#maybe it's just reduced demand?

[aromanticduck]

Not to sound like one of those war-on-Christmas, curse-this-heathen-society weirdos, but I'm sad that Divine chocolate don't have the story of the nativity inside their advent calendar any more. Where you get a bit of the story every day like this:

I'm aware that:

I already know the Christmas story

I've read this exact version many times as a child

If I somehow forget I can just open the Bible and read it there

But I had one of these advent calendars from my grandparents every year growing up, so they're nostalgic, and I miss having a little bit of the story every day as part of the countdown to Christmas.

Anyway, I'm sure if any website can understand the appeal of reading a well-known story slowly in small pieces over many days, it's the website that popularised Dracula Daily.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I kind of want to try making mead or ambrosia 👀

Obviously not right now because I have Shit To Do; but maybe during the summer after I’ve moved

[tiger-moran]

When people are unironically using the terms TMEs/TMAs or AFABs/AMABs or 'men, women and enbies' or fucking 'theyfabs'

[orcelito]

I guess I should start looking into apartments for next year. I don't know where I'm going to be working after I graduate yet, but I'll have a car by then, so it shouldn't matter too much. And I'm hesitant to move when I don't know where I'm going to end up... but I will be honest, I cannot live in this place for another year. They've increased the rent by a literal 50% since I started living here 3 years ago, the air conditioning doesn't work, I have to do laundry by *coin operation*, and worst of all there is no patio or balcony to speak of. I need outdoor seating!!! For my mental health!!!! Adding in the fact that it's far too cramped with all the furniture I got from my dad...

Yeah. Even if I only live there for a year, I Got to move.

Gonna be working on sorting through all the shit in my apartment, especially the boxes from my dad. Once I get a car, I wanna make it my personal project in the next year to cut down on the shit that I own. Go through my old clothes and donate anything that I Never wear and Never would. The goal being that by the time I do move, I want there to not be a fucking boatload of shit to move. There's still all this furniture but like. Eh. Ya kno. Still wanna make it better than it could be.

[seat-safety-switch]

Quick: what's your favourite colour? Doesn't matter. Capitalism has conspired to eliminate it. Every car now is silver, grey, white, or black. Choice is the enemy of all free people. This improves resale value. Critically, this reduction in choice also reduces the chance that a dealership will end up with a, say, dark-blue(!) car that is totally unsellable except to the mentally ill. We gotta do our part for the dealerships, they're really hurting.

Cars used to have cool colours. For instance, I'm fairly sure that my '78 Volare was brown when it was new. You could also get it in tan, or what Plymouth audaciously called "Augusta green sunfire metallic." Daring stuff, but we had no idea that we were secretly bankrupting them. Back then, cars were ordered on demand, and you'd wait a few weeks before someone in a historically economically disadvantaged area of the USA finished spraying it with paint and put it on a train. No more of that nonsense.

That's why I joined up with a secret band of rebels. We don't want to put a name on our organization, mostly because none of us can agree on what it should be. Our job is to sneak into car dealership lots, and give the cars waiting there a high-quality paint job in extreme wacko colours like "orange" and "red." This, we believe, will eventually bankrupt the dealerships and hasten the fall of our corrupt order.

If that fails for some reason, and we are tortured to death by the politicians who obey those dealerships without question, there is a side benefit. That benefit is that we'll be able to see other cars in a snowstorm even if they forget to turn their headlights on. Is that grey blob over there a car or just another snow squall?

So when you show up to the dealership in the next couple weeks and notice that it suddenly looks a lot more colourful, you can thank us. Maybe just don't look too closely at the quality of the work. We're in a bit of a hurry, and sometimes Tapemaster Theodore doesn't do a really good job masking off the mirrors, handles, tires, and windows, so the paint gets places that it shouldn't. Hey, it's like the 1970s all over again.

[cumironi]

warning. fem! reader, daddy kink! toji, fingering, degrading, you give him viagra.

toji fushiguro has never felt this way before in his life. he’s always been a sexually charged man— always had a high libido, but this? this is becoming ridiculous. he’s not sure what the cause of it is, but he’s sitting at his desk at work. his fingers mindlessly type away at the keyboard, hand fiddling with the mouse, but his thoughts are only on one thing.

why on earth is he feeling so hot? fuck, and why is his cock so hard? why are beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead? he glances at the clock feverishly, muttering a curse to himself as he realises he’s only two hours into an eight hour shift. fuck, what does he do? what does he do?

the first thing he can think of is you, grabbing his phone with slightly shaky hands as he opens up your contact and presses on the call button. he glances around, making sure nobody in the office is close enough to hear, and listens to it ring. the moment you pick up, you hardly get a greeting out before he’s hissing into the receiver.

“alright, ya’ fuckin’ brat, what’d ya do?”

your response on the other end is a stifled giggle and a denial of responsibility on your part. he curls his upper lip, knowing immediately that that laugh means you do have something to do with this.

“don’t fuck around with me, girl, i know it’s your doin’. now tell me, what did you do, why is my cock so damn hard right now?”

you let out another small giggle, shaking your head even though he can't see you through the phone. you lean back against your pillows, stretching out comfortably as you reply in a light, teasing tone. “aw, poor baby. having some... trouble down there?” you ask innocently, drawing out the last word for emphasis. you can practically picture the scowl on his face, which only makes you grin wider.

“maybe if you're a good boy and beg nicely, i'll tell youuu..” you trail off suggestively, enjoying the power you seem to have over him in this moment. a thrill runs through you at the thought of reducing such a strong, confident man to pleading for relie— and all from the comfort of your own bed, no less.

he grunts, rolling his eyes at your innocent act. how you think you can fool him, he doesn't know. maybe because you're so fucking young? whatever the reason, it's working. he feels his cock throbbing in agreement with your suggestion, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“beg, huh? alright then, princess,” his voice drops to a low purr, “on your knees for me, sugar. show me just how much you want to help your big bad toji.” he chuckles, shifting in his seat as he waits for your response. he knows you won't disappoint— not when there's fun to be had.

you smirk to yourself, quite pleased with how easily you've gotten under his skin. you sit up straighter, crossing your legs primly as you respond in a sweet, sing-song voice.

“ohhhh toji, you know i'd love to! but...” you draw out the word dramatically, “...i don't think i will. after all, i'm comfy right where i ammm.”

you giggle again, delighting in the frustrated noise he makes on the other end of the line. you can almost feel the heat of his glare through the phone, and it sends a delicious shiver down your spine.

“besides, didn't anyone ever teach you it's rude to make demands? if you wanna play, you gotta learn some manners first,” you punctuate your words with a wink, even though he can't see it.

his eyes narrow, the annoyance clear in his gaze as he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “well isn't that just fucking rich? demanding manners from someone who clearly hasn't learned them yet themselves.”

he lets out a huff, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration. but despite himself, he can't help but smile at your antics. “fine then, brat. how ’bout this? how ‘bout i give you a little taste of what you're denying me?”

there's a pause as he takes a moment to adjust himself, the sound of rustling fabric filling the silence between you both. he clears his throat, his voice dropping lower still. “how ‘bout i take matters into my own hands instead?”

you bite your lip, trying to suppress the excited flutter in your stomach at his words. you can practically imagine the sight of those large, capable hands wrapping around his thick length, and it sends a wave of warmth pooling between your thighs.

“that sounds... tempting,” you admit, your voice dropping to match his sultry tone. “but i'm still comfortable here. and besides, i'm not sure how well you handle rejection...”

you let the implication hang in the air, knowing full well how much it would irk him. you can already picture the look of stubborn determination on his face— the same look he gets whenever he sets his mind to something.

he snorts, a hint of amusement lacing his voice despite the growing irritation. “rejection? from you? well, ain't that just a fucking shame. please, kid, you don't know the first thing about turning me down.”

his fingers drum impatiently against his thigh, the tension in his body palpable. “look, i'm giving you a choice here. either you get off that damn bed and come play with me, or i'll just have to find my own release. and trust me, it won't be pretty.”

there's a dangerous edge to his words, a promise of things to come if you continue to deny him. he's not used to being teased like this, and it's starting to grate on his nerves. but goddamn if it's not also turning him on more than he cares to admit.

you shiver at the threat in his voice, a thrill of excitement mixed with a touch of fear. you know exactly what kind of'release' he's referring to—and the thought of it has your core clenching with need.

“ohhh, I'm shaking in my boots,” you tease, trying to keep your voice steady despite the ache building inside you. “but you know what they say, baby... pride comes before a fall.”

you pause, letting the weight of your words sink in. “and honestly? i'm not sure i'd want to be around for the aftermath of your tantrum. seems like it might get messy...” you trail off, leaving the invitation open-ended. you're playing with fire, you know— but the thought of seeing him lose control, of witnessing the raw desire etched across his features, is too enticing to resist.

his patience snaps like a twig underfoot. “fuck it,” he growls, standing abruptly and pacing the room in agitation. “i‘ve had enough of your games, brat.”

he stops in front of the window, gazing out at the cityscape below as he tries to regain his composure. “listen up, kiddo. i’m coming over. and when i do, we’re gonna forget all about these silly little teases and get down to business.”

there's a finality to his tone, an unspoken command that brooks no argument. he's made up his mind, and now it's time for you to comply. “be ready,” he adds, his voice low and warning. “or else.”

your heart pounds in your chest at his declaration, a mix of anxiety and anticipation swirling within you. you quickly scramble off the bed, your feet hitting the floor with a soft thud as you rush to prepare yourself.

“or else what?” you challenge lightly, attempting to mask the tremble in your voice. “you gonna spank me like a naughty child? or maybe you'll just have to punish me some other way...” you let your words hang in the air, suggesting all manner of punishments that send a fresh wave of heat coursing through your veins. you know you're pushing him, testing his limits—but part of you craves the chaos that follows such reckless behavior.

he laughs, but there's no humor in it. “don't tempt me, girl,” he warns, each syllable dripping with barely restrained lust. “because believe me, when i get my hands on you, you won't be sitting down for a week.”

he hangs up without another word, leaving you staring at the phone in disbelief. seconds later, there's a sharp knock at the door, followed by the jangle of keys. he must have kept a spare set, you realize, your heart leaping into your throat as the door swings open and he fills the frame.

he looks pissed. and turned on. and maybe a little bit crazy. “hello, sweetheart,” he drawls, stepping into the apartment and closing the door behind him with a resounding click. “ready to pay for all that attitude?’

he stalks towards you, a predatory glint in his eye.

your breath catches in your throat as he approaches, the air charged with tension and expectation. you stand frozen in place, unable to tear your gaze away from the fierce intensity in his eyes.

“i... i don't know,” you reply coyly, tilting your head to the side as you feign innocence. “attitude's kinda my thing. what makes you think i'd want to change?” you take a step back, retreating until your back presses against the wall. the cool surface provides a stark contrast to the heat radiating off your flushed skin.

he closes the distance between you in two long strides, one hand slamming against the wall beside your head as he looms over you. his free hand finds your hip, gripping it possessively as he leans in close.

“oh, i‘ll make you want to change,” he promises darkly, his breath hot against your ear. “i‘ll make you beg for it, princess. i‘ll make you scream so loud the whole damn neighborhood will hear you.”

he punctuates his words with a rough grind of his hips against yours, the hard bulge of his arousal pressing insistently against your stomach. “sooo, what's it gonna be, sugar? you gonna be a good girl for daddy? or do i need to teach you a lesson?” his hand slides higher, skimming along your ribcage until his thumb brushes the underside of your breast.

a gasp escapes your lips at the contact, your nipples hardening instantly beneath the thin fabric of your top. you squirm against him, feeling the throbbing pulse of his arousal against your belly.

