#AND I AM GOING TO CRY MY FUCKING EYES OUT

[honey-on-your-tongue]

Kinktober day 21

Orgasm denial

You're sobbing, body weak, legs trembling. It has to be the fifth or sixth orgasm Logan has deprived you of.

He laughs as he stares down at you, watching you struggle. “Somethin’ wrong, bub? Am I not giving you what you want?” he mocks, dragging his hips back before slamming his cock into you again.

You sniffle, hand weakly moving down to touch your clit in an attempt to get off. He pushes your hand away.

“None of that. Don't be greedy, you ungrateful brat. I put my cock in you and you don't even say thank you?”

You sob, sniffling. “Daddy, please. Please. Need t’come. Please…”

He shakes his head. “Not yet. I want this to last, baby. You gotta hold on a little longer, alright?”

You whine in complaint, trying to move your hips to match his slow, deep thrusts.

Logan laughs. “You're so pathetic. So needy. Look at you, needing me so bad. You poor, poor baby.”

You whimper, entire body shaking from the need to climax.

“Daddy, please, please!” you gasp, desperate. “Please, let me come. I'll do anything, please!”

He pauses his thrusts. “Anything?” he asks, smirking.

You nod. He grins. “You silly thing, dumb from my cock, baby. You're gonna regret having said that.”

He fucks you in earnest now, moving one of your legs to wrap around his waist so he can go deeper. He angles your hips, making his cock drag against your g-spot.

Your eyes roll back, your back arches and you squeal. “Daddy! Daddy!”

His lips crash down onto yours and he bites your lower lip softly.

When his thick fingers find your clit, you lose it. It only takes a few rubs from his digits to have you falling over the edge.

You cry out, gasping, trembling as you come. Logan grunts when your cunt clenches around him tightly and he laughs lowly.

He helps you down from your high and when you've come to, he says, “You said anything, bub. Y're gonna learn why you shouldn't give me that much power over you the hard way.”

---

Taglist

@wolviesgirl @sad0ni0n

---

Blog masterlist

Kinktober masterlist

[bonniepop]

Hiiiiiiiii! Can I request a tsukishima kei hurt to comfort fic?

everybody thank @paper-bag-boy for reminding me to finish and post this

—

fuck, you think miserably. fuck. how am i going to tell my parents this?

his figure casts a shadow over you when he approaches, and when you look up, your face morphs from aguish to utter rage. you're crouched on the floor, back against the wall, and you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand.

your legs ache when you push yourself to stand. you feel pathetic, yes, but you're not about to roll with that narrative in front of one of the most infuriating people in your class.

"what do you want?" you try and lace as much venom in your words as possible, but you don't sound as menacing all choked up. your red, wet eyes meet his blank ones.

“stop crying,” tsukishima tells you lowly, standing tall with his hands in his pockets. his head is tipped forward to look you in the eye—you only reach until his chest—and thankfully his shadow blocks out the sun, because you wouldn't be as intimidating if you squinted. "and the pillar that is his stature casting darkness over your face. “i can hear you blubbering from a mile away. stop crying.”

you bristle. “fuck off,” you snap, once more roughly wiping at your eyes for good measure. “i already know that you don’t think very highly of me. at least let me cry in peace.”

as soon as you round the corner towards the dark side of the building, something grips your wrist. you jerk your hand away, but the years of volleyball has given him stronger hands. that’s the only logical explanation. “what the f—let go of me!”

“no,” he drawls, stepping into the shadow, tugging at you again so you face him. “why did you leave? class isn't over."

your stomach coils in nervous dread. you remember your class adviser's voice. your name, coming in second. his name, coming in first.

it was humiliating.

“because you’re an asshole and i wanted to get away from you,” you spit, pulling away again, but he doesn't let go. "if you don't let me go, i'm going to fucking scream."

still, he keeps his hand wrapped around your wrist. “why are you acting this way? it's just a class.”

your spine tingles with an emotion you can't explain. he won't understand what it's like, you think to yourself, full of misery. he won't understand. he won't understand coming home to parents who expect so much from you, who push you to your wits' end, who make you feel small because you didn't make it to the top of the class.

he won't understand, because he does it so fucking effortlessly, while you're up late memorizing theories and formulas and practically making yourself sick just to be the perfect person, perfect student, perfect child.

his statement—just a class—makes you livid. you snatch your hand away, thankfully breaking free.

“you don't get it," you tell him venomously. "you don't—fucking–get it."

"then explain it to me," he snaps, his voice ugly. "can your pathetic little brain handle that?"

heat pricks the back of your eyes, but you blink to keep them at bay. as much as you don't want to admit it, what he said hurt.

you shake your head and look at your feet. "look, i don't need this right now, okay? i already know you think i’m a useless piece of shit, just—not now."

he's quiet. you look up at him can't see the look in his eyes past the gleam of his glasses.

you take a deep breath and walk away.

—

you avoid him for as long as you can.

as expected, the conversation with your parents went horribly. more hours studying at home. even less hours in clubs, when you barely even dedicated any. less time with your friends. you'd even taking to skipping lunch in favor of studying that it didn't take long for the reputation of being a hermit to be attached to your name, because each time anyone looked for you, they ended up in the same corner of the library—exactly where you found yourself now.

your head was bowed as you furiously scribbled down notes from class, trying not to entertain the thought of not wanting to do this by forcing yourself to focus on the lecture you didn't quite get. drowning out the desire to just do something else seemed to be working—your grades have been picking up over the past few weeks.

and when your teacher calls you to the front to hand you your paper, proudly declaring that you have the highest score in the class, you try and convince yourself it was all worth it—the late nights spent trying to get ahead in the class that the exhaustion was starting to give you sleep paralysis, being so isolated from your friends in favor of schoolwork that you barely eat lunch with a human being anymore—but when you turn back to see the rest of your classmates who seem to barely even care, your self-satisfied smile dissolves into nothing.

you clutch your paper in your hand and stare at the floor as you trudge back to your seat, feeling empty.

so distracted were you in your thoughts that you didn't even register tsukishima angle his head to look at you as you walked past him.

—

indigestion, you told your teacher during last period, as an excuse to head to the nurse's office. you walked past the clinic without even a knock.

you wander. your parents would kill you if they found out you skipped, but you can't bring yourself to care. you don't even know where you're headed—you recall visiting the roof, the back of the school, even the walkway to the gym, but ultimately you find yourself in the courtyard, and sit aimlessly on one of the tree benches.

you stare off into the distance, watching the soccer team practice; the sun is now a brilliant orange, signaling that class had been over quite some time ago.

"oh, hey," someone says. "you're in class four, right?"

you turn, trying not to pay attention to the ache in your neck (how long were you watching the soccer team, exactly?), and blink.

