Going FERAL Over This - Tumblr Posts

Finallay finishing that wip from forever ago

If youre interested in it as a design its over on my redbubble under pawcelaindoll!!

6 for Pasha please!!

pasha my beloved

And in the end we found our stage We gave these words of strength

omg I finally have a chance to reblog this~

Some fun stuff I adore: (:

I love the changes to Alek's body post mortem, the changes in his skin tone (this is the result of blood settling in the body), and the skin drawing away from the wound on his neck and the stiffness of the body. From what I can tell, both are accurate to life and the timeline decomposition follows. (: Rigor mortis and liver mortis both set in as early as 2 hours after death.

Strahd moves Alek's hair out of his face! Strahd tears his linen(!!) shirt to bandage the wound on Alek's neck! He wipes blood from Alek's chin! They are acts of intimacy done out of care and in spite of death! It makes little difference, and Alek may never truly understand it anymore but it's there in spite of everything!

The crypt would be his bed, however long he sleeps!! Dedication after death!

"The sight remained sharp, but the personality inside was retreating. Perhaps bracing itself against the back wall of his skull."

The similarities and contrasts between Alek and Strahd, both in their teeth and the wounds on their necks, but also struggling to speak, around either blood or teeth.

Alek lets Strahd examine the wound! Despite all that has happened, he still trusts him.

Everything is so physical and nothing is clean or pretty. Alek's body is still damp, his hair is matted with blood and water. The carcass is easier to move after more blood is added. The blood and bodies in the castle will smell with time. Strahd struggles to feed Alek at first, and smears blood across the dead man's face. Eventually spit joins it. They're small details, but its grounding, and the imperfections make it so much more intimate.

12 - Pale

[Based on @terrified-spider's CoS concept for Alek 🫀]

There was no amount of vengeance Strahd could wreak on Leo Dilisnya's remaining men that would bite back this other feeling, which rose like black bile in his chest. No amount of blood would drown it. No amount of violent rage, with sword or claw or hammered fist would tamp it down. And no amount of dragging, throwing, pacing, staring, teeth grinding could wear it out either.

Alek's body still lay in his closet.

Strahd von Zarovich was covered in gore. Castle Ravenloft was smothered in red ichor and corpses, and soon enough it would be rancid in the great hall. But the doors to his own quarters opened on a pristine setting. Aside from the knowledge and the slowly congealing filth Strahd tracked in with his soles, the room belied a quiet night like any other. It would not have seemed out of place, in that moment, to peel off his soaked shirt and sit by the hearth as though he had just come in out of the rain.

The image of Alek Gwilym, snow-damp and wind-chapped, hopping on one foot and then the other to pull off his boots and seat himself down by Strahd's fire, sprang unbidden into his mind.

Regret was its name, this other dark emotion which threatened to throttle him if he could not think of a way to appease it.

Perhaps he could bleed it out. Surely he had consumed enough life for two men. More, in fact. And if he could give back to Alek the blood he had taken… would Alek's life then be restored to him, the way it had worked in Strahd the night before?

The only way out of this mess now was to trudge ahead and try to find the other side. Strahd could not fall backward in time. Could not undo his own reckless mistakes. So, he conceived of only the next best possible option, and moved stoically forward with it.

Strahd pulled the carcass of his old friend out of its slumped position in the closet, wedging his hands under Alek’s arms to drag him out onto the middle of the floor, heavy and stiff. A light sheen had formed on the cold and pallid skin, making it clammy to the touch. The creases of Alek’s clothing were still damp with rain and sticky with coagulated blood, his matted hair plastered to the side of his face and neck. His dry, clouded eyes cracked open to stare mournfully at nothing.

But maybe it was not too late.

Strahd knelt down beside the corpse, to pick the soiled hair free of Alek’s sharp features, pushing it aside to reveal the wound in his throat. Made by the man’s own knife, the cut was clean and straight, but in the time that had passed, the skin around it had begun to shrink back and the incision gaped, revealing glossy strands of mutilated tissue and the severed vein beneath. Strahd prodded gently at the wound, as if to close it up again, but the membrane moved too readily and tore. He flinched back.

Strahd retreated to the table in his study, where the accursed book in dark crimson leather binding still sat. His dagger lay there, sheathed, beside it. Strahd picked up the dagger, and flipped the book open. Its page still blurred, the inscriptions swimming before his eyes. Page after page of useless chaos. He closed it once again, with a delicate touch more carnally vindictive than if he had picked it up and flung it across the room.

