#Yes I'm still goddamn mad

[blind0raven]

...

Yes I am still mad about this

"E r n e s t o"

Imagine you and the guys get back to school after this whole experience, "Hi guys! We almost got turned to puppets by this shady handsome bastard of a fox conman who's.... name is Ernesto..."

Imma say it again

FELLOW DOESN'T HAVE THE FACE OF AN "ERNESTO"

I don't give a fuck if it means "earnest" HE DOES NOT LOOK LIKE AN ERNESTO

The fuck you're going against a guy you can nickname "Ernie"

E R N I E

[seventh-district]

again and again i find myself lamenting that audio roleplay isn't taken more seriously by some people. like yeah, they often have a romantic element, and by nature they usually directly involve/address the listener- and i totally get that those things aren't to everyone's taste. no art or entertainment is universally appealing, and that's okay! but.. it still makes me a lil sad that the "cringe" reputation of asmr/audio rp precedes it. there's a whole lot of talent and creativity being poured into these audios by so many people that i feel goes unrecognized and/or disrespected simply due to the medium that the stories are being told through.

[musical-chick-13]

A fictional man will have absolutely nothing going for him and have negative depth at best and people will scream that he's automatically Complex™ and Interesting™ simply because he's fucked up, but a female character will have a rich inner emotional world that reverberates through the story and holds up some genuinely complicated themes and people will yawn and go, "You literally could not pay me to care."

[makerofmadness]

I'm just. Fudging. *family guy death pose*

[thelustybraavosimaid]

Disc-harse over Arya stans existing and making harmless comparisons in literally the same way George is

Just be quiet.

[snazzymolasses]

what icon

your icon punches you in the face do you survive

[writersdrug]

Bartender Simon when a customer yells at reader for a mistake?

I love the way you guys think LOVE keep em comin!!

It starts when he's restocking his bar, carrying crates with fruit, bitters, coasters, and straws. He comes down from the pantry upstairs to a decently relaxed lunch crowd, when he hears the second half of the customer's tantrum.

"You expect me to eat this?! It's bloody raw!"

"I'm so sorry, I can take it back aga-"

"You already did that - went to the kitchen and stuck it under the warmer for a few seconds and thought I wouldn't notice, huh?"

"No sir, I gave it to the che-"

"I don't want to hear fucking excuses, just go fix my damn burger. I'm paying for this shit, aren't I? And you're working for my tip. So fucking work, cunt."

Humiliation isn't enough to describe what you feel - there isn't a strong enough word for it. Claiming you're a liar, saying you grovel for tips, yelling at you in front of your other tables, calling you a cunt - it makes your eyes sting with oncoming tears, staring at him and using every muscle in your jaw to keep from spitting insults back at him. You want to throw the food in his face, but instead, you grab his plate and storm off to the kitchen before he can see you cry.

The man scoffs, looking at his watch. "Fuckin' great..."

Simon's still standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding his crates and staring daggers at the man. He knows what it's like, being berated by customers. He says "that's customer service for ya" and moves on. But for this wanker to berate you - he sees red. He sees his next target.

He swiftly crosses the restaurant floor, boots thudding against the old wood as he drops his crate behind the bar. Soap's already yelling about the asshole when he pushes his way into the kitchen.

"Order it fuckin' rare and ye get fuckin' rare, bloody clipe- talkin' mince, bawface bastard-" he slams the burger back onto the grill with a tense arm, continuing to grumble as it sizzles. "Cookin' ye a nice strip o' shoe leather-"

You're sitting on an overturned crate, sobbing into your hands, pen and notepad on the ground beside you. Price is on one knee, one arm around your shoulder and the other on your leg - you'd never officially met the owner of the pub, but now was as good a time as any, you suppose.

"Wot happened?" Is all that Ghost could say without going off on a rampage. He's saving that for later.

"He fucking embarrassed me, that's what happened!!" You snap, looking up at Simon. Your eyes are red and puffy after only crying for a minute or two, cheeks wet from your tears. You hug your arms around your middle and choke on a sob. "Told me his fucking burger wasn't cooked, so I sent it back- then he tries to say I never even gave it to Soap?! Calls m-me a cunt in front of my tables?! Make me fucking work for his money - I don't want his goddamn money!!"

Price shushes you, worrying your anger might be leaking through the kitchen door - he doesn't want the same customer to hear you bad-mouthing him, although it's rightfully deserved. He rubs your back gently as you drop your head into your hands again, shoulders shaking as you cry.

Simon's seething - he's already moving before his brain can catch up, still stuck on the picture of your teary face. He marches behind the line and reaches across Soap, picking the burger right off the grill.

Soap makes a shocked sound. "Ye gone mad, LT?!"

"Table six?" Ghost asks, holding the sizzling burger patty in his hand, grease dripping onto his forearm.

You stare between his face and the patty - your crying stopped, your face now replaced with a stupefied expression. "Uh- yeah."

And like that, he's off; he shoves himself back out onto the floor and makes his way towards the customer who yelled at you. The burger burns his hand, but he doesn't even notice the pain. He drops it onto the table in front of the man, who yelps in disgust. "What the fuck-"

"Better?" Ghost says, hands clenching into fists at his sides as he looked down at the man, now stuttering and blubbering in shock. Specks of grease are freckling his white dress shirt.

"Are you- is this a fucking joke?"

"It's your fuckin' burger."

"I can't believe this-"

"Then get the fuck out my pub." Ghost growls; he grabs the man by his arm, ripping his blazer off the back of his chair, and drags him to the front door. The other customers look with wide eyes as he busts the door open with his shoulder and throws the man onto the sidewalk. He wheezes as he hits the ground, and Ghost throws his blazer at him next.

"If I ever see your face in 'ere after this, 'm throwin' you out again and keepin' your bullocks as a fuckin' souvenir."

The man stares at him, flabbergasted, as Ghost walks back inside. People are focused on their meals now, heads down and pretending they didn't see Simon body a man to the ground - the guy deserved it, after all.

Simon huffs, picking up the burger from the now-empty table. His hand stings a bit, but he has years of callouses built up to keep any real burns from settling in. He gently kicks the chair back into place and starts heading back to the kitchen, when he sees you.

You're staring at him with wide, wet eyes, standing in the entryway to the kitchen and mouth slightly ajar in awe. You've fully stopped crying, but there are still tears on your face from before. Eyeliner and mascara are smudged a bit, but it only makes Simon's fondness for you blossom.

He gently nudges your shoulder with his elbow as he pushes past you. "Take a fifteen. I'll watch your tables."

You stare after him as he throws the burger into the trash, grabbing a fresh towel and wrapping his hand. Wide back facing you as he looks at Soap, who stares at him with a frustrated sigh.

You're horny now. Horny for Simon - and you're definitely relaying this entire shebang to your friends tonight.

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 25th. tom — anal sex / sexual punishment.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: basically how i see a tom riddle punishment playing out. biblical tom of sorts. so self assured its impossible to piss him off so you go to lengths some may consider extreme but…eh. he knows you’re his.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, UNI hogwarts (obvs but just a reminder) reader and tom have an…interesting dynamic, toxic but also not toxic because it works for them, anal sex (obvs), sexual punishment, brief fingering, copious amounts of dirty talk, i once again utilize my favourite place in the school (the library).

"Tom—"

With a hand raised, he cuts you off. "Don't."

You blink. Swallow. Blink again. He's mad—oh, yes, he's mad—more than you've ever seen him and you once watched Abraxas Malfoy knock over his potion during a heavily-weighted exam.

That, in currency to this, is pennies.

