#daddy dun

[babacontainsmultitudes]

RIP Will Campos the only person who was murdered this episode.

[alifelongpassed]

How to bathe your drider.

Halsin's sanctuary things

[astarioffsimpmain]

More Halsin x Plus Size F!Reader? Who said that? 👀

NSFW 🔞

You wriggled against him, the hairs on his chest tickling your back as you adjusted atop his growing bulge. A grunt tumbled from his lips in response to your anxious movement, and his hands disappeared under the water, clamping down on your plump hips to keep you still and pressing his growing erection against your swollen slit. You mewled at the sudden friction, arching your back off of him. Your head fell back onto one of his broad, muscular shoulders, and you sighed softly, turning your head to nuzzle your nose into his neck, breathing him in. A delicious heat burned through your body wherever he touched, leaving you with the feeling of giddy disbelief. *You*, someone who had never been well received by lovers because of your size; how your wide shoulders sloped down a little too far, your breasts always hung low and flat, and your stomach always rippled with movement and took up space where other people's did not.

♡♡♡

Tagging people who seemed interested!

@nightlyrayne @wicked-game-black-butler @avabjorna36 @serenaoffaerun @spunky-89 @connorsui @halsinsilverbough @marlowethebard @thoughts-of-bear

[teecupangel]

So I had this idea of Connor meeting adéwale who gets a sense of deja vu but can’t pinpoint from whereand the two of them teaming up to find the son of adewale’s friend and Connor’s father both not realizing that they are looking for the same person until they have a run in with haytham and adewale having a lot of things of Connor suddenly make sense with the reveal

So this would be a bit hard considering Shay killed Adéwalé while Ratonhnhaké:ton was just a kid but we can fudge it a bit. They did talk a bit after Shay struck him down so we can make this a case of “he almost died but he didn’t”.

Let’s say one of Adéwalé’s crewmembers survived and found him, dragging him out of danger and helping him survive.

During that time, Adéwalé dreams of Edward Kenway, of the past they shared, the letters they sent to one another…

When he wakes up, months have passed and he was still too weak that he could barely walk.

He had been transported to Port-au-Prince and being taken care of by his son, Babatunde Josèphe. His son tells him to rest and that they’re trying to get in contact with the Colonial Assassins but with no luck. Messengers either return empty handed, talking about the danger and the heightened Templar presence, or they do not return at all.

The Templars had the colonies under their control and it was becoming too dangerous to try and infiltrate the colonies while Shay Cormac, the Assassin Hunter, is on the hunt.

Adéwalé can’t do anything but try to heal his weak body, his mind dwelling deeper and deeper into the darkness the more news they hear about what had happened to the Assassins in the colonies.

The Assassins Adéwalé knew.

By the time he was strong enough, the damage had been done and the Brotherhood were too busy in France and Britain. Their letters asking Achilles if he needed help only being met with silence.

But Adéwalé knew he needed to go back there.

No.

He needed to see Haytham Kenway.

And kill him.

Even if it was the last thing he did.

Haytham Kenway had destroyed what the Kenway stand for, what Edward had worked so hard to create.

As Edward’s friend…

As his only remaining friend…

It was Adéwalé’s duty to destroy the last remaining Kenway before more damage could be done.

His son tells him he was projecting his guilt and anger to someone else.

His grandson did not understand why he was leaving.

Adéwalé was part of the past and he was dragging Haytham Kenway with him if it was the last thing he would do.

So he returns to the colonies and meets up with Achilles.

That’s when he meets up with the young man learning under Achilles.

Ratonhnhaké:ton.

There was something about him that reminded Adéwalé of Edward Kenway…

So he took Ratonhnhaké:ton under his wings as well and Achilles didn’t say anything. Ratonhnhaké:ton never told Adéwalé about his father by name because Achilles had told him months before Adéwalé had returned that he should keep it a secret.

Being known as Haytham Kenway’s son would only put him in danger.

So Ratonhnhaké:ton kept quiet.

And they formed a bond with Adéwalé assisting him.

Where Achilles pushed for caution, Adéwalé supported any way he can.