"kage... yama, right?" you ask.

he nods, crumpling the milk carton in his hand. "yeah. hi."

you nod, feeling at a loss of what to say. you never really spoke to him; you knew he was the hotshot of the boys' volleyball team, and you knew tsukishima was on the team, but that was... it.

"kageyama!" someone called behind him, and soon came the shortest player on the team (not meant as a slight, but more of a marker—you knew this guy could jump), orange hair as bright as the sky. "kage—oh, hi!"

"hello," you say.

"i don't think we've met," the sunny guy says. "i'm hinata."

"hello, hinata. i'm—"

"you're in tsukishima's class, right? yeah, i remember; you'd be near where he sat when we came in for lunch. you know, so he could tutor us." he blinks and his smile falters. "hey, uh, are you okay? sorry if this seems rude, but you..." he tilts his head.

"what?" you blink, a little self-conscious. the weeks spent solitude had turned you more aware of not just your grades, but also yourself. you wrap your arms around yourself in an effort to hide.

hinata's face falls and he looks away. "um, nothing. sorry i said anything."

you didn't know how to respond to that. "hmm."

"oi," someone says, and hinata livens up when he sees who it is.

"hey, tsukishima, yamaguchi!"

you bristle. the last thing you want is for him to see you like this. you try and make your escape but tsukishima's legs are so fucking long you barely had the chance.

yamaguchi greets you first, and you can tell it's a little strained. tsukishima just stands there, hands in his pockets, looking down at you. the sunset casts a shadow on his face.

"huh?" you hear hinata say, "is something...?"

yamaguchi ushers the two away (but you can hear kageyama go, "way to be obvious, idiot.") and you're left in a sort of stare down (up?) with tsukishima.

he doesn't talk, and you roll your eyes. as you turn to leave, he goes, "where were you." he doesn't ask it; he says it.

his tone irks you. "none of your business."

"you weren't in the nurse's office."

you checked? was the first thought the sprang into your head. that irked you even more, and you can feel your desire to pick a fight rise within you. "and? so?"

"your stuff's still in the classroom."

"okay?"

tsukishima clicks his tongue. "no need to get defensive."

your hackles rise. "i'm not—" you release a violent huff and turn to leave. "whatever. rat me out, i don't care."

his hand is on your person almost immediately, his long legs closing the distance before you could even move. his fingers are long, his thumb lightly overlapping the tips of his fingers as he holds your arm.

"let me—" you start, but your words die in your throat when he steps closer—so much closer that you can smell him. you tell yourself that his sudden close proximity is what's frying your brain instead of his scent (clean clothes, and something... woody? you can't place it).

"i'm not picking a fight, okay?" he murmurs lowly; he's leaned down to say it close to your ear. "you just... you look like shit."

you bristle, heat prickling the backs of your eyes against your will. you open your mouth to retort when you feel him gently take your hand and press something warm against it.

when he pulls away, you look down at the onigiri he placed in your palm.

"i noticed you've been skipping lunch," he says calmly, eyes averted. he places his hands in his pockets.

you're so dumbfounded it takes you minutes before you mutter a, "uh."

when he realizes that that's all he's gonna get out of you, he clears his throat and turns around. "i don't mean anything by it," he declares as he walks away, his face hidden in the shadow of the bright sunset. "don't get the wrong idea."

you try not to, you really do. but that doesn't stop the heat in your cheeks anyway.

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 23: You Needed The Bear

GIF by: @hotch-girl

Bearblr Promptober Day 23: Dacryphilia

Summary: Carmy's has learned he likes seeing his girlfriend (who he calls Darling) cry when he makes her feel good enough. Smut.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of trauma, finger sucking, oral sex (m receiving), Darling wants to choke on him, sir kink, Dom!Carmy, hair pulling (2203 words)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list. Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for days.

23 Oct 2024

She tears up when she gets worked up enough.

It’s not even that hard to do. It’s funny how I didn’t even notice how easily I fucked her up; I was so wrapped up in my own head that the smallest amount of relief from that tangle of shorted cords meant that the world shifted abruptly. I liked finding the little things that were different. The things I didn’t notice before. Felt like I was in a new world.

Anyway, she’s not that hard to fuck up.

She’s not that hard to fuck up to tears.

And I’d say it’s a little unfortunate that I’m addicted to watching her get so wound up that she bursts into tears, but it’s a power trip knowing I’ve made her feel so good that the only way her body can respond is by making her cry.

She’s also a slightly different person now. Relaxed. Less careful. Fuck me, she was so fucking careful with me for so long, it must’ve been exhausting. I was determined to make her patience worthwhile in every way possible. And if that meant being the rock while she melted from having to hold it together at the hospital all day on her bad evenings, then I’d do everything in my power to be just that.

So, she sat in my lap, straddling my waist, hunting for kisses along my throat and jaw until finally planting a small one at the corner of my mouth.

“Carmy?” she whispered.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you make me feel good? Work was awful, I just… I just wanna feel good.”

We are supposed to talk about these kinds of things. It’s an unspoken rule between us, that we talk when either of us are neck-deep; she wears her stress more gracefully than I do, but it doesn’t mean she’s bulletproof. She is just as prone to burying shit under keeping herself busy—crochet, sewing with her friends, busying herself in deciphering me. Caring for me. If I am going to talk to her, then she is going to talk to me.

She drummed her fingers on my chest to get my attention. “Please? Please, sweetheart?”

I squeezed her thighs, also to get her attention. “You don’t wanna talk about it?”

She shook her head, whined her next sentence. “Later? Can we talk later?” She slid a hand up and tugged on my hair, a gesture more out of impatience than anything else. “Please?”

It takes a few seconds for the switch to flip. For me to go from the usual wreck of a person that I am to the one who destroys her in minutes, tops. Being mentally prepared for it ahead of time helps a lot, but I can manage a quick switch every once in a while, as the situation demands. So, I was my usual self when I finger-combed through her hair, swept it out of her face. But when I tensioned a fistful of it and traced her lips with my fingertip, I was the other one.

“Open,” I murmured.

She obeyed immediately. Her eyes fluttered closed and a moan escaped her throat when I pressed two fingers to her tongue.

“Suck.”

She enclosed her lips around my fingers and hollowed her cheeks, tracing her tongue over the digits. She held my wrist and forearm while she bobbed her head up and down their length, traced her thumb along the tendons, the scars, the tattoos that she memorized. She made a discontented noise when I adjusted for my back, holding my arm tighter so I couldn’t pull away. It was cute.

“I’m not taking ‘em away, cutie,” I reassured her. “Look at me, hm?”

She squeezed her eyes closed tighter.

I tightened my grip in her hair and repeated, firmer, “Look at me.”

She met my gaze for a few seconds, then looked away.

