#I'm going to beeeed.
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enviouseredi · 1 year ago
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Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust
OCT 3 Ritual!
i was a little more lazy with this one because i had a long and tiring day today at work. i'm going to beeeed.
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blindrapture · 6 months ago
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SUNDAY MAY 29TH, 2011 (Everyone's Benefit)
7:05 AM I’m happy. "I'm happy too." Hi, Mistress. "It says here you want to 'deal with' me." I, uh. I just want to make sure that Donnie and I can be safe. "Well said. I want that too. I need you in top form for your job on Wednesday. I'm looking out for you, you know? I'm trying not to grow too attached, but I am looking out. And I have a small errand for you to run today." Anything, I'll do anything you ask!!! "I know you will." something like a kiss on the cheek "I want you to go to the top of Blackpool Tower. You want to go up there, don't you? Every tourist does, and you, my pet, are just a tourist here. You need to be up there at noon, not a minute later. I'm having a package delivered right to that spot, and the postman must not be kept waiting. I'd get it myself, but I have other things to do today. You can give the package to me tomorrow morning." Okay. o: "And I want to be crystal clear on this: Under no circumstances are you to open the package. Don't go reading my mail. Don't go poking your nose." I won't! I can do this! "I know. I know. But I also know you often think you're too kinky to be punished. I assure you, I will accept that challenge if provoked. I have ways. Do not doubt my power. Did you know that my Puppets can all still think and feel? That they're aware of what I force them to do? I can do that to you." I won't disobey, I promise! "I need. To make. This. Clear. You do not 'deal with' me. I deal with you. I can replace all of your skin with wood. I can lock you away for eternity, or rather, until you get used to it." grabbed my head pulled it closer to hers. she's. staring at me. with her painted, unblinking eyes. "Do you understand?" I understand!! I obey!! "…" I obey, Mistress!!! "I'm sure you won't disappoint me." she let go of me "I also don't want to leave you so scared, as much as it's making me so fucking wet to do that to you. A scared pet isn't loyal. So I'm going to cheer you up." How are you going
(These pages have been removed. For everyone's benefit.)
11:34 AM I’m at Blackpool Tower. Now I’ve just got to go up.
11:48 AM THERE MADE IT. ..fuck, now I have to wait.
11:50 AM For posterity: Last night, when I got in bed, Donnie just immediately hugged me and asked me if I was really alright. After all the zombies. Journal, I’m beginning to think she likes me.
11:53 AM I wonder how the postman is gonna get up here. I mean, Blackpool Tower may not be a very tall tower, but it’s certainly far from ground level. Maybe he’ll go up the stairs like I did.
11:58 AM I’d better start keeping a lookout.
11:59 AM Nothing yet.
12:00 PM NothMOTHERFUCKER He’s gone he left a box what what what what. That. But that. That was, that had to be, I mean we're already dealing with the Rake, why wouldn't that faceless man have been... Why am I still alive, he was right there, I don't even feel a light cough! That was the slender man!!!
12:11 PM Anyway, um, he left this package. It’s labelled “To: Harlequin.” Harlequin?
12:34 PM Back to the main street. This package smells a lot like rotting meat.
12:57 PM God, the stench. It’s worse than shit. I think I can smell shit in it.
1:11 PM strings in your head don't open it
1:30 PM HOME
1:31 PM Package safely put under the bed. The terrible stench is gonna get it spotted, for sure, but at least I won’t be the one who opens it.
4:56 PM Donnie complained about the smell in our room. I insisted it wasn’t me. Troper 1 suggested it was the smell of the zombies drifting in. Fuckin’ saved my bacon, pal.
6:28 PM YEAH I KNOW RIGHT, WHAT IS THAT??? god this is so awkward
7:12 PM Gaaah, I just wanna go to beeeed. I want to be a good boy and not be killed please please please.
8:30 PM THIS DAY IS TAKING FOREVER
10:02 PM Dinner was beans and hot dogs.Yummy.I suggested an early night. Donnie agreed. With a wink. Holy fuck, my life might just be good.
