#thinking about him collecting things that make him laugh

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 18: The One Where Two Roads Diverged in a Wood of GIFs and Written Words

“Lukola Crisis Hotline. How may I be of service?”

Me: Houston, we have a problem.

Dad: Do tell!

Me: You won’t believe who showed up last night! –

Dad: Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! Whoa! I don’t know what to say! Wait – let me grab my Coke and my smokes. <waiting> Okay, I’m back. So, Misty appeared out of nowhere with Thang?! Well, this just got fun! <laughing>

For clarity’s sake, my father tends to give everyone a pet name. Some of the pet names are funny; some are quite cruel. But if they help him remember who the players are in this fandom (and in any other situation), I’m game to play along. Plus, his pet names tend to add a little comedy relief to whatever is being discussed, especially when it is not an outwardly funny subject.

In Lukola-Land, Luke is “Thang” (it’s actually “Thing” – as in the hand from The Addams Family – but my dad’s accent muddles the pronunciation into “Thang”); Nicola is “Ireland,” for obvious reasons; Antonia is “Misty,” for, umm, the Clint Eastwood movie, “Play Misty for Me;” and Jake is – well, Jake is actually just “Jake” because my father finds the USS Jakola offensive. In fact, when I was discussing the recent fandom events with him on Friday evening, my dad was genuinely shocked to learn the Jakolas still existed. His pet name for the Jakolas is “Fucking Stupid,” by the way.

Moving on to the matter at hand –

There’s been so much “noise” over the past few weeks that, when taken collectively, it is rather eye-opening. We’ve got Luke’s mother posting on Facebook about “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus.” The leaked funeral video and photos (by allegedly Luke’s family). The Best in Show pap pictures of Nicola and Jake. The “just friends” interview. The disappearance of Jake (because he’s rehearsing for a play) and the sudden reemergence of Antonia.

If you’ve noticed from my recent entries on this blog, I have obviously found most of what has happened of late to be comical and not worth putting into written word. Instead, my thoughts have been dumped into GIF stories. To be honest, I was rather disappointed I couldn’t put this last part – Antonia emerging from the misty edges of the forest – entirely into a GIF story. Her reappearance was like a certain Bond villain coming back to life for the seventh time. In other words, it was total cringe. But it also altered an otherwise slow burning campfire into a motherfucking forest fire.

Me: Thoughts?

Dad: I need some time to think about this one – and a cigarette. Or two. Call me back in 15 minutes.

“Psychotic Fan Rescue Center, at your service.”

Me: You’re a dumbass.

Dad: <laughing> Well, this is insane. It makes no sense and it’s a convoluted mess. Why bring Misty back? She was killed off two seasons ago.

Me: No shit, Sherlock.

Dad: Hell, maybe this has all been a nest of vipers.

A nest of vipers? Ah, yes, the idea that we have a group of venomous snakes thrown into the same close-quartered trench – in an every-man-for-himself type situation – each taking strikes at the others whenever their backs are turned.

In Entries 1, 13, and 15 – with an emphasis on “Entry 13: The One Where the Ashes Blew Towards Us with the Salt Wind from the Sea” – I wrote about what the Lutonia narrative could look like, if real. I will not rehash in detail those entries here, but I will link them at the end of this entry if you want to read, or reread, them.

Now, the General Audience almost certainly didn’t pay a lick of attention to Antonia when she appeared alongside Luke at the Boss event held January 30 (she’s always just been a Face in the Crowd). But the sudden reappearance of Antonia stopped the Lukolas dead in their tracks because – like my dad said – she was seemingly killed off two seasons ago.

The Lukolas have suddenly found themselves at an intersection of confusion and, likely, a bit of distress. The long and winding road we’ve been traveling along has diverged into two paths – and, no, you cannot travel both.

The problem with the Lutonia narrative has always been that Luke has never formally acknowledged Antonia as his girlfriend. In fact, Luke had the perfect opportunity to do so when he posted about the Boss event on his Instagram grid – but he did not. I could rationalize the idea that Luke and Antonia wanted to keep their relationship private after the Papsmear misstep if it weren’t for the fact that Antonia has been historically loud in her social media posts. We spent the summer and fall with insinuation post after insinuation post from Antonia. Yes, all those posts that alluded to her being with Luke without any actual evidence that she was, in fact, with Luke. By the time Antonia got to “Pasta-gate” in mid-November, the Lukola fandom barely even blinked before dismissing her as, well, the antagonist from “Play Misty for Me.” And this leads to something even more problematic for the USS Lutonia – Luke has never rescued Antonia from being ridiculed and torn apart by the fandom. My dad would call – and has called – Luke a cad for this.

Jumping to the other side of this misshapen triangle, we have Nicola and her Assassin (my dad’s pet name for JVN). Assuming Lutonia is real, the only logical answer for Nicola’s behavior is that she has spent months trolling Luke, Antonia, and <gasp> the fandom. Nicola herself has admitted to being chronically online and, at a minimum, being aware of fan edits – so much so that during the London premiere she commented that she and Luke “can’t do anything” without the fandom reacting to it. Therefore, I will call “foul” on anyone who tries to persuade me that Nicola was unaware of, at a minimum, how the Lukola fandom had reacted to the Claddagh ring, Chaos Week, and the October airplane posts. JVN openly mocking Antonia on social media with, for example, their Slick Back Bun routine only added fuel to this fire.

For shits and giggles – and so I can get to the bend in this road – we will roll with my dad’s “Nest of Vipers” theory for a moment. We will concede that Lutonia is real, which, in my opinion, makes Luke the absolute worst boyfriend in London and Antonia a woman who doesn’t mind being treated like roadkill. It also, unfortunately, makes Nicola and Fan Favorite JVN come off like online bullies – with the only plausible reasoning for the bullying being that Luke and Nicola are at odds with each other. No, I take that back – they’re not at odds with each other – they’re seemingly at war with each other. I’ll even amp this up a bit and throw in the suggestion that, assuming Lutonia is real, Netflix & Co. is aware of the strife between its two Polin actors and are protecting their asset with blurred Polin-Lukola posts to pacify the fandom. Dun-Dun-DUNN! And yes! That was a sly nod to Jake.

Me: Thanks for that. You just made Luke into an absolute prick and gave Antonia’s starring role in “Play Misty for Me” to Nicola.

Dad: Hey, I’m not the one who dug up Misty! That was all Thang!

Me: Then why does everyone say Luke is the nicest person? Nicola, his co-stars –  

Dad: All lies.

Me: Would you STOP?!

Dad: But I’m serious! Thang could be a complete pig behind closed doors and Ireland could be on the verge of a psychotic meltdown because, uhh, maybe she’s obsessed with Thang and pissed he chose Misty.

The unfortunate thing about this Nest of Vipers theory is that I could almost certainly make a convincing argument that it was legit. I’ve always joked with my Inner Circle of Lukolas that no one wants to see me go rogue, especially not – I’ll bite my tongue on that one. But I will emphasize the importance of keeping an open mind when you’re reviewing information. Always consider both sides of the coin. That said, it’s hard to ignore the evidence that was presented to us through the World Tour interviews and behind-the-scenes footage; therefore –

Me: I’m having a hard time believing Luke is someone who wouldn’t protect his girlfriend. He seems to support Nicola online quite a bit. Why wouldn’t he do the same for Antonia?

Dad: <laughing> Fine. Antonia isn’t his girlfriend. Maybe it’s all just a bunch of fuckery like I’ve always said.

“Fuckery” is my dad’s pet name for PR bullshit. If you didn’t pick up on it in previous entries, I am not fond of PR theories. But I also cannot ignore that PR relationships do exist and have for decades (hell, we could go back centuries and find examples of PR relationships across multiple noble and royal families – think about that, naysayers). It was my dad who first sold me on the possibility of Antonia being PR. So, I will consider this road to PR-ville in the same manner as I did the Nest of Vipers theory – with this PR theory having perhaps the better claim.

I mentioned earlier that the General Audience almost certainly paid little attention to Antonia’s existence at the Boss event. Although some people may find what I’m about to say a bit unkind, it doesn’t make it any less valid (and I’m not saying it to be cruel): Antonia, in the overall scheme of things, is of very little importance to the General Audience. She has less than 15 thousand followers on Instagram, even after being connected to a man who has almost three million. However, oddly enough, that didn’t prevent the Daily Mail from dropping a story which predominantly focused on Antonia within the same timeframe that images from the Boss event were being dropped on the Internet. It also didn’t prevent video footage of Luke and Antonia at the Boss event from being leaked online almost immediately – even when there were undoubtedly more famous celebrities attending the event. I’ll be realistic with this next comment, too: Luke may be relevant to the Bridgerton fandom, but that does not mean he is significant to, say, People Magazine’s average reader. So, why the sudden burst of publicity at this event?

I waited to write this entry to see what Luke did with the exposure from the Boss event. Would he finally put Antonia on his Instagram grid? Would he put her in his Instagram stories? Would Antonia post pictures from the event on her Instagram grid or stories? Would Luke unambiguously acknowledge a relationship with Antonia?

Although Luke posted to his Instagram grid and stories about the event, he did not include Antonia – at least not directly. The closest he came to including Antonia was via an Instagram story – on which he did not tag her – of a black screen with a link to a Boss TikTok that included images of Luke and Antonia from the event. The TikTok did not tag Antonia either. Luke did not post Antonia’s image to his grid or his stories.

And Antonia didn’t post about the event at all.

I wasn’t sold on a PR narrative when I started writing this entry, but my eyebrows raised when I saw Luke’s “black screen” Instagram story. This was either Luke attempting to circumvent the Lutonia narrative while throwing Antonia a bone, or it was Luke being an absolute douche of a human being. And, if it’s the latter, Mr. Newton needs to check himself into Assholes Anonymous.

I will concede that a couple of mutuals put up a few stories about the event (which disappeared after 24 hours) and Boss included (and tagged) Luke and Antonia in an Instagram and TikTok reel – without formally identifying Antonia as Luke’s girlfriend. On a side note, Luke could have reposted either of these reels – which tagged Antonia – but he did not. Luke also did not like this Boss Instagram reel with Antonia in it (and he does not have a public TikTok account), but Luke did like a separate Boss post of him and David Beckham (without Antonia). The only news outlets that called Antonia Luke’s “girlfriend” were rag-mags like the Daily Mail and Hello, both of which put an emphasis on Antonia. Digital Spy noted that Luke and Antonia “have yet to officially confirm their relationship.” So outside of some tagged reels (that weren’t reposted or acknowledged by Luke) and rag-mag speculation, what did Antonia get from this?

Dad: Publicity.

A single word but one that resonates throughout an otherwise silent wood.

But to be honest, I’m not entirely convinced this was for publicity. I’m not saying I believe Antonia is Luke’s girlfriend either – that’s a whole cauldron of contradictions on its own. I’m simply intrigued that Antonia has her Instagram tags turned off and she has not yet allowed any Boss event tags to appear on her page. So, outside of some junky rag-mag callouts and a few TikToks, what benefit did Antonia receive? And, if Antonia didn’t truly benefit from this appearance (or, at least she doesn’t appear to be reaping the rewards from a girlfriend or PR standpoint), who did benefit?

I mentioned at the beginning of this post that a series of events had happened one after the other over a relatively short two-week period: (1) Luke’s mum mentioning “Luke’s girlfriend…from Cyprus” in a Facebook response; (2) leaked video and photos of Luke from a funeral; (3) those utterly ridiculous pap pictures of Nicola and Jake; (4) Nicola stating she and Luke were “just friends” in an interview; and (5) the sudden summoning of Antonia after exactly six months of being MIA.

As I sat here writing out the events of the past two weeks – and considering the reappearance of Antonia – I couldn’t help but speculate as to whether each of these events was meant to have a specific purpose that didn’t get its desired result.

The comment by Luke’s mother was so far out in left field, most Lukolas chucked it up to being suspicious and dismissed it as such. The funeral pictures and video released by one of Luke’s family members was quickly scrubbed from social media; therefore, just as quickly ignored. The pap pictures of Nicola and Jake were openly mocked across social media as being staged. The “just friends” comment – after almost a year of, particularly, Nicola dodging that phrase – didn’t seem to send many Lukolas overboard. Is it possible that the fandom’s mild reaction to all these events wasn’t anticipated? Which leads me to wonder if Luke and Nicola wanted a reaction and realized the only way they were going to get it was to play the only card they had left – Antonia.  

When you look at the above referenced events individually and collectively, they appear to indicate a push to shut down the Lukola narrative. Why?

They could have shut down the Lukolas before the World Tour even took off. They could have shut down the Lukolas during the World Tour. They could have shut down the Lukolas after Papsmear. Why wait almost a full year to draw the line in the sand? Especially after every devoted Lukola would argue that (mostly) Nicola has left a trail of Swiftie-like clues to insinuate Lukola is real, and that Luke has made a visible effort to remove Antonia from his narrative.

