#this man would take any older man he sees

[voxslays]

SQUID GAMES MEN’S HOBBIES

TLDR: What the squid games men would do with you for fun… A/N: I got bored so I binged all of season one in a day yesterday (I have a problem. I’m too obsessed with this show).

HWANG IN-HO

❀ Coming up with ideas for the next games (and playing them). Don’t get me wrong, In-ho is a brilliant man—but sometimes even he gets stumped on new ideas for the games. But with you by his side, it all seems to come to him so much easier.

❀ Your imagination seems infinite, seeing as you come up with so many good ideas (glass bridge, mingle, etc). And when you’re done? You play them together with the guards just for funsies. You truly know how to make In-ho feel like a kid again.

THE SALESMAN (GONG YOO)

❀ Ddakji. Must I say more? This guy loves Ddakji so much it’s basically his job—well, that and recruiting people with money struggles or debt into a death game! But you don’t know that part yet.

❀ Although Gong-Yoo usually wins, it’s always fun to see your cute little faces when you’re focusing, or when you mess up. Unlike the slaps he usually gives to his elders (or anyone for that matter), when you mess up, all you have to do is give him a little kiss.

THANOS (CHOI SU-BONG)

❀ Thanos loves writing his raps with you. It takes him quite a while to write his songs—but with you it goes ten times faster. In Su-bong’s mind, you are his muse, and he usually sits in his studio, at his desk, with you on his lap.

❀ Thanos is usually the one to write the first lines, while you come up with the rhymes. According to Thanos, you are the smartest person he knows, so who better to help him with his rhyming? That, and he just loves any excuse for you to be on his lap (and cockwarm him).

KANG DAE-HO

❀ Cooking. Growing up with four older sisters, he learned a lot of ‘girly’ things (as his father would say) from them. From cooking to sewing, he can do it all! So really, it’s no surprise that every night he has off, he wants to help you cook.

❀ Dae-ho is also very helpful in the kitchen. If you’re stirring, he’s mixing. If you’re cutting, he’s mashing. With his help, you can get a meal with an hour preparation down to around a half hour. This man is crazy skilled, and not afraid to deviate from the recipe a bit.

[the-fyre-flie]

17 year old Bruce Wayne who was just supposed to go see the circus with Alfred, only to end up holding onto an 8 year old traumatized Dick Grayson as the police try and separate them, a little fanfic!

Batman and Robin origins? Maybe! I like traumatizing the boys...

-

"Absolutely not. Do not touch us. Do not touch him."

Bruce hadn't meant to snap so hard, his own words sounding almost venomous as he told the officer off, pushing the man's hand away. He could feel everyone's eyes on them. On him and the boy. Poor innocent Bruce Wayne Dick Grayson, heir to the Wayne fortune youngest of the Flying Graysons, lost his parents one cold rainy night to a mugging gone wrong to a performance gone wrong, gang involvement tearing apart another family. As Bruce held the young boy closer to his chest, he refused to let any of the cameras catch a glimpse of the crying child, his coat wrapped around Dicks body and face, the warm wool interior protecting him from the horrible reality he would eventually have to face.

Bruce shifted away from the police that kept trying to pester Dick for a statement, outright demanding they leave the boy to grieve. His arms wrapped tighter around Dick, feeling the heaving sobs the child let out against his shoulder becoming worse and worse as the sirens and flashes and voices grew louder, more desperate for answers and a story than the mental wellbeing of a child who just lost his parents. Looking up, Bruce caught Alfred glaze, pleading for the older man to take them home instead of letting the child end up as he had.

When this had all happened to Bruce, Alfred hadn't been there fast enough. He just wasn't there in time to protect Bruce the way Bruce was trying so hard to protect Dick.

He remembers being alone and afraid. He remembers having photos taken of him while he cried over his parents' bodies. He remembers begging for help, only to receive no aid from anyone. And Bruce absolutely will not let another child feel as hopeless as he had that night. He swears on his own life that no child would ever be subjected to that again.

[juletheghoul]

If the General and Girlwife have 1000 fans, I'm one of them.

If the General and Girlwife have 100 fans, I'm one of them.

If the General and Girlwife have 1 fan, it's me.

If the General and Girlwife have no fans, it's because I'm no longer here.

(Ty for this wonderful story, and this is also a plea for a wedding night drabble please and ty 💜)

you cannot know how happy this comment made me, just laughing and giggling like a teen, here's your Drabble - I genuinely didn't even proofread this one- enjoy!

Warnings: fluff, implied sexy stuff, mostly just romantic wedding stuff. (took some liberties because I really have no idea what ancient Roman weddings were like)

Masterlist series masterlist

-

The house buzzes like a hive, attendants and slaves rush around the villa, finishing their last minute tasks for the wedding and despite there being months of preparation it still feels wrong to not participate. It feels wrong to be tended to. 

“May I know where he is?” You ask the older woman fussing at your hair, every second she spends on it weighs you down, flowers have been threaded through it, a crown of blooms that make you smell like a garden. 

“He is preparing for the wedding, Domina. Just now I imagine they are oiling his skin and dressing him in his finery for the ceremony.” She smiles, patting your shoulder, “he is eager, I can promise you that.” 

“Is he? I confess, my belly flutters and my nerves are shredded.” You huff out a nervous laugh, struggling to keep your cool in all of the layers. A fine dress draped with heavy, snow white fabric. Your arms are laden with the gifts he’d sent, heavy golden bracelets and intricate armbands coiled around three times over. Your ears are heavy with dark blue stones, a necklace to match at your neck. Your fingers press at the heavy thing just at your throat and you take a deep breath. 

You haven’t seen him since the night before, the two of you falling asleep, exhausted after a day of preparations. You’d hoped to see him in the morning, to gain some comfort to take with you through the day but he had been gone. The older woman had greeted you instead, a tray heavy-laden with food as well as a host of other women sent to bathe and prepare you for your wedding day. 

When you finally see him, he looks nothing short of regal, an Emperor dripping in white and gold and ordained by the Gods themselves. His eyes are soft when they land upon you, focused, and completely enraptured. He doesn’t look away. 

Everything falls away when you finally stand before him, when his hands grasp yours. You follow along, barely cognizant of anything except him, barely aware of the witnesses, of the people who cheer and clap and when he presses his mouth to yours, soft and sweet you smile and grip him tight. 

The feast after is a dream. It is a cloud on which you both rest and focus on nothing but each other. Perhaps as a girl, late at night in your dreams you imagined a wedding, a man who would choose you above all others and give you a home and a family. Never was it like this, even in the uncharted land of hope and romance where anything could happen, this felt like too much. This beautiful, loving, devoted man surpassed any fantasy you might have had.

Your face warms under his eye, nervous despite all you’ve been through with him. He smiles wide, his dimple on display as he feeds you from his hand, your heart races when he eats from yours. This is the happiest he’s been, that brutal man who’d kept to himself has been replaced with a man that laughs, someone soft and warm, a man that holds your hand to his chest, a husband, a protector. 

He whispers his devotion throughout the feast, he pulls your chair close to his, drapes his arm around your shoulder because he cannot be close enough. 

People you recognize, and some you don’t congratulate you, extol his virtues and praise the Gods on the good fortune that has befallen the house of Acacius. They offer to make sacrifices, that your house should fill with children and although your heart sinks, you thank them. Marcus squeezes at your shoulder, a wordless reassurance and he also thanks them for their kind words. 

When at last he takes you to bed, your nerves are calm. You smile brightly when he slips your robes off with practiced hands, the jewels and gold he must have spent a fortune on are taken off and placed within their box, his smile is smaller, but it warms you like the sun. Your hands join in, divesting him of his layers until you both stand nude, bathed in candlelight. He leaves the flowers in your hair when he loves you and you fall asleep amongst a storm of petals. 

-

[merakiui]

Please share your Trey + darling + Riddle thoughts!

:D the basic idea is that it’s childhood friends, but you’re closer with Trey after Riddle’s mother forcibly separates him from the lot of you upon discovering his sneaking out. >_< something something maybe you’re neighbors with the Clovers, so it was destiny that you and Trey would be so close. The Clovers have always provided the cake and other sweets for your birthdays and other big events in your family. Along the way, Trey introduces you to Che’nya and you become fast friends. And then he’s bringing this shy kid into the picture—the Rosehearts boy, the one who always seems cooped up in his house. You think he’s funny when he’s always asking if it’s okay to play croquet or to roll around in the grass or to kick up puddles on rainy days. You don’t understand the trauma laced through his nervous questions. You will later, once you’re older, and meet up at NRC as teenagers.

You’re like a life-changing experience for Riddle, even more so if you’re a girl, because so far the only girls Riddle knows of are his mother and her friends from the clinic and the scientific diagrams of girls in anatomy textbooks. ^^;;; this is a whole new world for him, experiencing real friendship, doing fun things children do, eating delicious tarts…

There’s always been a wedge between the three of you, mostly unspoken, a cavern that’s deepened with time. To any parents looking in, it’s obvious those boys fancied you. Trey who would spend time practicing your favorite recipes so he could impress you with his own creations. Or Riddle who was so obviously shy around you, easily embarrassed whenever you were around. When Riddle was shut away, it was awkward for you and your friends. You gave up trying to get him to come out to play, and you’d run from the gates before Mrs. Rosehearts could come out and scold you (or worse: phone your parents and lecture them, which in turn led to the lot of you being told not to go around the Rosehearts’s home anymore).

I think now that you’re older and hormonal, in typical teenager fashion, it’s easier to recognize the changes in each other. You and Trey will always be close like siblings (neighbors and childhood friends with his family has marked him forever in the brother zone. T_T), teasing and bickering like siblings do. It’s harder to get close to Riddle when he’s so strict with himself. But you can all see how much you’ve grown. Trey’s gotten taller, Riddle is still short (he’s still growing, he’ll say with a huff), and you’ve gotten lovelier with your maturity. Maybe the unspoken feelings from childhood rear their heads once more when the three of you start doing things again, hanging out or studying. You’re certainly an influence on Riddle because he always softens for you. “Just a few more minutes of break and then we can go back to studying,” you’ll say and he’ll eventually cave in because who wouldn’t when a cute person such as yourself wagers with him!! OTL you’ve always been his first crush; he’s weak to those feelings and all he was denied as a child.

Maybe,,,, rivalry between Trey and Riddle. May the best man win your heart, but there’s really no competition when Trey’s forever stuck as your “brother” and Riddle has infinitely better chances. In the end, isn’t it better to just put differences aside and share? Of course they’ll still engage in cheeky rivalry, exchanging secret smirks and glances to one another when it looks like it’ll be another tally in their favor when it comes to you.

And of course,,,, maybe you and Trey experimented in the bedroom and practiced kissing or holding hands plenty of times before. Something something FWB with them…….. Trey will take anything at this point. Whatever crumbs he can have that aren’t “you’re like a brother to me, Trey. I love you (platonically)!” Riddle who is woefully inexperienced,,, you and Trey helping him……. hands-on sex lessons in the Housewarden’s room. <3 many thoughts indeed. Ooooo Riddle who has better chances of having sex with you, so Trey smoothly wheedles him or you into it just so he can have a taste of you as well. Because outside of the triangle it’ll likely never happen. But if Riddle’s involved…… :)

[zith-ipeth]

A dog came into the shop today, his name was Maximus

This is a post about transandrophobia and man hating platitudes

I’ve been sitting around the edge of this discourse because I have stakes and traumas in it, but idk, fuck it, it shouldn’t be discourse.

I see a lot of comparisons between humanity and our canine cousins, it helps me understand modern politics and social issues. This post might not make sense, if I say things that are harmful, I do not mean it. And please for the love of all that is holy correct me, public or private, I’m learning, and making mistakes

—————————

When I was younger, a member of my aunts family, a large mutt named Hunter, jumped on me in a playful gesture, he was about as big as I was at 9 years old, and all muscle. He knocked me over and left a massive claw mark on my stomach. He was a fantastic dog, excitable, very cuddly, loved to play with his siblings. This isn’t to say he was perfect, no one is, he got aggressive, and has barked and bit people before

This can happen with rescues, turns out abuse can often create animals that cuase harm because that’s what they know

No one is one dimensional

In middle school, I was sexually assaulted, emotionally abused and manipulated by a trans boy my age, we were both young, far too young. I can’t say he was nice man, when we grew up he refused to acknowledged any of the harm he had caused, and caused further harm as he got older. But at the time, I knew that what happened wasn’t a cold calculated process, he was too young to have learned this from anything other than abuse that happened onto him

This can happen with trans folks, turns out abuse can often create people that cause harm because that’s what they know

But no one is one dimensional…

———————

Tumblr has been having this whole moment with transandrophobia/transmisandry, it’s, a lot. And for some reason I thought as all this was happening, that my beliefs about it would be kinda, one sided.

