#circular limited

[indefinite-pitch]

Mythopoet - Sylvan

Buy & Support: Mythopoet - Sylvan EP

[lucassinclaer-archive]

feeling quite ill about the way there's absolutely no triumph in el's escape from the nina project. she gets nothing from it, it's just another step in her survival. it's different from her breaking out in season 1 and different still from the hunt kali takes her on in season 2.

she looks so drained, so damned, so hollow when she brings down that helicopter. there's nothing when she leaves brenner behind.

[skrunksthatwunk]

just finished the original devilman manga. wuh!!

[worstloki]

Also btw if Loki gets wound up in multiverse hijinks and the final protagonist isn’t a version of himself or some overestimated gag then it has to be Thor. Thematically

[aria0fgold]

There's this new trend happening in the former bird app where people show how long it'd take for a character to apologize by drawing the head and a line connecting to an apology at the end. And honestly, I'm not good at keeping up with trends but this one is fairly easy to do so!

Good timing too cuz I've been thinking bout the scenario of Alec and Ray arguing so I took this chance to do my own spin on the trend!

Also this is what Ray said for easy reading (and for better viewing cuz it's pretty hard to do bold and italic on a single word in ibis):

"Can't you be a little selfish for once?! Can't you at least just THINK ABOUT THE PEOPLE THAT CARES ABOUT YOU?! Think about your parents! Think about your siblings! THINK ABOUT ME! IT! HURTS! Every single time you go to who knows where, it hurts! My chest tightens so much and my mind is filled with so much worry at whatever the FUCK you're doing and I don't! I don't even know where you are, WHAT YOU'RE DOING!

And the thought of opening that damn door to someone telling me you're in critical condition or worst yet-- dead-- HURTS! SO MUCH!"

[watermelinoe]

and see how dialogue isn't possible when you block someone who doesn't even disagree with your movement, just with certain premises behind it? see how it doesn't allow for practicing harm reduction or nuance? when i'm struggling to get myself to eat anything at all, which can last for days or weeks at a time, what i do eat needs to count. sorry, i'm eating the cheese stick because it's the only thing that sounds palatable and it gives me seven grams of protein. sorry there's no room for women with eating disorders and deficiencies because "eat less animal products" isn't good enough when your ideology values non-human animals more than women's health. but of course the burden falls on women to make ourselves tired and weak while the male-led industry overproduces and overconsumes. at least you stayed true to your logically inconsistent, female-socialized emotion-based beliefs and allowed for zero compromise! there's no way your airtight ethical philosophy has blatant logical flaws at the slightest nudge of critical thought, the people who point out fallacies are just heartless!

[crippledanarchy]

The most disappointing thing as an evangelical fundie kid was finding that one verse about demons fucking humans, successfully procreating with them and creating an entirely new species, and then discovering no one expands on that or brings it up ever again

[raskies456]

wait i bet the whole reduced telomerase expression thing is an anti cancer mechanism huh

[screampied]

✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader, praise, size kink, fıngering, dirty talk, oral fixation, mdni.

“easy, easy,” sukuna groans, having you laid on his broad, empty lap. you’re straddling him, chewing on your bottom lip as he’s knuckles deep into your drooling cunt. already, a clear sheet of slick coats down a single finger of his and you’re twitching from his hold. a cocky grin paints against his lips as one of his free hands attach to your waist. “ah, c’mon. not that bad. ‘s just one finger, princess.”

“y- your fingers are s-so thick, ‘kuna,” you babble out in broken words, and it doesn’t take long before your muscles tighten. indeed, he had much length to his fingers. he was easing you up because just moments ago, you insisted on how you could easily take him on the first try. of course, he decided to help you out anyway, finding amusement in how you’re already about to gush out from just a single digit. the stretch was immaculate, your tummy churns in a line of zig zags as you feel him slowly insert yet another finger inside. “fuck, ‘s long.”

with a breathy chortle, he makes you slump forward into his chest. “such a weak girl,” and his voice pitches against your ear — his breath, hot and fanning near the soft lobe of your ear. “if you can barely handle two fingers, what makes you think you can take two of my cocks, little one?”

