I Just 😭😭😭😭 - Blog Posts

whc2 ep 6

baku, sieun, and baekjin having their little tension moment and then you have juntae and hyeontak on their Stakeout Date like :

a comic about moving on

poor girl 💔

@crankgameplays It’s the blue boi!😄

بچه ها نیم ساعت پیش تبلتم از دستم سر خورد

افتاد

شیکست

وقتی میگم شیکست شیکستا

شبیه تار عنکبوت شده صفحش الان😂😂

منم که Crybaby ای ام واسه خودم پس چرا که نه مثل کرم پیچیدم تو خودم و اعصابم به هم ریخت

ولی نگا صفحش چه برقی میزنه خرده شیشه هاشو

استایل زدم براش سبحان الله

خودمم نمیدونم چطوری هنوز دارم باهاش تایپ میکنم، تاچش خیلی سخت جونه

قرار شد یکی دیگه بگیرم ولی خب میدونی هیچی این نمیشه

به چیزایی که سال ها داشتمشون عادت دارم

خودمونیما این دیگه ضربه نهایی بود

یه بار محکم از گوشه خورد زمین یه کوچولوش باز شد ولی تا الان سالم موند😂😂

حالا که یادم اومد از نصف چیزای مهمم بکاپ نگرفتم میخوام دو دستی بکوبم تو سرم که انقدر حافظم داغونه😭😭

برم بمیرم بهتره-

راستی بچه ها نقاشی جدید کشیدم بعدا میزارم براتون

بعد اینکه تصمیم بگیرم صفحه اینو عوض کنم یا یه دونه نوشو بگیرم

don’t you think i’d look so pretty giggling and making out with your cock?💗

pedri with i can do it with a broken heart. I'M DEFINITELY NOT OKAY AFTER WATCHING THIS EDIT.

jesus christ val.. are you- are you okay?

Rick.

He told me to stop using the device he made me to hide everything I didn’t like about myself. Sure, it didn’t hide everything, but it hid most things…

but..

I argued with him about it.

I told him no.

He said I shouldn’t care about what other people think, and he loved me no matter what.

But, I wanna be normal.

I care what people think.

He took it from me.

Now I have to stare at the monster that I never wanted to see again..

Myself.

((Boom, big reveal!

Well, now you guys know what’s under the mask! feel free to ask Val about it!))

Whyy can't i log in on c.ai?? Is there a problem again ?? If i have to login and start new chats im gonna break down. I don't remember which email i sign in when i installed it what if i lost my chats im going to be so heartbroken bro why just why argg so frustrating! And just when i found a good bot too urggr😮‍💨😩😓

here y'all, have a preliminary sketch for a lil comic that's gonna go up on my stardew blog

ik the comic is cringy but i love transmasc sebastian hcs and hdbthenfbshbannsn

Steve drove for a while after ditching Tommy and Carol.

He should have realized saying that shit about Nancy and Jonathan wasn't okay. He shouldn't have let his anger get the best of him. He acted like his dad and the more Steve thought about it, the more obvious it was that Tommy and Carol had always encouraged him to behave like that. They constantly were egging him on, making him angrier and angrier until he lashed out.

He didn't want to lash out. He didn't want his so-called friends to encourage that shit. He used to be kinder, gentle. He used to be more like his mom.

It was that thought that made Steve pull over. He couldn't really see the road anymore, his vision completely blurred both by tears and the shiner Jonathan gave him. Steve couldn't remember the last time he cried like this; tears streaming down his cheeks, snot dripping from his nose, his breath growing quicker and more panicked. He felt like he was drowning.

Then someone knocked on his window and scared the shit out of him.

He turned his head to look at the intruder, hastily wiping the tears from his eyes only to wince when he accidentally touched his bruised face. It was some girl he vaguely recognized. They probably went to school together. He thought she might be in band, but he had no way of knowing unless he actually asked her. Then again, that might make the fact that she was an apparent witness to his emotional breakdown even worse. God, he did not need rumors of "Crybaby Steve" circulating the school, especially after his fallout with Tommy and Carol. Desperately trying to calm his breathing, with varying degrees of success, Steve rolled his window down.

"Can I-- Can I help you?"

His voice cracking nearly sent him spiraling again, tears welling up once more.

"Is there a reason you picked my front lawn to shatter to pieces or am I just that lucky?"

He couldn't tell if it was the bluntness of her words, the deadpan delivery, or just the fact that she had the audacity to joke about the whole thing. Whatever it was, Steve burst out laughing. He sounded hysterical to his own ears, but it was a hell of a lot better than crying. He tried to reign himself in when she started looking nervous, but he could only taper his cackling down into breathy giggles.

"S-sorry. I don't know why-y I'm l-laughing."

The girl snorted at him, shaking her head in exasperation that seemed both irritated and fond.

"That's fine. We'll start with something easy. Why are you on my lawn?"

Steve glanced away from her and out the window and, sure enough, his car was halfway on her lawn. He turned back to her, sheepish.

"I, uh, I couldn't see the road. Sorry."

She blinked for a few moments, her expression betraying nothing on how she was feeling. There were a few instances where she looked like she was going to say something and decided against it. To say the least, her silence made Steve increasingly nervous.

"Do you want to sit on the grass for a bit?"

She seemed hesitant to make such an offer, but he could tell it was genuine nonetheless.

"Yeah."

So they sat on her lawn.

They sat on her lawn for hours. Talking, tearing up bits of grass and throwing them at each other, just simply existing in the moment. It was the most calm Steve had felt since he started high school.

"I'm worried that I went too far. That it won't matter if I apologize to them or not."

"It doesn't matter if they forgive you or not. It's important that they know you are aware that you fucked up. Acknowledge that you were in the wrong and don't want to make that same mistake. It sucks, but it's what you have to do if you wanna make it right."

"Yeah. Thanks Robin. You're really cool."

"That's quite the complement coming from The Hair."

Steve groaned, knowing full well what that nickname indicated. He laid back on the grass, gaze fixed on the darkening sky.

"Hey Robin?"

"Yeah Steve?"

"Would you maybe want to be friends? I don't really have any real ones."

And what a depressing thought that was. It was true, though. Tommy and Carol have never been real friends, not in the way he needed them to be. The closest thing he had was Nancy and look at how that turned out so far.

"Are you for real?"