“i... i...“ you stutter, caught between defiance and desire. “daddy? who said anything about daddies.” your protest falls flat, though, lost amidst the haze of arousal clouding your senses. you arch into his touch, seeking more friction against your sensitive flesh.

“teach me then,” you whisper, a daring gleam in your eyes. “show me how a real man handles a naughty girl.”

a low chuckle rumbles in his chest, the sound vibrating through you. “with pleasure,” he purrs, his grip tightening on your hip as he pulls you closer. his other hand moves lower, slipping beneath your skirt to find your panties damp with anticipation. “seems like someone's eager for their lesson,” he taunts, circling his fingertips around your swollen clit.

he pinches the sensitive nub firmly, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. but when none comes, he smirks. “good girl,” he murmurs approvingly, his fingers continuing their torturous dance.

“now why don't you show daddy how much you want this?” he coos, leaning in to capture your bottom lip between his teeth. “bend over and spread those legs nice and wide.” a whimper escapes you as his fingers work their magic, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body. you're already so wet, so desperate for more of his touch.

“please,” you breathe, the word falling from your lips unbidden. “i need... i need...” you trail off, unable to articulate the overwhelming hunger consuming you. instead, you obey his command, turning and bracing your hands against the wall. you look back at him over your shoulder, your eyes hazy with lust.

“like this, daddy?” you ask feigned innocent, slowly bending at the waist and arching your back. you reach back with one hand to lift your skirt, revealing the soaked patch of fabric clinging to your ass. “is this what you wanted?” you purr, spreading your thighs wider in blatant invitation.

a guttural groan spills from his throat at the sight before him. “fuck yes,” he growls, stalking forward to press himself against your exposed rear.

his large hands cup your ass cheeks, kneading the supple flesh roughly as he grinds his rock-hard erection against your panty-covered cleft. “such a pretty little slut for me,“ he praises, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

without warning, he yanks your panties aside and plunges two thick fingers into your dripping channel. “god, you're so fucking tight,” he grits out, pumping his digits in and out of you at a brutal pace.

he curls them slightly, stroking that spot inside you that makes your knees buckle. “come on, baby,” he urges, his voice low and commanding. “ride my fingers like a good girl.”

a high-pitched moan tears from your throat as he penetrates you, your inner muscles spasming around his invading digits. the combination of pain and pleasure sends you spiraling into a frenzy of desire. “yes, yes, please!” you chant, pushing back against his hand shamelessly.

your pussy clenches greedily around his fingers, soaking them in your juices as he fucks you relentlessly. the sounds of your own arousal fill the room—moans, whimpers, the obscene squelch of his fingers moving in and out of your cunt.

“‘m going to cum,” you warn, your voice strained and breathless. “if you keep doing that, i'm going to cum all over your hand.”

a wicked grin spreads across his face at your confession, his thrusts becoming even more insistent. “then let go, sugar,” he encourages, adding a third finger to stretch and fill you further.

he quickens the pace, driving into you with a relentless rhythm designed to push you over the edge. “let me see how much you love being fucked by daddy,” he taunts, biting down on your shoulder to muffle his own growing arousal.

the sensation of his teeth on your skin only heightens the pleasure coursing through you, making your orgasm that much more imminent. “that's it, just like that, gooddd, ” he coaches, feeling your walls clench and flutter around his fingers.

a keening cry splits the air as your climax crashes over you, waves of intense pleasure ripping through your body. your pussy convulses around his fingers, milking them for every drop of satisfaction they can provide.

“toji!” you scream his name, the single syllable carrying the weight of your surrender. your entire world narrows down to the feeling of his hand inside you, coaxing every last tremor of bliss from your quivering frame.

gradually, the aftershocks subside, leaving you limp and panting against the wall. “fuck,” you curse weakly, trying to catch your breath. “what did you do to me?”

a satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he watches you come undone under his touch. “just warming you up for the main event,” he teases, pulling his slickened fingers free from your spent pussy with a lewd pop.

he brings his glistening digits to his lips, licking them clean with a lascivious grin. “but we're not done yet, brat,” he says, his voice laced with promise. “it's time for daddy to get some attention.”

he steps back momentarily, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it aside. his shirt follows suit, revealing the chiseled expanse of his chest and abdomen. he unbuckles his belt with deliberate slowness, letting you take in the full extent of his arousal. “spread those legs wider,” he commands, kicking off his shoes and stepping out of his pants.

a shiver runs through you at the sight of his bare form, his muscles rippling as he moves. there's something undeniably primal about seeing him like this, stripped bare and ready for you. a shaky laugh bubbles from your lips, still tingling from the aftermath of your orgasm. you glance back at him over your shoulder, taking in the sight of his naked lower half.

“like this?” you ask, parting your thighs even further, exposing yourself fully to his hungry gaze. “is this enough for you, daddy?”

you watch as he discards the rest of his clothes, his muscular physique on full display. the throbbing bulge in his groin draws your attention like a magnet, its size promising pleasures untold.

“are you going to fuck me now?” you ask, tilting your head to the side and giving him a coy smile. “because i really hope so,” you added, your voice dripping with feigned nonchalance. “after all, ‘m just a naughty girl looking to satisfy her daddy.”

a low chuckle rumbles in his chest, his eyes darkening with raw lust. “naughty girl indeed,” he agrees, prowling forward until he's standing directly behind you.

his hands roam over your hips, gripping your flesh possessively as he positions himself at your entrance. “but daddy has other plans for you,” he whispers, pressing the head of his cock against your drenched folds.

he gives a slow, measured thrust, sinking into you inch by delicious inch. “feel that, sugar?” he asks, pausing to allow you to adjust to his size. "that's just the tip."

a gasp tears from your throat as he finally fills you completely, stretching you in ways you never knew possible. the sensation of being so utterly claimed by him leaves you breathless, your mind spinning with pleasure.

“oh god,” you moan, clutching at the wall for support. “you're so big... always so big,” you trail off, lost in the exquisite agony of having him buried inside you. he doesn't move for several long moments, allowing you to acclimate to his presence. the tension coiling within you is almost unbearable, each beat of your heart echoing the throbbing pulse of his cock pulsating inside your clenching walls.

“move,” you beg, finally finding your voice, “please, fuck me already.”

a smirk tugs at his lips at your plea, his hands tightening their grip on your waist. with a fluid motion, he begins to withdraw, only to slam back into you with bruising force.

each thrust hits deeper than the last, driving you further onto the edge of sanity. “like that?” he asks, punctuating his words with another punishing thrust. “does daddy feel good inside you?”

he sets a ruthless pace, fucking you with a precision that borders on cruel. every stroke sends shocks of pleasure radiating through your body, lighting up your nerves like fireworks on the fourth of july.

“you're so tight around me,“ he growls, leaning over your back to whisper in your ear. “so wet, soooo perfect.”

a strangled whimper escapes your lips as he hammers into you, the sheer intensity of his movements threatening to reduce you to a quivering mess. the sound of your bodies colliding echoes throughout the room, a symphony of carnal desires.

“mhm, oh god yes,” you moan, bracing yourself against the wall as he continues to ravage you. “so bigggg, daddy.” you reach back to grab hold of his ass, urging him to pound into you harder, faster. the sensation of his thick length splitting you open is overwhelming, sending jolts of ecstasy shooting through your veins with every brutal thrust.

“i can't...” you pant, struggling to find the words amidst the haze of pleasure clouding your mind. “i can't hold on much longer...“

a surge of possessive pride courses through him at your admission, fueling his desire to claim you entirely. “hold on, sugar,” he grates out, his voice rough with lust. “daddy's not done with you yet.”

he pulls back slightly, only to ram into you with renewed vigor. the angle of his thrusts hits that sweet spot inside you, triggering an avalanche of pleasure that threatens to engulf you whole.

“come for me again,” he demands, biting down on your shoulder to mark you as his once more. “show daddy how much you want it.” he quickens his pace, his hips snapping forward with abandon. the slap of flesh against flesh grows louder, the sound mixing with your cries to create a lewd chorus of carnality.

a keening wail tears from your throat as he strikes that perfect chord within you, sending you spiraling toward obliviation once more. the coil of pleasure inside you tightens, ready to snap at any moment.

“toji!” you scream his name, your voice cracking with need. “i'm gonna—”

your sentence cuts off abruptly as your orgasm washes over you, tearing through you with the force of a tidal wave. your inner walls clamp down hard on his cock, milking him for everything he's worth.

“fuck! fuck!“ you sob, riding out the waves of your climax, “’m cumming, ’m cumming!”

a guttural groan rips from his throat as your velvety walls spasm around him, the rhythmic squeezing pushing him closer to the brink. “that's it, baby,” he praises, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. “milk daddy's cock.”

he continues to thrust through your orgasm, prolonging your pleasure until it borders on pain. “such a good little slut,” he growls, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. he yanks your head back, forcing you to arch your spine as he pounds into you mercilessly.

with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you. a hoarse shout tears from his lips as he finds his own completion, his seed spurting forth to paint your insides white.

the sensation of him filling you up, marking you as his, is indescribable. your entire body trembles with the aftershocks of your orgasm, your legs growing weak beneath you.

“oh goddd,” you pant, collapsing against the wall for support. “you're so deep... so full, daddy.”

the warmth of his cum flooding your womb sends another ripple of pleasure coursing through you, extending your high well past its natural end. you can't help but push back against him, desperate for every last drop of his essence.

you lean back against him, feeling his strong arms wrap around your waist. the warmth of his body pressed against yours, coupled with the lingering throbs of pleasure coursing through your veins, is simply heavenly.

a satisfied sigh escapes him as he slowly eases out of you, his cock slipping free with a wet pop. he turns you gently in his arms, pulling you flush against his chest.

“feeling better now, brat?“ he teases, his voice still laced with the remnants of his satisfaction. “or do you need some more of daddy's special attention?” he nuzzles into your neck, planting a series of gentle kisses along your sensitive skin. despite the harshness of their lovemaking, there's a tenderness in his touch that speaks volumes about his affection for you.

“you're amazing when you come undone like that,” he murmurs, his hands roaming over your curves with reverence. “always so responsive.”

a contented hum vibrates in your throat as he holds you close, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. the tender kisses he plants on your neck send pleasant shivers down your spine, a stark contrast to the intense passion of mere moments ago.

“i think i might need a little more,” you admit, tilting your head to grant him better access. “just to make sure all that pent-up energy is drained away properly.”

you thread your fingers through his hair, guiding his lips to the crook of your neck where you know he loves to suck and bite. “and maybe some cuddles afterwards,” you add, a playful glint in your eye. you press yourself even closer to him, savoring the solid warmth of his body against yours. your fingers finding his nipple, pinch the hardened bud in between.

a low chuckle rumbles in his chest at your request, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “cuddles, huh? you're really milking this ‘needy’ thing for all it's worth, aren't you?”

he captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your gasp as his tongue delves into your mouth. the nip of his teeth on your bottom lip has you whimpering into the embrace, your fingers tangling deeper in his hair.

breaking the kiss, he trails his lips down your neck, pausing to suck a dark bruise into your skin before moving lower. “as for that pent-up energy,” he murmurs, his hot breath washing over your collarbone, “daddy's got just the thing.”

he drops to his knees, his hands gripping your thighs as he pushes them apart. “spread those pretty legs again for me, sugar.”