11:15 PM We cut the cuddling short because the stench was getting unbearable. Mistress pretty much cockblockedme. D:
(Attached: "I'm a piece of shit, I'm a miserable little piece of shit. That's how finding my father's notebooks affected me. I had so fixated myself on living large and being a rockstar that I hadn't bothered with restraint or self-reflection, and all this time my father had been wrestling a crippling depression. I didn't even know. He spent his childhood fleeing one government, finding the next country's government not much better, and migrating more. This brought more perspective on the reasoning behind my family's move to America when I was just a little boy. In his later years, he saw his son taking a musical talent and running it into the ground, and yet none of his notes criticize me. He saw what he believed to be American corruption turn his own spawn into an apathetic alcoholic, and he turned not to his son's faults but to the system at large. And my father never once turned to drink, himself. He was a man of a certain kind of constitution: That of self-harm. I had no idea. My mother did. This is why she grew more stressed in the years leading up to his death. She cared too much about him, and this only made him feel guiltier. When I joined the Sunsetters and we released The Mythology of Empathy, my father's notes are nothing but glowing praise and adoration. He described our music as 'the inalienable victory over the greedy eagle.' Yet at the time I kept partying hard and refusing to give a damn about my family.")
[PREV LOG] [TABLE OF CONTENTS] [NEXT LOG]
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dreemurr-skelememer · 2 years ago
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so tis i, adhd being i'm awake at 4:30 am i have been listening to videos i meant to go to bed a few hours ago i got a snack about 30 minutes ago, and then a drink so i would be satisfied so it would be easy to sleep
...we can all take a guess as to how this is going-
GO TO BEEEED ANON
warm milk....if lactose intolerant, warm tea........
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puppyluver256 · 2 years ago
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[Image Description: A woman resembling the Pokemon Drifblim. She has light skin, yellow lipstick, and white cloud-like hair. She is wearing a lilac and violet dress with a white cloud-like collar and yellow accents on the sleeves. She is holding onto four multi-colored balloons and smiling happily. A red and a blue balloon are in one hand, and a purple and a yellow balloon are in the other. The background is a pale blue sky with white fluffy clouds. End ID.]
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Soooo how's everyone enjoying Paldea? I won't be doing any art for it yet just because I'd prefer to try and wait long enough for Bulbapedia to get the official artwork for more than just those revealed in trailers, but you can bet that I've been getting a decent way into my journey into Pokemon Violet! ...hence why I only got around to finishing this so late, and now whatever I'd had to say about it has left my brain and I'm going to beeeed XD
💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖
~Likes are appreciated, but reblogs are greatly preferred as they let more people see my content! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~
Drifblim and other Pokemon concepts © Nintendo/GameFreak Puffy and artwork © PuppyLuver Studios
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mikkouille · 3 months ago
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K-pop traders always awake at ungodly hours hitting me up when I'm going to beeeed omg for a dreamcard too ahdjgjsjd
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despair-to-future-arcs · 9 months ago
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Hey, Ibuki! Have you considered taking up poetry? Even if you can’t sing anymore, you can still write! And with your unique lyrical style, I’m sure whatever you come up with will be great! After all, what’s a poem but an unsung song? It can be a great outlet for your feelings. What do you think?
*In Ibuki's room, she seems a message*
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...?
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'Wow dude, don't bum me out; I did just get up you know.'
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'Oh right sorry but those bracelets send messages to us and to keep track of us, hope you don't mind.'
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'It's okay, I don't mind it but I do want to get some sleep, still it was nice talking to you all and watching movies; say you guys are gonna come back and talk to me, yeah? Hospitals are pretty boring.'
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'Well don't worry, will be sure to visit you while you recover!'
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'But we better head to bed as well, will see you tomorrow.'
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*Sonia does sign languge* 'Yeah, we will - see you tomorrow, Ibuki!'
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'Yeah guys, see you tomorrow everyone and goodnight!'