Cis men are violent and “bad” due to masculinity: I’ve seen this a thousand times, first and second hand, I’ve felt it, in the shaking hand of a girl sobbing and I’ve felt it as bruises on my abdomen, left by boys older than me.

Trans men are violent and “bad” due to masculinity: I’ve felt this, I’ve been hurt by this, in a way that broke me down in a way nothing else has

But I still felt, off, about it

Mostly because like, yeah, masculinity can be bad and scary, this is true. But it’s not one dimensional like that, masculinity can be amazing too, masculine cis men have saved my ass from being bullied in school more times than I can count.

No one is one dimensional

Also, misandry, even separate from transness, IS REAL, I was a guy for a long time, I felt it. My friend, who was cis, felt it, and still feels it. They have trouble making friends in college because people view them as a threat, due to their masculinity, that’s a real problem

And that problem is multiplied by the intersection of transness

And like yeah, it’s not as societally pervasive as misogyny, but even if it’s small, it’s still there, and still hurts people

I have every excuse to perceive trans men as violent and evil, and yeah, sometimes men, and often trans men, get scary to me, cuase it clicks a response in my brain. But I’m also an adult, and know that I share community with my cis and trans masc allies.

And somthing interesting about the boy who assaulted me, is how fast people were to take away his transness, my friends started using his old names, using dehumanizing pronouns he didn’t use, saying that it was “man behavior”. He’s a trans man, he was a bad person, those arnt connected, and one shouldn’t effect the other, being perceived as the gender you are isn’t a “reward” for good behavior. he was an asshole, and a liar, but he was man.

I get how one can be scared when someone is part of a group when someone in that identity group hurt you, but learning to love those people is incredibly fulfilling, and is something you must do as a trans ally

The relationships with men, trans and cis, I’ve had have been some of the most fun, flirtatious and physically/mentally stimulating relationships I’ve ever had

——————

Today at the pet supply shop I work at, a dog named Maximus came in

Massive, maybe 115 pound mastiff, clipped ears, docked tail, golden chain collar. His person was a built man, shaved head, full beard.

They came in for a self serve bath, and when they left, Maximus was wagging the nub of his tail, tapping his paws and whining, smelling all the amazing smells in the store. I got down to his level to pet him, and he jumped on me, playfully. His size made the visual of him jumping on me a little scary, but the kisses made it a lot better

No one is one dimensional

—————

Trans men face unique transphobia, if that bothers you, fuck off. If you want to demonize a trans man for shit they didn’t even do, for shit that other men have done, fuck off.

Judge people for who they are, not for who they might be, I don’t give a shit how scary a man looks, try and understand them regardless

I love dogs, and sometimes they’re scary, but that’s something I need to work through

I love men, and sometimes they’re scary, but that’s somthing I need to work through.

Run fast, bite hard, bark loud

Peace love and gratitude

-Zith Ipeth

[cigsotw-fikz]

— spare room. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤbuck and dally's first encounter ──────────────── ୨୧ ────────────────

intro + reqs rules here | reqs open. . genre(s): i never know 😭 | sfw (non-smut). . warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of rat poison (?), cursing, descriptions of dally being underweight and looking beaten up. . a/n: there's not a single good-quality photo of buck so had to put two of dallas. i saw some fics of how they met and decided to do my own version, hopefully it's not too cliché... constructive criticism is allowed. english is not my first language!

──────────────── ୨୧ ──────────────── Buck dried some glasses with a cloth. His mom had always said he should leave them to dry naturally, because cloths left a bad smell on them. But he needed them to be useful fast, and no drinker who came to his bar would care about the glass' smell as long as it was filled with alcohol. He could pour some rat poison in the whiskey and no one would bat an eye.

Coming out of the kitchen, he began to attend some customers again. A black-haired man with a scar on his face and an unfriendly expression that didn't scare buck, a woman who wanted a beer to drink as she played pool, and an underage brunette that came in just to ask where the bathroom was and if she could use without being a customer.

What called his attention was a blond kid sitting on a short step on his front door, not quite entering the establishment, just resting there.

He wasn't sure what piqued his curiosity. A lot of people sat there on a daily basis. And it wasn't the fact that he seemed underage neither, he had faced a lot of teenagers asking him to please (or sometimes not please) serve them some booze. Thing that he refused to do, every time.

Maybe it was his poor appearance what worried him. Not poor as in the opposite of rich, but as a skinny as a toothpick, dirty and beaten up kind of poor appearance. But he didn't say anything. He waited to see if the kid would do something first.

—

He didn't.

One would think Buck was running a shelter with all the piss-drunk people he had to personally ask to leave the bar because he already closed. He locked the door and looked at the young kid who still stood in his doorway.

Looking at him more closely, he guessed he wasn't any older than fifteen. He couldn't be. Not with that wet puppy face he visibly tried so hard to pass as a tough guy facade.

"'M closin'." he notified. And the other didn't even look up at him. not even a thumbs up, or a mumbled 'okay', or a hum. Nothing. "Did ya need sumthin', kid?" he added, in hopes of getting an indication that he was being heard.

"No." well, at least he wasn't deaf, or mute. that was great…

"Ya sure?" the older man couldn't help but ask, not feeling, knowing there was more than he was saying.

"No, man. Go home or wherever. Whatever this is, is public, right? I can stay here without bein' interrogated."

Buck raised his eyebrows at the blond's defensiveness.But wouldn't question it. If he looked like that kid, he would be overly-defensive too. Who the hell knew what happened to him.

Yeah, yeah, it is." he smiled. His tone was laced with a mixture of sarcasm and even a bit of offense for being treated so weirdly by the stranger. But once again, he understood. "No need to get yer panties in a twist, kid. I ain't no cop, or whatever." he let out a dry laugh his new 'friend' didn't found understandable.

"Shut up. I told ya, leave me alone." at that, Buck sighed. "Whatever, kid. Have a good night. Take care."

—

The next day, he found himself in the same situation. –or a similar one. He didn't even got too close to the bar when he found yesterday's brat sleeping soundly on his grass. Well, it wasn't his grass, it was the grass outside the bar. But however.

He doubted if he should wake him up or not. Usually he did, when it was a hangover-drunk.

But that was a kid. A very snarky one, but still, a kid who deserved to sleep.

Finally, he sighed and tapped his shoulder. And the younger one flinched so quickly it scared Buck more than he scared the kid.

"Fuck-" the younger one gasped. He realized it was the place's owner and it didn't made him much calmer. At least it wasn't some other greaser looking for a fight this early in the morning.

"What d'ya want?" his tense body sat up with his back on the wall.

"...There's some spare rooms here in the bar. Thought you'd prefer sleepin' in a bed rather than here."

"I have no money to pay yer little hotel." he furrowed his eyebrows.

Silence.

A sigh.

You don't-" his mind wrapped on how he called it 'hotel'. "It's not necessary…" it was. Generally. But this was a special situation. Yet again; he was a kid.

"I didn't catch your name." "Too bad."

Buck was getting tired of his attitude already. But kept trying. "I let you sleep here for free and I don't get to know your name?" he chuckled. Another dry laugh. "I'll start, then. Call me Buck."

"…" after an eye roll, he compiled. "My name's Dallas. Dallas Winston."

"Great, Dallas Winston. C'mon in." in that time, he had unlocked the front door. Dallas got up and walked in without slapping the dirt and grass away from his jeans.

The bar looked cool in his eyes.

"Upstairs. Any room after the first. it locks up from the inside." was it a good idea for Dallas to knew how to lock himself up there? He didn't know. 'Don't judge a book by its cover', everyone said. Maybe he was a dirty, but kind book (despite his vocabulary).

A thought hit Buck's mind. "Dallas." he stopped him before he finished his way upstairs. "How old 'r' you, kid?"

Not surprised, yet confused Buck would ask, Dal stopped his tracks. "Why'da care?" was his response.

"Will ya tell me, or not?"

"…Fourteen. 'M fourteen. You fuckin' weird-ass." the last part said under his breath. But he didn't care if Buck heard. He wasn't afraid of the consequences.

Buck went to his usual place on the counter as Dallas went upstairs and opened a room under buck's indications.

Little did he know it would end up being his room. Dally's room. Not a spare room for hangover-drunks to pay rent for.

──────────────── ୨୧ ────────────────

. today's fic question: thoughts about their relationship?

[thetomorrowshow]

love is such a drag ch. 3

hehehe they go on a date.....

cw: an unnamed character uses homophobic and transphobic slurs

~

Grian pulls into a parking space slowly, peering over the dash to ensure that he doesn't hit the piled-up snow in front of the curb.

Here he is.

The Cheesecake Factory.

He's been doing vocal warm-ups in the car for the entire drive (ten minutes), pitching his voice gradually higher until he feels comfortable in a higher register. Luckily, his voice already isn't the deepest, and he's never found it too difficult to flip up to his Ariana voice.

He'd spent a little too much time picking out his outfit, but he's happy with his choice. One of his classic looks—a magenta skirt that stops about three inches above his knees, almost pencil-thin, which works well to accentuate hips that he doesn't really have. He's matched it with a lacy white crop top, a pale pink cardigan halfway buttoned up over it to protect his bare stomach from the cold. His winter coat is his normal black one, but he thinks it could pass as a girl's coat, so he decides to wear it inside instead of leaving it in the car (and that way, if he gets cold during the date, he won't have to borrow the man's jacket or anything grossly romantic like that).

Grian checks his make-up one last time in the rearview mirror. It looks good, subtle in a non-subtle way. A typical face of make-up, a dab of light lipstick, some autumn-toned eyeshadow (which compliments his skin and eyes) and a bit of mascara. Nothing too special, the biggest flair being a bit of glitter here and there.

There's a bit of a spot where he hasn't quite blended it right, where it leads to his neck. He clicks his tongue, reaches into his little purse for his beauty blender.

He dabs at his chin, fixing the lacking spot, then closely examines his skin for any other irregularities in his make-up. Too much glitter here, perhaps? Uneven mascara? Or—

He's procrastinating.

Right.

This doesn't have to be a long date. An hour. Long enough that he can get his food, eat some of it, and bring the rest home in a take-out box.

Besides, this man won't notice if his make-up isn't quite right. After all, he's oblivious enough that he didn't realize Grian wasn't a girl.

So Grian does one more vocal warm-up, just a quick sentence in his girl voice, and pushes the car door open with the toe of his sneaker, hopping out onto the asphalt.

Pearl has been trying to convince him to let her get the car jacked up, but if they did that he would have to jump to get out of the car, and it's a 2004 silver Ford Focus and that would just look ridiculous. He isn’t strong enough to defend such an ugly car, and he isn’t tall enough to get into and out of it.

He slips his purse onto his shoulder (after, of course, stowing away his phone and his beauty blender and his keys) and clicks the lock button on the inside of the door before pushing it shut.

He can go on a date, for goodness’ sake. He's going to be fine.

And if all goes poorly, Mumbo's going to fake an emergency.

Grian picks his way around the snow, grimacing as he can already feel his converse soak through. He hates wet socks. Does anybody like wet socks? Probably weird people. The kind of people that Mumbo goes on dates with.

Should he wait outside?

Grian looks around at the cars, none of which look quite like what he's imagining. In his mind, he sees the man pull up in a Ferrari, or a Tesla, or something fancy to match his gold-tipped cane. Everything here is pretty average, with the most expensive being some sort of Volkswagen thing.

Then, as he's waiting, a car pulls in.

It isn't anything that he expected. It's a station wagon, older than Grian, some of the brownish-red paint on the sides peeling. The windshield is cracked, a long line along the bottom, sending a distortion through the little parrot plushie sitting on the dash.

The license plate is bent, and as Grian watches this car pull in a little too fast and the tires hit the curb, he can guess why.

The driver doesn't bother with backing up and trying again. He parks it there, and Grian almost can't bear to look.

That can't be him.

That can't be.

But the door opens, and in a maneuver that almost cracks the windshield even more, the driver pulls a cane out over the shoulder of the passenger seat, familiarly gold-tipped and used to push open the door a bit further.

“Sorry I'm late!”

The man scrambles out of the car, tugging soft leather gloves off his hands and stuffing them into the pocket of his brown leather jacket. “I had to make a stop—took longer than I expected—how are you?”