Ratonhnhaké:ton was free, like Edward. It would only serve to push him away if they try to chain him down.

The best way to support Ratonhnhaké:ton was to help him.

And then…

That faithful winter day…

In an abandoned church…

Ratonhnhaké:ton and Adéwalé come face to face with the man they were both searching for.

[add1ictwithapen]

tyler saying ayy papi to josh at lolla chile yesterday why is he like this

[mushywutty]

also Mommy — R.I.P is veeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrryyyy adel too :3

i fucking love vewn btw. like so bad omg

[hoperays-song]

Fun Facts About Gorillas

While gorillas are young, they are typically primarily raised by their mothers. They rarely even let other members of the troop hold them, a behaviour even less often observed in mountain gorillas. Gorilla mothers carry their children with them everywhere, provide for them, share nests with them, and protect them constantly. They have even been observed to typically not put down their child for the first six months of its life at all. 

When gorilla infants get a bit older, they tend to begin interacting with their fathers more. They’re know to lean on them and involve them in their games. This protects the infants as their fathers care increases their chance of survival if anything happened to their mother, Because then, it’s reported that a lot of times their father becomes the main person to look after the infants.

Despite this, scientifically speaking, gorilla infants have only a 40-75% survival rate in the wild. Meaning, a significant portion of baby gorillas die young. 

Why is this important information? Because Johnny is a gorilla. To be more specific, he’s apparently a Mountain Gorilla. 

So yes, Marcus being an overprotective father makes absolute perfect sense. Especially if aspects of their base species are being kept besides their design.  

As does Johnny primarily taking after his mother and being a mom’s boy, even years after her death. Because he would have been extremely close with his mother during his early years of life. He likely would have been with her constantly, hardly ever around other people, besides maybe his father, and definitely not left in the care of others often. 

And Marcus would have become protective after Johnny’s mum’s death because that’s what Silverbacks do. They take care of their kids. He would be overprotective because he’s already lost a member of his troop and he doesn’t want to lose his kid now too.

[yum-grass]

I’m makeing dndads playlist with all my music hot takes so be warned

[kpchrs]

happy belated(?) father's day to my favourite characters' dads who for some reason are all shit dad

[weird-unlimited-ramblings]

I have so many conflicting feeling about Sparrow.

Like I don’t think he’s actually disappointed in normal, I think he’s sees too much of himself in his son, and he fully believes that makes him feel disappointed (maybe that’s what it actually is.) and I so badly want a reconciliation between Normal and him where he realizes all the mistakes he’s made as a dad (like not teaching your son how to properly do his laundry.) I want all of that so bad.

I also want an arc where Normal stops referring to him as Dad, first name basis only. I want Normal to think about cutting contact with his dad when he’s 18. I want normal to describe how he would raise a kid, and for their to be far to many similarities with how Henry raised his boys. Cause that shit moves in cycles, and history has a habit of repeating.

[anna-neko]

everyone is all "thinkin about Oak family too hard today" crying memes. All you lucky bastards (affectionately) with the painless trans-Nick hc's (scars are cool, plz draw moar)….well… i was thinking about Nick too hard today and have made myself sad

think about it, Nicky has both distinct Glenn & Jodie timelines in his head, yeah? teh Nick Close and 'narcolas' Nicholas Foster: neither are him exactly.....

so where this new headcanon took me is DID (Dissociative identity disorder) as in this precious half-demon basically has these 2 other voices (alters) in his head, and traumatic flashbacks to things that didn't happen (aka, the very distinct "Growing up with Glenn" and "Growing up with boring-cop Jodie" 2 timelines, that are no longer true) or maybe other moments that his brain insists are his life [demon-Nick born and raised in Hell) but not quite, he doesn't remember that sometimes happening and oooh boy nothing triggers an anxiety attack when you fall into a weird memory-gap in middle of...