*As everyone leaves, Ibuki and Teruteru were the only ones in the room*
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'Man, I wonder if I get to see shirtless Hajime tomorrow; I mean that be a cool dream come true.'
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'Hm? Oh right you heard that Hajime is shirtless? Well seems it's due to medical reasons from my understanding and Future Foundation is working on a way to fix that.'
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'Wait wait whooa, so Hajime won't be shirtless anymore if they fix that!'
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'DFADFLASFSFASDKLFS!!! NOoooo, Ibuki wants to see shirtless Hajime, Future Foundation will deny fan service while she stuck in beeeed!!!!'
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'Whoa whoa, calm down; I'm sure Hajime won't be cure yet so don't worry!'
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'But Ibuki wants to see it, Ibuki must! So Teruteru; I assign you to make sure Hajime is shirtless! I mean seriously - think of all the fan service you can get dude, like seriously did you forget your a horn dog!'
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'But...but...!'
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'Well... since you ask me, I suppose I could try and stop Nagi from not ruining the fan service.'
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'YEEEEEAH, IBUKI THANKS THE LOCAL PERVERT FOR THIS!'
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'But yeah, Ibuki's gonna go to bed so goodnight.'
*As then Ibuki tucks in as Teruteru*
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Well well... seems now I got a mission to make sure Hajime is shirtless, after all we are on a beach; it has to be done.
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hmhm, yep time to get to work...
*Teruteru walks down the hall and gets ready for bed...*
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aurorajay · 8 months ago
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I'm attempting to remedy this but need to go to beeeed. I have become a crazy person
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My boop-o-meter is maxed out! I can't believe I only delivered 300ish boops, it feels like so much more.
You guys have no idea how much serotonin this has given me
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inkykeiji · 4 years ago
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you’re like a drug to me, a luxury, my sugar and gold
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character: gojou satoru
genre: smut with a sprinkle of fluff at the end
notes: aaaaah first jjk fic ever!!!! uhhh this is honestly just pure smut and punishment, satoru is a Bad Daddy, and it’s set in a curseless AU | title cred: handclap by fitz and the tantrums
warnings: 18+ minors dni, dubcon/noncon, slight size difference/size kink, belly bulge, spanking with a belt, rough sex, minimal prep, minimal aftercare (at first), toxic and unhealthy relationship (satoru is mean n a bad daddy!), daddy kink/slightly implied ddlg dynamics, praise kink, dacryphilia
words: 3.1k
synopsis:
And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.
And he snaps.
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Gojou Satoru is a bad Daddy.
He’s a sweet Daddy, a silly Daddy, a Daddy who’s almost incapable of saying no. He’s a Daddy with a massive sweet tooth, a Daddy who frequently allows both of you to have dessert before dinner—sometimes dessert for dinner—and a Daddy who gives his princess nearly everything she desires, weak to your pretty pout and puppy-dog eyes and please, Daddy?’s. He hates to deny you, aches at the thought of you being even just a teensy bit displeased, because he wants his baby happy, always.
It’s his fault, really, you’re saying, insisting, when he calls you a spoiled brat. Because, honestly, it is; Satoru is entitled—he always has been, born with a not silver, not gold, but platinum spoon in his mouth—and his little princess is entitled, too.
Because he gives you anything and everything you ask for the moment the demand leaves your mouth, dotes on you hand and foot, absolutely adores you, lavishing you in the finest silks and prettiest lace, always indulging you just as much as he indulges himself—as much as he has always been indulged, growing up filthy rich.
Because you weren’t always like this; or, at least, you weren’t always this brash about it.
But years of getting exactly what you want, exactly when you want it, has forced your attitude to change, to shift.
You haven’t changed, Satoru tells you one day, a tub full of melty ice cream in his lap as he shovels another spoonful into your mouth, waning sun bathing the penthouse terrace in translucent gold and coral, brilliant colours reflected in his crystal eyes. “I didn’t do anything—I simply revealed your true nature,” A devious little smirk spreads across his lips, eyes glinting in an almost ominous nature, and you shiver. “You’ve always been a selfish materialistic brat, haven’t you?”
