#ugh he’s such a man

[lovelyghst]

ghost has such a vast array of names he calls his sweetheart in bed, but the one that won’t leave my mind is porn star. just listen ok—

he doesn’t even mean it in a degrading way, whatsoever. teasing, maybe, but never outright cruel. he just loves admiring you and your aptitude; your willingness to break a sweat when you’re on top of him, your resilience when he asks you if you need a break and you shake your head fervidly because he hasn’t reached his peak yet.

he absolutely adores all the noises you make. the soft and dulcet hums in your throat when he’s making love to you, to the rapid huffs of air being pushed directly from your lungs when he grabs your hips and uses you like how you begged him to. god, and your expressions? your smile as you unbuckle his belt, and your giggles when he flips it around on you and sneaks a hand beneath your skirt. even when you’ve been fucked utterly dumb, you’re still the prettiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. it’s all so erotic to him, like it belongs on film.

and so he eventually comes through to just that, taking out a camcorder that happened to be lying around; one that he definitely didn’t purchase for the exact purpose of filming a little sex-tape with you, certainly not ordering it online behind your back or anything.

you happily put on a little show for him, with the lively energy in your voice turning sensual and your exaggerated reactions that soon become all too real. the lens staring you down from above as he takes his time with you, cooing at you the tenderest of praises whilst breaking you down to a shuddering mess beneath him before he even gives you his cock. slowly massaging your aching pussy, past your hiked up dress and through your cotton panties, just to drag his hand up your body and have you suck on the very thumb that made the soaked spot on your underwear. he’s such a mean, mean tease.

he’s enamored with the way your cunt stretches to fit his cock, especially how it shows up on the small screen of the camera. each ridge dragging against your soft flesh wrapped so tightly around him, to the point where his breath is hitching in his throat and he’s failing to suppress those faint groans and swears spilling past his lips.

“makin’ all these depraved noises for me, and no shame you’re bein’ recorded? already fucked you that stupid, ‘ave i, sweet girl?”

you moan unabashedly at that, words that should be demeaning only hitting you right in the sweet spot. you can no longer keep your eyes on the lens above you, reaching out to grasp at the wrist connected to the fingers circling your raw pussy as you plead with your brows. you’re so overwhelmed, though enjoying it far too much to quit.

wrapping your legs around his back and pulling him in closer, eyes rolling back. swollen lips falling further agape and making him chuckle lowly. he goes on ramming his cock into the sticky mess of your cunt, thumbing your clit to push you over so that the last thing your fuzzy mind will hear is him calling you his favorite nickname:

“my pretty, little porn star… takin’ everything she’s given, ‘n with no complaint. just like a good actress does, right, baby?”

he spurs you on, grinning huge behind the camcorder he holds when you hum and nod along with whatever he says. you pull his free hand into your own, lacing your fingers with his; he always grounds you so well after he’s spun you higher than a ballerina. dazed and content, and simple happy to give him something to watch while he’s away. you never have to act when you’re with him, but you can’t help the butterflies swarming your tummy whenever he praises you for it.

“there’s my good fuckin’ girl… now smile for the camera, princess.”

[potato-lord-but-not]

um. perhaps everyone should go see monkey man. just maybe. consider.

[thatgrlnany]

𝘊𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴/𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘵 :((.

𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘰𝘰! 𝘏𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘭𝘦, 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳.

"𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢." 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺. "𝘛-𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶..." 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴, "𝘚𝘰 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢."

𝘏𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶! 𝘔𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 :((.

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵!

"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘢' 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢?"

"𝘓𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢."

"𝘎𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢."

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰! 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨!

"𝘊𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢."

"𝘊𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢."

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘮𝘢𝘮𝘢."

𝗦𝗶𝗺𝗼𝗻'𝘀 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗯𝗶𝗴 𝘁𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀/𝗼 𝗮 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗺𝗮𝗺𝗮! <𝟯𝟯

[karoochui]

Uururggrgh i have plans that icannot share withyou right now (i have the bare bones of an idea and nothing more)

[willowser]

i really think having an emotional connection is so important to bakugou sexually.

like, i think he has to be in the exact right mood in order to get off by himself at home alone. can't be too tired, can't be too stressed out, can't have too much on his mind regarding work or other things, and even if it's been a while and his body is sensitive and wanting for it—if his head is not right, he can sit there for hours and never reach his peak.

which is why i think ultimately he doesn't do it that often, because it pisses him off to waste the time and not find the release. makes him more agitated. i think porn for the most part doesn't help him because he's too picky, literature probably helps a bit more, but he's still picky, and his imagination can get him there, but his headspace has to be right.

