#no big point just ruminating on it

[villainanders]

When I was at that conference I went to a session with my manager (who is only a bit older than me and maybe has a year or two more of career experience) and the speaker asked audience members to raise their hands if they considered themselves early career (I raised my hand) and who was mid career (she raised her hand). And I kind of keep thinking about that. Bc I know she’s under 30 and has probably like 5-6 years of career experience? Which to me feels objectively early career if we’re all presumably working until around 60! I don’t have a real point with this just that it got me thinking about how we perceive careers and the kind of sunk cost around the path we set ourselves on after a working few roles in a field when those of us in the 20s/30s bracket still have decades left to be doing different things

[mariautistic]

something that's been on my mind as of late is the way people see some characteristics (specifically a negative one) of themselves that originate from traumatic events in childhood as somehow interfering with their "true self", and wantning to get rid of it through methods of self help/therapy/etc., but that the attitude itself can easily be a manifiestation of self hatred. like how traumatized does one need to be for their self centeredness to be pathologic instead of simply an aspect of themselves. how wrong are you allowed to be as a person and who draws the line. why can other people be shy or rude or loud or selfish and still be normal while all these aspects are seen as pathological only thanks to a more clear point of origin. when does it become a sport of dehumanization against yourself

[arundolyn]

on one hand it sucks cause it sucks to see her like this and for her to have to go through it in general and also its literally so much cancer and like at least???? at LEAST 2 different types???? so they don't know what to do about it and any further treatment would literally just be Seeing What Happens. and it sucks for this to be like. it. and to have to remember This after

but on the other it's also. like. all of this happening has kinda crystallized more in my mind that i don't have a hell of a lot of nice things to say about my mom in the end. which feels awful. but also at the same time i can't really like.. tolerate. giving credit to someone who Loves me who like.. saw it as an obligation? and would and probably will right now if given the opportunity hold it over my head? the fact that she raised me and all. i brought you into this world ill take you out etc. i don't know how you can say that shit to a kid ever and think you're right. i just can't. for all that she's always said she loves me she sure. doesn't act like it much. i don't think keeping all my baby blankets and my kindergarten schoolwork counts for much when your actual emotional support of me has never been great and is half of why im Like This. like it doesn't really feel like she's ever made much of an effort to understand me. lord knows I'll never understand her at this point aside from just. kinda always been too self centered for parenting i think. my mother has never been particularly selfless.

all of this feels horrendous to say out loud in any regard

[ikishima]

.

[phagodyke]

wugh

[bloggrgirl]

it’s my birthday tomorrow and i recently rediscovered an old flame of mine (went down memory lane of my emo phase and got the sad kind of nostalgic). double kill. need to see ptv in concert to feel better

[rafey-baby]

What would sensitive!reader do without older!rafe protecting her from the invisible monsters in their home?

c/w: mostly fluff, her being scared & rafe comforting her while also being a menace, teeny tiny bit of angst regarding their age-gap, use of daddy (once)

wc: 1.7k

unfortunately won't be watching a single scary movie this halloween cause she's literally me but happy kinktober & spooky season xx

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

She’s not exactly sure why she agreed to watch the new horror film Rafe’s friends wanted to see at a Halloween themed gathering he’d dragged her into. She wasn’t even the biggest fan of his friends, which is why she didn’t want to go in the first place.

However, when he’d mumbled a honeyed “It’s no fun without you and don’t wanna leave my girl alone on Halloween” into her hair, she’d reluctantly agreed; not one to refuse him of anything when he looked at her with that specific softened blue coloring his eyes.

And there was also the prospect of making him happy that finally made her melt into his wishes.

And she wanted to like his friends, she really did. But it wasn’t exactly easy when they kept bragging about their accomplishments and how much money they had every opportunity they found in such an arrogant tone, it made her roll her eyes when they weren’t looking.  

Luckily, she could at least converse with their partners who were always fun company to sip wine with and giggle about anything and everything. And along with the warmth of Rafe’s gaze flickering over to her every once in a while, as he talked with his friends and coworkers, she was actually beginning to enjoy herself. 

Up until the point when someone suggested they watch a movie. 

“You sure you wanna watch this? S’okay if you wanna go home, could come up with something else to keep us entertained…” Rafe had murmured into her ear with his arms around her on the couch the whole group had settled down on.

He knew how paranoid she could get; how easily she’d turn into a scaredy cat who once couldn’t sleep alone for a month after sitting through an entire scary movie in the cinema.  

And she truly doesn’t know why she didn’t just tell him she wanted to leave when the film started playing on the big screen of Topper’s television. She was going to, but when her eyes flitted over to him bringing a glass of whiskey to his lips in a carefree manner; she didn’t have the heart to ruin his fun because he seemed to be enjoying himself. After all, it wasn’t often he let himself relax due to his hectic work schedule packed with tedious meetings and whatnot.  

And on top of that, she’s already self-conscious over the age-gap between her and Rafe; sometimes gets a headache over the notion of him meeting someone more mature one dreadful day and deciding he doesn’t want to play house with her any longer.

After all, his friends were all getting engaged left and right, while she still holds the title of being his girlfriend. And even if she isn’t sure she’d be ready for marriage quite yet, she’s still slightly upset that he’s never even so much as mentioned the matter. 

And she's not sure if it's because she's younger than him and he assumes she doesn't want a ring on her finger too soon or if he simply just doesn't want to make things too definitive with her.

Nonetheless, it's something she's been thoroughly overthinking and mulling over recently, even if she knows it doesn't benefit her in any shape or form. Apparently, her mind just likes to always have some topic to ruminate over and obsessively worry about, or else it'll have too much free time.

Therefore, she can admit that she didn’t want to appear as a big baby who couldn’t stomach anything even remotely scary (she really couldn’t). And was it such a crime to not want to make a scene in front of all his friends? 

That’s why she ends up meekly nodding her head and assuring him she was fine — which he didn’t entirely believe — but smiled nonetheless at the fact that she was willing to get out of her comfort zone for his sake, before pulling her closer to his side.  

However, when the white letters of the end credits finally rolled after a few gruesome and eerie hours later, she was anything but fine. 

Her weakened frame is trembling and she’s entirely too jumpy even after they’ve said their goodbyes and stepped past the threshold into the safe haven of their home.  

“Told you we should’ve just left,” he tuts at her when she flinches at the October wind rustling the autumnal foliage outside the window.  

“Rafe, what was that?” She squeaks out when she hears another sound coming from outside — presumably their neighbor — however, there’s always the possibility of it being a serial killer simply waiting for the right moment to pounce.  

“What was what?” He huffs out a chuckle in amusement, causing her to pout.  

“This isn’t funny. I’m scared,” she whines, heart beating faster than ever along with her breathing unsteady.

“I know you are. Shit, forgot why I don’t let you watch scary movies,” he shakes his head, padding over to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water; her feet immediately running after him.  

“Hey, hey. I’m right here, yeah?” He laughs tenderly when she practically glues herself to his big and comforting arm with how tightly she’s hugging it against her chest.  

“Promise you’re not gonna leave me alone?” She blinks up at him with her pupils dilated, nervous. 

“It’s past midnight. Of course, I’m not leaving, I’m exhausted. Let’s get ready for bed, yeah?” He suggests calmly, managing to placate her some with his appeasing presence. Although the spine-chilling scenes still play behind her eyelids with every blink. 

She follows him to the bathroom and he tries not to laugh when she insists on staying there even while he’s peeing.  

“Want me to check under the bed for monsters?” His sickly-sweet tone is a stark contrast to the annoying smirk plastered on his face when they pad over to their bedroom after brushing their teeth. 

“Ray…I’m being serious,” she scowls. 

“So am I?” He feigns confusion with a furrow of his brows. 

Before she has the chance to complain about him being mean, he’s already crouching down on the floor and poking his head under the bed into the darkness he’s braved himself to submerge into. And she’s far too curious not to peer down as well, however, she can’t really see a thing from behind his broad shoulders.  

Suddenly, he lets out a loud gasp — making her jump back and nearly trip on her feet — before his breathy giggle follows soon after. 

“That’s not funny,” she grumbles as exasperation drags her lips downwards. 

