#there's no way he doesn't choke himself with it

[beefcakekinard]

[<-<- part one] [<- part two] ~ ~ ~ [part four ->]

Buck makes it maybe five minutes before he gets the urge to look something up.

"Absolutely not," Tommy says, snatching Buck's phone out of his hands. Buck makes to grab it back, but Tommy pins him with one arm around his waist and holds it out of reach with the other. "You picked the movie, Evan, Google can wait."

"I was going to go on Wikipedia," Buck scoffs, because there's a difference. "Google-"

"Google is useless these days, I know." Tommy slips Buck's phone into the back pocket of his own sweats and rearranges them, spreading out more along the couch and pulling Buck on top of himself. "Enjoy the movie, Evan."

Buck sighs, loudly, pretending to be put-upon, but he really can't complain. It's still a little novel, being able to just spread himself out on top of Tommy like this. He settles more as Tommy starts dragging his fingertips up and down his spine, just like he had been when Buck woke up. It's so comfortable, so familiar, so Tommy. The movie continues on - background noise, almost, with the way Tommy always pulls his focus without even trying.

With a jolt, Buck pulls himself from the edge of consciousness. Tommy squeezes his shoulder and Buck just wishes he'd run his fingers along his back again. Buck opens his mouth to complain, but he stops short with a choked laugh when he notices what's happening on screen.

"Christ," he coughs out. "I wasn't expecting to see my parents in this movie."

Tommy laughs above him. "That WASP-y silence hits too close to home, huh?"

"Hey, you said it, not me." Buck says. He nuzzles at Tommy's belly and watches as the scene changes again. Tommy shifts under him, which for Tommy standards counts as restless. Buck doesn't want to commit the cardinal sin of asking him about it while the movie's still playing, but it turns out he doesn't have to wait.

"I always-" Tommy starts, a few minutes later. He clears his throat. A few too many awkward seconds pass.

"What's that?" Buck asks.

"I always..." Tommy sighs. "I wanted a family like this. They're loud and crazy, but they love each other. They have - in jokes, and they support each other, where it matters." Tommy's hand squeezes Buck's shoulder. "I really... I just always wondered what that was like."

Buck curls his hand around the dip in Tommy's waist, right above his hip. "Me too," he admits. "It - I know the way we grew up is, was different, but uh. Me too."

"Wonder what that says about us," Tommy says, and his tone is too bitter, too unkind, for Buck's liking, so he pulls himself up to sit and grabs one of Tommy's hands in both of his own.

"What that says to me," Buck starts, looking Tommy square in the eye, "is that two lonely kids survived a couple of fucked-up childhoods. And that they found each other, and- and things aren't so lonely, anymore."

Tommy's expression does something complicated, some dance Buck isn't yet privy to, but he knows what it lands on. It lands on that look he gets when he says things like how are you real and what am I gonna do with you. It's an expression that Buck kind of loves, but it also kind of breaks his heart all the same.

[<-<- part one] [<- part two] ~ ~ ~ [part four ->]

[peppermintquartz]

Future fic idea for BuckTommy: What if something tragic tragic brings them back together?

It reminds them that we only have so much time and they shouldn't waste it.

TW: character deaths

--

Buck tries not to flinch when he feels Tommy's presence beside him, yet the tension in his shoulders dissipates the moment Tommy touches him.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Tommy murmurs.

It's been an hour since the doctor told them. Bobby told Buck earlier that he'll wait at the chapel; Hen and Eddie are filling out as much of the paperwork as they can; Athena hugged him and promised to pick Jee up, and Hen will take care of Jee until the paperwork is sorted out. Mr and Mrs Lee will have Buck's parents staying with them once they arrive in Los Angeles.

Which both makes it easier and harder to cope with the rest of this.

"They were on the way to buy Jee's birthday cake," Buck says, apropos of nothing. "She's still at the kindergarten. I'm... I don't know how to tell her..."

Sorry Jee, it's just you and me against the world now. Daddy and Mommy have gone away.

His vision blurring with tears, Buck reaches blindly next to him to grab Tommy's hand. And it is as strong and warm as he remembers. Warm as Maddie's used to be.

"I can't do this, Tommy. I don't know how." His voice cracks on the last word and he gives in, lets the tears flow down his face.

Tommy holds Buck's hand in between his own. After a while, after Buck regains a smidge of his composure, Tommy says, "I can help. Arrangements and everything, if you need someone to take on administration. Or help you move stuff. Or, I don't know. A shoulder."

"For how long?" Buck can't help the question from bursting out. Forever sound good to you? is what he doesn't say. It's not the time nor the place. But the thought is there: when Buck needs him, Tommy shows up.

He always shows up.

Tommy doesn't answer instantly. When he does, it's a measured reply. "We can talk about that after all this, Evan."

Buck chokes out a short laugh. No one else will be calling him Evan again. He straightens and finally looks at his ex-boyfriend in the eyes.

Tommy looks thinner, older. Buck supposes he isn't faring too well either in the looks department. With a deep breath, Buck whispers, "Yeah. After." He swipes over his cheeks with his free hand. "When mom and dad get here, I'm gonna need you with me." He smiles thinly. "Please."

Tommy reaches up to run the edge of his thumb over Buck's cheekbones. "Of course."

Of course.

Buck feels how he wants to lean in for a kiss, sees the yearning in Tommy's gaze, and forces himself to stand. "Let's go find Bobby. He's in the chapel."

As Tommy stands up, Buck adds, "Thank you."

Tommy smiles sadly. "You don't have to thank me, Evan. Not for this."

[indubioprocoffee]

I need your help!! I’m in the shower … Please come!

It was a nice evening. Dean had been enjoying a nice glass of whiskey, when the quiet was disturbed by the buzzing of his phone. It probably was another random message from Cas. Since he became human, he had been taking texting to a whole new level. But this one was different; it made him choke on his whiskey. Blinking, he read the message again … and again.

Did Cas just ask him to 'help' him in the shower? Did it mean what Deans brain thought it meant? Cas was human now after all … And human bodies had certain reactions, certain needs … Could it be that …? The hot water streaming down Cas’ body, maybe one or two light touches; maybe subconscious, maybe not.

Dean was thinking way too much about this. His own pants slowly getting tight. Cas probably didn’t know, what his message was implying. But if he did … Good Lord have mercy.

I’m waiting for you!

It’s now or never, Dean thought, downing the rest of his whiskey. His knees unusually weak as he made his way to the showers.

“Cas? You alright?” he asked, knocking on the wooden door.

“Dean, finally! Please come in.”

“Here goes nothing,” Dean said to himself before he took a deep breath and entered the room.

