#get a load of that cord

[fruitcage]

[paleolithique]

FINALLY almost done with this kumihimo (cord? rope?) project

[ggxxacr]

can i get a hell yeah

[lamefish]

toji + fucking u in a headlock

his arms are so big. corded muscles that you just wanna bite into as he fucks you from behind. cum from his last load leaking out of you each time he pulls back just to slam back into you.

he holds you tight against him, restraining you to take his thick cock as deep as you possibly can. biting your earlobe as his hips smack against your ass. you leave little half-moon indentations in his forearm where you dig your nails in deeper the closer you get to cumming.

he’s sweaty and musky and so close it’s like he’s enveloping you entirely. all you can see and hear and smell is him and it drives you crazy. you’re dizzy both with lust and the tight headlock he has you in. you can barely moan, each thrust up into you knocks the air from your lungs and leaves you spluttering for more.

‘stay still for me mama,’ he growls into your ear. ‘goood girl, takin’ this cock like a whore. gotta headlock you to keep you in line, huh?’

how mean he fucks into you, teaching around with his free hand to rub your clit in brutal little circles. he gets faster and faster and his headlock gets tighter and tighter until you’re practically blinded by your orgasm. you’re shaking and tightening around his cock so frantically that he just can’t help but spill into you all over again !

you’re gasping for air when he finally releases you and lets you fall forward onto the bed. but your reprieve doesn’t last long because only a few seconds later is he flipping you over and pinning you down with a hand to your throat as he slips back into your tight cunt and starts working on pumping a third load into you :((

[nanamiskentos]

SHE TOLD YOU THAT SHE CELIBATE, SHE TOLD ME I COULD NAIL HER SH*T — gojo satoru minors dni

PART I. of the new years letters, a series of fics dedicated to some of my lovely mutuals! 🎁

prologue. → you wish gojo satoru would stop trying to ask you out. not that you don't like him, but dating the one guy that you're smacked silly about would mean that he could break your heart and leave you in ruins. so it's best to keep some distance right?

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. college au, reader wears a skirt, reader is choso's twin and yuuji's older sister, but no appearance detailed. kissing, making out, óral (f) receiving, general bitchiness and fuckups 😚 ensemble cast of poor bystanders (geto, shoko, sukuna, yuki etc)

word count. 10k! song inspiration. gang baby — nle choppa

a/n. it's because of that one edit by satorupedia that's going around rn. yall know which one 😭 art by touno_stupa on twt!

dedication. yayyy decided to start my little gift series for new years with this fic inspired and dedicated to @fushitoru who was one of the first blogs i followed on here before i was super familiar with jujutsu kaisen. aashi writes thee most wonderful gojo fics that are so well characterised and heart-stoppingly adorable and HAWT. 😁 🤭 and i easily associate her with physics/college au gojo now, ever since her spiderman gojo fic that lives in my head!!!!

gojo in this fic:

ACT I. don't puck around and find out!

"i ran into gojo today," choso says, his voice as unbothered and monotone as ever, scraping the gravel lazily with the heel of his scuffed combat boots, "or he ran into me."

"gojo satoru?"

"how many gojos do we know?" your twin brother huffs, giving you a dry side-eye. but before you can retort something equally acrid, he's yanking at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, halting you midstep, "wait. car."

you blink out of your tired daze just in time to see a battered camry putter past, its engine groaning like it's on its last legs. just how you feel after a long day of seminars and lectures. the car rattles down the street with the grace of a tin can tied to a string.

"thanks," you mutter, half-heartedly as you shift your laptop case from one tired arm to the other, "could have been the end of my genius academic career."

"would have been a short one either way," choso quietly quips, earning himself a sharp elbow to the ribs.

"so?" you press on.

"so, what?"

"what did gojo say?"

"ohhh," choso drawls, in that irritating way of his that indicates he has no idea how to deliver good gossip, news or any form of tea, "he asked if i wanted to play hockey for his team tomorrow. they're down a player ever since kento went on exchange."

"hockey?" your eyebrow arches, and skepticism curls your lips for choso is hardly known for his athleticism. you mean, you're sure he has the physical ability in him somewhere but you (and the rest of the world) are yet to see it, "are you gonna join the team, then?"

not that you care about gojo's stupid, state-tournament winning team. of course not. you're just curious. and curiosity is harmless.

it has nothing to do with the fact that you woke up last night wanting to jump gojo satoru's bones. just like you did the night before, and before. and the week before that. yeah, suffice to say that this has been going on for a while.

"nah," choso says, shaking dull, greasy strands of dark hair out of his eyes, "got placements tomorrow."

right. placements. choso's all about pathology and lab medicine and test tubes, while you get queasy at the mere mention of haemoglobin. and it unsettles you mildly at how your twin brother's eyes light up at the mere mention of a blood test.

"and?" you prod when he starts to drift off again, his attention wandering like it always does.

choso is often like a calm river. slow, broad and lazy.

this time, you pull at his one of his headphone cords to reel him back, "did gojo say anything else?"

choso gives you that dull look, quiet but loaded. like he's already solved a puzzle that you didn't know you were trying to hide. it just makes your stomach twist, "why do you care what gojo satoru says?"

"i don't," you snap, far too fast, like your tongue is racing your brain to a crash site. the lie sits heavy in your throat, thick and obvious.

choso's pale and dry lips twitch, and you wondered what happened to the lip balm you threw into his christmas stocking last year, "should i have told him you could sub in for his team instead?"

"no-one likes a smartass, cho," you grumble, speeding up your steps as your twin leisurely rummages through his fraying backpack for his house keys. you roll your eyes and push ahead, jamming your own keys into the lock before you die of boredom waiting for him to dig through the trash heap that lies at the bottom of his bag, "anyway, i was just asking. you brought gojo up."

choso trails behind you, his tone infuriatingly casual, "you always get weird when someone mentions him. i thought you guys were friends."

"we are friends. and i don't get weird."

"you get so weird. even yuki said so."

"i love yuki, i do. but she has no idea what she's talking about —"

the door swings open, cutting off your false deflection. standing there is yuuji, with half a sandwich dangling from his mouth like he's some kind of feral creature. there's a smear of mayonnaise clinging to his cheek as he yanks a red, track hoodie over his tank top.

"mmph! hey, you guys!" he muffles through a mouthful of bread, waving at you with the enthusiasm that only a teenage boy could muster after inhaling half the fridge.

"where are you off to?" you peer at your younger brother, your eyes zeroing in on his mutilated sandwich. a sandwich that you're certain you made for yourself this morning, leaving it for a study session upon your return.

"track practice," yuuji says, swallowing the last bite whole, "then dinner with fushiguro and kugisaki." he's already halfway down the driveway, sneakers untied and laces flopping on the pavement behind him.

choso narrows his eyes, "got money? or a water bottle? a hat? did you wear sunscreen?"

"i'm good!" yuuji calls back without breaking stride, waving a quick hand at the two of you.

"why don't you hold his hand and walk him to school, mother?"

"shut up," choso grumbles as he brushes past you into the house, throwing you an exaggerated scowl of wounded, elder-brother pride over his shoulder, "why don't you hold gojo's hand to hockey practice?"

your bookbag swings through the air, connecting to the back of choso's oversized head and a loud thud follows.

ACT II. long overdue and lacking a spine

you had been in this library for hours, eyes blurring as the words in your textbook stubbornly refused to make sense. it was all a gross blur of terms and diagrams, and your $8.00 coffee had gone lukewarm an hour ago.

study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that was the plan, no distractions.

your phone, however, had other ideas as it sat innocently next to your stack of notes. you tapped the screen quickly under the guise of a 'quick break' but before long, you were deep into instagram stories. someone's dog, a flyer for a rave that you definitely weren't going to, and then, of course, him.

gojo satoru. on someone's reposted story with a classic, grainy photo of one of the campus's most darling boys. long arm draped casually over some girl. both of them lit in the neon glow of what looked like a party bus. he wasn't even looking at the camera, just flashing that effortless grin that you had seen your entire life growing up. and the girl was gorgeous, obviously. not that you cared about that.

but speak of the devil and he hath appear. a long shadow fell over the table, and you felt the chill in your bones, trying not to shift in your seat.

"go away, gojo," you muttered, not even deigning to look up.

"how'd you know it was me?" his voice is teasing, all light and airy as he's pulling out the chair next to you.

"what can i say? lucky guess," you reply dryly, keeping your eyes glued to the suspiciously-stained textbook. worried that you'll look up and your iron resolve will disappear from one glance at big, blue eyes.

but out of the corner of his eye, you try not to twitch at the sight of the soft, pale blue hoodie that swallows his broad frame whole. thick, white strands of hair that fall gently over his face. and that cloying scent of mint and something faintly sweet that leaves your ears hot and your heart sitting in your throat.

study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that's what you tell yourself in a now failing mantra.

"are you following me today?" you ask, flipping a page with exaggerated nonchalance, like you're not about to tear up pathetically from a stupid crush.

"caught me," gojo says, the grin audible even in his voice, "i just couldn't resist finding you. is that what you want me to say?"

you finally look up, swallowing at unfairly fine features, "saw you were at some party yesterday. i didn't think you'd be on campus today."

gojo just laughs, the sound soft and infuriating, "keeping tabs on me now?" and he's rifling through his bag for something, "or you don't think the library's a good look for me? i'm broadening my horizons. testing the waters."

you narrow your eyes, willing the heat rising in your face to stay put and not crawl into your voice, "i think you're testing my patience. i have a test tomorrow, so if you're here to waste my time..."

"maybe i just wanted to hang out with my friend," gojo says, tearing open a kitkat wrapper in an obnoxious way that echoes through the silent hall, and the crinkle of plastic grates against your nerves, "we haven't seen each other in ages."

"don't you have a lot of other people to hang out with nowadays?" you're mentally beating yourself with a bat at your question, wincing at how it sounds like you keep count of who he hangs out with, and you're pathetically down bad for him. like a 90s singer begging on his knees for a kiss.

"i mean, i could hang out with them," gojo says, breaking his kitkat horizontally like a monster, "but they're not you."

his sunglasses are gone, revealing eyes so blue they look otherworldly, and he's throwing you that smiling, lopsided grin that makes your heart run around a room and bang into the walls. but no. you were not going to let gojo satoru get to you. he probably made every girl feel like this, like they were the centre of his fast-paced universe. until the next shiny thing came along.

besides, gojo satoru dated models. or stunning cheerleaders. the kind of people who looked good under strobe lights, and in the glow of his party bus digital camera pics.

and hey, it's not like you were self-depreciating or awfully insecure. you liked who you were and you would never change it for anyone. quiet and ambitious. reserved, but down for some fun. you'd like to think you were the type of person who saw the world in a beautiful, cinematic light. but it was maddening how gojo satoru seemed to bring out the most juvenile issues in you that had your stomach turning itself into ugly knots.

"gojo," you try to sound as nonchalant as possible, "are you even here to study?"

as in why are you really here? please ask me out.

gojo looks unbothered, unshaken, "coffee. cake. maybe even some flirting, if you're up to it."

the universe hates you. it has a way of delivering what you want right into your hands, when...you don't exactly want it.

you blink at the white-haired man, disbelief bubbling under your skin, "you're not serious."

"why wouldn't i be?"

"c'mon, satoru. everyone knows you're not the actual dating type. you ever been in a relationship that wasn't pr and lasted for more than two weeks?"

absolutely bonkers at how your heart and your tongue are not on the same wavelength at all. it's like your mouth missed the memo and is just firing bullets that have gojo's grin faltering a bit, as a flicker of heated annoyance flashes in his eyes. even hurt, but it's gone too quickly for you to read into it.

"didn't realise that you thought i was that much of a joke," and you're not fond of how gojo's voice is quieter now, and a pretty sneer is dancing across his lips. you're biting your lip before you lose your stupid, petty resolve to not get involved with someone who could truly break your heart.

"if you didn't make everything a joke, it wouldn't be," you snap at him, and you're not even sure what you're angry at. there's no reason to be annoyed, or frustrated or even hurt and snippy with a friend who came and sat with you to catch up.

but you don't want to untangle whatever you're projecting onto gojo satoru, so you let bitter words spill over, "some of us don't have time for your games, gojo. we have real lives to deal with."

gojo's expression shifts completely, and that playful spark in his eyes is replaced with something colder as he stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets, "right." and his tone is clipped, pissed, "got it. no time for games."

you watch as gojo walks away, already tapping away on his phone, but his footsteps are quieter than you expect. part of you wants to call after him, to take back the teeth and claws that painted your words.

but instead, you just look away from him and grimace. you must have pulled an awful, twisted face — for the man sitting across from you leans in and asks if you need to take an aspirin, or if you're low on fibre.

ACT III. between the covers

the bookstore smells faintly of old paper and new ink. a sharp contrast to the chill lingering outside, so the warmth hits you like a welcome blanket. the air buzzes with the muted chatter of customers, and the occasional beep of a cash register.

you're winding your way through the aisles, set on two missions. find that jacket-cover book that you had been wanting for weeks, and to hunt down the manga that yuuji had begged you to pick up for him.

you dart past a couple lingering in front of a 'booktube' bestseller display, narrowing avoiding a child wielding a stuffed dragon that you can only assume is smaug the magnificent from the hobbit. straight into the quieter section of the store, tucked in the back and smack-bang right into —

thud!

your shoulder collides hard with someone else, sending you stumbling back a step.

"fuck's sake. watch it," the person snaps, his tone sharp.

"maybe you should —" you start to retort, before the words die and patter out on your tongue as your mouth goes dry.

gojo satoru, ladies and gentlemen.

he's scowling at you, with sunglasses pushed up onto his head that expose those ridiculously pale eyelashes under the glow of the overhead lights. he's layered on a crisp varsity jacket, over a thick hoodie, all shades of soft blue and grey. and he looks irritated, with thick brows furrowed at you. but you don't miss the faint surprise that flutters across his face when he takes you in.

"seriously?" gojo murmurs, though more to himself, and his voice still holds an edge that has you wilting, "out of all the aisles in this store..."

you blink, caught somewhere between an apology that dances on the edge of your lips, and a bewildered laugh at how the divine powers deliver the worst luck on you. instead, you shove your hands deep into the pockets of your aviator jacket, "sorry. didn't see you."

gojo's shoulders relax, but just barely. as though he's still caught in the heavy fog of tension from your last words to him. but to your mild credit, he doesn't quite look ready to storm out either. progress?

"so. what are you doing here?" you ask, trying to break the ice and pretend that you're not doing internal pirouettes.

"just had to pick up a textbook," gojo mutters, holding up a thin and over-priced looking book on something like...quantum mechanics, "exams are coming up. gotta keep the top spot, you know."

you blink, "you're actually studying?"

gojo raises his eyebrow, lips twitching into the faintest smile, "what? you think i roll into my classes and ace everything through sheer willpower? or i spend all day being a joke and annoying everyone, right?"

you sigh, feeling the frosty, ice-gaze settle once more over you, paralysing you from head to toe, "look, gojo. i don't know what came over me that day," and now you're being sincere, looking away from his narrowed stare, "it's like some crazy, evil monster came over me and it possessed me. i think i incarnated some demon king in me and i said all that mean shit."

he shifts slightly beside you, and you don't miss at how gojo's lower lip juts out at your apology, or how close he is to you right now. "and i was jus' being stupid. swear i don't think you're a joke." you try to pick up some random book, pretending you're very busy as you speak.

but it's very hard to look genuine when you've just picked up a glossy copy of 'stand and deliver: a hard look at fixing male erection problems.'

it earns you a small laugh, light and quick, that has you almost falling to your knees, and you can hear choso's voice in your head. muttering out a dulcet 'i told you so. you want him so bad.' but it's worth it as gojo leans against the nearest shelf, the annoyance from earlier starting to ebb.

and for a moment, gojo studies you and his expression is unreadable. for your part, you're pretending to read the back cover of 'stand and deliver' and some blurb about how this award-winning author managed to help her husband 'get it up' after twenty years of marriage.

but the tension in his posture dissolves, relaxing further and gojo hums, "noted." that's all he says, and an awkward silence hovers. it hovers so uncomfortably, leaving you floundering for a new topic until gojo's voice breaks the silence.

"choso's doing good, yeah? i heard he got a girlfriend."

you smile, "yeah. yuki, she's like really cool. i don't know how he did it."

gojo snickers, "i asked if he wanted to play hockey and i think he's been avoiding me all week."

you try to pretend its not because of how you re-enacted your little spat with gojo, demonstrating the entire thing for your twin brother. who had just called you stupid afterwards. among other not-so-flattering terms, with little consideration for your crushing, beating heart.

"you going to suguru's party next weekend?"

ah, now that's a curveball.

because, again, you are your own brand of cool. or so you'd like to think, so this isn't really a matter of pitying comparison. but geto suguru is like on another level of effortlessly vogue. at least in your eyes. you know that he's gojo's best friend and he delivered a (controversial) and killer project on gene editing last semester. you know that geto's involved with gig photography as a hobby, and thus, has personal access to some of the coolest bands in the city.

and you also know that he occasionally waves a hand to you, but it's not like you actually know the man. it's just mutual association.

"i wasn't planning on it," you hesitate, for you really had been planning to cram through a mid-term session, "but someone asked me to go as their date."

gojo's smile evaporates, "who?"

"naoya zenin," you say cautiously, watching as gojo's face twists. like he's resisting the urge to gag and tear his hair out.

"naoya? he's like a walking billboard for being an entitled cunt," gojo groans, running a hand through glossy hair that has you trailing your gaze over slender, sculpted hands.

you narrow your eyes, "he seemed...okay. smart, i think."

"oh, he's smart. i'm not questioning that," gojo crabs, "he's so arrogant though. i grew up seeing that guy everywhere. our families were like, half friends."

you cross your arms, suddenly defensive, "are you warning me? or just mad that he asked me out?"

gojo seems to flounder for half a second, quick enough that you could miss it and he could deny it, "jealous of naoya? please," and he scoffs as he leans back against the shelf, "i have taste. unlike some people."

"you can't be the one giving me a lecture on dating etiquette. i mean, how many dates do you have lined up for geto's party? two, three?"

gojo gives you a sly grin, "more than that, hah. gotta keep my options open."

"tacky," you wrinkle your nose, trying to pretend that you don't feel like you just guzzled a gallon of curdled milk, "and classless."

"yes," gojo sighs sadly, "and endlessly charming. it's so hard being me," shooting you back a quizzical look as he pulls up to the register, paying for his textbook.

as he paid, you linger near the shelves, pretending to browse while stealing glances at gojo satoru. there was something different about him today, something quieter that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

and on gojo's way out, he pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at you. his expression is still entirely unreadable, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than usual. and then he was gone.

ACT IV. blush confidential

there's a soft hum of pop music wafting from someone's phone, blending in with the rustle of fabric and the hiss of a straightener. your bedroom is a whirlwind of motion and chaos, with clothes thrown over chairs, and pre-game drinks piled up over your vanity.

"i can't believe you're not coming with us," you gripe to yuki, watching as she lounged up on your bed, denim crinkling as she shifted to adjust herself.

"tch, you know i love a good party," yuki grins with sparkling ideas, "but choso and i have a date tonight. he's been texting me about it all day."

you snicke at the thought of your hapless twin, "yeah. he was practically glued to your dm's. ran into the kitchen table twice this morning."

shoko snorts from her spot at the vanity, from where she's running a brush through cropped, chestnut hair, "choso nervous? i need to see that," she catches your eye in the mirror, "do you still have that lip gloss?"

