#in fact ignore the left side in general

[funkyourbuns]

Decided to redo my little icon headcanon things, they sure used to be… something! Also, fankids I snuck in that made me too shy to post this in the YH discord server (who do not have names so like, suggestions please).

Also, the hats are bad because I didn’t let myself reference the characters actual icons for grump knows what reason!

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Zero Gravity

Things Justice League knows about Danny Phantom:

He's dead (why, how, and for how long is unclear)

He's generally on the 'good' side (but contingency plans have been set up in case of 'future evil self' resurfacing, by Danny's own suggestion)

He's a figure of authority among other dead/neverborn/otherworldly/eldritch/magical beings (however, it's unclear to what kind of authority he holds and why)

He's dating one of the Bats (unclear to who, but none of them confirmed nor denied the fact, which is a confirmation on its own)

He absolutely hates only three things: toast, circus, and Christmas (neither of them explained)

His powerset is so wide that he can't even fully recount it (unclear if it's because he doesn't remember all his abilities or if he can't keep track of the new ones popping up spontaneously)

He's hot [whoever added this, you're not wrong, but I'm watching you - O.]

He has a grudge against Flash (unclear to why, but Flash seems to know the reason and won't budge regardless)

Of course, there are many more things to know about Danny Phantom, but they are mostly suspicions, rumors, and speculations. Like how sometimes the boy seems distracted and bored as if he is only going through a pre-written script; a sign of repeatedly going through the same day a few times too many, as the other time-travellers say. Or like how sometimes he knows too much - the boy is an expert in Kryptonian biology, to Clark's great surprise, and is more knowledgeable about Olympus politics than Diana herself.

There are also little things that are hard to notice and even harder to ignore once you do. How he never talks about family but likes listening to others talk about it. How he pointedly stays away from the medbay and any kind of medical staff. How he stops every time he passes one of the giant windows on the main floor of the Watchtower, smiling dreamily at the sight of vast, open space beyond it.

And then, there's The Thing that no one addresses.

When Danny Phantom doesn't pay attention, he unknowingly nullifies gravity.

The first time it happened, Bruce thought the Watchtower's artificial gravity collapsed. However, he very quickly realized that it was a local occurrence - only a few rooms and a hallway were affected - and, right in the center of it, was Danny, reading a book he borrowed (stolen) from the Wayne manor library.

The boy himself never noticed it. Which made sense, given that he defied gravity all on his own, always floating in the air above the floor.

But the others never acknowledged it either, treating the sudden absence of gravity as a sign of one, Danny appearing somewhere around, and two, him being in a good, if a bit absent, mood.

All in all, it's not the strangest thing that happens at the Watchtower on a daily basis.

And, besides, it's kind of fun.

¤¤¤

Danny, floating in the middle of the game room at Wayne manor, deeply engrossed in a video game: Eat this, sucker!

Tim, using his toes and knees to keep himself from floating up from the couch, not wanting to distract Danny from their match: Oh, you're going down.

Titus in the background:

¤¤¤

Bart, in the middle of a conversation with Kon:

Kon: ...

Bart, looking down at the cup on the floor: ... I guess he left?..

Kon: He literally went through a giant glowing portal two minutes ago, five feet away from you, but that's how you figure it out?

Bart: I have a short attention span, anyway-

¤¤¤

Barry, opening a bag of chips just for all the contents and himself as well to start floating: I swear he does this on purpose, I fucking swear.

¤¤¤

Red Tornado, coming into the training hall of Mount Justice: ...

Young Justice:

Red Tornado: I take it Danny is visiting. I'll leave you to it, then.

¤¤¤

Bruce, walking out of the conference room at the Watchtower to see this on the other end of the hallway, internally: He may be coming this way, I should warn the others in the room.

Bruce, a second later, because he is a little shit deep inside: On the other hand, it's a great surroundings awareness drill, so maybe I shouldn't.

[clockwayswrites]

Bird Cuddles Part 26ish

Masterpost

This is hardly a full scene, though a stopping point. But I'm feeling positively dismal today so wanted to share something. Enjoy, hopefully!

-

Bruce sighed.

It was all that he could do when his two oldest were standing in front of him, both trying to laugh as quietly as possible. Dick’s fist was basically stuffed in his mouth to keep quiet where as Jason was using sheer force of will (and a good amount of smugness) to stay quiet.

“Be nice,” Bruce mouthed silently.

“No.” Jason mouthed back gleefully.

Bruce had the distinct urge to bury his face into the soft wings and simply ignore his sons even being in the room with him. He didn’t give into that urge because he was sure if he did, neither would ever let him live it down. Even as he was thinking that, Dick pulled out his cellphone and snapped a photo.

Bruce felt his phone vibrate a moment later.

He sighed again.

Luckily, Cass swept in a moment later (apparently it was to be a full house at dinner), kissed Bruce lightly on his temple, and went over to her brothers. She looked at Dick’s phone, nodded at the picture, and then took each of the boy’s hands and led them out of the room.

Jason left with one last smirk, but at least the door was closed behind them with a definitive latch.

Bruce still waited a long moment before he picked up his phone and unlocked it.

The picture certainly looked incriminating.

When Danny had fallen asleep, likely exhausted from soothing the boys, the panic attack, and the general drama of the day, he had nodded off sitting upright. When the boys had left, Damian had tasked Bruce with ‘seeing it that Dr. Fenton stayed well’. It was shortly after that when Danny had started shifting, as if trying to get comfortable with the wings, and ended up tilting over.

Once he had settled, Danny had ended up curled across Bruce’s lap with his knees on one side of Bruce and his head on the other. One of the wings was tucked up against Bruce’s chest while the other wing, limp with sleep, stretched out along Bruce’s leg and down to the floor.

Bruce ran his fingers lightly over the white feathers. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his horde of children, but Bruce was completely unbothered by having someone nap on him. The thing that he was bothered by, despite his best efforts to separate himself from the nightlife, is how comfortable he was about that someone being Danny.

Really, there was relatively little that they knew about Danny. The biggest point in Danny’s favor was that Lucius trusted Danny—trusted Danny enough to consider bring Danny in to work with the Bats. The biggest point against Danny were the same wings that Bruce was running his fingers over.

Not that Bruce would ever judge someone negatively for being a meta. Almost all of Bruce’s closest friends were or became metas, after all, even if some of them were now also rogues. The meta status was almost easy to handle. The concerning part were all of the little details that Danny had hinted at about how he had become a meta: neglectful parents, a lab accident at a young age, extensive scaring. Bruce touched the faint Lichtenberg scars lightly. It made Bruce worry about what had triggered the change in Danny. After all, some of Bruce’s closest friends where now also rogues.

It was unfair to compare Danny to Harvey.

It was hard not to.

The fact that it was hard not to compare Danny to Harvey was concerning in itself. Bruce’s track record in the people that he found alluring was far from ideal. It felt almost like dooming Danny simply by the fact that Bruce had taken note of him. Already Danny was getting caught up in the turmoil of their lives and suffering for it.

That was perhaps too harsh. Danny had handled himself more than admirably, wings and all. Danny’s actions made sure that the boys had time to get to the safe room, stayed safe once there, and that the assault ended with minimal bloodshed. Bruce just wished that the change it caused hadn’t left Danny in a state of panic.

Bruce sighed. Maybe he had to remember that Danny wasn’t someone that Bruce was responsible for; Danny was a competent adult who could clearly protect himself from at least lower level threats. It wasn’t fair for Bruce to try and make decisions for Danny, even in an effort to protect him from the craziness of being near the Wayne family.

[hxney-lemcn]

Should I Stay or Should I go? — Housewardens x gn! reader

summery: you have the option to stay in Twisted Wonderland or to go to your home world...which would you choose?

tw: angst, unhealthy coping mechanisms

wc: 3.3k

Master List

join my twst wonderland discord server!

You stare in shock as Crowley pats himself on his back, chuckling to himself about how generous he was. He had finally found you a way home. Something you weren’t sure you even wanted anymore, but what other choice did you have? It’s not like you could stay…right?

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Riddle Rosehearts

“I see,” Riddle hums, trying to not let his voice shake. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, you had been searching for a way home this entire time, your leave was bound to happen. But gosh did it feel like his heart was tearing itself apart at the moment. He had secretly hoped that there wasn’t a way for you to go back, as shameful as that was. You had completely changed his life, and he had hoped that you would continue to be by his side, but the choice was yours. It was your life, and he would support you no matter what.

You Leave

Riddle almost didn’t even show to say goodbye to you, but he couldn’t let you leave on bad terms. He felt his heart shatter as you disappeared through the mirror, never to see you again. He felt angry at first, seething about how selfish you were to leave him, how angry he was to allow himself to get so attached to someone who was never going to stay. Riddle nearly became a tyrant again, taking his anger out on those around him, Trey barely keeping him in check. 

Then, his anger simmered into sadness. Why had you left? Was this world really so bad? Was he not enough? Of course, the person who teaches him it's okay to not be perfect doesn’t hesitate to leave him. His change is obvious, he had become so happy with you around, and now that you were gone he had dulled exponentially. He will move on eventually, but in the meantime he finds himself writing you letters, wishing you were around to help him in these hard times.

You Stay

“A-are you sure?” Riddle couldn’t help but stutter when you first told him. Ever since you told him Crowley found you a way home, he had been preparing to see you disappear. To live a life without you in it. So when you told him you wanted to stay he found his heart jumping for joy, unsure if he should get his hopes up. Did you really, truely want to stay? To leave all your old friends and family behind? Have you thought this through enough?

“Yes,” You stated firmly, determination clear in your eyes. “I want to stay.” 

Riddle does whatever he can to help you with your transition. Do you need to file paperwork to become a citizen? Of course, where do you wish to live? He’ll give you the appropriate paperwork and even help you fill it out and send it to the correct offices. Riddle will also spend more time with you, he had clearly taken your presence for granted, and he’d be damned if he did so again. He wants to make sure you don’t regret your decision of staying, and he hopes you choose to keep him by your side.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Leona Kingscholar

Leona glowered at you, snarling out, “Why do I care?” His tail flicked about irritably, the pain in his chest instantly turning into anger. “Just leave for all I care.” Why did he keep talking? He was making things worse, but pushing people away was his defense mechanism, and he wasn’t gonna let you know how much he actually cared. How much he wished you would stay, how he wished he wouldn’t come second once more. All he could do was try to ignore the impending doom he felt in his heart, ignore the fact that perhaps he was just as alone as he thought.

You Leave

Leona didn’t bother to say goodbye. Lying in his bed, trying to ignore the fact that you were leaving for good at this very moment. Ruggie had tried to get him to go, but was only met with snarls and swiping claws. Leona was livid at the thought of you. Who the hell did you think you were to play with his feelings like that? You were a good for nothing pompous asshole like the rest of them, preaching about being better and leaving like a selfish jerk. 

…so why did he miss you so much?

He felt like a complete fool, longing for the time you were still around. Wishing you’d somehow find your way back into his arms. But he knew better, he wasn’t that naive. You were gone for good. Decided that he wasn’t as important to you as he thought. Leona had become more irritable than before if possible, sleeping the days away as it had become harder for him to get up. He’ll never admit how much you mean to him, not even when it’s been years since you left.

You Stay

Leona looked at you like you were stupid, ear twitched and tail swaying. He couldn’t deny how giddy he felt seeing you enter his room instead, his tail giving away his true emotions. Leona couldn’t help but smirk smugly, eyes glinting with pride.

“Of course you’d stay,” He gloated. “You’d be stupid to leave.”

As a prince to the royal family of Sunset Savanna, he can wave his hand and you’re a citizen, no need to worry your pretty little head about any of that. You need a job? He’ll hire you…to be his personal pillow. Yeah, his favoritism is showing, he’s just so glad that you stayed. He finds himself folding for you a bit more, wanting to prove that you made the right choice. Leona also becomes more clingy. You had managed to scare him (a feat no one’s done before), and he didn’t like it one bit. So he makes sure it won’t happen again.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Azul Ashengrotto

No. No no no no this can’t be happening. You can’t be leaving him. Was he not good enough? Were you not happy? How could he convince you to stay? Perhaps he could make a contract that would force you to stay…no. He promised you he wouldn’t, but he was actively witnessing his control slipping through his fingers, the person he cared dearly for threatening to leave. Azul loved you so greatly, was it not enough? He was spirling, terribly. He’s selfish, and it shows in the way he tries to convince you to stay, free dinners and exploring only the best parts of Twisted Wonderland. He could only hope that he managed to show you why you should stay.

You Leave

Azul feels his heart beat out of his chest as you smiled sadly at all your friends. Watching in pure terror as you waved goodbye.

“Please don’t go,” He pleaded, falling to his knees and grabbing your hands. He was making it worse. He knew he was. Groveling at your feet like a fool, tears falling down his cheeks. Your apology rings empty as you untangle from his grasp and step through the mirror. Azul will never forget that moment, the moment you tore his heart to shreds. That moment would forever haunt him. Azul finds himself slowly receding back to how he used to be. You had seen a side of him no one else had, which had opened him up to you, but you were gone now.

By the seven, he hated how much he loved you. Are you happy now? Have you found yourself in the arms of someone else? Someone better? Azul was inconsolable, finding comfort in bad habits, swindling people for power once more. He knew it was wrong, knew it wouldn’t end well, but what else did he have? No one else would care for him the way you did.

You Stay

“I-I can’t go back,” You stuttered, pulling away from the mirror. There was a collective sigh of relief from your friends. Azul found himself nearly buckling at the way you turned to look at him. He didn’t even realize he was crying until you wiped his tears away, pulling him into a hug. He couldn’t stop thanking you, holding you tightly like you’d vanish…you nearly had after all. You think his pampering before your decision was bad? Now he’s going all out, treating you like the royalty you were. Jewelry, the finest cooked meals, you ask for it and it’s yours. 

It’s like your choice has strengthened his devotion to you. You had chosen him over your old life, your old world. What more could he want? He’s planning your wedding as we speak. To get married you need to be a citizen? Done. Are you kidding? He’s got the tweels to dig up dirt on many officials, would you expect any less from him? Azul’s love for you feels like a never ending black hole, a chasm that will never run out. He finds himself wondering if you feel the same. You had stayed, after all.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is the ultimate supporter. Cheering on whatever decision you make. Don’t get me wrong, he’s disheartened at the thought of you leaving, but he doesn’t want to influence your decision. You were one of the few people that Kalim could whole-heartedly trust,so he decides to throw party after party. His own way of distracting himself from the terrible feeling in his heart. Perhaps…he allows himself to hope that you’ll change your mind. That you’ll realize how much you’ll miss this world, miss magic, miss him…

You Leave

Kalim can feel his smile try to break, but he refuses to let you go unsure. Kalim isn’t used to things not going his way, not that he doesn’t respect you, it’s just that the whole situation feels…off. Like this is all a bad dream and he’ll wake up and you’re still there. But unfortunately, this is reality, and the last time Kalim sees you is when you turn and enter the mirror. Days pass, and Kalim finds himself thinking about you. You always liked having meals with him and Jamil, you liked going on magic carpet rides. He finds himself buying things he’d think you’d like only to remember you’re not here to receive them anymore, keeping all the items in a storage room, just in case you come back.

Thinking about you is like a warm fuzzy day. Kalim misses you, but he’s content. He hopes you're happy, living your best life. He continues to cherish your memories as he grows older, still thinking of you as a dear friend. There’s still a tiny spark of hope that maybe he’ll see you again, that you both could catch up…but he knows that’s a foolish notion. 

You Stay

Kalim couldn’t help but cheer when you staggered away from the mirror, not hesitating to pull you into a hug. 

“We should celebrate!” Kalim exclaims, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Jamil will cook your favorite foods! And we can dance and sing until our feet and throats are sore!” 

Like Azul, Kalim finds himself buying you more things and pampering you. Can you blame him? He’s just so happy you stayed! You need citizenship? He doesn’t know much about the process, but he’s got you covered (sorry Jamil). Kalim gets clinger if possible, always wanting to be holding you. He can’t help but wonder what his life would be like without you, and he’s not sure he’d ever want to experience that. You have become a crucial part of his life in a short span of time, and he hopes you continue to choose to stay with him. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Vil Schoenheit

There was a mix of emotions when you told him. Most negative. His gaze sharpened, scrutinizing on how you felt about this situation, one feeling seemed the most prominent. You were unsure. Vil had to admit, he grew used to your presence, longing for it, strangely. He cared for you so much that he found himself taking a step back. This was your decision, and he respected that. As much as he wanted you to stay, he wouldn’t deny you your freedom of choice. Though Vil has to admit…he selfishly wanted you to stay because of him.

You Leave

Of course. He should’ve expected nothing less. You had confided in your desires to go home, he wasn’t sure why he deluded himself to believe you wouldn’t go. To think you would choose him as your top priority. Vil watches with a hint of disdain as you vanish so easily from his life. No, that’s not completely true. There are still hints of your presence in the items you left in his room, the items you left in Ramshackle, the memories inked into his mind.

Still, life had to continue. Vil had no time to stew in his hurt feelings as he had a job to do. He couldn’t let your parting smear his image, he had to stay on top of himself. No slacking allowed. In enough time, Vil won’t feel as hurt, instead grateful for the time you spent with him and accept that if this was what made you happier than so be it. The last thing Vil wished was to hold you back from your full potential, and if this is what you wished, who was he to deny you?

You Stay

A flash of smugness overcame him before his fondness took over. Vil doesn’t hesitate to usher you away from the mirror chamber, feeling his heart finally settle its anxious state. He had never been so scared of losing something, not even when he had lost the VDC. Losing that had made him angry beyond belief, losing you? That would’ve hurt him in ways he didn’t want to think about.

Where does he take you the next day? Well the spa of course. You must have been so stressed these past few days, so what better than to help you relax now that the decision is over? Will pamper you like no other for the next few days. Citizenship? Don’t worry, he’s got his lawyers handling it. What did he say about worrying? He doesn’t want you to get any more fatigued than you already are. Don’t worry darling, he’s got everything handled. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Idia Shroud

Instant panic. Locks himself in his room for a while, trying to wrap his mind around losing another person he dearly cares about. Doesn’t even let Ortho in, effectively isolating himself. Once he calms down just a bit, he tries desperately to convince you to stay. Why would you want to leave? This world has magic, and you never even talked about your world, so therefore it must suck. Idia grasps for straws, hoping that something will stick and you’ll decide to stay. 

You Leave

Idia, like Leona, locks himself in his room the day you leave. Doesn’t even use his tablet to give you a farewell. No, that’s much too painful for him to even think about. Immediately goes to his first coping mechanism, creating a human-like android. Refuses to leave his room for any reason while he creates a copy of you, but no matter how hard he tries, he seems to fail at replicating your likeness. Why do your eyes look so lifeless when you smile? That’s not right. Similar to Ortho, your android's eyes are covered, Idia not able to come to terms with your absence. 

It’s honestly sad how Idia finds himself constantly tweaking at your cpu. You say you like the wrong thing and he just has to fix it because otherwise this isn’t you and he needs you. He can’t accept the fact that you left him willingly. You loved him, didn’t you? Why did you leave him? Even your android couldn’t fully console him as it ran its mechanical hands through his hair. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried his best to imagine it was really you who was whispering sweet nothings to him.

You Stay

You don’t even make it to the mirror room, instead knocking on Idia’s door rapidly. Ortho quickly ushers you in, rushing you towards Idia who is laying on his bed with the blankets pulled over his head. 

“Leave me alone,” Idia groans out, pushing further into his blankets. 

“Idia…” You murmured, causing him to nearly cry out. He couldn’t believe you were here instead of going back to your world, and when you say you're going to stay? He’s sobbing into your neck and holding you like you were going to disappear. Now Idia gets anxious about you leaving, finding himself buying you random merch from games and series you like, hoping you never change your mind. He needs a lot of reassurance. When you state your worry about being able to live in Twisted Wonderland since you technically weren’t a citizen. Pshh, that’s what you’re worried about? You do know he works for an ultra security company, right? He can give you clearance to whatever you wish.

Idia’s just so, so, so happy that you choose him, something he still can’t believe is real. That you’re still by his side for the foreseeable future.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Malleus Draconia

Thunder rumbles in the distance as rain starts to pour. Even though the weather gives away his true feelings, Malleus gives you a strained smile. He had come to cherish you with his whole being, and it hurt to know that you were going to leave, but he wouldn’t let his selfishness get the best of him. You deserved to go home, and if that was your old world, then so be it. Just please allow him to spend these last moments by your side. He wishes to make your last moments in Twisted Wonderland truly magical.

You Leave

The wind whips wildly outside, rain hurling towards the ground as you wave goodbye to your friends. The weather reflected the frowns on your friends' faces, not to mention Malleus who approached you, bowing his head and planting a loving kiss to the back of your hand.

“I shall cherish you forever, my dear child of man.” 

You had nearly started crying, but you held strong, entering the mirror and returning to your world. Malleus was unsure of what to do after you left, finding himself lost. He’d appear in front of Ramshackle, wishing that you’d come walking out of the front door and greet him with your lovely smile. Instead, the crickets chirped, the dorm you had claimed as your own oddly silent.

