Gojosbabyma - Nala - Tumblr Blog

Ramon Tikaram as Charon Stephen Dillane as Prometheus Kaos (2024–)

someone just said that uraume being born a man originally and being reborn in a woman’s body while sukuna treated them the exact same shows he loves them for their soul and not their body and i am climbing all over the walls right now. my bisexual king.

BUCKY and BUCK MASTERS OF THE AIR (2024)

JOHN "BUCKY" EGAN in MASTERS OF THE AIR PART TWO ↳ do you know what this is missing? vocals.

Remember Khaliifah Marcellus Williams! A black Muslim man falsely accused. Remember that he's innocent. Remember that the governor of Missouri, mike Parson who had the opportunity to save this man's life, decided not to. Remember all but three supreme court justices decided his life wasn't worth saving either. Remember his face. Remember his Last words. And remember how fucked up this country is

Rest in peace Marcellus

Series Masterlist

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Kofi

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Female Reader, Choso Kamo x Female Reader

Summary: Pro-skater, all around fuckboy and your casual fling of a year, Suguru never hesitates to remind you that you are a hookup and a hookup only. When a tired, pig-tail wearing pro-skater threatens to fill the role Suguru has refused multiple times, will Suguru finally step up to the plate?

Genre: Skater AU

Story Warning: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Toxic Behavior, Jealousy, Jealous Behavior, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Possessive Sex, Possessive Behavior

Suguru Art: YUD

Choso Art: @affectbitter

Chapters:

Drop-In(1) ◦ Frontside 180(2) ◦ Nose Grind(3) ◦ Vert Ramp(4) ◦ Hardflip(5) ◦ Double Grab(6) ◦ 50-50 Grind(7) ◦ Nosebone (8) ◦ Powerslide (9) ◦ Forward Flip (10) ◦ Kickflip (11) ◦ Skate Lessons (11.5) ◦ Chapter 12 (In progress)

i really think jason is the type of guy who'd grab you by the jaw, brush his lips against yours and just when you part your lips to kiss him, he'd ask, "Can i?" and then give you the most earth shattering kind of kiss that leaves your lips puffy and your chest heaving when he'd pull away- that's it. send post.

The Six Triple Eight (2024) dir. Tyler Perry

Look at you. You are a rare jewel.

QUEEN CHARLOTTE: A BRIDGERTON STORY | s01 ep06 ‘CROWN JEWELS’

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you're welcome

john egan be normal about your best friend's girl challenge

status: failed

A Wing and a Prayer, Harry Crosby // Masters of the Air, Donald Miller // 100th Bomb Group Foundation, Gale Cleven // Masters of the Air, Donald Miller // A Wing and a Prayer, Harry Crosby // Making of Masters of the Air, Callum Turner // A Wing and a Prayer, Harry Crosby // A Wing and a Prayer, Harry Crosby // 100th Bomb Group Foundation

MASTERS OF THE AIR insp, insp, insp, insp

“I learned that I got my personality from my dad because he was a little wild and crazy,” she said. “He had that fun personality. People were drawn to him not only because of his sense of humor but because he demanded respect. He was very good at what he did.” (x)

John 'Bucky' Egan's morning

(in)correct mota

Look, um, I'm gonna go out today and I'm gonna drink. I'm gonna have some fun. I would like to do that with you.

Beyoncé photographed by Bryce Anderson for GQ (2024)

"I create at my own pace, on things that I hope will touch other people. I hope my work encourages people to look within themselves and come to terms with their own creativity, strength, and resilience. I focus on storytelling, growth, and quality. I’m not focused on perfectionism. I focus on evolution, innovation, and shifting perception. Working on the music for Cowboy Carter and launching this exciting new project feel nothing like prison, nor a burden. In fact, I only work on what liberates me. It is fame that can at times feel like prison. So, when you don’t see me on red carpets, and when I disappear until I have art to share, that’s why".

GRASSLAND ROMANCE | SYLUS.

SYNOPSIS ──── he's proven the strongest again and again. feeble things such as praise, flocking and batting lashes barely faze a warrior like him. but if the champion above all is barely moved by attempts of flirtation and trifling what else would he focus his attention on? you, of course. but taking down the strongest warrior is no easy feat and will require you using some... unorthodox methods to claim your own victory.

