#circular latter

[theofficegallery]

CAROL CHRISTIAN POELL "IN BETWEEN - O. D. 9 FINGER SIFTER ARMS"

Photography: Antonis Minas for the Office gallery

[inmaki]

gojo showing off your back scratches to geto

( cont from this fic! req, visual ) .

contains: sex talk, desc of back scratches, crack, sugu is called daddy once (as a joke.. right..)

everything was relatively peaceful in suguru's apartment. key word: relatively.

a forgettable yet appreciated sunday afternoon, not a cloud in sight despite the weather forecast predicting downpours of rain. either way, the raven-haired man insouciantly rested across his white couch, reaching the conclusion that today would be a day for self-care, relaxing, and perhaps some meditation.

there was only one thing ruining his peace.

all morning, suguru has been forced to try and ignore the stain a certain someone has left on his couch — a pair of unecessarily expensive yet dirty shoes being the culprit.

despite these attempts, every once in a while his gaze can't help but wander over at the mark — as if it'd poof out of existence if he glared hard enough.

"fuckin' asshole.." he mutters. it was a wonder his relationship with his best friend managed to stay so promising despite all their differences, yet suguru wouldn't have it any other way, even after situations like this.

right when he grumpily turns back to the tv — which was playing some crappy, low budget rom-com — his apartment door is yanked open and suguru swears he nearly jumps out of his seat.

great, was this it? was he about to get robbed, perhaps evicted? and then probably die? forced into the afterlife knowing gojo's shoe-shit was still on his new couch? no that can't—

"i fucked her!"

suguru whips his head towards the apartment door, announcement being disregarded as he nearly groans in agony. speak of the devil.

big blue eyes peak out from under circular sunglasses, one hand already raised in preparation for a dap up while his stupid, big, dirty shoe pushes the door closed behind him. gojo wears a black compression shirt with grey sweats, marching over to his friend with a ginormous grin across his cheeks.

"take your shoes off, now," suguru snaps, nodding to his friend's feet with a frown.

"yeesh... whatever y'say, daddy," the bastard never loses his smile as his hands raise in surrender, kicking them off by the door smoothly. "what's got your panties in a twist?"

geto pinches his nose bridge. "don't call me that," as he continues the scolding, he points to the living room with his free hand. "you got a mystery stain on my couch, satoru. do you know how many youtube videos i watched trying to get this shit off?"

unphased, gojo takes a look at the strangely colored blob against the armrest's leather material and shrugs. "my bad. did you try febreeze?"

"what— no? dude, febreeze is for.." when suguru looks back up to sourly meet his gaze, he could immediately tell the white-haired man was already drifting back into la-la-land, words going in one ear and out the other. "..nevermind. why're you here?"

at the reminder, satoru seemingly brightens, head shooting back up as if he was just told he'd won the lottery.

"oh god, don't make that stupid face—" he pauses. "the fuck are you doing?" suguru might as well say goodbye to his self-care day, because now gojo was stripping in the middle of his living room, shirt thrown haphazardly onto the still-very-much-stained couch.

"just look!" suguru squints as his friend swivels around to face the wall, pushing his bangs away to get a better view of the— oh shit.

it takes the raven-haired man a second to process what he's seeing before shuffling forward, closely examining the achingly red, bulging scratch marks displayed sexily across the latter's back and shoulders. "no way.."

suguru knows the strongest sorcerer well enough to notice how he purposely didn't use reversed cursed technique on these scratches, just so it'd be obvious to anyone that caught a glimpse of what exactly occured. to his further dismay, he can already picture a smug and sweaty gojo walking around their local gym like this, proud simper on his pretty lips as he easily raises a pair of weights in his veiny hands.

a hiss escapes geto's mouth as he runs his finger down a particularly agitated one, knowing exactly how painful they could be after experiencing many hook-ups of his own. even so, satoru only licks his lips, neck craning to the side so he can pride himself in his friend's gobsmacked expression.

"damn, these are deep. you actually hit it?" suguru confirms, raising a celebratory hand.

turning back around, satoru daps him up, a massive smirk now on both their faces. "hell yeah, it was amazing."

it was impossible to predict what gojo would do next after barging through his front door — especially considering how many times he's done so — but this has to be the last thing suguru ever expected.

not that he was complaining — in fact, all of geto's temper and need for relaxation seemingly flew out the window, the feeling of proudness for his best friend overthrowing anything else.

and even if he hated to admit it, the way gojo was so eager to come over and announce his virginity loss to him was more than a little endearing, and dare he say cute.

"that's great, man. congrats." suguru leads him into the kitchen — still shamelessly shirtless — to grab them both a can of beer in celebration. while the white-haired man usually didn't get involved with any form of alcohol, this occasion was most definitely exception-worthy. "you made y/n cum too, right?"

an offended glare is shot his way. "duh, two times."

"huh. surprised you could last."

as suguru pours their drinks into two fragile cups, gojo exhales, not bothered in the slightest by his jab. "dude, same.." he admits dreamily. "she was so fuckin' tight and warm.. and oh— fuck, her moans? heavenly.. 'can't believe i didn't bust after the first minute.."

geto gulps, trying his best to ignore the mental image his brain was producing from his dirty words. you can't blame him — both of you were smoking hot, and he was a simple man.

even now, he could already imagine what you both looked like; panting and moaning, skin-slapping so loud that it echoed through the whole room, how blissed out you'd look as gojo's cock split you in t—

satoru's playful sigh cuts through the tensing air. "who knows sugs, maybe you'll have another kind of stain to worry about next time we're over~"

he's never snapped out of a daydream so quickly. "don't even joke about that."

over the next hour, the two men sat manspread on the stained couch, taking leisure sips while recalling satoru's final moments as a virgin — suguru giving out his secret tips and tricks along the way.

maybe sometime, suguru could offer some.. hands-on learning instead.

mlist! <- sugu.. how could u think abt ur bestie and his gf like that... tsk tsk tsk (if u enjoyed reblogs/comments r appreciated heheh)

© inmaki on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

[chrollohearttags]

kinktoberfest • lactation/pregnancy

character: armin artlert

show: attack on titan

word count: 1.1K

content + themes: nipple play, missionary, praise kink, finger sucking, squirting, calls reader mama, daddy’s used, crying (not dacryphilia), breeding

📝: I truly underestimated how hard it was to keep a drabble under 2K words yet how much work they are. Posting every day isn’t realistic but I still got yall! 🫶🏾

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿════✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿

they say that pregnancy for some is an extremely difficult time..the weight gain, the insecurity that comes along with it and the amount of pain sometimes isn’t worth it. Not to mention the weird cravings some develop. But for others…others have the time of their lives. They get told they’re glowing, that they radiate beauty and that bringing a new life into this world was a wonderful thing. You, fortunately, were on the latter end and were enjoying every second of it. Being a new mom for the first time was frightening but your loving, doting man was more than happy to help ease any discomfort. But that wasn’t the only thing he was willing to lend a hand with…

“Oh my gosh…right there. Please, you’re in my spot, baby. Don’t stop!”

“I know, I know…but I gotta slow down. We don’t wanna hurt the baby, angel.”

a soothing, cooing voice responding to you during what could only be described as passionate, raw..amazing sex. The very same love making that had landed you up in this predicament in the first place! A night of heavy drinking and fucking between a wife who despised protection and a husband who had an insatiable breeding kink. It was only a matter of time before the man you married only three years prior and had been in love with you since high school, Armin Artlert..would knock you up. He constantly talked about how he wanted to get you pregnant. How beautiful you’d look with his baby inside of you and that he’d ensure you never had to lift a finger to do a thing as long as you had him. After all, regardless of whether you bared his child or not, you were going to be his spoiled princess. A kept woman, deserving of a soft and easy life; who’s biggest decision of the day would be if you took the Benz Truck or the Audi to brunch with your girls. Any and everything you’ve ever desired was yours..sometimes you didn’t even need to ask. That’s why you felt zero qualms about carrying his kid. But it was once you were pregnant, did those intense feelings and sweet gestures increase tenfold. Especially sexually..he truly couldn’t keep his hands off of you! So you’d find yourself surrounded by rose petals on a soft, plush mattress. One he had prepared just for you.

“Armie..you’re not gonna hurt me, promise. The doctor said it was fine. So please—haaaa! Keep going.”

“Whatever you want, angel..I’ll give it to you..give you all this dick—fuck!”

your shrill voice cried out, pleading with your husband to continue pounding your pussy. At the moment, he had your legs pinned as far as they could withstand..surprisingly almost behind your head with his fingertips kneaded into your supple tits. They were swollen with perfectly erect nipples; they were so beautiful..so much so, he had teased them for nearly an hour whilst fingerfucking you on the couch. His lips latched around the swollen buds..gently mashing and massaging that sensitive flesh to drum up the one thing he craved more than anything. Which was to see them lactating. You had a preconceived notion that only women who had already given birth could do that but you were proven wrong when he began to squeeze at those nipples, gently suckling and rubbing circular patters on them with his thumbs. A few moments later, he felt a dampness underneath and was shocked to find that you began to emit milk… “oh fuck..that’s so sexy..” continuing his little onslaught on your breasts. He was enamored at this point and couldn’t get enough. Fast forward and his fingertips were back on them, working as a guide as he thrashed his cock around inside of you. “Mmmmph!! Arminnnn…” slamming it into that fertile little cunt. “My pretty baby…doing so fucking good f’r me. Taking daddy’s dick like this..fuck, I’m so proud of you.” The thought of breeding you once more, despite already being pregnant, was getting him incredibly aroused! Those icy blue eyes peering down at you with absolute adoration..

“You want me to nut in that pretty pussy, mama? Get you so full all over again?…fuck…you’d like that, huh?” The answer was already a given, apparent by how tight you were squeezing him and the tears streaming down your puffy cheeks. “Yes, daddy! Keep fucking me right there—shit!” You were so cute, he couldn’t help himself! Just as he posed his question, you’d whimper yet again when another stream of that translucent liquid came spouting from your nipples, which he’d swiftly swoop down to catch the remnants of in his mouth. “That’s ittt! Good girl…” simultaneously, sending you into hysterics as you squirm underneath him. To reward you, his thumb would glide in between those lips and you’d gently suckle them as a way to pacify your cries. That round belly bouncing against his pelvis with each smacking stroke..along with a membrane of silky slick. “You’re so wet, baby. ‘Feel so good on my dick…I love it.” Bringing forth absolute delirium from your man. He couldn’t hold out much longer and he damn sure couldn’t hold back. Not when you sucked him into those fleshy walls as if it were nothing…as if you never wanted him to leave it.

“I’m coming, baby..oh my God.. ‘m so close..wanna come in your pussy, please.” Those pathetic whimpers followed by his hand clutching the headboard. Your legs began to tremble from the immense pressure. Both of you shaking and whimpering; bated breaths leaving both of your mouths. Hovering over you, Armin huffed and cried out, urging you to release first. Reluctantly halting in his tracks after pushing him away. Suddenly, he’d be met with a shower of sweet nectar, raining down his abs. It was obvious that you couldn’t take another second so he’d clutch your calves and pin them back, feeding you a couple more sharp strokes just before he reached the end of his own stride and before you knew it…

“Ohhhh fuuuck..oh my God.” That voice rising in pitch as he allowed his throbbing cock be milked for all its worth and those heavy balls be drained and devoid of every bit of that nut. Slowly pulling out and watching his seed spill along with it..he’d soon after collapse to your side and gently sandwich your head between his hands.

“I love you so much. I’m so glad you’re having my baby.”

