#I STILL have to be the person to do it if I want it to exist but there are enough other people willing/excited to read it that it's hard to

[briwhosaysni]

Red Rock Canyon, just outside of Las Vegas, Nevada

“oh, I live in a desert and-”

“wow that must be so terrible” “deserts are so ugly” “I would never want to live in a wasteland like that” “it’s just empty nothingness”

wishing 10,000 exploding hammers upon you

behold New Mexico

[ID 1: tall, snowcapped rocky mountains rising above a plain filled with desert scrub

ID 2: brightly colored banded cliff walls of several mesas climbing their way into mountains

ID 3: a desert prairie

ID 4: colorful hoodoos against a twilight sky

ID 5: white sand dunes as far as the eye can see

ID 6: a collection of hoodoos against a stormy sky at sunset

ID 7: a juniper tree standing with a cliff wall in the background

ID 8: several juniper trees on a rocky landscape]

[freakalot]

“satoru gojo if you don’t shut up i am banning you from sex for an entire year.” ☆

satoru frowns against your neck, where he tries hopelessly to stifle his own moans. he’s spooning you in a tangled mess of limbs and bedsheets, almost pathetic in his attempt to restrain himself. he feels like a hormonal teenager all over again.

“you know,” he half-whispers, half-moans into your ear. “i don’t think he’d care all that much if he woke up. i think he’s in love with you actually, i’d probably get to watch nanami kento beg on his knees to join us. ohh i like that idea actually, we should wake him—ah!”

you don’t know how else to quieten him down, so you reach behind you to pinch his side. all it does, really, is make him yelp and drive his cock even deeper into you, which makes you moan in turn.

you and satoru hadn’t had sex in so long, what with missions taking up so much time and the threat of societal collapse being somewhat of a libido-inhibitor. so when your joint mission with nanami ran over, and the higher-ups put you in a shared hotel room, satoru took opportunity as it struck. and you didn’t stop him.

now he’s balls deep inside of you as you lay facing the sculpted back of kento nanami. he’s laying with his back to you, breathing evenly in his sleep��each breath he takes pronounces the muscles of his back beneath the thin grey sleeping shirt he’s wearing. it does more to you than it should.

“you’re so fucking wet,” satoru whispers in your ear as his pace quickens. “what—you like this or something? being fucked five feet from nanami like this? hell, i like it. like showing you off. i'm like... sticking it to the man right now, babe.”

“he’s not even awake,” your eyes roll back as his tip brushes mean against your g-spot. satoru teases you with an open mouthed kiss to your neck, and then nips at the same spot.

"you sure, pretty?" he practically coos. "i think he's fighting for his fucking life right now. he was breathing like a monk until i mentioned him joining us."

you narrow your eyes at the sleeping man on the other bed. he's stilled and silent and obnoxiously toned and you swear you're getting wetter by the second and you also swear gojo can feel it because he's grinning against your shoulder like a fucking lunatic. you're about to brush him off, defend your coworker and friend and tell satoru to hurry up and make you cum so you can sleep when you see it: nanami shifts his hips.

it's so small of a movement that you might have imagined it, but you're too busy imagining how hard he must be to have to readjust like that. what must be going through his mind... listening to the two of you fuck like you're trying to get over something. he's either torturing himself with want right now or drafting up a letter to the higher ups in his head. maybe both.

"he's either awake," satoru reaches down and lifts your leg a little to reach sweet new depths inside of you. "or having the nastiest wet dream of his life."

something churns in your stomach, apprehension if you were a better person, and you part your lips to tell satoru to stop being an ass, but what comes out instead is a breathy moan so desperate it makes both men stiffen.

and nanami exhales. loudly. not in the sleeping man sense, this is choked out and heavy with something you don't dare name.

"oh nanamin," satoru sing-songs. "if you're going to cum in your boxers, come here and do it with a better view."

“satoru—” you hiss, mortified, melting at the same time, “stop—”

divine intervention is the only explanation. you must have some serious karma point stacked up and pocketed for a rainy day because, just as your breath hitches again, kento nanami is sitting up and planting his feet on the floor, eyes set dead on the two of you.

his pyjama pants are tight. when you let your gaze fall from his messy hair to the complete and visible outline of his hard cock, you think your heart stops. this is unseemly, and unprofessional, and everything that could be considered inappropriate. and if kento decides to walk out and complain, you and satoru are fucked, special grade status be damned.

“…you’re both ridiculous,” he says flatly, voice sandpapered. "this is wrong. abhorrent. foul."

he sounds exhausted. morally affronted. except his dick is so hard it must hurt and his eyes haven't once left where satoru's cock disappears inside of you. his gaze is heavy on you like a second set of hands. it's ungodly. you feel blasphemous, like maybe if nanami just looks at you a little longer you'd cum from that alone.

satoru thrusts deeper into you, but speaks to nanami. "you're hard."

"and you're loud." nanami exhales slowly, like he's giving himself a full ten-count to resist the urge to murder or run or maybe both. then he stands, finally meets your eyes, and softens his gaze a little. "you want this?"

your body answers for you, hips rolling back and pushing yourself deeper on satoru's cock. your thigh trembles where gojo holds it up and your voice comes out breathless and wrecked. "yes."

satoru groans, of course, and makes a show of squeezing one of your boobs in his hand. nanami doesn’t even look at him. doesn’t need to. his attention is all on you now, laser-focused and reverent like you’re a fucking sacrament. he reaches for your jaw, guiding your face up until your lips part just from the force of his presence.

“good,” he murmurs. “because i’m going to fuck you, both of you, until i can think straight again—and if i have to hear your voice even once during it, satoru, i will be gagging you."

your heart-eyed boyfriend cums inside of you at the implication alone.

and that is how you end up on your hands and knees in a twin hotel room in the dead hours of the night. kento nanami fucks his cum back inside of you for the second time that night, fingers digging so tightly into the fat of your ass that you don't doubt satoru will be teasings the marks left behind for days to come.

you splay your fingers over your boyfriends thighs, which is the only touch he's been granted since cumming inside of you. you stare up at him, he's got lidded eyes and this desperate look on his face as he watches nanami fuck you from behind, each thrust pushing your face just that little bit closer to his painfully hard cock.

though he can't complain, not with nanami's tie rolled up and stuck between his teeth. he tries, though, guttural moans and half-discernible pleads for more can hardly be heard over the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

you don't know why you never thought of satoru as a cuck. oddly, he's the type. still, that pretty look of desperation on his face is enough to have you squeezing around nanami's fat cock.

"settle down, gojo," nanami chides, squeezing your ass as if your boyfriend could feel it. "you're taking me next."

[sheeezu]

What to do if you have not shifted for +++years

(Most of my anons were along the lines of this same issue, I want to make a common post for them. I won't be telling you "you're already there" or "persist" I'm going to have a heart to heart conversation with your mental health in mind, this will be a long post)

First and foremost I have to say, this post is very heavily opinion-based. Alright, I'll divide it into topics, and two categories: before shifting and during shifting.

Before Shifting.

Determining the laws of your reality.

This is where you've got to do most of the work. (Don't worry, it won't be 7 hour subliminal listening sessions) now let's present a very important note: I don't know who you are. But most importantly I don't know what you believe in. Shifting isn't a known set of rules, Shifting doesn't have a single method, it does not have a wikihow page. Everything that exist is because of you. Therefore there are differences in my reality and yours. What you believe in is acting out in reality. LITERALLY.

So first you need to ask yourself some questions, with full honesty, oh and don't apply the thoughts you have by certain reprogramming affirmations, don't force yourself just because you have to persist.

"What am I?" What do you believe you are? Currently, are you a soul, a human? Or you something greater, seek within yourself to answer what you believe.

"What is reality?" How is everything working around you? Why are you here.

"Who is in control?" Who makes you shift. Who or what makes everything happen.

"How to shift?" Self explanatory. If you write with utmost truth on what you think shifting is like and when and how it happens; you'll basically have the code of how reality works for you.

Relax.

After you've gathered your research sheets. Take a breath, since you've got all the answers you need. Now, close your eyes, whenever you like. Imagine a serene atmosphere, for example, sharp sunlight falling on your skin, warming you up, or the rain droplets drowning your senses, as you run across a forest. Tell yourself, "this is what shifting is" , and "I've shifted." That's all it is. You feel some you get some.

Some important realizations,

• Time is not linear.

• Failure is a perception.

• You're not beneath anyone.

• You don't need to prove yourself to anyone.

• you'll survive, you'll be alright.

Don't. Kidnap. Yourself.

The title sounds weird, but it is regarding heavily applying the principle of assuming until you have it, to EVERYTHING. Idc if people come after me. I don't want anyone to suffer by stamping their foreheads with "persist!" Even if it works. I love loa, until it crosses over into toxic positively. Don't just put yourself in a coffin; don't become a prisoner to your thoughts! Don't make it feel like there's an angry witch in your mind, who will scream at you if something goes wrong, the problem is! Something might go wrong and you'd end up highlighting the idea that you are being forced to assume against something. Don't feel forced. Simple. (You can still use loa, if you like)

Declutter your mind.

I said it before. and @ilovecatfr explained this here, there's so much in your mind. I can tell. Each and everyone has their own unique spin on shifting. That's great and they put out advice to help people, similarly you... also have it within you. Afterall, these bloggers, big well written and decorated posts are the projection of your assumptions. I'd like to say, majority of the bloggers are kindhearted with the aim to help others. Although for some, you being desperate in their asks is an ego boost, nothing is wrong with feeling good about yourself for your knowledge, but you the person at the other end of this screen, are not a pawn, not just another anon, alright? you know how to shift, look back at what your answers were to the questions.

Control your emotions towards this reality.

I've always wanted to discuss this. Emotions are the puppeteers of this show. They're a grounding mechanism of any reality. If you feel something deeply, you're angry at circumstances you form an attachment to this reality, it keeps you here. Think about what happens to a person when they get disassociation. Similarly belief + emotional investment = reality. Its a code. I can confidently say anyone who has not shifted (... not targeting anyone, genuinely trying my best to help; ty ty back to the text) is because they're giving too much emotional importance to this reality. This can be in the form of stressing that you have not shifted, being worried that you're not in your dr, putting much focus on the "What ifs" of if you wake back in this reality.

But we can't just go BLANK. we're still humans who feel deeply (for now huehue) so what's the solution to this non-issue? Direct these feelings towards your destination, your intended reality! This would mean feeling like your dr self, if you're experiencing negative emotions you can last second convert them to any scenario related to your dr, emotional investment there pays well, here? It just wastes time.

Don't let feelings get the best of you and keep you here; you're their creator after all.

(Optional) Create a homey dr.

This comes from personal experiences. If I don't mention this I won't be completely open with each one of you. I shifted through intense love and reverence for my home. I knew that each and every second spent in this reality led up to me shifting to my home.

So for ease later on when you can't decide between drs, it'll be comforting to have a reality you can call home and choose over and over again.

Rewire.

This is where you come back to what you answered to the questions. Do you like your response? A human is living in a reality, and your answers are the universal law there. Will they have an easy time with shifting? If you think so, then choose to not do any "rewiring" and act upon the answers you wrote, shifting in accordance to them as they have become the pillars of your reality. If you think the person's reality's laws regarding shifting are complicated, then you can choose to rewire them. This can be a simple manifestation. As it has no basis in the 3D yet, you will manifest it within seconds. You can either write it down, listen to a subliminal, or simply think of the new beliefs in your head (eg "I shift in seconds") and let go. Stop.

(Severely optional) strive for spiritual awakenings

*shrugs* I thought I should mention based on personal experience.

During shifting.

Confuse your logical brain

You don't have to give it validation. Instead, just make it unable to predict the next move of it creator. Its built to look at everything with skepticism.. but it has nothing when you don't give it the chance. For example, the anti method by @hrrtshape is the best example. I like that you can do this, pre-method like a little warm up. (You can also manifest to not think logically)

Know your game

To act like you're in a battle field is not the way to shift. You don't have to give the actual practice of shifting much or any importance. You know how to shift, then why is there a need to have plan B's and checking your own environment? You are the commander in front, you're the one switching the reality, your reality is not the one switching.

Senses shift last

Explained by @stilljuststardust here.

Be blind and deaf to each and everything other than your intended reality

...and be so obsessed with your intended reality. Live out entire days, you're there, no, time is not passing by, the previous reality has disappeared by your hyperfixation on your intended reality. Ever done that exercise where you stare at a dot for so long, everything around it disappears? Well then, EXACTLY. Make it dissapear. Make it dissappear by not giving it any more of your energy. ....how I shifted. This is based upon being your dr self, that's snatches away the spotlight from this current reality.

Keep yourself comfortable

All of you are experienced enough to know, you don't need to lay in the starfish position. But remove the unnecessary thought that if you dare move your finger you might mess up the whole attempt (This is a subconsciousness belief) here's how to not worry about your 3D: again, senses shift last, Your current reality = intended reality.

It is about breaking free from human functions

Your software is set to being an earthly human. This is why acting like your current reality (the noises from the environment, physical annoyances) are from your intended reality, helps. This allows you to trick your human brain and move forward. The more you try to make sense of shifting, the more less it'll make sense. You don't have to know everything about shifting. The point is to be awfully natural about it. Just like how you wake up in this current reality without any requirement. You don't overthink it, then why overthink shifting.

Hope I cleared everything, I spent 5 hours on this post. If anything is not clear, please send in an ask, I am 100% avaliable to answer anything amiss.

Now let's see how much time I take to actually make this post aesthetically pleasing, so people don't have to bleach their eyes or ruin their blogs with this.

Dedicated to @lilyblairkinda who gave me this idea, once.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs Men React to You Being Whipped for Them

AN: Is it love, if not bound by subtle insanity?

Pairing: LaDs x GN Reader

Emily Bronte (Wuthering Heights): “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.��

Yearning Event

Xavier:

"Sit," you say, practically shoving him onto the bed. "Sleep. On time. For once."

You tuck him in with a look that brooks no argument. "You're going nowhere tonight. I don't care if the world ends. It can wait until morning."

Xavier blinks up at you from under the blanket, wide-eyed. He never imagined he'd live to see the day someone forced him to sleep. He slept plenty as is, but this? This was different.

You lean in, palm cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over his pout. "Not sleepy?" you ask, voice soft, lips close.

And then the little gremlin bites your finger. Gently. But still. His eyes glimmer. "Can't sleep," he whispers. "Not tired enough."

He gives you the look. You know the one.

You’re not sure if you want to fight him or kiss him breathless. Possibly both.

Rafayel:

He knows you’re whipped. And he lives for it.

This? This is his dream come true. You, hovering with tissues and cough drops. You, his personal bodyguard, ready to throw hands at anyone who so much as sneezes in his direction.

