#it literally says no phone conversations

[zerogravityinq]

whoever perpetuated the idea that libraries are the free version of WeWork I wanna have a talk with them. Like 5 minutes. I have a device that literally has one very loud word to say to them

[baycitystygian]

guys. I'm freaking out I just had an Experience

[such-a-happy-mess]

how to explain to my mom that she can end a conversation if she wants to

[thenwethrowitonthefire]

Shout-out to everyone who survived a "fun" easter with the family

[strawberrysweater]

.

[erandri]

My villain origin story is the fact that delivery drivers now call your cell phone to say they've arrived instead of just ringing the fucking doorbell

[ourceliumnetwork]

it is not slacking off to write or create it is not slacking off to do things that are fun i am not slacking off or procrastinating right now i'm allowed to do things i enjoy doing for fun including playing games and writing and such

[pondscummy]

so me and roommate L talked on Sunday and I finally like aired some of my grievances and was like hey you really hurt me w how you treated me during my recovery and I realized I actually really don't feel like I can safely communicate with you and I haven't felt like I could for a very long time. and they did apologize and we decided to just be polite roommates and not friends at all and that's a big relief honestly bc now I'm not carrying around this tension the way I was before bc I know there's not expectation from either side but like. it's also freed me up mentally where I'm not thinking about all the immediate stuff anymore and instead I'm like remembering various random things that pissed me off but weren't big enough to focus on before lmao

the one I'm stuck on rn is how insistent they are that I'm on the spectrum. idk they do a lot of explaining myself to me that makes me like. bro shut Up you don't know what my lived experience is like lol you have no concept of anything. which. for context I have a dx and I thought I was on the spectrum for years and years but weirdly enough going to therapy and working through my ptsd made a lot of those symptoms just.... start vanishing. and one of my friends had been undiagnosed for the same reason so it got me thinking about it and talking to my therapist at the time and like. ptsd can present rly similarly. like I was neglected and abused as a child and I literally did not learn social skills, and I was very fearful of other people. as I like worked through the stuff that had instilled that in me and found my stride w stepping out of my comfort zone and getting comfortable being uncomfortable I really don't find it particularly hard to talk to people. I retook the RAADS and I got that I have tendencies but am not anywhere near diagnostic level. I'm literally moving states bc I find the idea of being in a new place and starting from scratch socially rly exciting and I want to like go out to events on my own and meet people both through apps and more organically and I want to get to be in the office with my coworkers like. obv there's more to a dx than just social anxiety but the things that my dx was primarily based in (social anxiety, need for stability/routine, aversion to connection, even sensory issues) are so easily linked back to trauma for me and like. being on the spectrum doesn't go away w therapy?? also I've found it harder and harder to befriend other people on the spectrum; I find I have less in common as time goes on and that my communication style is more focused on like small talk and less directness etc. and I don't tend to get special interests at all anymore like I find it a little difficult to discuss interests w people for long periods of time.

anyway idk my experiences just make me think that it was an incorrect dx but a rly understandable one. I'll probably always have tendencies and get along pretty well w others who do or who are on the spectrum but like I just don't think that I am. and whenever I tried to talk about this with them they'd shut it down and be like um I'm pretty sure you are lmao. and when we talked Sunday I made a comment about making some assumptions about their facial expressions at one point and they were like well we're both on the spectrum so. and I was like my guy I can read facial expressions just fine. if you're saying I can't read yours accurately bc You're on the spectrum then fine. sure. I actually think it's bc you're always so fucking stoned that every muscle in your face is dangling from the frame, personally, but like. i don't have this probably of misreading anyone else dude. like ffs stop armchair diagnosing me and acting like bc you said it then it's law. UGHHHHHHHHHGGGHHHH. it would be one thing if I thought they were saying this stuff bc they think I'm distancing myself out of internalized ableism or something. but it really seems more like they bring it up only to tell me how bad I am at things. which like I'm sorry lmao but. if I'm not giving this vibe to anyone else and I'm not displaying symptoms predominantly in my day to day life and if they're rly seeming to be correlated to my ptsd, maybe you're literally just triggering for me to be around. asshat

[theradicalace]

how long do you think you'd have to be in a time loop before you noticed because i DEFINITELY would not notice on the first dayloop

[saintvampe]