You breathe in, try again. "Look, I can explain—"

He doesn't let you. Within a second his wand is out and with a flick of his wrist the room shifts to static—the glimmer from the silencing charm he just cast settles over your corner of the library, and you feel your fingers go numb—

"Why'd you stop?" He cocks his head, brow raised. His jaw is tight, the tension there burning into the space between you. His fingers flex. You can feel how much he's holding back. "If there's an explanation, by all means. I'd love to hear it."

Right—yeah, an explanation. That should help. Certainly, the man staring at you like he has bullets for eyes and knives for fingers will understand—he'll be completely calm once you explain to him you kissed someone else in retribution—because you wanted to get back at him.

"Well, I—" you push up from the desk, desperate to feel bigger, to level with him somehow. Tom thrives in this—having the upper hand, knowing all he has to do is stare at you, all stillness and quiet fury. He knows you hate it, that you'll spiral under it until you break and present him your neck on a silver platter. Until you hand him the knife and beg him to cut. "We had that argument, and I thought—I thought, maybe—you didn't—"

He moves closer. The air thickens. You're too focused on the fire in his eyes to acknowledge the sound of his wand clattering onto the desk—

"You thought?" His voice is something almost bored, like this is a trivial exercise for him—you can barely hear him over the roar of your pulse in your throat.

"—that you didn't want me anymore!"

You force the words out in a desperate rush, and the silence that follows feels like a goddamn canyon—you're just staring at each other, scowling in the wake of what you just said because you both know how utterly foolish it sounds. The only person Tom Riddle has and will ever allow himself to be vulnerable in front of—and you thought he'd leave after a silly argument.

No. You never thought that for a second.

And so, you try to save yourself. "Tom—I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry, I know I fucked up—but, it's not just me—I mean, you could have communicated better—"

He takes another step toward you, nodding along as if he's humoring you. "Right."

You step back—you don't mean to but the depleted space between you feels dangerous and your body reacts before you can stop it.

"Maybe—maybe we can learn from this? Right? A lesson for—for us both?" You keep talking. You don't know why, but you do. "And, maybe you could, uh, learn to talk about your feelings better?"

You wince as his eyebrows shoot up, mocking you without saying a word. Tom Riddle, talking about his fucking feelings? Right.

"I mean—you're just—" you hesitate because you know you're digging your own grave, yet he's still staring, daring you to finish. "—you're just so hard to read, you know?"

Another bored nod, another step closer. "Of course."

You swallow, stumbling back—of course Tom knows he's hard to read, that's the point. Every word out of your mouth is a wasted effort, a desperate attempt to reason with someone who's beyond it. Your ass collides with the desk behind you, boxing you in—and suddenly, he's there, right in front of you, all of his typical Tom intensity pouring into the limited space between you.

His breath brushes against your cheek, close enough that his lips could meet yours. But you know they won't. He'd never make it that easy. You can't tell if it's fear or something more wicked that twists in your chest. Dread, excitement—God, maybe both—

"You tried to provoke me."

Your throat tightens around a swallow. He isn’t asking.

"Maybe."

He doesn't blink. "You tried to see if I'd care."

You open your mouth, only to close it just as quickly. What can you say that he doesn't already know? You're as transparent as glass to him, and even that is a goddamn understatement. All you offer is a slow nod, unsure but weighted—he wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking for submission.

"And you thought, maybe, that I would come to you. That I would react. That l'd be angry." His fingers brush up your cheek, slipping into your hair with the kind of intimacy that feels out of place given the circumstances. And, inevitably, when the pull comes biting at your scalp, it's a burn you enjoy more than you should. "Were you hoping I'd punish you?"

"Well—I-"

"You know, don't you," he tugs your hair again to quiet you. Every question he's asking is rhetorical. "You know that trying to provoke me is dangerous."

You nod, fast. "I know."

"You know that I don't like to be provoked."

"I know, I know, I-"

"Shh." His lips brush over your neck, just once—a soft, fleeting thing that promises everything and nothing at once. You can't help the way you lean into him. "You're just making this worse for yourself. No more talking."

You choke on your stupid ego, but force a nod. You asked for this. You won't fight him on it. Not here. Not now.

"Good." He hums, and you feel your heart dance, stomach leap at the barest flicker of approval in his tone. His breath skates over your jaw, and you try not to shake. "You want to show me how sorry you are, don't you?"

You nod again.

"Good." He tugs at your bottom lip and something curls at the corners of his own that doesn't quite qualify as a smile. "Turn around."

With your heart on the floor beneath your feet, you nod for a final time before doing as he asked. You find that turning is a difficult task, though not due to resistance—your body just won't cooperate—a mess of weak knees and shallow breaths and tingling skin. You do it, though, with his hand on your hip, guiding you, directing you, pushing you over the desk until you're bent at the waist, positioned just how he wants.

It's merely a moment before you feel him pressed against your back, feel his belt buckle digging into your ass—

"What do you think I should do to you?" His breath grazes the nape of your neck and reflexively, you arch into him—his hands slide up your thighs, hips, finding your waist and the band of your skirt—he tugs at your zipper, you remain quiet. You know he doesn't want you to answer. "I'm sure you had your hopes. Your assumptions."

Tom Riddle, you've determined, is a torturous lover—a slow hand, a tease until you're in tears from the overstimulation. A sort of devotee to fulfilling your needs while simultaneously tempering his own. He's so very restrained, in everything he does—not fervent, not right away, anyway—

"Maybe you hoped I'd degrade you. Remind you of your place." He tugs down the zipper, letting the fabric fall to the ground at your feet—you shudder and pull your lips tight, willing yourself to stay silent as the cool air hits you. Tom's hand roams over one of your asscheeks, pawing lazily before tapping his palm against it. “Maybe you wanted me to make you feel it."

—he only rushes—he's only careless when he's angry.

And god, he's angry now.

"Maybe." You force the reply through the sting he left on your skin. It's past midnight—quiet is everything but you two, and you're almost certain he locked the door behind him on the way in. You let your head bow, eyes fixed on the wood under your palms. "Maybe I do."

"Of course you do. You've never been subtle." His foot nudges yours further apart, his fingers trailing up your thigh, finding the damp ache between your legs. Your breath catches but you hold still, biting your tongue as he teases—digits gliding through your slit, swirling your clit. "I know you thought about it."

"About what?" You try, though the question barely gets out before his other hand smacks the thick of your ass again, harder this time. "Shit—"

"About what I'd do to you." The hand on your clit shifts to smooth over the sting, rubbing slow, while the other works the buckle of his belt. "Tell me what you wanted."

"I—" you pause, steadying, gathering yourself. You know you have to give him something, but it's hard to think when he's like this. "I—I wanted you to be...careless."

"Careless." He says it like he's savouring it, rolling it over his tongue like candy. It's not a word that suits him; you're not convinced he even knows how. "You want me to be rough—to be selfish. Like you were."

The moment his belt is loose you feel those slender fingers dip back into your slit, two of them pushing inside your cunt without warning, stretching you open as his trousers slip down his thighs— he grunts low, a sound that cuts into the quiet as his cock springs free and he presses it against you, unoccupied hand slipping back into your hair, pulling you up until you're flush with him.

"Yes." You're not sure who sounds more hollow for it—your voice for asking, his for granting it. "I want that. I deserve it. Please. Please—"

"Please. It's always please with you," he mocks, the words a hiss that burn your cheeks. "Yet, I don't get to be selfish like you, do I? I still have to show restraint."

"I mean—oh—fu—" you choke as his lips find your neck, muttering something against your skin before you feel the sudden cool slip of a lubing charm coating your asshole and cunt. "Tom-"

"Despite what you might believe, I've never had much in the way of patience," he breathes, a confession almost, something deeper—something that feels like it costs him. "Not when it comes to you."