ALSO the trans hc very easily slots into this.... in the 2 no-longer-true timelines he absolutely was born a boy, but by a silly chance and roll of chromosomes the current ver just happened to be born a girl (hey, if entire realities can be rewritten, why not a few cells) which would also add to the STRESS OF THE THING

like ... oh man... i dun even need to bring the Current Plot into it, just think... one minute he was out with Cassandra at the mall, and alter in his head goes "oh that would be such a cute gift for mom" and other alter still in his head is like "wtf, mom's been dead for years" and why is his suddenly drowning in depression, all they did was look at some kitchen appliances....

I am now inconsolable, plz send chocolates & hugs (finally, a hc that can't be drawn! ... probly.... yeah, new lvl of fic inspo im too dumb to write unlocked)

[mylols16]

iconic

josh and debby are swifties confirmed

[keijoikawa]

hoppin circles around daddy 2day 4 his birf day … leavin lil kissies evrywhere n doin lil booty wiggles <33

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ 𝐡𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧 + 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

characters: vox, val, alastor, lucifer warnings: implied smut in some; 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink (+ papi for val), toxic relationships, pet/master dynamic (for alastor), reader is a bit of a brat with vox, implied drugging the night before (val), praise + pet names, fem!reader, reader is carried in val’s words: 2.7k

₊˚⊹ 𝐯𝐨𝐱 ⊹˚₊

You love mornings with your Daddy—truly, you do; love waking up next to him, slow and soft as his fingertips outline your features; love eating breakfast with him, feet kicking back and forth on one of the barstools as he prepares something simple for the two of you, know that he had to pull teeth to get the mornings off of work so he could spend them with you, getting you ready for the day and seeing you off—but there is one part, right at the very end, that you absolutely despise. 

Like everything with Vox, dental hygiene is a meticulous procedure, a rigorous routine with a set of immutable steps to be followed in the exact order Vox has laid them out in—carved into concrete, set in stone.

And, like everything else with Vox, no one knows how to perform them correctly except for him.

Still, it isn’t like you ever make it easy for him.

What else could he expect from his little troublemaker, really?

“Open up.” 

A thumb and a forefinger clamp down on the hinges of your jaw, palm wreathed around your chin, and squeeze, popping your mouth open with practiced efficiency.

“Daddy,” the word comes out as a stringy whine, slightly garbled, face crumpling in petulance. “Dun wanna.” 

Jerking a little in his grasp, you try to pull away from the advancing toothbrush slathered with translucent teal gel, and Vox clicks his tongue. 

“And I don’t care,” he says simply, fingers flexing in warning. “Good little girls need to brush their teeth—especially if they’ve eaten two bowls of sugary cereal for breakfast.” 

“But—”

Vox pulls back, face flattened into something serious. “Do you want cavities eating holes in your teeth?” 

“No—”

“Didn’t think so. Now hold still and let Daddy do this for you, yeah?” 

A groan vibrates on the back of your tongue, but your body goes pliant in his grasp, chin leaning into his pillowy palm.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs to himself, a small smug smile on his face.

Warmth blossoms in your chest, swells your lungs and stretches your ribs as you droop a little more beneath his praise and he chuckles, a fond little melody playing on his tongue, grip tightening infinitesimally. 

And he’s so precise with it all, maneuvers painstakingly perfect as he tilts your head one way, then the other, sure to scrub each tooth thoroughly, bristles scouring in little circular motions as he cleanses.

“Aaaah,” he hums, mimicking the action as he pries his mouth open wider, another praise falling from his lips as you instantly obey, allowing him to reach the molars at the very back of your mouth—brushing on top, on either side, behind, then on top again. 

“Tongue out.” 

Another whine sticks in your throat, brows pushing together and crinkling your forehead, open mouth downturned in a frown with a slight shake of your head, struggling against his hold.

“Come, now,” Vox chastises, but his voice is hard, fortified with a subtle threat. “You were doing so well for me—don’t start acting up, Daddy’s almost done.” 

His gaze holds yours steadily, a single eyebrow raising in question—are you really going to test me?—and you cave, again.

Reluctantly, your tongue unfurls from your mouth, face still scrunched in irritation as he scrapes the bristles across the muscle, working up a healthy lather, refusing to cease until that telltale disgruntled whine claws at your throat, evoking another one of those patronizing little chuckles.