Kneeling over Alek again, Strahd pulled the dagger clear and set its sheath down on the floor. He set the blade against his wrist. “Don’t look at me that way,” he muttered, and drew the thin edge up, along a brief span of his forearm.

Blood welled and dripped from his arm, but the wound closed too quickly as he brought it close to Alek’s face. Setting his own jaw, Strahd pried Alek’s mouth agape. He pressed the blade into his wrist again and left it there, leveraging his own flesh open to spill the contents of his life down Alek’s throat.

Alek’s mouth filled with blood until it spilled from the corner of his lips and dribbled over his cheek. Strahd cursed. He dipped his fingers into the pool between Alek’s jaws to move his tongue. Blood continued to stream down over his hand, like a potter adding slip to the contents of his turning wheel, pulling a vessel up out of a heap of mud, until it was clear that Alek’s body would not take more, no matter what he did to maneuver it, and the waste flowed over his chin.

Strahd examined Alek’s face. Carefully, he checked the corpse’s eyes. He bent his ear close to listen for breath, and watched the gaping wound on Alek’s neck fail to recover. No color beyond the fresh haphazard smears of red upon his skin returned to those sharp features. Strahd’s stern gaze did little to convince the body to animate.

Irritation simmered at his own foolishness. Strahd cleaned the dagger and tucked it back into its sheath. Perhaps it would take time, he thought. Perhaps…

He looked to the window, where the barest light of creeping dawn had begun to turn the black sky gray.

Perhaps tomorrow, then.

Strahd picked up Alek’s body, now more limber than it had been, and hefted it over his shoulder. Holding fast to the man’s long legs, he descended to the catacombs and laid the body down inside a crypt. Whatever happened, this would be his bed, for as long as he would sleep. In the cave-like darkness, Strahd watched again for any sign of movement. Just as gingerly as he had opened them, Strahd closed Alek’s eyes again. He positioned Alek’s hands over his stomach, as though he really had just fallen asleep, their blood on his face be damned.

. . .

Strahd woke from his own deathlike slumber to the sounds of war. He leapt to his feet, senses alert, adrenaline high, before he could remember all that had happened. He snatched up his dagger, the only weapon near to him, and didn’t question why he had been lying in the catacombs—only accepted it as a fact of the moment, and stalked toward the dungeons, where he heard the voices of men shrieking in abject terror.

And only then did he remember who the occupants of his dungeons were, and why they were there.

He rounded a corner and stopped short. For a flash of an instant, relief shot through him, for there before him was the back of Alek Gwilym, standing on his own two feet.

But he also had his arm shoved through the bars of a cell door, and at his feet lay one of Strahd’s prisoners, the face mutilated and horror-stricken, the throat ripped out. The other man inside had ceased to scream and was blubbering instead, pressed bodily against the back wall of his cage.

“Alek.” The prisoners went quiet at the sound of Strahd’s voice, muffling their already helpless whimpers.

Alek’s face turned toward him. His eyes, now paler than ever before, had an animal wildness about them, but their pupils locked on Strahd, boring into him quick and sharp like arrows.

It was him, then. And yet… it was not.

Alek slipped his arm out of the bars. The ends of his fingers were like claws, which clacked against the iron. As he turned more fully into view, Strahd noticed other changes—and lack thereof, not least of which the wound in his throat, which remained raw and open, catching on the collar of his clothing when he moved. But Alek’s teeth, like his claws, had lengthened. Unlike Strahd’s own fangs, which could be easily hidden, the ones in Alek’s maw were long and sharp, jutting out past his lip. And it wasn’t just his corner teeth; those were the shortest of the lot, far surpassed by the vicious, almost rodent-like incisors.

Strahd fell back by only half a step, but it was enough.

With a furious yell, Alek launched himself at Strahd. He was fast and strong, and Strahd staggered as Alek barreled into him, baring those hideous teeth and lunging for his throat. Strahd’s heels scraped across the stone floor with the force of the impact, but kept his footing. He was strong, too. If he were still human, he would have been dead in a moment.

Instead, with great force of his own, he heaved Alek back and drew his dagger. They fought, Alek swiping at Strahd with his claws. Cuts and parries with the dagger. Strahd ducked and weaved, where Alek seemed to be singularly focused and all too clumsy about it. Alek’s hands and arms opened up with wounds that didn’t bleed and were slow to heal—but they did heal, Strahd noted. He glanced at Alek’s neck again.