—   𝐌.   |  IT COMES EASY, EASIER THAN BREATHING, WANTING THIS WOMAN. as if the woman were a part of her... a kidney, a liver, an artery of her beating heart. for the first time in a month, they are separate from each other, " –– A whole ocean between us," whispered against the phone's receiver. the Saint ( ! ) finds herself reclined in her lounge chair, legs propped against one arm; she shapes her nails with a black glass file and the phone sits between her shoulder, her ear; she listens to the woman on the other line and pretends... Anya is talking of her day, of the research she had completed, all those words Seraphina admires her for loving. her response comes quick as a bell –– "I've still got those papers you sent me.. I'm working through, I promise." –– and her eyes drift closed when the woman laughs, her voice a melody this woman [ this damn lovestruck woman ] commits to memory.

the static between them turns away from voices. it gives way to silence, to scratchy noise. she [ @lunaccult ] speaks again, the way she holds her words different than what the Saint is used to. her mouth goes slant as she hears: I miss you. Seraphina laughs, I miss you too, –– and the woman on the phone interrupts, speaks again: ❛ i miss you. it feels like a piece of me has been torn out. it hurts. it’s physical. ❜ and her mouth goes slack.

❝ oh, darling... ❞ like melted snow, words soft against the static air. grief swings as a strung bell, hollow and heavy in the center of her chest. loss is a swallowing tar pit, she thinks. she has been being pulled under its black for too long now. there is no need to accelerate its tug. a short breath is taken before she tries her hand: ❝ i miss you, too, i ( ... a pause, a jumbled tongue ... ) when can i see you again ? ... i think of you every day. every hour. my bed's boring without you in it. ❞

[mx-paint]

.

[littlelambii]

no amount of witnessing my mom struggle financially my whole life could have prepared me for the 4 hours of begging my bank to give me a small loan so i can buy food for the rest of the month

[kermitheefrog]

there's this thing called not feeling very well and well 😏 let's just say I'm an expert

[paranoiddreams]

Toji fucking you while Shiu is on the phone because he just can’t help himself. You just make his him feel so good, why should he stop if it’s only his silly handler is calling?

You’re trying to say quiet as your boyfriend’s cock slams in and out of you from below, his hips doing all of the work for you; you tapped out a while ago after your 2nd or 3rd earth shattering orgasm. But how can you not whimper and moan pathetically when Toji is quite literally fucking you into a higher plain of existence?

Shiu can obviously hear all of this. He only called to tell Toji about a job he has for him, but was instantly met with the muffled sounds of your cries and pleas.

“T-Toji! H-hang up…” your voice is so broken, so whiny, both men can tell that you’re nearly past your limit.

“Hold on, doll,” Toji’s gruff voice crackles from the other end of Shiu’s phone, “just a quick call…”

“Fushiguro, this conversation can be held another—“

“Nah,” he interrupts his handler with a huff, “keep going.”

For a moment, Shiu isnt sure if Toji is talking to him or you, who is obviously falling apart on his cock. He only realizes it’s the former when another grunt of his name snaps him out of his thoughts.

“Well…you’ve got a hit for a client we’ve worked with before; a big one, and—“

Shiu stops when he hears a muffled gasp on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of choked out whimpers.

“Yeah?” Toji groans. “Which client?”

He’s currently got you under him now, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pounds into you. Each thrust of his cock perfectly reaches your abused g-spot, making it harder and harder for you to keep your moans hushed. What makes it even more difficult, although, is the fact that Toji’s smug face tells you that he knows this, so when you see one of his hands snake down to rub slow circles against your clit you know that this is all part of his plan.

“W-Well…the client from…” Shiu can barely catch his breath as he sits behind his desk, trying not to give in and palm his aching cock through his work slacks.

“What’s up, boss man?” Toji chuckles from the other end, “something on your mind?”

That sick son of a bitch. Shiu’s fist balls atop his desk, the hand holding his phone shaking slightly from how hard he’s gripping it. “Fushiguro,” he breathes out. He doesn’t have to say anything else, because the tone of his voice tells Toji all he needs to know.

“What? My girl’s pretty little sounds making you all flustered? Or is it the sound of her gushing around my cock?”

Shiu clears his throat, running a hand over his face. “You’re such a sick fuck,” he says.

“I’m the sick fuck?” Toji scoffs jovially. “You’re the one who’s still on the phone.”

