#i love my men fucked up

[anemocrystalflys]

he Will be mine

i already lost the 50/50 so its guaranteed too

[crows-home]

part of my nimona viewing experience. idk why but i got super emotional in the first five minutes.

ID by @peachygos

[ID: A comic juxtaposing screenshots from Nimona 2023 and drawings of a person watching the movie. The first screenshot is Ambrosius's introduction; he grins at the camera as the news anchors introduce him, his name in big print on the screen. The person watching thinks with a bored expression, "Ah. Ok. This guy is gonna be the jackass. Typical golden-boy stuck-up prince that thinks he's better than the underdog. I see where this is going.

The next screenshot is of Ambrosius and Ballister on the platform above the arena, Ambrosius doing his news anchor bit and saying, "Aaand will Ballister be broody on the biggest day of his life?" Ballister laughs at his antics. The person watching now has a small smile, as they think, "Huh! Aw, they're actually nice to each other and are friends! I wasn't expecting that, that's nice-"

The third and final screenshot is a shot from behind of Ballister leaning his head on Ambrosius's shoulder. The caption reads "the knighting ceremony is just moments away." The person watching now has a touched, soft expression, like they're holding back tears. They think "OH." as a partially transparent doodle behind them bends over crying and blubbering, with another doodle showing their heart shot through with an arrow. /end ID]

[vaguely-concerned]

are. are you telling me that if the romanced mage warden dies and alistair is king, he deadass stares greagoir down over her dead body and grants the circle of ferelden its autonomy after ordering it rebuilt somewhere safer. first you have to deliberately leave him behind so he won't die for you and then he does that for you once you're gone, even when you're broken up??? absolute and literal king behaviour of the highest order????? the actions speak louder than words of it all??????? I think I hauve covid

[jesuistrestriste]

Sage hear me out...

Divorced dilf art who calls his younger gf mommy

art stays cooped up in the house all day—everyday—when you’re out at your hot new job.

he thinks about all the guys your age who probably ogle you and try to make passes at you, not knowing that you’ve got a man pushing 40 waiting at home for you with dinner and a pair of warm, strong open arms.

sigh.

when you do get home, he’s there to greet you (as always). he walks over and holds you close; kissing your cheek, and then your lips and your neck. each one soft and sweet and attempting to wipe your mind of any flirtation from younger men that you may or may not have endured throughout the afternoon.

“hi,” he whispers, and you slide your fingertips down his lower back, making him tremble like a wet kitten.

“hey, baby,” you hum in return. you’re shorter than him, and so when he leans his weight into you his forehead naturally falls into your shoulder. he smells like warmth and outdated cologne and need.

he mouths at your neck in the next moment, his hands sliding to lovingly cup your waist, “i missed you so much.. can i have you now?” he breathes out, his voice shaking and pleading. you feel something thick and warm press into your hip from inside his sweatpants.

and you chuckle and shake your head. he bites his bottom lip to stifle a petulant whimper.

“i missed you too,” you nip at his ear, “but i need you to use your manners if you want something from me.”

he stiffens for a moment before he stumbles forward a bit, taking you with him and gently pushing your back up against the door. “i’m sorry.”

the apology spills from his lips with an earnest desire to make his obedience known. he’d never want to disappoint you. you’re all he has these days.

“can i… can i please have you now?”

a breath. a shake of your head. a rock of his hips against your body followed by a sorrowful, begging moan.

“no?” he shifts against you, his body aching for yours.

“you’re forgetting something, Art.”

it only takes a moment for him to process your words before he’s mumbling a slurry of “i’m so sorry”s into your neck. but apologies only go so far, don’t they? he needs to correct his behavior. he needs to show you that he knows what you want from him.

“please…” he whispers, “please, mommy..”

the honorific rolls off his tongue like honey, heavy and sweet. it hangs in the air between you two and then you let out a low chuckle, “much better.”

“mommy,” he breathes out again, his erection involuntarily pulsing against your body through his clothes, “mommy, mommy, mommy—ngh“

his tone grows more desperate with each mumbling of the word; higher in pitch and more urgent. your hands move up to stroke his short blonde hair, and then you whisper into his ear.

