#look at that i can be true to the tag for once

[sigilslvt]

JEALOUSY • DRABBLE

☣︎ Summary: The men all have their reasons for getting jealous around you. But how exactly do they react when they feel the threat is much more real? SURELY, they’re rational, right?

Includes: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Choso, Sukuna, and Nanami

Tags: fem! reader, friends to lovers, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, bathroom sex, unprotected sex, teasing, bulging, pussy eating, choking, breeding, praise, overstim, possessiveness, threatened gun violence, toxic possessiveness, car sex, dry humping, rough sex, squirting, pining, premature ejaculation, love bombing, pregnancy, pregnancy sex, true form sukuna, slight angst

WC: 13.1k

A/N: I cackled writing Choso’s, my poor baby is too precious 😩💜

༒︎ Gojo Satoru ༒︎

You pull into the gas station because, once again, your car is on its last leg. Satoru’s been absolutely useless this entire car ride, lounging like some kind of overgrown housecat, sunglasses crooked on his nose, humming the most obnoxious song he can think of just to get under your skin. His long legs are kicked up on your dashboard like he’s king of the world.

“Finally, a pit stop,” he says, stretching dramatically. “I was starting to think you’d just run us out of gas for fun. You know, to create a bonding moment.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, putting the car in park. “Stay in the car. Not that I have to tell you that.”

He snickers, not even looking up from whatever weird little game he’s playing on his phone. “Sure thing, sugar. Let me know if you need me to heroically pump the gas for you. I’ll try not to make it look too easy.”

You ignore him because giving him attention only makes it worse. You grab your wallet and step out, the cold air biting at your face as you swipe your card and get ready to fill the tank as quickly as possible so you can return to the cocoon of warmth that is your car. You’re in your own little zone, minding your business, when a voice breaks through the quiet.

“Hey there! Need some help?”

You glance up, startled, and see a guy walking over. He’s got that effortless, small-town-boy charm, the kind of guy who probably calls everyone “ma’am” and knows how to fix a tractor. He’s smiling, too— a little too widely, and before you can even process what’s happening, he’s taking the pump right out of your hands.

“Oh, I had it,” you say, trying to be polite, but this guy is already on a roll.

“Nah, no worries,” he says, grinning. “Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t have to pump their own gas. It’s just not right.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between confusion and being impressed, because— wow. Is this really happening?

You glance back at your car, hoping Gojo hasn’t noticed, but as soon as your eyes land on his, you know you’re doomed. He’s sitting up now, sunglasses pushed to the top of his head, staring at you both like he’s just been served the juiciest gossip of the year. His grin is growing and you’re sure he’s ready to put on a show.

Before you can stop him, he throws open the car door and steps out like he’s been summoned to the stage. He stretches unnecessarily— arms up, head tilted back, like he’s on the cover of a sports magazine— and then saunters over, hands in his pockets, looking way too pleased with himself.

The gas station guy looks up, noticing Gojo for the first time. His smile falters just a little. “Oh, uh… hey. Didn’t realize you had someone with you.”

Satoru’s already grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Oh, don’t mind me,” he says, waving a hand. “I’m just her boyfriend. You know, the adoring, perfect, doting one who pumps her gas all the time.”

You groan. “Toru—”

“What? I’m just saying, it’s cute that you’re trying to help, bud,” he says, turning back to the guy with a grin so wide it’s almost terrifying. “But this is kind of my thing. I know she’s just the sweetest, but she’s taken.You get it, right? Yeah, you get it.”

The poor guy blinks, clearly unsure if Satoru’s joking or about to start something. “Uh, yeah, no problem,” he mutters, handing the pump back to you like it’s radioactive. “You two have a good day.”

“Oh, we will!” Gojo chirps, giving him a little salute. “And hey, nice try, man. Better luck next time.”

The guy doesn’t even look back. He practically sprints back to the safety of the gas station, and as soon as he’s gone, you turn to Toru, crossing your arms and pursing your lips in annoyance.

“What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” he asks, feigning innocence as he leans casually against the car. “I was just making sure no one stole my job. You know how much I love pumping your gas.”

You gape at him. “You’ve never pumped gas in your life!”

“Exactly,” he says smugly. “That’s what makes this moment so special. It’s a sacred duty.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “You’re so insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, draping an arm around your shoulders, “you love me. Isn’t that wild?”

“Whatever. I’m gonna get a snack. Want something?” you roll your eyes and start walking toward the station.

“I’ll come with, I’m craving something sweet.” he smirks with a look in his eyes that you can’t quite discern.

You raise a brow and walk with him, entering the gas station with the goal to grab a bag of chips and water, but the second you head for them, your hand is being trapped by Satoru’s and he’s tugging you toward the bathroom. You shoot him a look of confusion and annoyance, but he pays it no mind as he yanks you inside, closing the door behind you and pressing you against it.

“Toru, wha—”

“Told you I wanted something sweet, sugar. Bend over a little f’me.” he instructs, turning you so you’re facing the door. Your palms lay flat against it, trying to use it as leverage to turn yourself, but he presses your head to the door, too, his strong palm mushing your cheeks to it, sucking his teeth in disapproval.

“You’re insane, w-we’re in a gas station,” you try to reason with him, but his hand’s already shoved up your skirt and peeling down your panties. “Satoru, seriously…”

“Y’telling me to stop? She’s cryin’ f’me, though, I think she’ll be so sad if I don’t give her what she wants,” he purrs, getting to his knees and littering kisses on the fat of your ass. “C’mere, baby.”

You’re lost to him the moment he stuffs his face into your already dripping cunt, bucking yourself back against him and into the feel of his greedy tongue slipping between your folds and down, down, down to your clit. You can feel him smirking against you when he draws out a long shaky whine from your lips between your panting and while normally his cockiness would annoy you beyond belief, it instead turns you on more. And yet—

“Wh-hah— why couldn’t this wait until we got to the hotel?” you ask, nails scraping down the door when he plunges his tongue into your twitching hole.

He pulls away for a moment, spreading your ass to spit a glob of saliva between your folds and slurp it back up while sucking your clit. No answer. You huff and tremble, unsure of how long you’ll be able to keep yourself standing if he’s just gonna keep eating you like a man starved.

You try, you really do, to keep your voice down, but when his tongue hits that spot inside of your gummy walls, his hand between your thighs and thumb working on your clit, you can’t help but let your moans slip out. And oh, does that make him even more unrelenting. His thumb draws circles on your clit quicker and with more pressure, his tongue fucking into you as rough as can be. 

Your eyelids flutter closed, breathing labored as you feel that sweet sweet build up that you love so much. He knows what comes next and while normally, he’d see you to the end, this time he stops, earning a frown from your pretty face.

“Wh-why’d y—” you start.

“Y’mine, say it.”

“What? Toru, what’s—”

“Say. It. Say y’mine… say y’love me and I’ll make you cum so good, sugar, I promise.” he all but whines.

You don’t know why it needs to be said or what’s going on with him, but you’ll be damned if you let your orgasm escape you. With every second that passes, it runs from you, so you give him what he needs. “I’m yours, baby. I love you.” you coo.

“Again.” he huffs against your cunt, making your knees weak. He’s so close. You’re so close.

“I love y— hah,” your breath escapes you when he delves his tongue back into your pulsing hole. “Fuuuuck… I love you, I love you, I l— fuck!” your cunt tries it’s best to grip his tongue, but he fucks it into you with more force as you cum on it, losing strength in your legs and slumping down while your brain goes dumb with pleasure.

He holds you up, tongue slipping out of you and back to your clit, his head shaking side to side while he licks at your clit, overstimulating you beyond belief. All you can do is cry out for mercy, palms battering at the bathroom door as you raise your white flag.

With that, he frees you from the sweet torture, massaging your thighs and resting back on his ankles. “I’m pumping your gas from now on.” he huffs.

Coming back to your senses, you realize why he pulled this stunt off. “Satoru. Were you… jealous!?” you chuckle in disbelief.

“I’ve got nothing to be jealous about, it seems. What with the ‘I love you, I love you, I—’” he mocks you while standing up and you smack his arm.

“Sh-shut up.” You huff, pouting as he puts your panties back in place, dolling you back up and kissing your shoulder.

“Nope. But you’re gonna wish you had when the poor guy out there’s blushing redder than red.” he teases. Your eyes widen and you cover your mouth with your hand when you realize he had to have heard everything.

“You’re insane.” your voice is muffled by your hand.

“Insane’s one word for it,” he smirks. “I like to say I’m just crazy for you.”

Not long later, you’re climbing back into the car. Satoru follows, flopping into the passenger seat with a contented sigh like he’s just won a marathon.

As you pull out of the station, he stretches again, kicking his feet up on the dash like he owns the place. “You know,” he says casually, “you should really thank me. That guy was totally about to ask for your number. I saved you from a very awkward situation.”

And you could quite literally kill him.

༒︎ Geto Suguru ༒︎

The room is buzzing with conversation, a polite undercurrent of tension that doesn’t escape you. Cult leaders and their followers mill about in finely tailored clothes, exchanging calculated smiles and empty pleasantries. You’re trying your best to look engaged, but your thoughts keep drifting to Suguru.

He stands a few feet away, surrounded by a small circle of curse users, his tall frame commanding attention with ease. His black robes flow elegantly around him, his long hair tied back neatly. The faint smirk on his face, the calm way he speaks— it all oozes confidence. Control. Every now and then, he glances in your direction, his sharp eyes softening for just a moment before flicking back to the conversation.

You’re nursing a drink near the refreshment table when someone sidles up beside you.

“Ah, I was hoping I’d get the chance to meet you,” a smooth voice says.

You turn to see a tall man in a perfectly tailored suit, his polished appearance almost too pristine. His expression is warm but calculated, and his sharp eyes are already fixed on you. Takeda. You recognize him instantly— leader of a large, influential cult. Non-sorcerer, but powerful in his own way.

“Good evening,” you reply, forcing a polite smile. They have their role to play, Geto tells you, so you make sure to keep appearances with non-sorcerers despite their usual poor attitude toward you.

He smiles wider. “Good evening, indeed. I couldn’t help but notice you standing here all by yourself. It seems almost criminal for someone as lovely as you to be left alone at an event like this.”

You feel your cheeks warm at the unexpected compliment, a small flush creeping up your neck. “I’m not alone. I’m here with my boyfriend,” you say, gesturing subtly in Suguru’s direction.

Takeda follows your gaze and chuckles softly. “Suguru Geto. Of course. I’ve heard much about him.” His attention snaps back to you, and his smile turns almost wolfish. “I must admit, though, I’m surprised. I didn’t think someone so… captivating would end up with a man who seems so creepy… Besides, I’m sure he’s always so busy. Too busy to truly appreciate a beauty like you.”

Your face heats further, and you stammer, “He’s not too busy. He’s just—”

Before you can finish, he takes your hand in his and presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles. It’s old-fashioned, deliberate, and enough to leave you momentarily stunned. Not in awe, but in pure shock. He’s bold, you’ll give him that.

Your breath catches, and you feel a wave of heat rush to your face. You try to pull your hand back, but his grip is firm— not unkind, but enough to make you falter. You can’t ruin appearances by hurting him, so you allow it, praying he’ll give up soon.

“A pleasure meeting you,” he murmurs, his lips still ghosting over your skin.

And then you feel it— the air shifting suddenly. A heavy, familiar presence fills the space around you, and Takeda finally releases your hand. You glance over your shoulder to see Suguru a few feet away, his dark eyes fixed on the two of you as he approaches.

“Takeda,” Suguru says smoothly, his tone light but carrying a weight that makes your stomach flip because you know better.

Takeda straightens and flashes a smile that’s far too confident. “Geto. What a pleasure to see you,” He gestures toward you. “I was just introducing myself to your lovely partner. She’s quite… enchanting.”

Suguru’s lips twitch, curving into a faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m aware.”

There’s a pause, the kind that feels too loud in the quiet. Suguru’s gaze flickers briefly to your hand before returning to Takeda.

“I see you’ve already made yourself comfortable,” he continues softly.

Takeda chuckles nervously, clearly unsure of how to respond. Geto’s not usually the type to be confrontational in public. It’s normally all smiles and politics for him, so this has Takeda stunned. “I meant no disrespect, of course.”

Suguru hums thoughtfully. “No disrespect… Of course not.” He tilts his head slightly, his smile sharpening. “But you’d do well to remember your place, Takeda. Admiration is one thing. Touching, however…” He trails off, his tone turning razor-sharp, dark eyes honing in on the poor man’s. “That’s dangerous, especially for someone like you.”

Takeda falters, his polished demeanor cracking for just a moment. “I— I’ll keep that in mind,” he mutters before excusing himself and retreating into the crowd.

As soon as he’s gone, Suguru turns to you, his sharp expression softening slightly. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just looking at you in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“You seemed… flustered,” he says finally, his voice quiet but probing.

Your cheeks burn, and you look away. “I wasn’t, he just caught me off guard,” you mumble.

Suguru steps closer, his dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Are you sure? Because from where I was standing…” He pauses, his voice dropping. “It looked like you didn’t mind it.”

“Suguru—”

“Did you like it?” he interrupts, his tone impossibly soft, almost vulnerable. “A weakling holding your hand, kissing it like that… Did you enjoy it?” 

Your heart twists at the faint frown tugging at his lips, the rare glimpse of uncertainty in his usually composed expression. That’s when you recognize the look in his eye. It isn’t anger, it’s fear. Insecurity. Things you never expected to see from him.

“No,” you say quickly, reaching for him. “Of course not. I could never, baby.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze flickering over your face as if searching for any sign of dishonesty. Finally, he exhales softly and takes your hand in his, his thumb brushing over the spot where Takeda’s lips had been.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, his voice low but firm.

He leads you down a hallway, wanting to be away from the noise and chatter of the convention. When he pushes open the door to an empty room and pulls you inside, the silence feels almost deafening in comparison to everything on the outside.

Suguru closes the door and turns to face you, his dark eyes heavy with emotion. Without a word, he cups your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Say it,” he whispers, his voice raw.

“Say what?” you ask softly, your hands resting on his chest.

“That you’re mine,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against yours. “That you wouldn’t leave me for some monkey.”

Your heart aches at the quiet desperation in his tone. “I’m yours, of course I’m yours.” You whisper, your hands curling into his robes. “Always.”

The next thing you know, his lips are melting yours, soft at first, but quickly growing more insistent. When he pulls back, his breathing is uneven, and his eyes are darker than ever.

“Again,” he all but whines, his lips trailing down to your jaw. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Suguru,” you repeat, your voice racing as your heart squeezes. “Only yours.”

He exhales sharply, his hands sliding down to grip your waist. “Good,” he whispers, moreso to himself. “Good… because I need you.”

You nod, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kisses you again, this time with a desperation that feels like he’s trying to erase every trace of Takeda’s touch from your skin.

His nails dig into your sides, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, tasting all that you have— all that you are. He’s needy, moving to hoist you up and hook your legs around his waist.

Your dress rides up your thighs and he wastes no time gripping at the fat of them, subtly rolling his hips into you in a way that tells you he may just be doing it subconsciously. Gasps are shared between your lips as he kisses you a few more times before moving to swipe his tongue up your neck, stopping just under your jaw and sucking a big fat hickey into the crevice.

It feels so good that you almost don’t notice the way his hands are working their way down, down, down to your ass, pulling you into him with every roll of his hips. You feel how hard he is even through his robes, unable and unwilling to stop yourself from sliding the top of his gojogesa off his broad shoulders. You’re dipping your head down to pepper kisses all over his shoulder while he marks you up, your nails leaving marks of their own on his skin from how hard you’re gripping him.

You know what this is. Know what he needs. You’d be a fool to stop him from taking it. “Sugu… here.” You tell him, emphasizing your words by rolling your hips in tandem with his.

You swear you hear him growl as he tears his lips from your throat and grips your underwear on one side to tear them off, your eyes widening at the action. Suguru’s normally a calm, calculated man, even when he makes love to you, everything is suave and he’s always in control, but now? Now, he’s become someone entirely different. Someone needy. Someone eager to prove a point. To stake a claim.

“Here, angel.” Is all you hear before your mouth is stuffed with your own underwear and– when did he whip his dick out? You’ve got no idea, but it’s plugged into you before you can react, a long and grateful groan just spilling from Suguru’s lips like he’s finally laying in bed after a long day of hard labor. He’s home. Your head falls back against the door and he uses the opportunity to attack your neck again, littering the skin with kisses, licks, and the occasional bite.

He’s got no rhyme or rhythm in his thrusts, he simply ruts into you with a force that has the door shaking, the metal bar rattling and making your stomach lurch with fear at the fact that it could so easily be pushed for you two to end up on display for everyone. The fear falls away soon, however, replaced with nothing but pleasure when he’s targeting that wonderful gummy little bullseye that makes you go dumb on his cock.

Your eyes start searching for something in the back of your head, drool dribbling down the corners of your mouth and soaking your underwear as your shaky moans are muffled by the fabric. And you don’t know when it started, but your ears tune into Suguru whining the same thing repeatedly. “Mine, all mine, mine, mine, mine—” again and again and again with every punctuated thrust targeting your poor cervix.

Your nails rake down his back, hoping to find some sort of balance to compensate for the fact that your legs are beginning to ragdoll, no strength left in them as they flop by his sides with every thrust. Except, you don’t have to worry. No, his grip on you is bruising, he never wants to let you go.

And you wish you could see his face in this moment. See how he looks when he’s so adamant about proving it to himself that you’re his. Before you know it, you’re snaking a hand into his hair and tugging his head back, earning a needy little whine from his puffy lips before he’s looking at you. Oh, is he looking at you. Like you’re the world. Like you’re salvation. His brows are drawn tightly together, a pout on his lips that tells you he’d be nothing without you. God, you wanna kiss him. Wanna tell him a million times over that you’d never even think of another.

The look on your face tells him exactly what you want, you think, because in the next instant, he’s tearing the underwear from your mouth and crushing his lips into yours. His thrusts have rhythm now, his hips fucking into you with urgency. Every time his thick cock slips past your puffy folds, you’re inched closer, oh so closer to cumming and your stomach draws tight at the feeling. He’s chasing both of your orgasms, not once missing that spongey little spot that makes you see stars as he pounds you into the door, your voice sounding out to God knows how many people are in the hallway while you kiss him, your drool now slipping down his chin.