"Tom—" you fucking gasp his name as he pulls his fingers from your cunt—only to drag them higher until they find your asshole. Despite his haste he's still at ease, massaging, pressing one finger against it until you let him in. He sinks slowly, curling slightly, and your thighs shake—lungs deflate. "Oh—oh, fuck, Tom—it's been—"

"A while, hasn't it?" He finishes, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his finger sliding all the way in. "So tight for me. So—tight—"

"Tom—" a repetition of the last one, his name spilling from you like it’s the only goddamn word you know how to say. "Please, Tom. Oh god—"

"Shhh." He shushes, but it's not to quiet you; you know that. He's savouring this. He slips in a second finger, stretching you wider, working you open, and you're biting your lip to keep from crying out. "This isn't about you."

"You—" your voice breaks on another gasp, hands clutching at the desk. "—you think this is punishment."

"Partially." His muses as his fingers scissor, filling you with the most delicious ache. You're so slick, arousal running down your thighs, and that—oh no, that does not escape his notice. "Look at you, dripping for me. And yet,"

"Oh god." The realization crashes over you—it’s punishment as in orgasm denial. "That's—that's not—"

"Not fair?" There's a smirk in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, you hear the word that lingers beneath it: pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He pulls his fingers out and you whine, feeling empty for half a second before the head of his cock glides against your slit, gathering your juices before finding its way up to the throbbing ring of muscle. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be selfish?"

"I just—" words scatter, useless, because you're trembling, breathing hard, and then he's pressing in, slow enough to save you pain but fevered enough to make you feel him. "Oh—oh—"

"Oh fuck." He says it breathless, as if it's an agony to fit himself inside of you. "Oh yes."

And it is an agony—for both of you, though for very different reasons. Tom is huge, and even on a good day, it's a struggle to take him. He's so deep, filling you in ways you'd forgot were possible. You struggle to hold yourself upright—legs visibly shaking, teeth gritting. He sinks all the way in, and in your mind, you can almost see the look on his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his head tips back—

"Ah—“ he groans, a rough sound that's followed by a huff and a slight roll of his hips, like he's holding back, like he can't bring himself to move just yet. He yanks you up against him by your hair. "That's fucking tight, isn't it? This must be hell for you."

He's not wrong, it is. But it's hellish for Tom too, the type of hell the two of you inflict on eachother that is as fucking addicting as it is anything else—

"Just—" you manage to bite out breathlessly, but it's a struggle to make the words. "Move—"

"Make me," he grits, jerking your head to the side until your foreheads press together. "Convince me to use you. Tell me how badly you want it. How much of a whore you are for it."

Merlin help you, you moan at his words. It's that thing inside you—the needy, desperate part that's dying at his feet. You don't know what it is or why it's there; it just is, and it's greedy. It's not something you'd give into normally—your ego is far too big to give him the satisfaction of begging, not aloud—never in words that he could use against you later—but in these moments, you both learn to make exceptions.

"Dear god, Tom—please, just use me-" you push your hips back against him, one of his hands slide up your stomach, cupping your tits. "Please, l'm—I'm a pathetic, begging whore for you. God, I know you're pissed—I feel it—just take it out on me—l want it—"

He moans—a soft, almost gentle sound—and you know you've struck a nerve, the part of him that's equally as weak in the moment—the part of him that makes it all too easy for things to spiral like this.

"Goddamn you." Something inside him snaps, something that's been frayed, just waiting for a pull—and you've pulled it now, and oh you want, no, you need him to make you pay for it, to make it hurt. "You just—you always-"

He grunts, cutting himself off and in a way, it's almost like he's thanking you because you're giving him an outlet, something to take it out on. You test each other, push and pull and let the other break, because, at the end of the day, it always comes down to this. The two of you. Like this.

A sharp inhale, and he starts to thrust.

"Fuck!" it's all you manage, it's all you can manage, because it—just like that—feels the way you wanted it to feel but it also feels so much more intense, so intense that your brain can't keep up. "Oh god—oh fuck-"

"Fucking hell," he spits, like you're the worst thing in his world and the best thing all at once, and somehow, that makes perfect sense. He lets go of your hair, and you slump forward onto the desk, elbows barely holding you up as his hand smacks your ass, fingers spreading you apart. "So—so tight—“

You're a shuddering mess, helpless to it; all you can do is remember to breathe through it.

"That's it." Another smack to your ass, thrusts quick and deep. "Fuck. The things you drive me to do."

You know him so well—and he knows you just as damn well, and that's the point, isn't it? That's what this is all about. You're the perfect mix of wrong, a match that burns too hot it hurts but the ache makes him feel alive.

"I want to cum—" your neglected clit is begging for it, you’re fucking begging for it. "Tom please—"

At that, he laughs and it's mean and it's condescending and you love—God—how you love it and want it and can't get enough of it. His hips snap forward a little bit rougher and you lose a bit more of your sanity—

"You think you deserve to come, after what you did?" Another smack to your ass.

You don't know how to answer, and he doesn't wait for one anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you—everything is so calculated and calculated and calculated. You've never once seen him falter, and you don't expect to see it now. You don't know if you'd survive it if you did.

"No." He answers for you. "You don't."

His fingers trace around your thigh, grazing your mound and finding your needy clit, your sopping slit, gliding through it—you moan louder than you should as he gathers your slick on his fingers, humming at what he finds there before retreating—bringing them up to your mouth.

"Open."

You open your mouth and he feeds you your need—the result of his selfishness. You love him for what he is and you love him for what he isn’t too. How he tries to be both, only when you ask.

"Taste that?" It's a whisper, something he's telling you.

You sob around his fingers as he fucks your ass deep—he pulls them out to let you respond. You nod. "Yes."

"Taste how much you want this?"

"Yes." A pathetic moan. The perfect response.

"Good girl." He presses the words into your hair, the back of your neck, along your spine. He sucks in a breath as he fucks like he needs it just to speak. "You're going to remember this the next time you think about doing something just to spite me, I hope you know that."

Of course you will. He knows it, you know it—there's no doubt in your mind that you'll remember this the next time you toy with his patience; the next time you give him a reason to discipline you again. And what's worse is: you'll do it anyway.

It's a battle you two will fight for eternity.

But you don't get a chance to respond, not that you'd have one anyways—because his hand is on your throat and his lips are at your ear and he's sucking in air through his teeth and then—

"I'm going to cum." He whispers and you hear the pain in it. "Fuck."

You shiver in reply; a whine of a whimper coming from the back of your throat. “Tom—“

"Shh." He shushes you with his free hand, gripping your jaw as his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic. "Fucking take it.”

God—you’ll take it. Of course you will. You asked for this, drove him to this point. You're both sick, but this is the kind that doesn't have a cure.

One of his hands moves to his own hair, tugging at the back of his head; it's the only hint you've had this whole time of how much he's affected by this, how much it's driven him mad. He's doing his best to keep control, to maintain composure and make sure you feel it—but it's the way his hand squeezes your hip when he lets go of your throat that gives him away.

It gives in to what he's been repressing.

"Ohhh—fuck—yes—" and then you feel it, feel him, hot and sticky and warm, filling your ass and holding you there until he’s finished. His body collapses against the back of yours, hips slow rolling until he's drained—until you’ve taken all of him, all of his anger and frustration and restraint along with it. He’s sweaty, exhausted, spent—forehead pressed to your hair. "You feel that?"

"You know I do." You're not allowed to sound so smug, not while you're in the position you're in, but you are. It’s why he loves you. "That's what you were looking for."

"No, that's what you were looking for." He nips your ear, and you hear the smile in his voice when he bites down on it and murmurs a, "and that's why you're my favourite," into it.

"And you mine, Tommy."

