woman. don't barge into conversations you have literally 0 stock in just to be rude and mean and make the conversation about trans women instead. let other people talk. this has gone on for way too long.

let. other. trans. people. talk. we shouldn't have let it get this bad. but i'm not letting it stay this bad. if you want to accuse people having genuine conversations about transness of being transmisogynistic just because they're not a trans woman, then feel free, i'm not gonna stop you, but i'm not listening to you. i don't care anymore. i'm sick to death of not being able to have REAL conversations on here because some people don't like being reminded that they are not the only people who suffer under cisheteronormative patriarchy. if you can't accept that you are not the only one who suffers under patriarchy and that men need to be liberated from patriarchy as well, then i'm not interested in having a conversation with you to begin with.

seriously, if any of this bothers you, please just block me. i'm not participating in these dumb ass little mind games anymore. i do not give a singular shit about offending people who think this behavior is okay. i spent way too long being afraid to speak up about real world issues because of shitty internet trolls. i don't give a fuck if someone you don't like speaking about their experiences hurts your feelings- you are the problem here.

this is affecting real people in real time and i care about that. i care about people, not stupid ideologies and fighting over who is or isn't "really trans". i care about people, not fighting over labels. open your mind and understand that is is about real ass people, and not just ideologies. trans men and mascs are real ass people. they're not antagonists made specifically to attack and piss off transfemmes and trans women. enough of this.

[jthealien]

Foreshadowing I’ve Found for THAT Reveal

Spoilers for the Season 1 finale under the cut!!!

HI GUYS HOW ARE WE FEELING WOW

I’ve spent the weeks in between the fast pass release and now rereading and looking for every bit of foreshadowing I could find for B- I mean Nox… being a key. (Or at least key adjacent)

Side Note: I’m playing fast and loose with the definition of foreshadowing here. Some are pretty small details or silly observations, but my list my rules :P

So here it is compiled in a massive (vaguely chronological) list with numbered photos!

Also if there’s anything I missed (I’m sure there is) please add it!!

———

1) The literal first scene of the comic is a crescent moon (in a purple background), which we now know is Nox/the villain key’s symbol

2) (Ep. 13) Nox knows “plenty about the keys.” uh yeah I bet you would

3) (Ep. 13) Chase asks if Nox is part of Ex Libris and wants to make the keys more miserable, which seems to make him really upset. It’s understandable, I’d be pretty upset if I was implied to be working with my tormentors to make my own life even worse.

4) (Ep. 13) From the start Nox assumes Chase wants the keys for something selfish. Considering Ex Libris treats the keys like objects, and some of the keys (like Bronze) are pretty weary around people, that’s not an unreasonable assumption. Nox is so accustomed to being used by higher ups for selfish wishes

—This puts his outburst in Ep. 31 in a whole new light, specifically the line about Chase wanting to befriend the keys. He’s so convinced that couldn’t be true because it’s never been true for him.

5) Each of the keys has a specific junk food/snack they like. Silver has cheese, Bronze has peanut butter, Goldie has gummies, and it seems Nox has chocolate :]

6) (Ep. 20) “Every last thing” about the keys is his business in his words

—Guess that includes himself

7) Metals can rust, and Nox isn’t a fan of water (besides baths, but I assume that’s because he can control when he goes in and for how long)

8) When you stick a key in a book, they automatically know the story (as said by Bronze in Ep. 21). This explains why Nox seems to know a book’s plot no matter what

9) (Ep. 28) He says that the keys can take advantage of “certain loopholes.” In that moment, this is a reference to what characters a key can use for their role. But it could also be a nod to how keys can technically use other keys to enter stories. He’d know that since it’s what he’s been doing this whole time.

10) In the infamous “They feed you, right?” scene (Ep. 29), we’ve always kind of assumed that — yeah — Ex Libris just doesn’t feed him often. But in this scene, Chase ALSO says “keep you locked up.” I have a feeling that’s actually what Buddy got upset about. Ex Libris probably did keep him locked up as a key, which has to be really traumatic considering his severe claustrophobia.

11) (Ep. 31) Nox assumes Chase’s wish is just as “self-serving” as his is, which we now know is to be human again.

—(Nox actually projects a lot of his own feelings onto Chase, I’ll talk about that some other time though.)

—Referring back to number 5, during this whole confrontation, Nox is convinced that Chase only wants Narratonin for a wish. As a key, of course he’d think that, because that’s all that the humans usually around him want.

12) ”Nobody should have to accept being the villain if they’re trying their best not to be.” (Ep. 30) and “I get it, you’re the villain around here…” (Ep. 32)

—He literally IS the villain

—(Also I didn’t have room to include it, but Nox gets a really sad look on his face after Chase says that last line. yikes..)

13) (Ep. 32) In response to Chase talking about trusting humans, Nox says “them.” He could’ve said something like ‘people’ or ‘anyone,’ but his wording here implies that he sees human beings as separate from himself.

14) The crescent moon necklace on his outfit in Sick Days, as well as the half-ones on his jacket. If you really think about it you could also count the gemstones near his eyes as representing his gem eyes.

—It’s maybe a little strange that this outfit is the one he decided to make so similar to his key form. But it makes sense considering the previous arc was Beach Boys, where Nox became more trusting of Chase

15) (Ep. 35) He’s never been sick because keys can’t get sick.

16) (Ep. 36) He says “real people” and “person,“ showing again how he might not think of himself as either of those. (See number 13)

17) (Ep. 39) There’s a lock on Nox’s coffin

18) (Ep. 39) I originally thought it was the lighting but nope, his ear is literally gray! Also his hair here is less spiky at the ends, like how it is in his key form

19) (Ep. 39) He looks surprised by his reflection, because he’s only used to seeing his human form while in the books.

—In fact, since you can’t see yourself in the book mirrors, when’s the last time he saw himself as a human?

20) (Ep. 39) The broken key-ring looking thing around his neck

21) (Ep. 49) “Good, that means I’m taller than someone for once.” if only you knew, Chase..

22) The entirety of Ep. 50 confirming that keys can go into books

23) (Ep. 53) He gets really pissy over the idea of his teeth being “baby”. Might be carry over from his grudge against being like 5 inches tall in reality

24) (Ep. 53) His claustrophobia could stem from being stuck in his key form and being put in a box for weeks or months at a time.

—He keeps repeating that he just needs to “wait it out” and “it’s fine” because that’s all he could do and think as a key

25) (Ep. 54) “That moon is too close” following the scene where Buddy decides to lower his guard and work on his harmful behaviors. We now know the symbol of the villain key is the moon, so it could be Nox trying to distance himself from his role as the villain.

26) (Ep. 55) The crescent moon on Bad Cat’s lapel

27) (Ep. 56) “Some people are very good at disguising their true nature” in reference to Nox. It’s quite literal, in this case.

28) All the characters’ eyes are drawn in a very specific way, no matter their color (black shading taking up half the iris, the white shine). Every character except Nox, that is.

