#there is zero ground for that claim

[nururu]

genuinely if you're one of those ppl who's like "I wish Zoro smiled and laughed post timeskip :(" block me bc you're not watching the show and y'all are dumb asf for continuing to say this when it's 10000% completely a lie. you want him to be emo and angsty so fucking bad it's embarrassing. like 90% of the ppl who watch one piece are so used to mid writing and mid anime that depends on tropes and your brains are mush to the point you literally cannot comprehend anything if it's not blended up and made into easily digestible baby food for you.

[party-gilmore]

there was literally… ZERO reason… for her to bring up Jews in that article… at all…

this was a devastating story about a military man fatally self-immolating in protest of america supporting the ongoing message and should have REMAINED focused on him and message, there was… literally no fucking reason for that article to derail and complain about “israel supporters” being “afraid of antisemitism”

…like what the actual fuck.

“You simply cannot fit more America into a single incident than a man dying a horrifying death in protest of war crimes while a first responder screams at cops to stop pointing their guns at him and go get fire extinguishers. If you were to pick a single moment in history to sum up the essence and expression of the US empire, that would be it.”

Caitlin Johnstone, The Most American Thing That Has Ever Happened

[moondirti]

jigsaws

— surgeon! simon riley x resident! reader

angst. anxiety. panic attacks. neurosurgical procedures. medical setting. mean simon. d/s undertones. 3.3k wc

There's a reason no one likes working with him.

Tough. Censorious, or hard to please – whispered wearily by nurses with permanent distaste etched into their crow's feet. He scathes anyone not accustomed to his abrasive exterior; a talus pile of whetted rocks, poised to flay you open should you take the plunge so confidently. Rubs your skin raw, brutally worms his way into your flesh, infamously bars rescue, allowing only saltwater to cradle your open wounds in the aftermath. Nothing about his criticism is comforting, not in the way an attending's support should be.

It sounds inflated. Excessive. Your intern year, you let the horror stories float you by as though they were nothing more than dust motes in an old room. To be expected, no? Hospital's are brutal for even the briefest of visitors, let alone a man who's worked here twenty years. In hindsight, you see that it's a type of discredit only the very fortunate can claim; inaugural residents and medical directors, those who do not have to deal with the virulent terror himself. You know better, now. Really.

Still, it feels as though you're being punished.

The air in the operating room is heavy. Clotted by a thick sense of unease. It's never like this, usually. Though the smell of burnt bone, blood, and remnant antiseptic is always a force to be reckoned with, you've gotten very good at shunning your nose for favour of your other senses. To tune into the vital monitor's beep, or the distinctions between this lump of amorphous tissue versus that lump of amorphous tissue. Reinterpreting them based on the plans you revised while scrubbing up, focused fingers around delicate tools prodding. Cutting.

Reliable perception is fine work. You've honed your personal ability the best you could.

The first lesson Dr. Riley teaches you, and rather gratuitously at that, is it takes just one person to throw it off kilter.

There's an impossible itch right where your mask hooks over your ears, latched nastily onto your scalp. Nothing you can address physically (sterility before comfort), though you're aware that its source isn't so easy as to scratch away. Figurative, then. An unwavering neg, pointed by a pair of cold eyes in your periphery. You're tempted to look up, throw off his stare with one of your own, but you think he wants you distracted.

So, you shift your weight and centre the electrocautery to another portion of abnormal growth. It comes apart like stale bread.

You haven't felt this micromanaged since medical school, when professors would loom over your shoulder and mark the clumsy way you sutured incisions shut. But where your grade had been on the line then, it's a person's life now. You seem to be the only one privy to that fact, or perhaps the one surgeon who cares.

Because Dr. Riley watches you over his wire-rimmed specs, grunting ambiguously under his breath like you can't hear him standing just a foot away. Maddening in that it's quiet, idle. To question it would be putting the burden of critique on yourself. To let it continue–

Sweat pools beneath your collar. The spotlights don't help, either, heat lamps on your roasting nerves, highlighting the wet sheen of your temple to whoever cares enough to notice (just him). Focus feels a vain pursuit, attention zeroing in and out of control. You're caught in the violent dance, swept away, water beneath your feet, between the operation and everything else. Everything else, like the ground that suddenly pushes too hard beneath you. The walls, stretching further and further away. There'd be nothing to catch you should you fall – a possibility that gains traction by the second, your vision spotting with exhaustion.

You almost lose it before a flash of green reels you back in.

It's instinctual. Entrenched response to a colour that only ever means one thing. Looking up at the neuronavigation, you watch as the silhouette of your apparatus veers dangerously close to the patient's motor cortex, highlighted in nausea-inducing neon for maximum visibility. Dr. Riley's presence darkens the space next to the screen, a point of singularity that consumes anything within its event horizon. Though it's the last thing you want to do, you coast a hesitant look over to him.

A surgical gown is meant to be ill-fitting. You find he fills the fabric in a manner antithetical to that design, shoulders stretching it tight across his neck, tree-trunk arms drawing tense pleats around his joints. Even his cap, wrapped smoothly around his forehead, ripples with every shift of his brow. Doubled-up gloves warped to the contours of his hands, thick fingers and knuckles. You watch the way they twitch, distorting the latex like a swift fish underwater, and swallow the stone lodged in your throat.

"I can't read your mind, Doctor." Your attending snaps when you take too long to elaborate. His voice is rough, a sucking chest wound in the sterile air of the OR – too raw, natural in a way these halls don't see. You squirm uncomfortably in the force majeure. "What's the hold up?"

"Um-" You pull away from the glioblastoma, your patient's head remaining tightly in place by a positioning frame. "I'm concerned about resecting this part. It's all wound up in healthy tissue, right up against the motor cortex. A wrong move could cause permanent damage."

Dr. Riley doesn't move. Instead, his blank stare flicks down to the surgical site, digesting the truth for himself. The anesthesiologist beside you holds her breath. You wish you had it in you to do the same, but your lungs already wheeze for oxygen as it is.

Somewhere, dim and timid in the recesses of your mind, it occurs to you that this isn't normal. No attending should actively foster an environment where help is punished, especially not while being paid a hefty salary to do exactly that. A dour attitude is one thing – everyone has their days – but you know nurses with greater burdens that boast smiles and little stickers on their ID badges, running on three hours sleep while dealing with bedpans and lewd comments all day. Your search for guidance, then, is certainly not the worst thing in the world.

(No matter how stern the look he gives you is.)

"You need to make a decision. Hesitation in the OR can be just as fatal."

Great load of good that does.

But it was to be expected. Pre-op, you sat down with him to discuss the acceptable margins, and got as much out of that conversation as you did this one. Review the imaging. You've been given the functional mapping for a reason. Never mind that it was standard procedure to check-in regardless; he handles you like you're a child playing dress-up, waving around tools too complex for your grubby hands to operate. Asking him anything is validating what he believes, like kindling wood into a roaring fire. Your mouth smacks to the taste of ash.

The discoloured mass growing off your patient's brain seems to glare back at you. Ugly, yellow, and stained in a coating of blood, severed from its sisters that now lay dead on an adjacent table. It kills you to let it stick, to progress to hemostasis with an increased risk of recurrence. Should this individual ever come in again, their pain would be on your hands – a real possibility you cannot reckon with, for all you know how devastating a toll it would have. The last time it happened, you promised yourself you would never allow it again.

(A mistake that even the greenest of medical students know not to make. Promises are null in this field. They'll blow out like bad tattoos, ink smudged under skin. Patients die, families grieve, doctor's bear the guilt – to fool anyone about it would be doing a greater disservice. Conciliation is not your job. It is not a duty you owe.

Not even to yourself.)

"I… I think we should stop here to avoid any potential issues." You resolve, lips pursed painfully tight. Your hands shake, bullet of emotion ricocheting within your ribs. Your nerves are shot, you tell yourself. It'll take time to compose them, time you don't have. Better to shelf this, then. You're doing the right thing by wrapping it neatly for another day, if that day should ever come.

Dr. Riley huffs.

Or, not.

"CUSA," He clips to the scrub nurse, who shakes as they place the tool into his impatient hand. It's all you can do to watch in horror as your attending commandeers your case, addressing the portion of concern with offensive expertise. The activity on the neuronavigation doesn't so much as blink as he emulsifies the target tissue, tumored cells dissociating from the surrounding matter like butter.

And it isn't a learning opportunity – hardly anything at all when he washes the area in saline solution, manoeuvre over as quickly as it started. Instead, your attention sticks to the casual disrespect he felt was necessary. Snubbing your insight like it was dirt beneath his shoes, too competent to even address your error with words. Humiliation rips like a wave up your neck, washing your ears and cheeks in balmy warmth. Underneath it all, settled like wet sand on the shore, you find that it is not your bruised ego that's left, but rather a wilder, darker thing.

Shame at having failed him.

(How obnoxiously redundant.)

"Think you can manage the duraplasty, Doctor?" Derision distorts his expression into something crueller than his usual indifference. You hate to think it suits him.

"Yes."

It's only an hour later that you're granted the chance to break down.

After wound closure, scrubbing out and postoperative discussions with the patient's family, you think you'd have moved on. Things like this happen – it's what necessitates post-graduate training in the first place – and you're certainly not irredeemable for having faltered on the line. At least, that's what the logic delineates. It mutters its assurances like dogma in your head, insisting that because it is rational, it is right. Any other day, you would be inclined to listen to it.

But that's the thing about being strung out beyond measure. The only sentiment with teeth, sharp and stubborn, is anguish. Indignity. Self-turned anger. You replay the scene like something new will come of it, a silver lining or a divot to pin the blame in anything but yourself. The scalp staples back into place, the dressings wrapped tight. The hibiclens soap lathers up to your elbows, your skin itchy as it dries. The family is thankful, little tears dotting their eyes. The storm passes, waters rippling into quiet calm. And still–

In the wake of it all, you're irrevocably changed. Raw.

There's a little closet for occasions like these. You're relieved to find it empty, void of anything but rusted buckets and mildewed mops. It's a welcome crowd, certainly, borderline claustrophobic compared to the wide floors of the OR, and you sink to the floors within the tight, comforting embrace. Immediately, hot tears spring to your eyes, rabbit heart racing along hollowed ribs. Emotion rushes your throat, tumultuous and messy, piling half-formed grievances on top of one another until they form an intricate, prodigious beast.

Impossible to tackle, worse to tame.

Could you have done anything different?

Is there a reason why he hates you?

Are you cut out for this?

Is this worth never getting a good night's rest?

Do you deserve any of the opportunities you've been given?

Would they be better off in the hands of someone more competent?

No answer claims any. Unresolved, they wriggle underneath your flesh, feeding on the muscle keeping you intact. Tunnelling through your marrow, soft matter fattening them up. You feel as though you're shifting to accommodate them, anatomy morphing into an ugly sack of dermis and maggots. True reflection of a degraded conceit.

The dark, at least, remains omnipresent. Clean against your skin, or purifying, in some odd way. If there is no witness to your misery, then perhaps you can pretend it doesn't exist. That it doesn't affect you as much as it does, or how you won't be thinking of it during every case to come–

A knock rattles you out of your reasoning.

"Hey." Kyle's voice is soft on the other side of the door.

You make your best effort to wipe the wetness from your cheeks, warbling a quiet come in to your chief resident. Fluorescent light intercedes on your little sanctum, spotlighting your crumpled frame. The pitying grimace that twists his face is enough indication that you did not do a good job at hiding your affliction. You must look pathetic.

"We missed you at lunch."

"Wasn't hungry." You sniff, taking his hand to pull yourself up.

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse than you could've prepared me for."

He snickers. It alleviates some of the weight off your chest, this. Conversation to remind yourself that there is more to the world than your angst.

(Only some.)

"It'll get easier, I promise. He's harsher on the juniors."

"I think that's not for you to say. Tell me, has there ever been a superior who didn't absolutely adore you?" Your voice sobers to a close resemblance of Laswell's. "Good work on the diagnosis, Dr. Garrick. I'll admit, I wouldn't have caught that myself."

The man in question lightly shoves your arm, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Okay, hush. I get it. Still–"

"You don't have to do this, you know." You smile until it gets too much to sustain, then turn to gather your white coat from behind the front desk. The note of positivity his companionship brings is fickle. Appreciated, but not enough to balm the sore blisters of Dr. Riley's rebuff. That'll take the weekend, likely, holed up in your room with nothing but a cuppa and old How I Met Your Mother reruns. "I'm fine, really. I'd rather just continue about my rounds and forget he exists."

But Kyle sighs. Sighs, and bites his cheek in that same way he does when he has to deliver bad news to intakes.

You blanch. "Don't–"

"He came looking for you in the mess hall. Something about the report." The unsteady composure you've built within yourself immediately dissipates, as though it were nothing more than an absorbable stitch. "You know better than to skip out on post-op briefs."

Your voice is weak when you speak again. Breathless. "I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you, darl. But he wants to see you in his office, now." Kyle's face is sympathetic. It doesn't do you much good. "I'll cover your rounds in the meantime."

"Thanks."

And despite your true gratitude, the words ring as empty.

"Sit."

Like a marionette suspended on string, you do as you're told.

Dr. Riley's office is barren of any personal adornment, cast in the same austere template initially given to him. There's a leather couch tucked prim under the window, throw pillow flat on one end. A wire file organiser sits atop his desk, papers fighting for space between the flimsy bookmarks. Pens in a cup, a stapler by his keyboard. All ordinary, inconclusive belongings, that which you sift through like a ravenous creature, slobbering for clues at the life your attending leads.

Ironically, the one thing that offers any inference is an empty photo frame, faced towards the rest of the room, away from him.

You don't like the uncomfortable feeling it inflicts.

"The family." He levels a bored look to you, that which hardens the longer you take to address his ambiguous question. In the harsh lights of the operating room, his eyes looked nearly black. Now, sunlight paints a clearer picture. Taupe and sepia, flecks of various browns brightened by the pale blue underline of his mask. "Doctor."

Floundering, you search for the clouded memory of your discussion with the patient's relatives. It ripples, faintly, between your revels in self-pity. If you needed any censure of your disordered priorities, that is surely enough.

(Funny how he continues to criticise you, even unintentionally.)

"Good. Hopeful. I told them you managed to resect the entire thing, and detailed the plan going forward." It's as though your hands are compelled to move by electric shock, charged full of destructive energy. You rub your face, twiddle your thumbs, scratch the armrests of your chair; trying any measure to defuse the bomb you feel ticking beneath your chest. "They give their thanks."

All the while, he remains steady before you.

A moment of tense silence clears. "I just submitted the operation report." He says, derailing the conversation to what you suspect has always been its purpose. "I mentioned your inability to close the surgery."

You damn near choke on your spit. He notices, of course, and raises a challenging brow.

"I- I'm sorry, but that isn't what... I was perfectly able to complete it." Your protest carries none of the strength you will it to. As is always the case around him, you're made to sound like a defiant student, instead. Pouting and stomping your foot, inflating your strict sense of justice to an occasion that does not call for it.

"Oh?" You know you're not crazy for thinking that way, either. He speaks in faux conciliatory tones, brows knitting together as his argument waters down to one he thinks you can digest. "Would you rather I have said you refused, then?"

You shake your head, staring down at your lap. You really, really don't want to be here. Is it worth it, then? To stand your ground when the worst that will come of his misstatement is an inquiry from above? The strength has long since left you. Now, it is a matter of bloodletting. Leeching the struggle before it festers into something greater, a malady you cannot control.

"No."

"Make up your mind, Doctor." He hums, grabbing a protein bar from his drawer before standing. He doesn't have to round his desk to tower over you, but he does. Heat radiates off him in waves, blushing your neck so that when you look up at him, owlish, your face flares with stockpiled fervor.

You wonder if it could be read as desire.

"You know best." Shutting down has never been so disencumbering. Acquiescence, upending an ivory flag with the knowledge that you don't have to bleed any longer.

His lashes flutter. When you blink, they seem closer than they were before.

"That's right." Dr. Riley practically fucking purrs, chest rumbling thoughtfully at your chosen response. A pressure settles between your legs, bloating desperately into that bundle of nerves that inhibits all reason. "So next time, if you have a problem with the way I do things, you'll address it to me directly instead of snivelling like a bloody prat. That way, maybe I'll explain it to you, too."

A nod is not enough.

"Yes, Dr. Riley."

He cocks his head, fiddling with the wrapping in his hands. His fingers are scarred, brutish, though they tear the foil with all the precision in the world. Your acceptance does not feel nearly as final, expectation thickening the space between you. The title startles to your tongue, then. Novel. Unsure. You haven't called anyone it since secondary. You do not know whether he'll take to it kindly at all.

"Yes, sir."

But his eyes crinkle at the corners, pleased, and it more than fills the hole he harrowed out from you earlier. Your reaction to the approval should be documented, given a name and listed somewhere on the DSM-5.

(Nothing about it feels healthy.)

"Good." He pushes off the edge of his desk, tapping a knuckle to your chin. Instinctively, you open your mouth. The protein bar fits between your teeth, pasty and dry, but his pulse vibrates near your lips and–

You bite down anyway.

(But oh, does it feel good.)

[masterlist]

[yanderenightmare]

Aemond Targaryen

♡ TW: arranged marriage, implied incest, HOTD in general

♡ fem reader

Aemond took Vhagar, and you took his eye for it. It became the day your family tore down the middle. Your mother, heir to the throne, retreated with all of you back to Dragonstone, where you’d been hiding for a longer time—once again leaving Kingslanding in the hands of its dying King and the surrounding Greens.

You think it’s all the same, really—you’d rather stay away from that place anyway. Of course, you regret having taken your uncle’s eye. It was, after all, not even your fight—nor was it very ladylike. But you can blame your mother for that. She never taught you temperance—or any manners at all, for that sake. Still, blinding one’s own family isn’t right. And yet, it’s a sin you learn to live with over the years spent removed from its victim.

On Dragonstone, you’re free—on dragonback, for the most part. You’d long left the matters of the court to your brothers. Jace was the one who’d be King after your mother, while Luke would be Lord of Driftmark, and you’d stay here—on Dragonstone. By yourself and to yourself. You’d still have to marry, of course, there’s no way around it—but like your mother, you’d get to choose for yourself. That much, you have no doubt.

If you could, you’d always stay on Dragonstone, isolated from anywhere else, but it seems, once again, Kingslanding calls for your return. The King has taken a turn for the worse, and with it, your mother has grown wary of her claim. And so, the heir to the throne and her family along with her were all to voyage home.

You sigh as you look at the approaching castle. It’s not how you remember it, but whether it’s uglier or smaller or something else entirely isn’t clear to you as you watch from the ship. When all this bickering and uncertainty would end, you couldn't know but hoped it would be soon so that you could return swiftly. In a way and in a thought you would never voice out loud, the King’s death would bring about a much-needed calm in your family. Your mother would take the throne as is her birthright, and all else would be put to rest.

Oddly, no one came to welcome you when you arrived. Even your red Targaryen banners had turned green in your absence, as if the groundskeepers had neglected their duties and let the weeds grow as they pleased. No doubt, it would be yet another troubling topic over dinner.