“Cas, what …?” There he was, buck naked, standing in the shower, curiously looking at a bottle of shampoo.

“I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do with this, Dean.” Real distress showing in his big blue eyes. “It doesn't say on the bottle. But it smells so good; it smells like you.”

Story based on this prompt by @bobwess

[4linos]

through every pitch

mlb!seungmin x gn!reader

synopsis: even though it's your husband's most important game of the season, you can see that he's attempting to disguise an injury.

wc: 1964 (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

The stadium is blazing with the cheering crowd at the bottom of the eighth inning, and Seungmin is feeling the pressure of the moment. The spectators' eyes and his teammates' pressure are all on him in this game, which might determine the division title and where he needs to prove himself. The little stiffness in his delivery, the tension in his shoulder, the way his expression hardens as he adjusts his grip on the ball—you can see it. You watch from your seat, heart in your throat, as he stands on the mound, composed, concentrated.

The pitch is off. His usual precision is missing. There has been a slight but noticeable change in technique, and his slider and fastball both have a hitch now. You see it. He sees it. However, he continues. His eyes widen against the pain, his jaw gritted, and he throws again. He wants no one to know and doesn't want to reveal it. No, not yet. Not with that much at stake. He's a vital part of the team. The coach is watching him closely, fans are yelling his name, and his teammates are waiting for the sign that the win is impending. As he grits his teeth and fights through the pain, Seungmin is aware that they depend on him to achieve this, and the pressure is unbearable.

The noise of the crowd, the pressure of everyone's eyes on him, and the expectation all keep him going even though his body is screaming at him. While the crowd screams when he strikes out the hitter to close the eighth, Seungmin isn't feeling the exhilaration of the victory. His arm burns with every movement, and his muscles tremble from the pain as his body gives way under the pressure. As you wait for him in the locker room, your anxiousness gets worse by the moment. You've seen the symptoms: his tight jaw, his tendency to favor one arm during the game, and the way he massaged at his shoulder in between throws. He has hardly spoken to you since the game, and his eyes have a cold, distant expression as he enters the room, sweat still dripping from his brow. Again, he is concealing it. disguising the weight of it all, the suffering, and the exhaustion. You get up from where you were seated and say, "Seungmin," trying not to seem overly anxious, but there is no denying the worry in your voice. “Are you okay?” He's already taking off his jersey, and although his face is unreadable, his hand is clearly shaking. You can tell he's attempting to hide it by the way he holds his arm rigidly and the way he grimaces when he takes has to do any movement. His voice is flat when he says, "I'm fine," but the words sound hollow. He avoids looking at you. "No, you're not," you respond as you approach him, trying to maintain your composure while your voice cracks a little. "Please, Seungmin. Out there, you were hurting. I saw it. Talk to me, please. He remains motionless and looks at the floor for a minute without answering. You can see it then—the way his hand is shaking, the way his entire body is rigid from the strain of maintaining the façade—that his breathing is shallow and strained. For a short period of time the barriers he has been carefully building during the day crumble, and you witness Seungmin's vulnerability and rawness. The individual who is human, just like the rest of us.

And then, the dam breaks.

Before you can reach out to him, he collapses, falling to his knees in front of you as his shoulders tremble with a soft sob. His face is buried in his hands, and he is sobbing in ways you have never heard him do before. A man who is completely exhausted and defeated by the weight of it all has taken the place of the strong, unflappable man who had just pitched through one of the most significant games of his career. "I could not...” His words muffled in his hands, he chokes out, "I couldn't let them down," in between sobbing. "I had to get it done. Everyone was depending on me—the coach, the team, and all of the fans.”

Your heart shatters when you kneel in front of him and take his shaking hands, gently removing them from his face while looking into his tear-filled eyes. “You didn't let anyone down, Seungmin. You didn't have to carry it alone, but you pushed through for all of us.” He holds his breath and shakes his head, seemingly unable to fully comprehend what you're saying. "I'm... "I'm so exhausted," he mumbles, his voice hardly audible. “My arm… it’s killing me. But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t show them. I had to be strong for everyone else.” As you reach out to embrace him, tears stream from your own eyes. Holding him close, you feel his breath catch in the stillness of the room as you press his head against your chest. As you brush your fingers through his hair, you murmur quietly, "You don't have to be strong all the time." "You don't need to bear all of this alone. You are allowed to fall apart, take a break, and seek help. You just hold him for a long time as the cries gradually stop. Although you both know that it will take time for the physical aching in his shoulder to go away, the emotional stress and pressure he has been carrying for so long starts to lessen under your touch.

A little embarrassed but not enough to conceal his vulnerability from you, he pushes back and wipes his eyes. His voice is scratchy as he whispers, "I'm sorry." "I just didn't want you to see me in this way." You gently push his wet hair away from his forehead and smile. "You don't need to say sorry. Seungmin, I'm here. I'm always here for you. The weight of the world he had been carrying finally starts to decrease as he puts his head on your shoulder because, for the first time in a long time, he is letting himself rely on someone else. And it's okay. You’re both okay.

—

Something changed between you and Seungmin after that night. In a way that was both real and beautiful, the dam that had held so much of his vulnerability, so much of his anxiety and dread, started to break. Gradually, he began to depend more on you. Not only after the most significant events in his career, but also during the quiet, everyday times when he felt he could no longer bear the burden alone, he would open up to you.

It started with small things.

You could see how his eyes would stay on you a bit longer than normal after a difficult game, while he was still recovering from the disappointment of a poor performance. It was a subtle request for something you didn't have to ask for. Watching him jog off the field with a gentle smile on your face, you would be in the stands waiting for him. He would say, "Hey," in a weak, sluggish voice. His face was filled with fatigue as he stood there for a while, taking long breaths as if he was still struggling to regain his breath after the game.

With a soft yet strong tone, you would comment, "I know it wasn't perfect." But, Seungmin, you gave it your all. You always do. And it would occur at that point. He would whisper, "I don't know if I did enough," and then briefly look down before looking back at you. "I thought I had disappointed everyone. I should have maintained my composure more or thrown that one pitch better. I always want to get better, but sometimes it feels like I'm failing."

You’d reach for him, a hand on his shoulder, or on his cheek, grounding him. "You’re not failing. No one’s perfect, Seungmin. I’m proud of you, every time you step out there. And you don’t have to be perfect for me. Just you… just you is enough." He would stare at you, letting your words settle over him like a warm blanket, and in the silence that followed, you knew what was happening. He was opening up, bit by bit, allowing the worries he’d carried for so long to spill out, trusting you to hold them, even if just for a moment. It became more common after tough games—when he felt like he was walking off the field a little heavier, or when he’d missed a crucial strike. He’d sit with you, just the two of you, long after the stadium had emptied, talking quietly about his fears, his regrets. He never tried to hide it anymore.

