#but then i have to do hand-intensive work at my job

[gowns]

the economy in los angeles rn is kinda um.... unprecedented levels of what da hell...

i initially wanted to be a filmmaker, playwright, actor, writer. i was just fascinated by film and theatre and knew that people made a living doing art -- i mean, my dad's a musician, so i personally knew people making a living doing art. but i was particularly drawn to storytelling and performance mediums.

so, i'm going to focus on film here: it's always been difficult to find work in hollywood, but there was still kind of a method of getting work. there are tons of studios and production companies. let's say out of 100 hopefuls, like 60-70 of them could find consistent work in one way or another. a lot of people end up in post production, smaller crew work, whatever, but they're grateful to be working in film in any way that they can while they (usually) nurse their secret dreams of funding and screening their own projects. and let's say like, 10 out of 100 of these people end up making short films for festivals (that are usually bids to make larger features), and 1 out of 100 could make a whole feature (i'm just pulling out random vibe-based statistics, i'm just typing up something quick here and don't want to look up / don't know if it's possible to see stats based on "dreams")

well the thing is, that hollywood is imploding. i know a lot of people who work in production and post-production. you live gig-to-gig. usually it's like, several weeks or maybe months of intense work on a project, then you're done, and floating free in a kind of nerve-wracking way, and then you get another gig, and then you're booked again. very feast or famine.

but lately it's just.... famine??? i keep seeing EXPERIENCED film industry people posting that they're looking for a job, any kind of job, and they have so much skills, but there's nothing.

like what i'm trying to say is... nothing is being greenlit. there are very very few new projects being made, in film or tv. it's going all the way back. some people say it's because of covid and production halting, other people say it's because of strikes, other people say it's all AI, other people say it's because of tiktok and how "anyone can make a video." and it's all of the above, combined with increasing costs of living -- it's not enough to just make a few thousand from a film gig and coast on that for the rest of the year, because your entire MONTHLY RENT is a few thousand dollars.

--

back in february 2020, i made a joke to a group of film production people, gesturing at posters for movies that looked terrible to me -- "god, they just keep making movies, and they all suck. i think what hollywood needs is a sabbatical. like, everyone should just stop making movies. there are already so many movies. we don't need anymore!" and there was a laugh then a sort of awkward silence, and i could sense a monkey paw curling just out of sight. and i quickly added "oh right, but like, there should still be movies of course, ha ha. like, you guys should still have work."

--

i think about this a lot.

like, film as a medium, film as a place in our culture, hollywood as the nexus of storytelling with a budget and many skilled hands.

it feels so present and eternal to me. but it's so new as a medium, and also predicated on so many factors. and a lot of those factors are like a crumbling cliff!

was it ever sustainable?

--

i sometimes envision my life with all these possible paths, and how i somehow picked this one random path (freelance photography), thinking that the other paths would still be open to me. "of course, anyone can do anything at any point in their life! :)" <- ever the sunny optimist.

but as i get older, and the economy gets worse, and the industry continues to implode -- and boy, if you think film is suffering, let's not even get into theatre or publishing -- i'm like wow. actually, all those other paths have gnarled dead trees and tumbleweeds. no matter how much i "dream" about XYZ, we're at a point in history where those things might not be viable anymore.

and then, outside of film as a medium, there's also the empire that we live in, the basis of all this material wealth that has been able to fund big-budget movies. and i love the things that can be done with hundreds of people and expensive cameras. but is that kind of storytelling going to continue to be feasible...?

and i get kinda freaked out because there's THOUSANDS of people here in california working in the film industry. and if they all lose their jobs....?

and if everyone i know loses their jobs...?

ummmmmmmm

like i said every day i wake up and see another "please for the love of god i need a job i have 4000 skills and no one is hiring" post and i just start sweating and going .... "what is happening..."

[jeonsblackgf-writes]

Every inch of you | Eddie Munson

summary: you’re insecure about yourself after having a baby. as your husband, its eddie’s job to reassure you no matter what.

warnings: none

word count: 2,554

pairing: Eddie Munson x black!reader

——————————————————-

The soft hum of a lullaby drifted through the room, a faint melody playing from the baby monitor on the dresser. The night outside was still, the only light in the room coming from the soft glow of the nightlight beside the crib. The baby, barely a few weeks old, lay in her crib, her tiny form curled up in the soft blankets.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your eyes staring down at the remnants of your pregnancy—your body having undergone so much in the past months. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of disconnection, a weight on your heart that wasn’t from exhaustion, but from something deeper. You’d just given birth to your beautiful daughter, but somehow, looking at yourself in the mirror, you didn’t feel like you recognized the woman staring back at you. Your body had changed. You weren’t the same, and though you knew you shouldn’t feel this way, you couldn’t stop the insecurity from bubbling to the surface.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts.

“Hey, you good?” Eddie’s voice called, the warmth of his tone doing little to quell the storm inside your mind.

You sighed, wiping your hand over your face. “Yeah, just… just tired.”

The door creaked open, and Eddie stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding yours. His dark hair was messy, his usual wild curls even more chaotic after a long day of being up with the baby. He wore a faded band tee and a pair of loose jeans, but it was the way he moved—slow and deliberate—that made you pause. You had always noticed how gentle he was with you, but these past weeks, as new parents, you’d seen a side of him that made your heart swell.

Eddie’s brown eyes softened as he took in the sight of you sitting there, lost in thought. His gaze flickered to the baby, then back to you. Without a word, he crossed the room, sitting next to you on the bed.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his hand gently brushing against your back as he reached for you. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away, instead, you looked at the baby—your baby—her tiny chest rising and falling with each soft breath. She had Eddie’s eyes, dark and intense, and your skin—smooth, rich, and radiant. You loved her more than anything. But still… you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had lost something in the process.

“I just… I don’t know, Eddie.” Your voice cracked, and you felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I just don’t feel like me anymore.”

Eddie’s hand was now resting on your knee, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting you process what you were feeling. He knew you were overwhelmed, but he also knew that this was something you’d have to work through in your own time. The one thing he was sure of, though, was that you didn’t have to do it alone.

“Listen to me, okay?” Eddie said softly, his voice steady and comforting. “You are more than just your body. You’re… everything to me. And you’re everything to our daughter.”

You met his gaze, and something in his eyes made your heart twist—soft, sincere, and full of love.

“I know you’re probably not feeling the greatest about everything right now. You’re adjusting, just like I am. But—” He stopped, his words a little more playful, his lips curling up at the edges. “—you’re still the woman I fell in love with. The one with that amazing smile, and the way you laugh when you think something is funny, even when it’s a little dumb. You’re still you, babe.”

A laugh escaped your lips at his words, but it was tinged with sorrow. “I just feel like I’m not—”

“You’re still beautiful.” Eddie interrupted gently. “You’re the most beautiful woman I know, and I don’t mean that just because you’re my wife. I mean it in every possible way.” He took your hand in his, his thumb brushing the top of your knuckles. “I can see it, in the way you hold our daughter, the way you care for her, how gentle you are with her, even when you’re completely exhausted. You’re perfect to me. And you’re perfect for her.

