#to make sense of a senseless world

[coffeecatcraze]

I'd just like to say that I love the way Heaven is constructed in Hazbin Hotel, because instead of a divine or even otherworldly place, it's a real-world broken government.

This system has remained unquestioned for so long that the people in charge of it have forgotten how it actually works; they've just been blindly going through the motions of it, never stopping to consider if maybe they should do more than just trust it to maintain itself. When Charlie tries to fight the system by adhering to the principles behind it instead of its current functionality (or lack thereof), she's resisted because the people up top are so comfortable with how it is that they don't dare risk changing it. They don't care about what the system is supposed to be or how it's supposed to work; they just want it to stay how it is, because that's what's been working for them all this time. Trying to get them to follow the idea behind the system instead of the mechanics they've settled into doesn't work because they don't want to change the status quo.

Not to mention the "preventative genocide" Sera consented to, because a government sending the army to slaughter people never has consequences. It never builds resentment, it never brings retaliation! Yeah, this is real shit that happens, and no one ever learns. Angels aren't perfect beings; they're making the same mistakes that humans do. Humans who would definitely end up in Hell, the place those same angels say is full of only irredeemable souls. The hypocrisy is dizzying because it's so realistic.

Heaven is just another corrupt government that got complacent, and there's something oddly beautiful about the realism of it.

[cookinguptales]

Thank you so much for the tarot reading you did for me a little while back 💜 i'm sorry it's taken me so long to say that! i do rather think you have prophetic gifts, by the way- it was spookily accurate and helped me a lot 🔮

No problem! I'm glad it was helpful to you!

I do tend to get at least one message like this every time I do a tarot night for my followers, and like... you are totally entitled to that belief! What do I know about psychic phenomena and prophecy anyway? lmao. Maybe I am psychic.

But personally, I believe that tarot has a high likelihood of speaking to us no matter what, if just because the archetypal nature of the cards means that they're dealing with problems that we all struggle with. We all have self-doubt, we all have complicated relationships with money, we all crave love of some kind. We all have trauma in our past and we all want to believe that this time, things could be okay.

One of the reasons I like tarot cards is because they are inanimate objects that we imbue with meaning. They were just playing cards, y'know? We're the ones that gave them power over us, and we did that by filling them with our own stories. We placed a mirror in those cards, and while mirrors can be used for scrying, they can also just be used to take a good hard look at ourselves.

If I say "oh, you've had money troubles in the past," who doesn't that apply to? Maybe I'm thinking about me, when we were homeless for a while when I was a kid. Maybe someone else is thinking about the money they lost to gambling last week. Maybe someone else, someone wildly wealthy, is thinking about a stock market crash that brought their five mansions down to two. Maybe a final person has just never had quite enough to make ends meet. God knows that describes a lot of people.

I like tarot because we can all look at the same spread and see something different. I see a story to tell to the best of my ability, and that's how I do readings. But for the people getting those readings, they're often looking into little mirrors and seeing how they reflect their own personal experiences.

Because, you know, we all see different things in the same mirror! That's how tarot works, I think. Maybe some people are a little better at reading things in that mirror and interpreting what they see there, but we all see something new and different and deeply, deeply personal when we look at those cards.

Love that for us.

[axstoria]

Bruce Wayne kisses like you're the last thread of sanity holding him to this world. He'll cradle your face in his hands, lips making long, languidly slow movements over your own. By the end of it, you're pushed against some kind of furniture and panting, while he's already leaving to pull on his cowl. It hurts to see him go, yet you know that he'll be home again to kiss you senseless until the world makes sense.

Richard Grayson kisses like he'll be dead tomorrow. Little pecks along your cheek, forehead, neck—anywhere he can get those plush lips on. He'll kiss you until you're both breathless, chests heaving and faces flushed. He'll love you until the day he dies, and he makes sure that you know that. Every day, he spends like it's his last, and every day, he makes sure to give you so many kisses, you're drowning in his love.

Jason Todd kisses like he doesn't know how. Sure, he's had a few hookups, especially during his early days as Red Hood, but he's never kissed a person like you. He loves you, it's as simple as that. With others, he is rough and fast, not knowing how to slow down and just enjoy the presence of the person beneath him. With you, all he can do is be gentle, because you're the only person who has stayed and loved him as the broken man he is.

Tim Drake kisses you like he's trying to study you. He'll nip at your neck and jaw just to see how you react, just to grin to himself as he observes the way you melt into him when his lips meet yours. He'll let his hands wander to see what makes you relax, what makes your lips stutter against his. He enjoys every interaction like you are his subject and he is the scientist. He needs to know everything. Knowledge calls for him in his blood, and you, his love, are the doorway to it.

AgedUp!Damian Wayne kisses expensively. He starts at your jaw, making soft motions towards your lips until he finally claims them with his own. His wide hands hold you in place by the waist and his dark hair tickles your skin. He'll take his time, loving on you the way you deserve. He knows just how to kiss you like he knows just how to kill a man. He kisses soft and slow, because why would he have to rush? He has his beloved in his arms, whispering his name against his lips; what more could he want?

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Treatment Plan

Last night was supposed to be harmless New Year’s Eve fun, partying with friends, dancing with strangers, and maybe finding someone to ring in the new year with. I remember dancing and taking shots with a really hot guy at some club where we'd shared a new year kiss. There's nothing else in my memory and I don’t remember when I passed out but I wake up alone in a medical examination room, naked, gagged, and strapped down to a bed with my arms above my head and legs spread wide.

The door opens and four men walk in. The first one I recognize is the hot guy I'd made out with. Except now, he has the look of a doctor, dressed in a white coat, wearing a stethoscope and holding a clipboard. The other three men are wearing nurses scrubs and not a single one acknowledges me as they step into the room and close the door behind them.

The doctor glances down at his clipboard and looks at me, smirking slightly. “It says here you’ve been admitted due to your issues with obedience and self-control. I promise we deliver the best results here, so you, darling, will be in tip-top shape in no time,” his voice is tinged with mockery and I try to shake my head and explain that this is all a mistake, that I have no idea what is going on, and I’m not supposed to be here.

“Day one of this treatment regimen helps us establish a baseline of what we’re working with and involves some sensory deprivation just to enhance the effectiveness but I promise, you’ll enjoy it,” he purrs, coming to stand next to my head before sliding a piece of fabric over my eyes. I struggle uselessly against the bindings, trying to dislodge the blindfold but it’s too secure to move. I feel hands hold my head in place before someone else slides headphones over my ears and suddenly, I’m blind and deaf to the world.

There is nothing to prepare me for what comes next, and no way that I can have any ability to sense what they plan to do to me. I can feel tears pricking at my eyes, absorbing into the blindfold when suddenly, I feel fingers trail along my ribs.

I let out a muted whimper, my body instinctively lurching in response. The feeling is so overwhelming and I’m absolutely senseless and helpless. The fingers linger around my hips and dig in gently, making me jerk uselessly in my bindings. It’s almost too much for my body to handle, the unknown touches, the horrible anticipation and suspense of not knowing anything at all.

Without warning, the fingers dig harder into my ribs, tickling me harshly and mercilessly. I wail behind the gag and thrash desperately, begging for it to stop to no avail. The fingers don’t let up and my entire world has narrowed to the unbearable sensations those fingers are drawing out of my bound body. There’s nothing I can do except endure it.

My wails have died down to little mindless whimpers as the tickling continues to ravage my ribs and hips when I feel the fingers pull away finally. I gasp for air, hoping that this torture is finally going to be over. Suddenly, I feel fingers brush against my underarms and I scream so hard my throat feels raw. I’m yanking and pulling at the straps holding me down but I’m bound too tightly. Tears are flowing freely into the blindfold as my body jerks. The fingers dig devastatingly into my underarms and I’m inconsolable. The tickling feels like electricity going straight into my nerves and it makes my mind hazy.

There’s no mercy and no stopping. The fingers find every vulnerable spot on my body and there’s nothing to stop the wretched tickling that’s making me want to curl into myself and disappear. There’s no acclimation to the feeling or becoming desensitized to it all. Every single movement feels like my body is dancing on a live wire and I have no choice but to experience every devastating feeling.

