#((No one will know what the fuck any of this is))

[srslylini]

yeah, I will just also never understand giving a fuck like that. Like why do you care so much? Why?

You not being the exact same as someone else doesn't erase that someone else. No one is a side character, everyone experiences life and everyone experiences it a little different. So who is anyone to judge another person for being themselves without harming anyone???

Oh and I also love how the screaming is loud IF harm happens.... but the harm only happened after said person was hurt so relentlessly that they react like a human being? crazy concept right. CRAZY no one would have seen that coming

everyone with eyes did.

what I'm trying to say is that a person who suffers relentless harm will one day strike back and that's what people like those use to be even worse. It sucks. And people from our own community doing it also? God damn pick a fucking struggle.

NO ONE BUT PEOPLE WHO USE NEOPRONOUNS NEED TO UNDERSTAND THEM, THEY AREN'T YOURS IF YOU DON'T FEEL THAT WAY/WANT THEM. THEY ALSO DO NOT HURT YOU, SHUT UP AND LET PEOPLE LIVE.

[gutsby]

Stiff

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.

Or, your old man wants to knock you up. Viagra helps.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v (obviously 😵‍💫🤙🏼). Breeding kink. Age gap. Peepaw Joel. Blue Pill Joel. Post-apocalyptic-Viagra-dosage-gone-horribly-wrong-and-now-his-dick-won’t-deflate-for-a-day…but it’s OK!

Note: This is the crackfic counterpart/sequel to ‘Make It Stick’

Word count: 2.9k

Forty-five minutes.

Forty-five minutes until his fate was sealed for the night. His pulse would quicken. His head would start to swim, and any last sliver of rational thought would be lost to the ether or the cold, snowy air around him. Joel Miller had to hurry now, because that bite-sized blue pill he’d just taken was in his belly, and if his dick didn’t find its way in you, he was fucked. Or at least huge and swollen and leaking out beads of hot desire the size of golf balls.

Well, maybe that was just his cock.

Joel looked down, scanning his pants.

Yeah…definitely just cock. He walked faster.

At home, he knew he’d find you curled up on the couch, nose in a book. What to Expect When You’re Expecting, if he had to guess. Then, sure enough, you’d lift your eyes and smile—‘Thank goodness you’re back, daddy’—and lift the hem of your night dress just slightly. Spread your legs and beckon him in. It was a nightly routine by now.

You wanted to be knocked up as fast as possible, after all

At almost sixty years old, Joel couldn’t believe he was actually saying these words aloud. But here he was—crawling overtop you on the couch, situating himself between your legs, and pulling his cock out, mumbling:

“Gonna let me put a baby in you tonight?”

You nodded sweetly—eagerly—every time.

Joel knew he could never resist that look. He was as good as finished the first second you let him sink inside your tight, weeping hole, and when he stretched it, he could already tell this was all he would ever want to do. Make you happy, fill you up, give you lots and lots of him.

It was why he’d stopped by the apothecary tonight. Why he’d hesitated only a moment before clearing his throat and asking for a pill like Viagra—Joel knew that the man behind the counter would flash him a wry, knowing grin.

Trouble keepin’ up with that sweet young thing’a yours?

David was a dick.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, either.

Ever since agreeing to start trying for a baby, Joel had become acutely aware of his own physical limitations in that department, and one of them was stamina. He could scarcely fuck twice in the same night without needing a long and rest-intensive breather. You were young and could roll over ready to go in five minutes.

It wasn’t fair to deprive you now on account of his age.

If you wanted his cum, you were getting it, no question.

Not just once, but multiple times. Again and again and—

“Again,” Joel grunted once he’d shot off his last spurt.

Fifty-eight minutes had passed since he’d taken that pill. It had fully kicked in, and his dick was still hard, even after finishing inside you with a sticky, white-hot flood.

You blinked dreamily up at him.

“You mean it, old man?” you teased him lightly.

I’ll show you what I mean, Joel thought to himself before flipping you over on the sofa. He had your hips tilted up and his cock driving back inside your freshly-fucked cunt in no time at all. He felt his spend coating your walls; it let him glide right in. Joel groaned and jerked himself back out, then fucked back in again and again and again.

“Again?”

Your word was exhaled in a laugh.

You stood in front of the bathroom sink, trying to tidy up the insides of your legs and push some more of Joel’s load back in, when you felt a presence at your back.

Stabbing your ass.

You started to turn then, puzzled.

“Bend over,” Joel commanded before you could.

You did as you were told because, frankly, you loved getting fucked wherever your old man wanted it—even if he had broken the sink one time he’d pounded you here.

But there was palpable confusion, too. How in the hell had Joel Miller, certified silver fox and owner of a dick old enough to remember Woodstock and the moon landing, managed to get his dick hard in the five minutes since he’d had you face-down, ass-up on the couch?

Or had his dick gotten soft at all?

You wanted to question him about it, or else give a long, hard look at his uncharacteristically long, hard friend, when the next moment had you gripping the counter. Stretching between the legs as Joel pushed back in.

“There she is,” he murmured affectionately.

Really, you’d never been wetter. Or warmer. Or filled to the brim with more sticky-white spend than you could ever hope to hold inside, it felt like. You bent at the waist and let him have his fill. You closed your eyes and rested your head on your forearms while Joel’s hot, bulbous tip grazed your cervix with dizzying alacrity. A smile crept in.

Whatever this was, you wanted more of it.

His dick was still hard.

Four mind-numbing fucks and another forty-five minutes later, Joel’s cock hadn’t deflated the tiniest bit.

The thing had hammered you so thoroughly he’d nearly destroyed the sink again. You’d whimpered, and whined, and warned him quietly, ‘We just fixed the porcelain, baby,’ and right before he’d painted your walls with his seed, you’d cum for him practically shrieking. Shaking.

Letting him turn you around for a kiss, only to mumble against his mouth with a sleepy, cockdrunk sort of lilt:

“I think you gave me twins.”

Then he’d fucked you in the shower to make it triplets.

Now you were laying out on the bed, truly spent, eyes following him in the semi-darkness of your bedroom after you’d toweled off and collapsed among the pillows.

“What’s gotten into you tonight, Miller?” you breathed.

Joel made it over to the dresser, back turned to you. He rifled through a drawer looking for something extra tight.

“Just missed you is all,” he said, shrugging.

What he needed right now was fabric that was very thick to hide the boner he was sporting. Joel could tell from the way you spoke that you were too tired for round five, and he didn’t want you feeling like you had to go again.

He would be fine.

His dick might not deflate until dawn, but that was okay.

“Wish you missed me like this every day,” you giggled.

When Joel turned around, he was shocked to find you sprawled out on the bed—hands between your legs.

There was a shy smile on your face.

“Baby…” he trailed off, watching your fingers flit through that sticky mess where he’d left it. Where you glistened.

Where you slid your index and middle fingers up and down your slit and drew circles on your clit, eyes shining.

“What? I missed you too,” you said, tone all faux protest.

You had no idea what you did to him when you talked like that. Especially when he was drowning in a state like this.

Hard as a rock.

Throbbing.

Needy.

Scarcely even knowing what he was doing, Joel found himself over by the foot of the bed in a second. Watching your every move with a wild, wipe-open stare he still couldn’t believe you found appealing. He swallowed.

He not only looked perverted, but he felt it, too. It rarely ever left his mind, save for the four or five seconds he spent in ecstasy emptying the contents of his balls inside your cunt, that he was his age, and you were yours. That perhaps the rest of Jackson was right, and he was wrong: he had no business being around a girl like you, much less getting off inside you every night. Was this really what you wanted? A bewildering mixture of guilt, lust, and love all circulated through his skull at that moment, and the longer he spent looking at your fingers, ogling the way you teased them through his cum between your legs, the more he felt certain he was bad.

No one corrupted a thing this sweet and got to call themselves good, anyway, he thought to himself idly.

“I keep gettin’ that…feelin’,” you said under your breath.

Joel’s hand tightened in a fist, and it was then that he realized it was wrapped around his cock. Still watching.

“Yeah, baby? What feelin’?” he returned, almost as quiet.

Still stroking himself up and down, up and down, softly.

You had your legs spread open—knees splayed wider than they’d been before. And your eyes had a tender, placid sheen to them, like they just might cry if they didn’t get release of some kind soon. Then you slowed.

Your touch slipped from your clit to the opaque, sticky globs between your thighs, and that look got even softer.

More desperate.

“Can’t…explain it.” You shook your head, as if pained, and then you sank two fingers inside. Joel could hear the tiny schlick from where he stood, and it almost did him in.

You sucked in a breath and added, “It’s a special feelin’.”

Joel’s fist had already worked its way up to a ridiculous speed. Again, he sensed this might be the worst and most pathetic he’d ever looked, but by the glint in your eyes and the way you kept holding him there, he also knew you weren’t asking him to stop, either. You were needing something else—something he could provide.

Thanks to that one stupid pill.

Joel’s smile was strained as he gripped the edge of the bed, like he was trying to assuage you and him at once.

“Try me, baby. Tell me ‘bout that special feelin’.”

Your middle and ring fingers disappeared inside you.

You whined, “Ain’t fair to say it now. You’re tired, daddy.”

Like hell he was. Joel crawled over the footboard and made his way straight to you, where your body was limp.

His breaths were coming in so fast and his pulse was thrumming so hard that he almost couldn’t hear himself talking. But he ventured to speak as gently as he could.

“I’m wide awake, sweet pea. I’m all ears. Talk to me.”

And if his words didn’t communicate as much, surely the look in his eyes would’ve told you all the rest. Quietly, he slipped his torso between your legs, where you’d inserted a third finger and were moving your hips again. You were fingering yourself, breathing shallow and quick.

“It’s a feelin’ like I wanna be…stuffed…a-and full’a you.”

Joel’s whole body could’ve liquified on the spot. His brain, presently, had all the consistency of a plate of scrambled eggs if he’d had to guess. Feeling his cock swell even bigger and his hips sink lower to yours of their own accord, he had only to grit his teeth and nod his head. He felt the tip of him bump your fingers, and the sensation and the expectation nearly drove him insane.

He mumbled quietly, “Then move your hand.”

You did. You winced again. You looked as though you might be ashamed for wanting him to fill you with his spend, and Joel simply wouldn’t allow that any longer.

Without saying another word, he slid back in.

Your cum and his facilitated the slide, and you opened right up for him. You whimpered, while Joel grunted like an animal. He couldn’t help it; it all felt so fucking primal.

How you could ever feel the need to apologize for wanting more of this was more than he could take.

“Every inch of me,” Joel said, rutting deeper, “is yours.”

He withdrew to the tip, and he could feel strings of arousal linking him to you in a sickeningly sweet way.

You could scarcely even nod, just waiting for him again.

When Joel plunged back in, he heard a feral little cry, and he felt your legs wrap around his waist. He went faster. You fisted the pillow behind your head in one hand, while the other laid flat on his chest, like you were checking for a heartbeat. You could probably hear it thudding a million miles per minute right now. Your hips collided in tandem.

“D— Daddy,” you whimpered.

“That’s it, open up for daddy. Good girl. It’s all yours.”

The sounds his thrusts were making were obscene.

“Every inch?” you breathed, “E-Every drop, too?”

“Every fiber of my fucking being, sweet girl.”

That made you smile, at length. Your hand slid from his chest, down his round belly, straight to a groin that was pounding hard and fast against your own. Joel groaned when he felt your touch sweep inside your legs—right in the space where his cum had come trickling out. You slid your fingers through that mess, then whimpered again.

Then you brought your hand up to your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around your cum-soaked fingers like they were the single sweetest thing, and you sucked.

Joel had no say after seeing that: he had to cum again.

It likely stunned you both—you more than him, by the look that crossed your eyes the second you felt him throb and pulse inside your cunt—but then it kept going.

Rather than stop, or slow down in the slightest, Joel found his hips pistoning faster than they had before. The whole bed frame shook, and your body trembled with every thrust, and the noises between your legs grew even louder; the sound of skin slapping skin was only amplified by the addition of Joel’s hot load in the mix.

The man was operating on impulse. You, through sheer awe and an animalistic need to have every crevice filled. You held him and you grit your teeth, and you let him keep using your body, while you used his. You kissed him.

“Go on, then—make me a daddy. Take my cum, baby,” Joel babbled, brainless, “Make your old man a daddy.”

He couldn’t tell if it were the words or the rhythm or the pleasure that had already been blossoming deep in your gut this whole time, but he felt you fall apart. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist than you had all night, and you screamed his name. Begged for more.

“Cum in me, daddy—pleasepleaseplease just cum, ju—”

And there he went. Again. Flooding your insides with his warmth and letting his cock carve a wild, relentless path through your cunt like it was all the man knew how to do. He filled you up. He felt it leaking down his length with every stab of his hips, and frankly, he didn’t care what he looked like now. You were smiling big, drawing him in for more kisses as he panted and grunted and whimpered like he never had before. He kissed back. Slowed down.

Found himself lost in your mouth as your tongue wove delectably through his own and your hands made their way to his wild, greying hair. You tugged, and he moaned.

He fucked his spend deeper without even meaning to.

All instinct again, it seemed he couldn’t get enough.

Suddenly, he felt a new, strange urge bubble up.

“I-I-I took a pill tonight,” he blurted out, “Know how badly you want this baby, and I wanna give you one.”

Or two. Or twenty. He was barely capable of speech, let alone rational cognition, so he just spoke whatever came to his mind then, still snug inside your legs and panting.

“A pill?” you whispered back.

Joel’s gaze locked with yours.

He felt stupid for it all at once.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just— I know I’m gettin’ on in years, and I probably can’t fuck the way I used to. And you deserve someone who can…Maybe a guy your age, but that—”

“—is the single dumbest thing you have ever said to me,” you finished for him, eyes narrowing swiftly in a scowl.

When Joel tried talking again, you cut him off.

“I don’t care what any guy my age is doing, or could do. I want babies with you, and that includes every part, OK?”

Your look softened momentarily, seeing his lips twitch down—you could probably see he wasn’t believing you.

Then you cradled his face in your palms. You smiled. You brushed his nose with yours, and you kissed him again, and with what little strength you likely had left in your body, you dug your heels in his ass and pulled him deeper. Both of you let out soft, low grunts at the effort.

“If you fucked like this at twenty-five, my body wouldn’t have survived anyway,” you whispered in reassurance. Biting back a laugh as Joel smiled, too, “I like things just the way they are. Just like how I hope you like me, too.”

“No—I love you.” Joel shook his head, almost plaintive.

And for the first time that night, he felt himself soften.

Whether it was the pill wearing off or that first thread of vulnerability stretching out between your body and his, he didn’t really care. He kissed the tip of your nose and was about to say something more, when you cut back in.

“I love you more. And since we’re being honest tonight,” you started quietly, nipping at your bottom lip a second, “I might…need you back at the apothecary tomorrow.”

Joel’s face fell.

“Wh— is something wrong, baby?” His voice was tight.

He hated seeing David, but, of course, he’d go back there in a heartbeat if it meant getting you the medication you needed. His stomach was starting to churn, when you reached up to hold his face again. You shook your head.

“No, no, Joel, I’m fine. But I may need prenatal vitamins.”

Now his eyes were going wide. His cheeks heated under your palms, and his cock twitched inside you, reflexively.

“You mean…” he murmured, unable to finish. Swallowing.

Beneath him, he saw you smile and nod.

He nearly choked hearing what followed:

“I meant to tell you earlier, but…my period’s a little late.”

[evanhereonearth]

Solas, outnumbered seven to one, overpowered by a lot more than that, betrayed by his best friend Mythal who bound him to her service and coerced him into leaving the Fade and coerced him into making a weapon that would make an entire people tranquil to stop the war she started AND ignored him when he said it would create *checks notes* a blight and made him do it anyway. Solas, facing seven blighted wannabe gods who turned on his best abusive friend Mythal when she finally stood up to them after CENTURIES of him begging her to do just that and starting a rebellion to free all their multitudes of slaves: *creates the veil, imprisons the blight and the Evanuris, and preserves all life in Thedas* World: FUCK THE DREAD WOLF, GOD OF TREACHERY AND LIES *worships the Evanuris and their dragon thralls*

Solas: zzzzzzzzzz (knocked out cold from saving the world for LITERALLY SEVERAL MILLENNIA MORE)

Tevinter: *razes what's left of Elvhenan, steals all their magic, enslaves the elven people for entire length of Solas's world-saving-induced coma*

Also Tevinter: *breaks into the fucking black city and brings out the blight*

Also also Tevinter: *uses so much blood magic that the veil ends up in tatters*

The Blight: >:)

World: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck *throws everything they can at the blight, including--*checks notes again*--the blight

Orlais: you know what sucks? elves. let's kill them all

Ferelden: good shout, mes amis

Orlais: you know what also sucks? mages. put them in prisons.

Ferelden: you're full of good ideas when you're not invading us

Free Marches: MAGE PRISON, YOU SAY?

Orlais: add templars who can decide to murder them or make them tranquil on a whim at any moment

Ferelden and Free Marches: *frantically taking notes*

Rivain and Nevarra: we're just going to be...over here...

Blights 1-5: i've got a great idea i've got a great idea

Blights 1-5 after a while: my great idea didn't work :(

Archdemons 1-5: ....... :(

Evanuris 1-5: ......... :(

Solas, waking up in 9:40ish Dragon: what the...WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCKING FUCK. they can just KILL MAGE CHILDREN? AND PURGE ALIENAGES? AND ALMOST EVERY ELF IN TEVINTER IS A SLAVE? *absolutely rabid, seeks out the Dalish, as remnants of his people*

The Dalish, at Solas: *ARROWS*

Solas: ......fuck this shit, fuck all of this shit, fuck these tyrants in particular, fuck this fucking...UGH

The veil, after all this: (o.O:0oO.)

The remaining blighted Evanuris and the 99% of blight that did not escape: :)

Solas: well, that is a problem, going to need to address that ASAP, but turns out millennia of coma doesn't leave a spirit spry

Corypheus, busting out of warden jail: I AM FREE

Solas: hm, could kill that guy letting him unlock my orb, since he broke into my blight prison in the first place and defo deserves dying

Corypheus: veil needs a certain je ne sais quoi, a...bigger hole. i will make one.

Wardens: yes, good plan, blighted magister man. we are in control of the blight inside us and also heroes *in death, sacrifice = divine justinia's ritual sacrifice under thrall*

The veil:

O

Corypheus: >:( but like...not dead

Solas: well, i did not see that coming

Lavellan: *in chains, threatened with execution*

humans: KNIFE EAR >:(

Lavellan: *hole in the sky, hole in her memories, hole in her fucking hand* fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, wait, this hole in my hand helps close holes in the SKY

Solas: *.* It seems you hold the key to our salvation

Lavellan: i'm sorry what

humans: HERALD OF ANDRASTE!!!!!!!! *falls to knees*

Lavellan: I'M SORRY WHAT

Chantry: *choking in the corner*

Cassandra: time for you to decide the fate of the world

Lavellan: I'M. SORRY. WHAT???????? you know what? fine. *stops alexius from blood magicking his way through redcliffe and time itself, gets punted into a hellscape of nightmares and makes it back with the help of a rebel tevinter mage* the mages i rescued from becoming probable slaves to tevinter are our allies and dorian is my new best friend for being the only reason i made it back alive and the whole world didn't die *dabs*

Cassandra: >:(

Mother Giselle: >:(

Lavellan: ffs

Corypheus: *dragon temper tantrum*

Lavellan: *somehow escapes both dragon and Corypheus, trudges through blizzard, collapses*

Mother Giselle: *.* I FEEL A SONG COMING ON

Literally everyone but Solas: *falls to their knees*

Solas: a word?

Lavellan: OH THANK HEAVENS

Solas: these people are wack and aren't going to like that Corypheus is using elven magic *cough*, they're a hairsbreadth from executing us at all moments lol, btw here's a castle, you know, for you cos i highkey see myself in you and god i'm so fucking lonely

Lavellan: me too but wait, what the fuck is happening. you know what? fuck it. solas, what if we kissed,,, in the fade

Solas: what IF we kissed,,, in the fade *fade tongue*

Solas: ...you continue to surprise me. you show a wisdom i have not seen...since my deepest journeys into the fade!

Lavellan: don't you dare walk away from me now

Solas: okay vhenan i stay

Vivienne: this is a DEMON and NOT A PET

Lavellan: *blinks* right, no, this spirit kid who is the literal only reason we escaped Haven alive is my son now. if he hadn't read roderick's mind we'd all be avalanched or blighted dragoned, so SUCK IT UP

Vivienne: >:(

Cassandra: >:(

Sera: >:(

Bull: >:(

Varric: >:(

Solas: :D

Wardens: btw we're doing blood magic and raising an army of demons. not really our fault but also not NOT our fault? idk, blight in the blood, morally grey area. get it? grey...war--never mind, we'll be at adamant xoxo

Cullen: lotsa soldiers gonna die

Lavellan: fuck, is there another choice?