He flashes smug little smiles at everyone who sees you fuss over him. Sips his tea like royalty. Winks like the menace he is.

Cue: entire exhibition crowd watching you dig through your bag for lozenges because his voice might sound hoarse.

He’s a sucker for love, but terrified to be the first one to say it. So when you pour your heart out first?

He’s free. Free to adore you with all the softness he’s hidden for years. Free to give back everything he’s been aching to share.

He’ll never say it, but this kind of love? This saves him.

Zayne:

He doesn’t know what to do with this. Not at first.

You bring him lunch at work. Spend weeks researching ways to break the curse. Kiss every scar like it’s sacred.

Everyone around you sees it. The way you’re gently, beautifully spoiling him. And they love it. They love this for him.

And slowly… so does he.

At first, he’s confused. Then touched. Then quite overwhelmed.

Because he’s never had this before. Not like this. Not so deliberate. So quietly certain. But over time, it settles in his chest like warmth. Like a memory he never had but always wanted. Like home.

And when he finally learns how to return it. When he stops being afraid of breaking it... oh, gods. You’ll drown in it.

Because Zayne doesn’t love in halves. He just never thought he was allowed to have this.

Sylus:

He’s supposed to be the suave one. The smooth-talker. The charm incarnate. The planner. The tease.

But your easy, unrelenting affection? It undoes him.

“What next?” he asks, leaning down to tilt your chin up. “You going to complain next? ‘Sylus, why can’t you ever plan anything in advance?’” He mocks your voice with a grin, cocky and effortless.

But your smile doesn’t waver. You just wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. Like you always have.

“No,” you murmur. “I think it’s an excellent idea to take a vacation. Thanks for planning, Sylus.” You say his name so gently. So sure. Then kiss him with painstaking care.

And he’s stunned. Just… still. A blush creeping in. Throat tight. Something in his chest cracks open.

“Well,” he says, voice lower now. No teasing this time, just a quiet, genuine warmth. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Gods help him. You’re too good at this.

Caleb:

You’re both the problem. The gooey couple that makes strangers jealous and your kids roll their eyes.

Your love is obnoxiously mutual. Like something ripped from a bard’s over-the-top romance ballad. And he lives for it.

He’s jealous by nature. Territorial. But with you? He has never felt more safe. You never give him reason to doubt. Never make him feel like he’s too much.

To be cared for so deeply, to be someone’s center of gravity, it heals something ancient in him. It’s the love he didn’t know he was allowed to have. And gods, he guards it with everything he is.

Because in your eyes? He’s not a colonel. Not a soldier. Not a weapon. He’s just Caleb. And he is so, so loved.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37), cursing, suggestive language, use of nicknames like “doll” and “kitten”, use of y/n, use of “good girl”, NSFW, MDNI, Sukuna is his own warning.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him. Chaos ensues.

An: I love how I started out on Tumblr as a Gojo girlie, but I quickly became a Toji girlie. However, I write the most fics about Sukuna. He’s just so interesting. I want to eat him.

Part one. | Part two.

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

Nothing could ruin the rest of your night, nothing.

Not when you were counting up the money you made from tonight alone, and it was enough to keep you steady for over three months. You might not even have to work this job for long. Student loans be damned.

You were sat at the bar after closing. Your phone screen dimly illuminated that it was well past four in the morning, and your battery was running low.

The club was much less intimidating now. The music was dulled down to a low hum. The lights were on, exposing the club for what it actually looked like. Janitorial services were walking around while disinfecting every surface imaginable.

Honestly, the stranger’s words that he would be back had long left your mind. At first, you were nervous. You kept looking to the door, expecting for him to be there. You were jumpier too, and you started looking at your customers wearier.

Then, you realized it was probably a hollow threat. He had clearly had business with the Gojo clan, and he may not even make it out alive from that.

Yorozu was wiping down the bar and cleaning up. Since your customers were the last to leave, you were tasked with staying behind with her so you two could leave together. The club liked to use a buddy system for all of the girls. Of course, security personnel members were still posted at each and every corner.

“Sheeesh girl, you must have a natural talent for this,” Yorozu whistled as she watched you count through the massive pile or money before you. Most of it came from that stranger’s pocket.

“It must’ve been a hidden talent,” you meekly murmured with a small shrug, but you couldn’t bite back the small smile on your face. You felt elated, even if your feet were throbbing from the ridiculous heels you were wearing.

Yorozu grinned at you with a small laugh. She honestly found your calm and demure appearance to be charming, especially in this industry. “So humble,” she giggled. “Listen, some of the girls invest some of their money right back into the product to make sure they keep up with demand, but I don’t even think you need any of that.”

“The product? They invest in Malevolent Mass?”

“Girl no. They get work done. You know, a boob job here, tummy tuck there, a Brazilian butt lift if they’re brave enough. Remember, the product is your looks as well as the booze.”

“Oh… I don’t know,” you said sheepishly. The thought of walking around a courtroom with a BBL when you’re a lawyer didn’t necessarily strike you as professional, but to each their own.

“No, no, no, I get it. Like I said, I think you’re doing a good job with what you got. I’m trying to compliment you, silly.”

“Oh,” you exhale with a nervous laugh. You ease into the barstool, trying to remind your fight or flight instincts that Yorozu has been nothing but kind to you. You should relax around her. “Uh— I think you’re pretty too by the way.”

The bartender grins at you while she flips her high ponytail over her shoulder with a small wink. “Aww, thanks. I feel like I have the looks, but I don’t have the personality for a bottle girl. That’s why they stuck me back here.”

“Why is that?” you inquire, leaning your elbow on the bar as you prop your head up with your hand. Yorozu is working on cleaning off all the taps and nozzles.

“Because the first motherfucker to try and grab me is getting a bottle smashed across his head.”

You involuntarily laugh from the sudden bluntness of her words. Immediately, you imagine trying to defend her in court as her attorney, immediately taking a self-defense plea.

Before you can reply, tires screeching and motorcycles revving outside has you looking towards the door. Surely, it’s a couple of drunk people not realizing that the club is closed.

Then, the door swings open, and you can hear a few deep laughs echoing through the building. Security will deal with them, right?

You look up to Yorozu, wondering if she’ll end up telling them off instead, but you catch her fixing up her hair and pulling down her shirt a little bit further to expose her cleavage that was in fact — very pleasing to look at.

Feeling confused, you finally look over to who had entered the club, and your heart drops into your stomach. Instantly, your skin feels like TV static, and you have the instinct to run.

The handsome pink-haired stranger was walking towards the bar with a smirk planted on his face. His white button-up had been stained with a red splatter that you could only assume to be blood.

“Lord Sukuna,” Yorozu greets with a pretty smile.

Sukuna. You’ve heard that name before. Who was this man?

“Yorozu,” his gravely voice greets back. “Get my men a round, will ya? They deserve it.”

“Hell yeah! Drinks are on the boss tonight!”

“Boss! What about us, huh?” A security guard calls from his post on the second floor.

“The security men too, Yorozu.” He adds before he casually slides onto a barstool right next to you.

Surely, they’re just calling him boss out of terms of endearment.. You already met the manager, and this wasn’t him. Maybe he’s a friend of the owner..? Maybe…

“Good girl. You waited on me,” his voice lowly praises you as his eyes focus on your face. He finds your confusion and fear to be absolutely decadent. He’s going to savor this moment for as long as possible.

“I—“ your words get lodged in your throat as you don’t even know what to say right now. You have so many questions, but Sukuna’s men and security personnel are crowding around the bar. Everyone is too close, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself.

Yorozu planted a drink in front of every man including Sukuna, and she made one for herself. “What are we saying cheers to tonight?” she asked casually as she looked around the room.

“To the Gojo clan for being made up of a bunch of dimwits,” a man with short black hair called out, and he toasted his shot glass in the air. The rest of the men agreed, even Sukuna raised his shot glass before he tossed back his head, and the amber liquid slid down his throat.

Your eyes were zeroed in on the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and you traveled your gaze over to his hand, remembering the way his fingers tested your throat out while you cried on his lap. You felt a dull heat settle between your thighs, so you clenched them together to soothe the ache.

“You said you didn’t drink,” you whispered sheepishly to Sukuna while the men hooped and hollered in the bar, bragging about the easy hits they got off on the Gojo men.

“Oh doll,” Sukuna cooed as he looked over to you. He gave you a mock pity glance. “I lied.”

“Just like you lied about being the owner?” you questioned as you went to stand from your barstool. You didn’t need this. You made enough money in one night for three months. You could find another job before then. The last thing you needed was to get mixed up in a crowd like this.

A strong hand settled on your thigh, gripping it as he applied a little pressure to keep you sat. Sukuna cocked an eyebrow at your boldness. To think you could just walk away from him so easily…

“Did I ever specifically say that I wasn’t the owner?” he asked as he sat his shot glass down on the bar.

“Another round?” Yorozu spoke up. This was the most chipper you have seen her ever.

Sukuna merely waved his hand out her with an indifference that even made you want to flinch. However, she took it in stride and made everyone else another round, skipping you and Sukuna.

You still feel her eyes dig into your face as it’s obvious you and Sukuna are engaged in a pretty serious conversation.

“No, you didn’t, but I feel like that’s just lying by omission,” you say as your eyebrows furrow slightly. You can feel your stomach twisting in knots. A swirl of emotions settle in your body: shame, fear, and inexplicable arousal.

“Oh y/n, are you really the one to talk about liars hm?”

Your name on his lips fellt like a sucker punch to the gut… and the clit. You never gave him your name, only opting for your codename, but he knew who you were. It was only a matter of time before he knew what school you went to, what you were majoring in, everything…

You’re already in too deep.

Suddenly, everyone feels to close. Your clothes are itchy, and your hair is sitting on you in the wrong way. Everyone’s too loud, and the buzzing of the lights makes you want to rip off your skin.

Your breath picks up, shifting to small pants as you try to calm yourself down. You haven’t had a panic attack in so long... why now?

“Alright, hop up. Let’s go to my office,” Sukuna says as his hand lets go of your thigh, and he gently hovers it over your lower back as he stands up from his stool.

Nothing sounds worse than going to his office, except for staying here and breaking down in front of a bunch of Yakuza members and coworkers.

Your legs wobble beneath you, but Sukuna keeps a steady hand against you, grounding you to him as he carefully guides you up stairs.

“We’re almost there. You’re okay,” he sounds like he’s trying to comfort you, but allowing him to soothe you would be like cuddling up to a venomous snake when they wrap themselves around you. He’s sizing you up, looking at you like prey.

You’d pay more attention to your surroundings if you weren’t so focused on trying not to hyperventilate. You hear a small beep before a door opens. It’s locked by a fingerprint sensor, only Sukuna could enter.

He guides you to sit down before his desk, and you hear the door shut behind you.

“Let it out,” he lowly demands as he walks over to the corner of the office. He presses a button on a fan before it blows in your general direction. You’re grateful for the cool breeze as you let out a haggard sigh.

You silently bring yourself back down to earth. You were in a sticky situation now, but you’ve done nothing wrong. Sure, Sukuna is the owner of Malevolent Mass, and sure, he had his fingers down your throat earlier, but that’s not a crime.

His large figure stands before you as he rummages through his desk for a moment. Once he finds what he’s looking for, his gaze snaps back up to you.

“You’re not letting it out,” Sukuna grumbles as he steps behind you. His large hands comb through your hair. Your eyes involuntarily close, and you hone in on your five senses to ground yourself further.

You can feel the air from the fan blowing past you, and Sukuna’s fingers are gently combing through your hair. He gathers it up into his palms. His office smells like him, of leather and bourbon with a nice manly musk as well. The fan is quiet, but you can hear the small motor buzzing as its blades are propelling around. Opening up your eyes, you recognize that his office is quite bare. It doesn’t look like he’s here all that often.

By the time you’re finally feeling better, you realize that your hair is off your shoulders, and you look up to see Sukuna standing behind you, looking down at you.

Your eyebrows furrow, and you reach behind your head to see what he did, and you feel your hair tied up in a bun, using a pen to hold it in place.

He put your hair up in a bun for you.

“Did you think I chopped it all off?” he asks, not missing a beat with his smirk. Satisfied with your calmness, he walks around his desk before taking a seat.

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you say slowly at your eyes look up to meet his. Being nervous wasn’t going to get you anywhere, you tried to remember the lessons in confidence that your law professor had given you. You straighten your back, pushing your shoulders back as you face Sukuna squarely. “So, should I call you boss too?”

He barks out a laugh from your little display. You really were nothing like anyone he’s ever met, and he’s met plenty of people from all walks of life. “Oh doll, I would much prefer if you said my name instead.”

His eyes rest upon you with an expectant gaze. He’s waiting for you to say it. He needs to hear you say his name.

“Okay… Sukuna,” you finally relent, choosing your battles wisely. “I— um,” Dammit, you’re already failing your confidence lessons. It’s something about Sukuna’s soft red eyes exploring over your face, like he’s hanging onto every word you say. “Thank you for getting me away from them and… helping me through that.”

“How precious,” Sukuna snickers as he leans back into his chair. “It’d do you well to know that everything I do is for the benefit of me, doll. Nevertheless, you’re welcome.”

“Putting my hair up in a bun benefitted you?” you press a bit, wondering just what his motives are now. Before, you assumed he was just some older rich man who was looking for a bit of play, but now… you weren’t so sure.

“I needed you calm before I sat down and spoke to you,” Sukuna answers as he watches your face carefully. He loves watching you try to piece everything together.

“Is this meeting some sort of performance review because if so, it’s rather late. I have other matters to tend to like trying to maintain some sort of proper sleeping schedule.”

“You’re rather mouthy to the man you work for, and for the man who forked up thousands of yen to you.”

A small sigh escapes you, knowing he has you under his thumb now. You should’ve never taken the money. You gave an inch, and now, he was going to take a mile.

“Oh darling, don’t look so down. I think it’s charming. It was just an observation on my part.”

You take a deep breath. You’re still at a loss for what was motivating him now. “Right… So, why am I in your office?”

“I have a proposition for you,” Sukuna says as he twirls a pen around his fingers. His digits effortlessly spin the pen in intricate circles, never losing grip or control.

“Listen— you’ve been exuberantly kind with your money, and I appreciate that, truly. But…”

“Aht, Let me finish,” he says in a lightly scolding tone. His eyes give you a disapproving look for interrupting him. “I don’t want you to work for me anymore. If anything was proven tonight, it was that you’re not cut out to be a bottle girl.”

Your jaw drops open, and your eyebrows furrow a little bit, forming a crease between them. He was firing you? How could he say that when Yorozu said you had a natural talent??

“Tch. Don’t take it as a bad thing, girl. Like I said, angels don’t last long in this industry. Consider it a favor that it’s ending with you being fired and not dead in a ditch.”