your moans become more loud, echoing through the bouncy walls of his devilish, isolated chambers.

your body fails to remain still, grinding against his hand directly underneath you. “k- kunaaa,” you huff, your own jaw becoming loose and dangling itself agape.

it was so delicious . . the stretch, oh the stretch,

the way his two fingers curl into a salacious circular motion, rotating around the goopy insides of your sopping pussy. you were weak, so so weak.

he groans, hearing the slosh slosh squelches your own mess sings from the impact. “hah, ‘s good. i can take one more, please.”

chuckling, his lips press against your forehead. “hm, dunno. maybe i should take ‘em out..”

“s- sukuna,” you whimper, hearing him snickering at your desperate plea. your walls were more clingy than you were on a daily basis, sticking against the texture of his fingers like glue. with your face buried into the crook of his neck, you gasp once you feel the alleviated pressure arise furthermore. “pleaseplease, more. i can take another finger. need another finger.”

“girl,” he snarls, a single fang baring and you jolt into his chest once he spanks your pussy once.

the brief sting that follows makes you throb and it scratches such a good itch in your brain. “what did i tell ya? you don’t need, you want. repeat that sentence for me, pretty.”

“i— i want another finger inside,” you correct yourself, your eye twitching at his familiar sass. sukuna remained seated on his notorious throne, sexily manspread with you on top of him also. your legs felt like mush practically, and the stimulation has you swooning for more. gasping, you bite down on the breaking skin of your lip once more. “want it, ryo. want you.”

“good grief, does fingering make ya forget manners too?” he slyly grins, ruby red eyes peering into the depths of your precious soul.

you sigh, knowing what that meant. as he’s still got two fingers tucked away deeply into your cunt, your arms sling over his tense shoulders. “p- please.”

“atta girllll,” he praises, another one of his hands tugging against the fabric of your blouse.

as you still make a cute attempt at rocking your hips against his lap. he slowly inserts another thick finger inside. tightening around each one individually, you whine before your entire body jitters.

sukuna chuckles deeply against your ear, feeling the claws of your nails seep into the flesh of his arm. “oooh, so three is the limit. i see,” and within three seconds, his digits pull out of your cunt. a slimey string of your filth sticks against his fingers. as he looks down with an utmost hungry gaze, he brings his fingers up to his mouth before sniffing them.

“mhm,” and with glossy eyes, you stare as the demon pops his three fingers right into his mouth. you’re still taking your seat on his lap, watching as his forked tongue devours your enchanted taste. slit eyebrows furrow in arousal before he takes it back out, bringing his fingers toward your quavering lips. “open. taste it, girl,” and as your lips happily part, he slides two fingers inside your mouth, watching you suck against them. he groans, imagining you were putting your cute throat to use on his cock— not his fingers. your pink tongue swishes around, curling against the digits and you taste the bitter taste of your own sweet. “messy fuckin’ woman. taste how dirty you are for me? yeahhh, lick it all up ‘cause ‘m gonna put ‘em right back in. gotta train this weak cunt for the real thing.”

your head bobbles a bit— every few seconds sukuna’s lengthy fingers would thrash back against your uvula, causing you to almost gag. as you lick them clean, tasting his own syrupy saliva in the process, he quickly pulls them out before stuffing them right back into your greedy cunt as promised.

sukuna raises a brow as your head lowers onto his chest. “eh,” and as your tongue playfully licks against his neglected nipples, his breath hitches. you catch him off guard and he grunts at the suddenly sensitivity. “fuck are ya doin’ brat. didn’t tell you to s-suck on . . mhm, those.”

he doesn’t exactly pull you away.

instead, he drags your head closer, looking down embarrassed as your mouth latches onto his thickset pecs like a leech.

it felt odd, strangely new.

you’re sucking against his swollen perky nipples, lolling your tongue around before that’s when he abruptly pulls you off. with a new look of neediness in his eyes, sukuna watches as a trail of your own spit departs from his nipples. you leer back up at him with a teasing grin forming on your lips and he scoffs.

sukuna ryōmen was flustered..