“I’m sorry, baby. You jus’ make it so easy,” he approaches her with an apologetic expression that doesn’t come off as all that empathetic when he’s fighting off an amused grin the entire time.  

“C’mere, yeah?” He coaxes her before tugging her into his strong arms; not letting go even when she tries to pull away since she’s still mad at him.  

“This one really got to you, huh?” He murmurs into her hair before beginning to soothingly rock back and forth when she finally halts her pursuits of escape.  

A faint hum is the only response she grants him.  

“Don’t remember you being this scared since we went to that haunted house with your friends last year, remember?” His warm chest rumbles in a pacifying manner in tandem with his words.  

“How could I forget,” she huffs out.  

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t wanna watch it? You know I wouldn’t have minded leaving,” he speaks softly.  

“I don’t know…just didn’t wanna seem like a baby in front of your friends,” she sniffles.  

“Since when do you care what they think? You hate them,” he argues with a lopsided smile when he releases his hold on her in order to unzip his jeans and change into something more comfortable for the night.  

“Hate is a strong word,” she defends herself as she pulls one of Rafe’s old t-shirts over her head and tries to focus on his familiar scent still lingering on the worn-out fabric instead of the imaginary monsters lurking behind the windows.  

“Is it?” He graces her with a lighthearted narrow of his eyes.  

“Fine. I don’t like them but they’re your friends, which means that I want them to like me,” she mumbles out.  

“Don’t really give a shit if they like you or not, which they obviously do. Think a little too much since you can’t help but be the sweetest angel even to the people you hate,” he grumbles out as he walks over to close the bedroom door.  

“And honestly, would much rather just stay with you than those pretentious idiots. Next time you wanna go home, just tell me. Don’t want you lying to me, okay?” He says with something sincere sparkling in the lagoons of his eyes.  

“Okay,” she promises when suddenly, he switches the lights off with a click, causing her muscles to tense.  

“Ray, why would you do that?” She sounds alarmed; inhales and exhales growing labored because the bedroom is now pitch black and there could be anything hiding in the murky corners of the room since she can’t even see herself.  

“Shh, calm down. I’ll protect you, yeah?” He croons, before he’s guiding her under the covers with a big hand on the small of her back; following shortly behind her and tugging her flush against his steady chest. 

“You’re safe with me. Daddy’s not gonna let anything happen to you, alright?” His saccharine murmurs reach her racing mind and offer it momentary rest on the soft petals of his tranquil voice.  

She hums against the skin of his neck as her eyes begin to slowly adjust to the darkness surrounding them; the dingy shadows crawling along the walls appearing less and less threatening by the second when she’s in the warmth of his protective embrace.  

“Want your stuffie?” He asks, knowing her all too well.  

“Mhm,” she nods against him before he’s reaching a hand behind the pillows because somehow her stuffed animal always manages to end up in the most peculiar of places. At this point though, he already knows where to look since he’s usually the one who has to locate it for her.

Nowadays, she doesn’t need it too often since she has Rafe volunteering to be her own personal teddy bear, but whenever he’s working past midnight, she likes to hold onto something that brings her comfort because she isn’t particularly fond of the idea of sleeping alone. 

He soon offers her the plushy lamb and she gives him a grateful smooch against his cheek along with a muffled ‘I love you’.  

And that night, he lulls her into dreamland with a warm palm resting on her tummy and his mellow breathing placating her distraught mind.

[luveline]

coworker James being protective of reader like she’s just a sweet and kind thing and he’s FINALLY accepting his feelings and reader gets like happy that he cares?

“No, no, it’s okay. Yeah, don’t worry about me, I’m just gonna watch movies all weekend. I might make popcorn. Yeah! Don’t worry about it, just have fun, okay?” 

You’re talking quietly but not without pep, hushed to avoid disturbing him. By the sounds of it, your plans for the weekend have bombed. You’re taking it remarkably well. 

“Okie dokie. Well, I’ll see you soon, yeah? Love you. Bye.” You don’t lift your head where you’re laying against the desk, but you put your phone gently by your keyboard. 

“That blows,” James says. 

“Maybe.” You turn your face to see him, before you lift yourself up and return to the pack of biscuits you’ve opened. “Do you want some?” you ask, bringing a malted milk to your mouth. 

“Please.” 

You gesture for him to take one. In relative quiet, you and James sit there chewing, the sunlight from the open window on your hands. 

“You’re not upset about your plans?” he asks. 

“A bit, but… I don’t want her to feel bad for me. She should have a good time, she got last minute tickets to see a band and she loves them. We can just hang out next weekend.” You push the biscuits toward him. “I need to stop eating these all the time.” 

You stand up and do a big stretch, arm arched over your head before you laugh and point at him. He’s never had someone look at him like this. “Pretend you didn’t see that,” you say, raising your eyebrows just a touch. 

You’re being playful. James’ stomach flips. “I didn’t see a thing,” he says. 

You drop your pointing. “Really?” 

He covers his eyes. 

Your following laughter is even richer. 

“This office makes me tired. I’m going to make some coffee before lunch is over,” you say. 

You walk away like nothing happened. James is left to ruminate. 

He pushes a hand into the crop of his hair and ruffles it, stressed, though the scratch of his nails against his scalp relieves some tension. James is used to being annoyed at you, you were always so irked with him, but lately he struggles to find anger for you. He still loves to tease you and watch your eyes change; there’s no better moments than on the mornings he’s here first and he’s found a new hiding place for your mug, and you’re forced to ask him where it is he put it. Asked is kind, really. More aptly, you demand to know where it is, and promise professional retribution. 

You could always drink from a different mug, but James has a feeling you like asking. This morning, you found it by yourself, and you put it smugly on your desk with steam rising from the surface. “You’re getting worse,”

you’d said, and that smugness suddenly felt friendly. Your smile was ten different shades of sweet. 

You are… quite sweet. You’re kind. You don’t let much upset you that isn’t James, even when it should. And the James stuff is all superficial. When was the last time you guys argued over something that mattered?

Which isn’t to say he doesn’t love arguing with you. But he’s coming to appreciate another side of you, the side that comes back to your desk with a fresh coffee and little happy breath of air when you see he’s made his two figurines cuddle each other. 

“They’re in love,” you say dreamily. 

“You can be so lovely,” James says. It’s like something takes over his body. 

You put your coffee down. “What?” you ask, smiling as though it’s a joke you don’t get. 

He’s not sure he should say it again. “I don’t know. When you smile, you’re really pretty. Like, even more than usual.” 

“Ha-ha.” 

“No, I’m serious.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

James takes one of your biscuits. “Then don’t, it doesn’t bother me.” He wishes he hadn’t said it, what a weird thing to say, but he can’t pretend he was kidding, it would be crueller than saying nothing. So he wedges a biscuit in his mouth and laughs when you call him gross, your facade one he doesn’t believe. You wrinkle your nose, but you’re happy underneath it. 

Lovely, even. 

[muckyschmuck]

people definitely pet opossums probably sometimes. but they’re quick

is it something i said

[artdcnaldson]

ugh "leverage" to ensure she won't go tattling to patrick. especially as he starts getting meaner and meaner, he tells her it's to make sure she doesn't back out and tell on him. because patrick would genuinely kill art if he knew what he's been doing to his baby sister.

i know it doesn't really fit in the canon of the other parts to this au, but hear me out anyway... what if he agreed to fuck her, properly this time, in her sweet little pussy. BUT he needs said leverage to make sure she keeps quiet about it (truly he just needs to immortalize taking her virginity so he can watch it back for the rest of his life). so he "agrees", he's the one to bring it up lol, on the condition that he can record it. y'know like really shitty, amateur, pov style, on her creaky dorm bed and pink, frilly sheets. shaky and grainy, but it's good enough for him. it's not like he would ever actually post it anywhere or show people, but she doesn't know that.

he gets off on how nervous she is when he points the camera at her, she's blushing and trying to hide her face. but he just slaps her cheek and manhandles her to look right down the lens of his shitty phone camera. tells her to moan louder around his big cock, tell the camera how good he feels, really just stroking his own ego. makes her tell the camera exactly how he's making her feel, can't cum unless she asks into the camera. he nearly cums right inside her when she tells him he's too big and it hurts :(((((

yummy yummy yummy

-🐞

OHHHHHHH <3 I had to let this simmer. This had to ruminate. Had to really let it sit and grow legs or whatever wine people say idk

RATING: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v, degradation, making a sex tape, loss of virginity, world’s worst aftercare), mean!art as always, uncomfortable power dynamics, DUBCON due to coercion

He catches you leaving one of your classes, chatting happily with a few girls as you walk. Their eyes widen as he approaches, smacking his gum, looming tall over them. You murmur a quick apology and bound over like an obedient little pet, falling into stride beside him as he walks.

