#anon of positivity

[fixing-bad-posts]

Submitted by Anon: "You don't need to credit me for these, I just want to spread intersex awareness and positivity, these were radfem posts on the main intersex/intersex positivity tags that personally upset me as an intersex person."

[mesetacadre]

I'm a bit confused about communists hating on artists. I understand it's posed as an exaggerated joke but where does it come from? Is it bc artists are seen as little capitalists?

because it's frankly pathetic how much people love copyright and intellectual property in a site that supposedly supports piracy. Everyone makes fun of "you wouldn't download a car" but apparently they wouldn't if the car was made by a "small business".

"Don't steal this color palette", "this is a closed species", "don't take inspiration from my art", "ask permission to download my art to use it as a wallpaper" <- real statements made by the most loyal soldiers of copyright law

[superhoeva]

need to be passed between jack and robby like a blunt at a party if i’m honest

tw: language, smut, threesome (mmf), dirty talk, bodily fluids (mentioned), f!reader, soft dom!rabbot, sub(ish)!reader, abbot and robby knowing each other really well, oral (m+ f receiving), riding, unprotected sex, creampie; please remember this is fiction <3 mdni/+18.

your attendings have had you like this forever, and you aren't sure how much longer you can take it.

jack sitting sturdy on robby's couch, cock out and stroking with one hand while the other wraps around your front to flick at your nipple. robby kneeling in front of you to bump his nose into your clit before sucking it with a spit-covered tongue.

and you–at the center, reclined against jack's middle, one of your legs thrown over robby's shoulders, and squirming every time either of them moans. lulling your head, you blink at the fat head of jack's cock and stick out your tongue.

jack grins for half a second, obliging you with a rub of the tip along your top lip before just barely lifting his hips to let you slip it further into your mouth. eyes soothing shut, you whimper at the salt that flashes across your tastebuds as your tongue snakes along the bottom of the his head.

the groan this pulls from jack catches the attention of robby, who grunts at the sight of abbot cock poking against the side of your cheek.

"keep sucking him just like that," robby commands in a soft gravel, pulling away but kind enough to not let you steep in the cold of missing him for too long. he kneels on the couch, leg bending to slip inside you at the perfect angle.

robby bottoms out with a punched breath, head back and throat bobbing as he swallows to keep his composure. he can't look at you or jack when he starts to fuck you, every hit of his middle against yours jerking your mouth back and forth onto jack's cock.

"son of a bitch, she's tight," robby rasps to no one yet it still makes jack smile through his latest shuddering moan as the men ease into a sweet pattern. jack, pushing his member across your tongue whenever robby's pulls backward. robby, plunging himself as deep as you'll let him as jack draw out his cock until the only thing you can suck at is his leaking tip.

a noise–a single, muffled word–sounds out of you and robby doesn't stop when he tilts his head to hear you better.

"what was that, sweetheart?"

"harder," jack answers for you through a bitten lip. "fuck her harder, mike."

"happy to oblige," declares, a suave tint to his voice as he takes a moment to blow out a quick breath.

with one palm on your side and the other clutching abbots thigh, robby quickens his pace. the three of you gasp and pant at every buck of his hips that starts to slam into yours at a new vigor.

you're staring to forget how to think about anything else except the two men filling you full, and it's every thing.

"yeeeah, give me that pussy, baby. let me fuck my cum into you so jack can fuck it deeper."

you're drooling through your moans all over jack's girth, choking with a few gags when his head grazes the back of your throat.

"that's right," robby wheezes out at your wet coughs. "gag on it, angel. he likes it messy, don't you, dr. abbot?"

"oh, you know it, dr. robby," jack rasps back, nudging his cock a few inches deeper until robby can see the buldge in your throat. he lets his cock pulse for a few short seconds before pulling back and patting your cheek as you gasp for air. "fuck yeah. attagirl."

robby's hips falter just a tad and he releases a short wail.

"mmm," he hums out, resuming his rhythm with a flushed face. "'m almost there. this pussy's too sweet for an old man like me..."

popping his cock from your mouth, abbot plants a hand under your chin and tilts your eyes his way.