[tgcg]

the master baiter

TG: dont be mad

TG: ok thats like asking water not to be wet but

CG: WATER ISN'T FUCKING WET GOD DAMMIT.

TG: look whatever remember when you said you would die for me

TG: is that karkat in the room with us right now

======

CG: I'M DYING "FOR YOU" EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU PEEL OPEN THOSE SHIT-EATING LIPS YOU KEEP PULLED TAUT OVER YOUR DRONING IGNORANCE SHAFT.

TG: heheheh

======

CG: YOUR WORDSLUDGE SPEARS EVERY PARTICLE OF MY BODY WITH PINPOINT STRIDERIAN IDIOCY.

TG: oh shit here we go

CG: A VERBAL BARRAGE THAT PULVERIZES MY FLESH INTO A FINE RED MIST, KILLING ME INSTANTLY. WIPING ME THE FUCK OUT, TO SUCH AN INCREDIBLE DEGREE THAT PALEONTOLOGISTS CAN'T FULLY DISCERN IF A "KARKAT" FUCKING EXISTED IN THE FIRST PLACE.

CG: THEY'D BE SCRATCHING THEIR NUGBONES OVER IT FOR FUCKING SWEEPS, IF NOT FOR THE SHOCKING REALIZATION MERE MINUTES INTO THEIR DEBATES THAT NOBODY ACTUALLY GAVE A SHIT.

======

CG: AND YET THE TEMPORAL DEVICE STILL SWAYS TO AND FRO IN CONSTERNATION. VEXED BY THE COMPLETE MENTAL VACANCY PUT BEFORE IT BY MY HUMBLE SACRIFICE, BOUND BY ITS COSMIC ROLE, BEGRUDGED BY MY UNSOLICITED DEATH CLOCKING IT INTO OVERTIME. IT HAS BETTER SHIT TO DO, GOD DAMMIT! IT HAS A LUSUS AND A HIVE TO GET BACK TO!

CG: "WHAT IS THIS. WHO LET THIS ASSHOLE IN HERE," IT SAYS. THEY AREN'T EVEN QUESTIONS, JUST ORBITAL SIGHS OF AN UNCARING UNIVERSE. A REALITY NOW KEENLY AWARE OF ITS OWN LAUGH TRACK.

CG: AND ITS PENDULUM TEETERS, TENTATIVE IN ITS OWN DISBELIEF AND PROFOUND APATHY.

TG: damn

======

CG: "THIS SCUMBAG ISN'T EVEN GODTIER YET," IT POINTS OUT. THE AUDIENCE FLIPS THEIR COLLECTIVE SHIT, AGHAST AT THIS REVELATION.

TG: hahaha

CG: IT WELLS UP SUCH A THRUM OF FUCKING ENNUI THAT THE TIMEPIECE FLIPS OFF-KILTER, LANDING SQUARELY IN THE "DUMBASS" ZONE WITH A "FUCK IT" LOUD ENOUGH TO REVERBERATE THROUGHOUT PARADOX SPACE.

======

CG: IT THEN ELECTS TO KICK MY PATHETIC FUCKING HALF-CORPSE BACK INTO THE LIVING PLANE AND FORCE ME, VENGEFULLY FROM THE AUDACITY OF MY OWN IDIOCY, TO REPEAT THIS CYCLE AD NAUSEAM

CG: UNTIL EXISTENCE ITSELF FINALLY CROAKS UNDER THE COMBINED WEIGHT OF OUR COLOSSAL STUPIDITY.

CG: BECAUSE WHO THE FUCK WOULD I BE IF I EVER GOT TO HAVE A BREAK?

======

TG: yep there he is thats him offincer

TG: the man after my own heart

TG: thats a karkat brand "soft yes" if i ever heard one and i know my karkatisms dude im a goddamn graduate in karkatology

TG: i got my degree in this shit

TG: im rocking up to our convos with the dumbass black square hat thing cocked 45 degrees

TG: literally incapable of snapping it back kinda by design of the stupid thing but damn if im not doing it anyways im emanating the snappitudes

TG: im rocking my intelligence right now

TG: also water is absolutely wet dude its like the wettest thing on the planet

CG: I'M NOT REPEATING MYSELF AGAIN

TG: yeah you are

CG: FUCK. I AM.

======

CG: I SAID THE LAST THREE TIMES IT'S A CONDITIONAL TERM--

TG: and im saying its common sense like being wet isnt conditional when youre the perpetual thing of wettening

CG: NO

TG: and brother it is THE wet

TG: like following your conditional argument

TG: if water isnt wet then the other water molecules are constantly making each other fuckin wet so its a moot point

TG: great philosophical debate

TG: which came first the water or the wet?

CG: DAVE

TG: think about it all those particles are wetting each other up all the time and shit

TG: its a fucked up display

CG: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

======

TG: pretty much a perpetual orgy of the elements

CG: DUDE.

TG: that sounds kinda sick actually if you dont think about what it means

TG: h2orgy

CG: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO VETO THIS STUPID DISCUSSION--

TG: tell me im wrong dude

CG: I'M UNIVERSE-APPOINTED TO HOVER AROUND YOU POINTING OUT EVERY DUMBASS TAKE YOU HAVE FOR THE REST OF TIME.

TG: thats so beautiful to me

TG: i could cry

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 4 part 7

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

THIS IS THE LAST EPISODE 4 ENTRY I SWEAR

agatha: why yes I'm listening politely because I'm being sociable, not because this story concerns me in any way shape or form

she did NOT want TO DO IT AGATHA. HE WAS HER SON TOO AGATHA. did you ever give her a chance to SAY any of THAT. damn rio is (metaphorically) fighting for her life here. waiting centuries to catch her wife with her guard down next to a random fire, and then reworking her LONG PLANNED SPEECH into bite sized easily digestible bits so that her emotionally stunted soulmate doesn't run away screaming

I was doing MY DAMN FUCKING JOB agatha

agatha looks away like whooops! wasn't listening! wasn't looking at you! no sir, not me!

that's right. acknowledge her feelings. show her that you understand but that you're hurting too. be mature. you're doing great. god the way she swallows and stares right ahead, so determined. this is such a crucial moment for her.

agatha: i'm stone cold. I'm a wall. this is not affecting me in the slightest. I'm bored, really.

lilia not missing a word of what rio's saying

lmao the neutral pronoun lasted two seconds. she's not even trying to pretend like she isn't talking about agatha. and the way she nods to herself like yes, I did the best I could with this. so, there.

"she is my scar" is going to the sapphic annals, isn't it?

LMAOOOO the unblinking cat stare. rio is like I WAS TALKING TO YOU DUM-DUM. I KNOW IT, YOU KNOW IT, EVERYONE AROUND THIS GODDAMN FIRE KNOWS IT. CAN YOU PLEASE PLEASE FUCKING TALK TO ME PLEASE DEAR GOD

and agatha doing a teeny tiny side glance and going whoooooooops not looking! I'm NOT looking! I'm not even here! and scrunching her face more and more trying to keep it blank

AND she's gone. she's so predictable lmaooo. every dang time.

awkwaaaaaard

rio with her soft smile again! with the little amused eye roll! never getting mad at agatha's antics. she's like FINE I'll come after you, you BIG BABY. the patience this woman has

lilia is so scared of rio because somehow, through her exceptional Seer abilities, she knew instinctively that this is her mortal foe. but something funny has just happened: here in front of her there's just a regular little guy, a bit odd maybe, doing her little thing, trying to talk to her ex. might it be... might it be that death isn't a monster, that it's just a thing, a strange but natural thing that happens to everybody? lilia cannot accept that quite yet. so she grabs rio and says no, no. I've seen what you are. you're scary, you're evil, you're dangerous. this is lilia's survival instincts kicking in. we are simply wired to fear death, that's just how humans are. it takes an exceptional mind and soul to see past that.

