Shout Out To Everyone Who Participated In The January-february Mass Depressive Episode

Shitpost of the day

Edit cuz ppl kept asking: they're naked cuz they didn't have any clothes in the Garden of Eden 😭

blitzø x succubus!reader. you're dragged along by a friend to verosika mayday's anti-blitzø party and find yourself drawn to a certain imp as the night progresses. after blitzø's heart to heart with the hostess, he's left stewing in his own mind. when you approach him and offer to keep him company there on the balcony, he may just see you as a sorely needed reprieve from his traitorous thoughts.

anon request. 3.2k

featuring: hurt/comfort, smut, an emotionally wrought blitzø, some stolitz feels.

Hugging a plastic cup to your chest, you watch the party move around you with wide eyes. You weren’t at all surprised by the level of debauchery – hell, by Lust Ring standards this was actually pretty tame – but by the strange kind of… catharsis you were witnessing amongst some of the other guests. Sure, not all of it was exactly healthy – you were pretty sure playing pin-the-dagger-on-the-dickhead wasn’t therapist approved – but people seemed to be…

Well.

Maybe ‘moving on’ weren’t the right words for it.

But, hey, you weren’t here to judge. You’d been invited by a friend to a Verosika Mayday party, and even among fellow Succubi that was huge deal. So, that had been enough for you to put together a poor attempt at a Halloween costume and tag along for the night.

You hadn’t realized that the dress code had a different theme until you had opened your apartment door to see you friend wearing a shirt emblazoned with a crudely written “Fuck You Blitzo”. Now it was easy to tell the two groups apart by their wardrobes – those invited by Verosika herself, and their guests all dolled up in their Halloween best.

Still, decent booze, better music, and the intoxicating energy that always radiated off a group of Lust demons this large has your head spinning pleasantly, even if this isn’t exactly what you’d been expecting. You’d grilled your friend on how they’d scored themselves an invite, and honestly, it felt as though you only needed to be tangentially involved with this ‘Blitzø’ guy to score yourself an invite from Mayday.

You weren’t complaining. It beat sitting at home.

The hours pass in a blur of booze and bodies, and you’ve long since surrendered yourself to the fun. An incubus you’ve already forgotten the name of has you pressed against the wall, his tongue in your mouth and his hips flush against yours. You can feel him hard against you, the energy swirling through the party spurring you on. You hook one hand in his belt, the other slung over his shoulder, still holding your half-full cup. He doesn’t seem to be worried about wearing the contents, and his lips move to the side of your throat, his stubble teasing over your skin.

You hum happily at the sensation, rolling your hips into his. An incubus isn’t going to feed you those happy-vibes as much as a human soul could, but even without the power rush your own excitement is an addictive sensation. The incubus grazes his teeth over your collarbone and you gasp, eyes opening lazily.

You cast your gaze across the throng of dancing bodies and upward, following the line of the stairs to the balcony above. A figure wrapped in what looks like a stained tablecloth sits up there alone, feet dangling over the edge. You find yourself staring up at them for a long moment before you feel yourself pushing the other demon away.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve gotta go,” you tell him, only semi-apologetic. “Sorry.”

He shrugs, taking it in stride the way only an incubus can, and you step past him to wander up the stairs. Coming to a stop beside the figure… an imp, you realize… you hesitate for a moment.

“Mind if I join you?”

You can barely make out the shrug of his shoulder and you take a seat beside him, swinging your legs out over the edge of the balcony. Discontent is just radiating off of him, and you bite your lip.

“Y’know… you might be the only person here who out even less thought into dressing for the theme than me,” you joke gently. You’re wearing a barely-there dress made of thick black threads woven together to emulate a spiderweb. It left the matching set of black lingerie clearly visible underneath, the hem ending a few inches above your thigh-high boots. “Are you supposed to be a… ghost or something?”

The imp doesn’t answer, and you bit your lip against the sheer awkwardness. You could just take him blowing you off in stride and leave, but there was something so… magnetic about the guy. You take a sip of your drink, holding out the cup in offer.

“You want some?”

There’s a pause, then he reaches out from under the tablecloth to take the cup, his claws brushing against your fingers as he does. He throws back the rest of it, sighing and letting the cup drop from his hand to the floor below, heedless of anyone it might hit. “…Thanks.”

“Sure,” you say, tucking hair behind your ear. “You, uh… don’t seem to be having fun. Did… you know this Blitzo guy?”

The imp is silent for a few moments, his voice barely audible. “He ruined my fucking life.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

The imp glances your way, stiffening for a second as he studies your face. “I don’t… did Blitz fuck you over, too?”

He has nice eyes.

You shake your head. “Got invited by a friend. And I don’t think they really knew the guy either. Hell, half the people here are like that from what I can tell. Honestly, this whole thing feels kinda… fucked up.”

The imp stares at you for a few more moments, and there’s something weighted about his gaze. You swallow, fingers tangling in the webbing covering your stomach. Then, he casts his eyes down over the crowd, and he tenses.

“What’s wrong?”

He seems to struggle to decide whether he wants to tell you. You follow his gaze and spot the Goetian Prince you’d heard sing earlier in the night, currently being spun around the dancefloor by an Incubus you’ve seen at parties in the past.

“Ah.” you say. “An ex?”

He nods, almost pitifully. Still, his fists clench against his thighs, an outward show of irritation. Possessiveness.

The two of you watch the couple laugh and dance for a while, and you fight the urge to reach a hand over to him as he growls quietly when the incubus kisses the prince’s neck.

