#its the coat! the damn coat!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[cranberrydietcoke]

𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 - 𝘭𝘶𝘪𝘨𝘪 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦

heavily inspired by this post by @subtlehums

content: 18+, lore accurate luigi, cigarettes, mentions of prescription drugs, guns, L word, established relationship, unprotected p in v, riding, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, kinda emo but fluffy but smutty, he’s so tragically beautiful idk i hope this does him justice

wc: 2.1k

a/n: i am a woman possessed. he is all i think about like its bad. shout out the girlies who found my blog thru tiktok comments lmaooo enjoy

“𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗶 𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁. 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗱, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗽𝗼𝗲𝘁𝗿𝘆, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗼𝗺, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀, 𝗶 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘀𝗶𝗻. – 𝗯𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱.” - tweeted by @ pepmangione, may 1st, 2024.

you missed hawaii. that tiny apartment for just the two of you seemed impossibly big now, as you imagined the sunlight weaving in through the windows, casting shadows of waves onto the kitchen tile. you missed that kitchen, sharing coffee in the mornings before work, baking together. you missed the way the island held you both, lush and warm and predictable. the late nights, the conferences, the schedule – it’s funny how everything always seems so simple in hindsight. he had a way of making it clear he knew best, and you’d stopped arguing years ago. so, when he said to pack a bag for the mainland, you didn’t question it. you trusted him with a kind of faith that went deeper than any earthly explanation could offer.

the frosty breeze whips by you as you step out onto the fire escape of the hostel, headlights and billboards illuminating the city below. you could hear luigi’s furious typing from the chair inside over the sound of honking horns and screeching tires, occasionally pausing to reread it back to himself and flip through the starched pages of the book he’d been in for days. the eraser of the pencil he annotated with was gnawed to damn near nothing. the flick of your lighter shook him from his focus, snapping his head to watch as you wrapped yourself in your fur coat and brought a cigarette to your lips with deep red manicured nails.

“that’s gonna kill you, y’know that right?”

and he was right. not that it made a difference. six months ago, the thought of smoking a cigarette would’ve seemed absurd. now, it almost felt inevitable, like the distance between who you were and who you are had blurred and widened into a festering chasm.

 and yet, here he was – the one steady thing in your life, lounging in the peeling leather of the black desk chair, eyes meeting yours like nothing else mattered. the air inside was thick, saturated with things unsaid. tomorrow would inevitably come, but that seemed irrelevant compared to the man in front of you. you crouched with bent knees, weight balanced on the balls of your feet as you blew out thick spirals of smoke, teetering on the tip toes of your flats with each gust of wind.

“lu,” you strain through quick puffs, tapping a nail to the lit stick, causing ash to fall through the metal bars that held you up and onto the concrete of the new york sidewalk. “please.”  you scoff, lash-lidded gaze lingering over him through the open window, a look that he couldn’t bring himself to argue with. you were the fracture in the foundation of his carefully constructed logic, the one thing he couldn’t solve.

 the first time he saw you at some hazy phi psi social in undergrad, something in him just…stopped. a whirlwind of wild dark hair with an unapologetic laugh that was too loud for the space but too beautiful to be mad at. you spoke with precision, arguing like someone who had points to make, yet there was a strange charm about you, an effortless grace. he had to have you. he assumed that bringing you to maryland for holiday break would be overwhelming, that the sheer volume of his family would cause you to tone yourself down. instead, they welcomed you as one of their own, perhaps because your bold opinions and high standards mirrored theirs. but that was a lifetime ago – before the pandemic, the accident, the surgery. before everything splintered into what it is now.

his puffy, purple-ringed and exhausted eyes follow you as you climb back into the warmth, slamming the window shut and shedding your coat. resting his elbows on his knees, he brought his hands to drag down his face with a deep, weary sigh, letting them fall to his denim-clad thighs with a slap. motioning you over to him with a nod of the head.

brass casings littered the floor, the bed a mess of neon monopoly bills - scattered in the dingy sheets like confetti after some great gatsby party. you’d been holed up in that room for a week now, and his restless energy was palpable. it wasn’t like his stress was something you’d never seen before. in fact, it was normal after all these years. but this. this was a different level. completely enrapturing, not only mental, but physical.

 you slip off your shoes with a soft thud on the floor. your steps are slow, deliberate, as you meander toward him, eyes heavy with sympathy. three sleepless nights had made his face hollow, and he’d refused every pill you’d offered – hydros, oxys, anything to subside the pain. you stand in front of him, positioned between his spread legs. his hands reach to meet your plush hips, each digit pressing firmly into your skin, grounding himself in your presence.

when al pacino said the eyes never lie, he was completely correct. luigi’s were sullen, dark, angry. pleading for help, for recognition. you lift a hand to cradle his cheek, tracing over the stubble that wasn’t there when you left hawaii. wordlessly, you sink to your knees on the warped wood of the hotel floor, looking up into his big brown eyes. your fingers trace a slow path from the curve of his jaw to the firm plane of his chest, before settling your palm on the denim of his thigh, smoothing it up and down his leg. you tilt your head, letting your temple rest gently against his knee.

“i love you, lu,” you spoke in a near whisper against him, gaze fixed on nothing in particular, thoughts somewhere far away. “i just wish shit was different.”

“i know baby, i know,” he answered without hesitation, cooing down at you and bringing a meticulous hand to brush the mess of hair from your face. “we’ll be back home soon, i jus- i have some stuff to take care of, love, you know that.” his voice softened as he looked down at you, coaxing your glassy eyes up to his steady stare. with a subtle touch, he grabbed your chin between his thumb and index fingers, lifting your face to meet his. only inches way, you felt the heat of his breath on your lips, drinking it in.

“i know this isn’t who you fell in love with, n’ i’m sorry. i-i’m a fucking shell,” he rambled, bobbing his head with each word, eyes darting around each feature on your face.

“this world, me, everything, is a fucking lie.” he spat, “just t-touch me so i know that i’m real.”

his eyes were wide and manic, brow furrowing as if every thought, every word, was a battle being played out behind those unblinking, shifty eyes. your mouth hangs open, and every part of you seems to be falling into him, melting in his touch. your eyes are unfocused and glazed over as they follow his, drunk off the very essence of him.

“fuck me so i know that i’m real. i’ve been dying to know if i am.”

heady puffs of breath fell against your face with each word, his eyes drifting down to your glossy pout. he ran his tongue up the curve of your parted lips, a tiny gasp escaping them, your eyes never leaving his. it was perverted almost, urgent and depraved. without thinking, you curl your tongue out, meeting and circling his without your lips even touching, saliva dripping onto the floor below. his hands grasp at the sides of your head, pulling you in closer as his tongue forces its way past yours, lips crashing together in a heated kiss. he stands you both up with a swift movement, each kiss growing deeper, more consuming, as he guides you backward onto the bed.

you can’t help but whimper into his mouth through the soft, wet smack of your lips that fills the room as he lays you on your back, pinned by the wrist in a pool of pink and orange paper money. hot, hungry kisses trailed down your neck and across your chest, his hands firm as he peeled off your white tank top. your fingers roamed over every inch of him – gripping a handful of curls, your palm finding the small of his neck to pull him closer. softly, your hands slid over the hard lines of his shoulder blades, tracing the muscles beneath his skin. for a split second, it felt like undergrad again – fooling around on that tiny twin bed, stealing kisses between whispered laughs and desperately hoping that none of the boys in the chapter house heard you.

“baby, sit back,” you murmur, craning your neck and biting into your lower lip as he licks spirals into the sensitive skin, sending a chill down your spine. with a smirk, he flips over to settle onto the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the cold metal button of his levi’s and squirming out of them. the print of his length pressed through the thin fabric of his boxers as you hook your fingers in the waistband, tugging them to fall around his ankles. you shimmy out of your leggings and black lace panties, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the hardwood.

letting a stringy drop of spit fall from your lips, you work and twist your hands over him, whimpers and pants making his chest fall and rise, head lolling back as you plant tiny kisses on both thighs. turning around with bent knees, hips between his legs and feet flat on the floor, you sink down onto him inch by inch, whining incoherently as it stretches you out.

his hands on your sides, thumbs running down the valley of your spine, molding you like pottery as he guides you up and down. the tips of your fingers balance on the floor as you gently bounce and roll your hips, stuffing yourself over and over again on his cock.

“f-fuck – mine, all fuckin’ mine,” he spoke breathlessly, watching your drooly hole take him in with little plap plap plap’s, the fat of your ass recoiling as his length disappeared into you. his grip tightened on your sides, and you felt his legs getting wobbly under your stabilizing hand. “my girl, my good fucking girl…” he spoke absently, almost to himself, each syllable dripping with lust. appreciation. worship, even.

“god, fuck – please.” you babble, whipping your hair back to steal a glance at him from over your shoulder – all focused and blissed out, slack-jawed as he groped and pawed at the lower contour of your ass, spreading open the sticky mess and watching with wild, amazed eyes at the way you wet him up.

“what, baby? want it inside? yeah?” he panted out with squeaky desperation, lower stomach tensing and turning as you gripped and slid over him. “wanna get pregnant, huh, the way you’re takin’ it – fuck!”

his thrusts got sloppy, breath hitching in his throat and translating to desperate whines as he pumped you full. even if he didn’t come back tomorrow, if you never saw him alive again, he was determined to leave you with a little permanent piece of him. bringing a strong, warm palm to the small of your lower back to slow down your pace and push you off of him, he fell back onto the bed with a sigh, rattling the bed frame with the impact. ribbons of thick, opalescent seed seeped from your hole, all fucked open and raw.

laying together, swimming in those hotel sheets, the cold touch of fingerprints tracing numbers and letters into your thighs. truly believing you both had nothing to lose, even though that was far from the truth because you had each other. the shrill sound of wind against windows was stomach-churning compared to the familiar crash of the ocean, and you’ve accepted that you’ll probably never see that apartment again. even if you did, it wouldn’t be the same. but, you trusted him. believed in him, his capability, his intelligence. holding onto that tiny sliver of hope that told you everything would be okay, he would be careful, come home unseen and unscathed. those worries were reserved for the future version of you, one that could carry the weight of tomorrow in the daylight. all of it – the pain, the planning, the uncertainty – was beside the point now. all that mattered was the shelter of his lingering touch, quieting the rest of the world, only if for a few more hours.