—Well, every character except Nox and the key’s human forms. I always thought it was meant to make him seem more intimidating (which it Does), but it really might be a byproduct of being a key. The queen in Friends and Family (Ep. 56) almost has Nox’s exact eye color, and her eyes are still colored in the usual way. So it’s definitely more than a stylistic choice.

—Makes me wonder what Nox looked like pre-key form. ..Did he still have his bright blue high beams..

29) Dreams by Day is about a key having a dream/flashback, and Dreams by Night is.. also about a key having a dream/flashback

———

And that’s all I have for now!! I’m absolutely going to find something else the millisecond I post this but like u said please add anything you notice.

[icarusredwings]

Succubus /angel au lore drop

@nuggetpool-hi thanks for some of the ideas.

Tw: mentions of sex, death and negitive treatment of sex workers/ forced prostitution (if you think about it)

Logan does often sleep. His vessel needs it. Wade doesn't need it but hes obsessed with napping in Logans bed.

It conviences both of their brains they're more then just casual and hook ups. But something more. Because even demons dreams about a semi settled life.

They physically sleep together, cuddle, share a singular bed, share a room, kiss all the time, and shower together. But (most days) this is stuff that happens before or after at least a quick blow job/rub/ or hump session.

It used to only be bjs but Logan actually, lovingly and passionately fucks him towards the end and this is when Wade decides to stay forever.

Wade "what do you mean you wanna keep the lights ON for sex and want to strip me and kiss my body??" Wilson

And yeah, logan calls him mouth. For verious reasons. In which wade IS the blowjob queen.

Logan thinks "feeding him just to keep him alive" is the most ethical thing (at the start) so like clock work once every 5 days he'd let Wade suck the shit out of him.

Ngl, logan kinda likes watching him so desperatly swallow it all- hes a bit selfish and greedy for an angel... though maybe thats why wade likes him.

Logan is definitely still gruff wife beater and jeans guy (but goes to church in button ups and ties) who still smokes his cigars and enjoys reading.

Sometimes, since wade cant touch the bible, logan reads it to him.

Logans spent so long on earth that he genuienly forgets hes an angel sometimes. Guy is like "ugh food is so expensive" and Wades like "You dont have to eat idiot."

Logan often forgets that he has a flaming sword and actually lost it at one point in time. Thats how he Met Kurt actually, because he asked Kurt for his sword back (that cloaks itself as a regular sword unless wielded by a winged angel, but logan never shows Kurt his wings. It would blow his cover)

Wade definitely has empathy- AND REJECTION SENSITIVITY

So TECHNICALLY wade can be fed by Logan just teasing him and telling him sexy things, rubbing his thigh and whispering how sexy he is, but this is more of a snack and logan would have to do it daily, while a good sized Load can feed him for a solid 4-5 days (but this is the bare minimum, Wade would gladly take a load daily, it would probably finally put some weight on him actually. Wade is very thin because of how unsucessful he is in finding prey that will sleep with him)

This is what people dont understand, though. They think they're just sexy monsters who want to take your soul (maybe idk), but Wade is genuinely caring and empathetic and very much capable of love.

It's not his fault he needs sex and to seduce people to survive, but Hell KNEW he was a burn victim, assumed he was on the playboy bus and decided to "Make him beg for it" for eternity, just like all the other girls on that bus (Succubai are originally female and can change their sex how ever they please- do what you will with this information COUGH trans wade COUGH)

Hell KNEW hed struggle to survive and still did it simply because they thought he was a sex worker. But Wade wasn't, he was a merc just trying to buy groceries when hit by a damn bus.

The bus hitting him isnt what killed him. It was the fire and explosion that happened afterwards. He was trapped underneath of the bus when it caught fire and blew up. He was screaming for help, sobbing and begging for anyones attention to the fact he was still alive.

What's even more not fair is that most of the girls died on impact to the brick wall rather then the fire or explosion so they are still very pretty and can manage a good amount of prey.

Aka, Wade got fucked (not literally unfortunately) just for being a bystander.

Yeah, hes killed people but he's heavily mentally ill and needed to find a way to put food on the table some how. Even if that way is by killing for money.

Oh and yes, Wade still has nightmares about how he died. Especially if Logan is laying on top of him, Wade dreams hes trapped under the bus, on fire, screaming for help and crying.. the thing about crying while on fire is though your tear ducts get burnt closed.

So now when ever he cries, it's not tears. More like blood.

So he will literally wake up to blood with a dash of tears on his face and it hurts to remember. This mans phantom pain is torture alone, let alone having to grovel at peoples feet to please fuck him or else he'll die..

Logan will kiss and hold him close, "its okay. Im sorry. Im so sorry. I didnt mean to squish you, i promise. Youre alright. I got you."

And yes, Logan is afraid of water. Not in the sense of showering but if wade asks him to take a bath with him he will shy away, he also dosnt like pools or the ocean, lakes or even ponds. He dosn't like water. Period. It reminds him of his death (and his wings get all soaked and puffy frim humidity)

Funfact: Both can become tiny. Imagine tiny Crowley.

Wade is 6'2 and becomes 6 inches. When hes tiny he's invisible to the naked eye and he chooses who can see him. This is how its so easy to be on kurts shoulder without getting caught. But logan cant be tiny unless he has his halo on, and thats a no no if hes having sex. So no tiny sex for them, but this does not stop wade from trying.

Sometimes he rides around on logan if Hes bored or clingy, but most times it goes like this.

Teeny wade: *spreads legs* Put it in me!

Logan, who can barley hear him: What??

Wade: IN!

Logan: WHAT!? NO!! That is not gonna fit you stupid idiot

Wade: hmmm.. youre right. What if i hump it? My big giant bean stalk! Gonna milk this cow too!

Logan: ... Im leaving... *walks away*

Wade: *sighs* Angels are so vanilla. Dont even wanna kill me with his cock <:/ does he even love me then??

Logan, from across the room: DUDE. YOU. WILL. DIE!!! It-its literally bigger then you!!

Wade: I know!! Thats the fun!

(Quick reminder that wade does not have a healing factor- hes insane.)

Technecally- Wade can eat logans ass and still be fed. Any sort of sexual desire or pleasure kinda makes him fed so this opens lots of new things. Hell- Logan can savagely dry hump him for 20 minutes and it would be enough for the day. This being said Logan dosnt have a refractoary period (angel stuff) so if he really wanted to be kind, he could give Wade multiple loads and have him fed for a month. Wade would still be hungry but not as much, seeing as if Logan wanted to feed him properly they'd have to have sex at least once a day, if not more for Wade to be fully taken care of meal wise.

OH! I dont think I mentioned this before either but they all live in the ministry together. So yes, there literally is a demon living in the church. With his angel lover.

Logan: This place is full of priests so dont do anything. Be on your best behaviour.

Wade @ the humans cause he knows Logan wont let them actually do anything to him:

Logan just walks in to see Wade twerking on the bed and the oldest of the fathers is like "Repent! Begone! Get off my bed you fowl fiend!!"