Whatever the reasoning may be, we must admit Antonia’s reappearance had a purpose – and one that we need to respect. I have a hard time believing Luke would voluntarily step in the same pile of dog shit he stepped in back in June without a valid and significant reason for doing so.

And this is where I will draw the line.

I will not speculate further about why Antonia suddenly rose from the ashes of Manderley – and I will not tell you which road to take from here. That’s something you need to do on your own but, be warned that regardless of which road you choose – the one where you conclude Luke and Antonia are a couple, or the one where you decide Antonia is playing the role of PR distraction – the Lukolas are currently fighting a losing battle.

The Lukolas have become collateral damage. They’ve either been caught in the crossfire of an online war between Luke and Nicola (and their respective sidekicks) over, presumably, Antonia; or they’re the unwitting victims of some messy PR bullshit that has resulted in Lukolas being bullied across every social media platform by rabid Jakolas and Anti-Lukes.

Amazingly, though, many Lukolas remain resilient.

When the going gets tough…

But sometimes the tough don’t get going.

Yesterday, someone wrote to me, “Why are we still here? Just when we think something good is finally going to happen we get pushed back down. I’m tired of the dumb games.”

I rarely answer “Asks,” but my response to this comment is:

“Two roads diverged in a wood…”

Two roads.

One road is quite disheartening and the other is shrouded in underbrush.

But what you've overlooked is that there is an alternate path – a third road – the one that brought you to this point.

Turn around.

That road takes you back home – and, if you’re ready to go home, go home. It’s okay. It takes an unbelievable amount of courage to admit you’ve had enough. Remember that saying – “A wise woman once said, ‘fuck this shit,’ and she lived happily ever after.”

Take your time and decide what makes the most sense to you.

Dad: What are you thinking?

Me: Of a poem.

Dad: Oh, which one today?

Me: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by…”

Dad: Which road is that…?

P.S. Just for a bit of comic relief at the end of an otherwise somber post (not even Dad could make it lighthearted), I just wanted to say:

I love eating grapes.

IYKYK.

Those links I promised:

[mindmelter]

A Better Marcus Than Marcus

It all started when my sister’s boyfriend, Marcus, did a complete 180. The guy used to be your textbook finance bro—straight-laced, all about stocks, cryptos, and protein shakes. He was also the type who’d casually flex his "intellectual superiority" at family dinners like he was the human embodiment of a TED Talk nobody asked for.

Then, out of nowhere, he turned into this fun, carefree dude. He started to grow his hair and beard and constantly walk shirtless, showcasing his unfairly perfect pair of pecs and set of abs. He even tattooed his arm—something I would never expect from him. It wasn’t just a change in style; it was like he had become a totally different person.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Then it hit me—my sister’s ex, Dylan, a scrawny hippie who could’ve been the poster child for essential oils and “love, man” vibes. Dylan and I had gotten along great back in the day, mostly because he shared a little secret with me: a drug. No, not this kind of drug. This stuff could turn anyone into a bodysuit. Yeah, you heard me. One hit of this thing, and you could empty someone out, leaving behind a perfectly usable, skin-tight vessel. Thanks to him, I solved my bullying problem at school by wearing the jock leader's body.

Then, one day, Dylan disappeared from our lives after my sister dumped him. No warning, no goodbye, nothing. I thought that was the end of it. Turns out, it wasn’t.

Fast-forward to tonight. We’re having a family dinner at my parents’ house, and Marcus is here, all smiles and carefree vibes, making dumb jokes with my parents. It was the perfect chance to test my theory. I waited until everyone was distracted with dessert and pulled Marcus aside to a quiet corner of the house.

“I need to talk to you,” I whispered, trying to keep my voice low.

He cocked an eyebrow but followed me. Once we were out of earshot, I didn’t waste any time.

“I know you’re not really Marcus,” I said, crossing my arms. “I know it’s you, Dylan.”

For a moment, he just stared at me, then a wide grin spread across his face. “Took you long enough, bro,"

He opened his robe even more to show me his muscular body, looking like he was showing me an outfit and not another man's skin, “Yeah, it’s me. Poor Marcus never saw it coming. Injected this asshole with the stuff after he dropped your sister at your house, and bam! Marcus went to bodysuit city.” He chuckled darkly. “I’ve been living my best life ever since and with the love of my life."

I’ll admit, I wasn’t surprised. But hearing it confirmed still left my mouth agape.

"So, what now? You gonna rat me out to your sister? You wouldn't do that to good old Dylan here, would you? Not after I helped you turn your jock bully into a bodysuit. I even helped you out at faking his disappearance, I had to drive to another state to get rid of that bodysuit."

I smirked. “That depends. What’s in it for me?”

Dylan—or Marcus, I guess—laughed. “Alright, how about this: I let you enjoy Marcus’s body anytime you want, as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

It was a twisted offer, but let’s be real—I’d had a thing for Marcus since day one. The chance to have him, even under these bizarre circumstances, was too good to pass up.

“Deal,” I said, extending a hand.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, bro,” he replied, shaking my hand. Before we could head upstairs, my sister caught us in the hallway.

“Where are you two going?” she asked.

Thinking quickly, Dylan—Marcus—flashed his charming smile. “Your brother wanted to show me his collectible…uh…vinyl record collection. Said he’s got some rare finds.”

She bought it. “Wow, bonding over music. Finally. I’m proud of you two. Don't take too long, we're going to have karaoke." She leaned forward to give Marcus a kiss and walked away.

As soon as we were in my room, the facade dropped. I locked the door, and he turned to me, that sly grin back on his face. “Alright, bro,” he said, taking off his already unbuttoned white shirt and letting it fall to the floor. “Let’s see what you’ve been fantasizing about.”

I immediately pushed him down onto his knees, grabbing a handful of his long hair to assert control. “You’re going to start by sucking me off like a good slut,” I whispered.

His grin widened as he complied, reaching for my pants and pulling them down. His warm mouth quickly wrapped around me, and I let out a satisfied groan as he worked his tongue expertly. Once my cock was slick and throbbing, I pulled him back by his hair, forcing him to look up at me.

“Get on the bed, on all fours, now! You're my secret boyfriend slut now,” I ordered. He obeyed, taking off his pants and crawling onto the bed completely naked with his huge ass waiting for me. It was the sight I've been dreaming of ever since my sister introduced Marcus.

I walked over to my desk and turned on some rock music to muffle what was about to happen.

Climbing onto the bed behind him, I gripped his long hair tightly as I positioned myself. Without hesitation, I thrust into him hard, using his hair as leverage. Dylan moaned as I filled Marcus' ass. This wasn't our first time together. When Dylan was wearing my hot bully's body, he let me fuck him as a final revenge before he dumped the bodysuit in another state.

Marcus' back arched, and he let out a muffled moan, the sound drowned out by the loud music. I didn’t let up, pulling his hair like reins as I pounded into him mercilessly.

I leaned down on his back as I filled Dylan's—Marcus' ass with my cum. “You make a better Marcus."

[madschiavelique]

By any chance, do you have any thoughts about poly tavrem with GN Tav who likes to spend time with Scratch and Owlbear cub a lot? I'm curious :3

omggg so cute

content warnings : none, literally pure fluff word count : 743

shadowheart loves animals, that is no news, thus she definitely spends time with you and the two lovelies whenever she can. she loves seeing you giggle when Scratch comes to lick your face when you're on the ground, the owlbear's beak nudging against your shoulder. she will collect the owlbear's fallen feathers, and will always find some stick or object that she brings to you as a new toy for them.

gale is much more used to cats and tressyms considering his experience with Tara. he is not very fond of a dogs drool and the way its tongue oddly dangles on the side when it huffs in happiness, but seeing your smile when you pat scratch while he looks like so makes you look so beautiful. when night falls and you start running around the camp to play with both pets, he looks at you fondly while he writes a few poems on the way your laugh echoes in the air of his heart.

astarion isn't used to pets, the only animals he ever shared the company of being rats which ended up inevitably being his meals. you had warned him about biting either of your little friends, and he had promised not to touch any of their fur or feathers. when he saw you playing with them though, he almost got jealous of the attention you were giving them instead of him. so, at night when yo'ure sitting with both of them in front of you, astarion approached and sits with you, lacing an arm around your waist to get you closer to him in the hopes of sending to these two small brains that he also is yours.

lae'zel doesn’t get it. she does not get the appeal of any cute creature, as they would be worthless in battle and bring no honour to their owner. although she thinks that using some of your supplies just to feed thes animals is a waste of it, she has heard that dogs are most loyal to their masters and that owlbears once grown can be fierce fighters. when she thinks of the great warrior you are and the loyal beasts you are training for the future, she can't help but be proud and admire such thought

wyll is more of a dog guy, which is why he does spend some time with scratch to play with him. but when he saw you taking such great care of the owlbear cub, which in his adult form would have been quite a threat, he finds it extremelly endearing. the fact you took in these helpless animals by your side and take care of them every day and night and play with them is adorable to him, and he will join you to play with them from time to time.

karlach wants to join the fun you have with them all the time. at the very beginning, she could not approach them, her flames and heat visibly scaring them off much to her sadness. she would see the owlbear's sleepy head lay on your lap while you kissed Scratch on his head and she wished she could do the same. when dammon managed to contain her heat better though, the two were less scared and finally approached her. from this day on, every time you play with them, she comes along and runs around the camp while being chased by the two of them.

halsin's heart fills with joys to the sight of you spending time with the two sweet things. you come to see him often about it, to ask if owlbears or dogs have certain foods they prefer or that could be dangerous to them so that you know what to look for when you loot a new place. he loves the way you are with them, so attentive and sweet, and finds you particularly cute when you talk to them as if they could understand everything you said.

minthara's is not used to such kinds of pets. she owned spiders, much less warm to comfort as these two, and it impressed her how docile you had managed to make them. she doesn't get much of the appeal of having creatures so loud and energetic around you all, but they listen to you and the way your eyes shine when you come back to the camp after a long day and see them waiting for you makes her lips stretch in a smile.

[fkinkindagauche]

My Rose

This is for @steddiemicrofic's February prompt, "rose". Inspiration from MY ROSE by Beyoncé. (I wrote this about six hours before she won ALBUM OF THE YEAR for this album woooooo finally)

Rating: Explicit | WC: 367 | CW: Mild negative self talk | Tags: Established relationship, hand jobs, pet names

divider by @/saradika-graphics

Steve stares at himself in the mirror, face as close as he can get without going cross-eyed. He's looking at one of his moles. The one that makes his face asymmetric. He hears his mother's voice in his head, telling him to cover it up so he'll "still be pretty".

He sees Eddie walk up behind him in the mirror. Feels his warmth as he presses the front of his body against the back of Steve's.

"You looking at that mole again, my rose?" Eddie whispers in his ear.

Steve snorts. "That's a new one." Eddie collects pet names for Steve like they're little treasures, bringing out new ones to fit every occasion.

"Mmmhmm." Eddie presses his hands under Steve's shirt, cold fingers trailing over Steve's warm abdomen. "Was thinking about your mole. All the little things you let get you down about yourself. They're part of you, though. They don't make you any less beautiful. Like thorns on a rose. My rose."

Eddie nibbles the skin behind Steve's ear gently. Just how Steve likes. Steve sighs out a shaky laugh. Eddie manages to surprise him nearly every day with the force of his romance. Steve has always been the romancer before, never the romanced. It's a nice change.

"My love," Eddie says, lips moving down Steve's neck. "My sweetie-pie." One hand moves to the waist band of Steve's pants. He pulls them down, freeing Steve's cock. "My baby." He wraps the hand around Steve's cock, giving it a gentle stroke.

Steve is rapidly growing hard beneath Eddie's ministrations. Eddie swipes a bit of precum up with his thumb and uses it to smooth the way. "You're my heart," Eddie whispers in his ear, beginning to stroke in earnest. Steve pants, his hips moving to thrust himself into Eddie's hand.

Eddie locks eyes with Steve in the mirror. His pace picks up. His brown eyes are intense, so full of a love that Steve has been denied for most of his life. He tries to look away, but Eddie grabs his chin, forcing Steve to keep looking at him in the mirror.

"My rose," Eddie whispers sweetly in his ear, as Steve cums all over the vanity.

[navybrat817]

A Cornucopia for You!

Steve Rogers; secret dating; corporate; fluff

Your feet felt the sweet relief of solid ground as you slipped your heels off in the elevator ride up to your penthouse. The artificial light in the small box was bright, so much in comparison to the darkness outside. You swore you wouldn’t have seen the sun today if it weren’t for the floor to ceiling windows in your CEO suite.

Channing, the newest board member who had just taken over for his late father, had been relentless for the past few months. He forced you to work late hours, constantly tried to embarrass you every single chance he had, and never took your word for anything, claiming the only reason the company held onto a female CEO and put up with you was “because you’re single.”

