#seeing double at the triple rock

[chaunceyandchumleysdad]

It's been a crazy couple of months for 2024 Riot Fest. The dates were set (Sept. 20-22) and they were planning on being back at Douglass Park in Chicago. However, after a falling out with the Chicago Park District, Riot Fest made a surprise move to SeatGeek Stadium in suburban Bridgeview. While I wasn't thrilled about the move, I vowed to keep an open mind and also hoped that they did not burn their bridges with the park district and could perhaps return to the city next year. But there was a second surprise announced this week.

In a complete reversal, Riot Fest announced that it has scrapped the Bridgeview plan and is returning home to Douglass Park. I couldn't be more thrilled! Douglass Park is a beautiful setting and has been home to Riot Fest since 2015. There is no place like home!

I do understand that for attendees, who are not locals like myself, are finding the changes rather difficult for their travel plans. When business and politics mix, getting a deal done can be messy along the way. While I don't have any inside knowledge of what went on behind the scenes, I have to believe the Park District realized how much they need Riot Fest. Kudos to Riot Mike for sticking to his principals and making it all happen.

With all that behind us, we can now focus on the music. So I am kicking off the weekend with NOFX, who will pull off a Riot Fest first by playing shows all three nights. (The song Seeing Double at the Triple Rock is a reference to the late, great Triple Rock Social Club in Minneapolis. Former Triple Rock owner Erik Funk will also be at Riot Fest this year with his band The Dillinger Four.)

[wonderjanga]

I’m Not Brainwashed.

A blizzard hit Fawcett. It was a pretty harsh one too. His apartment doesn’t have heating too. So, Billy went on a journey to find a warm place to sleep.

First, he tried the corner owned by a nice old man. The man said he could bask in the store’s warmth until the store’s closing time.

Old Man: “I’m sorry, it’s just I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here overnight.”

Billy: “There’s no need to apologize, Mister. It’s fine.”

Old Man: “But it isn’t. I wish I could keep you longer but I can’t. Here.” *gives Billy some wrapped sandwiches* “Come back tomorrow. I’ll let you stay again.”

Billy: *small smile* “I’ll try. Thanks, Mister.”

Billy would definitely come back tomorrow, but for now he had to find a place to sleep for the night. This was when Billy made the unfortunate mistake of going to the Rock of Eternity to get out of the cold for a moment.

Billy: *plops down in front of the throne eating one of the sandwiches given to him* “Hmm… Where am I gonna go now?”

Billy didn’t know that those would be his last words as he dozed off at the rock.

A full rest later…

Billy: *stirs awake* “Where am I…? The rock? Geez did I fall asleep?” *feels a buzz from his pocket dimension and pulls out his JL comm and sees like 95 notifications* “-Oh my GODS.”

That’s how Billy found out the hard way never to sleep at the Rock. Turns out, to everyone else, he disappeared. For a WEEK. Damn (he feels like he deserves to curse in this situation) the Rock of Eternity and the weird way it makes time go by. Let’s see… He’d missed an emergency meeting, several messages from his friends, and an either concerned or subtlety threatening text from Batman. Okay. That’s concerning. Uh… You know what? Before he goes and talks to his friends, why doesn’t he go check on Fawcett first?

So, he left the rock, and guess what? The blizzard is still going. He’d be lying if he said this didn’t peeve him. Thankfully, it was daytime, so that means the Old Man would probably let him in the store again.

Old Man: “There you are! You had me worried.”

Billy: “Sorry.” *sounds ashamed*

Old Man: “There’s no need to apologize. It’s just, you said you would be back the next day, and you never came. I thought something had happened to you! I’ve been stress cooking ever since.” *puts a large bag of food into Billy’s hands*

Billy: “I didn’t mean to stress you. You don’t have to give me this.”

Old Man: “Yes I do.” *points to the spot Billy sat the day he had come in* “Now go sit and eat.”

Billy: “Yes, Mister.” *trudges over me eats, feeling bad for making the man worry*

Soon though, Billy had to leave again. He said goodbye to the Old Man and started walking to the blistering cold. He had to find another place to sleep. He looked up the now night sky. He had an idea. It was a stupid one, but it was an idea nonetheless.

The intercom over head announced Captain Marvel’s presence in the watchtower. Wally paused in eating the quadruple double triple quintuple sandwich he made himself. Wasn’t it like 10 pm in Fawcett or something? Cap almost never came to the Watchtower after seven unless it was for monitor duty. The speedster quickly finished his sandwich and decided to go see if something was wrong.

Eventually, he found the Captain near the sleeping quarters. Most members of the JL had one. That included Cap, but as far as Wally knew, Marvel hadn’t so much as stepped foot in that room.

“Cap, buddy! What’re you doing here so late?” Flash asked, causing Marvel to startle.

“Oh uh… I thought I’d get some sleep.” The Captain said, anxiousness rolling off him in waves.

“I thought you didn’t need to sleep?”

“Well, I don’t, but I still like to, y’know?” Marvel said, scratching the back of his neck.

Flash shook his head. “Not really.”

A small, out of place, awkward silence filled the hallway where they stood for a moment before Flash spoke up again, “Where have you been all week-”

“Night!” Cap cut him off, quickly entering the room and letting the door shut behind him, abruptly ending the conversation.

Wally stood there for a few moments. Okay… Something was definitely wrong with his buddy. Had the speedster done something to upset him? He turned to start walking away. He’d talk to his buddy later.

Wally got maybe seven feet away before he heard a loud crash that sounded like lighting and then loud alarms that started ringing throughout the Watchtower. Something about an intruder? Batman walked over to him. Where he came from, only god knows.

“Flash.” Bruce greeted him as he passed, stopping in front of the door Marvel disappeared into just a few moments before.

“Spooky, what’s going on?” Flash sped over to stand next to him.

”There’s an intruder in this room.” Batman replied, as soon as he finished speaking, another large crash of lightning could be heard. The alarm then stopped blaring. This made the Dark Knight pause and start tapping something on the tablet Wally just realized the other man was holding.

“Did something happen?” Wally asked, leaning over to try and see the tablet.

“The intruder is gone. The Watchtower’s also sustained two major electrical strikes that traveled through the tower, temporarily shut down anything in its way. They traveled to this room.” Bruce said.

It was at that moment, Marvel decided to make an appearance. He looked panicked, and when he registered Batman was standing in front of him, the panic seemed to increase. “Mister Batman Sir! Heeeeeeey…”

“Captain, there’s an intru-” Batman didn’t get to finish that sentence before Marvel interrupted him.

“Sorry Mister Batman Sir, but I really gotta be going.” Marvel said hurriedly before speed walking to the zetas. Wally and Bruce watched him go.

Billy should’ve known it was too stupid of an idea to work! He wanted to see if he could detransform and sleep in the bed of the room, but nooooooooo it just had to trigger the alarm. Billy wasn’t proud about interrupting so many (two) people today, but he really, really needed to go because as soon as Flash and Batman step into his room, they’re gonna see two dark lightning marks on the floor. Then they’re gonna try and ask questions. Then that’s gonna lead to Billy having to explain that he can summon lightning to change into a little kid. Then they’re gonna get mad Billy lied to them about being an adult. Then, they’re gonna try stopping him from being a hero, and from there his life as a hero and as Billy Batson will crumble to literal dust.

Around fifteen minutes after Marvel left… Flash was pacing, practically making trails in the ground, “Spooky, he was gone for a week! Not only that but he was acting weird and we got a notification of a security breach. This might sound crazy, but I think it might be that worm thing he mentioned.”

“Worm thing?” Batman asked, sounding incredulous. Wally was wondering why he found that of all the things they’ve seen and heard unbelievable.

“Yeah! He said one of his villains is this little worm that crawls into your ear and takes control your brain.” Flash said, one of his fingers doing a weird wiggling motion as if to resemble a worm.

“So you think he’s being mind controlled?” Supes asked, sounding super concerned. Oh right, he’s here too. He’d just gotten off monitor duty with J’onn. At the moment, the Martian was in the kitchen getting some snacks.

“Yes!” Flash exclaimed. “It could explain why he up and disappeared.”

“Flash, for all we know, he could’ve been gone due to a family emergency or something along those lines.” Batman spoke.

“Well… just to be safe…?” Supes started, sounding cautious as he trailed off and nodded to a nearby cabinet the three, or at least Clark and Bruce, knew housed bug spray.

That was how they ended up cornering Marvel in Fawcett, Superman restraining the man while Batman sprayed bug spray in his face and ears. Meanwhile Flash was standing to the side nervously, holding a jar in case a certain green worm actually crawls out of Marvel’s ear.

So yeah, today was not Billy’s day, let alone week. Also, it turned out that there was a magical creature that was causing the blizzards. He proceeded to promptly beat it up for all the trouble and embarrassment it inadvertently caused him.

Don’t ask why I stopped formatting the dialogue the way I normally do for a couple seconds. I don’t even know. That’s actually why I didn’t post around eleven like I normally do. It was taking a while.

[bakugoushotwife]

kinktober day twelve: threesome kink

>>> brain go brrrr! i can only write a stsg threesome i swear it's bad these days. i just love this dynamic so bad and am clinically addicted omfg i hope u all love it as bad as i do--it is officially the longest piece thus far

>>> starring: satoru gojo x curvy!fem!reader x suguru geto >>> cw: mfm threesome, m/m interaction, fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! receiving), spitroasting, reverse cowgirl, double penetration (same hole), overstimulation, hard dom!geto, pleasure dom!gojo, switch gojo, switch reader, squirting, creampie(s). >>> wc: 5.3k >>> event masterlist

he’s not sure when things changed. he’d always seen you in one light, he thought: his friend, his teammate, and a powerful sorceress that made the group a triple threat. you were easy to get along with and impressive to work alongside. you were also funny and had the same taste in music as him, which was a method of bonding during your early years of school. and sure, you were also insanely beautiful, but it was inappropriate for him to have a crush on his classmate. besides, yaga says it’s best not to intermingle with other sorcerers anyways. it would only complicate things, especially as you grow to be closer friends. so geto dated around to distance himself beyond missions and tried to to forget the butterflies your smile gave him for the sake of your group. with his luck, you were probably into satoru anyway.

he’s always been in love with you, he thinks, but enjoyed playing hard to get. unlike suguru, he didn’t shy away from spending time with you. he loved to follow you around campus with his arm hooked around your waist, all big grins and pick up lines that made you roll your eyes every time. he was able to play it off on his nature, claiming that annoying you was worth every extra second of his time. he was all too fond of your amazing skill and intellect, your immense beauty and body for days was only an added benefit. gojo made it a point to train with you exclusively, something that brought the two of you closer and allowed you to see the serious side of one of your best friends. he could never bring himself to make a real move. with his luck, you were probably into suguru anyway—like everyone else. 

this delicate balance continued through the rest of your years at jujutsu tech and into your young adult years. the strongest, the curse-eater, and the girl that captured both of their hearts–and connected theirs to each other. gojo was able to satiate himself on his little touches and glimpses of your flustered smiles, shamelessly jerking off at night to the daydreams he has of his precious little girl best friend bouncing on his cock and moaning his name. geto tries to delude himself into feeling like a protective older brother, making it his job to monitor your safety and suitors. but no matter how much he tries, his hand still finds his cock in the comfort of his own bed in the middle of the night, shamefully pleasuring himself to the idea of having your body rocking beneath him and his hand around your neck. 

everything gets worse—or better, depending on who you ask— when you all move in together. it was gojo’s idea, claiming his home was too big for just one singular man. so of course he would invite you to come live with him, he hoped to make you woman of the house at some point in the future anyway, so why not now? he extends the same invitation to his other best friend, only because he knows geto would kill him for taking you for himself. the men were close, closer than most friends in multiple ways, so it was no mystery that their shared crush on you eventually became common knowledge. neither of them minded the competition, seemingly convinced he would win your heart on his own before the other could do the same—or in the worst case scenario they would share you! (and whose idea do you think that was?) 

            but they had to up the ante. 

it started small, geto dropped all his flings, even earning a few comments from you about how lonely he must be with his lack of company these days. he always chuckles and give you that suave smile of his, purring out a it’s time i get serious with a wink. he offered to make dinner nightly, making sure the brunt of housework didn’t fall on you since you were already on laundry duty. he always gave you rather selfish relationship advice, making sure you knew how differently he would treat a woman. it wasn’t lost on you, nor were gojo’s efforts.

he encouraged you to take his card and go crazy, often accompanying you on shopping sprees for the house and making sure you leave with an armful of new clothes and whatever else your eyes lingered on too long. satoru showed you his serious side, keeping the house regularly dusted and the floors cleaned, insisting a family should clean up after themselves and not keep servants to make their lives more detached. he invested in your hobbies, letting you try to teach him how to knit, play video games, even trying to do a little book club with you—that unfortunately, suguru was better at, much to his disappointment. 

you weren’t dim, you could tell what was happening. you had your suspicions for a while, the two of them practically glued to your sides at all times nowadays—unless one of you was away on a mission, which happened far too often for their liking. you would be lying if you said their attention didn’t make you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, the two were easily the strongest sorcerers the world had to offer if you didn’t take one of those spots for yourself. they were both undeniably gorgeous in their own ways—so how could you possibly choose? your forced obliviousness is the only thing keeping you three firmly planted in friendshipville. though, it’s been more than obvious that you haven’t been seeing anyone outside of them, thank god, and you’re getting antsy. you have to apply more pressure, figure out something that would push them over the edge. you had to keep them competing for you since you couldn’t pick one over the other on your own. aha, you’ve got it—it’s low, scheming even, but you’re growing desperate. you’d just have to dust off your best acting skills and sluttiest outfit. 

it was late that night. you knew the boys were still awake, able to hear their laughter from your room. with one final and steadying breath, you peeked into the living room. they were sitting together on the couch watching a movie that was forgotten about as soon as you walked in, the soft sound of your door closing behind drawing their attention. you were evil in your cropped tank that made it painfully clear that was the only thing covering your perky tits, and it didn’t stop there. you didn’t bother with shorts, a cute thong cupping your pussy and sitting along those glorious wide hips. they could die–the effect you have is clear immediately. suguru clutches a throw pillow over his lap, hoping to smoothly hide the throbbing erection just looking at you gave him, while satoru only makes his more obvious by spreading his legs—at least geto tried to respect you. their eyes are practically bulging from their heads, suguru’s lip was between his teeth meanwhile satoru’s curls into a smirk. 

“you guys are being so loud out here.” you bat your eyes innocently, twirling a lock of your hair around your finger as you let your gaze bounce between them. gojo slides his glasses off, a bit starstruck as he sets them aside and looks over to suguru, needing him to be on the same page. 

“sorry princess,” satoru pouts, patting the spot in between him and geto. “since you’re up…why don’t you hang out with us?” you note the greed swimming in those all-seeing eyes. you force some bashfulness. 

“oh–dressed like this?” you rotate your hips a little bit to further your point and suguru has to clench his jaw tight to not groan aloud. “i wouldn't wanna make you guys uncomfortable.” 

“you won’t.” suguru blurts out, tucking some of his overgrown bangs behind his ear. satoru nods his agreement. 