Another set of fingers finds their way to my hard nipples and I can barely draw in enough air to scream as the stimulation adds to the overwhelming feelings crashing through my body. Flicks against my nipples make me squirm and moan.

Then, my world lights up behind my blindfold when I feel fingers on my clit.

The combination of tickling at every sensitive spot on my body and the focus on my clit shatters me. Every single nerve is pulled open and vulnerable to unforgiving, relentless stimulation and I know I’m dripping wet onto the bed under me. It’s all too much for my brain to process. Every force on my body pushes me closer and closer to an orgasm and it’s unbearable.

A sudden flash of pain hits my clit as someone’s fingers sharply pinch my throbbing button and I wail as my orgasm barrels through my body. None of the stimulation lets up and the fingers on my clit continue to force waves of pleasure through my body while fingers everywhere else drive my orgasm even higher. I’m delirious and barely coherent between all of the different assaults of stimulation that wrack my body.

I feel the fingers on my clit pull away and I’m gasping and shaking. The tickling at my ribs and underarms doesn’t relent and I can barely catch my breath enough to sustain my sobs. Fingers brush against my inner thighs and I can’t help but whine, hearing only my wild heartbeat thudding in my ears.

Suddenly, there’s a vibrator slammed against my clit and my mind breaks. There are too many things going on but my whole being is driven to focus on the horrible vibrator pillaging my clit with no mercy. My next orgasm shoots through me with no warning, no build up, no gentle waves of pleasure. Just pure ecstasy shooting deep through my body, so hard that I can feel it in my bones and it renders me completely broken.

I have no concept of time or place as the torture continues. My body moves on its own accord as it struggles and trembles, futilely trying to avoid every touch. It could have been ten minutes or ten hours when everything finally fades away and all of the hands touching me are gone. I lie there, limp, unmoving, unthinking, barely conscious. It takes me an immeasurable amount of time to catch my breath, my body still feeling phantom aftershocks of pleasure and torment. I vaguely register the feeling of someone pulling the headphones off of my head and I’m able to hear again.

“Oh darling,” his voice is the first thing I recognize, “I suppose I forgot to mention, this treatment regimen has ten levels. And we can’t move on from level one until you learn to control your body and keep still during your treatments. Clearly we’re not going to get there today, but perhaps you’ll do better tomorrow. Otherwise, you’re in for a very long stay here…”

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Lucifer Kink Headcanons

Personal kink headcanons for the ducky boy Lucifer. Not doing the more obvious/universally accepted kinks. Instead I'm writing about some of my more... niche takes.

Lucifer Lactation Kink Post now available >>HERE<<

Contents/WARNINGS: Gender neutral reader, but is AFAB for the last section; all the kinky shit obviously; discussion of Lucifer and Lilith's past relationship; self hatred and self punishment because Lucifer desperately needs therapy (18+), MDNI, NSFW below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Exhibitionism/Public Sex ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

I have it imbedded in my head that Lucifer has a hardcore exhibition/public-sex kink that he tries desperately to keep under wraps. Especially now that Charlie and him are talking again.

He isnt... exactly good at hiding it however. The biggest tell is how he seems to have no shame with how horny he is for you. Lucifer will playfully smack your ass as you walk by each other or invite you to come sit on his lap in front of others. I'm not kidding when I say he has no shame.

What does catch you off guard however is how easily it is to convince the King of Hell of all people to have sex in places he is at risk of getting caught. Once you two have been dating awhile Lucifer may even start to suggest such things himself.

Its not that he wants to be seen fucking you, oh no; he wants to get caught bent in half with you fucking him senseless. He wants desperately to have his head buried between your legs, worshipping you, while your in the middle of work or even a meeting...

Lucifer will have you pinned against a wall, both of your lips desperate from teasing. Then Lucifer will just drop to his knees in front of you. You panic a bit, asking what he is doing. You both are in a hallway that anyone can walk into after all. Lucifer just smiles up at you and tells you to trust him; let him be a good boy and make you feel good.

An aspect of it is definitely a sense of self degradation/self hatred after everything that has happened to him; seeing himself as a pathetic cockslut, a whore who corrupted both of the first women. The other part is he wants to show the entire world just how good he is for you. How good he can make you feel. How much of a good boy he is for you. Only for you...

On that note...

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Humiliation ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

This might seem counterintuitive at first as the sin of Pride. But hear me out here. Like any kink, its a spectrum. For Lucifer, its not about actually disgracing the guy, no. Its about taunting him. Teasing, mocking; riling him up until he snaps and shows you just how good he can fuck.

As implied before, Lucifer is kind of a horndog when it comes to you. Especially when it comes to you. An easy way to rile him up is to start reciprocating his touches then pull back. This pairs wonderfully with his whole exhibitionism kink. True, he doesn't want to actually get caught, but he is more then willing to risk it.

Run your hand up his thigh under the table when you two are at dinner, position yourself just right so he gets an eyefull when you bend over, or start eating something a little too provocatively. Lucifer will be hard as a rock and eyefucking you immediately.

Then when Lucifer starts getting handsy, pull away. Whisper in his ear that he needs to be a good boy and wait until you get home as he whimpers in protest. Rinse and repeat.

By the time you two get home, Lucifer cant even wait until the door is closed before pouncing you. He had been waiting for so long it felt like. Now he wants to make both of you cum again and again, until neither of you can say anything but the other's name, and you never, ever, want to tease him like that again. (You always do of course.)

While Lucifer may be all about being a good boy, he can also be an absolute brat. Not even in the sexual sense, Lucifer just is snobbish without meaning to be. Like think when he first went to the Hotel and was struggling not to insult it then called Charlie's friends losers. Guy is just snooty.

This provides many wonderful opportunities to put him in his place. Quietly warn Lucifer that he needs to stop what he is doing or tone it down. Then if he continues, oohh will he regret it later. He had fair warning after all...

Later you'll have him bent over your knee, his hands bound and whole body jolting with every violent smack you give his ass. Lucifer's moans and sobs bleed into eachother as he promises not to do it again. Promises to do better.

Or you can edge him. Edge him until he is a sobbing, pleading mess. You tell him only good boys get to cum as you sit back and masturbate over his bound body. Lucifer writhes desperately begging to let him taste you, touch you, anything, as he ruts up into the empty air.

You can take pity on him. Finally letting the devil cum with you as he deliriously babbles praises and thank yous. Or. You can be the brat for once. See how far you can push him. Bringing him to the edge, over and over for hours. Every muscle in his body trembling uncontrollably, his eyes glazed and unfocused, bloodshot from all the tears. You finally let him cum when you hear him mumble pleads to heaven. Lucifer resorting to begging the place and people that had forsaken him long ago in his unhinged state.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

Panty Sniffing₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Look. We all know Luci is a pussy devourer. The man loves it and can't get enough of it. But that's been discussed to death and not why we are here.

He...isnt exactly sure when this started. Lucifer just knows that it happened at some point when Lilith and him were growing apart. Sex had become nonexistent between them; and Lucifer, not wanting to pressure or bother Lilith, started taking her used undergarments to help him fulfill his... needs.

Now that Lilith is out of the picture, Lucifer has been left with the aftermath of a mean panty sniffing kink. Oooo boy has she created a monster without realizing it.

Its the first thing on Lucifer's mind as soon as he takes an interest in someone. What kind of underwear are they wearing? What color? How long have they been wearing them? How wet are they?

This man has now been cursed with the knowledge of how well he can smell and taste the individual pussy that wore the underwear. Its like every pair has been embalmed with the essence of the person that wore it.

Lucifer doesn't like to think of himself as greedy, he will take what he can get. If that means swiping a pair of underwear from your laundry or even your room if he gets the chance, he will.

Lucifer will push the underwear into his face and inhale as deep as he can, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. God, you smell amazing. Now he is just even more desperate to taste you...

So he tries. Lucifer kitten licks at the inside, where your cunt would sit, deliriously trying to get a taste of you. Lucifer moans when he manages to get a hint of your essence. You taste even better then he imagined.

Lucifer feverishly shoves your panties into his mouth, using it as a makeshift gag. Both of his hands rush to his cock; rock hard and aching just from the small taste he got of you. No time is wasted.