Oh? “You wanna keep feeling good, princess?”

She held tighter and sucked my fingers deeper into her mouth. That’d be a yes.

“Then you better listen. Look at me.”

She did, and within seconds, her face started flooding fuchsia. Her cheeks, the tip of her nose, the tips of her ears, her neck—all started going pink. Her movements lost their fluidity. Her thumb trembled as it traced the pulse in my wrist.

“Good girl. Keep looking at me. I wanna see your pretty eyes.” Her blush deepened further. Breathing quickened. “Want more?”

She whimpered a pathetic sort of sound in the back of her throat.

“That’s not an answer.”

She gave me a jerky nod. I added my ring finger, and her eyes threatened to flutter closed again.

“Keep looking at me, baby girl.” She did. And now her face and neck were red and hot to the touch. “Good girl.”

Her eyes went glassy, and tears pooled at her eyelashes. Her grip on my arm was bruising, trembling, causing these shooting pains up into my elbow, but fuck if I wasn’t enthralled by those gorgeous eyes, by her being so ruined by just looking at me that she’d begun to cry. I gently pressed down on her tongue, and her eyes snapped shut, sending black-tinted tears down her cheeks. She immediately blinked them back open, hooked her hand in my shirt neckline in a wordless effort to both apologize and beg me to continue.

“Aw, that’s okay sweetheart. It’s just too much for you, huh?”

She hesitated, but then gave me the tiniest nod.

“What do you say to something a bit bigger, hm?”

She grabbed my shirt now and pulled. Yes, Carmen, please.

I slowly removed my fingers from her mouth. “Go ahead. Good girl.”

She slid off my lap onto the floor and fumbled with my jeans. I had to help her get my dick free, but the instant I did, she took the head into her mouth, and I fucking swear to God, she almost fucking ruined me. Her mouth was so hot, so wet, she was so eager to flick her tongue over the slit and hum and dig her nails into my thighs.

“Fucking hell, baby girl… you really need me, huh?”

She nodded, pulled off just enough to whisper, “I wanna choke on you,” and then took me back into her mouth.

A searing wave of arousal washed over me.

Excuse the fuck outta me?

“You wanna what?”

She hummed. The fuck did that mean?

I gripped a fistful of her hair to get her to look up at me. “I asked you a question.”

Her cheeks flushed red again. Eyes went glassy. She was still just mouthing at the head, running her tongue maddeningly over and around it. She seemed reluctant to pull off or repeat what she’d said, but the heat in my core burned hotter. If she wasn’t about to clarify, I was going to make her choke on me anyway.

She let my dick fall from her mouth when I tightened my grip even further.

“I-I wanna ch-choke on your dick, sir,” she whimpered. “Please? Please fuck my throat? I’ll-I’ll tap three times if I need you to stop.” She did the motion on my thigh.

Something otherworldly possessed me then. I’m not a rough lover—at least, I wasn’t, not until I met Darling. It’s not that I didn’t want to be—I wanted, pretty much from the jump for what I can remember of being a hormonal teenager, to be rough with someone. I wanted to pull hair, bite, scratch, choke, I wanted to feel powerful and in control of something, be allowed to act on the barely contained insanity, that beast that festered just under the terrified, stuttering kid. Half of the reason I was called Bear was because of the last name—Berzatto. The other half?

The other half is why I ended up in wrestling to begin with. Just somewhere to put violent energy that was structured and safe enough not to land me a prison sentence. Or at least, that was my experience. I was very much two sides of the same coin, but the only time I saw that other side represented was in horrible circumstances—so I learned to associate the need to be rough with something bad, vile, despicable, wrong. Darling was safe. She showed me ways to remain safe while still being able to act on those deep-seated impulses tattooed on my bones. She didn’t quite flip a switch in me so much as give me access to a switch I could flip myself. She was safe. She is safe.

Darling took me back into her mouth, but this time all the way to the back of her throat. Her eyes watered, but she kept at it, going slowly, giving me time to think. She wanted to choke on my dick, huh? You wanna choke on me? Need to feel so powerless and used like a fucktoy, do you? Need that cute little brain to take a backseat to raw, unadulterated pleasure for a little while the only way I know how to give you? Okay. Okay, baby girl.

I wove both hands in her hair and started fucking deeper into her throat. Her eyes rolled back. Tears spilled down her cheeks when she squeezed them shut.

“Like that, pretty girl?”

Pretty girl.

Didn’t plan it. Came out of nowhere. But both of us clearly liked it based on how it imprinted on my gray matter and the unrestrained, half-muffled, half-strangled, high-pitched whine she let out. She squeezed a fistful of my jeans with one hand, held my wrist loosely with the other.

Pretty girl. This is just what you needed huh? Me fucking your throat relentlessly while your eyes roll back, and you forget everything else that exists on this planet.

You needed The Bear tonight.

She snuck her hands under my shirt, traced the lines of my abdomen. It was as if she couldn’t gather enough coherence to do anything meaningful, but she wanted to get her hands on me. I moved her further off, almost all the way off, to give her jaw a bit of a break, but she quickly gripped at my hips, dug her fingernails into me, and whined loud enough that the corner neighbor definitely would’ve heard.

“Shhh, easy pretty girl.” I pet her face, brought her back down on my dick.

She hummed. Went right back to hollowing her cheeks and made another whiny sound until I started fucking her throat again. Then she settled down, eyes closed, bliss on her face despite the streaks of gray.

I couldn’t resist chuckling. “Oh, is it that good, pretty girl?”

She nodded.

“Just need to be fucked like a toy, do you?” What was I saying? Did I really just say that? “Used up like the pretty thing you are, huh?”

“Mmhm.” She nodded more emphatically this time, planted a hand on my sternum, turned those gorgeous, glassy eyes up to me. The sight seared into my memory. Fuck me, pretty girl. A look like that oughtta be illegal. Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you forget all your worries, all the bad things that happened today.

I’ll fucking destroy you, and you will just come crawling back for more. You’re going to work with some fucking marks tomorrow; I’ll trade you a lipstick print, how about that, hm? How about Monique learn that you’re getting taken care of, and I’ll tell Richie to fuck off when he learns the same about me? Fuck this world, Darling, baby girl, pretty girl, I got shit to say to it about how it treated me, and I’ll start with showing it that you’re mine and I’m yours.

“Now be a good girl and choke on me.”

She obeyed, taking me further into her throat. Her throat spasmed around my dick—this fucking delirious tightness that pushed me abruptly over the edge of the orgasm I was teetering on. Heat exploded through my chest and up into my face, I couldn’t get air in fast enough, my head spun and swam and buzzed, my abdomen stung with the force of my core contracting. She gripped fistfuls of my jeans, then pushed against my hip, then pulled back just enough to let her swallow. Then the wave of cold set in. The merciful, blissful, benevolent wave of cold that started at my shoulders and washed down me like a Fall rain, taking with it all the tension I didn’t realize I’d been carrying up until then. My head dropped against the back of the couch. Hands went limp in her hair. Eyes refused to stay open.