He wasn’t quite right about that, though. Sure, you weren’t married, but for the better part of a year, you’d been dating someone so sweet, so kind, and so perfect, except for the fact that he was the CEO of a startup company. One that the board considered a rival.

So you and Steve kept a few simple rules: keep the relationship private, and do your best to keep work talk out of your homes. The second rule was a little more flexible, though. The two of you often found yourselves helping each other with problems, pulling on your collective experience, and of course Steve knew about how terrible Channing was being. Especially since he believed you to be a single workaholic that wouldn’t hop off your back.

Work had gotten you twisted so much so that you’d even forgot what today was until the elevator doors opened and you stepped out. Fluorescent light was replaced by candle and moonlight, vases of your favorite flowers lined your tabletops, and lounging in the middle of your living room sat an all too familiar large figure.

“Steve.” It came out as more of a gasp than anything as you watched him stand and gracefully walk over to you.

“Hi, Sweetheart. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He greeted you with a hug and the sweetest kiss on the lips. You could feel yourself melting into his arms, almost all the tension releasing from your shoulders, but when you pulled away, concern furrowed your brows. Steve clocked it immediately, of course he did. His warm hands gently brushed up and down your arms.

“Hey, I know this week has been a lot, but you’re home now. You and I can just relax.”

Your eyes fluttered shut and you nodded, placing your forehead against his shoulder with a sigh.

“You’re right. I’ve got some leftovers in the fridge. I know it’s not the most romantic, but we can heat them up and eat them in the tub?”

Steve laughed, his eyes lighting up with genuine affection before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You heat up the bath and I’ll heat up the food?”

As the two of you sat opposite each other in the oversized tub, bubbles up to your shoulders, you were so grateful for him and the peace he provided you. The sanctuary.

Steve finished off his glass of wine and set it to the side. “I know we agreed no work talk, but I just wanna say one thing. If you think it’s a bad idea, feel free to forget it and move on, but this offer will always stand.”

You shifted, putting a leg in Steve’s lap for a foot rub and you stifled a groan as he began.

“Come work with me.”

Your eyes quickly shot open at that. “What?”

“Be my co-CEO. Heck, be the sole CEO if you want, but I really don’t wanna see you torn up by shareholders anymore. I don’t have those. You’d be your own boss. We’d be unstoppable.”

You set your wine glass aside and sat up, making your way to straddle Steve’s lap, your hands gripping his steady shoulders. You leaned in and watched as his eager eyes shifted between yours, your lips brushing his, sharing shallow breaths.

“Okay.”

Oh, Steve is so perfect! ❤️ Essie, you are amazing, and I love everything about this. I wouldn't hesitate to give Channing the finger on my last day. And the image of the flowers and Steve sitting there both sweetly and full of power. We all need someone like him in our lives. ❤️

Love and thanks! ❤️

[quintessenceofdust88]

🐤 Bathena 💀💀💀💀

And!!

🎃 BuckTommy

🫶🫶🫶🫶

Hi Becca!! Thank youuuu for the prompts, these were so much fun!!!

---

🐥 for Bathena (I'll admit this one gave me pause hehe, so I hope you like what I came up with!!)

The noise of the karaoke bar is deafening, but Bobby’s having a lot of fun. He’s laughing as he sips his club soda and watches as Tommy and Buck come down from the stage after signing an actually very soft rendition of what Hen informed Bobby was a High School Musical song. And now Chimney is trying to convince Bobby to sing, which is. Not gonna happen. He doesn’t sing in public, and there is nothing or no one who can make him change his mind. 

Well, except for one person, and Chimney probably knows that. "Athena!" Chim exclaims when he spots her and Maddie coming back from the restroom. "Will you tell your husband he has to sing? He’s the only one who hasn’t!”

Athena raises an eyebrow at Bobby, and he gives her an unimpressed look. She sits down by his side, taking a sip of her wine, and shrugs at Chimney. 

“Don’t bother, Chim. I don’t think there’s much we can do if my husband’s too much of a chicken to sing out in public.”

There’s a collective ‘ooooohhhh’ going around the table, and all of his team, plus Maddie, Tommy and Karen, are smirking at Bobby. He feels his cheeks blush, and he raises an eyebrow at Athena, crossing his arms. 

“‘Chicken’? Really?” He says, and Tommy and Chim snicker at each other.

“Are you gonna pull a Marty McFly, Cap? The whole ‘nobody calls me a chicken’ thing?” Tommy snarks, and Buck and Eddie start making silly chicken noises. But before they can do it for too long, Athena raises a finger at them, giving them the look. The pair of them stop immediately, looking like properly chastised children. 

“First of all, back off. He’s my chicken.” Athena says, kissing his cheek, and she manages to make it sound like a good thing. Then she smirks at him. “But you know how to make them stop, baby.”

Bobby looks at her, then at the microphones, then back at her. And with Athena smiling at him like that, her beautiful eyes looking at him filled with love and joy despite her teasing, singing in public doesn’t seem so terribly scary anymore. 

“How about we make a duet out of it?” He suggests, and she laughs at first, but then realizes he’s serious. She smiles amazed at him. 

“Are you for real?”

“Unless you don’t wanna sing with a chicken?” He teases, and she rolls her eyes, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“C’mon, chicken. Let’s show this children how it’s done”

(Bucktommy under the cut!)

- 🎃

It's a matter of revenge, really. Eddie had the audacity to say Buck and Tommy were sappy just because they had a little 'No, you hang up' moment during their mutual 48-hour shifts. So, as the little shits they are, they decide they are sappy, that's their thing now. And that they're going to be ridiculously sappy next time they have Eddie over. "Want a beer, Eddie?" Tommy asks from the kitchen, watching as Eddie and Evan keep trying to overtake each other on Mario Kart.

"Yeah, thanks man!" Eddie says distractedly, and Tommy smirks to himself, figuring out how he can get his boyfriend to win.

"And you, Pumpkin?" He asks, his voice as sugary as possible.

It works, too; Eddie drops his controller, looking at them with his mouth agape. Evan, already knowing Tommy had something like this in mind, just smirks and crosses the finish line. Then, he bats his eyelashes at Tommy. "Absolutely, Pumpkin, you're the best" He says, making kissy noises, and Eddie stares between the two of them. "...I hate you both" He grumbles, and Tommy and Evan smirk at each other. The trouble is: they aren't quite able to stop there. At first they only called each other 'Pumpkin' in front of Eddie, but one day, it's just the two of them at home, and Tommy is distracted with a book, so he barely notices what he's saying. "Pumpkin, can you take the trash out?" He says, and Evan stops in his tracks.

It takes Tommy a while to notice he's standing in front of him, a small smirk playing on his face. He frowns at his boyfriend. "What?" "Nothing." Evan says, and then places a kiss on his cheek. "Pumpkin." It's only then that Tommy realizes what he saids, and he can't help but laugh. He pulls Evan down so he lies on his lap, both trash and book forgotten for the moment, and Tommy kisses him. "For the record, I blame Eddie" He clarifies, and Evan laughs, kissing the tip of his nose. "Me too, pumpkin." He teases, and Tommy pinches his arm in retaliation. Evan squirms away with a laugh. "But... you know what? It's kinda cute." "It is." Tommy easily agrees. "We are pretty cute, aren't we, pumpkin?"

"We are." Evan nods resolutely, kissing Tommy soundly. "I love you, pumpkin." "I love you too." Tommy says. -- Becca I really hope you like those, baby! I tried to do something different for the ideas! Ily ♥♥

[darkintothedawn]

THE SIGNING || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Gender Neutral reader

Summary — Setting the scene for 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE'. Stiles sits you down and convinces you to sign his collection of rules. Little does he know you've already decided that they're not worth following.

Memo— Don't ask about the ending, I have no idea what that is. You can find the rest of the 'THE BOYFRIEND CODE' here.

Word Count — 3052

Warnings — Suggestive content. Some explicit language (mentions of being hard). Mostly fluff.

"Alright, this is ridiculous," you say, sitting cross-legged on Stiles' bed. There's an unreasonably long piece of parchment spread out before you and the quill you're holding is wobbling slightly from the early tremors of a laugh. The parchment looks like it's been stolen right from a centuries old book that was probably stored in an underground vault during medieval times. It's complete with singed edges that you can tell he's artificially put there if you look hard enough and a heading written in surprisingly elaborate, swooping calligraphy. The Boyfriend Code.

"Who even has parchment anymore? Did you have to order this online?"

Stiles momentarily stops his pacing, hands clasped behind his back like a general before he starts to pace again. His eyes are locked onto your with the intensity of a general surveying his troops but the tell-tale signs of a grin are present on his face. "It's authentic parchment, thank you very much. And the quill? Hand-dipped, by yours truly, in ink from an antique shop. Do you know how much time I spent on this?"

The laugh nearly forces its way out but you stop it with a deep breath, trying to deadpan a "too much" but the smile tugging at your lips fails that attempt. "And a quill, Stiles? Are we signing a medieval peace treaty? Is this a sort of marriage? Are you trying to join our houses, Stilinski? Is that what this is?"

Stiles freezes mid-step, his face immediately going red—not just a faint blush but almost full on Stilinski Red™, blooming all the way down his neck. His mouth closes and opens a few times in quick succession before he manages to sputter, "Wha—no! I mean, that's—ugh, you just—you've ruined my whole thing now!"

You just raise an eyebrow, biting back your laugh that's threatening to come back at full force this time. "Your whole thing? You mean this elaborate parchment contract slash wedding vows situation?"

"It is not a wedding vow!" He practically squawks, but he won't quite meet your eyes now, focusing instead on gesturing wildly at the parchment in an attempt to look less lost than he is. "This is serious business! This is about rules and… and structure and a code of conduct and—ugh, you're, you're. You're you!"

He pouts, is bottom lip sticking out just enough to make you want to laugh despite how much you know he'd hate it. But, the flush creeping down his neck and across his slightly visible collar is more than enough of a tell for you to figure out there's something else going on here. You know Stiles wee enough to realise he's definitely spiralling—not because you embarrassed him, no, he'd never spiral over that, it's because now the idea's firmly planted in is mind, and he's really thinking about it. Hard.

And based on the way he keeps fidgeting with his hands, flannel, waistband, and keeps darting glances at you, it's clear that he wants it. The thought of you eventually being… more… is more than enough to completely throw him off his game, though you know he won't admit it any time soon.

You're about to tease him further when he throws his arms up dramatically, clearly trying to recover. "This isn't just any treaty," he says, stomping back into his role like an actor reclaiming the stolen spotlight as he stars to pace again. You can tell he's trying to cope with his racing mind.

He gestures at the parchment again, finally deeming himself confident to talk. He speaks as if the parchment is a royal decree, "The treaty. This is the cornerstone of our relationship. The guide to happiness, the sacred rules of boyfriend-dom. You do want this to work, right? Want us to thrive?"

And just like that, his speech has solidified his role once again. Well, sort of. His ears are still far too red, and his voice cracked a little at "thrive," but he's clearly committed. You let him have his moment, clearing your throat as you quickly glance at it yourself.

"You're serious right now?

"As a werewolf attack," he replies, aiming for solemn and unbothered but it's clear your growing grin is ruining that.

You tilt your head up at him, flicking to the list as you glanced over a few of them. "And what happens if I refuse to sign this treaty?"

"You don't want to know," he says ominously, narrowing his eyes. "But, as a fair warning, let's just say it involves a dramatic monologue, a fake but emotional breakup, and me dramatically leaving you to live a life of isolation in the woods. Maybe Scott visits occasionally. And you. I wouldn't turn you away because I could never stay mad at you but you'd never see me again. I'm miserable, obviously. And so are you. No one wins."

You can't help it—the laugh finally breaks free, the quill clattering onto the bed. "You're unbelievable.

"I prefer 'visionary', 'genius' even." He picks up the quill, carefully placing it back into your hand with a lingering touch as he gently wraps your fingers around it. "Now sign. Or it's the woods for me." He leans a little closer at that, his character breaking for a moment, "You know I don't do well with the woods, I mean, especially not after the whole werewolf thing with Scott. What if you come to find me and I'm there all fangs and snarls."

You just place your hands on his chest and gently shove him away, rolling your eyes with an amused smile as you dip the quill in the inkwell. You scrawl your name at the bottom, trying your best to match his calligraphy. Stiles watches over you with a look of absolute triumph, as if he's not only conquered a small kingdom but also successfully convinced the kingdom's sweetheart into marriage.

"There," you say, dropping the quill back into his hands. "Happy?

"Thrilled," is all you get out of him before he's snatching the parchment away before you can change your mind. He holds it up to the light, inspecting it. "It's beautiful. Frame-worthy, honestly. Plated gold maybe."

"Do not frame that."

"Oh, it's going on the wall," he says, grinning at you with a look too giddy for you be annoyed any longer. "Right next to Roscoe's registration. I mean, they're equally important."