You hear him groan into the kiss as his hips start to falter– he’s close. And yet, while his rhythm is lost, his force is worse. Every thrust brings you closer and closer to the edge until you’re right there. “I love you,” he whines against your lips before breaking away and letting his head fall back. “I love you, I love you, I. Fucking. Love. You.” He punctuates the last repetition with a thrust for each word, cumming on the very last one along with you, who couldn’t help but cum at the words he’s never said before.

You two had been together for a year. A whole year and not once had Suguru ever uttered the words. You always knew he wasn’t an emotional man, so you never expected to hear the words. You felt it, though. His care for you. It was in his actions. How he never forgot an important date, how he would always bring home food or a treat or flowers for you, how he loathed being away from you for any given reason. And yet, the words still shock you.

He ruts into you a few more times before he stills, nothing to be heard except for your breaths shared between each other until his eyes go wide– perhaps in realization of what he’s just said, and he kisses you. Softer this time. More sure of himself. Like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders now that he’s confessed.

When he finally pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, his hands tightening on your thighs. “Don’t let anyone else touch you like that again,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. Not angry, not upset, just… needy.  “I don’t care who it is. I won’t stand for it. Even if you don’t love me like I love you, I just can’t bear to see that again.”

You smile and offer a tired chuckle, brushing his hair back from his face. “Y’know, for someone usually so calculated and knowing, you sure are stupid,” you shake your head softly. “I love you, too. More, actually.”

His lips press against your temple, and he exhales slowly, the tension in his body finally easing. “Not possible,” he murmurs again, his voice soft. You can hear his smile in it. “Nobody’s ever loved anyone like I love you.”

༒︎ Toji Fushiguro ༒︎

You aren’t sure if dragging Toji to your high school reunion is a brilliant idea or the worst decision you’ve made all year. On one hand, you know he can charm the socks off anyone when he wants to, all cocky smirks and lazy grins that send shivers down your spine. On the other hand, he doesn’t exactly thrive in situations that involve niceties and polite small talk—especially with people he doesn’t give a shit about. Still, you’ve convinced him, mostly because you want to show him off. He’s hot, and he’s yours. What’s the point if you can’t gloat a little?

Toji is surprisingly well-behaved for most of the evening. He nurses a glass of bourbon with his usual swagger, leaning against the bar and throwing you looks that tell you that he’ll be waiting for you to make this worth his while later. He even manages to avoid scaring off too many of your old classmates, though you catch the occasional side-eye when he’s not so subtle about telling them to fuck off. Everything’s going smoothly.

That is, of course, until he notices you talking to him.

You don’t mean to bump into your ex-boyfriend. Really, you don’t. But there he is, standing near the drink table with the same easy grin you remember from your teenage years. He calls your name, and before you can stop yourself, you’re smiling back and walking over. Toji’s gaze burns into your back the entire way.

“Wow, you look amazing,” your ex says, his tone warm but casual. It’s just an observation— a compliment between old friends, but you can just feel the way Toji’s teeth grind from across the room.

“Thanks. You’re not looking too bad yourself,” you reply, keeping your tone light. The conversation flows easily, filled with harmless reminiscing about old high school antics. Nothing romantic. Nothing serious. Just memories of embarrassing pranks, favorite teachers, and the god-awful cafeteria food.

But you know Toji. You don’t have to look to know he’s watching, his sharp green eyes narrowing every time your ex laughs or steps just a little too close. You can practically hear the internal dialogue: “Who the fuck does this guy think he is?”

Then your ex does it. The thing you know is going to push Toji over the edge.

He hugs you.

It’s quick and friendly, a casual embrace to say goodbye. But as soon as your ex’s arms wrap around you, you feel your body being eaten up by your boyfriend’s shadow. You pull back quickly, about to turn to Toji to defuse whatever storm is brewing, but it’s too late.

He moves quickly— silent and deadly. One second, he’s leaning against the bar. The next, he’s standing behind you, his presence towering and suffocating. His hand rests on the back of your neck, deceptively casual as he leans in close.

“I dunno why yer touchin’ her, pal,” Toji drawls, his voice low and dangerous, “but don’t let it happen again.”

Your ex blinks, clearly startled by the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I… sorry? I was just saying goodb—”

Toji’s hand moves and you worry he may actually hit the poor guy. “Oh, shit.”

“You gonna say goodbye, then get the fuck outta here,” Toji says, his grin sharp and feral as he subtly lifts his sweater just enough to reveal the gun tucked into his waistband. “Before I decide you don’t need yer legs.”

Your ex’s eyes go wide and he stumbles over himself to retreat, mumbling something about it being nice to see you before practically sprinting away. You don’t even have time to scold Toji before security is suddenly very interested in the two of you.

Five minutes later, you’ve been escorted out of the venue, Toji’s hand resting possessively on the small of your back. You wait until you’re alone in the parking lot to whirl on him.

“Seriously?” you hiss, smacking his arm. “You pulled a gun on him?!”

“Relax, doll,” Toji says, his grin infuriatingly smug. “I didn’t even take it out.”

You groan, stomping toward the car. You reach for the passenger door, but before you can open it, his arm shoots out, blocking your path.

“Nah,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Yer sittin’ in the back with me.”

“What, am I in trouble now? Gonna spank me?” you ask sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

Toji doesn’t answer. He just opens the back door and shoves you inside, sliding in next to you and shutting the door behind him. You cross your arms, giving him a pointed glare. It doesn’t take long before he’s sulking.

He leans back against the seat, legs spread wide, and huffs like an overgrown child. “Wasn’t jealous,” he mutters.

You snort. “Sure you weren’t.”

“Ain’t funny,” he grumbles, glaring at you.

You can’t resist pushing him just a little further. “If you’re not jealous, then you won’t mind if I go back inside to grab his number. Y’know, for old times’ sake.”

His head snaps toward you, his jaw tightening. In one quick motion, he turns, caging you against the seat with his arms. “The fuck you just say?”

“You heard me,” you say, smirking. “If you’re not jealous, it shouldn’t bother you.”

Toji’s eyes narrow, and the tension in the car shifts again, but this time it isn’t anger. It’s something else entirely. He leans in until his nose brushes yours, his voice dropping to a low growl.

“Ain’t about bein’ jealous,” he says, his breath warm against your lips. “Ain’t nobody else touchin’ my girl. Don’t care what reason they have.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as his lips ghost along your jawline. His touch is possessive, his grip firm enough to leave no room for argument. You can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine.

“Toji…” you start, but he cuts you off with a low chuckle.

“Nah, you’ve been mouthin’ off thinkin’ yer cute,” he says, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “Time to shut that pretty mouth o’ yours.”

He's enjoying himself, towering over you in the confined space of the car, the sunlight streaming in from the windows only highlighting the wolfish grin that spreads across his face.

“You’re so—”

"Hm?" He hums, his hand already snaking down your side, easily slipping under the hem of your dress as he plants a kiss onto the side of your neck. "Y' got somethin' t' say, doll?" 

His fingers dance on your skin, inching closer and closer to the spot he knows will make you weak in the knees. He's toying with you, getting a kick out of your restraint as you try to formulate words again. But before you can finish even a syllable, he cuts you off.

"Save it, sweetheart. Was gonna be nice 'nd all when we got home t’night, but you had to go and run that pretty mouth with yer ex." He growls lowly in your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “So while yer getting yer brains fucked stupid, I want you t’remember… this is on you.”

With a rough grasp, he flips you onto your stomach in the backseat, your dress riding up your ass as he yanks your panties down with a swift tug, the cool air hitting it and making your hole clench around nothing. His dick is hard and straining against his pants, pre seeping through to form a dark spot. The anticipation of what's to come has your breath hitching, heat pooling between your legs. He leans over you, the weight of his body pressing down onto yours.

He’s rutting against your ass, one hand sliding up to toy with one of your nipples while his other hand massages your hip. God, if you could see the needy little look on your face right now, then he’d finally get you to understand just why he’s so addicted to you. You’re just so gluttonous for him. Always wanting more, more, more. And of course, he’s always willing to give.

But right now isn’t the moment for giving. No, he needs to take. To take and take and take until there’s no more left of you to give to anyone but him. Always him. He backs away just enough for him to unzip his pants, his cock springing free. His hand finds it immediately, stroking himself in slow, teasing motions, hard length throbbing against your bare ass. There's a devilish grin on his face as he utters, "Gonna show ‘er how much she needs me."

Without waiting for a response, he aligns himself with your sobbing cunt, teasing your folds with his thick head just swiping back and forth and mixing his pre into your skick. He groans at the contact, his hand gripping your hip tighter. Suddenly, with a swift thrust, he plunges himself deep, his girth stretching you so mind numbingly good that you fear you may just pass out. The thing is, he’s barely in, but the sensation is already overwhelming, causing you to gasp and buck your hips.

He wishes you knew how fucking good you feel. Wishes you knew that whenever he fucks you, that tight ring of resistance tries so hard to push him out. That is, until he’s fucked his fat tip into you a few times, because then you’re practifally sucking him in. He knows the stretch is a lot. Knows you’re sore hours later without fail and yet, you still beg for more. Just like now.

Words are failing you, but your look is enough. You want more. Need more than just his tip. You wanna be broken in. And so he does. He feeds you inch after inch of him, sitting up and pausing at the halfway point to admire the way your cunt looks swallowing him so eagerly. He grasps at the globes of your ass, jiggling them and biting his lower lip at the God granted sight.

His free hand moves to the back of your head, fingers snaking into your hair before he grips tightly and brings your head up so he can press your face into the window. And just light that, he fucks the rest of himself into you roughly, grunting.

"Fuckin’— take it," he rasps out, taking a brief moment to adjust to the feeling of your tightness around him, unable to resist a little moan of his own. Then, he starts moving. Slow and punishing at first, then picking up speed with the same punishing force. Each thrust is precise and purposeful, perfectly hitting that spot inside you that makes you feel fuzzy. He's unabashedly vocal too, grunting and groaning with each delicious slide in and out of your wetness. "Fuck... y' take my cock so good..." he compliments, pushing your face harder into the back window. 

Easing up on his grip on your waist, he rolls his hips, grinding against your ass before pulling out for just a moment to slap his tip against your folds, watching as your cunt twitches and then thrusting back in again. His actions are deliberate and controlled, meant to stir you up and drive you to your limit. 

"Please baby, please, please, please..." you moan helplessly, your words swallowed up by the sounds of your bodies slapping together and his grunts of pleasure. But he merely chuckles darkly, gripping your hip and pressing your face against the window harder as if to anchor himself and punish you at the same time, his thrusts never faltering. 

"Y' can gimme more than that," he teases, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans down, teeth nibbling at your exposed neck. 

He slows almost to a stop, but the slight shallow thrusts still feel so overwhelmingly good you think you’re gonna go insane. “Y’really think she could live without me? Mmm mm, no, she needs me. I’m the only one who can stuff this greedy little pussy the way she needs to be stuffed. Isn’t that right, baby? Say it f’me.”

“F-fuck! Toki, gonna—” SMACK!

“Not talkin’ to you, princess. Talkin’ to her.” He delivers a pointed thrust into you to emphasize the fact that he’s genuinely talking to your cunt in his pussydrunk state.

Your sure he’s left a permanent handprint because of how hard he spanked your ass. The sting that lingers where his palm landed makes your cunt twitch and ache around him, which he considers to be answer enough. “S’what I fuckin’ thought. Atta fuckin’ girl, yes baby.” He groans, quickening the pace ever so slightly and beginning to pull you back into him to meet his thrusts.

“Talkin to an ex, y’must have wanted to get yerself fucked stupid, hm? Is that what you wanted? To be fucked like this?” He’s talking, but you can tell it isn’t for actual answers, no, it’s more to himself. He’s fucked out. So close to the edge.

The thrusting quickens, his hot breath fanning over your ear. "Cum f' me, doll," he commands, his voice dropping an octave, "show me how good I make y' feel. Only me. And then I’m gonna breed yer cute cunt so good." With that, he delivers a particularly hard thrust, aiming for that spot inside you that will unravel you completely.

That’s when you finally let loose, the coil inside your tummy snapping and letting you feel so much pleasure that you’re moving your ass back into him with a force that’s unmatched, just swallowing him deep into you over and over again. And that does it for him— his cum spurting inside you and filling you so good.

He kisses you so hungrily you feel you may just lose your breath entirely and pass out. His hands are holding you in place so you don’t fuck back onto him, because he knows if you did, he’d break you.

Toji leans back, smirking at the sight of you, his thumb brushing your swollen lips.

“You done throwing your little tantrum?” you tease, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

He glares at you, though there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re real fuckin’ funny, y’know that?”

“Oh, I know.” And deciding to drop the bombshell now, you lean back against the seat and say casually, “By the way, he’s married. To a man. They have two kids.”

Toji freezes, his expression shifting from smug to incredulous in seconds. He blinks like a cartoon character in shock, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“Yup,” you say, your grin widening. “Your big, scary display of dominance? Totally unnecessary.”

He huffs, running a hand through his hair. The look on his face is so priceless you wish you could brand it into your memory. “Tch. Coulda fuckin’ said somethin’ sooner.”

“And miss all the fun?” You laugh, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Before you can say anything else, he’s on you again, his hands roaming as he mutters, “Gonna make you pay for makin’ me start a scene.”

You laugh, the sound cutting off into a gasp as his hands find their mark. “I made you start a scene? Oh, this I gotta hear.” You say, your voice breathless but still teasing.

“Keep talkin’, doll,” he says, his grin turning wicked. “See where it gets ya.” And then his lips are finding yours again. Just like that, the argument is forgotten, lost in the haze of his possessive, consuming affection.

༒︎ Choso Kamo ༒︎

The mall is crowded, loud with the hum of chattering voices and echoing footsteps. It isn’t your favorite place to hang out, but your best friend had begged you to come along. Somehow, Choso ended up tagging along too, though you weren’t sure why. He wasn’t exactly the mall type, after all— too quiet, too detached from the bustling energy of human spaces like this.

You glance over your shoulder at him now, and there he is, just like you’d expect. He’s trailing a few steps behind, hands shoved into the sleeves of his robe, his dark eyes drifting lazily over the crowd. His usual stoic mask is firmly in place, making him seem untouchable to anyone passing by. But you know better than that. Beneath the unapproachable aura, Choso is awkward— painfully shy even. He’s still figuring out how to interact with humans, still trying to understand what it means to live in a world like this.

And for some reason, he’s decided you’re his safe space.

You smile to yourself, turning your attention back to the task at hand. Your friend had told you they’d meet you at the bookstore, but they’re running late, so you decide to wander into one of the nearby shops to kill time.

Choso doesn’t follow. You assume he’s probably going to find a dark corner to tuck himself into. 

What you don’t realize is that he does follow. At a distance. He’s used to watching from the sidelines, content to let you move through your world without interference. He doesn’t mind, in fact, he learns from watching how you interact with people, animals, media, and the likes. He learns about the world, but more importantly, he learns about you.

His eyes are on you now, but just seconds later, they shift. There’s a new focus, a new target. Him.

The guy behind the counter at the little boutique you walked into. He’s tall, clean-cut, and obnoxiously friendly. At first, Choso thinks nothing of it. It’s not like he can stop every stranger from talking to you. But as the guy’s gestures become more animated, and his laughter gets a little too familiar, something shifts in Choso’s chest.

He wishes he could hear whatever it is he’s saying that has you so giddy. Wishes he could just— wait, what?

The guy leans forward across the counter, his hand brushing yours as he hands you something, maybe a receipt, maybe a bag, Choso doesn’t care. Because what he does next is what hammers the nail in the coffin. His hand moves to the top of your head and he ruffles your hair, making you laugh. It’s the casual intimacy of the gesture that makes his stomach churn. He knows he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. He knows. But he can’t help the way his jaw tightens, or the way his fingers curl into fists in his sleeves.

You’re still smiling at the guy. You’re laughing. And he hates it.

His mind spirals before he can stop it. The scene plays over and over in his head, each time twisting into something worse. What if you like this guy? What if you’re into someone who can flirt with ease, someone who doesn’t stumble over their words or overthink every little thing?

What if you don’t want him?

Choso feels a sharp pang in his chest, like something fragile has cracked. He’s been so careful, so guarded with his feelings. He thought he could keep them tucked away, safe from rejection, safe from ruining this. But now? Now he feels them slipping through the cracks, raw and unmanageable.

He looks away, leaning back against the wall outside the store. His heart’s racing, though he doesn’t know why. It’s not like he has any claim over you. You’re your own person, free to talk to whoever you want. He’s just… He’s just the weird half-curse with no idea what his place is in this world who follows you around and doesn’t know how to say what he feels. But what if he did say it?

The thought hits him like a lightning bolt, sudden and electrifying. He’s scared, sure— terrified, actually, but the idea of staying silent is worse. He doesn’t want to lose you to someone else, not without at least trying.

So he waits.

When you finally walk out of the shop, you’re holding a small bag, a content smile on your face. You spot him instantly, standing off to the side like he’s been there the whole time.

“Hey, sorry that took so long. They had some really cute stuff in there,” you say, holding up the bag as if to explain.

Choso doesn’t respond right away. His eyes flick to the shop behind you, then back to your face. He doesn’t ask about your purchases. Instead, he asks, “Who was that?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Who?”

“The guy you were talking to,” he says, his tone as flat as ever, but there’s something behind it—a tension you can’t quite place.

“Oh, him? That’s just my friend from school. He works here part-time,” you explain, shrugging. “I didn’t even know before now.”

Your words are casual, but they allow Choso a wave of relief. That relief is short-lived, however, replaced almost immediately by a surge of determination. This is his chance. His moment to say what he’s been holding back.

“Can I… talk to you for a second?” he asks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You tilt your head, curious but not concerned. “Of course. What’s up?”

He gestures for you to follow him, leading you away from the bigger crowd and toward a seating area deeper in the mall that’s less populated. Once you’re there, he turns to face you, his hands still buried in his sleeves.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He’s searching for the right words, but they don’t come. Instead, what comes out is raw and unfiltered.

“I thought you liked him,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blink, surprised. “What? No, Choso, I told you, he’s just a friend.”

He nods, but his gaze drops to the floor. “I know. It’s just… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” you ask gently.

He looks up at you then, his dark eyes searching yours. “This. Any of this. Being around people. Trying to figure out how I’m supposed to feel, how I’m supposed to act.”

You wait, sensing there’s more he wants to say.

“But with you… it’s different,” he continues, his voice steady despite the nerves etched into his expression. “I don’t feel lost when I’m with you. I feel… human.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t interrupt.

