#cw displacement

[scoobydoodean]

do you think Dean has survivor's guilt? I'm thinking mostly of 01×12, but I'm also wondering if there's a running theme there that I don't remember

Yes, I do. In fact, I think Dean blaming himself for the outcome of traumatic experiences he couldn't have changed or that aren't his fault is something that happens very frequently, because Dean has a very overactive sense of responsibility—primarily resulting from his parentification (and the people in his life don't always help—sometimes they do, but they also sometimes feed into it).

1.12 "Faith" sets the stage for the entire theme. Dean struggles to deal with Layla not being healed when he is, and how horrible it is that a man died in exchange for his life. At the end of the episode, Dean stops running from the reaper, planning to let it kill him so Layla can be healed, but it doesn't happen because Sam disrupts the ritual before Sue Ann can complete it. (Kya has a great gifset here). What tends to co-occur with Dean struggling with survivor's guilt is the idea that Dean has a job—a responsibility, even—to the rest of the world. This is both why he must survive, and also something that weighs him down with even more guilt in a vicious cycle.

DEAN Why? Why me? Out of all the sick people, why save me? ROY Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me. I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest. DEAN What did you see in my heart? ROY A young man with an important purpose. A job to do. And it isn't finished.

I've written about Dean's survivor's guilt in the context of season 2—how 1.12 and John's sacrifice in 2.01 are primary motivations for Dean making the demon deal in 2.22. We get dialogue from Dean in 2.04 actually apologizing to Sam for John's death, because he blames himself even though it wasn't his fault and none of this was his choice.

He also blames himself for Sam's death in 2.22, even though that also isn't his fault. The parentification aspect of all of this is screaming loud in the following dialogue from Dean in 2.22:

You know, when we were little— and you couldn't been more than 5— you just started asking questions. How come we didn't have a mom? Why do we always have to move around? Where'd Dad go when he'd take off for days at a time? I remember I begged you, "Quit asking, Sammy. Man, you don't want to know." I just wanted you to be a kid... Just for a little while longer. I always tried to protect you... Keep you safe... Dad didn't even have to tell me. It was just always my responsibility, you know? It's like I had one job... I had one job... And I screwed it up. I blew it. And for that, I'm sorry. I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love. I let Dad down. And now I guess I'm just supposed to let you down, too. How can I? How am I supposed to live with that?

Dean even as a child felt responsible for Sam, and even for John. We see John blame Dean for his own failures as a father in episodes like 1.18 "Something Wicked" and 1.21 "Salvation", and we see the impact of that tendency reflected in how Sam sometimes treats Dean as well. Hell—we have indication that even before Mary died, Dean was "cleaning up [John's] messes" according to Sam (5.16). We see John apologize for Dean having to take care of him in 2.01 instead of the other way around—an acknowledgement that he knows this has been a source of harm to Dean for a long time... but it's too little too late—and ultimately is ruined by John's next actions, leaving Dean seething with resentment toward John for seasons to come even as he grieves and blames himself for John's death.

Dean's guilt for things that aren't his fault is further explored in episodes like 1.18 "Something Wicked", 5.11 "Sam, Interrupted" and 7.04 "Defending Your Life", where Dean is confronted by his guilt over Jo's death, and feeling responsible for Sam being a hunter, which is absolute horse shit despite the fandom also trying to insist this is the case frequently (see my tags #sam the hunter for a start). He blames himself for Kevin even getting involved with hunting to begin with. Dean blames himself for the havoc Michael is wreaking (14.03, 14.06, 14.14). Dean also blames himself and feels horrible guilt for torturing souls in hell, despite the fact that this happened under extreme duress and literal decades of torture and psychological conditioning—i.e., Dean had no actual choice—he's just presented with the horror of being made to feel that it was his choice when it was deeply and torturously coerced. The very worst part of Hell for him was that he tortured other souls, and I don't think he ever recovers from the guilt of that. He clams up about it after being called weak and pathetic for being guilty about it and then he never speaks about it ever again.

Dean certainly isn't the only one with these issues. Sam, Dean, and Bobby's survivors guilt is all explored simultaneously in 4.02 "Are You There God? It's Me, Dean Winchester" when people they couldn't save like Meg Masters and Victor are brought back by a curse.

DEAN It's my fault you're dead. I left you [Victor] behind. And the minute I heard about that explosion, I thought, "I should have known." I should have protected you.

This whole episode implicates hunters as a whole with serious survivor's guilt for the people they can't/don't manage to save. Multiple hunters die in the beginning of the episode, killed by the people they're haunted by not saving. This is a natural and understandable result of the work itself. You just barely don't get to someone in time, or you make a choice with an outcome you didn't forsee at the time, or you weren't fast enough or strong enough, or you dodged left when you should have dodged right, or you should have stayed, or you "let" the monster get away and it killed again. You are in a line of work where you are probably always left thinking, "If only I had done [insert hindsight judgement here]". Bobby blames himself for the deaths of two kids in 4.02. He blames himself for his wife Karen's death (3.10). Sam blames himself for Ava (2.11) and they all accept blame for the Devil's Gate even though that wasn't their fault either (and other hunters throw the blame on all of them too) (3.01).

The thing about being a parentified child is that you are, by definition, held responsible for things you are not equipped or qualified to handle—things that are too much for you, that are not actually your responsibility, and that are/were entirely out of your control. Combine growing up being blamed for things you did not actually have the power or authority to make happen or prevent from happening, with the overall tendency within the line of work hunters are in to feel survivor's guilt, and you get Dean. Add in that Dean cares deeply for other people—even strangers—and therefore feels an extra empathy when people are harmed for these things he thinks he could have prevented. You get someone whose moments of suicidal ideation are usually deeply connected to survivor's guilt or guilt more generally.

#1.12 #2.01 #2.04 #2.22 #1.18 #5.11 #7.04 #5.16 #parentification #1.21 #14.03 #14.06 #14.14 #spn revisionisms #projecting displaced aggression and scapegoating in spn #do i look like a ditchable prom date to you? #victor #ava #meg masters #cw suicidal ideation #mail #dean the narrative heart #the very touch of you corrupts #john #i dont deserve what he put on me #dean and guilt

[paldean-ranger-brandy]

Well. The inevitable has happened. Your least favourite ranger (me) is in the hospital lads. Was out investigating a report of an escaped Iron Thorns (the tyranitar lookin’ ass). Managed to capture em, but I guess something set em off and it took a shot at me. Managed to dodge the two punches, but wasn’t fast enough to dodge the tail swipe. The other rangers that were with me + Michael were able to get em to back off, and have tagged and released it back to the crater, but I’ve now got a huge gash across the side of my thigh. They weren’t kidding when they called that thing Iron Thorns, that bitch got me good.