But not one you’d bother yourself with. You make your way to refamiliarize yourself with the grounds instead—walking down a hundred turning memory lanes in the castle as if trying to find the center of a maze. You remember why you left this place—barren halls, all filled with nothing but the whispers of your hair color not being silver. Such things didn’t reach across the waters—they couldn’t touch you back on Dragonstone. Being back doesn’t feel much like a homecoming at all—more like a return to something foreign—even though that makes little sense.

You tell your assigned kingsguard to escort you to your chambers, but on the way, you hear the chimes of something more compelling. And following it, you find yourself on the balcony of the training arena.

And oh—you hardly recognize him. Tall and lean, all riddled with taut muscles he’s sharpened like the blade held in his grip. His hair is neatly combed, long, and perfectly silver like moonlight off a lake. The only thing disrupting it is the black leather patch covering his eye. And while you watch him swing his sword all so mercilessly but with a certain grace you’ve never before seen, you can't help but imagine you're the straw doll he's practicing on.

His eye meets yours without warning. One moment, he’s focused on his training and the next, he’s zeroed in on you.

You can’t help but flinch, skirting back as if the railing had suddenly burnt you. And then, well, shamefully, you very nearly ran away—skittering back into the maze as though wanting to find someplace to hide.

You want to return to Dragonstone. More than a yearning now, it’s almost a must. You’re nearly fetching your dragon from the pit to leave immediately, but you know that wouldn’t be proper. Your mother would be upset with you, and you’re not one to disappoint her. She has enough worries as is. You wouldn't make yourself one of them. And so you stay.

Your maids bathe you and then help you get dressed. And then you join the rest of your family for supper—dreading the presence you’d felt earlier, knowing he’d be there as well.

You keep your gaze fixed on your meal, and yet you can feel his one-eyed stare from across the dinner table. Neither of you looks anywhere else. And neither of you speak.

Aegon says many things—none of which you hear—though, possibly slights about your origin. It seems he and your brothers are arguing. But it’s nothing new. The King, your grandfather, the poor old man, shares words of family and love to defuse the tension once and for all. But you can’t agree—not when the one-eyed glare feels to lash out at you like the fire of an untamed dragon.

The Queen, of all people, salutes your mother. It seems genuine enough. And still, you don’t feel her sons share in her show of respect.

Jace rises and offers Helena to dance—ever the dutiful son. Luke follows in his lead and offers the same to Rhaena. And then, much to the twist of your own empty stomach—your plate of food untouched—Aegon also rises and takes a drunken step in your direction.

Still, he’s the lesser of two evils around the table. But shortly after taking his second step, he’s beaten to the punch by said greater evil. His hand reaches out, yet you don’t dare acknowledge the offer. Coated in goosebumps, you feel frozen.

“Didn’t you hear the King, dear niece?” he speaks—lowly in a hush. “The family feud has been resolved now. We ought to usher in its newfound peace while it lasts. You and I more than anyone. Take my hand and let us dance atop grievances, dead and buried.”

You recognize the threat in his words. To deny him would mean rejecting said peace. And so, with a deep exhale, you lay your hand in his death grip and follow him to the floor. And now you really feel no different from that battered straw doll in the arena.

“You’ve grown up rather beautifully since last we saw each other,” he says.

You know you ought to utter a thank you, but no words dare escape the choke of your throat as he positions an all but crippling paw on your waist—the other in the air pressed flatly against your own.

“I, on the other hand, am too hideous to look at, it seems,” he adds when you don’t answer. Voice lowering even more so into a brisk whisper that no one but you would be able to hear, “Won’t you face me, dear niece? And gaze upon the atrocity you dealt when we were children.”

Finally, you pick your head up. “I—” You falter just as quickly—his smile catches you completely off guard. Still, your eyes go to the scar escaping his patched eye—deep and unforgiving where you’d ruthlessly slashed your knife. You swallow thickly. “You have my deepest regrets, uncle. There hasn’t been a day I haven’t asked the Gods for forgiveness.”

To that, he laughs. “There’s no need. I long forgave you.”

There’s an utterly misplaced joy in his eye you’ve never before seen. And you’re left wondering if he’s really the same Aemond you remember.

“Not a blade has struck me since,” he says, simpering. “In a way, I ought to thank you for it. It seems it’s given me luck.”

He doesn’t seem grateful, despite his words. Yet, he doesn’t sound spiteful, either. You don’t know what to make of it. If anything, he seems satisfied with something.

“Anyway, it’s not right for a man to bear ill will towards his wife.”

Your brows furrow. And a creeping chill befalls you. Certainly, you heard him wrong, or he misspoke, or you’ve misunderstood something somehow.

“Oh? They haven’t told you?” he asks—his lips curling further at the corners. “Oh, dear niece—why do you think you’re here? Just visiting?” he snickers.

You still don’t understand. Or maybe it’s that you refuse to. Looking at him desperately in wait for him to stop laughing and explain the joke, even if it’s on you.

“The King spoke of peace, but peace, as you must know, isn’t brought about without payment.”

You remain silent. Still waiting to have your doubts eased.

“Oh, do I have to spell it out for you?”

Despite his sigh, he doesn’t look any ounce worth of exasperated—no, rather amused.

“You’re unwed. As am I,” he finally clarifies, and yet it does nothing to dispel your troubled head. “Marriage has always been the Targaryen way. I’m surprised you didn’t know,” he continues unbothered, a certain snideness to his tone, “But then again, you and your kin aren’t very Targaryen at all, are you?”

You don’t humor the insult. After all, you were way more concerned with what he’d said about marriage.

“Don’t worry. It’s not what matters. Not to me, at least,” he says. “I, for one, welcome our union.”

Your feet follow his lead as he dances with you in the palm of his hand.

“It’s rather poetic, isn’t it?” he smiles again. “You took my eye. And so, dear niece, I shall take your hand and everything attached to it.”

[igotanidea]

Superstition: Jason Todd x witch!reader

requested by anon because it's October!

***

For some reason, the world is always in danger on Tuesdays.

And the newest threat to the existence of the people involved a group of superheroes and vigilantes and even anti-heroes gathering together to discuss the best way to tackle it.

Familiar faces and new ones, arrived at one deeply hidden lair (not really), not causing any reasons for suspicions (again – not really).

Who would pay attention to various, spandex-clad people, climbing to one apartment in the suburbs through the doors and windows, from the ground, air and water, right? It was freaking Gotham after all, weirdest things have happened.

And she was definitely someone new.

He didn’t pay much attention to that girl.

But somehow he noticed how she stood in the back of the room, watching everyone instead of joining in the conversation. How she mostly stayed quiet while the gathered was discussing plans and methods to defeat the newest opponent, only now and then throwing some well-pointed argument.

She was weird with that watchful eyes, focused face, specific kind of humor, wearing unusual clothes, speaking in a manner that indicated she knew something no one else did.

And that smell, he couldn’t quite decipher.

What was it?

Sage? Lavender? Rosemary?

Who, out of normal people, smells like kitchen seasoning?!

But –

Out of it all, she was at least useful. Or so it seemed, otherwise Dick would not bring her out to this meeting in the first place.  

And hell, he wouldn’t let her know everyone’s identities.

Well – not everyone. Jason was pretty stubborn with keeping his signature helmet on. He was not risking a stranger to know too much about him. Always the one to keep his cards close to his chest.

“Who is she?” he muttered to Dick, his voice distorted by the metal

“Her name is-“

“I don’t care about her name. What is she?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t make that face on me, Dickhead. You have aliens friends, robotic friends and turning-into-an-animal friends. What is she?”

“Oh, that!” Dick laughed, but then turned serious “I am not telling you that.”

Jason rolled his eyes. This was obviously a bait, and he was not some silly fish to rise to it.

“Fine. Don’t tell me.”

“You will have to- wait, what? You don’t want me tell you?” Dick’s face dropped a little

“Nope.”

“But-“

“I said nope.”

“Come on, Jas-“

“Don’t use my real name, idiot!”

“But I want to tell you!”

“A second ago you claimed that-“

“You are no fun.” Dick pouted like a five year old, crossed arms over his chest and after a moment of zero reaction from his brother walked away, probably to share how unfairly he had been treated.

***

She was a witch.

A freaking witch.

Without hair in her ears, warts, boils and hooked nose.

A witch!

Where was her cat? Her broom? Her – whatever else was a signature for that type of supernatural being.

“You might want to take it a little easier on me, you know?”

“Huh!?” Jason spun around only to notice she was now standing behind him with a soft face expression. “What are you-?”

“Oh, don’t you know that witch can read minds?”

“What now?” he blushed under the helmet on being called out on that, but obviously did not let it show. “Who gave you the permission to invade my head, witch!?” The last word was almost spitted with anger and venom dripping from the voice, followed by crossing arms that was supposed to be intimidating. However, much to his surprise she only chuckled. “Are you laughing at me now?!”

“Yes.”

“Careful there, harpy.” The second that word left his mouth he regretted it. First, she did not deserve to be judged so superficially and Jason should know better how painful it can be. Second, it showed that he was getting agitated and that was not the point. Third, fourth and fifth – she could drop him dead on the spot with her dark magic powers.

“Careful there, tin-head.”

Oh wow. She was mean.

“Or what?” he challenged

“Or I threw a curse at you.”

“And what?”

“Don’t test me.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh I bet, you’d be so happy, being able to boost to everyone who’d love to listen that you battled a witch that’s half your size, huh?”

“You don’t know me.” He scoffed, feeling a little offended and hurt.

“Well you don’t know me.”

Shit.

“What’s that scent you smell of?”

“Excuse me?!”

Idiot. At this point he felt like facepalming. So stupid trying to rectify the situation while simultaneously not wanting to say anything that would even resemble apology.

“The- ”

“It’s thyme. And verbena.”

“Why-?”

“It’s supposed to bring out luck and peace . And thyme brings out mental powers.”

“Hence the mind reading?”

“Oh, I was kidding about that. I cannot truly read minds. You were muttering to yourself and since I was standing close there was no way for me to not overhear.”

“So you are not-“

“A I’m -going-to-curse-you-with-pain-in-the-ass witch? No. I’m a little bit more reserved when it comes to that, but don’t tell anyone. I would be casted away from the clan.”

Despite himself he chuckled.

“So, what other discrepancies are there between you and the myths about the witch.”

“I’m not giving such secrets to just anyone, Hood.”

“I can respect that. Got my boundaries too.”

“Hence the helmet still on your face?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I can respect that.” She nodded, “The world can be awful when it comes to quick and superficial conclusions, right?”

His head snapped her direction. How come she was speaking freely all those words he was holding deep inside his heart. Why did it feel like she actually meant everything said and didn’t just throw around empty platitudes?

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, you look at me like I’ve just murdered a cat for a dark ritual.”

“You can’t see my face. And I don’t like cats.”

“Sure not. Cause you are a dog person, right?”

“You’re being annoying.”

“And you’re being dramatic.”

God, he was hating her already.

***

Two weeks later, he was sitting in her apartment, helmet off, with her black cat on his lap, caressing the soft fur, observing carefully how Y/N was getting ready for the Valpurga Night, taking the weirdest clothes existing from the wardrobe. Judging by the style she had either robbed a homeless man or a prank store.

“Seriously this is how you guys are dressing?” he pointed out at the black robe and a pointy hat.

“What? No! Of course not, are you crazy? This is my Halloween costume. No respectable witch will ever wear a hat like this. God, last time the chairwoman of the assembly had a channel costume and three sets of pearls. Show off she was…”

Jason laughed despite himself.

“You’ve got a Halloween costume six months in advance?”

“Stop laughing or I’ll-“

“Curse me, yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” He raised hands in surrender, causing the cat to meow desperately, demanding more touches. “See, your cat likes me, why can’t you?”

“That cat happened to swallow too much catnip when I was preparing my potions earlier today. He’s not a credible judge at the moment.”

“I’d rather take his judgment over yours.”

Y/N flicked her wrist and the blanket on the bed wrapped over Jason turning him into a giant burrito.

“Seriously, this is the best you can do? Claiming to be powerful and –“

A second later he was levitating by the ceiling, heads down, not liking it at all.

***

One month later he found himself having a panic attack during the night. All the memories from the pit, the pain, the hurt, the trauma came back flooding him like a freaking tsunami.

The last thing he wanted was seeing and hearing things that did not exist.

A lunatic that was what he was.

And there was only one person he knew who was familiar with supernatural things and knew how to play with minds and reality with her skills.

“Y/N.” he stuttered to the phone, her name the only lifeline connecting him with the remnants of crumbling reality.

“I’m on my way.”

Of course she already knew what was happening.

Of course she was already coming to him, to save him from himself.

Ten minutes later, the window creaked and she just flew inside effortlessly, discarding her cloak on the floor and rushing to his side.

“The doors are out there, you weirdo” he stuttered, hating that she saw him in this vulnerable state. “You had to make a show, didn't you?”

“Though it could lift your spirits.” She muttered, without a hint of tease in her voice “and speaking of spirits, can I?” her hands lingered around his head.

“Please…”

Softly and slowly, she placed both palms on his temples, whispering something that might have been a spell, incantation or that curse she was threatening him with since the moment they met.

Regardless of what she chose to place on him, it seemed to work. The fog on his brain slowly dispersed and he almost felt the fear and anxiety floating away.

At least she was useful.

“What- what did you-?”

“hush. Quiet. Here, take that” she handed him a little vial.

“what’s that?”

“A poison. What do you think, jar-head? It; a potion. It will strengthen you.”

“I don’t need strengthening-“

“Just take it.” Her smaller hands wrapped around his, forcing him to keep the bottle. “Please.” For a moment their gazes met and the time seemed to stop. “I can’t risk having you waking me up in the middle of the night again, right?”

“Waking you? Thought you were out casting spells and running naked over the meadow?”

“Not really. It's the incoming moon phase. It’s the time for white magic, and we both know I’m a dark witch right?”

They both chuckled softly. She was as dark as Jason was lenient towards criminals.

“Stay?” he asked softly

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

***

He didn’t plan it.

Definitely not, but how was he supposed to help being drawn towards that weirdo that seemed to shake up his world? How could he resist the pull towards the otherworldly and the only person that seemed to understand him completely?

The first time she saw him use the all caste he almost noticed the admiration in her eyes.

The first time he observed her actually casting curses and using her powers he felt like he could jump into fire for her.

And it was not because of a spell.

He was –

Oh boy….

A vigilante and a witch.

A walking zombie and a mistress of spirits and supernatural.

What could possibly go wrong?

[hedgehog-moss]

The blueberry tart moral quandary has been very fun to ponder! Thank you for sharing it with us. I think the real question, however, is what each of your animals would think about ordering two slices of tart under the circumstances

You're right, that IS the true question here. Let's situate this in a universe where blueberry tart is safe & delicious to eat for all animal species.

CHICKENS. The chickens would definitely want that second helping of tart because chickens live in a solipsistic moral universe and would hesitate to share tart even if it was their dying sister's last wish. However if you place two slices of tart on the ground for 2 chickens, they will immediately and violently start fighting each other over the same slice, thus giving you the opportunity to discreetly retrieve the first slice for yourself. Moreover, if a chicken manages to break off half of the slice and starts running like hell to go eat it elsewhere in peace, the other chicken will take off after her instead of eating the other half happily by herself. If they then break this half in two while fighting over it, they will resume fighting over that half of the half, allowing you to retrieve 3/4 of the second slice. And so on. This is Zeno's paradox applied to chickens and tart: the hens will spend the rest of eternity fighting over diminishing crumbs while you get almost all of the second slice back (albeit broken in increasingly minuscule halves.)

CATS. Not only would the cats want that second slice regardless of who else wants it, they would also sit & start grooming themselves on the rest of the pie with great serenity, rendering it inedible for anyone else. However, my original post established that the pies were under large bell jars. Two of my three cats are (to their everlasting torment) stymied by this sadistic human invention. If the bell jar is heavy enough that you can't push it off the table (a popular strategy), then Mascarille and Merricat will just circle it a few times, ram their faces into the glass, do a full body swipe against it in case this might open a secret door, and then walk away in frustration. Morille on the other hand is a cat possessed of extreme patience, diabolical intelligence and acute interest in forbidden food. She will get the tart no matter how long she has to lie in wait.

DOG. Pandolf would not want a second slice or even a first one, if he is made to understand that this might make other people sad. The thing with Pandolf is, he can smell disappointment. His great big nose picks up on every particle of human disappointment in the air and they go straight to his heart. He is also too polite to even defend his bone from thieving chickens. There's no way he would claim any tart at all unless someone gave it to him and made it clear they would be happy for him to eat it. However Pandolf is very cute when he sits there with a lolling tongue, happy for others to have a good time, and there is also no way one or several persons wouldn't give him their slice of tart. He would definitely end up with tart.

LLAMAS. Pampelune is the matriarch and since her duties involve dying to protect her herd in case of predator attacks, she considers it her prerogative to eat first and as much as she damn pleases in compensation. She would get two slices. I believe Poldine would choose to have only one slice and kiss everyone in the restaurant on the cheek for good measure, and I also believe she would actually get zero tart. As shown in the salt video, Poldine understands her place in the pasture hierarchy (the one who eats last) and has to resort to subterfuge to get even 1 lick of salt while others are gorging themselves. She will be very dependent on other people's temperance and decency to get any tart (so, Pandolf is her best bet.) Meanwhile Pampérigouste is trying to figure out how to escape the restaurant undetected to go on an adventure while the sheeple are talking about tart. She will get one or two or three slices but only if they can facilitate her various stratagems (for example, to bribe a guard at the door.)

The FISH—do not have the cognitive abilities to worry about morals but more importantly, do not experience soul-deep desires in the way the birds and mammals in this list do. My fish live in a smooth and quiet world where the gods make food rain from the sky every day. In this luminescent existence of untroubled abundance their capacity for longing has atrophied. They do not understand what wanting tart means, let alone the complex philosophical agonies humans can put themselves through when faced with culinary conundrums.

DONKEY. Pirlouit's first instinct would be to claim all the tart he can eat and then some. However donkeys and fish sit at opposite ends of the philosophical spectrum; Pirlouit strikes me as an animal who would be interested in exploring the ethical ramifications of the issue, as an intellectual exercise. 70% of his life consists in quiet deep ponderings. I think Pirlouit could get distracted ruminating the blueberry tart quandary in light of the rich philosophical heritage of donkey civilisation, and arrive too late to get any tart by the time he determined whether one or two slices is the right answer. Kind of like that time he got distracted by his need for revenge and was late for breakfast and the llamas had already claimed the hay.

IN CONCLUSION.

[justwannabecat]

“That’s it! I give up!” Phantom yelled. As though he had said something blasphemous, all fighting stopped as the participants stared in confusion. “You humans think you’re the paragon of all existence, proclaiming that anything different is lesser. Well we aren’t! We’re just as sentient as you are, and we have thoughts and feelings! You just choose to ignore it so you can justify your xenophobic actions!”

Phantom turned to Technus, who had frozen in shock as Phantom went on his tirade. “And you! Tell the other ghosts I’m done saving them, too, because none of you care! You don’t care if property is destroyed, or if humans get hurt, or if other ghosts get hurt! All you care about is your stupid Obsessions! You’re too caught up in your own mind to see what you’re doing to everyone around you!”