You swallowed hard, the tears you’d been trying to hold back threatening to spill over. “I don’t feel perfect. I don’t even feel like myself right now, Eddie.”

He let out a soft breath, his thumb rubbing over your hand in slow, tender motions. His gaze never left yours, the love in his eyes so raw and true that it made your chest tighten.

“I get it,” Eddie said, his voice low and sincere. “But what I see in you, babe… it’s not just your body. I mean, you’ve got the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen, but it’s more than that. It’s the way you care, the way you love with everything you have. The way you put everyone else’s needs first. I’ve never seen anyone more selfless, and more… incredible than you.”

You shook your head gently, feeling the weight of his words, but still unsure of yourself. “I’ve changed, Eddie. I don’t look the same. I don’t feel the same.”

Eddie moved closer to you, his hand on your cheek now, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that had slipped down your face.

“You’ve had a baby, sweetheart.” He smiled softly, his lips brushing against your forehead as he whispered, “That’s gonna change things. But that doesn’t mean you’re any less of the woman I love. You know that, right?”

You nodded, but your eyes fell to the blankets, the weight of your thoughts still clouding your mind. Eddie’s finger lifted your chin so that you were forced to meet his gaze.

“Look at me,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “You’re not alone in this. And I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, every step of the way. You’re perfect, just as you are, and that’s how I see you. Always.”

His hand slid from your cheek down to your collarbone, his fingers gently tracing the soft curves of your body. “I see you, all of you. And you’re more beautiful than you’ve ever been.”

The words settled in your chest like a warm balm, and you let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as you leaned into him. Eddie’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a wave of peace wash over you.

The room was quiet for a moment, save for the sound of your baby’s soft, steady breathing. You rested your head on Eddie’s shoulder, letting his warmth envelop you. He wasn’t pushing, just letting you be. And somehow, in that moment, you knew he was right. You were still you.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

Eddie kissed the top of your head, his hand running gently through your hair. “I love you more than you’ll ever know. And nothing, not even time, can change that.”

You stayed like that for a while, in the quiet stillness of the night, wrapped in each other’s arms. With Eddie by your side, you could face anything, even the uncertainty that came with motherhood and the changes in your body.

And when you looked at your daughter, peacefully sleeping in her crib, you realized that this new chapter—this beautiful, chaotic, life-changing chapter—was something you could navigate, with Eddie and your little girl by your side.

The room was peaceful now, the baby monitor quietly hums as you and Eddie sat together in the dim light. The quiet, soft breathing of your daughter, still in her crib, was the only sound that filled the space, but you felt like the air between you and Eddie was thick with something deeper, something comforting.

Eddie’s hand still rested on your knee, his fingers occasionally brushing against the skin of your leg as he just… sat with you. He didn’t say anything more at first, but his presence was enough. You could feel his steady heartbeat, the calm energy that radiated from him. He was here, with you, and somehow that made all the difference.

You leaned into him a little more, letting his warmth seep into you, feeling the comfort of his embrace, as though he was giving you the strength to keep going, even when you felt like you didn’t have enough.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words falling out before you could stop them. You weren’t even sure why you felt the need to apologize. “I’ve just been… so hard on myself.”

Eddie shook his head gently, a soft laugh escaping his lips as he leaned back against the headboard, pulling you into his side even more. “You don’t have to apologize for that. You’ve been through a lot.” His fingers brushed your hair back from your face, his touch gentle, like he was trying to smooth away every worry you had. “You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling right now. You just had a baby.”

You nodded but couldn’t quite look at him. The insecurity still lingered, despite his words. Your body had changed, and you couldn’t help but feel like a stranger in your own skin.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Eddie said suddenly, his voice low, almost like he was speaking to himself. He was looking down at you now, his hand resting on your lower back, the touch grounding you, reminding you that you weren’t alone in this.

“I feel anything but incredible,” you murmured.

“You are,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “I’ve seen you grow, not just as a woman, but as a mother, and honestly, I’m in awe of you.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. You looked up at him then, finding him staring at you with so much tenderness that it made your heart ache in the best way. His dark eyes were soft, filled with admiration and love. He wasn’t just talking about your looks—he was talking about the person you were. The mother of his child. The woman who made him feel whole.

“Eddie…” You trailed off, not sure how to respond, but his fingers on your chin coaxed you to look up at him fully.

“I mean it, babe,” he said, his voice hushed. “I’ve never seen anyone do what you’ve done with so much grace. So much strength. You brought our daughter into this world—into our world—and you’re doing it with a love that’s so… so fierce.”

You swallowed, feeling the tightness in your chest again. It wasn’t just from the exhaustion anymore. It was the realization that maybe, just maybe, Eddie was right. Maybe you could give yourself some grace too.

“Look at you,” Eddie continued softly, his hand gently cupping your face. “You’re sitting here, taking care of us, still managing to look after her, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much I love you for it. You’re beautiful inside and out.”

His thumb stroked the curve of your cheek, a subtle reminder of just how much he adored you. You felt your breath hitch, the emotional weight of everything—of motherhood, of the changes in your body, and of the love you felt for him and your daughter—felt so overwhelming in the best way.

“Eddie, I…” You stopped yourself, not quite sure how to express what you were feeling. “I’m scared sometimes. That I won’t look the same. Or that I won’t be enough. That I won’t… be the wife or the mother you deserve.”

Eddie’s expression softened even more, and his voice was thick with emotion when he spoke next. “Stop it,” he said gently but firmly. “You are everything I need. And every part of you is exactly what I want. I don’t care if your body’s different, or if you feel a little lost right now. You’ve given me the best gift I could ever ask for: you gave me our daughter, and you’re everything she’s ever going to need.”

His words hit deep. You had known how much he loved the baby. But hearing him say that he loved you—all of you, changes and insecurities and all—was something else entirely.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie continued, his lips brushing against your temple as he kissed your skin softly. “I’m right here, with you, always.”

You pressed your face against his chest then, not saying anything for a long moment, just feeling the rise and fall of his breath. Eddie wrapped his arms tighter around you, pulling you closer, as if to emphasize his words.

“You’ve got this, baby. You’ve always had this. You’re not alone.”

You closed your eyes, taking in the sound of his steady heartbeat. You knew he meant it. And in that moment, you realized that, while it was okay to feel uncertain and vulnerable, you had something—someone—who made it easier. Eddie had always been your rock. He always would be.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but Eddie heard it, as if the words were a promise that everything would be okay.

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment before he answered.

“I love you more than anything.”

The silence between you both felt like a soft cocoon, a quiet assurance that you could take on whatever came next—together.

You sat there for a while, just holding each other, until the baby’s soft cry interrupted the peace. It wasn’t urgent, but Eddie immediately rose from the bed, moving with the same care as he always did when it came to his daughter.