Hints of you still existed. Little trinkets you had forgotten in his room, consuming foods that were your favorite, finding jewelry and clothing he’d think you’d like. You were a bittersweet memory that he wishes he had more time to experience. He wishes you well, wherever you are.

You Stay

The harsh winds and thundering rain slowed before disappearing altogether, leaving the sun to shine brightly on the now wet infrastructure. Malleus watched with wide eyes as you grasped his hand, pulling away from the mirror. 

“I think I’d rather stay.”

That was all you needed to say for Malleus to send you a blinding smile, kissing the back of your hand. He hadn’t felt this exhilarated in a long, long time, wishing to celebrate your stay with a grand feast. Perhaps a ball? Briar Valley hasn’t had one of those in a while. Or perhaps you’d like to celebrate by shopping? Whatever you wish and it’s yours. You’d just like to spend the night? Why of course, child of man, he would be delighted to have you by his side. You don’t even have to question anything about citizenship, you were already seen as a resident of Briar Valley and Malleus was the prince, he could do what he wanted in this regard. 

In fact, Malleus couldn’t seem to stop smiling, feeling rejuvenated every time he saw your figure in the distance. Nothing could beat the joy of seeing you for another day, spending time by your side and listening to your rants. He wouldn’t change it for the world, and he’s glad you wouldn’t either.

[occamstfs]

Trendy Mustache

Grant was sick of seeing hot guys with mustaches. After being summarily mocked by his friends he opts to grow one, but after clicking on a targeted ad it turns out that facial hair isn't the only thing growing.

Short and simple ode to hot men with mustaches. Muscle growth and mind/reality change. Hope you enjoy! -Occam

Grant had just gotten home from a massive blowout argument with his friends. After seeing one too many clout-chasing gay gym influencers on his for you page touting a brand new mustache, the man without a muscle on his bony body swears he’d look just as good with some new facial hair. He was thoroughly mocked.

In fact, Grant was almost laughed out of the room. Both for suggesting that he could pull it off, but more importantly, for the fact that he couldn’t grow one even if he wanted to. Rather than admitting defeat and taking it in stride, he left early from lunch and is now sulking to himself on the way home. It’s on this small trek that he comes across an ad that must’ve been generated for him after hearing their argument. “Be a new man! $25.99! Start growing some new hair today!!1!” 

Half curious he purses his lips he clicks on the clear spam just to see what ai-generated garbage the ad must be serving up. Obviously this wasn’t the move as the app immediately scans his face and confirms his purchase. Twenty six dollars lighter, Grant curses the rotten scam and starts tabbing his way over to his banking app to demand a refund.

Before he gets there though he stumbles forward as he’s suddenly struck woozy. Stumbling onto a bench nearby, Grant is far too light headed to notice the slow regrowth of patchy peach-fuzz he’s scarcely let grow in a decade beginning to poke out of his upper lip. Eyes almost crossing he groans as he falls to his side on the bench, losing consciousness as his phone clatter to the earth.

He can’t tell if it comes from the speaker of his fallen cell or if it is simply echoing from some deep pit of his mind. But a deep voice that sounds uncomfortably close to his own cries out, “Gotta start growin now to prove ‘em all wrong…”

He awakens in his own bed, shooting up sweaty and panting as his mind is foggier than it’s been during his worst hangovers. Groaning, he wonders if he has a cold as his whinging sounds slightly deeper to his ears. Stumbling to his feet he rubs his face with his arm and almost falls to the floor as he feels the unmistakable scratch of stubble cut through the haze.

He stumbles into the bathroom and stares in shock at his reflection. Slightly darker than the hair on his head, decidedly thicker than it’s ever been before he balks at the clear beginnings of a mustache starting to decorate his upper lip.

His gaping mouth quivers into a smirk as he imagines how good he’ll feel rubbing his new look in his friend’s faces. Only then does he pause to realize that there’s something else strange about his reflection. Leaning in close he tears his eyes away from his new facial hair to notice the other oddities. It’s almost like he’s standing taller in the bathroom, is his jaw sharper too? 

Before he can inspect too closely however the fog returns to his mind in full force as his mind rings with a headache once more. The voice he can only faintly remember calls out once more, “Need to head to the gym. Get a pump in so we can show ‘em we can do it.”

He nods to himself, agreeing with this thought he didn’t think. Ignoring how his throat feels dry, how his quiet grunt sounds even deeper as he wordlessly moans to himself. Shaking off his stupor he looks down to find himself already dressed for the gym, in clothes that are far too big. His shorts barely hang on his waist, his shirt drapes across his thin shoulders, and his shoes have so much extra room it’s a wonder they’re even able to stay on.

Nevertheless, any thought to change or remove a piece of clothing is met with immediate distraction. Soon enough he forgets his discomfort with the outfit at all. He just shakes off the delirium and begins to head out, slightly stumbling on the too big shoes. Reaching for his keys his hand stings as a static shock, trying again his arm locks up a few inches away, “Nahh nah. Gotta run. Get cardio out of the way.”

Again, Grant finds himself nodding along. Yeah, better to run, it’ll be just like when I was back in high school track. Stepping out of his apartment it isn’t until his stumbling steps hit the concrete does he begin to  question the strange thought, he wasn’t in track was he? He was more a mathlete than any kind of track star. That he knows.

And yet, with each step that idea begins to change. Just as soon as his legs begin to adjust to his shoes being too large do they begin to feel fitting, comfortable even. He continues to try and remember if he was in track or not and with each pounding step forward his lower body begins to  make the answer more than clear.

Grant grimaces as he feels his growing feet truly fill the tennis shoes they were once drowning in. His calves slowly begin to bounce larger as they are bulge tight with lean, baseball sized muscle. Above them the shorts that barely hung onto his waist are filled with thighs that punch as powerful as pistons, almost stretching his new shorts to tearing as he finds himself unable to stop his jog to the gym.

Panting, Grant looks down and furrows his brow in shock as he sees a lower body unrecognizable to the legs he went up with. He bounces higher as they continue to lengthen and grow, all the while his heavy breaths sound deeper to his ears. These are not the only ongoing changes. 

The mustache on his face that presumably began all these strange changes has continued to thicken. Launching well past peach fuzz and stubble, it has continued to grow. In the few minutes since he left his house it has become something that would have taken months, no years of growth. Sweat drips down his forehead as his brows change in turn, darkening as the sweaty hair on his head begins to restyle itself as well. 

Growing weary from his short jog, his body struggles to begin its next round of changes as the deep voice in his mind begins anew “great work so far. Now you gotta pump up what our fans are all about. Show the world your massive new pecs dude.”

Stumbling onward on wider feet, his foggy brain struggles to decide which part of the strange statement to get hung up on, he absolutely doesn’t notice how underneath his new stache that his lips mouthed along to the voice that is not his own growing louder in his mind. As his newly furry brows knit together in thought, his grand transformation continues unimpeded.

The whole of his upper body begins changing at once, slightly chaffing nipples begin to burn as they are rapidly pushed into a tank top growing tighter with each racing step. Grant tries to remember a single moment in his life where he exercised enough for any muscle to pack on his chest and at first comes up with nothing. As the pecs continue to pump larger with every gasping breath and swing of a lengthening arm, memories begin to race through his mind.

Obviously he’s been working on those bad boys for years! Looking down seeing how his juicy pecs glisten with sweat he knows that’s what it’s all about. There’s a wide smirk on his face as he imagines his legions of fans obsessing over his perfect picturesque chest. He flexes them to himself and almost starts drooling as he too can’t help but admire them.

At the same time, his arms cutting through the air begin to do so with far more precision and strength. No longer the pathetic stick thin bones they have always been. No. they are his pride and joy. A lifetime at being mocked for weakness is erased from his mind as he can just picture how many times he’s shown some tough guy what it’s like to lose in an arm wrestle.

Biceps emerge from his noodle arms, hanging from a back bursting wider. In no time at all they surge into something to truly be proud of, something that anyone attracted to men couldn’t help to obsess over. He almost falls as he struggles to grow accustomed to just how massive his upper body now is. He clearly recalls men that he once was intimidated by coming to him for tips. Realer than anything he recalls showing off for them, flexing and watching stars fill their eyes before he showed them how it’s done.

His mouth falls open as he continues to pant as he tries to remember why he was ever intimidated by those big men. After all, he’s always been a king hasn’t he? He’s always been a star. Wiping his mouth, from drool or sweat it’s unclear, he again feels the mustache on his face and smirks.

To think those bitches thought he couldn’t pull it off. He can pull anything off! The voice that has been whispering orders and fanning flames in his mind laughs louder than anything, well, almost anything. The guffaws issuing forth from his mouth in reality are quite a bit louder, easily covering up the two inner monologues becoming one as he comes to a stop at the entrance to the gym.

Sloppily drinking water from a bottle attached to his shorts, he wipes his face with the underside of his tight tank as he wanders inside. He wonders why he’s come in just now. Looking down at his massive arms almost shaking with weariness, at his sweaty chest quivering with spent effort, it’s more than clear he just finished up right?

Looking across the lobby and seeing his whole form reflected, he laughs again. He’s gotta take some post-workout pics, obviously. Stumbling his top heavy self across the gym and into the locker room, he discards the sweat-stained shirt he was almost trapped in and shoots away.

He records a quick vlog explaining his progress, his routine, his plans for the rest of the day. For a moment at the edge of his mind there’s the faintest idea to tell his fans the story of his friends saying he couldn’t pull off a mustache.

Obviously that can’t be the case, he’s had his lip candy for years! If anything he’d say he inspired all those other posers to grow them himself. Flicking through his feed he smirks as he sees countless men who look just like he does, massive, mustached, and full of themselves.

Cockily posting himself he wonders what trend he’ll set next. Of course it’s ridiculous to suggest Grant somehow brought mustaches into vogue. Though as every pair of eyes in the gym trails over to look at the massive man posing and guffawing to themselves, as their hands reflexively go to their own hairless upper lips, perhaps the twunk is setting a trend after all. Perhaps any man is simply waiting to follow his lead.

 His bulge is as unmissable as the mustache on his face as he continues to pose in the gym’s stained mirrors. Behind him he sees how he catches the eyes of a man who’s clearly just starting out. Sending a flex that way he imagines what the young jock would look like with a mustache as he begins to make his way over. Got a thing or two to teach the wanting bro about being a man.

[rose24207]

Excuse me, dear?

Summary: A kind and hardworking girl working in a women’s clothing department helps a sweet grandmother find a blouse in the right size, and when the grandmother’s handsome grandson comes to pick it up, he’s instantly captivated by her warmth and charm, sparking an unexpected connection.

Ahn Suho x reader

Part two

A/N: Fun fact: This is me in real life, but without the romance and Suho.

Navigation

You don’t know what’s more exhausting—the fact that your shift started at 10 a.m. and you’ve already restocked the clearance rack five times, or the way customers loudly complain about how “messy” the store is… while throwing cardigans on the floor like it’s a sport.

A woman in her 50s sighs dramatically as she steps over a crumpled blouse.
“It’s like a war zone in here,” she says, voice deliberately loud enough for you to hear. “No pride in presentation anymore.”

You paste on your best retail smile and nod.
“Yes, ma’am. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

She ignores you, of course.

With a sigh of your own, you kneel down to start folding again. You’re a full-time student, juggling classes and this part-time job, and though your feet hurt and your smile is starting to twitch at the corners, you refuse to let this place break you. You have bills to pay and a dream to chase.

You’re halfway through sorting a pile of misplaced cardigans when a gentle voice draws your attention.

“Excuse me, dear?”

You look up and meet the warmest eyes you’ve seen all day. An elderly woman with perfect silver hair and a soft lavender sweater is holding up a blouse—pastel blue, floral, elegant.

It’s one of the newer arrivals, definitely more suited for her generation than the TikTok-hyped mini dresses you keep finding stuffed into the wrong sections.

“Would you happen to have this in a medium?” she asks sweetly.

Your smile turns genuine. “Let me check for you.”

You pull the scanner phone from your lanyard and beep the tag. The small screen loads slowly, spinning like it knows your patience is thin. Finally, the inventory appears.

“Good news,” you say. “We have two mediums left—one in the stockroom and one on this floor. I’ll go hunt them down for you.”

The woman beams, crinkles by her eyes deepening.
“You’re a doll, thank you. I tried looking, but these racks make me feel like I’m in a maze.”

You laugh lightly. “You’re not wrong.”

You dash off to the far side of the floor first, and sure enough, you find the blouse tucked behind a dress on the wrong hanger. With practiced hands, you bring it back to her, holding it up triumphantly.

“Here you go! Medium and wrinkle-free.”

She claps her hands together. “Perfect. My grandson will be thrilled.”

You raise an eyebrow playfully. “Is it for him?”

She laughs, and it makes you giggle too. “No, dear. I’m too old to go upstairs and back down, and I still want to look nice when I see my friends. He’s going to pick it up for me a little later.”

“That’s sweet of him.”

She hesitates. “Would you mind terribly if I left this behind the counter? I know it’s not usually allowed, but I didn’t want to drag it through the entire store.”

You glance around. Technically, it is against policy, but she’s been kind and polite—rare commodities on this floor. You smile and lean in slightly.

“I’ll stash it for you behind the register. Just tell your grandson to ask for the floral blouse his grandmother left.”

She winks. “You’re an angel. I’ll tell him exactly that.”

She pats your hand gently before heading to the escalator. You watch her go, a warm feeling blooming in your chest.

Maybe today won’t be so bad.

About twenty minutes later, you’re helping a stressed-out customer look for a specific black blouse that’s apparently been discontinued.

“Are you sure you don’t have it?” the woman asks for the fifth time.

You keep your voice light. “It looks like we’re out in this store, but—” you tap your screen, “—our sister store down the street has it in your size.”

She lights up. “Really? That’s not far!”

You nod. “You can either go there or call ahead and ask them to put it on hold for you.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you. I thought I was going to have to settle for something else.”

You smile. “No settling on my watch.”

She laughs—a genuine, grateful sound—and waves as she heads for the exit.

You breathe out, proud of yourself for helping her without crumbling under retail pressure. You turn back to your task before… only to find a guy standing there waiting.

He’s leaning against the register counter with his arms crossed, wearing a simple black hoodie and jeans, his dark hair slightly messy but undeniably intentional. His gaze flicks up to meet yours the moment you notice him.

“Oh!” you say, stepping closer. “Sorry for the wait, I was helping someone with an item.”

He smiles slightly, eyes warm but curious. “No worries.”

There’s something… familiar about him. Not that you’ve met him before—but his face could belong on a poster. You ignore the flutter in your stomach and ask,

“Are you here for the floral blouse?”

He nods. “Yeah. My grandma said she left it with someone nice downstairs.”

You grin. “Then you must be the grandson.”

You duck behind the counter and pull out the carefully folded blouse, still on its hanger, the tag neatly pinned.

“She was lovely. Had the best manners I’ve seen all day.”

He laughs—a low, soft sound—and takes the blouse from your hands, brushing your fingers slightly. “That sounds like her.”

He pauses, glancing at the blouse, then back at you. “You folded this?”

You nod. “Guilty.”

He looks impressed. “You did a better job than most of the packaging I’ve ordered online.”

You snort. “You should see me on a good day.”

There’s a moment where neither of you speaks. He’s just… looking at you. Not in a creepy way—just surprised. Or struck, maybe. Like he expected someone else. Someone older, maybe grumpier. Not a pretty girl with tired eyes and a shy smile.

“I’m Suho, by the way,” he says, breaking the silence.

You blink, a little caught off guard. “Oh. Nice to meet you.”

He offers his hand, and you shake it lightly. “I’m… just y/n.”

“Just-y/n works.”

Your face warms. You glance away, suddenly very aware of your scuffed black flats and the wrinkle in your shirt from bending over racks all morning.

“Your grandma has great taste, by the way,” you add quickly, trying to change the subject.

“She does,” he agrees, still watching you. “But I think she also has matchmaking instincts.”

You laugh, surprised. “Excuse me?”

“She told me, ‘The girl downstairs is so sweet. She has kind eyes.’” He shrugs, trying to look casual, but his ears are pink.

You’re half flattered, half flustered. “Well, I try to keep my eyes from rolling at rude customers, so that’s nice to hear.”

That earns you a real laugh from him, deep and warm. “You’re funny.”

You shrug. “Survival tactic.”

He lifts the bag with the blouse inside. “Well… thanks for the rescue. She’ll be happy.”

“Anytime,” you say, tucking hair behind your ear.

Suho hesitates, like he wants to say more, but then gestures to the escalator. “I should head up before she buys more things just to make me carry them.”

You smile. “Have fun on the third floor. The kids section is wild.”

He points at you, backing away. “You do have kind eyes. She was right.”

You laugh, watching him disappear around the corner with your heart fluttering embarrassingly in your chest.

Two Days Later, you’re working another shift when you hear familiar laughter near the register. You glance up, and your breath catches.

Suho.

He’s holding a coffee in one hand and a small paper bag in the other, looking right at you like he expected you to be here.

“Hey,” he says, sliding up to the counter.

“Hi,” you say, surprised but smiling. “Back for more floral blouses?”

“Tempting, but no.” He places the coffee on the counter. “For you.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Me?”

“You looked like you could use one last time. And… I figured it was a good excuse to come back.”

You take the drink slowly, warmth creeping up your neck. “Thanks.”

He slides the paper bag over next. “Also, I grabbed one of those crazy chocolate croissants from the third floor café. Don’t tell the kids.”

You laugh. “I won’t if you won’t.”

There’s a beat of silence. You feel him watching you again.

“Look,” he says, suddenly shy. “I don’t usually do this. But… I wanted to know if you’d maybe want to grab lunch sometime? When you’re not saving grandmas and scolding messy customers.”

You blink. Then smile.

“Are you asking me out because I folded a blouse really well?”

“I mean,” he grins, “it was a pretty impressive fold.”

You tilt your head. “And if I say yes?”

“Then I’d say your kind eyes are just the start.”

Your cheeks burn, but you nod slowly. “Okay. Lunch sounds nice.”

Suho beams. Like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket.

“You have no idea how relieved I am right now,” he says.

You laugh. “Just promise not to complain about my department being messy.”

“I’d never,” he says solemnly. “I saw what the customers do firsthand. It’s basically a jungle down here.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel seen.

Not just by a customer, not just by a cute guy—but by someone who watched you do your job with grace, who waited while you helped others, and who still thought you were pretty great.

Kind eyes and all.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[luvyeni]

⚔️… ( drabble ) never let you leave ! ୨୧ 一 이희승 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ ヾ

yandere!heeseung・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・fingering , manipulation wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. y/n & heeseung are on a break from their relationship even though hee opposed SOOO to get her to come back he kindof stalks her & makes her feel unsafe so she asks him to come back & protect her .. . ??

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 im a little rusty with yandere i hope you like it !!!

he was too controlling, he never let you be; always calling when you were out with friends, or out at work — or just in general he was always calling. he did this under the premise of “there are bad people out there” or “im just trying to protect you.” you could take it anymore. so you broke up with him, told him you just needed space.

he didn’t take it well at first; and you expected that. he cried, begged you to stay; he said he couldn’t live without you — that probably would’ve worked in the beginning, but you were tired. “i don’t even feel safe with you anymore heeseung, being with you scares me more than anything now.” and with that you left him.

he left you alone after that; you didn’t even see him anymore, in fact you didn’t see him for almost a month after that. his friends said all he did was stay home and play games, which made you sad, but this was for your happiness, so you couldn’t just back down. “as long as he gets the help he needs i wish him nothing but the best.”

heeseung in fact wasn’t getting the help he desperately needed. in fact he was getting worse, he was dying without you; he felt like he couldn’t breathe because he wasn’t near you — well not as close as he wanted to be.

you began to feel it a month later; you let your guard down, and that’s when you began to feel like you were being watched. you tried to ignore it, but it was hard when it was all the time, even in your apartment. you began to close the blinds. but that didn’t work, you felt like you were exposed in your own house.

