#Gonna go hide now

[justanotherjaydrawing]

... Might have posted a mini fic ... if anyone is interested. (might delete this post later coz I'm feeling incredibly shy

[papa-evershed]

Flying Solo

The Inheritance, Daniel Watson

Rated: Explicit WC: 1.7k Status: One-Shot, Complete Tags: Masturbation, Male Solo, Fantasizing, Porn Without Plot (Includes mentions of F/M fantasies)

It seemed unfair that he could be so hard and have no one there to share it with. But she’d have to stay in his imagination instead of his bed. Daniel whispered a quiet curse for that,  the word rough between his ragged breaths and steady strokes.

Read More at A03

[hippolotamus]

the sensory overload is real tonight

[jackfrostsisterssisterinlaw]

[onlyshestandsthere]

I am saying nothing.

[pjo-obsessed-nerd]

This actually makes me sad cus my fav art teacher, who saw me every day for four years in a row, didn't recognize me a year after I graduated 🥲

[uwooyoungs]

was talking about a contract rfp with my coworker accidentally called it an rpf....

[inkdrinkerworld]

this is such a weird thing to say, but andy samberg is hot

[bingsoo-jung]

DO YOU WANT TO OWN YOUR OWN VERSION OF THIS FRANKLY RIDICULOUS SWEATER? YES?

Pattern: https://7090860721845.gumroad.com/l/qiyhb

Go forth and make things.

Breaks out my GTN sweater

[anxi04]

steph and babs don’t need personas, as far as anyone is concerned they’re just family friends.

bruce has his “brucie wayne” persona, very clumsy, playboy, kinda air headed but still very smart and wants to do good for gotham. which of course makes him seem naive cause good?? for gotham??

dick has “richie grayson-wayne” who’s dabbled in modeling before becoming a gymnastics teacher. also very vocal about his “adorable little siblings”

jason never really had a “nickname” after all he was from crime alley and he had to look GOOD for them or else they’d go back to “he’s just like the rest of them”. his persona was very empathetic and kind though, which worked great for him since that’s how he was like. he always talked about doing several non profit charities. the elites switched their opinions of him on a dime, although the rest of gotham adored him.

damian refuses to go by a nickname. his persona is based around animals, mostly about abandoned animals. it’s very clear his goal for the future is to make good animal shelters and help every animal he can. it’s the only persona he could stomach and there were SEVERAL other ideas

cass is “cass wayne” very quiet, polite, generally just there in the background. normally hanging around one of her siblings, most often tim. although her being around him unnerves some of them, she’ll get a look in her face and then her and tim both know they were lying. they fully get why she hangs around tim

duke is regularly seen as the normal one. pleasant to be around, kind, but generally also just there. very normal student, not really sure what he’s gonna do. the elites don’t particularly for him, though the rest of gotham love him.

tim’s persona differs from the rest pretty heavily. he can’t get away with being like bruce, the elites vividly remember janet and see her in him very often, which vaguely scares them if they’ll be honest. he’ll act like “Tim Drake-Wayne” to unsettle them, after all he’s a Drake why is he acting clumsy? they’ve seen him when he was younger and he was the spitting image of perfect. it makes more sense to them when he trips and lands right where he can tell them something no one else can hear. “Timothy Drake” is what scares them though. the tim that casually whispers secrets no one else knows, who points out someone they’re supposed to have a “private meeting with” in a week. who has nearly cause several of them to go broke with such simple actions, and the only reason they didn’t was cause he let them stay rich. there was one elite who insulted damian near tim and suddenly said elite had to get an apartment in crime alley, pay his now ex-wife, a kid he had with some random person, and several debts

the fact that lex luther and tim are some kind of friends also doesn’t make them feel super great but that’s another issue

[javier-pena]

circumstance

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Word Count: 2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: On a stormy night, you’re haunted by a ghost from your past.

Warnings: dub con | unprotected p in v sex | creampie | unsanitary sexual practices | cheating | coercion | possessiveness | (brief) fingering (f receiving) | biting | oral (f receiving) (mentioned) | mentions of food and alcohol | mentions of blood and war

Notes: God idk what it is with me and seeing random pictures of Pedro characters that make me go feral. Anyways, wrote this in an hour, hope this is anything. I had Latin in school but I’m not vouching for any of the Latin words in this. I mostly wrote this because I’ve had a vendetta against international bestselling author Robert Harris ever since I was 15 years old. This is loosely based on a scene from his novel Imperium that has been haunting me for almost 20 years now. Also based on this post by @ozarkthedog.