Advisors: ...no

Cory's dragon: *burninating the adamant, burninating the wardens, burninating all the people and this crumbling ROCKY BRIIIIIIDGE! CRUMBLING ROCKY BRIDGEEEEE*

Lavellan, flying through the air hundreds of feet towards the ground: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck *opens a rift into the fade*

Everyone but Solas: FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK WE'RE IN THE FADE

Solas: we're in the FADE!!!!!

Lavellan, after escaping the nightmare's lair: glad half the team is pissed at me, what's next, an imperial ball? how hard can that be?

Orlesians: they invited an ELF SAVAGE >:(

Lavellan: you know what, fuck this and fuck Celene for genociding the entire Halamshiral alienage and fuck you, Gaspard, you can be Briala's little French Orlesian bulldog

Half the Inquisition: *shocked pikachu*

Morrigan: allow me to shemsplain all of elven history to everyone, including Solas, yourself, and all the ancient elves in this temple

Lavellan: you know what? okay. *rubs at Mythal's vallaslin, makes eyes real big* who is this "Mythal"

Solas: *choking in the corner*

Cassandra, muttering: i do not want to do a ritual to a false god

Morrigan: lemme have the well, lemme have it, i deserve it more than you

Lavellan: ...abso-fucking-lutely not *drinks from the well out of pure spite*

Solas: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, VHENAN

Lavellan: idk vhenan, this world sucks and i wanna make it better and i love you

Solas: ...you are everything and you inspire me, hurry, i need to tell you i'm the dread wolf but am going to break up with you and remove your slave markings instead and btw they're basically a drawing of me in my true form and honestly, this whole thing is real fucked up and you're the only real person in my entire life who sees me

Lavellan: wait what

Solas: i'm bad and don't deserve you and had to harden my heart to save the world before and everyone hated me for it so i'm projecting when i say you must harden your heart to a cutting edge to kill Corypheus, I'll explain after we kill him

Lavellan: ...oh yeah guess we should do that but I gotta go meet Mythal first

Solas: wait what

Mythal: *is Morrigan's mum, is only mostly dead, also 100% cool with overriding her servants' will entirely for shits and giggles, 0/10 do not trust* i'll help you if you fight this dragon lol

Morrigan: *choking in the corner*

Corypheus: *has a mahoosive temper tantrum when Mythal's pet dragon kills his pet dragon, dies*

Solas: ;-; ilu, inky, what we had was real but i'm afraid to do to you what Mythal did to me. I MUST AWAY

Lavellan: ....

World: HERALD OF ANDRASTE!!!!!!!!!!!!*

*some restrictions may apply, like in a couple years we're going to forget everything you did and be real mad at you

Solas, somewhere: been there, vhenan

World, two years later: :D we're here to hate you, right on schedule

Qunari: you are in need of the gentle path. therefore, we are coming to kill you all

Solas: like hell you will. but come to think of it, this is a good excuse to see vhenan again

Lavellan's arm: TIME TO DIE

Solas: defo another good excuse to see vhenan again. probs should study that arm anyway

Lavellan, after several Qunari too many: CAN ANYTHING IN THIS FUCKING WORLD STAY FIXED

Inquisition, including Divine Victoria: *shocked pikachu*

Lavellan: i'm going back through the fucking looking glass to talk to some ancient elven sentinels with Mythal's magic whisper well, they're the only fucking thing that makes sense here

Qunari: *destroying everything in sight but getting hounded by the dread wolf at every step*

Lavellan, whose arm is trying to kill her but is following Qunari through her own people's magic mirror world: ...i think i'm in love with the dread wolf

Companions: pfffffft

Cole: :D YES, YOU ARE AND HE LOVES YOU TOO

Lavellan: thank god i have you, cole, my spirit son

Solas, in a statuary garden of petrified Qunari: i suspect you have questions

Lavellan: honestly, fen'harel, not really

Solas: *shocked pikachu* well done

Lavellan: i'm real tired and you could have just trusted me back in Crestwood.

Solas: this world is broken, i must tear down the veil

Lavellan: yep, i'm one "knife ear" away from putting a knife in the next human's ear who says it tbh, i'd rather live in the fade with you and my spirit son, can i help you pls vhenan

Solas: ...no

Lavellan: wtf

Solas, internally panicking because he followed Mythal wherever she went and she dragged him to literal hell and trauma and now his one true love is offering to follow him while he probably makes things worse again: absolutely not, no, but i love you forever

Lavellan's arm: >:(

Solas: ...right, i gotta take that

Lavellan: wait what

Solas: i will never forget you *trundles through mirror with severed arm*

Lavellan: oh fuck my entire life, you know what, Ferelden and Orlais? Inquisition is no more, i'm going on sabbatical to Stone Bear Hold where at least people are not insane and Storvacker loves me, and then i'm going home to the castle vhenan gave me. don't call me. byeeee

ten years later

Varric: gonna go stop Solas, who invented the veil and is From Fade, from doing things i don't understand, wish me luck, inky

Lavellan: WAIT ONE GODDAMNED SECOND I'M COMING WITH YOU

Varric: no <3 i found a complete rando who will fuck everything up

Rook: hey, what if i drop a statue on this nuclear arsenal protecting the biggest biological weapon of mass destruction known to all of thedas? that'll help

Neve, a literal mage who should know even small rituals can blow up and kill you: probs not a good idea but Varric, a dwarf who knows nothing about magic or the veil or the Fade whatsoever says this ritual must be stopped At All Costs By Any Means Necessary so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Varric: Solas I will shoot you with Bianca

Solas: ffs stop *breaks Bianca*

Varric: can you promise me your way is better

Solas: i know way better than to make promises like that, have you seen this world???

Varric: GOTCHA, YOU LYING LIAR WHO LIES

Rook: TIIIIIIIIIIIIIMBERRRRRRR

Varric: defo going to attack the guy whose millennia of existence has been centred on this massive magical problem i do not even comprehend a little after waiting ten years to ask a single question about it when he'd already got going *tries to stab Solas*

Solas, feeling everything he's spent all of world history protecting the world from breaking out of jail: turns the dagger and stabs Varric instead

Elgar'nan: >:)

Ghilan'nain: >:)

Solas: oh for fucking FUCK'S SA--*exit, stage Fade Jail*

Blight: >:)

Rook: oops

Neve and Harding: omg this could not possibly be our fault at all, not even a little. it's Solas's fault, the lying liar who lies

Lavellan: i will not murder this stupid child, i will not murder this stupid child, i will not murder this stupid child

Morrigan: we have to help the stupid child

Lavellan: we have to help the stupid child

Morrigan and Lavellan: *look at each other*

Lavellan: when this is over, i stg--

Morrigan, who has millennia of memories of Mythal abusing Solas and decades of Flemythal abusing her: yeah no i will throw you a going away party and take care of Dorian for you and help you get your boyfriend back and no way will i fight him, this is actually ridiculous

Ferelden, Orlais, and the Free Marches, all of whom turned on Lavellan ten years ago: hELP help HELP there's BLIIIIIGHT

Lavellan to Leliana: you owe me a hundred gold

Leliana: *hands over a solid gold nug*

Ferelden: X_X

Orlais: X_X

Free Marches: X_X

Lavellan: *grits teeth* i better go meet with rook

Rook: andaran atish'an, honoured inquisitor

Lavellan: yo. sure would be nice to be meeting without our gods, you know, destroying absolutely everything i've spent a quarter of my life protecting and rebuilding after the last apocalypse but here we are i guess

Morrigan: *smirks at shade*

Northern Thedas: ROOK IS THE BEST

Southern Thedas: is rook tho

Ghilan'nain: muahahaha i have so many drago---nooo you killed my dragons and i am BLEEDING LIKE A MORTAL PIECE OF MORTAL SCUM

Elgar'nan: my dragon used to be bigger :(

Ghilan'nain: your dragon's fine

Elgar'nan: Ghilly, make it bigger again

Ghilan'nain: can't, too sad. blood. :(

Southern Thedas: *throwing nugs at blight* hELP

Lavellan, with half of Southern Thedas crammed into skyhold: thanks for the castle, vhenan, we'd all literally be dead without it, again

Morrigan: erm, Inky? seems everyone's telling Rook Solas is just a big monster lying liar who lies and blaming him for everything

Lavellan: that's what people do, blame Solas. had a bad day? blame Solas. Mythal wants to sever the titans' dreams? Blame Solas. Rashvine nettle sting? Blame Solas. Bring the veil 5/7 or so of the way down themselves after releasing the blight? Blame Solas. Rook let the gods out? Blame Solas

Morrigan: Inky.

Lavellan: you want me to go pour out my heart to the person who imprisoned vhenan and let out Ghilan'nain, Mother of Tentacles, and Elgar'nan "My Dragon is Bigger than Your Dragon" First and Worst of the Evanuris, don't you

Morrigan: yee

Lavellan: FINE but you better spill every ounce of tea you've got on the stupid child before i go because i need to at least make rook squirm a LITTLE

Morrigan: i thought you'd never ask

Elgar'nan: you won't make my dragon bigger??? fine i'll move the moon instead

Northern Thedas: i'm sorry what

Anyone at sea anywhere on the planet: I'M SORRY WHAT

Ghilan'nain: *throws a temper tantrum and dies*

Elgar'nan: >:(

Solas: fuck this shit, i'm getting out of Fade Jail

Rook: :(

Minrathous: fuck fuck fuck FUCK fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK

Solas: hello, people who enslaved my people for millennia, i am here to save the day i guess

Minrathous, slapping blight tentacles out of their faces: ...honestly thank you

Solas: wait what

Rook: I ESCAPE FADE JAIL SOLAS YOU BASTARD LYING LIAR WHO LIES

Lavellan: i will not murder the stupid child, i will not murder the stupid child, i will not murder the stupid child

Solas: you know what, fair play, here's the dagger, there's elgar'nan, ima bite his dragon, you go have a great time. have fun storming the blight tentacle

Venatori, poster children for the Leopards Who Eat People's Faces Party: nooo the leopards keep eating our faces

Minrathous: wow who could have possibly predicted that

Everyone else: yes, yes, very sad

Elgar'nan, eating every face in the magesterium and effectively cleansing Tevinter of the worst of its monsters in one fell swoop: ah, rook, you can't kill me, i have the biggest dragon ever to dragon

Dread Wolf: honestly he's kinda not wrong, this dragon is a bastard and i am like a fifth of its size and getting p tired, ngl

Rook's Blighted Companion: welp gonnae put this trauma to use for the greater good. go go gadget blight tentacles, release the Dread Pupper

Elgar'nan: *shocked pikachu*

Dread Wolf: *chomp*

Elgar'nan: *throws a temper tantrum and dies*

Solas: oh ffs finally

Rook: not so fast

Solas: oh ffs here we fucking go

Rook: i don't actually want to fight you

Solas: wait, what

Rook: i think this is all my fault but everyone keeps telling me i'm the hero and that's fucked up. and your vhenan, she's nice to me, no one really else is, i'm just everybody's apocalypse therapist, and i even kinda like you tbh, my whole team basically does fun stuff without me and doesn't even invite me to book club and emmrich's the only one who asks me about my feelings instead of just asking me to do stuff for them, and anyway, i'm going to trust the inquisitor here because i'm honestly starved for connection and she thinks you're worth saving so can we talk i don't wanna fight

Solas: what

Lavellan, out of sight, reliving the litany of "i will not murder this stupid child": oh haha awkward

Solas: look,,, i've been bound to the service of an ancient elvhen god for millennia and everything i do, whether i know it or not, is for her, so i can't do what you want and this sucks

Lavellan: even if i'm here, walking the din'an shiral with you?

Solas: ...vhenan

Lavellan: ;_;

Solas: ;_; ...I cannot

Morrigan: yo dread wolf, my mum's a piece of work and i have all her memories and everything she did to you was fuuuuuuuuucked up, anyway, over to her, honestly not pissed you killed that part of her btw, she reeeeally fucked you up, but rook somehow managed to talk her out of her essence, so that's impressive

Solas: what

Mythal: yeah i kinda tore you out of your home and twisted you from your purpose and made you do murder and worse for me for millennia and said i wanted your wisdom and then never ever listened to you ever and just dragged you through every atrocity i created and perpetuated

Solas: it hurts and i guess you're going to kill me now so here's the dagger ;_;

Mythal: it's still mostly your fault but i was there too i guess, anyway, i release you from my service, which i could have done at any point in the past several millennia but instead I tortured you endlessly, lol god of retribution, that's me. k bye

Solas: what the fucking fuck

Lavellan: right there with you, like literally forever, our love is a miracle and the only thing i can even cope with

Solas: yeah honestly fuck this shit, i'm out, i will put myself in fade jail

Lavellan: you are not going by yourself i stg take me with you i wanna go home

Solas: ...home is a literal prison now

Lavellan: sealed away from all this shit? from getting blamed for everything we do no matter how much we sacrifice? if it's you and me there together, i don't care if it's a grey box full of darkspawn

Solas: there's no darkspa--

Lavellan: ffs i said i want to go, you don't have to sell me on it. you're the only person in this world who Gets It. we go on together, forever.

Solas: *.* my wife

Lavellan: *.* my wolf

Northern Thedas: and rook saved the world from the dread wolf, who was a lying liar who lies

Southern Thedas: *busy being dead and blighted*

Lavellan: yeah, fuck this shit, we're out

You can now download this shitpost in beautifully formatted PDF, courtesy of @amburuthings. Thank u for your service *salutes*

You all have had me howling with the tags on reblogs, thank you, I am absolutely dying in deadline hell and needed that

[omgthatdress]

Oh god it gets worse

Okay, before I go any further I should give a little disclaimer that there's nothing wrong with doing a Christian-themed line of dolls. Toys and stories as a way to teach faith are nothing new and can be perfectly appropriate ways for kids to learn.

However the Life of Faith dolls are a unique kind of fucking horrible because they are obviously American Girl knockoffs. Instead of meaningfully engaging with the difficult themes of history like the AG dolls did, they present a disgustingly white-washed, pretty, frilly, and pleasant view of history that straight up ignores the dark stuff.

So the Life of Faith dolls are based on the Elsie Dinsmore stories which were published between 1867 and 1905. They're about a deeply faithful little girl who grows up on a plantation. In the books, when Elsie turns 18, she marries HER FATHER'S BEST FRIEND, because, to quote Wikipedia, "He has been her knight in shining armor who constantly helps her when other people are cruel to her; he has loved her for a long time." Yeah we call that "grooming" today.

Yeah, that's pretty sickening. But there IS a girl who escapes slavery in this series lemme see how that gets addressed....

WAIT YOU'RE TELLING ME SHE ESCAPES FROM THE SAME BEAUTIFUL PLANTATION THE OTHER GIRL WAS RAISED ON?! So when Elsie came of age she would literally own Laylie. Seriously did no one see the conflict in this?! Did no one involved in all of this stop for a moment and think, maybe we're not presenting a fully accurate view of history?

What really galls me is the playing Robin Hood stuff. While enslaved children did find ways to play and have fun, their lived were still dominated by the grueling, demeaning work they had to do. And they would not be given luxurious playthings like bows and arrows and green silk capes. And they didn't have frilly pretty dresses and elaborate hairdos.

I know the dolls are Christian and they all come with a little Bible but like.... Are we just gonna ignore the whole "slaves weren't allowed to read" thing?

While all the other dolls come with lots of dresses and accessories, Laylie only has the one dress and her Robin Hood accessories.

So yeah we're just skipping over the whole Civil War and Reconstruction. Violet is Elsie's daughter still growing up on the plantation like always.

So moral of the story, when you're trying to teach kids about history, maybe try a book series that wasn't written by this lady:

Because you actually can write stories about faith and being Christian that DON'T involve romanticizing slavery.

[yieldtotemptation]

NOVEMBER ft. Somi

somi x male reader smut

9k words

"It's this challenge I'm doing. One whole month—thirty days—without having an orgasm," you're explaining, failing spectacularly at keeping things professional. Something possesses you to add: "No nutting. Hence the name."

Somi just stares at you. Flabbergasted.

Leans forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her palms; tearing your entire existence apart with her eyes.

"Can I just say, and I genuinely mean this in the nicest way possible—but that’s the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard."

—

Here's the conclusion you've arrived at from the one hour you've spent with her: Jeon Somi is some kind of demon.

It’s not a joke, it’s not some painterly metaphor you’re drawing—Somi has clawed her way out from the depths with nothing but a ponytail and an alarmingly tight pair of leggings; arriving on Earth, in the flesh, to make your life a living, breathing, sweat-drenched hell.

So, yeah.

Somi, the succubus. Or something close to that.

It's the only explanation for it really.

See, you're a photographer. Of women, specifically.

Beautiful women in intimate settings, sparse aesthetics. That’s your whole deal. Just homing in on the subject, capturing something ‘real’ without any distractions. Get the essence of who they are when there’s no one looking.

Pretentious, sure, but it’s what’s kept you in demand with the glossy magazines and the avant-garde galleries and the starlets desperate to convince the public that they’re more than just the pretty robots their agencies have programmed them to be.

So, suffice to say, you've met all the types.

The innocent idols that need a mountain of coaxing to come out of their shells. The stone-cold divas that barely acknowledge your existence, yet somehow still expect you to anticipate their every demand. And the flirts, willing to do just about anything for the camera with a wink and a nudge, if it means getting an edge on the rest of the industry.

But Somi? She just is.

Pure temptation incarnate, from head to toe, without even trying. Thighs that threaten to strangle your self-control, a waist that makes sinners out of saints, tits that would have physicists reconsidering the very nature of gravity, all topped by a dangerous smile that could melt a fucking igloo with its sheer wattage.

Somi’s hot.

She knows it, the world knows it, the public crucifies her for it. And she just takes it all, all of it. Melts it all together and forges it into armour.

And now she’s here, in your private space. None of the usual entourage of make-up artists, managers, whatever. Just herself and an absurdly sweet frappé. Looking so comfortable that it’s making you feel like you’re intruding.

She’s leaning on your table, ass flush against the wood, arms crossed, and her eyes—those fathomless dark pools—land on yours, holding them hostage.

Barely has to make any effort when she laces her words together, piles on an unhealthy dose of insinuation, cocks an eyebrow and asks—“So, how do you want me?”

Naked, preferably. On all fours, ass to the sky. Or maybe on her knees, mouth hanging open, tongue out, elbows squeezed together to make her tits sing.

Yeah, you're already composing the perfect shot in your head.

Fuck.

You rub your eyes. Maybe thirty days of self-imposed abstinence has finally broken you, and this is all some kind of feverish hallucination driven by your libido.

But no, Somi is still there, lounging in your studio, all curves and challenge. Just being insanely hot.

You cough, clear your throat. Put on the mask of someone far more professional.

“Anywhere you’d like,” you’re answering, keeping your expression decidedly blank. This isn’t the first time you’ve been the only outlet for a young sexpot desperate to let off some steam. You have the experience. But again—fuck. Thirty days is far too long. Somi is far too much. “Just keep it natural. Like I’m not even here.”

Somi just laughs, sweet and sinful, her whole thing. Pushes off the table with a grace that seems almost supernatural (again, see the demon theory), before adding a thought, like it just sprung up in her pretty head— “Easier said than done.”

Distractions aside, all things considered, she’s the perfect subject.

Gets what you’re going for immediately, makes herself at home amongst your studio's chaos. Glides around the room, runs her fingers over your equipment strewn about—the lights, the lenses, the negatives hanging in the corner.

The sway of her hips, the flex of her back. The dip of her brow and purse of her lips when she asks, "What's this for?", and the genuine interest when she listens to you explain about aperture, and light metres, and so on and so on.

(Snap a photo of her silhouette when she's by the window, leaning against the glass to spy on the passers-by.

Snap a photo of her smile, when you say something that's really not that funny, but she laughs anyway.

Snap a photo of her legs, when she finds a couch to lay on—stretching herself out, showing off their length, the tone of her thighs, the promise kept hidden by her leggings being pulled tighter and tighter.)

Another hour passes quickly, and you take a break there, more for your sanity than her endurance. Leave her to her own devices while you flick through the shots you’ve managed to get so far.

Only, when you scroll through your laptop, scan through the dozens upon dozens of rapid-fire photos you've taken—it's a horror show.

None of them work.

Not because of her, but because of you.

