#*throws this and fucking bOLTS—*

[gardening--tools]

insane how the light pollution from this fucking storage unit is so crazy, that with all the snow and clouds, you can see perfectly fine outside right now..

[theskyexists]

Bashasha is a great character. Damn. He's kind he's a great leader he's affable he's steel he's loved and he's very smart he's energetic he's got humour he's committed to whatever he can manage to do

He's also so self-controlled but I think that's grief. And a certain kind of grief that has had time to be shaped by a persistent sense of helplessness and fury and then he got pushed over the edge when he lost his sister. He is truly operating under 'there is nothing more to lose' mindset. I understand that deeply

[msommers]

i just simply think it's a horrifying but effective way to radicalize the formerly sheltered and spoiled noble lady and get her to immediately understand the desire for vigilante justice when the party member she was just trying to give grace to decides to betray the party and its result is the entire sequence of the fall of val foret

[intertexts]

godddddddddd

[blackcvrds]

the first time she kills him is horrifying, the next 20 times are fun

[planetpiastri]

i'm alive 🧍‍♀️ there's a new smau coming out in a few hours 🧍‍♀️

[scarah-screeeaaammss]

this frankie is so freaking cute but I am so pissed they don't have black lipstick like the show version does >:( like thats an easy enough fix but like pink???? You couldn't have done like a blue or something? anyway I will be painting them

[lulu-spooks]

Why is my brother so goddamn incompetent I’m fucking sick of it. He has no business calling himself the smart one when he cannot understand that the dishwasher only works if you put the tablet in.

[if-loki-was-a-fox]

there is a little dog that lives in my brain and emotes my feelings so I can figure out wtf they even are. my little emotions translator

[tonycries]

Thinking about overstimming Gojo Satoru to the point where he's losing control of his powers.

Overstimming Gojo Satoru until that smart mouth of his can't let out anything but wet, little gurgles of your name. His long, white lashes are batting shut with each stroke of your hand up and down his twitch shaft. He's so weighty, so hot. Glistening wet and such a pretty pink that matches his raw lips.

Overstimming Gojo Satoru until all he can do is throw his head back, abs flexing when his toned hips tremble up, up, up-

"Oh, sweetheart..." he's letting out such drawn-out whines, voice husky with how much he's been moaning and groaning your name all night. And each cute whimper is accompanied by a hitched breath, a bolt of tiny blue lightning sparking at the corners of his glassy, wide eyes.

Overstimming Gojo Satoru until the silky sheets underneath his large hands are bursting at the pressure of his jujutsu. Until you could faintly feel the thrum of power in the air with each and every syrpy coat of his precum down your wrist.

Overstimming Gojo Satoru until he thinks he can't cum - but he can. You know he can, and you'll prove it to him. Rolling your heavenly palms faster and faster down his jerky length.

Overstimming Gojo Satoru until he doesn't even know what's going on. Doesn't realize the flashes of purple glistening at the very tips of his fingers, the uncomfortable tension in the air from particles charging. Doesn't even see the way the lights go out, bursting into nothingness - in all of Tokyo, maybe even the entirety of Japan - because he's cumming, spilling milky, velvety rope after rope to drizzle all over your waiting hand. Over and over and- fuck, why does he want to do it all over again?

[maskedbyghost]

Part 2 of fuck buddies with Simon (now with extra emotional damage)

You didn’t text him, you didn’t call, you didn’t chase.

But you did send one final message.

“This is the last time, Simon. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to be someone you only need when you’re lonely or angry or tired. I wanted you, not just your time or your hands or your body. You don’t have to say anything—I’m just letting you know I’m done. Please don’t come back. I won’t open the door.”

Then you blocked him.

Phone, socials, everything. And not in some dramatic, screaming, flinging-plates kind of way.

And for the first few days, nothing happened. No messages, no banging on the door, and no surprise visits in the middle of the night. Just silence.

But on Simon’s end?

Hell broke loose.

He didn’t even notice the message right away. He was halfway through watching a game when he opened his phone and saw it sitting there, timestamped four hours ago. He read it once, then again, and then stared at it like maybe if he glared hard enough, the words would disappear.

But they didn’t.

He tried to reply, of course. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for longer than he’d admit. But when he hit send, the message didn’t go through.

His jaw clicked tight. Something cold and ugly twisted low in his chest. He tossed his phone onto the couch and paced. He thought about showing up at your place but didn’t. Not yet. Not when he didn’t even know what he was going to say.

