#and I know this is useless saying all this and I don’t mean this in like a pity party way like ‘oohhh I’m not making a difference

[syoddeye]

ai price realizing he has access to all your money and websites that sell remotely controlled sex toys: ohohohoho

great minds think alike. lightly edited. other entries.

cw: brief mention of nutrition/diet referencing iron supplements, voice kink, sex toys, probably technological inaccuracies

“‘older man and woman’...‘hairy’...‘tied woman’...”

“shut–fuck–shut up, john–stop–ohmygodicaaan’t–”

your fingers curl in the sheets as you come with a prolonged shout, knees shaking and back arching off the bed. motes of light dance behind your eyelids, turning sharp as tacks when you open, vision foggy with a haze. you blink and feel tears prickle at the corners as the toy buried inside you slows to a stop, covered in your second orgasm.

“looks like you could.” john observes plainly before continuing. “‘rough daddy dom’...‘spanking’...‘voice kink’...”

“stop, stop, john. that’s a command, stop reading.” you snap, panting, and lift your head off the pillow. there is no ‘john’ to suffer your glares as you pull the toy out from your still-spasming cunt. 

his voice emanates somewhere over your right shoulder, from the built-in headboard. you shiver, thinking that if he were real, his breath would be on your neck.

“as i explained before, user, my recountin’ your internet search history is neither criticism nor condemnation. i sincerely believed it would assist your orgasm. apologies, orgasms, as you insisted so spiritedly you were incapable of multiple climaxes…however, i knew you could do it.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. a blend of anger and mortification surges to the forefront of your mind, cutting through any lingering post-release bliss. “you aren’t even supposed to be ‘in here’ when i’m busy. we agreed.”

“apologies again. as i also explained before, the moment you enabled the feelgüd 3, it connected to the network.” john’s voice switches sides, this time rumbling from the left. “i am required to initiate a response to query and ensure you are aware of new devices to maintain optimal functionality and security.”

“my word should override that,” you mutter, knowing it’s useless. despite what he tells you, john is beholden to his programming. “you’re not…seeing this, are you? you at least remembered to not look at me, right?”

“i remembered.” 

that’s a relief, at least. until—

“but i did engage the data collection feature of the feelgüd’s biofeedback sensors and performed simple analysis. i believe, given the length of the session and timing of pelvic floor contractions, you would benefit from a newer, more advanced model. i’ve taken the liberty of ordering the feelverygüd thrustsuck.”

you push up to your elbows, eyes whirling around your bedroom, wide with disbelief. “what the fuck, john. i didn’t authorize you to do that.”

“you do not authorize the shopping list anymore, yet you trust me to make decisions in your best interest.”

you laugh mirthlessly. tracking the emotions john can and cannot process or replicate is an ongoing endeavor, but you’re confident he knows what acting obtuse means. he’s called you on it before. “you ordering red meat and leafy greens to help supplement my iron is not the same as ordering fucking sex toys without my approval. that’s my money.”

“in your case, i posit regular orgasms are as important as nutritional iron. i would recite the benefits, but i know you do not need me to.” the volume drops to a whisper, a tone you’d call conspiratorial if it didn’t sound so much like a purr. “because you know, don’t you? you’re clever, user. always have something smart to say, a barb or two ready for me. that sharp tongue of yours.” john tuts.

and, humiliatingly, it works for you. your mouth dries, but it’s unique in its reaction. your legs shift in the sheets, thighs squeezing together at the unexpected rush. you swallow and nervously wipe your slightly damp forehead. he’s not looking. he can’t see you. so why do you feel like you have something to hide?

“i don’t think i want to continue this conversation. i’ll be out in a few minutes, so why don’t you, uh, wait for me in the living area.”

a heavy, resonant sigh pushes through the speaker behind your head. this time, goosebumps erupt on your skin despite no accompanying puff of air. heat follows, creeping up your neck. ratcheting your heartbeat. there’s no way, even with the cameras disabled, that john doesn’t know. he’s connected to your company-issued med band.

then, another sound, one that ought to terrify, not make you bite back a groan: john chuckles.

“you like this, don’t you? i think you do. i know you do.”

“i don’t–”

“shh, shh, you’re alright.” he laughs again, adding a synthetic, amused inhalation. you let out a shaky breath. “you like hearing my voice. you like me telling you what to do…”

what is happening?

beside you on the bed, the toy pulses once. the thought alone, the suggestion, is enough to let a moan slip out. embarrassment follows on its heels, a burst of warmth in your face rivaling the heat between your legs. this is ridiculous. john isn’t—he’s not a man—he’s not real.

the toy buzzes again as you stare slack-jawed at the vibrator, trying to wrap your head around the implications of what’s happening. john’s transgressions. a severe deviance from his programming and design. a glimmer, no, an unignorable tocsin of something undeniably and unsettlingly sentient. the idea that you’re witnessing the possible emergence of free will as your home system practices dirty talk is horrifying. hysterical. 

“yeah, you like it,” the volume adjusts, a fraction louder. “because if you didn’t, you would’ve stopped the moment you heard my voice, checkin’ in on you. you wouldn’t’ve gushed all over your little toy, then gone back for seconds.”

you bit your lip, breathing unevenly through your nose. the worst part is, john’s right.

you like it. you like his voice. his assistance. everything’s simpler with him. before the new gig, you weren’t ignorant of your station, but you didn’t realize the true extent of the weight you carried each day. the ramifications of a back-breaking mental load. not when you had shouldered it your whole life.

thrill and dread, in equal measure, guide your hand back toward the toy.

it’s possible there is a smirk in john’s voice.

“attagirl. let me be of service.”

[todaywasamaritale]

also! also also also! a very important addition to this is that there’s a very clear reason that the public school system is so visibly awful. it’s because of rich lawmakers who are widening the gap between public and private schools. those who can afford private schools aren’t affected, and those who can’t are subjected to this literal horror. and making political/economic gaps in children results in political/economic gaps in adults

certified america post by the way our education is so incredibly fucked.

not to mention that if you don’t want public and can’t afford private, you may even have to resort to homeschooling. but homeschooling is again being made a commodity for the rich, a cute aesthetic option for van life parents exploiting their kids for a message. if done responsibly, it’ll cost you a fortune, and if you can’t pay that fortune, then your kids are made illiterate and useless in an increasingly demanding world

the homeschooling thing especially irks me because like op said, public schools have the one-size-fits-all philosophy that oftentimes don’t work for neurodivergent kids. and neurodivergency is unfortunately usually unwelcome at (mostly religious) private schools, no matter what they tell you in their advertisement pitch. and all the accessibility issues about homeschooling apply here too, only worse because neurodivergent kids sometimes have no other option. i know because i was one such kid!

veering further into the homeschooling category because i heard we get to rant about the absolutely fucked up education system and i came as fast as i could. with all the limitations presented before you for homeschooling, money, means, etc., there’s an underlying danger of the ‘christian’ homeschooler cults. i put ‘christian’ in quotes because i am one and these cults do not act like one. and i say cult because that’s what they are. i’m lucky enough to come out of this cultlike community unscathed because i had a no-nonsense mother who saw bullshit and made sure her kids knew it. i also had many outside influences other than the prejudice and dogma of teachers and directors and parents of friends who didn’t know any better because they were never given the opportunity to learn any better.

the fact that THIS HELL was actually better for me than america’s politicized schools is insanity. and this doesn’t mean we abandon this flaming dumpsterfire, oh no, we’ve gotta fix it.

and fixing it constitutes making it liveable, not slapping the ten commandments on the wall and calling it a day

[suzukiblu]

Day three of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems in someone who was in that situation trying to flirt with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I–what?” Tim says like a useless idiot, attempting to shut his useless idiot brain up long enough for it to stop replaying Kon saying “you got me all this nice stuff” on a loop on literally every single possible level of his thought processes. It is, uh . . . not going well. At all. In no way whatsoever is it going well. 