“y’er .. fuckin’ weird,” he grouses, and once he sees your growing simper, he uses a hand to make your head move back toward its former placement near his now dampened pecs.

“keep .. doin’ that. never told ya to stop, little girl. phew, i- i liked that.”

[indefinite-pitch]

GSSG - Parallel Perspectives

Buy & Support: GSSG - The Green Battle

[nubelalifestyle]

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[job-circular-app]

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[velvetcrimsonkisses]

Ride him to tears...

Gojo x fem!reader

Note: omg... its been a while. Be gentle please as i get back into the habit of writing. :))) I'm happy to be back tho and I hope you all enjoy!!!

After a long day at work, you knew exactly what awaited you that night. Gojo, like always, with his eminent laziness, expects you to take the lead. But you didn't mind. The way he looked at you with hungry eyes, ready to devour you. His gaze was needy, almost desperate as he went to lay on the bed.

He could barely restrain himself, large hands grabbing you and pulling you closer. Simple pecks lingering on your neck turn into sloppy wet kisses. And not long after, you’re straddling him, riding him with no abandon. 

The room fills with the whines of the man beneath you as your hips move in an unshakable rhythm, grinding against him, only taking him deeper and deeper with each thrust. You take immense pleasure in watching Satoru fall apart before your eyes. The way his head falls back, exposing his neck, giving you clear access to mark him up as yours. His hands tighten on your hips, nails digging into your skin as you suck and bite.  

His eyes remain locked on you, full of want for you. He couldn’t get enough. "You're so beautiful," he mumbles, his voice low and deep. "I- I love it…." he bites on his words. He continues mumbling nonsense, completely fucked out from how good you were currently making him feel. He trails off as you lean forward, pressing your breasts against his chest as you capture his lips in a tender kiss. 

The smell of sex quickly fills the room, mixing with the fancy cologne he always wore. His skin begins to glisten with a thin layer of sweat that highlights all his muscles just right. You feel your head begin to spin and all you can think about is how every inch of his cock is filling you up, hitting all the right places inside you. 

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, as you grind your hips in a circular motion, moving faster than before. The new angle allows you to take him even deeper, your hips begin to move with a mind of their own, with a rhythm that you can’t control anymore. You just wanted to feel him, to be fully consumed by the pleasure radiating from both of you. 

The heat between your legs burns at an all-time high as your stomach begins to coil, and your walls tighten around him. Satoru's moans fill your ears as his hands grip your hips, guiding you, and encouraging your movements. His cock pulsates inside you and you know he’s almost there… 

"That's it," he groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "Ride me harder. Take what you want."

His words only make you more determined to make him cum. Shaky breaths leave your lips as your hips piston up and down, rising and falling in a relentless rhythm.  The wet sounds of your bodies slapping against each other fill the room, mixing with both your moans and sounds of complete ecstasy.

Your skin flushes red, and both of you become hyper-aware of the contact of your bodies. How close you are, your scent, your body floods Satoru’s senses. He just couldn’t take it anymore.

"You feel incredible," he gasps, his voice rough with need. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Satoru's hands slide up your back, fingers tracing your jawline, pulling you closer as if he wants to merge his body with yours. Hot tears begin to softly fall down his face, from the overwhelming feeling. Your movements become more erratic, more desperate, as you watch how pathetic this man is for you. Satoru slowly begins to match your pace, thrusting up into you, both of you chasing that high.  

With a final, needy thrust, Satoru reaches his limit. His body arches off the bed as waves of pleasure take over him, and hot bursts of cum fill you up. He buries his face in your neck, muffling his cries. Your climax follows soon after, with the feeling of him pulsing inside you, your walls clenching around his cock, as a shock of pure bliss radiates from your core. 

"That was incredible," Satoru pants, his voice hoarse from all the sounds he made. You gently push back his damp hair, wanting to see his face clearly as he gazes up at you. He flashes you a cheeky smile and you press a quick kiss to his forehead. 