“And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you,” he says, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “I like you. I… I think I’ve liked you since the moment we met. I just didn’t know how to say it— didn’t know what it was. B-But I do, now.”

You stare at him, his confession hanging in the air between you. For a moment, he thinks he’s made a mistake. That he’s crossed a line he can’t uncross.

But then you smile.

Not just any smile— the kind of smile that makes him feel like the world isn’t so complicated after all.

It’s all you can do because his confession doesn’t catch you off guard, not really.

You’ve always known.

“Cho,” you say softly, stepping closer, “I know. I’ve known for a while.”

His eyes widen slightly, his lips parting in surprise. “You… knew?”

You nod, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. You’re not exactly subtle, you know. But I didn’t say anything because I wanted to give you time. Time to figure out what you wanted, how you felt.”

He’s silent, staring at you like he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or mortified.

“For what it’s worth,” you continue, your voice warm, “I like you, too. Just as you are. You don’t have to change or be anyone else for me, Choso. I like you for you.”

Something in his expression shifts. It’s now a mix of disbelief and something deeper, something more raw. His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment, and when he speaks, his voice is barely audible. “Can I… kiss you?”

The question catches you off guard, not because you don’t want him to, but because of the way he asks it, so tentative and earnest.

“Of course,” you say, your tone gentle but steady.

But he hesitates, his eyes darting to the small crowd around you. His voice drops lower, almost shy. “Not here. Can we… go somewhere else?”

You bite back a smile at how endearing he looks, his cheeks tinted pink as he avoids your gaze. “Come on,” you say, nodding toward a quieter hallway where the restrooms are tucked away.

He follows you like a shadow, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie as he keeps his head down. When you reach the single-occupancy restroom, you push the door open and step inside, holding it for him as he follows. The door clicks shut, and the noise of the mall fades into a distant hum.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the tension in the small space thick enough to cut with a knife. Choso shifts nervously, his hands twitching at his sides. “I… don’t know how start,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s okay,” you reply, your smile soft and steady. “Just follow my lead.”

You step closer, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. He freezes for a moment, his dark eyes wide and uncertain, but when you lean in, his lids flutter shut.

The kiss starts slow, tentative, his lips warm and soft against yours. But as you deepen it, something shifts. It’s like a switch flips inside him, and suddenly his hands are on your waist, gripping you like you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

He grows bolder with each passing second, his fingers wandering over your arms, your back, your hips, your ass. There’s a desperation in the way he touches you, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you all at once. Finally, he pulls you flush against him, his entire arms wrapped around you, one hand gripping your hip and the other on your shoulder.

You can’t help but chuckle against his lips, pulling back just enough to catch your breath. “Easy, Cho,” you murmur, your tone teasing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, his face flushed as he loosens his grip, but only slightly. “I just… I don’t know how to stop.”

Your smile softens, and you press a light kiss to his cheek. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay to feel nervous.”

You kiss him again, this time letting him lead you. As things heat up, he starts to get carried away again, his hands roaming with a mix of urgency and inexperience. His kisses grow hungrier, his breath ragged as he presses closer, his body practically trembling against yours.

Suddenly his whole body stiffens and a low, unsteady sound akin to a whine escapes him before he pulls back, his face burning with embarrassment. He avoids your gaze, his hands falling away as he stammers, “I— I’m sorry. I dunno what— I didn’t want to stop, I—”

You pull back further to see a dark patch beginning to form even on the purple cloth that rests in front of his robes, realizing what happened. Your perfect Choso just came in his pants from kissing you. You can’t stay silent much longer for fear of making him more embarrassed, so you hush him gently, cupping his face and tilting it so he has no choice but to meet your eyes. “Cho, it’s okay,” you say firmly, your voice steady and soothing. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. This is all new for you, and that’s perfectly fine.”

He swallows hard, his dark eyes searching yours for any hint of judgment or disappointment. When he finds none, his shoulders relax just a little.

“You mean that?” he asks softly.

You smile, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “Of course, I do. We’ll take things slow, okay? There’s no rush.”

He nods slowly, the tension in his posture easing as he lets out a shaky breath. After a moment, he looks at you again, his expression soft but serious. “Is this… what love is?” He closes his eyes, his lips curving into the faintest smile as he leans into your touch. And in that quiet, stolen moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in its place.

༒︎ Ryomen Sukuna ༒︎

The room is dimly lit, the sterile scent of disinfectant clinging to the air. You’re lying back on the exam table, your dress pulled up over your growing belly. The monitor hums softly as the sonographer, a man with overly polite eyes and a soothingly gentle touch, adjusts the machine. He explains the process as he goes, his voice calm and warm, clearly trying to put you at ease.

Today is your first 3D ultrasound where you’ll finally get a better view of the life growing inside you. It feels surreal. You’ve had to wait until you’re 32 weeks along to get the best view, so the wait has made you antsy. Will it look like Sukuna? You? Will it smile or suck its thumb? Surely it’s too early for that, right? All of these questions are running through your mind and making your body vibrate with both nervousness and anticipation. It actually does help that the sonographer noticed and is trying to soothe you. 

You glance to the corner where Sukuna stands, his towering figure leaned protectively against the wall. His crimson eyes are locked on the sonographer, sharp and unyielding, like a predator stalking prey. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, claws tapping rhythmically on his forearm, a faint sound that portrays his growing irritation. The air feels heavy with tension; thick enough to cut with a knife. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t contribute to your current nervousness.

The sonographer prepares to squirt gel onto your belly, offering you a soft smile. “This might feel a little cold,” he says, his tone careful. “But it’ll help us get a clear image of the baby.”

You flinch slightly at the cold, and the response is immediate.

“Watch your hands.” Sukuna’s voice slices through the room, low and menacing.

The sonographer freezes, visibly startled. His gaze darts nervously to Sukuna. “I- I’m just preparing her to perform the scan, sir. There’s no need to worry.”

Sukuna scoffs, the sound dark and mocking. “Worry? I’m not worried, human. I’m warning you.” His crimson eyes narrow, radiating danger. “You’re touching my wife who’s carrying the heir to my throne. Be mindful.”

You press your palm to your forehead, exhaling sharply. “Ryo,” you say, your tone firm. “He’s doing his job. Stop scaring him.”

Sukuna’s eyes flick to you, softening slightly, but the fire in them doesn’t fully die. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

The sonographer hesitates, visibly uneasy, before resuming his work. The wand glides gently over your belly, and the monitor flickers to life. He points out the baby’s heartbeat, their tiny limbs, and the way they seem to kick at nothing in particular. His voice is soothing as he explains, almost too soothing for Sukuna’s liking.

You can see that the baby has four limbs, thankfully, and it’s got a frown on it’s face, much like its father’s. Until you speak, that is. When you speak, you can see the soft smile that graces your sweet baby’s face, again much like its father’s. You feel tears prick at your eyes finally seeing your baby so clearly.

The sonographer glances at you again, his smile almost reverent. “You’re doing wonderfully. Your baby looks perfect— beautiful, actually.”

That does it.

“Beautiful, huh?” Sukuna mutters, his voice laced with venom. “Bet you say that to every woman you see. Must be part of your script. You’re just so reassuring. Well, my wife doesn’t need that. She has me. Do you think yourself better than I?”

“Ryomen.” Your voice sharpens, and you shoot him a glare that tells him you’re angry. “Enough.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his lips curling in mild defiance, but he backs off for now. The sonographer continues, though his hands move a little faster this time, clearly eager to finish. Sukuna’s eyes remain locked on him, every small movement scrutinized like a hawk circling its prey.

Finally, the scan concludes. The sonographer hands you a towel to clean off the gel, offering another polite smile. He opens his mouth to speak, but Sukuna doesn’t give him the chance.

“You’re done, right? Get out.”

The man’s eyes widen; he looks to you as if hoping for an intervention. You manage a tight smile. “Thank you for your help. Forgive my unpleasant husband,” you say pointedly, dismissing him with a polite nod.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone. Sukuna stands there, still bristling, his claws twitching at his sides.

You sigh, wiping the last of the gel from your belly. “You’re ridiculous, Kuna. He wasn’t touching me in any sort of suspicious way.”

“He shouldn’t have been touching you in the first place,” Sukuna snaps, taking a step closer.

“He’s a medical professional, Ryomen. It’s his job.”

“I don’t care,” he growls, his crimson eyes boring into yours. “He was too close; too soft. Like he thought he could make you feel safer than I do.”

You sit up, tugging your dress down over your belly. “No one is trying to take your place.”

He scoffs, pacing in front of you like a restless beast. “You’re mine. No one else gets to put their hands on you like that.”

You stand, squaring your shoulders as you step into his path. “Would you rather our child go unchecked and we miss something bad? You can’t scare every single person who helps me, Ryomen.”

His eyes narrow, the frustration in them simmering just beneath the surface. “You’re too soft,” he mutters. “Always making excuses for people who don’t deserve it.”

“Soft doesn’t mean weak,” you counter, standing firm. “And I don’t need you turning every little thing into a fight. Trust me, Ryomen. I’m not going anywhere. But… you’re wrong, you know. I do need comfort. You provide safety, yes, but never reassurance. Gentleness. Maybe just… passive acceptance. I’m carrying your child. Of course I’d like to be doted on and treated with care.”

Before he can get upset again, you add, “By you. Only you. So just— please stop it with the anger and hostility. I want my child to know their father is capable of love the way I know he is.”

The tension in his shoulders loosens slightly, though the possessiveness in his gaze remains. He steps closer, towering over you, his hand coming to rest on your belly. His touch is firm but deliberate, a reminder of who you belong to.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “You. The baby. You’re my dearest prizes. No one else gets to act like they know how to care for you better than I do. I study everything, every minute detail about you and what’s to expect with the child. I suppose I’ve been so wound up with preparing myself and protecting you that I’ve gotten more hostile than usual. I… can work on it.”

You place your hand over his, meeting his gaze with unwavering confidence. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“Get back on the exam bed.”

“What? Why? He’s finish—” he interrupts you by walking you backwards until your ass hits the edge, caging you in.

“Because I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautiful you look carrying my heir and standing up to even me. And I’d like to show you just how much I love it.” He says, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your neck, just below your jawline. As expected, you tilt your head up for a kiss and he indulges you, kissing you so hungrily and lifting you onto the bed.

His hands wander all over your body, his touch carrying a gentleness you’re not used to. Goosebumps raise on the whole of your body in response and you’re leaning forward into the kiss, losing yourself in it. You don’t even realize he’s hiked your dress up and removed your panties until the cold hits your slick-sheened pussy.

“Ryō—”

“I know, brat, I know.” He says, a teasing lilt in his voice as he parts from your lips to kiss along your jaw. “Come to the edge f’me.”

You do exactly that as he undoes his robes to reveal his second set of arms… and his second mouth. God, you love how freaky this man is. His second set of arms grip the globes of your ass to hold you steady as he pulls you flush against his lower mouth, his fat tongue just smearing your cunt with your slick and his saliva. 

You’ve never cared to admit that this mouth of his has always been your favorite. It’s so big that it offers more coverage, more pressure, and gets so much dee—

“Biiiiig stretch.” Sukuna warns you before he plunges his second tongue into your hole, lingering at that first ring of resistance to deliver a few shallow, but mind numbingly pleasurable thrusts before he pushes the rest of the way in; as much as he can, that is.

He uses the moment your pretty little mouth releases an ah! to kiss you again, his first set of hands slipping up your dress to find your tits. If there’s anything he’d put on top of the list of things he loves about your changing body, it’s this. How fucking thick your ass has become and undeniably huge your tits have grown. Just swelling and preparing to fill with milk to sustain his heir.

He pinches your sensitive nipples between his large fingers, making you moan into the kiss, relaxing your cunt around his tongue between you. Suddenly, you’re lifted just slightly above the table, his other hands beginning to fuck you on his tongue, his saliva and your slick just drip, drip, dripping onto the bed and floor beneath you.

“So greedy. Pussy’s always so fucking greedy…” he groans, resting his forehead against yours so you both can watch as your pussy bulges from swallowing his tongue so eagerly. It’s such a lewd sight, one you’ve undeniably grown addicted to in your time together.

Your moans mingle together and it’s then you realize that he’s now using just one of his hands to fuck you on his tongue. His other is wrapped around both of his cocks and pumping them together, ribbons of pre falling down his lengths and being smeared by his movements. You’re not even slightly ashamed of the way you salivate seeing him getting off while eating your pussy and watching himself do it. It’s so fucking filthy that you can’t help but—

“Gonna cum f’me, aren’t you? Mmmmmhm, can tell by how she’s flutterin’ around my tongue. My needy fucking wife.” He smirks, pulling you flush to him so that the widest part of his tongue rubs against your clit while he switches it up and fucks his tongue into you, faster this time.

“O-Ohmyfuckinggod!” The words come out strung together, the added attention on your clit making you see stars, your breath quickening, heart beginning to race. You lean back onto the bed using your hands to prop you up so you can get a better view.

“So nasty, beautiful.” A chuckle falls from his lips and you can’t even respond before his upper hands are just engulfing your tits and kneading, easing the pain of the swelling and pleasing you at the same time.

Then, something happens. Milk begins to drip from your right nipple and it has you both stopping in your tracks. You’d heard of the low possibility that milk can come before you give birth, but you never considered it’d happen to you. A blush of embarrassment creeps on your face and you’re about to apologize when you hear Sukuna groan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his mouth immediately latches onto your tit and he just sucks.

“S-Sukuna, fuck!” You whine, his lower tongue beginning to work your quivering pussy again, bringing you right to the edge of pleasure.

He releases your tit with a pop! and nips it gently. “Mine. Mine, mine, all fuckin’ mine, such a good Queen providing for my heir early. Gonna be such a good momma.” He praises you before beginning to suck the lactating nipple again, making you come undone on his tongue, your gooey insides clenching around his tongue, trying to stop him with how tight you are, but he’s too strong, fucking his tongue into you through your orgasm to swallow up every last bit of cum you have to offer him.

It’s not until you’re whining and your legs are limp, weak pushes against his shoulders making him release your tit and slip his tongue from your slobbering hole. He runs the tip of his tongue against your oversensitive clit just a few times before you feel him kiss your puffy folds, making your body lurch.

You watch breathlessly as he tries to suck up the milk from your poor abused nipple again, your fingers slipping into his hair and tugging his face up to yours. “Y’know, you’re mine too. Forever. Don’t you forget that.” You smirk.

Something flickers in his eyes— pride, possessiveness, and a touch of vulnerability he’d never admit to. “Damn right I’m yours,” he says, his lips curling into a smirk. “But don’t think that means I’m gonna get soft on people.”

You lean into his hand as he caresses your cheek, a small smile playing at your lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he says, leaning down until his face is inches from yours. His voice drops to a rumble. “Carrying my child. Still standing by me. So brave.”

“Someone has to keep you in check,” you tease, though your voice softens with affection.

He lets out a low chuckle, pressing a possessive kiss to your forehead. “Yeah, well, let’s see if you’re brave enough to take my cocks after cumming like such a good brat f’me.” 

Your eyes widen, feeble hands trying to push him away by his chest, “Kuna! We have to leave, they’re probably traumatized!” You tell him in a hushed tone, suddenly all too aware that you’re in a doctor’s office for fuck’s sake.

“Yeah, well. They can afford the therapy.” He gives you a shit eating grin while thumbing open your cunt. “Open up real wide f’me, baby.”

And as you brace yourself, you remind yourself to make apology rounds to the staff whenever your husband is through with you.

༒︎ Nanami Kento ༒︎

Nanami Kento is tired. Not just the kind of tired you feel after a long day, though God knows his body aches from another grueling shift of paperwork and exorcisms. No, it’s deeper than that. A bone-deep fatigue that comes from too many hours spent away from the one person he’d rather be with. You.

He steps through the door, loosening his tie with one hand and holding his briefcase in the other. The house is warm and smells faintly like the lavender candle you always light in the evenings. It feels like home, but he quickly notices something’s off.

Your voice carries down the hall, light and warm, tinged with laughter. It’s a sound that usually has his shoulders relaxing, but tonight, there’s an edge of tension beneath it that prickles at him. He sets his things down quietly, toeing off his shoes, and listens.

“Yeah, it’s been kind of lonely lately,” you say, and he freezes in place, his hand hovering above the coat rack. “I mean, I get it. Nanamin works so hard and I love him for it, but… I don’t know. I just miss him. I feel like I barely see him anymore.”

His chest tightens. You’re talking about him. He takes a slow, measured breath and steps closer, rounding the corner silently.

“Thank you for keeping me sane, though. Honestly, if I didn’t have someone to talk to, I’d probably be climbing the walls by now.” There’s a soft laugh on the other end of the line. Gojo’s laugh. The realization is instant and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

Gojo. Of course, it’s Gojo. His coworker, the occasional thorn in the side, the most insufferable man he knows. And apparently the one you’ve been leaning on while he’s been too busy drowning in work.

Kento feels his jaw tighten, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. He knows— logically, rationally— that there’s nothing going on between you and Gojo. You’d never betray him like that and Gojo, for all his teasing, would never cross that line. But the knot of jealousy twisting in his chest doesn’t care about logic.

You must have heard him shift uncomfortably because you glance over your shoulder, startled. Your expression softens when you see him and you give him a small, almost sheepish smile. “Hey, Kento just got home,” you say into the phone. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

Nanami doesn’t miss the way Gojo’s laugh sounds out one last time before you hang up. He doesn’t say anything as you set your phone on the counter, but his silence is heavy. You know him well enough to recognize it immediately.

“Ken,” you say softly, stepping toward him. “Long day?”

He hums in acknowledgment, his gaze steady on you. It’s not cold, but there’s something simmering behind it; something that makes you hesitate. “Gojo?” he asks finally, his voice calm but with an edge you can’t ignore.

You blink, caught off guard by his demeanor. “Yeah. He was just checking in. He knows I’ve been home alone a lot lately.”

“Does he?” His tone is even, but the sharpness is undeniable.

You frown, crossing your arms. “Nanami, it’s not like that. He’s a friend. Our friend. You know that.”

“I do.” And he does. He knows it’s innocent. But that doesn’t make it easier to hear you laughing and confiding in someone else while he’s been too busy to do the same.

“Ken.” Your voice softens and you reach for him, your hand brushing his arm. “Please don’t do this. Don’t beat yourself up or think anything crazy. I’m not mad at you for working so much. I know why you do it. I know it’s for us. But… it’s hard sometimes. That’s all I meant.”

