#but i bought butt padding so there's that

[gutsby]

Wingman

Pairing: Himbo!Joel x Reader

Summary: Your bestie braves the tampon aisle for you.

Warnings: 18+. Period crackfic starring Himbo!Joel—don’t take it too seriously. R has a uterus that hates her. Mentions of blood, cramps, & hangover-induced puking. Dirty talk, f!masturbation. One (1) Mean Girls reference.

Word count: 1.7k

You were fucked ten ways to Wednesday if you didn’t get your hands on some soap, a steamer, and a supersized box of maxi-pads in the span of the next eleven minutes.

Joel Miller moved like molasses on a flat slab of granite.

“WILL YOU HURRY— THE FUCK— UP?”

Your cheeks were hot. The night air was cold.

Every other word that managed to claw out of your throat was punctuated by a breath—your stomach clenched, and the sex organ below it was in hysterics.

Joel continued to lace up his loafer, clumsy as ever.

“O-kay, okay,” he hummed, “Steamer, soap, and, uh…”

“Pads!”

“Uh-huh. Right. So what kinda…blood stuff is it, again?”

The words were like an aspersion on his tongue. At the ripe old age of forty-seven, Joel still hadn’t quite learned to jibe with the menstrual product lingo, and it showed.

“Heavy flow. Any brand. With wings,” you hissed.

“Boneless or traditional?”

And if he hadn’t been standing outside the truck, foot propped up against the driver’s seat while he tied his shoe, you likely would’ve smacked him upside the head. The glare you gave him was sufficiently vicious to extinguish the smirk, though. Your hand made a fist in the front of your dress, and you groaned, leaning inward.

Joel got the picture and finished his bunny ears quick.

“Sorry.”

Then, a little more sheepish as he straightened up,

“I’m goin’. Be just a minute.”

And he was off.

Your body curled into a ball as soon as he left. It cried in pain, to nothing and no one around but that fugly slut, the nastiest skank bitch you’d ever met, your uterus.

There was no way you and Joel were making it to this rehearsal dinner. You needed to be at the venue by 7:00, the clock on the dash read 6:11, and you were, currently, twenty miles shy of Fredericksburg with a rag between your legs and your best friend scouring the local H-E-B.

That afternoon you’d been running late, so of course you’d thrown on your thin, satin, pre-wedding-ready dress before you left—and forgotten a change of clothes. Joel had been hungover from all the batshit bachelor party antics, so of course you’d had to stop three times along the way just so he could throw up on the side of the road. And, though your friend was many, many things, discreet was not one of them, so of course he’d told you, point-blank, when he saw you reaching for something in the backseat with your butt sticking up:

“You been pissin’ tomato juice or somethin’?”

And you’d looked back in abject horror.

Of course your period had come a week early and made you bleed straight through your bright yellow dress.

Maria was your best friend. You were her maid of honor. Tommy’s groomsmen happened to be the most fuckable bunch you’d ever seen—save for Joel—so there was no way you’d be caught dead at that dinner with the flag of Japan on your ass. And Maria had bought the dress just for you, so you felt like you had to get this bloodstain out.

You lifted your head to peer out the window. Even with the help of a fistful of ibuprofen, you could barely move.

6:29

“Dude, where are you?!”

It was like your phone and the FaceTime call to Joel had just materialized on their own. The man on the screen was blinking slow. Ogling something in front of him.

“So ‘L’ stands for…long?” he said after a beat.

“No, that’s light, Joel, I need a heavy one.”

“This one’s got cardboard in it, I think.”

“That’s a tampon applicator, dipshit.”

In a blink, Joel’s eyes flitted to his phone. His nostrils flared, and he met your gaze with a scowl of his own.

“Well how the hell am I supposed to know that? Only stuck two— three things in a pussy before and it sure as fuck wasn’t cotton,” he griped, and if he were any less mature he likely would’ve rolled his eyes. Drama king.

You winced as another cramp rolled through you. You shook your head and tried to regain your composure.

“Just find a heavy-flow. pad. with wings. for me. Please.”

Joel sighed and turned back to the shelf, eyes searching.

It shouldn’t have been this hard, but it was. You had no doubt Joel had never willingly touched a pussy product before in his life, so the road ahead was treacherous. Silently, you felt the urge to tell him he had no business being in pussy at all if he didn’t bother to learn what came out of one every month, but you let him cook.

His dark, greyish brows drew together in concentration. He leaned forward and reached for a box. Then stopped.

Went low to grab another, before pausing to show you.

“Very close, Joel. That’s a pantyliner.”

You felt somewhat like a mother showing a headstrong four-year-old how to copy shapes onto paper. No, darling, that’s a diva cup—and be careful with that crayon. Joel stood and he stewed and, by the look in his eyes, you’d already resigned yourself to another ten minutes of this back-and-forth rummaging at least.

Then you shifted in your seat, pushing your legs down a bit. They rubbed, of course. In spite of the pain that had seized your whole lower half, you felt a sweet, dull pulse.

You stared hard at Joel’s face on-screen to make sure he hadn’t seen it in yours, but damn that friction felt nice.

Sensitivity elevated with the influx of hormones, no doubt, you sat tight and tried to enjoy the feeling on purpose for a moment. You slowly sucked in a breath.

“Aw, hell, there’s just too many’a these damn boxes.”

You flexed your thigh muscles and let out a sigh.

“I don’t know how y’all do it,” Joel grumbled.

Keep looking, Miller. Just keep looking.

Slowly, your hips began to stir, and one small grain of pleasure gave way to a jolt—a twist in the pit of your belly that made the pain less grating. You leaned into it more.

Holding your phone, you could feel when Joel let out a frustrated groan. The sound low and almost enticing.

Wait.

Wait.

“Gross,” you said out loud, half-whispered.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was one of your closest friends; a man who loved beer die, Pall Malls, and Keith Whitley like nobody’s business and gave suffocating bear hugs whenever he was sweaty just to gross you out. You weren’t supposed to find men like that attractive.

But when the grit of his voice was just so nice…

“What?” Joel stopped to look down again.

“What?” you shot back, instantly.

A frown tugged at his lips.

“What’s ‘gross’? Me?”

Not…exactly, no.

More disgusted with yourself than anyone else, you clamped your legs together and shook your head. You tried to swallow, as if the action might suck the pleasure down with it, but the hot, throbbing sensation only grew.

You were practically grinding into the towel that had been stuffed between your thighs when you heard:

“Wings!”

An exceptionally proud Joel displayed a box of extra heavy-duty maxi-pads, with wings. He was grinning.

You weren’t sure if you thanked him next, congratulated the man, or what. You probably strung some words together and tried to return the smile as best you could, but who knew? The next thing you saw was that the line had gone dead, the truck was silent, and all that could be heard above the hum of the engine were your moans.

You braced yourself against the seat and rolled your hips even harder. Out of habit, you caught your lip between your teeth to prevent a louder sound from escaping, but then you remembered there was no one to hear you but you—for now. Your palm pressed flat on the dashboard, your knees squeezed even closer, and your vision flooded with soft, minuscule pinpricks of an all-too-familiar hue.

The only thing new to you here was Joel—the thought of him had never crossed your mind in moments like these.

But now you were closing your eyes, humping the seat with nothing between your body and the old, weathered upholstery but a scrap of fabric. And you were moaning his name. Imagining a face that was littered with coarse, grey stubble—you might’ve teased him for that once or twice before—and lips that were soft. So soft against your own that you wouldn’t think twice if he tried to slip his tongue inside and hold the sides of your face as he filled your cunt to the brim. In fact, Joel’s mouth would be a welcome distraction. Knowing how foul he was in even friendly confab, he’d undoubtedly be whispering the most vile things in your ear while he fucked you.

Reminding you, quietly, that you made such a pretty cocksleeve for him—why didn’t we try this sooner?— and how you’d be the sweetest thing if you just gave his cock another squeeze and made yourself cum all over it.