“I’ve got her,” Eddie said, his voice gentle. “You stay right here. Get some rest.”

You watched him, your heart swelling as he carefully lifted the baby from her crib, holding her close to his chest. There was something so beautiful about the way Eddie interacted with your daughter. He was calm, nurturing, and oh-so-patient. Watching him with her made your heart overflow with a different kind of love.

As he cradled her in his arms, rocking her back and forth, you couldn’t help but smile.

Eddie caught your gaze, a mischievous glint in his eyes despite the tenderness of the moment. “I swear, I’m gonna make you fall in love with me all over again if you keep looking at me like that.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and carefree as you nodded. “Already did.”

Eddie smiled back at you, but it wasn’t just a smile. It was the kind of smile that spoke of a deep, unshakeable connection—the kind that only grew stronger with time.

As you watched him with your daughter, you realized something: You had everything you needed. Your body might not feel like it used to, and you might have moments of doubt, but Eddie was right there by your side. And that was all that mattered.

Together, the three of you were unstoppable. And maybe, just maybe, that was the most beautiful thing of all.

[sassysousa]

😩😮‍💨 The wrist pain is a result of, not punishment for, doing work with my hands. Take the pain killers. 😔

Trying to remind myself that im allowed to take painkillers even if the pain is "my fault".

A migraine is a result of, not a punishment for forgetting to eat - take the painkillers.

Back pain is a result of, not a punishment for poor posture - take the painkillers.

Sore joints are a result of, not a punishment for overexertion - take the painkillers.

Pain is not a punishment for a mistake. Painkillers are there to ease suffering. There is no glory in misery. There is no virtue in agony.

[audiovisualrecall]

This is a start, anyway. Lots of research and work ahead.

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

.

[arundolyn]

every time a customer is completely oblivious about how bad liquid damage is for a computer an angel loses its wings I fall to the ground screaming in agony and then i lunge across the counter and start tearing at their face like the witch from left 4 dead

[gay-fordeath]

.

[exoexid]

the suyeol lore is so crazy

[todayisafridaynight]

I may just be delirious but I kind of feel like there's something there about some of the most traumatic events in Arakawa's life arguably stemming from/being made worse by being loved too much.

Like, Toshio's death, right. The death of a parent is always always going to be traumatic, particularly when your other parent is abusive, but I feel like being there, being the first to the scene, made it so much worse. Especially when it should've been a good memory.

Non-zero chance I'm just projecting because I was there for my own father's death and I was around Arakawa's age at the time, but it's like... it did have very specific life-long effects, didn't it... the way he keeps coming back to Peking duck and talks about it like he's had it before when he can't even bring himself to eat it unless he's with family (and indeed, never did, up until right before he died)...

And then there's his former patriarch. Of course, he seemed to see Arakawa as more of an object--fully under his control and something to be thrown away at the first sign of autonomy. But I feel like, before then, Arakawa must've been his "favorite," if he was willing to arrange a marriage between his daughter and Arakawa. Which I expect is what made his reaction when Arakawa told him he was (technically) having an affair with Akane and wanted out of the family that extreme in going as far as to send men after Akane and Ichiban.

The last one I can immediately think of is not exactly traumatic for him, though it is traumatic For Me so I'm counting it, but it's of course what we were talking about with Jo hesitating so much at the thought of killing Arakawa that he passed up the chance to save him.

I Dunno I Am Delirious but... there's a pattern somewhere in there... Anyway. Uh. "Happy" Father's Day am I right

happy fathers day :]]]]

[crayonurchin]

I got the job :)

[save-mohamed-family]

My campaign is verified and added to the Gaza Donations page with number 192.

Thank you for documenting my campaign from the following accounts:

@sar-soor @heba-20 @el-shab-hussein @90-ghost @soon-palestine@ibtisams @marnota @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @i-am-aprl @northgazaupdates @fallahifag @fairuzfan

I love you all 🙏🙏♥️���

I am Mohammed Almanasra, 32 years old, married, and a father of three children: Abdulrahman, 6 years old, Sarah, 4 years old, and Lina, 3 years old.

My story began with the loss of my parents and four of my sisters, who were bombed and lost their lives along with their children after the events of October 7 and the severe war on Gaza. Now, I am facing a severe injury to my leg, which is at risk of amputation if I do not receive the necessary treatment. My wife, children, and I are displaced, without parents or siblings, and my wife is also suffering from uterine cancer.

Recently, I moved to the south of the Gaza Strip, fearing for the lives of my children. We left behind our memories and our new home, for which we had not finished paying the installments, in addition to losing my job. Currently, I live in a tent that does not protect me from the heat of summer or the cold of winter, and without the minimum necessary livinng basics including water, food medical care, clothe and even bedding .

I suffer from a chronic asthma and severe attacks from tightness and an extreme allergy in the ear and I need medicine that are not available, or very expensive .

Under these difficult circumstances, after five attempts at displacement and narrowly escaping death from the bombing, I am trying with all my might to protect my family, the most precious thing I have.

My dreams were shattered, and my house was destroyed, and I found myself living in a tent no larger than 4 square metres. My work turned from a tailor to a street vendor in order to barely buy a few crumbs of bread to feed my children.

Look at what happened to my children because of the intense heat and the insects that thrive in the summer season. Every day, I take them to the hospital to treat them due to poisonous insect bites. I implore every kind-hearted soul to help me protect my children.

My son, Abdul Rahman, has a deep passion for playing football and is a devoted fan of Real Madrid. He always dreamed of playing football at his school, but the war prevented this dream from coming true.

Where are you, Real Madrid fans ?

Help Abdul Rahman achieve his dream.

Every donation will make an enormous difference in helping me save my family.

I feel very sad and embarrassed to ask for help, but I have no other options left. I know that this request is difficult, but I also know that there is still humanity and living consciences and I believe in miracles.

Your support during this extremely difficult time will give us hope in the midst of devastation and despair.

If you have any inquiries or questions, feel free to ask me, please!

To everyone with a compassionate heart,

To all who understand the essence of humanity,

This is a message from my innocent children, who trust that their words will reach everyone who truly understands the meaning of childhood.

We cry out to you, asking you to feel our sorrow and pain, and to extend a helping hand to us in this time when we are in desperate need of your mercy and compassion.

My name is being repeatedly added to many public and private donation campaigns. Please, be a support for me in this difficult situation.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1yYkNp5U3ANwILl2MknJi9G7ArY4uVTEEQ1CVfzR8Ioo/htmlview

Sincere greetings & thanks

Mohammed & the family

[givemethesleep]

.