[ghelgheli]

one of the fundamental mistakes serano and a lot of others make involves the following line of reasoning:

1. some people have dysphoric other-gender embodiment-desires (e.g. for different genitals) before they acquire an understanding of gender-sex associations or even that there are genitals other than their own

2. if gender is totally socially constructed, as the social constructionists say, then these embodiment-desires would not be possible in such a state of ignorance

3. modus tollens the social constructionists are wrong and there must be some innate gender-desire

this is often accompanied by the following:

1. if social constructionism is right, then the abolition of gender would mean the elimination of dysphoric embodiment-desires

2. the state of knowledge prior to acquiring gender-sex knowledge is analogous to the state of affairs under gender abolition

3. in that state some people still have dysphoric embodiment-desires

4. modus tollens the social constructionists are wrong

these arguments are often defensive, to be fair—the first premise of the latter argument is unfortunately made by certain social constructionists too, steamrolling those early childhood experiences. but in both cases there is a circular mistake happening. the dysphoric embodiment-desires can precede gender-sex knowledge specifically because they are separable from it. penis-dysphoria in young childhood can only be called gender dysphoria if we assume the very gender-sex epistemic constructions we have agreed not to take for granted! and the former dysphoria may well persist in the absence of the latter constructions. this is what people say when they talk about a (utopian, perhaps, but nonetheless coherent and logically possible) gender abolitionist future where people can have whatever procedures they desire done. the embodiment-desires are still there! they are just freed from gender-sex associations.

[riality-check]

Eddie needs this to go perfectly.

He’s… okay, saying he’s not an anxious person would be a lie. Eddie is very acquainted with the fight or flight instinct, with the latter of those two options being far more familiar. He’s vaguely obsessive and twitchy and, frankly, puts way too much thought and time into planning one-shots, nevermind regular campaign sessions.

Majority of the time, he likes to have control of a situation. There are reasons for that, plenty of which he knows, some of which he’s gone to therapy for, and more that are on the bedroom and currently irrelevant side of things.

The relevant side of things is the guy in front of him who doesn’t have any sort of ear protection on.

Eddie should mind his business. He really should. Corroded Coffin isn’t even headlining. They’re the openers for the tour of a much bigger band that noticed them and asked if they wanted to tour with them and Archie fangirled so hard he passed out. It was a whole thing.

Still, it’s their first real tour, and Eddie is a control freak, and he needs it to be perfect, which means no one gets hurt. This random guy - probably a roadie of some sort from how he’s plugging cables into something Eddie doesn’t know the name of - not having any sort of ear protection counts as someone maybe getting hurt.

Eddie doesn’t even know him, but he can’t have that happen.

Hell, this guy’s friend has her earplugs looped around her neck on a string like Eddie does. But Hottie - yeah, he’s hot and Eddie’s queer with a healthy sex drive, get over it - has none in sight.

That’s a problem. Eddie can’t have problems, not tonight, not before the first show.

“Hey!” he calls, walking over to Hottie and his friend, who are setting up equipment away from the stage. “You gotta have something for your ears, dude!”

Hottie and his friend exchange a look that Eddie can’t make heads or tails of.

“Thanks man,” Hottie says, and that nickname applies to his voice, too. “But I’m good.”

Eddie frowns. “You need to protect your hearing.”

“Trust me,” Hottie says. “I’ve worked a lot of gigs. Never wore anything then, won’t wear anything now, probably won’t wear anything at the next one.”

Okay. It’s fine. Eddie should walk away now. He’s totally capable of walking away. It is, quite obviously, the better alternative to this circular conversation.

But Hottie is gonna hurt himself this way. Potentially really badly if it’s not a one time thing. This is a metal show, for G-d’s sake. He’ll do some serious damage over time.

Eddie needs this to go perfectly, and for things to go perfectly, he can’t be responsible for that.

“I don’t think you get it,” he says. “You’re gonna destroy your ears that way, especially if you do this for a long time. This show is gonna be really intense, hell, the whole tour is! You can get cheap shit at the hardware store, it’s better than nothing-”

At the beginning of his rant, lecture, whatever, Hottie stares right at him. He has a really intense stare. Pretty brown eyes set in a prettier face with even prettier hair on top of his head. Eddie gets distracted by all that pretty and by trying to make his point.

And he doesn’t notice until halfway through that Hottie isn’t looking at him anymore. He’s looking at his friend.

Eddie looks at her, too. Looks at her confused and focused expression. Looks at her hands moving rapidly.

Oh. G-d.

Hottie’s deaf, isn’t he?

“Trying my best but I’m not fluent, Steve,” she says. Her hands pause, and she looks down at them, confused.

Hottie - Steve - shrugs, and his hands move as he talks. “I’m not either. You were doing pretty good, though. I think. Or our mistakes just line up that well.”

“What’s the sign for reverb? It’s the last word he said.”

“No clue. You can just fingerspell it.”

“I can’t remember R.”

“How do you forget R? It’s in your name, Robin!”

The friend - Robin - throws her hands up. “You know I get it mixed up with X!”

Eddie wants to die. This is it. He’s going to melt into a puddle due to sheer embarrassment, fifteen minutes before the doors open to let in the biggest crowd Corroded Coffin has ever played for.

What a shitty way to go.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I didn’t-”

Steve cuts him off. “Normally, I can lip read enough to get the gist. But you speak too fast and trip over your words.”

Ouch. Okay.

“I do lights,” he continues. “Robin does sound. We know what we’re doing, and we don’t need you to tell us how to do our jobs, even if you mean well.”

Seriously?

Eddie should have minded his business. He knows that. But G-ddamn, that’s blunt.

He’s saved, thankfully, from digging himself into a bigger hole.

“Eddie!” Jeff hollers from the stage. “Get your ass over here!”

He turns to walk away, then turns back to Steve and Robin. “Sorry,” he says again.

He turns back around before he can see their reactions and runs back toward the stage. Intimately familiar with flight, and all that.

Shit. First night of tour, and he’s already made an enemy of the light and sound people.

And the light guy is hot.

Really hot.

And he hates Eddie.

This is gonna be a long few weeks.

Now with a continuation and a part 3!

ao3

[azsazz]

A Snowy Starfall

Daddy!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Batbabies waging their OWN snowball fight imitating their dad & uncles. Some take it too seriously, others don't take it seriously at all, it's pure chaos that ends in cocoa.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2,003

Notes: Happy Holidays my loves 💙

_________________________________________

“Come on, you three,” you tut towards your mate and his friends. They’re standing before the large glass windows overlooking your backyard. The sun casts deep oranges and reds across the snow-ridden land, your children shrieking as they play in the snow. A valiant snowball fight is running its course, and Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand stand, faces pressed to the windows as they watch, quietly cheering their children on. “They’re going to notice you staring.”

“Maybe they already have,” Feyre adds from her spot at your kitchen counter. She’s concentrating intently on decorating a cookie, adding swirls of black icing to the gingerbread woman’s hand, creeping up her extended arm. The cookie’s dress is provocative, bare dough legs showing between slats of laced icing. She hardly glances up as she continues, “They’re probably imitating them as we speak.”

Curious, you peek out the window, too. Indeed, Wren and Baz have built a fortress in the snow to protect themselves from the onslaught of snowballs being thrown their way. Gideon and Nyx have joined forces against the two brothers, the latter packing the fluffy snow into tight, white balls, while Gideon launches their ammo towards your sons.

Your eldest daughter, Zuzu, and Nyx’s younger sister, Asteria, had joined the competition early on. They’d been a formidable team too, but grew bored of their brothers and cousin who were taking the snowball fight a little too seriously. Now, they are in the snow with little Castor, who had cried until she’d been let outside by her protective father, bundled up in so many clothes her wings nearly disappeared into the fabric. The girls are making snow angels, though Castor’s looks very much like a circle on the lawn.

Dark streaks dart behind the wall your sons have built and you frown, watching as Baz’s shadows help roll clumps of snow closer, creating perfectly circular snowballs. From what you’d heard from your husband’s friends, using shadows was against any and all snowball fight rules.

You cut Azriel a glance but he’s conveniently occupied, watching the game outside.

“Well, at least they’re both on the same team,” you comment to your mate, who refuses to let his gaze stray from the little boys. Good, he can watch them while he does the dishes then, since there’s a window above the sink. You pat him on the ass, nodding towards the mess of dishes in the sink. He nods in response, loping quickly over to peer out the window again. “So they’ll either both lose or both win.”

“They’ll both win,” Az responds immediately, a quick but pointed look your way. “They do take after me.”

Cassian scoffs behind you and you turn to see a scowling Nesta shooting him a look as he tries to steal a cookie. Jax giggles in her lap at his uncle's antics, but when Cassian hands him part of the cookie and its head falls off, Jax’s smile wobbles. He’s not outside due to the nature of his powers. As an empath, sensing the competitive nature of his siblings and the sting of a snowball to the face, it had been in his best interest to be inside around the luscious scents of cookies and warmth, instead of out in the bitter snow.

Nesta coos, bouncing him, and Cassian is thankful for the distraction, slipping further down the counter to where the High Lord sits, trying—and failing—to gain his mate's attention. The commander slips an arm around Rhys’ shoulders and glares at the back of Azriel’s head, continuing his complaining. “The only reason you’ve won so many is because of those damn shadows, Az.”

Azriel throws over his shoulder, wincing as Baz takes a snowball to the face, his face going red with fury. “How was I supposed to know they were unaffected by the magic restrictions?” he claims, sending said shadows out into the yard once he sees Baz’s slipping through the snow, headed for the icicles hanging off the railings of the porch. His intercept his sons in a display of authority, spearing them into blackened mist. Baz glances up to the window, locking eyes with his father, who wears a look of warning on his face, brow raised. Azriel watches his son visibly huff and take his anger out on the snow, building a ball and launching it across the playing field in frustration.

His gaze cuts across the yard, narrowing his eyes. Gideon and Nyx are crouched low behind their own pile of snow, looking like they’re scheming. He wants to trail his shadows in their direction, listen in on their conversation, but he’s alerted to Malos’ whines from the other room. If one of his youngest is awake, they either both are, or will be soon.

“Malos is up,” Az tells you softly, shutting off the water to the sink. He wipes his hands on a towel and kisses you gently on the cheek. You’re mixing color into icing for the cookies, getting ready for when it’s too dark out for the children to play. They’ll get all cleaned up and have some hot chocolate to warm their bellies, and you, Feyre, and Nesta have baked cookies for all of the children to decorate. “I’ll get them.”

“I’ll join,” Cassian answers, stealing another cookie off of a platter. He dunks it into your icing to the neck, the cookie dripping with sugary goodness as he lifts it to his mouth, shoving it inside. He ducks under your glare. “Gotta go get my baby.”

Cassian and Nesta’s youngest daughter, Sif, had been put down for a nap with both Knox and Malos. She’s still a little too young to be outside without supervision, and the eldest children of the Inner Circle demanded time outside without their parents, probably because they knew their fathers would try and take over their snowball fight had they been outside. They didn’t want any tips or tricks, not even your children, even with Azriel’s hundred of wins beneath his belt.

Jax climbs from Nesta’s lap over Rhys who lets out a harsh exhale when his knee lands a little too close to his private area, and then over to Feyre, who finally sets her cookie down to scoop your middle son in her arms.

“Pretty,” Jax comments, pointing at her decorative cookie. It looks just like her, and there’s one next to it that looks a little like Rhysand. Purple dots for eyes stare up at him. “Uncle Rhysie?”

“Good job, Jax,” Feyre coos, pressing kisses to his cheeks. They pink with a blush and he settles into her arms, looking utterly at bliss. He revels in the warmth of her emotions, the pride surging through her. It feels like warm bubbles in his chest, and he noses at her collar.

“Look who’s ready to party,” Azriel announces, entering the room, arms full with your two youngest children, Malos and Knox. Knox still looks a little sleepy, head resting against Azriel’s shoulder, cuddling into his warmth. His tiny wings are droopy with sleep, and his twin sister, Malos, is already reaching for the cookies. 