The way you've shot her. Far too revealing—you've put too much of yourself in these pictures. Turned them from images to confessions. Each one a fucking love letter to her body—her legs, her tits, her lips, her ass, her tits again—everything about her that makes you ache.

It's not art. It's borderline pornographic.

And yet, Somi's still just lying there.

Drinking down another pick-me-up that she's had delivered, this one with enough caffeine to take down several horses, chatting away so casually while you try to stitch your soul back together. Sipping and talking about who-knows-what, throwing out feelers, smiling easily, laughing sincerely, utterly oblivious to the havoc she's wreaking on your self-control.

An effortless grace when she lifts herself off the couch, saunters over to you and leans in far too close, gets far too familiar, lays on far too much charm when she asks, “Mind if I take a look?”

Yeah, you do, but you still force a calmness into your voice that you’re certainly not feeling when you turn the laptop so she can see.

“Wow,” is her initial review, and now she’s touching you, hand on your shoulder, tits pressed up against your arm and you’re certain that none of this is accidental, like an oh, just trying to get closer so I can better appreciate the photos you’re flipping through, never mind that you're getting a precise estimation of my cup size just from the feeling alone.

Do your best—ignore the pressure, the warmth, the softness. Watch her face, see all the tiny details; her eyes lighting up when she catches something she likes, her thoughtful hum at a particularly good shot. The smacking of her lips, the furrow of her brow, the recognition as you scroll.

One by one, with each photo, her expression morphing from curiosity to understanding.

She notices.

“You’re good at this.”

You wait for it. “That’s all?”

Her eyes glint, “None of these can be used though.”

“I know.”

The screen’s frozen on a particularly compromising shot: there’s Somi’s face, barely in it, just the bottom-half, her lips pouting out and looking all plump and delicious. Camera angled up high, pointing down the dip of her tight, sheer top and the shadowy valley that makes up her cleavage. Scanning down to her legs, folded to the side beneath her, the squish of her ass cheeks over her heels, spilling into the corner of the screen.

Sin, captured in fifty megapixels, barely contained inside a four by six frame.

A submissive dream.

“These for your personal collection, or—” and when she catches the heat rising up the back of your neck, changing directions, “—not that I mind, as long as I get a copy.”

Clearly finding all this much funnier than you are—that smile’s a knife to your chest. So sharp and knowing; it would have you gasping for air, if only you’d look.

Keep it cool, play it off with a shrug, “We’ll try again.”

“I doubt we’ll get any different results,” Somi’s predicting, bouncing on her toes now, getting closer and closer until she doesn’t need to make much of an effort to make herself heard. Close enough that she could feel you now, if she wanted to. Just brush her fingers over you and get a good idea of the reason why this photoshoot is going so far off the rails.

She instead leans her chin onto your shoulder, breath hot against your cheek. Like throwing a match on gasoline.

All the power of this girl, this woman, wrapped up in a single gesture. Wielding it so freely, so innocently, so easily. Heat that's self-aware, that knows just how much it's burning.

You caution, “Keep it professional.”

“Doesn’t that run counter to the whole aesthetic. I thought we were going for raw?”

“Natural.”

“What’s the difference?”

You need to stop yourself, shut the laptop, end the session right now before it’s much too late. Before you’re turning to her and realising just how close her lips are to yours, just how tiny her waist is compared to your hands, and you're saying the words that will end all semblance of propriety and professionalism— “With you, I don’t think there is one.”

“Well as long as we agree,” and Somi’s turning away, striding back to the couch, leaving you to breathe again. Making you thankful for the space, but missing the suffocation of her heat all at once.

Plopping herself down on the cushions, one leg folded under the other, leggings so thin you can see the shape of her underneath. Natural, just like you asked—looking like she's the only one here that’s exactly where she wants to be.

You’re thinking you’re off the hook.

Maybe you can get back to work.

Only, “So, it’s been a while, then?”

“Somi,” you’re saying her name for the first time, officially, and it’s coming out far too strangled. Far too needy. She loves the sound.

“Come on, humour me.”

“Somi,” again, you’re trying, clearing out the cobwebs from your throat.

“Sir.”

What the fuck.

She doesn’t move. Waits patiently for your answer.

You give her the inch, knowing she’ll take the mile.

Raking a hand through the back of your head. “Thirty days.”

The look on Somi's face is apoplectic. You're glad you have the wherewithal to capture it.

"It's a—" and you're feeling quite stupid as you explain it to her in detail; the abstinence for a month, the purpose of it all, the supposed benefits, "challenge."

That sends Somi ranting, hands flailing in the air. Incredulous, at you, at this challenge, at the idea of putting yourself through this self-imposed torture. “Stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

And then, when she sees your face.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But seriously. Thirty days? And not once.”

Your voice is dry. “No.”

“Not even by accident?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Wet dreams, nothing? No jerking it? No sex? At all?” Somi’s bursting out laughing, hand flying to cover her mouth, barely even able to breathe. It’s so absurd to her.

And it doesn’t take long before she puts it all together. Processes the information, sees the picture she’s painted of you. The sad, desperate artist, with nothing but a dying hunger and a camera. Realises the predicament you’ve put yourself in just by having her here.

She’s not laughing any more.

“And so you chose today, November 30th, to schedule me?”

You’re very, clearly frustrated. “Not my choice.”

“I see.” She bites her lip. Angles herself just so.

“Dial it back.”

“Tell that to your boner.”

You look down. Pants distinctly flat.

Somi’s grinning. “Made you look.”

“Are you done?” You ask, forcing yourself to look away from her, busying your hands by screwing on a different lens, as if it’ll somehow make her appear any less distracting, like it’ll blur out all your worst intentions and bring back some actual decorum to this whole fiasco. “We don’t have much time left.”

Turning back to her, raising your camera, aiming straight and true and—

Somi, unzipping her heels, kicking them across the floor with a dramatic flourish.

Snap.

Somi, lifting her top up and over her head, stretching her arms up high to push her breasts out forward; making them tight, outlined, so obviously pebbled against the cotton of her bra.

Snap.

Somi, digging her thumbs into the waistband of her tights, pointing her legs up in the air so she can peel them off without getting up, thrusting her hips up off the couch to yank them over her ass.

Snap.

“Somi,” you’re saying again, because apparently, you’ve forgotten how to make other words.

“Just doing what feels natural,” she says, smile turning wicked, reaching behind her back to unclasp and oh, now she’s completely naked. Rearranging herself into this pose. As if she isn’t already the centre of your universe.

Thirty days, flushed directly down the drain.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

—

You’ve found it, the perfect photograph.

Somi, kneeling on the couch, hands folded on her lap, staring down the barrel of your camera with her tits out. Unreal. Works of art, both of them. Miracles of flesh, gravity be damned.

“You’re not taking any photos,” she points out.

You swallow hard. “I’m taking it in.” 

Her hands come up to cup her breasts, giving them a bounce. For fun. For you. For the look on your face. You capture the jiggle. "Good, because I'd hate to think all this was going to waste."

It’s a little fucked up, how right Somi is. You wanted raw, honest—here it is, Somi as she kneels. Just being herself, being the woman everyone accuses her of being—the sinner, the whore, the slut.

Being the woman she knows she is, with everything that it implies—the confidence, the appeal, the fucking powerhouse of magnetic attraction. Not an image being projected, not a role she’s playing, but the reality of her, shooting straight into your veins, raw sex personified—as natural as breathing.

And before you know it, you’re capturing her lips with yours, an ‘mmmph’ slipping out from her as your mouths collide and your tongues meet.

It’s not intentional, it just happens. You lean in, she’s hot, she smells like heaven and sin wrapped in a neat little bow and you’re kissing her.

Tongue finds hers, attacks, retreats, joins and intertwines, and it’s everything you imagined it would be turned all the way up—sweeter, hotter, and so much more fucking dangerous.

Lips head south, tongue sliding along her neck, teeth on her shoulder, kisses into her collarbone; and finally, you’re at her breasts.

Softer than a dream, tasting like pure addiction; you kiss the tops of her breasts, lap up all the sweat that’s beaded down in between. Drag your tongue down, follow the curve, the dip, and ending at the hard little points poking against your lips. Filling your mouth with as much of it as you can—licking, suckling, making a complete mess of spit on her chest, and then biting, just a little, just to make her moan.

“So this is what denial does to a man, hm?”  Somi slithers into your ears, under your skin, hands at the back of your head and holding you in place.

She arches into you, pushing herself closer, letting you taste, indulge. Feast on what you’ve been missing out over this long stretch of days.

And fuck, maybe it is the abstinence, the pent-up need, or maybe it’s the fact that tits in general are just fucking incredible things. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that it’s Somi, in all her outrageously perfect glory, so happy to be the one that gets to ruin you, that’s making you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust.

Not that it matters one bit.

Not that there’s any thoughts at all in your head; there’s just Somi’s tits and your tongue. Lapping it up like you’re trying to drink her in, memorise every contour, every curve, every little goosebump you induce with each swipe of your tongue.

Somi’s tits; a canvas, and your mouth’s painting the picture of a lifetime.

“Baby,” Somi coos, hands on the side of your face, lifting you up off the cushions of her breasts. She’s giggling, her fingers wiping at the strings of drool that you hadn’t even realised you’d been leaving behind. “Remember what we’re here for?”

Right.

The camera. The art. The job. The no-touching rule.

But your mind is a blurry mess of tits and need, and all your blood has headed south for the afternoon, and it's making you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

“Let me give you a hand.” Somi’s gentle with you, like you’re a stick of dynamite with a frayed wick, just the slightest touch and you’ll blow.

She takes your hand, fingers brushing against yours, little sparks of electricity making your hairs stand on end, and lifts your camera up to point directly at her.

And then, she smirks. As if to say, yeah, she’s read all your thoughts; seen straight into you and has discovered the vault where you’ve kept every one of your deepest, darkest impulses locked up for thirty long days.

Somi repositions herself. Poses her body, determined to bring every single filthy, desperate, starving fantasy of yours to life.

Reclining back into the couch, thighs apart, spreading her legs wide.

Showing off her cunt.

Bare and gleaming. Shaven clean—just this perfect, pink, wet little pussy calling out to you. Open like a fucking invitation.

You’re staring.

She waits for you to catch up.

“Now would be a good time to start using that camera.”

You take a step back. Heart racing, hands shaking; you’re usually so much better than this. Take a deep breath, lift the camera, do your job, make your art, capture as much as you can while you have fucking perfection putting herself on display for you.

The click, the shutter echoing through the studio.

It makes Somi sigh.

Her eyes find the lens, locking down her target. A fucking miracle of biology, that’s Somi. Born to have cameras on her, as in love with them as they are with her.

Her fingers dip, trace down over her ludicrously tiny waist, her abs, her bellybutton, stopping short of her mound. Dancing over her pussy, light as a feather.

Fucking grinning as she asks, “Like what you see?”

The camera’s flash answers for you.

Touching herself, stroking, circling, pressing down. Building a crescendo that you can see painted on her; through the tensing of her abs, the heaving of her breasts, her cheeks going pink, her breaths getting shorter, and her lips parting to moan.

You’re barely conscious of the fact that you’re talking under your breath, a singular demand— “Keep going.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thirty days of denial has turned you into a starving man, only for Somi to show up and make herself a full-course feast. The perfect model, but also the worst fucking thing possible for your resolve.

You take a deep breath, grip the camera tighter.

If you’re going to crack, you might as well go out with a bang.

Guiding her, as if she was any other client, and this was just another photoshoot— “Open your legs wider, Somi. Show me everything.”

Her eyes widen, pupils dilate. Sparks, excitement, lighting them up. She does as she’s told, pushing out her knees further, sinking down into the couch cushions.

Thighs quivering, pussy sopping wet and pulsing. All for you. For your camera.

Another click, the shutter again, like a time-bomb ticking down to your doom.

“Play with your clit. Tease it.”

Her hand obeys, delicate, slender fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, hips bucking slightly with each pass. The noises she makes are obscene. Harsh, breathy whispers that make you throb; moans that get caught in the back of her throat.

It’s a rush of blood straight to the head, an almost dizzying sensation, having Somi so eagerly following your every command. Her face says it all, this slut positively loves being told what to do.

“Keep it light. That’s it,” you say, stepping closer, hitting your marks, your angles. “Turn to me. I want to see your face.”

“Like this?” Somi breathes, turning to face you fully, her hand still playing with herself, stroking in a way that's almost cruel—so gentle, so teasing, so obviously designed to make you lose your mind. “Getting the pictures you’ve been dreaming of? Someone like me all spread out for you?”

You nod, jaw clenched, keeping steady. Or at least, you think you are, considering how good Somi’s making this for you.

Making sure you get the right shots of her—her pussy, swollen and puffy, dripping down a puddle onto your couch. Her tits; pinched until they’re hard and sensitive, a vivid red against the stark white of her skin. Her eyes, wide and wild and looking straight down the lens, communicating her arousal in a million different heated ways without saying a single word.

Let it be known; Somi knows exactly what she’s doing.

Knows when to sigh, knows how to arch her back, knows in which direction to pout her lips. Knows how to make every click of the camera count.

“Good girl,” you’re telling her, praising her, and it’s enough to make her keen.

“Am I?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning in closer, close enough to feel the heat of her body, a furnace against your skin. See the sweat dripping down her thighs, tiny little droplets shimmering against the muscle, begging to be licked away. “You’re doing so good, Somi. So, so good.”

You’re getting closer now, kneeling. All for the sake of the perfect shot.

Seeing her fingers work, spreading herself open, exposing her folds, glistening. Her clit standing tall and proud. Her entrance pulsing, waiting to be filled. It’s like watching a masterpiece come to life, a photo that’s been taken a thousand times before but never quite captured right. Until now. Until Somi.

Somi's smiling down at you, all knowing, all tempting, making your mouth water, and it takes all your self-discipline to not drop the camera and replace your lens with your tongue.

She laughs, low and throaty. “Looks like you’re enjoying the view.”

“You have no idea, Somi,” you answer, adding, “But you can make it better, can’t you? Make it wetter. Hotter.”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees, getting to work at making your instructions real. She’s a professional too, after all. A master of her craft. Her other hand snakes down to join her first; one hand pressing firmly down on her clit, the other plunging two fingers up into her cunt. Pushing in, curling, until it’s hitting that sweet spot that makes her preen.

“Perfect, Somi.”

You’re transfixed, as Somi starts to fuck herself in earnest, the camera almost forgotten in your hand. She’s so drenched that every stroke is accompanied by a wet, slick sound; and the way she’s creaming around her digits, dripping down her wrist, it’s far beyond a simple performance being put on for the sake of a photograph. It’s the real deal.

Somi’s breaths come faster, her eyes glaze over, and she’s biting down on her bottom lip, trying to keep from crying out too loudly.

You know you’re getting the best of her, can see it across her face: this is what she truly enjoys. Being watched, being desired, being told what to do all for your pleasure.

“Oh, baby,” she’s barely managing hushed, strained whispers, “Oh, oh, oh…”

You feel like you’re in a trance, your own hand wandering down, needing to adjust lest you rip right through your jeans. The sight alone is devastating enough, but it’s making you swell, until there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore.

“That looks so,” Somi’s licking her lips, seeing the state you’re in, seeing the desperation in your eyes, the strain down below, “Nice.”

The camera is your anchor, your north star in this whole mess. You keep it steady, even as Somi’s breaths grow shallower, turn to pants. Losing herself to you, to the moment, to being captured in all her vulnerability.

She’s fucking herself even faster now, fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, wetter and wetter still, knuckles turning white with the force she’s applying.

“You’re doing so good, Somi, such a good girl for me,” you’re reassuring her, unable to hold back your own need, your own desire from leaking into your voice. It’s a battle, a war really, against your own urges, your innate desire to just drop everything and dive into her, feel her tightness around you, make her scream out your name.

But it’s too soon, Somi’s too close, and it would be a fucking crime to stop her.

“Baby,” she gasps, the word a prayer and a taunt in equal measure, “Baby, I don’t think I can last any longer.”

You’re grinning now, heart racing, camera at the ready. “Good.”

Somi’s on a knife’s edge, balancing on the precipice of climax. You can see it in how her body’s seizing, how she throws her head back, exposing her neck to you—needing your kiss, your bite, your claim. But you resist, intent on capturing every moment of her unravelling.

Because you want to know. Want to capture it. How she cums. What sounds she makes, what noises she can’t keep in. What she looks like when she falls apart.

“Cum for me, Somi,” you’re telling her, “I want to capture it all.”

Somi trembles. She wants it too.

Her eyes screw shut, her breath hitches, and she’s there, sinking back into the couch, letting out this sweet little gasp of anticipation.

The studio goes silent except for the sound of her fingers in her cunt and the shuttering of your camera.

In, out, snap.

In, out, snap.

Fucking herself. Fucking you with her very existence.

And then—“I’m going to—”

Her body arches off the couch, a scream ripping from her throat, her hand working furiously, pussy clenching so sweetly around her fingers. It’s the type of photo people spend entire careers never getting to capture, the most beautifully obscene sight you’ve ever been lucky to witness—Somi, in the throes of pleasure, wracked by her own orgasm, all for the sake of your camera.

It hits her hard and fast and all at once, turns her body into a bow, taut and tense, before it’s released, snapped, melting her down into a boneless puddle.

You watch in awe as Somi cums, writhes and wriggles, and she makes these noises that you’ve never heard from a woman before; crying out so loud you’re surprised the neighbours aren’t banging down the door to see what the commotion is about.

It’s only when she finally relaxes, is released from her orgasm, that you lower the camera, out of breath from the sheer exertion wrought by just watching her.

You’re both near devastation—Somi sprawled on the couch, chest rising and falling, eyes closed and an elated smile on her face, and you, knees threatening to give out, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight of her satisfaction.

“That was—” Somi tries shaping the words, but they don’t come. She just lies there, lazy and sated, catching her breath.

Moments pass before she can open her eyes again, only to find you, standing over her, jeans vanished, cock out and level with her parted lips.

“That was just the beginning, Somi.”

It's just the sight of you, but Somi’s delighted. Seeing you like this—exposed and so ridiculously hard. All because of her.

She slides off the couch, kneeling at your feet.

“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Anything at all. Just make sure you capture it.”

“Then suck.”

Wet, hot heaven. Somi’s mouth is heaven.

Tongue darting forward, swirling around the tip, teeth grazing the head, and you’re groaning, hips jerking forward involuntarily until you’re falling into her mouth.

Somi’s got a way about her, a finesse that’s unmatched in everything she does. So, so good for you; opening her mouth nice and wide, hollowing her cheeks just right, pursing her lips to make sure you feel it when she sucks.

Just gleeful when your hand finds purchase in her ponytail, when hers wrap around the base of your cock, and you push. Inch by inch into the sweet heat of her mouth, taking it all, making sure you can see it, see how thankful she is to be granted the privilege of swallowing you whole; of having you completely filling her throat.

Holding herself there, nose pressed up against your stomach, eyes looking up, watering slightly around the edges. Not even gagging, just warming your cock with her throat, pulsing, tight, unbearably hot.

She raises her brows.

Ah, that’s right.

Snap.

Pulling off you, dragging her lips, her tongue up your shaft, leaving behind a choked, drooling mess that she’s so fucking proud of.

Giggling around a mouthful of your cock, laughter vibrating across your skin, and it’s a wonder you don’t lose yourself right then and there.

But somehow, you hold on; brace yourself against Somi massaging your balls, tickling the underside of your tip with her tongue. Playing with you, taunting, enjoying every second. Popping your cock out of her mouth so she can truly take measure of you at your achingly hardest, so she can breathe onto your cock in wonder, “Just look at you.”

Balancing your length in the palm of her hand, barely able to wrap her fingers around your girth.

“So big, so hard,” she’s rapt, talking to you, to herself, making sure the ghosts haunting your studio know exactly what she’s dealing with her. “And it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

“Darling,” you’re calling her, making her swoon, “Take it all.”

And she does. Somi, eager, opens her mouth wide, and lets you fuck her face. Getting you deep, so deep that you can feel her throat clench around your tip, slurping, moaning, choking now, but never, ever stopping. Just drooling down your thighs like the good little slut she knows you need her to be.

You’re back at it, taking photos, trying to get the perfect angle, but it’s proving a big ask when your knees are wobbling and your vision’s growing blurry. You’ve got Somi’s eyes in the viewfinder, all wide and blown with lust, looking straight through the lens of the camera and at you, daring you to break first.

But there’s still so much more of her to capture, so much more of her face to fuck.

Her red lips against your skin. Her cheeks bulging with your length. The line of her throat as she swallows. The tears in her eyes when she gags.