“it’s heeseung isn’t it?” you friend said, you shook your head, quick to defend the boy. “no jake said he’s getting help.” what you didn’t know is that heeseung was always one step ahead of you, watching you. waiting for you. he saw your every move; even in your home with the cameras he installed.

you couldn’t take it anymore; you felt like you were going insane and nobody believed you, they thought you were just exhausted from work or something. “you just need sleep.” how could you sleep if you felt like someone was watching you!

you began to think maybe heeseung was right, maybe he was the only one that could protect you. maybe the world was too dangerous for you. which is why you found yourself knocking on his door. “poor baby.” he saw your tired state. “you look so tired.” he smiled to himself as you let yourself in. “i can’t sleep, i can’t go out alone, im scared someone will hurt me.” you rushed to say. “didn’t i tell you that?” he said. “you didn’t listen, now look.”

you wrapped your arms around him, and he wanted to hug you back; but he had to teach you a lesson — don’t ever think about leaving him again. “hee im so tired.” you looked up at him with those eyes. “yeah?” he said. “let’s get you to bed then.”

he guided you back to his room, laying you down on his bed. “please don’t go.” he smiled, laying next to you. “im not.” his hand was resting on your stomach. “i won't go anywhere.” his hands now moving. “you can just stay here with me.” you moaned softly. “heeseung.” he kissed the side of your head. “you don’t even have to go out, i’ll make all the money and spend it on you.” he said cupping your heat. “fuck you’re so wet.”

you couldn’t believe you fell for again, allowing his fingers to explore your insides like before. “you missed me?” you nodded. “use your fucking words.” he growled. “missed the the way i held and protected you.” he said. “the way i fucked you?” his fingers curled, hitting the spot that made you moan. “fuck hee please keep going , i need you.” you cried out. “need you so bad.”

he sped up, your hips following his movements. “you’re mine, everything you do is because i give you permission to.” you’d complain if he wasn’t fucking your open with his fingers. “you understand, you’re mines, your body is mine, your mind is mine?” you were desperate, ready to cum. “fuck yes hee im yours.” you screamed. “i’ll never leave again i promise.”

that was all he needed, before he whispered into your ear. “cum.” and it was like your body was finally at peace, your mind too. “hee.” your breathing was heavy from your orgasm, eyes heavy from your long exhaustion. “shh, go to sleep.” he said. “when you wake up we can handle me okay.” he held you softly in his arms. “im fine holding you just like this.” you slowly drifted off to sleep in what you thought was the safest place at the moment — but you couldn’t be far from wrong.

because you in fact were sleeping right in the arms of the reason you were feeling so unsettled and by time you woke up you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it… you gave yourself to him.

you were his now, all his and was never gonna share you again…

©️LUVYENI

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

Married life.

You and emperor Geta are married, you enjoy his duties as his wife.

You had cemented yourself as Geta's wife, appearing together in public as often as you could, this would further help his claim to the throne. A wife and an heir would help his image from the Roman public, easily accepting him.

Being his wife was easy, all you had to do was look pretty and appear in public with him, this bored you, you wanted excitement, waiting for your husband to come home and fuck you was not enough. This was a sentiment that Geta agreed with, you had proved to him that you were not a traditional wife, your needs were different and he was ever eager to indulge them.

His favourite way of indulging you was bringing you to the war councils, dressed in a sheer robe that barely covered you. He loved the thought of parading you around the room, your tits on show under your sheer gown, letting you fill the cups of his generals as they greedily took in your form, knowing they could never have you. You knew they watched you, yet Geta was the only one who could touch you, a privilege he would gladly demonstrate before the council.

After you had poured the wine Geta would grab you, pulling you onto his lap, his hands dipping beneath the sheer fabric of your dress, caressing the soft and supple skin of your thighs, squeezing the skin and digging his nails in to your soft flesh, you were his and he wanted to mark you. By this point Geta was not bothered with the council, his lips began to roam the skin of your neck, marking and tasting you, ignoring any other speakers, they were boring him now. Besides, how could he pay attention with you on his lap.

The council tried to continue with no avail, Geta swiftly dismissed them, not even bothering to tear his face away from your skin, nipping at your neck as he waved his council away. Your back arched before his touch, his rough hands snaking further underneath your dress, his fingertips tracing against your core, moaning softly as you could feel him ghost where you wanted him to be.

The council left the room and left you and Geta alone, heated and desperate for each other. He lifted you and dropped you on his war table, the image of you sullying his battle plans excited him, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him towards you, feeling his thick length against your core.

You pressed your hot core against his cock, grinding on him, looking into his eyes and seeing the feral look in his pupils. Geta could not have wished for a more perfect wife, one that was willing and eager to be ruined.

You laid on the desk with Geta stood between your legs, his cock pressed against your entrance, you were almost begging for him now. Before you could even speak Geta lifted his robe and thrust into you, eliciting a delicious moan from your lips, Geta heard it and it spurred him on, encouraging him to be rough with you again.

Geta's thrusts were erratic as he pounded into you, his hands roamed your body as he heard you moan and felt your back arch against his touch, despite his roughness he was gentle with his hands. Ghosting over your clit you whined desperately for his touch, a noise that was like music to his ears. His thumb rubbed your clit roughly, a feeling that caused you to moan even further for him, gripping the sides of the table you laid on, trying desperately to not cum too soon, wanting to ride out the pleasure.

Geta leant forth and took your breast in his mouth, biting gently upon your nipple as he thumbed your clit, this action causing you to orgasm on his cock, an act that brought forth his own orgasm, filling you with his seed.

You laid there breathless on the war desk, Geta open mouthed kissing your neck and chest, devouring your skin, nipping it where he could. His hands roamed your skin, wanting to hold it all, the fact you were all his was incredible to him, just as deranged as he was, the more he fucked you the more likely you would give him a son, and he would enjoy your body until it happened.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Basen hating kissing the hell out of you

Pairing: Basen x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,7k

Synopsis: That General who is so full of himself, who never misses a chance to put you into your place. And you? A hot-headed nurse with outstanding tactical abilities and a big mouth. What can possibly go wrong?

Warnings: enemies to lovers y'all, why is it always the side characters on this blog 😭 language, injuries, heated kisses hehehe

You never thought you’d end up here - stuck in the middle of the Imperial Palace’s tangled web, tasked with not only saving lives but also becoming a strategic advisor in matters of war. Did you even dare to dream of taking in this role at the palace?

Not once.

Despite being the head nurse of the Imperial Army’s medical corps, your knowledge stretches far beyond medical healing. You’ve studied the anatomy of war, how to break down the enemy’s tactics, and how to keep the army fighting even when the odds seem overwhelming.

After all, your father was a general himself before he found his own end on the battlefield, leaving you behind with nothing but the knowledge you’ve gained from his mission reports and books.

To be honest, the anatomy of the body and war never differed that much to you anyway. It took you no effort to catch attention by the medical corps of the Imperial Palace by a very young age, to outshine even some of the doctors and Generals with your expertise.

But Gao Basen, the General of the imperial forces, refuses to acknowledge any of this.It’s not that he’s rude. No, Basen is far too well-mannered for that. He simply doesn’t take you seriously.

To him, you’re just a nurse, someone to bandage wounds, prepare medicines, and keep the soldiers on his trenches alive. The fact that you have a better understanding of battlefield strategy than most generals seems lost on him.

Every time you try to offer a suggestion, he dismisses it with a wave of his hand.

“Stay out of this, nurse,” he barked at you during one of the many operations you’ve been forced to collaborate on.

His tone wasn’t unkind, but it carried that arrogance that made you want to punch him in his oh so perfectly-shaped face.

“Leave the tactics to us.”

That was before the rebellion reached its peak, though. Now, the battlefield is everywhere - the palace, the streets, even the walls of the very city you swore to protect. The emperor’s will is being challenged, and General Gao Basen is leading the charge.

Well, at least he thinks he does.

The first real test of your worth comes when the emperor orders a new assault on a rebel refuge. The battle is expected to be brutal, and the medical corps is rushing to prepare under your command.

But even in the chaos, you’re needed beyond your station. You, who can read a battlefield like a map, who understands how to turn the tides of war by just knowing where to place your forces and where to strike, are called in to offer strategy.

Oh, you know a certain someone who will be absolutely fuming about this.

“You’ve all seen the plan,” Jinshi states, voice cool and collected, his eyes flicking between the generals and advisors gathered around the table.

“But we have little time. I’d like to hear your thoughts, head nurse.”

You take your place at the table, your gaze meeting Basen’s across the room while you’re barely able to hold yourself together. He looks at you, his face unreadable, but his posture stiffens ever so slightly. It’s as if he’s already decided you don’t belong here, as if the sheer fact that you breathe the same air as him almost drives him over the edge.

What a sight.

Ignoring him with that feeling of satisfaction filling you to the brim, you pull a map towards you, running your finger along the terrain.

“We need to utilize the terrain to our advantage,” you begin, your voice steady and confident.

“The rebels have set up in the valley, but there are high ground positions on the left and right. We could use those as staging points for a two-branched attack while simultaneously sending a smaller unit to flank from behind.”

One of the generals gives a soft grunt of approval. Except for Basen, everyone silently acknowledged you a long time ago.

“But what about the cavalry?”

“That’s where we’ll hit them hardest,” you respond quickly, already sketching the next steps on the map.

“The cavalry has been spread too thin. A concentrated effort here”, you point to a key point on the map, “will take them out before they can reinforce.”

For a moment, there is silence. You’re aware of Basen’s gaze on you, the sharpness of his eyes, the way his jaw tightens. You know he doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like you in the war room at all. You, a feisty woman, nothing but a nurse in his eyes. But the others are nodding, murmuring their agreement. Even Gao Shun, the general who raised Basen, looks at the map thoughtfully, his hands resting on the table.

“This could work,” he remarks gruffly.

“But what if the enemy has hidden reserves?”

You smile a little, the answer already forming in your mind. As if you didn’t already think about that beforehand.

“We keep a unit in reserve, hidden by the eastern ridge. If we’re caught in a trap, they can flank and assist us from behind.”

Finally, Basen speaks, his voice cold and cutting.

“You’ve had a lot to say for a nurse. I’ll admit, you know your battlefield tactics, but I’m still in charge of the military strategy.”

You don’t flinch, even though his words sting. After all these years of assisting him while watching him take on the role of a General, this is everything he has to say about you?

“I’m simply offering suggestions, General Gao Basen,” you remark, your tone calm and composed.

“I don’t need your approval.”

Thick anger rises up your veins before you can stop it.Who does he think he is? That son of a high-ranked General who never had to work as hard as you. What does he know about you, your status, your abilities?

A long silence follows before Jinshi speaks up, his voice laced with amusement.

“It seems we’re in agreement. Let’s put it into action.” 

The battle rages on in your pounding ears. The rebel forces are relentless, and the wounded are going to the roof. As the battle shifts in your favor, the injured flood in, and you’re forced to treat one soldier after another, your hands moving quickly, efficiently, but your mind on edge. You can feel the heat of the conflict seeping into the very walls of the palace - this is more than just a rebellion now. It’s a war for survival.

In the midst of the chaos, Basen is everywhere. His presence is a force of nature on the battlefield, his commanding voice cutting through the fog of war and the walls of your tent. You can’t help but peak through the curtains, to watch him from afar.

That smug bastard. He moves with precision, taking down rebels and barking orders, his form a living testament to his father’s iron rule.

But even someone like Basen can be overwhelmed.

You’re in the middle of stitching a soldier’s gash when you hear it - a scream, followed by the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground. Your heart skips a beat, and your eyes snap to the scene unfolding before you.

There he is.

Basen, bloodied, injured, and holding his side where a deep wound has opened. He’s trying to walk, but the blood pouring from him makes it clear he can’t keep going much longer. His men rush to help him, but he punches them away, his teeth gritted in pain.

You barely register the distance between you before you're already on the move, pushing through the chaos to reach him out of instinct.

“Basen!” you shout, voice cutting through the noise.

He looks at you with cold, narrowed eyes.

“I don’t need your help. And it’s General Gao Basen to you,” he grunts, his voice a low snarl as he stumbles slightly, trying to steady himself.

You ignore the words, rushing to him and pulling him toward the nearest medical station.

“You’re bleeding out, Basen! Let me treat you, idiot!”

Your hands are already at his side, but he jerks back, glaring at you with all the stubbornness and pride you’ve come to expect from him.

“I told you,” he snaps, voice sharp as a whip, “I don’t need a nurse to patch me up. I’m not some weakling who needs tending to. And if you call your General an idiot one more time, I’ll make sure you’ll get punished.”

His refusal and harsh words sting like they usually do, but you don’t let it show. Not now, not when he might bleed out in front of your very own eyes if you continue standing there.

“You’ll die if I don’t treat you, Basen!” you reply, frustration boiling over, your hands gripping his arm to keep him in place.

He recoils violently, his face flushed with anger.

“I don’t need you to save me,” he growls, his breath ragged.

“You think I care about your medicines and bandages? You think I’m some soldier who needs to be babysat?”

“Stop acting like a damn fool!”

The words fly out before you can stop them, the tension that’s been building between you both finally snapping.

“You’re not unshakable, Basen. You can’t fight everything on your own.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he’s going to walk away again. But instead, he takes a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. His eyes flicker with something dark, something intense, before he takes a step closer to you.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he murmurs, voice low and dangerous.

“To always be expected to be perfect. To always have people looking to you for answers. To be the one everyone depends on and never let down. I can’t… I won’t be weak.”

The raw emotion in his voice hits you harder than you expect. You take a step forward, your hand reaching out almost instinctively to touch his arm, to comfort him in the way you know how - by offering your help, by showing him that you care, that you’re not judging him.

But before your fingers can make contact, Basen moves. His hand shoots out, gripping your wrist tightly, and with a sudden, jerking motion, he pulls you closer.

The shock of his touch makes your breath catch in your throat. You look up at him, his eyes wild, burning with frustration, with something else.

“I don’t need your pity,” he hisses, but his voice wavers for just a second.

You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, Basen pulls you the rest of the way toward him, his lips crashing into yours with a force that leaves you breathless.

It’s hot. It’s furious. His mouth is demanding, his kiss claiming, as if he’s trying to drown the fury and frustration he feels inside, trying to lock it all away in this moment.

You’re too stunned to move at first, the shock of it all coursing through your veins.

But then, instinct kicks in.

You kiss him back. You’re not sure what drives you. Anger, desire, or the way his entire body is shaking with unexpended emotion? But it doesn’t matter. There’s no turning back now.

His hands tighten around you, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you, his heartbeat loud in your chest as his grip on your wrist shifts to your waist.For a moment, all the anger, all the long lived hostility between you, melts away.

It’s just him, just you, the heat of the battle fading into the background as his kiss deepens, becoming more desperate, more primal. You pull away just enough to breathe, your chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears. His face is inches from yours, and his breath is just as ragged as yours.

You…hate him, don’t you? You always hated Basen with all of your heart. Hated the way he looks down at you, hated his cold gaze, hated how he always urged to be in charge, to be the one in control. Gao Basen is the epitome of all the things you have, and yet…

“Don’t ever… do that again,” you whisper, your voice shaking.

You can’t tell if you’re angry, confused, or something else entirely, but your chest feels tight, as if your breath is trapped beneath his hands.

Basen doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans his forehead against yours, his voice a low rasp.

“I don’t know what this is. But I can’t stand seeing you with anyone else, not even with Master Jinshi. Can’t stand you not being by my side, can’t stand you putting yourself on display for danger almost every single day… can’t stand it…”

You don’t know what to say to that. You don’t know how to respond to the confession that feels raw and completely out of place in this moment. Instead, you step back, shaking your head slowly, even as your heart races faster than you can understand.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmur, but there’s no real heat in your words anymore.

You’re too confused, too overwhelmed to be angry. Was all of this just a dream? Those words, the desperation in his gaze?

No.

You shake your head ever so slightly, eyes shifting to the gaping wound on his side.

“And I’m still treating that wound.”

Basen’s eyes narrow, his pride not letting him fully back down. But there’s a shift in his look, a flicker of something deeper, something softer that you can’t quite place.

“You’re stubborn,” he mutters, his voice still rough.

“And you’re insufferable…kissing me in the middle of the battlefield like that…”

“But you kissed me back-“

“I DID NOT!”

[endofthelinegang]

“how don’t you know the difference between your left and right?” with Walker please, where reader and him have a sibling dynamic (both in the Thunderbolts, I love this team so much. Now I think I understand how fans felt about the Avengers, which I wasn’t into the MCU at the time)

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ john walker x fem! platonic! reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ the f word

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ wait stop because even if you fucking hate john walker this is funny shit. (2.1k words)

The mission brief was simple.

Sneak in. Secure the drive. Sneak out.

It was a three-step process, like a microwave meal or an Instagram tutorial on microwave desserts, and somehow—somehow—you were still managing to screw it up by step two.

“Left,” John growled through your comms. “Take a left at the fork.”

Naturally, you put up your fingers but then quickly decided that would get you bullied so you took a guess and ended up going right.

“...That’s your other left,” came the follow-up, clipped and already filled with the bitter disappointment of a man who knows better than to expect anything else from you.

You stopped mid-step. The hallway lights overhead were flickering dramatically—broken bulbs, unstable wiring—and in any other context, this might’ve been a suspenseful moment. Tactical. High-stakes. Because it was clear whatever danger was dangering had just been through here or was still right in that general area.

Instead, you blinked. “There’s no such thing as ‘other left.’” you scoffed and stood rolling your eyes. 

“Yes there is,” John hissed. “It’s called right.” The mission had only started moments ago and he was ready to come down there and shoot you himself.

You tilted your head, hand on your hip. “That’s a label society assigned. Much like gender and sporks. Though the idea of a spork is a lot more useful than the other labels, it’s a really fun word to say too.” Before you could repeat the word spork and somehow mindlessly start walking down the trail that screamed danger John made a comment,

“God, I knew I should’ve left you in the van.” 

“Joke’s on you,” you replied cheerfully. “I hotwired the van. You couldn’t leave me even if you wanted to.” There was a reason he kept you around, all of your illegal knowledge that you felt overly confident doing and sharing. In fact you would even show John Tiktoks and Reels of all the people your age putting it all over their public social media platforms. To which he was not surprised that half of the New York population happened to be these people.

A pause. A deep, deep inhale on his end.

And then, voice flat: “Turn. The hell. Around.” You sighed dramatically, like this was somehow his fault, and began rotating yourself in slow, half-conscious steps like a Sims character that couldn’t find a free tile.

And, because you knew it would drive him completely feral, you whispered into the mic: “...Which one’s left again?” You smiled at yourself turning back around and jogging out of the area he specifically kept telling you to get out of and stay out of.

You could feel the eye twitch through the comms. 

“Left is the side with your watch on it,” John said, enunciating each word like you were a foreign dignitary he hated but had to be polite to. “The same watch you said made you ‘feel like a spy, but slutty.’ Remember that?”

“I do. I also stand by that.” As much as he pretended to ignore you all the time he did recall everything you said. In all fairness the watch was completely blacked out with a leather band. 

“Great. So use your slutty spy watch to figure out which direction to go before I come down there and push you out a window.” John would’ve said something more violent but that would have started an actual argument. 

You gasped. “You said you weren’t gonna use your military strength on me!” You continued to walk back where you had started, you also realized John was kind of a total dumbass because there was like one window and it had bars over it. 

“I lied.” And with that, you finally—finally—pivoted the correct direction and continued down the left hallway like a reluctant Sims character with one trait point in Navigation and zero in Listening.

—

You met up with him two corridors later. You were lightly jogging, in fact almost skipping, and you might be wondering where this good mood was coming from. Nothing was better than a mission with just John because at the end of the day you could save your own ass you did not need him there. But messing with him, yeah, you needed that.  He was already standing by the server room door, arms crossed, jaw tight, the image of Grumpy Soldier Barbie—but in your defense, he looked like that all the time.

“You’re late,” he sassed looking you up and down. 

You rolled your eyes. “Relax. I was out here doing recon.”

“You got lost.” He whisper-yelled, not appreciating the very idea that you thought anything you had done was recon.

“Reconnaissance of the floor plan,” you said smoothly, brushing past him with your hand on the panel. “Maybe if your directions were better—”

“They were good directions. They were literally left. That’s it. That’s not even complicated. It’s not like I said ‘head northwest by the air shaft and look for the door with the red laser grid.’” He repeated real instructions from a previous mission he had gone on with Yelena. Instructions she also chose to ignore. 

“That sounds kinda fun actually.” You had no idea what he was talking about. 

“You are not allowed to speak anymore.”

He had the two of you on the move. The server room opened with a quiet click. You ducked in, he followed close behind, and for about thirty blessed seconds, things were normal. Professional. Efficient. Until you spotted the wires. John of course had you closest to the wires so that if you pulled the wrong one it would be your fuck up and not his. 

“Uhhh…” you said, hands hovering over the motherboard. “Which cord do I pull?” The board was a mess, yes there was green but all of the wires were so small.

John looked up from the small device he was planting in the far corner. “Green.”

You stared at the wires even closer, there were three different greens. There were different shades of every color and all of the greens were super far apart from each other which meant that they all probably did different things. 

“...Green which?” you asked, hands hovering over top of the crazy mess in front of you.

He looked over. Blinked. And then, with the slow patience of a father of four who just caught one of his kids trying to microwave foil, he moved you over, pointed directly at the correct green wire, and said—

“This green. Right here. Not seafoam. Not olive. Green.”

You nodded solemnly. “Got it.”

And then, because apparently you were put on this earth to test his willpower, you reached for the wrong one. Not slowly either you grabbed that motherfucker like you were really going to pull it up and out. 

“Nope!” he barked, grabbing your wrist before you could trigger an accidental building-wide meltdown. “Do you have some kind of death wish, or are you just genetically incapable of behaving?”

“I don’t respond well to being micromanaged,” you sniffed and pouted. He gave you the look—that devastating combo of older-brother exhaustion and someone who once had dreams before you happened to him.

“You know,” he said, voice low and tight, “I’ve had missions go off the rails before. I’ve had teammates flake. I’ve had intel turn out bad. But nothing—nothing—has ever compared to trying to get you to do something simple.”

You tilted your head sweetly. “That’s just because you’re not used to working with people as unique as me.” You held his hands and swung them back and forth before getting up as he watched you in plain horror. 

“Unique,” he repeated, dead-eyed. “Is that what we’re calling this now?”