[societyfolklore]

Merry Christmas, I Miss You

Title:  Merry Christmas, I Miss You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Female Reader

Summary: After overhearing a conversation at a Christmas party, Bucky realizes that you may miss him as much as he misses you. Determined to bridge the distance, he makes the first move to reconnect during the holidays, risking vulnerability to say the words he’s been holding back: Merry Christmas, I miss you.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings:  //Warnings // Explicit Content //18+, Minors DNI, smut, Angsty, Petsname, Unprotected sex,  No Beta reading…

A/N:  Alex Crichton – 'Merry Christmas, I miss you' was the inspo for this.. damn song has been living in my head!

The compound was alive with holiday cheer, every surface glittering with Tony’s trademark flair for the extravagant. Twinkling lights wrapped around beams, garlands of evergreen adorned the walls, and a grand Christmas tree stood at the center of the room, its branches heavy with ornaments that seemed far too expensive for their own good. The scent of mulled cider and freshly baked cookies filled the air, mingling with the distant hum of holiday classics playing over the speakers.

It was everything a holiday gathering should be, filled with warmth and laughter, but for Bucky Barnes, it felt like he was standing outside of it all. He leaned against a corner wall, arms crossed over his chest, his lukewarm drink forgotten in his hand. His steel-blue eyes scanned the room, taking in the sight of his teammates laughing, mingling, and for once, letting their guards down.

He tried to let the festive energy seep into him, to shake off the weight that had been pressing on him for weeks now. But no matter how hard he tried, he felt miles away. Like he was a ghost in the room, watching everyone else enjoy a life he wasn’t sure he belonged in anymore.

It wasn’t just the usual holiday blues-no, this emptiness had a name. Yours.

Bucky sighed, his gaze drifting to the corner of the room where you’d stood last year. He could still picture you as if it had happened yesterday. You’d walked in late, the chill of the winter air clinging to you as you shrugged off your coat. Your cheeks had been flushed red from the cold, your smile sheepish as you muttered something about how much you hated New York winters.

He remembered how you’d lit up the room without even trying. Your laughter, your warmth, the way you managed to draw people in without a second thought. You’d been the brightest part of the party back then, and now your absence was like a gaping void, one he couldn’t ignore no matter how hard he tried.

He’d told himself he wouldn’t think about you tonight. That he’d keep his distance, let you enjoy the evening without the weight of his presence lingering in the background. But that had been a lie from the start. Every corner of the compound reminded him of you, of the way you’d made him feel less like the broken man he believed himself to be.

From his spot near the doorway, Bucky’s sharp gaze caught a flash of red on the balcony. Natasha. She was standing outside, her crimson hair catching the soft glow of the string lights wrapped around the railing.

And then he saw you.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest as you came into view, standing beside Nat. He hadn’t even realized you’d arrived. You were bundled in a soft sweater, the colour rich and vibrant against your skin, your hair catching the faint glow of the lights. From a distance, you looked as radiant as ever, but as he watched you, he noticed something different.

There was a sadness in your posture that hadn’t been there before. The way your shoulders slumped slightly, the faint shadow in your eyes, even as you laughed softly at something Natasha said. It was as if you were carrying a weight you didn’t know how to set down, and it made Bucky’s chest tighten all over again.

He should’ve turned away, should’ve given you the space you deserved. But curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself inching closer to the balcony, staying just out of sight as your voices drifted toward him.

“I don’t know, Nat,” you said, your voice soft but tinged with a melancholy that struck Bucky like a blow. “The city just feels too heavy this time of year. Everywhere I go, it’s like I’m walking through ghosts.”

Natasha’s reply was quieter, harder for him to catch. She placed a gentle hand on your arm, her expression unreadable as she listened.

“Maybe I need to get away,” you admitted after a pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just for a little while. A beach somewhere, maybe. I don’t know. It’s easier to forget when I’m not here.”

Bucky’s grip on his glass tightened, the faint sound of creaking metal snapping him out of his trance. You were leaving?

The idea of you slipping further out of his life sent a wave of panic crashing over him. He’d spent months convincing himself that letting you go was the right thing to do. That you deserved someone better, someone less damaged, someone whole. But now, hearing those words, he couldn’t help but wonder-had he made a mistake?

The thought hit him harder than he expected, knocking the air from his lungs. He turned away before you could spot him, retreating back into the warmth of the party. But even as he moved, the tightness in his chest didn’t fade.

Bucky leaned against the nearest wall, his head dropping as he fought to steady his breathing. The echo of your words replayed in his mind, louder and louder with each passing second.

He’d let you go, convinced it was the right thing. But what if it wasn’t? What if letting you go had been the biggest mistake of his life?

The noise of the party faded into the background, the laughter and music a distant hum as he stared blankly ahead. For the first time in a long time, he felt the stirrings of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years: hope.

If you were still here, still lingering on the edges of his world, maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could fix this. Maybe he could find the courage to reach out.

But as he stood there, chest tight with regret and longing, one thought kept echoing in his mind, louder than the rest.

He didn’t want you to go.

*~*

That night, Bucky lay awake in his dimly lit apartment, the weight of your words pressing heavily on his chest. The room was silent save for the faint hum of the heater in the corner, its effort to fight off the biting chill doing little to ease the ache within him. The phone on his bedside table seemed to mock him, its dark screen reflecting his indecision.

He had your number. He could call you. The thought sent a jolt of nervous energy through him, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He imagined your voice on the other end, soft and familiar, the sound of it enough to pull him back from the edge of the spiral he’d been in for months.

But what if you didn’t want to hear from him? What if he’d already done too much damage, created a chasm between you that couldn’t be bridged? The fear of rejection kept his hand frozen, hovering over the phone but unable to bring himself to pick it up.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his metal fingers brushing against his temple as he let out a shaky breath. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, each second passing with the same relentless rhythm as his thoughts. He replayed your voice in his head-the sadness that lingered in your words, the wistful tone that had nearly undone him when you spoke of leaving.

What if this was his last chance?

When the clock struck midnight, something in him snapped. His hand shot out, grabbing the phone before he could second-guess himself again. The screen lit up as he dialled your number, his heart hammering with every ring.

One ring. Two.

He almost ended the call, the weight of his doubt clawing at him. But then-

“Hello?”

Your voice was soft, hesitant, and so achingly familiar that it felt like a lifeline. The knot in his chest loosened slightly, though the words he wanted to say lodged themselves in his throat.

“It’s me,” he managed, his voice rough and unsteady. “Bucky.”

A pause stretched between you, the silence both heavy and fragile. “Bucky… hey, Is everything okay?”

He closed his eyes, the sound of your voice stirring something deep within him. “Yeah,” he said, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I’m fine. I just… I overheard you at the party. About leaving.”

“Oh.” Your voice was quieter now, and he imagined the way your brow might furrow as you processed his words. “I didn’t realize you were there.”

“I was,” he admitted, his fingers gripping the edge of the blanket as if grounding himself. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but… I heard enough.”

There was another pause, longer this time, and he could almost hear the gears turning in your mind.

“Why does it matter to you?” you asked softly, your tone cautious, as though bracing for his response.

Bucky swallowed hard, his throat dry as he tried to find the right words. “Because I don’t want you to go Doll,” he said, the vulnerability in his voice surprising even to him.

His admission hung in the air like a fragile thread, and he waited, his pulse thundering in his ears.

“Why not?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He hesitated, the fear of baring himself completely nearly stopping him. But the memory of your laughter, the light you’d brought into his life, pushed him forward.

“Because I miss you Dol,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I know I shouldn’t. I know I messed things up, but I miss you. And I thought… maybe… maybe you miss me too.”

Your breath hitched on the other end of the line, the sound so soft he almost missed it. The silence extended, and he wondered if you were even still there.

“Doll?”

“I do,” you whispered after a moment, the words cracking slightly. “I miss you too.”

Relief flooded him, leaving him momentarily speechless. He pressed the phone tighter to his ear, needing the connection, even if it was only through a device. His metal hand running through his hair.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said after a moment, his voice trembling. “Letting you go. I thought you’d be better off without me, that I’d just mess things up more if I stayed.”

“Bucky…” Your voice was thick with emotion, and he imagined the way your lips might tremble, the way you’d fight back tears even as your heart softened.

“But I was wrong,” he continued, his voice firming with the weight of his conviction. “I was so wrong. Losing you-letting you walk away-was the worst mistake I could make. If there’s chance I can fix that,  fix us, I wanna do that it take to try.”

Silence stretched again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was charged, filled with the echoes of words unsaid and the fragile hope blooming between you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally admitted, your voice trembling.

“Just say you’ll give me a chance Doll,” he said, his tone quiet but resolute. “One more chance to make things right.”

Your breath hitched again, and he waited, hiSSs heart hanging on the edge of your response.

“Okay,” you said softly, the word like a balm to his frayed nerves. “Okay, Bucky.”

His lips curved into the faintest smile, the weight in his chest lifting for the first time in what felt like forever.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the words carrying all the emotion he couldn’t yet express.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you replied, a hint of humour lacing your voice. “You’ve got a lot to make up for.”

“I know,” he said, his tone filled with quiet determination. “And I will. I promise sweetheart.”

As the call ended, Bucky set the phone down with a steadiness he hadn’t felt in months. For the first time, hope flickered in the dark corners of his heart, and he clung to it with everything he had.

*~*~*~*

The next day, Bucky woke with a rare sense of determination. If there was even a sliver of hope to rebuild what he’d lost with you, he wasn’t going to waste it. His mind replayed the sound of your voice from the night before-soft, hesitant, but filled with the same longing that had kept him awake for months. It was enough to spur him into action.

Inspired by your love for grand gestures, he decided to do something bold, something undeniably him, and undeniably you. His plan? Turn his small, unassuming house into a beacon of Christmas cheer, a declaration of hope, vulnerability, and just a little bit of chaos.