“Oh wow, thank you. How should I ever repay you?” you ask bitterly, barely holding back frustrated tears as they threatened to spill from your eyes. Your fists clenched at the hem of your dress. It’s just one setback after another.

“If you must, you can crawl under this desk and show me just how grateful you are,” Sukuna replies as he leans forward on the desk with a small smirk.

The audacity of this man makes you see red. He never misses a beat with his responses, and he’s fucking unshakable.

“So your proposal was for me to blow you for firing me-?” you ask incredulously.

“Oh doll, that would really be a treat, but no. I’m wanting something that can’t be obtained in just one night.”

“Please—“ you say before you pinch the bridge of your nose. You take a deep breath. Emotions don’t belong in negotiation, and that’s exactly what this is. “Can you be a little less cryptic? It’s been a long night, and to top it all off, I just got fired from the only job I’ve had.”

Sukuna’s quiet for a moment. His eyes roam over you before it looks like he finally takes pity on you. “Alright, I don’t want you working for me at Malevolent Mass. I think your set of skills would best be allocated elsewhere. Instead, I wanted to offer you a proposition.

“It’s clear that you’re money motivated, and before you throw some sort of tantrum, I’m not saying that as a bad thing. It’s just a fact. I want to support you through school, and in return, I just need you to be available to me.”

You stare for a long minute. Available to him. You could only guess what he meant by that. “You want a sugar baby,” you say slowly, narrowing your gaze at him.

The thought of letting him do more with his fingers than train your throat crosses your mind. You have to cross your legs to soothe the small thrumming feeling you feel deep in your core.

“Mmm, not quite. I’m not offering to buy you cute little outfits and fund your next beach trip. I’m offering to put you through school. Any expenses that relate to your schooling and/or living situation, I’ll handle. Actually, scratch that. I will buy you cute little outfits if they're for my eyes only,” Sukuna leans back in his chair, and his eyes stay glued onto your face.

“I can only assume that available to you means free use,” you scoff, rubbing your face in a stressed out gesture. You just made more money than you have ever seen, got fired, and propositioned to be a free use not-sugar baby all in one night.

“Smart girl,” he replies with a slight predatory grin.

You take a moment to wrack your brain for every little detail you’ve learned in your law classes so far. This deal seems like it benefits you, until he just gets tired or supporting you or until you don’t feel like doing a sexual favor for him.

He could also invoke his free use policy at any given time, demanding that you miss class or wake up in the dead of night.

There was also another problem.

“Free use of every inch of my body?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow at him.

Sukuna lets out another deep growly chuckle as he tips his head back. “This is what I get for trying to bargain with a future lawyer.”

Your eyes widen as you stare at the man across from you. “You know what I’m in school for?” you ask as your heart starts to thump harshly in your chest. You haven't mentioned that small detail to anyone at Malevolent Mass with the hopes that you could keep your work life and university life separate.

“Oh y/n, I know a lot more about you than you think, kitten. I don’t just hire anyone at Malevolent Mass, and I don’t just extend offers to just anyone either.”

You glance back towards the door, wondering if you could just run from this, but horror strikes you as you realize there’s a fingerprint sensor on this side too. The only person who could leave freely was Sukuna.

“Don’t look so petrified, doll, It was really a simple background check. I have to make sure those nasty dogs from the Gojo clan don’t try and weasel their way into my space.”

You look back to face him, trying to convince yourself that he was telling the truth. It was just a protocol procedure…

“You never answered my question. Will my entire body be free use to you?” you say, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

Sukuna rests his elbows on the desk, and he gives you an almost bored expression now. “Yes. I’m not putting you through school just to experience only half of the fun, girl.”

“No thank you. I’ll pass.”

He looks interested now, peaking up at you with a small smirk. “What bothers you about that, doll? Is it the ass play? I’d be willing to give that up. Never been much of an ass guy anyway.”

“I wasn’t—“ your eyes widen as you realize you’d be giving up your whole body to whatever kinks he had in store. You hadn’t even thought about anything past vanilla sex. “No, that’s not why. I just— no deal.”

“I hear you, but tell me what’s spooking you off from taking my deal.”

“I made a promise to someone really close to me,” you don’t dare to mention your dad, not wanting Sukuna to pry anymore into your personal life than he already did. “I’m not willing to give myself up before marriage, especially not to some sort of free use deal.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He shifts in his seat as his lips twitch upwards. Things just got much more interesting for him. “Ohhh, I see. You’re a cute little virgin, huh? I should’ve known based on how you cried from merely sitting in my lap.”

You swallow thickly, feeling your fight or flight instinct kick back in. He was acting as if you told him some sort of heirloom secret in your family. Your head slowly nods, not trusting your voice to speak.

“Hm. Alright, fine. Get out of my club, girl. And don’t let me see you here as a guest either unless you want me to bend you over my lap and discipline you myself.”

“I want to propose a counter offer.”

“Huh-?” Sukuna is rarely ever caught off guard. He prides himself on knowing everyone’s next moves, probably before they even know their next move. However, he did not foresee you, a meek little thing, giving him a counter offer.

“Are you not willing to hear me out? I’ll gladly leave with the money I made tonight,” you say, calling his bluff on kicking you out.

He quickly fixes his face from a look of surprise to another confident smirk. “Go on, doll. Show me what you got.”

“No free use. You support me through school financially including my livelihood and beyond that,” You purposely leave out the part where you don’t necessarily have a livelihood, but he’ll find that out sooner or later. “We get married, and then, you can have me as free use with the only stipulation that it can’t interfere with my school or work.”

Sukuna silently reaches over, and he clicks off the fan that was blowing on you earlier during your panic attack. A heavy silence fills the room, and his eyes bore into you.

“Are you looking to become the sole beneficiary of my life insurance policy, hm?” he finally breaks the silence, and a feline grin almost spreads across his face. He’s mocking you.

“No, you keep your life insurance policy to whoever it is. I’ll even sign a prenup stating that I’m not entitled to anything of yours in the event that we get divorced due to infidelity or any nefarious acts on my end,” you explain as your fingers subconsciously twiddle together.

Sukuna's silent for another moment as he weighs everything out in his head. You look down towards your hands, wondering if you just made some grave error in trying to negotiate. You should've just taken the money he gave you and ran.

“I take great pride in understanding human motives, doll. You’ve been one of the few to truly stump me. Tell me, why would you want to marry me? Because I know good and well it’s not to fulfill some promise to someone important to you. If it was about that, you’d understand that this… certain somebody would want you to marry for love, not for a contractual agreement.”

You licked your lips to wet them as you took what Sukuna said into consideration. You suppose he’s right. Your father didn’t want you to marry for some sort of mutually beneficial contract. Perhaps, your late father wanted you to marry so that you couldn’t be so easily abandoned again like your mother had abandoned you.

“Maybe you don’t understand because you’re on the inside,” you say slowly, keeping your eyes trained onto the floor. You felt your face warm with the unfamiliar feeling of vulnerability. Tears bit into your eyes.

“On the inside of what?” his question was more like a demand.

“Despite being born in this country, I am still on the outside. I don’t have a last name that anyone takes seriously. If I want to make change, people have to look at me with reverence and respect. Even being an outsider who doesn’t understand all the great family names of this land, your last name made me take heed. Your name demanded respect, and I want that same respect in turn for myself.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen but a fraction as his pupils dilate while looking at you. From the moment he knew your name and saw your pretty face, he knew you’d be interesting, but this? This took the cake for him.

“I need an heir for my… empire. If you’re married to me, I’ll expect at least one, though you should expect that I’ll keep your hands and stomach full with wifely duties,” Sukuna said, testing to see how you’d react.

“I want my degree first,” you expertly counteroffer, looking back up at him in the eyes. You were really agreeing to marry this man and have his children, but you have no earthly idea what his ‘empire’ truly was.

“Done. What else would you like, doll?” Sukuna easily agrees. His body leans forward into the desk. You’re so fucking tantalizing to him, and you don’t even know it. His heart is beating wildly in his chest. This is the same high he chases right before a well deserved kill. The only other person who has made him feel this same way without dying was Satoru Gojo, head of the Gojo clan.

“If you’re really a…” The word ‘yakuza’ dies on your lips. People didn’t throw around that word so frivolously. “If you and your business partners outside this office subscribe to that sort of kinship, I want to be as clueless about it as El Chapo’s wife. Please, give me plausible deniability.”

You could feel your moral compass shattering just from the mere bargaining of this. Just because you didn’t see something, doesn’t make it any less real. You were just turning a blind eye to Sukuna’s crimes… just like how corporations turned a blind eye to your father.

You try to remind yourself that this was for the greater good. You wanted revenge and penance for all the workers who have suffered at the hands of greedy men. You had to play to win.

This was only temporary. Once you established yourself in the field of law, you wouldn’t need Sukuna’s last name. By that time, he would likely already grow tired of you and move onto the next young pretty thing that fell onto his lap. Both of you would move onto different things.

Sukuna let out a deep, rich laugh that only men of high status could give. “Darling, I wouldn’t dream of involving you in my work, as long as you don’t involve me in yours.”

You let out a deep breath. This was really happening. What would your father say about the life you had chosen to live?

Your future husband slowly held out his hand to you. His palm was rough and calloused. The small splatter of blood on his white button-up spoke volumes to you. This was a man you didn’t want to cross.

“A deal, then?” his voice coated you in a false sense of security. Sukuna was terrifying, but in a way, he also brought you comfort.

“Before I shake your hand, I want the right to end our engagement should I change my mind. I’ll forfeit the money, and I’ll never step foot in the entertainment district. I’ll also never utter a word about anything I may have seen during our engagement.”

Sukuna kept his hand extended towards you. “The door your eyes kept glancing to has been unlocked this entire time, darling. The fingerprint sensor isn’t even active right now. You’re free to walk away from me all the way until you say I do,”

You glanced down at his hand then up to his eyes. He’s wearing a subtle smirk that tells you that he’s comfortable right now. You take his hand, and you shake on it before you could think wiser.

“Good girl. We can go over more explicit details the next time we meet,” your future husband smiles — a real genuine smile, and he stands up from his desk. His hands go to unbuttoning his shirt.

“I—“ your words get caught in your throat as Sukuna shrugs off his button-up shirt. His muscles look as though they’ve been delicately sculpted by one of the greatest artists to ever live. His tattoo, lines and circles that seem to have no other purpose, only accentuate every hill and ditch on his body. No, Sukuna’s not some sort of man — he’s a god.

“What are you doing?” your voice is about an octave too high, betraying your nervousness. You quickly stop yourself from staring, opting to cover your eyes up with your hands.

“Oh doll, don’t be shy,” he teases with a throaty laugh. He’s enjoying watching you squirm over him. “I’m for your enjoyment now, seeing as though we’re engaged.”

You hear fabric rustling, and you take the chance to peek between your fingers to see what he’s doing. He had another shirt tucked away in his desk, and he was now buttoning it up across his chest.

His old shirt was no where to be seen. He must’ve already expertly discarded it for no one to find.

You slowly stand as well, taking the hint that this conversation was coming to an end. You look for your bag before you realize that you must’ve left it at the bar when Sukuna led you up to his office during your panic attack.

“Come, doll. I’ll take you home,” Sukuna says, beckoning to you like an owner would their dog. He opens the door, proving that it really wasn’t locked.

You slowly follow behind him. “It’s fine. I can walk or take a subway,” you say slowly. The thought of Sukuna seeing where you lived, even if you were on student housing, made your skin crawl with unease.

“Oh y/n, you have so much to learn about me,” he taunts as his hand grazes the small of your back. He carefully leads you down to the club level. The bar had mostly cleared out. You noted how Yorozu had seemingly left. So much for the buddy system. “I’m not the type of man to let my future wife navigate the entertainment district at this ungodly hour without so much of a cell phone to call for help.”

“I have a cell phone—“ you quickly protest before you pick it up off the bar. It was completely dead. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. How did he even know about that..?

“I watched the screen fade to black as you were accusing me of lying. Let this be your first lesson, your trip here was the last time you’ll be free to roam the streets of the entertainment district without some sort of protection with you.”

You swallow thickly as you slowly grab your purse. Not that the money mattered, but it was still left undisturbed on the bar. Sukuna’s eyes flickered between you and the stack of yen, as if silently telling you to take it… even if you didn’t need it now.

“Consider it a down payment,” Sukuna laughs as he grabs a helmet off the bar. Your eyes widen as you remember that he didn’t drive a car here.

Your future husband doesn’t take a moment for pause as he walked towards the doors. He holds it open for you, expecting you to follow him.

What other choice did you have? You also didn’t necessarily fancy walking home without a phone to call for help if you needed it.

He turns to face you before reaching around and pulling the pen he had meticulously placed in your hair to hold it up. Your hair fell down, and he stepped closer to you. “Have you ever ridden before?”

You slowly shake your head. You’ve never even been close to a motorcycle before, and Sukuna’s bike looks intimidating.

“Mm, I should’ve guessed by the fear in your eyes,” he laughs lowly before slowly slipping the helmet over your head. You’re rendered blind for a moment as it takes him a second to adjust the helmet to your head. His fingers delicately adjust the straps beneath your chin, making sure you’re properly secured in.

“If I would’ve known I’d have my future wife with me, I would’ve opted for the car instead of my bike. You’re lucky I’m a good driver, doll.”

Your hands go to raise your visor up so you can look him in the eyes instead of a tinted plastic meant to protect your eyes. However, Sukuna slaps the visor back down with a hearty chuckle. “Keep it down, kitten. Don’t you want to be able to see while you walk down the aisle?”

His strong hands then wrap around your waist, and he lifts you effortlessly as though you weigh nothing to him. You barely make it through a gasp before he safely settles you onto the back of his bike.

“Put your feet on the pegs,” he instructs as he carefully swings his own leg over the bike. “When we’re riding, you hold onto me, and lean with the bike not against it.”

“What does that even mean?” you shout, feeling like your heart is going to have palpitations after this ride.

“It means…” he reaches behind himself to grab your hands, and he makes you wrap your arms around his waist. He places your palms on his rock solid stomach. “Hold onto me and trust me, doll.”

You’re forced to lean into him, practically laying yourself against his muscular back. His warmth seeps into you as you hold onto him tightly. The bike roars to life.

“You ready for the ride of your life, doll?”

The beautiful neon lights of bright purples, lime greens, and cyan blues zip past you as Sukuna revs the bike. The engine purrs and whines as he drives the bike with a confidence that comes with riding for several years.

The entertainment district is at its prettiest during this hour. Not many people are out and about, but it’s still dark and the streetlights illuminate the space. It feels like it’s straight out of a dystopian science fiction movie.

The ride is mostly silent. You’re focused on the feeling of the wind in your hair and the sights that Japan has to offer. You stay wrapped around Sukuna, using his body as an anchor while it feels like you might blow away.