Well, you guess he has a point.
And although you can—and do—get away with a lot, you can’t get away with everything. A little brattiness he can handle, a little brattiness he thinks is cute. But on the days when you’re really misbehaving, purposefully (or not) breaking every rule, acting out and refusing to listen, rejecting any bargain or compromise with him at all—well, he’s only human.
And he snaps.
It’s always something little, after a day full of disobedience, that does it, that finally lights the fuse and forces an explosion. Something that would normally be inconsequential, something he’d usually laugh off with a coo and a loving pat to your head.
Because you fought him on bedtime last night, then fought him on going to university this morning. You demanded pancakes for breakfast and when he denied them to you, because he’s got an important meeting in the afternoon and thus hasn’t the time to make them, you refused to eat anything at all—only to whine and bitch and complain about how starved you were for the entire duration of his conference. And yet, throughout it all, he was the perfect picture of patience, endlessly cool and nonchalant in his responses to your multiple tantrums.
Until you rushed into the kitchen in a famished frenzy, diving straight for the cookie jar and shoving three in your mouth.
“Sweets are not an appropriate dinner, baby,”
The words are sighed out in pure exasperation, his thumb and his forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, lids shut tightly.
Eyebrows furrowing, you tilt your head in confusion, speaking around your mouthful. “Since when?”
His eyes snap open, blazing azure glaring at you with such an intensity it makes you flinch, cookie crumbs turning to ash in your mouth.
“Since forever,” he seethes, mask of impassivity finally beginning to break.
“What?” you laugh around the word, but it trembles. “What are you talking about? You rarely enforce that rule—especially since you don’t even follow it yourself!”
“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, nostrils flaring with a particularly harsh exhale. “I am the boss, and what I say goes,”
“Daddy!” A sock-clad foot stomps against the marble floor as you whine out the word, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “That isn’t fair! You can’t just—”
“Enough with this attitude!” he snarls, moving like a crack of lighting as he lunges at you, lithe arms embracing you in an iron grip. “I can, and I will,”
And then he’s hauling you over his shoulder, one strong arm wrapped around you and pinning you draped over his body, delivering swift, harsh slaps to your ass every time you kick your feet or beat your fists against his back, while every whine and complaint earns you another spank in his mind, mentally tallying them up and vocalizing the thought a moment later.
“You’re being a meanie,”
“That’s twelve,” he growls.
“I don’t care!”
“Thirteen.”
“So what?”
“Fourteen.”
“That’s nothing,”
“Twenty-five.”
And that—that gets you to pause, but not to halt, not to stop, potent brattiness mixing with fury as it boils in your chest, the need to defy, to disobey, burning through your veins.
“I-I can handle that,”
“Thirty,” his voice is calm—serene, almost—and ice cold. There’s an underlying challenge sown into it, daring you to try him again, to utter another word. He’ll go higher, you can almost hear his apathetic voice floating through your mind; he’ll go as high as he needs to in order to teach such an ungrateful little brat a lesson.
Thirty it is.
The buckle of his favourite belt jingles as he undoes it, that dainty clink! forcing shivers to pebble across your naked skin, pressing your chest further into the foot of his bed, fingers curling in cashmere.
You’ve developed a love-hate relationship with that belt; it’s so fun when you get to undo it yourself, gentle fingers tugging and toying as you squirm eagerly in his lap, yet the clank and clattering of that heavy buckle as nimble fingers skillfully unfasten it and pull it from the loops of expensive trousers is almost menacing, carrying with it portentous threats it fully intends to see through.
He never warns you when the first strike is coming, reveling in the way your muscles are coiled in tension, in foreboding anticipation; basking in the surprised yelp that bubbles up in your throat.