You groan, flopping back onto the bed and shuffling up to the headboard. You can't help the grin tugging on your lips as you watch him fawn over it like a kid meeting Santa for the first time. Stiles places the parchment onto is desk with a grace you rarely ever see from him. He's already flopping down beside you, propping himself up on an elbow and placing his chin on your stomach. "So," he says, his voice softer now. "You really signed it."

"Of course I signed it," you reply, rolling your eyes again but letting your hand rest against his cheek. "How could I not? You worked so hard on it."

"I'm glad you recognise my effort," he says, grinning. "You're stuck with me now, you know."

"Like I wasn't before, Stilinski."

He tilts his head to place a quick kiss on the thinnest part of your top, smile widening at the warmth of your skin through it. "This is why you're my favourite."

"Your favourite?" You echo, feigning offense. "Out of who? Scott? Your dad? Lydia?"

He laughs, moving up to lying beside you and pulling you closer. "Out of everyone. Always."

You lean into him, resting your head against his chest as he rambles on about how sacred the code is and how he'll be keeping not a laminated copy in his glove compartment of Roscoe. It's a family heirloom now.

The moment feels soft and domestic. Too soft.

Because as much as you adore him, as much as you love that stupid grin and his way-too-specific quirks, you know something he doesn't: you're going to break every single rule. Not out of malice. Not out of spite. But because it'll drive him insane in the funniest way possible.

And after that you can write another list, together. If Stiles wants a list then he can have a list, but your having your fun with it fist.

You're going to steal the last curly fry. You're going to give Scott better cuddles, you're going to hide sticky notes around his room that say things like, I'm watching you and Do you smell that? in the most ominous handwriting you can muster. You'll use him as a human shield, tickle him during road trips, and oh, the music in the Jeep is definitely going to be changed without a vote.

You glance at the parchment resting on his desk, your lips twitching into a sly smile as you mentally check off each rules. You're already planning on how to break them.

"Why are you smiling like that?" He asks you suspiciously, narrowing his eyes.

You look up at him with your best wide-eyed, innocent expression. "Like what?"

"Like you're plotting something. You signed the code. You're legally bound, you know. No take-backs."

"Legally bound, huh? Got it."

He narrows his eyes a little more, but the suspicions fades quickly. You tilt your head up, pulling him into a kiss before he can analyse your expression any further.

The kiss is soft at first, your lips brushing over his like a feather. He lets out a pleased sigh, his body relaxing under yours. But when you don't stop—when you deepen the kiss, your teeth catching his lower lip gently—he shivers, his hand instinctively tightening around your waist.

You tilt your head, angling the kiss more firmly now, letting him feel the heat of your mouth against his. Stiles groans low in his throat, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as though he's trying to ground himself. "Okay," he breathes between kisses, his voice already shaky, "This—this is nice."

"Just nice?" You murmur, already bringing your lips to his again. Grazing, teasing.

"Very nice," he amends quickly, a slight whine slipping out of him as you pull back for just a moment too long. He tries to follow you, lifting his head towards you and bringing his hands up your sides, but you just place a hand on his chest and gently push him back onto the bed.

"Stay," you say softly, and the flush on his cheeks darkens.

His lips are slightly swollen now, his hair mussed from where your fingers have started threading through it. "You're so—" He cuts himself off with a breathy groan as you kiss him again, your tongue slipping past his lips just enough to tease him before pulling back again.

"Mm? You hum against is mouth, dragging your teeth lightly along his jaw before kissing your way back to his lips.

"You're killing me," he whispers, his voice a little desperate now. His hips shift under you, and you feel the unmistakable press of him against your thigh. His body's already reacting to you, hard and needy, but you pretend not to notice.

Instead, you keep the kisses slow and deliberate, your lips moving against his with infuriating precision. You tilt your hips just slightly, brushing against him enough to make him gasp, but not enough to give him what he clearly wants. Needs.

"God," he groans, his hands sliding up under your shirt, his fingers warm against your skin. "You're—you're teasing me on purpose. "

"Am I?" You ask innocently, punctuating the question with a kiss to the corner of his mouth followed by another to his nose.

"Yes," he whimpers, his voice cracking slightly. "You are, and it's—holy—" He cuts himself off again when your lips move to his neck, your teeth scraping gently over the sensitive skin there. His breathing picks up, uneven now, and he grips your hips tightly.

"Poor Stiles," you murmur against his neck, your voice low and teasing. "You're so sensitive," you continue against his skin, enamoured by the way his hair rises at your warm breath.

"Stop," he whines, though the way he tilts his head back to give you better access completely contradicts him. "Stop teasing me."

You pull back slightly to look at him, and the sight is not only enough to make your breath hitch but for the familiar warmth of arousal to start spreading through your skin. His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted and kiss-bruised, his eyes dark and glassy as they lock onto yours. He looks wrecked already, and you've barely done anything.

"Please," he whispers, his voice low and raw. "Please, I—"

You cut him off with, yet again, another kiss, this one deeper and hungrier, fuelled by the heat tingling through you and the pure need on his face, swallowing his next whine. He responds instantly, his hands sliding up your back, one resting on your nape and the other across your back to your shoulder. He's pulling you closer as his hips start to buck against you.

But just as he starts to lose himself in the kiss, you pull back again, leaving him panting and breathless beneath you. "What—why?" He stammers, looking up at you like you've committed an actual, heinous, crime.

"Because I can," you reply with a grin, leaning down to press one last teasing kiss to his lips.

His head falls back against the pillow with a frustrated groan. "You're evil," he says, his voice thick with want and need.

You smile, brushing is hair back from his forehead as you lean down to whisper against his ear, "You love me anyway."

"Unfortunately," he breathes, his voice laced with exasperation and desire, "Yes. God help me, yes."

You laugh softly, pressing another teasing kiss to his lips before settling against him, your head finding it's familiar spot on his chest. His heart is racing beneath your ear, and his arms wrap around you instinctively, holding you close. The steady beat of his heat lulling you into a sense of complacency and comfort.

He huffs a soft sigh, still squirming slightly beneath you as he tries to calm down. "This is a cruel and unusual punishment, you know."

"Consider it a preview,," you tease, smirking up at him as you trail your fingers lazily over his chest and biceps.

"A preview?" He repeats, his voice hopefully and layered with emotion.

"Maybe. If you're good."

Stiles groans again, burying his face in your hair. "You're the worst."

You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his collarbone. "And yet, here you are."

"Yeah," he mutters, his voice softening. "Here I am."

He groans dramatically, arms tightening around your waist. He's still hard against you, his hips shifting involuntarily, and the faint whimper that escapes his lips makes you bite back a laugh.

"You know," you begin, trying to keep a straight face as you look up at him, "If it's really that bad, you could always go handle it by yourself. I wouldn't mind waiting."

His head snaps downward, just barely missing an attack on your head by his chin. His eyes are wide and scandalised, though his lips twitch like he's trying not laugh himself. "Excuse me?"

"I'm serious," you tease, shrugging as though it's the most reasonable suggestion in the world. "I means, if you're that desperate—"

"I am not—" He stops himself, flushing even deeper, his hands leaving you to cover his face. "Oh my God, you're the worst. You know that right?"

You laugh softly, moving to gently pry his hands away from his face. "What? I'm just saying, if you really can't—"

"I can," he cuts in quickly, his voice rising in pitch. Then, softer, "I can. I'm fine."

You tilt your head, pretending to consider. "You sure? I mean, you're looking pretty—"

"Stop," he groans, his voice muffled as he buries his face into your hair. But even as he says it, his hands intertwine with yours, holding you tight.

For a moment it's quiet, just the sound of his slightly unsteady breathing and the warmth of his body pressed against yours. Then, in a much softer voice, he murmurs, "I wouldn't. Not without you anyway."

You blink, pulling back just enough to look at him. His cheeks are still red, but his eyes are soft and sincere, locking onto yours with a kind of vulnerable intensity that makes your heart stutter.

"Stiles…"

“I mean it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not saying it’s not tempting—because, oh my God, you have no idea—but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Not when…” He swallows hard, his eyes darting away before he looks back at you. “Not when it’s you. You’re kind of… it for me.”

For a moment, you’re stunned into silence. It’s not the first time he’s said something so achingly sweet, but the weight of his words settles over you like a warm blanket.

And then, slowly, you realise something that makes your cheeks heat.

“…You too?” you ask, your voice quiet.

“What?” he says, his brow furrowing slightly.

You bite your lip, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “You’re not the only one. I—whenever I…” You clear your throat, your voice dropping slightly. “It’s always been you, ever since we got together. It’s only been you.”

His eyes widen, his lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something, but no words come out. Instead, he stares at you like you’ve just told him the most important secret in the universe.

“Stiles?”

“I—yeah,” he breathes, his voice shaky as a slow, crooked smile spreads across his face. “Yeah, okay, this is… Wow.”

“Wow?” you echo, laughing softly despite the heat in your cheeks.

“Yeah,” he says again, pulling you closer until your foreheads are pressed together. His voice drops to a whisper, soft and reverent. “We’re a mess, huh?”

“Completely,” you agree, your own smile tugging at your lips.

But it’s not a bad thing—not even close. Because even in the teasing, in the heated moments and the chaos you bring into each other’s lives, there’s this unshakable certainty between you.

You’re his. And he’s yours. In every possible way.

[buckysouvenir]

call it what you want

pairing: bucky barnes x y/n authors note: day tree!

the valentine’s day collection 2025: for the first 14 days of february, i’ll be posting a series of short stories inspired by songs, all centered around bucky barnes.

reblogs, likes and comments are always encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you ♡

The world was quiet for once, but Bucky’s mind was anything but. 

The Winter Soldier. Hydra’s weapon. A killer. They had a picture of him so dark, even he had a hard time believing there was anything else left.

So, he disappeared. For months, nobody heard from him. Not Steve. Not Sam. He needed the silence more than he needed air. He needed to figure out who he was without the ghosts of the past clawing at him, dragging him back into the dark.

But then, there was her.

Y/N walked into my life when I wasn’t even looking. She wasn’t afraid of me like so many others were. She didn’t flinch at the sight of my metal arm, didn’t hesitate to stand by me when I thought I didn’t deserve anyone’s kindness.

She saw me. The real me.

I don’t know how she does it, but when Y/N looks at me, it’s like the weight of the world lifts off my shoulders. She makes me forget the noise—the whispers of those who doubt me, the accusations, the labels. All the liars fade into nothing when I look at her.

And she’s beautiful. God, she’s beautiful. She’s got this way about her, like she doesn’t even realize how much light she brings into a room. She’s fit like a daydream, moving through life with a kind of quiet strength that leaves me breathless.

Sometimes, I catch myself staring. It’s not just her smile or the way her eyes light up when she’s excited. It’s the little things—how her lips twitch when she’s trying not to laugh, or how she tilts her head when she’s listening to someone talk.

And she loves me. Not in the way people love an idea of someone, but the real me. She loves me like I’m someone brand new.

I don’t deserve her. I know that. I’ve made the same mistakes over and over, burned bridges I didn’t even try to fix. And maybe I’ll never learn, but at least I did one thing right: her.

One night, we were sitting by the fire. The compound was quiet for once, the kind of peaceful stillness I rarely experienced. She was leaning against my side, her hand brushing mine, and the words just slipped out before I could stop them.

“Would you run away with me?”

I wasn’t sure why I said it. Maybe it was because, for the first time in forever, I felt like I could breathe around her. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to share her with the rest of the world.

She turned to look at me, her eyes wide, searching my face for something. And then she smiled, this soft, radiant smile that made my chest ache.

“Wherever you go,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll follow.”

When you first met Bucky Barnes, you didn’t know what to expect. He was quiet, his head always down, like the weight of the world was pressing down on him. He moved like he didn’t want anyone to notice him, but you did.

You saw him.

He had this way of making himself small, like he thought he didn’t deserve to take up space. But when he looked up, when those stormy blue eyes met mine, something shifted.

He’s the kind of person who hides his heart, but when he trusts you, it’s like being let into a secret. And somehow, you became the person he walked to.

Bucky isn’t what the world thinks he is. He’s kind, in ways people don’t notice. Like the way he remembers the little things—how you take my coffee, which books you like to read, even the songs you hum under my breath.

One night, when the compound’s heating system failed during a snowstorm, he built a fire just to keep you warm. He sat there for hours, feeding the flames, making sure you wouldn’t shiver.

It wasn’t just the fire, though. It was him. Always showing up, always caring in ways he didn’t think anyone noticed.

You started wearing his initial around your neck not long after that. A small silver chain with a simple charm. It wasn’t because he owned you or anything like that—it was because he knew you. Really knew you.

Bucky saw through all the walls you’d built around yourself. He saw the parts of you kept hidden, the pieces you thought no one would ever want. And he stayed.