Still waiting to actually see a doctor, but even with my basic medical knowledge I can tell this one isn’t good. Definitely cut through at least a bit of muscle, which means months of physio and me riding a desk. And to really put the cheri on top, the cut goes clean across my tattoo. My full colour, thigh length tattoo. Do yall have any idea how much that thing *cost*? It was so damn expensive, and now it’s basically ruined because I was too stupid and slow to dodge one stupid attack.

I know I’m still gonna be able to work this mission- most of it is problem solving and pattern recognition with all the data we’re collecting but like. Idk, I really, really hate not being able to go out into the field. I’m not gonna be able to hunt with Michael, or walk through my forest, or do anything other than limp around and sit at a desk for months. I knew it was only a matter of time before I took a big hit from one of these guys, I work too closely with too many of them not to, but I really didn’t think it would be this bad. I just. Ugh.

The absolute worst part is that I knowwww I just know that since I’m not gonna be in the field much now, some hoity toity top ranger is gonna swoop in at the last minute to take credit for all of my hard work. Because heavens forbid I ever get recognition from head office for anything.

#pokeblogging #brandy chat #mission update: paradox displacement #cw injury

[autocatastrophophile]

km: https://www.tumblr.com/in-servo-necessitas/726129227279335424/km-being-kidnapped-and-observed-for-days-before

(maybe you never meet your captor at all as it's not safe to do so, at least while awake)

No | rather not | I dunno | I guess | Sure | Yes | FUCK yes | Oh god you don’t even know

it may disappoint you to learn that I find noncon, dubcon, and CNC off-putting and don't get off on them*! My previously professed lack of interest in having sex (preferring eroticism instead) may have already implied this.

However, with the rape subtracted and the focus taken away from the power dynamic (that is, with 90% of the content removed) this could be good. Living in fear of my captors and needing to be good to avoid punishment don't do much for me, but being held in isolation by unknown forces sounds lovely. I would need to be held for a reason, though, so that I wouldn't be able to call it unjust

#*I'm not sure whether this is just me being too afraid of sex or a dimension of my sexuality that is genuinely different from most peoples' #it seems like nonconsent elements are central to a lot of conventional (and unconventional) sex fantasies in a way they've never been to me #maybe my focus on fetishism just displaced that #kink meme #rape cw

[xxvi0lent-vahlkampfiidaexx]

Nazi dumbfuck

Hey since you're on anon i cant dm you this-- please let me know what I reblogged or said or anything like that or if I have been misinformed about something!!/gen

I sometimes skim posts and miss important parts!!

(I know that this is not an excuse if i have done something bigoted, I just genuinely do not know what you are referring to or if you've got the right guy)

#what should i do when i get asks like this?? #if this is about my stance on israel and palestine please know that i do not want ANY innocent people to die regardless of country #i do not want genocide at all anywhere ever #i want a free palestine because i want everywhere to be free #i do not like when people are being murdered and displaced from their homes #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa #cw nazi mention #tw antisemitism

[feralparsnip]

so i started reading kill six billion demons and it's my favorite comic ever

#displacing always human by walking north by a narrow margin on account of just. richness of visual detail #i caught up and immediately restarted and was delighted to find in-universe text exerpts posted beneath a lot of comics #plus what appear to be at least some character accounts in the comments discussing the myths andlegends and?? it's so cool #like i have trained myseld. not to read the comments. but here im so glad i did #wes if ur reading this i think u would like it if the gore isn't an insta-tap-out #no shade i just wanted to cw in case u saw this and like. believed me. like a fool

[hawkeykirsah]

eyes the codywan time displacement for the wip ask

Hey, Ara! Thank you for asking! :D

Time Displacement AU a step to the left is more or less a (potentially very smutty because this is me, after all) follow-up to my fem!Obi-Wan/Cody fic At Any Time, Regardless except that things (or, ONE thing, really) went a little differently—hence the step to the left.

I'll put the rest under the cut because pregnancy mention.

Cody still gets sent fifteen years to the past and hooks up with his General-to-be, that's all the same, but in this 'verse Cody learns (after his return to his normal time) that despite using protection Obi-Wan conceived a child. So now he has to come to terms with knowing he has a teenage daughter and the realization that he wished he hadn't missed her growing up and that he'd...like to have another. (Not to mention that she’s lived almost as many years as he has.)

Here's a little snippet:

She looked like his younger brothers, like him in his younger years.

Cody swallowed, following Obi-Wan into an alcove in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, gaze settled on the girl standing in front of him. She was easily his height, perhaps even a little taller. She looked at him, meeting his gaze steadily, an unimpressed twist to her mouth that he knew so well.

He'd seen it often enough on his brothers. Hell, he saw it when he looked in a mirror.

#wip title game #ankahikoibaat #time displacement au a step to the left #codywan #cw pregnancy mention #female obi-wan

[bereft-of-frogs]

there have been 2 significant house/business fires in my neighborhood in the last week, it really is like my city heard everyone else in the northeast were having fun wildfire smoke parties and was like ‘aw we’re the only ones in the region with a clear air quality index......fomo! better change that!’

#luckily no one was hurt after either! #last night's was much closer to my apt so it did get a little alarming #because everything really suddenly smelled like smoke at about 10:30 #and i live pretty close to the fire station so you can hear when it's the whole company going out #but it was a restaurant fire! put out with no injuries! the other also had no injuries but did displace a dozen people #so hopefully they can get it fixed up and move them back home soon <3 #fire cw

[torahtot]

"i hate this weird NATIONALISM just let us EXIST in the diaspora 🙄🙄🙄" please shut up for three hundred years

#would you say this about any other indigenous tribe that has a reverence for their land and considers it central to their tradition #or do you have a flawed understanding of judaism taken outside of its original tribal context #🤨 #jews: crying over the homeland we were forcibly displaced from for 2000 years #random kid on tumblr: why do yall care abt it so much 😐 its not like it's our homeland and a huge number of mitzvot can only be done there #it definitely doesnt contain our origins and history 😐 sounds like nationalism tbh 😐 #idk i just. think abt boats of survivors leaving Europe singing hatikva or how 97% of DPs in a huge poll (900k Jews i believe) #put palestine as their first choice of a homeland and the crematorium as a second #only for some american kid who has no understanding of who jews even are to decide we dont need that anymore #sad for the jews who r like that too #any ways!!! #holocaust mention #holocaust cw #nachi speaks #like whys it so difficult to understand that multiple groups of people can be indigenous 2 the same area and both have the right to b there

[frogchiro]

https://twitter.com/DaddyyRough/status/1757753273858019427 Pride coded 😭

cw: twitter porn link <3

Oh my god...Please I need that so bad :((

And yes, this is literally Price :(( Heavy, bulky and hairy body nestling up all nice and close behind you, burly arms pulling you as close as can be as he thrusts his heavy, veiny cock inside your wet cunt, holding you so close as he starts moving, his broad hips and full, heavy balls slapping against your pussy as you whine from all the borderline painful pleasure, overstimulated and sore after so many rounds :((

