#heavy guilt issues

[traumatizedjaguar]

[quotidianish]

“Scout is everyone’s son” ok I raise you this, spy is everyone’s father

[aalghul]

i saw an account post that, unfortunately, if you are a jason todd fan account then you’ve most definitely gotten an ask along the lines of “if you like fanon jason then you’ll definitely like canon helena/steph/mia” and was wondering if you’ve ever gotten an ask like that

I've gotten a few about Helena specifically, never Steph or Mia so I'm going to talk about Helena rather than generalize what I'm about to say to both of them too (because I was actually thinking about this a few weeks ago!)

Those people are right...in a way. If you want christian guilt (that Jason does not in UTRH and should not ever struggle with) and genuine efforts to be accepted by the Bats? You want Helena. A character whose relationship with killing can be benefited by people bringing her into their light without rendering her previous choices pointlessly antagonistic? that's Helena.

Then there's also the factor of Helena often, in canon, being treated as unstable and untrustworthy, no matter what she does to prove otherwise. and that's seen as a continued failing on her part, even if it's others that refuse to believe in her. Jason constantly being pushed into those situations in fanon and canon is very Helena coded. He's got her good and bad.

But if you like the Jason from UTRH era, arguably the best written Jason post-resurrection (which isn't saying much because...we all know how he's written most of the time), then Helena would never work for you because they're so different. Even with fanon, there's only a certain extent it can apply to. Helena's not Bruce daughter, he didn't raise her, she was never family for him outside the costume (or in it. but that hurts me to say), and she certainly wasn't Dick's sister. So those dynamics should be different inherently, even in fanon where they're altered to resemble something like what Helena has. There's still a history that Jason has here that she naturally doesn't.

I think it's too vague and unhelpful of a thing to say if you're trying to make people interested in Helena or change their portrayal of Jason. But I do see the basis of it.

[svartalfhild]

Gdi why do so many of the companions' final quests in BG3 gotta hit me in a personal place?

First I was crying about Shadowheart

Then I was crying about Astarion

And now I'm crying about Karlach

[crybaby-bkg]

my old therapist who hasn’t spoken to me in almost a year (and even months before that I was getting spotty responses from him) keeps hinting around how hurt he is that I found a new therapist and that I need his old documents about me for someone new lmao. how funny is that when you’d be in the grocery store during my calls and ignore my last message asking for an appt and discuss my issues with another family member despite it being confidential 🙃 EAT MY DICK

[blondiexbiites]

You know what? As much as I love aus where Madison finds a cure for her vampirism and becomes human again, I firmly believe that a fully human Madison is a bad idea because every horrible, disgusting thing she did as a vampire will catch up to her tenfold as a human. You'll notice subtle differences like discarding all pink tones in favor of grays and blacks ( because she can no longer stand bright colors), cutting her hair short, wearing no make-up, etc.

In fact, a freshly cured Madison is a darkly pessimistic misanthrope who suffers from an existential crisis and philosophizes at random. Human Madison is more abrasive, short-tempered, less perky, and has trouble sleeping because her dreams are filled with the faces of every single person that she's ever killed.

[dredshirtroberts]

pardon me while i emotionally process all over everything

Monday's just decided to kick off really hard - it's only the one thing, and it's just stewing in the back of my mind really hard and has been for *checks time stamps* 2.5 hours.

the important thing for me to remember is my dad (and my mom too) is not owed nor does he deserve an explanation for why i cut him and mom off. They truly honestly probably do not understand why I made that choice and frankly i think the fact that that hasn't changed over the past year is telling about how little they truly look at their own actions.

I want to explain but as soon as I put it into words, I can immediately strike myself down with the things that I know they will say. Any attempt at giving any explanation will be met with denial and that's just not a battle I feel like participating in.

I spent my whole life doing the emotional heavy lifting for my family of origin and I got tired of it. I'm struggling with the way my brain is wired because of it on a daily basis. This effects my whole life and my loved ones. And it didn't even do what it was supposed to when i developed the coping mechanisms.