It hit him, slowly. That you weren’t bluffing. That you meant it this time.

That he fucked it. Bad...

A month later

You’re sitting across from a guy who actually listens when you talk. He laughs at your jokes, asks you questions. He looks at you like he’s interested—not just in your body, but in your thoughts, opinions, and favorite takeout order.

It’s... weird. Not bad weird. Just different. Good, even.

You're at a quiet restaurant, corner booth, tucked into a little space with candlelight and soft jazz playing overhead. You’re just reaching for your drink when you hear it.

The click of a safety being flipped off, before your date goes still.

“Don’t move,” a voice says, low and dark behind him.

You know that voice.

Your blood runs cold before you even look at him.

Simon stands there, one hand is braced on the back of your date’s chair. The other? Holding a gun pointed directly at the side of the poor guy’s head.

“Simon—what the fuck are you doing?” you hiss, scrambling out of the booth.

“I just wanna talk,” he says, voice way too calm for someone with a loaded weapon in hand.

Your date is sweating, hands raised. “Hey, man, I don’t want any trouble—”

“Did I ask you what you wanted?” Simon snaps. Then he smiles. Smiles. “You’re gonna get up and leave. Right now. No questions. Go.”

The guy doesn’t argue. He bolts so fast he almost trips over a chair.

You stand there, staring at Simon like you’re seeing him for the first time. And in a way, you are.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you ask, shoving him back. “Are you insane?”

“I said I just wanted to talk,” he mutters, sliding into the booth like he didn’t just commit a felony in front of three tables.

“Jesus, Simon. You scared the hell out of him. You scared me. You don’t just pull a gun on someone because you’re feeling jealous!”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, lying through his teeth.

“Get out.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t get to show up here like this. You don’t get to throw a tantrum just because I moved on. You made it clear how you felt—or didn’t feel. Remember that?”

Simon’s hands are curled into fists on the table. He looks like he’s about to explode. But instead of yelling, he just leans forward, jaw clenched so hard.

“I fucked up,” he says. “I know I did.”

“Yeah,” you say coldly. “You really did.”

-

Aftar that, he doesn’t text you. After all, he is still blocked, so he can't.

So he writes notes. Slips them under your door, even though you never respond.

"I miss you." "I keep thinking about what you said. You're right. I treated you like shit. I don’t know how to fix it, but I want to try." "Still can’t sleep. I keep rolling over expecting you to be there. You're not."

You don’t write back.

Then the gifts start showing up. A bouquet of roses, your favorite. A playlist on a USB drive. A book you mentioned once, two years ago, that he somehow remembered.

He shows up to your building sometimes. Just sits on the steps, waiting, but not in a creepy way—he knows to keep his distance. But he’s there. Rain, cold, whatever. He waits.

One night, you come home late, and he stands when he sees you. “I’ll go if you want,” he says quietly. “Just... let me know you’re okay.”

You don’t say anything. Just unlock the door and go inside.

He doesn’t leave for another hour.

Two months in.

He catches you on your way to work.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he says, walking beside you like he belongs there. “Just... give me a chance to make it right. Let me earn it.”

You stop walking. Look at him.

He looks rough. The beard’s thicker, the eyes are darker, and the weight of regret sits heavy on his shoulders.

“You can’t fix this with flowers and sad eyes,” you say. “I needed you. And you made me feel like a mistake.”

“I know,” he says, voice cracking. “I know I don’t deserve another shot. But I’m still gonna try. Every day. Until you tell me to stop.”

“And what if I never change my mind?”

“Then I’ll still keep showing up.”

He means it.

You can see it in the way he looks at you now—not hungry, not possessive. Just wrecked. Like he lost something irreplaceable and knows it.

You don’t let him follow you to work.

But for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel as angry. Not because he’s forgiven. Not even close. But because he finally looks like he’s suffering the way you did.

Three months.

You’re out with friends when he shows up again. This time, unarmed thankfully.

You’re tipsy, laughing, leaning into someone else’s shoulder—some other guy’s—and Simon sees it before you do. You turn and there he is, standing just far enough to not make a scene, but close enough to make your heart drop.

You think he’s going to come over. Ruin the night. Scare the guy off again.

He doesn’t.

He just nods at you. One short, respectful tilt of his head. Then he walks away.

No words, nor begging, trying to guilt you into anything.

And that gets to you more than the thousand apologies he could’ve offered.