You'd at some point try to escape with your hips, the pleasure too much and you almost did, even heard John let out a bellow of displeasure as he felt his wet, twitching cock slip out of you; oh no no sweet girl, you're not going anywhere <3

Pulls you back roughly and starts to finger your poor, swollen pussy until you shriek in pleasure and move your arm back to grab John's hair because it feels so good but painful :(( You can beg Price to slow down, to go gentler, appeal to his deeply ingrained breeding kink that he'll displace all his sperm that he put inside you so insistently but no can do pretty girl; you're cumming one way or another and if he has to thrust his thick, rough fingers inside your wet, warm hole and then fuck you with his cock too after you finally calmed down then so be it <3

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #captain john price #john price

[freyito]

ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ ʙᴏʏꜱ ᴅᴏ

so sorry for the little mini hiatus! im finally allllll moved in and i think all i really needed was like. a clean space. refreshed my mind a bit, lol. can't promise i'll have a steady schedule cause im still working on my inbox, just dont wanna get anything done (after this) til i've finished my new masterlists... anyways! ideas been in my head forever, need to get it off my chest NOW

cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread

⎯ Liu Kang

Liu Kang will come up with poetry ON THE SPOT. It's crazy scary how quick he is with it. He chooses something about you and just runs with it. How your eyes are just the most enticing color in the sunlight, just how beautiful you are in kombat...

⎯ Bi-Han

Bi-Han will place little notes around the house or on things he knows you use often. He'll place one on the cover of the book your currently reading, or even within the pages. Little love notes, mainly motivating you, praising you... but he'll write a simple 'I love you', too.

⎯ Kuai Liang

Specifically whenever it's colder, Kuai willpull you in for a hug, and make his body temperature increase. He'll do it under different circumstances sometimes, even to tease you. He likes to keep you close as his temperature steadily rises. Perfect for cold nights.

⎯ Johnny Cage

Footsies. Anytime you two are sitting across from each other, either at the dinner table, or at some fancy restaurant, Johnny's always tapping at your shins, your knee, anything. Brings you closer, in a way.

⎯ Kenshi Takahashi

Kenshi has a habit of placing his hand on your head, whenever he feels like it. He'll play with your hair, or scratch at your scalp. He likes the texture, but he also just enjoys messing with you a little bit.

⎯ Kung Lao

Tickling you. Always and forever. Kung Lao will take the most inopportune moments to taze your sides, find those soft bits of flesh that make you giggle in just the right way.

⎯ Raiden

Raiden will do the little heart thing with his hands (or fingers) from across the room when he can't be with you. Eventually, he'll even try to do it with his lightning. It's an uncontrollable variable, and it takes him so LONG to get ahold of it. But, when he finally gets it, he's all giddy.

⎯ Zeffeero

As much as Rain groans and complains that his magic shouldn't be used for mundane things or fun, sometimes he'll form water into little hearts or stars. All for you. But he'll do it away from you, and kind of side-eye you, to make sure your watching.

⎯ Tomas Vrbada

Smoke has a tendency to sway whenever you two hug. Specifically when it's a longer hug. He just finds the motion comforting! He'll hum a little as he does this, too. That hum starts small, but then it catches on, he'll hum the same tune to you before you fall asleep.

⎯ Baraka

Point. Why? Baraka doesn't know. But he kinda likes your reaction. You two have a little game where he'll point, and you'll pop up and look around, do the whole "who, me?" thing. It's like a displacement behavior for him. Secretly, he kind of just wants to place his whole hand on your face like a basketball. He won't. Too risky.

⎯ Geras

Since Geras is still kind of unfamiliar with mortal love, he'll bring you little vials of sand. Kind of like bottles of shelves you'd find in a souvenir shop? He also most definitely asks Liu Kang for help throughout your relationship. So, normally, you get sent little (they're not little actually, they're like 5-page essays) love letters via Liu Kang.

⎯ Syzoth

Syzoth will flick his tongue over your cheek unintentionally. He swears! He's not doing it on purpose! You'll be lying down, or just close in general, and boom! There's the tongue!

⎯ Havik

Havik does that thing where he'll pull you in with one arm around your shoulder and one on the side of your head, and shake you gently. He'll make a little "rah" sound, it's a whole thing. Sometimes he's just over-whelmed with the urge to do that.

⎯ Shao Kahn

Sometimes, whenever Shao passes by you, he'll take you by your hand, and spin you. He'll chuckle and go back to what he was doing. But sometimes, it turns into full blown dancing.

⎯ Shang Tsung

Shang loves passing winks to you. He'll do it when he's too busy, he doesn't even use it to imply something. He'll do that super corny thing where he over-exaggerates his face and winks at you a LOT.

⎯ Reiko

Whether Reiko's just sparring, or in a genuine match, he'll always dedicate it to you. Even if you're not there. He'll whisper something for you under his breath, then beat the shit out of his opponent. He also loves bragging about his achievements to you. Only you. A soldier MUST have some humility.

⎯ Takeda Takahashi

Takeda loves saying your name in a real stupid sing-song voice. Dragging it out, horribly, in such a cheesy manor. He'll bring his voice up all high pitch and even bring his hands up to his face.

⎯ Erron Black

As much as Erron tries to be smooth with it, he kinda fails at hiding the fact that he's doing this for you. He exaggerates his accent, he'll quote all sorts of westerns, and just play reaaaaal hard into the Cowboy part for you.

© freyito, 2023 | masterlist | queue | kofi DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

#*ੈ✩ freyito #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mk x reader #liu kang x reader #bi-han x reader #sub zero x reader #kuai liang x reader #scorpion x reader #johnny cage x reader #kenshi takahashi x reader #kung lao x reader #raiden x reader #rain x reader #zeffeero x reader #smoke x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #baraka x reader #geras x reader #syzoth x reader #reptile x reader #havik x reader #shao kahn x reader #shang tsung x reader #reiko x reader #takeda takahashi x reader #erron black x reader

[deadassdiaspore]

#Displacement #Saudi Arabia #cw: death #indigenous people

[elaci]

Just Friends

Patrick and you are just friends, so he shouldn't get this jealous when you get sick of his games and decide you'll spend the night with Art instead.

cw; spitting, degradation, rough sex, choking, unprotected sex, creampies, ruined orgasms

Patrick Zweig x fem!reader | 18+ mdni — special s/o to the anons that helped imagine this up

It’s demeaning, really, the way Patrick Zweig watches you from the other side of the room. You can barely see him, shadows and party-store strobe lights displace his expression for seconds at a time, but when you do manage to hold his gaze long enough to make out the sharpness in it, your skin crawls. Through his eyes, you're no better than the last of his conquests.