“What class is that?” He asks, nodding back towards the building. Most of the time he forgot you even attended the school beyond cheering at his games and floating around his dormitory like a ghost.

“Peoples and cultures,” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s an anthropology course I’m taking. It’s actually really interesting, like, these past few lectures have been—“

“What are you doing tonight?” He interrupts, not really caring beyond the simple answer to his question. He has a one track mind, and for the moment he’s just thinking about getting in your pants.

He watches you think, then shrug. “Um… nothing, I guess? Why?”

Art stops by a tree suddenly, tugs you by your wrist to stop with him. “Do you promise if we fuck you won’t tell Patrick?” He watches as your eyes widen, as sheer need and excitement makes you practically vibrate out of your skin.

Frantically you nod. “I’d never tell Patrick, I’d take it to my grave, I swear,” you say, totally earnest, bouncing on the balls of your feet as he looks at you.

“God, I want you so bad,” he hums, brushing your hair back behind your ear. You melt beneath his touch, gaze all half-lidded and soft. “I just… I think I’d have to have some leverage, just to make sure no one ever finds out.”

You tilt your face, resting it on his hand, your eyes half-lidded and dazed with need. You hum a soft, “Mhmm,” without even knowing what he’s implying, what he’s asking of you. But he hears what you’re thinking, all dumbed down and needy— yes, Art, whatever you say Art, anything you want, Art.

He wants to do it in your room, that night. He walks you back to your dorm and tells you to get your roommate out, make sure she’s busy for however long you need. He’d text you when he’s on his way.

So you’re just… fucking vibrating with excitement, cleaning up your dorm, changing your sheets, fluffing your pillows. You light three warm vanilla sugar candles so the dorm smells nice and sweet, put on your roommate’s SEXXXMIXXX <3 CD that she had burned in High School (and kept your fingers crossed it was still relevant). You took the longest fucking shower of all time, scrubbed your skin until it stung, shaved you’re entire body, wondered if maybe he wouldn’t like bald pussy, then worried that he’d hate if you kept the hair even more. Moisturized, then put on pretty, light makeup— lipgloss, mascara. All in the span of time it took for him to text you.

Art :) <3

omw

You feel a little dizzy by the time he’s at your door, already wet just anticipating what you were about to do. He grins down at you, at your silky little pajama set, pink and lacy around the edges. Smacks his gum, trails his hand along the sides of your waist.

“Pretty.” He looks smug as he rubs the lace between his fingers. “You got all dressed up for me, huh?”

It’s amazing how timid and shy you can look as you stand in front of him, biting onto your lip as you nod. He shuts the door behind him and guides you backwards until you knock against your bed and laugh nervously. Jesus, he’d already fucked your ass, your throat, he’d done things to you that even the dirtiest fucking sluts on campus wouldn’t dream of allowing. But you’re all shy because he’s finally going to fuck you properly?

You gasp as he tugs down the neckline of your top, exposing your tits to the cool air of the dorm. So cute, soft. Your nipples already hard and sensitive, so just the lightest pinch makes you let out a pretty moan.

“Remember what I said about leverage?” Art says, and you nod slowly, dreamily. “I want to film it.”

Your eyes widen slightly, as you think back to the pictures he’d taken of you just a few weeks prior. “And you’d… what? Like post it if Pat finds out?”

“No, no, only if you tell,” he corrects. Even then… he doubted he’d actually ever post it anywhere. He had a tennis career to consider, after all. But the important thing was that you believe he will. “It’s just to make sure this stays our secret.”

You swallow, consider it. You didn’t plan on telling Patrick, so it was fine, right? He’d hate Art, and you didn’t want that. You would never want that, no matter what.

So you nod softly. “Okay,” you say finally. “I’d… yeah, I understand. Okay.”

God, you’re easy. So fucking easy it makes him a little sick to think about. What if he wasn’t Patrick’s friend, if he was some frat house asshole who would take advantage of how bad you wanted him? You’re so lucky he’s a good person.

He uses your own fucking digital camera— pink and decorated with little heart stickers. Turns it on and records you as you slip off your sweet silky pajamas, revealing soft, smooth skin beneath. You’re so shaky, so nervous. You can’t even look into the lens.

“No panties?” He asks, lips quirked into a grin. He steps forward to slip his hand between your thighs, to cup your pussy in one big hand. God, you’re so fucking wet, just like you usually are. He could just slide right in without any resistance, just bury himself right inside that tight little pussy. “Jesus, you’re a fucking mess, just dripping for it, aren’t you?”

You moan, relishing in the feeling of his hands on you. Art never touched you, not to get you off, at least. So the feeling of his thick calloused fingers against your cunt makes you whine. He breaches your entrance with just a fingertip and grins at the feeling of you clenching around the intrusion, desperate for anything he’ll give you.

But the relief is gone as soon as you’ve gotten it. He pats your thigh, nods to the bed. “Go lay down. Let me film you stretching yourself out for me.”

“Art,” you whine once you’ve laid down, embarrassed as he trains the lens on you. “Do you have to film this part?”

It just makes him double down, grinning smugly as he settles at the foot of the bed. “C’mon, just fucking do it. Show the camera how fucking wet you get for me.” You hear the whir of him zooming in as your hand slips between your thighs, as lithe fingers slide through your soaking wet folds and you tease your clit. He groans softly, grinning at the sight on the camera. “Alright, spread yourself out now. Show me how small and tight you are.”

You whimper pathetically, but obey. Your fingers form a V as you spread your lips, revealing the pretty, drippy hole of your cunt. He doesn’t even have to tell you to start fucking yourself, you just do. Pretty, manicured fingers disappearing inside the tight channel of your pussy, slow and easy as you pant and gasp sweetly.

“Can you do three?” He asks. He zooms the camera out, makes sure he gets all of you— your tits heaving with each breath, the slow grind of your hips to meet your fingers. You nod softly, press a third finger alongside the other two. He grins at the sight of the stretch of your cunt around them, how your body works to accommodate them. “God, it’s a tight stretch, huh?”

“Mhmm.” You moan as you pump your fingers slow, in and out. Wet to the point of it sounding obscene. Slick dripping out with each thrust, making your fingers glisten.

He can hardly take sitting there and watching, but god, he’d love it later on when he was alone with only the video to keep him company. But who knows? Maybe he’d fuck you once and never want anyone else. He already felt that way… kind of. You were so eager, so obsessed with him. You touched him like it was an act of worship. He couldn’t get that from easy pussy.

He sets the camera down on the foot of the bed while he undresses, tugging off his sweats and tee shirt, mussing up his hair in the process. It’s not lost on him, the way your fingers speed up at the sight of his cock, how needy and desperate you are.

“How bad do you want it?” He asks as he picks up the camera.

God, he’s mean. You whine when he grabs your wrist and makes you slip your fingers from inside of your cunt. Empty, needy, desperate. “Please, fuck me, Art.” You’re embarrassed, of course you are. He has a camera focused on your needy little expression, one hand on your thigh all warm and possessive. “Please, I’ve been so good for you. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I just need you, I need you inside of me. Want you to be my first. Please, Art.”

He’s not sure where he wants the camera as he notches the head of his cock at your wet little hole. Part of him wants to film the second he buries his cock inside of that tight fucking cunt, but the other wants to film your face, watch how pretty you look as you take your very first cock.

And god, you’re trembling beneath him. Visibly shaking with anticipation, or nerves, or need. He runs a hand along your torso, cups one of your tits in his hands and thumbs over your sensitive nipple. “What, are you cold?” He teases.

“N-no,” you stammer, meeting his gaze. “Just— I just want it so bad.”