[sttoru]

𝝑𝑒 SYNOPSIS. sukuna is shameless—not caring if anyone were to ever catch him righteously claiming ownership over his favorite concubine in the garden.

wc. 1.5k-ish

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. smut, pwp. exhibitionism. size difference. dumbification \\ objectification. has two c.ocks. hair pulling. use of spit (yeah ik i wouldnt write for it but its sukuna). breeding themes. overstimulation. reader gets called ‘little girl, slut’. sukuna’s a menace and loves to create drama between his concubines

“shut up. i don’t care if they’re here or not,” sukuna grunts, tightening his grip on your fleshy thighs as his lower cock slams in and out your sloppy cunt without much thought. the sound of pruning shears cutting off branches is easily overwhelmed by the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin.

you feel sorry for those servants who’re just doing their job tending to the garden. none of them dare to look your way. they’re sweating, eyes solely focused on the branches they’re cutting, acting like they are not hearing the sinful moans and grunts in the distance. if they look, they’re dead. that much is known.

everything is blurry to you. all you can manage to do is let out a string of pleasure filled whines. your body is easily overpowered and held up against the harsh wood of the nearby wall. your thighs are spread in an awfully painful way, your knees up to your chest. quite literally folded in half.

“i said eyes on me, y’ fuckin’ slut,” sukuna barks. he does not have the patience today. you breaking the intense eye contact with him only worsens his mood. one of his veiny hands tug at your hair. the others hold you up—not allowing you to even think of getting back on your feet until your tight cunt is done milking him for what he’s worth.

you gasp and sukuna takes the chance to grab your jaw with yet another free hand. “open y’r mouth,” his hips do not still for even a second. they roll and ground against yours, the surrounding skin near his pelvis stained with your wet juices. he could smell it. just as nasty and dirty as he wants it to be.

you part your lips and keep them like that, not wanting to piss sukuna off even more. he grins at the sight of your red tongue instinctively rolling out like the obedient little girl you are. he spits right into your mouth, “swallow.”

you do so without second thought. the warm liquid trickles down your throat. sukuna watches in satisfaction, drilling into you until your insides are complete mush. you’re drooling over yourself already—clearly having lost control over your rationality.

you sniffle and try to hold onto sukuna’s biceps. your small fingers curl around the shape of them, nails digging into his flesh. every time you think sukuna’s finally letting up, he only increases his inhuman pace. “my l-lord, ‘s too much,” you cry out. your body could only handle so much pleasure before it’d break down. your pussy is convulsing around his girthy cock, feeling his other sliding back and forth over your sensitive clit.

the king of curses shuts you up with a hiss. his bottom set of eyes is focused on the impressive scene of your tiny pussy swallowing his cock so easily. he’s feeling proud of the fact that he’s molded you into the perfect concubine for him and his carnal pleasure.

sukuna has fucked you silly enough times to know how to get you under his spell. his fingers brush over your hard nipples, grabbing the squishy flesh of your tits as they bounce with each of his thrusts. he leans his head down towards yours. his rough, raspy voice makes your body heat up, “no, no. it’s never too much for my little girl, right? she can easily take ‘nother load f’me.”

your breath hitches and sukuna realises it worked. he knows just what to say to manipulate you into giving in. so he can fuck you senseless for how long he wants. you’re a sucker for the fact that he calls you his. that’s what you are—you’re his woman. only his and no one else’s. the claim of ownership makes your pussy clench.

“y-yes, my lord. i can take another, i can,” you breathe out, head swaying from side to side, not mentally able anymore to keep up with sukuna’s intense libido. yet, your body is still active, squeezing around sukuna’s dick as he promised you more of his precious cum.

the king of curses snickers, amused by just how fast you gave in. “that’s what i thought, hah,” he’s realised that his hold on you knows no bounds. you’re his little toy. the only one he wants to ravish these days. and the only one worth of carrying his seed.

you’re still thinking about the way he’s called you ‘his little girl’. it’s driving you closer to the edge. you start to get louder, completely ignoring your inner thoughts that begged you to have some decorum; to try and hide the fact that you’re getting slutted out in the courtyard.

there’s not much hiding it anyway since the servants have a clear understanding of what’s going on behind them. “mghh, please—please need more!” you mewl and sukuna listens. his red eyes darken with desire as you get into it. he loves to experience that lust driven side of yours. a complete opposite to your usual formal and shy self.

“louder, c’mon. let them know i’m fucking you good,” sukuna sneers, enjoying the mind games he is playing with you. you’re too cockdrunk to even notice. the them in his sentence refers to his other concubines. he knows that you’re secretly craving to get revenge on them and show them just how well you get dicked down by him every single day.

unlike them, who rarely get graced by his touch. that is, when you’re unavailable.

you do as told and increase the volume of your erotic moans, letting everyone around the estate know what you’re getting up to. not like anyone could interfere. sukuna wouldn’t dare let them live a second after.

“that’s it, yeah,” the sorcerer grunts and rams his length repeatedly into you, cursing at the way you’re gripping him so tightly. you’re so dripping wet that he slips out of you for a second. he moves his hips, angling them better to slam back inside of you.

however, you’re one step ahead. your shaky hand reaches down between your legs and you quickly guide his tip to your entrance, urging him to push between your moist folds again. “nasty fuckin’ girl,” sukuna scoffs at your desperation, though secretly thrives off it. he switches cocks and shoves the upper one into your cunt.

you gasp. you’re so used to him to the point that you could sense the difference between his dicks. the upper one has more veins and is a tad bit girthier. you hiccup and nearly choke on your own moans and spit from the change of pace and dicks. “ngh, ‘tis so deep, my lord—” you whine loudly and your hands move to hold your breasts, stopping them from painfully jiggling around in every direction.

sukuna hums in content as he continues his rough thrusts. he can feel his balls twitch and clench, ready to shoot his sperm all up in your womb like you deserve. though, he doesn’t want to end this moment too quickly. he wants to extend it.

“c’mere,” sukuna grumbles and stops pounding your poor, aching cunt. he stills his dick inside you and allows you to cling onto his tall stature, lifting you away from the wall. he silently urges you to wrap your legs around his waist so he could carry you.

the robes of your kimono get left behind on the patch of grass near the wall of the main house. there’s a few droplets of white liquid that’s stained the grass, right where sukuna and you were standing at seconds ago.

you don’t think about anything anymore as you babble about how full you felt with his cock all the way in you. the fat tip brushes against your cervix with each step sukuna takes towards his next destination.

“keep talkin’ to me, doll. tell me how good it feels to take my cock,” he grins smugly as he carries your little body like a trophy into the main building—not paying mind to any maids who he passes by. they’re shocked by the sight of their lady in such a state, though are only able to bow at the two of you.

sukuna finally stops in front of the dinner table. the same table you always have dinner at with him and his other women. he places your back against the surface, big hands holding you down by your hips. “there we go,” he coos mockingly, seeing how you’re completely fucked out, yet still needing more of him.

the king of curses has his own twisted reasons of bringing you here. looking outside of the window, you notice how the sun is starting to set. that’s also the moment you realise his hidden motive.

the other concubines will sooner or later gather at the dining hall to eat supper. they’d expect a peaceful meal, though instead, they’ll be greeted by the sight of their dear lord screwing his favorite. it’ll be a painful blow to them.

which is exactly what the ruthless man wants to achieve.

sukuna licks his lips and all of his eyes focus on you solely, “gonna enjoy my dinner a bit earlier t’day, yeah?”