CONTENT WARNINGS ──── manhandling, rough fucking, voyeurism, outdoor sex, finger sucking, choking, some overstimulation if you squint, slight oral (f. receiving), slight belly bulge, aftercare, unprotected sex, sylus is actually a softie, use of petnames, slight praise.

NAYA'S INNER MONOLOGUE ──── it's here! the first piece of wander in wonder and i am so excited to hear what you all think of it. sylus' card had me so hyped and this turned out far longer than what i originally planned it to be. i started writing and i just couldn't stop or help myself 😌 i thoroughly enjoyed writing for warrior sylus and i would love to explore more of him in the future with different dynamics as well. i would love to hear what you guys think of warrior sylus as well and which type of ideas you'd like to explore for him! with all that out of the way, enjoy!

please note that the setting, tribes, traditions and culture in this story is fictional. any similarities to real life tribes is purely coincidental. this story does follow the plot of the 'grassland romance' card but does deviate a bit.

WORD COUNT ──── 5.2K words

LINKS ──── read this story on ao3 here.

A true warrior stands above all, both in stature, status and, of course, in demand for their hand in marriage. The grasslands were known to be merciless, a true test of character and strength, led by the elders and guided through destiny.

You've always been compliant with the rules of the tribe. You knew how to follow orders, appease the elders and carry your tribe’s name high. With this obedience came wandering eyes and questions about your hand — some were far less obvious than others when trying to impress you but their attempts remained futile when your eyes were glued to one warrior only.

Sylus.

Not only did he come from one of the most infamous tribes but had managed to build himself a reputation as one of the most fearless hunters, a bachelor to be fawned over and a warrior that was following in his father’s footsteps to become the next chief. The grannies around the village loved him and he was surprisingly good with the younger ones when he was swept up in the list of duties he had to complete before sundown. You’ve grown used to only getting glimpses of him, accustomed to flashes of silver hair, red eyes and a teasing smile that reminded you all too much of a cat that just got the cream. It also didn’t help that his tribes’ tents were set up right next to yours, which gave you even more of a window to ogle him from a distance.

When night fell and brought a dark blanket with it, that was another story. Away fell his facade of strength and bravery, leaving the once triumphant and unbeatable warrior laid bare, stripped of his titles, the expectations of his future, he became nothing but another heartbeat that filled the night air. You’ve come to know this vulnerable side of him ever since he found you outside your tent many moons ago, approaching your hunched figure in the darkness, a soft glow of the lantern he carried washing over you like a streak of stolen sunlight. He didn’t poke or prod when he saw those glistening tears on your cheeks, he didn’t fire question after question at you. He simply sat down next to you, perhaps a little too close for comfort at that moment, and listened. Whether it was silence filling the gaps between your bodies or the low lull of his voice that soothed whatever worries lingered in your body, he somehow understood you. And would come to understand you better than anyone else, sometimes even better than yourself.

The sand bites your skin as you settle yourself on the outskirts of the arena, scooting a bit further back till your back rested against one of the stray rocks. Harsh rays of sunlight beat down on your face, causing you to squint as two figures take their places in the middle of the arena. The cheers from the surrounding crowds is near deafening, each person yelling out a different name for who they think would take victory. Annual clashes like these were nothing new and offered friendly competition between tribes, helped to build spirit and offered the elders and chiefs a chance to perceive who would form part of the future leaders. Being chosen by them would allow individuals to leave their current tribes, find brides and establish their own tribes, within the camp or outside of it.

Friendly, however, was not part of Sylus’ vocabulary as he steps into the sand arena, adjusting the leather around his wrists. Even from where you’re sitting you can see the bracelet cinched around his one wrist, tassels of blue and red delicately woven together and finished with a metal clasp, a gift from you to him, a reminder your unwavering support to him and his endeavors. His brows are cinched together tightly and you can see the muscles in his jaw clench and relax as he squares up his opponent. While the man was thicker and on the stockier side Sylus easily towered over him with a few inches, which meant that Sylus would be faster and quicker on his feet, a tactic he often used for success and one that had brought him many victories in the past.

You make another feeble attempt at swallowing the lump in your throat as the two men circle each other, drawing your knees to your chest and half heartedly covering your face with your hands. It wasn’t that you doubted Sylus and his fighting capabilities, but you absolutely hated watching him fight. There were times were he stood victorious over other warriors, and then there were times where he was spared after being beaten to a pulp. And it would be you that tended to his wounds in the middle of the night when he crawled his way to your tent, the two of you decked in shards of moonlight, your chastising whispers of warning falling upon deaf ears.