Somi’s arms loop around your back, cupping your ass, pulling you closer, urging you deeper.

Winking, giving you all the right cues; a muffled, “Here,” she says with her eyes. “This angle.”

And she’s right. It’s perfect. She’s got a talent for this.

Taking you deep, feeling like your cock’s never going to be able to leave her throat, only to pull back so you can see just how much she’s enjoying herself. How much she’s into this, so grateful to have you capturing every moan, every gag, every little sound she makes as you fuck her mouth like it’s the first time—and after a whole month it might as well be.

“Fuck, take it, Somi, you’re doing so well,” you tell her, knowing what it does to her—the praise, the adoration. Absorbed straight into her bloodstream, making her work harder, suck better, choke a little more. “Such a good girl.”

She loves it. Her eyes brighten, she squeezes your thighs, nails digging in. She loves it all.

You’re getting so close, you can feel it—thirty days of denial are about to come to a head, and she's going to be the one to bring you there. And yet, you still haven’t gotten nearly enough pictures to do her justice.

Somi sees it too, she can tell, knows just how close you are, but still, she's just lie you. She wants more.

She pulls back, an idea hatching in that filthy mind of hers, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Wait,” she says, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, cleaning herself of her spit, her drool, your leakage. “I want another photo. For comparison’s sake. Just for my memories.”

You’re not sure what she means, but you don’t ask questions. You just keep your camera at the ready, watching her move, watching her lean closer.

Your cock hovering just above her cheek, tip bumping up against her nose, leaving a wet streak across her face. She holds herself there, your length atop her face, and it’s all in view—her eyes fluttering closed, the tip of her tongue poking out to catch a taste of your precum, the way she’s breathing, deep and heavy, smelling the scent of you, inhaling it like it’s oxygen.

Somi—her face, her tits, her waist, her thighs.

Your cock.

All in view.

That’s the photo.

And when it’s done, you’re backing off, relearning how to breath, how to stand on your own two feet without crumbling to the ground. Somi’s tongue chases you but you’re out of reach, setting the camera down on the floor.

You need to get in on this. Fuck silly challenges. Fuck being a passive observer.

You’re done just watching. You need to feel her.

Somi looks at you all smug and satisfied, on her knees, awaiting your next instruction. “Finished taking pictures?”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you start peeling off your clothes, each layer like a heavy weight of your shoulders; until you’re just as bare and needy as she is.

Back to Somi, cradling her face, letting her lean into your palm. Running your thumb across her jaw, dragging it across her lips, stamping it onto her tongue.

She sucks.

Christ.

Thirty days of hell, given up for one moment in heaven.

Fuck it. She’ll make it worth it.

You tell her in simple, clear terms. “I’m going to fuck you now, Somi.”

“Please.”

It’s your turn now.

You relax into the couch, legs spread wide, cock throbbing in the open air, beckoning her to come closer.

Somi reads the room, your posture, your need, and she rises to the occasion. Joining you on the couch, back on her knees, thighs gripping on the outside of yours. Hands planted firmly on your shoulders, and the whole time, her eyes don’t leave yours, not even for a second.

Appreciate her, this woman, giving herself over to you.

Untying her ponytail, sending honey-brown hair cascading down her face, caressing her neck, her shoulders, meeting the tops of her breasts, perfectly rounded and waiting for the return of your teeth. Her waist, her abs, tensing and releasing, with every hot breath. And her pussy, already there, shimmering, dribbling down your cock, waiting.

Somi’s waiting for your permission.

So, taking her by the back of her neck, pulling her close, kissing her hard. Forcing this whine into your throat as your cock bumps up against her folds, sets off fireworks down her spine.

It’s a translation. Your need, from your tongue to hers, telling her that it’s only her that can do this you. Can rip you from responsibilities, from sanity, from all the shit that’s been keeping you going for the last thirty days.

Telling her that it’s worth giving it all up for just a taste, because maybe that’s the point of the challenge in the first place. Not a matter of self-control but a way to save yourself for something—someone—so potent, so powerful, so fucking irresistible that you just have to surrender to.

You pull apart, breaths hot and ragged, tongues still connected by strands, your hands already at her waist.

“You’re going to ride me, Somi. You’re going to cum on my cock and I’m going to watch it all.”

Somi nods, understanding.

Letting you guide her by the hips, sliding her fingers between her legs to take hold of your cock, aiming it at her entrance.

Lowering herself down, slow, so fucking slow, like it’s a brand-new form of torture, until your cock is nestled at the entrance of her heat, and you’re both vibrating with the anticipation of it, the gravity of this moment.

You take a harsh breath. “Ready?”

Somi presses her forehead to yours. Teasing, “Are you?”

And then, inch by inch, dragging her cunt down your shaft, making you feel every bit of her wetness, her tightness, every bit of her heat, Somi takes you in.

Pussy tightening around you like a fist, walls pulsing, massaging your cock, like she’s already trying to milk you dry. This moan that’s torn from her lips, deep and primal, something she’s been holding in for far too long, this needy, unholy cry that takes the shape of your name.

And when she’s bottomed out, when you’ve filled her until all she knows is you, Somi looks down in your eyes, nothing but pure, unfiltered lust strewn across her face. “Everything you were hoping for?”

You try, but fail, to form coherent words, just manage a grunt of pleasure, a nod of your head, and she laughs—it's the sweetest, most evil sound you've ever heard. She's got you, hook, line, and sinker.

“Good to know,” she says, and that’s all she needs to start moving, to set the rhythm that’s going to shake the walls, send them crashing to the ground until all that’s left is the two of you fucking amongst the rubble.

Her thighs tighten around you, hips start to roll in a way that’s just too fucking good, too fucking perfect. The friction is everything, makes the world narrow to just the two of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the drenched slick of her pussy, the heavy scent of her filling the air.

“Baby,” she repeats, each time her thighs slap down against yours, each thrust all the way up into her guts. “This cock is so perfect for me, so fucking—”

A snap of your hips into her, pulling her down hard, making her tits jump at the force of it, making Somi wail. There’s her cunt, spasming around you, tightening, trying to hold you in, trying to keep you there, but you’re not letting up.

You take over, holding by the hips and fucking her, like you’ve been waiting for, like you’ve been so fucking desperate for, like she needs so badly.

“God, you’re really—really fucking pent up, aren't you?" Somi's words are chopped up by the relentless thrusts of your hips, making her stutter, her voice all strained and breathy. Bouncing on you now, letting you set the pace, eyes screwed shut, just giving herself over to you. “I’m so, so lucky. So lucky that it gets to be me that breaks you. That takes you. That gets all this cum you’ve been saving this whole time.”

You’re gritting your teeth, unable to do anything but just fuck. Driven mad by it, by every impulse coming right up to the surface.

Everything you’ve been holding back, it’s all here, being unleashed onto Somi.

Fuck her, fill her, make her scream—‘Please, please, please’. Those are the only thoughts in your head now. Forget about the job, the photographs, the responsibility—just be yourself, a man on the edge, ready to jump off the fucking cliff.

“Baby,” Somi’s repeating, as your fingers find purchase in her ass, as she lays kisses on your shoulder, marking you up along your neck and down your jaw. There’s other words too—filth, all of it; whining to you about how you’re filling her up so good, about how she’s so wet for you, about how you’re going to make her cum so hard. But it’s all just noise to you. Noise that can be summarised in the simplest of requests, right from Somi’s lips—“Please, fucking use me.”

It's the perfect way to come apart—have someone like Somi, with her heavenly tits in your face, and her greedy, greedy cunt soaking up everything you’re willing to give. Begging, wanting, needing to be ruined.

“So fucking tight for me,” you’re kissing into her chest, finding your voice somewhere between her breasts. Telling her, “Fuck, Somi, your pussy. It’s so good for me. So fucking perfectly wet.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Somi sighs back, arms barely hanging on, holding at your neck, unable to do nothing but whimper and bear it. Bear this fucking you’re giving her, your cock invading her cunt, making her pussy tighten around it like a vice, making her abs clench, her tits jump, her throat swallow—making her sweat.

It’s like she was made for this—cunt made for your cock, body made for your arms. Somi, perfectly designed to be used by you. To moan and whine at your mercy; to be fucked, to be filled, to ruin you and to be ruined all the same.

“I can’t, I’m trying but I can’t hold on,” Somi’s teary-eyed, kissing at your face, your neck, her breath hot and sweet against your ear. “Baby, please. I need to feel you. Need more of you.”

And you’re only too eager to oblige.

Lifting your head, pulling her body closer. Catching her left nipple in your mouth, sucking hard, nipping at the peak until she’s gasping, until she’s arching her back, pressing her chest closer. Feeling the flesh flush against your lips, hitting your chin with each hard thrust.

Fuck, her tits. You could suffocate between them only to claw your way out of the grave just for another taste.

Her nails dig into your scalp, demanding more—more attention, more adoration, more worship. You give it to her—switching between each of her breasts, suckling and licking, making her whine and buck against your teeth.

“Just like that, you’re so good at that, so good with my tits,” she moans, short, tiny sighs that send your hips jerking upwards. Fucking her faster, quick, staccato thrusts that hit her just right, make her walls quiver around you. “They’re yours, all for you. All of me is yours.”

Her orgasm builds; it’s palpable, a storm brewing in the studio, sweeping up everything in its path. Each breath she takes is a hitch, a little cry, a whine. So tight around you, fucking her so hard, so deep that you can feel it coming from the inside out.

“Filling me so good, so, so good,” she mewls, and there’s still some fight in her left, a burst of energy in her thighs, allowing her to grind down harder, drop her ass on you—an up, down, up, down that echoes through the studio with each smack.

“You’re going to cum for me Somi,” you’re telling her, detailing exactly how she’ll come completely apart. “You’re going to cum all over my cock, you’re going to scream for me when you do it, okay? Tell me how good it feels.”

“Yes, yes, yes, tell me what you want—anything—I’ll do it, I’ll be so, so good for you—”

“You’re going to beg me for my cum, Somi. Going to beg me to give it to you until you can’t take any more,” you’re growling, your teeth sinking into her tits, your tongue pushing up against her flesh, making her sing.

You’re fucking her apart, tearing her in two with your cock. This girl you've only just met, who only just walked into your life; nothing but sex in a pair of high heels, and you’re already rearranging the furniture of her soul.

Now she’s the one that can’t make sense of things, can’t form full sentences—just incoherent whines and cries, each one stacking on top of the other, until the foundation’s all tilted and it’s going to collapse any second now.

Just waiting for you.

Separate from her chest, take a fistful of her hair, pull her back so you can look in her eyes and see. See just how badly you’re ruining her, how terribly she’s falling apart.

Make sure she can see you, has her attention on nothing but you when you tell her, finally, “Cum. Cum for me, Somi. All over my cock.”

She’s breaking.

“Now.”

“Please, I—” Somi’s words live and die on her lips, barely making it out before it hits her, seizes her entirely, forces her cunt to strangle your cock as she shatters.

It’s all there, her pussy tightening, pulsing, clenching, releasing in this quake of bliss that feels like a sucker punch straight through your gut.

When she cums it hits her, hits you, waves of heat washing over your cock, splashing down onto your thighs. It’s the sensation. So overwhelming, so undeniable, grinding down her orgasm onto you, pleading, over and over and over again, “Don't stop, don't stop, please!”

Writhing in your arms, needing to be held close to stop her from falling off the couch completely. Eyes rolling, head thrown back, exposing her neck, the perfect arc of her throat. Her body jolts, jerks, twitches, and it has you fucking hypnotised.

And all Somi can do is say, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

She keeps going, until each thread is unravelled, until you’ve fucked loose every last bit of control she’s got, until she’s nothing but a trembling mess in your arms.

But it’s not over, not yet.

You’re still hard, so fucking hard. Bursting at the seams. And Somi’s looking down at you, pulling herself back together. Seeing your cock, buried inside her. Seeing the mess you’ve made of her, her own pussy. Seeing everything.

And she’s smiling, because she knows what comes next.

“Use me.”

You lift her off your cock, so easy to carry; her tiny waist in your hands, she’s so light. Still shivering, these tiny, little aftershocks quivering through her, it’s like she’s clay in your hands, ready to be moulded at your discretion.

Somi gasps when she’s laid out on the couch, her legs spread wide, her cunt leaking down her thighs, all cream and cum. She adjusts herself, makes herself comfortable, presentable. Putting herself in the best possible state to be used by you.

“Use me, baby,” she repeats again, that sweat plea that’s going to be you’re undoing. She’s so, so needy, practically whining for more, for everything, for anything as long as it involves your cock and her.

You stand over her, cock at the ready, eyes on your next target, the natural stage for the grand finale, the pièce de resistance of this whole fucked up photoshoot—Somi’s breasts.

She follows your gaze, realises, “You want to fuck these tits, don’t you?”

You find your voice gravelly, deep. “Yeah.”

Somi giggles, hands at her chest, taking either side of her breasts, pushing them together with her palms and creating this gorgeous valley, just waiting for your cock. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“For you to beg.”

Somi blinks. Once, twice. Sees the look on your face, sees how hard you are for her, how desperate you are to let go.

But she knows how much you need to hear it. Knows how much she wants to say it.

“Please. Baby, please. Fuck my tits. Cum all over me. I need it.” Somi’s licking her lips, massaging her breasts together, showing you just how soft they are, how ready they are for you. “I need to feel your cum on me. All over me. My face, my neck, my chest. Everywhere. Let me do this for you.”

That’s it.

You’re back on the couch, straddling her stomach. Knees on either side of her waist, cock between her tits. Soft, warm, inviting.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that,” you manage, each word a mountain of effort as you watch your cock disappear between her breasts.

It’s a gentle push, that’s all it takes, and Somi starts to move, making her tits jiggle around your dick, squeezing it from either side as you slide your cock up and down. So focused, eyes on your cock, then back to your face, studying your every reaction, waiting for that moment when you crack.

And it’s coming so soon, you’ve been teetering on the edge since Somi first walked in—fuck, on edge for thirty days—and now you’re hurtling towards the fall.

You’re not going to last, not when Somi’s got you like this. Her hands moving with you, her tits bouncing in time with your strokes. The cushioning of her breasts around you; this gentle, sweet, torturous pressure that has you grunting, has you smearing drops of yourself all over her chest.

“Fuck, you look so good between my tits. So hard. Doesn’t it feel right? Like this is where your cock fucking belongs. This is what my tits were made for. For you,” Somi’s whispering, stringing these words together like a spell. “You can go faster, baby, I won’t break. Just let go and use me like the slut I am.”

Pleading for it, so desperate for you. Sweet words, encouragement, filth, like a drug, pushing you close and closer to the brink.

Just obey, pump faster, fuck her tits quicker, watch as your cock slices through her cleavage, the gloss it leaves over her skin. See Somi, licking her lips, devouring you with her eyes, just waiting for you to join her on the other side of oblivion.

“Cum for me, baby. Please, please. I need it—I need to feel it—please!”

Her tongue stretches past her lips, flicking out to catch the tip of your cock, making you groan. Leaning in, breath hot on you, cock hitting her lips with every thrust, every drive through her tits. So fucking greedy, so eager to taste, so needy to be the one responsible for your total ruin.

“Oh, oh, oh, baby—yes—yes—yes—yes—”

She pinches her nipples, twists them just right, moans—

You feel it immediately—your balls tighten, your cock swells, and then—release.

Intense is the only way to describe it.

So fucking intense.

White hot jets of cum spurt out, firing everywhere, making a mess of her, coating her chest, her neck, her chin, her lips, her nose—splashing down all over her.

It’s a frenzy, a natural disaster, a hurricane that’s been building for one long fucking month, and now it’s here.

The way her eyes widen, the way her mouth opens, gasping for air, the way she shakes—she wanted this, but there’s no fucking way she was prepared for it.

And when you back up, she dives forward, hand seizing the base of your cock and pumps. Wrists twisting in this aching motion, winding up and down your cock, wringing you out until you’re just a slave to her fingers, her tits, her touch.

“Keep going, baby, keep cumming for me, give me everything,” she begs, sending shivers all the way from your shaft down to your spine as she works your cock.

You do, you have no choice, no say in the matter. You give her everything.

You're coming apart, torn from your own body in sticky, hot waves that leaves you absolutely breathless.

And she’s a fucking mess. All of her—her face, her neck, her tits. So beautiful covered in you. So utterly used. So utterly yours.

It takes a moment for the tremors to stop, for the world to come back into the focus. You sit there, panting, feeling like you’ve just done a triathlon and then climbed a mountain. Somi’s just smiling at you, looking at you through her lashes, glued together with your cum, her own little giggles escaping every now and again.

She looks like a dream.

“Fuck, Somi—”

“Mm?” She looks so content, so at peace with the universe. Wearing your cum like fine jewellery. As if she’s the one that just had the best orgasm of her life.

“You’re—” But what the fuck do you say? That she’s ruined you? That she’s shattered your world? That you’ll never be able to look at a camera again without thinking of her?

Ah.

That’s what you’ll do.

You lean down, pick the camera off the floor, and then—snap.

Somi, looking so sloppy and obscene. Looking like everything you never knew you needed. Looking like she belongs to you.

She wipes away at her eyes, collects the cum on her finger, before dipping it into her mouth. Sucking, tasting the flavour of your need.

“Get the shot you wanted?”

You let out a long, heavy exhale, sliding off the couch, off her, sitting on the floor next to her. Resting your head on her thighs while Somi just lies there, sprawled out, utterly wrecked.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says. “One whole month.”

You remember to inhale. “Thirty days.”

She’s fighting a losing battle, cleaning the endless fountain of cum you’ve covered her with. Looking like she just streaked through a fucking snowstorm.

But she tries, collects as much as she can, smearing it into a sticky mess. Playing with it on her fingers, rolling it around her tongue, enjoying this way too much.

You raise the camera, aim it at her. The way she’s looking at you, the way her hand moves, so fucking casual—like it's her natural state of being. Making you believe that Somi should be covered in cum, all the time. It's only right.

You just can’t help yourself. You click.

“I haven’t been fucked like that since,” Somi starts, clearly not minding being the subject of your post-coital art. “Since ever. That was—"

“A trainwreck,” you’re saying, and then finishing when you catch the look on her face, “Not like that. It was insane. Intense. Really, thirty days or not, it was fucking life changing.”

Somi smiles. “Good to know I didn’t disappoint.”

“Just. These photos. Completely unsalvageable. None of that can be sent to your agency.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Somi says, so easily, so carefree, as if she didn’t just obliterate every single professional boundary you’ve ever set. “Let me have a look. There must be some photos at the start that are useable. From before you… lost focus.”

You pass her the camera, let her scroll through the shots, see all the pornographic filth the two of you have created. She flicks through, each click another photo, another reminder of what you’ve done, what she’s done to you.

And she’s enjoying it. These little smirks, the nods of approval. Fascinated by these photos of her, of her body in these stages of ecstasy.

“Ah, yup. No. Nope. Definitely not. Oh, and that one is just… yeah.” Somi’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of awe in it. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“It’s what you do to me.”

“I can see that,” she says, continuing until she gets to the last of the photos. “That’s pretty fucked. These are pretty fucked up. But, like. Beautifully fucked up.”

“Thanks,” you say, throwing your hands up, letting one fall on Somi’s thigh. It rests there, draws a circle over the smooth warm, skin.

It’s a good feeling. Having her here, like this. So relaxed, so comfortable. Knowing her in the most intimate ways possible, yet still not knowing much about her at all.

She sighs when your hand moves higher. You throb.

Yeah. After thirty days, only one time is not going to be nearly enough.

You already want to dive back into the land of debauchery with Somi, bring up more of those repressed fantasies you’ve been waiting to realise, even though you’re still knee-deep in the aftermath of the first round.

It’s in Somi’s eyes as well, you can feel it in the air, from the heat radiating off her skin—she's not done with you either.

Far from it.

You're going to ruin her again. You're certain of it.

“So,” she says, making a show of cupping her tits, raising them up to her mouth. Licking them clean.

Your response is swift. Immediate. “We’re going to have to reschedule.”

Somi’s laughter is pure gold. “How does thirty days from now sound?”

You blink. Stare at her, unamused.

She raises your camera.

Snap!

[bokutosbabe]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° sniper, sniper, sniper ♡ wifey, wifey, wifey

( bllk boys showing you off )

♡ a/n — i just love the tiktok trend so :) ( was going to attach a link to a tiktok showing what i was talking abt but it wouldn't work. just look up sniper sniper sniper wifey wifey marines and you'll see what i meant :) )

♡ content — all characters are 18+ !!, mentions of tiktok & instagram, slight cursing, tbh bad writing, nicknames like 'love' , 'wifey' , and 'my girl' used, probably ooc characters

♡ synopsis — blue lock boys showing off their girlfriend :)

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' oh that's your wifey ? ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the...tiktok maker

if there was anyone you would really and truly call chronically online, it would be him. every day he'd come to you with some new word he learned from tiktok, or a meme that would plague your house for weeks until it went away.

so when he pulled out his phone to show you a video, you weren't expecting it to be a couples trend.