CR. STTORU 2024

[a-b-riddle]

Can’t stop thinking about poly141 who get so wrapped up in their own bullshit they begin to neglect reader. So you leave 🤷🏼‍♀️

It wasn’t a big deal at first. You understood that their jobs were intense to say the least. You own a bookshop, which in itself was exhausting, but you understood how they could get carried away with work.

You had excused the many delayed returned texts or missed FaceTime dates when they were deployed. When they came home, they almost always made it up to you. Showering you with attention and quality time.

But the past two returns home have been… different.

Usually at least one of them made a beeline to your shop or your loft if it was too late in the evening. You always held your breath when it was just one of them.

“They’re okay.” Was the usual answer. “Everyone made it back okay.” It was only then that you could melt into whoever’s hands you were in.

After one of their recent returns home you had voice to Price that you didn’t appreciate several days passing after they came back and no one had bothered to tell you. He had snapped. Arguing that a mission doesn’t finish just because they land back on soil. There was paperwork and debriefing to be done. If and when they wanted to see you they would.

He didn’t apologize until later. Crawling into your bed, using one of the keys you had given them. Blaming the stress. How they had almost lost Johnny for the reason of his outburst. What else could you do but forgive him?

So you had given them space after that one. Not holding it against them to decompress before seeing you.

The next time was the final straw. Solidifying how little they cared about you and how much power you had given them.

Johnny had come in around 7 one evening. He was dressed nicely, for civilian standards. You were reading a book on the couch when he had let himself in. You were wearing on of Simon’s sweatshirts and panties. He took you in for a moment before scooping you up.

He fucked you absolutely stupid. Adamant on having you cum on his tongue, his fingers and his cock. You were only able to bask in the afterglow of him filling you up before he started pulling his pants back on.

“What are you doing?” There were times that you would practically need a crow bar to get Johnny detached from you just long enough to relieve yourself. You had gotten many a UTI courtesy of Mr. John MacTavish.

“Dinner with my family tonight.�� He explained by the time he was already buttoning his shirt. “The youngest just graduated and ma’ feels the need to go all out.” Now came the tie. Johnny was actually wearing a tie. To go to dinner. “A fancy dinner in London.” He huffed. “Meanwhile I’m out scufflin’ with bloody fuckin’ terrorists and I get a pat on the back.” He gave you a peck on the cheek before heading out the door. Promising to call you later.

You just sat in your bed. Still naked. Almost in shocked. He had fucked you and just… left. You were close to a panic attack as you called Simon.

Simon wasn’t the one to cuddle and coddle. But there was something so soothing at the sound of his voice or even how his heavy body felt perfect laying on top of you. Yes. Simon wasn’t the time to lift you up with words, but he was your own security blanket. Just having him close helped.

“Can you come over?” It wasn't unusal for Simon to be the one to come later in the evening. Insomnia was a bitch to deal with and you could sleep through the sounds of whatever he played on the tv. Most of the times you were content laying your head on his lap as he ran his hand along your head as if he were petting you. It was a bit cringe, but it knocked you out every time.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. The low timber of his voice already calming you.

“Johnny came over.” You sniffled. “He just fucked me and left.”

“Not surprised.” He scoffed. You could almost see him rolling those deep brown eyes of his. “If you wanted to cum, I’m happy to come over and help.”

For whatever reason, that only seemed to make you more upset. “You’re not listening.” You said, trying to spell it out for him. “He left. Like didn’t even stay and cuddle just left. Fucked me and left.”

“That’s why you’re calling me crying about?” He almost seemed… annoyed.

“Yes!” You said, nearly snapping. All of the tension from the last several months coming to the surface. “I’m not just a warm body to keep a bed cozy until you assholes decide you need to get one off.” Assholes. You called them assholes. “This isn’t what we agreed to.”

“Johnny is Johnny.” Simon tried to defend, not really caring to continue the conversation now knowing that you weren't in any sort of physical harm. “He wanted his dick wet and from the sound of it, that’s what he did. Don’t hold it against him because he had other things to do.”

“It’s not just Johnny leaving.” Your throat felt like it was tightening. A telltale sign you were close to crying. Whether from sadness or anger you weren't entirely sure. “The only time any of you want anything to do with me anymore is to fuck.” You missed date nights and lunches. You missed texting any and all of them about your day, about theirs. About new books. You had been trying for months to tell them over dinner one of your books got picked up. Yours was being traditionally published.

None of them had bothered to even try penciling you in.

“You got yours.” You heard the popping of a can top. Simon was settling in for the night. Once he popped a top at home there was no getting him out. He wasn't coming for you. “I don’t understand what you’re bitchin’ to me about. Yeah, in the beginning we indulged ya a bit? Dressed you up, took you out. But you should have known spreadin’ them legs of yours wouldn’t end with one of us puttin’ a ring on your finger.”

You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? These were the men that pursued you. Initially, individually, but when tensions became to much they offered a solution. All of them. Four times the attention, of the affection.

Four times the love.

But also four time the neglect. Four times the amount of heartbreak and disappointment. Loving all of them meant putting yourself in a position to let each of them hurt you in their own way and they had.

John's constant state of snapping at you as if you were one of his men.

Johnny swinging by as if you were just a fuck buddy. Not even bothering to give a peck before leaving.

Kyle essentially ignoring you for weeks now. Ghosting you for hours or having to cancel on date nights last minute or claiming that he really did forget that the two of you had planned to meet for lunch.

And now there was Simon. Telling you that all you meant to them was what was between your thighs.

Spreadin' them legs of yours wouldn't end with one of us puttin' a ring on your finger.

None of them ever intended on making this into something more. That much was clear now.

You didn't know what to say to Simon. You couldn't think of a witty retort. You couldn't find the proper insult to whirl his way. You couldn't convey just how much his words had hurt.

So you did the only thing you could.

You hung up.

[shotmrmiller]

pornstar au

f!reader x simon 'ghost' riley

3.7k words (sorry)

tw: teacher-student relationship but it's just a scene for porn. explicit. horrifyingly so.

You burst into the classroom and stride purposefully towards your professor, who is seated in his leather chair, engrossed in his work. Impatiently tapping your foot, you waited for him to finish marking essays. However, after 5 minutes, your patience with this unbearable man ran out.

"Professor."

He hums, a deep sound coming from the back of his throat yet doesn't look up from what he's doing. A real piece of work, he is. How fucking aggravating.

"Professor Riley," your voice takes an irreverent tone.

The hand that had been writing non-stop comes to a sudden pause, and he finally directs his attention to you. Meeting your gaze, his dark eyes are hooded, his lips set in a firm line. His job is to literally deal with students, yet he dares to look annoyed.