It gives you time to think and reflect. You’ve done more new things in the last 24 hours than you have all your life. It feels… freeing, a sort of freedom that you haven’t felt since your father was injured at his job.

A sudden thought occurs to you. You never told Sukuna which student housing you live in… Sure, he could infer that you live on student housing, but there’s still multiple housing facilities that you could live in.

Much to your dismay, he pulls up to the exact right building, and he slowly kills the engine. “How was that?” he asks as he turns over his shoulder to look at you.

Your fingers quickly fumble with the strap of your helmet, trying to peel the safety gear off of you.

Sukuna laughs quietly as he watches you struggle. He pushed himself up off the bike, so he could tend to you better. “Careful, doll. Don’t overwork yourself. I’m sure the ride wasn’t that bad.”

Once the helmet was off, you stare up at him with a heat of a thousand suns. “How do you know where I live?” you demand as your eyebrows furrow. Your lips curl into that adorable pout that makes Sukuna involuntarily grin at you.

“I already told you, doll. I don’t just let anyone work at Malevolent Mass, and I certainly don’t just offer marriage to someone I hardly know,” he says it as if it’s the most natural thing on this planet.

You’re completely speechless for a moment, reeling over just how much he knows about you. He made the deal with you knowing what he was getting himself into; however, you basically just signed yourself up for a blind sentence.

“As much as I crave the fear you’re wearing on your face, it’s late. You have class on Monday, which means you need to fix your sleeping schedule tonight. Go inside, get some rest, and make sure to charge your phone. I’ll be in touch.” You don’t even bother asking how he knows your phone number.

He reaches out to you, bracing a hand behind your head as his fingers intertwine strands of hair. He then bends over and presses his lips gently against your forehead.

A warmth blossoms over you. A simple forehead kiss was not what you were expecting from the man who fucked your mouth with his fingers and propositioned you for a free use bargain. It felt simple, sweet, innocent…

It’s almost enough to make all the anxiety lift from your shoulders, but you still yourself, reminding yourself not to fall for such frivolous tricks and pretty words… even if it was really thoughtful that he had already thought about your schooling.

“I’ll draft up a contract before our next meeting, doll.” He slides the helmet over his own head, and he pushes the visor upwards so you can gaze into his red eyes that appear soft at the moment.

Coming to your senses, you give him a weary gaze. “Written contracts only ever benefit the writer of the contract.”

You can’t see his lips, but you can tell from his eyes that he’s smirking at you like he’s proud of you for picking up on such a minor detail. “I have such a clever little wife.”

With that, his bike roars to life, and he points towards the door of your building. His intention is clear enough. You’re now to do as your future husband says.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @lizatonix @starmapz @everywonuu @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @depressiondiaries @t4naiis @hishearttohave @soraya-daydreams @lulunx @s-1-xx @el-lise @prettyngeto @marifujioka @iheartlinds @gina239 @actuallynarii @shxyxyxxxx @krispycreamepie @emoedgylord

[lvl1l1]

Telling LaDS men you’re so hungry you could eat their…

pairings: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb x Reader(separate)

content: crack, they’re starting to think you’re losing it, mentions of caleb’s death in zayne’s, this is stupid im sorry

a/n: i love this tiktok trend, doing it to children was funny but it’s even better on grown men

Xavier - his coworker!

You and Xavier were spending a lazy afternoon in, sitting on the couch, letting a movie play as background noise.

Your head was resting against his chest, as he drew patterns on your back.

The two main characters in the film were having dinner together and you pointed at the screen,

“I think we should eat something soon. I’m so hungry, I could eat, like, Tara.”

A moment of silence passed between you two, his movements on your back halted,

“Tara?”

You didn’t respond, eyes still glued to the screen.

“Isn’t she your friend?“

“Yeah.”

You let the silence linger again, waiting to add,

“I could, like, eat her up.”

You felt Xavier’s eyes on you but you kept your face neutral, trying to keep him off your track.

“Okay…”

You two went back to being quiet and he hesitantly resumed drawing the patterns on your back.

He cleared his throat after a while,

“I could make you something, if you’d like.”

Fear overtook you, quickly scrambling to safe yourself,

“It’s okay! We can just get takeout.”

He nodded, hands now busying themselves by playing with your hair and you thought you should mess with him some more,

“We could ask Tara to bring us something.”

He paused again, his eyes meeting yours, he was trying to figure out what this was about,

“Did you two get in a fight or-“

You started laughing, giving up the charade,

“Nah, I was just messing with you.”

You felt him let out a sigh of relieve,

“I was starting to get worried.”

You looked at him, blinking,

“About what?”

He shrugged,

“I mean, it’s weird to mention another person when you’re talking about being hungry, right? If it were wanderers, I’d understand a bit better but…”

This time, it was your turn to pause,

“What do you mean you could understand better if it were wanderers?”

He didn’t answer, now his eyes were glued to the screen,

“Xavier, what?”

Fortunately, you missed the smile tugging at his lips.

About time he gave you a taste of your own medicine.

Zayne - his (presumed) dead childhood friend!

You and Zayne had gone out for a sweet treat, you did your best to eat as quickly as possible, your boyfriend picked up on that but brushed it off on you being hungry.

As he was still busy with his ice cream, you started staring at him, unblinking.

He glanced at you, starting to feel concerned,

“Babe, I’m still so hungry, my god, I could literally eat Caleb right now.”

At the start of your sentence, Zayne stretched his ice cream cone out to you, wanting to offer you to finish his, but as you finished what you were saying, he quickly retracted his hand.

He stared at you as if you had grown a second head.

He didn’t say anything and neither did you, just staring at each other.

“What-“

Zayne started but before he could say anything else you burst out laughing,

Seeing as you still weren’t saying anything, just laughing maniacally, he grew more concerned.

“Hah… you should’ve seen your face! Priceless.”

He quietly spoke your name, gaze softening and you thought he was catching on,

“We can talk about it, if you want. I understand that you miss him.”

Your eyes quickly widened, trying to salvage the situation,

“Oh, nono! he’s fine! I was just messing with you. I should tell him about this, though.”

Zayne’s brows furrowed, feeling bad for you. He gave you the rest of his ice cream, after all, pushing a strand of your hair out of your face, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“We can go visit him later, if you’d like.”

You nodded, the fact that Zayne had no idea Caleb had risen from the dead still not clicking for you,

“Oh yeah! You haven’t seen him in so long, I’m sure you two have a lot to say to each other.”

He hummed affirmatively, you two were just speaking past each other.

“A trip to Skyhaven would be nice, anyway.”

Finally, he looked at you with confusion again.

“Skyhaven? Why would we go to Skyhaven?”

It was your turn to look at him, just as confused.

When it finally hit, your eyes widened, mouth falling agape.

Well, good luck breaking the news to him!

Rafayel - his aunt!

Rafayel had asked you to model for him, you two had been sitting in his studio all morning.

He was sketching away, as you started to grow more bored.

He’d mumble somethings under his breath, never loud enough for you to actually make out what he was saying.

You couldn’t pass up on this perfect opportunity to mess with him,

“Man, I’m so hungry, I could eat Talia…”

The satisfying noises of his pencil against the paper stopped, as his head shot up, looking scandalised,

“My aunt?!”

You looked at him, as innocently as you could muster, not answering him.

“What do you mean?”

You held his gaze, answering non-chalantly,

“That’s how hungry I am.”

His mouth opened and closed, looking at you warily.

He slowly lowered his head again, eyes back on his block, before he shook his head, exclaiming the same thing in the same flabbergasted tone as he did the first time,

“MY AUNT?!”

You started cackling, throwing your head back. The traumatised look he shot you not moving you at all.

“Is that- why were you- WHAT?”

His confusion wasn’t wearing off, neither was his astonishment.

He finally put his art supplies down, getting up and walking towards you.

Rafayel placed both his hands on either sides of your head,

“We’re not visiting her for a while now.”

You gasped, throwing your arms around his neck,

“I was just joking around!”

He shook his head,

“Whether that was supposed to be threatening or your way of saying you think she’s pretty, doesn’t matter. Let’s get you something to eat now.”

You pouted at him,

“C’mon, Raf! Take a joke.”

He pushed you down, before crushing you with his weight,

“Nuh-Uh. You’re weird.”

The only way to fix this now, is sending him the videos that had prompted you to do mess with him like this and promising him that the only person you’d ever think of while hungry would be him.

Why would you even think he’d let this slide?

Sylus - one of his henchmen!

Sylus was sitting at his desk, reading.

You were sitting on the couch, bored on your phone.

You wanted attention and you had just found your ticket to getting some.

You put your phone down, sighing loudly.

That barely elicited a reaction from him, however you did notice the way he raised his eyebrow.

“I’m so hungry, I could eat one of the twins. Preferably Luke.”

At that, he slowly turned around, staring at you.

He squinted his eyes, searching your face for an indicator of what the hell you meant.

His expression didn’t change as he turned his eyes back to the pages before him,

“Right.”

You pouted, having hoped for a bigger reaction,

“No, right. That sounds perfectly sane.”

At that, your lips finally curled upwards into a smile,

“Maybe you should spend less time with the twins, actually.”

You finally let out a laugh at that and you didn’t miss the smirk tugging on his lips, either.

“And what on earth makes you think Luke would be the better tasting one?”

You huffed at his words, shaking your head,

“Who says I was basing this off of who I think would taste better?”

Sylus nodded, pushing his glasses up,

“Right, right, apologies.”

“Ugh, it’s so hard to mess with you!”

His cocky laugh made you smile, when you thought of something that might actually catch him off guard,

“Just for the record, if it came down to it, I wouldn’t be above eating Mephisto.”

His head still hung low but you saw his red eyes flicker up to you.

He pursed his lips, closing his book,

“Why would it ever come down to that?”

You shrugged, basking in finally getting his attention.

He tutted,

“Also, bold of you to assume he’d go out without a fight.”

You sprung up, putting your hands on your hips,

“Whose side are you on, exactly?!”

He stood up, slowly walking towards you,

“I’m not saying you’d lose. Just, let’s make sure that day never comes.”

Oh, he thinks he’s sooo funny.

Caleb - his college roommate!

You and Caleb were lying in bed, cozying up.

Covered by the blankets, Caleb’s arms were wrapped around you.

He was about ready to doze off, when you started mentioning food.

“Well, what would you like, pips?”

His voice was hoarse and you noticed how his eyes kept fluttering shut, trying his best to keep them open.

“I don’t know. I’m so hungry, I could eat, like…”

He hummed, still being attentive to you, even though he was on the brink of falling asleep.

“Gideon, maybe.”

His head snapped up at that, his eyes open and alert, any sign of sleep gone.

“What?”

He looked at you incredulously, wondering where that thought had even come from.

“Is that, what, an abbreviation for something?”

You shook your head, blinking up at him,

“I’m so hungry I could eat Gideon.”

He leaned back slightly, looking at your face, a confused smile on his lips.

“That’s kinda weird.”

You cocked your head to the side, the grin on your face didn’t help with his confusion.

“Gideon.”

Caleb rubbed one hand over his face, massaging under his eyes, knowing you were messing with him.

“Gideon. As in, my roommate from college, Gideon? What does this even mean.”

You giggled, pointing and laughing at your boyfriend.

“Seriously, Caleb, you’re so fun to mess with!”

He sighed, resting his chin on your head, squishing your cheeks with one hand,

“All right, whatever you say. Do you want something to eat now or not? And Gideon isn’t an option!”

You calmed down, leaning into his touch,

“You’re tired, go to sleep.”

He tsk’d, not letting go off you,

“How am I supposed to do that, when you just mentioned another man’s name while in our bed?”

“You’re making it sound wrong!”

He started rubbing your shoulders, slowly inching down,

“Don’t do that again.”

Maybe Caleb wasn’t so easy to mess with after all.

[berrryparfait]

sex pollen ❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

— ༉‧₊ᐟ featuring: zayne, xavier, sylus, caleb, rafayel x fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: spring is here, and the "thorny" flower is in season. beware, unsuspecting farm visitor, lest you inhale the evil flower's pollen and fall victim to its whims... 「this urge... i can't resist it anymore—!」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] pure smut, literal sex pollen; "spontaneous and urgent need to have sex", piv, creampie, intense orgasms, dubcon, characters are not dating nor have they ever f*cked before (frenemies)

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: pelican town (from the stardew valley soundtrack)

✧ a/n: was the stardew valley soundtrack too unhinged or... anywaysss sex pollen is one of my all-time favorite tropes ever so here's my take on it <3

Sure, he might not be your favorite person in the world, but just for today, you're content with being acquaintances. For what it’s worth, if there’s anything worse than spending a whole day with your begrudging frenemy, it’s losing.

The annual Spring Corn-Picking Festival has begun, and you’ve been paired up with him. Can you put your differences aside and put your skills to the test? Or is there something else—something sinister—lurking beneath the surface, waiting to strike?

The “thorny” flower is in bloom, and no one is safe…

“Follow my lead if you want to win. I did my research, so I know where all the best spots are.” He parts the thick maize, making way for the both of you to trudge through the field. You roll your eyes at his predictable arrogance. “Please. I used to live on a farm. I know my way around—” You trip on a small rock and stumble into his back. He barely even glances at you. “Be quiet if you don’t want to sabotage our mission.” Rude. “Hey, there’s some up there.” You both dart towards the bunch of ripe corn a few feet away, no longer weary and complacent. Placing his basket on the ground, he begins to expertly pluck the corn from their stalks, intense concentration written all over his face.

All of a sudden, a strange smell hijacks your nostrils. “Do you smell that?” He grimaces and looks around, apparently sensing it too. It’s…strange. Foreign. Not entirely unpleasant. The flesh between your legs throbs. Why do I feel…? Your eyes lock with Zayne’s, then travel down to his groin. He’s hard. It takes him two seconds to close the distance between you. “Zayne, what’s going on—” He yanks your overalls down and grasps at your breasts, the expression on his reddened face absolutely feral. “I-I don’t know—” he stammers, still smearing his hands all over your plump chest. “But I can’t stop…” He pulls your panties down in one fell swoop to find you already dripping wet. His pupils dilate at the sight, and his hands automatically move to undo his belt. It doesn’t take long for him to free his erection, which is so large by now you almost feel bad for him. “Wait, we’re in a corn field—” Your words are abruptly cut off by him spinning you around and plunging his cock between your folds, and you have to cling to the sturdy stalks to prevent yourself from falling over. A hand goes over your mouth to conceal your surprised moans. He has you bent over in front of him, back arching against his dick as he thrusts into you and curses under his breath. I don’t like you! You don’t like me! Why does this feel so good?! “Fuck— I can’t stop—” His groans are strangled and pained, his hips moving so fast the field around you blurs into a mess of pale green and yellow. Expletives escape his lips as he slams into you so hard you both come undone, his hot, thick cum filling you up and dripping down your legs as you spasm and shake under his grip. You’re panting. He looks like he can’t even breathe. “What the fuck was that, Zayne?!” you scream at him, flustered and so utterly confused. “It’s that damn flower… Fuck. I’m sorry.” You pull your overalls back up and shake your head, unsure how to feel about all of this. “Let me make it up to you— Dinner. Tonight.” Tiny butterflies drift into the field.