Darling pulled off me slowly. Nuzzled my hand, kissed my palm.

“Come’ere,” I mumbled.

She climbed back into my lap and hunted for kisses again. I gave them willingly, now boneless, powerless to resist her in any capacity. The Bear’s been sated, princess, do what you want to me. I’m yours. I belong to you.

“What does my pretty girl want, hm?”

She kissed my neck just under the hinge of my jaw. Her voice was hoarse, more a crackly whisper than her normal speaking tone. “Eat me out? Three fingers?”

Anything, my love.

[badfanfictionaire]

It’s not unusual for a vampire to go their whole existence wishing to find someone to spend forever with.  They’ll probably have five or six lovers over their lifetime, until they inevitably got snuffed out by some happy-go-lucky monster hunter and perish like a pathetically mortal soul.  But, they’ll probably never find the one before that. Eddie’s never heard of a vampire meeting their soulmate, at least not in real life.  Lore would suggest that women swoon over vampire lords, and swear allegiance to them for as long as they both shall live.  But, lore would also have you believe that all vampires can turn into bats (which, bummer, they can’t), and that they’re all allergic to garlic (which again is untrue, garlic bread is delicious) (Why is it that only the shitty parts of lore are true, like the whole stake through the heart bit?). In Eddie’s experience, the minute you ask a girl if she wants to spend forever forever with you, she freaks the fuck out and takes off.  (Which, ouch??)

Needless to say, Eddie doesn’t even consider the possibility that he might meet his soulmate backstage at a talent show in some podunk town in Indiana.  Life gets boring as hell when you’ve been alive for six hundred some odd years, so, from time to time he liked to get creative with his human persona.  In 1980 he decided that with a buzzcut and ill-fitting clothes, he could probably still pass as a middle schooler, especially if Wayne told the school he’d been held back or something.  So he decides to try going back to school.  He kind of underestimated how different school was going to be in 1980 though, given that he hadn’t been in school since the 1960s.  Things had changed a lot, and he stuck out like a sore thumb.  

He met Christine Elizabeth Cunningham on September 12th, 1980, and he just knew he had to win her over some how.  By 1986, he’d realized that was going to be a lot harder than he’d anticipated…

But, in March of that year, he caught a break, Chrissy broke up with her long-time boyfriend and needed a shoulder to cry on.  And it just so happened he had not one but two leather-clad shoulders to offer.  And so, offer he did.  As luck would have it, having existed for six hundred-some-odd years finally paid off, because if there was one thing he’d become quite proficient at in his life it was being a good listener.  Tearfully she told him everything, from how controlling her mother was to how much of a moldy schnitzel Jason was. 

Somehow they ended up back at his place and got high, laying with their faces inches apart on his bed. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” 

She nods. 

“I’m a vampire,” he whispers.

She giggles. “Sure don’t look like one to me.”

“No? Not even with the pale skin and the whole dark aesthetic?” 

“No,” she says, making grabby hands at him, “You’re too squishy.” 

She scooches a bit closer and her hands land on his shoulders, “You listen to me, Eddie Munson, you are not a mean scary vampire like everyone says you are.  You’re just a big soft teddy bear who wears black and… well, you’re too hot to be a crusty old vampire anyway.”

His breath catches in his throat with the way her big blue eyes bore into his soul, but then she lets out another giggle and he can’t help but laugh too. 

Later, when they’re starting to sober up, he rolls over to face her again. 

“Can I tell you something serious?”

“Anything,” she says. 

“I really am a vampire.”

Her eyes rove over his face, and don’t see any hint of it being a joke. 

“Oh.” 

“Wanna see?” 

“See what?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing together. 

“My, uh, crusty old vampire fangs?” 

Hesitantly she nods.  Maybe she’s expecting him to produce a pair of those flimsy imitation fangs they sell at Party City, but he knows she’s probably not expecting him to open his mouth and protract his fangs. 

“Holy shit,” she murmurs, her eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” he says, immediately retracting them and regretting having frightened her.  She was just so disarming, he couldn’t help it.  He wanted her to know him, the real him, even if it meant they only had today. 

“What for?” 

“I’m a monster, Chrissy,” he says, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. 

“Hey, look at me,” she says, her tiny fingers pushing his chin back up so his eyes meet hers again, “You are not a monster, Eddie.  I mean, maybe in the literal sense, but, in all the other ways? I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who was less of a monster than you.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Whatever self-deprecating you’re going to say, I won’t hear it.”

“I shouldn’t have sprung that on you,” he says. 

Chrissy gives him a one-shoulder shrug. 

“You know, you’re not what I thought you’d be like,” she says softly. 

“Mean and scary? Not even with the fangs?” 

She nods, then, “I’m not scared, you know.” 

“You should be.” He brushes his thumb against her cheek. 

“Kiss me?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Please,” she urges sweetly. 

And so he does, gently, tenderly, with every ounce of himself.  

“I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you,” he breathes when they separate for air, “Even back then-”

“Back then?”

“The middle school talent show,” he says, remembering it fondly. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember,” she replies, averting her eyes in shame.

“I wouldn’t remember me from back then either,” he assures her, “But, perchance, we could continue from here? Where we are now?”

“I’d like that,” she says, a contented smile replacing her frown. 

It’s much too soon to ask her to be his bride, or to ask for her to join him in the afterlife, but he knows deep down in his heart that one day she’ll agree to both propositions.  He’d wait another hundred years if he had to, as long as it meant he would finally have his soulmate by his side where she belonged.  Thankfully, it doesn’t take nearly that long for his dream to come true. 

In the year 1990, Edward James Munson and Christine Elizabeth Cunningham are united in both holy matrimony and the afterlife.  And so, the young man who once believed he was destined to wander the Earth alone forever, found he was no longer trapped in solitude.  Instead, hand in hand, he and his true love would navigate the world as one.  (Until, ya know, they inevitably got snuffed out by some happy-go-lucky monster hunter and perished like any other pathetic mortal souls.)