The mental image of that alone was inducement enough.

You felt a hot, euphoric band of something start to give way inside you. It tightened up, twisted—then snapped. Your mouth fell open and your thighs clenched tighter, grinding desperately in tandem with a pace you’d hoped Joel might’ve set if he were laying there underneath you. You clung to one last thought of him gripping your hips and bruising your walls with the force of his cock driving in and out, over and over again until, eventually, his cum was leaking out through each fluid thrusting movement. It was all your body could take, conjuring thoughts of his load spilling into you and onto him in warm, wet, sticky—

Whistling.

Someone was whistling outside. Walking up to the truck.

You were still coming down from the staggering heights of your climax when the driver’s side door swung open. You blinked furiously, as though to drive all the filth and depravity and need from your eyes before he could see.

It didn’t matter.

Joel was too amped up off a white plastic baggy to be concerned with much else as he plopped down beside you and smiled—beamed, really. Completely oblivious.

Your extremities were still twitching with the residuum of bliss when he reached for your hand. His eyes somehow warmer than they’d been all that day, they sparkled and shone and crinkled at the corners in a way that seemed to say the words before his mouth had uttered a sound.

“I got three boxes to be safe…”

Joel was really too sweet.

“…and some chocolate for your cramps…”

Always so considerate.

“…and you look real pretty when you cum, by the way.”

This motherfucker.

[ms0milk]

when you suddenly catch a nasty cold

gn!reader ft. todo, bkg, kiri, and (hearts in my eyes) shinsou

i am so ill and these are so silly, indulge me :,) 600ish words ea.

Todoroki starts to cry when you joke about dying.

He’s bought more flowers than can fit into your little apartment, picked up your prescriptions, tissues, juice, a heating pad, cleaned your kitchen, tucked you in– he paged the fucking family physician– but watching you shiver under a heavy duvet, surrounded by all the things that are supposed to help you get better, ignites a fear he didn’t know that he had. They aren’t working. You’re still sick because of course you are, and he can’t bring himself to move more than an arm’s length away from you because what if– if he leaves and–

“Shoto?”

“Yes,” his response is immediate when you pull him from the ether. Always is.

I’m not going anywhere,” you croak, too conscious of how strange your voice sounds, “so you don’t have to stay with me all day.”

“I don’t mind.”

Todoroki is a wonderful boyfriend but when was the last time he went to the bathroom?

“You must be bored.”

He leans over you from his spot at the side of your bed and runs a blessedly too-cold hand across your forehead. Bored? Like he could calm down enough for that. “I can’t relax when you’re like this.”

You’d roll your eyes if they ached less, at your beautiful boyfriend and his cluelessly shoujo declarations of love framed by no fewer than two whole flower shops worth of camellias. He turns his hand over to palm your cheeks and wipe the water from your puffy eyes.

“Would you like me to leave?”

You shake your head, smiling under the weight of an overkill of blankets and the heavy dip from his butt at the edge of your mattress. You’re inclined to reach a hand out to grab it, but you don’t have the energy to raise your head let alone fondle your boyfriend.

“There’s no one I’d rather be with in my final hours,” you rasp, joking, obviously joking.

This cold is something evil, chills, aches, snot– the works. But you couldn’t ask for a better nurse. A gentle, thoughtful, sexy, temperature controlled man, a man you would raze the city for, whose hand fits so perfectly in yours and who– whose trembling? You blink back up.

Todoroki’s features don’t shift or soften, his lip doesn’t quiver, but a tear does slip down his cheeks from those pool cool eyes– one after the next until his jaw is lined with them all patiently waiting to fall from his chin.

“Why, why why?” You panic and try to sit up but he comes to you. Todoroki cups your hand tightly in a hot and cold grip and bows over his own lap to rest his head in yours.

“You’re not going to die.”

“What?”

“I promise.”

“Sho, what– no of course I’m not. What’s wrong, baby?”

Your voice is so weak that he has no other choice than to sit back up and reach for the cold compress. He wipes his eyes with renewed determination when he turns back around, “I’ve got you.”

“I’ve got you, Sho. ’m not going anywhere, promise.”

And when the Todoroki family doctor lets himself in, he does consider coming back another time at the sight of you, finally comfortable under a mountain of fabric, and your love curled around you asleep on top of the blankets.

———

It’s not until you genuinely collapse that Bakugou realizes something is wrong. He didn’t even hit you that hard.

“You’re wide open today!” The restless pro looms across the arena, grinning. You both come to the agency’s underground ring on Saturdays to train and he’s blasted you clear across the room like he’s actually working for a paycheck.

There wasn’t any amount of money you would have accepted to get out of bed this morning but Bakugou, a less than casual hookup from work, accidentally spent the night and the surprisingly sleep soft rumble of his voice, the gentle kneed of palms as he pulled you back against his body under dawn light– was, persuasive.

The sooner we finish, the sooner I can go home and nurse this headache.

Headache. Naive self-convincing circles your head as you pull yourself to your feet like spinning stars from a goddamned cartoon. This is not a headache. Standing was fine a second ago, and the floor was fine a second ago, but the move from floor to feet fills your sinuses with sudden pressure and immediately the arena starts to swirl.

“C’mon twinkle toes, you’re– Y/n– shit–”

You’re not interested in where that sentence ends today and you blessedly don’t have to hear it because your ears have filled with cotton and you’re sinking back down to your knees. You’ve been congested like this before– it’ll pass in a minute or two, you know how it goes and you’re only embarrassed by the fact you were down so bad for your teammate this morning that you didn’t realize how your body had started to feel.

The vertigo eases somewhat when you rest your head on the ground, but Bakugou has cleared the empty room and already has his domineering hands all over you. “Y/n? Y/n– do not close your eyes.”

“‘m not concussed, Kats.” But you know the explosive hero’s first fear isn’t exactly a head trauma. “You didn’t hurt me,” you add.

“Doesn’t narrow it down shitforbrains,” the aggressive tone doesn’t match his anxious hold though, and you melt a little when he kneels and pulls you into his lap, “if I didn’t hurt you then what’s wrong?”

Bakugou definitely doesn’t like the way your head seems too heavy for your neck and tilts himself back just enough for you to lean it against his chest. You look so fucking uncomfortable, scowling, eyes pinched closed. “What hurts?” He rasps as he moves to feel your temperature but his palms are sweating hard from a few quirk ignitions so he stalls, and lowers his forehead to yours instead. You’re soft where he touches you, warm in his hands.

You just need to sit, you don't need the #2 hero to cradle you in his arms like a corpse on the battlefield. Your eyes squeeze shut harder as a tiny wave rocks you in the dark and then suddenly one ear releases. “Think I’m getting sick,” you breathe. Carmel in and relief out. “It’s my head–”

“Head hurts?”

“I’m just stuffed up, I–” the other ear releases, “— just dizzy.”

Bakugou sits on his heels, perched. Should he pick you up? It’s terrifying to watch– you, his teammate, a capable hero, suddenly unable to stand.

But as the pressure behind your eyes levels out you can lift your head without discomfort. You can bring your arms up around Bakugou’s shoulders and settle your fingers in his hair. Bring him back down from where he’s tried to pull away.

Your foreheads bump again, “I’m okay.”

He growls, “I don’t believe you.”

So the hero takes you home. He makes sure you’re horizontal and goddamned tucked in before he slips from your front door and scares the shit out of you an hour later with a vice grip on some grocery bags and your apartment keys slipped around his middle finger. It’s almost romantic, the way he snaps at you to hold still while he dabs antiseptic on your scratches from sparring, or glares venom from behind the stove when you hobble to the kitchen to see what smells so good.

———

When Kirishima lets himself in and you’re asleep on the kitchen floor, worry overrides his confusion.