The execution, however, proved to be more challenging than he’d anticipated.

For hours, Bucky wrestled with tangled strings of lights that seemed to fight back at every turn. He balanced precariously on ladders, muttering curses under his breath as the icy wind nipped at his fingers. Halfway through, he managed to drop an entire box of ornaments, glitter exploding across the room like a small festive bomb.

By the time he finished, he was sweaty, exhausted, and sparkling faintly from head to toe. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, his breath puffing in the cold evening air as he surveyed the glowing masterpiece.

The house was dazzling- perhaps a bit too dazzling. Twinkling lights wrapped around every beam, eaves lined with a cascade of shimmering icicle bulbs, and the walkway lit by glowing candy canes. It was extravagant, chaotic, and just a little ridiculous. But it was perfect.

To Bucky, it felt like more than just a holiday display. It was a reflection of everything he wanted to tell you but hadn’t found the words for yet. It was an invitation, a promise, and a plea all wrapped in one.

He pulled out his phone and dialled your number before he could second-guess himself.

“Come over,” he said simply when you picked up. “Please Doll, I want to show you something.”

You hesitated, and his heart stuttered. But then you sighed softly. “Okay, Bucky. I’ll be there soon.”

*~*~*~*

When you arrived, the sight stole the breath from your lungs.

Bucky’s house glowed like something out of a holiday dream, every inch covered in twinkling lights that danced against the snowy backdrop of the night. The air was crisp, the stars overhead faint in comparison to the warmth emanating from the home before you.

For the first time in weeks, a genuine smile tugged at your lips.

Bucky stood on the porch, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders tense as he watched you. There was a nervous energy about him, as though he wasn’t sure if this gesture would land the way he hoped.

“Well?” he asked, his voice softer than you remembered, almost shy. “Is it too much?”

You shook your head, blinking back the sting of tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes. “No,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “It’s perfect.”

Relief washed over his features, and he stepped closer, his boots crunching lightly against the snow-dusted porch. His gaze never left yours, the intensity of his steel-blue eyes grounding you as he bridged the gap between you.

“That look on your face right now,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s all I want.”

Your breath hitched at the sincerity in his tone, the way his vulnerability wrapped around you like a second layer of warmth.

“Bucky,” you started, but he shook his head slightly, his lips curving into a soft, almost bittersweet smile.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, his words as much a confession as a plea. “I’ve missed this. Missed Us.”

Your heart clenched at the raw emotion in his voice. There was no hesitation, no bravado- just him, standing before you, laying his heart bare in a way that stole your words.

You took a tentative step closer, your hand reaching up to touch his cheek. The faint scruff of his beard scratched against your palm, grounding you in the moment. “I’ve missed you too,” you admitted softly.

Bucky leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before he opened them again, locking onto yours. “I don’t want to waste any more time,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I want to make this right. Tell me I can do that?”

Tears spilled over, but this time they were warm, cathartic. “Yeah Buck, y-you can,” you whispered, the words thick with emotion.

“I can’t lose you,” he said simply. “Not again.”

His words broke the wall inside you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, your lips capturing his. The kiss was slow, tentative at first, but it quickly deepened, months of longing pouring into every movement. His hands cradled your face as if you were something fragile, something precious.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your breath mingling in the space between you. Bucky’s hands lingered on your face, his thumbs brushing gently across your cheeks as if grounding himself in the reality of the moment. His chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths, the raw emotion in his eyes enough to steal the air from your lungs.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, one hand sliding beneath your legs as he effortlessly lifted you off the ground. A soft gasp escaped your lips, and you instinctively looped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the long strands of his hair.

“Let me take care of you, Doll,” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with tenderness.

He carried you up the porch steps, his footsteps slow and deliberate as if savouring the feeling of holding you close again. When he opened the door, the warm glow of the Christmas lights inside welcomed you, casting soft patterns on the walls. The room smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon, a cozy haven from the chill outside.

Bucky walked straight to the couch, sitting down with you still cradled in his arms. He shifted, his hands adjusting to hold you firmly as you straddled his lap. The proximity made your heart race, the heat of his body radiating through his jacket as your foreheads pressed together again.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips. “About you. About us. Tell me this isn’t a dream Doll.”

“It’s not,” you promised softly, your hands cupping his face. “I’m here, Buck. I’m yours.”

Something in him snapped at your words. His lips found yours again, more insistent this time, a hunger building between you that had been simmering for far too long. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping them firmly as he guided you closer, your bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.

“God, Doll,” he groaned against your lips, his voice vibrating through you. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His mouth moved from yours, trailing heated kisses along your jaw and down to your neck. He nipped lightly at the sensitive skin there, soothing it with his tongue before whispering, “Missed the way you taste, the way you feel.”

A soft whimper escaped you as his hands slid beneath your sweater, his rough fingers skimming over your bare skin. He groaned when he felt you shiver beneath his touch, his lips finding their way back to yours as he tugged the fabric over your head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes roaming over you with a reverence that made your breath hitch. “How’d I ever let you go?”

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you reached for the buttons of his jacket. He helped you shrug it off, the layers falling away until it was just the two of you, skin against skin, no barriers left to hide behind.

He shifted beneath you, his hands gripping your thighs as he stood, carrying you effortlessly toward the bedroom. “Need you,” he said, his voice raw. “Need to feel you, Doll. Need to remind you how much you mean to me.”

You barely registered the soft thud of the bedroom door closing before he laid you gently on the bed, his weight settling over you like a protective shield. His lips found yours again, his kiss deep and unrelenting as his hands explored every inch of you.

“Bucky,” you gasped when his lips trailed lower, leaving a path of fire down your chest and stomach. “Please.”

“Patience, Doll,” he murmured, his voice a mix of teasing and worship. “I’m gonna take my time with you. Show you how much I’ve missed you.”

His hands moved with a deliberate slowness, peeling your jeans down your legs inch by inch. His lips followed the curve of your hips, his breath warm against your skin as he left a trail of kisses down your thighs. Each touch sent a ripple of anticipation coursing through you, your body trembling beneath his attentions.

When you were bare before him, he paused, his eyes raking over you with an intensity that made your breath catch. The room seemed to hum with the weight of his gaze, the hunger and reverence in his expression sending a flush across your cheeks.

“So perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. His hand slid up your legs, his calloused fingers trailing fire along your skin as they gripped your hips possessively. “All mine.”

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice a whispered plea as your fingers gripped the sheets beneath you. “All yours, Buck.”

A low growl rumbled in his throat at your words, and he leaned down, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. His tongue slid against yours, tasting you, claiming you, while his hands continued their exploration, mapping every inch of you as if committing you to memory.

When his lips left yours, they trailed down your jaw, your neck, and then lower. He took his time, his mouth lavishing attention on every sensitive spot, drawing soft gasps and moans from your lips. His teeth grazed the curve of your breast before his tongue soothed the ache, his name tumbling from your mouth like a prayer as his hand found the heat between your thighs.

“You’re so wet for me, Doll,” he said, his voice thick with satisfaction. His fingers teased your folds, spreading your slick arousal before circling your clit with slow, torturous precision. “Been dreaming about this. About you.”

Your hips arched into his touch, your body begging for more as his fingers worked you expertly. The coil of pleasure in your belly tightened with each movement, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, his fingers slid inside you, curling to hit the spot that made your vision blur.

“Bucky,” you whimpered, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way back up your body.

“Let go for me, baby girl,” he murmured against your skin.

You did as beautiful as he remembered. The release crashed over you like a tidal wave, your back arching off the bed as his name spilled from your lips in a breathless cry. Bucky watched you the entire time, his gaze dark and possessive as he guided you through the waves of pleasure.

But he wasn’t done.

As you came down, your body still trembling, he shed the last of his clothes, the sight of him stealing what little breath you had left. His muscles rippled as he moved over you, the heat of his body pressing into yours as he lined himself up at your entrance.

“Look at me, Doll,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His vibranium hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “I need to see you. Need to know you’re here.”

Your eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made your heart ache. Slowly, he pushed into you, the stretch a perfect mix of pleasure and pain as he filled you completely. He groaned deeply, his head falling to your shoulder as he stilled for a moment, letting you adjust to the feel of him.

“Feel so fucking good,” he breathed, his voice raw and strained. “-made for me Doll.”

He began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, as though savouring every second. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he drove into you, the friction sparking fire in your veins.

“Bucky,” you moaned, your nails digging into his shoulders as he picked up the pace, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The sound of your bodies moving together filled the room, every gasp, groan, and whispered plea driving Bucky on.

“That’s it,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. “Take me, Doll. Let me feel you.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as he thrust into you with a desperation that matched your own. The tension between you built higher and higher, the edge drawing closer with every movement.

“Oh god.” It was impossible not to get lost in him.

“You going to come again for me, babygirl?” he rasped, his hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit. His thumb pressed down in time with his thrusts, and the combination sent you spiralling closer the edge, squeezing him. “Going to show me you missed me too?”

“Y-yeah Buck going, to.. god.. fuck.” You nodded frantically, your brows pinching together as it all started to build, a whimper leaving you and he hit that spongey spot inside.

Your release hit you hard, your walls clenching around him as your cries filled the room. Bucky followed seconds later, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside you, his release spilling into you as he groaned your name.

For a moment, the world stood still, the only sound the heavy breathing of the two of you tangled together. Bucky collapsed onto his forearms, his weight resting carefully on you as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Love you,” he whispered, the words slipping out in the haze of the moment.

Your heart swelled, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. “I love you too, Bucky,” you said softly, the truth of it settling over both of you like a balm.

He shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him so that you were tucked against his chest. The soft glow of the Christmas lights bathed the room in a warm hue, wrapping you both in their gentle light.

“Never letting you go again, Doll,” he murmured, his voice resolute as he pressed another kiss to your hair.

And as you lay there, wrapped in his arms, you believed him. For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

[careyakane]

God, when I get home, it gets bad again.