👻👻👻👻

(read on AO3)

[sicksorrows]

not sure how this paragraph will end up so be alert

I couldn't stop thinking about this photo all day and im going batshit crazy rn, I know im posting too much paragraphs about this man but this deserves his own for this picture, and I am about to cry and cum looking at this picture NO ONE UNDERSTANDS HOW MUCH I NEED THIS MAN AGHHHH HE LOOKS SO GOOD WITH HIS HAIR DOWN like lemme pull that baby, OH MY GOD IM SHAKING TYPING THIS. I NEEDED THIS SO BAD OH MY GOD, NANAMI COME TO LIFE PLEASEE IM GOING CRAZY. I wish I was a man so I could jerk off to him (respectfully) I need to get fucked by him with every song in the world. any song I listen to is making my mind go to nanami. I wish I could write really well that I can write a descriptive smut of me and him. i love this man so much oh my god i go insane everytime someone mentions him and if someone else likes him more than me i get a little pissed, ik its a fictional character but this man is keeping me alive right now and i CANT GET HIM OUT OF MY HEAD OG MT GOD I NEED HIM TO EAT ME OUT ON A KITCHEN COUNTER. im so serious when I say the shit I say. no one can beat my down badness for this man. I literally want to mention him every second of the day to prove how much I love him. I want to be known as THE nanami fan. oh my gof if he was real I swear I would do anything and everything for him. id be his maid,wife,whore,slut,house wife. anything. i swear i can write for hours and hours about how much I need this man. I didn't know a character would affect me this much. every single reference I see I want to mention nanami so bad. it sounds insane but I want to gatekeep this man SO BAD I know he's already popular, but if he got Gojos fame id actually end it. im so glad this man caught my eye agh. I love you nanami kento.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Love in the Dark: Chapter Eleven

Love in the Dark: You discover an intense connection with a dream lover, yearning for a love beyond physical appearances. As your encounters blur the lines between the waking world and the Dreaming, your grapple with the complexities of desire, friendship, and mortality. Can you truly love in the dark?

Warnings: More Angst.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x NAMEDFem!Reader.

Word Count: ~2.6k

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Matthew swoops back into the Waking World, landing once again on your window sill. His heart pounds in his chest, fear and hope warring within him. The moonlight bathes your apartment in a soft glow, and he strains his eyes to see any sign of you.

The light is on inside. The blinds are slightly askew, allowing him to see a sliver of the interior. A flicker of movement catches his eye and he holds his breath, waiting. And then he sees you.

You're there, sitting on the couch with a cup of something warm cradled between your hands. Your face is drawn, shadows under your eyes speaking volumes about the toll recent events have taken on you. But you're there. You're home.

Relief washes over Matthew and he caws softly in reassurance, though you can't hear him. He watches as you take a sip from your cup, then set it down on the coffee table with a sigh. You lean back against the couch, your gaze distant and lost in thought.

Summoning his courage, Matthew taps on the window with his beak. The soft sound catches your attention and you turn towards the window, your eyes widening in surprise when you see him. Slowly, you rise from the couch and approach the window, opening it just enough to let him perch on the sill inside.

"Matthew?" you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

Matthew ruffles his feathers, his beady eyes full of concern. "Kora, what's going on? Everyone misses you. You look like you haven't slept in ages and I am worried that Fēlix is going to cry Petunia out of her treehouse! What is going on!?"

The raven's exasperated cries echo in the silence of your apartment. Matthew, ever the audacious bird, eyes you expectantly. But instead of a biting retort, a tired sigh slips past your lips.

"Matthew," you begin, your voice quiet and strained. "You don't understand."

He cocks his head to one side, scrutinizing you. The audacity of his stare feels heavy in the room, but you're too weary to feel truly bothered.

"Then make me understand! Okay? I used to be human, remember? Talk to me!"

A hollow laugh escapes you. "You want me to talk? Fine." Your red rimmed eyes, highlighted by the bags beneath, simmer with pained rage. "Mortals and the Dreaming do not mix," You tell him, your nose flaring and your eyes burning yet again. "Me and the dreaming don't mix!" The words hang in the air between you, heavy and fraught with unspoken meaning. You see Matthew's beady eyes widen as he digests your words.

"What the hell are you talking about, Kora?" he finally squawks, concern lining his voice. "What the fuck happened that had you running out of the fucking throne room?"

Your eyes, your pained eyes, which hold so much anguish and heartbreak, went dead.

"I opened my eyes, Matthew, I opened my eyes," you say, hollowness within your voice making the raven's heart drop. With that you harshly shut the window, blocking him from speaking more.

Matthew's words ring in your ears long after he has gone. You lean against the window, the cool glass soothing against your fevered forehead. "What the fuck happened?" He had asked a fair question. One that deserves an answer, even if it's only to yourself.

You trudge back to your couch, the weight of the world on your shoulders. Your gaze falls on the half-drunk cup of coffee sitting on the table, its warmth long gone. Like a puppet with its strings cut, you sink onto the couch, burying your face in your hands.

The silence of your apartment wraps around you like a shroud. In its embrace, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. You remember his voice, not Morpheus's royal tone but his softer, intimate timbre, as it whispered sweet nothings in your ear during stolen moments of ecstasy.

Your fingers trace over the place where his hands had caressed within your dreams. The way he would wrap an arm around you as if to protect you from everything outside your shared bubble of anonymous bliss.

But now...

Now that bubble is shattered.

You sit up straighter on the couch, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You need to be strong. You've been through worse and survived. You'll survive this too. But you didn't want to have to.

"I opened my eyes," you murmur into the silence, repeating the words you'd told Matthew earlier. The truth of it settles heavy in your chest. The dream lover who had captured your heart wasn't just any dream or nightmare... he was Dream himself. Lord Morpheus. The ruler of all dreams and nightmares, not just a creation of one.

You could live with spending your life within the arms of a dream or nightmare during your sleeping hours. You could live with that because somehow you could make it work. But not with an Endless. He is unobtainable because he isn't a dream or nightmare. He isn't made to be your own.

A tear slips down your cheek, trailing a wet path down to your chin before falling onto your lap. But there are no more tears after that one— you've cried enough for one night.

"I opened my eyes," you say again, this time with more resolve. "And I will keep them open.

It rains the next week, beginning on the night of Sunday and carrying well into Wednesday where you are numbly going through motions at work. You have several meetings to attend for marketing and sales and profit. Monotony.

You sit in the meeting, eyes glazed over as the presenter drones on about market segmentation and target demographics. The fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting harsh shadows across the faces of your colleagues. You try to focus on the PowerPoint slides, but the words blur together into an incomprehensible jumble.

Your mind keeps drifting back to the Dreaming, to him. The ache in your chest throbs with every heartbeat, a constant reminder of what you've lost. You clench your fists under the table, nails digging into your palms as you try to keep yourself in the present moment.

"Kora, what do you think about this strategy?" Your boss's voice cuts through your reverie, and you snap to attention. All eyes in the room are on you, expectant and curious.

You clear your throat, scrambling to recall what had just been said. "I think it's a solid approach," you begin, hoping your voice sounds more confident than you feel. "But we should also consider..."