You won’t pick up his calls, but he’s never missed a movie night and he’s not about to start today. He throws your front door open with his copy of your apartment key and kicks off his gym crocs as loudly as he can manage so you might hear him come in. The last thing he wants is to startle you.

But you’re the one who nearly kills him when he slips through the genkan, arms full of snacks and catches sight of your slippered foot stretched out on the ground around the corner.

He’s on his hands and knees faster than he can even take a full step, dropping bottles and soft melon bread from his arms as he scrambles to where you must be lying lifeless on the other side of the entrance.

“Y/n–! Ah, huh.”

And you are, in a way, lifeless on the ground, but you’re breathing. And smiling? Curled up on the white tiles in front of the sink cabinet.

“Y/n?” Kirishima doesn’t wait to ponder, instead placing a hand on the side of your head to check for concussion, wound, vertebral injury—But you coo, something completely unintelligible, and you’re much too warm. You tilt your face into his palm and every inch of you is hotter, damper than the next.

“Y/n? C’mon on back to me Y/n, gotta tell me what’s wrong.”

Maybe it’s the chill of the floor or the addition of his other hand cupping your cheek, but your lashes heft apart just enough to register who it is trying to resuscitate you in the kitchen.

“Ei?”

Kirishima, always handy in a fire, has every hospital route an EMT could ever need memorized from all his volunteer work with the fire department and mentally tracks each one as you try to form a sentence.

“shouldn’t be here, Eiji, m’sick.”

“What?”

“flu,” you murmur and pull your hands to your side to try and rise. Kirishima doesn’t register anything not directly related to whether or not you’re suffering from blunt force trauma– except for the fact he could recall the exact date and time your dream drowsy smile falls and perks back up again tonight for the next fifty years.

“–tried to text you,” you manage as the redhead helps you sit up. The sentence comes out in gasps instead of coughs as you try to spare the air of any extra germs, “I can’t watch the movie tonight."

He laughs with pent up anxiety and simultaneous relief– he’s taken that charming fireman’s knee at your side and you wish in your flu-addled state that you’d stayed unconscious long enough for him to hoist you into his arms. Instead, Kirishima places both of his big soft hands back around your face to brush away the dust and crumbs.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“got hungry,” you admit because you know it’ll make him smile, and with his face this close to yours you’ll be able to watch the skin around his eyes crinkle up too. “Then tired, little dizzy. I just needed to sit for a bit.”

His eyes do crinkle up. And his teeth bit at his lip like he’s trying not to be amused.

“Y/n, you are very sick. And very sweaty.” And the sweetheart, the biggest crush you’ve ever had, your closest friend, the man you dreamed of on the kitchen floor, asks if he can carry you to the bath.

———

Why are you breathing so hard? Shinsou is the only pro in the office that you can’t hide a fucking thing from. Maybe it’s because he works primarily in the underground– observant– that it’s obvious, the way you wobble on your feet when your eyes are closed too long, or the sudden effort it takes you just to climb the stairs.

How can he focus on paperwork with you trying to subtly catch your breath in every hallway? None of your sidekicks are brave enough to ask why you wore a mask to work today, but it’s summer and the air pollution gets bad enough that some of them have to too. Are they really all that stupid? Has he done the worst hiring job of any pro in the city?

“Shinsou,” you murmur across the now-empty end of day office and he whips around because god knows how many times you’ve tried to get his attention while he’s been off in space.

“Yeah boss?”

Your voice is rough with sick when you reply and it would be so fucking sexy if it didn’t remind him to be so anxious about your wellbeing. “I’ve told you not to call me that, haven’t been my sidekick for years,” and then you’re smiling even as you hold back a cough, “makes me feel old.”

“You are older than me.”

“By a year!” you sputter and then your lungs take over, heaving and hacking so hard you have to double over your desk to steady your forehead against something. Shinsou’s on his feet immediately, navigating the office in sweats and his capture gear.

What happened? This morning it was just a tickle at the top of your throat but the aches sank from your head, down your spine, and flooded through your body just as quickly as the sun’s shadow crawls across a stone. Which is to say, all day long and all too slowly to realize you probably should have called in sick.

“Here.” A cool hand materializes on the back of your neck and you roll your head to the side to check what exactly has arrived for you. With his free hand Shinsou presses a paper water cup forward, which you’d love to take if you had the energy to pull your mask down.

“went to school together n’ everything,” you breathe.

“Boss, you should go home for the night, I’ll– I can finish this paperwork.”

By now the dark-eyed hero has sunk slowly into a crouch beside your chair and keeps a careful hand on your back to ensure you don’t slip to the floor sideways one way or the other. Thank god he sent the rookies home because stupid or otherwise, you'd have to be braindead not to notice this adoration that he can’t seem to get a handle on.

“Shinsou,” you murmur again, just as sexily as last time and he feels just as much if not more shame at how lovely it is to hear you call to him sweet and low, “I can’t get up.”

“What?”

That’s it though. There’s no trick or test. Shinsou has a fucked up sleep schedule from all his overnight patrols so he always stays in the office late, but you? You’ve been trying to rally for the last two hours and now you’ve used all your energy teasing a man whose eyes go bright every time you say his name. It serves you right, collapsing at your desk after using the last of your strength to squeeze as many Shinsous as you could into an evening.

“call me a taxi?”

He rises to his feet, “Will you even be able to get up your front steps?”

“sure hope so.”

“Do you feel nauseous?” He’s shuffling around the room now, plucking keys from hooks, and you watch him sideways with your head still resting in the day’s paperwork. “You gonna aspirate if I let you go home alone?”

“if god’s feeling extra silly”

He scoffs to hide the smile. Shinsou returns to your side to lay his faded denim jacket over your shoulders and then crouches again at eye level.

“Y/n,” he urges, and rests a hand to the back of your head to get your attention, “If I carry you downstairs, will you be able to hold onto me?”

Downstairs is a bluff. With you snug and mostly unconscious between his jacket and his back, Shinsou carries you home. Face full of your clothes, hair, quirk, whatever’s getting in his eyes, under the stars, and down back streets to avoid any publicity, the hero tries to walk gently enough that you don’t whimper from the impact of his steps.

“Thank you Toshi,” you whisper just when he thinks you’ve finally fallen asleep and the big bad underground pro almost stumbles hard enough to fly.

[norman-fucking-reedus]

I read something that you said Scud liked to be recorded and I’m actually foaming at the mouth at the idea of that because it’s so real. I NEED a fic for that. So glad I found someone with a Scud obsession as bad as mine

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION

THE GOOD GOOD: FemDom!Reader x Sub!Scud, recording during sex, lots of teasing, and edging, bit of bondage, your much needed dose of pegging, and scud crying during sex, don't forget the hair pulling

GUYS I LOVE SCUD SO MUCH I ABSOLUTELY ADORE HIM MY PRECIOUS LITTLE ANGEL

I'm really trying to get my drafts cleared out LOL hopefully sometime soon I'll have a big major posting spree and then I can start working on my inbox

I HAVE SO MANY REQUESTS AUUUGH IDK WHY I LET THEM ALL PILE UP SOMEONE KILL ME

The idea of Scud being recorded is still my favorite because I feel like he'd be so nervous under the lens, trying to hide from it and not be seen but he'd still end up looking like a slutty pornstar (my precious pornstar)

also scud in lace. its been on my mind for I don't even know how long at this point.

You sighed as you walked down your complex's dingy, dimly lit hallway, silently hoping that Scud wouldn't be too mad at you for coming home so late into the night. After all, you had told him that you would only be about ten more minutes, but that had been almost an hour ago.

Things got a little out of hand, nothing you couldn't deal with sure but it was quite an inconvenience. A short, fifteen-minute task had easily turned into a full job, one that included running around the shop looking for spare parts. With what you had learned from Blade and Scud, it didn't take long to find all the little pieces you needed, and even a reward for yourself.