Robin sounded bewildered and it made Steve wonder how isolated he made himself out to be that anyone would question why he might want to befriend them. God, popularity ruined him.

"Yes?"

Now he was anxious that Robin was only humoring him. Of course she wouldn't want to be friends with him. He was a complete loser, just like his dad always said.

"Okay. Yeah. We can be friends, Steve."

The warmth that spread through Steve was lightning fast. It felt almost as good as when Nancy would sneak away with him to make-out at school. Maybe even better.

"Cool. Thanks, uh, for all of this. I didn't mean to just kind of dump my shit on your lap, but I'm glad we met. Yeah. Anyway, I've got apologies to make. I'll see you later?"

He glanced at her from the side, a shy grin taking over his face. She smiled back and gave him a playful shove.

"See you later, Harrington. Tell me how it goes!"

Steve rushed back to his car, determination settling in his gut. He'd apologize to Jonathan first. It was only right.

***

Robin wouldn't go as far as to say that she was worried, but she was definitely curious. A tad concerned maybe. It was just that Steve hadn't been to class for the last three days. Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers hadn't either and perhaps that was why Robin found herself anxious. After all, Barb Holland and Will Byers went missing recently. Who's to say the same thing couldn't have happened to those three?

Robin smacked her cheeks a few times. There was no sense in getting worked up by worst case scenarios. She'd get the facts, one way or another, even if it meant venturing all the way to Loch Nora to find Steve.

That plan turned out to be wholly unnecessary because Steve walked into class right as she had that thought. He looked a little twitchy, his eyes flicking across the classroom like they anticipated danger. It wasn't long before he clocked Robin. She waved and the smile that blossomed on his face was so bright she thought she was going to need sunglasses.

He went straight for his seat right in front of hers and immediately situated himself so that he was facing her.

"Hey Robin!"

"Hey yourself! Did everything go okay? I haven't seen you in class."

He studied his hands for a moment, a distant look passing through his eyes like he was remembering something, before he smiled ruefully at her.

"Yeah. Everything went okay. I would've come in yesterday, but my mom wanted me to rest at home. Wasn't feeling too good. I'm here now though! Ready to actually pay attention for once."

Robin snorted right as their English teacher entered the classroom. Steve spun around quickly to face the front, but every so often he turn his head halfway toward hers and make faces at her. She shoved him every time, a smile playing across her face.

Steve Harrington was a wild card, but Robin had a gut feeling that they'd be good for each other.

***

Happy Platonic Stobin Month! I have no idea how much I'm actually going to participate, but I did write this thing! So I hope y'all enjoy! (Prompts 1 & 20: Alternate Meeting/1983)

"What, are you /queer/, now?"

-my dad, to my sister, less than 20 feet from me.

I am the /only/ queer person in the house.

I am the /only/ queer person in our imedient family.

He's didn't need to say it like.... That.

It wouldn't hurt so much if it hadn't been almost a year since the last time I heard say something anti-lgbt+ but it has been a while and I thought he might not say that- at least not in front of me.

I started watching My Love Story and Damn am I gay for Yamato-san

She is so fucking cute and she /bakes/.

Like holy shit, she's so cute, I want her and Takeo-kun to get married and be happy forever because they deserve it, goddamn it!

Me: *finds a thing that i like that isnt problamatic unless taking out of context and given malicious intent through biased descriptions*

Person: *does that*

Me brain: you are no longer allowed to like this thing because if you do then you're a terrible person and your inevitable murder is justified because you'd deserve it.

Me: ... ok..

Yall how and why has this gotten a whole five or so likes in the past hour or two I think-

I miss you, Sunny. You were always someone I could depend on to listen.

🖤

Stranger my beloveddd :3

LOSING MY MIND LOSING MY MIND LOSING MY MIND LOSING MY MIND LOSING MY MIND LOSING MY MIND LOSING MY MIND LOSING MY MIND LOSING MY MIND LOSING MY FUCKING MIND

Thoughts on Miguel having a breeding kink??

I feel like because of him being part spider he would have moments where he needs to breed you because it’s just part of his DNA, begging and asking you if he can cum inside you.

Needy Miguel who gets taken care off because he can’t control himself <333

I actually wrote a full fic based on something similar coming out later this week! but I just had a few HCs I felt I needed to share 👀👀

Miguel O'Hara Breeding kink HCs

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

summary: Breeding kink HCs + more :)

warnings: slight fdom, masturbation, breeding kink, marking, slight size kink. 18+ Minors DNI

wc: 1.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before you started dating, he hid it pretty well. 

It's not a rut per se (violent flashback to my ABO phase) but his changed DNA makes him susceptible to being more animalistic. 

Before meeting you, it was less of an issue. His instincts would be more aggressive, manifesting mostly as Spiderman. 

A little more violent, proactive, and stony-faced on the streets. Sure, his libido was higher, but he could satisfy himself fine - opting for quickies in the shower. 

When he first meets you, and you grow closer he finds them getting worse. 

Hot flushes, possessiveness, and god, he's head over heels for your scent. 

The first time you sleep together, he's more forward than he usually would be. After a date, and you look stunning, he just can't think straight. 

After a couple of beers, Miguel floats down the street next to you. You've got your hand in his, click-clacking down the sidewalk in boots and those jeans that make your ass look good. He would know, of course, he's spent the past 5 minutes staring at them. 

He's ashamed to admit it, but he can't concentrate, the story you've been telling goes straight over his head. All he can see is your bubblegum pink gloss, and that perfume you've been wearing goes straight to his cock. You're beautiful , the sweetest thing he's ever had the pleasure of taking out, and all he can think of is what you'd feel like underneath him. 

He walks you up to your apartment door. When you stop outside, he can't help but put a hand on your waist and cage you against the door. 

"You look beautiful, baby." He breathes. 

Your whole face lights up, and it's all he can do to not kiss you right there. You look up. Miguel is tall, broad and handsome. His eyes are low, dangerously raking over your face and body. 