"use those pretty words and tell him how much you want it, gorgeous. how much you need him to fill you up so you're nice and ready for me... and make sure to use his first name, too. he'll bust quicker."

a sound seeps out from the back of robby's throat, and he throws a side eye at jack's wink. the look melts into hooded-eyes and a dropped jaw when his drags his stare back to you.

"fuck, i want it," you sob out, lids fluttering a little at the feeling of robby's cock still driving inside you, touching somewhere warm and deep. "want it so bad, mikey, please–"

"oooh," robby groans, softening into a round of shaking along with and clenched eyes as he comes cause that's just not fair. his cock twitches over and over again, hunching to spill out his load on unsteady legs.

robby doesn't slide out of you until he knows he's present enough to help lower onto jack. the maneuvering happens with practiced simplicity.

jack parts spreads his thighs in a backwards lean, while you clench and stand. robby grabs your waist as you tilt against jack, who plants a kiss on your shoulder before lining his tip with your slit.

"jesus, you weren't kidding, rob," jack breathes out as you sink down.

"well, it'd be rude to joke about somebody as pretty as her, wouldn't it?" robby teases, eyes big and soft while he stares into you. he waits until jack's cock is all the way inside you before once again leaning onto the couch, this time on both knees.

you groan while robby settles himself, smushing you between both of their bodies. he guides one of your arms to hang around his thick neck, and you hiss as jack wastes no time thrusting up into you.

"use me to fuck him, sweetheart. hold my neck 'n bounce on it," robby mumbles, hand placing over the one abbot has on your hip.

"he's big," you slur to robby, arm bringing him impossibly closer. his cock slicks between to two of you, half hard and already throbbing again. "feels good."

jack's hips flinch at your words, and he shoves his cock deeper. you meet his thrusts with determined bounces, groaning at the sound of your ass slapping back against him.

he might be a inch or two shorter than robby, but jack's thickness has him rubbing at your walls with a force that make you sound as cock drunk as you feel. robby swallows most of them with a feverish kisses.

"don't forget to breathe, j," robby reminds against your mouth.

"fuck, 'm trying," jack wheezes out with a huff not one second later, causing robby to smile. "she's just so fuckin' warm, man."

using robby as leverage you and jack form an almost brutal pace. you clench around him at the perfect time, and jack has found a curve of his hips that drag his head against a spot that makes you hold robby tighter.

you're creaming out something devastating around jack, robby's load blending with the juices as well as you ride the man.

"wanna come," you plead, legs becoming so tired that you have to stop. the pause is swiftly ended by robby, who clasps you tight with certain arms.

he and jack work in tandem to drag you up and down jack's member, and your hands reach out to clutch both of them. the two catch eyes over your shoulder, and neither find the will to look away. robby groans quietly, the friction of your stomach enough to have his own cock rock solid and leaking once more.

"taking it like a damn champ, gorgeous," jack praises behind you, sweaty and panting. "take both of us so well. how 'bout i paint your insides just like mike did for being such a good girl, huh?"

seeing that you're teetering on the edge, robby reaches to grab his cock and glides the head across your clit. the sensation is more than enough to yank your orgasm from you, and you wail out with pulsing walls.

jack is following you soon after, clutching you with ragged breaths, pumping you well and full with rolling eyes and a myriad of profanities. his grip wraps around your waist, forcing you to unhook from robby's neck and roll completely into his front.

using the space, robby takes a quick hand to his cock. his eyebrows pinch and his chest jumps, abbot using your pussy to out milking the last of his cum out just as robby finishes again with a grunt.

he presses his head at where you and abbot meet, spurting out impressive ropes of thick cum. robby continues to smear his load, abbot adding to the action by using his finger to rub what robby doesn't catch into your swollen clit.

when you try and squirm, jack's hand moves up to rest against your throat. he pulls you back even further this time, pressing as far as he can into the couch and keeps you still with a gentle grip around your throat. robby watches the scene with heavy silence and dark eyes.

"now, where do you think you're going?"

jack's question hits low and hot against your ear.

"if he gets two... so do i, doll."

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[damiel-of-real]

gaster hotdog comic here pleaseplease please

cackling. ok sure

SEQUEL

[deathdetermineslife]

I love you non-sharing selfshippers! your f/os loves YOU and only YOU!!!!! no matter what anyone says, they'll always love and care for you. keep doing you!!!