You grinned. “You love me.” 

“I’d trade you for a ham sandwich.” He scoffed and started walking away from you to which you got right behind him and yelled in his ear, 

“A ham sandwich?” you repeated, mock-offended. “That’s so basic. At least make it like… a fancy club sandwich or something.”

He gave a long sigh, eyes skyward like he was praying for strength. “Do the job, dumbass.”

—

The escape route—because of course—was also somehow your fault. It started fine. Quiet hallway, clear egress, no hostiles in sight. The corridors were low-lit, industrial concrete with buzzing fluorescent lights overhead and peeling paint on the corners. You could hear the hum of distant generators, the faint tick of your watch, and the crunch of your boots on loose debris.

John’s plan had been tight. Simple extraction. The van was parked in an alley on the north side, GPS-tracked and synced to the route in your earpiece. Cameras had been looped, alarms temporarily frozen, and all you had to do—all you had to do—was follow him and not get distracted.

Until you stopped at the final turn and muttered, “Wait, I thought the exit was that way,” and pointed the wrong direction again.

He didn’t even look. He just kept walking. “Don’t you start.”

“No, but I really thought it was—”

“Left. I said left again. For the third time.”

“And again, I ask: my left, or yours?”

“HOW IS THAT A REAL QUESTION.”

“BECAUSE I’M WALKING BEHIND YOU. PERSPECTIVES CHANGE.”

He whipped around to face you mid-step, face flushed, hair slightly mussed, entire being radiating the energy of a babysitter who was about ten seconds from calling your mom.

“I’m going to ask you one time,” he said, slowly. “And I want you to really think about this before you answer.”

You saluted. “Aye aye, Captain America-lite.”

He visibly had to restrain himself from launching you into orbit.

“How—don’t—you know—the difference—between your left—and your right?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

Thought for a second.

And then said, earnestly:

“It’s conceptual.”

John looked like he aged four years in real time.

“...Conceptual.”

“Yeah. Like, I get it in theory. But in practice? I just vibe.”

“You just vibe? This is tactical infiltration, not yoga.”

“Exactly. You gotta feel the space.”

“I swear to God,” he muttered, turning back toward the exit, “if you make me do paperwork on your death certificate I’m writing vibes as the cause of death.”

—

You made it back to the van, somehow.

Your boots hit pavement with a final, glorious crunch, and the cold night air slapped your face like a wake-up call from God Himself. The alley was still empty, shadows long and stretched under the flickering glow of a busted streetlamp that buzzed like it was shorting out on its final life. The mission had drained just enough energy from you that you were too tired to celebrate but not too tired to be smug. That perfect, post-chaos middle ground.

You both clambered into the van—the familiar creak of the door, the satisfying thunk as it shut behind you. John wordlessly dropped into the driver's seat, hands on the wheel but not starting it yet, like he needed a minute to recover from whatever the hell just happened.

There was a brief moment of quiet where you both sat there, the adrenaline fading, the mission technically complete. The drive buzzed in your pack. The radio hummed.

A random pop station played something way too upbeat for the mood. A pigeon flew overhead and nearly dive-bombed the van’s windshield for no reason except to keep you humble.

And then—

“So…” you said, angling toward him with a smug smile. “We gonna talk about the fact that despite all my ‘distractions,’ we still got out clean?”

He didn’t even look up. “Luck.”

“Skill.”

“Luck.”

You poked his bicep, still smug. “Admit it. You like having me around.”

He gave you a long, baleful stare. “You make my blood pressure rise like a balloon animal in a microwave.”

“But a fun balloon animal,” you said brightly. “Like, the dog kind.”

He closed his eyes. Whispered a quiet, resigned, “Why me.”

You beamed, settling back into your seat, feet up on the dash.

He didn’t make you move them.

And later, when you both walked into the safehouse and he saw you take the couch first, he didn’t say anything. He tossed you a water bottle. Turned on the shitty hotel TV. Sat down next to you like it was nothing.

The safehouse smelled like dusty air filters and microwave popcorn someone had definitely burned earlier in the week. The couch was too firm, the lighting was too yellow, and the remote had teeth marks in it—unclear if human. It was perfect. It was home—for now.

But when you turned the wrong direction again—again—to hand him the remote?

He just caught it mid-air, muttering, “Still your wrong left, dumbass.”

You grinned. “Still made the shot though.”

“Unfortunately.”

And that was it.

That was how John Walker—ex-Captain America, Thunderbolt, grumpy golden retriever in combat boots—ended another day stuck with you. His teammate. His human migraine.

His family.

Even if it killed him slowly.

Even if you never learned your left from your right.

Even if you made “conceptual directions” your new excuse for everything.

You, him, and the mission.

That was the job. That was the team. And, God help him, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 1 - The One About That Weird Ass Cressida Post

This is my first blog entry and, before you start reading, let me just drop in this little disclaimer: 

You will find that I bounce between fact and speculation with a mix of sarcasm and [I hope] level-headedness, common sense, and deductive reasoning.

I am a Lukola. Plain and simple. You will not change my mind. It’s an all or nothing thing for me. How I got here, I’m not exactly sure – wait, no I do know how I got here (thank you Nicola and Luke for being so fucking charming).

Of course, I knew what Bridgerton was before I joined the Lukola fandom. In fact, I watched both Seasons 1 and 2, and they were okay. Yes, just okay.

I knew that Season 3 was about Penelope – the only character I found remotely interesting – so when I saw an article on People’s page showing Nicola and her costar holdings hands, I admit I was intrigued.

Were they dating?

Let’s ask Mr. Google and find out.

No, apparently, they were not.

Okay, fine.

I then made the mistake of clicking on a video of Nicola and Luke being interviewed in Australia. And, motherfuck, they were like lightning in a bottle! Luke – being asked if he believed in friends to lovers – responded in a way that left me feeling a bit blindsided. My immediate thought was: “He fell in love with Nicola the moment he met her.” It’s funny how many people I’ve spoken to since who had an identical reaction and, to be honest, Luke’s response won’t make your heart flutter. But, it was something in the way he said it.

Now, let me explain my feelings about love at first sight. Actually, Nicola explained it best when she said lust at first sight is often mistaken for love at first sight. This, I agree with wholeheartedly. To me, love at first sight does not have to be lusty. It can be, sure, but it can also be something entirely different. Maybe it’s a fleeting feeling of recognizing someone in a way you cannot possibly articulate out loud. Maybe it’s a palpitation of your heartbeat. Maybe it feels like home. Regardless, when you experience it, you’ll know it.

That, my friends, is how I got here, and why I [sometimes begrudgingly] stay here – walking alongside this rather long, winding, and often pothole-filled road waiting for two people to admit to the general public – whether it be in a blatant or subtle manner – that they are, in fact, together.

I’ve noticed in this fandom we seem to have three types of people.  We have the Sincerely Ignorant, the Conscientiously Stupid, and the Fact Finders.

The Sincerely Ignorant are those that are easily persuaded. They are like sheep following their shepherd. In fact, the Sincerely Ignorant are the most dangerous as they tend to spiral hard and fast – and often without reason.

Next, we have the Conscientiously Stupid. These are the shippers that choose to live in error because it fits their narrative. We are all a bit Conscientiously Stupid but there are those that push an idea so hard that they omit certain truths from their storyboard. The danger here is obvious and their victims always include the Sincerely Ignorant.

Lastly, we have the Fact Finders. The people who track information – key players, side characters, dates, places, statements, etc. These are the people who often find themselves pulling the Sincerely Ignorant out of the water when they spiral, usually due to narratives being pushed by the Conscientiously Stupid.

I am a Fact Finder. Am I perfect? Fuck no, but I do find it fun to collect and analyze information and share it with my fellow Fact Finders. Plus, collecting data helps me maintain some indifference towards the USS Lukola because, let’s face it, this god-damned ship has been blasted by quite a few cannonballs at this point. Some days, I’m surprised we’re still afloat.

Let’s start with Cannonball No. 1. Pap-fucking-smear. June 12/13, 2024. What a fucking shit show. Who shows up to the London premiere? Antonia, Luke’s – I honestly don’t even know what word to use here because I have a lot of different thoughts but out of [a small amount of] respect I will call her – “girl friend” [yes, that space was intentional]. We all know the story, Luke was papped outside his hotel with Antonia on premiere night and he was pegged an overnight dumpster fire.

And, oh my God, the Sincerely Ignorant and Conscientiously Stupid ran with it. I mean, they practically became wild dogs chasing down a fox under the command of Nicola the Huntsman. However, Nicola, almost immediately, came to Luke’s rescue by posting an “in support of” style story to her IG. I’m not saying Nicola wasn’t affected by this mishap. At the very least, the post-premiere PR efforts were dumped squarely on her tiny shoulders. At the worst, she’d had her heart broken.

I never liked the Papsmear pictures. Not because I disliked what they depicted but because there was something “off” about them. Luke didn’t look like a man happy to be out with his lady friend. He looked like a man who had been hoodwinked and whether that was because he knew he’d just made a major PR misstep or because he knew the narrative that would follow was false doesn’t really matter because it’s all speculative. But, what makes me believe it was the latter is what Luke did next.

On June 15, Luke put a story on his IG promoting Season 3. That isn’t all that interesting but the scene it depicted made me do a double take.

Could it be?

No…no way…

But…it was.

It was the scene in Ep. 6 where Cressida entered the Mondrich Ball and Colin pulled Penelope aside and told her he wouldn’t let Cressida ruin their evening.

What in the hot fuck? I mean, really, what in the hot fuck??

Did Luke really just blast out an IG story where his character tells Nicola’s character not to let the Cressida character ruin their evening? Was Cressida…Antonia?

Because that’s fucking loud.

I mean, of all the scenes over four episodes, Luke chose THAT one to promote Pt. 2?

Surely, Antonia or one of her friends or family members would have picked up on this, right? And, told Antonia.

No one is going to convince me that Luke and Antonia were in a blissful relationship after that IG story was posted. Why? Because the deductive reasoning part of my brain tells me Luke chose Nicola straight outta Pap-gate.

The Conscientiously Stupid may [rather they WILL] argue that it was just for PR. Okay, but that would mean Antonia accepted the comparison between Cressida, the Evening-Ruiner, and herself. Take a moment and put yourself in Antonia’s shoes. Would you accept this from your partner? (P.S. If you said yes, you have bigger problems in life than following real people’s relationships.)  We know Antonia accepted this role to some extent because we have evidence she attended events with Luke over the summer. So, what the fuck?

In my opinion, Luke’s IG story is a defining moment in the Lukola narrative, but one that was overlooked in June and one that continues to be overlooked – and ignored – now.

Luke’s character is telling Nicola’s character he won’t let another woman ruin their evening.

Let me repeat that again for you:  Luke’s character is telling Nicola’s character he won’t let another woman ruin their evening.

Now wrap your head around that.

[butchsucker]

MAKE IT REALITY (or ellie's cool, popular college roommate finds some incriminating journal entries and makes them come true)

pairing: ellie williams/abby anderson

contents: mean!abby x loser!ellie, college au, perv!ellie, dominant bottom abby, submissive top ellie, they switch a little at the end tho, pussy eating, tit slapping, hair-pulling, spanking, doggy style, strap-on usage, choking, biting and scratching, overstim, multiple orgasms, abby like it rough basically.

word count: 7,018 (jesus christ)

Ellie thinks about Abby slightly more than the average amount that could be considered healthy. But she’s got a million little ways to justify her insatiable need to dwell on all things Abigail Anderson.

The most convenient excuse is that Abby’s impossible to ignore. She’s huge and walks around campus like it’s hers by birthright. Loud too, always laughing like she’s never once been embarrassed, always roughhousing with her teammates like a golden retriever in human form.

Also, she’s Ellie's roommate.

Which, okay, is not the end of the world. Abby’s usually off with her volleyball cult and that leaves the dorm quiet in a way Ellie likes—just her and her laptop and the vague scent of weed clinging to the window curtains. She can lounge around in nothing but boxers, spine curved like a shrimp, typing or doom-scrolling or watching whatever depravity the internet spits out at her without worrying if she looks hot doing it. She can smoke, blow the evidence out the window, and jerk off without headphones.

That last part (Ellie spending a frankly alarming amount of time watching porn) is a recent development. Directly tied to the fact that Abby exists the way she does. In shorts that barely count as clothing. In shirts that don’t even bother with sleeves. Smelling like something sinful and soft, vanilla and cashmere, which Ellie figured out from the perfume bottle Abby left on the desk like she wants Ellie to fantasize about that scent clinging to her.

Something about already being high and relaxed and then seeing Abby breeze in—sweaty, smug, muscles flexing like she lives to be admired—just hits the kill switch in Ellie’s brain. Even when Abby sneers or tosses out some bitchy comment about Ellie’s chronic bed-rotting, it doesn’t help. Or rather, it helps in exactly the wrong way. Makes Ellie’s stomach clench. Makes her want things she probably shouldn’t want.

She likes that Abby’s mean. It gives her fuel for all kinds of delusional fantasies. Ones where Ellie gets to flip the script, shut her up with a hand between her thighs, bend her over the mattress and fuck her just right until that smug little smirk disappears.

Not that Ellie’s that guy. She doesn’t have the stamina, emotionally or physically, to break a girl like Abby Anderson. Hell, in the handful (and “handful” is generous) of sexual experiences she’s managed to collect, she’s always the one on her back. Always the one panting and whining and asking for more. Not that she’s complaining. She still gets there.

The harmless thoughts and the occasional (read: extremely frequent) jerking off aren’t really the problem. Ellie’s true crimes live in the bottom drawer of her bedside table.

First: the strap-on. A panic purchase, made during what Ellie can only describe as a bout of sudden-onset insanity. She’d been high—obviously—and something about that thick, purple dildo screamed this is what you’d use to ruin Abby Anderson. Small snag: she’s not actually fucking Abby. Bright side, the harness has a built-in pocket for a bullet vibe. So whenever the mood hits (which is often), Ellie cranks the thing to max, closes her eyes, pumps into her fist, and lets herself pretend. Pretend it's Abby.

A deeply pathetic display.

Then there’s the underwear. A pair of panties Abby accidentally tossed into Ellie’s laundry pile: sheer crotch, baby blue, little white heart print. They were immediately rescued and hidden away like stolen treasure. It took Ellie a full day to work up the nerve to bury her face in them. And when she finally did—well. To this day, she has never come harder than with Abby’s panties clutched in one hand and the other between her legs, imagining Abby walking in on the whole sordid scene. And somehow, that’s still not the worst thing in the drawer.

That honor goes to the journal.

Important context: Ellie has a lot of journals. Sketchbooks too. One for daily brain rot. One for serious thoughts. A couple for class notes. One for landscapes. One for portraits. All very organized. Very normal.

Then there’s that journal. The one that never leaves the drawer. The one reserved for every foul, depraved fantasy she’s ever had. Most of them—okay, all of them—involve Abby in some capacity. There are entries about wanting to bite and slap her tits until they’re puffy and red, nipples raw from too much attention—directly inspired by Abby wearing a tank top with no bra on one unreasonably chilly morning. Or the one where Abby is sitting full on Ellie’s face, thighs locked around her skull, and Ellie’s arms are wrapped tight around her waist, determined to keep her there until she’s had her fill and then some. Pages upon pages of shit that should probably get her institutionalized.

As long as Ellie keeps everything carefully under wraps, none of it really matters. Or at least, that’s the philosophy that’s gotten her this far living alongside Abby fucking Anderson.

But all that careful secret-keeping starts to fall apart on Friday.

She hears Abby coming before she even hits the door, which gives Ellie just enough time to crush her roach into the ashtray and shove it—along with her journal—back into the bottom drawer where shame lives.

The door swings open and Abby strides in like a force of nature, her friend Nora trailing behind. Both of them are in their volleyball uniforms, which means those microscopic shorts that make Ellie want to slam her head against the desk. There’s more to the uniform, sure, but Ellie can’t see past Abby’s ass. It should be illegal. She clenches her hands into fists in her lap and drags her eyes back to her laptop like it owes her something.

Abby and Nora are chatting about something—fast, loud, chaotic. Way too much for Ellie’s weed-fogged brain to track. She keeps pretending she’s working on the assignment due by midnight, but let’s be real: she’s not getting a single coherent thought down while Abby is in the room, much less half-naked and glowing from practice.

“Ellie, gimme your lighter,” Abby says, sharp and already annoyed, like Ellie’s been denying her something on purpose. “I know you have one.”

“Huh?” Ellie blinks up, the world's lamest reply.

Abby looks at her like she’s the stupidest girl alive. Which, fair. “Jesus,” she mutters, shooting Nora a look that makes her laugh behind her hand. “Lighter. Give me.”

Ellie freezes. Her lighter’s with all her weed stuff...which is also sitting in the same drawer as her strap-on, Abby’s stolen panties, and her pervert journal. Not ideal.

“I, uh, don’t have one,” she lies, voice too high. “And I was just about to head out so…yeah.”

She slams her laptop shut with a little too much force, scrambles to grab her keys, phone, and her weed pen like she’s suddenly got very important plans. She doesn’t.

“You cannot be fucking serious right now.” Abby plants her hands on her hips, exasperated, and Ellie’s brain short-circuits just long enough to notice how her biceps flex with the motion. Like that helps.

Then Ellie’s out the door with absolutely nowhere to be.

Ellie ends up on Jesse’s beat-up couch, slouched low with her legs spread like she owns the place. Dina’s curled into the other corner with a blanket around her shoulders. Jesse’s on the floor, playing DJ with the speaker that only works if you smack it a little. The room smells like weed and leftover takeout and whatever cologne Jesse keeps pretending isn’t Axe.

The pen gets passed around in a lazy circle, and by the third go Ellie’s got that nice, floaty kind of high where everything feels a little less urgent. Less humiliating.

“Okay,” she says, exhaling slow. “I am calling upon my round table for their sage wisdom. I may have a crush that is ruining my life.”

“Oh boy,” Jesse mutters immediately.

Dina raises her eyebrows, amused. “On who?”

Ellie shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Just Abby.”

Jesse barks a laugh, already halfway choking on his next hit. “You mean, monster on the court, bicep bigger than your head, super scary Abby?”

“Oh come on, man,” Ellie grumbles, stealing the pen back. “She's not that scary.”

“She could bench-press you and me,” Jesse says. “At the same time. For fun. And doesn't she, like, hate you?”

Dina’s still watching Ellie with a look that’s way too knowing for comfort. “You’ve been totally perving on her, haven't you?”

“I do not,” Ellie lies. “She’s just…hot. Like, objectively. And I live with her, so it’s kind of hard to not notice, y’know?”

“Again, she hates your guts. And you live with her,” Jesse repeats, pointing like it’s a discovery. “I know you're allergic to making good choices, but that's a terrible idea for even you.”

“Bold of you to act like you’ve ever had a good idea,” Ellie fires back.

Jesse shrugs. “Fair.”

Dina shifts a little, setting down her drink. “Look. You should go for it if that’s what you want. No point sitting around pining forever.”

Ellie blinks at her. “Wow, thanks for the groundbreaking advice.”

“I’m serious,” Dina says, smile softening. “But, you know, be careful. She looks like she’d chew you up and spit you out.”

“Oh, sick,” Ellie groans. “Thanks for the support.”

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be fun,” Dina adds with a smirk. “Just that you might die.”

They pass the pen around again, laughing too loud at dumb jokes and mocking each other during a couple rounds of Mario Kart that end in violent betrayal and a lot of middle fingers. At some point, Jesse heats up leftovers and calls it dinner. They all eat on the couch, barely avoiding spills, plates balanced on their knees like the functional adults they definitely are not.

It’s easy, being with them. The way it always is, no matter how many failed relationships they’ve all circled through. Too much history. Too much love.

Eventually, Ellie checks the time and sighs. “I should probably head back. Assignment’s due.”

Jesse snorts. “You haven’t started it, have you?”

Ellie flips him off on her way out the door.

Pretty soon, Ellie finds herself practically floating back to her room. She feels good and the thought of just laying face down in the dark feels like the best idea she's had in years.

When she pushes the door open, however, she finds Abby sitting on her bed with her stolen panties dangling from one finger and Ellie's journal open on her knee, lazily flipping through the pages with a terrifyingly neutral expression.

Ellie considers her options: run away, kill Abby, kill herself. All good choices. Some more feasible than others. Slowly, she starts to pull the door back shut. She can sleep somewhere else for the night. And the rest of her nights for the rest of her life. Maybe Joel won’t be too upset if she drops out of college. Who needs college anyway.

“Ellie. Get in here and shut the door.”

The voice is calm. No edge. No raised volume. Which, somehow, makes it ten times worse.

Ellie’s stomach drops straight through the floor. She steps in, legs moving on autopilot, and closes the door behind her with a soft click. It might as well be a prison cell.

Abby’s still sitting on her bed, one leg crossed over the other, completely at ease. Her massive arms are bare, tank top clinging to her like it was vacuum-sealed on, and her expression is... unreadable. That same damn pair of blue panties dangling from her finger like she’s weighing their value at an auction.

“Had a fun night?” Abby asks, tone light. Almost bored.

Ellie swallows. Her tongue feels three sizes too big. “I...uh. Yeah. Kinda.”