"Are you gonna tell me what's wrong 'r am I gonna have to learn how to read minds?" he states.

Taking in a calming breath, you clench the crumpled essay in your hand. "Can you explain to me why you failed me on this? I did exactly as you asked!"

He must know precisely what you're talking about because he simply turns back to the papers on his desk.

"Tha's your problem. You did exactly as I asked, with no thought behind it. Just wrote the bare minimum, if you can even call it writin'. It's copy-paste," Professor Riley sets the pen down and leans back in the chair.

"I need ya to use tha' head o' yours when in this class. Otherwise, you'll fail the rest o' your classes too."

Fucking hell.

Professor Riley shifts in his seat, seemingly done with the conversation, and finishes, "If tha's all."

Shit. Your pause is too long, and the director calls it. Fuck.

"I'm really sorry, Ghost, I didn't mean-" Your words of apology dissolve into thin air as his strong hand finds its place on your hip— giving it a gentle, but firm squeeze.

"S'all righ', love. Mistakes happen. Matter fact," his eyes drift from you to behind you to beckon someone with two fingers. "C'mere, you."

It's the set assistant, and he's brought the script with him. Ghost swiftly stops him from handing it to you, instead pushing it onto the assistant's chest. "Won't be needin' tha', thanks. Tell the director tha' we'll be ad-libin'. Now sod off."

The assistant follows his command in haste, scurrying off to follow Ghost's instructions.

"Hey," he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, feeling the intensity of it quickens your heartbeat. "Say whatever you like, just remember to follow the storyline, alright?"

Follow the storyline. In porn. The irony isn't lost on you, but you bite the side of your gummy cheek to keep from laughing. "Yes, sir."

He drops his hand from where he held you slowly, seemingly almost reluctant to let go. "Ready?" Ghost's thin lips curl into a smirk when you nod at his question. "Good girl."

Your fingers tightly grip the flimsy material of your uniform skirt at his praise, and warmth pools in your lower belly.

His good girl.

A high-pitched voice cuts through your thoughts, signaling the restart of the shooting. You exhale a long breath, unclenching your hands in the process.

Action.

"If tha' all." Ghost reaches for his pen when you frantically grab onto his Oxford sleeve.

"Wait, Professor, please! I can't," you stammer, "I cannot fail this class! My parents would kill me if I studied abroad only to flunk. The tuition—"

His tone is authoritative as he abruptly cuts off your lengthy excuse. "Enough. Nothing can change the mark I've given you."

Your ears pricked up at his wording, and the corners of your lips pulled up into a roguish smile. "No?" Ghost stills before turning to face you, countenance blank. "Nothing at all, Professor?" With a coy tilt of your head, your wide, doe-like eyes meet his as your fingertips trace an alluring path from his forearm down to his knuckles.

"I really can't convince you in any way to change that grade for me?" You lean on the edge of his wooden desk— skirt so short it doesn't even graze the surface of it— and lightly curl your hand around his pointer finger. "It can be our little secret, Professor Riley," you purr.

Ghost lifts a single brow, and settles back into his seat, arms crossed over his barrel chest as his eyes travel from your feet to your exposed cleavage, fixating on the soft skin peeking out from your uniform top.

"Please?" his hushed voice reverberates inside your skull. "I promise to be a good girl."

That catches his attention, eyes flashing to yours, the fire behind them hot— you hope it burns you.

"'Sat, right? Tha' changes things now, doesn't it?" Ghost rolls his chair back, away from his desk, and spreads his thick legs apart in invitation, arms resting on the rests— the dictionary definition of casual. "Convince me then, pet."

"Yes, sir." Sauntering to stand in between his legs, you swallow thickly— the bulge in his groin was quite frankly, intimidating. You've had large, but this was in a league of its own.

"You gonna do it from up there? I know I'm bigger than average but not tha' big." A huff escapes from your lips. A whole comedian.

Knees pressed into the cold, tile floor, you expertly undo the button of his trousers and with his help, pulled them down along with his pants— just enough for his cock to spring free.

Bloody fucking hell.

His cock is monstrous. It rested against his belly, heavy and thick. The pink tip slightly peeking from under his foreskin. There was a groomed thatch of coarse hair at the base, and his balls were also heavy— one hanging lower than the other.

Ghost leans forward and cradles the underside of your jaw with one large hand, fingers gently caressing the delicate skin of your cheek, while the other pumps his rigid cock in anticipation. "Not scared, are ya?" His grin was wicked. "I promise it don't bite."

Grabbing his wrist, you maneuver his hand so that his thumb now rests on your soft lips. "Might not, but I do, Professor." And catch the tip of his finger between your blunt teeth, the subtle sting of it making him hiss.

"Perfect, pretty girl," he says, almost inaudible. His words of praise are for you alone— not for the scene, nor the camera. You peer up at him through your lashes, mewling softly at the expression on his face.

His brow was set, hooded eyes sultry, a rosy hue across his cheeks and nose, and lips parted as he panted quietly.

Delicious.

Ghost then pushes his thumb further into your slick mouth and hooks it behind your bottom teeth, delicately pulling you closer to him as he tips his head down— taking his thumb out with a pop. His warm breath fans across your face as he moves closer until his lips connect with yours. He slid his tongue into your mouth, tasting of frosty mint and his own unique taste.

Your hands come up, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs when he grasps your wrist and moves it to the focal point of his desire— his breath hitching when you give his cock a firm squeeze. Ghost bites your bottom lip before breaking away, a guttural noise escaping him when you begin to stroke him. "Tighten your hand around—" he breaks off, moaning against your kiss-swollen lips when you comply.

He threads his fingers through your hair that sits at the base of your skull, curling them into a fist and tugging back— craning your neck, hair pulled taut.

"So obedient. Jus' f'me, love?" you hum cheekily, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

"Would you hold it against me if I said no?" he chuckles under his breath, the grip on your hair tightening marginally.

"I'd say tha' you're lyin'." He sucks in a breath when you press down lightly onto his slit with your thumb. "Cheeky."

He loosens the hold he has on you, feeling your scalp prickle with tender relief, and relaxes back into the chair. "All yours, sweetheart."

That light wasn't getting any greener, so with a grunt, you shifted your weight, ignoring your aching knees, and wrapped your lips around his cock.

Barely.

The salty bite of his arousal and musk spread on your tongue as you took him in deep, stilling once he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, look at me."

Slightly tipping your head back, you do as he says, your throat closing around him as he slips in even further.

"Fuckfuckfuck," a hiss, "such a hot little mouth, just swallowin' me righ' up." Your lungs burn with the lack of oxygen, forcing you to pull back to gasp for air. Ghost squeezes himself at the base and taps your cheek with his saliva-coated length.

"A dirty slag like you, jus' takin' me like a professional. Tha' what you are? A professional cock sucker, love?" he taunts. Your pussy clenches when he calls you a slag, pressing your thighs together in the hope of some friction; Something to alleviate the throbbing ache in between your legs.