“I hate that you feel like this,” he says quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “That you have to go to someone else when I should be here.”

You step closer, your hands sliding up to his shoulders. “You’re here now,” you murmur, trying to pull him out of his head. “That’s what matters. That you always come back to me as soon as you can.”

He looks at you, something dark and conflicted in his eyes. “Is it enough?” he asks, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Am I enough? Or would you rather have a husband who has more time for you?”

Your heart breaks at the vulnerability in his voice. “Kenny,” you say firmly, cupping his face in your hands. “I don’t want anyone else. I just want you. Always.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly and his hands settle on your waist, pulling you closer. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s hungry. Desperate. As if he’s trying to make up for all the time he’s spent away from you in one moment.

You gasp against his mouth and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hands sliding down to the globes of your ass and gripping tightly. When he finally pulls back, his breathing is uneven, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ll change for you,” he murmurs, his voice raw with emotion. “No more late nights. No more overtime. I’ll cut my hours. Whatever it takes to be here with you.”

“Ken, you don’t have to—”

“I do.” His hands slide under your shirt, his touch firm but gentle as he lifts it over your head and lets it fall to the floor. “I won’t let you feel like you’re second to anything. Ever again. You’re too precious to me. My world. My heart. My wife.”

His lips find your neck, trailing heated kisses down to your collarbone. He moves with a purpose, his hands exploring your skin as if to reacquaint himself with every inch of you. It’s more than physical— it’s a promise.

You tug at his tie, fumbling with the knot until he helps you pull it free and rips off his button-down. Then his hands are on you again, guiding you toward the bedroom.

“Lay back for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding but with an undercurrent of tenderness that makes your pulse race.

You obey, sinking onto the bed as he leans over you, his lips finding yours again. His touch is both reverent and possessive, his movements careful but insistent. Every kiss, every caress feels like an apology and a vow wrapped into one.

He wraps a hang around your throat, squeezing for one fleeting moment before trailing it down your chest, between your breasts, down your stomach, over your pubic bone, and finally under your nightgown to meet your slick riddled cunt.

“Shit,” he hisses, forehead resting against yours while he catches his breath, his fingers slipping back and forth between your folds, teasing at your clit in passes. “My love… I don’t want to waste any time, I just need t’feel you. Normally I’d ea—”

“I know, handsome, s’okay, I’m ready, I can take it.” You reassure him, knowing he was going to apologize for not properly warming you up.

You see, Nanami has always been one for foreplay. He could slurp up your saccharine slick for hours upon hours if you let him, but tonight? Tonight, he just wants to be one with you.

His hand finds one of yours and he intertwines your fingers, his other hand working to free his cock from the suffocating confines of his pants. When it springs free, it’s just throbbing an angry pink, beads of pre forming at the tip now that his dress pants aren't there to absorb them.

He aligns himself with your painfully empty hole, pushing past that first little ring of resistance with a long groan. The grip he has on your hand tightens, his knuckles turning white as he feeds you inch after mind numbing inch of his cock until his tip’s kissing your cervix. But you know his body well enough to know that isn’t it. And so you brace yourself for him to push in to the hilt, his mushroom tip ever so slightly bullying open your cervix as he does so, making you yelp out in both pleasure and pain.

His lips swallow your whines and whimpers, he’s determined to take everything you have to offer and give you more than what he has. The world, if you asked. His free hand finds purchase on your hip and he holds you steady as he starts to roll his hips into yours, passionately. Roughly. Like he’s trying to stuff you full of all of the love he has for you.

You moan out, reaching your own free hand up to cup his cheek, your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his back, effectively telling him you need more. With every thrust after, you can’t help but gasp. You feel him in your lungs stealing every bit of breath you have, reddened leaking tip repeatedly hitting that bullseye that makes your mind go stupid.

“K-Ken, feels s’good! Hah!” You whine out, back arching up and pressing you flush to him. He moves his hand from your hip to wrap his arm around you, effectively holding your bottom half in the air to get deeper inside of you.

“Mine. My wife. My wife, my love, my beautiful, m-my heart.” He’s babbling, burying his head into your neck and pressing hot, wet, open mouthed kisses to it. You feel him slip his hand from yours and instead, he has the top of your head in the palm of his hand, using it to keep you still, but also to anchor himself so he doesn’t let you slip through his fingers.

“You’re going to be such a beautiful mom. Wh—hah, what kind of husband have I been by not trying to give you my babies? We can start now. After I cum riiiiight here.” He babbles, his other hand moving for only a second to press down where your stomach bulges with his thrusts.

And the look in his eyes tells you this is a promise, not just something he’s saying while fucking you. Just like the perfect little thing you are, you cum for him right then, dragging a long and frustrated groan from him.

“Pussy’s always so good for me. Milking me so good, my love…” he shudders as you cum on his throbbing length.

“Ken, f—fuh— fuck! Cum in me! Please, baby, cum in me!” You beg, making him chuckle.

“Oh? You think I’m done? No, I have to make up for lost time. Evert second I missed, I’ll make up for with an equal amount of time spent buried in this beautiful cunt of yours. Understood?”

And oh are you so incredibly fucked.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Lunch Date

Summary: Steve Rogers x fe!Reader -> You have a lunch date with Steve Rogers before you realise who he is to the rest of the world.

Disclaimer: This has been sat in my WIP for a while. Mostly fluff, humour? Reader works as a historian. I haven't written for any MCU characters for a while so hopefully this isn't terrible. Not Proof Read.

If someone had told you when you were six years old and running through the park playing superheroes that one day you would be having lunch with the Steve Rogers…

You probably would have believed them since you were six and was going to have lunch with your next door neighbour who was the one with the trash can lid as a shield. 

But it was true. 

You’d been working at the museum since you graduated from University. First as just a tour guide but it wasn’t long before a spot opened up to become one of the curators. Mostly you worked with war artifacts. You still did the tours, though. 

You found it fun, walking a new group around every couple of hours, seeing their faces light up with wonder as they looked at the plane parts and the genuine diaries of some of the soldiers. 

Then one day after finishing the second tour of the day, you took your lunch break. 

“I’m sorry, is this seat taken?”

You looked up and found a man dressed in a blue shirt and black trousers. He was handsome, but the thing you noticed was the look in his eyes. 

Kindness. 

“No, go ahead.”

You were a little surprised when he sat down, rather than taking the chair to another table. But when you looked around, you noticed how busy the place had gotten. 

“Sorry for disturbing you.” The stranger nodded over to the book that was laid open at the side of you. 

You shook your head. “It’s no issue. Besides, I think I’ve read the same page three times.”

It was from him asking what you were reading that you started continuing the conversation to the point where you’d learned he’d actually taken one of your tours once. 

“Be honest with me, is it boring?”

“Boring?” He shook his head. “No. Not at all.”

You gave a sigh of relief. “Are you sure?”

He gave you a genuine smile. “Of course, I’m sure. Why? Did someone give you a bad review?”

You shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

You laughed a little. “There is-” 

You caught a glimpse at your watch and almost died. “Shit- sorry. Shoot, I’m gonna be late.”

He panicked along with you. “I’m sorry if I kept-”

You shook your head as you went to stand and pack your things away. “No, no. Trust me, it’s not often I enjoy a conversation so much that I lose track of time. I-I have to get to another tour but if you…” You were about to offer him your number but then you thought of something a little better. “Actually, would you like to tag along? I-I know you’ve seen it before but if you’re not doing anything…”

And for a moment, you thought you’d fucked up. But then he smiled. 

“I’d love to.”

“Great.” You looked at your watch again. “I-I will meet you there. I have to hand out the fact sheets and- you already know. See you there?”

He smiled. “See you there.”

You smiled too before rushing off in the opposite direction. By the time you were catching your breath, half way through handing out instructions, facts sheets, some promotional sheets, too, he met you there. 

“Hi, again.”

You smiled, handing him his pile. “Hi.”

And for the next hour you led him and the rest of the group on a tour of the museum giving every fact you already knew and each time you looked back to the tour group, he caught your eye and you found yourself unable to stop smiling. 

You probably looked like some mad cheshire cat by the end of the tour; especially after you and him continued your conversation privately as the tour group were given freedom for ten minutes to look around one of the larger exhibits. 

“You know what I’ve just realised?”

“What is that?”

“I don’t know your name.” You said as you looked up at him. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He smiled and shook your hand. “Steve.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Steve.”

“Same to you, Y/n.”

By the time the tour finished and everyone dispersed either to go home or return to the exhibits they wanted to spend more time in, you and Steve took a walk back around the museum. 

“So, what brings you here? If you’ve already been before, why come again?”

Steve shrugged. “I had free time and I was in the city. Plus, it’s nice to come somewhere that feels familiar.”

“Familiar?”

Steve didn’t know how to answer your question without completely telling you who he actually was, or completely lying. 

“I grew up with a lot of historical stuff so sometimes walking around a museum can feel like home.”

You smiled and looked around. “I know what you mean.”

The museum, ever since you were a kid, had felt like a second home. One filled with even more wonder and amazement. 

Then Steve asked you a question. 

“Forgive me if this is a little forward, but would you like to have dinner with me this week?”

You stopped walking and turned towards him. 

“I’ve been told I’m meant to direct message and do a lot of ‘in between’ conversations but, if I’m being honest, I don’t see the point in it.”

You couldn’t help but smile. 

“But if you have someone already, or if you don’t want to, you can just…tell me to leave and you never-”

You stepped forward a little and laid your hand on his arm. “Steve, Steve, Steve. Stop. I would love to have dinner with you. And thank you for asking me.”

Then that smile that you’d come to find comfort in, despite only meeting him a few hours ago, flashed onto his face. 

“Thank you for saying yes.”

It took two days from swapping numbers at the museum for you to both find a time you were available and for Steve to turn up outside your apartment with a bunch of flowers in his hand. 

“These are for you. I-I didn’t know if you were allergic to any so I picked the ones that shouldn’t affect you as much if you were.”

You politely took them from him and smiled. “They’re beautiful, Steve. Thank you. Let me just find a vase.”

You invited him in and he slowly walked a little further into your apartment, taking everything all in. Your walls were lined with dark wooden bookshelves where an array of different books were stationed. A desk was under one of the windows where sheets of paper were cast. Your sofa was worn in, but not in a bad way. It was well-loved and looked after. Your kitchen was similar. He could imagine you on a Sunday morning cooking yourself dinner as one of the movies from under your TV were playing inside the DVD player. 

Placing the flowers in the centre of the kitchen island, you grabbed your bag and Steve followed you out of the door. 

Every door you came to, Steve held it open for you. He walked on the outside of you as you both walked down the street since the restaurant wasn’t too far from your apartment block. He held out your chair for you before seating himself. It was the first date you’d been on in a long time where the guy hadn’t ordered for you. The conversation was constantly flowing, so were the smiles and the laughter. At some point between you going to the bathroom and coming back, the bill had been paid for. 

If he had waited, you would have fought him to split it, but it was nice to accept something for a change. He helped you get your coat on and for the next hour, you both just walked through the city. 

It was still relatively early so you just walked and talked. At some point, he’d taken your hand in his. Your gut had erupted in butterflies, and so had his. Especially when you leaned a little into him and held onto his arm. 

And as you both reached a small community park, you sat on the bench together. 

That was where you had your first kiss. It was equal parts shy, unnerving and steady. With his arm around your shoulders and his other hand holding onto yours, you found something in your kiss with Steve. 

It was unlike any other you’d experienced. It wasn’t lustful or yearning. But it was…strong. Your head, heart, gut and lungs were doing summersaults inside your body, but at the same time, you felt safe. 

Almost as if, despite it being your first kiss, it also felt like your millionth with him. 

And you both couldn’t help but want more. 

However, that was cut short by the ringing phone in your pocket. 

“Shit, sorry.”

Steve just laughed a little. “It’s okay.”

Pulling it from your pocket, the Museum ID badge flashed across the top. “It’s work.”

“Answer it.”

You did so and pulled the phone to your ear. 

“O-okay, just, stay calm. I’ll be right there.”

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked. 

“There’s something about a shipment. I think I need to go.”

Steve just nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

“Thank you.”

Taking his hand, you both hurried back towards your apartment where Steve helped you onto the back of his motorbike. 

“Are you sure this is safe?”

Steve gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m sure. Just hold on tightly.”

And you did. 

By the time he pulled up outside of the museum, the lights were still on inside but all the shutters were down except for one. You unclipped the helmet and hopped off before hearing your heels click up the stone stairs towards the door. 

Steve was quick on your tail following you through the museum and towards the employees only area. Finally, you both made it to the storage lock-up. 

“I’m here, what’s going on?”

“We’ve been sent these but there’s apparently been a mix up with the deliveries. All the fact cards and processing files are missing and the exhibits are meant to be ready for Monday.”

You took a breath and looked at all the new crates surrounding you. “Okay. Okay, it’s okay.”

Immediately, you got to work. 

“I’m sorry about this.”

“Don’t apologise. Do you want some help? I don’t know what I can do but I might be able to do something.”

You nodded. “That would be amazing.”

Setting Steve to work helping move some of the crates out of the way so they could be opened. Most of the items were from the thirties and forties, but mostly early war days. 

Which, you soon came to find out, was a personal favourite of Steve’s when he, somehow, knew what each item was and where it was from. Between the heavy lifting, directing and processing, you heard him mention something about cereal numbers and a manufacturer he had met. 

But despite all of that, the biggest shock was still yet to come to you. 

There was a piece of a plane that was delivered. You had made some estimations for when it was made and who for when Steve had given you an exact date and a few different locations. 

That was when something clicked. 

You didn’t know why it had only just clicked, or why it had taken you so long to realise, but it had. 

And something must have clicked for Steve, too. 

You gasped. “Oh, my god!”

One of the other curators looked at you. “What?”

You looked at some of the artifacts before looking at Steve and back again. Between the shock on your face that you tried to swallow back, Steve grinned. 

“N-nothing.” You plastered a smile on your face. “Nothing. I just thought I’d seen…” You looked at Steve and your words trailed away, but you snapped yourself back into reality. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter. Sorry.”

The curator just shrugged and went back to trying to contact the shipping company of the items. 

“Oh, my god. I can’t believe it…no, no you’re not. Are you? No, you can’t be. But the…” You put your head in your hands, finally accepting it. “Oh, my god, you are.”

Steve just chuckled and walked over to you. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Didn’t tell me?” You lowered your hands and looked at him. “I’m sorry it didn’t click sooner. I’m a historian for crying out loud, I should have known. I’m so sorry.” 

You hid your head in your hands again as you heard Steve chuckle. Gently holding onto your wrists, he lowered your hands from your face.

“Does this change anything?”

“Steve,” you lowered your voice. “You’re freaking Captain America.”

“But does it change anything?”

“Not particularly, no. But you’re…you’re a superhero. You-you’re an Agent and a superhero. You rescue people for a living and put your life on the line. Oh, my god, I can’t believe I asked you what you did for a living. Is this even legal? Are you allowed to go on dates with total strangers who don’t do some kind of highly secure, world-saving, job and, like, Shield level background checks?”

“Why? Is there something I should know about?”

You leaned back, realising how it sounded. “What? No. No, nothing. Not unless I’ve done something I didn’t realise I did. No, nothing.”

Steve smiled. “Relax, I was kidding. God knows I lied enough times to try and get into the army.”

“Wow, is Captain America a rule breaker?”

He just chuckled. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

“Does this mean I have to salute you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Good, because I don’t know how to salute. I’d probably do it wrong anyway.”

Steve laughed once more before pulling you into his chest. “I can’t believe I didn’t realise.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. It was nice for someone to treat me as me without them treating me like Captain America.”

As you leaned back from him, you admitted something to him. “I feel like my history degree is going to be taken off me for not knowing.”

Steve laughed, rubbing his hand up and down your spine before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Come on, let's get this packed away.”

A few hours later, items that could be given an info card were before being locked away safely with the rest. 

Steve drove you home and walked you to your front door. 

“I’m sorry our date got cut short.”

Steve just shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, it was kinda fun having it come full circle with us back at the museum. It was also fun seeing you figure out how I knew what everything was.”

You groaned a little. “I can’t believe it never clicked with me, but I am kinda glad it didn’t. It was nice to get to know you.”

“Do you still want to?”

You nodded slowly. “So long as it’s Steve and not Captain America.”

Steve smiled and nodded. “It will be, I can promise you that.”

You smiled. “Good, I’m glad.”

Kissing you goodnight, Steve waved up at you from the street below before riding back home, already planning your next date. 

[heartepub]

to be your eyes

summary. a not-hero meets a not-monster. pairing. lee seokmin x fem!reader genre/tags. perseus/medusa retelling, fem pronouns and titles but nothing on anatomy (except for snake hair but that’s not an exclusive thing), hurt/comfort, seokmin is a romantic, hinted past s*xual ass*ult (medusa-story compliant), off-screen minor character death, body modification?, HAPPY ENDING!!!, unbeta’d wc. 3.1k suggested listening. carry you, novo amor // dust to dust, the civil wars // opaline, novo amor // keep the rain, searows

notes. full credits to this post for inspiring this retelling; at best I tweaked it to fit perseus' quest better ++ personality changes to match how I regard seokmin personally. might revisit this, but for now I just need it out of my system. feedback is appreciated and come say hi if you're inclined!

“Not a step closer.”

Seokmin would be foolish not to obey, despite not knowing where the voice speaks from. He looks only through the polished shield on his arm, never at anything that is not a reflection. The air is still, save for the faint sound of muffled hissing.

“I must admit I am quite disappointed.” The voice speaks again. “The hero who came into my cave last night, sword ready, could not even finish the deed.” He winces despite himself.

“I do not wish to kill you, Priestess.” The hissing grows ever so slightly louder.

“Lies,” the voice drops to a low growl. “There is only one hero who would dare enter when my sisters are absent. The one I have been warned about.”

Seokmin hesitates, before continuing. “I would just like to talk.” The priestess’ mocking scoff echoes around the rocks.

“Talk? Alliances? Is that how god-touched heroes fatten their pigs for slaughter, nowadays? With platitudes?” Before he can open his mouth, the voice begins to speak once more. “I will do you a favor, Lee Seokmin—” he inhales sharply as his name is called in that haunting lilt, “—I will make your task easy. You have one more chance to kill me. Light one of those candles you see in the corner of this cave and come back when it has burned all the way through. I will be asleep by then, so you will not need your shield,  though you may bring it if you wish.