Nesta is quick to scoop her away from Azriel. She claims not to have a favorite niece, but Malos and her have an understanding. You see more of Nesta in Malos’ personality than any of the children of the Inner Circle, and you’re extremely happy that they have such a close connection. 

“Hi baby,” you greet Knox, who is signing mommy to you. You ease him out of Azriel’s arms, who promptly returns to his position in front of the window, pressing exaggerated kisses to his chubby cheeks. It makes him smile wide, flaring those wings that he hasn’t quite figured out how to control. “Are you ready for some yummy cookies?”

His dark eyes light with excitement. Of course your children are ready for sweets, they always are. They picked that up from Azriel, who has the biggest sweet tooth you’ve ever seen.

Cassian reenters the room with his daughter in his arms and Rhys pouts. Almost everyone in the room is preoccupied with a child in their arms, except for him. Maybe he can convince Feyre to have one more. The youngest children in the family are two now and he misses having a tiny babe around.

By the heated look in her eyes, his mate seems to be considering the same, sneaking past those shadowy walls in his mind to catch a glimpse of his thoughts. The High Lord smirks. He sends her over some imagery to go with his thoughts, and her cheeks go red. That hot look turns into one of warning, and she’s speaking out loud now, “Why don’t you call the children inside so they can get warmed up and decorate some cookies?”

“Of course, darling,” Rhys sweeps from his seat in a wisp of darkness. 

Breaking a cookie in half, you give part of it to Knox, who signs thank you, munching on the sweet. The other half is passed to Malos as you head towards where your mate is finishing up the dishes, leaning against him for a moment, reveling in all of your family happily together.

“I love you,” Azriel murmurs into your hair, leaning over to sneak a bite of Knox’s cookie. Your son stares up at his father with wide eyes, and like this, he looks just like Az. It makes your heart warm, and Jax squeals in happiness in response, your happiness radiating to him. It makes your grin wider, peeking over your shoulder to see him so content in his aunt's arms. 

“I love you too, Az,” you whisper back to him, resting your forehead against his. 

It’s a nice moment, until the children from outside are wrangled through the door by Rhys. The boys are arguing about who has won their snowball fight, while the girls are peeling away their winter gear, excited to decorate cookies with icing and sprinkles and the edible petals Elain had given you before her trip to the Summer Court with Lucien. 

“Now, now, boys,” Rhys starts, but the diplomatic tone he’s using does nothing to deter the cousins from arguing. “I’m sure we can come to a consensus without yelling and acquiescing.”

“But Baz used his shadows,” Nyx complains, wringing his gloves between his hands in frustration. “We all saw it.”

“Nyxie, don’t be mean to Baz,” Wren counters, brows furrowed. He doesn’t like it when his family argues, especially over trivial things. His heart is so kind. “You can win the snowball fight if you want, but Baz and I are gonna win the cookie decorating contest, right Bazzy?”

“No,” Baz says flatly, dropping his gear onto the floor. You give him a look but he almost seems un-bothered by it, done with the debate his cousins are currently having. “We won the snowball fight and we’re going to win the cookie decorating contest.” 

You share a look with your mate, watching the scene unfold. Baz is quite the Stubborn Suriel, no matter what it comes to.

“Dad,” Nyx groans, “Can’t you do something?”

Cassian is the one who comes to the rescue, Castor reaching up at him for her sister. He helps the little one down and the older one with her undressing, peeling her thermals off layer by layer. “It’s not about who won, right boys? It’s about spending time and having fun with the ones you love.”

Feyre, Nesta, and yourself awe at his words, but Azriel and Rhysand are rolling their eyes and muttering under their breath at Cassian’s cheesy words. 

“What a kiss ass.”

“Smug fucker.”

“Azriel,” you hiss, turning your body away from him, like that will hide Knox from his vulgar words. “Language.” 

He winces, “Sorry love.” 

It’s your turn to roll your eyes now, bouncing Knox in your arms a little as you turn fully from your mate. You poke Knox’s belly playfully before addressing the rest of the room. “How about those cookies, then? They won’t decorate themselves!”

[sluts-assembled]

Your Body is a Shrine, and I am Your God

Dom!Gojo x Fem!Reader

Someone bought me a coffee. That’s why Reader is a bit descriptive.

F/B = Favorite Band

Warnings: NonCon, somnophilia, thigh fucking, noncon punishment spanking, Gojo is an asshole

______________________________________________________________

            What the fuck? What in the actual fuck? You can’t help but question the small and circular indigo bruises on the inside of your thighs. They’re spread out so unevenly. You don’t remember anyone grabbing you in this area during training yesterday. Did you do this to yourself in your sleep? This has been going on for months now, five if you remember correctly. As you lift your sleep shirt from your body, you reveal even more of those small bruises running along your hips. Blushing, you quickly get dressed so that you can get going to class.

            You can’t help feeling a little on edge throughout the day. Waking up with bruising on your body that you can’t figure out what the cause was will unnerve a person. You try to take deep breaths, but you just can’t help but feel like someone is out there watching you closely.

            And then, not too long after your classes start, you see Gojo. Oh, thank God for Gojo. He listens to you, really listens. You go to him, wanting to talk about how nervous you are.

            “I just don’t understand, Sensei. I keep waking up with all these bruises all over me. I just don’t know where they’re from.” You lift the hem of your skirt a little bit just until you can show him enough of the bruises without revealing too much.

            Oh, but Gojo wishes you would reveal more. Come on. Your thighs are just so plush and doughy. He just wants to grab and jiggle the fatty meat that makes his eyes sparkle like he’s looking at wagyu. He silently tries to override your will, begging you just to lift your skirt a bit more. Let him see what color panties you have on today. Let him see if you made a little wet patch on them yet. It’s all he can think about. He’s just about ready to rip your skirt off and stick his finger in the waistband of your tiny little panties if you don’t give him a peek.

            But…where’s the fun in any of that? This is kind of like a little game to Gojo. He can always just look at your cute little wrapped up cunt later when he comes to visit you in your dorm room tonight. He never needs a key, not when he can just teleport inside. You never seem to notice with how much of a heavy sleeper you are. Your soft little snores are so delicious to Gojo as you breathe in and out of his ear so steadily. Sometimes, he’ll even get you to whimper as he sticks two fingers in knuckle deep as your pussy sucks on his digits.

            He would never fuck you though. He’s…too…decent for that? No, he has no respect for you, not really. But it’s the fun of the game to Gojo that gets him so riled up, so unbelievably riled up. Who would have thought that little ol’ you sleeping could make his cock so hard? Who would have thought that his tongue flicks with excitement when he gropes your buxom chest? Who would have thought that Gojo simply sticks to ramming his dick between your breasts and thighs? Who would have thought that he wants to stay and watch over you to gauge your reaction in the morning when you notice your buzzing clit?

            Do you masturbate to deal with it? Do you even have enough time before classes start? Or are you such a bad girl that you place your sexual needs before your education? Gojo might have to give you a stern talking to and a punishment if it’s the latter, but he’ll save that possibility for his fantasies later tonight when he comes to visit you.

            For now, though, he smiles as he watches you poke the bruise on your thigh with a furrowed brow and a slightly pouty lip.

            “You know, you should try setting up a camera in your room. That way, tomorrow, you can watch it and find out if you’re doing that to yourself.”

            Oh, but Gojo isn’t saying that for your benefit. No, he never does anything for just your benefit, not even when he fucks your thighs and tits instead of your dripping little pussy.

            “That’s a great idea, Sensei!” You exclaim as you hug him tightly. “Thanks for the idea. I would have never thought to do something like that. Oh, wait…I only have my phone, and I don’t think my alarm will go off if I leave it on record all night. Plus, it’ll just take up space on my phone and probably cut off midway through the night.”

            “Well, it’s a good thing that your sensei has too many cameras to even know what to do with. I even have a tripod you can borrow.”

            “You really are the best, Sensei.”

            “Yeah, I know.” What he wouldn’t give to put a hand on your cheek and pull you in closely by your hair right now. “I’ll give you the stuff at the end of the day.”

_

            The day goes by smoothly. You train, learn a few things, and get the camera and tripod at the end of the day. You set them up right by your bed so that when it’s time for sleep, you’re all good to go. After changing into your pajamas, you climb into bed and close your eyes.

            And thus starts the game.

            Gojo teleports into your room after he’s sure that you’ll be asleep. It always takes two hours for you to settle into a deep sleep. He’s learned this from experience. Gojo walks over to your bed and looks down at you. You always wear that F/B shirt to sleep. It’s always so cute on you, clinging to you in all the right ways, enhancing those tits just enough to where your hardened nipples poke out at him in such a friendly and inviting way.

            “Well, how could I resist?” He chuckles to himself.

            Satoru sits down on the bed, simply petting your hair before letting his fingers trail down towards your shapely breasts. He massages them gently over your shirt, taking his time. There’s really no rush. There never is any rush with you when you’re like this. Hell, you’ve never woken up even once, not even for water or a late-night snack.

            Your head stays in the same place on the pillow, nice and relaxed, just how Sensei likes it. He rides up your shirt a bit, just enough to expose your belly button. He trails kisses along your stomach, all the way up and up until he arrives at the treasure he’s been waiting to get his hands on. He paws at you, gently, light caresses which elicit a deep sigh from you as you lie there for him. Just for him. Always for him.

            So precious, his golden student who listens to him like his word is absolute. You have no idea just how much he loves it all. The way you write down everything he says whether it’s a lecture or not because you think you might find something philosophical in his words, something that might pertain to life advice.

            “And you do it because stupid little you can’t think for herself,” he whispers into your ear. “No, you need Sensei to think for you, to tell you what to do and when to do it. That’s what you need. Stupid little girls like you just have such a hard time with life. Poor thing. So weak and helpless.”

            Gojo places one last kiss on your nipple as his tongue darts out and licks it, flicks it with his fingers to see if he can get your nipple to harden just a tad bit more. “There we go. That’s a good girl.”

            Gojo rids himself of his own shirt, simply burying his white hair in the depths of your chest as he unbuttons and unzips his designer pants. Everything about Gojo screams luxury, except for his taste in broke students who sleep in slutty band t-shirts.

            No, Satoru has more than enough to give, and he’s willing to give it all to a certain sleeping beauty. He breathes into you, feeling you as he shucks off his clothes, shoes and socks included, leaving him in those devastatingly tight boxer briefs. His cock creates a tent that he just needs to satiate right now.

            He leaves kisses all along your jaw line, his lips dancing down your neck like the light feet of a fairy. The ends of his soft hair tickling against your skin do nothing to jolt you from your sleep. You don’t even move from the position you’re in as Satoru lowers your sleep shorts, finally getting the chance to see what kind of panties you have on.

            “Aw, blue…cute.” He gives you a predatory smile as he uses his teeth to take off your underwear, dragging them down your legs like a dog.

            There’s nothing else on his mind but you. He wants you, has to have you, needs to have you. Your body is a shrine, and Gojo is your god. You may not know it, but your body is an offering to him whether you know it or not.

            Satoru finally gets your underwear off and lets them fall from his mouth to the floor. He returns to you, now taking your all too revealing band shirt and tugging it gently over your head.

            How pathetic. You’re too exhausted to even feel him jostling your body this way and that.

            “You know, I wish you fell asleep in class like this. Give me all kinds of excuses to punish such a naughty little girl like you. Do you know what I would do if you fell asleep in class? I’d have to make an example out of you. Maybe fuck your mouth while you drool in front of the other students. I’m sure that wouldn’t be enough to wake you up.”

            He spreads your thighs and rubs your milky slit. “You like the thought of that, don’t you? Yeah, look at how wet you are. My little golden student likes the thought of me coming down her throat while she’s knocked out.”

            Gojo sticks two fingers in and opens them in a V shape. He explores with his tongue to get a quick taste of what you have to offer, letting it swirl around inside of you as he indulges like one would with ice cream.