Abby flips another page of the journal. “Cool. 'Cause I’ve had a pretty interesting one myself.”

Ellie takes a shaky step forward. “Listen, I—okay, I can explain—”

“You can explain,” Abby echoes, lifting her eyes at last. “By all means. Explain why you’ve got a journal full of notes on my tits and my ass and 'fucking the attitude out of me'?”

Ellie makes a noise. A pathetic, dying animal kind of noise.

“I mean, full-on thesis-level analysis,” Abby continues, reading from the page without shame. “‘Want her bouncing and sobbing on my shit.’” Her voice is flat. Deadpan. “Real poet, huh?”

Ellie wants to melt into the floor. “Jesus Christ.”

“No, Ellie, that was you.” Abby tosses the panties onto the bed like they’re nothing but evidence bagged and tagged. “Didn’t realize I needed to put a lock on my laundry.”

“I didn’t! It was an accident,” Ellie croaks. “You threw them in my hamper. I—I was gonna give them back, but—”

“But you decided to jerk off to them instead?”

Ellie flinches like she’s been physically hit. “I didn’t mean—God, okay, I know it’s weird, I know—”

“Oh, it’s weird,” Abby says, almost cheerfully now. “But not shocking. I mean, you stare at me all the time. You think I don’t notice? You practically burn a hole through my ass every time I walk past.”

“I don’t—” Ellie’s voice cracks. “I really—I didn’t think you—”

“Knew?” Abby’s eyebrows lift. “Ellie. I’m not blind. And you’re not subtle.”

Ellie’s mouth opens but no words come out. She watches as Abby flips through another few pages, eyes skimming across the lines like she’s reading a grocery list.

“‘Want her to sit on my face until I pass out.’ That’s bold,” Abby murmurs. “‘Would thank her for being mean to me.’ You got a thing for being humiliated, or what?”

“I’m sorry,” Ellie blurts. Her voice wobbles, thick and shaky. “I’m sorry, I—I know this is fucked up. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just—” Her throat clamps up. “I was high, and stupid, and I wasn’t trying to—"

Abby looks up sharply.

“You weren’t trying to what? Fantasize about me while I’m asleep five feet away? Steal my underwear? Speak. Now.”

“I just—!” Ellie squeezes her eyes shut. “I didn’t think you’d ever know, okay?! I didn’t think—” Her voice chokes, breaks. “I didn’t think it mattered. I wasn’t gonna do anything. I swear to God, Abby, I wasn’t gonna—”

“Touch me?” Abby asks coolly.

Ellie nods frantically, eyes glossy. “Yeah. Yeah. I swear. I would never. I mean, I—fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m—”

She’s full-on crying now. Not loud sobs, not drama, just those quiet, helpless tears that slide down fast and uncontrollably. Her voice is a whisper: “I’m so fucking sorry.”

There’s a silence. Long and thick and impossible.

Abby doesn’t say anything right away. She just closes the journal and sets it aside on the bed, her fingers lingering on the cover. Something in her jaw tightens, just for a second.

And then she sighs.

“Sit down.”

Ellie blinks, confused through the blur. “What?”

Abby gestures to her desk chair. “Sit. Before your knees give out.”

Ellie obeys without thinking, dropping into the chair like a puppet with its strings cut. Her heart’s still trying to punch its way out of her chest.

Abby leans forward, elbows on her thighs, gaze locked on Ellie’s. Her voice is quieter now. Still firm. But no longer cruel.

“You’re a little freak, y’know that?”

Ellie lets out a broken laugh, hiccuping through it. “Yeah. I know.”

“I should be pissed.”

“You should. You absolutely should.”

“And I am,” Abby adds. “But also—" She pauses. "You could’ve just said something. Been a normal fucking person. Instead of…” She gestures vaguely toward the journal and panties like they’re part of some performance art exhibit. “...this.”

Ellie wipes at her face, sniffling. “Didn’t think I could. You scare the shit out of me.”

Abby smiles. Just a little. “Good.”

Ellie shakes her head, still miserable. “God, I’m never gonna live this down.”

“No,” Abby agrees. “You’re really not.”

Then, somehow, they’re both laughing. Just a little. Just enough to break the tension.

Ellie’s chest feels light and hollow in a way she can’t describe. A mix of devastation and relief and something else she doesn’t want to name.

Eventually, Abby stands, grabbing her water bottle from the dresser like they didn’t just have the worst conversation of Ellie’s life.

“I’m going to Nora's,” she says. “When I get back, my panties better be exactly where they belong.”

Ellie nods quickly. “Yes. Absolutely. Consider it done.”

“And we’re gonna talk more about this.” Abby jerks her chin toward the journal. “When I feel like it.”

Ellie swallows hard. “Okay.”

Abby lingers in the doorway, one hand braced casually against the frame, like she owns the place. Like she owns Ellie.

“I like your strap, by the way,” she says, voice low and infuriatingly amused. “Purple’s my favorite color.”

Ellie lets out something between a laugh and a sob. “Oh my god, kill me.”

Abby just shakes her head, her smirk crooked and shameless. Then she’s gone, down the hall, off to go bench press a car or something.

The silence that follows is unbearable.

Ellie stares at the door for a full minute, then at the bed. The journal still lies where Abby left it. And those panties. Still there. Taunting her, almost.

She should just give them back. Toss them into the laundry where they belong. Be a grown-ass adult about this.

Instead, because she’s a monster with zero self-control and the moral integrity of a half-crushed soda can, she ends up clutching them in both hands, holding the soft fabric close under her nose. They still smell like her. Like lavender detergent and sweat and something darker, something that punches straight through Ellie’s brainstem.

Abby had been on her bed. Right there. Reading her filth like scripture. With that calm, unreadable face.

Ellie comes with a broken cry, trembling and flushed, her whole body curling tight around the aching heat in her gut. She passes out with her hand still tucked between her thighs, her clit pulsing like it’s trying to send out a distress signal.

After that night, Abby quickly becomes the worst person in the known universe.

She starts hanging around the dorm more than ever. Just always there. Breathing the same air. Existing in the same shared space like it’s normal. Like they didn’t just have that conversation.

Where before her presence would’ve been a dream—Ellie’s private little fantasy to nurse in silence—it’s now Ellie’s own personal hell. Every moment is a minefield. Every glance a catastrophe waiting to happen.

Abby isn’t shy. Fun fact about her.

She changes right in front of Ellie like modesty is a myth. Yanks off her shirt and shimmies out of her shorts after practice, muscles flexing, skin slick with sweat. Ellie’s brain goes offline every single time. She tries not to look. She really does. But the damage is done by the time she even blinks.

And Abby knows it.

She smirks. Right at her. Holds eye contact as she peels off her sports bra. Stretches.

Ellie is going to die. For real this time. Her cause of death will be “brain explosion from overwhelming lust.”

Abby takes to sprawling out on her bed like she’s modeling for a pin-up calendar. Post-practice, hair damp and messy, shirt pulled halfway up her stomach. Ellie thinks about how easy it would be to press their bodies together, slide one leg between hers, bury her face in Abby’s neck and never come up for air.

But instead, she just…watches. Like a creep. Like she always does.

Abby giggles on the phone sometimes, her voice light and happy in a way Ellie hates loving. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger while she talks. Ellie wants to grab that hand, pin it above her head. Wants to bury both of her fists in that hair and tug just to hear the noise Abby would make.

And the worst part?

The outfits.

Every time Abby goes out, she asks for Ellie’s opinion. Every time.

“Too much cleavage?” she’ll say, turning to face her, arms lifted to braid her hair.

“Think these shorts are too short?” she’ll ask, bending down to pull her sock back up on her calf, giving Ellie an absolutely soul-destroying view of thighs and ass.

Ellie wants to say, Too much? Not enough. I’d peel you out of that whole outfit with my teeth if you’d let me.

Wants to say, Don’t go. Stay here. Let me worship you.

Instead, she stammers out the same pathetic reply every time:

“You look nice. Uh…pretty.”

Pretty.

Jesus Christ.

Abby just smiles, slow and knowing, like she’s reading the unspoken part loud and clear.

By the end of the week, Ellie is tense enough to bite cleanly through a steel beam. She can't even touch herself like she wants to so she's just...pent up. Ellie comes back from class, tired, hungry, emotionally hungover from simply being, and she knows Abby is probably inside waiting to drive her to the brink.

As she pushes open the door, Abby’s on her bed again.

On her back.

Wearing nothing but an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of fuzzy gray socks with little smiley faces at the ankles. No pants. Because why would she wear pants? Legs bent at the knee and her thighs pressed together.

And in her hands is yet again Ellie's journal. It doesn't make her nearly as anxious as before because she hasn't had time to put anything new in there.

Abby doesn’t even look up when Ellie freezes in the doorway. She’s flipping through the pages with far too much familiarity now, like she’s really reading it this time, not just teasing her. Like she’s digging in, hunting for the filthiest parts and savoring them.

Ellie’s throat goes dry. Her whole body locks up. Every nerve stands at attention.

“Abby,” she says, voice too high, too thin. “Give it back.”

Abby turns a page. Smirks. “You really are sick, y’know that?”

“Give it back.” She steps forward, weakly, like she might actually do something about it. Like she isn’t trembling with humiliation.

Abby closes the journal slowly, fingers sliding across the soft leather cover like it’s something precious. “You want it?”

“Yes.”

“Then come take it.”

Ellie doesn’t think. She lunges.

The next few seconds are a blur of limbs and grunting and indignity. She manages to grab the corner of the journal, but Abby’s bigger, stronger, and way too used to this kind of shit. She laughs as they wrestle, like it’s funny, like she isn’t actively ruining Ellie’s life.

And then suddenly, inevitably, Ellie’s on her back. Flat against her own mattress. Abby straddles her hips, pinning her down with unforgivable ease. Her knees frame Ellie’s thighs. She’s still holding the journal.

Still smiling.

Ellie bucks beneath her, face burning. “Get off me.”

Abby just opens the journal to a bookmarked page. Clears her throat.

“‘Sometimes I think about tying her up—just her wrists, nothing crazy—and sitting on her face until she cries. Not because she can’t breathe. Because she likes it so much it hurts.’” Abby lifts a brow. “Wow.”

“Abby, please.” Ellie thrashes underneath her, hands pushing at Abby’s thighs, her chest, anything she can reach. “You're being mean—”

“‘I wanna lick her until she forgets her own name. I wanna ruin her for anyone else. I wanna be the only thing she ever thinks about when she touches herself.’” Abby’s voice goes a little quieter. A little hoarser.

And that’s when Ellie notices it.

The shift.

Abby’s hips press down a little harder. A little more rhythmically. Her breath hitches.

She’s grinding on her, entirely shameless.

Ellie freezes. Possibly dies for a second.

Abby flips the page. Doesn’t look up. Doesn’t stop.

“‘She’d taste so good, I know it. It'd be so easy to pull those tiny little shorts to the side and just fuck her with my tongue—’”

“Abby…” Ellie whispers, half plea, half wonder.

Abby doesn’t answer. Her thighs tighten around Ellie’s hips. Her sweatshirt rides up an inch, then another, revealing just the barest hint of underwear—dark gray cotton, high on the hips.

“‘I’d beg. I’d get on my knees and beg just to make her come once. I’d let her use me however she wanted. I’d—’”

The rest is cut off by a shaky inhale. Abby finally looks down, eyes dark, lips parted.

“Ellie,” Abby says, looking down at her like she's a prey animal. “You’re fucking insane.”

Ellie swallows hard. Her voice barely makes it out. “You’re still on top of me.”

“Yeah,” Abby murmurs, unmoving. Her grip on the journal stays iron-tight, knuckles bone-white. Thighs squeeze around Ellie’s hips, grind down with just a hint more purpose. “I am.”

Ellie stares up at her. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“I was thinking more like you fucking me,” Abby says, breath catching. “If I let you, would you actually do all the filthy shit you wrote in this book?”

Ellie lets out a breathy, borderline unhinged laugh, disbelief painted across her face. “I mean…I’ll do my best,” she says, grinning because her face doesn't know what else to do in the moment.

Abby doesn’t waste a second. She crawls up Ellie’s body, slow and deliberate, until the damp crotch of her panties hovers just above Ellie’s mouth. “Try not to disappoint me, El.”

Ellie tugs the fabric aside, runs a reverent finger through the slick heat between Abby’s thighs, and feels her higher thought processes flee. She wraps her arms around Abby’s legs like they’re lifelines and gazes up, eyes wide and pleading, lashes wet. “C-could you, um… sit? Like… all the way?”

Abby laughs mean and affectionate, all in one breath. “You’re such a fucking loser,” she says, fond as hell, before sinking down and robbing Ellie of every coherent thought she has left.

The scent of Abby floods her senses—sweat, heat, something sharp and sweet—and Ellie moans into it like prayer. She tongues at her pussy greedily, desperate, like she’s starving and Abby’s the only thing she’s ever wanted on the menu.

Every sound Abby makes spurs her on. Every gasp, every curse, every stuttered breath is fuel. Ellie works harder, sloppier, like she might lose her chance if she slows down for even a second.

Abby grinds down recklessly, chasing it, using her, and Ellie lets her—wants it. She’s dizzy, floating, high on the weight of Abby and the wet sounds of her falling apart.

“Fuck, you’re good at this. I can’t—fuck—can’t believe this,” Abby pants, fingers twisting in Ellie’s hair. “Baby. M’so close.”

Ellie just moans in response, helpless beneath her, clinging tighter. She lets Abby ride it out, lets her rut along her tongue, her nose, her chin. Whatever Abby wants, she can have. Ellie’s lost in it, wrecked and grateful for it.

Abby starts to tremble. Her hips jerk, fingers scrabbling at the wall for balance. Ellie looks up, dazed, and nearly comes from the sight alone—Abby flushed, lips parted, hair tumbling over her shoulder like some wild goddess.

She’s still staring, dazed and worshipful, when Abby says something. It takes Ellie a second to process it.

“Don’t tell me I broke you,” Abby drawls, smug and a little cruel. She leans down, cupping Ellie’s cheek. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Ellie snaps out of her daze like something’s broken loose inside her. She pushes up with a strength she barely registers and flips Abby onto her back in one clumsy, hungry motion. Abby grunts in surprise, but it’s short-lived. Ellie’s already yanking Abby's sweatshirt up, tugging it over her head with shaking hands, baring her down to just her bra.

“Fuck,” Ellie breathes, like it’s been punched out of her. She dives in without waiting, mouth hot and open as she latches onto Abby’s tits through the fabric. Her tongue swipes broad and wet, dragging across the thin cotton, soaking it.

Abby hisses, hips twitching. “Jesus, El—”

Ellie doesn’t answer. She’s busy mouthing at one nipple, then the other, running her teeth along each one until the fabric clings to them, pebbled and needy. She bites, gentle but firm, and Abby shudders hard beneath her, breath catching in her throat.

“You're so pretty,” Ellie mutters, almost to herself, voice thick with awe. “And so sensitive. Just like I thought.”

Abby whimpers. It's an incredibly cute noise that Ellie has only ever dreamed of hearing. And that sound breaks something final in Ellie.

Her hand scrambles down with no grace whatsoever and slips her hand under Abby’s waistband. Her fingers brush slick heat, and she actually moans. “Oh my god, you’re—Jesus, Abs, you’re soaked.”

She starts to rub slow, deliberate circles over Abby’s clit, watching her fall apart with an almost feverish fixation. She’s obsessed with the way Abby’s hips stutter, how her legs twitch, how her hands curl uselessly into the sheets.

“Look at you,” Ellie says, breathless and wide-eyed. “You’re fuckin’...you’re perfect.”

But Abby’s not content to let her have the upper hand for long. She threads her fingers into Ellie’s hair, yanks her head back—not too rough, but firm enough to make Ellie gasp.

“Look at you,” Abby says, voice like gravel, fucked-out and cruel. “You look stupid. Let you suck on my tits and your dumb little brain broke.”

Ellie’s pupils blow wide. Her mouth parts, jaw slack, and she doesn’t even try to deny it. She just nods, eyes shining, and reaches behind Abby to unhook her bra with shaking hands. She tosses it somewhere she doesn’t care to track.

Then she’s on her again, mouth latching back onto one nipple while her hand keeps working Abby’s clit in slow, filthy rhythm. She pays equal attention to each breast, switching back and forth like it’s a competition. Her tongue swirls, her lips suck, her teeth scrape, and Abby is gone for it. Writhing, moaning, making these high, broken little sounds Ellie wants to bottle and keep forever.

Abby clutches at the sheets, her body taut with tension, and Ellie—half out of her mind—remembers Abby wants her doing shit from the journal.

Ellie pulls back slightly, eyes locking on the flushed swell of Abby’s breasts. She lifts her hand and delivers one quick, experimental slap to one of her already sensitive tits—nothing too hard, just enough to sting.

Abby arches off the bed like she’s been shocked. “Fuck!”

Ellie stares, stunned. “Holy shit, that—did you—fuck.”

Abby’s breathing ragged, head thrown back, lips parted. “Do not stop,” she snarls, but it’s weak, ruined, a plea in disguise.

Ellie places a kiss to her swollen nipple before nipping at it. "Told you, I'm gonna do my best." The words come out leagues more stable than Ellie feels.

Ellie’s trembling when she climbs to her feet, legs unsteady, mouth shiny, eyes wild. She strips fast—shirt yanked off, jeans kicked away—until she’s down to nothing but her black briefs, waistband riding low on her hips. Her skin is flushed, her hands shaking slightly as she rifles through her drawer for her harness and strap.

Behind her, she hears the rustle of fabric—Abby peeling off her panties with slow, deliberate motions. Ellie glances over her shoulder and nearly chokes.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, turning away too fast, cheeks hot, fumbling with the straps. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She gets the harness on, barely managing to click it into place while her hands work in frantic little jerks. Her heart’s racing, everything spinning around the thought of what she’s about to do. What Abby’s letting her do.

“On all fours,” she says, a little hoarse. “P-please. Please get on all fours, if you want to.”

Abby raises a brow, clearly amused, but obeys. She gets into position, slow and taunting, ass up and legs spread just enough to drive Ellie insane.

Ellie steps closer, running a reverent hand along the curve of Abby’s hip before delivering two sharp slaps to her soaked pussy. The sound is obscene. Abby twitches, gasps then growls low in her throat.

“You’re getting cocky,” she says, voice full of warning and something else. Something whinier.

Ellie doesn’t back down. Not now. She grips her strap and lines herself up, brushing the slick head against Abby’s folds, then easing in slow and careful. She watches with rapt attention as Abby's pussy stretches to accommodate the girth, revels in the filthy squelch as she bottoms out. She watches the muscles of Abby's back tense, groans low as pulls out maddeningly slow and Abby slams her ass back against her with a punched out moan.

Abby snarls, pushing back. “I’m not fucking fragile. Fuck me like you mean it, Ellie. Like you've always wanted to.”

Ellie groans. “O-okay.”

She drives in harder, a sudden snap of her hips that makes Abby cry out and drop her head to the mattress. Ellie sets a brutal rhythm, slamming into her again and again, her fingers sinking into the meat of Abby’s ass, gripping so tight she knows it’ll bruise.

Abby takes it, takes everything. Her mouth open, cheek pressed to the bed, her voice reduced to little gasps and broken sobs of pleasure.

Ellie’s completely, irreversibly gone. She grabs a handful of Abby’s hair, yanking her up just enough to use the leverage, pulling her back onto the strap, forcing her to take every inch.

“Wish you could see what I'm seeing,” Ellie pants, watching where they meet, utterly transfixed. “Fuck, Abs. You’re—fuck, you’re taking it so good.”

Abby comes with a strangled moan, her whole body tensing and shaking as Ellie fucks her through it, never slowing down. She doesn’t give her a second to catch her breath—just keeps going, relentless, her hips snapping with brutal purpose.

But then Ellie slows—just enough to slide out and flip Abby onto her back.

She freezes.

Abby’s eyes are glassy with unshed tears, lips kiss-swollen and parted, chest heaving. Her whole body’s trembling, wrecked and perfect. Ellie nearly passes out from how much she wants her.

“Holy fuck,” she whispers. “You’re so—”

But before she can finish, Abby grabs her by the harness and pulls her down, wrapping her arms around Ellie’s neck like she can’t bear to let her go. Their mouths crash together in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and desperation, like they’ve both been starving for it this entire time.

Ellie groans into it, swallowing every sound Abby makes, hands roaming over her thighs, her waist, her tits—trying to touch everything at once.

Abby bites her bottom lip as they break apart, just enough to sting, and whispers against her mouth:

“Keep fucking going.”

Ellie hitches Abby’s legs up and back, folding her open like a prayer, tilting her hips to get that perfect angle. She doesn’t slow—if anything, the new position lets her fuck in deeper, harder, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing sharp and wet through the room.

Abby gasps, head rolling back, her spine arching clean off the mattress. Her voice is wrecked, half-gone, but still she hisses between gritted teeth, “That all you got, loser?”

Ellie growls. Actually growls.

She dips down and sinks her teeth into Abby’s throat, biting hard enough to leave a mark—then another, and another, dotting her collarbones, her tits, anywhere her mouth can reach. She sucks until bruises bloom under her tongue like flowers.