Logan: 😮‍💨🤦‍♂️

Imagine kurt comes over knocking on the door and is about to go on a date with Logan, and Logan tries not to moan while calling out "h-hold on! Im feeding my- EERR m-mY PET!" and ofc this only makes Wade deep throat him better with a purr and a tail wag cause YEAH. He is kinda feeding his pet aint he?

But NOW they have to get a pet or else itll blow logans cover so they get mary puppins, who is also an angel who unironically wont stop barking at them when theyre fuckin cause she thinks theyre fighting or something.

Along with their tiny forms, they have their true forms:

Logan: A big feathery fuck who you should INFACT be afraid of. Wade thinks hes gorgeous and really wishes he could fuck eyeballs but is aware of how much that would hurt.

Wade: Wade is very... curly from mouth washing in his true form. He dosn't like it. He has no lips or nose or ears, his eye sockets are engorged, his eyelids are practically gone, hes bleeding everywhere, mushy soft, in pain, crunchy and gummy-fied.

His earth form is much more healed looking and hurts less, but still does, to make himself feel better and more pretty, wade will paint hearts on his skin, giving himslef heart nipples, a belly button, and will paint on a happy trail of hearts. He has them on his shoulder, his forehead, hips, cheeks and tail, his legs and if he really thinks he looks ugly today, he'll draw them on his hands and ask Logan to paint them on his back too.

Wade has an extremely long tail, no its not as strong as kurts so he cant hang from it but he can hold coffee cups and jack someone off with it with ease.

Wade is also very thin and lean. His muscles on his arms are small, his calfs are barley there, his ass is there yeah, but two of his lower ribs are showing. (He has the sluttiest waste ever man)

Wade also has horns (blowjob handles!) Sharp teeth, dark fingers, ankles, toes, he has sharp ass claw feet, two large talons and one small one in the middle like a raptor. He also has claws on his fingers that he sometimes scratches logans back with but angel blood burns him (it hurts a lot) so they try not to do so much blood play in this au.

Logan also does not have claws in the sense of it comes out of his arm, but he does have nails. He also looks like a tired youth pastor whos lowkey about to leave the church if they make him tell little kids about abstinence one more time. Or a camp counceler whos TIRED of everyone's shit and just in general.... for.. obvious reasons..

Something something I really love my bed, but, man, it's hard to sleep when he's with me Olivia Rodrigo 😩😉

[ilonii]

Roomies G.S

✧ s.m - the everyday life of you and roommate suguru geto

w.c - 1.1k

warnings. fem reader, use of y/n, slight nsfw, mentions of sex, mentions of nudity, flirtatious behavior, brief gojo x reader, etc.

an. second installment of the jjk roomie series. for the next post, do you guys want sukuna or choso? comment your picks below.

Roommate Geto who honestly, you forgot even lived there. Between the tattoo shop and hanging out with Gojo any chance he gets, he’s rarely ever home.

Roommate Geto who only really talks to you when it’s time to pay his rent. The first Sunday of every month he knocks on your door and hands you an envelope full of cash, that he makes sure you count so you know he isn’t gonna short you.

Roommate Geto who, whenever he actually is home, cooks some of the most amazing food you think you’ve ever had.

“Geto oh my gosh, this is the best chicken parm I’ve ever tasted”

“I thought you said you’ve never had it before”

“Okay, so? I don’t have anything to compare it to but it’s still out of this world”

“You're funny, thanks pretty"

"You are very welcome"

Roommate Geto with the MOST annoying best friend you've ever met.

“Gojo, for the love of God, how many times do I have to tell you to stop eating all my snacks. I know for a FACT Geto buys plenty for you to eat while you’re here”

“Well I finished all the ones he got me last night”

“That doesn’t mean you eat mine asshole”

“Fine sorry. Here’s 40 bucks go by yourself so more. Oh! and while your out could you get me some of that strawberry mochi, you only had the mango flavor, not one of my favorites but I can’t be too picky I guess”

“You are unbelievable”

“Why thank you”

Roommate Geto who has the worse timing humanly possible. What are the odds that the one time you forget you towel and have to run from the bathroom to your bedroom, at the very same time Geto decides to pop his head outside his room for the first time today.

“Oh my gosh.”

“Oh…my..gosh”

“ARE YOU LAUGHING”

“No, no no im not im nottt”

“YOURE STILL LAUGHING”

“I mean I’m not laughing AT you, your body’s amazing, it’s just that-”

“EXCUSE ME”

“What? I call em like I see em”  

“are you serious right now?”

“are you naked right now?”

“I’m leaving”

“Just like your towel”

“SCREW YOU”

“Just say the word sweetheart”

Roommate Geto who after the “incident” won’t let you live it down.

“You know, its rude to laugh every time you see someone”

“Well, it’s also rude to run around the house naked and not tell anyone”

“It was a MISTAKE”

“that’s what they all say”

Roommate Geto who is a major tease. It’s like every time you see him, he’s shirtless, sweaty and begging to be licked.

“What are you staring at”

“Nothing”

“I don’t knowww, it kinda looks like you were staring at my abs if you ask me”

“Well, I mean, you’ve got em just sitting there, all on display and whatnot so I mean could you blame me really”

“guess not.”

Roommate Geto whose surprisingly….unlucky in love? He was up to four dates this week and returned home alone, once again.

“Hey, how’d it go”

“Idk man, maybe the problem is me”

“Why, what happened”

“She was just so boring and so superficial. I mean oh my gosh all she talked about the entire time was about how good all her ex’s told her she was in bed and how at the end of the date she’d give me SUCH a good time.”

“Wow, what a date”

“I know, like gosh I don’t remember it being this hard to get laid, like ever”

“Well, if you’re tryna just get screwed then you’re being a bit picky don’t you think, I sure she was a decent enough lay”

“Well, I mean yeah, but I’d also like to sleep next to someone I wanna get up and make breakfast for in the morning”

“I mean, you got me there”

Roommate Geto who talks you into letting him do your first tattoo.

“Oh cmon, don’t be a baby”

“Don’t be a baby? This is a permanent decision, not something to be taken lightly, AT ALL”

“It’ll be something small, in a place that won’t hurt too bad, it’ll take at the absolute most an hour”

“What would I even get”

“Something small and cute that represents you, that you won’t regret in forty years. And that’s not a butterfly.”

“What’s your beef with butterflies”

“You know how many teenage girls I give butterfly tattoos to each and every week? I’m so tired”

“Well, you’re in luck, I was actually thinking about something else”  

“So, you’ll let me do it”

“Yeah, why not. Yolo right”

“YES”

Roommate Geto who has a surprisingly large, sweet tooth.

“Geto, did you have Satoru over recently”

“Yeah, he was over last night, why what’s up”

“He ate all three of my packs of mango mochi. AGAIN”

“Oh um, actually that was me”

“You ate it? Since when did you start eating sweets like that”

“It’s a bad habit I pick up every now and then, I’m really sorry, I left some money on the counter for you to get some more, did you see the note?”

“I saw the money, no note. I left it there because I figured you just forgot it there or something”

“Nah, it’s all yours”

“Thanks, hey so that one-time last month when I got that strawberry cake and it disappeared the next day you blamed it on Gojo even though I didn’t even remember him being here, that was you”

“Uhhh, yeah”

“An entire cake Geto? Get a grip”

Roommate Geto whose been home an unusual amount.