“How else am I supposed to defend your honor?” he’d always answer with a sly grin and a slight wince when you punched his chest.

You shift in the sand once more when one of the elders step into the ring, announcing the commencement of the battle and the little stitched pouch burns in your pocket. It was incredible how such a small item could hold so much power over you, a reminder of your feelings for him you had fought so hard to push down for so long. Would it change things between you two? Would he feel the same? Or would he push you away? Just thinking about the outcome makes your stomach twist itself into an even tighter knot and you pray that you’ll be able to keep your breakfast down before the battles are over.

── ✦

The dust settles. The sun hangs low in the sky and for a fleeting moment in the grasslands everything is quiet. Not the birds nor the grasshoppers dare to even move as everyone awaits with bated breaths for the outcome.

You can see Sylus’ shadow in the red sand, the taught muscle of his shoulders, the heavy rise and fall of his chest. There's a thin trail of blood seeping from the side of his face and his knuckles are beaten bloody and bruised. But he remains standing, his opponent tossed to the side on the outside of the arena, which meant he was the victor.

A breath escapes him and then another before he raises a single fist into the air, declaring his victory. A second later the crowd roars with celebration and swarm into the makeshift arena to hoist him into the air, hollers and shouts traveling through the dry air as they begin chanting his name. A smile tugs at your lips as you watch the scene playing out in front of you, lifting him was no easy feat and he wasn't exactly the lightest warrior to lift. The women flock towards him, showering him with praise and building his pride, yet you dig your feet into the earth and remain where you are, watching it unfold. You doubted Sylus would even notice your absence in the celebration, too caught up in festivities and celebration of winning his final title as the top warrior of his tribe.

Hours later, after the sun had slipped from the sky and said its goodbyes, painting a perfect scene for fireside celebration, does Sylus find you. His boots crunch underneath the sand and in his hands are two bowls of amber liquid, booze he had managed to steal from the elders’ secret stash. You're so wrapped up in your own thoughts that you barely hear him approach, knees drawn to your chest as you gaze out into the empty fields that stretched as far as the horizons.

Sylus sets down the drinks before he clears his throat. “This certainly doesn't look like a celebration," he muses and he watches as you jump to your feet, barely taking a moment to observe him before you're launching yourself into his arms with a happy squeal and an and exclamation of, "You did it! You won!”

This felt like home.

Sylus allows you to cling to him for a few seconds more before he gingerly sets you back down on the ground, however the moment he does a small little pouch dangling from between your fingers catches his eyes. One of his brows quirk up curiously and before you know it he snatches the delicate material from your fingers, swinging it back and forth in front of your face.

“Oh? What’s this?”

For a moment you blink, trying to bring whatever he's holding into focus before the skin of your face grows warm and you're snatching you're hand out to grab it. But Sylus is faster, taller and stronger, easily keeping the little pouch out of your reach, studying it curiously. “Let me take a good look at it," he hums, crimson eyes studying the intricate details, the smirk on his lips only growing when he realizes exactly what it is.

The grasslands did things differently, traditions that followed centuries of lineages, passed on from your elders to the next generation. Confessions had their own special way of happening and often involved gifting the person you loved with a special item from your tribe, signifying the want of a union. In your case it would be the little good luck pouch you’ve had since you were a little girl.

“Sylus!” you huff and make another desperate grab for the pouch but its futile, he’s as hard as a rock and barely moves, even with the flurry of shoves and smacks you send his way. Amusement twinkles in his eyes, a glint that only grows brighter the more you work yourself up over the incident. “Give it back!”

Sylus raises a brow and tilts his head as he glances between you and the object in his hands. “Why should I? Isn’t this a reward for all my hard work? I did win, after all.” He leans down until your noses almost touch. “You do know what my victory entails, don’t you? A hefty reward and the option to choose my bride… Hm… I wonder who I’ll pick. After all, there are so many to choose from.”

Each word is wound with something teasing and it seems to be your last straw. You muster as much strength as you possible can and shove at his chest, intent on taking him down. What you didn’t plan on was him grabbing your wrist and taking you right down with him. He lets out a small grunt as he lands on the tarp beneath him, your figures hidden in the darkness of the night that’s settled over the grasslands, shadowed by the huts and tents, captured in a moment of stolen privacy and heated breaths.