"on it," you're digging into the vast depths of your purse, grazing your wallet and a hal-featen granola bar. stubbing your finger on an opened gel pen, before clutching a small shiny tube that you toss to shoko.

"so," shoko smacks her lips, "how's it going with naoya?"

you blink, pausing in the middle of capping all your drying pens, "what do you mean how's it going? nothing's going."

your friend swivels on her stool, raising a thin eyebrow, "he's your date at this party, right? and why him, of all people?"

"seriously. that guy's got a reputation. and not a good kind, for a very good reason," utahime chimes in from her corner, where she's yanking on a ribbon woven through her hair.

you shrug, suddenly feeling defensive under their collective scrutiny, "hey. he asked, i said yes. it's not that deep."

shoko exchanges a pointed glance with utahime, and both of them looking equally skeptical in a way that has you flushing.

"he's just annoying, you know," shoko points out, "he thinks he's better than everyone else, and half the time? it's just hot air."

"and the other half?"

"still hot air," shoko flatlines, "you can do better."

"anyone's better than gojo," utahime mutters, "you don't want to be stuck with him."

yuki's snickering, and you're doing your utter best to pretend that the mention of gojo satoru doesn't have you crawling up and down the walls like a termite on crack.

"speaking of gojo," yuki drawls, running a comb through a golden sheaf of thick hair, "is he going with anyone to this party?"

you freeze for half a second, before busying yourself with some new body mist that you picked up from a sale, all vanilla and coconut and macademia, "i ran into gojo the other day," and you keep your tone as neutral as possible, "and he said he had a few dates."

"ugh," shoko groans, wrinkling her nose, "of course he does," and utahime mutters an affirmative, exasperated sigh, echoed only by yuki, who pauses mid-brush to look at you sympathetically.

"what?" you snap, defensive, "why are you all looking at me like that?"

shoko tucks a thin strand of hair behind her ear, "well, i mean. you like gojo, right? like really like him?"

"huh?" the question catches you so off guard that you're left sputtering, as the perfume leaves a sharp and awful taste on your tongue, accidentally leaving a fresh spritz into your mouth, and not the curve of your neck.

"oh, blech. absolutely not," you say vehemently, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, "i don't like him like that. not that i think he's awful or anything —"

utahime crosses her arms, white sleeves brushing against each other, "he is awful."

"yes, thank you for that, utahime. but he's just not my type," you finish firmly, "he's loud. he's disruptive. he can't take anything seriously. i can't date that."

yuki gives you a long and knowing look, "oh, he likes you," she says lightly, as though she's telling you a casual piece of news, and not something that has you biting your tongue till iron spills, "he's been crushing on you for so long."

you feel your stomach twist uncomfortable, like little, evil goblins are dancing in your gut, "that's ridiculous," you mutter, fiddling with the clasp of your purse, "if he liked me, he would ask me out properly. and not date half the student population."

"he probably thinks it's fair, because you keep turning him down," shoko says matter-of-factly, standing up to grab her bag.

"i just don't think he's good for you. or anyone," utahime mutters, earning a pinch from you.

ACT V. stereo love

normally, gojo thrived at these parties. suguru was always able to pull a crowd that straddled the line between chic and cool, with just enough alcohol to keep things interesting. the thrum of the bass-heavy music should have been the perfect escape after a gruelling day spent staring at equations, leaving him half-convinced that his course coordinator was plotting against him and wanted him dead.

but now gojo satoru was just jittery, restless. and he hated that.

so for now, he leaned against the kitchen counter with a full cup in hand, watching people spill out of the living room and into the backyard. it seemed that other students had been aching for a party, something to take them off mid-terms and yet here he was, scowling like a storm cloud. he took another swig of his drink, ignoring how his own stomach was doing unexplained cartwheels.

"you good?"

suguru's low voice cuts through the noise, startling gojo enough that he has to tighten his fingers around his cup so sticky beer doesn't spill over pristine tiles.

gojo waves his closest friend and confidante off, "i'm fine. obviously."

suguru's frown deepens, though it's obscured by his loose, choppy dark hair. and there's skepticism painted all over his face, "you're never this quiet at any party. i thought that by now, i would have had to convince you not to jump off the roof."

"you think too little of me."

"you think too much of yourself," suguru drawls, but he's leaning against the counter beside gojo, as leather and cool metal rustle against each other, "so where's your date? or dates, i should say?"

gojo freezes, his cup halfway to his lip, "come again? what are you talkin' about?"

suguru arches a thin brow, "it's practically all over campus, man. apparently, you had several dates with lovely, young ladies lined up tonight. and i tried to defend your fragile honour, said it was too ambitious even for you. but..."

this revelation hits gojo like a punchline that he wasn't in on, and then it clicks for him. oh, he had started that rumour a few days ago. in the bookstore, to you. his brain replays the scene like a cruel, little highlight reel: the way your expression had wavered minutely, just for a moment, when he had straight up lied and claimed that he had a few dates.

truth be told, gojo had only said it to make you jealous, to see if he could ruffle you and play your game even better.

but now the joke was so clearly on him.

because gojo satoru had no dates. and you? you were here with someone who wasn't him.

suguru's following his gaze across the room, and gojo doesn't even bother to hide his petulant interest. he can see you standing near the back walls, laughing at something that naoya zenin, mayor of all things putrid, had said. naoya, with his stupid green roots and louis vuitton jacket, standing just a little bit too close to you for gojo's liking.

but before he can stew in it any linger, suguru's reaching out and pinching his ear. hard.

"ow! fuck was that for?" gojo's yelping, jerking away from his clearly evil, traitrous best friend.

"that," suguru says evenly, "was for looking like a lovesick idiot. pull yourself together, man."

"i'm not lovesick," gojo weakly protests, rubbing his bruised, throbbing ear and moving further away from suguru geto.

"you're not exactly screaming cool and collected," suguru dryly comments, "sulking like a sore loser while your crush laughs at another guy's jokes."

gojo feels his face heat up, just a little bit, because he knows that suguru's hitting close to home, "i don't sulk and do all that whiny shit. second of all, it's not my fault she went with zenin of all people. it's up to her if she wants to be stuck with someone who talks about his family's real estate portfolio as foreplay."

suguru snorts, and it's clear that he's not playing the role of sympathetic best man for life, "you know what's more obnoxious? watching you fuck around like this. you need to figure out how to ask her properly."

"i did all that!" gojo shoots back, throwing his arms up so his drink dances over the edge of the cup, "she said no. each time. you know what they call a guy who can't take a hint? she thinks i'm a loser!"

"and are you?"

gojo narrows his eyes, "am i what?"

"a loser."

"is it easier for me if i just say yes?" gojo half-heartedly gripes, "is that what you want me to say?"

"or," suguru says calmly, "you're a guy who hasn't proven he's worth saying yes to."

gojo groans, tipping his head back so he can block out the vision of his irritatingly wise best friend, "you sound like my grandmother."

"that's not even an insult. your grandmother is on some metal shit," suguru counters, unbothered, "and you sound like a twelve-year old. you can't flirt and sleaze your way through this. if you want her to take you seriously, i don't know how else to say this, you have to stop being...you."

"excuse me?"

"no. stop, don't make that face," suguru scowls, "you know what i mean. stop being a stupid flirt, and be a genuinely better person. otherwise, you're just spinning and burning out your wheels."

"did you pick up a self help book?"

suguru elbows him, sneering, "i'm trying to help you. if you don't want my help, i'm telling her you have an std."

"maybe you should just do that. end my misery," gojo downs the rest of his drink in one go, the burn of cheap beer doing nothing to ease the olympics in his alimentary canal. what's worse is that suguru is right, the bastard always is.

suguru claps him on the shoulder, "relax, satoru. you've got charm in spades. just use it...wisely."

"yeah, yeah. thanks, man," gojo mutters, brushing him off as suguru wanders away, probably to mediate some dumb argument between that big oaf, toji fushiguro and the even bigger oaf, ryomen sukuna. honestly, why were they even invited?

but gojo stays where he is, eyes flicking back to you. away from the distracting curve of your thighs in that skirt, and rather on how interested you look in naoya's stupid, animated gestures. and you look so at ease, but there's something hot and sharp twisting inside his gut.

suguru's soft, measured voice echoes in his head, "prove yourself as a person first."

oh, yeah. gojo could do that. he would absolutely do that. for you, he'd do just about anything, short of donating his vital organs (but he would definitely be considering it). but how hard could it be to be better? more mature? more grounded?

gojo satoru can handle all that. all he had to do was be a dignified, charming man. you know, someone who puts his best foot forward into the world. someone that you might actually consider taking seriously. someone calm and respectful.

if you were happy with naoya zenin, then who was he to interfere? who was he to ruin that for you? even if the guy looked like wile e. coyote when he smiled. even if naoya zenin was the most smug bastard to walk the earth.

gojo scowled at nothing in particular. but the point was that it wasn't his place to meddle. not if it meant risking your happiness. all he could do was be the best version of himself. polite, kind and above reproach. a good and respectful friend.

ACT VI. a shot of love, on the rocks.

"please, i want you so fuckin' bad."

gojo satoru is on his knees. at a party, in the middle of the living room. for you.

you feel like your mind isn't able to process all this fast enough, like your brain is on some pause. the music is still thumping in your head, but not as fast as your poor cardiac muscles as you're rendered frozen from pathetic, piercing blue eyes blinking up at you.

"please," gojo satoru repeats, and his voice vaguely warbles out like he's kinda lost his marbles and —

let's rewind.

five minutes ago, you had been standing with naoya zenin. and despite your initial reservations, you had been entertained. he's sorta witty, and definitely loaded with snarky remarks that cut through the noise of the party. it's hard not to laugh at his biting commentary, although half the time he's skewering people for fun, and the other half? just out of pure spite.

his golden eyes gleam with that edge, the kind of sharpness that makes you think of a hyena circling around its next meal. naoya is definitely full of himself, but it doesn't help that he's also ridiculously good-looking. and he knows how stunning he is, but its bothering him that you're not showering him in enough compliments for it.

still, he's here with you. he's your date. and you're doing your best to remind yourself of that. naoya is the only option you have at the moment, and he's definitely offering you more attention than anyone else tonight.

from across the room, utahime gives you an exaggerated, pained thumbs-up — while shoko shrugs in her usual blithe manner, but she gestures for you to smile more. you plaster on a wider grin, a little too obvious but naoya doesn't seem to notice.

"you know, if you're getting bored of all this, we could always find another room," naoya's low hiss slices right through the bass-thrum of the pulsing room, "do a little more than just talk."

for a moment, it's easy to imagine slipping away with him. but the sharpness in his killer-smile makes something in you bristle, like he's already envisioned you saying 'oh yes, naoya! please take me to bed!' and you shake your head, and give him an amused look.

"maybe later," you say lightly, "not now."

naoya zenin doesn't seem quite offended, but his smile grows wider as he stands up straight again, from where he had curved his tall frame into you, "i'm a patient man. fine by me, 'm gonna get some more drinks."

and you watch as his golden head of hair disappears into the crowd, leaving you all alone while the music blares around you, like a suffocating fog. you rub your temples, wondering if you should just go after naoya and tell him to go to town, something for the night's enjoyment. but before you can go any further, you hear a shout cut through the noise.

"hey!"

you whip around, blinking in surprise at gojo satoru.

but also not quite the gojo that you're used to. the one that you grew up with, and held hands with in kindergarten, one who smiled easy and laughed too loud. it seems he's ditched the oversized hoodies and varsity jackets tonight, opting for a black tee that fits him a little too well and dark cargo pants that only highlight...

you're getting distracted. but it's hard to remain focused, when he's walking towards with you. seemingly determined, as his white hair falls forward over thunderstorm-eyes. for a moment, you're not sure if you’re hearing him over the pounding music, or if it's just your own pulse making everything seem louder.

"i hate that you're here with naoya," gojo says suddenly, and his voice is low and serious, something that you've never really heard from him before.

your brow furrows, "what?"

"i lied about the dates," he continues, as words just jumble out his candy-pink mouth, "i don't have a bunch of dates. fuck, i don't even have one date. i only want to date you."

you blink, and then you blink once more, because again what?

the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you think you might have misheard the man. his blue eyes are wide and earnest, and they're staring right at you.

and before you know, he's on his knees. muscular thighs bending so his knees hit the cool tiles with a heavy thud, hands splayed out for you.

"please," he implores, "you gotta understand. i need you to feel what i feel, because it's not even a passin' thought, i swear. it's not even a stupid crush. this is like —" and he's gesturing wildly with one hand, still kneeling like a knight about to beg for his lady's favour, "this is destiny."

"gojo," you manage, "are you on drugs?"

the white-haired man, bless his sassy heart, rolls his eyes, "no. i'm on beer and vodka. will you please let me finish?"

"yes, but what are you doing?" you hiss, exasperated and sibilant, as more eyes turn to the most ravishing man on campus, who's absolutely off his rocker. and there are phones being pulled out, god help you.

"what am i doing?" gojo smiles, and it's unnervingly wide, "i'm like laying it out all here for you. my love. because that's what you are, to me. like you're everything. and i swear everyone knows this already. should i call you my sun, my moon, my entire universe? it's like time stops when i see you, a-and trust me, i do physics. i know time shit," and he must have caught at how your mouth is flapping open because he suddenly wags a finger, "no! i'm not done. i haven't even told you how the world fades, and all that's left is you glowing. like a star that i can't reach."

he's placing a hand on his broad chest, digging into the tight top clinging to his pectorals, like he's being dramatically wounded, "i have to reach you. i have to be with you."

you're not sure what parts you've processed, or what part of this slow train-wreck has settled in your head, "are you, like, actually begging right now?"

gojo's eyes flash with the intensity of a thousand suns (well, fuck — gojo's awful poeticism is rubbing off on you already). you can hear the low snickers of two men that had been beating the living daylights out of each other half an hour ago, those fuckwits that go by toji and sukuna. you can hear sukuna's deep mutters about how no-one ever would like toji enough to do this for him. and yep, you can hear them scuffle again.

"yes!" gojo booms, and more than a few heads have turned now. you wonder if naoya zenin is watching in the background, and realising that this isn't a battle he wants to pick, "i will kneel for you. like i'd do this shit for eternity, even if my knees hurt so bad right now. but as long as you give me a chance to prove my worth. and my devotion, d-don't forget that! deep as the ocean, endless and vast. and the stars align...oh, how they align for us."

"ah, satoru," you cut in, and you realise that you're now smiling. embarrassment and mild humiliation be damned, there's a quirk tugging at your lips, "you can get up now. this is a bit dramatic."

gojo blinks, not missing a beat, "i'm dramatic because i'm in love, okay? and —" he swivels his head to the crowd, grumbling, "shut up, sukuna! i heard that, i'll beat your wonky ass. you don' know shit about love."

he's turning back to you, all sticky and soothing sugar once more, "where was i? eh, my confession. well, it's all for you. and it's me, givin' you every part of me. beggin' you to see that you're the only one who can break the walls around my heart."

you think that you've completed a full speed-run on every stage of grief that there is to experience, and if the small plink! coming from someone's phone is any indication, gojo's monologue has already made it's way onto someone's private story. and so naturally, everyone will have seen it by tomorrow.

"can you get off your knees? you look ridiculous."

gojo's grin falters for a split second before he straights up, all with a hefty groan as he runs a hand through snowy strands, "ridiculous? i'm being vulnerable as hell, and you think i look stupid?"

"a little," you admit, but you're reaching a hand out to push a strand of thick hair out of his eyes. and it's maddening at how gojo seems to tremble mildly under your touch, at the brush of your fingers against his temple, "kneeling at a frat party is crazy work."

gojo sinks his teeth into a plush lower lip, "that was me trying to show how much i care, and all that sweet shit. you make me lose all my cool, and this isn't even a joke."

"you never had cool, and now you've lost your dignity too," but you're blushing, and it's a giddy feeling at how he's now close enough that you can feel his body heat.

gojo satoru's eyes twinkle, "maybe. but i'd do all that again if it won you over."

"with your future oscar nomination?"

the man shrugs, broad muscles rippling, "he who be a fool for love is far better than he who doth never dare to try at all."

"fair point," you murmur, feeling dizzy in that familiar scent of lemon candies and mint, like the world is swirling around in a heady haze, "do you wanna kiss me to seal the deal?"

"yes please. i think i'm gonna pass out and — mmph!"

you've pulled yourself up, and thrown your arms around his warm neck, drawing gojo into you. crashing your lips into his before either of you can say anything else. it's an urgent, reckless kiss. like a dam has burst and all the pent-up emotions that you've been carrying have finally exploded.

gojo's lips are soft, but demanding, taking more and more air from you. they fit against you with an ease that feels almost too natural. and his broad arms come around your waist with a force that leaves the air punched out of you. he's holding you tightly, as though he's afraid that you'll just disappear if he doesn't keep you close enough.

you can feel the heat of his body against yours, the muscles in his arms that flex as he pulls you in, deepening the kiss. all while his mouth moves against yours with a slow and deliberate intensity, as his tongue parts your lips. all so messy.

when gojo finally pulls away, the last brush of his lips catches your quiet whimper. just as his breath goes ragged, and you're left standing there, dazed, with your forehead resting against his. you can still feel the warmth of his lips on yours, that electricity that's crackling and buzzing through your veins as you giggle.

gojo, however, doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. he tugs your wrist with a sharp, swift motion. but his grip is firm, not harsh as you pulls you away from the living room, "c'mon. let's get outta here."

shoko's eyes are wide, her jaw practically locked in disbelief, "what the hell just happened?"

utahime's lips curl, "someone took gojo's brain out and replaced it with a clone. ah! geto, what did you do?"

suguru has been standing near the kitchen counter, absolutely floored, and he's shaking his head so hard that he feels a headache forming, "hand on my heart, ladies. i told him not to pull any stunts. swear on destiny's child that i didn't tell him to do all that."

ACT VII. i bet we'd have really good bed chem!

gojo satoru has absolutely lost his mind. but you wish that he had lost it a bit earlier, because you're practically pawing at his top now. critically working to make quick work of the tight fabric, letting your fingers run over hard planes of muscles and lower.

right until you're reaching a trail of soft white hairs that disappear into the band of his pants.

"seems like you're just as desparate as me, hah," gojo snickers, and his broad hand is trailing further up your thighs, letting your skirt bunch and crinkle under his ministrations. thick fingers brush over dewy cotton, and you moan.

"s-satoru!"

"you don't even know how long i've w-wanted this," and his hand clenches at the fabric, gripping it so tightly that you fear it may just be on the verge of tearing, but you can only buck your hips into him further.

no longer even mindful of how you must be already dripping onto the palm of his hand, "and i thought you knew. i r-really thought you knew how much i wanted you."

his middle finger is gliding through your damp and searing slit, with clinging strands latching onto his skin as you muffle a whine into his chasing, teasing lips.

it's sending deep, low curls of arousal in thick waves, settling low in your groin and you don't even care what room of the house you're now in, someone's bedroom with a dark, stylish bedspread and vinyls up on the walls.

the force of his large hands drives you down onto the bed, pressing your back onto the soft mattress.

and gojo looks so pleased, at how you're splayed and sprawled out underneath his torso, his hands tugging at your now bare thighs to spread your legs even further. pulling them far enough so they come to rest on either side of his face.