"Do you….. do you want to come in?"

~~~

You don't notice at first. You and Miguel have great sex: he's attentive, handsome, and he's got a pretty healthy appetite. 

He's into a lot of things you didn't think you'd like: marking you up with hickies and admiring you after. 

It's a possessiveness you're not used to, and it turns him on to no end. 

For that reason, he's very verbal; talking you through it just to see you blush. 

" Fuck, Miguel." 

He traces the fresh hickies he's made on your chest as you're splayed out below him. Obscenely, he slaps his dick against your clit, wet noises resounding through your bedroom. 

"Aren't you pretty, mi vida ?" He likes the way you writhe against him, hips flush against his and bucking up for some relief. He's been pawing at your pussy and whispering filthy shit in your ear; using his senses to chase every twitch and pulse of your body. 

"S'what happens when you walk around the house in those tiny shorts, baby. Hmm? Ass out, bending over like I can't see how wet you are. Like I can't taste it in the air." You whimper and he bucks into your hole, catching on your clit before stretching you out. He takes it slow, caging you in with his arms. 

He buries himself in you from the hilt. And he humps your clit, just the way you like it. He takes your hands and holds them above your head, picking up the pace. You writhe and strain, but he holds you still dragging his hips in and out of your sopping hole. Warm, wet, he moulds you to the shape of his cock: rhythmic pounding filling your ears. Your head lolls and he licks up your moans; angling his hips just right and deepening the kiss. 

" ¿Más duro? Harder, baby?" You whine in response, watching where you bodies meet intently. 

" Need your cum, Miguel ."

He cries out, his pace sloppier and less controlled. You wrap your legs around his waist, pushing him closer, impossibly deep. 

“Can I cum? Please, mami, can I cum?” 

Your answer comes in the form of a harsh tug at the nape of his neck, wrenching his lips onto yours. He stills, spurting hot, sticky cum; painting your walls white. 

~~~

Ohhh and he definitely has a size kink.

He likes to knead your body with his big hands, rubbing your thighs completely absentmindedly, after finishing. 

Aftercare is important to him, often plugging you up with his cock, or toys, or pushing his cum back in with thick fingers after spilling inside you. 

He likes multiple rounds, making sure his cum takes: he wants to see you plump and round and pretty with his baby. 

Irony is, he's not even sure if he wants kids, but the idea lights him on fire - fuels countless nights with you and nights when he strokes his cock to the thought of you. 

He becomes obsessive and a slight perv; taking your panties from the laundry to wrap around his nose, to rub against his cock when he touches himself. 

When Miguel gets like this, he is shameless, overstimulating himself to chase the perfect high.

You find him, back turned in a tight little tank top, on the bed. You heard him first, of course. The rhythmic slap and groaning that creeps into the apartment. You’ve had a long day at work, body sore and aching. The only thing you want to do is kick your heels off, and collapse into bed. And you would’ve - if not for the Miguel-shaped lump perched on the edge of your mattresses. 

You lean on the doorframe, eyebrow raised. “...didn’t know it was so soon, Miguel.”

He doesn’t even glance your way, only moaning and clutching at the sheets. You walk around for a better vantage point, to look him in the eye when he finally spills into his palm. And there, you see the deep red of a pair of panties you had put in the laundry a while back.

“Can’t help it, mi sol. You know I can’t help it.” 

"Fucking perv ." You hiss. He stops, hips jerking up. You sink down to your knees, dainty hands wrapping around his cock. All he can do is watch as you rub his length, squeezing his tip so precum pours out like a leaky shampoo bottle. 

"What were you thinking of that's got you so desperate to hump your hand?" You press a sticky kiss to his balls. 

He doesn't answer at first, too lost in the back and forth of your fingers, other hand pressing the gusset of your panties against his nose. Cruelly, you stop, and he cries out as you squeeze his tip."Asked you a question, Miguel."

"Sorry, mami. C-Can't help it. Only thinking with my cock," He whines, until you start up again. Your face is right next to his length and it is all he can do not to cum all over it. "Thinking about you. Fucking you hard. Deep. Filling you up with my cum again and again-" 

"You want to fuck a baby into me?" 

He nods desperately. "Wouldn't you look so pretty? Plump and round and waddling around with all my cum? Mine, always mine," You speed up, snaking a hand downwards to put some pressure at your clit. Ever perceptive, he notices and grabs, pulling you upwards. Like paper, he rips through the stockings, biting and soothing the bites with his tongue all over your thighs. 

"You want my tongue, first? My fingers?" 

You shake your head. "N-No, Miguel. Long day jus'.... need your cum. Fill me up. Breed me."

He doesn't need to be told twice. You help him get rid of his clothes, and strip down to your bra and panties. He looks hungry, eyes raking over the peaks and troughs if your body. You know what he's like when he gets like this; little self control, reckless abandon. He'd actually fuck a baby in you if it weren't for your birth control. So when you sink down on his length, he isn't tender or sweet, like he usually his. He's an animal , fucking up into your hole and kneading the globes of your ass apart for better purchase. 

"Give it to me, mi vida ." You clench around his thick dick, the burn and stretch of him just right. "Oh fuck, just like that. M'gonna cum, baby, straight into this cunt. Gonna fuck a baby into you, okay? Dámelo, dámelo…"

He stutters, hips flush against your clit and giving you the most delicious throb at your pussy. With a cry, he cums into, deep, as promised. He wraps his fingers in yours, holding you through your own impending orgasm. You fall through the sky, together, coming down from your high. He kisses your forehead with a lazy smile. 

"Not enough, mi vida. Gotta make sure it takes." 

_

_

_

ROBYN I WANNA GIVE YOU A MILLION KISSES FOR THIS MASTERPIECE

Corrupt Preacher!Rhett x reader

warnings: corruption kink, age gap (Rhett is in his late 30s, reader is of age, early 20s), power dynamic, religious themes, mentions of masturbation, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks), p in v penetration, loss of virginity

a/n: pic credit to @h0neyfire ! If any of these themes make you uncomfortable you should not read, this is not written for you and that’s okay. Also I will never be writing smut again I feel so awkward <3 also this is a fully consensual scenario. Also thank you to my love @sebsxphia who listened to me ramble endlessly

“Romans 13:13, Let us behave properly as in the day, not in carousing and drunkenness, not in sexual promiscuity and sensuality, not in strife and jealousy.”

You sat on the edge of the bathtub, toying with the hem of your nightdress as the words of the evening’s sermon rang through your ears. Drowning out the sound of the motel highway and your heart hammering in your chest.

Your fingers threatened to creep further under your nightie as you thought about the way he preached. The fire, the passion, the authority. He had every person who lined the pews in the palm of his hand and he knew it.