"Scud! I'm back! Look at what was in the shop" You called out to him when you jingled your keys in the lock and swung the front door to your apartment open, eagerly kicking off your shoes as you toyed with the little camcorder you had come across, flipping through the random pictures on it. There was no clear indicator of who's camera exactly, but you had always loved photography, so just one day with it wouldn't hurt anyone.

There was no response to your voice, the apartment barely lit and quiet, soft thumping coming from you and Scud's shared bedroom. He was probably playing on his PS2 with his headphones in, loud music blasting at levels you’ve already scolded him for.

As you padded through the cozy living room, you pointed your camera at random things and took little cameos of them, making your way down the short and narrow hall towards the room where you could see some of the orange lighting spilling out through a crack in the door.

You approached, about to call out Scud’s name once again as the soft thumping faded into a rhythmic beat, a Lady Gaga track when you finally stopped short in front of the door, pushing it open a bit and poking your head through, combing hair out your eyes as your mind drew a blank, greedily taking in the sight in front of you.

Scud was in fact not playing on his game system, but rather prancing around the cozy room what he didn’t know was your very expensive lingerie set. An all-white, delicate full ‘angelic’ lingerie set. A satin ruffle top with a waist-high lace garter belt that clipped onto the white mesh fishnets, all paired with lacy underwear that had a large bow on the back, topped with a fair-sized opening that revealed a large portion of his dumb butt.

You had originally bought it to surprise your boyfriend a few months back, but you had both gotten so overcrowded with work that it slipped your mind, collecting a thin layer of dust somewhere you weren’t even sure where you had put it. Scud always got curious about your things when he was rocket-high, digging through things and asking a million and one questions. Now here he was, looking pretty as ever swaying his hips around in the bedroom, mumbling along to the current track playing.

You found yourself flipping the camcorder's small screen open and resting against the door frame as the device started to record, capturing Scud’s fluid movements as he obliviously danced around, brown curls falling sweetly in his face, and skin glowing orange from the multiple sources of warm light in the room.

He really did look like an angel, his broad body looking much more supple and soft, legs long and lean, hips wide and divine. A walking, talking piece of pure eye candy, reserved for your eyes and only your eyes. Guess this camera just found itself a new owner.

Scud spun around on his heels and toes, once, twice, before he stopped, eyes focusing on the small little red dot, flickering up to meet your gaze and feeling his entire exposed body heat up in embarrassment.

“W– Wha– How– How long– Hello– ” Scud sputtered, completely frozen in place as he stared at you.

You, who was now fully entering the bedroom, “Don’t stop now, I barely got any footage” placing your free hand on his small waist and dipping fingers under the fabric of the garter. A smile tugged your lips as you started taking in the entirety of your boyfriend's body up close, his skin soft and hot under the tips of your fingers. “Y– You’re re-recording me?” He knew the answer, but hearing it from you verbally just made a chill run down his spine, and his cock twitch.

“Does that make you nervous love?” Your fingers trailed up his scarred chest, brushing across the lose ruffled top and grazing his nipples, a small whine coming from Scud as he dipped down in order to hide his face, but you wouldn’t let him. “Look at me” You said as you lifted his head up by the chin, forcing his gaze onto yours.

Scud lightly whimpered, desire burning in his gut as you brushed hair out his face, fingers dancing along his skin. He felt exposed under the camera’s lens, so much of his raw and bare skin visible to the naked eye. Your gaze on his body made his cock throb.

“What do I always tell you about playing in my stuff?” You said in a condescending tone, teasing the tips of your fingers down his textured belly.

Scud shivered at your touch as goosebumps prickled his skin, a strained grunt coming from him as his face flushed. “N– not without mommy’s permission”

You slowly walk around him, taking in his full body in the set. “Don’t touch mommy’s things without permission. That’s a rule, right?” You murmur as you stop recording to take a picture of Scud’s ass, definitely filling out the panties better than you could.

“Yes…” He mumbles, and it almost comes out like a squeak. His cock aching with need and his stomach with embarrassment, heart pounding from a combination of nerves and weed.

You brush your lips against the skin of his shoulder, slipping fingers under the waistline of the lace undies. “So can you explain to me why said rule is broken?”

A whimper broke past Scud's lips as your fingers teased and explored his exposed skin, squeezing his hips and tracing scars. "I just– I just found it under the bed and didn't know what it was" Scud stumbled out, heart thumping in his chest as your hands covered more ground on his body, circling around to his back.

"Mhm?" You hummed, tracing your finger up his spine. He let out a moan as chills ran through his core, trembling under your touch as he could feel goosebumps explode across his skin. "Well, do you know what it is now?"

Scud nodded frantically at your words, "Yes! Yes– I know now" quivering as he spoke.

With one hand on his waist, the other still holding the camera, you guided him to the edge of the bed and pushed his upper half down onto the mattress, smiling softly to yourself as you eyed Scud's new position through the lens.

Click! Click!

The electric snap of the camera made Scud feel fuzzy and warm, slightly embarrassed, and very exposed. His skin was flushed a light red, some areas more blushed than the others. From where his cock was confined in the small panties, he was completely pulsing, throbbing with pure need in his gut.

"Do you also know not to break the rules?" You questioned, flipping through the few shots you had taken before moving your attention to the small walk-in closet, crouching down and reaching inside a box.

Scud whined into the soft comforter when you returned behind him, his socked feet barely reaching the rug between them. He could hear the small beep of the camera as you pressed your front to his bottom, a yelp coming from him when your palm made contact with his exposed cheek. "I asked, so answer"

"Y– Yes! Not breaking the rules is a rule" He whimpered, a shudder running through him as his skin tingled.

You smiled at his words as you caressed his side, squeezing his waist and hip slightly. "Good. Very good. So don't you think you deserve a punishment?"

Scud didn't respond, but he nodded his head, hiding his face the best he could behind his hair. You pushed the strands back and cooed at his cherry-red face, tiny whines coming from him as he squirmed under the camera's lens, jerking his hips slightly as he rutted against the edge of the bed.

Your hand made contact with his cheek again, a choked-off groan coming from his throat at your palm. "Words."

"Y– yes ma– ma'am..." He stuttered, trembling slightly with anticipation. It wasn't often that Scud got punished, even with as bratty as he was, so his cock was totally aching just thinking about whatever vile shit it was you were thinking about doing to him.

And you were thinking of doing some quite horrid things.

Teasingly, you ran your hand over the opening in his panties, prodding your finger at his puffy rim. A suppressed shudder traveled through him as his cock twitched, his hole fluttering at your air-light touch. You softly cooed at how needy he was, smiling to yourself as you single-handedly took off your shirt and tossed it on the floor somewhere to be picked up later.

From the box in your closet, you had pulled your strap set, a pair of cuffs, and a long vibrator that you had been wanting to test out for a little while.

Cuffing Scud's hands behind his back with only five fingers was a bit of a challenge, but an easy one. He squirmed a little as you did it, wiggling his fingers as his wrists adjusted to the new sensation of the cuffs.

You shuffled around behind him, cursing softly as you knocked a few things over before tossing a bottle of lube along with the rest of your toys, pressing yourself against Scud as you leaned down near his ear, breath feather-light and hair tickling his skin. His heart pounded in his chest, and you could hear his pulse in his neck thumping.

“Just how should I punish you?” You murmur, trailing your lips against his ear lobe and teasing the skin with the very tip of your tongue.

“Maybe I should spank you ‘til it hurts to sit,” You run your free hand down to his ass and give it a slap for emphasis, followed by a squeeze just cause.

“Or maybe I could tie up those cute balls and see just how long it takes for you to pop” You hum, nibbling on Scud’s ear and tugging it with your teeth until you dropped it with an idea lingering in mind.

“Or," You said as you pulled away from him. "I could just leave you here by yourself” You smirked, watching Scud’s face twist in horror.