His weight cushions most of the small tumble and you end up conveniently balanced in his lap, your body bowed over his, both of you breathing heavily. You can feel his hand at your waist, tender fingers brushing against skin, despite years of hunting and protecting, calloused from fighting, drawing up and down the curve of your body, seeking bare skin. You don’t want to look at his face right now, you can’t bring yourself to because you know exactly what expression he was going to wear.

Once again Sylus has managed to win, like he always does, inside the arena and out of it.

A shaky breath escapes you as you push yourself upright, far too aware of how you're balancing in his lap at the moment, trying to keep yourself from sitting down with your full weight. Your gaze bounces from his face, down to his neck and chest where he's still decked in his gear from the challenge earlier, then down to where your thighs are splayed over his hips. Sylus watches you intently, no move or shift of yours going ignored.

A breath of silence washes over the two of you, surrounded by the distant sound of celebration and drums, children playing, combined with crickets and toads singing their own nighttime lullaby.

Sylus is the first to break the silence. “The elders spoke of this. A girl gives this as a gift to her beloved,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble, twirling your pouch between his fingers. Your hands tighten into small fists on the surface of his chest. “Is this your confession? Or mine?"

At your silence he adjusts you on his lap, pulling you down hard against him until you whimper and you can feel the hardness of his cock beneath you, making his displease with your silence clear. Strands of silver hair fall across his eyes and in the low glow of the lantern just a few feet away from the two of you makes his eyes seem ten times darker.

“Do you have a lover?"

You shiver, it runs from the tip of your skull all the way down your back before you murmur quietly, “Yes, I do. Is that a problem?"

This time Sylus looks fat more satisfied than before. He snatches the little pouch up before he tucks it into his pocket for safe keeping, grinning at the scowl that takes over your features. “Then I can't return it. You know how the saying goes — whoever takes it, keeps it.”

You open and close your mouth multiple times, all of a sudden feeling like a fish caught out of the water, your mind running a mile a minute as you attempt to find the right words to string together in retaliation. But you come up empty handed and you want to scold yourself for allowing Sylus to take your breath away so easily. In the back of your mind you’re still far too aware of his aching hardness beneath you, the way he shifts his hips every now and then as a subtle reminder of yearn for you.

There’s a fleeting moment when the two of you simply just gaze at each other, his eyes drinking every little aspect of your expression in, admiring you with silent appreciation and committing your expression to his memory, afraid that he might forget if he looked away for too long. You waver, wait, hover and hold your breath.

His lips meet yours. Hungrily. Sylus kisses you as if he wishes to drown in your taste, refusing to pull away from your lips, even if it’s just for a moment, even if it’s just to breathe. You whine against his mouth when he gives your lips a playful nip, just to draw a reaction from you. The kiss is dizzying and intense all at once as he takes and takes and takes every last one of your senses from you, overwhelming you in everything that was so distinctly him. Your arms sling themselves around his neck, pressing your body closer to his as a soft arch falls across your back. You can feel fabric, bone and leather press against you, your brows furrowing slightly at the layers of clothing separating the two of you, something that doesn’t go missed by him.

Sylus’ lips, hot and hungry, wet with a mess of your spit and his own, find a trail from the corner of your lips to your pulse point, kiss along your jaw and then travel south to your collarbone while his hands busy themselves with your robes. He’s quicker than you expected, need bleeding through each and every action as he works to undress you to his liking. The cold air hits your nipples first, the buds perking before he brings one hand up to fondle your breast. The sheer size of his hands makes your shiver and you watch through a heavy lidded gaze as he easily cups one of your breasts in a calloused and rough palm, rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger.

When you writhe in his lap, rolling your hips back and forth against his aching cock does he groan, his eyes flickering shut for a brief moment before he manages to focus his gaze back on you. “Someone’s getting a little restless,” he muses and tilts his head, observing you like a predator would its prey. “I wonder if I can help with that.”

Abandoning the hold on your breast does Sylus trail his hand back up your body until his fingertips meet your quivering lips. He traces the supple skin, admiring how they have swollen slightly from his kisses before he hums. “Open for me.” The command is faint but heeds warning, daring you to challenge his instructions. Without a second thought your lips part and you open your mouth just wide enough for him to slide two of his fingers inside. Sylus watches in awe as you suckle on his fingers, wetting the digits with your spit, your eyes wide and glossy as you stare up at him. His chest warms. You were too precious, so eager to please and be pleasured.