“Oh, and,” the voice is suddenly much closer now. Despite his earlier spiel, the urge to run itches at his bones. “Make it quick, will you?”

He does as the voice bids; he grabs a candle, lights it with one of the braziers, and exits the temple-cave holding it. The flame is of a strange iridescence, illuminating the grey pebbles outside the entrance into something opal-like. He lets the sight wash over him as he contemplates.

Seokmin never wanted to be a hero.

More accurately, he never wanted to be the reason for any kind of bloodshed.

There was glory in heroism, to be sure. Every figure that boasts of the title is larger than life to the eyes of many; doers of deeds that were only possible for those either god-touched or god-born. He had set out on this quest in a bid to save his mother; even as he could not stand the thought of heroics, the revulsion that crawled in him at the sight of his uncle’s cruel smirk had won out. And so the bargain was born.

He was to bring the head of the gorgon, or suffer through his poor mother’s second wedding, to a man he knew she had no desire to be with.

He made it this far with a mix of dumb luck and godly assistance. Now, not only the fate of his mother rests on his shoulders, but also the expectation of the gods who had come to his aid—one of whom being the very same goddess who made you who you are now.

True to his unfitness as a hero, Seokmin indeed hesitated yesterday, at the last minute. Yet there was something in that sleeping face that made him pause.

Your hair was tightly wrapped in a turban, no snakes in sight. And with eyes closed, it was a face like any other’s. Beautiful, even. It shocked Seokmin to his core. 

This cannot be a creature so hard to kill.

So he ran away.

It was foolishness that made him come back. Foolishness, and a mix of the expectations on his shoulders, the desperation to still save his mother, and a curiosity to understand the sleeping creature that had compelled him so. The second time, his expectations were again unmet. Some of his pride had hurt at the mockery in that haunting voice, even more so because he knew it was only the truth.

Hesitation was un-hero-like. The third chance seemed almost an extension of your taunting, yet Seokmin cannot get it out of his mind that you are telling the truth. That you would let him kill you. He cannot match the serenity of that sleeping face to such a sentiment.

The candle is halfway through when he makes his decision.

He does not bring his sword the third time. 

With one hand, he holds the candle, burned three-fourths through. With the other, his shield, the polished side guiding him as he ventures again into the temple-cave. He has not even reached his destination when the voice speaks.

“You do not know how to follow instructions.”

“Priestess, do you really wish for me to kill you?”

For a moment, there is only the sound of faint hissing. Finally, the voice replies. “I am tired of living a half-life, Lee Seokmin. I would rather a quick death than a slow one, if you please.”

Deliberately, Seokmin sets down both the candle and the shield. He closes his eyes. Fishing for the band of cloth he tore from his robes, he grasps both ends and blindfolds himself.

“I would wish to talk to you, Priestess. Please. I am no hero, only a boy who bit off more than he could chew when he wanted to save his mother.”

For all the kindness that he saw in your face, there is none of that in your voice. Or even if there is, it is not the sort he recognizes. 

“I have no use for a boy who cannot understand neither instructions nor mercy. Leave and do not come back, unless you wish to die. Unlike you, I can make it quick.”

You do not think about the strange not-hero for months, until your sister urges you to the mouth of the cave.

“Please, you must tend to him. He’s god-touched, and somehow came to this temple despite the wounds on him.” You refuse to look until your other sister sighs. “His eyes are closed, for the gods’ sake.”

He’s a beautiful man, all delicate cheekbones and high-bridged nose. Yet pale; very pale. There is barely any rise and fall on his chest. Your sisters haggle and nag until you relent. You enlist their help in grinding the herbs at the mouth of the cave, some for poultices while the other for a brew to coax down his throat.

The two layers of cloth around his eyes are a preventative measure, in case he awakens. There is a reason why you never ventured out of this cave, hiding at any voice that was not your sisters’. There is a reason for why you keep your head tightly wrapped, letting the snakes breathe only when strictly necessary.

No soul, outside of those who did not abandon you, needs to be witness to your shame.

Still, you look after this beautiful man, hyperaware of the blindfolds you keep around his eyes. Your own remain downcast to be sure he will not turn to stone after all your hard work in healing his wounds. Days pass, and you begin to accompany him as he sleeps, watching the way the iridescent flame dances across his delicate features.

On particularly lonely nights, you whisper the secrets he may never remember as he wakes. The humble life that seemed to be many centuries ago. The priestess training. The service at the temple that you wish you could look back on fondly. Of the god that knew only to covet, and the curse brought down from an act that had but an illusion of consent. The curse (or gift, the goddess claimed) that had been brought upon you. An ordinary future lost forever, both from trauma and a notion of healing imposed by some other power.

Weeks pass, and he finally stirs.

“Where am I?” Your blood freezes for a moment. The voice that speaks from that mouth is instantly familiar.

“I told you not to come back unless you wanted to die, and yet here I am, tending to your wounds.” He turns his head in your direction, following your voice. His eyes still tightly sealed by the blindfold.

“Priestess?”

“I am no priestess,” you snap. “Not anymore.”

“Thank you, Priestess,” the blindfolded man persists, still painfully earnest. “I’m sorry, I did not know where else to go.”

“You foolish boy,” you sigh. “You could have gone anywhere else but the monster’s lair. Tell me, then, do you want to die?”

“No, Priestess. I don’t…” he hesitates. “I don’t know what I want outside of being a good son.”

“You are no hero, then. Only a filial boy.” Strangely enough, he chuckles.

“No, I am not,” he agrees.

“Curious,” you murmur despite yourself. Louder, you direct your instructions. “Rest. Once you are well, never come back. I do hope the former at least is not too difficult to follow.” You make to leave him, picking up your basket for a new batch of herbs for his poultice.

“For what it’s worth,” he calls after you, voice carrying across the cave despite its softness, “I was listening to your story. And I cannot and will not wish you any harm. Not after knowing it.”

You walk away without answering him, the basket clenched around your fingers tight enough to distort the weave.

It is three days after he wakes that he finally tells you why he first came.

“Your mother needs rescuing from your uncle, and he asked you to bring him my head in exchange for her freedom?”

“Yes.”

You consider it for a long moment. “I would not mind dying if it meant saving your mother.” A woman who was under the whims of another man…no, it would not be a bad thing at all. At least then, the goddess’ curse that you may only kill a man with your gaze could be put to good use.

Seokmin shakes his head, the ends of the cloth tied to his eyes swaying with the movement. “I would ask you to come with me, instead.”

“Why? So I can kill your uncle for you?”

His response is immediate and vehement. “No! I just—I feel I owe you a debt I do not know how to repay.”

You have grown used to his indecision. The reply that leaves you is as kind as you can make it. “I did not save you so you would be indebted. I saved you because my sisters pleaded your case.”

“But you saved me all the same.”

You sigh. “It is not a debt to be repaid, not-hero. What happens if you come home empty-handed?”

“I do not know. Nothing good.”

Despite his strangeness, you have grown to care for him. There is something achingly compelling about Seokmin’s earnestness, an innate kindness in his gentle smiles that makes you wish you could see the emotions dance in his eyes.

“I do not wish to see you die,” you admit.

“Priestess—” he starts.

“I told you not to call me that. That name holds nothing for me.” Though time soothes all wounds, there is still a foul taste in your mouth at the title, a persistent shiver that cools your bones.

“Er, lady?” Seokmin tries.

“I am no lady, either.” Despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks at the title.

“I think anyone who is kind enough to tend to a foolish boy should be called lady,” he murmurs. “You could also tell me your name.”

“Oh? Have the stories not preceded me with my name?”

“That name is not yours. I mean your real one. I would not call you a monster, dear lady. No one with a heart as beautiful as yours would be one.” The words strike an unwilling chord. You look down, forcing the tears back from your eyes. Not for the first time, you wish Seokmin were a hero. Brutality would have been hurtful, but unsurprising. Tenderness is a blow no one can ready themselves for. You inhale, shakily.

“I should like to know your name,” he repeats, gentle in his ruining of your heart.

You shake your head, knowing he cannot see it. Without another word, you leave him.

Finally, the day comes when Seokmin regains his full strength. You waste no time in bringing him to the mouth of the cave, though you stop before anyone possibly on the outside can catch your gaze. Your sisters’ teasing has gotten unbearable; their latest stunt involves taking extended “trips” for increasingly implausible reasons. Even now, you are left alone, despite your insistence that all three of you send him off.

There is no use in being attached. A gift, however…

You unwrap your turban. Seokmin’s head swivels at the noise, hearing the hissing suddenly fill the space. You pluck a single snake from the mass. It wriggles in your hold.

“Hold out your hand.” He does. You grasp his wrist, placing the snake in his palm and curling his fingers around it. 

“Present her to your uncle as proof of my death. Tell him my head disintegrated, and left only this.”

Seokmin’s other hand moves, tracing the way your fingers wrap around his. Despite the callouses on his hands, his touch is devastatingly tender. 

In a different world, a lock of hair would be a romantic gift, one between courting lovers. In this one, it is a companion at best, a horror at worst.

Unbidden, tears prick at your eyes. The cave swims in your vision.

You steady your voice. “Do not look back,” you say, and untie his blindfold. “Careful now, let your eyes adjust to the light.” Your gaze is trained to the back of his head, ensuring that he does not move his neck even a little.

“Lady,” he says, his back still to you. “May I ask one final question?”

“You may.”

“This snake…are her eyes the same color as yours?”

“…Yes,” you admit.

“And she will not turn me to stone?”

“Yes.”

“Lady,” he says again, and you wish you could demand that he stop calling you that, as it ruins you a little more every time. “Would you forgive me if I ask to see your face before I go? I would ask you to close your eyes.”

Helplessly, you exhale a wet laugh. There is nothing you would refuse him now. “Very well.” You close your eyes. There is a rustle. Despite not seeing anything, you feel his gaze like a weight.

A hand, warm, touches your face, tracing your jaw, then your temples, even the bridge of your nose. Eventually, Seokmin’s thumb wipes at the tear that falls down your cheek.

“Thank you, dear lady,” he whispers. “I will remember this face, and when I look at your gift, I will imagine how you may look with your eyes open.”

Moons pass, and you try to forget about the not-hero you never really knew.

Until he returns, that is. 

Your sister only says two words. “He’s back.”

“I will not see him.” You do not move from your position, ignoring the treacherous seize of your heart.

Your other sister snorts, pulling you up forcibly. You yelp. She glares at you. “You will not turn him into stone. Trust me. Now go.”

Each step you take to the mouth of the cave feels leaden. You screw your eyes shut, relying on the walls and sheer familiarity to guide you forward. More than once, you contemplate turning around.

“Dear lady,” a voice calls, one you never thought you’d hear again. “Please do not run from me. I have blindfolded myself, so please open your eyes.”

Taking a deep breath, you begin to walk, forcing your heartbeat to remain even. He comes into sight, as heartbreakingly beautiful as he was the last time. His clothes are more tattered than before, and there are fresh scars that litter across his biceps. You ache to heal him.

“Hello,” he smiles, despite not seeing you.

“How is your mother, not-hero?”

“She is well.”

“And your uncle?”

“Dead. A snake called by your gift bit him.”

“I see. Good.”

“Good,” he echoes. You study his face; he seems to mean it. A little more a man than the boy you first tended to. “But that is not why I am here.”

Seokmin holds out a small box.

“I know your tending was no debt, my lady, and this is not meant to repay that. It is only a gift, yours no matter your answer.”

“My answer to what?”

He steps forward. You move to guide him, catching his arm right as he stumbles on a step he does not see. Seokmin breathes in, a little unsteady, before releasing you with a soft thanks. Yet he does not move farther away. He smiles again, his face not quite facing yours, unsure of your exact location. It only endears you to him more.

“I have travelled the world, dear lady, saved my family, regained my throne, made my peace with the gods, yet none have captivated my heart as you have. The voice and hands that guided me in this cave became my strength outside of it. If you are willing, I would have you as my wife.”

“You—” your voice cracks. “What man would take a wife he could not even gaze at? Whose eyes would kill? Whose name he does not know?”

“I would know your name only if you offered it, my lady. As for your other concerns…take off my blindfold,” he says softly. “I could not gaze at you even if I tried.”

It takes a while for his meaning to come to you, but when it does, you shake your head, disbelieving. That cannot be. He could not have possibly gone so far. Shaking, you do as he says.

He opens his eyelids, and you gasp.

Where his eyes should be there is nothingness. The scarring is minimal, which meant it was very intentionally removed. Seokmin fumbles for your hand before placing it very gently on the box.

“If you take my eyes, you will no longer have to worry about turning people to stone. I doubt they are as lovely as your own are, but they are yours, nonetheless. I wish for you to have the choices that they would provide, regardless of whether you accept my proposal or not.”

You carefully take the precious, precious box in one hand, and bring the other to the back of his neck, dragging him into a kiss.

Seokmin gasps, but recovers quickly. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth is soft just as the weight of his body is solid. It is everything you wished being held would feel.

The kiss ends with him resting his forehead against yours. Tears track down your cheeks, and he brings a hand up to wipe them away.

“Now that is familiar,” he hums, laughing quietly. His other hand traces up your neck, undoing your hair covering. The snakes fall down your back, slithering around his hand. He giggles as they curl playfully around his wrist.

“Is that a yes, then? Though I do hope you would not cry so much once you take my eyes for your own.” 

“Yes,” you say, and kiss him again.

[sccrim]

warnings ( threesome , oral both , licking cums , pnv , unprotected , riding , lesbian action )

you and nanamis wife find out what he did while you guys were gone.

not proof read.

tags : @rissouu @gorysims n everyone else who wanted a part 2

part one

nanami still couldn’t help but think about the video of you and his wife. he was so fixated on that the whole night. when his wife would even kiss him, he would get a hard on just thinking about it.

he did want to make a suggestion to his wife, asking if they can up their sex life but he was nervous. what if she said no? he just didn’t want to get caught up but unfortunately he did.

you sat on ur bed, on the computer scrolling away until u saw a video on ur camera roll that you had no idea of. nanami accidentally press record on himself when he was scrolling through your post.

you pressed the video to see nanami jerking himself off. your eyes grew big. no wonder why he was acting so weird yesterday. you texted your best friend asking her to come to your room.

you began pacing back and forth in front of your bed, not knowing what to say to her. you didn’t want to be there when she yells at him but you also didn’t want to be the easy they broke up. before you could even text her back saying never mind— she was already at your door.

"what’s up?"

"uh—"

"you okay?"

"sit please." you watched as she sat on the edge of your bed. "you’re scarring me." you took a deep breath. "okay so basically, y'know how nanami was being oddly weird last night?"

"mhm."

"well i think i know why. basically, i was on my lab top, i was going to post our video we did last week. i saw this video that i don’t remember so i pressed on it…" a small pause. your best friend looking at you to continue.

"it was nanami— and well, he was masturbating. he kept saying your name and mine. i’m positive he saw our video." you were scared for her reaction but it wasn’t what you thought it would be.

"oh wow. definitely not surprised but like i did cheat on him just didn’t think he would find out that way—"

"you’re not upset?"

"i can’t be y/n. i did cheat on him. what can i say?"

"i mean true but i don’t know!"

"if we are being honest, i was going to discuss with him about being a poly but i just didn’t know how to ask him."

to be fair, you were in love with your best friend and you had started to like nanami but you never thought about a poly.

"i love you y/n and i know nanami feels the same way. i see the way he stares at you or wonders if you’re with someone. i wonder the same as well." you were shocked honestly. but you were praying on the inside that nanami agreed to it. "come on, we'll tell him together." now your heart went to your ass.

"nanami, baby." you can hear nanami hum. "so, did anything yesterday when we were gone?" your eyes looked away from his eyes. "no. why?"

"you sure?"

"i mean i cleaned but that’s about it." liar.

"babe be honest with me." you can tell he was nervous. he didn’t know to lie or say the truth. "fine. please don’t get mad. but — i was being nosy and went into y/n's room and i kept hearing notifications. i know it was wrong but then i saw only fans and just wanted to know how much you make and i got more curious and saw you too and i got off on that. please don’t be mad."

you wanted to laugh but you knew this situation was serious. "it’s okay honey, i can’t be mad. i do apologize for not telling you about it either."

"i’m sorry y/n for sneaking in your room."

"it’s okay." you chuckled causing nanami to turn red. "speaking of which, i have something to ask."

"hm?"

"i know you feel something towards y/n and—"

"oh god, im so-"

"nanami relax. i was going to say i do too, and i wanted to know if you’re willing to be in a relationship with her as well."

"what is it called? a poly?"

"mhm."

"wow. i mean two women at once?"

nanami smiled big. "well yeah."

"this is heaven."

"we also have a surprise for you."

"for me?!" your best friend grabbed nanamis hand and yours leading to the master bedroom. you were confused too. she never said anything else. "since we are doing this, i’ve been waiting to try so bad." she smiled taking her clothes off. nanami smiling knowing his dreams were coming true.

"i wanna see you guys touch each other first." so quick for nanami to request what he wanted but yall weren’t complaining though. "like this?" you began grabbing your best friends breast. nanami sitting in the corner of the chair. nodding in agreement as he took off his clothes.

you and your best friend breathing getting heavier. "finger her." you nodded, your fingers rubbing against her pussy. she moaned from the feeling. "she’s wet for you." you bit your bottom lip looking at nanami while placing your fingers in your mouth.

nanami pumping himself seeing you eat his wife out. this is what he wanted and he finally got it. "when i fuck her, i want you looking at me." he pointed as he slapped your ass. he rubbed his tip against your entrance. "oh fuck." your best friend moaned out loud. "don’t look at her, look at me."

nanami gave it no time, he thrusted in you causing you to moan. "don’t stop." she whispered. nanami grabbing your hips, thrusting back and forth. you began tweaking on his dick. nanami moaning seeing your ass shaking perfectly. his wife also humping your face. "just like that baby." he whispered.

"oh god." you whispered as nanami kept going faster. "nanami lay on your back." his wife demanded. "sit on his face y/n." you positioned yourself to sit on his face. nanami's tongue did circular motion on your clit causing you to moan. "ride his fucking face." his wife kissed your lips. his wife goes down and began sucking his dick.

nanami moaned feeling his wife take all of it. "nanami-" you moaned. he gripped on your thighs when he felt you ride him. the room was filled with sweat, moans, and screams.

you faced the other way, while his wife began to ride his dick. nanami still eating you out while you were making out with his wife. "fuck guys-" your best friend whispered as she sucked on your breast. "please don’t fucking stop."