I am really really cognizant of it because we've added a 4th person to our home and I'm scrambling to learn them and their tells and their moods quickly so I can be The Best At Helping in any situation. And I'm running into the wall of "that's not my job and is generally unwelcome unless asked for specifically" and so I am sat here taking in footsteps and movement styles and tones of voice trying to catalog them for future reference and not being able to do anything with that and knowing it's a flawed coping skill to deal with an unstable and volatile home life in my early childhood and I just want more than ANYTHING to be able to backsass and confront my parents about the way they've fucked me up and I can't.

i will type it all out and immediately change my mind - the words aren't correct, they can never be correct because the words don't matter. I could say everything perfectly and it wouldn't make any difference because my parents are dead set on invalidating any stance I make for myself and myself alone.

And also guilt tripping at the end of truly bad news (but like, neutral truly bad news) is not the way to get an explanation. It's a way to make me angry that I cannot begin the proper grieving process ahead of time because you're making a last ditch attempt to dig into me and not let me get away without an answer to the question you do not deserve to have answered. There was no indication they have looked at themselves and seen the way that they treated me was bad enough to cause my brain to splinter into multiple different people just in order to get by. They do not understand how much i wanted to die when I was trying to be a good kid for them. And they can't understand because they didn't pay attention then so me telling them about it now will look like i'm making things up.

They also have in the past given me large sums of money that I didn't have to work for dad to get, but it always came with other - more fraught - strings to deal with. and knowing that they bailed me out makes me feel super guilty for not giving them an explanation but it also really hammers home how much I just cannot say "you treated me badly" because they will throw that money in my face and say "we did everything for you, we deserve your love for the bare minimum of affection!" and money, btw, is not affection but they don't know that and now I have to figure that shit out.

and also we never repaired our relationship after I stopped working for him. I'm pretty sure he took my leaving the company personally - and he should, it was because of him I couldn't work for him anymore - but i know it's been worked around in their minds as my choice for completely unfathomable reasons that they clearly just cannot wrap their heads around because it doesn't make sense. why would i just cut them off, they've been good parents! why would I just leave the company, he was a great boss!

but they weren't, and he wasn't, and I suffered for it and I hid my suffering and because i hid my pain (as i was taught to do from VERY early on because i have been in pain MY WHOLE LIFE) they will never believe i was in it in the first place. because they don't believe me about my physical pains either and never have. why would they care about the mental and emotional pains?

they'd probably also come back with "Everyone's messed up by their parents, you need to just get over it" if I did bring up that their behavior towards me fucked me over. Because that's what they've said in the past - maybe not directly to me but in general.

a lot of my assumptions of their responses are based on what they used to just say. or continue to say. or how they'd say it. or how they'd talk about specific other people who i didn't think were bad people but boy did the way they talk about them make me go "well i guess i can't like that person now" and it isolated me from everyone. I had no way out, I had no escape i had no one but myself.

well and my internet friends but for a very long time I had a hard time remembering those were real fucking people on the other end of the internet connection, because i didn't have anyone else but the computer and those who i had a connection to through said computer.

oh and the reason this all came up?

my grandpa's going into hospice - he was in the hospital all weekend. he's the one with cancer that he stopped treating because the treatments were taking too much of a toll on his body. They had to cut their vacation short to take my grandparents back home and that same day my grandpa went into the hospital - dad made sure to mention the vacation to me, because i guess that's important. Didn't tell me any details on how the hospice thing is going to work (maybe he didn't know, maybe he didn't think that's important for me coordinating how to contact my grandparents to check in but whatever), but it was imperative that i know that their vacation ended early so they could take him home. And it was important to guilt trip me at the end to try and reopen communication with me on the email i deliberately did not give out to them, and they had to circumvent my blocks elsewhere in order to acquire because they didn't ask me for it.

I don't know how many people in my family know I'm not talking to my parents. I don't know how far that information has spread I don't know who leaked my email to them (that's a strong way of phrasing it but it feels about as violating, since i rock up into my inbox today and get jumpscared by my fucking dad's name and his absolutely abysmal choice in subject lines. literally could have said "grandpa update" or something similar. no he just said "Stuff" and then opens with "Hope you're doing well. Grandpa's in the hospital" and like????

he got lucky i opened it because i can see the message preview and knew it had important information. I might have seen it and gone "y'know, I don't care what he has to say about "stuff"" and hit delete and not known.

but like WTF dad. wtf.

go to hell, my dude. go to the absolute eebiest of deebies you cuntwaffle.

and take mom with you.