I love you iffy-sharing selfshippers! your f/os value you so much!! your f/os love you so much!

I love you sharing selfshippers! your f/os love you! your f/o appreciates you!

I love you selfshippers who aren't sure what your sharing status is! that's okay! your f/os love you regardless!

I love you poc selfshippers! your f/os think you're so amazing and wonderful! your f/os love you so very much?

I love you fem selfshippers! your f/os think you're so beautiful! they're lucky to have someone like you in their life!

I love you masc selfshippers! your f/os think you're so handsome! they're grateful that you're with them!

I love you nonbinary selfshippers! your f/os love you no matter how you present or what pronouns you use! they think you're so valid!

I love you queer selfshippers! your f/os will always respect whatever label you go by! even if you change labels a few times!

I love you trans selfshippers! your f/os will always support your identity! they hope you know they love you so much!

I love you disabled selfshippers! your f/o hopes you know your disability is not a burden to them and they love you so much!

I love you mentally ill selfshippers! your f/o will always do whatever they can to help you! no matter what it is, they want to support you!

I love you selfshippers! please know that you deserve the world, no matter what hatred is spewed your way. your f/os love YOU. they love you. no matter what people try to say to you. with all the meanness going around in this community the last few months towards poc and women and folks with mental illness and disability and people who are nonsharing most recently, I want to remind you all how much you're valued here. I hate seeing anyone be sad or upset because they feel like they don't have a place here. you do have a place. your f/os love and appreciate you and you're so valued here in this community, even if people say otherwise. at the very least, me, and whoever reblogs this appreciates you.

no unkindness will be tolerated underneath this post! in fact, I implore you to maybe even tag your friends or mutuals to show them you care! spread the love and positivity. go say something nice in someones ask box (not mine, preferably a stranger or a mutuals who might need some kind words!)

if you ever need a pick me up, feel free to come back and look at this post for as long as you want. you're loved, you're valid, you're appreciated, and you matter. YOU have a place here. don't let ANYONE who treats you meanly make you feel otherwise.

I LOVE YOU SELFSHIPPERS!! I love you I love you I love you. /p TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES AND REMEMBER YOUR F/OS LOVE YOU TOO !!!! :DDD go do something nice today! even if it's something little for yourselves !!! :D

[bixels]

As cameras becomes more normalized (Sarah Bernhardt encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use cameras because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by manufacturing companies. I paint not because I want a painting but because I love the process of painting. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.

if i have to explain to you that using a camera to take a picture is not the same as using generative ai to generate an image then you are a fucking moron.

[ao3-shenanigans]

I went to bed last night with 0 new messages on Ao3. Like, I'd gone through and answered/read all of them before going to bed. This morning, I checked again and I have 50 new comments!

I have not stopped grinning, man! I'm gonna be riding this high all week! I'm so happy! This is the most I've gotten at once and I absolutely had to share

CONGRATS!!!!! 🎉🎈🎊

[hyruling]

Happy Buddie Eve! I love your writing so much!! Especially that last one with the covering the other’s mouth prompt - it was so warm and funny and adorable!

How about 17 for buddie? ❤️🫶

Thank you!!

17. holding the other’s chin up

—

The silence in the car ride home is heavy.

They showered at the station. Eddie borrowed some of Buck’s spare clothes from his locker — his turnouts and henley were too filthy to drive home in, and the rest of his clothes are all packed in bags at the house, waiting. His hair is still damp and dripping down his neck, and it feels suffocating in a way that doesn’t make sense; feels like ants on his skin, a buzzing in his veins, an itch he can’t scratch.

Or maybe that’s just Eddie.

Eddie, who keeps looking at him. Who’s in his passenger seat again, dressed in Buck’s too big sweats and LAFD tee, Buckley splashed across his back in a way that makes him want to throw up the sickly warmth that pools in his gut every time his eyes find it.

He’s watching Buck now, a burning gaze that digs in like a bruise, and he can’t keep delaying the inevitable.

“What are you gonna do?” Buck asks over the soft sounds of the radio.