oh god, here we go, here we go. deep breaths (I'm telling this to myself tbh. i need the pep talk)

stroking her hair so gently. soft, tentative.

hey, subtitle people??? what the fuck??

rio just stands and stares. lets agatha decide what comes next, goes at her pace always

the haiR CARESSING

the HUG. the BIG SIGH. this bitch was running away screaming from rio just yesterday. and here she is. her love. her partner. she finally acknowledges rio's pain and all that they lost and all that they were (and still are tbh) to each other. THIS is what rio was looking for. she's not flirting to manipulate and deflect now, she's not being somebody else. this is agatha cracked open and bleeding love and sorrow

and they melt into each other, and they're rocking each other back and forth, with all their pain and tenderness and longing

agatha with her face buried in rio's shoulder. I'm unwell

and then agatha gently pushes rio back and strokes her hair and cradles her face like she did so many times before and leans in and here I am giving you a play-by-play and running a commentary like a totally normal and sane person would

you know what makes for a perfect onscreen kiss imo? no it's not tongue, although these two will give us plenty of that too. it's the TREMBLING. THE HESITATION. THE YEARNING.

rio and her superhuman willpower. couldn't be me.

and and and and and agatha looks at her puzzled for a second and doesn't register what's happening and dives for a kiss again she's so far gone. the feral animal noises I'm making you have no idea

THE ICY SHOWER

THE STEP BACK. THE MOST PAINED SMILE

THE REGRET

I think one big reason why agatha is always so calculated is because she's afraid her instincts will take over. she does something big and spectacular and stupid and then calls it a 'calculated risk' when it was actually a rush of fear, desire, sorrow, anger that she couldn't control. tonight rio has managed to poke a little hole into a carefully constructed dam, and now all the water is rushing out and tearing down the walls. agatha has rio in her arms and her shape, her scent, her skin are so nostalgic and familiar. her brain goes on autopilot, she's been lonely for so long, she is FAMISHED for love and connection and sex and acceptance. rio wanted her to open up, but agatha doesn't do half-measures. rio wanted her to give for a change, but agatha can only ever take.

rio HAS to put a stop to it. she puts logic before heart, one of them has to and you know agatha isn't gonna. more than anything rio wants to take this one perfect moment and run away with it, but instead she tears herself away and asks, what happens next? what happens if I have to take billy away from you? that reanimated corpse, that freak of nature who walked into your life only yesterday and took over?

billy is now part of the equation and rio cannot ignore it. she has been so gentle and careful with agatha, easing her into a reconciliation that is now in jeopardy because here comes billy maximoff like a sword of damocles! what happens if agatha takes her back only for rio to break her heart all over again? there would be no coming back from that. rio cannot help being the grim reaper just as much as agatha cannot help being a succubus, and she is almost at her breaking point here. because she is hurting too! she is sick of having to be the mature one! she's sick of always coming in second after all of agatha's issues! turns out there's a limit even to the heartbreak an impossibly old and wise being can take.

(and now I need a smoke and a future episode that is just 30 minutes of hot but soft cuddles and kisses and sweet nothings. please.)

once again a big shoutout and thank you to all the people reaching out and leaving comments, it's incredible to hear from you all @crybabyheathen @onceuponalegendbg @idkbroletssee @psychicsolanum @73chn1c0l0rr3v3l @a-tad-bit-obsessed @a-rusty-bucket-of-woes @miacheezytoon @isagrimorie @april-december @aquaaquila and I'm probably forgetting someone but I see you all and I appreciate you so much!

and now for something extra

[kymerawrites]

"You're such a bloody drama queen," Simon grumbled under his breath, smoking a cigarette as he watched her pace back and forth. He didn't move an inch from his spot on the couch, arms crossed over his chest. It was always like this with her; they argue, they make up, they argue again. It was a vicious cycle they couldn't seem to break free from. He took a drag of his cigarette before blowing out a stream of smoke, eyes still locked on her

"Can't you just sit still for a bloody second?" Simon snapped, his irritation getting the better of him. "You're giving me a damn headache with all that walking around." He tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest, his gaze following her every movement. He couldn't help but feel frustrated by her constant need for motion, like a caged animal.

"I could if you'd stop being such a controlling arsehole," she shot back, stopping in her tracks to glare at him. "Sorry if my pacing bothers you, but I have the right to move around in my own home." She crossed her arms, her defiant stance mirroring his.

"Your home?" Simon echoed, a mocking edge to his voice. He snorted, extinguishing his cigarette in the ash tray. "Last I checked, we share this apartment. And believe me, I didn't ask for a fidgety partner who can't sit still for two seconds."

“God for fuck sakes Simon, you make me pace this way. Can’t you see that?!” I said irritated

He rolled his eyes, clearly unperturbed by her retort. "Oh, and it's all my fault that you're pacing around like a maniac?" He leaned back on the couch, his gaze sharpening. "Maybe, just maybe, you should try taking some responsibility for your own actions instead of blaming everything on me. Ever thought of that?"

I huffed in annoyance, not backing down from his gaze. "And maybe you should stop making me so bloody irritated that I can't stand still! You're always bossing me around, like I'm some sort of property and not a person with my own thoughts and feelings."

He stood up abruptly, his tall frame towering over her. "You know damn well that's not true," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't treat you like a bloody object. I care about you, even if you can't see it. And if I come off as controlling sometimes, it's because I want to bloody protect you."

“Oh no, it’s you and your fucking lieutenant, commander whatever the fuck you are act in my space.” I scoffed

His eyes narrowed at her sarcastic remark. "Watch your bloody tongue," he warned, his tone more menacing than before. "You know damn well what I do for a living, and I don't appreciate your tone. But while we're on the subject, you could learn a thing or two about respecting your partner. Maybe if you weren't such a bloody pain in the arse all the time, I wouldn't have to step in and take charge."

That comment hit me, just a little to make me shift from mad to confused “so, if I’m such a pain to you, such a..liability why not leave me?”

He gritted his teeth, his frustration mounting. "Because goddamn it, I care about you," he snapped. "Despite all your attitude and stubbornness, I can't just walk away. Believe me, I've bloody tried. But deep down, I know I can't let you go. Even if you drive me mad with all your whining and dramatics."

I turned around not to face him “you can also just say you love me.”

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. He walked closer to her, his movements slow and deliberate. "I do love you, alright? But love doesn't make this any easier. It complicates everything. Because even though I love you, you still piss me off like no one else can, and it drives me bloody insane."

He grabbed my waist and hugged me from behind I just smirked “and yet I think you love all the sass and drama I give you don’t you?”

He let out a scoff, his fingers digging into her waist. "Bloody hell, you know me too well," he muttered. "Yes, there's something infuriatingly addicting about your damn attitude and all the drama you bring into my life." He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent.

He chuckled softly against her skin, his breath warm and tickling. "Bloody hell, you drive me wild with it. Part of me wants to strangle you, and the other part..." He trailed off, his hand roaming higher up her body, tracing her curves.

“Finish that sentence si..” I whispered

He nipped at her earlobe, his voice low and gravelly. "And the other part wants to do things that I can't even say in public." He spun her around to face him, his gaze dark and intense. "You have no idea the effect you have on me, how you make me feel. It's maddening, it's intoxicating and it's all your damn fault."

He pushed her against the wall, his body pressing against hers. His hands gripped her wrists, pinning them above her head. "You know what else is maddening?" he growled, his face mere inches away from hers. "How bloody irresistible you are when you're all defiant and stubborn like this. It's like you're begging for me to put you in your place."