[feliciadraws]

Thinking about how Waka's trauma must affect his relationship with Mei very often has me like

[zo1nkss]

Something about directly stating someone should be forcibly isolated and studied clinically bc they're traumatized just sits very very wrong with me, even as a silly lighthearted joke.

[dora-winifred]

i’ve been dabbling in unitarianism for the past four years plus one year in college and here’s the thing…i kinda don’t like it

[youngpettyqueen]

BJ on MASH is ostensibly straight and anything else is interpretation — nobody back then was intending him to write him as anything but straight, which is the beauty of fandom to do whatever you want. In the end, BJ is a fictional white man that is made up, and is canonically married to a woman with a child and canonically does not express an attraction to men — fanfiction and fandom is a product of extrapolation of what someone else would interpret on the show, whether that means he is straight, gay, bisexual, etc. Biphobia would apply if he was a canonically bisexual character and does not come from being butthurt over some interpretation of his sexuality that other people have that you disagree with and having a different personal preference on a headcanon of who he is attracted to, given that we know nothing about what happens when he goes home. A more pressing issue that actually deserves talking about is MASH's problematic representation of race at times, especially with Klinger, or if you really want to touch on misogyny, the issue of there not being any real fandom content for any of the several women of color on the show, even with some who have significant presences and storylines, instead of being irritated on some interpretation of a 1950s white guy character.

Did you go digging through my blog to find me talking about biphobia in the MASH fandom cause if you dug a bit further you could’ve found that I have discussed racism and misogyny on MASH and in the fandom

You’re putting a lot of words in my mouth here and making a lot of assumptions about what I do and don’t care about. Freak behaviour, frankly. You could’ve taken this energy and made a post about these very real issues if they truly upset you that much- a post I’d be happy to share, feel free to @ me! You’re awfully bold on anon, try to match that energy off it

[kingdomoftyto]

Gather ‘round, it is time once again for Tyto’s 3 a.m. fic recs~

I dove into AO3 looking for vampire fic because,,, you know, and among the many quality fics for the new tv series, I stumbled on one that was actually written prior to the show’s debut.

It starts out more or less the same as book canon, with Louis becoming a vampire in the 1790s and Lestat moving into Louis’ estate outside New Orleans. Then it’s revealed that this version of Louis, while light-skinned, is actually mixed race. With all the worst accompanying historical baggage that goes with... that.

The story... diverges from there.

It’s written with intense care in regards to historical context and sensitivity, while still confronting uncomfortable topics. If you want a fic that actually addresses the whole “protagonist of the story owned a goddamn plantation” thing unflinchingly, then this is the fic to read.

Also includes an A+ portrayal of Louis and Lestat’s fraught communication problems, Louis’ unceasing struggle with mental health (and the whump that comes of that), and--believe it or not--a happy ending!

[arolesbianism]

I should rly start eternal gales posting again I need to make sure the ppl who follow me know how much Tali and Aris make me to insane so that the isat au can have its full effect but alas I am allergic to drawing the human eg cast like 99% of the time and rn the only thing stopping that from being 100% is that I like fucking around with different art styles sometimes

[vaporgrove]

binge watched scavengers reign in one day. irreversibly changed forever etc etc

[tired-biscuit]

Logan would probably moan like he’s having the best sex of his life from just a shoulder massage. Do you think he’d deny he needs one? Or would you catch him off guard while he’s asleep?