“You’ve been home a lot recently, what’s up”

“Tired of seeing me already?”

“No, but I mean, I used to forget you lived here you were gone so long, and now you’re here no later than eight every day. Believe me I enjoy the company but it’s worth mentioning”

“Yeah, everything is fine, I just idk, have had more reason to be home recently”

“Yeah, reasons like?”

“You”

“What?”

“What?”

“What’d you just say”

“Nothing, why do you ask”

“But you just-”

“I just what?”

“hmm”

“Hmm”

Roommate Geto who you might have a crush on. I mean in your defense; he’s been turning up the flirt tenfold, and when there's an impossibly hot, tattooed guy cooking, cleaning and flirting with you, it's hard to help your feelings.

Roommate Geto who you, scratch that, DEFINITELY have a crush on. That's probably why you ended up in his bed last night.

“Geto, where are you going. You know its rude to sleep with someone and disappear in the morning”

“Well seeing as how we’re in my bed, I think you’d have to be the one to sneak off on me. But relax, I’m just gonna go make breakfast. You got anything in mind?”

“Mmmm how about, pancakes”

“Whatever you wish beautiful”

border by @bunnysrph

I hope you all enjoyed. don't forget to comment choso or sukuna next post.

[aralezinspace]

Cuckoo you absolutely hit the nail on the head here. Adding my two cents which is mostly reiterating what you've already said with my own thoughts.

General disclaimer, I'm just a rando on the internet so take this all with a grain of salt and no I do not condone anything Neil has done and I hope he reaps every consequence he deserves.

It's definitely not like JKR. It's more like Stephen King. Everyone knows and acknowledges Stephen King is a fucked up person and has done bad things in his past, but damn if his books aren't good. He's also not using his money to actively campaign against minorities. Stephen King (and Mr. G) are flawed, fucked up humans like the rest of us, likely even more so. Now if you look at Stephen King as a person and decide not to engage with his works, awesome! You're allowed to do that, have fun storming the castle. If you decide to do the same with Mr. G, awesome, go nuts.

However, what seems more disturbing to me is the sort of parasocial relationship a lot of people have with him, and other celebrities too. Believe me, I understand the 'oh shit that could have easily been me' and feeling like this is a gross betrayal of trust. Believe me, I get that. However, for those of you/us who have never had personal contact with Mr. G (like me), or have never even been in the same room as him, some food for thought: why does this feel so personal?

I understand the hurt, the disappointment, the outrage, the massive ick feeling. Personally I thought he was better than this, and it's very disappointing to learn that he's not. But for those who feel personally betrayed, why? In the grand scheme of things, Neil doesn't owe you/us anything, leaving out the universal 'don't be a shit human.' He doesn't know that 99% of us exist, other than as icons on a screen, as numbers under a follower count. In the grand scheme of things, you burning his books isn't going to affect him, it's only going to affect you.

I guess what I"m saying is, don't be hasty. Let the strong feelings pass before making any emotionally charged decisions (not telling y'all what to do, just my two cents). But especially to those who get so much joy from his works, and feel like they now have to renounce everything he's done and that just doesn't feel right, take a minute before doing that. Think of who you're doing it for- your own conscience? The faceless mob on the internet? To spite Neil? Because if it's for the latter two reasons, I'm willing to bet the only person you'll be hurting or sticking it to is yourself.

Nothing in this world is 100% unproblematic, and letting the internet's ever shifting standards of what is 'okay' to enjoy dictate your life just sounds like a very miserable way to live. Letting the actions of celebrities who don't even know you exist dictate what you're allowed to enjoy also sounds like a very miserable way to live.

At the end of the day, I refuse to let the shitty decisions of one shitty man who doesn't even know I exist rule my life, and limit the things I derive joy from. I've been subjected to too many shitty decisions by too many shitty people that I actually know to have room for the shitty decisions of someone I don't know. There are so many ways to engage with his properties that don't give him money- engage in fandom, pirate stuff, borrow his stuff from your local library (we love supporting libraries!), buy unlicensed merch from Etsy, Redbubble, etc. Personally, I’m going to continue to write fic and watch the new season and engage with the fandom- there are too many stories I want to tell and too many awesome people I’ve met through fandom and to give all that up for one schmuck’s bad decision seems like a huge waste. Fan creators are not Mr. G, don't throw the fandom under the bus to spite the creator.

It is possible, and actually very achievable, to condemn the bad things he's done as a person, without setting a torch to everything good his works have done.

"Appropriate" responses to the Gaiman issue

TLDR: This isn't a Rowling situation, be wary of internalized purity culture.

He's a predator. I'm glad a proper journalist followed up where police have failed (and possibly given victims a better footing for future charges).

But I have a problem with the knee-jerk responses targeting the fandom.

Just to clarify, I'm not talking about insulting The Predator. This is about how you treat people who have/do/will enjoy the stories that unfortunately came into the world through his keyboard.

Fans aren't intrinsically evil/uncaring for continuing to participate in associated fandoms.

This is not another Rowling situation. Why? Let me clarify. The consequences of consumption are very different. Rowling is ACTIVELY using her popularity and income as a creative to target one of the most vulnerable minorities in the world. Buying official merch/books/movie tickets prove to the powers that be that she remains a good investment, so they'll give her even more money. This perpetuates the cycle - new movie/book deals, more income, more hate, rinse and repeat.

The push to avoid Rowling's work in full is driven by the fact that she has FACED NO CONSEQUENCES and is still powered by her creative properties. It's fandom/consumers trying to bring justice.

Gaiman, on the other hand, knew he was doing bad shit on some level because he kept his abuse hidden. His status and reputation let him get close to vulnerable fans and essentially intimidate authorities from going after a celebrity. He is FACING CONSEQUENCES. I would personally like to see criminal charges brought against him, but that's out of the fandom's hands. Things we could've influenced (his Disney deal appears to have gone to shit, he's been booted from the truncated final season of GO, and there's no news on Sandman 3) are already in motion. If his publisher doesn't drop him, I'd say avoiding his future works is beyond valid (I certainly wouldn't buy them). But I'm going to watch the new season of Sandman. And once I've taken time away, I'll probably finish my active fics.

"Judging" people who still enjoy his work stems from good intentions that grew out of the fetid ground of purity culture rhetoric.

Writing fanfic and enjoying shows that are already made do not make people soulless accomplices. The idea that unproblematic stories by saintly creators are the only things you're allowed to enjoy is not only flirting with censorship, but it's also impossible.

If you think people should have nothing to do with Gaiman's works, you better throw out anything Weinstein touched. That includes Jackson's LOTR trilogy, FYI. Also, anything his company officially produced (which still gives him money in some cases) should never, ever grace your screen. That includes some of the better Stephen King adaptations, The Orphanage (which was a breakthrough Spanish-language film in Western markets), The King's Speech, The Imitation Game, Woman in Gold, Paddington, and It Follows.