He films your face, which was the right call, he decides. He has to think about it technically, or he’ll risk blowing his load one pump in, like a total fucking loser. You’re so tight around him, clamping down on his cock as he sheaths himself within you, inch after inch. And god, that angelic face of yours— mouth agape, wet and pink and pretty, the tiniest furrow between your brows, lashes splayed against your cheeks as you moan, soft and sweet. “Hurts,” you practically whimper. “God, Art, fuck, it feels—“

He films where your cunt swallows him, stretched to the point of obscenity around his thick cock. It shouldn’t even be able to take him, not when you’re so small, so fucking tight. It’s a fucking miracle you’d even taken a toy before. He’d make you film that next. All desperate, fucking yourself on silicon while you drooled over a picture of him. It was sweet that you’d been trying to prepare yourself to take him and you were still a shaking, needy mess.

Tears well in your eyes as he thumbs at your swollen little clit, he feels your pussy clench around him, already so fucking keyed up. He should be good. He should make love to you, nice and slow, like a good boy. He’s starting to think he’s not a good boy, not at all. “Just lay there and take it, yeah? Just look nice and pretty for the camera.”

You cry out when he pulls back only to drive back in, hard and deep. His pace is relentless as he fucks into your cunt— warm and wet and tight and fucking perfect. He honestly shouldn’t have waited, he should’ve fucked you the first night you offered yourself up to him— sweet and needy and clinging off his shoulder like you were his girlfriend.

“A-Art, fuck—“ You cry out, fisting your pretty hands into the frilly duvet, as he bullies himself into you. “Oh, god, fuck, A-Art, it’s too much— I-I can’t—“ A strangled moan seems to rip itself from your throat as your head falls back against the pillows.

He grins. “Yeah? Don’t tell me, honey, tell the camera.”

You whine, turning your head away as embarrassment rips through you. It’s mean, keeping it trained on you while you’re so fucking vulnerable. He grabs your chin, holds it in place as he fucks into you, deeper, rougher. It punches out gasps from your pretty open mouth— Ah! Ah! Ah! Over and over and over.

He pops your cheek, not too hard, but enough to draw your attention back from him and away from your dizzying thoughts. “Tell the camera how good it feels to have my big cock in that little pussy of yours, yeah?

“It feels— ngh— I love it,” you have pretty fat tears slipping down your cheeks as he drills into you. “You’re so big, I— God, fuck— I feel you in my stomach. Here—“ You grab his hand, move it to press against the bottom of your stomach. He can’t feel anything, not except warm skin beneath his, but he groans at your words, at the implication that he’s so deep he’s in your fucking guts.

He has to bite his tongue so hard he tastes blood. He knows he’s going to cum, knows that he’s not going to last or show off epic, manly stamina and impress you. Not that you give a shit, but he wants to set a standard for whatever fucking loser you fuck next. He’d have next time, and as many other times as he wanted. You’d keep coming back for it, for him.

He struggles to manhandle you the way he needs while holding onto the camera. He tosses it into the sheets so he can press your knees up to your chest. “Hold them— yeah, that’s it, fuck— feels good.” You’re so obedient, holding your legs up for him so he can get deeper. Your eyes roll back, flutter shut. He fumbles to grab the camera, to immortalize you like this.

Your cunt squeezes around him, makes his rhythm falter as he struggles to fend off his orgasm. God, he just wants to bury himself deep and rut into you, to cum deep and hard, leave you dripping with him. It’s about him… but it’s about you too. He’d be good, he’d make you cum.

“Tell me how bad you need to cum. Fucking beg me for it,” He groans, rubbing at your clit with a calloused thumb.

You whine, squeezing around his cock as he draws you closer and closer. “Need it, Art. It feels so good— you’re so fucking perfect, feel so perfect inside of me. Wanna cum for you, around your cock, wanna show you how good you feel. Please, please, god, I want it, I want to feel it, Art. Want you to cum inside of me, need it so bad— I fucking dream about it, about you. You’re so much better, you’re everything I want, Art, fucking claim me. I want you to.”

Art wanted to pull out. He did. He was going to glaze your pussy with his cum, get it on video, swipe his fingers through it and make you taste it. But Jesus Christ, you fucking ruined that idea. He cums suddenly, practically collapses on top of you as he fucks into your cunt, spilling himself deep inside of you. And like the perfect fucking toy you are, you cum too, milking him for all he’s worth, walls clenching down around his cock as he lazily ruts into you.

He pants, stays buried inside of you as he tries to catch his breath. He’d never cum inside someone before— he was too afraid of knocking someone up. He’d always had the self control to pull out, but he lost himself in fucking you, in the tight grip of your pussy around him. Christ, that was bad.

When he pulls out, a thick gush of his cum follows, pearly white, dripping down your ass and to the bed. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, you’ve tugged a blanket over yourself shyly. Looking so demure, so sweet, batting your lashes up at him expectantly.

The camera lays dropped and forgotten on the bed, he goes and presses the stop button on the camera and you grab at his arm. “Do you want to stay the night?” You ask with a shy bite of your lip. “I told Izzy to fuck off, so she’s with her girlfriend. We’ve got the dorm for the night, so you can stay.”

Art makes a face akin to annoyance as he redresses, tugging on his boxers and sweats. His shirt is somewhere… he can’t focus. “I’m not your boyfriend.”

Your eyes widen, you swallow as heat floods your cheeks. “Yeah, I mean, I know,” you stammer. “I just thought…”

His jaw ticks. “Don’t do that, then. This is just about fucking.

Art watches the sad little nod, the tiniest twitch of your nose as you fight the rush of tears to your eyes. “I know that, Art,” you say sadly, and you’re trembling again. “I just wish you’d stay for a bit. I’m… I feel a lot right now. I’ve never… I’ve never felt this before I just want—“

“What do you want? A hug, a kiss?” He watches you sniffle sadly, nod and mutter a watery, yeah. He sighs, stops searching for his shirt, and pulls you against his chest. You feel so warm, so vulnerable as you shake and cry hot tears against his chest. He frowns, pulls back, and presses his lips to yours, quick and chaste. “I’m not doing this again if you keep acting like this.”

You sniffle and nod. “Okay, I know, I won’t do it again.” He kisses the crown of your head. Grabs a random shirt from the top of your laundry basket, grabs the camera, and heads for the door. You watch him leave with a pouty, wobbly little frown and get up to redress. You find his Stanford Tennis shirt partly beneath your bed and pull it on. It’s big, fits you like a hug, smells so boyish and warm. You lay back down on the bed he just fucked you on and breathe deep, let his smell flood your senses. It feels a little like being wanted.

AURRRRR this was so much longer than I thot <3

Anyways. Love pat’s sister au, feel free to send me any asks you want about these messy bitches <3

🐞 anon i love u

[peachesofteal]

Dr Riley coming back and cursing when he realizes Clover’s gone

Part One / Part Two - very rare Simon POV - warnings: discussion of PTSD

"What's going on?"

"Nothing ah, I have to run." He turns apologetically to woman he brought out tonight, the one who got all dolled up for him, clearly, only for it to let her down in the end. "Johnny, take care o' my tab, yeah?" He glances at the blonde as well, and Johnny nods.

"C'mere bonnie." He tugs her close, but she pouts.

"What's the big hurry."

"I have an emergency. With a patient. 'm sorry, it happens sometimes." He grits his teeth. This is taking too long.

His mind strays to you again. The sight of you, wild, eyes wide and glassy, barely able to stand up.

This is something you haven't disclosed to him. The drinking. The excessive use of alcohol.

"I'm just here for the alcohol, ya know."

He's seen too many go down this road. He's seen too many try to distract themselves with booze, or pills, or other things.

None of them every work. They're a poorly placed band-aid on a wound bleeding out.

He refuses to spend a single second ruminating on your lips. You were very intoxicated. You're traumatized. You're in trouble, drowning in hopelessness, desperation, anxiety, guilt. It's too easy for you to be confused in a situation like this. Any situation, at this point. He doesn't hold it against you.

He knows this means he should find you another provider. Seek out another therapist who has extensive experience with PTSD and transfer your care-

but he also knows, without a doubt, he won't.

His hands still burns where he touched you, and he shouldn't have touched you. He shouldn't have followed you out the door, he shouldn't have felt compelled to make sure you were okay.

The feeling you of you balancing between his grasp tugged a previous session forward in his mind, one where he crossed the touching boundary, in his own office.