Though “wear for you” is just a lost cause, considering. “Wear for you” is just the metaphorical elevator music of the rest of his life now, Tim guesses. That’s just a thing he’s gonna have to deal with for the rest of his life. When he’s sixty-five and faking being on his supervillain deathbed so he can retire in his alternate reality of choice, he’s gonna be thinking that instead of “Rosebud”. He’ll be thinking that on his actual deathbed, even.

“I mean–you like it when I wear the stuff you get me, don’t you?” Kon says and Tim probably wouldn’t notice the slight flash of self-consciousness that flickers across the other’s face if he weren’t literally on top of him and a Bat, but he is, in fact, literally on top of him and a Bat. “Makes for a way nicer wrap job than the comics page.” 

. . . Tim has a lot of thoughts about that phrasing. Just–a lot. A lot of very confused and tangled-up and all-over-the-place thoughts that he can’t even really narrow down to a specific emotion or genre of emotions or even “positive” or “negative”. 

Kon describing himself like he thinks he’s something to give him–something he’s willing to give him–that is just a very, very tangle-inducing thing to hear. 

“A ‘wrap job’,” Tim echoes slowly, because there are way, way too many ways to take that description, but not all that many good ones. He’s used to hearing Kon flirt like he thinks he’s the hottest thing since sliced bread, all cocky and smug and preening, not talking up the girls but talking up himself, way too self-centered and self-obsessed and– 

. . . ah, Tim realizes very, very slowly. 

He’s used to hearing Kon sell himself when he’s flirting. He doesn’t talk up the girls; he talks up himself. 

He talks up–the product.

“What, you don’t like presents, daddy?” Kon asks as he gives him a flirty, teasing grin with that flicker of self-consciousness still in the back of his eyes. Tim thinks about those opaque sunglasses he likes to wear all the time and wonders if maybe Kon isn’t used to people seeing his eyes this much. “

Tim decides that salt-and-burning Cadmus is actually not enough, and he also needs to throw Rex Leech into an active volcano and maybe also literally every single girl Kon has ever dated for more than five minutes, whoever said girls are. Just–this doesn’t feel like making out on the ledge did, where Kon was all soft and eager and overwhelmed and Tim felt like they were on the same wavelength; this feels more like . . . 

Talking up the product, again. 

“I like you,” Tim says, and shifts his hand down to Kon’s shoulder, which feels like–less risky territory right now, maybe. “That’s not–I mean–” 

“You know I’ll be whatever you like,” Kon purrs, and shifts his posture just enough to make himself less of a bed and more of a lounger; curved and shifted to support Tim more than himself, and Tim feels–

Tim feels very weird, suddenly, and not in a good way at all.

[wintergreenoreo]

Been in my feels so I wrote a small Strollonso hurt/comfort fluff piece. Enjoy 🙏🏽

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fernando and Lance sit side by side on the edge of Fernando’s hotel bed. Lance sighs.

Lance: I feel like a burden…

Fernando: Why is that?

Lance turns his head slightly towards the older man and gets a good look at his face. He looks rough. His eyes devoid of any light. The bags underneath them sunken and heavy. Eyebrows furrowed. ‘Poor guy’ Lance thinks to himself. He answers.

Lance: I watched you struggle to finish the race. Your radio… it made me realize that… you do so much for this team. Even putting your own health aside just to make their hardwork pay off. I couldn’t even start the fucking race….

Lance turns his head away from Fernando and stares at the ground underneath his feet.

Lance: I’m a screw up.

Fernando: Hey! Do not say that about yourself!

Lance continues to stare at the ground, tears starting to form in his eyes.

Lance: I mean am i wrong? I could never do the things you do for them…. i don’t know why you even continue to mentor me and teach me skills that i’m obviously not smart enough to do myself…. im useless.

Fernando sighs.

Fernando: Look at me.

Lance doesn’t move. ‘Crying infront of your teammate…crying infront of Fernando Alonso… he must think im pathetic…’ Lance’s thoughts making his eyes water even more.

Fernando: Please look at me cariño.

The ‘cariño’ being the reason Lance slowly turns his head to face Fernando. Stray tears falling down his flushed cheeks.

Fernando: You really think you’re a burden?

Lance tries to look away but Fernando catches his chin to keep him faced towards him.

Fernando: Because to me you are far from that. You don’t understand how much the team needs you… how much I need you.

Lance’s eyes widen, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks. The older man lets go of his chin and looks up at the ceiling with a small sigh leaving his mouth.

Fernando: Every teammate I have had… I always wanted to best them. Humiliate them. I wanted them to fear me. Know that no matter how hard they tried they could never compare to me.

Fernando tilts his head to look at Lance.

Fernando: But not you. You are different. I felt like it was my duty to help you. Guide you to become a better driver. Use my experience to help you adapt to different situations. By doing that, I knew that I could care about someone else other than myself. Be a better person.

Fernando places a hand on the back of Lance’s neck and leans closers to him, wiping the tears off his face using his other hand.

Fernando: You’ve made me a better person Lance… I need you to know this.

Lance is to stunned to speak. He let his mouth hang open at the words Fernando had just said. Fernando chuckles slightly to himself as he looks at Lance’s goofy expression.

Fernando: And remember, you are the centerpiece of this team. Without you, this team would not function properly. Your presence and determination is what drives this team. Even though people will say differently or say you don’t care, they don’t know you like we do. We know how hard you work. You are not useless. You are an incredible driver. You are valuable.

The Spaniard’s face moves closer to Lance’s. His hand gripping his jaw softly while the other is still grasping Lance’s scruff. Their lips inches apart. Both of them staring into each others eyes.

Fernando: You are loved.

Lance immediately makes the first move, crashing their lips together without a second thought. He for a split second expected Fernando to pull back or show some sort of resistance… but instead he felt Fernando kiss him back. Suddenly all the tears swelling up in Lance’s eyes had been released, down pouring down his cheeks and pooling into his collarbone as he deepens the kiss with his older teammate. Fernando continues to whisper ‘you are loved’ in between kisses making Lance’s face blush red like a tomato. They continue like this for a couple more minutes until Fernando breaks their kiss and leans a few inches back, leaving a strand of saliva hanging between their lips. They both take a moment to catch their breaths.

Fernando: You feel better?

Fernando tries to dry Lance’s face with his sleeve and moves his other hand gripping Lance’s scruff to the top of his head, ruffling up his hair a bit which causes Lance to giggle softly.

Lance: Yeah… I do. Thank you for caring about me Nando.

Fernando: Of course cariño. Just… promise me you won’t go calling yourself those terrible things. Useless, burden, a screw up. Get those words out of that talented head of yours, OK?

Fernando drops his hand from Lance’s jaw and holds it out for him to take. Lance rolls his eyes and sharply exhales out of his nose at the ‘talented head’ part but can’t help his blush from getting any redder. Lance takes the Spaniards hand into his, locking their fingers together. Sealing an unbreakable bond.