“yeah! you’re our girl, you could never make us uncomfortable.” the white headed one says, cunningly petting the cushion again. you smirk to yourself, giving them a faux-reluctant nod before striding to sit. your ass ripples as you step past suguru, and his dick throbs pathetically. as soon as your back touches the couch, satoru’s arm is around your waist to tug your upper half into a lean; then suguru puts a massive paw over your thigh, kneading and stroking the exposed skin gently. they’re both so close, the heavy feeling of their hands on your skin was intoxicating; you could hardly tell where one stopped and the other one began. their scents were so overbearing, suguru’s spicy cinnamon and bourbon contrasted the honeyed vanilla sweetness of satoru so perfectly it had you drunk and losing sight of your master plan before anything had even really happened. but don’t worry, they’ll take very good care of you. you’ve gotten the ball rolling, which is good enough, right? 

they pretend to keep their eyes on the tv, heads forward like they don’t notice what the other was doing. satoru’s hand starts to creep under the hemline of your tank top, sinewy fingers long enough to brush against the underside of your breast. you hum softly at the touch, only encouraging the lean man to do it again. suguru watches patiently, waiting for more of your approval. you burrow deeper in his side, pushing your chest out even further. he could practically giggle with excitement at your eagerness. suguru scoots closer, sliding his arm across your lower back to grab handfuls of your thick ass free to fondle thanks to your slutty panties. your weight falls back to the middle, wanting to give geto more of your attention. he smiles at satoru at the action, taking it as a sign of your affection. the other man rolls his eyes, leaning into your side to nuzzle your cheek. 

the black haired man does the same into your neck, their hands kneading and rubbing and stroking your skin. you lean your head back against the couch, throwing your arms around them to encourage them further with a blissed out grin of your own. 

“our slutty little roommate came dressed like that for a reason.” satoru snickers, bringing his other hand to cradle your jawline, tossing a wink towards his dark haired counterpart. 

you hum, prying your eyes open to look at him with a smirk. “course i did…just like you asked me to move in for a reason and sugu gives me back massages for a reason.” you muse, humming as you walk your fingers down their spines. they look at each other with slight surprise, clearly they thought you were unsuspecting of them all this time. you chuckle softly, trailing your digits down their arms to close around their wrists, moving their massive hands to your chest, a boob each. you smirk at them. “everything that’s about to go down is only because i want it to happen, understand?” 

you look at gojo first, reveling in his amused expression. he hadn’t expected you to take over and become the boss, but he wasn’t necessarily opposed either. it was sexy to think that he had fallen for your trap, and not the other way around. he’d happily do anything that you wanted, all he wanted was you. you arch your brow and he nods dumbly, nuzzling into your cheek again to show his devotion. no woman had tamed him before, but it wouldn’t be so bad to start now, especially not when the woman in question is his very sexy best friend. you give him a soft smile of approval before turning to the real work, geto. 

many women had tried and failed to tame him, and he thought it was pretty funny each and every time. but now here you are, his gorgeous lady best friend, prepared to tell him what to do and exactly how to do it. now that was just plain adorable. you could see see the flames of intrigue flicker in his obsidian eyes, a gaze so intense it made you shrink into satoru a little bit. suguru was being hand gifted the only thing he’s ever wished for, but he would still have it on his terms. he squeezes down harshly on your breast, making you squirm. “cute. we wanted this longer though, so. how about you listen to me instead?” 

you scoff, looking down at his hand on you. “don’t act so bold now, sugu. if you wanted to be in charge, you should have acted like it.” you tease, and even gojo smirks behind you. he thought it would be pretty amusing to watch you two battle for dominance, though he’s smart enough to capitalize on an opportunity when he sees one. he pulls you against him, kneading your hips and giving your exposed neck sweet sloppy kisses, all playing into your favor. “maybe i’ll let you give out orders next time–but if you want to be a diva, i’ll just fuck satoru—i’m sure he’s more than enough.” 

the mentioned man hums, happy to be in your good graces and your leveraging tool. nothing drives suguru crazier than watching gojo get all the attention. geto gives you a look of dissatisfaction, only pushing you to climb onto your lanky friend’s lap, smiling down at him like an angel from heaven. gojo thought he may die right here. you’re perfect, the way your weight feels in his lap pressing up against his semi is so glorious already he’s afraid he may embarrass himself. his hands find your waist, and he’s looking up to you like he has no idea what to do next. he really is so clueless that it’s adorable. satoru acted like a pussy magnet, which wasn’t necessarily wrong since he is so gorgeous, powerful, and tall, but he never knew how to interact with them—especially since all his fantasies consisted of you, anyway. you smile down at him again and he knows it will be alright, that he’ll do what he does best and learn on the fly—he has to make you feel good. 

“take my shirt off, baby.” you coo to him, lifting your arms a bit so he could peel it off. He leans forward unsurely, almost looking to geto for approval before he pinches the fabric and brings it over your head. your tits fall from the little tank top holding them in place, a beautifully heavy chest with pebbled buds wait, calling gojo’s name. his face turns red and he looks up to you for the next order, feeling his semi grow into a full blown problem. geto watches you with narrowed eyes, aching bulge straining against his pants still, and you were only making it worse. he curses himself for being enamored with someone like you, an expert in pushing buttons. you’re his woman whether you know it or not, and he’s only willing to share you with his bestest of friends, even if you were grating on his last nerve. 

“do what feels natural, sato.” you breathe out, focused on the way his eyes grow at your permission and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. he’s been fixated on you as long as he can remember, and now it was his time to prove that he was the one for you. he drags your hips closer, wanting you to feel his erection pressing into that tiny thong you had the nerve to put on. you gasp in surprise, though a giggle quickly replaces the sound. you rest your arms on his shoulders, content to twirl locks of snowy white around your fingers. he groans at the sensation, struggling to keep his head on straight already. your body is so warm beneath his hands, so soft and pliable. you duck your head down to kiss him, and he tilts his head up to receive it. it swallows up all his senses, tunneling out everything around him to only focus on your touch, taste, and smell. he’s hungry, eager to prove his worth as a lover, wanting nothing else but to make you feel good. he grabs at your hips to feel you closer, and you indulge by circling your movements in his lap. he moans into your mouth as he feels your tits brush up against his shirt, making him break the kiss and lean back so he could get it off. he does it so quick that you aren’t prepared for his mouth to smack up against yours again, teeth clashing. you giggle again, enchanted by his boyish charm and overwhelming affection for you. it was sweet, and even though he was inexperienced, his kisses were full of passion and heat. 

geto had mixed feelings. on one hand, you looked magnificent. your body is like nothing he’s ever seen before, almost to the point of unfairness. no woman could ever compare after this. he’d either have to marry you or be forever disappointed. but, on the other hand, you were wiggling around in gojo’s lap instead of his, and that’s only tolerable for so long. gojo is lucky still, if it were anyone else there would be no tolerance at all. but his patience is wearing thin, especially once you start letting little moans of your own go because of satoru’s big hands massaging your tits and his bulge catching on your puffy clothed clit. you even sound angelic, and it’s pissing him off. this was just a display of your power over them, but suguru wanted to teach a few lessons of his own. he scoots closer, letting his hands mingle around with satoru’s, feeling the dips of your body. 

you can feel his touch, easily differentiating between satoru and suguru. your lanky friend’s hands were slimmer and warmer–moving around clumsily. your dark locked counterpart moved with more experience, his fingers thicker and rougher. you smirk at his impatience, clearly not able to be as obedient as dear satoru. you knew it would go like this, with gojo doing anything to please you and geto vying for control himself. you didn’t mind—you know it would push gojo to compete. 

geto wastes no time in pulling you off of gojo’s lap and into his own, much to his friend’s disappointment. you give him a pointed look, brow raised and all, but you still wrap your arms around his shoulders the same way you did your other bestie. he smirks up at you, expecting nothing but your compliance once he sees how wet gojo got you. he can tell from the look in your eyes that you don’t have a lot of fight left in you despite the way you act, and that’s perfect for him. he plans to make you brainless, able to remember nothing but him anyway. 

“greedy much?” you tease, tossing a look to the pouty white-haired boy watching with contempt. suguru shrugs. 

“hardly, just proving that he is not all you need.” he smiles up at you innocently, raking his touch over your thighs. unlike gojo, he knows exactly how to work you up and melt in his hands. gojo harrumphs in the corner of the couch. geto’s brow creeps up even though his head is laxly leaned back against the sofa. he watches you like he owns you, and you love the contrast between the two boys. you roll your eyes and lean down to kiss him anyway, and his lips tell you that the show is over. he gnashes his teeth against your lip, making you squeal and open up for him, wherein he promptly shoves his tongue in to smother yours out. your fingers card through the black tresses cascading over his shoulders and down his back as you hum into his mouth. he’s humming at your eagerness, letting his hand drift from the meaty parts of your hips over to the wet patch on your panties, grinning when you gasp. he works his deft fingers over your heat, and gojo makes a strangled noise as he watches you lewdly suck on geto’s tongue. you let your hips roll into his hand, his other one coming down on your rippling ass. you moan softly, prompting him to spank you again, much to satoru’s enjoyment.  

“s’fat, looks so pretty when you do that.” he compliments his friend, shoving out of his pants in anticipation of what comes next. his hand grabs around his proud length, pumping the curved shaft for minimal relief. geto hisses, feeling your hips move desperately towards your own release. he slaps your ass a third time, making you groan out and toss your head back, the picture of a perfect mess. 

“gonna cum already?” he tsked, though the smirk on his face betrays him. you nod, tugging on the roots of his hair hard enough to cause a little sting. satoru groans, tired of watching and desperate for any form of aid, but you’re too intoxicating to rush. “then cum.” he demands, stopping his touch. 

he knew he had pushed you far enough already, feeling your pelvis stutter against his hand. he watches you come undone, digging pearly white teeth into swollen lips as you dampen your panties another level. he doesn’t give you any type of reprieve before he’s pushing and tugging and arranging you for his preference on the cluttered couch. your brain is foggy already, clit throbbing from satoru’s craze and suguru’s abuse. he’s got you on all fours, face positioned over a huge cock nestled in trimmed white hair. 

“be easy on her, satoru.” geto warns as gojo gets to his knees, fisting your hair to get your attention. if you enjoyed suguru’s dominance then he would try some of his own. he directs your mouth over his leaky tip, and you stick out your tongue to encourage him. he nearly shudders just from that, and you whine at the feeling of geto sliding his hands down your ass and thighs with his breath fanning over your shiny hole. you’re gagging on satoru’s length hitting the back of your throat as suguru his fat tongue licks a teasingly slow stripe down your slit. you can’t help but pressed yourself further back into his muscle and force yourself down to the hilt of satoru. he groans loudly, giving you a taste of your own medicine with how he pulls on your hair. he guides you along him, amazed at how much better you feel than his hand. your velvet cheeks feel so wet and warm, it’s amazing he doesn’t cum down your throat instantly. meanwhile geto eats you from the back, sucking on your lips and nudging up against your bud in alternating motions, making your head cloud up with dizziness. that could be from the lack of air you’re able to get in around gojo’s cock stuffing your mouth, tears sliding down your flustered cheeks and drool spilling out around him. he’s whimpering, the sound of him coupled with squelching from both ends had suguru grunting into your folds, letting your sweet essence dribble down his chin. he’s grabbing handfuls of your ass, bruising and smacking the fat. your hands explore the lean expanse that is satoru’s body, muscular thighs keeping you steady and flexing abs making you clench around your other friend’s tongue. 

“gah, this—is amazing–fu-huck.” satoru whines, fisting your hair as his cock jumps at the sight of you. you moan your approval, pussy spasming for geto once again without warning, releasing on his face this time. your vision is already blurring, pleasure ripping through you all at once. he’s drunk on the taste of you, sitting upright on his knees as he scoops some of your cum out, coating his fingers with the slick. he may be the slightest bit possessive, but what’s his is gojo’s, and he had to let the other man taste you and get just as pussydrunk as he is. his other hand tugs you off his friend’s dick with a pop, pushing his hardness to the crack of your ass. he leans over you, body like a slab of concrete as he extends his hand to gojo. he leans up immediately, and you’re amazed at the sight of satoru sucking your juice off of suguru’s fingers, moaning slightly at your taste. geto smirks at him, settling back to his original spot. gojo grins widely as he wipes some residual tears from your face. 

“she’s so pretty, tell her suguru.” he sings, pushing some hair out of your face as the aforementioned wraps a beefy arm around your waist and pulls you to a sitting position against him. he’s so solid, you can feel how thick and long he is against your back, and it makes you tingle with need like you haven’t came twice already. he pulls you along as he repositions himself, sitting on the couch like it’s intended to be used for with you balanced on his abdomen. 

“oh of course, our pretty lady is the only girl i see.” suguru croons, pulling your hair into a ponytail just because he could. you look down at his cock, biting down on your lip at the sight. he was an inch or two shorter than gojo, but made up for it with his thickness. he had veins running along the shaft much like his muscular arms, and a dark tip growing impatient. they were perfect, you knew they would please you in different ways, but you had to have them both. 

when satoru gets to his feet and stands in front of you, pale fingers stroking his pretty cock, you knew that was their plan. 

geto snakes his hands to your thighs, prying them apart with little resistance from you. he lifts you with this grip, lowering you down all at once on him. he chuckles when you hiss and squirm at the stretch, feeling like a hot knife just gutted you. suguru continues sinking his hips into the cushions below and slamming them back up into you, locking eyes with his best friend eagerly awaiting his turn. you were a whimpering mess, falling back against the man railing you and leaving him responsible for holding you upright as your head finds home on his shoulder. 

“if i go easy on you now, you won’t be able to fit us.” suguru explains with a labored breath, your walls so tight he didn’t know if you’d be able to take them anyhow—but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. you nod your understanding, moving your hips to help his strokes hit even deeper. you already feel so full, you can’t imagine what it’s gonna be like when satoru tries to push in. “so fucking wet for your best friends, you’ll take us, won’t you?” 

you nod vigorously. it feels like you’re floating, every snap of suguru’s hips slammed his cock impossibly deeper. you knew your little act of control would only last so long, but it worked beautifully. if not for you, they’d probably be jacking off to you for the foreseeable future. 

“say it, wanna hear it from our girl’s mouth.” he coos, the tone of his voice so contradictory to what he actually says. it makes your pussy squeeze him anyway. 

“wanna take my best friend’s cocks.” you babble, feeling satoru’s hands on your waist again. 

“and what else?” suguru groans, almost irritated that your pussy fucked this good and you’ve had the nerve to keep it to yourself all this time. his hand closes around your throat this time, trusting satoru to keep you from falling over. you were so pliable and it was such a treat to hear you talk like this. 

“and i’m soaking wet for you both, god–stop teasin’.” you whine, batting your eyes at satoru. he’s sympathetic to your cause, wanting nothing more than to shove his rod deep in you and wonder who makes you feel better, not keen to wait for orders anymore, eager to earn your praise. suguru has your legs spread open perfectly; so while geto snickers from your answer, gojo steps forward and shoves his cock over his best friend’s and into your choking cunt. the feeling takes even suguru aback as you cry out from the stretch. It’s impossible, it’s too much, you feel like they’ll break you in half if they start to move, but the burning subsides, your fingers digging at gojo’s chest when suguru starts to move. 

all three of you moan. it’s too good not to, your cunt locking the men against each other, rubbing against your silken walls and the bumpy texture of the other’s ridges was the best way to fuck, they found out. suguru is slow, and prompts gojo to go even slower, feeling you loosen up as the pressure of them in your gut only makes you delirious. you’re so loud, nasty moans and curses coming from your lips as their pace increases, the two men locked in competition to make you and even the other cum first. satoru leans in, pressing his rock hard abdomen against you and deepening his angle. he has to balance himself by bracing his hand on suguru’s other shoulder, both of you close enough to kiss. this was how it was always meant to be, the three of you. he gives you a sloppy kiss, his free hand cupping your cheek to tell you how much this means to him. geto’s caught up in the moment, he tells himself, but everything feels so clear. they were never in competition—you needed them both, and he needed you both, and satoru needed the two of you both. then he feels it, a sloppy kiss meant for him, and he hums in realization. it wasn’t much different from kissing you, though satoru certainly needed the practice. you moan lewdly, the sounds of your cunt being stuffed and their grunts and groans of pleasure provide the soundtrack as they work in tandem to drive you crazy. 

“g’na–ngh–cum boys, ohhh~” you cry, legs starting to shake in suguru’s grip. they break their kiss to watch you jerk and jump, fucking into you as deep as their hips will allow. Satoru presses his fingers to your clit, hoping to increase your cute little spasms, but what you do instead is even sexier. you push at his shoulders, a clear liquid gushing and spraying over his abdomen and dripping down your cunt to cover suguru’s balls, leaving them both gaping in amazement. 