One evening, after a particularly rough game, Seungmin collapsed onto the couch, his shoulders slumped in defeat. You could feel the tension in him, the unease, even before he spoke. The game had been a tough loss, and you knew it wasn’t just the defeat on his mind but everything that came with it—the expectations, the pressure, the fear of not living up to it all.

“I don’t know if I’m cut out for this sometimes,” he admitted quietly, voice barely above a whisper. He wasn’t asking for sympathy, just someone to listen. “Every time I step on that mound, I feel like I’m carrying the weight of everyone’s hopes. The coach, the team, the fans… they all expect me to be this perfect pitcher. And sometimes, I wonder if I’m enough for them.” As you sat next to him, you stared into his eyes and softly squeezed his hand. With a stern yet gentle tone, you said, "Seungmin, you're more than enough." "You don't have to live up to everyone else's standards. You don't need to be perfect for your coach, your teammates, or even the fans. Because you *are* you, you are enough. And no matter what, I'm here with you. A slow breath escaped him, and you could see it, the relief that he wasn’t carrying it alone anymore, the exhaustion lifting just a little. With his fingers tightening around yours, he said, "I'm really lucky to have you." "To be honest, I don't think I could survive these games without you."

You smiled, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “You don’t have to make it through alone, Seungmin. We’re in this together. Whatever comes, we face it as a team.”

Over time, these moments became more frequent—him pulling you aside after a tough game, confiding in you, showing a side of him that was rarely seen by anyone else. The strength he had on the field was matched only by the strength you both built together off of it. And as his teammate’s expectations, the coach’s strategies, and the media’s scrutiny continued to press in on him, Seungmin began to realize something he hadn’t before: It’s okay to need support. And that it didn’t make him any less of a man, any less of a pitcher, to admit that he needed someone to lean on.

And it was always obvious when he came to you: regardless of how many games were won or lost, you were his base, the spot he could always go to feel safe. You made sure he never felt like he had to confront those struggles alone since he had grown to trust you with the weight of his anxieties and to let you in during his periods of uncertainty. He realized that he only needed to be himself to be liked, not be flawless, through every pitch and every difficult game. And he might be just that in your arms.

—

nini’s notes 111224

hey ⚾️. i hope you enjoy my 2nd full fic 🫣 i love seoul series first pitch seungmin BTW

(feedback is always appreciated.. 😘)

asks are open if you have a question, concern, or request!

-🎀

[kayharrisons]

No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her [BJORN X READER] [18+] [1 OF ??]

The Victor of the 24th Annual Hunger Games.

A/N: AND HERE WE GO!! The first chapter!!!! This is a Bjorn heavy chapter, but don't worry, reader will appear next chapter!! This is p short but it's MOSTLY just to establish Bjorn in this world. Bjorn is ab 17 here!

Chapter warnings: death, gore, starvation, unpleasant vibes between minors and adults, violence

"Ladies and Gentlemen, from District 12, Bjorn Henriksen, the winner of the 24th Annual Hunger Games!"

Bjorn drops the metal pipe with a clatter, staring down at the bashed in face of the District 3 male tribute. He staggers to his feet, spitting out a glob of blood as he distantly hears Lucky Flickerman making his announcements, his cheerful voice fading to nothing but a mere buzzing in his ears as he stares down at the mess of flesh, what used to be a 15 year old's face.

He chokes back his vomit, wiping his bloody hands against his grimy t-shirt.

It's not his first kill.

That boy used to be someone. He had a family, friends, a life.

Bjorn had taken all of that from him.

He hadn't wanted to, had fully intended on waiting the kid out, on keeping to himself.

Both he and 3 had been forced to the Cornocopia by these... spider like creatures. They were strange in appearance, and Bjorn knew he'd be seeing them in his sleep for the foreseeable. If he even got any sleep ever again.

3's face turning to mulch beneath his hands. 7's face going a horrible shade of purple as he sobbed and kept the pipe pressed over her throat. The life leaving 2's eyes as Bjorn shoved the broken pipe end through his throat.

Navarro's lifeless eyes staring at him, accusatory, it was his fault she'd been speared through the heart, why hadn't he been paying more attention? Why had he let her die? Why hadn't he paid more attention to the District 2 tribute? Maybe then it would be Navarro standing here and not HIM?

What would you have to say? Were you watching the Games? Or could you not bear to watch your boyfriend go through such horrors?

He doesn't know which is worse, truth be told. You watching him kill, watching him at his lowest, watching him starve and sob and lose himself. Or you not watching at all and finding things out second hand, him having to explain everything he's done to you.

It's not long before he's picked up by the Capital, before they tut and shake their heads over every bruise, every cut, his hollow cheeks, his longer hair, the stubble growing on his face.

Three weeks he'd been in there.

Three weeks.

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

"We'll get all of this fixed up in no time, Mr Henriksen!" One of the medical professionals says oh so cheerily to him as he sits on a hospital bed, vacantly staring straight ahead of him. "Such a handsome face," she coos, reaching out and taking his chin between her thumb and pointer finger, turning his face this way and that. "Bet you've got your own little fanclub now, lucky boy. You'll have your pick of the litter!"

"I just wanna go home." he whispers, voice cracking. He wanted out of here. Wanted away from these sickly sweet voices, the fake smiles, the bright obnoxious colours and patterns that were starting to become a staple here in the Capital.

He longed for you. Your sincerity, your warmth. He longed for the biting cold air of 12. Longed for those parties the Covey threw, now that their music had been banned, it had become more of an underground thing lest any Peacekeepers attention be caught. Longed for shitty beer and warm bread fresh from the bakery. Longed for the thick, dense woods that surrounded his district, for the secret gap in the fence that didn't get electricity to it that meant freedom, however brief.

His summers had been spent laughing by the lake with his family, with you curled into his side, ever since you'd both turned fourteen and acknowledged the feelings creeping up on you both, taking root like a stubborn plant that refused to be plucked.

His chest ached, for it was absent its heart. It resided firmly in 12, with you, right where it belonged.

"Eventually, handsome," the woman waves him off, picking up a pair of scissors and getting to work on his hair. "You've gotta give your last interview, first! And get the honour of President Snow crowning you the winner, oh, imagine!"

Honour.

Bile rises, which he struggles to force back down. He focuses on the sound of the scissors snipping at his hair, closes his eyes and breathes.