Lucifer throws his head back, arching upwards, his hands almost violently working at his shaft. The normally obscene moans he would be letting out are now muffled whimpers.

Lucifer franticly sucks the fabric in his mouth, playing and swirling at it with his tongue. Pretending its actually you he is playing with, your beautiful pussy in his mouth. Lucifer's ministrations completely saturate the garment with his saliva. Rewarding him with every bit of your taste that could possibly be wringed out of the fabric.

If/when Lucifer does finally manage to bed you, he 100% nicks your panties. You might think its a trophy thing; and while that might be true in the tiniest percent, its actually because Lucifer wants them as a memento of the night with you. He wants them so he can relive that mindblowing night.

Lucifer will have the underwear wrapped around his hard-on, using it as a cocksleeve while he desperately fists his weeping member. His eyes are glazed over as his mind goes back to that night. God. He wants you. He wishes so bad you were his.

But he will take what he can get.

✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿‿✿°•∘୨୧∘•°✿

AN: This was supposed to go up like almost a full week ago but TUMBLR HAD TO BREAK ALL THEIR TAGS YAY

FURTHER READING ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

There is a really nice brat!Lucifer, overstimulation, and kinda-exhibition drabble >>HERE<< by @ratskinsuit

Ooorrr if you just want to hear a bunch of dirty talk, you can go to >>THIS POST<< that has a bunch of things Lucifer might say to you during sex by @gluttonybiscuits

[vintagegeekculture]

Everyone in Star Wars (1977), visible for even a second, has a backstory and possibly an action figure. One that notably does not have an action figure is the Prophetess, visible for a quarter second.

Desperate to give anyone a card and backstory from the original series films, the Star Wars card game invented a backstory for her out of thin air: they called her "the Prophetess," a psychic able to see the future with ominous visions of doom, who was investigating the situation as a sinister, uncanny, supernatural agent of the planetary governor, drawn to the events of the story as if by some supernatural power.

On screen, it was a one second appearance by an uncredited extra who still has not been found, but in the world of the novels and card games, the Prophetess became a sinister, tormented agent of a powerful man gifted, or perhaps cursed, with powers of prophecy that draw her to scenes of carnage. Her appearance is nothing less than an ominous omen, because if she is seen, it means death and tragedy are close by. The source of her psychic visions is unknown, but she presumably gained her powers from her association with Evil.

Little statements like these made your mind run wild with the possibilities. The Prophetess has been mentioned in other Star Wars media, an evil sorceress drawn to the presence of death.

I've always thought that Star Wars learned the wrong lesson from its pre-1996 fandom, that the source of the appeal of the movies was not in its relatable story, but in insanely detailed background minutiae. That made some of the more senseless and baffling decisions of the special editions, which put more weirdies in long shots waiving their arms and calling attention to themselves distractingly, make a kind of sense when seen in context. Star Trek fans are also like this, able to create an entire species from just one or two background characters (one of the significant characters on Discovery is a Saurian, a race never identified on air but showed up in the background of crowd scenes). But the difference between Wars and Trek is that Wars had so much less square footage of film to pour over.

Unfortunately, the Prophetess will most likely, never, ever get an action figure. It's for the same reason the Tonnika Sisters never will: if it is a character that has a human face, the actor must be paid for their likeness. So any "human" Star Wars background character is less likely to get a figure, especially if the original actress can't be located. Characters like BoShek are something of an exception.

[aquasoftware]

HOT PINK PANTIES…!! ★

Synopsis: One could put up with teasing for only so long before needing to pound you senseless, but Toji doesn’t fail to notice that him being vocal makes you feral.

CW: Dom! Toji/Sub! Reader implied multi rounds, lots of praise, degrading urself once, pet names : (Doll, good girl, pretty, angel, ma, mama), daddy kink, vocal Toji, dirty talk, doggystyle/reverse cowgirl, car sex, dick piercing! Toji (prince albert), breeding, creampie, edging, ass hickeys, begging, spanking, clit rubbing, profanity duh, unprotected sex, established relationship, etc/MDNI.

FT: Drabble

WC: 1.2k || Paring : Toji x F!Reader || M.L

"Oouh... Fuck, ma.." Your boyfriend lowly purred, making you partially bite your lip at his erotically laced voice. Toji was one who had rarely ever been vocal around you, so when he did let out a few moans here and there, boy did it make you weak in the knees.

And he knew what he was doing too, realizing whenever those exaggerated sounds were shoved out of his throat, something ignited in you, causing your beefy ass to rapidly jab back against his pelvis. Swearing up and down that if he recorded this in slow motion, the nefarious recoil would leave him dementedly hypnotized, but he was way too in the moment to pull out his phone right now.

The two of you have been going at it for who knows how long currently, plus Toji couldn't even wait until he got home with the way you were teasing him all night on your date. Besides, his needy little passenger princess also had the nerve to torture his poor hard cock while driving too.

Your boyfriend not bothering to warn you either already implied that you definitely had it coming, which was why the two of you had stopped on an empty roadside for your sore pussy to get pounded dumb in the backseat having the door kept wide open for a few potential passerby's; insanely grateful there were no other cars to be seen yet.

Smudging makeup on the light-colored seats without a care in the world, the only thing that you could focus on was your man's prince albert piercing continuously, nudging against that spongey-like g-spot inside of your velvet cunt.

"Mmngh, d—does my pussy feel good, daddy?" You asked breathlessly alongside whines slipping out, inquiring mind desprately craving his praise like it was the only thing on earth that mattered as drool trudged from underneath your glossy lips.

"Goddd, yes, Y/n, y'er squeezing my cock so fucking tight..." He fed you with affirmation well practically glorifying your body, while his fingers clung onto your hot-pink lacey panties sustaining an unhinged, swift pace, triggering you both to sense the traumatized car to aggressively shake.

"Haah, yeah, that's it, doll.. Fuck back." Toji arousingly demanded producing tiny goosebumps on top of your skin; his eyes slammed shut, engulfing in the heavenly experience at your pudgy fat butt, crushing his wide girth almost pushing his body back a couple of steps.

The way your boyfriend's tip-piercing kicked barbarically against every single sweet spot in those delicious walls, you were sure you were bound to cum just any minute. "Ohhh, s—shitt daddy, don't think I'ma last aah.." Stumbling back and forth on words, you cried out, becoming extremely close to orgasming as tears beaded up towards your lashline, scurrying to escape.

Both of you would probably need more than just two hands to count the number of rounds you've had yet. Toji had you creaming on his dick briskily each time; nobody could ever fuck better than him. “You comin'?" The black-haired man questioned; a lazy grin danced across his scarred lips.

"Mmph, yessss!" A long, amorous response dragged out of you, body on fire as it shook violently, aching arms falling limp on the seat, but still, your fingers began to chase at your plump clit, rubbing it with two fingers, aiding in an intense moment till Toji decided to pull out.

"Don't pull outtt, baby.." Whining at an intense orgasm, only slowly fading away simply because he relished in hearing you beg for him, hissing at the cold summer air that attacked your heated skin before he replied back.

"I wanna hear you beg first, mama." Toji cooed, patiently waiting for your reply, hearing a car whoosh past, doubting they could've seen anything going on anyway since it was nearly pitch black now the only light was a sprinkle of stars. Using a full hand, he harshly spanked your ass, providing an amused hum at the belligerent jiggle motion.

"Please, please, please, let me cum, daddy!" You urgently pleaded, dramatically gasping, when Toji boarderline slingshotted himself into your greedy sopping hole, angling deep at the right spot to instantly bring your climax back.

Muscles began to rhythmically convulse around his wide cock, forming it to twitch like a drum as your entire body began to shake. Noisy mewls spewed out of your plump lips, unable to control your hefty breathing, while your eyes moderately rolled back, leaving a dropped jaw beneath you.

"Such a good fucking girl," Toji praised with a slight groan,spanking your ass again, forcing you to jolt at the sudden action before he spoke once more to talk you through your high "Make a mess all over it, pretty." His words stroked your soul, giving you the push you needed to burst, compelling your spasming cunt to leave a thick ring of cum around your boyfriend's cock.