“Would you quit micromanaging?” He glares at you before turning back to the corn, both hands wrapped around its plush kernels. “I’m just saying, twisting it out might be faster.” Always pouting, always bickering. It’s the only thing you two ever do. You’ve never denied that it bothers you, the way he acts as if you’re beneath him. “If you’re so confident, you do it.” You take the bait and push past him, sandwiching yourself between him and the stubborn stalk of corn. A smug grin plays at his lips when you fail to pull—no, twist—it out, his arms crossed over his chest.

Xavier sneezes. He brushes it off as a one-time thing at first, but then he sneezes again. Hay fever? he thinks to himself. Suddenly, the image of you working your hands around the cob of corn—squeezing and pulling at its base—is too much for him to bear. He’s imagining his dick in its place. You don’t realize it at first, but you’re getting wet. You feel the abrupt, inexplicable need to grind against something. Anything. All at once, you push Xavier to the ground and sit down on top of him. “Do you feel that?” you whisper between gasps, the pool of need between your legs growing by the second. He nods breathlessly, uncertain, but wanting all the same. Your hips involuntarily roll against his, and you both suppress a moan. The next thing you know, you’re grinding against his rock-hard cock and relishing the sounds of his tortured groans. “I’m—so horny—right now—” His voice is fried, needy. You lift the skirt of your dress and pull your panties to the side, clearly sopping wet. His jeans are unzipped. In what seems like an unimaginable moment, you’re bouncing on his dick and screaming out in pleasure. Why does he…feel so good… Your thoughts are a mess, part confusion and part unbridled lust. The way he rubs against your walls, jerks upwards to meet your thrusts, whimpers like a man starved—it’s everything you never knew you needed. You roll your hips at just the right angle, and he gets impossibly bigger before shooting warm spurts of cum into your cervix, his thighs clenching underneath yours as the most intense orgasms both of you have ever had crash over your joint bodies. You roll over to lie down beside him, still in shock. “W-What was that?!” He turns to look at you and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear—ironic, considering your entire head’s a complete mess. “I didn’t know you had that in you. You didn’t even kiss me.”

“Perhaps we’d get there more quickly if you stopped whining,” he jabs, already five feet ahead of you. His demeanor remains cool and composed, yet frustration simmers beneath the surface, visible only to those who know the enigma of a man well enough. Unfortunately, “those” includes you. “I just can’t believe I’m stuck here with you. Of all people.” Without looking back, he replies, “Are you sure this isn’t your desire for me speaking? Because judging by the way you were eyeing me just now…” You huff at his ridiculous statement. “Ha! You wish. Sleeping with you is the last thing I’d ever want, so keep dreaming, buckaroo.”

You don’t hear his reply. A sharp, almost sweet scent attacks your senses, conquering your mind almost instantly. You sway amongst the stalks of grass, trying to make sense of the sudden urge you’re feeling—the urge to bury Sylus’ dick between your legs. I hate him I hate him I hate him— Your hands reach out to grab him before you can stop them, and he spins around abruptly to gently push you away. “Having a change of mind?” He means the question as a joke, but the sound of his gravelly, seductive voice only intensifies the throbbing in your cunt. “Shut up and fuck me,” you spit, fully convinced you’ve gone insane. But he doesn’t object. The cocky grin vanishes from his face as he unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down, apparently devoted to the task. His underwear is still on by the time he’s lying on top of you, pupils dilated and erection rock solid. Overcome, he dry-humps your clit for a whole minute, the pressure so rewarding that he can’t bring himself to remove his boxers. “Fuck, baby— What are you doing to me?” He hisses when you yank them down yourself, eager to bury his cock deep inside you. No time is wasted. In a single thrust of his hips, he’s plunging all the way into you, so big you cry out in delicious pain. Your hips move in tandem with his, mud covering your back and seeping into your hair—but you couldn’t care less. His length is pumping in and out of you so hard your eyes roll to the back of your head, and distantly you wonder how long you’ve secretly needed—wanted—this. He grunts with each jerk, wet squelches filling the air as the strawberry-picking competition is forgotten, sweet release the only thing on his mind. A stutter—a falter, and he erupts, his thick seed coating your walls and seeping out of your pussy. You both fall silent as the pleasure consumes your bodies, so good your eyes squeeze shut and your throat goes completely dry. “I’m…a mess…” you mutter between pants, pushing him off of you. “Who wants to sleep with who now?” He shoves his pants back on and—blushes?! “It must’ve been that flower. Though… It’s worth mentioning that I’m immune.”

“Alright, let’s hurry up and get this over with.” He doesn’t seem thrilled to be wading through a cornfield with the likes of you, one of his childhood tormentors. Well, he’d tormented you back, of course—middle school turf wars were no joke. You both grew up and learned to tame your reactions a little, but some things never change. The fact that you’re still stuck in the same small town with him, for instance. “After all these years, Caleb is still a jackass,” you quip, already making your way towards a ripe bunch of corn. “You’re just jealous I never dated you.”

The wind blows, and you scrunch your nose at the scent it carries. “Shh— Do you smell that?” His eyes go wide as realization hits, and he rushes to cover your nose and mouth with his hands. “It’s that devil flower that spews aphrodisiacal pollen. Don’t. Breathe.” His expression is grim as he clamps his mouth shut, but he’s already starting to squirm. A small pit of arousal emerges in your core, but he’s clearly having a harder time than you are, the outline of his hard cock visible through his trousers. “Caleb…?” you ask tentatively as his hands slide away from your face, flexing indecisively before reaching towards you. “Caleb, wait a second—” He’s on his knees, pulling your shorts and panties down. Oh my god, this can’t be happening— You gasp as his tongue glides against your clit, the simple movement leaving you wanting more. Your hips grind against his face as you moan his name, lost in the lovely vibrations of his own groans of pleasure. “Get on the ground.” His tone leaves little room for debate. You lie flat on the soil, back towards the sky, and turn to look at him over your shoulder. His dick is out, precum coating the tip as it beelines straight for your inviting cunt. Pure bliss overcomes your system when he first glides in, your walls instantly slickening in response. He pounds into you from behind, his whimpers mingling with yours as you’re swept away by the feeling of finally having Caleb inside you. It’s surreal—ten years ago you would’ve laughed at the thought. Now your mouth hangs open for different reasons. “Faster, Caleb—” you squeak, desperate to reach your climax. He drives into you, clenching hard before he drenches your pussy, a steady stream of cum dripping down onto the soil below. “Holy fuck… I’m sorry…” he whispers, getting up to put his pants back on. An unexpected wave of laughter hits as you recover from the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body sated and…comfortable. “Don’t you dare blame this on the pollen.” He sighs wearily and smiles. “I’m not.”

“If we don’t win, I’m blaming it on you.” Great. This detour was all your fault. You can’t believe this guy. First, he makes no effort to help with navigation. Next, he decides that if anything goes wrong, you’re to blame? Sweet crackers, he’s the most insufferable fool you’ve ever met. Sure, he’s charming—the old ladies back at the farm couldn’t have made it clearer—but you don’t get to have a competitive streak when you’re not the one doing the streaking. Seriously, he’s slow as hell. “Stop talking and walk.”

“There’s something in the air,” he remarks, squinting. It’s the first time he’s paid attention to anything today, so you hear him out and begin sniffing your surroundings. You detect nothing and call him a big baby, resuming your search for corn. “I’m being serious! I swear it’s doing something to me…” He turns away then, so hastily your suspicions are raised. “J-Just gimme a sec!” he calls over his shoulder, “Lemme take care of something real quick—” You turn back around, tired of his antics, but a barely concealed groan stops you dead in your tracks. He’s jerking off in broad daylight, his head thrown back in relief. “Rafayel, what the f—” You feel it then, the throbbing ache in your pussy, and suddenly his presence no longer annoys you. You inch towards him, eyeing his hard cock as he pumps it with his fist. At the sight of you staring up at him with a strange, unabashed lust, his thighs clench and he moans your name, the sound of it on his lips sending waves of arousal down to your core. You push him down by the shoulders so he’s sitting upright on the ground, dick so hard it looks miserable. “Bounce on it,” he orders. In the span of two seconds, your panties are pushed to the side and your cunt is enveloping his cock. You’re so full, so dirty with him between your legs—Does it feel better to fuck someone you pretend to hate? His thumbs bruise your hips as you keep your pace, bouncing on his lap like your life depends on it, his tip crushing against your cervix the only thing on your mind. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he breathes before pumping his fresh cum into your pussy, your combined cries of pleasure so loud a neighboring flock of birds takes flight. Defeated, you lean against him in his lap, still shaking with desire. His hand goes up to rest on your head, his touch surprisingly tender. “I’ve been waiting all year for that.”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[rowdydevs]

Is it possible if we could have any more dilf!rafe and milf!reader? Im literally obsessed with the family dynamic atm!!

Hi bb 💕💕💕 of course!! Thank you for your ask. This story is meant to be read either alone or with the rest of the au. Thank you for your ask!!

+18 -> smut | on prom night, a very protective rafe wrestles with old grudges, growing pains, and the realization that letting go might be the hardest part.

𝓭𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓯!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

c/w: pet names, swearing, praise, dirty talk, fingering, cum tasting, older rafe, roughish, semi-public male oral <- in a car with tinted windows, he is driving, intentional texting errors, ⚠︎ smut cross-posted on my nhl account. ⚠︎

cameron kids= Max (18), Winnie (17), Rory + Poppy (4)

You’re standing out in the front yard with your camera, doing everything you can not to cry while your daughter twirls around in her prom dress—glowing, radiant, almost too beautiful to look at.

Her boyfriend’s got his arm around her waist, holding her like it’s second nature. They keep catching each other’s eyes and laughing over nothing, cheeks bumping, sneaking little kisses between whatever secret they’re whispering like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

It’s sweet. It’s perfect. And honestly? It’s a little brutal. Because no matter how grown she looks, she’s still your baby.

Your husband’s next to you, taking pictures with his phone, but you can see it clear as day—he’s tense. His smile is forced, fingers stiff around the edges of his phone. He hasn’t said more than two words to JJ, who’s mere feet away. It’s awkward… painfully so. But what’s new between the two of them? Your husband never forgot how much he hated him. And now? Now that guy’s kid is dating his baby girl.

It’s hard to imagine this would be a bigger deal… And it would be, if the kid wasn’t a literal angel: polite, gentle, thoughtful, smart; a D1-bound quarterback. He’s good. But try telling Rafe that.

Your daughter squeals, adjusting her corsage, leaning into her boyfriend with the biggest grin on her face as the limos pull up. She gasps, eyes snapping to you. “Oh my God. Mom, I forgot my clutch!”

You look over at Rafe, lost in his own world as he looks between the young couple and his archenemy, going through his own existential crisis; jaw clenched, eyebrows drawn together like this is all somehow a personal attack on him. “Baby…”

“Mhmm…” He grunts as his eyes continue to survey the scene.

“… Baby?”

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, meeting your eyes before drawing a deep, pensive breath.

“Just take a second. Take a breath… Get the purse.”

He gives you a look, lips drawing to the side, wanting to protest like he’s afraid if he lets his guard down for a moment the thoughts that he’s been stewing on will manifest. “Yes, ma’am,” he mutters, then turns and stomps toward the house.

You watch him disappear through the front door, then turn back to your daughter. The yard is buzzing with excitement, teens gathering their things as they wander toward the rented cars.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You look down at your phone, rolling your eyes as you see three back-to-back text messages coming in. “Where’s the purse, baby?” You mock his deep voice under your breath as you unlock your phone. Not surprised in the slightest that he’s stalling to prolong the inevitable.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The twins are bouncing with excitement, already changed into their pajamas, stuffed animals hugged tight.

Sarah’s in the kitchen grabbing snacks for movie night, laughing as your son climbs all over him like he’s part jungle gym, part superhero. Meanwhile, your daughter’s standing off to the side, arms crossed, Cameron-pout on full display—a full-blown daddy’s girl—not thrilled in the slightest about him leaving.

“C’mon now,” Rafe says, gently tugging her closer. “Be right back, princess. I’ll kiss you on the head when I get home, okay? I’ll be there in the mornin’ when you wake up.”

She narrows her little eyes at him, her buttoned-nose furrowed in frustration.

“I heard mommy’s makin’ blueberry pancakes for breakfast,” Rafe adds as he cocks an eyebrow, hoping for the best, his smile widening as her face lights up over something so simple.

“No way.”

“Way.”

“I am?” you ask through a laugh as you loop your arm through your purse, pulling it on your shoulder.

“She is,” Rafe confirms, shooting you a smile and wink. “Isn’t she the best?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as he kisses your daughter’s forehead and sends her off.

The you both step outside into the quiet; the cobblestone driveway glowing under soft light. Rafe reaches for your hand as the front door clicks shut behind you. You barely get a step down the private lot before he loops his finger under your dress and tugs the hem upward with a cocky smirk.

“Rafe!” You gasp, swatting his hand as your skirt falls back down, looking back toward the house with a smile.

“They didn’t see, pretty,” he murmurs, totally unbothered. “Besides I needed a distraction. My brain was spiraling again.”

“You’re not gonna lift my dress every time you start panicking about your daughter growing up.”

“I mean…” He steps a little closer, stuffing his hand in his pocket, the other draping around your shoulders as he dips down to press a kiss on your head. “I could just pull it down next time, get a glimpse of these,” he hums, reaching over to give your boob a playful squeeze, “for balance.” He lets out a sleazy little laugh as you giggle.

Rafe spins you around and pulls you in for a kiss: deep and sweet. The kind that says ‘sure, I might be losing my shit, but you’re my favorite way to come back down’. He opens the passenger door for you, still grinning as you slide into the car.

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The two of you sit side by side at a table on the water. The twinkling lights strung from the patio of the Island Club swaying in the breeze. Dinner was delicious, drinks were flowing, and Rafe… was present.

You could see it in the way he stared out at the water for a second too long. The way he blinked back to you like he’d just remembered where he was, and even so he wasn’t deep in thought. Almost like he wasn’t clenching his fists or checking his phone every two seconds or trying to crack a joke to distract himself from the ache in his heart.

But even still, he was there with you. Holding your hand, letting you finish your wine without interruption. He ordered your favorite appetizer before you could, stole bites from your plate like it was his job, kissing you tenderly after every lingered glance.