“No! No– please no” He pleaded as he squirmed on the bed, hips jerking in a desperate search for relief, cock painfully hard and throbbing. “Need a punishment, need mommy to punish me” Scud blabbed, his body trembling as his eyes darted from your face to the camera's lens, his body coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

“But how should I punish you?” You teasingly coo, combing some of a Scud’s bangs out one of his eyes as you smiled softly at him. “I could smoke our whole stash right in your face”

Scud groaned, “Please don’t” squeezing his legs as arousal burned hot in his gut. “I’m really sorry mommy, I– I’ll do anything”

“Oh, I know you will. Just stay still for me ‘kay?” You pushed yourself back up to your full height, pausing your recording to swap out the camera for the bottle of lube, shaking it slightly before uncapping it and squeezing out more than enough of the clear liquid onto Scud's puffy rim, watching the shiver that ran through him as the cold sensation rolled down to his sensitive balls.

You scooped it up with your two fingers and easily slid them inside Scud, a soft moan coming from him as he clenched around you, almost instantly pushing back in search of more. "Such a greedy little hole, you just wanna be fucked so badly don't you?"

Scud whined and squeezed his slick walls around your digits, "Yes! Want mommy to fill me up so bad, need her so bad" rubbing his face against the soft comforter as he could feel it burning hot.

"Don't worry baby boy, we're gonna get you all nice 'nd full right now" You spoke sweetly to him as you picked up the camera with one hand and the vibrator with the other, resuming your recording as the toy harshly rumbled to life after the click of a button. Without wasting a second, you watched as the buzzing wand glided into Scud with zero resistance, pressing it directly against his sweet spot and causing him to loudly sputter, blabble, and cry out nonsense as the sudden vibration traveled through his entire nervous system, cock throbbing with the uncontrollable urge to cum.

Scud sobbed around his loud moans, choking out gasps when you started to quickly thrust the toy in and out, each hard bump to his now very sensitive prostrate only sent him closer to the edge, hands twitching and pulling where they were restrained as his body spasmed, heaving as his heart started to pound in his chest the harder and harder you fucked him, hips jerking down into the mattress as he tried to pathetically chase his rapidly building orgasm, a burning pleasure coursing through the entirety of his body before–

You swiftly pulled the toy out of him right as he was about to topple over the edge, a confused, strangled whimper tearing from his throat as his poor hole needily clenched around nothing, so full and pleased just a split second ago and now suddenly empty and crashing down from the way you abruptly ruined his orgasm.

“Sorry, my hand slipped” You mumbled, obviously not sorry at all as you teased his fluttering hole with the toy, capturing all your torturous movements through the little camera lens.

The cuffs rattled as Scud whined and squirmed at the contact against his sensitive skin, trying his hardest to push back onto the vibrator while also jerking his hips away from it. He was so high, so hot and sweaty as he heaved from where he was on the bed, shaking as you tauntingly dragged the toy up from his slick balls to his drenched rim, only ever applying the slightest amount of pressure.

It made him push his hips back in desperation, letting out a surprised yelp when you smacked him with the toy, tutting your lips as you shook your head, placing the camera down and positioning it to capture Scud's hidden face, forcing his head up by roughly yanking a fistful of hair.

He whined as a shiver ran down his spine, trembling as his eyes nervously darted away from the lens, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment at being recorded in such an exposed state. His cock was still painfully aching, whole body throbbing uncontrollably from your early treatment.

Scud made tiny little whimpers when you started to tease his hole again with the toy, his hips twitching as he tried not to jerk them back, desperate and craving to be filled up again. His gut ached with arousal, cock leaking painfully where it was confined in the small panties.

"P– Please fuck me, please mommy" He begged as you dipped your head down and started nibbling at his bare shoulder, teasing the skin of his hip with your fingers.

You blew on his ear as you ran the length of the vibrator up his slick crack, a keen noise pulling out his throat as his hole fluttered in anticipation. "Is this what you want pretty boy? To be stuffed like a dumb slut?"

Scud whined at your words, nodding his head and hiding his face shyly behind his hair, jumping slightly when you tightly gripped his jaw, lifting his head once more and dropping it to pick up your camera.

"You're so cute when you're nervous" You said to him as you smooshed your cheek against his, pointing the lens at the both of you and snapping a few pictures, Scud's face red and embarrassed as the flash flickered, electric shutter ringing in his ears.

Scud huffed slightly as his socked toes brushed the rug beneath him, kicking his feet impatiently as need and heat burned through his veins. He whined softly when you pulled away from him entirely, leaving the camcorder pointed at him to capture his facial expressions when you suddenly shoved the entirety of the vibrator back into him, a loud and shaky moan tearing from Scud's throat as the toy easily slid into him, almost yelling when it buzzed to life against his sensitive walls.

His hands curled into one another where his arms were stretched behind his back, yet immediately scrambled to wrap around your wrist when you trailed fingers up his spine, his fingers twitching and trembling as they latched onto you, incoherent mumbles leaving Scud's lips.

As you started to properly fuck him with the toy, quickly thrusting it in and out as he tensed up at the sensation, shuddering as his jaw went slack and he started to desperately yet sloppy push back against your movements, toes curling into the carpet as you shoved the vibrator right into his sweet spot, stars dancing in his eyes and coursing through his body.

"I bet that feels so good huh pretty boy? Gonna cum aren't you?" You taunted as you fucked him quicker with the silicone toy, watching the way he had started to twitch and squirm, his whimpers and cries starting to increase in volume. Scud tried to respond to your questions, but his words only came out as a garbled mess.

It earned a small laugh from you, pressing yourself up against him and dipping your head down to attack his neck, running your tongue over his pulse, and feeling his heart race under the muscle. "Didn't quite catch that" You murmured into his ear, slowing down your movements as you searched for Scud's sweet spot, a broken sob tearing from his lips when you found it. "Yes," He gasped, trembling underneath you as he heaved for air, clumsily stuttering out his words. "Wanna cum so bad, want mommy to make me cum"

Scud tugged and pulled at his restraints as he choked back cries, clumsily pushing back against your movements desperately as he chased after his rapidly building orgasm, babbling brainlessly. He could feel the buzzing sensation in his toes, all the way up to his teeth, it made his head foggy and his jaw go slack, not sure if the high he was greedily riding was from the weed or sheer pleasure, but it had him on cloud nine either way.

Each thrust brought him closer and closer, so close he could practically taste it. A needy, broken whimper came from his chest as his body twitched against you, small pleas starting to fall from his lips as his untouched cock throbbed from his burning climax, lungs running out of air as his body started to tense up, standing right on the edge and about to fall down face first when you yanked the toy right out of him again, Scud whining and basically sobbing in protest as his hole uncontrollably clenched down around nothing, heavy groans leaving him as his body struggled to recover from the way you completely denied him again.

"Oh Please, please mommy, please" Scud sobbed as his body felt so empty and used, desperately craving the relief that he needed so badly.

You shut the toy off and tossed it down on the bed, taking hold of the camcorder and stopping your recording, snapping a few pictures of how utterly destroyed Scud was, face soaked with his tears and drool as he weakly rutted his hips in search of any type of pleasure. He whimpered softly at the flash of light, feeling exposed and nude under the lens.

"It's okay Scud, you've been doing so well for me. Momma's gonna make you feel so good" You murmured comfortingly into his ears as you pressed a kiss to his cheek, pushing your body up off his and leaving the camera on the bed. Scud still whined out in protest as your body heat left his, leaving him cold and lonely. His heart started to soar and quickly pick up speed when he heard the familiar sound of your strap buckling together, small mutters and curses coming from you as there was a slight struggle.

It wasn't long before you reappeared behind Scud, this time pressing your cock against him. Anticipation sparked to life in his tummy as you dragged the silicone through his slick, unable to help himself from pushing back against you with tiny little sounds. He needed it so bad that his body was practically begging for release, involuntarily twitching.