[littlelamy]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮 + 𝓫𝓪𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓷𝔂 = 𝓵𝓸𝓽𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓯𝓾𝓷 ;)

the cool breeze off the ocean did nothing to temper the heat between you. rafe had you bent over the railing of his balcony, the world below forgotten, reduced to the feeling of his hands gripping your hips and the relentless rhythm of his body against yours. but even in his roughness, there was a tenderness, a devotion that softened the edges of his intensity.

“you’re so goddamn beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and raw, a breathless rasp that made your heart skip. his hips snapped forward again, forcing a moan from your lips, and his hands tightened on your waist like he was afraid you might slip away. “look at you, taking me so perfectly. you’re everything to me—everything.”

his words made your chest tighten, a wave of emotion crashing through you even as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm. “rafe,” you gasped, your voice shaky, barely holding on as he thrust deep, hitting that spot inside you that made your legs tremble. “i can’t—”

“yes, you can,” he growled, his lips finding the nape of your neck, pressing a kiss there, soft and reverent, a counterpoint to the sharp snap of his hips. “you can, baby. you’re so strong, so fucking perfect. just hold on to me. i’ve got you.”

his hand slid around your waist, fingers finding your clit, stroking in slow, deliberate circles that had your breath catching, your body tensing as the pleasure built higher, faster. “i need you to feel this,” he said, his voice trembling, thick with emotion. “i need you to know how much i fucking love you. how much i need you.”

tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the intensity of it all—the way he worshiped you even as he fucked you so hard the balcony railing groaned under the strain. “i love you,” you whispered, the words tumbling out unbidden, raw and honest.

rafe stilled for half a second, his cock buried deep inside you as his hand stopped moving, the confession hitting him like a lightning strike. then he groaned, a sound so low and guttural it sent a shiver down your spine. “say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough, almost desperate.

“i love you,” you said again, louder this time, your voice breaking as he pulled back and slammed into you, his movements even more relentless, driven by something deeper than lust now.

“fuck,” he hissed, his hand on your clit resuming its rhythm, faster, firmer, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “i love you too, baby. so much. you’re mine, and i’m never letting you go.”

the words tipped you over, your body shattering as the orgasm ripped through you, leaving you gasping, crying out his name as your walls clenched tight around him. rafe groaned again, his thrusts growing erratic, his grip on you unyielding as he chased his own release.

“that’s it,” he panted, his voice shaky, almost broken. “come for me, baby. that’s my girl.”

moments later, he followed, his body tensing as he spilled inside you, his groans filling the night air, mixing with the sound of the waves below. he collapsed against you, his chest slick with sweat pressed to your back, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close.

for a while, the two of you just stood there, leaning against the railing, your bodies still entwined, your breaths mingling in the cool night air. rafe pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another, softer this time, full of love and gratitude.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, his fingers brushing over your skin like he couldn’t stop touching you.

you nodded, turning your head to meet his gaze, his blue eyes soft and shining with emotion. “yeah,” you whispered. “i’m perfect.”

he smiled, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss, slow and lingering, as though he had all the time in the world. and maybe, with him, you did.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @auroramadelyn

[v6quewrlds]

❝ know no better, m. barzal. ❞  ‎ ‎ ┉  

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: with your work responsibilities taking you away from long island, you and mat haven't had much time to blow off some steam. his friends, however, are tired of being on the receiving end of mat's "steam" and enlist you to help.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: about half way through the nnn series! i am a diva!mat truther so enjoy. day five of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, oral (male receiving), mat’s a lil grump.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mathew barzal x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.4k.

You looked up from your laptop, your eyes scanning the crowded airport lounge. The clacking of keyboards and murmur of distant conversations created a familiar backdrop to your focused silence. You sighed, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you awaited your flight's boarding call. Your phone buzzed, and you picked it up, expecting to see a message from work reminding you of the deadlines that had kept you in Boston for nearly a month. Instead, you found a text from Ethan Bear.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. You hadn't spoken to Ethan in ages, not since the last time you and Mat had seen him over the summer. 

The message was simple: "Hey, noticed Mat's been on edge lately?" 

You read it again, a hint of confusion creasing your forehead. Of course, you had noticed. Mat's mood swings were like the tides, but you had just chalked it up to the pressure of his season and your demanding work schedule pushing distance between the two of you. 

You typed back, "He makes it hard not to lol he's prob just stressed with the season. Why?"

Ethan's response was swift and to the point. "It's that dumb No Nut November bet. He's losing his shit like a little bitch. Can you fix him?" 

You couldn't help but laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. Mat, your six-foot hockey player of a boyfriend, reduced to a grumpy mess over a bet? It was almost endearing in its ridiculousness. But Ethan's concern was clear, and you knew you couldn't ignore it. 

You replied, "I'll see what I can do," with a winking emoji, feeling less than guilty for the amusement that bubbled up inside you.

As you boarded the plane, you couldn't shake the image of Mat, all six feet of brooding masculinity, brought to his knees by his own stubbornness. You chuckled to yourself, imagining the look on his face when you told him you knew about the bet. The flight back to Long Island was a blur of work emails and half-hearted attempts at relaxing, your mind racing with ideas to tease him into dropping this absurd challenge.

When you finally stepped into your apartment, the tension hit you like a wall. Mat's heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, and you could hear him muttering under his breath. You set down your bag and called out, "Honey, I'm home!" with a playful lilt in your voice.

Mat appeared around the corner, his eyes flashing with a mix of relief and annoyance. "Fucking finally," he grumbled, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly in an attempt to suppress a smile.

You rolled your eyes, your amusement clear. "What crawled up your ass?" You stepped closer to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Mat sighed, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. "You wouldn't understand."

You stepped closer, your curiosity piqued. "Try me."

Mat rolled his eyes, his frustration palpable. "It's just this stupid bet with the guys. I can't believe how much it's messing with my head."

Your smile grew. "Oh, the No Nut November bet? That's what's got you all worked up?" You couldn't resist poking the bear. "You know you can just tell them you can't do it, right?"

Mat's jaw clenched, and he glared at you. "It's not that simple. My pride's on the line."

You chuckled, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "Okay, tough guy," you said, your voice gentle and teasing. "But if it's really bothering you, maybe you should just, I don't know, not do it?"

Mat's eyes searched yours for a moment, and you could see the conflict in his gaze. He was torn between his pride and his desire to end the torment. You decided to take matters into your own hands. You leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "I have an idea," you murmured against his skin. "How about I help you relieve some of that tension?"

His eyes widened, and you knew you had his attention. "How?" he asked, his voice gruff with hope.

You stepped closer, your hands sliding down to his chest, your thumbs tracing the firm muscles beneath his shirt. "How about I give you a little something to take your mind off of it?" you suggested, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. You saw the spark of interest in his eyes and knew you had him in your grasp.

Mat's expression softened slightly, his eyes flickering with curiosity and a hint of desperation. "What are you thinking?" he asked, his tone cautious.

You smirked. "I could give you a reason to lose the bet?" you offered, your voice laced with playful challenge. You watched as the realization dawned on him, and his eyes grew dark with need.

"Did someone set you up to this?" he asked, his voice thick with suspicion, trying to hide his growing excitement.

"Let's just say I have my ways of finding things out," you replied with a wink. You could feel the tension in the room start to ease as Mat's curiosity took over.

Mat looked at you skeptically. "Alright. But if you're just messing with me..."

You giggled, standing on your tiptoe to whisper in his ear, "I'm not messing with you, baby." Your breath was warm and sweet, sending a shiver down his spine. "I want to help."

Mat stared at you for a moment, trying to gauge your seriousness. He was desperate for relief, and the thought of losing the bet was becoming increasingly more appealing by the second. With a huff, he stepped back, his arms crossing over his broad chest. "Okay, fine. What do you have in mind?"

You took a step closer, your eyes never leaving his. "Well, I was thinking..." you trailed off, your hands moving to the hem of his shirt, "maybe I could help you relax." You began to lift his shirt, your hands gliding over his abs, your manicured nails lightly scraping against his skin. "You know, just a little something to take the edge off."

Mat's resolve was crumbling. The feel of your hands on him was too tempting to resist. He let out a gruff chuckle, trying to maintain his tough exterior. "You're really going to do this?"

Your smile grew mischievous as you continued to lift his shirt, exposing his toned stomach. "Mmhmm," you hummed, your eyes flicking up to meet his. "I think it's only fair that if you're going to be a grumpy mess, I get to enjoy the perks of helping you out."

Mat's arms fell to his sides, his eyes locked on yours as you continued to explore his torso with your fingertips. "And what perks would those be?" he asked, his voice low and gruff with anticipation.

Your smile was sly. "Well," you said, your thumbs grazing the waistband of his sweatpants, "I was thinking I could give you a nice, long, slow release."

Mat's eyes darkened, and he took a sharp intake of breath. "Fuck it," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a fiery kiss that sent shockwaves through your body. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you gave in to the passion you had been craving for weeks.

The two of you stumbled into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind you. You pushed him down onto the bed, your body straddling him. You could feel his heart racing under you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You took a moment to appreciate the sight of him, his muscles taut and his eyes filled with a desperate need that made your own pulse quicken.

Mat's hands found the zipper of your jacket, his fingers fumbling with the fabric as he tried to get it off of you. You laughed and helped him, shrugging out of the jacket and tossing it aside. You leaned in again, your mouth tracing a line of kisses down his neck and chest, feeling his body respond to your touch. His breathing grew ragged, and you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him.

As you kissed down his body, you felt the tension in Mat's muscles start to unwind. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and you knew that you were winning the battle against his pride. With a knowing smile, you began to undo the drawstring of his shorts, your eyes focused on his.

"Missed this pretty, perfect dick," you murmured against the fabric of Mat's shorts, your voice muffled and playful. Mat's body tensed in anticipation as you slowly pulled them down, revealing him to your gaze. You took a moment to admire him, your eyes sparkling with a mix of humor and desire.

Mat groaned, his hands gripping the bed sheets. "You're evil, you know that?"

Your eyes gleamed with victory. "Only when it's for your own good," you teased, your fingertips brushing against his arousal. You watched his reaction, his eyes rolling back slightly, raven hair beautifully contrasting the crisp white sheets.

Mat's hand reached up to tug at your hair, urging you closer. "Just do it," he begged, his voice a mix of frustration and need.

You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Pushy," you said, your voice low and soothing. You leaned down, your warm breath fanning across his skin. Mat shivered as you pressed a kiss to the tip, your lips curling into a smug smile at his gasp. You took your time, teasing him with feather-light kisses and gentle strokes, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock.

Mat's eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth grinding together. "Baby," he ground out, his voice a desperate plea. You conceded and took him into your mouth, your movements slow and deliberate, savoring his taste and the sound of his moans. His hips bucked upwards, and you held him down with a firm hand, keeping the pace at a torturous crawl.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, watching the myriad of emotions playing across his face: surprise, pleasure, and a hint of embarrassment at his loss of control. You took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked gently, and he swore, his hands fisting in the sheets. The salty tang of his sweat mingled with the faint scent of his cologne, and you felt a thrill of power knowing you could bring this strong, confident man to the brink of madness with just your mouth.

Mat's thighs tensed beneath you as you increased your pace, your hand pumping in time with your mouth. His breath grew ragged, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. You took him deeper still, your throat tightening around him, the sensation of his impending climax thrumming through your body.

