#SOBBING AND WEEPING.... AH

[egophiliac]

GET LOVED, IDIOT

GET LOVED SO HARD YOUR KIDS HOLD HANDS AND POWER-OF-LOVE YOU BACK TO LIFE

sorry guys, this is just my brain now. this is going to be the only thing I think about for the next week at least.

oh and also this

FIVE YEARS IN AND IT'S FINALLY CANON 🎉🎉🎉

WE DID IT

[frog-girlfriend]

michael jones the man that you are

[twinklingwatermellon]

no because it really does always come back to parents and children and the cyclical nature of the love they give you

[masked-and-doomed]

I don't know if Conclave classifies as 'haunting the narrative' but like they have Influenced Basically Everyone in some form in Guilty Gear. And I go like Conclave mention!! Anytime someone mentions it because Yeah They Fucked People's lives up and they're inevitably going to be mentioned in some character's lore.

But it's only a passing thing. They're. They're so in the background, yet they're so important. I mean yeah That's Kinda the Point I guess since they're the shadow government but also oh my god we know so little about them compared to the other antags. They lived for 200 years and admittedly they probably didnt do much jack shit on their own lives within that period because they were trying to Save Humanity and Libraria said that the point of their existences were to be tools for that but still my god we know Nothing.

They've done so much to other people's lives and I have so little info on the group!! It's making me lose my fucking mind !

[tonycries]

Kiss Me More!

Synopsis. There’s always something that makes him lose control - and you love pushing those buttons.

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

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rough séx, unprotected, bodyworshíp, stuff with pantíes, bréeding, slight exhíbitionism (Sukuna’s), Nanami and Geto are a bit mean, overstím, finger suckíng, dacryphília (Geto’s), pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.1k

A/N. Bro my laptop crashed thrice trynna write this um.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “Raw?!”

Great, Toji thinks, he’s finally lost it.

Because sooner have the words left your swollen lips, all the blood goes rushing to his achingly hard cock - so swollen and already leaking hot precum all over your trembling thighs. Some dark, primal part of himself being poked so dangerously awake.

“Are ya sure, doll?” he breathes, and the words come out ragged - pained even. Like some part of himself wanted you to save no, was begging you to say no - for his own sanity. Because just the thought of your pretty lil’ cunt wrapped around his cock makes him feel lightheaded. “We don’t-”

“I wan’ to,” you give him a determined little nod. Spreading your legs further and oh Toji lets out a hoarse grunt at the heavenly sight. Hanging on your every word as you continue, “What’s the worst that can happen?”

That was hours ago - oh, how foolish you were. 

You never thought that those would be the words that make your poor boyfriend snap. That it would only take him just barely grazing his angry, weeping tip between your puffy folds. Up and down up and down up and- down went every rational thought. 

Too depraved. Too lost in the feeling of finally having you and your soft pussy and you-

“C-can’t believe you’ve been ngh- fuckin’ holdin’ out on m-me.” He was in heaven, making you cum over and over and-

And you were clawing limply at the drenched sheets, the headrest, Toji’s shoulders - just anything and everything for some semblance of sanity. 

“T-Toji-” you sob, “S’too much. I- ngh- can’t anymore-”

“Fuck! Been hah- holdin’ out on me.” he groans, like a mantra. Brows furrowing as he squeezes his swollen cock harder into your plushy walls. And if it was any other time then Toji might’ve almost been embarrassed at the way his sentence cracks ever-so-slightly at the end. Choking out, “One more- gimme j-jus’ one more.”

“But-” Big, fat tears roll down your burning cheeks as large fingers dip down to toy your sensitive clit between them - no rhythm or rhyme, just to get you off. “You said the p-previous one would ngh- b-be the last.”

Ah, you were so cute blabbering out little pleas. And the only response you get is a devilish smirk, Toji’s darkened, hooded eyes boring into yours as he hums, “Did I? I don’t remember.”

He did remember. Very well, in fact as he pushed you to your nth orgasm tonight. And it took everything in him to hold off his high as he fucked you through yours, whispering out hollow promises about it being the “last time” and just “one more”. 

“S’okay-” Toji nips playfully at your wobbling lips. Salty with the taste of your overstimulated tears. “One more- you can mmpf- cum f’me once more, right?” 

And Toji’s barely-there sense of rationality in him knows he should slow down. Ease up his bruising grp on your hips. Have at least some shred of concern as he fucks your quivering cunt rougher, like his personal sex toy more than anything. 

Yet, no, right now he couldn’t even think straight. Too focused on how your moans were so sweet. Lips so pretty screaming out his name. Snug cunt too fucking heavenly when you cum all over his cock, squeezing him like your slutty lil’ pussy was trying to milk the fucking soul out of him. So hard and addicted that Toji was hooked. 

You mewl a delirious little, “H-hooked?” Batting your hazy eyes up at the monster above you, who seemed well and fully intent on making you cum until you couldn’t anymore. “Y-you’re hooked?”

Whoops, did he say that out loud? Seems you weren’t the only one that was completely and utterly wrecked here. 

“Shhh,” Toji drops his head once more to kiss away your adorable pout - the one that only makes his balls squeeze so painfully. “Just focus on how ngh- fuckin’ food ya feel, pretty.” Fingers erratic on your throbbing clit, just soaked in your sweet juices. Moving deftly to spell out a messy T-O-J-I. Over and over and- “After all, this hah- pussy now belongs to me now, right?”

And it’s all you can do to give a delirious little nod, words slurring together as you hiss a low, “Y-yours- S’all for- ngh- you-” Hips bucking wildly underneath his strong figure. “Close- m’gonna cum, Toji-”

The only response you get is a guttural groan of what sounded like your name - followed shortly by a string of profanities as Toji speeds up his abuse on your cunt. One hand reaching out to grip onto the headboard, so hard that if you were in any better state of mind the two of you would have registered the sharp snap! 

The other almost-feverish on your poor clit - like it hurt to not have you cumming all over his cock now. Spelling his name over and over and-

“Oh I’ll let ya cum-” Hips stuttering and so so sloppy now. Sounding like his sanity was dancing away every time his hips slapped bruisingly against yours. “Gonna make you c-cum so ha- hard you’ll forget everything else-”

You’re letting out strangled little gasps in response, hips torn between running away and fucking down for more more more-

“Fuck- hope you’re on the pill, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Painted white

“Whoops.”

Nanami well and fully thinks that it’s your fault he feels less of a man than some monster right now. He acts like it, too, holding back a sultry little smile as he fucks you deeper and deeper into the mattress. 

Close - too close. 

Close enough that he’s immediately pulling out of your snug cunt. So fucking difficult with the way you’re sucking him up so good - but oh was it worth it watching the way your swollen lips drop into a soft oh! Glassy eyes snapping down to catch the way he fucks his fist once, twice. Before spilling all over your swollen folds, painting you such an obscene white over and over and-

“Now now,” you can only keen in response as your husband hums lowly. Fist sliding languidly up and down his angry, red cock. “Guess we hafta hah- do it all over again, my love.” 

Yeah, definitely worth it with the way he had you all breathless and needy, your slutty lil’ pussy just begging to go over the edge - only to tease you at the very last second. God, it’s been like this for so long now. 

“So mean,” you give Nanami a little pout - one that has his still-painfully hard cock twitching so sensitively in his hand. Big, fat tears welling up in your eyes as you continue, “You’re being so ngh- mean, Ken.”

Oh, damn that little nickname - the exact same one you’d scream when you’re close. Damn the way you cock your head just right, batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently up at him.

Damn the way he snakes his hand down to the sinful little pool of cum spreading all over your lower stomach. Letting it trickle onto his fingertips - immediately shoving them between your lips to shut up those pretty lil’ moans. 

“Mean?” he manages to chuckle. Tips of his fingers pressing right at the back of your tongue. Slapping his swollen cock on your stomach, “Is this what you ah- wanted? Are ya happy now, my love?” 

The sight of you all teary and gagging around his fingers was almost as addictive as the sight of you covered in his cum. Almost. 

He sweeps his eyes all over where you were splayed out so prettily for him. Your glossy lips, the streaks of cum on your stomach, your chin, everywhere and anywhere - except where you wanted the most. 

It had started with an accident, really, when he’d pulled out a bit too early tonight. And fuck if Nanami didn’t think that sight of you all dripping and covereed with him was like the gates of heaven spread wide open all for him. A new, dangerous addiction. 

Which is why he’s pushing his fingers deeper, whispering out a ragged little, “Shit, you’re so messy.” Purposefully dragging his thumb across your lower lip to smear the mess everywhere. Your lips, your chin, inside. “So filthy.” He can’t even think about bringing himself to be disgusted. Dipping down the valleys of your chest, down, down down, to where his achingly hard tip was just kissing your quivering entrance now, “So perfect.” 

And without warning, Nanami’s splitting you apart on his massive cock once more. Jaw falling slack ever-so-slightly at the way you’re taking him up so readily - inch by fucking inch like it hurt to be apart.

“F-fuck,” you moan, the words broken as he starts moving inside - back to picking up that unforgiving pace from earlier, like he never stopped. “Hngh- s’too good- too full, Kento-”

“Awww, what happened to ‘Ken’?” Nanami cuts you off uncharacteristically. Hips slowing down to lazy, mindless little movements that have you gasping in protests. “Was gonna cum on your pretty face this time hah- s-seems you don’t want it, hm?”  

And ah, let it be known that Nanami Kento would burn down the world for his wife. 

But what fun it was to tease you - to have your mouth dropping in disbelief, eyes widening in your delirious state. Babbling out a broken, “No no no, Ken- hngh- wan��� you to cum inside.” Back arching off the bed, grappling pathetically for more more more- “To paint me white inside- Please?”

Oh, did you know how to push his buttons just right. Because how could Nanami deny you begging so prettily like that?

Because the sentence is barely out of your mouth before neat nails are digging into your hips as Nanami pulls your hips closer, milking his cock on your snug cunt - so hard he knew it would leave marks. His heavy balls on your ass, your ankles on his shoulders, nails dragging down his bulging biceps as you moan his name. 

Whispering, breath hot against your ear, “You’re right.” Voice so strained and dark that you almost don’t recognize it as your husbands. “So, so right.”

Nanami’s index finger coming down to draw an invisible line right where he could feel his cock making a mess of you inside. 

“Ah! Ken, W-what-”

“You’re so right.” he’s breathing against your mouth, like a little prayer. Tasting the sweet candy of your lips and himself and you- “The next spot-” Pressing his finger down right on that spot, hard. Like he wanted to feel himself more than anything. “Will be here.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Pretty when you cry

“S-Sugu, are you okay?” you’re looking over your shoulder to ask. 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing - except for Geto’s heavy breathing, and the lewd little squelches from down below, his swollen cock just barely sinking into your heavenly cunt. And you know it doesn’t bode well.

You’d be almost worried if it wasn’t for the way his eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown and just locked on that single, stray tear rolling down your cheek. Such a dark little glint in his gaze that had you wondering whether you should be concerned for him or yourself. 

Yet you manage to choke out a little, “Suguru?”

Ah that snaps him out of his little reverie, suddenly too-aware of your plushy walls sucking the soul out of his hot, angry head. 

With work, it’s been a while since Geto got to fuck your snug cunt - and you needed to breathe, maybe spread your legs more. Relax, because it was so fucking tight and Geto wasn’t even halfway. The stretch way too sinful. Too much. Your lips wobbling at how massive his cock was, and oh- was that another tear going down your pretty face?

You don’t even get to confirm because several things happen at once - immediately, he’s pushing his aching dick in one, harsh thrust. Head dipping down to pool the tears streaming on his hot tongue, groaning at the taste.

“O-oh.” you manage to grit out, feeling like Geto was pushing into your fucking lungs. “S’too big. Sugu, ah!”

“Shhhh, gorgeous.” he’s dragging his lips down your neck, fingers dancing down your body to roll your ravaged clit between them. “S’alrigh- ngh-” And you didn’t know whether he was reassuring himself more than you. “You got it. Y-you’ll take it- you always do, right?”

And he was right - but you’d forgotten how unforgiving Geto’s cock was. How unforgiving he was as he pries away your fingers gripping onto the headrest - trying pathetically to pull away from the pressure down below. 

Hah, he thinks, intertwining them so mockingly with his own, as if he’d let such a pretty lil’ thing like you escape. 

Romantic - the way this was supposed to be. 

Yet, now, Geto was fucking you like anything but. 

“You’re not trying to- fuck- run away,” he’s purring in your ear, rubbing his thumb over your swollen clit once. Twice. As if trying to will the answer out of you, “Right?” Not even waiting for your answer before reeling his hips back, all the way till his fat tip was just kissing your sloppy entrance. “After we hngh- haven’t done this in so-” Slamming his hips down. Harsh. “-long?”

And shit- he was acting like it, too. So depraved and filthy the way he was drinking up your cute lil’ moans, tasting your tears on his lips while he couldn’t decide between bruising your poor cervix and hitting that one spot. “T-too fuckin’ long, gorgeous.”

