#rosy enrichment

[paintingtherosypicture]

Pink Rose Flowers Diamond Painting Red Rose Round Full Drill Embroidery Bunch Flowers Cross Stitch

[alltherosefamily]

English Rose Additions to my Cottage Garden - by Pamela Groppe

I have coveted Olivia Austin DAR roses since they first came out and the many rose loving friends I follow on Instagram have been sharing theirs during summers and I had to have her.

Olivia Rose Austin DAR

She is a shorter growing rose so perfect in my Secret Garden in an island bed.  She won’t grow tall enough to block the view of other flowers growing beyond her.

[revvethasmythh]

I love it when durge gets this one particular expression on their face and you just know you're gonna do something fucked up in T-minus 10 seconds. I have lovingly dubbed it The Grinch Face™️

[rosenbergamot]

thinking ab goodtimeswithscar again. a man of so many masks, all with the same charismatic smile. a man who underneath those masks is so dedicated and loving and lonely and petty and chaotic and silly that it cant be contained. a man who watches and blends in and smiles and laughs, because thats the way hes learned to survive. a man who loves so much and so deeply and loyally that it kills him. a man who, when he stops loving like that, ends up winning his series. a man who is defined by trickster status but wants nothing more than to be defined by the friends he keeps. a man who fights against the want to love people and the want to survive. a man whose every interaction is transactional. a man who sells everything, his heart his soul his bones his blood, just to live another day.

[littlecornerinbrooklyn]

there was a hawkfish at the store I pet store I worked at that had been there for 5+ years and the head of the department and I were having a conversation about how glibly people will speak about the fish that have died in their care (it was so common to have a parent come in and "replace" all the pleco's because they messed up while cleaning the tank and the kids due home from school in a few hours) and what kind of policy we could potentially have to educate and curb the idea that we would just keep supplying new fish when there was clearly a lack of willingness to change behaviors (like the same people would come in over and over and laugh about "accidentally" killing another beta fish and it's like maybe don't say that so loudly and unashamedly in the place you're coming to get another one) anyway the guy pointed to the hawkfish and reminded me that the fish was smarter than any of the other pets in the store but because we couldn't hear it speak we didn't honor it's intelligence and i just think about fish and their lives a lot differently after that

[human-enrichment]

Honestly I can’t get over my surprise at the amount of surprise, especially about Rosie. There are SO MANY hints pointing that direction - both about Rosie herself when we see her AND little things Al is weird about in S1. This show is a well told story and is characterized by an almost constant stream of foreshadowing and echoing - especially for establishing relationships and characterizations. Having a basically unknown character come out of the woodwork for something so huge would be OOC for the show itself bc that tends to be a symptom of clumsy storytelling.

Even noticing how interested Viv is in bugs points to Rosie. (That Angel is a jumping spider is fucking nerd-genius.) Rosie has massive hive-queen energy: the cannibals have no individuality, and yet Rosie claims not to be able to make them do what she wants. Alastor’s magic isn’t the puppet magic. It’s GREEN. His is RED. Once you know he’s on a leash it’s obvious which part is his power and which isn’t.

He -arrogant prick of the century - calls Rosie the most powerful OL in the area - the same area HE’s in. He picks unnecessary, ego-fueled fights with THE KING OF HELL yet does not tease her ONCE. Not one time. The ONLY character of his station or higher that he interacts with without antagonizing. Yet she never does anything but control the cannibals, who btw wander around cleaning up hell like ANTS DO.

When Charlie tries the second time Rosie is suddenly positive she will succeed, and the only change is that ALASTOR HANDS OFF HIS MIC. That’s the most out of character thing he does the entire series and he takes it back the second it’s done its job - only for Rosie to give Charlie a replacement immediately. (Now that she’s verified that Charlie can’t take her army WITHOUT help, it’s safe to lend that help. LIKE SHE’s LENT IT TO AL.)

My point in all this is basically to express exasperation that anyone feels blindsided by this in a way that would make them feel betrayed or angry rather than just satisfied about the richness of the world and the elegance of the storytelling. Or glad for the confirmation that yeah - it’s going somewhere interesting.

(I feel the same way about all the Val hatred predicated on the idea that he’s the most evil. It’s such superficial “reading” of what’s there, but this post is getting long.)

Anyway, narrative/media literacy is a thing, folks.

Lightning round just for fun:

- Alastor’s face when he’s forced to put up with but not murder the egg boys during their outing is the same face he makes enduring Charlie’s prattling on the way to CT

- even taking her there is a tacit admission that he can’t do this himself, which makes his decision to fight Adam without angelic steel really odd unless something else is preventing it

- we can tell he’s insecure about Lucifer bc when you compare that song and Stayed Gone, he uses some of the same visual gags that Vox does as he gets more agitated. (Why compare the two? Bc it’s a one-upping character-debut number courting an audience whose favor is a resource)

-Lucifer’s arrival in general provokes the same overreaction in Al that Al’s did for Vox

- except for the only moment when he really loses his temper - and it’s only for a few seconds- he goes out of his way to talk to Husk like they are friends - but only when asserting control over him.

- Rosie teases Al. AND HE SAYS NOTHING.

-when he is clearly fondly regarding his actual friends, he goes out of his way not to use the word.

- but then does when describing some mocking description of the death he narrowly avoids. Like someone else expected him not to survive (a fight he had logically no chance of winning without a resource he conspicuously ignored)

- neither he nor Vox uses their own (parallel!) powers for much directly. Mostly to travel, change appearances, and direct the power of others. Since he calls Vox out for this (“powerless without the other Vees”) and this show LOVES establishing pairs, by the end of the season when we see how much of Al’s power ISNT his, this feels like projection in retrospect.

- again, Al’s not pulling his own strings. His line wouldn’t make sense in the finale if he were. The puppet magic just is not his.

-they aren’t Winners - they are Losers Sinners. Name one (fleshed out, not background) Sinner that isn’t describable that way, either bc they made regrettable choices that trap them still or bc they are so afraid of their own feelings/insecurities that they effectively torture themselves.

Lightning lightning round for post-leak confirmations of the significance of little details:

-Al’s only real tantrum is when Husk reminds the big bad radio demon that he is effectually as much a “loser, baby” as his thrall. (You know to connect them bc this is exactly what happened with Angel the previous ep - just with someone Husk could speak freely to)

- He treats Husk like an indulgent friend and doesn’t need to chastise him publicly. STILL doesn’t, even when pissed, bc their seeming amiability is more useful than if he treated Husk like Val treats his thralls.

-speaking of which: No wonder he needs to reassure himself that Husk is his pet. lol - the shame he’s working through is excruciating, and much tho we love him, Al is a petty vindictive bitch who needs to feel in control of ANYTHING to cope with not being actually in control of his own power.

- ROSIE MAKES HIM SING AND DANCE AND PERFORM FOR HER AND HE JUST HAS TO FUCKING TAKE IT (lol I’m crying- he hates it so much)

- his lack of resistance when he needs to lend Charlie his power: why doesn’t he even tease her about it? Bc Rosie doesn’t need to command him in public. Doesn’t even need to in private much. Al is so afraid for his image that he becomes perfectly behaved in her presence. The threat is there. He’s mean to Husk specifically bc he can’t duplicate that feat without being explicitly threatening. JUST LIKE VAL, he has to resort to immediate violence to keep the same control that R can exert by default. (And that drives him up the fucking wall.)

- Val, btw is even clumsier than Al but like him also doesn’t know how to conceptualize affectionate behavior except in terms of power plays. Making Angel pretend (in every facet of his servitude) is how he feels powerful. Al wants people to like him genuinely (like he wants them to fear him) but doesn’t know how to be vulnerable the way that requires, since the only comparable relationship he’s had since he died exploits vulnerability and calls itself a friendship.

- they are all in hell, working through their maladjustments in a system that actively exploits their trauma responses and predatory tendencies.