"fuck, she's so pretty. even better than i imagined," and gojo's voice is husky and low, almost strained, "and believe me. imagined her plenty." the sound of drenched cotton being torn rips through the air, slippery and resistant from your arousal.

it's even stubborn as the fabric refuses to budge, until it gives way under the force of gojo's tug, soft and tearing. leaving your pussy open to the cool, cold air. bare for gojo's eyes to rest upon and widen.

his lips brush against your thigh with an uncharacteristic gentleness, one that makes your entrance clench and wink.

but gojo is nothing if not teasing, and he feels light-headed. pressing featherlight kisses to the crevice of your thigh, and then closer to your aching mound. but even he cannot hold off for much longer, and he's pressing a flat, lazy print of his tongue against your cunt.

that first munch sends a burst of tangy sweetness dancing across gojo's tongue, and he thinks he might just bust a load right then and there. the heat of your clenching cunt is almost overwhelming, but hey.

gojo's never been a quitter, and he doesn't care if he creams his pants at this very moment, he needs to hear that sweet whimper of his name from your lips again.

his lips part, blowing a quick breath on your aching clit, right as his fingers begin to press and meld into your syrupy folds. it's got you practically jumping further into him, so wet strands are clinging to the very tip of his nose. and gojo knows that this is heaven. that he's unlocked true paradise.

"satoru, c-can't you...?"

he's too busy running his tongue over your clit, drawing small circles with the very tip of the hot muscle, "can't i what, pretty? don' want me eating you out?"

and you are so adorable, pushing your head up to scowl down at him with furrowed brows, but the flush in your cheeks paints you the most beautiful shade of cherry red. and gojo vows to spend the rest of his life ensuring that this shade never leaves your cheeks.

"can't you get to the eating part? thought that you were gonna — f-fuck! hnngh, 'toru!"

he's pulling your thighs tighter around his head, and he doesn't give a fuck if this is how he goes. suffocated in this tantalising heat, with your fingers lacing themselves into woven patterns in his white hair.

he's lowering his tongue once more into your throbbing pussy, making sure that his pleased vibrations send pleasurable rumbles right through your core.

grinning and slurring his tongue further into you, right as you buck desparate hips over and over. dragging yourself against his chin, so he's sure that the lower half of his face must be glistening with your sweetness.

gojo absolutely thinks he can get used to being like this, at having you angle and force his head further into your cunt. letting you angle and toy at him and use him for your pleasure. he snaps his teeth around glossy strands of arousal, once and then twice, before delving back in.

making sure that his spare hand finds your clit to draw quick flicks and shapes over it, pushing a finger right up against the throbbing hood.

"satoru, ah, satoru! 'toru!" it's all you can even manage right now, just chants and groans of his names, as he's practically sunken your hips into the mattress, while he's on his knees for the second time this night.

"hey, none of that, yeah?" and gojo's gently tugging at your arm. trying to get you to stop muffling your whimpers and cries, because he just needs to hear your adorable sounds. and he needs to hear your bird-like cries when you come undone.

what a joy it is for gojo. to be able to dive between your legs and run his tongue between your folds. he's losing his mind at how your body trembles under his touch, and how he makes the mistake of peering up at you. your lips are parted, open and glossy. and your brows are furrowed, as lashes flutter against your cheek. you have to cum, gojo satoru needs you to cum right now.

and so, he exerts all his effort ten fold into having you finish. it's so sloppy, and so messy. gojo lets his own eyes dip shut, letting himself feel your glossy, glistening cunt pulse around his tongue. and let there be no doubt that gojo satoru is a munch, for he's eating you out in such an ardent manner, and it basically sends you barrelling towards a heart-stopping orgasm, where tears spring to the corners of your eyes.

you needn't have even tried to warn him of your impending climax, for gojo knows in the way that your legs quiver and get sloppier over his face. stars fall over your vision as you heave and toss your head back, muscles rippling as "satoru, satoru!" falls from your lips, long and drawn out as the rest of the world goes dark around you.

you gasp, struggling to inhale as the syrupy air is stolen from your lungs, all while gojo runs his tongue through your folds, head spinning with the dizzying rush of sensation. it's as if you've been swept away, hurtling towards space, weightless and disorientated.

only to crash back into reality as gojo seemingly hasn't stopped letting himself taste all of you, with not a drop of arousal wasted. your back is further pressed into the soft mattress beneath you, and the surge of overstimulated numbness follows, all pleasurable pins and needles and ferocious need.

"look at that, 'm already addicted," gojo coos, almost to himself, scooping a finger through the translucent gloss that leaks from your cunt. bringing it up to his mouth to wrap his tongue around, "think you can handle giving me another one?"

you let out a weak, breathless laugh. your gaze lingering on gojo's face, the soft moonlight that casts an ethereal glow on his features. his chin still faintly gleams, coated in your mirror-sheen and his lips are a plump, rosy red. you part your lips, propping yourself onto your elbows, but before you can form the words, the door slams open with a force that makes your ears rattle.

"i've looked in every fuckin' room in this house, and i swear to everything holy, satoru. if you chose my bedroom, i'm gonna —"

geto suguru's voice cuts off mid-rant, his words dissolving into a strangled, pained gasp as he takes in the sight before him. gojo, kneeling between your legs, wearing a ridiculously pleased grin. just like the cat who got the cream. you let out a squeak, hastily tugging your skirt over you, but it's hard to look innocent when gojo is still unabashedly pawing at your thighs.

geto pales, his jaw going slack, and he looks like he's about to collapse, "god help me. satoru, i'll kill you tomorrow," and then he shoots you both a nasty look, "and you're both paying for new sheets."

"so you and gojo are...dating now?" choso pries, with a tone that is entirely too casual but his eyes are keen. your twin is nursing a cup of coffee while he absolutely demolishes a plate of fried eggs. he had been quiet so far, but it's clear that curiosity gave out and now he's peering at you like a big owl.

you try, or do your very best not to smile too hard. to not look giddy and ridiculously pleased, "yeah, i guess we are," you admit, keeping your voice as level as possible.

choso blinks once, before setting his fork down and shaking his head, "i knew it. it was only a matter of time," he mutters, and without further ado, he resumes shovelling eggs into his mouth, utterly unfazed.

before you can respond, sukuna appears in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, his tattooed arms crossed and his expression dripping with disdainful amusement, "oh, i was there," he drawls, sharp fangs flashing in a wicked grin, "that loser pulled the dumbest, most dramatic stunt of all time. got on his knees and everything."

choso freezes mid-chew, raising a thick brow as he glances at the older man with mild interest, "wish i'd seen that," he mumbles through a mouthful of toast.

to your utter astonishment, sukuna nods gravely, his face taking on an uncharacteristically serious look, "yeah. i've got a video if you wanna watch."

your jaw drops as you glance between them, "this is officially the first time that i've ever seen you two agree on anything," setting your mug down with a thud, "if i had known that dating gojo would bring about world peace, i would have done it ages ago and —"

yuuji bounds into the kitchen like an overeager puppy, his blush-pink hair still a mess from interrupted sleep. but he's clapping his hands together like he's just won the lottery, "finally! look at that! everyone's getting along for once."

sukuna doesn't even bother to hide his irritation, shooting yuuji a withering glare. but it's hard to take him seriously when his own pink hair rivals yuuji's in sheer disarray, "don't push it," sukuna warns darkly, grabbing a glass of orange juice and downing it in one morose gulp. he slams the empty, cold glass on the counter before stalking off towards the door, "i'm seriously gonna move out at this rate."

"promise?" choso quips, without missing a bit, "wish you'd stop getting our hopes up and actually do it."

yuuji is undeterred, and he elbows you with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, "you have to invite gojo over all the time now. i like him a lot. he's like super cool."

"of course," you grin, sliding a plate towards him as he eagerly digs in.

and your younger brother beams like the sun itself. right as a mocking, high-pitched voice floats from the other room, "and then we're all gonna be lovesick, and skip around town while holding hands!" right before falling back into sukuna's usual gruff tone that echoes through the kitchen, "god, you're all so insufferable."

your phone buzzes on the table, and you glance down. gojo's contact photo lights up the screen. it's a snapshot from a year or two ago, taken the summer that you both graduated high school. he's standing at the edge of the beach, with the sun dipping low enough behind to catch his white hair. turning it into a halo of glowing light. it's a photo that you never had the heart to change.

satoru 🪐

good morning princess!! my one and only!!!! my sugar plum (too much? i can tone it down but you just can't put a lid on love) hope you dreamed of me 🙂‍↔️ so what are you doing today because i've got abt eight possible things we can cover today starting with [read more.]

"ugh, gross."

sukuna's disdainful drawl cuts through behind you, as an icy finger prods at your phone, trying to scroll up and snoop through your messages. you freeze and slam your phone down on the table. whirling around to come face to face with the world's most judgemental gargoyle sneers at you, "i think i'm gonna throw up."

"get a life, holy fuck."

[lyvhie]

a new experience | lee mark & park jisung

park jisung x fem!reader x mark lee (18+ mdni) ꒰ summary ꒱ you can take both (not in a fight). ꒰ a/n ꒱ can you tell i saw them doing the sticky challenge? ꒰ cw ꒱ smut, threesome, face-fucking, deep throat, unprotected sex, creampie, pet name, nothing crazy, i'm still sane and lazy!

“fuck, mark, she's so tight,” jisung groaned, his voice low and strained as he pushed into your wet pussy. his head fell back, exposing his throat as his adam's apple moved with a hard swallow.

“told you she was something else,” mark’s murmured, his voice thick with pleasure as he watched his cock disappear into your mouth, your throat tightening around him so perfectly it made his breath hitch.

jisung's fingers dug into your hips as he felt your pussy grip him like vice, as if you had no intentions to let him go after he sank deep inside you.

“such a dirty girl," mark purred, his hand pinching your hard nipples just a bit too harshly, your muffled moans vibrating around his cock buried deep in your mouth. "you love having your holes filled like that, don't you?"

jisung's soft moans filled the room as he began to move, his hips rolling slowly before slamming into you with force, making you gag around mark's cock.

you didn't even know whether to focus on the feeling of jisung stretching you out, abusing your cunt as if it was the best thing in the world, or the way mark's tip repeatedly hit the back of your throat, his hand caressing your chin affectionately. both sensations were slowly unraveling the familiar knot in your stomach.

"fuck, i think she's gonna cum," jisung groaned as he felt your walls tightening around him.

"what? already, baby?" mark teased, actually surprised at how quickly you were approaching your climax.

you couldn't help but feel embarrassed—barely anything had happened, and you were already falling apart. it was all so overwhelming.

jisung's hand moved to the back of your thigh, lifting one leg over his shoulder and changing the angle, driving even deeper as his tip brushed against your cervix.

mark face-fucking you while jisung fucked your pussy in sync was the perfect combination to push you over the edge and before you could even notice, you came.

jisung pulled away just in time to see your sticky fluid coating his dick, your hands gripping mark's thighs as you struggled to process the intensity of your orgasm.

you thought you'd at least get a moment to catch your breath, but jisung was quick to slam back into you. "god, i could fuck this tight pussy forever," he groaned, his hips driving into you even as your orgasm still trembled through your body.

mark didn't stop either, thrusting into your mouth relentlessly, making sure you'd be left hoarse by the time he was done. both of them were now chasing their own release, and it was close. just a few more thrusts, and mark's cum was spilling down your throat, his dick so deep your lips were pressed tight around the base of his shaft.

“that's it, baby, swallow it all," mark purred, his thumb gently stroking your neck. meanwhile, jisung was on the edge, his thrusts turning sloppy as his climax built.

"where do you want me to cum?" he managed to ask, his voice strained. mark pulled his cock out of your mouth, leaving you gasping for air.

"inside," your hoarse voice barely rasped, carrying just enough strength for them to hear. mark felt a swell of pride at the sound, knowing he'd fucked you thoroughly, while jisung nearly lost himself at your words, his body trembling with anticipation

it was all he needed to push him over the edge. he came hard, filling your womb with thick, hot ropes of cum, his loud moan rumbling from deep in his throat. your exhausted vocal cords could only manage a soft whimper as he thrust a few more times before pulling out, his load already spilling from your swollen cunt. with a low groan, jisung used his hand to spread your pussy lips, admiring the sight of his release dripping out of you.

you were panting, your chest rising and falling rapidly, feeling like you'd just run a marathon. you barely registered the way mark shifted on the bed, pulling you over him. your head rested on his chest as his hands cupped your ass, lifting your hips just enough for the tip of his cock to brush against your sticky, wet pussy.

"mark, please," you whimpered, a quiet plea for mercy.

"aw, baby, it's my turn now," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “besides, jisung still isn't satisfied," he added with a smirk.

turning your head, you saw jisung moving into position behind you, his gaze hungry, just as mark, his cock hard rock once again.

“oh god.”

↝ taglist: @yizhrt, @sinisxtea, @peterm4rker

[seichv]

˖ ࣪⭑ CERTIFIED FREAK !

☆ sum: sunday, gallagher, aventurine, and sampo's kinks.

contents: nsfw (MDNI!!!), f!reader, bdsm, dacryphilia, exhibitionsim, orgasm denial, slight degradation, praise, p in v, fingering, creampie, squirting, daddy kink (gallagher) sampo is subby and whiny, choking, just... freak shit hehe ;)

note: writing slump: 0 ellie: 1 ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

SUNDAY - BDSM

yeah, he can indeed fool someone with those angelic looks, can’t he? he can easily deceive with them. giving you the impression that you could get away with just about anything under his watch, huh? you were simply wrong. little did you know the things he was capable of.

who would’ve thought you’d find yourself tied up, bound, hands clasped together by ropes, ankles tied to the ends of the bed, with sunday looming over you like a tantalizing, impending, dooming shadow, his sharp gaze like daggers, like frosty ice, boring into you, boring deep. 

“should i have brought a gag along with me too, darling?” he teases, inching his face closer and closer to you as your pussy pulsates with a brutal need, drenched in your arousal. he can practically smell it on you. smell your surrender, your submission. 

and oh, how beautiful the sight of your naked form is… trembling, goosebumps tickling your skin. it’s purely art to him. a masterpiece. and it's all for him and him only.

you vigorously shake your head in response, watching him slowly stroke his cock as he aligned it just barely at your weeping entrance, and you impetuously rut your hips up, desiring friction, attention, any sort of contact, as you writhed in agonizing desperation, deprivation. "n-no, please… please, fuck me…”

he hums at the sound of your frail voice, a smile spreading along his face. "such a pretty mouth uttering such filthy words… hm,”

and before you can say anything else, you suck in a deep gasp, the intrusion of his length taking you out in one go. he buries himself to the hilt in one thrust, and slowly, tormentingly begins rolling his hips, watching your expression like a hawk the entire time. he can’t help but hiss, your spongey, melting walls encasing him, sheer blankets of your slippery slick smearing along his cock. this couldn’t be mere pleasure anymore, this was euphoria.

and he’s already lost his sanity,

“o-oh, yes, yes,” you gasp, the thump of your heart skyrocketing in speed, as his pelvis starts smacking into yours faster… and harder… the woody material of the bed frame beneath you creaking, and ramming into the walls. you simply can’t understand how he can possibly feel so good. reaching places inside you you never knew you could feel, as if he were attempting to merge the two you into one.

"i want you to tell me,” sunday whispers breathily, glacially, almost like an eerie rustle of wind, like a whoosh of arctic air blowing right through every inch of your weakened, restrained body. he reaches out, takes your jaw in his slender hand, his penetrating stare not moving an inch from your beady eyes. “how good does it feel, darling?”

your vocal cords are giving up on you, being pulled at with every labored mewl and sob running off from your quivering lips. you can barely form a response, a creeping warmth scratching at your skull, making you feel dumbified. “s-so good! c-can’t… last long…”

and neither can sunday, not with how pretty you look, not with how the sweet, harmonic melody of your sounds makes the ache in his cock escalate overwhelmingly. all the sensations are getting sharper, more vivid, his pulse syncing with his rapid panting.

"cum with me,” he permitted, his tone close to urgent, almost like a plead. “let go for me. together.”

and it all happens quick. sunday grabs onto your waist, tightly as if for leverage or grounding, his eyes going wide as he’s met with his climax, his cock twitching inside your cunt before dumping his load inside, strained groans breaking out his throat as you gush all over him simultaneously.

yeah, he’s addicted. addicted to basking in the blissful pleasure of your body, basking in it with you.

GALLAGHER - EXHIBITIONISM

oh, the things you do to him.

he’s on a shift. but you, being the damn minx that you are, decided to prance on into the drink lounge with your pretty ass, giving him that look, seductively licking the rim of sugar that coated the top of your glass, while looking him dead in the eye.

you little tease,

would it be shocking for you to end up pressed up on the wall in the employee room, that gratuitously short skirt (that you very much wore on purpose) hiked up around your waist, with his thick cock drilling into you? he shouldn’t even be indulging in this, since you’re such a brat. you shouldn’t be getting what you wanted. but he can’t fucking resist, not when you play with him like that.

"showing up to the lounge, teasin’ me like a little slut, huh? while i’m working?” he snarls, his deep, gruff voice snaking up from behind you and right into your ear, making your knees give out. gallagher peers down, before lightly pushing at your ankle with his boot, urging you to spread those pretty little legs wider for him, his hands grabbing at your bubble ass, fondling and spreading the globe-y flesh. he wants a nicer view of that pussy swallowing him whole.

and god, it’s like a fucking glove. a sleeve,

your pussy is crying for him, hugging him, holding on like you can’t bear the thought of letting him go. you’re coating him in that creamy, syrupy slick, and every stroke has the static in your mind playing more and more frenzied. and he’s just so big, that thick head of his cock bullying your cervix with every sloppy, rough smack of his hips against that ass… fuck.

"hngh— n-needed you… so bad…” you’d whimper, choking on every whiny noise that you try to suppress, as you’re still trying to keep in mind that you are indeed in public. not that you’d admit that it turns you on more. you can’t help yourself. not when you’ve got him on your mind all day, his musky scent that engulfs your senses in flames, his perfect body… those muscles that you’re always ogling at.

oh, and speaking of muscles— your eyes suddenly roll right back into your skull the moment his beefy, rock-hard bicep curls around your throat, manhandling you in a chokehold, pulling your head back and making you arch against him, his dazy gaze right up in your fucked-out face, and he chortles. 

"yeah, didn’t you? can’t go a little while without some dick, huh?” gallagher practically growls, his teeth gritting hard with his jaw taut and set in a firm clench. if anyone could get a glance of his expression right now, they’d think he fucking hates your guts, like he’s fuming. with the way his sleeves are pushed up his arms, the veins in his forearm are visible, throbbing and bulging just like the veins of his cock inside you, the veins that your pussy can map out perfectly,

"w-with no haah— panties underneath this fucking shit,” gallagher groans, before his free hand lands a sharp smack to your ass, leaving behind a delicious sting. he’s not even surprised that you like that shit. like the naughty, cock-hungry whore you were. 

“daddyyy…” you whine, your tongue lolling out dumbly as you went limp, every part of you going numb except your pussy, throbbing and aching harder and harder the more he plowed into you with ruining force, as if he was trying to make you crumble apart entirely.

”gonna cum for daddy, huh?” gallagher huffs, his tone of voice nearly mocking. “yeah… how ‘bout you shut the fuck up and take it? k-keep milking my shit dry f’me… f-fuck.’

and that’s when it hits, your orgasm. it’s like a freight train, like a harsh blow, knocking you out in a blink of an eye. there was no way you could hold it anymore, not with the authority in his voice combined with his unmatched fervor and strength—

it’s splattering, your juices squirting out your pussy like a fountain, your mouth agape as your nails claw at his arm that stayed put around your throat. gallagher groans out loud at the sight, his own eyes rolling back as a rushed, ‘fuck, fuck,’ rasps out his strained throat. thick, hot streams of his seed plugs your wet heat up to the very brim, and he stays there, panting hard with you pressed against him.