He looks pretty much the way Grian remembers. His brown hair is just the tiniest bit long—it still looks fine, but it's meant to be shaved short on the sides, he thinks, and it’s started to outgrow that sheared state. The same brown scar trails down the side of his face, but that doesn't stop his face from stretching in a wide smile, teeth even and almost sparkling.

He's good-looking, at least. Grian isn't going on a date with someone who looks like they just crawled out of the ocean and was instantly bit by a zombie.

Honestly, though, the date with that one sea-monster-from-the-dead-looking man wasn't his worst date ever.

The man hurries forward, his cane almost slipping on a patch of ice, and halts just before he reaches Grian, slightly out of breath, one side of the collar of his leather jacket tucked in.

The man doesn't notice his errant clothing, just stares at Grian, mouth slightly open and green eyes wide.

“Hi,” the man breathes. “I—well—um . . . should—go in?”

Oh, this man is absolutely enamored.

Grian will be able to order anything he wants.

The man insists that Grian go first, so Grian starts down the sidewalk toward the restaurant, checking behind himself to make sure that the man's cane doesn't slip again.

The man, of course, hurries ahead right as they come to the restaurant and pulls open the door before Grian can even reach for it, and he flashes another toothy smile as he nods his head for Grian to pass.

Grian steps in and moves to the side, pretending to check his phone while he waits for the man to figure out their seating. He isn't going to give any impression that he's willing to pay.

Soon enough, a waiter leads them to a small booth, tucked away near the back of the dining room.

Great, they aren't sitting in public view? He was hoping to be more visible to the other diners, deterring this man from any unwanted displays of affection.

He sits reluctantly, on the end of the booth seat closer to the door, leaving no room for his date to sit beside him. He isn't taking chances with this one.

Luckily, his date doesn't try to squeeze in next to him, settling down (slowly) in the seat opposite. The waiter leading them sets down two menus, then steps back with a cheeky grin.

“Can I get you two anything to drink?” he asks, and Grian's date practically bounces up in his seat.

“Two Strawberry Blossoms,” he says, clearly quite excited.

And that—

Nope!

No, that's alcohol, that's got to be alcohol. Grian is underage, he can't get carded right now.

He hadn't even thought to bring his fake ID. They were going to the Cheesecake Factory, for goodness’ sake!

Not only that, but both his real and his fake have his face and name. It would entirely blow his cover to have to pull out his ID.

“Just—just pepsi, please,” Grian says before the waiter can ask for his ID.

“But—”

“Pepsi,” Grian says firmly, ignoring his date's protests.

The waiter nods, and when he reaches out for the other man's ID, the man shrugs morosely, looking quite like Grian had just confessed to being a drag queen.

He needs to stop thinking about blowing his cover if he doesn't want to actually blow his cover.

“I'll just have ginger ale, I guess,” the man says dramatically, valiantly going for a smile through his clear disappointment. His shoulders are hunched, his face the picture of weary-but-I-shall-do-it, his eyes somehow still sparkling through the hair that has drooped into his face.

Grian stares.

How can this man exude the same energy as six different cartoon characters combined? How can this man be the Voltron of over-expressive cartoons?

Why is he on a date with Voltron?

“I just want to be sober,” he finds himself explaining, even though he doesn't owe Voltron an explanation. “With driving in this weather, you know?”

The man perks up, reanimated by the simple sentence, even his hair seeming revitalized. “That makes sense!” he declares. He pushes Grian's menu toward him, fingers tapping on the plastic. “Is there anything—oh, wait, almost forgot!”

He unzips his jacket all the way. There’s a pocket on the inside of his jacket, and from it, the man pulls out an entire vase.

It’s thin, and red, and there’s a handful of multi-colored wildflowers stuck in it, and Grian can’t help but stare.

“How—how did that fit—?”

The man doesn’t answer, just places the vase between them with an odd flick of his wrist, then beams at Grian.

“Flowers!” he says, as if that explains and makes up for the absolutely insane act of pulling a whole vase of flowers out of your jacket.

Grian’s got to give him points for creativity.

“I was hoping they’d have pink and white,” the man says with a shrug, “but it is January, so I suppose I can’t expect the flowers to have much variety. But I think red and purple are just as nice—sunset colors, you know?”

“Mhm,” Grian answers absently (even though those are not, actually, sunset colors), his eyes darting from the vase to his date’s jacket. There’s no way. That had to have been some sleight of hand, or something.

He dated a magician in high school. Grian had been highly impressed by the tricks he performed, until they went on a date to the city-level robotics championship (to support Mumbo, of course) and Mumbo had been so distracted watching his magic tricks that he nearly lost the points that carried his team to the win. The next day, he awkwardly informed Grian that the magic his boyfriend was performing was actually a weird cover for ulterior motives, and that one trick that involved him dropping his phone and picking it back up to find the chosen playing card inside his phone case was part of an elaborate ruse to take pictures of Grian’s feet.

Maybe Mumbo wasn’t the only one serial-dating fetishists.

“I . . . they reminded me of you,” the man says, something bashful in his face as he sneaks glances at Grian over the top of his unfolded menu. “So I grabbed them. That’s why I was late.”

That’s. . . .

That’s actually very sweet.

When Grian doesn’t respond, the man clears his throat. “So. Um. Is there an appetizer you’d like?”

Grian flips open his menu, resolutely ignoring the flowers between them. He can’t find anything about this man sweet, or cute, or anything. He is the enemy. Grian’s just here for the free food.

“Er, the spinach dip?” Grian suggests, picking the first thing he sees. Spinach dip is always delicious (even if it hurts his stomach something awful every time he eats it).

“Perfect!” the man grins at him, and it’s quite a nice grin. It’s big, and lopsided, and his lips crack just the slightest bit to show his teeth.

Grian almost smiles back.

He doesn’t, but it’s close.

Grian’s been to the Cheesecake Factory twice in his life—once as a middle-schooler for his birthday (after he had won a coupon), and then again with Mumbo back when they were sixteen and they both scored jobs at Texas Roadhouse, as a treat with their first ever paychecks. He’s wanted to go back ever since, fascinated by the expansive menu. His first time, he’d gotten some boring pasta or something. With Mumbo, he’d tried the cheeseburger spring rolls. This time around, he knows exactly what he wants.

The Macaroni and Cheese Burger.

His mouth is watering just thinking about it. It sounds horrendous. It sounds beautiful. It sounds like everything he needs to make this date well worth his time.

“So! Do you live on campus?”

Grian’s eyes dart up—his date has set down his menu, fingers steepled before him, waiting for Grian to answer.

A simple, basic, getting-to-know-you question.

He can do that.

He can do this. He has to keep his eyes on the prize. Macaroni and Cheese Burger. He’s playing Ariana because it gives him the chance to taste his dreams.

How on earth does small talk work?

-

Two days later finds Grian back at the Aquetown bar, a blue drink set in front of him at the booth where he'd decided to sit.

He's not here as Ariana, this time. He's done with creeps for the night.

He'd worked a show at one of his normal venues. He wasn't the main feature of the show—he works with a group of five other guys, and there's generally three or four of them together at one show. Grian's pulled his own show several times, of course, even though he hasn't got near as much experience under his belt as some of his fellow performers—though, that may be part of the draw. Grian usually plays Ariana as a young, relatively innocent pop star, and there are plenty who find that desirable.

That does, unfortunately, bring in some . . . less than savory characters. Grian can usually shrug it off, worm his way out of uncomfortable situations, but tonight hadn't been a good crowd at all.

He'd left as soon as he had finished, exchanging grimaces with the two others that had performed, not even taking the time to change more than throwing on a set of sweats over his Ariana getup. In the car, he'd unclipped his hair extensions, and he wiped off the lipstick with a napkin once he sat down in the bar, but he really just looks a mess. His base makeup and eyes are still done, a bit of blush highlighting his cheekbones, and there’s still glitter in his hair, and—

Grian frowns at his own reflection in the dark screen of his phone. His dangly earrings. He unscrews those and shoves them in his sweatpants pocket, surely losing the back of at least one of them.

He really does love dressing up as Ariana. Drag is one of his passions! There are just are some nights where he can’t stand to be in it a second longer.

His hoodie is baggy enough to hide his cleavage, luckily. And the white tennis shoes he'd worn on stage are innocuous enough to not be out of the ordinary.

Stressful night, he texts Mumbo. Stopped for a bite.

As if on cue, his food arrives: nothing fancy, just some chicken fingers and fries. He starts on them, too tired to worry about washing his hands of the sweat and glitter left on them from the show.

Despite the night, his thoughts are elsewhere.

Namely, on the date with the man.

He had never figured out the man's name, because he had been so stupidly polite that he barely talked about himself. He just listened to Grian, eyes fixed on him, occasionally making an excited comment, utterly enraptured in whatever few stories Grian felt safe telling.

And when he had talked, it hadn't been bragging. It hadn't been overplayed boasts, or clearly false stories.

It had been a surprisingly informative discussion about what an Imagineer was (which was the man's dream job).

Which . . . that was kind of cute. Come on, who didn't secretly dream about finding a man who was attractive but hadn't lost his sense of whimsy? A man who loved cartoons and would sing in the car at the top of his lungs? A man who elected not to talk about himself in place of weaving an interesting and factual tale about the Disney parks?

It was nice. It was nice, for once, to have a guy that was actually nice.

Of course, Grian had ghosted him. There was no such thing as a man that perfect. And even if there was, there's no way such a man would be interested in him. Even if the man's intentions seemed perfectly genuine and chivalrous, at the end of the day he'd been on a date with Ariana, not Grian. He liked Ariana. He wouldn't have given the time of day to Grian.

He feels maybe a little bit gloomy, then. Not really, because he isn't actually into this nameless man, but it had been fun and now he probably won't ever go to the Cheesecake Factory again. Or anywhere else expensive.

Such depressing thoughts, combined with the mediocre bar food, keep him distracted enough that he doesn't notice the shadow of a person approaching him.

“Hey, fag!”

Grian winces, pushes his still-sweaty bangs out of his eyes and looks up.

The man before him is an older guy, his hair graying, his once-handsome face now a bit weathered, laugh lines carved around his eyes. He isn't laughing, his face twisted in a sneer.

There's another man behind him, a bit shabbier than this one, but just as condescending.

“Leave the dress-up to the girls,” the first says, and Grian should have just skipped grabbing dinner and gone home. Going out for food is one of his favorite comforts, but it isn't worth this.

“Or do you think you're a girl?” The man leers. “Tranny.”

Grian stares at them.

Just a level, tired stare, praying that the men will get bored with the non-reaction and leave.

He's way too tired to deal with this. And he needs to take off all his make-up when he gets home, still, which is probably the worst part of all of this. There’s so much he needs to do before he gets into bed.

He isn't hurt. He isn't even really offended. He's just so tired, and everything feels just a little too overwhelming, and he isn't too surprised when his itchy eyes start to burn with tears.

“Even his drink is girly,” the second man says, picking up whatever blue thing it was that he'd ordered. He swirls it a little, then spits in it.

A tear slips from his eyes, as frustrating as it is.

One of them touches his hair, pulls at it a little bit, and Grian just knows he's saying something about its length, and it isn’t that long, really, he’s been meaning to get a haircut but this works so much better with the extensions and why can’t they leave—

“Hey! What's going on, here?”

The two men step away quickly, and Grian hurries to rub his napkin over his face (which he'd avoided, not wanting to use the cheap napkin on his skin), scrubbing off as much make-up as possible while drying his tears.

He knows that voice.

He knows that voice, and he is keeping his face covered as much as possible.

A tall, rakishly handsome man with a scar trailing down his face stands before the men, leaning heavily on a gold-tipped cane, looking oddly intimidating in his green waistcoat and button-up shirt.

Because of course he does. Because Grian’s night can’t get any worse.

It’s the man, the one that asked Ariana out on a date in this very bar, and why didn't Grian think he might be a regular patron here?

“Nothing,” both men say at the same time, but one of them shoots a smirk toward Grian.

The man seems entirely unimpressed. “Sure,” he says. “I think it's time for you two to head out.”

“What? We're just chatting with—”

“You can't do that!”

Grian's former date draws himself up self-importantly. “I happen to know the owner of this establishment,” he declares, “and if you aren't gone in thirty seconds, I will be informing him that you are not welcome back.”

With surprisingly few additional mutinous mutters, both bullies leave, and Grian lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Great. He can wait a couple minutes, then leave as well. Then he can go home and rant to Mumbo about how terrible the night was while he gets cleaned up. Mumbo will know just what to say.

But the man, curse him, slides into the seat opposite Grian and holds out a hand.

“My name's Scar,” he says, and that cannot be true.

Scar? Scar? It has to be a nickname.