Okay, I’m gonna talk about the leaks (and the fandom’s reactions) a little. Watch out.

I get it, alright? I get it. People are mad at the leaker. But after scrolling through the tag myself and seeing almost nothing but ‘hazbin hotel critical’ (including the stuff that belongs in that tag) and a little fanart…I’ve got some things to say.

First of all, I’m not going to claim to know all of the controversy, made up or not, in this fandom. Someone was mad about Sir Pentious being white, someone else was mad about Alastor being “black” (he’s mixed-race, don’t know why they used that terminology), and their given reasons made very little sense to me.

Alastor has had “voodoo powers” since the pilot, and his ethnicity has been confirmed for God knows how long. I have no idea why that’s only being brought up now.

Now, I’m not a big enough fan of Sir Pentious to have any strong feelings about the leaks involving him. Same goes for Lute. However, when it comes to the Rosie-Alastor leaks…

I can’t wait!

Not the reaction you were expecting, huh? Unlike what seems to be at least 80% of this fandom, I have no gripes with this plot twist. Vivzie is the creator of these characters, and knows them better than any of us ever will. I want to see how she makes it work, what led up to that song, everything!

I’ve already made plans with NOT-TLC and my cousin to watch season 2 the moment it comes out. And after I finish watching it, I’m only going to have more information to analyze. Win-win for me!

[landscapesscenerypeopleplaces]

tumblr_n9n4jrP86l1t0ge0qo1_1280

[vmrsdias]

A Christmas to Remember

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x reader

Plot: Jude and Y/N spend their first Christmas together, exchanging meaningful gifts: a symbolic bracelet and a scrapbook of memories. Amid laughter, emotions, and intimate moments, the evening marks the beginning of an even deeper love.

Author's note: English is not my first language

Jude Bellingham was nervous. He paced back and forth in his apartment, the warm glow of Christmas tree lights filling the room. Everything was perfect: the table was set, the gifts were neatly arranged under the tree, and the scent of cinnamon and chocolate lingered in the air. The only thing missing was her: Y/N.

He had planned everything down to the smallest detail. This wasn’t just any Christmas—it was their first Christmas together, and he wanted it to be unforgettable. When the doorbell rang, Jude felt his heart race. He quickly straightened his shirt, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Y/N stood there, as stunning as ever, wrapped in a cream-colored coat, her cheeks rosy from the cold and a smile that melted all of his tension. In her hands, she held a perfectly wrapped package with a golden bow.

“Merry Christmas, Jude,” she said softly, leaning in to give him a light kiss on the cheek.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he replied, taking her coat and hanging it up. He led her to the living room, where the warmth of the fireplace and the magic of the tree created the perfect atmosphere.

“You’ve really outdone yourself,” Y/N said, taking in the scene. “It’s all so… enchanting.”

Jude smiled, a little embarrassed. “I wanted it to be special. And… I have something for you.”

Y/N looked at him in surprise as he retrieved a small velvet box from under the tree. “Open it,” he said, handing it to her with a nervous smile.

Y/N opened the box slowly, revealing a delicate gold bracelet adorned with a small football-shaped charm. Her eyes lit up with emotion.

“Jude… it’s beautiful. But why a football?” she asked, gently touching the charm.

He sat down beside her, taking her hand. “Because it represents a big part of my life—a part where you’ve always been by my side. This bracelet is a way to say thank you, to remind you of how important you are to me.”

Y/N hugged him tightly, her heart full of joy. “It’s perfect, Jude. Thank you.”

Then she pulled out her own gift, handing it to him with a shy smile. “Now it’s your turn.”

Jude carefully unwrapped the package, revealing a handmade scrapbook. Each page was decorated with photos of their moments together, enriched with little drawings and personal notes.

“This is incredible,” Jude said, flipping through the scrapbook. There was their first photo together, their spontaneous trip to the beach, and even a picture of one of his matches with her cheering from the stands. “You’ve captured our entire world in here.”

Y/N smiled, noticing the wonder on Jude’s face. “I wanted you to have something to remind you how close I am, even when we’re apart.”

Jude leaned in and kissed her softly. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received.”

The evening continued with a simple but intimate dinner. They talked about dreams, laughed at their funniest memories, and exchanged loving glances.

Later, as they sat on the couch under a shared blanket, Y/N looked at Jude and said, “This has been the best Christmas of my life.”

Jude held her hand, gazing into her eyes. “And it’s only the first of many. With you, every day feels special.”

Under the soft glow of the tree lights, surrounded by laughter and whispered words, Jude and Y/N spent an evening they would never forget.

[daisyofwaterdeep]

Just gonna start of saying I LOVE your drabbles - especially big fan of what you’ve written about Gortash as of recently :D could I humbly request your thoughts on how Gortash might try to win over a particularly stubborn (gn) tav/durge? Perhaps with some… questionable consent towards his methods 😌

Gortash/Reader (reader is gender neutral with a vagina) Tags: NSFW, dry humping, dubcon, manipulation, fingering TW: sexual assault, noncon, sexual violence, kidnapping, descriptions of violence and gore, object insertion

A/N: kinda went ham on this one...please be mindful of the tags!

'Conquest'

Gortash had handpicked you as his assistant. As soon as he saw you, some nobody helping with the armory in Wyrm's Rock, he gestured to his advisor and demanded to have you brought in for briefing.

At first it was based solely on your looks--having an attractive assistant around to fuck on a whim would be great for stress relief. But as he watches you, he detects a defiant shine in your eyes, a sort of "just try to mess with me" sort of attitude in the way you carry yourself that draws him in.

As he sits you down and informs you of your new post, he gets a better reading on you. You're guarded, surprisingly so, and even as he offers you a pay raise for a far less cumbersome job, you don't look at him with gratitude-- only caution.

Most wouldn't hesitate to blubber out thanks and praises at such an opportunity, but you...you seem to know that there's a catch. That nice things don't just fall into one's lap. He likes that cleverness about you.

As much as Gortash enjoys an easy lay, this is far more fun. Like sexual enrichment-- working for his reward.

It's going to be a challenge and a delight to fuck you.

~~~

Gortash lets you settle into your job before making a move. Nearly a month passes before he decides it's time to test the waters.

You approach him as he's reading over a letter at his desk.

"I'll be heading home soon. Is there anything you need before I go?"

He hums to himself, pretending to think as he sets the paper to the side and leans back in his chair. "Hmm, no, nothing comes to mind." He stops, gives a short laugh, then adds, "Well, a blowjob wouldn't be remiss."

The look you give him is adorable. Pretty lips parted, eyes wide, and an almost immediate pinkening of your cheeks. Gortash wishes he could get your expression painted so he could enjoy it at his leisure.

"I--" Your lips move soundlessly for a moment before finding your voice. "I c-could see if Sharess' Caress makes house visits."

Gortash waves his hand in the air and laughs again. "That was a tasteless joke, my apologies." He gets up from his chair, stretching his back out with a small grunt, "However, I do appreciate the lengths you would go to for my sake."

You incline your head politely, cheeks still rosy. "Of course."

"But I will say, if you ever decide to treat me to a bit of...stress relief, I'd rather it be sourced from within the fortress." He holds his hands out in a grand gesture, "I have a reputation to uphold, after all."

You shuffle on your feet, "Makes sense...I'll keep it in mind."

"Wonderful." He mirrors you with a polite head nod of his own. "Now, don't let me keep you. Go enjoy the rest of your day."

As soon as you leave, Gortash's shoulders slump and he holds onto the back of his chair. Damn. Part of him was really hoping that would work. It would have been too easy of a victory, sure, but also.... a blowjob really does sound quite nice right now.

~~~

"Are you finished with these?" you gesture at the stack of books perched on the edge of Gortash's desk.

He looks up for only a moment to cofirm before going back to his work, "Yes, you can put those away."

He move his arm out of the way as you pick up the massive stack and begin carefully navigating to the bookshelf across the room.