“But your Obsession is Protection, is it not? You’ve never stepped down from a fight-“ Technus began. Phantom didn’t let him finish.

“My Obsession is Space! If I had my way, I’d spend my nights stargazing, or maybe even on the moon! Instead I’m stuck cleaning up your messes because you can’t control yourselves!” Phantom growled. He glared at the crowd of people who had gathered, curious as to why all fighting had stopped.

“Humans are cruel and hateful. Ghosts are ignorant and careless. I’m tired of wasting my time protecting both sides from the other and being blamed for it. I quit. If anyone dies, or is captured, it’s no longer my problem.“

Like that, Phantom vanished.

The Fentons celebrated, not even noticing Technus make his own escape. The crowd murmured, worry just as prevalent as confidence. The few phones that were recording the event were put away, and later the footage would be checked. Unfortunately, most recordings were corrupted beyond recognition.

Most, but not all.

——————————————————

Amity Park. Ground Zero for the start of the war between the Living and the Dead. Humanity and Ghosts.

Why it had only recently escalated to this, Batman couldn’t tell. His research found that there had been a portal opened to the Realms years ago, and the laws passed just a year after that. Most of the town was stuck behind an information blackout that the government refused to give access to. Whatever happened, Constantine assured him that it was almost certainly the government’s fault.

After almost three weeks of trying to get beyond the firewalls, he finally figured it out. “Research” that claimed ghosts were nothing but evil. News articles calling “Phantom” a troublemaker. Forums that spoke about how “Phantom” ruined the town while fighting other ghosts.

A video, old and grainy but still clear enough to be used as evidence. A glowing, white-haired boy that told everyone he was done. That he was tired of fixing everything. Of saving everyone. That nobody was good, everyone was bad, and they were on their own.

They used to have a hero, but Phantom left. Without him, both sides tore at each other until there was nothing but an all-out assault. They needed to stop this, but without a mediator they would not make it through to the ghosts.

If they could find Phantom, perhaps they could fix everything before it was too late.

[q1ngqve]

tonight’s food for thought! "૮₍ •⤙•˶ being spread on the table with your clothes unbuttoned and eyes blindfolded like a meal prepared for the the three men 😋 with your vision obscured, your other senses are heightened and you try to ground yourself by listening out to who’s who, but it only gets you even more anxious because you have absolutely zero idea who is standing between your legs and who is by your side :( one moment aventurine is on your right and the next he is on your left. your fingers dig into the shoulders of the man fucking you right now, nails threatening to tear through his clothes and onto his skin. at this point you’re still able to form coherent thoughts, but when his tip kisses at your cervix and makes you cum around his cock, your body goes limp and your brain shuts down! he sheaths himself and steps away, and the next man takes over his place. he slides in easily and you think you might know who it is! sunday? he angles himself deep into you and grips at your throat, constricting your airflow. no, that feels more like ratio… but wait! he’s circling your clit with his thumb and it feels like aventurine… but wasn’t aventurine on your left just mere seconds ago? you cum too fast on the second round, pussy still sensitive from your first. a soft grunt comes from the man above you by your ear and warm spurts of cum join the first’s, and you frown, unable to determine who it was. the last man steps up to you and drags you off the table before turning you around and making you bend over the table. you collapse against the surface, trying to support yourself because your legs are literally shaking. the third man plunges in and you gasp, feeling him stretching you and pushing the previous two loads of cum back into you! his hand grips at your waist and hair, chuckling when he notices the wetness on the blindfold from your tears. all three men tease at you, asking you to guess who’s who when they know you’re already too cockdrunk to give a correct answer. rips the blindfold off after he cums and manhandles you to the bed, making you straddle sunday and take aventurine in your mouth, while ratio’s fingers prode at your other hole! ‘tsks’ in disapproval when you squirm and beg for them to be gentle, but they claim that this is your punishment for not making the correct guesses! so just take it like a good girl, okay? ☆〜（ゝ。∂ )

[barcaatthemoon]

she's with me || alessia russo x reader ||

alessia gets jealous when you befriend the new arsenal signing.

alessia's jaw was clenched as she watched you run around with the newest signee. you had been at arsenal for years, long enough to be the unofficial leader of the welcoming party. whenever alessia had signed, you had been the first one at the training grounds to let her into your group. it was customary for you to do with anybody who was new, but this time, alessia was taking it personally.

it wasn't your fault, not really. alessia wouldn't have even gotten upset if katie had unhelpfully pointed out your past relationship with the new player. alessia hadn't even known that the two of you had dated at first, but katie apparently knew all about it. in fact, she had told alessia everything that she could just to fuck with the tall blonde.

"less, babe, do you want to come out tonight with the rest of the girls?" you asked. there was a hopeful look on your face. alessia had been in a piss poor mood, especially around the rest of the girls. it was why you had, admittedly, been avoiding her. the two of you hadn't even been spending all of your normal alone time together because of alessia's behavior.

"of course i do, why wouldn't i?" alessia asked you. she seemed distracted, and you noticed how her gaze was still partially on your ex. it was nice to be friends with her again, despite how badly the relationship had ended. you wanted to explain to alessia that you'd never in a million years get back together with the other girl, but you doubted that alessia would have listened to you.

alessia liked to claim that she was above getting jealous, but you knew different. in fact, the more that you thought about alessia's recent behavior and your newly rekindled friendship with arsenal's new girl, you realized that alessia was jealous. she had been jealous, but instead of saying something and communicating, she had decided to throw a big, stupid tantrum.

"well, with the way you've been lately, i wasn't sure. i thought i'd check. if you weren't going to go, i was just gonna let em give me a ride." you knew that it was wrong, but you couldn't help yourself. riling alessia up was just too easy, and it must have been an irish trait to love doing it because you were sure that katie was at the root of this problem. she had been the only one on the team to know just how mad you had been for your ex.

…

"damn, if they get any closer, i think we'll get kicked out." alessia's face set into a frown as she looked over to where leah was pointing. there was a group of girls dancing with you, but alessia's eyes zeroed in on the way that your ex held onto your waist. it was far more tame than how katie was grabbing your body as she ground your ass against her hips, but alessia didn't care.

"i should go get her," alessia said. she tried to get up, only to be held back by sab and lotte. "they'll give someone the wrong idea dancing like that. i don't want anybody to think (y/n) and emily are together."

"emily isn't the problem. foord, go get your girlfriend!" leah called out. with katie being pulled away, alessia's attention was forced onto the only person touching you still. she sat there with leah keeping her down for an agonizingly long time. alessia was glad when the song ended and you came over to the table for a drink break.

"less, baby, are you okay?" you asked as you sat down in her lap. she didn't answer you, instead opting to pull you by your hair into a kiss. she knew just where to grab to get you moaning and whining into her mouth. it was a big show, one that had leah pushing the two of you out of the club. "what was that about? i'll tell katie to tone it down next time."

"better yet, tell that other girl to keep her hands off of you. you're mine now. she had her chance, and she blew it. not my fault that your taste improved with age," alessia said. she had never sounded so cocky before. normally, that sort of thing was a huge turn-off for you, but with alessia, you found yourself loving it.

"calm down, like you said, i'm yours now. you don't have to get aggressive with her, okay?" you placed your hand on alessia's chest as the two of you stood outside. she nodded as she took your hand in hers, but that didn't change the look in her eyes as she looked at you.

alessia looked at you like you were going to be her last meal. the intensity of her gaze didn't falter once on the way home. if anything, it seemed to grow in intensity as the two of you got closer to her place. you thought that alessia's stare was going to melt your clothes off by the time that you were walking through the front door.

"get back to the bedroom, i'll be there in a minute," alessia ordered you. there was a moment when you hesitated, prompting alessia to slap your ass as she turned you towards the hallway. you walked forward, cheeks burning red as you did. alessia followed you in a couple of moments later, dropping a couple of water bottles on the bedside table as she made her way over to you.

"are you going to get the strap?" you asked. alessia shook her head as she started to strip out of her clothing. you swallowed thickly as her body was revealed to you, something that never ceased to amaze you. "fuck, less."

"come here and turn around," alessia ordered. she was being very demanding, which you normally would have had a bit of a problem with. instead, you found yourself almost giddy about the way that she was telling you what to do. "your ass looks amazing in this skirt."

"thank you baby," you told her. she placed a gentle hand on your back, pushing the bottom of your crop top as she did. "you looked hot tonight. i wished you would have danced with me."

"this is much better than a dance, i promise. i'm going to make you feel so good, just relax." alessia placed a kiss to the small of your back. you were sure that she could feel how wet you were if she leaned in a little more, but alessia was careful to keep her distance. "can i touch you? i want to have a taste of what's mine."

"fuck less, you can always touch me," you told her. alessia smiled as she pushed your skirt up completely. she kept you bent over as she moved your thong to the side. the hand that had been on your back had moved down to caress your ass as alessia ran her tongue through your folds.

alessia moaned at the taste of you on her tongue. she lapped at your cunt, just trying to make you as much of a mess as she could. alessia didn't care about making you cum quickly, she wanted to tease you long enough to have you dripping down her face. alessia needed the satisfaction of knowing that she could have you coming completely undone on a whim.

"you taste so good," alessia told you as she brushed her thumb against your clit. "makes me clench my thighs to think about sometimes."

"y-you think about me like that?" you don't know why it surprised you so much to hear that. alessia was definitely not as innocent as leah and beth had you believing, but the idea of her thinking of fucking you spun you for a loop.

"all of the time, but i haven't gotten to touch you like this in a while. you've been running away from me because of your new little friend, but i doubted that she ever had you dripping like this. you're making such a mess on my fingers, one that i can't wait to clean up. i swear that i could cum at just the taste of you," alessia said. each one of her words had your stomach clenching. you were so close, but alessia was constantly giving you just enough not to cum.

"lessi, if i beg, will you let me cum?" you asked her. alessia leaned down and bit your ass cheek, causing you to squeal a little.

"you can cum whenever you want once you tell me that you love me." alessia had never been one to withhold your orgasms like that. the two of you had tried edging, but alessia's resolve had broken the moment she noticed tears forming in the corners of your eyes. you weren't on the verge of tears, but you knew that much more teasing would bring you there.

"i love you, alessia. i love you so much that it hurts me sometimes," you told her. alessia stood up and slid two fingers inside of you, pushing her hips in for a little added force. alessia gave you a couple of straight thrusts before she started to curl her fingers inside of you. "less."

"it's okay, i know baby. let it happen. i'll give you whatever you want after. doesn't that sound nice baby? just relax and cum for me," alessia cooed. her voice was soft, much softer than it had been all night. you felt yourself relax as your alessia seemed to be coming back to you.

your orgasm took your legs out from beneath you, but alessia was there to make sure you didn't faceplant on the mattress. she laid you down on the bed and moved to lay behind you. you felt her open up your legs before she started to clean you up. your body jerked and jolted a little, but alessia kept you pinned down.

"i know you're sensitive, but this is important," alessia reminded you. she took care of you, even if you didn't always it. alessia guided you into a seated position for you to drink one of the waters she had brought up. it had been sitting out of the fridge just enough to be deemed "drinkable" by you.

"you know that i do love you, right? you don't have to hold my orgasms over my head to hear it," you said as you shoved her shoulder. alessia nodded sheepishly, having felt a little guilty about it after the words had left her mouth.

"yeah, i know that you love me, and i love you too. it's just been messing with me pretty bad having your ex here, and katie won't stop reminding me about it. it's infuriating, and everything kind of got away from me," alessia ranted. you pulled her into your arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "i'm sorry if i've been a bitch."

"you have, but it's okay. i guess you can't be a total sweetheart all the time," you joked. alessia seemed to be glad that you weren't holding her behavior over the past couple of weeks over her head because now that she was back in your arms properly, she felt a bit ridiculous about being jealous in the first place.

[philsjumpers]

ok but honestly dan going 'i am literally the only person (other than YOU) who i think is capable of keeping a secret' to phil is making me more emo than it has any right to. esp considering he followed it up w that whole huge rant abt how much he doesnt trust ppl to keep secrets and how srsly he takes it. but absolutely zero doubt in his mind that phil is equally capable of keeping secrets if it's important to someone. trusts him so completely. thinking of how long they spent in the closet together not rlly trusting anyone except each other with their personal lives but also just how much dan trusts phil in general to be a good person even tho dan claims to be such a cynic abt human nature usually. excuse me i'll be in a ditch in the ground if anyone needs me

[tanadrin]

Revised version of "polytheism vs elaborateness" religion chart. I started with a list of around 150 religions, sects, denominations, philosophies, and spiritual tendencies, whittled down to 100 based on what I could find information on and what meaningful differences would actually show up in a chart like this. Dark blue is Christianity and Christian-derived tendencies; light blue is Judaism and Jewish-derived tendencies; green is Islam and Islam-influenced tendencies; purple is ancient Mediterranean polytheism and related schools of thought; red is Dharmic/Hindu-influenced schools of thought; tan is Chinese religion and philosophy; orange is new religious movements; black is other, unaffiliated religions and movements.

Obviously, "what is a religion" is a complicated topic. Some of the things on this chart might strike you more as philosophical schools (Carvaka, Stoicism), epistemological approaches (Unitarian Universalism), or different ways of slicing the same tradition. The scholarly definition of "religion" is sort of fundamentally circular, and that's not something I'm interested in trying to untangle for this entirely non-scientific exercise.

Religions etc. are scored on two axis: polytheism vs elaborateness of practice. Polytheism is a rank from zero to 11, thus:

0. Strict atheist and materialist, denying the possibility of both gods and the supernatural, e.g., Carvaka.

1. Atheist. Denies the existence of significant supernatural agents worthy of worship, but may not deny all supernatural (or psychic, paranormal, etc.) beings and phenomena (e.g., Mimamsa).

2. Agnostic. This religion makes no dogmatic claims about the existence of supernatural beings worthy of worship, and it may not matter for this religion if such beings exist (e.g., Unitarian Universalists). It does not preclude--and may actually incorporate--other supernatural, psychic, or paranormal phenomena (e.g., Scientology).

3. Deist. This religion acknowledges at least one god or Supreme Being, but rejects this being's active intervention in the world after its creation (e.g., Christian Deism). Deism is marked with a gray line on the chart, in case you want to distinguish religions that specifically care about all this God business from ones that don't.

4. Tawhid monotheist. This religion acknowledges only a single transcendent god above all other natural or supernatural beings, who is usually the creator of the universe and the ground of being, and is without parts, division, or internal distinction (e.g., Islam).

5. Formal monotheism. This religion acknowledges a single god, usually transcendent above all other natural or supernatural beings, but who may have aspects, hypostases, or distinct parts (e.g., Trinitarian Christianity). Pantheism may be considered a special case of formal monotheism that identifies the universe and its many discrete phenomena with a single god or divine force.

6. Dualism. This religion acknowledges a single god worthy of worship, alongside a second inferior, often malevolent being that nevertheless wields great power in or over the world (e.g., Zoroastrianism or Gnosticism).

7. Monolatrist. This religion or practice acknowledges the existence of many gods or divine beings worthy of worship, but focuses on, or happens to be devoted to only one of them (e.g., ancient mystery cults; pre-exilic Judaism).

8. Oligotheist. This religion worships a small group of divine beings, who may function for devotional or rhetorical purposes as a single entity (e.g., Mormonism, Smartism).

9. Monogenic polytheism/Henotheism. This religion worships many gods, which it sees as proceeding from or owing their existence to, a single underlying or overarching force or supreme god (e.g., many forms of Hinduism).

10. Heterogenic polytheism. This religion worships many gods, who have diverse origins and/or natures. Though the number of gods is in practical terms probably unlimited, gods are discrete entities or personalities, i.e., they are "countably infinite" (e.g., many polytheistic traditions).

11. Animism. This religion worships many gods which may or may not be discrete entities, and which may or may not be innumerable even in principle, i.e., they are "uncountably infinite" (e.g., many animist traditions).

What counts as a god is naturally a bit of a judgement call, as is exactly where a religion falls on this scale.

Elaborateness of practice is based on assigning one point per feature from the following list of features:

Uses vs forbids accompanied music in worship

Saints or intermediary beings accept prayers/devotion

Liturgical calendar with specific rituals or festivals

Practices monasticism

Venerates relics or holy objects

Clerics have special, elaborate clothing

Clerics have special qualificiations, e.g., must be celibate or must go through elaborate initiation/training

Elaborate sacred art or architecture used in places of worship

Sites of pilgrimage, or other form of cult centralization

Sophisticated religious hierarchy beyond the congregational level

Mandatory periods of fasting and/or complex dietary rules

Specific clothing requirements for laypeople

Specific body modifications either required or forbidden for laypeople

Liturgical language

Complex ritual purity rules

Performs sacrifice

Performs human sacrifice (or cannibalism)

Uses entheogens

Uses meditation or engages in mystical practice

Additionally, a point is taken away for austerity for each of the following features:

Forbids secular music outside worship

Claims sola scriptura tradition

Practices pacifism or ahimsa

Requires vegetarianism of all adherents

These scores are probably pretty inexact, since I am not a scholar of world religion.

This chart is not scientific, it's just a goof based on that @apricops post.

Other fun dimensions along which to chart religions might be:

Orthodoxy vs orthopraxy

Authoritarianism/control of members. This would add some much needed distinctions to Christian sects in particular, and to the new religious movements.

Elaborateness of cosmological claims. Some religions (looking at you, Buddhism) really go hog-wild here.

Social egalitarianism. Even within the same framework/tradition/philosophy, some practices differ radically on how egalitarian they are.

[sirenedeslily]

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀 ‎⛧ 𝐜hristopher 𝐬turniolo

❛ long shady eyes, i’m all about her. ❜

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭, 6k!

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡, you find yourself in a dark alley, heart pounding as you lock eyes with chris sturniolo, the cocky frontman of a band. as a man-eating demon, the hunger within you stirs, and the thrill of the chase ignites something primal. with only a few moments to spare, can you resist the urge to claim him as your next victim, or will he awaken desires you never knew you had?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, smut! softdom!chris x fem!reader, plot, use of pet names, unprotected sex, biting, scratching, overstimulation, hair pulling, slight choking, blood play, dark themes (?!), substance use

the bar hummed with a low, pulsing energy, the kind that clung to your skin and thickened the air. the stage lights cast a warm glow over the band as they played, catching in the sheen of sweat on chris’s neck as his fingers moved across the guitar. his voice, rough and deep, filled the room, cutting through the haze of cheap drinks and muted conversations.

from your spot in the corner, your eyes stayed locked on him, your lips curling as you swirled the cherry in your drink, trailing the rim of the glass. you were dressed to blend in—just another face in the crowd—but the way you carried yourself was far from ordinary. there was a confidence to you that felt dangerous, like you were playing a game only you knew the rules to.

your friend beside you babbled about something unimportant, oblivious to the shift in the air, the way your attention had zeroed in on one target. chris hadn’t noticed you yet. not fully. but you could feel the moment coming, the spark when his eyes would find yours, and the connection would snap into place.

you lifted the glass to your lips, biting down softly on the cherry stem, your tongue swirling around the sweet fruit. the tension was there already, crackling in the air between you, though he was still lost in the music, strumming and singing like he didn’t have a care in the world. your gaze didn’t waver, watching him, the predator in you lurking just beneath the surface, hungry.

when chris finally looked up from the strings of his guitar, his gaze swept across the crowd before landing on you. the second your eyes met, something shifted. you smiled, slow and deliberate, sinking back into your seat, letting him feel the weight of your stare. the game had begun.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

the band finished their set, the last notes of the guitar fading into the chatter and clinking of glasses. your friend cheered, calling the band amazing, but you barely heard her. the room felt charged, as though everything had dulled except for the throbbing in your chest and the pull you felt toward chris.