Four months.

It’s your birthday.

You don’t tell anyone. You keep it lowkey on purpose, like if no one says anything, you can just pretend it’s any other day. You don’t want the reminders. You don’t want the well-meaning texts from people who don’t know what you’ve been dealing with. You definitely don’t want to wonder whether or not Simon remembers.

But he does.

You find out when you get home and there’s a small package sitting at your door. No note. No name. Just your initials written on the wrapping in the handwriting you know better than your own.

You think about throwing it away. You almost do, but curiosity wins, and inside the plain brown paper is a little black box.

You open it and your breath catches.

It’s that necklace you once pointed at in a store window downtown—months ago, maybe even a year. A tiny silver ghost on a chain. You made some stupid joke about how it looked like him: “emotionally unavailable, disappears without warning, weirdly endearing.”

He didn’t laugh at the time. Just rolled his eyes and muttered something like “you’re annoying” under his breath.

You never mentioned it again, but he remembered.

You stare at it for a long time. You don’t cry, don’t smile either. You just sit there on your hallway floor, turning the necklace over in your hands until your legs go numb.

Then you put it back in the box and tuck it in the drawer by your bed.

You don’t wear it, but you decided to keep it.

And the next day, for the first time in months, you catch yourself wondering how he’s doing. Like maybe he’s not just doing this to win, maybe he means it.

Still, you don’t reach out.

Not yet...

Five months.

He finally knocks.

It’s late. Not obscenely so, but enough that you’re in sweats and no bra, and part of you is tempted to pretend you’re not home.

But something in you says open the door.

So you do.

Simon looks like hell. Wet from rain, hair flat to his skull, hands shoved into his jacket like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching for you.

“I wrote it down,” he says, holding out a thick envelope. “Everything I wanted to say. Everything I should’ve said before.”

You stare at it like it might burn you. “Why now?”

His throat bobs. “Because I thought giving you space would be enough. But space doesn’t mean silence. It doesn’t mean I stop showing you I care. I just... I didn’t know how to love you the way you deserved.”

“And now you do?” you ask, arching a brow.

“No,” he says. “But I’m learning. And I’ll keep learning, with or without a second chance.”

You take the envelope. You don’t invite him in. But you do say, “Good night, Simon,” soft and tired.

And he smiles, just barely.

You read the letter that night. You weren’t going to, but you do.

It’s messy. Honest. Full of crossed-out lines and little notes scribbled in the margins. He writes like he talks—short sentences, straight to the point—but you can feel how badly he wants you to understand.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel disposable. That’s not what you are. That’s not what you ever were.”

“I never knew how to show you I gave a fuck. That’s on me.”

“I kept thinking if I didn’t say anything, you wouldn’t expect anything. But you did. And I should’ve met you there.”

“I think about your laugh. I hear it sometimes when I’m dead tired. It makes me hate myself.”

“I’m not asking you to come back. But if you ever do, I swear I’ll never leave you wondering again.”

You fall asleep with the letter in your hands, crumpled a little at the edges.

You don’t message him the next day.

But the next week?

You text one word.

“Coffee?”

PART 3

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

do we still hate him guys??

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay

[invoncible]

RUNNING INTO INVINCIBLE VARIANTS DURING THE WAR ft. mohawk!mark, viltrumite!mark, nogoggles!mark w/ gn!reader

— you were special to them, in another universe... — in which reader is not with the mark in the main universe, but has history w/ the other variants

the news said to stay inside. couldn't they have broadcast just 10 minutes earlier when you weren't in your car on the way to work? heroes resembling invincible were wrecking cities and taking lives left and right, and you were stuck in a traffic jam, trucks and vans crammed against your doors.

you climbed over the center console into the backseat, squeaking in surprise when the car rocked you off balance. some idiot decided to bulldoze through the traffic carelessly.

"fuck." you cursed, hurriedly opening the sunroof, climbing out and sliding down the hood. unfortunately for you, before you could even get off your car, you were stopped by—

MOHAWK!MARK

a joyful whoop made your head snap towards the incoming missile bulldozing through the congested traffic, trampling cars, snapping bodies in half, toppling buildings over onto the highway.

he flew right past you, bumping your car over to the side. your eyes were stuck on the building that was teetering closer and closer to tipping over. the resonating crrrreak sealed your fate as it came crashing down—

this is how i die. you let your eyes fall shut.

they were promptly forced open a second later when invincible crashed into your stomach, throwing you over his shoulders as he bolted out of the area of impact.