[muntitled]

Force-Fed

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: You didn't need a job. Not when you only needed him.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Coercion, Standards Relationship, Abuse, Isolation, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Jealousy, Codependency, Stalking, Yandere!Salesman, Smut (+18) mdni, DDLG, Taboo Sex (she literally calls him dad), Freudian Slip, Daddy Kink, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Subspace, Slight!Age Regression, Choking, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Dacryphillia, Breeding Kink

A/n: If this isn't your vibe, leave the fic alone. Read something else. Like always I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

Installing a mobile tracker on your phone might not have been the most morally good thing to do, that he could admit. Perhaps even more incriminating is that the idea struck him while you were passed out on the floor, your body thoroughly spent from all his ravaging. He was nothing if not an inquisitive man and he needed to see what you got up to during the week, when you were without him. (Note: this started out as a precaution. For your own good. You ought to be thankful to have someone like him in your life).

Who knew that the tracker would bring him here?

His jaw is screwed shut as he leans down under the awning of a building, spotting you through the window of a tired coffee shop, donning a uniform he hadn't even known you owned- it set him alight with a certain level of possessiveness that was foreign to him.

He admits that before you, he'd never had much use for any pointless emotions like love or care. They were, at their very core function, just hormones injected into the brain in order to trick humans into reproduction. That's what he saw you as for the longest time: A means of reproduction. A conduit through which he could fulfill all his most absurd fantasies- fantasies that scared even himself.

When he hit you, fondled you, groped you or stretched your body beyond its tantalizing capabilities, he truly believed he was making you useful, and in return for your services you got to coast through university without having to worry about bills.

That's what it was supposed to be. Nothing less and certainly nothing more.

So what the hell is this?

Today is a Tuesday and your 'sessions' together are scheduled on Wednesday. He ought to just keep on walking and go about the rest of his day forgetting having ever seen you.

As far as your agreement was concerned, you were strictly expected to leave him to his devices throughout the week- it never occurred to him that he would also be expected to leave you to yours.

It makes him tsk, seeing you scrub the counters of a cafe... as if you didn't have him to provide for you.

Had he not provided you with enough?

Had you not gotten everything you wanted?

You were like a dog without a leash.

And his hand was itching to pull you right back to him.

He walks into the coffee shop before his brain is finished processing his movements.

"Good afternoon-" greeted the young man behind the counter. The place smelt like roasted coffee beans and debt. It's obvious in the very few patrons milling about that this business was doomed to fail. Your Salesman had a knack for spotting abject poverty and the owner- your boss, one Lee Junmin was teetering on the edge of financial ruin. It's a very good thing that your Salesman is here to save you from this sinking ship.

"Good afternoon," your salesman says stiffly, almost amicably.

He finds you mid-conversation with your coworker. There's a smile on your face as you crane your neck back, holding a cup under the burning faucet of a coffee machine. You're speaking amicably and you're still smiling. Genuinely. Not at all the robotic smile you reserved for the Salesman during your 'sessions'.

He realises now, watching you with a real smile plastered on your face, that you had been lying to him. You don't seem as broken as you claim to be. Seeing you here, assimilated into society. Sporting a part time job?

His knuckles clench around the handle of his briefcase. He was brimming with the need to punish you for it.

It's absurd.

To punish someone for being a fully functional human being. Not even his own psychological issues could adequately reason that.

The younger boy behind the counter rests a hand on your shoulder, finally letting your eyes settle on the tall Salesman behind the counter.

He can see the moment your breath catches in your throat.

How he wishes he had his heavy hands wrapped tight around that throat. He'd choke you for trying to get rid of him. For trying to... not need him.

"Could you take care of this customer? I need to go out for a break-" Your co-worker mumbles quietly and your heart drops like a bag of dipped in molten lava at the sight of him standing there on the opposite end of the counter. There's a smug sort of smirk playing across his features. I've caught the traitor, now it's off with your head.

You begrudgingly steel your nerves before turning to face your co-worker again, trying to even your breathing as you assimilate back into your easy banter, "And how many times have I told you smoking is bad for you-"

Your co-worker raises his tattooed hands, sporting a boyish grin. It's oddly refreshing to interact with a boy your age- someone normal who wasn't drowning in psychopathic tendencies or bullying homeless people for fun.

