Bakugou Is The Type Of Guy To Show Up At Your Door With Flowers In His Hand And Shoo You Out Of The Way

livres d'arcadie à new orleans

out for blood

chapter 2 of Like the Moon Haunts the Sun is out! a bit belated for his birthday celebration but everyone pls join us in welcoming megumi into the cast <3 in case you missed it, you can read chapter 1 here! lmhs blog: @lmhsfic sam my love: @philosophiums

i haven't seen anyone talk about how in the beginning of the movie, after ellen is shown to be lonely and in need of a company and before she screams at the sight of orlok, she is letting out the soft moans but it doesn't seen like she is having sex, it seems like she is masturbating.

if orlok is a manifestation of ellen's repressed sexual appetite and he is repulsive bc the female sexuality is viewed as inherently sinful in the puritan society, then him "visiting" ellen during her puberty is a metaphor for her feeling shame for her sexual awakening and the first sexual experience - masturbation.

it's probable that her father sees her in that moment and condemns her for impurity, which forever alters ellen's perception of her sexuality and self.

it’s all over the screen 🤗

cr: aliyartss on X‼️

I wish I had enough followers to say "biker kacchan" and 100 ppl would reply "real"

Hot ticket items (1/4)

nsfw - mdni. f!reader, piv sex, possessive gojo.

“Let me see you,” Satoru begs as you fight the urge to turn your face from his discerning stare, instead letting your head loll against his wrist while your eyes flick up to meet his. You’ve never felt more seen than when his eyes are on you just like this, drinking in every soft inch of you as if it could be the last time.

It isn’t lost on you that it could very well be one of these days, the dangerous work the pair of you do is heavy enough to carry that at times you feel like your life is already set for a predetermined amount of days.

Could this be the final time you sigh dreamily into his mouth? You whisper a vow to love him forever, barely loud enough for him to hear over your staccato whimpers and babbles. He knows it, though, the feel of each syllable pressed against the smooth expanse of his chest or the skin of his wrist.

You say it every single time without fail, not that he’s kept a running tally over the years. There’s no way Gojo Satoru has let you imprint on his heart so deeply that he knows every single muttered declaration of love like he knows his own mind and the way the sun rises and sets. Yet here he is, adding another tally to the running total.

“I love you,” with your back arched and his hands grasping at your ass for leverage while he buries himself so deep inside of you he’s determined to shape your insides in his likeness. You’d like that too - a home inside of you made just for him.

You could offer him your heart but your cunt seems the more fitting tribute with the way it always promises warmth and want to him. It’s less bruised, at least for now if his pace continues to speed up.

“Fuck Satoru,” your words change in pitch as you spit them out and his thumb brushes across your swollen clit. His tongue peeks out of the corner of his mouth and you’re lost the moment you look at him, sweat dampened hair resting against his forehead and brushing the tips of his “those can’t be real they’re so long” eyelashes.

You know they’re real and it drives you crazy much like everything else about him. He’s too perfect and it makes you feel small in comparison but you know above all that he wants you - flaws included. You whisper another lovesick chant against his skin and it fuels him further, thrusts increasing so sharply you can hear every tap of his balls against the bottom of your ass.

One pulsating spasm and he knows, you’ve unraveled between his fingers like twine. He’ll spool you back up later, after you’ve cried or laughed or enjoyed the silent comfort of your head pressed against his chest, but for now he’s content knowing he’s the one responsible for your carefully crafted facade falling in the form of tears leaving shimmering tracks down your face.

You’ll blame it on overstimulation if he feels bold enough to ask but he knows the truth. You’re giving him something it feels too intimate to share in the daylight - you at your most bare and not merely in the way that shows him each delectable bounce of your tits in time with every time his cock fills you.

You’re vulnerable and you want to be. This is when you’re most undeniably his.

“That good, beautiful?” He coos down at you as he shifts from holding himself up with one of his hands to placing his elbows on the bed so your chests are pressed against each other and his fists are balled into the sheets above your head.

You nod with furrowed brows in your bliss and his gentle lips wipe away the trail of tears on your cheeks with kisses - there’s no need to let them linger as long as he’s here to clean you up and make you better.

His pace continues and you know he’s nearly finished himself, the darkness of your bedroom doing nothing to hide the tension in his face that always indicates he’s almost done.

“My pussy feels so good,” he taunts and usually you’d bristle at the peacocking ownership but you let him have it this once despite knowing he can feel the way you twitch around him with the assertion. His pussy. You know it to be true as sure as your heart is his. “Gonna make me cum, is that what you want?”

Nodding again, you whine and he dips to press your foreheads together. He wants to make sure you see him as clearly as he sees you when he cums, painting your insides with him. You offer shallow thrusts of your hips to meet with his long strokes and before you know it, he whimpers and gnaws on his lower lip while you feel warmth filling you.

His eyes flutter shut and you crane your neck to press your lips against his, the smooth flesh making you smile. It’s so familiar. It’s home.

“I love you,” you whisper a final time despite knowing he can hear you even over his deep breaths. His head comes to rest on your clavicle and you press his face between your hands the best that you can in the awkward position the two of you have come to rest in.

“I know,” he finally whispers back and you hold him to your body for as long as you reasonably can.

This late in the night, it’ll probably be until the sun rises and reminds you that another world exists outside of the tangle of your bodies as little as you’d like to face it.

Until then, though, paradise is pressed against your chest in a heavy breathing heap.

Cute cakes appreciation post

The way that things were so hazy when Joel was moving through the hospital searching for Ellie. It was shot out of focus, we watched his boots more than anything. The sound was muffled. He killed every single person he came across, even those who weren’t maybe necessary. It felt like a fugue state, dissociative, even.

Then the second he has Ellie in his sight, everything is clear again. When he shoots the doctor, it’s loud and in focus. He spares the nurses. He’s evaluating threats. He’s making plans. He’s cold and clinical again, the way we saw in past episodes when Ellie was in danger.

Genius

The beauty of living in a walkable city is that when you feel sad you can just walk and walk and walk till you stumble upon a place that makes you feel better