#♰ 、 prayers ｡

[crimsonprayer]

HAPPY BEETHDAY TO MY BESTIE!!!! @dazedloli

[drocrys]

lesbian the guide from wwdits icons? 💗

♡ ...

[crimsonprayer]

@dazedloli reminded me of u :3

2017年3月20日

[aoi-xao]

无论我会在哪个街区..请引导我到我最安全的宇宙

[palechoirboy]

Moze (HSR)

Queued!

[crimsonprayer]

OMEN or EDDIE ♰ it/ego/sin ♰ 21

transmasc, gay, aroace-spec, ficto-spec

schizoaffective bipolar, au-dhd, ocd traits, chronically ill

matching with @virtualimouto and @deiapotheosis

GREETINGS!! BE NOT AFRAID!! you may refer to me as omen or eddie~ i am very eccentric and peculiar, and often refer to myself as a chuunibyou or hellspawn!! i will be posting quite a bit about my delusions, as well as topics revolving around self harm/self destructive behavior, obsession, religion/blasphemy, and violence, so please be warned!!

im a huge fan of rhythm games and idol media, as well as horror media, j-metal, 80s metal, j-fashion subcultures, cosplay, and collecting!!

do not private message me, for i will curse your bloodline- however, asks are more than appreciated!!!

[crimsonprayer]

@loser-otaku-girl @jirai-daydream @tenshidecay

Everyone post a random picture from your gallery,this is a tag game yes

@fymo-blogs @the-real-gmail @totally-china @dhampirdreamerz @france-unofficial

[drocrys]

if you’re comfortable, can i request bisexual icons of thorfinn from vinland saga? thank u!

♡ ...

So Sorry for the wait ... 🦑💧

[viciousvortexx]

Hush ~

When you and Vergil need each other but can't be loud (good luck).

Vergil x Fem!Reader

warnings: smut, dirty talk, penetration, unprotected sex, choking.

⋆˚｡⋆୨♰୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Shhh, sweetheart, they will hear you...��� Vergil whispers while you two are spooning, his muscular frame pressed against your back, the sound of his breathing so close to your ear all the time it almost makes tickles. “You're going to wake up the others.”

Indeed, you and him were spooning, a kind of a more intimate spoon, that's how it all started, a comfortable and innocent spoon, till Vergil was thrusting in and out of you, one of his strong and rough hands holding up one of your legs to make it easier to reach the deepest places inside your body. Usually, he would prefer to wait for the guests to go back home, but since everyone on the Devil May Cry agency decided to visit for a few days, it was almost impossible to have some privacy, except at this hour, late at night, when everyone is sleeping. The silence fills the house for the first and last time of the day, a good and a bad thing, because now you have to fight to not make any loud sounds, a task so hard to complete when Vergil is fucking you so deliciously from behind.

The half demon wasn't able to control himself, not when you were smelling so good after the bath, fresh with the familiar and addictive smell that only your skin haves. He was so hungry after spending so many days without taking you, and resisting was impossible when Vergil wrapped his strong and bare arms around your body, the indiscreet bulge on his pants poking you from behind, begging for attention. When you realized, all of the clothes were thrown to the ground, your neked body completely at his mercy, now there's no turning back, you are his, and it's clear on his crystalline eyes that he belongs to you.

A single cry escapes from your lips when Vergil picks up the pace, his cock buried deep inside your tight and slick pussy, the tip hitting the sweet spot that always make you see stars, and he knew it very well, the proud smirk on Vergil's face could tell.

“Hush, darling, I know you want to scream, but...” Vergil laughs low on his throat, both of you knows he wanted to hear those screams more than you want to do it. “... you're a good girl for me, aren't you? Stay quiet.”

Your heart skips a beat when Vergil starts to move even more fast and hard, making the bed squeak a little, he was definitely doing this on purpose to push you to your limits, it was working. Eyes rolling in your head, ready to moan loudly, but Vergil quickly covers your mouth with one hand, a slightly muffled gutural growl echoes from his lips making your skin vibrate, the light slapping sound while he pounds into you relentlessly, gods, you swear you could die right now.

“I missed you so much, my angel... I want to fill you up with my seed.”

You take Vergil's hand to place it on your neck instead of your mouth, he knows exactly what to do, his fingers carefully wrapping around it to choke you, how could he do this with so much care yet so roughly?