“that’s a good fucking girl, shit–” suguru mumbles, watching satoru’s face scrunch up in overwhelming pleasure. he doesn’t warn you, holding your hips down to receive all of his cum, the hot feeling making you writhe and moan in his lap to send satoru spurting too. it’s so much, the burning warmth in your gut, their seed mixing together inside of you and gushing out around them both, making such a mess you’re almost embarrassed. satoru slumps forward to kiss you all over, mumbling out thanks for letting them destroy you like this as he lifts you off of suguru, cuddling up with you—mess be damned. you’re panting, sensitive, and dripping but you can’t stop grinning at your success. suguru rolls his eyes at satoru’s childishness, but it really just amuses him. he’d rather you have company as he cleans up the messes anyway, cleaning you and even satoru up before himself. satoru spoons you from behind and suguru shoves himself on the couch to hold you the other way, content at his display of power over the two strongest sorcerers in the room. everyone settles their breathing and into a lull of peace, the only sound in the room was the forgotten movie on the flatscreen, until. 

“hey—i didn’t get to eat her outtttttt.” gojo whines, squeezing your body. you laugh, expecting geto to do the same, but he entertains this argument. 

“you got your dick sucked—i didn’t get that—”

“we have plenty of time to even the score, shut up and let me sleep before i use my technique to un-fuck you.” you giggle. 

[gremlingottoosilly]

Recent/Unpopular Idol!Reader X Loser!König meeting at a fan meet and greet?

Konig chooses you because you're unpopular. It's literally that easy. He sees the social media posts of your idol group. You're part of a small band - tiny, even. Another group of yet another pretty face, nothing spectacular about your singing or dancing or your costumes. There are at least 4 other groups that act exactly like you - but there is something about the way you always look sad on promotional posts that gets him. Usually, idols aren't allowed real emotions - it would make stamping fans like him angry that another pretty girl allows herself to feel real emotions, but you're already unpopular enough that managers don't really go through your social media as carefully. He loves watching your stories, this tiny bit of unprofessionalism mixed with everything. You're not really popular, collectible carts with you are usually going in exchange for doubles or as a gift - Konig has every piece of merch that has you on it. Buying in triples and doubles in hopes that you would get at least a piece of the money - he hopes that you somehow would feel him supporting you. Horangi was the one to introduce the concept of idols to Konig - and honestly, pretty girl in skimpy clothes are not exactly his type of music, but he switched from hard rock to love ballads once he sees your demeanor, just a bit too shy and broken. He buys exclusive opportunities for meet and greet. Your agency is getting desperate, trying to promote you before the tax season ends - hoping to get the most out of you before another wave of pretty faces brings you into irrelevance. Your shelf life is just a few months, and your agents are fuming over being the only ones without other promo opportunities. Selling a date with you was just about the only thing they could do - hoping that the media backlash would bring you enough attention to get you through. Konig has enough money to buy your date in triple amount - but he still spends the whole night awake, not daring to close his eyes as his finger hovers over the booking option. You might not be the most important idol in the country, but he still wants to be the only one to get with you. This is an opportunity for the lifetime - meeting you, touching you. Sharing a dinner with you, even though your agent would be hovering over like a hawk. They can be persuaded - or threatened. Horangi has a bit of connection from his time of gambling, and Konig has enough guns and money to make a small, irrelevant idol like you disappear. Fans would probably think it was just a promotional scandal - maybe, you got a boyfriend or were caught doing something illegal. Definitely not kidnapped by a deranged fan who is certain that you're his perfect little wifey. You didn't even had fans, after all.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Great Expectations 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes’ class is your most difficult, but he’s about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: monday

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Friday arrives too quickly for your likely. Amid the usual cluster of readings, lectures, and assignments, you have Professor’s Holmes’ additional task to add to the pile. It feels unfair that he would point out your own efforts only to force more upon you. His praise hardly seems like that in retrospect. 

That you did the readings likely made your experience simpler, though the vague instructions leave you uncertain. No rubric, no objectives, no outline. Your format in the usual style and triple-check the word count before you resign yourself to fate or fortune, whichever favours you. 

As usual, Professor Holmes prefers a physical copy, neglecting the digital workspace designed by the campus for ease of access. He doesn’t seem to be the type for the easy way out, does he? You try not to malinger on your gripes and head off, promising to reward yourself with a double whip frap for your work. It’s certainly more than you’ll receive from your professor, even if you do manage to gleam your first A+ from the man. 

The softness of autumn mingles with the crispness of early winter. You mourn the orange and yellow leaves as they start to curl at the edges and brown, blowing across the pavement and catching on pantlegs and tree roots. Midterm season is almost over but it won’t be long before finals rise to haunt you. 

You come up the Herringbone building and look up at the romanticist arches and columns. The esteemed architecture has you feeling even smaller. Surely, the professor will only add to that. 

Inside, the air is dry from the heat blowing from the high vents and curved staircases crest the foyer. You follow the left one up and continue along to the small set of steps that lead up to a hallway with only three office doors. Holmes is at the very end. You went there once before when you needed to be signed into the course; he was certain to make you wait then threatened not to sign the form at all. 

You stop and stare at the frosted glass with his pedigree emblazoned on it. You contemplate just shoving the paper through his slot but the light is on. You raise your fist and gently tap on the wood. You bounce on your feet as you wait, tugging at the itchy collar of the blue sweater dotted with little clouds. In the warmth of the stuffy building and under your wool jacket, it’s stifling. 

You hear movement from within and ready yourself for the encounter. You don’t think you’ve ever talked to Professor Holmes without some degree of awkwardness. On your end, of course. He can’t be bothered to care what others think of him. 

The door opens and you try to smile but it feels like chewing rocks. He looks back at you without an ounce of emotion. You gulp. 

“Um, Professor, I have my paper--” 

He’s already walking away as you stand dumbly in the doorway. You blanch as he circles back to his desk and sits heavily in his seat. He leans forward and dips his head, bending over an open leather folio with a lined pad within. A curl falls onto his forehead and he reaches without looking for the pipe propped up on a mahogany tray. 

“Come in,” he says before he puts the pipe to his lips and bites down. He teethes on it as he snatches up a pen with his other hand. You warily obey and cross the threshold. 

“So, um, here you go,” you near the desk and lay down the stapled paper. He doesn’t look up. “Erm, thanks, professor. I hate to disturb, so I’ll just leave it here--” 

He sighs and sits up, flicking back the curl as he replaces the pipe on the tray, “they won’t let me light that, even with the window open.” 

You glance over at the drawn curtains and nod, “oh.” 

“You’re the first,” he interjects before you can summon any sort of response. 

“Ah, oh--” 

“You are rather quick, aren’t you?” He challenges as he rolls the pen between his fingers, his shoulders spreading wide against the puckered leather chair, “fleet of foot, as some Victorian ponce might say. Quiet.” 

You blink and purse your lips, giving a shrug. 

“You didn’t say hello,” he intones, “it is courteous when you see an acquaintance to greet them, though I suppose etiquette does continue to change.” 

“Um, I didn’t want to... impose?” You murmur. 

His expression remains cryptic. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused or something else. 

“So you didn’t,” he shrugs, his vest bracing on his chest. 

“Sorry, er, sir. But um, there’s my paper, I’ll... let you be. I’m sure you’re busy enough--” 

“Terribly busy,” he confirms dryly. “Since I’ll have a new batch of papers to mark, I’ll be kept well in hand.” 

You clasp your hands together and sway, “right, uh--” 

“And you’ll be off like the rest of those dull girls, paying no mind to the real purpose of study, but rather the wordly pleasures of the modern campus. All that pumpkin spice and such.” He reprimands. 

“Oh, uh, professor...” you know better than to argue. He is set in his ideas of his students and what should make you any different than the rest. 

“Right then,” he reaches for your paper and barely glances at the title page. He flips to the short essay and his eyes skim. He reaches for the antique pen and marks up the page as he goes. He hums as he scratches with the nib. “Good point but clunky prose. No, redudant.” He scribbles his comments in the margins. He turns to the second page and sighs. He closes it and holds it out. “You show comprehension but you need refinement.” 

“Um, thanks, er...” you take it hesitantly and back up again. He watches you with his bold blue eyes, not showing a single crack in his veneer. 

“Go off and enjoy your weekend, don’t fret over the fault of others. Certainly, you show more promise than most who haunt my lectures,” he says. His tone is flat but his words are praising. The contradiction has you off-foot. 

“Thank you, Professor, have a good weekend too.” 

He doesn’t respond as he puts his attention back to another stack of papers. You turn on your heel slowly and scurry to the door. He clears his throat and you stop. 

“Perhaps I mightn’t have such a tedious weekend.” 

You glance back but he still has his head down. You nod and leave him be with a sharp inhale. You hold your breath in until you close the door from the other side. 

Only a few more weeks and you’ll be through this class. Hopefully, you won’t ever have to face the heart palpitations that come with each encounter after that. For now, you will focus on the last paper and the eventual exam. Those are hurdles that look higher the closer you get. 

📕

There’s a cafe off campus you prefer. The library kiosk and the franchised booth in the Student Rec Centre are always overcrowded. This place isn’t so bad. A local mom and pop with a single barista. Maude, the retiree turned businesswoman, works slowly but efficiently. Traffic matches her pace but is enough to keep her thriving. 

“I’ll bring it to you, dearie,” she smiles as she hands you a plate with a crumbly scone on it. You thank her and go to find a seat. 

The place is homey. The seating is mismatched. There are armchairs around a low coffee table, some long tables with thrift store dining chairs, and square table in the corner with two benches and some stools. The rug that stands center to the sitting space is faded but its patterns still visible. 

You claim one of the armchairs near the bookcases and sit. Despite the tense submission, you’re glad not be stressing over another mark. Another A- to add to the rota in Holmes’ class. You could do a lot worse given what you’ve overheard from your classmates. 

The door opens and closes, letting in a chilly. You keep your coat on as you balance the scone on the coffee table. You’ll wait until you have your mocha and savour them together. It’s a rare treat but the dropping temperature coaxed you into it. 

A familiar baritone pricks your ears. You glance over before you can bury your nose in your phone and flinch. What luck. You almost doubt it’s a coincidence. Twice in a row you’ve managed to stumble upon the Professor outside of class. 

Your shoulders sink as you turn back and plant your elbow on the armrest, shielding your face behind your hand. What do you do? Your mind races. Despite what he said in his office he does not radiate welcoming energy. You can’t just flee and leave your order behind; it isn’t fair to Maude and you wouldn’t want to waste the money. 

Professor Holmes’ voice carries. He orders a black coffee and two shortbread biscuits; the Saturday special. The elder barista takes his order and as usual, bids him to sit down so she can bring it to him. You chew your lip as time ticks on. Make up your mind. 

Too late.  

“Pardon, oh,” Holmes approaches and gives pause as you look up at him. “You aren’t reserving these for your friends?” 

He gestures to the other arm chairs. You shake your head and clasp your phone tight in your hands. He dips his chin and sidles around the coffee chair. He removes his jacket and hangs it on the rack between the bookshelves. He lingers there as he browses the titles on the spines. 

Maude appears with your mocha in a large mug on a matching saucer. You thank her as she sets it by your scone. She calls over to Holmes, “I’ll have your coffee and biscuits in just a moment, dearie.” 

He turns his head and nods but says nothing else. She shuffles off and you lean forward to take your mug. Somehow your chocolatey treat doesn’t seem so sweet any more. He backs up and lowers himself across from you. You shyly return his gaze over the brim of your cup. 

“You come here often?” He asks. 

The question has you off-guard as much as his presence. You slurp noisily before you pull the cup away and put it down. You take the napkin by your scone and wipe your lips. 

“Sometimes. Once in a while. Er, I... I make my coffee at home. Tea, more often.” You clamp your lip shut before you can ramble on. 

“Mm, yes, I prefer tea as well. I was suggested the dark roast here by a colleague however.” 

You don’t know what to say. You’re entirely unprepared for the conversation. You’ve never thought much of what he might speak of outside his lectures. His interests, you assume, would align with his expertise. 

“You are enjoying your time? You haven’t any schoolwork?” He asks. 

You slant your lips one way then the other. You look down at the bag by your feet and back at him. He wears a wool sweater with elbow patches; not quite casual but casual for him. 

“I was going to do my readings...” you say. 

“Ah,” he sits back in the chair as Maude brings his coffee and biscuits. He thanks her tersely. 

You bend over and reach for your bag. You slide out your notebook and open it to the printed articles stashed between the pages. You hope it’s enough of an excuse not to talk as much. 

“My class?” He asks. 

“Yes, sir, er, Professor,” you answer. 

“Those are available digitally, as I understand.” 

“I know, but I, er, prefer print.” 

“Mm, yes, it does permeate more effectively, doesn’t it?” He intones. 

You agree with a silent nod and try to focus. You’re too shy to check if he’s watching you but it feels like he is. He sighs and sips from his cup. 

“What were you on the hunt for then?” He asks abruptly before you can read the introduction for the fifth time. You look up, perplexed. “At the craft store?” 

You open your mouth then pause. Finally, you summon the answer, “thread.” 

“Thread?” 

“Yes, I... make little things. Sometimes. It wasn’t urgent. I don’t have my sewing machine in my dorm and... no time.” You shrug and let the papers lay flat on your notebook. 

He considers you as his cheek dimples and he leans his chin on his knuckles. He looks down at the cup he holds over one leg. He sucks his teeth. 

“Rather flat,” he dislodges his elbow and leans forward. “And what did you get? It smells intriguing.” 

“Mocha with peppermint,” you answer. 

“Mm, with whip?” He peeks at your cup and the melting glut of cream. 

“Yes, Professor,” you reply. 

“I think I might trade mine for the same,” he stands with his cup in hand. 

You watch him, confused and uneasy. So much for getting some studying done. You doubt you’ll be able to concentrate with him looming on the other side of the table. 

[littlebkg]

babbles n juice 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

comfort , agere dabble: cg shoto + little reader

grab a stuffie, a blanket, or a water and enjoy!

──── ୨୧ ────

“nn..” you mumbled. practically babbling, you couldn’t wait for shoto to come back from his work study. you texted him nonstop about how much you missed him, the way your head felt fuzzy didn’t make you feel anxious about double— triple texting him.

you kicked your legs, bouncing back off the bed in your pajamas. you just couldn’t wait. slipping gently into a childlike state.

after what felt like forever, shoto was back. he entered the dorms as usual, tired physically and emotionally from the work he did. he yawned, grabbing a water bottle, sipping at it, and checking his phone. many missed calls from endeavor, sure, but many incoherent texts from you too.

he looked at the messages, utterly lost at the meanings. figuring he should see what you meant, trying to put together your rambles and textual babbles.

shoto stared at the words, walking to your dorm as he knocks at the door. his eyes soften as you open to him, taking in the sight.

you still wear your pjs, alongside fluffy bunny slippers, but you also have a small mess of fruit juices on your shirt. he tilts his head, confused by your demeanor before he’s hit with the realization that you’ve regressed.

“ar-“ he softens his voice, “are you feeling little, right now, buddy?..”

the question feels weird, nevertheless you nod. because you feel all soft and small. and his words feel big no matter how much he lowers his volume.

he frowns, but not because it saddens him— but he’s worried for the reason why you regressed.

shoto, after you told him about your age regression, did extreme research to help accommodate to you. suggesting to be your caregiver, and make you feel comfortable, safe.

he provided regression gear, and did countless all nighters to research (and frankly overthink) about how to properly care for you. but actually being in a situation where he was going to be your caregiver—for the first time…—

it was clear he was nervous, you could see it in his eyes, the way his face went slightly pale and sweaty.