“what do you want?”

god, what doesn’t he want? he wants your hand down his pants, your perfect cunt wrapped around his unworthy cock, your mouth, your lips, your tits. everything.

but he knows you. he knows that this is a trick question. you’re phrasing it like you’re going to give him something, a treat—a reward, but it’s a bit of a trap.

there’s a right and a wrong answer here. pick the wrong one, and he’s in for a night of painful orgasm denial (coupled with a ruined one to end the evening).

but luckily, art is smart. he knows what you want to hear.

“i.. i wanna eat mommy out.”

you pull back gently from him; and judging by the look that spreads over your face when he says that, he picked the right response.

you smile, and then your hands slide from his hair to his shoulders. in an instant, art finds himself being pushed down to the floor in front of you. he can’t help but scoot forward and shove his boner against your ankle, rutting himself into your soft skin as he dribbles precome in his briefs.

you lean back against the door, hiking up your skirt, before you’re looking down to him expectantly.

“don’t make me do all the work, baby,” you practically purr.

art’s hands scramble up your thighs to your panties, which he peels off of your sticky core with wide eyes, letting the thin fabric garment fall to pool at your heels. you giggle.

you kick them off to the side, feeling your boyfriend’s hands clutched around your legs. you sling a leg over his left shoulder, spreading your folds for him to see, and he wastes no time in parting his lips and engulfing your heat with his mouth.

you groan, letting your head loll back, and you move your fingers—letting them wander to the back of his hair once more to push his face further against you. you grind on his eager tongue, feeling him flick it over your clit as he whimpers and suckles. what a slut.

his baby blues look up to you with weighted lids, lapping at your cunt like it’s something he’s been starved of for years. his pupils dilate intensely as he stares up at you like you’re a god; something holy and unreal. and when you shake over his mouth’s ministrations, getting close, he lets out a long, drawn-out whine into your core.

he’s murmuring something that sends vibrations up your spine from the coil deep in your gut. it’s hard to make anything out when he’s drowning in you and loving it, but you can decipher bits and pieces.

“please, mommy”

“come in my mouth, mommy”

“give it all to me, mommy”

“i can take it, mommy”

you’re everything he’s ever dreamt about. you bend his perception of time and space and reason and logic. how could a sweet, beautiful, young thing like you ever want a washed-up, older athlete like him?

he prays that you don’t only like him for his money, and then he closes his eyes and mouths at your sensitive bud. he drools all over it like a sick dog, his brows pinching up as he moans out incoherent pleas for you to finish.

and holy fuck, you come hard.

a strangled cry jolts out of you as your back arches, mixing with a helpless sob from art, and then you absolutely soak his tongue with your juices. it gushes all over his face and he swallows as fast as he can; hell, he nearly chokes on it.

“ffffuck! art! oh my god, good boy, good boy, such a good boy!”

you rock over him until your orgasm recedes, and you pull his head back from you shakily by your tender hold on his hair. strings of your slick cling to the lower half of his face and the tip of his nose; a lewd squelch echoing out as he’s forcefully disconnected from your body. a dazed smile graces your lips and you peer down to watch as art’s hips shake against the hardwood floor and a dark stain appears at the front of his sweats. it’s a pathetic sight, really.

but you watch him moan softly and keep his gaze trained on you as he wipes his chin messily with the back of his hand.

“was i good?” he whispers, like he’ll cry if you say no.

he needs to hear you say it when he’s not lost in the throes of your climax.

your chest is still heaving while you try to slow your labored breaths, but you lean down anyways and meet his lips with yours. you taste yourself on his tongue. he shudders and winces.

you pull back, your bottom lip brushing his.

“so good, baby..”

art kisses the corner of your mouth softly, just once. he’s melting into you.

he loves you. but he swallows that down for now. he opts to murmur out something that’ll sum up everything he feels in a more palatable manner. something that makes him seem less desperate to keep you all to himself for as long as you can tolerate him.

something that he’s earnestly dying to say.

something that he knows you deserve to hear.