The only answer he gets is your sweet, simpering whine of “Sugu- Sugu Sugu- oh my god.” Back bowing off the bed because it’s gotten so much. “C-can feel you so deep inside.”

Really, how could Geto even think about stopping himself from kissing down your arched back? Looping two strong arms around your waist to pull you impossibly deeper down his cock. 

“Ah! Oh my god- Suguru!” you keen as he falls back on his knees with you in tow, your back against his muscled front. Spreading your legs to fuck up so mindlessly into you. Jagged, long thrusts, bouncing you like a toy on his aching cock. Rough. “So much- so- ngh-”

Ah, your pretty little cries are just music to his ears. Fuck, he forgot how pretty you looked when you were all breathless and crying on his cock.

“Such a cute lil’ actress.” he coos, voice going up each time his heavy balls smack your ass. Fingers drawing such tight little circles on your throbbing clit. “Love these hah- pretty tears.”

“S-So mean, Sugu-” you’re choking as his thrusts get purposeful - calculated. Hitting that one magical spot he’ll never forget no matter what. Over and over and over while all you can do is cry out teary moans of his name.

Thigh quivering at the sheer stimulation, “Yeah- yeah, jus’ like that.” And oh Geto wishes he could taste down there, too. But instead settles for doing that later - getting those sweet, overstimulated tears out of you. “My gorgeous girl, cryin’ on my cock. Ngh- gonna cum f’me?” Pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your forehead - the complete opposite of his hips. “Gonna c-cry while you’re mm- cumming all over my cock?”

And as if he really really wanted to see it - Geto’s only getting sloppier. 

So embarrassing with the way he was whispering out sweet little degradations in your ear, guiding you closer and closer. 

So embarrassing with the way he eagerly watched all your minute reactions.

So embarrassing with how you cum exactly the way he wanted you to - teary and breathless. A quick scream of Geto’s name before you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. 

Cunt clamping down so deliciously on his cock. So dizzying that you barely even register the hot tongue lapping at the fresh wave of tears.

“Ah, as perfect as I hah- imagined.” Geto grits out, sounding every bit absolutely wrecked. “Now I jus’ n-need to know if you’ll cry as much when m’filling you up.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Just the tip.”

“Hngh- f-fuck, baby.” he whines into your open mouth, strong hands pulling your trembling hips impossibly closer to his. “J-jus’ a bit deeper- only a bit deeper, I promise.”

Ah, if only you weren’t split apart so deliriously on Choso’s cock you might’ve been able to actually form a coherent sentence to- what? Snap at him? Beg him for more?

You don’t even know at this point, because it’s been like this for so long now, and Choso promised it would be just his weeping tip. He promised it would be quick and he just “wanted to feel his girl’s pretty pussy.” Over and over again as he pushed your legs all the way until they were pressed against your tits, heels pressing into the mattress as he slides his massive cock even deeper-

“Cho!” you yelp, feeling the thump! thump! thump! of those prominent veins down the side rub against all the right spots. “You said-”

“I know I know, m’sorry.” he gasps. Brows scrunching as he nevertheless bullies his cock deeper inside your gummy walls. Choso’s cock too big, the stretch too sinful. Dropping his head to kiss your bruised lips, “M’sorry, jus’ a bit more. Jus’ a bit- hah- a bit deeper-”

And oh, he shouldn’t have done that. 

Shouldn’t have let himself that last bit of freedom, because he sinks only a bit more into your heavenly cunt - so dripping wet and milking the soul out of him - that Choso can’t help but think he wants more. 

“Baby…” Choso purrs hotly against your ear, hips thrusting in slow, shallow little grinds - and you already know too well what he’s about to beg for.

“Cho.” you groan, warningly. “You said j-jus’ the ngh- tip.”

“Awww.” he groans. So fucking pretty with his long hair undone, some strands sticking to his flushed skin. Eyes hazy and miles away as he looks at you through those long, dark lashes. “Jus’ a bit ngh- more? Promise I’ll pull out.” As if to support his case, one hand gently tilts your head up to press chaste pecks at the corner of your lips. The other starting to toy with your ravaged clit, “Please?”

And how could you say no to that? 

Especially not when Choso digs his knees deeper into the sheets, rock-hard cock dragging so agonizingly against your walls as he reels his hips back, back, back-

Splitting you apart all in one, harsh thrust. 

It’s all you can do to whine out a pathetic, “O-oh fuck- fuck! S’too deep.” The stretch too sinful, his cock too massive. Tears springing to your eyes as he immediately starts fucking you in quick, ragged movements - not even easing you into it like he usually would. 

“M’sorry, baby.” Choso sounds so fucking wrecked, voice as rough as his hips now. “M’sorry m’sorry. Promise I won’t cum inside. Jus’ a bit more- some- some more-”

And for all the remaining sanity you had left, you didn’t know how promises of “just the tip” turned into empty wishes that neither of you had the patience - nor the sanity - to fulfill right now. 

“Please.” you arch your hips off the bed - and nothing more has to be said, because Choso reads that lust-drunk little plea in your eyes. “Ch-Cho-”

“A bit more.” he lets out a humorless little laugh. Reaching above to lace his fingers on top of your head, pushing you down, down, down impossibly deeper onto his painfully hard cock in a pathetic little cadence to match his. “Jus’ a bit- more.”

It was driving him insane. 

And for all his apologies, Choso isn’t one bit shy when rocking his hips harder into yours. So bruising with the way he leaves marks on your waist, your tits, probably even your poor cervix. Whispering out mindless little promises of pulling out and nonsense about going “jus’ a bit deeper”.

“F-fuck, wan’ you to cum, baby.” The bed is creaking in protest as Choso picks up the pace so sloppily. Hips stuttering and uneven with how fucking good it felt - but hitting the right spots every time. His hands snaking down to roll your sensitive clit between his fingers again. “Cum f’me. Please?”

And it seems that Choso had a penchant for getting what he wanted. 

Because no sooner do the words leave his rosy lips, you’re seeing stars behind your eyes. Blood roaring in your ears, mixing with Choso’s broken little praises as he fucks you through peak after peak of your high. 

Over and over and-

“Sorry-” your eyes snap open at that familiar little phrase falling from his lips. One that you knew didn’t bode well for you or your poor cunt. “Sorry sorry sorry-” Thrusting, once. Harsh. Twitching so wildly inside you that just one more squeeze and he’d be- “C-can I ngh- cum inside, baby?” 

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - A lil’ show

It only takes that first, broken little moan escaping your swollen lips and you already know you won’t make it out intact - nor will Sukuna’s sanity, apparently. 

Because no sooner has that sinful noise left you, Sukuna’s eyes glaze over, jaw dropping so uncharacteristically into a soft oh! Aching dick twitching wildly inside you, hips stuttering against yours as he breathes out, “What was that?”

He doesn’t have the patience to wait for your response - instead, squeezing his swollen cock deeper, fucking all the air - and the words - out of you. 

Which, unfortunately for you, wasn’t exactly the reaction he was hoping for. 

“Aww, c’mon.” the words are groaned into the crook of your neck, sending jolts of electricity all the way down to your dripping cunt. “Give me more ngh- of those-” Large hands tightening on your hips, shifting you around on where you were sat so prettily on Sukuna’s lap. “-pretty moans, brat.”

So that’s what he wanted.

And this was supposed to be something slow. Something lazy, and languid to get the king of curses off before that droning meeting today with his underlings - to take the edge off so that he probably won’t end up killing them all off.

Something it was not supposed to be was Sukuna spreading your legs so shamefully, splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his cock. Trying to find the angle that’s just right to rip those cute lil’ moans out of you.

“C’monnnn.” he gives short, sloppy little thrusts up into your heavenly cunt. “Where is-”

Then suddenly you’re wrapping your arms tighter around Sukuna’s neck, “Ngh! Oh fuck-” Teeth digging into his muscled shoulder, hard - hard enough that it might’ve drawn blood if this wasn’t the king of curses himself. 

“Found it.” And it’s all that’s said before he’s reaching down to spread your puffy folds further, eyes flicking between your wobbling lips and the way your tight pussy was sucking him up so good. Watching the way his massive cock was disappearing in and out in and out in and- “What? Not gonna hah- scream my name anymore?”

“B-because, Kuna-” you gasp, face burning at the way your thighs tremble with the effort to pathetically to meet his unforgiving pace. “They- they’re close.”

Humming in amusement, “Who?”

“Them!” you’re keening - and both of you know you’re talking about those footsteps outside, the thought of Sukuna’s meeting weighing much more on your mind than his. So you’re limply grazing your lips against his, trying to muffle those whimpers falling from your lips. “They’re g-gonna ngh- hear?”

“So?”

You don’t know what you’re reeling more from - Sukuna’s response or the way he’s increasing his pace relentlessly. Trying to pull those sweet sweet moans from you, no care or concern for the ever-closing footsteps outside. 

“I don’t care.” he groans, back arching off the sticky seat of his throne to fuck up into your sloppy hole deeper. “You’re ngh- above them, y’know.” Bouncing you like such a slut on his cock, “So what if they h-hear?”

And God you don’t know who’s more fucked-out right now - Sukuna, who was speaking mindless little nonsense into your ear, or you. Whiney and a mess, tugging on his soft locks - a warning.

One that the man himself blatantly ignores, instead having one hand reach down to roll your throbbing clit between his fingers. 

“Hngh- fuck!”

The moan escapes you before you can bite down on Sukuna’s neck, right above his racing pulse to muffle it. 

“Heh,” shivers run down your spine as Sukuna’s chest rumbles with a laugh. Pulling your lolling head away to crash his lips against yours. Panting into your open mouth, “Sneaky. But they’re only getting closer and-” Rocking his hips harder. Bruising. “-m’only getting more impatient.”

And then he’s fucking up into you with reckless abandon. Smirk spreading at that little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time he hits that one spot. 

You’re sure that if whatever unfortunate soul was outside couldn’t hear your delirious moans then they could definitely hear the lewd slap of skin on skin. Fast, so unforgivingly loud. His fingers just a blur on your clit. Just taunting those little moans out of you.

You’re gasping at the sheer stimulation, “Y-you’re so-”

“So what?” Sukuna spits into your mouth, “Don’t start ngh- sentences ya can’t finish, brat. Though-” His sharp eyes flicker towards the door, much more aware than whatever hazy mess was left of your senses. “I don’ think you’ll be able f-finish any of them soon enough.”

Barely even giving you the chance to register his words, you’re tilting your head in confusion up at him and-

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Oh, shit. 

“Come in.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Blue blue blue!

It’s times like this - your blue lingerie almost in tatters, Gojo pushing you into such a tight mating press, filling up your poor pussy over and over - that you wonder when bones will start breaking.

Well, not that your boyfriend would mind either - he wouldn’t mind having to use a bit of reverse cursed technique on what was supposed to be a lazy little cockwarming session. Instead, too focused on how your cunt was sucking him up so good. His cum inside you so warm, the stretch so sinful, your lingerie too blue-

“Heh, what? C-can’t ngh- speak, sweetheart?” Gojo lets out a humorless little laugh. Fingers deftly hooking under your bra strap to give a sharp little snap! “You’re the one that a-asked for this, after ngh- all.”

“B-But, Toru-” you gasp, and it only has Gojo ramming his cock into you deeper. Awe-struck at how you were already so bloated with his cum, but still taking him so well. “Wasn’t on p-purpose-”

“This wasn’t on purpose?” And you know what he’s talking about - that barely-there fabric - the exact shade of his eyes. Only one glance at it had Gojo feeling like something snapped - possibly his restraint, maybe his sanity. Definitely you by the end of this. “This?” 

And you can’t even act coy - you don’t get the chance to. 

Because Gojo’s immediately got his hands everywhere. On your swollen breasts, your hips, the hem of your panties that he just barely had the patience to slide aside before stuffing you full. 

“Y-yes?” you ask, deliciously. Cunt clenching so sinfully around his throbbing cock in- fear? Anticipation? As he looked down so starved at you. 

“F-fuck. Ya shouldn’t have done this.” Gojo’s dragging his lips down your neck, soft. The exact opposite of how bruising his hips were of yours. “Oh, ya shouldn’t have done this-” Lewd curiosity getting the best of him as he dips his hand lower, pressing down just slightly on your lower stomach. “Because now,” Those blue eyes widening at the way his cum gushes down your legs, down his legs. “-m’not gonna let you go until I fuckin’ ruin these.”

And if you were in any better state of mind you could’ve almost laughed - because Gojo was acting like the soaked, flimsy fabric hanging around your body wasn’t already far, far past any salvation. 

No, he was fucking you like he was going to ruin them all over again. Tightening your legs thrown over his shoulders, folding you in half like some ragdoll as he bends down, down, down-

RIP!