If you aren't willing to publicly announce your "disappointment" in anyone who continues to enjoy any of those films, then kicking up a fuss over how other people process and interact with problematic content from a fallen celebrity who is in the process of getting his dues is pure hypocrisy.

Personally, I'm maliciously complying with Gaiman's famous quote about how once a story is out there, it doesn't belong to the author anymore. Well said, Predator, these are mine now, and I shall fuck about with them as I see fit.

Attacking or snobbishly looking down your nose at the fandom also erases YEARS of beautiful critique and thoughtful exploration of existing, acknowledged problems in works like The Sandman.

People in these parts already know how to handle complex issues in complex pieces of media. Gaiman isn't our god. His canon is not our bible. He didn't teach us morality, as is apparently the case for a lot of people who grew up reading Rowling's works as a child.

If you have a problem with the censorship comment I made, I'd like to point out at least one writer friend is LEANING INTO the fandom as a way to process their own trauma. Suffice it to say they survived a very similar situation. They see it as empowering to take the stories away from the abuser and use the characters/settings to make something new.

I get the ick. I have it right now. But I'm not burning every copy of his work I own (full disclosure I have... *checks shelves* a copy of Neverwhere and The Sandman series). Doing so is totally valid, and if that helps you process and feel better - go for it!

But this is not the same as Rowling and the only ones you hurt by declaring your "judgement" is a complex group of individuals who are able to enjoy fiction, remain aware of potential social consequences, and found a place that doesn't align with your black/white morality.

With that said, judge away! I better not see any stories from Charles Dickens, anything in anyway associated with the Weinsteins, Nickelodeon shows, Charlie Chaplin references, or Francis Ford Coppola films touch your feed. If you scratch the surface, you'll find more things to judge others for enjoying, and they will inevitably find something to judge you for, too.

[jareaul0ver]

I love you, I'm Sorry

wc: 978 warnings: angsty but a happy ending! pairings: nika muhl x fem!reader

A/N: omg im actually posting?? don't get used to this i go back to school soon and probably wont post anything til either spring break or the summer

Two Years Ago

You were pacing around your apartment, waiting for Nika to come over like she said she would.

Nika's been your unofficial girlfriend for a while, but you never put a label on what you had.

But she was leaving for the W soon, and you either wanted all or nothing with her.

A few minutes into your pacing, there was a knock on the door. You walked over and opened it, seeing Nika's smiling face. "You wanted to talk?" She said.

You nodded and invited her in. "Do you want anything to drink? Coffee or tea?"

Nika shook her head and sat down on your couch. "I'm okay, thank you."

A small sigh left your body as you went over and sat down, leaving a bit of space between the two of you just in case everything went south.

"What's this about?" She asked cautiously.

You took a deep breath and leaned back into the couch a little. "You're leaving soon, and-"

"That doesn't mean this has to end, if that's where you're going with this," Nika interjected.

A small frustrated sigh left your lips. "What even is this, Nika? Are we girlfriends? Or just casually fucking?" She stayed silent and you just scoffed. "It's your choice, either we put a label on this, or I'm done."

The last thing Nika wanted was to completely lose you, but she didn't like the ultimatum you were giving her. "That's not fair, I need to focus on basketball-"

"And just lead me on the whole time? Have me thinking we could be something more, even though we never will be?" You tried to keep your voice steady, but it was getting difficult.

She sighed and stood up. "I- I'm sorry, but I can't do this," she said before grabbing her things and walking to the door.

You stood up and watched her. She was so ready to leave, no hesitation. "So that's it then? You're just leaving?"

Nika's jaw twitched and she stared at you for a moment. "I"m sorry," she mumbled before opening the door and leaving, letting it close behind her.

You forced your eyes away from the door and looked out the window, watching the May atmosphere warming up the world, but it felt so cold in your apartment without Nika.

It hadn't been that long since Nika left for the W, and everyone already loved her. She charmed everyone she met, other players, fans, the media.

It's like she trained herself, got lessons on how to be a people person. She never was before. She was always polite, but kept to herself.

Except around you. You always were able to break down her walls and see what was really going on with her, how she really was.

But now you see this people pleaser on TV and social media, and all you can do is complain to your friends about it.

Two Summers from Now

After a while, you had managed to get over Nika. Well, more so over what happened with her.

You'd always have a soft spot for the girl, she saw you and supported you at your worst, and you could never stop loving her because of it.

It was ironic. You were about to head out to Seattle to visit some friends, and Nika was about to get on a plane back to Storrs to see her friends.

At this moment, you broke no contact with her. You sent her a text, hoping she didn't have you blocked, or that she didn't change her number.

You were a little surprised to see an answer from her short after you sent the message. The two of you ended up talking about life, realizing that just maybe, you could be cool with her.

She gave you some advice about Seattle, and you let her know how excited the other UConn girls would be to see her again.

The next few days went by in a blur. You were in Seattle, taking in the scenery, leaning out the window of your hotel and having a drink.

I love you, I'm Sorry

You were still in Seattle. You didn't realize that Nika had messaged your friends, asking what hotel you were at and your room number.

She came back early, and she wanted needed to see you before you left. She wanted to attempt to fix things.

Nika's feelings for you never left. She knew that she reacted badly when you told her what you wanted, and she wasn't sure that she could forgive herself for walking away so easily.

But she at least needed you to know that she still loved you.

At about 10pm that night, there was a knock on your hotel door. You looked over in confusion before getting up from your bed and walking over.

You opened the door, and it was like everything from the past few years came flooding back. "Nika?" You invited her inside. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to say sorry for everything. For the way I reacted back then, I was a dick about it, and you didn't deserver any of it," she said.

You were speechless, so she took it as her que to keep going. "I was the worst, and every time I go for a drive I think about the ones we used to take to clear our heads. I swear, it haunts me-" She cleared her through.

"Nika-" You said, but she cut you off.

"I still love you, I'm sorry." The words fell from her lips so effortlessly, you couldn't help but want to give in and see where it led.

So you did. You caved and rushed up to her, pressing your lips against hers.

It lasted for a few seconds before you rested your forehead against hers. "I love you, and I'm sorry, too."

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Request: hellooo! could you please write one where dean and sam are having their usual arguments but the sister is so sick of their shit, tried to tell them to get a grip and they come to their senses. but then flash forward the boys are ACTUALLY fighting, like throwing punches, and she gets caught by one of them? thanks, love your work!! <3

A/N: Hiiiiii!!! Thank you so much. I love this request and I hope I wrote it in a way you were imagining. If not, send me another request! As always requests are open. You can request anything you want, even if it’s something I’ve already written. Thanks everyone!!

Sam and Dean Winchester X Sister!Reader

I stood at the edge of the living room, eyes fixed on the familiar scene unfolding in front of me. Dean’s voice was as sharp as ever, cutting through the thick air of tension. The words were bitter, like venom spilling out of his mouth, each sentence more loaded than the last.

“Sam, you don’t get it. We don’t have the luxury of time. People are dying out there!”