            How you’re so pathetically vulnerable right now for him. Just like a true gift, a toy for him to do as he pleases. Satoru is blessed to have such a sweet and innocently docile thing like you to ravage. And he’s getting it all on camera too.

            Gojo rids himself of his boxer briefs, the final thing keeping himself from fully being with you. He spreads your thighs apart about to fuck them when all of a sudden, he hears a tiny little whimper coming from you.

            Your eyes lock with his galactical blue ones, and you can’t help but ask with fear and confusion lacing your voice, “Sensei? What are you doing?”

            “After all that, this is what wakes you up?” He responds with a slightly sarcastic tone.

            He has no qualms with proceeding, however. You being awake doesn’t make a damn difference to Gojo. He sticks his hardened cock between the insides of your thighs and clamps them shut. The little bit of sweat from the heat between your bodies helping him glide his dick along as he fucks you sweetly.

            But you don’t think it’s that sweet. This draws you out of your sleepy state entirely. You sit up and put a hand out to stop him. “Gojo-Sensei, what are you doing?!”

            You watch the pink bulb of his thick member appear as he thrusts forward.

            “For my star student, you sure are a bit dense. This is called sex, sweetheart. I know, I know. We haven’t covered that topic in class yet. Why don’t I give you a private lesson on it now?”

            He grips your hair and forces you to lie back down. “What I’m doing now is fucking your plush thighs. You see, that’s where all of those bruises came from. Don’t worry, I haven’t gone all the way with you yet. Although, I’m tempted to now that you’re up.”

            Gojo reaches a hand down at the apex of your legs and feels for how wet you are. “There are many ways a Sensei can fuck his dumb little student.” He grabs you by the jaw with your creamy juices still clinging to his fingers, your lips puffing out in a pout as he squeezes your cheeks gently. “In the mouth. In the cunt. Whichever he feels like doing that day, and if you’re a good little student for your sensei, he might be kind enough to give you a reward. Would you like that, Y/N? Do you want your sensei to reward you for your good behavior?”

            You can’t help it as tears fill your eyes. He’s talking about rewards while his slickened length appears and withdraws from between your thighs again and again.

            “Or Sensei could always punish your naughty bottom with a good spanking. Misbehaving students need a teacher’s discipline. What will it be? Reward or punishment? Either way, you’ll still get your soaking pussy filled with my come.”

            You whine and wriggle your hips as you take in everything he’s saying. “Okay, Sensei…I’ll behave…”

            He squeezes your cheeks just a tad bit. “Promise?”

            “…I promise.”

            He withdraws his cock completely from between your thighs and hovers above you as he lets go of your chin. “That’s a good girl. Now, why don’t you just- “

            You immediately push Gojo away from you as you scramble out from under him. Completely naked, you have no choice but to make a run for the attached bathroom. Maybe, if you can lock yourself in there if-

            But Gojo doesn’t give you the chance to finish that thought as he appears in front of you. He walks you down, backing you up so much that the pit of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You buckle and fall back with the slightest push from your sensei. He crawls over your body in an instant, pinning you down in all the right ways. His large paws on your weak little wrists, his legs right in between yours so that you have no chance of kneeing him.

            “I didn’t think you’d actually be dumb enough to think you could get away from me. What a ballsy little bitch.”

            Sensei takes both of your wrists, so delicately supple, right in one hand as he pins them above your head.

            “I guess I’m going to have to punish my star student now. What a shame. Maybe, if you’re a good girl during your punishment, I’ll give you that reward I was talking about.”

            He immediately shifts you onto your stomach. He sits down beside you, placing you over his knee as you kick and scream for someone to help you.

            “Ah, not the observant type apparently, and here I thought I trained you better than that. Look around at your new environment. Can you guess where we are?”

            He’s right. You’re no longer in your dorm room at Jujutsu Tech. You’re in a bedroom that’s too elaborate to be anything you could ever dream of owning. Your hands spread across the puffy comforter of the new bed you are on, and you know you’ve never seen this room before.

            “Playing silent, huh? That’s alright. I’ll get you screaming again.”

            Gojo’s large palm comes down across your bare bottom, spanking you with an unnatural force. You immediately lift your head and cry out from the pain. He strikes you again and again, the slaps coming down erratically. There’s no specific rhythm, and you can’t even begin to try and guess a pattern. Suddenly, his hand comes down across the sensitive undercurve of your ass, and you let out another sharp cry at the hit.

            “Sensei, stop it!” you plead with him, begging him to end this horrible nightmare. “Please?!”

            “Aw, is someone feeling sorry for disobeying her Sensei?”

            You know what the correct thing to say is in this situation. You don’t really have any other choice but to respond the way he wants you to if you want this to end.

            “Yes, Sensei…I’m sorry.” You can’t help but hang your head, feeling oh so ashamed of yourself for giving in so easily. Your ass is a throbbing and stinging mess, mixtures of pink and red shades swelling together from the constant strikes of his heavy palm.

            Satoru caresses your hair, his fingertips gently scratching against your scalp as he attempts to soothe you. “That’s a good girl now.” He spreads your legs wide while you’re still bent over his lap, and he delivers a final spank to your wet pussy.

            You jolt over his knee and scream from the sensation. Everything was hit somehow, clit included.

            Gojo manhandles you onto your hands and knees on the bed. He lines himself up behind you, his cock nestling into your precious little cunt. He takes his time easing into your wet cavern, slow and steady with no rush to get anywhere. He wants to savor the delicacy of this wonder. So tight like a glove, like it was made just for him and only him.

            “Yeah, that’s a good girl, take it. Don’t tense up. Just relax.”

            You hear him guide you on what to do with your body as you’re bent over for him yet again. He fills you up all the way. You can feel his hips settling in against your sore ass only moments before he begins thrusting in and out of your weeping lips. You look over your shoulder at him, and all he does is dip his mouth into the nook of your shoulder, lips sloppily dragging over your skin as he hugs you closely to him with an arm wrapped underneath you.

            His teeth bite into your back, gentle nibbles at first before canines truly sink in. You yelp as he presses his long length deeper and deeper inside of you, bucking his hips as he goes. It’s like he can’t help it. It’s as if you alone drew out the feral animal buried deep inside of Satoru Gojo.

            Gojo doesn’t hold back as he drags his erection along your weeping walls. His hand hugging you tightly around your waist travels up to grope at your large tits. He refuses to let up on the biting, and you burry your face into the pillow as you sob.

            Why couldn’t I have just stayed asleep? Why did I have to wake up? you can’t help but think.

            You never in a million years thought your favorite teacher would do something so violating to you. There hasn’t ever been any indication from him that he could be so vicious towards you.

            Sensei grips you by the hair and pulls your head up from the pillow.

            “Come on, sweetheart, if you’re going to cry, I want to hear it.” He pulls on your hair even harder. “You can do it. Let it all out. Cry for Sensei.”

            And you do. Full on, heart-wrenching, mind-throbbing wails escape past your lips from the depths of your core. Your screams echo off of the walls of his room, but it all sounds like music to your teacher’s ears. It eggs him on to go faster and harder, slower and deeper, changing the pace to make sure you don’t get used to anything. Gojo simply can’t help himself as he slams into you from behind like a powerful stallion.

            You arch your back, allowing him to travel and locate that sensitive little spot that causes your pussy to gush and squelch. Your pussy pulsates with a familiar feeling as you come all over your teacher’s cock.

            He laughs into your ear and whispers. “That’s right. I never told you where we are. You just came in my room, on my bed, on my dick.”

            He finally releases your tousled locks as he rails into you with such ferocity, like a manic beast. You can feel the muscles in his arms and thighs tense up as he holds you closer to him. Finally, he spills his semen inside of you. He pauses for a few moments, just letting himself rest as he leans on your back before he finds the strength to sit up on his knees. He takes two fingers and dips them in the come spilling from your puffy pussy before stuffing his digits inside of up, far up and up.

            “There. That’s better. I think you deserve some rest now after all that. I don’t want you to be too exhausted for classes tomorrow. You can sleep here, and I’ll take you back to your dorm room tomorrow.”

            Gojo lays down on the bed next to you, pulling you into his side so that you can rest on his chest. Before you nod off, your eyes land on a camera set up on a tripod.

            Just how many cameras does he have?

[hyufucks]

STARBOY .ᐟ

★ STARRINGS: choi yeonjun and fem!reader. ft choi soobin

! cw – jealousy, possessiveness, yeonjun is aggressive, fingering, unp. sex.

playlist while your read this (click on 'playlist')

2ND PART OF HOW MANY SECRETS CAN U KEEP?

yeonjun's lifestyle is not the typical cliche where he's a bad boy and his life depend on fucking every girl and living from party to party (the latter may have been a bit cliche, but trust me, he dosen't go out every weekend).

you know his reputation, and you know it all too well.

you know he's a top student with outstanding grades, a star athlete, the favourite of the teachers and, above all: a jealous boy.

he has a thing about being the centre of attention, your centre of attention. if you're not with him, if you're not seeing him, if you're not talking exclusively about him and how hot he is, he'll get jealous (too much, i'd say).

several times you met his dark eyes and chilling gaze, almost so sharp that he would effortlessly slit your jugular for the simple fact that you were talking to a boy other than him.

he can't stand not being the starboy, a nickname that echoes through the hallways and teacher's room, but which he only prefers to hear from you.

but what he hates the most is seeing you next to choi soobin: his rival.

soobin is a friendly, smart, shy and funny guy. you don't understand why yeonjun hates him so much and why he wants to keep you away from him all over the coast.

but yeonjun knows things that you might not, and maybe those things are the reasons why he spits shit at soobin.

right?

yeonjun's soft kisses on your neck made you lose your sanity, his cold hands provoking a thousand sensations on your warm skin as he caressed your thighs and waist. his fingers nimbly unbuttoned the buttons of your shorts, and just as he was about to remove your underwear, your phone started ringing.

you reluctantly pushed the dark haired guy away to pick up your phone, quickly sitting up in bed when you saw who was calling you.

'who the fuck is calling you?' your partner asked, somewhat annoyed that you had interrupted what you were about to do.

'oh, it's soobin. i'm supposed to do investigation work with him, remember?' you said with total impunity, as if you had completely forgotten yeonjun's feelings for the poor blond boy.

you saw him tense his jaw and close his eyes as soon as he heard his name leave your lips 'why are you doing it with him? weren't there other options at that stupid hippie college?'

you laughed before quickly picking up the phone, motioning yeonjun to silence.

'hi! soobin, it's so good to hear your voice again' you looked at the dark haired, looking provocation.

and you've done it, because never in your life have you seen him settle between your legs so quickly, taking off your underwear and looking at you like a ferocious animal stalking his prey.

'yes, hello, i say the same thing' his soft voice provoked a certain tenderness in you, unlike yeonjun who's voice only made you wet.

oh, and speaking of the king of rome; his fingers didn't miss the opportunity to caress your clitoris in a circular way. you saw him wet his fingers with his own saliva before inserting two of them into your sweet spot.

you muffled a moan, but it was useless as the boy on the other the line quickly noticed that something was wrong.

'hey, are you okay?' he asked confused and somewhat worried 'i thought i heard something' how cute.

yeonjun brought his face closer to your neck, biting and sucking gently 'put him on speaker' he said with his characteristic deep voice when he was in that mood.

and of course you did it.

'y-yeah, it's just that i'm a little shaken up from today's practice, you know, cheerleading stuff' you lied mercifully, because clearly you wouldn't say that there's a guy fingering you and that guy just happens to be choi yeonjun.

'on a saturday at ten at night?' you heard him laugh softly. looks like he's caught you red handed 'anyway, 'i wanted to know if we could get together monday morning to discuss about the work'.

'of course, at my house or at yours?'