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: friends to lovers, unexpected mutual pining, logan realises he’s touch-starved after you offer to give him a backrub, and you both get turned on by it.

divider credit: div1nepetal

what if you’re, like… his friend, who’s grown to care deeply about him over the years and wants nothing else but to help him out a little from time to time in simpler, more ‘humanly’ ways because of said caring?

i mean, he’s got super fast healing and all that jazz, sure, however that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get sore and thus — unbearably — cranky about it… and since you’ve known each other for so long, you’ve also gotten quite comfortable in each other’s company! so it wouldn’t be that odd if you were to offer to relieve the pain in your friend’s back when he swings by your place one random evening… right?

it’s really just to make him feel better, nothing else! because as soon as he flings himself onto his favoured spot on your worn out couch (a dent that he fucking made with the help of his heavy adamantium ass), you catch him repetitively stretching his neck from side to side and rolling his shoulders every so often with a furrowed brow and a tight-lipped expression that somehow manages to appear even grumpier than his usual neutral.

you steal glances because of it. listen intently to the laboured sighs he keeps letting out. and after leering at him and his struggles from the corner of your eye for a little while, not at all paying attention to the movie that you’re supposed to be watching with him, you finally succumb. you turn to the side and propose your offer whilst wiggling your magic fingers, as you like to call them, right in front of his face, and logan, as is expected, denies it by gently swatting your hand away.

taking over pretty much the entire space on the couch from how he’s manspreading, he doesn’t even peel his eyes from the television that — unlike you — he’s actually watching when he tells you that, “you don’t gotta worry about it” and that it’s not that bad, then. for some reason, he even feels the need to add that he can handle himself just fine.

it all makes your eyes roll.

and instead of listening, you rather choose to persist. he’s a wall whenever he makes up his mind on something, you know this, but you also know that if you nag him and scold him for long enough, prodding and picking at the cracks between phantom bricks, he’ll have no choice but to give in and give you what you want just to make you stop… though not without adding a snide comment or two himself during it because he can’t help but act like a dick sometimes around the people he’s fond of, it’s just the way he is!

as you tell him to scooch over and lay on his stomach, you feel just a little bit bad that you had to resort to annoying him in order to being allowed to help him. however, the guilt isn’t nearly as strong as is the sense of victory that you’ve just achieved, so you allow it to curl the corners of your lips into a satisfied, cat-like smile while you busy yourself by straddling the small of his back. he can’t see your face anyway, so what’s the issue?

meanwhile, logan lets out a tired exhale, smushing one cheek against the decorative pillow that he’s folded his arms under so that he can still watch the tv while you work your supposed magic. he listens to your sheepish apology and request to tell you if you’re too heavy, to which he responds by calling it nonsense and that you’re insulting him by thinking you’re heavy whilst sitting on top of a guy who’s literally filled with metal.

and filled with metal he is, indeed! it’s not long before you realize just how much freaking pressure you have to apply to his shoulders and back in order to make him feel something. how much physical strength you have to put into it, to the point that you’re nearly sweating because of it. popping a bone in order to ease some of the tension is literally impossible, so you aim your focus onto the taut cords of muscle instead.

you can see them even through the thin white shirt that he’s wearing — they’re that profound. flexed and attractive, attained with hard work. but they become even more visible when he reluctantly lets you roll the hem of his shirt up towards the collar, unfolding his arms just so that he can lift the upper half of his body, and you right along with him, with no visible effort whatsoever.

the air in the room shifts a little after that; it gets kind of tense. because all of a sudden, you’re skin to skin. his should be covered in scars, but he’s lucky enough to have them all healed and smoothed away by his power. and while he may not be able to feel relief in his adamantium-covered bones, he sure as hell can feel the warmth of your palms running down the slopes of his broad shoulders, the grazing of your nails that nearly makes him shiver when they reach a particularly ticklish part on the nape of his neck, the heat between your legs as you continue to sit on him, dressed in nothing else but a pair of comfortable and tiny shorts…

forcing himself to be a loner, logan isn’t used to being touched like this all that much, and it makes him sensitive. and as a result, he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut and groan in absolute pleasure when you readjust by wiggling your hips on top of him and lean in super close to really dig your fingers into his strong back.

you pause at the sound; he can hear your breathing hitch a little before it continues to fan his shoulder blade. he’s already halfway on opening his mouth to say something in order to avoid things from getting too awkward even if he’s not the kind of man who minds if they do, when all of a sudden it hits him.