You’re gasping at the sharp tear of fabric, one that you barely hear over the fucking obscene squelches from below. “T-Toru-” you squeal, ankles locking in warning. “These ngh- w-were expensive.”

“So?” And for all the world, Gojo has the audacity to sound so genuinely confused. Whispering a soft oh! as he angles his head just right to catch that sinful little tear in your panties. “Whoopsies.”

But, really, what your unregretful boyfriend was actually focusing on was how fucking illegal it should be for you to look this heavenly - legs shaky and limp, his seed forming a lewd little pool. Marked like you were fucking thrown to wolves, but, no, it was actually Gojo Satoru and he couldn’t fucking get enough-

“Five.”

The word comes out abruptly, strangled like Gojo himself was as bewildered as you as he suddenly blurts it out. 

And at your - fucking adorable - look of confusion, he’s kissing away the pout at your lips, murmuring hoarsely, “M’gonna buy you five more of these.”

That’s all that’s said before he’s only rocking his hips harder, feeling more of a fucking monster than he did when he was on the battle field. Wondering whether he’d have to buy a new fucking bed too with the way it was creaking under the pure power. 

And, well, it made some tiny, sadistic little part of Gojo delight to see the effect it had on you. Sweet moans of his name leaving your lips each time he draws rapid circles on your pretty clit. Hips fucking back down to meet his, so sloppy and needy - exactly the way he wanted you. 

“Sh-shit, Toru-” you’re bucking wildly underneath him, “M’close- so fucking close.”

He knew - of course he did. If the way your gummy walls were trying to suck the fucking soul out of him was anything to go by. Clit pulsing in a maddening little thump! thump! thump! that set Gojo’s animalistic rhythm. 

“Cum f’me.” he pants against your open mouth. Fingers hurrying on your clit because he wanted - needed - this so badly. “Cum f’me cum f’me, wan’ feel you squeezing my cock, sweetheart.” Needed to see if your tight pussy could take one more - to see if she’d overflow onto your poor panties again. “Cum f’me.”

“Ngh- fuck- Toru!”

And then you are - you feel it before you realize it. 

Just that white-hot electricity flowing through your veins, and your nails digging into Gojo’s milky skin. Leaving such angry red marks as you chase your high over and over and-

And Gojo wasn’t any better. Just barely having the sense to pull out as his balls squeezed so painfully and he’s painting your quivering pussy white. Thick rope after rope that the smug bastard purposefully smears all over your panties. 

So fucking filthy.

“Ten.” he’s groaning, and you already know what he means. “M’gonna have to buy you ten more after this.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[oepionie]

— "HE'S THE OTHER MAN!" . the corpse groom

SYNOPSIS: A ghost groom has claimed MC as his unwilling bride. Unfortunately for him, she's already got a lover

⊹ [ c.w ] — violence, possessive behavior, malleus blows a fucking green laser down ramshackle, mentions of blood, yuu is poor but we alrdy knew that, papa crewel crumbs

⊹ [ w.c ] — 1.6k opening post with malleus! if this gets enough attention, I might do more :P

"You what?" Crewel seethed, eyes wide as an unsettling smile stretched across the red of his cheeks.

"Repeat that."

"I…I accidentally released that ghost from the spellbook," Grim sobbed, his glossy eyes reflecting both fear and guilt as he looked up at the imposing figure of the professor. "And he's taken my henchhuman as his bride!"

Oh, Great Sevens. Not again.

Crewel groaned, his hands reaching up to frantically rub at his burning eyes. The flickering candlelight cast erratic shadows across his face.

"Please, do tell. How in Wonderland did someone with your lackluster skills manage to—" The professor was abruptly cut off by a loud, almost obnoxious cry that echoed from the doorway. Turning sharply, Crewel saw Crowley hunched against the entrance frame, hysterically sobbing into his palms. Fat tears dripped beneath his ornate mask, glistening in the low light. "They grow up so fast! My dear child is already getting married!"

Crewel's eye twitched as he took in the scene: Grim shaking like a leaf, and Crowley, dramatically weeping, pathetically looking to him for a solution.

"Fools," Crewel snarled, striding out of the room as he fished his phone from his coat pocket. "If you two won't be of use, then I'll have to enlist the help of those mutts instead."

The day had started like any other in Ramshackle, but you certainly didn't expect it to end with a wedding. Surrounded by the ghostly residents of the dorm, you stood dressed in all white, a bouquet clutched in your hand. Curling in yourself, you sighed and rested your head in your hands, avoiding everyone's gazes which felt like icy needles on your skin.

Ramshackle's old lounge, with its worn-out floorboards and faded wallpaper, was the chosen venue for your ceremony. Whispers rustled through the gathering, carried on a faint breeze that stirred the dust motes in the dim light. Somewhere in the background, the somber notes of an organ piano echoed. You didn't even know you had a piano…

"Dear?"

Jumping with a shriek, you whipped your head around. A ghostly visage, bathed in a deathly pale blue glow, hovered inches from your face, an unnaturally wide grin stretched across their blue lips. Bony fingers gently traced up your cheeks, sending tingles down your spine.

With sunken eyes and high, sharp cheekbones, Elizan—a "visiting" friend of one of Ramshackle's ghosts—was truly a sight to behold. His complexion had a pallor that matched the moonlight filtering through the decrepit windows of the form. Wisps of long, flowing indigo hair framed his face, swept back as if caught in a breeze that only he could feel.

"You look wonderful," he cooed, pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead, leaving your cheeks burning.

"Ah. Thank you," you stammered, averting your gaze and gently pulling away. You could hardly focus on the words being spoken to you, your mind spinning with the surrealness of it all.

"You look... Good as well," you forced out with a cough, tugging at your hair nervously. "But... Listen... I—"

Before you could finish, the door to the entrance slammed open, nearly breaking off the hinges with a sound that could wake the dead, sending cracks spider-webbing through the already dilapidated walls.

On the inside, you screamed louder than the hinges.

You had painstakingly patched up the door after Grim's recent screw-up—a feat that had tested your patience and carpentry skills to their limit. Unless you wanted to survive on a diet of stale canned food and cafeteria leftovers for another year, you couldn't afford any more repairs.

While you were busy mourning the loss of having decent meals, heaving and leaning against the door for support, your friends called out your name in a panic, their bleary and furious gazes zeroing in on your figure. Clad in white, you stood there, the perfect picture of a pretty blushing bride.

The uninvited guests didn't go unnoticed by your "groom," and in seconds, you were pulled into a suffocating grip. Elizan's usually serene demeanor shattered like fragile glass. His deathly pale features contorted into a snarl, veins pulsing ominously beneath translucent skin. His typically gentle eyes blazed with an unsettling fire, icy whites now narrowed and piercing.

"Mutt!" Crewel seethed, his foot slamming into the floor and shattering the newly installed tiles. Your soul nearly left your body as you screamed inside again. There go a thousand thaumarks…

"What in the Sevens is this!?" Crewel shrieked, running a gloved hand through his tousled hair. With sharp movements, he pointed a finger at Elizan. "I'll have you know I can have you arrested for trespassing, unlawful detention, and violating the sanctity of this academy!"

"How... How dare you? Barging into this sacred ceremony—Who even are you?!" Elizan snapped back, his arms coiling tightly around your torso. The crowd erupted in a haze of shouts and muddled answers. Unable to understand anything, Elizan's intense gaze shifted and bore into yours, demanding answers. You gulped nervously, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable in his grasp.

"Who is he?! Who are they?!" he barked like a dog, flashing his sharp fangs at you.

"Uh… That's my professor—uh, Crewel," you stammered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "And those are… They're my… friends?" Your gaze flickered to the group of men who had entered, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.

Elizan's wide eyes now filled with shock, white orbs glossed over with luminescent blue tears. He pushed you away as if you had burnt him, recoiling from your touch as though it pained him physically.

"You know other men?!" the ghost cried out, his hands clenching into fists, his midnight blue hair cascading wildly around his face like a tempestuous sea. The tortured cries of the groom echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine as you awkwardly shifted on your feet, feeling like a character caught in an soap drama.

"…Yes?" you replied, unsure.

"How could you do this to me?!" He sobbed, a dark shadow covering his face. "Running off on an affair the DAY of our marriage?!"

"Well, that's a rather dramatic accusation—" you started, but Elizan shook his head in anguish.

"Answer me! Do you have another man?!" His voice shook the room, and you took a few cautious steps back.

"Elizan, please," you uttered gently, your eyes darting nervously toward one of the men in the room.

Your lover didn't meet your gaze; instead, his eyes were locked onto the ghost, a storm of emotions brewing beneath his features. As you jumped down from the makeshift podium, you shot an apologetic frown at the ghost, hoping to diffuse the escalating situation. "Don't you understand? You're the other man."

"No! You're married to me!" Elizan shrieked, lunging forward in a frenzy, his nails clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something intangible. "Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

MALLEUS DRACONIA

"Whoever he is—He's the other man!"

Lilia raised an eyebrow with a chuckle, his form reclined against a fogged-up window of the room. The weather was gloomy and stormy, the skies tinted green outside, casting an eerie glow over the scene. The window pane, streaked with raindrops and mist, blurred the view of the turbulent skies beyond. Lilia hummed a tune under his breath, a calm figure amidst the brewing storm.

With a sidelong glance, his eyes locked onto Malleus, whose entire figure shook with a barely contained wrath that threatened to engulf the very air around him. The young prince's chest heaved in violent, choked breaths as smoke wisped from his mouth and nose—tendrils of flames flickering amidst the swirling dust and ash.

A deafening crack tore through the air as a vivid surge of green emerald lightning erupted from the heavens, descending upon the roof of the venue with explosive force. The blast of energy painted the sky with a blinding flash of green as it crashed into the building, sending broken glass and wood raining down upon the venue.

Cursing, Elizan moved you both aside, a large chunk of debris hurtling past, narrowly missing your startled form. As more debris crashed down, he shielded you with an outstretched arm, a shimmering barrier briefly forming to deflect a particularly large piece of wood.

"Spectral pest," Malleus seethed, his eyes aglow with an eerie green hue as his nails elongated into sharp claws. With a click of his tongue, he raised his hands, summoning thorns that spiraled towards Elizan, ensnaring the ghost in their sharp embrace. Simultaneously, from the floorboards below, vines emerged like serpents, their tendrils gently but firmly pulling you away from Elizan's protective embrace and guiding you into the safety of Malleus's arms.

"How—?! Ngh!" Elizan writhed against the thorny vines. The prickly tendrils twisted around him like serpents, their sharp points digging into his ghostly flesh.

Malleus paid no mind to the struggling spirit, keeping his gaze fixed on you as he checked for any signs of harm. His expression softened with relief upon finding you unscathed, albeit a bit dusty.

"Beloved," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm amidst the lingering chaos. His gloved hand moved delicately, sweeping away the clinging dust from your shoulders and arms. Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingered there briefly, conveying a warmth that contrasted starkly with the raw power he had displayed moments ago.

"Are you alright?"

Blinking up at him with wide eyes and frazzled hair shooting up in every direction, you nodded dumbly. Turning away from him, you nearly gasped aloud to see the room in shambles, debris scattered everywhere, and the eerie green glow of energy still lingering in the air. The ghostly residents were in a state of panic, their translucent forms flickering as they moved frantically.

"My dorm," you whimpered, your mind racing as you calculated the cost of the damage.

With a chuckle, Malleus adjusted his grip on you, his muscles flexing as he gently set you down. Your legs felt shaky as you tried to steady yourself.

"I will handle the cost of repair, my dearest," Malleus assured you, bending down to your height, his voice dropping to a whisper. Green eyes bore into yours, strands of his midnight hair falling over his face. "You will not need to worry about such things once we are formally betrothed."

You froze, your face suddenly warming and burning.

"What?!"

Malleus reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek, claws dragging across your supple cheeks. "Yes, my dear," he murmured, chest rumbling as his lips curved into a sharp smile. "You heard me correctly."

"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, feeling dizzy with emotion.

"Will you consider it?" he asked softly, a faint hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Please?"

Caught in the depth of his gaze, you felt your resolve melting away. "I-I guess?" you breathed, your voice trembling. "I'll… consider it."

A smug smile spread across his face, and he tenderly pressed his lips against yours. "That's all I ask, my dearest."

After ensuring you were alright one last time, Malleus redirected his focus to Elizan. With a flick of his wrist, the thorns under his control tightened around the ghost. Elizan shrieked and thrashed about, his translucent form writhing in pain as the thorns dug deeper.

