#..................................teehee

[slimespecter]

MAKE ME THE [happiest man in the world!] AND [Die]

[psuejo]

❥ tied him down to my queen bed!

“fuuuck, baby—”

never in toji fushiguro’s thirty-eight years of living has he let himself get tied up. not during jobs, always too quick and nimble to even let them get close, nor when he was sleeping around. he was always on top, always the one tying them down and fucking them silly.

yet here he is, thick wrists and ankles bound to the posts of your bedframe, legs spread just for you. he can’t help it, not when you’re bouncing on his dick like a see-saw, a repetitive up and down that has those lightning veins dragging through your gooey insides.

“mmmgh, s-shit,” he moans, and it teeters off into a breathy chuckle, practically drowning in feigned confidence. even now, toji still wants to save face with that wobbly smirk on his face, though you definitely know better.

god, he feels like a teenager again, balls heavy and aching cock sensitive to every slight flutter and suctioning clamp of your sweet pussy. it’s like you’ve cast a spell on him, made him weak to your soft touches, the gentle bat of your long lashes, the feeling of your reverent lips peppering his face in endless kisses whenever he returns from a job.

that’s precisely how he ended up like this, tied down to your bed with just a small pout of your glossy lips and a few low, choice words whispered into his ear that’d had his pants instantly growing tight.

it hasn’t even been ten minutes, and toji’s ready to cum. you see it in the way his eyes keep fluttering like he’s having to fight the urge to let them roll back, how his hips don’t stop bucking up into you, shoving his dick in deep enough to create that perfect, cylindrical bulge in your tummy that has him drooling with endless moans and barely bitten off whimpers.

“c’mon, doll, un... mmf— untie me.” his hands flex, testing the barely sufficient restraints. “lemme f-fuck you right. that’s what ya want, y-yeah? jus’ untie me, baby, hah—”

you shake your head, hands on his chest as you up your pace, a familiar pressure building low in your spine. “you p-promised, toji.”

he did promise, he knows that, and he hates breaking them, but with the way you’re now swiveling your hips in torturous figure-eights, snug cunt milking him for all he’s worth, he is genuinely not gonna last.

“baby, pleaseee? you feel s-so fucking good, toji, god—” your voice is as sweet as ever, making the thick walls around toji’s mind melt into goopy, lovesick puddles and his balls draw up tight.

he doesn’t mean to cum before you, honest, but when you’re talking to him like that and riding him so good, he can’t help but pump thick, hot ropes of cum right into your womb, jaw slack for a long, whiny groan.

you don’t even get the chance to process the tears in his eyes before the ropes snap, two big hands coming down on your waist and flipping you right onto your back.

“toji, hnngh, wait—!”

your boyfriend just gives a rough shake of his head, the ropes sliding free from his wrists and ankles as he hikes your legs around his waist. his dark fringe falls in front of his face, and, for a foolish moment, you think he’s going to listen.

but toji has never been good at being submissive for long, even with you.

with a rough snap of his hips, he slams home, pushing that previous load of cum even deeper. “n-nah. ‘s my turn now.”

[eethok]

like how dare I have hobbies, right?

[m1stm3]

“you don’t believe that sex is the most intimate thing that two can do together?” you repeat sukuna’s previous words with a raised eyebrow, skepticism lacing every word you spoke.

“i had concubines before i was devoted to you. do you really think i see intercourse as something significant?” he doesn’t even spare you a glance, all four of his eyes focused on carefully peeling the fruits resting in the bowl in front of him (mangoes, to be specific. a special order he put in with uraume for you). your eyes narrow at his words.

“so you don’t see intercourse with me as something significant?” that earns you a roll of his eyes.

“i don’t recall those words leaving my lips, woman.” he glances at you with a bored look, already much too used to your antics and the nonsensical conclusions you often pulled from his words (“it’s called reading in between the lines, ryo.” you had insisted. he chose not to debate you on it).

he sighs when you go silent, seemingly waiting for an explanation from him that would fix the small pout gracing your lips. he would’ve let you sulk if you were anybody else, but you weren’t.

“i realize the significance humans place on it now that i am yours, but i partook in the act purely for pleasure before you. it was simply to fulfill my fleshly desires.” he doesn’t need to look at you to know that the frown on your face still hasn’t faltered. in fact, the displeased look on your face probably only deepened upon the mention of him being intimate with other women.

“human customs are foolish, that will never change.” his hand lifts to your lips, a cube of mango held delicately between his fingers. he continues speaking only after feeding you the fruit.

“but if my stubborn little wife sees it as something of importance, then it shall be so.” he says the last part with a sense of finality, as if it was a part of his life that he accepted a long, long time ago.

you contemplate his words for a moment, your posture easing against the lavish pillows of your shared bed. you stall on swallowing the piece of fruit on your tongue, considering a question in that ever curious mind of yours.

“what’s significant to you, ryo?”

he pauses for a brief moment but doesn’t answer, simply bringing another piece of fruit up to your lips (whether the action was out of care or to keep your mouth occupied was unclear).

his lack of an answer was as good of an answer as any, though.

this was significant to him. the way he cut and fed you soft fruit with hands that had slaughtered armies, handling you as if you were made of fine china. never yelling, never arguing.

the king of curses devoted himself to you because deep in his heart he acknowledged his subservience to you.

that is what’s significant to him.

[coquexari]

This life is amazing...

[homewrungt]

kiss break

[glumby]

how do you compete with an angel? become one yourself

[danijaci]

"Despite everything, it's still you."

[nelsaqift]

is this anything

[indigosfindings]

at the end of the day i think the online digital artist community has for a very long time operated on a set of like unspoken handshake rules generally enforced by social pressure which (despite being positioned on a moral & pseudolegal plane) have very little overlap with what is legal or illegal (de facto or de jure) but which have Everything to do with figuring The Artist as a universal would-be petit bourgeois auteur, reflected through these rules' emphasis on (1) the moral necessity of The Artist's unwavering & eternal power over their own art (& its reception) as articulated via informal pseudo-IP mechanisms (no reposting, dont tag as me/kin/id, dont use as your pfp, dont draw my oc), (2) the moral mandate toward Constant Self-Improvement (generally meaning adopting more of the conventional signifiers of "Good Art" eg realism) (admonition of "tracing" even for practice, artists who do things that are "not conducive to improvement" being fair game for mockery), & (3) attempting to induce in observers (often through guilt) a social pressure to further the ambitions of such artists ("you need to reblog/share, not just like", "you MUST commission 1 million artists immediately", "it's rude to express anything other than praise for any piece of art")

like these all (in tandem with SEO etc) boil down to attempting to lay the groundwork for an imagined future state of self-employment emanating out of one's (semi-)hobbyist artistry (& to obstruct anything perceived as interfering with that fantasy or its actuation). it's sort of like hiring a team of accountants on the assumption that youre going to win the lottery someday, like if it were in another context we'd effortlessly recognize it for the meritocratic grindset shit that it is. & none of this is even remotely conducive to the production of good art lmao

[terriblygrimm]

[perenial]

everyone's masc til they have to put on the customer service voice

[ink-ghoul]

💥 BAM 💥

Skin commission for Goodtimeswithscar 🎍

I hope you guys have enjoyed Wild Life!

[the-phantom-peach]

art from this month but compiled as a maximalist sketchbook scan

📖✍️✨

[avadoore]

LACHRYMA

🦇

The V in Papa V Perpetua stands for vampire 🧛🏻