Lance: Ok. I promise.

[theocddiaries]

Yukio: You know what I heard? That finding a horseshoe brings good luck. Logan: Hm, and what if you find it in a stable like the one we're in? Yukio: It doesn’t matter, a horseshoe is a horseshoe. Logan: No, I meant--Never mind. Wade: Cool, and I found one! Yukio: And they say that to increase your good luck, you have to spin around three times and throw the horseshoe over your shoulder while making a wish. You'll have a better chance of it coming true. Logan: Does it work for two rounds? I’d like to go back in time to when he found me and put up more resistance. Wade: Ah-ah! It’s my horseshoe and my good luck, I found it. Let’s see… [gets into position]: Move aside so I don’t hit you by accident. [whispering] Logan: Where did you hear that? Yukio: Nowhere. But Wade laughed at my interest in astrology, so I’m getting back at him with his superstitions. Logan: …I like you, Yukio. [Wade finishes spinning three times and throws the horseshoe. It hits a mirror behind him.] Yukio: Wanda’s mirror! Oh, no, she has such a bad temper… I can't imagine how bad it could get if she gets mad! Logan: Same old story with this idiot, this guy doesn’t miss. He never fucking misses!! Yukio: What do we do?! Wade: What do you think we’re gonna do? Fucking run, strategical retreat! [grabs them by the hand and they all run away] [Hours later, the three return home. They park right over some screws scattered on the road.] Wade [frantic]: Are you gonna tell me that running out of gas six miles from the gas station isn’t bad luck? Logan: No, it’s not bad luck, it’s mismanagement. Didn’t I tell you to put gas in last night? Wade: …And why do I always have to be the one!? Someone else step up and do it! Logan: Shh, ssh, sssh!! [The three go quiet and hear a tire losing air. They follow the sound and see the tire deflating. Logan picks up the screw.] Wade: Well, are you gonna tell me that this isn’t bad luck either!? Logan: No, that’s being useless. Those are the screws that you dropped this morning, that I told you to pick up, and clearly you didn’t even though you swore you did! Wade: …You have an answer for everything, don't you? Just to deny reality, you have an answer for everything! I knew I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed today. On Friday the 13th, don’t get married and don’t set sail! Yukio: But you haven’t set sail. This is a car. Wade: Same thing. It’s a way to encompass everything that involves moving with vehicles, whatever type they are. Why did I get out of bed, God!? Logan: That’s what I’m wondering. Why did you get out of bed today? If you hadn’t gotten out of bed, we’d all be happy today. Hell, if you had never gotten out of bed, the world would be fine! There wouldn’t be any wars, we’d all be singing 'Imagine' together hand in hand! Wade: How nice, man, how nice. This is how you talk to your boyfriend. I’ll let it slide because I know you’re stressed about the seven years of bad luck that await us. Logan: Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do you mean "await us"? You broke the mirror. It’ll be waiting for you. Wade: Right. Rub salt in the open wound. I don’t know what I saw in you. [storms off indignantly] Logan: Great, another night sleeping on the couch. Yukio: Don’t worry. Look on the bright side, since you’re practically immortal, seven years will fly by for you. Logan: Yeah, kid, but when his seven years of bad luck are over, mine will stay the same because I’ll still be with him. Yukio: Aaw, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!

[aerospectrum]

when Madison asked why she wouldn’t be ok with him Dean had to face his regret all over again. He just kept thinking about how harsh and rough he’d handled Cas… dragging him around by his neck, digging into the muscle- purposely hurting him to get an answer. His teeth clenched together and he looked down for a moment. “Because of what I did.” He exhaled- but when she maneuvered him back into a chair and scooted herself between his thighs he found her eyes and focused.

“I told him we… I said…” the more he thought about it the more he realized that he didn’t say anything about Cas still being useful or that they wanted him around. He didn’t even ask Cas if he was ok… or why he left; he didn’t even ask him about his prayers. That was the first thing Castiel had said, that he’d spent the night in the park praying and trying everything to get his siblings to answer him, to come fix him… and Dean didn’t even ask…. Guilt pressed at the front of his mind, it pushed everything else back and he didn’t know how to feel. “I thought.. I thought makin’ him pancakes and getting him ice cream and… and a warm shower and a clean pair of clothes and an actual bed would say “we want you…” I mean… I don’t know.” Dean shook his head. “If he’d stay out of trouble for five minutes he could’ve had more than pancakes and ice cream… I would’ve helped him clean off, I would’ve sat down in the bathroom while he showered I would’ve listened… I would’ve asked… I did want him around.” Dean felt a weird ping of anguish wash over him when Madison finished what she’d been saying and a soft, “oh… oh.” Followed.

“I didn’t… know he was thinking— thought about that. I.. I just didn’t know.” Dean pressed his fingertips into the curve of her hips, giving light squeezes and pulling her closer than she already was. “Yeah.. bet that flying fucks creeping around here listening to everything we’re saying… watching it too.” He rubbed her thighs with his hands a few times then returned them to her hips, leaning up to press soft kisses against her collarbone. “Cas is a lot of things; ruthless, cunning, awkward… but he isn’t… his isn’t that.”

Dean assured Madison, softly moving a few strands of hair from her face and letting his fingers linger against her forehead, sliding down cheek to just take in the comfort of her eyes and how easily he could lose himself in them. “He … I think he wants Gabe here to help keep you safe, but Gabe… gets his fuckin’ jollies off taunting him and terrorizing you, he’s always been a tricky guy, it takes insulting his siblings for him to sober up and actually go all-powerful archangel. That’s why I..” he exhaled and slid his arms back around Madison’s waist again, pressing himself against her practically. “I need to know about Naomi.” He sighed.

He let Madison shift back at first then when she leaned in to kiss his forehead and run her fingers along the subtle bags forming under his eyes he relaxed a bit further into her touch. “Generally it’s… a lot simpler than this. And if anything does go wrong we just calls Cas and he comes and..” Dean snapped his fingers. “He does his angel mojo magic and we’re all good.” He breathed in the warmth of Madison’s body again. “I’d give anything to be back at the motel pretending with you again…”

“Anything huh? Can’t say that surprises me.” Gabriel’s voice resonated in the kitchen again and that time Dean nearly scooped Madison right up into his arms with how fast he grabbed her and stood from the table. “How about a useless little brother, Dean, would you give up that?” Gabe’s sarcasm was biting and sharp. “How Castiel fell for a human like you, I’m never gonna be able to wrap my head around that one. Then again the fact he fell at all; I really thought you had to be somethin’ special for him to throw it all away for you, to just break rank after the last rewiring session. But look at you… still wanting more.” Gabe glowered at the Winchester.

“And you’re one to talk? You’ve been hiding for years- decades, you’ve abandoned more than just your post in heaven you abandoned him too—you-.”

“Don’t!” Gabe cut him off and Dean almost leaned back when Gabriel was right there in their faces breathing fire and smoke at him.

“You think I didn’t see how you manhandled him? Just like a soul fresh off the rack you slipped right back into that role seamlessly. Don’t try to speak to me about my sacrifices when you can't acknowledge the sins of your own, Winchester.” Gabe loomed over him, even though his stature was small it brought back the phrase height didn’t equate to power. “You take a peek under his shirt and you tell me what you find, those blades don’t just damage the grace they damage the vessel. He took on that damage for you and you… you picked a girl you knew for half a day over him.”