He knew he had you kneeling at his feet too. All he’d have to do was ask.

Rhett was a man of God. And you’d never say it out loud in case God could hear you, but he was the godliest man you knew. But he gave you feelings. Feeling you knew you shouldn’t be having about your preacher, never mind as an unwed woman.

You opened the door and padded across the carpet meekly. Kneeling at his feet, knees just brushing the patent leather of his dress shoes, you looked up at him, hands clasped together, eyes wide, as if you were searching for salvation. Salvation only your crooked preacher could give you.

You had both talked about it before. You confessed your lustful thoughts, even though you were saving yourself for marriage; or so you planned. You found solace in Rhett’s arms, in the safety of the church. But that’s where you found yourself one too many times until it ended with you, legs spread on his desk saying your Hail Mary’s while his fingers worked their way in and out of you. It felt dirty. But the kind of dirty that gave you butterflies as you thought about him during sermons. The way he would gesture with fire in his voice. His slightly greying hair would fall over his forehead. The same hair your fingers ended up tugging on as he pressed soft kisses to your thighs and sucked on your clit until you didn’t have a voice left to pray with. It was your secret. You worried about the sin but he hushed you, he told you that “it’s not a sin if it’s a man of god, it’s a sign.” 

You had both talked about it before. You confessed your lustful thoughts, even though you were saving yourself for marriage; or so you planned. You found solace in Rhett’s arms, in the safety of the church. But that’s where you found yourself one too many times until it ended with you, legs spread on his desk saying your Hail Mary’s while his fingers worked their way in and out of you. It felt dirty. But the kind of dirty that gave you butterflies as you thought about him during sermons. The way he would gesture with fire in his voice. His slightly greying hair would fall over his forehead. The same hair your fingers ended up tugging on as he pressed soft kisses to your thighs and sucked on your clit until you didn’t have a voice left to pray with. It was your secret. You worried about the sin but he hushed you, he told you that “it’s not a sin if it’s a man of god, it’s a sign.” 

You had both talked about it before. You confessed your lustful thoughts, even though you were saving yourself for marriage; or so you planned. You found solace in Rhett’s arms, in the safety of the church. But that’s where you found yourself one too many times until it ended with you, legs spread on his desk saying your Hail Mary’s while his fingers worked their way in and out of you. It felt dirty. But the kind of dirty that gave you butterflies as you thought about him during sermons. The way he would gesture with fire in his voice. His slightly greying hair would fall over his forehead. The same hair your fingers ended up tugging on as he pressed soft kisses to your thighs and sucked on your clit until you didn’t have a voice left to pray with. It was your secret. You worried about the sin but he hushed you, he told you that “it’s not a sin if it’s a man of god, it’s a sign.” 

You sat up on your elbows watching him unbuckle his belt. “Will it hurt?” “Only for a little, but then it’ll feel so good, baby. You trust me don’t you? God would never steer us wrong.” You nodded as he slipped his thumb in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. Like he was giving communion. His other hand freed him of his jeans and boxers as he kicked them across the room. You swallowed thickly when he removed his hand from your face and pumped his cock a few times. The tip red and already leaking, a smattering of light brown hair trailing down from his stomach, framing it almost.

“This wet already? And I haven’t even touched you yet” he smirked slipping his fingers in the waistband of your cotton panties, the fabric was clearly saturated and you felt your face flush red. “And have you been touching yourself like I showed you? Stretching yourself out for me?” You nodded meekly. “It… it doesn’t feel the same when I do it” “Don’t sulk, the Lord doesn’t like it when we’re ungrateful.”

You gasped as you felt his tip brush through your folds, teasing your hole before wetting your clit with his precum. “Please….” your voice broke as you begged him. What you were begging for was a sin. But you didn’t care. You wanted to give yourself to him wholly. Utterly devout beneath him.

You whimpered as you felt the stretch while he slid himself in, just the tip as first. “Rhett- it’s too- oh my godddd” your back arched as you left crescent marks on his bicep while he went deeper. “Just a little more and it won’t hurt. You’re doing so well. My sweet, sweet girl.”

Usually he’d scold you for taking the lords name in vain. But how could he when he was buried so deep in your tight pussy. The only man who ever has been. You were taking him like you were made for him.

“God took his sweet time on you lamb, made you just for me” he praised, stilling inside you as he pressed chaste kisses to your neck. The tenderness contrasting the roughness as he began snapping his hips. Your body was thrust up the pillow without warning, his body weight fully on top of you. You weren’t sure if you couldn’t breathe or just didn’t want to as the pain absolved into pleasure.

“Don’t you feel good baby? It feels good to give all of yourself to God” Rhett grunted lowly as his hips snapped into you in a sustained rhythm. The room smelled like cigarettes, whiskey and sex. It smelled like sin. The only sound that could possibly be heard was the sound of skin against skin as Rhett buried himself to the hilt over and ever. Your moans dissolving into each other’s mouth as his tongue ran over your bottom lip.

“Look at me” he gripped your face, fingers slightly digging into your cheeks so you couldn’t break eye contact. “Spit on your fingers. Show me how you touch yourself.” You could tell by his tone that it wasn’t a question. It was a demand. You tried to spit as ladylike as you could. It was a pathetic amount that earned nothing but a disapproving tut as his hand gripped your wrist and you felt him spit on your hand. “Show me. Show me, you deserve this.” Your hips jerked as you drew tight circles over your bundle of nerves. It provided you friction you didn’t even know you were craving. All while Rhett was pounding into you. “Atta girl.” He took your other hand in his and pressed it to the bottom of your stomach. Feeling the bulge of his cock inside you only made you rub yourself harder. The tight circles got sloppier as you started to give in to the pleasure washing over you, your legs tightening around him, pressing your heel into his back as you tried to get him deeper.

“I can’t- I’m gonna- Rhett please I need to cum. Can I cum?” “You know how to ask.” “Please Pastor Abbott, I’ve been a good girl. Let me cum for you?” Rhett imagined that’s what he’d hear at the pearly gates. Not that he was going there. But to hear you whine and beg was worth a lifetime of unabsolved sin. The grunt caught in his throat as he tried to regain composure. “Cum around my cock angel, show me how good it feels to serve me and the Lord.” His name fell from your lips repeatedly, like a sweet prayer. The same way it did when he had you spread on his desk, or in the confession booth, touching yourself. The thought was sending him over the edge and he found himself closer than he realised. “I’m gonna fill you up baby, gonna cum inside you and watch it drip out. Are you gonna be a good girl and take it? Show me what a good little wife you’d make.”