The quiet shuffle of you putting them away and the scratch of his quill on parchment fills the room for a time, but when you let out a soft noise, he can't help but divert his attention.

There you are, on the tips of your toes, pressed against the shelf, trying to slide a book into it's high home but failing by a whole inch.

Gortash is out of his chair and slinking up behind you before he can think better of it. And when he does have a chance to think, he's already looming behind you, close enough to smell the shampoo in your hair. He decides that this is a good idea, actually. He had dipped his toe into the waters last time and nothing came of it, so maybe it's time to really jump in. He tells himself that it's merely seizing an opportunity for his overall plan--his overly eager and half hard cock has nothing to do with it.

You squeak as he presses up against you, outstretched arm beginning to come down, but Gortash is quick to grab your hand and brings the book back up. He slides it into place easily, then lets the tips of his gauntlet graze down the length of your arm before moving his mouth near your ear.

"It looked as if you needed some help."

The near whisper of his voice ghosting along your skin gives you a shiver, one that Gortash can feel run through your entire body.

"L...Lord Gortash?"

Your voice matches the same quiet of his own--it's nervous, yes, but still private, confidential. You aren't necessarily trying to stop him from what he's doing.

And if you aren't going to stop him, then he sure as all the hells is going to continue.

He lets out a soft, satisfied breath against your cheek as he presses his hips more firmly against your ass, knowing full well that you can feel the stiffness of his cock. You let out a small gasp but otherwise stay still, so Gortash indulges further, his hands dropping to your hips and he sets into a slow, deliberate grind.

He wonders what's going through that pretty head of yours right now. Are you scared you'll lose your job if you stop him? Are you surprised that he wants you? Have you been waiting for him to make a move like this? Are you disgusted, infuriated, turned on? The thoughts crowd his mind as the deliciously inadequate friction has his cock throbbing, his lips brushing over the curve of your neck in something nearing a kiss.

If he takes it further, what will you do? Will you push your ass back into him, begging to be taken? Or will you finally find your voice and demand for him to stop?

Gortash brings his hands forward, fingers already finding the cool metal of your belt buckle, enraptured by the flutter of the tendon in your neck, cock jerking and sticky as precum oozes and smears in his pants--

A knock comes at the door.

In an instant Gortash is two paces away from you, falling easily back into his airy persona just as the door opens and a worker comes in. He shoots a look at you, still standing where he left you but pretending to straighten the books with stiff, jittering movements. He silently applauds your efforts as the worker approaches with a small bow.

"My lord, your guests have arrived."

Damnit. He had completely forgotten about his afternoon meeting. Part of him-- a very hard, throbbing part-- considers postponing, if only for 15 minutes.

But of course he can't do that.

With his blood still running hot, Gortash follows the worker out of his study and into the hall, mentally cursing the inopportune timing all the while.

~~~~

He needs to rethink his strategy.

A night of cooling off and masturbating has allowed him to think more clearly. The stunt he had pulled was fun, sure, but it's not what he wanted.

A few glasses of wine and some brainstorming through the night finally led him to what he does want-- for you to fall for him. For you to be grateful for his touch. He wants you to feel downright terrible for just how bad you want him. No, no want. Need. And he's concocted the perfect scenario for such a thing. It'll take a bit of elbow grease and careful planning, but that's where he really excels.

The first step of his plan starts as soon as you come in for your daily duties. He's usually already nose-deep in work when you arrive, but today he's standing by with a smile, waiting for you.

"Ah, perfect timing." He raises a finger and dabs it at you, putting on a charming smile. "We need to talk before you go about your duties."

You don't look particularly thrilled with the idea, but your face says that you expected as much. It's time for him to put on his show.

His smile falls with his voice, "I apologize for what happened yesterday. It was entirely inappropriate." He lets a soft edge of weariness creep into his words as he holds out his hands, "I'm tired. Overworked. And I admit that I've grown used to relying on you in stressful times such as these." He waves his hand and furrows his brow, "But that's no excuse to do such a thing to you." And now, a sorrowful expression paired with a gold-gilded hand over his heart. "If you would like to resign from your post, I'll ensure you are handsomely compensated. But if you stay, I can promise you, such a thing will never transpire again."

A rousing performance, he must say. Even if your face didn't betray your forgiveness-- which it does-- he knows he has you in the bag.

You shuffle on your feet, hands clasped in front of you, "I appreciate the apology."

Gortash sighs with a soft, relieved smile, eyes still trained on you as you work out your next sentence.

"I'd...like to stay."

"Thank you." He feels a predatory gleam threaten to sneak into his expression as he bows his head. "I truly don't know what I'd do without you."

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

And now, onto the fun part.

~~~~

"Everything went according to the plan, I presume?"

"Oh yesss," The banite grins wide, his yellowed teeth as much of an affront as his breath. "Got 'em in there for ye, all nice and ready. Put up a bit uvva fight, all squawkin' and squallin' at first, but the pretty lil' thing's calmed down some." He jerks his thumb to the metal door behind him. "Been on guard duty while the other two 'ave their fun."

Gortash is grateful for the falling night that hides the darkness that crosses his own face, though his voice stays just as cordial.

"Oh? What sort of fun?"

"Just tossin' em about, really." The banite looks around the empty dock before shuffling forward, a wicked glitter in his beady eyes, "Arnie found some nice rocks-- pebbles really," The man snickers, "We've been stuffin' em up in the pretty thing. Seein' how many can fit." He puts his hands up before adding, "Ah, but no sex stuff, like ye said. Made sure all three of us kept our britches on."

"I see."

Gotash steps forward and with one swift jab of his hand upward, slices the man's carotid artery with the tip of his gauntlet. The banite sputters and clutches at his neck, hot gushes of blood spurting from between his grimy fingers as his eyes go wide and his mouth gapes wordlessly. Gortash had planned to dispose of the men when their role was through out of necessity, but now it's out of anger.

"Perhaps you'll learn to follow directions in your next life."

Gortash grabs the man by the collar--the other side, so as not to filthy his clothes with the pig's blood, and yanks him to the edge of the dock. The man's floundering and uneven footing does the rest of the work for him. A large splash in the dark of the water, a bit more struggling, then nothing but the sound of the sea.

As pissed as he is...this could work. It could work damn well, in fact. His mind is already churning, reevaluating the situation and turning this error to his advantage.

With a new plan in mind, Gortash takes in a deep breath and opens the door.

Two lanterns illuminate the warehouse, only supressing the darkness in a single corner. And there you are, only visible as a pair of bare legs on the stone floor, two men on their knees and obscuring the rest of you.

Gortash has always taken pride in the control he has over his emotions. But in this moment, he lets that control go completely.

A swift end is made of the men with a few brutal jabs of his claws. They try to stumble to their feet and grab at their weapons, but the blood pouring from their gurgling throats is too heavy of a flow, and all too soon, they collapse to the floor, dead.

With that out of the way, he finally gets a look at you. Even if he's beyond annoyed at the hunks of waste he's just disposed of, he does have to applaud them for their work. You look stunning-- Completely bare, hands tied behind your back, legs splayed open, face tear-streaked and eyes terrified. He's grateful for the terrible lighting, because his cock stiffens immediately at the sight of you.

"What happened?" Gortash falls to his knees by your side, "Are you okay?"

"Th-they," Your voice is virtually a croak, thrown out from your crying and yelling. He watches as you swallow roughly before trying to continue, "They a-ambushed me. As s-soon as I opened the door, they--"

Your words waver as despair threatens to take you once again, so Gortash leans down, snaking an arm under your back.

"It's alright darling. I'm here now." He shakes his head, "Gods, what was I thinking, sending you here alone...?"

He helps you sit up, noting the way you jolt and whimper, your legs unable to close. He hasn't dared to venture his eyes down just yet, but it seems they did a number on you.

Another slice from his gauntlet releases the rough rope that binds your hands and you bring them forward slowly, shoulder sockets seemingly tender from being forced behind you for so long. As you rub at your chafed wrists, Gortash unfastens his cumberbund and quickly shucks off his coat, draping it across you.