Instead, you swallow, raising your voice over the crowd again. “Hey… did you drive?”

“What?”

“Did you drive tonight?”

He nods, eyes still glued to the Owl Prince.

“…D’you think you could give me a ride home?”

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The two of you ride in silence, all the way back into Hell and down into the Lust Ring; you only speak up long enough to give him directions to your apartment. His claws are wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, hard enough that his knuckles are pale. His jaw clenches and unclenches, and after a while you reach out over the messy seat of his van to touch a calming hand to his knee.

The imp glances down at it, almost surprised, but his jaw stops tightening.

He comes to an abrupt stop outside your apartment building, mounting the curb and narrowly missing the bench bolted to the footpath. You unbuckle your seatbelt, the awkward feeling hanging between the two of you like so much smoke.

You should end it here, let him take himself home and drink away his troubles or smash shit or send his ex a barrage of texts over what he saw tonight. It’s not your business and you don’t owe the guy anything. So, why instead do you hear yourself say: “Hey, um… d’you want to come inside?”

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On any other day, Blitzø might have scoffed at the idea of a shy succubus, one that treads lightly around his feelings rather than just asking or seducing him into a rough fuck, but tonight he just follows you into your apartment quietly. He still wears the tablecloth like a security blanket, but you don’t comment on it.

Instead, he takes a seat on the couch as you pour the two of you a drink of Asmodean whiskey. It’s not as strong as Beelzejuice but it’s marketed as a nightcap, and it feels more suitable in this moment than a party drink. It burns his throat when he downs half of it, his fingers wrapped almost too tightly around the glass.

You try to make conversation, voice stilted and quiet, and he offers you brief responses that float away like debris in water. All he can see in his mind is Stolas’ happy, carefree smile as that incubus had held him in his fucking arms, and Blitzø just needed his brain to stop.

“You wanna fuck?”

You stop midsentence, caught off-guard.

“I…” you give a surprised, breathless laugh. “I’m… you want to…?”

“Fuck,” he nods decisively. He feels like he should be leaning into you, fixing you with bedroom-eyes or at the very least be speaking in a huskier tone but instead he just sits there, a matter-of-fact. “Now.”

You seem to consider him for a moment before you reach up, and he stiffens as you touch the edge of the tablecloth.

“Depends,” you say, pushing the cloth back away from his face. “Do I have to fuck a ghost?”

He chokes on a laugh despite himself before you lean down to kiss him. He meets your lips almost hesitantly, and it isn’t until later that he realizes that this is the first time he’s kissed someone other than Stolas in months. Your kiss is different, softer and more tentative… there’s no urgency behind it, none of the desperation that’s usually tied to a scheduled fuck. It leaves him cold for a moment, uncertain, but then you cup his cheek gently and slide your tongue into his mouth and he feels warmth bloom in his gut.

He kisses you back, claws curling in the threads barely covering your thigh as the tablecloth falls off him completely. The feel of it sliding over his back makes him shiver, and he wraps his other hand around the back of your neck, tugging you closer and deepening the embrace.

You taste of the sweet nectar of Beelzejuice and something tart like cherries, and he groans, low and reedy into your mouth. The sound thrills you, sends a shudder through the very middle of you, and you scratch your nails over the base of one his horns.

Blitzø almost purrs at the sensation. “Fuck…”

He inhales sharply as you trail your hand down from his face and over his chest and further… you urge his jacket down off his arms and he shrugs it off, taking your face in his hands. His teeth catch your lip and he tastes the metallic hint of blood, his cock stirring as you whimper needily in response. His eyes roll back behind the lids as you finally palm his cock, squeezing the bulge in his pants as you break apart to catch your breath, forehead bumping against his.

He barely gives you a chance to steady yourself before he’s pulling you in again, because as long as he’s feeling this, feeling you, those whispers in his brain can’t be heard. You’re a balm against the poison of his mind, and Blitzø finds himself torn between the idea of laying you out and pounding your ass into the mattress or splitting you open over his lap.

Blitzø grabs at you, clutching at your hips, your breasts. “Fuckin’ piece of—”

You giggle as his claws tangle in your dress, pulling away to tug it off over your head. Tossing it aside, your breath catches as the imp buries his face against your chest, licking and nipping at the swell of your breasts. He sucks at a nipple through the cup of your bra, and you dust kisses over his horns and his forehead as his fangs graze the hardened point through the silk. He reaches up to tug the cup down, his claws drawing lines against the soft swell of your breast, dark red against the cotton candy color of your skin. He seems to admire the marks for a moment before he brings his mouth to your breast again, curling his forked tongue around your nipple and sucking hard.

The way you arch against him is the closest Blitzø will ever understand as poetry, and he decides right there he needs more of it, pulling you into his lap. You straddle his thighs obediently, grinding yourself once, hard over his crotch. He snarls at the feeling of it, wrapping your hair around his hand and dragging you back down into another kiss, his other claws clutching at a handful of your ass.

The imp’s touch is hot and rough and amazing, so good you’re almost surprised you’re not sucking up a supernova worth of soul energy from the demon. He encourages you to ride your thigh with a tight grip on your thigh and your ass, his tongue sliding almost languidly into your mouth.

You unbuckle his belt with practiced ease, lowering his zipper and wrapping your fingers around his erection. The imp groans into your mouth, bucking into the warmth of your hand. You squeeze the base of him with every downstroke of his cock, bending down further to dust kisses over his cheek and the side of his throat. Your teeth graze his collarbone and he curses, claws flexing so hard on your ass that you feel them prick your skin.

