#idc i have nothing else to tag it with

[youresodarkbabe]

i'm cooking (again)

plot's basically finding al's old sextapes from 2007-ish

(smut under the cut!!)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

your fingers linger on the 'play' button, and you eventually decide to give in— to see what this ancient looking camera had in store for you. and what you got was definitely unexpected.

the video took your senses one by one.

first, a faint whimper filled your ears. after that, you hear your boyfriend's voice. his accent was much thicker, you could tell this video was old. based on the date on the bottom corner of the video, you could see it was filmed around the time the boys were recording their first album. you hear alex swear, taking off the camera lense— giving you a sight to behold. alex with his hard cock in his veiny hands, you had to stop yourself from moaning when you saw it. alex rests his back against the headboard of his old bed, and swipes his thumb over the tip of his cock before prying it away from himself. he spits into his palm, you notice his dick twitch, and he grasps onto it again, stroking himself as his jaw falls slack. his free hand paws at the bedsheets before he brings it up to his body, running it over his lower stomach, then running it up his torso, fingers stuck to his nipples as if by glue— twisting, pulling, everything he could do to make himself feel good. his whines grow louder, and he triggers a third sense within you.

touch.

you find yourself slipping your hands into your sweats and past your underwear, and before you can stop yourself, your index finger runs along your folds, then circling along your clit. you moan almost in sync with alex, every circle rubbed aligned with the pump of his fist along his cock.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

full fic sometime soon 🤞

[kyyuuuy]

(gets shot immediately)

[monandre]

was not looking for you but hello gongous.. come to strawpage's sticker section often ?

[femmefaggot]

ok hi haha lol I dont rly feel like going in circles in my head forever trying to figure out whether, among other "smaller" things, being left alone in a room w only media as a child and not feeling like I had even a semblance of a personality for most of my life counts as "trauma"

a lot of these parts of me are new, I'm just recently putting names to them and it feels as though I'm developing facets of personalities in my mid 20s after a lifetime of either feeling like I'm basically just ADHD in a person, an amalgamation of kins shoved into a body, or something made of guilt Also shoved into a body.

I don't like, claim to know what this means. but I don't think a lot of my current mutuals would feel comfortable interacting w me bc I don't necessarily believe in the black and white of what plurality is. I'm not able or planning on getting any formal diagnosis and while I'm discussing this w my therapist they're very much not one to pathologize

I definitely don't feel like one person but I dont think id count for most of you as a "system" as the different parts of me feel as though theyre still developing. take all of this as you will, I'm not going to stress my body out more by trying to figure out "what" I am as I've been doing that my whole life and I'm kinda tired of it.

I know that I'm not entirely one thing and feel Enough like multiple things for myself, but blurred in a lot of ways. like some sort of gem with many different facets.

not sure where to go w this tbh take this how you will. im not comfortable saying I'm leaning one way or the other regarding system discourse, (<- not a phrase i want to use but the best shorthand i have) as I genuinely don't believe the human brain is nearly that black and white.

I'm both "me" and very much not "me" at times. idk what this means but ik I'm not comfortable saying im just pandora and im not sure im "allowed" to say im a system and im not sure if it matters, or should matter, regarding friends. im going to be like this regardless, id unfollow me if this grey area im likely to stay in bothers you

if you don't want me refollowing I'd probably block, too, as my memory is bad

[trappedinchemicalplantzone]

not sonic related sorry not sorry

but here's some quick art of my ocs !!

their names in order are Luperca, Verto, and Valdis, I might post some more about them here

hopefully these guys can help me get out of my art block so I can tackle my requests

[unfamiliaris]

I could never be a fandom famous artist I follow an artist with a really unique cool style and I've personally met like at least 10 people whose entire artistic goal is to perfectly replicate this style and if that happened to me I'd end my fucking life personally

[astramachina]

if there is one piece of advice that i could offer writers that aspire to get traditionally published, is that when people say the industry is wholly subjective, they are 100% correct and coming to terms with this is the difference between continuing on and just breaking.

whenever i'm not getting automated rejection messages, agents who actually take the time to explain why they're passing on the manuscript (a HUGE rarity but i've been lucky this round) makes you realize real quick that it really does boil down to "actually, i just didn't vibe with it".

i keep seesawing between wanting to scrap or keep my opening chapters, and so far it's been pretty 50/50 between there's too much going on, and, there's not enough going on on most of these rejections.

the most bewildering comment i've gotten so far was that there wasn't enough worldbuilding in the opening chapters. not enough worldbuilding. in a horror novel. a contemporary horror novel. something that goes against every standard regardless of genre.

like, zoinks scoob. it's all good. i'm confused, but we're chill about it.

[pierswife]

Fucking BEGGING coworkers to be direct when telling me things, we've been over this, if you're trying to convey information ESPECIALLY if it's information pertaining to me, JUST TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK YOU MEEEEEAAAAAN

[lurkiestvoid]

quick test, pls help

If you see this post anywhere at all, please interact with it in any way even just a like

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I love to get 2 on

Tags: Satoru x fem!Reader, Toji x fem!Reader, mmf, polyamory, cursing, smut (fighting over who gets to breed you), dumbification, finger sucking, breeding kink duh, implied size kink, daddy kink, mdni.

An: this is so self indulgent of me to write but idc nothing else is intriguing me besides this thought. this will likely end up being a small series because i have sooooo many ideas about these two nasty fucks.

Having both Toji and Satoru as boyfriends was not for the weak willed because these two men are constantly at each other’s throats when it comes to your attention.

“Don’t look at him. Look at me. ‘m the one givin this pussy what she wants.” Toji’s husky voice growls into your ear, breath fanning across your skin before he grunts.

His hips are slapping against yours — fucking you deep into the mattress while his heavy cock slides in and out of your sloppy hole. Pornographic squelches are coming straight from your pussy, making you cringe, but both of your boyfriends seem to be going feral from it.

Satoru’s pale blue eyes roll as Toji once again steals the show away from him. His palm cups your chin, and he drags your focus right back to his swollen cock. His tip is a pretty shade of pink, and it’s sweltering — leaking beads of precum over and over while he leisurely drags his hand up and down his length .