“That’s it,” he hums. “Get them nice and wet for me.”

You double your efforts, the obscene sounds only further igniting an already lit fire in the pit of your stomach. A muffled whine escapes you when he pulls his fingers from your mouth abruptly, ready to protest but it falls short when he uses those same wet digits to trace right around the edge of your panties. Your thighs tighten and you fight the urge to grind down against his fingers, your hands curling around his shoulders, digging into hard muscle to stay still. Sylus is wordless as he tugs your already soaked panties aside and strokes his digits between your folds. He’s silent but his expression gives him away - you’ve always enjoyed reading him like an open book, just as he has done the same throughout your entire life.

The moment he nudges your clit you knew you were done for, your self restraint and temperance flickering out into nothingness. Your head falls back and your lashes flutter as you give into the sensation, indulging in the steadily growing pleasure. Sylus hums appreciatively as you grind down against his fingers and seems to be enjoying making a mess of you, glancing down at the way your spit mixes with the pretty little strings of your slick, nudging your clit with the pad of his thumb every now and then.

“I wonder…” he begins, mumbling mostly to himself as he continues to slide his fingers between your folds, dark eyes dancing over your face before his free hand creeps up your body, tenderly stroking the sensitive skin of your neck. He doesn’t grasp, doesn’t take hold of it, simply admires it with his touch, pulling your further and further into his lustful trap. “Do you get this wet for just anyone?”

Your brows furrow and you can feel a reply sitting on the tip of your tongue but you can’t bring yourself to answer, not when he’s teasing you like this, dangling the pleasure you so desperately want right in front of your face. He tuts, shaking his head like he was scolding a child and within moments has his hand wrapped around your throat, jerking your head forward so you could meet his gaze.

His fingers still, hovering right above your sticky clit. “I’ll ask again… Do you… get this wet… for anyone else?” He pauses between every few words, spelling his question out clearly with a low rumble of his voice.

Your bottom lip trembles and you shake your head furiously. Realizing he won’t give you the pleasure you want if you don’t answer you manage to finally croak out a feeble little, “No.”

A ghostly grin takes hold of his lips, the corners tugging up in satisfaction before he removes his hand from between your thighs. “Good. Because I’m about to ruin you for anyone else.”

Before you can even think about challenging his promise Sylus flips the two of you over, handling you as if you weighed nothing but a feather, molding your body however he saw fit. With his hips separating your legs, giving him the most perfect view of your pussy does he make quick work of his pants, tugging the woven material far down enough to free his cock. The sight alone sends an ache through you, flaring up a need that you couldn’t deny any longer. The tip of his cock oozes with pearls of precum, the tip flushed the prettiest shade of red, two or three veins running from his tip to the base, connecting skin adorned with a thin trail of hair. The longer you stare at him the more intense the ache between your legs become.

It’s as if he can sense your need, cooing at you when you rut your hips up the moment he closes the distance between the two of you. He shushes every weak moan that leaves your lips, coating the tip of his cock in your juices, sliding his length between your folds and nudging at the tip of your clit every now and then. “I’ll give you want you want, just be patient. You do want to be a good girl for me, do you?”

You eagerly shake your hand and have to bite down into the palm of your hand to muffle the series of obscene moans that threaten to escape you the moment he starts sinking into you. It’s like nothing you have ever felt before, you feel full, but also as if you were about to implode at the same time. He’s lengthy and girthy, your walls clamping down on every generous inch he gives you, both of his hands pressing down on your hips to keep you in one place as he gives and gives and gives. He grits his teeth, jaw clenched and brows knitted, a picture perfect scene you vowed yourself to never forget. The muscles in his abdomen clench , drawing tighter and tighter the deeper he sinks into you and for a fleeting moment you wonder if his control is slipping as fast as yours is.

“Breathe.”

You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until Sylus utters those words to you. The cold bite that nighttime brought is nothing but a distant memory, your skin burning. Your eyes dart across his face, over the broad and thick muscle of his shoulders and arms, down to where the two of you are now connected. The way you felt around him, how your cunt tightened every time he nudged his hips forward in the slightest was enough to feel lightheaded. Everything that happened today becomes nothing but a brief flickering thought in his mind, he barely pays any mind to the distant sounds of the other tribe members, but he can see in your eyes that you’re still worried about getting caught.