“Fuck me…” he groans, and you kiss him again, bracing an arm against the back of the couch beside his horns.

“That’s the idea,” you say breathily and he swats your ass with the spade of his tail. He begins to roll his eyes at the joke but the gesture melts away as you take hold of his wrist and lead his hand between your legs. The imp takes the hint immediately, and you moan quietly as he tugs your underwear aside and slides his fingers against your clit.

“Oh, shit…” you murmur, riding his hand slowly. The imp presses kisses to your chest, reaching behind you unclip your bra. You shrug it off, letting out a drawn-out, broken moan as he guides his cock into you. “Fuck…”

“Fuckin’ Christ…” he agrees, head falling back against the couch. Bracing both hands against the couch on either side of him you corkscrew your hips slowly over his until he bottoms out inside you. He surprises you by leaning up to kiss you again, and you let that linger as you begin to move against him.

You ride the imp’s lap slowly, reveling in the way every inch feels inside you. He thrusts up into you every time you lower yourself again, claws claiming your thighs, just above the top of your boots.

He watches you with wide eyes, his gaze dropping down over your near-naked body before always returning to your face. You shudder with the way he feels filling, stretching your cunt, pushing your hair out of your face so you can press a kiss between his horns.

The way he’s watching you is more intoxicating than anything else you’ve sampled tonight, and when slips a hand between your legs to play with your clit you keen, head falling back.

Blitzø stares at the column of your neck as you tighten around him, your cum dripping down over the base of his cock. He feels your tail wrap around his calf, feels your cunt squeeze around him, and he closes his eyes tight.

The flash of feather and glowing red in his memory makes his brow crease, and he runs his hand over your waist, your thigh, reminding himself of the soft, smooth expanse of your skin. He thrusts up harder into you, retaking your hips to encourage you into a more brutal pace.

You let out an ‘uh’ every time he hits that spot inside you, and he’s cursing and groaning and you palm your breast and squeeze. There’s a furrow between his brows and you can tell he’s trying to hold out, to make this last. His hands are so tight on your hips you’re sure that you’ll bruise, but you don’t care, circling your clit with hurried fingers as you bounce on his dick.

“Yes…” you moan, sparks igniting up along your spine as he angles his hips just right. “Oh, fuck, yes, Blitz!”

“Kiss me,” the imp says just as your second orgasm crests. “Please… fuck. Kiss me.”

You take his face in your hands and bring his lips back to yours and he moans into your mouth as he cums inside you, hands gripping roughly at your shoulders. You keep kissing him until you feel him relax, breaking away to dust soft, slow kisses to his cheek and between his eyes. His hips bump up into yours a few more times as he finally comes down, his chest heaving.

He freezes as you bump your forehead against his and pulls back to meet your eye. “You… how the fuck did you know I’m…”

You raise an eyebrow, the beginnings of an amused smirk playing on your lips. “Your ex is the Goetian Prince and they were kinda burning you in effigy at that party… I took a gamble.”

Blitzø chuckles, the sound half torn between amusement and self-deprecation. “Fuck…”

“Well, hey,” you shrug. “Maybe I’ll have earned an invite of my own to next year’s big Halloween bash.”

He groans, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I’m kidding!” you laugh, taking hold of his wrists and dragging his hands away from his face. “I’m only kidding, I swear!”

He raises an eyebrow at you disbelievingly, and you smile softly, reassuringly.

“Seriously, Blitz. I mean, I don’t really know you, besides the whole…” you gesture down to where you’re still straddling his lap. Your thighs ache slightly with him still inside you. “… y’know… but I didn’t bring you home with me thinking I was going to ‘fix the asshole of honour’.”

“You didn’t?”

“Nope.” you shake your head at his skepticism. “I learned a long time ago that no one expects monogamy from a succubus. And I’m fine with that. I do better without the strings attached. But,” you continue, grinding your hips slowly over his once and making the over-sensitized imp groan in the back of his throat. “I also know you looked like you could use a break from the self-hate for a little while.”

His gaze drops, and you skim a finger down his cheek and under his chin to tilt his face back up to yours.

“Seriously. We’re good here.”

Blitzø sighs, letting his head drop back against the couch. “So, I don’t have to worry about you bitchin’ about me to your friends after this?”

“With dick that good, nah.” you joke, grinning when he snickers despite himself. “Look, I think you clearly need to figure out what’s going on between you and the Prince that’s got you all… how you are. But I also think that if you wanna stay the night, that’s fine too.”

“I don’t…”

You dip your head down to kiss his cheek before he can formulate an answer.

“Maybe don’t answer that offer while you’re still inside me.” you tease, and he smirks weakly, his hands squeezing your hips. You climb gracefully off his lap, unabashed by your disheveled appearance – mussed hair and smeared lipstick, wearing only latex boots and underwear stained in both your cum. “I’m going to shower. And I promise, I won’t be offended if you’re gone by the time I get out.”

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To your surprise, he isn't.

one of the hottest things a man can do is feel a little guilty

Can you do Ellie with a mommy kink and she was being a brat and the reader puts Ellie in her place by making her wear a vibe out in public and makes Ellie cum quietly after she made her beg for it

what did you expect?

ೃ⁀➷ sub ellie williams x dom reader

ೃ⁀➷ word count 1.7k+ (sorry 😫)

ೃ⁀➷ summary: i feel like this would be the vibrator that reader chose for ellie, for the full experience ofcourse ;) ((whore for this ellie))

ೃ⁀➷ warnings: NOT BETA READ, exhibtionism, ellie williams is a loser sub in this (don’t like that, don’t read), overstimulation, public humiliation (maybe, idk, still tho..), fluff in the end, reader is an implied sugar mommy in this. (i didn’t go into a lot of detail about reader so r! can be femme or masc or wtv!!!)

