Yuuta being super apologetic about the little slip ups of strength he has when he's fucking you but then he sees the way your eyes are literally rolling to the back of your skull when he's got you in a headlock and he's like "oh :D"
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RMH
Three Goblin Art
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her

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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Stranger Things
trying on a metaphor
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ellievsbear

titsay
$LAYYYTER
Peter Solarz
Sade Olutola

if i look back, i am lost
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TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Not today Justin
Keni
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@musetheapothecary
Yuuta being super apologetic about the little slip ups of strength he has when he's fucking you but then he sees the way your eyes are literally rolling to the back of your skull when he's got you in a headlock and he's like "oh :D"
been thinking again about the parallels between hinata and oikawa lately
My favorite scenes in the LotR books are the ones where Legolas has vital information and just decides it's not important to share.
Like when Gandalf spent literal PAGES trying to figure out why the vibes were off in Moria and Legolas chimes in with just "it's a balrog :) that shit's evil :) we're so fucked :)" like what do you MEAN you knew already and just didn't tell him??
Or at the beginning of Two Towers when Aragorn thinks there's something nearby so he puts his ear to the ground to listen, and then like 10 minutes later is like "hmmm i hear horses" and Legolas is just like "mm yep. there are 105 blond bitches with spears" like you just let your friend put his face in the dirt and you can SEE them??
Legolas please gain a sense of urgency
It's because legolas hasn't spent enough time with non-elves to remember that they don't know what he knows.
gandalf is scratching his head in moria, and legolas is thinking "oh man, the wizard noticed something off *besides* the obvious balrog that we all are aware of??"
"I wonder what aragorn is listening for? must be hard to hear, what with all of the horses. How many horses are there, actually? 1... 2... 3..."
"What do your elvish eyes see?" is Aragorn saying, as politely as possible, "Because the REST OF US are at a significant disadvantage, Prince Dipshit."
──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !! gojo who doesn’t let you touch his cock and gets you off a few times before he puts it in because he claims that he is pretty much useless after he cums. (smut, p in v, fingering, oral f receiving)
the first thing you learn about dating satoru gojo is that he is a menace. a beautiful, cocky, six-foot-three menace with a smile that could launch a thousand ships and a personality that could sink them just as quickly. the second thing you learn is that he’s a liar. a bold-faced, shameless liar.
the evidence for this second fact is currently pressed against your inner thigh, hot and insistent, a promise he has no intention of keeping.
“satoru,” you whine, bucking your hips up against the unyielding weight of his palm flat on your lower stomach. “please.”
“please what, baby?” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, his voice a low, velvet-dark rumble that sends a shiver straight down your spine.
his other hand isn’t on his cock, which you know is leaking and neglected, trapped between his stomach and your hip. no, his other hand is between your legs, fingers slick with your arousal, slowly, agonizingly slowly, circling your clit.
“you know what,” you gasp, trying to arch into his touch.
he’s propped above you on one elbow, a fallen angel with moonlight from the window painting silver streaks through his white hair. his blindfold is long gone, and those impossibly blue eyes are fixed on your face, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every bitten-off moan.
“i want to hear you say it,” he teases, pressing a little firmer, drawing a tight circle that makes your vision blur. “use your words.”
you glare at him, but it lacks any real heat.
it’s hard to be angry when your entire body is a live wire, humming for him. “i want you. i want it. i want you to fuck me, toruuu.”
despite you using his favourite nickname, he seems to be adamant on not giving you what you want. a slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. “nope.”
the flat of his palm presses down on your stomach again, just as his fingers slide down to sink two knuckles deep inside you without warning. your protest dies in your throat, replaced by a sharp cry. he curls them perfectly, finding that spot inside you that makes your toes curl, while the heel of his hand grinds against your clit.
“not yet,” he says, his voice deceptively gentle as he watches you fall apart around his fingers. “i told you. i’m useless after i cum. it’s a well-documented fact. gojo satoru, the strongest, reduced to a puddle of useless goo the second he comes. so.” he twists his wrist, and you see stars. “we have to make this worth it. for you.”
“that’s—ah!—that’s the stupidest—oh god—”
“is it?” he pulls his fingers out, and you sob at the sudden emptiness. he brings them to his mouth, licking them clean with an exaggerated show of satisfaction, his eyes never leaving yours. “lemme taste how ready you are. but i think you can give me one more. two, maybe. we have time.”
he shifts, moving down your body, and the reality of his intent crashes over you.