“Alright, alright,” he’s pacifying as he tips a glass to your lips, a palm cupped protectively beneath your chin. “Rinse.” 

And, Christ, he loves how fucking obedient you are, even as the urge to misbehave bubbles behind your ribs, lips set in a deep pout as you follow his instructions, swishing a mouthful of water between your cheeks, waiting perfect and patient for his next order. 

“Spit.”

Oh, so compliant, so disciplined you are as you instantly spew blue liquid down the drain, a fierce sense of pride, of ownership, igniting deep within his soul, blazing bright and hot and strong, reflected in the amplified glowing of his eyes.

Your features are still scrunched up in a cute little pout, glaring at him through your lashes, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” A thumb runs along your forehead, attempting to iron out the crease between your brows in a gentle caress.

“It was awful.” 

“Fucking brat.” 

And he just can’t help but laugh out the word, the sting the insult should bring instantly negated by the tender affection it’s smothered in, turned soft and melty on his tongue.

No, you never make such endeavours painless for him, but you do always make them interesting, and for that, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

₊˚⊹ 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐨 ⊹˚₊

It’s late in the afternoon when Val decides it’s time to get up, deep crimson light spilling through the narrow gaps in his thick curtains and painting thin, long strokes across the shag carpet.

He doesn’t bother formally waking you as two of his hands scoop you from the nest of silk and cradle you to his body, chuckling out a coo as you automatically snuggle into his chest, legs latching around his waist. 

The haze of sleep still hangs heavy in your skull, a soft protest grumbled into his skin as he carries you somewhere, lids staying firmly glued shut, body beginning to melt into his again as the bliss of unconsciousness entices you with promises of whimsical dreams and relief from your aching muscles. 

Cold marble stings your bare thighs suddenly, forcing a small jolt through your form, a soft hiss exhaled from between your teeth.

“I know, I know, it’s cold,” Val pacifies, his voice a pleasant fog curling around your cheeks as he leans around you, tinkering with something.  

“Papi,” you whimper, reaching blindly for him, lethargic head falling forward, forehead pressed tightly to his sternum.

“Mmm, I’m here,” he murmurs distractedly, two of his hands still wrapped firmly around your hips as the other set busy themselves with uncapping a tube of toothpaste.

“Wanna go back to bed,” you slur out in a whine, nose nuzzling into his chest, fruitlessly looking for a place to rest your head, dense drowsiness curling the edges of your mind.

“But it’s time to get up, princesa,” he chides gently, a finger tracing the curve of your cheek. “You’ve been asleep for fourteen hours.” 

“M’still tired.” 

A hum of contemplation vibrates at the back of his tongue as a hand twines around your jaw, examining your face this way, then that, before tilting your chin up.

“Maybe I gave you a little too much last night,” he muses to himself through a dark snicker. “It’s kinda cute that you’re still this fucked up, though. Can’t even open your eyes for me, can you?” 

And you try, really, you do, attempting to heft your leaden lids, features screwing up cutely with the immense effort, and Val coos again, as if your intoxication is so pathetically precious—poor little girl can barely handle her Daddy’s drugs! How sweet.

“Well, that’s okay,” he purrs, first pair of hands slipping further beneath his dress shirt—a makeshift nightgown, his favourite nightgown on you—and tugging you closer to the counter’s edge. “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about anything; Papi will do it for you.” 

A sound of indignation sticks in your throat as you finally pry your eyes open, squinting against the harsh light of the bathroom, bleary gaze fixed on the sparkly pink toothbrush in one of his hands, face rumpling into a pout. 

Your lips press into a tight, firm line, sealing your mouth against the rapidly advancing utensil as your eyes slip shut again, weighted with narcotic-laced exhaustion, head shaking in messy little motions.

“C’mon, be co-operative,” the points of his nails dig into your skin, hard enough to leave superficial indents—a warning. “Don’t upset Daddy this early in the day, baby.” 

Wrenching your eyes open again, your nose twitches with a sniffle, chin beginning to quiver.