ೃ⁀➷ 🍉🍉🍉!!!!!! (from the river to the sea)

ೃ⁀➷ reblogs and comments always appreciated 🫶🏻

╰➤ linktree ╰➤ pinterest╰➤ request rules

ellie willams was acting like a brat.

you knew she wasn’t a brat. but she was acting like one.

you had just returned from a work trip, and ever since you came back, she had been acting like a brat.

she reminded you of your childhood cat who used to get salty whenever you left with your family for vacations.

but your childhood cat couldn’t talk back. couldn’t push your buttons like ellie did.

so you decided she needed punishment, and a little bit of assurance that you weren’t going to leave her.

so on friday, you sent her a text while you worked.

[you]: we need to talk, i am taking you to dinner tonight. wear something pretty.

[ells]: fine

[you]: i left you a surprise on your desk, wear it.

she left you on read.

you smiled, more fuel for the punishment you were going to make her endure.

[you]: pick you up at eight sharp.

· • —– ٠ ✩ ٠ —– • ·

7:30

ellie stared at the fancy box.

she had no clue what it could contain. it was big.

as soon as she opened it, her thighs clenched.

you were scheming, and she loved it.

it was a weird dildo vibrator. it was shaped like a curvy L,

she could hear her blood rush in her ears.

she tried to turn it on but wasn’t able to find the power button.

her thighs clenched in response. she unbuttoned the nice pants she had worn for the occasion and slipped them down her hips along with her underwear.

sliding her fingers into her wet core, she circled her clit softly. she pulsed with desire and anticipation.

she was drenched.

she had gone so long feeling sorry for herself, you had left for a week and had barely replied to her. sliding in the thick dildo into her drenched pussy was a welcome feeling. the vibrator sat snugly against her clit. it had slight bumps that rubbed against her deliciously.

she knew she couldn’t get off. she had worked on her appearance and did not want to ruin it. ellie also did not want to ruin the anticipation.

she sat on the sofa waiting for eight to arrive.

the intrusion on her pussy and the pressure against her clit made her shift her hips and pant.

by the time her phone rang, she had worked herself into a flush.

she could feel the wetness everywhere.

she stumbled out of your penthouse apartment, down the elevator and into the car.

you were driving, weird. you always had someone else drive, someone from the company you worked for.

you had a very high position, which allowed you to spoil ellie rotten.

and you would usually go into the back of the car with her, motion for the privacy screen, and just…

but not today.

today you gave her a tight-lipped smile.

it made her nervous.

the car ride to the restaurant was quiet, she was too frustrated to notice though. she couldn’t concentrate, so she kept rubbing herself on the sex toy. shifting her hips, trying to alleviate the pressure.

“stay still ellie, or this is going to get difficult.”

she had barely noticed you park, barely noticed the valet opened the door.

she stumbled out, her legs unstable. she felt your warm arms hold her up.

you were dressed to kill. your hair was done, and your clothes were tight on your body. she panted.

your smile was evil. “oh, are you feeling alright? do you want to go back” you said loudly enough for the people around to hear as you walked into the fancy restaurant.

“im fi-fine…” she mumbled.

she clutched your arm as she beheld the full restaurant. filled with fancy people.

she didn’t belong here. less with a plastic dildo stuffed in her cunt.

but you did not seem fazed, supporting her as the waiter led you to your table, right by the window, it had a beautiful view of the river. but she could hardly appreciate it.

you pulled out a chair for her, and she clenched her jaw as she sat down, the position making her pussy pressed against the textured toy.

the waiter handed both of you the menus before leaving.

you started talking about wine, but ellie got nervous.

she wasn’t dumb, she knew it was remote-controlled, she shivered with nerves. she could barely look at you, but your eyes were focused on her face

were you going to turn it on in public?

she did not have to wait long. the waiter came back to take the order. you ordered as usual.

“ellie, love, do you want anything else?”

she swallowed saliva, inhaled, and opened her mouth to speak “no than-“

her knees banged the table.

she had not been prepared, she had been expecting it, not at the moment she opened her mouth to speak. she forced a cough, suppressed a whine.

“oh sweetie, are you sure you feel alright? look at you, you’re flushed!” you were mocking her. she raised her eyes to meet yours. you looked pleased. “that will be all thank you.” you politely smiled at the waiter, dismissing him.

it had been about an hour since she slid the toy into her pussy. she was strung tight, and she desperately needed a release. the soft vibration and the constant stimulation without pausing, or without payoff was making her teeth chatter.

you tried to make small talk while waiting for food.

she slid her hands under her thighs, sitting on them to hide their visible shake. her eyes were trained on the table setting. she could feel wetness drench her panties. she bucked her hips as subtly, as discreetly as she could. chasing the pleasure. the slow drag of stimulation on her sensitive clit sent jolts of lightning through her. she bit her lip. she she looked up at you.

your chin rested on your palm, fingers drumming against your cheek. you were looking at her with a look of adoration. she missed it.

“mommy…” she whimpered. she was so gone, barely conscious of the freuidan slip, of the word leaving her mouth.

she could count on one hand the number of times she had called you that. but she had been missing you since you had left for that work trip. and even though you had come back physically, she still missed your comfort.

the food arrived, and she was not even close to coming, but she was close to crying.

her hands shook as she did her best to eat.

she barely registered the taste. if it was good or not. she swallowed as her body begged her for release.

her thighs spasmed softly.

it had been ages of constant stimulation. she could tell the vibration was at the lowest level. but it was still frustrating.