" please, please, pleaseee, love? you'd look so cute in my arms like that ! " and he had just won a big game...how could you say no to him?

so here you were, being carried like a bride in your lovely boyfriend's arms. if it were anyone else, you'd be too worried about how long they could hold you, but since it was him you didn't worry.

it took a few tries, each of you messing up a part at least once and you accidentally dropping the phone a few times, but after you figured it out, the video was practically perfect.

they posted it to their public tiktok account with the caption

' not my wifey yet, but soon ;) '

and to say all the notifications were making his phone glitch would be an understatement.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ BACHIRA MEGURU, hiori yo, SHIDOU RYUSEI, chigiri hyoma, OTOYA EITA, isagi yoichi

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the...instagram poster

maybe, just maybe it was wrong of him.

wrong of him to want to post these pictures the two of you had taken on your date to the aquarium?

if he were any other, normal, person this wouldn't have seemed like a big deal, but since he had at least a million followers and some were a bit more obsessed than others, it was.

you'd told him multiple times that you were okay with him posting you, really if he was happy, you were happy. maybe it was the egoist in him, but he wanted to keep you to himself.

fuck it.

if you wanted to be posted, he was going to post you. who cared what anyone else thought? their opinions didn't mean anything to him.

he selected a few of the pictures the two of you had taken at the aquarium, sneaking one of a lipstick stain on his neck in the middle of the slides.

if he was going to announce his relationship to the public, why not let the world know how utterly whipped he was for you?

the caption was a simple

' gotta love my girl ♡ '

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ YUKIMIYA KENYU, karasu tobito, REO MIKAGE, alexis ness, RANZE KURONA, gin gagamaru

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ the...national television?!

the ever illusive pro soccer player. that's what every press agency called your boyfriend.

his ability to somehow dodge any paparazzi and answer very short questions during press conferences made every view into his personal life shine like gold.

based on an instagram story ( that was taken down in less than 10 minutes ) where a picture of him with his arms around a woman in a bathroom mirror, the media could assume he was in a relationship. in that photo, however, the woman's face was not visible, so the questioned still remained...

what woman could capture this mans heart?

he hadn't cared, not really. a photo was nothing to him, but you were everything. he tried really hard to keep your identity private, he didn't want you to be absorbed into a world of cameras always in your face.

but after he made the game winning goal of a very important game...all he wanted to do was see you.

maybe it was the way he could see you in the section you'd always sat, or maybe it was his ego wanting to tell everyone "yeah i'm the best soccer player, and yeah i have the best girl, what about it?"

as all of the adoring fans rushed the field, including you, he just wanted to see you. he knew, realistically, he should just go back to the locker room and come meet you afterwards like he usually did, but not today.

he shrugged off ever reporter and fan that wanted to talk to him, which was nothing new, but instead of leaving to the locker room, they watched as he walked over to you

he knew all eyes were on him, the world still watching...but he couldn't find it in himself to care. he wrapped his arms around your waist

" made that goal for you, ya know? "

you were a little surprised at his appearance, but if he didn't care neither than you.

" i know. "

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ NAGI SEISHIRO, rensuke kunigami, RIN ITOSHI, shidou ryusei, ZANTETSU TSURUGI, sae itoshi

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆ ' i think i like her . ' ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

this was a midnight brain dump so it's pretty bad, but i hope yall liked it :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

[ebodebo]

hey, so…bull rider!simon??

“You come to wish me luck?” Simon purred in your ear as his hands gripped the back of your thighs and his body pressed onto yours, stabilizing you against the wall of a rundown dive bar’s back room.

“You’ve gotta be as dull as an ox if you think I’m here for any other interest than self, Beef-head,” you hiss as his fingers dig into the fat of your thigh, etching closer to slide your panties off.

“Beef-head, huh?” He murmurs against your neck as your hands fumble with his buckle, unclasping it before sliding the zipper to his pants down.

“Seems fittin,’” you prompt, as your panties slide to dangle around your ankles. He slips his jeans and boxers down in one swift motion. You slip your hand between the two of you to gently tug on his painfully erect cock.

You lean closer into him, lips barely grazing his temple. His sizzling breath fanning across your cheeks as you stroke him. “I bet this one gets taken care of when you’re tourin.’ Huh?” You tighten your grip around him; he releases an anguished groan, fingers digging deeper into your thighs.

“Ah—fuck,” he whizzes as one of his hands releases your thigh and instead braces against the back wall.

“Ya—I bet you find a pretty girl who's just jumpin’ at the chance to touch ya in every city,” your fingers move quicker on their volition, “you don't even have to try.”

If Simon didn't know you, he'd assume you were doing what everyone else does: stroke his ego, but he knew you.

You were majorily fucking with him.

“Fuck—don’t tell me you're—ah—jealous, babydoll,” Simon murmurs, his tone is dripping in arrogance. You let out a dry laugh, tugging his cock slightly harder, making him groan.

“Come on, Beef-bead. You know I don't have to do a damn thing before your comin’ up to me beggin’ for a taste,” you drag lips down his temple to his busted lip. “Beggin’ for a feel of me.”

He quickly moves his hand braced onto the wall onto your face, pulling your lips roughly onto his. He tasted of blood and Nicorette, which did nothing to tamper your reclusions.

Your teeth scrape against each other as the kiss becomes more fervent with each passing moment. The air is now dense and burning with desire.

His hand moves from your cheek to his erect cock still in your hand, cheekily pulling your fingers off to push himself inside your soaked cunt.

“Shit,” you wheezed, fingers digging into his shoulders. His hands wander, gripping your waist impossibly closer, back pressed tut with the cracked walls behind you.

“You’re right—fuck—been waiting to come back,” he pants as he increases his pace. “Just to get a God-damn look at ya,” he spits.

It’s almost pathetic. Almost.

“Suppose this ain’t half bad,” he brashly says. You find a slight smirk pulling at your lips at his quip, though your humorous expression quickly dissipates almost as fast as it came when he plows into you.

You lean your head into his neck, nipping at the flesh, then quickly soothing it with a swipe of your tongue. “Damn firecracker, you are,” he groans into your hair.

When you feel his impending orgasm nearing, you swing your legs down, easing his cock out of you. Slight regret passed through you at losing contact, but you would finish yourself later.

Simon hisses, gripping his cock, attempting to regain any ounce of stimulation, but to his dismay, it had passed.

“If I know one thing about you, champ, I know you don't like it easy,” you pant out. “So I’ll be damned if I let you think for a moment you got it easy with me,” your eyes lock to his.

You’re surprised to find his face paler and eyes smokier. Though they weren’t filled with anguish, it was more admiration.

“I didn’t get to finish last time, so you don’t get to finish this time round,’” you say, pulling your jeans back on and buckling your belt.

“Suggest you find one of your buckle bunnies to help ya out—with that,” you gesture to his now half-erect cock splayed out.

You reach into your back pocket, grasping a five-dollar bill, pushing it into his chest because you could at least give him enough to cover an ice pack.

He grips the money, an irritated smirk playing on his lips. As you leave, you approach the door, dipping your head to avoid catching attention.

You hear Simon murmur a faint, ‘Firecracker, my ass, that's a whole damn bomb.’

You smile because, well, karma is karma.

a/n: come on yk thanksgiving brings out all the freakies hence this!

[acid-ixx]

no pain, no gain, right?

"is this all a game, or are they all secretly masochists?!"

nah, imaging being kidnapped by the batfam, neglected or not, romantic or platonic, and being expected to treat your abduction as merely normal, to love them like you've known them for your entire life rather than strangers who randomly decided that you're the object of affection they'd focus on their attention on one day—

do they honestly think you'd fall for their honeyed words? of course not! you're fucking trapped with both men and women alike with physical capabilities enough to trap you in a headlock or in a bear hug. they could kill you with a damn finger jabbed into your neck. is that not a valid enough reason for you to try and constantly fight them?

if you're a person bound on the feistier side, the first course of action you'd commit on, say, dick who's known to be the most physically affectionate, the neediest of them all - who's constantly kissing you, playing with your hair and laying his head on your chest - would be your nails digging deep into his skin and dragging it along his back, or trying to throw a punch into tim's face when you feel he's been staring into you rather than at you far too deeply for your liking, watching the blood drip down his nose like a faucet right after, as long as it means his eyes would leave your body for just a damn second.

whatever they're doing, even if they're always assuring you that they're doing this out of love, out of protection, out of their deep-seated paranoia that out there, you're not safe, you won't survive; their actions are all done for you — yet they'll always be met with you threatening to bite or chew their faces off. they're not your damn family, or lovers, or whatever fantasies they think they could reenact with you, and they know damn well that you won't be giving up soon, not at all—!

yet you don't know that behind your fiery side are those willing to let the fire burn much longer, those who throw more logs and gasoline into the ever-burning pit of rage and spite that crackles at your heart.

jason trying to trap you into his muscly arms only warrants your fight-or-flight instincts, akin to a gothamite walking past the crime alley, kicking and scratching at the man just wishing for a day of comfort as he sighs and nuzzles his head into the crown of your hair, breathing deeply to take in your scent, as if you're not currently pulling his hair out. he'll let you bite on his hard neck, or kick at the fat of thighs or even his crotch with no reaction other than tightening his already caged grip on your body.

a body much frailer compared to everybody else's. a mere gazelle to a lion ready to be chased anytime soon.

bruce placing a hand behind your back will only result in you digging deeply into his forearms, wide eyes and heaving breaths that reflects not only utter fear but a thinly-veiled threat of another session of attempting to uppercut him, like you're some wild prey ready to make a run if he dares push the boundaries you settled for. yet all he does is try his best to warmly smile at you without any weariness, not even any vigilance of your future actions, and most especially not fear.

how long are you going to fight them? why are even you doing this? to soften the blow? to make them wish they regret even taking you away from the first place? or do you wish for them to feel a semblance of fear you felt whenever their toned arms surprised you from when they appeared before a shadow? do they not know just how deeply terrified you are of them, that you're doing all this because you're afraid of their strength?

except, what you expected never came. you would've been fine with them punishing you, slowly losing their inhibitions, snarling at you every damn time you snap, becoming tired of your antics and threatening to throw you out, even mocking you for your weakness; anything...!

but not whatever this is.

not the stupidly gentle smiles, or the droopy eyes that look as if they've fallen in love even more at just how much droplets of blood you were able to procure with another set of scratches against jason's forearms. not the astounded whistles at another bruise you managed to punch into steph's shoulders after a momentary lapse of shock from another one of her back hugs— as of this were some all sick form of therapy. you know they're taking your daily fights seriously, you know it because they always take note of it by staring at each other every time you manage to injure them! but fuck, why are they just letting you do as you will?

since when have your nails been longer, sharper even?

why is jason just... staring at you, his gaze proud and mighty, not out of his attempts at mocking you but looking genuinely so gratified. there's rivulets of crimson dripping down his neck all the way to the clavicle until it reaches his upper pecs, multiple indents of scars already faded, now overlayed with fresher, even deeper ones; displayed like a museum artifact by his loose tee. his fingers, shaky and equally scarred, moved to run over the inflicted injuries, touching and pressing deep, as it just as quickly finds its way to his mouth, lapping at the blood, his eyes never leaving your equally shivering form; dread and disgust curling into your very being.

he takes deep breaths after lapping his fingers clean, his fists are curled together like yours; except your nails are stained with blood, jason's, a stench that curdles deep into your nostrils. and for a second you feel something scarier than fear, an immeasurable pit of doom that looms over your back. for a second, you thought this would be the last time you'll ever see the light again. just as quickly as you scratched him, you try to retort with an excuse.

"jason, i'm- i'm so sorry i didn't mean to—!"

"we get it now, angel...

this is your way of coping, right? it's all good, do as much damage as you could 's long as you get it all out of your system, 'kay?

and thanks, by the way. this one's even better than the one you gave me just earlier."

what does he mean? what's even better...? you just- you just gave it your all trying to engrave your sharp nails into already scarred skin; why is he talking to you as if he's congratulating you rather than scolding you?

no, no, no... he shouldn't be all like this... why is everybody staying silent all throughout? why do your ears wring, every sound mapped around the house turned into one singular sound? this shouldn't be happening, no! he should be mad, should be punching you, bruce should've broken you both up the moment he noticed your hands make a way for jason's neck— yet since when did anybody try to interrupt?! the only damn time, god... the only time they ever do is when you try to inflict injuries on yourself, but never on others... just why?

there's sudden clapping that distracts you from your thoughts, from dick's or duke, you don't know? one of them is saying something and you can't comprehend it other than one-liners and muffled, incomprehensible words.

"—'m jealous of you," that's duke's voice! what else is he saying? why is he envious? of what exactly? the fear doesn't settle down unlike all the other times, there's tears that began brimming on your eyes and you still stand in the middle of the living room, the chandelier's light basking you in its ethereal glow, yet you feel the opposite. you're no angel as what's jason called you, and the people surrounding you are more like demons than anything else; witnessing your fall from grace, taking you away from your home whilst having the audacity applauding your presence as if you've fucking graced them.

and then steph coos, your head snaps to the direction of her grating "awe's!". you're convinced she's looking at jason like he's been vindicated for some crime, eyes you never knew could hold so much anger and spite. you don't know why she does, you don't understand the hidden implications of her next words, you can only watch from a distance.

"that should've been me, y'know! that's so unfair of you!" her seething voice and hardened glare at the man subsided into your thoughts; who wishes to be hurt? who even wants to be the victim of your feisty glares and venomous insults? you know they don't like it when you stare at them with burning hatred— but why do they enjoy it when you physically scar them instead? when you punch at their noses and watch as the blood stains their clothes evidently?

and yet it only registered within your mind just now: how they never seem to patch up any of the marks you imprint on their body. it's only now that you realize that they always bare it right in front of everybody, some even wearing looser clothes that give others a peek of their skin in the more intimate places you've marked. there's bandages from when they go home after every patrol, there's casts that they wear after suffering through broken bones and dislocated limbs from the criminals they fight every night— but never with you, not even a gauze from when you've cut all too keenly into damian's cheeks, a deep gash that he's sported proudly throughout the following months with everyone else seething, even bruce seems envious of his own son.

"well, it's not my fault you didn't try hard enough, blondie. right, angel? guess they love me even more than you," his sultry words pierced through your mind, and for just a second, he was already at your side, hands weighing on your shoulder whilst his head makes its way to the crown of your head, leaning down to give you a lingering kiss on your forehead. he releases an airy laugh at the complaints that come after. and for a second, your claws were ready to retaliate from mere instinct, at how he dares treat the entire situation like a bragging right; but unlike last time, you try to hold back, shoulders sagging as you try to blink out the tears running down your eyes; all right after discovering their... sick fetishes.

fetishes you didn't know run deeper than just that. you don't even know of the competition they hold every night right after they put you to sleep, counting each and every scar, every pull of the hair, every bloodied nose, bruised eyes, scratched skin, cuts inflicted from knives and other sharp objects laying around, your very own murder attempts at your abductors; all tallied and inputted into barbara's coded system that tracks and points each and every injury. you don't know just how much they cherish these marks you left in their body, like medals dangling off their parts that showcase their dedication, their patience never dwindling at achieving your trust— bruce once said it was an unhealthy habit of yours, but dick retaliates, saying it's the only way they could get closer to you.

it's the only time that you willingly touch them, even if it's with animosity, with passion and hope that someday you'd maim them just hard enough to escape.

"don't even think tonight's over yet, todd. you all simply haven't seen what they've done to me just yet," now it's damian who butts in, with emerald eyes gleaming with emotions you're still unable to detangle. yet now there's hints of rage, a face that says he's ready to compete with what jason has to offer now, hands caressing the cloth he wears that hides an injury enough to compete with the pain you've inflicted upon jason, an injury you're far too familiar with.

he's the youngest, and sometimes, you feel the most fear trying to discern why he's too possessive of your time, of your space and your presence, all whilst sporting a glare that never seems to lighten. but nothing ever changed the fact that he's the one who pushes all your buttons the most, he's the one with the cruelest words and sickening intentions, enough for you to treat him the foulest you ever could; with murder the only product in your mind every time he tries to even come closer to you.

and his words right now made you realize just how deeply you fucked up, and just how equally as fucked up your abductors truly are...

after all, you did just bite him earlier, in the space between his neck and shoulders from when he attempted to lick at your neck, making sure your teeth grates at his skin and nearly rips at flesh; to the point where the taste of blood that filled your mouth still lingers even until now.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: art by yuto sano. written in 30 minutes sheesh. you know what's scarier than your kidnappers retaliating against you whenever you try to attack them? them taking it all in stride instead. the delusional belief that it's your own expressive way of getting used to their presence— even going as far as turning it into some sort of competition on who gets to have the most scars by the end of the day. i think that's absolutely more insane than just punishing you, and please tell me i was at least able to portray the feeling of doom well with this. i also hope this isn't too ooc. guys, pls pls pls tell me what you think of this, did this cook or what? interaction's been low lately and i've been feeling demotivated to write so uhm... also, if anyone wants me to write the difference between the romantic or platonic implications of masochist/sub batfam, just tell me and i will!

this is inspired by @on-leatheredwings post about masochist tim drake. she's literally the reason why i read the entire red robin comic run and was obsessed with him for like a long period of time because of her banger portrayal of him. and it's also inspired by @sleepingdiaryzzz's recent post, her writing is really immaculate and well thought out unlike mine LMAO and she's a tad bit underrated so you guys definitely should check her out! this post is also dedicated to @neerathebrightstar, thank u for being my coolest supporter ever.

[simpjaes]

sharing = caring [p.js | s.jy]

Jake thought he could get away with purchasing your panties off of your brother without anyone knowing. Unfortunately, the dorm life, where Jay exists literally three feet away from him at all times makes that impossible. or the one where jake tries to jerk it while his roommate is sleeping and jay just wants him to share a lil bit of what he has hidden under his pillow

minors dni! | requested by anonymous

WORDCOUNT― 1.2k

PAIRING― jake x jay x reader's panties

WARNINGS ― both jake and jay are fucking weirdos. bisexual jay. jake is just horny so he's like "well, ok i guess"

NOTE― tumblr hasn't been letting me post longer drabbles as an ask, so to the anon who sent me this idea, ur brain. mwah.

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― masturbation, panty sucking, kind of guys kissing, cum, moaning, purchasing of panties lol

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Where did you get those?”

Jay stares forward at his roommate, narrowing his eyes for a moment in realization. 

“Found them.” Jake shrugs, trying to hide the item crumpled in his fingers, shoving them quickly into his pocket as if it would keep Jay from asking any more questions.

Unfortunately, Jay knows what those are, and knows who they belong to. He saw that fucking instagram post. Jake saw it too, Jay saw his bitch ass like the picture as soon as it was posted. 

It was a photo of you alongside your friends. You hadn’t noticed at the time the image was posted, and god, fuck, Jay wishes you never found out because the whole post was deleted shortly after. It was a panty shot, you sitting there on the front steps of a bar alongside your friends. If you zoomed in on the photo, because let’s be honest, Jay always zoomed in, you could see it. You could see your panties.

An accidental panty shot.

So, Jake would be out of his fucking mind to think Jay doesn’t know what those are. What he wants to know is how the fuck he got his hands on them.

Jake awkwardly stands, almost like a deer in headlights as Jay closes in on him, furrowing his brows and glaring at him.

“Jake.” Jay warns him with a deeper tone, “Where the fuck did you get those?”

Jake, famously bad at telling lies, stiffens up before dropping his shoulders entirely. 

“I paid her little brother for them.”

Jay lends him a look of disgust. Not because he thinks it’s weird, but more so because why the fuck didn’t he think of that first?”

“Bro…” Jay trails off, wanting to reach into Jake’s pocket and grab them himself, but he relents...for now. “How much did you pay for them?”

What Jake thought would be a scolding session, or like, a life long reason to mock and make fun of him turns out to be…oh. Now, hold on.

“Wait–” He takes a step back, raising a brow. “Why do you care?”

“Are they dirty?” Jay continues to question. “What do they smell like?”

Then, silence as the realization hits them both. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Well.

Jake expected to spend his first night with these panties alone, but it seems like Jay isn’t willing to let him out of his sight with them. Weird, absolute freak behavior, but he gets it. 