“But—But—Do I have to?”

“Yes, you have to,” he says, but his voice trembles with the effort to stay calm, to stay pleasant. “Your mouth is very dirty from last night, and it needs to be cleaned.”

A thick torrent of tears rush to cloud your vision, sudden and stinging, a hiccup stuttering your chest. The hand curved around your jaw tightens, yanking your face toward his own, foreheads knocking together.

“Now, open, before I make you open.”

Your jaw falls slack, a slave to his orders, unable to disobey a direct demand from its owner, and Val purrs, something wicked unravelling on his face, smile stretched sharp and sleazy from edge to edge, the glow in his eyes flaring with your instant compliance.

“Good girl.”

₊˚⊹ 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 ⊹˚₊

Alastor, you’ve come to learn, has a plethora of odd regimes; stringently scheduled customs that are non-negotiable, that extend to you, including brushing your teeth. 

It’s become routine, now—habitual, as most things with Alastor are—and your days no longer feel right without it; weird, off, incomplete. 

Because it’s become something of a comfort; something so simple, yet so intimate, something calming and rewarding, something to look forward to—a moment shared between the two of you, twice a day, once at the beginning, and once at the end. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you try tell him, the first time he insists on doing it, trying desperately to look over your shoulder as he ushers you into his ensuite.

“Nonsense!” he waves a hand in dismissal. “It isn’t a problem at all. Now, sit.” 

“Alastor—”

“Sit.” 

With a tiny frown, you perch gingerly on the edge of the bathtub, fingers curling around the rim.

“I’m serious,” you murmur, teeth nibbling superficially at the skin of your lip, wary eyes watching as he flits with practiced ease around the bathroom, a twinge of confusion settling in your chest, something akin to shame sitting thick and bitter on the back of your tongue. “I can do it myself…” 

“I know you can,” he replies simply, focused on depositing a strip of white toothpaste on your toothbrush. 

“Then…” you blink up at him, watching him advance with wide eyes, shoulders shrinking as he blankets you in his shadow. “Why are you doing it for me?” 

Irritation twitches at the edges of his grin, Alastor exhaling a controlled sigh.

“Because,” he begins, keeping his voice light, taking your chin between his index finger and thumb. “A good Master takes proper care of his pet.” 

His grip strengthens, tilting your face up further, his form looming over your own as you sit, vulnerable and exposed, beneath his touch. Crimson eyes glow as they scour your face, his back bent at an uncomfortable angle as he practically curls around you, the scent of earth and cedar tinged with copper wafting across your face with his calm, even breaths. 

“Besides,” he continues, voice dropped an octave lower, his nose nearly nudging yours. “I couldn’t possibly trust you to do it adequately.” 

A cruel little chuckle plays on his tongue, as if the mere thought itself is preposterous, the sound stinging as it seeps into your cheeks, hot and full of spikes. 

“Now, open.” 

Instantly, your mouth falls agape, and Alastor’s smile stretches infinitesimally wider, a sharp glint flaring in his eyes.

“A good owner maintains their pet’s hygiene,” he explains as he works, gaze fixed intently on his actions, cleansing with a meticulous sort of vigilance. “Bathes them, grooms them, dresses them—performs all of the basic necessities a pet needs to appear presentable.”

His hand shifts slightly, angling your head to the side, and you follow easily, malleable in his grasp, his smile shimmering. 

“And I pride myself on taking very good care the things that belong to me.”

And, really, he does. Because Alastor doesn’t just brush your teeth with rigorous care, conscientiously certain to cleanse every dip and gap; he flosses them, too, with gentle hands and painstaking precision, then ensures you’ve rinsed with germ-killing, enamel-strengthening mouthwash for exactly forty-five seconds, counting uniformly and observing with large, unblinking eyes as you adhere to his every instruction, cheeks bulging with burning liquid, eyes squinting from the intensity, but never daring to blink, to glance away, to stop at all. 

“Look at you,” he purrs after you’ve spit down the drain, gazing back up at him with a sort of desperate devotion—demented, devious, damned to his hell—syrupy condescension dripping from his teeth. “So well behaved for me, aren’t you?”  