“Don’t listen to him. Look at Toru.” He coos with a grin, loving how fucked out your face gets when Toji absolutely ruins you. “He’s just a placeholder, riiight~? You’re still going to let me breed you after.”

You’re so pliant for them, nodding your head like a dumb slut. Nothing else in the world is better than when they both take turns breeding you again and again.

“This placeholders ‘bout to make her cum again.” Toji taunts, gripping your hips with bruising strength as he rolls his hips just the way you like. His tip presses kisses of precum so deep inside you. You can barely breathe much less think.

“You better not, princess. Suppose to wait for Toru, remember?” Satoru’s voice grows stern, and his eyes bore into yours in an almost eerie fashion.

“C’mon, doll. Cum for daddy. I can feel you tightening around me. I know ya want to.”

It’s all so much. Watching Satoru fuck into his wrist while Toji’s tip is practically massaging your g-spot. You give Satoru a sorrowful glance before letting out a pleasured cry. Your hands fist at the sheets, and your toes literally curl as juices gush out around the base of Toji’s cock.

“Yeeaah, not bad for a placeholder, right?” Toji’s lips quirk up into a smirk before he presses a kiss to your lips, drinking down your moans just to rub it in Satoru’s face even more.

All it takes is one look from Satoru, and Toji slides out of you with a grin. “I got ‘er warmed up for ya.” Toji laughs as he and Satoru switch positions. You lazily part your thighs for Satoru, still trying to catch your breath from the soul shattering orgasm Toji just gave you.

“Nuh uh. You wanted to be a slut on his cock. ‘m gonna treat you like one.” His hands grab your waist, and he rolls you onto your stomach forcefully.

From the outside, everyone would probably guess that brooding Toji’s the mean one in these scenarios, but they’d be dead wrong.

Satoru, after a life of being spoilt, gets so rude and aggressive when he doesn’t get what he wants. Toji purposefully pushes him to that point — partly so he can watch you get railed deeply into the mattress until tears fall from your eyes.

The heel of Satoru’s palm connects with your back, and he forces your face and shoulders down into the sheets while his other hands guides his cock to your weeping entrance.

You grip at the sheets immediately, letting out a hiss as he buries himself all the way to the hilt in one fluid thrust.

“Fuck.” Satoru groans as if he’s genuinely mad at how wet you are — frustrated that Toji could get you this messy.

Toji brushes your hair away from your face, and his large palm rubs at your cheek gently — a tender reminder to keep your eyes on him while he jerks his cock right in front of your face.

“Just couldn’t wait, could you? I was- ngh.. gonna be nice to you tonight… since hah~ I’m trying to put a baby in you.” Satoru’s hips are forcefully slamming into your backside. He’s not moving fast, but his pace is punishing. “Toji’s already got a kid. It’s my turn.”

Your juices are seeping around his cock, forming a thin white line right around the base that makes Satoru’s cock twitch in delight. His hand slaps at the fat of your ass smack! before he’s pulling on your hips, making you meet him halfway just so he can make his thrusts count.

“Takin’ him so well. Keep it up for, daddy, yeah?” Toji murmurs before pressing a loving kiss to your temple.

Your mouth opens for Toji, and he gives you an affectionate chuckle before placing his thumb against your tongue to soothe that oral fixation you have. He knows that if he fucks your face, Satoru will have even more of a hissy fit and probably fuck you out of commission for a few days.

“Focus on him, doll. Looks like he’s making ya feel real good.” You nod, sucking on Toji’s thumb in between breathless whines and moans.

Satoru’s balls are so heavy, brutally slapping against your puffy clit with each thrust. Thwak! Thwak! Thwak! He’s been saving up for you, adamant that he needs to breed you. He’s the upcoming Gojo clan head after all; it’s natural that those old hags want a baby with his blessed genes.

All it takes is feeling your spongy walls clench around him like a vice, and Satoru’s jerking you up by your arms, forcing your back in to an arch to where the imprint of his dick bulges through your belly.

Both of you are so noisy when you cum, Toji thinks. He watches in slight awe as Satoru pumps you full with his sticky seed. He can tell by the look on Satoru’s face that you’re milking him for all he’s worth too, and it’s so fucking hot.

Toji pushes you back down into the bed. Both men aren’t good with words. They’re good at doing. He arches his hips out before rope after rope of white hot cum spurt from his tip all over your face, marking his territory.

After a moment of cleaning up and giving you small tokens of affection through praises and kisses, the men are right back at each other’s throats.

“Ya know, if you’re not able to keep up, I can breed her cunt, and let ya pass off my kid as yours.” Toji taunts with a smirk.

“Yeah, as if your first kid didn’t look like he came from your ass. Fat chance. Sweets and I are gonna make a pretty blue-eyed baby with white hair.” Satoru hums as he affectionately ruffles your hair. “Isn’t that right, pretty~?”

[kawaiimojer]

"#writing is subjective in every way and form"

Doing away with the lame "character gets fat to indicate that they've become a huge loser" trope and replacing it with a new, cooler "character gets fat to indicate they finally feel fulfilled with life" trope

[unknownati]

x. bonnet

a/n: lost my bonnet (rip to my braids) and it inspired me

*a lil sum from my drafts while i force this christmas fic into existence and slooowly chip away at these reqs 😪 and i have since found it if you are wondering

warnings/tags: black!gn!reader, bonnet can be switched out for a durag, silk scarf, etc i js didnt know how to type that lol, ekko's kinda sassy 🤔, bickering but not arguing, fluff...question mark, what is this kind of thing called, rochelle and julius from everybody hates chris kinda relationship, shitty ending idc wrote this at 1am with a t-shirt on my head,

_______________________________________________

a cabinet door slams shut a few rooms over from ekko's workbench, his body jolting at the suddenness of the sound.

"where is this bonnet!?" you shout, clad in your nighttime attire of a t-shirt and sweatpants. this isn't a question new to ekko, you have this problem once every couple of months.

to say you were tired was an understatement. but you'd be damned if you spent hours in that chair getting your hair done just to have it get messed up in one night just because you couldn't protect it. and you've been searching for this thing for 30 whole minutes.

your footsteps stomped around the place, items clattering as you toss them around in wild abandonment in search of this godforsaken bonnet.