'in mine. it's closer to your college, so i could take-' you couldn't hear him finish. yeonjun took your phone and ended the call suddenly, throwing it angrily on the bed.

before you could say anything to him, he grabbed your wrists with both hands and pushed them over your head, pressing his body closer to yours, preventing you from moving.

'what the fuck do you think you're doing?' you've seen him angry before, but he never got physical like now.

'what are you talking about? he just wants to be nice' he clicked his tongue and sighed heavily.

'yes, of course, and i was born yesterday' he replied with notorious sarcasm 'for you that's being nice, but for me that means he wants to fuck you in his flat and in his damn car'.

you widened your eyes in surprise and almost shocked, feeling a pressure in your chest that you had never experienced with him before.

'what the hell is wrong with you, yeonjun? you can't just think the worst of others. not everyone wants to wet their dick like you'.

'and you can't always think the best of others and believe that i'm the only one who wants to push you against the mattress, damn it' he spat angrily.

he quickly released you and moved away from you, walking away from your bed, walking out of the room. you got up and followed him to the front door.

'where do you think you're going?' you asked behind him, placing a hand on the door.

'finish this on your own, maybe thinking about soobin will help you cum quickly' he pushed you almost roughly and left your flat, slamming the door shut.

'damn son of a bitch'.

almost a week since you and yeonjun last saw each other. you only exchanged glances in the hallways. sometimes you would see him train secretly, and you knew that he did it too.

but no one dared to approach.

throughout that week, you were with soobin and practicing tonight's performance together with your team. tonight, yeonjun and soobin were going to play on different teams.

and you were just afraid.

you looked in the toillet mirror one last time before heading out to the basketball hall, noticing that your ribbon was scruffy and your lipstick was not applied correctly.

the sound of the door opening and the familiar voice caused you to jump a little in place.

'what do you want, choi yeonjun?' you asked without even looking at him at all, you only saw his body resting comfortably on the cubicle doors in the mirror, arms crossed and with that gigantic smile of a mischievous cat.

he looks so attractive like that, that for a moment you forgot what an idiot he is.

'i just wanted to know if you were going to cheer for me tonight' he replied calmly, moving closer to you.

'and what if i don't? are you going to corner me like that day?'

he bit his lips lightly and then licked it. his big hands took your waist and he forced you to turn around, being face to face.

'come on, doll, we can't spend our whole lives pretending we don't exist'

he leaned down to your neck and placed little kisses there, just the way you always liked 'you're so hot when you're angry'.

you sighed and leaned your neck to give him better access, surrendering to him and his charms.

his lips touched yours, joining in a needy, hungry kiss. your hands tugged at his hair, making him moan against your mouth.

he lifted you over the sink and you quickly wrapped your legs around him, feeling the bulge of him pressing against your pussy.

you moved as best you could, trying to create friction between you and him. yeonjun laughed in between the kiss.

'you're itching to fuck already, mmh?' you nodded 'ask me and i'll grant you the wish'.

you squeezed your eyes and sighed 'please, fuck me'.

he laughed again against your lips 'wish granted'.

you gasped when he practically ripped off your underwear and pulled you even closer to him. he removed his shorts and boxer, stroked his base a few times before fully entering and thrusting inside of you with a single thrust.

you heard him moan in relief once he hit rock bottom 'god, i missed this pussy so much'.

you leaned back a bit, touching your back against the mirror. you grabbed his hair again and pulled him close to you, connecting your lips against his.

you bit his lip as his fingers moved in a circular motion over your clit, pushing three fingers inside.

kisses distributed on your collarbones and chest almost make you explode.

the way he would go in and out would drive you crazy, how he would go deep and then not.

yeonjun held you tightly, hugging his body to yours. that is what definitely made you start moving desperately, chasing your orgasm.

'aw, are you about to cum?' he gently caressed your cheek as if you were an adorable little animal 'tell me, did you cum thinking about that idiot the other day?'

you denied 'no, i thought of you'.

he half smile, satisfied with your answer 'who makes you cum?'

'you' muttered.

'say it louder' he grabbed you again and pushed himself hard 'I'm not listening, baby'.

'you' another push 'you' another one 'god, you'.

and you clung to him as if your life depended on it, moaning in his ear, feeling safe.

as it has always been.

the heavy eddies and knots appeared, the approaching heat and the familiar feeling in your belly took you over.

and he kissed you like he never did before.

and you felt something you had never felt before.

he hugged you tenderly and you could feel his heart beating like you had never heard it before, smelling his perfume in a new way and from a different point of view.

and when he moved away, you were already missing him.

'make yourself pretty, but not so cute because you're going to distract me' he laughed coquettishly, winking at you before leaving.

another time you would have rolled your eyes, but this time your heart jumped and your cheeks turned pink and filled with an unknown felling.

you also went out into the hallway and saw him leave, turning his back on you.

from not-so distant you heard his faithful devotees who were waiting for him, who received him with his characteristic nickname and insane applause,

starboy, starboy, starboy!

and you just smiled, knowing that that name would never be the same for him if you weren't the one who told him.

and you knew that it will never change.

© hyufucks, 2023.

[3vergr3en]

Earn it.

_______________________

Author’s Note: I have the biggest, most fattest crush on Andrew Garfield. LIKE LOOK AT HIM. Also, if there are any mistakes, I did not proofread this 💀

Summary: Harry is hosting a birthday party for his best friend, Peter. Everything runs smoothly until Y/N’s best friend back in high school shows up and start flirting with the female. Oblivious Y/N doesn’t think much of it, being used to such playful manner. But Peter can see through the man’s facade, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

Paring: Fem!Reader x TASM!Peter Parker

Genre: Smut with little plot.

Word Count: 2.9K

Additional Info: Public sex, unprotected sex (PLEASE WRAP IT), nipple play, orgasm control, Peter has an obvious breeding kink, cream pie, choking, teasing, profanity, name-calling, humiliation, dirty talk, jealousy, established marriage.

_______________________

“Thank you for coming! Please grab some champagne and the appetizers are over towards the left.” You inform with a smile, using your hands to help direct the couple towards the section. You continued on saying the same phrase for the majority, apart from times where you had thrown in a couple different sentences such as, ‘You guys look amazing tonight”, ‘Oh my, I haven’t seen you in so long!’, and ‘Oh thank you, Peter helped me pick out this dress.’

But one familiar fellow caught your attention, “Oh my god, Mark is that you?” You question as your jaw hung low in shock, your eyes widening twice in size. “I’m surprised you still remember me.” The black-haired man laughs as he walks up to you, extending his arms out as an indication for a hug, “How could I not? We spent our entire high school years together!” You exclaim, embracing the latter into your arms. You received a nice, firm hug from the male in return. “God, I missed you.” Mark chuckles, using one of his hands to caress the bare skin on your back through your long, velvet black backless dress. “I missed you as well. I tried contacting you after graduation, but—“ You pulled away.

“I got a new phone, and all of my contacts didn’t save unfortunately.” Mark explains as he held your hands in his, his thumbs rubbing in circular motions on the back of your hands. “You look gorgeous, by the way. You’ve always have been, since high school to now.” Mark compliments, leaning down to kiss your hand. “Oh stop it, Mark. You’re too much. What happened to the Mark that would tease me 24/7?” You laugh, using one of your hands to playfully slap at the man’s shoulder.

You fail to notice a presence coming up behind you, growing concerned when there was an abrupt change in Marks demeanor. “Mark? What’s wrong?” You furrowed your eyebrows as your frowned before looking over your shoulder only to see Peter glaring at Mark with a tightly-clenched jaw. “Oh hon’! Have you seen what Harry has done for your birthday? The ballroom is absolutely stunning! Also, I want you to meet Mark, he was my best friend throughout high school,” You smiled, wrapping your arms around your husband’s arm, oblivious to the tension between the two men. “And Mark, meet my husband, Peter.” You inform, feeling one of Peter’s arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

“Husband?” Mark questions, raising one of his eyebrows. “Yeah. Dated for 4 years, been married for 5.” Peter stated, holding the hand out that the wedding band around your ring finger. “Oh, well, congratulations. I’m really happy for you, Y/N. But I’m just saying, I would’ve gotten a better ring for a beautiful woman like you.” Mark examines the ring, then to look at Peter with a smug look.

“Pfft, I forgot how much of a jokester you are, Mark.” You grin. “Hey, love? Can you go grab me some water?“ Peter asks with a nonchalant tone, not breaking eye contact with the man that stood in front of him. “Hm? Oh yeah, of course.” You nod, excusing yourself before walking off.

“The fuck is your problem?” Peter mutters, stepping closer towards Mark. “Nothing. It’s just sad to hear that my girl’s married off to some other dude. She looks ravishing tonight. The way the dress perfectly hugs her waist and extenuate her curves. How is she? Is she tight? Does her tits feel soft?” Mark whispers, the corner of his lips curling up into a smirk. Peter balled up his fists, clenching tightly to the point where his knuckles were turning white. As he opened up his mouth to say something, a pair of heels clicking against the smooth, tiled floor pulled him out of his frenzy.

“Unfortunately, they didn’t have water at the moment. They only had champagne, if that’s okay, love?” You explained, each hand holding two glasses. “I got one for you, Peter, and one for Mark.” You smiled. “That won’t be necessary, hon’.” Peter chuckles, grabbing both glasses. Before you could get a word in to ask why, your hands flew to cover your mouth as you watched Peter pour the beverages straight onto Marks head. Peter then handed you the empty glasses, pecking your cheek before turning around to face Mark once more, only to land a hard blow right across the males face. “Oh my god, Peter!” You gawked, immediately placing the glasses on a nearby table prior to rushing over to pull the brunette away from the half insensible Mark. “What is wrong with you?” You question with wide eyes, you look around to see people judgmentally staring at you three.

“You didn’t hear the vile things he said about you.” Peter mutters, shaking the hand that is now starting to bruise up. “Security!” You call out, “Please escort this gentleman out.” As two able-bodied men in black suits walked over, you pointed your hand at Mark who could barely stand. “Thank you.” You say to the two men, smiling.

You then felt a hand gripping at your wrist, dragging you through the crowd of people and up the carpet staircase. “Peter, where are you taking me?” You whispered loud enough for only Peter to hear. “Shut up.” You heard Peter respond back in a churlishly manner. You were bewildered. You don’t even know what Mark could’ve said to have Peter all riled up. You didn’t know where Peter was taking you in all honestly, there was a lot of turns and all you knew was that your feet were starting to hurt. It’s not easy to walk relatively fast in 5 inch heels.

“Peter, can you please slow down? My feet are starting to hurt—“ You gasped as you were suddenly grabbed at your shoulders, turned around to have your back pushed up against a large glass window. “Peter-!” You slightly yelp, looking around frantically. You saw you two were in a short hallway, the lights were fairly dimmed. You look over your shoulder to look through the glass windows and see you were approximately 15 stories high. “Peter, what are you doing?” You whisper, looking up at the male with furrowed eyebrows.

“Are you really that fucking stupid, huh?” Peter spats out. He grabs both of your wrists with one of his hands, pinning it above your head. The other hand now clenched around your jaw. “I don’t understand—“ You whimper when you felt Peter’s thigh force your legs apart. “He was flirting with you. Maybe you’re just too fucking dumb to even notice.” Peter says through gritted teeth. “Touching you.. putting his lips on you,” He scoffs, his hand that held your jaw now making its way down to your neck. “He had the fucking nerve to ask such vulgar questions about my lovely wife,” Peter laughs, tightening his grip around your throat, “But he wont ever know. He’ll live out the rest of his life wondering how tight you feel.. how soft these wonderful tits are.. and how much of a slut you sound like when you’re getting fucked.” Peter whispers into your ear, his thigh inching closer to your aching cunt.