A palm cups your jaw, his thumb running across your cheek in rhythmic strokes, the tip of his claw caressing your skin with just enough pressure to leave behind shallow scratches. 

“What, hoping Master will give you a treat for being so obedient?” 

“No, Sir,” you whimper out, voice gone dreamy as you nuzzle into his hand. “You taking such good care of me is more than enough.” 

Something sinister oozes into his face, something that contorts his smile and corrodes his eyes, leaving behind nothing but raw hunger, like he’s about to devour you whole, pops of static fizzing thickly in his voice. 

“That’s my good girl.” 

₊˚⊹ 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 ⊹˚₊

Everything hurts, muscles stiff and aching and full of sand, your motions clumsy and cumbersome as you attempt to brush your teeth, joints creaking with every slight shift.

Fatigue blurs the edges of your eyes, your vision fading out of focus again, mind gone fuzzy as you try your best to concentrate on your movements—up, down, all around, repeat—features screwing up in a wince as you catch the harsh bristles on your gums, again. 

“You’re making a bit of a mess, sleepyhead,” Lucifer’s tender chuckle pulls you from your foggy stupor, a quiet hum vibrating in your throat as you look over at him in question, the gesture lethargic and delayed. 

“You’ve got some—Here,” he says softly, hands curling around your shoulders and turning you to face him, then tilting your chin up. “May I?”

Another affirmative sounds on the back of your tongue and Lucifer uses his thumb to carefully clean the foaming paste collecting at the corners of your mouth, then catching a slow dribble streaming down your chin with a deft knuckle. 

A frown mars his face, his forehead creasing beneath the strain, his other hand stroking your shoulder as worried eyes search your face, slow and careful.

“Is everything okay, sweetheart?” he asks. “You’re really struggling to brush your teeth.”

“Jus—really tired,” you mumble through the bubbles in your mouth, Lucifer skillfully catching another trickle of watery paste, concern tugging at the corners of his lips, frown deepening.

“Do you want me to do it for you?” 

Sleepy eyes blink up at him, slow and sluggish, your hazy mind taking a moment to process the question.

“Mhmm,” you finally nod, hand loosening the instant his fingers skim yours, allowing him to gently uncurl your grip from around the base of your toothbrush, his own effortlessly taking its place. 

“Alright, alright, Daddy will help you,” he’s pacifying in a murmur, but his gaze has turned melty, glow dimmed and pupils gaping, lids heavy with love. “Poor thing…Last night was a long night for you, huh?” 

“S’a lot,” you confirm in a messy mumble, lids drooping heavily with the weight of exhaustion.

“Yeah?” his thumb rubs loving little circles into your jaw as he works, gaze trained on his task. “Was Daddy a little too rough with you?” 

The question is uttered out tenderly, full of sympathy and care, his brow furrowing as his eyes flit back to yours, searching for veracity in your pupils.

“Maybe I should be a bit gentler next—”

“No!” you cough around the refusal, puffy lids snapping open suddenly, the unexpected vehemency causing Lucifer to flinch.

“No?” he laughs, and it’s warm with affection, his features, hard with worry, mollifying beneath fondness, amorous amusement twinkling daintily in his eyes. 

“No,” you whine out with a tiny pout, head shaking a little in his grasp. “Please.”

“Okay,” the pad of his thumb runs along your cheek, his stare trailing after it. “If nothing else, at least Daddy will always be there to take care of you the morning after.”