Ghost with eyes as keen as ever, notices. Damn.

"Oh? Little harlot likes to get degraded, does she? Reminded of her place? How I'd love to teach you exactly where you belong, but tha' wouldn't be you convincin' me to change your bad grade, now would it?"

His cock taps on your swollen lips. "Another time, hm? Now open. Make me see reason."

Ghost's wish is your command. With enthusiasm, you take him in your mouth, slowly bobbing your head, place a hand right under your lips, and twist with every push and pull.

It's sloppy, spit covering your hand, dripping down to his balls. Your jaw aches, a burning pressure a little under your ear, but what gives you the strength to continue is the loud moans coming from Ghost. He holds nothing back, his hand engulfing the crown of your head while he gently pushes you down. A performer down to his very bones.

You were about to pause the recording, the pain in your mandible and knees almost becoming too much when he suddenly pulled you off of him.

"Wha—?" Ghost seizes you by the upper arms, forcibly bringing you to your feet, disregarding your pained whimper, and places you on the sturdy desk.

He's curling his fingers into the waistband of your frilly knickers, slipping them down your legs and pocketing them. There's a quiet popping sound when he bends his knees, going eye level with your bare cunt.

In a hushed tone, you say, "This isn't part of the scene." Ghost drags his eyes from your glistening slit to your face, gaze suffocating, smothering the very air in your lungs.

"Just a taste, love." He curls one hand under your thigh, lifting it to perch it on the edge of the desk, the other he throws over his strong shoulder. The only sound in the room is your soft moans as he expertly slides his warm tongue through your slick folds, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

By god does he eat pussy like it's his job. Peering down at him, you can't stop the sounds that spill from your mouth when his tongue visibly splits your pussy lips open, flicking at your clit, lapping up your arousal like it is honey. You take hold of his short hair, tugging at the strands as each swirl of his talented tongue pushes you closer to your peak.

His eyes cut to yours when he presses a thick finger into you, drinking in your desperate expression as you keen, begging for more, blabbering about it being so good, yet not enough, please god more.

Ghost curls his finger, only taking a second to find your sweet spot, and pushes— bursts of light flashing in your peripheral vision. You begin to rock your hips unconsciously, chasing your ecstasy, and Ghost simply flattens his tongue, letting you grind against it.

You teeter on the edge of bliss, a tightening in your stomach, right under where his finger is. Shaky exhales leave you, the leg that's on the desk visibly trembling from the tension that threatens to snap you in half.

He presses a kiss to your sodden pussy, and croons, "Gonna come f'me?" You jerkily nod.

"Yes fuck yes, I'm gonna come for you, just for you, Professor Riley pleaseee—" your blathering turns into a high-pitched squeal as he lightly sucks on your pearl, hips lifting off the desk as a blinding orgasm crashes into you, pleasure bursting through your very core, cunt pulsating with every wave of ecstasy around Ghost's finger.

He wastes no time in rising to his feet and slotting his mouth over yours, the taste of your slick strong, potent on his tongue. Ghost breaks away, his breath smelling of your desire. "Exquisite, like ambrosia. Addicting."

Ghost's hand cups your sensitive quim and whispers, "Think you can take me? Tha' orgasm took a lot outta ya."

Silly question. "I'm a big girl, Ghost. I can take it."

He licks the front of his teeth and glances down to where his hand rests. "Course you can, love. Turn around f'me."

Your movements are sluggish as you turn over onto your stomach, rising to the tip of your toes as you present yourself to him.

Ghost grabs the sides of your waist, and flips your skirt up, tucking the edge into the waistband of it. His hands palm your cheeks, thumbs digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open, completely exposed to him.

"Fuck me if tha' isn't the prettiest sight I've ever had the pleasure of seein'." He doesn't acknowledge your scoff as he spreads your hands out, placing them flat on the table— enveloping your hand with his own, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His leans over your semi-prone body, cock gently prodding at your entrance, gliding easily through your folds. "Ready?"

Arching your back, his tip slips inside, just barely. That's your answer.

You can hear the smarmy grin that spreads on his face, and wanted to snark back but you're rendered mute when he pushes in. Your eyes cross at the stretch of his cock, a feeling so sublime you know that no one will ever be able to duplicate. Your fingers tighten around his as you mewl when he bottoms out, hips flush against your arse.

Ghost sucks in a breath through his teeth when you shift your weight, and whatever you did has him sliding in deeper— turning his hiss into a guttural groan. "Fuck, you have no fuckin' idea how good you feel."

Probably not, but you have every idea how good he feels.

"You okay, love? Took me so well like you were made jus' f'me. So warm and soft, tight like a vice around my cock. Pretty pussy split wide open, stuffed full of me." He speaks unfettered filth to you, dripping over your ears like molasses, thick and syrupy. Your head feels heavy on your shoulders— dizzy, drunk on his scent, his cock that's got you tearing at the seams.

Then he begins to move, pulling out until an inch remains inside, and pushing in until he's nudging the plug of your womb, feeling a deep pinch under your navel.

This is what it's like to get fucked by Ghost. The one everyone covets after, hoping he drags down the very heavens with his bare hands and lays it at their feet. And here he is, fucking you. A newbie, a fresh face no one knows yet, a name that'll probably never grace the front page.

You doubt his motives are altruistic, but goddamn does it not matter; Not with the way he's carving a space inside of you that only he will ever fit in, or the way he's curling his free hand around your neck, thumb pressed right over your racing pulse.

He lowers himself until his strong chest is to your back, his teeth nipping the tip of your ear. "The moment I saw you gettin' fucked by Johnny, I knew I had t'have ya." Your walls clamp down on him involuntarily, wrenching a pained noise from him. "Fuckin' hell, I knew this pussy would be magical."

Ghost's lips skim over the shell of your ear before pressing a chaste kiss on it. "Lemme hear how good I make ya feel, pet. Don't hold back on me now." He grinds into your arse, going in so deep that it feels like he's trying to push past the entrance of your womb. "S'alrigh'. I'll jus' have t'pull 'em outta ya."

He releases you, placing both hands flat on the desk, on either side of your shoulders. "Take em for myself, make 'em mine." Straightening all the way, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your waist.

"What a view. Perfection." He rolls his hips, rhythm languid, loud squelching noises coming from where he fills you. "Drippin' cream all over my cock, pet. Can't tell me this isn't 'cause of me."

How the fuck can he still talk? How is he coherent? Why isn't his brain turned into mush like yours is?

"Fuckin' ya speechless, am I? Oh, sweetheart, but I'm barely gettin' started." Ghost slowly pulls out, and curls his hand around your shoulder, nudging you to turn over. "On your back, now."

You lazily flip over, hair sticking to your sweat-slick skin, and he hooks his arms underneath your legs and drags you to the edge until your arse hangs from it. "I wanna see that pretty face when you come." He wastes no time in sheathing himself back inside your swollen channel, walls fluttering at the invasion.