“Relax,” he tells you with a callous chuckle, leather squealing between large, smooth hands as he folds it. “And count,”
It’s his usual response, predictable and scripted by this point, but he never seems to tire of it, notes of delight lacing his voice.
And that first blow never counts.
Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy by most standards, but his punishments are harsh, brutal, and cruel, and they happen to be one of the only things he takes seriously in life.
There’s rules to each of his punishments—so many rules he’s made you write them out multiple times, until your hand ached and fingers cramped and the heel of your palm was swollen, so they’d stick in that pretty empty little head of yours, so you never forget—and his spankings are no different.
You are not to move until he tells you to. You are not to speak unless spoken to. You are to count each lash, loud and clear before the next strike lands. Each mistake, each misstep and slip-up and refusal to comply, will earn you one extra slap. The tool is to be decided based on the severity of the offence.  
The belt, all rigid rawhide and sharp edges, cuts into the supple flesh of your ass with each easy, nonchalant flick of his wrist, abrasively snapping against you.
Each collision of leather against flesh sears a tingly sting into your skin, biting rapidly rising welts into your ass and sending spiky jolts of agonizing pain bolting up your spine, the pain fading to a dull throb for just a moment before another blow is delivered.
“Gorgeous,” Satoru murmurs to himself halfway through your punishment, the word nothing more than a little huff of breath. You don’t dare respond, simply crying out the next number as he lands another harsh blow to your abused skin. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more beautiful sound, he continues, voice appearing faint and far away, mingling with the combined symphony of the crack of leather and pathetic whimpers muffled by sheets.
“It’s incredible,” he says, louder this time, voice dripping with wonderment, as if he can’t believe he’s created such a magnificent piece—the streaks of blood staining once perfect, unblemished skin; the high-pitched whines and sharp cries of each subsequent number; the resounding slap of the belt against your bare ass that evokes it all.
The whole thing sends a surge of intense power rushing through his veins, the tingling buzz it leaves behind enthralling and invigorating. You don’t need to look at him to know this, don’t need to see the way his eyes shine with it, the way his chest heaves with it, the way his entire body trembles with it—you can feel it in the atmosphere surrounding you, can feel the shift as his ego saturates the air, as his pure superiority bleeds into it, dense and suffocating, stimulating and revitalizing.
It infects your body, seeping in through your skin and flooding your veins, re-instills the need to be submissive, the ache to be good, providing you with the strength to endure.
The punishment lasts for forty-five excruciating minutes, accumulating a total of thirty three spanks—the extra three tacked onto your original punishment of thirty, one for each time you broke a rule. He’s on you in less than a second the moment it’s over, belt dropping to the rug-covered floor with a distinct thump as soft, eager palms roam your sweaty body, lips crushed against yours, still trembling as they spill pitiful whimpers into his mouth.
The luxurious bedroom—all cream and gold and drenched in sunlight—is blanketed by backhanded praises, warning you not to be a brat and just take what he gives. He’s sadistic when he gets in moods such as these, a feral glint in crystal eyes as large hands hastily flip you over—so fast it knocks a gasp of his name from your chest—seemingly unconcerned about the fresh blood oozing from the thin swollen welts that embellish your ass staining his thousand dollar sheets.
“Daddy needs you now,” he growls when you try to protest, breathing erratic as fingers flex on your hips, squeezing and kneading before pressing down hard, a silent order to stay fucking put. “And you’re going to be a good little girl for your Daddy now, aren’t you?”
Of course. Of course, because you are a good little girl, his good little girl.
But he’s a bad Daddy.
And, like a bad Daddy, he defers aftercare—it can wait, he practically snarls as he drags you to the edge of the bed, folding your legs up on either side of your body, knees nearly nudging your jaw; and foregoes prep almost entirely—two slender fingers slipping between your slick folds, prodding your hole and deeming you wet enough to take him.
And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, when that façade of indifference finally shatters to pieces, replaced with desperation, with urgency, with neediness.