[nymphbnny]

brat in pink I

────── toji fushiguro

⤷ mom’s bf!toji who can’t keep his eyes of you and your little slutty behavior at the small pool party you threw at your house.

tw: age gap (20s ; 40s) , toji is dating your mom (step cest??), corruption kink, daddy kink, starts as hcs, dun con, size kink, jealousy, filming (slightly), doggy, riding, squirting, breeding kink, spanking, slight dacryphilia, slapping, not proofread (wrote this at work lol), MDNI

part I - part II

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚mom’s bf!toji who grunts in annoyance when you beg your mom to let you throw a party in your house to celebrate your twenty first birthday. as much as he tries to look away, he can’t stop gazing at your pretty perky tits that are bouncing as you jump around following your mother.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚mom’s bf!toji who listens to the people you want to invite to your pool, his jaw clenching each time to mention a boy. especially when you mention gojo a light blush dusting your cheeks.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚mom’s bf!toji who is lowkey pissed that your mother finally agreed to your pleas, having to watch you dance around half naked in front of other men. he’s even angrier when he’s left all alone to supervise you since your mom will be away for a few days.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚mom’s bf!toji who balls his fist and glares at you when you start taking sexy picture in your small pink bikini, your ass and tits almost out as you pose sultry for the camera. he is pissed that you are taking more pleasure seeking the dumb young boys’ attention around you than focusing on having his. although you did.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚mom’s bf!toji who watches you closely as you dance against the white haired man, his hand dipping in your flesh as he sheepishly whispers in your ear. you catch him staring, a weird feeling rushing through your core as his eyes gaze at you, the goosebumps on your skin rising.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚mom’s bf!toji who makes up an excuse about how some chemicals got in the pool so all your invitees would leave. “i’m so sorry,” you repeated as they left, an understanding grin on their face. as gojo went to kiss you goodbye, toji stood next to you, pulling you closer to him. the young man took the hint as he stayed away, waving at you before leaving.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚mom’s bf!toji who silently watches you pick which picture looks better to post it on your feed. “you’re not clothed enough.” was his response when you went to him to have his opinion.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚mom’s bf!toji who wants to teach you a lesson about being a good girl instead of spreading half naked pictures of yourself for the world to see. he should only be the one to see them.

“daddy…” you whined as his hips rutted against your ass, his grip on your hip hardening at the nickname. toji threw his head back, watching you bury your flushed face between your plushies as he fucked you on your pink sheets. “daddy’s so mad at you for acting like a dirty brat, fhuck,” he grunted, pushing at your lower back to deepen your arch, your tiny cunt feeling tighter. “you’re gonna suffocate me, shit,”

toji was gripping your hands behind your back, pulling you up to play with your pretty nipples, occasionally pinching them to hear you yelp in pain, then bring you down again to keep thrusting hard. “‘m gonna ruin you for any other guy, especially that gojo,” hearing his words make you clench on him harder, the doubt and shame you had about fucking your mother’s boyfriend now gone. “you’re squeezing me baby, is it because i mentioned his name?” he harshly barks, spanking your plump ass. you whined and yelped, your lashes glossy as you try to push him away by wiggling your hips.

“nuh uh, no running from me,” he chuckled, his scar turning up with his lip as he grabbed your hair to pull your head up, your moans and tears turning him on even more. “i clenched because o-of you daddy,” you whimpered, your submissive self delighting him, his hips moving at a slower yet deeper pace. toji smirked before pulling out, a small whine leaving your lips as you were left to throb around nothing, you tiny hole clenching. it was adorably filthy. he was ruining you and he loved it. you heard him grab something before you saw a flash, realizing he was recording. “since you love looking like a whore,” he muttered, rubbing your ass before spanking it. “might as well get it on film.” he laughed, pulling you back on his swollen tip, his girth stretching you all at once.

“n-no, wait!!” you tried to stop him, but he didn’t listen. he pounded into faster, your body acting the opposite of your words as you found yourself throwing yourself back on him to meet him half thrust. “such a dirty brat,” he squeezed your ass, his hand going around your waist to rub your clit. “so good,” you lulled out your tongue, eyes half lidded. he pulled his sticky hair back before bringing your body up. his thumb pressed against your tongue, opening your mouth even more before taunting you: “who else can make you stick out your tongue like a filthy slut huh? who?” he bit your neck, your whines accentuating as he stimulated your clit, your orgasm close.

“just you, no one else b-but you daddy, i wanna cum,” you cried, your head heavy as you threw it back on his shoulder. you went limp. his hips pounded you faster before throwing you back on the bed, your legs spread out as you gushed on your bed, squirting and making a mess on your pink sheets, your pretty pussy quivering.