Rhett knew you were both playing fast and loose but neither of you cared. You definitely didn’t care when you felt him fill you up. His grunts turned to whines as you felt him pulse, giving you every last drop. Rhett knew from the blissed out look on your face that this may be the first but it wasn’t the last time you’d let him have you like this. He pressed his forehead to you as he slid out. Lips just brushing over yours.

He raised his head to meet the crucifix on the wall above the bed, his cum dripping out of you, “Lord, consider my affliction and my trouble, and forgive all my sins.”

Black Dahlias

Pairing: Ghostface!Eddie Munson x F! Reader (18+)

Contains: 18+!! Heavy, graphic smut. Rough, unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral sex (M/F receiving), praise kink, slight degradation, breeding kink if you squint, possessive!eddie, mean!eddie, slight innocence kink. Minor ghostface!steve. CANON DIVERGENT.

Trigger warnings: DUBCON, knife play, stalking, panty theft, drinking and drug consumption, emetophobia, allusions to sexual assault and child abuse, graphic depictions of murder, violence and gore. <-PLEASE HEED THESE TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!!

A/N: happy All Hallows’ Eve!! 🎃 thank you so so so much to T @hotchs-bitch for leaving me 112 comments on this Google doc despite having her own 17k word WIP. I love u.

Somebody’s watching you. 

Your eyes dart around the open courtyard, scanning the area for anything, anybody that stands out, but the unease rolling in your stomach dissipates as quickly as it arrives. 

Keep reading

FERAL. INSANE. LOSING MY MIND. THIS WAS EVERYTHING ‼️

under my hands

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, afab sex descriptions (vaginal/breasts))

rating: e+

word count: 4,334

one-sentence synopsis: from the moment you let a little secret slip in the bar, you're driving adrian out of his mind.

author's note: i got a bunch of very feral requests that made me so unhinged i combined them into one and then went completely bonkers so ENJOY!!!!!!!

read on ao3!

“I do, too,” Chris argues at the top of his voice, slamming his glass down on the bar tabletop. “What, you don’t fucking believe me?”

“No,” John replies. “I genuinely, honestly don’t.” He seems almost delighted that Chris’ face is going red with anger, even as he’s getting agitated himself. “You seem to forget that I, like, watched you in the hospital. I studied you. For a while. It was my job to know you. I know you don’t have any.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Chris says. He shoves away from the table, pushing up to his feet with such force that every glass and pitcher on the table rattles, making everyone shout and reach out with steadying hands.

“What are you doing?” Emilia asks, suspicion heavy on every word she speaks.

“I’m showing you my fucking tattoo,” Chris says, and starts unbuckling his belt.

“Whoa!” John shouts, as Leota calls, “Hell no, Chris!” across the table.

“What?” Chris demands. “You don’t fucking believe me, then I’ll show you—”

“You can’t pull your goddamn pants down in here right now,” Emilia hisses at him, like he somehow needs to be told that.

“Wait, dude, hold up,” Adrian says. “I think I have a pic on my phone.”

“Why?” you ask, and Adrian, already scrolling through his phone gallery, glances over at you.

“Because I took a picture,” he replies, returning his attention to his phone.

“You know,” Emilia adds, “I actually have a tattoo.”

“What?” John scoffs. “You do not.”

“You do?” Chris asks. If Emilia was trying to distract him, it’s working, because he’s reaching back between his legs to haul his chair in again, retaking his seat, leaning halfway across the table towards her. “Where?”

“Somewhere I am not going to show you right now,” Emilia replies.

There’s a beat.

“But maybe later?” Chris asks, and Emilia gives him a look that could have killed him if she had been slightly better trained.

“I have a tattoo,” you add.

Adrian’s head snaps up. “What?”

You thought that might get his attention back on you. His eyes burn through yours before they start skimming over your face, then downwards, coasting over your collarbones. He goes further before snapping back up to meet your eyes again.

“Where?” he demands, before insisting, “No, you don’t,” then asking, “Where?” again.

“Jesus, put your eyes back in your fucking head,” John admonishes him.

“You didn’t see it?” you ask him. It’s only a small tattoo, a tiny design you let your friend do on your hip. You’re not surprised he didn’t notice it, since you’ve only been together a handful of times and your hip is usually either covered by something— his mouth, or his hand, or his leg, or his own hip— in those times.

“No,” Adrian exclaims. “Where is—”

“God, please, not here,” Leota insists.

“Tell me,” Adrian insists immediately. “Tell me. You have to tell me. Where is it? I’ll—”

“We should probably start heading out soon,” John suggests, keeping the coolest head as designated driver and still managing to look halfway certain Adrian’s about to get them kicked out. He jumps to collect cash from everyone for their shared tab.

The entire time, Adrian’s eyes and heated gaze are fixed on you. Only briefly will they flit away before returning back. You’re finding yourself glad John’s the designated driver, because you’re sure Adrian would crash the car— or make you crash the car— if one of you were the ones driving back to the motel.

It’s only when you’re all actually back out at the cars you rented for this mission that you realize you can only ride in one together if there’s only one designated driver.

“Fuck,” John says, staring at the car. He sighs, then steps around the car to examine it from another angle. He sighs again. “Okay, well. Anyone willing to walk?”

“No,” Emilia immediately stops anyone from volunteering. “We can fit. We’ll just— We’ll share.”

“Sorry, we’ll share?” Chris asks.

Adrian turns to you. You can see the intention in his eyes in the moment before he speaks, leaping on the suggestion with, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll just— Harcourt, you sit with Chris, and— (Y/N) can sit with me.”

“Gross,” John comments. “No way.”

“I can sit with Chris instead, I guess,” you say. Adrian’s eyes snap to yours, blazing with a sudden snap of surprised anger.

“No,” Emilia responds first, too quickly, before Adrian even can. “I’m okay sitting with Chris, that’s fine.”

“If you’re sure,” you say, smiling at Adrian. His eyes are fixed on yours before they skate down again, still seeking. If only he knew what else is under here.