Grian coughs into the napkin, unable to restrain his surprise. “For real?”

Grian does not shake his hand, and after a moment, Scar turns it into a smoothing of his hair (which would be cool, if he hadn't held his hand across the table for a solid ten seconds before). 

Scar smiles winningly. “Born and raised! I'm sorry about those guys. If it helps, I'm here every weekend and I've never seen them.”

“Do you really know the owner?”

“Yep! He's one of my mom's friends, consulted me on the interior, all that. I even worked here for a while!”

Grian doesn't pull down the napkin, instead choosing to scrub at his eyes with it. At least his make-up is a decent bit more excessive than it was on the date, though the rhinestones pull off with little jabs of pain as they get caught.

“I like your make-up,” Scar says, in a tone of voice so chipper that Grian isn't sure if he's being honest or lying to try and boost Grian's mood.

He shrugs. “I don't usually wear make-up.”

“You're good at it, though. I don't know the first thing about make-up—I wouldn't be able to tell a foundation from a—well, what's that little screwdriver thing that they use on the eyes?”

Despite himself, Grian snorts. “What? Like—mascara?”

Scar shrugs. “Maybe! But it's just amazing that you can do that. Whatever those other guys said, they're absolutely wrong. And terrible people, if I may be so bold.”

Scar stands again, grimacing as he shifts his weight to his cane. Grian had assumed it was cosmetic, but he definitely needs it for some purpose.

“I'll let you get back to your dinner,” Scar tells him, offering a soft, warm smile. It’s a nice smile, just like it was on the date, genuine and happy and well-meaning. “I ought to head home, anyway. My roommate hates it when I drive after midnight. See you around, I hope!”

With that, he leaves, picking up a backpack from a table a few booths away from Grian, giving a nod to the barista before exiting the building.

No.

Grian lets his face fall to the table.

No, no, no, no, no!

Why is that man so—so nice? So well-intentioned?

Grian's never dated nice guys before. He's dated quite a few bad boys, the kinds with motorcycles and leather jackets and cigarettes. He'd even been a bad boy himself for a few months his senior year of high school, but his sunglasses became eyeliner and his leather jacket became boobs and cute skirts before too long.

And then he'd gone through a phase of only dating bears, but that had never coalesced into anything substantial. He and Mumbo had gone on one date, back in high school, but they were both looking for the same kind of man and that kind of man was not each other. In fact, after that date with Mumbo, Grian had entirely written off the idea of dating nice guys, seeing as Mumbo fell firmly in that category in his mind and he and Mumbo are nowhere near romantically compatible, codependent as they are.

Scar is different, though. Different from every man he's been on dates with. Scar is nice, chivalrous, caring—and that isn't to say Grian's had a ton of bad relationships where his partners weren't those things, but Scar is all those things to everyone. He respects Ariana and her decisions and seems genuinely interested in getting to know her; he protects random men he doesn’t know from harassment and does his best to help them calm down.

He smiles the same way to both of them.

Scar is kind, plain and simple. He's kind, and has a good heart, yet is totally secure in his masculinity. What kind of man can stand up to bullies while wearing a waistcoat, swagger with unreachable confidence around a bar that he doesn't own or work at, then turn around and gush about Disney parks and movies?

After a long moment of contemplating, Grian decides that he isn't attracted to Scar. Not really. He's just . . . the man is odd, is all, and he wants to know more!

So he stands, chicken and fries forgotten, and heads up to the bar.

The woman tending the bar raises a brow, flicking her blond hair behind her shoulder. “Need another?”

Grian hops onto a barstool, his toes barely touching the ground. “No, I have a question.”

He looks back toward the door, back toward where Scar had just exited.

“That man,” he asks slowly. “Scar. Do you know him?”

“Oh, yeah. He used to work here. We exercise together, sometimes.”

Grian leans forward. “What's he like?”

The smile on the woman's face is calculating, knowing. “Scar . . . boy, the stories I could tell.”

[magiclwritings]

It felt like drums were going off in his head the more Iggy spoke. Not because he didn't want to hear what he was saying but because he already knew what it was going to be. That feeling that was radiating off of the other couldn't be denied. Hell, he wasn't sure the gods would allow it to be even if he'd entertain that idea. What Julius had now come to understand about all of this was very plainly in front of him then and it hurt to hear but at least there were a base of understanding. Where he stood at least. His juror was still out on the man next to him. He couldn't blame him for the feelings he harbored towards him. The older he got, the less sparkly the throne had begun to seem to him. But that wasn't a truth he was ever willing to admit to anyone other than in his own thoughts.

"So am I safe to assume that you don't like me?" Julius asked quite plainly. He didn't need to be liked. If there was anything he'd be thankful to his father for it was that. And that wasn't to say they had a bad relationship but he understood that being king or in any position of power did not automatically grant you favor as many thought it had. Julius was now sitting face to face with that lesson. He never thought it'd be so blatant or that it'd be from his wizard but even the gods had a funny sense of humor from time to time. What he was curious about was when he'd said he wouldn't commit to an opinion but he already had. Clearly.

Julius didn't give him a chance to answer but instead pushed off the fountain. The closeness of Iggy was something he'd have to get used to. All that weight that came with him and, well, the feelings too. The prince craved to know more about the bond but it seemed every time he'd made an inquiry about the wizard's magic, his anger came back broiling. Which, now that he knew some of what would happen, it made sense. Julius never dreamt he'd wield magic or find himself in a position to. Everyone else around him always warned of it's need and how crucial it was. And he could see their well meaning intentions. Not everyone thought as he had and perhaps that would be the downfall of this kingdom and maybe it wouldn't. Maybe it could be a different way forward. Not an outside thought.

"What would you be doing right now?" He asked, looking back at Iggy over his shoulder. He had to admit the way the sun highlighted his hair and shone in his eyes was something. The prince drew in a deep breath, feeling that ache return to his chest and stomach alike. If this was just the beginning of their feelings for each other, he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep to himself forever. Perhaps he'll feel gracious enough to explain that little morsel of information. "I mean if you weren't here obviously." He turned a bit more, taking in more of Iggy and his felt his very chest start to rise in answer, like he was his breath. Fuck. "What would you be doing that you wanted to do?"

“Would you be happy if you were in my situation?” He didn’t believe anyone could be happy to work for their soulmate, to devote their life to a stranger. Maybe it was that Iggy's entire life changed once the mark showed up. He had to spend hours studying royal protocols and be trained to be a suitable spouse for the prince. And this magic, the one thing about his identity that was his, would soon belong to the prince. People thought he should be over the moon about it. He would have shelter, wealth, and anything he wanted, but this life had been forced upon him, and he hadn’t chosen it. “If you were a child and were ripped away from your family to attend training because you’ll be given to a prince not only to work for him but to be everything to him? And you don’t have a say in the matter.”

As he sat next to the prince and listened to him, Iggy wasn’t sure how to feel. He didn’t want to give Julius a chance to sway him or even captivate him. He wanted to try and keep the prince at arm’s length for as long as he possibly could. But Julius was asking him questions; he was curious about his opinions; he was allowing Iggy to keep the secrets he had and did not press him. It was something Iggy hadn’t anticipated from a royal. 

He turned to look at the prince, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and mulling over the question. “I came here thinking you would be a thoughtless royal puppet, selfish and pampered after growing in such luxury your entire life. I thought you would be drooling over the fact that you have a wizard under your thumb, but you don’t seem swayed by that type of power yet. I’ll admit I didn’t think you would be curious about our bond, nor would you ask me to share the details with you. I’ll be honest: I think many of my predetermined opinions about you may change as we get to know each other.” 

Iggy glanced away from the prince, studying the castle in the distance. “I can’t commit to any opinion on you until after the ceremony for our bond. Power changes people. That is a fact of life. You might seem sweet and caring now, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be corrupted later. You’re a prince now; soon, you’ll be King. That changes a person. You’ll be new to your rule and have an astronomical burden on your shoulders to impress your council and subjects. Only then will I be able to decide who you are. You can sit here and tell me beautiful things about yourself and what we will be, but I’m not looking for words, Julius. I’m only looking for actions that prove it.” 

[the-whispers-of-death]

Soooo I shouldn't mention my 50 something year old captain (different one), Lucas Foster, the embodiment of softdom Daddy. Who likes to collect other people's special interest to show off then give later.

Or my early 40's colonel, Yin West, who is the shadow's (sometimes) unofficial therapist/care-bear (not by choice). Care for a soldier once and next thing you know, you got a soldier fully sitting on your lap without warning after a really bad day.

| ू´ᆺ`●)

-Lurker

There's room in Stone's harem of older men. He'd never turn down an older man.

[feline-evil]

Dick or no dick confirmation Pickles was always going to be trans to me anyways; if he's swingin' somethin that's phallo babes, if he's not then his t-dick fat. What's not to get.

[sylphwing]

hm. i do not like chilshi 🤔

[bibleofficial]

wallpaper is insane like u find a product w an ugly print ? wallpaper it. just multiple uncoordinated things put together ? wallpaper it. ugly door ? wallpaper it. ugly wall ? landlord won’t let me wallpaper it

[lesbiansanemi]

Was doing so good holding it together today but now that I’m laying down and trying to sleep I’m tearing up and I can feel that I’m about to burst into tears any second now

[rivilu]

Y'know, out of all my characters you'd expect Elluin to be the last to have a weird unofficial custody of a child situation going on. And yet.

[omegapheromone]

Listen I don't normally post anything not safe for work/tumblr but I apparently just. Am having a really strong heat for seemingly no reason and basically my brain isn't working right and it's like... my own skin feels uncomfortable and my body is just. A mess really.

[tonycries]

SCREEN QUEEN! - G.S.

Synopsis. To see a movie or to make one? Four times Geto Suguru absolutely ruined you for the cameras, and the one time outside of them.

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! pórnstar! reader, pórnstar!Geto, he is so DOWN BAD, exhibítionism, breéding, Geto’s tattoos, Geto’s PIERCINGS (d, tongue), THREÉSOMES, some Gojo x Reader x Geto, streamer!Gojo, vóyeurísm, Geto gets one taste is PÚSSYDRÚNK, mast. (Geto), oraI (fem + male rec.), spítting, p slapping, some Toji x Reader, PÚRE SMUT, húmping, matíng presses, semi-public, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 10.1k (woah)

A/N. Have a lovely week <3

“Ch-chin up, honey–” Geto’s drunkenly half-lidded stare sticks to you like a greedy second skin. And it makes him snicker, curling his thick fingers around your neck to force your glassy eyes upwards. “Let the camera see that hah- pretty face of yours.”

You mewl, batting your teary lashes up at his towering figure. Pretty glossed lips pressing the most sinful French kisses up his sensitive shaft, “Like this, Sugu?”

And god, that makes him throw his head back with a whimper. It makes him dredge up everything left of his sanity to remember those next few lines of his, praying that those babbling messes of his groans pick up on the microphones. 

“Y-yeah, got that right.” he jostles his muscular thighs even more heavily manspread, baring you with a sopping wet swipe of his angry tip against your pout. Poking the bulbous curve of his cool metal piercing just barely- “So you can listen, brat.”

Damn. Geto’s already sure he’d stumbled over his script a few too many times. Already sure he’d forgotten what the next scene was with how he was too dangerously close-

CUT!

Shit.

He had a feeling this would happen.

Because Geto Suguru rarely ever had to take multiple takes whenever he was filming - he was no novice in this business. Far from it, in fact. 

Bearing the title of one of the most-watched porn actors in history - and the five-time crowned winner of the most beautiful, as well - the audience loved him, and the directors loved him even more with just how many big, fat cheques he’d rake in easily.

And you?

That gorgeous newbie paired up with him today that was absolutely ruining him. 

“Sorry-” Your honeyed tone snaps him out of his syrupy reverie, and the little smile on your face is so innocent compared to just a few seconds ago. “M’still new to this, so I think it was my fault.”

Yeah, ruining him. 

“Not at all. S’cute.” Geto’s plastering one of his suave grins all across his mean mouth, and without a second thought, he’s thumbing away that translucent little splatter of precum at the edge of your kiss-bitten lips. Wetting the curvaceous pad of his thumb, “Besides, don’t worry yourself, pretty lady. I don’t think a uh- what was it- clan leader would stutter as much as I did.”

And oh, he wished he could sneak in a few more glimpses of your laugh, music to his ears. Wondering what it’d feel like to have it vibrate around his still rock-hard cock. But alas, swiftly, the director’s clapping a hand down on Geto’s broad shoulder. 

“Suguru- my star! What happened back there?” the older man bares him with a toothy grin that said it wouldn’t last there much longer if he made any more mistakes at today’s shooting.