Scud was so close to an absolute breakdown, whimpering and mumbling incoherently as you finally started to push in at a tauntingly slow pace, the lube helping to make it an easy glide and blissful stretch. His head dropped down onto the mattress as sparks flew up his spine, so understimulated that even the slightest of touch would probably send him tipping over the edge.

You readjusted your camcorder with one hand and the tightly tangled the other in his hair, yanking his head back up to be captured in the lens, giggling at the groan that left Scud’s lips. “Come on pretty boy, keep your head up for momma”

“Need– Need it–“ Scud started to babble, head totally clouded and overworked as he desperately jerked his hips, rocking them back and forth to get any type of stimulation at all, trembling like a leaf on a branch when he felt the tip of your strap finally, finally jab right into his tender and used sweet spot, knees buckling between him as he involuntarily squeezed your wrist tightly, nails digging into the flesh as the orgasm his body had been begging for completely took over, loud and broken sobs leaving Scud’s lips as his untouched cock throbbed and pulsated, cumming right in the lace panties of the lingerie set.

The fact that you captured that on camera almost made your mouth water, and you cooed at Scud when he went ragdoll in your hold, stroking his side to give him some comfort as he slowly came back down to earth. “Oh, you poor little thing. Did I tease too much?”

Scud could barely even muster out words, breathing into the mattress as his body twitched, small grunts and whimpers coming from him your hand in his hair kept his head upright and his face vulnerable, tears streaming down his reddened cheeks.

“Or, did I not tease you enough?” You murmured the question softly in his ear, moving to grab a fist full of hair from the front and gripping his cuffed wrists, yanking both backward as you took a step forward to shove the entirety of your cock into Scud, who could almost taste the pleasure coursing through him. A choked sob tore itself from his throat, eyes darting frantically between the wall and camera lens as it felt like pure heaven burned it’s way up his spine, hands twitching and curling in on themselves under your grip.

It was arguably the best he’s ever felt in days, weeks even. When you started to relentlessly and mercilessly slam into him, each thrust going right to his core and sending his eyes rolling into the back of his head, lips glossy and slick with spit as he drooled from the mouthwatering pleasure.

“You’re just so, so cute Scud. I can’t wait to watch our little movie over and over and over again” You said as you tilted his head to the side by his hair, biting down harshly on the flesh of his already bruised and marked neck, a shriek pulling its way out his chest as all five of his senses were at a complete overload, skin flushing a deep red when he felt your teeth blissfully break skin. It was all so overwhelming, the wet glide of your cock slipping in and out against his tender velvety walls was simply too much for his mind to be able to comprehend, hips jerking as his second orgasm built up rapidly, like a can of soda that had been shaken up and was just waiting for someone to pop the tap.

He heard the sound of the cuffs clicking off before he felt the fuzzy material sliding off his wrists, your hands finding his and intertwining your fingers together, pinning his hands down on the mattress to fuck him with all the womanly strength left in you, sending the silicone as deep and hard into your angelic boyfriend as your body would possibly allow for. Scud’s head involuntarily dropped right down onto the blankets, whimpers and broken moans tumbling past his lips as he tightly squeezed your fingers, so close to the edge that this time he really could taste it.

“Please momma, please, please– fuuck, please” Scud helplessly babbled, needily pushing back to meet your thrusts as he was so fucking close, so close that he’d almost do anything just to cum, not that there was much to do considering he was already crashing down the hill, just needing a few more rough thrusts of your hips before his tap was finally popped, an explosion of fizzy stickiness exploding right in his gut, his second orgasm spilling right into the already soiled underwear, seeping through and dripping down onto the floor.

Scud went totally limp where he laid face down on the bed, breathing heavily as he twitched and tried to come down from such an earth shattering high, whining softly when you pulled out.

Tiny kisses were planted all over his face, neck, and shoulders, you gently brushing his hair out his face and unsticking it from his sweaty forehead. “You okay?”

Scud nodded, with his eyes half-lidded and a content smile tugging at his lips. “Mhmm”

“Did you learn your lesson?” You asked, pulling the bra strap and letting it snap against Scud’s flesh, a small grunt leaving him as his skin burned. “Yes ma’am…” He grumbled out, feet dangling off the bed.

You smiled softly, kissing him right below his eye. “Good baby. Now let’s get you all squeaky clean and cozy for bed, then we can find a way to put our special show on the TV for only our eyes to see” You said with a hint of mischief in your tone, reaching for the camcorder and stopping your recording once and for all.

Whoa. Did Norman fucking reedus just fucking finish something. Did Normam fucking reedus just post something. Whoa. How crazy even is that.

ANYWAYS 😝 yes guys I still love Scud he's still my angel boy and be always will be I love the part of the fic where my peenar goes inside his body thats the best part hands down I love to fuck men with my lady peenar

One fic at a time guys ��‍↕️🙂‍↕️ I have a few others that eeerm should get posted soon… dont get your hopes up (because mine are already up and that's a problem)

IF YOU SEE TYPOS NO UOU DONNNT 😭 MY GRAMMARLY IS ON MY COMPUTER AND THE APP IS GARBAGE ON MY PHONE PLEASE STOP THIS MADNESS

I was gonna end this with the cam corder MaGiCaLlYy disappearing 👁️ but that's for another fic 🙂‍↕️ (that ill end up never writing)

[reiderwriter]

Online Shopping

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: When you come across a new toy online that piques your interest, you try to convince your boyfriend that maybe he'd like to submit for a change.

Warnings: BDSM themes, Sub! Spencer, mommy kink, pegging, sex toys (dildo, butt plug etc.), Oral (M receiving), overstimulation, Spencer is messy, pet names.

A/N: Welcome to day 10 of Kinktober! This is the last of the sub Spencer fics this time around, so from here on out we only have perv Spencer or Dom Spencer. As always, the rest of the weeks fics will be posted exclusively on AO3, so check out the complete series there, or on my kinktober masterlist if you're interested!! ❤️

He was a moaning mess beneath you and you were on cloud nine. When you first started dating Spencer, you were surprised by how controlling he was in bed, and after a year of calling him sir, and having his hands around your neck, you suddenly wanted to explore just how far you could push him. 

When the toy first showed up in an ad on one of your shopping sites, you almost scrolled past it. But you thought about how much he enjoyed your tongue wandering down during your messier blow jobs, and you found yourself clicking add to basket as if in a trance, the order placed before you ever realised what it was you’d just committed to. 

A six inch long strap-on, not too thick, with a grinding pad. Perfect for first-timers, the listing said. The package came with some plugs too, prep tools for the real fun. You almost wanted to cancel the order, but it shipped so fast, you were still deliberating it before you could take it back. 

It was just unfortunate that Spencer picked up the package before you did. You were always pretty open with your packages, especially the ones you bought together on this site, so he opened it for you. When you got home, he was looking down at it, his brows knitted adorably as he tried to figure out what you could want with this. 

“Y/N, I thought you didn’t want to try this stuff?” He asked, not clocking that the dildo was actually a strap, trying to figure out what the harness was for, turning it this way and that to see if he could find an answer. 

“It’s…. Actually, it’s not for me. I was thinking we could try it all on you?” You had your answer when his dick physically twitched in his sweats, already hard from opening the package. 

You spent the next month working up to it, cleaning him up, getting him stretched out. He’d had a plug in everytime he’d cum in you for the last month, and you’d tried out some more dominating positions while you got him used to submitting, fucking yourself on his cock rather than letting him do more of the work. He’d gotten a lot of blow-jobs as you worked him up with your fingers, your tongue. He was so desperate for you, he’d practically beg for it every night. 

And now, he’d been such a good boy and finally gotten brave enough to take it. 