One night, you sat by the fire again, the same warmth wrapping around you. He looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“Would you run away with me?” he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his words. He didn’t ask because he thought you needed saving or because he wanted to escape. He asked because, for the first time, he felt like we could have something that was just yours.

“Wherever you go,” you whispered, “I’ll follow.”

#taglist: @cjand10

[capcollector]

we could make this place beautiful

thinking about when bunny finally gets a day off, but she has no idea what to do with it. like prewar she was constantly working, after she woke up she had her whole journey getting shaun back, after all that she focused her energy into building up sanctuary and assisting the minutemen and railroad with establishing more community, driving out the brotherhood presence, in-between all that always going on supply runs and random quests……and she wouldn’t have it any other way. every minute was worth it. she loves being busy, and in some ways it is partially so she can just keep her mind off other things, but she genuinely just loves doing stuff. she gets stir crazy easily.

but there comes a point several months after the BoS is gone where there is just. relative quiet. there’s a collective sigh of relief, and she’s so thankful for it, but she’s not sure what to do now. she fills her time w a lot of smaller projects, like patching up parts in buildings and repainting some things, setting up/fixing furniture. she’s still a few weeks away from her due date atp so it’s not like she has a newborn to fill up her time just yet either. and eventually deacon sits her down and tells her to take a day for herself, for her own sake. she’s tired, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. you’ve done more than enough. rest. so whether she likes it or not, she’s faced w the first day off she’s had in over 200 years. and it drives her up a fucking wall. deacon tells her to just relax but she’s like. a little worried she forgot how. she almost feels bad for taking a day, like there’s so much she could be doing. but she promises him she’ll take the day off.

i think she spends a majority of the day w shaun. it’s not like she doesn’t spend time w him normally—he often tags along when she’s working on small projects in sanctuary—but today it’s just all about the two of them. eventually duncan and maccready tag along for a bit bc shaun and duncan like playing together, and bunny and mac always enjoy spending time together. just chatting while watching their kids play. the day goes on, the sun begins to set. mac has to go for his lookout shift at the red rocket, duncan and shaun decide to go inside and read some comics, and bunny is left alone.

and i think that’s when it hits her. she’s watching the sun set across the water, across the skyline of concord. the sky’s a pale blue, oranges and pinks bouncing off the clouds. the air is cool and crisp and it’s a beautiful evening…and she just starts crying. her grief finally catches up to her. it’s in this moment she understands she will never see her mother, her old friends, nora ever again. they won’t be able to meet her children, or laugh at their old inside jokes, or share a drink ever again. bunny wouldn’t change a day of what she’s been through; it was worth it to get here. it was worth it to make this place what it is now. but what she wouldn’t give for just one more day. one more day to say goodbye and hold them close, one more day to let the people from her past know they’re what made her into who she is now. one more day to say i love you, thank you for everything.

[storiesofaot]

Short Ramble: I came across @creativepromptsforwriting 's prompt list for February earlier today, and I ended up impulsively writing something for today's prompt. I might try and do a few of them (of varying length) since the list does look very intriguing, but we'll see how it goes. Writing has been a bit slow lately, maybe this will help? Okay, ramble is over.

Letters With Levi

Day 1: Love Letters

Rating: G

Word Count: 982

High-School AU. It doesn't really matter, but I imagined this being set in like 2007-ish.

It had all started three weeks ago, when he and Hange were paired up for a book review project. She had been very enthusiastic about the novel they’d received, while he hadn’t been able to muster much motivation for the task. But, as expected, she had been the driving force behind their project, and to his surprise, they were done well ahead of time, leaving them with an entire period free and with nothing to do.

These weren’t love letters. That’s what Levi told himself over and over. He unfolded the piece of paper Mike had just pushed toward him and started reading whatever she had scribbled on the note. They were just letters.

It was during those forty-five minutes that they started talking more intensely. She was the new student, having moved to the small town he lived in just a couple of months ago. He had mostly observed her from afar, her outgoing and jittery nature making it difficult for him to connect with her. But apart from the bits and pieces he had noticed, he hadn’t really known much about her. That all changed on that Monday morning.

During their work-free lesson, she shared all her thoughts, likes, and quirks with him, and somehow managed to worm a lot of personal information out of him in return. He didn’t understand how she did it, but he ended up sharing things he’d never told anyone before.

They were in the middle of discussing a movie they had both recently watched when their English teacher announced it was time for everyone’s presentations, which meant Levi had to move back to his seat, two rows behind her.

“I’ll write you a note. We can’t just leave this hanging,” Hange said as he stood up, waving a piece of paper in the air. When he nodded silently, she gave him a smile that made his fifteen-year-old heart stumble in a way it never had before.

As soon as the first pair stood in front of the class, Mike leant backwards and dropped a folded piece of paper into his lap. Luckily, their teacher was focused on the talking students, so Levi had all the time he needed to read through the note and reply.

That was how Mike became their message-bearer. But most importantly, it was the start of a series of passed-along notes, a routine that would continue throughout the coming weeks.

“I really liked our conversation!” Hange said at the end of the lesson, catching him at the door. “We should do that more often, don’t you think?”

He didn’t know how to reply to that, so once again, he simply nodded and wordlessly handed her their sheet of paper. As if to say, Just reach out whenever you’d like. He didn’t expect it, but she seemed to understand what he meant and laughed. And to his delight, she not only safely stored away their note but also asked him if he wanted to have lunch with her.

The following day, she sent him another note, this time during their biology lesson. She wrote about wanting to collect their little papers and mentioned she had thought of calling the series Notes with Levi. “But with the amount of text I’m writing, these aren’t just notes anymore. So I’d say Letters with Levi is a better name, don’t you think?”

It took him every ounce of willpower not to smile at that. Was he becoming a little too invested in their interactions already? He wasn’t sure he'd ever felt this way about something so... simple before.

By the end of the week, those notes had become a daily routine, and he caught himself looking forward to each class he had with her.

“Seems like you’ve got yourself a girlfriend,” Mike teased him as they walked home after school had ended on Friday afternoon. Levi shot him an annoyed glance and ignored the comment, but of course, his friend didn’t let up on him.

“I hadn’t pegged you as the romantic type, writing love letters and all that,” Mike continued, nudging his arm playfully. “But hey, it suits you. Quiet teenager who writes cheesy but deep letters to his lover. Should be a trope.”

“Shut up,” Levi grumbled, shoving his shoulder against his friend with enough force to make Mike stumble and nearly walk into a streetlamp.

That was the first time he connected his written conversations with Hange to love letters, and his ears immediately turned bright red.

Those weren’t love letters, he told himself after saying goodbye to Mike. It wasn’t even love. They were just… friends.

That was the thought he kept repeating to himself over the next two weeks, both during their written conversations and their chats at lunch. She always seemed to be around whenever she could, and without realising it, he found himself looking out for her as soon as recess started.

No, they weren’t love letters, he reminded himself once again three weeks later as he read her response to his question, already thinking about what to write back. But when he reached the last paragraph of her letter—a phone number with a few words written underneath—he couldn't help but wonder if, at some point, it might actually turn into that.

“I thought we could continue our conversations over the weekend, if you’d like. You can text me, or, you know, we could talk on the phone. I’d really like that, it’s so quiet without you. So, if you’re free and want to, just give me a call."

It took him a lot of effort to push past his nervousness, but on Saturday afternoon, he called her for the first time. He’d never forget the excitement in her voice when she recognised him, and how it made his heart trip over itself again.

And that was how Letters with Levi turned into Phone Calls with Levi.

[king-midas-fortnite]

The infatuated look she is giving him truly is something. It's humorous to think that this is the type of reaction the Prince had been expecting from everyone during his stint in the King's shoes. So frustrated when he didn't get it, while simultaneously being unable to act accordingly for it. But anyway, Midas offers his arm to Price and leads the way to his office.

It would be a lie for Midas to say he doesn't find her admiration endearing. Flattering, even. He's used to the way some show their attraction to him after just meeting; lingering glances or touches, many drinks sent his way on the rare occasion he'd go out, charming and horrendous pick-up lines alike. The starry eyes of a fan, though? Still something of a new experience. It reminds him of his first chance encounter with Evie before the island changed, when she'd asked for his autograph. He hadn't hated it then, either.

Less easy to take in stride are all of Price's questions. With so many fired all at once, he'd laugh if it weren't for how carefully he'll have to tread around the answers. Though he does keep an amused smile.

"My daughter made my gauntlet for me." He flexes the fingers of his feux arm, and as the joints clink, he processes her words and realizes that her earlier compliment was about it rather than his curse. It also dawns on him that everything she knows about him is from the legend, which would make any mention of a daughter rather...weighty.

"My second daughter," he clarifies, "Her name is Jules. She's incredibly skilled when it comes to all things mechanical, and in general one of the most intelligent people I know. Beautiful, too, but I digress, lest I start to sound like a pageant parent. She lives up the zipline, and I'm sure she'd be happy to talk about her work with you."

The next questions are tougher, "Your sister is around. Quite the activist, that one. It seems Hope's always busy with island goings on. As for Montague, I'm afraid you won't be able to meet him. He's..not here." He knows there will be more questions that follow, and fills the silence quickly, "I'm actually not certain where he is. He's a busy man, hard to pin down these days."

The two of them reach his office, and he opens the door for her while he answers the last question, "I'm also not certain if you--my Val, has chain earrings. I know they have quite the collection of jewelry, though. I'm sure you'll find something you like. If not, it's hardly any trouble for me to get a pair for you."

On one side of his office, there are four cabinets. They are like the usual filing-type in appearance, except the metal they are made from appears to be thicker, and each has a little screen where a traditional lock would be.

Midas steps over to the farthest right, middle drawer and quickly taps a pattern-code into the screen before it slides open. Inside is about a dozen phones in solid blacks, reds, and a couple gold. There are a few different models, all slotted into standing chargers.

He only has so many extra now because of the aluminum incident. He'd blown through such a number during that blasted curse (and Kado's goading) that he thought keeping a handful on deck would be useful.

He steps over to his desk then to give her room to browse the different models, "They won't be as customized as I'm sure you'd like, but you're free to keep any of those."

"Is there a specific reason for chains?" He asks, hoping to keep more questions about Montague or Hope at bay for now, "For your earrings, I mean."

At the door to where the cursed Valeria had been brought, Midas gave one last nod to Brutus before taking a quick breath. He knocked twice before opening the door and stepping inside.

The sight of them was...stressful. Valeria was indeed around 20. The differences in her appearance almost as jarring as he'd imagined the Prince had been to everyone, with a smaller frame, her hair black, red underneath not quite her natural color, and much darker makeup than Midas saw Valeria wear these days. Skye's skinny jeans on them would be humorous under different circumstances.

He put a polite smile of his face despite the worry nagging at his core, not knowing exactly what to expect from the younger version of the person he'd come to adore.

"Hello, Miss Price. I apologize for the confusion you must be feeling." He said with a short bow, hands behind his back, "I am Midas, it's a pleasure to meet you."

He left out his royal title on purpose, thinking it might bring about a line of questions. Though, it might be a moot point with the crown sitting in his hair. And his armor. And the gold gauntlet. And the gold on his damn hand that he regretted not keeping behind his back now.

"This is my yacht, we call her The Marigold. The man who showed you to this room, Brutus? He brought me to speak with you. Said you were...expecting a photoshoot?"

@king-midas-fortnite

Between the time of being left in the room and Midas arriving Valeria had found herself entertained enough trying to guess the passcode of the phone she'd found in her pocket. It was nice, with a heavy black case and some odd symbol on the back that she almost recognized.

The man on the lockscreen, however, was a complete stranger to her. He looked nice despite the scars over one of his eyes which she decided he pulled off well.

Idly she wondered if he was some model she didn't know yet.

Leaning back into the couch and kicking her feet to stave off her boredom she continued to make up an entire life for a man she only had a singular image of. Valeria decided he was a model, an older one of course but that's not uncommon for male models, and he probably did a lot with high class attire. Anything but shades unless it was a summer shoot and they were sitting on his hairline rather than his actual face.

She shifts again to sit back up, nail tapping on the screen to keep it from going dark, just in time for Midas to knock and enter.

"Oh thank gods, like, where the HELL am I?" Yet, she doesn't even bother to actually look at him while he talks.

At least until he says his name and she perks up instantly. Valeria's head whips to look at him, flaming embers flying off of her hair and fortunately cooling before scattering across the couch.

He continues to talk and all she can do is stare owlishly at him as she takes in every feature from his face to the crown and his hand.

His hand.

"No way," Her words came out more like a gasp of awe as she slowly stood up, eyes sparkling with curiosity and literal sparks as the relic around her neck clinks against the gold bands. "Brutus? Is that really-" A laugh bubbles out of her mouth and she sheepishly tries to cover her mouth. "No, no I'm sorry, um, oh wow."

Valeria takes a moment to try and compose herself but it's clear she has a very specific question in mind.