"holy shit!" he stopped in the air, holding you up proudly. "y/n!"

"wait!" you gripped him tightly, nails digging into his skin. you coughed when the dust plumed upwards, the fallen building settling against the broken road.

he hissed at the sensation but laughed; laughed like he was a kid in a candy store. "don't worry, i won't drop you. you trust me, don't you?"

"i..." you gasped, catching your breath as you studied him. he looked crazy, but after what he just did, looks weren’t where the insanity stopped. "i don't know who you are."

he frowned momentarily, holding you against him by your waist. "really? this world's me is lamer than i thought. i mean, look at you." he leaned in close, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "you smell the same. god, i missed this." he inhaled deeply, crushing you in his embrace.

you flattened your hands against his chest and pushed him back a little. "what are you—?"

"hey. i saved you. can a guy get a thank you?" he playfully scolded you, but with him, you couldn't tell if he was actually joking or not.

your eyes trailed over the calamity beneath you. thank you? as bewildered as you were, you played into his hands.

"thank you," you mumbled, a small smile spreading on your lips for good measure.

"you're welcome." he grinned, flying over to the top of an untouched building and setting you gently on the roof's surface. you stumbled onto the concrete until his hand steadied you.

"you say you don't know me. but i know you. and we are so good together, baby." mark said softly, backing you onto a wall. for all the blood on his suit, he handled you so gently. "what d'you say? let's get reacquainted."

VILTRUMITE!MARK

your breath caught in your chest as mark shot down from the sky, sending ripples through the asphalt road. you screamed as your vehicle floated in the air for a split second, enough time for your heart to skip a few beats too many.

mark sped over to you, stopping abruptly right in front of your car. the impact of his sonic boom made your car shoot backwards, sending your back into the windshield mirror with such a force that the glass broke under you.

you didn't even have time to blink before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you towards him, dangling you in front of him like a child inspecting a toy.

"you look just like them." he mumbled under his breath, brown eyes narrowing.

you just stared at him dumbly, horrified by the splatters of blood over his otherwise pristine white uniform.

in stark contrast to the barbaric way he introduced himself, he collected you in his arms and floated away from the disaster on the ground.

"wait—" you protested weakly, but he cradled you closer to his chest.

"dad said you'd come around. that after we took over the planet, i could keep you and you'd eventually stop fighting me." he sighed, heavy. "my mother did. she eventually stopped fighting my dad."

your eyes were wide and vulnerable, unable to tear away from who could be your murderer. what was he talking about?

his grip tightens involuntarily. his jaw clenches. why aren’t you reacting the way you should?

"don't you recognize me? or does the invincible of this world direct his... affection somewhere else?"

mark can feel himself getting frustrated by the look of confusion on your face. you didn't recognize him and it makes him want to kill the invincible of this world even more.

on his world he went to earth to conquer it by his father's side. he didn't expect to ... fall in love with you. love is what his father told him he was feeling, a human emotion that he could only have for something small and harmless. like a pet.

"mother will like you," he muses to himself. "it's been a while since she's seen someone from home."

"i don't—"

"shhh." he softened as he looked at you, a ghost of a smile on his face. "i'll take care of you like i promised. it'll be just like before. we'll be so happy together. right?"

something told you to nod your head if you wanted to live.

NOGOGGLES!MARK

"boo!" mark touched down right in front of your car, a wild grin plastered on his face. this bitch looked insane with the wife-eyed delight on his face from causing the carnage around him.

you screamed and slapped him impulsively, a loud crack echoing around you. oh fuck. holy shit, i am so dead.

but he laughed. he giggled all giddy and massaged his jaw. "holy shit, you've got a good arm on you. do it again."

"huh?" you spluttered, scrambling up the hood of your car away from him.

"wait," he frowned, grabbing your ankle and pulling you back down the windshield. "i said do it again."

as frightened and perplexed as you were, you couldn't stop your mouth from running. "you... want me to hit you?" what the fuck?

"i'm not gonna ask again." his eye twitched imperceptibly. "c'mon, give it your best shot. it'll be fun!"

when you continued to hesitate, he jerked forward. you flinched, sending your knee into his nose.

"haha!" he beamed, swiping at the trail of blood underneath his nose. "this is more fun than the heroes. you're so..." he gripped your shoulders, squeezing experimentally. "small but—"

your hands curl around his biceps in an attempt to deter him, your nails digging through his suit. he hissed, clicking his tongue as he laughed lowly.