"Shit," Mat groaned, his voice tight with need. "C’mon, babe, I can't..."

You released him slowly. "You can't what, baby?" you whispered, your voice like velvet against his sensitive skin.

His eyes flew open, and he stared at you, desperation warring with the need to maintain his pride. "I'm gonna come, baby," he warned, his voice strained.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes gleaming. "Mmm, I know," you said, your voice a sweet taunt. With a devilish smile you held his gaze as you stuck your tongue out, a line of saliva connecting your mouth to his glistening cock. Mat's hips jerked upwards involuntarily, his eyes widening with shock and pleasure.

"You're gonna lose that bet," you whispered, your breath warm against his sensitive skin. Mat's jaw clenched, and he nodded, the fight draining out of him. His hand reached for you, guiding you back down to him. "Good boy," you murmured, your mouth enveloping him again.

Mat's hips began to thrust slightly, his movements growing more urgent. You felt a rush of wetness between your legs, your own desire spiking at the sound of his desperate moans. You tightened your grip, your tongue swiping against the underside of his shaft. His hips bucked harder. With one last, deep suck, you felt him pulse in your mouth, the warmth of his release flooding your mouth.

Mat's body went rigid as he came, his breath hitching in his throat. You swallowed, your eyes never leaving his. You licked your lips, savoring the taste of him, and gave his cock one last gentle kiss before sitting back on your heels. You watched him, his chest heaving and eyes glazed over with pleasure.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by your ragged breathing. Then Mat's face contorted into a mix of frustration and relief. "Fuck," he muttered, collapsing back onto the bed. "How bad was I?"

You grinned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Oh, you were pretty bad," you teased, your voice light and playful. "Ethan texted me about it. Said you were being a little bitch."

Mat's face reddened as he buried his face in a pillow, muffling his groan of embarrassment. You couldn't help but laugh, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "It's okay," you said, your voice gentle. "You're my little bitch."

Mat threw the pillow at you, his laughter joining yours. "Fuck off," he said, his voice muffled by the fabric.

You caught the pillow and tossed it aside, your smile widening. "It's all love, baby," you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "But seriously, you okay?"

Mat took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good." He sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I just didn't know it would get to me like this."

Your expression softened, and you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble that had started to form. "No more dumb bets?" you asked, your voice a gentle reprimand.

Mat sighed, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of vulnerability. "No more dumb bets," he agreed, his voice gruff. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. "I'm sorry for being such an asshole."

Your smile was warm, your thumb continuing to stroke his cheek. "You should probably apologize to Ethan. Whatever you did to him, it's gotta be bad if he's asking for my help."

Mat chuckled, his irritation fading. "I'll text him later, tell him you talked some sense into me." He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Thank you, baby." He kissed you, the affection in his touch making your heart flutter.

[ifangirlalot]

if ur still taking requests i would love to see submissive miles fairchild or sal fisher, the thought of either writhing under u, whiny and needy is just too good

˗ˏˋ 𝐓𝐎𝐏!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐱 𝐒𝐔𝐁!𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 ˎˊ˗ | starring miles fairchild & sal fisher

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

*~smut!~* [𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘]: sub boyfriend, dom reader, tip rubbing, edging, degradition, orgasm denial, dick riding, face sitting

OMG! FINALLY I WAS HOPING I'D GET A SAL REQUEST! nnnnyahhh

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

┊ ˚➶ ｡Miles Fairchild ˚ ☁️

Miles is sputtering beneath me, his eyelids fluttering almost helplessly as he babbles incoherently with every up and down motion of my body. Despite how controlling and demanding he is, how intimidating he is, it surprisingly wasn't very hard to turn into a whimpering, stuttering mess. Turns out, it's a lot easier to do so when he isn't actually in the house. Quint's influence can't touch him if he's not on the property.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love Miles fucking me into submission and degrading me to the fullest, but it's so amazing that I could reduce a headstrong, controlling, dominant force into nothing more than a pile of whimpering, begging filth.

Slowly, I reach my hand down and wrap it around his throbbing cock, pressing my thumb against his clothed tip. In response, Miles let out a surprisingly high pitched whine, his back arching slightly. "A-ah.. oh no, Mistress.. n-no, not there, I don't wanna cum yet.. n-no please.." he begs softly, eyes still squeezed shut as though he's afraid of he looks at me his cock will explode with cum.

"Hush." I say gently, yet firmly. I've quickly discovered that Miles prefers to be praised, which fits well with the person that he is. Miles normally doesn't like to be told he's doing something wrong. It wounds his otherwise enormous ego. Which is what I want. Ignoring him, I go back to rubbing his leaking tip through his boxers.

"No, Miss! P-pleaseeeee..! Oh please, I'll do anything just please don't make me cum.. I want your pussy, I want your boobs, please.. oh GOD please!" Miles continues to beg. I roll my eyes like it's a chore for me and slowly pull his boxers down to his knees, allowing his fully erect dick to bounce out, almost hitting his stomach. For such a skinny guy, Miles is packing some heat down there. If Miles were in charge, he'd be making me tell him how big it is. Except now, I'm the one in charge, and that brings a smirk to my face.

Miles let out another tiny whimper, and I can feel him watching my face, trying to gauge my reaction to his cock, so hard and ready for me. But I keep my face blank and impassive on purpose, just to beat his ego a little.

"I-it's big.. right Mistress?.." Miles finally asks, tentatively.

It is big. It's really big, actually. But the point of this whole scenario is to humble him, so I shrug, which damn near brings Miles to tears, based on his hurt look. But he very noticeably doesn't use the safe word I gave him, so... Maybe he kinda likes being put in his place?

"Size doesn't matter, my love. Now shut up and I'm gonna ride you, okay?" I smirk and reach for the pack of condoms in Miles's nightstand. Miles doesn't like to use condoms, he says he doesn't like the feel of latex on his cock. But, just tonight, I'm going to make him wear a condom. In all seriousness, if he's going to accidentally knock me up, I'd rather it be on one of the nights he's railing me straight into his bed.

When he sees where my hand is going, he whines in protest and starts to squirm. "Oh no.. n-no, ma'am, please no condom, y-you know I don't like them, please.."

"You'll wear it and you'll fucking like it or you'll have to use your hand." I say firmly, my jaw set.

Miles whimpers and squirms more, begging a little more feebly now. "B-but.. you like t-to.. f-feel my.. my cum.." He gulps as I pull out a single packet and rip it open. He whimpers again, knowing that he's lost.

"Shut up, or I'll stuff my underwear into your mouth to shut you up myself." I say, my voice low and commanding.

Miles's face goes bright red and he moans lowly, a shudder ripping through his body.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

┊ ˚➶ ｡Sal Fisher ˚ ☁️

"Pleasepleaseplease, just.. just let me.. please I want to, I-I want.." Sal's words are coated with a whimper. Drool pooling out of his heavily scarred mouth. His prosthetic lays on the bedside table, the straps hanging limply over the edge. Without his mask, he can't stop drooling, due to the hole torn into the side of his cheek. Most people would think his face is grotesque, but to me it's weirdly beautiful.

Sal's hands are tied together to the bedframe, his lean body squirming underneath mine.

"Shh.. shh.. not right now, we're only just starting, baby.." I say softly, cupping his cheek as my thumb caresses his cheek. My affection makes him whine quietly as he pushes his face against my hand, seeking more. I smile and slowly pull my hand away. I put my hands on his sides to hold him steady as I slowly start to ride him a little harder. He writhes under me and moans out loudly, pushing his hips quickly against mine.

"Mommy.. mommy.. pleasepleasepleasepleaseee.. Gonna.. gonna cum.. m-mm.. I g-gotta.." Sal's adorably pathetic whines almost make me want to give in... but no. That would be too kind. I can see his hands struggling against the restraints, trying to reach out to touch me. His one real eye is glazed over with tears, like he's trying to coax me into untying his hands so he can grab me and hold me against him while he fucks himself into me.

I wrap my hand around his wrists and hold them tight while I bounce my hips quickly. "Don't you cum, Sally. If you cum we'll have to keep going until I want to stop."

He moans loudly and shakes his head in a somewhat lazy way. "N-nuh.. nuh.. oh please no, c-can't take it.."

Eventually, I slowly pull myself off him. His cock is so coated with fluids, both his and mine, that it's shiny with it. I smirk and grab a handful of his electric blue hair and hold his head down as I slowly sink onto his face.

Sal is really good at having his face ridden.

His tongue immediately gets to work swirling around. I moan quietly and tilt my head back, my mouth dropping open in pleasure. "Oh yeah.. that's my good boy.."

His tongue is coated with moisture and it's cold, which makes it all the more better. I rock my hips quicker, clutching his hair harder, causing him to whimper muffledly against my pussy.

Oh, this is going to be an incredibly fun night for me.

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - Atonement

Summary - Power and pride unfold as Daemon is brought low by his arrogance. In this charged moment of dominance and desire, he must prove his worth while confronting the cost of his reckless words. Submission is the only path to salvation—and the stakes are dangerously high.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (oral f!receiving)

Word count - 2503

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Do you want me back?" I asked, arms crossed as I leaned back against the worn velvet of the settee. 

The room was dim, the flickering candlelight casting shifting shadows on the walls, but my voice was clear and unyielding. 

I was beyond the point of pretending to care—or so I wanted him to believe. 

"Say it," I demanded, eyes narrowing with a cold glimmer as Daemon Targaryen fell to his knees before me.

The sight was almost laughable—the rogue prince feared and revered in equal measure, brought low. To many, this scene would have been unthinkable. He, the fire-blooded scion of dragons, reduced to this. 

But I knew better. This was not just humiliation—it was a desperate man's one last gamble. His fingers curled into fists against the rug as he bowed his head, refusing to meet my gaze.

"I want you back," he said hoarsely, his voice trembling with emotion. "Please." The word cracked in the air like brittle glass, his pride bleeding from every syllable. 

He avoided my eyes, unable to face the abyss he'd been pushed into.

I studied him, unblinking, savouring the power that coursed through me. This was what I had warned him about. 

I had drawn the line clearly: disrespect me, and I would walk away. 

There were no idle threats between us. And when he had dared to shame me before his precious Goldcloaks, I made good on my word. 

Now, he knelt before me, feeling every ounce of that consequence.

"Say it again." My voice was soft, almost tender—a deceptive whisper of steel. I held his gaze this time, forcing him to lift his head. 

I wanted to see the hopelessness dance in his eyes, to watch him unravel.

"Please," he breathed, his desperation now laid bare. "I want you back." His chest heaved, the words drawn out of him with all the weight of a dying man's final plea.

A smirk tugged at my lips, and I allowed myself a low, mocking laugh. 

"Gods, you're pretty when you beg," I murmured, taking perverse pleasure in his helplessness. The room seemed to tighten around us, the air thick with a stifling, electric tension. 

He stared at me, as if searching for any shred of mercy I might spare him.

Slowly, I leaned forward, letting my fingers trace the line of his jaw. His breath caught, and I could see the raw vulnerability in his eyes, an emotion he rarely allowed himself to show. 

"Maybe," I teased, savouring the way he flinched under my touch, "but begging won't be enough."

His expression shifted—a war waged within him. Pride clashed with longing, but desperation won out. His shoulders slumped, and a glimmer of defeat softened his features. 

"Convince me," I whispered, my words curling around him like a silk noose. "Prove to me that you're not just desperate for a fleeting moment of forgiveness. Show me you're willing to fight."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. 