Eddie huffs, self deprecating and gentle, turns his attention briefly to the road ahead. “Think my orders from Captain Han were pretty clear.”

Buck smiles despite himself. “Yeah, but—I mean, is that—enough?”

He feels Eddie look at him again. “Enough?”

“To come back,” Buck says, keeping his eyes carefully on the road, anywhere but where they desperately want to look. Stalled car half a mile ahead. The Fiat next to them that keeps inching over like they want to merge. Yellow traffic light, red brake lights of the white sedan they’re trailing. Eddie’s eyes, still burning a hole in his temple.

“You mean, is Chim bossing me around enough to get me to come back?” Eddie asks, an edge to his voice Buck can’t place. Like he wants to laugh, but it’s getting caught in his throat.

And he’s tired, suddenly. So tired. Tired of grief weighing on his bones with every breath, the heaviness he can’t shake, can’t outrun. Tired of missing Eddie when they’re in the same room, of tiptoeing around and not saying what they mean. Even when they’re at each other’s throats, when Eddie bares his teeth and Buck nips back, they’re still not saying it. And he can’t do it anymore.

“You know what I mean,” Buck says.

“Yeah. I do,” Eddie admits. Goes quiet.

Buck still doesn’t look. Keeps his hands carefully at ten and two, turns down the side street that will take them home.

“You’re bleeding,” Eddie says in lieu of an answer.

Buck barely resists the urge to shrug. Makes a left onto South Bedford.

“Your neck,” Eddie continues.

The sting cuts through the fog, a sharp pain he didn’t notice until Eddie pointed it out. Buck pulls into the driveway and opens the door, snatching his bag from the back. Eddie is on his heels, and Buck fumbles with getting the key in the lock, and then they’re inside the empty house, the fading light outside dying in the windowpanes and shadows on the wall.

“Chris?” Buck asks.

He tosses his bag on the couch and winces when he remembers the dusty handprints. Motes of it swirl in the air from the impact and land somewhere on the couch he hates, that’s responsible for the crick in Eddie’s neck.

“Pepa has him,” Eddie replies, toeing off his dusty boots in the entry, his back turned to him, Buckley across the shoulders.

“We could have picked him up.”

“She’s taking him to dinner and then shopping. Making up for the months she couldn’t spoil him,”Eddie explains.

Buckley disappears, and then Buck is looking at him for the for the first time since the roof. The first time in months that Eddie was moving towards him rather than away. He’s moving towards him now, and the hand on his elbow jolts through him like a shock.

“C’mon. Bathroom.”

Eddie tugs, and Buck follows. Eddie parks him on the closed toilet seat and fishes around for the first aid kit in the cabinet. He unzips it and grabs a pack of gauze, tearing it open as he comes back, ever efficient and competent in a way Buck’s never learned not to envy. His finger gently hooks under Buck’s chin and he tilts his head back, finding the cut close to Buck’s jugular and pressing firmly with the gauze.

“Think your chinstrap got you,” Eddie says, tilting Buck’s head where he needs to stop the bleeding. He feels like a dog offering up his belly, brought to heel by Eddie’s gentle hands on him. “You missed some dirt in the shower too.”

Eddie releases his chin, instructing him to keep pressure on the cut, fingers brushing as he moves Buck’s hand where he wants him. He digs through the bag for antiseptic and Buck watches him, takes him in after hours of denying himself. The drying hair curling over his forehead, the fan of his lashes over his cheek, the slope of his nose. He’s gorgeous, of course he is, Buck’s always known that. But he’s been caught in a feedback loop of thought that began when he crossed the threshold of the roof, to where Eddie was waiting for him, and the only thing louder than the adrenaline surging through his skull was that Eddie was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

It’s dangerous ground, made even more so by Eddie’s hands back on him, tilting his chin this way and that, fingers skating across his jaw in a way that makes him have to clench it around a shiver. Eddie cleans Buck’s face first, wiping the dirt away with a wet washcloth. He goes in with the alcohol swab next, and Buck hisses at the sting. Eddie mutters an apology and finishes quickly, dabbing with a fresh gauze pad once he’s satisfied.

“Don’t think it needs a bandage,” Eddie says. “If it starts bleeding again I’ll put one on.”