“thank you.”

[lotus-pear]

bsd rewatch w my friend means obligatory art of my fav found family ever

[nothatsmi]

"A hundred and one. Going on a hundred and two." "You're a terrible liar."

He lived,,

I'm beyond the point where I can use words to describe them anymore.

Just know that I drew this instead of working and I'll probably keep drawing them more even tho the work's piling up-

I'm not even kidding, it's terrible how much they invade my brain, like I'm always either thinking about them or drawing about them or saving pins on Pinterst about them (the board is getting pretty stuffed), everything i see is ORANGE at this point (it's my favorite color fortunately so I don't mind).

Still not done with the third book btw. I try to make it last as long as I can but I constantly want to read so the end is getting dangerously near...

Next I'll probably draw Dan and/or the other foxes, cause let's be honest they're all so cool...

[lemonavocado]

"oh i love frankenstein! my favorite quote from the novel is i have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine-" grabs you by the throat and chokes you violently

[delinquentluvr]

and to nobody’s surprise my favorite vox machina member is scanlan

[1hot-mess-express1]

🗣️🗣️Nerdy men give the best dick down ‼️

Just thinking about being in his bed, absolutely sticky and a little gross, post sex bliss in full effect as you lay there trying to catch your breath. He saunters back into the room with water and a towel to help you clean up cause he’s such a sweetheart. As your pulling one of your T shirts over your head he just starts blabbering on about the intricacies of whatever game he’s hooked on right now and you can’t help but giggle a little to yourself that this is the man who had you folded over, crying and screaming his name not 10 minutes ago.

[benevolenterrancy]

Swords pining for each other's cultivator is my new favorite type of pining. Love your NieYao content! <3

I don't suppose we could get Baxia or Hensheng throwing a tantrum while Jin Guangyao / Nie Mingjue are away, leaving their owners to deal with the embarrassing aftermath?

Also, do you have any recs you'd recommend with these two?

this is the exact moment Nie Huaisang realised he was going to have to start meddling in his big brother's love life (con't: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

Hensheng, on the other hand, doesn't throw tantrums but WILL sulk...

[candycatfalls]

Very strange to me that there are Ford fans who don't think he sucks. Like. Are you telling me that's not a feature to you guys

[elsecrytt]

masochist gojo. gojo who's in love with pain, so much that it feels like pleasure, he can barely distinguish between the two anymore.

gojo who's so starved for touch. who's had an infinite space between himself and the whole world for so long, for so many years, every day in and day out.

gojo who's survived off glancing presses when a barista hands him a coffee, the rare hug from his students (who are mostly orphans) that he can't bring himself to decline.

gojo who craves more but can't bring himself to accept it except in fleeting moments with strangers or students.

his hands that long to be held. he wants it so bad that he teases a cursed spirit, laces his fingers with its own, right before he utterly crushes the being in battle, untouchable all over again.

gojo whose skin is hungry for someone else's. he hasn't felt the warmth of a hand in his own in so long. not since - since his youth.

gojo who sometimes wishes he could get hit. who sees the impact of curse techniques on his infinity and feels a wild, strange desire for them to go straight through and strike him.

he imagines it, vividly, being impaled by a long spear (inverted spear) that goes straight through him. how it would lance his flesh so cleanly.

being struck so hard, across the face, in the stomach, enough to knock the wind out of him.

enough to feel it with his whole body.

gojo who wants to be touched so bad he doesn't even care if it hurts anymore. infinity couldn't protect him from geto's betrayal.

gojo who keeps infinity up not because he doesn't want to get hit, but because he's terrified of what he might do when it happens.

gojo who got hard whenever geto sparred with him. he still doesn't know if it was because of geto, or because he had no infinity back then, no way to block the strikes.

he dreams of his youth. bruises littering his pale, pretty form like kisses, proof that he was human, there, that there was someone who could reach him.