“be right back,” you murmured to your friend, slipping away from the table without waiting for a response. you weaved through the crowd, your movements languid, deliberate, and out the door. the night air hit you like a shock, cool and refreshing compared to the heat of the bar, but your mind was on one thing.

chris.

you found him outside in the alley, the glow of his cigarette flaring as he took a drag. his back was against the brick wall, his dark hair hanging in his face as he stared off into the distance, lost in thought. you stepped closer, letting the sound of your heels against the pavement announce your presence. his eyes flicked toward you, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” his voice was low, a quiet challenge, almost amused.

you tilted your head, your lips curving into a playful smirk as you stepped into the shadowed alley, closer to him. “maybe i like the view,” you said, your voice sweet but laced with something darker. “besides, i thought i’d find something interesting here.”

chris chuckled, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his boot. he pushed himself off the wall, closing the space between you, his eyes raking over you in a way that was far too confident. “something interesting, huh? and what would that be?”

you looked up at him through your lashes, your fingers trailing down your bare arm, your skin practically buzzing with the tension in the air. “depends on how much you can handle,” you murmured, your voice soft, teasing.

his smile widened, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes now—something cautious, a spark of intrigue mixed with amusement. “you’ve got quite the mouth on you,” he said, voice dropping, teasing. “bet you already knew that.”

he took another step closer, his breath brushing your cheek. “got you speechless now? come on, sweetheart, use that mouth of yours. I bet you’re good with it.” his smirk lingered, challenging, daring you to respond, as though he knew exactly the effect he was having on you.

you didn’t flinch under his gaze. Instead, you stepped closer, your body brushing his as you tilted your head up to look him in the eye, the smirk never leaving your lips. “careful honey, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

for a split second, his confidence faltered. It was barely noticeable, but you caught it—the way his eyes flickered with uncertainty, the brief hitch in his breath. He didn’t know who—or what—he was dealing with. not yet.

but he would.

chris leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he spoke, his voice nothing but a low rasp now. “oh, i think i can handle whatever you’re offering.”

your lips parted, the sharpness in your gaze softening just enough to let the desire show through.

for a second, you considered making this quick, ending it before it even began. but something in the way he looked at you, the raw challenge in his eyes, made you pause. there was something different about him, something that made you want to draw this out.

you reached up, your fingers grazing his arm lightly, your touch almost tender. “is that so?” you whispered, leaning in closer until your lips were barely a breath away from his. “you should be careful, chris. sometimes , the things that look good are the most dangerous.”

his hand caught your waist, pulling you closer, his grip firm, almost possessive. “i like danger,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours, taunting. “and you don’t scare me.”

for a moment, the world seemed to slow. you could feel the tension between you thrumming in the air, thick and heavy, like it was holding its breath. you could taste the anticipation, the hunger that burned just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed.

then, you smiled—slow, wicked, and full of dark promise. “you will be.”

you pressed even closer to him, the thin straps of your tight red tank top brushing against his chest. the fabric clung to every curve of your body, your short denim skirt teasing the tops of your thighs as the night air chilled your skin. you could feel his eyes on you, lingering on the low neckline, on the way the red popped against your skin, as if daring him to look further, to touch.

and you wanted him to. the pull between you was undeniable—an electric current thrumming through the space where your bodies met. he smelled of cigarettes and leather, and the cocky grin he wore only fueled the tension between you, like he thought he had you figured out.

but you weren’t like the others. not at all.

his curls fell loosely over his forehead, dark and wild, framing his sharp features. there was a lazy confidence in the way he looked at you, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you. but the hunger in your eyes was feral, barely restrained, and he didn’t even realize how close he was to being devoured.

you leaned in, your lips ghosting over his jaw, the faintest brush of heat that made him inhale sharply. He was so sure of himself, so cocky, like you weren’t the most dangerous thing in the alley. “what are you going to do now?” you whispered, your voice barely a breath, your lips grazing his skin. “you think you can handle me?”

his hand gripped your waist tighter, pulling your body flush against his. you could feel the strength in his hold, the way his fingers pressed into your skin, possessive. “i told you,” he growled softly, his voice rough with desire. “i like danger.”

you didn’t miss the way his breath hitched when your hand slid up his chest, your nails dragging lightly over the fabric of his shirt. you smiled, slow and dangerous, before pushing him back against the wall, your body pressing into his, trapping him between the brick and you.

the shift in power was instant, but you could see that flicker in his eyes—the spark of excitement, of challenge. he liked the fight. and you loved to give it.

your lips met his in a crash of heat, teeth, and hunger. there was nothing soft about the kiss—just raw desire and the clashing of dominance. he kissed you like he was trying to claim you, but you weren’t going to be claimed. not by him. not by anyone.

you bit down on his lower lip, hard enough to draw a soft growl from his throat. his hands moved to your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you closer, like he needed to feel every inch of you. the pain only fueled the fire burning between you. you felt his body respond to yours, the hardness of him pressing against your thigh as his hands roamed down to your ass, grabbing you roughly.

he grinned into the kiss, cocky as ever, like he had the upper hand. “you’re a wild one, aren’t you?” he muttered against your mouth, his voice rough and teasing.

you pulled back, your breath ragged, a wicked smile tugging at your lips. “you have no idea,” you whispered, your fingers curling in his hair, tugging his head back roughly. his curls felt soft between your fingers, but the way you yanked made him hiss in pleasure.

with a sudden move, you dragged your nails down his chest, hard enough to make him wince. he bit his lip, the pain only spurring him on. he wasn’t afraid of you. if anything, he loved it. and that made you want him even more.

your hands slid under his shirt, nails grazing the taut skin of his abdomen. he groaned, the sound low and rough, as you scratched him, marking him as yours in the most primal way. his cockiness faltered for a split second, but the grin was back as soon as you pressed your lips to his neck, biting down hard enough to bruise.

chris’s hands gripped your waist tighter, and in a sudden motion, he spun you around, pinning you against the wall now, his breath hot against your ear. “you like to bite,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust. “i can do that too, baby.”

his lips were on your neck in an instant, sucking and biting the skin there, his teeth grazing over your pulse point. you moaned, your body arching into him as his hands slid up under your tank top, fingers brushing the bare skin of your back. every touch was rough, desperate, like he couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t control the desire that raged between you.

but you weren’t going to let him have all the control.

you scratched down his back, hard, your nails digging into his skin, leaving angry red marks in their wake. he growled in response, the sound sending a thrill down your spine, and bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to make you gasp. you loved the way he reacted to you, how much he enjoyed the pain you gave him.

even though you weren’t killing him like the others, you couldn’t stop the predator in you from taking over. your movements were fast, animalistic, every bite, every scratch a reminder of what you could do. and yet, he wasn’t afraid. he matched your intensity with his own, his hands grabbing at your hips roughly as he ground himself against you, his breath hot and uneven.

“fuck,” he breathed out, his voice a low growl. “you’re fuckin’ crazy.”

you smiled, licking your lips, tasting the metallic tang of blood from the bite you’d left on him. “you love it.”

his hands slid down your body, gripping your thighs and hoisting you up against the wall, the rough brick scraping against your back as your legs wrapped around him. his lips crashed into yours again, bruising and desperate, his fingers digging into your skin as if he couldn’t get enough. the tension between you was unbearable, the need to take and be taken surging through your veins.

you tugged at his hair again, pulling his head back to expose his neck. your teeth grazed his skin, the urge to bite hard and deep surging within you, but instead, you left soft, teasing nips down his throat, letting him feel the danger without fully giving in.

chris’s grip on you tightened, his cockiness fading just enough for you to see the raw desire in his eyes. “you’re driving me fucking crazy,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin.

you smirked, your hands roaming down his chest, nails scratching lightly over the muscles there. “good,” you whispered, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his ear. “let’s see how long you can keep up.”

chris’s hands gripped your thighs tighter as he pressed you against the cold brick, your back scraping slightly against the rough surface. the heat between your bodies was undeniable now, burning like a fever. he grinned, that cocky smirk never leaving his face as he moved his hips, grinding against you just enough to drive you mad.

your body arched into him, your breath catching in your throat as you felt the hardness of him pressing right where you needed it. he was teasing you, his lips hovering just inches away from yours, his breath hot against your skin.

you tugged his hair harder, pulling his head back so you could bite down on the side of his neck, hard enough to leave a mark. he groaned, his hands tightening their hold on your thighs as his hips pressed even harder into you.

“i could tear you apart,” you whispered against his skin, your voice low and dangerous. you ran your tongue over the bite you’d left, savoring the salty taste of his skin. “and you’d let me. wouldn’t you baby?”

chris chuckled, a deep, raspy sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “i’d love to see you try,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust.

with a sudden movement, he set you down, spinning you around so you were facing the wall, his chest pressed against your back. his hand slid up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher, exposing more of your skin to the cool night air. his fingers traced the hem of your panties, teasing but not quite touching, making you squirm in anticipation.

your breath came out in ragged gasps as you felt his lips press against the back of your neck, hot and hungry. “you look so fucking good like this,” he whispered, his breath sending chills down your spine. “bet you taste even better.”

before you could respond, his hand slipped under your panties, his fingers brushing lightly over your clit, teasing you with just the faintest touch. you moaned, your hips bucking back against him, desperate for more. but he wasn’t going to give it to you just yet.

his fingers circled you slowly, agonizingly slow, just enough to drive you mad. you gritted your teeth, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but every touch was breaking you down piece by piece. “you think you can tease me like that?” you growled, your voice rough with frustration.

chris leaned in, his lips grazing your ear. “i told you, i’m not scared of a pretty girl like you.” his fingers pressed harder against you now, making your body jerk in response.

you were losing control, the animal in you rising to the surface. you turned around quickly, pushing him back, your nails digging into his chest as you shoved him against the opposite wall. the look in his eyes was pure excitement—he wanted this fight, this struggle for dominance.

pressing your body against his, your lips crashing into his once again, biting at his lower lip hard enough to make him gasp. his hands moved to your ass, squeezing roughly as he kissed you back with equal ferocity, tongues clashing, breaths heavy.

your fingers moved to the waistband of his jeans and boxers, tugging them down just enough to free him, your hand wrapping around his length, feeling the heat and hardness of him against your palm. he groaned into your mouth, his hips bucking into your hand as you stroked him, slow and deliberate.

but you weren’t going to let him have the upper hand. you were in control now.

you broke the kiss, your breath ragged as you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “on your knees doll,” you commanded, your voice dripping with dominance.

for a moment, he just stared at you, that cocky grin faltering for a second as he realized you weren’t playing around. but then, with a smirk, he obeyed, sinking to his knees before you, his hands gripping your thighs as he looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes.

you tugged your skirt up higher, letting it rest on your hips as you stared down at him, running your fingers through his messy curls. he looked so good like this, on his knees, waiting for your command, ready to do whatever you wanted.

without a word, you stepped forward, pushing your panties aside as you pressed yourself against his mouth. He didn’t hesitate, his tongue immediately flicking over your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. you gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair as he licked and sucked at you, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise.

his tongue moved with expert precision, teasing and tasting every inch of you, making your legs tremble as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension building in your core, every flick of his tongue sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“fuck, sweetheart,” you moaned, your head falling back as you ground yourself against his face, the pleasure overwhelming. “just like that.”

he groaned against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body as he pressed his tongue harder against you, his pace quickening. your fingers tugged at his hair, pulling him closer, needing more, needing everything.

you were so close now, teetering on the edge, the pleasure almost too much to bear. and just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, he slipped two fingers inside you, curling them just right, sending you over the edge.

your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your entire body shaking as you cried out, your thighs trembling around his head. chris didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working you through it, dragging out every last bit of pleasure until you were left gasping for breath.

you pulled away from him, your legs feeling weak, but you weren’t done yet. not even a little bit.

before he could stand, you dropped to your knees in front of him, pushing him back against the wall. his cock was hard and throbbing, and you could see the way his chest heaved as he looked at you, his eyes dark with lust.

you wasted no time, taking him into your mouth, your hand wrapping around the base of him as you sucked him deep, your tongue swirling around his length. he groaned, his hand gripping your hair as you bobbed your head, your mouth working him with the same intensity he’d given you.

“fuck, you’re so good at that,” he growled, his hips bucking into your mouth as you took him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate his size. You could taste the salt of his pre-cum on your tongue, and it only made you want him more.

you moved faster, your hand stroking what you couldn’t take in your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head of him, making him gasp. his grip on your hair tightened, his hips moving in time with your movements, desperate and rough.

he was close, you could feel it in the way his body tensed, in the way his breaths came out in short, ragged gasps. and then, with a low growl, he came, his release hot and thick as it spilled into your mouth.

you swallowed every last drop, licking him clean as you pulled back, your lips swollen and red from the intensity of it all.

as you rose to your feet, chris’s cocky expression remained, but his breathing was ragged. he leaned back against the brick wall, watching you, still catching his breath. his body screamed of satisfaction, but there was something darker, something more primal still pulling at you.

you weren’t finished yet.

you wiped your lips with the back of your hand, eyes locked onto his, feeling the rush of power surge through your veins. his release had only whetted your appetite. You could still taste him on your tongue, but it wasn’t enough. not for you.

chris pushed himself up slightly, still towering over you, the smugness returning to his gaze as he reached for you. “you’ve got quite the ego on you,” you muttered, your voice hoarse, thick with desire. “but i’m not done with you doll.”

without missing a beat, you slammed him back into the wall, harder this time, your hand pressing against his chest, keeping him pinned in place. the impact knocked the air from his lungs, his eyes widening as the force of your strength became undeniable. you smirked down at him, your nails digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“you think you can handle me, huh?” you hissed, your voice low, dangerous. “you have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

he looked at you, his lips parting slightly in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. if anything, he leaned into it, into you, his cock still hardening again, his desire growing. the thrill of your intensity, the danger, had him on the edge of insanity.

you straddled his waist again, your hands gripping his shoulders as you ground yourself against him. his head fell back, a low groan escaping his throat as you teased him, not giving him what he wanted but making sure he felt every bit of your hunger. the friction between you both was electric, the heat from your bodies nearly overwhelming.

“fuck,” chris rasped, his hands moving up to your hips, but you slapped them away, asserting your dominance once again. he stared at you, his dark eyes blown wide with lust, his lips curling into a grin.

“you’re dangerous, aren’t you?” his eyes flicked to your lips, his voice dropping lower. “those pretty eyes, that perfect mouth… you look all sweet and innocent, but i know there’s venom hiding underneath.”

you leaned down, your lips hovering just above his as you whispered, “i could devour you.”

the truth hung in the air between you. you weren’t like the others he’d been with. you were something more. something insatiable. his cockiness, his bravado, it all fueled you. he didn’t know just how close he was to being consumed by you, but that’s what made it fun. it was like playing with your food, savoring every moment before the final bite.

with a swift movement, you tore his shirt open, the buttons popping off and scattering across the alley as you exposed his chest. your nails raked down his skin, leaving angry red marks in their wake, causing him to hiss in pleasure. you watched as his muscles tensed beneath your touch, his body responding to the roughness with eagerness. he loved it. He craved it.

“you like that?” you teased, biting down on his neck again, harder this time. he groaned, his hands gripping your thighs as you marked him, your teeth sinking into his skin just enough to draw blood. the metallic taste of him flooded your senses, and you felt the hunger within you grow stronger, more urgent.

chris’s breathing quickened, his hips bucking against you as you licked the blood from his neck, your tongue gliding over the wound you’d left. you pulled back, staring down at him, the sight of him disheveled, bleeding, and desperate making you feel invincible.

“you have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into,” you whispered, running your fingers over his chest, down to his stomach, watching the way his body reacted to every touch. he was yours now, caught in the web of your hunger, and you could do whatever you wanted with him.

but you didn’t want to kill him. not yet. you wanted to savour this, to drag it out, to play with him until he was begging for more.

chris growled, pulling you closer, his mouth crashing into yours, the kiss hungry and feral. his hands moved to your ass, squeezing roughly as he ground himself against you, the friction between you both driving you wild. you could feel him growing harder beneath you, and you knew he was close to losing control.

but you weren’t going to give in to what he wanted—this was about you.

you pulled back, breaking the kiss, and shoved him down onto the ground. the rough pavement scraped against his back, but he didn’t care. he looked up at you with that same smirk he loved to adorn, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he watched you, waiting to see what you would do next.

you stood over him, your foot resting on his chest as you stared down at him, your eyes dark and dangerous. “beg,” you commanded, your voice dripping with dominance.

chris’s smirk faltered for a second, but then he grinned, his hands moving to your ankles as he looked up at you. “you want me to beg? again?”

you pressed your foot harder against his chest, your nails digging into your own thighs as you fought to maintain control. “i said, beg.”

he stared at you for a moment, his eyes burning with defiance, but then he nodded, his voice low and breathless as he muttered, “please love. i want you.. crave you, need you.”

the sound of his pathetic submission sent a wave of heat through your body, your blood pounding in your ears as you stared down at him. you had him exactly where you wanted him, and it was intoxicating.

you knelt down over him, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “good boy.”

before he could respond, you pressed yourself against him, guiding his cock into you with one quick motion. he groaned loudly, his hands moving to your hips as you rode him, the feeling of him filling you completely overwhelming.

you weren’t gentle. moving with a brutal, animalistic intensity, your body grinding against his, your nails digging into his chest as you took what you wanted. chris’s moans filled the air, his body writhing beneath you as you fucked him, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the alleyway.

you leaned down, biting his shoulder hard, your teeth sinking into his flesh as you marked him again and again. each bite drew blood, and each drop only fueled your hunger further. you could feel him tensing beneath you, his body responding to your every movement, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he tried to keep up with your pace.

you moved faster, harder, the pressure building inside you as your nails scraped down his chest, leaving deep red lines in their wake. chris’s breath came out in ragged gasps, his body shaking beneath you as he neared his breaking point.

“you’re mine,” you growled, your voice rough with desire as you leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear. “say it.”

chris’s eyes fluttered open, a mix of surprise and desire swirling in their depths as he gazed up at you. “fuck—i’m yours… all yours,” he murmured, and those words ignited a flame deep within you, fueling a primal need to dominate him completely.

you began to move, your body gliding against his with a fervor that made his breath hitch. the sight of him unraveling beneath you was intoxicating; every shudder, every gasp that escaped his lips stoked the fire inside you. his hands gripped your thighs with a desperation that left marks on your skin, but you thrived on it, feeding off the power you held over him.