As you speak, you feel a flicker of something at the edge of your consciousness. A whisper, a caress, a fleeting sensation that sends goosebumps racing across your skin. For a moment, you could swear you feel his presence, as if he's standing right behind you.

But when you turn your head, there's nothing there. Just the blank wall of the conference room and the puzzled faces of your coworkers. You shake your head, pushing down the surge of longing that threatens to overwhelm you.

"...consider the potential risks," you finish, proud of how steady your voice remains. Your boss nods, satisfied with your input, and the meeting continues.

You force yourself to pay attention, to take notes and contribute when called upon. But all the while, your heart aches with the knowledge that no matter how hard you try, you can't escape the pull of the Dreaming. Of him.

The meeting ends, and you gather your things with shaking hands. As you step out into the hallway, you feel a gust of wind brush past you, carrying with it the scent of night-blooming jasmine and something uniquely him.

It’s always been him.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you whirl around, searching for the source. But there's nothing there. Just the empty hallway and the distant sound of footsteps echoing off the linoleum. With a heavy sigh, you turn and head back to your desk, the weight of your heartache settling once more upon your shoulders. You have work to do, a life to live. Why couldn't your mind leave you in peace?

Rain pelts against your skin, drenching you in seconds as you walk home. You can feel your clothes sticking to your body, the fabric heavy and sodden. But you don't care. There's something cleansing about the rain, something that makes you feel as if it could wash away all the pain and heartache. You tilt your face towards the sky, letting the cool droplets splash against your cheeks.

Your shoes squelch against the wet pavement, each step sending tiny ripples through the puddles forming on the sidewalk. Your hair is plastered to your head, rivulets of water streaming down your back. But still, you walk on.

People rush past you, umbrellas bobbing as they hurry to escape the downpour. They give you wide berths, shooting you curious looks as they pass. You must look a sight, a woman walking alone in the rain without an umbrella.

A gust of wind sends a spray of water into your face and you close your eyes, letting out a shaky breath. It feels like surrendering to the storm, surrendering to the torrent of emotions raging within you.

You can't escape him, not in your dreams and not in your waking hours. He's everywhere and nowhere all at once. He's in the soft murmur of the wind through the trees, in the warmth of the sun on your skin, in the sound of rain falling on a tin roof.

But he's also in the silence that follows a blissful embrace after a tryst, in the space beside you where he should be occupying, in every moment that now feels empty without his echoing presence. Your heart clenches with longing and regret, with unspoken words and unachievable dreams. The rain feels like a mirror to your soul, wild and untamed, full of turmoil and beauty all at once.

As you turn onto your street, a particularly strong gust of wind nearly knocks you off your feet. You brace yourself against it, squinting against the onslaught of rain. Your home looms ahead, a beacon of warmth and safety amidst the storm. Rather than glumly march to the front door, you decide to grab your neighbors tricycle and drag it into the safety of the gated alley between your homes.

You leave the tricycle by your neighbors back door and turn to head to your own, curling your fingers into your palm as numbness begins to emerge. You are mere steps from your back door when the air changes in the small alley and you pause.

The wind picks up again, whipping your wet hair across your face. A chill races down your spine that has nothing to do with the rain. You turn slowly, the familiar presence behind you making your heart pound in your chest.

There he stands, in the shadow of your apartment building. Morpheus. You almost believe you are hallucinating, but his form is solid and rain is striking his body. Dripping from his midnight hair, running down string cheekbones.

"Kora," he begins, his voice a soft rumble that makes your entire body tremble. "May we speak?"

His formality makes you scoff despite the pounding of your heart. You cross your arms over your chest, feeling oddly defiant despite your soaked clothes, tangled hair, and raw heart.

"Go ahead," you reply, raising an eyebrow at him. "It's not like I'm going to wake up." You can see the flinch his eyes make, even if the action does not physically appear. Your words hurt him and even though your heart still feels raw, you don't feel joy in his reaction.

His gaze pierces through the veil of rain, capturing yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless. "Kora," he implores, the plea in his voice wrapping around your heart. "Let us speak where you are not exposed to the elements."

His concern for your wellbeing, real or feigned, sends a wave of bitterness washing over you. Your fingers tighten into fists at your sides as you take a step closer to him, the rain plastering your hair to your forehead.

"No," you say, your voice cutting through the roar of the storm. "We talk here, Morpheus. Out in the rain. Or not at all."

His displeasure is palpable in the charged air between you. His lips press into a tight line and his gaze hardens. But you don't back down. You won't let him dictate the terms of this conversation. This is your realm, not his. You start to turn away, ready to retreat into the sanctuary of your home when his hand shoots out, gripping your arm. His touch sends an electric jolt through you, freezing you in place.

The rain pelts down on the both of you, yet the world around seems to fade into insignificance. It's just you and him, your gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. In a swift movement, he pins you against the side of your building, his hand still gripping your arm while the other one rests lightly against the brick wall beside your head. You breath heavily and wonder if he plans on stealing your sight like he had every time before.

And yet his gaze still holds yours, the stormy skies reflected in his eyes. The moment stretches out, the only sound the rain drumming against the pavement and your own heart hammering in your chest. Then, with a suddenness that leaves you breathless, his lips are on yours.

Shock ripples through you as his mouth moves over yours, his kiss passionate and demanding. Your eyes widen in surprise but you don't pull away. You can't. His presence is overwhelming, a storm within the storm. He is kissing you and you can see him. Your hands shoot up to cradle his jaw, your fingers trembling as they touch his skin, warm and real beneath your touch. It is almost laughable when your eyes shut on their own accord.

His lips move against yours with a fervor that steals your breath away, each kiss a desperate plea, an unspoken promise. His fingers curl around your arm, his grip tight and possessive. His other hand finds its way to your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you.

Rainwater trickles down your face, mixing with the salty taste of his lips. His mouth moves against yours, warm and insistent. The cool rain pattering against your skin contrasts with the heat radiating from him, making you shiver in response. Then his hand moves from your waist to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your wet hair. He tilts your head back, deepening the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours, drawing a weak whimper from deep within your throat.

Despite the rain soaking you to the bone, you feel warmth spreading through you from where his body is pressed against yours. His hand at the back of your neck tightens its hold on you as he pulls away from the kiss. Your heart pounds in your chest as you look up at him, breathless and dazed.

His gaze is intense as he watches you, his eyes dark and filled with an emotion that makes your breath hitch in your throat. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away a raindrop that clings to your eyelashes.

"All I want," You whisper out, "Is you. But I can't love you in your dark."

His thumb pauses on your skin, his unwavering stare deepening. A glimmer of... remorse? Comprehension? It vanishes before you can interpret it. His ensuing words are a hushed murmur, almost lost to the rain's rhythmic dance on the pavement. "Then love me in your light."