"Th-thank you," you sniffle, clutching the coat to your chest.

"Of course." Gortash places a gentle hand on your back, "Let's get you out of here. Are you able to walk?"

You had been slowly regaining your composure, but your face crumples at his words, fresh tears cascading down your cheeks.

"Th-they put...inside...m--"

Your sentence ends on a soft wail as you bury your face in his jacket.

"Hush now, it's alright." Gortash slides an arm under your knees and carefully picks you up, loving how you so easily wrap your arms around his neck, even as your body stiffens in discomfort. As he adjusts your weight in his hold, you gasp and he hears the distinct soft patter of a single pebble hitting the stone between his feet.

There's a large crate nearby that he gingerly perches you on the edge of. He makes sure you've got a good hold of his jacket before grabbing one of the lanterns and setting it nearby.

"I'll fetch a doctor--"

"No," You cut him off, eyes going wide as they flit over to the dark masses of the men, "P-please, don't leave me."

"Then I won't." He gently places his hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look up at him. "I won't leave, if that's what you want. But that means I'll have to care for you here."

He can see it written all over your face. The fear, the shame, the humiliation-- but also the relief. The trust. The men that had tormented you are dead and cooling in the shadows of the warehouse, and your savior is standing in front of you, eyes earnest and full of concern. He sees the way you want to tell him not to look, but also the desire to be cared for.

Gortash drives it home with a gentle smile and his soft, confident words. "You needn't worry anymore. I'm here now."

And just like that, you're his. Your bottom lip quivers but you nod shakily, raising the coat up to your mouth and spreading your legs, your knees coming out from either side of the dark fabric.

"Good," He says, voice hushed and calm even as he kneels down in front of you, his blood thundering in his veins. "As wide as you can."

With bated breath from the both of you, Gortash grabs the end of his coat and pulls it up, gently placing the length of it in your lap.

Mud is matted in your pubic hair and smeared on your inner thighs, but even still, he can smell the distinct musk of you. And with your legs wide as they are, your labia is spread, showing the soft pink folds of your vagina, also streaked with grime. His cock engorges fully as he gently grabs your thighs and pushes them open just a bit further and sees, with a rush of twisted excitement, the smooth grey surface of a pebble bulging from your entrance.

"We need to get them out." Gortash says, surprised by just how even his voice is as he slides off the fingers of his gauntlets and places them on the floor next to him. "It may hurt, but I need you to bear with me. Alright?"

Your head is like an old rusted machine, the first nod is like a lurch, then the next two come easier with use.

"Good." Gortash places one hand on your thigh to steady you and brings the other forward. "Try to stay calm."

Even though you seem desperate to obey, as soon as a finger brushes against the softness of your inner folds, your muscles flex and the pebble at your entrance sinks in deeper.

"Relax, Gortash nearly coos the word, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle into your thigh, " Relax for me, darling."

The tension in your muscles eases with small jerky jumps in between, and Gortash waits for you to let out a long, shuddering breath before trying again.

You tighten involuntarily as his fingers brush against you again, but this time, he doesn't pull back. His finger slides in next to the pebble, the juxtaposition of your soft hole and the hard rock making his head swim and his cock ache. He hooks his finger before pulling it out and the pebble, a little bigger than a grape, pops out of you and skitters onto the floor. Your pretty little hole flutters and contracts as you gasp and another pebble is immediately clogging your entrance, this one seemingly bigger.

"You poor thing," Gortash has to push the stone back into you to get his finger to fit, and he can feel it clack and scrape against the other rocks still stuffed inside you, "I know it probably hurts, but you're doing wonderful..."

He pushes the rock subtly up as he speaks, delighted at the way you whimper and bury your face into his coat as your thighs close around him. The soft meat of your entrance clenches around his finger and he softly tuts, using his free hand to spread your legs once again.

"Relax, darling, it's alright."

"S...sorry..." Your voice is muffled through his coat, but he can still hear your strain and embarassment.

"You don't have to apologize," He assures you, curving his finger around the stone, "This one might hurt, okay? So try to not to tighten if you can."

He hears you suck in a deep breath before shuddering your muscles loose. With that, he begins pulling the rock forward. It's nearly hypnotizing, seeing your tiny hole stretch tight as the slimy surface of the stone pushes up to it, against it, resisting the pressure of his finger.

"Try pushing for me," He says, breathless, "Try to relax and push."

"Ah--" The muscles in your thighs clench and you let out a strained gasp that breaks into a hurt whimper as your hole stretches more, more--

With the widest part of the stone past, the rest slides out all at once, the plum-sized rock clattering to the floor as your hole gapes open from it's size. Two more pebbles, much smaller, fall from you and join the others at his knees.

"There we go, that's it darling, shh, shh, it's alright--" He softly comforts you as you gasp and cry out soft little noises of relief.

He rests both hands on your thighs, watching as your entrance contracts with jittery clenches, a thick gush of natural juices streaked with dirt and blood leaking from your abused hole. Gods, he's half tempted to shove his cock in you-- to share that pain of heavy stones pressing against his most tender parts.

But he can't, of course. So instead, he fishes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes at your folds. You seem to appreciate the break, sighing and relaxing as you lower the coat from your face. Good, because he'll get to see your expression for what comes next.

"We'll need to get you cleaned properly, but this will have to do for now."

He meets your eyes as he speaks, bringing his hand up and dragging the cloth slowly and deliberately over your clit.

Your eyes flutter and your mouth falls open as your thighs close around him involuntarily. It lasts for all but a moment, though, because the coat comes back up to hide your face. What a teasing little thing you are.

"Poor dear," he glides two fingers back into your entrance, feeling the grit of the dirt as he goes in deeper and you tighten. His other hand rests in his lap, as casually as he can, to subtly rub at his erection. "It'll all be over soon, so hold on for a little longer."

And it really does seem to almost be over-- the palm of his hand meets with your mound as he goes in as far as he can, fingers slipping around the last two stones. A shame, really. But he can work with this.

"They're in deep," He frowns, raising up on his knees for a better angle. "This may be difficult, darling. Just hang in there."

You peek at him from behind the jacket and nod nervously.

Gortash has to work to keep his own face straight as he slides a third finger into you, bottoming out easily with his palm pressed firmly over your clit. He pins the two stones against the roof of your cunt and lets them move and slip from his hold. He spreads his fingers inside of your to retrieve them, exploring the wet, swallowing heat of you to his pleasure. You gasp as his palm grinds against your clit, legs pressing into his sides once again.

"Almost," He breathes out, cock jerking madly against his thigh as he pushes in deeper, "It's alright, just a little more..."

Your breathing is picking up and, soft, distressed whimpers leave you with every minstration. His hand is coated in slick, it's positivley soaked as he pulls his fingers out halfway with a stone, only to 'lose' it and have to push them back in.

He knows that he's getting less subtle in his excitement, but you seem too far gone to understand that, or perhaps you don't care. Either way, the sounds you're making are becoming sweeter, more raw, and your legs are trembling as they squeeze around him. He wants to rip the jacket away from you, to see the way your chest is heaving, to get a look at the pleasure-pained face you must be making right now...but even if he's being more indulgent than he should, that would definitely blow his cover.

"Wait," You stumble out on a shaky breath, your body jerking forward and your eyes wide, "W-wait, please--!"

Your words break off in a sharp cry as your back arches and your pussy locks around his fingers, juices gushing around his intrusion and running down his forearm. Gortash lets out a small noise of his own, hopefully hidden in the throes of your orgasm, and uses the cover of your clenched eyes to fondle his leaking cock. He finds his own release a mere second later, the hot spurts of his cum soaking into his pants.

It's torturously perfect, having to keep his face as straight as possible as he's wracked with pleasure, forced to supress his shivers and shakes, even as you slowly loosen into your own.

"Gods, I'm..." Your face disappears behind his jacket again as your voice wavers, "I'm so sorry..."