"Convince me," I pressed, my voice an unforgiving melody. "Convince me that losing me would be a fate worse than any you've ever faced."

For a moment, the silence threatened to swallow us both. He closed his eyes, grappling with the weight of what I'd demanded. 

When he opened them again, his gaze was raw, his desperation more potent than before. 

"Please," he implored, the words scraping his throat. "I can't bear the thought of losing you. I'll do whatever it takes. Just... don't let me go."

Triumph sparkled in my eyes, but I kept my expression cool. "That's more like it," I purred, leaning back, savouring the small victory I'd won over him. 

"Now, let's see how far you're truly willing to go, Prince."

A flicker of determination ignited behind the vulnerability. "I promise you," he vowed, his voice gaining strength. "Not with empty words, but with every action, every breath—I will fight for us. Losing you is a fate I will never accept."

His resolve sent a thrill through me. 

"Good," I whispered, a smile playing at my lips. "Then prove it."

His desperation thickened the air, weighing every word he spoke, every breath he took. For a moment, I let the silence stretch between us, savouring his discomfort. 

Finally, he looked up, a glimmer of defiance mingling with the need in his eyes. "What would you have me do?" he asked, voice taut with the strain of his surrender. 

There was no hint of bravado now, just a hollow shell of the man who once thought himself untouchable.

I leaned back, feigning contemplation. My eyes never left him, and I knew he felt the burn of my scrutiny. 

"What was it you said to your Goldcloaks?" I asked, letting each word drop like stones into the heavy silence. His face paled slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might refuse to answer. 

But this was not the place for defiance, and he knew it.

He shifted uncomfortably, the proud prince reduced to a man cornered by his own foolishness. His jaw worked, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out. 

"I'm asking a question, Daemon." My voice was ice, slicing through his hesitance. "Say it."

He stared at the ground, shame colouring his cheeks. "I said..." He faltered, voice a hushed rasp. "I said I would never... go down on a woman. No matter how sweet she was."

The admission hung between us, and I felt a cruel satisfaction as his words echoed back at him, stripped of their bravado. 

"Right," I said, drawing the word out. "And why was that said, Daemon?" 

I leaned forward, pressing him with the same relentless intensity I had felt when he first uttered those words to his men.

He looked away, his shoulders hunched. "I didn't mean it," he mumbled, barely audible. "I just wanted to seem..."

I cut him off, my voice cold and mocking. "Powerful? Feared?" I leaned in closer, the faintest hint of a smile curling at my lips. "Well, Daemon Targaryen, you are a liar. Because we both know you've tasted plenty of sweetness."

His eyes darted back to mine, a mixture of shame, frustration, and something darker. 

My words were a whip across his pride, a reminder of every whispered night, every unspoken promise made in the dark. I held his gaze, unyielding, and let him simmer in the weight of it all.

"Was it worth it?" I continued, my voice softer but no less deadly. "A fleeting moment of posturing before your men? A lie to paint yourself as untouchable, when in truth, you've knelt at my feet more times than I can count?" I leaned in, my breath warm against his cheek. 

"Tell me, Daemon, how does it feel to be exposed like this?"

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out. But instead, he bowed his head, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. 

"It was never worth losing you," he whispered, each word laced with regret. "I was a fool."

"More than a fool," I corrected, my tone merciless. "You were reckless. And now, you will pay the price for every careless word."

"Whatever it takes," he vowed, his voice raw, stripped of every last ounce of pride. "Just tell me how to make it right."

A small smile played at my lips. "You'll know soon enough," I murmured, tracing a finger down his cheek. "But for now, I want you to remember the taste of this moment—what it means to beg for what you once thought was beneath you."

He nodded, silent, and I knew he understood. There was no redemption without suffering, no forgiveness without penance. This was only the beginning.

The silence between us grew heavy, laden with his shame and my cold satisfaction. 

Daemon's head remained bowed, and I relished in watching him squirm under the weight of his own reckless words. 

"Please," he whispered, his voice rough with desperation. "Let me prove it to you. My words... they meant nothing. I was lying. I was a fool. I never thought you'd overhear or find out."

I leaned back, crossing my arms as if considering. Inside, my pulse quickened, heat blooming beneath my skin despite the icy mask I wore. 

I wanted to deny him, to make him grovel longer—but the sight of him like this, stripped of his pride and pleading for redemption, sent a thrill through me that I couldn't ignore. 

I took a slow, measured breath and uncrossed my legs deliberately, letting my gaze linger on him.

"Fine," I said, at last, the word slipping past my lips with cool detachment. I feigned disinterest, even as desire pooled low in my belly. "But understand this, Daemon—this is not forgiveness. This is your chance to prove just how empty your words were."

His eyes shot up to meet mine, wide with a mix of hope and fear. He moved closer, instinctively drawn to me, but I raised a hand, halting him in his tracks. 

"Slowly," I commanded my voice a whisper of silk over steel. "You do not touch until I say you may."

He swallowed hard, nodding, and I saw the faintest tremor in his hands. This was a man used to power and control, now utterly at my mercy. 

He inched forward, his movements measured, and I leaned back into the cushions, watching his every step. The room seemed to contract around us, every heartbeat, every breath, magnified by the tension coiled tight between us.

I tilted my chin, a cruel smile playing at the corners of my lips. "Show me, then," I said softly, an edge of challenge in my tone. "Show me that your words were hollow."

For a moment, he hesitated—just a heartbeat. Then he knelt before me again, the fire of determination mingling with the desperate need in his eyes. 

"I will," he murmured, his voice low and trembling. "I'll show you."

Slowly, reverently, his hands moved to my ankles. He glanced up, seeking permission, and I gave the barest nod. 

His fingers were gentle as they traced the curve of my calf, then slid upward, his touch feather-light, as if he feared I would shatter beneath him. I fought to keep my breathing even, to maintain the veneer of control—but inside, I was burning.

Daemon leaned closer, his breath hot against my skin as he pressed a kiss to the inside of my knee. He moved with a mixture of hesitation and fervour, each touch a plea, each kiss an apology. 

I felt his lips against my thigh, soft but insistent, and a shiver rippled through me.

"Is this what you said you'd never do?" I whispered, my voice tight. I saw the way his jaw clenched, the way he fought to contain his pride and obey. 

"Show me how much of a liar you are, Daemon."

He exhaled, a shuddering breath, before he pressed his lips lower, tasting me with a reverence that belied the arrogance he once displayed. His mouth was warm, and he moved with a blend of desperation and worship. 

I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, forcing him to deepen his surrender. 

The air crackled with tension, and I revelled in every second of his degradation, every flicker of desire that betrayed his need.

"You're good at this," I taunted, my voice breathy despite myself. "For someone who claimed otherwise."

He paused, his eyes blazing with a mix of humiliation and raw yearning. "I was wrong," he rasped, his voice shaking. "I'll prove it to you, over and over, until you believe me."

I let out a low laugh, the sound vibrating through both of us. "We'll see, Daemon," I said, a dangerous promise in my words. "We'll see how far you're willing to go to earn my forgiveness."

And then I let him continue, knowing he would give everything, knowing he would not stop until I was convinced. 

In that moment, I held all the power—and I intended to savour every bit of his fall from the lofty pedestal he once stood upon.

His lips brushed lower, the heat of his breath mingling with my skin and making every nerve ignite. 

The moment hung between us, heavy and laden with unspoken promises, and when his mouth fully claimed me, there was nothing delicate about it. 

He devoured me with the hunger of a man who'd kept himself restrained far too long. 

Each flick of his tongue, every rough and tender movement, spoke of a desperation he could no longer deny. It was as if he sought to etch his submission into my flesh, to make me feel every ounce of the humiliation and pride he grappled with.

I gripped his hair tighter, feeling the silky strands slip between my fingers. The sensation of having him so utterly at my mercy made me dizzy with a sense of power that was almost intoxicating. 

I angled myself, demanding more, and he complied instantly, his mouth working tirelessly, the warmth of his tongue drawing gasps from me that I barely recognized as my own. 

Each flicker and press seemed to map out every tremble, every quiver I couldn't suppress. 

He was a contradiction of roughness and reverence, and it felt as if he was pouring all of himself—his resentment, his shame, and his desire—into this act.

"Good," I hissed, my voice jagged, designed to pierce and praise in equal measure. "I want you to feel it, Daemon. Every bit."

His eyes met mine for a heartbeat, the intensity there staggering, as if he understood every nuance of my words. And then he closed them again, giving himself over completely. 

There was no hesitation, no holding back as he used his lips, tongue, and teeth to push me further and further into oblivion. His hands, strong and sure, pressed into my thighs, keeping me anchored to him. 

There was no escape, and I had no desire for it. I wanted him to consume me—and he did.

The way he moved was calculated, deliberate, but there was a ragged edge to it, too, like he was being undone along with me. 

When his tongue traced patterns that felt designed to undo me, a groan escaped me, raw and broken. He paused just enough to murmur words that were lost to the haze of pleasure, but the vibration alone was enough to bring me to the brink. 

His humiliation became his offering, and he lavished me with it until I was trembling.

"Prove it," I managed to bite out, the words ragged, daring. And he did—over and over until nothing else existed but the heat, the pressure, and the way he unravelled me with a skill that belied every proud word he once spoke. 

The room around us faded, leaving only his mouth and the all-consuming fire between us.

I shattered, gasping his name, feeling his pride crumble with each ragged breath. And as he drew out every last tremor with his mouth still against me, I knew that I would take more. 

This was just the beginning of his fall—and my ascent to the height of our twisted exchange.

A/n - Love writing Daemon begging xx

[solarmorrigan]

[cw: weight loss, body image issues/body dysmorphia]

Consider: Steve whose migraines become unmanageable for a while, or who falls into a harsh depressive episode after everything with Vecna, or who experiences reduced mobility or chronic pain due to the many varied injuries he's picked up over the years, or any combination of the above

Steve who loses his appetite and who isn't able to keep up with the workout routine he used to have and who loses weight and loses muscle mass and fucking hates it

He's always been on the lean side, but he hasn't been skinny since probably eighth grade, when he was still gawky and growing into his frame. But this is different; this isn't awkward adolescence, something he'll grow out of, this is the sight of his ribs through his skin and his hipbones jutting out and his wrists getting too skinny for his watch. This is feeling cold all the time and struggling to lift things he used to be able to pick up without much trouble

(It's fear, too. Not just a fear that he'll never get back to where he used to be, but fear that something will happen and he'll be too weak to stop it. Too weak to help. Too weak to protect anyone the way he should)

There are days he can't quite stand looking at himself; can't stand the sight of baggy clothes that used to fit perfectly, can't stand looking at tired eyes staring out of the sharpened angles of his face. He feels insubstantial this way. Like anyone could look right past him - right through him

Eddie never does, though. He never treats Steve differently, except to worry about his health - but never what he looks like. He hugs Steve as tightly as before, kisses him just as hard as before, whistles at him when he catches Steve in the middle of dressing, just like before. Like he isn't disappointed that Steve doesn't look good anymore, like he isn't even bothered

He'll hold Steve, and pull him close on bad days, and he'll let Steve be upset, but he'll never stand for Steve speaking badly about himself. He'll always push back, sometimes gently, sometimes loudly, always reminding Steve that he loves him, and what he looks like is a part of that. Reminding him that Eddie loves it all

"But you can gain it back, if you want to. When you're doing better," Eddie tells him

"What if I'm never doing better? What if I can never get back to where I was?" Steve demands. "What if this is just my body now?"