That moment of distraction opened him to Alek’s raking fingers. The claws slashed across Strahd’s own throat. Strahd choked. The dagger clattered to the floor. His hands flew up to brace against Alek’s chest again, to push him back as he dove toward the blood which flowed down over Strahd’s own collar. Alek snarled at him. Strahd gurgled, staring Alek down while he waited for the wounds to close. He coughed, and cleared his throat.

“That’s enough,” Strahd said.

To his relief, Alek stepped back, though he was seething, the blood he had already drunk foaming on his parted lips. His jagged hands hung limply at his sides.

He made a horrible, muffled lisping sound that might have been Strahd’s name.

“You’re angry,” Strahd said.

Alek practically hissed.

“You are hungry.”

Alek turned his razor gaze on the nearest cell. The man cowering inside it looked frantically between the two monsters. Strahd produced the key.

“No… no, please.” The man’s words cracked between a whisper and a voice. Only minutes prior, this had been the only thing he wanted—more than anything—for that cell door to open. But now he couldn’t think of anything he wanted less. “My lord, I beg you,” he pleaded. “Don’t.” 

Strahd unlocked the door.

“No. No, no, no! Please—god, no!”

He watched Alek descend on the prisoner, rending the throat with his teeth as he had with the first. Strahd felt no small degree of annoyance that Alek had stolen that recompense from him, but he supposed that Alek was also deserving of the opportunity. While he slurped, Strahd regarded the rest of his collection in the adjoining cells. They all cowered, watching with wide eyes and bated breath, their hearts thrumming like drums in his ears.

He unlocked each of the barred doors. “Go on,” he said gently. “Run.”

The people eyed each other warily. Seeing no better alternative, they slunk past him cautiously and padded quickly through the doors, glancing at Alek’s hunched and preoccupied form in the shadows on their way out. Perhaps the prisoners thought to grasp at a fragment of hope in that dark dungeon, when the cursed Count Strahd had suddenly thought to exercise his benevolence and spared them from such a gruesome fate.

Little did they know.

Strahd and Alek set upon them like a wild hunt. Strahd quickly drank his fill, but Alek kept going. He was a ruthless creature, running them down one by one and savaging each with great frenzy, until there were no living humans left to find.

Only when half a dozen men at least had all been devoured and wrung dry did Alek seem to have the capacity to calm himself. His gait changed, and he seemed to stand a little taller. He scoured the immediate area as though he were back on patrol. Then he caught sight of Strahd again, and his expression seemed almost… cheerful, if not a bit embarrassed. The look in his milky eyes was somewhat more familiar, if not the grin itself.

Strahd went to him. Alek looked as though he had something to say, but he shrugged his shoulders, at a loss. His lips struggled around the new configuration of his teeth.

And then he rubbed his neck, and winced. Perplexed, he touched the spot again, dabbing at it with the heel of his hand.

Strahd gestured, and Alek let his hand fall away. He lifted his chin for Strahd to better inspect what was bothering him. It was the wound in his throat. Strahd frowned. It had healed somewhat at the farthest ends, though not nearly enough for the kind of regenerative properties that Alek should possess, especially after such a feast. He had scratched it with those claws of his, and now the edges were ragged.

Seeing that his own shirt had been torn from his duel with Alek earlier, Strahd ripped away a strip of the linen and wrapped it securely around Alek’s throat. He wasn’t sure what good first aid would really do in this situation, but it might at least prevent the wound from tearing open further.

Even as he did so, he noticed Alek’s eyes begin to glass over again. The sight remained sharp, but the personality inside was retreating. Perhaps bracing itself against the back wall of his skull.

Strahd wiped a bit of bloody spittle from Alek’s chin. It made little difference.

He dared to wonder, for the first time in many years—if not, indeed, the whole of his life…

What have I done?

* * * [Ao3 Collection] [prompt list by @syrips]

last night i thought of hopper kissing joyce’s kiss and then i sent that thought to @theprayersthataremadeoutofgrass who mentioned the height difference and I HAD TO DRAW IT

𝓛𝓸𝓯𝓲 𝓛𝓾𝓼𝓽 ♡

{ Pairing } - Producer.bf!Jisung x afab.gf!reader

{ Genre } - NSFW; s/f/d(dark)*, PWP, established relationship

{ Synopsis } - Your boyfriend doesn't know any other method of stress relief, other than creating music. He can get so consumed by it, it can become the stressor. So you decide to present him with a new method. That's how you found yourself walking down the street in nothing but lingerie and a long coat.