“oh.”

is all he lets out. and you feel yourself grow slightly, his anxiety makes yourself anxious.

he’s quick to realizes this, and gently moves to hold you, “let me take care of you, baby..” is all he asks of you, and you feel yourself slip right back, his arms wrap around you making yourself feel smaller. you look up to his comforting awkward smile, and he looks down at the mess on your shirt again.

“mm.. make mess..” you mumbled, worried he was mad at you for making the mess— perhaps staining your shirt.

he shakes his head, “your little head doesn’t need to worry about that.” petting, and ruffling his own cool and warm fingers through your hair. it soothes you, and next thing you know he reaches for a tissue in his pocket, gently wiping at your shirt, a soaked spot.

“were you drinking something? it kinda smells of pineapple..” he asks, a hand still holding you like you were fragile.

you point at your nightstand, where two small juice boxes lay, and he gets the idea.

“ohh..” a sigh escapes him, delicately moving, bring you with him to the bed. “does baby wanna change their shirt? i cleaned most of it off anyway,”

you shake your head, squeezing your eyes slightly with the motion. “nuh uh.”

he smiles, “alright, we can stay like this…” his arms wrap right back around you, rocking you tenderly.

this fic was for seb: https://www.tumblr.com/shotoslxve

i hope you enjoyed it <3 i don’t often write cg shoto so i’m sorry if it felt a little ooc

[astrologythingzzz]

Astrology observations Number 3 ❤️

Hey you guys, I'm back with another observation post!

Take what resonates! These are not meant to hurt anyone ❤️

Aquarius venus only dates if there is a shared history and the two have been aquaintances or friends for a longer time

sun/venus/ neptune in 11th house care soo much about their social reputation. sometimes they just show other people what they want to see

gemini moon and having 399+ tabs open at all times.

also the hate of having to close all the tabs at once. you might want to reread them, they're so special!!!

aries sun/moon/rising/mars come off as extremely arrogant when angered. they don't care about anything you're saying

But as soon as you make them laugh, they forget about their ego and get down on earth again. it's actually a little funny to watch them

sagittarius rising, especially male ones, are extremely sporty. I know this is a stereotype, but I've just noticed this sooo often

they may be interested in rock climbing, hiking or running. something you can do outdoors

cancer moon/mars/venus and libra moon/mars/venus man love curves. they love hourglass shaped figures

I believe that aries rising is the epitome of "rough exterior, soft interior" just like cancer risings.

aries rising have cancer ic, they value family, they're sensitive at heart and need a loving and warm family

i feel like having ic aspects in synastry, especially ic conjunct moon in synastry makes the two people want to stay at home In bed at all times, watching movies and cuddling

Ic can work as deep or even deeper than the moon sign. I feel like we don't pay as much attention to the ic than we should

Double or triple cardinal in the big three are extremely ambitious. They are the ones to reach every goal they set for themselves

It doesn't matter if it's capricorn, libra, cancer or aries. They are the definition of getting things done

These are all the thoughts I had in my mind. I hope you like it!!

See you soon, byee ❤️

[teamchasezwrites]

Second Chance (2/3)

Word Count: 7,931

Characters: Damian Priest/Unnamed OC, (minor appearances from Rhea Ripley, Finn Balor, Dominik Mysterio, Seth Rollins, CM Punk, and Triple H)

Genre: Romance

Tags: Stars Align, Man Realizing He’s An Idiot, Regrets

Summary: some people are worth a second chance. (A Wrestlemania XL Night Two fic)

Part I here

Author’s Note: This is the night told from Damian’s POV. I did watch the BTS video from Gorilla, so any errors are my own.

A heavy case of nerves flowed through Damian’s system as the start of Wrestlemania XL grew closer. The vibe of the crowd already in their seats made its way into Gorilla where plenty of backstage talent and crew members were gathered.

Seth Rollins was there exchanging pre match whispers with his wife, Becky Lynch. The former already dressed in his over-the-top mummer-inspired outfit. It was outlandish but it fit the wrestler to a T.

His opponent, Drew McIntyre was there as well. Their match kicked off night two. Seth’s World Heavyweight Championship title up for grabs.

The purple Money In The Bank briefcase felt like it weighed a hundred pounds in his grasp. Aside from that World Heavyweight Title, the briefcase – securing him an opportunity at a title shot – was the most important object in the room.

He just needed the opportunity to cash in his title shot. Last night during Night One, an opportunity never arose. Roman Reigns never gave him an opening during his tag team match. Plus, he had The Rock next to him. He didn’t want to take the risk of anything going wrong.

Everything had to be perfect.

The venue – Lincoln Financial Field in Philadelphia – was perfect. The city was nearly next door to the city where he got his start in wrestling. A jump across the Walt Whitman Bridge and a quick ride down 42 and he’d be in Atlantic City.

When he arrived at the stadium earlier in the day, he took a moment to walk out on the ramp and stare. Very few other people moved around save for a few crew members double checking wires and camera views. A handful of stadium workers walking through the seats double checking. The feeling of being alone in such a vast space was nearly overwhelming. He felt incredibly small in the grand structure.

Closing his eyes Damian imagined the stadium packed from the field to the very last row at the top of the stadium. The noise of the crowd could almost vibrate the ground beneath his feet. He’d been in that stadium once before with it rocking enough to feel the earth move.

When he’d opened his eyes it wasn’t the ring in the middle of the field he saw but the unblemished green grass with the Eagles logo on the 50 yard line. Unable to stop, his eyes centered himself in the stadium, gathering his bearings and navigated to the section of seats to his right and up to the top where once upon he was there in section 244 seat 26.

Even now, nine years later he could feel those cold temps of the late Sunday night in December. He could hear the cheers of the crowd and the slamming of shoulder pads together. See the white smoke from fireworks popping off from the wing-like canopies at the top of the stadium covering his seat after yet another Philadelphia touchdown. Could feel the soft lips against his in a celebratory kiss. There had been plenty of those that night.

“Yo. Priest you okay?”

Damian shook away the sparkling blue eyes chanting out the spelling of Eagles pumping an arm in the air with each letter to see his teammate and best friend, Rhea Ripley in front of him.

“Nerves man,” Damian stated in a half truth. It was better than explaining how his thoughts got away from him on the absolute most important day of his wrestling career.

“You got this,” Rhea told him firmly, slapping her hands on his shoulders.

“I really can’t believe this is happening….” Inside he was vibrating and it took everything he had to appear calm on the outside.

“You deserve this.”

He pulled her into a hug by a hand on the back of her head. She became his person from nearly the moment they met in NXT. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. They were the best of friends.

The show kicked off with Stephanie McMahon and then Drew McIntyre’s music played over the stadium’s system. As Seth made his way to the ring, he pulled the black hoodie he wore over his ring gear over his head. There were plenty of monitors in Gorilla to watch the match, but he couldn’t bring himself to look.

His friends – The Judgement Day faction made up of Rhea, Finn Balor, Dominic Mysterio, and JD McDonagh – were there with him in support. His friends allowed him the opportunity to talk if he needed. They also allowed him to sit in silence. He also had his brothers and father. Even with all the back up, it did little to settle the nerves. He stretched. He meditated bent over at the waist with his hands in his knees and eyes staring at the briefcase on the floor between his legs.

So many changes occurred in the months and days leading up to Wrestlemania, he wasn’t sure another change wasn’t coming. He didn’t know the proper word that would describe the devastation if Creative pulled an audible. This was his moment.

The perfect time.

Sometime later he was standing in the middle of Gorilla with his arms spread out while a crew member worked baby oil over his arms and shoulders. The oil served a couple of purposes. It made it harder for opponents to grip. It also allowed some moves to go off better with the extra fluidity the oil provided. Mainly, it was an aesthetic for visual appearance allowing muscles to pop and appear more defined under the lights.

Then it was time. The crowd roared as Drew’s music hit declaring him the winner and Seth was ducking through the curtain.

Damian turned his head to met Seth coming back at the same time the wrestler was slapping his chest. He reached out with one armed and hugged the worn out wrestler.

“I told you it was all gonna be worth it, baby,” Seth breathed heavily. His body worn out and tingling with pain mostly centered on his knee. He knew there was another surgery in his future but his night wasn’t over yet. “The biggest moment of your life,” he told Damian, slapping his hands on his upper arms. “I am so happy for you,” he gripped Damian’s chin with a hand giving it a small shake. “Enjoy.”

Damian nodded at him as the small smattering of people clapped for the veteran wrestler. He may be older than Seth, but Seth had years in the business on him. Years of being a big name, the top draw. He had mad respect for him.

He blew out a breath and danced on his feet. The briefcase in his right hand. Hands poised in either side of the curtain. A ref – his friend, Eddie – hovering behind him, ready to make that run to the ring with him.

Then it was time.

His music hit and everything else fell away. He was in the zone.

He sprinted down the ramp with the briefcase in hand. The crowd a complete blur. They could be screaming their heads off or sitting in the seats quiet like they were in church. He didn’t know. He circled the ring and lifted the briefcase, ramming it into Drew’s head, knocking the new champion off his feet. The briefcase flew from his hands on impact nearly flying into the stands.

Grabbing it quickly, he shoved the briefcase into Eddie’s hands. “I’m cashing in!” He yelled. “Right now!” He gave a little shove as he let go of the briefcase, barely waiting for Eddie to make his way to the timekeeper’s box before turning his attention back to Drew. Drew still laid on the ground. In the corner of his eye, he saw CM Punk standing on the announce table, a smirk on his face watching the events take place.

He could hear the announcer Michael Cole’s “Priest is cashing right now!” from the announce table.

Picking up Drew from ringside, he tossed him into the ring before climbing in after. He rolled in after the man as Eddie called for the bell.

The bell rang and he wrapped his fingers around Drew’s neck in a choke hold. He placed his other hand on Drew’s lower back and lifted the man high in the air, slamming him down into the mat. Drew bounced in the mat and Damian quickly fell over the man. He wrapped an arm under his leg and rolled his body back. He was laying on Drew’s shoulders, adding his entire weight on the man.

One.

Two.

Three.

Eddie’s hand slapped the mat in quick succession. It could have been hours. Or minutes. That final slap happened and Damian’s ears popped and cleared. The stadium went crazy. He popped off Drew on his knees and threw his arms back in a roar of victory.

His music started playing and he jumped up pumping his arms together before he flexed his arms out to either side, tossing them back as he released another roar. As he lifted his head back up, the dreads slapped him in the face.

“And here is your winner…”

He stalked the ring in a half circle before Eddie was there to present him the title – his title. Damian nearly snatched it out of his hands.

“And NEEEEEEW world heavyweight champion…”

He raised his hands high above his head in victory. The title clutched tightly in the grip of his right hand. Eddie’s hard grip on his wrist holding it up.

“Daamienn Preeeist!"

He released another guttural roar as the fans went wild all around him. Once again he could feel the vibrations beneath his feet as the crowd gave him the loudest reaction of his career.

He climbed through the ropes and jumped down to the ground. His eyes followed the ramp up to the top where he saw Rhea, Finn, Dom, and JD gathered waiting for him. He couldn’t wait to celebrate with them.

Emotions started to swirl in him as he stalked up the ramp toward his friends. After all the years he spent fighting and trying to make it in this business. The sacrifices he made. The people he lost along the way…

“Damian I love you!”

It’s a scream he’s heard a thousand times. Damian wasn’t sure what made him look to his right. He planned on smiling at the woman, maybe sending her a wink and keep moving up the ramp. That all fell away when his eyes met the woman. Shock took over elation and his steps faltered.

She smiled at him and he was taken back to that night in 2013 high above the field when she jumped into his arms jostling the people in the row in front of them who were too excited (and maybe too drunk) to care.

Damian knew he needed to make his way up the ramp and into the Gorilla so the show could go on, but he moved in her direction without thought. The pull was too much. It’s been too long.

He stood in front of her, breathing heavily from everything that’s happened in the last five minutes.

Was it even five minutes from the time he tore through the curtain and now? He didn’t know.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. People all around her vied for his attention. He felt their touches on his arms and the tickling touches on his sides from people just close enough to make contact. The noise of the crowd faded around him. It felt like he was underwater with the muted noise. People blurred as he stared into her eyes.

“Luis…”

Damian’s breath caught at the whisper of his real name. How he heard it over the crowd, he didn’t know. It just proved he was locked in on her. His feet moved on their own accord and before he knew it she was wrapped up tight in his arms. A feeling of home washed over him. He damned the coat she wore as he pressed his hands into her back. He was probably hurting her as the championship belt was digging into her back, but he couldn’t let the belt go or her. Her hands pressed against his back. His skin on fire where she touched and he wished the contact was skin on skin. He damned the barricade between them that kept them separated from the waist down.

Her body shuddered in his arms and leaned into him. He happily accepted her weight. “Fuck…” he uttered, tightening his hold. Time was of the essence and the window for him to keep standing in her arms rapidly closing.

“I gotta go…” he whispered directly into her ear after ducking his head down and adjusting his arms in an attempt to hide his face from prying eyes and cell phone cameras and online lip readers. His words caused her arms to tighten and her hands to press harder into him.

He wanted to keep her with him forever. He wanted to lift her in his arms and carry her with him to the back. “Please stay,” he pleaded, not sure what he meant. What could he do going forward? “I’ll…” He’ll what? What could he do? He was about to enter pure chaos when he reached Gorilla. There were interviews, photoshoots, press conferences… he dad was back there. His brothers… “Just don’t go.” He settled with, hoping she’ll agree to stay for the rest of the show to give him time to think about his next move. He wasn’t letting her go.

When she nodded her head, he squeezed her in his arms one last time. He slowly pulled away and their eyes met again. Emotions swirled in hers. Sure they did in his too.

The noise of the crowd threatened the bubble they were in. He cupped her face with his hands. The title still clutched in his right hand, he had to settle for his knuckles touching the soft skin of her cheek. Without thought to who was watching, what cell phone was on him, or even what WWE camera had him in view, he ducked his head and pressed his lips to hers. It was quick – much quicker than he would have liked – but stole his breath nonetheless. As he lifted his head, he ran his thumb over her cheek in a soft caress before he forced himself to leave her.

Luis was pushed to the side and Damian appeared once he caught sight of his friends still gathered at the top of the ramp. Reaching the top, he held his arms wide motioning them to come to him. Finn reached him first wrapping his arms around him from the right. Dom from the left. JD met him from the front jumping into the pile before Rhea joined at last.

They jumped up and down in excitement. Hands slapped backs and arms squeezed necks.

“Raise the title up, mate!”

Damian took Finn’s advice and turned around on top of the stage. With his music still playing, he gripped the title in both hands and held it high in the air. He’s friends gathered on either side of him with their arms raised. A cameraman stood in front of him capturing the moment that would live forever.

In Gorilla he was met with applause. Adam Pearce was the first to meet him with a slap to his back. Damian stood there with a huge grin on his face, taking it all on. Arms wrapped around him from behind from JD. He tapped his chest, his heart working double time. Rhea was right there and he drew her to him with his free arm wrapped over her shoulders. Her arms wrapped around his neck in a squeezing hug.

“You’re the fucking champion,” she declared in his ear, her voice wavering as she fought to hold her tears back.

Damian laughed. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Rips.”

“Bullshit,” Rhea spat as they rocked back and forth. “And don’t think I won’t be asking what you were doing with that fan…”

He released her with another laugh and felt his face heat. “You saw that?”

“We all saw that,” Finn was next to draw him into a hug. “Love you man.”

Finn knew every emotion he was feeling and going through having won the Universal Title for Raw back in 2016 when Damian was still taking his licks in the independent circuit. Finn had to relinquish the title the next day because of injury and has been trying to claw his way back to the top title scene ever since. Even though Damian currently held the top title on Raw, he hoped his friend got there.

Damian was then met with Triple H. “Thank you,” he told the man, his voice thick with emotion. It was Paul who gave him this opportunity. Without Paul, he would still be an unknown name stuck down in NXT or even worse.

