scream my name

That’s it. That’s the post.

i need a man to be as obsessed with me as rigel wilde is with nica dove as badly as i need air

'Fabbricante di lacrime' is now available to watch on Netflix 💧

me reading straight up pornography: hmm… this one just doesn’t have enough accurate character psychoanalysis to get me off

and then wish to live like them afterwards

thinking about daryl giving you a nickname…

18+, mdni

AN: this was a midnight brain worm while i was working on something else, so just walk with me ok!

daryl wasn't really one for nicknames.

he'd never had one coming up, always just "daryl" or "merle's brother" or something else sneered and distasteful. that was fine with him. to daryl, nicknames were rooted in sarcasm and mean jokes.

it hadn't started any differently with you.

that day in the quarry way back, the morning after the walkers had attacked their people. daryl was already aggravated, sweaty and thinking about merle (alone and hurt and alone), and he didn't much like these fucking people anyway, so when you stood with glenn, insisting on a burial over burning, dried tear tracks on your face (those people were your people too. you were mourning with the rest of them), he didn't hold back, sneering "well ain't you just a fuckin' peach," and watching your face harden in the wake of his words.

daryl didn't mean for it to stick, but he found himself defaulting to the silly name anyway. first when he was annoyed at you. you were soft, unfit for the grime of this new world, then when he was poking fun, and eventually... something else.

back when you were shane’s girl, rick would barely look at you.

i thought my suicidal late teens were the hardest years of my life but nothing could’ve prepared me for my 20s waking up everyday with no purpose, feeling so lost, unable to keep up with friendships, watching everyone move on with relationships and careers and being unable to catch up. and I’m such a “life is not a race” type of person but damn I’m losing so hard rn

seeing this resonating with so many of you is actually kinda comforting. here’s a hopeful quote from Tennessee Williams “Something in me will save me from utter ruin no matter what comes.”

thinking abt fooling around a little w s1 rick grimes when him and lori were on the outs

you have a close friend who works at the station, and you’re there often dropping off lunch or forgotten items. at first, rick questions your relationship, if you’re friends or more, purely out of curiosity. not because he likes those tight jeans you wear, or those pretty little sundresses. not at all because he’s drawn to your infectious and sweet personality, especially since his wife has been nothing but cold and distant lately.

and you tell him that you and you’re deputy friend are just that—nothing but friends. and for some reason, the information excites him, it gives him a chance.

he would never break his vows, that would make him a dishonest man, but god does he look.

he watches your hips sway in the small shorts you wear when you come to the station. he follows the trail of sweat that slides from your neck to between your relaxed tits in your halter top.

he lays it on thick when he thanks you for the tray of brownies you’d brought in, even taking the time to bite into one and moan with his eyes closed, complimenting your baking skills with a tone too sultry to be platonic. (“god, you’re so good” delivered with low eyes)

he invites you for lunch breaks, saying you’re always bringing stuff to the station and you never get anything in return.

and it’s not a date when he’s just taking a citizen out for sandwiches, right? it’s not a date when he makes plans with you to do it more often. it’s not a date when you thank him sweetly once he’s dropped you back off at the station before going on a call, and you lay a kiss to his cheek that makes his face flush even more but not from the heat.

and rick uses this same logic to justify his actions. he's not cheating if he lets you pull him into a janitors closet. he's not cheating if he at least attempts to dissuade you at first. he's not cheating if you're the one who gives in first. and he's not cheating if he kisses back ferociously, hands grabbing at your ass and hips and waist as he ignores the heat in the room and instead focuses on the heat in his groin.

i cannot get this man out of my head i’m literally going feral

thinking about sitting down in front of one of the age-old couches in saltburn, chin settled sweetly upon your knee, bright eyes trained upon the illuminated tv screen. your lips twitch upwards at the green, groaning ogre complaining to a talking donkey. frilly sock clad toes dig in to the carpet, fidgeting with every minute movement of the boy above you.

you can feel him everywhere, his fingers, the warmth of his shins against your arms, his gorgeous mixture of cigarettes and aftershave. he’d abandoned a ciggy in favour of reaching out for your strands of hair in front of him, collecting them and twisting them idly. his movements are slow as to not catch the attention of any of his family, and he’s so gentle, domestic even. you welcome the light chill that the silver of his signet ring brings to the nape of your neck, bask in the way that he leans forwards in his seat behind you, loses himself in favour of your locks and ignores the family movie, despite it being the one that he picked out himself.

his movements begin to feel tighter, tickle your scalp in a way that only he makes you feel. lightheaded. small. sickly sweet. felix lets put a huff of breath, one that has your baby hairs dancing under his command, and his warm hand is suddenly on your shoulder. skin smooth, nails trimmed, he glides his way down your arm, all the way to your wrist. his large hand dwarfs the bone, elegant movements have his fingers slipping into the hair bobble that resides there and stealing it from you, but so softly you don’t even notice it happening. it’s the same way that he stole your heart, slowly, tenderly, summer over summer, christmas break over christmas break when you came to stay.