“Okay,” Buck grates out, voice hoarse.

Buck keeps still while Eddie cleans up. Eddie didn’t tell him to go, and so he stays, watching Eddie’s hands work. He closes his eyes after a minute, slips in that middling headspace between sleep and wakefulness. He’s not sure how long he drifts there before Eddie brings him back with a hand on his shoulder, thumb brushing his collarbone.

Eddie’s squatting in front of him when he opens his eyes. His hand is warm on Buck’s shoulder. “Get up, bud, let’s go to bed.”

“I’m fine, I don’t need—I can help, if you need to get Chris, get to the airport—”

“Wow,” Eddie interrupts with a soft smile. “From sabotaging sub-letters to pushing me out the door. That’s some real growth right there.”

Buck flushes. “I was never—I’m not pushing you out. Just, I know you were—your shift is at seven—”

“Buck,” Eddie interrupts again with a long suffering sigh. “I called Captain Morales while you were in the showers.”

“You—you did?” Buck asks, and a tentative sort of hope starts scratching at the door.

Eddie shakes his head, looks down at his knees. “Okay, guess we’re doing this here.”

He stands and pulls out Chris’ old step stool from under the sink. When he sits across from Buck on it, he’s a good inch or so shorter, and Buck bites back a smile at the picture he makes perched so low to the floor.

Eddie’s arms cross over his knees. He almost looks like a little kid when he says, “Yes, I did. Told him I was sorry but I couldn’t take the job after all.”

“Wh-why? Because of what Chim said?” Buck asks.

Eddie shrugs one shoulder. “Partly. He was right about a lot of things. But I—Buck, I never wanted to leave. Not now, not then. I was just—doing what I thought I needed to. And I did need to, I had to go for Chris, I had to fix things, and—and be his dad again. But I should have come back for Chris too. And for me.”

Buck swallows, and it echoes like a shot in the small bathroom. “What does Chris say?”

Eddie smiles. “I talked to him before I called Morales. He wanted to come home weeks ago, but he knew how much I put down on the house and didn’t want to shake things up again. It wasn’t until I said I wanted to stay that he finally spilled.”

Eddie shakes his head, looks at a spot over Buck’s shoulder. He knows without turning that he’s looking at the marks on the doorframe, the ones that measure Chris’ height over the years. “That kid. Too damn good for his own good sometimes.”

“Yeah, he is,” Buck says, finally matching Eddie’s smile. He feels like he can breathe for the first time since he laid eyes on Eddie at the airport. “So, you’re—staying?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Eddie says, eyes shining. “We’re staying.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t slide off the toilet from the weight that disappears from his shoulders. He releases a shaky exhale, and he wants to touch Eddie so badly he could cry.

He balls his hands into fists instead, pressing them into his knees. “That’s—that’s really great, Eddie. I’m glad Chim—y-yeah. Thank god for post adrenaline speeches.”

The smile slips from Eddie’s face, and Buck is right back on the precipice again. Eddie shifts closer, legs crossed under his clenched hands, and holds Buck’s gaze. In a low voice, he asks, “It—you still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” Buck asks just as quietly.

“You never asked,” Eddie says, and Buck’s heart rushes to his throat. “You never asked me to stay, or to come back.”

“I didn’t think I needed to,” Buck says, a little sharper than he means it to be.

“No, you’re right. You didn’t need to,” Eddie says. “But I still wanted you to.”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes, air punched from his lungs. “You—I couldn’t. I never asked you to choose between me and Chris, you know.”

“I know you didn’t,” Eddie says, surprisingly placating.

Buck frowns, continues, “That’s—that’s not my place, and I-I know that. I would never put myself between you. But the thought of you being gone was s-so—and I know I acted out, and I know I let you down when Bobby died, I left you alone when I s-should have—god, fuck, I’m sorry Eddie. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, hard. Tries to stem the flow of tears that are always right on the brink these days.

“Hey,” Eddie says softly, tugging at Buck’s wrists. Buck gives in, lets Eddie pull his hands away from his face. The fading light from the window and the pressure on his eyes turns Eddie into a strangely haloed figure, the only real thing in the room.