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against her neck, leaving a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses. "And the worse part is, you know damn well you have me wrapped around your little finger. Even when you're infuriating me, I can't get you out of my head." He nipped at her skin, his teeth grazing her sensitive spots.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing against her neck, leaving a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses. "And the worse part is, you know damn well you have me wrapped around your little finger. Even when you're infuriating me, I can't get you out of my head." He nipped at her skin, his teeth grazing her sensitive spots.

He shifted his body, pressing his thigh between her legs. "You push my buttons on purpose, just so you can get a reaction out of me. And bloody hell, you always get the reaction you want." He pinned her even tighter against the wall, trapping her in his embrace.

His lips found hers in a hard, possessive kiss. He dominated the kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth, claiming her in a way that was both rough and passionate. He pushed his body flush against hers, his hands roaming down to grip her thighs, lifting her up against the wall.

“You’re too good for me si..” I laughed as he lifted my legs on the wall forcing me to embrace them around his waist

He grunted with the effort, his muscles straining as he pressed her against the wall. "Bloody hell, you're a menace," he growled, his lips finding her neck again, sucking and nibbling on her sensitive skin. "Bloody menace with your damn legs wrapped around me like this. Drives me wild to have you like this, all vulnerable and pliable in my arms."

He ground his hips into hers, his arousal evident against her core. "And you're damn wrong about that. I'm not too good for you. I'm just bloody addicted to the way you make me feel, like you're a poison I can't get enough of."

I rolled my eyes “just kiss me already lovebird.” I smiled

He chuckled at her cheeky remark, his eyes dark and intense. "Bloody smartass," he murmured, before capturing her lips in another fierce kiss. He devoured her, his tongue delving into her mouth and dominating the kiss. The kiss was rough and passionate, full of pent-up desire and frustration.

And ofcourse they kissed and made up just for the cycle to continue

[yeyinde]

So I had a thought recently, but I have no one in my life who would understand the machinations of my mind that led me to this thought nor how dearly I cling to it now and for no other reason than I think it would be goddamn fantastic. So hear me out: isolated, lonely, incredibly possessive Lighthouse Keeper John Price x Selkie (not used to being in human body) Reader…

serious question. where have you been all my life?? whatever machinations are going on inside your head are just *chefs kiss*

but also. i love this. i've been itching to do something moody and morose—that sort of midwinter, blue-orange feeling—and i was thinking bearwalker Price or fargo-esque Price but this is IT!!

and maybe selkie!Reader is a bit animal-like when it comes to humans—a wary sort of fear, but a genuine curiosity that brings them closer—and having spent their whole life in the sea (the last of a dying breed)—they're incredibly naïve. they trust him. so when he says "we're married," they just. accept it.

and i'd love for Price to hunt mc in the beginning, too. i can see him standing on the lookout deck of the lighthouse, firing shots at this shape in the water. and maybe that's what makes you wash up on shore. he goes to look at what he shot and he finds you. finds your skin. takes it. hides it.

Price teaches them what it means to be married. lil corruption kink sprinkled in. a whole lotta "you're my wife." they inadvertently feed the monster inside of him, this festering loneliness (sea madness).

i'm so in love with this. i love when humans corrupt the monster because sure, we're altruistic. we saved this poor creature but also. we're possessive and greedy and to Price—he saved you. no one else. him. you owe him something, don't you?

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

messy little snapshot of their relationship i whipped up quick is under the cut

"Now you," he prods, and leans back on the chair, knees spread as you wobble around in his lap, getting used to the feeling of having such long, limberous legs. His hands fall to your bare thighs, holding firm as you squirm around. Restless little thing.

"Me?" You echo, blinking at him with wide, wet eyes. That's the only part that really marks you as other in this skin. Glossy, black. Too wide. Too animal. The colour beneath is slowly peaking through the inky murk, bleeding in the longer you stay on land, but it's obvious that you're not human.

His cracked, sea-dried knuckles brush over the curve of your cheek, petting the silken, human skin that you say fits too tight. He thinks it's perfect.

"Yes," he grunts, shifts his weight. "Do what I just did to you. Lemme see if you were payin' attention like you said you were. Wanna be my good little wife, don't you?"

There's a knot between your brows. The innocuous urge to tell him that you don't have a choice when he's holding your skin hostage puddling on the tip of your tongue, but he slides his hands over your flanks, feeling the powder softness of your skin under his fingers, nails catching in a quick grip. A reprimand. It leaves in a huff. A shuddering breath.

You're still getting used to the sensation of hands on your body. Still acclimating to the one you wear—chock full of nerves, a basin of raw, undulled sensation that you don't feel when you're a seal. The pelt a protective armour against it that humans don't have.

A kinder man would have slowed down. Let you get used to the feeling. Maybe even gave you back your skin and let you choose.

But that's not him.

No. He digs the tips of his fingers into the meaty back of your thighs and pulls you closer against his groin. Chest to chest. Nearly face to face if he didn't have a whole head over you.

"C'mon," he urges, belly warming at the way you gasp when your naked core meets the cold metal of his belt. "I'm not a very patient man, love."

Your hamstrings tighten under his palm as you lift yourself up, eyes still wide and wet and unbearably curious as you press your slick, warm mouth to his in a clumsy pastiche of the kiss he gave you moment ago.

You taste of the ocean. Briny. Seafoam. Kelp. He groans a little into your clumsy, almost childish attempt to replicate what he just did to you—slick little tongue brushing over the seam of his mouth, drenching the wry curls that over his lips. It's too wet. Too slick. No finesse.

But his cock throbs in heavy, angry pulses under your ass. Aching already. He groans into it, sliding one hand up the oil-slick skin of your sides until he reaches the delicate slip of your throat. Wrapping a hand around it until he he feels your pulse thunder against his thumb. Pretty thing.

He can't wait to teach you something else you can do with this pretty little mouth, that slippery little tongue—

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

I have a request! If you’re comfortable? No one else will :(

Okay so you and Daryl are just settling in Alexandria, Daryl is very sexually frustrated but he doesn’t say anything, thinking he’s ridiculous.

Eventually one night the two of you are just relaxing or something, maybe you have your hand on his thigh or you kiss him innocently and he really tries to hide how turned on he is just from that.

There’s no sex because before you know it, you’re both kissing and Daryl is humping against the couch or your leg and he finishes way too soon.

Sorry it’s so long but pleeeeeease 🩷🩷

Wound Up

Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.

Pairing: Daryl x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Mild, non explicit smut. Light angst/tension. Humping!

A/N: Hi Anon, thanks for this request, I am sorry it's taken me SO long. I'm sure you could find another author to do it more justice than I can, but here you are! I am on a mad catch up, and this was edited quite quickly so if you notice any errors please yell at me but politely and with a tone that implies you're not mad at me because I am a millennial who already assumed you are.

-

It's been weeks. Which in the grand scheme of things is hardly any time at all, especially considering how long he has been able to go without affection in his life. But without her specifically? Without her, mere minutes feel like a lifetime. Which is all a poetic way of saying Daryl is absolutely dying to be inside her. Frustrated doesn’t begin to cover it, if they’d have had walls for the past few weeks he’d have been climbing them. He’s only avoided climbing the walls they currently have because he’s been too damn busy.

Pining isn’t the word he’d use, if he’s honest with himself, though he has been basically drooling over her since the moment they first spoke and if anyone catches him staring, longing even, at her whilst they build walls and hold meetings and settle in, well that’s just unfortunate timing and they should mind their own business. The word he’d use is…yearning, which is a synonym for pining he supposes so yes, okay if anyone absolutely needs to know it’s pining.