"Like, I had assumed it was a shoot but now I have no clue what's going on but like, you're," She clenches and unclenches her fists as if trying to contain herself. More flames flutter from her hair as she talks.

"I can tell, oh my gods, you're The Midas aren't you? Not, not a model dressed up for some tattoo shoot right?"

[ninyard]

I would love to just sit on a roof top and talk to you about anything and everything. Hear all of your opinions on everything.

Wait what the hell that’s so sweet I’m the mayor of yapsville when you get me started on something I have An Opinion on, so I promise you’d probably quickly regret it.

But picture us. Me and you on a roof. And I tell you the following, as the wind blows our hair and the sun starts to set:

- Andrew helps Renee dye her hair

- When they move in together, Andrew always finds his t-shirts or random belongings shoved under Neil’s pillow. Harmless stuff, but usually stuff that belongs to Andrew. Kept safe, untouchable below his pillow like the few belongings he had in the beginning.

- Dyslexic Kevin Day

- Allison helps Neil get his hair back into a good condition when he starts to grow it out post-TKM. She helps him do treatments and recommends the best products. She braids it when it gets long enough. She shows him how to properly tie it back, she teaches him how to properly look after the texture in his hair.

- Andrew has a folder in his camera roll for nobody else but himself of things that make him smile on the inside. Most of the time it’s stupid things, like a terrible advertisement stuck to a lamp post, or an ugly dog, or an awfully parked car. Silly things that make him laugh that he screenshots or snaps a picture of. There’s eventually hundreds of pictures in there. There’s photos of Neil, when he falls asleep on Andrew’s shoulder and Andrew’s too proud to tell him how cute he looked. Photos of Neil in his suit before a banquet, photos of him doing dishes or handing him dinner. There’s photos of Andrew and Renee after they’ve been sparring. There’s photos of things he’s seen in stores that remind him of Kevin, or Neil, or Renee. Sometimes Aaron. There’s even a few photos of Kevin in there, too. Nobody know this folder exists. Not even Neil, who doesn’t even know half of the photos of himself in there even exist. Because it’s just for Andrew. It’s just for him to collect the little joys in his life now that he can somewhat actually feel it.

- Kevin has to wear a brace on his hand/wrist every now and again, and he still sees a physiotherapist once every few months to check up on his hand.

- Matt goes to Andrew the first time he thinks about relapsing. He doesn’t even think about it. Neil is very confused when he comes back to the dorm to find Matt and Andrew playing video games together, but doesn’t question it.

- Dan tags along to night practice every now and again. Nobody acknowledges that she isn’t usually there, they just let her join them on the court and practice as usual. It makes Kevin really happy, actually, to see her trying to better her skills with them. Usually she just joins them when she can’t sleep and needs to get out of her head.

- On the OG foxes last night together before the first of them graduate, they all find themselves around a fire pit in one of their parents houses, or on property Allison rented out, and they tell each other stories and share some confessions in a mostly-funny, kind of emotional way. They cry and laugh and hug and shock each other with some of the things they say but it’s a really beautiful moment before they’re finally split up for the first time

- Dyslexic Kevin Day (again)

[goldenpinof]

why? bc i was thinking about what i watch and what i'd like to see from dan, basically what you said to the previous anon. in late 2018 (at the end of the dan and phil era coincidentally) my taste shifted a lot from mostly comedy and vloggers to video essays and comentary so personally i'd love to see something like that from dan, but i have no idea what dan wants to do. what do you think he wants to do? what's something he'll find fulfilling and sustainable?

i'm going insane reading all these asks about what's next for dan's career. i lobe him i want him to succeed, i want him to get attention and i want to be entertained by him <3

me 🤝 you

sustainable? this is UNSUSTAINABLE!! (sorry, the last promo got in the eyes).

i think he wants (or wanted before wad) to get into stand-up comedy. at some point he proclaimed himself a comedian and started acting like one. unsuccessfully, in my opinion. he is a bad actor, but he is good at exaggerating his feelings. and this is why wad show worked for those who were familiar with Dan, his content, his internet personality and the phandom. i think he loves attention from real life audience, and he loves connecting to the audience while being on stage, so audience participation is an important part of what he wants. (let's count how many times i say "audience"). a not-so-strict script that allows to ask questions, react to answers, comment on people's reactions, make faces, laugh randomly, adjust the show to what is happening on stage – that's a stand-up show that hundreds of people are doing. and i think Dan would be very fucking good at it. the problem is the theme of said stand-up. and i think Dan would love for it to not rely on youtube as heavily as it did during wad (which wasn't an actual stand-up comedy).

remember the last vidcon he attended and the panel that felt like a Ted Talk? it was a fail, i'd say. partly because the audience was too diverse in a sense that phannies weren't the majority. and i'm glad he didn't push this type of career path. wad was so much better, but it was also targeted at the people who already knew him. even if in the beginning i think he was trying to get a wider audience, the lack of funding or enthusiasm promo-wise made it impossible for the "outsiders" to make the experience strange for everyone, Dan including. wad happened to be for us. but was it successful or fulfilling, or sustainable? no. not in a money / audience growth / similar future tours ways. there should be done a lot of changes. and i guess completely changing his management was the 1st and very important step. it was fulfilling in a way that he met us, he saw what his coming out did and what an incredible impact he had on us (not to mention that ii was almost the same. a bunch of gays gathered together).

he clearly wants something bigger than we aka phandom can give him. and for that he must change the theme or/and concept of his shows. i do think that he will try to do a performance again. and i hope it's gonna be less acting and more improvisation.

i'm not sure about a filmed show. he sucks as an actor, and i don't want him to fail :( but if Joey Graceffa successfully put out Escape the Night and Liza Koshy had a series that didn't require more acting than her own skits, maybe something similar could be alright?! "danisnotokay" is an outdated title though. we need to change it, he is not 25 anymore, come on.

basically, he loves attention, complaining about his life, trauma dumping, edgy jokes, screaming, laughing, sex jokes, feeling liked, loved and wanted. he fucking beams when people applaud him. and for that he needs audience. he could get all of it minus an applause with a podcast or livestreams, but he is a stubborn asshole, so i do hope to see him on stage again. preferably a smaller one and with new topics to discuss.

[snowyfrostshadows]

It's all fun and games until it isn't

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

i had a dream that i had one of showaddywaddy’s records in my collection somehow(i don’t actually but i want) and i was really happy about it and people were looking at it and talking about it with me in my garage even though i don’t keep them there (my records, not the people. i do not keep people anywhere, people are free to go where they choose)

[tonycries]

I-T G-I-R-L!

Synopsis. Making big, powerful boys break beg and follow your every whim? Easy!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, NÉEDY boys, making them whine, bondagé, creampíes, GOJO’S POWERS, chokíng Geto, use of “good boy”, cúmplay, spítting, making them CRY, MAJOR overstím, bégging (THEM), pússy-slappíng, oraI (fem receiving), face-ríding, matíng presses, dry húmping, overspill, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.9k (whew)

A/N. Woke up n’ decided I wanna bully them so here we are. Have a lovely day <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - MR. AND MRS.

“P-please.”

“What was that?”

“Fuck you-”

It was low - begging - and for the first time, you have that syrupy sweet privilege of hearing Toji’s husky baritone break with such a whiny crack at the end. 

Smugly, you swipe an index right across where your puffy pussy was straddling his poor, overworked cock. Collecting the saturated mess along his furious length - still so swollen with the sheer volume he’d been gushing out tonight. All the way up, up, up to that messy puddle of seed glistening all over his flinching abs. “Then…I guess m’not letting you cum inside, Toji. Again.”

“No! No no no- oh.” Toji’s burst of pained moans are cut off when you shove your fingers between his bruised lips. Dewy, green eyes rolling to the back of his head with each suck and slurp at their milky white sheen. “Fuck- you little-” And despite how furious he sounds, you could feel the very tip of his fat head thicken, twitching a jagged pattern along your cervix. With a low growl, Toji narrows his gaze, biting down on your now-clean digits with his sharp canines, “I said- please, my girl.”

Just that simple plea has your boyfriend’s jaw clenching, teeth gritted so viciously at the way you’ve been oh-so-coyly denying him the one thing he’s wanted for what feels like hours now. 

“Louder.” your lips curl into a devilish grin, back arching in that perfect bow Toji loved so much. Only deepening the lingering rolls of your hips down his needy tip. “Didn’t hear ya.”

“F-fuck.” Toji’s throwing his head back, thick fingers coming down to splay out across your bent thighs. “Can you- please-” You could feel every minute flex of his muscled thighs when he efforts to buck your sloppy hips deeper - faster - down his fat cock. Only to be halted by ten mean fingernails of yours pinning him down by his curving pecs, “-please. Wan’ cum inside- let me cum inside goddammit, woman.”

Of course, you decide to tease him by slowing down your pace even more. Letting your sloppy pussy just stroll down every greedy inch of his dick. Trying to hold back your content giggle, “I dunno…”

And Toji thinks he could yell out in frustration, he thinks he could sob, “Fuck- I said please. Pretty please? What more do you fucking want?”

He sounded so devastated. And you swear you could spy wet, bulbous tears at the corners of his long lashes, the familiar scar along his lips wobbling with such precious need. 

“Hmm–” you’re letting out such a sultry drag of your voice, taking so much of your sweet sweet time that Toji thinks he’s about to lose his mind. About to just flip your bratty self over and shove his thoroughly teased cock into you until you forget about that looming threat of not letting him paint your insides white. Fuck, the things he does for you-

“Call me your wife.”

Shit - Toji’s darkened eyes widen at your little request, jaw hanging open in disbelief and-

“That’s it?” he laughs - laughs. Rumbling out of his broad chest in a hoarse rasp, and those two strong arms of his tug down your limp body to kiss teasingly at your jutted-out lips. Slipping his hot tongue between the seams, “S’all because my hah- baby wanted to be my- my pretty lil’ wife. Well-” Any and every retort is fucked out of your mind when Toji’s spearheading into your mushy g-spot with a harsh rut of his hips. “-what my wife wants, my wife gets.”

The bed is creaking with every riotous slam, smearing the velvety pool of cum even farther between your bodies. Sticking to you like a sloppy second skin, strings of lewd juices form and snap when his massive cock stretches your gummy walls until they gape. 

“Shit- shit shit shit, if I knew that was all you wanted-” you’re feeling the languid drag of Toji’s happy trail scratch your throbbing clit. “Please- I would’ve been fucking my wife for s-so long now. Silly girl, s’all I’ve ever wanted- would’ve begged, gotten on my knees-”

“Hngh! Fuck-” you’re squealing when you feel him drip with even more saturated precum to coat your snug channel. One calloused palm of his coming between the two of your slick bodies to smear across the mess from his sweet highs, deftly angling them so that the rounded tips of his fingers are stuffing your leaky pussy with sloppy globs of his seed every time you’re slamming down. 

“Now now–”  It’s all you can do to gulp in heaving breaths to make your tone sound warning, but even that sounds too breathless - and both of you know it. Babbling away, “-don’t get so cocky- might just- hah, change my mind, husband.”

And fuck. Oh fuck. 

Your poor cunt just throbs when in a split-second, Toji’s mouth slacks even further, wrenching out a guttural groan. 

And then your gushing walls are milking out every ribbon of velvety cum that splurges into your tight pussy. It’s so much - too much, painting your insides all white with his seed. Toji’s gasping at the feeling of it sloshing around your elastic walls in slow, clingy swivels coating the both of you. 

His breath hitches when he spies down at the obscenely white mess below, globs of his cum slobbering messily down your inner thigh. Fuck, he’s never - never - came before you. This was-

“This better be a proposal, y’know.” you hum in amusement. “Or it would be interesting that you came early just becaus-”

“The fuck else would it be?” Toji’s gruffing out, two warm hands gliding to grip onto the globes of your ass. Still irritated. Still embarrassed. 

Ignoring your titter, he rams your teasing hips down with a sharp smack! like he was branding all five fingers onto your skin. Plugging your ravaged entrance shut with his weepy dick to stop even more of that thick, gushing cum from trickling out. You mewl when you feel his swelteringly wet tip quirk at the very bottom of your spongy cervix in interest, “Now be quiet and let me fuck you properly as my wife.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Hands-on intervention…

“You really are trying to get us fired, huh, my love?” he’s murmuring gently, “What do you think you’re doing this late, hm?”

Now, Nanami knew he shouldn’t have taken on those extra documents, he knew he should’ve been back home by now. Wrapped up in you and your cute gossip about what happened in your department today.

But here he was, sitting at his empty office. With you - stubborn as you are - straddling him like such a slut on top of his heavily manspread, muscular thighs, his favorite late-night snack. His coworker. His wife. 