Your head lifts from the plush mattress, neck straining a little as you watch him push his trousers down his thighs through bleary eyes, residual dewdrops of tears clinging to spidery lashes. His cock bobs a little as he kicks the pants off, and it’s just as pretty as he is, smooth and symmetrical and perfect in every way.
“This would be part of your punishment,” he pants out, speaking over your cry of discomfort as he begins to shove his cock into you, little cunt aching as it attempts to accommodate the sudden intrusion. “If you didn’t love it so much, fucking slut,”
“Daddy!” The pet name claws its way up your throat in a yelp, hands scrabbling against his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh through his Armani button-up in an effort to steady yourself, eyes squeezing shut against the severe burn that accompanies the stretch. “Gonna—Gonna tear me in half,”
“You’d think you’d be used to this by now,” Satoru muses, voice already returning to its apathetic playful lilt now that he’s half buried in your cunt, breathing already calmed. A malicious little smirk decorates his lips and he observes you as if awestruck, one of his hands moving to trace the curve of your cheek, cold fingertips soft against your scalding skin.
“So beautiful like this,” he whispers as he finally bottoms out, hips pressed flush against the back of your thighs.
And you are, fresh tears that glitter the way his eyes do in the waning sun streaming down your cheeks, leaving the prettiest streaks of salt staining your flesh; lips swollen from merciless teeth sinking into them, an attempt to silence yourself, to keep those whines and complaints of Stop, Daddy! and Hurts, Daddy! safely stored in your throat.
Your little hole flutters around him, still struggling to adjust to his girth, and his head droops forward, long tongue unfurling from his mouth to lap at the bitter water adorning your face, slow languid strokes from your jaw to your bottom lashes, replacing shimmering tears with viscous saliva.
Saccharine sugar stings your nose, sticky toffee bathed in decadent chocolate and garnished with a touch of vanilla enveloping you in a sickly sweet embrace.
Such a scent—his scent—starkly opposes the vicious snapping of his hips, setting a merciless pace from the very start, blunt nails biting deep half-crescents into your flesh as they hold you in place.
But the pain only heightens the pleasure, contradicting sensations clashing together with every one of his brutal thrusts, cashmere feeling as rough as sandpaper against your raw, wounded ass. Thorns of pain pierce through your abdomen and shoot up your spine, back arching off the bed, and the muscles in your thighs flex and clench with every slam of his cockhead against your cervix.
It’s potent and intoxicating, a heady exhilaration clouding your brain and flooding your veins, and soon there are tears leaking from your eyes again, dribbling into your mouth and mixing with strings of drool that coat the words you’re babbling out.
Blood rushes in your ears, procuring a deafening ring, and you’re not even sure what you’re saying anymore, voice vibrating indistinctly in your chest as saliva soaked mewls ooze from your mouth. Your Daddy’s staring down at you, condescension etched into his pretty features, eyes morphing from dainty crystal to the navy of a tumultuous sea, framed by strands of cream and ivory dripping with sweat.
And he’s so big, too big, stuffing you full to the hilt with each ruthless piston of his hips, mattress trembling beneath you from the sheer strength; and it’s so much, too much, you swear you can feel him in your tummy, can see the way your lower abdomen cutely bulges in synchronization with every pounding thrust.
You must say it in some way, in some shape or some form, because the patronization varnishing his features melts away, sharp smirk dissolving into a genuine grin, blue eyes lightening with pure adoration.
“Such a good girl,” you think he’s saying, through it’s hard to tell when your eyelids keep drooping, hard to hear when a symphony of broken moans and hitched whimpers and the sharp slapping of skin against skin blanket the room, reverberating off the walls of your skull. “You’re such a good, good girl for me,”
Yes, Daddy, you want to say, such a good girl for you, only for you.
“Y-Yours,” you manage instead, locking your arms around his neck and clinging to him.
“Mine,” he growls, possessiveness lacquering his eyes, brilliant and bright and shining with devotion. “That’s right, mine,”
It only takes another three thrusts before you’re gushing all over his cock, the intense spasming of your cute little cunt drawing the prettiest whines from the back of his throat as he rams into you.
