#(don't look at me)

[switchythals-gr27]

Giving head in a dominant way >>>

Eating them out or sucking them off, it's just so fun to make a poor needy sub unravel on your tongue.

[desos-records]

suddenly struck with thoughts about the devastating concept of Jason Todd

because he was good. because he had a bleeding heart despite every reason not to. he loved school and was good at it. he was the first to be adopted, with little pretense of guardianship. he did everything he could to be a perfect Robin and live up to an impossible ideal. he only ever wanted Bruce and Dick to like him.

because he met Bruce in the same place and on the same day that Bruce's parents died--the single defining moment of Batman's existence. and he made Batman laugh. he hit the Dark Knight, Terror of Gotham, with a tire iron. he wasn't afraid of the man who turned fear into a weapon.

because he couldn't save his mother from herself, but he tried. because he was too good not to try and save the woman who gave him up. too good to play the Joker's game. the crowbar didn't kill him, the bomb did. he died knowing he wouldn't make it and tried anyway. he died a hero.

because other Robins have died, but none of them put an irrevocable tear in the mythos of Batman. because Jason Todd always dies, in every universe. he dies for the sins of his father. he was put to death by popular vote, sacrificed by the crowd. doomed by the narrative and doomed by the audience. the boy who only ever tried to prove he was good enough--wasn't good enough.

because he has every reason to be angry. because he didn't ask to be murdered, didn't ask to be brought back, and when he did everyone acted like he was better off dead. Bruce tried to kill him and nearly succeeded. he's blamed for his own death and blamed for his resurrection. he can never come home because the house is haunted by his own ghost.

because he's been the hero, the victim, and the villain. because his family and his writers and his universe don't know what to make of him. they don't know how to look his tragedy in the eye. and how can you?

it hurts to look at the hero who cannot be good enough, the victim who will only ever be angry, the villain who can sometimes be right. the audience hates to feel complicit and, in this exceptional case, they are.

[monstersflashlight]

The Minotaur cowboy idea has me thinking that the Minotaur wants to get us pregnant so he can see our tits filled with milk, and milk us

🐮🐄🤠🍼🥛

YES! You get it! As a disclaimer for the depravity I've written: I don't claim to be horny about the idea of lactation or possibly hucows. But maybe. I'm not confirming nor denying it. Like imagine:

Minotaur cowboy who runs a milk farm. A human milk farm. Human milk became a delicacy long time ago and since then, humble minotaurs like him had been recruiting women for the task. They milk the women every change they get. The cows (as they refer to the women working on the farm) are always ready to be pumped, always better if its by hand. His farm is the best out there because of it. The manual pumping makes it extra sweet, extra tasty. The quality is also improved every time the cows get stimulated, and who is he to deny them that? He's a good farmer, and he takes pride in knowing he takes good care of his cows. So he fucks the cows as much as he wants and they are thankful for it, that means more production and more pay. The cows get on all fours as soon as he enters the milking area, all of them expecting to be fucked and milked. He can choose the hole he likes, all of them ready to be fucked by his big minotaur cock. And then there's you. The longest working cow at the farm. The first one he recuited and the one which he loves the most. He always takes care of you last, making all the other cows cum but never emptying himself in any of them. He saves all his cum for you so he's on edge when he gets to your quivering pussy, so he can pump you so full you overflow. And then again. And again. He likes to have you leaking, from your nipples and from your gaping pussy. He loves to drag your pleasure out and milk you slowly, tortuously slow. Most times than not he ends up drinking your milk directly from your sore nipples instead of using it for product. He claims your milk is the best in his farm, and he has the right to drink it as he pleases, to fuck you as he pleases. You are just a cow, after all.

[figuerothsfaeth]

THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RETURN OF THE KING (2003) dir. Peter Jackson

[sandflakedraws]

the song came on my shuffle and would not leave me alone until i penned this i'm so sorry

[teaboot]

Duality of man

[azzo0]

Bakugo's hands have been on your back a lot more ever since you got a spine tattoo. Even when you're wearing a shirt, his fingers are tracing down your back, or when you're kissing him goodbye for work, two fingers are on your spine, slowly moving down to your tailbone. He's been giving you a lot of backshots, too. Just so he can see you arch your back when you cry his name. And once again, his fingers are brushing up the tattoo as he utters filth into your ear.

[whatelsecanwedonow]

LOVE & OTHER DRUGS (2010) dir. Edward Zwick

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Imagine making out with Simon on the couch. He's on top of you braced on his arms and kisses you dizzy. You have to interrupt the make out session quickly to catch your breath and he uses that pause to tell a goddamn awful dad-joke. And you both start laughing and you poke him in the ribs because "Goddamnit Si, that joke was awful" and he just laughs harder and collapses onto you, forcing the air out of your lungs with a little "oof". You can feel him shaking with laughter on top of you and you can't help but laugh with him and wrap your arms around him. When he finally stops laughing and pushes himself up on his arms again, you can see his eyes shining with happiness. And he mumbles "C'mere princess", cups your face with one hand and starts kissing you again while you can still feel him smile against your lips. And-

[tapakah0]

[javier-pena]

pull (a joel miller drabble)

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 854

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You discover something new about Joel.