“ellie, i am so sorry if i made you feel unwanted while i was away, there is no excuse for me ignoring you. i was busy, but i should have made time for you. i really love you ellie, but i am hurt you did not feel comfortable enough with me to tell me what had been bothering you and took it out on me with hurtful words. i can honestly not let it slide, it was disrespectful, and you need some negative reinforcement.” your voice was soft, only for her ears. you slid a hand under the table.

her limbs locked in anticipation, she could not hold back a soft whine at the increased stimulation.

her whole body shook in desperation. “please, i’ll do any- anything… i’m so so- sorry mommy. i j- just missed you!” her voice was barely above a whisper. but she could tell you had heard.

“okay, i think that is enough suffering for tonight.” your voice was soft with understanding. “clench your teeth. take a deep breath baby- yes that’s it. another. prepare yourself to keep quiet.”

ellie hid her face in her hands in anticipation. her body jerked harshly as the intensity rose enough to bring her to the edge. her teeth tore the surface of her lip.

this time, he whole body shook in earnest. as sudden as the intense vibrations arrived, they left. and she was left jerking her hips against the toy to ride out the aftershocks.

“oh baby, i am so sorry, i did not know it was that bad.” your voice was loud. you got your wallet and pulled out three crisp hundred dollar bills. more than enough to cover the food and wine, placing it on the table. you got out of your chair and moved to her side. you slid your arm along her waist and hoisted her up.

she knew she was almost deadweight, but she did her best to move her legs. she sniffled an mumbled gibberish apologies as you made your way to the valet.

she tried her best to fight off sleep on the car ride home.

she did not fight off the urge to lean on you during the elevator ride up. you murmured praise and sweet words the whole time.

you helped her off her clothes. helped her wash her face, her teeth. all the while, she had the toy stuffed in her sensitive pussy.

you led her to bed. she wore nothing but the panties and the rubber dildo. you had not changed out of your fancy clothes.

she laid on her back. whining and twisting her body as you slid her panties down her freckled thighs.

her legs were spread open, and you rested your cheek on her soft and warm thigh. her upper inner thighs were slick.

you pulled out the sopping wet toy and enjoyed her soft whines as you replaced it with your mouth.

you wrapped your fingers around her hips. her skin was soft and warm.

you lapped at her until her thighs were violently spasming, you stopped when she yanked at your hair, pulling you up.

she was sniffling and sighing in contentment. she looked through heavy eyes as you removed your clothes, undid your hair, and got in bed with her. tangling your limbs with hers.

she groaned in pleasure when your nails scraped her scalp. she felt herself drifting onto unconscious.

didn’t even make sense of her words. “missed you mommy, so much…”

and you swore to yourself, you would never be the cause of her insecurity again. never do anything for her to doubt that she was loved by you.

· • —– ٠ ✩ ٠ —– • ·

reblogs and comments always appreciated 🫶🏻

needy!drunk!gojo satoru x gn reader-based off this post

synopsis: gojo is a lightweight, vowed to sobriety to keep whatever bit of shame he has left to his name. but he really can't help but take a few shots when he sees you doing the same.

warnings: sub gojo, gn dom reader, both reader and gojo are drunk, gojo's a lightweight, handjob, semi-public sex, he cries-like a lot, he also had nipple piercings bc i couldn't help myself, reader's kinda a hoe, feelings, think that's it

The warm press of hands against your hips is what makes you gasp. The soft touch of lips traced over your throat is what makes your head spin.

What a delightful feeling. 

What a human desire. 

“Touch me.” 

The room spins around you, the warm feeling of being held making you sigh, leaning into it. The scent of him, the greedy claiming of his presence in your mind. So selfish. Of him not to think of the effect that this has on you. To not care about the war going on in your mind. 

“Touch me, please?” A whine this time. A meek sound, spilling from his lips, making your body light up in return. 

“Satoru,” He practically purrs at his name on your lips. Pathetic. How easily riled up he is. How easily you’re able to make his knees feel weak. How much he loves the sound of your lips forming his name.

“Mmmm, say it again.”His nose sweeps delicately over your neck, working over a heavy sigh as he tries not to get drunk on the smell of your shampoo. Or more drunk than he already is, that is. 

“Your name?” You mutter slowly. 

“Yeah….” His words have been gradually slurring over the span of the night, with the amount of shots he’s taken, with the amount of drinks he’s had. With the inches of space between you closing until there’s nothing between you but the thin layer of clothing that does nothing to hide the bulge he shamelessly presses against you.

Even so, you know that he's always been far beyond measures of shame, but this is a whole new level, the way he continues to press his body impossibly closer to yours, his broad chest against your shoulders, his hips canting against you. 

You’ve always hated how he’s been taller than you, his incessant teasing when he throws you over his shoulder as you yell and pound on his back. He takes advantage of it all too often.

You don’t mind now.

“Why, Satoru?” Maybe you’re cruel for the teasing, for liking your friend’s reactions all too much. Shivering, nearly violently, throbbing against your lower back. 

He whines, “Sounds so…-so much better when you say it. Makes me wanna just…”

His breath is heavy with the scent of alcohol and you’re still not entirely sure how Shoko and Suguru managed to get him to break his vow of sobriety. Not when you’d seen him turning them down for the first bit of the night.

The next time you saw him he was getting dragged along by you, gulping down whatever liquids you shoved into his hands. 