Pulling out, only to suck the soft flesh of your bubble butt, sinking his fingers into the tender, supple skin, creating dark hickeys everywhere. Toji tapped your leg, backing up, signaling you to get up for a small second, helping you stand on wobbly legs as he sat on the light-colored seat, recognizing the large damp patch you left from previous rounds.

Toji was always never completely done until he poured his seed into your womb. He patted his thigh for you to sit on his lap. A noticeable manspread appeared in front of your eyes. Strongly keen to please your man, you promptly hovered over his lap, aligning his cock to your still sensitive entrance, lightly squealing while you finally glided down.

You were so gorgeous from his point of view, watching the hair in the claw clip hop, scrunching your face as you bounced consistently, helping Toji eventually reach his own climax.

His balls vigorously tightened, grabbing your hips firmly enough to leave painful bruises bucking passionately into your core as the raspy moans and infiltration of sensual curses blew up out of his mouth, granting you motivation to bounce on his dick faster, hearing the skin-to-skin noises grow faster.

"I'm gonna breed you full angel. Is that okay?" Toji wheezed utterly out of breath, banking on your answer whether to cum inside or not, expecting his personally little fuck toy's approval.

"Yes, Toji, fill me up like 'm your filthy sluttt...!" You whinily implored, and who was Toji to deny that request? He thought, thrusting up a couple more times until broad ribbons practically buckets full of semen were released in your wholly bred womb, ending the night with a warm creampie.

Except for some odd reason for him, it was like finding an Easter egg, keeping it mentally noted: "Moan way more often when having sex with my girlfriend."

8/23/24 2:22 am

reblog for clear skin 🧏🏾‍♀️

[so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed]

I haven't really had the wits about me to write anything, and everything has already been said by people way more eloquent than me, but it's like I told Sus earlier today. I just miss him terribly.

I miss who he was, who he had the potential to be. I grieve for the boy who so desperately wanted to be liked, who just wanted to bring joy to the world. I grieve for the man who was so lost and will never get to be all those versions of himself he was supposed to grow into.

I am just so fucking sad. I'm sad there will never be new music. I'm sad he will never get to go on tour with an album he's proud of. I'm sad he won't be able to grow and learn that at the end of the day, what matters most isn't the approval of others but a deep sense of self love.

I'm angry too. I'm angry at the mob mentality and at the absolute senselessness of his death. I'm angry that it takes death for people to mellow out in their opinion about him. I'm angry that people refuse to take accountability and find others to blame.

I'm also so grateful. For this fandom, for all the people it brought me. For the friendships that have shaped me, even as an older fan. For the profound joy and profound impact they've had on our lives.

I don't know where to go from here. But I know that wherever life takes me, these boys will always be a part of it. This grief will always be a part of it, but so will the joy. The absolute sheer joy I've experienced, which makes this grief bearable. Because what a beautiful thing it is to grieve so deeply, to have loved so deeply.

I love you Liam. I love you Louis and Zayn and Niall and Harry. And I love you, this fandom, my friends, the people who have reached out to me, this community that I would never want to miss, even if it means I wouldn't be grieving now. Getting into this fandom is and will always be the best decision I've ever made.

[ohholydyke]

See the thing about fundamentalists and trads and Christian nationalists and MAGA evangelicals and ethnocratic bigots is that they render the faith so boring.

I take no issue with the fact that they would look at me and say that I’m not a member of the faithful because their faith is radically, inherently, ontologically distinct from mine. My God is too big and too loving and too esoteric to fit neatly into the gendered understanding of an authoritarian white father disciplining his children for not perfectly falling into lockstep. My Savior is the man who told the religious leaders “Caesar can have his idolatrous blood money, but give God your heart and your faith,” challenging the notion of an earthly ruler. My apostles wrote of the throne of man being empty—there are no masters or kings or governments, there is only Jesus Christ, Basileus Basileōn, king of kings. I believe in radical oneness with God through Christ—one flesh and one body, biblical marriage with the bridegroom whose flesh and blood make up the holy Eucharist. My faith is Queer, ancestral, esoteric, anarchist, insurrectionary, anticolonial, antiracist, unorthodox, disruptive, free. When I encounter the divine, or pray to the saints, or sit in the chapel to pray, I am experiencing communion with the sublime, in every sense of the word, the same presence that made the apostles fall to their faces before the transfiguration, that shaped the world from void, that animates the deep care and rage which boil into every aspect of my being.

When conservatives tell me I am not a Christian it is only because they cannot conceive of a Christ and a faith so big, so all encompassing, so beyond anything our human minds can comprehend, and they cannot conceive being in tune with this divinity and being left senseless by the knowledge that the divine above all else is us and loves us more than we could ever comprehend, such that experiencing this love is enough to leave one fundamentally, ontologically changed down to the fiber of their being. I feel sorrow for them. I pray that Christ may reach into their hearts and open their eyes, that they may see not only the horrors that they commit but also the deep love and freedom that awaits them through abandoning their fundamentalism and their bigotry.

Or, in other words, me every time I see another conservative Christian whining about how people aren’t doing Christianity right because they don’t adhere to a super narrow and watered down version of the faith:

[hoe4sports]

“Take my heart, dont break it”

Alexia Putellas x reader

A/N: You voted and picked Alexia. This is a series based on Myles Smith song called stargazing. No triggers. P2 here.

The fresh Barcelonian air was flowing into your hotelroom as you found yourself sat in the frame of the window m next to one of your teammates, Alexia Putellas. You were both sitting together in silence with your eyes closed soaking up the morning bliss. The sun was slowly waking up as the gentle rays felt like a warm cup of cocoa in December by the fireplace with a book and a blanket. Not too warm, not too cold. You were taking in all the fresh salty air you could possibly fit into your lungs before exhaling through your mouth. It felt blissful, peaceful; like a morning mindfulness class. You could smell the gentle strawberry scent from the tea Alexia had made you when you got up in time for sunrise. You and Alexia had known each other forever. You grew up with her and Alba next door and you had religiously played football with Alexia for your whole life. You did it all together: High school, college, Barcelona and the national team. You sat together on buses and flights. Even though she was entitled to her own hotel room as captain; she still wanted to partner up with you.

“Can I interrupt your peace?” Alexia asked as you opened up your eye to see her still in the same relaxed position with her eyes closed. “If you must” you said as you giggled. Alexia sighted. “No, no, go ahead big al” you corrected as you looked out on the beach below the hotel.

“I’ve been having some issue with Olga; she seems spaced out. She’s there, but she isn’t really there. It’s strange, I don’t really understand and she keeps insisting that everything is all good. I dont honestly know what to do.”

You could sense the tension in the room as the Catalan poured her heart out to you. It was like thunder from a crystal blue sky. They seemingly had the picture perfect relationship. Amazing vacations. Nice cars. Fancy dinners.

“It’s just, I know it’s selfish but I can’t stop my mind from wondering if she is cheating on me. She’s always on her phone, and she deleted her location off of the life360 app.”

You spent a second figuring out what words Alexia wanted to hear and what she needed to hear. It was clear as day that you needed to knock some common sense into her. Who would cheat on one of the hottest women in the world of football? Nobody could ever be able to commit to adultery without anyone taking notice of their famous girlfriend.

“Ai, Ale. Do you want me to tell you what you want to hear or what you need to hear? Pick your poison capitana.”

You looked over at her. She was still sitting in the sun in the window while taking on the fresh air. Her chest rhythmically rising. Her brown eyes were still closed and her blonde hair was up in the messiest Lucy Bronze style bun you could imagine making the sight of her almost wanting you to giggle.

“Hm, buena pregunta…Tell me what I need to hear.” Alexia said softly as she opened up her eyes to look at you showing off her worried grin. Her body language changed. Like she was getting ready for a fight.

“Estúpida, Olga loves you! She adores you. She practically worships the ground you walk on. You need to talk to your girlfriend, and you need to tell her what you told me.” You finished as you looked at her with an attitude.