{ WC } - 2.9k

{ Warnings & Tags } - 18+ MDNI, *forced orgasm/slight dubcon if you squint, everything is consensual but there is begging for more when reader might be at her limit so that's why I'm including dubcon (for those who may find it triggering)*, use of pet names (baby, angel, mine, my love, good girl & Ji), very lowkey needy/soft dom & romantic sub dynamic, worshipping reader, oral (f. recieving), squirting, overstimulation, unprotected piv (do as I say & not as I write, pee after sex too!), creampie, cum feeding & eating, fingers in mouth, pussy worship, I may just have gotten carried away with oral fixations okay? FORGIVE ME.

{ Disclaimer } - This work is in no way associated or depicting the actual life of the members of SKZ. It is a fictional piece of work, and I do not own Stray Kids. All works of fiction are loosely inspired by SKZ, and in no way am I saying it is true to their character.

{ A/N } - I originally was going to post a Hyunjin oneshot next, but I wanted to finish this one in time for Jiji's birthday! It's 2 am on the 14th where I am heheh. Hopefully you all like it. Han producing music will always be hot asf for me personally lmao. Barely proofread.

The air was cool, seeping underneath your long wool coat. In any other circumstance, on a late fall night, the coat would be enough to keep the chill out. Today however, it wouldn't. But you still kept walking, determined to make it to Jisungs studio. 

You focused on the clicking of the heels on the boots you wore. And the sound of the wind picking up, signalling a blustery night ahead. The small sounds calm your nerves. 

You were anxious about Jisung's reaction, he was in one of his moods again. You understand, you truly do. Juggling everything he has to on his plate, it was no easy feat. There were times he'd just let that dark veil take over, and shut everyone out without even meaning to. 

You knew he was in that state again when you hadn't seen or heard from him in three days. It wasn't for lack of effort on your end either. Every phone call sent to voicemail, every text sent by you was met with the same response;

'At the studio, I'll text you after, angel'.

You knew it was time for intervention when Chan texted you that he was only coming home, at 2 in the morning no less, to shower and change. No eating, no resting, just back to the studio afterwards.

This had happened twice before in the almost year you've been dating. Each time you remember talking with him afterwards, he always said the same thing;

'making music is my stress relief.'

That may be true, but it doesn't change the fact that he is also a workaholic. One who easily gets lost in the creative space he has built a career off of. And once that diligence sets in, it's hard to shake off. 

So here you are, ready to try a new approach. Ready to offer a new kind of relief. An alternative. 

You and Jisungs sex life was far from boring. Far from infrequent, you'd say too. But it surely was more... monotonous. You'd never complain about it, and neither would he. There was nothing wrong with it. It just happened at the 'perfect' times in your relationship. 

Before bed, after date nights, on monthly anniversaries, to express massive amounts of love, etc. 

It was never to celebrate happiness, calm anger, or comfort sadness. Never to relieve stress. 

You were determined to change that. There was no reason you could not help him in any way you could. And in this aspect, you knew you could. 

Still, you were nervous. This would be new, he never did well with new. 

Your footsteps stopped, leaving only the sound of the wind in your ears. Until you pressed your badge against the card reader, listening to the beeps, to the gears unlock. 

Once inside the lobby, the clinking of your heels against the vinyl tile filled your ears. Each step matches the thumping in your heart, you find yourself speed walking.

 You smiled and gave a little wave to the staff in the lobby, and they returned it. 

In the elevator, the sound of its melodic music filled your ears next. The whirring background noise the machinery made, stopped, as you reached your desired floor. 

There was silence when you stepped off. The flooring is carpeted now, and soundproof rooms lined the hallway leaving the night quiet. 

You took a deep breath and made your way to the door you knew was your boyfriend's. It was unlocked, thankfully. 

You let yourself in, seeing the silhouette of your boyfriends back facing the door in the blue lighting. 

He was all about ambiance in this facet of life, having LED's lining the ceiling. The only source of light in the room, besides the glowing screens of his monitors. 

He was sat in his chair, headphones on, hood up, head nodding in tandem with his fingers tapping. 

You took the opportunity to slide your boots off. Opting to keep your coat on, you brushed your hair over one shoulder. You took your badge from around your neck, and tossed it on the leather couch that was against the wall. 