I find myself speeding into town, pulled by the invisible threads of habit. I must remind myself again and again: “She does not wait for you as she did before.” I languish in familiar places, hoping for accidental meetings that might lead to long-overdue conversations, ones that might finally bring me the answers I’ve sought restlessly for years now. At nighttime, I squint as the last glimpse of a blonde head in a long black coat turns the corner. I stop myself from following, of course—but only at the last second.

I have come so far when I am back In the west. I think of you rarely and with thoughts far from possessive. I lay no claim on you when I am surrounded by all that I have found in that place and its people. But here, amongst the reminders and remnants, I succumb and fall back into that silent well of grief. I have found solace in these waters before, and I will again. It is false—I know, I know—but many comforts are false, so why can’t I give in for just a moment?

I am always holding my head so high, always protecting those who look to me for answers to questions beyond knowing. Time and time again, I give thin responses and watch as they drain every drop of that temporary relief. May I not, too, fall apart for a day? Give me my falsehoods, and sew cloth over my eyes and mind, which look to protest this comfort made in jest.

Now I sit parked where I should not be, trying to fill the carcasses of all the many simple nights that spilled over on this damn road under these damn streetlamps. I think of the boy who sat here three years ago and try to signal to him as best as I can. I have not a clue if time and its pulse work in this way, but yet in rare moments, I have felt as if something was pleading for me to shift, or to run, or to take account and rejoice. Maybe—and it would bring me great joy—every moment in some way exists eternally, and if I can only picture it clearly now, I may send a message back to myself in that given instance.

So here tonight, I simply ask he who I once was to hold her gaze just a second longer, to embrace her and hold her well as she tells him of the simple passings of the day. To tell her plainly and without hesitation that she is kind like no other, and that never in this lifetime will he forget these days of innocence.

Regardless of whether this door through life and time holds any truth, I attempt. And I must say, I have calmed down since beginning this writing. I truly am— for any who stumble upon this writing and may know me—happy to have continued on with my life. My momentary pauses in that past are not accurate pictures of where I stand now. Please forgive me if this makes you question what I am. I have set much down and would not betray you for any of it back. I simply enjoy writing and remembering. I’m sure you too will fall into my words with time.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

EEEEEEE IVYYYY ITS CHRISTMASTIME

could you write a jess mariano fic where him and reader get caught under the mistletoe? they're just friends up until this point (kinda like him and rory were "just friends") and then they kiss under the mistletoe 🤭🤭🤭🤭

under the mistletoe

jess mariano x reader who meet under the mistletoe

↬ word count : 1,541 words ˎˊ˗

↬ warnings : angst, miscommunication, minor self-esteem struggles, fluff overload ♡

↬ author's note : AHHH!! IT IS CHRISTMAS TIMEE ☃︎🎅🎄❄️☃️🎁🦌

navigation┆ jess mariano masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

The town square was alive with holiday cheer—twinkling lights draped over lampposts, the scent of mulled cider wafting from a nearby stall, and Taylor Doose prattling on about some historically accurate decoration he insisted on. You weren’t really in the mood to celebrate, but you came anyway, hoping the festive atmosphere might distract you.

Then, there was Jess.

He was leaning against the far wall of the town hall, arms crossed, smirking at something Luke said before he walked off. He hadn’t seen you yet, which gave you a moment to compose yourself.

Why did he have to look like that? Smoldering gaze, messy hair that looked good in a way that felt deeply unfair, and that damn leather jacket. You could already hear Lorelai’s voice in your head: Oh, honey, you’ve got it bad.

You sighed, shoving your hands into your coat pockets. It was fine. You were fine. Jess was just a friend. A frustrating, sarcastic, maddening friend who occasionally made your heart feel like it was doing cartwheels in your chest. Totally normal. Totally fine.

“Hey, Cherry,” a low voice drawled from behind you.

You froze, pulse jumping at the familiar nickname. You turned, and there he was, smirking down at you.

“Jess,” you said, trying to sound casual. Play it cool. Do not look at his mouth.

“You’ve been hovering near the snacks for a while. Got a game plan, or just eyeing Kirk’s disaster of a gingerbread house?” he asked, nodding toward the table where Kirk was enthusiastically pointing out the structural integrity of his lopsided creation.

You snorted. “Just… strategizing. You never know when someone’s going to weaponize holiday treats around here.”

“Fair,” Jess said, his smirk softening into something almost resembling a smile.

It would have been a perfectly normal conversation if Lorelai’s voice hadn’t cut through the chatter around you:

“Oh, look at them under the mistletoe!”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?” you and Jess said in unison, glancing up. And there it was, hanging innocently above your heads—a sprig of mistletoe tied with a bright red ribbon.

The crowd around you erupted into laughter and cheers, and you felt heat rush to your face. “Oh, no, we don’t have to—”

“Rules are rules,” Jess interrupted, his tone teasing but his eyes locked on yours.

You blinked at him, your brain short-circuiting. Was he serious?

“Unless you’re scared,” he added, that smirk returning full force.

Scared? Oh, he was insufferable. Fine. You’d show him.

You grabbed the lapels of his jacket and tugged him closer, ignoring the way your heart pounded as his smirk faltered, replaced by something softer.

The kiss started out light, almost cautious—his lips brushing yours, testing the waters. But then his hand slid to your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and everything else seemed to fade away.

It was over too quickly. You pulled back, breathless, your face burning as the crowd whooped and clapped. Jess leaned back, his usual nonchalance firmly in place, though his hand lingered on your waist for a second longer than necessary.

“Not bad, Cherry,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You stared at him, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a response.

Before you could process what had just happened, Jess stepped back, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, your thoughts were spiraling.

You spent the rest of the evening avoiding him.

It wasn’t hard, not at first. The Stars Hollow holiday party was chaotic enough that slipping away wasn’t suspicious. You busied yourself helping Lorelai set up more cider, dodged Kirk’s overly enthusiastic explanations about his gingerbread disaster, and pretended to be engrossed in a debate between Miss Patty and Babette about their favorite holiday movies.

But no matter where you went, you felt him. Jess’s gaze burned into your back every time you caught sight of him across the room. He looked… confused, almost frustrated. But you ignored it.

Your heart hadn’t stopped racing since the kiss under the mistletoe.

You weren’t dumb—you knew the kiss didn’t mean anything. Jess was Jess. He probably saw it as a joke, a way to rile you up, or just a holiday tradition to appease the crowd. But to you?

It meant everything.

You felt ridiculous. It wasn’t like you were dating him. He wasn’t yours to feel this way about. And anyway, wasn’t he still hung up on Rory? You’d seen the way he looked at her, even if they insisted they were just friends now. The kiss couldn’t mean anything.

But it had felt like it meant something. The way he’d held you, his hand lingering on your waist, the way his smirk had softened into something warmer, gentler—it had you spiraling.

So, you did the only thing you could think of: you ran. Not literally, but emotionally. You made yourself busy, avoiding Jess at every turn.

You found Rory by the punch bowl, chatting with Lane about some new band Lane was obsessed with. As soon as you approached, Rory greeted you with a bright smile.

“There you are! Did you see Kirk’s gingerbread house?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

You forced a laugh, trying to act normal. “Uh, yeah. It’s… something.”

Lane laughed, but Rory’s expression softened as she looked at you. “You okay? You seem a little… off.”

Your stomach twisted. This was the moment. You had to say something.

“Actually, Rory, can I talk to you for a second? Alone?” you asked, glancing nervously at Lane, who raised an eyebrow but nodded and stepped away.

Rory tilted her head, confused but obliging. “Sure. What’s up?”

You wrung your hands, staring at the floor. “I… I wanted to apologize.”

Rory frowned. “For what?”

“For—” You swallowed hard, your voice dropping. “For kissing Jess. I didn’t mean for it to happen, it was just the mistletoe, and—”

Rory blinked, then let out a laugh. “Wait, that’s what you’re worried about?”

You looked up at her, startled. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “Jess and I are ancient history. We’re friends, that’s it. And honestly?” She smiled knowingly. “I think he’s been waiting for an excuse to kiss you.”

Your heart stuttered. “What?”

“Come on, you really think he likes me?” Rory asked, crossing her arms. “You’re the one he’s always looking at, Cherry.”

The nickname hit you like a lightning bolt. Rory wasn’t even teasing—she was just stating it like it was obvious.

“Are you sure?” you whispered.

“Positive,” Rory said with a soft smile. “You don’t need to feel guilty about this.”

You tried to take Rory’s words to heart, but the guilt and confusion didn’t let up. You decided to leave early, slipping out of the town hall and into the snow-covered streets.

You didn’t get far.

“Hey, Cherry!” Jess’s voice called out behind you.

You froze, your stomach sinking. You turned slowly, snow crunching under your boots. He was standing near the gazebo, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, his breath misting in the cold air.

“Running away from me?” he asked, his tone light, but his eyes sharp.

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” he cut you off, taking a step closer. “You’ve been avoiding me all night. Did I grow an extra head or something?”

You crossed your arms, trying to put up a wall. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Sure,” Jess said dryly. He stepped closer again, his expression softening. “What’s going on, Cherry?”

The nickname sent a pang through your chest. You couldn’t do this. Not when your feelings were a mess. Not when you didn’t know what the kiss meant to him.

“I just… I thought the kiss didn’t mean anything,” you blurted out, your voice cracking. “It was the mistletoe, right? It didn’t mean anything.”

Jess stared at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might agree with you, might brush it off as a joke. But then he stepped closer, so close you could see the faint flush on his cheeks from the cold.

“You think I kissed you because of mistletoe?” he asked, his voice low and almost… hurt. “Cherry, I kissed you because it’s you.”

Your breath caught.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you for months,” Jess admitted, his eyes searching yours. “You think I’d kiss you for some stupid holiday tradition? I kissed you because I like you.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave, knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Jess…”

He shook his head, his voice softening. “If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. Just don’t avoid me, okay? I can’t deal with that.”

Your chest ached. You stepped closer, grabbing the front of his jacket like you had under the mistletoe. “You’re an idiot,” you whispered.

His eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“You’re an idiot,” you repeated, your voice shaking. “Of course I like you.”

Jess blinked, and then his lips curved into the softest, most genuine smile you’d ever seen. “Good,” he said simply, before leaning in and kissing you.