“You earned this.” Paul said into his ear with accompanying back slaps. “You have worked hard and deserve every moment of this. Just let me know if you plan on making out with a fan every time.”

Damian gave a surprised bark of laughter as the hug broke. “Not a fan.”

His eyes must have given something away, for Paul smiled at him before slapping his shoulder one more time. “Congratulations.”

“Now you don’t gotta carry that stupid briefcase around anymore.”

Damian turned and met CM Punk coming to him. “Hey man,” he laughed. He didn’t say it, but he was probably going to miss that thing. It had been a staple at his side since he won it back in July. Then again, the thing was an embarrassing accessory at times especially when he was going through the airport.

There were so many people congratulating and hugging him. He took it all in. He spent the the longest time in the arms of his father, who hugged him tight as he told him how proud he was. His own eyes welled with tears hearing his father’s voice waver with emotion.

Before he knew it an hour passed by and he was starting to take photos. By himself with the championship title. With Triple H. With Rhea.

“Why do you keep fucking with your leg?”

Damian removed his hand from the inside of his thigh in a quick manner like he’d been caught red handed. “Man, I put on my gear earlier and it ripped right in the seam.” He cocked his knee and reached down showing her where the seam came apart in the middle of his thigh. “I have black tights on under to hide it.”

“You dumbass.” Rhea laughed. “Why didn’t you just go back to wardrobe and have them sew it?” She wrapped her arm around his back while he did the same. They each held their belts up with their free hand.

“I just wanted to be left alone. Everyone I passed in the halls kept asking if I was gonna cash in. I couldn’t get away from it.”

Rhea understood. They all tried to give Damian his space in the hours leading up to the start of Wrestlemania. They didn’t bombard him with questions. They let him have his peace. They talked if he wanted to. Most importantly they were just there for him.

“You gonna tell me what that little scene was after you won?”

Damian knew the questions were coming, especially from Rhea. He wasn’t someone who got embarrassed easily but he felt his face heat. He looked down at the ground, shuffling his feet.

“Come on,” Rhea needled him. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone? You don’t have to keep that from me.” Lord knows it would be nice to be on the advice giving side of relationships after she pestered Damian so much during the early stages of her own relationship with Matt.

“I’m not. Come on. I would tell you.”

“You just randomly pick a fan out of the stands and kiss her?”

Damian shook his head. “Remember when you weren’t sure if you wanted to take a chance on Matt?”

Rhea nodded. She was a mess back then probably still is in some cases. Trying to torpedo her own fledging relationship before it could even start due to her own anxiety and insecurities. “Yeah, you told me a story about…” she broke off and her eyes widened. “That’s her?”

Damian shook his head in affirmation. “Yeah.”

“No shit,” Rhea said in disbelief. During a late night where she once again brought up her fledging relationship with Matt, seeking Damian’s advice. Their relationship was more of a sexual nature, not for lack of trying on Matt’s part. It was Rhea who kept herself at a distance because there were so many issues that could crop up dating a fellow wrestler. A messy break up with a co-worker. Locker room talk. One of them being let go… there were so many reasons that entered her mine. Some sound, most relied on planets aligning, some made up in her head.

‘Why are you taking all this on your shoulders? Matt has a say in all this too.’ Then Damian opened up about an old relationship where the issues were different, the result was the same. He carried it all on his shoulders and didn’t allow the woman to have a say. He made the decision on his own to walk away.

‘It’s one of the biggest regrets that I have.’

“Did you know she was gonna be here?”

Damian shook his head again. “No idea.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

“What can I do?” Damian looked at his friend. “I’m stuck here for who knows how long. I asked her to stay, but again… when can I actually get to her?”

“You once gave me great advice on my own relationship when I wouldn’t get out of my own way.” Rhea moved closer and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She’s here for a reason, Dame...”

“To watch Wrestlemania…”

Rhea rolled her eyes. “It’s an absolute shock you were able to give me advice with Matt when you truly are an absolute idiot…”

“Hey…” Damian was offended.

“That woman is not here to watch Wrestlemania you idiot. She’s here to see you!”

“I mean…maybe?”

Rhea growled in frustration. She spun away from her friend, walking toward a table where a couple of backstage crew members were gathered. “Anyone have a piece of paper and a pen?”

“Yeah, here.” One of the women reached inside a brown leather bound portfolio. She tore off a piece of paper along the perforated edge.

It was a smaller than the legal pad Rhea saw inside the binder but it would serve its purpose. She grabbed a pen from the scattering of BIC pens on the table. Walking back to Damian, she handed him the objects.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Write her a note. Give her your phone number.” Rhea found it hard to believe Damian could be this dense. She found it harder to believe she acted this way when Damian was trying to steer her toward the path she wanted to take but was too scared. “If she calls you or messages, then you know she wasn’t just here to watch.”

Damian saw the merit in Rhea’s idea. He couldn’t get away from his backstage obligations. There was no way to truly estimate a time he would be free. She couldn’t wait in the stands forever. A note could be given to her explaining.

He moved away to get some privacy. He held the paper to the wall with one hand before writing just a short line and his phone number. Why he didn’t think of doing this before, he had no idea. His brain was firing on too many circuits with not only winning the championship but seeing her again after all this time.

Without hesitating, he ended the note with an L.

‘Luis…’

He could still hear his whispered name from her lips.

Maybe Rhea was right and she was here to see him.

“Hey,” Rhea pulled a young crew member over to them. “Did you see the woman in the crowd with Damian?”

The crew member chuckled. “We all did.”

“You remember where she was sitting and what she looks like?” Damian folded the note in half, creasing it with his fingers. When the crew member nodded he handed off the paper. “Please give this to her?”

The crew member was gone with a nod.

Later, while he was sitting behind the microphone for his time-slot at the Wrestlemania press conference, changed from his ring gear into a custom suit, his phone vibrated against his thigh. With an ear listening to the question about his title being the ‘workhorse title’, a phrase coined by Seth Rollins, he slipped his phone from his pocket.

‘I’ll be there.’

Those words made him want to throw his hands out to his sides with his fists clenched, throw his head back and roar to the sky like he did in the ring after winning the championship. He settled for a wide grin and turned his attention back to the reporters.

Next Chapter

[shunshunrika]

GOJO SATORU - NSFW Alphabet!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

﹒↷﹒⟢ Would probably stay beside you and talk. Doesn't try to run around doing acts of service because he is just as exhausted as you are. Believes that discussing the experience after the deed is the foundation of a good relationship. Nah, as if. He just likes to lay down and calm down from his high while he eyes your boobs and your fucked out face. He does like to stroke you until you fall asleep though. If you satisfied him enough, he'll cook a nice breakfast for you the next day.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

﹒↷﹒⟢ Yours: He likes your tits the most. They are squishy, they are soft, there's TWO of them. If he could stay in contact with your boobs forever 24/7, he'd do so. Small or huge, he loves his two cute little bundles of pleasure. Find him latching on quite frequently.

His: On himself, he likes his waist the most. His tiny, cinched waist, lined with rugged abs and a drool-worthy V-Line. A few tufts of his pubes showing through his underwear. What is there to not love about his waist? He knows the ladies wait for him to stretch so his shirt would ride up and they'd get a glance.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

﹒↷﹒⟢ His secret innate technique is actually limitless cum. Cums so much, it's illegal. It's impossible. He just won't give up even when there's no sperm left to ejaculate xD. It's always creamy and clumpy though, a bit mild in flavor, slightly salty and glides easily on the tongue, not like the sticky kind. You love to swish it around your mouth. Has great bubble blowing potential too. You show Satoru sometimes and he watches on his amusement. When your mouth has more saliva than his cum, you finally swallow, content with your meal. You keep begging him for more to swallow though and usually, he'd happily oblige. His dick is now your personal pacifier.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

﹒↷﹒⟢ He's definitely a pillow princess if you let him be and probably wants to get pegged. Has a thing for caring and protective people. He's so powerful, people think he's got to be dominant, both on the battlefield and in bed. But secretly, he just wants to lay back, get his dick and nips sucked, receive kisses along with lots of praise and probably get titties in his face when he's down. He's a baby boy through and through and usually hides that side of him. Find him sucking on your panties in secret and moaning "Y/N mommy"

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

﹒↷﹒⟢ He's probably very experienced. As of 2023, he's in his mid 30s, he's fuckinggg handsome, he's charismatic as shit - he gets a lot of women and it's no surprise. But it's hard for him to get attached to any of those women he's slept with. Yet, he definitely has a double-digit body count, closer to triple digit, do not make the mistake of believing he's a virgin or inexperienced and such. His experience and his ego of being the best makes him deliver outstandingly in bed though so, good for you!

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

﹒↷﹒⟢ Loves something where he can see your titties bounce up and down uncontrollably so he's a huge fan of cowgirl and the rocking horse position. Will make your tits all moist and musty with how much his warm gasps and sighs hit your skin. He loves to be as close to you as possible while also being comfortably deep inside your walls.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

﹒↷﹒⟢ He is more often goofy than not, it's a major part of his personality. Very likely to make dumb jokes mid thrust or imitate your orgasm face after you recover from it. But that's only when the higher ups aren't pestering him. If he's had a particularly tiring day at work, he likes to keep the sex more serious and self-serving. He'd prefer he could just release all that pent up tension during sex and maybe if he's feeling better after that, he'd come back for cuddles or even a more enjoyable round 2.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

﹒↷﹒⟢ He has a WHITE carpet. Let that sink in LOL. At first you thought it was weird because it oddly reminded you of old people and it spoiled his mood as well. So he choose to trim it down to a fuzz which looks peachy more than white now. So yeah, he's rather clean down there, hates the idea of too much hair. Sometimes you find a few long strands leftover under his balls while sucking him off though, and it always makes you groan. You've suggested Satoru to dye his pubes but the expression he made, made you take it back.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

﹒↷﹒⟢ Well. I don't see him as a romantic kinda guy really. Sure, he'd caress you and kiss you a lot, but he's more of a talker than a toucher. Loves staring at you, right into your soul while he's making you squirt. Loves seeing your reactions to him - from something as innocent as blushing and something as lewd as your rolled back eyes. Sometimes, he'd blurt out some of the most philosophical quotes about romance after nutting though and it'd genuinely confuse you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

﹒↷﹒⟢ He doesn't jack off too often actually. He used to do it every other day when he was a teen though, using gravure magazines. But now that he has you to help him out, he rarely does it. Only when he's away from you for weeks, does he feel the need to wank off to one of his memories of your bum. Sometimes wonders if he should leave his cum as is on one of the restroom walls of the jujutsu schools but decides against it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

﹒↷﹒⟢ Definitely, praise kink. Loves to be praise. Sometimes gives praise but mostly likes receiving it more. Also definitely has a lingerie fetish. Loves it when you dress in frilly, expensive lingerie that he bought for you while you rut against his expensive dress pants. Honestly, he might be into exhibitionism and voyeurism as well. Has thought about watching you get fucked by his male friends on multiple occasions even though emotionally, he's a possessive person. Oh and mommy kink. for sure. As well as dacrophilia.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

﹒↷﹒⟢ OK. Probably, his go to is the balcony. I don't know, something about fucking on the balcony of a sky-rise, overlooking the city he protects while the stars shine on you and the miniscule cars rush by below really, really turns him on. Other than that, he loves his shower fucks and maybe once or twice, a demon took over him and he fucked you outside the apartment, right against the door. Because he was that desperate and drunk for your pussy. You let him though because you enjoy the thrill - of being seen when Gojo Satoru's dick is locked in your ass.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

﹒↷﹒⟢ What turns him on is a good mood. Whenever he's happy or feeling positive, he also gets horny af. Whenever there's a win or he feels accomplished, the first thought that crosses his mind is "Would be nice if I can deepthroat Y/N right now." Other than that, tight clothing on you really turns him on - the spillage specifically. He loves that he has a soft pouch of fat on you that he can squish while he's fucking the living daylights out of you. He also becomes a beast when you compliment him and the way he fucks.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

﹒↷﹒⟢ He doesn't like extreme stuff so he's probably not into all of that - things like excretion fetish, blood play etc. Also likely not into being called a daddy. It's not something he associates with his image and personality. He'd rather call you mommy though. Loves to dom you though and might accept a 'sir' instead of a daddy. Probably not that much into anal as well because it grosses him out - what if he gets shit on his dick?! One of his biggest turn offs is when people disrespect him. Hates derogatory talk, even if it's during sex. He likes to keep it playful yet dignified.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

﹒↷﹒⟢ He is probably quite decent at giving oral. An orgasm is almost always guaranteed after a few minutes of his tongue play. He loves to receive it. His dick is really sensitive, and he loves it when you put your mouth to play on it. Prefers it over penetration or hand jobs actually, but on you, he prefers to finger you - and his fingering skills are out of this world. The ring and middle finger combined, create magic.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

﹒↷﹒⟢ I'd peg him as a slow but rough guy. He isn't in a hurry so he goes at comfortable pace. That being said, he's really strong so every thrust of his is lick being jabbed with a hammer. He goes deep too. Usually likes to pin your arms down, position himself so his dick goes in in a curved trajectory, and he keeps his speed sensually and sickeningly slow. It gets you so slimy though, his dick is practically playing slip and slide inside you within minutes. On a few occasions though, he'd choose to go faster but shallower - that's mostly when you argue and he's pissed. Then you get further pissed because you aren't creaming anymore.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

﹒↷﹒⟢ It is a frequent occurence and specifically happens before his meetings with higher ups. He needs so much mental fortitude to deal with them, he needs a quick fuck right before he enters the meeting room. He'd probably pin you to the wall of Jujutusu tech's shitty bathroom and pound into you from behind, cumming inside and making you keep it till nightfall so he can come see it leak out of you. The high gives him enough joy to meet those geezers with a smile, knowing he gets more pussy than they ever dreamt of having.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

﹒↷﹒⟢ I'd say he's willing to try everything once. If he doesn't like it, he doesn't like it. But he will try it atleast once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

﹒↷﹒⟢ Oh, he can go. Has a lot of stamina. It's you who doesn't have enough stamina and gives up after round 3 or 4. He doesn't last like exceptionally long, but he can go for multiple rounds so it doesn't bother you. Plus the intensity of each session is so high, you are crumbling after a few go's. You especially lose it when he goes mating press on you, your thighs are sure to cramp up.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

﹒↷﹒⟢ Is a huge supporter of vibrators. Loves to use it on you, loves when you use it on him. He often wonders why humans don't naturally have the ability to vibrate - it'd add so much value to life! would prod you for hours with a vibrator, bringing you close to an orgasm then snatching it away. Would also love vibrating cock rings as they make him tense up and throw his head back in pleasure.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

﹒↷﹒⟢ 10/10 a tease. BIG tease. Unfair game 100/10. He's a fucking MENACE. Would probably tease you till you start crying. Would tease you about EVERYTHING. the way you moan, the way you are a ho for him, the way your eyes sparkle when he suggests he's in the mood. strongly believes orgasm denial improves the quality of sex and will test this theory unannounced making you almost slap him on several occasions. Even out of sex, he's always slapping your butt or groping your hips in public or around the house, while he's eating a donut, or passes you coincidentally while grocery shopping or when you're cooking.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

﹒↷﹒⟢ I see him as a whimperer. No he's definitely a whimperer and moaner. Groans aren't a thing with him. Sometimes you question who's domming if you're the one under him and he's whimpering in your ear while thrusting hard. You see the loudest whimpers when you're biting and sucking his nipples though - apparently, he's really sensitive over there. He'd not care if anyone, upstairs or downstairs listens in - he's happy if they know he has a healthy sex life. He's also rather shrill with his moans sometimes and you wonder if he's competing with you.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

﹒↷﹒⟢ "Ah shit, I'm cumming again." Satoru says.