Padding your way over to him, you place your hand on his shoulder lightly. He tenses under your touch, and turns his head. He's frowning when he first faces you, eyebrow furrowed together. 

When he sees you though, he softens. The corners of his mouth slightly upturning to a small smile. 

"Baby..." He whispers, sliding his head phones off. Soft lofi music is filling the room from them. 

He grabs your hand off his shoulder, bringing it to his lips. He's pressing soft kisses to your palm, and placing it on his cheek. 

"It's late my angel, why are you here?" He says in a husky voice with more volume. 

Your heart flutters at his gentleness, and you bend down to press your own lips to the top of his head. A musky, yet spicy vanilla scent fills your nostrils. His scent. 

"I'm here to help you baby." You murmur to him softly. 

That caught his attention. He fully swivelled around to face you, taking both of your hands in his. He gazed up into your eyes, a curious look on his face. 

You smiled down on him, feeling nothing but love for this man. You'd relax him in any way you can. You placed a hand on each side of his face, bending down again. No more words were said as you kissed him. As your hands slid down his neck, his found themselves on yours, pulling you closer to him. Matching your eagerness.

You let your hands fully slide off him, and tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Your trembling fingers were working the buttons on your coat. One by one, releasing the fabric from your bare skin. 

You stood up, letting the coat fall from your shoulders.

Jisung lets out a soft gasp, and licks his lips. 

Exposed to him, was his favorite lingerie you owned. It was a bra and panty set, satin and lace. Revealing. 

All white. 

Your boyfriends favorite part. He always said that the contrast against your melanated skin was a work of art. He joked about commissioning Hyunjin, if he didn't have to see you essentially naked.

So here you stood before him, presenting yourself to him. Silently willing him to do as he pleases. To take your body and use you to decompress. You were too nervous to say it.

He traces the swell of your breast with a finger, curving around the delicate lace. It's a simple touch, but it still sends a shiver down your spine. Goosebumps blooming on your skin. 

"So sexy." He mumbles, eyes roving your whole body. 

He stands up, kissing you desperately, and walking you back to the couch. Your knees hit the back of it, and you're forced to sit. Lips ripping away from his, panting at the desire in his eyes. 

All your nerves were gone. New or not, it would never change the fact that Jisung craved you as much as you craved him. 

He held himself up with his hands on the back of the couch, and hovered above you for a moment looking you in the eyes. 

Then he was sinking to the ground, on his knees, between your legs. His hands smooth over your thighs, making them pliant with soft kisses, before he spreads them open. Your pussy is glistening behind the lace, and he licks his lips again. 

His hand glides from your thigh, to your heat. Thumb brushing against that sensitive bud, the friction eliciting a whine from you. 

His eyes snap up to you, and he holds your gaze as his tongue licks a stripe up your clothed core. The tip of it flicking deliciously against your sensitive clit. 

"Mmmm..." He groaned at the taste of you, "All for me?"

You moan at his tongue swiping against you again, and again, "All for you, my love." 

His fingers hook underneath the band of your underwear, and he peels them off you. He's whimpering, watching as strings of your arousal stick to them. The cool air is hitting your sex, before puffs of hot air from his mouth is. And you're shivering again at the sensation. 

A gasp escapes you when his tongue slides between your folds. Lapping up your juices, and suckling at that bundle of nerves. You listen to the wet sounds his mouth is making against you, along with the broken melody coming from his head set. You get lost in it. 

Your hand finds his hair, and you're grinding against his mouth. He's whimpering and moaning with you, one hand palming at his bulge. The other has fingers teasing your entrance. 

You let out a loud moan when two fingers push into you, and your grasp on his hair loosens. He takes the opportunity to get air, panting, mouth hanging open. His cheeks, chin and lips all shine in the dull blue light. 

His fingers continue to pump into you as he watches your face contort for him. He's smiling with lidded eyes, basking in the fact that he's making you feel so good. 

"Ji..." You moan, needing more.

"My beautiful baby, let me worship you a little longer." And he's diving back down.

His tongue focuses on your clit, and fingers coaxing that gummy spot inside you. He's pulling moan after moan from you, making out with your lower lips, bringing you closer to the edge. Your thighs start trembling around his head, and he has to grip the fleshy part of one of them to stop you from squeezing him before he's finished. 

You're spilling over the edge, body alight and your release coating his fingers, and face. He's lapping up every little bit, determined to taste your pleasure on his tongue. Only when you start to whine from constant overstimulation does he stop. 