"f-fuck, sweetheart. made a goddamn mess—"

"gallagher?! whaddya’ doin’ in there, man? you disappear on me, or what?” aaand there’s siobhan… fuck.

you can only glance back at gallagher with a cheeky little giggle. hehe… whoops.

AVENTURINE - DACRYPHILIA

“don't you take those eyes off of me.” aventurine coos, his gaze flickering back and forth from your pussy, then back towards your face. he’s got you prettily sprawled out on the bed, two of his slender fingers pistoning inside your drooling cunt, curling at just the right angle, reaching nice and deep. his vigor is just relentless, you’re desperately trying to clamp your legs together, your face shying away as your eyes squint and your eyebrows curl inward, a squeal escaping from your throat.

“oh, i don’t think so,” aventurine grunts, his free hand roughly spreading your legs back open, his forearm shoving against the back of your thighs so that they stay pushed back. “you are not running from me, darling. take it like a good girl, won't you?” he purrs, and you gasp, dragging out a hoarse whine as he picks up the pace, the wet sloshes that your cunt produces getting progressively louder. even flecks of your juices were flying out with every thrust of his hand at this point, and fuck, was it lewd…

“gonna cum—!” you’d croak out, warm tears flooding your vision and pooling up along the waterline of your eyes as you’re unable to sit still, creaks and rustling ringing out from the bed as you desperately attempt to thrash around, despite aventurine holding you in place. that familiar tingle in your lower tummy was brewing up, and quick.

and oh, were those tears he saw?

the ache and the strain in his pants only hardens at the sight, serving to drive him even crazier. he can’t help it. you look so helpless, so vulnerable, yet so needy, so desperate. and it’s all because of him…  fuck. makes him wanna devour you whole, like he’s lost every train of thought, every bit of composure…

“my, oh my,” he snickers, shaking his head incredulously as he keeps his gaze glued to you, his violet orbs bordering a feral look to them. he loves seeing those crystal streams trickling down those cheeks that are prominently coated in a deep, rosy flush of color. you look like a doll.

his doll,

and he can tell when his doll is close. that adorable look on your face gives it away, eyes wide, gazing up at him, your mouth dangling open, hands grasping at the sheets for dear life. “gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his tone low, almost taunting, so velvety, so smooth, it's practically spine-chilling, and that alone makes your walls clench around his digits once more. as if you hadn’t done that enough already.

"y-yes, gonna— fuck!” you’re cut off as aventurine’s thumb meets your clit, rubbing the swollen nub with skilled precision, causing your pleasure to soar up to insanely imposing heights. its as if he’s trying to coax your pussy into orgasm, trying to lure you into cumming. and fuck, is he doing a good job at it. a good job is an understatement. his hands... it’s like they could cast a damn spell on your pussy,

“cum, pretty. make a mess all over my fingers. go on,” he urges, the smirk on his face flashing brighter as one last whimper rips out from your throat, until you’re squirting all over his hand, and his mouth drops open, his pupils blowing and darkening.

"oh, yess,” he groans, eager to milk every last drop out of your pretty pussy, continuing to finger fuck you through your high, elongating it, even as you’re a shaking mess, trying to pry away from him. 

“mhmm, would you look at that,” he huskily purrs, sliding his creamy, sticky fingers out your pussy with a squelch, licking them clean with a smirk, before your pussy throbs at the contact of his hand meeting it in a mean slap, spanking your pussy and sending a jolt through your body. 

"made my pretty girl cry from both her eyes, and her pussy, hm? poor thing…”

SAMPO - ORGASM DENIAL

sampo is a mouthy one, there’s no doubt about that. roguish, cocky, cheeky. you can't help but feel this itching urge to shut him up. to put him in his place.

hence why you’ve got him in between your legs, his back to your chest, one of your hands pumping his cock while the other is over his mouth, muffling his needy moans.

he’s bucking his hips up as you stroke his cock, fucking up into your hand, his eyes rolled back,

”ohh, baby,” you coo with a sly grin, your warm breath fanning against the shell of his ear before you give it a small nibble. “don’t tell me you wanna cum already, hm? its too early for that, silly boy.”

you lift your hand off of his mouth, only to gently wrap it around his throat, and he lets out a hoarse whimper, shaking his head. “n-no… w-won't cum yet… won’t cum…” he whines, and it practically pains him to say that, as he’s just dying to cum, his angry tip flushed bright red, his balls heavy and aching, desperate for release.

"good boy. you just sit still and take it.” you giggle, your words alone making him even needier by tenfold, his legs shaking, his hands grasping at your legs like lifelines. 

you’re pumping harder now, schlick after schlick, sticky and creamy, his arousal making a mess out of your hand.

he throws his head back against your shoulder with a loud moan, his hips bucking more frantically before you land a soft spank to his balls, earning a sound from his throat that almost sounded close to a shriek. 

“didn’t i just tell you to sit still?” you resume your quick, rough stroking as sampo has to hold back from literally throwing himself around, his consciousness practically out the window at this point. “you were doing so good f’me, sampo. what happened? don’t you wanna cum?”

"yes!” he’s quick to respond, burying his face in your neck as he sniffles, shaking hard like a leaf. “y-yes, please… ‘m sorry, so sorry… w-wanna cum so bad—!” he whines, hearing that buzzing begin to ring in his ears, his vision a bright white light. his limits are being pushed and pushed and pushed, about to burst like a balloon. its too much for him.

"p-please… can i cum for you? n-need to cum for you…” he whimpers, lifting his face to look into your eyes with a pleading, almost teary gaze. his cock is solid, and he needs this release so bad it’s close to paining him. “s-so much… i have s-so much for you…”

"mm, wanna make a mess all over me, don’t you? all for me,” you giggle, pumping especially harder at the tip, making the twitch in his thighs quicken.

"go on, then. cum for me. let me see how bad you need to,” pfft. you didn’t need to tell him twice. like jets, his cum splurts out, shooting straight up and all over your hand as he’s whimpering— whimpering fucking loud. his jaw falls slack, fat beads of sweat running down his temples, his eyes going straight back into his head yet again as he thrashes back against you. you gasp, chuckling softly as you keep your gaze glued to his twitching cock, leaning in to gently pepper kisses along his neck, making him shiver harder. 

”oh, lookkk at that,” you purr, your hand that was around his throat sliding up to brush his hair away from his face. “there you go, easy, baby,” you whisper, and he chuckles breathily, whimpering small little, ‘thank you’s’ before his eyes flicker back open and fall upon your tongue licking his cum off your hand.

yeah. that’ll do it for him. now he’s definitely gonna slurp your pussy off the bone.

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

My TV (Working Title) (Tenna x Reader) Chapter 1

I knooooooooooowwwwwwwwww I really shouldn't start another fanfic but uhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....ummmmmmmmm......teebeeman cute TwT

I do plan on continuing this but we'll see what LIFE has planned for ME. Secret of the Mimic comes out Friday and I'm sure that'll launch at least 2 new fics for me because I have no impulse control, and I plan on ArtFight in July sooooo don't be surprised if this isn't updated til August. (It'll be on ao3 once it is tho)

Word count: ~4600

Your task: Find a TV. An old one. CRT, ideally. The bigger, the bulkier, the better. Doesn’t need to work, just needs to be big.

Big enough to explode dramatically when hit with a sledgehammer.

You can’t say you fully understand the vision of your friend Jodie’s short film, but she’s paying you to edit it…which means you have a vested interest in helping her film it, which means an interest in helping her get ready to film it… even if she’s not directly paying you for that part of the process. If a day of running around checking thrift stores and pawn shops meant your payday might come a bit sooner, then so be it. You’re technically not strapped for cash just yet, but contract work isn’t exactly steady--one slow month could have you running up a balance on your card that’ll take the rest of the year to pay off.

At least Jodie’s paying for your gas and will pay you back for the TV, so all you’re losing is time…though you hope Jodie will still stick to the agreement when she sees just how many stores you had to hit up.

You can’t remember if this is the fifth stop on your “tour” or the sixth, but you must look tired, for the cashier, a middle-aged woman with her greying hair in a messy bun, winces visibly when you ask about a CRT TV.

“Sorry, hun. Nobody’s donated a working CRT in…probably a decade.”

Yet you perk up, catching something in her wording. “Working? It doesn’t have to work. Just has to be a big, boxy old TV.”

She hums sympathetically. “Well we don’t tend to keep--” She stops suddenly, her face lighting up as she snaps her fingers. “Oh! You know what, I think there is one out back! Or at least there was last night…I assume it’s still there?”

“Can I take a look?”

She nods. “Yeah, I’ll show you,” she says. She grabs her keys from beside the register, walking you through the store and out the back employee entrance to a small alleyway.

The dumpster behind the store is overflowing with donations that had been deemed in too poor of shape to sell, all in various combinations of torn, stained, dirty, and broken. You see a sofa that’s so torn to shreds that most people couldn’t be paid to take it…and yet someone had donated it expecting it to be sold.

“Someone came by with a truckload yesterday. Emptying out an abandoned storage unit, I think,” she says. “Some of it was sellable, this wasn’t,” she explains, nudging the TV with her boot. “Is it about what you’re lookin’ for?”

“Oh yeah, this looks great!” you say, crouching down to look at the TV. It’s pretty dirty--covered in so much dust some of it has actually become caked on. The antennae are folded in, at least mostly--one antenna has a bit of tape on it that prevents it from being fully tucked in. The power cord is so frayed that you think plugging it in might be a fire hazard. But the TV can be cleaned up and made to at least look like it’s in good shape even if it doesn’t actually work.

“Exactly what I need,” you add, picking at a clump of dirt with your nail. You rest a hand atop the TV, leaning on it briefly as you pull yourself to your feet. “How much?”

She laughs. “It’s not sellable. So I can’t ‘sell’ it. But if you wanna bring your car around you can load it up.”

“Free? Really?” you say, surprised.

She shrugs, waving a hand. “The paperwork isn’t worth what I’d end up charging for it.”

“Heh…well, thanks!” you say. Maybe if you tell Jodie the TV ended up being free, she won’t balk at the gas bill so much.

One cordial handshake later, the TV is officially yours. You bring your car around and load up the TV into the trunk and finally head home. When you arrive in your apartment’s parking lot, the sky is tinged yellow from the pending sunset and the shadows stretch long across the pavement.

Getting the clunky CRT into your apartment is a hell of a task. Park close to the door, carry the TV to the elevator, then push it down the long hall to your apartment. It’s too heavy to lift for more than a few seconds at the time, and even the brief walk to the elevator has you setting it down a couple times to rest for a couple seconds before continuing. 

But, you’re able to get it up to your third floor apartment at last, and you shove it into a corner of your mostly empty room.

The apartment itself is a two bedroom, though really you probably should have just gone for the one bedroom. You use the second bedroom as an office, and the living room had, at one point, been intended as a place to host guests, but you’ve ended up doing far less of that than you’d anticipated. You’ve even moved your flatscreen into the office, leaving behind an empty TV stand and a living room even less equipped to hosting anyone.

Once the TV’s in place--next to an empty TV stand that definitely isn’t strong enough to hold an old CRT--you glance down at yourself, wincing at the dust and dirt from the TV that’s now all over your T-shirt.

You debate with yourself a moment before deciding to just clean up the old thing a bit. Moving it is difficult enough without also getting streaks of dirt all over your clothes every time you lift it. Besides, Jodie will probably want it somewhat clean for the shot she’s planning.

You grab the kit you usually use for cleaning up your computer--some compressed air, alcohol wipes, and a handful of Q-tips. Probably a bit more thorough than you need for an old TV that doesn’t even work and is going to be destroyed soon anyway….but you figure if you’re going to do it, you may as well do it right.

You’re surprised at how much dust and dirt come away with the wipes, given how much has already come off onto your shirt, but that only solidifies your decision to give it a thorough cleaning. You at least have the sense to cover your nose and mouth with your shirt before getting to work with the compressed air, though once you see the size of the dust cloud that rises from the TV’s vents you wonder if you should have dug around in your closet to see if you still have any N95 masks left.

You use a damp Q-tip to clean around the dials and the edges of the screen. By the time you’re done, the TV looks…well, not new, but at least like it’s been kept in a house and taken care of for the past few decades.

As you’re putting away your cleaning supplies, you wince when you notice how dark it’s gotten outside. There’s still a hint of sun on the horizon, but it won’t be there much longer.

You quickly gather up the trash from your kitchen and head downstairs to the dumpster. You’ve already put off taking out the trash for about two days longer than you should have. You hate taking it out at night, especially since building maintenance has been pretty slow to replace some of the bulbs in the parking lot’s lights. But, you manage to toss the bags away just as the sun slips below the treeline.

Finally, after a day of driving from store to store, hauling a huge TV, then cleaning said TV, you can relax for the night.

Or so you think.

You lock the door behind yourself and step into the living room, where you immediately notice that something is amiss.

Something is very amiss.

Comedically amiss, even.

Where the CRT had once sat, now sits a man. An impossibly tall man with a TV--with the perplexing addition of a cartoonishly long nose--as his head. He’s too tall to even stand up in your apartment--instead he’s seated on the floor, his knees tucked against his chest. 

“There you are!” he cries happily in a staticy, showman-y voice. He crawls towards you with a big grin on his face. “My new favoritest Lightner! Thank you ever so much for taking me home and fixing me up and--” He cuts himself off, canting his head. “What’s the matter?” he asks.

Your back is pressed against the wall, your eyes wide and your shoulders tense. Your hands are held up, your fingers curled like claws as your body instinctively prepares to defend itself from the massive creature shuffling towards you.

And he asks “what’s the matter?” as if you’re reacting strangely to a giant TV-headed man in your apartment!

Before you can recover your wits enough to answer, he frowns, tilting his head in the opposite direction.

“Wait…you’re not a Lightner!” he says, his antennae straightening in surprise.

He lowers his head, leaning forward until his nose is nearly poking you in the chest. You close your eyes, covering your face with your hands. You’d probably fall to the floor in a heap if doing so wouldn’t mean colliding with his nose on the way down.

“Hmm…but you’re certainly no Darkner…” he says, his gloved hand rubbing his “chin” in thought. He shifts his gaze to your face and he flinches when he sees how frightened you are.

“O-Oh! ‘Scuse me! Shouldn’t sit too close to the screen! Especially in the dark!” he laughs apologetically as he shuffles backwards, still on his hands and knees. His antennae are almost bumping against the low ceiling of your apartment as it is.

Your knees give out and you slide down the wall, your trembling hands still covering your face.

This can’t be real. It just can’t. What the hell kind of hallucinogens had you inhaled when cleaning that old TV? You’ve clearly lost your damn mind!

The TV man pulls back even further when he sees your distress. “A-Ah!” he says, nervous beads of sweat appearing in the staticy white image that makes up his “face”. “I-I suppose this is…shocking! Me being…like this…outside the Dark World!”

Don’t indulge the delusion. Wait for it to pass. Whatever you inhaled will wear off. Surely you just need to wait it out? You’ll recover or sober up or…whatever…and it’ll all go back to normal!

But you can’t help yourself.

“I-I…have no idea what you’re talking about!” you admit, cringing internally at how meek and timid your voice sounds.

“Aha, right! Proper introductions are in order!” He clears his throat, then raises one hand to his face to push in his nose, flattening his face. The screen goes dark for a half second before loud, triumphant music begins to play, accompanied by some kind of low-resolution video. 

“It is now time…for our feature presentation!! (Feacher…!!) Coming straight from YOUR house…coming straight from your house!! COMING! He’s the 1!! COMING!! The KING of ONLY!! He’s groovy! And NEVER glooby! You can’t get this from an egg!! The sensation of your screen! The show that makes you SCREAM!! Say it with him folks!!

Mr. (Ant) Tenna’s T~V~TIIIIMMMMME~!!!”

Once it’s done, the screen returns to the white static that is his “face”, his nose reappearing with a cartoony “pop!”.

The whole sequence does little to ease your confusion…though the fear is at least fading. You lower your hands, adjusting your position so you’re sitting with your back against the wall rather than cowering against it.

“Um…”

“And who do we have the honor of speaking with tonight?” he asks, a microphone appearing in his hand, which he holds out to you.

“E-Erm…” you squeak awkwardly.

“Hmmmm?” he hums in an almost playful tone as he holds the mic just a bit closer. The cartoony smile on his screen is huge but…there’s also a gentleness there. As if he’s trying to coax you out of your shell.

Finally, you manage to speak your name, albeit a bit haltingly.

His grin widens. “I shoulda guessed! A perfect name for a perfect sorta-Lightner!” he crows.

You laugh weakly, your cheeks warming at the bit of flattery despite the situation. “A-And…you said you’re…um, Mr. Ant Tenna?”

He nods. “Tenna to my friends, my friend!” The slight head tilt and the cartoony “pling!” noise that accompanies it suggest he would be winking if he had eyes.

Again it’s hard not to smile at the quip…and the fact that, intentional or not, he’d answered your question before you’d even had a chance to ask it. “A-Alright…Tenna…” you say, slowly starting to relax. You’re not entirely convinced this is real, but…it seems to be at least…not dangerous? “M-Mind…explaining…what’s going on?” you ask tentatively.

Tenna laughs. “Well, it’s quite simple!” he says, holding up one finger and waving it slightly, poised like a man about to explain a complicated topic in three or less easily digestible sentences. “You see--” He freezes suddenly, his mouth fixed in his usual big grin.

Your brows drift slightly upwards.

“...I simply don’t know!” he says, his grin turning mildly apologetic as a laugh track echoes around you.

Your shoulders slump. Maybe this is just a dream…one you’re not creative enough to fill in fully. Still… “Wh-What were you saying before? Something about…Lightners? Darkners? And…a-a…Dark World?”

“Ah! Right!” he says. “I can get you up to speed on that, no problem! Y’see, there’s the Dark World and the Light World, Darkners and Lightners.” He places a hand on his chest. “I’m a Darkner, and you…well, seem to be mostly a Lightner.”

You shake your head. “Um, I’m a human, actually…” you say hesitantly.

Tenna nods patiently, unsurprised by your comment. “Which is a type of Lightner!” he says. It’s almost as if he’d anticipated such a response.

“I…see…” you say uncertainly. “But I’ve never…heard of that. Or Darkners, or the Dark World…”

Another nod. “Most Lightners haven’t! And, since they don’t know about the Dark World or Darkners, they have no reason to think of their world as the Light World nor themselves as Lightners! To them, it’s just the world! And they’re just--” He pauses, his smile looking a bit more like a wince before his bright grin returns. “--NERS!” he declares proudly.

You give a weak laugh, sensing that last bit was a joke. “Right…So then…what’s a Darkner?”

“Residents of the Dark World! The place where light doesn’t reach. Darker than dark, where imagination takes hold and is made real!”

“Imagination…?”

“Imagination made REAL!” he says pointedly, emphasizing the last word. Blue flashing text appears on his screen spelling out the word “REAL!” in bold letters.

“And…I’m now imagining a TV as…a giant TV-headed man?” you ask skeptically.

Tenna’s expression falters and his antennae seem to drop. “...A-A TV?” You can barely process the remark before his bright grin reappears. “I-I mean! Yes! Er, no! Not…you’re not imagining anything! This is how I am in the Dark World! I’m quite real!”

You frown, glancing around despite knowing full well you’re in your apartment. “But we’re not in the Dark World…are we?”