"ughh it sucks that i've gotta go kill some heroes now..." he said under his breath, unmoving as you squirmed against him.

mark leaned back, stretching his arms like he hadn't just been breathing down your neck. "you're lucky I'm in a good mood." he tilted his head, as if reconsidering. "or maybe you’re unlucky. guess we’ll see, huh?" he huffed a laugh, his expression wild.

he took your hand gently, almost sweet, lifting it up and pressing your knuckles against his bruised jaw.

"go on," he whispered. "give me one more for the road?"

© invoncible

[monstersholygrail]

Full moon with your werewolf bf except you're the one being chained up. You aren't exactly sure how you convinced your bf to do it. He had always made sure to keep himself chained in the cellar during that time of the month. But after your incessant begging he had given in. Under this one condition.

You have to be chained up in his place. When asked why he had told you the intensity of his full form may frighten you but to stay calm. He tells you that as soon as he's caught onto your scent he won't be able to let you go and running will only make him all the more quicker to mount you. You didn't know what you were getting into.

Now as your wrists dig into the cold metal... you know. And you want more.

The unsympathetic chains dig into your wrists as your fully turned bf fucks into you with abandon, his claws piercing your skin as your greedy hole sucks his cock back in with every thrust.

As your werewolf bf plows you into another sweeping orgasm, your back arches, a loud groan echoing off the cobblestone walls. Pain mixing in with the pleasure as your pussy weeps, milking your bfs cock and trying to push him out at the same time as he cums right after you.

Your cunt is so full his release spills out of you and splashes against the concrete floor. Eyes squeezing shut, your mind and body war against each other. Though body quickly wins out.

“Ah— dammit! I need a break. Baby, please, I need a break,” you beg, your body aching yet also wanting more. The need for rest briefly overpowers your never-ending craving.

But your werewolf bf merely growls ferociously, jaw snapping in his displeasure. Leaning his giant form over you, he cages you in, teeth sinking into your neck. Making his claim clear before his hips start snapping back inside of you.

Your cunt flutters helplessly around his girth and you whine, needing even only a moment. With his warm fur covering you, a light sweat begins to glisten across your body. Allowing the grip of the chains on your wrists to loosen just enough.

So when your werewolf bf throws his head back and howls, you take your chance. Slipping out from under him and bolting toward the door. A part of you maybe even wanting it to get to this point. To have your werewolf chase and mount you brutally.

Furious growls vibrate through the quiet night, your bf right on your tail as you run toward the surrounding forest. Just as you’re about to make a break into the trees, werewolf bf pounces, crashing into the hard grass and taking you with him.

His arms curl around you as you both tumble through the thicket. Either to protect you from the harsh wood or making sure you can’t get away again. Probably both.

The moment you two stop, werewolf bf doesn’t hesitate to mount you and slam his cock back deep inside your pussy. Letting you know he’s right where he belongs again. Ready to force orgasm after orgasm out of your tired cunt for the rest of the night.

You see his long claws appear in front of you and you know you’re not getting away again. He’s caught his prey and he isn’t giving it up. A lazy fucked out smile graces your lips as your next orgasm begins to build.

[peter-pumpkin-eater]

Bite

Caleb x gn!reader

summary: Sitting on Caleb's lap while sleepy might be a bad idea (you'll do it again)

warnings: slightly suggestive (nothing mentioned but hinted at), yearning, one (1) gendered pet name (pretty girl), biting

word count: 607

You were curled up in Caleb’s lap. Something was playing on the tv but you weren’t paying attention. Your half lidded eyes weighed heavy with exhaustion. It also didn’t help that Caleb’s fingers were running absentmindedly on the outside of your thigh that was tucked against him. Caleb dropped his head in the crook of your neck and stifled a yawn against your skin - the puff of hot air making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You melted further into him, his warmth seeping into your bones. He dragged his lips up your neck before resting behind your ear and taking a deep breath. Your scent flooded his senses and he wasn’t thinking, he was too tired and the feeling of you pressed against him was overwhelming. His lips ghosted back down your neck and the sleepy tilt of your head giving him a little more access was his breaking point.

He opened his mouth slowly and the feel of his teeth grazing across your skin set you on fire. You were suddenly wide awake. Before you could fully process what was happening you felt his teeth sink into your neck. It wasn't a hard bite, but you know that it’ll probably leave a mark.