It was the first time in years that he had to have a word of reprimand. And he wasn’t even fucking you today-

“Nothing.”

“Are we sure-”

“Nothing.” Firmer, this time, with a dangerous tinge that no other actor would dare have. His glassy eyes - still foggy from the slide of your tongue, still aching for more of it - fixate sideways on you getting your make-up retouched right beside him. Clearing his throat, “I won’t fumble next time. Promise.”

But shit, only a few seconds before the next take - the high-definition cameras rolling, the heady lighting fixated on the two of you - and he already feels like he’s about to lose it.

“Said you were a rookie, right? You sure about that, screen queen?” he’s leering a slightly-smug grin down at you, the curved edges of his lips twitching at that little industry nickname of yours.

He’d heard it here and there - mainly whenever Gojo was raving about you, but never did he think you would end up being so…so addictive. 

Of course, he’s going to brag to his best friend as soon as this is over.

You’re gifting him with a bratty huff, “I’ve only been making videos for a few months, y’know? So I’ve never had to have a blowjob scene with someone so-” 

And with a gulp, your syrupy eyes flicker downwards at his achingly hard cock - famed for just how massive Geto was. Already so creamy with a glistening coating of precum drizzling down his thumping veins, standing so thoroughly and thickly upright that it made your drenched thighs squeeze. Yearning to steal another taste of that furiously strawberry-blushed fat tip. “-so big.”

Shit, Geto could feel his fattened cock jolt already. 

Hissing, “S-save it for the camera, honey.”

“Okay! Take 2, Act 1 of 1 from Cult Leader Geto.” A ringing voice cuts through your saturated air, and he’s settling back into his poised seated position on that decadently throne-like chair, you on your knees. “ACTION!”

“Messing up such an important mission, hm?” Geto spits, stern voice targeting you at your very dripping core. Sear-like grip making your throat burn, fuming, “Y’know there’s only one way to make up for it, right, honey?”

Your lips wobble oh-so-adorably when he hits them with a splattering smack! smack! smack! of his painfully hard length. Making you mumble, “Wh-what do I hafta-”

And maybe because it was part of the script, maybe because Geto couldn’t last hearing another melodic note of your sweetened voice - he’s shoveling all girthy inches of his swollen cock past your velvety lips. 

Unapologetically.

Filthily.

God…it was so easy to forget all the cameras with your tongue.

Pressing the reddened curve of his weepy cockhead to nestle hot and heavy on your tastebuds, your jaw aches with the sheer weight of his hefty shaft throbbing away comfortably on your tongue. 

And you swear you can feel big, bulbous tears welling up behind your eyes with how every ounce of blood in Geto’s body comes rushing down into his steaming length. Expanding his rotund head to grow even thicker-

“Shit.” he gasps. “Shit shit shit shit-” Brows scrunching, drooling maw falling slack. Every muscle in his hulking body bows to hunch forwards in his chair, until your tight throat was choking around the thick curve of his swollen tip. One attractively tattooed hand splayed out firmly on the back of your head, “Take it- y-yeah, take it why dontcha? If ya wanna make it up to your leader.”

God, he didn’t know if the cockdrunken way you were nodding was even real - but it made him groan just the same. 

Sobbing out a swelteringly hot squelch! of syrupy precum that drips teasingly down the already-messy walls of your mouth. “Heh, maybe ya can even be my s-second-in-command with a mouth like this.”

And he’s giggling out in an almost hysterical way, head throwing backwards when his powerful hips rut up in slow grinds. Back and forth back and forth- that have your now-puffy lips stretching around so widely around his fat cock. 

Struggling. Shit, he’s the biggest you’ve ever had.

Geto already knew his agent was going to be on his ass for veering just the slightest degree off the script.

But he didn’t care about that right now.

How could he? Not when the drag of your tongue was swirling around his steamingly hot girth in languid swivels, over and over fighting to trace every one of his prominent veins thumping angrily inside your mouth. 

You whine at the saccharine sweet taste of his precum shooting down your throat in wet sputters, “S-Sugu-”

Fuck. 

Geto hears himself whimper a pathetic noise as soon as you’re tugging yourself off of his leaky cock, pressing wet peck after peck up the underside of his messy shaft. It’s glossing in glinting lip-prints that he half-wishes he could tattoo. Slipping and sliding to sloppily plant your mouth along the bawling divot at the very end of his rosy pink head. 

“Mhm–” he’s drawling, movements as slow as gliding through molasses when one of his strong legs comes to circle around your body. Muscles flexing so tight that if he angled just right he could squeeze that pretty throat of yours. He bites his lip, “Suck on my ah- tip- c’mon, gorgeous. Heheh, yeah gimme a pretty peck, why dontcha?”

With a smug smirk, he’s guiding through trembly digits to thwack! thwack! thwack! his thick hilt in wet splatters across your lips. Only to figure out that he didn’t even have to bother.

Because your sweet mouth was so ravenously reattaching back onto him, starkly raw lips glissading down the bulge of his Prince Albert. Your deft tongue swivels in such a filthy way down the underside of his slit, cheeks hollowing as you suck. 

“Spit.”

“S’this-” you hiccup, widened eyes pleading. Spitting out a silvery glob of saliva onto the very edge of his tip, “S’this good, sir?”

Fuck, for a second there he almost forget that every one of your lines are scripted. And he deliriously wonders what if would be like if you called him that for real 

“Hmmm, dunno.” His thumb smears across that pool of precum beside your lips - popping it into his mouth tastefully, “Jus’ a bit deeper to make sure. You can do it- c’mon.”

Swallowing up those solidly girthy inches of Geto’s so deliciously. Your nose presses against those drenched tufts of black at his toned pelvis, jittery fingers coming around to massage sultry little circles around his tight, cum-filled balls. 

“Heh, think I prefer ya like this-” he’s restless now. Close. Knitting his brows rudely together, abs clenching mouth-wateringly at every wet gyration of his cock hitting the very back of your throat. And he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop, not even if the director yells cut this time. “-all pliant, n’ shutting up that bratty mouth of yours.” Geto arches his spine so flexibly - a specialty of his - all the way enough to whisper in a hoarse pant of feverish condensation against your ear. “All mine.”

Geto can barely even finish his line - or his train of thought, before with a wracing shudder, he’s cumming and cumming harder than he has in his entire life. 

Oozing out the wettest wads of his thick cum, so much of his wispy white seed gushing across in dripping glides into the cavern of your mouth. Back and forth with every jackhammer. The money shot smearing all down your pretty chin.

And fuck, just the way he can feel it sloshing around in a tidal wave inside your mouth makes him groan out your name.

Barely even registering the way it’ll have to be cut out in editing later, no- all he can think about is how heavenly you were milking him. Twisting your tongue to drag out his hazy orgasm, to swipe up even more of it from his piercing, you blink up in satisfaction.

Letting it overspill. 

“Heh, fuck-” Geto’s tongue was dangerously loose now, mouth curling up into a simpering smile down at you when he’s bursting out in even more velvety ribbons of cum. It drips halfway down your jaw, washing a perfectly milky lipstain on you. Muttering, “Wish I could fuck you- god, I would-”

He’s cutting himself off with a dampened gasp, just as the chilling air on-set hits his hard erection. 

In urgent moves, Geto’s pulling out of your silken soft mouth to drag you upwards with the hand tightened around your throat, crashing his lips into your own with sudden need.

Unsteady. Sodden. French kisses. 

This wasn’t in the script - and you whine at the cool metal against his cushy mouth. A tongue piercing. Shit, he had one to match his dick.

Swirling it across your own lips, Geto hears you moan in that sweet voice of yours just as you taste him - taste yourself on him - and he’s sucking on your tongue just as you did with his cock. Pooling all the dredges of salty seed on his own, before spitting it back out-

“Tell yer agent-” he murmurs throatily, two fingers roughly wrangling your mouth shut. To make you swallow. His popping ears ignore the calls from the director for the scene to be cut. Finally completed. And Geto licks up the excess remnants of cum down your lips. “-to let me have ya again sometime, gorgeous.”

CULT MEMBER SLUT GETS TAUGHT A LESSON BY HER LEADER!

37 million views 1.5 million likes

Top comments:

satoruxstrongest: holy shit idk who im more jealous of ꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱

unicorny: I VOLUNTEER FOR THE NEXT MISSION CULT LEADER GETO

hj.eromytits: guys is it just me or does geto sound EXTRA extra whiny in this video~?

tonykrier: No cuz I totes agree

---

Now, it wasn’t normal for Geto to run home freshly after a shooting and…research his scene partner. To spend what seemed like hours upon hours pouring over every single video and picture you’d blessed his obscene mind with.

You.

An up-and-coming new actress, but already dubbed the nickname of screen queen. Loved by many for that sultry sweet smile of yours and just how gorgeous you were when you were all fucked stupid. 

Everybody wanted you.

And Geto - oh, Geto was out of his mind. 

Shit, he’s thinking through his saturedly needy thoughts, eyes locked on the two sweat-sheened bodies on-screen. It was an earlier one of you and legendary veteran porn actor, Toji Zenin, and the more he eyed the way your bugging pussy so readily swallowed each of his greedily girthy inches - the more he was fucking jealous his agent only booked a simple blowjob scene. Peering at the title-

DILF-NEXT-DOOR GIVES SCREEN QUEEN AN ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT.

That should be him.

The wet schwf! of clothes upon skin emanate throughout his penthouse bedroom when Geto unthinkingly drags the soft mountains of his palm down his throbbingly hard erection. Eyeing at how Toji was smearing your sopping pussy lips open, giving Geto the perfect view-

Shit, that should be him.

Holding back a low moan, “Fuck-” he scrambles to hit the camera icon on his trembling phone, all but ripping his pants down to set free his ravaging cock. “God- m’so fuckin’ hard-”

He doesn’t even know who he’s talking to right about now - the audience, or you. 

But all he can think about right now are those sparking stars behind his lids as soon as he runs the solid curve of his thumb along the bump of his swollen head. Still not fully hard, Geto squeezes his fat hilt just the way he remembers you did earlier today.

“S’all because of y-you, y’know?” he’s gritting through clenched teeth, batting those long dark lashes of his right up at the camera. “Why’d you hafta look at nhgh- m-me that way.”

God, his digits were only half as soft as yours were. And he keens at the rough drag of his fingerprints down the sensitive spots at every ride and curve. Melty mind stumbling through every mindless half-thrust into his fist.

Over and over.

God, he felt like a hormonal teenager all over again.

He’s panting - gasping. Every rutting fuck up into his hand leaving his heavy balls clenching painfully, teeth clamping. 

Geto’s never been this needy - this desperate to try and graspingly remember what your moans had sounded like through his phone speaker not too long ago. It’s all he can do to sink his sharp canines down onto his fist, desperately holding back whimpers upon whimpers that threaten to spill out into the open.

Yet, they do, anyway.

“M-make me so fuckin’ horny, honey-” he’s swiping at the lazy trickle of drool down the edges of his drunkenly upturned grin. Puffing away the long, inky hair curtaining his eyes to splay out across the bed. “Such a perfect body ya have- such a perfect pussy. Wish I could fuck it.”

Because that delicious arch in your back was practically burned into Geto’s mind, how your slutty cunt was slobbering down gloss after gloss of your sweet, sweet juices down Toji’s fat cock. He’d been massive - rivaling Geto, honestly - and he couldn’t help but muse whether you’d take him that well, too. 

Would you cry out and beg for more? 

Would you bat your lashes and tell him to slow down- only to huff and puff in that naughty way of yours when he does?

You were…you were so pretty. And all he ever wanted to do was wreck that equally pretty pussy of yours, and ruin your makeup, and you. 

You you you you-

Geto’s wrist aches down his tall shaft, stuttering up and down, he flicks his thumb wetly underneath his sensitive slit. Neatly grazing his manicured fingernail underneath the glazed bump, “I’d ruin ya, y’know?” Geto chokes out, and he doesn’t even have to fake the purring moan in his tone. The way his voice lilts embarrassingly higher in volume and pitch, gliding all the way up to nudge in wet peppered kisses across his chilling piercing. “Would make ya shut up on m’cock- hngh- until ya can feel my piercing branding into ya. Ruin everyone else f-for ya.”

God, the camera was so shaky right about now - and he half-wonders whether he wants to post this. Nothing like the usual professional set-up you’d usually see on Geto’s promotional tweets. 

And then shit, just the thought of you actually seeing this video has him almost dropping his phone onto the dampened silken sheets below. His overly saturated mind liked to think that you’d like it, that you might even slip your own soft hand down into your flimsy excuse of panties.