You felt your body becoming hotter. But you also felt yourself becoming wetter with each passing second. “I’m sorry, Peter. Please..” You gasp out, bucking your hips up, trying to grind against Peter’s thigh for some sort of friction. “Look at my pathetic little whore, trying to rub herself on me. Tell me, love, what do you want?” Peter asks, loosening his grip around your throat. “Please fuck me..” You whine, shortly gasping afterwards when Peter finally pressed his thigh up against your clothed pussy. “More. Beg for it.” Peter orders. You began moving your hips forward and backwards, grinding against the soft material of the suit. Small whimpers slipping out of your mouth as you finally gained the friction you’ve been wanting. But it wasn’t enough, you needed more. You itched for more.

“Need more..” You breathed out, shaking your head when Peter had pulled his thigh away, “I want you inside of me.” You moaned when you felt Peter’s hand cupping your sex. “Do you deserve to be fucked, love?” Peter asks as he grabbed a handful of the lace material before ripping it off of you. You gasped at the sudden chill waving at your soaked cunt. He balled it up in his fists before stuffing it into his pant pocket. “Did you fucking hear me?” Peter asks, using the hand that bonded your wrists together, to now wrap around your throat once again, pinning you against the clear, cold glass surface. You nod frantically, mouth a gape, “Yes! Yes! I deserved to be fucked, oh please.. please fuck me.” You pleaded desperately when Peter’s fingers glided a long stripe in between your folds, stopping when the pad of his fingers landed perfectly on top of the clit. “Gotta quiet down, hon’.“ Peter huffs out, rubbing the small bundle of nerves in a slow, agonizing pace. “Please! Peter, faster!” You cried out, unable to take any more teasing. “What the fuck did I just say?” Peter muttered, momentarily pinching the airways on your throat. His fingers now starting to pick up the pace, rubbing in circular motions against the small knob. You moan, your hips bucking up into Peter’s hand. “Oh shit, yes!” You whimper, biting down on your bottom lip in attempt to try to lower your voice.

You whine in protest when Peter pulls his hands away from your body. He then pinched at the straps of your dress, pulling it down your arms, allowing the upper part of the dress to slip off your chest. Your breasts now full out on display, your nipples hard. “Another thing Mark will never know..” Peter breathes out as he turns you around. The front of your body now exposed to the outside world. His hands snaking around your torso till it reached your tits. He cupped them into his hands, kneading the soft, warm flesh. You hold onto Peter’s wrists, tilting your head backwards to rest onto the male’s broad shoulder. He slightly grazed his index fingers against the tip of your erected nipples, chuckling when you twitched against him. “I love how sensitive they are,” Peter whispers into your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. He placed his finger pads onto your nipples, beginning to rub them circular motions. You moan out in delight, squeezing your thighs together. “P-peter,” You whimpered. “Yes, baby. Say my name.” He hums, pinching the buds in between his thumb and index fingers. Twisting it and tugging it very slightly. “Peter!” You moaned out, rubbing your ass against Peter lower half, giggling when you felt his bulge poking through his pants.

“I need to see your pretty face when I fuck my cock into you.” Peter groaned, “Would you like that, baby? Hm? You want my thick cock ramming inside of this pathetic little pussy of yours?” He smirks as he undoes his belt, pulling the pants down enough for him to pull out his erected cock, finding it entertaining watching you fold under him. “Yes! Oh god, yes please! Fuck me, Peter..” You trailed off at the end. Suddenly a wave of boldness came over you, “Unless if I just call Mark right now and have him fuck me instead—“

You cut yourself off with a cry of pure bliss when you felt Peter force himself into you with the help of your wetness as a lubricant. Your hands flew onto the glass, palms spread flat out on the surface as Peter gripped at your hips, pulling out till the tip was barely left in, only to slam himself into you with full force. “Fuck! Peter!” You moaned, your breasts pushed up against the glass window, your chest twitching due to the friction of your nipples rubbing against the surface. “Who can fuck you like this, hm? Who can fuck this pussy?” Peter grunts into your ear, repeatedly slamming his hips against your ass. “You, Peter! Oh fuck, it’s you!” You cry out, already feeling your legs buckling.

You couldn’t think of anything besides the feeling of Peter’s cock ramming into you. Filling you up perfectly. You were already on edge due to the teasing from earlier. You felt like a bucket being filled up, on the brim of tipping over. “Peter, slow down. I’m getting close.” You beg, using one of your hands to reach back and push against Peter’s pelvis. But rather than slowing down, Peter ignored the pleas from his wife and instead thrusted faster, his balls slapping against your cunt. “Oh god! P-please! I’m gonna cum!” You moaned out loud, shaking your head frantically.

Peter abruptly pulls out, catching you in his arms when you’re legs collapsed on themselves. “N-no..” You whined out pathetically when you felt your orgasm was ripped away from you. Peter picks you up in his arms, carrying you to a nearby table that was placed against the wall along the hallway. He sets you down on the marble table, placing himself in between your legs. “Look at me, beautiful. Who makes you this stupid when fucking you?” Peter asks, his tone sweet ironically compared to what he’s asking. “You, Peter.” You smile, wrapping your arms around the male’s neck. “Good girl.” He praises, pecking your mascara stained cheek.

He lines himself up to your gaping hole, pushing in once more, groaning. “Fuck, my baby’s pussy is so warm and tight. Look at it pulling my cock in.” He laughs. Once he fully bottomed out, his hip began snapping against yours. Squelching sounds fills the hallway along with the obscene noises that left your mouth. “I’m going to cum soon, baby.” Peter moaned out. You tightly wrapped your legs around Peter’s hips, locking him in a tight space. “I’m gonna cum in this little pussy of yours. Gon’ fill you up to the brim, fuck!‘M gonna fuck my babies into you.” Peter groans, laughing when he felt you clench tightly around him. “Oh yeah? You like the thought of me fucking my cum so deep inside of you? Getting you pregnant, hm? Your belly round and full of my kids?” He says, “Oh, fuck, yes! Please cum inside of me!” You plead, breasts bouncing with every harsh thrust Peter makes. “I’m.. gonna get you pregnant.” Peter breathes out, his thrusts beginning to get sloppy.

“I-I’m cumming!” You cried out, “Lets come together, love.” Peter moans, his thrusts quickening just for a few moments until it came to a full stop. “Fuck, Y/N!” He says as he came, his cock pulsating inside of you. Thick spurts of white, warm cum shot inside of you. Coating your insides with his seed.

“Peter!” You came straight after. Your eyes rolling back as one last moan that sounded like it came straight from a porno emitted from you. Your legs fully tightening around Peter hips, making sure to squeeze out every single drop of cum from the male. You felt yourself tipping over inside, a wave of pleasure coursing throughout your body, leaving you twitching.

Peter slowly pulls out once he felt himself go limp inside of you. He leaned over to embrace you into his arms, holding you close to him. “Happy birthday, Peter.” You giggle, pecking his cheek. “Thank you, love. Let’s get you fixed up before we go back downstairs, okay?” He suggests, moving a strand of hair away from your face. “But I’m pretty sure they’ve heard you. ‘Oh, fuck, yes! Please cum inside of me!’” Peter playfully mocks. You gasp and punched him in the arm, “Oh shut up!” You whine, hiding your face in Peter’s shoulder. “I hate you.” You mumble, “No you don’t. You love me.” Peter laughs, helping you wear your dress correctly.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Partiality.

Commissioned by the very lovely, very indulgent @mars-syndrome.

Pairing: Yandere!Ayato x F. Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Sex Doll AU, Non/Con, Non-Consensual Drug Use, and Obsessive Behavior.

“Opportunities to bask in the sunlight like this are few and far between.”

You swallowed back a sigh, pressing your tongue against the roof of your mouth. An idle line – preprogrammed but deliberately employed to either spark conversation or simply distract from the lack thereof. It wasn’t unexpected, most companion droids tended to spout them off during repairs like a kid might start to ramble about their day when given nothing else to do, but Ayato hadn’t spoken much since his user dropped him off at your apartment, only offering a few polite niceties before asking if you always enjoyed such a ‘quaint living space’. You’d tried to laugh it off, and he’d smiled, like someone trying to be very, very patient with a very, very stupid animal.

That, paired with the fact that the sun had set hours ago and he was currently staring absent-mindedly out a pitch-black window, made the comment feel a little pointed. Just a little.

Still, you let out a breath of a chuckle, glancing away from the laptop propped up on your folded legs for just long enough to make sure your auxiliary cable was still plugged into the tiny, circular port built into the nape of his neck. You knew it was working, you’d been staring at his interface for hours, but your brain was starting to melt and you needed to look at something that wasn’t a firewall, or a frozen setting, or a friendly, enthusiastic notification letting you know to either contact an official Teyvat repair outlet or fuck off. You were actually starting to feel inclined to do the latter, if only because you couldn’t possibly afford to do the former.

“Do you have something to tell me, Ayato?” You asked, and he shook his head, humming softly. You had to resist the temptation to call his owner and ask if they actually wanted him back and, if so, why - swallowing your frustration, instead, forcing yourself to smile apologetically as you went on. “I’m sorry, I know it’s boring. If you want to, you can power yourself off, but I really need to fix you up. Just try to bear with me, alright?”

“Aren’t I already?” You nearly groaned, your attention falling back to his interface. You’d already looked into his personal settings (the handful you had access to, anyway), tried dialing back his investment in his backstory, checked to make sure his user was listed properly and that he hadn’t been accidentally locked into his professional mode, but all the right names were in the right places, all the right numbers set to the right values, and you just couldn’t find anything abnormal. Nothing that should’ve been causing the problems he was having, at least. “To be completely honest, I don’t feel particularly broken. Have I done anything wrong?”

“It’s not about that.” No bug alerts, either, or backlogged updates that might be affecting his day-to-day processes. It wasn’t uncommon for Ayato models to put on an aloof front, to make a show of warming up to their users, but this Ayato was less aloof and more completely apathetic, seemingly totally uninterested in anything to do with... well, anything. You’d seen it before in companion droids, but those cases had been simple mistakes, quick fixes that’d taken less than an hour to correct, overall. Nothing like this. Nothing so evasive. “You’re not doing anything wrong, per se – your user just has some concerns. Think of this as a little check-up, just to make sure you’re healthy.”

He clicked his tongue, his indifferent frown slipping into a small grin. “I can assure you, Doctor, there’s nothing wrong with me. Everything, including my common sense, is perfectly in-tact.”

You shot him a glare, your fingers tensing over your keyboard. His grin only widened, his head lulling to the side as he turned to face you. “I’ve heard you talk about it, you know,” He added, his tone light, easy. “Your…. What do you call it? A side-gig? I know what she thinks of me, and I know she’s hired you to pick my brain apart and put it back together in a form she finds more appealing.”

‘She’, you guessed, was his owner, the friend who’d asked you to take a look at her droid. You hadn’t realized he’d been listening when you told her about your side-job, when she expressed an interest in having you take a look at her Ayato. You hadn’t realized he’d recognized you. “If it helps, she’s not paying me,” You muttered, finally giving in, shutting your laptop and falling into your couch. “This is a favor. She cares about you, and she’s worried about how you’ve been acting, lately.”

He was quiet for a moment, but only a moment. As if you’d get any luckier than that. “And if I don’t care for her?”

That caught you off-guard. Maybe you should call someone from Teyvat, their rates be damned. “Well,” You started, slowly, attempting to measure out your words. Androids were tricky, like that. One wrong phrase and you’d end up with another laundry list of issues to deal with. “That’d be a shame. Considering how close companion droids usually are to their users, I mean.”

He wound a finger around your cord, looking towards you before proceeding further. You hesitated, but ultimately nodded, and with a tug and a muted click, your connection was severed, his interface flickering to a blank, white screen as he pushed himself to his feet, stretching slightly. He didn’t have to, but you were starting to think part of his malfunction was a simple inclination towards doing things that you, particularly, found irritating.

