I Have Complex Feelings About Cannibalism And God

also. Johnny is an accidental cockwarmer. he whines and goads you into letting him fuck you before bed every night because he cannae kip wi'oot fuckin' yer cunt. but it's always a bad decision because after rutting into like an animal, panting and groaning into your ear from being oversensitive and chafed (he'd fucked you three times already), when he does cum, he passes out. instantly. won't budge. won't wake.

and in the morning, when he does stir, well. why waste the opportunity, right? he's already buried inside of you, anyway.

Soap can't handle anything other than accidental cockwarming. he tries to have you keep him in your mouth while he watches a game, but ends up face-fucking you after a minute.

Gaz is a daddydom (without the daddy kink) and no one can convince me otherwise. but it's just about the caretaking. the affection. cradling you in his lap as he leans against the headboard, flipping through reruns of Golden Girls and spoon feeding you desert despite you protest because you're so full already, Gaz, you can't—

but of course you can. because Gaz wouldn't give you more than you can handle, right? he knows what's best for you. so sit pretty on his cock and be good for him, yeah?

(he might also be a lil bit of a mean!dom, too, but it's buried under so many layers of affection that you can barely notice it.)

Gaz, like Price, will keep himself inside of you any chance he gets.

and Simon is just mean. likes fucking you until you're oversensitive and raw and then stays tucked inside of you, tucking a smirk into your nape when you whine and squirm and beg him to just pull out already, it's too much.

he won't, of course. because he likes it when you cry yourself to sleep in a frazzled mess of overstimulation and sensitivity, still wrapped up nice and soft around his cock. likes fucking you through the night, too, while you whimper in your sleep, his come spilling out all over the sheets.

(fucking Simon is a razor's edge of pleasure and pain, and you better get used to the ache, the sting, because he's a big boy with an even bigger appetite and who wouldn't like having their little bird roosting on their lap?)

Simon is shoving you to your knees to keep him warm when the mood strikes him, which is usually whenever is most inconvenient to you.

slipknot sounds like werewolf lube 

My friends loved this one, and so do I 🥺 Oh Diavolo, my husband....

kinktober - day 08 - cockwarming

ghost x gn!reader | 1k words cw: cockwarming (duh), blowjob/face-fucking, spit summary: simon asks so little of you. be still, be good. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

You’re drooling. He doesn’t seem to mind.

Perching atop Simon, you’re a living statue. Dedicated to restraint. Despite the thrum reverberating through your body, emanating from the deep seat of his cock, you remain still. Every scrap of willpower spent on not clenching around him mindlessly, not milking him dry, not granting a single, subtle movement.

You balance on the cusp of self-control, yours and his.

He asks so little of you. 

Don’t think about how good it feels. How right it feels. That would be selfish. He needs this.

Be still. Be good.

The mantra loops in your head with each breath. Your eyes flutter open, eyelashes kissing his skin where your head rests. Slumped against your boyfriend, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, you feel as though you could fall asleep. Akin to the whir of a tattoo gun or the drone of an engine, the pulse of his cock is rhythmic. Soothing.

Right where you belong.

This isn’t just about his relaxation, but your own. (You figured that out after the first time he asked you to do it.)

When Simon leaves, he knows he’s not the only one anxious over his safety and return. This—along with several rounds of near bed-breaking sex—is how the both of you calm down. Work it out of your systems.

The melting ice in his drink clinks as it shifts in the glass. You blearily stare, measuring time in amber. Oh. Huh. You must’ve dozed off already.

Simon shifts. Tiny shocks dance across your skin and burst like fireworks in your belly. A small test. He strokes the length of your thigh, then squeezes and pulls a cheek.

“Back in the land of the livin’?”

“Mm, yeah,” you murmur sleepily. “Can I wipe my mouth?”

He adjusts beneath you, driving a quiet moan out of you. He chuckles, and his knuckles sweep up your back. “If ya want. I’d like to read for a bit.”

Stars dance at the edge of your vision at the unspoken command. Invitation, really. You don’t wipe your mouth but blot his bare shoulder and chest with your shirt and let him kiss you once on the way down. The extra saliva does help with this particular stretch.

You taste yourself intermixed with him, musk and sweat. His bodywash, faintly, from a shower break some hours ago. Your lips stretch around his cock and seal around it, tongue snug beneath its weight and teeth tucked. He nudges further into your mouth and throat every ten seconds. He keeps count, but you do, too.

Thanks to the frequency of your sessions, it’s hardly a struggle once he’s comfortably resting in your mouth. Breathe in, breathe out.

Drool gradually gathers and drips from your mouth. Beads and puddles form on your naked thighs. You negotiate a posture, folding your arms to rest your head against a knee. Simon’s hand gently pats your head so as to not muss or disturb your hair, and then he settles in with a book.

With the sound of turning pages and the occasional sip, you drift back into that pleasant headspace. The world softens at its edges like slipping underwater or a warm blanket drying under the afternoon sun. Becomes a distant and vague thing, where Simon’s your anchor. A weightless haze where you don’t need to be anything other than this.

You’d kneel for hours if you could. In reality, it’s so much shorter than that. Your knees and his cock are impatient things, for very different reasons.

Simon gives you a five-second warning by dropping his book before his hands settle over the back of your skull. The time for relaxation is over.

