#it's Some Sentence because WHO WANTS TO COUNT?

[bitchmael]

@satyajit-ray #madi....😞😞😞😞#uh Do not approve of white slavery allegations pls dont make me explain the difference between the slave trade (real) vs#vs fictional white upper class prison for gays#black sails

i want respectfully to address a couple of things here because i don't want to be misinterpreted & i do have a reason for using the word 'slavery' here (which you might still disagree with)

the situation on oglethorpe's plantation as it's presented to us in the show is that he uses prison labour from britain instead of enslaved african labour--presumably he's taking prisoners who have been sentenced to transportation + some number of years' hard labour.* which is also historically real + violent, and not slavery

some of his labourers however are not prisoners but people whose family/acquaintances (like flint + thomas) have paid oglethorpe to take them in and hold them indefinitely (presumably for the rest of their lives), & also force or coerce them into performing unwaged labour for him. which afaik never happened in real life, but is clearly different from indentured labour or transported labour, both of which were punishments for crimes & had designated end points, however cruel + unjust their treatment while interned might have been

the point i was really trying to get across in this post is that whether silver's telling the truth or not (& i don't think it matters either way), from madi's perspective what silver says to her is: "i think subjecting even someone as close to me as flint was to being held captive & forced to labour (on a plantation) for the rest of his life is an acceptable price to pay to make sure you don't leave me", which considering how vulnerable she & her people are to (re)enslavement is imo pretty clearly a threat. especially as he says he doesn't intend to leave once the treaties are signed, & i'm pretty sure this would count as a violation of the terms of the treaty on the part of the maroons. the situation in which flint (supposedly) now finds himself would clearly be in some ways materially similar to slavery, and if its purpose here is primarily as a threat to madi + her people which imo it is (even unintentionally on silver's part - i think madi might well interpret it this way) then that's really the sense in which it matters, iycwim

but yeah to be clear i don't think, like, The Irish Were Enslaved Too or whatever. this post is really about how madi would hear & interpret this story considering the situation she finds herself in at the end of the show

imagine being madi in xxxviii though. your war is over before it started you're certain your friend is dead & you confront your lover about it and he's like "well yes i am lying to everyone about what happened to him but i won't lie to YOU." and then tells you something that sounds barely believable. and now you're forced to consider one of two possibilities: 1) this man who has just admitted he's a liar is still lying to your face and your friend is dead, or 2) (maybe worse) he's not lying, and the man you love did in fact sell his closest friend into slavery so that you would stay with him forever. what are you supposed to do with that

[conelluwrites]

One Of Us Will Have To Spend Some Days Alone

Finding your soulmate wasn’t something you fixated on much these days, your financial ruin had left you concerned about far more things- though you did hope your soulmate would ease that burden eventually.  Unfortunately for you, you met your soulmate here of all places and even more unfortunate, it seems you don’t have all the time in the world to spend with them. Ao3 link Warnings: angst (no comfort), Reader is referred to as "you" and has no explicit parts mentioned, sex, drug use (reader is not explicitly wrote to take them, nam-gyu is), not a full fic just some blurbs Other: Doomed soulmates yippie. I would love to explore more characters with this idea and even do full fics for this. Doomed soulmates is an idea I hold it near and dear to my heart. Wrote while listening to this song on repeat, which always makes me cry lol Thanos vers here

Your soulmate is…  tough to put up with.  It’s hard for him to accept how he feels for you, that his world (quite literally) got brighter when you entered it.  It’s hard for someone who’s always put walls up to accept that not only is he in a set of games that can result in his death, but his dumbass soulmate is here as well!  He degrades you for being here, but it’s only because he always thought his soulmate would make better choices than him. Sex with Nam-gyu in the bathroom is sloppy and clumsy,  he doesn’t last long and doesn’t care enough to get you off.  He does promise he’ll make it up to you, though, so surely that counts for something!  He doesn’t cum inside of you, despite his desire to claim you so explicitly.  He does clean you up the best he can, there’s no soap in the bathroom so he’s working with just some water. When Thanos dies, it’s clear that it pushes Nam-gyu over the edge.  You have to struggle to calm him down, to keep him grounded.  He doesn’t let you get too far away from him, he needs to be touching you in some way, be it just your feet touching or him full on holding you (or you holding him), he can’t be alone.  He doesn’t need to be alone.  You’d never force him to be without you, so you wipe his face and hands with your track jacket and whisper sweet, caring words to settle him down the best you can.

Hide and seek was easy enough, you were on the same team and helped each other pass successfully.  The double dose he took makes him act a lot more lighthearted which would be nice if it weren’t so concerning.  His mimicry of Thanos is offputting, his arm slinging around your shoulder and then he talks while gesturing his hand in a grand fashion while swinging the knife around.  His words slide together into mushy sentences.

Losing that damn necklace… It was hard enough to calm him down after Thanos’s death, but now it’s impossible.  He even snaps at you when you try to.  You don’t understand, you could never understand.  He’s sweaty, shaky, and so damn thirsty that he asks for your water.  You nod and (reluctantly, I mean… c’mon… you’re thirsty too) hand it to him.  He isn’t comfortable in his own damn skin, he wants to crawl out of himself.

He voted to go home, handing over his patch and placing the red X patch in place of the blue one he wore the entire time.  When the vote doesn’t go in his favor, he knows he’s screwed.  He can’t do this without those pills, he can’t do this.  He’s not strong enough.

Fuck Min-su, fuck him for tossing that necklace so carelessly.  When Nam-gyu takes steps to the bridge, you reach out and tell him to come back, that it’s not worth it, to just come back and talk with you to plan on what he can do to get the necklace and make it across.  You know it aggravates him to be told what to do, but you can’t help yourself.  There’s just so many fucking ways for this to go wrong and you won’t- you can’t go on without him.

He doesn’t listen, of course he doesn’t, why should he?  He knows better than you do, idiot.  He’s no pussy, he’ll grab the necklace, take a pill, and make it across then cheer for you to make it across.  Easy enough, it’s just some simple fucking jump rope.  Relax, you dumb bitch.

When he cracks open the cross and sees its empty, all he can see in his mind's eye is your concerned face despite not even turning around.  Nam-gyu doesn’t have time to think as the hard rope hits his ankles and knocks him sideways. But you watch in utter horror as he falls, falls, falls.  The crack of his ribs against the bridge and then the sickening thump of his body hitting the flowered ground.  You can feel Min-su and a few others staring at you, but all you can do is slump to the ground.  The world around you slinks back into the faded colors that it was at the beginning of this mess, you retch and throw up.  All you can imagine is him alone down there. He was so scared to die alone and he lay there by himself.

Player 124 eliminated.

[maomaoyuu]

Tutoring money

Summary: Since you came to this world you had nonstop problems but one of the those problems were money but it’s hard to find a job when you have no papers not to only that the only jobs you should find where all full times jobs the only jobs that were available to you were Sam’s shop or working for Azul but lucky you learned things fast and you were a very hard worker when it came to school also you were a big nerd back home So why not tutor people in a exchange for money.

CHARACTERS: Azul, Jade, Floyd, Riddle

TAGS: Fluff, Gn/Reader,

WORD COUNT: 2744

NOTES: I wrote this fanfic inspired by Disney Win or Lose, when Rochelle was helping students study trying to make some money for next year games. Also if you have any suggestions or criticism for me of how to mprove my writing better please comment down, message me or in text box but please be respectful and don’t be rude I would appreciate it thank you and enjoy the story and if there is misspelling or grammar sorry about that.

Also any characters can be seen as romantic or platonic like Riddle it’s up to you.

For color text pink is for the reader, Azul is blue, Jade is purple, Riddle is red and Floyd is green.

It was the 4th period of Mr. Trein's class a peaceful day, you love learning new things even more now since it was magic. Mr. Trein was teaching the class about the fae and human war. It was every fantasy how similar the history from here and your world had a similar history. You did amazing in class, but it was hard at first. Later on you got the hang of it because you realized how both worlds are so similar. Not only that, you were used to studying long hours, but also paying close attention to what the teacher said.

To stay you had prefect grades was a understatement because of Grim at first it was hard to convince him to his work with trying new methods to encourage Grim but in the end of it you had to threatening him of no more tuna as a result it finally worked as well with treating Grim with Catnip for good work it help. Now you guys are in the top 6 of students getting good grades alongside Riddle, Azul, Vil, Idia, and Malleus.

It was will know that you had amazing grades in class that of course lead to helping the first years. So now word got around that you were helping anyone who needed help with school because of that it lead to this next problem earlier that day or should I say solving a problem to of yours.

It was after Mr. Trein's class you were on your way to locker’s to grab some materials you need for your next class when suddenly you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning your head to see a tell student, his hair was black with a red ribbon around his shoulder most likely from Heartslabyul.

“ hey, I heard that you can help students with their school work, I was hoping if you can help me with a social studies curriculum for the test that coming soon?” ask the student, he sound nervous as well desperately. You every confused why would a random student come up to you aks such a thing.

Looking at him with confusion as well with a little bit of disgust, he could see your annoyed face. “Look I think you have me mistaken me for someone else”, trying to find some explanation why he came to you knowing damn well that was probably not case but hopefully that was the case but before you got to finish the rest of your sentence.

“ please I’m begging you I have no idea how to do this and if I get a bad grade on this test the housewarden is going to have my head for sure !!!” Saying panicking and the fear in his eyes, have both hands together in a pleading way as well with his body a little bit shaking in fear. You have seen this before from the frst years mainly Ace and Deuce for help with assignments or coming up test.

“I’m sorry, but I’m confused why are you coming up me for help. When there are better people to ask for help and why not ask Riddle for help I know he doesn’t mind helping his students” saying looking at him while grabbing your stuff and locking the locker “not only that but you said you heard that I was helping students with school work, where did you get that from?” Sighing to yourself having so much questions for this guy the very nerve of this student to come to stranger asking such things if he were a friend this would had a been whole different story.

“Well it going around the campus that your willing to help students with their assignments and test and that your an amazing tutor but to be frank I don’t want to be tutor, by my housewarden he’s so mean when coming to tutoring it feels more of a lecture then a tutoring lesson” thinking back to yourself remember how Deuce and Ace would say they preferred you over Riddle, Saying that tutoring with Riddle was a nightmare.

“ look, everybody knows your one of student with top grades I will even pay you to help me for this test!” this guy won’t give it a rest why can he just leave me alone, thinking to yourself I have to end conversations soon as possible, I don’t want to late for my next class.

“ listen, as much I would like it help you im ever busy and….. wait what did you say” thinking you must not heard correctly, did really say that he’s really going to play me if i me help no I’m just second guess myself.

“I said, I’m willing to pay you if can help with my test” now saying with a annoyed expression, why is he annoyed I should be the one annoyed going to a stranger and demanding such things to someone you didn’t know, wait a minute.

A realization hit me i cloud make money by tutoring people as well help them study not only that but there are a lot of desperate students. who need extra help leading them to go to Azul but end up getting scam. like this student said earlier about Riddle that word mean a lot of students are scared to death to ask Riddle for help, it could be said with other houseworden Big fat change akigng Vil since he’s always busy and Idia is a big no with him not like being around people plus his anxiety then there is Malleus sad to say but moregly of student would rather jump a cliff then to up approach him only leaving you to help these poor students of need in help. I’m going to make a killing plus you don’t have to worry much on money.

“I will do it, but it will cost you” saying confidently and cheerfully, while making eye contact with this guy while thinking. how much should I charge him maybe 20 no, maybe 20 an hour should do since I’m always busy I have to make my money worth.

“How much is going to cost?” Now with a nerves voices, gulping down his throat showing a worried expression on his face hoping he can a least afford it.

“20 thaumarks each hour” a smirk on your face, I kind of feel like Azul but last I’m not scamming people, he’s getting his money worth.

“20 thaumarks an hour?!!” a shocked expression showed all over his face and body “are you mad?” He couldn’t believe you would charge him that much.

“Hey, you need the help right?, plus I can help with other school subjects or help you the test. Not only that but I can mark the price up I’m pretty there other students who need my help right now and willing to pay me.” A Smirking on your face, I really do feel like Azul but I have to make money some way.

With no choice left for the students he agreed, While he reached to his pocket and pulled 40 thaumarks. “Here, you go for two hours can I see you after school?.

“Obsoletely, meet me at the ramshackle, quick question what’s your name your haven’t introduced yourself” while making that realization you should get to know one other I also have feelings that we are going to see each other more thinking to yourself.

“Oh, my name is George Garcia. Sorry for not introducing my self earlier. scratching the back of his neck “sorry if was being rude”

“Will nice to meet you George Garcia, I have a feeling we are going to know each every will”. After he introduced himself you heard the bell ring.

“Shoot, I’m going to be late”.

Thanks to George, words had spread around of you tutoring people with school work, or testing leaving you busy. there has been a few students who couldn’t pay you but offered them to fix thing around the ramshackle or giving them jobs that Crowley sent for you do and not wanting to do them so why not kill two birds with one stone.

But do to this you attracted other unwanted attention form other people like Riddle, Octavinelle group and lastly the teacher stuff……

It was weekend, you were in Heartslabyul it was a study group. A group of students paid you for the day to help them, it was a odd offer but soon realized they all pitched for they can afford it . You did rise up your prices since things were going successful and a bunch of students would come to you after class you had to make schedules. some students came to you head of time so they can save themselves a spot, it was really getting full in your schedule but to save my self time I should tell the rest of students that can I can a group session for them but it’s not going to be cheap but if it is going to be a regular session it will cost them more.

There was 3 Heartslabyul students, 2 from Pomefiore and last one from Diasomnia. Since they had you all day, you told they one subjects at time since where was no rush, you suggested to do the subject they suggested the most. It was hard for them but later they figured it out. It was nice helping, I would have done it for free if I hadn’t to worried about money but you had to make a living. It had been a couple of hours had passed, while working on a new subject you guys all ready finished a few subjects everything was going peacefully until.

A big slam on the the wall was heard to reveal Riddle, one of his hands were on the door handle he swung the door really hard he probably cracked. For some reason he was every mad his face was all red, not going to lie but I could see why Floyd calls him goldfish.

“housewarden Riddle!” All of student said to together kind like an army, they were shaking up fearing what could they have done to make their housewarden mad. I feel bad for them maybe if it’s something minor I could try to convinced Riddle to let it side from what I can tell theses students don’t seem bad but at the same time it’s Riddle. “All of you guys are in trouble and I’m telling all of your houseswarden!, Also y/n I can’t believe you how can you deep so low as a houseswarden I don’t care if there is only one person in your dorm, your have to leave an example for students I’m also telling Crowley of your behavior!!!”. A little bit of steam was coming out of his ears, ready to have collar all of them.

“Wait, what are taking about I haven’t done anything wrong? Confused why were you trouble what kind of rule did you a break to make Riddle this mad as with the rest of the guys.

“Don’t act so innocent y/n, I know what you have been up too”, Riddle was even more mad on top of that more steam came out of him. Tapping on of his feet trying to calm down.

“Riddle I have no actually idea what you are talking about can you please calm down and explain exactly what we did wrong”. While thinking to yourself, why did I say calm down that just going to make him more mad.

“Me calm down!?!! You have some never to play dumb I know what you been up to your helping students cheat and this shall not go unpunished!!! He was yelling so loud I’m petty sure the whole drom heard him.

Cheating? Where did cheating from. I can’t believe he would think I’m helping students cheat, I’m guessing from someone who heated me told Riddle that. It was no secret that there are students who hated me because I was a magicless student who had better grades then them and for other petty reasons. I’m also guessing Riddle seeing me with a group of people mistaken our tutoring session was us cheating.

“Off with your hea—“, before he got to finish his sentence I cut him off hopefully I can fix this misunderstanding.

“Wait!!, I’m pretty this was a big misunderstanding can we please talk this out outside then you can punished us.” The room fell silent everybody was hoping that Riddle would at least hear you out, I feel bad for these students they did nothing wrong i could feel there fear. While Waiting for his response.

“Fine I will let you explain yourself” you could still hear the frustration from him. Walking out with Riddle outside of the room while closing the door behind you. Sighing to myself this going to be a long day.

After explaining to Riddle that you were just tutoring them and NOT helping them cheat in addition to showing him to all of the paper in studying sessions for proof it took 1 hour to finaly convince him you were telling the truth. It was kind funny seeing Riddle realization hit and how his face is all red but not from anger but from embarrassment.

Riddle soon apologizing to everyone. They were just happy that were not in trouble but other realization also hit which led to this conversion . “I’m relief that you just tutoring students but I don’t understand, why are my students came to you instead of me for help I understand other students who don’t belong in my dorm didn’t ask there dorm ladder everyone in my dorm knows I don’t mind helping.” With a puzzled expression on his face.

“Well to be honest the reason why they preferred me over you is because they feel like when you help them it feel an lecture along you being mean when you do it” i kind feel guilty but at the same time I don’t care , i got to make that money. Look at Riddle seeing he had sad along a guilty look.

“I guess I still need more improvement, if I had know my students felt like this when I would have…..” he stop himself just looking at the floor silence file the conversation. Now looking closer Riddle looks exhausted, remembering that Ace told that told me that Riddle looks tired trying to not to work himself over the little things along with forgetting that he doesn’t need to improve himself all at once just to take baby steps.

“ I know you forget sometimes, you don’t need to change yourself all at once just one thing at time in addition to working really hard at school, but you have to give yourself a break once a while take a day off or two” grappling his hands looking straight into his eyes. “ you don’t have to this alone you have have friends that can help you ”

“Thank you y/n, I needed that”. After long conversation we both agreed that I would take part of touring his student so I can take that part out of his plate. He understood I did it for money so we made a deal if someone misbehaves they will come to my dorm to fix along with cleaning or if they need help he would recommend them to come see me of course they pay me of their pockets.

Since the study session got interrupted by Riddle we agreed to postpone the session and do it tomorrow. After leaving Heartslabyul I was on my was to the hall of mirrors. “ man this week has been hard”. Thinking to yourself of what to make for dinner for you and grim when suddenly you felt someone grab your shoulder.

I look to turn around to see Floyd and Jade having a feeling they wanted something from you. “Shrimp what are you doing here so late ~”

Oh hey Floyd I just came back from Heartslabyul I was helping a couple students there” Floyd coming to closer to you warping one his arms around neck.

“Speaking of that, Azul wanted to speak with you about your little business you wouldn’t mind us taking you for a moment would you?” Jade asking with a deep serious voice along smiling showing his teeth.

“Oh dear” , I guess I’m going to be heading home late. I just want this day to end.

( yes, I’m leaving on a cliff hanger there will be a part 2)

Fanfic 6 July 2, 2025 Wednesday

[vixenscratch]

What I do seems to be the opposite of what everyone else does, so, like. If it works for you, great! If it doesn’t, don’t follow my example.

I’ve found that the worst thing I can do is to wait until the stars align. I have someone holding me to “draw one thing a day, if it’s a stick figure that’s fine, but draw something.” (If there’s a reason to skip a day, then of course it’s okay to skip a day, just record the reason.) Because for me, if I try to wait it out, I will get anything done approximately never.

I don’t have anyone looking over my shoulder to keep me in the habit of writing, but the principle is similar. I stopped writing for years, almost completely. The only thing that helped get me started again was giving myself a low daily word count that I knew I could reach (and you can forgo the word count entirely and just make it “write something”), allowing the writing to be bad, allowing it all to be disconnected bits and pieces, random scenes that didn’t go together at all, the important thing was to train my brain to Sit Down And Write. Waiting for inspiration has just never worked for me. (Which doesn’t mean I don’t write when inspiration strikes, just that I very carefully don’t depend on it.)