Sugar coated words falling from his lips directly to your ear like a prayer, a huge contrast with his choking and hips slapping against your ass, his warm body embracing yours from behind, and the world seems to spin around as you feel his grip on your neck loose to move his long fingers down to your aching clit, rubbing fast circles around it. Bitting down your own finger, eyes closing shut, your body prepares to the final act, it was too much to take, the orgasm washes over you, making you whimper Vergil's name in such a sweet way that makes him grunt in approval, and as if he was waiting for you to finish to have his own release, the half demon press his sweaty body on yours, holding you right on place, releasing a powerful load of thick cum that seems to never end. Vergil's hot breath comes shallow and ragged on your neck, the panting sounds and heartbeats are the only thing both can hear for a few seconds, till something like a snore, but way more scandalous and terrifying, can be heard from Dante's room, breaking the silence as you and Vergil laugh warmly together.

“I think we didn't wake up anyone, on the contrary, they seem to be in a... deep sleep, good.”

He trails a little path with kisses on your shoulder, his hands that were so rough just minutes ago while choking you now are gentle again, soothingly caressing your exposed arms. Vergil finally pulls out, humming satisfied, leaving a wet trail behind. You are ready to turn at him to cuddle, but before this could happen, you see Vergil's lips curling up into a smile while he disappears underneath the blankets, both of your thighs being spread wide open by his firm grip. “Remember, not a single word, sweetheart.”

[crimsonprayer]

@collaredsweetheart look how cute!!!

Teyvat SEA Exploration Pack

Dear Traveler,

The latest information on the early bird discount package for the collaboration between Genshin Impact and the S.E.A. Aquarium "Teyvat SEA Exploration" has been released!

During the event, there will also be more limited-edition merchandise and thematic installations. Please stay tuned to Genshin Impact's official social media platforms for more updates!

Please visit the event page to learn more about the early bird discount package and event details for "Teyvat SEA Exploration."✨

https://hoyo.link/9i9jFBAL

[seneon]

★ loveuloveuloveuloveuloveu, touya todoroki.

"i'm breaking up with you."

that was all it needed for touya to utter such words that has your stomach dropped to the lowest grounds of the earth. time seemed to come to a halt, honouring and granting you the favour of taking however much time you needed to process his words, for it to be punctured into your mind.

now, it didn't sting like how a vampire would dug his fangs into one's skin. his words seemed to give birth to an unknown feeling within you— something not of human that grows as quick as it could in your mind and it fills the emptiness in your stomach.

your heart is out of the picture. same goes to your mind. they reek of nothing, devoid of emotions of feelings. eyes always so full of life, now seemingly as dark as the deepest depths of an ocean. you've lost your life on the inside. and you're not about to lose the man you loved more than yourself. it's crazy how touya matters more than your own life.

he awaits a response or any kind of reaction. all he gets is a gaze that isn't even on him. your eyes pierces through his soul, enough that it reaches the ends of the horizon. touya's eyebrows could only furrow in a sense that something is utterly wrong with you in the moment he tells you that he wishes to break everything off with you.

wrong choice, it seems. for when you finally looked at him and see him as he is, even if your eyes still devoid of any human feelings, touya felt like he has no escape to what fate decided for him.

"you are not breaking up with me," you said, voice so cold that it is almost like icicles that drives through his skull. "you are my angel, you are not leaving until whatever god says you can or whatever tragedy pours upon you."

touya has never felt such an uneasy feeling creeping onto his skin. it was like millions of insects crawling into his soul and finding solace in him. there was something utterly wrong with you. it's written in your eyes that perhaps you might just be more deranged than he is. he could see the fire in your eyes, flames stronger than his cremation. they burn with desire to keep touya exactly where is is.

it is then prayerful whispers and unending streams of "i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you"i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you".

note. inspired by angels from massive attack

© SENEON 2024 ♰ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[rustedhearts]

black swan: a severed lamb continuation

(pastor!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: pastor steve pays you a visit at college "on behalf of your mother."

♰ roller girl’s pie stand! 🍒 ♰ severed lamb ♰ 'tis autumn

tags: this is a blurb, not a “part” of the series!!; age gap (steve is 35, reader is 19); religious manipulation + regular manipulation; fear + intimidation; stalking i guess; a loooot of religious guilt; actual scripture quoted; forced prayer; like almost dollification; pls do not read this if any of this makes you even the slightest bit uncomfortable. (did not edit, don’t come for my mistakes.)

for @softagardenblooms ⭐️ giving us all what we really want: more pastor!steve <3 sorry it took so long!

rural pennsvylvania, autumn, 1981

Outside the iron lattice of your Lane Hall window, an early winter brewed. The leaves turned and died quickly, and those that clung to their boughs appeared rusted and limp. Walking through campus was now a noisy feat. The soil seemed eternally damp and dull, what grass remained more blonde than green. The thing you missed most about Georgia was the robin's egg sky. Here, everything was grey.