I watched Sam, his jaw clenched, his posture rigid with barely contained fury. He leaned forward, hands planted firmly on the table between them. “You’re acting like we’re invincible, Dean! Like we don’t need a plan—like we can’t think through this!”

The frustration in Sam’s voice echoed in my chest like a drumbeat. But the thing that had finally snapped my restraint wasn’t their words—it was the way their anger was bleeding into everything. Every argument. Every conversation. It was relentless, a storm that never seemed to stop. I had been trying to hold onto whatever semblance of peace I could, but today… today I couldn’t take it anymore.

I could feel my heartbeat in my ears, that familiar surge of adrenaline clawing up my spine as I paced around the room, eyes darting from one brother to the other. My hands trembled by my sides, but it wasn’t just from the anger. It was the heartbreak—the exhaustion.

It had been happening for weeks. Every day, every single fight felt like it was tearing us apart. The same stupid arguments. The same stubbornness. And it wasn’t even about the monsters anymore. It was about us. The Winchesters. Our family.

And I was sick of it.

“Enough.” My voice cut through their bickering like a knife. The room froze in an instant.

Dean’s eyes snapped to me, that familiar scowl on his face as he straightened up from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter. “Y/N, don’t—”

“No,” I interrupted, my voice shaking, but this time with raw emotion. “No more. I can’t do this anymore. You two are tearing me apart.” I stepped forward, my chest tight with the weight of what I was about to say. “Every time you fight, it’s hurting everyone around you. Do you even see that? Do you realize what it’s doing to me?”

Dean’s expression faltered for a split second, but it was gone just as quickly, his jaw setting again, like a wall coming down. Sam, too, was silent, his eyes fixed on me, but I could see the flicker of guilt in his gaze.

I felt the tears pricking behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. “I’m your sister, goddamn it. And every time you fight, it feels like I’m invisible. Like I’m just the collateral damage. It’s not just your war anymore, okay? It’s all of ours. But I’m the one stuck in the middle, cleaning up the mess. And I can’t… I can’t do it anymore.”

My voice cracked with the last words, the weight of the admission crashing over me. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been holding in until it all came pouring out. The years of trying to keep things together. The endless struggles. But this—this constant fighting, the endless cycle of hate and misunderstanding—was the last straw.

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, I turned and stormed out of the room, unable to look at either of them. I couldn’t. I needed to get away. The walls were closing in. I ran to my room and I slammed the door behind me, the sound echoing through the hallway. The cool, dim light of my room offered no comfort. I collapsed onto my bed, burying my face in my hands. The tears I had been fighting for so long finally broke free, each one a painful reminder of how far we’d fallen.

I wasn’t sure how long I had been lying there, the muffled voices of my brothers drifting from the living room, distant and eventually fading into silence. For a moment, I allowed myself to hope they’d finally come to their senses. The tension in the air lifted, and I let out a shaky sigh of relief. I rolled over, searching for something to occupy my mind, anything to fill the quiet space between the cracks of everything left unsaid.

It felt peaceful—finally.

And then it didn’t.

A thud. A grunt. A crash. The unmistakable sounds of a fight.

My heart dropped. I knew what it was. It wasn’t the first time.

I shot out of bed, adrenaline surging through me. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms as I sprinted down the hallway. Every step felt like it was dragging me deeper into the chaos that had consumed our family. I didn’t care if I was still raw from the argument. I didn’t care if my own heart was shattered.

I pushed through the door, eyes wide, breath ragged. Dean and Sam were on the floor, fists flying, faces twisted in rage.

"Stop!" I screamed, my voice hoarse and desperate.

But they didn’t stop. They didn’t even look up. Sam’s fist connect with Dean’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. And then Dean retaliated, throwing his own punch, and for a split second, I watched in horror as they both swung at each other, neither one holding back.

“No! Stop! Please, stop!” My voice cracked as I rushed forward, desperate to break it up, but I wasn’t fast enough.

They continued to swing, and this time one of their fists caught me by accident. The world around me seemed to slow down in that moment. The knuckles collided with the side of my face, and everything went black for an instant. I felt my body hit the floor with a sickening thud, the sharp pain in my head drowning out everything else.

Blood filled my mouth, and I could taste the metallic tang of it. I gasped for air, but it felt like the room was spinning. I tried to get up, but my legs wouldn’t hold me. My body was too heavy, too overwhelmed with pain.

Tears stung my eyes as I lay on the floor, blood dripping from my lips. I couldn’t believe it—couldn’t understand how we’d gotten to this point. How we—we—had let things get so bad.

“Y/N!” Dean’s voice shattered through the haze. He dropped down next to me, panic overtaking his features. “Shit… kid, don’t move. Don’t move, okay? You’re gonna need stitches.”

But I couldn’t hear him. My mind was clouded, my vision fading. I choked back another sob, my hands instinctively reaching up to touch the fresh wound on my face. The pain was blinding. I felt myself shaking violently, my body not able to handle the weight of it all—the physical pain, the emotional pain, the betrayal of it all.

“Why?” I whispered, my voice barely a breath. I turned my head to look at them, but my vision was swimming with tears. “Why do you keep doing this? You’re brothers. You’re supposed to protect each other. Look at me! Look at what you’ve done to me!”

Dean looked as if he had been slapped, his face pale and guilt-ridden, his lips trembling with words he couldn’t form. Sam, who had been hovering in the background, now moved forward slowly, his hands trembling as he knelt beside me.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam said quietly, his voice cracked with emotion. He reached for my hand, but I yanked it away.

“I don’t want your apology!” I screamed through the blood in my mouth, the words raw and painful. “I don’t want anything from you right now. I just… I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Sam looked like he was about to say something, but I was already staggering to my feet, my vision still blurry, my head spinning.

“No, you’re not helping!” I shouted, my voice breaking. “I’ll fix it. I’ll fix myself.” And with that, I rushed toward the bathroom, my legs unsteady beneath me, my heart pounding with each step.

I slammed the door behind me, locking it before either of them could follow. I couldn’t let them fix it. Not yet. Not when they were still at war with each other. I had to do it myself.

I grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink, my hands trembling as I fumbled with the supplies. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I wasn’t sure I could even see straight through the tears and dizziness that clouded my vision, but I couldn’t stop. I had to fix it. I had to fix myself.

I dug the needle from the kit, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold onto it. not even registering the pain as I pressed it into my skin. I was too dizzy to see straight, too lost in my pain to think clearly. The needle jabbed into my skin, but the agony of it was nothing compared to the emotional ache. My hands were shaking uncontrollably now, the stitches coming out uneven and jagged. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t. I couldn’t see the wound, couldn’t tell where I was supposed to stitch, but I pushed through the agony anyway, my body wracked with sobs. Every breath felt like it was going to tear me apart.

“Y/N, open the door,” I heard Dean’s voice from the other side, pleading. “Please. Please, we’re so sorry.”

“I don’t care!” I screamed through the door, the words strangled by tears. “You should’ve cared before! You should’ve seen what this was doing to me! To all of us!” You whimpered before slammed your hand down on the bathroom sink. “Our fucking family!”