“Only if you promise not to do anything fucked up,” Leota warns all four of you. “I mean it, sickos.”

“Cross my heart,” you reply.

“Isn’t this illegal?” John asks Adrian, who waves him off.

“That’s not applicable here,” he tells him, already climbing into the car.

There’s barely enough room for you all, even with your stacking arrangement. In order to fit everyone in the tiny vehicle, John and Leota take the front seat— little more than a bench in front of the steering wheel— while Chris and Adrian are side-by-side in the back. They’re so broad that the spread of their shoulders practically stretches window to window. Chris, especially, is so huge that Emilia probably has the most space to sit just for sitting on him.

You don’t have a lot of attention to pay to Chris and Emilia, though. They’re focused on themselves— and John on the road, and Leota on her phone— so you can dedicate yourself to being as covertly gross as you want to be.

From the moment you climbed into Adrian’s lap, he was completely full-body tense. One of his hands holds your hip, keeping you in place, unknowingly stroking his thumb in tiny sweeps just over the small marks of your tattoo. His other hand is held over your thigh, fingertips stretched to the inside.

Underneath you, in the little rattling rental car, you can feel the initially half-hard line of his cock. He’s pressing up into your entrance through your clothes and his. Every time the car shifts even a little bit, the two of you even slightly jostled, you can feel him getting harder and harder. The thick line of it only gets more solid beneath you, his grip tightening with each passing second.

You can feel yourself getting more and more soaked in response. You clench our thighs together in his lap, desperate for any kind of friction you can get, but it’s not enough.

When John hits a pothole, Adrian accidentally shoves up into you, a quick there-and-gone grind that has you biting back a soft noise in the back of your throat. Adrian’s hands tighten so hard you can feel the indents of the bruises they leave.

You twist slightly, your eyes flying up to meet Adrian’s. He looks up at you from the other side of his glasses, a burning green fire that surges into your mouth and down your spine without a word being spoken.

Beside you, Chris makes a slightly-too-loud grunt of a noise, and Leota calls from the front seat, “That better not be what I think it was.”

“We’re here, anyway,” John says. You’re wedged against Adrian’s front still, arms tucked together, the hard, hot line of his cock striking just against your center, sending a jolt through you as the car comes to a stop. The heat of the car feels impossibly heated. You almost wish the ride wasn’t so short.

When you climb off of Adrian’s lap, all you can feel is how wet you are, how on edge you’ve become. Your underwear is soaked, and you haven’t even shown it to Adrian yet.

“Alright, here’s the room assignments,” Emilia says, fishing a bag of motel keys and a little notebook out of her bag. “John and Leota, me and Chris, Adrian and (Y/N).”

“Just because we’re not fucking one of y’all,” Leota grumbles. “We should get our own rooms for putting up with this.”

“Seconded,” John agrees. “I don’t mind, though.”

“I don’t mind,” Leota says. “I’m just saying. Why should we have to share just because they’re using it as an excuse t—”

“Goodnight,” Adrian declares, taking the key for your motel room with him from Emilia’s hands. Your bag and his have already been removed from the car’s trunk and slung over his shoulder.

“Goodnight,” you echo. You offer them a wave before jogging after him. It’s obvious— to you, and probably to anyone who can see him— that he’s rock hard right now. You follow him without hesitating, practically sprinting up alongside him to catch up with his long strides.

“You need to get in this room right now,” Adrian tells you, as soon as you’re within earshot. “I am going to lay you out, and I am going to find that fucking tattoo, and I am going to fuck you into the mattress,” he informs you, fumbling with the key in the motel room door. “And then I am going to—”

“I actually had a thought first,” you suggest.

Adrian all but breaks the door to the motel room in. He flings his bag aside, sets yours on top of it before he’s whirling on you to pick you up and haul you over his shoulder. Kicking the door shut behind himself, he locks it twice, the knob and the deadbolt.

“Put me down,” you insist, so he takes you to the foot of the only bed in the room and throws you down on it. You laugh as he tears his jacket backwards off his arms, already starting to climb up over you. “No, wait—”

“I waited long enough, I think,” Adrian argues. He takes you by the hips and drags you down to meet him, ducking down to press his smile to the hinge of your jaw. “Don’t you think I’ve been so good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Don’t you think that’s why you should get a reward?”

Adrian lifts his head immediately, eager, excited. “What? Did you actually get me something or are you just teasing me? Like, obviously you’re a present in and of yourself, but—”

“Get up,” you tell him, and Adrian scrambles backward, up and off the bed.

You stand, hooking your fingers in the collar of his shirt so you can spin him, swapping your places. With your hand flat against the center of his strong chest, you push him to sit down at the end of the bed.

“Here or in the chair?” you ask him.

His excitement impossibly seems to double, triple, as he reaches up to skim his hands up your thighs. You push him away, stepping back and out of his reach.

“Decide,” you tell him, and start unbuttoning your shirt at the highest button, up by your throat. “Bed or chair?”

Adrian turns to look at the armchair by the curtains covering the windows at the front of the motel room. He’s clearly torn, but the novelty of the chair seems to win out for him, because he points towards it and answers, “Can we—”

“Yup,” you tell him, and he’s already scrambling. He nearly vaults over the length of the bed to get to the armchair, dragging it out and setting himself in it. When he turns back to you, he’s all eager anticipation and aroused confusion, waiting for your next move, trusting that you have a plan for him.

You do very much have a plan for him. You slip the next button loose on your shirt, threading them down one at a time. You have an undershirt under this top layer, so you’re not too concerned about revealing skin, not just yet.

“Are you going to show me your tattoo?” he blurts out, hands gripping the meat of his thighs as he watches you, struggling not to just reach out and touch. “Please, please, please, show me? I’ll do anything, anything you say, I’ll— I’ll fuck you,” he tells you, pleading, “I’ll fucking— I’ll make you feel so good, you won’t fucking believe it, just— Just show me, just— I have to know, I have to—”

“Shh,” you quiet him, reaching out to set your fingertips over his lips. He’s silenced, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “I’ll show you if you don’t touch until I say. Okay?”

“Yes,” he agrees. There’s no moment of hesitation. His nails dig into his jeans, tight in his hold of his own thighs. His knuckles are going white, he wants to hold you so badly.