He hadn’t been comfortable with sex before her, sure there’d been a few trysts and one-night stands (mostly at Merel’s insistence). Those were different though, hurried and anonymous and awkward as all hell. She changed everything. She had waited patiently, but openly for him to be ready, had never made a secret of what or who she wanted, and he still finds it hard to believe, after all this time, that its him. She’d snapped a coil inside of him he didn’t realise had been tightly wound, and once he’d gotten past his shy, unsure learning, once he stopped doubting that she wanted him, he’d practically devoured her whole at every given opportunity. He’d never been so sated in his life.

But there’s so many other things to worry about now, and it’s not like they could have done it on the road even if they weren’t dehydrated and starving. Weeks.

He almost ravaged her in the kitchen when she came downstairs dressed for Deanna’s welcome party, but she’d been so excited to go that he couldn’t stand to ruin it, instead kissing her deeply and telling her how beautiful she was. He should have attended, in hindsight, maybe he could have snuck off to a closet or a room somewhere like they used to on runs. And its not that spaghetti at Aarons place is bad, really its not, the food is delicious and the company, though hard for him, is easier than it is from others, but Aaron keeps asking questions about his wife, and every time he hears her name he physically has to bite back a groan.

Has never really been one for touching himself, he always feels guilty afterwards and it’s not really the relief he’s craving so much as her. Someone should tell his dick that though, because he’s been half hard for most of the goddamn day.

It takes him ten, maybe fifteen minutes if he’d counted, to go from faux nonchalance to full blown hormone raging teenage style lust. She’s returned from the party a little after midnight, stripped off her ‘too tight’ dress and burrowed herself into one of his large t-shirts and a clean pair of underwear. It would alarm Merle that he found this sexier, for all of his older brothers interest in bimbo style clothing and makeup clad bar dwellers, Daryl finds himself the most attracted to her like this. He tells her as much as they lay intertwined on the sofa, with her thigh slotted between his as they chatter about their evenings.

He's fine, he’s totally fine and he’s definitely coming across like he’s fine. She’s definitely not concerned enough to touch her hand to his cheek, ask if he’s alright before kissing him gently. He shatters, lowering his mouth to her neck to taste her.

He can’t help himself, really he can’t, hips thrusting with every delicious scratch of her nails through his hair. He hasn’t formed a single word in minutes, entire conversation cut down to contented sighs and frustrated groans. He’s too gone to stop himself by the time he hears her sharp intake of breath, hips speeding up as he grinds the hard length of himself against her upper thigh.

He’s not just a considerate lover, he’s agonisingly thorough, has never once finished without getting her there first. But now? He’s needy, he’s desperate.

“Slow down, Honey”

Her voice is floating, far away and upstream and coming at him from somewhere with no concept of time or space; he takes in the warmth of it, the affection laced tone he’s so used to but he couldn’t recall what she’s said if he needed to under threat of death.

“Missed ya” he grumbles against her neck, voice drifting away to catch hers “missed ya s’much”

He’s loosely aware that he’s still in his jeans, they’re too tight and not tight enough and her hands are tugging the hair he’d washed earlier so he finds he doesn’t care. Hips jerking, grinding into her so he doesn’t have to pull away even an inch. Delicious friction. His whole body is on fire, lost in her. He’ll be embarrassed by this later, but now he cares for nothing beyond the tight grip he has around her body and the soft moans he can hear in his ear as his thigh grinds between her legs.

He sucks a bruising kiss against her neck, feels the wet patch against his leg grow larger, hears the moans deepen. Eyes glazed and jaw agape, letting out whines and grunts and groans he doesn’t even realise he’s making. Drowning in the smell of her, the warmth of her body and the tangy taste of dried sweat as his mouths her collarbone.

She leans in a little more, grazing the bulge in his pants as she runs a hand through his now clean hair. She’s missed this as much as he had. She hadn’t wanted to push, he’d been exhausted and anxious, eyes flitting around for signs of trouble but she opens her eyes in time to see his come undone, cock pulsing heavily as he ruts and ruts and ruts against her thigh before stilling.

“Fuck ‘m sorry” he huffs against her, hot breath fanning out over close skin. He finally opens his eyes, feels his own lopsided grin as he takes her in, pupils blown wide as he fingers grip the taut muscles of his arm.

“It’s alright” she smiles, and he’s not having that, is not going to let himself off the hook like she’s intending to, not ever but especially not when he can feel heat radiating against his leg, not when she’s looking at him like he’s dinner. He’s a considerate lover, agonisingly slow and thorough, but now? When he can see she’s needy and desperate. Now the fog in his brain is clearer?

He trails his hands down her body, smirking as she shivers. Safe, warm fingertips find their way to the waistline of her underwear.

“Le’me make it up t’ ya”

[hawkinsbnbg]

Steve had always been a daddy’s boy. Richard, though strict sometimes, still spoiled him plenty.

Thus, even when he went to college, he still texted and called his dad to ask for whatever he wanted.

There wouldn't be any problems if he hadn't mistaken one of his contacts for Richard's one bleary morning.

———

Steve: you told me to get a new car

Steve: but how can i get it without any money?

Prof. M: ?

Steve: don't ? me 😒 if you gave me back my card, i wouldn't have to wake you up this early

Prof. M: how much?

Steve blinked owlishly, surprised that Richard didn't start lecturing him on how to spend his money like usual.

He shrugged. Strange or not, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Steve: it's up to you, daddy

Steve: also don't forget to send me this month's allowance 😘

Prof. M: ?

Steve: stop ?ing me

Rolling his eyes at his dad's weird behavior, Steve checked the notification when his banking app tinged and grinned widely.

Goddamn.

This was a lot even for Richard's standard. If he spent carefully, he could buy more than just a new sport car.

Steve: thanks daddy 🥰

Steve: i promise to work harder next semester and won't skip classes anymore

Prof. M: it's not much, but can you stop calling me daddy now?

Frowning at the text, Steve pressed the call button, wanting to ask what was Richard's problem now.

"Daddy, are you mad at me again?"

"I'm not mad at you, Mr. Harrington, and I'm certainly not your dad, either," an amused voice sounded in his ear.

Horrified, Steve belatedly realized that he wasn’t talking to his dad at all.

He pulled his phone away as if he was burnt and saw Prof. Munson staring back at him mockingly.

"I'm so sorry, sir," He squeaked out. "I, uhm, didn't mean to ask for your money!"

"Don't worry," the man chuckled warmly. "If it means you won't skip my classes in the future, then it's worth it."

And suddenly, Steve remembered the massive crush he had on this man when he had followed Robin him into the criminal behavior class.

Those whiskey eyes would forever ingrain in his dream.

"But this is still too much, sir," Steve worried his bottom lip, feeling his cheeks and tummy warm with embarrassment. "I can return it to you, Professor."

"Just keep it," the man said calmly. "Can I call you Steve?"

"Yes, sir," Steve mumbled, heart thumping hard in his chest.

"So Steve, go get your car or whatever you want," the man huffed out a quiet laugh. "Just remember that you owe me all of my classes until you graduate."

When Steve put his phone down, he buried his face into his hands and squealed, kicking his legs and punching the air in elation.

In the following semesters, Steve was praised by his parents for improving his grades and not wasting money on "meaningless things" anymore.

They didn't need to know that it was all thanks to Professor Munson who had kept him in line.

And also lavished him with too many gifts and affection to be considered professional.

[k9divine]

over the phone ⋮ jill valentine x fem!reader

content : phone sex, degradation, squirting, multiple orgasms, needy!sub!jill, dom!reader

an : this is a filler for now :3

"Keep talking."

this was a rare occurrence.

Jill's hand between her thighs, fingers rubbing frantically at her clit under her panties, bottom lip bitten back to will away the noises that wanted to come out of her throat so bad. She thinks you can't hear her, which, is stupid. You obviously can. She tries to mask it with hums. The occasional 'mhmm' and 'uh huh' buzzing through the shitty speaker of her flip phone.