“satoru, no, i’m—i’m sensitive—”
“good,” he says, and then his mouth is on you.
there’s no teasing now, he’s relentless. his tongue is a weapon, just like the rest of him, and he wields it with devastating precision.
he flattens it against your clit, then flicks it, then sucks the aching bundle of nerves into the heat of his mouth. you grab fistfuls of his white hair, a tether in the storm. he groans against you, the vibration shattering your thoughts into a million pieces.
“look at me,” he commands, his voice muffled but no less authoritative. when you force your eyes open, he’s looking up at you from between your legs, his chin glistening, his gaze burning with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. “watch. i want you to watch me make you cum again.”
he doesn’t relent. he builds you up with the patience of a man who has all the time in the world, which is ironic because he’s the most impatient person you know. but here, like this, he’s a sculptor, and your pleasure is his clay. he shapes it, draws it out, lets it teeter on the edge before pulling back with a soft kiss to your inner thigh that makes you want to scream.
“satoru, please,” you beg, tears of frustration pricking your eyes.
“one more,” he says, and it’s not a suggestion. he slips two fingers back inside you, crooking them just so, and lowers his mouth again.
this time when you fall, you shatter. it’s a supernova behind your eyelids, a wave that crashes over you and pulls you under. you’re vaguely aware of your own voice, broken and raw, of your hips bucking against his face, of his steady, grounding hands holding you in place as he works you through it, gentling his touch until you’re a trembling, whimpering mess.
he crawls back up your body, a predator who has just played with his food and is finally, finally ready to feast. his face is flushed, his lips swollen, and there’s a wild, possessive gleam in his eyes. he’s hard as a rock, you can feel him against your thigh, but he makes no move to guide himself in.
instead, he cups your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear.
“how many was that?” he asks, his voice a little hoarse. “three? four?”
you can’t speak, can only manage a weak, incredulous laugh.
he grins, that brilliant, boyish grin that first made you fall for him. “goood girl.”
he reaches down then, finally wrapping his long fingers around his cock.
you watch him give himself a few slow, deliberate strokes, his jaw clenching as his eyes fall shut for a moment. when he opens them again, they’re darker, the sky-blue swallowed by the pupil.
“this,” he says, positioning himself at your entrance, the blunt head pressing against your slick, hypersensitive flesh, “is the part where i become useless. so you’d better enjoy it.”
and then he pushes in.
the stretch is exquisite. you’re so wet, so open from his relentless attention that he sinks in with one long, smooth stroke. he fills you completely, and you both groan in unison. he rests his forehead against yours, his breath coming in sharp, uneven pants.
“fuck,” he breathes. for once, the single word holds no humor, no arrogance. just pure, unadulterated awe. “every time. feels like the first time.”
he starts to move, and it’s everything you’ve been waiting for. he’s not teasing now. he pulls out slowly, almost all the way, then snaps his hips forward, driving a choked cry from your throat. he sets a pace that is deep and punishing, each thrust hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision white out.
“sato—yes—there—fuck—”
“yeah?” his voice is strained, the veneer of control cracking. his thrusts become more erratic, less measured. “this what you wanted? for me to fuck you stupid?”
you can only nod, words lost as he leans back, grabbing your hips and tilting them up.
the new angle makes you see stars, and you claw at the sheets, a litany of his name falling from your lips.
you can tell he’s close. his rhythm is fracturing, his usually endless stamina burning bright and fast. he was telling the truth; after years of holding back his immense power, when it comes to this, he lets go completely. and once he starts to fall, it’s a short trip.
his hand snakes between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy. “with me,” he grits out. “cum with me, baby. last one.”
it’s too much. the overstimulation from before, the relentless pounding, the desperate look on his beautiful face— it all converges. you feel the pressure building again, impossibly. this time when you fall, you take him with you.
your orgasm crashes over you, a tidal wave that steals your breath. you clench around him, a vise of molten heat, it’s the final blow. he buries himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you. his body goes taut as a bowstring, a tremor running through his powerful frame, and then he collapses.
just like he said. useless.
he’s a dead weight on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. his cock, still buried inside you, gives a few final, lazy pulses. for a long moment, neither of you moves. the only sounds are your combined, panting breaths slowly returning to normal.
“see?” he murmurs, his voice a drowsy rumble. “useless.”
you reach up, your limbs feeling like jelly, and push a damp lock of hair from his forehead.