"Who said I'm going for a smoke break?" He asks, as you slide up to the counter. You situated yourself behind the barrier as if it was going to keep you safe. You knew nothing could keep you safe from the tense shadow hovering over your benefactor's eyes. The Salesman is livid as your co-worker finally makes himself scarce and after a few tense seconds, he finally speaks.

"I didn't know you did this." He says, staring you down the bridge of his nose.

Play it calm. Play it cheeky. Play it coy.

"You didn't know I make coffee?" That snooty remark doesn't earn you a single gratifying chuckle. It doesn't even earn you a soft, meaningless smile. In contrast, all it gets you is monotony. He's pissed.

"Worked." He spits out, "I didn't know you worked."

You only manage to stare up at him, silently before turning your attention to the screen in front of you.

There were a great many things he had already stolen from you- full autonomy over your body being the greatest loss. You'd raise up hell itself before you truly let him strip you of your independence.

"What can I get you for today?" Swift. Curt. Professional. As if you hadn't felt this man inside you. As if he hadn't choked you out until your vision was sparkling with stars. As if you didn't have his cock down your throat. No one here knew about your arrangement. In this coffee shop, you were safe from your history with the Salesman.

"Americano," You sigh softly, thinking he'll respect you enough to keep things professional. Poor, naive you.

“Tell them you quit." He says, forcing you to look up at his cold, dead orbs. "Do it now."

Your finger pause over the screen and your breathing picks up.

He couldn't do this. Not here. Not when you've finally found refuge away from him, his sadism, his demands and his reminders that he held the keys to you obtaining your degree. This coffee shop was the one place he couldn't reach you...

So why were you already on the cusp of giving in?

Your eyes flit over to the few patrons milling about before staring up at the man on the other side of the counter. Daylight was dwindling and beyond the windows, the city was drenched in an orange, almost pink late afternoon glow.

"Your order's coming right up."

"This place is going bankrupt soon. They'll fire you. It's better you quit now before they do." Your hands falter as you struggle to swallow that deeply authoritative veneer in his voice. That fatherly sort of guidance. Be careful, it said.

"Oh, this is you protecting me?" You hated that this was taking place at work, but business is indeed slow and the only other worker here is in the back of the building, smoking away his problems.

"Not protecting you." He says with a shake of his head, as a slow smile curls the ends of his lips, "Warning you."

You rolled your eyes then. It made his hand twitch with the need to correct you. To force you to submit to him. If there's one thing he couldn't stand, it's a rabid little girl.

"You can have a seat while you wait for your Americano-"

"Fuck the Americano." It comes out louder than he intended. It's a surprise, just like the vein popping out of his forehead. His mask was slipping.

"Tell them you wanna quit." He says in a much softer, more in-control tone of voice. He leans against the counter so that the words exchanged are heard only by the two of you.

There is deep anger and menace in his eyes. You can see the warning in them. Its blood-red and calling for you to just submit.

But you're feeling particularly brave. And so you immediately respond.

"Or what?"

"Or I’ll fucking kill you. You or that co-worker." His gaze fits to the door through which the boy disappeared as he sighed and said, "Remember the roommate's boyfriend?"

How could you ever forget?

There was blood.

So much blood.

Who knew humans were walking around with that much blood inside them?

"You want to threaten me out of having a job?" You were losing this battle and quickly. Desperation is the only thing you cling to as your eyes peer up at him.

"Want to?" He shakes, “Little Girl, I am threatening you. Quit now. Your co-worker would greatly appreciate it.”

He taps that counter once before taking a seat. "I'll get that Americano to go."

𓂃

Devastation.

A hyperbole of sadness and a pure manifestation of self pity that overwhelmed you in the taxi ride back to your apartment. Your mind replayed the confusion that graced your co-workers friendly face when you told him you 'just couldn't work here anymore'. The genuine sadness in his eyes had stopped you dead in your tracks. It triggered tears that you didn't even know you had because he actually made you feel loved.

Real love, not the fake stuff given to you by this hulking man seated silently in the taxi beside you.

The interior is flooded with neon lights and myriad little stars are plastered in the black sky.

"Fix your face," he grumbles without looking at you, "You're ruining everyone's mood."

You went the rest of taxi ride, sulking up a storm, until you arrived at your apartment building where you didn't look at him once, as you rode the elevator up, up, and up.