He’d probably do the same if he noticed Jay twirling your panties in his hands too. Still, he’s been dying to jerk off since he got the first whiff of them. 

Yes, they’re dirty. 

He didn’t pay $200 for nothing. And your brother drives a hard bargain. Jake seriously almost dipped into his saving because the fucker wanted more for them. Fucking pervert, selling his sister’s panties to make an extra buck.

Whatever. 

The issue now is the fact that Jay just lingers.

“Weren’t you supposed to go to work tonight?” Jake groans, hating the dorm life and despising the lack of jerking off he’s been able to do with a roommate so close. 

“I called in.” Jay deadpans, rolling over on his bed and acting like he’s going to go to sleep. 

Jake leaves it at that, rolling his eyes in a huff and flopping down on his own bed. 

An hour goes by in silence.

Two hours.

Jake’s eyes are bloodshot by this point because he really is sleepy. He’s got class at eight tomorrow morning, after all. Thankfully, he can tell Jay is asleep by now. Which means…

He’s as quiet as he can be when he reaches under his pillow, nearly moaning at the feeling of the panties against his fingertips alone. He’s lucky Jay didn’t see him stuff them under here, because for a second he was almost worried they’d be nowhere to be found once he finally got to do this. 

And so, silently still, he grabs them and gently lays them across his nose, inhaling deeply before sliding his hand down and into his sweatpants. 

He breathes the scent of you in, imagining all sorts of things until he’s working up a sweat trying to hold in his silence. Even if he were being loud, he wouldn’t know it, his ears have been ringing since the first touch of his cock, if he’s being totally honest.

They’re ringing so loudly, and his eyes are shut so tightly that he doesn’t even notice Jay getting out of bed and standing in front of him. He only realizes when the scent of you is suddenly gone and a waft of fresh air fills his lungs instead.

His abs flex as he opens his eyes in a frustrated groan before he’s ripping his hand from his pants and trying to snatch the beloved item back. 

“What the fuck?!” Jake grips, not even hiding how hard he is before lifting himself from his bed, onto his knees to try and grab at Jay’s arm. 

Jay, already lost in the sauce much like Jake was previously, will be damned to hand them over so easily. So, he presses his two fingers into the seat of the panties and sucks them into his mouth.

Jake nearly sees red at that. 

“I paid for those.” He seethes out this time, cock jumping unintentionally at the way Jay’s other hand is blatantly down his own pants, unashamed, right there in front of him. 

“We can’t share?” Jay mumbles from around the panties, leaving the fabric in place while pulling his fingers out, reaching for Jake’s arm to pull him even closer. 

All Jake can do is follow the grip on him in shock, unsure of what to do but fuck, he was so close already. Jay seems weirdly okay with this…why can’t he?

“Have you not tasted her yet?” Jay mumbles again, rolling his eyes back briefly when he flicks his wrist against the head of his cock. 

Jake wouldn’t know what’s going through his mind even if you tortured him to say it. Genuinely, there is no excuse for him to lean forward like this, chasing the scent of your panties right up against his own room mate’s mouth. He tries to save himself from crossing that line by trying to tug them out with a gentle pull, but it doesn’t work. Why doesn’t it work?

Because Jay closes the distance for him. Not kissing him, but lying his lips against Jake’s with the panties acting as a barrier. And then? He presses his tongue out, as if giving the panties back to Jake through a kiss.

Jake moans when he slightly pulls back, hesitating as he moves his hand down his own pants again. Unsure if he’s moaning for the taste of you, the intense arousal in his gut, or, well, being kind of kissed when he like, really really needs it. Jay or not, human contact is human contact when he's this fucking turned on.

Already, Jay is close with the remnant of your pussy on his tongue, but opening his eyes and seeing Jake act just as insane as he does– he can’t help it. There’s something about the taboo nature of it. The way Jake paid for panties from a girl who barely knows either of them. The way he started loudly jerking off as if Jay wasn’t three feet away from him before. The way he flushed while watching Jay try and get some of it too, jerking himself off in the open like that.

The way Jake just..stays here, inches from his face and cums against his sweat pants with a broken moan, drooling all over the panties.

It’s not that his roommate turns him on or anything. Honestly, Jay could give less of a shit about Jake in terms of sexuality but that moan. So broken, so desperate. He couldn’t help himself, reaching and tearing the panties out of Jake’s slack mouth as he releases, just to shove them down his own pants, cumming all into the fabric to not only the taste, scent, and feeling of your panties, but the sound of Jake whimpering at the loss.

[itneverendshere]

Could you please write btchy!pogue where shes the one whos jealous this time and rafe savors the moment.

don't like the way she's looking - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x raf

the cut had a party tonight, like most summer nights.

the music was loud enough to shake the ground, beer kegs were getting drained faster than anyone could fill them, and people packed into the yard like sardines. 

it wasn’t fancy, but that was the point, pogue parties weren’t about appearances, you showed up, you drank, you made some bad decisions under the string lights, and you went home.

it wasn’t your favorite kind of night, but rafe had convinced you to come out, promising it’d just be a chill hangout. he lied.

instead of spending the night with you, he’s currently perched by his truck, surrounded by a rotating cast of pogues. you’re leaning against a beat-up picnic table, a half-warm beer in your hand, keeping one eye on rafe while he did his thing. 

by “his thing,” you mean selling weed to every pogue with a crumpled-up twenty and a dream.

to his credit, this is probably his best hustle yet.

rafe cameron, reformed asshole, and your probationary boyfriend, has somehow turned himself into the cut’s go-to dealer. it’s a whole thing, people like him now, which is fine. 

good for him, whatever, but some people like him a little too much. 

case in point? the girl currently throwing herself at him like a damn frisbee. you clocked her the second she strutted over. 

she wasn’t subtle about it, either—crop top hanging so low she might as well not have bothered, denim shorts so short they were illegal in some states. she’s leaning against his truck, like she’s in some fuck ass music video, her body language loud and clear. It’s the hand on his arm that does it for you. 

that, and her laugh. 

jesus, her laugh. high-pitched and fake, like a dying bird trying to flirt.

you’ve been rolling her eyes from the second she started talking, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. 

“you’re really good at this whole business thing, huh? bet you’re good at lots of things.”

you gag audibly from your spot, but of course, she doesn’t hear you. 

rafe, for his part, looks mildly amused but doesn’t say anything. still, you stay put, you’re not here to play babysitter. he’s not that stupid—he’ll shut her down. 

he better.

her next move is placing her hand on his arm. on. his. arm.

like she isn’t aware that his girlfriend is sitting fifteen feet away, the audacity. she’s batting her lashes and laughing at something he says like he’s the funniest guy alive, and you can see his shoulders stiffen, the slight step back he takes when she puts her hands on him.

“so, like,” she giggles, twirling a piece of hair around her finger, “what if i can’t, you know... pay in cash? ’m sure we could work something else out?”

rafe’s reaction is immediate, “i have a girlfriend.”

“oh,” her pout deepens. “that’s fine. she doesn’t have to know.”

at that, he laughs—an incredulous, slightly panicked laugh, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “yeah, see, that’s not gonna work for me.”

she doesn’t take the hint. 

instead, she tilts her head, giving him what you’re sure she thinks it’s a seductive look. “c'mon, rafe. it’s just a little fun, bet she wouldn’t even care.”

you freeze mid-sip of your beer, brain short-circuiting.

you slam it down on the table so hard it splashes everywhere, your vision zeroing in on her like a predator spotting prey. you’re halfway across the yard before you realize you’re moving.

oh, you care, you care a lot.

rafe’s already holding his hands up like he’s trying to ward her off. “don’t know what you think is happening here, but it’s not. i’m not interested.”

“not interested in me?” she asks, like the idea is physically painful.

“correct,” you announce loudly, “he’s not interested. crazy, right?”

she squares her shoulders and glares at you. “who are you?”

“hi, i’m the girlfriend” you shoot back, “just wondering if you’re planning on embarrassing yourself any more tonight or if that’s it?”

rafe rubs the back of his neck, looking between amused and mildly terrified, “baby—”

“don’t ‘baby’ me, cameron,” you snap, shooting him a glare before turning your attention back to the girl. she’s still standing there, trying to figure out if she should fight or flight.

smart money would’ve been on flight, but apparently, she’s the stubborn type.

she smirks, seemingly not the least bit fazed by you. “pogues share.”

“how about i share this fist with your face? that sound good to you?”

she whips around, her fake-confident expression faltering “uh, excuse me?”

“you heard me,” you only stop a foot from her. your hands are on your hips, ready to pounce if she even thinks about mouthing off one more time. “can’t you take a fucking hint, or are you just dumb?”

“i didn’t know he had a girlfriend,” she rolls her eyes.

“everyone here knows he’s with me, you just thought you’d try it anyway, didn’t you?”

“it’s not that deep,” she shrugs, her voice going fake casual. “it’s just rafe. pogues share—what’s the big deal? you’re overreacting.”

rafe winces, stepping back as if to give you space to handle it. good, he knew better than to get in your way.

“you wanna find out how much more i can react? i’m feeling real generous tonight.”

her mouth opens to say something even dumber, but you’re already pouncing , not even thinking—your body just reacts.

“whoa, whoa, whoa!” rafe’s arms are suddenly around you, yanking you before you can do any real damage “okay, we’re going home.”

“i’ll punch you too,” you hiss, squirming in his grip. “let me hit her.”

he only holds you tighter against his chest when you try to kick out at her. “baby, come on.”

“this bitch said pogues share!’” you cram your neck to glare at her over rafe’s shoulder. “i just wanna share some sense with her.”

she’s already backing away, her hands up in surrender, “okay, whatever, no dick is worth dealing with a crazy bitch. ’m leaving!” she snaps, turning on her heel.

rafe’s grip lightens up slightly, thinking this is enough to calm you down, but unfortunately for him, you take it as a chance to get what you want. as soon as he lets you lose, you take one giant step forward and grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her back just as she tries to escape.

"get your ass back here," you growl, tugging her head back.

“jesus christ,” rafe’s eyes widen and he’s there, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind once again, pulling you back. “baby, let her go!”

she lets out a surprised squeal, trying to pull away, but you’ve got a grip on her so tight she can’t. “what the hell is wrong with you?!” she screeches, hands desperately trying to pry your fingers from her hair.

“okay, you’ve made your point,” he chuckles despite the situation, “let go of her hair.”

you release her, but not without one last, satisfying shove to her back. she stumbles, glaring at you over her shoulder with her hand pressed to her scalp.

“keep your hands to yourself next time,” you warn with a sneer.

she glares at you, and opens her mouth like she’s about to start some more shit—but then she seems to think better of it. with a huff, she turns on her heel and stalks off, her footsteps retreating into the crowd.

rafe stands there, rubbing his neck nervously as he watches her go. “you’re gonna get arrested one day, y’know that, right?”

you look up at him, eyebrow raised, a smirk curling at the corner of your lips. “and you’re gonna get your balls ripped off and be single for the rest of your life. how’s that sound?”

his mouth falls open as he stares at you.

“what? i’m innocent! i didn’t do shit. you just went wwe smackdown on her. i was standing there, minding my business.”

“minding your business while she was all over you?” you challenge, “she was practically trying to crawl inside your skin.”

“told her i wasn’t interested!” he defends, throwing his hands up. “even used the line— i have a girlfriend! that’s...the ultimate force field!”

you snort, crossing your arms. “she walked right through it like it wasn’t even there.”

rafe sighs dramatically, stepping closer, his voice dropping, that little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “gotta admit, that was kinda hot.”

you narrow your eyes at him, trying not to let his charm sway you. “hot?”

“yeah,” he grins, “watching you go full psycho really does something for me.”

you can feel your lips twitching upward despite yourself. “you’re such a fuckin’ loser.”

“am i wrong, though?” he teases, slipping his arms around you, his lips tickling your ear as he adds, “never felt more horny—or scared—in my life.”

you huff a laugh, shoving at his chest playfully, “stop trying to make me laugh, i’m mad at you.”

“you’re mad at me?” he leans in impossibly closer, pulling you flush against him.

“rafe—” you start, but he’s already tilting his head, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck.

“mm, y’know,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, “i like you mad. all fired up, it’s sexy.”

“don’t even,” you warn, hoping you sound firm, but it’s hard to when he’s trailing slow kisses down your neck, the press of his mouth sending shivers straight to your toes.

he doesn’t stop, of course. his kisses get sloppier, his lips parting so his tongue can flick against the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

“can’t help it,” he groans in between his work, nipping at your skin. “my girl’s too fucking hot.”

your hands come up to push at his chest, but they end up curling into his shirt instead. “i’m so fucking serious. you can’t sweet-talk your way out of this.”

“m’not sweet-talking,” he slurs, teeth grazing your skin, followed by the soothing heat of his tongue, and you gasp despite yourself. “just... appreciating you. can’t a guy admire his girlfriend after she defended his honor?” he bites down and then sucks at the spot until you’re squirming in his arms. “got me so gone for you, shit, it’s embarrassing.”

“good,” you mutter stubbornly, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair.

he practically purrs at the contact, his lips dragging down to your collarbone. “you’ve ruined me, y’know that? can’t even look at another girl.”

you laugh, your grip tightening in his hair. “keep talking, cameron. see how far that gets you.”

he grins against your skin, his teeth scraping lightly before he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. his hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you up like you weigh nothing and setting you on the edge of the picnic table.

“guess i’ll just have to show you instead.”

"rafe cameron," you start, intending to scold him, but your words stop in your throat as he steps between your legs.

“now you’re quiet,” he’s leaning in so close his nose brushes against yours. “where’d all that fire go, mm?”

your glare is half-hearted at best. “don’t push your luck, you’re still on probation, asshole.”

he hums thoughtfully, his hands sliding up your legs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch. “not luck, baby. skill.”

“you’re so fucking insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, slipping under the hem of his shirt to splay across his warm skin.

his abs tense under your touch, and you relish the reaction, how his breath hitches as you dig your nails in just a little.

“irresistible,” he counters, his voice rough. his lips hover over yours, daring you to close the gap, but he doesn’t make the first move.

he waits, his eyes locked on yours, the faintest flicker of a challenge in his pretty blue eyes. two can play that game, matter of fact, you know you’ll win.

you pull back, smirking as you trace your fingers over the waistband of his jeans, “that’s pushing it, don’t you think?”

he exhales a chuckle through his nose, his hands moving to your waist, tugging you closer. “you’re so fucking stubborn.”

“me?” you scoff, your fingers dipping beneath the fabric of his jeans, making his tighten, his smirk faltering enough to make you feel victorious.

“yeah,” he repeats, though his voice is strained now. “practically begging me to fuck you here.”

“please.” you tilt your head, your lips grazing his jaw, “you’re the one begging.”

rafe’s laugh is low and throaty, a sound that sends a thrill to your core. his control visibly slips as you trail your lips down the line of his jaw, peppering kisses that grow increasingly slower, more deliberate.

his sharp exhale and the way his grip on your hips drops for half a second tell you everything you need to know.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, his forehead dropping against your shoulder for a moment.

you grin, pleased with yourself, sliding your hands up his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms.

“don’t sound to surprised.”

he shakes his head slightly, trying to clear it, but he can’t seem to stop staring at you. “god, i hate you sometimes,” he breathes out, his lips quirking up into a smirk that betrays his words.

“funny,” you retort, fingers sliding back into his hair to tug lightly. “don’t believe you.”

his jaw tightens at the sensation, a groan slipping past his lips before he catches it.

 “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says again, but his mouth is already back on you, a bruising kiss that steals every smart-ass remark you had locked and loaded.

your mouths move together with instinct, and when his tongue flicks against your lower lip, you don’t hesitate, opening up for him. he groans low in his throat as his tongue sweeps into your mouth, curling against yours, slick and overwhelming in the best way.

it’s messy and unrestrained, the kind of kiss that leaves you dizzy and drenched. 

rafe’s lips leave yours only for a second, his teeth tugging lightly at your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. he pulls back just enough to let it drag between his teeth, his eyes locked on yours, all dark with something feral.

you don’t let him stay in control for long, your hands tighten in his hair, tugging him back to you, and this time it’s your tongue that takes over, sliding against his in a way that has him moaning like a bitch in heat into your mouth. he sucks on it lightly, the sensation only making your panties stick harder to you, and you press closer to him, your legs tightening around his waist, looking for some kind of friction.

when he pulls back, both of you gasping for air, his lips are swollen and glistening, his eyes glazed over with that unmistakable lust.

a string of spit still connects your mouths, and you watch, entranced, as he swipes his tongue across his lips, catching it before smirking at you.

“you kiss me like that again,” he murmurs, “’m not responsible for what happens next.”

[astralis-ortus]

form of affection

✱ boyfriend!bc x fem!reader

— everything feels... new.

w.count → 0.8k genre → fluff warning → chan and reader both referred to as baby, one use of 'my girl', reader on period :(, minor cussing here and there, not proofread!ㅠ a.n → honestly i don't know what to write atm (aside from the continuation for that one seungmin fic) but i still want to write something lighthearted so... this happens. welp. :] ⋆ if you're enjoying my stories, do send me a ko-fi ⋆ see masterlist

you messed up.

"fuck," you finally muttered under your breath, hand clutching your forehead in frustration. you know you shouldn't have ignored your gut feeling earlier this morning and followed through with the precautions anyway.

again you turned against the mirror, still bearing some hope that whatever you saw earlier was just your eyes playing tricks on you, but no—the damned red spot on your white dress is still there, mocking you through reflection of your boyfriend's bathroom mirror.

"baby?"

you jumped at the sudden knock on the bathroom door, feeling like your heart has suddenly fallen to your feet. fuck—how are you supposed to tell him?

"are you okay? do you need me to come in?"

"no!" you hurriedly replied, only later cursing at yourself for not maintaining your composure. making chris worried was definitely your intention after going missing to his bathroom for quite a period of time, and your reply definitely wasn't helping your resolute.

"are you sure?" chris' voice were laced with concern, and you could even picture the frown that's definitely present on his forehead. "can you crack the door open? just so i'm sure you're really okay."

"it's just—"

"baby," again, the image of your boyfriend's stern gaze immediately popped up in your mind. "please? just one sec. i need to make sure that you're alright."

it's not that you're worried chris would say anything about it—you're well aware of the kind of person your boyfriend of 4 months is, and you completely trust him. it's just that…

you're embarrassed.

the click of lock were soon followed by a soft creak, revealing chris' concerned eyes beyond the slight opening of the door. his relief was audible even to you, gaze softening when he saw the glimpse of your flushed face.

"okay," chris' lips formed a soft smile, as if trying to soothe you, "are you sure all is good? do you need any help?"

"…today."

"hm?" blinking in confusion, chris brought his face closer to you, "sorry, baby, i couldn't—"

"i got my period today," you quickly repeated, cheeks heating up as you heard your own confession, "and i didn't bring any feminine products with me since i wasn't supposed to have it for another week. i also might've stained your couch. i'm sorry."

chris turned quiet, and you could practically see thoughts flashing through his eyes—but you're not a mind reader, and the passing seconds made your heart grew heavy. is he embarrassed to hear that? is he going to send you home? is he going to get upset? should you have not—

"if i'm not mistaken… i think there should be some pads and maybe some disposable underwear under the sink, baby," the sound of chris' voice promptly ceased the vortex of worry growing in your head, your eyes again meeting chris' clear ones, "i bought it a while back for you but i don't remember if i placed it here or in my room. could you check?"

despite the confusion, your body had instinctively moved along chris' request. to your surprise, you do find the items your boyfriend had mentioned, tucked neatly in a small box of necessities. you chest bubbled up in gratitude and filled with warmth—you never expected chris to do this for you, and yet, he managed to come over and beyond any of your expectations.

"found it?"

nodding your head, you swallowed back the tears welling up in your eyes. gosh—period hormones! "yeah, just found them. thank you, baby."

a sigh of relief could be heard from the other side of the door, and you couldn't help but smile—if it wasn't clear before, then now you're determined to find a way to repay chris somehow. frankly, at times you still don't understand the lengths chris would willingly go for you, or if you even deserve to be at the receiving end of chris' gesture of affection at all. the chris you've gotten to know is so full of love, and you don't even know if you have the capacity to love him the way he cares about you.

but in the mean time,

you've decided to try and accept chris' form of affection for you.

"okay," you could hear the smile in chris' voice as he speaks, "i'll go grab a change of clothes for you while you settle down, yeah? oh, and you do know where the towel if you want to shower, right?"

"yeah, i know," you held back a giggle as you reappeared in chris' vision between the crack of the door, clutching the box close to your chest with a beaming smile, "thank you, baby. really. i really appreciate this."

and with a smile equaling to the warmth of a spring's sun, chris chuckled a reply,

"anything for my girl."