This time, there was no crowd, no mistletoe, no excuses. Just you and him, and the snow falling gently around you.

[potchi-fics]

note: g!p caitlyn. also might update my masterlist after this, its 3:45 am here. i have more sevika works, yall js gotta scroll down

      being the commander’s wife has its perks; seeing caitlyn’s vulnerable side, for instance—that is probably your favourite amongst your special privileges. that and also the fact that she worships the ground your heel walks on.

you have her wrapped around your finger, she will drop anything she’s doing the moment you utter out her name.

you knock on the door to her office, hearing her muffled voice say ‘come in’ and you do. you open it to see her eyes staring daggers into her paperwork, shoulders clearly tense, and her one hand rubbing the nail of her thumb using her index and middle finger, a habit she’s developed when under stress. you lock the door.

“you haven’t eaten, have you?” you cross your arms, rolling your eyes even, “how many times have i told you to eat on time, cait? up you go, i had them prepare us a meal.”

caitlyn massages the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes, the lights from her office hurting her tired eyes, “darling, i’ve still got a little paperwork left. i will be done in twenty minutes.” you raise an eyebrow. “ten minutes.” you refuse to budge. “okay, let’s eat but first, can you come here, please?”

      how can you refuse when she’s giving you the puppy eyes? you saunter over to her desk, walking around it so that you’re standing right in front of her. her shoulder sags at your close proximity, standing up and letting herself drape over your body.

you love it when she’s like this, all clingy and needy. she wraps her arms around your waist, shoving her face into the side of your neck, inhaling the scent that she adores—vanilla and lavender.

yours circled around her neck, staying completely still for her. her breath fans over your neck, quickly transitioning into soft pecks and kisses, leading to you giving her more access.

“i’ve missed you, darling,” her kisses proceed to the other side, “missed you so much.”

      your eyes shut as she continues to plant kisses on you, turning into open wet-mouthed some time ago, you haven’t noticed. she leaves one last kiss before burying her head into your neck again but you need to kiss her.

you pull away, and the way her eyes fill with sadness immediately makes you pull her back in—your lips colliding harshly, teeth clashing, a low moan leaving you. 

her hands go lower and they settle themselves under your thigh, lifting you and seating you on her desk: work be damned.

with a swipe over your lower lip, you open your mouth slightly to let her tongue in. caitlyn is famished: she’s licking every part of your mouth, sucking your tongue, you almost think she’s shoving her tongue down your throat. she holds your jaw, forcing you to take her violent kisses.

you try to get a word in, “i’ve missed you mor–”

      she is impatient, and so are you.

your fingers fumble with her belt, blindly undoing it and pulling it down enough to slip your hand in. her half-hardening dick is straining against her boxers, making you giggle in the kiss. you palm her and she hisses at the contact.

you swallow her groans as you massage her cock, distracting her from kissing you. you feel her pull away but a grip on her hair stops her from doing so. a whisper of ‘please’ urged you to touch her finally. 

you truly did miss her and her. caitlyn’s hips buckled towards you once you gripped the base of her cock, taking it out and you look down to see her tip already leaking her precum. 

you grin at caitlyn however she avoids your stare, hiding her head on your shoulder, embarrassment coating her face. your thumb swipes the head, and your smile widens at her reaction. who would’ve thought that the commander could swear like a sailor. you tease her by doing that continuously—oh, that is torture for the poor commander; her tip is sensitive. and one noise from you almost made you cum, she whined.

caitlyn kiramman, leader of house kiramman, a decorated officer: a commander. whined. 

your eyes shut, you can’t handle the noises coming from your wife. it turns you on so goddamn much. the neck kisses from earlier were enough to make you wet, but this? her hips buckling to chase your touch after every swipe? her whining on your shoulder to do something, it’s riling you up. 

you push her back, and the back of her knees hits her chair and makes her sit down. the sight before you made you wish you could take a picture right about now: her gaze dazed, panting lightly, her pants and boxers pulled down so that her tip was poking out.

“darling, please.” there she goes again. “i need you.”

      your composure breaks. you struggle to get out of your pants and undergarments but you do, pulling it down to your midthighs and getting off the table to face away from caitlyn. hands on your hips pull you down, gripping them that’ll leave bruises tomorrow morning. she pulls your underwear aside, her tip kissing your clit.

you take matters into your own hands and lead her right into you, your hand disappearing underneath—gasping when that familiar head breaks through. caitlyn growls lowly before pushing down roughly, your back arching at the sudden intrusion.

“g-gentle now,” you feel so good. you feel everything, you feel how she twitches, feel every vein. you feel how she faintly buckles her hips up. you slowly lift yourself,  “good boy.”

she can’t help but harshly pull you back down, your hand shoots up to cover your mouth because she is hitting you just right. “i need you, darling. i need you. i’ve missed you.”

      she stands up, along with you, her needy cock moving inside of you. you brace yourself on her desk, one hand still on your mouth and the other on the table. she uses her grip on your hips as leverage, using it to push and pull you, your cunt greedily welcoming her.

the tip of her cock is hitting your favourite spot, making you mewl in delight at the sensation, muffled moans and whimpers vibrating in the back of your throat, accompanying caitlyn’s own groans.

your cunt clenches around her and her pace wavers. she pushes you down, your breasts on top of her work, and you feel her lean down before continuing on bruising your cunt. 

“shit,” caitlyn whispers on the back of your neck, kissing your nape, “missed you so much. you have no idea, darling.”

      an unexpected pressure on your pussy makes you yelp—she managed to sneak a hand down, rubbing your puffy clit in a slow circle. the contrast of her thrusts and rubs results in you having a sudden orgasm. your eyes close shut, your toes curling in pleasure, ears ringing, and you accidentally, unconsciously, hit the things on her desk, hearing them clatter on the ground.

caitlyn whines at the feeling of you squeezing you, “fuck,” she goes back up, her hands returning to your hips, and resumes her thrusts—this time, aggressively. 

“i just c-came,” your sore throat succeeded in letting out, your hand pushing back against her abdomen. 

      she doesn’t hear you. she’s focused on the ring that’s forming around her dick, thickening as she continues to pound into your pussy. she gets off on this: you two fucking in her office, you bent over on her desk, ruining her progress, she doesn’t care. 

all she cares about is you taking her cock, all she cares about is you turning into a mess; a blabbering mindfucked mess. and you are. you’re letting out the most sinful and ungodly noises, your sensitive cunt, as well. she grits her teeth, she can feel herself about to cum, and the scene of your legs shaking, you trying to slow her down by putting your palm on her abdomen, is enough to make her cum. 

she cums with a whine, it’s too much for her. she leans down to bite at your shoulder, her cock spurting in think squirts. her cum is warm, hot enough to spread throughout your body and that’s enough for you to cum again. 

you’ve lost your voice so all you can do is hide your face in your forearm, trying your best to not scream. 

“darling,” caitlyn gasps out, dumbstruck by you’re squeezing cunt, “you’re m-milking me.”

      she stops cumming after a few seconds. she pulls out slowly, loving the way you cling to her. she falls back to her seat, admiring her work. still panting, you push yourself up with difficulty, the overstimulation still running.

“the food’s gone cold now, honey.”

[entropyvoid]

@labyrynth Imma more heavily push back on that pushback because while you do have a point that western and Chinese audiences in general have pretty different ideas of what’s masculine and what’s feminine, my point is that Aventurine’s design, (and much of Penacony in general) is pretty clearly heavily based on 1920’s America, and I think deliberately mixes specific aspects of both men and women’s fashion from that particular time and place, when masculine and feminine fashions were very much separate. To be more specific, his design slaps a lot of details, ornamentations and overall motifs you would have only really seen in women’s fashion on a masculine silhouette. (This still applies despite him not being from Penacony - his design is still very much meant to evoke it, he is still considered a Penacony character, and I’d argue that aside from just story reasons literally all of the playable Penacony characters being from elsewhere is meant to be reflective of how a large part of the US in that time period, especially in big cities on which Penacony was based (coughNewYorkcough) were absolutely chock-full of first and second gen immigrants because up until acts passed in 1917 and 1924 implemented literacy tests and heavily restricted immigration, all you had to really do to become a US citizen was just show up on a boat but I digress.)

Also it gives me an excuse to blab about fashion history and character design in general. A lot of the links I’ve provided go more into detail and provide visuals, I’m largely just summarizing and picking out what I think is relevant.

We’ll start with the most obviously masculine aspect of his design, which is his silhouette. He’s wearing a three-pieced suit, a long overcoat, (none of which ever really looked anything like what Aventurine’s wearing but we’ll circle back around to that,) and a fedora, all pretty normal menswear stuff in the 20’s and a good while after. Of note I’d like to point out that mens fashion (like women’s fashion, but not as dramatically) became a lot more structurally simplified in this period, with the button count on suits sometimes going way down to 1 or 2 buttons, which is pretty much what Aventurine’s got going on. [https://fashionhistory.fitnyc.edu/1920-1929/ and https://vintagedancer.com/1920s/1920s-fashion-men/]. …Tumblr wouldn’t let me link it the same way I did everything else, for some reason. Damn jank-ass webbed site.

Flapper fashion included a very large variety of outerwear, but I’d like to direct you to look at some of the fur-lined winter coats here, and then maybe take another look back at Aventurine’s coat.

Feathers were a very common adornment in women’s fashion at the time, particularly on hats and in feather boas. Peacock feathers were a popular choice. (As well as ostrich feathers, particularly for boas.)

Peacocks as a motif in general. Since Japan opened its doors to trade in 1858, a lot of new inspirations that western artists and designers took from slowly seeped in, the peacock included amongst them, wherein it very quickly became associated with beauty, exotic luxury, and vanity. [x] At the beginning of the 20th century it began to appear on accessories, [x] and starting in the 1910’s, female stars began dressing as peacocks on stage, and “the male bird became a symbol of exotic femininity and fantastical extravagance.” This was despite the long-held superstition (in western theater and in general) that peacocks were bad luck because they embodied the evil eye, [x] though the opposite holds true in Chinese culture, where they symbolize good luck, as well as beauty, dignity, and heavenliness. [x] In the context of Aventurine I find this especially interesting, because frankly, I’d argue he’s really got all of the above going on rather than one or the other.