Masterlist

Discord

[girl-lostconnection]

Acceleration AU (part 2)

Part 1 || Part 3

Warnings: plus size!fem!Reader x Ghoap, jealousy, unhealthy attachment, Johnny is being a little creepy, no one fucking talks properly here

Soap travels with Ghost back to Manchester practically on the next day after Christmas, bags packed up the day before despite everyone insisting they stay for some more.

But Simon is practically one leg out the door during the whole evening so Johnny just smiles at his family and shakes his head. No, they aren’t staying.

Because Simon sure as hell isn’t staying (and Soap is not staying without him), because Simon has been watching his phone like it was supposed to open up a portal and spit out someone into his hands.

Which obviously didn’t happen.

Which in return obviously didn’t help Simon’s curt demeanour.

But Johnny did.

Soap presses himself into Simon’s side, hip to hip, hand snaking around him, palm resting on his back.

“Yer tense”, Soap notes, knuckles rubbing circular patterns into Ghost’s back.

The room is warm and full of people — laughing and drinking, glasses clinking, lights flickering. It’s a lot. Especially since Simon is not one for the crowds.

But Simon is one for Johnny.

Johnny who smiles in a way that makes Simon’s chest ache and canines itch.

Johnny who is a shining sun. Johnny who is eternal summer — eyes shimmering, world brightening whenever he is in the room.

Johnny who is light and laughter and fiery white hot surge of raw want.

Hungry for more, itching for more, biting and clawing out more.

Johnny is raw determination and sharp eyes and toothy smile and Simon doesn’t fucking know how he can feel this much tenderness for someone who’s this much trouble and who’s still wet behind his ears.

But he does.

And that’s why he drags himself to Glasgow, shakes hands with Johnny’s family and opens up his arms when Johnny gets into his room and bed at night.

Johnny sinks his sharp fucking teeth into Simon and holds on, disturbing everything in the process, knocking over the routines and rewriting the rules so he can worm his way in.

Simon doesn’t mind.

Simon nuzzles into the back of Johnny’s neck, teeth grazing vertebrae, tongue flickering out to collect salt of Soap’s skin.

Simon isn’t sure whether he wants to maul or mount Johnny.

Johnny doesn’t seem like he’d mind either.

So Simon changes his usual routine and comes to Glasgow and meets Soap’s family and deals with the crowd. Because it’s not so bad.

Because he’s with Johnny which makes things much easier.

And he’d be feeling even better if you were here, but you are not coming and he can’t really blame you for it.

After all, how would he even introduce you to Johnny and his family?

His friend? His emotional support person? His home?

Simon isn’t sure there is a word for what you have and at this point he isn’t entirely sure what it is you have. Who are you to each other?

He got so used to having only you on his orbit, so used to know that no matter what you and him are gonna gravitate back towards each other.

And now it’s Christmas and you aren’t here. Why the hell you aren’t here?

Agitation slowly climbs in him, fingers drumming against his thigh, jaws clenching together when one of Johnny’s sisters accidentally brushes against him.

She looks like a nice bird, probably didn’t mean anything by it but Ghost is at his limit and probably there is something in the heavy hover of his brows that makes her stop mid-apology and walk away.

“What’s up with ya?”, Johnny’s brows furrow, eyes flicking between his sister and Simon.

Yes, Ghost doesn’t do crowds but this is something entirely different.

This is an itch he can’t scratch and it makes Soap’s upper lip twitch in a promise of a snarl.

Because that’s not fair.

Because he got so far and now Simon is backing off for some unknown fucking reason and he’s not saying anything but “nothin’, Johnny. All good”.

So Soap snaps his jaws shut and gets onto the train to Manchester. Whatever the fuck it is he will find out soon enough.

Simon doesn’t talk much on his way home, just glances at the phone from time to time.

Hoping that maybe you will text him something about your Christmas. Or a photo of tree you decorated this year.

Or a photo of yourself.

Agitation continues its relentless climb up and he realises his knee was jerking up and down only when Soap presses his hand on it, slowing him down.

He’s not saying anything but there is the same look in his eyes he gets when he isn’t sure whether to do something or let it steam for a bit.

Simon doesn’t say anything but some tension drains out of him the harder Soap presses on his knee, heel of Simon’s boot now digging into the floor.