Soon.

He'll be home soon.

[springcourthighlady]

Briar watches the fear take hold and his magic force a partial shift. She had never been afraid of his beast--not after her first experience with it had been him saving her life. Perhaps that made her weird.

Her heart aches for him as he chokes out a plea, his claws extending into the earth as the duck tumbles from his lap, and he tries and fails to quite literally ground himself.

As he tries to fight it with fear it only grows stronger, his horns slowly emerging, curling from his head and his eyes growing a brighter, more animalistic green.

He growls, shouts for her to go. To protect Caedin and leave him there alone. As if he deserves that.

She sucks in a breath at the sight of him so up close and personal this way while partially shifted--a High Lord of raw, earthy magic as his pointed ears return. Power wafts from him in waves, making her very being hum and goosebumps to erupt.

Shaking her head, she moves in front of him now, fully facing him. She reaches out and strokes his neck up to his jaw, and gazes into those eyes, unafraid.

Her words are slow and soft, yet firm and steady all at once as she helps him focus on her.

"No. No, I will not leave you here. I will not. Don't demand that of me. I made you a promise, but even if I didn't, I wouldn't leave you behind here. For every single reason that comes to mind, I won't. I can't."

She continues to stroke his skin gently and cradle his face. "You're going to get through this little episode, and I'm going to help you. Together, Tamlin. I'm not abandoning you. If you give me permission, I can try to curb your magic with mine?"

Her eyes search his wild ones, and she shuffles closer still, placing her forehead on his. "Together. Let me help you. Let me care for you. Don't force me away. Don't freeze me out. I'm going to always try, even if you think you're at your lowest. Even if you have all those feelings of unworthiness." Empathetic tears prick her eyes as her heart clenches for him.

A hand drops to gently rub over his heart. "Nobody with the heart to protect could ever be unworthy. Especially not you. Your claws, your horns, your teeth," she comments, smiling slightly at his elongated canines for a brief second before flicking her eyes back to his, "...they are tools to defend yourself and your people. Your beast is a protector above all else because you are. You are a protector. Somewhere along the way, you just...started protecting yourself wrong. Out of hurt. Let me bring you back from that. Let me try for you the way you've done all of this traveling for me and for Caedin?"

Her nose brushes his lightly and allows him a moment to breathe, however shallowly. "I'm here, Tamlin. I'm not going no matter how much you growl and snap at me. That intimidation doesn't work on me because I know you won't hurt me. I know the truth. You're not some mindless, unfeeling beast. I trust you, wholly."

She pulls back from his face a bit. "Sing with me. Quietly." Her hands brush over his, carefully avoiding the claws as she begins to sing to only him, just quiet enough to keep from any human ears.

This Life is Sweeter Than Fiction (ft. @springcourthighlady)

Daylight folded through the narrow window in the room of the inn and warmed Tamlin’s face, urging him to wake. He wasn’t a morning person. Given his proclivity to stay up late into the night, waking up was not exactly his favorite thing. He was used to waking up to a cold bed and sore body, pained from a night of thrashing through his nightmares alone. Instead, this morning, he woke to the gentle breath of a female on his neck.

Still sleepy, his dreams had a hold on him, and he remembered the early days before the mountain — before all hell rained upon his court, before he’d lost his faith in himself, and in love. Yet, he woke further and the body next his own did not line up with memory, only emotion.

The way he’d danced around the lines with Briar last night was not far from Tamlin’s mind as he woke. Mornings? Those, he didn’t like. Morning affection? Oh, how sweet it was to taste.

Still, the High Lord pushed a reminder of his boundaries into his view, forcing away the rose tinted glasses.

Sleeping together was different than sleeping together.

He carefully climbed from the bed and pulled the blankets back up to Briar’s shoulder. A shower would do him some good, but they did not need more temptation. Still, she tended to panic when he disappeared. Tamlin pursed his lips and entered the bathing room, locking it twice, magically and manually.

The cold water dripped down from the pipes and once again settled him back into a stern sense of reality. They had a purpose here. This wasn’t a vacation…nor a honeymoon. It was a rescue. At least one of them needed to keep their head on straight.

He pulled his clothes on and wrapped a towel around his long hair, leaving the bathroom with a toothbrush. Sure — he could use magic to power through these tasks; but apparently he needed to get better at being human. That meant brushing his teeth with a small, infernal, tickly device.

By the time he turned around the privacy screen and into the room, Briar was awake.

Well. She said she wanted him to practice being human.

He furrowed his brows, with a teasing smile. “Hush. High Lords have dental hygiene too.”

[more-than-a-ghosti]

aizawa should get choked with his binding cloth more often just saying 🙂🙂🙂

[madrabit]

If I'd get a penny every time Bojan slept under or next to Nace's clothes, I'd have two pennies. Which isn't a lot, but its weird that it happened twice...

[candy69gurl]

TWITTER LINKS Ⅱ ~JJK

MDI

𐙚 SATORU GOJO

✮ pounding from the back ∩-∩

✮ gojo fingering compilations *▽*

✮ fucking mhmmm ^o^

✮ fucking mhmmmmm ^0^

✮ loves it when you wear skirts ＞-＜

✮ sex in the shower －O－

✮ he is such a tease! >ω<

✮ overstimulating till you quiver around him >w<

✮ deepthroating him >"<

✮ breeding your little pussy -v-

✮ loves how his girth disappears >0<

✮ love making in the kitchen >-<

𐙚 TOJI FUSHIGURO

✮ loves to make a mess ￣︶￣

✮ so rough! >w<

✮ gock on his cock o~o

✮ he just loooves tasting you /-\

✮ masked TOJI? ಠ_ಠ & 0-0

✮ punishing you for being a brat again >o<

✮ "shut up and take my cock-" O-O

✮ letting him play wid your preety pussy -w-

✮ eating your pussy nice n good 0v0

✮ he is definitely going this rough *^*

✮ toji creampii compilations ^-^

𐙚 KENTO NANAMI

✮ filling you up so good -v-

✮ you didn't know he is this nasty *w*

✮ "you've been a baaaad girl" ≧ ~ ≦

✮ his precious doll >u<

✮ he is so big 0-0

✮ made for him ^~^ & -^-

✮ you teased him a lot >0<

✮ he is stressed so take him like a good girl -v-

✮ his brown suspender? ⊙o⊙

✮ so thick so tasty suck it now >0<

✮ using you the way he pleases -w-

✮ it's Gojo's fault that he is being so rough ´･ω･`

✮ "keep that pretty mouth shut hm?" *-*

✮ pounding from back >0<

𐙚 SUGURU GETO

✮ loves to pull your hair while fucking >-<

✮ tied up and fingering ^-^

✮ oversensitive? but he doesn't care >-<

✮ pounding from back *~*

✮ choking you while fucking >~< & >-<

✮ squirting while he fucks!! also pounding your asshole >0<

✮ choking you on his cock *O*

✮ fingering you nice n gud -v-

✮ "who's my good monkey?" ಠ-ಠ

✮ squirting when he fucks >w<

✮ definitely him *0* & -^-

✮ "filthy monkey, you like my cock so much huh?" >-<

✮ pounding you in couch >0<

𐙚 RYOMEN SUKUNA

✮ shibari? his fav UvU

✮ shibari again ''-''