“Don’t focus on them,” he murmurs, one of his hands tenderly nudging the swell of your cheek, the warmth of his palm spreading across your skin. Your heart flutters. “Focus on me.”

Never in your life could you have imagined your breath would be stolen like this. Sylus makes good of his promise and tilts his hips back, all the way until nothing but the tip of his cock is nudging your folds before he thrust back in again. Each thrust grows stronger than the last and before long he's pounding you without any inhibition, driving his cock as deep as he was able to reach. Every move of his prompts stars to cloud your vision and you have to dig your nails into the taunt muscle of his arms to keep yourself grounded, taking whatever he was willing to give you. And Sylus was more than willing to provide.

You had long bid farewell to your self control, letting your moans and whimpers escape freely into the night air, only for them to be snatched and swallowed by Sylus’ mouth, kissing you deeply until your lungs burned for oxygen. He doesn’t slow down or hold back, forcing his bodyweight behind each thrust until you’re sure you might find bruises the next morning. Each muscle in his body strains with the movements, a delicious sight for you to consume.

“You’re so tight,” he growls between your mouths, nipping at your bottom lip in what seems to be a warning when your cunt clenches around him, gripping him like a vice and sucking him in further. “Fuck. Don’t do that.”

There are small tears gleaming at him in the corner of your eyes and your nails sting but the pleasure seems to be consuming each one of his senses that he can’t help but focus on nothing else but your pussy and how you’re drawing him in. “I c-can’t help it!” you hiccup, squeezing your eyes shut as you cling helplessly to him. Your body rocks with each sharp thrust and if it weren’t for his solid hold on you, you wouldn’t have been able to stay grounded.

Sylus abandons the bruising hold he has on one of your hips in favor of snaking that very hand down your body until it reaches your lower abdomen. For a moment he does nothing but hold his hand there, his pace never faltering before he pushes down. And hard.

You squeal. The pleasure feels as if it’s been multiplied by a ten fold, ecstasy burning your veins until you're convinced you might just set alight. Your moans grow higher in pitch, mingling with the deep and raspy groans that tumble from his mouth every now and then. Your toes curl and your body arches closer to him, as if you can’t get close enough, as if you can’t get enough. You want to be consumed by him.

“Feel that?” he rasps and he sounds just as breathless as you are, driving his hips forward in another brutal thrust that has you nearly screaming his name. He spreads his fingers and for a fleeting moment when you glance down you can see your skin of your lower abdomen bulging, a testament to the sheer size and force of him. Sweat beads at his hairline and his eyes have somehow become ten shades darker, blurring the lines of pleasure and pain for you until you weren’t sure how you were still holding onto your sanity. “No one will ever get close to fucking you the way I do. Do you understand that?”

Your throat is dry and you don’t think you can speak, even if you tried to. So you settle on nodding, giving in to the pleasure until you were burning from the inside out. The coil in your stomach winds itself with every thrust and the tighter you get around him the harder he seems to fuck.

“C’mon,” he grits out, grinding against your pelvis before he resumes his previous pace, watching the way his cock bulges against your abdomen, the way your pussy flutters around him, your juices staining his cock. “Give me everything. Give it to me. Be mine.”

The moment the rough pads of his fingertips meet your tender and aching clit you knew you coudn’t hold on any longer. Your control and self restraint had been stretched to its limit and all that was left now was for you to surrender and give in. Your orgasm is blinding, your back arches, your toes curl and his names seems to be the only few syllables your mouth is able to create as you fall headfirst into euphoria.

Sylus, unable to fend off his own orgasm any longer, especially not when you’ve gotten impossibly tighter around him, gives into the pleasure, giving one final harsh thrust into your dripping heat, his head bowing as he releases. Welcome warmth fills you, your mind wrapped in a hazy state of radiant reverie, his cum seeping into your pulsing cunt, filling every inch with his seed and allowing none to go to waste. Your body still trembling with the after effects of your orgasm and your gaze is unsteady, skin heated and flushed, but somehow Sylus keeps going, rutting into you with much smaller and slower thrusts, ensuring that not one drop of his cum would escape, his hips moving on their own accord, ignoring how painful overstimulation had started to settle in for both of you.

It’s only when you shove weakly at his chest that he finally stills, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath as he rides out the last waves of aftershock. You're still coming to your senses when he slips out of you, hearing you whine in protest of feeling so empty before he bows before you, settles his face right in front of your pussy and gives you one long, lingering lick, collecting both of your shared juices on his tongue before he straightens.