“Y-you love this,” Abby stammers, breath stuttering. “You love being my—my little toy. So fucking desperate to make me come again.”

Ellie pants against her skin, flushed and wild-eyed. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Fuck yeah, I do.”

Her hand slips between them again, zeroing in on Abby’s clit like it’s instinct. She rubs tight, merciless circles, fast and filthy. Abby arches again, palms cupping her own tits now, needing the pressure.

Ellie watches through half-lidded eyes, totally gone on the image of Abby playing with herself, whining and squirming and needing her.

“Pinch them,” Ellie orders, voice cracking with power she’s never felt before.

Abby obeys with a sharp moan, rolling the sensitive peaks between her fingers, teeth bared as her legs shake harder.

“Now come,” Ellie demands, low and ragged, fucking her through it. “Fucking come for me, Abs.”

Abby breaks.

She screams, and Ellie catches it with her mouth, swallowing the sound in a bruising kiss as Abby falls apart beneath her. Her body locks, then jerks in waves, legs trembling violently, toes curling. Hot tears streak her cheeks, almost silently.

Ellie pulls back just enough to see them. “Oh—shit, baby, you’re—”

She leans down, licking the tears away from Abby’s flushed skin, soft and reverent like it’s the only worship she knows. Her cock slips out as Abby’s muscles clamp down and spasm around nothing, and Abby shudders hard, a broken sob catching in her chest.

“Shh, hey—hey, it’s okay,” Ellie whispers, wide-eyed and frantic, brushing sweaty hair from Abby’s face. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just need a little more, okay? Just a little more.”

Abby whimpers. “I can't. I'll literally die."

“You can,” Ellie croons, kissing the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her neck. “You’re so strong, Abs. So fucking beautiful. I swear, I’ll be gentle. Just one more. Just one, baby.”

Abby just makes this helpless noise in the back of her throat, but then, barely, a nod.

That’s all Ellie needs.

She reaches over and grabs the bullet vibe from the nightstand—the one made to fit snug in her harness—and slides it into place. It hums to life in her hand, quiet but deadly, and Ellie lines herself up again, this time slow, reverent.

She presses back inside, inch by inch, watching Abby’s face the whole time. The way her brows pinch, how her mouth opens in a silent gasp, how her legs twitch with overstimulation already setting in.

“Doing so good,” Ellie murmurs, fucking in slow, her arms trembling as her own orgasm sits just on the horizon. “Just a little more. Let me make you feel good.”

And Abby, wrecked, soaked, trembling, lets her.

Ellie rocks into her slow, the harness snug against her hips, the soft hum of the bullet vibe already making her breath hitch. It’s not even at full power and it’s already buzzing deep, curling heat low in her belly. But she doesn’t focus on that yet. No. Abby is still the center of the universe.

Abby’s shaking, her whole body a twitchy, overstimulated livewire. Every time Ellie thrusts in, she makes this soft little broken noise like she can’t decide if she wants to pull away or beg for more.

“Still with me?” Ellie murmurs, forehead pressed to Abby’s, sweat sticking them together.

Abby nods. Barely. “F-fuck—Ellie, I—”

“I know.” Ellie kisses her again, messy and open-mouthed, full of tongue and teeth. “You’re doing so fucking good.”

She picks up the pace, the vibe dragging against her own clit with every thrust. Her hips stutter, the pleasure ratcheting up fast, too fast. She chokes on a moan, grabs hold of Abby’s thigh and pulls it higher, spreading her wider, deeper.

Abby claws at her back like she needs something to ground herself—nails dragging angry red lines down Ellie’s spine, then digging in as she trembles apart all over again.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck,” Ellie pants, fucking into her harder now, voice wrecked. “Come for me again, baby. Give it to me. I know you got one more.”

Abby shakes her head, even as her hips start grinding up, even as she cries out when Ellie angles her hips just right. “I c-can’t—fuck—I can’t—”

“You can,” Ellie snarls, gripping Abby’s face and kissing her like she means to consume her. “You will. Wanna see you break for me. One more time. Just one more, Abs, c’mon.”

And Abby does.

She sobs—full-body, raw-throated sobs—as her back arches clean off the mattress, legs locking around Ellie’s waist. She comes with a broken cry, like her body is just buckling beneath the weight of it. Her nails bite into Ellie’s skin so deep it stings, and that only spurs Ellie further along.

The vibe is grinding into her just right with every thrust, tight heat coiling sharp and unbearable. Ellie chases it like it’s the only thing that matters, fucking through Abby’s aftershocks until she’s shaking too, her moans dissolving into ragged whimpers.

Then it hits her—white-hot and blinding. Her legs lock, her stomach clenches, and she comes with a low, punched-out cry against Abby’s neck. It rolls through her in thick, unbearable waves, everything overstimulated and twitchy and too much.

She slumps forward, trembling, both of them gasping like they’ve just run miles. Ellie can’t move. She’s half-splayed over Abby, harness digging into her hips, her whole body trembling with aftershocks.

Abby’s arms wrap around her, pulling her close even though her own limbs are twitching with exhaustion. She’s still crying a little—quiet, raw tears that smear into Ellie’s hair as they cling to each other.

Neither of them speaks for a while. Just the sound of panting, the quiet whine of the toy shutting off, the sticky slide of skin on skin.

Eventually, Ellie lifts her head, blinking like she’s waking up from a dream. She brushes the hair back from Abby’s face, touches her cheek gently with the backs of her fingers.

“You okay?” she whispers, voice hoarse and cracking.

Abby nods slowly, eyes heavy-lidded and glassy. “Yeah. Yeah. I feel like a new woman.”

Ellie lets out a quiet, shaky laugh. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Abby rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling—soft, lopsided, fucked-out. “The power of good pussy, I suppose.”

Ellie grins, kissing her again, slow and sweet and lingering. "You know, I've got a bunch more stuff I didn't get to do this time..."

"Oh, naturally, you've got a fucking novel's worth of it," Abby says, running her fingers through Ellie's hair. "I guess I'll just have to keep fucking you. For the safety of the general public, of course."

"Right."

"I'm serious. Who else could handle a disgusting little pervert like you?" Abby sighs dramatically like she's been put upon. "Looks like I'm the only one for the job."

Of course, that's just fine with Ellie.

[chososdiscordkitten]

I'm Stuck!

artist: yunonoai on twt

Synopsis: Gojo buys new washing machines nd chooses a shitty placement for em ⸜( ´ ꒳ ` )⸝

Pairing: Gojo x Fem!Reader Content: smut, implied reader is thicker than a snicker, established relationship, teasing, r gets stuck between a wall nd said machines, dirty talk, multiple orgasms (f), a sprinkle of manhandling, he refuses to admit he's wrong, cream pie

(a.n) if u wanna see what I picture- look at this

MDNI

When you first moved in with Gojo, you became all too aware of the fact that he was very particular about his design choices. Almost all your suggestions were vetoed the minute you would offer them.

And when the cheap washing machines that came with his apartment broke; You saw this as an opportunity to control at least one room in the now-shared apartment.

You stood beside Satoru in the laundry room- eyeing the small space and telling him, “If you put them here,” referencing the back wall of the rectangle room, “-it’ll feel more open.” you pointed at the wall. Looking at his pensive expression. 

Gojo was just petty enough to ignore your suggestion. Holding a measuring tape and looking at the 28-inch mark. “The website says they’re this big-” looking up at you as he measured. 

Even if you were kinda right- Satoru wanted to put the washer and dryer pair on the opposite side. Leaving only the entrance of the small room- and a small gap between the wall and the massive machines. 

You parted your lips- about to speak. Remembering the photo Satoru had shown you of the machines- far better and more modern than the old ones that opened at the top. 

These new ones had doors that opened outwards- and as you looked at the gap between where the machines would go, and where the wall was. You were sure they wouldn’t be able to open fully. 

But you held your tongue- knowing Satoru would mull it over for a few days before telling you that you were right. 

The space was small- sure. But you were sure it was enough space to fit through, and besides, how long would Satoru let those machines sit in the wrong place before calling someone to help switch their placement. 

On the day of delivery, Satoru looked at the machines as though they were his pride and joy, like he was the one who did all the washing in the house. 

The way the handymen looked at your idiot boyfriend was laugh-worthy. “They’ll go against that wall”, he instructed. 

You were sure the men struggled more in placing them where Satoru instructed than if they just flipped them and pushed them to the back wall. 

Satoru generously tipped them for their efforts, and once they left, you stood at the small doorway. Looking at the washing machines placed against the wall as though it were a laundromat.

“I hate saying it-” he clicked his tongue, leaning against the machine and looking at you smugly. “But I told you so~” 

You grinned- amused at how right he thought he was. You winced, “Do me a favor real quick-” fighting off the laugh about to rumble from your chest. “Open one of the doors.” 

Satoru furrowed his eyebrows at your request, dragging a hand down to the circular door. Smugly popping it open, only to hear it ding against the wall. You puffed a small laugh from your nose at how his face fell. 

“And..” you started, walking towards him and fwipping your hand up and down- guiding him to move. 

Stepping into the small gap between the machine and the wall with the door open, and letting a small giggle leave your lips as your thick thighs pressed against the metal. 

Satoru looked down at your hips that were flush against the machine- he measured how much space the machines took up. But Gojo didn’t account for the space you would need to do laundry properly. 

You turned your head, looking at him over your shoulder. Watching him pull his lips to the side, thinking up some snide remark about how he was still right. 

Even a week after having those machines in the most inconvenient place- Satoru refused to admit he was wrong. He refused to call the handymen back and have them move the machines where you told him to. 

You were more affected by his mistake than he was. Bothersome little doors that had hit you more times than you could count when they would bounce off the wall. 

And all the times you would feel your hips brush against the open machines- you would furrow your eyebrows. Recalling how petty he could be. 

Truth being- Satoru hadn’t called the handymen to fix the minor problem because when you first stepped into the small space of the laundry room- Seeing your thighs press against the machine made him hope you would get stuck one day. 

As though he had manifested it- the day came.

You were doing laundry per usual- struggling with the stupid doors and growing more and more irritated by the second. 

And when you thought you were finally finished- slamming the dryers door shut and hearing it whirr. 

You turned around to see a discarded sock on the ground, thinking nothing of it and stepping back into the small space- hips pressed against the slightly protruding door of the dryer. Picking up the sock with a small huff. 

Straightening back up and aiming to take a step back. Only to feel resistance from the wall- you tried shifting with even more strength. Only for the wall and machine to refuse to let you go. 

You looked to the machine- recalling all the times this very same scenario had happened. Wondering what went wrong this time. And seeing the clear plastic bubble-like door trap your hips. Add that with the bending- causing your hips to widen in the slightest. 

You sighed- frustrated that you had actually managed to get stuck in the small space. You tried a few more steps- a small wiggle, a aimed step back- nothing worked.

And wearing mini shorts- practically underwear that left your plush thighs exposed against the wall and the plastic door. Knowing it would only hurt if you pushed yourself out. 

You held the stupid black sock in your hand as you contemplated calling out to the idiot that waited for you in the living room. 

You shouted his name once- waiting a few seconds to see if he would come running to see what was wrong. 

Only Satoru was sat with a handful of unfolded socks in his lap, watching the show you normally watched together- so focused on the scene playing out before him. 

You closed your eyes- cringing at the cliche you were in. Calling his name once more- with more urgency and a gruff to it. That’s what pulled Satoru from his focus on the tv show. 

His hand reached for the remote and pressed pause- trying to determine if he was just imagining things or if you actually called out to him. 

And when you called out to him a third time, Satoru tossed the socks from his lap and ran to the laundry room. All the urgency in the world.

Worried you had seen a bug, or a home invasion- or every single dangerous thing he could picture happening. Running into the room asking you what was wro-

His lips parted in amazement once he saw your bottom trapped between the machine’s door and the wall. Staring at your exposed thighs and the crease of your ass.

“Don’t just stand there- go get some baby oil or something to get me ou-” Satoru reached a hand out to your bottom, causing you to silence your directions. His cheeks flushed and eyes glimmering full of the possibilities. 

Satoru sighed and smiled, looking up to the ceiling with closed eyes to thank the deity that had granted him his wish. 

Looking back down to your ass- slightly bent and you trying to reach a hand back to push him off, all but telling him again to go get something to help you out. 

But knowing your boyfriend and his peculiar tastes- this was brewing in his mind from the minute he saw your hips against the small space. 

“I prayed for this.” he whispered, earning a small ‘what?’ to leave your lips. 

Satoru placed both of his hands on your bottom, his long fingers sliding beneath the light fabric of your shorts. Softly groping at the skin and peaked his eyebrows. You only clenched your jaw and closed your eyes. 

Hearing the ramblings of the man behind you. “You should’ve just listened to me.” you scoffed, planting your hands on the wall in front of you as though Gojo was doing a body search, trailing his fingers down your clothed core. 

His eyes dimmed- watching the light goosebumps form on your skin, lightly pressing his fingers against the little mound beneath your shorts. Earning a small exhale laced with a whimper to leave your lips. His other hand groped firmly at your ass, enjoying the view below him. 

“No. I know now I was right not to listen to you.” Satoru grinned menacingly, watching your hips try to shift against the whirring machine next to you. 

The tips of his fingers against your clothed core making you let out a shivering huff. “You still want me to help you out?~” Gojo asked- too smug to be considered as a genuine offer.

Satoru made light circles on the little mound at the top of your cunt- shivers running down your thighs as you tried to muster the words. 

“You must’ve planned this-” he scoffed, trailing his fingers to the side of your shorts. A small damp spot formed on them, telling Gojo all he needed to know. “Prancing around all day wearing this-” 

You parted your mouth- feeling the cool air hit your dampening cunt that pulsed with every accusation he spouted at you. 

Satoru sucked his teeth- placing the tips of his fingers on your clit, causing a small gasp to fall from your throat. You let out a ragged breath, his fingers starting small circles against you. 

Trying to keep your legs from buckling at the slow pace Satoru held. A small ‘tsk’ left his lips, full of feigned disappointment. “Tryna tempt me allll day.” The smile evident in his tone. 

You only breathed a small whimper at his words- knowing it wasn’t true, but what state were you in to deny it? 

“M’pretty sure I saw your pretty pussy a handful of times~” he purred- fastening his pace in the slightest. 

Your breathing took up in pace- trying not to let out the small moans Satoru was pulling from you with every small circle he made against you. 

The bulge in Gojo’s bottoms grew with every little whimper you let out- his hard cock twitching beneath the fabric as soft moans left your lips, landing in his ears as harmonies.

“If you wanted me to fuck you that badly-” he hummed, quickening his fingers and hearing the low squelches coming from your cunt. Knees threatening to buckle as Satoru trailed the hand on your ass up your slightly arched back, pushing up the hem of your t-shirt. 

“All you had to do was ask, baby.” he cooed, watching your hands on the wall start to slip as your moans became louder, feeling Gojo’s hard bulge pressing against your ass. Desperate to get some kind of friction, whereas you- were desperate to finish. 

An orgasm so close it had one of your eyes shut and the other threatening to follow its movements- “You didn’t have to scheme up ways for me to fuck you.” he teased, trying to dig your fingers into the wall as Satoru watched you come undone, cunt clenching around nothing. 

Feeling your core pulse onto his fingertips, small shivering sighs leave your lungs as he works you down an orgasm. You steady your breathing- becoming more aware of Gojo’s bulge pressing onto your plump bottom. 

You clenched your teeth- Satoru’s fingers trailing from your clit down to the source of the slick that coated his digits. The other resting on your side to stabilize you. Wouldn’t want you to come unstuck too soon now. 

You were glad you were faced away from him- your vision bordering on going double and the heat rising to your cheeks just thinking about the cliche you were in. Thinking of how easily accessible you were to him at that moment. 

You started feeling his fingers dip into your entrance- too slow and far too eager to prep you. “Just-” you huffed, feeling his hand halt its movements. 

“Just. Fuck me.”

Quiet- but clear enough for Satoru to hear you. 

Huffed and urged as you said it- it made Satoru realize you were unwilling to go through his teasing prep- and in no possession of the patience needed for it. 

Gojo bit his lip slightly, being able to see the tenseness in your shoulders- it wasn’t about him having a good time anymore. No, your tone made it sound like he was depriving you of something.

Satoru wasted no more than a second in tucking the hem of his shirt between his pearly teeth- a smile on the corners of his lips as he watched you writhe. All but telling him to hurry with the puffs of frustration leaving your lips. 

Though his mouth was busy trying to hold his shirt up- his messied hand pulled from your cunt and landed on the band of his shorts, you could hear the muffled giggles of amusement leaving Gojo’s lips as he slapped the tip of his cock onto your ass. 

Leaky as he was, Gojo still wanted to hear the words from your lips. “Tellme-m’right” he spoke with clenched teeth- muffled and barely legible and in a smug tone. 

You scoffed- biting your lip and peaking up your eyebrows. Knowing Satoru is just petty enough to pull away from you and jack off till he spurt his mess onto your ass. “You were right.” you mumbled, earning Satoru to release the shirt from his teeth with a smile.

“What was that?” lightly tapping your entrance with his tip as your hands pressed onto the wall again- planted to stay upright. 

You sighed. “You were right, ‘toru-” you spoke clearly, earning an appeased hum from Satoru. 

Taking his hand from his base- quickly taking off his t-shirt and lining himself up with your cunt. The only thought in his mind was praising himself for what a good idea the machine’s placement was. 

The second he slowly pressed his tip past your entrance- both you and Gojo could feel the difference between when you would be prepped compared to now. 

Soft ringing in your ears as you let out a soft moan, a light sting pulsing in your cunt as he eased himself into you. 

And Gojo- he swore he could cum right then and there had it been up to him. His eyes threatened to fall back into a soft roll as a groan tried leaving his throat. Falling from his lips with the sound of a whimper laced in it.

Even if Satoru had slid inside of you countless times- it always made his go vision blurry. Never getting used to how warm and welcoming your cunt always felt against his cock. 

Satoru spouted a curse- mixed with a whimper as he held onto your ass, bracing himself as he felt your cunt suck him in. 

With clenched teeth- “S-so fuckin’ tight-” he gruffed- making sure to give you enough time to get used to the light sting before he pulled his cock from you. Hands gripping too harshly on the malleable skin of your ass. 

His cock felt a light breeze hit the skin lathered with your essence, wasting little time before thrusting back into you- setting a slow but deep pace. 

Shutting your eyes tight as Satoru’s thrusts caused your hips to move against the harsh plastic and the wall. 

A few more rolls of his hips were all you had to spare- “Satoru I’m gonna fall-” you huffed, feeling his hands grope at your ass firmly- some attempts to assure you that you wouldn’t. 

A light sheen of sweat formed on your thigh, causing you to actually start slipping with every little thrust Satoru rolled against you.

Though he was whining behind you, he could feel your hips start to give against the machine’s door. 

Gojo mustered all the strength he could, dragging his cock from you. Allowing his leaking tip to kiss your entrance ever so slightly as he gave a hard yank against your hips. 

Hearing a low grunt of relief as you felt yourself come loose-only for Satoru’s hands to move you to the free edge of the machine quickly, aligning himself up with your entrance again. 

Pressing his heaving chest against your back- bending you over as his head rested the crook of your neck. Clenching his teeth with a low whimper- your hands planted against the whirring machine- bracing for him to bottom out. 

Only Satoru planted a hand atop yours- grasping it lightly as he slid himself in slowly. 

A sharp exhale took the form of a whimper as it left Gojo’s lips, invading your ear as you raised yourself onto your tiptoes. Giving his cock a new angle, his flushed tip nudging your sweet spot. 

A choked moan left your lips, the hand on your ass rising to your neck. Pulling you back to his chest and forcing your back into a harsher arch. 

Satoru sped up his pace- barely pulling out and prodding the spongy gspot his cock curved into. Barely pulling his hips from your ass with frustrated whimpers leaving his lips. 

His hand mindlessly rising to the side of your face- your parted lips huffing out small whimpers welcoming his fingers. Hooking the digits that brought you to your first orgasm, onto the side of your mouth as he tried to keep a steady pace. 

You could feel he was still holding back- unknowing why he insisted on keeping a medium pace with his thrusts. You clenched your walls around him in the slightest- “F-faster ‘toru,” you huffed, slightly muffled from his fingers in your mouth- earning for his hips to halt and his hands to raise. 

Satoru gulped- his cheeks flushed and ears hot as his hands hooked onto the ditches of your elbows. Pulling your arms back in tandem with dragging his cock out.

Gojo knew that whenever you bark an order, you were giving him permission to do what every part of his brain was yelling at him to do. 

And as he felt the very tip of his cock reach the taut circle of your entrance- he clenched his teeth, inhaling before pushing himself in.

His thrusts were rough- too deep as your shoulder blades pressed against each other- clearer moans falling from your lips. Satoru’s forearms pulling you back with every harsh thrust- unpatterned and sloppy as he whined into your ear. 

Your calves started tingling from being raised on the tips of your toes. And almost as though Satoru heard you- he released one of your arms and reached down to your thigh. 

A smile took shape in a huff- “Up we go~” he grinned with a breathless tinge. 