"Shh, it's alright." He says in a near whisper, hoping it negates the post-climax gruffness in his voice, "It's not your fault, dear."

He easily traps the two remaing stones and gingerly extracts them, though it still makes you jerk and gasp. He notes with flared nostrils that your cunt has gotten swollen and puffy from your orgasm--looking perfectly inviting for some soft licking and sucking, though he wouldn't dare. The slick running from you seems to be clear now, the natural processes of your body clearing your passageway. You still may end up with an infection, but this will certainly help ease things.

He folds his handkerchief and dabs at your folds politely, cleaning you up as best as he can before finally standing up, his head light and his heart still pounding just as fiercely.

"Let's see if you can walk now."

He holds out a hand to you and you take it, your other arm pinning the jacket to yourself modestly. You're unsteady on your feet, but you only have to endure for a few moments as he helps you put his coat on. As soon as you're decent enough, Gortash leans you against him, a protective arm around your shoulders.

"Come, darling. Let's get out of here."

As he leads you out of the warehouse, he has to fight a devious smile as you tiredly rest your head against his arm.

[pearlwithgirl]

A Man and His Favourite Toy

Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x f!reader

Fluffy smut - 1130 words

~

Some sweet Soap rambles before I go to sleep.

You’re like his favourite toy in the world.

He’s evolved in nearly every way. Lots of things are left behind, some are changed or swapped out for the better, but many simply morph.

Some things stuck around, ebbing and flowing and changing with growth - surging back tenfold when you strolled into his life.

Apples and cinnamon, steeped and stewed, gone smoky and sharp. Still comfortable, still warm - much more substance. Enrichment, nostalgia, ringing laughter.

He wants to roll and gallivant around with you until he’s dewy and ruddy-cheeked. Huffing and puffing, flopping back on soft grass or cotton-covered down to cock his head and lock heart-filled eyes.

There’s nobody to tell him he’s had his fill anymore, nobody to nag him about how he needs to share - god forbid. No chance in hell his hands could be wrenched away from you. Only you, and you’re begging, mewling softly with furrowed brows and pouty lips.

He has you clutched tight, fingertips gone white from the force of his heady desperation - cold, scuffed plastic traded up for soft, divoted flesh. He’s nearly in a trance, enthralled like he’s parked in front of a flickering screen.

You buck your hips up at him and his lashes flutter, gaze dropping down briefly. He looks back up at you with a bashful smile.

“Sorry, doll. I just like lookin’ at ya.” Johnny murmurs, eyes half-lidded. He’s so hungry.

He peels away lilac silk, patting your hip to get you to arch up, letting his touch linger before yanking your shorts off. It’s like unwrapping something sweet, tearing away crinkled foil to get to the soft centre, dripping with honey. He’ll gorge himself on you.

He licks a long stripe through your folds, drool mixing with warm nectar. A crystalline drop hangs from his pink tongue, sharp canines just above, revealed by a grin.

He’s teasing you now, but only for a moment. Only to take in that needy expression before his eyes fall shut and he goes dumb off your pussy. He gathers more of your wetness, sloppy and careless about making a mess. The messier the better, as far as he’s concerned - it’s what you deserve.

The closely shorn hair tickles your thigh as leans onto it, glassy eyes roving up your belly, past your soft tits, locking gazes again. Meeting his baby blues, you nod.

“Please.”

No need to ask twice.

Johnny drags his fingers up the rift at the junction of your thighs, spreading you open. He could crumble right then and there, could dive in and never come up to breathe. You’re glistening with mixed juices, wet and inviting.

He circles your hole and you twitch, chasing him. As if he could keep you waiting any longer when you look like that. That breath you’ve been holding is released as he dips a calloused finger into you, palm up. He twitches against his belly, whining into your pulsing cunt.

Slim hips rut into the bed, mirroring the rhythm of yours. He might end up finishing like this, cock sending copious amounts of spend onto the duvet while you throb against his greedy mouth. He’s just been waiting so long, stuck in a shitty little cabin and damned to weeks of abstinence. It’s laundry night anyway.

“I need more.” You plead.

He adds another finger - it’s not enough. You deserve everything, and he’ll start with turning you into a writhing mess.

So he leans down and seals his lips around your twitching bud, massaging that swollen pearl with a practiced tongue. He licks and suckles and sends you into a rosy-tinted haze. You can still taste the strawberries from dessert, but that’s not where the saccharinity is coming from.

You don’t even know how long he’s been at it. Neither of you do - you’re swimming in syrup. Everything could be a husk beyond the bay window, lake dried up, long turned to dust outside the rain speckled pane while the seconds on the heirloom clock ticked away and away and away - it wouldn’t even matter. There’s only one thing you two are focused on, and it’s fast approaching.

You look away from his flickering tongue, over his bobbing head, and past the rippling muscles of his shoulder. His brawny thighs are twitching, one knee braced to the side to help him cant his hips into the soft fabric.

This might be your favourite tune - the syncopated patter of tiny droplets and the lewd squelch of his crooked fingers, beckoning you forth to a steep precipice. His sounds are the best part - muffled by the heat of your cunt, reedy and wavering, pleasure-drunk. They reverberate all the way through you.

You’re ready to careen right off that ledge. You spread your trembling thighs even wider, reaching down to find his free hand, and he gladly receives it, intertwining your fingers.

He squeezes a little harder when he feels the intricately knotted silver. You got that one a day after the first time he buried his tongue in you. It’s stacked on top of a little jewelled ring - that one came after he took you to a lookoff and sunk his cock into you. He can still remember your cries of pleasure as you clung to him on a checked wool blanket, how the sun bounced off your hair as it blazed deep orange on the horizon. He was hooked.

That might be the thought that’s sending him over the edge right now. His groans send vibrations through his tongue as his brows draw together and the rhythm of his hips begins to jolt and stutter. You’re gonna fall with him.

He meets your eyes again. You know he wants to see you clearly as you suffer that little death together. You heave a great shuddering breath, exsanguinated, all your shared blood rushed down south. Your whole body tenses up, and you buck up onto his mouth as he grinds further into the bed.

Johnny grinds, and he takes and he takes until your heels are digging into the bedding, fingers curled into the stripe of hair on his head.

He pulls off of you, face glistening, tongue darting over his lips. He was always told not to be wasteful. He presses a soft kiss right above your clit and drags his tongue along the seam of your cunt once more as he rubs a soothing thumb over the back of your hand.

With one last lap of his tongue and a sloppy kiss goodbye, he parts from your pussy and crawls up to curl into your side. He gives you a kiss of your own, softening cock still twitching against your outer thigh.

He doesn’t really need to say it, to profess the shared feeling - it’s obvious. He does anyway.

“I missed you.”

[the-s1lly-corner]

Omg I'm sorry I didn't know you didn't write for more than 3 characters. I'm really sorry about asking before looking at that rule :(

If you want, you can do the request I sent you but only with Adam and Rosie (y'know, the one with the hyperactive child reader who has like super speed).

Again, I'm sorry! Have a nice day/night!-🍄

Platonic Adam and Rosie x hyper!kid!reader

It's all fine! I was already going to only take two from the four characters you asked <\3its kind of on me for making the rules/pinned post so cluttered

That aside I hope you enjoy

ADAM:

He does not do well with kids. He does not do well with hyper kids. Actually if anything he might have lute or sera keep an eye on you when he cant be bothered. I'm sure many of you may disagree or even dislike this, but Adam would probably be the type to egg a kid on when they have a really dumb idea. Or laugh when a kid falls down. I guess this dynamic is more of a babysitter/older brother and kid dynamic rather than a guardian/child one. Which is.. hm.. he would make an ipad baby/j

ROSIE:

On the flip side, rosie is actually good with kids! She makes sure you get your nutrients and your enrichment, she seems like the type to make a sensory activity for you. Will it be wholesome and not.. hell-themed? ...no... but hey the effort is still there! She does put you in time out if you're being too rowdy, though. Rosie is not afraid to discipline you or put her foot down. There will be consequences if you break the rules she has set out for you. Usually it's time out or confiscating a toy

[paintingtherosypicture]

Red Roses - by Yuga Kurita

[call-sign-shark]

Enrichment

summary: Away in a luxurious penthouse, an iPhone buzzed

Rosie 🌹: Can you collect your freak of a man? He’s doing things Hev 🪽: no i set him loose on purpose. He needs enrichment Rosie 🌹: He knocked out three people at the bar and dragged James into it. I’m considering murder. Hev 🪽: Ohfuck.