"I'm sorry too," Eddie says, and squeezes Buck's wrists. His palms are up like a supplication, and he curls his fingers until his nails dig into his skin. "I'm not telling you this as some kind of guilt trip, I'm trying to say that—I'm coming home for me. And that means I'm coming home for you too, do you get it?"

"I—not really," Buck answers honestly.

Eddie chuckles softly, looks down at his hands encircling Buck’s wrists. He thumbs over the delicate skin, traces the blue veins with his nail, and a shiver shakes down Buck’s spine.

"This is my home," Eddie explains, speaking to their hands. "El Paso was a lot of things for me, but it was never really home. This place, this is where I found it.”

Eddie’s eyes find his again, golden in the dusky light. “And Buck you're—god, you're the reason for almost all of it. Don't you know that?"

Blood rushes in his ears, and any hope he had of suppressing the tears is gone. They spill warm over his cheeks while Eddie rubs circles on his wrists, beautiful even here, even like this — cramped on the tiled floor that could use a good scrub, three toothbrushes in the cup by the sink because of course Eddie forgot to pack them, the way he always forgets. And the feeling he'd been trying to ignore, the one he's spent nearly Eddie's entire absence explaining away and denying, hooks itself behind his ribcage and glows.

—

prompts xo

[noorpersona]

Favourite Positions: Asahi

Asahi Azumane hadn’t meant to fuck you like this.

At least, not at first.

From the beginning, he had always treated you like you were something precious. Maybe it was because of the way you fit against him—smaller, delicate in his arms, easily lifted and carried. Maybe it was just who he was. But every time he touched you, it was careful, reverent—like he was holding glass, terrified of pushing too hard, of cracking something he could never replace.

He’d started slow, careful—just like always. His hands had been gentle, his mouth sweet against your skin, his body heavy but controlled as he eased into you between tangled sheets and soft, broken kisses.

You’d wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to the broadness of him, the way his body caged you without feeling suffocating. And for a while, he moved like he was afraid—afraid of breaking you, afraid of being too much.

But the second you pulled your knees higher, the second you whimpered into his mouth and squeezed around him like you couldn’t stand even an inch of distance—

Something in him snapped.

And now you were folded beneath him, legs hooked over his shoulders, arms pinned above your head with one of his big hands wrapped around your wrists, completely at his mercy.

The angle was brutal. Deep. Overwhelming.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The thick weight of him drove every thought out of your head with each slow, devastating thrust that had your thighs trembling and your toes curling in the air.

“Asahi—” you gasped, but it was barely a sound. Your voice broke halfway through, your fingers twitching against his grip.

His other hand wasn’t idle—it skated down your waist, gripping your thigh, your hip, like he didn’t know where to hold you first. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath coming in sharp, desperate bursts, his body trembling from the effort of keeping it together.

“You feel—” he choked out, driving deeper, harder, the wet sounds of your bodies colliding echoing off the walls, “—so good, sweetheart. So fucking good.”

You whined. Couldn’t help it. Your whole body was screaming for him, clenching around him like you never wanted him to stop.

And Asahi, sweet, gentle Asahi, fucked you through it with a quiet ferocity that stole the air from your lungs.

He wasn’t rough. He wasn’t violent. But he was relentless—thrust after thrust angled to wreck you completely, his body pressing you deeper into the mattress with every snap of his hips.

You sobbed out his name, back arching off the bed despite his weight holding you down, and he groaned—low, broken, primal—when he felt how close you were.

“That’s it,” he panted, hips grinding in deep, “Come on, baby, come for me. Let go—I’ve got you.”

And you did.

The orgasm tore through you like a violent wave, pulling the breath from your lungs, your body spasming helplessly under him. You clamped down around him so hard he almost folded, his jaw locking as he cursed under his breath, fucking you through it even as your nails raked helplessly at his shoulders, even as you sobbed his name again and again.

He wasn’t far behind.

You felt the way his rhythm faltered—the way he ground into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, as he came with a low, broken sound against your neck.

His entire body shuddered above you.

For a long time, neither of you moved. Just the sound of heavy breathing, trembling limbs, and water rushing faintly in the bathroom beyond the door.