You still like the heat of his hatred, though, especially when it's his best friend's lap you sit on. Art Donaldson has an arm around your waist, fingers dug into your side, the pressure light yet insistent. His face is flushed against your neck; lazy kisses pepper your throat. He wouldn't be marking you up for the world to bear witness if Art knew you belonged to Patrick first, but the brunette had insisted you were just friends, it was nothing more than a casual night or three. Now, he gets to watch as Art's free hand trails up the inside of your thigh, waging war against his urge to have you ride his fingers in the middle of the crowded living room.

Art's eyes are closed, lips wet against the expanse of your throat as he sucks a hickey into your skin-- your eyes are locked on Patrick's, who stands across the room, jaw clenched tight and hand wet with the spill of beer from his plastic cup. A sea of bodies act as the barrier between you two, dancing and grinding against each other in the same show of college-aged lust you're exhibiting with Art's hand trailing that little bit further up your thigh. You watch Patrick swallow and take a step back, ready to turn away, but something deep inside of you aches to be seen. You use a hand to lift Art's chin up so that you can plant your lips to his in a bruising kiss. Your blonde tryst responds eagerly, parting his lips, letting your tongue dart in to explore the seam of his mouth. His eyes flutter shut but yours stay open and stuck on Patrick, who doesn't blink as he watches you share spit with his best friend. He looks like a different man.

You pull away from Art slowly, dragging your teeth over Art's lip before leaning back in with purposeful abandon and you can almost swear you see him shudder in turn. One of his hands has slipped under your shirt palming your breast, his thumb rubbing a taut nipple through your bra. The contact makes you moan involuntarily, but it does nothing to distract you from the intense stare of Patrick Zweig who is still watching you. It takes all the restraint you possess not to look back, to ignore the piercing stare that could burn a hole right through the side of your skull. Instead, you give Art a soft but sultry smile and say, "I'll get us another drink, and then we can get out of here?"

"Sounds good," Art gives you a nod and takes his hand from under your shirt so you can stand from his lap. You eye the growing tent in his pants that he has to readjust to sit comfortably, and you smile as you turn to walk to the kitchen while Art follows you with his eyes.

You slip behind a corner into the kitchen where half-emptied bottles of nondescript booze and solo cups of mixers sit precariously along the countertops. You grab one of the bottles and two cups that you hope are clean and start to pour a drink for you and Art. You need this, a good orgasm or two to get your mind off of Patrick and his incessant proclamations of 'just being friends'. You'll fuck Art as a 'fuck you' to Patrick and move on to the next guy that won't make you cum half as well as either of them can. But the bottle is plucked from your hands, spilling over as it's placed down harshly and you're suddenly pressed against the edge of the countertop by someone much larger than yourself, their chest pressing against your upper back, crotch against your ass, arms boxing you in on either side.

This isn't Art; he's too coy for something this crude. This guy, who smells like cigarettes and a deodorant you've smelt too many times before, leans forward until his lips brush against your ear. His breath is hot, fanning your skin in ragged waves. Him. "So are you gonna fuck him?"

"Fuck you, Patrick. We're just friends," you parrot his own words back to him. Just friends, he had said whilst knuckles deep in your pussy, begging you to sit on his face only a moment later. Just fucking friends.

"That's what I thought," he exhales, and his voice is low, rough. You shiver, goosebumps prickling on your arms. The pressure of him on your back slackens and you twist, turning around only to find yourself still boxed in, but face to face with the source of your every wrongdoing, Patrick fucking Zweig. The grin pulling at his lips makes him appear predatory, almost feral. It's an animalistic thing; the look he gives you, hungry and angry and desperate. Like he wants to devour you in whole and spit you out just to taste you again. "Let me rephrase: have you fucked him already?"

No. "Yes." That answer comes quickly enough, even if it sounds a little pathetic in the face of Patrick's glazed eyes. Your hands rise of their own volition, landing on Patrick's chest and trying hopelessly to push him back. "Now get off me."

He doesn't budge, instead leaning in until you can feel his breath ghosting across your lips, noses bumping together lightly, "you're a fucking slut," he smiles, and you want to slap the grin off his face, want to claw into those beautiful eyes of his for looking at anyone but you. You hate him, you hate him with everything you have, you hate that your heart is slamming against your ribcage in response to his words. He's so close he can probably hear it, feel it, taste it on his lips and feel it in his hollowed bones.

You slip a hand from his chest down to the bulge of his jeans; he's hard, and you palm him through the coarse denim. "I'm the slut?" you bite, "what about you, Patrick, huh?" You squeeze him harder, feeling him twitch underneath your touch, "what are you then?"

One hand snaps from the countertop beside you to your throat, fingers digging in hard enough to start hurting. "I'm one minute away from fucking you stupid on this goddamn counter, that's what I am." When you don't dignify him with a word in response, he continues, lips barely an inch from yours. "You'd like that wouldn't you? You just won't fucking admit it."

You’re a moment away from spitting in his smug face when Patrick takes the hand against his crotch and uses it to pull you out of the kitchen in a swift but forceful motion. You trip over your own feet with the speed that he drags you, his grip unrelenting, but you’re able to glance into the living room as you pass to see Art talking to someone you don’t know. You try and get a look at your replacement, but Patrick is too fast, his grip on you only tightening as he takes you upstairs and starts checking doors for a room to push you into.

A chorus of “ooh la la” erupts when Patrick swings open a bathroom door to find a group of people smoking weed on the floor in front of the toilet. You could use a toke right about now. Patrick huffs a half-assed ‘sorry’ before pulling you to the next door and trying it- there's a click and before you can register his success, Patrick is pulling you into the empty bedroom and subsequently pushing you against the back of the door as it shuts. Your hand flies to the door handle in instinct, searching for a lock to turn and ensure your privacy, but it's futile when Patrick has a hand clamped over the handle to keep you from playing with it.

"Let someone walk in," he says. "Let them see just how fucking desperate you really are," he reaches a hand up and grabs your hair, yanking it backwards to expose more your neck. "Just how bad I wanna ruin you."

You slap him hard across the cheek. The sound reverberates through the room as Patrick turns his head only in the slightest to rub the sting away. Though his shock is short lived, he steps closer, forcing you back against the door until you hit the wall with no space left for retreat and he's pressing his lips to yours in retaliation, licking over and over at your bottom lip until you finally give up and kiss him back. This is worse than the stinging cheek of a slap, the wrung heart of knowing you want this more than a drunken clumsy night with Art Donaldson: you want the anger and the hurt and Patrick is kissing you like he loves you just to taunt you. To torment you for being weak enough to let him. For wanting the man that you hate to fuck you against the door. And you do. You want it so badly it hurts more than your ego.

"Fuck you," you speak against his lips.

His reply is a hand to your jaw, rough and mean and lifting your head so he can access the bites left behind by Art in the living room. He dips his head down and licks across every last mark his best friend had bitten into you, painting over Art's spit with his own, staking his claim like a dog with a bone. "Tell me to stop," he breathes out, mouth still glued to your throat.