Words: 1K

Note: James and Rose belong to my beloved @justrainandcoffee (but let's be honest, they also belong to me because I stole them, they're my babies)

+ Amos can be considered the modern AU version of Aleksander Morozova. As for Heaven, she's reader in the ongoing Shadow and Bones series Echo of Shadows.

When the tall darkness said that he wanted to bring James with him for a night out at the bar he really meant it and it had, indeed, started innocently enough. They both sat at the bar of this typical British pub, nursing pints and exchanging easy banter. Slightly intoxicated but still pretty much aware, James was waffling on rather poetically about the superiority of Irish stout while Amos, as usual, argued and disagreed just for the sake of it — at least when he felt like teasing someone. 

“You lot think Guinness is the holy grail of drink,” the dark-haired man said, swirling his drink in an exaggerated disdain, “It’s good, sure, but don’t say you know what a true beer is before trying the German ones.”

James chuckled, his charming Irish accent laced with amusement at the sight of his friend’s pitch-black eyes. Eyes that were gleaming after one too many drinks, “You’re drinking much for someone who complains. And you’ve had, what, three now?”

“Four,” The dark-haired man corrected with a smug grin, “And they have all been terrible.”

They were laughing when the trouble started. Across the room, three bulky and red-faced men were playing darts, each throw accompanied by absurdly loud cheers that reminded Amos of a bunch of apes. Yet, he had been working on his anger issues since his release from the hospital so he knew that ignoring them was the best option. And he did manage to ignore them until one of them missed the board entirely. The dart sailed across the room, narrowly missing James’ shoulder, before stabbing the wall behind him.

The blonde Irish man frowned, glanced at the dart, then looked up at the three men before easing up when he saw all the empty bottles around them, “Bit wide on that one, lads. Maybe put the pint down before someone gets hurt.” He said with a smile, showing that there were no hard feelings. Such was James nature: kind and patient. Two qualities Amos genuinely admired in his best friend.

“The fuck you want?” The fatter of the three retorted. As his smile vanished, he swaggered over with his chest puffed like a rooster and his breath reeking cheap whiskey, “What’d you say, Paddy?”

The racist nickname made James’ square jaw tightened all of sudden in both surprise and frustration.  Barely two sentences had been pronounced and yet, Amos was already high on alert, like a shark smelling blood. 

“He said don’t be a knob. I mean, we can all see that you’re ugly as fuck but wow bro, we didn’t know that you were blind as well.”  Amos’ velvet voice might have been calm, but his tone sounded like an explicit warning. 

The man’s eyes flicked to him before he sized the tall darkness by the collar of his pricey black t-shirt, “And who are you, bastard? His babysitter?”

“Aha! Good one.” Amos lips curled into a dangerous wolffish grin, “But careful there, mate. You’re one bad decision away from needing dentures.”

James groaned quietly, already predicting where this was going, “Amos, let’s just —“ 

But it was too late. Enraged, the red-faced ape didn’t wait and shove Amos but the latter responded with a quick, brutal and surgical punch right to the face that sent him crashing into the nearby table. And just like that, the bar erupted in chaos. 

“Amos, to your left!” James shouted as a second man lunged at his friend, but his reflexes were deadly precise and he managed to hit him in the gut with a swift elbow. The drunkard let out a whine  — too overwhelmed by the pain, he didn’t even get to see Amos reach for a beer bottle and smash it on the man’s head, knocking him out. 

The third man, coming to rescue his ape friends, grabbed a bar stool and raised it high. It was this, along with the realization that Amos was too busy punching the first attacker, that convinced James to jump into action despite his willingness to avoid the fray: his friend, visibly in a blind rampage mode, was in danger.

With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, James landed a punch to the guy���s jaw. No matter how calm he usually was, the Irish man was tall and imposing so it didn’t come as a surprise that one single blow had been enough to send the third man staggering backward.

Amos glanced at him, surprised but grinning nonetheless, “Aw James! Didn’t think you had it in you!” 

“I’m already regretting it,” The blonde muttered, shaking his sore hand, “We’re leaving now.” 

“C’mon, I was just getting started.” 

Amos had barely finished his sentence when the deafening sound of police sirens screamed like an ominous banshee in the dead of night,  cutting through the chaos of the roaring pub. 

“I said NOW!” Without wasting time, James grabbed the tall darkness by the arm. Even though he protested, he let himself be dragged toward the back exit as the idea of getting arrested and sent back to the mental hospital wasn’t really tempting. 

They sprinted down the alley, running so fast James felt his lungs burning in his chest and aching cramps in his legs. Next to him and equally breathless, Amos was laughing.

“Did you see that man face when you decked him?! That was hilarious.”  He shouted, clearly riding the high of the fight. 

“Shut up and run!” James retorted in a loud voice, though he couldn’t help but smirk a tad bit.

When they finally arrived at the flat James and Rose shared, all disheveled and breathless, the small Jewish girl jumped from her couch.

“Oh my! What happened?!” She shrieked, immediately rushing to the two men, who were standing quite tall compared to her short stature. Rose cupped her boyfriend’s face, her delicate fingers curling around James’ sharp jaw while her brown eyes surveyed his traits with panic.

James opened his mouth to reply but Amos beat him to it, “Someone insulted your man’s favorite beer so I had to defend his honor.”

“That’s not what happened and you know it.” The Irish man groaned, but didn’t elaborate further on the topic. A part of him was still genuinely thrilled.  Following his interjection, Rose glared at Amos and walked to him to grab his face when she noticed the faint bloodstains on his skin.

"Amos almost got us arrested." James added in the background.

"Fuck, don't snitch on me bro."

“Do you even have an off switch?” She scolded but still looked worried for the tall darkness. After all, he had managed to weave his way to her life and make himself one of her closest friends, “You’re bleeding.”

“Not mine, little flower.” His hand gently rubbed her wrist to reassure her before he raised a brow, a shark-like smile stretching his lips, “But hey, does it look good on me?”

Rose gently slapped his stubbed cheek. “Idiot.”  Then, she stepped back to observe these two grown-ups glancing at each other and suppressing laughter each time. 

“No, let me correct my mistake. Idiots. Both of you.”

[6ixtoru]

ART DECO

nsfw! s. gojo x fem! reader // w.c 2793 // g.mlist

synopsis: it was a shame for gojo satoru, who had grown up surrounded by preserved artistry, to learn firsthand that not all art was everlasting

a/n: I had to repost this ffs, anyways reblogs and likes appreciated my cherubs! >_<

Frothed blooms of salmon and apricot enriching Tokyo’s eventide proceeded to be serenaded with Indigo, the populated city’s horizon an essential pillar to an aesthetic landscape.

While the Earth executed a divine pirouette, observing the lethargic alternation of shifts between the sphere of molten aureate and silver mercury, the inky atmosphere synchronised its presence with its minuscule counterparts, a harmonised choir, with each luminous orb appointed an opportunity to glimmer.

L/n Y/n’s evening typically consisted of dropping by a sumptuous storehouse displaying century-old creativity, consistently consuming the lineage of artists’ breakthroughs displayed throughout every quarter of this specific residency she favoured in visiting.

The timeless pieces professed an irreplicable craft she aspired her own artful originals to be able to achieve; the homages not only enlivened her passion but triggered her artistry, her fixated gaze acknowledging the seamless flicks of professionalism and the tonal range of neutrality gracing ethereal portraits, the delicacy of intention was a mere delight.