Ghost hooks one leg over his shoulder to lean forward, pinning you to the desk with his upper body, and maneuvers your other to wrap around his wide waist. "That cock drunk look on your face makes my balls tighten, what a fuckin' expression you've got, christ," he growls. "Knowin' I put it there makes it all the better."

He gives you a chaste kiss on the lips and gives you a smile that is all teeth. "Now let's make you sing."

Grunting, he straightens. plants his feet firmly, stance wide, and begins to fuck you. The videos of the famed Ghost you saw are nothing, nothing, in comparison to real life. His full weight is behind every spine-jarring thrust, it makes your teeth clack, it rattles your brain inside your skull. He does it so perfectly because at no point do you feel any discomfort, not even a twinge. It's all a pleasure that blazes, an all-encompassing heat that threatens to swallow you whole, burn you from the inside out.

His cock punches the breath out of your lungs, wails clawing out of your throat, and it's so good, so fucking good— god, maybe he is god, you don't know, everything is so blurry, hazy—

All senses focus on the sudden touch between your legs, an expert thumb drawing tight circles on your slippery clit and there's no way you're going to survive this—

"There she is, the girl I saw in the video. Tha's an expression I see in myfuckin' sleep. Give me what's mine, pet. Let me feel you, cream all over my cock."

He's relentless in his pursuit of your climax, a wave of pleasure so intense, it just might drag you out to sea, drowning you.

Ghost, the fucking god of sex, stops his ministrations to spit on your pussy. Spit. From his full height, a glob of warm saliva drops to your mons, and he smears it with his fingers over your pussy lips before rubbing your clit. His thrusts slow in pace, turning into a firm snap of his hips, making sure you feel every ridge of his cock, and in less than a minute, your spine arches off the desk.

Your mouth opens into a silent scream, lids snapping shut as you break underneath him, warmth gushing from where he's continuously sinking into you, a steady, slow rhythm that never ends.

"Came all over me, didn't ya? Bet you didn't know you could even do tha'."

You didn't.

"Jus' for tha', I'm gonna give you somethin' in return, yeah? A little reward for bein' so good," he praises.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, swollen and thick, and unconsciousness creeps at the very edges of your mind.

All you can do is lie there and take it, his sloppy thrusts, his harsh panting until he moans, "'m close, so fuckin' close," and with whatever remnants of strength you have left, you use to squeeze him tightly— unwilling to let go because his come is yours now, you've earned it.

"Come in me, Ghost," you whimper.

That does it. He slams his hands on either side of your head and borderline roars out his release, cock twitching inside of your used cunt, filling you with his spend.

Cut.

Ghost's breathing is labored, a harsh pant that fans over your overheated skin, damp with sweat.

His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut, gulping in air and shivering in the aftershock of his climax.

To be fucked by Ghost is to see the Garden of Eden behind your eyelids.

Now you understand. You understand why he has no equal. He is unparalleled.

Jesus Christ, you're fucked. So, so fucked.

He slowly opens his eyes and peers down at you with a wolfish grin.

"Perfection."

--

A week later, your video with Ghost is the most viewed on the entire website. Not one other video even scratches the bottom of where your video sits.

Ghost truly is the king.

Curiously enough, your friend is the one who lets you know that Mr. life-altering cock himself never kisses during work. Not once in any video of his has he ever kissed, apart from a short pressing of lips to skin.

Your heart traitorously flutters at the thought of it meaning something more. Catching feelings when you get fucked for a living is not the move. But there's no stopping it from misbehaving, especially when you receive another script, to make another video with Ghost.

Another. one.

Fuck. Fuck!!

You cannot wait.

@mishaglass

[ervotica]

Imagine this: youre in college, and after all those boring classes you come to your job at the donaldsons that includes riding him in the couch for as long as your legs allow you.

Tashi just coming home to thats sight and just making herself a afternoon drink unbotherd.

Dbsnhxhsb

omg shut up???🥲

warnings; all smut not much plot, older!art, so much potential for this series aghhh

a/n; art is an ear freak i literally feel it in my balls he loves it when u suck on them ears (he did it to tashi so he likes doing it to others too <3)

the front door clicks and you wander through, in this teensy little white tennis dress that art told - no, commanded - you to wear when you came to work. the dress that shows the strain of your hard nipples through the fabric, swollen into points like diamonds, the one that slips upward and reveals the perky swells of your ass, the barely covered seam of your pussy when you trounce up to him, chirruping nonsense and smiling at him like he’s the only man in the world.

he murmurs something indiscernible - a pleased noise that reverberates at the back of his throat - and you lean over the back of the couch, sliding your manicured fingers across the expanse of his chest, chin tucked to his neck.

“hi.”

“hi, baby,” he murmurs in that low, rasping way that turns your insides molten.

fast forward no more than ten minutes, and you’re both bare, art’s thick fingers curled round your waist as he uses you as a fleshlight, lifting you up and down like a ragdoll and watching, entranced, as your cunt flares and parts for his thick cock; you sob and babble, slumped forward against his chest, nails digging into porcelain skin, teeth scraping along art’s cheekbone.

“i know, baby. i know,” he grunts, and you’ve never heard a sound like it. your cunt clenches, a soft silk wrap around his cock, and he’s turning his head to suck at the corner of your mouth, all spit and drool and tongue, so much of it that it drips from your chin, globs of it pooling between your tits.

the front door clicks and you’re both too lost in each other to care as tashi comes through the living room and enters the kitchen; art hooks one of his huge hands under the crease of your knee, lifting your leg until it’s draped over his forearm, bracing his feet against the leather of the couch as he jackrabbits up into you. you make a sound somewhere between a moan and a scream, and then tashi’s figure is crossing by you once more, drink in hand, lithe fingers nudging at your jaw to examine your expression. she bends at the waist, pinches your pert little nipple and rolls the bud between her fingertips, and smirks - fucking smirks - as your pussy clamps down on him like a vice; art lets out a stuttered breath, pulls you down onto him, and cums on the spot.

neither of you quit writhing against each other; he has at least another load in him, cock already chubbing back up encased in your spasming walls, no doubt an angry red and drooling precum. tashi settles herself on the armchair opposite you, already disinterestedly flicking through tv channels.

“want my mouth on you,” you whisper, face pressed just below his jaw, breathing hot air onto his neck.

“in a minute, baby,” he supplicates, grunting as he sheathes himself further into your tight warmth, balls heavy and swollen and slapping against your ass with every filthy rock of his hips.

tashi crosses one leg over the other, the picture of boredom, and says, “bite his ear. he loves that shit.”

you do just that, teeth rolling over his lobe as you suck the sensitive skin into your mouth.

he almost cums again, hands sliding up and over your back to still your movements so he doesn’t blow his load right there.

oh, tashi’s going to have fun with you. mould you into a perfect little toy for her husband, take some of his intense, fervent pining off of her, let you be the center of his world so she can focus on improving his game.

she might even keep you if you’re lucky.