Later that day at practice, you were doing drills with Claudia. It was evidently warmer now, and you had popped off your shirt to avoid getting overly warm. You kept passing the ball at the right time in the right height to help Claudia with her first touches. It was always fun working with Claudia. Her humor was incredible and if her humor didn’t do the job; her infections laugh would. As you passed the last ball to Claudia, she ended up whacking the ball senseless and the ball went flying into the open field. It caused you to laugh hysterically as Claudia flopped down on the grass. Claudia was a vibe; you got along so well and she’d been like your little sister.

The next practice begun at the gym, and it was individual programs. You, Alexia, Claudia and Ingrid has the same program for the day meaning that you partnered up together. You noticed that Alexia seemed distracted. At first, she had placed the weights in the bench press without securing them causing them to go flying off the pole. The next situation was when she tried filling her waterbottle from the water cooler and she overfilled in for a good 10 seconds before she caught the little spill. The last situation was when Claudia was doing squats and Alexia was supposed to be spotting her right side as you spotted the left. The weights were a little heavier than what Claudia normally lifted so you expected her to need assistance. After four lifts, Claudia went for the fifth and it caused her to fail. You grabbed the pole from the left side as the younger girls hands were wobbly violently to hold up the other side of the pole. Alexia didn’t caught on. “Alexia” No answer. “Alexia for fucks sake, help!” You yelled causing Ingrid to shove her away to help you with the spotting.

In the warderobe that afternoon after everyone left, you decided to stay behind and talk to Alexia again. Alexia liked taking her time in the shower so it wasn’t uncommon for her to be the last woman standing. You approached her as she stepped out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around her lower half leaving her chest open.

“Ale, you have been distant. You could’ve caused an injury. What’s going on?” You crossed your arms as you stood in front of her with a stern look on your face. The feeling you had wasn’t something you could shook away easily. You just couldn’t act in situations that maybe had happened. That wouldn’t be fair to Olga or Alexia.

“Ai, Y/N, it’s just hard. I’m in my head and Olga is too busy to talk. I cannot shook the feeling I’m having in my gut. But I need to trust Olga, right?”

You nodded. Olga hadn’t done anything that wouldn’t give her chance to explain herself. For all Alexia knew, this was all just a big misunderstanding.

Olga was amazing, you knew her from before her and Alexia started dating, and they were perfect for each other. Olga was always so perfect, almost to the point where it annoyed you. Olga was picture perfect and rarely looked out of line or did Alexia wrong. Alexia’s observations were however not unlikely. A few weeks ago you went to a new restaurant with Claudia, and you could’ve sworn you saw Olga with another woman. You couldn’t be sure though because you had excused yourself to the bathroom to get a better look, but when you got out of the bathroom; The mystery woman was out of sight. Quite frankly, she had also been out of mind.

That was until now however, but it couldn’t have been Olga. Olga was sweet, genuine and had a heart of gold. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what Alexia had said, but you could also not tell her that you might saw Olga. You were having an internalised conflict of trying to decided whenever to tell her or not. You didn’t want to seem pushy and like you didn’t like Olga, but you didn’t want Alexia’s heart to break either.

At least, that was the lie you continued to tell yourself.

[essaytime]

A lot of productions (or production ideas) for Romeo and Juliet come up with elaborate aesthetics for both of the feuding families, and there is definitely a charm as well as a large degree of blessed creativity to this, but honestly, the more I think about the play, the more I feel the most resounding choice with me, given the play's meaning, would be to make the Montagues and the Capulets' costumes very, very similar. Almost identical - the same silhouettes, materials, everything. Have the only thing signalling which family it is be a ribbon or band tied around the arm, a particular embellishment at the collar of a dress or shirt, maybe some item of clothing that's easy to take off, like a vest or small cape, or a scarf. Maybe aside from the Lords and Ladies of both surnames, they could wear something that's entirely in their family's chosen colours/symbols, but the rest of the family and their supporters? Just these details. Because that's really one of the things that hit so hard in the text: there is literally no reason for the feud. There's no logically existing divide. We have two influential families of equal standing, who live by the same customs, whose children probably have the same education, who employ people with the same mindset and themselves presumably have the same mindset. They could very well live beside each other, they could very well switch places and be each other. These poor teenagers in Romeo and Juliet are forced to live in a world shaped by something that just doesn't exist. And they're mistreated, and they struggle, and they die - at more or less fourteen or fifteen! - for something that doesn't exist. Because at this point there is no reason to go on with this conflict, if there even was one in the first place, which I doubt. I think there is a lot of sense in the fact that we never learn why the Capulets despise the Montagues and vice versa. I wouldn't be surprised if during the time of the play there was just no one that could remember it. But still, this conflict, this absolutely empty, pointless, senseless conflict, wrecks the community of Verona, pitting citizens against each other and leading to innocent kids dying. And I think if I were directing the play, that's the thing I would emphasise: that they are really the same. Have Lord Montague make a similar scream, speak in a similar tone mourning his son as Lord Capulet did mourning his daughter. Have the servants at the beginning of the play use exactly the same gestures and mannerisms. Have the dear uninvited party-sneakers get along with Capulet youth at the ball and genuinely have fun together. And have the citizens at the end be all the same in their surprise and grief, virtually indistinguishable save for this ribbon or embellishment they can just rip off of their costume, becoming one whole crowd. All of these people could pass each other, say hello, gossip on the street with no problem - if it weren't for these details that somehow make them part of two different entities. For there is no border between the Capulets and the Montagues other than the artificial one they try to create themselves. And people die for it.

[strawb3heart]

Love actually!

Part 1

warning: just a bit of swearing maybe, a bit short??

Summary: The one where Lando Norris lies to a girl he just met who happens to then turn into his friend or something else..

As the days went by, Lando Norris found the perfect company. Although when he arrived in the small town he wasn't looking to find someone, it turns out that sometimes things don't go as planned, but much better. "If it's not too much of an intrusion, do you plan to stay here long?"

"Why? Do you want me to leave already?" the boy said in a playful tone causing the girl to shake her head laughing "Your work sounds serious, that's why I wanted to know"he gave her a small smile while still shaking his head

"In that case, I still have a couple of weeks free" ​​the weight of the lie was increasing little by little, making the brown-haired boy reconsider whether he should tell the truth

"If so, would you like to visit the lighthouse? It's a bit far and the walk might be hard for some, but if you're up for it, Elio would like you to come with us." Y/n explained, noticeably nervous under the man's attentive gaze

"Only him?" that comment made the blonde give her a confused look "Only Elio would like me to accompany you?" After that, a nervous giggle escaped the girl's lips "I think we both know the answer to that, Max"

When their eyes met, he knew it was the perfect moment, the moment he was waintig for, so he slowly cupped the face of the girl between his hands, leaning to give her a sweet and soft kiss.

"Then, I can't disappoint both of you, I'll go with you" And, as he said, Norris was more than thrilled to go hiking with Y/n and her little one.

What he didn't knew was how that was going to end. And now, the "date" was just a completely bittersweet blur.

Perhaps he forgot what the lie would cost him or maybe he just didn't think it through. But now, it was sure that neither Y/n or Elio would want him in his life.

The date was supposed to be a fun getaway enjoying the sunset and the afternoon, but when a group of fans recognized him, everything shattered.

"You lied to me" the tone in her voice was low, showing just how broken the girl seemed. "Y/n, it wasn't like that, I just, I didn't know if you would want me near you or Elio if you had already known who am I"

"Lando, you cannot just invent a name and a fucking fairytale of how your life is" She yelled while the man seemed to be taken aback, she never acted like that before "I need to take care of Elio, guard his security, and you just proven me that you don't even care about that"

"Elio freaked out when all those people appeared, couldn't you think of my child's sake before creating this kind of lie you thought you'd pull through"

Lando Norris remembered every single word the blonde had said to him. And that memory seemed to be haunting him constantly. He would give the entire world just to go back to the day it all started, to change how he had the audacity to lie.

But deep down, she knew the girl was right. The little one started crying just as all the flashes of the cameras and the yelling started. Even when he tried to shush everyone, sensing the fear in Y/n's and Elio's eyes.