"Do try to exercise some restraint, my boy," Lilia drawled, tapping his sharp fingers idly against his crossed arms. "We do not want Ramshackle to be bathed in blood. It would be very unsanitary."

not too sure if i am continuing but feel free to suggest some peepl bookies

[edensrose]

𐔌 𖹭 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐﹕𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙩𝙤𝙣'𝙨 𝙡𝙖𝙬 𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 ˖ ࣪✧

ᡴꪫ. smut & cock warming, toru uses his gravity manipulation to his advantage 𖹭 bratty f. reader ˖ ࣪ꮽ˳

satoru gojo never used his jujutsu in the bedroom, unless . . .

it stemmed from a deep-sated fear of hurting you and the sentiment of never making you feel weaker. but like any statement, there are always exceptions to the rule. outliers. hell, satoru himself is an anomaly.

how could he pass up the opportunity to pop the top off limitless when you're being your little bratty self? if anything, you forced his hand.

so here you are. thighs trembling, heavy. t-shirt rolled-up over your tits that twitch with every muscle taut. slit stretched wide open and glistened on his cock yet so comfortable in his lap. oddly still. ball-deep usually meant getting your pretty pussy gushing cum and squelching for all to hear.

"have at it baby. just lemme finish my work, yeah?"

how sweet and considerate. he gave you the green-light to hump yourself on his dick 'till you've creamed his seat messy while he tackled paperwork. and oh — you should be bouncing on him with rings of cream bubbled at his base by now. but there's one, tiny problem.

satoru increased your gravity

from the waist down, that heavy feeling is the sheer basis of his jujutsu. weighing you down onto his thick, pulsating cock. so that your slit's stretched open, quivering, and so so desperate for him. forced to feel just how girthy he is. snug into each and every sweetspot.

"toru," your sweet pleas hardly worked on him. "please, 'm sorry baby - please I wanna -"

he reached for a file on the far-end of the desk. the abrupt shift temporarily knocks his cockhead against your cervix and you squeal out. "toru! please, please."

"why're you complain' sweet girl? told you to have at it."

from the angle you catch his tooth grin as he re-adjusts his position and so conveniently rubs against another bundle of nerves. you tense and attempt to shove your hips down. alas you're motionless. the pressure below renders you helpless. a fluttering, drooling mess. just his pretty little cocksleeve.

you huff and persist your endeavour. as if by some miracle, you'd be able to defy physics. your audacity might. your shoulders knock back into his chest and you wriggle your upper half in a measly attempt to steer your hips down.

"you're so fuckin' me - ah!"

"mean baby? but 'm giving you everything."

the weight amplifies. air leaves your lungs and your gummy walls clench tighter. milk every pulsing vein and weep all over his lap. crying for him. slobbering up his seat in a miserable attempt to show him what he's missing.

heat spins your head into mess. your eyes cross and you limp into him with a pitiful tremble of his name. his fingers are all-the-more mean as they pinch on your nipple with a spark that jolts you into a whine.

"awww, baby." his faux-sympathetic pout boasts cosmic audacity. "c'mon do I have to do everything for you?"

shlap! your pussy sobs and splutters at the abrupt hip jerk. he stutters into your cervix a few times and humps on a sweetspot that sends your eyes rolling back.

"fuck, bratty pussy can give me an attitude but can't fuck herself? so weak baby." the playful lilt melts to a deep sneer as he gropes your tit in his large hand. fucks that devastating spot 'til you're jaw-hung and drooling. the stimulation is right there - just enough —

then nothing. just your cunt's pitiful throb and the weight of his girth splitting you open. his ball's flushed to your soppy folds almost mock you. he's kissing every ridge, bump and crevice, but not once pounding you into seeing stars.

your sob's muffled by his hand's weight clamped under your under jaw. long fingers squish your cheeks and his thick thumb invades your mouth to capture your tongue.

"now you're gonna sit here 'till I'm done yeah? wanted cock so bad so you're gonna take it." back to that sweet croon and a taunting smooch to your cheek. gravity's weight reminds your poor pussy how helpless she is. stuffed, suffocated and at the strongest's mercy.

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

˖ ࣪ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕. ۫ ۶ৎ @a-contemplation-upon-flowers 𖹭

[psuejo]

❥ sinners!au toji...😓

“hey, baby.” scar stretched wide with his grin. “let me in, yeah?”

you should say no. you know you should, especially with rumors of vampires running around at night, sucking stragglers dry or turning sweet neighbors into viscous beasts. it’s not safe, and it’s beyond rare for toji to genuinely ask for permission.

but maybe you’re touch-starved or ovulating or something, because you let him in, a small smile on your face and heat pooling between your thighs.

you might regret it in the morning, when the sun makes your skin bubble and the smell of garlic makes you gag, but not now, not when toji is rutting into you from behind, one thick arm wrapped around your marked neck. each thrust batters that weeping tip against your spongey cervix, and you swear he’s trying to fuck you through the damn mattress.

hell, maybe he is.

he was strong before — at least six feet of unadulterated muscle with the smarts to match — and he’s always been rough in bed. it’s just how he is.

now, though?

he’s like an animal.

“hnngh, t-toji—” you moan, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on that thick, pulsing bicep. your head is light, thoughts swamped beneath sheer pleasure, and each breath that passes through your swollen, parted lips is accompanied by a slight wheeze.

his head is right beside yours, dark fringe falling in front of his eyes as toji nips at the lobe of your ear, pearly incisors nearly piercing the tender skin. nearly, but not quite. after all, he’s never been in the habit of actually hurting you.

by no means is he a good person, and you know it, but even he knows where to draw the line.

toji chuckles, low and gravelly in your ear. “mmf, shit, what’s wrong, doll? can’t take it? t-too much for ya?” his hand trails down your front, delivering a swift swat to your drooling mound, and you yelp.

music to my damn ears.

his rough fingers glisten with your slick, and it’s almost sinful how quickly saliva rushes to his mouth, threatening to spill past his lips. you can hear him gulp, almost feel his adam’s apple bobbing.

the squelches following the next three smacks are lewd and loud, pussy sobbing, and you can’t tell whether it’s for more or for him to stop. honestly, it doesn’t even matter, not when every drag of his throbbing cock through your walls has your eyes rolling back and tears pooling on your waterline.

“filthy thing,” he tuts. “got all this vampire shit goin’ on, and here you are, moaning like yer in heat.”

like he isn’t groaning and moaning, broad chest plastered right against your slick back, as if toji can’t stand to be apart. it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins, and he intends to keep it that way.

you shake your head, mind scrabbling to smack together a coherent sentence. hard to, though, when every snap of his hips jumbles you up. “y-yeah, ngh, but you’re here too.”

toji cocks a brow. smart girl.

but he can’t have you thinking too hard. he shifts his hips, angling the crown of his cock to hit that sweet spot and push any intelligent thoughts right out of that pretty head.

“couldn’t leave ya by yourself, ma. ain’t— fuck... ain’t safe,” he groans, and his dick gives a happy twitch inside of you when you clamp down on him like a vice.

he’ll be damned if something happens to you.

the bed creaks beneath you two, and if you could hear over the sound of slick skin slapping against skin and both of your noises, then you’d probably hear wood splintering.

oh, well.

you’re so close it almost hurts, an insistent tightening in your gut that has you digging into the sheets. “ah, f-fuck... right there, mmngh—!”

toji doesn’t stop, only letting his pace grow sloppy when you cum, tears streaming down the side of your face and squirt spraying the sheets. your teeth sink into the meat of his arm, a mix of blood and drool trickling down his pale skin, and he cums right then and there with, if you had a sliver of coherency, what you swear is a whimper.

he’s emptying his balls — hot ropes of cum fill your womb like he has a point to prove, mouth laving at your shoulder. “mm, s-shit, pretty girl... fuck.”

he hasn’t cum that hard in months. must be that new vampire blood.

[a-lurking-fae]

Credits to @zealousgoldcollective for the ideaaa!!!

◇ SELKIE READER x BATFAM

◇ WORD COUNT ¡ — 2.0k

◇ SYNOPSIS ¡ — You were a halfling selkie - but due to the family's neglect, you have become one with the ocean.

Your mother was a beautiful selkie that had simply come to sunbathe — yet, how could she have ended up like this?

Bruce was travelling to Ireland to enjoy his vacation, walking on the beaches, and - there she was, in all her glory.

Your mother was humming a tune, sunbathing as she enjoyed the sea breeze, unaware of the man who had fallen in love with her at first sight. Her long locks flew gently, arranged by the wind lovingly, the sun shone on her skin — she was the epitome of beauty herself.

A beautiful stranger — she was truly. If Bruce had simply left, maybe your fate wouldn't have ended up like this. But he approached her, like a predator moves - his eyes never leaving his prey. She was a stranger, but she didn't have to be.

“A lovely afternoon to you, sir — ” by the gods, even her voice was beautiful. A tune that no words could ever hope to explain. The moment she had spoken, your mother had sealed her fate. “It truly is. Magnificence has finally gotten a meaning.”

The woman chuckled, “A poetic man — you are, dear sir. Might share some inspiration?” .

Her- she had become his beacon, his muse, his sun, the very being that he will forever tie himself into. Was this what his parents had told him? A love so strong — it can not ever be called love. So what was he feeling?

“I - uhh… it just comes naturally, sometimes it gets to you - it explains itself in words…” oh gosh, what the fuck was he talking about. But that didn't really matter, she was laughing. “Well, I hope I'll get to experience that too!”. Her laugh had started to cease, “Could I get your number?” Shit. Did that come out from his mouth?

“What's that?” She tilted her head in confusion, the humans that approached her always asked about this “number”. Bruce was also confused, but understood that some do not have the luxury of phones. But — he misunderstood why she didn't know what a number was. “Ah… never mind, will you still be here tomorrow?” Bruce asked her, well — he hopes she will.

“Hmm, I most likely will!” Well — wait, really?

From there, their interactions spiralled into something more, a spark - you could say. For your, mother this seemed like a revelation that not all humans are pure evil — but, Bruce? Well, his obsession worsened day-by-day. He craved for her touch, he needed her to be his. And finally, he soon figured out her secret.

She was a selkie — with further research, he figured out how to tie her to him. At the dead of night, he stole her pelt, hiding it away from her grasp.

She was devastated. She should have expected this. The tales of older selkie were all truths. How could she have been that naive? Bruce brought her to the manor. She met Richard Grayson, a son she never bore.

Your mother was crafty, she conceived you in the manor while she made her grand heist. She had figured out where her coat was. She was getting desperate, the ocean screamed at her to return. The rain's whispers — always so quiet - now have started to weeping noises. How could she? The ocean was her home, not here.

You may join her one day, among her own people, just not now, she swears she loves you. Amongst the sobs of the water around, your mother weeps at what might never be. Her baby, oh, her baby.

Her pup will be left to fend for herself until she can reach her. Your mother hopes she could whisk you away, but that human has trapped both of you here. And in a way, when she leaves — a part of her will be left behind in this cold — desolate structure.

‘Goodbye, my precious cub.’

She leaves, and you are left behind — wondering what it would be like to know the love of both your parents.

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

Bruce had sent you abroad for senior high. Your siblings never really cared where you were. You had chosen Ireland — its infrastructure, history, and folklore screamed to you.

Everything was fascinating! You had read about selkies, which were kind creatures that sometimes assisted humans. You knew how most stories ended up with them getting taken advantage of. (You are unaware you were a result of the exact situation. How ironic.) You return to your Airbnb, opting to rest after classes.

At the dead of night, you trailed to the beach, you never realised you had walked all the way here! It was a good few kilometers from the bnb, how could you have not noticed?

You decided to enjoy the sea for a while, think about life? Sure, why not? A melodic tune enters your ear, words couldn't describe how beautiful it truly was. You follow the tune — entranced, you find a woman with long locks, singing away her heart. She spots you, and familiarity hits you — akin to a tidal wave, it sweeps you away. Leaving that feeling of being stranded on the shore. She runs to you, her sobs pulling your heart as well. And — “My pup, you have finally returned to my arms once more!” You weep along with her, you're not even sure that if she truly is your mother. Well, in the future you can deal with that problem!

The woman embraces you from midnight to the early rising of the sun. She tells you her story, and you are unsure. She senses the hesitation from you, after all, how could she not? You came from her womb, and she tells you your heritage. Your mother had started her own selkie family. You had half–siblings that enjoyed your presence. You weren't used to this. Your mother's husband, Liam, was surprisingly accepting of you. Watching you and your siblings from far away. His mother had a similar situation to his wife, Cahira — he was conceived by his mother after her escape a few millennia ago.

Liam protects you like his own pup. Wounds? Patched up. Need someone to talk to? A good listener is here. Boy problems? Need him to drown them? He loved you like a father. Liam saw you for you. Not because you were Cahira’s daughter, nor just a pity party — but because he genuinely thought of you as his pup.

Anytime you went swimming, they would all trail after you. You weren't a full selkie, and had a risk of dying since you weren't immortal like them. They showed you the wonders of the ocean. No matter how dark it ended up, they always knew how to find you. When graduation came around, they decided it was time to ask you —

“Join us, my child — ” Your mother randomly blurted out one day. “You can become a full selkie, and I truly wish to have you with us until the end of time.” She chose her words, knowing that you may decline their offer. “If I become a selkie, Bruce might hunt you down — again.” You rest your hand atop hers.