“I should hah- ask you the same thing, Ken.” you’re grinning, the sinfully tight satin of your skirt hiking up with each slow, teasing roll of your drooly cunt against his clothed erection. It’s so messy. Your syrupy saturated slick mixing in with Nanami’s steadily beading precum. “Didn’t we both agree to no more late nights?”

He’s heaving out a shaky sigh, running a warm hand up and down your arched spine, “I know, I know. I apologize.”

That frantically achy little pulse of your slick-glossed cunt on top of him told him that he wasn’t forgiven just yet. And Nanami gulps - loosening that yellow, speckled tie of his with the tight bobbing of his Adam’s apple. Rich tone shaky - shuddering, even, “How- how do you want me to make it up to you, darling?”

You’re batting your lashes at his expansive mahogany desk. “Well…”

Of course he should’ve seen where this was going - with your high-heel-clad feet swiveling high in the air, digging into his broad shoulders. Stitches in your poor skirt popping and tearing with each bullying thrust your husband’s planting on your ravaged in this tight mating press. 

“K-Ken—” you’re letting out such a sickly sweet moan when his fat, weepy tip collides with the very bullseye of your sensitive g-spot. Your fingers work deftly to reach into your skirt pocket - pulling out that familiar tiny hot-pink bullet vibrator.

“Walkin’ around with that during work?” Nanami gasps, barely tearing his eyes away from that heavenly sight of your swollen pussy entrance wrapped around his girthy shaft. “Such a dirty girl you-” 

“Oh s’not for me.” 

And fuck, Nanami can only watch - can only gape his clenched jaw open when your devious fingers dip the feverishly shaky vibrator down, down, down to kiss so delicately at his thick hilt. 

“Oh!” His towering body wracks with a shiver, full, heavy balls clenching so tightly. Hammering his rawly aching cock so thoroughly into you, hips pistoning forwards with the carnal need for more more more- “Wait- Fuck! M-my love?”

“Yes–?” you’re humming, low and sultry and oh Nanami already knows he’s gone. He can only pray he leaves with his sanity intact. 

Splaying out two large hands on the sides of your head, the documents on top rustle in sync with those saturatedly hypnotic squelches echoing from your ravishing cunt. “Is this- s’this oh, fuck- please.” Nanami screws his eyes shut when you’re holding down the device even harder onto his glistening shaft. “S’this- is it- because I broke our hah- promise?”

“Maybe.” you’re breathing out into his panting mouth. So enveloped by his weighty figure that it was almost difficult to work your little magic. “Maybe I just got tired of waitin’ around for you to finish overtime, Ken.”

“Please!”

Over and over. That tiny spark is enough to have him barrelling back into your dripping wetness with reckless abandon. 

He’s so utterly ruined - glasses sliding down his high nose-bridge, thighs quivering with sensitive need. And you could just feel every fresh wave of heated precum painting your cunt in a glossy new coat. “Fuck- tell me please. Please, darling, m’begging.”

“Promise me no more overtime.” You’re grinning, fingers still steady tracing his most sensitive spots. 

“P-promise…”

“N’ to always hurry home to me?”

“I promise! I promise- promise to always come home- to you- always. Please-” he’s startling you with a soft pad of his thumb rolling over your neglected clit. Such a low, broken keen leaving him at when you start drawing harsh, methodical circles on the sensitive spots along his length. “N-no more overtime. Please please please- feels too good- what do I do- what-”

Ah, success looked so pretty.

Nanami’s eyes were already so watery, stern lips trembling with little apologies about “never workin’ overtime again.” So uncharacteristically disheveled in a way that makes your mouth water.

“Shit-” you hiss when that pointed nub of the vibrator accidentally hits your widely stretched-out pussy. The velvety cling of your walls making him hiss furiously. Disrupting, fat tip nudging all those crevices along your snug channel. “Hah- don’t think I’d let you off so-”

Before you can react, he’s hiking a long leg up on the desk to angle his crashes with scary accuracy. Just colliding against your bulbous g-spot with no hesitation. Pushing, with the very edge of his weepy tip - far, so far that you could scream.

Over and over and over- So elastically stretching out your snug hole to your limits to take him in all his long, throbbing entirety. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck I know, I know.” He’s alternating between long, rough strokes to shove you further and further up the cool desk, and shallow lingering grinds to mold your pretty walls to the exact form of his swollen shaft. “I’ll do anything- anything, please just- cum.”

It only takes a few more calculated pistons of his hips, and a touchy, teasing smack! onto your weepy cunt before you’re crashing headfirst into your orgasm. Cumming all around his wildly twitching shaft, your velvety walls just mending all around the shape of his pretty cock. Your toes curl, back arching into such a bowing bend. And in the split-second your grip weakens, Nanami’s seizing that hot pink devil in your hand.

“F-fuck wait-” you squeal at at familiar bzzzt-bzzzt-bzzzt echoing across the filled-out walls of your cunt. Squeezing inside the tight fit where Nanami’s fat shaft was nestling, tremoring so deliciously against each and every one of your sweet spots. Stuffing you full. “What-”

“Don’t forget - you’re working overtime, too, my love.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - No need for air

“F-fuuuck, gorgeous.” Geto’s melodic moan makes your cunt throb, a fresh gush of your sweet sweet juices slobbering down to where he was slapping your puffed-up clit with his fat head. The angry divot of his tip smacking up once, twice onto the too-sensitive nub. 

“So fuckin’ wet f’me-” he whispers from behind, gliding a thumb across the glossy sheen trickling down from the corners of your slit. The sight of his glistening fingers makes him bare you with such a crazed, feral grin, feeding you inch by fucking in languid, bullying rams. “-almost makes me forget the hand around my throat.”

At this, your nails are digging in even deeper around the pale, long column of his throat. Leaving neat, red indents that stand out. And you swear you could spy his leering grin grow even wider at that sinful sting. 

“What about it, Sugu?” you’re grinning over your shoulder. Gasping for air at how relentlessly he was trying to squeeze his fat shaft through that tight, glossy ring of muscle. 

Each drag of his throbbing shaft has your fingers tightening more around his throat. Making Geto feel so woozy and lightheaded with each little grind into the glistening channel past your puffy folds. “Heh, really like fuck- it rough like this, huh?” A low groan drags at the back of his throat when you start pushing your limp hips back in a jerky little cadence to try and meet his. “Shit- shit shit shit s’too good. You’re suckin’ me up so tight s’almost hard to fuck into ya. Almost makes me wanna-”

“Cum inside?” 

This earns you a punishing smack! on your bulging cunt, cool metallic rings of his burning into your skin. So sopping wet and struggling to expand your gummy walls around his expanding girth. Drawing out a dark chuckle from the depths of his chest, “Real funny, gorgeous. You and I both hah- know s’jus’ your hngh! cockdrunk mind talking.”

“Nooo—” you’re tugging him in a desperate, vice-like grip to crash your lips against his. Whining against his lips, “S’not. Really really want you to cum inside, Sugu. F’me - please? Like a good boy?” 

It was a little slip of your tongue - really - and you didn’t expect anything more than another teasing slap to your cunt, maybe even a joke at your expense.

But what you didn’t expect was for the sloppy cadence of Geto’s hips to falter just a bit. You’re turning your head just in time to catch that glassy, far-away look in his eyes, jaw slacking open to let out a shocked gasp. You hear a sharp pop! from his toned hips before they’re surging forwards to barrel your poor cunt with every weighty inch of his girth. 

Over- and over and over- One large hand of his is catching around yours to squeeze - warningly. Letting out a strangled, “G-gorgeous…”

Oh? 

Brows quirking, you’re batting your lashes so syrupy slow, “Are you gonna be my good boy, Sugu? Make me a momma?”

Another lewd push and pull, having you bouncing back on Geto’s sharp hipbones with such loud smacks! of skin-on-skin. Ringing into the humid, heady air and wracking his body with almost-painful shivers. 

“F-fuck–” He’s struggling to find the words - to even think with his melty mess of a mind. Such a delicate blush burns at Geto’s scowling cheeks when you’re facing him with a surprised grin - one he hides by latching his lips onto the crook of your neck, hiding away the smile threatening at his plump lips. “God- you’re gonna be the death of me. Don’t you fuckin-”

Your firm grip grows even firmer, resolving to him choking in large, breathy exhales. “Good boy.” Craning your arm around deftly to cup his pretty cheek. “You’re gonna do what I say, right?”

Shit, he was a goner.

It has the same effect, and once again, your big bad boyfriend is reduced back into a whiny mess. He’s planting two strong legs on the drenched silken sheets to fully fuck his bullying cock all the way into the back of your plushy pussy. 

Usually sharp tongue so heavy and slurring. Babbling out little pleas into the rhymically jiggling valley of your breasts - “Ohhh yes- yes yes yes please let me- wanna- m’your good boy, right? Let me cum inside, hngh shit! Wan’ you to take it- ah- a-all, make you a momma.” 

He lets out wet, feverish pants when you drag him close enough to moan that dangerous little word into his mouth. “Please? Please let me?” Geto nuzzles his cheek into your soft palm, heady movements so slow. Syrupy - like he was moving through molasses. And it’s like he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing when he’s popping one of your fingers into his mouth. Delicate pink lips looking so pretty - depraved - wrapped around your ring finger. “Wanna knock you up- hah marry you.” His eyes roll to the back of his head, “Put a ring on this finger- n’ a baby in ya pretty pussy.”

Meeting that increasingly ruthless cadence by fucking back to memorize each thumping ridge, each prominent vein along his girthy shaft. Twitching. Angry. He’s nodding - nodding so feverishly - tears crinkling glisteningly at the corners of his lids. “Please- please call me that again. Let me make you a momma, please.”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his sentence, because it only takes a few more solid, thorough swallows of his rummaging cock before he’s speechless. So fucking pussydrunk he can’t piece together anything but your name followed by a slurred-out string of profanities. Close. Too close. 

Staring into Geto’s heavy, half-lidded gaze, you whisper such a saccharine sweet, “Then, cum inside f’me like a good boy, Sugu.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Crybaby.”

It’s by the second orgasm that Choso feels a bit jittery, thighs quivering uncontrollably, chest heaving up and down in pained, ragged little gasps. 

It’s by the fourth that Choso feels nervous, he trusts you - of course, he does, you’re his sweet girl after all - and yet he can’t help that churning heat in his pulse. Heavy balls squeezing weakly with each glide of your soft palm down his red, achingly stimulated length. 

It’s only by the fifth that Choso is sobbing, big fat tears trailing down to his glossy lips. Such a rosy red and bitten in worry, hips fucking up in jagged, mindless little grinds. Oh, it takes everything in Choso to not cling on desperately to your feverish hand right now - dwarfed by his sheer girth, so glossy with a thick sheen of precum - yet still dragging up and down relentlessly. Treating him like some toy. 

“Baby–” your beloved boyfriend’s wet gasp catches in his throat when you swivel a curious thumb underneath his sensitive slit. Letting a fresh gush of his saturated precum glisten down to your wrist. “Baby baby baby- please. P-please, I don’t think I can- ngh- give y’anymore.”

“I think you can.” your leveled hum cuts through his frantic pleas. “Don’t you think? After all, you were so happy getting off to my panties like this, weren’t you? Ruining them?”

It’s like the very memory of his shameful act has Choso fucking his jerky hips up into your soft touch, arching his muscled back into a beautiful curve on your soaked bedsheets. Oh, how embarrassed he felt - how shameful, being caught in the very act by you, fingers deep in your panty drawer. 

Despite his very obvious need, he’s shaking his barely-lucid head. Damp, dark tresses sticking to his sweat-glossed forehead, curtaining those glassy eyes. Slurring out, “Fuck! Please m’sorry m’sorry I don’t think- can’t-”

So deceivingly innocently, you’re batting your lashes in a way that has his massive girth jolting ferally in your hand, “But that’s all I really want, Cho~?”

“...”

Leaning down, Choso could feel your mean smirk against his hotly flushed skin. Dragging up his salty trail of tears, kissing so gently meanwhile your next words made him think he’d pass out. Sultry, and whispered right against the shell of his ear, “Then we better make this last one count, right?”

“Ah!” he’s yelping, large hands scrambling for the sheets - the headboard - you when you seat yourself so prettily on his splayed-out lap. Greedy cunt feeding into every long, solid inch of his achy cock in an easy glide. It felt so good - it hurt so good. Fuck, he thinks he’s gonna-  “-die.” Choso rasps, jittery hands coming to rest at your waist. “Think m’gonna die- gonna- fuck fuck fuck-”

You didn’t even have to think of moving, yet - because all it takes is for Choso’s gushy tip to be swallowed up by your snug channel - the slightest taste of heaven, the slightest squeeze - before you’re being slammed down onto the plush mattress.

Breath puffing out of your lungs, gasping at the sheer stretch when your dangling legs are being thrown over Choso’s broad shoulders. Wrapping tight into a vice-like grip when he folds you in half, down, down, down into the meanest mating press you didn’t think either of you capable of.