The lean male who had lingered on a whim had also noted her physical mannerisms. His abrupt intervention, providing her with untold history behind the particular painting, a discreet ploy to accompany her before closing.

A chance encounter with the male identity she promptly learnt was named Gojo Satoru followed an exchange of her own moniker and ambitions. Regular attendance to that specific establishment was swiftly substituted for her unpretentious abode; a studio apartment now a persuasive invite for herself and Gojo to indulge in fornication, the modest interior graffitied with euphonic moans extracted from their previous gatherings; the melodious remembrance an intoxicating rapture one would plead to undergo.

Currently settled at the edge of her bed – the prime and involuntary witness to their limitless rendezvouses – her plush thighs caged his lean waist, clammy surface subtly sticking to the inner expanse of her limbs as she tiredly bounced upon his stoic cock, the continuous sequence of her hips smooching his, arduous (considering this was far past their first round), yet compelling, as her sensitive clit yearned for the male, rapacious of her talents beside swivelling frazzled bristles into tattered acrylic pallets, to centre some pressure onto the raw bud rather than steady her hips which were bruised with rosy imprints.

“Not enough,” He mumbled, pale lips usually saturated with premeditated taunts now clasped around her perked nipple, darker areola already savaged with oblong engrains via his brutal bites was awarded a sensual stride of his flattened tongue, followed by a teasing flick whilst the other roused bud (already spoiled with moisture) somewhat twisted further from his mere pinch before both his palms discovered differing purchase upon her figure defaced by the intimate hues of his venereal gestures.  

In response to Gojo’s complaint, she merely whined, having felt the caress of his rough palm sprawled against her back, subtly shoving her further into his chest, prominent rouge blemishing his fair pigmentation or rather, indications of intercourse which was once sacrilege with intent of offspring tarnished by society’s progression.

“Fuck,” He spat out, clenched jaw an insinuation his feral characteristics had begun to surface whilst he thrust up into her, the intensity increasing and aimed as Gojo’s neatly trimmed nails clawed crescents into her waist as if he had located leverage– the piercing smiles a selenic homage to the soul depraved canopy encompassing their scandalous location – though the deliberation behind his movements remained insufficient.

The straight row he considered as his tongue’s dental guards scraped her jugular in desperation before he panted against her craned throat. “Not fucking enough, Babe.”.

A firm tug on his snowy strands, dishevelled and slightly clinging to his perspired forehead embedded with furrows of concentration, reeled him back with the abrupt roll of his cerulean irises abruptly forced to greet hers, which provoked a brazen moan of her name. “Yeah? You agree with me, don’t you, Sweetheart?”.

“Don’t tease Satoru,” she intended to chide him, which more so sounded as a plead, aching arms clinging around his broad shoulders as the emergence of his cockiness projected itself through his familiar grin that grazed her neck before she was effortlessly laid on her back, the velvety duvets accommodating their entangled frames.

Momentary emptiness between her sopping folds followed suit – which she protested – whilst he adjusted above her, simpering at her partially dominant resolve gradually deteriorating (as if his own front was any better).

Briefly kneading both her hips, he shook his head, blanche fringe briefly obscuring his immersed sight that leisurely absorbed his exquisite work.

“A ‘please’ wouldn’t hurt.” He pointedly stated, edging his mushroom tip, already prepared to be suffocated once again, towards her entrance that clenched at his absence, which he cursed at, his harmless jabs tormenting him.

“I know.” She replied with nonchalance.

His frenzied breath fused with her own as she noted the pearlescent bead frothing at his red tip, eager but restraining from any further berating of her walls as Gojo’s prideful demeanour faltered once she reached beneath them, the pad of her thumb swiping the pre-arousal and coating his puffy lips with himself before planting her own against his; a self-invite to dissect his sensuality smothered across his mouth which propelled him into the realm of insanity.

“But you don’t really care about that crap, do you ‘Toru?” she coyly sneered, his merciless cockhead returning to accommodate past her homey folds and ploughing into her with unrelenting motions as her sore legs wrapped around him instantaneously.

“Say it again,” he groaned, expressing fidelity by complimenting her cunt’s heavenly suffocation and informing her its walls had been granted the divine purpose to be moulded solely for him as her hazy stare stirred with transient lust.

“Call me that again, Baby. Please.” He rephrased, his implore a delicate murmur, as her pussy fluttered at his exhort and his thrusts held less force as an opening for her to gratify his demand.  

“Need you ‘Toru,” she softly surrendered, as did her eyes which temporarily shut, jaw hanging as he inched his cock in further as if he had been urging her to succumb to his wishes from the drive of his tip rather than his needy mouth.

His forehead hovered above hers as the frantic snaps from his hips vibrated off the thin walls of her cosy apartment littered with art equipment, another erotic composition of their lustrous rhapsody annexed with the previous symphonies, expanding the lingering collection permeating the crevices within her home.

“How’d y-you always pull this off, hm?” He croaked out as the simplistic sobriquet pummelled another bout of mania, her parted lips emitting endless moans, which he encouraged her to repeat, her grip tightening around his neck.

Her gummy walls were venerated as his salvation, the vocalisation carved beside her pulse point before confirming his devotion with a chaste kiss on the exact spot, once again slowing his hips to savour the intimacy of her being his midnight muse as his calloused digits successfully tilt her face towards his, the tip of his nose cascading against her own with delicacy.

Satoru was a fervent advocate for these particular moments, where she was sprawled out beneath him how he liked it – all. At the same time, he unveiled a vulnerability; only she’d been granted access to witness, and the exposure was inconsistent, but regardless, visited.

And though he was fully appeased with the aftermath every time, tonight he internally demanded more – for her to swivel her paintbrush between her dainty fingers purged with concoctions of jumbled shades and divide his toned chest that had been splashed with a romantic sheen of light rogue, in half – pry open his protective ribcage and enter the secluded area of his heart by dabbing the brush into the four chambers and utilise the scarlet gore as a primary base to invent shades only she would be able to formulate, or brush across her canvases with the carmine fluid when expressing the associations of passion or power, snap apart his bone marrow, to either lighten or darken the formula withdrawn from the captor of pumping blood and oxygen.

Her fingers trailed absentmindedly over his prominent collarbones before instinctively lifting themselves for him to bite on as a pacifier for his noises of pleasure. He sucked after nipping on them and twitched inside her from the gesture.

Meanwhile, his calloused palm laid flat on her neck, thumb pressed into the side as one finger at a time rested before his whole hand had itself enveloped around her throat. 

“You’re so thoughtful, Sweetheart.” He mushed her flustered cheeks together, unceremoniously parting her lips, which unlocked the empty enclosure within her mouth. 

Warm saliva safely trudged down and moistened her dry walls, hesitating to detach from her taste buds and drip into the onyx tunnel leading into the depths of her inner body. She gulped down the tiny sample with appreciation and lifted her hips from the grasp of her bed until Gojo’s tip prodded the specific spot aching to be met.

“F-fuckk ‘Toru,” she choked out, ankles carelessly caressing the sides of his back, which contrasted the relentless slapping of skin, its loudness continuing to reverb throughout her accommodation whilst her chest pressed against his as some pathetic escape of the climax they both enthused over, tender nipples pleasurably pained when squished against him.  

“Come on, sweet girl, make a mess on me,” Gojo grunted as her hips deliberately bucked upwards to mirror his erratic pace.

Azure wells dilated by his stygian pupils, enlarged from an urgency to ravage her entirety, annihilation obscuring his sanity as the low but vehement mantra of his name tickled his ear canals. The longer their visions remained attached, the further she implored beyond his celestial lenses, empyrean domain summoning her presence – silvery lashes tickling his cheeks that cloaked pricked thorns beneath.