“Fuck- fuck.” Geto bounces his head back onto the plush pillows, thighs shuddering even further open, catching every pearlescent bead of precum being smeared down his thickening length. Filthy. So fucking filthy. Making him arch- “Look what you do- look how you’ve got me- fuck-”

He was practically humping up like an animal now. Out of control. Each moan breaking into a whine in a way that Geto can’t stop even if he wanted to. 

And the more he thought about you the more-

“Oh h-honey-” One of Geto’s thumb trails their way down to press down at the very middle of the twitchy curve of his balls. Hard. Hiccuping back a mewl of your name, he’s nodding like he doesn’t even realize. “M’gonna cum hah- m’gonna cum, okay? You’ll hafta take it all t-take it hngh-”

And it’s just a few more merely sloppy grinds before Geto’s spurting out in thick streams of cum. So much of it.

He’s fucking his fist like he wishes it was you. It’s making such a mess down his greedy fingers, coating down to his wrist in a gleaming sheen of creamy white. Easier to make him slip up, up, up, and down his swollen, red shaft trying to dredge up something delicious from the very ends of his weepy divot. 

He lets his phone drop, thick thighs straddling upon each side of the screen to jerk his achy cock off like your pretty face was just underneath him. Furious. Fast. A low ah! ah! ah! rasping through each breath.

God, his fingers weaken around his cock. Moving as if on auto-pilot when he circles his trickling wet fingers around his own rosy pink nipples - all glistening down his tattoos as if they’d been laminated, they made for the perfect wet dream - then all the way up to suck on them. Cleaning. Tasting himself.

Fuck, wishing it was your hand.

Wishing you were here.

All Geto could think about is if you were here right now, then he’d swipe his blushing tip down your lips, instead - reel you into a dripping wet kiss just like before. He grunted at just how badly he wanted to taste on your candied tongue again-

Still so sensitive from the shoot with you before, Geto’s breathing out in heaves, pants. Tears prickling at the very ends of his bleary eyes, he bites down furiously on his coral pink lips, trying for the fucking life of him to not cum in blanks right now. 

He does, actually.

Again. And again and again- spazzing cockhead jerking out a few wispy wet ribbons of his seed, before giving way into nothing. And if you listened closely to the crackling audio, you could almost hear Geto whimper.

Yet, he doesn’t even notice until his thumb swipes shakily onto that red end button on the video.

Doesn’t even register until he’s pulling up his infamously lewd Twitter account, the voice of his agent ringing in his pounding ears from today on something about “promo for your upcoming video” with every few hasty clicks on-screen.

Geto posts.

And he doesn’t even glance a second time at the screen before darting back into his browser history, searching ravenously for any more morsel of you he could dig up.

Because Geto Suguru might just be addicted.

@GetoTheCursed: For @ScreenQueen

2.6 million views 364k likes

Top replies:

moresenpaimore: holy shit the lighting? the shakiness? the whimpers? ITS ALMOST LIKE HE POSTED JUST AS HE CAME DADDY YOURE SPOILING US!!1!111!! 

tjzenin: Good taste, kid. - Toji x.

ScreenQueen: <3

---

“Y’look so pretty like this, sweetheart.” Gojo’s angling your head just enough for the blinking camera to drink in that milky trail of slick trickling down the corners of your puffed-up pussy lips. Musing at how it probably couldn’t capture half as how pretty you are with his massive cock bullied snugly into your strugglingly bulging cunt. “Isn’t that right, Suguru?”

“Heh-” The other man only shifts his legs to manspread more comfortably on Gojo’s plush mattress, leaning back on two elbows. “Don’t I know.”

hj.eromytits: ahhh~ a suguru and satoru stream my life is complete~ screen queen is so sexy too~

444stayze: WE NEED MORE COLLABS LIKE THIS SATORU PLEASE

chocho: she’s so…beautiful 

*chocho donated 690 chestnuts*

If Geto Suguru was the king of videos, then Gojo Satoru was the king of streaming. Wracking thousands upon hundred thousands - perhaps close to millions - that watched him strip down and bare the winking camera with his cocky, girthing inches. And today, he just-so-happened to have a special guest.

Two, actually, after hearing about your latest film with each other.

His long-time best friend, and the rookie actress he’d been just as obsessed with lately. And the tons of viewers right now were loving this combination.

Your greedy hips squirm ravenously, jostling Gojo’s cock to swirl in syrupy, circular swivels inside your gooey walls. Yet, you couldn’t do anything with the thick, black blindfold wrapped around your two wrists - a staple of his persona. “G-gojo-”

Smack!

All five of his splayed-out fingers come down harshly in a swat against the curve of your ass, and Geto can’t help but gulp heavily at the sinful way it makes your flesh jiggle. 

Gojo’s tangling a vice-like grip into your scalp - eyes wide, wild, where he’s leering down at you. “Now now, you’re s’pposed to look at hah- me.” he whines. Shit- when had you even turned to look at Geto. “And what was it I told ya to call me?”

“T-To-”

Smack!

“Louder.”

“Toru!” you squeal, feeling his leaky tip brush up in a wet nudge against your bulbous g-spot. Expanding even girthier to hit at that little bullseye over and over-

“Such a s-slutty voice ya got on ya.” His sharp hipbones mashing against tender skin, stifling balls stinging your ass, juddering knees bouncing even faster. It was so fucking addictive sheathing himself inside the tight channel of your cunt. So hot and cozy inside that Gojo has to force himself to rip his line of sight onto Geto just behind you, “Does sh-she always sound so sweet, Suguru?”

And Gojo’s not surprised - not even the tiniest bit surprised - to find that his best friend already has his silken button-up ripped open, ringed fingers stuffed into his too-tight pants. 

Addictive…you were so addictive. 

And he’s almost jealous that he’d introduced you to him on this stream.

Tearing away his clinking belt to knead over his rock-hard erection, drawling the very rounded edges of his fingers down his cupped balls. Squeezing. Hard. Geto looks so utterly like he has to force himself to breathe out something even slightly coherent, “Hmmm, hard to say with the way she was on her knees last time- heheh-”

“Such a dog ya are-” Gojo’s rolling his watery eyes, before pecking a wet glissade of his lips down onto yours. The woosh of donations flood the chat as soon as Geto’s letting out a roughened growl, “Dontcha ngh- a-agree, sweetheart? So mean, hm? The chat certainly seems ta think s-so.”

“Mhm–” you’re crying out - difficult, with the way he was sunken in so solidly inside of you. At Gojo’s sheer mercy. 

Mercy that was slowly dwindling away with each and every slobbering fuck up into your dripping cunt, and you can’t help but let your jaw drop into a needy oh when his ragged thrusts get faster. More desperate. 

Peppering damp pecks along Gojo’s innocently pink lips, “S-so mean, Sugu.”

“Ya hear that?” Gojo swipes his thumbs across your sloppy folds to bear you even further into the camera, and with Geto’s lolling gaze he could just peek the way your sodden hole was gaping widely. How his peaking veins massage your entrance through and forth- “Our girl says you’re a meanie, Sugu~”

candybah: GETO LOOKS MADDD 

k-en.j: she looks so cockdrunk already honestly idk who i want to be here

pumk1nhe1d: Love how Satoru winds him up. Wonder if her poor cunt can take both??

And Geto knew that your voice was absolutely dripping with teasing want, he knew that it meant nothing more than a simple line to get him worked up. But the way Gojo’s jittery arms were engulfing you to stick to him so closely, his knowing smirk flashing Geto’s way had him huffing out a pointed few profanities. 

“Fuck that.” he’s spitting getting up onto two unsteady feet to shuffle even closer to where your bodies were rocking the decadent bed violently. Tying back his dark tresses urgently - and oh shit, that’s when you know he’s serious. And one of Geto’s fingers smack! away Gojo’s, searing his own possessive grip onto the blindfold to haul you against his washboard abs. “Open.”

Fuck, it’s just about all that you can do.

Slopping out your tongue to present your glistening tastebuds - right on par for Geto to be splattering a thick wad of saliva. 

Letting the translucent slick sift across your mouth, and with years in the game, Geto Suguru already had perfect aim. He could’ve already made an easy, clean work of spitting in your mouth.

But, no, he’s speckling wet little messes around your lips on purpose. Swiping it away with the very back of his slender fingers, “Now, would you care to repeat- that?”

Every truncated drag of his moans is punctuated by a ragged rut of Geto’s hips against the globes of your ass. The remainder of his free hands being sure to press your arched body even further backwards into him. 

You feel him throb against your heated skin, his fat girth jostling to make you hump down on everything from the very globular edges of his tip all the way down to where his fat balls were kissing up into you stickily. Gushing out steaming hot wave after wave of precum that formed delicate strings to snap!

Smack!

“C’mon now, sweetheart~” Gojo’s slow tut makes you squeal. “S’not nice to leave someone hah- hanging.”

Batting your teary lashes up at Geto, you’re struggling through your relentless restraints to try and crane up into a kiss. And Geto - ever the bully - makes you work for it, barely moving. “M’m-sorry-”

“That’s not what I asked-” his hot breath puffs up dangerously to fan your ear. Cool rings on his digits burning a blazing pathway up to your neglectedly hardened nipples, making you keen out such whiny sounds when he pinches. “Tell me what you said.”

“S-said-” you’re sobbing out. The double stimulation of Gojo’s ravaged cockheadbumping up into your spongy cervix, and the way that Geto’s thumbs were swirling over in pressurized circles over your tits too much. “-said you were m-mean hngh- didn’t mean i-it ah fuck-”

“Are you sure?”

“You really are s-such a hngh- bully, Suguru.”

“Tch, shut up-” And Geto would never admit the way that he was humping you like such a dog. Panting - heaving, practically - with every sodden grind, his teeth tug harshly on your precious ear lobe. “-at least I’m gonna be the one t-to make her cum.”

Gojo’s rolling his eyes, pecking a sudden crash into the very same spot of your g-spot. “No I will.”

“As if, ya had to borrow my camera t-today jus’ to capture how gorgeous she is.”

Both Gojo and Geto’s lips mesh into yours now, tongues bumping into each other, swirling across yours so lewdly. Sucking and nibbling along any inch of yourself that you would give them. Anything that they could take. 

He’s bucking his hips sloppily, drawing wet gashes between your pre-soaked lips, and nudging against where Gojo was buried so deep. Too much.

Murmuring into your lips, Geto giggles - giggles every-so-drunkenly in a way that made the stream chat flood. “Heh, if ya really mean it then cum f’me, honey.”

Fuck- then, you do.

It’s hitting both you and Gojo like a sudden semi-truck. 

Yelping out a saturated mixture of what sounded like both their names before your gushy walls squeeze tightly. So fucking cozy that Gojo has to stuff one of his long fingers into your quivering hole just to scissor your entrance open, to fuck you through your high.

His fat girth edging you through peak after peak of bliss, your toes curl, mouth still latched firmly with Geto’s. Spazzing cock bawling out a few silvery strings of white down your back - just barely. “My good girl- good- hah- fuckin’ girl.”

“Awww. Look, Suguru-” The other man titters, bringing up his free hand to swipe across your now freshly wet cheeks. “Ya really are a meanie, huh? You made her cry.”

Geto only rolls his dark eyes, that particular remark making him take it out on you - because oh, he might not be fucking you tonight, but it was so utterly fun to rip out those whiny syllables from your pretty mouth. He’s tugging on your nipple with one hand, the other dipping slowly to swat! at your plump clit. “Well, I also made her cum.”

“Hah? No way, that was me-”

“I’ll beat you up right here, right now, Satoru.”

#1 RANK satoruxstrongest: got two special guests! tonight is going to be fun ww `⎚⩊⎚´ -✧

51 million views 4.8 million likes

Top donors:

unicorny: WOAH when Geto SPIT?? And when they were arguing?? My apologies, sir, I did not know you were about that life (she’s so lucky me next)

honey.bunney: LITERALLY MY WET DREAM OH MY GOD BI PANIC I LOVE THEM

king0fcurses: lmfao weak. Invite me on the next stream and i’d show her a better time.

---

God, times like this, you almost hated your profession.

Because yes, despite everything, the pay you received was staggering - but absolutely no amount of money was enough to compensate for the complete and utter asshole that was Naoya Zenin. 

And especially not filming with him.

A nepo baby that had climbed his way through the ranks with the help of his family name; most of his audience came to watch him fail utterly pathetically at trying to boss his co-stars around and ultimately end up whining with just the slightest little squeeze of your cunt. 

To watch him be broken and sobbing for mercy - exactly the way you preferred him. 