“you’re an idiot,” you whisper, but there’s no heat in it. only a profound, bone-deep affection.
he hums, nuzzling back into your neck, and shifts, finally pulling out. you both wince at the loss. he rolls to the side, immediately wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against his chest. he’s still warm, still pliant.
“told you i had to make it worth it,” he mumbles into your hair, his voice already thick with sleep. “can’t have my girl feeling neglected.”
you laugh softly, tracing idle patterns on his chest. “you’re ridiculous.”
“mm. but you came. like, a lot.”
you can’t argue with that. you’re pretty sure you’d forgotten your own name for a solid five minutes.
he presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“best part is, after a while… i become useful again.”
you feel the faint, stirring interest of his body against your hip, and your eyes widen.
he chuckles, a low, sleepy sound that vibrates through his chest. “give me twenty minutes. maybe thirty. i’m old.”
“you’re twenty-nine.”
“ancient,” he corrects, his arms tightening around you. “now shh. let me recharge. got a reputation to uphold.”
you settle into his embrace, your body humming with a pleasant, bone-deep exhaustion. you’re wrapped in the warmth of him, the scent of him, the ridiculousness of him. and as his breathing evens out into the soft rhythm of sleep, you find yourself smiling into his chest, already counting down the minutes until he’s “useful” again.
[ an. im so in love with him its not even funny ]
god i love being humiliated for being turned on. "ohh, you like that?" "are you actually getting off on this?" "ohh did that do something for you sweetheart?" hhhbhhbbh
play fighting with him where he tells you to run only to catch you and you keep struggling to get out of his grasp only for him to hold you down tight and watching you go from fighting him to loving the way he makes you feel and eventually giving into him, that kind of submission has him rock hard in his pants
to think about: him grabbing your ankle and pulling you in when you try to run away, holding your hips down when you try to wriggle out of his grasp, a hand circling around your wrists and pinning you down, him pulling your cunt into his mouth until you stop trying to get away and start chasing the pleasure he's giving you
(Left to right) 1. Hayao Miyazaki- “Totoro Was Not Made as a Nostalgia Piece” (1979-1996) // 2. Somali proverb // 3. Over the Garden Wall (2014) // 4. Richard Adams, “…But first they must catch you.” -Watership Down // 5. Chris Maser, Forest Primeval: The Natural History of an Ancient Forest // 6. Cheryl Strayed-Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail // 7. Adrienne Rich- The Dream of a Common Language // 8. Princess Mononoke (1997) // 9. Henry David Thoreau- The Dead Poets society // 10. Angela Carter-The Bloody Chamber // 11. Mushishi (2005)
big wheel
summary: Atsumu x Reader. you've gone camping with your friends every summer for years. some things change, some stay the same.
wc: 1k
cw: nada
a/n: wow this is longer than i wanted it to be lmaooo it unexpectedly gave me trouble because i was struggling to balance the goofy and tender tones i wanted it to have. lmk if i struck the right chord
"yo," atsumu says around a mouthful of orange. "you want?"
"i'm okay, thanks," you say. you're staring thoughtfully across the pond, your gaze seeming to pass right through the cattail reeds. it's the last day of summer for a little more than the twentieth time in your life and the fireflies are coming out early for the occasion. it's too bright out still, the air warm, the season's lingering kiss leaving a soft red mark on your skin, so you have to tilt your head and squint to know what you're looking at. while you do this, atsumu mimics you, narrowing his eyes until he can see the light coming clear through your skin.
I want to write. I have ideas. I open document. I type four of the worst sentences ever created in the english language. I daydream the rest of the scene. I close document.
does running to ur bsf after breaking up ur shitty bf and crying to him about how much it hurts and asking him to fix it and totally platonically riding his thigh while u still have tears running down ur face. does that count. is that anything. and who would u see this with (i am a #1 akaashi enjoyer but im curious who u think fits)
“what else did he say?”
“he-“ you hiccup. keiji swipes his knuckle over your cheeks, unable to help himself. you plant your hands in his lap, and he has to pretend he cant feel the heat between your legs starting to warm his thigh. “he said such mean things, ‘kaashi. he called me mean things.”
“well, thats not very nice.” no, whats not very nice is the fact that hes tracing circles into your hips with his thumbs, knowing it’ll make you squirm. you rut your hips back and forth on his thigh, ticklish, and he has to tell himself that hes not very nice.
he doesnt listen to the little voice in his head, not when your breath catches like that after he flexes his thigh. not when your hips rock back and forth involuntarily, your eyelashes fluttering at the feeling.
