Chaotic Neutral

i cannot stress how much it does for us

a while ago, one of my mutuals was considering quitting writing. her fics weren’t doing as well, and the algorithm wasn’t favoring her writing like it used to.

so as a collective 10-15 writers, we all reblogged her fic once each. that alone put her writing at the top of the tag.

it makes a difference. way more than you think. it doesn’t matter if people see it because of you, it still gets promoted by the algorithm.

Patrick knew exactly which porn tapes you had watched while he was at work. He knew the timestamps, the specific scenes that made you squirm the hardest. You thought you were clever—hiding the cases—but he noticed everything.

Now you were paying for it.

His fingers were buried knuckles-deep inside your pussy, pumping fast and brutal—the exact technique he had memorized from those tapes. Your nails raked across his tanned forearm, desperately trying to catch his wrist, but he didn’t slow down. Not even close. Perhaps he allowed you the illusion of control, just enough to make it sweeter when he stripped it away.

“That’s it?” he growled, voice low and mocking. “This is what you wanted when you watched those tapes? Rubbing yourself raw to strangers fucking like animals?”

“Patrick—”

He delivered a single, sharp smack to your pussy—wet, stinging. You stuttered, writhed, the pain twisting into pleasure in the ugliest, most delicious way.

“Not Patrick,” he crooned, shoving you harder against the cold floor-to-ceiling glass. The city lights glittered behind you like a mocking audience. “It’s daddy for you now. Only daddy. Say it, doll.”

Your dress was already half-shredded—torn at the neckline, chest exposed, nipples swollen and aching from the way he had sucked and bitten them earlier. The chilled air made them tighten painfully. You could almost imagine the glass shattering under the force he exerted, shards raining down while he ruined you against the skyline.

“Come on, darling,” he murmured, one hand cupping your cheek now, thumb dragging lazily across your lower lip. “Call me the right way and maybe—maybe—I’ll be gentle tonight.”

“Only tonight?”

His smile was sharp, predatory. “Bold.”

His mouth crashed into yours before you could blink. He tasted like whiskey and cigar smoke—thick, bitter, expensive. You hated the cigars, always had, but he didn’t care. He forced your lips wider, tongue plunging deep, claiming every inch until you were whimpering into the kiss. It wasn’t a kiss; it was an invasion.

“I’m going to fuck you right here,” he said, nodding toward the floor. “Right now. And you’re going to take every second of it like a good little slut.”

He dragged you down by the ankles. You barely managed to grip the edge of the couch for balance before he yanked you back—ass up, skirt shoved to your waist, panties long gone. He knelt behind you, knees spreading yours wider, cock already leaking against your thigh.

“Look at you,” he sneered, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a vivid mark. “Dripping like a whore just from my fingers. You’ve been training this cunt for me, haven’t you? Watching those tapes, fingering yourself, pretending it was me.”

You whimpered, face pressed to the cold laminate “Yes—daddy—please—”

There it was.

He groaned like the word had punched him in the gut. “Say it again.”

“Daddy—please fuck me—”

He didn’t wait. One brutal thrust and he was buried to the hilt, stretching you so wide you gasped, back arching, nails digging into the wooden floor. He gave you no time to adjust—just started pounding, hips snapping with punishing force, balls slapping wetly against your clit with every thrust.

“This what you wanted?” he rasped, one hand fisting your hair, yanking your head back so you were forced to look at your own reflection in the glass—face flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy. “My cock ruining this tight little pussy while the whole city watches?”

“Yes—daddy—fuck—harder—”

He laughed, dark and cruel. “Greedy slut. You don’t get to make demands.”

But he gave it to you anyway—thrusts turning savage, deep enough you felt him in your stomach. His free hand snaked around to rub your clit in harsh, relentless circles, fingers still slick from earlier.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growled against your ear. “Gonna fuck my cum so deep you’ll feel it for days. You want that? Want daddy’s load dripping out of you every time you sit down tomorrow?”

“Please—yes—daddy—fill me—”

He snarled, pace faltering as he neared the edge. “Say it. Tell daddy you’re his little cumdump.”

“I’m—I’m your cumdump—daddy—please—”

That broke him.

Patrick slammed in one last time, burying himself as deep as possible, cock pulsing as he came hard—hot, thick spurts flooding you until it leaked out around his base. He ground through it, milking every drop, low groans vibrating against your neck.

You were shaking, overstimulated, walls fluttering around him like you were trying to pull him deeper. He didn’t pull out right away—just stayed seated inside you, heavy and spent, breathing ragged against your shoulder.

“Good girl,” he murmured, almost soft. Almost. “You took it so well.”

He finally slipped out, watching his cum drip down your thighs with dark satisfaction. His thumb smeared it back inside, slow and possessive.

“Don’t move,” he ordered quietly. “I’m not done with you yet.”