"Fuck you."

You don't have time to think before Patrick is grabbing at the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down to pool around your ankles; your legs instinctively curl inwards to cover yourself but Patrick pushes your knees apart with both hands and lowers himself between your thighs. He pulls one of your legs up, rests it over his shoulder and looks up at you with darkness in his gaze. Though he's the one on his knees, you're the one at his mercy. His lips curve up at you again and he bites into the flesh of your inner thigh, making you hiss out a gasp at the sudden pain.

"Tell me to stop," he repeats in a growl.

"Fuck you," you spit in return.

"Say please."

Your eyes flutter shut in defeat. "Please."

"I told you," Patrick presses an almost sweet kiss to your clit, "that you're a fucking slut." He moves his tongue back and forth between your folds, and you let out a soft moan, your hips rolling instinctively forward to meet the invasion. You can't help it - you love his tongue, he knows that - you'd beg for it when you were sweeter on him but now... now, all you're capable of doing is arching your hips further into his mouth, hand flying down to the mess of curls atop his head in an attempt o pull him impossibly closer to you.

"Please, please, please..." Your hips thrust harder into his mouth with each syllable that leaves your lips, growing close to sweet release. Patrick moans softly and licks over the sensitive bundle of nerves buried within your folds. You pull hard at is hair, you hope it hurts, you need to be as close as physically possible to him, need it to connect you completely.

And then it happens. It happens in a cold second, one moment you're building to orgasm and the next you're feeling wipe his mouth and stand up with no orgasm from you to show for it. You don't move at first, frozen solid and waiting for something to happen. But nothing does, and when you realise he hasn't moved either you force your eyes open, squinting past the black dots dancing across your vision to find him staring at you with a wide smile.

"What the fuck, Zweig?" you demand, though it comes out more pleading than anything. Your voice cracks. It's embarrassing.

"Art wouldn't have made you cum either," he shrugs, an evil look on his face- you want to cry. You want to shoot your hand down and finish the job off yourself but you know Patrick would never let that happen; he nods to the bed against the wall. Some strangers bed; a full length mirror sits opposite it.

"Don't tell me this is some sick punishment." God, you wish he would stop smiling.

"Just get on the fucking bed."

“F—”

“Fuck me, yeah I know. Move your ass before I fuck that too.”

Your plain lust makes it difficult not to oblige, and you’re walking over to the edge of the bed and sitting down before you can register yourself doing so. The sheets are a dark blue and smell like detergent and dryer sheets, so the thought of fucking on a strangers dirty sheets are calmed as Patrick traipses towards you.

He lands between your legs, eyes darting down to look at your glistening cunt before taking in the rest of you. With a simple nod, he orders your top and bra off, and you’re naked before a ‘fuck you’ can leave your lips. Patrick remains fully clothed, but you think he likes that contrast, that aspect of control. You’re so cock-hungry you let it pass, because you can see the tent of his jeans and there’s little you wouldn’t do to be full of Patrick Zweig right now.

“Open your mouth,” he speaks down at you.

Your lips part, head tilted back ever so slightly as your tongue lolls out of your mouth. Patrick spits directly onto it, the very same saliva that had just mixed with the lust of your pussy now lace your tongue and spill down to your lips.

“Swallow.”

You do, Patrick loves the sight. So much, in fact, that he wastes no time in pulling you to your feet just to press a wet kiss to your lips, swap some more spit, and then turn you on your heels and push you face-down into the mattress of the poor soul who owns this bed. You land with a whine, and Patrick lands a spank to your ass in a silent order to get on your hands and knees for him.

You comply without even thinking, curling your body in the perfect angle to allow Patrick easier access to your aching entrance. Looking forward, you watch yourself in the mirror, a mess of everything you shouldn’t be doing, and Patrick: a mess of everything you should. He lines up behind you and moves to push inside of you, but his hips halt before he makes contact.

His eyes flit up to meet yours in the mirrors reflection. “I don’t want to ever see you with another guy like that. No one but me, you got it? You need to be fucked stupid to understand who you belong to? Sure thing. You need dates and kisses and to call me your fucking boyfriend so you don’t chase the next dick that’ll fill you up? Whatever. As long as it’s me.”

You nod. You want it. You don’t deserve it but you crave it.

Patrick slowly pushes himself into you until he’s fully seated inside you; you let out a groan as you adjust to the stretch of his size. You’ve never quite gotten used to how big he is. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation and he takes that as his cue to start moving. He pulls almost all of the way out of you, eyes stuck on the sight of his cock covered in you.

“Did you just ask me to be your girlfr—FUCK.”

Patrick slams his hips forward and you feel his entire length split you open on the spot. You cry out, loud, long and ragged breaths leaving your body as he begins to pound into your body again and again in quick succession. His hands grip your waist harshly, fingers digging deep into your flesh to make sure you stay in place on the bed.

When you finally do manage to relax, pleasure begins coursing through you like waves on the shores of some vacation beach you couldn’t name. Patrick takes your hair in one hand and continues his bruising grip on your waist with the other.

The repeated snapping of his hips against yours is brutal, skin against skin and sweat permeating the room's heat. With every thrust you’re pushed forward, your eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror. You’d lay your head down to rest against the sheets if Patrick wasn’t fisting your hair so tight, pulling your head up to stare at yourself getting wrecked on his cock.

He leans forward, chest pressing against your arched back, a harsh bite to your earlobe, and then the growling words— “could he fuck you stupid like this?”

“Yeah,” you manage, tone dripping with an aching need.

“Yeah?” Patrick loosens his grip on your hair and instead snakes his fingers around your neck, squeezing each side of your throat in such a way your head already feels light. He pulls you up, your back flush against his front as his cock still drills into you; he squeezes further. “Shut the fuck up.”

Patrick trails his hand from your neck to your bottom lip and slips two fingers inside your mouth as he fucks you. You’re full of him from both ends, tasting his fingers and taking his cock in its entirety like you were fucking made for it. There’s something about being taken apart so thoroughly that nearly pushes you over the edge of your climax, though it’s not until Patrick slips his hand, fingers wet with your spit now, down to your clit and starts rubbing it in quickened circles that you’re really melting into his touch.

It isn’t long until you lose your mind, legs trembling underneath the weight of such overbearing pleasure. Patrick’s the only reason you stay upright, holding you against hisself as his hips start stuttering and he falls over that same precipice you just did.

With one last hard thrust that near sends you delirious, he spills into you, filling you up so full with his seed that you already grieve the inevitable loss of it when he pulls out and insists on watching it leak from your pussy in a display of his hood on you.

For now, though, you revel in the haze of laboured breath and the warmth of his sweat-glossed chest against your back. You can feel his heart beating against your shoulder blades in a rapid drumming rhythm. You watch yourself in the mirror, plugged with Patrick’s cock as he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder in turn— he’s never done that before.