“cum for daddy that’s it, make a mess baby,” he stroked his cock as he watched you go dumb, slapping your pussy a few times just to watch you shake. he ended the recording, smiling at the video before throwing his phone away.

“we’re not done yet sweetheart, up.” you whined as he handled you, turning you around to kiss you lips, his tongue parting your lips to deepen the kiss. he sat on the bed next to you, pulling you to his hard cock, slamming you on top of him. you whimpered against his lips as he fucked up into you, his hands digging into your hips, hoping his fingerprints would replace gojo’s. “he’ll never be able to fuck you like this. hear me?” he slightly slapped your cheek then grabbed your jaw to make you look at him, your face fucked out. he was fucking dumb and you were becoming incoherent. the only thing that was coming out of your mouth were the whines and moans as he sucked on your tits the while he slammed your small pussy.

you were so small compared to him, so easy to hold, to fuck and to manipulate. you were so easy to corrupt and he was enjoying every second of it. “daddy, ‘s big, so big,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. toji held on your hands to guide it to your lower stomach, making your feel his depth. “daddy’s here baby,” the overstimulation made you moan, you legs bucking uncontrollably as your second orgasm hit you.

“know what, fucking hell, you feel so good baby, so fucking tight, my cock’s gonna stretch you so good,”

“gonna breed you, so no one else can touch you, huh? what’d you say,” he chuckled as he slammed a few more times inside you, emptying his heavy load inside you. your insides felt warm and good as his cum filled you up, your head too heavy to even react to what was going on.

you woke up the next day on new sheets and naked on your bed. you grabbed your phone to find an airdrop message. you gasped when you saw the video that toji took from you last night, your thighs squeezing as you recalled how his fat cock felt inside you. shamelessly, you airdropped him back a well taken picture of you spread out on your bed, biting your nails and pussy puffy. it didn’t take him a lot to come rushing through your bedroom door to ruin you again.

[doppopoppo]

LaD Men and their Kids

Warnings: just a minor suggestive part in Sylus's

Just a random HC of what their first child would be and be like :) for funsies

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Xavier:

- a son, his precious twinkling star 🥹

- looks like Xavier, has UR personality

- either works with his baby boy to protect MC or competes with him to have UR attention, no in-between

- Jeremiah the babysitter

- Congrats, U have two golden retrievers now :)

- looks up to Xavier and trains young in fighting

- attempts to not spoil him, but ends up giving into his puppy dog eyes. Xavier now knows how you felt all those years he's given them to you lol

Zayne:

- Twin boys, his precious snowflakes. 🤗

- Both look like you, and he's very happy about that! Older son has your personality, while younger twin has Zaynes.

- Can see him encouraging them to dabble both in STEM and creative fields.

- Spoils them but to a healthy extent. Mainly through quality time. Gifts if he can't be there for a playdate.

- Ideal husband and definitely ideal father, the boys 100% loves him more 😭 .

- Tara usually babysits

Rafayel:

- fraternal twins!!! His precious pearls 🥺

- a good combination of you both! Has his hair color and eyes while everything else came from you

- loves both of them, but his younger daughter is definitely daddy's girl. While older son is mommy's boy

- dramatic af like him. Never a quiet household. I dun know if you're lucky or in a need of a vacation

- eager to find out if they're half human and half mermaid

- Thomas the babysitter

- has a whole art gallery show full of paintings of you and the babies

- spoiled brats just like the dad

Sylus:

- A GIRL! His new kitten 🥰 literally

- his white hair and your eyes

- spoiled spoiled spoiled spoiled

- DADDYS PRINCESS (you're his queen now dw, kitten) can't sing

- does whatever she wants to whoever she wants cuz her daddy can fight

- Mephisto, Luke and Kieran becomes her babysitters (the twins wish he had twins)

- you love how attentive of a dad he is, but lowkey get jealous cuz all that used to be just for you :( but daddy always makes it up :)

- made it clear she's marrying Sylus when she grows up

- into guns

- "sweetie what do you have there?"

- "a gun :D"

- "NO!"