Anything but this-

“-c’mon- just one night, baby-” Naoya’s purring voice sleazes across your ears, and you ignore him to clutch your thin robe even tighter around your body. Thankful that the filming and clean-up was finally over. “Promise I’ll have you seeing stars.”

When he didn’t even have you seeing your climax? You want to ask, but unfortunately hold back - for your agent’s reputation, if anything else. 

Plastering on an almost-painful faux smile, “I think we spent more than enough time together on-set.”

With that, you shift off the bed to weave determinedly through the bustling camera staff and the director calling out for the editing crew - you didn’t even know where you were going, at this point. 

But Naoya Zenin was persistent, if not anything else. 

Catching up hurriedly, his fingers tap down the side of your shoulder, gliding over the peaking strap of that pretty pink bra you’d worn just for the shoot today - something special your very own viewers had picked out. 

You stand stock-still in the middle of the room when he murmurs into your ear, “Playin’ hard to get isn’t cute, y’know. Just give in-”

SWAT!

“Excuse me-” You’re grinning through the slight sting at the back of your hand - because oh, it was impossible not to smile at the utter look of shock on Naoya’s sharp features the very instant his hand had been smacked away mercilessly. Fuming. Undeterred, your eyes shift down warningly between his legs, “-before I make sure you can never work in this industry again.”

“W-wait-”

But who would bother to wait before making their escape? Not even looking - not even caring - about where you make your sudden strides to. 

SLAM!

The door closes. Hard. 

And you breathe out a shuddering sigh of relief when the cacophony of noise from outside bleeds away into nothingness, like a stifling little cocoon inside.

Fuck- where had your feet even taken you?

It takes a few blinking seconds at the rows upon rows of skimpy lingerie and outfits for you to realize that you’d shut yourself in the costume room just outside of your current set. And a few more seconds to realize that you weren’t alone-

“Oh!” you gasp. And you don’t even know whether to look - where to not look at the absolute wet dream in front of you. 

Geto Suguru was standing unabashedly in the middle of the room, long hair splayed out across his back - and you could count every swirling tattoo of his. Because he was painfully shirtless. Showing off the sculpted ridges and curves of his muscles that flexed a just a little tighter whenever your greedy gaze was dancing down his bulging biceps, his inked hips, his-

“Cat got yer pretty tongue, honey?”

“Wh-wha-” you sputter. Fingers scrambling upwards to cover your eyes - before realizing how futile that is with how you’ve seen everything already. “Cat got your ability to change in the changing stalls instead of where everyone can see, Geto?”

He cocks his smug head, grinning down at you. “Well, it doesn’t look like you’re complaining, though?”

“You’re too much.”

Throwing that thin cotton t-shirt grasped within his digits somewhere off to the side - perhaps to toy with your sanity even more. He crosses his thick forearms, showing off every bumpy vein of his. “Besides- I was here first- helping out ol’ Nanami with a costume. The more important question should be why the Screen Queen of all people is barging in here?” Lips quirking attractively upwards, “Wanted to see me shirtless again so badly, hm?”

You did.

“You wish.” 

You’re rolling your eyes, and you never knew how close someone could get to you just within that split-second. Because you’re already feeling the feverish rush of his ragged breath against your features, skin burning mere inches from yours. 

Close. 

With a gulp, you’re careening back against the velvety walls. “More like wanted to run away from Naoya Zenin and his dates so badly.”

So close. 

“Ah.” Geto’s nodding with understanding. Running a hand through his hair, he easily slips that tiny black tie into his mouth. Moving to bunch up his strands into a ponytail, “Need me to beat him-”

You cut him off, “No no no-” Frantically waving your hands about - partially because you really didn’t want him to leave right now. “I took care of it, anyway.”

“That’s my girl.” 

And something about the honeyed way he hummed those words made your stomach lurch, it had you panting out a needy breath into the almost non-existent space between you two. One of his palms splay out on the wall beside your head, caging you in. Geto’s greedy gaze daring for a mere split-second to the CCTV camera by the far corner of the room - eh, Ichiji is probably on break, anyway. “Then I guess, my next question is…”

God, he’s so mean.

So teasing.

Reaching up to trail down the very end of his pointer finger in-between the seam of your robes - doing practically nothing to hide the way that Geto licks his lips at every sliver of your skin revealed. 

Down between the valley of your breasts, down to your navel. 

Down, down, down.

“-did he take care of you?”

You’re stammering your head into a half-delirious shake, “H-he didn’t make me-”

Geto makes an almost primal snarl at the very back of his throat, darkened eyes widening. He sounds so out-of-breath already. “Make you what?”

“-didn’t make me cum!”

And oh, those words changed everything.

“Then I guess I better make up for my colleague’s incompetence, right?”

Because not only did they have Geto Suguru’s sanity snapping, it had your poor, drenched panties as well - stumbling around your ankles in a useless pile of fabric with only one thorough pull of his deftly curled digits.

“So flimsy.” he’s raising one dark brow, sharp canines glinting against the dim lighting in amusement. “Yet it still wasn’t broken- Goes ta show what a hah- great time ya had with Naoya, huh?”

“Please- D-don’t tease-”

What did you even mean to say- don’t tease you? he wonders. As if he ever could. Half-drunkenly, half-deliriously because Geto couldn’t get fucking enough of anything but the way that your pretty pussy was winking up at him with a glistening sheen. So puckered and ready for him that he wanted to give her a little kiss. 

A French kiss.

“Shhh- better keep ‘er quiet f’me, gorgeous-” he’s chuckling, hurried now that his knees clatter to the floor with a loud bang! Maybe it hurt, maybe it didn’t- Geto didn’t fucking care. “Because m’not going easy on you.”

And with a raw drag of his heaving inhales, he’s drinking in your mouthwatering essence. Greedy.

Glissading up the very slit between your puffy pussy lips, he’s curling his thumb meanly into your sloppy hole. Circling around in practiced, purposeful little swipes. 

“G-Geto–” he’s quietly admiring the way it rolls off of your tongue, and fuck he’s never been one to be cocky over his own name but right now it was so fucking impossible not to be. Batting long, dark lashes from between your trembly thighs, “So mean, y’know that?”

Oh, you little minx. Geto’s brain flashes back to the stream with his best friend-

And he can’t help the sultry rasp of your name at the very back of his throat, the way his ringed fingers come branding down in such a dangerous swat! right against the plump edge of your clit- barely grazing your sensitively beading peak.

A warning. 

“What was that?” he spits. Followed by a literal wad of his syrupy saliva right onto the slope of your hole watching the splatters speckle across your drooling cunt. It felt so possessive. “If I’m so mean, then you should find it- heh, sooo fucking easy to stay quiet, hm?” Wild eyes locked with yours - you’ve never seen this look anywhere in Geto’s films. Anywhere. “Wouldn’t wanna be caught with the big- bad- meanie-”

Shit, it was something to tease him - something to get on your longtime idol’s nerves. But you’d never have expected the effect that it would have.

Because Geto was ravenous when his lips are placing a messy kiss onto your own - your other ones. Meshing a sultry glide of his tongue between your swollen folds, his tongue piercing so cold against your tight ring of muscle.

He wasn’t easing you in.

He wasn’t showing you any mercy or regret when Geto stuffs his face as deeply into the heaven between your legs as he could go. And it almost hurts him when his nose smushes harshly into your sensitive nub, when his jaw aches with just how much farther he couldn’t sink into your pretty pussy. 

Groaning, one of Geto’s splayed-out palms wrangles your ever-weakening legs onto his broad shoulders, the other toying taunting circles sailing all over your clit. Because he wanted more more more-

“Ngh- fuck!” Your unsteady fingers dangle their way through his silken strands - as soft to the touch as they looked. And you tug when you feel the silvery cold metal dart against your melty walls - not that it moved him even an inch. “Fuck that feels so good-”

“I know-” he’s smirking up at you. “N’ it sounds like e-everyone out there s’gonna know, too- heh. I don’t mind.”

God, that’s when it hits you to lower the volume of your honeyed moans. Biting down on the knuckles of your free hand, you level him with a glare. 

“L-look who’s talking-”

Geto only chuckles through the sopping wet squelches he’s reeling out from your cunt. Fingers now dripping downwards with a final pinch to your clit and onto your hole. “S’not my fault your p-pretty pussy’s so talkative, honey.”

“G-Geto-”

“Shhh, lemme hear her talk. Please?”

You gasp when you feel him plowing a trail of his thick digits into your already snugly-filled channel. Such a tight fit with both Geto’s rummaging fingers and his toasty tongue slurping up every bead of your juices. 

They’re swirling around you with reckless abandon, no longer the expert methods and tricks you were used to. No, Geto was pumping his fingers into you solely because he was addicted to the feeling. 

To the loud slurps and squelches resounding from down below with his miniscule movements.

“Heheh, yeahhh- so fucking mouthy she is. Might as well have s-someone overhear her.” He grunts, feeling your gummy walls clamp down on him so vice-like. And it takes him every shred of willpower to finally part his sinful way with your cunt, to drag his lips in a final kiss down your wet folds. “Hold on- got an idea.”

Fuck. 

An idea from Geto Suguru would never bode well for your sanity.

And you were completely right in assuming so, because in a split-second, he’s reaching down to his pants pocket - pulling out a glinting silver lip ring. One that finds itself placed so prettily near the very edge of Geto’s rawly rubbed pink lips. 

One that finds itself wrapped oh-so-deliciously around your clit. Sucking. 

More. 

“Heh, you’re the first one to hah- see me with this new lip ring- congrats-”

“L-lucky me-” you manage to choke out. Hips rutting up and down up and down from the wall, dragging your slobbering cunt all down to make-out with his gorgeous features - and Geto doesn’t look like he’s anywhere but heaven. “It feels- so so- mmpf-”

Without warning, his thorough digits find themselves rudely shoved between your jaw-dropped mouth. Metal rings cold. Thick. Pressing down at the back of your tongue-

“Heheh- what did I say-” he’s dragging his mouth backwards to tug on your weepy clit. Other set of fingers picking apart your sweetest spots inside, ruthless cadence picking up. “Quiet, honey- be quiet f’me like my good girl why- ah- why dontcha?”

Truthfully, Geto himself is finding it so fucking difficult to concentrate. 

He’s so sloppy. So loud. 

He feels like he could combust with every shuddering gush of your sweet, sweet juices down the lover half of his face. So much of it that it’s dripping down into a lewd puddle onto the floor.

And he’s forced to swivel his free hand punishingly into your mouth to stop himself from traveling it down to his pants and creaming all over it like some loser. God- no- he had to make you cum. And fast. Before he loses it. 

“C’mon, my pretty lady-” Geto bursts out in feverish hot pants breathed into your cunt, mouth rearing everywhere. And the stark contrast between his cool lip ring and his mouth made you shiver down your spine in white-hot pleasure. Hot and cold hot and cold- “Can ya hear that?”

Ah, damn. Just your luck - both your ears perk up at the distance resounding of footsteps. Close.

You tug on his long strands. Through muffled syllables, “G-geto–”

Closer.

“S’alright s’alright-” he’s snickering, sounding for all the world as relaxed as ever like he wasn’t two seconds away from being caught with a fellow actress in one of the most scandalous positions for even a porn company. “-jus’ cum f’me. Cum f’me, honey.”

Your cunt was so sensitive. You’re whimpering through his fingers once Geto presses in deeply onto that magical spot. Stars bursting behind your eyes- “M’gonna cum, Geto- so close. M’gonna- m’gonna-”

You didn’t have to finish your sentence.

Because with only a few bustling thrusts of his digits into that very same bullseye, you’re cumming all over Geto’s pretty face. Splattering his chiseled chin in a sheeny gloss of you, so filthy.

And he lets you - oh, he lets you. Why wouldn’t he?

Not when this is all that he’s been dreaming of ever since he had you that one time on set, not when you tasted so sweet spurting your juices down his tongue. Kittenish kisses lapping up every wet gash of slick, his fingers strain with how furiously he’s fucking you through your high.

“Oh- oh, honey— ” The only mantra that Geto can babble out pussydrunkenly, quirking up his hips to grind his rock-hard erection against your thigh. God, he felt like he could cum in his pants right now. “Tha’s right- use me- use me.”

Forcing his jittery fingers down to your hips in a rough restraint, he’s dragging your drooling cunt up and down up and down up and-

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Hey- ya in here?”

Click! In an instant, Geto’s long arm span is reached over to lock the door. 

And god, Naoya’s voice was grating enough that he almost lost his rock-hard erection - if it hadn’t been for that sweetly startled mewl ripping from your throat, that is. 