“Beg for it,” he demands, and although it’s an order, it comes out more like a plead, desperation sown into his voice. “Beg for Daddy’s cum,”
You obey immediately, words spilling from your lips without a second thought, automatic and instinctual. Please, Daddy, gimme your cum? Please, please, pretty please, want your cum, Daddy, fill my belly with it, Daddy, I need it, need it so bad, please?
He gives you what you want only a moment later, cock throbbing almost violently as he fills you with thick, scalding cream—so much that you’re sure it’s dribbling out of you, trickling down your ass and onto his pristine sheets—and you roll your hips up, attempting to milk him for more.
“G-Greedy,” he pants out, but there’s a dazzling smile slapped across his face, and so much love in his eyes it’s nearly overwhelming, a fresh wave of tears casting a gleaming shield across your own.
He notices immediately, both of you wincing a little as he pulls out, a wrecked little whine escaping your mouth.
“My poor little princess,” he’s saying as he untangles his briefs—Balenciaga, this time—from his trousers, abandoned in a heap on the hardwood.
“Daddy,” you rasp, a frown marring his face, fingers encircling your ankles as he helps you unfold your stiff legs.
“I know, I know,” he’s murmuring as gentle hands pull the soft clothing up your silky thighs. “It hurts, I know baby, Daddy’s gonna make it feel better now,”
A shiver courses through your body, and he tuts, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, shrugging it off before he hoists you up and drapes it over your shoulders, tenderly threading your arms through the sleeves.
It’s cozy, and warm, infused with his scent—melted sugar and expensive cologne—and you snuggle into it, weak arms pulling the material tighter around your body, swathing it in comfort. Tears prick your eyes again, blearily blinking them clear as you glance up to find him backing away. A noise of indignance sounds in the back of your throat, eyebrows knitting together as you make grabby hands for him.
“I’ll be right back, princess,” he reassures you as he laces your fingers together and allows you to pull him back towards you, voice soothing like a lullaby. Fingers trail along the curve of your cheek then trace the line of your jaw, palms smoothing hair back from your face. “Daddy’s just going to go get the first aid kit so he can clean you up, okay?”
“‘N then food?”
He coos with a little chuckle, cupping your head as he tilts it up towards him, eyes overflowing with fondness.
“Yeah, baby, and then food. Whatever you want, it’s yours,”
Gojou Satoru may be a bad Daddy, but he is also your Daddy, and that makes him the best Daddy.
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ckhalloween · 3 years ago
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A concept: Family prompt, fairytale prompt, demon prompt if you squint
Characters: Laura Lawrence, Johnny Lawrence
Laura Lawrence’s Nice, Polite family kicked her out the day she flaked on the abortion, her father taking one look at her tear-streaked face and driving away, leaving her screaming after him on the sidewalk. Despite the decision, it made her resent the life inside of her, growing without her permission, and she thought if she could go back, change her mind... until the day he was born and she realized that he was just as helpless as she was. Their tears and blood was the same. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him. Anything he needed she would give him.
***
He grows thinner and quieter as she struggles to make ends meet, and she sees his bruised face from fights he never picked to begin with, and even the crying stops after a few years, so she goes to an address she got thirdhand and asks if this is the place where you can make bargains.
What is it that she wants? Three wishes granted for three tasks fulfilled.
She thinks of Johnny: I want to marry a rich man who will provide for my son. I want my son to be strong. And I want my son to live a long life.
And you will do anything?
She nods.
For the rich man then, first, you must kill a poor man.
She knew the tasks would be hard.
She does as she’s asked, never even learning his name. She cries for days afterwards. His face stays with her for the rest of her life.
She marries a rich man. He isn’t kind. He’s the type of man who lost kindness to a hard world long ago and now he’s left with bitterness, and status, and power. But he is rich. And he provides.
But he’s still subject to the whims of people stronger than him. Still in so much danger...