“Ahh, feels so good, don’t stop,” he moaned, his face pressed into the sheets as you knelt above him, gently thrusting into him. The sight was beautiful and you were so turned on. 

“Good boy, you’re behaving so well. Go ahead and touch yourself, but don’t cum, baby, don’t cum.” He moaned a response and grabbed his steel cock in his hands beginning to stroke in time to your thrusts. 

“Look at you, so perfect for me, so perfect for your mommy, right?” He let out a loud groan at the pet name, clenching his hand around himself tightly as he struggled to not cum right then and there.  

“Need to cum, mommy,” he gasped out, stroking himself again as he tried not to push over the edge. 

“Not yet, hold on just a few more minutes, you can do that, right baby?” He moaned under you, so you trailed your hand down and pulled his hand away, pulling it up and behind his back so he wouldn’t be tempted to release in his fist. You wanted him messy, after all. 

“Such a good boy, taking my girldick like this. You wanted this so badly, right? So desperate to cum on mommy’s girldick?” 

“Yes, mommy, yes, yes, yes.” He shuddered underneath you, his balls tightening as he finally let go, cumming all over the sheets below him, pulling his head up to watch it go everywhere. 

You pulled out of him gently, letting him collapse down onto the jizz stained sheets as he caught his breath. Stroking his hair, you wiped up some of the lube coating his ass, massaging it into his skin as he twitched under you, overwhelmed from his very first prostate orgasm.  “You did so good, baby, but I didn’t say you could cum yet, did I?” 

He moaned an apology, whining as you pushed him back onto his back. Discarding the strap behind you so you could get close into his dick, you pulled your hair up behind you and let your tongue fall down to the mess on his stomach. He’d fallen straight into his cum, and now he was sticky. He needed cleaning up, and it was your job as his mommy to make sure he was always nice and neat. 

You let your tongue trace his slit, his whole body shuddering under your touch as his sensitive cock was sent into overdrive. He let out a hiss and clutched at the sheets, his eyes scrunched shut. 

“Just going to clean you up, baby, you can stay still for that right?” But he couldn’t, squirming and twitching and shifting on the bed until you’d licked up the final drop of his cum. You finally let him rest, going to the bathroom to grab a wet cloth to wipe up the rest of the mess already dried into his skin. 

When you returned, he’d regained some of his composure and was sat up on the bed, grimacing down at the mess.  

“I told you to hold it in,” you laughed at him, looking at the stained sheets you’d now have to wash and change before climbing back in.  You pressed a kiss to his lips, intending it to be chaste and sweet, but he held you there by the back of your head, deepening it slightly, before pulling back and moving his lips up to your ears. 

“You’re not the only one who did some online shopping. You better be ready for the next delivery. Courier’s out now.” 

[elisegravesbondageliberation]

Encased in Silicone, part one ft Elise Graves and Strange Hobbies When you want to embark on a bizarre kinky craft journey, it’s best to have a team! The goal is to encase the very willing Strange Hobbies completely in silicone! Due to the liquid silicone firming up over time, the important process of mixing the different parts (being extra careful not to mix the buckets up!), and the ever involved process of coating a human body in drippy liquid silicone, this particular endeavor required a team. Thankfully I had Mark from Serious Bondage and Pup Jake by my side to get this done. Quite some time ago, Mark, Strange Hobbies and I created a silicone encasement that worked really well. This time, we wanted to experiment with a few factors. The first one being the silicone itself. I wanted to try a slightly softer silicone than the one we had used in the past, as I really wanted to see Strange Hobbies be able to struggle in his cocoon, but not be able to break free :) Secondly, we decided to experiment with the color by adding a bit of yellow pigment to the liquid silicone. And thirdly, we wanted to use MORE SILICONE! We used two kits in the past (4 gallons of silicone) and bought an extra kit for this project (6 gallons!) In part one of this three-part series, we show you the mixing process, the prep needed, and start encasing Strange Hobbies in gooey silicone! Since I knew we’d be going at this for a while, I wanted to keep Strange Hobbies entertained, so we began by popping a vibrating rimming butt plug up his ass. As I mentioned, I wanted to see him squirm once encased, therefore I added many electro pads to his body that we siliconed over (these pads will come into play in part three). Also, we added an external catheter in case he needs to pee at some point, because as I mentioned, this is quite the process and takes all day to complete. Watch as Strange Hobbies is so quickly transformed into something out of this world even in this first installment! Be sure to check out part two, which shows massive amounts of silicone being poured onto our form, and part three which shows the final result and the fun we had playing with this crazy masterpiece!

[lemonyko0]

Drabble in which jk just rlly wants you to play with his hair...

» koo drabble since his recent live inspired me <3

» fluff, established relationship

so, you made a mistake. well, by normal standards it's not really a mistake, but definitely a recurring pattern since jungkook has learned it's a sure-fire way to get attention and affection from you. it'd be more interesting to say it was some sexy look, or a particular pair of jeans, but unfortunately that's not your reality.

instead, for the third time in one day, you hear the footsteps of your oh-so loving boyfriend pad around the house undoubtedly looking for you.

you tilt your head back on the couch and watch as he comes into view, smiling as he sees you, “y/n~” he coos, excitedly hopping over the back of the couch and right into your lap.

when you last saw him he was playing video games, occupying the tv in your bedroom so you left the room. therefore, there is no true reason why his hair should be as horrifically messy as it is right now, and yet he’s snuggled himself between your legs and is staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to fix his hair. he wants you to run your fingers through it like you always do, to fix his part and comb it with your nails, massage that pretty head of his and sprinkle it with kisses and you'd love nothing more than to give into him, but you don't.

you pretend like you have no idea what he’s after, and smile at him, “hi baby, done playing?”

he nods, leaning his head against your chest and ruining his hair even further, “yeah, my team won each round.”

you grin and instinctively reach a hand out to his head and pull back quickly, and instead rub his cheek. he pouts in response and you ask, “what?”

he sighs as he picks up your hand and moves it to the top of his head and staring at you in wait.

you chuckle as you let your hand slide down to his jaw and pinch his cheek, “does your head hurt? i bought more ibuprofen yesterday.”

“no.”

“then what?”

the pout grows each second you're not petting him and he whines into your body, “why aren't you fixing my hair?”

“you want me to fix it? i thought you were trying to leave it messy since you keep making it like that.”

you hear him quietly sigh between your arms as he starts to piece it together, “i was just making it messy so you’d fix it. i didn't think you’d catch on.”

you hum, “ahh, so you just wanted me to play with your hair? you could’ve just asked koo.”

he shook his head, “that's not as fun.”

“so it's more fun when you're tricking me into doing it?” he nods cheekily, staring up at you with a grin. “you think you're soooo slick.” you roll your eyes and start to poke at his ticklish places as he squirms around on the couch trying to escape you, but you've got him tied between your legs and weakened by your relentless teasing until he’s pleading with you between giggles and his reddened face.

“pl-please! y/n! i'm s-sorry! please!” he laughs and you pull back, resting against the couch once more as he catches his breath, and if at all possible, his hair is even worse now than it was before.

“gosh, now your hair’s actually a mess.”

he rolls dramatically off of the couch and onto his butt on the floor, “guess i'll go fix it myself.”

you chuckle, watching him not even move a muscle. he slowly looks up to you and just stares in wait. he then pushes himself closer and closer to you until his head is practically in your lap, staring at you with a cheesy grin. “please?”

you take his face in your hands and lean down to him, “i love playing with your hair koo. just ask.”

he nods excitedly, “so will you?”

you pat the couch and he resumes his original spot, just without the pout. he relaxes against you, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his torso, arranging you exactly how he likes it and asking if your comfy.