“can’t—please, i need—” he gasped, trying to articulate the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. you pushed him to the brink, reveling in the way his body responded, muscles taut and trembling with the need for release.

his pleasure peaked, and you felt the heat radiating from him as he reached his climax, the ecstasy washing over him in waves. you watched him, captivated, as he came undone beneath you. his body trembled, every muscle quaking as he surrendered completely, and for a moment, he lost himself in the pleasure.

but even as he caught his breath, you weren’t finished. the moment he came, a dark hunger surged within you, an insatiable need to keep him teetering on the edge. as his body shuddered, you continued to grind against him, feeling the remnants of his pleasure pulse inside you.

“please, i can’t take it,” he begged, his voice raw and desperate. but the plea only fueled your desire, igniting a wicked smile on your lips. you leaned down, your chest pressing against his, letting him feel every inch of you as you whispered, “you’re my doll now, and i want to see just how much you can take.”

he groaned, a mix of frustration and desire, but you could see the way his eyes darkened with need. “you’re sick,” he muttered, a hint of amusement lacing his voice despite the overwhelming sensations. you took the moment to tease him, rolling your hips just right, and the way he writhed beneath you made you feel powerful.

“just a little more, sweetheart. let me hear you,” you encouraged, and he nodded, biting his lip as you began to move again. the way he squirmed, overwhelmed by the sensations, made your heart race. tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, a testament to how far you were pushing him, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction at the sight.

“do you want to stop?” you asked, feigning innocence, your voice low and sultry as you leaned in closer. but as you did, you could feel him hardening again inside you, the evidence of his desire undeniable.

he shook his head, a mix of determination and desperation etched across his features. “no… please don’t stop,” he breathed, drool pooling at the corners of his mouth as he surrendered completely to the pleasure. the sight of him, completely undone, fueled the demonic urge within you, and you continued to tease and torment him.

“you’re such a good boy,” you purred, your voice dripping with sweetness as you picked up the pace again. “my little doll, just for me.” each thrust sent shockwaves through his body, and you could feel him pulse within you, the remnants of his previous release mixing with the new waves of pleasure you were drawing from him.

with every movement, you made sure he felt every inch of you, your breasts pressing against his chest, teasing him with the soft curves of your body. he groaned again, the sound a mix of pleasure and desperation, and you reveled in the way he lost himself in the sensations.

“you’re going to make kill me,” he gasped, a mix of pleasure and frustration dancing in his eyes, yet the way he writhed beneath you told a different story. he was completely at your mercy, and you loved it.

“is that what you want?” you teased, leaning down to nip at his neck, savoring the way he shuddered beneath your touch. “to die with pleasure? you’re already so close; i can feel you pulsing inside me.”

you continued to ride him, pushing him over the edge once more, each thrust a reminder of the power you held. the way he quaked beneath you, tears streaming down his cheeks, only intensified your desire to keep going.

“look at you,” you murmured, breathless with excitement. “so beautiful when you’re like this—my doll, completely mine.”

with a final thrust, you felt him spill into you again, hot and thick, but even then, you didn’t relent. you reveled in the feeling of him, still hard despite his release, and the realization that you could push him to the brink over and over sent you into a frenzy of lust.

“one more,” you commanded, and the way he shook his head, helpless yet yearning, made you smile. “i want to see you fall apart again.”

“please,” he whimpered, body trembling as you continued to ride him, teasing him relentlessly. the overstimulation drove him wild, his body responding eagerly to every thrust, every twist of your hips.

“such a good boy,” you praised, your voice sultry as you leaned in to capture his lips with yours, drowning in the intoxicating mix of pleasure and desperation. the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in your own little realm of ecstasy.

he was yours completely, and the knowledge sent shivers of pleasure coursing through you as you continued to tease, torment, and ultimately consume him, reveling in every moment.

and with those words, you felt him come undone beneath you, his body shuddering as he reached his release, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly it hurt. the sight of him losing control, the feeling of his body trembling beneath yours, sent you over the edge as well, your own release crashing through you like a tidal wave.

your body convulsed, your breath catching in your throat as you rode out the waves of pleasure, your nails digging into his skin one final time as you collapsed onto him, both of you panting, completely spent.

you stayed like that for a moment, your bodies tangled together, the heat of your shared desire still lingering in the air. and then, slowly, you pulled away, standing up and looking down at him.

chris was still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stared up at you, a mixture of awe and exhaustion in his eyes.

you licked your lips, tasting the faint trace of his blood still on your tongue, and smiled.

“i told you,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with satisfaction. “i could devour you.”

chris lay on the cold, hard pavement, completely spent, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. his body was covered in the marks of your nails and teeth—evidence of the savage hunger that had consumed you both. his skin was littered with deep red scratches and bruises that would take days to heal, and he loved every second of it.

you took a step back, admiring your work, watching his chest rise and fall as his eyes fluttered open. his once-cocky expression was now one of complete submission, his body spent, vulnerable beneath you. but you could still see it, deep within his gaze—the desire, the lust, the craving for more. even now, he wanted you again.

the thought of it sent a shiver down your spine. the hunger in you hadn’t dissipated. you’d taken what you wanted from him, yes, but you were still hungry, still aching for more. that gnawing need that lived inside you—the one that drove you to consume—was never fully satisfied.

you crouched down next to him, brushing a strand of your hair away from your face as you ran your fingers lightly over the scratches on his chest. he winced, but his lips curled into a grin, his gaze never leaving yours.

“you’re… something else,” he panted, his voice hoarse and ragged. he let out a breathless laugh, his cocky smirk returning despite the state he was in. “i’ve never… fuck, i’ve never had anyone like you.”

you smiled down at him, but it wasn’t a smile of affection. it was the smile of a predator, pleased with its prey. you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “you have no idea.”

chris shivered beneath you, his breath hitching at the sensation, but his hands twitched toward you again, desperate to touch, to feel more of you. the man was insatiable, even after everything. you almost admired that—almost.

you stood, leaving him there on the ground, as you straightened your clothes. your red tank top clung to your skin, sticky with the sheen of sweat, while your denim skirt had ridden up just enough to show off your legs. you fixed your hair, the wildness of the moment still clinging to you as you turned to look back at chris, who was now sitting up, still breathless but watching you with that same hungry look.

he was on the verge of saying something—maybe something cocky, or maybe something sweet—but before he could, you placed a finger over your lips, signalling for him silence himself.

“shh,” you whispered, your voice sultry, the dominance still dripping from every word.

chris stared at you, his brow furrowed in confusion, but he didn’t speak. he just watched you, his eyes trailing over your body, still wanting more even though his body had been pushed to the limit.

you knelt in front of him, getting on his level, your hand sliding up his neck, your nails grazing his skin. his pulse was rapid, his heartbeat quick under your touch, but you didn’t care. he was still just prey. you were the one in control. you always had been.

“you should be careful,” you said softly, your lips curling into a wicked smile as you leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over his lips. “not every girl you meet is going to let you walk away alive.”

the words hung heavy in the air, and chris’s eyes widened just slightly. His smirk faltered, realization dawning on him as he started to understand just how dangerous this encounter had been. but there was still a spark of arrogance in him, a thrill at the danger.

“guess i’m lucky tonight then, huh?” he rasped, his voice strained but full of bravado.

you laughed softly, shaking your head as you stood up, towering over him once again. “maybe,” you replied, your tone teasing but laced with a hint of something darker. “or maybe next time, i won’t be so merciful.”

chris’s gaze darkened, a mixture of fascination and fear dancing in his eyes as he watched you. he had no idea just how close he had come to being consumed by you���how easy it would’ve been for you to take his life like the others before him. but tonight, for some reason, you’d let him live.

he was still sitting on the ground, staring up at you, his body bruised and marked, his pride wounded but not broken. You could see it in his eyes—he wanted more. he craved the danger, the thrill, the raw, animalistic intensity that you brought out in him. But he had no idea what he was playing with.

you gave him one last look, a predatory smile curling on your lips as you turned to walk away. his voice called after you, a breathless plea disguised as arrogance.

“what’s your name?” he called, his voice rough, still hoarse from your earlier encounter.

you stopped in your tracks, your back still to him as you considered his question. it was almost amusing, how after everything, he still wanted to know you, still wanted to pull you closer.

without turning back, you answered simply, “you don’t need to know.”

and with that, you disappeared into the night, leaving chris behind, still hungry, still aching for more.

the city lights glowed faintly in the distance as you walked away, your heart pounding in your chest, but not from excitement or pleasure—it was from the hunger. it always was. chris had been nothing more than another thrill, another taste to keep you going. it wasn’t enough. it never was.

as you moved through the streets, blending into the shadows, you felt the gnawing emptiness inside of you growing again. the hunger was insatiable, and no matter how many boys you consumed, no matter how many times you let yourself indulge in the thrill of the hunt, it would never be satisfied.

that was the curse of being what you were. you were a predator, a hunter, forever driven by the need to consume, to dominate, to devour. and while chris had been fun—cocky, arrogant, thrilling in his own way—he was just another meal. another prey in the endless cycle of your existence.

you couldn’t deny it—the thrill of it all was intoxicating. the way he’d looked at you, the way he’d fought for control only to lose it, the way his body had trembled beneath yours… it was addictive.

and maybe, just maybe, you’d let him live because deep down, you wanted to feel that thrill again.

after all, you were a predator. and predators always come back for more.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ get this freaky aah outta here 😭😭 man this is my first ever smut so the writing does in fact suck but juhvibe twin.. freaktober is here and we 🆙 (might be the only smut i write)

❝ 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @eternaldecisions @elizabebabe

❝ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @fawnchives @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss

© sirenedeslily

[imagionationstation]

Today on the Mikey Is Not Abused news

Research shows that 78% of the “Poor Mikey” fanclub claims that Mikey is incapable of standing up for himself, whether that be because he fears further abuse, fears his brothers in general, suffers from intense depression, an abuse sort of conditioning, or *insert other incredulous views here* (Statistics may not be entirely accurate and should be used with caution).

Unfortunately for them, Mikey does knows how to stand up for himself and it has been shown that he can speak his mind to even the main abuser, Raphael, and walk away unscathed.

Astonishing claim, I know, but the facts prove themselves.

Mikey has brought up beliefs on several occasions, but his lack of awareness outside his own mind often disproves his own claims.

Years of leprechauns, cream cheese demons, and certainty in cupcake uprisings have worn down his brothers’ trust in his word on many different subjects. This is not his brothers ignoring him out of spite. This is merely because he has proven himself to be an unreliable source when it comes to reality.

His lack of interest in taking most battles and training sessions seriously grate on his brothers’ nerves and often lead them to doubt his prowess and abilities on the field. Mikey being the youngest and earning all of their must protect with life instincts doesn’t exactly help his case. He knowingly brings much of their wrath upon himself- with tauntings, and purposefully infuriating acts, and the constant reappearance of Dr. Prankenstein.

When Mikey doesn’t go gun-hoe or call Raph out for a whack on the head, it’s probably because he’s conscious enough to know he likely said/did something stupid, or because he purposefully did something annoying.

However, if he sees an injustice affect another by his brothers’ hand, he will be the first one to stand up and correct it.

Mikey is proven to be more likely to speak his mind when it comes to others around him getting retribution that he deems underserved.

IN FACT, a few of the only times fans actually see an aggressive argument/challenge poised to a brother is to Raphael, often in regards to his crass judgement.

Take Fourfold Trap as an example:

“I got the answer for you! Karai’s a lost cause!”

“Don’t say that, dude!”

Mikey shoves at Raph’s shoulder to make him face him and they both begin yelling/bickering/roughly gesturing. Mikey is in no way scared of how Raph will react to this and is immediate in getting physically aggressive and speaking his mind.

Not normally how someone who’s been abused all their life would act towards the main abuser, I think. Not convincing enough?

Well, The Curse of Savanti Romero is another:

In it, Renet is seen admitting to her mistake of letting Romero loose. Raph responds by immediately coming down on her for it, even though she understands and regrets her mistake.

Mikey has zero hesitations about jumping into the picture.

“You really are the worst time traveler ever! The worst!”

“Back off, bro! She needs our help!”

Psychology of most abusers would not point to this kind of situation going well. If this were the case- in no universe would Raphael have relented under his brother’s glare and stepped away, especially not after being shoved and yelled at in front of someone outside the family. That would be seen as a calling for punishment.

Moving away would be letting the abused assert dominance and think that they’ve gotten away with a win.

If this were really an abusive relationship, then Raphael would have had a far more violent reaction to his youngest brother butting in.

Instead, he growled, glared, and then relented. He could tell this was not an issue that could be further challenged. Mikey was standing his ground, intensely meeting his glare, and so Raph stepped away.

Now, have there been times where Mikey felt like he was left out or being ignored and that made him feel insecure?

Yes. Absolutely. Mikey Gets Shellacne is a prime example.

But, have the abusers, his older brothers, been made to share similar feelings of being unable to rely on their brothers at one time or another? Perhaps due to his direct or indirect actions? Why, yes.

Because, as hard as it is to believe, every person in that family has made mistakes when dealing with another family member. Relationships are hard. Not one person, or mutant, is perfect, and facing or accepting insecurities is always a fact of growing up.

Is this to say Mikey never stands up for himself?

No. Not even close.

Is it ever portrayed as something big and dramatic as a focal point of an episode? No. Because it doesn’t need to be.

If Mikey holding onto resentment and depression from how his brother abuse him was meant to be part of his character, it would have been a plot point in the episode where they’re literally in his brain. There would have been the slightest hint of something going on somewhere in that chaotic realm.

Instead, Mikey’s brain welcomed all of his brother with open arms.

And the true, inner Mikey runs ecstatically toward his brothers and into Leo’s open arms for snuggles, no more scared of his brothers inside his mind than outside of it.

The only time that he has thoughts of “my brothers are so mean to me I should run away” is the episode The Croaking, where he takes accountability and has the realization that his brothers aren’t the jerks that he thought they were when he ran off…

“Dude. Your brothers sound awesome.”

“Yeah. They are… Even after I trashed the house.”

Mikey doesn’t often react violently to his brother’s teasing because there’s not a reason too. He understands that his brother’s pick on him, but in reality, he picks on them too. It’s not a big enough deal to point out unless an evil planet is letting Angry Mikey consume all of his thoughts and then everything is terrible.

Mikey can stand up for himself. Mikey will always stand up for others.

And that brings this article to an end. Subscribe for more!

Next time, we’ll discuss why Parasitica May or May Not have a worse reputation than it truly deserves. Cowbunga!

[songmingisthighs]

Two Is Better Than One

February Filth Fest - extra; size training/size kink, ftfwb (?)

group : ateez

pairing : mingi × reader × yunho

genre : smut

word count : 5.5 k

warning : mdni, explicit sex; piv, threesome, size training, size kink, friends with benefits relationship, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie

a/n : i am but a human, i was tempted to write this and i couldn't help myself. this was not planned for fff but i just asgnsognspso i can't not, yknow ? i am a whorish whore, i am an A B O M I N A T I O N. and i kinda went overboard with this, i didn't even realize i was rambling away. anyways enjoy :D

buy me coffee ?

Mingi's sweater felt comfortable on you, it was warm and it smelled like him. Not just his perfume, but his own scent. You've always loved the fact that he appreciated fashion down to the fabric and he ALWAYS has a keen eye. What you loved most about it was how Mingi was always willing to share his clothing items with you. And thank God he did because it made the conversation you were having with Mingi WAY easier.

"So... you want to have sex with me..." Mingi started off, looking at you, who were sitting on his bed with your legs pulled to your chest, confusedly. "As friends," you intercepted, making Mingi smack his forehead sardonically, "Right, of course, as friends, because you... Want more experience?" He asked, making sure he didn't heard you wrong. You huffed, cheeks red in embarrassment, "And because I want to get used to guys who are... You know..." You trailed off as you waved your hands at his general direction, avoiding eye contact with him, "On the bigger side."

Truly, you wanted the ground to split in half and swallow you whole because that was hard to hear, say, and experience.

It all started when you went out with your girlfriends a couple of nights ago. Their open discussion about the partners they have been with came up and soon everyone was describing the penises they've taken. While you didn't exactly have a weekly quota to fill, the number of your sexual partner was still on the normal side but one thing that your friends caught on was that the size you took were usually those in the medium to the small side. Then the jokes rolled in and you hated that. Obviously, you could've lied, you could've made the claim that you had actually taken a man whose dick is monster sized but the words died in your mouth. But at the same time, an idea popped into your head. Your best friend. Or his roommate.

Mingi chuckled, making you groan because you thought he was going to make fun of you. "Why did you think of me?" he asked, voice void of malice or tease, simply curiosity. But his question didn't make you feel better because you were forced to tell him how you thought of him in the first place. You'd have to be honest that you checked him out more times than you could admit in whatever clothing he wore. It was a known fact that Mingi looked like a damn model and that fucked you up quite a bit. You would have to confess that whenever you and he go swimming, your eyes would automatically zero in on his crotch, watching how the fabric of his swim trunks clung onto his crotch, perfectly accentuating his OBVIOUSLY BIG-looking dick. Mingi waited for your answer, but all he could see was how your face had gone a deeper shade of red, announcing your embarrassment to him wordlessly. As his eyes trailed down, he took notice of the way your legs clenched together, the expanse of your knees appearing down from his sweater that was too long for your body and your bare knees touching. Your state let him know what you were thinking, and what your answer was to his question. Or at least an idea.

You were surprised when you felt the bed dip right by your foot and even more so when he took your legs and pulled them to either side of his body. When you looked up at him, Mingi was sporting a mischievous grin, staring at you with a knowing look that made you visibly swallow the lump that was forming in your throat. "Been checking out my goods, haven't you?" he teased, adding a chuckle at the end to further let you know that he was being a tease. You pouted and were about to kick him with your right leg but failed as he managed to pull the leg and slung it over his left shoulder as he simultaneously pulled you closer to him so that your hips were on his lap and your upper body lay flat on your back. "Do you think I'm hot?" he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side to faux innocence while his left hand tickle the skin on your upper knee where his hand rested. You rolled your eyes and mindlessly mumbled to him, "Of course, I think you're hot, I fucking have eyes," not realizing that Mingi could hear you perfectly. Pleased with your answer, Mingi chuckled and leaned forward to trap you under him with his hands on either side of your head, "Is that why you wanna fuck me? You want to tell your friends that you had sex with your hot, big-cocked best friend?" he teased, face coming closer to yours that you could feel his breath fanning on your face. "Look at me," he demanded, forcing you to look up at him, staring into his eyes to see a glint of both playfulness and want.

When Mingi dove down to take your lips in his, you were caught very off guard. You didn't expect your talk with Mingi, your request, to be taken so seriously by the man to the point that he was now on his way to let you know how it feels to be taking a cock with a size that you've never tried before. The intrusion of Mingi's tongue in your mouth made you gasp. Mingi took that chance to fully explore the cavern of your mouth, moaning into it as he pressed his body close to yours as best as he could. Your right leg which was on Mingi's shoulder was folded in half while your left fell around his waist at the pressure of his body against you. You could feel his dick pressing against your core and your head was swimming with the thought of finally being able to feel its shape after the long time you spent only oggling at it when given the chance. It didn't occur to you how perverted you sound but you quickly shove the thought away to enjoy the feeling of Mingi on you.