i think he's slow to hands-on stuff, when your relationship starts, and you can tell he's going to be like that pretty quickly. he responds to your touch like it's an accident; you reach out to hold his hand and he pulls his back like your knuckles have knocked by chance, like you're too close. it's not meant to be a rejection of any kind, it's just—he doesn't want you to touch him if you don't want to. if you don't mean to.

but when he realizes that you mean to, that you want to—

it has him skyrocketing. surprises him terribly, the affect you have on his body, and how quickly, because not even he can always have that affect on his own body.

you reach up to push some hair out of his face and your fingers skirt his cheekbone and he feels like a stupid gross disgusting puddle of mush. you loop your arm through his and lean into him while you're walking and he feels like a prize, like he's yours and you're his and you want everybody to know and that gives him a rush of pride that makes his head woozy.

he's dropping you off at home after date number he-doesn't-know and you're staring up at him outside your front door and he knows he should kiss you so he does and his whole body lights up with a heat he doesn't recognize at all. just from that.

and then he finally gets it: that heart-aching, stomach turning, body shaking want he's only ever heard about, and now finally feels.

[ballisterboldheart]

can we also appreciate ballister nailing this guy in the dick and then using the shield which is still attached to him

[timothylawrence]

Going absolutely crazy over what you find in Duke Ravengards vault. You have a weapon titled Ravengard's Scourger and it's description that states Ulder's own father was distant and Ulder had sworn to himself that he'd be better than his own father, but that once Wyll is born he ultimately fails and becomes distant from him.

And then of course, the only other item in the vault is a 'worn and much-handled' journal that Ulder has recorded all his favourite memories of his son inside.

Once again, the game hands you another cycle that isn't broken and all you're left with is heartbreak and pain.

[ogpromiscuouspaperplanes]

WHODUNIT but it’s increasingly difficult because the workplace all shares similar paint jobs

some weeks later:

[birues]

"After all, the path I once walked is now yours to finish."

[yandere-romanticaa]

Despite the cheerful smile on his face, Tartaglia's eyes are like the sea - deep, dark and most importantly, terrifying.

No one knows what dwells deep within those waters and frankly, many are afraid of taking a dip in that endless sea of mystery. Who in their right mind would dare to see what this ticking time bomb has up his sleeve? Life is easier if you steer clear of him. Bow your head or simply leave, nothing good comes with dealing with the Fatui, let alone a Harbinger.

But to fall head over heels for one, well... That is a story worthy of the history books.

It was difficult to be with him. His lust for blood would never cease and the hunger for power would keep on growing.

That need doubled once you became a constant presence in his life.

Do you see him? Are you looking at him? He sure hopes so. Tartaglia lives for your words of praise, he needs it like air. Tell him he's the best even though he already knows that he is. Tell him that you love him, that you won't ever leave him and watch him take down the entire cosmos for you. Watch him come running back to you bloody and bruised, his tone quiet but sincere as he spills his undying love for you through his busted lips.

He is danger incarnate. Not even his co-workers want anything to do with him. But it's so hard not to fall into his strong, secure arms as he kisses you breathless beneath the shimmering moonlight. People avoid you due to your association with him and sometimes, you miss your old life. Sometimes you miss how the sun would kiss your face as your friends laughed behind you, picnic baskets in your hand as you made your way towards a clearing you all fancied. You can still recall the smell of fresh bread, various jams and the endless sea of fruits everyone would bring.

Those moments were true slices of paradise. They were simple but meaningful, powerful even.

Some things were more powerful however.

You traded the sun for snow. Warmth for cold. Comfortable uncertainty for caged safety. Friends who left you for a lover who was ready to kill for you.

Don't focus on them, the ginger man would tell you. You don't need any of them, not when you have him. And you would grip his jacket tight, so impeccably tight that your knuckles would turn pale. He would then proceed to kiss those knuckles with a gentleness a man like him ought not to possess.

Tartaglia was a walking contradiction of a man. And you wouldn't have him any other way.

🍒 TAGS: @genshinarchives, @mod-kisa-blog, @juuuuuj101010, @kalopses-sonderes, @b10h4z4rd, @xiaopleasecomehome, @mayulli, @saturnalya, @alatusprinz, @lakxcpsta, @mewmeowmika, @ranposgirlboss, @goldenglow149, @thedeadbitchwalking, @osiial

[1833outboy]

the fact that patrick, who has always said he doesn't wear his glasses on stage out of fear, of not wanting to see the crowd, is now, in this era of healing, choosing to wear his glasses on stage...

idk man i'm not ok.