A lot of it, in that initial stage, was sticking an existing character into a situation and seeing where it goes, how they react to it. Sometimes it was a random situation with random characters who didn’t exist before and wouldn’t be used again afterwards. (Most of what I write is original fiction, so insert your canon blorbos instead if that brings you joy.)

Doing that for a while shook things loose to where I could write shorts again. That’s when Fox Out of Water (shameless plug 😉) happened. Some day I will come back to those characters.

Right now I’m hopelessly wormbrained about a particular character/pairing, so I have like two dozen WIPs in various stages of completion and can’t take a walk without turning some situation involving them around in my head. But I don’t get there unless I train my brain to think writing. Having a friend to smash dolls together with helps, but I if anyone know that if you don’t already have them those friends can be difficult to find. (But I also play very rough with my toys so that limits my options more than if I was primarily writing fluff.)

I don’t need to make myself sit down and write every day right now. I can skip days and don’t keep track of what or when I write. If I feel like I have gone too long without writing I cycle through my WIPs and read through, often ending up tweaking something here or adding a sentence there, even when I don’t find the can-do to add more than that.

And sometimes I don’t stick to the WIPs, and just write a random scene/situation that’s been rattling around in my head during those walks.

For me the important thing seems to be training my brain to do the work. And sometimes the work sucks. That’s fine. I can “throw it out” (leave it in an earlier version of the draft or move it to a scratch document) later. But if I don’t do that, time gets away from me and before I know it I’ll have gone years without writing again. And I don’t want that. If I hit a point where I realize I’ve gone “too long” without writing I go back to making myself write something, anything, daily for a while.

That’s just what works for me, though. Evidently a lot of people feel very differently. Funny how different brains work (genuinely!).

Hi! Lately, I've been trying real hard to start writing again after a break of a couple of years, and it's simply not happening. I took the break to begin with because I figured that I could pick up writing fic again easily when I felt less burned out. But each time I've tried since 2025 started I can barely get the words out. I keep telling myself I need to go slow and build up to it, but my brain blanks after a sentence or two, with or without an outline. I can force myself into a drabble or two, or even a flashfic, but it feels like pulling teeth the entire time. I even tried going back to old drafts and adding to them (unsuccessfully). Nothing works! I'm getting more and more frustrated and angry with myself for taking this long of a break from being creative. Do you have any concrete recommendations for what to do when the ideas/words/characters/whatever just aren't coming? My brain is mush.

(I love this blog. So excited to see you back.)

I'll tell you what I do, but I also want to encourage folks to add their thoughts on the notes. This is very much a situation that can be worked on in a million different ways, so any one particular take might or might not work. Often, frankensteining a bunch together is the better route.

I've currently got two creative hobbies: writing fic and making site skins for AO3. When a site skin isn't working, I just have to drop it. I've been attempting to redo my glowy blue Tron skin from like 4 years ago and every time I go back to it, I just get frustrated and need to stop. I don't have a clear idea of where I want to take it, and so nothing looks "right" because everything feels wrong. For site skins, I need to have a solid idea to latch onto in order to get anywhere with them.

For writing, it's kind of similar. It's a LOT easier to write when I have an idea that really lights a fire under me. However, I've found that I can write even if I just know what the end goal of the story is. Even if my ending is just "and then they bone" at least I know where I need to get my characters in the end, and that guiding principle is really helpful because most of what my characters do in the fic is going to be aimed at that end point.

I don't know if it's just the way that you've phrased it in this ask, but it seems like you can't see the story for the words. If you're focused too much on the act of writing then you might need to back away from that for now and work on just imagining the story first. Spend more time daydreaming or lying in bed staring up at the ceiling and picturing your blorbo in situations. Get into the habit of thinking about the story before you start writing the story. Then the writing part is just transcribing the picture that's already clear in your head.

I well understand the frustration that comes when you've got something in you and no way to get it out. Whatever else is happening, the way you used to go about writing fic doesn't work for you anymore and now you need to discover a new method. Maybe it's handwriting in a notebook instead of typing on a screen. Maybe it's dictating into your notes app. Maybe it's chatting it out with a bestie over coffee or in a DM. Maybe it's something else.

Let's see what other people suggest for you, and then you can cobble together a method of your very own. Good luck, anon! I'm rooting for you ❤️

[corpsedogs]

✿ we hug now

dick grayson x reader

angst…… this is an old fic im not proud of

You don’t see stars here.

Not in the city, not beneath the fluorescent hum of 24-hour diners or the neon-laced skyline of Blüdhaven. Not under these humming wires and restless buildings that swallow silence whole.

You see streetlights, and you pretend. You imagine constellations among headlights, invent mythologies in traffic patterns. You trace Orion across blinking billboards and wait for the ache in your chest to soften.

It never really does.

Because when you think of stars, you think of home.

And when you think of home, you think of him.

It’s been years, but memories with Dick Grayson don’t yellow or crumble. They stay sharp. Bright. A little too alive.

Sometimes, in the split second before sleep claims you, you’re seventeen again. Your world is still small — just your street, your town, his hands brushing yours at the edge of summer. You still think everything is permanent. That nothing that good can ever end.

You’re still naïve enough to believe you’ll both stay.

He left first.

Blüdhaven was a city that was begging him to come.

You told him to go— you meant it. But your voice cracked when you said goodbye, and he didn’t kiss you, and you both felt that as a goodbye that wasn’t spoken right.

And then life happened.

You learned to live with one less laugh echoing in your chest. With one less voice saying your name like it was sacred.

You stayed. Planted roots in cracked pavement. Counted coffee rings on tables where you once traced the outline of his hand.

You tell yourself it was just a small thing. That people leave and people change and not all ghosts deserve a second haunting.

Until one afternoon in late fall, your mother convinces you to reach out. “You’ll regret it if you don’t,” she says, gently, not knowing the regret never stopped.

You message him.

It’s awkward and clumsy. A sentence rewritten five times and sent at 2:43 p.m. because it feels less dramatic than 2:44.

He replies. Almost instantly.

And just like that— your heart forgets the years.

You meet in Canton. A halfway coffee shop. Something safe and halfway romantic and halfway to the past.

He’s taller than you remember. Hair longer. Face older. But the smile is the same. And it undoes you.

“Hey,” he says, like it’s only been a few weeks. “Hi,” you reply, and it’s the softest shatter you’ve ever felt.

The coffee is warm but neither of you drink much.

He’s jittery in the way only Dick Grayson gets… not nervous, just buzzing. Like if he doesn’t move, the feelings will swallow him whole.

You laugh once. Something he says. Some dumb pun. And he laughs too, quick and too loud, and you both look down like you weren’t just caught reliving a moment from a different lifetime.

When you hug goodbye, it’s stiff. Awkward.

You never used to do that. You weren’t huggers. You were hand-holders. Eye-contact-holders. That strange electricity that crackled between people who knew each other too well to pretend they didn’t care.

But you hug now.

And it’s weird.

And perfect.

And terrible.

Because when his arms wrap around you, something in your chest folds— like an envelope never opened. Like a letter you should’ve sent years ago that simply read: I’m still yours, if you want me.

Later that night, lying in bed with your windows cracked open and the sound of traffic humming like lullabies, you wonder if he felt it too.

That shift. That pulse. That unfinished sentence in your ribcage.

You wonder if he’s already forgotten, or if he’s lying in some sleek apartment a city away, still hearing the echo of your name in his bones.

Sometimes you dream about him.

And in the dreams, you’re seventeen again. And he still lives down the street. And you’re not strangers. And he’s not an ocean away in a city with its own chaos.

You talk in these dreams. You say everything you never did.

You tell him that no one else ever made you laugh like he did— like he does. That no touch ever felt as honest as the brush of his knuckles against yours in a dark room. That every person since has been a puzzle piece that almost fit.

You tell him the world cracked when he left, and you’ve spent years pretending the fault line wasn’t still glowing.

And you wake up knowing the truth:

No one has come close to him.

And you don’t think anyone will.

But you also have this gnawing feeling—deep in the pit of your stomach—that he doesn’t feel the same.

That he got everything he wanted. That the world didn’t end for him like it did for you. That you were a sweet chapter, not a story. A song he liked once. A street he used to walk.

And maybe now, when he thinks of you, it’s just nostalgia. Just “that girl from back home.” While for you, he’s the earthquake that still shakes your dreams.

You don’t message him again. He doesn’t reach out either.

And maybe that’s mercy. Or maybe that’s fear. Or maybe both of you are just tired of things that don’t quite resolve. But still, on nights when the moon shows itself— rare, silver, half-hidden— you catch yourself whispering his name into the dark.

And some part of you will always wait for an echo. Because when it happened to you, the world ended. And some endings never stop echoing.

[diaryofaweirdooo]

𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?

….

𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝! 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

Author’s note (𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃!): This is not a fully finished fic ! I just really need some tips on writing since I don’t have any experience on being a writer, if there’s any mistakes, or something I could do better, please lmk!!

You were a very sensitive girl. You were told that ever since you could comprehend sentences. You had a strong felt heart in such an evil world. Most of your friends found you dramatic in a way because you would cry, always feel strongly about such odd things. A sad movie (finding nemo, you cried like 6 times but who’s counting?), stupid sad videos online that you know aren’t really true.

Little things mattered to you. Handmade gifts, love notes, flowers, even a small tiny bud of a flower would make your day. You were thought of and that was all that could matter to you.

You loved when people recognized you as a person and learn to not judge you, many people did not do so which was why you keep your group small. But even in your small group there was always somebody who stood out to you. Matt. A kind hearted man who was raised well.

You grew up with Matt and since you grew up with Matt, you grew up with his brothers but they didn’t have that compatible close friend spark like you and Matt did with each other. Even the two triplets themselves knew this.

Matt knew you better than he knew himself. He knew your favorite movies, the ones that made you sad, the ones that made you laugh so hard to the point where you had actual tears rolling down your face. He knew how quickly you could shut down when things were too much, overstimulating or when you felt disrespected. He knew deep down that your poor heart couldn’t handle those heavy matters.

That’s why Matt always chose peace with you. Never too overbearing when he felt like making you aware of your wrongs and rights, making sure that it wouldn’t hurt you. Oh how badly Matt hated seeing you cry. He hated every negative emotion you had within yourself because deep down he knew that you didn’t want to feel the way you did when it came to the tears, the horrible sobs that made your stomach hurt, the ones that made you feel guilt until that kicked you in a small hole.

But then, the more you and Matt grew up, the more he realized who he really wanted his girl to be. He didn’t really dated much, maybe two or three girlfriends in the span and of middle school and high school.

Not because he was uninterested or not attracted to them, but because he wanted you, but you were too unaware. So unaware of his feelings you unintentionally friendzone him. “Me and Matt are just friends.., that’s it.” or maybe hit him a little deeper with a sentence upon the words, “I grew up with him. I couldn’t look at him more than a brother, too awkward and out of place for me.”

Matt knew you didn’t know and that’s how he planned to keep it until he gained courage to tell you feelings, but he also didn’t know if you would feel the same way. He didn’t want to scare you away after having you around for so many years. Sharing so many memories, having so many first-time experiences together. If hiding his true feelings meant keeping you, he’d do it. In every single universe there would ever be.

Then James came. Where did you find James? Why him? Was he better than Matt? Could Matt compete with him? What was so different about James that led him having you wrapped up so quick in just the blink of an eye? What did he do that Matt couldn’t gain the guts to do? He needed answers but couldn’t ask them.

But in your eyes, James was like another Matt to you, a bit different in looks (barely), he understood you. Why? God you wish you knew. After being told all your life how difficult you could be when it came to feelings you couldn’t really tell why you caught James eye.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Heart of the Matter—Chapter 8: Ignite

Joe meets his rather elusive football icon, Trey Dominic, and worries he might barely be able to get a sentence out. But what waits for him is so much bigger than one singular first impression.

With matters of the heart on the line, every play will count.

Black F!OC (Marlowe) x Joe Burrow.

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Joe Burrow Masterlist | Main Masterlist

_________________________

Marlowe’s waiting for the sky to fall, like it does in Korey’s latest obsession, Chicken Little.

That’s a nicer way to describe the sensation of her stomach hitting her ass when she eases into Joe’s street. The street is quiet right now. She’s early. Earlier than she originally intended, but Joe’s text was rather clear, Hey, is there any way that you can come by earlier than 1? There’s something I need to talk to you about and it’s better if I do it in person. The text came two days before the 4th, just a day after she asked to crash his barbecue.

She wanted to say no, that she couldn’t. But in reality, she could. Marlowe had no other plans than the cookout that her family was hosting. Though she was in charge of a few dishes, most of them could be prepped early and then reheated the day of. So she replied with a rather simple, Would 12 work? Because no matter what Marlowe wanted to do—whether she wanted to run, hide, bury her head in the sands—she would show up early to hear what he had to say.

Now Marlowe’s on his street, and she’s waiting for the sky to fall, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not that she has any indication as to what he needed to talk about. She hadn’t asked that, a little too frightened to ask him for more details. All Marlowe knew is that Joe needed to talk, and that it needed to be done in person. Yet somehow, even the minimal information feels like a guillotine above her head, a thick and slow passing of time. Marlowe has never really wandered too much about who the bell tolls for, because she knows it tolls for them all eventually.

Maybe she should’ve cared more about that bell. Though there’s a voice in the back of her head saying that the inevitable is still waiting on her, Marlowe does her best to stay afloat, to ensure she doesn’t hit her low. She feels her spirit growing heavy as she pauses longer and longer outside of Korey’s playroom. The wispy voice of her sister tugging at every corner of every unoccupied moment. Yet, Marlowe hadn’t answered the calls.

Because there was Korey. Because there was Joe.

The doorbell echoes, a high twinkling sound even from the outside. Marlowe assumes the bell that tolls for her would sound pleasant, light and airy to mask the dank beneath. The singular SUV in the driveway makes her mouth dry. Marlowe’s unsure if it’s his parents, but she has a strong suspicion that it is. No one else is parked outside the house and it would be unfathomable for Joe not to park his cars in the garage.

“Hi, Marlowe.” Joe smiles as he says her name, sighs a little at it like tasting his favorite treat. But his eyes are darting, from her face to beyond her, then back to her again. Like he’s steeling his nerves—bracing.

“I brought the mac’n’cheese as promised.” An offering and a plea. A double batch to ensure that it would last. He can’t let her go just yet. Shit, Marlowe notes to herself. When had that fear settled? When had that fair planted itself and grown roots that Marlowe is so terrified of being let go by Joe? Wasn’t she hoping for this exact thing? Wasn’t that what she told Q and her friends just a week and some change ago? “And cornbread too. Family recipe,” she tacks on. Also a double batch to ensure longevity.

Joe’s gaze falls slowly until it reaches her outstretched hands. The grin peels back his lips, reveals his teeth and gums. “You’re the best. C’mon. Come in.”

When Marlowe’s newfound fear started, she doesn’t know. Maybe it was after his text and maybe it was before when she sent those pictures for him to choose from. But there’s no shying away right now from the reality: she really likes Joe. Marlowe does not want to let Joe slip through her fingers. Not now. Especially not now. Maybe he could make August hurt less. Maybe he could bring the old Marlowe back. Either way, she wants to see. She wants possibility again.

Marlowe steps over the threshold of the house, crosses from front porch to the foyer.

She’s not sure what she expected. Maybe it was clothes all over the house. The smell of old food rotting in trash cans. The thick musk of sweated out clothes. Yet, it’s clean—spacious and lots of white. It smells faintly of cleaner and something soft, not sweet like a candle, but just fragrant enough to know something was sprayed or was burning at some point. Joe’s home is comfortable but feels wide, like something in it hasn’t settled in yet. She’s careful of her shoes at the front door, slipping them off with ease after Joe takes the two aluminum dishes.

It’s quiet, much too quiet even with the TV murmuring in from the background. They pass the living room and there are no bodies. Marlowe’s somehow praying she won’t have to meet his parents. But as she follows behind Joe, the further she gets into his home, the louder the rustle of work becomes—a hand in a plastic bag, or something adjacent.

“Joey, I just got a few bottles of each drink into the fridge, and your dad’s going to go get some more ice I think here in the next half hour for the coolers before they go outside.” His mother—Marlowe places it immediately, a sing-song quality to her rhythm that makes Marlowe’s spine tingle. Like her own mother’s voice does to Marlowe. It’s gentle as it cradles her eardrums.

Marlowe can’t help the grin even as her chest aches with the pounding of her heart. “Joey?” The second she says the nickname, Marlowe attempts to picture Joe as a kid, hair messy and damp with sweat, his small face pinched. Or maybe his face is bright with laughter. Either way, Joey makes him feel younger than he is.

Joe turns on one socked foot, his head falling to the right, tilted as he regards her. “That sounds…interesting coming from you,” he remarks. His smile is soft, part of his mouth quivered higher than the other side. The gaze feels hesitant, working out something that Marlowe can’t see.

“Interesting good or interesting bad?”

“Interesting good.” A definitive answer, sure of itself. He turns again, with a passing nod over his shoulder-an indication for her to follow still-and closes the last few feet to the kitchen. “Sounds good, Mom. I appreciate it.”

Joe’s taller than Marlowe—not by a huge margin, but enough so that for a brief moment, it’s just the back of him, just her and Joe in Joe’s kitchen. Until she pauses at the corner of the kitchen island and Joe continues on to the fridge. Marlowe is exposed, like all her nightmares about not wearing pants in the middle of a class presentation. Only she can’t wake herself up to end the harrowing embarrassment this time.

“Oh goodness, hi!” Joe and his mother have the same smile—big and bright over their faces when Joe lets himself smile big. His mother has the same bright blue eyes that hold Marlowe. Hers twinkle with excitement, an openness that calls into her rather than away from her.

“Hi, Mrs. Burrow,” Marlowe greets, a quick and awkward wave.

“Robin, please,” she laughs. “And you’re Marlowe, right?”

“I am. I hope.”

It earns her a soft deep snorted laugh. Marlowe turns to the sound and Joe’s father waves from his leaned position into the corner of the kitchen. “Hi, there. And if you call me anything other than Jimmy, it’ll make me feel old. Spare an old man, will ya?”

Marlowe nods. “Understood.”

“You weren’t kidding, Joe. God, you’re stunning,” Robin laughs, leaning into her elbows. She and Marlowe stand at opposite ends of the kitchen island diagonal across the marble. Or maybe it’s granite. Marlowe can never tell which.

“Thank you?” Marlowe doesn’t want it to sound like such much of a question as it does. Yet, she doesn’t know what else to say.

“I love this whole thing,” Robin grins, fingers gesturing over her own face but Marlowe knows the reference to the piercings. “How long did it take you to get all the piercings?”

“I started in my late twenties. So, about five, six years? The last one,” Marlowe starts pointing to the philtrum piercing nestled into her cupid’s bow, “is about two years old now.”

“Yeah, you’re braver than me, that’s for sure. I don’t think I could do anything other than the earlobes.”

“I thought the same. And then,” Marlowe laughs, not because her face proves her otherwise, but because Malia had been the one to encourage her. “Well, my sister convinced me to get my daith. Then I couldn’t stop.”

“That’s so sweet. Sounds like you two were close. Are you looking for more anymore?”

All the best parts of Marlowe are the parts that Malia shaped, touched in some sort of way—piercings, becoming a makeup artist, living. “Yeah.” It’s small, like there should be something else to say and yet, that’s all Marlowe can get out even with Robin’s sentence still hanging in the air, frozen like all of them in the tension.