You took a deep breath, gasping for air even when Mingi pulled his mouth off of you. "You're wilder than I expect you to be, (y/n). I never thought you'd be so ambitious that you wanted to be used to taking a big cock," he chuckled on your skin, his warm breath tickling your skin and the vibration of his voice travelled to cover the area where his lips made contact. "Or maybe you just wanna see and feel my cock inside you, huh? Using that lame fucking excuse just to appear innocent," his head lifted from your neck, smirking down at you as you felt his hands moving inside his sweater that you were wearing, eyes widening when he realized what he felt, "You're not wearing a shirt under this?" he asked, pleasantly surprised. You pursed your lips and shook your head, not knowing why he was so surprised, "I never wear anything underneath when I borrow your clothes," you stated simply.

The new information entered Mingi's ears and run around his head continuously until he was able to understand what it was you were saying. The guttural groan that left Mingi's throat made your heart clench, stomach drop, and pussy weep. "There goes my fantasy coming true," he said before quickly pulling the sweater you wore off, exposing the flimsy sleep shorts you were wearing along with your bare breast. "You thought of me?" you asked, having your turn teasing him with a mischievous grin on your face, expecting him to deny you or even to poke back at you in retaliation. But instead, you saw him nod as he gently kneaded your breasts, his hands rough and firm but his movements were so soft and careful as if he didn't want to harm you, "Of course, a girl like you, how can I not? The day you first wore my shirt, I jerked off at the thought of you masturbating in it, the day we went swimming, I had to excuse myself so I can imagine cumming on your tits. You don't know how much I wanted to see you naked like this," he confessed, tweaking your nipples to make you moan out loud. "Well," Mingi chuckled as he eyed your sleep shorts, "More naked than this I supposed."

Mingi spared you a glance, seemingly asking for permission from you even though he could just easily strip you naked and has his way. Even in this position, he was still your gentle giant of a best friend, ever so considerate and kind. Though the reality was that you were about to find out just how rough he could be.

With your permission through the nod you gave, Mingi carefully let your left leg off of his shoulder so when he take your bottom off, there would not be any intrusion. The hands that were on your breasts slid down your body, his fingers catching on the hem of your shorts as he purposefully let his thumb rest on your mound, directly on your nub. The pressure he put made you whimper out, surprised at the suddenness of it. Mingi leaned his body down to press his lips on your stomach so he could drag it down as his hands work efficiently, pulling both your shorts and your panties off to finally expose you in your naked glory to his eyes. When you felt your bottom was free of clothing and the pieces were tossed somewhere on Mingi's floor, joining his sweater, you felt his lips rest on your lower belly. He peppered kisses around the area and only in that area, not going lower which made you frustrated as your cunt could feel his presence so close to it yet it wasn't getting the attention it deserved.

"Is this what you two do when I'm not around?"

You snapped out of your pleasure haze and looked to the side to see Yunho standing in the doorway of Mingi's room. His face was neutral safe for the high tilted arch of his left eyebrow as he took in the position you and Mingi were in. You moved to cover yourself but Mingi remained unbudging, even displeasedly grunting at you. "Am I interrupting?" Yunho joked, chuckling at how you were scattering to try to cover yourself while Mingi looked like he couldn't be bothered.

Finally, with a final push, you were able to get Mingi off of you. In return, he pulled you close to him, shielding your exposed front side from Yunho as he kept a possessive arm around your waste. Perhaps you were seeing things, but for a second you swore you saw something like disappointment flashing on Yunho's face. "You're back from the gym?" Mingi asked, too casually for your liking considering the state you were in. Yunho nodded at Mingi's question dropping his gym back in the hallway, near Mingi's doorway, "Yeah, San wanted to do legs today and I took a shower there before coming home," he shrugged before nodding towards the both of you, "Now, care to tell me what this is?" he asked whilst simultaneously taking his slow steps into the room, closer to where your bare body was, making you subconsciously lean closer into Mingi. The way your body curled to avoid his gaze made the corner of Yunho's mouth twitch, almost breaking out into a grin.

Casually, Mingi shrugged at his roommate, "(y/n) here wants to try taking a big cock so she asked me," he said oh too simply which earned him a slap on his chest. The impact caused him to jolt slightly and turn his gaze from his roommate to you, "What? That's what you told me!" he whined, bottom lip jutting out in a pout while you glared at him, "Well you didn't have to tell him that!" you hissed, embarrassed and annoyed that he so cavalierly shared that intimate information with his equally hot friend. "Whoah," Yunho interrupted just as Mingi was about to answer you, "If you wanna try taking a big cock, why not ask me?" he asked directly at you. Your eyes widened, surprised at the question Yunho asked you. Never in a million years would you have expected to hear such a question from Yunho. He was casually offering himself for you to use.

To be honest, it wasn't like you hadn't thought of him. Between Yunho and Mingi, you were more used to Mingi and you were just so used to being open to Mingi that it was a no-brainer that Mingi was the first person you go to. Just like how you know Mingi was big, you know that Yunho was big too. You can't exactly compare the two because you haven't seen their bare cocks (yet), but you could make an estimation in your brain. But now Yunho's offering his cock for you to use as well if you need it. You were pretty sure your brain was making up shit in your head.

Snapping you out of your shocked trance, you noticed that Mingi was laughing heartily, "Oh dude, she liked you saying that, her pussy was clenching!" He announced. Your eyes widened out of surprise as red covered your face from embarrassment while Yunho broke out chuckling with a grin on his face. "Mingi! How could you say that!?" you scolded, slapping him on his chest again before trying to get out of his grasp in favour of hiding under his duvet but his grip was too tight on you. It was comfortably tight but very restricting, you tried wiggling around to get out but all you found was that you were still trapped and your pussy was rubbed just right on his thighs.

A pair of hands suddenly placed themselves on your shoulders, instinctively making you look up. Yunho was staring down at you with a smile so gentle but in contrast, his eyes has a teasing glint to them. "Don't worry baby, I find it VERY endearing that you want me too," he said in hopes that his words would comfort you even slightly.

At his words, your eyebrows furrowed, noticing something that he said. "I'm sorry, 'too'?" you asked, not sure whether or not you heard correctly. Yunho nodded nonchalantly as if the information he just revealed was common knowledge and/or no big deal at all. But the look on your face said otherwise, it showed him that you really didn't know that you were wanted by him all this time. And Yunho found great pleasure in it, he felt a wave of arousal coursing through him once again. The first time was when he hear Mingi said that you wanted to take his big cock and fit it in your cunt (he was paraphrasing, of course), and now this. You never considered the possibility of Yunho wanting you. He revelled in the knowledge that you were just so precious, especially to him.

The hands that were carefully placed on your shoulders soon made their move, pulling you back so that your body fell onto his toned, strong torso, releasing you from Mingi's grip. Yunho then swooped in to kiss you in his upside-down position. It was quite awkward but it felt nice because somehow Yunho made the position work. Whilst your mouth was occupied by Yunho, Mingi took you off of his lap so he could slide back slightly to reposition and take off his clothing. "Yunho, look," Mingi called, taking Yunho's attention away from you momentarily to point at his grey sweatpants, specifically on the spot you sat on his thigh, "(y/n)'s cunt is definitely dripping. Look at the pool she made," he pointed out, grinning proudly. While Yunho smirked at that, you looked at it in utter horror. "Dude, don't tease her like that, that's actually so hot," Yunho said as he licked his lips, hungry for your taste, before diving down to attach his lips with yours again, not giving you a chance to react his words.

You reacted, however, when Mingi bend your legs on your knees and spread them wide enough to fit himself in between them comfortably. Yunho was preoccupying you so well that you didn't realize what Mingi was up to until you felt his fingers probing your pussy. The feeling was so sudden that you gasped and detached yourself from Yunho but your hand clung to him for support. "You're so wet (y/n), did you start leaking when we started talking about your need to fuck a huge cock?" Mingi asked, smirking cockily as he began to enter you. At the feeling of your opening clenching down on him, Mingi shuddered and exhaled sharply, your tightness was thrilling to him. "Did your previous partners not fuck you right or something? How can you be this tight?" Mingi groaned the more he move around in your pussy, even pulling you slightly forward to him, slightly detaching you from Yunho slightly.

With you preoccupied with Mingi, Yunho took this as a chance to pull away so he could take his shirt and pants off as he kept a close eye on you and Mingi. Mingi had you repositioned by now, laying down on the bed as he busied his mouth with teasing your opening. Yunho felt his dick hardened at the sight of you moaning, back arching with your pebbled nipples pointing to the sky, arms going wild, moving around aimlessly due to the pleasure Mingi was giving you. You froze however when Yunho slotted himself behind you, allowing your body to rise slightly as he rested your head on his chest, moving you around as if you weighed nothing. "I want to touch you too," Yunho whispered in your ear, making your body shudder from the words he used and the way his breath blew on your earlobe. In a flash, Yunho had your left leg in his grip as his right arm reached down your body to dip into your sopping cunt. Your eyes rolled back at the sensation of Mingi's tongue in your hole and Yunho's middle and ring fingers gently pushing your lips apart. "Oh, you're enjoying this so much, aren't you, dirty bitch?" Mingi smirked at your pussy, his lips moving against the flesh that caused you to wince slightly at the unfamiliar feeling. Yunho chuckled at the way Mingi called you a bitch, knowing that despite him sounding like he was degrading you, he really wanted you just as much if not more. "I bet if we try to fuck her, we'll slip right in," Yunho pointed out, making you clench at the thought of taking Mingi and Yunho. "Oh, she likes that, she WANTS that," Mingi chuckled, unlatching his mouth from your cunt while leaving his fingers in your hole, coaxing more of your juices out, "Do you think you're ready to take us, baby?" he asked, wanting you to give him the signal to proceed. Frantically, you nodded, and your hands flew to both Mingi's and Yunho's that were stimulating your cunt, stopping their movements momentarily, "Please, I really need your cocks," you pleaded, glazed eyes staring up at Yunho before going to Mingi.

In a flash, both men took off the rest of their clothing and positioned you so that you were sandwiched between them. Yunho held your body steady with his hands on your waist in front of you as you placed your hands on his broad shoulders. Mingi on the other hand was situated behind you, your legs opened and your ass above his lap with his dick poking at your hole and his hands situated just above Yunho's, his fingers directly on your underboob, softly caressing the skin in a comforting manner. "Are you ready?" Yunho asked when he saw the worried look on your face, "Mingi's going to let you get used to him first and we're going to have the gravity do most of the work," he explained, smiling at you. "You seem to know the mechanism, have you done this before?" you nervously joked, staring down at his obviously large cock. While Yunho laugh at your jab, Mingi spoke up from behind, "Kinda surprised that you let me go first, but thanks man," he grinned. Yunho nodded and shrugged slightly at Mingi, "Yeah, you're smaller than me so between the two of us, she might be comfortable taking you first." Mingi furrowed his eyebrows and let his left hand off of your body for a bit to punch Yunho on his chest, "The fuck are you saying, we're basically the same size!" he protested, not liking that Yunho called him small. Technically small-er but still, Mingi didn't like that. With a roll of his eyes, Yunho nodded in Mingi's general direction, "I'm just saying, yours looked slightly slimmer than mine," he reasoned. Mingi was about to say something when you groaned and turn to glare at Mingi and Yunho, "Okay, can you both stop logging at each other's dicks and help me with my problem?"

The tip of Mingi's dick intruded your hole with a shift of his hips, effectively shutting you up as the annoyance on your face changed into one of shock; your eyes rolled back and your jaw went slack. Yunho's eyes darkened at your expression, delighted that he was able to get a front-row seat to look at what a big dick did to you. "I'm sorry baby, how is it now?" Mingi mocked, hands going back on you but this time it covered your tits. "S-so- so big," you gasped out as you inhaled sharply. The tip was bigger than you expected and maybe Mingi's tease was right earlier, maybe your previous partners have not been fucking you correctly because the feeling in your cunt was nothing like you felt before. Your previous experience was nowhere near what Mingi was giving you right now. "That's it, take your very first big cock," Yunho said, eyes trailing down to look at the way your thighs trembled slightly from Mingi's intrusion, "Do you think you can take more?" he asked. You bit your bottom lip as you mulled it over, thinking how even the tip affected you that much, were you able to take more? But hell if you weren't determined. So you quickly nodded to Yunho, your left hand reaching back to Mingi's knees to let him know that he could try to slide in more.

It was a good thing that Mingi made sure you were wet first because when he pushed in, you could feel a slight burn. His dick was stretching you out and it was uncomfortable, to say the least. With a whimper, your body dropped forward, the hands that were braced on Yunho's shoulders now enveloped it completely as you held on for support. Mingi was about halfway in your cunt when he stopped, wanting to make sure you were used to more of him before he could slip in more. Practising self-restraint was so hard for Mingi as your walls were clutching on him so tight it was like a vice. Yunho saw how Mingi's head hung low and his biceps trembled slightly and he could only imagine how amazing you felt. The more he thought about it, the more aroused he got, he could feel his cock twitching and from your position, you could feel it too. But with being so overwhelmed you couldn't even make a comment about it.

"You're doing so good, baby," Yunho cooed to comfort you, his hands gently caressing your thighs in assurance as Mingi dipped his head down to pepper kisses all over your back. "I wanna do better," you groaned out, surprising both men when you voluntarily sunk down with a cry as your head was thrown back. Your senses were overwhelmed as you could hear your heart pounding in your ears and your eyes watering, your skin felt slick with sweat and your thighs felt like they were burning. "Shit," you cursed when you felt yourself not being able to take more. You swore it felt like Mingi's dick had no end as you take every inch of him but still felt more. Both men knew it was the most you could take at that moment and they were amazed at how you were doing so far. To distract you, Mingi played with your breasts, flicking both nipples and massaging the soft flesh as Yunho reached down to stimulate your clit. You were glad they did so because although there was still pain from your hole being stretched, you could feel that pleasure was doing such a great job distracting you.

"You felt so amazing (y/n), how could you keep your cunt away from me this long? I should've fucked you from the moment we met and have you fucking yourself on me this whole time," Mingi moaned when he sneakily tried to move slightly and was delighted when he heard you hum lowly in pleasure instead of wincing. Hearing Mingi use such language and talk to you in such a way was thrilling, you loved hearing how much he wanted you and now hearing that he was lusting after you made your head feel fuzzy and your stomach churning in the best way. You couldn't even help but clench down at Mingi's dick which elicit a groan of pleasure from Mingi.

Yunho raised an eyebrow at his friend's statement and scoffed, "What makes you think she would've even wanted you? Maybe she wanted to fuck herself on me instead," he questioned. Mingi raised an eyebrow as he slowly pulled away and pushed back in again, making you bite your bottom lip to suppress a moan. "She came to me first to ask for help, if that's not proof, you're crazy," he scoffed. "Please," you started, head dropping even lower to rest on Mingi's shoulder, "I asked you because we're just closer and- ah," you whimpered when Mingi bucked up slightly, "You were here." Yunho couldn't help but laugh and peck you on the lips, "See, Mingi?" he teased, lifting his arousal-covered fingers to your mouth so you could taste yourself and clean them for him, "You were just available so technically speaking, you have the same opportunity as a dildo," he poked. In disbelief, Mingi propped you up better in his strong grip and pressed his cheek to yours, "Oh, so you wanna get used to me so when you seduce Yunho, you can take him like a champ? Can you believe that Yunho? (y/n) here wants your cock as she's fucking herself on my cock," he chuckled darkly as he eyed his friend.

In a flash, Mingi began moving in and out of you, teasing you by going as far as slipping completely out of you and bucking back in. The impact would've sent you tumbling forward but Mingi was holding you in a jealous vice. It was probably a bad idea that you poked fun at him like that but you honestly couldn't complain when Mingi was taking you so well.

The pleasure seemed to dull your attachment to reality because just as Mingi pulled out, you felt something thicker entering you. Your eyes widened as you tried to shake your head to regain your senses. It was blurry, but from the way Yunho was staring deep into your eyes with his teeth gritting, you realized that he had pushed his cock inside you. If it weren't for both men's grip on you, you were willing to bet that you would've slumped down because you couldn't feel your legs. You were sure they were shaking, but you couldn't really feel them.

"Fuck, how did you not immediately fuck her, Mingi? She's so tight and warm," Yunho groaned through gritted teeth, trying his best to not immediately snap his hips up. With his length (which you were sure not all of them) inside you, you could definitely tell that Yunho was right, he was bigger than Mingi in terms of girth but their lengths were maybe the same. "Shit," you moaned out, hands clutching onto Yunho so tightly that your nails were digging into his skin, "More, I need more," you stated, surprising both men. "Are you sure?" Mingi asked, pushing your hair away with one of his hands to look at your face better, "Don't you think you need to adjust first?" he worriedly added, genuinely not wanting to hurt you. But you were determined, nodding firmly and even pushing yourself off of him to situate yourself in a straight sitting position, "I will get adjusted by having you both fuck me," you stated, pouting at Yunho that made him just positively melt, "Please?" you begged.

Both men shared a look and nodded, wanting to give you what you were asking of them. They repositioned their hands so they could have a better grip on you before Yunho began moving slowly to accommodate your adjustment. Thankfully, having taken Mingi beforehand and with the slick you produced, Yunho found it easy to move and you did not feel as much pain as the first time. After a couple of thrusts, Yunho finally moved to slip himself out and Mingi slipped back inside you. The difference in girth was a blessing for you as you felt like you were given the chance to take a breath momentarily. The pain was almost completely gone at this point, all you could feel were pleasure but you knew that you still couldn't take them both harshly. You were glad that both men were putting you first and moving slowly, proving to you that they indeed kept up with their words that they wanted to help you.

They fell into a rhythm soon enough, slipping in when the others slipped out, stealing moans after moans from your mouth from pleasure. You felt like you were in cloud nine, finally understanding why your friends made such a big deal about taking a large sized cock. Although, you'd have to admit that it wasn't just because of their size that you were having such a pleasurable time. Had it not been for the fact that it was your friends helping you, you might not be having this much fun. You loved their possessive yet caring grip on you as they made a mess of your cunt. You were sure that there was a pool right underneath you, a mixture of your cum and their precum dropping onto the sheet bellow.

You didn't even realize when you finally came. Mingi had just re-entered you after Yunho bucked up into you harshly when your body froze and your muscles tensed up, your thighs closed slightly and your head was thrown forward onto Yunho's shoulder as you climaxed dramatically with your body shaking. Mingi's eyes rolled back as he felt your pussy clenching and gushing, the warmth of it was enough to make him cum inside you, not having enough time to pull out.

When you and Mingi slumped back, you rested on top of him as he supported his body weight with his arms, you noticed Yunho towering over you with a smirk on his face. "My turn," he said as he started to pump his dick in his hands. You watched him trying to get himself to cum using the image of you being so spent on top of Mingi and you can't help but think that it was hot. Your pussy clenched down onto Mingi's dick that was still inside you, forcing a mixture of both of your cums to leak down to your ass. Mingi moved to spread your legs widely for Yunho, letting them rest over his own legs as if he was telling Yunho where to cum. Yunho's eyes zeroed in on your puffy lips, hole stretched with Mingi's still hard dick in it and glistening with arousal. It didn't take much for him to reach his climax and painted your pussy and stomach white with his cum. Even when he dropped back, you could still see his tip spurting out the white liquid and his cock twitching.