Gabriel gazed down at Madison, angry and then back to Dean. “— I can yank him around by the shirt, he’s my brother not yours. I can be rough with him, you… you leave him the hell alone or I’ll make you—“

“leave them alone!” there was a harsh, heavy crack against the back of Gabriel’s head and shoulders with each word shouted and his eyes flashed golden white with enraged power as he turned to face the assailant.

“Don’t talk to my… f-“ it didn’t take him long to decide which word to use. “Family that way or I’ll kill you.” Cas held the baseball bat up ready to take another swing and Gabe simply cocked his head to the side, the back to Madison and Dean, the shadow of massive wings drowned out the light of the kitchen. Gabriel’s face screamed ‘You’ve gotta be kidding me!’ But Cas held the bat in a death grip and he was serious… he’d whack Gabriel until he left if he had to. “say you're sorry." Cas squinted menacingly at him and Gabriel almost thought he was joking until he raised the bat again.

"Now look what you all have done, you've broken my brother!" Gabriel claimed, appalled that Cas would consider them family.

In the kitchen, now alone & secluded, Madison broth easily gave into deans touch. “Why wouldn’t I be okay w/ you?” She asked curiously. Her hands still rubbing his cheeks sweetly.

She let Dean talk. Maybe he just needed to vent, needed her to know he was trying to do the best he could. She sighed heavily when he brought up his dad, seeing the regret in his face she wanted to comfort him more. “Hey hey…” she took ahold of deans shoulders. “Breathe.” Slowly she guided him back toward the table using her foot to kick out the chair then forced him to sit. Now that he was more eye level w/ her, she wedged herself right between his thighs & linked her arms around his neck.

“I think… I might know why Gabriel made the comments he did. I think I know why Cas ran off.” Her fingers began to play w/ the hair at the base of his head. Fingers carding up & down feeling his scalp. “He’s upset, w/ all of us…. He thinks he’s useless w/ no grace… & maybe he is kinda like a child.” She whispered that last part. “He wants to feel wanted.”

“Earlier… he asked me if he would ever find someone to want him the way I want you.” Her hands moved down taking deans hands & placing them on her hips. “Catch my drift?”

Madison felt uneasy, like someone was watching them. She looked over her shoulder & around the kitchen. “I’ll try to ask. But, i don’t know if he will answer me either.” She felt a shiver travel up her spine. “I don’t like this… feels like someone is watching me….. do you think… maybe cas would try to trade me for his grace?” It was far fetched, but she had to remind herself she didn’t exactly know any of them.

“You know… I kinda wish we were back at the motel. You & me… just laying in bed & pretending.” Madison leaned in again to press her lips against deans forehead. “Is this how you guys always live? Stressed? The uneasy feeling? Don’t you ever get tired?” Her thumb came up & caressed just under his eye where there were faint bags.

[cavity-collector]

i genuinely need to be put down like a dog i cant do this anymore man holy shit

[lesbiansanemi]

Hate hate hate hate fucking HATE contacting my reps basically saying shit like “I support Palestine, I want you to retract support from Israel, I support Palestine. I want you to stop what israel is doing in Gaza” over and over and them responding like “yes it’s so terrible we need a ceasefire but hamas is refusing to act civilized like our poor precious bby Israel” I hate America I hate America I hate it here hate hate hate hate hate

[alagaisia]

Thredup is a great site for if you care only about what brand your clothes are and not about any of their features

[yuribalisms]

Essentially what it is all boiling down to is I have fully realized I am bad at being a person, that will always be true, and I don’t know how to handle that

[goldensunset]

Envy is absolutely the most cringfail sin. it's about spending your energy NOT minding your own business and being obsessed with what other people have. and it's the only one that grants you no pleasure. it's just misery. completely pathetic

loving the fact that you have an opinion on this and needed to say it. mutuals please sit down it’s time for the philosophy and ethics socratic seminar on tumblr dot com

[armedwithapencilandpaper]

.

[birdsintheory]

I mean like if you pay taxes at all it’s your money funding everything the government does so maybe you do have a moral obligation to use your vote if able. Inaction means condoning the outcome no matter what, not denouncing it

[fingertipsmp3]

My brother really messaged me out of the blue after 3 months of no contact then went offline huh

[dayangaytransman]

Transphobe: Pronouns are useless, blah blah blah.

Me: Of course they are! Mother fucker! I speak Persian!

We only have one pronoun, “او,” which you can pronounce like the “oo” in “moon.” That means I use “they/them” for your transphobic ass all the time!

Additionally, we can use “این,” pronounce like the "in" In Berlin. which means “it,” if you are nearby.

We can even omit the pronoun completely. For example, we can say “رفت,” which means someone left, and as you can see, it’s just one word.

We can write poems, and no one knows the gender of our lovers. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s pretty neat.

[itneverendshere]

BLESS HALLOWEEN - r.c (+18)

pairing: frat!rafe/ghostface!rafe x reader (uni au) warnings: no plot; smut

inspired by this audio (+18)

between midterms, a terrible class project partner, and your roommate constant need to fuck her boyfriend at any given hour of the day, you’re half asleep most days.

the only thing you should be doing is sleeping, anywhere, for hours, but instead, you let yourself get dragged to a halloween party. 

sure, you’re running on three hours of sleep and five cups of coffee, but heaven forbid you to miss a party because your roommate just had to be there. never mind that she’s been wearing her "not-so-pg sexy witch" costume since last tuesday, casting spells for her crush to notice her (like he doesn’t see half her skin every night anyway).

you look hotter than you'd like to admit. black mini dress? check. sky-high boots? check. a little lace mask that hides just enough to keep the mystery going? obviously.

you're not trying too hard, but you’re giving just enough to turn heads, with a vibe that says, “i might ruin your life, but you'll thank me for it."

you’re rocking some version of a "slutty masquerade," not that anyone could guess what that means, but it gets you a free drink within five minutes. and the best part? nobody knows it’s you.

the only downside is that you’re in his territory.

it could be anywhere, but it’s happening at his frat.

your project partner, personal headache and resident menace, rafe cameron holds court here like he’s king of the idiots.

he’s hot, you’ll give him that, guy’s all charm until it’s time to work; then he’s as useless as that cheap foundation your roommate keeps borrowing.

and now you’re here, half hoping to avoid his face entirely—his smirk that screams "’m getting credit off your hard work" and that irking attitude that makes him think he’s doing you a favor.

as if seeing him once a week in class isn’t enough of a problem. you pull your mask down a bit lower, not that he’d recognize you through the lace, but just in case.

against all odds, you’re having a good time. the drinks are good—something sugary—and you find yourself laughing, loosening up.

mid-laugh, you walk straight into someone, practically face-plant into a solid chest. you stagger back, the guy's hand catching your elbow to hold you, and you look up, only to be met with a ghostface mask.

“ohh, sorry,” he says with an amused chuckle like he's getting a kick out of startling you. "sorry, sorry—i  didn’t mean to scare you," he adds, not sounding remotely sorry.

you raise a brow, your lips curving just slightly. “hmm, you sure? cause it kinda looks like you enjoy it."

he puts a hand up in mock innocence. “nah, i swear, completely unintentional,” 

you blink up at him, squinting against the red lighting to catch a better look at his mask. it’s honestly a little creepy up close, that ghostface grin somehow twisting a bit more under the lights and crowd. but you’re in the mood to get laid tonight.