I’d argue that just because a character is made by a Chinese game developer, that doesn’t mean that western symbolism, sensibilities, and influences don’t come into play, especially when the character is pretty explicitly based on/inspired by western culture and they know the game’s got a worldwide audience. Take Dr. Ratio as another example - he’s obviously Greek themed and his outfit evokes a toga. The swirl pattern all over it is probably a golden ratio visual pun. He’s wearing a golden laurel pin in his hair, a symbol of honor and achievement worn by artists, athletes and scholars for thousands of years, and it’s got the same number of leaves on it as he has PhDs. The little gem on his chest is tyrian purple - a color historically reserved for royalty, reflective of him having an incredibly distinguished status. He’s got an owl on his shoulder, which is a symbol of Athena, Greek goddess of wisdom. Interestingly enough, according to that thing I linked earlier that explained a bunch of the symbolism of different birds in Chinese culture, it would seem that owls are a bad omen, because of their big scary eyes and the fact that their call sounds like a word for gravedigging in certain dialects. And honestly the whole not being recognized by Nous thing could be seen as ill fortune, while overall he could easily come off as negative or gloomy, especially if you’re playing with the Chinese, Japanese, or Korean dubs, where his voice is a lot more… I guess stoic? (I love English dub Ratio but he is a lot more… emotional sounding? And perhaps that too is something that more suits broadly western sensibilities. Idk.)

Point is, though Chinese symbolism may not have been thrown out the window there, he is nonetheless clearly heavily influenced by the symbolism of the culture he’s inspired by, with both fused to make something that works for both audiences. I don’t think Aventurine is really any different. I think to ignore the feminine aspects of his design within cultural context assumes that the Chinese character designers (and the writers they work with) just didn’t do their research well enough and slapped masculine and feminine fashion together by complete and total accident, which I think does them a disservice, especially when they pack so many designs full of meticulously researched little symbolic or cultural details.

I also think that the issue of trying to get queercoding past Chinese censors seriously complicates any discussion of a given character’s masculinity/femininity or gender in general, and Hoyoverse has like, a whole history with tryna depict queer people anyway (original Bronya/Seele HI3 comic kiss, anyone? Chinese government specifically saying no femboys allowed and then explicitly naming Venti, anyone???) But like, that’s a whole nother can of worms.

I spent literal months going “man I wish they’d release a character with a flapper-inspired design for Penacony since it’s inspired by 1920’s America and whatnot” whilst maining and constantly staring at Aventurine the entire time before it clicked for me that he’s the resident flapper and his outfit is basically a 50/50 fusion of both masculine and feminine 20’s aesthetics actually and that’s like pretty cool

And then I went “but what if we dialed the flapper aesthetic up to 100” just for funsies because I wanted to see what it’d look like. So here you all go

[svartalfhild]

Omg 7 pls

7. visiting them at their place of work

Not sure what qualifies as "place of work" that's different from their normal meeting places, since they're both Mourn Watchers and Veilguardians, but I shall do my best to keep to the spirit of workplace.

The eluvians were just so damn useful. Rook and her friends could be in different parts of Thedas in a matter of hours or even minutes, and that made the task before them far easier than it otherwise would be. It also meant home wasn't far for any members of the team.

Today's featured convenience, however, was that Rook was able to bring Lucanis' fresh cooking to the Grand Necropolis. Emmrich had gone there early in the morning to address some trouble with a spirit he was evidently well acquainted with, and she thought she'd bring him some lunch. Maybe there was something she could help with, too. Or maybe she was just nervous about leaving him alone outside the Lighthouse for too long after overhearing Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain's plans to torture and experiment on him. Sure Manfred was with him, but as much as she loved Manfred and believed in him, she didn't think he'd be a match for anyone that might come for Emmrich.

So here she was, stepping through the mirror to the Grand Necropolis with a basket in hand, hoping to find him busy at work with what had sounded like some sort of bequeathal dispute and ready for a little break. The Necropolis was home, and she was always happy to return, but it still didn't feel the same as when she'd left over a year ago. Maybe it never would. Maybe the scars that she and the place had left on each other would never fade, and she'd never be entirely welcome here again. Maybe that's why the Lighthouse felt more like home now.

Still, she knew these halls and its people, and she refused to behave like a stranger here. She walked confidently through the passageways and grand chambers, outwardly ignoring the staring and whispering of apprentices and masters alike, even as she started to wonder if perhaps her hair was mussed or her waistcoat was missing a button. Yes, in case you missed it, Ingellvar was back and she didn't have time to stop and chat about what she was doing with Professor Volkarin or to indulge impudent questions about her past. She had important business that was none of yours.

After passing a throng of gossiping apprentices just outside the library who clearly hadn't learned how easily their voices carried here yet, Rook found Emmrich nestled amidst law books and legal scrolls at a table in the reading room.

"Emmrich?" He looked up at the sound of her voice, and the expression of irritation and concentration etched into his features instantly melted away to be replaced with joy.

"Hello, dearest! What brings you to the library?"

"You," Rook answered with a bright smile. "Your business sounded tedious, so I thought you might like a bite to eat." She indicated the basket, and Emmrich's eyes shone with adoration.

"Oh, how thoughtful. Truth be told, I was beginning to feel a bit listless and irritable. An interlude for refreshment would be most welcome."

"Walk with me," Rook requested cheerfully, holding out her hand. Emmrich closed his notebook, tucked it in his coat, and took her hand as he rose from his chair.

"Manfred? Keep an eye on these documents, would you?" he called out, and Manfred appeared from behind a bookcase with an obliging hiss, hobbling over to the table. Rook gave him a loving little pat on the side of his skull, which earned her a happy hiss.

"We'll be back soon," she promised before guiding Emmrich out of the library and towards the gardens, where they could have themselves a little picnic.

"There's Ingellvar again. And Professor Volkarin is with her. Maker, are they holding hands? The nobles'll be all aflutter if they hear about this," one of the apprentices whispered as they passed.

"That minx!" another gasped.

"Shut up, Drika! You're an apprentice! It's not going to happen for you!" a third hissed.

"I think we should all shut up. She's an elf; she can probably hear us," a fourth added flatly. Smart kid. Rook didn't even deign to look their way as she and Emmrich walked by. If he had heard them, he gave no indication either.

In the gardens, they found a lovely little empty plot nestled between some bushes, affording them a little privacy, and they sat down.

"I brought cheese sandwiches that I made with the bread Lucanis baked this morning and that Ferelden cheddar Harding was recommending. You can add butter or apple jam if you'd like; I've got some of each in here. There's also some stuffed peppers Lucanis wants us to try if you're feeling adventurous. To drink, I have-" Rook paused to squint at the elaborate Antivan calligraphy on the label of the bottle she'd pulled from the basket. "Well, it's an Antivan red Lucanis said pairs well with the stuffed peppers. It's probably worth more than my life. Oh! And Taash said the bananas we got from Rivain are finally ripe, so I brought a few of them too!"

"It all sounds delightful, my dear. Most especially because I get to enjoy it with you," Emmrich responded with a fond smile. Rook blushed and busied herself with setting out the food, unsure what to say. They enjoyed their sandwiches and wine for a few minutes before Emmrich spoke again, his tone much more serious. "Rook, may I ask you a question of a personal nature?"

"Certainly."

"Does it bother you? All the gossip. About you. About what you did. About us." Oh, that was very serious and personal indeed.

"I'm...used to commentary about my origins and my...monochrome appearance. I've been strange all my life. Very few people have their facts straight on what I did during the war and why, so I pay no heed to the uninformed takes bouncing around these walls. As for us, well, I don't particularly mind. The other Watchers can say whatever they like. It won't change how I feel about you, and we're both mages, so we're not illegal in the eyes of the Chantry or anything. There's no danger in people finding out, just...a lot of people being a bit rude. They'll probably get bored with it eventually and move on." Rook felt like she was rambling as she spoke, like she'd been sitting on these thoughts for a while and they'd all come spilling out at the first chance. She hadn't realized she'd been gesturing until she finished and noticed the uneaten half of her sandwich flopping in her hand.

"I see," Emmrich said softly, his eyes filled with sympathy.

"Why do you ask?" Rook inquired with an attempt at a more casual air before taking another bite of her sandwich.

"You squeezed my hand rather tightly when we walked by those whispering apprentices," he informed her, and she blushed again, this time in embarrassment.

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's perfectly natural to care what others think and to be hurt by ill considered words, you know." Emmrich gently placed his hand over hers, and she suddenly felt very weak. "You don't have to be an unshakable rock at every moment. I worry that you will shatter if you try." The threat of tears began to subtly burn behind her eyes at this. He had seen right through her.

"I might shatter if I don't," she replied, her voice wavering ever so slightly. "I can't afford to-" No, she couldn't say that. It would make her feel too exposed. "Varric always tells me that I'll have an easier time if I don't dwell on what others think and what I could have done better." At this, the sympathy in Emmrich's expression deepened and his fingers curled around hers.

"I see. We needn't discuss it further. I didn't intend to upset you."

"It's alright." She hadn't expected him to let it go so easily, but she wasn't going to question it.

"You show so much care for others. I only wish to show you the same in return."

"I know." Emmrich lifted her hand and tenderly kissed her knuckles, making her heart flutter.

"Shall we try some of those stuffed peppers?" he suggested gently, and she nodded, quickly finishing her sandwich before picking up a pepper. It was delicious, but of course she expected nothing less from Lucanis. They were crunchy, creamy, herbal, and spicier than she was accustomed to, but she didn't hate it. Emmrich muttered "oh dear" after his first bite but happily continued eating and slowly turned a bit red. They agreed that the peppers were fantastic albeit slightly painful. The bananas luckily turned out to be helpful in their recovery.

"I'll pass our review on to the chef," Rook chuckled as she began to pack everything back in the basket.

"Please do. And thank you ever so much for this lovely little picnic. It was a wonderful diversion," Emmrich responded warmly.