Assisting you in resting it on the top of the machine, now easily at level with his rough hips. The foot on the ground barely touched the tile- half of your body on top of the machine as Satoru grabbed a handful of ass. Biting his lip as he looked down to your cunt linked with him. 

With every tenacious thrust Satoru rolled against you- he watched your ass bounce. 

And as though it was instinct, Gojo pulled his gripping hand from your ass and gave you a firm spank. 

You whimpered in response- shutting your eyes and muttering a strained, “Fffuck!” his hand soothing the warmth rising onto your bottom- clenching his teeth with muffled groans leaving his pursed lips. 

Your hands pressing onto the top of the machine as some sort of attempt to brace for Satoru’s quick drilling hips. Keeping yourself up on your forearms as his hand gripped the malleable skin of your ass. Groaning harsher and harsher as he felt his orgasm build in his tummy. 

Satoru knew you were close too- the moans you spewed were now shorter and more breathy. Your cunt twitching around him every other thrust- 

“Say m’right.” clenched teeth and a low tone as his thrusts became even more sloppy- bordering on raising himself from the ground from how harshly he was pushing you onto the machine. 

Gojo stopped his thrusts- nuzzling himself inside of you entirely. And staying still- knocking the air from your lungs with a gasp- “Say.” pulling his cock , “I’m.” a firm thrust, “Right.” urging you to with every deep thrust. 

You whimpered, knowing he was barely bumping his tip against your gspot on purpose. 

“You’re r-ri-” he continued his fast pace again- the words trying to make their way out of your lips. 

Satoru grunted with an amused smile- “I’m-” he sighed, “I’m what?” out of breath and edging himself.

You bit your lip, the knot in your stomach slowly slipping with every little thrust. 

Feeling his unforgiving hips nudge you closer and closer against the wall. Your jaw went slack-jawed as he refused to give you a second to answer. 

All it took was another firm spank to push you over an orgasm- cunt spasming around him as he grunted. Sudden tightness sucking him in with every pull he did. 

“You’re righ- fuck-” you moaned, “You’reright-” babbling as Satoru let out a breathy giggle. More than pleased with your mindless prattling. 

As Gojo succumbed to his own orgasm- you groaned lightly, feeling his seed coat your walls. Warmth filling your cunt as your eyes fluttered closed. 

Satoru rode himself down with slower thrusts, still reaching as deep as he could- but slowing them. 

Wincing softly as his tip got a shock of overstimulation, heavily breathing as he eased his hands from you. 

Leaning over your ass and placing his forehead onto the center of your shoulder blades. 

“Call the delivery men,” you breathed- sighing softly as Satoru rested himself atop you. “And tell them to move them.” you demanded- knowing that if they stayed the way they were now- more little instances like these would keep happening. 

Satoru huffed against your clothed spine. “You just said,” taking a breath and feeling his heart pound in his chest. “-that I was right?” keeping a teasing tone as you tried easing off the machine. 

Wondering how on earth Gojo managed to shift you from the floor to the top of the washer.

-

I luv him sm <3

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

Hiiii! ^^

Could I request riddle,Leona,and Kalim who’s s/o was put under a love spell on purpose by another student so now they’re in love with said student, and the only way for them to break the spell on their s/o is by an act of true love?

Kalim Al-Asim:

Kalim doesn’t understand the switch-up, finding himself with an unbearable pain in his chest that no potion could cure. He heard whispers of something underfoot but couldn’t pinpoint the rumors, and you were almost refusing to talk to him at that point. Your new significant other seemed to keep you apart as long as possible, always at your side, and Kalim realized he had to say what he needed to regardless of who was around. His declaration of love is loud enough for the entire cafeteria to hear, saying he knew you were meant to grow old together but if you didn’t feel the same, he would simply accept it. He would wait forever if he had to, even if you came back when he was a wrinkled old man on his last legs, just one more year of being together would make him the happiest man in the world. The potions persuasive powers never stood a chance against his genuine, slightly awkward words, and Kalim is overjoyed when you’re back in his arms.

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona doesn’t hesitate to investigate your sudden change in attitude, a good excuse to ignore the negativity swirling around inside of him as you appeared attached to another student’s side. It would be all too easy to beat the tar out of the student and then force him to reverse the effects, but that wouldn’t be an elegant show for a prince, would it? But a public declaration… As much as he loathed the thought of others in his business, he had to make it clear you were his. He hadn’t started a relationship with a person he didn’t have a future with, and he wasn’t going to be start all over with someone new. When he spoke others paid attention, and your gaze is drawn to him as he kept his eyes on you, as if there were no one else around. You were his, only his, just as he was yours, and he told you to consider that fact before finding yourself distracted by some herbivore. His actions generally spoke for him but for him to use his words was shocking enough that the potions effects wore off completely, and you find yourself in his arms confused about why you had done what you did. Leona sent a smirk to the student who had never truly captured your interest, the glint of his fangs serving as a threat if anymore foolishness was to take place.

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle had never been more bewildered in his life. Had he done something wrong? Was there a relationship rule he had forgotten about that left you upset with him? He can’t imagine what he had done or why you couldn’t answer him, frustrated that he was left in the dark. Cater is the one who mentioned a new potion recipe floating around that could cause the sudden switch-up, recoiling at the sight of Riddle’s furrowed eyebrows and scowl as he asked how it could wear off. With no solution easily found Riddle began to research how to reverse these effects, looking into the ingredients used and spending long hours with his nose buried in various books to the point he was ignoring the Queen of Hearts rules. When he can finally brew the perfect concoction he enlisted Trey’s help (almost as if he was afraid to face you directly should this 'cure' fail), who placed it inside a treat you could never deny. You seem puzzled about why you’re not with Riddle, as tea time was approaching and you scurried off without a second thought as you didn’t want to be scolded for being late.

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ DEVOTION… PT.1 ]

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxx

[ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SLIGHT AGE GAP ] + [ ARRANGED MARRIAGE ] + [ BREEDING KINK ] - ( there’s a lot to unpack in this one, I know, but you’ll enjoy it.. also pls kindly lmk the artist for the fanart I used so I can tag them thx! )

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxx

Alastor Hartifelt was a fantastic husband.

No one could deny that.

Especially not his darling wife of one year and counting.

You, his sole companion during childhood, dawning from a rich family that occupied an estate near his family’s plot of farming land, and exceptionally infatuated with him early into your friendship.

From the very first time you met him out in the sprawling green meadows of Louisiana’s swamped countryside you found comfort in each other even amidst being ignored or teased by other children.

Their shared hatred and resentment towards you and the older boy cultivated an odd but strong bond between you two, and soon your strife to fit in seemed less appealing than being his truest friend.

Alastor immediately became protective of you, finding your shy nature welcoming like his own mothers, but also irritated by those who wished you harm for the simple fact that your family was better off than their own.

If anyone dared to pick a fight, tease, or berate you Alastor was right there to come to your aid. You’d tell him time and time again that fighting for you wasn’t worth it, that seeing him hurt wounded you more than their words, but for some baffling reason he’d never head your pleas.

Why?…

In retrospect Alastor wasn’t sure of the reason himself but he was certain it had something to do with the way you returned the favor by protecting him in your own subtle ways.

Your arms remained wide open when he needed an embrace, voice full of tender understanding when the two of you held quiet conversations late into the evening, and generally being his safe place when the rest of the world refused to be.

You were his darling from the very beginning…

His everything…

Yet, Alastor wouldn’t dare say it aloud..,

The two of you couldn’t be more different to those who observed your relationship from the outside. Alastor held an air of confidence wherever he went, suave, and well mannered. He could be cunning when provoked, dangerously charming to get his way, and refreshingly decisive under any amount of pressure.

A man every woman in New Orleans wanted, craved even, but it was well known the famous radio host had you at his side.

You, the city’s undisputed princess, daughter of a wealthy businessman, but regarded as the furthest thing from a ‘spoiled brat’. It was expected for those in higher circles to have sour and condescending attitudes but you proved to be different. Soft spoken, interested in the arts more than being out on the town, and some might’ve considered you ‘sheltered’ in terms of upbringing.

The contrast between Alastor and yourself brought about many whispered rumors and questions.

“How’d a sweet little thing like her end up with him?”

“Doesn’t he want someone better suited? Whats so special about her?”

“I hear, he married her for the fathers money. Don’t blame him for it either…she’s a real peach…”

“A little young for him don’t you think? She’s a lovely broad though…”

You’d heard it all. Every sort of rumor or piece of gossip people had to offer you’d picked up on rather quickly and at first it bothered you, but overtime seeing Alastor act indifferent to the scandalous comments made you less weary of them.

He’d never entertain the scrutiny, choosing to remind you his decision to marry wasn’t fueled by any ill will and as his wife you’d never need to worry about him caring for you.

Alastor’s always had, even when he’d left New Orleans to build his career he still thought of you from time to time, but that’s all he’d ever done.

Cared for you…

Love seemed to allude his spectrum of emotions and vocabulary. Yes, he shows you affection, buying expensive gifts, making sure you never lifted a finger for anything other than cleaning or cooking when needed, and proudly showing you off on his arm at parties and social events he attended.

Yes, he strived to hide his murderous tendencies, taking extra lengths to shield you from his ‘hunting’ escapades by planning them weeks before, and then going as far as discreetly cleaning his bloody clothes and weapons the night he returns while you slept soundly in your shared bed.

Alastor took great care in showing you he cared but defining his love for you was never addressed.

Not even on your wedding day.

It was as if he’d scripted his vows to say nothing of the emotion and even avoided saying “I love you” back when you’d accidentally let it slip out during your own speech for him.

You hadn’t pressed the issue at all, knowing Alastor struggled with concepts of intimacy and devotion since childhood, but the lmawing teeth of doubt pricked your skin harder with each passing day of your marriage.

Had you made a mistake agreeing to marry him?

Was he seeing someone else?

Someone knowledgeable of the world, maybe more experienced in life than you were, or more attentive?

Was she prettier?

Were you not his kind of woman?

Where did he go so late at night, at random times of the month, with a leather bag in his hand and a wide smile on his face?…

Had Alastor been seeing another woman for a whole year and you were just too oblivious or infatuated to notice?

Did he even like you anymore? Could he ever love you…?

Were you not enough for him?

Thoughts plagued your mind constantly, causing you to be quieter than usual, and less receptive to Alsstors lingering presence.

Your back was to him, giving a good veiw of your small frame as you cooked in the large kitchen. The familiar sight brought a smile to Alastor’s face. You were so focused, hair tied back by a white silk bow, and a sheer floor length robe to match.

He’d bough both for you only a week prior, claiming he couldn’t just let the items sit in the display window when you’d been staring at with such bright stars in your eyes, but in truth Alastor had imagined you wearing it just as you were now and couldn’t resist buying it on the spot.

Your husband remained silent as he watched you waltz around the kitchen, chocolate brown eyes peering over the top of his glasses as he did, but his smile faltering seeing the distress in your delicate features.

You weren’t the type to frown often, always emitting warmth and sweetness, so the rare appearance of anguish in your expression perplexed Alastor.

What had upset his darling wife?

Who would he have to kill?….

Asking what was troubling you would surely give him answers to both questions.

He stepped forward, coming from round the corner to enter the kitchen fully before striding over to stand by your side as you began to mix what he assumed was dessert in a bowl.

Albeit, he was probably right knowing you had a vicious sweet tooth.

“Strawberry cake I presume?” Alastor finally speaks, making his presence known with a cheeky remark, and you nearly jump out of your skin hearing his silky voice resonate around the room.

Your head snaps up to look at him, eyes wide with slight surprise, but they quickly soften as he smiles. A blush creeps onto your cheeks as he steps closer, initiating his usual habit of brushing a stray strand of hair from your face before kissing your temple gently, and only pulling away when you squeak out a greeting back to him.

“H-hi Al…you’re home a bit earlier than I expected…” you swallow thickly, staring at him adoringly for a moment before lowering your gaze as tinges of guilt build in you. “I’m sorry dinner isn’t quite ready yet…” you whisper, feeling shameful, and more agitated with yourself than before. Alastor had and would never berate you, unlike most men of the time he saw no benefit in treating his wife like a slave, and made an effort to remind you not everything had to be perfect.

“It’ s alright, darling. You needn’t rush yourself,” his voice is low, simmering with reassurance as he lifts your chin with his thumb and pointer finger. You smile nervously as your eyes meet his again, his touch firm and electrifying all at once, and your tummy doing several flips when he smiles back at you.

Alastor studies your face, attempting to pinpoint the source of your masked sadness, “You seem…troubled, sweetheart. Is there something wrong?” His genuine question brings a shock to your heart, tongue going numb as you race to think of a believable reason for your dampened mood, “I…I just had a little mishap with this cake batter is all!..”

You step away from him, turning to face the semi clean counter with a false air of cheeriness surrounding you. The fear of sounding needy and demanding while telling Alastor the truth keeps you from being honest with him outright.

Fake it.

I shouldn’t worry him with my insecurities or doubts…

It might push him further away…

The whisk in your hand spins in tight circles as you focus on mixing the overdone batter, beginning to thicken itself more than necessary as you kept going, using the task as a distraction from Alastor’s keen observance.

Something was wrong.

He was sure of it now.

His eyes narrowed behind the circular glasses, hands finding your waist as he came to stand behind you, allowing his chest to press against your back, and his head lowering to tuck into the crook of your neck.

A shiver racked your body as he exhaled a long, steady breath onto your skin. Your hands faltered, flurried movements becoming lax as you froze in his embrace, “When’d you start lying to me, ma chère…” Alastor mumbled into your ear. Every nerve in your body was on alert, shocked that he’d went much further than his usual bounds of physical affection, but pleasantly delighted he’d given it to you.

“M’ not lying,..”you try to uphold your lie through rising pants, tempted to moan quietly feeling his lips graze behind your ear, neck, and bare shoulder while your robe shifted lower. You weren’t certain if Alastor was inching it down by his own accord or your subtle squirming against him was to blame.

The ending result was the same either way. Your upper body gradually becoming exposed to his leering gaze and the cool air. Alastor hummed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and flooding your mind repeatedly as he placed chaste kisses on your neck.

“I wish I could believe you, darling…” he chuckled lowly, hands inching towards the lace ribbon keeping your gown tied shut, and with one gentle tug he rendered the fabric useless. “Al..” you whined in slight surprise as he snatched the ribbon off, letting it unravel into a small pile on the tile floor before sliding his cold hands up the expanse of your heated torso.

Nothing.

You were wearing absolutely nothing underneath the thin robe and Alastor audibly groaned when he realized it.

Had you planned on this?

Were you just waiting for him to venture further with you?

All this time he’d watched you frolic and pace around your shared home, wondering what was hidden under you seemingly modest clothing….just to find you wore nothing at all…

Oh, what a rare occurrence it was for him to be such a blind fool.

Your hands flew to grasp Alastor’s wrists as he held you tighter, kneading your soft flesh lovingly, and taking his time to admire every dip and curve you had to offer him.

“Al…please..” you begged, visibly shuddering as he nipped at your neck and played with your breasts. “I won’t go any further until I hear the truth from that pretty mouth of yours, sweetheart…”

Damn it….you cursed yourself, slowly losing the will to think as his lips found the most sensitive area on your neck, bruising it with his tongue teeth until you whimpered and rushed out a jumbled explanation for your heavy mood.

“I…Imscaredyoudomtlovseme…th-that you d-don’t want me- Ahm…” you soft voice reached a new octave as your husband slid his free hand between your thighs to cup your mound, gingerly kicking your legs apart with a nudge of his foot against your own, and you tensed all over as he did so.

Fuck, he could definitely feel how desperate you were now, essentially a mess already without Alastor doing much of anything, and embarrassingly unable to control your arousal.

“Love, hm? That’s what’s troubling your precious mind?…” Alastor mulls over your confession, able to maintain his composure despite heat rushing straight through him to the head of his cock as he slid two fingers into your dripping cunt. You jolted from the sudden intrusion, head lulling back to rest on his shoulder as he pumped them in and out of you at a leisurely pace, curling his deft digits fowvard every so often to make you shiver.

His thumb found your clit, pressing defined circles into it as he began to ease your worries, “Love, ma chère, isn’t what I feel for you..” Alastor lets out a soft laugh, trying to calm his own mind before clarifying his vague statement all while pushing you near the edge of your first high.

“No….I feel much more than love for you, my dear. Devotion is a better term…obsession at times…” he admits the darker side of his affection through heavy breaths, cock twitching in his dress pants when you mewl in understanding. Your warm cunt suffocates his fingers for a moment, walls fluttering as the knot in your core threatens to undo itself, causing Alastor to sharply exhale from the inviting fluctuations.

Your lips parted to warm him of your impending orgasm but only a strained moan tumbled off your tongue. Alastor needed no other sign to tell if you were close, inwardly prideful he could make you come with ease.

“Go on, come undone for me , darling,” he insists in a hushed groan, his fingers stretching your walls in a fluid rhythm to drag your climax out, and you could’ve tumbled to the floor from the sheer intensity of the knot inside you snapping on his command.

Thankfully his taller frame kept you securely trapped between him and the counter that you soon found yourself sitting on the edge of after Alastor slipped his hand away from your throbbing cunt.

You watched with a dazed eyes as the older man licked a stripe of your cum off his fingers, brown eyes sliding shut as he let out a satisfied grunt before staring at your willing form perched on the counters edge.

The sight drew a his hidden hunger closer to the surface, toying with his self control as he took it in, and urging him to act on a primal instinct he’d only ever describe as “intense affection”.

Was that a flash of red in his eyes just now?

No , it couldn’t be…

You weren’t left much time to decipher the hungry glint in his eyes before Alastor reclaimed his position near you. His slender waist slotted perfectly between your thighs, the robe now draped off your back, and your hair gradually falling loose from its simple updo as his hands traced your sides.

“Love, sweet girl, is for lonesome fools…” Alastor pressed his forehead to yours, letting you chase his lips for one heated kiss after the next, and only denying you another to whisper against your soft and slightly swollen lips.

“Neither of us are alone or fools, correct?” He huffs as you nod slowly, bringing your hands up to undo his tie, and then proceeding to expertly unbutton his vest and dress shirt.

The general charm that Alastor maintained completely dissolved into pining under your gentle fingertips, an almost desperate shot of adrenaline consuming him as you peppered kisses along his jaw and neck.

If what he said was truly how he felt about you…it was enough to stamp out your doubts, allowing the adoring side of you he’d grown familiar with to resurface, “No…we aren’t,” you respond with a small smile.

He tips your chin up, placing a deep kiss on your lips as he shrugs his shirt and vest off, setting his glasses to the side as well before reaching for the leather belt on his waist.

You paid his actions no mind, busy with fighting his tongue for dominance, but admitted defeat quite fast as his wandered your mouth in expert fashion.

Your soft hands passed over his chest, moving up to tangle in his soft curls, gently tugging the strands to earn a groan from him. Alastor pulled back, a single line of spit connecting you two as he did so, and his hair falling in front of his eyes as he stared down into your tear glossed gaze, “You’re mine, ma chère. Til death and beyond…”

You nod, halfway coherent, but mustering the will to answer him with a content smile.

“Til death…” you repeat the phrase, mind reeling further from logical thinking as Alastor hummed hearing your dazed response, head nestled in your neck once more before he trailed open mouthed kisses down the expanse of your trembling frame. He brought himself as close as possible to you, smiling on your skin as you gasp quietly feeling his clothed erection press flush against your bare stomach, leaning further back in his hold embrace him better. You feared making a mess of the counter but as Alastor trailed his lips down your body and kneeled between your legs he gave one swift snap of his fingers to eliminate the obstacle entirely.

What?….How in the world did he do that?…

Your curiosity would’ve prompted you to ask him about the absurd occurrence if it weren’t for the anticipation rushing your blood as he came face to face with your cunt. “Alastor?…” you squeaked his name softly, attempting to close your legs when he sighed out a warm breath on your glistening folds, but he held them open using one hand with ease. The other resting steady on your waist, guiding you to lay back onto the cold marble countertop, and lingering there as you obeyed his wordless command.

“Good girl…” he praised, tone deepening as you whined quietly, the sound morphing into a loud moan as he lazily flicked his tongue over your slit once…twice…and a third time.

“More…” you pant in the midst of moaning, head craning to the side while your back arched and the urge to scream built in your chest as Alastor obliged your request with vigorous intent. He hummed melodically as your taste seeped onto his tongue, walls ever so sensitive as he explored them tirelessly, and a smirk playing on his lips as you writhed in pleasure.

Your face was soon flushed completely, eyes watering as they rolled slightly with each pass of his tongue over your cunt, and your small hands returning to tug at his soft brown hair. Another coil spiraled in your stomach hearing him groan in response, seeming to enjoy how roughly you pulled his hair, and his gaze drifting up for a split second to get a good view of your satiated state.

Seven hells….she looks even lovelier like this…

Alastor unconsciously drags you closer to his face, not caring at all when you lock your legs around his head and cry out from the borderline bruising hold he has on you now. “Oh god!…” you yelp, throwing him a bewildered glance before tossing your head back as he lapped at your clit like he’d starve to death without it, and the relentless attention to your bundle of nerves was the last thing you could comprehend before the knot unwinded itself.