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[codnasties]

cod characters jerking off

this post includes: soap, ghost, gaz, price, graves, konig & alejandro (extra: alex)

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soap 🧼- the exhibitionist

soap is defineitely the kind of guy that would get hard on the car, as he's on his way to work, by just thining about how you looked that mornig in bed. imagining how you shold be under him in that thin material that you like you call pijamas. this is the exact reason he leaves early to work, because he always has to deal with an unexpected boner.

and trust me, this man is just going to pull on the side of the road where anyone passing by can get a clear view of him as he rubs one out real quick. fully stripping down - because let's be real, the man's an exhibitionist - and start firsting his red hard cock. hand wrapping around his shaft and making sure to swip his thum over his sensitive tip with every stoke until he makes a mess. his creamy cum dripping down his cock and balls as he's unable to keep his hips still, creamy seed now covering his hand and the driver's seat.

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ghost 👻- slow but with some roughness

you know what? ghost takes his wanks very fucking seriously. like he ain't jerking off unless he has enough time to slowly play with himself and take his sweet time. because the loves to start by palming himself over his pants. pulling his cock out and start languidly stoking his cock and playing with his balls.

but as much as he likes to be soft and slow with himself he also craves a bit of roughness. something to contrast againts the pleasurable wank but also still pleasurable. that's why he sometimes stops mid stroke, pulls his hard cock all the way back and releases it, making it spring full force against his abs. the pleaure of his leaking tip hitting against his hard abs and some extra few slow stokes turning him into a mess. thick cum now covering his dick and stomack and heavyly dripping onto his stomach.

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gaz 🧢- the dirty talker

gaz is a dirty talker, no matter if he's fucking you or his fist. because when he's away he for sure is filling your phone with videos of him stoking his cock and saying all the nasty shit he wants so do to you. because he's unable to stop himself from telling you how good you are, how much him and his cock miss you and asking you if you want or how much you want his cock.

the wet sounds coming from the continuos teasing of his sensitive hard cock mixing with the dirty words he whispers. making sure to give you a good view of his cock as he cums, pearly white and thick cum slowly dribbling from his tip, making sure to fully milk himself dry. especially because he knows those are the videos you watch before recording some yourself to send back to him, that's why he gives his all.

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price 🚬- the rushed wanks

with how much he has on his plate ond how many responsabilities he has, it's quite understandablea that price is a busy man. and as such, he barely has any time for himself, much less to jerk off. so whenever he does, it's always quite rushed, but he always remembers to send you a little video so you can enjoy that beautiful video of his for a bit.

the hastiness showing in the way he pulls his pants only to the middle of his strong hairy thighs, underwear only pushed to a bit lower than his hips to get his dick freed from it's confines. hand hurriedly stroking himself, his alluring pecs moving with each stroke. the pleasure and the final release after a few stresful days making him unable to stop the raspy grunts that leave him as he cums.

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konig 🗡- the timid-hand bator

konig has big hands. ones that much his big cock. ones that could esily wrap around his whole shaft and give himself some full on amazing pleasure. but nope. because konig does those somewhat timid-hand jerk off. the ones in which he barely has his fingers touching his dick - fuck, he might as well just use his thumb an index with how 'delicately' he's toughing himself-.

but that gives him enough stimulation to get off. bitting his shirt out of the way because he is a big mess maker - he ends up hitting his face more than he would like just from thinking about you and your sweet body -. but he also bites his shirt to hel conceal all of the desperate noises he makes as he cums all over himself. stomach covered in his potent seed as he gives himself the last few stokes, giving you a prefect view of those juicy pecs of his.

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graves 🪦 - the double hand jerker

when graves finally gets home he doesn't have to think it twice, he throws his shit by the door, gets his shoes of and beelines thowards the beedroom. he may get his shirt off but the pants don't even make it halfway down his thighs as he throws himself onto the bed, pulls his aching cock out and gets down to business.

and let me tell you, sir philip graves doesn't do a traditional wank. no, he likes to use both of his hands, interlocking his fingers to create the perfect space between them for him to fuck. and even though at first he tries to actually jerk off, he's unable to keep his hips on the bed, bucking up his hard cock into the hole created by his palms. the pleasure and the sensitivity of his cock making him cum hard all over his abdomen and chest, and some of the thick ropes going as far as hitting his face.

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alejandro 🤠 - the palm user

you know what? alejandro is another two-hand bator, just like graves. but unlike the american he doesn't do that shit of interwiring his fingers to create a hole for him to fuck. what he does is use the palms of his hands. sandwiching his hard cock right between them, ensuring max stimulation.

when he jerks off like that he somehow ends up coming even harder than he normaly would. and he ends up making a mess over himself. but trust me, this man doesn't let a single drop of his creamy seed go to waste. he collects it back on his palms and uses it as lube on his still hard cock for round two ;)

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alex 🦿- the accidental mess maker

alex is just the kind of dude to make a mess on his car. trying to release some of that pent up tension before work. jerking his hard cock off right there on the drivers seat as soon as he turnt off the engine. but what he believes would be a quick rub and a little tissue to clean up becomes muck more. because he ends up shooting ropes that have such force they hit the car's roof, making one big mess, and now he has to clean that up :(

[bunnys-kisses]

lovingly dominant

capt. john price

tags: smut/pwp, age gap (20s/30s), size difference/kink, dom/sub dynamic, bdsm au, virgin!reader, light bdsm, praise (kink)

a/n: in a surprising twist, bunny has written call of duty again!! expect more cod stuff into december when the f1 season is over and it stops eating my brain <3

john price considered himself a little old fashioned. he thought it was better to have his birdie of the week on her back and rut into her until they both finished. he had no need for whips, chains, collars, and whatever else the world of bdsm had to offer.

but after so many missions and so many years, the pollution of combat bled into his sexual desires. he craved for control, near domination of his birdie. yes, they looked cute on their backs and their soft noises. but it looked far more appealing to keep her blindfolded, second guessing what was being done to her while price's filthy words spilled across her brain like wine on a white carpet. tainting her. tainting you.

most dominants loved a trained submissive. loved that they knew the ins and outs of the dynamic, tinkering to their liking. price on the other hand had a thing for over eager virgins. ones who got all their bdsm know-how from horribly written fan fiction. he liked to teach and guide, he liked to shape his submissive into the perfect image of what could be.

and when he met you, oh, well something else came up. an unwavering possessive need. price tried to not get possessive, this was all just a little game for sexual pleasure. but when he found out his little trainee worked at a flower shop, it was all over for him. it was only doubled down when you had your first meeting at a coffee shop and you got the most delicious looking slice of strawberry shortcake.

the cream on the corner of your mouth almost made john price lose resolve. instead he covered up with a cough before you asked, "do you want some, mister price." and who was john price to deny such a lovely girl her offer. you even fed it to him, a glimmer in your eye and gentle smile.

"it's lovely, baby girl." he said before he wiped a bit of the cream off his beard which made you giggle. that giggle seared into his brain and he knew that you weren't getting with any other man.

you met at his flat a few weeks later, and you were eager. price liked that. sex was only half as fun when the person he was fucking was almost having a good time. you came over in a big sweatshirt and jeans that were a little baggy, something that covered up. it made price curious as to what was hiding underneath.

"look beautiful, birdie." he said as he guided you inside and you got your sneakers off. you looked over at him to help you through the flat. you held onto him a little nervous, the only familiar thing in the place. price held you by the middle and let you press your face up against his strong chest.

he was in a flannel with a white undershirt and jeans. you could see the gold chain around his throat and the heavy chest hair. you had seen him naked from photos shared and he had seen you naked, but to feel it up close left a shiver of excitement through you. he leaned down and kissed you on the top of your head as he led you to the bedroom.

he said, "afterwards, i'll make ya some dinner. not the best chef, but, i can cook ya somethin' to replenish the energy you spent fucking me." he then ruffled your hair, which made your heart leap and he got you onto the bed.

you nodded meekly, you looked so small. so innocent. a girl like you should be on dated with finance guys or even the artsy kind. not a weathered, older military man like him. but even things in smaller packages can be surprising, just like when you took off your clothes and revealed a matching set of bra and panties. a soft grey colour with pastel yellow accents. it made price have to adjust himself in his jeans.

"ah, pretty girl got a surprise for me. how sweet?"

you nodded, "i wanted to make tonight special. good luck for a long... dynamic between us. so, you don't get rid of me if i suck." and soon you were in price's embrace while you still sat on the bed. your cheek pressed hard against his soft but firm middle.

he petted your head a little and said, "ah, don't worry, petal. even if you do bad tonight, i got every intention of trainin' ya. make you the perfect girl." the words spoken hit right to your core and when he pulled away long enough to strip down, you felt your eyes go wide for a moment.

a photo couldn't capture every inch of john price's skin. the scars, the tattoos, the hair, the muscle, the fat. he was like a big brown bear and it made you soaked. you shifted a little in your spot on the bed and rubbed your thighs together in anticipation. it was surprising that you were still a virgin, but you always chickened out. now as an adult, you wanted to just get it over with. but, you wanted to have fun. and why not have fun with a well experienced dom who wouldn't half-ass your first time. it didn't hurt that he had the kind of looks that would make any man with half a brain jealous.

"i hope i meet expectations." he chuckled as he put his hands on his hips. his cock stood at full attention and you swallowed. there was something so masculine about him, but not in a toxic way. he played with your hair once more before he patted your cheek, "no need to gawk, petal. i'm not goin' anywhere." and you swallowed. he chuckled before he got into bed with you and slowly unwrapped you of your lingerie like delicate christmas paper.

he hadn't been this excited to upwrap something since he got the toy firetruck as a kid. but in total fairness, you were hotter than any fire red truck. his hands grazed across your body with total tenderness and his hungry blue eyes gazed the skin.

the stretch marks, the moles, your own scarring. you were beautiful in ways that price couldn't describe. to compare you to something would be unfair to the thing being compared to your beauty. he took you by the wrist and kissed the center of it.

"this is a promise, petal. for as long as you keep me as your dominant and you my submissive, i with cherish you, adore you, and most of all. make sure that you cum over and over again." before he kissed you on the lips and got you onto your back. he admired you, "usually i like to take pretty things on their hands and knees. but, tonight's gotta be special, right, doll?"

you nodded.

he tapped your nose and said, "ah, ah, ah. that won't cut it. the words are 'yes, sir', got it? would hate to bruise that little behind during our first time."

you found your voice and said, "yes, sir." and was met with a rough pat on the cheek before price pulled away to rest on his knees to fuck you with just right. you felt heat course through your body as you took in the sight of him. burly, large from top to bottom.

course dark hair on his body, a little heft in his middle (but who didn't love that), a sparkle in his blue eyes, and hands large enough to break things between the digits. he admired you in return and said softly, "pretty little petal, yeah? ah, who let ya be so beautiful?" he chuckled as he rubbed his cock up against your slick sex, "i got so much to teach ya. how to tie ya up, how to gag ya properly. mmm, we'll have so much fun." he then pulled away to grab a condom from the nightstand. he held up the silver foil to you and said, "rule one, play safe or don't play at all."

you nodded and remembered to reply, "yes, sir."

price gave you a smile that lit you up and said, "good girl." then quickly got the condom on. he admired your soaked sex for a moment longer, "she achin' for me, huh? cute." then slowly, almost agonizingly, he inched into you and felt the spread of warmth through his body.

heaven was created with your pussy in mind. price was never a quick finisher, but he almost finished inside of you when he managed to get all of himself inside of you. he kept eyes and ears open, the type of examining done in his line of work, to make sure that you weren't in too much pain.

"ya alright?"

you nodded and swallowed.

price added, "baby girl. words." and then nodded his head when you replied that everything was okay, he nodded and said, "roger that." which made you pussy clench. a smile spread across price's face as he leaned forward. he captured your hands in his and pressed them to the bed under you. he chuckled lowly, "ah, someone likes a military man? a man in uniform gets ya goin'?" he kissed your pulse point, "ah, too cute, petal. i guess seeing that on my description didn't scare ya off." he rocked against you, "know it's a crime to mess up a man's uniform."

you swallowed, "sir. fuck." and felt the strike of heat through your body. you had to admit, you had seen a few photos of him in uniform. the beret, boots and all. and it made something turn in your stomach. only added an appeal to him that made you hot.

price replied, "i guess it worked out. because i like cute little civilians who are more than eager to make me feel good. doin' your civic duty makin' me cum, baby girl." these was a tension in his voice that made you heart hammer and your throat feel tight. the bed squeaked a little under the both of you as he continued his movements. he knew he was going to have an amazing time with you.

you whined, "please, sir."

"tell me. tell me what ya like about it? what gets my baby girl goin'? i gotta know, because maybe i can get somethin' together that'll rock your world." his words were hot and your cunt fluttered around his achy, hard cock. for a moment he was uncertain if you were actually a virgin, you took him so well.

you moaned when you felt a spark of pleasure in your core, your entire life had just been your hands and an assortment of toys. but to have price work your body beautifully was something else. you replied sweetly, "i... i want to thigh ride you in uniform." you felt a flush of embarrassment.

he chuckled, "oh that would be quite the sight, huh?" he continued to move against you beautifully, "i bet that i could make ya cum just from my thighs. rub your cunt all over it, messin' up the fabric. higher-ups will be wonderin' about the pussy stains all over the fabric. maybe if i'm lucky i'll get some of your wetness in my beard. let 'em smell you on me." and well, that excited you deeply.

you arched your back a little bit, but price kept you pinned perfectly under him. you tightened your thighs around him and he continued to work your body. it wasn't rough sex, but it also wasn't boringly soft either. he worked you at a steady pace, like a man with immense stamina. he eyed the bounce of your breasts and he moved against you.

he licked his lips at the sight of you, "baby girl." he purred, "you're a dirty girl. but don't worry." he soon held onto your wrists instead of your hands, a further act of domination, "i like 'em dirty. i like girls i can sink my teeth into. soon enough you won't be able to cum unless it's my fingers, tongue or cock in you. ya got the kind of soft skin that would bruise perfectly. but be careful, petal, i can be quite mean with a paddle." and it was met with a heavy moan. music to his ears.

you had never been spoken to like this before, but it excited you. you wanted to be price's dirty girl any day of the week. you felt excitement cross over you as he picked up the pace. the two of you fucked heavily and it left a taste of want in your mouth. this was better than anything you hoped for. it wasn't just that price checked boxes on a superficial level, he knew exactly how to make you squirm and moan. heavy noises came from your mouth as he worked your achy cunt, you felt amazing.

"ya like knowin' that i'm your first. big, scary captain makin' a mess of the sweetest cunt in the world. knowin' in a way, i got ya for life." he licked his lips. he liked that you were pure in that way, call him old fashioned. but knowing that he got to have you first was sort of like getting the first slice of cake at a party. something he wished to sweetly devour. and with you it was with heavy thrusts and filthy words. taint you to his liking.

you whined as you clenched your fists, you tensed up and he loved the feeling. he could almost read your mind with how sweet you felt. he could nearly feel your heartbeat as he fucked you. he loved the sight of you, you looked damn near perfect under him. you said between heavy pants, "please, sir. fuck, please!"

"feel good, petal? like how i take you." he moved against you further and it left him feeling the anticipation for climax. he continued to fuck your sweet body, working every last centimeter of warm skin, "remember, ya gotta ask me to cum."

his movements were overwhelming, his pace left you feeling breathless. and in your first lesson of intimacy, you croaked out, "can i cum, sir? please, i need to cum."

and price could be a giving man. he looked down at you, haze in those blue eyes as he said, "of course, baby girl. cum for me, cum for your captain." and swore under his breath as you beautifully came apart for him. he held onto your wrists tighter and groaned. it paired nicely with your sweet little moans.

"sir! fuck!" you gasped as you clenched around him. you finished and it only prompted him to move faster while you laid in such a blissed out state. no one had made you finish like that, not even your own nimble digits.

but price was just that good.

the bed creaked further and the headboard hit against the beige wall of the bedroom. he fucked you faster and made sure to cram every inch inside of you. with a few more heavy strokes, he finished into of you with a heavy groan. he fucked you through his climax before he slowed to a stop.

he wiped the sweat from his forehead and exhaled deeply, "beauty, beauty. where has the world been hidin' ya from me." he chuckled as he kissed you on the lips. you melted against him and moaned.

when he pulled out, he got up with a creak in his hip to throw out the condom before he was back in bed with you. you were both naked under the covers as price traced your form with his calloused fingers. the roughness on your soft skin made you shiver.

"how about it, lovie." he said in that low, gruff tone of his. his hand grazed across your side and behind, "how about i invite the boys over and their little birdies and we can have a little playdate. introduce you to the group."

you swallowed, "play... date?"

price pulled you closer. he held onto you the way someone would hold a stuffed animal. he smiled at you, "don't worry, petal. no one's gettin' their hands on ya. not while i'm still breathin'." his voice was tinged with a possessiveness. you nodded in response and he added, "besides, i know i'll make the boys nice and jealous with you." he chuckled, "my beautiful baby girl." then kissed you on the lips.

you could only imagine what would happen at a playdate with price's friends and their submissives. it also didn't help that it made you a little excited as well. <3

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝐝𝐚𝐲: 𝟎.𝟏𝟒 - 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Bodyguard!Natasha x fem!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, top!Nat, bottom!reader, bratty!reader, slight brattamer!Nat, age gap, car sex, spanking, manhandling?, hair pulling, strap on,

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: Natasha is your new bodyguard, who’s not willing to put up with any of your bullshit

𝐀/𝐍: we hit 2000 followers so I got something special planned after kinktober

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧e

Natasha kept her Rey Bens on while she waited outside the college you were attending, you were practically fresh meat in her eyes with your 19 years of age. She would love to leave all this behind and settle down alone somewhere in the wilderness. But Natasha needed your dear daddy's money first, so she was stuck as a glorified babysitter. 

She heard the passenger door slam shut when you entered on your goddamn phone like always. "I thought the driver was gonna pick me up" She scoffed, and asked himself if school uniforms always looked so... slutty "Gotta take up with me" She murmured watching you from the corner of her eye, she knew you why your last bodyguard was fired and it was getting harder by the minute not to step in his footsteps 

You didn’t honour her another glance as you stared into the passing trees and cars which flashed by your eyes as he drove down the streets. Which greatly annoyed Natasha, you weren’t supposed to ignore her like that, like she didn’t even exist to you. She wanted you to look at her with those big doe eyes, while you begged her for more. 

“You’re just gonna stare out the window like that?” Natasha scoffed but still got no reaction from you. “Take that damn things out-“ She reached over and before you could even register she had pulled it out your ear, throwing it in the backseat. 

“They were expensive” you snapped “I don’t fucking care now stop throwing a damn tantrum and relax” She murmured out her knuckles turning white by how hard she was gripping the damn wheel. How she would love to fuck that damn attitude out of you. “Dick” I mumbled under your breath just quite enough for Natasha to overhear. 

“You’re just gonna sit here and pout like a brat?” She asked, not getting an answer from you. “If you behave like one maybe I should just lay you over my knee and give you what brats deserve” She spat and you could clearly see the anger in her eyes. 

“Oh kinky” Your voice was addictive as you teased the older woman “Ist that an invitation?” You could practically see the wheels turning in her brain as she was thinking what to make of that statement. 

Without another word she pulled into an empty park deck and searched for the most desolate place in it. When the engine shut off the room was filled with uncomfortable silence. “Get your damn ass in the back I’m teaching you a lesson” She murmured and you listened. 

She put you over her lap, her hands massaging the flesh of your ass. “You’re such a damn brat” Natasha had to laugh “A damn slut too. Oh what would your dear old man say if he saw you like that” She teased knowing her words would get you. 

But you could only whimper when her hands hitched your skirt up to reveal some pretty pink panties. “I’m sorry” You whined hoping she’d go easy on you now “You’re only sorry because I called you out on your bullshit” 

“You’re gonna count each spank, understood” Natasha asked, her voice filled with mockery. You nodded fast to get it over with in hopes she would  maybe touch you more sensually after. The first slap was almost careful to test water with you, but it still made you yelp. “O- one” you stuttered gripping her leg harder. 