Finally, when things wind down, you closed your eyes and let your head rest on Mingi's shoulder. The room was filled with the scent of sweat and sex, no one talked so it was quiet save for the sound of the three of you panting, trying to catch your breaths. Despite the tiredness, both men were proud of what they did, happy even that they were able to help you. Sure, you didn't take them completely, but they took their win as they didn't hear you complaining.

What surprised them was what you said when you opened your eyes again, lifting your head to look at both of them before announcing your plan.

"Give me 10 minutes, we'll go again."

Though, how can they say no?

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[spacerockfloater]

Every time Team Black stans talk about Rhaenyra’s bastards and the Dragon Twins as if they’re blessings upon this earth, an angel loses its wings.

Like, okay. They’re children, I’m excusing all of them up to a certain point. But they’re some of the most vicious, aggressive, cowardly, snotty brats we’ve ever seen in this franchise and pretending that they’re not is so foul.

Lucerys is a hypocritical twat that bullied the boy he grew up with because he didn’t have a dragon, but then he’s totally okay hanging out with Rhaena who doesn’t have one either. And then he pulls out a knife and blinds Aemond for no fucking reason, after his gang attacked him first, and faces zero consequences for his actions. He eventually grows up to become an even worse person by literally laughing in his cousin’s face, whom he disabled. And then he tries to boss lord Borros around by telling him that he’s obligated to ally with Rhaenyra even if there isn’t anything in him for it.

Jacaerys is also very two faced for the exact same reasons as Lucerys, with the addition of having anger management issues. Like, remember how he beats the living shit out of his little brother when they’re training at the beach, kicks him to the ground and grabs him by the throat because he is upset their uncles are better warriors than them? That’s the good future king you’re all talking about? He is already obsessed with the idea of becoming king, to the point that his own mother has to remind him that she’s actually alive and well and he would have to wait a good fucking while before his dreams come true. That’s actually so sick on his behalf. Not to mention that he very likely married Sara Snow, betraying his fiancée, in order to gain the Starks’ help, which is very dishonourable. At least Lucerys told Borros he’s betrothed and refused to marry one of his daughters to get his support, I’ll give him that.

Baela is a deranged evil girl who was ready to throw hands on sight, too. And have we forgotten that she becomes a drunkard and whoremonger who spends her money gambling in the rat pits, the places where children fight one another in King’s Landing, once she grows up, or is it wrong only when Aegon II does it?

Rhaena is an aggressive coward who seems more preoccupied with the acquisition of a dragon than her mother’s death. She didn’t have the guts to go and claim Vhagar, but she feels powerful enough to confront Aemond when she has three people backing her up.

Finally, even without taking all of their problematic traits into account, these people are so severely uninteresting and unimpressive. Lucerys does not convince Borros to side with his mother and drops dead like a fly. Joffrey gets shrugged off by Syrax and plummets to his demise. Jacaerys is immediately killed during his embarrassing attempt to fight the Triarchy, not to mention that he was the reason his youngest half siblings were captured and nearly killed because he had the brilliant idea of sending them away. Baela loses the only dragon fight she was ever part of to Aegon II and Sunfyre who were very injured by a previous fight already! And Rhaena is just… there. Doing nothing. Never avenging her husband’s death, eventually marrying a Hightower. Yikes.

Are there much more ill behaved children in ASOIAF? Yeah, for sure, but we actually acknowledge that children like Aegon II and Joffrey Baratheon are pieces of shit. But if we could like, stop glorifying these four mediocre and borderline malicious kids solely because some of you feel the need to ride the dicks of everyone who is part of Rhaenyra’s crew, that would be great. They might be children, but they’re children with shady, putting it mildly, personalities, wielding new-clear weapons of mass destruction who actively participated in a war, especially Jacaerys and Baela. They sure were victims of the world they were raised in, but they were aggressors as well. And like, this is the ASOIAF universe, nearly all of our protagonists are children. We can’t constantly apply modern day morals and coddle them forever because “OMG, they are just babies!”, unless we are ready to apply the same logic on the Targtowers, who were basically the same age as Rhaenyra and Daemon’s children.

[pin-k-ink]

stolen kisses // gojo satoru

tw ⇢ teacher-student relationship, implied age gap, pet names, dub-con, teasing, unprotected sex, implied masturbation, anal play, asphyxiation

wc ⇢ 6.7k

The shadows seemed to elongate and twist into ominous shapes as the lights winked out, plunging the expansive training room into absolute darkness. You froze mid-stance, cursed energy coalescing between your palms in a tremulous nimbus of lavender light. Though the blindfold perpetually obscured his vision, Gojo would no doubt have sensed your panicked spike of spiritual output in the gloom.

Sure enough, his unhurried baritone cut through the stillness mere moments later, tone dry with a lilt of sardonic amusement.

"Do I need to fetch a candle and nightlight for my star pupil? Or perhaps schedule in some remedial work on suppressing that hair-trigger reaction?"

You swallowed thickly, grimly aware he was zeroing in on your position with uncanny precision despite the enshrouding blackness. Too late to compose yourself and downplay the tangle of childish fears seizing your nerves with icy fingers.

"N-no need, Sensei," you managed in a credible enough facsimile of nonchalance despite the frantic leaps of your pulse. "Just a simple...amateur's mistake. I'll get control of my output in a moment."

The phantom disturbance in the ether that always preceded Gojo's unhurried movements grew perceptibly closer until you detected his unmistakable sandalwood scent surrounding you. Unable to suppress a full-body shiver, you braced for the chiding lecture or derisive mocking that was sure to come.

But his next words were spoken in a low, intimate timbre that seemed to bypass all preliminary defenses, curling straight through your marrow to shiver expectantly.

"Come now, little one...you're shaking like a leaf."

Your breath strangled in your throat as Gojo's reassuring bulk materialized directly behind you, steel-banded arms snaking around your waist to engulf you in his grounding warmth. He subtly rearranged you in his embrace until your spine nestled flush against the unyielding weight of his chest and the stifling press of darkness ceased to feel quite so inescapable.

Distantly, you registered the cadence of his heartbeat thumping at your back - strong, steady, and sure in contrast with your own frantically thunderous pulses. His palms settled over your quivering hands to absorb the excess burst of energy crackling between them, smothering the fitful bursts of amethyst into tranquil dimness.

"Shh...just like that. Breathe, little one," his infuriatingly composed timbre rasped against your nape in a warm, seductive purr. "Darkness is often more effectively navigated by feel than by feeble, faltering sight."

You hadn't the faintest chance to process his suggestive words before the deft slide of calloused fingertips tenderly cradling your jaw angled your face sideways. Gojo's lips branded yours in a slant of liquid heat that stole your very breath, scorching tongue sweeping insistently to claim the whimper stuttering from your core.

Any residual trepidation fled as your nerve-endings combusted in tingling aftershocks of frissons. Gojo's overwhelming presence engulfed your shattered senses - the unleashed musk of his skin, the controlled power vibrating through every coiled muscle pressed against your yielding form, the rasping cadence of his ragged breaths fanning across your parted lips between the achingly slow sweeps of his tongue.

With casual mastery, Gojo expertly robbed you of coherence until nothing persisted beyond the heady rushes of sensation spiraling through your skull. Just before your knees buckled entirely beneath his intoxicating onslaught, he tugged you around and deepened the stake of his possession on a rumbling purr. His mouth carved blazing paths down the sloped column of your bared throat between the leashed growls of pleasure vibrating through him.

"Do you feel that, babygirl?" He rasped against the overheated hollow where your pulse fluttered wildfire-quick beneath his lips. "Focus on me...allow me to guide you through this shadow with hands and mouth since your eyes are stolen for the moment."

Surrendering to the directive laced through his cadences, you threaded your fingers through his silken hair and tilted your head back in unabashed offering as Gojo continued his sensory immersion. All trepidation vanished like night-vapors incinerated before dawn's first onslaught.

When the power at last flickered back to life, you were scarcely cognizant of Gojo's sibilant murmurs easing you down to the mat - too lost in the cascading aftershocks of his thorough reorientation coursing through you in veins of lapping embers. Searing points of impact branded themselves into memory where his mouth seared your flesh in deepening shades, tracing references to finding your way in the dark long after light was restored.

"Are you sure you're okay watching this, sweetheart?" Concern laced Gojo's deep timbre — clearly misplaced since his opalescent eyes remained perpetually obscured beneath that signature black blindfold.

You determinedly avoided his too-perceptive regard as you jabbed the 'play' button in terse reply, curling yourself more securely into the plush knit blanket swaddling your form like emotional armor. The ominous opening theme swelled to discordant life, all deep percussive rumbles and screeching strings presaging the onslaught of cinematic terror to come.

Your nails carved indentations into the armrest with white-knuckled intensity as the first bombastic jump-scare sent your heart into freefall mere minutes into the length. Eyes wide and locked on the screen, you bit back the mortifying whimper building in your throat via sheer force of stubborn resolve not to reveal your deepest girlhood dread before your mentor.

Of course, Gojo tracked your spiking unease with preternatural accuracy despite your best efforts. You startled violently when his palm settled over the spasming tension in your nape - large, implacably warm, and grounding.

"Easy, little one...you're wound tighter than an overwound clockspring," he drawled in that molten burr from directly beside you, unwinding each terse syllable against the fragile whorls of your ear.

You risked a sidelong glance, wilting beneath the intensity of his haloed azure scrutiny cutting straight through you like a scalpel's whisper-slice. Not even a hint of amusement or condescension flickered behind that vivid jewel-toned gaze — only simmering heat you couldn't quite convince yourself was mere friendly concern.

With lazy indolence, Gojo draped one arm around your rigid shoulders and deftly encircled you, engulfing your shivering form against the scorching forge of his chest despite your sputtered protests. Not to be dissuaded, he simply tightened his embrace with quiet, proprietary firmness until every instinctive womanly curve was melded to his uncompromising masculine hardness.

"So tense, so fearful," he purred against the crown of your hair, every rumble of syllables seeming to resonate straight through to detonate lancing spears of charged awareness crackling through your belly despite your strenuous efforts at self-possession. "Perhaps I should distract you?"

With supreme confidence, he hooked two fingers into the stubborn jut of your jaw and turned your face up towards his with proprietary surety. His mouth slanted over yours in a punishing brand of possession before you could stifle the soft sound of protest dying on your lips at the first brush of his intoxicating musk and sandalwood.

Gojo's tongue stroked into the honeyed recesses of your mouth like some profane benediction, bestowing the exhilarating blasphemy of his merciless mastery. You writhed almost despite yourself, hands clawing purchase against the exquisite cage of his chest and shoulders as chaotic sensation spiraled through every tendon, every heated ribbon of viscous tension pooling in your core.

Between one anguished breath and the next, he had divested you of the confining blanket that symbolized your pitiful last barrier against the riptide of yearning threatening to drown you. Then, with a leonine roll of his powerful shoulders, Gojo settled you astride his wide lap in a single boneless movement—your gasp of shock swallowed by the relentless onslaught of his merciless mouth's rapacious brand.

A savage growl rumbled through him as his hands mapped inextinguishable paths over every quivering plane and dip of your hypersensitized flesh through the thin chemise. They lingered and scraped with delicious insistence over the stiffened peaks of your nipples, sparking white supernovas of incandescence behind your fluttering eyelids. His name spilled from your swollen lips in a breathless, broken litany—half plea and half supplication.

But still Gojo showed no signs of granting you meager mercy. His efforts only intensified, sculpted lips tugging and suction at the fragile whorled flesh of your throat until each scorching kiss blossomed vivid plum-violet in his wake. Your whimpering crescendoed to higher plateaus with every molten caress, every silken lap of his tongue that seemed to score your very essence alight with brand beyond Brand's reach.

You were scarcely aware of the climactic bloodshed and viscera ultimately unfolding onscreen as you spiraled blissfully ever deeper down into the velvet oblivion of his smoldering seduction. There was only the exquisite agony of him—the sinuous flex of cored muscle against your thighs, the branding rasp of his calluses raking your burning flesh, and the smoldering intensity of his eyes pinning you through the blindfold's obscuring veil whenever he tore his lips from your skin to drink you in with primal hunger... sire...it would consume you both, body and soul.

And you couldn't wait to burn.

The eastern courtyard stood bathed in dappled shadow and gilt warmth where the rising sun pierced through the canopy of ancient maple trees. You tilted your face into the gentle caress of the morning breeze, allowing your eyes to drift shut and simply exist in the tranquil embrace of nature's awakening for a stolen moment.

With the school's Main Hall and training grounds behind you, the only sounds were the distant twittering of songbirds and the whisper-shush of bodies moving through forms nearby. One of the junior students must have risen before the rest to get some solitary practice in while the air remained crisp and invigorating.

You breathed in deeply, allowing the pure green perfume of recent rain and fertile loam to permeate your bloodstream with its rejuvenating essence. Tensions eased from muscles harmoniously flowing through the preparatory sequences Gojo had drilled into your very bones over the years. In these hushed instants of ripe potential before true daybreak, all seemed r—

The distant clack of wood striking wood in two crisp impacts broke the tranquil morning quiet. You whirled towards the sound, finding Gojo lounging in the shadows of a secluded arbor, arms folded and hip cocked in a casually dominant line as he watched you.

"You're getting sloppy out here, babygirl," he drawled, tongue skating over his lower lip in an unconscious display that had heat blooming low in your belly. "Mind wandering again, hmm? You know that's a dangerous habit to let yourself slip into."

You swallowed thickly as Gojo's gaze raked over you in a slow, assessing perusal that seemed to scorch everywhere it lingered. There was no missing the wolfish edge to his smirk as he drank in your disheveled state.

"Then again, far be it from me to criticize where a pretty little thing's thoughts might wander when left unsupervised..." His deep timbre dipped into dark intimation.

With lazy, prowling strides, Gojo closed the distance between you until his solid weight loomed scant inches away. His unique sandalwood-and-citrus scent enveloped you in intoxicating headiness, igniting tingles of arousal despite your effort to remain composed. Almost helplessly, you tilted your face up towards his as his fingertips ghosted along the line of your jaw.

"Got you all flushed and fidgety, don't I?" He murmured, satisfaction lacing his words as he traced patterns of heated friction over your tingling skin. "You squirmin' just from me getting this close, pretty girl? Thinkin' indecent thoughts about where my hands might wander if I got the chance?"

You couldn't bite back a tremulous whine escaping past your parted lips. Gojo's palm engulfed your throat in a scorching brand, the pad of his thumb rasping with delicious friction just beneath your chin.

"Fuck...always so reactive to me," he growled in warm approval. "Just can't help getting all worked up at the thought of me touching you, can you? Of me tasting every inch of this sweet skin until you're whimpering and begging for more..."

His mouth blazed a wet, open trail up the slender column of your neck until his lips hovered a hairsbreadth from the thundering pulse at your jawline. You shuddered violently beneath the sensual onslaught of his graveled words.

"Yeah...that's what's got you so worked up and distracted, isn't it, sweetheart? Those gorgeous eyes of yours staring off into nothing as you daydreamed about me putting my hands all over you, pinning you down, and taking what's mine..."

A strangled noise of pure desperation vibrated up your convulsing throat as Gojo's broad palms locked you flush against the smoldering brand of his powerful frame.

"So goddamn responsive," he rasped in dark satisfaction. "Not even hiding it anymore when you want me, are you, baby?"

With that sinful purr of blatant possession, Gojo slanted his mouth over yours in a searing, lushly velvet brand. You melted helplessly with a piteous keen as the slick glide of his tongue delved deep to plunder and stake his scorching claim with masterful dominion...

His large palm cradled the back of your skull, angling your jaw to grant him even deeper access as he ravaged your mouth with untamed masculine ardor. Whimpering unrestrained past the lush smothering seal of his lips, you clung to the bunched cords of his shoulders helplessly surrendering to the relentless onslaught.

Gojo growled in dark approval against the welter of frenzied vibrations spilling from your very core, calloused palms shaping scorching paths over your arched torso and clothed curves until every nerve seemed to shatter apart beneath his merciless possession. He demanded utter capitulation on a soul-deep level, every rake of blunted teeth and insistent lashing of his tongue staking his rapacious dominion upon your quivering form.

Just when you teetered on the verge of coming utterly undone in a blinding implosion of white supernovas detonating behind your fluttering lids, Gojo tore his mouth from yours. He pinned you in place with his forehead slanted against your own, both of you sharing the same scalding exhalations in harsh, ragged pantings of effort.

"Not yet," he rasped, the smoky words seared across your swollen, abused lips with latent promise. "You don't get to come apart until I've had my fill of watching you unravel first, little wildflower."

With that sinful murmur still sizzling against your flushed skin, Gojo extricated himself and prowled from the room - leaving you boneless and shuddering in that precipice of shattered, emptied yearning once more.

The days blurred together in a hazy daze ever since Gojo had you unraveling only to cruelly leave you high and aching that night. You could barely focus on anything beyond obsessively tracking his every move whenever he was around, craving the inescapable intensity of his presence like air.

Gojo, on the other hand, maintained that same maddening aloofness - all sharp instructions and casual dismissiveness as if nothing had changed. Except for those moments where his eyes would linger too long while drinking you in with a scorching weight. Or the slight rasp that'd tinge his deep rumble whenever he'd slip an innuendo laced with unspoken heat in your direction.

It all finally came to a head during one of your daily meditation sessions while Gojo monitored your energy flow and focus. You tried sinking deep into that centered state of mindfulness, but your entire being was hyperaware of Gojo's overwhelming presence looming behind you.

The subtle displacement of air was your only warning before Gojo materialized at your side like a shadow taking form. Then his large hand was cradling your jaw in an inescapably possessive grip, calloused fingertips branding searing paths along your tingling nerves.

"Get a little worked up today, sweetheart?" His words emerged in a low graveled rasp that seemed calibrated to vibrate straight through you. "Can't seem to settle that pretty mind of yours whenever I'm not watching, can you?"

You shuddered hard, failing to bite back the desperate little sounds spilling free as Gojo tugged your face up towards his. His eyes glittered from beneath heavy lids, wolfish smirk curving those full sinful lips in a way that instantly rekindled the blazing ache low in your belly.

"So easily distracted by me," he purred, breath fanning heated tendrils against your mouth. "Need to teach you a lesson in focusing that scattered attention, babygirl..."

The instant the words slipped out in that dark seductive timbre, Gojo sealed his lips over yours in a searing, possessive kiss. You whimpered helplessly into the molten depths as his hand anchored your skull in place, tongue thrusting deep to thoroughly plunder and stake his claim.

The whole world fell away into meaningless background noise compared to the furious bonfire consuming you from the inside out. You were helplessly, utterly adrift amidst that singular scorching vortex of Gojo's merciless onslaught and swiftly fraying under its relentless intensity...

Gojo's large palm cradled the back of your skull in an uncompromising grip, denying any chance of pulling back as his tongue lashed in rapacious strokes that seemed to sear straight through to your quivering depths. The rough rasp of his stubble branded tingling friction with every minute shift and tilt of his arrogant mouth's onslaught.