The fridge door closes, a tiny rattle of some bottle somewhere in the racks breaks the moment. Marlowe looks over to Joe. There’s a calculation, an assessment in the way he looks at her. His brow arches and Marlow reads it like: you okay? Like he’s not looking to interject unless he absolutely has to, unless he’s asked to.

Marlowe nods, one small bob. “I think I’m done with piercings. Maybe,” she answers, looking back to Robin as she answers before turning her gaze back to Joe. Marlowe points towards the fridge.“You can reheat both of them in the oven low and slow. Mac’n’cheese might take a wee bit longer, but hopefully not by much.”

“Thank you.” It’s only two words, but they stride across the few feet gap and settle into her chest. Marlowe wonders if thank you is another way to say I see you because he presses a hand into his mother’s back and a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’m going to steal Marlowe back, if that’s alright?”

Robin’s smile wobbles. The apology is clear. “I didn’t mean to upset you, dear. Really. I’m so sorry.”

“No, you didn’t upset me. I miss her. A lot these days. That’s all. She just—she made me better.” And what Marlowe really wants to say, what she can’t say just yet but it itches at her tongue: Malia’s everything Marlowe could’ve dreamed of being, an aspiration in physical form and it feels rotten to know that’s all dust now. “Someone here mistook us for twins though.”

Joe huffs, eyes rolled before they fall back onto Marlowe; his gaze drips with a level of fondness that terrifies and electrifies Marlowe. He eases around the north corner, until he’s resting his hip against the flat edge of the island, arms folded across his chest with only a measly five or six steps between them. Close enough that Marlowe finds the hairs on her arm to raise, seeking out the warmth she knows Joe’s bleeding. “An honest mistake. It’s like your mother just went copy + paste on both of you.”

“Like you with your smile that you stole from your mother. I think she’d like it back now.”

The room snorts with laughter before it wheezes, exhaling the previous tension. Joe shakes his head but it does not hide a single inch of his smile, can’t stop the crinkle of his eyes at the action. Marlowe’s heart flutters at the sight. “I guess she’ll just have to press charges,” Joe shrugs.

“My dad knows a few cops, you know? Good lawyers too.”

“I’m looking to settle, so no need for an arrest record.”

Marlowe turns to Robin, stunned again at just how much their smiles echo of the other’s. “I’ll make sure you get him for every penny he’s worth.”

“Watch out there, Joey. I might take her up on the offer.”

It’s just his palm. But it settles hot and right between Marlowe’s shoulder blades, ghosting over the top of the vine tattooed over her spine. His fingers are tight together, thumb brushing over her flesh—the halter top leaving the skin exposed. “Alright, before she becomes the new favorite, I do need to talk to her too.” He says it with a laugh, not quite a plea but firm enough that no one really argues.

“It’s nice meeting you two,” Marlowe notes with a nod to both his parents.

“Nice meeting you too. We’ll chat again before you leave,” Robin asserts. “Now I have to stop before I get a Mom lecture.”

Joe groans. “I love you, Mom. I swear.”

“I’m chatty, I know. I know.” Robin holds her hands up in defense, the confession falling from her lips easy and cheerfully.

The kitchen falls behind them as Joe lets Marlowe out first. She slips to the side once back into the living room, but Joe pauses next to her. His fingers trail down her forearm—painstakingly slow, oozing hesitation. The tips of his fingers just barely brush her skin. Enough that Marlowe knows it’s a real touch, but so light it nearly makes her ache. Marlowe spreads her fingers, reaching—pressing her palm into his. It’s not the first time they’ve held hands.

She prays it’s not the last.

Once his fingers are threaded through hers, Joe strides towards the back of the house. His hold is confident, the permission eases whatever previous worry he held. The pair walks down a hallway, passing several doors. Two are closed. The other opened by an inch or so to reveal the laundry room—a couple baskets overflowing with clothes to the floor below. Marlowe swallows down her tufted laughter at the sight. A little messy, she observes. But she can handle that. She’s a little messy too.

The backyard is massive—bigger than her parent’s place. Granted, they did opt for modest, something big enough, but not grandiose. The concrete patio extends out several feet. A couple of propane tanks wait next to the grill—a mighty gray beast placed at the farther right edge of the patio for the moment.

“Does your dad grill or do you?”

“He taught me.”

“And you still forget mac’n’cheese.” Marlowe can’t push off the inevitable for long. But hopefully for long enough.

Joe settles them onto the outdoor couch, puts himself into the corner and Marlowe right next to him. Their hips press into each other as they sit side by side, knees turned into each other, touching just barely in the hot July afternoon. “Maybe it was on purpose,” he teases. “Maybe I had a whole plan.”

He says it with ease, confident like she should believe it. But Marlowe knows better. Knows this is the same man that didn’t want to take her hand unless she wanted it. Unless she was okay with it. The same man that agreed to give her time, to let her think about dating. Even if this feels like it already is dating.

“If you say so, Joe.” It’s not disbelief. Just a retaliatory tease, a quiet ribbing.

His laughter is soft—all a quick exhale before he looks up. Not guarded, nor hiding, but Marlowe sees the seriousness settling behind his eyes. He’d agreed to give her time. But she couldn’t stall him forever. Has he gotten bored?

“Hey, no. Don’t panic, Marlowe. Not yet at least. I haven’t even said anything.”

“Am I taking too long? I’m sorry. I’m just not the same anymore. I wish I could be the old Marlowe again but I can’t. I feel heavy—most days. Not all there.”

“No,” Joe starts, his voice urgent but the words aren’t rushed. “It’s not that. I want you to take your time. Besides, I don’t know the old Marlowe. I don’t want her. I want you, this Marlowe right in front of me. I want the way you are right now. Present tense and all.”

“Oh.” It’s only a pebble thrown at the wall, one little sentence, yet, it moves something. Makes the legs of Marlowe’s assumptions wobble. I want the way you are right now. Was anyone asking for the old Marlowe back? Or was it just Marlowe?

“I do have to tell you something that might impact your decision though. But I don’t want to lie and I don’t want you to find out from anyone but me.”

“Oh.” This time it comes out long, Marlowe dragging out two letters until she’s without breath. She inhales again before speaking. “I’ll give it a fair listen.”

The squeeze is swift, one press but Marlowe commits to memory the way his fingerprints press light invisible grooves into the back of her hand. Palms roughened by time and football, but warm and urgent—strong as they’re wrapped around her hand. “I don’t know if you’re a big social media user, like, if you’re up there a lot. But I had an arrangement, prior to you, with a woman, just for sex.” Joe pauses, eyes darting again over her face. Looking for something clearly.

“I’m listening.” This news doesn’t startle her. So far, it sounds fairly reasonable.

Joe nods. Marlowe can’t tell if he’s relieved yet or not. But her wheels are spinning. Would a kid change things for her? She was already helping to raise her niece. It’s not like she would be new to the concept. And maybe she’s jumping the gun, so she waits, pulls every piece of herself back into her body. Don’t go there just yet.

“I ended things, to have a clean slate should you decide that you want to date me. But I didn’t end it exactly the best way possible with Paige. Led her on too during the whole thing and so, she went to some tabloids about it. I tried to apologize to her a couple weeks after I ended it. By then, she’d blocked me so that text never went through. She saw a photo of us. We’d gotten photographed out together in LA. She saw it and then went to the tabloids. I don’t know how much your name will come up. I’m hoping it doesn’t. I’m working on it so nothing comes back on you. But I had to be honest. In case you see what she said. I was an asshole about the whole thing. I won’t shy away from it.”

They say curiosity killed the cat, but Marlowe’s hoping satisfaction can revive her too. “What did you do? To lead her on?”

The exhale out of Joe’s lungs is heavy, but he nods at the question. Maybe the question was anticipated. “You sure don’t mince words often, do you?”

“I’m not a fan of it, no.”

“I got the sense a few months into our arrangement she was developing feelings for me. But we both agreed it was just sex at the start. And it was for a while. But then it got messy. She was texting me more. I’m not a huge social media person anymore. But whenever I was on, she was like everything. In comments, in likes. It was starting to get to the point where I just didn’t want to have sex with her anymore. Admittedly, I didn’t want to have to start over with someone new. Deep down, I knew it was only going to cause problems but I sort of just let her do it. Tried to pretend like it wasn’t obvious. I don’t think some of my actions were helping either. I’d let her sleep over if it was late after we’d finished, or text her afterwards about how I was looking forward to the next time. I didn’t try to get deep with the personal stuff. That felt like it was crossing a line, you know?”

“Like then you’d be getting to know her for something else besides the purpose of sleeping together?”

“Yeah, exactly. Hearing it back makes me feel…disappointed in myself. I just— I didn’t want to treat her like a vending machine, you know? Like an object or something. She is a person, but I didn’t do it right at all. I knew well before I actually ended it with her that it was more serious for her.”

“You’re such a guy.” It’s not a funny matter. Yet, Marlowe can’t help the snorted tease. Because of course instead of just ending it when it was getting bad, he’d wait for it to get worse. “Karma’s real, you know.”

“I’m learning first hand that it is.” His agreement comes swift, the tiniest huff of a laugh coming behind the words. Joe’s face goes wide, eyes opened big to emphasize his point. He is learning possibly the hardest way possible too.

“I’m sorry she went to the press. That makes it messier than it needs to be. But I bet you’ll think twice.”

Joe squeezes at her hand again, longer this time than before. He looks raw, unnerved in a way that he hadn’t been before, and with it, a little bit relieved. His eyes are less sharp, his posture relaxes. “I’ll think three and four times. But I’m sort of hoping there’s no next time though.”

Because he’s still waiting on her, still waiting for an answer.

“Thank you for telling me about that situation. It is good to hear from you.” Marlowe’s more than sure this doesn’t change much for her. Just as long as her name didn’t come up, she should be pretty okay. Though, Joe commenting on her page definitely brought about its own interesting set of consequences. A ton more engagement and followers, but only a handful of bookings. Not that there’s much availability left on Marlowe’s end.

Yet, it’s clear as the silence settles that’s not quite the response Joe’s been anticipating. There’s a deeper question, the one Marlowe’s been attempting to evade that lingers. She’d already opened the door when she frantically asked if she was talking too long. Joe’s waiting on that answer.

“Malia died in August. Lady Day, my grandmother, died in October. Dad gets a little bit sadder during the fall. I think triply so between football season starting, and all the deaths. We tend to go quiet. Halloween’s my favorite but it’s not the same now. Christmas isn’t either. I just—I’m scared, Joe.”

“I don’t have any plans to leave. I’m right here.”

Yes, Marlowe is scared of losing. But she’s more scared of August now than anything else. The closer it gets, the more she tastes bile in the back of her throat. “That’s only part of it.”

“What else are you scared of then? What else scares you?” His question falls in a whisper, shoulders easing into her bubble now. His knee presses into hers; the previous touch morphed into a engulfment. Their intertwined hands get swallowed up by his right palm.

“The fog. It’s so hard to get through the last half of the year. I keep waiting so you can see how bad it can get, so that maybe you’ll leave me and I don’t have to have something only to ruin it.”

Joe’s head shake no says it all before his words do. The intense heat in his baby blue gaze makes her stomach lurch. He’s not going to let her go. He’s not going to give up easily. “We’re not quitters around here, in case you can’t tell.”

The summer breeze is stiff, whispers against the back of her neck hot still. “I haven’t yet. Sometimes I want to.”

“I’m not scared of fog, Marlowe. Or rain. Or sleet. Or snow. Or thunderstorms. Or hurricanes. Or fires. Or tornadoes. Or earthquakes. And if you are, that’s okay. Let me be brave enough for the both of us when it comes.”

Her lungs burn from the breaths held, from the tears that sting behind her eyes. There’s no way Joe means it. But he holds her hands in his, leans into her, eyes earnest as they take her in. “I can’t let you do that, Joe.” His lips part but she’s faster. “Not by yourself.”

“I would if I had to.”

It’s just not fair. If Marlowe’s going to live, it would have to be for herself. She couldn’t borrow endlessly. Couldn’t rely on Korey forever. Or Joe. But for right now, that’s so much easier. It gives her someone to be accountable to. It makes the intangible webbing of grief real. Let’s her know that each passing day is better than no more of them.

“But you shouldn’t do it alone. It’s on me too.”

“Start somewhere. It’s not going to be perfect at first. But just start somewhere. With one thing.”

It’s not lost on Marlowe that Joe doesn’t even mention himself. He doesn’t ask Marlowe to choose him, to start with him. Does it feel right to start with him?

“But,” Joe starts, his voice interrupting the spinning of her wheels. “You don’t have to make a decision today. You definitely have a lot of new information on your plate to digest.”

“It doesn’t sound like there’s much I need to worry about. You’re already dealing with the consequences of your actions, so I don’t need to make them worse. And I don’t really check social media a lot. I have to be on it for my work, but I haven’t noticed anything. Besides your comment.”

“That’s good to hear. And were you ever going to say anything about that comment?”

“I liked it.” Marlowe shrugs, skimming her teeth over her bottom lip to hide her smile. The gloss is thick and tacky, and tastes a little plasticky on her tongue. “But no. I like the idea of making you sweat.”

Joe reclines back into the cushion of the couch, fingers still threaded through Marlowe’s. His laugh bubbles out of his chest. “I’ve been sweating alright but more so about some other things, however, unfortunate.”

“Asking if everything’s okay is a little ridiculous, so I’ll ask this instead: how are you holding up?”

“I called her and she apologized.”

Not an answer, but Marlowe’s going to let him meander for the moment. “Paige?”

Joe nods, dropping his head just a little to look at Marlowe, even from his reclined position. “She made a statement, according to my manager, apologizing publicly for leaking it. Just yesterday, someone reached out for a quote and I gave one, so that will be hitting soon, I guess. It’s being all worked out. But, it’s really frustrating too. I don’t know. I understand her being hurt and pissed at me. I just wish she’d come to me about it.”

“You don’t really talk to the press all that much, Joe. Not from what I gleaned.”

The grin is slick, slides up over his face as Joe pushes up from the back of the couch. He looks devious in the most enticing way possible. Too handsome for his own good. “And how would you know that I don’t talk to the press?”

Marlowe’s cheeks grow hot, but she nods. One single bob. There’s no use in lying anymore. “I might’ve been paying attention on Sundays. Besides, anything I want to know right now, I can just call you to ask. I do have your phone number.”

“Might’ve been paying attention on Sundays?”

“I paid attention to the last season.” If paying attention counted as the moments she paused mid laundry to watch the TV, to catch the games as her dad flickered through them and then catching scores on Mondays between meetings and appointments. Not that Marlowe had stakes to it. “Hometown devotion. But now, I have even more reason to pay attention to all the rest of the seasons I’m around for.”

Marlowe’s not sure if that is a confession, if it is an answer directly to the question posed earlier. But it does feel right. A sly answer and the pull of her lips into a grin. Joe’s face drops in surprise, eyes widening again, his other hand slipping over her exposed knee. Marlowe does want to be around, does want to be with Joe, even if she is terrified. Even if August feels like it could kill her. Even if it feels like it should.

“Is that a yes?” Joe asks the question so softly, like if he speaks any louder the words will shatter.

Marlowe wants to evade, wants to say just wait for August. Because it will come. And she isn’t sure what will be left of her in the end. “It is. I hope you have an umbrella for August.”

His palm is hot as it cups her cheek, the tips of his fingers teasing delicately at the edge of her ear over her jewelry and down her jaw. Marlowe can’t help the shiver of her spine or the goosebumps that crawl up her arms. The knock of their knees still keeps them apart, but Joe’s leaned in, inch by inch. “We don’t need to worry about August until it’s here.”

“I don’t want to impact your season. I don’t want to be in the way. We could wai—”

“Marlowe.” Her name falls in a rush, trips over itself off Joe’s tongue. The interjection of just her name echoes so full from his lips—like tasting something for the first time and loving it. “Do you want to date me?”

Damn Q, damn Chase, damn Remi, damn June too for filling her head. Maybe it is time for her to start living. Maybe just maybe even if it all fell felt, it would still be worth the risk. “I do.”

“Then I’m not waiting. Not for a second more. And you’re not a hindrance, or an obstacle. I need you to know that.”

“Not yet.”

“No. I finished my sentence right the first time. I’ll be there. For whatever August brings, and October too. But you’re not in the way.”

It sounds so sweet. Marlowe closes her eyes at the words, lets them settle into her bones. Would a little hope kill her?

“Okay,” she concedes in an exhale, cracking open her eyes.

This close Marlowe catches just the faintest speck of green in his eyes—not enough to win out, but just enough to notice it. Just enough to almost want to touch it. Marlowe regards Joe closer now, takes in the point of his nose. How time and his profession has thinned out his cheeks, not in a bad way. It’s an omen to the passage of time—an inevitability. And she shouldn’t. She shouldn’t let her gaze fall further down his face, to his lips, the way the bottom one rests fuller than the top, begging for a—

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” One word all exhaled, that Marlowe can barely hear herself say. But Joe hears it.

The inches shrink and shrink, and shrink.

It’s unsure at first, a kiss that hardly counts as a kiss. Lips that just barely meet. The first taste of something, like dipping toes into a pool to check the temperature, hoping it’s not frigid or tepid. Relief and excitement buzz at her muscles under her skin, makes her head go a little dizzy with how softly his lips are pressed into hers—trepidation and satiation mixed together. Their threaded fingers unravel with the second press of their lips. This press is more assured, lips parting just enough to slot in around the others.

Marlowe threads her fingers instead into the hair at the nape of Joe’s neck, holding and reverent at the same time as Joe’s free hand slithers to her waist, a couple fingers looping through the belt loops of her denim shorts. The rest ghost over her flesh. The touch makes her stomach quiver, runs a surge of electricity down to her toes. God, Marlowe hopes Joe never stops touching her like this. Not like she’s fragile but like she’s valuable.

Their lips part and meet for a third time. Not the kind of intense kissing that suggests something more carnal and animalistic. These are kisses that are exploratory, careful but still full of want, a yearning that’s trying so desperately not to crack through. Even if it already is doing just that with her fingers in his hair, and his strong hold on her jaw. They ease back out of the kiss almost at the same time—Marlowe first, and Joe lingers stretched forward like he’s going to ask for one more kiss, but then eases back just mere millimeters half a second later. Their breaths are shaky.

Even in the moment with Joe, still teasing at his neck and scalp with her nails, the hairs on the back of her neck stand up just a little. “Is now a bad time to say I’m 90 percent sure we’re being watched?” Marlowe questions, gulping down a meaty inhale.

Joe’s tuft of laughter ghosts over her chin. “We’re definitely being watched.”

“Was there a bet?”

“I think even my brothers got involved,” Joe hums.

“Not the kind of thing you want a family affair with.”

“No, not exactly,” Joe agrees, and he smiles all the same. “Is there any way I can convince you to stay longer today?”

Marlowe knows she could be convinced that in all actuality she wants to stay longer. But she does have to get back home. She promised Korey she wouldn’t be out late. “I’ll come back tomorrow. Are you a fan of ice cream?”

“Yeah, I’m a big fan of ice cream.”

“Okay, then 2 tomorrow. I’ll pick you up. And we’ll get ice cream.”

“It’s a date.”

Jimmy’s gone by the time Marlowe returns inside—her current tasks, aside from trying to keep the rhythm of her heart in tack, is to alert Robin of Joe getting the grill ready to go and to get any food that needs to be reheated into the oven. But every step she takes feels a bit like wading through shark infested waters, praying she doesn’t startle any creature below. Like Robin will pounce the second she realizes they’re separated.

The kitchen’s still, Robin peering out of the window that peers out into the side yard of the house. “Joe’s getting the grill ready,” Marlowe states upon entering the room.