The sobs wracked my body, my chest tightening with every breath. The blood dripped steadily from my lip, staining my shirt and the bathroom counter. I felt myself getting weaker by the second.

“We’re so sorry. Please let us help,” Sam’s voice came through the door, soft, desperate. “Let us help you, bug.” His voice was quiet, gentle, and broken.

“I don’t want your help!” I sobbed, my voice breaking. “I wanted you to stop fighting! I wanted you to care about me. About us.”

But the pain was too much. The dizziness too overwhelming. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I still fought, pressing the needle into my skin.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Both of them rushed in, their faces stricken with horror at the sight of me, hunched over the sink, blood staining the bathroom floor. Dean moved toward me, but I pulled away, backing into the corner.

“I told you,” I whispered hoarsely, my voice ragged with exhaustion, “I don’t want your help.” The words felt like sandpaper scraping against my throat. Maybe I was scared. Scared of how much this had gotten out of control. Scared of how much I’d let it tear me apart.

Dean’s expression twisted in anguish, and for a moment, I saw it. The guilt. The understanding that this was bigger than a typical fight. That I wasn’t just angry—I was devastated.

He dropped to his knees in front of me, the movement quick, but careful. His eyes locked on mine, full of regret, the weight of it pressing down on us both. He reached for me slowly, his hand hovering near my face. "We didn’t mean for it to get this bad, Y/N. We just…" He trailed off, swallowing hard as if the words were too difficult to say. "We didn’t know how to stop."

I felt the tears coming again, but this time, it was different. They weren’t angry, not fiery and sharp like before. This was something quieter, deeper. The rage had burned itself out, leaving only aching sorrow in its wake.

“I know,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a broken breath, “But… you can’t fix it with more pain.” My chest tightened with each word, the weight of everything pressing down on me like a storm I couldn’t outrun.

Sam’s face crumpled at my words, and I saw his jaw tighten as he stepped forward, his eyes darting from my blood-streaked face to the needle still clenched tightly in my hand. His hands shook as he reached for it, and when his fingers brushed against mine, I flinched, my body wracked with a fresh wave of pain.

“Y/N, please.” His voice broke through my haze of pain, gentle but firm. "Let me do it.”

I felt the sting of the needle being pried from my hand. For a moment, I wanted to pull it back, to insist I could finish it myself, but then I saw Sam’s face. The look of terror in his eyes. He knew me. He knew I didn’t do this. I didn’t stitch myself up—they always did that for me. Always. The realization hit him hard, the understanding that I had reached a point where I couldn’t rely on them, not even when things got this bad. And it was that look of pain in his eyes, that unspoken hurt, that made everything feel even worse.

Sam grimaced when he saw the uneven, jagged stitches I’d attempted—some parts too tight, others barely holding together. The pain from them was unbearable, but it wasn’t the physical pain that tore at me. It was the fact that I had been forced to do this alone. That I couldn’t trust them to see the full extent of what I was feeling.

He exhaled sharply and immediately set to work, pulling the needle through my skin with slow, meticulous care. My body tensed in response, and I couldn’t help but whimper as the needle pierced me again. The pain was excruciating, a deep, fiery throb that seemed to echo in every bone, every muscle.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Sam murmured, his voice so soothing it felt like the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’ve got you.” But the words didn’t make the pain go away.

I felt every movement of the needle, every tug of the thread, and the sheer agony of it made my whole body quake. It was like he was stitching up my heart with every pull, each stitch a reminder of everything that had gone wrong. The tears kept coming, hot and bitter, spilling down my cheeks without my permission.

Dean moved in closer, his hand brushing my hair out of my face, and I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. His fingers were gentle as they touched me—like he was scared I might shatter under his touch. I was shattering though, all around the edges.

“I’m so sorry,” Dean murmured, his voice low and raw, barely audible above the pounding in my head. “We never should’ve let it get this far. I didn’t see what we were doing to you, Y/N. We didn’t see how bad it was.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold onto the last shred of control I had left. The pain from the stitches was bad—so bad—but what hurt more was hearing the pain in his voice. Dean wasn’t supposed to sound like this. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one who fixed things. But now? Now, he was just as broken as I was.

“It’s not just the fights,” I whispered between sobs, my voice tight with the effort of speaking through the agony. “It’s everything. It’s how we’ve been falling apart for so long, and you didn’t even see it.”

Sam’s hands were steady, but his expression was pained, and I could see the way his jaw clenched as he worked, each stitch a slow promise that he was here, that he wasn’t going anywhere. But it didn’t stop the pain. The physical pain, the emotional pain. It didn’t stop me from feeling like I was drowning in it.

Dean leaned closer, his breath soft against my ear. “We’re here now, Y/N. We’re gonna fix it. We’re gonna fix us.”

I could feel his words, but I wasn’t sure if I could believe them. I wasn’t sure if any of us could ever fix what was broken. Not completely.

But Sam’s careful hands were still stitching, and Dean was still here, his hand resting on my shoulder now, providing the smallest bit of comfort as I cried. The pain from the stitches was blinding, but somehow, through it, I could hear them. They were here. They were trying.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Sam said again, his voice breaking. He was almost finished now, his hands trembling slightly as he worked the last stitch into place. “We didn’t see how much we were hurting you. But we will fix this. I swear. You’re not alone in this.”

The last stitch pulled tight, and the pain that followed was sharp, but brief. I let out a sob, my body trembling from the aftermath of it. Sam gently pressed a bandage to the wound, his hands now much more careful, but still steady.

Dean’s voice came again, quieter now, more vulnerable. “We see it now, kid. Everything is better when we’re in this together. We’re a team and we have to stay that way.”

And that—just that—felt like it was enough, for now.

Later, I sat on the couch, the bandage tight across my side. Sam was beside me, and Dean was sitting on the other side, his hand resting on the back of the couch as if to remind me he was there. We weren’t talking much. There was nothing really to say. Not yet. But somehow, the silence didn’t feel as suffocating as it used to. It was a quiet that was filled with understanding—the beginning of healing.

I leaned back into the couch, my head resting on the cushion. I wasn’t fixed. We weren’t fixed. But we were trying. And that was enough for tonight.

We were family. Even if we had to rebuild, piece by piece. We would make it through this. Together.

[hoiststowline]

Heloooooo

I see your reqs are open

I'd love to see reader using hotrod/rodimus as a heater and Roddy being like sorry I can't get up their asleep.

rodimus x reader

[a/n: hello!! & thank you, this was sm fun to write!]

He swears he has it down to a perfect science, but he’d rather keep that to himself than try to justify his second grade equation at best to Perceptor who rolled his eyes four times during the explanation. It benefits you first, the most important part- and at the very least the other two things that follow after are just collateral he was willing to accept.

Rodimus should not have access to the thermostat. That is evident when the temperature always seems to fluctuate dramatically about an hour before he’s needed to appear for something, whether it be a meeting or a routine sweep to ensure everything was in working order.

It’s always the thermostat right within your wing of the ship, locked but always broken into. The bottom button almost appears damaged, as if the offender had clicked it so many times it had begun to become worn-down and unusable.