The glass of the window fogged terribly. The girls in Lane cranked the heat up high enough to have an excuse for minimal clothing, yet the outdoors remained bitterly cold.

In an effort to enjoy a moment of quiet solitude in your room, you stood from the creaky wooden bed and wiped your palm over the window. It squeaked over the condensation, creating a streak of clarity to the street of houses below.

A maroon two-door waited on the curb across the black road. It had an Indiana license plate.

"Delilah? You got a visitor!" one of the girls called from outside your room.

You stepped back from the window, lowering your hand and its cold fingertips to your side. Another cold swept through you, settling somewhere in your chest. As bitter as a Pennsylvanian autumn, and as a sour as a cherry from your tree back home. The cherry that once stained his fingers, dipping between his mouth and your mouth.

Bloody fingers that delivered evil through pleasure.

Bred to obey the calling command of male visitors, you turned away from your bed and started toward the door. But you stopped on the toe of your socked foot.

You could feign slumber. But he came in when you were sick and tired.

You could hide in the closet. Your eyes darted toward the lone door near your desk. But he always knows where to find you.

You swallowed as your hand touched the door. It yawned open on its hinges. Immediately, the murmuring of the girls scattered amongst their rooms and the lower floor emitted in a low hum. The floor released little snaps with each step toward the stairs. The Hall was old and worn, taped over with celebrity posters and glittered name stamps.

As you took the first step, another cold gathered. This one in your belly, behind your navel where that sweet, sickening, nauseating pleasure festered under his hands and his touch. You pressed your hand there, pausing on the second step to take a breath.

You could feel him.

The way you felt him from the moment he arrived back home. How he lingered in every room with the omnipotence of his Savior. How his stare sat like hot coals upon your shoulders from across the room. How the promise of his hands came with the fleeting breeze of his body in your vicinity.

His presence had a warmth and a wholeness to it that made your throat tighten. Like being locked in a tight, black room that grows tighter and yet seemingly vaster with every second inside. As though the limits of the darkness are endless, though its bounds are tangibly sworn.

"Delilah? Deli—oh, here she is!" one of the older girls, Rachel, cooed as she collected you with a hand around your arm on the steps.

She came bounding down, and you swore it was only because she pulled you that your feet remembered to go.

He stood tall in the center of the lounge, barely past the doorframe, feet still angled to go further. They flocked around him like pigeons, pecking at the affections of his slow, sideways smile, and roaming gaze. It turned to you as your hall mate pulled you into the room.

You could have sworn something pierced your lung, eliminating all possibilities of keeping in air.

“Hello, Delilah.”

His voice hit you like the gong of a church bell at noon. Familiar, expected, but with a resonance of something to come. An image of his eyes hovering over you while his hands swept through your nightgown flashed through your mind. You had to pinch away a shudder.

“H-hi,” you murmured, and cast your eyes down to your socks.

“She’s always so shy,” another girl piped up. “Lilah, aren’t you gonna introduce us?”

A warmth spread to every inch of your face. It singed the tips of your ears. You fiddled with the strings on your bed shorts, suddenly feeling bare. Though he had seen you in far less—had seen you as bare as the day you were born—you could not fathom to stand before him like this with the audience growing in the lounge.

“I’m Steve,” he said for you, and cast a smile upon the girls that had them elbowing each other. “But I’m afraid we can’t stay for pleasantries, girls. Delilah and I were just headin’ out.”

Your eyes flitted toward him, a panic setting like stone in your limbs. “R-really?”

He seemed to only look at you, though the girls tipped and cocked their heads to assess him and his garb, alternating between his corduroy jacket and your tattered sleep clothes.

“Yes,” he purred, and the smile the others swooned at made you take the smallest step backwards. “I’ll wait while you change.”

♰ ♰

It took you another ten minutes to change, fumbling through every drawer and hanger knowing everything he'd ever touched you in was packed away and left back home, and nothing in your collection seemed worthy enough to dispense so easily.

When you met him on the lawn, his eyes went directly to your chest, where he became accustomed to finding the gleaming gold of a delicate cross. Today, it came up bare.