Slowly, Asahi lowered your legs from his shoulders, pressing kisses to your knees, your thighs, anywhere he could reach, like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you for even a second.

You whimpered when his mouth brushed over the sensitive inside of your thigh, another tremor ripping through you.

He smiled against your skin—small, wrecked, overwhelmed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, dragging his lips up to your hip. “Got a little carried away.”

You shook your head, still gasping, still stunned. Still full of him.

Asahi chuckled, low and breathless, and kissed your stomach, your ribs, your sternum—slow, grounding kisses that made your overstimulated body twitch and shiver with every touch.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, lips brushing your pulse. “I’ve got you.”

You barely managed a broken whimper in response before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest like you were something he couldn’t afford to lose.

And in that moment, you knew: He hadn't just fucked you like he was afraid of breaking you. He fucked you like he was afraid of losing you.

[vanglaggle]

I just saw your version of swap sans and I want to take a bite out of swap sans' belly-- I MEAN WHO SAID THAT?? WHO THE HELL SAID THAT???? 👀

thank u!!! this is how i draw hims now :3

[cubedmango]

cherry magic AU for @alnstgforgaza anon with impeccable taste 🍒✨

(info on how to send in your own prompt is over here! please consider donating 💜)

[chrissy-kaos]

Asks open! I have some time to answer them rn! So ask anything you want. If it’s appropriate I’ll answer it. ❤️

[proshippers-against-censorship]

"no such thing as an invalid victim" What about the small portion of victims that become perpetrators themselves? A majority of sexual abusers were victims at some point. That doesn't make the abuse they enact any better.

That still doesn't invalidate the fact that they were victims. That still doesn't invalidate the abuse they endured. Multiple things can be true at once. Just because they later did shitty things themselves doesn't mean their entire past is suddenly changed so that they themselves never faced no wrongs.

[jesuistrestriste]

Would you maybe write for double penetration with Pat and Art 👀...

—🪐

i would…! and i could see them doing it too.

i think they’d bicker about who gets your pussy, but art would win in the end. patrick doesn’t care THAT much at the end of the day—either way, he’s getting to fuck you, so he lets blondie have that hole:/

maybe you’re laying down with your back against patrick’s chest, his strong arms holding your legs above your head or up to your chest as he slides his dick into your ass. then art comes over to kneel over pat’s knees and slip himself into your stretched cunt, beginning to rock his hips as he moans and shudders his way through the feeling of his orgasm already building.

pat would jerk his hips up around the tightness and cup your jaw, almost roughly, and murmur into your ear as you get pummeled by them both, “take it, take it, oh fuck, your ass is perfect..”

and art’s already lost in it all, his hands moving to the back of your thighs for leverage as he rolls his length in and out of your convulsing walls. you’re pulling splurts of precome from his tip, and he can’t keep quiet. he wishes he could dirty-talk to you the same way patrick does, but he’s never been very good at keeping composure when he’s inside you. it’s just a stream of gasps and choked whimpers and moans that sound painfully pornographic.

they cum inside you at the same time; filling you with cream up to the hilt. patrick smushes himself into you, biting the back of your shoulder as your head tips back, a rumbling groan muffled in your skin. art keens and nearly collapses on top of you both, panting and writhing as the waves of pleasure cause his limbs to buckle under his weight.

[proship-culture-is]

proship/darkshiper (ex anti) culture is that one stock photo of a man who broke his handcuffs

- ♀️♂️

[noorpersona]

Helloooo another request because I absolutely love your Favourite position series! Can you write one about Atsumu because you write him so well. Not just him honestly all the characters you write are so accurate and well written. Take your time and thank your for blessing us with your writing!!🩷🩷

Heheh I've had this one cooking for a long time. Thank you for saying I write him well that makes my day since he's like my husband 😩🩷

Enjoy <333

--

Favourite Positions: Atsumu

Atsumu Miya was a performer.

On the court, in front of a camera, with strangers or friends—he knew how to put on a show. He thrived on reaction, on praise, on the high that came from being watched and admired. And in bed, it was no different.

He liked it when you were loud.

When you praised him with gasps and whimpers, when your nails dragged down his back and your voice cracked saying his name. When your legs trembled, when your thighs clenched, when you said—again and again—that no one made you feel like he did.