He mimics your thoughtful frown, finally adjusting himself to sit crosslegged, propping his elbow on his knee and resting the bottom of his TV-head on his palm. He has to hunch over to an almost comedic degree to keep his antennae from hitting the ceiling. “No, definitely not! But I’m not so sure it’s the Light World, either…”

“Why not?” you ask.

“Well, aside from all this,” he says, gesturing at himself with both hands, “It just…doesn’t feel like the Light World…” The showmanship fades from his tone, his voice becoming quiet, almost somber.

“How so?” you ask curiously.

Tenna laughs awkwardly. “I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you! It’s just a feeling.”

“What’s the Light World like?” you ask, getting to your feet and taking a step towards him.

“Almost exactly like this one,” he says thoughtfully. “In fact…I’m…not even sure how long I’ve been in this world…I was thrown away at some point,” he says with a frown, his shoulders tensing. “Then I…” His frown deepens. “I…I don’t know what happened next. I don’t…even remember how I ended up in that storage unit…” His tone makes it sound like it’s just as much a revelation to him as it is to you. His frown grows more melancholy and his antennae droop.

You open your mouth to speak, then close it again. What could you possibly say? What do you say to a living TV that seems to be lamenting being thrown away?

Before you can summon an answer to that question, Tenna’s mood turns on a dime and he brightens. His antennae perk back up and he leans forward towards you. “But I’m sure glad I did!” He touches his index fingers together shyly, red circles appearing on his screen as he glances away with a bashful smile. “If it meant being found by a nice Light--er, human who’d clean me up and take care of me!”

The awkward, almost pained laugh you let out barely sounds like a laugh to you, but Tenna doesn’t seem to notice. Dream or no, you really don’t want to tell him the true reason you’d been on the hunt for a CRT.

“Now! I’ll bet you’re excited to watch all your favorite shows on your brand new TV!” he says in a playfully smug tone. “So, why don’t you whip up some popcorn and I’ll find us something good!” he says. His face begins flickering as if flipping through channels…though all the channels are the same white static.

“I don’t have any--” you start in a faint protest. You pause, frowning up at him in confusion. “Can we even watch TV on you when your cord’s broken?”

“Oh sure! Don’t need electricity in this form, I run on good ol’ Tenna-Watts!” he says cheerfully. His smile fades a bit as he continues flipping through channels. “Although…I can’t seem to find a signal…”

“You’re an analogue TV, aren’t you? They uh…kinda moved to digital like…ten years ago?” you say hesitantly.

Tenna pauses, staring at you. His screen goes blank, which causes his nose to disappear as well. His head slumps forward and he turns away, his antennae drooping. “O-Oh. S-So I. I can’t…I can’t really…I wouldn’t be…very useful…as a TV…would I?”

He’s so dejected that he actually seems a bit smaller as he slumps forward miserably, but you quickly rush over to him.

“H-Hey, don’t say that!” you say quickly, the words spilling out of your mouth before you really think about what you’re saying. “We could buy an adapter--”

His gaze snaps to you so abruptly you have to duck to avoid being beamed by his nose as it reappears. He grins brightly, red circles appearing on his cheeks as he leans forward. “An adapter? You’d buy an adapter? For me?” he asks giddily, cupping his screen in his hands.

You falter a moment. Despite your phrasing, you’d meant the remark as a hypothetical, not a plan…certainly not a promise. You’re still not completely sure this is even real…maybe it is a dream and whatever promises you make actually don’t matter. But…even if it’s not…how expensive can an adapter be?

If Tenna thinks anything of your slight pause--or even notices it--he gives no indication, continuing to beam down at you eagerly.

“Uhm, s-sure…Yeah, I can do that…”

“Oh thank you!” he cries eagerly, clapping his hands while the sound of applause plays. “And in the meantime, if you want to hook up a VCR or DVD player or game console…?”

You stare at him a moment before letting out an awkward laugh.

Tenna’s antennae twitch in confusion. “Oh? Did you have something else in mind?”

You shake your head, smiling weakly up at him. “Not…as such, but…you’re…a…a giant TV-man from another world…a-and this is all so…impossible…”

He scoffs playfully, waving a hand. “Can’t be that impossible if it’s happening!”

You sputter a moment, trying to come up with a counterpoint, but none presents itself. “I…suppose you’re right,” you admit. “But…still…just sitting down to watch TV after all that seems…so mundane…”

“Takes a bit of mundanity to wind down the day, doesn’t it?” he says. “Besides, why go to all that trouble of cleaning me up if you don’t wanna watch TV?” he adds in a smug, cheeky tone.

You manage to stop yourself from flinching too visibly at that question, but you’re sure a brief look of nausea still passed over your face. 

“I--I s-suppose…”

“Then it’s settled!” he declares with a clap of his hands. “You go pick out your games or movies or whatever you want and I’ll do the rest!”

“Heh…” you chuckle thinly. “S-Sure, Tenna…” You consider a moment…as tempting as it is to dig out your old SNES and see if the rumors of old games looking better on CRTs is true, you don’t think your brain can handle anything resembling thinking and strategy right now. Certainly not anything involving reflexes either. So perhaps best to stick with a movie. You glance up at him. “What kind of movies are you into?”

“A--!” He stops, his mouth open in surprise and subtle pink blush lines appearing on his cheeks. “M-Me?” He lets out a hearty laugh, waving his hand and shaking his head. “Oh, silly! I’m the TV!”

You pause, regarding him thoughtfully. You…suppose it’s not that weird that he’d truly have no opinion--or that his opinion would be that you should pick the movie--but he’s clearly flattered that you’d asked.

So for tonight, you’ll oblige and make the pick yourself. Tomorrow--

--Would he even be here tomorrow? Suddenly you find yourself hoping he will be.

“...Right,” you say, trying not to seem too deflated as you give him a bracing smile.

You sidestep around him, crouching in front of your empty TV stand and opening one of the drawers. You pull out your PS3 and its wires, setting them atop the TV stand. Your newer consoles are in the office with your TV, but you doubt Tenna has an HDMI port. So, older console it is, even if you’re just using it as a DVD player.

Tenna scoops up the console and its wires and you glance over at him, watching as he plugs the wires into the back of his head and holds the PS3 in his hands. 

As for the movie, you grab a couple DVDs of lighthearted cartoons. You close the drawer and get to your feet, and are surprised to see the PS3 already powered on, the menu screen displayed on Tenna’s (once again noseless) face.

“Wh--How’s it on? It’s not plugged in…?” you ask.

“Tenna-Watts!” he chirps proudly.

“Right…” you say again, a bemused smile on your face. You put one of the movies in, then take a seat on the couch, lazily tossing a fuzzy throw blanket over your legs.

Once the disc is in, Tenna sets the PS3 on the floor beside him, then tucks his knees to his chest. He wraps his arms around his legs and rests his screen on his knees…more or less acting as his own TV stand, albeit a very tall one.

You find yourself watching him more than the movie, barely paying attention to the plot as you try to process everything he’s said. You suppose “another world” is as plausible an explanation for a twenty-foot tall TV man as any. An old TV turning into a guy is already so far beyond the realm of possibility…how can you say anything except “Sure, why not?” to whatever explanations are given?

“Can you…actually see the movie?” you ask eventually.

He doesn’t move, keeping his screen angled towards you, but you see the lines of his mouth appear over the movie as he speaks. “No, but I feel it.”

“Feel it?” you repeat. “What…what does it feel like?” you ask, intrigued.

He pauses the movie, though his face doesn’t fully reappear. “Hmmm…interesting question! I suppose…it feels like colors. Sounds. Music…it feels like a story!”

You stare at him a moment before giving a soft chuckle. What sort of answer had you expected? “Well…a-as long as you’re not sitting there bored, I guess…”

“Bored? Not at all!” He frowns slightly. “Are you? We can put in something else--you don’t have to finish it for my sake!”

“Oh, no, I’m fine!” you reassure him quickly. “I just…wanted to make sure you were doing alright…”

His antennae perk slightly in surprise and the pink circles that appear on his cheeks stand out starkly against the paused movie. “Oho, you! Of course I’m just peachy! I’m a brand new TV all cleaned and polished and set up for movie night! I couldn’t be better!” he says in a chipper tone.

Your cheeks warm at his enthusiasm and his smile is infectious. “Heh…well, that’s…good…” you say, awkwardness making you feel a bit shy.

Tenna’s grin widens before disappearing, and he resumes the movie, sensing the conversation is over.

Before the movie’s over, you adjust yourself to be laying on the couch, your head resting on the pillowed armrest. Tenna’s height actually makes the position more comfortable--you don’t have to lay on your side or with your head turned ninety degrees to see the TV. You can lay on your back with your head angled only slightly towards him.

As the credits roll, you almost tell Tenna you’re too tired for a second movie, but he switches out the DVD before you can even think about sitting up. So you stay put, letting your eyelids get heavy as the second movie plays.

Maybe hauling the CRT up the stairs and then having your sense of reality severely questioned has taken more out of you than you’d realized. Or maybe it’s just time for the dream to end. Either way, you find yourself drifting off far more readily than you’d thought you ever could under such unusual circumstances…it’s not even a third of the way through the second movie when your eyes fall shut.

*

Tenna can immediately tell when you’ve fallen asleep. Lightners dozing off in front of the TV is a very familiar sight to him, after all. Still, he waits for the movie to play out and for the credits to roll before turning off the PS3. He unplugs the cords from the back of his head and quietly tucks the PS3 and the DVDs back into the drawer on the TV stand.

He leans forward, shuffling towards you slightly, careful not to bump the coffee table. He picks up the blanket from the floor and carefully spreads it over you as you sleep. You stir slightly, snuggling into the blanket and it’s all he can do not to let out a delighted little squeak.

Blankets knocked askew had always been a sad sight for him. He likes doing what he can to give anyone who falls asleep in front of him a good night’s rest, though those abilities had been highly limited until now. In the Light World, he could only dim his screen slightly and lower the volume just a touch. Sometimes if he really focused he could switch off the screen and let the Lightners think they’d done it themselves at some point in the night.

But the simple act of adjusting some blankets? Absolutely out of the question.

What a wonderful world this must be to let him finally do that small gesture for his dear Lightner! Well, almost Lightner. Basically a Lightner. A Lightner to him.

Tenna smiles softly, leaning back against the wall and watching you sleep. He’s loved all the Lightners who’ve had him, but…there’s something different about you. About this world.

He thinks…He thinks he’ll like it here!

[paxaz535]

DOUBLE ( DATE ) TROUBLE [sequal]

at this point it’s you with the three of them lmfao

the foursome that you all requested! i hope i did good lolls

★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪★☆✪

“So…”

You were sitting cross-legged on Jana’s bed, the scent of nail polish hanging in the air as she carefully painted your nails. You looked up at the voice from the doorway—and there she was.

Nika. Beautiful, cocky, completely effortless. Even after three years together, she still made your heart race.

“Hi,” you said, a little breathless, trying not to smile too hard. Nika smirked, her eyes dragging over your nails before flicking to your face. She leaned against the doorframe like she owned the place.

Jana didn’t look up as she spoke. “I’m gonna say this now—please keep your horniness out of this room.”

You snorted, already bracing for whatever slick comment Nika had loaded up. Nika raised her hands innocently. “Yes, ma’am.”

But then she slid over to sit beside you, close enough that you felt the warmth of her body. She leaned in, her lips just barely brushing your ear.

“We’re going to another cabin this weekend,” she murmured. “You already know what to do.”

Your heart dropped—in the best way possible. You bit your lip.

She pulled back, the ghost of a smirk on her lips, and stood up with a wink. “Nice nails, by the way,” she added casually before slipping out and closing the door behind her.

Jana glanced at your dazed expression and snorted. “Girl, you are so gone,” she laughed, slipping your hand under the little purple light. “Get it together before I start charging you for emotional labor.”

You let out a shaky breath, already picturing the things you’re gonna do when you arrive.

-

azzi:

dude

they’re at it again

you:

no seriously

nika came in while jana was doing my nails and whispered it to me

like it was a secret mission or something

azzi:

i was doing my hair

i think i messed up a part

because i flinched when paige said “round three” like it was normal

you laughed at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard as your heart thudded once just a little harder.

you:

are you ready?

azzi:

fuck yeah.

-

Azzi was in the middle of packing—again—folding a hoodie when two hands suddenly covered her eyes.

“Guess who?”

“Steph Curry?”

Paige scoffed from behind her and gave Azzi’s head a soft muffing, her palm rubbing through the curls just enough to be annoying. Azzi laughed, already grinning as she turned around and pulled Paige in for a kiss.

Paige melted into it, her hand immediately finding its home at the side of Azzi’s neck, fingers curling just enough to make Azzi sigh. That touch—firm, possessive, gentle in its own way—always got her.

Azzi started to lean into her, one knee rising as if to climb onto Paige’s lap, but she caught herself.

“Mmh—no,” she murmured, pulling back and giving Paige a push to the chest. “We need to stop.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because we haven’t even made it to the cabin yet,” Azzi said, half-laughing, half-scolding. “Calm down, hornball.”

Paige groaned dramatically and flopped onto the bed, arms spread like she was suffering. “You’re impossible.”

Azzi just shook her head and turned back to her suitcase, folding her jeans with a little too much precision.

From the bed, Paige watched her, chin propped on her hand.

“You’re so beautiful, baby.”

Azzi paused, her fingers slowing on the zipper. A blush bloomed across her cheeks as she turned her head to glance back.

“Thank you,” she said softly, smile curling at the edges. “You too, pretty girl.”

-

you:

so who’s bringing the weed

paige:

you bring it

azzi:

yeah ngl

you’re our best bet

nika:

fuck you? i have a good weed man

you:

baby your weed man can’t stay outta jail to save his life

he probably locked up right now

nika:

…

so?

doesn’t change the fact his shit hits

azzi:

nika

just let her bring it

nika disliked this message

azzi:

can me and [ ] be front seat? i wanna drive

you:

yeah i need that aux cord

paige:

hell no

you:

bet you we’re still gonna be in the front tho

azzi:

fr

we just won’t go if we can’t

nika:

bruh

paige:

alright damn 😒

-

The trunk was packed, the cabin location was set, and somehow—somehow—you and Azzi ended up exactly where you said you would be: front seat. Azzi was behind the wheel, one hand casually resting on the top of the wheel, the other tapping her thigh to the beat of the music you were DJing.

Nika and Paige were in the back, visibly annoyed but saying nothing… yet.

“Next time,” Paige muttered, “I’m hiding the damn keys.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Azzi said sweetly, eyes on the road, smirking.

“Besides,” you added, glancing at her, “if you wanted the aux cord that bad, you should’ve claimed it before we even left the dorm.”

Nika scoffed. “You act like your playlists are untouchable.”

“Name one time I played trash.”

“That one random night you put on The Weeknd’s Dawn FM in full. No skips. No warning. It felt like I was in a haunted disco.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Azzi said, laughing. “You did scare me a little with that transition into Gasoline.”

“You’re supposed to appreciate the art,” you defended.

“Mmhm,” Paige said. “Play something we actually like, DJ Trauma Bond.”

You grinned and scrolled through your phone until you found what you were really waiting for. The opening notes of On My Mama by Victoria Monét hit the speakers, and Azzi let out a little “Ooooh yes” under her breath.

Nika, despite herself, nodded along from the back.

“I do look good,” Azzi said, checking herself out in the rearview.

“You do, baby,” Paige muttered, trying to sound unimpressed. “Still mad at you though.”

Azzi blew her a kiss.

“Alright, now I’m mad at all of you,” Nika said. “I’m trapped in the back with no aux, no front seat, and y’all flirting in stereo.”

You turned in your seat with a smug smile. “You’re still high from yesterday’s pre-pack blunt. Relax.”

“She’s mad ‘cause she wasn’t in charge this time,” Paige muttered.

“I am in charge,” Nika shot back.

“You’re in the backseat,” you and Azzi said in perfect unison.

A beat passed. Then laughter filled the car.

It felt good—stupid and warm and full of that dangerous pre-weekend energy, like you were all revving up for something you couldn’t name but definitely wanted.

The car rolled into the gas station lot, bass still bumping as Azzi pulled into a spot way too confidently for someone driving a borrowed SUV.

“Alright,” she said, throwing it in park. “Everyone behave. And by everyone, I mean Nika.”

Nika was already unbuckling. “You act like I can’t be chill in public.”

“You were banned from a gas station for yelling at the beef jerky,” Paige said, deadpan.

“That was once, and they were charging fourteen dollars for a Slim Jim. I was the voice of the people.”

You snorted, pushing open your door. “You’re banned from my aux if you go in there yelling again.”

“I’ll take that risk.”

The four of you filed into the store, sunglasses on, walking like you owned the place. You and Azzi immediately headed for the snacks aisle—eyes on the essentials. Azzi grabbed a family-sized bag of Hot Cheetos and a giant blue Gatorade. You picked up peach rings, Sour Patch Watermelon, and a suspicious-looking breakfast sandwich just because it felt right.

Meanwhile, Nika was eyeing the freezer section like it had done something to her personally.

“Why is every ice cream sandwich here freezer-burned?” she muttered.

“Because it’s a gas station in the middle of nowhere,” Paige answered, already at the counter with a pack of gum, a mini lighter, and a bottle of Smartwater like she was doing light damage only.

Back at the car, the vibe immediately shifted. You and Azzi had the trunk open, sitting on the edge while Azzi unpacked the actual essentials.

“Pre-rolls or blunt wrap?” she asked, holding both up.

“Blunt,” you said immediately. “It’s tradition.”

Paige leaned against the passenger door, squinting at her. “Y’all really about to do this in broad daylight?”

Azzi shrugged. “We’re parked. Who’s gonna stop us? The beef jerky cops?”

Nika took the blunt wrap from you and started rolling, resting it on her knee with practiced ease. “Besides, we’re not lighting it here,” she said. “This is a preparation stop. A strategic pause.”

You popped a peach ring in your mouth, leaning back on your hands. “Also known as stoner foreplay.”

Paige snorted, but she was smiling.

Azzi nudged you. “Front seat still ours, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Then this is a win all around,” she said, already stuffing the snacks back into the bag with one hand while holding the half-rolled blunt with the other.

Nika finished the roll, sealed it with a flick of her tongue, and held it up like a trophy. “We’re gonna smoke so dumb at that cabin.”

“You’re gonna be dumb at that cabin,” Paige said, sliding into the car.

“Can’t wait,” Nika grinned.

-

The SUV creaked as it turned up the gravel path, tires crunching through pine needles and dust. The cabin came into view through the trees—tucked into the woods, two stories, the wraparound porch catching golden slants of evening light.

Azzi whistled low under her breath. “Okay, damn. This looks even better than the pics.”

“Yeah,” you said, leaning forward in your seat, eyes scanning the porch, the open windows. “This is about to be a weekend.”

From the back seat, Nika grinned. “Call me when y’all stop fake acting like this ain’t about to be filthy within 24 hours.”

“Who said anything about 24?” Paige muttered, already stretching her arms above her head as the car rolled to a stop.

Bags thudded onto the wooden porch one by one. You and Azzi claimed the first bedroom on the main floor without discussion. Paige and Nika took the loft upstairs. It didn’t take long to settle in—hoodies flung over chairs, Bluetooth speaker connected, snacks unpacked into mismatched bowls in the kitchen.

Azzi was the one who lit it first. She stepped out onto the porch with the rolled blunt from earlier and a quiet kind of excitement in her eyes. You followed without needing to be asked. Paige and Nika joined with a lazy, practiced ease, like this had been part of the plan from the start.