"Do it, Let it all out. You need it anyway." you whimper as you feel him pounding into you from behind. You are so immersed in your thoughts and pleasure that you don't even notice the dirtied tiles of the bathroom you both are cramped up in. Satoru has his pants lowered a tad bit so he can let his dick free and thrust into you at an angry pace.

"Those old farts. They think they run this world." He said in between thrusts as he pulled at your ponytail. "And they think they can rule over me, when they need me for even killing a flea."

"You're so better than all of them Toru!" you gasp, feeling the delicious pull on your hair as you let your eyes roll back. "Fuck all of them!"

"Hell yeah!" Satoru yelled out, his voice echoing off the grimy walls. "I am the best, indeed!"

"Say it again, babe!" he asks, voice excited as he slaps your ass. You wonder how many people can hear you moan and cry out for him. "Shit, I wish the geezers could see us right now, do you think I should record this and give them a heart attack!"

"Ew I don't want those gross men to see me naked!" you reply, turning back and pouting at him.

"HAhaha. fair enough. ah, shit-" his voice catches all of a sudden as he stiffens up and you feel a warm liquid fill you up as you close your eyes.

"Shit." he says, pulling out his limp dick and zipping up. "Keep that all in for me, princess." he says, caressing the skin of your ass.

"When I come back tonight to eat you out, I'll tell you all about how I messed with those geezers!" Satoru says with a wink before deserting the bathroom and heading to an important meeting.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

﹒↷﹒⟢ Hmm. I'd give him some credit and say he's a good 7 inches when he's hard. Has a rather slender wee-wee with a larger, pointier head. Has a pale cock that is adorned by some of that peachy fuzz at the base. Has HUMONGOUS balls that sag. When his dick is aroused, it's a pretty coral-peachy shade. His dick has a slight curve to it, pointing upwards.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

﹒↷﹒⟢ It was high before, it is still rather high now. He's still like a teenager sometimes. "Y/N, let's do it!!!" "Y/N, you look so hot, sit on me!" "Y/N, Wanna fuck? ;)" he's just so fucking cute. He's gotten more mature over the years though. Sex is no longer an everyday event, but surely once in three days. Some months of the year though, his libido is off the roof, and he's going at it with you multiple times a day, everyday. You believe soon when you start trying for a baby, he'd fuck you more.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

﹒↷﹒⟢ Stays awake and only sleeps after you do. Surprise surprise. Although he seems like someone who'd fall asleep right after, he'd actually care and stay awake and look after you for a bit and only then go to sleep - even if he's drowsy and tired as fuck.

[alieinthemorning]

Tired of Us Yet? [Leona Kingscholar]

Content: Fluff, Established Relationship, Happy Birthday Leona!, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None

Header: @/kyuu9 on Tumblr

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

After promising to go shopping on the weekend, time seemed to slow down exponentially, as if taunting you. Your first outing with Leona in what felt like forever (it had been a month)! You were so excited that you kinda accidentally made it to the gates about 10 minutes earlier than planned. 

“You’re damn near hoppin’ off the walls. You that excited?” Leona commented as he approached you. 

You hadn’t even noticed that you were rocking on your heels, “Well, duh. It’s been a while since we’ve been out.” 

A frown caught his lips for a moment before he leaned down, pecking your temple. “That’s gonna change, alright?”

“I know.” You were certain Leona would keep his promise.

Shopping for Leona was actually pretty easy. All he really wanted was comfortable furniture to lounge around on and anything else (ie. the decorations) could be left to you, and he didn’t fuss about it.

“At this point, we’re making a glorified fort.” You chuckled, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“So what you’re saying is we should use these big pillows,” He pointed to a comically large orange pillow, “as the floor?”

You plopped down on it. “Hmmm…maybe so? It is pretty comfy!” 

“Oh yeah, you look like you’re on the edge of dreamland there.”

You kinda were. There more you laid here, the more you actually considered using these as a floor for his fort—room.

Ping!

Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you gasped, absolutely shocked at what you saw.

Leona_Kingscholar_Official just posted

It was you. Right now, laying on the pillow. Posted to his Magicam. 

You smiled as you stood, “I think we should get at least this one.” You pocketed your phone, then hauled the pillow in the cart with his help. 

Shared to Story

hey.hey.its.cay.cay commented on your Story

AYOOOOO

ARE Y’ALL OUT ON A DATE RN

“Welcome back, my dear.” Azul greeted you, but his eyes were on Leona. “I see you’ve brought a guest with you this time.”

Leona didn’t respond to the obvious taunt, he simply pulled out his phone, fingers quickly gliding against the screen.

“Don’t, Ashengrotto.” You warned. “Just get us a table.”

“Why, of course, my dear.” His smile widened (you hated that smile) as he led you.

“And stop calling me ‘dear’. I’m clearly with my partner.” 

“Yes, yes.” He waved you off, gesturing at the table that he had chosen for you. “Here you are.”

The table was in the middle of the lounge. You were sure he wanted everyone to get a good view of Leona ignoring you or something. Well, this would be quite the boring show. At least, that’s what you thought, but then a large, boisterous crowd entered the lounge. You glanced at Leona, who was already looking at you with a grin.

Drinks and a show, how lovely.

“I’m sorry, but we’re currently at full capacity, so if you’d be so kind—” Azul attempted to dissuade the group from coming in any further, but—

“Nah, they’re with me.” Leona spoke up.

Azul didn’t even bother to hide the frown. “And as I said, we’re at full capacity—”

“I’ll rent the whole place out for double what it would normally be worth.”

Watching Azul debate with himself over selling out or withholding his morals was fun.

Of course, he sold out in the end when Leona offered to pay triple the price. 

Leona_Kingscholar_Official just posted

LeechTwinJade commented on Leona_Kingscholar_Official post

I’m glad to see the two of you dining together in our establishment, @The_Monstro_Lounge_Offical We hope to see the two of you again soon.

Apparently, Leona wasn’t done with the surprises because one day during lunch while you were standing in line with the other first years, he suddenly appeared, gently removing you from the group. 

“Oi! What are you doing?” Jack reflexively grabbed your arm. The lunch line was a chaotic mess, and if someone stepped out of line even accidentally, they lost their spot and had to take the walk of shame to the back of the line.

“We’re not eating in here, so let go, pup.” You could have sworn there was a bit of a growl at the end of that sentence (but maybe you were imagining it). 

“Oh?” You cut in, easing yourself from Jack. “You cooked for me or somethin’?”

“Ha!” His laugh was sharp, “Nah, you know I can’t cook—since I’m a prince and all. I ordered out.” 

Your eyes lit up. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Of course, the little lunch date was set up in the botanical garden. It looked like he had gotten some help from the fairies that managed it with the set-up, and even to give you two some privacy. You popped a bit of your favorite dish in your mouth, almost tearing up at the burst of flavor. 

Leona_Kingscholar_Official just posted

Epple_Apel commented on Leona_Kingscholar_Official post

AND YOU COULDNT HAVE SHARED????

JackAttack commented on Leona_Kingscholar_Official post

Wow. Okay.

0rth0_2.0 commented on Leona_Kingscholar_Official post

I am very happy for the two of you! However, if something bad happens, just know that I’ll be there! :)

“Party’s here, but I’m pretty sure you ain’t here—” Ace stopped short, brain short-circuiting at what he was seeing. 

And Deuce followed suit. “Quiet as usual—huh?” 

There in the lounging in the lounge was you, Grim and Leona. But that wasn’t the weirdest part. No, the weirdest part was the fact that you were laying on top of Leona (which wasn’t all that weird) and Grim was lying on top of you (once again, not weird), but like Grim was laying on top of you who was laying on top of Leona which was weird. 

However, once Grim caught sight of them, he scrambled out of your grasp, which woke both you and Leona up. 

“Save me!” He scrambled behind Ace. “They’ve been holding me here hostage for hours now!” 

“We’ve literally been asleep for maybe an hour. What are you talking about, Grim?”

“I didn’t ask for a front row seat to all of this!” He gestured widely at the two of you before jumping onto Ace’s shoulders. “Let’s go! Before they kiss or something!”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t—OH MY GOD—EWWWW!”

You were caught off guard just as much as Deuce was. You knew Leona was cheeky, but you didn’t expect him to kiss you in front of your friends like that (not that you really minded a kiss from him). He didn’t let you go until the front door slammed shut, and when he did, you knew it was only for a moment. 

Oh well, at least you didn’t have an audience anymore.

Leona_Kingscholar_Official just posted

Call_an_Ace_an_Ace commented on Leona_Kingscholar_Official post

Y’all are literally like that one couple that everyone is rooting for, but also finds annoying. 

Double_Deuce_2 commented on Leona_Kingscholar_Official post

THIS IS THE GREAT GRIM AND I CAN CONFIRM THAT THEYRE SUPER ANNOYING

“It’s that time again, My King.”

“Time for you to say that you’re tired of me?”

You lightly slapped his arm, earning a chuckle from him. “Of course not.” You cupped his face, making it meet yours that had moved closer. “It’s time for me to remind you that I am so deeply in love with you.” 

He closed the distance, capturing your lips. “Right backatcha. I’m actually more in love with you than you are with me.” 

“So it’s a contest now?” You kissed him again. “How do we decide a winner?”

“I can think of a few ways”

“Well, the two of you are gonna have to wait until later.” Someone stopped the two of you from going any further.

Leona sighed. “Always coming in at the right moments, aren’tcha Bucchi?” 

“Shishishi…but nah, for real y’all are really gonna have to wait to do all of that later.” 

You smirked. “What? Tired of us yet, Ruggie?” 

“I wanna say, yeah, but the pay is too good, so I’ll just smile and nod.” He did neither. 

“Alright,” Leona straighten himself then pulled you into his lap. “Let’s get this over with.” 

“‘Course the two of you are gonna be difficult till the very end.” Ruggie shook his head, but begun his repot nonetheless, not like he could do anything anyway. 

The two of you wouldn’t listen to anyone, but each other, at this point. 

Now and forever. 

King_Leona_Kingscholar_Official just posted

TheRuggieBucchi commented on Leona_Kingscholar_Official post

In front of my salad? On god? I deserve a raise. 

King_Leona_Kingscholar_Official replied to TheRuggieBucchi

Get used to it.

Sunset_Savana_Sovereign_Official replied to TheRuggieBucchi

On god. And we’ll do it again. Shenan once to shenan again. 

LISTEN HERE STINK! IT MAY BE YOUR BIRTHDAY, BUT THIS

THIS WAS NOT NECESSARY

GRIM PITY?

ALL MY KEYS

GONE

AHYUK! I SEE IT!

THE DOOR TO DARKNESS

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

[smiley-mcdoggington]

HEYYYYY YALL LIKE FORD YEARNING IN THE WEIRDEST WAY POSSIBLE RIGHT? RIGHT! GREAT! TW GORE TW STANCEST

The distant cave doubled and tripled in his slowly narrowing vision as he waded through the tall grass, counting his own harsh pants in groups of four to focus on anything but the bone-deep ache in his side. One, two, three, four.

As soon as the light of the three blazing suns was cut away with the cool shade of the cave, he allowed himself to collapse against the stone wall. One, two, three, four.

Blood had seeped through his tattered jacket, a near perfect rhombus cut into the material from where that damn bird got him. He was originally going to give Ruth's species a more snappy nickname, but then Ruth got hungry. Damn bird is a good enough descriptor for her. One, two, three, four.

He shucked off his jacket, letting a dry sob echo off the cave walls when the gabardine brushed the wound. The strain of getting it off his arms made his head spin. He took a knee and focused on not losing what little he'd eaten. He tried to reach for the hem of his sweater but just the brush from his shaking hand made yarn dig further into exposed muscle. He'd run out of the muscle relaxant he had stolen three dimensions ago, he had to do this the hard way. One, two, three, four.

He tried grabbing at his sweater again and his hand nearly missed, he wanted to punch something but there was nothing but stone and he didn't want a broken finger on top of everything else. Instead, he took a deep breath, and spoke in a voice that wasn't his own. "Come on, Sixer." His voice rasped, finding the accent he'd trained himself out of like a familiar stranger. "You're tougher than this, yeah?" His voice shook just a little, but with the cave echoes he could almost pretend it wasn't him speaking. "You just gotta get that geeky sweater off, see what we're working with. We got this, we always do - one... two... three... - four!"

The tremble in his hands remained, but he grasped the edge of the cotton and yanked it over his head, cursing into the dark as the yarn was yanked away from his flesh, taking the beginnings of scabbing with it and letting fresh blood run down his hip anew. He pressed his forehead to the cold stone. Onetwothreefour--

Onetwothreefouronetwothreefouronetwothreefouronetwothreefouronetwothreefour onetwo threefour one two three four--

He wanted to sleep, he was so tired, he knew it wss a bad idea but he was so tired and he just wanted it to stop. The tightness in his throat helped bring it to the higher pitch, though. One, two, three, four.

"Stanford get up." He demanded of himself in the quivering facsimile of Stanley's voice. "All you're doing now is bleeding out, you gotta get it together, Six." He said as his vision swam. He took his head away from the cool rock and looked down at the nip. Four eight inch slits, two in a V from his left side into his front and two more identical ones into his back. Blood soaked into his pants. How the hell was he gonna do this? His supplies were back at that damn bird's nest, he would bleed out before he made it back, bleed out in a damn cave on a damn deserted planet in a damn unremarkable dimension. Onetwo threefour.

"Sixer." His brother's voice snapped from his lips, and the echoes chased the spiraling from his mind. "You know what you gotta do. All you got is that fancy nerd blaster of - yours." His voice dropped at the end. It was risky - if Ruth had friends that could hear, or if he did it wrong, he could make the problem exponentially worse. He cleared his throat - it sounded more like a whimper. "Remember when we was ten and you got that wart on the back of your hand? Pa had to hold it over the stove to burn it off, and it hurt like a bitch, but then it was over and you could wear your boxing gloves right again, it didn't even hurt after the first day, yeah? This is just like that." He said, thinking about how that night he slept in the bottom bunk with Stanley and Stanley held him close and let Ford cry and snot and drool into his shirt because it scared him how easily Pa could hold him still. One, two, three, four.

He found the blaster on his belt, and aimed it at the mouth of the cave. He fired rounds in bursts of four until he could feel uncomfortable heat itching through the insulated handle. "You got this, Stanford." He said quietly to himself in a gravelly jersey accent. One, two, three, four

He pressed the hot metal against the first laceration, and screamed into the cave, hot tears rolling down his cheeks as he held the gun there for one, two, three four--

He yanked the gun away. "Go-good goin' - you--" He dry heaved against the smell - it reminded him of Stan. "You did it, Six - jus-just three more. You can do that, I know you can, we can do anything, yeah?" He choked out, firing more rounds as fast as he could, bolts of light and heat flying wildly into the tall grass. The next one was harder, his hands were trembling too hard, he almost missed the laceration he wanted to seal. Worthless platitudes stuttered out of his mouth between screams and sobs as he slowly, agonizingly sealed up the wounds. When he finally, finally finished, he nearly collapsed onto his discarded clothes. One... Two... Three... Four...

"Y-you did good, knew - knew you had the chutzpah fo-r something crazy like th-that. That's - that's my brother. You can take a nap now, it's okay. You'll be safe - pr-omise." Stan's voice echoed back at him, as he drifted off.

[adrift-in-thyme]

Whumptober Day 3: Friendly Fire

Ao3 link

- Legend & Four

- Summary: Legend risks everything to save Four

CW for blood/injury and possession

——————————————————-

He should have seen it coming.

That is what he thinks as he stares down at the blade that protrudes from his abdomen. That is what he thinks as his knees weaken and fail, as blood turns his flesh slick and sticky; as raging, roaring pain engulfs him.

He should have known. Damn it, he should’ve known. 

Legend’s knees hit the ground with a finality so thick it rattles his teeth. 

He let himself grow too comfortable. He dared to trust in what his eyes saw, what his hands touched, the roads his feet walked. He allowed himself to believe that this beautiful dream was anything but. 