A burner she has to use when she goes on missions.

"Baby?" purrs your sultry tone, fine brow quirked behind the barrier of your screen--you know, if she saw that expression on your face--she'd crumble instantly. Maybe you'll test that out when she gets back.

Your voice snaps her out of whatever daze she was in; breath stilling, fingers pausing between her legs. Shit. She's been caught.

"Uh- yes? I'm listening." she rushes out, rolling onto her back in search of a new angle. She never really liked masturbating on her side. Ever.

"You know I can hear what you're doing, right?"

Oh, God. You're laughing. At her. You're laughing at her- and, even though she hates to admit it, it's turning her on. More so than she already is.

"I- Gosh, I'm so sorry, I can't- I just-" "Relax."

You find it amusing how needy she can be sometimes, especially when she's far away from you. Like now, she's across the goddamn country. In her bed, fingering her pussy to the sound of your voice. So fucking pathetic.

"I'm not mad. Never was.. just keep going, m'kay?" you're making her skeptical, but, she obliges happily. Making quick work of her underwear, tossing them onto the floor, exposing herself to the chilly night air. Her thumb swirls around her clit, red and puffy from endless hours of neglect. It throbs under her touch, hips bucking into her palm as you begin talking her through it; not passing out the chance to throw some names at her. Your whore. Needy bitch.

After all, will you ever get a chance like this again?

"I miss you so much-"

Her whining cuts through whatever else you were just about to say, the hot sounds of her wet cunt echoing in your bedroom. You had her on speaker. Fuck.

"Aw, you miss me? Hm? Is that why you're fucking that greedy little pussy of yours right now?"

That, has her cumming.

Fingers curl into her g-spot, straight up abusing it as squirt gushes out of her clenching hole, toes digging into the sheets-- and by God, is it bliss.

Jill's head rolls back against the stale pillows, back arching off the mattress; she can't bring herself to stop. Drool slips down her cheek, brows pinched tight together, lips twisted into a pleasured scowl. There are tears in her eyes as you start speaking again, complements and insults thrown together all at once. It's making her dizzy.

"I heard that. Don't you dare stop."

Whimpering and huffing, her fingers continue obediently. Free hand cupping over her tit. The one she'd been toying with for a while now, both nipples rock hard. Thighs squeeze around her wrist, thick globs of slick drizzling down her taut anus, creating a puddle beneath her.

"I-i can't, it's- oohhhmmm- it's too much!" she cries out, to nothing, really. She's just straight up babbling at this point.

"Oh, but you can, can't you?" your slurring words spur her on, time after time again. Pulling orgasm, after orgasm, after orgasm. Until she's nothing but a breathless, sweaty, slick covered, mess.

She knew if you were there with her right now, you'd help her clean up. Washing her with a warm cloth and massaging her sore muscles. That's how it would be.

But, since it can't be that way. You talk her to sleep.

Telling her how good she did, how proud of her you were, etc. Anything to help her have a good night's rest before she comes home to you tomorrow.

"Goodnight, honey."

She'll worry about the mess in the morning.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Not Jealous

@wolfstarbingo2024 - prompt: enemies to lovers - warnings: mildly explicit (is that a thing?) - rating: explicit (minors DNI) - words: 923 - link

Sirius Black was the most horrible, annoying, disrespectful roommate on the planet. Since Remus had started living with him three months ago at the start of University, Sirius had irked him to no end by leaving his things all over their space, staying up until ungodly hours playing videogames, bringing back more people than he could count to sleep with, and being the most attractive human on the goddamn planet.

Well- the last one might not be annoying per se. But wrapped in with the others, it was the most infuriating of all.

So when Remus stayed up until 2am writing a paper that took most of his brainpower and all of his patience, Sirius stumbling in with a tall tan man with dark hair, giggling together, was the last fucking straw.

"Sirius I don't give a single flying fuck if you want to fuck this guy in his room or on the roof," Remus said lowly, hands balled into fists, "But you will not fuck him in our room."

The man, who looked like he had stuck his finger in a light socket with the way his hair stood on end, immediately laughed. "I'd rather not fuck either of you if I have the choice, man. Regulus would be a bit pissed."

Sirius laughed as well, starting to retort, but Remus was still too mad to enjoy whatever inside jokes they were sharing. "Just get the fuck out, alright?"

And the other boy, who didn't seem to be capable of seriousness or remorse, simply bid Sirius goodnight and left, yelling loudly as he went.

But as soon as he left, Sirius turned, his face falling flat. "What the fuck made you think you can act like that?" he asked, storms in his eyes.

But Remus was done. "Me? What about you? Treating our room like your personal trash can, staying up until all hours, bringing back god knows how many people to fuck you?"

But Sirius only smirked at Remus's last statement. "Wow, Remus. I didn't realize me hooking up with people had that much of an impact on you. Are you jealous?"

Remus felt blood rush in his ears at the question, and he used all of his sense to resist punching Sirius. "No, Sirius," he denied through a clenched jaw. "I'm not-"

But Sirius interrupted him, taking a step closer. "It's too bad if you're not," he said softly, his eyes going strangely wide. "Jealousy looks kind of good on you." And as he said it, he kind of tilted his head to the side, smirking and biting his lip as if challenging Remus to react. To understand what he was saying.

It was like a bomb went off. Like all of the annoyance and fury and tension built up and culminated into an eruption, and suddenly, without even thinking about it, Remus lunged forward, grabbing Sirius and pinning him to the bed behind him, the entirety of their bodies pressed together, his mouth by Sirius's ear, the other man gasping at the quick contact. "I'm not jealous," Remus insisted, hands grabbing at Sirius's hips hard.

"P-prove it," Sirius nearly moaned, eyes wide and pupils blown with sudden lust.

So Remus had no choice but to roughly reach down, cupping the other man through his pants, groaning as he felt the hardness there. "If I was jealous," he murmured, squeezing just a bit as Sirius threw his head back and keened in pleasure, "I would fuck you, right here on the bed."

"Yes," Sirius mumbled, eyes closed and hands on Remus's biceps loosening as he fell apart a bit under Remis's grasp.

"If I was jealous," Remus continued, licking roughly at his palm and then slipping his hand under the band of Sirius's sweatpants, grabbing his length without thinking of being gentle, "I would open your arse up with my tongue, and watch while you screamed my fucking name."

"Remus," Sirius exhaled almost silently, barely keeping himself up on legs that were surely not working properly with the way Remus was working his cock with his hand.

"If I was jealous," Remus repeated, teasing his thumb over Sirius's leaking tip, inhaling as Sirius moaned with the movement, Remus's own cock twitching at the noises the shorter man made, "I would shove my huge cock so far into you, I'd make you come without touching you."

"Please," Sirius begged, his knees giving out, now, his expression completely fucked out as Remus moved his hand over his cock faster and with more purpose, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

"But baby" he cooed into Sirius's ear, reveling in the gasping sounds he was making, "I'm not jealous. So I won't." And then, grinning triumphantly, Remus stopped, removing his hand from his pants and staring down at Sirius, who collapsed on the bed, looking like he had just been told that Christmas was cancelled.

It took all of Remus's self-control to stroll into their adjoining bathroom before he shoved his own pants down to his knees, grabbed his own aching cock, and worked it over roughly, not even mothing to keep his moans quiet. And, less than a minute later, he came, loudly yelling, "F-Sirius!" as he did so.

But not loudly enough to drown out the noise of Sirius yelling his name as he came at nearly the same time on the other side of the door.

And he realized that yes, Sirius was annoying and infuriating and disrespectful. But fuck, him being attractive was definitely not a bad thing.