You melted bonelessly against him, lungs forgetting how to cycle air as the delirious roil of senses rapidly overwhelmed any coherent thought beyond desperate yearning to simply experience more, take more of him in. One of your hands shakily lifted to splay across the dense muscularity of his chest, fingertips catching on the angular vees and sinuous hard ridges tensing there—all primal power barely leashed.

Gojo growled in dark approval at your tactile entreaty, the reverberating rumble seeming to catalyze a fresh volley of tremors scattering through your riotous nervous system like wildfire through a drought-laden copse. His free hand wrapped around the curve of your hip, scorching brand pulling you flush against the all-encompassing weight of his hard body with implacable control.

"That's it, baby..." he rasped in a throaty purr that seemed to skate heated fingers down your spine. "I can feel you already unraveling apart for me, can't I? So goddamn needy and desperate for more after being made to wait."

Punctuating the predatory taunt, Gojo shifted his punishing grip on your jaw to delve his questing tongue deeper past your whimpering lips in a frenzied undulation of carnal dominance. You keen wavered higher as his huge palm skated down to cup the generous curve of your backside, fingertips digging possessive furrows.

"Fuck...you're shaking like a leaf and melting into me all at once. Bet you've been daydreaming about having me pressed up against you like this ever since that night I left you all wound up and dripping for me, haven't you, baby?" His sibilant words emerged slurred around the lush velvet seal of your joined mouths, slick muscle rolling obscenities against your own. "Tell me...let me hear what a deliciously desperate little thing you've been for my attention."

A choked, plaintive sound vibrated free of your ravaged core at his dark coaxing, shudders intensifying as your vision whited out in vertigo to spiral deeper into the hazy red vortex of hunger consuming you from within. Simply nodding frantic acknowledgment against the punishing tide of Gojo's merciless invasion seemed to spur him into increasing the searing ruthlessness of his ministrations.

He angled himself over you with effortless dominion, sculpted lips and flickering tongue staking scorching inroads past every feeble instinct of self-preservation still clinging in your scattered neural pathways. It felt as though Gojo intended to consume and unmake you down to the most elemental shards of existence one dissolved vestige at a time—reforging you into something unrestrained and rapturously sinted in his own profane image.

You had no choice but to surrender helplessly, fingers clawing into the bunched sinews of his back in mute entreaty as desperate keening spilled unchecked from your abused vocals. Every calculated lap and heated suction from Gojo's merciless brand felt calibrated to detonate star-bursts of white-hot ecstasy, dragging you closer to the hazy fever-pitch of dissolution you so desperately craved.

And yet, even as your entire being honed into that precipice of exquisite cataclysm, you sensed Gojo inexorably pulling back fractionally. His tongue gradually ceded the frenetic plunges probing your honeyed interior, instead transitioning into soul-searing laps and nips sampling the swollen want welling across your abraded lips.

A choked sound somewhere between plea and protest hitched in your convulsing throat as you instinctively curved against him, desperate to ground your quaking form against the immovable force of his dominion. But Gojo was already shifting backwards, powerful body moving with casual indolence and dark grace despite the blatant tenting outlined beneath the tailored fabric still clothing his lower half.

"Shh...not yet, sweet girl," he rasped in that smoke-and-gravel timbre already seared into the fabric of your very being. "I decide when and how and where you finally come apart on my whim, understand?"

Gojo punctuated the rhetorical purr by gripping your jaw once more in a punishing squeeze, forcing your glassy, dazed stare to meet the full, incendiary weight of his hooded azure gaze for one fraught suspended moment. You felt the vertigo of suspension intensify at the swirling eddies of lust and dark promise swirling in those brilliant depths before the delirious high pitched shrill of your thundering heartbeat devoured your senses once more.

Then, as abruptly as the conflagration had blazed to feverish life, Gojo smoothly extricated himself and slid out of the room on that same unhurried, prowling gait—leaving you reeling and wrung out on the precipice of madness once more.

Three days. Three torturously long days since Gojo had left you delirious and aching on the edge, desperately chasing release he refused to grant. The hours ground by at an agonizing crawl whenever his overpowering presence wasn't surrounding you, stoking those damned cravings he'd expertly seeded through your core.

You tried meditating, tried all the focusing techniques Gojo himself had taught you to find stillness. But it was hopeless. Every inhale just pulled his lingering sandalwood-and-citrus scent deeper into your lungs in phantom caresses that had you shivering. The flickering shadows seemed to warp into salacious pareidolia of Gojo's chiseled features and heated stare, igniting that throbbing ache between your thighs all over again.

That man had utterly consumed you from the inside out with this hot, gnawing hunger. The denial felt like its own profane torment, the liquid warmth rapidly pooling with maddening persistence each time you tried resisting those urges. Until finally, your willpower simply shredded apart.

One trembling hand drifted down your heated skin towards the apex of your need, fingers ghosting over your aching folds as your head fell back with a piteous whimper.

"Well...look who's being a messy little thing behind my back."

Gojo's deep rumble shattered the silence like a gunshot. You jolted upright with a strangled cry, thighs clenching instinctively as if that could somehow conceal your indecency. He emerged from the shadows all leonine power and dark grace, azure eyes piercing you in a scorching assessment.

"Can't even keep those gorgeous thighs closed thirty seconds without turning into a ruined, needy mess, huh babygirl?" His voice rasped with undisguised rapture. "That desperate for some friction to try soothing the fever I stoked inside you..."

You shuddered hard, that rich baritone seeming to curl around your nerves in a possessive brand as Gojo drank in your disheveled state with blatant hunger. His broad palms flexed absently, fingers kneading in unconscious mimicry of more lascivious acts that had your breath catching.

"All it takes is one taste of my attention and you instantly combust. So fucking responsive...can practically see how soaked you are just from me watching that desperate little display."

A whimpering sound slipped free at his overtly filthy words before you could bite it back. Gojo's lupine smile flashed in the dimness right before he was suddenly looming over you, powerful thighs caging you in as his large hands pinned your wrists to the mattress.

"Is this what you want, baby?" he purred against your thundering pulse, the rough glide of his mouth along your throat making you keen softly. "You need me to take the reins and show a little mercy on that greedy cunt since you can't control those depraved urges at all?"

You trembled apart into a viscous mewl as Gojo rolled his hips with dark finality, aligning your bodies in blatant intimacy from chest to thighs. His scorching bulk engulfed you in searing waves of masculine musk and intensity, every ragged exhalation seeming to scorch paths across your hypersensitized skin.

"Use that whimpering mouth and beg for it." Gojo's tone dipped into an demanding rasp that brooked no argument. "Let me hear how fucking badly you need me to take care of that pretty little pussy, babygirl..."

His tongue traced lascivious paths up the column of your throat and you dissolved into a desperate litany, hips arching shamelessly as you finally broke, "Please, Gojo...please, I need it so bad. Need you, need your touch, need your mercy, please—"

A harsh growl was his only response as Gojo seized your mouth in a searing, punishing kiss of pure possession.

His fingers knotted tightly in your hair, tugging a whimper from you that he swallowed with dark relish. That thick ridge of his arousal dragged in a slow, torturous grind against your throbbing heat as his other hand groped your flesh greedily.

"Mmmm...you know how hard it was for me to hold back these past few days? To walk away from you with all that desperation written on your face, to hear those little pleas spilling from your lips and not bend you over the nearest surface?" Gojo rumbled roughly against your parted lips, his grip tightening in your hair with an animalistic sound as he rolled his hips hard. "Fuck, it was like being trapped in my own personal hell. Watching you lose your goddamn mind in a puddle of lust and knowing I was the one who'd left you a desperate, needy mess..."

Your head spun at the pure, carnal filth spilling from his lips in a dark cadence that seemed to reverberate straight to your core. You arched with a needy whine, thighs quivering around his narrow hips, the delicious drag of his cock against your pussy making your thoughts fizzle out entirely.

Gojo chuckled at your unspoken entreaty, his lips trailing molten kisses down the slope of your neck as his broad palms skimmed lower. He groped the globes of your ass in a hard squeeze, kneading them with a guttural groan that reverberated through you. "Goddamn, look at that sweet ass. Perfect for grabbing onto while I split you open on my cock. Can't fucking wait to feel those tight little walls rippling around me, milking my cock for every drop of cum you deserve."

He nipped a trail across the valley of your heaving breasts, the scrape of his teeth against your sensitized skin sending shivers down your spine. Gojo's hot tongue circled your pebbled nipples, lapping and suckling with ravenous enthusiasm as he squeezed your ass in rhythmic pulses.

"So fucking sensitive...your whole body lights up whenever I touch you, baby. Like you were made to fit against me." He dragged his thumb along the damp crease of your aching folds and groaned darkly at the way you trembled. "Such a good girl, so eager to take everything I have to give you. Look how fucking wet and pliant your cunt is for me."

Gojo sank a finger into your molten core, pumping slow and shallow as he teased the tight ring of muscle further down with a knowing smirk. "You're so hungry, baby...that greedy little ass is practically begging for a little attention too, isn't it? Maybe I should spread these cheeks and get a better look."

You arched off the bed with a wanton moan, hips rocking instinctively at the dirty promises he was weaving. Gojo chuckled at your reaction, his blue eyes burning bright as he added a second finger, spreading you open. "Mmmm, look at you, all flushed and pretty. Gripping me so fucking tight...can't wait to feel this pretty pussy squeezing around my cock."

A low growl reverberated in his chest and he pulled his fingers free with an obscene, wet sound that had you flushing even hotter. Gojo sucked the digits clean with a groan, the sight of his tongue lapping up your juices sending a fresh wave of heat flooding through you. "You taste even better than I imagined, babygirl. And trust me, I've thought about it a lot...the way you'd sound, the way you'd look, the way you'd feel wrapped around me. All the filthy ways I wanted to wreck this gorgeous body."

He leaned down to steal another punishing kiss, licking the lingering traces of your arousal off your tongue with a filthy groan. You moaned weakly, the intoxicating mix of your desire and his unique, spicy-sweet flavor swirling on your tastebuds in an addictive combination. Gojo broke the kiss and straightened with a sharp inhale, his large palm settling possessively around the base of your throat.

"I know I said I was gonna take my time with you, baby. But I need to fuck this perfect pussy now. Need to feel your tight little cunt clenching around me while I'm balls deep, filling you up the way I've been fantasizing about for years." He rumbled low in his chest, his fingers flexing on your throat.

Your entire body seemed to sizzle under his ravenous, undivided attention, every nerve ending crackling to life under his commanding touch.

"Fuck me, Satoru."

It was a breathless plea that had him cursing. "Shit, that's even better than I imagined. My name on those pretty lips...fuck, say it again, baby. Let me hear you."

"Satoru, please..." You arched up with a wanton moan as Gojo ground his hardness against your core, hissing through clenched teeth.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear you say that, babygirl," he growled, his free hand fumbling at his waistband to shove his pants down. "Gonna fuck you so good, you'll never want another man. This pussy belongs to me and no one else."

Gojo's fingers curled around your chin, holding your head still as he devoured your mouth in a possessive, consuming kiss. He slid a broad palm beneath your hips and lifted, angling your pelvis for a better angle as the leaking tip of his cock notched at your entrance. A strangled groan ripped from his chest and his fingers dug into the swell of your hip, blunt nails biting into the soft flesh.

"This sweet little cunt is going to feel even better than I thought, isn't it? Fuck, baby, you're so tight. You really are a good girl, aren't you? Kept yourself untouched just for me..."

His hips punched forward and a broken moan tore free, his thick girth stretching your aching core with delicious friction. Gojo groaned at the slick heat enveloping him, his hips rolling in shallow, grinding thrusts as he bottomed out.

"Fuck, look at you...stretched around my cock, so wet and eager. Your pretty little pussy is just sucking me in deeper, baby. Greedy thing...don't worry, I'll give you everything you need," he rasped against your lips, his eyes boring into yours as he withdrew, then plunged back in with a savage groan.

Gojo set a relentless pace, each punishing thrust driving deeper and harder as the filthy sounds of his skin slapping against yours filled the room. His teeth scraped across the sensitive flesh of your throat, his hands gripping you tighter as he pounded into you, each roll of his hips grinding the thick ridge of his cock against that sweet spot within you.

"Satoru...fuck, feels so good..." You cried out as he slammed home again, his pelvic bone pressing against your clit in the most delicious friction.

"Yeah, that's it. Say my name, let the whole damn building know who's fucking this sweet little cunt. So fucking beautiful, coming apart for me like this," Gojo growled, his blue eyes flashing as his fingers flexed on your throat.

He watched your body eagerly, taking in every reaction, his own pleasure spiraling higher with each shudder and whine that slipped free.

"You feel so fucking perfect, baby. Made to take my cock...fuck, so wet and tight. Gonna ruin you for any other man." His hips stuttered at the thought, a snarl ripping from his chest.

You arched up with a high pitched cry, thighs quivering around his waist as you came apart. "Satoru!"

He snarled a curse, his grip bruisingly tight on your hips as he fucked you through the tremors, his own release cresting. The muscles in his forearms stood out in sharp relief, his jaw tensing as he drove into you. "Shit, baby, I'm so close. Want you to cum for me one more time, can you do that? Wanna feel this greedy pussy squeezing me tight, milking my cock."

The dark cadence of his voice and the lewd way he spoke made you shiver. You were already hovering on the precipice again, so close to flying apart with the next well timed stroke of his length.

"Satoru..."

Your pleading moan shattered what little control he had left and Gojo groaned, his fingers curling around your throat as he pounded into you mercilessly. "Fuck, look at that. Such a perfect girl, coming on my cock like this. You feel that? Can you feel me filling you up?"

A low, feral sound reverberated in his chest as his hips snapped once, twice, before stuttering into a rough grind. Gojo's eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open on a raw groan as his cock throbbed within you, pumping pulse after pulse of scorching warmth.

"Fuck, that's so hot...feels so good," you moaned, hips rocking weakly against his as you shuddered.

"You're so fucking perfect, baby," Gojo rasped, his blue eyes dark as they bore into yours. "But we’re not done yet."

He smirked at the confused, almost dazed expression that flitted across your face, his fingertips skimming your hipbone in a slow caress. "Did you think I'd be satisfied after just one round? I haven't stopped fantasizing about the ways I'm going to fill up all your holes for years, babygirl. Don't tell me you think that'll be enough..."

A fresh wave of heat washed through you and you shivered at the dark promise in his words.

Gojo's eyes flashed and his grip tightened, pulling a needy gasp from you as he rocked his hips forward again, a smug grin curling his mouth.

"You're already soaked, baby... but I don’t want your pussy this time. I want that tight little ass."

He pulled free with a filthy squelch, his cum already beginning to drip down your inner thighs. A dark, possessive sound escaped him as he watched the obscene display, his gaze snapping back to your flushed face.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure it doesn't hurt too much," Gojo purred. His fingers dipped into the slick heat dripping down your legs, coating them generously as he circled the tight ring of muscle further down. You bit back a whimper, already starting to ache again at the promise of his touch, his dark words, the pure carnal desire in his gaze.

"Fuck, you're even tighter here. You've really saved yourself for me, haven't you? You really are the perfect little princess." His eyes burned bright as his fingers pushed past the first ring of resistance. "Don't worry, baby. I'll make sure this ass is ready to take my cock."

Your head fell back with a soft moan, the foreign sensation sending a frisson of heat through your overwrought nerves. It wasn't uncomfortable, but the intrusion was new. You squirmed as Gojo worked a second finger in alongside the first, scissoring the digits to stretch your ass.

"Relax, princess. It'll feel better in a second." Gojo murmured, his voice dipping into a soothing baritone. He curled his fingers, the pads brushing against a spot that had your whole body tensing.

"Right there, huh?" A knowing smirk crossed his face and he brushed his fingers across that same spot again, watching your expression carefully. You keened softly, a desperate whine escaping your parted lips as his thumb swiped against the slick folds further up.

"Good girl. Look at you, such a perfect mess. You're trembling, can barely keep yourself together." He pressed the leaking tip of his cock against the tight pucker, a low, satisfied growl rumbling from his chest. "Let me hear those noises while I fuck your tight little ass, baby. Don't hold back, I wanna hear how good it feels."

Gojo gripped your hips in his hands, his thumbs pressing into the hollows as he rolled his hips forward, inch by inch. The tight ring of muscle stretched around his length, the foreign fullness making your eyes squeeze shut.

"Shit, that's so fucking hot. Look at how well your ass takes my cock, babygirl," Gojo groaned, his fingers digging into your flesh as his pelvic bone ground against your slick folds.

He withdrew slowly, then plunged back in with a guttural growl. You whined his name, thighs clenching around his waist. The lewd, wet sound of his cock driving into you over and over was nearly drowned out by your needy cries.

"You're doing so well, baby. Taking my cock like a fucking champ," he rasped, his grip sliding lower to knead the supple flesh of your ass.

The filthy praise sent a fresh wave of heat washing through you, your core clenching in desperation. You moaned his name, arching against him as he rolled his hips in a languid, sinful grind.

"Does my little princess need a hand down here?" Gojo teased, his palm sliding up the curve of your thigh towards your heated core. You trembled and nodded, a whimper slipping free.

"Please, Satoru, please. I'm so close."

His lips curled in a satisfied smirk and he pulled free, the thick head of his cock catching on the tight ring of muscle. "Fuck, that's even better. You begging for me to get you off is the hottest thing I've ever heard. Gonna make you cum over and over until you're a mess of pure pleasure, baby."

His thumb slid between your slick folds, rubbing your clit as he pressed back into your ass. Gojo set a punishing pace, his hips driving in quick, brutal strokes. The thick ridge of his cock ground against the spot within you that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

"So fucking tight, you're strangling my cock, babygirl," he hissed. "Feels so good. Gonna fill you up nice and deep, give you all the cum you need."

Your fingers tangled in the sheets, the familiar, coiling tension deep within your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your breathless moans grew louder, higher, a litany of his name on your lips.

"That's it, that's my good girl. Cum for me, let me feel this perfect little ass milk my cock," Gojo's voice was a dark, lust-fueled rumble that had your body quaking. His fingers dug into your flesh hard, pulling you closer.

"Satoru!"

A low, primal growl reverberated in his chest as his pace stuttered, his cock twitching inside you. Hot, scorching warmth flooded you, his cum seeping into every crevice as his hips snapped forward one last time.

Gojo groaned, his grip shifting as his fingertips traced lazy patterns across your lower abdomen. "Shit, can you feel that? Feel how fucking full you are?"

You moaned weakly, shivering as he rocked his hips again, a slow, shallow grind that had you gasping. "That's my girl. Fuck, you look so good like this, all spread out and ruined. Such a pretty little mess..."

He leaned forward to kiss you again, a softer, slower caress. His tongue slid against yours in a languid tease, the gentle roll of his hips keeping you right on the edge without tipping you over. Your head spun, the tender, loving gesture contrasting with the lewd squelch of his cum leaking from you.

"Can't believe you're all mine," Gojo breathed against your mouth, his blue eyes blazing. "Gonna spend the rest of the night reminding you just how well I can take care of you, baby."