"yeah baby, eat her fucking pussy." this man was in fucking heaven. his has his wife riding him and his now girlfriend sitting on his face? yeah this man was loving it. "i’m gonna fuc—"

"me too—" all of you guys keeping up the same place. you came in nanamis mouth. "lick my cum off her pussy." nanami demanding as he felt himself shooting inside her. you bent down and licked your best friend clit while still on nanami. she lifted up a bit and smiled seeing you lick off both of them.

"was this what you wanted nanami?"

"mhm."

 sccrim — all rights reserved. please do not modify, repost , translate , or plagiarise my content.

[enbyfvcker]

Amongst the trees

part two to Under the influence.

Wade Wilson X Logan (worst!wolverine)

Word count: 1,7k

Summary: Logan takes Wade out for a date in the woods.

Tags: a bit of fluff, love confessions, smut, semi-public sex, oral sex, deep throating, come swallowing, bottom!Wade, rimming, anal fingering, anal sex

"Is this a date?"

"...Yeah."

"Awww, peanut! You're so cute when you make an effort."

"Look, I just- I wanted to make up to you for pouncing on you like that that night, so I thought- You know what? This is stupid. If you want to go back to the apartm-"

"Of course not! Are you kidding? It's so pretty here." Wade looks around to the nightly woods around them, lightened by the moon. He feels the cool breeze on his skin, and he can hear the sounds of crickets. He looks up to the sky decorated with stars as his arms support his head while both of the men lay on a blanket that's placed on the grass. "When you called me to take a ride with you on your new motorcycle and I saw a forest, I thought maybe you'd finally end me. Who knew you were just being romantic, peanut."

Logan rolls his eyes with a grin, also looking at the sky.

"I know that... you don't feel really comfortable in public when you're not in your suit, so... I thought this would be a nice idea."

Wade turns his head to the side, looking at him with a sweet smile. "It was."

Logan looks back at him, a bit tensed. "I'm really sorry for-"

"Stop. You don't need to be sorry, sweetcheeks. It's okay. It was nice to know."

"That I'm an idiot?"

"That you like me."

"Is that really so surprising?"

"I mean... Yeah. I'm not the most lovable person. And it's at least not likely. Like, I feel like we're probably a one percentage of wolvies and wades out there in the multiverse that actually do something about their feelings. The other fuckers must be out there living a platonic homoerotic friendship. Ha! Lame."

"Their loss, then." Logan mumbles lowly, a small smile on his lips. "And that's not true."

"What?"

"You're lovable."

"Oh."

"And annoying as fuck. But still lovable."

"How sweet." Wade chuckles and moves to lay over Logan, their noses almost brushing against each other now. "I'm touched." He teases, brushing their lips together without actually initiating a kiss. "It'd be fun to be touched in other ways, too, though."

Logan laughs lowly and places a hand behind the merc's head, bringing him down for a soft kiss that is filled with longing and affection and slowly grows more passionate and needy. Their breathing becomes more intense as their tongues meet hungrily. Wade grinds his hips teasingly against the gruff man under him, his arousal mirroring Logan's. He pulls away for a second and looks deeply into the mutant's eyes.

"I love you too, by the way."

Logan's pupils dilate, and he feels his heart throb. Or probably his cock. Both. And in another second, he quickly switches their positions and gets over Wade, his arms on the sides of the merc's head. In a flash, he pulls out his claws and tears Wade's shirt to shreds.

"Hey! That shirt was like, 5 dollars- You know what, never mind." Wade gives up on whining when he feels Logan's tongue exploring his torso, and he would have goosebumps if he had any body hair in the first place. "You know, I thought for a while your tongue would be all rough and spiky."

Logan looks up at Wade with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not a cat, bub."

"But you're so kitty shaped!"

Logan just rolls his eyes affectionately and goes back to licking the merc's skin, tongue tracing where the happy trail would be as his hands work Wade's pants. Once he pulls it down along with heart printed boxers, he kisses the tip of Wade's cock while looking up at him, a cocky smirk growing on his lips at the gasp that it elicited.

"Do you think a bear or wolf could appear out of nowhere to eat us? I feel so vulnerable right now. It would be a pain to regenerate from that-" Wade's interrupted by his own moan when Logan licks the vein of his cock base to tip.

"The only animal that's going to devour you tonight is me. Now shut up, will ya, bub." Wade doesn't have a chance to retort before he moans again, head dropping back as he feels Logan's warm mouth enveloping him. And no, not a rough and spiky tongue at all. It feels so soft his mind goes white for a moment. He brings himself to look down at the sight of Logan bobbing his head up and down on him, eyes glued to the merc's, and he can swear he sees a smirk in the mutant's lips even though they're full of him.

Wade's hand softly grips Logan's locks, making sure not to disturb the little hair ears.

"See?" Wade pants. "Kitty shaped." He teases with a grin. A loud whimper that has birds startled and flying around leaves his throat when Logan takes him all the way down, his tip hitting the back of Logan's throat and he fucking stays there, watery lustful eyes glued to his, shining with mischief. Wade can't help but buck his hips up, the pleasure stripping him off of brain cells, and all he can think about is how good it feels. Logan doesn't choke or gags. He just takes it until the lack of air has him pulling out with a lewd 'pop'.

"Fuckfuckfuck. What the hell, peanut, where did you learned that-"

But Logan doesn't waste a second until he's swallowing Wade again, the taste of pre-cum on his lips only spurring him on, sucking faster.

"Oh god- You know what, it doesn't matter. Fuck, you're so good, kitten..."

The praise has Logan taking him even more eagerly, switching between bobbing his head and taking Wade deep in his throat. But it doesn't take long until the merc is a babbling mess, his cock twitching desperately inside the mutant's mouth and his hips bucking up.

"Feels so good... Shit, Wolvie... I'm close..." Wade whines, his hand tangled in Logan's hair tightening slightly. "Fuck, I-" He doesn't get to finish his sentence, his hips rutting up until they still, eyes rolling back as he fills Logan's throat who swallows without a second thought. His head goes blank for a few moments as he catches his breath, eyes dazed and dreamy. Logan moves up until they're face to face again and kisses the merc's lips, the taste of his release tangling between their tongues.

When they pull apart, Wade is still sporting a very stupid dazed expression that has Logan grinning.

"God, I think you just sucked my brain out of my dick." Wade sighs and Logan chuckles, kissing the merc again.

"You're still talking. So my job isn't done yet." Logan grunts before turning Wade on his stomach, manhandling him on his hands and knees.

"Oh god- Are we making a baby in the woods?"

"That's not how biology works, Wade."

"Biology's boring. Knock me up, tiger."

Logan shakes his head with a grin before he licks Wade's back, making the merc arch. He bites his shoulder with a grin, sinking his teeth into scarred skin. Moving down teasingly slow, he finally licks Wade's rim, earning a needy moan. His tongue make it's way inside and Wade whimpers, his soft cock stirring up again. Logan replaces his tongue with a finger, sinking knucles deep until Wade can take another. Scissoring him open, Logan focuses on stretching out the merc. When he's satisfied, he pulls them out, a whine escaping Wade's lips at the loss.

It doesn't take long, though. Wade hears a zipper, and his's heart flutters quickly when he feels Logan's tip pressing against him.

"You ready?"

"Yeah yeah yeah, god just do it already-" He's interrupted once more by his own moan when Logan slowly begins to sink into him, making way for his girth into the merc's tight channel, grunting when he finally bottoms out. He takes a deep breath, focusing on not starting to thrust right away and instead letting Wade get used to it.

"Does it hurt?" Logan asks, a bit worried since they didn't use any lube. He should've brought it... He makes a mental note for next time.

"No, just- Please start moving, stop teasing..."

With a low chuckle, Logan slowly starts to pound into Wade. "You'll know when I'm teasing you, trust me." He picks up the pace and aims at Wade's sweet spot, hands gripping his sides tightly, and he just lets out needy whines and whimpers. Logan has to chuckle to himself at how he's basically fucking the words out of the mouthy merc, turning him into a moaning mess. His hips move faster and right when he hears Wade's moans getting louder and more desperate, he slows down almost to a stop, thrusting slow and hard.

"Nonono, fuck, don't stop!"

Logan lets out an evil laugh. "I didn't." He thrusts again roughly.

"Pleasepleaseplease, Wolvie..."

"Please, what?"

"Just- Go fucking faster!" Wade whines desperately, moving his hips back.

"Hm, is that how you ask? I don't think I will." He keeps moving torturing slow, teasing the merc with a grin.

"Please..." Wade whines frustratingly. "Please please peanut... faster, please..." He begs between needy whimpers. "Your hips are made of fucking adamantium, put your back into it- fuck!" Logan's suddenly pounding into him ruthlessly, knowing the air out of his lungs.

"What, like this?" He teases, knowing full well Wade can only let out incoherent moans now. He could feel himself getting closer, low grunts escaping his throat. Bringing a hand to wrap around Wade's cock, he strokes it in rhythm with his thrusts. "Go on, let go for me, bub."

He barely finishes his words before Wade's spilling over the blanket, back arching. Logan groans loudly at the feeling of his walls squeezing his cock, and their moans tangle in unison as they find their releases together. With a grunt, Logan pulls out and uses a piece of cloth that once was Wade's shirt to clean the merc and himself. He lays down along with Wade, pulling him into his arms as they catch their breaths together.

"I think we may have woken the entire ecosystem of this forest." Wade pants, making Logan chuckle.

tagging: @hoolequinn @whiskeyandcigarsmoke @moustarda @aspenfallen @thesexymutant @flower-majesty-anon

[dahliaparton]

i’ll drive you home, you drive me crazy

another installment of the Tornado Warnings series ~ Rafe x Kiara

tags: established relationship, breeding kink, dubious consent (mild but it’s questionable for sure), dirty talk, possessive behavior ~ full tags on ao3

☆ COMPLETED ONESHOT ☆ 6500 words ☆

an excerpt:

“God damn, Kie – all of this just from sucking some dick?” He pulls back from their kiss to look at her, ready to mock her again just to see more of that cute, embarrassed flush already staining her cheeks, but her next sentence pulls him up short.

“Yeah, well… I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m ovulating, so…”

At those words, Rafe experiences some sort of system failure, his synapses firing off all at once in a manic, frenzied glitch – and then not at all. His mind is replaced by a blank screen and a static-y hum: an error has occurred.

He reboots, coming back to life a few moments later with a groan and a shake of his head, opening eyes he hadn’t realized he’d shut to find Kiara’s face still inches from his, looking at him with concern, her brow furrowed.

His hand is still cupped against her cunt, middle finger nestled along her clit. With intention, he moves his fingertip against her and watches with a savage satisfaction as the small crease between her brows smooths out, her mouth dropping open on a barely audible gasp.

He clicks his tongue in false sympathy, continuing to rub her in small, teasing circles where she’s most sensitive. “Poor baby. That’s why you’re so wet, huh? My girl needs attention?”

“Not your –” Her protests are cut off as she bites her bottom lip against a moan and he’s captivated momentarily by the way her sharp little teeth sink into the plush, pink skin. “Not your girl, Rafe.”

He ignores that.

“Sensitive, too, yeah? It usually takes a little more work for me to get you moaning. I’m barely touching you, Kie.”

The words are sugary-sharp, a mocking edge to them, and he’d almost feel bad if it weren’t for the way he can feel her react to it, clenching her thighs around his hand and squirming against him as she remains straddling him in the front seat.

“Is that part of you ovulating? This little cunt’s all oversensitive and needy?” Rafe leans into her as he murmurs the words, bringing his mouth to the curve between her shoulder and neck. The singular scent of her skin and traces of her perfume fill his nose. It’s like he’s got a sick Pavlovian response to it at this point, the smell of ripe, red fruit and vanilla going straight to his cock.

Kiara nods and makes a sound of agreement, lolling her head to the opposite side so he has more room to trail open-mouthed kisses along her neck.

At the same moment that he sinks his teeth into the exposed skin of her throat, he thrusts a finger inside her.

The feel of her cunt is enough to make his eyes roll back – she’s scorching hot, and so god damn wet he can feel it trickling out around his knuckle.

She whines his name as he finds the patch of nerves against her front wall that’s guaranteed to have her coming fast. On any given day, Rafe’s confident he can get her off expeditiously – it’s not cocky if it’s true, he loves to remind her.

But right now, tonight, she’s so worked up he thinks she’ll come with just a dozen and a half more strokes of one single finger shoved inside her and the edges of his teeth working a surreptitious bruise into the side of her neck.

Read the whole story on ao3!

[fandomofhappiness]

Aizawa Shouta & Shinsou Hitoshi Father-Son Dynamic Big Recomendation Fic List for starters and not

Hi everyone! After quite a long time, I finally post my Recommendation Fic List (the crowning glory of my stay in the MHA fandom) of Aizawa and Shinsou Father-Son Dynamic.

I always start reading fanfiction before I even finished read the original, what does that says about me?

I became familiar with a fairly common theory that Shinsou Hitoshi is an orphan with a rather dread past, which, of course, activated a huge curiosity in me. I tried to analyze the trend, and I will say that it's quite clear: People were infected with the idea, where abused Hitoshi was somehow saved by Aizawa. And so was I. I've read for almost hundread of any combinations of this trend and NOW I finally ready to present my Fic List.

Attention. I will attach UNFINISHED fanfics, but which actively (or not so) updated, because they are masterpieces.

WARNING! I do not attach stories which contain:

ships (except Erasermic and 2-3 ShinKami but they are not MAIN)

alpha/beta/omega thing

too fluffy and too family-oriented fics (there will be ones, but I don't want to make them a centre of my list

I cut Rec List on different genre sections (read: dynamics) and add fanfics from the most angst ones to fluffy ones so you can easily pick what you like most ;)

So, let's start!

fandomofhappiness's personal top

You Want It Darker by Ms_Chunks Genres: Shinsou Has Family, Gore and Murder, Detective, Mentor and Parental Aizawa Status: FINISHED (533,808 words) foh's comment: Highly interesting! Shinsou here is not represented as perfect kid or downtrodden teenager, he is the way I liked him in anime and manga: he bites, hisses, snaps, makes sarcastic jokes and does not allow anyone hurt him. Aizawa and Shinsou very slowly gain trust from each other, but that makes their relationship seem sincere, and not caricatured. Read for the detective, the non-orthodox view of the Hitoshi family and Erasermic. READ THE TAGS and be aware!

Fundamental Theorem of Heroics by NightowlRobin Genres: Foster Kid Shinsou, Vigilante Shinsou, Heavy Angst, Parental Aizawa Status: UNFINISHED but updates weekly (more 700k words) foh's comment: Truly FUNDAMENTAL work of all Shinsou Hitoshi stories on ao3. I'd so like to confess my true respect and love to the NightowlRobin for their most mind-blowing plot and detailising. (You will probably meet Aizawa only after 10 chapters. And it will take even longer until Hitoshi and him properly meet.) This is an epochal work that will make you believe in Hitoshi's true character and make you cry of his story because it's really brutal. I think this is the favourite work of everyone who liked Shinsou with all their hearts.

To Turn A Man Into A Stone by tanli Genres: Foster Kid Shinsou, Angst, Mentor Aizawa Status: FINISHED (15,128 words) foh's: comment: Even months after I read this work, I look back on it and think: the author did an 11/10 job. Just so you understand: this is the best example of how I see the relationship between Aizawa and Shinsou. It is the apotheosis of sincerity and affection. It is a test of will, deep introspection and acceptance. It performed so well that it seemed to me that the author wrote a chapter for the manga. Damn, the author did a lot better than the mangaka. If the previous two works were not so high-quality and grandiose, I would've put this one at the very top of my list.

If Lies Had A Flavor by scooter3scooter Genres: Foster Kid Shinsou, Erasermic Adopt Shinsou, Heavy Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eating Disorders Status: FINISHED (10,003 words) foh's comment: Perhaps one of the many angst works written by scooter3scooter, which I have reread more than once or even twice. This work is special to me, because I have never seen such an interesting look at the consequences of Shinsou's stay in an orphanage. Complex and emotional work. It is truly an honour to get acquainted with such a vast problem of humanity as eating disorder through this fanfic.

crybaby by Brachydios Genres: Foster Kid Shinsou, Erasermic Help Shinsou, Heavy Angst & Eventual Comfort, Canon Divergence Status: FINISHED (51,219 words) foh's comment: I've read this work more times than I can remember. Brachydios came into my life with this incredible work and tore me apart from the inside. I believe in every detail they describe, every character move is justified. I want to sympathize with Shinsou over and over again. One of the best Quirk-Shenanigans trope that has brought 1017 people to tears - be the next one. The performance is 100 of 10.

How It Goes by Ibelieveinahappilyeverafter Genres: Foster Kid Shinsou, Erasermic Adopt Shinsou, Heavy Angst & Eventual Comfort Status: FINISHED (20,021 words) foh's comment: This is one of the best written Foster Kid Shinsou stories ever. Hitoshi's adaptation, his thoughts and feelings, his panic, his fear of going back to the orphanage are described in a deep sincere way here. It's a heartbreaking story about the fear of punishment, taking consenquences and family. It was very personal for me and I hope you get a lot emotions after reading it.

Faith by slightlycrunchy Genres: Mentor and Parental Aizawa, Anxious Shinsou, Hurt/Comfort, School Situation Status: FINISHED (2,651 words) foh's comment: This work is also quite personal choice of mine. I wouldn't say it's grandiose, but it's very emotional for me. For the kid who worries about grades all their life, who is afraid to make a mistake, who is afraid to lose everything because of one mistake and who doesn't know how to accept their failures. I ask you to read this if my words resonate in your soul. This is the truth that we all need to hear.

Absolute Tops

Point Blank by Cobbiest foh's rec: an interesting, intriguing and beautifully written Shinsou's journey to become a part of Erasermic Family (and hero)

Deathworlders to the extreme! by AquaStarDark foh's rec: that's the funniest, most captivating and rocking people-are-space-orcs thing that I've read, really worths reading

I Would Understand by deafmic foh's rec: that is the first things first to read if you're new here, but tnh I wasn't ready for this work and dropped it once or twice before I finally made it and read it, it's really really good, but I wouldn't recommended as first-to-read.

Back to the Nest by Mags_Pie foh's rec: such a sweet thing about children and their parents. I was smiling so much.

Everything is different (since you've been around) by Plasmapause foh's rec: and THIS is how I see the best written relationship between Shinsou & Aizawa AND Shinsou & Yamada, they're building trust and becoming family very slowly BUT you really believe in these life situations that happen to Hitoshi, it is very sincere and touchy work.