***

There’s war. Outside the city, the land is burning. Behind the city walls, life goes on as it always has. There’s decadence and dissipation and life. That’s your part of the story. That’s all you’ve ever known. The comfort and the safety. That’s all you’ve ever needed to feel fulfilled.

During the night, when the city quiets down, when the people return to their homes and the public life ceases, you can sometimes hear it, like a storm brewing over the distant sea, like the rumbling of a volcano miles and miles away, taking deep breaths before spewing its fiery death. On clear nights, nights free of clouds and wind, nights where the air is so heavy it feels like a blanket weighing you down, you can even see it, the light from the battlefield, the glow of a carnage that swallows everything, even itself.

This night isn’t clear at all. This night brought rain and hail and thunder so violent it shakes the foundations of your house. You’re alone, reclining on your triclinium, too drained from dinner to move much. The storm promised some reprieve from the muggy summer air, but the heat is worse now than it was this afternoon. The wine you had with your meal, the glass in front of you now refilled a third time, combined with the weather makes your head feel like it has been wrapped in wool. Even breathing seems laborious.

But there are footsteps against mosaic floors, and footsteps mean visitors and visitors mean business. Business at such a late hour is never a good sign. With a groan you stand, with a sigh you straighten your tunic, and then the footsteps are drowned by a clap of thunder so loud you flinch.

What follows it is not the sight of one of your servants or even your husband. In the gloomy darkness that always follows a flash of lightning a shadow moves into the room, and when your eyes have adjusted to the dim lights of the lucernae all around you, you flinch again, this time with cause.

A man is standing before you, looking like the slain ghost of a soldier from the battlefield nearby. He is covered in dirt and grime, wet from the rain, wet from the blood he has recently spilled. His armor looks black in the darkness, and your eyes flicker to his side in trepidation only to discover that he’s still wearing his sword. He’s still wearing his sword, going against the rules of your house, the rules of your husband.

“Where is he?” the stranger asks, his voice deep and dangerous like the thunder outside.

You could play dumb, you could act like you don’t know who he’s talking about, but in that voice you discover something familiar, like a memory of a distant dream, never quite forgotten.

“He isn’t here,” you reply. “He might come back later, but he’s with the senate.”

The man steps closer, quick strides that take him right to the foot of your triclinium. You step backward until you reach its head, trying to put the piece of furniture between the two of you. Your hands are clammy.

“Good,” the stranger answers with a twitch of his lips that’s all too familiar for all the wrong reasons. “I promised you I’d be back for you, and I always keep my promises.”

There’s a doorway behind you leading through a small peristyle straight to your husband’s tablinum. You glance at the court, at the shrubs and flowers and fountains that you know are there but that are currently hidden by curtains of rain and darkness.

“Don’t –,” the stranger starts, but it comes too late.

You turn and run, skip down the two steps from the porch into the garden itself, your feet splashing into puddles as you run and run. Heavy footfalls behind you, heavy breathing, and a heaviness in your heart, calling back to a similar moment years ago that happened on such a different day full of laughter and sunshine and secret kisses exchanged in secret corners.

You reach the doorway to the tablinum. “Stop!” you bellow, and to your surprise he does. To your surprise, this works, and you don’t know what to do with that. “What do you want, Acacius?” you ask, your heart growing even heavier when you name him.

“You know what I want,” he answers, the rain loudly hammering against his armor, the water dousing his hair, making his curls stick to his forehead. “I came back to collect what you owe me.”

“We were children,” you remind him.

He’s up the steps faster than you can say those three words, the years between now and that summer afternoon seemingly having left no traces.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he growls, the storm raging over the city reflected in his eyes.

You step backwards into the tablinum, one hand protectively slung across your stomach. “You should leave, Acacius. I have nothing more to say to you.”

But there is only so far you can go before your back connects with your husband’s writing desk. And once it does there is nowhere for you to run to.

“I don’t need you to say anything.” His face is cast in shadows now, but when another flash lights up the night sky, you see that his expression is completely blank. “I just need you to lift up those expensive skirts of yours and let me take what’s mine.”

“Go back to that battlefield of yours,” you reply. “Go back and defend Rome like you’re supposed to. Or are you too much of a coward still?”

You should have known he would not take that kindly, should have known that provoking him wouldn’t make him leave. But when you feel his cold, wet hand wrapped around your wrist, when you’re being yanked into his chest, turned around, and shoved up against the desk, it still catches you by surprise. Some part of you, the one that never left that sunny afternoon, didn’t think he’d have it in him. Another part wanted him to.