“did he say anything else?”
keiji knows his name came up in your fight with your ex. he knows that his presence always made the guy unhappy. in keiji’s defense, he never touched you. not once. you were always just his best friend.
that doesnt totally explain why you seem so comfortable here in his lap, why hes oh so accommodating about it.
it doesnt explain why his cock twitches in his jeans when your lip wobbles on your exhale. “yeah,” you admit, and keiji can see the shame clouding your gaze. “he said i was a whore.” keiji tightens his grip, anger flaring through him, but he keeps quiet. “said i’d probably come crying to you and let you comfort me with your-“ you clam up, your cheeks burning.
he flexes his thigh again, careful not to react when you shiver and roll your hips. careful about how much pressure he puts on your hips so you dont notice that hes moving you back and forth, too.
“with my what?”
you puff your cheeks, splotchy and warm, and scrub your hand across your teary eyes. “with your cock,” you mumble half-heartedly.
keiji doesnt let you see his emotions, keeps them in check even with the strain in his jeans.
“well,” he starts, tugging you toward him suddenly. you bite down on a moan. he feels your heartbeat against his thigh.
“youre here, arent you?”
ushijima learning how to make you cum when you first ride his huge thigh, alternating between tensing and un-tensing his muscle, hands hesitantly guiding your hips until the both of you find a rhythm. he’s pretty sure the grip he has on your hips will leave bruises tomorrow, but the way you’re whining and hiccuping into his neck tells him you’d kill him if he stopped — not that he could, not with the way your tits bounce each time he rolls you on top of his thigh, not with the cute little voice he gets out of you when you’re close, telling him how big and strong he feels under you, especially not when he feels your pussy fluttering like a heart, desperately searching for something to fill it
sooooo... I caved and made a substack :/ only a couple things up so far but more to come if anyone's interested! hoping to start writing on here again, the inspiration bug has come back to bite me :D
a short missive born from the radical act of doing absolutely nothing
when doms coo out a soft ‘there you arreee’ the moment their sub finally gives in and starts whimpering, gasping, making the prettiest noises while being absolutely ruined >>>
i don’t think you’re intimate with suo for a long time. you’re both highly intuitive people - he sees your hyper-independence and raises you emotional unavailability, so it takes a while for you two to build a a sexual rapport. but suo does want to see how you respond to taking directions, accepting praise, so he starts dropping them in throughout the day to see how you respond. “would you grab my wallet? thank you, darling,” coupled with a gentle kiss to the temple so he can feel you shiver against him. “read that passage out loud for me. i like hearing your pretty voice,” all while smiling to himself at the pleased look on your face.
and slowly, when you chafe less at his caretaking and he starts to lean on you emotionally, the two of you start getting ballistically horny for each other, and the directions take on a different bend: “relax for me, sweetheart. there you go, wrap your legs around me just like that. perfect girl. perfect fucking girl.”
boyfriend bakugou tells you to stop being a little pervert when he catches you making eyes at his bare biceps but then puts a little extra flex into everything he does
through these walls
matsukawa issei x reader
rating — 18+, explicit, MDNI
word count — 4.5k
content warning(s) — f!reader, afab anatomy, and they were roommates, solo masturbation (f), toys, extreme levels of Horny, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, issei being Hot :(
author’s note — i have been writing this for Ages and it has finally (finally!) left the wip graveyard. i <3 my man and this fic hehe
“No, no, no, no, no, fuck-“ The orgasm you’ve been chasing fizzles out from beneath you, despite you trying to grasp at it with both hands like fine grains of sand slipping through your fingers.
You let out a groan of frustration, wrenching the still buzzing vibrator from your aching, sore cunt, to toss it onto the sweat-soaked sheets beside you.
It’s hot, humiliatingly so. The smell of sex lingers heavily in the air, reminding you of your failures.
guilt. [matsukawa issei x reader]
»Issei has a secret that he can't ever tell you.«
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TAGS: pervert best friend!mattsun, massive horse cock mattsun, yandere undertones (honestly it's not that subtle LMAO), panty stealing, voyeurism, masturbation, panty fucking, penetrative sex, issei is a pathetic fucking loser, issei and yn are both freakkkkkkkkkkkssssss
a/n: i.. have nothing polite to say. this is @nectardaddy's fault. i caught a fade over this fic so i hope you all say thank you to dodger for the commission <3333
[commission honee here!]
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