It's not always easy. by ethgri foh's rec: and THIS is the HEAVIEST work I've read and really recommend it. The emotions are real and naked, I practically felt the same pain. Please be ready for heart journey, this is a brutal masterpiece.

Herding Cats by Robbirdthe8th (FictionalFeather) foh's rec: the COOLEST detective wotk, have nothing to say - just read it.

Margay by Oceanbreeze7 foh's rec: one of best ever written Shinsou.

QueNouilleCroustillante (the author of AUs that you won't forget: you may know theirs Bright Stars, but I beg you to read all of their works)

deafmic (you guys do know deafmic, that's deafmic's section for Aizawa and Shinsou, it's all too fucking good)

Mentorship Dynamics

More than a cry by Assassin Bug

Stubborn choices by Madaver

Not In The Job Description by ididntneedanewfandom (prettyvk)

Voices by SquirrelWriter

mind break by baggytshirtsandtiredeyes

The Lilac Garden by Mars_is_Gone

the night was a gelid, bitter, and biting thing by sonrissa

Countdown by Mags_Pie

polished doubt, fake sentiment by s_beth

Consequences by 22FluffyTheSpider123

Legacy by the_crownless_queen

Aizawa's Warmth by LoveableMink

Hitoshi Shinsou's Not-So-Smart Training Method by maarvehl

Keep Him Safe by Mags_Pie

stealing is bad? by borlios

Learning Curve by Cyborg_Franky

Play Along by eillo

from one foot to the other by ohwickedsoul

Family Dynamics

So this section I prefer to divide in two subsections:

fanfics where Shinsou is heavely traumatised and learns how to handle it with Eraser(-mic) help (Section A)

fanfics where Shinsou traumatises world around him and still learns how to handle it (Section B)

P.S.: section B comes first, because I love how authors perform Shinsou. They captured his audacity, intelligence and rebelliousness, he's learning from his traumas but does it shitty, and that is really interesting.

Family Dynamics Section B:

When the Darkness Fades by BlueCats

Growing Up (is harder than it looks) by BlueCats

Concerning (Some-)Things by Tododorkey (ApolloBlackwood)

The Beginning of Always by meow_z_z_z

First Day of School by Jyxnie

Split Lip; Silver Tongue by CreamcheeseBagel

Unforgettable by deafmic

A Lesson in Vengeance by Smurfee

somewhere in my heart of hearts (i knew it all along) by bototyelenol

Call to Eraserhead by sukeruton

surviving on elevated cortisol and spilt coffee by Crykea

How to Win the Sports Festival: A Step by Step Guide by mhwright

Hitoshi Shinsou's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Days by Princeliest

Tight-Lipped Belief by Robbirdthe8th (FictionalFeather)

House of the Rising Sun by caprisunontherocks

Family Dynamics Section A:

Just A Phone Call Away by odymcbea

Twist My Words by CreamcheeseBagel

Take Care (of me) by scooter3scooter

it’s in the way he- by scooter3scooter

masterpiece of nature by Brachydios

spare the rod by Brachydios

Not Today (Tomorrow it May Change) by deafmic

You're an Alien? by Badum_tsh

Pardon My Presence by ShiDreamin

Everything Will Be A-Okay by nikouji

Lucky Cat by deafmic

The Misadventures of the Yamazawa Family by ComplicatedSquishy101

Home Alone by fecklessphilanderer

a voice your body jumps to callin' out your name by sparrowsAce, wander_wren

Last (First) Adventure by deafmic

You've Got A Heart As Loud As Lions by Robbirdthe8th (FictionalFeather) (warning! this work contains sexual abuse. I felt it was a difficult decision to include this here, as it is an incredibly complex topic and also incredibly important. This work is written with such respect and love, with such sensitivity, I cannot even begin to express it in words. Please, if this topic is disturbing and triggering to you, please be careful to read it.)

This concludes my top list. I finished reading about two months ago and plan to return soon and see what new and good is being written along this Father-Son trope. If you have any other cool works that are not presented here and you want to share them, send them into comments. I would be very glad! Thank you for attention!

[pugh-bug]

Tease

Art Donaldson x reader

Part 1 of possibly 3

You’re Patrick’s unofficial girlfriend but Art Donaldson can only find it in him to care so much. You’re everything to him.

Warnings for this chapter: none

First fic of 2025, hope everyone’s January is going good. Let me know if you wanna be added to my Art tag list 🫶🏻

——————————————————————

Art’s life mission was to please you, it had been since you’d first met. It didn’t matter that you were Patrick’s on again off again ‘not really serious’ girlfriend and not his. It didn’t matter that you had plans to move away after graduation and would likely never return and it didn’t matter that he was supposed to be practising. With you near nothing else mattered.

“Why’d you stop?”

You cocked your head at your friend who didn’t look tired - in fact he’d barely broken a sweat - but wasn’t moving. Pat served again with a fresh ball, flashing you a ‘what’s with him?’ look which you shrugged at. Art caught the ball in his hand. “Just don’t feel like playing anymore.”

“Because I’m winning?” Pat grinned.

More than you know, Art thought in dismay. His best friend, his only true friend and yet he was harbouring feelings for you. Naively he’d assumed they’d disappear after a few dates with the many nice girls who asked him out between matches but nothing had worked. Not avoiding you entirely, not trying to see you in a bad light and certainly not sex. All he thought of when he made some girl cum was you: what you’d look like, how you’d taste and what your moans would sound like.

“Art? Help me carry this would you?”

He was tortured.

That Spring he trained almost daily with Patrick and a few other tennis friends winning half of his matches, always losing with you present. Once Spring turned to Summer the three of you were together everyday, you being in your gap year had free time, and everyone knew something was off. Even you knew after one particular game.

The sun was cooking the court and you found yourself surprised you could stand at all, let alone speak. It was Patrick’s turn to serve, he locked eyes with Art whose attention was on you and your unsteadiness.

Thwack

You watched with half lidded eyes as the pair battled it out for three sets. Your skin felt on fire, melting under the oppressive rays you couldn’t evade. Shade was out of reach. The water bottle in your hand felt cold for only moments before it heated in your sweaty palms. Patrick and Art were still playing but you only knew from the sounds. Your vision was blurring. Everything turned to static and the bench you were perching on no longer supported your body as it sank and sank and sank…

“Y/N!”

Were you underwater?

Who was speaking?

“Y/N wake up, it’s ArTh! Please wake up, can you stand - can you stand Y/N? Open your eyes. Please…”

Someone placed a bottle of ice water in your hand and something squishy, rounded off at the edges. You opened your eyes to see Patrick passing you fruit pastels whilst Art’s eyes checked you over for signs of life. The boy looked distraught, as if you hadn’t just fainted but instead had been hit by a truck or something more traumatic he didn’t want to imagine. Patrick frowned at his doubles partner, narrowing his eyes before rubbing your back and asking if you could stand. His voice was steady, he’d seen you faint before.

Once you’d downed some sprite and more sweets, you focused your eyes to see if they’d recovered. The buzzing, muffled sounds had ceased and Patrick and Art no longer looked miles away. You were okay. “Right,” Patrick exclaimed rather suddenly. “She’s fine, let’s just call that a draw.” Before you could interject Patrick pulled his friend to one side. What you then heard was whispered.

“Are you okay?”

They both shot you frantic glances you caught but pretended not to in the corner of your eye. Art looked at Patrick with glassy eyes, fearing the worst.

“Patrick I-“

“Can you control yourself?”

Art didn’t respond.

“Don’t get me wrong it’s entertaining and look…I get it but just chill out a bit.”

He flashed Art a charming smile and patted his shoulder. You didn’t have time to mull anything over much before the three of you were on your way out but one thing was clear: Art Donaldson was no friend.

——————————————————————

The following day you ran into Art whilst shopping, staring at the cheese aisle to calculate the best offer holding a lot of items. Too many. Your bare arms were coated in goosebumps from the intensity of the fridges’ air. He watched you and glanced round for a moment but saw no sign of Patrick.

“Y/N?”

You almost dropped the cheddar you were holding.

“Jesus Christ!”

Art had feather light footsteps, it was a gift for tennis and apparently also sneaking around. His eyes were wide at your reaction but he quickly adapted a facial expression that better suited talking to someone he adored. “Sorry.”

You exhaled deeply, returning your attention to the aisle of cheese. “We should get you a bell.” Art blushed at the immediate image of you adorning him with a collar and using it to pull his face towards yours.

“Art?”

He looked out of it - he was out of it.

“Should have gotten a trolley…” You mumbled, struggling to hold everything. At your words Art snapped into action, marching all the way to the entrance to fetch you the cleanest trolley available. He came back with an eager look on his face which you were growing fonder of every-time you saw it. “Thanks,” you smiled, a laugh playing on your lips.

Art stayed by your side, despite having only wanted a cereal bar, for your entire shop. He placed any item you looked at in the trolley for you and he pushed it tirelessly when it got heavy. Never patronising but always helpful. You tried your hardest not to take pleasure in his incessant helpfulness but failed. Especially when he paid.

“Art no, it’s my food I’m paying.”

Unconvinced, Art swiped his own card and bagged your groceries for you with the intensity of someone late for a wedding. Your lips parted at the sight, you were no longer breathing through your nose.

“Where are you parked?”

He followed you, bags in hand, to your humble Fiesta at the end of the lot. It wasn’t until he’d finished placing each one into your trunk that you offered him a lift home. “Or wherever you’re going.” Art was supposed to be going to a house warming party but he was already late.

“Yeah just going home, no plans today.”

His phone vibrated, flashing with messages of ‘where are you’s and question marks but he ignored each one to ask what your plans were. “Movie night. Patrick said maybe a Scream marathon.” Your eyes were fixated on the silent road in front of you whilst Art found himself wishing there’d be traffic. His mind played images of Pat sitting beside you, arm snaked around your waist and a sultry look in his eye. He tried not to picture the two of you clinging to each other, sharing popcorn and the occasional kiss that might turn into more. He tried and tried and tried.

Truthfully the three of you only ever spent time apart when Patrick was missing…certain aspects of his relationship with you. Everything else you did together, including movie marathons. Art spent the entire red light wondering if he was allowed to come now he’d ruthlessly cancelled his own plans.

“You into scary movies?” You asked, eyes shifting from the old lady at the crossing to the cyclist hurtling past. Every movie marathon the three of you had had covered every genre but horror, even on Halloween when Pat insisted you watch ‘The Meg’. It had ‘big shark’ as he had so eloquently put it.

“Not massively.”

Art didn’t want to tell you how easily scared he was, especially by the supernatural. It wasn’t that he believed in ghosts and demons as such but the idea of an otherworldly being that wouldn’t conform to physics terrified him. How could you defeat something not bound to logic? When his friends had made him watch ‘It’ he’d had to leave the theatre early. Clowns on top of his psychological fears had been too much to sit through.

“We weren’t gonna watch anything disturbing.”

Art watched you watching the road and smiled, suddenly feeling hopeful. “Like I said I have no plans.”

——————————————————————

1 hour into ‘It: Chapter 2’ you found yourself slumped against the cushions with Patrick’s shoulder digging into one arm and Art’s knee against yours. None of you had paying much attention, just talking and shovelling in popcorn at record speeds when Pat exclaimed “Fuck!”

He jumped off the sofa like a spooked cat and raced to his bedroom before returning with his keys. “I was supposed to cat sit for James I was meant to be there an hour ago. Shit!” Art raised an eyebrow, wondering when Patrick had last done anything for James that wasn’t beating him at tennis.

“Keys, wallet…”

As you watched your boyfriend grabbing tirelessly at every object in the room Art focused on how close the two of you now were without him.

“Bye!”

Door slam

“Jesus…” You breathed, trying to take in the chaos of what had just happened. “I hope they’re not too hungry when he gets there.” They Art thought, having no idea what animals James even owned. He chewed on the inside of his mouth as you took a swig of water. “I can’t imagine having cats at our age,” You played with a piece of hair that was hanging in the wrong place. “It’s like having an actual kid.”

“You don’t want kids?”

“Patrick doesn’t.”

Art took in your solemn expression for a moment, before leaning closer to you.

“And what do you want?”

Your throat felt blocked as you struggled to swallow a breath. How long had it been since you’d been asked that? Relationships were so difficult for you. Not only did you entangle yourself so disastrously with anyone who showed interest but you rarely separated your needs from theirs. You thought back to your parents questioning why on earth you were taking a gap year after always saying you knew exactly what career and degree you wanted. Patrick, it was always Patrick. His apartment, his University, his interests and his tennis dreams.

“I know it’s not really my place-“

“It isn’t.”

You’d said it without thinking and your voice, in an attempt to conceal the emotion, had sounded harsh. Cold. Art retreated into himself, turning the movie volume up to fill the room with something other than his regret.

He left as soon as it finished.

Patrick ended up cat sitting for three consecutive days that month, leaving you lost. It wasn’t that you missed his jokes, his kisses or even his company as much as you missed someone filling the silence. You hadn’t heard from Art since he’d left post credits. No texts or missed calls.

Like an unplugged appliance you dragged yourself uselessly from one shop to the other not buying anything. Aimless, directionless like you so often were. You cursed yourself for not having made more of your own friends, instead of absorbing Patrick’s to keep him happy. When it grew dark you swallowed your pride.

Hey are you busy?

Delivered 9:48pm

What’s wrong?

Delivered 9:52pm

You stared at Pat’s empty apartment, the unwashed dishes, the pile of recycling and the black screens playing nothing.

Bored

Delivered 9:53pm

The fridge groaned in tune with your stomach. There was nothing good in either.

Wanna come over?

Pizza?

Delivered 9:54pm

I’ll be there

Delivered 9:55pm

——————————————————————

Masterlist

Permanent Art taglist: @theynothem @amorisxx

[darklydeliciousdesires]

A Storm of Stars - An Aemond Targaryen/OC Story.

Okay, I caved and decided to share the first chapter, and will now sit on tenterhooks while awaiting everyone's thoughts! The story runs semi-canon to the events of HOTD, my own weaved in with it, if you will. Enjoy!

Words - 2,630

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added.

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, incest (because yep, they're Targaryens, Aemond and Aemella twin siblings) and a few other details that will be warned of at the start of each chapter. Oh and yes, it will be very smutty! Minors DNI.

The bitter, northern air whipped frigidly at the knight’s face as he made his way across the unforgiving ground, his boots crunching upon clusters of frozen mud. The skies were thick with clouds, primed and ready to shed further snow upon the already laden terrain, the near distance peppered with the sounds of his king, Stannis Baratheon’s men preparing themselves to move off once more, bound for The Wall. 

Entering the tent, Ser Davos looked upon the sight that greeted him with fond affection. There, warming herself within a swathe of soft bear pelts, sat the apple of his eye. The little Princess Shireen, her nose within a book. 

“What tales of the Seven Kingdoms do you read today, princess?” he inquired, taking a seat at her side.  

Shireen placed a marker upon the page she read, turning to her friend. “The story of Aemond and Aemella, Ser Davos.” 

A famous tale if ever there was one, Davos of course recognising it despite his illiteracy. “Ahh, the Targaryen twin stars,” he spoke knowingly, nodding towards the pages. “Read a little to me, if you’d be so kind.”  

His fondly delivered request was honoured, Shireen going back to the beginning of the chapter as she cleared her throat. “Aemond and Aemella Targaryen, second children to King Viserys I Targaryen and his queen, Alicent Hightower, came to be known widely as the twin stars from the moment of their birth upon the seventh day of the sixth moon, one hundred and ten AC.  

“The name originated from their father, the twins quietly rumoured to be the favourite offspring of their parents, their eternal bond rapidly becoming a famous tale for their unwavering devotion to one another. They were, as many a member of their family, or the servants within the Red Keep could attest, inseparable, from their first day right until their last. 

“From their youngest infancy, the twins were said to possess an otherworldly connection, sensing each other's emotions on an inexplicable level. It was the quiet strength and poised grace of the princess that often harnessed the fiery impulses of her brother, later her husband, the prince Aemond. Though it was known, that once wronged, Aemella made for just as deadly an adversary as her twin.” 

“Betrothed to one another at the age of four and ten, together, they were an unstoppable force, a balance of true compliment to one another’s strengths and weaknesses. It is said that a no greater love than theirs had ever before existed within the Targaryen dynasty, nor ever would again, the siblings forever orbiting one another in perfect harmony.” 

Davos had heard the tale on countless occasions throughout his lifetime, yet would never tire when Shireen recited the stories from her books she so treasured. “They rode the biggest dragons the world has ever known as well, princess. It was said that when Vhaegar and Fyreclaw took flight, almost all of Kings Landing was cast into shadow.” 

The princess looked at him with eyes filled with awe. “Can you imagine, Ser Davos?” 

He reached to fondly stroke her hair. “Aye. All we can do is imagine, now that they are long gone.” 

“An inevitability we all must face.” The princess never failed to surprise him with her measured wisdom, such maturity in one so young. Returning her focus to the book set upon her lap, she continued to recount stories from the twins’ early years. 

“They shared not only a bond of blood,” Shireen continued, “but a bond of destiny. It was said that their dragons, the fierce Vhaegar and the majestic Fyreclaw, showed a similar affinity, soaring through the skies of Westeros in perfect harmony. Their flights were rumoured to be a sight of juxtapose, both of unparalleled beauty and foreboding terror.” 

Ser Davos couldn't help but smile, imagining the heavens darkened by the might of such creatures. “Aye, princess. The bond they shared with their dragons was almost as legendary as the one they shared with each other. Aemond claimed the biggest dragon in the world when he was not much older than you, and Aemella was first seated upon Fyreclaw at just five in age. Remarkable.” 

Shireen’s face glowed with a quiet awe. “It must have been something extraordinary to witness.” Pondering a moment, she smoothed her hand across the grainy page before her. “Do you think they ever doubted their path, where their lives ultimately took them?” 

Davos shook his head gently. “Not once. Their unity was their strength. Through every battle and every trial, they stood together. An unbreakable force, though of course we know that once, somebody did attempt to break them apart.” 

The princess nodded thoughtfully, her gaze returning to the pages of her book. “Their story is a reminder that we are stronger together than separated. Much like the twin stars themselves, no matter how fierce the storm, there is always an eye to bring calm.” 

He looked at her with pride and affection, his beaming smile crinkling his eyes. He was sorely looking forward to a little calm being restored, once the fight for the Iron Throne was but a distant memory. He just hoped both he and the princess survived the toils of war for long enough to witness it.  