Robin can’t help the grin. The two of them staring in a silent exchange: Robin’s smile whispering out I know something happened, and the hot flush of Marlowe’s face, the smile she can’t keep at bay, returning I can’t believe we got caught like teenagers. But neither one of them utters tangible words until Robin notes, “I’ve got the oven preheating,” just as Marlowe eases towards the appliance. “So, Joe tells me you’re a makeup artist?”

Marlowe knows she has nowhere else to go, nothing else to do in Joe’s kitchen. “I am. Have been since I graduated college, so almost eight years now.”

The second Marlowe’s done with the sentence, Robin waves her in closer and Marlowe tucks up into the corner where the sink and the last turn of the counter meet. “I hear you have a niece too.”

Marlowe slips her phone out of her pocket, typing in the passcode with little hesitation. The first photo Marlowe has is from last night after she finished Korey’s hair, a row of cornrows from the front that stop right about the line of her ears, before the rest of the hair in the back is braided down. Her ends tucked up into white, red, and blue beads. “Korey. She was born in April and is quite the little firecracker when she wants to be.”

“Oh, she’s so precious. God. Mistaking you and your sister as twins is easy when Korey looks like she was spit out.”

Marlowe wishes for Malia’s sake that Korey had been spit out by Marlowe. But Marlowe swipes on to the next picture, happy to divulge more about Korey’s antics.

[corvessa]

Queues, Questions, and Unexpected Love

a/n: Call me weird, call me a geek but AU where theo is like a model/actor dating a weird programmer girl sounds perfect to me. Honestly thought about making more one-shots about this if it goes well, just because its cute.

Summary: As you sit and wait to get out of the low priority que, your boyfriend decides to pop in your stream and create a wholesome moment talking about how you two met

The timer on the screen ticked slowly.

9:52 remaining.

You sighed, stretching your arms above your head as your League of Legends client counted down the latest low priority queue sentence—five games, each with a ten-minute wait, because someone (you) had rage quit during a dodgy ranked game three nights ago.

"Guys, I swear this system is rigged," you muttered into your mic, spinning slightly in your gaming chair. "I’m gonna be out of low priority when I’m 40."

The chat buzzed.

- girl ur gonna age like milk before that queue ends - low prio AGAIN?? lmao - karma for locking in jungle and then leaving

You smirked. “Y’all are fake. You know I’m the best jungle you’ve ever seen.”

The minutes crawled by, and you leaned back, looking at your second monitor. The other screens were lit up with VSCode, a half-finished Godot project, and a Twitch dashboard. Your mug of coffee was cold. Your hoodie sleeves were half-pushed up. Your hair was messy, your eyeliner slightly smudged, and you were exactly where you wanted to be.

A soft knock echoed from off-camera.

“Babe?” came the warm voice.

You turned, grinning instinctively. “You wanna join me while I suffer?”

Theodore Nott appeared in the corner of the frame like a cutscene character unlocking mid-game. Tousled hair, worn grey T-shirt, sleepy blue eyes. Your chat lost it.

- OMFGGGGGGGG - IT’S HIM. THE FACE. - how is HE real. no bc HOW - chat behave 😭 this is a sacred moment

Theodore sat beside you and slipped one ear of your spare headset on, resting his chin in his hand as he scanned the chat with a lazy smile. “What are we playing?”

“League,” you muttered. “But I’m in timeout.”

He laughed. “Ah, the punishment corner.”

The chat pinged again, and then came that message. Bold. A bit rude. But... not entirely unexpected.

- Not tryna be mean but like… how did he fall in love with her? No offense. Y’all just seem like total opposites.

The chat stalled for half a beat. And then:

- uhhhhhh bro?? - MODS?? - 👀 this is gonna be good

You blinked. “Oh no,” you whispered. “Here we go.”

But Theo didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned in a bit, resting one arm on the back of your chair as he looked into the camera—calm, amused, completely unbothered.

“How did I fall in love with her?” he repeated aloud, with that slow, melodic accent that made everything he said sound like it belonged in a Netflix drama. “Easy.”

You glanced at him, raising a brow.

He smiled, eyes still locked on the chat. “She didn’t care who I was. Not once. First time we talked, she rolled her eyes at me. Called me a distraction.”

Chat: 🔥🔥🔥

- STOP THIS IS SO MOVIE CORE - SHE WON - calling a model a distraction = power move - I’m kicking my feet

“She had this setup—screens everywhere, cables like some futuristic spaghetti. I asked what she was building. She said, ‘A better world than the one you’re walking around in.’”

You slapped a hand over your face. “I DID NOT SAY THAT.”

“You did,” he grinned. “Exactly that. And I just thought, Dio mio, who is this girl who talks to code like it's poetry?”

- SHAKESPEARE WISHES - i would combust if someone said that about me 😭 - I need a Theo in my life. rn.

“She built her own PC. Built her own games. Built a community. And she still thinks she’s the ‘weird one’ in the relationship?” He shook his head. “No. I’m the lucky one. I get to love the smartest person I know. The fact that she also looks very good in sweatpants is just... bonus.”

You groaned and shoved his shoulder gently, hiding your face in your sleeve. “Theoooo.”

He chuckled. “It’s true!”

Another question popped up in chat, and Theodore read it aloud.

how did y’all even meet??

He grinned, glancing at you.

“Oh, this one’s my favorite,” he said. “So. I walk into the wrong building in Milan. Looking for a press junket for this indie film I was promoting. I see flashing lights and think, ‘Cool. Art installation.’ Turns out it’s not art—it’s her, setting up this monster of a computer at a tech convention.”

You leaned into the mic. “He asked me if it was a robot. I told him to move because he was blocking the airflow.”

Chat:

- LMAOOOOO - pls she negged him into love - girlboss levels: MAX - blocking airflow = grounds for breakup tbh

“But I was intrigued,” Theo said, shrugging. “So I stayed. I asked questions. She answered. I offered to carry her tower rig back to her car and nearly dropped it.”

“You did drop it.”

He looked sheepish. “Yes. But then I showed up to her stream that night. And every stream after. Even when I didn’t understand what the hell was happening on screen.”

You looked at him, your smile softening. “You still don’t.”

“True,” he admitted, nudging you. “But I understand you. And that’s all I really wanted to know.”

You went quiet for a second, watching the queue timer hit 00:18 and counting down. It almost felt like a metaphor.

- BRO SAID “i understand YOU” 😭😭😭 - I can’t even get a text back and she’s getting Shakespeare - chat’s collectively in love with Theodore now - someone propose to someone RIGHT NOW

The game launched with a soft chime.

“Welp,” you muttered. “Time to carry.”

Theo kissed your temple. “Don’t rage quit this time.”

“I make no promises.”

[arcade-confetti]

Being someone who read Under The Red Hood and came out with the firm belief that, for Jason, it's not about killing Joker, it's about Jason wanting proof Batman would choose him over the Joker (bc shelia chose the joker). Makes seeing any other media where it's all about just wanting the Joker dead is a teeny bit frustrating. to be honest

Jason could've killed the Joker himself, really, really easily. Jason kidnaps the Joker before the confrontation. I can't open my comic for a reference right now, but it felt like he had the Joker for quite a bit before the confrontation. He had him. He beat him up with a crowbar. He had every single opportunity to kill the Joker himself, but he didn't because that wasn't his goal. Make no mistake, he did plan for the Joker to be dead by the end of it, but do you see what im trying to say here

Edit: If I knew this post was gonna get 1000+ notes I would've tried to word it better or something, this was a rant I made on the way to the grocery store 😭

It's not about making Batman kill either. When Batman says he won't kill, Jason adjusts and goes, 'Let ME kill the Joker or kill me to stop me' instead. The test is all about Batman choosing him. The whole final confrontation is Jason's first death again. The parent, The Joker, and the explosives. It even ends with Jason unable to move as a bomb goes off right next to him again because the parent didn't choose Jason. And instead tried finding an option that'd benefit them and (consequencely) letting the Joker walk, again, lol, lmao <-in agony

[baolinagasy]

not going to reblog that shitshow of a post but str*yc*tj blogger wanting to sue an artist for painting a copy of one of her photos is one of the stupidest example of copyright law, and why we should get rid of it completely

[sixeyesonathiel]

shy girls suck the best!

fratjo x nerd!reader, fluff & smut, m receiving, overstimulation, whimpering toru. 3.5k wc, 18+ only, MDNI.

satoru gojo is experienced.

he’s cocky for a reason. he’s made girls scream his name more times than he can count, and he knows exactly how to make someone fold in under five minutes—ten if he’s playing nice. he’s all confidence, charm, and unearned a’s from professors who don’t want to deal with his antics. his reputation precedes him in every room, and he walks like the world’s already bent over backwards just to please him.

everything about him screams untouchable, and he’s used to people treating him that way. he wears his varsity jacket like armor, a walking billboard of fratboy glory, all swagger and smirks and lazy confidence that makes people gravitate toward him like he’s got his own gravity field.

but then there’s you.

the shy girl in glasses, always scribbling in your notebook with an absurdly cute pen, whispering apologies when you bump into people, hiding in the back row of class like you owe the world an explanation just for existing. you don’t talk unless spoken to, don’t make eye contact, and definitely don’t give satoru the attention he’s used to. it’s not that you’re cold—it’s that you seem like you live in your own quiet little world, and satoru’s never wanted to be invited somewhere so badly.

and maybe what undoes him first is that he sees you before you see him. you’re already there, present in the corners of his attention before he understands why he’s looking. he notices you one day during lecture, tucking your hair behind your ear as you underline a sentence three times with an intense little frown. it doesn’t seem like much. but something in him clicks.

at first it’s curiosity. then amusement. then it festers into irritation—because why the fuck aren’t you reacting to him like everyone else?—and then fascination. and then something deeper that coils in his chest and makes his throat tight every time he sees you. he tries not to care. he wants not to care. but you’re already rooting yourself in places inside him he didn’t know were hollow.

satoru notices you because you don’t notice him. not the way everyone else does. you don’t flutter your lashes when he smirks. you don’t laugh at his jokes like they’re scripture. you don’t even flinch when he calls you “baby” out of nowhere—just blink at him like he’s an equation you don’t understand. it bruises his ego. and for some unholy reason, he loves it.

the problem is, you’re not immune to him at all. you’re just hiding it better than anyone ever has.

because what he doesn’t know is—you’ve always had a crush on him. from the very first time he walked into class, sleepy-eyed and bright-smiled, wearing that damn jacket like it belonged on a movie screen. you just figured he’d never notice someone like you. so you admired from afar. watched him flirt with others, watched the way he filled a room with laughter, memorized the cadence of his voice like it was part of your playlist.

your crush was harmless. private. something you never expected to act on. you played it safe. after all, guys like satoru gojo don’t fall for quiet girls with awkward posture and color-coded notes.

but maybe that’s what draws him in—the absence of performance. the quiet genuine way you exist. no theatrics. no games. just you, completely unaware that you’ve started haunting his every thought.

it starts small.

he catches himself watching the way your hands move. the way your nose scrunches when you’re deep in thought. the way you roll your pen between your fingers when you're anxious. it becomes a loop, a soft little addiction. he remembers details he shouldn’t. what color post-its you use. your preferred snack during study sessions. your favorite seat in the library. you don’t change. he just tunes in.

and then, one day, he realizes he’s rearranging his life around yours.

he starts showing up everywhere you are. loiters in the library, conveniently always around during your shifts at the campus café, makes excuses to sit next to you in class. offers to carry your books, asks you about calculus even though he already passed it. satoru gojo, golden boy of his frat, reducing himself to extra tutoring just to see you smile. it’s humiliating in theory, but it feels like worship in practice.

and it’s not just your smile. it’s the way you get passionate when you talk about obscure theories. the way you light up when you don’t think anyone’s watching. the way you stammer when he gets too close, but don’t pull away.

you don’t feed his ego. you feed something softer. quieter. something he didn’t think he had in him. he tells himself it’s because you’re innocent. because you’re shy and sweet and you deserve to be treated right.

he wants to be good for you. slow, patient, gentle. he holds doors open. he listens. he lets you rant about your thesis for forty-five uninterrupted minutes and actually understands it. he even looks up the books you reference, reads them just to impress you. he takes an annotated copy of your favorite book. he starts writing your name in the corners of his notebook like some love-struck high schooler. you haunt him in the best way.

and then—you kiss him.

it’s after a late-night study session. the campus is quiet. the lights in the library flicker like they’re caught between timelines. your voice shakes when you say “thank you for walking me back.” you pause, fidget with the strap of your bag. and then, like you’ve been gearing up for battle, you rise onto your toes and kiss him.

it’s chaste. hesitant. warm. like you're afraid he'll vanish if you lean in too much.

you pull back like you’ve done something wrong, but satoru’s frozen, staring at you like he’s just been baptized. you’re blushing so hard he can feel the heat radiating off your skin.

“you… sure?” he whispers, voice ragged, leaning in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

you nod, barely audible: “i’ve read… a lot. i think… i wanna try. with you.”

and he short circuits.

he thought he’d lead. thought he’d ease you into it, kiss your forehead, hold your hand like a gentleman. but then your hands are on his chest, pushing up under his shirt—the varsity jacket creaking as it shifts on his shoulders, the cotton brushing your fingertips. your eyes are searching his like you’re looking for confirmation that he’s real. you study every reaction like a research project. when he shivers, you smile, barely-there, and go back to tracing the line of his abs with trembling fingertips.

it’s not even mischief.

it’s curiosity. slow-burning, chest-aching, and barely held together by your own hesitation. the sort of yearning that tastes like nervous giggles and the edge of something terrifyingly new. you pause between touches like you're checking your hypothesis, calculating the way his muscles tense under your fingers. each brush of your skin feels like a question he's too dazed to answer properly.

“does that… feel good?” you whisper, lips barely moving, as though you’re scared to break the spell.

“f-fuck—yes, baby, yeah,” he gasps, throwing his head back, one hand clutching the edge of the couch like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

your lips trail down his throat, each kiss a trembling prayer, following a path only you can see. his skin is fever-hot, tasting of mint and salt, boyish charm unraveling under your mouth. when you press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone, his pulse jumps, a twitch rippling beneath your lips. his breath catches, a sharp stutter that makes his chest lurch, and his hands hover, fingers flexing like he’s afraid touching you will break the spell.

satoru gojo—fratboy, golden boy, untouchable—is quiet. too quiet. his eyes are hazy, pupils wide and unfocused, lips parted like words have abandoned him. his varsity jacket is bunched at his elbows, leather creaking, shirt rucked up to his ribs, abs clenching under your trembling fingers. he could take charge, flip this with a smirk—he’s done it countless times, effortless and expert. but now? he just watches, reverent, like you’re a deity he’s too awestruck to approach.

he’s known mouths. polished ones with perfect rhythm, greedy ones that took without giving, bold ones that knew every angle. but yours? it’s hesitant, new, like you’re crossing a threshold you’re not sure you’re worthy of. the way you look at him—eyes flickering behind slipping glasses, wide with awe—shouldn’t hit this hard. shouldn’t feel this fucking intense. but your fingers, shaking as they tug at his waistband, send a jolt through him that makes his vision spark.

satoru’s hand grazes your cheek, a trembling brush of knuckles. “baby… keep going. please.”

you nod, glasses sliding, your breath hitching as your fingers slip under his jeans, easing them down. your eyes flick up, catching his—flushed, jaw tight, his whole body fighting to stay still. it hits you like a blade: he’s done this a thousand times, fucked girls who knew every trick, but you’ve got him like this. trembling. aching. satoru gojo, invincible, unraveling because of you.

guilt stabs your chest, sharp and fleeting. you shouldn’t have him like this, shouldn’t be the reason his hands clutch the couch like it’s his only anchor. he’s always cocky, untouchable, the center of every orbit. now he’s breaking, and it’s your fault—your lips, your touch, your fault. but the guilt only fans the heat in your core, makes your thighs press together as you lean closer, your breath ghosting over his skin.

satoru is used to being wanted. but not like this. not with this aching, earnest hunger that makes his chest tighten.

you press shaky, open-mouthed kisses to his hip, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. spit gathers at the corner of your mouth, a slick trail left behind as you suck softly at the sensitive skin just above his cock. he jolts, hips jerking before he catches himself, a low curse slipping free, his hands clenching until his knuckles bleach. the sound he makes—fuck, it’s a choked gasp, raw and ragged, like you’ve torn it from his core.

you shift lower, hands sliding up his thighs, fingers digging into the taut muscle. your kisses grow bolder, sloppier, your tongue dragging along the crease where his thigh meets his groin, leaving a glistening streak of drool that catches the dim light.

he tastes like heat and need, and the way his skin trembles under your mouth makes your own pulse hammer. you pause, lips hovering over his cock, spit pooling on your tongue, and glance up—his head is thrown back, throat bobbing as he swallows, a groan clawing its way out of him.

“holy shit—baby, you—fuck,” satoru gasps, eyes snapping open, blown wide as his hand grips the couch, fabric groaning under his fist.

you take him in your mouth, lips wrapping around the tip, soft and slick with spit that drips down his length. your tongue swirls, slow and deliberate, tracing the ridge as drool spills from the corners of your mouth, coating him in a wet sheen.

he’s hot, heavy against your tongue, and you hum—a low, vibrating sound that pulls a whimper from his throat. your fingers curl around the base, stroking in time with the bob of your head, slick with the spit that pools at his base, making your grip slippery. you suck, gentle at first, then harder, lips stretching around him as spit slicks your chin, a glistening trail dripping onto his thighs.

he’s panting, desperate, each breath a ragged plea. his abs flex, thighs trembling under your palms, and he’s biting back whimpers, trying not to overwhelm you. that restraint—fuck, it’s gorgeous, the way his jaw clenches, the way his eyes flutter shut like he’s fighting to stay grounded. he doesn’t push, doesn’t guide, just moans your name like it’s a prayer, raw and broken. “that’s it, baby—fuck—just like that—your mouth’s so fucking perfect—”

the satoru gojo is unraveling, and it’s because of you. the way you glance up, glasses fogging, eyes glassy with effort, lips shiny and stretched around him, spit dripping down your chin in messy strings. the way your tongue flicks, catching the sensitive spot under the head, makes his hips buck, a choked sob escaping.

your hand slides lower, fingers brushing his balls, tentative but deliberate, slick with the drool that’s pooled at his base. you cup them, rolling gently, and his whole body seizes, a string of curses spilling out as his hand fists the couch tighter, the fabric creaking under the strain.

he’s had every fantasy, every trick, but this—your mouth, slow and reverent, full of wonder, messy with spit that coats him like a second skin—hits like a fucking freight train. it’s too much, too good. he wants to last, to let you explore, but you’re too fucking intent.

you hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, tongue swirling in tight, wet circles, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth as you take him deeper, throat tightening around him. he chokes, hips jerking as his control frays. “gonna—baby, gonna cum, wait, fuck—”

you don’t stop. your lips slide further, tongue flattening, taking him as deep as you can. it’s filthy—spit drips down your chin in thick strings, pooling on his thighs, your glasses fogging as breaths puff through your nose. you’re focused, watching his every twitch, adjusting when he gasps, slowing when he whimpers, like you’re mapping him.

his hand grips the couch, knuckles white, and he breaks with a sound that’s barely human—a shattered cry as he spills, hot and pulsing against your tongue.

you try to swallow it all, but it’s overwhelming—cum mixes with the spit already coating your lips, spilling past them in a slick, messy rush, dripping down your chin, onto his thighs, and pooling on the couch. you pull back, gasping, wiping your mouth with trembling fingers, but the slickness clings, smearing across your skin as your eyes stay wide behind crooked glasses. he’s trembling, chest heaving, shirt clinging to sweat-slick skin, pupils blown like he’s seen the divine.

you should stop.

you fucking should.

he’s wrecked, twitching, fucked out beyond reason. but the ache in your chest—the sharp, flickering guilt of breaking him—only makes you hungrier. you lick your lips, tasting the salty mix of him, and your thighs press together, a soft whimper escaping as you lean in again, spit still clinging to your chin.