The blunt made its way around the circle, fingers brushing, lips touching where others had just been. The weed hit slow and warm, melting tension from your limbs and coating everything in a golden haze.

Azzi leaned her head back against the cabin wall, exhaling slow. “God, this is so much better than smoking outside your dorm window like a criminal.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nika muttered, sinking lower into the Adirondack chair. “I am a criminal.”

“That’s not hot,” Paige said, stealing the blunt from her. “But keep trying.”

The group fell into a comfortable lull, the silence filled with the occasional cough, the click of a lighter, the low bass of the speaker vibrating through the wooden deck. Sunlight was bleeding out across the trees now, gold turning to amber.

You glanced at Nika and found her already watching you, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with something new. Her tongue dragged slow over her bottom lip like she was tasting the moment. You didn’t look away.

Azzi caught the look and let out a low, knowing hum. “Here we go.”

“What?” Paige asked, already smiling like she knew.

“Y’all feel it too, right?” Azzi said, eyes flicking between you, Nika, and Paige. “The shift?”

You let out a little laugh, half breath, half disbelief. “What shift?”

Azzi tilted her head, her voice dropping just enough to make your skin tighten. “The kind where everyone’s high and warm and looking too good to keep it casual.”

The air thickened.

Paige took one more pull and passed it, eyes dragging over Azzi slowly, almost reverent. “You’re the one talking like that, and I’m supposed to behave?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Who asked you to?”

Nika didn’t say anything. She just looked at you again—this time slower. Hungrier.

You shifted in your seat, heartbeat steady but rising. The blunt was in your hand now, fingers warm from where it had passed through everyone else’s. You took one last hit and handed it off, the taste lingering on your tongue like smoke and heat and someone else’s mouth.

And then Nika stood, stretching like a cat.

“I’m going inside,” she said casually. “Anyone who wants to follow… should.”

That pause.

That look at you.

Your stomach flipped, and Azzi let out a laugh like she knew exactly where this night was headed.

Inside the cabin, the air felt warmer. Still quiet, but heavier now. The kind of quiet that vibrated.

You followed Nika into the living room where the golden light was slipping through the big windows, catching the edges of her jaw, her chain, the curve of her smirk. She flopped down on the couch like she owned it—legs spread, arm draped over the back, eyes never leaving you.

“You coming here to sit,” she said, “or to make me lose my mind?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but footsteps on the porch made you pause.

Azzi and Paige walked in still laughing about something—Azzi holding the Gatorade from earlier, Paige tossing the lighter onto the counter like they’d just finished some kind of shared ritual.

Azzi looked at you first. Then Nika. Then Paige.

There was a beat. A pause. No one said it, but it hung in the air like smoke.

They felt it too.

Nika, of course, was the first to lean in. “So… are we gonna keep acting like y’all haven’t been staring at each other all day?”

Paige raised a brow. “You mean like how you’ve been watching her every time she licked her lips?”

Azzi just grinned and leaned against the back of the couch behind you, voice smooth. “We’ve been watching all of you. Don’t worry.”

Your pulse skipped. You turned, eyes meeting Azzi’s just as she reached out to gently tuck a curl behind your ear. Her fingers lingered. Her eyes flicked down to your mouth.

Something electric sparked between you—and Nika noticed. She leaned forward slowly, possessive smirk stretching across her face.

“Y’all think you’re slick.”

Azzi didn’t even look away from you. “No,” she said, brushing your shoulder with her knuckles. “We just think you’ll share.”

There was no laugh this time. Just heat. Stillness. An unspoken agreement passing through the room like current.

You turned your head slightly, your eyes catching Paige now—who looked like she was trying very hard not to smirk. She tilted her head, her voice lower now, controlled.

“Only if y’all can handle it.”

Nika stood. Slow. Deliberate. She walked up behind you and rested her hands on your waist, her breath brushing your ear. “You know we can.”

You leaned into her instinctively—familiar and dizzying—but still looked over at Azzi and Paige.

Azzi stepped forward.

Paige followed.

No rush. No scrambling. Just a quiet kind of hunger filling the space.

Four people.

One weekend.

Everything unspoken, finally ready to break.

Azzi was the first to close the space completely.

She stepped around the couch, walking toward you like she already knew what you tasted like. Her eyes dropped to your lips again, and this time, she didn’t just look.

She leaned in.

Her mouth brushed yours—barely. A question.

You parted your lips in answer.

It was soft at first. Curious. Just a slow pull of her bottom lip, the edge of her teeth catching. But when her hand slid to your waist, fingers splayed warm over your hoodie, she pulled you in with something deeper. Hungrier.

Behind you, Nika went still. You could feel her watching. Feel the tension rolling off her in waves. But she didn’t stop you.

She didn’t pull you back.

She stepped to your side and let her hand trail up your spine, grounding you, her presence thick at your back. And then—because of course she would—she leaned in and whispered, “Yeah… just like that.”

When you pulled back slightly from Azzi, her lips were still parted, eyes heavy.

“I’ve wanted to do that,” she murmured, voice still warm from the blunt, “for longer than I should admit.”

You felt Nika’s hand tighten briefly at your hip. Possessive, yes—but not stopping you. Just claiming her place in all of this.

Across the room, Paige had her arms crossed loosely, watching like she was calculating every moment, waiting for the right time to pounce. But when Azzi turned toward her—slow, teasing, licking your taste off her lips—Paige moved.

She stepped close.

Grabbed Azzi’s jaw gently.

And kissed her like it was a promise. Slow at first… then deeper. Paige’s hand moved to the back of Azzi’s neck, pulling her in harder, mouth open, demanding. Azzi whimpered—just once—and it made something tug in your stomach.

You didn’t realize you were staring until Nika turned your chin toward her.

“Don’t forget who you belong to,” she said, quiet. Not cruel. Just steady.

Your breath caught, but you didn’t look away. You just nodded, heart pounding in your chest. “I haven’t.”

“Good,” she said—and kissed you like she was making sure of it. It was rougher than Azzi’s, needier. Her hands gripped your jaw, tilted your head just how she liked it. When she pulled back, you felt dazed.

Behind you, Azzi laughed softly. “Damn.”

“She likes to show off,” Paige muttered, dragging her thumb along Azzi’s lower lip. “Let her.”

Nika turned and looked at Paige fully now. The two of them locked eyes—sizing each other up, but not with jealousy. No, this was something else. Competitive. Curious. Some twisted mutual respect.

Then Paige looked at you. Slowly. Like she wanted to see what your mouth tasted like too.

And Nika didn’t stop her.

Didn’t say a word.

She just looked at you, and said, low and dangerous:

“Go ahead, baby. Let her try.”

Paige’s eyes dragged over you like she was already undressing you in her head.

You didn’t move—not because you didn’t want to, but because you wanted to see if she would.

And she did.

She stepped in close, slow and steady, stopping just shy of your space. Her hand lifted to your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. You inhaled softly—barely—and that was all she needed.

She leaned in.

Her kiss wasn’t like Azzi’s or Nika’s. It was precise. Like she was mapping your mouth, learning it. Her hand moved to your throat—not gripping, just there, a slow, grounding weight.

When she pulled back, her lips were still parted, eyes dark. “You kiss like trouble,” she murmured.

From behind, Nika scoffed. “She is trouble. I trained her well.”

You could feel the tension between them spike again—something cocky and unspoken, a silent battle playing out behind your shoulder.

And then, without warning, Azzi turned toward Nika.

They hadn’t kissed yet. Hadn’t even touched.

But the way Azzi looked at her now—challenging, curious—it was clear she was wondering how far this would go.

“You gonna be good?” she asked Nika, tilting her head slightly.

Nika raised an eyebrow, stepping close. “Only if you make me.”

Azzi smirked. “Didn’t think you’d let someone else take the lead.”

“I don’t,” Nika said smoothly, crowding into her space. “Unless they can handle it.”

Azzi didn’t back up. Instead, she reached up, fingers slipping into the chain at Nika’s neck, tugging her just enough to provoke.

“Then let’s see.”

Their mouths collided—no soft warm-up, just heat and teeth and pride. Nika kissed her like she was trying to win something, her hand locking tight in Azzi’s curls. But Azzi held her ground, her fingers curling in the front of Nika’s hoodie, hips brushing Nika’s just enough to make her breath catch.

You turned slightly, still dazed from Paige’s kiss, only to feel Paige’s arm wrap around your waist and pull you gently against her. She kissed your neck this time—slow, deliberate—and whispered:

“You looked good kissing her.”

You swallowed hard. “You like that?”

Paige’s hand dragged down your spine. “I like watching you come undone.”

Your stomach tightened. You glanced back at Azzi and Nika—now flush against each other, Azzi’s thigh slotted between Nika’s legs, both of them panting lightly against each other’s mouths, too stubborn to stop.

Azzi broke the kiss first, licking her lips and glancing over at you and Paige. “So,” she breathed, voice husky, “how are we doing this?”

There was a silence.

Not hesitation. Just weight.

Then Nika looked at you. “You still with me, baby?”

You nodded. “Always.”

Paige’s hand curled tighter at your waist. “I want her,” she said plainly, nodding toward you.

Azzi licked her lips. “Then I guess it’s only fair if I get yours.”

Nika’s eyes flashed. But not with jealousy. She grinned—sharp, competitive.

“Oh, you think you can handle me?”

Azzi leaned in and whispered something low in Nika’s ear—something you couldn’t hear—but Nika’s breath hitched, and her grip on Azzi’s waist tightened immediately.

“Try me,” Azzi said.

Then Paige turned you to face her again, her mouth hovering just above yours.

“Just tell me to stop,” she said, voice serious for once.

You didn’t.

Instead, you pulled her down to kiss you again—this time deeper, hungrier, needier—and felt the world tilt beneath your feet.

The couch was right there.

The night was young.

And nothing was off-limits now.

Cabin Bedroom

The four of you didn’t make it far.

Paige sat first, pulling you down into her lap like she already knew you’d fit. Her mouth met yours immediately—urgent now, with no one watching, no teasing left in her. Her hand slid under your hoodie, fingers exploring your waist and the swell of your chest like she wanted to feel every inch.

You gasped into her mouth when she cupped your breast over your bra, thumb brushing your nipple, slow and deliberate.

Behind you, you heard Nika’s voice—low, amused. “Damn, you didn’t even buy her a drink first.”

“Didn’t need to,” Paige murmured against your skin. “She’s been ready all day.”

Azzi climbed onto the bed behind Nika and pressed her chest to her back, arms sliding around her waist. “And what about you?” she whispered against her ear. “Think you can handle both of us?”

Nika smirked, but her breath caught when Azzi’s hand slid lower. “You wanna find out that bad, Fudd?”

Azzi’s answer was a bite to her neck—firm enough to make Nika groan and drop her head back.

You could barely think. Paige had lifted your hoodie halfway, hands greedy on your skin, kissing down your neck while her other hand toyed with the button on your jeans.

“You good?” she asked quietly, pressing her forehead to yours.

You nodded, breathless. “More than.”

She smiled and pushed your jeans down just enough—fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, slow and teasing. Her fingers were rougher than Nika’s, a little cockier in how she moved, but you were wet enough to welcome the pressure.

“Mmm. Knew it,” she murmured, brushing against your clit. “You’ve been dripping since you kissed her.”

Nika, now turning in Azzi’s arms, snapped her gaze toward the two of you. “My girl’s dripping?” She pulled free of Azzi’s grip and crawled across the bed. “Move, Paige.”

Paige gave her a lazy grin. “Make me.”

Azzi grabbed Nika’s hoodie and pulled her back, flattening her to the bed. “You’ll get your turn,” she said, straddling Nika’s waist. “Let me see if your mouth’s as good as you say.”

Nika opened her mouth to respond, but Azzi was already tugging her own shorts down, shifting forward on her knees.

You watched, wide-eyed, as Nika gripped Azzi’s thighs and pulled her closer, pressing her mouth between Azzi’s legs like it was instinct. Azzi’s head dropped back instantly, her moan deep and sudden.

Paige turned you back to her, hand still moving between your thighs. “Let them put on a show. You’re still mine right now.”

Her fingers slid inside—just two, curling exactly right—and you arched into her chest with a moan that tore out of your throat.

“Shit,” you gasped. “Paige—”

“I got you,” she said, kissing you again. “You just stay right here.”

She curled her fingers again, thumb circling your clit now while her other hand wrapped tight around your waist to hold you in place. You were gasping into her neck, trembling, barely able to form a thought.

Across the bed, Azzi was grinding down on Nika’s mouth, one hand fisted in her curls, the other gripping the headboard for balance. Her breaths were shaky, desperate.

“Nika—fuck, right there—”

Nika groaned into her, holding her tighter, grinding her tongue deeper, loving every second of it.

You were close. You could feel it—your hips rocking against Paige’s hand, thighs shaking, lips parted in a silent cry.

“I’ve got you,” Paige whispered again, licking up the side of your throat. “Come for me, baby.”

And you did.

You came with a sob in Paige’s arms, legs trembling, nails gripping her shoulders like you might fall apart without her.

And from across the room, Azzi let out a broken moan and came too—grinding down on Nika’s mouth, her thighs shaking around her head, body locking up before she finally slumped forward, breathless.

Azzi collapsed onto her back, chest heaving. Nika sat up, lips glistening, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she looked toward you—right as Paige slid her fingers free and kissed your temple.

“She’s still shaking,” Paige said, satisfied.

Nika’s jaw flexed. “Yeah? That’s mine.”

She moved like a storm—striding across the bed, grabbing your jaw gently but firmly, and kissing you deep, letting you taste Azzi on her tongue. It made your head spin. Your thighs were still trembling, but that didn’t stop her from pulling you away from Paige, repositioning you with practiced control.

She laid you down onto the mattress, climbing between your legs without hesitation. “Spread,” she ordered, voice low, and you obeyed before you even registered the command.

“You already came once,” Nika murmured, dragging her mouth down your stomach, fingers hooking in your panties. “Let’s see how many times you can take me.”

Paige, still sitting beside you, watched with interest, fingers tracing slow circles over Azzi’s bare thigh as she caught her breath.

Nika licked a long stripe up your center, and your whole body jolted.

“God, Nika—”

“You’re dripping,” she muttered. “I should be mad you gave that to someone else first.”

But the way her mouth moved said otherwise—possessive, hungry, fast. Her tongue curled around your clit like she’d missed it, like she needed this. You cried out, hand in her hair, already close again. She slid two fingers inside without warning, curling them while her tongue never stopped working you.

Across the bed, Azzi turned toward Paige, still breathless. “So…” she said, her voice husky. “You gonna be nice to me now?”

Paige leaned over, slowly climbing over her. “Baby,” she murmured, kissing her shoulder, “I’ve been nice.”

Azzi scoffed, but let Paige pin her wrists gently above her head, kissing her with slow, dark intent. Paige’s thigh pressed between Azzi’s legs, already feeling how soaked she still was. “You came fast,” she whispered, dragging her teeth across Azzi’s jaw. “Gonna give me another one?”

Azzi bit her lip. “Only if you work for it.”

Paige grinned, then slid down her body. “Challenge accepted.”

Nika was relentless between your legs, her tongue and fingers working you up again faster than you thought possible. “That’s it, baby,” she said against you. “Come again. Right now.”

Your second orgasm hit harder—sharp and sudden. You cried out, thighs locking around her head as she rode you through it, moaning into you like she wanted to live there.

When you finally collapsed, body trembling, Nika sat up, chest rising and falling. “Still mine,” she said, brushing your hair off your face. “Don’t forget that.”

You smiled weakly. “Never.”

Meanwhile, Azzi was unraveling again—Paige had one hand wrapped around her thigh, the other teasing her entrance as her mouth worked her clit with slow, excruciating precision. Azzi was panting, squirming under her. “Paige—fuck—”

Paige didn’t stop. Just grinned against her. “C’mon, pretty girl. Give it to me again.”

Azzi came with a cry, arching into her mouth, hands fisting the sheets, and Paige moaned into her like she’d just tasted something forbidden.

You sat up, still dizzy, only to be pulled gently into Nika’s lap again.

But this time—this time—Azzi reached for you too.

Her fingers brushed your knee, her eyes dark with something gentler, warmer. “Come here.”

You leaned toward her, and Paige shifted behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist while the four of you tangled together, bodies flushed and slick, breath heavy, kisses starting again—everywhere.

This time slower. This time deeper.

Not just heat.

Something more.

Bodies tangled—legs over laps, mouths on skin, hands everywhere.

Paige was still behind Azzi, one arm around her middle, the other sliding back down between her thighs. Azzi melted into it, her head dropping to your shoulder as she pulled you into a kiss—slow, messy, half-lost in the haze of overstimulation.

Nika, behind you, was kissing your neck again, her fingers teasing your breast, voice low and smug against your skin.

“Look at you,” she murmured, watching you kiss Azzi while Paige made her fall apart again. “God, you’re fucking gorgeous when you’re wrecked.”

Azzi gasped into your mouth, her thighs twitching. Paige had her right on the edge again—three fingers this time, curling up, working her with practiced precision. “She’s so responsive,” Paige said into Azzi’s ear. “Feel how tight she gets when you kiss her like that?”

You slipped your hand between Azzi’s legs too—right under Paige’s—your fingers circling her clit gently, in time with the rhythm.

Azzi shattered.

She came again, hard, her whole body seizing as she choked out your name and Paige’s together. You caught her mouth with yours, kissing her through it, while Nika’s hand crept between your legs from behind, two fingers sinking in like your body had been waiting for her.

You moaned into Azzi’s mouth, and Nika grinned.

“Still not done with you,” Nika breathed. “Lean back on me.”

You obeyed without thinking, chest arching as Nika fucked you from behind, slow and deep, her free hand gripping your throat—not tight, just there, grounding you in the overwhelming waves of pleasure. You could feel her breath at your ear, could hear Azzi and Paige tangled together in front of you, Azzi’s hand now slipping between Paige’s legs for the first time.

“Let me,” Azzi whispered.

Paige spread her knees wide, looking downright cocky about it. “You better keep up, Fudd.”

But the second Azzi’s fingers slid in, Paige lost her rhythm—her mouth dropped open, her hips grinding into Azzi’s hand before she could say a word.

“Oh—fuck, Azzi—”

You were watching it all—Paige unraveling for the first time, her dominant edge slipping while Azzi fucked her with slow, relentless strokes. Nika curled her fingers harder at that exact moment, making your back arch again, a desperate whine escaping your throat.

“Touch her clit,” Nika said into your ear, nodding toward Paige. “Make her come for us.”

You reached forward and did just that—your fingers rubbing tight, fast circles while Azzi’s moved inside her.

Paige’s jaw went slack. Her hips bucked, moaning your name now too.

“Shit, baby, yes—right there—”

And then she broke.

Her orgasm hit like a wave, crashing over her in full view of all of you, her head dropping to Azzi’s shoulder as her thighs trembled and her voice cracked. Azzi kissed her cheek, her jaw, her lips—soft and proud.

You weren’t far behind.

Nika had you spread wide in her lap, fingers thrusting deep, her grip on your throat just enough to have you floating. You turned your head, kissed her, whimpered into her mouth as you came for the third time—body seizing, stars bursting behind your eyes.

Every one of you, breathless.

Glowing.

Sprawled across the bed like wreckage.

——

It started with a look.

Azzi on one side of the bed. You on the other. Both of you grinning as your girlfriends lay back, catching their breath from the chaos of before—thinking maybe the night was winding down.

But no.

You exchanged a glance, and that was all it took.