With his words echoing in your ears, a desperate plea in the pouring rain, you make your choice. Your hands move from his jaw to the sides of his face, fingers splayed wide as you quickly pull his lips back to yours. You make your choice.

Date Published: 10/22/24

Last Edit: 10/22/24

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[acevid]

DRDT TALENTSWAP INCORRECT QUOTES

AREI: Person E, I want a bedtime story! 

WHIT: I’m busy, Arei. I’ll tell you one tomorrow. 

AREI: If you don’t tell me a story, I won’t go to bed! 

WHIT: Once upon a time, there was a person named Arei, who always wanted things their way. One day, their friends got sick of it and locked them in the basement for the rest of their life. Everyone else lived happily ever after. The end. 

AREI: I don’t like these stories with morals.

DAVID: What do you do for a living? 

TERUKO: I exist against my will.

XANDER: Oh, hey, I didn’t see you come in! You should have come by and said hello! 

CHARLES: Oh! Yeah, I uh... 

CHARLES: Didn’t want to bother you. 

CHARLES: Or talk to or listen to or be around you.

VERONIKA: What are you eating? 

J: You wouldn't like it, it's really salty. 

VERONIKA: I like you, don't I?

ACE: I am strong! I beat David at arm wrestling! 

TERUKO: Anyone can beat David at arm wrestling.

DAVID: Hey-

XANDER: COMPANY IS COMING! I WANT THIS PLACE LOOKING LIKE DISNEY ON ICE IN ONE MINUTE! 

XANDER: DAVID IF YOU HAVEN'T MADE YOUR BED THROW IT AWAY IT'S TOO LATE TO MAKE IT NOW! 

XANDER: GET RID OF THE COUCHES, WE CAN'T LET PEOPLE KNOW WE S I T !

*Everyone is giving advice to David* 

ROSE: It's okay to ask for help. 

HU: You're not a burden. 

NICO: Murder is okay. 

XANDER: Your feelings matter.

EDEN: Can you PLEASE peer pressure me into doing my project? 

CHARLES: Do it or you're straight. 

EDEN: I said peer pressure, NOT THREATEN!

CHARLES: Look at me straight in the eyes and tell me the truth, Whit.

WHIT: You can’t expect me to look into your eyes and be straight.

XANDER: Levi is off at an appointment, so while they’re gone, I’m going to cut the sleeves off all of my shirts. 

HU: Why? 

XANDER: They’re like 90% of my impulse control.

CHARLES: Do you take constructive criticism? 

EDEN: Not without crying

NICO: Why do you think I don’t like you? I do. I would kill for you. 

NICO: Ask me to kill for you. 

ACE: ...First of all, calm down the fuck down—

MONOTV: I give you a cursed amulet! 

VERONIKA: Cool! It’ll make me look cute, and the shadow that follows me will make me more active, I’ll get out more!

ACE: David, I rebuke thee! I rebuke thee! 

DAVID: Rebuke? Is that a word? 

ACE: You have all invoked my fury! You will all pay recompense for your transgressions! 

LEVI: Do you have a word-a-day calendar too?

DAVID: What do you mean too??

ROSE: So, Person E, do you have a crush on anyone? 

NICO: The only crush I have is this crushing anxiety.

DAVID: We’re having a moment, aren’t we? 

TERUKO: If by 'a moment' you mean me not wanting to strangle you for the first time since we met, then I guess we are.

[eggtrolls]

The Downton blogging (circa S3E5) will continue until morale improves

Ice in the veins, Kobe of the social scene — Mary Crawley would not, could physically not miss a chance to be ruthless to Edith. She sees Edith from 100 feet away and it’s On Sight. Edith standing in the churchyard about to be married and Mary is like listen we WILL NOT like each other a jot more in the future but good luck I guess. Sybil is lying DEAD on a bed in front of them and Edith is like 🥺 oh Mary 🥺 do you think we might get along a little better in the future? 🥺😭 and Mary just says “I doubt it”. She is a supervillain and I support women’s wrongs.

My favourite half-drowned bear cub of a man, Robert is like ‘no I can’t kick out my tenants who can’t farm and haven’t paid rent since the Norman invasion because they’re OLD wtf do you think I’m MEAN or something????’ and then he turns around and is like ‘but fuck Catholics for real tho lmao am I right or am I right, archbishop of banterbury’

The scene right after Edith gets left at the altar and Robert and Matthew go outside to talk about Reggie Swire’s fortune and the shot is them as tiny ants in the shadow of Downton’s walls…….that’s the shit I like

Cora saying goodbye to Sybil’s corpse with an insanely placid smile and her right (my left) eye twitching the entire time. Again the reminders of Iphigenia vis-a-vis a young woman dying in the house as a sacrifice, thus casting Cora being Clytemnestra which is just deeeeeeeelicious

The only part of Sybil’s death/mourning that actually made me feel some kind of way was Maggie Smith struggling alone with her cane in the hall……how many women has she seen die in childbirth over the last 70 years. Is it even surprising anymore? Does it hurt more or less?

Tom is still busy being fucking useless because he has no real purpose other than being a vague socialist life-size cardboard cut out to eventually be whittled down as a foil to Matthew who is himself being whittled down as a foil to Robert.

Also re: Tom and the Drumgoole house burning, WHY was he surprised by this being upsetting LET ALONE that it happened? He’s like omg I can’t believe I was upset by seeing rich people crying when their house burnt down, but the same fucking guy years ago canonically said nothing bad would happen to the Tsar and his family? Bro? Tf? Did you even do the readings of this shit you’re actively living through, while as a journalist to boot?????

Also also tremendously weak ass shit for him to answer Sybil’s “you didn’t tell me you’d gone to those meetings” with “I didn’t say I hadn’t”. “You didn’t tell me you were part of the Oklahoma City bombings”/“well I didn’t say I wasn’t” ass logic. unsurprising Tom L

Anna’s character is wearing so thin. She really has fuckall personality besides being pert, blonde, and vaguely saintlike while saying mihstehhhh Beyyyyyyyhtś every five minutes like a cuckoo clock

O’Brien playing the long game of slowly nudging Thomas and Jimmy towards each other, knowing it will get Thomas fired if not jailed, is a master class in scheming. Spy novels where the payoff is averting nuclear war are written with less attention to detail than this.