Your vision blurred over, everything starting to spin as your cum gushed into his mouth, and the tears you were fighting to hide slid freely down your face as he downed every single drop your body offered.

It was all too much, the hunger in his eyes, his hold on you, and your high that never seemed to subside even as he broke away from your cunt with a satisfied smile on his face.

It was all too much at once….

Your head buzzed with euphoric afterthoughts, incoherency daring to cloud your senses entirely, but the sound of Alastor’s voice near your ear successfully halted the sensations long enough for you to comprehend what he was saying.

“You taste divine, ma chère…” his musing flusters you, a light shade of pink coating your cheeks as he dips his head to steal a kiss from you, “Al…” you sigh into his mouth, biting back a keen smile, and wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him near.

He chuckles hearing the unsteady tremor in your tone, adding onto his compliment after capturing your parted lips in another deep kiss, “I presume you’ll feel just as wonderful with me inside you, sweetheart…”

His assumption proved true. So much so that the moment his cock passed through your slippery folds a heavy groan of your name was the first and only thing he could manage to say. “Y/n….mon amor…” Alastor held you underneath him, not daring to move without completely relishing in the way your cunt wrapped around him first, and your broken moans dizzying the last bit of self control he was clinging onto.

You tried not to seem overwhelmed, with your legs wrapped around his waist, and your hands cupping his face to keep him as close as possible while your body adjusted to his size. With furrowed brows and a soft smile you praised your husbands well endowed length as he finally drew his hips back, leaving nothing but the head his cock resting in you.

“You…feel…s’good….” You whisper, breathless as he slams back in, swallowing your pleased cries with one tender kiss after the next. He tasted like you, hints of bourbon lingering on his tongue from the drink he’d poured himself before leaving the station, but your essence more prominent than ever.

All that he was, all that he did, and would ever do revolved around you.

His darling wife…

His one and only….

It showed through the sweet phrases he muttered against your lips as he took his time to please you, pace slow and deliberate, but the execution precise and cutthroat.

You weren’t sure when you’d raised your voice, crying out louder as he abused your sweetest spot continuously, and only going silent when a inaudible scream begged to leap from your chest while his cock bullied into cervix. Stars collected in your vision, hands clawing at Alastor’s back as you tried to hang onto reality for dear life, but failing miserably when he sped up his thrusts.

A subtle laugh passed his lips, eyes glinting with greedy lust as your head flew back, exposing all the love bites he’d left on your delicate skin, and the sight caused his cock to twitch inside you.

“F-fuck….Al!” Your eyes watered once more, sliding shut as a familiar pressure built in your core, rapidly gaining density the longer Alastor fucked into you.

He groaned at the sound of you shouting his name in such a twisted mix of ecstasy and anguish. Your soft voice becoming tainted with an edge he’d never imagined it could have. “Close already, my dear?..” he teased you, smile as smug as ever as he stood up straight, hands gripping either side of your hips, and his gaze lowering to where you two connected.

“Look…at…that…” he mused, suddenly slowing his thrusts to a painfully harsh pace, fixated on the way your cunt continuously creamed on his length. Alastor bit his tongue to keep from growling at the view, barely registering your whines and pleads for him to go faster.

“Al…Alastor…please..m’ begging you…please…” you felt your thighs shake as he continued his lazy strokes, clearly wanting to drag the ordeal out for his personal entertainment, and his lack of sympathy for your plight in that moment edged you even closer to cumming.

He knew it too…

That infamous grin on his face as he watched you resort to quiet sobs and desperate moans was a sure sign of the fact…

Alastor knew you needed him, loved him, lived for him..

“Please what, mon chere?” He bit his lip, unhooking your legs from around his waist to push them to your chest, giving his cock a new angle to stretch your cunt with.

You felt like passing out then, all strength evaporating from your body as he reached places inside you that surely didn’t exist before. His taunting didn’t make your dazed state any better, “Please, ruin you? Please, love you?… Let me hear you loud and clear, darling..”

Before you could register the words they flew from you mouth in a hushed flurry of need.

“Please…love me…fuck me like you love me…use me…I don’t care anymore…”

Alastor immediately rewarded your answer, wasting no time as his hips snapped into yours feverishly, flooding the kitchen with the sound of skin against skin.

“Lovely…” he cooed, voice thick with tension as he stared down at your overstimulated form, and within seconds of the praise slipping off his tongue you came undone. He followed shortly after, not caring to ask where you wanted his release, and you made no protest as the warm white liquid spilled inside you.

All you could do was stare, mouth falling open as he fucked his cum deeper, “It’s high time you became a mother, mon chere. You’d like that wouldn’t you?..” Alastor rambled, hardly coherent as his high coursed through him, but his statement crystal clear to you.

“Yes…” you whimper in response, walls clenching his cock as the thought of carrying his child sprung into your mind. “I’d love it…Al.”

His heart nearly stops as a genuine closed eye smile graces your face, a light blush painting your cheeks as he kisses them gently while gingerly slipping his softened cock out of your leaking heat. Alastor then lets your legs fall, lifting you to sit up straight on the counter again before wrapping his arms around your waist.

You hang onto him for balance, feeling entirely small in his grasp, and finding comfort in the embrace as exhaustion trickles in.

Alastor breathed in your sweet scent, beginning to pull your robe back on your tired form before reaching for his dress shirt. He was careful not to stir you away from his chest as he shrugged the clothing back on

“I’d love you and our child more than anything…” he nonchalantly mumbles, kissing the top of your head, and chuckling when your tied eyes go wide with undeniable hope.

“More than anything?…”

“Anything, my dear…” he repeats himself with a soft smile, bringing a hand up to push fallen strands of hair from your face.

That was when it occurred to you…

Alastor Hartiflet could love…

He’d always been able to….

And he loved you enough to share it with another…

How surreal….

xxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxx

This entire 1st part was brought to you by the Great Gatsby movie soundtrack…❤️ you’re welcome… ;)

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Actually it MIGHT BE 12 inches if we are being honest… ❤️ credits to creator.

[ivystoryweaver]

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

This has been in my drafts for a year, enjoy that

Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Summary: You expected your best friend to be as optimistic about Life Day as he is about everything else. But he's different this year. (This is set after the events of The Last Jedi if you're interested in the timeline)

Pairing: Poe Dameron x gn!reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Content: Poe is a sad/tipsy/handsy puppy, angst, inebriation, drinking, kissing, misunderstandings, discussions of death, probably inaccurate Life Day nonsense, friends to lovers, pining, this boy's trauma deserves some attention ok

Poe wasn't at breakfast.

He missed your morning run together.

Life Day spirit was in the air and General Organa had released as much personnel as could be managed, particularly those who celebrated.

Maybe Poe headed back to Yavin 4 without mentioning anything?

Your best friend usually told you everything, so if he left without saying goodbye...

"Have you seen Poe?" You asked a few dozen people throughout the day, even going so far as to find General Organa, pleading with her to tell you if he was off on a solo mission, or a secret one.

She assured you she had ordered no such mission.

So where was he?

Deciding to head back to your room to change for the festivities, you tried to shake off the anxiety prickling your skin. After a quick trip to the fresher, you put on your best outfit - which was basically the only thing you owned that wasn't Resistance-issued attire.

Upon checking Poe's room one final time, you reluctantly made your way to the mess hall, which, for the people remaining at the Resistance base, would serve as a dance floor.

Colorful strings of lights illuminated the dimly lit room, mismatchedbulbs from droids and ships and even various lanterns. Trinkets special to Resistance members were strung up here and there - good luck charms and souvenirs from missions - anything that would reflect and sparkle and shine.

As if holiday magic itself was guiding you, the sparkle of a familiar gold necklace glinted, catching your eye. All the sudden, there he was, sitting in a corner, surrounded by people, slurring his way through a story of battle glory.

Shit, he was already tipsy? Not good.

His dark brown eyes brightened as they landed on you.

"There you are," he laughed out, reaching out for you, suddenly ignoring the others vying for his attention. "I was just talking about you, come here."

Despite the fact that he was nestled in a corner booth, he insisted you shimmy your way to sit down beside him.

"Poe, it's okay, there's no room. I can just - "

"Nooo, 'sokay," he waved his hand dismissively before reaching up to pull on your sleeve. "Sit with me, right here. Been waiting for you."

Poe was so damn stubborn when he'd been drinking...which is how you ended up smooshed up against his side, halfway on his lap.

"You smell so good," he murmured, burying his nose behind your ear as his arm slid around your waist.

Nudging him with your shoulder, you couldn't help but smile. "How much have you had to drink? It's early."

The corner of his mouth curled knowingly as he touched his forehead to yours. "Started early. You weren't here to stop me."

Your face heated up at how flirty he seemed this evening. "What are you talking about? I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Not everywhere or you would have found me here," he shrugged, pushing his half empty drink toward you. "Gotta catch up."

"Uh, no thank you," you giggled, trying to find a comfortable sitting position that didn't land you all the way in Poe's lap. On second thought, maybe if you finished Poe's drink, you could keep an eye on what else he chose to imbibe for the rest of the evening.

"Actually, give me that." You downed it in a couple gulps, to Poe's great amusement and a whoop from your table mates.

"Okay, okay, you have to play the game too," a fellow pilot informed you, nodding to a cheap looking bottle of something or other in the middle of the table. "Truth or dare?"

You glared over at Poe. "Truth or dare? How old are we?"

"Four-hundred thirty-seven," an alien pilot opposite you teased. "Haven't played Truth or Dare since I was around two-hundred."

"Exactly," you decided to let a couple of centuries make your point.

"Come onnn, play with us," Poe breathed on your ear, goosing your ribs, which sent your backside jerking against his thigh as you shrieked in surprise. You nearly lost your balance, but Poe wrapped his arms around your torso to steady you.

"Truth or dare?" You were asked again.

With a groan, you decided on truth.

"You've hooked up with Commander Dameron," she declared. Everyone at the table leaned in, ready for your answer. You should have known.

"No, I haven't. That's the truth."

"Commander?" She challenged, fact-checking your statement with Poe.

"Don't ask me, it's not my turn," he mysteriously shrugged, which elicited some 'oooh's' and made you groan.

The game continued until it was Poe's turn. He choose truth and was posed the same question as you. His answer confirmed yours - no hookups between you. That fact didn’t stop his thumb from languidly tracing circles on your stomach as he held onto you.

On your next turn, you tried to avoid another probing question by choosing dare.

"Kiss Commander Dameron," the older alien pilot challenged. You felt a chuckle rumble in his chest.

"Fine," you shrugged, turning your head to peck him on the cheek. A chorus of 'boo's' went up, but you silenced them, letting them know they didn't specify where or how you had to kiss Poe.

So, naturally, when it was Poe's turn, he chose dare, and was dared to kiss you. On the mouth.

"Okay, time for bed," you decided, attempting to climb out of your crowded seat and off Poe's thigh, which you were certain had fallen asleep by now underneath your weight.

"Aw, don't go," Poe complained, keeping a loose hold on your wrist, but not holding you back, in case you really wanted to leave. "It won't be Life Day without you. Promise I won't kiss you."

Your eyes met his and you swore you saw a flicker of sadness dance across them. "Okay, I'll stay, but no more Truth or Dare." Hitching your thumb at your table mates you whispered, "They're ganging up on us."

"Then let's go dance," Poe proposed, releasing your wrist and clambering out of the booth and onto the dance floor. Just to make you laugh, he did a silly twirl and struck a pose before offering his hand. “Shall we?”

"Wow, you are so drunk," you cackled taking his hand and following him willingly.

You made it to the middle of the makeshift dance floor, and he pulled your hand to his chest, slipping his other arm around your waist as you began to sway to the music.

Smiling at him sweetly, you released his hand, pushing your fingers up over the exposed skin of his chest, revealed by one too many buttons unfastened. Not that you were complaining. Up your fingers traced, toying with the chain nestled there, over the smooth column of his neck. His throat bobbed under your touch.

Looping your arms around his neck, you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, swaying back and forth with a silly, dramatic flare, which earned a chuckle from Poe. His hands found your hips and squeezed, dragging you closer until your chest pressed against his and his forehead dropped to yours.

"What is going on with you?" You murmured, heart fluttering in your chest as you attempted to keep your wits about you.

"Nothing, just...really glad you're here. Missed you today," he whispered, alcohol tinged breath ghosting your lips.

"Could've fooled me. I couldn't find you anywhere, Poe. I thought you went back home for Life Day without even telling me."

"Without you? No," he shook his head as if trying to clear the cobwebs. "Not without you. Without telling you, I mean."

“But I couldn’t find you,” you insisted, resisting the urge to toy with the curls at the base of his neck. It felt good to be close to him - to have his attention. But he wasn't in his right mind and you couldn't take advantage of your friendship. "I thought maybe you were avoiding me. I was worried."

His gaze dropped, jaw clenching as your swaying eased to a stop. "I'm sorry."

In a group, drinking and telling stories, he could keep up a festive facade but you saw right through him.

"Hey," you softly redirected his gaze back to yours. "It's Life Day. You love Life Day. Right? The tree and the lights?"

"Yeah," he whispered, eyes flickering down to your lips. "I just...I'm not feeling so festive this year."

Stepping back, you ran your palms down his arms and took his hands. "Wanna get out of here? Let's get some air. We can look at the tree."

He nodded, following your lead out into the night, gripping your hand as if you might evaporate right before his eyes if he let go.

You walked quietly for several moments, cheeks burning as a few passersby noticed you holding hands with the Commander, prompting you to finally release your hold. Without the tether, Poe’s walking slowed, turning into a listless stumble, which was how you realized he might not be in any shape to take a stroll through the woods.

Perhaps he was better off tucked into a booth, surrounded by people. The fact that you misread the situation and his needs brought a wave of trepidation and regret. You stopped walking and turned to him, pressing your palms against his chest.

It took his mind a second to catch up, so you guided him around the side of the closest building - closed for the holiday. Steadying him up against the wall, with hands on his chest once more, you apologized. “I should take you back to your room.”

Gripping your elbows, he stared at you so intently it made your knees go weak. As your body swayed into his, he wrapped his arms around you, gathering you close. Mistaking it for a hug, albeit an intimate one, you turned your head to lay it on his chest, but his mouth met yours, capturing your lips in a breathy kiss.

All the air rushed out of you as he tasted you, spreading his hand over the curve of your back and pressing and pulling you into him harder. The heat of his tongue and the solid warmth of his body consumed you utterly and you found yourself kissing him back with fervor.

The sound of voices and a clattering bottle nearby jolted you out of...whatever this was, sending you stumbling back, dazed. You felt as drunk as Poe apparently was, but from him alone rather than the half drink you’d downed.

Poe, mistaking your withdrawal as rejection, reached for your arms, murmuring, "No, no, I'm sorry, don't go."

Noticing his obvious distress, you allowed his touch, gripping his biceps through his leather jacket. "It's okay. I'm here," you breathlessly gasped, mind reeling and heart pounding. "Let me take you back."

"I don't want you to go," he whimpered, grip on your forearms tightening. "Don't be mad. I don't want...I can't - "

"Hey," you soothed, touching his cheek to direct his bleary gaze to yours. "I won't leave you. Not ever."

This seemed to appease him and he followed your lead back to his room. Your instincts seemed to somehow be way off with him tonight, and you regretted tearing him away from the fun he seemed to be enjoying before you interrupted.

Maybe it was you. Perhaps that's why he'd avoided you all day. Hot tears burned your eyes as you guided him to lie down on his bed. As he pleaded with you not to go, again, you hushed him, swearing you wouldn't.

You worked his boots off his feet before helping him sit up to remove his jacket. Climbing into bed, you wrapped your arms around him, guiding him to lie down on your lap. His distress calmed almost instantly as he murmured, "thank you" a few times, burying his nose in your tummy.

"Love you so much," he whispered so faintly, you convinced yourself he must have said something else.

Raking your fingers through his slightly damp curls, you shushed him a few times, realizing you'd never seen him like this. Tipsy? Yes. Drunk? Maybe once or twice. Handsy? Always. But broken? Not like this.

He fell asleep in minutes and only then, did you let tears escape your eyes. Before long, you felt your eyes grow heavy, so you worked your way down onto the bed, hoping not to wake Poe.

Somehow, exhaustion mingled with the pounding in your heart - from worry, from sharing Poe's bed, from the flavor of alcohol on your lips from his kiss. And from the words he uttered - things he probably wouldn't even remember.

Sleep finally came, granting you both reprieve.

The next morning, you awoke while there was barely light in the sky. Since Poe was still asleep, you decided to freshen up a bit and get him some toast and something hot to drink. You crept out of his room and back again as quietly as you could manage.

Upon your return, you were surprised to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows digging into his knees and head in his hands. Dark curls tumbled over his fingers, obscuring his handsome face from you. His shoulders slumped defeatedly.

"Hey there," you softly greeted, presenting the tray of bland food and hot tea to him like an offering. "How are you feeling?"

"Like an asshole," he lamented, voice muffled by his hands.

"Well, I'm used to that," you attempted lightly. "But you had a lot to drink last night. What was that about?"

Raking his fingers down his face, he managed to face you then, eyes bloodshot and lips parched. It was kind of endearing to see him not looking completely perfect for once.

"First of all, tell me how pissed you are. I can take it." He visibly withdrew, waiting for your verdict on how he behaved last night.

"I'm not pissed," you assured him, "just really worried. Why don't you eat something and then we can talk?"

After Poe choked down some toast, you decided to swing by your room and change while he visited the fresher. You promised to return, and when you did, he was waiting for you with open arms.

Folding you close, he breathed on your ear how sorry he was, over and over, while you pressed your nose to the clean scent of his damp neck, exposed by the clean, thin shirt he wore.

Easing back, you reached to toy with the wet curls flipping out behind his ear. "What are you sorry for?"

"Where do I begin?" He scoffed, his gaze dropping. "I ruined your Life Day. I ignored you all day. Kissed you."

"So...you're sorry for kissing me," you clarified, your stomach dropping.

"Yes. No." He shook his head, confused. "I didn't want to be alone." He winced, regretting the words as they left his mouth.

Your jaw clenched as you struggled to maintain your composure. "So you're sorry for kissing me? Or you're sorry that you kissed me while you were drunk, just so you wouldn't be alone?"

Pacing away, one hand landed on his hip while the other tore through his hair. "That's not what I meant. I...I was trying to forget everything and just drink and have fun, but not with you."

Shit. Wrong wording. Again.

"So, that's why you avoided me all day." It wasn't a question. The realization of it stole your breath from your lungs and you sank down on the bed as tears burned your eyes.

"No, baby. No." Poe was quick to kneel down before you, reaching desperately for your hands. "This is...shit, this is coming out all wrong." Seeing tears pool in your beautiful, shining eyes seared his insides with guilt and shame - his companions ever since the events leading up to the Battle of Crait.

"Tell me what's going on," you whispered. "What did I do?"

"Nothing," he insisted, bringing your fingers to his lips and kissing them urgently.

"Too many people have died," he finally confessed, his head bowed and his voice a broken whisper. "It was supposed to be Life Day, but there's only death. We lost over half the fleet."

"I know."

"So many families couldn't celebrate Life Day. Too many." His eyes met yours, wet with fresh tears. "And how many of them are dead because of me?"

"Poe, we all know what we're signing up for when we join. We're all ready to give our lives, you know that. You can't possibly take the blame for what the First Order has done to us."

"There's blame enough for me to share, believe me," he insisted. "And I just couldn't hang anything on the tree yesterday and celebrate life. Not with over half of us gone."

Eyeing him sympathetically, you squeezed his hands. "Life Day isn't only about being alive. Death is a part of life. Life Day is also about remembering the dead. And part of living is grieving the dead, and sometimes feeling a little guilty that you're still here."

“But I don’t, though,” he admitted. “I’m glad I’m here, and more than that, I’m glad you’re here. You, most of all. You're the one person I don't wanna...that I can't..."

"Come here," you coaxed. Poe joined you on the bed but never let go of your hands. "You're my one person too, you know. The person I look for after every mission. The one person I need to be okay.

"It scared me so much yesterday when I couldn't find you," you went on.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. "Please don't hate me for yesterday. It's been a long time since I had that much to drink. I know it's no excuse for what I did."

"So you don't remember, then...what you said?" You should have known Poe would only kiss you and utter heartfelt confessions when he was wasted.

Releasing your hand, he titled your chin up to meet his gaze. "I know what I said. I do love you. Always have." A nervous, breathless laugh escaped his perfect lips. "But I understand, you know, if you don't - "

You silenced him, pressing your mouth to his for a tender kiss. "Believe me. I do."

The sadness lingering behind his eyes started to seep away, replaced by a flicker of hope. "Is there any way we could re-do yesterday?" He proposed, tracing the shape of your jaw. "I only have one meeting today."

"That sounds perfect," you agreed, leaning into his touch.

Hand in hand, you visited the Life Day tree, said the prayers, remembered those lost. Then you had something to drink with friends - just one though, before dancing and laughing all evening.

When he kissed you this time, he meant to do it, and everyone saw it. And when you walked back to his room, he asked you to stay. And you did. Every night.

1000 Follower/Holiday Celebration Masterlist

Poe Dameron Masterlist | Main Masterlist