While you were contemplating genuine suicide, he, on the other hand, was one of the happiest- if not the happiest man on the planet.

He told you to correct your mood but the truth is he loved it. He loved seeing you so juvenile, as if you were teetering on the edge of a tantrum he so badly wanted to correct. He loved seeing you sulk like a child. It set his bones alight with a deep, uncomparable need.

He thought pain was the only thing that got his dick hard.

Perhaps he stands corrected.

"Take off your shoes," he hollers in that same tone of authority once you've entered your apartment building. You're like a ghost as you turn to kick your shoes off at the door before lugging your body deeper into the house. He watches you drop your handbag right there on the floor, before you're throwing yourself on the couch, face first like a sack of potatoes.

He attempts to hide his smile as he walks in along after you. He undoes the buttons of his blazer as he stands above you, eyeing you under a quirked brow as your shoulders begin to wrack with your tears.

He shrugs off the blazer before folding it on the nearest armchair.

You flinch when you feel his hand on your foot, lifting it up to make space for his large frame lowering onto the couch.

That infuriatingly warm voice is back as he quietly asks "Why are you crying?"

He extends his hands to the small of your back, rubbing dizzying circles while you cry and cry. He's comforting you after being the very reason you need comfort in the first place. Everything about this man is one big contradiction.

"I thought you'd be happy about this." Your voice is muffled by the cushion. You don't look up at him.

"What on earth would give you the impression that I want you to work?" He asks.

"W-Well," you attempt to rain in your sniffles and he attempts to not visibly grow a boner as your bloodshot eyes finally come into view. You're a beautiful mess for him. Your lashes are wet and your nose is runny and he wants to do so many vile things to you, its eating away at his soul.

He wants to play this game for as long as he can though, this sulking game that he didn't know hed enjoy so much. He settles for setting his hand at the back of your head as you talk.

"If I have a job that means there's less stuff you have to buy for me and-" You answer, sniffling cutely as you sit beside him. You're staring down at your hands fidgeting in your lap while his eyes can't leave the pathetic tears running down your face.

He doesn't think when he says it. He's not thinking about anything other than your body. How little you become for him. How sombre and sullen and sulky you are.

"And what if I prefer it?" He asks softly, "Taking care of you?"

You shake your head, trying to remove his hand ghosting behind you but he only weaves his fingers into your braids, keeping a wonderful grip on your scalp.

"You had no right to do that- you had no right to make me quit."

He leans over, sufficiently done with all these terrible games you've played and forced him to play. He was so dangerously close to combustion, his hands were trembling as he reached over to undo the buttons of your work polo shirt. You let him.

Of course you let him.

"Who was that then? You kissed him before?" His eyes find you before moving back down to the t-shirt. His fingers hook under the ends of the shirt as he lifts it up.

"Who was who? My co-worker?" You sound tired and dejected and you immediately hug yourself when nothing but cool air drifts over your naked torso. He moves a large hand over your breasts, marveling at the sheer size of it, comparing it in his hands. Your body truly was magnificent, he realizes. And all he has done this whole time is try to kill it.

"That... child," he breathes before dropping his hands down to your work pants. He undoes the buttons and you watch him with an intense look in your eye.

"You have a knack for calling every boy my age a child," you say shortly.

"That's because you're young," he admits before tapping your thigh slightly. You lift your hip and let him maneuver you out of the khaki pants, never to be worn again. The smell of coffee still hangs heavily over your skin but it's significantly less intense. Right now all he smells is you.

"And yet," you showcase to him the latest bruise along your collarbone. It's big and angry and hid very easily under the polo shirt. However, here under the overhead lights of your apartment, he could see them, "Look at everything you've ever done to me-"

He groans then. He actually groans.

His eyes flutter shut as his legs spread a little wider and he sinks a little lower into the couch. "Fuck," he whispers, head swinging towards you as he flutters his eyes back open.

"Come sit on my lap?"

His request only catches you remarkably off-guard. “Excuse me?”

"I said come sit on my lap," he replies so defiantly it nearly has your brain short circuiting. You narrow your eyes, not trusting it.

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'? Because I'm hard and I'd like you to sit on my lap."

"Is this another game?" You ask, still remarkably on the fence about the man who had been the pinnacle of sadism, suddenly force-feeding you his affections.