"did you check the bathroom?" ekko calls, raising his glass of water to his lips as you pace by his room.

"yes! three times. and even then, i never leave it in there, i always leave it in the same—" a pillow gets thrown off of your bed. nothing. "—exact—" you toss the sheets up. nothing. "—place. i don't get it!"

"then i don't know, baby."

"well, i know i didn't just grow two legs and walk on up out of here!"

ekko scoffs, making a weak attempt at showing empathy. "you have so many bonnets, just wear a different one."

"i can't. that's the only one that doesn't fly off my head while i'm sleeping."

he's amazed at your ability to be so stubborn at the smallest situation. to him, this is nothing but a 'throw something else on your head and call it a day' type of solution.

"can you check your workroom?"

"do you sleep in my workroom?" words full of sarcasm that make your brows somehow furrow even deeper.

"ekko, don't get smart with me."

he sighs, making a half hearted peek around his area. nothing. a shrug. "nothing here."

you keep searching around, looking in the most nonsensical areas for this piece of fabric. under the kitchen sink, IN the kitchen sink, in the shower, in your shoes, ekko's laundry basket, nothing.

you're beginning to just accept defeat, sighing in frustration as you trudge your way back to bed. you pass by ekko's workroom, eyes peeking between the small crack in the door.

pink satin.

atop ekko's head.

"i know you fuckin' lying—"

you swing open the door, snatching it off of his head. white locs fall loose, framing his face. your hand clutches your hip as you wave the bonnet in his face. "ekko, what is this?" you interrogated, an obvious rhetorical question that he didn't have an answer to.

ekko bares his teeth, shoulders pulling into a shrug. he completely forgot that he just...threw it on his head a few hours ago before he started working since he couldn't find a hair tie. "...damn, how'd that get there?"

you close your eyes. two deep breaths. in, out. in out. the second one steadier than the first.

now, usually you were very patient. you understood; things happen. but this? this was your breaking point for the week.

your fingers find the shell of his ear. the sting shoots through the cartilage, skin at his temple pulled taut. he's wincing, sucking air in through his teeth.

"it's like you're trying to test me, huh?

"baby, i'm sorry—" he unintentionally tries giving you his signature puppy-dog eyes. you only tug harder.

"sorry does not cut it. i've been looking for this for 30 minutes, 30! i'm tired as hell, i'm tryna sleep, and here you are playing like shit is sweet!"

...ekko didn't touch that bonnet after that.

[piastri-lover]

always been you; oscar piastri

summary: in which the entire internet ships oscar and his childhood best friend, and they deny it, until they finally realise it's always been each other

pairing: oscar piastri x childhood best friend!reader

author's note: i love oscar piastri more than life itself like it's not even funny

INSTAGRAM

yourusername 📍silverstone race track

liked by oscarpiastri, pierregasly and 610294 others yourusername p4 for my favourite person ever!! (plus i looked so good in the last photo) view comments

-

user1 she's so pretty wtf

user2 don't know whether i want to be her or be with her

user3 are her and oscar dating?? im new to f1 -user4 no they've just been friends for years and years

oscarpiastri no photo creds?? -yourusername only when u get on the podium --oscarpiastri bet

oscarpiastri ❤️ -yourusername ❤️❤️ --oscarpiastri ❤️❤️❤️ ---yourusername ❤️❤️❤️❤️

user5 oscar's a lucky boy

user6 he needs to wife her up soon or else the rest of us will steal her -user7 they're just friends i dont know what u guys struggle to understand

~~~

oscarpiastri 📍london, england

tagged: yourusername liked by landonorris, yourusername and 2103927 others oscarpiastri london with my girl x view comments

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user8 my girl!!!!! -user9 sleeping on the highway tonight

user10 they claim they're not dating but im sorry look at this post

yourusername formula 1 driver and still made me pay for lunch smh -oscarpiastri stfu i offered to pay u INSISTED --yourusername i dont seem to remember that ---oscarpiastri y/n stop it im gonna get cancelled ----yourusername fine i offered to pay dont cancel oscar

user11 theyre so cute

user12 i love how half the photos are london and half are y/n -user13 bros so whipped its unbelievable

user14 im acc convinced theyre dating at this point

user15 y/n is the prettiest ever liked by oscarpiastri -user15 bros not being slick rn

TWITTER

~~~

~~~

INSTAGRAM

oscarpiastri replied to your story:

oscarpiastri cmon u cant post stuff like that on ur story

yourusername why not

oscarpiastri anyone can see something like that i wanna be the only person seeing that

yourusername its nothing oscar besides we're just friends arent we

oscarpiastri i panicked y/n ive always loved u u know that

yourusername i confessed to u oscar i told u how i felt and u said nothing

oscarpiastri obv i love u and ur more than a friend to me u know that

yourusername i know i know i know i guess saying it out loud was diff to always knowing

oscarpiastri i know come to spa please

yourusername ive got school

oscarpiastri i dont care for me??

yourusername ur paying for my flight

oscarpiastri ofc i need to see u i need to tell u how i feel in person

yourusername ill see u belgium love u oscar

oscarpiastri love u y/n

~~~

yourusername 📍spa, belgium

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri and 293817 others yourusername p2!!! (the race never happened) view comments

-

user16 no bc shes so pretty -user17 oscar's winning in life

user18 y/n denying the race ever happened -user19 shes so like me fr

oscarpiastri ur my good luck charm -yourusername stop being sappy in my comment section

user20 theyre def dating im sorry -user21 oscar was here in like 20 seconds hes got notifs on fs

user22 shes so leng istg

logansargeant i wonder whos joggers they are huh? -yourusername logan stfu --logansargeant my lips are sealed

~~~

~~~

TWITTER

~~~

INSTAGRAM

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 3102947 others yourusername guess who? view comments

-

user23 oscar right?? -user24 it has to be

oscarpiastri i wonder who?? -yourusername do u have any idea?? --oscarpiastri none at all ---yourusername hmm...

user25 na look at their comments they're def dating

user26 im sorry but they're both so hot -user27 bi panic --user28 mother and father

user29 just waiting for the announcement -user30 any day now

logansargeant i know who -yourusername good for u logan --oscarpiastri can u tell me mate? ---logansargeant just sent u the dm

user31 idc if its oscar i just wanna know who managed to pull the y/n