“I love you, all of them too. But — I do not want to risk your happiness over mine.” You hug her, burying your head unto her shoulders. This was nice, you imagine a place where it was only you and them. The cruel truth will always haunt you.

“You silly girl!” Liam hits your head in a chopping motion. “We would love to have you, and honestly? It is safer if you stay with us — away from that man.” Well —

“Not to mention the neglect you have been facing all these years, my dear — We love you so much, if he ever tries to break us up, I will go to the depths of the Otherworld and back to make sure you are with us.”

You don't notice the tears cascading down your face — it was only after Cahira had kissed them away. Did you finally realise.

Finally, after graduation, you had decided to become a full selkie.

❀•°•═════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ═════•°•❀

You returned to the manor, wishing to say goodbye to Alfred one last time. Your pelt was in your bag, although it would have been safer with your parents, an emergency might arise and you would need it.

Your room had been the same as before, the posters during junior high were still stuck up the walls. Alfred had told you to go downstairs since you would all eat together. You honestly had a bad feeling about this —

Laughter could be heard echoing against the manor walls, inside jokes ran rampant between them — you wished to return to your room. Your paradise in hell. Entering the dining room, you could feel the stares of all your siblings upon your figure. They pale in comparison to the little gremlins back home. (You didn't realise you had stopped calling the manor your home, have you?)

Silence was suffocating, and Bruce felt the awkwardness dawning on them. “So, how was Ireland (name)?” He shuffled with his collar, he came from another one of his charity events, and he was too tired to change. “It was lovely, the country is interesting.” You wanted to taunt him, let him know you were going somewhere kinder, you knew better than that.

The silence dragged on until dinner ended, it was the polar opposite with the Selkies. You truly missed them.Your days went on without a hitch, not much has truly changed. It was only a few days until you'd return to Ireland.

“You'll be staying in Gotham for college.” No! No fucking way! Did he seriously just say that shit? “I already made friends there, it's hard adjusting to another environment again and — ” Bruce sighs, he hadn't expected this, should he just let you be? “I want to spend time with, I — I regret all the things I haven't done with you. I want to become a father to you, I hope you'll give me that chance.”

You stormed out of his office, packing your bags in a haste, preparing your pelt carefully. For some reason, your siblings in the manor had all tried to spend time with you today. Richard attempted to get you to go with him to this restaurant that opened a few blocks away — you opted to run instead. Damian had dragged you to paint with him, he surprisingly didn't attack you during this process. Cassandra and Stephanie wanted to watch a movie with you, while Babs and Jason bought you ice cream. Duke joined you and Alfred in baking. Your plans I'm running away kept getting ruined. They used to patrol until dawn!

You felt a sense of urgency to return to the sea. You made up you mind and ran with your stuff, your flight had been booked, and a friend picking you up secretly. You searched your room for the hidden pelt — wait, where the fuck was it? Shit. Shit. Shit! You turned your room upside down and — nononono! You can't delay right now! “Are you looking for something, (name)?” It was Bruce, he had to have it. “I am, and I know you have it.” You'd glared at him.

“Have what exactly?” He was a bitch alright. “My pelt, Mr. Wayne.” Bruce was taken back by your cold tone. One he always used on you. “You will stay here and that is final.” He goes outside as he locks your door, chains clanking at his every move. You never knew that there were chains! “You will not leave me, no. This is your home, my dear. Dad is sorry.” Bruce walks away from your screams, he will burn your pelt soon. Until he is sure that it will not give you any harm.

You attempt to break the windows, but all the windows in the manor have been reinforced by Dick and Jason. A feeling of dread washes over you, as your selkie family senses something has gone awry.

•.:°❀×═════════×❀°:.•

Damn that was long lol —

[rodolfoparras]

Yeah but thinking about a man pissing you off, acting like a brat all day and instead of apologizing he just lays on your shared bed, pulls up his pants enough for his fat ass to spill out, spread his cheeks to show off his hole that’s pulsating for you, doesnt say a word and waits for you to approach him, and if you’re reluctant to do so he’ll let you stand there and watch him work two spit slicked fingers inside of him, grunts and groans escaping his lips, eyes fluttering shut as he fucks himself onto his own fingers, acting as if you aren’t even standing there with a boner

and of course there’s only so much a man can take before you’re crawling over to the bastard, all while he’s trying to suppress the smile on his face, and you can’t find it in yourself to be mad anymore as you slot yourself between his legs, fingers digging into plush thighs, tip of your nose brushing over the coarse dark hairs that lays dusted on his ass, before licking a stripe along the hot wet flesh, hearing a string of curse words attempt to tumble past his lips before he quickly silences them

“Apologize ” you say hot breath washing over his skin, seeing the goosebump raise across his body as the smell of his musk and sweat hits your nosestrils

“Fuck no,” he says through gritted teeth, eyes barley able to stay open as you slide the tip of your tongue inside of him, tentatively licking at the tight ring of muscles.

You just hum in response, too tired and too horny to keep this argument going as you start thrusting your tongue inside his hole, licking, sucking, eating him out, as if your face was buried in a sopping wet cunt.

“Mpf Fuck Fuck Fuck! Yes yes yes just- ah just like that”There’s sobs escaping his lips, body quaking onto the sheets, ankles locking in place to keep you moving away from him.

You continue working your tongue inside , hands spreading his cheeks as wide as those stupid jeans will allow, eagerly lapping at his puffy rim and setting a steady pace with your tongue.

“Mm wait, , stop, it’s stop too much, toooo much,” he suddenly slurs out, hands attempting to crawl away from you even though he’s practically fucking himself back onto your mouth.

Despite his words you see the way he’s looking at you with mouth agape, eyes half lidded, cock surely weeping on his abdomen. So you only tighten you grip on him, as you continue to lick relentlessly.

And it’s not long before he’s tipping over the edge, his hand sloppily fisting his dick while your tongue’s still buried inside of him.

He doesn’t say a word as he cleans himself up, and lays back down on the bed, leaving you down on all four, cock all hard and weeping, wishing he’d let you fuck his hole.

“Bastard,”

[spookyxcupid]

imagine zenitsu being infuriatingly jealous whenever you’re around other guys that aren’t tanjirou and inosuke to the point where you’re done with his bullshit and try (and succeed) to get it through his head that he will always be yours by fisting his weeping cock until he has cum for the 3rd time and is a sobbing mess. he’s apologizing profusely and begging for a break, but he doesn’t use his safe word. which means that he’s relishing in the attention that you’re giving him and is enjoying his punishment.

zenitsu’s crystal looking tears stained his flushed cheeks as he tugged on the ropes around his wrists that were tied to the headboard above him. he wanted to feel your skin so badly, but he knew better than to actually attempt to break out of them. his hips make tiny thrusts up into the tight ring of your hand as he feels his next orgasm getting closer.

“pleasepleaseplease, can- can i cum again? your hand feels so good!” zenitsu pleaded, his eyes closed shut as he shudders to your experienced fingers. you tsk at the sight of your boyfriend not learning from his punishment and purposely slow the movement of your hand, zenitsu predictably whined at the action. “don’t forget why you’re here, baby. don’t you have something to say to me?” you ask pointedly, your gorgeous eyes piercing his soul that he doesn’t bother denying.

“i-i’m sorry for being jealous- ah!- and for believing you would l-leave me! please forgive me, i love you— HAH?!” zenitsu’s apology was cut off when your furious stroking continued, you brought your free hand to grab zenitsu’s cheeks and pull him into a short, but loving kiss as a reward for admitting his mistake. zenitsu pants like a dog when you pull back, his brown eyes staring into yours with so much adoration and love. “good boy. i love you more, always. cum for me.” you command, and zenitsu’s reaction is instant.

his toes curl and his eyes roll back to his head as he finally climaxes all over your fist with a blissful moan escaping his lips. you untie his bonds and straddle his waist, your ass facing his soft cock. “you got one more left for me, love?” you ask, zenitsu only has to take one look at your nude body before he’s hard again. you giggle when he nods his head furiously, you lift yourself up to line up the head of his cock along the lips of your pussy before shifting down to take his fully. you both let out enjoyable sounds of pleasure as zenitsu holds onto your hips with shaky hands.

even though you popped his cherry a long time ago, he still acts a sex deprived virgin. it was immensely adorable. “silly zenitsu, i would never leave you for anyone. not when you make me feel this good.” he didn’t last four thrusts until he spilled inside you.

[dollysoob]

— TOXIC TIL THE END, 犠牲 ⨾ wrong number 𓈒𓈒

— ⌞ ‘ it’s honestly just sad.. i miss her. ’ ⌝

ⓘ / 𝒾⠀⦂ ⠀‘ riki calls you on accident, his ex, about how much he hates you, not knowing that he was talking to the wrong person. as your heart started to break, his words become more about 𓈒𓈒 wanting you back?

•⠀著者の日記 ⦂ bday special.. 彼だけに

feedback + reblogs are always welcome!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

the moonlight shines your room in a pretty, aurora shade. you sigh, laying down on your bed. you took an everything shower, did your laundry, washed your comforters, everything was just right.

ring— ring— ring— you look over and see your phone vibrate on your nightstand. you reach for it, wondering who in the world would call you during this time of day.

riki. you froze, your heart clenching at the sight of his name appearing at the top of his screen. blinded by feeling of missing him, you tentatively pressed accept. why was he calling you?

₊˚ෆ. look under the cut!! ᕱ⑅ᕱ

as your finger pressed accept, you hear riki sigh angrily. “dude, today was fucking ass.. don’t talk, i just want you to hear me out.” he says, a cold tone clearly visible.

oh, he must’ve pressed the wrong number, aka, yours.

you try, in your best boy voice to say, “sure.” riki laughs softly. ah, that laugh and how you missed it so much.

“what the hell? are you sick or something? nevermind-, anyways i couldn’t stop thinking about y/n..” he says with a hint of disgust in his voice.

you wanted to shout and yell at him, but you bit your tongue, staying quiet. “god, she’s so annoying. i hate her. i’m glad she dumped me even though i was humiliated infront of everyone..”

you had to bite your lip, trying not to laugh at the flashback of the shock and offended look on riki’s face when you broke up with him.

“she would always give me gifts, it was so cute.. she’d run to me whenever we meet up and hug me as tight as she can..” he says, adding a scoff at the end of his last statement.

where the fuck are these backhanded compliments coming from? you thought as he rants on about you, some being compliments, others making it seem like he was describing a garbage truck.

then, you heard him sniffle. “i-i think i fumbled..” he starts to cry softly, but they turn into louder, more emotional sobs and weeps.

“i miss her. i want her back.. i know we fought almost every single day—, i know that all too well, but it feels like a part of me is missing with her out of my life..” he sobbed every other word, choking on his tears.

“i don’t know what to do.. i fuckin’ messed my life up..” riki continued to sob uncontrollably before you realized the reality of this harsh situation.

you sighed, glancing away before saying to the phone. “riki.. it’s me.. y/n.” you could hear him pause his crying, soft sniffles coming out.

“what? no-, i called jake-hyung..” you could imagine him in that exact moment checking the number he had called.

“shit, fuck.. you heard everything i said..” he cussed, muttering something to himself.

“riki, hear me out.. i feel the same way.” you replied softly, trying to make your voice seem as calm as possible.

“really? you do?” he asks, not believing you. you could hear his heavy breathing on the other side of the phone.

“yeah, of course i do.. i really miss you..” you said, hearing the rustling of clothes in the background.

“i’m on my way, baby.” he replied, hanging up the call before you could even respond. you sigh, muttering to yourself, “of course he wants to see me right now..”

this was an unfinished draft, js pretend you and him made up and get back together, living happily ever after. 💗

© ⦂ haruahugs

[tacoguacamole]

ANOTHER TIME | JJK - 8

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple.

But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Theme: Marriage AU. BF2L2S]

[Warnings: Major Angst, Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Smut, Mature/Explicit Language, A lot of fluff, Romance, Slowburn, Splice of Life]

[Older JK, Older OC, Older Bangtan, Lawyer Seokjin and Namjoon, Doctor Yoongi, Event Planner Hobi, Solo idol Jimin, Secretary Taehyung, Brief cameos of Seventeen Mingyu, GOT7 Mark]

[Status: Ongoing]

[Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Chapter Word Count: 7.9k+]

[Note: Thank you for reading everyone. Your support means so much to me. It’s going to be fluff/romance/ridiculous amount of cuteness/maybe some smut since some of you want that for the next 2-3 CH. till something hits again. In case anyone wants to skip, I totally understand. Still appreciate everyone who’s been reading so far 💜 Welcome back OC. ☀️ Taglists are now closed, but I do announce posting days on the recent chapters. Usual time is 8PM (Manila/Philippines). Thanks again, always. 💜]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

The city hadn’t even stretched itself awake when you slipped through the doors. No voices down the hall yet, no click of heels against the concrete floors - the low thrum of air vents and your own footsteps weaving past half-sealed trunks and hanging garment bags.