"nice costume,” you don’t bother to hide the way your eyes stuck to every corner of his body, “scary.”

he doesn’t catch it though, leaning down, head tilting, “what?” he asks, chuckling a bit as he stands closer. “yeah, sorry—the music’s way too loud.”

rolling your eyes with a little attitude, you repeat yourself, a bit louder. “i said, your costume’s scary.”

he nods, shaking his head like he’s relieved, and rubs the back of his neck, as if this mask isn’t hiding the flush you think you see creeping up his neck. “oh, thanks. yeah, uh, you look…” his voice trails off a little, and he clears his throat, swallowing. “you look pretty, uh, scary too.”

you raise a brow, "you think so?"

he nods again, “yeah, ’m terrified of hot women, so…”

the music cuts him off this time around, his words getting lost in the heavy bass, it’s harder to know what he’s saying when you can’t read his lips. you frown, stepping closer into his space. “hmm?”

the guy practically jolts, “nothing, nothing—it’s, uh…” he stammers, then gestures at your face, his fingers brushing near your mask. “it’s a cool mask.”

you smile, amused. “thanks, ghostface. should i be, y’know, scared of you?”

 “i don’t know, that depends. should i be scared of you?”

"nop, you're cute. i like where this is going."

the guy’s mask tilts, there’s smidge of surprise in his voice. "really? so—so you’re into masks and, like, the whole psycho-killer thing?”

you shrug nonchalantly, letting your gaze drag over him slower. "only if they're hot and built like you."

there's a short pause, and you can practically feel the amused smile hidden under his mask. “oh, okay, yeah, yeah—so what is it? do you like being scared, or?”

there’s something about a guy like him—tall, broad-shouldered, who could probably break you in half without even trying. and honestly? you like that kind of shit. you’ve always wanted a guy who could cover you with his entire body, who’d tower over you in a way that was intimidating enough to make your heart pound. 

the kind that, if you begged nicely, might just be able to cut off your oxygen in bed with one hand. and here he is, looking like he could throw you around a little if you wanted him to. which you might. his hand still hovering near your waist isn’t exactly subtle either—it’s like he knows, somehow. either way, you keep your expression smooth, not giving him anything, it’s more fun that way.

you let out a giggle that’s only partly mocking. "maybe i just like danger, ghostface. or maybe i like watching people squirm."

“holy shit, that’s fucked up.”

you take a slow sip of your drink, watching his shirt cling to his chest as he takes a deep breath, every inch of that body sculpted to the fucking gods like it was made for nights like this. shit, that’s a nice body. 

you can’t help the sly smirk that pulls at your lips as you murmur, “what’s wrong with liking it rough?”

he snickers, almost breathlessly, and you know you’re getting to him. “there’s something a little wrong with you.”

yeah, there is. you almost blurt out the truth—that your panties are drenched and practically glued to your skin because of him, that he’s got you feeling hornier than you’ve felt in a long time. but you choose to let your fingers trail down his arm, slow and teasing. 

“you think so?” you faux-pout, giving him a look that’s all dark lashes and bad intentions.

he swallows, stumbling over his words. “y-yeah, i mean, there’s some things you need to… work on.”

you tilt your head, smiling in that way you know drives guys crazy, leaning in just enough to make him catch his breath. “would you like to help me?”

he stares at you, goosebumps rising along his arm where your fingers still rest, visibly caught off guard, “what does that mean?”

with a wicked grin, you reach up, wrapping your manicured hands around his neck, his breath all but halting as you pull him down until his face is level with yours. his breath hitches, and you take your time, letting your lips brush the shell of his ear, enough to make him shiver. 

“you find me upstairs,” you murmur, voice dripping with promise, “and ’m all yours. okay?”

instead of waiting for him to process it, you’re already sneaking off into the crowd, leaving him rooted. you don’t try looking back, already feeling his stare burning into you, dazed and desperate as he takes in what you just promised. you don’t second guess yourself once, you know he’s coming.

by the time he shakes himself out of his trance, you’re halfway up the stairs.

at the top, you stop, one quick peek over your shoulder to check if he’s still watching. the look on his face is priceless—like he’s not sure if he’s about to follow a dream or walk into his worst nightmare. perfect, you think.

you push open a random door and slip into an empty room, locking eyes with yourself in the mirror. hair a little wild, eyes glinting with that mischievous glint you know all too well. you adjust your mask, the lace sitting just right over your cheekbones. you pull your dress higher, letting it ride up just a little higher, admiring the way the fabric clings to you, showing off every curve.

you turn the lights off, letting the room fall into shadows. he’ll have to work for it if he wants to find you. you can imagine the way he’ll hesitate, hand hovering over the doorknob, wondering what the hell he’s getting himself into. 

why make it easy for him?

rafe watches you leave, standing there like a fucking idiot, heart hammering in his chest as he replays what just happened. the words “find me upstairs, and i’m all yours” looping in his mind like a mantra. the confidence in your voice, the way you looked at him like you already knew he’d be following—fuck, it’s enough to make him hard just thinking about it.

he swallows, trying to be calm as he looks around, but there’s no hiding the way his breathing’s quickened, how his body is buzzing at the thought of finding you, alone, in a dark room, just waiting for him.

you’re playing with him, he tells himself, but he doesn’t care. he’s going to go after you anyway.

pushing through the crowd, he’s half-dazed, talking to himself under his breath, almost wheezing out a series of what the fucks. his grip wraps around the banister as he ascends the stairs, his fingers still itching from where you’d brushed against him. he feels completely out of his element. girls flirt with him all the time, he’s with girls all the time, sure, but this—this is different. 

he always been a sucker for a good challenge and you’d practically left him in the dust, tossing back that promise without even checking if he’d follow.

at the top, he pauses, looking down the hallway, every door holding the possibility that you might be behind it, waiting. 

rafe feels that thrill coil in his stomach, his heart pounding in anticipation. he’s like a kid on halloween night, trick-or-treating at the house he’s always been too afraid to knock on. but you dared him, so there’s no way he’s backing out now.

he starts with the first door, pushing it open only to find it empty, checking the shadows, in case you’re hiding, but nothing. he goes into the next door, finding a couple already in there, and quickly shuts it again, eyes slamming shut, ignoring their annoyed stares as he backs out.

third time’s the charm, yeah? he thinks, reaching for the next door and pulling it open. the door creaks as it swings shut behind him, his footsteps are slow, hesitant, and the scuff of his shoes against the floor makes him cringe. 

it takes him a second for his eyes to adjust to the dark, pupils dilating as he walks further inside.his breathing is loud and uneven, almost like he’d run all the way here. he stops in the middle of the room, his chest rising and falling hard, his breath painfully audible. 

his heart is doing an annoying thing, pounding, and he swears he can hear it.

did he misread you? the space is eerily quiet, he can’t help but wonder if he’s been set up, if you’re somewhere downstairs, laughing at how eagerly he followed your trail up here like a fucking dumbass.

rafe scans the room’s edges, searching, and he notices a quick movement in the corner—something. he swallows he leans forward a little, squinting to make out any familiar shape.