He's kissing his way up to your lips, leaving a wet trail behind him that you couldn't bring yourself to care about. 

You're not sure when he managed to discard his pants and boxers, but you feel his hard, bare length pressing against your inner thigh. 

He's rubbing his member against your pussy now, letting your slick and his saliva cover him. Kissing your neck as he's rocking against you, he whispers, "Angel, do you have another one for me?"

Of course you did, you knew you did. You needed to feel him, you needed to please him. So you started nodding fervently, eyes rolling in the back of your head when he sucked lightly near your ear and jaw. 

He had a grasp of his cock now, dragging the head through your folds with added pressure. Each squelch of your juices sounds like music to your ears, anticipation building in your body.

"'Gonna make you feel s'good." He's whining into your neck. 

He has your legs around him now, as he fills you slowly, both of you savoring the sensations it brings. Your pussy spasms around him, and it has him grunting. 

"Always feel so good squeezin' me..." He mumbled, letting you adjust, "...exactly what I needed..." 

Then he was pumping into you, and you felt it. All the frustrations he was holding onto, all the stress, all the vexation. He was translating it into the energy he used to pleasure you. Letting go of it all. 

You couldn't hear the soft lofi music coming from his head set anymore, instead the slapping of skin and heavy breathing mixed with moans were filling the room. You'd never be more thankful for a soundproof space. Neither of you were holding back. 

Your moans only being interrupted by quiet curses, and his being peppered in between praises of how good you feel for him. He made it known he was chasing your high before his, begging you to cum for him. 

"Please angel," he whispers against your lips, "need to feel you cumming on my cock."

His pace became quicker as he kissed you, and his hand slithered down to play with your clit. Your back arched off the couch at that, angling him deeper inside you. He groaned, and his thrusts faltered for a second indicating he was close. 

Regardless he was determined to finish you, and his tone grew more demanding, "Be a good girl... cum for me, angel."

And that was all your body and mind needed to let go, legs locking around him and body shaking. Your hands slid under his hoodie, and nails dug into his back. It was the kind of intense orgasm, that your moan got stuck in your throat, instead a rough growl coming out. 

You sounded absolutely feral for him, and you were. 

That was what pushed him over the edge, a slew of curses leaving his mouth as his hips stuttered. With a final harsh thrust, he cums deep inside you. All of the negativity has dispersed from his body, and he collapsed back to his knees. 

You're both panting, trying to catch your breath. You jolt when you feel his fingers in your folds, over sensitivity taking over yet again. He's spreading you open, hypnotized by the way his cum is drooling out of you. 

"So perfect, fuck." He says as he drags his finger through it. 

He's bringing it up to your lips, and your mouth opens instinctively. You're sucking his finger into your mouth, his essence salty but familiar on your tongue. 

His eyes are locked to yours as you work his finger, licking it clean. He slips a second finger in your mouth, letting you cover them in your saliva before he dips back down for a taste himself. 

You're whining around his fingers when his tongue glides against your clit, and your hips try to retract into the couch. Quickly, he has both hands on your hips, securing you in place so he can continue tasting you. 

"We taste so good together, my love..." He's mumbling against you. 

His words will never fail to coax submission out of you.

Your hand flies back to his hair, as good as it feels you're trying to pull him away. He's just burying his face deeper, tongue dipping into your entrance to make sure he's tasting everything. 

"Ji... s'too much... I can't-" You're pleading, even though you feel yourself succumbing to the overwhelming brushes of his tongue.

He hisses when you finally succeed in pulling him off you, "Please angel," He's begging again, "Just one more. I know you have one more for me." 

"Fuck, Ji, I-" 

He silences you with his tongue flat against you, another lick up to your clit "Please, need to hear you cumming one more time for me." He whines and starts leaving sloppy, wet kisses on your pussy. 

You always knew he was more of a giver. That even though it was you who had cum twice, and he only once. He preferred it that way. Even if he was the one needing the release more, he thrived more on your pleasure.

"Just be gentl-" You try to say, but cut yourself off with a groan. 

He's eagerly slurping at your core. Lost in the moment, all he has is your pussy on his mind now. Messily licking and lapping at every inch. He's shaking his head and moaning into it, keeping you pinned in place by your hips. 

You feel another orgasm starting to build quickly, clenching around nothing. He risks you bucking your hips roughly into his face, and takes a hand off your hip. He's pushing two fingers into you yet again, and you're seeing stars. 