Your senses return ever so slowly, one by one, and you manage to finally bring him into your focus. His hair is sweatier than before, the strands hanging messily over his eyes and his chest is adorned with small beads of perspiration and sweat. He makes a fond noise in the back of his throat when your eyes ultimately meet his and he reaches a hand out to nudge at your cheek. This time around his touch is far more gentle than before and he gazes at you with something you can’t quite place because no one has looked at you that way before. He seems determined to soak up this stolen moment of bliss with you, admiring your body with soft hearted touches and whispered strings of praise.

He helps you dress, each movement slow and concise, ensuring nothing was amiss in your appearance before he slipped his softening cock back into his pants and stands. You make an attempt to do the same, but your legs give in the moment you try to do so and you’re left pouting on the tarp as you stare up at him.

Sylus grins in amusement, raising one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “What? Can’t walk?”

Your expression scrunches into a playful scowl. “No thanks to a certain someone.”

A laugh rumbles in his chest, a sound that you could never get tired of and Sylus makes a show of pondering his options. “You poor thing. What shall you do? Oh no… I think that’s the sound of the elders rounding everyone up for dinner.”

You whine in response, craning your neck to try and catch a glimpse of the other tribe members, worried that everyone would be gathering for dinner. Before you have the chance to attempt standing again Sylus wraps his arms around your thighs and scoops you up, hauling you over one of his broad shoulders.

You huff, small fists pounding at his back but it’s futile. “What are you doing? Put me down!” It’s a soft wail in the relentless stubbornness of his pride, knowing that your little protest would get you nowhere.

Sylus nudges one of his hips up, readjusting you with ease before he says, “How else am I going to show them that I’ve chosen my bride? I have to show them that I’ve already chosen a lover.” His voice drops. “Besides, I don’t think you’d be able to walk properly with my cum running down your legs, either.”

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matching together

a small favor, major john egan

pairing: john egan x amelia mae egan (black!fem!reader) warning: sexual suggestions tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste @alliewassobonum an: just something to keep y'all fed until my semester ends and I have more time lol. i hope you all enjoy <3 yall I LOVE this gif.

“Can you do me a favor?” 

Amelia shifted her gaze in the mirror. She caught her husband’s eyes, filled with mischief. Her fingers made a quick work of her satin scarf around her hair. She turned and crossed her hands over her chest. “What?” 

“Come here.” Her husband nodded toward the bed and waved his arm in his direction. His hand dropped against the bed with a soft “oof” sounding throughout the room. Amelia raised an eyebrow. She took slow steps toward him. 

He sat at the edge of their bed, legs spread to welcome her body into his vicinity. Amelia’s left hand, heavy from the newly added jewels to her finger, hiked the skirt of her new nightgown. She swung her leg over his thigh and made herself comfortable on his lap. She giggled when his hands found her bottom and gave a soft squeeze.

Amelia threw her arms around his shoulders loosely. “What’s the favor, John? I’ve got to make dinner.” They’d only been married for a few weeks, but she was picking up on his cues more and more. He wanted something and was building tension. 

He looked at her with low eyes and titled his head to the side. Mhm, she was so pretty to him. With those full lips just begging to be caressed by his own. 

“It can’t wait?” he asked. His fingers massaged her hips lovingly. Amelia shrugged. “If you want to be hungry, sure.”

John chuckled. Always so quick-witted. She squealed when he laid back and brought her body down with him. Amelia grunted softly and poked his side, whining about how her scar almost came off.  He responded by adjusting it and placing a kiss on her forehead. “Just lay with me for a minute.”

At his words, she relaxed in his embrace. Her ear was pressed against his chest; his heartbeat loud and strong. His breaths were steady, healthy. John’s arms were strong around her, like he was afraid to let her go.

She smiled softly and raised her head to look into his eyes. “If you wanted a hug, you could’ve just said that.” 

John’s face deepened in hue as he smacked his lips.”Way to ruin the moment, Rose.”

Amelia giggled and pressed her lips against his briefly. “It’s cute. Help me with dinner.” She slid off his body. With his head turned to the side, John asked. “Do I get to eat you after?”

Amelia swiped her robe off the edge of the bed and slid it over her shoulders. “If you make it to the kitchen before I do, you might.”

John was there before she knew it.