"You're welcome."

"Will you permit me to do something similarly diverting for you in the future?"

"If you'd like. I'm always happy to spend time with you, Emmrich."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Only after he'd returned to the library and she was on her way back to the mirror did she realize that he'd just finessed his way into getting her to let him take care of her. Dammit.

[twola]

All is Calm, All is Bright

This is my entry for the @rdrevents #rdrSecretWinterExchange! Its the first time for me to participate in something like this and I had a ton of fun doing it!

the prompt was: johnigail and/or marston family centric - marston family’s first christmas on the ranch

PG13-ish? Language (hey - it’s Red Dead) and there’s some insinuatin’ of things that married folk do. Happy holidays @vittoriaisfuckingpathetic!

God damn woman, goddamn woman with those goddamn pretty eyes, and evil smile and…

Oh, who is he kidding? That woman’s got him wound tighter than a two-dollar watch. That’s why he’s heading into Blackwater when the prairie is cold as dickens and he feels like he froze his ass off on this ride into town. The grey clouds cast darkness over the land, and though sunset is a few hours off, it is dark enough to lose one’s way easily.

John Marston groans underneath his heavy coat, tucking his head into the open collar, “C’mon now boy, just get me into town and I’ll getcha all the damn treats that you want.” 

The roan Tennessee Walker beneath him nicks its head up, neighing in discomfort against the wind rolling off Flat Iron Lake. Blanketed in white, snow covering the prairie, he can barely see the trail ahead of him, having to rely on muscle memory and his sense of direction to get to Blackwater.

“It’s Christmas. The first time the boy’s been in a home for one, hell, it's the first time I’ve been in a home for one. Probably you too.”

Abigail, as always, was right. Her voice rings in his ears, and though he wants to grumble terribly, it warms him to see her smile as he leaves. Seeing excitement in Jack’s eyes, for the first time in a very long time. Fortunately, It's not long before he comes upon that old white church on the top of the hill heading into town - he’s able to urge his horse to trot faster down the well-traveled road, where hoofprints and wagon tracks have the ground visible underneath the snow. 

The plod of his horse's hooves change their tenor as he reaches the cobblestone main streets of Blackwater. It's a sound that he bites back a derisive comment to - much preferring the soft, muted sound of his horse walking on the open prairie. When John reaches his destination, he slides out of the saddle and hitches his horse to a post in front of several shops. He brushes snow off of his shoulder as he quickly moves toward one of the shops.

Blackwater Sundries - Family Owned since 1895

The bell above the door rings as he pushes the door open, quickly closing it behind himself to stave out the cold wind.

“I’m here to pick up an order under the name Marston.”

The young woman behind the desk smiles before turning to the table behind and her, grabbing a wooden crate. She struggles, slightly, hoisting it to the counter, and John leans over the counter to steady her by taking the crate's edge. 

“Thank you kindly, Mister Marston. This here’s got a smoked ham, a can of candied yams, a can of asparagus, a wrapped fruitcake, and a bottle of my momma’s mulled wine. She just made it this morning. A Christmas gift for everyone who made an order with us.”

“That’s mighty kind of her, Miss.” John slides the crate closer to himself on the counter. He digs one hand into his satchel for the envelope of money that Abigail had sent with him for the order. Placing it down on the counter, he gazes once over the crate and its contents, “Miss, do you possibly have a sack to put this all in? I only have my horse, ain’t brought my wagon.”

“Course, Mister. Let me wrap up the bottle in extra canvas.”

After the girl wraps all of the items carefully in canvas and finally in a large sack, she holds it out for John to take,  “Ham is already spiced and smoked, so just have your wife warm it up in the oven. Yams and asparagus just on the stovetop. Shouldn’t take more than an hour and you’ll have a nice spread.” She states cheerily as John shoulders the sack.

He snorts to himself as he nods a farewell, striding back to the door and the howling wind outside. Blessedly, this was one meal that Abigail would not be able to ruin. He loves that woman from here to hell and back, but Lord, cooking wasn’t one of her strong suits.

John braces himself against the cold as the door swings open, gritting his teeth against the blustery wind that rushes through the city street. Cursing to himself again, he quickly secures the bag to his horse’s rump, taking a moment to dig in his satchel for a peppermint candy that he feeds the Walker before unhitching him and climbing up.

It’s a cold, long ride back to Beecher’s Hope, and night has truly fallen by the time John can see the glow of lights from the main house. He leads the horse to the barn, opening the two large doors and bringing the Walker to one of the stalls where he had shoveled fresh hay into. John brings his hand down the horse’s mane affectionately as he unties the bag of items and pulls the saddle from the horse’s back. Once the Walker is settled, John shoulders the bag and heads back outside, walking quickly up to the house, pushing inside the door seeking warmth.

“Pa’s back!”  John hears his son shout from down the hall as he closes the door behind him. He shrugs some of the snow off his shoulder before kicking his boots off on the threshold. 

“Go on and help him then!” Abigail shouts from the kitchen.

“Sir -” Jack bounds into view and holds his arms out and John hands him the sack of goods, “Mind the bottle in there.”  The boy nods and carries the sack carefully toward the kitchen.  

John finishes kicking his boots off and shrugs his wet coat off as well, hanging it on a peg near the door. He treads forward, further into the house, where the main room is brightly lit with sconces, candles, and oil lanterns to fend off the darkness of the night. Abigail has hung pine boughs on the mantle, cut from the trees on the furthest north reach of the ranch, right as it borders Tall Trees. The scent of pine wafts through the house, and John has to stop and survey the room, so filled with life, even in the darkness of the season.

Abigail flutters around the house like a madwoman, taking the bag from Jack and immediately running back into the kitchen. She orders the men of the house around as if she is in the army - wash up, change your shirt, Uncle, I swear to god if you drank John’s good whiskey you will sleep in the barn tonight -

By the time that he, Jack, and Uncle return in some state of cleanliness, Abigail has warmed up the food and placed it out on serving plates on the table. John cannot help but to stare at the bounty of it all - he was so far removed from the starving kid stealing bread at Jack’s age. Even far removed from eating Pearson’s stew around a campfire.

“Sir?” Jack waits patiently, his hands on the chair in front of him.

“Go on now, sit down and let’s eat.” John waves his hand at the table as he pulls out his own chair, and the clank and clatter of forks and knives on plates as food is served fills the room.

“And look at this - the Christmas spirit has even gotten to a sour ol’ bastard like John Marston o’er here.” Uncle guffaws between swigs of whiskey straight from the bottle, obviously having had quite a few sips before dinner even started.

“Old man, I swear-” John points his fork menacingly at Uncle.

“It’s Christmas, John. Have a heart and don’t abuse the elderly, for once.” Uncle retorts, to which John rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to threaten the old man, as per usual.

Abigail glares from across the table and John swallows his insult, breathing out his nose as he spears a piece of candied yam.

Soft conversation continues through dinner, the teasing and retorts that usually take up the table are blessedly absent - for once. John glances up from his empty plate across the table to his wife, and the smile that she gives him makes the hardened gunslinger blush - blush - of all things.

She mouths a “thank you” as Uncle drones on about how his stories are better in every way than Jack’s books - his son interjecting about how Uncle is no literary luminary. Laughter floats through the house - flashes of the quiet, empty room when he had just built the house dance behind John’s eyes - he is so thankful those days are behind him.

The dessert is served and eaten, conversation remains light and cheerful. For tonight, at least, work at Beecher’s Hope is forgotten - the crush of debts or ‘success’ at ranching. 

“Alright now, Jack - go on and wash up and head to sleep. It's past your bedtime.” Abigail points one finger at her son as she finishes her glass of mulled wine and John can swear he sees a blush in her cheeks that he had not seen in years. After Jack grumbles for a moment and bids everyone good night,  Abigail clears the table and with a yawn, retires, walking behind John and kissing him on his brow on her way back to their bedroom.

John has a few more glasses of whiskey with Uncle before they retire, recalling glory days gone by. Uncle’s storytelling gets more and more ridiculous with each drink - One-Shot Kid my ass. Mumbling something about how his lumbago ails him, Uncle schleps over to the couch. For once, John does not scold him about getting up to his place in the attic. Perhaps it was this ‘Christmas spirit’ that Abigail had gone on about. Standing up from the table, John rights the mostly empty bottle of whiskey as he looks up at the clock on the wall, another contraption Abigail insisted on furnishing this house. It’s past midnight - technically Christmas at this point. He sighs, slowly strolling down the hall to his son’s room.

He checks on Jack, pushing his door open ever so slightly. The boy has fallen asleep with his oil lantern next to his desk still on, a book open across his chest. John frowns, stepping fully into the room and making his way over to the bed as quietly as he can. He gently, carefully extracts the book from Jack’s grasp, placing it down on the bedside table; open to the page that his son had been reading. 

John lingers, his finger on the switch to the lamp. The orange glow of light casts shadows through the room, and for a second, he swears the boy in the bed is a ragtag child, dirty and angry, saved from the gallows by wayward outlaws.

He shakes his head at the vision as he turns off the lantern, plunging the room into darkness. As his eyes adjust, he quietly makes his way back to the hall, pausing once again to look upon his son, silently swearing to himself that Jack will never have to live as he did at this age.

He yawns, rolling his shoulder as he walks back into the dining room, past the leftovers of the veritable feast they had for the Christmas meal, not bothering to clear it up until morning. Idly scratching his bicep, he winces slightly at the pull in the muscle - even after all these years, there are dull aches from the bullet wound he obtained in Roanoke. Brushing off the pain, he continues down the hallway, to his and Abigail’s bedroom. He quietly opens the door, expecting his wife to be fast asleep this late in the night.

He’s surprised when she isn’t, the fireplace blazing and sconces lighting the room.

Abigail lounges upon the bed like some expensive lady of the night, her long chemise lacy and near translucent in the night. Jesus, she’s as beautiful as she was at eighteen when he couldn’t have enough of her. 

“Thank you, John.” She whispers softly. He almost can’t hear her, so enraptured by the sight of her with her long hair unbound, laying out on that bed.