it’s barely there, just the faintest whiff of something sticky and sweet. it would be impossible to catch by a normal human, but he isn’t a normal human, now is he? no, he’s a mutant — a primal one, at that — and because of it, his nose is more than capable of catching a scent like this.

you’re… aroused. have gotten turned on by the sound he just made. are getting wetter between the legs by the second. and he can smell it.

fuck.

logan chooses not to say anything even if the pheromones that he’s steadily inhaling now are making his blood grow feverish to dangerous levels. meanwhile, you choose to remain quiet as well, simply continuing your ministrations as if nothing has happened.

something that does change, however, is the way you touch him. from that hiccup onward, you get more, should you say, intimate with it; even daring to comb your fingers through his rich, dark hair at some point and experimentally tugging at the roots, making him actually shiver this time.

he doesn’t just shiver, though. the action is so freaking good that it also causes his eyes to roll into the back of his head — he silently prays that he’s managed to squeeze them shut for a second time before you could catch it.

and that’s not all there is to it either. by now, his cock has become painfully hard in his pants. thick, hot and leaking pre-cum from how excited he’s getting. it makes laying down on his stomach extremely uncomfortable, but he thinks it’s better to suffer through it than enabling you to see what you’re doing to him both physically and mentally.

mind fogged by a mixture of your and now his own lust, he’s getting so horny that all he wants to do is rut into the couch while you continue to touch him. he doesn’t, of course, he’s been around for over two centuries so he’s pretty good at restraining himself, however that doesn’t mean that he likes doing it.

so he remains decent… well, somewhat. he pants a little bit, and he grunts and curses under his breath in a way that makes him sound like he’s balls deep in your cunt, folding you in a mating press and pounding away until you’re nothing but a whiny mess and his cum is trickling down your thighs, but he still tries his very best.

by the time you pat him on the shoulders and tell him you’ve finished, he fears he did, too.

[planetsage]

NEW PIN ! ꒰ 🪷 LUST FOR LIFE 𖧧˚⋆ʚɞ ── choso kamo 𝜗𝜚 . . . SAVE ?

“and i was like take off, take off, take off all your clothes”

contains. nsfw so, minors and ageless blogs do not interact. f!reader. dom!choso / bsf!choso, kinda ooc, mentions of sex toys, solo masterbation, getting caught, m rec oral, deepthroat, spit, dirty talk, missionary, some possessiveness, overstimulation, creampie. 2k words.

choso realized early on in your friendship that he finds issues in locating exactly where the metaphorical line lies between you two.

he knows that, yes; he loves you with an unconditional devotion that scribbles color over every inch and corner of his life. if he could, he’d bring the moon down and bottle it up for you. in the shape of his love. he’d steal the stars.

but sometimes his brain cramps up in confusion because he shouldn’t be imagining how soft and clammy his best friend’s pretty little hands would feel wrapped around the girth of his cock, right?

he knows it’s wrong. he knows he’s just being gross; there’s always a subtle pang of guilt that strums and strings at his heart when he’s with you, but every time he stiffens at his very, very lively imagination, he just can’t help the tight grip, his thumbs rubbing little circles on his sensitive tip before moving with the rest of his fingers to jerk off to the pictures you send him throughout your day.

and you don’t make it any easier for him.

the way your touch lingers for too long, your gaze planting camellia seeds over the plot of his cheeks.

and now, he’s staying at your place while his ac gets fixed; he spent a grueling few days in the oppressive summer heat, sticky and sweaty, and couldn’t bear it any longer. naturally, like the great friend you are, you warmly offered up a guest bedroom to him. and he accepted.

he quickly went to pack a few days’ worth of clothes and toiletries. while scrambling around his room one last time to make sure he had everything, he saw the pink lip outline of the fleshlight he stuffs full almost every night; the fleshlight that he bought in your exact skin tone.

he almost brought it. almost. but decided it’d be rude to indulge himself like that in your guest bedroom after you so graciously offered the space to him. so he left it.

god, does he regret it now.

lying in bed after dinner where you must’ve been trying to kill him, wearing nothing but a little crop top and some boy-shorts underwear. the cotton mockingly hugging up on the cuff of your ass. doing nothing to clothe you.

even in the guest room, everything smells like you. the soft of the sheets, the silky pillows, hell, even the air. it’s too much. like your scent took a physical form to torture and encase his entire body.