✮ sorry but this is how he is *^*

✮ shibari + rough fingering 〒▽〒

✮ throat-fuck -o-

✮ taking his cock tied up >-<

✮ his little pet <3

✮ "worship my cock like the little slut you are" *v*

✮ so good at taking his cock >O<

✮ sukuna's meal >u<

✮ he is so nasty *^*

✮ your tight asshole makes him insane *o*

✮ sukuna bonus

𐙚 SHIU KONG

✮ sit on his face, he is gonna make you cum <3

✮ sensual ˘⌣˘

✮ squirting while he fucks >w<

✮ he fucks so good /~\

✮ sucking his cock -0-

✮ riding him like a needy whore *u*

✮ faster and harder >0<

✮ your pussy is so good for him UvU

✮ "use that pretty mouth of yours" u0u

✮ eating your pussy >-<

𐙚 HIROMI HIGURUMA

✮ ride that face!! >0<

✮ "bad girls get spanked" >w<

✮ definitely fucking you like this o-o

✮ "such a good girl for me, hm?" /-\

✮ making him hard in public was a wrong idea *~*

✮ when you want his attention >u<

✮ pussy eating and soft sex 10/10 >v<

✮ he cannot control himself once he is inside you >-<

✮ fingering both your holes >^<

✮ he is so good and gentle normally >u<

✮ taking good care of your pussy ⊙o⊙

𐙚 KAMO CHOSO

✮ 69 with him ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°

✮ ridingg himm *ω*

✮ overstimulating him is so fun >w<

✮ riding his face + soft sex -0-

✮ fingering till you shaking >0<

✮ stroking his cock till he's shaking U-U

✮ loves teasing your clit nd nipples >-<

✮ his mommy <3

✮ giving him a tit job + your preety pussy ^-^

✮ riding him so good ^0^

✮ on the kitchen counter >^<

part 1

[webism]

pornstar!choso has a curated look that throws off a lot of his costars. strong build, straight-set face, hands made to choke and tear… most of those he film with don’t expect to be doted on the entire time.

people joke that pornstar!choso falls a little bit in love with every costar he fucks or gets fucked by. that glossy look that always pulls at his face by the time a scene ends, how his lip trembles with a need to be kissed raw when he cums. he says it's just the bliss of his orgasm—that he gets emotional in the moment, but it doesn't mean anything. well, until he meets you.

pornstar!choso who looks you up before his shoot because your name sounded vaguely familiar when it left his agents lips. he could have sworn you'd fucked before, because when he rolls the syllables of your name on his tongue they're nostalgic and taste like the sweat and laboured breaths of a long night between satin sheets. had you shot a scene together before? or had it been a one night stand?

pornstar!choso who realises that no, he hadn't slept with you before. but the familiarity of your name isn't a coincidence—he's fucked his fist to your videos more times than he can count. your name hits him like lightning, he had typed it into his search bar late in the night, cock hard and in need of instant relief. it's almost scary how well he knows you, what sounds you make when you get close to cumming, how you often arch your back and try to run from the overwhelming pleasure, how your eyebrows knit together when you're feeling so good it almost hurts.

pornstar!choso who realises with a now-red face that you probably don't have a clue who he is, and yet he's cum in time with you for months now. he's pretty sure he's drained his wallet at least twice on your cam shows... what if you recognise his name and piece it together with his username that he donates under? he debates cancelling the shoot, faking covid to get some time at home to hate himself endlessly.

but pornstar!choso realises that this is his chance to get to know how you really feel. he's imagined it so many times, as he fucked fake pussies or his closed fist using spit or his own cum as lube. you'd be warmer, undoubtedly tighter... so much prettier. and he wants to know more: would you prefer to take control and turn him into the toys he so often pretends are you? would you lay back all pretty and let him ruin you on his cock? how deep could you take him he knows he's big but you seem so eager, would you take him to the base with ease or would he have to force it in? bully your pretty pussy until it stretches to his shape?

pornstar!choso who hates the fact that your first, and possibly only, time together would be in front of a production crew and under the unsympathetic lights of a porn set. but he'd fuck on a stage in front of thousands if it means a taste of you.

pornstar!choso who makes it to the shoot before you do, comes ten minutes early to settle his anxieties and get a feel for the scene ahead. the director tells him its a simple shoot, that choso is meant to let you ride him for a while until you pull off and suck his cock for a nice close-up facial shot. the way the director speaks so clinically about sex with you makes choso grimace, he feels pathetic for feeling like this. like he'll be a changed man after feeling you around his cock, which is already painfully hard.

pornstar!choso who hates himself for stumbling over his words when he meets you. he wishes he had never looked you up, though he doesn't doubt seeing your pretty face like this would have wrecked his confidence regardless. you're kind, greet him with a shy smile as if he isn't about to slip balls deep inside of you.

pornstar!choso who, once he has you sitting on top of him on that bed—cameras pointed dutifully as you start to play your role and hike your skirt up so you can sink down on his cock—he can't handle the thought of fucking you like it's nothing, like it's not been the crux of his fantasies in the dark hours at night.

pornstar!choso who, probably to the detriment of his career, pushes you backwards onto the bed and connects his lips to yours in a kiss that surpasses every single fantasy he's had in his mind. you taste good, and he wants more. he speaks against your lips, asks whines a question that makes your stomach coil. 'can i eat you out first? please?'

pornstar!choso who is chided by the production team as he gets his head under your skirt and laps at your pussy in the most desperate act of need he thinks he's ever displayed. those that claim he falls in love with each shoot would be wholly correct in this case: he is in love with the taste of you, with the way your legs trap him in and ask for more. he could eat you for hours, run his tongue from your clit to dip it inside of you in reverence of the goddess he believes you to be. and you laugh at the absurdity of his hunger, at the courage it takes to run off script, and the pure need in which he eats you out.