~~~

oscarpiastri

tagged: yourusername liked by logansargeant, landonorris and 4102958 othersoscarpiastri my everything view comments

-

user32 i mean we all knew but its cute

yourusername loved u forever -oscarpiastri love u forever --yourusername will love u forever

user33 no theyre so cute

user34 wbk but thanks for the announcement oscar

logansargeant about time -yourusername focus on getting urself a gf logan --logansargeant ouch

user35 how aussie racer boy pulled HER i will never know

yourusername ur fans love me lol -oscarpiastri dont know why --yourusername oy ---oscarpiastri sorry love

user36 I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE

user37 banter in the comment section is my love language

[almostempty]

dieter's party (dieter x f!reader)

Dieter’s party (dieter bravo x f!reader) | wc: 3k | other fics 

summary: after fighting with your bf and reluctantly attending a party, you find yourself complaining to the host who offers to let you sleep off your emotional hangover headache in the pool house. when your boyfriend finally shows up, it’s a welcome surprise and you accept his apology in the form of sex. but, when you wake up in the morning you’re faced with another surprise. 

note: this is my other version of the accidental adultery trope, only it’s the involuntary cheating/wrong bed trope bc that’s what i thought the prompt was originally! other version is here with stalker!frankie. (this is like a month late for the actual challenge but time is an illusion idc; it’s for u bb @auteurdelabre) 

warnings/tags: explicit mdni, smut, this IS noncon– but it’s not dark vibes (like how the wrong bed trope in media is somehow played off as a ~hehe whoops~ ???), infidelity/cheating, oral sex, piv, prone bone, drugs mentioned at the party but reader and dieter are sober, boyfriend frankie, again, i repeat, this is noncon- but they’re not real and also they’re into it, REAL LOOSEY GOOSEY flimsy plot pls don’t poke at it there are already enough holes to drain ur pasta, kind of ooc dieter tbh  

standard warnings for me at this point: unprotected sex with no consequences bc it’s fiction; f!reader is able-bodied otherwise, no specific descriptions; no y/n, likely many mistakes aka no beta and limited editing on this bish 

You sit sideways on the lounge chair, digging your toes into the sand and massaging your temples. The voices from the party behind you are easier to tune out as you look out over the water. The adrenaline rush of your anger has passed, and now you’re just left with a throbbing headache. 

It’s not a bad view. But you resent it anyway. You’ve been abandoned by your friend who dragged you to the party in the first place. She’d assured you that it would be low key, just some people on mushrooms having a bonfire on a private beach. The names and the drugs didn’t sell you on it, but the free night at a fancy beach house was appealing

You didn’t know anyone else, and she’d assured you she’d stick with you until your boyfriend showed up. But so far nothing had gone to plan. The cute little beach house is actually more like a mansion. There is technically a fire on the beach and people on some kind of hallucinogenics, but there’s also a party by the pool, and rooms filled with people on the main floor of the house. 

Your friend folded immediately–swooped up by the hot production assistant that told her about the party. You weren’t keen to follow them as they disappeared in search of a quieter room in the house to play tonsil hockey. 

You don’t really blame her. Your boyfriend was supposed to be meeting you anyway. Or, at least, he was before you’d got in another argument before he went to work. You’re miserable when the two of you are on bad terms. 

Frankie and you are both stubborn and can dig your heels in over the smallest arguments. Currently, you don’t actually know if he’s giving you the silent treatment or if he’s just working late. Either way, you figure you’re allowed to be a little pathetic over the situation. 

Yet, you can’t even slink off to have your moody moment watching the waves and the stars. Someone is walking up behind you causing you to sigh. Stiffening, you turn to address none other than the life of the party himself, Dieter Bravo. 

He’s undeniably nice to look at, but you’re still moping. Emotionally hungover and irritable. And stuck at loaded jagoff’s party full of nobody you particularly want to get to know. 

“Party is that way,” you point past him towards the pool surrounded by drunk people with shiny white veneers and ugly jewelry. He’s unfazed by your snark and sits down next to you. 

“Thought you could use some company.” His voice is low and sexy in a stupid movie star way that makes you roll your eyes. 

“That’s not even a clever line,” you chastise him. 

He flashes a grin at you that makes it hard to keep up the glum aura. 

Whatever they say about actors looking better in person rather than on camera is true, and even more so when they’re sitting so close you can smell their expensive cologne. He’s dressed more casually than the rest of the party, but you wonder if it’s part of the quiet luxury mystique with the four hundred dollar t-shirts or if you’re overestimating his net worth. 

Dieter likes a challenge. The more you try to shut him down, the more he turns on the charm and flirts with you brazenly. You aren’t immune. He’s fucking hot, and that builds up your ego. You figure it’s harmless to flirt. You’re busy complaining about the social climbers in attendance and how they must be inflating the ego of whichever rich asshole is throwing the party, when he cuts you off. 

“And which one are you? Social climber or rich asshole?” He asks, squinting at you like he’s going to take a guess. You play into it, making a few exaggerated model poses–framing your face with your hands and batting your lashes–for him to base his decision off of. 

He grins at you with a dazzling smile that makes you break character and laugh. But he doesn’t laugh with you. He just keeps his eyes on you, his sparkling dark brown eyes. Suddenly the moment feels charged, you didn’t realize you were so close, face to face. 

“Time’s up,” you say, “I’m neither.” But he’s looking at your lips now and you’re hyper aware of your heart beating faster. Until his hand slips onto your knee and you balk, turning away with a sharp inhale to recenter yourself. 

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” you give him a glare and he frowns briefly. 

“Like that’s real,” he scoffs and turns to watch his pseudo-girlfriend flirting with someone by the pool whose hair gel shines under the string lights. 

“Oh.” You didn’t realize. “Sorry.” 

For a moment, there’s a vulnerability between the two of you that draws you in, wondering what’s behind the curtain with Dieter. His hand, still resting on your knee, squeezes you slightly, and you snap out of his spell. “Well, my boyfriend most certainly is real,” you say. “Unless he doesn’t show up tonight,” you mutter, “then maybe he won’t be much longer.” 