You smile as you reach the last button on your shirt and slip it back off your arms and onto the ground. Adrian’s eyes are already coasting down your body, searching every newly exposed bit of skin for a mark, though there isn’t much yet to see. You reach next to untuck your undershirt, taking the edge of the fabric in your hands so you can ease it up and over your head in one long, sinuous roll. Your muscles all work together to reveal you from the waist up.

“Oh— Motherfuck,” Adrian curses automatically. “N— No, you fucking did— not, where did you get that?”

“I just came across it,” you tell him, reaching for the button on your jeans, pushing them apart.

“Can I?” Adrian asks, grinning, and you laugh.

“Maybe.” You ease the zipper down, then spread the fabric so he can get a glimpse at your underwear before you lean to push your pants down in a curl that has Adrian leaning forward, hands sliding forward to hold tighter the joints of his knees. “When I saw it, I just thought, you know— That looks so familiar.”

You kick your boots off, then remove your jeans, letting them join the rest of your clothes. When you lift yourself back up, shoulders back and spine straightening, you can feel the heat working over your expanses of exposed skin just the way Adrian’s eyes are.

“And then I thought,” you tell him, stepping closer. “‘You know who would enjoy this?’ You lean in a bit to whisper, grinning, “‘Adrian.’”

“You were right,” he insists.

“I figured,” you reply.

His grip slides up his thighs and back down again. His cock is impossibly obvious in his jeans, a hard, thick line you can see from here. He’s studying the lingerie set you’ve been wearing under your clothes all day in preparation for this moment. The set is mostly black, sheer enough that nothing beneath is concealed, but both the top and the bottom of it each have a thick teal v stripe cutting in with a thinner silver stripe matching just above, following the sharp lines in wrapping curves around your body. It’s a near identical match for his Vigilante armor, practically painted onto your skin.

The v cuts across your chest on both sides, streaking across your nipples. They’re visible through the sheer material still, and the budded peaks of them grow obvious as you become more flushed under Adrian’s unrelenting stare. The v on the panties cut down in stripes across your hips, laced in a scoop down your waist. It looks like the v is pointing downwards, as if Adrian needs more direction than he already has.

“Fuuuck,” Adrian draws out in a long curse before he whines. “Please, I— Fuck, you look so hot, motherfucker, nobody’s going to ever fucking believe me—”

You laugh, and Adrian’s words cut off, flying up to your mouth, then your eyes again. He tracks your every movement as you draw closer, taking a step nearer, then another, then another. You pause before him, considering, just barely in touching distance but not yet touching.

It looks like he’s actually sweating. You lean in nearer, letting your hands come to grip the arms of the armchair, holding you up without touching his body. Adrian’s nearly shaking, trying to keep himself still. It’s an impossible feat for him on a good day. You haven’t told him yet, but he’s already held out longer than you expected him to, which means he does get his handsome reward.

He is my handsome reward, you think to yourself, a thought so absurd and sappy you resolve to tell him— but later, when he can appreciate it properly.

“Do you like it?” you ask him.

“Do I— Sorry, do I fucking like it?” Adrian demands. “I want to— Can I—” He groans, insists, “I have to fuck you, please, plese, please—”

“Hold on,” you half-laugh. It’s impossible to be fully humored when you’re clenching around nothing, wanting friction on your clit, wanting him to fill your cunt, aching for him. You take the last step closer to him, reaching to brace yourself with a hand on his strong shoulder.

His face is burning red as you climb up onto his lap again. You have a much better angle this way than you did in the car, settling your knees on either side of his thighs, wedged into the armchair with him.

You let your other hand come up to thread through the hair at the back of his head, guiding him into tilting backwards to look up at you. He looks like he’s about to fall apart, his hands trembling where he’s gripping the arms of the chair, now. His heart is racing so quickly that his pulse is visible rabbiting in his throat, an obvious pound-pound-pound you can see throb.

You drag your hand down to cup his jaw, tilting him up into a soft kiss. You just barely press your lips to his as you lower down onto his lap again. He’s so hard now that, even through his jeans, you can get friction on him through your panties.

The fabric is soaked, and drags against Adrian’s denim over his cock to make him cry out your name, teeth biting into your lower lip.

“I’m trying to do something here,” you tell him against his mouth, half-mumbled before you draw back again. “I watched YouTube tutorials on lap dances, let me do this.”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think I’m going to make it that long,” Adrian tells you in what sounds like mostly a genuine apology. “Please, can I touch you?”

“Soon,” you promise. You lift up off of his lap, missing the touch as soon as it’s gone, but you’re dropping down again only a moment later. You grind down on his cock in rolls, gripping his thick hair in one hand, his strong shoulder under the other.

“Oh, my God,” bursts out of Adrian’s mouth. “Oh, my God, oh my God, oh my— Oh, my fucking God—”

He comes forward, seeking the closest piece of skin he can reach. The flat of his tongue drags up the curve of one breast, moving to mouth at your nipple through the sheer fabric of the black-silver-teal bra. His teeth scrape up over the hard bud of it, and a shock shoots through you.

“I’m sorry,” Adrian apologizes in a rush, his words hot and wet against your skin through your lingerie. “I’m sorry, I forgot you said not to touch, I had to touch, I’m so fucking sorry—”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, smiling. You reach between your bodies to push open the button on his jeans to open them yourself. “You can touch now.”

His hands fly upwards, grasping your waist and tugging you inwards in a sharp jerk. Your breath whooses, tightening your hold in his hair. “Where the—”

His mouth glides up your throat, his hand following, He’s cupping your breast in his hand, thumb brushing over your nipple. Your back arches, and you grind down over him, desperately seeking friction.

“Where the fuck is your tattoo?” Adrian demands, pulling back enough to start searching over your skin again, trying to find the mark.

You don’t answer with words, but you do guide his hand to your hip, and he gets the hint easily. Before you know it, he’s grabbing you up by the hips, hoisting you to throw you down on the bed all over again. He yanks off his clothes so hastily his shirt half-rips, but he doesn’t even seem to notice, dropping them in scattered piles across the floor.

It must be such a relief for him to get his cock out; you watch him finally slip the last of his clothes off to leave him bare, taking himself in hand, and he moans out loud in the next second.