He believed that they were real. 

It would be easier now if they weren’t.

If this was a dream, he could open his eyes and breathe. He wouldn’t have to see Time lying crumpled, motionless, wouldn’t have to hear Wind crying his name between bitten-out sobs. He wouldn’t have to see Warriors and Twilight trying to stand on failing legs with one another's support. He wouldn’t have to hear Hyrule’s dangerously raspy breaths, see Sky’s eyes roll back in his head as he finally falls, hear Wild’s choked cry at the loud crack his skull makes against a nearby rock.

He…he wouldn’t have to lift his head now, he wouldn’t have to lift his head and stare into the eyes of a brother, someone he had trusted, someone he had loved.

Hell. Who’s he kidding? 

He still loves him. He still trusts him.

How could he not? This was never his fault.

Legend raises his eyes and makes himself look. Four is there, just as he knew he would be. His eyes are darkened, just as he knew they would be. Shards of deepest purple embed themselves within his skin, humming with a heinous melody. They crowd beneath his left eye, forming an ellipse like a tear.

The veteran lifts a hand, brushes his thumb over it. Four doesn't move. Not now. He had raced about before, splitting and reforming with lightning speed. He had doubled, tripled, quadrupled the ferocity of his attacks upon those already inundated with monsters, gone for the weak spots only a brother would know. But not now.

His foes are felled. Why should he not freeze here? What good is a pawn without a mission?

Is his mind empty now? Legend wonders. Can he feel? Can he think?

Or can he only hear screams?

“Smithy.” The name hisses out from between his lips, born upon agony, washed away by blood. “Four…”

Fight it.

This is not you.

Don’t let the Shadow win!

We’re here for you.

Come back!

They have all said them all. Legend doesn’t have much breath left and he doesn’t plan to waste it. Veteran of hero business or not, he won’t flatter himself to believe the words will have any more power coming from him.

Especially not from him. They ring hollow flying from the lips of the one who, not so very long ago, slayed four fractured phantoms.

He would rather die than do so again.

So, instead, he says, “keep your eyes on me.”

Instead he says, “take a deep breath.”

Instead he says, “this is gonna hurt like hell.”

Blood bubbling from his lips, pain like lightning in his veins, determination running hot, he digs his fingernails into the tear of glass and metal. 

There is a place deep within his gut where his magic curls, like a kitten slumbering softly. It is exhausted from the battle already, strained with the task of simply keeping him alive. But when he barges through the silken walls of its sanctuary, when he begs it to come forth once more, it unfurls its powerful body, roaring at his desperate cries. It rises and lunges, a prowling lion released. 

He and his magic are one. Their bond is one that is deeper than all others, stronger than all others. So, when he pours it into Four’s screaming, thrashing form, he pours his own soul along with it.

There is little chance of coming back from this. He knows that, his magic knows that. But he was a dead man the moment Four’s blade brought him to his knees. There are no fairies left, no potions. The remnants of empty bottles are strewn in jagged shards amongst items dropped from trembling fingers, blood dripped from shaking hands. 

He’s going down, whether he likes it or not. But before he does, he will rid Four of this dark influence. 

To gaze upon his crimes will break him. Given time, however, he will be able to get back up. To live a life of mindless servitude will turn his spirit to ash. 

Four’s screams are deafening now. Legend can’t tell if his own have joined or if it is only the smithy’s that ring in his ears. The agony in every part of him, however, that he knows is his own. 

His vision is a clouded mix of blacks and grays. The acrid taste of iron is on his tongue. His lungs heave, his heart pounds. Their efforts are in vain. Ever inhale garners a thin bit of air. The blood that should be circulating throughout his body runs down his stomach, puddles beneath his legs. 

He is getting closer though. He feels it, feels the slight give in the defense. The darkness within Four is desperate. It is scared. It had lashed out violently at the start, battered his mind and soul, so certain it could win through brute force alone. But now it has begun to cower before his perseverance.

Legend grins, all sharp edges of white and red. 

Just a little longer and he’ll be there…

Oh, you didn’t know? He sneers at the beast that backs up before him, whispers of darkness dissipating into the sun. Stubbornness is my principal characteristic. 

You never stood a chance against me. 

It snarls, lunges. Legend draws back just enough to gather his remaining strength, then with infuriated abandon, rushes forward. 

The gray-scale world lights up in shades of violet and pink, petals of flame open to face the smiling sky. His magic screeches, his body burns. His head snaps back, blood on lips, trailing from his eyes, filling his nose. Four bucks beneath his hold. 

The blade finds him again in a last ditch effort of hopelessness, finds him and twists. 

Legend screams. Something snaps. Everything goes dark. 

[xoxoamyas]

Last Forever

rating : fluff, petname used on reader [ darling ]

wilbur x gn!reader [ use of you/yours, no use of y/n ]

☆ you meet wilbur after a lovejoy concert, it's not the last time you see one another. perhaps there's more than originally thought to be. <3

request [ ☆ ]

masterlist [ ☆ ]

⋆˙⟡

You didn't believe in “love at first sight”.

You liked to consider yourself an actually pretty average person. Having a decent job as a security guard for a theatre that had frequent shows and a good amount of hours.

You stood to the side, having been assigned around the barrier since you got in some odd hours ago, slightly leaning back against the stage in a spot that didn’t obstruct anybody's viewpoint. Watching as the process for the next band, a band named Lovejoy, made their way towards the stage.

They were meant to be the last band for the venue tonight. An up and coming band one of your friends had briefly ranted to you about, but not a band you truly listened to since indie nor indie rock was your vibe.

You had to move from your spot a couple times when a couple of people would try to shove the people already at the barrier, needing to break up a couple spats before they could evolve into something worse. On your second round of going back to your spot, you made the mistake of looking at the lead singer.

It was like your breath had been stolen for the first time. Watching the way he moved with a slight sway, his hands leaving the guitar he was playing to wrap around the mic and the stand itself.

You snap yourself out of it quicker than it started, needing to focus on your job. But now that you’ve fully noticed him, you can’t tune out his voice or the way his band seems to actually play together. It was nice.

You don’t notice that you’ve caught his eye in return.

It isn’t until later, after your manager asks you to stay behind and help double check that everything was in place and safe with a promise of overtime pay, that you actually get to talk to him. He had stayed behind, his band still there somewhere backstage. You were triple checking the barriers one last time when you heard someone clear their throat behind you, hand instantly flying to your baton that was attached to your belt when you turned around. Only to end up relaxing and giving an apologetic smile when you notice it was the lead singer from the last band.

“You should be careful. Not all security will look first.” It’s a light warning, one that he seems to get slightly nervous over as his hand moves to rub at the back of his neck.

“Guess I got lucky then, huh?” He seems slightly sheepish, moving to hold his hands in front of himself as he looks towards you. The look he was giving wasn’t one you could distinguish from, though, almost reminding you of someone who was in awe of something or someone. “What’s your name? I don’t think we were introduced when the band and I first got in.”

“No, we weren’t.” You huff out a light laugh before giving him your name, offering your hand to shake in greeting. The man takes your hand with ease, firmly shaking your hand as a smile pulls at his lips.

“I’m Wilbur, or Will, depending on what you’ve heard. But you can call me what you’d like.” You raise a brow, suddenly curious as to how many names the man is known by. Decidedly, you bite your tongue and let the question remain unanswered.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Will. You and your band were lovely tonight. The girls were fighting over barrier for you.” You partially joke, lightly hitting the back of your knuckle against the barrier before crossing your arms over your chest. “What are you still doing here? Your show is over. Surely you’re ready to pass out for the night.” There’s just barely a tint of concern to your voice. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen bands after their concerts. Most went off on adrenaline, but you’ve seen the type where they instantly find a place backstage to momentarily crash.

Wilbur gives a partial smile as you speak, mostly watching as your lips move when you speak. “I saw you, and I was curious. I couldn't help myself.” He slightly chuckles, pressing his hands into his pockets this time. “Say, are you busy tonight or tomorrow? I'd love to take you out to eat.”

You can't help but give a sound of confusion. Why would he have wanted to take you out to eat at all? Surely, he wanted something out of it since not every lead singer would approach a random person to take them out.

“I'm not sure, I have a busy day tomorrow, and my bed at home yearns for my return.” You try to turn him down lightly, not missing the slight tug of a frown on his face before he gives another smile.

“That's fine. Can we exchange numbers then?” He's getting nervous, unlike when he initially approached. It makes you stall for a moment before you hum and offer a nod.

“Sure, that's more doable.” Your tone is calm, and to Wilbur, it's almost soft.

It takes a moment, but you exchange phones and effectively numbers. Chatting for just a bit longer before Wilbur dismisses himself first.

That night, when you're laying in bed, is the first time you both exchange conversation through text. It isn't the last by any means.

Conversation came easy between you two whenever it occurred. Whether it was in between his concerts or you being sleep deprived at three in the morning, it wasn't ever awful.

It takes a long time for you two when you see each other next. Wilbur, having gone on his second tour around your area, and coincidentally, the theatre you worked at again. It fell on a day that you didn't work, but that didn't mean you didn't get backstage access.

It was a similar tour to the last one you had been working on, songs from the same albums but ones they hadn't played last time. It was like they had an allure to them this time, something that just made you want to dance with someone. It could have just been the fact that you had grown more than fond over Wilbur’s voice over the hour after hour of phone calls that piled up in your logs after having met him.

When the concert ends, he takes his time heading backstage with his band. Wilbur is the one to spot you first, quick to run over, and wrap his arms around you in a welcoming embrace. You were quick to reciprocate with a wide grin, happy to finally see him in person after so long.

“I didn’t think you would be here today.” His tone is quiet, one of his hands moving to cup your cheek before moving to the nape of your neck. It wasn’t a hold you had expected from Wilbur of all people, yet it wasn’t unwelcome. In fact, it just made a strange bout of butterflies rise up in your stomach without warning.

“I wanted to surprise you,” You hum out with little hesitation, just enjoying the fact that you get to see him in person again as friends. Ignoring the slight chill that ran through you at that last part, it was all but perfect. “This time, my night is free if you’d like dinner together after your show?”

“Assuming you’re paying, of course.” It’s a joke he gives as his hands leave you, the warmth going with him yet some remaining behind enough. Comfortably, you pressed your hands into your pockets with a softer smile.

“Nah, but we can split the check unless you’re feeling like a gentleman tonight.” You joke right back, bumping the side of your hip against his as you move to walk past him. He’s quick to follow after you, looping one of his arms in your own as you walk together now.

“You should get ready for that dent in your bank account, darling.” You huff out a laugh, the cheeky grin on his face displaying that he was at least partially playing around.

“The only dent that'll happen tonight is the one to your ego when you end up paying for it.” it makes your chest warm, being able to talk and joke with Wilbur in any manner, especially in person.

“Is it a date?” He asks, and there's an underlying tone of genuine curiosity. Taking it at surface value, though, it sounded mostly playful.

“Sure, Will. It’s a date. So long as you pay.”

“I'll take what I can get.”

It was the first of many to come.

[bloodmoonmuses]

the weatherman's weathered heart | mark lee

genre: weatherman! mark lee x reader, enemies to lovers, slowburn

[series masterlist] [next chapter]

chapter one: coffee hit and run

This is the third time you’ve told yourself you’d stop drinking coffee, yet here you are again- preparing to do the literal opposite. Autumn has wrapped her fingers around summer’s waist, nippy morning air whistling through the crack of your bedroom window. Your cat, Luna, is napping on an armchair, making you jealous of her furnace-like warmth. You shrug on a denim jacket, a sturdy one passed down from your dad, then make your way down the block. Marnie’s, the ever beloved independent coffee shop in your hometown, is a seven minute walk from your house. 

The conveniency of such is where you place blame for your lack of a backbone. It’s also on your way to work, Jagerman Printing Co., making the practice of scooping up your double americano (with a hefty splash of half and half) a staple in your morning routine. 

A bell rings upon your entry and you shuffle into the short line. There’s three people in front of you: At the front of the line stands the town’s school bus driver. He gets a London fog, requesting half the amount of lavender syrup. Next is an artist type, struggling to hold a thick stack of photos in his hands as he orders his iced macchiato. You’ve seen him in your shop before, attempting to flirt with your coworker, Hongjoong, so he could get a discount on his prints. Finally, just in front of you, is a man in a suit. His hair is aggressively and artificially blonde, navy blue ensemble making it practically glimmer. He’s quite spiffy. Maybe he works at the bank, you think to yourself. 

The alleged banker gets an iced americano. Triple. With an extra shot of espresso. The cashier, Marnie’s eldest daughter named Minnie, jokes that he must be really tired. The blonde man scoffs, but in agreement says, “You have no idea.” He tips generously, 4 dollars and some change, then side steps to wait for his drink. 

Now it’s time to receive your poison. When she recognizes your face, Minnie says, “Your usual?” 

To which you say, “Yes, please.” You tip as well, walking over to the side counter to wait. You pull out your phone, opening it to see that Hongjoong has texted you.

HJ (derogatory): This newspaper intern is clueless. Typo on the order for this week’s batch. Need more prints.

You: omw soon. Chat her up, can’t afford any negative reviews. 

HJ (derogatory): No promises.

You rock back and forth on your feet, thinking about how many more newspapers the girl could possibly need. The most compelling news story you had read in the last year was about the town’s duck pond. This wasn’t exactly the New York Times. The error probably meant you’d be going into work a bit earlier tomorrow. Regardless, you liked your mundane job. Going into printing technology wasn’t the most glamourous, but where else does an affinity to paper and a concerning level of attention to detail lead you? 

The menial admin work, e-mails and scheduling brought you comfort. You liked managing your little team. Some projects were more fun than others: birthday invitations, wedding save-the-dates, highschool yearbooks… Disdain only arose in you when people didn’t know how to do their job. Like this intern. 

For some reason, the interns at the newspaper office across town were in and out like goldfish at a pet store. It felt like every other month you were having to explain to some poor kid how to properly put in a printing request for the coming week. Maybe you should do admin work over there. They’d probably think you were a genius. Or a magician. 

You’re snapped out of your internal dialogue by the feeling of being shoulder checked. Hard. A few seconds pass, during which you register the sensation of liquid soaking through your shirt. The scent of espresso enters your nostrils and you scoff at the situation. Did someone just… spill their coffee on you? 

You whip your head around, words caught in your throat, in an attempt to see who just ruined your morning. In a blur, you recognize the offender to be the blonde man who was in front of you in line. He’s running out of the door, half empty cup sloshing around in his frantic hand, while screaming into his phone. 

“What?! I didn’t approve that poor excuse of a fucking article!” he says. “…Already in print? I said no, that journalist, she-” 

“Hey!” You yell after him, looking at your chest in shock. “I think you spilled something!” 

The bell above the door rings, signaling the alleged banker’s exit. The man doesn’t even look back, too engrossed in his argument to care.

When the adrenaline begins to fade out, you make eye contact with Minnie, who you assume saw the entire exchange from her spot behind the counter. She places your double americano on the counter, the side of the cup with your name sprawled on it facing outward. You walk up to the counter and take the warm drink. 

While handing you some napkins, Minnie says, “At least his was an iced drink.” You look down at your cream colored top and the dark splotch that now adorns it. Fuck.

—

When you arrive at the printing shop, Hongjoong is beet red. The guy holds so much anger in that little body of his. He can be surprisingly intimidating, when the situation permits such.

“You do realize there’s a big difference between one hundred and one thousand, right?” Hongjoong says, voice laced with annoyance. 

The mousy intern shakes. “Yeah, but– I just figured, y’know… since this is a weekly order, you might’ve realized it was a typo on your own.”

Honjoong chortles. “Oh, so it’s my fault? Newspapers are an antiquated form of media to begin with, and I’m not really sure why we continue to deal with this bullsh-”

You interject, shooting the intern an apologetic smile. “Take it easy, big man. You’re not scaring anyone in that vest,” you say. The intern stifles a scoff. “We’ll just print the rest tomorrow. No biggie.”