“just once more?” you whisper, voice barely audible, like you’re afraid the words will burn you.

his eyes flutter open, unfocused, dazed. he groans, raw and low. “baby… you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

but he doesn’t stop you. doesn’t even try.

you start again, slower, your mouth softer but hungrier, lips wrapping around him with a reverence that makes him twitch instantly. he’s sensitive, still pulsing, and the second your tongue grazes him, he whines—a high, broken sound that makes your stomach twist. you suck lightly, lips gliding along his length, spit pooling at the base and dripping onto his thighs in slow, glistening trails. 

satoru buries his face in a cushion, muffling a sob. “s-sensitive—fuck, it’s too much—”

his thighs tremble under your hands, hips jerking as you kiss the tip, tongue darting out to lap at the bead of cum still leaking from him, your spit mixing with it in a slick, glossy sheen. you linger, savoring the taste, the way it coats your tongue in a sticky film, and he whimpers again, louder, his hand flying to his mouth to bite his knuckles.

your fingers slide to his balls again, rolling them gently, slick with the drool and cum that’s dripped down, making your touch slippery and warm. he arches, a desperate, “please—fuck—please—” spilling from his lips like he’s begging for mercy but craving more.

you don’t rush. your tongue traces every inch, slow and deliberate, swirling around the head before dipping lower, dragging along the vein with a wet, sloppy kiss that leaves a trail of spit in its wake. your breath is hot, teasing, each exhale making him twitch, and you pause to suck at the base, lips lingering as your tongue flicks out, tasting the musk of him through the sticky mess. his hand finds your hair, fingers threading loosely, not pushing, just holding—like he needs to feel you’re real.

you grow bolder, hungrier, your lips tightening as you take him deeper, throat fluttering around him, spit bubbling up and spilling over, coating his cock in a thick, glossy layer. you hum, low and vibrating, and he chokes, a wet, pathetic whimper breaking free.

your hand strokes the base, slick with spit and cum, fingers sliding in the mess, and you slide a finger lower, brushing the sensitive skin behind his balls, now slippery with the drool that’s dripped down. he jolts, a high, keening sound tearing from his throat, his hips bucking as his whole body trembles.

“baby—god—please—fuck, i can’t—” satoru’s voice cracks, raw and whining, as you suck harder, tongue swirling in relentless, wet circles, spit and cum mixing in a frothy mess that drips onto the couch. every noise is desperate—gasps, whimpers, sobs that he tries to muffle but can’t. his body arches, twitching like he’s unraveling at the seams, and you feel it: the moment he breaks again.

he cums with a wail, sudden and violent, hips jerking as he spills into your mouth. it’s messier, hotter, a flood of cum and spit that overwhelms you, spilling out in thick, sticky ropes that coat your lips, your chin, your glasses, dripping onto his thighs and pooling in the creases of his skin.

you swallow what you can, lips still wrapped around him, tongue lapping at the oversensitive tip through the slick mess until he’s twitching, a broken, “n-no more—please—” escaping as he clutches the cushion.

time slips. minutes? hours? you’re tugging his shirt, pulling him closer like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. ten minutes later, he’s gripping the sheets, praying, fucked senseless by every move you make. you flinch when he whines too loud, hands flying to your mouth, eyes wide with guilt—but then you lean in again, bolder, hungrier, chasing every twitch, every broken gasp of your name.

he’s never felt so cherished and so destroyed at the same time.

every touch is careful, but determined. you’re hesitant but thorough, like you’ve read the same passage in a smutty fanfiction a hundred times and are finally getting the chance to test it out. and the worst part? you’re good at it. really good.

your mouth, your hands, the way you watch his face for every twitch of pleasure—it’s enough to make him lose all sense of pride. the way you keep glancing at his reactions, as if adjusting your technique in real time, is insane. terrifying. he’s never been studied so hard. he likes it. he needs it. he’s suffering in the best way.

he’s never had to hold back like this. never had to breathe through it. never felt this fucking sensitive. he’s gripping the cushions like a man possessed. he’s whispering your name like a prayer. he’s not even sure he’s still speaking coherent sentences. you’ve wrecked him. utterly and entirely.

you pull back, panting, your hands shaking as you adjust your glasses, eyes glassy and wide. your lips are swollen, chin wet with a glistening mix of spit and cum, and you lick them, tasting him again, a soft moan slipping free as your thighs press together.

satoru is ruined—sprawled on the couch, shirt clinging to his chest, chest heaving like he’s fought a war. his hand is still in your hair, loose, trembling, and he’s staring at you like you’re a fucking goddess.

“thought you were the innocent one,” he chokes out, breathless, watching you nibble your lip and adjust your glasses with shaking fingers.

“i still am,” you murmur, face tucked into his shoulder. “kind of.”

he huffs out a laugh, dazed and wrecked. he can feel your heartbeat against his ribs. he doesn’t want to move. his hands are still trembling from how hard he tried to keep it together for you—and yet, you’re the one who took the lead. you’re the one who made him forget how to function. you kiss the edge of his jaw, soft and uncertain, and it undoes him more than anything else.

satoru gojo, campus heartthrob, ruined by a shy nerd girl who reads too much smut on her kindle late at night under the covers. who probably has a secret ao3 account and bookmarked folders. who looks like a timid schoolgirl but fucks like she’s been studying him like a midterm exam. and passed with extra credit. honors. valedictorian. summa cum laude of making him lose his damn mind.

he’s never been so obsessed.

and you? you’re already pressing your forehead to his chest, voice small, eyes wide with want and something raw and messy and needy as you look up at him.

“can we… try again? i think i missed a step.”

he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh, cry, or propose.

he’s never been more in love. and all he knows is he’s done for.

[tonycries]

Kiss Me More!

Synopsis. There’s always something that makes him lose control - and you love pushing those buttons.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rough séx, unprotected, bodyworshíp, stuff with pantíes, bréeding, slight exhíbitionism (Sukuna’s), Nanami and Geto are a bit mean, overstím, finger suckíng, dacryphília (Geto’s), pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.1k

A/N. Bro my laptop crashed thrice trynna write this um.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “Raw?!”

Great, Toji thinks, he’s finally lost it.

Because sooner have the words left your swollen lips, all the blood goes rushing to his achingly hard cock - so swollen and already leaking hot precum all over your trembling thighs. Some dark, primal part of himself being poked so dangerously awake.

“Are ya sure, doll?” he breathes, and the words come out ragged - pained even. Like some part of himself wanted you to save no, was begging you to say no - for his own sanity. Because just the thought of your pretty lil’ cunt wrapped around his cock makes him feel lightheaded. “We don’t-”

“I wan’ to,” you give him a determined little nod. Spreading your legs further and oh Toji lets out a hoarse grunt at the heavenly sight. Hanging on your every word as you continue, “What’s the worst that can happen?”

That was hours ago - oh, how foolish you were. 

You never thought that those would be the words that make your poor boyfriend snap. That it would only take him just barely grazing his angry, weeping tip between your puffy folds. Up and down up and down up and- down went every rational thought. 

Too depraved. Too lost in the feeling of finally having you and your soft pussy and you-

“C-can’t believe you’ve been ngh- fuckin’ holdin’ out on m-me.” He was in heaven, making you cum over and over and-

And you were clawing limply at the drenched sheets, the headrest, Toji’s shoulders - just anything and everything for some semblance of sanity. 

“T-Toji-” you sob, “S’too much. I- ngh- can’t anymore-”

“Fuck! Been hah- holdin’ out on me.” he groans, like a mantra. Brows furrowing as he squeezes his swollen cock harder into your plushy walls. And if it was any other time then Toji might’ve almost been embarrassed at the way his sentence cracks ever-so-slightly at the end. Choking out, “One more- gimme j-jus’ one more.”

“But-” Big, fat tears roll down your burning cheeks as large fingers dip down to toy your sensitive clit between them - no rhythm or rhyme, just to get you off. “You said the p-previous one would ngh- b-be the last.”

Ah, you were so cute blabbering out little pleas. And the only response you get is a devilish smirk, Toji’s darkened, hooded eyes boring into yours as he hums, “Did I? I don’t remember.”

He did remember. Very well, in fact as he pushed you to your nth orgasm tonight. And it took everything in him to hold off his high as he fucked you through yours, whispering out hollow promises about it being the “last time” and just “one more”. 

“S’okay-” Toji nips playfully at your wobbling lips. Salty with the taste of your overstimulated tears. “One more- you can mmpf- cum f’me once more, right?” 

And Toji’s barely-there sense of rationality in him knows he should slow down. Ease up his bruising grp on your hips. Have at least some shred of concern as he fucks your quivering cunt rougher, like his personal sex toy more than anything. 

Yet, no, right now he couldn’t even think straight. Too focused on how your moans were so sweet. Lips so pretty screaming out his name. Snug cunt too fucking heavenly when you cum all over his cock, squeezing him like your slutty lil’ pussy was trying to milk the fucking soul out of him. So hard and addicted that Toji was hooked. 

You mewl a delirious little, “H-hooked?” Batting your hazy eyes up at the monster above you, who seemed well and fully intent on making you cum until you couldn’t anymore. “Y-you’re hooked?”

Whoops, did he say that out loud? Seems you weren’t the only one that was completely and utterly wrecked here. 

“Shhh,” Toji drops his head once more to kiss away your adorable pout - the one that only makes his balls squeeze so painfully. “Just focus on how ngh- fuckin’ food ya feel, pretty.” Fingers erratic on your throbbing clit, just soaked in your sweet juices. Moving deftly to spell out a messy T-O-J-I. Over and over and- “After all, this hah- pussy now belongs to me now, right?”

And it’s all you can do to give a delirious little nod, words slurring together as you hiss a low, “Y-yours- S’all for- ngh- you-” Hips bucking wildly underneath his strong figure. “Close- m’gonna cum, Toji-”

The only response you get is a guttural groan of what sounded like your name - followed shortly by a string of profanities as Toji speeds up his abuse on your cunt. One hand reaching out to grip onto the headboard, so hard that if you were in any better state of mind the two of you would have registered the sharp snap! 

The other almost-feverish on your poor clit - like it hurt to not have you cumming all over his cock now. Spelling his name over and over and-

“Oh I’ll let ya cum-” Hips stuttering and so so sloppy now. Sounding like his sanity was dancing away every time his hips slapped bruisingly against yours. “Gonna make you c-cum so ha- hard you’ll forget everything else-”

You’re letting out strangled little gasps in response, hips torn between running away and fucking down for more more more-

“Fuck- hope you’re on the pill, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Painted white

“Whoops.”

Nanami well and fully thinks that it’s your fault he feels less of a man than some monster right now. He acts like it, too, holding back a sultry little smile as he fucks you deeper and deeper into the mattress. 

Close - too close. 

Close enough that he’s immediately pulling out of your snug cunt. So fucking difficult with the way you’re sucking him up so good - but oh was it worth it watching the way your swollen lips drop into a soft oh! Glassy eyes snapping down to catch the way he fucks his fist once, twice. Before spilling all over your swollen folds, painting you such an obscene white over and over and-

“Now now,” you can only keen in response as your husband hums lowly. Fist sliding languidly up and down his angry, red cock. “Guess we hafta hah- do it all over again, my love.” 

Yeah, definitely worth it with the way he had you all breathless and needy, your slutty lil’ pussy just begging to go over the edge - only to tease you at the very last second. God, it’s been like this for so long now. 

“So mean,” you give Nanami a little pout - one that has his still-painfully hard cock twitching so sensitively in his hand. Big, fat tears welling up in your eyes as you continue, “You’re being so ngh- mean, Ken.”

Oh, damn that little nickname - the exact same one you’d scream when you’re close. Damn the way you cock your head just right, batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently up at him.

Damn the way he snakes his hand down to the sinful little pool of cum spreading all over your lower stomach. Letting it trickle onto his fingertips - immediately shoving them between your lips to shut up those pretty lil’ moans. 

“Mean?” he manages to chuckle. Tips of his fingers pressing right at the back of your tongue. Slapping his swollen cock on your stomach, “Is this what you ah- wanted? Are ya happy now, my love?” 

The sight of you all teary and gagging around his fingers was almost as addictive as the sight of you covered in his cum. Almost. 

He sweeps his eyes all over where you were splayed out so prettily for him. Your glossy lips, the streaks of cum on your stomach, your chin, everywhere and anywhere - except where you wanted the most. 

It had started with an accident, really, when he’d pulled out a bit too early tonight. And fuck if Nanami didn’t think that sight of you all dripping and covereed with him was like the gates of heaven spread wide open all for him. A new, dangerous addiction. 

Which is why he’s pushing his fingers deeper, whispering out a ragged little, “Shit, you’re so messy.” Purposefully dragging his thumb across your lower lip to smear the mess everywhere. Your lips, your chin, inside. “So filthy.” He can’t even think about bringing himself to be disgusted. Dipping down the valleys of your chest, down, down down, to where his achingly hard tip was just kissing your quivering entrance now, “So perfect.” 

And without warning, Nanami’s splitting you apart on his massive cock once more. Jaw falling slack ever-so-slightly at the way you’re taking him up so readily - inch by fucking inch like it hurt to be apart.

“F-fuck,” you moan, the words broken as he starts moving inside - back to picking up that unforgiving pace from earlier, like he never stopped. “Hngh- s’too good- too full, Kento-”

“Awww, what happened to ‘Ken’?” Nanami cuts you off uncharacteristically. Hips slowing down to lazy, mindless little movements that have you gasping in protests. “Was gonna cum on your pretty face this time hah- s-seems you don’t want it, hm?”  

And ah, let it be known that Nanami Kento would burn down the world for his wife. 

But what fun it was to tease you - to have your mouth dropping in disbelief, eyes widening in your delirious state. Babbling out a broken, “No no no, Ken- hngh- wan’ you to cum inside.” Back arching off the bed, grappling pathetically for more more more- “To paint me white inside- Please?”

Oh, did you know how to push his buttons just right. Because how could Nanami deny you begging so prettily like that?

Because the sentence is barely out of your mouth before neat nails are digging into your hips as Nanami pulls your hips closer, milking his cock on your snug cunt - so hard he knew it would leave marks. His heavy balls on your ass, your ankles on his shoulders, nails dragging down his bulging biceps as you moan his name. 

Whispering, breath hot against your ear, “You’re right.” Voice so strained and dark that you almost don’t recognize it as your husbands. “So, so right.”

Nanami’s index finger coming down to draw an invisible line right where he could feel his cock making a mess of you inside. 

“Ah! Ken, W-what-”

“You’re so right.” he’s breathing against your mouth, like a little prayer. Tasting the sweet candy of your lips and himself and you- “The next spot-” Pressing his finger down right on that spot, hard. Like he wanted to feel himself more than anything. “Will be here.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Pretty when you cry

“S-Sugu, are you okay?” you’re looking over your shoulder to ask. 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing - except for Geto’s heavy breathing, and the lewd little squelches from down below, his swollen cock just barely sinking into your heavenly cunt. And you know it doesn’t bode well.

You’d be almost worried if it wasn’t for the way his eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown and just locked on that single, stray tear rolling down your cheek. Such a dark little glint in his gaze that had you wondering whether you should be concerned for him or yourself. 

Yet you manage to choke out a little, “Suguru?”

Ah that snaps him out of his little reverie, suddenly too-aware of your plushy walls sucking the soul out of his hot, angry head. 

With work, it’s been a while since Geto got to fuck your snug cunt - and you needed to breathe, maybe spread your legs more. Relax, because it was so fucking tight and Geto wasn’t even halfway. The stretch way too sinful. Too much. Your lips wobbling at how massive his cock was, and oh- was that another tear going down your pretty face?

You don’t even get to confirm because several things happen at once - immediately, he’s pushing his aching dick in one, harsh thrust. Head dipping down to pool the tears streaming on his hot tongue, groaning at the taste.

“O-oh.” you manage to grit out, feeling like Geto was pushing into your fucking lungs. “S’too big. Sugu, ah!”

“Shhhh, gorgeous.” he’s dragging his lips down your neck, fingers dancing down your body to roll your ravaged clit between them. “S’alrigh- ngh-” And you didn’t know whether he was reassuring himself more than you. “You got it. Y-you’ll take it- you always do, right?”

And he was right - but you’d forgotten how unforgiving Geto’s cock was. How unforgiving he was as he pries away your fingers gripping onto the headrest - trying pathetically to pull away from the pressure down below. 

Hah, he thinks, intertwining them so mockingly with his own, as if he’d let such a pretty lil’ thing like you escape. 

Romantic - the way this was supposed to be. 

Yet, now, Geto was fucking you like anything but. 

“You’re not trying to- fuck- run away,” he’s purring in your ear, rubbing his thumb over your swollen clit once. Twice. As if trying to will the answer out of you, “Right?” Not even waiting for your answer before reeling his hips back, all the way till his fat tip was just kissing your sloppy entrance. “After we hngh- haven’t done this in so-” Slamming his hips down. Harsh. “-long?”

And shit- he was acting like it, too. So depraved and filthy the way he was drinking up your cute lil’ moans, tasting your tears on his lips while he couldn’t decide between bruising your poor cervix and hitting that one spot. “T-too fuckin’ long, gorgeous.”

The only answer he gets is your sweet, simpering whine of “Sugu- Sugu Sugu- oh my god.” Back bowing off the bed because it’s gotten so much. “C-can feel you so deep inside.”

Really, how could Geto even think about stopping himself from kissing down your arched back? Looping two strong arms around your waist to pull you impossibly deeper down his cock. 

“Ah! Oh my god- Suguru!” you keen as he falls back on his knees with you in tow, your back against his muscled front. Spreading your legs to fuck up so mindlessly into you. Jagged, long thrusts, bouncing you like a toy on his aching cock. Rough. “So much- so- ngh-”

Ah, your pretty little cries are just music to his ears. Fuck, he forgot how pretty you looked when you were all breathless and crying on his cock.

“Such a cute lil’ actress.” he coos, voice going up each time his heavy balls smack your ass. Fingers drawing such tight little circles on your throbbing clit. “Love these hah- pretty tears.”

“S-So mean, Sugu-” you’re choking as his thrusts get purposeful - calculated. Hitting that one magical spot he’ll never forget no matter what. Over and over and over while all you can do is cry out teary moans of his name.

Thigh quivering at the sheer stimulation, “Yeah- yeah, jus’ like that.” And oh Geto wishes he could taste down there, too. But instead settles for doing that later - getting those sweet, overstimulated tears out of you. “My gorgeous girl, cryin’ on my cock. Ngh- gonna cum f’me?” Pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your forehead - the complete opposite of his hips. “Gonna c-cry while you’re mm- cumming all over my cock?”

And as if he really really wanted to see it - Geto’s only getting sloppier. 

So embarrassing with the way he was whispering out sweet little degradations in your ear, guiding you closer and closer. 

So embarrassing with the way he eagerly watched all your minute reactions.

So embarrassing with how you cum exactly the way he wanted you to - teary and breathless. A quick scream of Geto’s name before you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. 

Cunt clamping down so deliciously on his cock. So dizzying that you barely even register the hot tongue lapping at the fresh wave of tears.

“Ah, as perfect as I hah- imagined.” Geto grits out, sounding every bit absolutely wrecked. “Now I jus’ n-need to know if you’ll cry as much when m’filling you up.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Just the tip.”