pornstar!choso who only stops once the director threatens to cut the scene entirely. his cock hurts with how hard it is though, and he thinks the redirection of blood has made him lightheaded, because when he's made to sit back and let you sink down onto his length he swears he meets god.

pornstar!choso who can't help his whines as you ride him, an addiction already laying down roots in his brain. he has to try and think of anything less godly than you to hold on to his orgasm though, because the combination of your body and having subconsciously trained himself to associate you with climaxing is all too strong, and he's a hairs breadth away from cumming prematurely and ruining the scene.

pornstar!choso who realises as you continue, however, that your moans arent the same as he's heard them before, though the speakers of his phone. you're more breathy with him, your moans are less honeyed, more raw—as if coming from your chest rather than your throat. he wonders for a moment if he's not good enough, if you're having to fake your pleasure to save face for the cameras. but you're soaked, and even above the sounds of your shared pleasure he can still hear the squelch of his cock rutting in and out of you.

but before pornstar!choso can question himself further, your eyes are widening and you're latching a hand onto his throat as your pace increases. he can feel the way you tighten impossibly around him, the way your hips stutter and your pupils blow out with lust—you're cumming. and of course he remembers his instructions, to let you climb off of him and take his load over your face... but you're not climbing off of him.

pornstar!choso who understands the pointed look you manage to give him, that it's your turn to bypass the scene direction. you want to be greedy, to feel him finish inside of you, even through the confines of a condom. your moans arent fake, they're the first real ones you've let sound on a porn set—and choso is pulling them from your lungs like a choir's conductor.

pornstar!choso who can't last a minute longer, now with the way you lean in and coax him to climax with your voice, the soft praise that leaves your lips is an aphrodisiac and all too powerful. he sees stars when he cums, full blown galaxies too complex to imagine. call it an out-of-body experience or not, but choso is lost in his orgasm for long enough to warrant you bringing him back down with a soft kiss to his lips. he looks sinful: his hairs come loose, messy and stuck to his forehead. his eyes, though, are what's going to be the subject of a few screenshots taken by his fans: he looks totally infatuated.

pornstar!choso who, after taking a few minutes to settle himself after the shoot, watches as you walk over to him, a very pretty smile pulling at the corner of your lips before you lean down and peck his lips goodbye. he assumes it's the last he'll see of you, that there's no way he's worthy of every tasting you again. that night, he's scared to brush his teeth, to lose the way you linger on his tongue.

pornstar!choso who debates fucking his fist to the memory of you in bed that night. he thinks you've ruined masturbation for him, or sex in general: nothing could quite be the same. and as if its a sign from god that he's done enough good in his life to deserve some positive karma, his phone dings.

a photo of you, a pretty vibrator laid over your stomach. your laptop open in the background, his porn playing on the screen.

attached, a message that makes the poor boy cum in his pyjama bottoms. 'lets meet up again. i want to tie you up and film how stupid you get with a vibe strapped to your cock—a movie just for us, though. no audience.'

pt 2 in the works :p

[leyiorr]

i can't stop looking at her t-t-t-t, FACE!

mdni.

satoru gojo is doomed.

why is he doomed, you ask? well, put bluntly, you, his girlfriend of five months, are driving him absolutely crazy.

crazy is an understatement, actually. insane, mad, mental, unhinged, deranged, bonkers - whatever you want to call it. he's holding on by a thread; the thinly woven string known as sanity growing ever weaker as the days roll by and turn into weeks.

of course, he's only blaming you. you hadn't actually done anything wrong.

you're the first relationship satoru's had in his life, and he'd be damned if some inappropriate thoughts ruin his chances with the love of his life. he'd never been happier - dating you gave him the kind of happiness he thought only existed in movies; the kind of giddiness of a child in a candy store.

he was devoted to you in every way, shape and form - you are everything he's dreamed of and more.

more.

that's right, you were more.

recently, you were the devil's temptation personified.

surprisingly, even after twenty-odd years of being one of the most attractive guys around, and having women throw themselves at him like he's some kind of greek deity, satoru is a virgin. i'll repeat that, he is a virgin. a fact that only suguru knows. a fact that he's neglected to tell his girlfriend.

he may have a flirtatious personality and the ability to charm ninety percent of the human race with one of his thousand-kilowatt smiles, but in truth, he had never dated anyone. ever. let alone got his dick in a pussy.

so when he starts wanting to go further, he's not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a horndog.

it all started when you wore a sleek black dress to one of your dates. it clung to your figure, fabric wrapping shamelessly around your every curve and tickling your midthigh at its end. and if that wasn't bad enough, it had a plunging neckline, giving the world - satoru specifically - an eyeful of the assets god gifted you with. your boobs were practically spilling out of your dress, the light catching your cleavage as you held his arm. he could feel himself salivating like some sort of perv. how was he supposed to focus with aphrodite's personal creation hanging off his arm?

his eyes began to drift to the flesh of your chest more than he'd like to admit. all sorts of r-rated scenarios ran through his head and he dared to entertain every. single. one. he could do so much with them, tease them, spit on them, pinch them, suck on them, put his dick between them-

“satoru?”

his gaze snaps back to your face at record speed. you notice how he's chewing his bottom lip, flush creeping onto his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. his hands are clammy; there's suddenly too little oxygen in his room.

“did you listen to anything i said?” your arms fold beneath your bosom and satoru almost implodes.

what do you expect him to do? the necklace around your neck has his initial on it, and it hovers over your tits almost mockingly. if it snapped, the letter would fall right between the valley of your breasts-

“satoru!”

he's choking on his saliva, apologizing profusely as he encourages you to continue your story - though he hasn't heard shit over the blood pumping loudly in his ears.

it's a battle no, a war between his rationality and his desires and he doesn't know which is winning. his rationality wins when he's around you - he just sucks in a breath and thugs it out, no matter how much his dick shouts at him. but in private, he's letting the desires win as his fists himself to the thought of you, your lips, your ass; your boobs.

the first time he sees you in a bikini he has to take a breather before he can get into a game of beach volleyball with you and the group.

(and even then he was struggling. every time you jumped for the ball the only thing he was looking at was your tits.)

he should be neutered. effective immediately.

it drags out for so long that you finally notice, and force him to talk to you about why he's avoiding you, and if you'd done anything wrong. but all you get is:

“baby, i'm so sorry- you're so pretty and i can't help myself. i didn't know how to bring up that i wanted to take our relationship to the next step, you mean the world to me and i'd hate to make you uncomfortable-” he trips and stumbles over his words-

“...is that it?”

and his eyes bug out of his head as he stares at you. weeks, months of agony over this and all you have to say is 'is that it'?

he doesn't even have chance to respond; to process your words before you're popping the top button of your blouse.

yeah, satoru gojo is doomed.