"Then it is." Eddie kisses his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. "Then I'll help you learn how to love it as much as you did before. As much as I still do."

And he says it so openly, so honestly, that even on bad days, Steve thinks that maybe - maybe he could be okay

[tzihomara]

MISSING YOU . . .₊˚⊹

— who knew your bossy house cat could be so . . . needy?

wc. 3.2k , mdni | fem!reader, unestablished relationship, jealous rough sèx, brèeding, degradation, crèampie, full form sukuna, mirror sèx, tigerhybrid!sukuna, possessiveness, intoxication, scenting, squırting, two còck’s, not proofread.

an;. i got so tired writing this… and i don’t even like it. was thinking & listening to this song while writing for him lolz

“quit your unnecessary movement, woman.”

he grumbled hoarsely, thick stripped tail swatting around and thumping the hardwood floors of your apartment. the two you sitting infront of your mirror.

even though ryomen sukuna’s period of reining the world of curses and jujutsu sorcerers, as king of curses, was indeed over, reduced to a mere house pet. he was still, just as commanding and prissy as ever.

all four of his muscular, and tatted arms wrapped around your smaller frame. demanding and beckoning insistently, silently with a grumpy pout, that you had sat in his lap. not knowing you’d soon feel his large and prickly tongue licking, or “grooming” you so he say’s, once you got a bit too comfortable in the warmth of his frame, licking over.. , and over again, relentlessly seeming. paws digging into you possessively.

you had went to a ‘work’ gettogether your boss had setup, have some drink’s, celebrate, and decompress after the hard work that you, and your coworkers had been through during these few specifically taxing weeks. leaving your particularly cavalier house cat, all alone.

when you had drunkenly unlocked your door, stumbling through it, you were immediately met with and faced a heavily displeased, and exasperated cat. predaceous, sharp, deep crimson irisis looking down at you. fumbling around, your inebriated mind had finally registered him infront of you in the dim lights, you had got home late, a bit— completely, caught up being “excessively friendly” as he’d word it, greeting your coworkers and superiors goodbye.

his fluffy ears were pressed flatly against his wispy hair, not ashamed or hesitant to put his discontent on display for you, tail whipping around irritably, nose scrunching up.

you reeked of a scent that wasn’t his, and he just had to fix it. immediately. resisting the urge to pounce and gnaw your neck to bits, like a chew toy. just for your insolence of returning to him in this,…. “state”.

which is how you ended up now, in his hold, his slob sticking and drying to your skin. “ryo ..’ i think ‘m pretty clean now.” you quietly sigh, tempted to accept your fate. and he scowl’s silently. “you still carry that stench on you. perhap’s, you need proper cleaning further.” he utter’s, while you groan in defeat quitely. “don’t.” he hissed. quipping back quickly, “you subjected yourself to this, woman. ridding my scent off of you for whatever absurd and preposterous reason. are you trying to suggest you’re available?” he glower’s. “course ‘mnot trying to. swear i didnt mean to ‘kuna..” you say, a little drunken slur to your word’s.

he hate’s it, the scent of alchol. but he’d rather have it that, than anyone else’s scent on you again. ever.

he huff’s, a bit more lenient, since you’re intoxicated. vulnerable in his eye’s. a foolish human— his. continuing to lick and brush his bristled tongue over you, leaning a little lower and licking at your neck, feeling your pulse point. cleansing you, yet also marking his scent back over you dually. the sensation makes you shudder. he’s given you “tongue bath’s” before, although something about this particularly, feels a little,.. different.

maybe it was your drunken mind seeking out things that weren’t there.

tongue steadily flicking over your neck, causing just a slight blush of pink on the sensitive and thin skin of your neck, from irritation. inhaling into it, taking in the concoction of both your own and his scent mixed. that was significantly better. letting out a rough purr in contentment. “are y’done yet?” you ask, not from impatience , or being bored, merely curious at how far he’d take this with his previous comment. “if it were my choice, which it should be. you’d get a much more thorough cleaning. be fortunate m’letting you off like this, brat.” he huffed into your neck. “but you’ve already been lickin me f’twenty mins, kuna.” you sigh. “privileged it wasn’t’ an hour.” he roll’s his eyes.

tail flickering slightly, curled and thick, brushing against you. four arms wrapped around you begrudgingly loosening, free from his grasp. resting his chin on the crown of your head, ears twitching. you can hear the heavy purrs reverberating in his broad chest, two of the four hands resting on your thigh’s.

this is how it should’ve been, if he knew you’d come home like this, he would’ve kept you in his grasp to prevent it. a cheek rubbing into your head, coming down to softly bite your cheek. a silent demand for your attention.

already becoming needy for you, though he’d never admit it aloud. letting his actions speak subtly. you hum, “mhm?…” replying to his demand, small hand of yours going up to caress his hair, inching towards the two fluffy ears that reside on his head. scratching behind the fluff. a rough mix of purrs and growl’s erupting from his chest, “brat. quit it.” he scowl’s, although does nothing to stop it. he could easily remove himself if he pleased, purr’s betraying his gruff tone and word’s.

you weren’t aware, completely oblivious. naive to how needy he was.

missing your presence more than he’d like to admit when you were gone. all. damn. day, he felt like he was going to drive himself crazy when he found himself in your bedroom. sniffing and inhaling the scent of you. clothes, blankets, panties—anything he could find. rutting and grinding his clothed cock’s into your pillows, mounting and biting down on the soft fluff, imagining it were you instead. hands pulling you tighter, flush to him. and you didn’t protest against it.

your own hands rubbing and softly scratching his ears in just the way he likes, unknowing the affect’s it has on him. you thought he excused himself purely out of embarrassment when you got done scratching him, never thinking of the fact that he get’s unbelievably hard after it. purrs getting heavier, just by a little bit, pressing his cheek into your own. ears twitching. you made him melt. body almost going slack for a minute. letting out just the faintest pant. he felt himself getting worked up already. silence being interrupted by the soft tussling of you adjusting your position, the floor can only be comfortable for so long.

taking notice of your discomfort, two large hands promptly settling you on his lap further more. “better?” he mumbled, cheek still in contact with your own, and you nodded. “mhm, ts’better,” adjusting yourself more, slightly grinding down into his lap to get comfortable. “should prob get off the floor, since you’re finished.”, he kissed his teeth. “y’er own fault for not being able to withstand it. no need to move.” he grumble’s, though he merely didn’t want you to move from his lap, even for a split second. “too feeble.” he sighs, voice a little hoarse. getting a little mouthy. ears pressing to the back of his head. and you roll your eyes and pout. “apologies for not being soooo big, ‘tough n bad like you.”

and he growls.

quietly tsking at your words, lowering his head and delivering a faint bite to side of your neck. fangs scratching the skin. you couldn’t bring yourself to scold your kitty, especially after leaving him oh, so lonely today. your pout deepened, pinching his cheek in response. “hmph.. careful.” you warned softly. his grip tightened on you. his own inner turmoil deepened, the need for you. to suffocate you against the floor, act on his need to mark you, inside and out. it was tempting. licking and nibbling at your neck. “pitiful.” he scoff’s, a larger hand subtly rubbing down into your inner thigh. squeezing the plump flat. tail swishing more feistily.

sukuna wasn’t a gentle nor slow man, it was near impossible for him. but he could try, and he was now. patience slowly wearing thin.

he deepened his bite, provoking a little whine from you. he was fortunate you couldn’t see his expression, the way his eyes nearly rolled back at just that. feeling like he’s on the verge of driving himself into a rut. pressing you further down into his lap, semi hard cock’s already starting to make its appearance with a print. you could feel his damp and hot breath on the back of your neck, and you couldn’t deny the way it made you throb in your inebriated state. already feeling hot and flushed from the alcohol, his clingyness wasn’t lessening the sensation’s you felt. “you’re g’na leave a mark. .” you murmured out. sneering at your word’s. “maybe it’ll get it into y’er head to stop ‘flaunting’ around in other people’s scent. ‘pissin me off.” he jibed, licking a fat wet strip up your neck, to behind your ear. beginning to chew on your bottom lip, eyes narrowing.

you could feel that familiar heat pooling in your stomach already, damp cunt clenching around nothing, to your disappointment.

every single time, he could smell the arousal immediately. having such a sensitive and potent sense of smell.

he snickered. clothed arousal fully hard now, you could feel it. he didn’t even bother to hide it now, warmth pressing against your ass. you couldn’t help but feel your face turn a singular shade deeper. breath catching in your throat, silently gulping and tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder. it was his own sign of permission, a silent granting of consent. you knew you couldn’t hide it and he knew it aswell. if not better than you. panting and breathing heavily into your neck. it got you soaked.

hip’s seeking out friction, clothed cock’s grinding into your ass unabashedly, heaving into your ear with a handsome cackle that’s his laugh. “shiit, woman.” he cursed under his breath, and you let out a little whimper. tiny “o-oh” escaping your lip’s. your already simmering body reacting deliciously to his neediness. flushed cunt drenching your panties already. the two hand’s that were resting comfortably on your thighs traveling up to your hip’s, now at the seam’s of your pants, prying and tugging them down, down, down. balled up and wrinkled at your ankle’s, soon completely off. one hand of the four slipping into your panties, a rough padded finger collecting your slick and rubbing your slit. feeling — her, pulse around them. “s’fuckin needy. greedy girl.” he groaned into your ear. ear’s twitching sensitively.

you haven’t ever gotten this wet, and so quickly. beginning to grind back on his fingers, you could see it. the two of you in this position through the mirror infront of you both, it made your breath hitch. two thick lengthy finger’s suddenly sinking into your cunt, squelching and sucking them in. just two fingers of his make you feel so damn full already, thrusting gently while another finger rubs at your clit, low attentive eye’s watching you through the mirror, heavy purrs against your back. rough fingers massaging just the perfect spots inside your velvety walls. “kuna..’” you mewled softly, and he tightens his hold on your thigh’s, spreading them further apart, tugging your panties aside to watch in the mirror. watching your cunt messily clench around him, your slick running down his hand. dripping on his clothed hard on. fabric damp with precum and your arousal.

breath slightly trembling in your ear, hips still needily pressing his aching cock’s into your ass. tail flickering and slithering to wrap around you leg, keeping it in place. “fuuuck.” he groaned, bordering on a moan. “clenchin’ around my fingers like some slut.” biting a little rougher into your neck. you try to turn your cheek—only to be snatched right back in place, rough padded fingers digging isn’t your cheeks and jaw. forcing you to look at the mess he’s making of you. a laugh melting into a moan. “y’like this, brat? watching y’erself’ drench all over my fingers?” “keep your eye’s on us.” he heave’s. fingers curling impeccably, in justtt- the right spot. feeling that coil in your tummy tighten implausibly tighter. schlick noises of his finger’s and your arousal resonant in the room.

your hip’s lazily grinding further onto his girthy digit’s, stuttering languidly over them eyeing yourself. it was so humiliating. his fingers acutely rubbing your soft spot. coil inside your tummy snapping, stomach flexing with frantic ragged breath’s, and a whine. dually creaming and squirting incessantly on his finger’s, hip’s trying to pull away in overstimulation. paded finger mercilessly, relentlessly rubbing continuously, vigorously pulling out choked mewl’s and whimpers out you. “k-kunaaaaa’ , w-wait stopsst-opp,” sob’s prettily spilling from you, palms grasping, fingers digging into his wide forearm in attempt to steady yourself. provoking a hiss from him.