But one night, in the quiet hush of your shared bedroom, you laughed—soft, teasing—and said something he couldn’t let go.

“You’re good, Tsumu,” you purred, voice sugary sweet, brushing your lips against his ear. “But I don’t think you’ve ever made me scream.”

He went still. Blinked once. And then he smiled.

Not just any smile. That one. The cocky, infuriating, competitive smile he only wore when he took something personally.

“Oh, is that a challenge?” he asked, voice deceptively light.

You shrugged, smirking. “I’m just saying…”

And that was how you found yourself like this.

Laid on your side, one leg lifted and draped over his shoulder, the other pinned beneath his weight. His hand was anchored under your knee, firm and steady, keeping you stretched open for him, keeping you exposed and exactly where he wanted you.

He was already deep inside you, hips grinding in slow, devastating strokes that had your breath stuttering and your mind unraveling. The angle? Perfect. He hit that spot—your spot—over and over, like he had it memorized, like he could find it with his eyes closed.

But what got you most—more than the rhythm, more than the stretch—was the way he watched you.

Eyes locked on your face. Focused. Determined.

He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t playful. He was proving something.

“Y’re not gonna be able to talk when I’m done,” he muttered, voice thick with effort, lips brushing against your jaw. “Gonna make you scream so loud, the whole fuckin’ neighborhood’s gonna know.”

You gasped, your hand flailing to grip the sheets as his cock hit that spot again, again, again. Every thrust angled perfectly, timed like he was syncing it to the beat of your pulse, to the rhythm of your gasps.

Your voice cracked. “T-Tsumu—”

“Oh, now y’can’t talk?” he chuckled, dark and pleased, hand dragging down to press your belly. “Thought y’had somethin’ smart to say.”

Your leg trembled on his shoulder. Your body jolted, overwhelmed by the way he kept striking that same devastating spot inside you. It was blinding—white-hot heat coiling tighter and tighter, an ache that started deep in your belly and spread like fire under your skin. Every thrust sent sparks shooting through your nerves, your muscles drawn so tight you thought you might snap. You couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.

The only thing you could feel was him—Atsumu, filling you completely, dragging you closer to the edge with every roll of his hips. Your walls fluttered around him, desperate and pulsing, your vision starting to blur at the edges. Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes, pleasure cresting into something dizzying, something raw.

And still, he didn’t let up.

His pace quickened, hips snapping forward with more force, each movement sending a shockwave through your body. The pressure was unbearable, unbearable—and yet, you craved more. You needed more. Your hands clawed uselessly at the bedspread, searching for something, anything, to hold onto.

“Say it,” he growled, voice right by your ear now, his breath hot, cock still driving into you at that perfect, devastating angle. “Say who’s makin’ you scream.”

You barely managed it.

“Atsumu—oh my god, Atsumu—”

You shattered.

Your cry echoed off the walls, louder than you’d ever been before. It ripped from your chest, raw and helpless, your entire body locking up. Back arched, fingers clawing at the sheets, thighs quivering violently as your orgasm tore through you like lightning. Raw. Messy. Loud. It didn’t stop—wave after wave crashing through your limbs, pulsing around him with a force that left you sobbing.

Atsumu groaned, curse muffled into your neck as he fucked you through it, hips stuttering before he came hard, hot and deep inside you, his own orgasm pulled from him with a strangled moan. He rode out every last pulse of it, buried deep, clinging to your thigh like his anchor.

He didn’t move right away.

Just stayed there, your leg still draped over his shoulder, chest heaving against the back of your thigh, his hand still gripping you like he didn’t want to let go. His face nuzzled into the curve of your chest, lips ghosting over the swell of your breast as he pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses there—gentle and slow, a quiet contrast to the way he’d just wrecked you.

When he finally leaned back to look at you, his smile was smug, but his eyes were warm—staring down at the wrecked mess he made.

“Still think I can’t make you scream?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were too far gone—eyelids fluttering, mouth parted, body twitching with the aftershocks.

And as he looked down at the wrecked mess of you—eyes glassy, hair clinging to your forehead, body limp and trembling—Atsumu realized something.

This position?

Yeah. It was his favorite now.