Now, Norris had only one day left in Portofino. And he knew exactly what he was going to do

"You shouldn't be here" Y/n said in a rather dry way "I'm aware that I messed this up, seriously Y/n" he started to talk "But I have to tell you the truth, all of it"

"I traveled here because of the chaotic environment, and I was just looking for a relaxing holiday. But when I met you and this little one" He said squeezing softly Elio's hand "Everithing changed, and I didn't want to drag all that chaos to our new friendship"

"I know I did the wrong thing in lying to you, and I guess I was also afraid you wouldn't want to date someone who's constantly involved in senseless dramas."

"If you can forgive me, and I really hope you can, I'll be here until noon, you know where to find me"

Saying that, Norris was just about to leave when a cold hand grabbed his arm, avoiding him to continue walking.

"You cannot just say that and leave, Norris" she said while laughing softly "I understand you, at least I think I do, but if we want to make this work, we need to avoid lies"

"Whatever you say ma'am, your wish is my command" He was smirking while the girl blushed subtly

Love was such a wonderful thing and the fact thatbthe couple had met just by accident was a simple prove that love actually is, all around.

Taglist: @justheretoreadthxxs @hadids-world @hc-dutch @hard4ndsoft @cmleitora

dunno if it was too short but I was running out of imagination w this one, sorryy 😭

requests are always open 🌷

[starrierknight]

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥

You have a bad habit of breaking your favourite toys.

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 1.8k

pairing— cruel!dom!gn!reader x sub!megumi

cws/tags— dubcon, dumbification, mindbreak, dehumanisation/objectification, humiliation, S&M, dacryphilia, overstimulation, pegging, heavy degrading, backshots to prone bone, strap is referred to like real anatomy, multiple orgasms, face fucking/strap sucking, choking/gagging, (strawberry) flavoured condom, hairpulling, megumi passes out, dialogue heavy, plot what plot

“You are the most pathetic excuse for air I’ve ever fuckin’ met. Taking my cock time after time as your pretty eyes roll back into your skull. What were you even made for? The only use you have is being fucked senseless, like the dumb doll you are.”

You rammed your cock into Megumi’s tight hole again and again, your hands digging spitefully into his petit waist, nails leaving the cutest little irritated crescent marks on his pale skin.

Megumi's body writhed beneath you, his skin flushed and glistening with sweat in the dimly lit room. His hands scrambled to grip the silk sheets, their fine threads biting into his palms as if they were the only tether keeping him grounded in this world of cruel, yet intoxicating, pleasure. With each of your movements, his body quivered and jolted, his muscles tensing and relaxing in sync with your desires. The air around you seemed to shimmer with the heat radiating from his feverish body, and the scent of passion hung heavy in the room.

The sound of his ragged breaths filled the air, punctuated by desperate moans that spilled from his lips like a symphony of longing. His voice, raw and desperate, called your name in a fervent plea for more.

“Ngh…! P-Please… Harder, harder—oh, fuck!” he cried out, his features contorting in exquisite pleasure, his eyes half-lidded and fixated on the sinuous play of shadows on the ceiling as your fervent pace quickened.

“You’re just some toy I keep around, Megumi. That’s all you are,” you taunted, your thrusts gaining intensity, the sight of his flushed skin and the feeling of his body tensing under your grip fueling your desire.

The room was a symphony of intimate sounds—the rhythmic slaps of flesh meeting flesh, punctuated by lewd, borderline perverted moans escaping Megumi's lips. Each moan was like a crescendo, echoing the rhythm of your movements, as if harmonising with the bed's creaks and groans of protest.

“Mmm…! I’m gonna—”

“Again? So soon after the last?”

His body was a canvas of sensation, the sweat-sheened skin decorated with goosebumps, and his eyes, a mix of desire and vulnerability, locked onto yours as he teetered on the edge of ecstasy. The room seemed to vibrate with the intensity of the moment, every nerve ending alive with the impending release.

“Please, please, p-please…”

Your fingers grazed his skin, electrifying his senses further, the anticipation mounting like a tightly wound spring. He felt the warmth of your breath against his ear, sending shivers down his spine, as if your words were a delicate touch igniting fireworks within him.

“Make a mess for me.”

You laughed at him, the sound a wicked melody in the charged air, and with your consent, he let go, surrendering to the throes of pleasure that rippled through his body like an intoxicating wave, crashing against the shores of his consciousness. His cum spilled out over the silk sheets from his ignored cock, further ruining them as he moaned your name like a mantra.

Megumi’s body twitched and heaved, the sheen of sweat reflecting the dim light in the room. The strained muscles on his torso quivered with every pant, his chest rising and falling in a desperate dance for air. The flickering candlelight painted his contorted expression, a mix of pleasure and pain, in a chiaroscuro of shadows and light.

Without stopping, you continued to thrust deep inside—at a slower pace this time, savouring the feeling of each powerful stroke, ensuring to stretch and fill every inch of him. He choked out a moan and a gasp, biting down onto the sweaty bed sheets to muffle his cries. His body, an orchestra of sensation, responded to the duet of pain and euphoria, every nerve ending electrified by your touch.

Tears brimmed in his blue eyes and spilled down his flushed cheeks, their salty trails marking the path of his endurance. He writhed and tried to claw away from you, the heat and intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. But you held him in place, your grip unyielding.

“Oh, get a fuckin’ grip, will you? Quit crying—good dolls don’t cry. Stay still and take it,” you sneered.

You outstretched your dominant hand, the play of shadows accentuating the power in your grip, as you laced it into the thick, black locks of Megumi’s hair. The sensation of his hair slipping through your fingers was oddly exhilarating, a tactile reminder of the control you exerted. You yanked him towards you as you kept going, the look of anguish mingling with desire on his flushed face, a compelling portrait of submission.

He yelped and squealed in pain, the sound filling the room, a jarring symphony to the relentless thrusts. His voice echoed the sharpness of your actions. The room felt charged with the raw energy of dominance and submission, every gasp and whimper like a brushstroke on the canvas of the night.

“No, please… Too much… Too much,” he whimpered, each word laden with ache, tears mingling with the sheen of sweat on his trembling skin.

All you did was scratch your nails against his scalp, the sensation sending shivers down his spine, as you pounded into him more harshly in response. He screamed out in surprise, the melding of pain and pleasure coursing through him as he shivered.

“You’re my little plaything, aren’t you? That’s the only use there is for you,” you snickered, a cruel sound that reverberated through the room.

“No… No, please… Please…”

The dim light cast eerie shadows on his tear-streaked face, contorted in a mixture of pain, longing, and fear.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’ll keep you around to play with, doll,” you remarked, the callousness in your voice making the air feel heavy and suffocating.

You sped up your relentless pace, the rhythm a torturous reminder of his helplessness. He felt that all too familiar heat shooting down his back and to the tips of his fingers and toes, making them curl in anguish. Although, unlike before, this heat scorched, and burned, and scalded—a cocktail of pleasure and agony that sent him reeling.

“You’re just here for me to use.”

Hot tears streamed down his face, mingling with the sheen of sweat that adorned his trembling body. Each moan and scream that escaped his lips was desperate and raw, begging for release, but begging for torment.

His body, made so utterly weak by the sweet torment of your cruel hands, gave out. His once firm knees buckled, and he slumped against the plush pillows and tangled blankets of the bed, reduced to a trembling heap of exhaustion.

“Already tired, are you? Need to lay down?” you mocked with a sing-song quality to your voice.

Megumi’s exhaustion didn’t deter you, though. You adjusted your position and his, manoeuvring his spent limbs until he lay prone on the mattress, his body a quaking mess. The dim light played on his slick, sweat-sheened skin, tracing the curves of his toned form in a dance of shadows and highlights.

Without missing a beat, you continued to pump his willing hole with unyielding force, the rhythm a relentless reminder of his submission. Each movement elicited moans and whimpers from him, his voice a symphony of surrender and pleasure, the fabric of the sheets beneath him absorbing his cries. The air thick was with the scent of sweat and desire, the sensation of skin against skin electrifying every nerve ending.

He let out a loud, whiney moan as he came again, but with no more to spare. His body convulsed, his muscles trembling from the relentless pleasure, as incoherent words and babbling escaped his swollen, spit-covered lips. 

You, undeterred by his climax, kept thrusting into him with unyielding determination. Your eyes roamed over the crumpled sheets, inspecting them for any further evidence of his release, the remnants of his pleasure a testament to the intensity of the moment.