Satoru Gojo is a successful tempter, ensuring unexplainable delectation in exchange for indulging in the hedonistic pathway and disregarding the afterthoughts; the cadence of his verbalised signals he was exceedingly close disrupted when his lips pursued the pearl pendant settled into the pit between her collarbones, lightly suctioning the bead into his mouth, suckling on the sphere as he gritted the thin chain between his teeth when she etched linework into his taut back; metal satiating his wet appendage an aftertaste upon releasing the gleaming charm with a hiss.

“I’m, I’m gonna cum –” she attempted to alert him but was shushed by the sloppy merge of his mouth enticing her tongue into an intense tandem – his assurance she was not required to state such as her sexual tendencies represented such once her spine arched into his heated touch, his hand slipping beneath to ensure she remained flush against him whilst he rolled his hips with precision.

“That’s the spot, isn’t it Sweets?” He voiced in search for confirmation, already aware he had been hitting the exact area but attempting to remain smug during moments of rising action, the events consisting of urgency that shall culminate into the climax.  

Despite his ability to converse with her, he melded his talkative cavern with her own, trembling breath and gravelly grunts unable to be concealed by his assured claims as both mouths collided in an untimely manner, canines lightly bumping against the others’ from the profound sensation.

“God, I love you, Fuck I love you, so-so-soo fuckin’ much,” he lowly managed to babble whilst heaving for leverage of a few spare molecules to inebriate his veins.

Obscene gasps suffused her bedroom, the pre-warnings of coming undone rapidly dividing the shared tension between the two. Finally, attaining the desired goal as they both subconsciously peeked down to survey her snug cunt, ravenous, swallowing every inch of him accordingly.

The sudden glimpse launched Gojo to bury himself as far as humanly possible, filthily stretching her further as he finalises tonight’s unity with his slender cock infiltrating her supple cervix with ivory evidence of debauchery, an overstimulated torrent provided by his combusted tip persuasion enough to be requited with an identical spillage of immorality webbed between her thighs and stringing to the patch of neatly kempt pubic hairs.

Several minutes passed.

Bleary sight silently observed her composed figure situated on her terrace bestowed with a few basic ornaments of greenery, nothing too out of character, before noting the graphic tee she’d decided on never returning. However, he never intended to retract the apparel from her care.

She stood facing his direction. Her head remained twisted over her shoulder, glare occupied by physical puffs of charcoal disrupting the navy scenery, pollution at an extreme due to risen citizens deluged with Japan’s work culture; multiple avenues and crossings swarmed with throngs of exploited employees.

Finally, he zoomed in on the cigarette nipped between her teeth, supported by the plump cushioning of her velvet lips. 

The chalky stick perished to depressing graphite with every inhale, billowed leaden breath unhelpful to the climate crisis and titillating the back of her windpipe, tingling from the slight gnaw of spiteful tabaco, though accustomed to the muggy corruption acquire her senses.

Reticence appeared as a tradition between them, stillness somewhat comforting.

“You seem to enjoy staring…” she murmured loudly enough, harshly tapping away the clingy ash as his esteemed vision remained on her.

Gojo raked his hands over the sheets now blanketing his legs, printed duvets, ones he had grown accustomed to these past few months, more than his own, as he delayed his response. “I can’t help it. “. 

Adoration swelled within him upon noting the evident curves of her breasts, an invocation into admiring his newly accomplished compilation of strategically aligned paints splashed to form a beautiful balance of an occurrence that he could relive comfortably; attentiveness rendered him from speaking further, a simple glance her way revelled in his artful techniques – her knotted tresses, slight limp, and splotched skeletal exterior to name a few.

“So you’ve said,” she sniggered with another puff of the cancerous stick.  

Gojo shrugged, a sheepish grin presented, having realised he relayed his thoughts aloud.

“If I had a talented hand, I would paint you myself. Force you to stay put where you are now, right leg slightly crossed over the left, thighs unconsciously squeezing as you try to withhold my seed whilst you look to your left, cigarette hanging between your pretty lips – like always. “.

She chuckled, the envision of him attempting to realistically maneuverer colourants quite humorous although his world revolved around such.

Bidding the decayed tube farewell when carelessly tossed over the steel black railing, she sauntered over. She slid into the vacant space, the other side occupied by Gojo, who had yet to exhibit any indications of leaving, likely to stay until the duties of an heir to the well-renowned museum beckoned his return.

Ever so slightly, the curious tips of her dainty fingers shadowed over the turquoise strings riddled beneath his pale flesh; projected veins a deep blue comforting and somewhat semblance of domesticity she wished to experience whilst the muse faintly shuddered – which hadn’t gone unnoticed by her.

He hummed a naïve tune he had randomly produced before the placement of a cigarette into his mouth disrupted his creation, flame ignited by hers truly.

“It’s a shame this won’t ever expand past sex,” he cooed, barely tilting his head to see her as he shuffled, still sitting up against the headboard.

“We could have a kid, tell them about the story of how we met: a pessimist always uncertain of her future but too in love with her hobby to back out and a guy who just so happens to be involved in the world of art, trying to get her a big breakthrough – and even though they both had different outlooks, they managed to create a small ball of sunshine amidst it all. What do you think?”.

She entertained his imagination by resting against his chest but shook her head, treasuring how his hypnotic eyes lit up at the mention of their non-existent offspring. 

“You should do that with somebody you love, Satoru.”.

“Right.” he shallowly inhaled, concluding the indulgent fume with a swift twist in the ashtray beside him. “Unfortunately, that won’t be you, Y/n.”.

She quirked her brow at his vocabulary selection. “‘Unfortunately’? Please,” she scoffed with a coy smile he matched.

“We both like the attention. There’s no love between us; this just fills the void.”.

Gojo turned to her with curiosity.

“If I did love you, would you love me back?” He queried seriousness, which was a stark contrast to his general vibe.

She studied his alluring mouth tainted with her imperfections, his own printed against her physique for any to view.

“Probably.” She muttered.

© 6ixtoru all rights are reserved. do NOT repost or copy my work

[rosenbergamot]

i think that grian as a tripsitter would do anything and everything he could to fuck with the people hes tripsitting.

like he spawns chickens everywhere and when ppl are like “why are there chickens?” hes like “what? what chickens? oh you must be TRIPPING tripping” he trhows eggs at them and then whistles innocently when they look back.

he pretends to be on the phone with people and goes “woah xisuma just called and he said he made a new server rule that anyone who does drugs is sent to hell forever and if he finds anyone high hes sending them to federal prison btw hes coming over rn ^^”

bro wrestles control of the aux and is like “let me play some calming music :)” and then plays his fucked up version of please hold

straight up sends his friends to his liminal ass waiting room while the drugs start to hit and conveniently “forgets” about them down there

“how much did you take? WOAH THAT MUCH??? oh no its ok. its ok. those are just the drugs that turned me into a watcher. lol no its ok it only hurts an excruciating amount. itll start pretty soon btw and it lasts for eight whole hours so strap in”

[cyanocoraxx]

can you show us all your snakesss pls

of COURSE!!

inti 🌈 - brazilian rainbow boa who i've had for 9 years, i got him when he was just a little hatchling and was my first snake! he can be grumpy sometimes but he's my ride or die snake. he's so fucking beautiful and smart. named after the incan sun god who would send rainbows as his blessing. about 6ft long now

latte ☕ - lesser morph royal python, i've had him for 7 years. he was being sold by some guy on preloved who was keeping him in a dirty, way-too-small plastic tub with no enrichment and nothing but a water bowl. he has a tail deformity and a head wobble but is overall just smashing life! his name comes from the fact that i was working in a coffee shop at the time. 4ft long

carmine 🌵 - rosy boa, i've had him for 6 years i think? i wanted a third snake and also wanted it to be a species that would be easy to care for and he's SO easy. he smashes his food, has never had any issues, overall just great! but he only has one brain cell and bites EVERY time he's held so. there's that <3 he's named after the carmine brothers from gears of war because i was obsessed at the time. like 2ft long maximum