Abigail nicks her head upward with that sly grin that stole his heart. John raises his eyebrows in questioning as he follows her motioning - finding a bright green sprig of leaves hung over the bed frame, tied with a red length of yarn.

“C’mon over here, gunslinger.”

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

THIS CAME TO ME IN MY DREAM... CAN YOU MAKE A STORY ABOUT THE READER BEING NANAMI'S LITTLE SISTER AND GOJO HAS A CRUSH ON HER OR SMTH IDK 🤭🤭🤭

A/N: Gojo art credits go to @tayatimiko

GOJO that jumps in his seat startled af, eyes wide as saucers behind his blind fold when come up from behind and cover em w/ both hands. "Baby, why haven't u called me back? It's so lonely in my mansion." You quote, a sensual whisper in his ear. He jumps to his feet, bumpin into his desk clumsily, offering a nervous chuckle at ur joke. "Hey, y/n.. Was just omw out. Sorry. I Gotta, um.. Uhh, u know-," Stutters some lame excuse and flees the classroom. Just like he does whenever u catch him alone after hours. "What the actual fuck?" 🤨 Fuckin guy's been actin strange lately. Like even for Satoru's weird ass. You've been tryin to get him alone to talk about but it's as if he can't stand to be in the same room with u. Refuses to look at u more than a few seconds and its drivin u too the damn brink.

GOJO that's always been like kin to u. But you're not fuckin blind, how could you not notice the skyscraper is sex onna stick? Soiled 💦 plenty of ur pretty panties just from lookin at his pretty face. But he swats away ur school girl crush without a thought. As Nanami's lil sis, Satoru insisted on treating u like a sibling. But ur older now. And what u don't know is.. He can't deny you've grown into a lovely young woman. Smart, compassionate, brave. And GAWD, don't even let him start thinkin bout that fuckin body..

GOJO is startin to feel like a super creep cause he can't stop his filthy mind from day dreaming albout you, no matter what he's doin. Ur soft curly mane, shape of ur beautiful y/e/c eyes, curve of ur cute nose. The softest plush full lips.. They'd def feel otherworldly wrapped around his- 👄���🍆"Fuuuck, baby, don't stop.." Satoru groans, abruptly wakin himself up from the lusty dream starring u. Scrubs at his tired features and glances at the alarm clock. 12:37 am. "Dammit, ma.. Can't even sleep without u on my mind." Spends the rest the night tossin and turnin, tryin to erase the vision of u gaggin on his cock from his pervert brain.

GOJO no longer believes in relieving his stress if it isn't inside of u, basically becomes a born again virgin. Really thinks the amount of nut he's savin for u gave him hyperspermia and now every time he cums, it can literally fill buckets. Even worse he just start havin the most intense nocturnal emissions. Though his body feels like it's on cloud 9, it's startin to get aggravating, goin to sleep w/ u on his mind only to wake up to his dick dischargin like a automatic. "Shitshitshit! Nooo, not again." Satoru stares at his inflated cock swelling fatter in disbelief, energy burstin from him uncontrollably when he spasms, whimpering for u again and again as the temple starts to tremble, cracks tearing through the foundation. "Y/n, baby, fuuuck- I need u! Ohhplease, be mine.. Jus lemme feed that pussy this big fat load. Please honey, 's all for u, all for -nghh.. ah, ah, ah, can't stop! I can't stop cummin for u baby." The lastest dirty delusional demo 🍆🍩 of u cloggin his brain and he's so helpless, grippin the thick throbbing base of his shaft tight, trying to stop the overwhelming flow, gut compressin as the next spurt shoots even harder. An detrimental earthquake cracks through the surrounding streets but Satoru's too busy cryin and shakin. "Oh fuck, I can't take it! T-too good, too much.. haaah! 'M gonna die, pleeease! Stopstopstop- no! Wanna stuff u princess, such a waaaste.." Delrious ass sweatin bullets while his nut shoots high in the air, splatter audible when it rains back down all over his face and chest. But he just sloppily jerks at his dick, head saggingon his pillow as he attempts to wring himself dry, nut coating his slender knuckles in the yummiest glaze. "H-help me sweet girl- ohhh y/nnn.." Can't stop gaspin ur name, thrashin in his king size bed, the last of his ooey gooey nut cascading down his dick and balls as thunder crashes up above, lightning hailing across the sky like electric arrows before a random bolt slices through the adjoining building. Fuck.. Yaga's definitely gonna be pissed.

GOJO despises staying away from u and misses the fuck outta ur clingy ass. Craves how u used bake him his favorite sweet treats when he came over, yummy body bangin in ur sports bra and lil cotton shorts. Backing it up on him, reachin back to grip his neck, twerking all on him to the nastiest playlist. Or how u used to slide to his place unannounced, usually watchin as he laid on his tummy and rocked out on the ps5 in only a pair of black briefs. You'd always sit on his naked back, playin in his hair, massagin the weeks tension out his broad shoulders as he shouted obscenities at his teammates, only pausing to groan in satisfaction at ur talented fingers. Satoru can still feel the heated print of ur cushy tush 🍑 and chubby puss 🍪 molded to his spine. Had to will his away his nut countless times as he laid atop a fat boner, tryin to concentrate on the game and not moan like a whore when u squish ur front to his back and hug him tight. "Yay, good job Toru, u won!" Ur weight puttin the most delicious pressure on his dick. Feels so slutty rememberin how the smallest softest kiss to the back of neck had his eyes glazing over, teeth diggin into his bottom lip as nut pours from his flushed slit.

GOJO can't accept his crush on his good friends lil sis. Needs space from u since he can't pin ur feet behind ur ears and slurp ur cunt till he's full, so he decides to be a grade A dick. "Y/n, we need ta talk." Folds his long arms and shakes his head when u stomp ur foot and throw a hissy 😡 after he says u can't come on missions w/ him and Nanami anymore under pretenses that he just tryin to keep u safe. "Seriously Toru? U been ignorin me for how long? No reason, not a text or call. Now this shit?" Lean frame reclined against the schools entrance doors beside ur perplexed brother, kissable lips thinning dramatically. Pussy ofcourse is lookin anywhere but u. "'M not gettin into all that, y/n. Lets jus keep it professional since we're at work, yeah?" Nanami quirks a blonde brow, so sick and tired of the odd tension. "Gojo, it's fine. Y/n's got us. It's never been a problem before. We can-," ur brother tries to interject but Satoru huffs and storms off without another word. "Just stay this once. I'll talk to him." Ur bother squeezes u in a quick hug when ur eyes tear w/ frustration, kissing the top of ur head before jogging after the idiot.

GOJO feels bad when Nanami scolds him the next day about makin u cry. "U were an absolute terror yesterday. More than usual. I don't care why. U need to fix this Satoru. Whatever it takes." Satoru is exasperated af atp. Wholeheartedly doubts ur brother knows what he's saying. He can't even be in ur presence w/ out wondering what ur perfect tits would feel like in his mouth. 🤤 "Look.. We just need.. Space rn. Its nothin." Nanami slits his eyes, poppin Satoru in the back of the head. "I'm not an idiot, like u. Can't just ignore how she feels bout u.. How u feel about eachother." Satoru definitely engages his infinity, always expectin this convo w/ ur brother to be rather unpleasant. "How long have u known?" "How long have u loved her?" Satoru's stumped. So he's not as subtle as he believes? Shocker. 😮 "Longer than I care to admit rn. Kento.. It'll change everything." Nanami nods slow. "Just don't hurt her."

GOJO that's the one who ends up hurt when he arrives to the school for class but sees u trainin real up close and personal with the new instructor. The fucker 🖕🏽is all in ur grill, leanin his weight into u as he helps u "stretch". Feelin up ur thighs while pressin ur leg above ur head, his bulge pokin dangerously close to the center between ur legs. "How's that feel, sweetheart? Not too bad right?" Its a dagger to his heart 😭that ur all smiles and giggles. Satoru doesn't even realize he's shoved em off u, wailing on the guy over and over. "Fuckin bastard! Swear if u EVER fuckin touch what's mine again, I'll rip ur fuckin arms off!" Pummels him to a pulp and the fuckin loser is unconscious by the 2cnd punch but he doesnt stop. "Satoru, stop! Ur gonna kill him!" Which he wouldn't have realize if it weren't for u usin the cursed technique u share w/ Nanami, the precise hit blastin him back so hard Satoru has to dig his nail into the ground to catch his footing. U gaze at eachother in the longest stare down, tense af, chests heaving, both brewing with fiery burst of cursed energy. Thoughts racing a hundred miles per minute and Satoru just can't take this shit no more. Teleports inches away, yankin u to him w/ both hands on ur ass and smotherin u inna a hungry demanding kiss. But ur still pissed, pushin him back before slappin him across the face. "I should rip UR fuckin arms off for thinkin u could ghost me then slide thru to defend my honor!" Feelin a bit of justice as he rubs his pink cheek. "I know, I'm sorry y/n. I-," But u interrupt him with another hard smack. "Just.. Shut up, dummy. Dick first, talk later." You snarl, dragging him to his office by his uniform collar.

[alfheimr]

my latest form of self care is painting cora

[sorcerersandskillusers]

Oda: if I had a nickel for every time I had to carry an injured teen with gunshot wounds wearing a long black coat and threatening to kill me, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice.

[choccy-milky]

nothing like some rest and relaxation after a long day of travelling 😇💕 ((from my oneshot! ao3/wattpad))

[pigdemonart]

La Vampira del Hibisco (Part 2)

Part 1

Another 4 pages of cringefail vampire adventures

ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ ahhh, María, you are too clever. Which is why you must die.

The set of pages are up on Patreon already!

Patreon | Ko-Fi

[woaaahh-itz-caam]

i had a thought… and idea perhaps….. a mental image if you will……..

[shirecorn]

Tumblr keeps popping up to sell me ad free dashboard. But what it doesn't understand is that me and the ads have a sort of symbiosis at this point.

The guys from the fake gameplay trailers for a predatory mobile app are my blorbos

[canonsinthehead]

I'm watching Alabasta...