With his feverish hands tracing up your body and his sinful hips pressing against yours. Muttering about how he wanted you and needed you, whispering about things he'd never have said in the harsh reality of day, but was that not the beauty of getting intoxicated beyond belief?

“Hmm? Just what?” 

He simpers, “Wan’ you to touch me, play with me, like I’m just a toy for you~” He grinds slowly and you wish you could kiss him. Kiss him until he’s breathless and red and can’t remember his own name. Dazed and dizzy and muttering gibberish while loosely gripping onto you. 

You don’t think if you’d even have to kiss him to do that right now, but the taste of his perfectly pink lips would just be an added pleasure to this delectable mix.

But you shouldn’t. And you won’t.

Not because he’s your friend and this will surely be crossing some unspoken line.

Or because it’ll throw off the axis of your entire friend group. You'd never let that stop you before. And you wouldn’t let something like that stop you now. Not when you've clumsily pressed your lips to Shoko’s, high out of your mind and hidden under the blanket of dark nights. Or when you let your hands wander along the lengths of Suguru’s skin, promising to make him feel things he’d never felt before. 

Not because Satoru Gojo is one of your best friends.

But because Satoru Gojo is currently drunk and so are you. And despite the fact that you’re practically drowning in the warmth of alcohol and all that is Satoru Gojo, you want whatever you do with him to mean something-be something. Not just a clumsy night of drunken mistakes and hazy flashes, not something you’ll forget in the morning and agree to never speak of again.

He’s too…important for you to treat him like that. And you’re too selfish to let anything you do to him to mean anything but the fact that he would be yours. But he’s not yours. And you’re not his. And all this thinking is only making a steady ache build behind your temples.

You sigh, twisting around in his arms. Blue eyes blinking back at you, slowly searching over yours and fuck, his lips are so kissable. Pink and plump, trapped between his too white teeth.

“Let’s get you back to Shoko and Suguru, they’ll take you home and make sure you don’t kill yourself.” You’re not entirely sure where they went or why they’ve left the two of you behind, all alone where they'd know neither of you were in the right mind to make good choices.

 “No,” He shakes his head, white hair tossing, ruffled and mussed from a night of clinging to you like this. Far too close for comfort though you still couldn’t bring yourself to pry him off.  “No, n-no, don’t wan’you  to leave…” 

You begin to tug him off either way. He’s not sane enough to make decisions for himself and you don’t think you are either. “C’mon baby, let’s go find your friends.”

He shudders and grips your hand, refusing to move an inch. Tears pool in his eyes and your jaw hardens.

You sigh. You didn’t know why you thought this was a fight you’d win either way. It was a losing game trying to argue with Satoru. His lips wobble and you can feel your resolve withering away by the second. Tearing down every single defence you put up around, being ripped away by him and his stupid tears as if they were paper. 

“Don’t leave.” He whispers and he looks pathetic but you know you’ll give in to him if he asks you to. “Don’t leave me…please.”

You cup his cheek and he purrs, melting into the touch as if he were a cat, pushing into you for more attention. Basking in your attention as you sweep his tears away with your thumb, letting him close his eyes and pull you into the soft cushioning of a booth. 

You feel heady or maybe it’s the alcohol talking. More tears roll down his cheeks, tracking along the slopes of his flushed face. Crystalline and sacred and you realize with a twist in the pit of your stomach that it’s arousing.

The sight of him. His sweat-soaked skin and his eyes big and glassy. And the fragile mask he’s worked so hard to keep up deteriorating beneath your very eyes, each tear breaking and cracking apart the image of the powerful man he claims to be.

A crumpled facade of a God into a something more, something divine and corrupt, something vulnerable and weak and so very human in your arms, falling apart by a mere touch.

Maybe you’re more fucked up than you realized. Maybe you’re just horny. Maybe because it’s him. And he’s Satoru Gojo and everything about him is perfect. Powerful. Transcendent. A God against humans, finally falling apart like this, before you, ready to fall to his knees. Perhaps he was always meant to.

“Don’t wanna be alone…don’t wanna…ngh~” 

His hips thrust up, a whiny gasp working past his lips. He pants as if he’s run a marathon and you want to do such delectably sinful things to him and you’re sure you could do them all and more and he’d only beg and plead for more.

Perhaps…

“Kiss me.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, you wonder if he can hear with how loud it is. “Satoru,”

He whines and grinds and you moan. And it’s a losing battle.

“Shut up,” he insists, hand cupping the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair, almost obsessively. “Shut up and just kiss me.”

“You know we can’t. You-“

“I, am perfectly fine.” His words are a pant, a plea, whispered with a kind of reverence of a worshipper to a god. “Just kiss me, fuck me. Use me,” white eyelashes flutter, blue looking all the bluer rimmed with red and filled with tears. “Use me until you’re bored of me, until there’s nothing left-i don’t care.” He breathes, desperate and pleading and looking like he’s ready to get down on his damn knees on the dirty sticky floor. “Just-please.”

A losing fucking battle. 

Maybe it always was. Trying to keep your hands off him, now, you realized it was like setting a treat on a dogs nose and telling them to wait. A crazy amount self control with the eventual prize just in sight. 

All you can think as you cup his cheeks, flushed and wet from tears, warm against your hands is how fucking pretty he is. How you want him more than you think you’ve ever wanted anything. “Fuck, Satoru,” you mutter and he moans deep and appreciatively and then you’re pulling him in to slide your lips against his.

 And now all you can think about is how much of a dumbass you are for not doing this sooner.