“haaa … fu— fuck” his hips roll languidly against the plump mattress as he groans out, ravened locks falling all over the bones of his flushed face. he sinks his teeth into one of the pillows, drooling all over it, and screws his eyes shut to imagine how your pussy would feel letting him in, stretching around his cock, “nghh ... yea. just — just like that …”

sitting up, he pushes the heavy covers off of him; he’s hot, sweating under the thick duvet. pulling his shorts down because it’s too much. poor boy is too hard, throbbing and leaking all over your sheets with a pretty pink dusting his body, “shit..” he whispers sweetly, laying his warmed, wet tongue flat against his palms before wrapping around himself, almost whining at the contact.

he flicks his wrists rhythmically, his mouth bowing open at how loudly his messy cock squelches, filling the room, his hips canting up into his fists.

but he wishes it was you.

the pretty wings of his eyes flap and flutter shut, picturing the way the fat of your ass would bounce on him, how you’d cream all over his cock, “so fuckin’ messy for me— oh my god” wondering how you touch yourself. do you use your fingers? toys? he could probably fill you up way better than any plastic ever could .. do you ever think of him when you play with your pussy? “fuck— fuck fuck fuck”

his eyes peel back open to the door he purposefully left cracked. though he knows getting caught now, like this had the potential to ruin the entire friendship, he banks on the chance that you want him too. his head falls back against the wooden headboard like a marionette’s dropping from its strings. so caught up in making himself cum he doesn’t hear your feet shuffling, nearing the room.

the deep groans you heard from your room stirred you awake, urging you to check on him, pulling you closer and closer to the door until you’re right up by it. you can see his dark silhouette through the crack. your eyes growing big at how he’s quickly pumping himself.

you move closer; the door is only slightly ajar and something inside you wants to see more. hear more. your heart thumps rhythmically in the drums of your ears and your shoulder presses against the wood, causing a creek to sound and cut through his moans like velvet.

you freeze.

his eyes lock onto yours, and he freezes too. even though this is what he wished for deep down he didn't actually expect the stars to align, for better or worse.

your breathing picks up, your feet glued to the ground as if gravity hated you, rooting you in place. and choso can’t think of anything to say but a meek, “sorry” waiting and watching how you react:

your teeth clamp down to chew on the fat of your bottom lip. your breaths coming out in quick winds, big eyes falling to where his hand squeezes and coaxes out drops of sticky precum.

“… come here”

your upper body scrambles, almost leaving your legs behind as you pad towards him. crawling over the thrown sheets up onto the bed and it dips. behind your wispy lashes reveals fairytale like eyes because you’ve been wanting to have him like this for as long, if not longer, than he has.

he parts his thighs and you nestle between them without a word, moving your hands to his bare legs as they frame you; digging your nails into the taut muscles. as long as you’ve known him, choso has obsessively gone to the gym. vibrantly showing you basically nudes rebranded as ‘progress pictures.’ you squeeze his legs making him twitch, his hand moving to your chin, making you look up at him, “i want you .. to wrap these preetty lips,” his thumb moves to push and stroke against your bottom lip, “around my dick. been thinkin’ about them for so long. can you do that for me?” he’s groaning with a raw authority you’ve never heard or seen from him.

and it makes you so fucking wet.

you nod and he leans back, scooting his hips lower and spreading himself. “use your words. i don’t want this unless you do, too”

“yes. i want it so bad. want to make you feel good, cho” you grab his cock with both hands, warm and throbbing against your soft palms, before pushing it up against your flushed cheek, rubbing it against your pretty face.