Without a word, Azzi rolled over, crawling between Paige’s legs again, this time slower—intentional. You did the same to Nika, your palm pressed to her thigh as you pushed it open, her breath catching like she already knew what you were about to do.

“What are you—” Nika started, but her voice cut off when your tongue met her.

Paige flinched the same moment, head snapping up, only to fall back again with a low groan. “Oh my god, Azzi—”

Azzi just hummed in response, her mouth already deep on her, fingers gripping Paige’s thighs to hold her still. Paige’s hand flew to Azzi’s head on instinct, trying to ground herself, her legs already twitching.

Nika was no better. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, one hand tangled in your hair, the other blindly groping for something—anything—to hang onto.

And then her hand brushed Paige’s.

Their fingers locked on instinct. Tight. Desperate.

Neither of them said a word.

Paige’s hips jerked suddenly when Azzi sucked a little harder, a whimper escaping her mouth before she could stop it. Nika moaned at the same time, her hand squeezing Paige’s like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth.

“Shit,” Nika breathed, eyes rolling back. “She’s—fuck—she’s good.”

“Don’t gas her up right now,” Paige rasped, voice wrecked. “Or I’ll—fuck, Azzi, don’t stop—”

Their hands clutched tighter, forearms pressing, legs starting to tremble.

You looked up briefly, seeing it—Paige’s head thrown back, Nika’s jaw slack, the two of them gripping onto each other like the only thing keeping them sane was the shared overload.

And god, you wanted to push her over the edge. You sucked Nika’s clit a little harder, dragged your fingers along her entrance, feeling her thighs clamp around your head.

“Baby—baby, I’m gonna—”

Nika choked out a moan and came hard, her entire body convulsing, hand squeezing Paige’s like a lifeline.

Paige followed—seconds later—her voice cracking as Azzi buried her tongue deeper, not letting up until Paige was gasping, back arched, thighs shaking.

They came together, clinging to each other, falling apart in sync like they didn’t know how to fall separately anymore.

You and Azzi pulled back slowly—lips wet, proud smirks on your faces as you crawled back up the bed.

Nika looked dazed. Paige blinked slowly like she was just coming back into her body.

Azzi leaned down and kissed Paige’s neck. “Still dominant?” she whispered.

Paige didn’t answer.

Just pulled her into a kiss.

Nika turned to you, eyes heavy-lidded. “You’re such a fucking problem,” she muttered, voice hoarse.

You grinned and kissed her, slow and deep. “Good.”

⸻

A long silence followed—just the sound of breathing, skin against skin, the occasional soft kiss or stroke along a thigh.

Eventually, Paige spoke, her voice wrecked but smug. “…We’re doing this again next weekend.”

Azzi laughed weakly into her neck. “Bet.”

Nika kissed your temple, then looked around at the flushed, sweaty pile of limbs. “Can we just live here?”

You hummed, still too gone to form a real sentence.

But yeah.

You could get used to this.

-

The room was still heavy with heat—sheets twisted, bodies flushed, skin damp. But the urgency had passed. Now it was just weightless.

You were the first to fall back, chest heaving, limbs boneless. Nika collapsed beside you, arm flopping over your stomach, her face buried in your shoulder.

“I can’t feel my legs,” she mumbled.

You smiled lazily, turning to kiss her hair. “That’s fair. You didn’t exactly hold back.”

She made a low, pleased sound. “Neither did you.”

Across the bed, Paige was curled against the headboard, arms loosely wrapped around Azzi, who was tucked into her chest with one thigh still thrown over Paige’s. They looked like they’d been fused together. Hair tangled. Lips pink. Bodies humming in the same quiet rhythm.

“I think my soul left my body,” Azzi muttered, not moving.

Paige chuckled, low and smug. “Don’t worry, babe. I caught it.”

Azzi groaned and swatted her lightly. “Corny.”

You reached across the bed and brushed your fingers along Azzi’s arm. “You good?”

She turned her head toward you, eyes heavy but soft. “So good.”

Nika shifted slightly beside you, her hand slipping beneath the blanket to rest low on your stomach. “This,” she murmured, her voice rough from moaning, “this is so much better than last cabin.”

Paige lifted her head. “That’s because we weren’t competing the whole time.”

“You say that,” Nika replied, “but you definitely tried to one-up me with the leg shake thing.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “I succeeded at the leg shake thing.”

Azzi just snorted into her shoulder.

You smiled into Nika’s neck, letting your hand find her hip beneath the blanket. “You’re both hot. Shut up and cuddle.”

“Finally,” Azzi sighed, settling deeper into Paige’s chest. “Someone with sense.”

There was a pause—comfortable and full, silence settling between all four of you like a blanket. Legs tangled. Hands lazily trailing over skin. Breath syncing up.

“I kinda don’t want to move,” Paige mumbled after a while.

“You don’t have to,” you said softly.

“Good,” Nika added, nuzzling closer to you. “Because I’m stuck. You broke me.”

“Good,” you echoed, lips curling.

Azzi turned her face into Paige’s neck, her voice barely audible now. “Next time, I want a whole weekend of this.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Same.”

No one moved.

No one needed to.

Just the sound of hearts slowing down. Fingers brushing. Lips pressed gently to shoulders and necks. Everything quiet except the occasional shared breath or sleepy giggle when someone’s hand twitched or thigh shifted just right.

By the time sleep crept in, none of you were sure where one body ended and another began.

And none of you cared.

[subjectsix]

KIP'S BIG POST OF THINGS TO MAKE THE INTERNET & TECHNOLOGY SUCK A LITTLE LESS

Post last updated November 23, 2024. Will continue to update!

Here are my favorite things to use to navigate technology my own way:

A refurbished iPod loaded with Rockbox OS (Rockbox is free, iPods range in price. I linked the site I got mine from. Note that iPods get finicky about syncing and the kind of cord it has— it may still charge but might not recognize the device to sync. Getting an original Apple cord sometimes helps). Rockbox has ports for other MP3 players as well.

This Windows debloater program (there are viable alternatives out there, this one works for me). It has a powershell script that give you a little UI and buttons to press, which I appreciate, as I'm still a bit shy with tech.

Firefox with the following extensions: - Consent-O-Matic (set your responses to ALL privacy/cookie pop-ups in the extension, and it will answer all pop-ups for you. I can see reasons to not use it, but I appreciate it) - Facebook Container ("contains" Meta on Facebook and Instagram pages to keep it from tracking you or getting third party cookies, since Meta is fairly egregious about it) - Redirect Amp to HTML (AMP is designed for mobile phones, this forces pages to go to their HTML version) - A WebP/AVIF image converter - uBlock Origin and uBlacklist, with the AI blacklist loaded in to kill any generative AI results from appearing in search engines or anywhere.

Handbrake for ripping DVDs— I haven’t used this in awhile as I haven’t been making video edits. I used this back when I had a Mac OS

VLC Media Player (ol’ reliable)

Unsplash & Pexels for free-to-use images

A password manager (these often are paid. I use Dashlane. There are many options, feel free to search around and ask for recs!). There is a lot that goes into cybersecurity— find the option you feel is best for you.

Things I suggest:

Understanding Royalty Free and the Creative Commons licenses

Familiarity with boolean operators for searching

Investing in a backup drive and external drive

A few good USBs, including one that has a backup of your OS on it

Adapter cables

Avoiding Fandom “wikias” (as in the brand “Fandom”) and supporting other, fan-run or supported wikis. Consider contributing if its something you find yourself passionate or joyful about.

Finding Forums for the things you like, or creating your own*

Create an email specifically for ads/shopping— use it to receive all promotional emails to keep your inbox clean. Upkeep it.

Stop putting so much of your personal information online— be willing to separate your personal online identity from your “online identity”. You don’t owe people your name, location, pronouns, diagnoses, or any of that. It’s your choice, but be discerning in what you give and why. I recommend avoiding providing your phone number to sites as much as possible.

Be intentional

Ask questions

Talk to people

Remember that you can lurk all you want

Things that are fun to check out:

BBSes-- here's a portal to access them.

Neocities

*Forums-- find some to join, or maybe host your own? The system I was most familiar with was vbulletin.

MMM.page

Things that have worked well for me but might work for you, YMMV:

Limit your app usage time on your smartphone if you’re prone to going back to them— this is a tangible way to “practice mindfulness”, a term I find frustratingly vague ansjdbdj

Things I’m looking into:

The “Pi Hole”— a raspberry pi set up to block all ads on a specific internet connection

VPNs-- this is one that was recommended to me.

How to use computers (I mean it): Resources on how to understand your machine and what you’re doing, even if your skill and knowledge level is currently 0:

This section I'll come back an add to. I know that messing with computers can be intimidating, especially if you feel out of your depth. HTML and regedits and especially things like dualbooting or linux feel impossible. So I want to put things here that explain exactly how the internet and your computer functions, and how you can learn and work with that. Yippee!

[soapcloth]

CW: 18+ MDNI, soap x reader, unsolicited nudes, pushy behaviour, implied noncon elements - 1K words, semi-edited - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

Anxiously sending in an offer for a kitchen appliance you’re in dire need of via an online social media marketplace, only for the seller- JTav87, to reply instantly.

The notification comes when you’re taking a curious peep at his info. His proflile makes him seem nice enough- real 'the cool uncle’ vibes. The page's display picture is a snap of him grinning ear to ear with one of his big paw-like hands at his chest in a thumbs up gesture, the other being obscured behind the lid of an outdoor grill; a family gathering in full swing behind him.

It's all topped off with the stock photo of a beach at sunset as his header, the poorly stretched image sporting a sprawling near-unreadable quote about resilience smack-dab in the middle, gratuitous high contrast vignette filters over everything as a little banner pops up at the bottom of your screen; a message from the seller.

‘I cn do tht.’

you hastily type out a reply in fear of the purchase somehow getting delayed or cancelled.

‘You’re a lifesaver😊I've been searching high and low for one of these!’

Being too friendly was your first mistake, you just wanted to make a good impression- it seemed harmless at the time.

The pickup goes off without too much of a hitch- you meet up as requested in the well-lit parking lot of a generic chain cafe, puffing out cold breaths from behind your jacket and nursing a warm beverage you had managed to grab. Stepping out of a beat up pickup, you come to find that he’s a lot bigger than his pictures would have you assume, not shockingly tall, but his overall aura and bulk make him seem like a giant. His bare arms splay outwards, stretching the fabric of his ill-fitted tee in a gesture that almost had you worried he was going to go in for a hug- thankfully, a firm handshake seems to suffice. 

“Och! Yer’ hands’re baltic!” he exclaims with a blinding smile, rosy tips of his ears and nose being the only tell he was affected by the weather himself as he claps his other hand around yours, rubbing them together to create heat. It's an action that nearly had you spilling the drink in your free hand as you stagger a bit in response to the contact- something he seemed to either not notice, or not mind.

The real kicker was the way he refused to take your money, hemming and hawing about how you should be saving that money for stuff you need- as if the appliance you were purchasing wasn’t that exactly. “A’hm not gonna take yer’ money- a’hm t’fond of ye’.”

whatever that means. 

It's good you didnt pay, evidently. When he had loaded it into your car- having the gall to laugh after you asked if he needed help, mind you- he had forgotten the cord that made the thing work, offering you a lovely little surprise when you finally got home.

On queue, there's a muffled ding from the device in your pocket. 

‘forgt 2 brng cord. srry x’ 

your eyes could have rolled out of your head; suffice to say, you weren't impressed.

‘I really needed this tonight, had baking I needed to do for a party tomorrow 🫤weather’s too bad for me to go out again tonight.’

‘cn drop off at urs if u wnt?’

Had you been in any other situation, this would have been a hard no- sadly however, your stress and desperation leads you into letting the heavyset man worm his way in through your front door as if he owns the place, cord bunched up and hanging out of his back pocket while he kicks the snow from his boots with a saintly smile.

Surprisingly, the drop off is quick- only interrupted by him asking to use your toilet as you're distracted with pulling out baking supplies. Before you know it, he’s back on the icy roads again. You almost wish you had offered him some coffee or tea-

 Almost.

When the morning sun bleeds through your curtains, you pick up your phone to find a notification from JTav87.

‘Hve a grate day x’ 

You frown and ignore the message as you start your day, but it only seems to embolden him into sending you countless more, the tone of the messages becoming increasingly more romantic as time draws on- some of your work friends at the office party even ask you if there was a new beau in your life when you had made the mistake of leaving your phone face up atop the breakroom table while you ate.

The final straw between you, your peace of mind, and the block button comes that night with a handful of alarmingly explicit voice messages in your inbox, promptly followed by a very-much so unprompted video of him shirtless and moaning while he chokes his swollen dick in a vice grip- all done over a familiar bunched up pair of underwear that you know with certainty had been at the top of the hamper in your bathroom. 

Little is left to the imagination when he snatches up the stolen garment, bringing it to his nose, face just out of frame as his chest expands in response. His audible fist-fucking and jerking hips get more frenzied as he gives one last brutal tug all the way from his base to the head, hand flexing as he aims his shot at his phone, cum coating the counter space directly in view of the camera.

His spent cock bobs and drools, stomach muscles contracting wildly as he leans back into the wall behind him; taking a moment before reaching forward to stop the video, searing the image of his hazy, wolfish grin in your mind.

His free hand gets busy sopping up his mess in your underwear as the screen flashes back to the clip's first frame, offering you the prompt to watch again.

It would later become apparent that blocking could only do so much to seperate you from a mutt like John MacTavish- especially when he's privy to your home address.

[freshstitches]

One of my posts keeps getting reblogged with hashtags like

It's funny because a while ago, I made a few KNITTING patterns that purposefully look like CROCHET.

I call it faux-chet.

Off the hook shawl - yes, it's knit.

Some of you may find these patterns interesting, they're all I cord based stitches. I know that most of these would be basic projects to crochet, but not everybody knows how. I designed these for people who want the look but don't have time or the desire to learn a new craft.

Loaded Taco Shawl

Another advantage of these faux-chet patterns is that they use a lot less yarn than crochet. The taco above uses i cord like chain stitch, it only weighs 85 g. The boardwalk wrap and top below mimics fillet crochet openwork.

All of these faux-chet patterns are made with a technique that I call the lattice stitch. I made a YouTube playlist of the basics and sometimes teach classes on this topic.

I named this pattern Definitely a Knit Shawl to avoid Ravelry mods relabeling it AND included photos of it on the needles to prove that is actually knitted. I have had arguments with people who think that I just crochet poorly and that's why my stitches look funny.

If you think the stitch is interesting, you should definitely check it out. The YouTube videos are free and I have plenty more patterns on my Ravelry page that use this technique.

[bucketgetter535]

This is not a cry for help (but it might be)

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

CW: Swearing/Divorce

WC: 1788

Notes: basically Paige and Azzi meet at team USA camp in the middle of Paige’s dad and step mom divorcing. More about Paige than Pazzi and a bit ooc but this was a self indulgent one. Also I tried a little different writing style so… There might be a part 2 coming but lmk what yall think of this.

Paige was going to explode.

Not literally, but like… emotionally? Mentally? Soul-wise? Whatever. There wasn’t a better word for it. It was like her whole brain was trying to fold in on itself while she smiled at everyone and said “good game” and “nice shoes” and “oh my God I love your shot fake” like she wasn’t just barely keeping it together.

She was sitting on the floor of the dorm room, her back against the bed frame, chewing on the end of a charger cord that probably wasn’t meant to be chewed on. The little USA towel from her welcome bag was crumpled on her lap, and Azzi, of course, was already fully unpacked. Her socks were stacked. Her deodorant had a designated spot. She was that kind of person.

Meanwhile Paige had been wearing the same pair of shorts for what felt like three days, and her headphones were already missing.

Azzi stood at the dresser, folding a second hoodie like she worked at The Gap or something.

“I think we have a meeting at seven,” she said without turning around.

Paige kicked the bottom of the bed lightly with her heel. “Ugh.”

“That’s helpful.”

“No seriously, I ugh in solidarity.”

Azzi glanced back, hair in a loose bun, face still annoyingly clear and unbothered.

“Are you okay?”

That was the worst question in the world.

Paige smirked, fast. The default setting. She picked at the towel on her lap.

“Yeah, I’m great,” she said. “Living the dream. Wearing red, white, and blue. Getting yelled at by forty-seven different coaches. Sharing a room with someone who folds their socks like they’re on Shark Tank.”

Azzi just blinked at her. “You’re weird.”

“You’re organized. It’s upsetting.”

Azzi sat on the edge of the other bed, the one Paige had given her without a fight. The window bed. The one that got all the golden light in the morning. Paige hadn’t even thought about claiming it. She never did. Not when there were bigger things happening. Like a second parental divorce.

God.

It wasn’t even like she liked her step-mom. She was just… there. Always hovering. Always with that tight smile, like she knew Paige was one emotional outburst away from being “too much.” But this… this version of the split was way messier. Way louder. Her dad was saying things. Slamming cabinets. Crying.

Paige didn’t know how to deal with her dad crying. That was not in the player handbook.

“You didn’t eat dinner,” Azzi said quietly.

Paige leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling.

“You a cop?”

“I’m just saying.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“Yeah, but you’re, like, always hungry.”

Paige huffed. “Okay, chill.”

Azzi didn’t respond.

Silence stretched. Not awkward, just… loaded.

Paige hated how Azzi could sit in quiet and not fidget. Paige always needed to do something. Bounce a ball. Scroll. Tap her foot. Rip a napkin into tiny pieces. Her hands were always moving. Her brain too.

Azzi was like a still lake.

Paige was like a fire drill.

“You ever get tired of being good at everything?” Paige asked suddenly, flipping the towel inside out like it had wronged her.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “I’m not good at everything.”

“Sure, sure. But like… you could at least pretend to struggle, just so the rest of us don’t feel like garbage.”

“I do struggle.”

“With what? Losing? Parallel parking? Not being a role model?”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Why are you like this?”

Paige smiled. “Like what?”

“Annoying.”

“Oh, that’s just how I flirt.”

Azzi actually laughed, then shook her head like she couldn’t believe she’d let it happen. Paige grinned wider.

The thing was… Azzi didn’t know. About anything. Not really. She didn’t know that Paige had left Minnesota with her dad calling her “selfish” one minute and “my little girl” the next. She didn’t know her step-mom had slammed a door so hard it cracked the frame. She didn’t know Paige had cried on the plane but like… in her head? Not real tears. Just that burning thing behind the eyes.

The worst part? Paige was still trying to be perfect. Still passing in drills. Still helping girls up. Still saying “nice shot” even when she wanted to scream.

And Azzi was just… Azzi. Chill. Steady. Like she hadn’t been dropped in the middle of a mental war zone. Paige wanted to shake her sometimes. Or poke her. Or hide one of her shoes just to see her react. She wanted to pull at something. To make her realer. Or maybe just messier.

Or maybe she just wanted to make sure she wasn’t the only one falling apart.

“I like your shot,” Paige said after a second, almost without thinking.

Azzi blinked. “Thanks?”

“It’s clean. Like, surgical. You don’t waste motion. I hate it.”

Azzi snorted. “So… you like it, but you hate it.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“And you,” Paige said, pointing at her with the corner of the towel, “are the human version of hotel breakfast.”

Azzi laughed again. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know. It just felt true.”

Another pause.

Azzi laid back on her bed, arms behind her head, and Paige watched her from the floor, eyes tracing the outline of the other girl’s profile.

Something about her made the world feel a little slower. Not fixed. Not better. Just slower. Like maybe Paige could breathe without feeling like it was a competition.