Somewhere, a coffee machine sputtered to life on a timer, too early even for Mark. Normally, this hour belonged to someone else—slow mornings, routines back to familiarity, the quiet before the day’s storm.

But today, you came in first. Not because you had to. Just... because you wanted to be here. To catch the calm before everything scattered.

“You trying to put me out of a job?” Mark’s voice carries in with the soft squeak of the door, followed by the telltale shuffle of him juggling too many things — coffee tray, folders, a tablet under one arm. He stops when he sees you already pacing near the open trunks, brow arched.

“Just making sure you don’t misplace passports again or send the team to Thailand instead of France.” You grin, moving toward the open trunks.

Mark gasps, loud and dramatic. “That happened once. And I fixed it.”

“By sobbing at the gate agent.”

“I did not sob.”

“Oh, so it was more of a weep?”

“Rude,” he says, scandalized. “I’ll have you know I’m a very composed, grown ass man.”

“Ah, so you’re admitting you’re old.”

He groans, setting the coffees down. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love me.”

He snorts, doesn’t argue, just shrugs, sets the coffee down. “No breakfast with him today?”

“Eggs and toast can wait.”

“You skipped your list? That’s new. What’d Jeongguk say?”

“Flooded me with voicemails. Had to listen to at least seven versions of ‘Why?’ even after I told him I’d be here for the pack-ups – right before my phone died.”

Mark laughs, shaking his head. “No way he’s extra like that.”

“He hasn’t been – not for a while. Kind of weird to have my phone crash and burn again because of his dramatic ass.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a look — unreadable, steady, with a flicker of something thoughtful behind the curve of his grin. You clock it, but let it pass.

The day rolls on like it always does before a big departure – too loud, too fast, and never enough hands.

Someone’s yelling across the hallway about adapter plugs, two interns are bubble-wrapping show shoes like they’re glass heirlooms, and the printer’s already jammed twice. Mark’s playlist, a chaotic blend of Parisian jazz and 2000s R&B, blares from someone’s open laptop in the corner.

You find yourself floating between rooms, checking tags, nodding at garment bags zipped too tight, pretending you don’t notice the way your limbs tire faster than they used to. The interns still come to you for sign-offs. The stylists still panics for second opinions. And you still offer them, clipboard balanced against your hip like nothing’s changed.

It’s nice, in a strange way. Just how normal it feels. The way time moves—hour after hour, slipping into each other without rush—makes it feel like it still belongs to you. Like today could’ve been any day, part of the usual rhythm of everything that came before and everything still ahead. A moment you just want to stay in.

But of course, there’s work to do.

“Okay, scoot,” you reach for one of the team’s duffel bags, tugging at a corner of the zipper. “I’ll take the accessories box. You never know how to layer the feathered ones.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Mark swats your hand away with a horrified gasp. “Last time you touched those, we had glitter in customs for three days.”

“That was an artistic choice.”

“That was a biohazard.”

You laugh, easing onto the nearby chair as he returns to another half-packed trunk.

The room feels fuller now – buzzing with tape guns, double-checks, voices in half a dozen languages. Still, there’s a quiet thrum beneath it. One only he seems to notice.

“You okay?” Mark doesn’t look at you when he asks. Just keeps folding the last of the statement pieces with careful hands. “Spaced out for a minute.”

You hesitate, then let the words slip out. “Been thinking when we started planning for the first show a few years ago – the excitement, the late-night calls, the endless what-ifs. Was really looking forward to being there this year. Wish I still could.”

Mark pauses, his expression softening. “Hey, you’ve done so much already. More than enough.”

“Would’ve been better if I was there to do more,” you force a small smile, rubbing the back of your neck. “But I know you all will be okay. You will be okay, right?”

“It’s always better when it’s with you,” there’s a steady calm in his voice. “But we’ll be fine. You’ve already left so much of yourself in this – in us. That doesn’t go away just because you won’t be there this time.” He adds with a faint smile, “Besides, I know you’ll find a way to tweak the line up from here.”

You let a quiet laugh. Knows he’s not wrong. And maybe that’s the comfort in all of this – that even now, with everything shifting, Mark remains your constant. Your partner. Your friend. Someone who’s always been easy to lean on, from the very beginning. Someone you trust to be there, no matter what.

The hours pass quietly — soft footsteps, the sound of tissue paper crinkling, the smooth pull of a zipper. slips off the table and falls to the floor. Mark glances down, smirks, and shakes his head. You let out a small laugh, and the moment moves on, light and easy, like a breeze passing through.

Tapping the clipboard lightly against your palm, you break the moment. “Hey, did we ever finalize the medical clearance forms for the team?”

Mark doesn’t look up from the garment rack. “Pretty sure Jae handled that with the travel coordinator last week.”

“Then why didn’t I see it with the rest of the emails?”

He hums, still adjusting the shoulder line of a blazer. “Could’ve been sent directly to the coordinator. Jae mentioned something about looping in their assistant.”

You nod, but your pen still hovers over the clipboard. “I’ll just go to the hospital, check anything else we might need for any last-minute documentation to be cleared.”

That gets a glance from him. “Since when do you run health paperwork?”

“Since one of the team members got held up last year when we forgot their vaccination attestation. We nearly missed the flight. Almost rebooked with the entire quarter's budget.”

Mark winces a little, remembering. “Fair. Want me to come with?”

“It’s fine,” you’re already tucking the clipboard under your arm, reaching for your bag from the corner stool—halfway out the door before he can offer again. “Hold the fort here.”

The hospital feels quieter than usual as you step inside, the familiar hum of activity muted by the early hour.

At the front desk, you offer a polite nod and slide the folder of team’s forms across the counter, the receptionist flipping through them with practiced ease.

This part is routine – a formality, really. Follow-ups, final stamps, the kind of thing you’ve done a dozen times before each major trip. You settle into the waiting area, glancing around at familiar faces and the soft buzz of footsteps nearby.

Before long, a familiar voice calls your name. Yoongi steps into view, wearing that small, knowing smile you’ve come to know better than most.

“Still testing foundations that could double as poison,” he says dryly, “or have you finally switched to something less… flammable?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Nope. I’m trying to keep it rain-friendly this time. Took your advice, promise.”

He lets out a brief, amused sigh, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Well, that’s a relief. Come on in.”

The office is still, the muted buzz of fluorescent lights blending with the faint scent of antiseptic. Afternoon light filters in, softening the usual clinical quiet of the hospital. You take a breath, steadying yourself as a quiet calm settles over the edges of the day.

He gestures toward the chair by his desk. “How’s the team holding up with all the prep chaos?”

You settle in, managing a small smile. “They’re hanging on – Mark’s got it together but I know that old man’s hanging on caffeine and his last strand of hair.”

Yoongi chuckles softly. “Sounds about right. You, though? You look like you could use a break.”

You shrug, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “One last stretch before I take a long ass vacation. Years of pouring myself into Seora, think I deserve it yeah?”

He nods, knowingly. “You deserve it more than anyone, Sunshine.”

You reach into your bag, pulling out a small, neat folder with a faint logo stamped on the corner. The paper inside looks official but worn from being handled.

Yoongi glances at the folder, then back at you. “Everything in order for the team’s clearance?”

You give a quick nod, “Thanks for the contacts,” then slide the folder toward him. “There’s this one form – nothing too serious. Just needed when moving certain personal effects, stuff that needs legal backing, you know.”

He flips it open, brows knitting slightly as he scans the documents. “This looks straightforward. Just some signatures?”

You nod, watching him quietly, letting the soft hush of the office settle in around you. The faintest tension slips from your shoulders as Yoongi signs the paper with his usual, deliberate care, folds it neatly, and hands it back without arguments.

“Done,” he says simply. “You’re all set on that front.”

You tuck the folder away, voice even. “Thanks, Yoongi. Means a lot.”

He offers his signature gummy smile. “You know where to find me. Just don’t bring paperwork next time, bring tangerines.”

The afternoon sunlight filters softly through the leaves of the old oak trees lining the city park. You’ve wandered here without much thought, drawn by the quiet comfort of children’s laughter in the distance and the steady rhythm of footsteps on gravel paths. For a little while, it feels like the world has given itself permission to slow down—unhurried, uncomplicated.

You settle onto a weathered bench tucked just outside the flow of the afternoon bustle. The wind threads gently through your hair, and you let it. You let it all happen without resistance—just sit there, still, pretending for a moment that the ground beneath you isn’t shifting in ways you haven’t found words for. Your shoulders ease—not entirely, but enough. Enough to stay. Enough to breathe.

Your phone buzzes in your hand – Jeongguk’s name glowing bright on the screen.

“Lunch. One hour.”

“Uh, hello to you too?” A breath of laughter slips out before you can stop it, easing something in your chest. “I’m not going to lunch with you.” You lean back against the bench, eyes tracing the slow sway of tree branches overhead. “Too late for lunch and we’ve got dinner in a few hours.”

“Consider it early plans.” His tone is light, teasing. “You missed breakfast.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile lingers. You tuck the phone closer to your ear. “Had to be at the office. Told you that.”

The line goes quiet, you think he’s dropped the call. Then, “Le Petit Jardin.”

The name stills you.

A soft wind stirs against your cheek, and the city seems to hush with it. The memory surfaces—delicate, familiar, tethered to a night you never fully unpacked. A moment left hanging between the past and the present. Something old presses behind your chest—quiet, aching.

Your voice falters. “What?”

Jeongguk exhales on the other end—measured, careful. “Please? I’ve just got somewhere to drop by real quick. Reservation’s under my name. But I promise…”

Pauses.

“…I’ll show up this time.”

Le Petit Jardin is still the same.

Tucked away on a quieter street just outside the buzz of central Seoul, the place has a quiet charm that doesn’t try too hard—brick walls, ivy climbing iron railings, and wide windows open to let in the light. The smell of herbs and butter floats through the air, mixing with soft conversation and the sound of cutlery.

You’re sitting by the window. Sunlight comes through the thin curtains, catching the dust in the air like something trying not to be noticed. Your fingers run along the edge of your water glass—once, then again. The tablecloth is cream. Neat. Familiar.

A small vase sits in the center. Fresh flowers. Pale ranunculus today—not quite the same as before, but close enough to stir something.

Outside, people walk by. Talking, laughing, just going on with their day. And under all of it, there’s a quiet pull in your chest—not sharp, not overwhelming—just the soft weight of a place time never really left.

You reach for your glass again, only to pause as a faint shift in the air catches your attention — the subtle hush that follows when someone familiar steps into a room.

He doesn’t spot you at first. Jeongguk hesitates at the entrance, eyes scanning the space. There’s a touch of uncertainty in his stance, like he’s afraid he’s too early or too late. Then his gaze brushes past you… and briefly keeps going.

Your lips twitch.

It takes a second — maybe two — before something in him stills. A blink. A furrow of his brow.

Then he sees you.

Something shifts on his face. Not quite surprise — more like a quiet recognition, something deeper. You’re not sure if it’s the light or just the way he’s standing, but he’s smiling with his whole self, and somehow, it feels warm.

And then — you see what he’s carrying.

A bouquet. No — not a bouquet. A field of purple tulips, practically spilling out of his arms, their soft heads nodding with every step he takes.

You blink. “What... is that?”

He shifts the tulips carefully, like they might tip over any second. “Your favorite?”

You stare at the flowers, then at him. “What? The usual wasn’t available?”

“It was,” He meets your eyes, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Just thought this might make you smile.”

You shake your head, lips curving despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But?”

You glance at the tulips again. “But they’re pretty.”

His shoulders ease. Just barely. “Thank God! I was ready to cross the city for something bigger.”

You pause, not sure what to do with the sudden warmth that creeps in. Your throat tightens for a moment — quick, but enough to notice — before you roll your eyes and gesture toward the empty chair across from you.

“Sit your ass down before someone accuses us of stealing from the restaurant’s garden.”

He laughs quietly, settling into his seat, the bouquet taking up half the table like it was always meant to be there.

The menus are still sitting between you, a little worn at the edges from time or warmth, but neither of you picks them up. Sunlight stretches across the tablecloth, lighting up the side of his face — and for a moment, the silence doesn’t feel awkward. It feels comfortable, like something shared.

The words on the menu blur, making things more confusing than helpful.

You used to know every page well — not exactly by heart, but from memory. You remember the meals you and Jeongguk always ordered on anniversaries — made sure this place had them too, the wines you both liked, even though he used to joke that your choices were too pricey and that the highball you made at home was better anyway.

Your eyes stop at the dessert section, and you notice the cheesecake — the one you made sure was on the menu for the first anniversary three years ago — isn’t there anymore.

Now your fingers hover a little too long over the appetizers. Not because you’re unsure — but because you know exactly what’s there. And somehow, that knowing feels heavier than you thought it would.

Across the table, Jeongguk watches you, gaze steady, soft, like he’s trying to listen to the space between your breaths. There’s a small smile on his face — quiet, a little unsure — but it’s enough to let you know he’s here.