His body presses into you with such force the desk scrapes against the stone floor with a creak loud enough to be heard over the storm. The sound that cannot be heard is the gasp you let out when he pushes up your tunic, exposing your legs to the humid night air.

“Don’t –,” you start.

He shushes you, one dirty finger touching your lips. You can smell the storm and the blood on him. He can feel your shaky breath.

“Just this once,” he mumbles into your hair.

Maybe you should fight this, but you don’t know how. He kicks your feet apart, and maybe you should kick back, connect your heel to his shin, and run. He bites the spot where your neck connects to your shoulder, and maybe you should bite his finger that is now resting against your lips while the rest of his hand is wrapped around your chin and throat, bite down hard until the bone cracks. He runs his other hand down your backside and pushes it between your legs, groaning at the warmth and wetness he finds there, and maybe you should use this moment of weakness to climb across the desk and search for something to defend yourself with.

All of it passes and you do nothing. All of it passes and you push backward against him, sucking his finger in between your lips. He pulls it out of your mouth, grabs the hair at the back of your neck, and pushes your head down toward the desk, your shoulders straining in protest. The groan you let loose is read as defiance by him.

“I told you to be quiet,” he hisses. “Just …”

He trails off and at first you don’t know why but then the hand at the back of your neck is gone and you sigh with relief, a sound that turns into something less human when he pushes two fingers into you.

“God, you’re tight,” he groans, his forehead resting against your shoulder.

“Please …,” you try again, but you’re not quite sure what you’re asking for.

There’s a rustling sound behind you, leather and fabric being moved frantically, and then his fingers are gone, replaced by something thick and heavy spreading you open. You lift yourself up on the tips of your toes, trying to adjust, trying to lessen the burn, but he digs his fingers into your hips and pushes you back down, right onto him.

“Stay,” he orders. “Just … just take it.”

His words are slurred now, and your vision is blurry, your eyes wet from biting your lip so hard you can taste blood on your tongue. He rocks into you, and your nails scrape against the wood of your husband’s desk, leaving marks in their wake. But you do as you’re told.

“That’s better.” He bites your shoulder again and you gasp from the sudden burst of pain, gasp from the way you constrict around him in response. He laughs, a rumbling like thunder, then pushes your upper body against the wood, holding you down, one hand in your hair, the other firmly locking your hip in place.

Another bolt of lightning must have illuminated your face, turned sideways for him to see the trepidation in your eyes because he says, “Don’t cry. I’m going to take good care of you.”

You don’t know how to tell him that you’re not crying because you’re afraid of him. You’re crying because you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this way, the last time sex wasn’t just a duty you had to fulfill but something someone wanted from you, and just from you, so much so he would abandon his duty to take what’s his. You don’t know how to tell him you’re terrified of what that discovery might mean for you and your marriage, how you’re hoping your husband is going to walk in right this very moment and free you from the bonds that bind you to him.

Acacius starts to lose control of his body then. He’s pushing himself up deeper and deeper into you, groaning louder with each thrust. You know those sounds, dread them when they’re coming from your husband, encourage them now with desperate whimpers of your own. He grips your hair again, pulls you up flush against his chest so hard you yelp with pain, fumbles with your tunic until he finds that bundle of nerves between your legs that he loved to kiss when you were both free to enjoy each other’s company. But it’s just for a brief moment he considers your pleasure before hitting the desk with his open palm, holding onto the wood, and letting go.

You close your eyes, waiting. It doesn’t take long for him to let out a sigh, to still deep inside of you. You can feel him twitch, you feel his hot release, but most of all you feel the sting of a promise broken. Your whole body is on edge, wound up, pulled taut, and there is nothing he’s going to do about it.

When he’s done, he pulls out of you and lets your tunic fall down around your legs. You turn to face him, your cheeks burning with shame, but his face is once again hidden behind all those shadows that come with a starless night.

“You wanted to take good care of me,” you point out, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I just did,” he says, running his thumb from the corner of his mouth along his bottom lip. “You’re mine now. Leave that between your legs for him to find.”

“Acacius …,” you try, a name once so familiar then so strange now growing familiar again.

He crowds you against the desk, chest to chest this time, and wraps his thick fingers around your throat. The kiss he presses to your lips is hard, devoid of all tenderness. “Mine,” he repeats. “Never forget that.” And then he’s nothing more than heavy footsteps against mosaic floors.