Dieter hesitates as if he might have something to add, but you grimace. You don’t want to answer any follow-up questions. He’s too close for you to think clearly. You stand, brushing off his hand, and give him a smile. “I’m going to do a lap. Maybe find my friend or my boyfriend before the sun comes up,” you sigh and give him a final look before you walk back towards the house. 

Eventually, Dieter follows. 

You go through the motions, introducing yourself to people, laughing along with whoever you find yourself standing next to, and always staying aware of Dieter’s presence. You avoid his path as the two of you mingle and socialize with different clusters of people. But you keep finding yourself catching his eye in every room you enter. 

You weave through the house, pilfering some snacks and avoiding anyone’s attempts to talk one on one. You catch a glimpse of your friend, still entangled with her work crush, and continue on your path. 

The later it gets, the less tolerance you have for the other partygoers. You find yourself back on the chair on the beach. Alternating between staring at your phone, debating composing a text to Frankie, and watching the waves break along the shore. 

It’s not long before your suitor returns, joining you on the lounge chair again. Just as close, if not closer, than earlier in the evening. 

“No luck?” he asks. 

“Avoiding you?” you quip, and he shakes his head. 

“Finding your friends.” 

“Friend or boyfriend,” you emphasize for both of your sake, but he only smiles in return. “What about you? No luck with… whatever your goal was?” you ask. 

He sighs deeply at that. “There’s no goal. I’m just the host.” 

“Oh,” you blink. “I didn’t know this was your…thing,” you wave your hand towards the party. 

“Would you have treated me differently if you knew?” 

“Worse, maybe?” you laugh genuinely. “I’ve got a few complaints to lodge. Too many people, too loud, nobody is any fun,” you list them off on your fingers, “honestly–” 

“Why are you here?” he cuts you off. 

“I don’t know,” you pause to think about the real answer. “Thought it would be better than being miserable at home, a friend convinced me, thought it would be fun to stay at a fancy beach house with my boyfriend. Some combination of those?” 

You pick at something invisible on your dress. Avoiding the heat of Dieter’s gaze. “Now, I’m just stuck outside with a headache. Why are you here?” you counter. 

“I just told you. Did you take something from the guy in the studded jacket?” 

“No. I mean, why are you outside with me? Aren’t there drugs you could be doing? Or there was that guy begging you to do body shots in the kitchen?” 

“Kind of bored of it all,” he muses, scratching thoughtfully at his bearded jaw. 

“Maybe you need a more intellectually stimulating scene,” you suggest. It was more a grumpy dig at the belligerent attendees, but he seems to be genuinely considering your suggestion. You let yourself ogle his handsome features as he thinks. Then his eyes light up and he snaps his head towards you.  

“Do you want to go to the pool house?” he asks. 

Your eyes narrow into a fierce glare and he raises his hands in surrender. “No, I mean there’s a bed. You said you have a headache. If you want to lie down.” 

“That’s not where the orgy is happening?” 

“No,” he snorts, “I think there’s a sex party across the street, though, if you’re interested,” he smirks at you. You roll your eyes at him exaggeratedly and give him a playful shove. “You wish, Bravo.” 

You take him up on the offer to lie down, though. There’s a code to unlock the pool house, giving you a private little escape. 

You decide to send the code to Frankie, letting him know you’ll be here all night. Hoping he still decides to show up. You enlist Dieter’s help. He repeats after you, “Broad, brooding, brown hair, brown eyes?” 

“Exactly,” you confirm. “If you see him, tell him where he can find me?” 

“Of course,” he agrees with a chuckle. 

You spring to your feet, eagerly seeking out your solitude. Halfway across the yard you look back over your shoulder to mouth thank you at your generous host. He gives you a nod and a wink that is criminally hot. 

You let yourself in and explore the space. It’s bigger than your apartment. You pass the living space and mini kitchen, down the hall to find the bedroom. It’s like a luxury hotel suite. You slip out of your shoes and crawl directly into the bed. 

Dieter is still dumbstruck by you. Your our smile, your prickly yet playful aura, your sexy confidence. He lingers outside, caught up in his daydream of you, before he resigns himself to circling back through the house. He shares a few stories, laughs at some jokes, and does his best to enjoy the rest of the night. But his eyes constantly wander back to the the pool house. 

He’s drawn to it like a moth. Except–it’s dark. The lights are off. 

You’re wrapped up in a down duvet and crisp, clean linens. The noise from outside is significantly dulled, most people filtered back into the main house or down to the beach. 

You drift into a hazy slumber, fading in and out. Unsure of the time, too stubborn to check your phone afraid of being disappointed the sun rises before you hear from your boyfriend. It’s still dark out whenever you peek at the windows though, so you keep drifting back off, hoping to wake up to your man. You’re rolling over to stretch, once again, when you hear a soft knock on the door. 

“Yeah?” you reply, not fully awake. 

The door swings open, and he can see you in the glow of the light from the hall. 

You’re luminous even in the near dark, and he pauses before the critical thinking skills come to life and he can see the scowl on your face. “Sorry,” he starts. 

Dieter had been wavering since you walked away from him. Wondering if he was reading the right signals. If you looked back hoping he was following. If he was the brown eyed prince you were really waiting for. Now he worries that he waited too long in his indecision. 

You squint, eyes aching from the bright light in the hallway, only able to make out the silhouette of the broad shoulders in the doorway. 

“Sorry, I thought you might still be up,” he trails off, in that familiar gravelly voice. 

“Fucking finally,” you groan. “I thought you were going to just leave me here.” 

Finally? He was right. 

“Just get in here, please.” You toss the corner of the duvet back, inviting him in. 

He’s still smiling in the doorway, thinking of something perfect to say when you lose patience. 

“Look, you can either get in here and show me how sorry you are for making me wait for you all night, or you can fuck off–but don’t just stand in the doorway blinding me. Please.” You huff, covering your eyes and rolling onto your side to bury your face in the covers. 

You hear the door shut before you feel the familiar weight of his body slipping into the bed behind you, and it’s comforting to finally have Frankie here. You thought you’d be left tossing and turning until the sun came up. Wondering if he was upset or just late. 