“Are you okay with the confit duck, with the cranberry jus? Maybe a truffle risotto and the mushroom tart with gruyère?”

You don’t mean to smile, but it slips out before you can stop it — small and quiet. The feeling in your chest picks up, steady and light, like something that’s always been there, just waiting. “It’s perfect.”

“Okay, let’s go with that.” His eyes light up, warm and round, the corners crinkling with something close to relief. “There’s a dessert place a few blocks from here. Reviews say their Biscoff cheesecake’s the most popular… if you’re up for it after?”

You tilt your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Are you feeding an army? It’s just me.”

Jeongguk chuckles softly, eyes kind. “Just making sure you don’t go hungry.”

The plates come one by one, each dish a quiet reminder of flavors you’ve known for years—flavors you never had the chance to try here but always hoped you would. They settle slowly on your tongue—steady, sure. Around you, the restaurant buzzes softly, a gentle background to a moment neither of you speaks, but both feel.

Jeongguk watches you with quiet amusement, his eyes following the same stray lock of hair that’s fallen across your face for the third time.

You don’t notice at first — too wrapped up in the comfort of the meal, the calm of the afternoon, and the quiet feeling of belonging that food brings in moments like this.

But when more strands keep brushing against your lips, tickling your cheek just as you’re almost done saving your favorites, your patience starts to run out. You sigh, already annoyed you grabbed a bag today that didn’t have your usual stash.

“You know,” Jeongguk says, resting his chin on his hand, “I’ve always loved watching you lose this fight with your hair.” He pauses, a smirk playing at his lips. “But you’re about one tick away from breaking that plate in half. I’d really prefer not getting banned from this place.”

Then, silently, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a black hair tie—worn thin and stretched from years of use. A small sun charm swings gently from it as he sets it down and nudges it toward you.

You stop.

A faint scratch near the edge catches your eye – still there after all these years.

That blazing summer afternoon comes rushing back.  The heat was thick enough to stick to your skin. You loved summer—always had—but that heatwave that year was brutal. You thought you might actually die.

You were about to tie your hair up, your wrists slick with sweat, when Jeongguk, ever the menace, reached for the fruit salad with a bottle of hot sauce in hand.

“The fuck, Gguk! You and your weird food combos!”

Jeongguk just grinned, unfazed. “But baby….you said you wanted something different.”

“That doesn’t mean I want food poisoning!”

You lunged forward, trying to snatch the bottle from his hands, but he tugged back. In the scuffle, he caught your hair tie on his fingers and yanked it off. It flew somewhere across the kitchen.

You laughed, half annoyed, half amused. “That was my best hair tie!”

He just smirked like it was a victory.

Now, here at the table, the worn black hair tie with its tiny sun charm lies in front of you — proof that he picked it up and held onto it all this time.

You’re not sure what tugs at you more — that he brought up something he loved seeing you do, like it meant nothing, like it was natural for him to hold onto pieces of you; or the quiet way he holds back that familiar boyish grin you haven’t seen in a long time, as if hoping you won’t notice.

“You had this?” you murmur, still looking at the band.

He shrugs, casual — or trying to be. “Has a good grip, honestly. Total lifesaver when mine snaps.”

But the faint flush rising on his neck gives him away.

You don’t press. Just reach up, gathering your hair with practiced ease. The charm brushes against your skin as you twist it into place, familiar weight settling like it never left.

“I’ve probably got more of these lying around the house somewhere,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Could give you some… if you want to stock up. That poor charm looks like it’s hanging by a lifeline.”

His eyes light up far too quickly. “Yes! I mean—yeah. That’d be nice.”

You tilt your head, eyeing the way his longer hair falls just below his jaw now. “Ever thought about going short again?”

He leans back slightly, brow raised, playful. “If I’d known you were, I would’ve tagged along.”

“Long looks better on you.” You almost say more—about how you missed making little sprouts stick up on the top of his head when he’d nap on your lap—but even the thought feels too soft to say out loud.

The first few words had already slipped out before you can stop it, a quiet heat blooms across your cheek. You clear your throat, eyes darting away. “This new thing wasn’t even planned. Wasn’t even sure I’d pull it off. Didn’t think how annoying it’d be after. Stupid shit won’t stay in place.”

Jeongguk laughs, quiet and warm. “It suits you. Think you look more beautiful now than you’ve ever been.”

Your heart fumbles—just for a breath—before you recover, nudging your foot lightly against his beneath the table.

“Finish your food, Gguk,” you mutter, lips twitching. “Before I make you wear the mushroom tart as a hair accessory.”

The streets hum beneath the early evening sky, bathed in that golden lull between day and night. The city’s warmth lingers in the pavement, in the breeze, in the way your shoulders brush now and then as you walk side by side. The soft murmur of passersby, the clink of dishes from open-air cafés, and the distant notes of street music fold into the rhythm of your steps.

Jeongguk walks beside you, one arm full of the bouquet – the full-blown meadow. The petals flutter gently against his coat, catching the amber glow of storefront lights and people’s curiousness along the way.

He carries them like it’s second nature. Not as a burden or a favor, but with something close to quiet pride — like holding them is just another extension of holding space for you. Like he’s done it a hundred times before.

You glance over, lips curving. “We should’ve left that in the car. You’re struggling.”

He shifts the bouquet in his arms, sniffing a soft laugh. “Did you forget I deadlift twice this in warmups?”

You raise a brow, biting back your grin. “Okay, macho bunny. Settle down.”

He doesn’t even flinch at the nickname, has gotten used to being called your bunny since the beginning — just smirks, eyes still forward. “This bunny’s got range.”

You let yourself look — really look — for a second longer than you probably should. At the mess of stems tangled in his arms. At the tulips brushing his coat like they belong there. At the soft curve of his smile that’s lingered all evening. At how absurdly, unintentionally gentle it all feels.

And somehow, it makes the walk feel slower. Sweeter. Like you could carry the rest of the time in your pocket if you tried.

The street narrows here, the city’s noise softening into a gentle murmur. A warm glow spills from the shop’s windows, inviting shadows onto the pavement. The faint scent of sugar and vanilla drifts out as the door swings open, welcoming you into a quiet refuge from the evening bustle.

Inside, the shelves are filled with colorful slices and delicate pastries, each one a small promise of something sweet. Soft music plays in the background — something old and piano-heavy — weaving in with the quiet clink of teacups and low voices. It feels like stepping into another bubble entirely, slower, softer.

Jeongguk scans the display, then stops at a cake swirled with dark chocolate and bright green. He nudges you, grinning. “You’re really missing out.”

You wrinkle your nose. “If I wanted to brush my teeth for dessert, I’d just use toothpaste.”

“If Mint Choco had a hate club, you’d be the president.”

“Obviously.”

He laughs, eyes lingering on the cake like he’s thinking of defending it, but lets it slide. Instead, he nods toward the Biscoff slice you both noticed earlier — golden, dense, topped with just the right amount of crumbs. “Truce?”

Your lips twitch. “Only because you didn’t try to sneak that abomination into our order.”

“Small wins,” Jeongguk grins, then turns to head toward the pickup counter — shoulders loose, a little bounce in his step.

You’re tucked into a quiet bench just outside, the shop’s soft light spilling through the window behind you. The night air is gentle, brushing cool against your cheeks.

Jeongguk sets the bouquet down beside you, then carefully balances the small box between you, popping it open to reveal the single slice, two forks tucked neatly inside.

“You gonna share nicely?” you ask, elbow brushing his.

He catches your glance, a flicker of something warm — maybe even a little mischievous — in his eyes before he smiles.

“You always get first bite; I’m not even going try.” Then he leans back, arm resting casually behind you, like this is easy—like sharing space, and sweets, and silences with you still makes sense.

The quiet settles in — not heavy, just soft around the edges, like a song paused mid-melody. A breeze drifts through the alley, lifting the corners of napkins and carrying with it the scent of caramel and something faintly floral, like spring still unfolding.

You watch the way the light catches the corner of his mouth as he chews, the soft curve of a smile barely there. The easy lines of his face seem even gentler in the fading light. For a moment, everything else—the past, the ache, the waiting—feels far away.

Slowly, you reach out, your fingers brushing over his hand resting near the edge of the table. He doesn’t pull away. You curl your hand into his, a quiet touch that says enough.

Your voice breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “Thank you for bringing me there. I never thought I’d get to try it—or see it again, really—not after all these years. It’s more than I hoped for.”

He turns his hand slightly and gives yours a gentle squeeze, then looks up — eyes holding something fragile. Hope, maybe. Or just the quiet weight of someone still trying. “I just wanted to give you a new memory – something better to hold on to.”

You squeeze his hand back, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And I’ll never forget that.”

Jeongguk’s thumb moves lightly over your knuckles, like he’s taking in the moment without needing to say more. For a while, neither of you move.

The background fades — the café noise, the passing footsteps, bits of laughter carried off by people heading somewhere else.

Then softly, with a tilt of his head and something unreadable in his eyes, “There’s one more place I want to take you. If you’re okay with it?”

You blink, brows lifting. “Is this where you tell me you booked out the carousel at Lotte World?”

He snorts, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Why would I do that when you throw up after three spins?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yet you still fed me meals good enough for a whole year.”

“That was different,” he says, trying not to laugh. “That was calculated. Was aiming for full, not motion-sick.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a warmth in your chest now – softer, steadier.

“So... where are you taking me, then?”

Jeongguk shifts, tone quieter now. “Somewhere before either of us had titles. When you still carried your sketchpad everywhere, and I still wore dress shoes that didn’t fit right.”

Your smile fades, just slightly — not gone, just stilling.

“It’s not far,” he adds quickly. “Just... thought it might be nice to see it again. Only if you want to.”

He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push. Just waits—like he’s offering, not asking. Like he’ll be okay no matter what you say.

You watch him for a moment, the weight of the day resting warm in your chest. Then, quietly, with a faint smile tugging at your lips, “Okay. Let’s go.”

Jeongguk smiles – nothing wide, nothing dramatic. Just something real. Something you haven’t seen in a long time – something your heart is happy to see again. And quietly, the world around you move. 

The roads stretch ahead, soft and calm in the mellow evening hush. The sun has already slipped below the horizon, leaving a faint gold glow lingering at the edges. Streetlights flicker on one by one, bathing the city in that in-between light — softer, almost like a memory’s filter.

You lean your head toward the window, watching storefronts slide by as signs flicker to life. Someone’s walking a dog in a neon raincoat. Someone else hurries past, clutching a melting popsicle. A delivery scooter zips past on the left.

He drives with one hand on the steering, the other laced with your fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s not some list making him do this, like he’s not even thinking about it. Or maybe he is — quietly, carefully — like he always did when he was trying not to mess things up.

You glance over at him. The light from the window catches the line of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow as he takes a turn, and the way he still checks his mirrors twice—like he’s being extra careful.

“You still drive like you’re one mistake away from failing your test,” you say softly.

He looks over, mock-offended. “Forgetting I aced it the first time?”

“You parallel parked into a bike rack.”

He grins. “Never gonna let that go, are you?”

You smile, drop it, deciding to give him the last word for now. The light changes, and the soft rumble of the engine fills the pause that follows.

After a while, the roads narrow, shifting from wide city lanes to quieter residential streets. The buildings lean in a little closer, and the traffic thins to a soft hum. Tall, old trees line the sidewalks, making the road feel like it’s leading somewhere that matters.

You know the place before he even slows down.

The museum’s silhouette rises between the trees, hidden behind ivy-covered brick and a rusty iron fence that was once painted navy. The cracked stone path is still there out front — and the same flickering porch light by the side door.

He pulls into the gravel lot and cuts the engine.

For a second, you both stay still. Then, quietly, you murmur, “You remembered.”

Jeongguk looks over at you, his voice quiet but sure. “I did.”

A soft, familiar feeling stirs in your chest — something gentle and quiet, like it’s been waiting to come back, or hasn’t left at all.

The doors open with the familiar creak of old hinges — soft and slow, like the building is waking up after a long sleep.

Inside, the museum is quiet. Not empty—just still. Just slow.

The lighting is low and warm, pooling beneath each exhibit in deliberate halos. A soft classical score filters in from hidden speakers overhead, more felt than heard, like the architecture itself is humming.

Your footsteps echo lightly on the polished floors as you walk into the first gallery. The smell of old paper, fabric dye, and clean wood fills the air, wrapping around you like a familiar memory.

“They changed the layout,” you murmur, eyes scanning the room. “Used to be textile displays up front.”

“They moved them to the second wing,” Jeongguk says. “That rotating exhibit you liked is still here, though. The color study room.”

You feel a small smile tug at your lips as you start walking, naturally drawn to the hallway on the left. Your fingers lightly brush the wall as you pass—the plaster cool and smooth beneath your skin, something steady and familiar in the quiet space.

And then something flickers at the edge of your mind.

The lights were brighter back then. Or maybe it was just the two of you—when everything felt a little clearer, a little more alive.