But rationality was the last thing on Choso’s mind, right now. 

“Baby—” he’s hissing, fully sheathed inside your dripping cunt to that thick hilt of his. He gulps at the stars bursting behind his lids with each slow, lingering grind. Nuzzling into your touch, “Baby, can’t b-believe you’ve ahh- brought me to this state. M’sorry hah- please forgive me.”

And you almost feel bad - that is, until Choso’s swiping his fat tip against your spongy cervix. Still feeling every single pads of your fingers burning down his raw shaft every time your puffy cunt milks him tight. He’s jutting in jerky, unmethodical little humps - feeling less human than just sheer need. 

“W-well-” you’re gasping, when he gives such a ruthless smash into your bruisingly bulging g-spot. Bonelessly, you wrap your arms around his pale neck, tugging him in so close. A full-body shudder wracks through his entire body when you crane your glossy lips up to bite down on his ear lobe, “-how about you cum f’me again to make up for those three limited edition panties you stole.”

His jaw falls even more slack at your little sentence, a shiny trail of drool dripping from the corners of his ravaged lips. 

“Baby, please.” he’s hissing, moving pistoning even sloppier into you as if on autopilot. A cracking ah! ah! ah! leaves Choso’s mouth at every bullying crash against your g-spot, every dizzying thrust. “Anything else. Please please-”

Through his blurry vision, the blood roaring in his ears, Choso could make out your soft suckling kiss against his slack lips. “Cum f’me, Cho.”

Maybe it’s that honeyed little nickname, maybe the way the curve of your thumb glides away his mess of syrupy saliva. Or maybe it was the way your velvety walls come to form around him so tight - squeezing almost meanly. Once. Twice. 

Choso doesn’t know - nor does he fucking care right now.

“F-fuck I can’t believe-” his eyes snap so comically wide open, letting out such a long, drawn-out drawl of your name. Hips stuttering to smack forwards, “-m’cumming- shit, it hurts- it feels so good. M’cumming m’cumming-”

Choso cums - in ghosting, wispy streams of almost-translucent fluid. Withering out into nothing, until his poor, overworked cock is spurting out just blank heavals. Cumming dry, the only signs of him fucking you through his high being that shaking in his thighs, that frantic twitching of his shaft - flinching to nudge into each dripping sweet spot inside you. 

And his broken, pleading cries, “Fuck- m’buying you the hah- wh-whole store. Fuck- please, baby just-” Nudging his sobbing cock even deeper to brand at your cervix, “-just one more.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - TASTE

“You little-”

“What?” you’re leering down at the great Ryomen Sukuna. Pink locks splayed out across the decadent silk sheets, pretty face framed so perfectly by your thighs. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Not quite.” his long, rosy tongue licks a strip up your exposed skin. All the way up from about midway at your inner thigh to just the edges of your drippingly wet panties. Syrupy sweet, and see-through with all your juices. “You really think this is gonna make me say sorry for uh-”

You have to stifle a low laugh when Sukuna cuts himself off with a ragged hitch of his breath. Sharp, cursed eyes widening - just a fraction - honing in to let his greedy tongue loll out. It takes him only a split-second to catch that droopy ooze of your slick, beading through your sopping slit and right onto the middle of his tastebuds. 

“Mmm-” he’s licking that lewd little gloss all over his lips without even a shred of abashedness. “Where- uh where were we, brat?”

Without warning, you’re lacing your fingers through his surprisingly soft strands. Pulling - hard enough to make him groan - until the tip of Sukuna’s nose was just kissing at the lacy mound of your cunt. 

“I believe…” you’re smirking at the way that’s all it takes for him to slide the thick seam of his tongue between the thin fabric of your panties. Red - to match his eyes. Not wasting even a second when he lets your honeyed sweet cunt drool all the way down to the back of his throat. “Not gonnna make him say sorry” your ass. “-you were in the middle of apologizing for forgetting our little dinner date.”

You don’t think he hears you - you don’t even think he breathes. Because with one, final shuddering breath puffed out onto your quivering pussy, Sukuna is meshing his lips with yours in such a messy kiss. Fast, thirsty. Clashing against your swollen folds, slurping past your flimsy excuse of panties to latch around your throbbing clit. He’s hollowing out his cheeks to give them harsh, methodical little sucks. 

“Shit- mmpf- fuck I always forget how sweet you are.” he’s rasping, two large hands coming up to spread the globes of your ass. Pushing you up, up, up to slobber all your saturated slick down the lower half of his face - his cheekbones. “C’mon now, ride my nose- hah, use me with this cute cunt like you always do.”

Fuck, was it tempting. And it takes everything in you to tug away his salivating mouth with a loud squelch! And if you didn’t know any better, you’d have said that the infamous king of curses let out a whine - a whine - watching those delicate strings of spit and slick snap away when you hoist yourself off his greedy mouth.  

“What the fuck, woman?”

“I told you, Kuna.” you whine out, as scoldingly as you can. Wrangling against those big beefy arms trying to desperately pull you back down, “You hafta apologize.”

You’re teetering precariously when Sukuna’s entire chest rumbles with a groan, eyes rolling so sassily. “What did you want me to do?” he clicks his tongue. Baring you with such dangerous fangs that glisten with your juices in the dim light. “Had to kill off some scum curses, s’not my fault. M’not apologizing for- shit-”

Any and every retort is knocked out of his mean mouth at that heavenly sight of you running your trembly fingers between your puffed-up pussy lips. Pushing past your panties to run them up and down where your dripping wet cunt needed you most. 

“Oh?” you’re quirking a brow at how transfixed he was. Following that shuddering gulp when you roll your neglected clit between two fingers. “Cat got your tongue now?”

His jaw slacks open when you’re teasing your winking hole, glossed-up and already so pliant with where Sukuna had just dipped the edge of his soft tongue inside. His mouth waters at the memory, “I–”

“Or is it that you just don’t hah-” you’re arching your back even more to give him the perfect view. Fingers getting a bit more frenzied, circling around the very edge of that ring of muscle the way you knew he loved to do. “-want this-” Whining out, “-Kuna–?”

That was it.

“Fuck, sit-” Sukuna’s gritting out through clenched teeth. And when you’re only stagnating and hovering tempestuously in front of him, he wraps all four large arms around the small of your waist. “-fucking sit, woman.” 

You’re squealing at the force of his inhuman strength, dragging you down unceremoniously onto his awaiting mouth. With this, he’s spitting on your cunt. Once. Twice. Three whole times to add to the glistening gloss that collected down your folds. 

“M’sorry, see?” he goads pridefully. Oh, if anyone heard the cruel king of curses apologizing like this, they’d faint. Giving the fat of your ass a branding smack! Hard enough that he could feel all five bumps of his sweltering fingers on your skin. “Fuckin’ little- oh- spoiled little-” But Sukuna can’t even finish his sentence - can’t even think about it with his mind so saturated. Hot tongue mashing in to swerve and drag across those sweet spots hidden at your plushy walls. “Said m’sorry, s’this good enough for you?”

Your pussy such a sopping wet mess that Sukuna can’t help but kiss again. And again. And again and again and- “See m’sorry. M’so, so sorry- fuck just never take this pretty pussy away from me, little brat.” 

And now you’re sure he lets out a whimper - raspy, and a few octaves higher than his usual baritone. So deep now that he was just cinching your pulsing clit across his sharp nose. Murmuring, “Stop laughing- can feel ya shaking- before I cancel our dinner reservation for tomorrow. M’renting out the whole fuckin’ restaurant, so ya better give me my fill.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Bed chem.

“It won’t-” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that the great Gojo Satoru was pleading right now. Praying. Voice shot, pretty pink lips wobbly, pale hand raw and red from tugging on those fluffy handcuffs. He’s pouting, “Won’t work.”

He was so picture-perfect, restrained tight to the headboard with those customized handcuffs you’d ordered. Blinking his weepy, blue eyes droopily, slurring words that were all bark and no bite. 

You’re rolling your eyes, giving his spit-glossed lips a lingering little peck, “Didn’t think you were such a pussy, Toru?”

“F-fuck who are you calling a-” It makes your cunt absolutely drip with a fresh wave of honeyed juices when you give his sensitively overworked shaft another thorough glide of your drooling walls. Meshing your pussy lips with the very hilt of his angry, red cock. “Please- fuck when you’re riding me like that, sweetheart.” he’s yanking frantically on those restraints as if to hold onto your feverishly gliding body. “Think- hngh! Think I really will explode-”

“Oh?” you’re cutting through his babbles, eyes flitting over his powerful arms, those glassy eyes that just seemed to glow in the dim bedroom lighting. “I knew I wasn’t seeing things, so you do think that- ah- your powers are linked to you-”

Your thoughts are spiraling into a gooey mess when Gojo’s uncontrollably strengthened thighs leverage themselves on the silken mattress to just rut up into your squelching pussy. 

“Jus’ wanna see, Toru.” you’re huffing, reaching a hand behind your ruthless hips to palm at his painfully squeezing balls. Rolling the soft pad of your thumb over the curve of their straining texture - just the way he liked it, “Wan’ you to cum f’me. Just wanna see.”

“Using all your dirty tricks-” he’s spitting, mouth sagging open to let you plant a few somewhat apologetic kisses down Gojo’s face. “I can’t-” Another harsh buck of his hips, and with such a loudly pornographic mewl he’s bullying his overwhelmed cock up, up, up to swerve into your neverendingly sloppy staccato - right into your sweet spots. “Fine- fucking fine- hah- use me. Use me for whatever- just, please. Fuck I just wanna cum- please—”

You’re very quickly realizing that those handcuffs can do nothing to restrain Gojo Satoru. In fact, the only reason they’re still on him unscathed was purely out of indulging in your cute little play. 

Gifting you with such a sexily cocksure grin he tries to mask away his furious flush, his trembling voice with, “N-no, m’not a- hngh! M’not some grade 4 sorcerer. I’m the fuuuck- strongest, why would my powers go out of control when I cum- fuck-

Gojo’s blabbering mouth is cut off with each gripping slide down his achy cock. Molding your plushy walls to each of his eager twitches, so fucking massive that you had to balance your hands on your boyfriend’s broad deltoids to even have him reach each hidden deep spot inside you. 

It makes him throw his head back, it makes him cry out, it makes him whine. 

And it only takes a few more churning strokes of Gojo’s hips, a few more critical mashes into the spongy bullseye of your g-spot before you’re cumming. So hard that you don’t even realize it at first. 

Gojo does, though - of course, he does - fighting back against the velvety cling of your cunt to fuck you into the desk so deeply. So purposefully that he can almost feel every indented bruise of his fat tip hitting against your slick cervix, your bouncy g-spot. Wave after wave having you milking the fucking soul out of him and-

“Fuck m’gonna-” he’s whining, hips stuttering upwards like they’re pained to pull back from your heavenly pussy. If even just to thrust his greedy length all the way back in. Gojo’s breaths come out in ragged pants, chest heaving up and down. Somehow, the hairs on your body raise, and you can feel that familiar tension of pressurized atoms. “Can’t hah- last much longer. Fuck- please. M’close- gonna cum gonna-”

That sobbing little divot at the end of his angry, thick head just bursts with thick, long ribbons upon ribbons of sloshing white cum. Gliding across every inch of your tight pussy, coating all your insides in a creamy color that was so Gojo. 

It’s so much - dripping down the corners of your bulging slit in oozing little dredges, making such a mess of your rapidly overfilling cunt. Almost too much - it felt like you could explode. 

You’re almost missing that familiar little flash of blue lightning at the corner of Gojo’s pussydrunk eyes. Glowing and almost falling shut with just how fucking good it felt to have your milky cunt sloshing full of his seed. The thought- the thought makes him-

You’re gasping when the lamp by your sloppy bed starts flickering so dangerously, once. Twice. Before bursting into tiny shards that flick at the both of you - only to be stopped, falling to the surrounding blankets just a few centimeters short like they were hit by an invisible wall.

“T-Toru–” the sound of your voice makes something in Gojo’s heating body raise its dark, feral head. And he only wrenches out of those pathetic handcuffs to wrap two big, strong arms around your waist. Face burying into your skin, fucking up into you over and over and-

CREAK! 

The bed groans at his rough cadence, so loud even over the dragging wooden noises of some of the furniture nearby inching forward like they were briefly tugged by some magnetizing force - Gojo. 

Bingo.

And it’s like something snaps because you’re jolted with a sharp spark of electricity. White-hot pleasure blissing down your entire limp body, and suddenly your high feels like it’s being repeated over and over and-

“Hey- hey, sweetheart?” Gojo’s voice sounds so far away. Lazily, your heavy lids blink back your vision - when did it even become hazy? “...y’know how every science experiment has about five trials?”

“...”

A/N. I don’t want to write a longer version of Gojo’s but the demons in me want to write a longer version of Gojo’s…

Plagiarism not authorized.