“Um, ‘yes biggie’. I don’t wanna work overtime. Gotta finalize the design for those marathon flyers too,” Hongjoong retorts.

He gives you the up-down, taking note of your frazzled demeanor and adds, “What’s with the stain on your shirt?”

“I’ll do it then,” you sigh. “I’ve got nothing better to do. And the stain? Don’t wanna talk about it.” 

Hongjoong humphs. 

Sliding behind the front counter, you place your satchel and americano down at your desk. Then, you head to the back, grabbing the boxes of newspapers you do have printed. They’re still warm from the press, the scent of the ink calming you down- if only slightly. 

“Here’s a hundred copies. I’ll have the others by nine tomorrow morning. Just… be more careful next time,” you tell the intern.

“Got someone to help you carry these?” asks Hongjoong. The intern shakes her head. “I’ll carry them out. Which one’s your car?” The girl points and he promptly gathers the boxes. 

“Hey, by the way,” you say to the girl, “do you know why they need an extra three hundred? The order is usually seven hundred copies a week.”

“Something about an interview with a weatherman. The moms here really like him-”

The door to the shop opens again and you think it’s Hongjoong, but when you turn, it’s the man from the coffee shop. He’s still on the phone. Great. The offender of your coffee hit-and-run is here to add insult to injury. What are the odds of that?

“Speak of the devil…” the intern says under her breath. 

“I’m not exactly sure how the article got approved for print in the first place,” the man whisper-shouts into his phone. “I was told it was going to focus on my passion for meteorology or my down to earth persona. Not digging into my personal life. Whatever the intent, I want it scrapped. Entirely.”

Hongjoong now re-enters the shop, glancing at the suit-clad man, recognition flickering on his face. “Wow, we’ve got a small-town celebrity here in Jagerman’s? To what do we owe the honor?”

Finally, after hanging up the phone, the previously alleged banker says, “I’m here about the newspaper.”

“Just packed up the first batch of copies,” says Hongjoong. “Since when did you work for the newspaper?”

“I don’t work for the newspaper, I’m Mark… Mark Lee?” He says. Then, he looks at you expectantly.

Hongjoong simply laughs. 

“Is that name supposed to mean something to me?” You ask, agitation rising in your chest.

“Channel 127 News? Beloved weatherman and meteorologist?” Mark continues. 

Hongjoong laughs again. “A real big shot,” he says.

You shake your head. “Not ringing a bell.” 

At this, the bank- weather…man scoffs incredulously. “Well if you crack open one of those newspapers, you’ll see my face all over it.”

“Ah. Popular with the moms. Well, as I told this young lady here,” you gesture to the intern, “we’ll have the rest of the copies tomorrow. There was a misunderstanding with the printing order.”

“That’s what I’m here about. I don’t want them printed.” Mark crosses his arms.

“Well, they already are,” you huff. You had cut the intern some slack, but this guy? He’s a grown man pouting over some paper. And he spilled coffee on you. Honestly, you were more upset about the latter- and the fact that Mark seemingly has no recollection of this. Are you that invisible? Forgettable? 

Nevertheless, the weatherman persists. “Then I don’t want them distributed,” he says.

You cross your arms, mirroring Mark. “You have no authority over that decision.”

Mark exhales dramatically, pinching his nose bridge in frustration. “Are you always this rude to your customers?”

“Do you always spill coffee on unassuming printing technicians?” At this, Mark pauses, finally placing your face. As recognition floods his features you add, “Four shots of watered down espresso on my new shirt. It’s a shame really.” Mark’s face flushes.

“What could possibly be in this article that would make you come all the way here? The news station is on the other side of town,” you inquire.

Mark stammers. “It’s nothing-”

“An affair? Tax fraud? Oh my god, I’m the first to hear about Weatherman-Gate,” says Hongjoong.

You chuckle. “‘Small-Town Weatherman Commits Tax Fraud”. What a headline. I’d actually read that.”

“I didn’t commit tax fraud. I just… didn’t approve of the article. So that’s illegal, right?”

The intern tuts. “You undergoing the interview was the approval. No take backs.”

“‘No take backs’? Are you a toddler?” asks Mark.

“I’m 21,” she responds, chipper as ever.

“So, you are a toddler,” you and Hongjoong say in unison. 

“Jinx!” exclaims Hongjoong. “Buy me a coke after my shift?” You wave off his question, returning to the issue at hand.

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t my problem,” you say.

“Look, I’m sorry I spilled coffee on you, I am, but this is my livelihood. I’d really appreciate it if-”

“You’re gonna have to go to the newspaper office,” you contend. “Like I said, this isn’t my problem.” 

Mark goes quiet. As you turn to walk back to your desk, he whispers out a plea. The quiver in his voice makes you stop in your tracks.

“Please.” You spin back around to see that his eyes are now glassy. For a moment, you think he’s about to cry. 

You look over to Hongjoong. He’s not having any of it. Knowing him, he probably thinks this Mark guy is full of shit. However, you (unfortunately) have empathy. Whatever’s in this article, he doesn’t want it to come out. You sigh. The admin at the newspaper isn't gonna like this one bit.

“We only have a portion of them printed,” you confess. “If you can get the editor to change the article by tonight-”

Mark erupts into a gleeful cheer, effectively cutting you off. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He engulfs you into an awkward embrace, jumping up and down like a little girl. 

Hongjoong snaps a picture. “A lot of Facebook moms are gonna be jealous of you,” he says.

While in Mark’s hold, you remember the stain on your shirt. “One more thing.”

Mark immediately concedes, finally freeing you from his death grip. “Yes. Anything. I’ll do anything,” he says.

“You owe me a new shirt.”

a/n: feedback is always appreciated! thx for reading! <3

[blackdollette]

BROOKLYN BABY. - euronymous

✩♬.ᐟ now playing: brooklyn baby. - ultraviolence

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: my boyfriend's in a band...

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @mayathepsychic1999 @josibunn @si1nful-symph0ny @vanlisbon @livingdead-reilly @oliviah-25 @lankysimp @auggiethecreator @livingdead-materialgirl @monkeyfart

female!reader x r!euronymous

word count: 1.0k

contents: mentions of sex, some fluff, cheating, emotional euro

they all said that you were too young to love him. wherever you went with him, you could feel the stares of judgment following your every step. your friends, family, and even his bandmates couldn’t wrap their heads around the fact that you were with the lord of darkness himself. but he made you feel free. like a raven and a dove. opposites truly did attract.

you often wondered about how odd it was when you stumbled across him. you were a cool, careless teenager with a love for metal that you couldn’t explain. then you saw him, his dark long hair, that icy gaze, and the way his fingers danced across those electric frets. you could churn out and endless amount of novels just on how effortlessly he caught your eye that night.

then it was official. your heavy metal, goth boyfriend was in a band. you felt superior knowing that you were dating the eye candy that shredded on stage. and when you were alone, he’d play his guitar quietly as you sang to him. behind closed doors, you would decorate his hair with bows, roses, and even feathers, getting him all dolled up for you as slow music played in the background. you listened to all the records he owned, whether they were his or not, and teased him whenever you came across something that wasn’t death metal.

you got down to all sorts of music, but smooth jazz had put a chokehold around him. he would go from rocking out to metal, to fucking you senseless as you played your jazz collection for him, his cock pounding into you as he buried his head into your chest, holding you tenderly. his rough exterior melted away instantly as he felt your warm breath running down his neck, your sweet whimpers sounding like music to his ears as he filled you up so, so well.

the criticism never went away. you were young and ignorant, not knowing the consequence that could come with associating with him. you knew how dumb you were, opening your heart to such a dangerous man without a second thought. but you knew him in a way that no one else could understand. they could paint you and him in a bad light all they wanted, but you didn’t give a damn. 

he was the thing that you had been missing your whole life. you were like fire and water, like the wind and the sea. he burned up, and you cooled him down, helping him enjoy the little things in life, even though he was too blind to see. though your relationship was frowned upon, you knew it was perfect. you’re opposites simply allowed you to understand each other on a tangible level.

but times had changed, and soon enough your boyfriend became the hottest thing in town. the crowd in his concerts had doubled, then tripled in size, and he began drawing in a new audience. girls who didn’t actually care about music, or the art that went into it. they wanted to be as cool as he was and roll around in his sheets for a little. but he loved the attention. he basked in all the glory, and even gave into the groupies every once in a while. you had confronted him many times, but he never liked the way you said it. you had brought him up to where he was today, and if he didn’t appreciate it, he could just forget it.

the word spread across town like wildfire. “did you hear, my boyfriend’s in that band.” you heard it around countless times from hundreds of girls a day. you still showed up at his concerts, but you didn’t know why the hell you bothered. you always caught a glimpse of him after a show, his hand up a different girl’s skirt every day. you fucking hated it.

he couldn’t deny that he was enjoying the publicity, but he was unable to shake the memory of you from his mind. with he new girl he brought to his place and threw out just as quickly, he felt a new part of his heart starting to ache. you had loved him when he was nothing, and he discarded you as soon as he turned into somebody. he had turned into the exact thing that he swore against, and he hated himself for it.

he saw you in the crowd one night, hands shoved in your pockets as you focused on everything but him. he’d made plans for after the show, but he spotted you walked alone and he had to take his take. he ran up behind you, sheepishly tapping you on the shoulder. you turned around, meeting his gaze with your own, your expression instantly hardening. he backed down a little, looking at the ground and fidgetting with the zipper of his dark leather jacket.

you scowled as he met your eyes. he tries to smile, but it comes out as a grimace. “l-long time no see. how’ve you been?” you could tell that he was struggling to make conversation, so you softened your face a little. “guess you’re famous and all that.” you flick the dark red guitar pick necklace that hung from his neck. the one that you had given him all those months ago. his cheeks flush with embarrassment as he clears his throat. “yeah…” he looks down at the necklace. “i never do a show without it. brings me good luck or something.” 

you smile a little, rolling your eyes. “so that’s what’s helping you bring all these girls in, huh?” your tone was laced with bitterness, and his face fell once more. he took a deep shaky breath, trying to find his words. “about that, i owe you an apology. i-i…” he swallows hard. “it was real shitty of me to leave you like that. i think about it every day and… i’ve missed you.” you smirk a little, giving him a light slap on his chest. “so, the lord of darkness isn’t so cool now?” he shyly brushs his hair out of his face, feeling his heart throb. “not as cool as you, baby.”

with that, he scooped you into his arms and kissed you deeply, his heart melting as it filled with the sensation that it had missed so dearly. a small crowd had gathered around you, murmuring, but you didn’t care. he was all yours once again.

author's note: it wont let me update the stupid masterlist yall :))

[enmstorytime]

The Amusement Park: Chapter 2

My triple-layer underwear bunched under my shorts as we walked through the front gates of the amusement park. While the sensation of bunched up cotton under my glutes wasn't ideal, it was a reminder of what was in store for the rest of the day. On the drive down to the park, I had avoided looking at my husband, afraid that in my already elevated horny state, I would wish his clothes away, and he'd turn the car around and drive us home completely naked. A hot idea that did keep me rock hard and a little leaky in my crotch area for the whole drive. But I could live out that particular fantasy some other time by just asking my husband to chauffer me somewhere completely naked. Today, my birthday was about experiencing things (specifically: seeing men's naked bodies) I hadn't before.

I didn't realize how hard it would be to resist imagining so many men naked. We had made it through the parking lot and through security, and despite having a thing for young, hot dads and men in uniform, I'd managed to avoid looking at most men. When I did catch myself peeking at any man, I looked away and practiced my edging skills, imagining the least sexy things I could, taking deep breaths, and pinching my thighs through my shorts pockets.

But now we were in the park, my husband and I hand in hand.

"I didn't know if you'd make it this far," my husband said. "There was a security guard back there who could have been Chris Evans's stunt double."

"I wasn't looking," I said, my reactive cock starting to stiffen again. I pinched my thigh to try to cool down again after picturing America's ass freed from its CGI super suit. "And you have to shut up."

"I will," my husband said. "But I'd be a terrible husband if I didn't point out that ginger dilf straight ahead."

My kryptonite.

I looked up from the cobblestone path and saw him, the millennial red-headed father of two, pushing a two-seater stroller. He wore shorts, with a snake tattoo climbing from his calf up under the hem of his five inch shorts. I couldn't stop the thought:

I'd love to see that whole tattoo.

One second he was walking, his tennis shoes on the cobblestones, his hands on the stroller, his manbun bouncing with each step, his body hidden under a muscle shirt and shorts. The next second every stitch of clothing on his body was gone, and his whole tattoo (and body) was on display.

In my experience, most men realized they were magically denuded faster than I wanted them to. For one glorious second, I soaked in his matted armpit hair under his extended, rippling arms, his hot, daddy cock flopping into freedom, but before I could really enjoy the tug of gravity pulling on his exposed dick, he had yelped, let go of the stroller, and clamped his hands over his nether regions.

"Kevin," his wife hissed. "Where the hell are your clothes."

Between his yelp and his wife's fury, every eye in the crowded entry of the park was fixed on Kevin, whose body was turning as red as the ginger hair that dusted his beautiful body.

"I don't fucking know!" Kevin said, still clinging desperately to his penis, and turning his back to hide his ass against the back of the stroller.

We could hear their interchange because the crowd looking on had fallen silent, everyone watching Kevin and his wife, but the silence was broken with a wolf-whistle from my husband. A few people joined in. A few more people cheered. But several were scandalized. I saw an older Karen woman scurry off to grab the shoulder of a security guard.

"We have to move," my husband said, grabbing my bare shoulder.

Unlike Kevin, I had not realized that any of my clothing had disappeared. But true to the birthday magic, I'd spent the past twelve years learning, there was a cost. And it was a heftier cost than I had expected. Nothing truly scandalous, but my overshirt, shirt, and undershirt had each dissolved.

As badly as I wanted to hang around to watch security interact with the very handsome, incredibly naked Kevin, I didn't want to be caught guilty by association. I let my mind play out a fantasy of Kevin being hauled out the gates of the park, arms handcuffed behind his back, cock swinging free, while his wife and children looked on. My own cock pressed against my three layers of underwear, dripping precum.

My husband pulled me away from the scene. The last thing we heard was the security guard shouting, "What is the meaning of this, sir? This is a family park."

"You're topless," my husband said as we rounded a corner and left the scene entirely. "How did that happen?"

"I don't know," I said, the anxiety calming down my cock once again, although I wasn't positive how much more stiffening and relaxing my penis could handle in one day. "I thought we had planned well enough for this, but that was three articles for the cost of one man. That's never happened before."

"You've never worn layers before on your birthday," my husband said. "Maybe the magic doesn't like being cheated."

"Well shit," I said, crossing my arms over my chest, not loving having my nipples out in such a crowded space. "I don't think I can make it a whole day if the magic is charging such high costs."

"We spent over a hundred dollars a person to be here," my husband said. "We haven't even ridden one ride. Could you hold in your perverted thoughts for one ride?"

We had spent so much money to be here, and while I didn't love the risk, I had made it all the way to the park, and I'd only seen one man naked, and that man I hadn't even seen for very long. I wanted more.

"Okay," I said. "Either, the magic is ignoring layers or it's taking three for the price of one. If it's the first, the magic has always given me a shirt, pants, underwear, and footwear. That still gives me two more chances before we have to leave, or I risk arrest. If it's the second, and everything costs three, I've got two shoes, two socks, pants, and three pairs of underwear."

"So, regardless, we've got two more hot men to strip," my husband said with a grin. "We'll use the second man as a distraction to get you out of the park."

I couldn't argue with the logic. Either I'd be sneaking out in three layers of underwear, or I'd sneak out in a jockstrap. Neither was ideal, but as I remembered the beautiful arc of the red-headed dilf's penis flopping into freedom, I decided it was time to move deeper into the park.