“Seriously? You’re cumming dry? Great, now your cock’s spent… At least you’ve got a working mouth,” you remarked.

You pulled out of Megumi, and he let out a muffled whimper, the sound barely escaping the plush pillows and tangled sheets. The softness of his plea seemed to amuse you, and your laughter danced in the air.

With effortless strength, you dragged his tired, limp body across the bed so his head dangled off the edge, the world spinning from his inverted perspective. His glazed-over eyes stared up at you, a mix of exhaustion and desire, their vulnerability laid bare.

“Aw, you’re like a ragdoll! Too fucked dumb to even move or bitch about taking my dick anymore,” you taunted, your smirk a potent reminder of your power over him.

Reaching over to your bedside table, you grabbed a package of condoms and used your teeth to rip open the strawberry-flavoured one. You tossed the wrapper to the side after rolling it over your cock. You approached Megumi, taking his face in your hands, and carefully pushed it between his lips. He choked and gagged, more tears welling up in his eyes, but he was too blissed out to move or protest.

“Aw, is it too big for you? Choke on it.”

And so he did.

You fucked his mouth while ramming your dick into his mouth and bruising his throat with the aid of his hair. His gorgeous pink tongue drooled on his lower face as he sucked on it, his taste buds only dimly recognizing the condom you had rolled on, which was his favourite artificial strawberry flavour. 

He panted and begged for air as tears streamed down his cheeks as he whimpered and gagged tiredly around your dick as it rhythmically entered and retracted from deep down his throat. All the while, his hips instinctively thrusted into the open air, searching for that impossible pressure, that impossible release.

“Look at you go, doll. Finally the perfect, pretty toy for me,” you grinned.

One of your hands reached down and wrapped around his neck, forcing the air out as you continued to fuck his throat, rough-grip his hair, and ram your dick into his soaked open mouth. As Megumi strained for air, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and you could see the warmth run from his cheeks down his neck and all the way to his chest.

You laughed as you continued to forcefully thrust yourself into his throat. His eyes rolled back and fluttered closed as a result of your cock being so far in his throat and your hand being around his neck, which you observed with perverse interest. 

He fainted.

Pleased with your work, you withdrew from his mouth and kneeled down to his level and kissed his cheek, listening to his faint breathing.

You smiled to yourself. “You’re broken for good, so no one else can play with you. Not like I do, at least. You’re all mine.”

a/n: I woke up in a foul mood today and I have made the executive decision to make it Megumi's problem. Happy Kinktober! :)

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

[yandere-romanticaa]

Recently, the surge of AI has caught everyone's attention and I've been working on this little experiment.

Down below the cut are two fics and this is how I planned it - one was made up by using AI (more specifically, Chat Gpt) while the other one was written by yours truly. Below both fics will be a poll and I would like for you, my dear readers, to guess which one was AI. Personally, I don't think it'll be a difficult challenge but seeing your reactions and comments on this should prove to be an interesting endeavor.

This was posted on April 17th. And, in 7 days, I shall reveal which fic was written by me, and which one was done by AI.

Now then, let's get on with the show.

🥀 Story One.

In the dimly lit alleyways of Yokohama, Fyodor Dostoevsky stalks his obsession, (y/n), with unwavering determination. His fixation transcends reason, driving him to extreme lengths to possess (y/n)'s affection.

Fyodor's obsession with (y/n) began innocently enough, a mere curiosity sparked by their untapped potential and innocence. But as time passed, that curiosity twisted into an all-consuming desire, festering within Fyodor's mind like a venomous serpent.

Each night, Fyodor would follow (y/n) from a distance, his heart pounding with anticipation and longing. He would watch as (y/n) laughed with their friends, oblivious to the dark presence lurking in the shadows.

But Fyodor's love was not the gentle, nurturing kind. It was possessive, suffocating, and dangerously obsessive. He couldn't bear the thought of (y/n) belonging to anyone but him, couldn't stand the idea of anyone else basking in the warmth of (y/n)'s smile.

As his obsession deepened, Fyodor's mind became consumed with dark fantasies of possessing (y/n) completely. He would spend hours meticulously planning every detail of their future together, envisioning a life where they were inseparable.

But fantasies were not enough for Fyodor. He needed to make them a reality, no matter the cost. And so, he began to weave a web of deception and manipulation, carefully orchestrating events to bring (y/n) closer to him and drive away anyone who dared to stand in their way.

But as Fyodor's plans grew more elaborate, so too did the danger. (y/n)'s friends grew suspicious of Fyodor's intentions, sensing something sinister lurking beneath his charming facade. And as they delved deeper into Fyodor's past, they uncovered secrets that threatened to unravel his carefully constructed world.

But Fyodor was not about to let anyone come between him and his beloved. He would do whatever it took to protect their love, even if it meant resorting to violence.

🥀 Story Two.

Shimmering waves of starlight engulfed the man in white as he monitored his target from a safe distance, hollow purple eyes gleaming with excitement. He could feel his long fingers twitching with anticipation in his warm pockets, a stark contrast to the chilly wind on this fine spring evening.

He needed to be patient. Because patience was indeed, a virtue.

And Fyodor was a virtuous man. Perhaps not a good one, but he would gladly take the title of virtue.

Would you bestow upon him such a title? Would you do so, if you ever found out that he had taken such a keen interest in you? The rational part in his mind said no, of course not. Unlike him, you were blessed with normalcy. There was nothing extraordinary about you - no ability, no wealth, no status.

Nothing.

You could have been squished like a bug beneath his heel and the world would just keep on going as it always would. Sure, there would be some individuals who would miss you dearly but even they would move on at some point.

Such was the nature of humanity. How cruel, he thought to himself.

Fortunately for you, Fyodor was no ordinary man. Despite his predicament, he had grown fond of you. He was not sure why but after a while, he stopped asking such trifling questions as to why he troubled himself by giving you so much attention.

It was pointless to make sense of the senseless.

Right here, right now, all he wanted was to enjoy this quiet evening by his lonesome, as he tailed behind you like a creeping shadow. He would reveal himself to you properly when the time was right, when he felt you were strong enough to take him.

Fyodor just needed to wait a little bit longer, just long enough to see how he should proceed with you in case things went south.

In the meantime, he would gladly spend every waking moment simply watching you for his own personal pleasure.

🥀 TAGS: @yanroma, @oneoftheprettynerds, @misdollface, @sxy0ung, @rosemary108233, @c4xcocoa, @gettinshiggywithit, @ophticcus, @lakxcpsta, @ranposgirlboss, @robinaxolotl, @acornwinter, @enoojnij, @ishqani, @osachiyo, @bluepeanutharmony, @kaithegremlin, @fyodorscockslut, @wcayaw, @luna-mariko-akatsuki, @lovelyyz, @queenofspades403

APRIL 24TH - Story One is AI.

[drgnmnts]

knuckles bruised (like violets) │ jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!OC

Title: knuckles bruised (like violets)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!OC (Daenys Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Alicent Hightower)

Summary: There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, especially for those caught in between, longing only for peace as they're met with fire and blood.

_______________________________________________

Chapter 1 - Child's Play

Word count: 1.7K

Born during a warm summer storm, Daenys Targaryen came into the world only one year after her brother Aemond, unaware that her arrival would be met with her father’s painful indifference and an ever-present frown on her mother’s brow. Daenys spent the first years of her life wondering what it could be that made her parents treat her so. The possibility of being an unwanted child quickly dissipated after Daeron was welcomed with warm caresses and kind smiles. She considered that her gender might be the reason for such treatment, but her mother doted on Helaena, and every one of her peculiarities was watched endearingly by the rest. Daenys even proved herself extraordinary when, at the age of nine, she claimed Silverwing, one of the largest dragons in the history of Westeros. This achievement earned her the praise of her uncle Daemon and the jealousy of Aemond, but to her mother, it was just another source of worry rather than a remarkable feat.