“Hngh- f-fuck, baby.” he whines into your open mouth, strong hands pulling your trembling hips impossibly closer to his. “J-jus’ a bit deeper- only a bit deeper, I promise.”

Ah, if only you weren’t split apart so deliriously on Choso’s cock you might’ve been able to actually form a coherent sentence to- what? Snap at him? Beg him for more?

You don’t even know at this point, because it’s been like this for so long now, and Choso promised it would be just his weeping tip. He promised it would be quick and he just “wanted to feel his girl’s pretty pussy.” Over and over again as he pushed your legs all the way until they were pressed against your tits, heels pressing into the mattress as he slides his massive cock even deeper-

“Cho!” you yelp, feeling the thump! thump! thump! of those prominent veins down the side rub against all the right spots. “You said-”

“I know I know, m’sorry.” he gasps. Brows scrunching as he nevertheless bullies his cock deeper inside your gummy walls. Choso’s cock too big, the stretch too sinful. Dropping his head to kiss your bruised lips, “M’sorry, jus’ a bit more. Jus’ a bit- hah- a bit deeper-”

And oh, he shouldn’t have done that. 

Shouldn’t have let himself that last bit of freedom, because he sinks only a bit more into your heavenly cunt - so dripping wet and milking the soul out of him - that Choso can’t help but think he wants more. 

“Baby…” Choso purrs hotly against your ear, hips thrusting in slow, shallow little grinds - and you already know too well what he’s about to beg for.

“Cho.” you groan, warningly. “You said j-jus’ the ngh- tip.”

“Awww.” he groans. So fucking pretty with his long hair undone, some strands sticking to his flushed skin. Eyes hazy and miles away as he looks at you through those long, dark lashes. “Jus’ a bit ngh- more? Promise I’ll pull out.” As if to support his case, one hand gently tilts your head up to press chaste pecks at the corner of your lips. The other starting to toy with your ravaged clit, “Please?”

And how could you say no to that? 

Especially not when Choso digs his knees deeper into the sheets, rock-hard cock dragging so agonizingly against your walls as he reels his hips back, back, back-

Splitting you apart all in one, harsh thrust. 

It’s all you can do to whine out a pathetic, “O-oh fuck- fuck! S’too deep.” The stretch too sinful, his cock too massive. Tears springing to your eyes as he immediately starts fucking you in quick, ragged movements - not even easing you into it like he usually would. 

“M’sorry, baby.” Choso sounds so fucking wrecked, voice as rough as his hips now. “M’sorry m’sorry. Promise I won’t cum inside. Jus’ a bit more- some- some more-”

And for all the remaining sanity you had left, you didn’t know how promises of “just the tip” turned into empty wishes that neither of you had the patience - nor the sanity - to fulfill right now. 

“Please.” you arch your hips off the bed - and nothing more has to be said, because Choso reads that lust-drunk little plea in your eyes. “Ch-Cho-”

“A bit more.” he lets out a humorless little laugh. Reaching above to lace his fingers on top of your head, pushing you down, down, down impossibly deeper onto his painfully hard cock in a pathetic little cadence to match his. “Jus’ a bit- more.”

It was driving him insane. 

And for all his apologies, Choso isn’t one bit shy when rocking his hips harder into yours. So bruising with the way he leaves marks on your waist, your tits, probably even your poor cervix. Whispering out mindless little promises of pulling out and nonsense about going “jus’ a bit deeper”.

“F-fuck, wan’ you to cum, baby.” The bed is creaking in protest as Choso picks up the pace so sloppily. Hips stuttering and uneven with how fucking good it felt - but hitting the right spots every time. His hands snaking down to roll your sensitive clit between his fingers again. “Cum f’me. Please?”

And it seems that Choso had a penchant for getting what he wanted. 

Because no sooner do the words leave his rosy lips, you’re seeing stars behind your eyes. Blood roaring in your ears, mixing with Choso’s broken little praises as he fucks you through peak after peak of your high. 

Over and over and-

“Sorry-” your eyes snap open at that familiar little phrase falling from his lips. One that you knew didn’t bode well for you or your poor cunt. “Sorry sorry sorry-” Thrusting, once. Harsh. Twitching so wildly inside you that just one more squeeze and he’d be- “C-can I ngh- cum inside, baby?” 

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - A lil’ show

It only takes that first, broken little moan escaping your swollen lips and you already know you won’t make it out intact - nor will Sukuna’s sanity, apparently. 

Because no sooner has that sinful noise left you, Sukuna’s eyes glaze over, jaw dropping so uncharacteristically into a soft oh! Aching dick twitching wildly inside you, hips stuttering against yours as he breathes out, “What was that?”

He doesn’t have the patience to wait for your response - instead, squeezing his swollen cock deeper, fucking all the air - and the words - out of you. 

Which, unfortunately for you, wasn’t exactly the reaction he was hoping for. 

“Aww, c’mon.” the words are groaned into the crook of your neck, sending jolts of electricity all the way down to your dripping cunt. “Give me more ngh- of those-” Large hands tightening on your hips, shifting you around on where you were sat so prettily on Sukuna’s lap. “-pretty moans, brat.”

So that’s what he wanted.

And this was supposed to be something slow. Something lazy, and languid to get the king of curses off before that droning meeting today with his underlings - to take the edge off so that he probably won’t end up killing them all off.

Something it was not supposed to be was Sukuna spreading your legs so shamefully, splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his cock. Trying to find the angle that’s just right to rip those cute lil’ moans out of you.

“C’monnnn.” he gives short, sloppy little thrusts up into your heavenly cunt. “Where is-”

Then suddenly you’re wrapping your arms tighter around Sukuna’s neck, “Ngh! Oh fuck-” Teeth digging into his muscled shoulder, hard - hard enough that it might’ve drawn blood if this wasn’t the king of curses himself. 

“Found it.” And it’s all that’s said before he’s reaching down to spread your puffy folds further, eyes flicking between your wobbling lips and the way your tight pussy was sucking him up so good. Watching the way his massive cock was disappearing in and out in and out in and- “What? Not gonna hah- scream my name anymore?”

“B-because, Kuna-” you gasp, face burning at the way your thighs tremble with the effort to pathetically to meet his unforgiving pace. “They- they’re close.”

Humming in amusement, “Who?”

“Them!” you’re keening - and both of you know you’re talking about those footsteps outside, the thought of Sukuna’s meeting weighing much more on your mind than his. So you’re limply grazing your lips against his, trying to muffle those whimpers falling from your lips. “They’re g-gonna ngh- hear?”

“So?”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - Sukuna’s response or the way he’s increasing his pace relentlessly. Trying to pull those sweet sweet moans from you, no care or concern for the ever-closing footsteps outside. 

“I don’t care.” he groans, back arching off the sticky seat of his throne to fuck up into your sloppy hole deeper. “You’re ngh- above them, y’know.” Bouncing you like such a slut on his cock, “So what if they h-hear?”

And God you don’t know who’s more fucked-out right now - Sukuna, who was speaking mindless little nonsense into your ear, or you. Whiney and a mess, tugging on his soft locks - a warning.

One that the man himself blatantly ignores, instead having one hand reach down to roll your throbbing clit between his fingers. 

“Hngh- fuck!”

The moan escapes you before you can bite down on Sukuna’s neck, right above his racing pulse to muffle it. 

“Heh,” shivers run down your spine as Sukuna’s chest rumbles with a laugh. Pulling your lolling head away to crash his lips against yours. Panting into your open mouth, “Sneaky. But they’re only getting closer and-” Rocking his hips harder. Bruising. “-m’only getting more impatient.”

And then he’s fucking up into you with reckless abandon. Smirk spreading at that little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time he hits that one spot. 

You’re sure that if whatever unfortunate soul was outside couldn’t hear your delirious moans then they could definitely hear the lewd slap of skin on skin. Fast, so unforgivingly loud. His fingers just a blur on your clit. Just taunting those little moans out of you.

You’re gasping at the sheer stimulation, “Y-you’re so-”

“So what?” Sukuna spits into your mouth, “Don’t start ngh- sentences ya can’t finish, brat. Though-” His sharp eyes flicker towards the door, much more aware than whatever hazy mess was left of your senses. “I don’ think you’ll be able f-finish any of them soon enough.”

Barely even giving you the chance to register his words, you’re tilting your head in confusion up at him and-

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Oh, shit. 

“Come in.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Blue blue blue!

It’s times like this - your blue lingerie almost in tatters, Gojo pushing you into such a tight mating press, filling up your poor pussy over and over - that you wonder when bones will start breaking.

Well, not that your boyfriend would mind either - he wouldn’t mind having to use a bit of reverse cursed technique on what was supposed to be a lazy little cockwarming session. Instead, too focused on how your cunt was sucking him up so good. His cum inside you so warm, the stretch so sinful, your lingerie too blue-

“Heh, what? C-can’t ngh- speak, sweetheart?” Gojo lets out a humorless little laugh. Fingers deftly hooking under your bra strap to give a sharp little snap! “You’re the one that a-asked for this, after ngh- all.”

“B-But, Toru-” you gasp, and it only has Gojo ramming his cock into you deeper. Awe-struck at how you were already so bloated with his cum, but still taking him so well. “Wasn’t on p-purpose-”

“This wasn’t on purpose?” And you know what he’s talking about - that barely-there fabric - the exact shade of his eyes. Only one glance at it had Gojo feeling like something snapped - possibly his restraint, maybe his sanity. Definitely you by the end of this. “This?” 

And you can’t even act coy - you don’t get the chance to. 

Because Gojo’s immediately got his hands everywhere. On your swollen breasts, your hips, the hem of your panties that he just barely had the patience to slide aside before stuffing you full. 

“Y-yes?” you ask, deliciously. Cunt clenching so sinfully around his throbbing cock in- fear? Anticipation? As he looked down so starved at you. 

“F-fuck. Ya shouldn’t have done this.” Gojo’s dragging his lips down your neck, soft. The exact opposite of how bruising his hips were of yours. “Oh, ya shouldn’t have done this-” Lewd curiosity getting the best of him as he dips his hand lower, pressing down just slightly on your lower stomach. “Because now,” Those blue eyes widening at the way his cum gushes down your legs, down his legs. “-m’not gonna let you go until I fuckin’ ruin these.”

And if you were in any better state of mind you could’ve almost laughed - because Gojo was acting like the soaked, flimsy fabric hanging around your body wasn’t already far, far past any salvation. 

No, he was fucking you like he was going to ruin them all over again. Tightening your legs thrown over his shoulders, folding you in half like some ragdoll as he bends down, down, down-

RIP!

You’re gasping at the sharp tear of fabric, one that you barely hear over the fucking obscene squelches from below. “T-Toru-” you squeal, ankles locking in warning. “These ngh- w-were expensive.”

“So?” And for all the world, Gojo has the audacity to sound so genuinely confused. Whispering a soft oh! as he angles his head just right to catch that sinful little tear in your panties. “Whoopsies.”

But, really, what your unregretful boyfriend was actually focusing on was how fucking illegal it should be for you to look this heavenly - legs shaky and limp, his seed forming a lewd little pool. Marked like you were fucking thrown to wolves, but, no, it was actually Gojo Satoru and he couldn’t fucking get enough-

“Five.”

The word comes out abruptly, strangled like Gojo himself was as bewildered as you as he suddenly blurts it out. 

And at your - fucking adorable - look of confusion, he’s kissing away the pout at your lips, murmuring hoarsely, “M’gonna buy you five more of these.”

That’s all that’s said before he’s only rocking his hips harder, feeling more of a fucking monster than he did when he was on the battle field. Wondering whether he’d have to buy a new fucking bed too with the way it was creaking under the pure power. 

And, well, it made some tiny, sadistic little part of Gojo delight to see the effect it had on you. Sweet moans of his name leaving your lips each time he draws rapid circles on your pretty clit. Hips fucking back down to meet his, so sloppy and needy - exactly the way he wanted you. 

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you’re bucking wildly underneath him, “M’close- so fucking close.”

He knew - of course he did. If the way your gummy walls were trying to suck the fucking soul out of him was anything to go by. Clit pulsing in a maddening little thump! thump! thump! that set Gojo’s animalistic rhythm. 

“Cum f’me.” he pants against your open mouth. Fingers hurrying on your clit because he wanted - needed - this so badly. “Cum f’me cum f’me, wan’ feel you squeezing my cock, sweetheart.” Needed to see if your tight pussy could take one more - to see if she’d overflow onto your poor panties again. “Cum f’me.”

“Ngh- fuck- Toru!”

And then you are - you feel it before you realize it. 

Just that white-hot electricity flowing through your veins, and your nails digging into Gojo’s milky skin. Leaving such angry red marks as you chase your high over and over and-

And Gojo wasn’t any better. Just barely having the sense to pull out as his balls squeezed so painfully and he’s painting your quivering pussy white. Thick rope after rope that the smug bastard purposefully smears all over your panties. 

So fucking filthy.

“Ten.” he’s groaning, and you already know what he means. “M’gonna have to buy you ten more after this.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[homunculus-argument]

There's one very convenient way to avoid unnecessary arguments. When you hear someone make a claim that is different from what you think, ask yourself: Are these two statements mutually exclusive? Or is it possible for both of them to be true at the same time, or even be two different ways to word the same statement? Let's try some example statements, some of which are true, some of which are not, to see whether they pass the test:

Socrates was killed for being annoying.

Ireland has historically always been a part of France.

Migratory birds fly south for winter because it makes them happy.

Most cars run on water.

Let's take statement #1: Was Socrates killed for being annoying? No, he was sentenced to death for his blatant rejection and disregard of social norms, his abrasive method of arguing, and because he was seen as a corruptor of youths who learned to copy his conduct and ways of arguing. Now ask yourself: Are these two claims mutually exclusive? Sentencing someone to death can be counted as a way of killing somebody, even if he made the choice to drink the poison on his own. It is even less of a stretch to claim that being deliberately against common customs, arguing with people abrasively, and having teenagers copying your conduct is annoying. Therefore, it can be said that Socrates was killed for being annoying.

Now let's take statement #2: Has Ireland historically always been a part of France? No, Ireland has never been occupied by France, and the two are culturally and linquistically very distinctly separate from each other. These two statements are mutually exclusive, and therefore worth arguing over.

Statement #3: Do migratory birds fly south for winter because it makes them happy to do so? No, migratory birds migrate because they have an instinctive need to do so. Now ask yourself again: Are these two claims mutually exclusive? Is an instinctive need, by definition and principle, a joyless obligation that an animal feels like it must do, as a boring and unpleasant chore? No, an instinct is not by necessity a repulsive task that an animal does not want to do. Therefore, it can be said that migratory birds fly south because it makes them happy to do that.

Statement #4: Do most cars run on water? No, most cars run on some type of oil or diesel. Can cars running on oil or diesel somehow be interpreted as running on water? No. These statements are mutually exclusive, so therefore worth arguing over.

Try this quick rule of thumb the next time you feel like someone said something blatantly incorrect. You might find yourself having far less frustrating arguments that benefit nobody, and perhaps even make some friends.

[buckysleftbicep]

right this time 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: bad date, jerk behaviour from said bad date (not bucky, never bucky, he's a sweetheart)

summary: after a disappointing date, bucky decides to show you what a proper date should be like. based on this request

word count: 2.2k

author's note: i love, love this request, soft!bucky will always be my weakness. love you guys and stay safe out there!

You could already feel the headache blooming behind your eyes by the time he said, “Oh, you don’t mind paying, right?”

He said it like it was nothing. Like asking the time. Like it wasn’t already the second time you had pulled out your wallet tonight.

You stood at the counter, nodding stiffly in your carefully chosen outfit, the one you’d debated over, hoping it struck the right balance of effortless and cute.

Beside you, Dylan barely glanced up from his phone. He rattled off an order without looking at you, or the menu. The most expensive combo on the board, with extra toppings and a drink, then added, “And large curly fries. Thanks, babe.”

You paid. Not because you wanted to. Because the alternative—arguing in front of a line of strangers under fluorescent lights sounded even worse.

The restaurant wasn’t charming. It was loud, crowded, and sticky. One overhead light buzzed and flickered every few seconds, just enough to make your eyes hurt.

Dylan slid into the booth across from you and immediately launched into a monologue, about his job, his bench press max, and the supplements he was “thinking of selling on tiktok.”

He didn’t ask you a single question.

Somewhere between his story about getting banned from a gym “for being too intense” and the fourth time he called himself an “alpha,” he showed you a blurry photo of his car. Then one of his abs.

You tried to smile. Tried to stay polite. Tried to find something redeeming.

But then he started in on his ex—how she was “too emotional,” how he was “so done with drama,” and how he liked girls who were “chill, you know? The low-maintenance kind.”

You stared at your plate, appetite long gone.

Afterward, he dragged you to a movie you didn’t pick, barely noticed you during the previews, and spent the first twenty minutes whispering unsolicited commentary about the actresses.

“Hot, but too skinny,” he said more than once.

When you finally tried to reply, he shushed you. Loudly.

You sat through the rest of it in silence, wondering when exactly the night had started to feel like a mistake. Maybe from the moment he said “you free fri?” without even using your name.

By the time the credits rolled, your shoulders were tight, your patience was gone, and you’d barely spoken a full sentence that wasn’t met with a shrug.

He looked at you then, slightly annoyed, like you were the one who’d ruined the vibe.

And just to really finish it off, when the parking machine spit out the total, he patted his jeans with mock surprise and said, “Crap, still no wallet. Can you…?”

You paid. Again.

He didn’t even say thank you.

You went home quiet, heels clicking against pavement, the weight of disappointment sitting like lead in your chest. You’d planned for butterflies.

Instead, you got a stomachache and a receipt.

You hadn’t planned on telling anyone about the date. Honestly, you just wanted to forget it. Bury it somewhere behind your laundry pile and pretend it never happened.

It felt embarrassing, like you’d walked straight into something you should’ve seen coming. And maybe part of you had. But god, some part of you had hoped, just for once, that someone would surprise you. In a good way. And this date was anything but.

Yelena asked how it went the next morning. Just a casual message. “So? How was it?”

You considered ignoring her. Then sighed and typed a reply. Quick. Blunt. No flourishes.

“Paid for everything. Talked about himself. Rated actresses. Didn’t even say thank you.”

It took her barely ten seconds to respond.

“I’m telling Barnes”

You let out a groan and dropped your phone onto the bed.

Of course she was, he was your best friend after all.

The knock came just after sunset, soft, unhurried and almost unsure.

You weren’t expecting anyone. But the moment you heard it, you somehow already knew.

You opened the door, and there he was, Bucky, standing on your front step in a fitted black tactical tee, sleeves hugging his arms just enough to remind you he never really knew how not to look ready for a mission.

His hair was tucked neatly behind his ears, a few strands falling loose across his forehead, and his expression was all soft concern. He looked comfortable, calm, like someone who knew how to carry the weight of the world but had left it all behind just to check on you.

In one hand, he held a brown paper bag. In the other, your favorite drink, the lid slightly fogged over from the cold.

And when he smiled at you, it was the gentlest thing in the world.

“Hey,” he said gently, offering the smallest smile. “I brought cinnamon rolls.”

You blinked at him, surprised, but didn’t hesitate. You stepped aside to let him in, and he moved carefully, quiet steps, easy presence almost as if he knew you were still holding something fragile in your chest and didn’t want to make it worse.

He placed the bag on your study table, then turned back to you with a softness that made your ribs ache.

“Yelena filled me in,” he said, voice low. “I heard the date didn’t exactly go great.”