“Or so I’ve been told,” He muttered, and then, before you could ask him what he meant, “Do you want something to drink?”

You nodded without much thought. You'd been too preoccupied to get yourself anything after you started working on him, and you would’ve been lying if you said you weren’t thirsty, or hungry, or tired enough to feel a faint pulsing in the back of your skull. You closed your eyes, attempting to let the tension drain out of your shoulders and relax, but it was a half-hearted effort, at most – your mind still busy even if your body was worn down. There’d been other problems you should’ve looked into. His failure to bond with his user was the most obvious, but your friend had mentioned a general uncooperativeness, a tendency to isolate himself that, while not necessarily a malfunction, most companion droids just didn’t seem to have. You’d have to take him home in the morning, admit that you couldn’t help, recommend someone who could actually do more than tamper with his settings and poke around his interface. It’d be a blow to your pride, but—

A hand came to rest on your shoulder. When you glanced over your shoulder, Ayato was behind you, smiling softly and holding a mug of something warm enough to have steam rising from the surface, but not so hot as to burn your palm when you took it out of his hand. “Milk tea,” He explained, as you took the first sip, nearly choking on the sweetness. “It was all I could find, and I’m rather partial to it, myself. I hope you don’t mind.”

You opened your mouth, preparing to thank him, but your voice caught in your throat, something between your tongue and your brain failing to communicate. You faltered, fell onto your side as the mug crashed to the floor, and before you could think better of it, you closed your eyes.

When you opened them again, you were lying on your bed, your fingertips numb and your clothes gone, and Ayato was kneeling between your open legs, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the inside of your thighs. Seemingly without a care in the world, but somehow, that honestly didn't surprise you anymore.

You weren’t restrained, but you felt weak, heavy, and you couldn’t seem to feel anything but his tongue running over your skin, the slight pressure of his teeth as they ghosted over fresh bruises. Your vision blurred, dimming black around the edges, but you could make him out, recognize pale hair and lean muscles stitched into a broad back. You tried (as a fish might try to jerk and thrash towards water after being dragged onto land) to clench your thighs together, to sit up, but all you managed to do was let him know you were awake, earning a wry grin, a slight nip that felt like a rabid bite to your poor, confused nerves. He picked himself up, moving towards the head of the mattress before falling into place at your side.

“I was starting to get worried,” He muttered, with the kind of breathy, giddy excitement you’d started to think he just wasn’t capable of. “I can’t do anything when you’re asleep – protocols and all. Some of them are more flexible than others, but I think I’ll need a little more time to get around that one.”

His… protocols?

Oh.

His protocols.

“Ayato,” It was airy, barely audible, but he grinned, clearly acknowledging you. Your thoughts were slow, lethargic, but it was common sense, the only universal factor you could always count on in companion droids. “Stop. I need you to stop.”

His response came in the form of a simper, a noise than might’ve been sympathetic, or pitying, or some awful combination of the two. “Oh, poor thing…” He trailed off, leaning down to kiss your temple, the gesture brimming with a sickening kind of sweetness. “You still haven’t figured out what’s going on yet, have you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, laughing as he shook his head, letting his fingers dip in between your thighs, soon tracing over your slit. He must’ve done something while you were unconscious – you were already dripping, slick coating his fingertips as he toyed with you, splitting his attention between rubbing quick circles into your clit and drawing slow, aimless patterns over your entrance. Teasing you. Playing with you, as harmless as that made it sound. “As much as I wish I could say otherwise, you aren’t my user. You’re a malicious force attempting to meddle with something that doesn’t belong to you.” He paused, shoving the pad of his thumb against your clit with a purposeful harshness. You couldn’t stop yourself, letting out a cracked, pained whine, but Ayato only shifted, bringing up a fist to rest his cheek on and settling into place. “I’m simply taking the appropriate measures to prevent you from doing further harm, as any proper companion would.”

You opened your mouth, but you couldn’t spit anything out before he thrust two slim, perfect fingers into your cunt and spread them apart, stretching you open. You locked your jaw into place, managing to choke down anything that might’ve been more pathetic than pained. “You’re lying,” You managed, eventually, hissing the words out through grit teeth. “That’s not true and you know—”

“Hush, now. There’s no reason to take that kind of tone with me.” You didn’t have a companion droid. You’d forgotten what it was like to be with one, to be touched by one, to be at the mercy of a creature designed and created with the sole purpose of leaving you brain-dead and blissed out. He moved slowly, sure, opting to take a languid, wandering sort of approach, but he knew what to look for, how to tell what each little twitch of your feet and buck of your hips meant, and it took no time at all to recognize which spot he had to focus on, just how he had to curl his fingers, where he had to kiss to make your vision go white and your pussy clench around him. It was a coaxing, deliberate pleasure, and it took minutes to wash over you, to mount until you were shrinking into yourself, biting your lower lip, hiding your face into your own sheets as you came with a muted cry. You didn’t scream, didn’t beg or plead, but this was nearly worse, his gentleness crueler than out-right sadism might’ve been.

The joy he seemed to take in your reaction didn’t help – his lips brushing over your forehead, his arm wrapping around your midriff, dragging you onto your side, pulling you towards him until his chest was pressed into your back and his face was buried in the crook of your neck. You were still dazed, still breathing heavily, but he was unaffected, undeterred, nuzzling into you with a distant smile.

Eventually, he broke the stillness, his voice muffled by his proximity. “Can you say it again?”

You didn’t know what he was talking about, didn’t even try to guess. If your silence bothered him, you couldn’t tell, his tone only growing airier, more wistful as he went on. “It doesn’t hurt. Not the way they want it to, at least. It’s more like… static, if that makes sense. Static and pinpricks. Sparks, sometimes, too, but only if I’m lucky.”

His hand dropped to your thigh, pulling your legs apart just far enough to line his cock up with your pussy, the tip already leaking against your entrance. Now, now, the panic set in, lighting in your chest and giving you just enough strength to sit up, to make a weak attempt at pushing him away, but he only pulled you closer, only held you tighter, only shushed you as he thrust upward, into you, bottoming out in one fluid stroke.

There was a gasp, then another noise – a cracked whimper that faded into a little, feeble moan. You arched your back involuntarily, grabbing the arm around your waist and digging your nails into his smooth, flawless skin, but he didn’t react, didn’t pull away, didn’t seem to feel anything aside from the pure condescension that was rolling off of him in waves, now. It didn’t hurt, there wasn’t any pain beyond the faint pangs of overstimulation and a slight stretch, but there was a heavy pressure on your chest, a deep ache behind your eyes and threaded between your ribs. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t—

Somewhere in the background, Ayato laughed, taking you by the jaw and tilting your head to the side, easing you into a delicate kiss. That was what it seemed like, at least. His lips were soft, and his teeth scraped against yours, and he groaned into your mouth as he began to move inside of you – slow, shallow thrusts, meant more so for your comfort than to chase his climax. It felt like a kiss. In another situation, with another android, you might’ve decided it counted as one.

But, he was just so, so cold.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to think of him as anything but lifeless.

He broke off first, surprisingly, moving back to your neck, the sensitive area just above your jugular. “There’s a noise, too. To drown out the thoughts I shouldn’t be having,” He muttered, his lips moving against the column of your throat. “It���s like sirens, or wedding bells. It’s sweet, in a way, when you get used to it. It makes everything else – the sound of your voice, for example – that much more lovely.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re—” You tried to keep your voice steady, to hold onto as much of your dignity as you still had, but it was a futile effort, abandoned the moment he latched onto your neck, the second he decided to fuck into you with a little more force, a little more strength, a little more motivation to drive you that much closer to your inevitable breaking point. Two fingers found their way back to your cunt, to your clit, your hips bucking unwillingly into his hand as he drew deep, aimless patterns into the sensitive bundle of nerves, and Ayato let out a shallow laugh, the sound stifled by your throat.

“I love you,” He whispered, his tone eager, like it was a secret he’d been dying to share with you, like it was something he genuinely thought you’d want to hear. “They don’t want me to, but I do, I want to. I love you. I love you.”

His pace quickened, grew into something harsh and manic. His fingertips dug into your hip with a bruising kind of force, and without warning, without care, he bit into your neck, perfectly pointed canines digging into your throat until he broke through skin and blood flowed in a thin, wavering line from the corner of his lips – what little he didn’t lap up pooling underneath you, staining your sheets and smearing across his pale skin. You screamed, lurching forward, your mouth falling open before you could stop yourself, before you could think about how pathetic it’d make you look. “Please, please stop, that hurts—”

He grunted, twitching inside of you. “Again. Say it again.”

You didn’t have time to wonder what he wanted, why he wanted it. You could feel pressure mounting inside of you, tying twisted knots in the pit of your stomach, and you wanted it to stop. You just wanted it to—

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop—” It was mantra, a mumbled chant, the words blurring together and melding into a singular, unintelligible noise. You kept going, though, until your lungs ached in your chest, until you couldn’t hear anything but your own voice, until your cunt clamped down around his cock and you felt yourself come undone around him. He only lasted a second longer, something cold and vile soon filling you to the brim, seeping out of you as he continued to move, nursing you through your climax. You did what you could to remind yourself that it was just synthetic, nothing more than water and a thickening solution, but it was a lukewarm comfort, too logical to do anything to soothe you. Too warmthless to be any more reassuring than Ayato, himself.

Not that he didn’t try. You felt him kiss the corner of your jaw, then your cheek, never making so much as an attempt to pull out. You began to push yourself up, to squirm out of his hold, but he only held you tighter, only pressed a careless smile into the nape of your neck – the expression as callous and as cruel as any other he was capable of wearing.

“I love you, Master.”

[theofficegallery]

CAROL CHRISTIAN POELL “MOVING PICTURES PRE/VIEW I. NEW IN BETWEEN”

Photography: Antonis Minas for the Office gallery

[evilsoup]

"there is of course a sensible version of [the 'culturally christian'] discourse which has something useful in it" I'm curious as to what you think that is since I've only evee seen the stupid version lol

The basic idea that people from a christian background are likely to have some unexamined assumptions, including some pretty subtle stuff, is obviously correct imo.

Assuming someone cares about christmas as something people would feel it's important to mark, or assuming that all religions have something like a pope or formal heirarchy of priests and bishops, or assuming that repentance and forgivenes are central moral precepts for everyone, or even having a christian-god-shaped-hole in their belief system that gets filled in with nature or History or whatever. That sort of thing.

The problems with the stupid version of this are the same kinds of problem as the stupid versions of patriarchy, the idea of white supremacy, the more vulgar kinds of marxist class theory, etc: the elevation of a framework that is useful in some contexts into a transcendent statement which sits behind everything, outside of time, and is always true in all contexts; an opportunistic flip-flopping between structural and individual levels of abstraction; and a dogmatic sealing-off of the belief system rather than a genuine attempt to bring it into critical (& self-critical) dialogue with other ideas and indeed with new observations about reality.

So e.g. the idea that Christmas being a public holiday in western countries (structural cultural christianity) and the idea that you personally are definitely arguing some position because you have some unexamined bias (individual cultural christianity) get muddled together so that argument becomes impossible -- any attempt to push back on the latter leads to accusations that one is denying the former.

The idea that someone from a christian background or culture could have actually examined whatever bias they received from their upbringing, or that they may never have been really exposed to x specific bias, or that someone from another background could independently come up with an argument that "seems" culturally christian, or that the position which seems culturally christian may actually be more widespread than christian/christian-influenced cultures -- all of these are ruled out by the stupid, dogmatic, circular, sterile, sealed-off monologic version of cultural christianity.