He said nothing of it as he turned toward the car, and you followed with silent, tip-toed steps. You kept a distance as you passed through the door he opened for you and took your place on the leather passenger seat.

The cold condensation of a milk carton between your thighs against the sticky heat of a Georgian summer haunted the car. Even in the white-breathed cold settling in the car, you felt a scorching heat crawling up your spine. You pulled at your sweater sleeves to invite the cold in.

The car jostled when he slammed the driver door. You kept your eyes on the dash, fingers curling into your palms as he turned the keys in the ignition.

"Your mama's worried about you," is the first thing he says to you.

You wet your lips, turning to the window to watch the street go by. The town was built for the university's accommodation. The library marked the edge of town, and everything past that was farmland and desolation. You hoped he wasn't taking you there.

HIs statement settled like spoiled milk. You wanted to proclaim it a lie immediately. Mama hadn't answered a letter once this semester. Every weekend phone call went unanswered. You called one of the neighbors and asked them to check on her in case the liquor finally got the best of her. But they assured you she was doing well. Just busy.

Yet, he wouldn't lie...right? He wouldn't drive the half day it took for his own pleasure, would he? He once told you that God sent you here for him, that God placing the pair of you in the same vicinity was no mistake. God does not make mistakes, he said. And He always has a plan.

You were His plan for Steve.

At least, that's what he told you.

"I can see why," he continued.

Your head moved on its own, and you were looking at the frown etched between his brows before you could stop yourself. He took glances every few moments as he headed away from the residence halls into campus. Few times they fell to your empty neck.

Your fingers ached to fiddle with the missing token. You hadn’t worn it in months. When you left home, you left the necklace on your dresser. It grew more and more difficult as the weeks went on—free of the Georgia heat and all that grey hazy because of it—to believe you were worthy of wearing the cross. Worthy of speaking to Him knowing what you’d done.

“Oh, Delilah,” he sighed and he shook his head out at the road. “You poor thing.”

He took a turn down the main strip of campus buildings and fit the car into a spot against the curb of your most-frequented. The ballet studio, unlike your splintered and rotting barb back home, nestled on the second floor of a red brick building home to the arts. Steve took his keys from the ignition and opened the door with the sureness of someone like you, who spent most of their days there.

“Come on,” he said when the passenger door was open.

You stepped onto the sidewalk, avoiding his outstretched hand. He placed it on the small of your back as he guided you up the steps and through the door. Your shoes, having collected the dampness of the pavement, squeaked over the gleaming tile. This hall always had a chemically lemon scent to it, and today it made you particularly queasy.

"Up here, isn't it?" He pushed the heavy door open to the stairwell and the steel latch echoed hollowly against the concrete.

His hand seemed to be locating your spine. Reaching for it, through the material of your cardigan, through the thickness of your flesh. The bone ached dully with every step upward. Around the chipped iron railings, winding through the twists of the building. His loafers were black and recently shined. He'd taken to wearing a gold band around his pinkie. His fingers were as long and slender as you remembered, but his skin appeared paler.

It was no longer summer and the cold was an affliction to the body.

Another door thrown open to another linoleum-tiled hall. You traced the black streak marks from boots and sneakers like a set path to the arched doorway to the studio. At the end of the hall, a large latticed window overlooked the yellowed lawn. Often after rehearsals, bundles of ballerinas squished within the bow of the windowsill and blew cigarette smoke against the glass. Permanent fog marks gathered at mouth-height.

The studio was empty. Four mirrored walls, ever-polished hardwood floors the color of sand. Barres cleaned of blood from blistered heels, and a cushioned folding chair near the head of the room, pressed against the mirror. It was the seat of Madame Celeste, the slender, wrinkled woman who commanded the company.

Today, it was empty.

You jolted when the wooden doors clamped shut behind you. The pressure in your spine released and when you turned, it became evident why. He stood before the doors with his hands behind his back, long coat unbuttoned to reveal the white band of his Roman collar. The black shirt of his permanent uniform remained buttoned to the top, snug against his throat.

He fixed his eyes upon you with the intention of a wolf.

Oh, yes. You remembered how this felt. It was almost as though you'd never left.

The blackness of your confinement began to close in around you.

He inhaled deeply and it whistled through his nose. Your own breath shuddered into the room. Madame Celeste did not believe in heat and kept the radiator off. Even when bolts of snow gathered on the window in the hall, the dancers were made to spin until sweat managed to appear. It never took long.

And now, a cold sweat festered under your sweater.