“Wise words, princess. May we always remember them.” 

Shireen resumed reading, her voice weaving the tapestry of the Targaryen legacy, as the sounds of preparation outside grew louder, signalling the impending march of Stannis’s army towards The Wall. 

While the story of Aemond and Aemella was by then long condemned to history, the princess read with the kind of fascination that served to keep their memory alive. The tale itself had begun much like many other, with an expectant queen awaiting the arrival of her babes within the walls of the Red Keep over a hundred years before... 

“I believe, your grace, that you do indeed carry twins.”  

Alicent had known this long before Grand Maester Mellos’s assertion, able to feel the movements of two babes within her womb from the moment they had begun to wriggle. They gave her perhaps the most uncomfortable and difficult of her expectancies, the queen often weary for their activity within her womb, coupled with the heaviness of carrying them both. 

“How do our twin stars fare today, wife?” the king inquired one morning, smoothing a loving hand over the swell of her belly.  

“Busily,” she admitted with a weak smile, her hand joining his. “Aemond is restless and Aemella chastises him for it. I am certain her kicks are more aimed at him rather than shuffling in order to seek comfort.”  

Viserys chuckled, his hand continuing to stroke against his unborn babes. “My dear queen, you cannot know for sure, that it is a boy and a girl that you carry.”  

“I know, husband,” she vowed, her smile crinkling her tired eyes. “Aemond is the storm, and Aemella the eye. She will be the one to tether him if he is ever to sail too high, bring him back to ground.”  

The queen was not particularly one for prophetic platitudes, but if she had ever sensed anything so strongly in all of her days, it was what would indeed come to pass.  

Aemond was born first, Aemella coming into the world moments after. The tiny prince had near wailed the roof right off the Red Keep upon his arrival, but Aemella had been much quicker to quieten, as her mother had indeed expected.  

In fact, in the days that followed their birth, the only time the little princess made her displeasure known was when the babes were placed within separate cribs, seemingly unable to bear being parted from one another.  

The Maesters, handmaidens and royals alike all watched in awe as the bond between the twins grew ever stronger with each passing day. Aemond and Aemella were inseparable, almost as if they communicated in a silent, secret language known only to them. The young prince's fiery temper was often soothed by the calm presence of his sister, who seemed to have a natural talent for bringing peace to her brother's sometimes turbulent spirit. Just as their mother prophesied she would.  

As the years went by, their bond only deepened. Aemond's fierce determination and conniving nature were balanced perfectly by Aemella's gentle wisdom and quiet strength. They complemented each other in every way, their unique qualities harmonising to form an unbreakable alliance. That was not to say that Aemella did not possess her own fire, though. The only difference was that she was shrewd enough to know exactly when to exert it.  

When it came to the defence of her beloved twin, anyone close would feel the roaring heat of her flaming temper, namely her elder brother, Aegon. The young prince sought to make it his mission to mercilessly tease Aemond, bullying the child for his shortcomings, more often than not over the fact he had not bonded with his own dragon.  

Upon hearing of the pig incident, Aemella had stormed to her brother’s bedchamber, striking him with a hard, open-handed strike to his face.  

“You dare to raise a hand to me, sister?” Aegon had raged, holding a hand to his stinging cheek. 

Aemella had merely folded her arms, unmoved entirely by his ire. “If you so insist on taunting Aemond, then know, dear brother, you taunt me by extension. I will not allow that to withstand without consequence. Not now, and not ever.” 

She never did, either. And it extended to anybody who dared to belittle or harm her twin star. When her nephew, the young prince Lucerys had taken Aemond’s eye, she’d been incandescent, her rage pulsing white-hot, brandishing a fire poker and promising of retribution, a literal eye for an eye. Her mother had been all for it, not tethering her normally rational and poised daughter back, the child only thwarted in her plan by Ser Harrold’s restraint. 

Aemond had felt his heart swell with love, to have watched his precious twin become so enraged on his behalf. The wellspring of her devotion to him never faltered, and it was on that day he truly realised it, that their bond was forged in something much stronger than mere blood. It was a connection that transcended the ordinary; even for twins.  

It went beyond, ran deeper, connected them on a spiritual level that they would never, could never be broken from. 

“Tis’ my fault, brother. That I was absent from your side when those wretched bastards set upon you,” she’d lamented later, balling her fists as her anger burned like wildfire. Indeed, at the time she had been bathing, unaware of what was to shortly befall her twin. 

Aemond had taken her hands in his, being the one to tether her for once as she had spiralled. “No, sweet sister. Tis’ an untruth. Do not let your anger surge, for while I may have lost an eye, I have gained a dragon. Now, when you sail through the skies aboard Fyreclaw, I may finally join you.” 

That night, they had shared a bed, curled around one another, just as they had as babes within their mother’s womb. It had been no great anomaly for the pair to have been found in slumber together throughout their childhood, often seeking the comfort of the other when they were feeling listless and unable to sleep.  

This was why, perhaps, that not many an eyelid was batted when further into their young adulthood, being found in one another’s beds became much more of a frequent occurrence. Except it was no mere innocent fondness that began to drive that need when the twins reached four and ten in age. 

Those natural urges experienced led to them creeping carefully into sexual exploration together. Of course, as Targaryen’s, it was commonplace for siblings to partner together, to ensure the bloodline was kept pure. Their union went beyond such, though, their life-long devotion to one another stemming into romantic love. 

Their exploration was never solely physical, but oh, how they did very much enjoy such once they had gotten the hang of it. Leaning how to pleasure one another had become a pursuit undertaken fastidiously, both utterly convinced that there could never be another out there who would ever come close to how intimately they knew one another. Their first time together had been a little disastrous, both having no real clue over what on earth to do with each other’s bodies. The more they lent to practice, though... 

Aemella would never forget the first time she was brought to a climax, lying spread upon Aemond’s bed, his fingers buried within her soaking cunt as his tongue lapped at her bud. Knowing her body so well, he understood then exactly how to send her to the edges of the heavens, further speed and pressure having her waves crashing against his shore with a series of cries. 

“Gods be good, brother,” she’d panted in aftermath, eyes wide, chest flushed. “I believe I rather enjoyed that.” 

“I would say so, Mella,” he’d told her, using his sweet pet name only he was allowed to address her as. “As would the large puddle upon the sheets.” 

“Seven hells!” she’d cried in horror. “Do not tell me that I have accidentally wet the bed!”  

Her brother, ever stoic, could not have helped the rare snort of laughter he emitted had he tried, resting his forehead to her inner thigh, kissing it thereafter. “No, love. Not in the way you are thinking, at least.” He’d then kissed his way back up her body, sheathing himself in her with a soft grunt. 

“My first...” he’d whispered, laying kisses to her throat, “my last...” those kisses peppered lower, tongue flicking against her clavicles, “and my only.” 

They delved into the depths of each other's souls, understanding every facet, every shadow that made up the other. It was in those quiet, intimate moments that they shared their fears, dreams and desires, their bond evolving into an intricate dance of passion and trust. 

The whispers of their union spread through the castle, the twins being called upon by their father, who without hesitation offered his blessing for the pair to marry. They’d expected to perhaps be chastised for their fornication outside of wedlock, but Viserys only sought to quickly remedy this by arranging their betrothal. Young people would indeed be young people, after all. He had once been young himself, too, though it seemed like many lifetimes ago.  

“T’was an inevitability, for you both to have sought such a union upon your maturing into young adulthood. It would be foolish to believe any other course could ever have been chartered.”  

The king understood well that it was not just their Targaryen heritage that bound them, but the unyielding love that had grown from the very moment they had shared the same womb. Their father had no intention of ever separating them by expecting them to marry outside of their house. In his mind, they were two sides of the same coin, twin souls. Separation was entirely out of the question.  

The marriage went ahead upon the third day of the fourth moon, a truly lavish affair that the twins enjoyed enormously, but felt the most elation upon returning to Aemond’s quarters, where all of his new bride’s possessions had now been moved to. They often felt that world outside could barely comprehend the intensity of their connection, but within their private sanctuary, nothing else mattered. Theirs was a love story written in the stars, destined to be eternal. 

Until the day their father, the long-ailing King Viserys finally passed on four years later, his death the catalyst to their entire world set in motion to one day be threatened beyond comprehension.  

[thatdeadaquarius]

I have a random idea for some sagau crack loosely based on my dynamic with my friend so Im giving it to you because I have been enjoying your sagau language stuff :D

Imagine there are two readers that are two different people. Like, not as in clones they are just two separate people that are rlly good friends on earth. They both really like genshin and play the game, and they both have self aware teyvat citizens. Reader 1 is a whale. They invest a l o t of money on the game, have all the characters, and all the characters have five star weapons. They are like the usual sagau reader you see. They have used up so much money on getting all of the characters, and I mean A L L of them, best weapons, constellations and put a lot of care into it. The place where they really get to show off is their knowledge and love for the lore, and are really invested into it and read all of the artifact descriptions and books. They know about primordial one, the four shining shades, random useless facts about items and often rant to reader 2 about their theories. Their quest bar is always empty because they did them to check out the lore of the game, and are always searching for more lore. They basically play everyday and are always reacting and talking to the characters out loud, unaware that they can hear them.

Meanwhile, Reader 2 is a f2p who is only interested in the archon quest lore and the lore of their fav characters. Because they are f2p, their options are limited so there is some blatant favoritism. They choose their fav character to save up for, and then pull for them. After they get the character they want, they will no longer pull and save up from there. Because of this, they only have like 5 five stars and only have zero five star weapon. Their favourite character is their main(*cough* wanderer *cough*), and unlike reader 1 who uses all of their characters regularly, reader 2 sticks to this character for most of their gameplay unless they need to use someone else. However, reader 2 takes almost an entire month to finish building a character, because they go overboard with the artifact stats. You would expect to normally have a 50 180 crit ratio, but reader 2’s dps characters always, and I mean ALWAYS have 50 200 crit ratio or more. Like, their main (it doesnt have to be wanderer but Im putting him here anyways) has 70 and 200 crit ratio, is crowned, full 4 pc best in slot, and is even crowned and faruzan only needs like 200 er but reader 2 gave them 300. (Im totally not putting this here because this is what I did/j) Reader 2 is also the type to never speak while gaming, so the first time they spoke everyone turned it into a national holiday to be celebrated. They also play a lot less than player 1. Player 1 plays everyday while player 2 plays for a month straight and then takes a long break to wait for the content to pile up.

So these two gremlin besties are always speaking with each other, and are always on coop. Whenever player 1 needs help making team comps or building characters, they just ask player 2 for help. And whenever player 2 needs help understanding the lore of the game, they ask player 1. But all I can think abt is the first time they cooped. Imagine player 1 was using childe and then when the coop starts, both childe and wanderer are very confused as to wtf is going on. Like, childe is confused because he sensed a strange aura coming form them like whenever someone gets controlled by reader 1, and wanderer is confused because reader 2 seemed so excited that they were talking, but its just childe? Reader 2 always skips childe’s banners.

Thats it lol, hope this wasnt too long.

Not long at all! Or more like, I like long asks so feel free to share! :D

IM SO SORRY ITS LIKE MONTHS LATER TO GET TO YOU I PROMISE I LOVE UR STUFF AND AM SUPER EXCITED TO SEE IT,

IM JUST SLOW AND GOOFY 😭😭

Said friends in genshin like: ^^^

this kinda inspires me/reminds me of @mists-reading-nook soldier/poet/king post, you should check xe stuff!! Gave me brainrot to this day tbh, like im imaging how that “3rd King style of worship” would look like even now lmao ive been down bad 😭

☆

Sun: 2 Readers! (as desc. above), (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: wanderer/childe, mentions of others i forgot to focus on any one character or nation :/

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: mild cussing language, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

dual symbolism everywhere, obv you both thought “for the twins” but it just kept getting out of hand the more the game updated over the months lol

like shrines/temples/churches showing up more often in new countries/areas and always identifying the same 2 gods

obv the for-the-lore player picked up on it first, and by the time the trickle-down effect happened, where characters/NPCs were outright talking about these gods, the 2nd was asking the lore knower to explain lol

the 2 gods kept getting referred to by a few names, like “The Soldier and the Scholar” or “The Sage and the Warrior” or “The Keeper and the Pursuer” etc.

after awhile of comparing both of your games, you realize that some vision users/gods tend to use the soldier/warrior/pursuer titles more often when talking about one of you, and the other gets the sage/scholar/keeper more often

u both get excited, maybe its bc you chose diff travelers or some other reason, but when u try and post abt it or otherwise ask other players u get a lot of negatives/”hasnt happened for me”s??

u both just think the games glitched or some dev is playing a prank on you two maybe,

it gets weirder when u both realize the lore player be over here getting random gifts from all the characters in the mail all the time

and just as grinding players like “ :’( my favs don't like me?? but they have the best artifacts and maxed friendship levels..”

they get flooded with multiple gifts from their main characters, most of which benefit the grind tbh lmao (like a bunch of cheaper materials or crystals to level up artifacts/weapons or to ascend that character = no more slaughtering every samurai on sight for their handguards or collected a fuckton of those blue layered mushrooms for wanderer)

god u were both grateful to this glitch ngl, it saved a lot of dumb misc tasks and was just a nice touch

no but the amount of confusion inside the game from when u first started playing together, like each of ur games began with stuff abt 1 god, then as u co-oped moved onto 2 gods (like said at the beginning)

the lore player is blabbing away like you do, which begins to be heard by the other player’s game world

like it starts as whispers in battle, then all the time, then a quiet convo in the background all the time, until they can just hear u out of earshot esp word for word when they focus!! at first the vision-users/gods got all excited bc their god was speaking!! finally!!! until I'm sure they heard narration that didn't fit/it was there sometimes even when their god’s presence wasn't?/voice sounded “off” to them/didnt fit their god…??

ok ik u were joking abt the national holiday,,, but I’m not. 😈

THE FIRST WORDS 2ND SPOKE BEING IN A PROPHECY, REGARDLESS OF WHAT IT IS THEY SAY.

Player 1, playing as Childe, steals a singular (1) sweet flower from Player 2, who has Wanderer out:

P2: “I seriously hate you. Listen to what I’m saying, I can’t stand you.”

(Wanderer panicking that its abt him- Childe freezing bc he managed to piss off a god that feels as powerful as his own- the PROPHECY LMAO- )

P1: “… you miss me.”

(everyone else: 💥vine boom sound 💥😦😨😰???)

P2: “I hate you.”

P1: “You miss me and you love me, why must we fight??”

(everyone else: 💥vine boom again💥🤨🫠??…)

P2: “I hate you-”

P1: “-we gotta good thing going on, you and I, why must we tussle??”

(everyone else: 💥yet another vine boom💥 💀💀)

(the absolute deep anxiety/pure confusion as the two harbingers heads just ping pong back and forth towards the voices lmao)

u two scare the shit out of any characters u do this with lol

they do get used to it as u talk, and the characters even manage to interact (thru hacking magical shenanigans and discord)

to send thank you gifts to player 1 for getting player 2 to talk more lol

along with sending copies of any lore books that player 2 has gotten that player 1 hasn't!

and it becomes common/tradition to exchange gifts like this to thank or appreciate the other god, like player 1 characters sending thank you gift copies of rare materials or ascension stuff that player 1 had that player 2 didn't (esp making sure to send during resinless hours lmao)

overall, 10/10, whats better than 1 god that plays one way? 2 gods that compensate for each other and now u have 2x the worshippers

(i wonder how meeting alternate versions of themselves would go, bc id like to headcanon that each of ur behavior towards them/ur unique influence has changed them a bit comparing, like they arent carbon copies anymore, not like they used to be…)

☆

hey sorry for slowing down guys!!

i just feel bad its taken me forever to get to these asks, so i wanted to take what time i could lately and charge thru them so i could spam post lol

I've also been working on fics! so that's delayed things by a lot, bc fics take longer to “respond to” than short asks or replies

my poor bsd fic

Anyway thank you so much for sending this in!!! I'm so sorry i took forever to get to it, and i hope u enjoyed response/my brain shitting this out lol

have a good weekend!! :D

Safe Travels Anon!!

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit

@kiyomi-uchiha777

[bklily]

thinking of comedic ways of how the hell that talk is gonna go

[official-darkforest]

how we feelin chimera / tortie moonpaw truthers

[nyxi-pixie]

fake ass queers you dont even WANT to rearrange the traditional understanding of relationships

[ct-multifandom]

I don’t usually make posts like this, but I’ve been seeing a lot of anti-intellectual junk lately, and I really think we need to put the word “pretentious” up on a shelf until people learn what it actually means.

It doesn’t describe someone who likes artsy-fartsy deep meaning media. People who are pretentious are fake. They’re posers trying to be sophisticated and unique, not like other girls. They pretend to only like stuff they think will make them sound cool when they talk about it. They want to act like they know something you don’t, and they want attention for it.

By definition, if you genuinely enjoy something, you can’t be pretentious. If it resonates with you, and you analyze it, and you don’t care what people think, that’s the polar opposite, actually. If you love obscure experimental prog music, if you watch underground high concept indie films through English teacher eyes, if you spend hours in a modern art museum reading each piece as a vessel for storytelling, if your backpack’s full of poetry books that inspire you, if you play underrated games that were someone’s passion project, if you have an interest in studying the classics or the masters, you are not pretentious.

Of course, some people just don’t like some stuff, and that’s fine, but that’s not what this is about. Don’t let anti-intellectuals shame you for enjoying things just because your interests are inaccessible to them, because they refuse to be brave and put effort into critical thinking. You’re not stuck up for refusing to overlook the craft of artists.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Thank you for continuing to wupply us with old man bald charles. He is such a precious gift, and you are a gift thst keeps on giving. Also your old man bald Charles is so pretty I wanna smooch his shiny dome globe of a head 😭💖💓💖 and your xmen97/comic cherik are so wonderful i fucking kove them ahfjsjxj i love your art so much. I look at them before I sleep cuz I like using them like a doll in my head for my dreams. I make cherik kith (and maybe more?? 😳) in my dreams ajdhsjdj

I'm sorry for being incoherent it's my bedtime but i just had to drop in your ask to tell you you are an amazing and talented artist. And your art are so well made and detailed and i love them asjfkakfk 💖💖💖💖💖💖

MY LOVELY FRIEND i hope your slumber is wonderful and darling like this ask you've sent me THANK YOU SO MUCH 🥺!!!!!!

[skitskatdacat63]

Boy King Seb :D