And so she returns and asks to fulfil the second task. To make Johnny strong.
For a strong son, you must kill your father.
She has purposefully not thought about her father for years, except for an unbidden joyful scene that sometimes returns to her, of how he used to smile and whirl her around when she was a little girl. She cannot remember what he looked like the night he abandoned her. If she could, perhaps this would be easier.
But she does it. 
Thinking that perhaps if Johnny is strong, then she won’t have to come back for the last wish.
Whatever it is, it must be too monstrous to comprehend. She’s already a monster, but maybe she can be one that’s not too far gone to be forgiven. At least by Johnny. It’s all for Johnny.
And Johnny does grow strong. And angry. And withdrawn. She watches his first two big tournaments, but then she has to stop, because she can’t stand the violence. She’s known plenty of violent men, she can’t watch Johnny become one too.
The night of his final tournament, before he quits karate altogether he comes home unable to speak and locks himself in his room. Later on she pinpoints that as the day that his life changes.
He drinks. He does drugs. He barely finishes school and then... drifts. Gets into fights (he’s so strong that he forgets that he can lose, and he loses often).
One day he almost dies. It’s not any violence by anyone else, but simply an overdose.
Laura realizes strength and money won’t be enough to keep him alive.
So she goes back: What do you want?
We’ve already got it.
She returns home and the phone rings. Johnny, telling her that a girl he’s been seeing is pregnant. He can’t believe it. 
... and then... 
- collapse... Mom... mom are you still there? 
She doesn’t die. Not yet. Her husband keeps her alive, month after month. She wastes away. And she tells her son: Johnny. You’re safe now. 
He’ll live a long life, she thinks. 
It’s in his eyes on the last day that she sees him, those eyes that haven’t cried since he was a child, because he became too strong to be allowed to cry; but eyes that more and more often carried those tears like cups of water - the sadness within them makes her think that she failed after all.
She wishes that she had wished for him to be happy.
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izukukuzi · 4 years ago
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i have the most intense fear of unintentionally being problematic and i just????? what the fuck do i do with that dudbd
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wolven-maw · 1 year ago
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harrow rubbing her temples: griddle if you don't stop singing i'm going to fuse your teeth together
gideon: I GOT PICTURES OF NAKED LAAAADIES! LYIN IN THEIR BEEEEDS!
we all know harrow would be a huge black metal nerd but I think gideon would be really into stuff like Motley Crüe and W.A.S.P. like just the real big dick horny hair metal
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maidmagic-a · 5 years ago
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Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
    younger zee : confirmed
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vancila · 6 years ago
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i put my cat on my lap once to show her she can do it and now she takes every opportunity to crawl on my lap whenever it’s free
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decentsoupperson · 4 months ago
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Sera: I'm still bringing a care bag just in case, and bring your nightlight.
Adam: Okay, just no over the top, please.
Sera: It's alright, Adam. I won't embarrass you.
Adam hugs Sera tightly: Thank you mama.
Sera: You're welcome, Adam. Now, after those hours, time for bed.
Adam and Emily: Awwwwwwwwwww
Sera: You can have some ice cream for breakfast tomorrow if you go to beeeed.
Adam and Emily rush to get ready.
Mama Bear Sera
Emily: It's okay to admit you're a mamas boy.
Adam: I am not!
Emily: I've seen her burp you.
Adam: She did not burp me! She patted me on the back and I happened to burp there is a difference!
Emily: She bottle feeds you!
Adam: That was one time, and it was because I had my hands occupied!
Emily: She puts you in onesies!
Adam: Because she has taste!
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charlyritter · 6 years ago
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I just started watching 3 movies at the same time and now I have to go to bed, I am SO offended.
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notmanagingmymischief · 3 years ago
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Try #number two because I fucked the first one up😛
🎶so you say, go it isn’t working; and I say, no it isn’t perfect🎶
Also, I love you🥺💞
🎶so i'll stay instead; i'm never gonna leave this beeeed🎶
I love you too 🥺💞🥺💞
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