[skunkes]

[scarlettriot]

Alright. I simply cannot get the idea of getting hot and heavy in the back of some limo with Ei and a little sprinkle of sneaking around too. I don’t know where this came from or anything so here. I’m leaving it. And that’s all.

It’s sorta smutty so no minors or ageless. They’re aged up, in case that wasn’t self explanatory. Reader gets a little jealous. Other than that it’s basically just fluff with fucking.

I did not proof this what so ever. Sorry. I’m tired. I don’t even have a rough word count for you but it’s pretty short.

The two of you leaving together after some big award show after he finally breaks into the top 10. Only you’re most certainly not the woman his agencies PR team has been setting him up on dates with. The super model who’s been all over him, the face of his active wear line, the woman they want to see him with.

He’s been putting on a good show for them. Even dipped her in front of all the camera the red carpet was lined with and kissed her as a hundred flashes went off.

But, gods, she’s just not you. The cute little waitstaff always serving drinks at these events. The black skirt they make you wear hugs your curves so tightly and he can see every dip of your plush hips and he remembers what it was like the first time he got to feel you.

He was stiff in his perfectly tailored pants before the hors d’oeuvres came around. 

The first chance he got, he’d slipped away. Thankfully, his accomplishments were already recognized. He’d done his part, stood up, waved, went on stage, he didn’t give a damn about anything or anyone else. He just needed to find you again.

“I— oh fuck— I’m gonna have to get back before someone realizes I’m— I’m— right there, right there, yes please—!” It was too hard to think when his fingers were buried deep within your cunt.

He had you propped up on the back of his limo. Making you cum with your skirt all bunched up. “Don’t think you gotta go anywhere yet, pretty,” he chuckles and licks off his fingers.

“I do though, I do,” you tried forming a sentence, “I could get fired,”

He pulled your legs around him and carried you around to the door to slip inside with you. “Told you I’d get you a job at my agency, then you wouldn’t have to worry about this job.”

You sucked on his neck as he undid his belt, “don’t know how your girlfriend would feel about me working with you daily… having this happen far more often?” Because you’re not stupid, you knew if you took him up on that offer you’d be on his dick every chance the two of you had.

“She’s not my girlfriend and you know it.” He made that abundantly clear the first time he made a move on you months ago and you questioned him.

He’d just barely slipped his cock free before you were sinking down on it with a groan that would reply in his head for a lifetime. “I don’t think she knows that.”

He chuckles and it makes you clench around him. “You’re real cute when you’re jealous,” hands grip hard on your hips and he pushes you down as he grits out, “and if she does know it, that’s—not— my— problem—” rocking his hips to watch your eyes roll back.

“You’ve said it yourself though, she’s what your PR team wants. I’m nothing like her.”

He huffed before his arms wound under your legs so he could hold you up and fuck up into you as he damn well pleased. “Also told you that I don’t care what they want. You say the word and it’ll be you on my arm at these events, not her.”

You laughed before he made it into a blissed out moan.

“What? Don’t believe me?”

The windows were fogging up, anyone walking by would damn well know what was happening here. And he didn’t care at all. He’d bullied himself into you over and over again, tearing at your little outfit, unable to help himself.

Of course, you didn’t seem to mind with the way you were babbling now, tits bouncing with your head tossed back, pleasure coursing through you. “What’s the matter, pretty? Can’t do anything more than moan for me now? Should I stop and letcha think?”

His pace slowed and you cried out, “noooo!”

“Then answer me, baby, you believe me, don’t you?” Gods, for a man railing you within an inch of your life, his tone was soft and sickeningly sweet. “Promise if ya let me I’ll do this to you all night long.” Not that these quickies weren’t fun but just once he wants to see you splayed out in his bed. “I’ll make you cum over and over, as much as you want.”

He took your chin and made sure you were looking at him as he added. “I want you. For more than just a fast fuck at a party. Lemme take care of you, in every possibly way there is.”

With his cock filling you up so completely, and his eyes carrying so much hope, how could you ever deny him?

[nonranghaes]

joshua thinks he loves you too much. that's why he's strolling up to this house 'late' for this christmas party, dressed up in a suit (rather than waiting for you in cozy sweats like you promised), and a bottle of wine he stole from jeonghan's apartment on the way over. this, in his humble opinion, is what a best friend is for: pretending to be your date when you see your ex with someone new at a christmas party you didn't know he'd be at. it's easy enough to find you socializing with this tight-lipped smile that melts into something genuine when you see him. he passes off the bottle of wine to the host and makes a beeline for you. you're a vision in blue and it's all too easy to look at you like you outshine everyone else in the room.