He tastes like alcohol and cigarettes-when he had one you don’t know but you do know that it’s the most intoxicating mix you’ve ever encountered. You feel like you’re floating, high off his taste and his moans; like he’s a drug and you’re the addict, injecting him straight into the vein. 

It's far from elegant and he’s not perfect at it in the way you’d expect from a man as beautiful as him-godhood hasn’t blessed him in every aspect. But he’s desperate and he's eager to take everything you give, mewling against your lips. 

He’s so needy and it's crazy the way it sends you into a sort of reverie. His hands gripping your hips hard, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go, like he’s hoping you’re real and not a apparition of drunken hysteria. He pulls you closer, as if you could get close enough that no one could find where you ended and he started, that you might be able to meld into one.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the same sentiment. If you didn’t try your hardest to do the exact same; nails pressing into his skin, making him whine as you tilted his head back and slipped your tongue into his mouth, exploring, feeling, taking, using. 

Just like he told you to do.

He vibrates against you, nearly shaking with choked noises. He mutters soundless words, each and every one swallowed by you as soon as they’re spoken. Pleas and prayers, worships and praises. 

You’d show him what real ascension felt like.

You probably should be embarrassed, or at the very least shameful to be putting on such a show in front of what you know are watching eyes. But you know that Gojo is far past shame at this point and you're too enamoured by the beauty that is Satoru Gojo clinging to you like he’s about to break.

To be honest, you can't find it in yourself to give a shit about any of them. About anything but him, focusing your attention on devouring him whole as he shatters, ready to catch every piece as they fall into your waiting hands. No matter if the shards rip apart your skin and leave you a bloody mangled mess.

You break away first, fighting a smile at his whine as you pull away from him, panting. 

He looks unravelled, messy. His usual flirty facade lost to pleasure. His watery eyes and heartbroken whines gone as well. Overwhelmed by swollen lips and gasps to make up for lost air. A blush like he’s just realized where he is, burying his face into your neck to hide from the probing eyes. To whisper, "You're too good at that, you know?.”

You bark a laugh and he nuzzles into your skin. 

And then you’re redirecting him to your lips again.

In a flurry of hands and lips, messy steps and you’re clumsily stumbling into the bathroom. Quickly, Satoru is shoved against the door, fingers fumbling for the lock.

Your lips find his neck, fluttering a barrage of open-mouthed kisses over the heated skin, dragging your tongue along his thrumming heartbeat. 

He whines and he begs, muttering nonsense that makes it to your ears but not to your head as you hum against him. Slender fingers knit through your hair, holding you close to him, pleading for you to never leave him.

“Touch me, touch me, touch me.” He repeats, slurred and slow, his eyes drooped shut, his voice husky with want, with lust and everything he’s been just barely repressing all this time.

But you've only ever been a slave to his desires.

So you respond in tenfold, nipping and sucking, leaving evidence that you've been here, staking a claim that doesn't exist and maybe never will but for tonight maybe you can play pretend.

Because he keens when your teeth sink into his skin and his back arches, pressing evidence of his wanton yearnings against you like you might devour him whole.

Like he wants you to.

He quieter when he whispers something that could change everything. “Love me?”

Your heart pounds in your chest but you’d never turn him down. 

Fingers deftly undo the buttons on his tight-fitting button up, revealing porcelain-like skin underneath. His nipples are hard and pink and fucking pierced. 

He gasps when you touch them, pinching them between your thumb and forefinger.

And you've never been particularly mean but you can make an exception for the God in front of you, leaving him to tortuous touches all while he throbs and thrusts into nothing but the fabric of his too-tight pants, whining from the stimulation that's all too little.

He's been begging for this all night. Whispering dirty words like a little tease, like a shameless slut.

He got you all riled up and for that you think that he should take his own share of teasing.

For retribution, for your own piece of mind and the pleasure it is to watch him squirm against the wall, eyes squeezed shut and tearstained and begging in small breathless whimpers barely over a whisper.

But you've never been able to resist him long, not then, not now and not ever.

Your hand finally reaches for his waistband, his body shivering with the feeling of your fingers dipping onto hot, untouched skin.

But he stops you.

His hand, large and pale landing over your own in a quick moment of lucidity.

His voice emerged, a whisper of uncertainty and longing. "Y-You'll take care of me?"

You met his vulnerability with a promise because you could never leave him with any less. "Yes," your words a whispered caress, a undying oath in itself, a vow that you'd take beyond this in whatever may happen.

Your lips brush over his ear, his eyes squeezing shut as your hand wraps around him, dragging a ruinous moan from deep in his throat.

"I promise, I will."

And your hand is wrapping around him, hot and wet and hard, all for you. Just for you. And his head is turned off, just sensations and feeling and you.

Just you.

"F-fuck, yes, please," so broken, fragile almost as ironic as it is. "Yes, pl-please, feels so go-good."

He doesn't last long and you don't know if it's from all the teasing you've administered or from how long he's been worked up for.

But you rather like the thought of him being sensitive enough that your voice and a few strokes is enough to bring him to the edge.

To have him pulsing in your hand while his arms wrap around your shoulders, blunt nails scraping into you skin as his hips thrust with reckless abandon.

His body quivering with pleasure as your hand forms a loose hole for him to fuck into, your thumb playing with the sensitive head of his dick.

"Please, please I need it, need it so bad," And he has no right sounding this good, looking this good while fucking into your hand like a goddamn dog. "Need it more than anything."

He always has been one for dramatics.

His head falls back against the wall, throat bobbing with the moan deep in his throat, fuck how the marks of your teeth stand out on the pale skin of his neck. Your lips permanent on his body for now, forever maybe if he'll let you keep replacing them.