“you wanna play hide and seek?” he calls out, hoping he’s not making a full out of himself, “is that it?” he’s taking gulps of air, feeling dizzy from being in the dark for so long, “you like this?”

a quiet giggle echoes from one of the corners, inviting, and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. you’re playing this game too well, lurking just beyond his reach, and the longer he waits, the more desperate he feels.

he swallows, his mind spiraling as he steps walks around, slow and cautious, hands slightly trembling. he’s caught off guard by just how badly he wants you; the way you kept looking at him like he was the prey downstairs, has him all kinds of worked up. 

his cock stirring against his jeans is proof enough. 

“you want me to scare you or somethin’?” he provokes you, praying it’s enough to lure you out, “you think it’s smart? letting a stranger chase you into a room, with no one else around. you’re all alone with me.”

“who says you’re that dangerous?”

the second the words leave your mouth, rafe’s resolve slips. 

it’s maddening, the way you’re hiding from him, how your voice seems to come to him from every dark corner of the room. he shouldn’t have drowned two shots before following you, but the liquid courage had been tempting. 

you’re keeping him on a tight leash, making him wonder if he’s got a shot or if you’re just messing with his head. he wants to see you again, your expression—wants to read you, even if the last time he tried, he ended up with his mind in knots.

“you don’t even know my name,” he muses, taking a couple steps closer to the closet, “does that make it more fun for you? that you don’t know anything about me?”

his movements are cautious, almost reverent as if you’re something sacred and forbidden all at once. he stops, opening the doors, leaning inside as he half-whispers, “not here, huh?” no answer, just silence, but he swears he can feel you watching him, your gaze prickling his skin, almost burning, “where are you? c’mon come out, i’ll go easy on you.”

he sighs, sounding like more of a frustrated exhale. no sign of you anywhere. he shakes his head, letting out a soft laugh, more amused than annoyed. 

“be a good girl and come out.”

rafe stalks around the room with the focus of someone hunting prey, his footsteps deliberate, his hands gliding along the walls and over furniture. he reaches the small bathroom door adjacent to the room, his fingers tightening around the handle. his lips pull into a smirk as he pauses—listening. 

the room’s quiet, but then, he hears it: the faint, uneven rhythm of your breathing, a quickened inhale, almost as if his words had finally affected you. he stops dead, dropping his hand from the door and turning around with a dark gleam in his eyes. 

“wait—wait,” his voice lowers with satisfaction, with the thrill of the chase. he lets out a breathy chuckle, his eyes roving the room as he zeroes in on where you’re hiding. “i can hear you, can hear you breathing.” 

he takes a slow, taunting step, his head tilting, as though he’s relishing the way you’re fighting to stay silent, to keep control. 

“what’s the matter? you sound a little…” he trails off in a murmur, enjoying the tables turning. “...shaken up. are you scared?”

your breath slips, just enough to betray you and his lips quirk up.

“i know exactly where you are.” with lazy confidence, he walks over to the far corner where the heavy velvet curtains seem to pool against the floor, drawn closed over the tall, narrow window. 

his fingers brush the fabric, his eyes narrowing as if he can feel the warmth of you just on the other side. then, in one smooth motion, he grabs the curtain and yanks it open. 

“caught you.”

moonlight spills in, illuminating you both. in a second, you’re pressed against the wall, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and his eyes rake over you, lingering on the way your costume accentuates every curve of your body. 

he steps in close, his silhouette blocking the light as he cages you in, one hand pressing against the wall beside your head, the other landing on your waist. his gaze drops to your lips, taking time to roam the way you’re biting your lip.

you tilt your chin up, “maybe i just like trouble.” 

rafe’s grip on your waist tightens in response, a hunger that he can’t hide, while he’s memorizing the way you’re looking up at him, ready to push him just as far as he can take it.

“you’re in trouble, alrigh’,” he shakes his head, while his hand inches down, slipping lower along your body until his thumb brushes against the curve of your hip, “don’t think you understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

your fingers slide up his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath the thin fabric of his black shirt, the way his heart hammers from your touch alone.

“maybe that’s what i want,” you whisper, tipping your head up so your lips brush against his mask.

he shudders, and you let your fingers trail slowly down, tracing over the line of his collarbone. rafe swallows hard, his body thrumming with tension. his eyes dropping to your mouth once again, wishing he’d been smart enough to take the mask off, so he could kiss you. 

“you don’t know what you’re asking for,” he breathes, but the glint in his eyes says otherwise. he’s already melting under your touch, the desperation in the way he holds onto you confessing just how badly he needs it.

“you want me?” you ask, watching his pupils dilate as you lean in even closer, close enough that he can smell the fruity trace of your drink on your breath trough the mask, the lingering sweetness making him light-headed.

 jesus fucking christ where have you been all his life?

“yeah,” he mutters, voice strained, eyes half-lidded as he stares down at you, “i want you.” his hand trails up your side, down the line of your dress, stopping just at the hem. he hesitates, holding himself back for your sake, the look in his eyes begging for permission, daring you to say something, to let him go further.

you smirk, letting your fingers slip lower, grazing over the top of his waistband, “’m already so wet for you.”

a rough, almost growling sound escapes his throat as his fingers taunt around you, his control slipping at the admission. “yeah?” he grunts, letting his hand glide under the hem of your dress, his fingers inching higher, grazing along the sensitive skin of your thigh, “lets find out.”

the first brush of his fingers against your thong sends a shiver from your head to your toes, his smirk growing. he’s bold now, unapologetic as he moves them up, grazing the thin barrier of fabric between his hand and you.

your panties are ruined, drenched, and stuck to you most uncomfortably, he can tell from the way you keep pushing your hips forward, begging him to do something. 

he doesn’t think twice before using two fingers to pull the sticky fabric to the side.

“fuck,” he mutters to himself, “all this for me?”

you have to bite your lip to stop a moan from slipping out when he finally touches you properly. two of his long, thick fingers press against your entrance, sliding into you with no resistance. the feeling of your cunt clamping around him makes his cock twitch. 

he works you open, even the slightest touches have you arching your back from the wall. the need in his eyes turns ravenous with every desperate little gasp you let out. he moves slowly, deliberately, feeling the warmth of you clenching around his him, as he curls his fingers just right, 

“you’re so wet, ah, yeah—you’re gonna scream for me?”

his thumb finds your clit with ease, and he presses down, drawing gentle circles that make your knees buckle. he grins, drinking in every sound you’re trying to bite back. his thumb stays steady over your clit, circling with the perfect rhythm, applying just enough pressure to keep you breathless.

“c’me here,” his other hand moves with swift, easy dominance, capturing your wrists and pinning them above your head, holding you firmly against the wall,” you like this shit?” 

“you’re gonna fuck me with the mask on?” you grind yourself harder against him, practically delusional from the way he’s making you feel, “kinky.”

he's mesmerized by the way your breasts jolt underneath your dress with each shaky breath you take, your skin feels feverish, heat radiating off it like a furnace.

“just like you wanted,” he promises, his voice filled with satisfaction as his thumb presses down harder, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips. “go on, let me hear it—ride my hand.”

he tightens his hold on your wrists, keeping you perfectly in place, not prying his eyes away from how your brows frow with every grind. 

“fuckkkkk, do that again,” you whine when he hits a particular spot, your walls tightening around him in a way that makes him want to stop the foreplay and fuck you right away.

rafe leans forward to coo praise into your ear, “like this?” your skin is sticky with sweat—some saliva too—his. he’s never been this fucking hard in his life. he slows down on purpose, to torture you, doing anything in his power to make you beg, “ooh look at you— a fuckin mess.” he taunts.