With all the spit and your fairly lax muscles, it’s obscene how quick he goes. Hips rolling, retracting, and plunging back in with loud, squelching noises. You gag hard but swiftly force yourself to adapt, becoming pliant under his grip as he pushes your head to meet his cock. You blindly reach up, one hand resting on his thigh and the other pushing under his shirt to thread into his happy trail. He groans loud enough to wake the neighbors when you tug a little.

It’s a struggle to open your eyes, let alone roll them straight up. Your gazes meet over the landscape of his body, the pudge of his stomach, and rippling muscle. He’s gorgeous like this, taking what he needs from you at his leisure. Those blinking eyelashes that seem almost out of place on a man like him, shading the black coals of his eyes. Your chest tightens, knowing they burn for you.

He slows a bit to speak.

“I’m gonna come—can you take it?”

You demonstrate your ‘yes’, swallowing around his cock and sneaking a burning drag of air, then hook your fingers over the loosened waistband of his jeans. Hanging on for dear life as he resumes his pistoning into your mouth. It isn’t long until his hips stutter.

“That’s it, fuck, swallow—don’t waste a drop.”

Hot cum bursts into your mouth in thick ropes. The majority shoots down your throat, but what’s left, you taste. A salt and bitterness, a touch of sweetness. It splashes over your tongue, and you swallow, the act a whole negotiation with your mouth still stuffed.

Your throat works as he slows to a deep roll of his hips. He withdraws and grips the base of his cock, holding it still for you to lick clean. Red-pink and shiny, you kiss its head and let him help you up with a groan. You automatically stick out your tongue, which he pinches gently with a thumb and forefinger, inspecting like you’re hiding any.

“Did so well for me. Didn’t complain once. You alright, sweet’eart?” 

You hum, nuzzling into his other, completely drool-free shoulder, and nod. “Mhmm. Am requesting a break for my mouth, though.” 

He brushes his lips to your temple, and you feel him smirk. “S’pose I’ll allow it.”

Lifting some, you start to try and nudge him into lying down. You drag your legs off him and meet his amused eye. He complies after a minute of poking and prodding.

“What’re you doin’?”

You warm at the sight of him on his back, then stand to figure out the best approach.

“Your nose looks cold, Simon,” you remark softly. “Should I sit there, too?”

Good Morning RAD!

Diavolo (over the morning announcements): Good morning, everyone! I hope you're all having a pleasant start to the day. Today at lunch, some Devi Scouts will be stopping by to sell cookies, so be sure to be nice to them. Also, we have Satan and Mammon here to apologize for... the incident in the lab yesterday.

Satan (grabbing the mic): Good morning, demons of RAD. I just want to say, I deeply apologize... that you're all a bunch of weaklings! Honestly, what kind of demon can't handle a tiny explosion?

Mammon (yelling from the back): Yeah! It was a science class for crying out loud! Stop being such wimps and grow a pair!

Lucifer (trying to pull Satan away): Satan, that’s enough—

Satan (clutching the table): And to whoever ratted out Beel for eating the teacher’s lunch—Mammon and I are coming for you after school!

Mammon: Yeah, you made my baby brother get punished! We’re not lettin’ that slide!

Satan (as Lucifer drags him away): You can all burn in hell! Oh wait—you’re already there, you pathetic losers!

Diavolo (long pause): Well... that went well.

Lucifer: Diavolo, I think it’s safe to say... no more public apologies.

Diavolo: Agreed. I was so sure they'd behave this time, too. So sure...

Lucifer (sighing): I should’ve known better.

I like to think that one of the lessons Aizawa taught class A is "always have a knife".

You never know when you'll need a knife so never not be in possession of a knife. As such every member of class A has a knife hidden somewhere in their hero costumes. His gift to them when they graduated were custom engraved knives with their student number on them.

Not on board? Ok. Just imagine how funny it would be tho.

Villain: "Number one hero Deku! I am punch proof! The more you hit me the stronger I get! How will you defeat me now-"

Midoriya: "Knife."

Villain: "Wha-" *gets stabbed*

Midoriya: "Knife."

Hero: "Oh no! We're tied up! However will we escape!"

Tsuyu: "Knife."

Hero: "What?"

Tsuyu, pulling a knife off the bottom of her foot with her tongue: "Knife."

Groupie getting a hug: "Are you using your quirk or are you just happy to see me?"

Kirishima: "It's a knife."

Groupie: "...What?"

Kirishima: "Knife."

Villain, completely insulated in rubber: "You're a one trick pony chargebolt."

Kaminari, reaching down into his boot: "Oh boy are you wrong my dude!"

Hero: "You need to calm down."

Bakugou, reaching down into his V-neck: "Listen here you son of a BITCH-"

Hero: "WHY DO YOU HAVE A KNIFE!?"

Kouda: "Stop scaring the pigeons! They're a domesticated species that we abandoned back into the wild. They're sweet creatures who are pets by nature!"

Douchebag: "Or what?"

Kouda: "..."

Douchebag: "..."

Kouda: "..."

Douchebag: "oh my GOD HE HAS A KNIFE-"

junimo breakdancing

animated on stream !!

April 3, 2024. Journalist Zuher Dahlan was passing out candy and saw a little girl start crying. He asked her why she was crying and found out that he resembles her father, who has been missing since they left the north of Gaza.

It's always "giving price a blow job under his desk" and never "Price getting you head while under your desk".

DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE NEANDERTHAL CHILD WITH DOWN'S SYNDROME? Because they're all I've been thinking about when I'm sad for the past few days. Their existence makes me less sad.