dark purple things that turned pretty colors as they healed. he remembers pressing into them, relishing the hurt, feeling like he was getting hit (touched, reached, connected) all over again.

nothing ever touches him again. not like that. not like anything.

he never feels it. he never feels anything.

satoru gojo who wants, so very very badly, to feel something.

pain is a choice for him, always a choice. he alone has the privilege of deciding whether or not anything can touch him.

he could try to let more strangers touch him. one night stands, discreet arrangements. he had a pretty face and a body to match. there was no shortage of willing partners.

he lets them touch him, lets them hurt him. lets them drool over his body and use it at their leisure. they tell him he's beautiful, and he believes them.

white hair, blue eyes, sprawled out with a lean, unmarred body full of bare flesh for them to bite and scratch and bruise. he finds people who will do it, do it hard, fuck him up until he's lost entirely in the feeling of being touched, having someone against him, with him, above him.

it makes him feel like a piece of meat. it makes him feel good.

or he thinks it does, anyways.

sometimes, when he's gone particularly long without sleep, when his partner has gone particularly hard, he gets a real rush.

heart racing out of his chest. a cold sweat that overwhelms him. breaths coming in labored gasps. he can heal himself, he's physically fine, so this must all be in his head.

he acknowledges that information, distantly, like it's not happening to him. it doesn't help.

it feels like part of his body has been ripped away from him, something vital and important, and it's about to get up and run away.

always, always, it happens when his partner is no longer touching him. when he lays alone in the sheets, by his own volition, because of course these partners are not meant to be attachments.

love is not a privilege, though, not for the strongest sorcerer. it's a curse.

it's the only curse which infinity cannot protect him from.

so gojo stays untouchable. distant.

but the hunger doesn't go away. never.

he likes to imagine that suguru swallowed this one last curse before he died. something sweet and bitter, like losses at the arcade, sunny days at the beach, walking together with shoko, nanami, haibara.

but even suguru couldn't have absorbed this curse. it's in his bones, deep, longing and wanting even after he's dead and gone.

gojo is hungry. he is so, so hungry. and he has nothing to eat that will not leave him just as empty as before.

touch-starved. love-starved. pain-craving.

if someone could hurt him then it wouldn't matter that he was terrified of attachment. they could latch onto him, into his heart, under his skin. bury themselves in his chest like they belonged.

they could kill a hundred and twelve people and it wouldn't matter, because he wouldn't be able to kill them.

gojo is hungry, so hungry.

please feed him.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

it doesnt need to be said but its genuinely so funny how at-the-hip charles and erik are in krakoa like they really had the green light- the OBLIGATION- to be as obnoxiously close to each other as possible and abused that right to the fullest extent

[msue0027]

let's talk about Charles i-want-to-snog-a-man-on-a-killing-spree Xavier

[kindofatheatrekid]

Soft Yandere! Veteran being pegged! (No. You're not on top.)

How long has it been since I promised a male reader pegging this old dude? Uhhhhh... 😢

How about we not think about that and like- uh- focus that it got done? I have absolutely wonderful pookies that motivated me to finish this so let's all thank my lovely alphas for this! I wanted this to be on kinktober but writer's block and all dat- 😄

This has pegging. Which is in the title. It's clearly NSFW. So like-

MINORS DNI. MINORS DNI. MINORS DNI.

Alright! Now that that's all said and done! Enjoy fucking this old man!

TWs: overstimulation, condescending behavior towards reader, cum play, nipple play, I think that's it- comment if I forgot something pls-

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

KINKTOBER DAY ONE: TEMPERATURE PLAY

Pleasure. That’s the only thing you could possibly be thinking of right now. With your dick shoved into his ass, yet he was the one in full control of this situation. It didn’t matter that it was your hands on his hips— no. Your hands were just finding a place to grab onto while he rides you like he’s trying to drain you dry of both cum and life. This had to be why he looked like a silver fox, right? Stealing the vitality of the poor youth that got caught in his seductive ways. Which, in this case, was unfortunately and fortunately you. It was so warm inside him, the slowly cooling water only accentuating just how much more warmer he was— both from the soft walls that were clenching onto your dick like a vice, and from his skin. The wrinkled, aged skin that only made him even hotter in your eyes. White mixed with black hair on his arms just like his head.