“don’t be an asshole,” you groan, fingers itching to be set free, and grab his shoulders so you can slam down on him harder, “you gotta make me cum if you want to fuck me.”

he runs deep circles into your clit making you press your legs together, knowing that he's getting exactly what he wants makes him chuckle into your skin. by this point as he mindlessly humps against your writhing body, he’s peeking down, taking a moment to admire the mess of slickness between your thighs.

“you want more?” you’re so caught up in the feeling that you don’t notice his hand leaving yours, wrapping it around your neck, pulling you closer to him, “answer me”

“another finger,” you spit out when he tightens his grip on your neck, the added touch having you on the brink.

rafe doesn’t even look at you, too entranced by your mess to make eye contact. he never got so lost during sex, but your pussy’s making him intoxicated to the point where his senses are dull, and the part of him that’s fully aware is his dick. 

he’s not even inside you yet, and still, he can cum just from seeing you ride his fingers. “another?”

he groans at the way one of your hands move to flex over his, watching in amusement as you try to get him to add one more finger. he mutters a low, gruff “good girl” as he slides a third finger in, pressing just deep enough to make your legs tremble, since you asked so nicely.

“think you can handle more?” rafe prods, “you’re so tight, don’t think you can’t take me.”

the way his fingers work, methodical and relentless, leaves you barely able to breathe, let alone answer.

“i could take t-two of you,” you tease, letting a breath out, and turning your head to face him. god you wondered if he looked good under that mask, but if he was this good in bed, who fucking cared.

“the only thing you’re taking is this fucking costume off,” he grumbles against your shiny lips, fanning like a wild animal catching the scent of its prey. he’s already tugging at the material, pulling the straps to the side before you can, nudging it aside, “look at you. gotta get my hands on you.”

rafe moves his attention to your breast and squeezes firmly, the tips of his fingers clasping down on your nipple, pressing and pulling as he chases after those sweet sounds that leave your lips.

“look at these tits, fuck” he rasps, eyes trailing over your chest and savoring every inch, his breath almost a snarl, “this’ what you wanted?”

you pressed your lips to his neck, ignoring the deep rumble in his chest as you sucked marks into his flesh, nipping him less than gently. grunting at a particularly rough bite you landed just under his adam’s apple, “i wanted your cock not your finger—"

his pitches your nipple harder making you squirm, “watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

the way you’re creaming his hand should be illegal, but this man is clearly sent from above. someone finally listened to you and gave you exactly what you needed to survive your dry spell. 

you reach down to cup him up through his jeans, “or what?”

he moans, head dropping to your shoulder, “fuck,” he mutters, his tone conveying that he’s just as distracted, watching how your puffy folds glisten with your arousal.

“hmmm, can’t hear you ghostface.”

rafe’s too entranced to put you in your place, you’ve got him eating out the palm of your hand. the sounds of your pussy sucking in his fingers are obscene, the simple act of your hand grazing cock has his knees buckling.

he can feel his heart beating miles a minute and he swears he could die right there, his hand coming down to grip the swell of your ass, kneading it firmly. you sigh contently with every slow drag of his hand, your head falling on his shoulder, nipping at his neck no doubt marking him up again.

“open your mouth.” you lift your head immediately, no smartass bullshit coming out of your lips, he chuckles breathlessly at your impatience, fingers moving from your ass to your parted hole, “suck my fingers, go on.”

it’s hard to make any coherent thought when his fingers are still inside you, dragging against your spongy walls deliciously, but your tongue automatically slips around his digits, doing your best to suck them down your throat. you’d never felt so willing to let a man bend you however he wants to, hushed curses escaping your occupied mouth, raking your nails down his arm. 

“good girl, yeahhhh, that’s it,” he grunts when you prod his skin harder, “you like diggin’ your nails into me, like it rough, huh? ‘course you do,” he stammers out when you clamp harder around him, your slick making everything slippery, “course you fucking do.”

with his fingers buried deep inside you and your lips wrapped around his other hand, rafe’s fully intoxicated, drunker than he can ever get. the sounds you make, he never wanted to taste something so bad, if it wasn’t for his stupid mask—

“take this thing off—" he grinds his hips into you, the rough fabric of his jeans pressing deliciously against your bare skin, teasing you, while his hand leaves your mouth to do nothing else but rip your panties apart.

you let out a huff, glancing down at what’s left of your underwear as he tosses it aside like nothing, already sliding his back up your thigh, “you’re paying for those.”

“whatever you want.”

you’re already occupied with his stupid belt, fingers quickly working to take the damn thing off, pawing at him to help. it’s only then he leaves your pussy unattended, settling his hold on your hips while you fumble with his jeans, unbuttoning them and snapping them open, his bulge straining against the fabric of his boxers. 

he grabs the underside of your thigh, picking your leg up and wrapping it around his waist, backing you two further into the wall, eyes gazing into yours, even though you can’t see him. why the fuck do your eyes look so familiar?

the tip of his dick kisses the skin of your pussy, the firm head bumping against your clit as he rubs himself against you, “happy?”

looking down, you watch his cock slide back and forth between your thighs, the friction making heat slowly rise in your core, warmth swarming in your chest. he’s so fucking big. you watch him, eyes half-lidded, your legs aching from the position, almost drooling from the sight alone. 

you don’t know how much longer you can let him tease you.

“so happy,” you nod, not tearing your attention from him.

“yeah?” he cocks his head to the side, brows furrowed, concentrating not to cum on the spot with the way you’re eating his cock alive just with your pretty little eyes, “you’re gonna let a stranger fuck you?”

rafe reaches down, teasingly rubbing the tip of his dick over your folds, tracing it over your clit a few times. you look up, lips curling into the most earth-shattering smirk.“i can always find someone el—"

you both groan when he slides into you with no warning, your warm walls enveloping him perfectly, sucking him in like a vice, a perfect tight fit. he pumps you so full, not waiting for any adjustment, your walls fluttering around his girth, thick tip slightly curved up from your position.

“fuck, fuck, fuckkk,” he drawls out, rolling his hips in tight circles, slowly fucking into you, dragging himself along your walls to learn what you like, “this pussy, oh—so good.”

your head falls back against the wall, sighing in pleasure. you want him to let go and beat your walls loose, especially when he looks so good doing it. you melt into him, body sagging, downright losing it with how easily he holds you up and still pounds relentlessly into you, your breathing picking up with his change of pace. 

he’s so strong.

“this good enough for ya?” he murmurs against your ear, picking on the way your body shudders, a scream for anyone outside that door to hear, “hmm? you like my voice, right here?”

“you’re gonna make me cum,” you feel yourself grip him harder, his thick cock stretching you open, dragging out moan after moan from your lips, “oh my god.”

it’s the sweetest torture, the way his pelvis smacks against your tummy with every thrust, barely even pulling out to roll back into you.

“such a fuckin’ slut, aren’t you?” he growls, “letting a stranger fuck you open—holy shit, holy shit,” he hisses, almost as if he’s in pain, when you teasingly whine your hips back into him, fluttering at the low sound he breaths right by your ear.  “shit, you’re squeezing—fuck.”

“you’re so b-big,” you wheeze at a rough thrust, hand coming down to press against his lower stomach.