Pressure feels nice. Pressure feels right. Pressure grounds Simon and he forces himself to breathe slower.

It’s fine. It’s nothing.

You probably had a good time (which for some reason doesn’t seem to make him feel better) and are having yourself a proper hangover sleep-in after celebrating.

Probably that’s why you didn’t answer when he called you in the morning. Just a bit too much fun yesterday.

It’s nothing.

It’s nothing, but Simon is a tight wound spring all the way to the flat, that starts to uncoil only when he unlocks the door and steps inside, noting that your coat is hanging. Your boots are here. You are at home.

It’s warm inside, air smells like ginger and something savoury that makes his mouth water, the Christmas tree is bloody stunning.

And Simon finally feels like breathing again when he hears you shuffling around the kitchen.

Thank fucking god.

Simon shakes off snow and shows Soap where to put his boots and where to hang his coat, suddenly much calmer, tension draining from his shoulders like someone pulled the plug.

Simon pads in the living room announcing “we are home, luv” and plops his and Soap’s bags near the couch before he moves in the direction of what Johnny assumes is kitchen.

It’s strange to see him like that. It’s practically alien and Johnny doesn’t miss the extra pair of winter boots right next to Simon’s. Couple sizes smaller. A coat on the hanger that smells with something faintly sweet. Perfume?

But he doesn’t have much time to think about it because Ghost grumbles “where’s your phone, I’ve been callin’” to someone and Soap feels the creak in his neck with how slowly he turns his head.

But Simon just wraps himself around you, face pressing into the crown of your head, practically rubbing his face in your hair and god, that’s bloody fantastic.

He should have came in person and got you so you could go to Glasgow together.

He should have called you proper and brought you to meet Johnny. He should have come up with something because who fucking cares how he can introduce you? It’s no one’s bloody business who you are.

Simon knows who you are, that’s enough as it already is.

Simon uncurls his hands only when Johnny pads into the kitchen but he still presses a tight kiss to your temple, practically purring out “cookin’ somethin’, sweet’eart? I brought Johnny with me, i’s okay’ yeah?”.

Johnny in question meets your eyes for the first time, feeling an ugly rise of jealousy when you murmur “back so soon, Simon. Go wash, yeah? I’m gonna throw black in next so you can drop your balaclava in the washing machine” like it’s the most usual thing in the world.

Like this is your normal.

Johnny watches a stranger whom Simon cuddled like she was everything and doesn’t know what to do.

She looks back at him, eyes boring into him with quiet intensity he felt before only with Simon.

She looks at him and then her eyes slide down to the nameplate on his uniform and the way her eyes narrow makes Soap feel like he fucked up.

And he doesn’t even know her name yet.

“You are Soap”, she hums, her face carefully neutral but the way she stares him down makes Johnny feel 18 and in his first demolitions training all over again.

Don’t pull the pin out of the grenade when it’s still in your hands. Don’t pull the pin out of the grenade when it’s still in your hands. Don’t-

She is pretty. Wide shouldered and broad, soft sweatpants tighter fit on her hips, dark clearly man’s (clearly Simon’s) sweater a comfy fit on her.

Johnny feels the simmering tension under her skin. Under that bloody sweater.

Johnny feels like there is ticking under her skin, time quickly running out and he has no idea where her wires are.

There is a familiar pump of adrenaline in his system, tips of fingers tingling — twitching to touch. Itching to rub her against the growth of nonexistent fur. Soothe the agitation.

Soap is itching to open her up and see what this ticking is all about.

She looks at him like she’d blow up in his face if he even tries. She looks at him like she’d do it on purpose.

Johnny licks his lips, heart thumping in his ears, phantom ticking of a bomb making him restless, every instinct urging to move, to touch, to see.

Her upper lip twitches and he smiles, eyes dropping to it.

Oh, she doesn’t like him. Why’s that?

Johnny smiles, asking for her name — teeth a flash in the warm lights of Christmas decorations and lamp on the kitchen table.

When she speaks there is an edge to her words, a silent warning not to push, eyes intense and wide open when he tilts his head to the side.