“Oh, fuck,” Adrian bites out. He jumps back up onto the bed over you, shoving you up the mattress, diving into your throat to suck a rough mark there beneath the cut of your jaw. He rolls his hips into yours, then glides down, searching. He’s kept his glasses on, focused as he examines every inch of your skin.

He follows his eyes with his lips, tongue following, teeth biting, mouth sucking. He’s practically fucking your leg by the time he reaches your hip, tugging the fabric down, and cursing, “There you are, motherfucker—”

You huff a breathless laugh as Adrian bites your inked skin, laving his tongue over the mark to soothe you when your back arches, a cry ripping up out of your chest. He rises up on his knees, eyes stroking up over you as he frantically strips his own cock at the sight of you.

“Holy fucking shit, I want to— I want to take fucking— I want to take, like, fucking boudoir photos of you and frame them and put them up all over my fucking house but if anyone else ever saw them I’d have to fucking kill them so maybe I shouldn’t—” Adrian’s babbling, and he only stops when he drops down to take your nipple in his mouth again over the fabric. He makes a half-whine, half-moan that shoots straight down to your cunt.

Adrian’s free hand wriggles down between your thighs to tear the fabric of your lingerie aside. He doesn’t bother taking off the panties, just getting them out of the way so he can drag his fingers up through your slit. There’s wetness everywhere, slicking his path; he dives deeper, finding your entrance, pushing in just a bit.

He takes your wetness to his cock, uses it to ease his glide. Within seconds, he’s dragging his mouth up to the hinge of your jaw, biting in as he pushes into you in a hot slide, his hips meeting yours.

“I think I’m going out of my fucking mind for you,” Adrian mumbles into your skin. “Oh, shit, I think I’m losing it, I fucking— I think I love you—”

“Adrian—” you say, your heart jolting as your cunt tightens, feeling his cock pulsing inside you. You’re impossibly filled, pushing up to roll into the friction of him, grinding up frantically to get the last shocks you need to push you over the edge.

Adrian drags you in closer, fucking you up in his lap before he shoves you back down onto the bed. He’s already losing his rhythm, the teasing you drew out for so long— from the night at the bar, to the short ride here in his lap, to everything you’ve done since you got into the motel room— finally coming to a head. He can’t stop saying your name, begging you, face flushed, glasses knocked askew as he drags you into another kiss.

He’s gasping, then, and his lunatic pumps into you and the crazed way he’s grinding against you has you knocking over the edge. You collapse into a melted pile in the bed, his arms the only thing holding you together as his cock splits you apart.

You tell him, “I love— I love you, too,” because it’s all you can feel, your chest and heart and cunt full of the emotions. You’re coursing with it, and he slides his hand up to guide you into a biting new kiss.

“Fuck,” he says, from his throat into yours, more a vibration than a word or even a sound. In the next instant, he’s over his own edge, holding you tightly in place on his cock as he fucks you through his orgasm. You’re overstimulated in the best way, completely dissolved, chest heaving, aftershocks rattling through your mind and body like white lightning that takes you over in rattling waves.

You reach out for him, bringing his throat to your mouth. A gust of a sigh breezes out of your chest when you brush your lips over his throat, then drag your tongue up the strong cut of muscle to his jaw, working lazily and sloppily at his skin.

He huffs a shaky laugh, murmurs, “I can be ready to cum again in, like, ten minutes at the most if you keep that up.”

“That’s not incentive for me to stop,” you mumble, working aimlessly against his skin.

He turns to face you, letting his face drag along yours until he can pull you into a long, open-mouthed, loose-jawed kiss, licking behind your teeth. You let out a shaky moan, and he smiles into the kiss before separating you. He pecks the corner of your mouth, then the tip of your nose.

“Maybe I don’t want you to stop,” he tells you. His eyes skim down again, a blaze of heat down your body before his calloused fingers trail up to grip your hip again. “You are— Oh, fuck— I love you—”

You smile, drawing him into a long kiss that has him grinding up into you again already starting to fill thick and hard again before he’s even pulled out of you.

Against his lips, you ask him, “Do you mean it?”

“Do you?” he replies quickly, and you nod, grinning. He flushes up to his ears, says, “Hell yeah,” and dives in, threading his fingers through your hair to drag you in again.

-

requests used:

"Hiii hope you're great. DRINK WATER💕💕 anywayy I was hoping you can write a one shot of the gang in a bar after a mission and they started talking about tattoos and reader has a hidden tattoo. Adrian wants to find it so badly. He begs and talks so dirty he'd do anything to see it 😭🥴 thank youu" (anonymous)

"Adrian chase/vigilante x reader (has a vagina) >explicit Ok but what if you all have to take a smaller vehicle and he offers to have you sit on his lap because it's either him or someone else and he cant let you sit on anyone else's lap and you end up sharing a room (optional: oblivious mutual pining + oblivious cuddling + awkward mornings) and some like rough Adrian. Please 0nly do what you feel comfortable with" (@delirious0pandemonium)

"Help! I’ve fallen into an Adrian Chase shaped hole and I can’t get up (nor do I want to). Just wanted to say I have been LOVING your fics and present to you an idea - showing up to Adriana place with a coat on, then opening it up to reveal a lingerie set in his colours/matching his armor (like black bra with the teal v stripes) and him going feral. That’s it, that’s the ask." (anonymous)

"i would take pictures of you like this so bad but if they got leaked and you were exposed without your consent i would rip out my own eyes out in retaliation" (@nobodys-baby-now)

"Could I have an Adrian x reader, where he comes home and the reader surprises him with a lap dance? I would love to see how you write his reaction. :)" (anonymous)

-

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc @sunflowerfive @papitas-con-sal @saturnngal @neptuneswritingwork @jewishdelis @myguiltypleasures21 @pinkygunslingy @violinchick @r3tr0sp3ct @chaseadrian @breathing-in-waves @rishlurh @x-milf-hunter-x @goblynnrockz @theowritesstuff @jaysfav @themartiansdaughter @dallasvakarian @missscarlettangel @pieriinova @samantha24015 @hillaryroadheadcllinton @ohmybubbletea @buckys-estrella @witchywcmans @ladyrebel25 @eviejune @vigilantesluvr @bb-skyrunner @qjuiq-odakyu

I just have to lock in

my gift for the drrr!! secret santa hope you have nice holidays!

shizaya week day 3: first kiss

I come bearing shizaya morning doodles