you want to escape from this overbearing feeling, but relish in it too. you both know you don’t mean to try and run. and he purr’s with a grumble.

a hand jerking his short’s down, two lengthy cock’s slapping your puffy folds, slicked with your wetness and release, pretty cherry pink tip’s leaking bead’s of precum, dribbling down his cut length. the fact he had matching tatt’s there made you gush. lengthier cock head prodding, nudging at your fold’s and entrance, your drunken mind whirling from the booze and previous overstimulating high from a few seconds ago, two hand’s back grappling at your thighs, hoisting them up infront of the mirror. finding yourself in a headlock. he has you in full nelson, slowly leaning back into the couch. brows furrowed and tail swatting.

you feel his leaking tip continuously pressing, before sinking into you, eliciting a quiet mewl, chin resting on his forearm, purposely keep your heavy head up to watch him. secondary cock still grinding against the fat of your ass. you felt so suffocatingly full, with a stretched that burn so painfully fucking good. pretty glimmering tears welling in your eyes, you don’t know if it’s from the pain or pleasure, a concoction of both. snickering with a small tsk. “should’ve known , y’er sucha’ crybaby.”, his mean teasing making you grip him impossibly tighter. you loved it. “should i go slow f’ya? think you deserve it after comin home to smelling like that’ , brat?” he groaned into your ear, a rhetorical question. he wasn’t going to be nice, and you were somewhat hoping for that. feeling a little defiant. “shut the f-fuck up.’ fuck me already.” you blurted out. and his eye’s narrowed, temporarily stunned by your word’s, it made his cock twitch— both of them.

with a scoff followed by a grunt, hand’s immediately slamming your hips down with a force that might’ve made you regret being hasty if you weren’t just as needy as him. a slurred, much louder whine escaping at the show of force, suddenly feeling his pace pick up after it, not as harsh as before. tip messily kissing the entrance of your cervix, leaving every spot untouched in your wall’s, you could see it. the way his cock bulge’s in your tummy, roughly dragging your hip’s up and down on his length, yet hips still slamming into you. absolutely using you. and you were fucking loving it, shamelessly moaning and babbling incomprehensibly. “f-fuckfuckfuuuuck..rightthereeuuh” watching yourself get pounded into relentlessly, second cock drooling with loads of precum, slick against your ass. drool dribbling out the corner of your mouth, but throat going dry at the same time. a loud groan forged with a purr escaping his throat. “stupid’ fuckin slut. need to learn some damn manner’s.” tail swishing wildly, his size with your grip was driving him feral, you were squeezing him.

if only you could see his pupils expanding. it were as if he’d been given catnip, even so, you & your cunt is the better drug. “suckin’ me up so damn good. like this pussy is mine, shit-“ he growled with a pant. “m-mhm ts’yours kuna- all y-yours, uooh-“, he wasn’t quick to finish no matter what, but he could’ve came right then and there when you said that, a shudder rushing over his body, a palm smushing your face, gripping harshly to turn it, shifting his head to press a sloppy kiss to you. a distraction. feeling his length somehow grow harder than it already was, he was so deep. it hurt just a tad, but in the best way. you weren’t even sure you could moan into his mouth anymore from how good he was digging into you, stretching you impeccably. rubbing in spot’s you had yet to reach on your own, nobody could reach but him. not like he’d let a man get even close to you ever again after this accident. a hand of his spreading your thigh’s further, a predatory glint in them as he looked from the second eye above his cheekbone, watching your cunt take every single inch. tongue licking all around inside your mouth, coating himself in your taste. toe’s clenching, curling , as hard as you could, the pleasure was just so. fucking. much. tiny hand’s retuning to grasp as his forearm, digging your nail’s into him. leaving little crescent’s. your own mark’s. his pace not even faltering once. pulling back with an airy gasp, groaning in your ear. “i own you. own this pretty ‘lil cunt. gonna fuck you full of my cum, brat. ts’ what you want huh? workin me up with that filthy mouth. should put it ta’ work next.”, and you nod absentmindedly, the tear’s that were brimming your eye’s already cascading down your cheek’s. “uuuhuh, wan’ your cubs s-so bad kuna,” you whined through mewl’s and sob’s, close to your second orgasm, so damn close.

he was close already too, just by how obediently you were nodding along to him, like a mindless doll. and he landed the prettiest one. the two of you were just barely hanging on by a thread, his thrusts becoming more sloppy. languid. deep and harsh, feeling his tip nuzzling just a bit dipper into you, hitting your cervix making you yelp in pleasure and pain, your orgasm hitting you like a fucking truck, clenching down on him as that familiar creamy white ring form’s around his cock again, all in his view. feeling you grip like a damn vice was his breaking point, hips stuttering for the last time before a full blown moan escape’s him, hissing as his eye’s so subtly roll back. bottoming out and cumming fucking bucket’s in you, second cock messily spilling on the floor, feeling the hot spurt’s from his tip inside you, lazily, slowly, fucking you through your own and his release, ear’s flickering up, heavy purrs and pant’s in your ear’s and it felt like you weren’t even present on earth. your mind sent whirling at the sensation of him pulsing inside you. slowly pulling out, not flaccid in the slightest yet. a worn whimper slipping from you in disappointment, cunt gaping and clenching around nothing. palms rubbing the inside of your thigh’s, in a trance at the mess he’s made of you. heaving. purr’s and heavy breath’s filling the silence. tossing his head back with a groan. a temporary peace, resting your eye’s for a few minute’s. you felt so exhausted already, ready to call it quit’s in your intoxicated mind. but sukuna had other plan’s, making it noticeable when he slid his second, wider, more girthier cock, into you. stretching you once again. grip seemingly tighter on you. “don’t think i’m done with you. still have hour’s to make up to me, fuckin brat.” he groan’s.

and you certainly did make up for those hour’s you left your poor kitty all alone, needy and without your perfect pussy.

my masterlist for more .ᐟ

[honeyryewhiskey]

crybaby

dean x cupid!reader cw!! just fluff! bc i miss these two 685 words

He didn’t expect the waterworks to start streaming from your big, sad eyes. He should really know better by now, having known you for some time—just how quickly a little cupid can be reduced to tears. 

The slam of the Impala’s door makes Dean wince, irritation prickling at his nerves as he rushes to follow you. His hands find your shoulders, maybe gripping a little harder than he should as he spins you around to face him.

“Hey,” he barks, freezing when he sees your tear-streaked face. For a second, his grip slackens, and his hands drop to his sides. His jaw tightens, fists clenching instinctively as he looks at you with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

He’s still not used to this—not good at dealing with tears, especially yours. Not when your whimpers and that wobbling lip make his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t know how to handle.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand over his chin. He steps back, throwing a helpless glance at the garage ceiling as if salvation might come from above. “Just great. Why the hell are you crying?” His tone is sharp, annoyed, but it’s obvious he’s not actually mad at you. He just hates seeing you like this—hates the way it makes him feel completely out of his depth.

Your arms cross over your chest, and your bottom lip juts out in a feeble attempt at defiance. “You’ve been mean and grumpy all day. And then you called me ‘feather brains’ for forgetting to lock the trunk.”

Dean’s brows shoot up, incredulous. “Because it flew open! All the crap we just bought is sitting in the middle of the highway right now. Thanks to you!”

The sharpness of his voice makes you take a step back, eyes wide and glassy. “Stop yelling!” you shout, your voice cracking.

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand over his face. His patience, never his strongest suit, is hanging on by a thread. Deep breaths. Count to ten. Think of that stupid article he googled the other night: “How to Deal with an Overly Emotional Person.”

“Fine. Fine,” he grits out, trying to sound calm. “Just stop crying, okay?”

But the tears are still flowing, your cheeks blotchy and your whole spirit looking crushed. It’s not just the crying—it’s how completely deflated you look. Like all that annoying, infectious vibrance of yours has been snuffed out, and it’s his fault.

He exhales sharply through his nose, an idea suddenly hitting him. “Ice cream? Movies? Hugs? What do you want? Name anything, and I’ll get it for you.”

You sniffle, blinking up at him as something faint flickers in your expression, making your head tilt. “Anything?”

Dean hesitates, second-guessing himself. “Yes,” he agrees, though his voice is laced with caution. “Within reason—”

“Up.” You cut him off, arms stretched toward him.

Dean’s glare hardens, his eyes flicking between your wiggling fingers and your pitiful pout. Everything in him wants to argue, to resist. He’s not good at this softness. But you’re looking at him with those sad, hopeful eyes, and as always when it comes to you and your demands—something in him gives.

With a heavy sigh, he closes the space between you, his boots thudding against the concrete floor. His hands slide to your hips, lifting you with ease as you practically fling yourself into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist, your face burying in the crook of his neck as he steadies his hold on you. His arms wrap snugly around your back. His nose is buried in your hair, the sweet scent of something he can’t name, just recognizes as pretty and girly easing the scowl off of his brows. 

“Can I still have the ice cream, too?” you mumble into his shoulder.

Dean huffs out a low laugh. “We’ll see,” he mutters, but his grip on you tightens just a little, and he knows damn well in a moment he’ll be back in the driver’s seat to take you out to get that ice cream.

been writing for angel!reader, who's much more serious than little cupid. so i took a break from the angst to write this cuteness <3 i also want to make some sort of collection post for these bc i have quite a few cupid fics now and there is no organization ugh

[thediaryofaghost]

; NOT MY MAN

© gif credits to @daniel-bruehl.

Simon Riley aka GHOST x READER | masterlist.

Summary. the team is back in town after a mission but seems like you would have preferred to stay there than having to face the kind of feelings you're discovering now.

word count: 1.2k.

warnings/tags: none. maybe a little bit of jealousy, but nothing serious.

author notes: my stories don't contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

pd: hi, y'all! first time writing for Ghost, no judging, please. i hope you like it.

The mission couldn’t have gone more successful, and the whole team was back in town before expected. That’s why Soap has had the great idea of throwing a small party for you all, more like a teammates’ barbecue. But now that you’re there, staring at the scene happening right in front of your eyes and holding a beer almost empty, you’re starting to figure out how to leave the place without looking like an asshole.

All your friends are having fun, while you’re about to break the glass container between your fingers just by the burning angriness emerging inside your guts. Why? Simple question, simple answer. Ghost is there, of course, keeping his face covered by the balaclava he never takes off, not even while sleeping; standing arms crossed next to the new acquisition for the team. Rhaia. A former soldier who is brand new to your world. Flirting with him. Or better said, trying to flirt with him. But even if Ghost isn’t moving an inch of his body, he’s letting her touch his bicep, play with the badges sewed in his jacket, and grab his dog tags to read the information written down in them.

Who does she think she is?

And who do you think you are?

Clicking your tongue, as you turn around, you give the beer one last sip before placing it on the table next to you. Silent and keeping your gesture deadpanned, your feet take you to the inside. You’ve had enough shit to deal with for today and you’re pretty tired to pretend you aren't… jealous? Ghost and you are nothing but teammates. On-duty. Off-duty is hard to explain. He’s your guardian during the nights in town like a protector, that’s how you like to see the situation. For a cop, he’s a stalker, and probably a psychopath too. But he has some power over you that you can’t even explain or run away from.

And now, everything you’ve thought you’ve had till this moment looks like it’s been reduced to ashes since Rhaia is part of the equation.