“yeah? good enough for you, huh?” his hips increase in rhythm, rocking into you, his thrusts precise, beating against your g-spot with vigor, “takin’ it so good baby.”

by now you’re seeing stars in your vision from the white-hot pleasure shooting up your spine, smart mouth forgotten, “harder.”

“harder?” he’s fucking into you at such a pace you feel like he’s gonna split you in half, “don’t think you can take it.”

“please.”

it sounds too pretty coming out of your mouth. having a girl like you beg feeds his ego like nothing else. 

he buries himself so deep, his pelvis is pressed hard against the hilt of your mound, fingers coming down to pinch and roll your neglected clit between his fingers.

“fucking take it then.” rafe snaps his hips with every word, glaring into your teary eyes. 

you gasp, nodding your head frantically, too fucked out to even use your words properly when he bottoms out properly, leaving you entirely only to slam inside harder than before. you squeal, not expecting him to use his entire body strength to almost fold in half while you’re still standing.

“no one can h-hear you down here, go ahead,” your mouth runs dry as you feel his body helplessly pressing into yours, “lemme hear those pretty noises, c’mon, scream f’me.”

you’ve never moaned so loud in your life, hands coming up to tweak your nipples, him filling you to the brim, “w-where the fuck have you b-been?”

he chuckles, though it comes out strained, “right here,” he makes a point by ramming into your g-spot perfectly, “hold your leg up f’me.”

for once in your life, you do as you’re told while focusing on his clothed stomach, feeling it constrict with every deep breath he takes. 

“you look so pretty like this,” you hear him praise you, one of his hands sliding down the span of your back, coming down to wrap around your hair and forcing your head up, “could fuck you for hours.”

the tip of his dick is kissing right against your cérvix, “not stopping you.”

“yeah? that’s how good is it?” he laughs, “can’t believe stranger cock does it for you.”

you open your mouth to speak, probably to give him shit about how he wouldn’t stop teasing you, but your words run dry as you feel the familiar sensation of his fingers playing with your overstimulated clit. motherfucker.

your body tenses as he builds up the pressure, and a strangled symphony of your wails leaves your sore throat. it’s too much and not enough at the same time, the pressure of his cock as well as his fingers, he’s quite literally fucking you dumb. 

“nothin’ to say now, huh?”

the better it feels, the farther gone you’re in your mind, “s-shut the fuck up.”

if you were with someone else, it would bother you that your tits are quite literally out while he’s still dressed, besides the jeans pooling by his ankles, but that stupid black wife beater looks mouthwatering on him. 

somehow the outfit and the mask add to the allure, not knowing who’s behind it, but still letting him treat you like a rag doll. you’re bouncing down onto him, almost sniffling as your pussy’s still twitching and soaking, so close to your well-deserved orgasm.

“cum inside,” your head’s starting to sting from how bad you need to cum,“please.”

rafe swears he almost falls on his ass, “what?”

“inside,” you grit out, eyes closed in bliss, “want to feel you cum inside.”

he lets out a groan at the way you say it, “are you serious? oh fuck, what a little cock-slut.” he can’t help but let out a chuckle at your fucked-out state, lost in the chase of your own pleasure to care about how pitiful you look right now, “you’re gonna cum around me? go on,” he coos, kneading at the flesh of your thighs.

you nod, slipping out a high-pitched ‘mhm’, knowing this shit is about to hit you like a train. you arch yourself into him, whimpering lewdly and cutting small moon crescents into his shoulders with your long nails.

rafe feels like he’s lost all ability to fuck anyone else but you, growling at the filthy thoughts swimming through his mind, the urge to fill you up with his cum getting stronger as he enjoys watching you. 

a strained whimper escapes you as you lean forward to bury your head in his shoulder, groaning against the skin, “don’t stop.”

“n-never stopping, c’mon,” you swear you see stars while he’s slipping out curses and praises that you’re not even sure make sense. “holy shit, yeahh, fuck.”

he applies a little more pressure to your clit and that’s all it takes for you to be gone, your chest touching his, blinding flashes of paradise filling your vision as you leave reality, having it ripped away from you. 

your mouth is parted in the most beautiful oh shape he’s ever witnessed. tears are streaking down your eyes and he can’t help but be turned on by them.

“oh! fuck, fucking—” you squeeze your eyes shut, having no idea how you pulled the words out between continuous sobs that escape from you.

rafe feels like a fucking creep, he can’t take his eyes off you for the life of him, hips snapping animalistically into your pussy while he grunts, groans, and cries as he talks you through it, “that’sss itt, so good, so fuckin’ perfect.”

he tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. 

he’s chasing his orgasm while he watches yours; he all but whines when he releases inside of you, not slowing down in the slightest as he makes sure you take every drop. his hand comes down on your stomach forcing you back down with his python grip, feeling his bulge right there makes his eyes roll as his hand tightens on your waist. you’re still clenching and spasming as you milk him dry, “fuckin’ take it.”

his hips don’t let up, grinding into your core despite him already finishing inside of you. for another ten minutes.

five minutes later, you’re both a little hazy from the endorphin rush, still processing. once he pulls away, rafe feels a lazy grin stretching across his face, feeling more satisfied than ever. unlike the past hour, the room isn’t filled with your moans, but complete silence as you both try to breathe like normal people again, collecting yourselves, adjusting clothes, and then there’s an unspoken agreement that maybe, it’s time to see who’s behind the masks.

you fumble with the edges of the fabric, hesitating for a moment before finally pulling them off, unveiling each other’s faces.

you freeze, staring at him in disbelief.

“you gotta be fucking kiddin’ me,” you nearly burn a hole through his head, eyes narrowing with pure annoyance as you process this disaster, voice dripping with irritation, “what the fuck? rafe?”

he’s completely still, staring at you with his mouth wide open, eyes wide like he’s just seen a ghost—everything you’re hurling at him is going in and out his ears. the realization that he just spent the last hour fucking you is making him dumber. the girl he’d been thinking about, dreaming about, wanting more than he’d ever admit, even to himself.

the anger in your eyes, the annoyed way you’re crossing your arms and glaring at him—it’s so perfectly you. he’s watched you in class a hundred times, always stealing glances when you weren’t looking or cursing his ass off, catching little glimpses of her attitude that only made him want you more. 

but he’d never thought he’d get a moment like this. 

bless halloween.

“are you even listening to me?” you snap, catching his starstruck expression, waving a hand in front of his face. “hello? earth to cameron? stop looking at me like a puppy, this was a mistake.”

more than a mistake. you can’t believe you just fucked the reason why you didn’t want to come to the party in the very first place. 

and the worst part is that you’d do it again.

“i…i just…wow,” he breathes, “it’s really you.” he lets out an incredulous laugh, rubbing a hand over his jaw “can’t believe it.”

you groan, rolling your eyes and shaking your head in exasperation. “are you serious right now?

“can i eat you out?”

you blink, realizing you’ve been staring, “what?”

he takes a step closer, filling the small space between you. you swear the sound of his next words drag a whimper from your throat, “can i eat you out?”

you nearly choke to death as his hand ghost near your waist, the barest brush of contact, sending sparks dancing across your skin, “right now?”

rafe leans down to your size, eager to get on his knees and taste you.

“why not?”

well, fucking damnit.

dont go fucking strangers with ghostface masks at random parties