Another smack this time harder “two” She had to smile at your desperate sounds “You’re so cute making those sounds I almost have pity for you” She smirked and you heard how she was savoring this moment. It was satisfying to finally show your place. She adjusted your panties over your cheeks again, her hands cold against your hot flesh. “Such a pretty girl” She cooed, reaching out for your hair to pull your head up “You're a pretty girl isn’t that right?” You moaned out at the word feeling your panties starting to wet “I’m your pretty girl”

By the tenth smack she had brought you to tears, your massacre running down your cheeks and it made Natasha just all the more desperate for a taste. “Learned your lesson baby?” she cooed her hands rubbing over your sensitive skin. You nod wiping the tears from the corners of your eyes. Natashas strong hands pulled you up to strangle her lap. “You want a reward now, don’t you baby girl” She sweetly kissed your neck. 

“Yes” You whispered, hiding your face in her shoulder. You could make out sounds of her jeans opening to reveal her gritty strap “your so wet baby” she hushed pulling your panties to the side “all for you” Natasha hummed satisfied with your answer, she guided you down on her strap only after the tip you were already clinging to her shoulders for dear life. “Aw” She mocked “Is my cock to big for your little pussy” You nodded tears staining your shirt “then you’ll have to learn to take it” 

She guided you further down her strap, you couldn’t help but moan at her intrusion. Once you were bottomed out by the older woman you could swear you’d feel her at your cervix. You started to move up and down her strap, the bouncing making your breaths giggle in her face as licked over your perky nipples. You cried out with each move of your hips, wishing that the older women would just help you. 

But she was busy worshipping your chest, peppering light kisses over your soft skin as she listened to the sweet melody of your moans. “Such a good girl” She whispered, rubbing her thumbs over your sensitive nipples, making you squeak.She noticed your tired expression as you started to feel the burn in your muscles , you simply weren’t used to having to work for your pleasure. 

“You’re you” You cried, after what felt like an eternity for your legs with still nothing to make up for. Her hands went to your waist keeping it grounded, which also made you release a sound of disagreement. “Such a brat” She chuckled.

“You can’t even make yourself cum huh? Guess you’re so dumbed down you need my help with everything” She spat guiding your hips at a much faster pace. She vigorously fucked into your puffy pussy making you squeal like an abused puppy. 

“Fucking slut got what she fucking wanted huh.” She grabbed your hair pulling it back “You gonna cum whore? Gonna cum on my cock like a bitch?” You cried out once more, loving the way she treated you. “Fuck yes” She chuckled still moving you at a fast pace, the harness felt so good against her clit. “Yeah cum on my cock” 

With a few more harsh fucks you came over her lap falling into her embrace. “Good girl” She whispered, her hands rubbing you back. “Did I hurt you baby?” You shook her head recovering from your orgasm. “No, I’m fine… but you didn’t cum” She chuckled “I’m alright, the vision of you was enough for me, but we have to get going before your daddy fires me because we’re so late”

[ghouljams]

ghoul, the fauxcest worms are wild

thoughts on Price and his sweet wife, she coddles the 141 and calls them ‘her boys’. she always makes sure they feel loved and welcomed, does her best to make sure their stomachs are full when they visit

she always jokes about Price being their dad, never said, but always alluded to her being their mother figure. she’s just actually oblivious to the 141 obsessing over her because why wouldn’t they love her? she loves them like her own, of course they’ll smile at her and treat her gently. of course their eyes are on her, she’s their hostess. John knows, he sees the way the boys look at you - they way he looks at you

maybe John decides to give them a taste of what they can only fantasize about, lets it slip that he’ll be treating the missus to a night in. ah, but they shouldn’t worry! they’re more than welcome to come over still and watch, maybe participate if they behave

ghoul, is this anything

Oh it's fucking everything to me.

Why didn't I think of this, your husbands boys becoming your boys too. Price has always told you that his team is like his family, so when you married him you knew they were becoming yours as well! And it's perfect, they come over like clockwork for Sunday dinner every Sunday, you laugh and joke with them, make sure they're well fed and send them on their way. Then Soap needs one of his jumpers mended. You knit Gaz a scarf. Ghost swings by to help you bake. Your home sees Price's- your boys rotating through it, helping you clean up and making themselves at home.

Price jokes that you're mothering them, and you laugh it off. Until Soap accidentally calls you mum, and the red on his cheeks would make a rose look pale. Gaz tells you it's just because Price acts so much like a father to them. Ghost laughs when you mutter about being too young to be any of their mothers. You miss the way Soap's trousers tighten as he turns to flee, the way Gaz's eyes linger on your ass, the way Ghost stands just a little closer when he grabs things off the top shelf. You miss the way your husband circles the word "mum" over your clit with his clever tongue.

It's no surprise when your boys crowd you, you're used to their physicality. They bump into you, brush their hands over your back as they pass, steady you on stools, reach over your head to grab out of reach spices, you're no stranger to the hands that box you in against the kitchen counter. You are stranger to the hard cock that presses against your stomach and the groping hands that grab at your waist. Your only salvation is your husband coming into the room.

"Show your mother some respect," Price grunts from the other side of the kitchen, and your breath catches in your throat watching one of your boys drop to his knees in front of you. Your husband is watching with a lazy smile when you meet his gaze, your cheeks hot with the way his eyes roam over you, roam over his teammate. "Go on love, give your boy a taste of the pussy that made 'im."

You could light a fire just with the heat on your cheeks, your legs closed tight even as you husband's colleague draws his hands over your thighs. You hang your head to watch the singular attention they seem to have, tugging at the waistband of your leggings, you know you should move, should push them away but some sick thrill in the sweep of their fingers makes you grip the counter instead. Price pulls your head back with a firm grip.

"Unless you think 'e needs Dad to show 'im how it's done."

[covenofagatha]

Hii can you please write athlete-student fem reader x Professor Agatha, where she is her favorite student and they have a close connection despite Agatha's cold demeanor. So one day y/n comes limping to Agatha's class bcuz she got injured during the practice and her coach kept pushing her, without letting to rest, so the injury got worse and now y/n can barely step on her leg. Agatha takes notice of that and asks y/n to stay after the lecture, where Agatha discovers the truth about abusive coach. So Agatha helps Y/N to her car and takes her home, where Agatha takes care of her and they finally kiss or maybe even smut if you are good with it please. Kinda like hurt/comfort with possesive Agatha

Thank you for all your amazing writing💜

As a former swimmer with a coach that was fired for emotional/verbal abuse I fucking loved this request so thank you and I hope you like!

Swimming into her arms

You hurt your leg during practice and your coach makes it worse, so Professor Agatha has to take care of you

Word count: 3400

Warnings: hurt/comfort, slight possessiveness, oral sex, soft

“Coach, can I talk with you for a second before we get in?” You ask, stepping gingerly over to him. He barely even glances at you, just waves his hand to tell you to get on with it. “I just hurt my knee during weights and the trainer said that I shouldn’t kick that much until I can go see a doctor.” 

Now he looks at you, displeasure written all over his face. Your swim coach is not known for being nice and you inwardly wince to brace yourself. “What did you do?” 

“We were doing band jumps from the pullup bars and I landed weirdly and there was a pop from my knee. It hurts to walk and I’m really not sure I should swim.” 

He scoffs and straightens up against the fence where he was leaning. You cross your arms over your chest, wishing you were standing in more than just your swimsuit. You should’ve worn clothes to come talk to him, but deep down you knew how this was going to go. 

“We have a meet this weekend and you’re our best backstroker somehow, despite your awful underwater kicks. You’re swimming.” 

The dig about your underwaters doesn’t even phase you now, having heard it enough times already. But the thought of bending your knee like that makes you brave enough to protest. “Can I just pull for today? I’ll try to get to the doctor this afternoon.” 

You feel your stomach sink as he rolls his eyes. “I don’t need damaged goods on this team so if you’re not going to get in the pool and you’re going to be weak, then just get off the deck and come back next week. Don’t expect to be put in any more meets though.” 

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to keep your jaw from dropping. You nod and turn around to hide the tears stinging in your eyes and put your cap on. You’re on a scholarship at the university for swimming, so if you quit or he lets you go, you’ll most likely have to drop out.

“That’s what I thought,” you hear your coach huff quietly behind you. “Let’s go. You’re five minutes late getting in.”

The moment you jump into the pool and push off the wall for warm up, you know you’ve made a mistake. Your leg is screaming. Every kick is pure agony and you try your absolute best to not move it more than you have to. But each flip turn makes you want to cry. You barely make it through the warm up and your heart drops when you see the main set that your coach wrote on the board. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if he changed it up and made it harder just to mess with you.

Your lanemate asks if you want to go first and all you can do is shake your head. If you speak, you’re afraid you’re going to fall apart. You refuse to take your goggles off because your eyes are red and teary. 

One round in, your coach stops you on the wall. “Are you even trying?” He demands. 

“My knee,” is all you can get out before your voice wavers. 

He squats down so he’s closer to you. “I’m 55 years old. My knees hurt every day and you don’t see me whining about it. Now either do the set right, or you’re off the relay.” 

This time, when you push off the wall, you kick with both legs. By the end of the 25, you’re already sobbing into the water, choking on gasps when you turn your head to breathe. You’ve never felt pain like this before in your life and you are convinced that something is really wrong. 

At one point, you think you almost black out. 

You fall behind in the set because you physically can’t kick fast enough to make the interval so your coach makes you stay behind late to finish it, despite you telling him that you have to get to class. 

When he finally lets you out of the pool, there’s twenty minutes until your class starts and you still have to shower, get dressed, and somehow walk across campus. 

Some of your professors would be chill if you walked in late. Hell, most of them were happy if 75% of the class actually showed up. 

But not Professor Agatha Harkness. She was feared by everyone on campus, even those who weren’t in her class, for her stony cold demeanor. There were rumors that she made students cry just by looking at them. 

Although, she wasn’t like that with you. While she was still tough, there was a softness in her eyes when she looked at you, a certain fondness in her smile. You weren’t sure what it was about you that made her like that, but you and Agatha had grown quite close over the past semester. You would go bother her during her office hours and she would patiently answer all your questions and help you with her assignments. You knew you could talk to her about anything, and you often did. Friend drama, other classes, swimming, you name it. The way she made you feel heard and seen, plus with how hot she was, had you falling for her. 

The only thing you hadn’t really opened up on was how mean your coach could be. 

But just because of your relationship with her didn’t mean she would allow you to be late to her class. 

For now though, your task was to get out of the pool without screaming. Your coach would throw a fit if you didn’t “get out like an athlete” by putting your knee in the gutter instead of your foot, but you weren’t sure you could do either. You maneuver yourself up using the handles on the starting blocks so you’re sitting and then push yourself up. You try to put weight on your hurt leg and you gasp loudly. 

That’s not going to happen. 

Your coach walks over to you and you think that he might offer some sort of help or an apology or anything, but all he says is, “See you tomorrow.” 

Your head falls back in frustration and you experiment with some different movements to see which is the best for your knee. You can slide it a little on the wet ground for now to get to the locker room, but when you go outside with shoes on, you’re going to have to figure out something new. 

You shower in record time while still getting all your tears out and throw on sweatpants and a t-shirt, putting moisturizer on your face while your hair is twisted up in your towel. The warm water did a little to help your leg so you’re able to put the tiniest bit of weight on it now. However, it doesn’t hide the evidence that you were clearly crying. 

Still, your class starts in five minutes. The building her lecture is in is four minutes away with a good leg. 

Hobbling while whimpering every step takes eight. 

You try to open the door as quietly as possible, and you succeed, but your bag swings and clangs onto the metal trash can that is right in the doorway. Because of course it is. 

Silence falls through the room as the sound echoes, and Agatha looks up from her place at the front of the room. You offer a shaky smile and limp down the aisle to your spot in the second row. Going down the slanted floor is a new type of pain that has you grabbing onto chairs. 

“Stay after class so I can hear your excuse about why you’re late,” Agatha says coldly once you’ve sat in your usual seat, sighing when the burn in your knee dies down to a dull ache. Your heart squeezes but you do see some concern in her eyes. You realize that her tough exterior just now was an act. You nod, not able to look at her for fear that she’ll see right through you, and you dig in your backpack for paper and a pen for notes. 

The hour lecture goes so slowly, your knee now starting to throb from sitting. You’re not really sure what you’re supposed to do to get it to stop hurting. 

Finally, Agatha releases everyone but you stay seated. While you’re in pain sitting, you know it’s much worse if you stand up. She doesn’t seem to mind, just comes to stand on the other side of her podium and lean against it. 

“What’s wrong?” She asks, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it before and you just start hysterically crying. She looks more taken-aback than you’ve ever seen her and walks over to crouch next to you and rub a hand comfortingly up and down your arm. “Sweetheart?” 

Your breath catches at the pet name and you hiccup. You swipe furiously at your eyes, embarrassed to show this much emotion in front of the older woman. When you open your mouth to start talking though, you can’t stop. “I hurt my leg in weights and I tried to tell my coach that the trainer said I shouldn’t swim and that it hurts but he made me get in anyways because we have a meet coming up and told me I wasn’t doing good enough and I had to stay late to finish the set and my knee hurts so fucking much I can barely walk.” You don’t even have it in you to apologize for the swearing and Agatha doesn’t care either. 

She cups your tear-stained cheek, thumbing at it, and you meet her eyes with your watery ones. You’re a little surprised to see pure anger in them.

“That is not okay,” she says seriously. “He should be fired for doing that. He deliberately put you in a situation where you’re only going to be more injured and now look at you. This is unbelievable. I’m going to talk to the athletic director, someone needs to know about this.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, Professor, you really don’t have to, it’s not–” 

“It is a big deal,” she cuts you off firmly. “There need to be consequences. He fucking hurt you and he’s going to pay!” Your heart skips a beat at how protective she’s being and she seems to realize what she said because she immediately changes gears. “Do you need help?” 

It’s the first time anyone has asked you that all day. Even the trainer or your weight’s coach didn’t offer. It almost makes you start crying again. 

“Yes, please,” you say and she holds out your hands, pulling you up out of the chair. You put your hurt leg on the floor and buckle into Agatha’s arms. “M’ so sorry, oh my god,” you stammer as she’s practically holding you now. 

She uses her strength to get you standing straight again, and without saying anything, slings your backpack over her shoulder and puts her other arm under yours so she can act as a crutch for you. 

“I’m sorry about your coach,” she finally says as she’s working on steering you out of the building. 

You wince going down the steps and shrug. “He’s not a bad coach. Like his sets are good and stuff and I’ve gotten faster for him. Just not a great…person. Where are we going?” You’ve finally realized that she’s not helping you back to the dorms. 

“My car,” she says matter-of-factly. Your heart skips a beat and you crane your head to look up at her. She has a variety of emotions struggling on her face and you’ve never felt so taken care of. 

“Why did you park so far away?” You groan and she chuckles. It feels like you’ve been limping for a mile. Luckily, there’s not too many other people outside right now to see Agatha helping you like this, but you do find it oddly touching that she would risk her heartless reputation for you. 

At last, you get to the lot where the professors park and she basically drops you into the passenger seat, sliding into the driver’s side once she puts your bag in the back. 

“Thank you for helping me,” you say quietly once she’s reversing out of her spot. She pauses for a second to look at you, a new expression on her face that you’ve never seen before. 

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

Once again, she goes in an unfamiliar direction. Maybe she’s taking you to a doctor? 

Nope. 

You’re still confused, even when Agatha turns into a quaint suburban neighborhood, but you think you figure it out when she stops in front of a house. 

You turn to gape at your professor. “Is this yours?” She gives you a look that says obviously and then gets out of the car quickly so she can come get you out. She doesn’t grab your bag from the back but you don’t need it. She helps you hobble inside and brings you over to the couch so you can lay down on it. You swing the bad leg up and then the good one and she hands you a pillow to put under the hurting knee. 

The elevation helps a little and while Agatha walks out of the living room, your eyes close, head resting on the back of the couch. It feels like you have been drained of all your energy from weights, practice, and then your knee. 

You think you might doze off just a bit because you startle when you hear Agatha entering. She’s carrying a bag of ice in one hand and a plate with a sandwich and raspberries in the other. You scooch into an upright position and graciously accept the food, instantly taking a huge bite. You moan at the taste and then notice that Agatha is standing next to you, bag of ice in hand, looking at your sweatpant-clad legs. 

Her eyes dart to yours and then back down. “Do you think you can take these off?” She asks, tapping your leg and your cheeks turn almost as red as hers. 

“Um, oh, sure,” you answer, mouth full of food. You set the plate down on the coffee table and raise your hips so you can get your pants off. You refuse to look at her as you basically undress in front of her. 

And then you begin to struggle. You can bend one leg just fine, but you don’t even want to risk moving your right knee in the slightest. The problem is, you’re nowhere near flexible enough to take your pants off while keeping one leg straight. 

Thankfully, Agatha completely understands without you having to ask, saving you from that embarrassment. She reaches across your body and gently slides the sweatpants off your bad leg. And then your entire bottom half is naked except for your underwear. 

You know why you’re blushing, but why is Agatha? 

She clears her throat and arranges the bag of ice on your knee, but it won’t stay because your leg is slanted up on the pillow. 

“Um, can you…” she trails off like she’s trying to figure out how to word it. You also understand what she needs, so you move your left leg so it hangs off the couch and she can sit in-between your legs and hold the ice to your knee. 

“Are you okay?” You ask after the two of you have been sitting in silence for a little bit. It’s comfortable, but you can still see the outline of grimace on Agatha’s face. 

She sighs heavily and runs a hand through her hair. “It’s just hard,” she admits. “Seeing you in pain like this.” 

“Why?” You dare to ask, the question barely louder than a whisper. She looks at you and then back to the ice. 

“I care about you a lot,” she says, like it pains her. It feels like all the air has left your lungs. 

“I care about you, too,” you reply, hoping more than anything that she means it the same way as you. 

She shakes her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Is there anything else I can do to help?” 

“A kiss?” It’s meant to be a joke, like when your mom would kiss a paper cut or a scrap just to make it feel better. And then you inwardly kick yourself because you know you did not just ask stone-cold Agatha Harkness to kiss your knee. 

But she smirks and then you realize that you never specified which part of your body you wanted her to kiss. 

She leans in, hand grabbing onto the arm of the sofa next to you to hold herself up and she brushes her lips against yours. It’s barely anything, easily written off, but when she pulls back, her eyes are dilated. 

“Did that make your knee feel better?” She asks playfully. 

You pretend to think about it for a second and then you tilt your head. “You know what? It did. Better do it again so it helps even more.” 

This time, her tongue parts your lips and licks into your mouth. Her other hand slides under your shirt to feel your stomach and heat starts to course through you. You moan into her mouth and wrap your arms around her so pull her even closer. She shifts and accidentally bumps your knee and you hiss in pain. 

“Fuck, sorry!” She exclaims, jerking back like she was burned. 

“No, you’re okay,” you groan. “I just don’t know if this is the best way to do this.” You pout because you want to keep kissing her, you need to feel her. 

A sly smile spreads onto her face. “I know something else that might help.” You raise your eyebrows in question and inhale sharply as she carefully moves down your body so her head is right by your underwear. She toys with the waistband, checking to make sure it’s okay. You nod more eagerly than you ever have in your life. “If it hurts your knee, let me know.” 

“Okay,” you breathe and you shiver when she pulls your wet underwear to the side and the cold air hits your pussy. 

And then she lazily licks through your folds, swirling her tongue on your clit and your back arches off the couch. 

“Fuck,” you moan, one hand tangling in her hair and the other grabbing the side of the couch. She continues softly lapping at you, fingers digging into your hips to keep them still so you don’t accidentally hurt yourself by moving. Agatha takes her time tasting you, making a noise every and then that makes your head fall back. 

Your pleasure slowly builds from her hot, careful mouth on you, but Agatha doesn’t seem to mind. She alternates dipping her tongue into your pussy and then sucking your clit and back again. She gets more enthusiastic about it once she feels confident that she’s not hurting you and begins to be a little rougher. 

“I’m getting close, Agatha,” you whimper and it’s the first time you’ve ever called her by her first name. She must realize it too because she groans into your pussy and sucks hard on your clit, sending you over the edge. Sounds fall out of your mouth as you cum, hips trying but failing to buck against her tight grip to ride it out. 

“Is your knee okay?” is the first thing she asks when she stops licking at you. You laugh at the timing of the question. 

“Yes, it feels totally fine.” 

Agatha leans down to peck your lips. “Okay, good. Still, I’m going to make an appointment at my doctor this afternoon. I’ll take you.” 

Even though she just ate you out, this is the sexiest you’ve ever seen her. So caring, so protective. Your heart yearns for more of this woman. 

“You don’t have to do all that,” you protest though, not wanting to ask for more than she’s already given you. She waves her hand to shush you. 

“Nonsense. I’m going to take care of you because apparently no one else can. And I want to.”

You smile fondly at her and tug at hair to bring her in for a deeper kiss this time. “I want you to as well.” 

And she does.