He rests his hand on you, feather light but deliberate. You melt into his touch, stubborn words forgotten at the familiarity of his body heat. He moves slowly, tentatively caressing your shoulders as his nose grazes the back of your neck. 

“Finally,” you murmur sleepily, arching you back to press closer into him, moving on instinct. 

“Yeah?” his voice is low, husky and rich. Your favorite thing about him. 

“Mmhm,” you mumble, pushing back against him. “So late…” Your body responds to his presence, a heat stirring that’s impossible to ignore. 

Dieter’s ego flares. He knew there was something simmering behind your jabs. 

“You sure about this?” he whispers against your warm skin, hand sliding up your side. 

You assume he’s worried you’re still mad at him. Or maybe he thinks you’re too tired. You reassure him with whispered affirmations and a soft moan as your back arches instinctually, pressing closer to him, drawn to his warmth. 

It’s the breathy please that spears hot down his spine. Hearing you beg for him, it’s more permission than he needs. He kisses your neck, unhurried, letting his lips linger on your skin as his hands move along the dips and curves of your body. There’s a tenderness in his touch that surprises even him. 

He doesn’t rush, savoring the sounds you make, the way your body responds, and hoe pliant you are for him. Encouraged, he moves lower, rolling you onto your back, and settling between your legs. The sensations are overwhelming. Blurring the lines between dream and reality as he goes down on you with expert precision. 

He always knows how to make it up to you without needing words. You run a hand through his hair and when he groans against your soft, wet cunt it draws you to the edge. He’s greedy as you shudder and wriggle beneath him, eagerly sucking at your clit until it’s all too much. Lost in the moment, you’re floaty, murmuring praise between moans as you come undone beneath his skilled mouth. 

When you tell him to fuck you, he doesn’t hesitate. He rolls you onto your stomach, sliding his cock through your sopping folds, coating himself in the mix of your arousal and his saliva. 

“Oh, fuck,” his raw desire for you makes your tongue go numb. Unable to respond, until he starts to ease into you and the stretch, the angle, the intimacy of his body covering yours–it makes you both groan loudly. He fits against you so perfectly. You’re too drunk with the pleasure to question any unusual differences. 

Too lost in the heat of it all. He presses kisses into your spine while thrusting slowly, languidly, and deeply inside of you. When he lowers his chest against your back you can feel his heart beating loudly, like it’s calling to yours. With the heightened sensations and his velvety rich voice in your ear, he urges you closer and closer to a hypnotically intense, rolling orgasm. 

When your thighs tremble beneath him and you beg him to come for you, his body responds like he’s under your spell. Throbbing and pulsing inside of you until his weight collapses on you. He rolls you to you side with him, staying connected, limbs tangled like vines and he’s mesmerized by you. Listening to your breathing as you fall asleep in his arms, sated and secure. 

When you wake up in the morning, groggy and confused, the first thing you notice is the wrong smell. It’s not your boyfriend’s–it’s Dieter’s. Cold panic floods your body as you realize you’re in the wrong man’s arms. You try to pull away but Dieter’s still asleep, trapping you under his heavy arm. 

A dense, searing mix of guilt and arousal swirls within you like lava as you register his hard cock pressed against you and your recollection of the night starts to clarify. It makes you hesitate. 

Dieter, feeling your movement, tightens his grip around you and shifts. He’s hard and leaking against you and your traitorish pussy is slick between your legs, throbbing like a siren song for him to fill you up again. 

His body unconsciously grinds against you. Your heart races, mind scrambling to make sense of everything. Every kiss, every touch, the way he’d been so gentle and tender. It wasn’t your boyfriend at all. But he made you feel so desired, cherished. Things you haven’t felt in a long time. 

Your breath catches in your throat. The shock is dizzying, but there’s a quiet moment of mutual awareness as his breathing changes. You know he’s awake. Waiting on you before he dares to move again. 

Without thinking you press back against him, heart fluttering in your chest. It’s instantaneous. He flips you around and you’re finally facing him in the soft light. Barely able to take in his besotted expression before your lips are drawn together in an impassioned kiss. 

Your mutual arousal reignites like a blazing fire in the quiet early morning. It’s wrong. But in that moment, the connection between you feels inevitable. It’s as if it had always been building, a force of nature you couldn’t stop. 

The shock and guilt fall to the side. Regret doesn’t get enough light to grow. The anger at your boyfriend’s absence whispers convincingly in your ear. 

None of it matters when you lower yourself onto his cock, eyes fluttering shut, as his hands knead your thighs. None of it matters when you watch the lust cloud his eyes and his plush lips part as you start to move. None of it matters until you’re startled by the jarring sound of your phone buzzing on the night stand. 

You’re frozen in place as the buzzing continues. Dieter grabs the phone, reading the name on the screen. His other hand trails over your hip moving with purpose until his thumb draws a slow, firm circle around your clit. 

“You better answer,” he says, handing the phone to you, “think it’s your boyfriend.”

dividers by @cyberangel-graphics

General tags 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange

[noirsdoll]

-> in sickness and in health

pairing: james x nurse!reader

words: 2.8k

tags: rape, abuse, mentioned snuff, cheating, forced orgasm, james is a perv, this is almost straight porn

notes: nurse!reader trope and title is overdone but idc. nothing else to say other than i need this man and i want him to beat the shit out of me!! yay!!

inspired by magdalene by rimqueen!!

read it on ao3

Is her sickness contagious?

It’s the first question James asks when he receives the diagnosis. A selfish one, he knows that the second it leaves his mouth. He whispers it to the nurse outside Mary’s hospital room, who looks at him with nothing but scorn.

Of course, it isn’t. Why would it be? He has no reason not to touch and hold Mary. His Mary. The sickness hasn’t taken her. It won’t, not ever. James can’t bear to see her go.

James stays sedentary by Mary’s beside as the days stretch on. He watches the light in her eyes fade, the lines of her face grow hallowed. He watches her wither, emotionally tied to every wax and wane in her condition. The push and pull loosens the assuredness of his empathy, he starts to rot alongside her.

He trudges through life, Mary’s well-being rooted to the forefront of his mind. He pours everything into her, his love, his worry, his savings. James just wants her to get better, so things can go back to normal.