"Clover, listen to me. You're having a flashback. You've already survived, you're okay. Can you open your eyes?" Your breathing stutters, raw, short gasps that make your body shake, and he grimaces. Slumped over on yourself, spine curled forward, diaphragm crushed. It's contributing to your lack of oxygen, which is forcing you further and further away in your mind. "Okay, here we go." His hands fold over your shoulders, straightening your back, guiding you back against the couch. It helps, you breathe easier. "Open your eyes, Clover. You're alright."

"I'm sorry, really am. Good to see you again." He gives Johnny another nod, and heads for the door.

It swings wide, cold air nipping at his face. He prepares to find you leaning against the wall, maybe vomiting, or even sitting, but panic creeps through him when he realizes you're not here.

You're gone.

"Fuck!" He hisses, running out to where the alley dumps into the street. You're nowhere to be found. Not to the left, not across, not to the right. Maybe you really did have an uber? "Bloody fuckin' hell." He left his overly intoxicated patient outside, alone, and you disappeared. He chose to make contact with you, chose to follow you outside to check on you, assumed responsibility from that moment.

And then what did he do?

He lost you.

[danikamariewrites]

Falling

Cassian x reader

Note: sorry for my absence, I’ve been busy and unmotivated the last weeks. I don’t like to talk about politics but I want you all to know that I’m very unhappy with the election and it’s upset me. I really have nothing else to say because quite frankly im speechless. Know that my blog is a safe space and you can reach out to me any time if you want to vent because I will vent right there with you.

On a slightly better note, this has motivated me to keep being creative. Writing and being in a creative space has truly kept me going over the last few years and I refuse to stop. Mainly because if I stop I think I’ll just give up. And I’m not fucking giving up because this has been the best distraction. Sorry for the long note but I just wanted to get that out there and know you’re not alone in your frustration. ❤️

Warnings: some angst

Cassian was exhausted. He knew he was when he looked into your bright eyes as you excitedly waited for him to pick you up to fly home and couldn’t bring himself to lift you.

His mind wasn’t in the right place to enjoy the closeness of you in his arms. You always deserved him at a hundred percent, especially when your life was in his hands. Not while he was still actively thinking about Devlon getting in his face about their disagreement.

Even now, only minutes away from home, Cassian was still clenching his jaw, ruminating about the words Devlon spat at him.

Cassian was pissed that Devlon ruined his day. He had big plans for you that included a dinner reservation and him finally telling you how he feels about you. Only took him two years to gain the courage to decide he would tell you how in love with you he is. And now he’s too in his head to even fathom saying “I’m in love with you y/n.”

Azriel flying next to him with you in his arms wasn’t helping his mood either. Every time he heard you and Az talk or laugh his jealousy grew. It was his own fault though.

Flying over the Sidra the House of Wind finally comes into view. The monstrous house on the cliff had relief flowing through Cassian. Almost home, Cassian tells himself over and over.

Looking over at you and Azriel he sees a smile bloom on your face as you look down at the glittering water, you point out the fish jumping from the surface, making ripples that you can see from way up in the sky. The sight of your joy eases Cassian’s anger.

A gust of wind hits them hard enough to knock Az and Cass off balance. Without your added weight Cassian has no problem balancing himself out, controlling his wings on instinct.

Your scream has him pivoting against the gust, whipping his head in time to see Az lose balance as you tumble from his arms.

Azriel tries to dive but the wind fights against his wings. Cassian wastes no time to dive for you. Tucking his wings in as tight as he possibly can, he free falls with his hands reaching out for you.

You don’t stop screaming until Cassian grabs on to you, pulling you flush to his chest. You cling to Cassian, wrapping your arms tight around his neck.

“I got you,” he murmurs in your ear. “I got you, baby, it’s okay.”

Without looking back at Azriel he flys hard for the House. Cassian should check on his brother, he feels guilty not doing so. But the love of his life just tumbled from his brother's arms and he couldn’t care less if Az was in the Sidra right now or behind him.

Landing on the balcony closest to the bedrooms Cassian readjusts you in his hold. He can feel you trembling as he rushes to get you in a comfortable place.

Cassian kicks your door hard, rushing over to your bed. Gently placing you down he pulls away to see you staring off, a blank look on your face and teeth digging into your bottom lip.

He backs away to get you a change of clothes until you grip his arms tighter, letting out a small whimper. “Don’t,” you plead. Cassian wraps you in his arms, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

The two of you sit like that for a long, long time. Once your trembling stops you slightly lean away from Cassian, shaking out your arms and rolling your neck.

His heart breaks at the sight of fear still lingering in your eyes. Cassian slowly brings his hands up to gently cup your face, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re ok, you’re safe. That’s all that matters.” You nod, molding yourself into Cassian’s body.

“Thank you for catching me.” You whisper. Cassian squeezes you tighter to his chest. “I’ll always catch you, y/n. Always.” The fierceness in his tone sends a chill down your spine.

You won’t let Cassian leave you, even long after the sun sets. The only time Cass left was to get you dinner and to change into his pajamas. Once you’re asleep Cassian can’t find it in himself to leave you.

Tomorrow, he decided. Cassian will tell you everything tomorrow.

[silkscream]

HEAVEN SURROUNDS US

ੈ✩ summary: gojo likes that you make him feel human. admittedly, he also likes that sometimes, you make him feel like a god. ੈ✩ warnings: smut (18+), fingering, unprotected sex, slight dacryphilia, begging, soft dom!gojo, kind of mean gojo lol, workplace relations, reader can see curses but that's it, gojo has a god complex, dirty talk, not proofread bc i do not give a fuck ੈ✩ wc: 3.1k ੈ✩ a/n: i am having intense gojo brainrot. i was thinking about 'i'm your man' by mitski the entire time i was writing this btw. ALSO I LITERALLY HAD A GRAPHIC AND DIVIDERS FOR THIS BUT EVERY TIME I INCLUDE THEM this shit doesn't show up in the tags. i've given up!

Gojo Satoru has the smell of death burned into his senses to the point of complete apathy. He’s sure that Shoko feels similarly, though as a healer and a doctor, she’s often only met with the aftermath – the quiet decaying, the dried blood.

Gojo has encountered it all. The stench, the last pleas for salvation, the battered and torn-apart limbs. Even when the dying beings are cursed spirits suffering from the carnage created beneath Gojo’s hands, sometimes he wonders if an angel is nearby that weeps for them.

He has held grief inside his core to use as a weapon ever since he lost Geto. Nothing fazes him anymore. After the tragedies of his late teens, Gojo chooses to devote himself to his students rather than ruminating in sanctimonious thought loops. Gojo Satoru knows he isn’t a god, but sometimes, when he levitates in the sky with blood on his hands, he certainly feels like one. It’s safe to say that he may be the closest thing to one in the world of Jujutsu sorcery. It’s nothing that he despises – he’s known since his powers took shape in the awkwardness of his child-body.

Gojo likes to think he isn’t as cruel and indifferent as a god should be because of how protective he is. The warmth he’s had in his heart for Megumi alone confirms this as such, and now for Yuuji. Despite toying with the idea of divinity, he likes to remember that he’s human.

You are the only thing that reminds him of this.

Ever since Gojo had laid his eyes on you, he figured you were a delicate thing. He’s not completely wrong – although you can see curses, you lack any techniques. After becoming an assistant at Jujutsu Tech, he had taken more than a liking to you, more than he would be willing to admit to anyone else. He also never thought that the girl who was so quick to sardonic banter with him would be so vulnerable. 

When you’re underneath him, maybe he does consider himself a god, just for a second. And then he feels the silky touch of your skin and he can’t help but wish for a life of mundanity with you until the earth stops spinning. 

He likes that he can feel how fast your heart is beating. He likes that you become so pliant just from having his hand on your thigh.

It’s not like he exploits the little affair you have. It’s not that he wants to exploit you either, but the power trip that surges through him when you preen to his touch feels better than winning any battle. It’s those big eyes of yours. It’s a miracle you had reciprocated your attraction to him – he doesn’t know what he’d do to any other man who happened to pursue you. The thought of that kind of violence doesn’t make him feel any guilt. He’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant that he could have you forever, unconditionally.