At one point, you were both leaned back in your chairs, full and content, watching the last sliver of sun bleed into the horizon when he said, “She told me they’re headin’ to Lexi’s after prom.”

“She did?”

He nods, sipping his drink. “She didn’t need to tell me that… She’s seventeen. Fuck, baby, I mean I woulda lied for the hell of it. I sure as shit wouldn’t have told Ward where I was goin’. And she just told me—didn’t even need to ask.”

“Yeah, baby?” You hum as you tip your head on his shoulder; Rafe’s fingers twinning in yours. “What else did she say?”

“Bonfire, snacks; some movie, I don’t know.”

“What about Jackson? Are juniors and seniors gonna be there?” You question this time, feeling your own unease rise about her possibly mingling with upperclassmen.

“Just juniors. She said ‘he didn’t care… He just wanted to be with her.’”

“Sounds familiar,” you smile as you squeeze Rafe’s hand.

He gives you a look—the one he always does when he’s caught remembering being seventeen with you. “Hmm… Sounds about as much, sweetheart.”

“They’re sweet,” you say quietly as you snuggle in a little closer. “We raised a good one, Rafe.”

“She’s everything,” he breathes. “My stubbornness and your heart—”

“We get to do this all over again in a couple years.”

He groans like it hurt, but he smiles anyway. “Twins too… Better start stocking up on wine now.”

You glance down at your phone, thumb tapping the screen as you check the time. It’s late enough. The twins are definitely asleep by now—if not completely passed out in a pile of stuffies and blankets, at the very least curled up on the couch mid-movie with drool on Auntie Sarah’s shoulder.

You look at Rafe, swirling the last sip of his whiskey, that lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he sees the twinkle in your eye; the man no doubt thinking about taking off the lingerie you teased him with earlier.

“So?” You ask, soft and suggestive as your foot brushes against his under the table.

“That time, huh?” He smiles as he pulls out his phone as well, checking it.

His brows furrow slightly. The smirk slips a little. Not in a full-blown way, just enough to make your stomach flip.

“What?” You ask as you lean in. “Did Sarah send something?” Rafe doesn’t answer right away. “What’s going on, baby?” You press again; still no answer.

You reach across the table and snatch the phone from his hand before he can stop you. Your eyes flick to the screen to check what’s going on, eyes widening on the screen as you see the flashing pin on a tracking app. And your daughter’s car, not where she said she’d be.

You stare down at his phone, then up at him. “Why are you tracking her, Rafe?”

“I don’t just track her, sweetheart. I track Max too… It’s a scary place out there, okay? Ya’ll are all I have,” he stammers. He takes a deep breath, blowing it out his nostrils as he tries his best to collect himself. “I’m trackin’ her because of this—”

“—Because she’s at the beach?” You question, letting your annoyance bleed through each word.

“She didn’t tell us she was going to the beach,” he says, voice tight. “So yeah, baby—that’s why I’m doin’ it.”

“Well, what now?”

Rafe tilts back in his chair, pushing out a shaky, uneven breath. “Guess we’re takin’ a trip to the beach—”

“Rafe…”

“If anything we’ll check and leave—”

“—Baby.”

“We will check. And, we will leave.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your purse. Rafe stands and tosses some cash on the table before looking down at you.

“Nothing more, baby. I swear. I’m not gonna enjoy my night if I don’t know that she’s safe. Just a piece of mind.”

“And what if you see something you don’t wanna see?”

He stops in his tracks looking at you like you just dropped a weight on his chest. “What do you mean by that?”

You arch a brow as you take his hand, rising to your feet. “I mean… you found a condom wrapper in her bathroom, Rafe. So again—I ask—what if you see something you don’t wanna see?”

Rafe runs a hand down his face, letting out a long, deep breath. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹

The two of you pull into the quiet parking lot, headlights cutting through the soft fog that’s rolled in off the water. It’s dark but not deserted—distant voices, the occasional pop of laughter, the soft flicker of firelight down by the shore.

Rafe leans forward, squinting out the windshield. “They’re probably hidin’ somewhere,” he mutters, tone edged with something sharp. “Thinkin’ he’s bein’ slick.”

“Mhmm…” You flick your hand lazily in their direction, spotting them almost instantly, right in plain sight.

The two of them are sat side by side in front of a small fire, shoes kicked off, a blanket pulled over both their legs. Winnie’s head tilted on Jackson’s shoulder.

Rafe exhales through his nose, and it’s not quite relief, but it’s not disappointment, either. And at that moment you realize he didn’t want to be right—he just didn’t want to be wrong either. You take out your phone, open your messages, and type:

You: Hope you’re having a good night sweetie. Be safe.

Barely ten seconds pass before your daughter’s phone lights up on the sand. You see her glance down at the screen, smile, and start typing back. Then your phone buzzes.

Winnie: we’re having a great night!

Winnie: we left the party because it got kinda crazy. Jax was worried it might get busted.

Winnie: we’re down to the beach

Another second later, she sends a selfie—her cheek pressed against Jackson’s, both of them grinning, firelight flickering. No red cups. No chaos. Just two kids who genuinely like each other, making a smart choice together.

Rafe’s jaw ticks as he looks at the photo. He leans back in his seat, sighing as the guilt hits him square in the chest.

“Goddamnit.”

“Mhmm…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just—I don’t know. This shit is hard,” he huffs.

You smile and reach over, lacing your fingers in his. “Why don’t we get out of here, baby… Go for a little drive on our way home.”

Rafe nods and pulls out of the lot, his jaw set, one hand tight on the wheel as the silence stretches between you. The engine hums low, but he doesn’t say a word.

He’s still wound up—his whole body carrying the weight of everything he’s been trying to hold back. The guilt, the stress, the slow ache of watching his little girl grow up. On top of that, work’s been brutal lately, you know it’s been eating at him, even if he won’t say it out loud.

You watch him quietly, the way the dim streetlights flicker across his profile: strong jaw, furrowed brow, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled up over his thick forearms you’ll never get tired of looking at.

Even tense like this, he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—and all you can think about is how badly you want to help him relax.

He glances over at you, still high-strung, blue eyes heavy with thoughts he hasn’t shared quite yet. He shifts in his seat, spreading his thighs a little wider, fabric stretching over them—and your gaze drops without hesitation.

Your breath hitches. All you can think about is straddling him right there in the front seat, grinding against him with your skirt bunched around your waist, the windows fogging, and music muffling your moans—

“What’re you thinking about, baby?” He asks, voice low.

You turn to him slowly, letting your voice drop into something warm and wicked. “You.”

His eyes flick to yours in surprise. “You’re thinkin’ about me?” He says, almost like he doesn’t believe it himself, half-expecting to be in that doghouse you were talking about earlier.

You smile, reach for his hand resting on the console, and guide it toward you. He exhales sharply, shoulders finally starting to drop, the tension melting into something else entirely. “You’re not mad at me, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, baby. I like when you’re protective. Can’t fault you for that. Maybe just calm down a little… Just a little.”

“Anything for you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with want.

“Wanna help you forget all those thoughts distracting you from me…”

“Distracting me from you? My girl? Impossible… But, please,” he says with a smirk, “make me forget.”

You lift his hand from your thigh, slowly, and press a kiss to the top of it—light and teasing, just like he would.

Then, with your eyes still on him, you part your lips and slip two thick fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tips. Rafe’s breath catches. He flicks another glance at you, then another, making the car sway gently.

You reach over, trailing your hand down his chest, feeling the heat and tension thrumming through his body. Your nails drag lightly down his shirt’s crisp, white fabric until you hit his thigh, scratching just enough to earn a quiet exhale from him.

Your fingers graze over his bulge—growing thick and heavy beneath his designer pants—and he shifts again, jaw clenched tighter, not from stress, solely to keep his eyes on the road and avoid them rolling back.

You lean in closer, the scent of his rich cologne washing over you. Your fingers work open his belt. The metal clicks softly before you slide the zipper down. Your heart pounds with the bass, excitement swelling in your chest as he barrels through the night.

He shifts in his seat, lifting his hips so he can shove his pants and boxers down. “You sure, baby?” He asks through a crooked smile as you grip his thick dick in your fist—hardening fast in your palm, long, pulsing with need.

Your mouth waters as you stroke him slow, teasing, your thumb brushing over the head. “I need it… Is that alright?” You ask coyly. Rafe’s cock twitches in your grip, his breath stuttering as you swipe your thumb across his tip, rubbing in a bead of precum.

“Fuck,” he moans as his head rolls slightly.

“You like that?” You ask.

“Yeah… Yeah, fuck. Keep goin’,” he mumbles, his eyes on the road, but barely.

Rafe reaches over; fingers slipping under your dress. He groans at how wet you are, teasing your entrance, pushing just the tip of his fingers inside. The pace you set with your hand mirrors his—slow and purposeful, a shared rhythm that leaves you both panting.

Click.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and slide across the center console. Before he can even register what’s happening, next you take him into your mouth; his cock hot and heavy on your warm tongue.

Rafe’s whole body jerks. He draws his fingers from between your thighs, slicked with your wetness, and sucks them into his mouth, the corners of his lips curling into a smile at the taste.

“Jesus Christ, baby…” His voice is thick and hoarse. “You’re perfect. Too fuckin’ good to me.” His hand comes down hard on your ass, the sting sharp, and your moan vibrates around him as he spanks you.

A second later, his fingers knot in your hair, guiding you, controlling your pace. “Atta girl,” he groans, hips lifting gently. “Fuckin’ take it—so desperate, huh? Couldn’t wait ‘til we got home?”

You hum in response, lips and tongue working him while your hand strokes what your mouth can’t reach. His moans start spilling out, competing with the music in the car.

“Gonna make me lose it,” he pants. “That’s what you want, huh? Gonna swallow it all? Don’t wanna get dirty, baby—” he mumbles, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as his leg bounces beneath your hands, breath rough and ragged, chest rising faster now.

“Shit, baby… I’m gonna cum—” You suck him harder, throating his cock until he’s cursing and twitching, praising your name as he slams his big fist against the steering wheel, spilling down your throat.

His body unwinds in the seat and his hold loosens on your hair. You pull off slowly, watching his cock throb still as he tucks himself in the waistband of his dress pants, hissing in sensitivity as he zips back up his pants, covering himself slightly with his jacket. He shakes his head, unable to wipe that wide smile off his perfect lips.

You sit up and smooth your hair in the visor mirror, licking your lips, catching the last of him as you giggle dizzily. He chuckles, low and lazy, as he rolls his head on the headrest, locking eyes with you. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

And then just as you lean over to press one last kiss on his lips the car’s screen lights up with an incoming call.

Deputy Shoupe

Rafe fumbles and swears under his breath on his way to accept the call, already assuming the worst. “Shoupe? Everything okay?”

“Rafe. We got a little situation down at the yacht club. Someone called in a report—female screamin’. Thought it might be a domestic or worse. Turns out… Uh, well… We found your son and that Thornton girl entangled on your yacht.”

Rafe freezes; eyes beating a few times slow as he takes it all in. “Max?”

“Yes, sir. A bag of weed, a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle, and a pocket full of Magnums—”

“—Dude. You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me right now,” your son snips as he cuts the officer off. “You’re seriously cockblockin’ me? This is harassment. We’re on my boat. S’Private property. I can’t help it if we got a little loud, alright? That’s between me and her.”

“I’m fine… Obviously,” Topper’s daughter sasses as well, her Cali-girl, vocal fry that pours through the car speakers like nails on a chalkboard.

Rafe’s jaw is locked, one vein in his temple pulsing so hard you can practically hear it. Rafe stares straight ahead, dead silent.

“You gonna arrest us for lovin’ each other now? Is that where this country’s at? You people are fuckin’ sick—”

“Tell him to stop talkin’,” Rafe sneers.

“Want me to tase him a little?” Shoupe chuckles.

Rafe mutters something under his breath making Shoupe laugh. There’s a beat of silence as you stare at Rafe, your husband staring right back at you. His features soften—the man hit with yet another wave of guilt—he was so hyper focused on your daughter that everything else flew out the window.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper.

He shakes his head ‘no’ and rolls his eyes, tipping his head back against the headrest.

“What do you two want me to do about all this?” Shoupe asks through another amused laugh.

“Fuck… Bring ’em into the station. Take the weed if you have to,” Rafe adds. “Leave the bottle.” You raise your brows at him and he just shrugs. “Kid’s a pain in my ass but he’s got good taste,” he mumbles. “I’ll be there in two-three hours,” Rafe finishes. “Got some shit I need to handle first.”

“Copy that.”

Click.

“We’re not gonna go get him?” You ask through a laugh as you glance back at Rafe.

He smirks, letting his hand slide higher up your thigh. “He’ll survive, baby. Might even learn somethin’… Right now, I need to take care of my girl.”

@rafesthroatbaby | @matthewssweetheart | @slut-4-rafey | @blair-bears-blog | @iikximii | @akobx | @gri959 | @ch4rrykisses | @st8rkey | @laniirackssss | @barnesboo1967 | @justdamnpeachy | @dylsdaily| @rafesheaven | @my-name-is-baby | @wtfisastiles | @skye-44 @taliescapes | @anothershorthuman | @rafeslovergirly | @vanessa-rafesgirl | @maybankslover | @frankoceanluvr11 | @rcameronlova1 | @lhhlver | @yourmomdotcom42069 | @cameronsprincess | @kdoll-7 | @angelicameron | @imsiriuslyreal | @alphabetically-deranged | @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account | @hyperfixationgirl | @faephoria | @wtfdudesblog | @rafesdoll | @yasmin-oviedo | @lizzysmith110 | @ietss | @livie4lifestarkeyblyth | @lilithblackkk | @premiumshitt | @littlelamy | @prettybabyyyy | @star017 | @hannieskzzz | @biascriptum | @laylalovesbmth | @aris-void | @rafesbabygirlx

[bvrnesher]

❝ 𝒫ull 𝒪ut 𝒢ame ! ❞ ― marvel !

summary: just what I think of each of these characters when it comes to pull out 🗣

— 𝒮teve ℛogers ;; He likes to think he’s good at it. And honestly? He is. Respectful, controlled, painfully self-aware. The second he feels himself getting close, he speeds up, grits his teeth, and pulls out right on time—usually on your stomach or chest. Gentleman. HOWEVER—deep, deep down? He does have a breeding kink. He just won’t admit it. The day you whisper “it’s okay, I’m on the pill”? He hesitates just long enough to ruin his perfect record.

Rating: 10/10. Practically flawless. Just a little too responsible.

— 𝒯ony 𝒮tark ;; This man cums like he’s paying rent. He could pull out. He knows how. Won’t. He’s like, “You knew the risk,” and just lets go. Finishes inside you with a smirk, kisses your temple like he didn’t just pump you full, and asks for another round like nothing happened.