"I am fearful of what I see here," he proclaimed. His gaze left you to trace the room, taking a large step away from the door. The clunk of his shoe resounded like a gunshot.

"'What are you doing, you devastated one? Why dress yourself in scarlet and put on jewels of gold? Why highlight your eyes with makeup?'"

You swallowed as he began to pace the room. Hands settled against his back, one hand closed over the other. Each step like a bullet inching closer to your place in the center of the room. Each word like a slice against your flesh. Stinging, piercing, bleeding you out. He would not look at you and you grew smaller by the second.

"'You adorn yourself in vain,'" he emphasized, shaking his head down at his feet.

His hands had released to press his fingers together as they often did at mass. While he preached and prophesied, and chewed off more of your soul with every syllable. The room felt as off kilter as the chapel back home.

He stopped suddenly before the rear wall of mirrors and fanned his arms wide.

"Vanity!"

You stumbled back with another gasp. A vein protruded between his brows, eyes filled with serpentile venom.

"All this..." He spun slowly, a performative flair that rivaled even yours. His voice dropped to a whisper nearly drowned out by your own pulse. "...mere vanity."

He took a moment, eyes still trained on the mirrors behind you. The proclamation hung in the thin air of the room. Your fingers felt numb pressed into tight fists against your back.

He tipped his chin down and blinked at you. Slowly. There were no charming grins or sideways smiles. There was no softness to the beauty of his features.

“You’ve abandoned God.”

Your hand touched your bare chest. He tracked your movement with his eyes. Stepped closer. One, two—you could feel the warmth of him again. It buzzed in your feet. His proximity stirred a nausea in your gut.

“But I will save you,” he whispered, touching his hand to his chest.

His foot thumped on the floor. Another step. Inching his way to you. The gap between your bodies: shorter, shorter. You jerked backward when you could feel his breath.

He moved one hand your way, palm cupped and fingers bent as though approaching a kitten in the road. He hunched his shoulders a little, lowered a little closer to your eye-line. Every breath taken felt like a load on your lungs. Like at any moment they’d explode from the pressure.

“You will be saved,” he breathed.

The serpent had abandoned him, and its place was something dangerously soft. With warm, round eyes and cinched brows, he appeared transformed in a near instant.

How one gazes upon an infant in the cold. A thing to save. A token of helplessness.

Both hands approached you now, outstretched at shoulder length. You tipped your head away from his incoming presence, eyes squeezing shut when he took hold of your shoulders and spun you around. Every muscle in your body came to a cold front. They cemented together, and maneuvering your body felt like turning a mannequin.

“Kneel,” he murmured. “He wants us to pray.”

He guided you there, and your black tight-clad knees collided into the floorboards with a dull, painful thump. You kept your eyes shut, but heard another pair of knocks behind you. A mirrored vision of your kneeling, he kept arm’s length between your feet and his hands, now letting you go to retrieve the leather bound bible in the pocket of his coat.

The spine tapped on the floor. You could hear a nose drip in the silence. Your own blinks registered with tiny clicks.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

It was as though someone had scrubbed the inside of your mouth with sandpaper. With the vigor of a rusted pan and a woolite sponge, leaving the soft pink tissue of your inner cheeks and writhing tongue raw, useless, and scarred.

Your mouth could not utter the pastor’s words.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass us.”

His own voice was that of an instrument, hollowed with an echo that reverberated through your spine and around the room like a boomerang. Like whistling into a cave and waiting for the pitch to make its way back.

Your fingers curled over your knees and grabbed on tight. Every tiny bone in those ten ligaments began to ache.

“And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever.”

In the lull, his breaths were heavy. Shallow gasps rasped in the emptiness behind you.

He waited, and he watched. He watched your shoulders rise and fall, your toes curl against the thin suede of a pair of ballet flats. You left your new pointe shoes back in Georgia. Against your every attempt to banish him to the past, Steve wriggled through the gaps.

The pointe shoes came in the mail a month ago.

Steve inhaled sharply, and you squinted one eye open to find him in the wall of mirrors. His chest ballooned, head tipped back to the florescents. After all this time, this was the first you'd seen him worship.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name," he began again, and you hung your head toward your knees with a wince.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass us.”

Tears stung behind your eyes. His Sunday Morning Mass bravado distorted every syllable of his prayer. Your eardrums quaked with the birth of a buzzing.

“And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory- say it!"

The bible slammed into the ground with a thundering boom. Your entire body lurched forward with a shriek, setting forth the cry building in your throat.