[ego-meliorem-esse]

July 13th, 1917

Be it from a sense of paternal concern or simply patriotic duty, Arthur made sure to leave his soldiers in the charge of an older Corporal and made his way to the quite pathetic excuse of a medical section where his son was left to rot.

Arthur had heard about the attack. He had been informed the day prior.

He had seen war and famine and sickness, but never like this. Arthur wasn't young, in any sense, and what wonders and strong political oppinions young men had, had left him a long time ago like a ship leaving the harbour in a hury to claim new land. This though, had left shock echoing within his tired, millenia old frame. He wasn't used to this.

Arthur made his way through the trenches with soldiers from every corner of the globe instantly stopping whatever they were doing prior and saluting him as if etiquette and rank mattered in hell. As if it was more importaint to greet the Higher ups than to survive long enough to even write a letter back to family. Arthur did understand that though. Routine and rules were the only thing keeping these poor and wretched souls from being consumed by thoughts of an imminent death.

The path to the section where Matthew was held was quite straightforward and quite familiar. He had marched to and from it hundreds of times and had a sort of automatic rithm in his step. Arthur made his way to the small and damp room with a fast pace indicative of familiarity, only to stop in his tracks in the shabbily built doorframe at the sight that awaited him in the corner.

Matthew sat in the corner of the sad makeshift medical section of the trenches, his back firm against the cold, damp wall.

His once-piercing blue-grey eyes were now clouded over with milky white cataracts, rendering him completely blind. The newly used gas had stolen his sight. His skin, once tanned and healthy, now bore the sickly pallor of a much older man who had endured unimaginable suffering.

Matthew's uniform, discarded in favour of his worn down undershirt, was now a tattered and stained relic of his time in the trenches. The not-white-anymore shirt clung to his emaciated frame as if decency still mattered in hell. The physical toll of the war was clear on his body. Not that Matthew would have to worry about seeing that any time soon. His hands, which had once held a rifle with resolve, now trembled even while resting on his thighs.

Despite his physical and emotional anguish, Matthew remained seated upright, his back pressed against the unforgiving, stained wall. A testament to his resilience if there was any left, a silent protest against the horrors that had taken his sight and left him broken in body and spirit.

As he sat there, his spirit reduced to a hollow shell, Matthew's face bore a mixed expression of utter defeat and complete indifference. His lips were drawn into a thin, lifeless line, and his cheeks were gaunt from the weight of his suffering. His blank, unseeing eyes stared into the abyss, as if waiting for answers and also hoping they'd never arrive.

In that moment, Matthew was not a representation of Canada; he was a young man who had been scarred and broken by the senseless brutality of war. The trenches around him buzzed with activity, but he remained isolated in his silent world of darkness and despair. The young medics job was done. He had patched Matthew up and left him to his own misery. Matthew was grateful.

Arthur stood there silently under the doorframe for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few seconds. A strange and unfamiliar twinge of emotion plucked and pulled on his conscience. He hadn't felt guilt in quite some time. This feeling was reserved for drunken nights spent in solitude with the doors to the room he resided in firmly locked so that his sliver of self-deprecating emotion wasn't witnessed by any but himself, while he drunk himself to unconsciousness.

He preferred the emotional solitude to this.

Arthur had believed himself to be capable of most things. Especially conversation and confrontation. He was quite good at those as centuries of existence had proved. He believed himself quite skilful with words. Most of the time he knew what to say and when to say it without it resulting in unwanted and unforeseen consequences, while still making sure his opinion was heard.

Arthur had no words forming as he stood in that doorframe. If Arthur was a good man, his reasoning would be that he felt such strong empathy and sadness that words wouldn't be enough to express the sorrow he felt at that moment. If Arthur was a good man he'd run to his son, assure him that this wouldn't happen ever again and that he was safe. If Arthur was a good man he would fall on his knees in front of his oldest son and beg for forgiveness.

Arthur wasn't a good man.

He could admit to his shortcomings, but to act on them was not in his nature.

So he stood there for another 5 or 6 minutes watching his son shallowly breathe in and out, hearing the boys lungs struggle to keep up with his muscles contraction and need for air.

He must have made a noise, as Matthew's head tilted slightly to the left, almost looking at Arthur but definitely not seeing him. Arthur looked back at him.

The room was quiet, save for the desperate plea of Matthews lungs to be put out of their misery.

Sensing nothing after a few moments, Matthew turned his head back towards the blank wall ahead.

Arthur silently turned his frame around and slowly started walking the path he had taken to get here. As he took a few steps, he released the breath he didn't know he was holding.