A year passes, and then a second, and then James becomes tired. Exhaustion weighs down every limb, it takes energy to look in Mary’s eyes. He knows it shouldn’t, he shouldn’t force himself to meet his lover’s gaze, but they haven’t been lovers, not since Mary started to corrode.

It’s always the same questions— Mary sprinkles them through every visit to keep James on his toes. A call and response of sorts, to see if he’s still an obedient dog.

A sordid comment on the nurse’s outfit as she leaves is the first one. Mary turns to James, trying to provoke him, to see if James will defend her. James just slumps further into his chair and nods along to what she says, eyes glazing over the foggy windows.

Fog, always fog, never rain or sunshine. James has nothing to distract himself from his lethargy. His eyes drag along the shallow planes of Mary’s body, barely disguised by her thin cardigan and cotton dress.

Mary sits against the headboard, her lips curl into a frown. “Stop looking at me like that, James,” she says. Her tone betrays her exasperation.

James straightens up. “I’m sorry, honey. I spaced out.”

She looks away, sighing. The sleeves of her cardigan are frayed at the edges where she picks at the fuzzy yarn. “You don’t have to be here if you hate it so much.” Mary bites down on her bottom lip. “You think I’m ugly, don’t you?”

The second question, each time Mary asks it with more disdain. James won’t tell her the truth, because he doesn’t know it. His Mary is somewhere in there, buried deep in her sallow chest. But there’s something else there too, something that poisons her sweetness, dilutes her. Fear.

“No, no, I don’t think you’re ugly.” And I don’t think you’re pretty either.

At his next visit to the hospital, James approaches you at the front desk. He clears his throat, peering over at you as you scribble something in a log.

“We’re busy, Sir. Just a moment.” You glance up at him once, then twice. Your eyes linger for a second, and something shifts in your expression, James can’t place it. “Anything I can help you with?” You smile, sweet and saccharine.

James clears his throat again, staring down at the counter. “My wife got moved to a new room. Do you have the number?”

After a few more questions, you find her name in the log. You decide to escort him personally, James follows you down the wooden halls. He ignores every timed swing of your hips in that nurse’s outfit that is much too short to be practical.

You glance over your shoulder at him, your eyes cloying. “How long have you two been married?”

“We’re high school sweethearts,” he answers, short and clipped.

The visit goes with its usual hitches, James ends up learning more about you. You’re coquettish, got a thing for married men, something about wanting what you can’t have. It’s not like he went looking for this information. There’s barely any gossip at the care home, so anything will spread like wildfire.

You’ve gotten chewed out by your boss about it, but there’s no definitive proof. So far you’ve done nothing but maybe look at someone in a provocative sorta way, they don’t have anything concrete to get you. Not like they want to. You’re proficient, good at your job despite it all.

Plausible deniability. He could learn a thing or two from you. You’re something fresh, intriguing. James finds himself dipping out of Mary’s room for the washroom and instead looking for you. You’re like a ghost, only around when he can’t talk to you alone.

He’s not sure why he wants that, or what would happen if he finally got it. That would require self reflection, James is much better with acting on urges.

So he settles for your glances across the room, the way you brush shoulders when you pass him in the hall. He stares down the neck of your uniform as you give Mary her pills— her eyes are closed so she can’t berate him.

Maybe you’re aware of him, maybe you aren’t. But he knows you know him and he knows what you are. James turns the thought of you over in his head, smoothing over the divots and imperfections till you become this monolith of escape, more idea than person.

Then time passes. Mary withers into herself, the light in her eyes turns to ash. She no longer speaks more than a few words, there’s something glassy in her stare. It’s like she’s already dead, like she’s preparing for the role. James was so used to the yelling, he even stopped flinching at it, but now Mary is just there. Nothing but the echo of all the words she flung so that James could feel an inkling of her misery.

(James did, he always did. Every decline in her condition broke him until there was nothing left to break, until he needed something to instill even just neutrality within him again.)

That’s why he trails after you into the wing that’s been closed for renovation. God knows why you’re here, he follows you anyways. You pull a lighter from your dainty little pocket, followed by a cigarette— the ones that aren’t even that good, more about making your hands look pretty.

Oh, and you are pretty. The silhouette of a pin-up girl, leaned against the wall, the only visible parts of you are what hits the light. You raise one leg up to plant your heel, and James swears he sees the hint of a garter belt wrapped around the fat of your thigh. He salivates.

You’re on your smoke break and James is just watching from around the corner. The heady smoke from your cigarette travels through the narrow halls, it covers up that nice perfume of yours. You dispose of your cigarette by stamping it out on the hardwood floor, smearing the tobacco with your shiny pumps. That perfect image of you starts to crack.

James rounds the corner and walks up to you, his palms are sweating. You turn to the sound of his footsteps— there’s not much else to sense in the dim hallway.

“Mr. Sunderland! It’s good to see you. This area is for staff only.” You push yourself off the wall, tugging down your dress and trying to maintain that aura of professionalism. Not like you really can after what he’s seen. Is the lace of your garter belt rough or soft? Does it blend into your plush thigh? James could only dream of touching you.

“Hmm, seems I got lost.” James wonders if your mascara runs. He wants to see it run. Are you pretty when you cry? “You smoke?”

“You noticed?” You laugh, more to displace your evident tension. “Yeah, it’s more of a nerves thing than anything.”

“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about.”

“I’ve got a lot on my plate. You’d be surprised.” You smile. “Mary’s been doing well, if you’ve been wondering. No decline in her condition.”

“I’m glad.” He doesn’t care, not really.

“Must be hard, having to watch your wife fade away like that. I noticed you stopped bringing her flowers.” Something sparkles in your gaze, James wants to rip it out of you.

“She doesn’t like it when I do.” I’m not a corpse, stop bringing flowers all the damn time! You wanna see me dead? Kill me then!

“Yeah, Mary doesn’t seem to like a lot of the things you do. The staff hears a lot of it. Walls are thin, y’know.” You look away, towards the window that’s taped over with builder’s paper. Some of the moonlight makes it through. “Makes you wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

You pause for a moment, letting your eyes drag down, letting him see. “What life would've been like if things were different.” You turn to leave. “See you around, James—!”