Within the few months you’ve been working at Jujutsu Tech, you learn a few things about Gojo Satoru. He has an incredible sweet tooth. He cares about his students. He likes the feeling of your fingers combing through his hair. Lives for it, even, but he could never tell you that.

That’s how you ended up here, you suppose. Writhing and wet and oh so obedient for him. 

You like that a man that is worshipped by all enjoys worshipping you.

“Satoru,” you whisper. The sound of your voice makes him fucking melt. 

God, it’s so much worse when you beg. Satoru wants to be gentle with you, careful, because he knows that if all of his morals were thrown out the window, he would devour you completely, leaving bruises in your wake. But he waits, titillatingly, smirking as his long fingers grasp the flesh above your hips.

“Please,” you whine. Your lower half bucks up into him, squirming just a little, but he grounds you with his large hands once again. 

Satoru knows better than to toy with his prey, but the flush on your cheeks is so fucking cute that he wonders what you would look like with tears rolling down the soft blush of your skin.

“Be patient, baby,” he rasps. “Just like lookin’ at you.”

“You look at me all day.”

“Someone’s got quite the attitude.”

You’re about to protest until you feel his knuckle brush against the peak of your clit, teasingly. A nasty grin spreads across his face as he grazes his fingertips along your slit, marveling at how wet you are when he’d barely touched you.

“So pretty for me,” he muses, mostly to himself. 

“Should see how pretty I am when you’re inside me.”

Satoru scoffs. Despite being so human, you have quite the mouth, so much confidence in the way you move and speak that he often forgets how easy it would be to lose you. To break you. Though, of course, that privilege is for him and him only. 

He kisses you to shut you up, but not nearly for long enough. You can’t even get your tongue inside his mouth. You whine pitifully as he pulls back. 

“Poor baby,” he coos. “So on edge today. What’s got you so desperate like this, huh?”

“Just want you,” your voice is meek, which is an anomaly. The honey-sweet cadence of your words is barely above a whisper.

“You have me.” Unbeknownst to you, you always will, whether you tire of him or not.

He makes his point by circling the pad of his thumb to your clit while his other hand claws at your chest underneath your dress shirt. The sound of your gasp has him reeling already, has his cock rock-hard in his slacks. 

“More,”  you whimper. “S-Satoru, please.”

You’re surprised when you feel the palm of his hand over your mouth. You whine against his hand, soft gasps dissipating underneath his touch as your eyes roll back. You feel two fingers enter your sopping cunt and it renders you brainless, docile just how he likes you. 

The rhythmic ministrations of his fingers touch upon the spot inside your core that makes your legs shake. You like being smothered by him despite your personality. You don’t even have to tell him – he knows already, he’s known ever since he noticed your reactions to him touching you casually during the working day.

The more you crave his touch, the more you become dependent on him, even when you don’t realize it. You always pride yourself on being an independent soul, refusing his insistence to pay for your meals, the way you express to him quietly that you want to be able to fight back one day. You could perfect a certain violence in between your fingers just like he can if you put your mind to it. But you have too much dignity to request his guidance as a mentor or teacher. 

He thinks about it now as he touches you. The idea of him training you to use cursed techniques. The idea of him making you in his image, shaping you like he had created you himself.

If anyone truly knew the extent of how you are the object of Satoru’s affection, of his obsession, one would render him pathetic. But he knows he’s too powerful. He knows it’s easy to make you seem like the pathetic one. You’re already begging for his cock, after all. 

“I‘m gonna… I’m–”

There’s a squelching sound when he retracts. His fingers are wet with your slick and you’re on the verge of tears when you feel the loss. You’re already falling apart without his touch. It doesn’t help when you watch him lick your wetness off of his own fingers.

“Why are you being so mean to me today?”

“‘m not,” Satoru purrs, licking a stripe from your collarbone to your earlobe. You try to kiss him since his face is so close to yours, but again, he restricts you. His long, slender fingers squeeze the base of your neck. “I could be a lot meaner to you, y’know. You’re lucky. This is mild compared to what I’ve thought about doing to you.”

“Wanna cum,” you whisper. You don’t even realize that there are tears falling because you’re too focused on Satoru. It isn’t fair, the way he’s toying with you. The moment he relinquishes his grip, just barely, you reach over to palm his cheek. He lets you pull the blindfold from his eyes.

“Dunno if I can let you. You’re being so greedy. Such a selfish fucking girl.” He pinches your nipple as he says it. His voice is smooth, dripping like honey, dulcet in the way his words manage to make your eyelashes flutter despite how filthy the subject matter is. He’d ruin you if he could. Perhaps, he’d ruined you the moment he touched you.

He’s touching your clit again, but not rhythmically. You feel a sense of loss every few seconds. He’s fucking teasing you now, but you’re smart enough to not snap at him despite how much you want to. 

So you say his name instead. Like a hymn or a prayer. Like it’s the sweetest thing to come from your tongue. From the way your voice sounds, Satoru is convinced that his own name is a blessing just because it comes from your lips. He can’t get enough of it.

You make Satoru feel human, but the way you react to him at the moment makes him want to pretend he’s a god.

“S-Sat–Satoru. Oh.”

“You cryin’ already, baby? Thought you liked it when I played with you.”

His voice is low, raspy. Almost cruel. 

Your brain is so foggy that it feels like he’s been doing this to you for hours. You can’t even form words, can’t bitch to him or dominate him the way you often attempt to. There’s a secret part of you, deep inside, that is unlocked by the way Satoru handles you. As much as he loves control, he still doesn’t know the extent of what you would let him do to you. How you wished he’d wrap a silk ribbon around your neck and collar you like a puppy. How you think you would do anything for him if he asked.

You don’t even know that he would do the exact same for you.

Now, you’re at your peak again. Your legs are wobbly, senses so heightened by the way he plays with your pussy that it takes you a few moments to notice that his cock is prodding against you, bare and pink and fucking leaking. 

Maybe if you tell him you’re close, he’ll stop. You can’t stand the thought of it. So, naturally, you cry instead, and the sight makes him want to keep you for as long as he’s alive. Satoru would make sure nothing slights you, and that nothing out of his control could possibly vex you. This desire usually scares him. At the moment, it doesn’t. At the moment, he feels drunk with it. 

He knows when you cum because he has you memorized. It’s a little death, truly, because when your legs tremble and your moans fade into a sharp gasp, Satoru knows for sure that your brain has turned to mush. Your body melts against his. Maybe you’d melt right into his mattress if he didn’t have more energy to play with you. 

Gojo Satoru does not believe in a higher power, but he thinks that if one existed, one that was more powerful than him, he would thank them. He would thank them for you, the creation of you, the very essence of you living and breathing in the same wretched world as him. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, you were made just for him. 

You recover in a succession of exhales. Blinking rapidly through blurry vision as you feel Satoru’s face nuzzling your neck, almost too domestic and sweet to bear. You had never thought of anything serious with him because of his reputation, but every time he has you like this, underneath him, you often wish that he would reassure you that he wants to keep you.

And he does. He is devoted to you in a way that feels holy. He just doesn’t know how to tell you that. Satoru hopes you can figure it out just from the way he touches you. 

And maybe, like him, you’re just above human. An angel, he thinks. A set of wings would suit you. 

“I– I– please–” you strain. You feel embarrassed from the tears, but Satoru cherishes you. He kisses and licks them right off your face.

“I know, baby. I won’t make you beg any more than you have,” he sneers. 

You’re fucking doe-eyed, angelic when he enters you. Just the tip, for now, just so he can see how you react. It isn’t the first time but you are certainly acting the part from the way your whole face screws up. Your perfect mouth parts and he touches your bottom lip with his thumb.

You whimper like a wounded thing. Like you should be begging for mercy. He hasn’t dipped too far into his God-complex yet to coax that reaction for you.

And without a warning, he pushes himself into you completely, bottoming out. He groans at the feeling of your walls tightening around him. So warm. So fucking wet.

“Fucked you enough to mold the shape of your pussy to my cock, huh? Feels so fucking– fuck,” he exhales, rutting into you with eyes shut. 

You whine his name, clutching at him, scraping your nails across his pale back. He loves the way you need him. He wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything else in the world.

Made for me. God made you for me.