How he longed for that whiskey bottle and that dark room where he could lock himself in and slowly drift out of consciousness instead of facing his own mistakes.

Arthur definitely was not a good man.

[a-through-l]

Guys denjis a lesbian trust 🙏🙏

[reineydraws]

so there's this post that talks about how people call jason's curved knife a kris but it's not a kris 'cuz why would he have a southeast asian knife? and op's tags say if you're gonna give him an 'exotic' weapon at least make him malay or something. a later reblog adds a filipino kris as an example, and then i was like, 'omg, jason in a barong tho.' SO i tried designing a bat-barong inspired by his hood logo, for a filipino jason haha. and now here we are! 😊✨️🇵🇭

[bunicate]

omgeee mimi you hafta to mister yang hes such a icky and pervy old man! 💗💗 >w< every time you wear a tiny skirt he gets sooooooo sooo hard hes supposed to be your father figure but he wants to see your tiny cute pussy hehe 💗💗 he would cheat on his wife if he had one to be with a cutie younger girl (>/////<) 💗💗 !!!!!

- 🍄

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ warnings ꒱ྀི daddy kink. age gap. me not making any sense below cuz I’m deeply in luv with weltie.

mister yang believed himself to be an irredeemable man. he’s taking advantage of your pure young heart . . he knows he’s a father figure of some sort and his desire to protect you birthed something much more forbidden. instead, welt found himself conjuring up thoughts of your naked body — images floating around like clouds in his mind. 

pretty, doe eyes, plump trembling lips, the soft timbre of your voice, and your thighs revealed from your tiny skirts all tugged on his heartstrings. you were young enough to be his daughter and you behaved like it too. stubborn, smart, a little bit shy, and thoughtful just like how he’d want her to be, and that furthered his shame. 

he painfully remembers such thoughts even when sheathing his cock between the apex of your thighs. even as he uses the flesh until his seed paints the outside of your skin. even while he slaps his fat tip on your clit—rubbing his length all over your sloppy pussy, until you’re begging for your beloved daddie to put it in. 

welt knows better than to chase after such young women, specifically ones that idolize him paternally but you make it difficult to keep away. he is not immune to your naivety, your eagerness to please, and that tiny little cunt he can spend hours fucking. your moans, so innocent and docile can send waves of burning pleasure straight to his cock. 

especially when you whine out “mr. yang” and he has to coax you into calling him daddie instead. 

“I think we are way past the point of you speaking to me so professionally, wouldn’t you agree ?”

he’s reserved, even when fisting your skirt and pumping your limp body up and down his leaky cock. welt draws patterns on your skin, his sanity slowly weakens with each drag of his hips despite appearing the opposite.

he’s been good at being avoidant around you. he’s been able to refrain from touching, only settling on looking but now that you're finally underneath him, petite cunt gaping, his control is no longer within reach. 

“daddy —dada” you hiccup in between shallow breaths. the force of his thrusts robbing the air you breathe and you are forced to dig your nails on the wooden desk to keep yourself steady. every probe of his tip rubs your insides stroking the warmth inside of you to flames.

“that’s much better, sweetie . . “ his thumb rubs the sides of your lips collecting the drool escaping.

“how beautiful .” he dips his finger in your mouth and presses down on your tongue. your lips pulled together, puckering around the digit obediently as you begin to suckle. 

“daddy is so proud of you. look how good you are for me.” he angles himself to fuck you deeper, your breast jumping with every jerk of hips 

“hnn— too much—!” you babble with his appendage still buried in your mouth. your tight cunt puffed and creamed from his cock as you grew restless. welt didn’t slow down, he huffs into the side of your neck, 

“It’s okay, i got you. relax for me.”

his other hand reached down to play with your sodden clit. 

“papa isn’t done with you yet, I have a pretty pussy to fill.” 

welt babbles. he’s a man with infinite wisdom. he’s so mature and so articulate. he has to express how fascinating you are. was this the body of a younger woman? so soft to the touch, so wet and tight ?

he has an analytical mind, it is only natural that your daddie takes his time to caress and suck every inch of you. and he’s unintentionally foul-mouthed. he has a habit of talking too much and describing every detail . he pulls his cock out from between your walls and all he can talk about how amazing it is to see your hole gape from his cock. he’s enamored by your chubby lips being split apart to welcome him. 

“your pussy appears to be swollen. . . It seems like it was my doing,” and you can even detect something shy of cockiness in his inflection.

welt zeroes in on every twitch every squelch and he has to describe in vivid detail. even the drip of your cunt from the sound of his deep voice . . he’s so <33

[tomcriuse]

Monkey Man 2024 | dir. Dev Patel