"Fuck, Satoru," You free hand threads through his head, pushing his lips to meet yours, messy and slopping as he arches against you, hips thrusting erratically to match your pace. Keening when you nip at him, teeth tugging at his bottom lip, nails scratching at his scalp sending tingles down every part of his body.

He breaks away with a gasp and a cry when and only when he absolutely has to, eyes shining and chest heaving with breaths to fill his burning lungs.

And he's crying. And he's beautiful.

More beautiful than anyone or anything you've ever seen in your life.

"Shit, I'm close, m' so fuckin' close-!"

You’re half out of your mind and you couldn’t feel more sane. Like this was meant to happen-like he was meant to be yours. 

"Don' stop, please don't stop," he gasps, like you'd ever think about it, like you'd could even if you wanted to.

“Satoru,” And he shakes.

“Satoru,” And he sobs.

“Satoru,” And he breaks, head falling back as if in prayer, a finger pushing his chin up, clashing against a higher power he didn't think possible.

“My one and only Satoru.” Soft and sweet and just for him and only him. And he’s gone.

Ropes of cum spurt out, rope after rope, covering your hand and the floor. Covering his thighs and his stomach in a mess.

Everything feels fuzzy and his cheeks are pink. A stupid grin crossing his face as he melts, boneless in your arms. "I love you." He mutters, distantly, foggily.

Perhaps somewhere beneath the haze he thinks that maybe you've said the same back. But he isn't quite sure anymore. He needs to be sure.

Slowly, he's lowered onto the floor into a sitting position. The tile is cold against his bare skin but it's okay because you're still caressing him, holding his face in your hand, thumb wiping at his tears.

"You love me right?"

You leave for moment and a whines at the loss of you pressed against him. Even if it's only for a few seconds he feels lonely and empty without your touch.

But then you're back and you're wiping him down with a wet towel, cleaning off his skin so gently, as if he's made of glass of porcelain, like he something to be cherished and taken care of.

"Hey pretty boy, you good?" He recognizes your voice even throughout the cloud in his mind. He nods and you smile and he's melting all over again.

"Do you love me?"

You roll your eyes and for an awful second he thinks that maybe you're going to say no. But then you're pushing the hair off his forehead and kissing him so fucking gently he thinks he'll cry.

"I do love you Satoru."

And his heart is bursting-he swears it is, it's beating so fast and so hard he's absolutely sure that you can hear it and that the quiet laughs escaping your pretty lips is because you can tell how dumbly in love with you he is.

But that doesn't matter.

Because right now he's normal person and you're a normal person and nothing else will matter but the fact that he's your's now.

"I love you too, y'know?" He mumbles.

You kiss him again, and again, and again. On his forehead and his temples, his cheeks and the tip of his nose and each of his eyelids. You kiss everywhere on his face until his lips are pouted out and he lets out a little whine of frustration.

And then you kiss his lips. Barely a peck, too fast and short for his taste but he doesn't have time to complain as you pull him off the floor.

“C’mon pretty boy, let me bring you home.”

“Mmm,” He doesn’t move, boneless against you. “Will you fuck me again?”

You laugh, soft. “Like I’d be able to resist you.”

Nanami Kento, who enjoys it when you tug on his tie, forcing his mouth back to yours as you bounce frantically on his lap, chasing your high.

The same man who's impressive girth makes you feel utterly stuffed, stretching you to your absolute limits.

"That's it, my love," he always whispers, "Ride me just like that."

Nanami Kento, who can be gentle one minute, and the next, will throw you on your shared bed and fuck you senseless.

The same man whose hands grip your ass- spreading your cheeks as his tongue licks up and down your slit. That man who has his head between your legs for hours, making you cum so many times that your thighs shake and your toes curl- his mouth the perfect wet heat.

Nanami Kento, the one whose lips will be red and swollen when he emerges from between your legs, the same man who kisses you- the taste of your juices lingering on his tongue as he holds your face in his hands, the one whose fingers will caress your cheeks and whisper how much he loves the taste of you, "... Just like honey."

The same man who will fuck you until the sun rises- the one who will never stop until you cum so many times you pass out against his chest, his name the only word on your lips even as you slumber.

Nanami Kento, who without fail, always wakes up before you just so he can watch you sleep for a few moments before getting out of bed.

The same man who is still amazed that you're still here with him despite his dangerous occupation.

Nanami Kento, who makes you the perfect cup of coffee every morning. He spent weeks secretly learning your exact preference.

The same man who's frame curls protectively around you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he leans against the counter while you sip on your cup.

Nanami Kento, who keeps a small photo of you in his wallet. The same photo he takes out at times when he's in a mission, when he needs to ground himself and remember why he has to come back alive.

The same man whose eyes will always find yours, even in a crowd- the one who will always know when you need him and where.

Nanami Kento, who would give up everything he's built for himself just to live on a beach somewhere- anywhere- with you, his wife.

Dumb thing that would not leave my brain

Based on that one Gumball episode

god i hate anxiety so much like it's so inconvenient. 90% of the time i’m anxious, its bc of some dumb shit. like i feel so anxious i could cry and the reason is so dumb ugh i wish i was a clock or a chair.

i am grinding my teeth so hard my jaw is hurting bruh who decided that i would be a human without my consent. i wanted to be a pink and zebra coo-koo clock.

shout to non-human characters with emotional detachment and has a burning desire to feel alive and human but is a lil fucked up in the head. one of my favorite genders fr