“Did you mean it?” you ask through raspy breaths, barely above a whisper.

“That you’re a slut?” Patrick grins, biting over the spot he had just kissed, “yes.”

“That you want to be exclusive. More than ‘just friends’.”

“I just came inside of you, I’m still fucking inside of you. We aren’t just friends.”

His voice is thick and hoarse, you can hear the smile forming on his face in spite of his efforts to keep his expression blank. You want to say something more, tell him a million different things that should probably wait until he isn’t plugging you with his cum, but your thoughts are cut off by a heavy knock at the door and the call of your name.

It’s Art, and he’s turning the doorknob.

And his best friend is still balls deep inside of you.

#patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig x reader #challengers smut #challengers 2024 #art donaldson

[paldean-ranger-brandy]

Hey all you puffed up rangers who submitted those ranger confessions this morning. If you really wanna test you mettle there are going to be some short term contracts coming up to join the crater base here in Paldea.

They are available because the other two rangers got grievously injured on the job. So fair warning, beyond being dangerous, it's fucking exhausting. But the opportunity is there, and we do very much need the help.

#i cant in good conscience recommend it #but being down two rangers is Not Good. we need the help #pokeblogging #brandy chat #mission update: paradox displacement #cw injury mention

[rosedom]

Yo yo yo lil bro, I've never written an ask before but here we go! :3

Thinking about tighnari's ears, would he like you to stroke them and pet him while you spoon him? Grooming him to keep them in shape, massaging them when they're sore and kissing them as the highest tier of romance?

Would they be sensitive? Would he like you to lightly grab his hair while you whisper in his large ears how well he's doing as they shiver with pleasure, hips rutting against a pillow, begging for you to thumb at the back of his fluffy lengths?!?!

He's SUCHH a cutie patootie >:3

(can I be 🪱 anon please ~`>°<`~? 🧍)

"in an open match, 【 🪱 】 has invited TIGHNARI to play . . . lend me a listening ear

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!amab!reader, sub!ftm!tighnari, ear play (?? is that a thing), cuddle-pillow-humping, praise kink & dirty talk, post-coitus teasing and alluded aftercare .

A/N : yo yo yo big bro, tighnari is SUCHHH a cutie patootie: agreed !

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

Do foxes purr? Fennec foxes, maybe?

You're not quite sure, but you find you don't particularly care. Foxes, fennec foxes, whatever other fuckin' breed there is—it doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter, because, whatever it is, Tighnari is purring.

"Feelin' good?" you ask, rhetorical, leaning down to nip at the very tip of that long ear you're grooming. He's bundled up in your arms, absentmindedly playing with the fingers of the arm you've got underneath him.

"Mm, yeah," he mumbles, lethargic. "Can you get the other one, too?" He entirely disregards the way your teeth catch his furry ear, his only visceral reaction the unconscious twitch and flutter of it, whacking against your nose.

"'Course," you mutter, "but you gotta turn around for me."

He goes, easy, melted like butter in your hold. The change frees his tail from being smushed between you two, and you try to grab for it before his purrs abruptly stop, and he hisses at you. It scares you, a bit, makin' you jump back, but then he's purring again yet reaching back and guiding your hand away from the tangled fur of it. "No, no—" shooing you away yet simultaneously putting you back atop his head. "Not yet."

"Not yet?" you echo, your soft hands right back to the start: rubbing gentle, scratching circles to the tips of his ear. You meander down in soothing strokes, and Tighnari's purring again.

"Noo," he bemoans—a low n' relatively quietly sound, shaken up with his purr—, "'s too sensitive."

The tone of his voice makes you laugh, albeit soft, making sure to keep on stroking his ears. "And these aren't?" You tilt one just-so, aim it towards you, and gently blow into the shell of it.

And Tighnari fucking moans.

It's hard not to say, "Told you so," but it's not nearly as hard as your cock is, chubbed up and resting in the small of his back; not as hard as his cock must be, either, as he starts to rut against the pillow between his thighs in these barely-there grinds. Not teasing him about that (yet), you instead murmur, "I can make you feel good, lil' fox." You take back to stroking the length of it, your thumb and forefinger gently squeezing on each upstroke as Tighnari's chest rumbles in sweet purrs at the attention. "All you have to do is say the word."

He debates it for a moment, mulling over it and your implications as you keep on letting him. Eventually, he mumbles a quiet, "Fine."

"Oh, don't act so disgruntled," you say, huffing against his head. A little tuft of his hair gets displaced by the breath, and you gentle it back into place between his trembling ears. "You're rutting against the pillow, darlin'." You almost want to say my pillow, 'cos you know the bunched up thing bumping against his clothed cunt is yours.

Ultimately, though, you decide to do otherwise—to tease at him for being so needy. "You're not so sly, fox."

"W—whuh—" Nevermind. You're going to tease the fuck out of him; how can't you, for such cute, helpless lil' reactions like that?

"Grinding yourself against my pillow. I sleep on that, 'Nari—" you pause, chuckling, and you finish preening his hair to take hold once more on the base of his ear. You pinch it, softly, a gentle squeeze between his thumb and forefingers before you continue, "—yet here you are, slickening up where I lay each night. Are you tryin'ta claim me, sweet thing? Drench me all over in your scent..."

Tighnari nods his head, these violent, jerky motions that displace your hold—much to his displeasure. He whines at you—even though it's his own damn fault that he lost the pleasure he's so keen on keeping stop his head—, a pathetic lil' thing that makes your cock pulse as it's smushed up against him, the seams of your boxers the only thing keeping you from bare skin-to-skin.

"Wan' you to be mine, wan' ev'rybody to know it—" his words come out garbled, all pleasure-drunk with a heavy tongue to slash about in his mouth.

You coo, switching up the ear you're playing with to lather up the other one in affection, no part of him left untouched, unloved, "Yeah, baby, I'm all yours. Don't worry.

"And you're mine, too, aren't'cha?"

"Yes! 'm yours." It's nothing short of extraordinary, the way such a smart man can devolve into sweet blabbering; he melts like butter with nothing but a few sweet words, kind touches. "'m yours, n' you're mi—oh, please!"

"Go on, my sweet boy," you murmur, letting your other hand drop to his hip. You guide him against your pillow—each grind gentle but just perfectly hard, the seam of his boxers forced up against the swell of his cock. "Take your pleasure."

However, you think of a way to make this even better. You go on to thumb at the waistband of the fabric, dipping just-so into it as you stroke his ear in the same fashion, always keeping your touches synchronous, in tune with one another even on different parts of his body.

And so you ask, "Do you want these off, 'Nari?" Your pillow is already ruined, and his thighs a slicked-up, wet mess; but you know it'd be far better to rut against the seamless yet rougher fabric of your pillowcase. There are no seams to catch against his cock in any way that's painful nor is the fabric too smooth to not give him much needed friction (after all, his boxers are silky, and they're slick as a puddle now).