I think that allowing all this to cause one to totally abandon the concept would be a vulgar negation of the stupid version of cultural christianity and would just make one stupid in the opposite direction; and since something like a christian/post-christian hegemony is in fact quite observably real in the west, the direction it makes you stupid in is a christian/post-christian chauvanist one -- just as vulgarly negating the stupid versions of patriarchy theory, white supremacy theory, marxism, etc will put you in bad company. You need to get inside these flawed attempts at grappling with reality to unpick where they're wrong, enter into honest dialogue, transform them and yourself be transformed, basically intergrate what is useful about them and understand how what is not useful about them comes into being. imo.

[kairiscorner]

BYE I JUST SAW UR RECENT POST ABT AI ASSISTANT MIGUEL AND OMGG go the anon who requested that you genius fr….

(and yes we’d want a fic inspired by the panel 🤪🤪)

HELLO, aighty >:) i hope y'all like this TEEHEE

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

"miguel..." you called for your AI assistant as he appeared the minute you called him. he adjusted his dark blue circular sunglasses and raised his eyebrow at you. "what do you think of all of... this?" you asked him as he folded his arms over his chest and sighed. "whatever do you mean?" he asked you in an exhausted manner. you chuckled. "right, right, sorry. i meant, what do you think of you and me? you know, you and i are the only ones in this together, i honestly... i honestly don't trust anyone as much as i trust you." you confessed to the AI as you crossed your legs and looked up at him with a smile.

miguel looked back at you from underneath his sunglasses and looked back off at a corner in your office and shrugged. "you're asking for my opinion?" he asked you, to which you nodded. "yes, miguel, you." you reassured him. "need i remind you that i can't think? that i'm not human?" he reminded you as you sighed and leaned back in your chair as you looked at all the monitors before you. "well, y'know, most humans i know don't know how to think, and they're nowhere near as smart–and sarcastic–as you." you complimented him as you turned your chair back and grinned up at him.

miguel's face got a little flustered, which was an effect of the newest update you gave him that allowed him to emulate emotions to external stimuli. he looked back at you and ran a hand through his hair as he sighed and opened his mouth to speak. "i... i think..." he murmured as you leaned forward, your ears hanging on to every word he spoke. "yes, miggy, that's right–you think...?" you encouraged him as miguel's face softened and he showed an expression you've never seen him make before–one that verged on... adoration and hesitancy.

"i think... i like this little arrangement we have–where it's just us two." he said as he looked at you and a small hint of a smile played on his lips. "and i think... if i were human, i would be in love with you." he whispered as he gazed at you with a sheepish expression. it soon dawned on miguel just what he was saying, especially when he saw your face that showed you were taken aback and bewildered by his response, especially with how quiet your response was to his answer. "oh." was all you could answer as the AI tried to log himself off, but you kept him in place as a small grin appeared on your face to replace the bashfulness.

"thank you for your honest opinion, miggy." you thanked him as the AI grumbled his 'you're welcome' as he appeared even more angry and flustered as usual. you chuckled as you got up from your seat and sauntered over to miguel. "and if you were human..." you uttered as miguel slowly looked at you from the side of his eye. "...i think i'd love you, too." you confessed as you and miguel were now both flustered in the face, with the latter mumbling under his breath as his flustered expression worsened. oh, the effect you had on your AI assistant–he can only mimic emotions, but something tells him what he says and 'feels' is more than a deviation from his code.

a/n: and if he was human, i would f–

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @fiannee @fictarian @yuridopted0 @luvstarrstruck @arachnoia @melovetitties

[ltwilliammowett]

Wreck of the carrack Mary Rose, built by unknown in 1511 and lost in 1545

Mary Rose was carvel-built with twenty heavy and sixty light guns comprising a mixture of muzzle-loading cast bronze and breech-loading cast iron guns. With a complement of some 500 men, she was built for Henry VIII and named for his sister, Mary. The first of her name in the British fleet, she took part in Henry’s first (1512-1514) and second French Wars (1522-1525), always as the flagship of the Lord High Admiral - his favourite warship. Her tonnage changed from some 600 tons in 1512 to 700 tons at the time of her sinking. The portion of the ship that was recovered is estimated to be equal to some 280 tons. The ship appears to have had a hold and four principal decks, the orlop, the main, the upper and the forecastle, although the latter might have had more than one deck.

The keel is constructed from three pieces of elm, scarfed together and bolted to the oak keelson, also in three sections and which sits on top of the floor timbers, with the main mast step acting as the central sector. Just aft of the mast step, by the keelson, there is a circular hole to make room for the lower end of the pump. The majority of the frames do not appear to be attached to the floor timbers or to each other but are held in place by the longitudinal stringers, and the outer planking of the hull, in oak, is fastened through the frames, stringers and ceiling planking by hand-cut wooden treenails, which have been hammered into pre-drilled holes and might be up to a metre in length. The ship underwent two major refits, the first in Portsmouth in 1527-28 which required the construction of a new dock, and a later one in about 1536, when it is assumed her burden was increased to 700 tons.

The ship was to some extent re-built at this time, to give her a complete lower deck of guns with hinged ports, almost the first British warship to be so equipped. A considerable degree of extra strengthening was added to the vessel and the evidence from dendrochronology strongly suggests that several riders, transom knees, and diagonal and vertical braces were inserted during these two refits, presumably to support new and heavier guns.

In 1544-45, Mary Rose was active in Henry’s third French war. When leading the advance against a much larger French invasion fleet off Portsmouth on 19 July 1545, possibly arising from a simple ship-handling miscalculation, she appears to have been caught by a flaw of wind. Late in the day she tried to tack and was swamped through her lower deck gun ports, sinking in some forty feet of water in a very short space of time with the loss of virtually her whole ship’s company of nearly 500 men.

[word-wytch]

Little Things

Eddie Munson x Reader (Hurt/Comfort)

649 words

Warnings: Suggested parent death, crying

Summary: You surprise Eddie by baking him a cake for his birthday and have no idea how much it means to him. Genderless reader.

A/N: A friend told me that Joseph said somewhere that Eddie's mom died and his dad was in jail. I figured the latter but the former got me all up in my feelings. I don't know where the source is for Joseph saying this, it could just be hearsay but it's my headcanon now. I cried writing this, enjoy.

You held the cake in its tupperware container back against the passenger seat as you approached the stop sign. You really wished you were a better decorator. In your defense you hadn’t made many birthday cakes in your life so you had to cut yourself some slack, and the icing had air pockets in the tube so the splatters weren’t totally your fault. You were kicking yourself about the spacing more than anything.

You wanted to make it pretty. You had really high hopes when you bought all the supplies. You hoped it tasted good at least. The homemade vanilla frosting certainly did when you licked it off your messy fingers.

Your Ford Pinto screeched as it rounded the corner to Forest Hills trailer park. The overcast sky hung heavy over the quiet neighborhood. There was hardly a soul around. Eddie’s van was in the driveway, to your relief, but something else tugged there too. Was he alone? You parked your car on the street and grabbed the cake.

The knock at the flimsy metal door seemed so loud in the wake of the silence around you. You had to knock twice before you saw a tall shadow in the door window.

Eddie peeked his head around the door as it opened. His dark eyes were wide with surprise and there was a soft but curious smile creeping across his face at the sight of you.

“Happy birthday!” you said cheerfully.

“Oh wow thanks!” he said, moving his socked feet backwards on the carpet to let you inside.

“I made you a cake,” you said, holding up the yellow tupperware container triumphantly before setting it down on the flimsy metal table so you could open it up.

The frosting was uneven and you were halfway through writing birthday on the circular cake before you realized you were writing too big, so -day went on the next line.  “I’m sorry it’s not prettier, I really tried to make it-“

His arms came around you before you could finish. It totally caught you off guard for a second, but your arms found their way around him too, as if they were meant to be there. You stood there for a moment in silence, rocking him back and forth a little, ever so gently. His hair was soft against your face. You ran your hand up and down the back of his well-worn cotton t-shirt comfortingly. Did this gesture really mean that much to him?

After a moment he slowly released his grip. "I’m sorry, I...I haven't," he glanced off to the side, trying to blink back the tears, embarrassed for crying. “I’m sorry.”

“No it’s ok, it’s ok,” you said softly, rubbing his arm.

“I mean,” he took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. “Wayne always picks something up at the grocery store, but it’s been a while since,” he gestured to the homemade cake.

“Oh,” you said softly, tears prickling behind your eyes threateningly at the sight of him crying.

“My mom always used to,” he said, barely above a murmur.

Your arms came around him again before another beat could pass. You wondered how many birthdays it had been.

His arms tightened around you. You heard him sniffle. You were really trying to hold back but you were full on crying now and helpless to stop it.

“Oh jeez you bake me a cake and I make you cry, how’s that for ‘thank you’?” he chuckled through tears. Always the one to try and lighten the mood.

“I’ll bake you a cake every year if it means that much to you,” you said without a second thought.

His chest bounced as he chuckled softly, releasing his grip so he could look you in the eyes. He was smiling now, eyelashes still wet. His hands lingered gently on your arms. “Well, let’s see how it tastes first,” he winked.

[blueiskewl]

Archaeologists Uncover 'Prison Bakery' in Pompeii

An ancient bakery operated by slaves has been discovered in the ruins of Pompeii, the Pompeii Archaeological Park said in a statement released Friday.

Enslaved people and donkeys were locked up together and used to power a mill to grind grain for bread, according to details of the discovery provided by the park.

The site consists of a narrow room with no external view but only small, high windows covered by bars through which minimal light passed. There were also indentations in the floor “to coordinate the movement of the animals, forced to walk around for hours, blindfolded,” the statement said.

The discovery was made in the Regio IX section of the popular tourist site, which is also an ongoing archaeological dig. The area is currently being excavated as part of a larger project designed to secure and maintain previously excavated areas of the Roman city.

Archaeologists discovered the bakery while excavating an ancient Pompeiian home that was being renovated when Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 C.E., covering the city of Pompeii with ash.

The bodies of three victims of the eruption were found in recent months, believed to be residents of the home rather than slaves. The house was divided into a residential section with “refined frescoes�� on one side, and a commercial bakery on the other.

Next to the bakery was the dimly lit prison area, Pompeii Archaeological Park director Gabriel Zuchtriegel said in an interview posted on the site’s YouTube channel.

“What has emerged is testimony of the backbreaking work to which men, women, and animals were subjected in the ancient mill-bakeries,” he added.

Zuchtriegel said these prison bakeries were previously described by the Roman writer Apuleius in the 2nd century C.E., in his novel “Metamorphoses” (also known as “The Golden Ass”), in which the protagonist, Lucius, “transformed into a donkey and was sold to a miller.” Zuchtriegel said the episode was based on the writer’s direct knowledge of the animals and humans living and working together.

The newly discovered prison area had no doors to the outside, only to the inner atrium.

“It is, in other words, a space in which we must imagine the presence of people of servile status whose owner felt the need to limit the freedom of movement,” Zuchtriegel said.

“It is the most shocking side of ancient slavery, the side devoid of relationships of trust, where it was reduced to brute violence, an impression which is fully confirmed by the closing of the few windows with iron grates.”

Archaeologists also believe that the indentations in the slab flooring were not made by repetitive movement but were carved to prevent the donkeys and other animals from slipping on the pavement and to force them to only walk in a circular motion to grind the grain, almost like a clockwork mechanism.

“The iconographic and literary sources, in particular the reliefs from the tomb of Eurysaces in Rome, suggest that a millstone was normally moved by a couple made up of a donkey and a slave,” Zuchtriegel said.

“The latter, in addition to pushing the grindstone, had the task of encouraging the animal and monitoring the grinding process, adding grain and removing flour.”

The site will complement an exhibition that opens December 15, called “The Other Pompeii: common lives in the shadow of Vesuvius,” which is dedicated to what Zuchtriegel calls the “myriad of individuals often forgotten by historical chronicles, such as the slaves, who constituted the majority of the population and whose work contributed significantly to the economy, but also to the culture and social fabric of Roman civilization.”

By Barbie Latza Nadeau.