“Ah~” You gasped before throwing a hand over your mouth. The sound you made not only startled you but also Caleb. He froze against you before you could feel the curl of his lips against your skin.. 

“You like that?” Caleb’s gravely voice chuckled against the shell of your ear. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, still having a hand over your mouth. Caleb wrapped his arms tighter around your torso, the hand that was on your thigh snaking under it pulling you closer against him. 

Your heart was beating so fast you were sure Caleb could feel it through your back. His lips moved to your shoulder and you shivered. 

“Talk to me, baby.” He purred against your skin before sinking his teeth in again, gentler this time. You think you could feel his tongue run over the bite mark.

“Mm!” you moaned against your hand before dropping them to claw at Caleb's arm around you. You needed to get off his lap before you embarrassed yourself further. Another chuckle puffed against your ear. 

“Does my pretty girl like being bitten? Naughty.” He teased. 

“Caleb. Need t-” you gasped using both hands to try and peel his arm from you.

“Need to, what?” He spoke as he ran his nose against your pulse point. He was taking this too far. He should stop. He doesn't want to scare you away, but the way you're shaking on top of him and those oh so pretty sounds falling past your lips were a drug he will never stop trying to get now that he’s had a taste. 

You wiggle against him trying to break free. “I- I need to get up” You stuttered out.

Caleb had to let you go now. It was getting harder for him to control himself and if anything, this was a perfect test to see how far he could push you. He loosens his arms around you and you bolt from his lap and up the stairs. He sighs heavily with a smile on his lips and leans into the couch. He adjusted his sweats and was sure you had felt his own reaction to this against you. 

Upstairs you had locked yourself in the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face. You looked up at yourself in the mirror and groaned at the very obvious bite mark on your neck. You were fucked.

[mobbothetrue]

I’m doing an honour mode run of Baldur’s Gate 3 (just barely into the underdark) and it’s been going great

I mean there have been some. Uh. Extremely dicey fights. Including one where I was three hp away from a tpk. but generally okay

One big exception though. So I’m playing a chaotic good tiefling, Sephira, so ofc she sympathizes with the refugees and goes off to the goblin camp to take em out. No problems. Gut gets korilla’d, Minthara I did try to keep alive but she was on 6 hp and the game showed me a button that said ‘hellish rebuke’ and uh. One thing led to another you know how it is. and. I don’t remember the third guy. Zirg? Zorg? Dror Raglzin? Something like that. He got barreled. No problem, easy peasy, let’s go to the grove and get our party :)

I walk in using Karlach, bc usually every time I go to the grove for the party Zevlor will NOT let me talk to any of the npc’s behind him and I wanna do that. So Karlach triggers dialogue and I break Sephira off from the group to chat with some npcs.

At this point, four things worth noting.

One: I (erroneously, it seems) recall there is a way to revive Minthara,,, but I left her body in the goblin camp.

Two: I intended, initially, to ignore the creche entirely and just go through the underdark… but the entrance to the underdark is in the goblin camp.

Three: after you kill the leaders, the entire goblin camp aggros on sight.

Four: I am on a voice call with a friend, meaning, instead of this being something I am thinking inside of my brain I am saying it out loud and as a visual aid to the story I have my map open and my cursor hovering over the fast travel point to the goblin camp.

I’m sure you can guess what I clicked by accident.

Thankfully, (ohmygod), because Sephira was separate from the group when I did that, only she went. Switching back to Karlach and triggering the party got Sephira out. Phew.

Do the party. Nearly accidentally romance Gale for the second playthrough in a row. Drinking, merry times, wheeeee!

Parties over. Next day. I have a bunch of loot to sell so I grab it and exit the camp.

Loading screen. Loading screen. Sounds of initiative being rolled. Loading screen paired with the worst sinking dread I have ever experienced.

It put me back in the fucking goblin camp.

By some sheer stroke of fate, despite the party being together, everyone else went to the emerald grove, but that thirty seconds I spent unable to see… holy shit. So fucking scary. Sephira gets the absolute shit murdered out of her.

How do I make sure this never ever happens again.

Be more careful? Make sure I don’t click things by accident?

I get to level five and proceed to slaughter the entire camp. I used the bridge as a funnel for em, set up a grease puddle to keep them back, had Sephira plant a cloud of daggers right in the middle for them to run into, Gale on standby with a fireball once enough of them clumped up, and Karlach hucking this cool spear I (found? Bought??? I don’t remember) to pick off the little guys.