[tofixtheshadows]

I've been thinking a lot lately about how Kabru deprives himself.

Kabru as a character is intertwined with the idea that sometimes we have to sacrifice the needs of the few for the good of the many. He ultimately subverts this first by sabotaging the Canaries and then by letting Laios go, but in practice he's already been living a life of self-sacrifice.

Saving people, and learning the secrets of the dungeons to seal them, are what's important. Not his own comforts. Not his own desires. He forces them down until he doesn't know they're there, until one of them has to come spilling out during the confession in chapter 76.

Specifically, I think it's very significant, in a story about food and all that it entails, that Kabru is rarely shown eating. He's the deuteragonist of Dungeon Meshi, the cooking manga, but while meals are the anchoring points of Laios's journey, given loving focus, for Kabru, they're ... not.

I'm sure he eats during dungeon expeditions, in the routine way that adventurers must when they sit down to camp. But on the surface, you get the idea that Kabru spends most of his time doing his self-assigned dungeon-related tasks: meeting with people, studying them, putting together that evidence board, researching the dungeon, god knows what else. Feeding himself is secondary.

He's introduced during a meal, eating at a restaurant, just to set up the contrast between his party and Laios's. And it's the last normal meal we see him eating until the communal ending feast (if you consider Falin's dragon parts normal).

First, we get this:

Kabru's response here is such a non-answer, it strongly implies to me that he wasn't thinking about it until Rin brought it up. That he might not even be feeling the hunger signals that he logically knew he should.

They sit down to eat, but Kabru is never drawn reaching for food or eating it like the rest of his party. He only drinks.

It's possible this means nothing, that we can just assume he's putting food in his mouth off-panel, but again, this entire manga is about food. Cooking it, eating it, appreciating it, taking pleasure in it, grounding yourself in the necessary routine of it and affirming your right to live by consuming it. It's given such a huge focus.

We don't see him eat again until the harpy egg.

What a significant question for the protagonist to ask his foil in this story about eating! Aren't you hungry? Aren't you, Kabru?

He was revived only minutes ago after a violent encounter. And then he chokes down food that causes him further harm by triggering him, all because he's so determined to stay in Laios's good graces.

In his flashback, we see Milsiril trying to spoon-feed young Kabru cake that we know he doesn't like. He doesn't want to eat: he wants to be training.

Then with Mithrun, we see him eating the least-monstery monster food he can get his hands on, for the sake of survival- walking mushroom, barometz, an egg. The barometz is his first chance to make something like an a real meal, and he actually seems excited about it because he wants to replicate a lamb dish his mother used to make him!

...but he doesn't get to enjoy it like he wanted to.

Then, when all the Canaries are eating field rations ... Kabru still isn't shown eating. He's only shown giving food to Mithrun.

And of course the next time he eats is the bavarois, which for his sake is at least plant based ... but he still has to use a coping mechanism to get through it.

I don't think Kabru does this all on purpose. I think Kui does this all on purpose. Kabru's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder should be understood as informing his character just as much as Laios's autism informs his. It's another way that Kabru and Laios act as foils: where Laios takes pleasure in meals and approaches food with the excitement of discovery, Kabru's experiences with eating are tainted by his trauma. Laios indulges; Kabru denies himself. Laios is shown enjoying food, Kabru is shown struggling with it.

And I can very easily imagine a reason why Kabru might have a subconscious aversion towards eating.

Meals are the privilege of the living.

[lxnarphase]

heian era!sukuna fucking his pretty little wife for the first time the night of your marriage. he's being so slow and caring, it's so strange to both of you. but he's worried, he's worried he's going to break you, and he doesn't want to break you this soon.

you weren't a gift from a village or an arranged marriage of some sort for temporary mercy from the king of curses. no, sukuna picked you himself. so why would he break something he cherished so much? he’s watching your every move, groaning about how pretty you look, but it’s painful how slow he’s going.

“fuck, can't do this anymore, my wife, i need t' fuck you properly,” he growls, folding you in half as he presses your legs up, adjusting himself before slamming his hips down into you. he can't help himself, you're just so hot and tight and wet, and the way your nails drag down his back as you choke out his name...it's addicting.

even so, he's still trying so hard not to fuck you too hard, too deep, but he's getting carried away, and he genuinely can't help himself. but his hips stutter when you slap his back, hissing at him to 'stop acting like a big baby and fuck you like a real husband would.' that gets a chuckle out of him, and he presses a gentle kiss against your cheek, the last gentle and sweet gestured you'd be getting for a while.

"my pretty wife wants to get treated like my personal whore? mm, fine, but if you end up carrying my heir before planned, it's your fault, brat."

[anlxcqrd]

` 𝐖𝐇𝐎'𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐎𝐖?

sypnosis: how the jjk men punish you after doing the "she's busy bro" prank on them.

contains: rough unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, true-form sukuna, aftercare?, etc.

warnings: sexual content is present in the following. read at your own risk.

featuring: gojo, geto, toji, sukuna.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

"You thought that was funny?" Your ass receives a slap, dragging out a yelp from your quivering lips as the malleable flesh of your buttcheeks recoiled from the impact. Sounds of your wet skin slapping against each other. Over. And. Over. Again. Fills the room accompanied by the smell of sex lingering in the air.

"Ah! S'toru hngh..."

Swollen pink lips make contact with your shoulder, kissing them tenderly while his fat thumb snakes down to your clit and starts eriting his name harshly to your swollen nub, pushing you to the edge. "Take that—fuck!" His voice breaks into a whimper as he nears his orgasm. His fat cock bullies your g-spot repeatedly before he releases his load into you making your eyes roll back to the back of your head.

He pulls out looking at the scenery of his cum dripping out of your poor hole. He pecks your lips tenderly, silently muttering an 'I love you' as he wraps his arms around you to carry you to the bathroom. "Was I too rough?" His voice was quieter than the sound of the water filling the tub. You shake your head reassuringly giving his hand a tender squeeze. "Not as rough as he did."

Uh oh.

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

"Ah ah ah. I didn't tell you to stop. Finish what you started baby." Suguru coos and you whine frowning at him because you know he wouldn't fuck you. "You did this to yourself. Now suck." He slaps his thick cock on your tongue. "And no touching yourself." He strongly reminded.

You obeyed his order and started to lick his slit slowly earning a low groan from him. You kiss his dark reddish tip before wrapping your plump lips around it and start bobbing your head up and down.