You huffed a dry laugh and folded your arms, leaning against the back of your couch. “That’s one way to put it.”

He nodded, not pushing, not prying. Just listening.

“I’m sorry he made you feel like that, doll” Bucky said after a pause. “Like you weren’t worth the effort.”

The words hit somewhere you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge. You looked down at your hands, suddenly too aware of how tightly your fingers were laced together.

“I don’t know why I let it get to me,” you murmured. “It was just one night and some guy.”

“It’s not about one night,” he said, quietly but firmly. “It’s the way he treated you. You deserve someone who shows up. Who sees you, someone who tries.

You looked up. And he was already looking at you.

Steady, present and kind.

There was a silence that stretched between the both of you, comfortable, not tense. Like neither of you needed to fill it with anything unnecessary.

Then he cleared his throat, nervousness flickering in his expression.

“I, uh… I was thinking,” he said slowly, “maybe I could take you out sometime.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean, only if you want to. No pressure. I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost sheepish. “I’d like to show you what it’s actually supposed to feel like. A date, I mean.”

Your heart gave a small, startled flutter. Not because he asked, but because it felt different this time—genuine. No pressure, no performance. Just quiet sincerity.

He meant it. That was the difference.

You exhaled, the tension leaving your shoulders like a slow breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.

“You don’t have to fix anything, Buck.”

He met your eyes again, unwavering. “I’m not trying to. I just want to be around you. That’s all.”

And somehow, that felt like everything.

You smiled, soft but real. “Okay.”

His whole face lit up, barely, but enough. Like the sun peeking out after a long stretch of grey.

The next evening, Bucky picked you up right at six.

He rolled up on his motorbike—sleek, black, and already rumbling softly beneath him. He swung off and pulled off his helmet, that familiar smile tugging at his lips.

“You said you liked the wind in your hair,” he said, handing you a second helmet. “Figured we’d start the night right.”

You took it with a grin, nerves and excitement tangling in your stomach.

He stepped closer, reached out gently, and began adjusting the straps under your chin—careful, precise, but somehow impossibly tender. His fingers brushed just beneath your jaw, and when he looked up to check the fit, he was close—close enough to smell the hint of his cologne, warm and clean, like cedarwood and something familiar you couldn’t name.

“Too tight?” he murmured.

You shook your head, voice lost somewhere in your throat. “It’s perfect.”

He helped you swing onto the bike, his hand on yours steadying you as you climbed on behind him. And when you settled, you hesitated for only a second before wrapping your arms around his waist.

His body was solid beneath you, warm even through the cotton of his black tactical tee. You felt him breathe once, deeply, before his hand found yours and gave it a soft squeeze.

“Hold on tight,” he said over his shoulder, and the words felt less like a warning and more like an invitation.

He pulled away from the curb, and you tucked your face into the space between his shoulder blades, the wind rushing past your legs as the bike hummed beneath you. The world blurred in gold and shadow, and all you could do was hold on and try not to smile too hard against his back.

You weren’t sure where he was taking you.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t mind not knowing.

You expected maybe a quiet restaurant. Maybe a movie that didn’t make you want to gnaw through your seat or chew grass. Something safe, predictable.

But what you got instead was entirely different.

He drove you out of the city, down winding backroads lined with trees still clinging to the last golden scraps of autumn. The air was crisp, soft-edged, full of that late-day hush the world sometimes offers just before the light disappears.

After a while, he pulled into a gravel turnout near a small, wooded park. You glanced at him, confused, but he just smiled and turned off the ignition.

“Trust me,” he said.

You followed him up a narrow trail, the path crunching beneath your shoes. Leaves stirred beneath your steps, and ahead, tucked just out of sight from the road, was a clearing bathed in the last touches of daylight.

Tiny string lights had been hung from low branches, their warm glow flickering gently in the growing dusk.

You blinked, unsure what to say.

He unclipped a bundle from the rear of his bike, and pulled out a folded picnic blanket, a small cooler, and a speaker tucked under one arm. Everything looked like it had been thought through, not fancy, not showy, but thoughtful.

“I figured you probably had enough of restaurants for a while,” he said, his voice light with something just shy of nervous. “Hope you’re okay with something quieter.”

Your chest warmed instantly. “This is… really nice,” you said softly, eyes meeting his. “Thank you, Bucky.”

His smile deepened, and you caught the faintest hint of colour rising in his cheeks.

He laid everything out in the center of the clearing, the softest blanket, a pair of cushions, sandwiches he had made himself (cut diagonally, because you once had a debate with Walker about how sandwiches tasted better when they were cut that way), a thermos full of warm coffee and a little container of shortbread cookies, the same kind you always looked at when you went to the market together, but never bought.

You sat beneath the lights, the world soft and golden around you, the rustle of wind through the trees the only thing breaking the silence.

Bucky was thoughtful in ways that didn’t need to be loud, quietly showing up with the kind of care that made your heart ache in the best way.

He didn’t try to impress you. He didn’t talk over you. He didn’t steer the conversation toward himself. He asked you about your week. Your favourite childhood memory. What you’d been reading lately. What song had been stuck in your head.

And he listened, oh, he really listened

He remembered things you didn’t even realise you had said. Little things. Quiet things that you had mentioned in passing. He wove them back into conversation gently, like handing you small gifts wrapped in ease and attention.

When you had asked about his life in the ’40s, he didn’t hesitate, just smiled, a little nostalgic, and told you stories like they were memories he had kept safe just for this moment.

You laughed more than you had in weeks. Not polite laughter, real laughter. The kind that filled your chest and made you forget about the rest of the world for a little while.

When the food was gone and the sky had faded into that soft in-between of night and not-quite-night, Bucky pulled out the speaker and played a playlist with songs you had mentioned liking—cozy, easy songs.

Then, without a word, he held out his hand to you.

“Dance with me?” he asked, voice so quiet it could have disappeared into the trees.

And you took it.

Because there was no reason not to.

You danced under the lights, slow and unhurried, the breeze tugging gently at your sleeves. His hand rested warm and steady on your back. Yours fit perfectly in his, like it had always known its place there.

At some point, your head found his shoulder. His cheek came to rest lightly against your hair, and he held you just a little closer.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t need to.

Because this, this felt like something good. Something simple, something true.

It felt like safety. Like quiet, like someone had finally shown up just to be there with you.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe this wasn’t just a nice night.

Maybe it was the beginning of something that finally felt right.

a/n: and to anyone who has been on a bad date, i hope this helped!

[kitimeq]

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖˙⟡ first time’s a charm 🤍 xavier 星回 ⋆⟡࿐

࣪˖˙⟡ pairing: xavier x reader.

࣪˖˙⟡ summary: your first time with xavier proved to be much better than you expected considering his inexperience—who knew that he was in fact doomed since the moment you both started?

࣪˖˙⟡ word count: 2k

࣪˖˙⟡tags: 18+, mdni!, first times, jumping right into action, something short inspired by juyo’s art (@/juyonu on tt, @stardustdusting on here!), desperate xavier, blood but no gore!, soft and kind of wholesome at the end? u know me already, teasing, whipped xavier, shits and giggles, dorks in love, love confessions.

inspired by the art on cover by @/juyonu on twitter, @stardustdusting on tumblr!! please follow her there, she’s one of my fav artists ever ♡

ִ𓂃 ࣪˖˙⟡⋆⟡࿐

Soft huffs and quiet moans were all that you could hear, his head nestled in the crook of your neck as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to every patch of skin he could reach. The clock beside his bed displayed a time far too late for him to still be awake, and yet, the night was far from over, the passion with which he handled you showed no signs of burning out.

Your one hand stroked his hair, gently brushing through the silver strands and sliding your fingers over his red, sensitive ears; the other nestled in his tight grasp, fingers intertwined. Your head turned to him and you pressed a kiss to the side of his head, your eyes closing to savor the feeling of him deep inside you for the first time ever.

One of you trembled, but you weren’t sure who; your bodies pressed so closely they became one, your heartbeats beating to the same rhythm. He whimpered above you, a sound so scarce and unique you wanted to hear it again at once—thus you wrapped your legs around him, pressing him closer, closer, deeper inside you and you stifled your moan just to be able to hear his breath hitching in his throat.

“Are you feeling alright, Xavi?” You asked quietly while he was thrusting inside you gently, unhurriedly, his movements deep, inexperience made up for by his enthusiasm and wandering hands, which seemed to be adamant on touching every part of your sensitive body. He moaned in response, his hips quickening their pace, a surprised gasp of pleasure leaving your mouth at the sudden change.

“M-Mhm—Yeah—S-So good—” His head tilted slightly, his face turned downward to watch how he was disappearing inside you, his mouth opened in awe. “I feel like I’m… melting—” He grabbed your chin with his free, shaky hand, and he kissed you, his tongue slipping inside your mouth eagerly, cutting off everything you wanted to say. Every praise you wanted to utter, knowing that it was his first time and he was already making you feel this good.

As if you were made for each other; two stars, drifting in the vast universe, fortunate enough to cross paths. Each thrust perfect, because it brought you two closer. Each touch welcome, because it was always meant only for you.

“Xavier—!” You suddenly felt both of his hands touching and squeezing at your breasts, and he finally let you breathe, his mouth clasping around one of your nipples instead. He licked and sucked like a man starved, his hips loosing their rhythm, rutting into you clumsily, chasing the pleasure. He was desperate to make you feel just as much as he was feeling, painfully aware that you were handling this a lot better than he was.

His brain turned into mush quite a while ago, while you were still so excruciatingly there, capable of forming coherent sentences, meaningful words. He pitied you, he cursed himself, he wanted you ruined—matching the state he was in, because it was the most blissful he ever felt in his whole life.

He needed to get you there with him, this single focus on your pleasure the only clear thought swirling around in his mind.

“Let me touch you some more, please…” He moaned quietly, his hips snapping harder with every second, “You’re so soft… So, so sweet… I had no idea it would feel this good, I’m—I’m not sure I can live without you, without feeling like this anymore…”

The wet sounds were getting louder, his pre-cum mixing with your increasing arousal, his hands kneading through your breasts gently, his lips not leaving your skin, kissing and sucking, leaving delicate marks wherever they traveled. “You—Hah—You’re getting tighter… I’m sorry, I—I think I need to—” A moan escaped his lips and you grabbed his face with your hands, looking straight into his bright, half-lidded eyes, clouded with desperation. He brightened visibly, mouth opened in a whine, lips pressing a quick, wet peck to yours. One. Two. Three pecks, quick, almost matching the pace of his hips, his moans pressed between your lips.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re doing so good. So, so, so good, Xay.”

“Yeah? Am I—Mmh—Am I making you feel good, too?” His face nuzzled into your palm, his lips left another one of his small kisses inside it. His hot breath grazed at your wrist, making goosebumps spread all over your body. He whimpered and sped up the pace of his thrusts again, making you see literal stars with how far he was reaching inside you. The droplets of his sweat dripped onto the skin of your stomach and breasts, making you gasp in response—their coolness meeting the warmth of your body, adding to the sensations and overwhelming you in the best of ways.

“Ah—Ah—Of—Of course, bunny. I—I’ve never felt better…” The truth slipped from your tongue and he grunted, a soft smile brightening his features, the force of his thrusts increasing, as if he wanted to prove that he could do so much better, if only you continue to let him.

You will. Always and forever.

“That so? I—I want you to melt too—” He breathed out, his chest and abs tensing with the force of his thrusts as well as the strength it took him not to cum on the spot. He wanted to savor that moment for a while longer, to look at you sprawled under him so entrancingly, your body taking him in fully, your beautiful face flushed and glowing, twisted in pleasure that he was finally able to give you. “You’re so—so, so pretty. My pretty baby. My beautiful little star, you’re gonna make me—” Xavier sinked his teeth into his bottom lip, slowing down his thrusts, a silent prayer slipping from his lips to stretch that moment of absolute bliss, to restrain himself from cumming for a while longer.

“I’m so close, Xavier… Xavier…Mmph—” Your voice was cut off by his lips on yours, your whines and cries swallowed by his mouth, his name spoken so sweetly was making his mind hazy and body trembling dangerously. He let go of your pout with a loud pop, a string of saliva connecting you both, his lips swollen and shiny.

You looked angelic, and he finally accepted that he will not last much longer, your voice ringing sweetly in his ears, your frame filling his entire field of vision. He was so obsessed with you it scared him.

“Can I—Ah—come inside you? Please? Please, can I? I will do anything, I will—”

Drip.

Another cold droplet of sweat landed between your breasts, his head hung low, right above you.

Drip.

This one slightly warmer, his big hands touching your cheeks, his pace quickening when you whispered a string of ”yes, yes, yes” only for him to hear. He moaned and shook his head, his body glistening with sweat, your own shaking with the incoming peak.

Drip. Drip.

Drip.

The droplets now warm, landing onto your skin and sticking to your moving body, the sensation making your brows furrow. While he was still thrusting inside you with vigor, you grabbed his face and raised it with shaking hands; what was previously a moan turned into a gasp the moment your eyes met with his face.

Because the droplets were no longer just sweat.

Blood. There was blood coming out of his nose, staining his lips now, his tongue peeking out to taste it, the metallic taste familiar on his tongue.

“Xavier, you’re—AH—Mmm! You’re bleeding—!” The blood now flowed to his chin, landing on his chest as he raised his head. He huffed out a laugh and hastily wiped it away with the side of his arm, smearing it under his nose but never stopping his hips from moving inside you.

“I—Hah—I always knew you’ll be the death of me, starlight.” His tone was soft, teasing. And the last thing you saw was his angelic face, flushed bright pink, hazy mirth in his eyes, and a smile plastered on his face—and you reached your peak, sharp moan cutting through the bedroom, your spine raising upwards with the intensity of your orgasm. He caught you instantly, his strong arms circling around you, face burying into your chest, and pink, plush lips opening in a broken moan the moment he came inside you, so intensely he started to shake.

And when your body finally went pliant in his arms, your heavy breaths and soft sighs filling the air, you felt his lips spread into a smile against your warm skin. He turned his head up to look at you again, one eye opening slowly, his chest raising and falling rapidly, his heart thrumming against yours—his deep blues caught staring at your face with so much love and devotion you wanted to burst right then and there.

And there it was again—a soft laugh escaped his lips, the blood still staining his upper lip, nose and chin. Small droplets of it were now smeared on your body, too.

“Mmm, M’ sorry. M’ sorry, star, you just felt and looked so wonderful I couldn’t help but spill all I had—” You burst out laughing, cutting off his joke, your hand playfully pushing at his shoulder. He immediately joined you in this moment of happiness, his soft giggles mixing with yours.

Then, he caught your hand in his and brought it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. A satisfied sigh left your lips as your body was now pressed between him and the soft, velvety covers. He brought his face to yours and grazed your nose with his, a gentle smile still adorning his face. He was glowing—a mesmerizing flocks of light filled the whole room, casting you both in a warm, cosy light—an image of his everlasting passion and affection, a love letter to the way you made him feel.

“How are you feeling, my love?” He whispered softly against your lips, and you pecked his mouth, another giggle escaping you. He shifted inside you, making you hiss quietly, your body still tender, your senses heightened.

“Hmm, perfect.” You answered, and he nuzzled your cheek, the tips of his ears still red. He was probably smearing his blood all over your face at this point, but you didn’t find it in yourself to get mad at him, not when its appearance was the sign of his pleasure. “You were perfect, Xavier.”

“And so were you. Perfect. God, so perfect I—” He raised his head again and pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closing for a moment, basking in the afterglow. His hands were holding your cheeks now, his thumbs stroking the warm skin delicately, and you grabbed his forearms, returning the gesture. “I love you, my star. I love you so much. And I’m never going to let you go. Ever.” The last word a gentle whisper against your temple, followed by a lingering kiss. “I hope you’re okay with that.”

You blinked down your happy tears, refusing to let them fall, and your mouth opened to respond to his confession. But before you could bare your heart before him, he continued to speak in that soft, enticing tone of his.

“And I’m sorry for bleeding on you. You were just squeezing me so hard I nearly went out like a light—”

“You’re such a dork!”

Another hit on his arm, this time harder— meant not to hurt, but an answer to his endless teasing. His bubbly laugh quickly mingled with yours, and a comforting moonlight slipped through the curtains, embracing your restless figures in its gentle glow.

This marked the end of your first night together, along with the beginning of your shared future, laced with the feelings of comfort and never-ending joy. Countless years spent in each other’s embrace, countless nights of hushed whispers and soft laughs. Some days easier, drifting by leisurely; others harder, ending in tears and uncertainty.

But every single day special, because you were by his side now. Every single one extraordinary and important, filled with new experiences, new places, new opportunities.

And while he held your body close that night, his ear pressed to your chest, basking in the enchanting melody of your beating heart, Xavier thought dreamily that he couldn’t wait to experience them all—as long as you were beside him.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖˙⟡⋆⟡࿐

hi!! i hope you liked it, even if i wrote that one really quickly. i got suddenly inspired and wanted to write it in one go!!

it surprised me that it’s my 2nd published xavier work, especially when i feel that i write for him so much!! i have abundance of his fics sitting in my drafts—my toxic perfectionism, lack of time and love for long one shots are my greatest enemies in this case. but i hope to publish some more things with him in the future!! i still have my xav bunny mini series and lumiere 2part!! im really proud of them so i will post them for sure! <33

thank u for reading what i wrote, i hope that you liked it even a lil bit and that you’ll let me know if u do <3 i appreciate every single like, reblog and comment and i treasure every single one of u. thank u for being here with me <3

[satorena]

#BUILD-A-BLOB !?

bad ☆ summary. good news? your nephew’s birthday gift to you definitely works. bad news? turns out to be a cranky four armed creature that nags at everything you do. good / bad news? he’s smokin’ hot and you wanna fuck him nasty. seriously, what the fuck.

cw. explicit content. foul language. monsterfūcking. blobkuna to true form!kuna. double penetration. anāl. deepthroăting. cunningūlus. pūssy slapping. bāckshots. belly bulge. creāmpie. degradation (he calls you mean things) overstimulation. dumbification. mentions of drug usage. sukuna speaks like he has a stick up his ass. pōrn without plot. 4.4k words.

rena’s ☆ note. guys i’m giggling so hard at the gif HELP

“the fuck are ya starin’ at?”

technically speaking, you think you’re looking at a seven foot monster with more arms than you can count, more mouths than necessary and much more tattoos than you can see. just a minute ago, this entity had been an ugly formless blob with a singular eye and bucked teeth that sat against your window, forming incoherent sentences as “me want water”, “me need light” or your personal favorite, “me want you to fuck off”.

you’d left to check on your plants momentarily, coming back to your living space to find that the blob had transformed into a . . . human? something along the word that you use very loosely.

he stands tall and proud and very naked— though unimpressed, toned arms crossed and ass cheeks facing the world outside. you can see the reflection of his clenched buns through the glass and— is that a fucking tramp stamp?

“i’m thinking. . . what used to be my birthday gift,” you answer slowly, brows pinched in confusion as your head tilts. it’s below you, sure, but you can’t help staring at what’s below him. surely it’s the weed catching up to you because there’s no way that, “is that— holy shit, is that two dicks?”

“perverted woman,” the man (question mark) clicks his tongue, as if he isn’t the one dressed in his birthday suit, asshole bearing for pedestrians outside to file public indecency on you. “your reaction suggests you’ve never witnessed the presence of two at once.”