“oh, how darling!” his mother gushes as she notices the movements, watches with her ever observing eyes as felix ties off the end of the braid. “just look, pamela, look what he’s done. you look stunning, darling.” she smiles at you, a mother just as smitten with her son’s choice in love affairs as he is.

you turn your head, finally gazing up at him as his hold falls to nothingness. your eyes sparkle in the dim light of one of their many sitting rooms, and he admires the softness of you, just as he does every day. his chocolate eyes trace the softness of your cheeks, the chain of the necklace he gifted you upon your collarbones, the shape of your brow, the gloss upon your grinning lips.

“perfect.” he mutters, and he knows, as surely as he knows that he will die, that he loves you more than anything he has ever seen or imagined on earth.

i honestly love when boys immediately get hard from a bit of kissing or touching, it’s cute

The sound of gagging was penetrating the air, washing over the shrubs in the maze and our knees ached from kneeling on the hard ground but you couldn’t find in yourself to truly care. Felix was thrusting in and out of your mouth, his hand firm on the back of your head as he guided your movement, groaning and breathing heavily above you. 

Every now and then his hips would buck up, his cock touching the base of your throat and making you choke around him. His hand would loosen on your hair and the small strands that were still entwined between his fingers would help guide you up, petting you afterward when you were gulping in breaths of air that he had taken away. “Are you alright?” He asks softly and you nod, leaning up to take a kiss from his lips before enveloping his cock in your mouth once more. 

“So good—oh fuck, it’s so good. Good girl, such a good girl,” Felix moaned, his thumbs finding the tears on your cheeks and wiping them away.

Simon Riley is absolutely smitten by his bimbo girlfriend. Pretty little thing like you, who grew up extremely sheltered and has never seen the horrors he has. He makes it his duty to keep you that way, giving you the best life he can even if he's a damn bastard.

''They're making another Planet Earth.'' He comments casually, brown eyes fully focused on the way your lovely, manicured hands play with his calloused fingers, not a single hint of disgust in your face at touching the hands that have killed hundreds.

''Where are they getting the dirt for it?'' You ask with a raised eyebrow, making sure not to hurt him with your long acrylics. His hands always feel rough to the touch, and to this day you don't even know what he does for work. Maybe he's a cosplayer, that explains his clothes.

''...'' He blinks a few times, dumbfounded at the question. Despite the fact that you're so... dim-witted, it's hard not to admire you when you wear those pretty skin-tight clothes and heavy makeup, glossy lips always pulled into a pretty pout.

''The nature documentary, angel.'' He brings you closer to him, making you sit on his lap as his hands run up and down your back absent-mindedly.

''Oh. Oh! Okay.'' Simon makes no effort to hide the small smile on his lips, feeling you plant kisses all over his face, marking it with your pretty red lipstick. He doesn't care, he wears those kisses on his scarred skin like a damn badge of honor.

✦ NO MINORS, 18+ ONLY ✦

hurt comfort pussy kisses ;

Eddie giving you pussy kisses after a hard day. Your eyes are red, nose a little puffy from crying. Once he’s held you long enough, the feel of his arms wrapped around you and the scent of aged leather soften your wicked sobs, lulling you into silence. You’ve tried so hard to keep your head above water, to no avail. But Eddie won’t let you drown.

He lays you back onto the pillows, plush lips mapping your weary flesh. “So brave. Love you so much, angel. Brave girl... My girl.” He’s looking up at you with such affection that it’s hard to fathom a world without you in it. Without Eddie here, holding you in his arms.

“Love you back,” you promise, voice thick with tears.

He presses kisses to your belly, drawing your panties down your thighs. “Beautiful, sweet girl.” He nuzzles his nose against your cunt, wet tongue teasing your entrance. And he stays there, kissing your lips, pressing tiny pecks to your clit as if to show you — I am here. You are safe.