Rating: 7/10. Could pull out. Ignores it. Still makes it hot.

— ℬucky ℬarnes ;; NO WAY this man is risking it, but for the sake of the game, let’s say he tries. He means to pull out. He really does. But the second you tighten around his cock when he’s close? Too late. He’s already twitching, already filling you up. Feels guilty after, mutters apologies, but ask him for another round and he forgets all about it.

Rating: 5/10. Tries. Fails. Feels bad. Does it again.

— 𝒯hor 𝒪dinson ;; Sweetheart himbo with the pull-out instincts of a golden retriever. You tell him “pull out,” and he’s like, “But why, beloved?” while thrusting deeper. His idea of affection is cumming in you until it’s leaking down your thighs and calling it “a gift from the gods.”

Rating: 0/10. He means well. That’s the problem.

— ℒoki ℒaufeyson ;; Oh, he can pull out. He just won’t—unless it’s to tease you. Otherwise? He stays buried until the very end, groaning in your ear about how good you feel while he fills you up. He wants to watch it drip out. It’s about power. Ownership. Ruin. You say “pull out”? He says “make me.”

Rating: 0/10. Wicked.

— 𝒫eter 𝒫arker ;; He’s studied the theory. He wants to pull out. He really does. But the second things start getting too good? He’s whimpering, cock twitching, finishing inside you before he even realizes it. Apologizes mid-orgasm and offers to run to the pharmacy still inside you.

Rating: 3/10. He tries. He panics. He fails.

— ℰrik 𝒦illmonger ;; Pull out? Babe, he hears you say it and smirks. Doesn’t even pretend to listen. Holds your hips down, grinds in deeper, and finishes inside like he means it. Tells you “You better take all that,” like it’s a challenge and a threat. Might pull out once—just to finish on your face and call it a reward. But most nights? He’s filling you up like it’s his personal mission.

Rating: -100/10. He’s doing it on purpose. You’re not walking right tomorrow.

[salvagemarch]

Lay It on Me

joel miller x reader

3,114 words

summary: you are absolutely smitten with joel and everything about him, specifically everything he has going on in his pants. you know it’s unrealistic to have access to him at all times, so you come up with a solution.

continuation of this blurb but can be read as a stand alone

warnings: reader literally makes a dildo in the shape of joel’s dick, female and male masturbation, unprotected piv, cowgirl, creampie, reader is unhinged, insatiable, and sex crazy but joel likes it, sort of jealous joel, my attraction to blue collar workers is kind of shining through in this…

a/n: i wrote this solely because my first ever anon requested it…this is all for you babe

To say you were pissed would be an understatement

You knew it was unfair, Joel was a busy man with a busy job and a lot of clients to make happy. But he was your man, and you deserved to be happy too.

Here you were, feeling bad for yourself after he cut your usual morning sex short because his brother needed him at work earlier than usual. You were still laying in the same spot in your shared bed, naked, sweaty, and wet, with no Joel there to help you.

Sighing, you knew you could finger yourself, use a vibrator, take a cold shower, do whatever the hell you needed to do to rid yourself of your unbearable horniness, but you didn’t want to anything but fuck Joel.

As you sulk in your bubble of sexual frustration, your mind begins to wander and you remember a friend of yours telling you about a “stupid gag gift” her boyfriend bought her for Christmas. It was some sort of diy clay kit to make a mold of his penis, and in the moment you laughed at the idea. But now, with your spread legs and your poor, unsatisfied groin, it seemed brilliant.

You grab your phone to text your friend.

“Hey, how much did that dick mold kit cost?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Joel, it’s an amazing idea! Just do it, it’ll be worth it!”

You told Joel about your genius plan as soon as he sat down to take off his work boots, which you began to regret as he looked up at you with tired eyes and a sweaty face. The regret quickly dissipated when you noticed his damp biceps and your arousal for him took over everything else.

“Don’t you want us to be closer? This is a great way for us to bond,” you sit down beside him, getting in his personal space to try and convince him to do what you wanted. It always worked.

He continued untying his boots and wiped his hands on his pants. “I already fuck you every damn day and night, how much more close can we get?” you ignore his remark to gawk at his big hands, imagining them on your body.

He sighed as he sat up to stretch his back, glancing over at you with irritated eyes. “You ain’t gonna let this go, are you?” you shake your head with a big smile.

“Jesus christ. Go get in bed, girl. I’m gonna show you I’m better than any dumb toy.”

You cum 6 times that night. It doesn’t deter you from your plan.

Two weeks pass when you get a knock on your front door, and when you open it you find what you’ve been waiting for. The kit. You yell for Joel to come down into the kitchen and when he walks in, hands dirty from wood working, you hold the box up in all its taboo glory.

“It’s beautiful,” you smile.

“It’s stupid. I can’t believe you’re makin’ me do this,” he crosses his arms and leans against the counter, watching as you open the box and glares at the big Clone-A-Willy name on the package.

“I’m not making you do anything, you’re choosing to do it because you love me.”

Joel finds himself lying on the bed with an annoyed expression and spread legs, his jeans thrown somewhere on the floor and his boxers pulled down to his ankles. You take a second to admire his pretty cock before wrapping both of your hands around it and stroking up and down to get him hard.

It really was beautiful. Almost eight inches, wide, had veins and ridges in all the right spots. It’s like his body was made just for you. You swallow down your saliva as your mouth watered.

“Okay, step one: Coat the penis in clay mixture,” you read from the instruction paper in front of you and begin spreading the mix you made earlier around Joel’s dick. His breath hitches as it hits his sensitive skin.

“Shit, you didn’t tell me it was gonna be cold! And it’s slimy, too,” he grimaced at the feel of the clay, and you had to hold back a moan as his appearance grew more disheveled. His thighs tensed and his neck strained at the discomfort, but holy hell did he look hot when he was irritated.

“Sorry, hon. I’m just following instructions,” you explain as you continue working the mixture onto his length.

He frowns at you, clearly unimpressed with your excuse. His cock twitches slightly as you continue smearing the cool, thick clay mixture along him. Despite his obvious discomfort, his cock grows harder and harder under the clay coating.

"Following instructions, huh? Those instructions are shit," he grumbles, shifting his hips restlessly on the bed. "My balls are starting to get numb here."

You bite your lip, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than how hot he looks sprawled out like this, all rugged and masculine despite the weird clay situation. His stomach rises and falls with each breath, drawing your eye to his sturdy chest.

"Almost done, baby. Just need to make sure it's fully coated," you say.

“Okay, all done. Step two: Wait for clay to dry on penis. Shouldn’t be hard at all, right? Hard? See what I did there?”

He frowns at you. The clay continues to set around his dick, creating an oddly textured surface. “You ain’t funny, smartass. No shit it shouldn't be hard. Though I guess you're doing a good job of changing that," he says wryly, nodding towards his straining erection barely contained by the stiffening clay mold.

After a few more minutes of awkwardly waiting, he sits up slowly, the clay slightly cracking and flaking off in places. “Alright, I think it's dry enough. Can I please take this thing off now? My dick feels like it's trapped in concrete."

“Be careful!” you reprimand him. “I don’t want to break. I need it all in one piece to be able to use it,” you place a hand on his stomach and push him back down, opting to take the cast off yourself. His dick grows harder.

He sighs heavily, looking exasperated by your enthusiasm. With great care, he helps you peel away the clay mold, moving slowly to avoid breaking it. As more of his dick is revealed, you can't help but lick your lips in anticipation.

"There, I got it off in one piece. Happy now?" he asks once the mold is complete, holding it up for your inspection. It's creepily similar to Joel’s length, replicating every ridge and vein in detail. He sets it aside on the nightstand before turning back to you with a raised eyebrow.

"So, uh...why exactly are you makin’ that thing anyway? Because I gotta say, this whole ordeal is pretty weird. Even for you,” he takes a tissue from the nightstand and wipes his clay covered hands, making an effort to avoid touching the clone of his penis.

“I already told you, I’m gonna use it when you’re away and I’m horny. And you know I’m always horny.”

Joel shook his head, a mix of frustration and fondness in his expression. "Yeah, I know you're horny all the time, but that doesn't mean this is the only solution. What if my brother goes snoopin’ around and sees that you have that? You know he likes the run his mouth," Joel starts overthinking. "You're gonna be the talk of the town, aint't ya? 'Did you hear Joel’s girl has a plaster replica of his cock?' Christ, the rumors will be flying," he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

You bite back as he spirals. “Yeah? Maybe I can use it right now if you’re so ashamed of me, let it take your spot completely.”

His smile faltered at your words. "Whoa, hold on a minute. I'm not ashamed of you, crazy girl. I just...I don't know, it's weird, okay? Seeing my own dick in a fucking mold, knowing you're gonna use it on yourself..." He trailed off.

Joel exhales shakily and runs a hand through his hair, struggling to articulate his feelings. “God knows how horny you are, and there ain’t nothin’ that makes me happier than gettin’ to take care of that whenever you need. But this...this is different. It's like you're replacing me."

Despite his hesitation, you can sense an undertone of desire in his voice. He's torn between his possessive nature, and the thrill of watching you pleasure yourself with his likeness.

You sit on your knees and scoot closer to him. “Aw, is baby jealous? You really think I’m trying to replace you?”

Joel scoffs, but there is a hint of vulnerability in his tone. “Me, jealous? Of a goddamn sex toy? Please. I'm just sayin’, this is crazy." He crosses his arms while he wallows, his cock still hard and on full display.

He pauses, seeming to take a moment and think over his next words. “I guess I have to be honest. Seein’ you touch yourself with my dick, even if it's just a copy...it is kind of hot. Knowin’ that I can make you feel good like that, even when I'm not around..."

He trails off, a flush creeping up his neck as he meets your gaze. There's an intense look in his eyes. "Just don't start expecting this to become a regular thing, okay? I'm still the one who gets to be inside you.”

You bite back a smile as Joel reassures himself, reminding you of your need for him more for his peace of mind than yours. “Of course. It’s just for when you’re unavailable, I promise.”

He nods, accepting your terms and letting his jealousy subside. A small smile plays on his lips as he takes in the sight of you eagerly eyeing the toy. “If that's what you want, go on and use it.”

He gestures towards the nightstand where the replica sits, awaiting its inaugural use. “Just don't forget whose it really is when you're done playing with it,” he says, eyeing your covered cunt.

“You wanna watch or something, perv?” you tease.

“Me? A perv? I’m just curious to how you’re gonna use the thing. ‘Sides, it’s only fair considering the fact I had to deal with having my dick covered in clay.” He leans against the headboard, crossing his arms behind his neck. “Put on a show for me. I deserve it.”

You lean forward to grab the toy off the nightstand, sitting back to look at Joel. You’ll give him a show.

As you position the clay piece between your legs, Joel’s eyes don’t leave your body once. His gaze is trained to the space hovering over the cockhead of the toy, and you can sense his arousal growing at the promise of watching you get off. “Don’t forget to stroke the real thing later,” he says, reaching down to palm himself.

You bring your bottom lip between your teeth as you begin to rub your panty covered center on the molded cock, watching Joel rub his dick. “Fuck me, why don’t ya just put it in already? I wanna see you ride that thing,” his words come off as a command but you know better, sensing the desperation beneath them. Joel was always just as horny as you were.

With a huff you toss your shorts off and pull your panties to the side, wearing nothing but them and your tank top. You fit the tip between your wet lips. “You need to be patient,” you scold him as you ease yourself onto the toy.

Joel’s free fist clenches at his side, fighting the urge to pounce and yank you onto his lap. The sight of your slick entrance welcoming the dildo into your body makes him want to moan, and the vision of you was almost too much for him to handle. “You,” he pants, “are testin’ my limits, sweetheart.”

You let yourself sink fully onto the toy, the obscene sound of your wetness filling the room and simultaneously making Joel’s actual tip leak with precum.

You breathe lowly as your eyes roll closed, spreading your legs to fully take in the feeling of the toy. The familiarity of the shape comforted you, but the inhuman smoothness to it gave you something new to explore.

The moan that leaves your lips makes Joel throb painfully, his dick begging for relief as he gawked at the sight before him. “Jesus, fuck…look at you, so damn sexy taking that thing so deep…” he wasn’t even really aware of what he was saying, letting his dirty thoughts come out of his mouth freely as he tugged on his cock.

“You like that, don’t you? Like bein’ able to have my dick buried inside you at all times?” he mumbled, continuing to stroke himself and watch you through hooded eyes, “I bet you can’t wait to cum all over it, can you?”

His words just made you whimper, encouraging you to slide up and down the toy, “Feels so good, Joel,” you leak more arousal onto the sheets below, “Love your dick so much.”

A guttural groan comes from Joel’s throat, his hips jerking involuntarily as if he was following the motion of the toy inside you. “Don’t I know it, baby,” he reaches out with his free hand, trailing his thick fingers over your thigh. “Keep goin’, work that thing in and out of ya. Show me how much you love having my cock inside of you.”

Before having sex with Joel, you didn’t think it was possible to cum in under five minutes. Now, even with a fake version of his dick, you already felt your stomach getting tighter. “So deep,” you moan out, “‘M gonna cum, Joel.”

As your climax began consuming you, Joel surged forward and planted two beefy hands on your hips, pulling you down onto the toy. The lewd squelch of your pussy gripping onto the mold filled the room, punctuated by your moans growing in pitch and Joel’s words of praise.

“That’s it, cum for me,” he grumbles. “Let go, baby, Give that thing everything you got.

His grip on your hips tighten, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he helped you piston up and down. The toy plunged in and out of your dripping cunt, making you whimper loudly as you gushed around it. Joel tugged you down, hard, one final time as he held you in place and grinded you against the base of the dildo.

As you rode out the aftershocks, Joel held your shaking form against his body and stroked your hand gently, shushing you as you came down from your high.

“Will you fuck me now?”

Joel breathed out exasperatedly. “First, you make me sit through having my dick turned into a sex toy, and now you’re askin’ to fuck me after cumming on said sex toy?” Despite his shock, Joel knew he wanted to give your body as many orgasms as it could handle. He eyes his own crotch, knowing he was still hard.

“I suppose I should give you somethin’ in return for that performance…” he trailed off before grabbing your body as if it weighed nothing and laid back on the bed, sitting up against the headboard. “Come on, up ya go. Show me what you’ve got.”

You smile breathlessly, still feeling your walls twitch and clench around nothing. You throw your legs over his waist and sit right over his cock.

Joel slides his hands up your thighs to your hips, grasping them and sliding you onto his tip. “Fuck, baby, you’re so wet,” your previous orgasm still drips from between your thighs. His hands moved to grip your ass cheeks, pushing you to sink down. You both gasped and groaned as you took his length in, Joel thrusting up to meet your downward motion.