“that’s it. i knew you’d want it, pretty girl. now show me”

you press light kisses to his flushed tip, up and down his length, watching keenly as he hisses at your little touches. whispering out a, “so pretty.”

he’s watched and replayed this scene so many times in his head; you laid out between his legs pressing puffed lips against his cock, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

you stretch out your jaw, letting him plug up your warm mouth. his eyes roll so far back with a deep groan, your tongue laying flat on his veiny underside as you bob your head on him, your hand moving to massage and squeeze what doesn’t fit in your wet mouth, the other groping at his heavy balls, “fe— haah, feel so good.”

he’s already so close from earlier, raising his ass to buck into your little mouth even though you’re full of him. his tip knocking against the back of your throat making you whine out muffled, “hmph mhmm” ‘s

“don’t — shit. don’t talk with your mouth full, baby. take me all in, you can do it”

he grabs a fist full of your hair, pushing you all the way down making you gag, spit pooling and spilling out around where he clogs your little mouth up. tears line your eyes, spilling over your cheeks as he fills up your throat, “aht aht baby take it all. you’re almost there. c’mon ….. mhhmmm theeeeere you go”

you pull off of him gagging and coughing out glops of fat, foamy spit.

“oh ‘m sorry, sweet thing” he leans in to lick at the spit and tears dripping down the point of your chin before kissing you. his plump pink lips pressing so harshly against yours, tongue sliding greedily into your mouth licking at every corner. the clumsy wetness of it all has you panting as he pulls back, clear spit trailing from your mouths.

“please .. let me fuck you. been wanting to for so long”

his eyes sort of soften as they bore into yours, begging silently with a puppy like glow.

“ .. me too” you assure and he moves to guide you onto your back, grabbing your legs. he presses a sweet kiss to the base of your ankle, “mm. i’ll take such good care of this pretty pussy. ‘s mine now, right?

“yes .. yes, choso. fuck me. ‘m all yours”

he pushes your little thong to side to smear his swollen fat tip against your messy folds, pushing up against your clit “so wet f’me baby .. i did that? you liked having me down your throat that much?”

“hnngg, cho— stop teasing”

then, he realized that you came into the room with nothing but an oversized tee. and a cute little thong. for him. slapping his cock against your pretty cunt three times before smearing against your folds again.

he sinks into your warmth with a long, drawn out, “fuuuuuucckk” at how your little pussy opens up for him, squeezing him so tight. and he’s so big. stretching you out, dragging his fat length against your pinky walls, pushing his hips into yours until he fully bottoms out.

his hands dig into your skin, so rough he might leave bruises because he’s trying so hard to keep himself grounded and not dump his cum into you right this moment. you feel so good. too good.

he moves slowly at first. letting your pussy adjust to him as his thumb swipes against your clit, easing him in. “‘s almost there, baby, you can do it. let me in, pretty girl”

he continues to pet your clit, then you look up into his eyes. and they stare back into yours. dark purple swirled around pools of black, “harder”

that’s all he needed to hear.

his hips harshly slam into yours, your body arching up to meet his deep strokes. angling to make sure the sweet curve of his cock hits that spot that makes you shake, bolts of pleasure striking through your entire body.

the room fills with your little whines, pretty broken moans of his name. heat emitting from your body and mixing with his as he moves to grab at your boobs. the tips of his fingers tweaking and pulling your nipples, “aahhh, cho—so fuck”

your legs hang over his shoulder, sweat slipping and sliding down his temples, “tell me you’re mine” reaching up you struggle to hold on to the girth of his biceps, “yours! ‘m all yours!”

you’re so close. so sensitive, your pussy clenching and pulsing around him in tune with every heavy snap of his waist. “go ahead, baby. give it to me”

it’s feels like you’re on fire. every inch of your body so overwhelmed it’s almost painful. your skin flushes and a warm sensation washes over your entire body as you squeeze around him, “theeeree you go, baby, mhhm, that’s it” shaking against his strong arms when your orgasm cracks like lightning and rips through you.

his cock throbs inside you, his strokes growing sloppy and heavy as he fucks you through your high. overstimulating your pussy. he pushes to drain his thick cum inside you. paint your warm walls with him, groaning out your name.

“holy— shit..” his breaths come out in heavy gasps, twitching you as he grows soft in the solitude of your silky walls.

he’s so warm. filling you all the way up with fat globs of cum. “mmmm, keep me in, baby” pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of your parted lips. then another to the tip of your nose.

as soon as his ac gets fixed, he’s going to throw away that stupid toy. he’s got the real thing to fill up now.

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