Astarion is back in camp hanging out with Withers in case things go wrong, but they don’t. In fact, things go so right that the only character to leave the fight worse than they entered is…. Astarion. somehow. Yeah I don’t know what he got up to when I wasn’t looking but he lost like 8 hp.

Anyway long story short: got a problem? Could being careful fix it? No. Wrong. Blender.

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - modern!au, kidnapping, stalking, semi-public masturbation, and toxic relationship dynamics.

Thinking about Crime-Lord!Sukuna, who's literally never jerked off. Not before he meets you, at least.

He just doesn't have a reason to. He's never had much of a sex drive, and even in a world without cursed energy, he still finds that he'd rather fight than fuck the grand majority of people he meets. He's not a virgin or anything - a handful of drunken nights with Uraume made sure he wouldn't be carrying around that title for the rest of his life. That doesn't mean he's some loser who needs to have his dick in his hand every five seconds, though. He's got more self-control than that, more dignity.

Or, he's trying to have more dignity. You're so fucking loud - barely bothering to try and hide the fact that you're still crying twenty minutes after he gruffly admitted that you wouldn't be going home, tonight. You've got yourself huddled against the car door, trying to take up as little room on the bench seat you currently share with him as possible. There aren't interior handles, he's got a driver for that kind of shit, but your hand darts out to look for one every couple of minutes, every time the car dips to a speed that might let you jump out relatively unscathed. Like you think he wouldn't be prepared for that. Like you think you're just some unlucky random he decided to haul out of his own goddamn club on a whim.

It's loud. It's annoying. Honestly, it's a little insulting. It's not like you couldn't feel him staring you down every time you stepped into his fucking front-of-a-business, like you hadn't noticed he's only ever in the building when he knows you're already there. It's your own damn fault. If he could trust you not to shake your ass for anyone willing to watch, he wouldn't have had to do this. If he thought you were ever going to pull your head out of the clouds long enough to so much as glance in his direction, he wouldn't have had to force you to.

Like he said - it's annoying. Annoying, and really fucking hot.

He can feel the strain against his slacks, the damp heat crawling down his spine. There's another thirty minutes 'till you get back to his apartment, and every fractured whimper that makes it past your lips is another bolt of agony straight to his cock. You're not going to shut up, so he grits his teeth and bites the bullet - tearing open his fly and freeing his cock. The damn thing was already stiff enough to press into his stomach, to drool over the back of his hand as he clumsily wraps a fist around his shaft. There has to be something wrong with him, with you. He's too sensitive, barely able to flex his hand without feeling the ache in his stomach. Pre-cum drips down his wrist, spilling onto the leather of his seats. Great. Now he has to find time to get the car detailed, too.

He forces his hand to move, pumping robotically from head to base. His attentions moves involuntarily to you, still huddled as far from him as possible, still trying to bite back the little sobs and whines that got him into this, in the first place. The only difference is that, now, your eyes are glued to his lap, your lips parted and your expression horrified. That doesn't help. He pictures you making the same face as he carries you into your new bedroom, all deep velvets and barred windows, as he explains that you're his, now. It's enough to have his cock twitching his hold, demanding friction his awkward, faltering pace can't provide. He curses under his breath, throwing your name into the blend of foul words. It couldn't be enough for you to ruin his fucking life, to force him to spend the last few months on the wrong side of a leash you didn't even know you were holding. No, no, you had to make him humiliate himself while you-

"You're doing it wrong."

When he snaps out of his thoughts, he finds you - now uncurling, brows furrowed in concern and lips pursed. You rest a hand on his bicep, and when he doesn't shove you away, you slide into the seat next to him, wrapping your hand gingerly around his own.

"It's supposed to be, uh, more delicate. With more of an angle." Your voice is light, soft, just a little raspy. There's still a hiccup every now and then, but you seem distracted - a crying child lured out of their tantrum with the introduction of a new, more interesting game. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Shut the fuck up," he mutters, and you hum, rubbing the pad of your thumb over his tip in slow, deep circles. When you move his hand, it's with intention - slower towards the head, faster towards the base, the heel of your palm grinding into the underside every so often. Sukuna throws his head back, shutting his eyes. You don't seem to notice, thoroughly captivated by your shiny new toy.

He always knew you were going to be the death of him.

He just hadn't thought you'd get around to it so fucking fast.