The answer came to her one morning as the maids made her and Helaena’s beds, unaware that she was still in the room, looking for a book: she resembled Rhaenyra too closely in her youth. Unfortunately, there was nothing Daenys could do to fix the issue her parents saw in her, for it was intrinsic to her very being. To her father, she was a disappointment, a feeble attempt at replacing the realm’s former delight; to her mother, a constant reminder of the girl she grew up with, a friend turned adversary she both despised and deeply missed in equal measure.

It was oddly liberating for Daenys to realize that it wasn’t something she had caused or could change, making any blame directed towards her utterly senseless. With time, Daenys learned to ignore their judgmental gazes, cutting remarks, and outright indifference. It hurt, yes, but Daenys was a dragon, and dragons had thick skin—thicker even than the armor of Aegon the Conqueror. 

She was now eleven, still a girl, but one who carried herself with regal composure and a dignity beyond her years. Daenys had long lost interest in her sibling’s squabbles or her nephew’s frolics: she only found true enjoyment in riding Silverwing. Her dragon was a magnificent beast, doing justice to her name with her silver scales that covered the entirety of her body, surpassed in size only by the old and mighty Vhagar. Unlike Laena Velaryon’s dragon, Silverwing was an affable and docile creature, considered friendly by the Dragonkeepers, which made sense given that her previous rider had been Good Queen Alysanne. Claiming Silverwing had given her a sense of belonging she had yearned for in her early childhood, reminding her that it did not matter what others saw in her: she was a Targaryen princess in her own right, a unique dragonrider with her own life and her own story. She might resemble her half-sister, but she was not her. 

Despite her obvious inability to treat Daenys as she deserved, Queen Alicent found comfort in her daughter’s disregard for the Velaryon boys.  This indifference was, of course, a result of the poison Alicent had been dripping into Daenys’ ear all her life, perhaps in an attempt to draw her girl away from Rhaenyra as much as possible. The Queen was fearful that her daughter would discover she had more in common with the King’s firstborn than just appearance, and her sons were the first tie she made sure to cut before it could bind them together. Thus, while Helaena played with little Lucerys and Aegon bickered with Jacaerys, Daenys simply ignored them, regarding the bastard boys as unworthy of her attention.

As Silverwing landed in the Dragonpit, her song alerting the Dragonkeepers that the Princess had returned from her morning ride, Daenys was met with her brother Aemond already there, watching. The egg placed in his cradle at birth had never hatched, and the boy still hadn’t found the courage in him to claim one of the wild ones. Daenys often thought about how unfair it was, since Aemond was more than eager to be a dragonrider, yet he might never know what it feels like to bond with one.

“Mother is cross with you,” he informed his sister as she patted Silverwing’s head, the dragon answering with a contented murmur. 

“I wonder why,” Daenys replied, showing no sign of concern over her brother’s words.

“You didn’t break your fast with us. You know she does not like it.”

“Ah, yes… I didn’t want to listen to them fighting about Rhaenyra’s baby,” she said, “has she had it yet?”

Aemond nodded and walked with his sister through the dark corridors connecting the Dragonpit to the Red Keep, his back straight, always trying to make himself look taller than he actually was.

“Yes. Another boy. Healthy and strong.”

At her brother’s comment, Daenys snorted. It was an ongoing joke between her and her brothers how Rahenyra’s offspring looked nothing like Laenor Velaryon and way too much like Ser Harwin Strong, the Commander of the City Watch. It was an insult to the realm, something Daenys condemned greatly, often using her mother’s words when discussing the issue with her siblings.

“I’ll apologize to mother, then. She must be upset enough as it is,” the girl stated, stopping at the door to her chambers. She was in urgent need of a bath, especially if she was planning to visit her mother. “I’ll be studying with Helaena in the afternoon, if you’d like to join.”

Aemond shook his head, his eyes kind when he looked at his sister. 

“Aegon’s asked me to accompany him to see how they feed Vermax. I don’t want to, but…”

“It’s alright, Aemond. Your moment will come, I’m sure of it,” she comforted him. “I wish mother would let us sail to Dragonstone… you could try to claim Vermithor. He coils with Silverwing when we fly to the Dragonmont, but never lets me get close.”

The idea had crossed Aemond’s mind more times than he cared to admit: their great-grandfather, Jahaerys I, had ridden Vermithor, just as his sister-wife Alysanne had ridden Silverwing. Their reign had been a peaceful and prosperous one, and the pair had loved each other dearly. It was a nice thought, one that Aemond indulged in whenever he pictured himself as a man: riding one of the largest dragons in the world, with his sister by his side.

A beautiful dream, but a childish one.

The door opened suddenly, a maid letting the Princess know that her bath was ready. With a squeeze on his arm, Daenys said goodbye to her brother and disappeared behind the heavy wooden doors.

_______________________________________________

Queen Alicent was too busy feeling outraged by Princess Rhaenyra’s indecency, so Daenys avoided her mother’s scolding without much effort. Daenys was sitting next to Helaena, who was lost in her thoughts, explaining the various facts she knew about the bug she was examining. It was obvious that Alicent found her daughter’s explanations odd and perhaps a bit disturbing, but Daenys appreciated that at least her mother was making an effort to understand her, something that most people chose not to do. Listening to her sister’s voice, Daenys paid little attention to the book resting on her legs, a story about Valyrian customs. Helaena was a good sister, despite her distant mind and how little they had in common: where Daenys was daring and audacious, Helaena was calmer and gentler, both in speech and action. Sometimes, Daenys wished she could be a bit more like her sister; perhaps that way her mother would love her a little more.

“It has eyes, though… I don’t believe it can see,” Helaena explained, the centipede walking freely through her hands.

“And why do you think that is?” their mother asked.

“It is beyond our understanding,” she replied.

“Perhaps to cry for its own ugliness,” Daenys joked, and she could have sworn she saw the ghost of a laugh cross her mother’s features.

The door burst open, and a guard stepped inside the room, carrying Aemond by the arm. He was crying and covered in ash.

“After how many times you’ve been warned, must I confine you to your chambers?!” their mother scolded him, grabbing him by the arms to ensure he was unharmed.

“I just-,” he tried, but was quickly cut off by Alicent.

“What were you doing down there alone?”

Aemond’s eyes darted towards Daenys, which was enough for Alicent to draw her own conclusions.

“Again?!” she roared, letting go of Aemond and speeding toward Daenys. She grabbed her arm and pulled her up by the sleeve of her dress. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop filling your brother’s head with fantasies about those beasts?!”

“I didn’t! I just told him he would claim a dragon someday, it’s not-”

“As if he needed more encouragement!”

The grip Alicent had on her daughter’s arm started to hurt, and tears began to prickle at the corners of Daenys’ eyes.

“Mother, it wasn’t Daenys,” Aemond tried to defend his sister. “She encouraged me to claim a dragon, yes, but I wouldn’t have gone down to the Dragonpit had it not been for their teasing…”

“Whose?” the Queen inquired.

“Aegon,” Helaena chimed in, her eyes still observing her bugs, but somehow able to pinpoint the culprit right away.

“Yes, and… those bastards…” Aemond added, his voice barely a whisper when he pronounced the word. “They made fun of me, tricked me into believing they had found me a dragon and it… it was a pig,” he explained, visibly embarrassed.

It was only after realizing that it had been the boys who had pushed Aemond to act so recklessly that Alicent became aware of the strength she was using to hold her daughter’s arm. She immediately let go. Daenys’ face was red and her eyes watery, but the girl hadn’t uttered a word of protest to her mother’s abuse.

Alicent sighed, and for a moment she looked older than she was. 

“Go wash, Aemond,” the Queen commanded her son, who turned on his heel immediately, making his way to his quarters. “We shall finish later, yes?” she proposed to Helaena, who had been a mere witness to the whole spectacle. She bent down to kiss her eldest daughter’s head and, without sparing Daenys a single look, left the girls’ chambers. It was only in Helaena’s solitary company that Daenys allowed herself to cry. Her arm hurt, but what hurt the most was that not a single day went by without her mother scolding her for something she had done or said. 

“Don’t cry, Daenys,” she heard Helaena say after some time, her gentle fingers combing through her little sister's hair. “None of this will matter soon.”

_______________________________________________

No Jace in this chapter, but he's coming! I just wanted to set the tone a bit and introduce our lovely Daenys.

If you liked this, let me know in any way! :)