I need Thomas to get a mean lesbian best friend as a counterpoint to season 1 Miss O’Brien but since female sexuality wasn’t discovered in England until the 1970s it’s unlikely to happen :(

Mr Molesley as the permanent straight man of the show is maybe a little stale but it does crack me up every time. Sorry bro

The conversation around Downton as sentient being who kills those who don’t belong (Lavinia, and ultimately, Matthew) or who stray from the fold (Sybil) or those who endangered the Family (Kemal Pamuk) is still super interesting as the later seasons really let Edith hit her stride. It’s pretty clear that the flow of the Downton True Heir is set up as Violet to Robert to Mary but what if not. Mary is the bloodline (via Matthew) and has the money (also via Matthew) and the beauty* but Edith is the care and the maintenance that is completely ESSENTIAL to maintaining a house like Downton: in the little things of arranging seatings for dinners to keep the peace, to bigger things like helping with the Drake’s farm because the estate does boost the house, to her entire arc during S2 with the war. Mary as the roof and Edith as the walls…..let me cook

Lastly:

Okay hear me out but Vera Bates……..….would

*Edith isn’t even actually UNattactive, she just has the combo curse of Too Much Nose and Teeth. Mary’s features are roughly as pretty individually but much better proportioned for her face.

[starryeyesmasc]

fuck it. thinking about a girl riding my strap when she figures out how desperate I am to cum just from fucking her.

her hips rock again and she stretches, slick and glistening, around the head of the strap. I whine as I watch her sink down fully, but I can’t move to touch her how I’d like. my hands are neatly tied to the headboard, courtesy of the girl on my lap right now. she laughs at the painfully turned on expression on my face.

“awww. what’s up, darling?” she coos, sighing as she works herself slowly up and down the length of silicone. “am I teasin’ you? is someone getting a little flustered down there?”

any answer I might’ve been able to give fizzles out when she props a hand on my chest to pick up her pace. I drop my head back against the duvet and groan as the orgasm I’d been rapidly nearing comes steaming back. we’ve been at this for at least an hour, and she’s already cum at least three times. all without letting me cum once. I’m struck wordless, desperate, by the sheer weight of my desire for her. so when she begins to lift again I shake my head and whine.

“no, please. please please please.”

she grins and shunts her hips back down fully, completely swallowing up the ruined strap. it’s the visual of her cum from two orgasms ago smearing into my boxers that makes me arch and jolt.

“fuck—oh fuck, I can’t—m’gonna—fuck—”

for one blessed moment, I think she’s going to finally let me cum. then she laughs again and I feel her teeth nip against my neck. “so fuckin’ eager to please, aren’t you? are you actually gonna cum just from this?”

something snaps above me. I don’t need to look up to know I broke the headboard; I felt the tension holding my hands loosen. but before I can move to touch her, a nimble hand pins my wrists above my head.

“ah-ah. no, darling. you look so good and pretty right now. I’m not done usin’ you yet. you just stay still and let me—oh, awww. are you crying? need to cum that badly, do you? fuck, babe. you’re so, so desperate to be good for me, aren’t you?”

I nod instantly; squirming against the euphoric precipice she had me balanced on.

“please,” I sob. “please, fuck, please.”

“well go on then.” she rolls her hips and the sound makes me moan. “be my good desperate slut. cum for me.”

there’s something missing, and she knows it too. she’s just waiting to drag the answer free and I’m too whiny to hold out. her smirk turns wicked and she gives my hands a little shove into the bed.

“but that’s right. you can’t, can you? you need to watch me fuck myself on you again, babe?”

even as she says it, her hips slide back into motion. up, down, languid, just how I like. I’m a horse in the gates, a pulse in the veins, raring to go. all I need is one last push. she pauses when she sinks to the bottom to roll her swollen clit under her fingertips and her head tilts back as her eyebrows furrow.

“mhmm. fuck, you fill me up so fucking much. I could sit right here for hours. c’mon, babe. I know I nearly have you. close those pretty eyes and give me what I want.” she starts into motion again, and this time it’s rough. chasing release. her hips slamming down into mine with slick, wet sounds. she lowers her mouth to my straining neck. “fucking give it to me. cum for me. cum for me.”

her words push me to breaking point, but it’s her low moan in my ear and the resulting wetness dripping into my boxers that sets me off like it always does. I finally hit that sunlit peak and I arch into the golden heat of it as everything in my body freezes in adoration of her. offering up my orgasm to the goddess above me. she can take it, I have no need for it. it’s all for her, every ounce of me. I come down from it slowly, twitching as I pant and whine underneath her. a hand slips over my cheek and her careful thumb strokes my cheekbone.

“there. hey, shhh. there we go. so good. oh, you just couldn’t hold on, could you? my poor girl. yeah, I got you. I’ve got you.”

I squirm again, trying to steal another orgasm while I’m still hazy from the first, but she tightens her grip and holds me steady.

“ah. where’re you goin’? that’s just one. I told you, I’m not done with you yet. I wanna see exactly how much I can make you cum without even touching you.”

[boxwinebaddie]

my favorite baby style ncu continuity is cute tiny hopeless romantic kindergarten disney prince stan falling in love with kyle broflovski at first sight and buying every flavor of ring pop trying to propose to him like 'you are...the most Beautiful person i've ever seen.'

and evil feral kindergarten nj kyle threatening to bite him, fight him and end his pitiful life like 'and you are...so Gahdamn WEIRD. stay the hell away from me, yA FREAK!' and trying to bear mace him skdhs

— but then k-garten stan doing something incredibly wholesome, mindboggling stupid and storybook chivalrous to save k-garten kyle's life, the ice around his cold black heart melting, bein forever changed and falling head over heels in love w boy hero k-garten stan...

...all to take the fATTEST L OF ALL FUCKING TIME because he is too emotionally constipated to confess his feelings and end up gettin stuck in the super best friend zone FOREVER bc every day perfect stan marsh gets lovelier, handsomer and....Fucking STUPIDER.

[the-moogle-of-your-nightmares]

one thing i really deeply wish is that i'd had access as a kid to the plural community and information that are more easily available today, instead of my first experience with plural community which both took it seriously and was nonjudgmental having been 10's era tul/pa.info lmao

[nenelysian]

Just watched "I Saw The TV Glow" in cinemas and boy did I get chest kicked all the way back to my derealisation episodes when I was like 6 years old.

[girlwiththegreenhat]

you know what? at least he got his wedding. i guess ,

[fivewholeminutes]

Everyon e shut up. Shut hte f up. Euclid drum csm. EUCLID DRUM CAM. I WASENT PREAPRED th ee uclid. Drum cam. Someon pls share it here not as a link to insta help an old lady out

I honest to god fucking cried at the end. CRIED ON THE FUCIGN. DRUM CAM VIDEO. FOR SOME REASON MY TUNY BRAIN DID NOT PREPARW FOR THE POSSIBILITY. OF A FUCKIN. EUCLID DRUM CAM. WJICH WAS FUCKGN OBVIOUS TBH

[threnodians]

operation do not cry at my irl bestie’s wedding: FAILED

[astridthevalkyrie]

everything you see ab being the oldest daughter is true btw why am i the family therapist AND punching bag smh

long ass depressing rant in the tags srry i got a wee bit emotional