You slur your words against his neck and his chest as he thrusts into you – cries of his name, of begging for more, of your usual expletives. He grins like a predator. He bends you in half and thinks briefly about breaking your limbs for the sake of his pleasure. (He doesn’t. You’re too delicate, too human.)

In reality, you’re sarcastic and sometimes brash. When Satoru has you writhing underneath him, you’re a little more shy. He wants to tease the desire from you, whatever filth that permeates in your brain. 

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want– I want– aah!”

“Feels so good for you, I know. Use your words for me. I know you can,” Satoru taunts.

“Want you to make me cum on your cock. Please,” you beg. “Need it deeper, ‘Toru. Need you.”

“Need me, don’t you? Say it again so I can hear it.”

“Nngh– Need– Fuck, I can’t–”

He slows the speed of his thrusts and rubs the length of your jaw softly with his palm. His other hand rubs your clit gently, making your body spasm. He tucks the hair sticking to your forehead behind your ear so he can see all of you. You and your swollen mouth and glassy eyes.

“Don’t do that,” you whine.

“Do what, baby?”

“Teasing me like this. Wan’ it rough.”

“What else?” he breathes into your neck, palming your breast as he thrusts into you deeper.

“Want everything. Want it to hurt.”

And with that, he gives it to you. He gives you all of it. 

You drape your arms around his body so that you’re closer than ever, both of your bodies ready to mesh into one if they could. Satoru pushes your legs up, knees bent and ankles near your ears, and he basks in the sound of your pathetic mewls. 

“Such a good… fucking girl,” he groans. “‘m so close.”

“Me too,” you reply in a hushed tone. “Right– right there.”

Satoru has fucked you plenty of times. He’s called you a slut, a greedy whore – but he can’t bring himself to degrade you like that even though he knows you like it. You’re splayed out for him, limbs limp and grateful for his embrace. You’re too fucking precious for him.

You’re too dazed to think about the moral implications of your affair. It's a miracle you can't enter his mind so deeply when you're fucked out like this. Where his thoughts flash from lecherous to monstrous, yours are rendered sluggish. There’s almost nothing in your brain, save for him and his blue eyes and the feeling of his cock. It consumes the best of you. You welcome it with open arms.

Another kiss. It’s mostly Satoru working his tongue into your mouth and you dissolving under his tongue. He tastes so sweet, so fresh all the time. His lips are so fucking soft it drives you insane.

“Pleasemakemecum,” you cry out in a jagged mumble. “Please. Need it so bad. Please!”

He groans in response. You’re begging more than usual. You are frantic and desperate and welcoming his hand to shape you in his image. 

The way he grinds into your cunt becomes more aggressive, which is easy for him. There’s no resistance – your pussy is so fucking wet for him in that way. The cloying heat in his pelvis spreads to the rest of his body, warmth enveloping him like hot water in a bath.

You whine his name again and it dissipates into his mouth.

“Cum with me, fuck, I can feel you–” he moans. Both of you reach your peak in the way he grasps your body, calloused hands worshipping the length of your waist until his fingertips bruise your thighs. 

His hips stutter as he indulges in his pleasure. In the sound of your hushed whimpers. In the way your nails claw across his back. 

Both of your labored breaths fill the silence. Even in the dark, you admire the brightness of his blue eyes. They could replace the divinity of the stars themselves, you muse. 

Both of you are hazy, intoxicated on the touch of each others’ skin. You shiver in your skin. You’re only soothed when he buries his face into your neck, long limbs splayed over your smaller frame.

“I should fuckin’ marry you,” he breathes into your skin.

“What was that?” you raise a brow.

He clears his throat. Despite the daze, he’s able to give you one of his signature cocky grins. Something flashes in his blue eyes, you think.

“I think I wanna keep you.”

If he was god, you were his seraphim, he’s decided. He almost tells this to you, out loud, because your big eyes drink him in. He knows better.

“You have me,” you reply softly, echoing him from earlier in the night. The way he smiles reminds you of the sun. 

Gojo Satoru knows it’s an affirmation from you, maybe even pillow talk. But he knows that sentiment to be truer than anything he’s ever known. He is yours and you are his.

For now, you don’t know the half of it. Maybe someday you will.

[weebsinstash]

I want yandere Alastor being the biggest fucking hypocrite on the block and getting painfully humbled by reality so fucking bad you don't understand

I want a story where you stumble into becoming his friend with benefits, become the person who gets him interested in sex as a physical activity, and then one day you ask him "hey, what are we?" And his response being ABSOLUTELY RUDE AS HELL, albeit unintentionally, and you immediately cut him off from sex because his reply was basically the equivalent of "you're fun to sleep with, but the rest of you? No :)" (and also maybe he didn't even fully mean it, maybe he only partially meant it but he can tell he's forming some kind of new emotion for you and he doesn't want that to become a point of weakness for him so he's pushing you away but once you're actually gone he wants you back more than ANYTHING--)

I want yandere Alastor who laughs in your face if you nervously ask him if you're his girlfriend or something but then when you show up around town with another man less than a week later and he sees how easily you REPLACED HIM, he's just absolutely losing his mind. What do you MEAN you were still sleeping with other men this whole time?!?! The Radio Demon was getting SLOPPY SECONDS??? WHY would you let these-these disgusting bastards DEGRADE YOU-- meanwhile you and him could've been having like hardcore bdsm sex with actual degradation or some semi respectful form of it and he's STILL over here "B B BUT THESE MEN PROBABLY DONT EVEN RESPECT YOU--" and neither did you, you laughed in my fucking face you bitch!!!

yandere Alastor just having to sit and have a fulllll glass of whiskey and ruminate on his thoughts as he tries to come to terms with these sudden EXTREMELY POSSESSIVE feelings and urges he has. What do you MEAN he wasn't providing anything for you that you couldn't get somewhere else AND BETTER AND ALREADY HAVE BEEN? what do you MEAN you're making gifts for and going out and having actual fun dates with some of these men? What do you fucking MEAN YOU'RE 'ROMANTICALLY INVOLVED WITH SOMEONE ELSE NOW' AND WOULDN'T SLEEP WITH ALASTOR EVEN IF HE APOLOGIZED BECAUSE YOU REALLY LIKE THIS GUY--

Alastor hardcore coping, trying not to think about you at all, telling himself he just needs time and this'll all blow over and he wont even think about you anymore, and eventually finds his feet carrying him to your favorite jazz club that he would take you to, AND YOU'RE ALREADY THERE WITH ANOTHER MAN. Now THIS is what causes Alastor to finally have a public episode. No, some RANDO can't come with you HERE, this is YOUR place, OUR place, it's special, it's for Alastor and you ONLY!! basically turns him into a little kid stomping his foot going no no no that's MINE!!!

This narcissistic ass man really ain't shit, over here responding to your actually extremely valid question of "what are we?" because you were actually trying to respectfully ask him if there were any certain boundaries or if you were now exclusive, and he hits you with some deflective dehumanizing diversion like "what makes you think I would have THOSE kinds of feelings about YOU?" until he's painfully aware you're sleeping with another man, kissing another man, making hot meals for another man, holding his hand tenderly as you take a leisurely stroll, GOD FORBID HE CATCHES WIND OF ANY MARRIAGE TALK, HE WILL FUCKING L O S E IT

Juat the idea of him being so close to having what he wants - your body, heart, AND mind- and he fucks it up big time and ruins your relationship and self esteem so badly. He tries to pretend that he doesn't need your attention and/or affection but the second he doesn't have EITHER, he's a jealous mess trying to literally one-up whomever you're with, show off, impress you, usually digging his hole even deeper. Alastor becoming more unpredictable over time, literally losing sleep over you, absolutely CONVINCED 500% that all of these, shall we say, "more modern men" that you're choosing are not even worth the dirt in the treads of your shoes.

