#archive.

[slutla]

FIGHT IT OUT !┆SATORU GOJO

warnings. mdni. dry huming + cumming in pants. established relationships. play fighting. mating press. gojo a degenerate. switched formats cuz it’s 2 long 4 a drabble </3 soz

summary. playfighting with gojo somehow ends with you in a mating press.

Satoru Gojo is built like a fucking tank and it’s no exaggeration—broad-shouldered, firm, and heavy. Built with a density that makes the air around him feel thin. It’s most obvious when he’s fresh from the gym, black compression shirt stretched over his frame, tracing the hard line of his chest and the way his biceps coil with the slightest twitch of his fingers.

It’s why you keep baiting him into these meaningless little skirmishes—soft provocations just to feel the sheer, overwhelming force of him. To let him catch your wrists and remind you exactly how easily he can fold you into the floor.

Your lungs burn already. You’re shoving, palms flat against the unyielding fabric of his shirt, straining until your muscles shake. But it’s useless. There’s a pronounced imbalance in physical strength, not that you’re complaining (obviously), but he could at least pretend there isn’t and budge a little, for the sake of your dignity.

“Shit, ‘toru,” you grunt, the words squeezed out of your chest. “How much… do you even weigh? Feels like im trying to push a fuckin’ sumo wrestler off me or some shit.”

He lets out a huff of a laugh then looks down at you with a lazy smirk. His chest’s rising and falling in a steady rhythm that mocks your ragged gasps. You’re throwing your entire weight into him, and it barely registers as a nuisance.

“Baby are you serious? A sumo wrestler? That’s harsh, I’m definitely more aerodynamic than that.” he murmurs, playfully whilst continuing to watch you struggle against his solid frame with a look of secret amusement. “C’mon. Put your back into it, I’m barely even trying y’know?”

He sounds too pleased with himself. Your brows pinch together, jaw tightening as your teeth grind in contained irritation. This was your idea, but your competitive streak is now insisting this was, in fact, a bad idea. Frankly, it’s the tone you can’t stand, speaks like he’s graciously humoring a toddler. You want to hurt him. Or, failing that, at least remind him that gravity is supposed to apply to him, too.

So, you move. You hook your arms around him, your legs following suit as you try to wrench the momentum and roll him. For a split second, he shifts—and there is hope—then his hand, massive and quick, snaps around your ankles mid-air and hope is fleeting.

He forces your legs up and back, folding you like a pretzel until your heels are practically tucked behind your ears. It’s a position you’ve been put in many times, but not outside of the bedroom. It makes your skin crawl with heat. You’re exposed, crotch pressed into his. Your tight athletic shorts cling to your puffy folds and offer zero protection from the pressure of him.

“Okay, Satoru, what the fuck?” you choke out, blood rushing to your head.

“Shit reflex,” he laughs, sending a vibration through your trapped body. His crystalline eyes are dark, tracing the way you’re pinned underneath him. “My bad, baby.”

“You’re a dick. Let go.”

Naturally, he ignores you entirely and does the opposite with an infuriating grin that has him looking way too attractive for someone being this much of a prick.

“How about in a couple seconds, hm?”, His grip on you tightens and he hitches his hips forward, growing cock rubbing right against your clothed-cunt, “She feels soft. Haven’t rubbed up on her like this in a while, miss it.”

You look up and his white hair’s disheveled from and there’s a deep flush on the tips of his ears. He’s so pretty. It sucks how that face lets him get away with being such a degenerate.

“Fine,” you breathe out, the word caught in your throat. “Just make it quick. My legs are gonna cramp if you keep me locked like this.”

You don’t need to tell him twice ‘cuz he’s already humping into your pussy like an animal in heat. His sweats are thick, but they do nothing to hide the rock-hard length of him. Each time he drives his hips home, he’s grazing your clit through the dampening layers. He’s got your pretty pussy leaking like a broken faucet—slick patch spreading on the fabric. Each blunt shove against your folds drags a broken, messy string of moans out of you that you can't even try to swallow.

“Shit, feels so good,” he groans into your ear, body getting heavier, slumping on top of you, “we…fuck—we should play fight more often. Yeah? How’s that sound?”

He presses his mouth against yours, tasting like fruity flavored gum and sweets. You’re swallowing his moans, your own breath hitching as he keeps up his bruising pace. Then one final, harsh shove and he goes rigid. His eyes go semi-wide, pupils blown out and unfocused, fixed on nothing as his brain shorts out. Before you realize there’s already a heavy dampness flooding the space between you, white stringy liquid soaking through the fabric of his sweats and bleeding right into your own clothes.

He doesn't move for a long minute, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Then, slowly, he lifts his head and lets out a long exhale, his chests heaving and his signature smirk replaced by a look of daze.

"Well," he rasps, a lazy, lopsided grin slowly pulling at his mouth. "Think I’ll give you the win on that one. Though, you're a mess, babe. Completely soaked."

He pulls back just an inch, cartoonishly blue eyes tracking the damp mess of your shorts, "Pretty sure you're gonna need a shower to get all that off you.” He pauses, smiling at you cat-like, “Want to go see if I can fit in there with you? I promise to help with the hard-to-reach spots."

+ another dry humping post act shocked. ty sichee 4 proofreading @ouist

+ hihihi @briarfaerie @thceseus

[devoutjunk]

ugh it’s not gonna be out until June at the earliest & maybe only in print even then but. i cannot wait to be able to share my central PA townie/VT transplant-core Dream of Angus retelling that’s gonna be in Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet. it took me like. 4-5 years to write & actually I think gets close to articulating some of the messy complicated feelings i have about Home as an experience/ideal; about homecoming as it’s portrayed in myth and folklore; about the way we’re supposed to let ourselves be swallowed up in Romantic love when our bonds w/ friends and family and the places we live can be just as necessary and sustaining; about inherited curses and bodies and the impossibility/necessity of curse-breaking. about what it might look like for a Hero to choose a Heroine he could never own completely. About embracing each other in whatever form they take (swan, snake, burning brand etc), stepping into the curse and making a home there. and why not? they’ve done it in more difficult places. they’ve survived more difficult selves.