He moans in reply, all soft and meak as he nods. The movement, anticipated, does not dislodge your hold on his ear.

But... fuck, you're both just so damn comfy, in the perfect position already save for his annoying briefs... Until you get an idea.

"Don't get mad," you whisper, letting go of his ear and taking both hands down to each leg of his briefs, then just... ripping, the fabric splitting down the seams of either leg and letting you take the crotch of it off and aside. The waistband stays, stubborn, but now his cunt is exposed, rutting now against the pillowcase unbidden, and it is perfect.

And to Tighnari's credit, he does not get mad.

He gets more turned on, if anything, hips humpin' even harder as he begs so prettily for relief. "I wanna cum." 

"And you can cum, sweet fox," you coo, reaching back up to his ears and thumbing at the soft backs of them. He's no longer got your hands to guide him, but, without his too-slippery boxers, he's able to hold his own—and hold his own he does, mewlin' and whimperin' to the open air and grinding impossibly harder—harder into the pillow, harder into you, into your cock. "Cum whenever you're ready."

"I—I will," he cries out, hips stuttering at a particularly good angle of your thumbs against the base of each ear—one you hone in on following that pretty, pretty cry—, "if—if you keep doin' that!"

"I will," you echo, "I'll keep doing it, keep making you feel so good. Just keep makin' my pillow all messy, yeah? Cover it all up in your scent so I can sleep in it, smell like you tomorrow, for the rest of my life. Everybody'll know I'm yours—" and Tighnari's cumming at that, body locking up as his cunt clenches, his cock throbs. Your pillow presses up against him in all the right way, and your hands are simply magic, working away as they are at his fluffy ears.

"There you go, there you go," you coo. "Cummin' so pretty for me, so perfect. You're making such a mess, such a good, good boy f'r me."

When his whines start sounding pained—something oversensitive, which he gets quite quickly after he cums—, you release his ears and forcibly slow the grinding of his hips. You hold him gently but firmly as you move him to a stop. (Sure, it probably made him more oversensitive, grinding him against the pillow like that, but you stand by it: a sudden stop of stimulation is far, far more unpleasant in the long run by the gentle let-down you assure you do.

It's as important as aftercare, makin' sure your mate cums right, just like he deserves.)

"Easy, now, that's it."

He mewls, one last time, before he sighs and relaxes into your hold. "Mm," he mumbles. "'s good."

You grin, smushing your face into the top of his head and right between those ears you played with so—so relentlessly. "Good."

"What—what about you?"

You shake your head, slowly, moving his head with you and making him laugh, light but still fucked-out, shakey. "Don't worry about me," you murmur, and—and you're not lying. You've gone and came in your briefs, and it won't be long before it starts seeping through to the bare skin of his back. "Let's go take a bath, yeah? Wash this filthy fur—" you pause, teasing, and stroke your fingers over his hairy mons.

He growls at you, batting away your hands. "Stop, stop," he whines, but the soft purr that begins to build belies his attempt at a threatening growl.

And then, "Start the bath. You're gross."

"Wha—"

Tighnari huffs, turning over (all while he keeps your pillow tucked between his overly-wet thighs) to face you. "You came on me."

"I did not!"

He laughs, bumping his nose against yours and purring even louder. "Technically not on me, but you get the gist."

"You're so mean to me when I made you cum all over—"

He smothers you with his hands. "It's time for a bath," he grumbles, pointed. "I'll take the pillow and—" he reaches down and squeezes your soft cock, making you hiss, "—your soiled boxers down to the basin for a wash."

"Fine, fine," your grumble, not with any true bite, as you pat at Tighnari's ass just shy of his tail. "Make sure you use the soap that's easy on your nose, honey; I'll set up bubbles in the bath, too."

He gets up, jumps away from your wandering hands and holds out his own for your boxers. "Gimme."

An eye for an eye, you suppose; you get to play with Tighnari's body—his ears—, he gets to see your softened cock covered in your own mess.

All's fair in the end, huh?

i got carried away writing the post-coitus . . . my bad. i'm a sucker for gentle teasing after sex<3

8 APR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 ASKS 】 #【 🪱 】 #more readers gotta nut in their pants 'cos i know if that was ME #i'm doing it. immediately. embarrassingly. if i was behind tighnari i'm doing it. no shame. #(maybe a little shame) #dom reader #amab reader #sub tighnari #tighnari smut #tighnari x reader #sub genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #ftm smut #trans ftm #just gentle gentle gentle mushy gushy stuff !!

[helpimhyperfixating]

Kinktober Day 13: Dry humping - Jotaro x Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

This one was chosen/voted on by anon, so I hope you likey! You can still go to the Masterlist and vote on what prompt you want on which day :3

I’m sorry that I’ve fallen behind. Rn, I’m just gonna catch up on whatever speed I can manage, given I’ve got an exam coming up. So if it goes into November, that is fine. Just know every single day is coming ;3

CW: gn!reader, drunk (tipsy) sex, dry humping - so not actual sex

Word Count: 1112

Gasping as Jotaro crowded you into his dorm, you stumbled together, a mess of tongue and teeth as his arms encircled your sides, holding you flush against his own body, his legs bumping into yours as you walked.

Squeaking as you nearly tripped, Jotaro cursed, barely able to catch himself and hold you up before he kicked the door shut and swung you around, pushing you up against the wall.

A little whimper left your throat as he immediately pushed his hips into yours, his bulge pressing against your crotch.

The both of you had just come from a frat party neither of you were very interested in, only going to show face and get free booze. It was alright, with the two of you getting a little tipsy and mostly keeping to yourself, people watching; yet the moment your boyfriend had grabbed your hand and signaled to go, you followed.

Both now being tipsy, the walk home hadn’t stayed quiet for very long, with Jotaro’s hands starting to slightly wander on your sides before it all came to a head in the elevator where he practically jumped you, now that you weren’t out in the open anymore. Both of you too horny to care at that point, Jotaro had began to drag you to his dorm while your lips remained locked, where you were now pinned to the wall while he ground down against you.

“Jotaro-“ You mewled breathily, bucking your own hips up into him.

Feeling you grind into his erection, the raven groaned into your mouth, leading his hands down to grip your thighs, pushing his pelvis against yours to pin you against the wall while he lifted your legs so that you could wrap them around his waist.

Gasping at the friction, pleasure shot up your spine as you kept bucking your hips, now using your legs around his waist for leverage.

“Fuck-“ Jotaro gasped, sloppily kissing down your neck where he buried his face, rolling his own hips into yours, needing to feel more while his hands slid to your ass, supporting you.

Desperate and maybe a little more than just tipsy, the two of you humped against each other in the entryway of the dorm room, Jotaro kissing and sucking at your neck while you buried your hand in his hair, lightly tugging which displaced his hat, setting it askew on his head.