Just twirling my hair kicking my feet thinking bout yandere Alastor, becoming dead-set on genuinely and fully believing he has to save you not just from these men, but also yourself. Oh honey, he's so sorry, CLEARLY this is his fault for not watching over you better. He already knew you were... delicate and naive, but here you are, running around letting these men treat you like some kind of object just because you need what you perceive as acceptance and validation. It almost breaks his heart, truly, but don't worry darlin'! He's a southern gentleman and, SURELY he can turn up the charm and make it clear to you that you MISUNDERSTOOD HIM, right? :) You're going to GIVE HIM ANOTHER CHANCE, right? :)

genuinely, i feel like this man is more likely to try and gaslight you into believing you completely misinterpreted what he said instead of just apologizing let alone ADMITTING that he himself didn't communicate jack shit about shit, wasn't honest or up front about his feelings, and may have even be intentionally cruel to you in a moment of weakness to try and keep his own insecurities at bay, but then is fully capable of convincing, some may even say BRAINWASHING you into believing, oh sweetie, if these DEGENERATE DELIQUENTS somehow convinced you that your best friend and future husband is somehow your enemy, then, CLEARLY he hasn't been keeping you close enough to properly care for you and help you keep a clear head, has he? guess it's a good thing both of you are Sinners and he has NOTHING but time to show you EXACTLY what his intentions are. So, dear doe, which do you like the sound of more: a spring wedding, or a summer wedding, or maaaaaybe you two could even get hitched during some lovely acid rain so your new spouse can demonically laugh at all your screaming "gentleman callers" captive in the wedding audience who "accidentally" weren't put under any gazebos or any sort of protection while being forced to watch Alastor take you away--

[fbfh]

leo with baby fever? 🥹

i've always wondered what would he be like with babies of his own? 🥹💞

AAAAUGH. thank you for this one my dearest darlingest tumblr user pdlrnjlm. I'm violently sobbing over this one /pos. also excuse any egregious typos, I just woke up from a dream where my dyslexic ass couldn't spell "chris evans fine" to the point that autocorrect was beyond useless (and probably laughing at me).

ANYWAY. Leo with baby fever is... lethal. as previously stated, Leo is the motherfucking ceo of "one wouldn't hurt" but he sounds so... convincing when he says it. he says it so sweetly you start to think huh. maybe one wouldn't hurt. within a day or two his fyp is just cute baby fever inducing videos. he casually learns everything there is to know about child development and parenting in a matter of days. he starts treating your cat like a baby, talking to them and holding them on his lap while he works and good GOD if it doesn't start to hit you too. The tension and soul aching need to see you all big and preggers with his baby, your baby that you made together is almost too much. Then one fatal day, you run out of clean pajamas. It’s laundry day, and the only comfy thing you have on hand is a floral mumu from walmart that looks like something a grandma would wear, but you’re desperate and it’s soft and loose and comfy. So Leo, after spending hours rotting his brain with baby thoughts and thinking about how nice it’ll be to be a dad and how fulfilling it’ll be to come home and see a wrinkly little newborn having tummy time on your chest while you’re both half asleep to barrio sesamo playing on the tv. After a full day of ruminating on that, he comes home and sees you in your floral lil granny nightgown and good GOD something inside him snaps. You have this man feeling you up, snarling and growling, purring in you ear before he bites it. Something has gotten into him and taken full control of the primal part of his brain. And let’s be real here. You might as well consider yourself pregnant from the first “c’mon estrella, one or two couldn’t hurt… they’re so little, you won’t even notice them.” into your neck while he hugs you from behind. But yeah. Leo with baby fever is so simultaneously sweet cute fluffy domestic and rearrange your guts at the same time that it’s kind of inevitable. If Leo kisses your neck and rubs your tummy and says “you’d look so cute pregnant, baby…” you’re gonna fold. You have to. No one can resist that. And who would want to????

[harbingersglory]

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes drabble, fem reader, sub reader, transfem arlecchino {☆} warnings 18+ content, breeding kink, degradation, stomach bulge, dacryphilia, restraints

"Arle, hah..please. I can't– I can't wait any longer."

The pleading, almost pouty, words had her letting out a deep, husky chuckle as she fiddled with the buckle of her belt, admiring your body as she stepped up to the bed. Her knee sank into the mattress as she knelt down, pressing a placating kiss to your brow and gesturing for you to turn over.

"Come on, dove. Be a good girl, or I'll treat you like the whore you are." Arlecchino clicked her tongue, firmly grabbing your hands and tightening her belt around your wrists, giving the leather a firm tug to test its strength– and to make sure it wasn't too tight. "I'm in a good mood. Don't spoil it by being a brat, little dove."

The pout it drew from you made her grin, canines flashing beneath her lips as she settled in behind you, cupping your ass in her calloused hands with an appreciative grumble. Your panties were already sticking to your cunt, the fabric soaked. She couldn't help but drag one of her digits across the fabric, teasing your folds beneath it.

"Lucky I adore that pretty mouth of yours or I'd have cut out your tongue," She gruffly spoke, her tone neither in jest or too serious– perhaps she would, maybe she wouldn't. She liked to keep you on your toes. "Hm. Maybe I'll use your throat after– shut you up properly. You look so pretty gagging on my cock, you know?"

Arlecchino slid her fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down just enough to see your slick cunt, her fingers pulling the folds apart. Fuck, she could feel her cock throbbing against her boxers at the sight– she'd never get tired of it, just like she'd never get tired of using you like a toy.

"But in the meantime.." She finally pulled down her own boxers, her aching cock slipping free and slapping against your thigh– she slid right between your thighs, forcing you to squeeze them together around her. "Fuck, that's it." She growled, pumping her hips a few times before she was satisfied, lining up her cock with your entrance.

She had the decency, at least, to sink in slowly at first..let you adjust to her size for a brief moment before she snapped her hips forward and sank fully into your cunt with a sharp hiss.

Arlecchino typically enjoyed teasing you first, making you practically beg just for her to give you her cock at all, but she had other plans tonight– she wasn't going to waste time playing around this time. Her hand slipped down to your stomach pressed against the mattress, a low chuckle building in her chest at the distinct bulge her cock left. It was a wonder she fit at all– but she'd make it fit even if she hadn't.

"Be a good girl now and don't complain." She grumbled, leaning down to press you down into the mattress with her body, nipping at your ear before she pulled her hips back, hissing at the way you clenched around her in response. She took a moment to sit there, letting you ruminate and squirm at the lack of movement– only to grab a fistful of hair and start pounding you into the mattress before you can even think to whine about her lack of movement.

How quickly, how easily, you turn into a blubbering mess as she uses you like a toy for her own enjoyment. Not that you won't enjoy what she has in plan for you– just maybe not as much as she does. The mental image of filling you with her cum..it drives her thrusts harder, faster. She wants to fuck you stupid with her cock, fill you to the breaking point until her cum pools on the sheets, unable to be fully plugged up. Just the idea of watching her cum dripping down your thighs makes her control slip just the slightest bit.

She's already big enough to bulge your stomach with every thrust, but she wonders if she can push it further.

She certainly wants to, and she intends to.

The fat tears rolling down your cheeks only got her more excited, her hands gripping your hips so tight she can already imagine the bruises in the shape of her fingers against your skin.

"That's it, dove, give in," Arlecchino hissed, a low growl rumbling in her chest as she continued to pound into them relentlessly, her thighs already stinging from the sheer force of it. "Fucking take it, you whore."

Her muscles flexed in faint restraint, the shifting of your arms against her as you nearly screamed at the intense rush of pleasure making her sink her teeth into your shoulder in warning– a futile effort, really, as your body twitched when you came so hard she briefly considered if she had to stop..but you were still moaning even through the tears rolling down your cheeks, rocking back into her thrusts weakly, unable to keep up.

She wasn't too far behind, either. Her teeth dug deeper into your skin, muffling the growl as she plunged into your soaking wet cunt, bucking into you in much shorter thrusts until she finally felt her cum spilling into you. It was almost enough to send her over the edge again– fuck, you were practically sucking her in with how tight you were, squeezing around her cock.

Her head slumped against your shoulder as she pulled her teeth from your skin, taking a moment of respite to catch her breath and let the sting and ache settle in deep– she welcomed it, if anything. But she wasn't done.

She was going to fuck you till you were full– fill you up until she couldn't fit another drop.

For now..she pulled out, admiring the way her cum dribbled out of you. She didn't mind all that much..she was going to replace it tenfold, anyway.

She couldn't wait to plug you up and see you squirm during the meeting tomorrow, full of her cum and unable to find relief– maybe she'd make it a toy, see how long you last before someone realizes what's going on. She was going to enjoy it thoroughly.