“That’s it, honey,” he encouraged, “Use me however you want. Jus’ don’t stop.”

He loses himself in the feeling of you bouncing above him, the weight of your breasts pushing against his chest and your moans like a bird song to his ears. You whimper and rest your hands on his strong shoulders, finally having his dick back in you after fucking the replica. Nothing is better than the real thing.

“Love your cock so much, Joel. So perfect for me,” you praise him mindlessly, letting your horny brain do all the talking as his dick filled every space inside your pussy.

He slid his hands up your torso while you rode him, letting his thumbs hike your shirt up to reveal your breasts. He moved one hand down to steady your hip, and used his other to reach for your tits, taking turns to palm each of them softly. “You are so fuckin’ sexy like this,” he groaned out, “Can’t believe I get to call this body mine.”

Your moans turn into full on whines, letting Joel consume you entirely as your second orgasm began forming. You rolled your hips downwards, letting his dick fill you as deep as it could as your slick walks gripped him tightly.

“I’m cumming again, Joel,” you warn, sliding up and down. Despite your words, Joel makes no move to stop you, his body surrendering to yours.

“Go ahead, baby, get it nice and wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick and heavy with desire. You comply as Joel moves his hand from your breast to your clit, rubbing circles on it with his fingers. You clench around him before your ears start to ring, finishing with loud whimpers.

With renewed urgency, Joel grips your hips and bucks up into you, the force of his thrusts rocking your body and making the bed creak. His balls draw up tight against you, and with a powerful thrust, he buries his face into your neck and lets out grunts into your ear. You feel him cumming inside of you, feel it spilling out of you as he gives slower thrusts. Your tiny whimpers of satisfaction fill the room as he pants, wrapping his arms fully around your torso and bringing you with him down against the bed. He feels something nudging his back, but he ignores it as you move over to nuzzle into his chest.

The both of you catch your breath together, basking in contentedness and the warmth of each other’s sweaty bodies.

Suddenly, Joel’s body jolts up when he hears a blood curdling scream coming from beside him on the bed.

“YOU LAID ON MY DILDO!”

[p1astr81]

hii could you please write something with oscar x reader, where they are visiting his family in Australia and his sisters are basically are all the time with them and this irritates Oscar a bit but reader thinks is so so cute to see him with the girls because she maybe has all brothers who think she’s another boy. Seeing him being an older brother melts her heart. And he thinks it’s a bit funny because he was doing all of that just so they could leave the two of them alone. Totally not projecting 🙃😀

I’m not sure if this is what you were looking for I apologize if not😔

It was the off-season and Oscar was missing the nice weather so he booked the both of you tickets to visit his family in Melbourne.

He should’ve known he wouldn’t get any free time with you. Should’ve guessed it from the very moment his sisters decided to greet you and ignore him when you arrived.

They’d been attached to you since you arrived. You didn’t mind. You only had brothers so it wasn’t often you got to really feel like a sister. Oscar, on the other hand, felt a little irritated.

Now he sat with you on a sofa in the living room, you curled against his side, watching a movie. His sisters had dragged you from his bedroom, begging for you guys to join them. It was late in the afternoon, past dinner. You were getting tired and craving something sweet. “I really want some ice cream.” You said, head tilted back to peer up at him.

His hold on you tightened. “We don’t have any, but I can go get you some.” He offered.

“Could we go to that parlor down the road? They have good ice cream.”

Finally, an opportunity for you two to get some alone time—away from his sisters. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Nicole was sat on the other side of the room. He got up, standing at her side and said as quiet as he could, “y/n and I are going to go get ice cream.”

Apparently, not quiet enough.

“I want ice cream!” Mae chipped in. Then of course came Edie, and then Hattie.

Which is how he found himself driving his mom’s suv with four girls as his passengers, singing loudly to the music.

And acting as their butler after they’d put in their ice cream orders, chatting off to the side while Oscar waited by the serving counter.

“Mae,” he called, holding out her ice cream. She hadn’t heard him. “Mae.” He called again, still calm but louder this time.

You’d tapped her shoulder and redirected her attention. He gave her an annoyed smile while she plucked the cone from his hand.

His sisters weren’t home. He’d complained to Nicole about their neglect to give the two of you personal space, and she took them to the beach.

You were in the kitchen, making cookies together. He scooped the ingredients and you mixed everything together. Flour dusted your cheeks. He laughed with his arms around you.

And then the girls came home, spoiling his moment. “Ooh what are we making?” Edie said upon seeing you. He sighed as the girls crowded around you.

Hattie handed his phone to him, “can you put this on the charger for me?” She requested.

He wasn’t happy about it, but he did it anyway. You watched with a soft smile as he disappeared down the hallway to her room.

Mae unwrapped the chocolate bar—they didn’t have any chocolate chips handy so you asked her to chop the bar up into bits.

But she’d nicked her finger with the knife. Not badly, but there was a little blood. Oscar’s head snapped to her when he heard her hiss.

He took the knife from her hand, holding her hand in his and analyzing the cut. You watched as he eyed her with worry, wrapping her finger momentarily in a paper towel. He came back from the bathroom with a bandage in one hand and peroxide in the other.

“I’m gonna clean it just to make sure it doesn’t get infected. You can squeeze my hand if it hurts.”

The scene made you feel soft inside, seeing him be so careful with her. Your brothers had never treated you like that, only rough housed with you then laughed when you got hurt.

It was just meant to be you and him going shopping, but like every other time, his sisters just had to tag along. He wanted to say no, but you agreed before he could get a word out.

So now he was buying anything they wanted on the promise they’d leave you and him alone for your last 3 days in Australia. Thankfully, his sisters weren’t the type to abuse his generosity, so they weren’t trying to buy every item in the stores. Only those they really wanted.

You stayed on his arm while leaning over jewelry cases. “That one’s pretty.” You pointed to a necklace with a diamond heart dangling from the chain. The girls crowded around you, agreeing with you.

Oscar turned to the salesman, requesting the object. “Hey! I didn’t mean for you to buy it!” You looked at him like he was crazy. It was a near two thousand dollar piece. He just shrugged.

By the end of the night—when you were back at his house, curled up in his bed and dozing off—you offhandedly commented, “you’re gonna make a great dad.”

His hand froze on your back. “What do you mean?” He panicked. You couldn’t be- no, you were on birth control. There was no way-

“You’re such a great brother for your sisters, like with Mae when she cut her hand, and buying them stuff today to make them happy. I just know you’ll be the same way when he finally decide to have kids.”

The panic eased, and he laughed lowly. “I only did that today so they’d leave us alone the rest of the time we’re here.”

You twisted to meet his eyes. “And here I was thinking you were just so sweet.” You shook your head.

“No, this heart is ice cold, baby.” He joked.

You leaned up and kissed him, laughing against his lips.

[drdemonprince]

yeah, cis women do use dude/bro/man/guys and other masculine-leaning terms for one another regularly.

My mom and I have called one another "dawg" since I was in middle school. the people I am most likely to use dude/bro for are cis women that I have known since my teen years and we have called one another that the whole time. When I am called dude or bro by a woman (either cis or trans) it has a distinctly different impact than when a guy does it -- when a woman does it, it reflects a relaxed closeness that allows for the standard gender performativity among us to drop, whereas when a guy does it, it reflects those gendered boundaries being continually maintained.

I do not think it is fair to call this a gender neutral usage, I think it is more similar to the gay use of "girl" and she/her pronouns. It is a recognition of the gendered complexity inside of a person that you share things in common with, as a show of casual intimacy. it is a release from the bonds of performing femininity when women do it to one another.

and it can be used in a similarly familiar way with some gay men and other gender minorities.

all that said, i know that i still personally felt some type of way about being referred to with she/her pronouns by my fellow gay men when i was early into transition. intellectually i understood that what it signified was familiarity and queer identity, but in practice i did not at the time want the words applied to me. now i am rooted firmly enough in my queer manhood and live as a queer man so completely that it's second nature for me to refer to other men as "girl" or use she/her for them, and i like it when the same is done to me. but you know, far be it for me to tell a woman that she has to be okay with being called dude. it isn't gender neutral. it's not exactly misgendering either, in intention, but if you don't like it you don't like it and that's very understandable, especially if you are trans.

[ardyforshort]

so... reddit concluded OP is TA

tumblr user @kurtwagnermorelikekurtwagnerd just wanted to joke about dog boys and it escalated quickly,

tumblr comments are evenly split between "this is fucked up" and "why would you date someone who needs THAT MUCH WORK"

tumblr tags are either "me and whomst", "this would fix me", or various fandom ships.

I'm going for the chaotic option of saying obviously what OP is doing is deeply wrong and she should stop asap, or at least have a very deep and honest conversation about consent and the nature of their relationship with the person on the receiving end,

HOWEVER I also think the concept of someone operant-conditioning a vulnerable traumatised person into a relationship with them is an amazing dead dove type fic prompt, so um... is it okay if we get on that?

(There was an update in which the guy said he was okay with it and wanted it to continue. Whatever, I'm glad they talked but unless she apologises for what she did, and stops it anyway because it's never ethically okay to do this to a human I still think they're not okay and probably shouldn't be dating.)

sickens me to my stomach. how dare this guy get to live my dream.

[mamawasatesttube]

BTW... PSA.... even if we arent mutuals if youre in my notes regularly theres a Very high chance i am still fond of you. yes im vaguing someones tags on the compliment the person u rbed this from post. but like. positive vaguing? THE POINT IS im weird abt following ppl but IM STILL SENDING U FOND VIBES...

[bixels]

Learning that fans hated Applejack and called her "boring" is crazyyy to me because I genuinely, unironically believe AJ's the most complex character in the main six.

Backstory-wise, she was born into a family of famers/blue collar workers who helped found the town she lives in. She grew up a habitual liar until she had the bad habit traumatized outta her. She lost both her parents and was orphaned at a young age, having to step up as her baby sister's mother figure. She's the only person in the main gang who's experienced this level of loss and grief (A Royal Problem reveals that AJ dreams about memories of being held by her parents as a baby). She moved to Manhattan to live with her wealthy family members, only to realize she'll never fit in or be accepted, even amongst her own family. The earlier seasons imply she and her family had money problems too (In The Ticket Master, AJ wants to go to the gala to earn money to buy new farm equipment and afford hip surgery for her grandma).

Personality-wise, she's a total people-pleaser/steamroller (with an occasional savior complex) who places her self worth on her independence and usefulness for other people, causing her to become a complete workaholic. In Applebuck Season, AJ stops taking care of herself because of her obsessive responsibilities for others and becomes completely dysfunctional. In Apple Family Reunion, AJ has a tearful breakdown because in she thinks she dishonored her family and tarnished her reputation as a potential leader –– an expectation and anxiety that's directly tied to her deceased parents, as shown in the episode's ending scene. In The Last Roundup, AJ abandons her family and friends out of shame because believes she failed them by not earning 1st place in a rodeo competition. She completely spirals emotionally when she isn't able to fulfill her duties toward others. Her need to be the best manifests in intense pride and competitiveness when others challenge her. And when her pride's broken, she cowers and physically hides herself.

Moreover, it's strongly implied that AJ has a deep-seated anger. The comics explore her ranting outbursts more. EQG also obviously has AJ yelling at and insulting Rarity in a jealous fit just to hurt her feelings (with a line that I could write a whole dissection on). And I'm certain I read in a post somewhere that in a Gameloft event, AJ's negative traits are listed as anger.

Subtextually, a lot of these flaws and anxieties can be (retroactively) linked to her parents' death, forcing her to grow up too quickly to become the adult/caregiver of the family (especially after her big brother becomes semiverbal). Notice how throughout the series, she's constantly acting as the "mom friend" of the group (despite everything, she manages to be the most emotionally mature of the bunch). Notice how AJ'll switch to a quieter, calmer tone when her friends are panicking and use soothing prompts and questions to talk them through their emotions/problems; something she'd definitely pick up while raising a child. Same with her stoicism and reluctance at crying or releasing emotions (something Pinkie explicitly points out). She also had a childhood relationship with Rara (which, if you were to give a queer reading, could easy be interpreted as her first 'aha' crush), who eventually left her life. (Interestingly enough, AJ also has an angry outburst with Rara for the same exact reasons as with EQG Rarity; jealous, upset that someone else is using and changing her). It's not hard to imagine an AJ with separation anxiety stemming from her mother and childhood friend/crush leaving. I'm also not above reading into AJ's relationship with her little sister (Y'all ever think about how AB never got to know her parents, even though she shares her father's colors and her mother's curly hair?).

AJ's stubbornness is a symptom of growing up too quickly as well. Who else to play with your baby sister when your brother goes nonverbal (not to discount Big Mac's role in raising AB)? Who else to wake up in the middle of the night to care for your crying baby sister when your grandma needs her rest? When you need to be 100% all the time for your family, you tend to become hard-stuck with a sense of moral superiority. You know what's best because you have to be your best because if you're aren't your best, then everything'll inevitably fall apart and it'll be your fault. And if you don't know what's best –– if you've been wrong the whole time –– that means you haven't been your best, which means you've failed the people who rely on you, which means you can't fulfill your role in the family/society, which makes you worthless . We've seen time and time again how this compulsive need to be right for the sake of others becomes self-destructive (Apple Family Reunion, Sound of Silence, all competitions against RD). We've seen in The Last Roundup how, when no longer at her best, AJ would rather remove herself from her community than confront them because she no longer feels of use to them.

But I guess it is kinda weird that AJ has "masculine" traits and isn't interested in men at all. It's totally justified that an aggressively straight, misogynistic male fandom would characterize her as a "boring background character." /s

At the time of writing this, it's 4:46AM.

[genericnbbuddy]

"I don't want the government to take tax dollars, 'cause taxes are theft". Well then. Now there are no taxes. You can have all the money you want.

The third grader still desserve to get lunch. No matter how "lazy" they are, we still need to eat.

The homeless person still desserve to have a roof over the head. It doesn't matter if they're "lazy", drogadict or violent, we still need shelther.

Denying those things to ANYONE, for ANY reason at all, is cruelty. They're needed TO STRAIGHT UP SURVIVE.

So, with all the money you save with no paying taxes, why don't help those people yourself? You don't need to do the work yourself, nor buy anything to them. If you claim "Social services should be abolished and replaced by charity", then not contributing to charity makes you a cruel person, as you're able to help people and you do not do it.

Think it's unfair? It's also unfair for a children to starve. Think that "everyone should be free to do what they will"? Then why you punish the homeless for being "lazy"?

It's so weird to me when people are like 'but that will cost the government money!' So what? They're the government, they're supposed to be spending money. What, you want them to take your tax dollars and then do nothing with it? Lock it all up in a big government vault and just look at it? Why are you so scared of giving a third grader lunch or a homeless person a house.