You put his hands on top of your hand giving him full control of your head and thats when you almost gagged because he started bullying your throat, the tip of his shoe starts to grind against your crotch, you let out a muffled moan as you both pleasured each other.

His ass clenches, voice cracking, balls tightening. "Babe—I'm close—hngh" he choked out, gently stroking your hair as he busts his nuts down your throat.

After riding his orgasm, he picks you up before settling you down to his lap, "you did such a good job" he kisses your forehead, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Water please" his smile falters at your hoarse voice before nodding.

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

"I'm too old for—Ah.. that shit, y'know?" He lets out a breathy groan when you clench around him. "Well clearly to old to get the joke." You try to get on his nerves and you mentally pat yourself on the shoulder cause it's clearly working.

The way he's so deep inside you makes you mewl and arch your back. "I'm growing white—Hngh.. hair because of you." His tip pressing kisses to your cervix as he pistons himself in and out of you.

Your skin was painted with red marks. He admired the canvas, hips slapping harder against yours, fat balls slapping against your ass. "T-Toji—m'close...don't stop—Ah!" You claw on the sheets till your knuckles turned white as you near your climax.

His thrusts started being sloppy and before you knew it, he was cumming hard inside you, painting your walls white. He rubs your clit making you squirm, screaming his name as you cum around his cock.

He pulls out of you, putting you over his shoulders, your legs limping and twitching as your juices drip down. "Let's get you cleaned up."

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

His claws were drawing scars around your back as he pounds into your tight hole, groaning and choking you with his second pair of arms. "How dare you mess with me like that hm?" You look at him with teary eyes, lips swollen and red. "M sorry kuna—Ah!" You yelp as his hand hits your ass.

"Sorry doesn't cut it." You hold onto him, limbs wrapped around his torso. Your eyes roll up when you feel his mouth on his abdomen lick and suck on your clit. "S-Sukuna w-wait—Ah!" You squirt and that triggered his cock to shoot out his load.

And thats when everything went black.

He pulls out when he feels your limp body against his. "Hey, woman?" He cups your face with a hand hoping you'll wake up but seeing how tired you are, he decides to let you rest.

He ordered some servants to bring a clean cloth and a bowl of hot water. He wipes your bruised body with the damp fabric, hand brushing your hair behind your ear. As much as he hates to admit it, he's much gentler with you for some reason.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Danny the Guy Who Won't Die

He lives in Gotham, and he is just A Guy. Nothing weird about him, he's just there to study/work/help Lady Gotham to lift her curse/on vacation with Sam. Point is, he is not there to cause trouble and there's no GIW on his tail. Just a dude living his (after)life.

And Gotham, being Gotham, still finds a way to be annoying. There are mugging attempts, robbery, Rogues running around. Only Danny really doesn't want to deal with any of it.

Now there's a dilemma. If he uses his powers to fight, it will sooner or later come to Bats' attention. And if he fights as a human, it will also alert some of the Bats since he doesn't really do a great job at keeping his power levels low. Not to mention the fact he is really not enthusiastic about accidentally punching someone hard enough he sends them to a hospital.

What does he do instead? He pulls the 'I guess I'll die' act.

So every time he is attacked, he just plays dead. The mugger shot him in the chest? He falls down and stops breathing. Caught up in the middle of a Poison Ivy attack? Skewers himself on the vine and goes lax. Scarecrow's Fear Gas? Very dramatically chokes himself and plays a corpse. He makes sure to disappear before any ambulances arrive later, and it all goes well for a few months - he is just a casualty, who cares, really - until one day, he runs into that same mugger who shot him in the chest a while ago.

The man does a double take. Danny doesn't notice - he's been mugged so many times, who has the brain capacity to remember all of those fuckers. But the rumor goes out anyway.

A guy-who-won't-die. It's more of a city legend, really, and the Bats don't give it much thought since, well, it sounds stupid and not very important. A rumor of some man who was shot dead and then showed up like nothing happened? Yeah, it's probably because the mugger didn't check if he was actually dead. That happens. Maybe it wasn't even the same man, Gotham is a big city. If anything, hey, at least that was one less casualty? That's a good thing.

That is, until one day, they show up to Joker's hostage situation and witness the clown screaming at one of the hostages. He is so enraged he is shaking, spit flying out of his mouth, and, contrary to the usual Joker's evil sneers and maniacal laughter, he seems just... furious. But, like, the normal-human-level furious. The 'I just lost the last ounce of patience with you' furious.

"Don't you look away from me, you think I don't remember you?! Na-ah, I do. You were the one I drowned in the shark tank last week! And you were the one run through the chainsaw trap two weeks before that! And you were in the guillotine!!! I saw your fucking head get deattached from your body, how the fuck are you here again?!"

And the guy he is screaming at just looks at him, confused and incomprehensive.

"Um, I'm pretty sure I'd remember getting my head cut off, you know? So, err, wrong guy."

"Wrong guy my fucking ass-"

Joker is so distracted by his screaming match that it makes it almost too easy for the Bats to fight him down and drag to Arkham. Yet, a few of them get just a bit suspicious.

Now, imagine all the shenanigans when they try keeping a watch on Danny the Won't Die Guy.

[simonbrain]

giving simon the nastiest, sloppiest blowjob because he was being a right cunt all day and he's just so gone. not a single sound parting from his lips except heavy breaths and soft groans, the sounds slightly muffled because he's still wearing his damn balaclava. he doesn't know what to do with his hands; one moment they're twitching by his sides, and the next they find purchase in your hair, not even really gripping because of how weak he is.

he wants to see you because he's missing out on his perfect girl taking him deep down her throat, but he's been reduced to nothing but a caveman. eyes rolled to the back of his head, drool soaking through his mask, not a single thought floating in his head. he looks completely blissed out—he can't even process anything except for the tight squeeze your throat provides and the wet noises and gags coming from you.

you're taking him in so well, letting him mindlessly rut his cock and not minding the way his balls hit your chin or how he's beginning to slur out incoherent things about how good you feel. he doesn't even sound like himself; his voice warbled and choked up as you work him to an orgasm.

don't expect him to be lucid after completely sucking his soul out. the most he'll do is blink slowly at you like a cat while watching you clean him up, unable to vocalise how boneless he feels or how thankful he is for you. he grunts when you ask him if he wants a shower, trying his best to lessen the burden of pulling him up to walk him over to the bathroom.

(and if he becomes coherent again while absolutely ruining you against the shower wall, praising you for taking such good care of him and for putting up with him acting like a wanker all day?

well, you're just happy he's not getting pissy over the littlest things anymore. just don't tease him too much about how he acted earlier; he'll go back to annoying the hell out of you with his attitude.)