“Hey,” Paige said, quieter now. “If I do something really dumb at this camp—like, trip on a Gatorade bottle or break down mid-scrimmage—can you just, like… pretend it didn’t happen?”

Azzi didn’t open her eyes. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Cool.”

More silence.

Then, just before lights out:

“Hey, Azzi?”

“Mhm?”

“I’m not actually flirting with you.”

Azzi opened one eye, looked at her, and said, “I know.”

But she was smiling.

And Paige didn’t feel like exploding, just for a second.

–

It was 3:04 a.m. and Paige was sitting cross-legged on the desk chair in the dark like some kind of cryptid. Hoodie over her head, hood strings pulled tight, face lit only by her phone.

She wasn’t gonna cry. She wasn’t. That was, like, a rule. A Paige Rule. Crying was for when your team lost in the semifinals or when you got hit in the throat with a ball mid-layup and had to pretend you were just coughing. Crying wasn’t for phone calls from your dad.

It wasn’t even what he said. It was how he said it.

He sounded tired. Like bone-tired. Like something had drained out of him. Paige had heard yelling from him before, like, actual yelling, cabinet doors and whatever… but tonight was quiet. Too quiet. That’s what got her. That weird, slow quiet. Like he was underwater or maybe she was. Like he was trying to talk normal but it felt off, and she was too fifteen to know why it was making her feel nauseous.

He said something about needing space. From her step-mom. From everything. And then he asked if she was “doing okay out there.” Like that. Out there. Like she was on another planet.

She told him yeah. Said she was good. Said the gym was nice and the food was fine and her roommate was chill (which, okay, was half-true; Azzi was not unchill, she was just… Azzi).

But now she was here. Awake. Texting her mom.

Paige: hey

Paige: u up

Paige: jk ur in mt time

Paige: but

Paige: can i ask u something or

Paige: nvm

Paige: sry

She stared at the screen. Hated how her thumb hovered, like she didn’t know how to be a human being.

A response came in three minutes later. Her mom always answered weirdly fast for someone who lived in middle-of-nowhere Montana and claimed to be “off-grid.”

Mom: ask me anything, paige

Her chest felt like it cracked open just reading it. Like someone hit her with a slow-motion punch.

Paige: do u think it’s bad that i’m kinda glad i’m not home right now?

There it was. A raw, ugly truth. She hit send before she could backspace it into something prettier.

The reply came after a beat.

Mom: no. that’s human.

Mom: it doesn’t mean you don’t love them.

Mom: you’re fifteen. it’s not your job to fix everything.

She stared at that for a long time. Her eyes prickled and she blinked really fast like she could blink away the fact that it was actually comforting.

She set the phone down, didn’t answer again. Just pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned into them.

Somewhere across the room, Azzi’s bed rustled.

Paige froze.

“Paige?”

No. Nope. No thank you.

“Yeah?” she croaked, hating how raw her voice sounded.

Azzi sat up. She didn’t turn the light on, which Paige appreciated, but still. She was awake now. And awake Azzi meant questions.

“You good?”

God. That question. Again. Like the world was a loop and someone forgot to press skip.

“Yeah,” Paige said automatically, even though her chest was still tight. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Paige could see her silhouette, backlit by the streetlight glow through the curtain.

“You sure?” Azzi asked again, quieter this time.

And that was worse. Like, infinitely worse. Because now it wasn’t just words. It was care. It was gentleness. And Paige didn’t know what to do with gentleness at 3 a.m. She didn’t know what to do with it at all.

She picked up her phone again. “Y’all really gotta come up with a new question,” she muttered. “It’s getting old.”

Azzi didn’t rise to the bait. Just said, “Okay,” and lay back down.

Just “okay.”

No pressure. No pushing.

And for some reason, that made Paige feel even worse. Or maybe better. Or both. Which didn’t make sense but also felt so real.

She turned her phone face-down, hugged her legs tighter, and rested her chin on her knee.

Drew was probably asleep. He was little. Little kids didn’t remember divorces, right? Not like she remembered the first one. She was three back then, but she remembered. Not exact things, but vibes. Tension. Faces. The way adults said one thing but meant another.

She didn’t want that for Drew.

She didn’t want this version of her dad either.

She didn’t want any of this.

But she couldn’t say that. Not out loud. Not even to Azzi, who was, like, a weirdly safe presence. Like an emotional weighted blanket with a jumper.

She exhaled. Rubbed her eyes.

3:27 a.m.

Maybe she’d sleep. Maybe she wouldn’t. But at least she wasn’t yelling. At least nobody here was slamming doors.

At least for now.

[mirathescientist]

pairings: older!reiner x reader

warnings: smut 18+, age gap (old enough to be readers dad)

Congratulations

Reiner didn't typically consider himself the most neighborly. Sure he'd wave when in passing, or occasionally comment on his neighbors’ yard, but that was it.

It wasn't like him to walk across his lawn to offer help or introduce himself.

That was until he saw you, pout resting on your pretty lips as you struggled to open your door with the large box in your hands.

Maybe it was that he hit multiple aces while golfing or maybe it was your ass peeking from your shorts. Whatever it was it prompted him to approach you, offering to help you inside.

Any other time you'd have declined, aware of the horror stories of seemingly kind men but something told you to trust him. Maybe it was the prominent muscles along his six foot frame, or that he was old enough to be your dad. Whatever it was you accepted.

He helped you bring all of your boxes and furniture in. Happily rearranging your room for the third time and even helping you fix the wobbly leg of your coffee table before wishing you a good night and returning to his house.

That night he jerked off to the memories of you bent over and the small sounds you made when lifting a heavy box.

You talked with him once after that. When you finally settled into the house that was too large for one girl, you went knocking on his door to bring him thank you brownies, praying he didn't notice your eyes lingering on the prominent v-line of his bare torso before you finally handed him the dish.

Of course, there were the occasional waves whenever you two happened to pass by each other but your schedules rarely mixed. That was until he decided to take a day off.

While in the middle of mowing his lawn, he saw you leave your house, gown in hand, and dripped in colorful cords and stoles, your decorated graduation cap sparkling in the sun as you rushed to your car.

He thought about you the entire time you were gone, busying himself with housework, and keeping a close ear by the door. When he caught the sound of your car pulling in your driveway he immediately jogged his way over to you, stopping in the same place he first introduced himself.

“Hi, I just wanted to come over and congratulate you. I saw you this morning but you seemed to be in a rush” He smirked, hazel eyes skimming your bare legs that appeared elongated in the heels you wore.

“Aww thank you, I was, but I'd have loved to talk to you anyway” A nervous giggle escaped you. Despite the low interaction, you couldn't help but grow a small crush on your older neighbor. The sight of him in his suit or tight golf shorts being the star in all of your late night fantasies.

“Would you like to come over to have dinner? Today, or sometime this week? I'm sure you have some plans later but if not, I'd love to have you over.” He rubbed his beard nervously as he awaited your reply.

You did. But you were convinced your friends and family would understand that you just had to take up the opportunity to get to know your hot neighbor.

At least that's what you told yourself when you accepted his invitation.

And let him teach you how to cook a steak.

And maybe when you allowed him to pull you down onto his lap as you watched the sunset.

And definitely when he carried you up his stairs before fucking you senseless.

You lost count of how many orgasms you've had. The moment he laid you on his bed, his lips were wrapped around your clit, sucking the life out of you numerous times, and fingering your pink walls till tears stained your cheeks and you shook from overstimulation.

You thought you'd be safe once he bullied his fat cock into your aching walls. Surely a man of his age didn't have the best stamina, right? Wrong.

He quite literally laughed in your face at your disbelief when he fucked his first load back into your sopping pussy.

You'd never been so full, his tip ramming against your cervix whenever he fully pounded into you and the outline of his dick as he pressed down on your tummy having you drool.

“Rei, too much” You cried. Ass in the air and face buried into the mattress as he pounded into you from behind, hands tied back with your lacey panties. Whines barely audible over the slapping skin.

“Why are you complaining, bunny? Isn't this what you wanted? For daddy to ruin this pretty pussy” He whispered in your ear. The new angle reaching spots you never knew existed.

“Ouuu, yes, please, daddy” You whined, turning to give your signature pout. Oh, how you looked so pretty to him. Face stained with tears and your pouty, plumped, glossy lips looking so soft. He found it cute how you tried to convince him to let you cum.

“No” He pecked your lips before pulling out fully, only to ram his cock back in. A harsh slap landed on your ass cheek at the same time, red bruise forming on the brown skin from his previous spanks.

“Oh my gaaawd please, I can't hold it in anymore” You resisted against the restraints, desperate to slow his movements

“Yes, you can, princess.” He taunts, as he continued his relentless pounding.

You wanted to believe him. You really did as you tried to focus on anything other than the pleasure he was providing you. You tried and tried but nothing stopped the knot from snapping. A string of curses flowing from your pretty lips as your body found the strength to push out the clear stream of squirt, your walls clamping around his cock.

He hissed, unable to resist the pressure applied as his sticky cum decorated the insides of your walls, pounding into you before pulling out to watch it drip onto his sheets.

Confusion settled into your brain as he untied your hands and flipped you over, whispering praises into your ear as he blessed your skin with soft sweet kisses.

“Reiner, I'm sorry I really tried” You started

“I know, baby. I forgive you, it's okay. You did perfect” He engulfed you in a passionate kiss, tongues exploring the path down each others throats.

You were almost convinced he did, until he reached into his nightstand, pulling out a blindfold and a vibrator from the drawer.

“I thought you said you forgive me” Pout once again resting on your lips as he opened your legs, cool air stimulating your already throbbing clit

“I do. But even the prettiest of girls don't get out of punishment”

wheres my dilf neighbor??? also congratulations to anyone who graduated. nothing but love to my fellow class of 24 graduates. even if you didn't get to graduate or you're currently still in school I'm still proud of you nd wish you nothing but success in life. mwah <3

[jj-one]

SALTY & SWEET 🥣

pairing: established relationship, nerdy bf!dom!Jungkook x gf!reader, jk is around 21/22 in this genre/tags: smut, (some) fluff, angst, degradation, praise kink, oral (m receiving), facef*cking, food play, c*m play, c*m eating, use of word daddy (once) words: 981

**old repost from my deleted blog

Oh you sad, sad little thing… always finding yourself in these compromising situations. The whole morning went as normal with Jungkook, he was super nice to you and smothered you with lots of loving kisses! But once he arrived back home from classes his entire mood shifted completely.

“Get on your knees, wanna use that pretty little mouth of yours right now.” Jungkook was hovering over you as you sat down.

You were just minding your business on the couch eating a bowl of strawberries when he said that to you.

“W-what?” Your eyes bug out of your head like a deer in headlights.

“Did I stutter? On your knees NOW!” His voice becomes more stern.

You squirm to get up, not wanting to waste another minute incase he gets angrier. Your body feels shaky from his intimidating persona, he usually comes off as sweet and caring but when he’s mad he becomes almost sadistic.

It didn’t take long for him to end up down your throat. All 7 inches of him being taken by you. You kept choking and gagging but the more you did it the more Jungkook would just keep pushing your head back down. His fingers latching onto your hair and thrusting his hips harder to get more of his cock deeper in your throat.

“C’mon, you can take it like the little pathetic slut you are. You’re my precious little pup right?”

His words made you so fucking wet for him.

You wanted to please him in the best way you could. Bobbing your head back and forth, his spit combined with your saliva all over your face. Jungkook likes it messy though, he also loves shooting his load out on your face after a long day. You acted like nothing but a toy for him to use, just a fuckdoll he can manipulate and dump all his cum into when he’s frustrated.

His glasses were sliding down to his nose as he keeps lowering his head to get a finer view of you. Your fucked out face was so angelic to him, so divine… you looked the most beautiful when you had Jungkook’s cock buried in your mouth.

“There atta-girl… such a good little slut for me aren’t you?” The way he talks to you will be your true weakness.

You had to prove your love to him. Your devotion. You wanted his cum as a reward so you had to work hard for it and push through the pain. You try humming to loosen up your vocal cords and take him better, the vibrations sent chills up his spine and he almost lost his balance for a second. Feeling the way he throbbed and twitched on your tongue made you moan against his shaft.

“Fuck yeah… good girl my good little fucking princess…”

You kept letting him throatfuck you and the tears came rolling down now. He loved seeing you become a crying fucked out mess for him, it filled his heart with the utmost joy.

“Aww.. my darling’s getting teary eyed, can’t take all of it huh??”

Your jaw hurts so bad but you can’t stop now, you have only one goal to achieve and that was to make your boyfriend cum all over your pretty face. His cock slammed into your uvula and you made a loud gagging noise, he would just grin and keep pushing hisself in you relentlessly. He laughed at your misery, the way your knees buckled and quivered while being under him.

He wouldn’t be laughing for too much longer though, one more thrust to the back of your throat would leave him nearly unable to talk. His body felt paralyzed. Eyes were violently rolling to the back of his head as he feels his release approaching. He jerks his hips back and quickly pulls out of your mouth. He doesn’t bring his cock to your face though, instead his attention is drawn to the bowl of strawberries you were eating from earlier.

He stands in front of it on the couch and viciously strokes his cock, large white ropes of cum come trickling down onto the fresh strawberries. Once he finishes he looks back at you now with an evil grin.

“Get on all fours for me doll.” He instructs you.

You do as you’re told, getting on your hands and knees, crawling your way towards him. He takes ones of the strawberries— that are now all coated with his hot delicious cum and brings it to your lips.

“Open wide.”

You open your mouth and he plops the strawberry in, you immediately close your mouth to start chewing. The strawberry was so sweet and juicy while Jungkook’s cum was warm and salty, this might be the perfect combination you’ve ever tried.

“Taste’s good right princess?”

You nod your head and finally speak “Yes, so yummy daddy, want to eat more!”

“Then go ahead, eat more.”

You dip your face in the bowl of strawberries and eat another one. You can’t get over how good his cum tastes with the savory fruit. He pets the top of your head like you were a kitten, just grinning at the sight of you eagerly eating his cum.

“Such a naughty little girl… you really are a huge slut.” He degrades you more, wrapping his hand around your neck as he lifts you from being on all fours.

You’re back on your knees again facing him while he kept a tight grip on you. The way this man had you so down bad for him, you were willing to let him do absolutely anything to satisfy his needs. Your body couldn’t stop trembling under his touch, he had you perfectly the way he wanted.

“Still look so pretty, even after sucking off my cock..” his hold on you was only getting tighter at this point.

“So obedient for me, always.”

[getaapologist]

The Geta x Servant!Reader lore just keeps getting better and better 😍😭 If it ever strikes your fancy, I would love to see what happens if someone else (a bold servant or a drunk senator perhaps) tried to put their hands on her. Or literally anything else you want to write because I will continue eating it up and enjoying every moment of it!

More servant!reader because why not? We all deserve happiness.

[ Prior entry in the servant!reader blurb saga here ]

Loud, boisterous laughter. Soft music filtering in, a cool evening that drew the guests out into the gardens. 

The stars were bright pinpricks of light above, the sky clear.

Large hands gripped your calves, your ankles, your legs strewn across Geta’s lap. He was deep in conversation with a senator, who thought the wine and merriment might make Geta more amenable to whatever his desires were.

Or perhaps, having you in his lap would do the trick. 

If there was any discomfort in your legs, it would have been worked out quickly as Geta kneaded your muscles. 

“Emperor?” you whispered, not wanting to interrupt him, but greatly desiring one of the sweet cakes back in the main room.

He didn’t take his eyes off the Senator, but gave your ankle a squeeze, as if he sensed you wished to get up. His touch returned the shackle, but it was no longer a burden or a restraint. It was a soft band of silk, a tether, a way back to him. 

His hands left your legs and he glanced over as you slid off his lap, his eyes raking over you. “Do not be long, little lamb.”

The grass was cold beneath your bare feet, and the stone floor was even colder still. Geta had stolen your sandals earlier, deft fingers pulling at the thin leather cords keeping them on.

Still, your destination was just ahead, the table piled high with sweets and other things. You took your time, adding things to a small plate that you enjoyed, but also things you knew Geta particularly liked, just in case he wanted something. 

“I have not seen you at these gatherings before, for I would surely remember you.” The voice carried a smile with it, and you looked up, laying eyes on a man you did not recognize, clad in the white robes of a senator. “What is your name?” 

The smell of the bitter wine on his breath was unavoidable. You could see the slight sway in his posture as he stood, emboldened by the alcohol.

You knew better, you knew this was a situation you wanted to avoid. You missed the protective aura that Geta provided. You felt untouchable when with him. You wished you could tug on that tether, bring Geta over. But in lieu of that, you tried to remain polite as you dismissed his interest. “I must go, excuse me.”

A firm, unrelenting grip wrapped around your upper arm, stopping you, pulling you back to where he stood, his brows drawn together in barely veiled frustration.

“You refuse to answer me?”

“You really shouldn’t do that,” Caracalla warned, his voice lilting as an amused grin spread across his face. "That's his favorite." He approached the table, loading up a small plate of his own as if this confrontation were not occurring.

You could not ask Caracalla to intervene, You did not enjoy the same latitude with him as you did with his brother. You could only bring your arms up to try to shield yourself from the man’s prying eyes.

The hand at your arm tightened its grip, yanking you forward. The plate in your hands fell to the floor with a loud clatter, drawing all attention to where you stood.

Embarrassment and fear filled you, remnants of your former work not feeling so distant now as you looked down at the mess on the floor. You longed to scoop it up, lamenting the wasted sweet cakes.

“You will unhand her, senator!” Geta spoke, his voice laden with fury.

Before the man could, his hand was wrenched away from you, his breath leaving his lungs in a forceful huff as he was pushed up against a nearby column. Your skin burned painfully where the man’s hand had been. 

Caracalla leaned against the table nearby, watching with great amusement.

Geta raged, the halls echoing with his threats. His face and throat were bright red, neck flexing, veins prominent. You overheard something about being fed to lions before you needed a distraction from the attention.

Discomfort overwhelming, you knelt down to the floor, scooping the ruined cakes onto the empty plate in an effort to forestall the tears. The cakes were so destroyed, they were in small pieces, your hands growing quite messy as you attempted to clean them up.

“Leave it,” Geta whispered, his large hands stilling yours. The sticky sweet mess did not bother him, his large brown eyes worried. As he saw your expression, he moved his palms to your cheeks, urging you to look at him.

Shame burned through you, as if this was all your fault. “I am sorry, Emperor.”

Geta shook his head, anger in his expression, though it was not directed at you. “No, little lamb,” he whispered. “This is not your fault.” His tenderness was almost shocking after the volley of verbal abuse he’d just spewed at the senator. 

Geta stood, orders leaving his reddened throat. The senator was cast out, never to be invited again. The mess was cleaned up, a fresh plate laden with more sweets sent to his chambers. He even managed to ignore Caracalla’s derisive chuckling as he used a wet cloth to clean the both of your fingers.

“Cheer up, little lamb,” he smiled softly, nudging your chin with his knuckle. His large chestnut eyes watched you, eventually falling to the arm where the man had grabbed you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, reaching for his wrist. His eyes flitted down to the point of contact before meeting yours again, something else in his gaze.

He seemed to hesitate, something unexpected causing him to falter for a moment. And only a moment. Hunger surfaced in his eyes, his desire to smooth things over, to get you to forget about the handsy senator surely at the forefront of his mind. “Come, let me feed you all the cake you care to enjoy, mea mellitula.”

A/N: 'mea mellitula' is roughly my honey. Maybe we forgot about the finger incident, but clearly Geta didn't.

[ next entry in the servant!reader universe here ]