Your eyes tear up from the sheer euphoria he was giving you, tongue almost shamelessly lolling as your mouth stayed open. If it wasn’t for that familiar, irritatingly enchanting glint in the old man’s eyes— moan after loud moan would have been falling off your kiss-bitten lips by now.

Speaking of lips, the reason for your current dilemma was now sliding his thumb over your bruised lower lip. His other hand goes to caress your cheek, the warmth forcing a groan to slip from you without warning. He notices the drool that threatened to leak, using it to coat your dry lips— dry from the heavy breaths you forced yourself to take as he rode you.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles out as you try to focus a glare on him, pathetically failing due to your vision blurring from the incoming tears. His hips suddenly slam down onto you; a brash, animalistic noise leaving you as you’re buried down to the hilt.

Heaven. This must be what heaven felt like.

Your hands scramble to grab onto his hips, grip almost bruising as if he was the only thing grounding you to reality right now. The almost hypnotic grinding of his groin towards yours not helping with the way your mind wanted to shut down immediately. The cool water, the heat from your combined breaths, the way his hands left trails of fire with every inch they grope your skin— there was just so much for your poor brain to handle.

It honestly felt like you were being used as a dildo with how little work you were doing for maximum pleasure. To be honest, you would happily live your days out as his dildo if that was a choice. His raging hard-on kept on rubbing against your stomach, pre-cum and bath water slick on your skin.

Water droplets dripped down from your hair as you chewed on your lower lip— eyes laser-focused on his cock. His cock that you wanted to touch and feel in your hands. Your left hand lets go of his hip just for it to tentatively stroke his neglected dick; the heat in your palm making you shiver in the water. Thumb slowly tracing circles along the slit of its head, pre-cum continuously dripping down to your wrist and into the already cloudy cold water.

You didn’t want to be the only one losing their head, determined to make him fall into this mindless pleasure you were presently in too. You wanted him to bear himself out like you were doing, to show you the raw, primal instincts that you also had. To the point where manners would be shoved aside, and the two of you would just take and take from each other.

His pace noticeably slows down at the growing pressure of your strokes— hand slowly, yet purposefully, running down his entire length. Fingers smearing the thin fluids along the veined skin, feeling it throbbing in your hands. You could hear the way his heart quickens to the same -if not faster- pace of yours, could see the lust-induced haze in the corners of his eyes.

You use this chance to buck your hips up without warning, relishing in the way his throat hitched. Hand reaching down to squeeze his aching balls that were full of cum ready to be released. Your own cock twitched inside him, not faring better than him— overstimulated, needy, desperate: those were the words that could perfectly describe your deafening thoughts at the moment.

Right when you think that you’ve managed to win this unspoken game between the two of you, his lips curve up into a grin. His eyes held a knowing glint, as if he could read what was exactly on your mind right now— it felt like he was stripping you with his gaze despite your nudity. Crow’s feet deepened while his eyes held an obvious twinkle of mischief.

You should’ve remembered that unspoken games have unspoken rules.

He brings his roughened hands up from the water, skin ice-cold from being in the water for too long. His hands sensually slide up your body -your warm skin prickling from the cold- until they stay on your chest. He could probably feel how hard your heart was pumping right now, wrinkled palm right on top of it. Your eyes meet: calm meeting with panicked, smug meeting with wary.

Rule #1: He’ll always be in charge.

Your back arches when his weathered fingers pinch your nipples— senses confused as warmth floods inside your body, yet everything outside is cold. A gasp-like moan involuntarily leaves your lips, lips formed into an o-shape as your grip on his cock tightens reflexively. A deep groan escaping him as well from the squeeze, cool fingers still refusing to stop as he twisted your nipples almost painfully.