Growling slightly as his head was forced back a bit, Jotaro slid his left arm all the way under your ass while his right reached up, grabbing his hat and throwing it to the ground before he lifted you off the wall, his free hand landing on your lower back, making sure you stayed pressed against him.

“Jot-“ You started and the man bit down on your neck, right on your sweet spot, making you whine out as you threw your head back, tightening your hand in his hair.

“Don’t talk.” Jotaro mumbled before walking you through the small space of his dorm, plopping you down on the bed where he immediately climbed on top of you, letting out the softest of moans as he pushed his bulge back down into you, your own breath hitching as the friction returned.

“Don’t stop.” You begged and Jotaro nodded, leaning his head up to crash his lips back into yours while he rolled his hips, your pants scraping against each other.

Even through his and your own pants, you could feel how big Jotaro was, his cock pressing just right against you.

The both of you were panting at this point, desperate and unable to stop.

“I need you, Jotaro, please-“ You whimpered, your hands reaching down to grasp his shirt, to which he obliged, taking it off and showing his toned and well-built torso. Immediately, your hands began to room and Jotaro grunted, his biceps contracting as he reached down to grab the hem of your own shirt, yanking it over your hide – all the while his hips continued to rock into yours.

At this point, your legs were splayed wide, receiving every single second of the friction, your hips wildly bucking up into his with every thrust.

“Y/N, shit-“ Jotaro gasped out, a sheen of sweat appearing on both of your flushed bodies, intensified from both your actions as well as the alcohol.

“Now, please, Jotaro!” You whined loudly, hooking your legs together around his waist, a moan leaving you as you felt an orgasm approach, as embarrassing as that was.

“Come on.” Jotaro whispered into your ear, his voice deep and slightly hoarse in the moment before he kissed you again, pushing his tongue into your mouth to roll it with yours, his hips speeding up as he felt his own climax approaching.

Moaning into his mouth, your stomach felt on fire as sweat gathered at your lower back while you bucked and ground up into Jotaro, your hands now clinging onto his belts, using them to pull him into you.

Groaning deeply against your lips, Jotaro’s eyes fluttered closed as his hips stuttered, shoving them into you hard as he came right there and then.

With his move, you were almost bent in half as your knees were forced to your chest, making Jotaro’s cock push against you in such a way that you couldn’t hold back yourself.

With an embarrassing moan, your climax washed over you with white hot intensity as your back arched.

Rocking into each other, the both of you rode the waves of your orgasm, Jotaro finally breaking the kiss to instead kiss down your neck and to your clavicle where he stopped, panting against your skin as he came down from his high, his eyes closing.

“Good grief, did we really just do that?” He breathed out, trying to catch his breath while you lay there, a small whimper leaving you as the last of your orgasm washed away.

“We’ve had better ideas…” You mumbled before letting out an embarrassed chuckle, covering your face with your hands.

“We should clean up, c’mon.” Jotaro spoke softly, tracing his lips along your skin before pressing a kiss to your cheek. With that, he took initiative and sat back from you, getting off the bed as he then held out a hand for you.

Lifting your hands, you looked at him and then sighed out, nodding with a little smile as you took his hand and let him help you up.

Shirtless and walking awkwardly because of your own cum in your pants, the two of you went to clean up and sober up. And if said process led to another – actual – round, then who was there to complain.

#hih kinktober 2023 #jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro kujo #jotaro x reader smut #jotaro kujo x reader smut #jotaro smut #hih’s hôrni works

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Warming Up (Good Omens Drabble)

Aziraphale x Crowley x GN!Reader / requests are: open and encouraged

Summary: You're cold. Aziraphale and Crowley can't have that, can they?

CW: none, this is so freakin soft

Gomens tag list: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“Are you cold, dearest? Oh, you’re positively shaking.” 

Aziraphale has his brows drawn down in that way that you know means he’s starting to overthink things and stress right out. You are in fact cold. Freezing, even. You nod, and Aziraphale tuts, drawing you into his embrace. 

“You poor thing,” he coos. 

You relax almost instantly, a sigh of relief melting out of you. Aziraphale rests his chin on the top of your head and rubs his hand over your back softly but firmly, trying to get the circulation going once again. 

“Crowley, love, would you mind popping in here for a moment?” Aziraphale calls, using his other hand to cover your ears softly just in case he was too loud for you. It was such a sweet gesture that it made you giggle, though you were immediately wracked with shivers as the cold bit back into your skin. 

“Mm- yes, Angel?” Crowley sticks his head around a bookcase. He takes one look at the view before him before promptly letting his protective instincts kick in. “What’s happened?” He sounds calm, but you know him better. You can hear the hint of a threat behind those words. 

“Our dearest here is cold. Come?” 

Crowley is pressed up behind you before the full sentence has left Aziraphale’s mouth. His warm hands wrap around you and the both of them are now sandwiching you between them. It takes a moment but cold does start to seep away. 

You decide that there’s nothing quite like being sandwiched for a warm cuddle with the afternoon light coming in through the window. You could stay like this forever. 

“There, now,” Aziraphale comforts. “Are you warming up?” 

You nod, snuggling into his chest further. The Angel chuckles, and the Demon behind you presses in closer with a soft grunt. 

Crowley pulls a miracle from below, and suddenly the three of you are in the bedroom upstairs. Your stomach lurches uncomfortably for a second at the momentary displacement, and Crowley chuckles. 

“Sorry, Pet- just thought- well, you know. Might be more comfortable in here.” He averts eye contact, doing his best to quell the flush creeping up his cheeks. “Blankets and things,” he adds. 

“Good idea,” you say, shivering as the both of them step away. You clamber into the middle of the bed. Your partners follow- one on either side of you. They pull you in close, Crowley nosing at your neck and Aziraphale pressing a kiss to your temple. 

Aziraphale miracles the blankets over the top of the three of you and settles down comfortably. 

“Can’t have our favourite mortal getting sick now, can we?” He says, tutting softly. 

“Mm- remember last time?” Crowley adds. “All that… mucus.” You can’t see his face but you can tell he has his lips screwed up in distaste. 

You roll your eyes and reach behind you to swat at him. 

“If I recall correctly- you were the one who wouldn’t leave me alone, remember?” The last time you’d gotten a cold, Crowley had barely left you alone for more than two minutes at a time. He’d been always coming by to see if you needed anything. It was sweet at first but did end up grating on you somewhat. “Couldn’t have thought it was that gross at the time.”

“Shut up,” he replied, nipping at your shoulder. You laugh. 

“Mhm, that’s what I thought, dear.” 

It doesn’t take long at all before you’re all warmed up again, but you don’t tell Aziraphale or Crowley that. You enjoy their warmth far too much to let them go tend to their errands. At least not yet. 

They know this, of course- but they certainly don’t complain.

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