You had rushed inside first, sketchbook in hand, oversized blazer slipping off one shoulder as you moved quickly from sculpture to sculpture, eyes wide and thoughts half-spoken.

“God, look at that form—look at the geometry of it. If I layered that in satin... no, organza. Maybe with a cutaway bodice—”

“You’re talking to yourself again,” Jeongguk called after you, walking behind in black slacks and a shirt that was a little tight, his hair messy from running to make the reservation.

You spun around, smiling. “I’m brainstorming. Some of us build entire empires off talking to ourselves.”

“And some of us are just trying not to get kicked out.”

You stuck your tongue out and dropped onto the nearest bench, already sketching quickly—lines curving, eyes focused, lip tucked between your teeth.

He didn’t interrupt. Just sat beside you, silent, watching.

Later, he would say it was in that moment—watching your fingers move across the page as you quietly described colors, pleats, and shapes—that he decided to pitch for Creative Director after all.

That if you could believe in beauty that strongly, maybe he could too.

Now, the bench is still there.

So is the sculpture—though it’s been re-centered beneath a glass ceiling skylight, lit from above like it’s more sacred now than it used to be.

You step a little closer to the installation, pause, let your eyes trail the clean curve of the structure, the shadows it casts against the floor like memories that never fully faded.

“You once told me this shape reminded you of possibility,” Jeongguk stands just behind you, a quiet presence. “Said it wasn’t perfect, but that’s what made it feel real.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, something flickering in your chest. “You remember that too huh?”

He nods. “I remember a lot of things.” There’s no weight in the way he says it. No edge. Just quiet truth.

You don’t answer right away. Just linger there, in front of the sculpture that somehow still makes you feel like you’re twenty something, dreaming big and everything is barely out of reach in the best way.

Then, softly—“You’re really taking me through time today.”

A small smile curves his lips, tugging gently at the edge of something unspoken. “Thought you might like the detour.”

You look back toward the installation. The moment stretches.

“I do,” you say. “I really do.”

The museum folds around you in that kind of silence again—the kind that feels full rather than empty. A hush with weight. Like the walls are holding something, not withholding it.

It’s a silence that’s known you—watched you grow up, shift and reshape. Watched you become who you are, who you were, who you’re still figuring out how to be.

You drift into the next room without speaking, your footsteps softened by the muted flooring. This wing is newer—redesigned sometime in the last few years—but the bones remain. Familiar archways. The soft hush of focused lighting. The faint click of a motion-sensor light blinking on as you pass beneath it.

Here, the walls bloom with a sequence of evolving color studies—paintings and mixed media that shift gradually from restrained monochromes to riotous saturation. A slow unraveling in hue and form, like someone learning how to feel out loud.

A plaque near the entrance reads: The Shape of Time.

You pause in front of the first canvas—washed in pale blues and muted grays. “I forgot this exhibit was here.”

Jeongguk hums beside you, eyes scanning the transitions on the wall. “It wasn’t. Not back then.”

He steps closer to a piece painted in shades of rust and amber, texture so thick it almost looks like it’s still drying. His gaze rests a moment, then drops to the artist’s note tucked just beneath the frame:

We carry color differently the longer we live.

Grief stains. Joy fades.

But memory—memory blends.

You don’t realize you’ve stepped closer until your shoulder brushes his. “I used to think time was something I could manage,” you say, barely above a whisper. “Like a collection. A project. Color-coded calendars. Five-year plans. All of it”

“You made it look easy,” he says, eyes still on the wall.

You shake your head once. “It never was.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. Just... reflective. The kind of pause that asks nothing from either of you, but holds everything anyway.

Then Jeongguk says, quieter now, “You made it meaningful.”

Maybe it’s the lighting, or the way the artwork wraps around him, but something in his expression looks younger. Or maybe not younger. Just... closer to the boy who once trailed behind you through this very building, watching you fall in love with color and shape and the quiet magic of imagining what could be.

You don’t answer him. Don’t need to. Just let the feeling of him noticing you, of seeing you sink in for the moment.

He shifts slightly beside you. Then, silently, his hand brushes against yours—barely a graze at first. Testing, waiting.

When you don’t move away, he lets his fingers slip between yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s asking for nothing but hoping for yes.

You don’t look at him, but your hand curls back around his. Gently. Like love never left—only waited.

You make one last pass through the gallery, slower this time—like your body knows the visit’s almost over, and isn’t quite ready to let go of the stillness just yet.

There’s no need to speak. The quiet does all the holding for you.

Jeongguk walks with you in step now, his hand still lightly folded around yours, thumb brushing soft arcs across your skin like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. The two of you move through the corridor together, past a hanging textile piece that ripples gently with the shift in the building’s air—like even the room exhales around you.

You glance back one last time before the exit comes into view.

“I used to come here looking for something new,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Now I think I come here to remember how it used to feel.”

“Which part?”

You tilt your head slightly. “The part where everything felt possible.”

There’s a beat of silence before he says, softer, “You made it feel that way for everyone else, too.”

The quiet’s your response, giving his hand the faintest squeeze instead, as you pass through the final archway.

Outside, the evening has folded into a soft hush. Streetlights blink on like old friends. The air carries the faint scent of rain that never quite arrived.

As you cross the gravel lot together, the mood eases — not light exactly, but lighter.

“You know,” you say, glancing sideways, “this is the first time you actually kept up with a long day and didn’t complain about your feet.”

“That’s ‘cause my cardio’s better now,” Jeongguk says, feigning pride. “These legs were built for endurance.”

You snort. “Okay, calm down, Olympic hopeful.”

“I’m just saying,” he grins, opening the car door for you. “If there was a stair-climbing event, I’d podium.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath as you slide in.

Behind you, the museum’s windows glow like distant memories.

The ride back is quieter. Not in a heavy way—just... settled.

The sky has deepened into a softer shade of indigo, and the roads are near empty now. Shop signs flicker as they wind down for the night. Somewhere in the distance, a truck rumbles through a turn. The city feels less like a machine and more like a heartbeat.

Jeongguk walks you up to the gate. He doesn’t try to follow. Just waits, hands in his pockets, as you key in the code.

“Thanks for today,” you say, glancing back at him.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know,” you smile. “Just want to.”

He nods, and for a second, it seems like he might say more. Instead, he steps closer, his hand lightly brushing a stray hair from your forehead before his lips press a gentle kiss—soft, unhurried. The world seems to still for a breath. Then, without a word, he wraps you in a brief, warm hug, holding on just long enough to say everything he won’t.

When he finally steps back, the small smile on his lips feels different — quieter, sincere. He waits until you’re safely inside before turning away, leaving behind a quiet warmth that stays with you long after the door closes.

Inside, the house is dim but warm. A single hallway light hums from the corner. You toe off your shoes by the entry bench, letting the quiet wrap around your shoulders.

There’s a faint clatter from the kitchen. Your mother’s voice calls softly—“You’re back?”—and you answer, just as softly—“Yeah.”

You don’t say much more. Just place the tulips on the end table near the stairs, where the light can find them in the morning. They lean slightly in the vase. A little wild. A little soft. Still holding more than they show.

Your phone buzzes from inside your coat pocket.

| Jin 🍷: Anniversary dinner. Soirée. 7 PM. Bring your appetite and your patience. I fully intend to be insufferably sentimental.

| 🌞: You should be. It’s the one day your wife expects you to be a sap.

| Jin 🍷: I’m telling her to hide the desserts from you.

You lock the screen. Let the silence settle around you. Let the weight of the day land, not like a burden—but like something you’re allowed to carry, just for yourself.

And somewhere behind your chest, that ache you’ve kept at bay all day curls up quietly, and sleeps.

[masked-and-doomed]

What am I gonna do with my fucking life (no Chronus season 4)

[intotheelliwoods]

OH THE GUYS EVER

@intotheelliwoods My DTIYS for the contest!! Congrats on 4k+ ^^

I know the OG was way more vibrant, but I wanted to put my own spin on it!!

(I drew Leo with two arms all the way up to the coloring part till I physically shed a tear and went back to add his prosthetic TT)

their talking about Miyamoto Usagi (mostly leo talking) I HC it.

N E WAYS, I love your art so soSO MUCH IT HURTS. Keep on slaying, you deserved the 4k+!!

[dollfacefantasy]

kinktober day 21 - sex toys billy butcher x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, sex toys, daddy kink, brat taming

Schlick. Schlick. Schlick.

The sounds of pure torture echo between the four walls of your bedroom. Each wet squelch taunts you. You hate them. Loathe them. Despise them. All because they're not coming from you. No, instead they're coming from the piece-of-shit, fake, plastic pocket pussy your boyfriend was thrusting into above you.

"You're so mean," you whimper, tears threatening to spill over your lash line as you watch the flesh-colored sleeve hide his shaft.

Your sad expression garners no sympathy from Billy. He continues pumping himself into the fleshlight while straddling you. His pupils are dilated as he stares down at your form, limp on the mattress between his legs. His lips curl into that smug signature grin of his.

"Maybe just a bit. But you like that, don't ya?" he taunts, "That's why you were throwin' a tantrum in the first place. Cause you wanted daddy to get you back in line."

"But you're not, you're just like bullying me!" you cry. The tears are no longer potential as they roll down your heated skin, creating wet trails down your face. Your lip wobbles, on the verge of another fit.

"Oh, it's not bullying, love. Just a little discipline," he says, free hand reaching out to stroke down your jaw and lift your chin.

He keeps fucking that stupid little toy. Pumping into it like he should be pumping into you. It's fucked up. Evil, dare you say it. Just plain cruel. It's almost as if you can feel the phantom sensation in your cunt that rests a foot below where he's thrusting. The imaginary feeling of what should be happening makes reality so much more excruciating.

His head falls back and he lets out a moan. He barely ever moans for you. All you get are grunts and low groans, but he lets out that beautiful sound for something that isn't even real? You can't take it. A sob pours from your lips.

"Stop!" you wail.

"Oh, what's wrong, sweetheart?" he coos at you. You love that tone when it's sincere, but right now, it's mocking.

You don't even bother with an answer. You just keep watching him with your glossy eyes and constant sniffles.

He looks so good too which makes it hurt even worse. His face presents an image of peace, his chest shines with a light sheen of sweat. His abdomen twitches as his hips piston into the artificial orifice. You reach out to grab him and try to get the despicable item away from him, but he simply leans back and tuts at you.

"Ah ah. Move again, and I'll make this punishment a whole lot worse."

So you settle back into your collection of plush pillows and watch. In your mind, you did not deserve this. All you'd done was backtalk and tease him in front of the others a little. You'd just wanted a spanking or even a slap to the face or two. You didn't think he'd do something like this.

However, in his mind, this was the most effective form of correction he'd found for you yet. He knew you, and he knew you loved spankings. You loved when he tagged you across the cheek when he was balls deep inside you. Those weren't true punishments, and after the constant old man jokes and ever-present bratty attitude, in front of your friends no less, he was in the mood to properly put you in your place.

He groans as he continues working the fleshlight over his dick, the sticky noises persisting over the sound of your weeping.

"Feels so fuckin' good," he murmurs. A sigh leaves him, and his smirk deepens as he hears the whimper you let out in response. "So tight and soft."

Your crying picks up again. "It's not better than mine."

He huffs out a laugh while his fist keeps moving the toy. "I didn't say it was, did I?"

"You're acting like it," you accuse through tears.

"'m not. Just telling the truth," he breathes, "This thing feels fucking great. Think I should use it more often."

Anguish courses through you and you throw your head back against the satiny pillow case. "Then why don't you just fuck it all the time instead of me?"

His free hand grabs your chin and makes you meet his eyes.

"Watch the attitude. You're not bein' replaced. You were a bad girl, and now you have to deal with the consequences," he reminds you. He feels himself getting close and bites his lip.

You know that face. Normally, it'd bring you joy, but now it just intensifies your agony. "I'm sorry," you sob and cover your face.

"I know you are," he says, softening the tiniest amount. It wouldn't be noticeable to the untrained ear, but you catch it. The slight difference keeps you from toppling over the edge or blubbering out the safeword.

His hand knocks yours away from your face with a tender touch. "Eyes on me. A few more minutes and you're all done."

"Fine..." you pout.

You do watch, but you continue to cry. That wasn't against the rules. You watch as your boyfriend fucks that dumb waste of space and mentally wish death upon whoever it was that invented these things.

He growls. The sound he always makes when he's about to unload, and then his hips sputter and hot ropes of his precious cum shoot into the toy. You bite your lip and try not to glare too hard.

When he's done, he tosses the toy aside. He leans down over you, lowering himself so he hovers near your face.

"Think you've learned your lesson?"

You nod, pouty expression still plastered over your features.

"Good girl," he coos. The words feel like a victory after the series of losses you just suffered.

He kisses your lips, pushing his against you gently. "Daddy loves you. You're still his favorite," he whispers, voice slightly teasing.