Through wavering vision, you watched him crawl forward and hover near your shoulders. It took only a moment for to realize that the horrible whining sound was coming from you.

“F-for ever a-and ever,” you croaked, blinking hot tears into the reflection before you.

The pastor stood, towering behind you in the mirror. A menacing shadow, once more the serpent with fangs.

You sniffled, bubbling forth a pitiful hiccup when he placed his hand on your shoulder. His fingers danced over the bone for only a moment before they swept under your chin. He turned your face toward him, shoes thumping around your knees until he stood beside you.

You gave in to his wishes, allowing your gaze to meet those reptilian eyes.

It was only a matter of time before your weakness divulged. Only a matter of time before he sunk his teeth in again.

The slightest pressure pulled on your chin, just as he stepped back and held out his hand, palm upended.

Each blink came with warmth on your cheeks, every breath with fire in your lungs. You slipped your hand into his palm and pressed to your feet.

He lifted your hands, only gently cupped together. Gave his wrist the smallest curve, enough space between your bodies for you to twirl.

You pressed to the tops of your toes and spun just once. A complete rotation, heels pressed down once more. You were met with a vision of yourself before you: red-eyed and puffy, and holding the hand of the devil.

From behind you, he collected both your hands. Held them upwards, bent the elbows with another feathered pressure. You sank back to the floor with graceful repose. Every fiber of your being yawned for relief. The weight of his presence fatigued.

On the glossy floor, you knelt in your former position of prayer. He caught your eye in the mirror and smiled.

From the inner lining of his pocket—where the bible conjured from only minutes ago—appeared a chain of gold.

Unclasping the adornment, he swept it over your head and toward your throat. The pendant clung to your chest like a magnet, kissing your flesh in relief to be home.

You knew what it was before you could even find it in the mirror.

He clasped the chain around your neck and laid your hair back in place. Gently fluffed around your face, meticulously drawn over your shoulders. He watched all the while in the mirror, intently observing his own craftsmanship.

He pinched two fingers under your chin and nudged it downward. He tipped your head a little to the left. He bent the elbows a little more, placed your clasped hands on your right knee.

He stepped back.

Patted you twice on the head, and in the mirror, smiled.

“My lovely Delilah.”

He smoothed his hand down the back of your hair just once.

And there you sat, soaking the cross on your chest in tears.

Foolish girl. You can never escape the mark of God.

[aoi-xao]

安拉，让我下辈子成为穆斯林..这样我就可以为你服务

[crimsonprayer]

TY FOR THE TAG!!

i brought you my bullets, you brought me your love - mcr

i dont have enough friends to tag LMAO

EVERYONE GIMME AN ALBUM U REALLY LIKE AND PASS IT ON PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

I'll go first, 666 by Aphrodite's Child :)

@leahandherstuff @lichenstone @sotalia-fluviatilis @field-cryptobotanist @forflightlessbirds @bat-luun @theoneandonlywinnie

[palechoirboy]

may bun please request something with luis serra ( resident evil 4 remake ) and the southern gothic aesthetic ? please and thank you !

Posted Here!

look at that man..that's a fairy

[girlwithsharpt33th]

Can we just take a minute and imagine pegging true form Sukuna? The way his lust-darkened eyes follow your every movement as you bend him over and loosen his hole, hips rolling against your fingers. The way he sighs from the depths of his soul as you fill him up, impatiently grabbing your hips with his lower set of hands to urge you to go faster. The way his muscular ass ripples as your strap slams into him, low words of praise leaving his lips. The way he grips the bedsheets, trying to focus so hard on his building orgasm as you kiss down his spine and fist one of his girthy cocks. The way he gasps as you abruptly stop fucking him right before his orgasm, chiding him to do it himself. The way he rocks against you feverishly, chasing the high he was so cruelly denied. The way he looks so gorgeous, his pink hair falling into his eyes as he continues to look over his shoulder, pupils burning holes into your soul. The way he comes with your name falling from his lips like a curse, like a prayer.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

The way he rides you, breath stuttering as his muscular ass slaps against your delicate thighs. the way he sinks down onto your strap, trying so hard not to crush you under his weight. The way he throws his proud head back as he supports himself with his top pair of arms, adam's Apple bobbing shakily as he tries to catch his breath amidst his building orgasm. The way his powerful cocks paint your stomach and tits with his thick seed. The way he dismounts you, drenched in sweat and fucked out. The way he admires you for making him feel so good.