Warnings: unprotected p in v sex | rough Joel | hair pulling | creampie | biting | (allusions to) oral (f receiving)

Notes: lmao I just quickly had to write this, inspired by this first look at season 2 that made me feel like a Victorian lady who needs to go to the seaside for her constitution, @ravensmadreads - I saw your tags and on my post from like half an hour ago, so here it is.

***

"That's it, that's it," he groans, his eyes closed tightly in concentration as he focuses entirely on feeling you around his cock. You want to focus too, on how he fills you, on how firmly you can clench around him, but there is something you want more – to stare at him in wonder and adoration.

That he came back to you today is a miracle, that you are straddling him now while he sits on your couch, legs spread widely, letting you roll your hips against him … you never want to take that for granted again. Usually, when he almost dies or you almost die, you don’t fuck like this. Usually, he takes the lead, more determined, sometimes more violent than you, until he has made sure you will not disappear from beneath him, that you’re real and solid and here. Today is different.

His breath hitches as he moves beneath you, and changes the angle ever so slightly. You clench around him, hard, your mouth falling open to shape a surprised O. That’s when his eyes fly open and he smirks up at you, a look you could paint from memory, one you can see so clearly even in the dimness of the room.

“You’re always so tight for me,” he mumbles against your neck, kissing you first just below your ear, then right above your collarbone. And then he bites down, ruthlessly, right into a tendon jutting out of your neck.

Your breath hitches as pain shoots through you. There it is, that brutal, almost violent side of him you love so much, and your world starts to make more sense again.

He’s licking the spot he bit, the one that will probably show the marks of his teeth for a while, when you raise your hand and dig your fingers right into his curls, pulling him away from you. His neck, stretched by the sudden movement, is all exposed now, his teeth dig into his bottom lip as he assesses the challenge you’re presenting him with.

Like a cat trying not to get caught, he moves his mouth closer to your throat again, not breaking eye contact, silently daring you to do something about it. You let go of his curls, brush them back, relishing how smooth they feel beneath your fingers, how they curl tightly at the back of his neck. And that’s where you dig in next, yanking his head toward the backrest of the couch.

He groans, so lost in the sensation he forgets about your little game. He thrusts up into you, meeting the roll of your hips, coming as close to relinquishing control to you as is possible for him.

You tighten your grip. “Kiss me.”

His hand closes around the back of your head immediately as he brings your lips down for a kiss. You smile, unable to hide your pride.

“What?” You feel the question against your lips more than you hear it.

“Guess you like it when I do this,” you whisper back, and yank his curls a third time, right on the this.

He growls, a sound that makes your hips stutter and your stomach curl tightly every time you hear it. “Careful, sweetheart, you’re playing with fire.”

“What are you going to do about it, big boy?” you ask, knowing full well what will happen if you use those two words.

He rolls you over faster than you can consider the consequences of your own actions so your naked stomach lands against the couch. You hear his belt buckle jingle as he kicks off his jeans, then climbs above you. You shake, actually shake, with anticipation, your whole body charged with an energy that’s impossible to control.

He's so so big when he takes you like that, and you press your face against the couch to muffle your scream as he pushes into you, spreading you so wide you’ll still feel him tomorrow. The whole couch shakes as his thrusts become erratic, chasing his own pleasure while putting yours on the back burner. That's the side of him you love the most – the one that lets go and just takes.

He doesn’t pull out when he comes, doesn’t try to hide the desperate stutter of his hips or the deep pants he makes when he empties himself into you, the ones you love to hear but he always tries to suppress. You lie still, finally in a position to focus on the sensations.

When he pulls out, you expect him to sit down next to you, to tell you, “Give me a minute,” like he so often does. He never forgets about your pleasure, but he needs to collect himself after an orgasm. Today, he glides of the couch onto his knees and pulls on your arm until you sit up, ears still ringing from how hard he fucked you.

“Come here, sweet girl,” he says softly, wrapping your legs around his shoulders, his eyes on the mess he made of you. “I need you to hold on now.” And then he buries his face between your legs.

[beetle-beep]

picked up a stim recently where I just like scratch at the top of my sun plush's head while I'm at my computer and this image slammed into my head like a baseball bat

[paperbackwriiter]

Close ups of Paul in Let It Be (1970)

[milkovichy]

#my hand slipped

[botwriter]

emotional over zelda’s character growth from botw’s “this is all my fault” to “I know why I am here. It’s something only I can do.” 

[amiracleilluminated]

Scott Patterson as Agent Peter Strahm in Saw IV (2007) and Saw V (2008)