"hi, honey," he says, pressing a chaste kiss against your cheek. he lowers his voice to a whisper, "you owe me."

"i know." but you curl an arm around him all too easily, pulling him into your side as you immediately start introducing him and coming up with some casual lie as to why he's late.

the moment the two of you have a second to yourself, he leans in, pretending that all he's doing is stealing another little kiss and not also whispering to you. "where is he?"

"tall guy in the green sweater across the room. his new fiance looks like a candy cane."

joshua glances over, eyes widening a little at the red and white stripes that seem to jump out at him now. it's cute, sure, but still catches him off guard in a 'how did i miss them...?' kind of way. he turns back to you, and suddenly the word hits him harder. "fiance?!"

joshua remembers this guy too well: mister 'i don't think i'll ever get married again,' which wasn't a problem in the slightest in general, but it was one of the multiple reasons you ended up ending things with him. you just give him this tight-lipped smile, a hand coming to rest on his chest for a moment. you know. he can see the way you waver a little in front of him.

"fifteen minutes," he says to you. "and then we'll fake an emergency."

your hand slips into his, and he feels the way your lips press against his cheek and linger a few seconds too long. long enough to make him think a little too much about what it could mean. "thank you, honey. i owe you."

(his payment comes in the form of watching horror movies with him, dressed in your sweats again... and again when he feels you fall asleep against his shoulder, his heart fluttering in his chest.)

[johnslittlespoon]

Tough And Sweet (Like You And Me) ♡

'Gale looks unfairly handsome in the soft golden light of the late evening, but even more unfair is the fact that John can’t just bridge the gap between them and kiss his feelings away. The more time he spends around Gale, the more it feels like he’s being consumed by his overwhelming infatuation, and there’s not a single thing he can do about it that doesn’t involve the risk of scaring the man out of his life.

So he shuts the truck door behind him after promising Gale he’ll text when he’s safe inside, and he tries not to stare too forlornly as the truck putters off down the street and rounds the corner.'

[ AO3 ]

[mabaki]

The Rooftop Date

The first time Mabaki reacted on instinct, not realizing that he may be developing feelings for Caira (lmao) (Full text of Caira's bubbles below)

Caira belongs to @floral-necromaniac

The text: "Did you know that stars are used to navigate over the ocean? Look there! Do you see this group of stars? This constellation in particular is connected to one of the navigational stars. The most well known of all them. The Polaris." "I found a book about celestial navigation in the archives of the Priory and it describes how you can use it to determine where you are on all of Tyria. Yes, I said it was over the sea but you can use this method literally anywhere. And not just with stars, but any celestial body you see. For example, the sun and also the moon." "The book describes several specific stars you can se as a tool to determine your current position. First you look at the horizon and then it’s a matter of simple mathematics to calculate the zenith of the celestial body. Of course there’s tools for all that, but just think about it. Isn't it amazing? Wherever you are... You just need to look up and-" Of course, Mabaki had been observant this entire time, taking in the moment to just sit still and listen to her ramble. And as her petals started to change color from excitement, he feels an urge inside him to lean in and kiss her. And he asks her to "Keep talking." And Caira looks away bashfully, "W-well, uh... I- ...." Mabaki never teases her about it and just pulls her into a side-hug.

~~~

Something that happened very early on in their timeline, as Caira here is depicted with her old hair.

Mabaki doesn't really like the talkative/rambling type, and Caira is exactly that, hah. He used to get annoyed with her when she kept rambling on and on when they first met. Well, at this point he's starting to get used to it and is actually enjoying listening to her and finds her... even cuter... So on instinct he just does this...

And no, their relationship isn't clearly defined at all in this stage, and it doesn't really happen for a while....

Oh Mbk... how much of a wife-guy you'll turn out to be.... LMAO

~~~

There's a few things I only started catching on in hindsight while making this piece. I did a basic plan for it, yes, but as I started to clean it, I added and changed some things as it went. Unfortunately, I ended up drawing the same face angle for Caira 5 times and it only really clicked with me once I started adding flats (talk about taking long to realize)

Next time I try something like this, I want to try and do different angles to make it more interesting... bah, unfortunate, but for next time!

And if only Mbk wasn't fighting me on that 1 face panel yeah man i redrew that shit 8 times i think he is so alkjsdfkljjskdjfslLKJSDF I HATE HIM i love him fuck you Mabaki LMAO

Also I'm hella shy about posting this but- but I still wanted to share. Surely in a few years time I'll look back and want to redo this... LOL