“well. . . no,” he stares at you as if you’re the one with four arms and abnormally long legs. you crouch down, index finger scratching at the corner of your mouth to analyze it some more. you were curious, nothing more! you feel the multitude of his eyes trailing your movements, daring you to proceed forward. he truly doesn’t know you.

they stack atop one another, though both sizes are nothing to scoff at. packing in both girth and length, they stand tall and semi hardened, with curves to the right. he’s got prominent veins running all over his skin, mushroom tips an angry shade of reddish brown. frowning, you peek your head lower to confirm following suspicions,

his tone is rough along the edges, “i do not possess four testicles.” damn it.

“boo, you suck,” you sigh, indeed disappointed by the confirmation. you’d think a monster with monstrous limbs and monstrous cocks would own monstrous balls. “whatever.” you stand back up on your feet, though you’re met with hard ripples of glistening abs.

“so like,” you pause, now shamelessly staring at his torso with shimmering eyes. he’s ripped with an eight pack, waist snatched like a motherfucker and skin inked like a colouring book. “what do i call you?”

you think you hear him chuckle, “how foolish,” a mouth then appears on his stomach, to which you jerk back from how sudden it was. your brows jump to your hairline, eyes widening as teeth bare at you menacingly. “it is common decency to introduce yourself firsthand. have you no manners in the presence of a king?”

“a who?” you squawk, overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation. this four-armed freak was a king? from where exactly? you shake your head, as if to turn off your inner monologues and quiet the voices down, “right, right. erm, you can call me y/n.”

he repeats your name slowly, followed by a deep chuckle. the rumble of your name against his voice sends a weird tingle down your gut, as you crane your neck upwards to finally look him in the face.

you gulp. damn it, he was attractive all around. though morally questionable, you found his features dashing. sure, there was the weird thing stuck in the side of his face that resembled a mixture of flesh and wood. and yeah, he had an additional set of slender eyes. however, his facial harmony somehow blended perfectly. his facial structure was sharp all around, from his nose bridge to his jawline, and his ears with pierced.

what more could anybody want?

blame it on the sativa or the fact you hadn’t been fucked in a while, but it was your birthday and you want your birthday gift, damn it. there shouldn’t be anything wrong with that— the pulsing at your core had your thighs rubbing together subtly (you hoped) (he smirked when he noticed your legs shifting) (fuck, he already knows).

“you will address me as sukuna, mortal.” he says instead, one of his arms mounting to grasp at a piece of your hair. he’s beefy, big biceps surrounding your peripherals as they flex hard. he twirls your hair between his fingers, and shit, you’re gonna need his nail technician’s reference.

“you talk like you have a stick up your ass,” your voice sounds distant, as distracted as you are, perverted eyes trailing to follow the bulging of his muscles. even his forearm is sexy, a large vein running course beneath his skin amongst others. “you ask for my name and choose to call me mortal? corny.”

“i am not a product of this time,” he riddles, tugging at the strand in his hold. the searing pain of his tug at your hair has you moaning— in agony or pleasure, who truly knows— and before you know it, he spreads the rest of his large fingers at your scalp, “you say i speak as if i have a stick up my ass,” shivers run down your spine when his fingernails scratch at your head, “but really it is you who wants my stick up yours, huh?”

you blink. how the fuck did he know? “th-that’s not even remotely true—”

“do not lie,” another arm lifts to cup at your face. his index rests beneath your jaw as his thumb sits at your chin. you feel the sharp edges of his nails grazing at your skin, “your scent is rather . . . pungent.”

you feel heat quickly spread to your cheeks and your panties effortlessly dampening. he smirks, dipping his thumb into your parted mouth, before scrunching his nose into a whiff, “ah, there it is again.”

the pad of his thumb swipes against your bottom lip, skin collecting your saliva before rubbing the fluid all over your mouth. you feel the tip of his nail poking into the flesh, and your brows furrow, “and you called me the perverted one.”

“that remains true.” another— jeez, how many more— arm snakes at your waist. it creeps below your shirt and sits at your bare skin, a touch so warm it sends jolts of electricity across your limbs. his hand rests at your lower belly, and when a wet tongue drags itself across your sensitive skin, you clamp your lips down around his thumb in a whimper, “you’re an obedient one. i think i’ll have fun with you.”

your brows furrow as your cunt clenches. his smirk deepens and, fuck you really need to stop doing that, “have fun with me?”

“it has been a while since i’ve fooled around with a mortal,” he hums, slipping his thumb out of your mouth. there’s a thin string of saliva connecting from your lips to his fingertip, and you hate how you already crave the salty flesh back in your mouth. “let us see just how weak the human body truly is.”

somewhere along the lines, you find yourself on your knees in your living room, carpet digging into your kneecaps as your fingers interlock at your back. your jaw aches, to the point of snapping as two fat cocks shove themselves down your throat. you breathe through your nostrils as your mouth is clearly occupied, fat tears dotting at your lash line and dribbles of saliva slipping past your lips and down his cocks.

two of his hands grasp at your head as leverage, hips thrusting up and down your throat. the gags that escape you are pornographic, throat muscles clenching around the intrusion. fuck, the strong musk of his pubic hairs cloud your senses and overwhelm your mind— driving you dizzy in arousal.

“loosen up yer throat,” sukuna commands, though you find it contradictory as another one of his abnormally large hands wrap themselves around your throat. he presses just lightly, as if to trace over the bulge of his dicks inside of you, but the lack of oxygen has your body liquifying in heat. you think you see stars, and your pupils start to dilate. “c’mon mortal, don’t pass out on me now— we’ve only just begun.”

easy for you to say, you roll your eyes, though complying to his orders. shit, it’s really hard to breathe but you can’t deny you love how objectifying all of this feels. bounding your own hands back, kneeled in front of this king, hair grouped up in one hand to tug onto. he was using you as if you were merely a toy for his own pleasure, mushroom tips repeatedly abusing the walls of your throat.

your cunt clenches around air, gushing more of your essence against the flimsy material of your panties. his stomach clenches tightly, as do his thigh muscles, the embodiment of man in front of you, destroying your throat.

fuck, your clit throbs.

the king coos at you degradingly, ruby eyes narrowing down at your figure, “awnn, ‘s it too much for ya?” you feel a wad of spit land on your cheek, and despite the nastiness of the actions, the filthiness has you clenching your thighs together. of course he finds pleasure in your desperation, leaning back further into the couch to cock his head at you, “humpin’ on yerself like a desperate slut beggin’ for a proper dicking. how pathetic,”

you nod your head eagerly, as your mouth fails to express just how badly you do want him. he’s so deep down your throat, you swear you feel him near your heart. the sting at your scalp plus the lack of oxygen and your need to have him stuff you full drives you wild with want— so desperate that tears leak through your eyes, stream down your cheeks and land right at his dicks.

“mhm, i’ll take care of ya,” sukuna cuts himself off with a deep groan, sliding further down into his seat. he shifts his hips deeper down your throat, and you gag terribly loud, “you hungry, mortal? open wide and, fuck, take what i give ya—” another grunt leaves him, and as does thick ropes of cum do.

your eyes widen as you’re greeted with hot cum shooting down your throat. it’s creamy, thick and so, so much of it that you’re certain swallowing it all would be impossible. your cheeks hollow as you attempt in your best efforts to gulp him down, the flavour of salty semen bursting at your taste buds.

“greedy bitch,” he chuckles through a moan, grinding his hips in rotations as he rides down the high. sweat dribbles down the crevices of his abs, stomach clenching hard as he empties his balls in you. “thaaat’s it—shit, not fuckin’ bad.”

when he finally pulls out, you gasp loudly for the sweet air you had been deprived of. your body trembles as you release your own hold, hands flying up to grasp at his thick thighs. your fingernails scrape at his skin as your chest heaves.

“y’re so,” you pant, and you can barely register how broken your voice sounds. did his cocks destroy your vocal chords already? “y’re so fuckin’. . . mean.”

“too much?” sukuna cackles, though he’s nowhere near sounding apologetic. his fingers cupping your face swipe at fallen tears on your cheeks. at the feel of a wet tongue licking at your damp skin, you pout in retaliation, brows furrowed and swollen lips puckered, “better get it together, ‘m gonna stretch that pussy out.”

damn it— he had such a way with words. you subconsciously lean your cheek further into his touch, and the grin he gives you is barbaric, “face down, ass up.”

so yeah, you find yourself with your cheek pressed into the softness of your couch, hips pulled up and thighs spread as sukuna feasts. the panties you once wore stuffed in your mouth, they muffle the wanton sounds that rip out your abused throat.

you feel his tongue lap at your folds hungrily, fingers spreading your pussy lips apart for better access. he tongue fucks into your hole, lips sucking and nibbling at your clit with precision. wet heat intrudes your insides and have your stomach tightening.

fingernails scratching at the couch, your back arches as you grasp at anything for support. having multiple mouths should be illegal— you feel tongues trailing all over your thighs and the dip in your back, you feel them rimming at your backside. you even think you feel one diving into your ass.

“mmph, m‘kunaaa!” you wail, toes curling as you push your hips further into his face. you’d never been eaten out as good as he is, nose deep in your cunt as your insides get devoured. you’re so overwhelmed— your puffy clit secreting essence as a slick tongue flicks at the bean.

a hand slaps once, twice at your ass as another pair of hands grip at your plush flesh. “shut th’fuck up,” he speaks into you, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers up your spine. you roll your eyes to the back of your skull, foot shaking uncontrollably. when the hands cupping at your breast begin tugging at your nipples, tongues flicking the stiff bud, you feel your dam erupt.

“mmfuuuuckkk!” you whine, as your cunt gushes in his face. he never lets up, tongue repeatedly scissoring your hole as he swallows your juices. you’re squirting so much it drips all over his face and down the suede couch, down your thighs. you think your soul had been taken by this damn near succubus with how long it takes for you to come back to your senses.

he pulls back with a nasty smack from his lips to your lower ones, using the back of his hand to wipe at any excess fluids, “sweet cunt,” he praises you, and you weakly whine, body drained of energy as you fall limp into the soaked couch. you’re out of it, bottom lip quivering as your limbs tingle in bliss— you feel your lids growing heavier by the second but sukuna is having none of that, “aht aht— where the fuck d’you think yer goin’?”

you feel pair of hands pull your hips back up and another grab a handful of your hair in a steady hold. you’re immediately pulled up on all fours, and you whimper at the firm blows he lands yet again on your ass.

he lifts himself on his knees, and you feel his hardnesses rub against the curve of your booty, “told you i was gon’ stretch this pussy out— ‘m a man of my fuckin’ word.” and shit, you think you push your ass back against his leaking cocks, dragging the beady fluids all over the softness of your skin.

your back arches sinfully as you spit out the soaked panties from your mouth and onto the floor. the slide of his dicks in between your thighs has your stomach heating in lust, the drags of his tips at your clit reenergizing you faster than you’d like to admit.

“mmhm, that’s it,” he grumbles into the supple skin at your neck, grazing his fangs teasingly at the flesh and his warm breath further dampening your skin. the large hands that cupped at your waist now lean you forwards against the arm of the couch, and you suddenly feel a lot of blood rushing to your brain. your arms feel weak as they support your body weight, your back arches like a cat and legs stretched out—

holy shit, are you hanging off the fucking couch?

“give up and you fall face first onto the damn floor,” the king cackles, as if the funniest joke in the world, as if your cunt wasn’t gushing your essence— begging to be filled and tore apart. your eyes widen comically as your knees buckle just slightly at the feel of his cock rubbing at your clenching hole, “try and keep up, mortal.”

sukuna grips at the base of his first dick, aligning it to your entrance. you hear him hiss as he collects your cum around the circumference of his tip, fingernails digging deep into your waist. fuck, that hurts so good. any further deeper and you’re certain he’d draw blood.

now, you were definitely no athlete the way he took his sweet time teasing you both. you had barely finished coming down from your previous orgasm, and with the excessive blood seeping into your brain, you felt yourself dizzying quicker than you’d anticipated, “kunaaa— hurry, i can’t hold out any longer— ngh fuuuck!”

your nails claw at the wooden floor when you felt him finally bottom out. holy fuck— how many inches was he packing? you could physically feel your pussy stretching out to his size, to accommodate to the intrusion of his ruthless cock into your tight hole. the sudden penetration hurt in a way that had your clit tingling, walls clamping down as if to seize him from moving any further.

“mortal,” he groans deeply, and there goes another spank at your ass. naturally, you clamp down harder. “quit— fuck, squeezin’ so tight. how the fuck am i s’posed to dick you down when you’re grippin’ me like a damn vice?”

“‘s too much!” you argue, though your hips roll around as if to adjust to his unreasonable size. you feel more tears flooding your eyes, and your core aches for a mean pounding. “just. . . gimme a minute,”

“a minute?” he repeats, though his tone is far from understanding. there’s a hint of mischievous dripping from words, and shit, he’s already pulling out. your cunt negates your words, desperately latching onto his length as if to reprimand him from exiting any more. he notices your contradiction, “doesn’t seem like yer pussy needs a minute. gotta tell you baby, i don’t like liars.”

your toes curl as he fucks himself back into you. the moan that rips from your throat is far beneath your ability to stop, and you squeeze your eyes shut. he repeatedly pounds into your cunt, the more the strokes, the deeper it goes. he may as well create an indent in your guts with how intense his thrusts are.

“hnng, ohmyfuckkk,” your back only arches further, the delicious burn of his dick stretching your velvet walls driving your mind delirious. his pace is insane— with every meet of his hips at your ass, you jerk forward, tits jiggling in the process. you feel hands spreading your cheeks for better access, alongside a wad of spit land at your cunt, sealed by a nice slap on your reddened ass.

he’s crushing your cervix. it hurts but you don’t want him to stop. it’s all too overwhelming— the repetitive slaps of his heavy balls at your sensitive clit, the way he digs himself deep into you, rolling his hips to reach all sensitive spots inside your spongy self. god, you can hear how sinful the point of contact between both your bodies as it echoes in the living room.

“creamy fuckin’ pussy,” sukuna grunts, tone so low you assumed he was more so speaking to himself. your wetness had submerged into a thick essence of cream around the base of his shaft, further easing the ruthless slides of his dick into your cunt. you don’t ignore how his second cock twitches against your asshole. “you tryna snatch my damn soul? tsk, greedy slut.”

your arms are giving out. your thighs burn and furthermore— your cunt aches, badly. he’s giving and giving, pounding so mercilessly into your pussy it was as if he were mad at you. you’d never been fucked so profoundly, his tip bullying into you so meanly with the additional mix of blood rushing into your head— fuck, you need a break.

still, sukuna seems two steps ahead of you, slithering an extra arm to your nape and gripping at your hair. two other hands drag your hips backwards in place, simultaneously pushing himself back where he’d once been— snug in the comfort of your warm pussy. “nah, nah, don’t you fuckin’ run away. fuckin’ take what i give you—” he holds you by the hips and lifts you up and down on his cock. you feel your feet leave the couch as a majority of the weight you held onto your palms were lifted. “this is what you wanted. mhm, be a good bitch and own up to your consequences.”

you’re babbling, the idea of you being a toy again for his use, the new angle of his cock protruding inside has drool dribbling down your chin and your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. “too d-deep, feel you in my— nghhh, h-heart.”

“‘s that so?” he chuckles heartily, and your mind is too numb to register the weird sting that grows at your forbidden zone. you’re too fucked out to notice what he has in store for you, “let’s double that shit. pierce right through yer mortal heart and mark it my territory.”

a sharp wail erupts, as you’re now filled to the brim with two girthy cocks. it’s an uncomfortable stretch in an area you were far from accustomed to, but in your current position, you’re nowhere near able to stop him. you’re not too sure you want him too— his cocks rubbing against the thin linen that separates your cunt to your ass.

holy fuck, your brain is turning into mush. he’s fucking into you like a madman— both your holes abused by the same pair of hips diving deep into your insides. your limbs feel numb, despite now being lifted into the air. he’s fucking manhandling you, hands holding all regions of your body still as he grinds his cocks in. what an out of body experience— head and tits jerking to the rhythm his hips set.

your guts are on fire, and you recognize this feeling all too well. the same one that has your eyes crossing to the centre of your face and your wet tongue lolling out of your mouth. your breaths are cut short, your tummy bulging into the shape of the king that’s taken control of your entire being.

holy shit.

“atta girl,” sukuna whistles when you spray him unexpectedly. your muscles clench as does your cunt and ass around his dicks, body trembling from an outwardly orgasm racking over you. sukuna never lets up, your crying only spurring him on more, “oh yeahhh, now that’s an ugly face. hah! turns me on.”

you’re snivelling, and you think you feel snot dripping down your nose. through the window where this creature was once an ugly form on nothingness, you watch your reflection. my goodness— how is he not stopping? you feel like you’re gonna die, your soul getting snatched from various regions, the repetitive strokes of his dicks at your most sensitive areas. holy shit, you’re gonna die.

“c’mon, entertain me some more,” he accentuates each word with powerful thrusts, and in return, receives splutters of more juices. you’re leaking like a damn faucet, dripping down your thighs and soaking your soiled couch. your fluids leak down to meet his pair of balls, now lubricated as they slap more intensely at your abused clit.

you’re left wordless. seriously, arms as limp as noodles as they hang to your side, head lolled forward. your mind feels so empty yet so full, the familiar pain of overstimulation now taking over your body. your muscles spasm violently around him, uncontrollably as sukuna takes and takes more of you.

“thankyouthankyouthankyou,” although not entirely sure what you’re thanking him for, the words slip past your kiss-bitten lips and into the thick air. you feel him press his own mouth at the column of your sweaty back, and your chants continue, “thankyouthankyou—”

“what an obedient lil thing,” sukuna coos, and you feel an extra tongue flick greedily at your tight bundle of nerve. your body begins to seize, stomach caving deeply in as you succumb to the pressure, “who’s my good bitch, hmm?”

“m-me.” you answer so weakly that it unsatisfies him. the tongue torturing your clit now bites down onto the bud and you cry out loudly. shit, you’re squirting again.

“i said,” he repeats himself with more finality. the wet squelching sounds of his cocks bullying at your holes overpower his own voice, and you can’t stop the shaking of your body. and with every pause, his cocks slam further and further in, “who’s. my. good. bitch.”

“meeee!” you hic, drool be damned as it seeps past parted mouth and down your throat. god, this was so above you and yet, here you were, getting fucked like your life depended on it. it hurts, hurts so good that you simultaneously want to push and pull from his embrace.

he holds you up higher, and your legs wrap around his waist with your back tucked into his chest. his hands slide from your waist to your inner thighs, now holding you tight against him. your head falls back onto his shoulder and in the midst of your daze, you feel a fingernail trailing down the slope of your neck.

“yeahhh,” he chuckles darkly, eyes narrowing onto your fucked out figure. his eyes then flick to the imprint of his cock penetrating at your belly, followed by the inconsistent tremors of your body. “‘s what i fuckin’ thought.”

somewhere along the line, you’re left boneless in his strong hold as he fucks and fucks and fucks. he’s everywhere at once, a presence so dominating that you’re left as if you have no other choice but to surrender. but that’s exactly all there is to it, no? a king using his pussy to his satisfaction.

“‘m gonna breed this slutty body full of my cum, make you mine. cause that’s all yer good for— ain’t that right baby?” you nod, because of course you do. he’s pounding some more and more, and the warmth that fills your belly to the brim is anything but surprising. he’s grunting in your ear, a string of profanities flowing into the air. he’s cumming so much from both cocks that it leaks past your bruised holes.

his hips roll some more, and both your cunt and ass clench around him greedily, milking him out for every drop he’s worth. he hums against your damp face, dragging the tip of nose through a multitude of fluids. you have a weak smile gracing your lips, and his arms tighten possessively around your tinier frame, “happy birthday indeed, mortal.”

oh my god, you’re gonna die.

. . .what the fuck did i just write.