[pasqualinas]

Listinha de headcanons e curiosidades aleatórias sobre Pasqualina Capel-D'Angelo.

Tem um gato sem raça definida chamado "Pallone", pois ele era o filhote mais gorducho dentre os irmãos, e o seu gatinho mais novo, um bobtail americano, chamado "Verne".

Não se assuste ao esbarrar com um vulto loiro correndo por aí às 5h da manhã, não é um fantasma, é só Pasqualina colocando o stress pra fora.

Além de correr, também gosta de pular corda, mas foge de academia tal qual o diabo foge da cruz.

Rosa é a sua cor favorita, mas já não usa tanto nas roupas quanto costumava usar na adolescência. Prefere deixar para os acessórios ou esmalte.

Sempre desconversa quando alguém pergunta se ela usa babyliss. (Ela usa sim).

Uma alma invejosa de Khadel já inventou uma fake news de que o cabelo de Lina era falso e que ela usava uma peruca loira importada, por isso parecia tão real.

É alérgica à amendoins.

Quase reprovou na quinta série por conta de Matemática e seus irmãos adoram usar isso para provocá-la.

Tem uma scooter rosa da marca Vespa, sente-se muito descolada quando dá carona para alguém na sua garupa.

Quer muito ser mãe de menina e já tem o nome escolhido: Elisabetta. É o nome da avó materna que faleceu quando Lina tinha 22 anos.

Não gosta de filmes de ação, o único que tolera é Velozes e Furiosos pois tem um crush no The Rock.

Já cogitou estudar Psicologia como curso superior.

Precisou usar aparelho ortodôntico na adolescência e hoje em dia odeia ir ao dentista.

Seus livros favoritos são: A Bíblia, Pollyana Moça, Cândido e A Divina Comédia.

O top 5 do seu Spotify Wrapped de 2024 foi composto de:

Cruel Summer, de Taylor Swift.

All I Need Is You, de Hillsong United.

Medellin, de Sofiane Pamart.

Are You Willing?, pt. 2 de Anna Miriam Brown

Canta Ancora, de Arisa.

@khdpontos

[ayn-alwyns]

Blood Moon Crown - JP Dub [6:55]

Your ears? I have better uses for them.

[00:00]

*CREAKING SFX*

[00:07]

*FOOTSTEPS, DOOR CLOSING*  You’re back.

[00:17]

…Why are your hands so cold? They’re almost as cold as mine. Go warm yourself up by the fireplace

[00:32]

*SHUFFLING SFX*

[00:40]

I’ll just sit here. Why are you looking at me like that? You know the reason too well.

[00:55]

*SHIFTS CLOSER* You say you’re warm already? Fine.

[01:08]

*INHALE* Why is there a fireplace in a vampire’s manor? Because I have a Miss Witch at home who needs to stay warm and eat cooked food.

[01:27]

Me? *SOFT SNORT* I’ve already had dinner.

[01:35]

*SHAKY INHALE AND EXHALE* But if my dinner were you… *KISS SFX* I’d not start from your ears. They’re too tender. I have better uses for them.

[02:05]

*SOFT MOAN, KISS SFX* As for your neck… It’s more convenient.

[02:23]

*ANOTHER SOFT MOAN, KISS SFX*

[02:31]

Isn’t it curious? Humans kiss on the neck to show affection, but when a vampire goes for the neck, *SOFT GASP, SHAKY EXHALE* they’re usually preying on their food.

[03:08]

*GASP* Don’t get cocky.

[03:18]

*FOOTSTEPS, DRAGGING SFX* From the wrist, you ask? *SCOFF* That’ll work, too.

[03:33]

*LOW HUM, KISS SFX* But it could leave blood stains… and it could be painful. So let’s keep it the way it is.

[03:58]

*SHIFTING* Why are your hands still cold? The fire’s still burning. Go and make yourself some warm milk.

[04:12]

*FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING* What do you mean? You’re expecting to become my dinner? How can you… expect something like that?

[04:34]

*SOFT LAUGH* Someday you will be. But not today.

[04:45]

*FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING* Because blood is only the tastiest when you drink it warm. Now, off you go.

[05:10]

*FOOTSTEPS LEAVING, DOOR CREAKING, FAST FOOTSTEPS FOLLOWING* Why are you following me?

[05:24]

You want to… come inside? What are you thinking? Of course I sleep on a bed too! My bed is nothing special, just like the one in your room.

[05:49]

*SOFT GASP, SHAKY INHALE* Uh, stop… Cut it out. *VOICE SHAKING* Or I fear I’d do something I’d regret. 

[06:05]

*ANOTHER SHAKY BREATH* There. Happy now?  *SOFT LAUGH* Are you really not afraid? Fine. You can stay here.

[06:23]

The thing you’re expecting is not going to happen. But I won’t guarantee anything else.

[06:40]

*FOOTSTEPS LEAVING, DOOR SHUT*

[boyobjectifier]

i want them to slap me so hard it bruises my face.

i want them to hit me so hard that i flinch when they reach up or move their hand near my face.

i want them to backhand me so hard my lip splits.

i want to experience the worst pain at the hands of my sweet, usually gentle, boyfriend.

and i want them to love every second of it.

[mutthq]

i get weary and sick of trying, i'm tired of living, but scared of dying. — predominantly features traditional folk, country, soul, and blues.

[obstinaterixatrix]

[dreamily] I’d love to delete my public twitter