Another, louder, moan is forced out from your vocal cords when his head dips down— lips clamped onto one of your nipples, rough stubble grazing against your wet skin. You couldn’t help but come when his hot tongue swirls around the sensitive nub, teeth grazing against the already tortured skin. Eyes rolled back once again for what felt like the hundredth time. Your other nipple, receiving the same cruel treatment with his icy fingers. He definitely felt when you came; the water significantly more opaque as your cum dripped down his thighs and into the tub you were both in. Your cock still painfully hard in him despite coming just a few seconds ago.

Rule #2: You’re the bitch. Not him.

His eyelashes flutter when he finally releases your nipple from his soft lips, fingers already tweaking it before you could even sigh in relief. Your hand quickly lets go of his cock to grab onto his steel reinforced hips for bearing again— forehead pressed against his chest as you whine for him to stop.

“Why are you moaning, лапочка? I’m the one with your dick in my ass so why are you acting like our positions are reversed, little one?” Fuck. His dirty talk only made you want to beg him for more.

Your moans only get louder as he pulls on your nipples, drool pouring out from your lips like you were a brainless zombie— lips unable to remain closed. Shivers ran across your entire body, body trembling from both the cold and your overused cock. You were sure that you were only shooting blanks by now, every pathetic squirt easily seeping into the cloudy bathwater. You’d need to take a shower afterwards to clean all the come off you.

Rule #3: Don’t ever expect to walk after he’s done.

A choked whimper leaves you when he finally pulls himself off you agonizingly slow, your limbs feeling like jelly by now. You didn’t resist when he brought you into his arms, mind a slurry of contradicting sensations and abused instincts. Your eyelids drooping when he captures your lips in his, the kiss a slow, but careful one— everything he did had a reason and was meticulously planned out. A likely habit from his youth.

“You did so well, Солнце. Such a good boy for me. I’m so proud of you~” He croons out in a heavy voice, peppering kisses all along your face as his scarred hands snake up to your neck— his touch tender as he strokes your warming face. His own, ignored, cock still stiff and raised while he pampered you with the kisses you desperately needed right now. Your voice just whines for more of his attention, arms wrapping around his cold body to pull you closer to him.

The two of you just stay in the chilled bathwater for a moment, clinging onto each other for warmth as your labored breaths become background white noise. His lips trail down to your neck, pressing kisses onto your frigid skin— your breath hitching as his tongue slips out to run a fiery trail of saliva up to your jawline. An almost hissed out groan leaving his lips when he tastes the cold salt on your skin.

His eyes looked practically feral at this point, licking his lips clean of your taste before he crashed his lips onto yours to share what he thought was his own heaven. Swallowing down all your moans and whimpers like a starving man who finally got a feast laid out in front of him.

He reluctantly breaks from the kiss for the both of you to breathe. His hot breaths harsh on your skin as he leans his lips closer to your ear— whispering at a volume where you could only hear even if there was no one else around you two. A little secret that only you would know with him.

“As sweet as ever, Милый.”

Translation:

Солнце = sunshine

лапочка = sweetie pie / cutie

Милый = dear / darling

A/N:

Damn. I honestly didn't think this pegging would win. It was honestly included as both a joke and the consequence of staying up too late for too many consecutive nights... (Y'ALL TORTURED ME. THIS WAS SO HARD TO KEEP THIS OLD MAN'S HOLIER THAN THOU ATTITUDE WHILE BEING RAMMED!!) 😟

There. Y'all got to fuck the old dude. Happy now?? But anyways please comment anything you want me to do. (It'll take time, though. I'm not chat GTP okay?) 😩

Just no vomit, scat, and the works okay? Golden showers are a hell no too. Look. I'm not going to kink shame here, but I cannot write anything like that due to my BOUNDARIES. Non-con, baby trapping, and other dark matters are fine. I love that shit. But yeah. Maybe I'll make another OC, maybe not. It really depends on my mood. 😘

AUTHOR OUT! 😌

[orcelito]

It's so fucked honestly that people genuinely believe that others Need to put effort into their appearances in order to be attractive. Like I dunno about you guys but I fucking love people's natural appearances, messiness and all. We are not the same.