He grabs your arm, tugging you back against the wall. You yelp, he slaps a hand over your mouth. This is all or nothing, he only has one chance to get what he wants. “Don’t make a sound, alright?”

You say something, but it’s all muffled into the back of his hand. James starts to pop the buttons of your pretty little uniform and fuck, you’re shaking like a leaf. Your eyes water, you look like a picture. Nothing but smooth, creamy skin, he presses his lips to your pulse to feel your heartbeat.

Your bra unclasps at the front, your tits sit just as pretty as you do. They feel just as soft as he imagined and he gropes them just the way he’s been wanting to. Your skin is so full of life, it gives when he presses. You’re not a bag of bones that bruises at the tiniest thing.

He finishes taking off your dress and he laughs to himself. What kind of slut wears lingerie to work? You don’t need a garter belt to hold up your stockings or those sheer panties. Maybe you do fuck married men during working hours. Must mean you’re a pro.

James wants to put his mouth on your pussy. He swore Mary’s always tasted off from the medications she was on. That was either placebo or an excuse to get out of bed— it’s been so long that James doesn’t remember which it is.

He’d kiss you too, but you just smoked and James hates the smell of cigarettes, the taste even more so. He gets to his knees, grabbing handfuls of your thighs, spreading you open.

You’re free to speak now, you could scream for help, but all you can do is quietly cry and watch him. Seems you do want it. James pulls your underwear to the side, his nose bumping your clit as he sinks his tongue into you.

The noise you let out is anything but quiet, you squirm but there’s nowhere to go with how tight his grip is. Your hips shift forward, you grind the meat of your pussy along his face. You taste good, the way pretty cunts like yours should taste— shaved and smooth, with fat lips that he spreads open with his tongue.

Once you start dripping down your thighs, James stands back up, one hand over the bulge that’s straining against his pants. He got hard the moment you started crying. Blackened tears are running down your face, you do cry pretty.

“Shh,” he wipes the tears from your face, smudging your mascara further. “I’m not going to hurt you.” James would tack on your name, but he doesn’t know it.

That seems to relax you, just a bit. He pulls his cock out, pressing the tip to your leaking pussy. James slips a couple times, but he finally pushes up into you in a way that has your nails digging into the wall and your face screwing up with pain.

James splits you open, much too big to feel good, bigger than you were ready for. He’s rusty and not too sure about how to make this good for you, he’s more concerned with the fact he’s stuffed himself in you and he finally gets to fuck something other than his hand.

He pulls out just to spin you around, squishing your tits against the wall and slapping a free hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs. Then he pushes back in and your back arches so far you fold in half.

Your ass ripples with each thrust into you, you start to like it. Saliva drools from the hand that’s covering your mouth, dripping syrupy strings onto the floor. You’re a cockslut, aren’t you? He spreads your ass to see how your cunt pulls him in, gaped all pretty around him.

You look over your shoulder at him, your gaze is one part fear and another part arousal. Your moans transform to a squeak when he wraps his other hand around your throat, leaving your mouth free to gasp out choked moans.

James can feel your pulse thrumming against his palm. You’re real, virtuous and idealistic, a creation that he carved out of his brain matter as a form of escapism. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder to feel your flesh, buried up to the hilt in your pretty walls.

Everything is so pretty about you, fat tits, fat pussy, the way you choke is pretty too. It was so hard to remain faithful to Mary when you were right there, a siren beckoning him off the deep end, knowingly or not, it doesn’t matter. It was a compulsion more than a choice, the urge to rape you clawed up his throat until all he could think about was your fat tears dripping down your face and your blood on his cock.

He digs his fingers into the column of your throat, he wants to see you bruise, he wants to see you bleed. Something murderous grows in him, it scares him but he can’t bring himself to stop. All he can think about is smashing your head against the wall till you stain the stucco pink, because everything is pretty about you, even your blood.

Your nails drag against the walls, splitting and cracking as you try to speak through his grip. Every squeeze of your throat pulls you tighter around him. James can’t take it, his hand slips between you and the wall and rubs harsh circles on your clit.

You shake your head, your tears are running clear now. He slaps your clit and you yelp, hips drawing back, pressing yourself deeper against him. You don’t get to say no, he needs this, you have to let him have this, he has nothing else.

Each time the head of his cock jams into your cervix results in a trembling whine from you. You squeeze him like you’re trying to take his dick clean off, he’s going to cum soon. And it’ll be your fault.

So he makes you cum, rubbing your clit with such intensity that it’s the only thing you can do, shoved up against a wall. And you moan and you sob and you plead no, but it’s too late and James is already fucking your cum back into you.

When James cums he makes sure it hurts. It’s your fault for tempting him, for fucking you while Mary’s waiting for him on her sick bed. He presses so hard against your cervix he almost pushes through, you let out a noise of pain that is halfway between a scream and a sob.

And then he pulls out of you, tucking away his dick and getting a good view of the aftermath.

You collapse in a heap on the floor. The creampie he gave you leaks out of your pussy onto the floor with streaks of red. You curl in on yourself, trying to pull your trembling thighs together. But you can’t. James has reduced you, he has broken you.

—

James watches you finish off your cigarette and wishes he was the one being stamped out into the floor. That fantasy of having you would never happen. As much as he dreams about it, he could never cheat on Mary. He’ll have to employ different tactics.

[breezycheezyart]

I’ve shipped shallura since s1, I was here when the damn tag name was being decided on. I’ve scrolled to the end of it before. And I’ve watched it grow into one of the top ships on here.

I’ve also went through the hell of fandom bullshit and even shittier writing choices and interview comments. I’ve seen folks turn vile and hypocritical about their stances depending on what they ship.

Idc what you ship, I will not bother you. It’s been years and my black ass is quite frankly too tired to “argue/defend” my ship.

Nothing I draw changes canon, never will. And I meticulously tag my art for everyone else’s blacklisting benefit.

So, even if you’re being genuine and asking why I ship “despite canon”, I’m deleting replies and asks for it. I’ve had enough. Maybe watch the first two seasons and look at my art and you’ll get why I have the perspective I do.

Or don’t. Idfc. Alternate realities exist in canon, take that pill and look at my art idc lol.

I’m gonna draw them kissing now ✌🏽