You scoff, fully ready to give him a piece of your - albeit syrupy, orgasmically hazed - mind to the man outside. But with a sneaky finger signaling you to be quiet, he stands back up to his hulking stature. Growling out a biting, “Only one in here’s me, fuck off.”

Only then comes the sputtering, “Wh-why I’d never-”

“Unless ya want your lil’ idol Toji to hear about how you’ve been nothing but a prick to his favorite actress.”

It’s barely even a second later when you hear those footsteps walking urgently away, and not even two when Geto’s hot breath puffs up against your ear. Words slurring and stumbling over one another,  gliding his tongue across his lower lip to snatch up every ounce of you. “Don’t you worry-” Before sucking on the very same fingers that were buried inside you, “M’gonna ruin him.”

And that’s all it takes for him to remember something else you’d said about that very man just earlier. Something about a date…as if.

“Kiss me- kiss me kiss me please-” Geto’s mouth hovers over yours. Gingerly placing peck after peck- “Fuck- s-suck-” Not even having to finish his sentence with how your heated lips wrapped around his icy lip ring, dripping with your slick. “N’ I was th-thinking- would ya- only if you’d like- wanna make a movie-”

“Yes.”

Hah, Geto grins. Take that, Satoru.

LOCATION: CCTV room, Jujutsu X company building.

Employee count - 1 

“Fuck- fuck-” Ichiji’s struggling to push up his condensation-fogged glasses with one of his slippery hands. Fingers trembling on the keyboard when he’s rewinding the camera footage in the costume room by just a few more seconds. “Oh god- m’gonna get f-fired-”

Again.

And again.

And again and-

“Shit-” he’s shuddering out, head woozy at the sheer overstimulation. Belt clattering against the plastic of his chair for about the nth time this hour. “-she really is a screen queen.”

---

Geto Suguru planned everything meticulously - till every detail was checked off on his seasoned mental list of making the perfect homemade…movie. 

Not exactly something that he’d tried out personally before but- but who better to do it than with you? And he swears with every bit of insincere honesty inside of him that this was totally not because he’d been yearning to feel you cumming all over his cock for months now. 

Yeah…totally not.

So he planned.

And he had everything - the heady candle-lit bedroom, the fresh silken sheets, the soft music playing from a speaker somewhere across the room. The only undecided thing being the name of your little tryst. Prowling over to you sat on the bed - all it takes is a simple shove to spread you out the way he’s been dreaming of. Humming, “You ready?”

Well, everything except-

“G-Geto, how are we gonna make a movie with no camera-”

Shit, that was the last thing on Geto’s mind right now - just about the furthest thing, despite being the very epicenter of his entire career.

Everything he needed.

But no fucking camera.

Oh. 

“Shit.” he’s chuckling - somewhat gingerly, somewhat pussydrunkenly with just a glimpse of you splayed out like this on his plush bed. In another one of you gauzy lingerie sets, leaving barely anything for his overdriven imagination to obsess over. He’s scratching behind his neck, “We can st-”

“No-” And Geto looks just as shocked as you feel right now, skin heating up with embarrassment at your hasty answer. 

But oh, that only makes him take it in stride - makes him slide his hand underneath his velvety boxers to knead greedily at his thumping hot erection. Grinning, “The Screen Queen doesn’t want to be on screen? How shocking.”

But it wasn’t.

God, because he could already see that darkening splotch at your silk drenched panties. The way your lower lip wobbled with so much want - he’d already watched enough of your videos to recognize it by now. 

He’s nosing down your neck, drinking in each of your little shivers. “How do you want me?”

And all you can say is- “I just want you-”

Swat!

The rounded tips of Gojo’s fingers find themselves placing a pretty peck right on your pulsating clit, sending obscene shockwaves bowing your spine. Right into his arms, “You a-always say the sweetest things, honey.”

You hiss at the cool clash of his proud Prince Albert - and the way that one of Geto’s dangling silver necklaces knock into your chin softly. 

And he’s groaning, just throwing his head back at the flurry of stars bursting behind his eyes. Hands gripping onto the edges of his sheets, Geto slides his hips in a slow back and forth against your own. Sandwiching the circular girth of his cock between your sodden folds, they make such a pretty scene. 

“Tell me, pretty baby–” His fingers smear at the wet drizzles seeping from either side of your slit. “-do ya get this wet for the c-camera too or s’it jus’ for me?” But you’re only spewing out a few nods and syrupy yeses, gushing all around him that he can’t help but wonder what it would like bursting with him inside- 

He doesn’t have to bother waiting long.

Now, usually Geto liked to take his time - would prefer to see you crying and breaking while you beg for his cock more than anything else.

But shit, right now he thinks that a second longer he isn’t buried inside your cunt might make him die-

“C’mon c’mon c’mon-” he’s hissing at the elastic stretch of that first ring of muscle. Easing his way in to bulge your sloppy entrance all full with just the very ends of his bulbous tip. “Take it- please, please take it-”

Geto can’t keep the slight tremble out of his tone even if he wanted to - not with the way your gooey cunt was molding around his shape to suck up every inch of him. And god, was there so much of him. It’s like it was never-ending. 

“Shit-” your nails reel red, red marks down the milky plane of his deltoids. “I-I can feel you in my hngh- lungs, Geto-”

He chuckles - all the way into your lungs and he’s not even halfway in, yet? Hell, fuck halfway in, he’d just managed to smear past your swollen pussy lips to rut his fat head inside. Hissing at the clench of your walls around his sensitive slit. 

“Suguru-” he gasps, eyes still wrenched down on the way your cunt was greedily gobbling him up. “P-please if you can call that hah- fuckass ‘Satoru’, then call me Suguru, please-”

It’s all that has to come out of your mouth - a sweet, syrupy “Sugu-”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

You feel yourself gulping down every one of his solid inches, a sheer circumference that you never even thought possible- the friction between your gummy walls and his furiously jackhammering cock having you squeal-

Smack! 

Finally fully inside you, your pussy lips kiss his thickened hilt like long lost lovers, and his heavy balls shift against your ass.

“Don’t- don’t run-” Geto’s sputtering out a slightly broken plea, pure desperation wafting off of him like a heady perfume. It was contagious. And his rough fingers grip tightly around your waist, jousting up the dampening blankets all around your body when he pulls and pulls and pulls- “Fuck, where’d you think you’re going, huh, honey?”

His tone was just dripping with something dark, something you can only sputter and drool to match when every nook and spongy cranny inside is being filled up with Geto’s fat cock. 

And it twitches inside you happily - if heaven was real then it felt like this, Geto muses already thoroughly pussydrunk. 

“M’m-not running away-” you’re pouting a slick-glossed pout up at him. One that he can’t help but crane his neck down in an instant to kiss away. “You’re just s-so big- bigger than on camera-”

Fuck.

You would’ve shut your babbling mouth sooner if you’d known what would happen.

Because the rotund edges of Geto’s cockhead only swells up wider, squirting out even thicker wads of his steamingly hot precum with every mindless, saturated grind. Ones just to fit in- more and more, even after he’s finding himself kissing a wet glide down the ends of your cervix. Making sure to brand that edge of his piercing onto every gooey wall. 

“God- y’really know how to drive me c-crazy-” Geto’s dark hair curtains either side of your head, and you almost don’t notice the way he swipes up two hands underneath your thighs to press you into a mean mating press. Letting you latch on limply while he leaves to swat at one of your hands cupping your pussy, “N’ move that hand- fuck- m’gonna fuck that outta ya.”

And he does. 

The mattress creaks in loud protests when he’s pummeling you with stupidly rude clashes of his weepy tip onto the edges of your g-spot - already expertly mapped out by him now - he’s feeling the sloshy mixture recoil with each thrust. So much of it. “Such a pretty pussy- such p-pretty moans, makes me wanna keep it t’myself-”

God, he’s wanted you for what seems like forever - and he was going to take it.

Panting hotly against your mouth, heavals. Drunk on your messy kisses and the way your pussy lips were bulging with the struggle to take him - but still milking him so needily. “Tie up my h-hair, honey, wanna see that pretty face of yours proper.”

All you can do is blink back the wall of tears that’d made its home in your eyes, trembly fingers taking ahold of Geto’s thin, black hair tie. 

But you didn’t expect it to be so difficult. 

Because any moment you were even slightly close to bunching up enough of his locks, he’s planting a thorough trail of kisses down your cervix. Before ending with the very showstopper - at your g-spot.

And one look up into Geto’s half-lidded eyes told you one thing…he was doing this on purpose. 

Your legs knock-knee in an almost engulfing way around his heavily swallowing throat, muttering out in a tone that you probably thought was threatening - but that Geto found so cute. “I’m onto you, sir-”

Fuck.

Fuck, maybe you were threatening.

He didn’t expect that evil little nickname to slip past your lips - and you didn’t expect Geto to swipe up a devious thumb up your clit in retaliation. Pretty, puckering lips trailing up the valley of your breasts, “I have no idea what you oh- mean, Screen Queen.”

And despite how you were huffing and puffing, your pussy was so clingy all around him. Hips bumping up in slight bucks fully off of the bed in a pathetic attempt to match Geto’s sloppy cadence. 

Completely starstruck at the sheer pressurized thrusts you were being ruthlessly dealt with - and you half-lucidly swear you could count stars over your head.

“Do it-” His lips kiss down your winking eyes, ringed fingers cold against your own now. “-do it, honey- you can do it. Might be the Screen Queen but you’re my slut, arentcha?”

God, it’s like his words were hypnotic - maybe they were.

And you dredge up every single bit of will in your trembly body to push past the way that he was absolutely ravaging you inside. 

Pound after pound of his swollen cock, the chilling cold metal of his dick piercing helping you discover forbidden sweet spots inside you that you didn’t even realize existed. 

So merciless that he’s slipping out a few inches by accident- only to let out a shuddering gasp, eyes shooting almost-comically wide open before sheathing his way in again. Even deeper - you’re being crushed with the weight of one of his knees pressing down on your body.

Over and over-

“Wanna- hah- wanna cum so badly-” your words prattle out delicately. Fingers searing across his scalp, and the way that you tug makes him hiss. It makes him rut, it makes him slam his hips down bruisingly. “Please-”

He leaves a slurping wet kiss on your neck - and another with his fingers onto the hood of your clit. Rolling over with the angled curve of his thumb. Obviously, having you drop a few tresses of his hair- “Heh, maybe t-tie my hair properly n’ I’ll let ya cum- you know s’a staple of my hngh- videos.”

So infuriating, it makes you clench.

That sleazy grin plastered across Geto’s face was unfairly sexy, and so was the way his body was wracking with sudden shivers. Boasting down every curve and muscle, forcing him to fall onto his elbows-

“Hngh- n’ you call me the rookie-” Your smug grin curves upwards at the way that Geto was so tangibly pussydrunk, the way his hips squelch sloppier into your own. The dripping wet noises so obscene that you could feel your cunt drenching even further with each emanating one.

“God, you’re in for it-” he’s spitting out a few slews of swears against your dangling open mouth. Pinching meanly at your clit. “You’re in- hah- you’re sooo in for it-”

But then Geto sees white - and so do you.

Whether from the crashing pleasure of your orgasm, or the way that he was suddenly pumping out thick ribbons of cum into your snugly filled cunt, you have no idea.  And you don’t even have the rational brain capacity to even wonder right now. 

Because Geto was fucking you through your high like he hated you, rutting up like an animal. And you were sure that if his canines were just a tinge sharper, they’d be drawing blood with how hard he was sinking them into the crook of your neck. 

Only deeper, more feral, with every pump of his spazzing cock - gushing out in boatloads of syrupy cum. It thwacks! against the utterly bruised and battered wet surface of your cervix, before dripping down, down, down to your g-spot.

And there’s so much. 

Such velvety volumes that ooze down in creamy dredges from the very purse of your pussy lips to form a milky ring around his ruddied base. It inflates your constricting walls from the inside - and yet, still not enough.

He presses one hand down to feel for that bump where you’d been filled to the brim. Sure to add more - to paint your dripping insides white until he was shooting blanks the same way he’d done to simply the thought of you. The idea makes him moan-

No, it makes him whimper.

“Still haven’t hngh f-finished tying my hair, honey.” Geto’s mouth leaves possessive marks down your neck. And his sensitive hips dart with a simple, sullying gyration, smiling, “Either you hngh finally do it properly like a good girl th-this time n’ we make a movie or- we go see one. This weekend. You and me. Your choice, Screen Queen.”

A/N. This got LONG but OHH PIERCED GETO MY BELOVED.

Plagiarism not authorized.