“ Party is downstairs. ”

A shiver runs down your spine. It doesn't matter the amount of time you two spend together, accompanied or alone, you never hear him coming. But you can't help but ignore his words, looking for the keys to your bike inside the pockets of your leather jacket, about to wear the piece of clothing and leave the house.

“ You going mute scares me more than death. ”

His voice is neutral. There’s no confusion, or angriness, or surprise in it. Those emotions fill you up at the exact moment you turn around, ready to go, by finding him closer than expected. 

“ Oh, for fuck sake! ”  You grumble, moving a palm onto your chest and closing your eyes for a second.

“ Where are ya’ heading at, hm? ”

“ You all are occupied with your own business and I’m tired, I just want to sleep, Ghost. ”

Raising his eyebrows as an incredulous gesture, the man tilts his head slightly, trying to figure out what’s going on inside that mind of yours. It’s not the explanation, but the fact that you have called him by his undercover name, and not just by his name like whenever the two of you are alone.

“ I'll take you home, little bird. C’mon. ”

“ You’re not coming. ” The sentence slips through your mouth before you can even think about it, watching him turn back to face you as he is ready to accompany you.

“ I am your man, of course I’m leaving with you. ” He’s now aware of what’s going on, and can’t help but drag every single word by his tongue. Demanding. With that possessive tone of voice that, in another kind of situation, would take you to your more desired fantasies later that night.

“ If my man can be touched by any woman, then… he’s not my man. ”

Oh, there it is; the attitude that rarely comes out from you, taking a step closer at the point you're breathing in the air he spells — besides the height difference. You’re challenging him with no fear, with no doubt. Looking straight into his eyes, contemplating how they darken themselves. That man is angry for real, making a huge effort to not lose his mind, the control over his body. Not with you. Maybe with a poor devil that crosses paths with him tonight. But you’re hurt. And so it’s your ego. Gho— Simon is yours. Nobody else can't touch him with that kind of intention but you, even when you don’t touch him like that; because the two of you have a non-verbal arrangement that he’s your guard dog and you don’t make any complaints.

Your heart races at the moment he takes a step back, away from you, not uttering a single word, making you feel frustrated for preventing you from seeing his face at this moment. How much would you love to burn down the balaclava he’s wearing (...).  But, at least, it seems like he has understood that you need some time alone to put down the feelings and emotions blurring your head like stormy clouds covering the sun from nowhere.

( A few hours later. )

“ What… What are you doing here? ”

Even if it was quite a surprise to find your lieutenant, fully equipped, sitting in front of your bed in the middle of the night, you didn't feel like he was a menace, nor like you were in danger. You didn't even care to ask how he had sneaked inside your house outwitting the alarm.

“ Go back to sleep, little bird. ” The murmur left his covered lips as he bent over just a little, enough to rest his arms onto his lap, getting a better view of you obeying without complaining and laying down between the sheets.

For a reason you can’t understand, you wake up with your heart racing and a thin layer of sweat covering your whole body. The survivor mode has been turned on. It wasn’t a nightmare, but a memory haunting you. The room is submerged in darkness, only illuminated by a lamppost outside, but what leaves you with no words is the empty chair in front of your eyes. Ghost is not there. And he should be.

Turning on the light, you look for your phone. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Cleaning the sweat from your forehead with a tissue, you toss away the wet sheets and walk barefoot outside of your room, touring the small flat.

“ Simon…? ”

Maybe he has gone for a glass of water or something, but you don’t receive a word back, nor a hint that he’s there. It’s only you and the silence of the night.

A sharp pinch stabs your heart. But what is that? Pain, sorrow, regret? Sadness? For a moment, you think that calling him is a good idea, disappearing as you remember what you told him earlier this evening. Has he taken that really seriously? No. That’s not typical of him. He would fight. And, for you, he would go to hell and be back before the blink of an eye, after turning off the flames that consume the place.

But then, why is the first night in almost two years he is not there, watching over you while you sleep?

Where are you, Ghost…?

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[wttcsms]

Feel free to elaborate on this or write a whole fic or never think about this again but- I feel like people make Kageyama out to be this heavily awkward guy with no social skills but I think he has the potential to just SNAP, especially in the bedroom if he’s being teased a tad overboard or is feeling possessive and jealous. Like he just screams to me rough and dominating in the bedroom—a quiet doer guy Thoughts?

no, because it's kind of easy to get tobio all riled up. you don't even mean to provoke him, honest! it's just an innocent, teasing remark:

"wow, miya was doing really great at practice today!”

kageyama is silent, but you notice the slight pause in his movements before he resumes taking off his sneakers and tossing his gym bag to the side. he had invited you to watch him practice with the rest of the olympic team, and of course, it's because of your presence that fucking atsumu would want to show off.

you love tobio with your whole heart; it’s why you’re wearing a ring he bought for you, why his last name is going to be yours, why you’re heading to the kitchen to get dinner heated up for him. you don’t mean anything by your comments because you’re confident that no one could possibly be replacing him on the starting lineup. you just want to show him that you’re being a good fiancée, attentive and interested in his career.

“i think everyone was hitting all of his sets perfectly. like, a bunch of guys on the team were raving about how easy and effortless it is when he sets. that’s good, right?”

tobio lets out an irritated sigh as he follows you to the kitchen. “i don’t wanna talk about it.”

you can be such a ditz, y'know? when tobio gives you that exasperated sigh, with his little annoyed expression on his face, the way he eats his dinner in silence — you take it that maybe you've said the wrong thing, but you just don't know what. so you get to chatting up a storm to fill the silence, and somehow, it ends up with you reminding him of your high school days at seijoh. where you were a cheerleader.

where you cheered wholeheartedly for oikawa.

"you liked being a cheerleader?" you don't pick up on the sharpness of tobio's tone; you're just happy he's finally feeling up to speaking. so you give him an enthusiastic hum and nod, saying that you loved being on the cheer team and rooting for the volleyball team especially!!

and tobio isn't exactly a humble person. he likes hearing the noise of a crowd, a stadium full of people, chanting his name. it fills him with pride.

but a stadium full of fans screaming out "kageyama" is nothing compared to your little pleasure-provoked whines of tobio. you don't know what you did to set off your fiancé, only that the exhausted slump of his body after a grueling practice has disappeared. there's no way he's human; how could he possibly be fucking into you so deeply, so harshly, if he's supposed to be bone-tired?

tobio loves fucking in missionary. he loves the way he can admire your fucked out expression, how easy it is to plant kisses on your pouty lips and collarbone, how he can grab at your legs, make your calves burn with how he has you folded.

this is how you know he's upset. he's pounding into you with a vitriol-fueled vigor, and he's doing it from the back. you had let out a little yelp when he first demanded you get up from your chair, only to have him spin you 'round and bend you over the kitchen counter.

it's a bit painful; he's just so big, so long — he reaches places no one else has, has found all the spots that reduce you into a mushy, boneless, fucked out little mess.

"who does this cunt belong to?" he grunts out.

"it's yours! a-all yours, tobio. only yours!" it's so hard to speak when you're so close to cumming. he rewards your statement by rubbing rough circles against your clit, and the stimulation is enough to bring you to your release. you let out broken sobs as you cum, his thrusts becoming too much for your little sensitive pussy.

"sl-slow down, tobio, pleeease." but it's hard for him to take you seriously when you're clamping down on him like you don't want him to leave.

"thought i owned this little cunt, though? that's what you told me. are you lying?" he seems to pound into you even harder with every rhetorical question, thrusts getting angrier at the mere idea of you wanting anyone else to fuck you. "you're takin' my dick so well, though. are you just a whore, or are you my personal little slut?"

"yours, yours, yours." every time you say it, it comes out broken and hard to understand. you can't see him from this angle, can only admire the marble of the kitchen counter, but he's smiling.

"yeah? you're not oikawa's little slut?"

you shake your head, whimpering at the onslaught of pain and pleasure he's forcing onto you. "n-not oikawa's. not anyone else's." you let out a high-pitched moan as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. "e-especially not miya's."

"i'm the only one who gets to see you like this. i'm the only one who gets to fill up this sweet pussy." he relishes in the way you keep on moaning his name, your cute whines of tobio fading into background noise as he tilts his head back, lets his release flow right into you, making a mess out of your abused cunt.

right when you think he's worked out all of his frustrations, right when your body finally relaxes once more, you feel him biting down on your shoulder, sure to leave a mark on your precious skin. he starts rutting his hips once more, and you know that you've just provoked him to the point of no return.

you're not complaining, though.

[c0nn0rsseur]

Can we take a moment to appreciate Bryan Dechart’s performance as Cyberlife Tower Connor aka Sixty and Sixty as a character? 🤌

Though Sixty and deviant Connor are physically identical (minus their demeanors, e.g. the way they stand and walk, like wow, Bryan, wow) and their voices technically aren’t different from each other, the distinction is still clearly there, at the same time it’s so nuanced too. Sixty sounds condescending, imperious and callous compared to deviant Connor whose voice is empathetic, curious and sincere. I’m not even talking about their lexicon, their choice of words here (there’s of course a difference too). Even when Sixty tries to convince Hank he’s the real Connor, you can hear how he’s failing to sound exactly like his counterpart because he can’t replicate deviant Connor’s voice and speech pattern just so. Sixty’s also being very commanding when trying to fool Hank into shooting the real Connor (Hank even gets irritated because of it). Damn that’s brilliant acting, all hats off to Bryan. His performance in this game never fails to impress me. (I wish there were dialogue for RK900 too, I would’ve loved to see Bryan’s take on his voice and presence.)

Also also I have to mention I love the take that Sixty really was a deviant all along too, an ”evil” version of Connor if you will; cold, calculating and even enjoying the situation he had Connor (and Hank) in. You know, doing all of it because he wanted to, because he liked it. Why else would he deliver a whole ass villain monologue before executing deviant Connor, gloating about how he knows what he is and that he is the obedient, favorite child, plus calling Connor a disappointment (and a disappointment to him especially, like how Connor should care in his final moments that Sixty despises him for not being a good little robot)? AND shooting him several times non-lethally before landing that final shot (if the story goes there), like savoring the situation. Of course he also has to ask if Connor has any last words too. That’s definitely not what an efficient machine would have done to make sure it accomplished its mission. In some outcomes his stalling costs him the victory.

Top that off with the ending where deviant Connor dies but the androids still wake up, Sixty is scared and emotional because he failed, scared to be deactivated because of his failure. Then there’s this scene where he shoots deviant Connor eleven times in front of his friend. After that Sixty takes in Hank’s reaction and even torments him by saying Connor’s death was his fault. Still doesn’t sound like a machine much, huh? More like a sadistic psychopath.

Man, I wish we could’ve seen more Sixty, it would’ve been chilling to see if he went full-on rogue, maybe being Markus’ right hand/attack dog on a leash in the violent revolution arc, maybe with his own agenda of taking Markus’ place and wanting to subjugate humanity. Or maybe deviant Connor could’ve persuaded him to their side by making Sixty to see he was nothing but a tool, unintentionally prompting him to seek revenge and to reduce Amanda and Cyberlife to atoms (not what Connor intended haha). There could’ve even been a redemption arc for him, like in a ”what’ve I done?” type way. You know, a bit of an internal moral struggle. And of course, our fave ”sack of shit” (as Hank so eloquently put it) demanding answers from his maker, Kamski, in a not-so, uh, conventional manner. Let them measure their respective arrogance and wit and see who comes out on top. Or would they team up?

Such a delicious character, so many delicious what-ifs.