As if on cue, roughly about fifteen minutes after the crime occurs, you’re shuffling into his room with a blanket wrapped around your shivering form. Rodimus can’t entirely feel the drastic change, he can sense it’s colder than normal, but the dipping temperature always sends you into an adorable pout.

“It’s broken again?” You murmur, each syllable accompanied by a visible breath. “That’s the third time this week,”

“I don’t think it was ever really fixed from last time,” It’s almost pitiful, the way he can’t even try to contain his smile. “Just got worse, I guess.”

He observes you, finding patience for about two seconds before he’s on his feet, being selfish for just another moment. He loves you, and wants nothing more in this instance than to give you undivided attention and sloppy kisses.

“What?” You ask, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. “I came here to complain, I didn’t-“

But both he and you knew that was a lie. You’d walked perfectly into Rodimus’ trap, perhaps subconsciously seeking his warmth that you knew he radiated. The Prime was a walking heater, and he had ensured early on that you were well aware of it.

Somehow, he’d coaxed you to his side. You couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment exactly, but it was most likely when your hands began to tremble from the cold. No amount of blankets could save you, especially within a metal ship where every surface ran about thirty degrees cold on average.

Rodimus always says the same thing every time, about how you slot so perfectly between his shoulder and helm. The most important spot, where he can rub his cheek along your stomach and keep you safely positioned there with his right servo. It’s effective, as the first time you’d actually found his chassis ran so hot you almost couldn’t bear it.

“Don’t you have a meeting in like thirty minutes?” You mumble, impossibly tiny fingers tracing random lines along his helm.

“So you’ve got thirty minutes. Take it or leave it,” He’ll never let you leave, because he enjoys this far too much. Like he said, he’s helping to solve your immediate problem, but the bonus is that he gets this time with you, alone, and the small hiccup was just that.

It isn’t very long before you’re asleep, entirely still as your breathing evens out. It’s perfect, and how you haven’t caught on yet is a mystery for another time, though he has his own suspicions you’re far wiser to this than you display. It wouldn’t matter, even if he didn’t have to break the thermostat every other day or so, because it was all part of the fun.

Right on time, the door to his room slides over, and there stands a certain bot he’d been precariously avoiding. “You cannot be serious.” Magnus whispers, only being compliant because it was you, not so much for Rodimus’ sake. “This is the third time this week. You can’t get out of your responsibilities because you’ve tricked y/n into your schemes.”

“Sorry,” That ever sincere smile appears, gesturing to his company with a hushed tone. “Can’t do anything about it until they wake up. You’ll have to carry on without me,”

And like always, Magnus departs, mildly frustrated, but he can’t ever find the sense in waking you up. For a while, it keeps Rodimus appeased, and if he has to sacrifice some broken thermostats and delayed meetings to achieve it, then it’s worth it.

[dunmeshistash]

ive always wondered if milsiril's overprotectiveness of kabru was less because of infantilisation (although she def like all elves has that problem) and more so out of guilt. she was a captain of the canaries during the Utaya incident I believe and she witnessed what happened and she couldn't stop it. and she left the canaries because of it and took in the kid who was the Only survivor, raised him in extreme comfort so he'd never see the horrors again and didn't want him anywhere near the dungeons! like i think learning self defense for defenses sake would have made her hesitant but she would have obliged but because it was specifically for the dungeons she was so against it. also like he must have had a rough few years dealing with that trauma as well which doubled her protectiveness

I believe it's a mixture of both, I don't think you can really take away the guilt (actually unsure if that's the best word to describe it) nor the race relations from how Milsiril sees Kabru.

I am the Milsiril apologist ™ but the fact she see's Kabru as a child even now is a big part of their relationship, she's a mother that can't grow up (both for being an elf and for her own issues) and that has to cope with her children outgrowing her fast

Putting a read more cause as usual when it's about Milsiril I talk too much

We can see in every way Milsiril acts that she sees Kabru at most as a toddler during his time with her, she's hand feeding him, has him in a room full of toys and talks about him like he's a cute baby.

I think people are too mean about this side of Milsiril tbh. I think it makes her interesting and it's clear (to me at least) that she does her best to provide for her children even if she doesn't truly understands them. Even in that first interaction with Kabru where she's trying to hand feed him they were *already* training with swords beforehand.

Milsiril also talks to Kabru in a way that kinda seems to expect him to understand more than what a small child would like we can see in the AB extra

So her infantilization doesn't extend to underestimating him at least, rather I think that's how she shows affection (which is still bad 😭)

Anyway, about her trauma with the dungeon and guilt (or maybe shame? Fear?), I do think that was one of the motivations for her to take Kabru in as I said in this post (beware I am a Milsiril apologist and I am VERY biased in seeing her in a more positive light, doesn't mean it's true) but I think that side of her manifests in her sudden switches from crybaby mom to ruthless master

Milsiril is very emotionally unstable from what we can see, she's really trying to convince Kabru not to go into dungeons and when tears don't work she switches into training him so hard he'll give up on his own. I've seen people call this her "true colors" or say she was using "crocodile tears" but in my opnion both the tears and the threat are genuine, I don't think it's a planned switch but rather the fact she's unstable to begin with, both the crybaby mom and the scary swords master are her true self.

Anyway! I think both guilt and infantilization are intertwined in her love towards Kabru, I've said this before but she's a flawed caretaker in a world where she does not have the resources to become a better one. She's traumatized she's depressed and she's an elf, but she's the only one (that we know) willing to at least *try* to treat the people she cares for the correct way. If it wasn't for Milsiril Kabru would have been raised by elves like Rin was (and we know that went very bad, they traumatized her), and Mithrun might not have received the proper rehab he needed to go back into the canaries (He might have managed but we see Milsiril put in the effort to help him cope besides being the one to tell him about Utaya)

That is all to say: Milsiril is still flawed!! It's part of what I love about her, and it's the reason so many people dislike her too. I'm saying this cause sometimes when I go on my Milsiril rants I get asks putting down Kabru to raise her up and that's like, very uncomfortable lmao. Even if she did her best he still was the one that to deal with all of her shortfallings while being raised and he's still the one responsible for getting to where he is, she just made is easier than it could have been.

Disclaimer as is usual for my Milsiril posts: I'm a Milsiril fan, my interpretations of her are very charitable because I often see people being way too uncharitable about her. Please read the original material and make up your own interpretation, this posts only contain what I think it's relevant for my point not an objective view of the whole. I've also already made several posts about her and I don't want to keep repeating myself so if you think I glossed over something important that's probably why.

Edit: thinking more about it, maybe rather than feeling guilty herself she might blame "elves" as a whole for the failure in Utaya, it does say she left it "in disgust". It's not that clear how she feels about it.

I still think it's shared trauma though, I don't think it's possible for Milsiril to not have been affected by what happened there and I think it's part of why she doesn't want Kabru to go to dungeons again. But her way to cope is to turn away from it (and blaming "elves" might be part of how she copes) while Kabru's is to face it so it doesn't happen again