Johnny drawls out her name, savouring every sound, sweat at the back of his neck trickling under his collar when her brow arches, her gaze growing heavier. He can practically hear unsaid “bad dog”.

Pretty.

Johnny wants to crack her open and touch every tiny detail, wants to tug on her wires, wants to see sparks, wants her to vibrate and tick some more for him.

Johnny swallows, his throat bobbing and takes a step to her.

She could hurt him.

He’d probably let her.

“Didn’t know Simon was bringing guests”, she mused and Johnny feels like dropping to his fucking knees and pressing his whole body into her legs, his face in her stomach.

Instead he licks his lips again, eyes sharp as he notes the undertone of “what the fuck are you doing here”.

There is a firework-like cracking inside his scull as he takes another step towards her and watches with strange joy her upper lip raise in actual snarl.

It disappears as quickly as it was shown but it’s already more than he got before.

Soap wants to wrap his palm around the back of her neck and rub his thumb on the hard point of vertebrae.

He isn’t sure whether he’d like to snap your neck or stroke you some more. See what other reaction he can get.

Because you call his lieutenant “Simon”, because you are wearing his lieutenant’s sweater, because you look at Johnny with polite eyes of a lady that never had to deal with mutts like him.

Johnny tilts his head to the other side, neck cracking, strands of outgrown mohawk falling over his forehead.

You look like everything he isn’t, like everything he had to work his arse off to even come close to be, like someone who gets Ghost’s affection without even trying.

“L.T. didn’t tell he had a bird at home”, Soap murmurs, grin widening when your eyes narrow, lashes arrow sharp. Thrill courses though his whole body as he tilts forward. (god does he know jealousy, could’ve wrote thesis on it, could’ve given lectures on it if anyone cared to listen)

He licks his lips again, suddenly realising what is simmering in the bottom of your eyes, his lips stretching even wider.

Hit a sore spot, didn’t he?

Soap breathes you in, forcing you back to press into the counter, scent soft and barely there — no perfumes yet, you probably didn’t leave the house.

Tasty.

“Simon didn’t tell me he’d be bringing you”, you muse back, voice carefully level, lips curling upwards when Soap recoils back, eyes heavier now.

Good.

It’s petty and he haven’t really done anything to you.

But Simon brings him without warning and your whole carefully constructed routine falls apart.

Your plans, your “normal”, your fucking Christmas.

Silence stretches between you two, hovers in the air heavy and thick. But you already gave up your Christmas with Simon to this bloke, you aren’t gonna give another bloody inch.

But it aches, your chest hurting, thorns growing through your veins, curling around your palms and you want to feel nothing but feel upset and abandoned instead.

You don’t look at Soap and don’t see the way his eyes get a little softer when you make no move to stab him with a cookie cutter or smack the daylight out of him.

The phantom ticking stops.

Well, that wasn’t very nice behaviour from both of you. It’s no way to start, isn’t it?

“Yer hoos is a bonnie sight”, he says quietly, stepping back before he extends his hand to you, palm up. “I’m John MacTavish. Soap.”

Your eyes on him are wary and surprised but you still shake his hand, your grip a solid warm presence.

A soft one. A really nice one.

“Thank you”, there’s a pause before you finally say something back, your name rolling off your tongue in return.

Soap hates the way strange trepidation rises in him when you give him a slow blink, shoulders sagging down — fight no longer etched in every line of you.

You look so gentle when you don’t snarl and turn your nose up away from him.

Johnny hums, squeezing your hand one more time and lets it go.

“I’m gonna check on Ghost. Feels like he drowned himself out in yer sink”

To Johnny’s absolute delight you snort, your face lighting up like nothing he has ever seen.

“Bring him back, I’ll put the kettle on”, you shake your head and Soap’s fingers itch again to touch the apple of your cheek. “Fancy some tea? We have different kinds”, you offer to him. A gesture of hospitality.

A peace offering.

Soap rolls his eyes, smirking and breathes out “foockin’ brits and their tea”, but still nods.

Tea is alright. Tea is a start.

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Tag list: @thestoriesiread @skeletonsucker