"If you don't sit on my lap I will bring out the cane again, don't tempt me-" before your able to make a decision, he makes one for you- attacking you with his large hands before you're able to protest any further. He wrestles you onto him, forcing you to take what he gave.

You're made to straddle his left thigh as he pulls you in close until your tits are pressed up against his shirt. He buries his head in-between the crook of your neck and you croak out a moan as he inhales you sharply. He hugs you towards him, bouncing you slightly on his knees. The feeling shoots straight to your cunt and you immediately begin to groan on top of him.

With his head over your shoulder, you can feel his fingers grace over the marks he'd left before. The marks from the cane. It scarred your back. Moulding the flesh in his image. Branding you as his

"You're young but you can handle it." He whispers, swiping his thumb over your scars before drifting his hands down to your hip. He slowly begins to drag your hips forward and you gasp, immediately searching for something to grab onto. You settle for his shirt. Your fingers curl around the fabric and he lets you ruin it as he pushes you back slowly on his thigh. He continues these torturous movements until your cunt gets the message and starts acting accordingly.

He watches with a slow nod as you begin to ride his thigh like he's conditioned you to.

"Jeez-" It was the sheer intimacy of the actual act that had your arousal dripping out of you and onto his thigh. You'd never had sex with him- purely for sex. It had always been an act of torture or punishment that had always led to sex. But never something so sexual being done so blatantly .

"Fuck yourself on my thigh-" he whispers hoarsely, almost pained as he urges you along. "You can do it, can't you? You can be a good slut for me?"

An equally pained whimper seeps out of your closed lips as you begin to ride his thigh like your life depends on it- spurred on by darkness in his glare and the bulge tenting his pants.

When you notice him undoing the buttons of those pants you realize you are utterly done for.

"Good little slut," he mumbles as he mindlessly reaches inside his boxers to uncover his cock already dripping precum.

"Open your mouth-" he's already shoving his fingers inside, flattening your tongue in order to collect as much saliva as possible before spreading it all over his cock. You watch in complete wonder as he begins to fuck his fist to the same rhythm you ride his thigh- it's so mesmerizing.

"D-Does this count as a session or-"

"Shh-" he says, squeezing his eyes shut as his hand squeezes the base of his cock.

He fluffers his eyes open again, only to state deeply into your lust-filled gaze.

"I don't think I've ever cum inside you with the actual objective of getting you pregnant." His words completely knock you off-kilter and he needs to bring his hand up to your side to stop you from slipping off his thigh.

He continues to stroke his cock, picking up speed.

"I've only ever just... did it.”

“Pl-Please stop talking-” you mumble, “I’ll cum,”

He doesn't listen.

“I cum inside you 'cus it's what I feel like doing in the moment," you try to stitch every piece of this moment to memory. The wrinkles lining his manic eyes, smile wiped clean from his face, leaving only a serious, aroused look of an incredibly grown, strong man.

"F-Fuck," your hips stutter on top of him as you softly whimper. "D-Dad-"

It cracks out of you.

And almost immediately you wish you could take it back but you're already cumming. And your words have his eyes widened as he lifts his hips from the couch fucking his fist deeper.

"F-Fuck I'm cumming-" he admits oh so gravely as his eyes squeeze shut.

"Me too-" you whimper as your own orgasm splits through you, soaking his thigh and ruining the fabric further.

Beyond a few shallow words, guaranteeing you that you won't be annihilated, he almost never initiates affection. In fact, you weren't even really sure if he was capable of it yet here he was, confessing the only way he knew how.

You're cumming on top of him as spurts of his cum land on his chest, making a mess on his shirt. You're both breathing heavily in the afterglow. The fog has yet to clear.

You sit up slowly, body wracking with aftershocks.

"This was nice but um- I need you to be rougher-" the words barely leave your mouth before he's clamping your throat shut with his fist. He's breathing heavily with his eyes still squeezed shut.

"You don't need anything-" he reminds you quietly, "You don't make demands, you take what I give you."

He squeezes and squeezes your throat like he did his cock.

"You're like a baby being forced fed.” He says, “My baby. My thing to take care of.”

[amidalas]

soooooooooooo fucking tired of working here where im just the forgettable front desk lady secretary who is the only one capable of taking accountability and responsibility