His fingers curl, and his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly. You feel your release slip away from you, and your cumming on his face again. Yelling his name. He only grows more determined.

He leans back so he can watch the beautiful, writhing, mess he reduced you to. The thumb of his other hand is replacing his mouth, continuously flicking your bud. He doesn't slow his movements as you ride out your orgasm, instead picking them up. 

Your world turns white, and you feel yourself squirt on his hands. He's watching you in awe, whispering more praise for you as your juices spray over him. 

"So fucking sexy, my good girl."

"That's it, let go for me, let it all go."

"Knew you had one more in you, all for me."

"My perfect angel."

It's when you start to slip into that floaty space that he finally stops. He doesn't want you too gone, he's limited in the care he can provide here.

He's positioning you to lay on the couch, and he's laying behind you. You're both wet and sticky, and heaving for air. Yet, it's blissful. 

You lay there for what could've been minutes or an hour, you weren't sure. You were content in each other's touch. Your arm reaches back to caress his head, fingers combing through his hair. He's humming. 

"I love you." You finally murmur. 

"I love you more, angel. Thank you for this." He says, and kisses your shoulder. 

"You caught on quickly to my idea." You giggled.

He laughed with you, "I caught on halfway through it, actually. I was just beside myself with desire for you." 

You blushed at that, and you were thankful he couldn't see it. 

"I mean you showed up in my favorite set..." He whispers and starts toying with the lace on your bra, his finger slipping underneath to flick your nipple, "In ONLY my favorite set. How could I not show you how much I admire you." 

You felt his length harden against you again, and he rolled his hips slowly as he gripped your hip. 

You knew the night was far from over. 

As for how you were both going to escape and clean up? Well that was a problem for future you. 

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6 for Pasha please!!

pasha my beloved

im cringe but im free

based on AU by LosanPostle

He Could Never Love You- An Anderperry edit

TW// blood

⭒neil and todd manage mr.perry :) and get their happy ending as god intended!

⭒it was a rainy day when they decided that it's either their love conquers with one life wasted, or the excruciating old man does with two lives wasted.

⭒the plan was easier said than done but love gives strength. neil was the bait, and todd was the executioner.

⭒on the ground the clear water drizzled, in the sink, the cherry red water drained.

⭒love conquered.

(my first edit, hope it translates my vision somewhat accurately!)

If you see me reblogging this again

Yes you do.

He is done!

That’s definitely not a happy smile

YES YES YES YES!!!

I’ve found my people omg.

Adam was a fucking revelation for me, I only watched it because of Hannibal at first but THEN. Every single time something was happening on the screen I would pause and say what I would have done, I undo pause and Adam does or say the EXACT thing. Like not joking. When Adam was confused, I was confused too, every single detail, to his way of walking, of sitting while eating, his struggles, I kept going « what the fuck? That’s me!? » and that was the first time EVER have I seen a character going through the things I when through my whole life, and I knew no shit about autism when I first watched the movie. (I mean, obviously I knew a bit since adults kept telling my mom that her kid was a weirdo, but hey). Obviously I don’t relate on EVERYTHING but gosh Adam is so so so good.

Overall, when it comes to ASD representations, people are never going to be happy. The spectrum is very large and everyone is different. If a representation doesn’t suit your type of autism, it doesn’t mean it’s a bad representation. It’s just not fitting for you. Because we’re all different. People are different. It’s literally impossible to summarise ASD in one single representation, that’s just stupid. Adam is just wow and my soul will now merge into this movie until it fucking explode, boom sppftrtttdhhsh epic (nuclear?) explosion sounds.

I hate when people says that Adam (2009) is a bad representation of autism ; we’re all different and autism is a very large spectrum, adam IS realistic, it maybe does not match YOUR perception of autism but it IS a great representation. There’s a lot of things I related to and some I didn’t, but overall I don’t think it should be considered as a bad movie, because it certainly is not. The real problem in it is the pairing, adam did not find anyone that truly understands him and the end clearly shows that Beth was CLEARLY not a nice match for him, and he’s definitely going to have a way better relationship with the box girl at the end since they have the same passion about space and stuff. Beth and all the other people around him mostly did not make any effort in understanding him and NO the movie doesn’t mean that autistic people are unable of being in healthy relationships, just that if they’re not with someone that understands them, it is not going to work. Anyways, I loved Adam.