“of course.” you kiss the side of his head and you don't need to see his smile to know he is, and to no surprise at all he’s practically purring the second you run your fingers through his hair, and asleep in your lap within only a few minutes.

you can't fault him though, as you're out like a light too in half the time.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚* ੈ✩‧₊˚

thanks for reading and if you wish it didn't end so soon, i have tons and tons more in my masterlist, coded and everything <3

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[wonbinistic]

drabble

“Baby that hurts,.”Sungchan kept whining about the pain, repeating himself over and over as you tended to his injuries. Your boyfriend, not the most graceful of individuals, had managed to accumulate a number of new cuts and bruises, each one prompting another round of complaints from him. He hisses as more ointment comes in contact with the wound on his left knee. Sungchan tries to block out the pain by putting his focus somewhere else. His eyes wander up and down your body as your kind tender hands treat him. Then he leans down, placing a delicate kiss on top of your hair. You chuckle at the man's actions, “what was that for hm?”

Sungchan is biting down his lips seeing you drop more ointment on the pad. He focuses back on his task 9-8-10.

"there are twelve," you glance up, puzzled, at your boyfriend seated patiently on the edge of the bathtub.

"I counted," he explains. "You have twelve moles on your body, including the one on your butt.”

“Sungchan!”You lightly slap his unbruised knee before getting up to look for the plaster box you kept in the kitchen cabinet. It seemed accidents always occurred when you two cooked together. He consistently managed to cut himself and request the dinosaur plaster. You started to wonder if he did it intentionally, ever since you bought that dinosaur set.

Upon returning to the bathroom, you catch him admiring himself in the mirror, adjusting his hair. His face lights up with a charming smile as he notices you in the reflection, before returning to his spot on the bathtub's edge. You approach him stopping between his legs where he playfully cages you and only let's go in exchange for a kiss.

His playfulness makes it harder job for you to treat him. You giggled when he snuggles against your sweater, sniffing the sweet scent you always carried with you. Like the blooming flowers in spring, he once said. That's who you reminded him of.

“Baby?”

“Yes Sungchan.”

“I love you.” Your heart flutters at three words and you cannot help but reciprocate them right back. A cold breeze hits your tummy and a pair of soft lips land on the skin. Sungchan adjusts your sweater back in place before putting his head back against it. He's drugged in love and admiration for you, wishing for time to stand still even it meant he would be covered in stitches from head to toe. Just you and him.

His eyes speaks volumes as they lit up whenever they land on you. Even the mention of just your name leaves him in a trance. He could talk about you for hours, write a book about you and it still wouldn't be enough. He wants to shout it out from the top of the mountains, let everyone how much he's in adoration with you.

Soft backrubs gently begin on your back, then disappear beneath your sweater to repeat the soothing motion.

“Oh can i get the brachiosaurus one?” he eyes the box in your hand. You take the dinosaur set detaching the one sungchan wanted. You kneel down and carefully placed it on the cut, finishing it off with a kiss on top.

“you’re the best.” he smiles so tenderly, gaze shooting up with so much love.

[mordenheim]

Just say what you want

She sighed as she relaxed on her couch with a nice cup of warm chamomile tea.  Her husband was at work and wouldn’t be home for hours and most of the chores she set for herself were finished for the day.  She had just picked up the remote control to turn on the television when the doorbell rang.

Sighing, she pushed herself up to her feet and padded towards the door.  Her husband had wanted one of those doorbell cameras, but she had been adamantly against it.  Now she wondered if she should have let him get one after all.

She hadn’t even gotten to the door yet when she made out the shape of someone with their face pressed against the window beside the front door, their hands cupped around their eyes as they tried to peer through the curtain.

Sighing, she put her eye up to the peephole in the door and was greeted by the sight of a woman who looked to be in her sixties.  She was dressed in a short sleeved blouse and yoga pants that looked at least one size too small for her.  She had large, dark sunglasses on and a pair of massive, sparkling earrings.  Her short hair was swept to one side and an annoyed expression just seemed to rest on her face.  She rang the doorbell again before also knocking impatiently.

She pulled the door open and looked at the woman through the storm door.  She let out a gasp and stepped quickly away from the door, almost falling backwards off of the porch before she pulled herself together and put a familiar saccharine sweet smile on her face.

She lifted her hand, looking annoyed at the older woman and blurted out, “Just say what you want.”

The smile fading quickly from her face, her lips pursed into what is often referred to as a “catt-butt face”.  “Well, no need to be so rude.  I saw online that this house was for sale and I came by to take a look at it.”

Now it was the younger woman’s turn to look confused.  “For sale?  This house isn’t for sale.  We just moved in here a little over a year ago.”

“Are you sure that your husband didn’t put it on the market without you knowing?”

She opened her mouth to say just how stupid that idea was, when she had a thought.  “Hang on one moment.  I’ll be right back.”

Closing the door behind her, she walked over to her laptop sitting on a desk off to one side.  She logged into the real estate website that they had bought their home from, only to see that it was still listed as for sale.  She gave a grin and nodded to herself.  She would have to fix that with the agency soon, but in the meantime.

Heading back to the front door, she was now all smiles as she opened the storm door wide.  “It turns out you were right.  He wanted it to be a surprise.  Please, come in, let me show you around.”

“Hmph, it’s about time.”  Her eyes darted around, searching for anything and everything she could complain about, obviously aiming to drop the value of the house.  She just rolled her eyes and took the woman’s abuse with a smile for a few moments before she finally chimed in.

“You know, this house is a bit of a rarity.  It’s one of the only homes in this entire area with a fully finished basement!”

The older woman’s eyes lit up with greed at that. “Oh really?  Well, that’s not really so unusual, I doubt it adds any real value to the home,” she lied.

“Well, why don’t you come down and take a look for yourself.  See what you think?”

Opening the door onto the darkened staircase heading down, she reached in and flicked on the basement lights before leading the way down.

A few hours later, she let herself into the garage, sipping at a fresh cup of her tea.  Setting the mug down on the workbench in the gloom, she crouched down and pulled a battered cardboard box from its hiding spot in the darkness.  Reaching into that box, she pulled out a small lock box and set it on the bench before producing the key and opening it wide.

There inside of the smaller box were dozens and dozens of identification bracelets from a few different hospitals across the country.  She ran her fingers lovingly over them, shivering a little as she let herself remember each and every one of them.  Finally, she reached down into her pocket and pulled out a pair of huge, gaudy earrings, small droplets of blood marred the fake diamonds that crusted the pinchbeck that was already threatening to turn her fingers green.  She tossed them into the box with a soft chuckle and locked it back up, stowing it away safely.

She needed to get in touch with the real estate agency about getting the false listing corrected, but maybe she could wait a few more weeks.

[hidefdoritos]

So, for Christmas break, I've been staying with a very considerate older couple. When I got here, I found out that they're also...comfortably wealthy. I wish I could have been live-blogging my stay here, but this summary post will have to suffice.

MOSS'S MUSINGS: HOUSEGUEST EDITION.

-Ask which dishes you are allowed to use. I didn't know this would even be a question--I grew up with one set of dishes--but it matters. The dishes we've been using are red with snowmen on them. Tonight I put my soup in a red bowl with Christmas trees around the edge. That was wrong and bad. I have been told that they "prefer I not use that" because it is "for special occasions," and was told to "set it aside so I can hand-wash it." Side note, rich people also own things that can't go in the dishwasher. Thankfully they told me about this ahead of time.

-In general, they make requests when they mean to give you instructions. "I'm having some ladies over tonight, so if you'd like to clean the bathroom, that would be fine." = I, Moss, need to clean the bathroom before I leave for work this morning. They're secret instructions--instructions in a suggestion-shaped suit. I like to think of it as a secret code that I'm very smart for solving. It helps me to not tear my hair out.

-House thing that shook me to the core: They have heat vents on the floors under the sinks! So you can wash your hands or wash dishes and your feets don't get cold!

-Speaking of heat: heated mattress pads exist! It's like a heating pad for your whole body. High settings are nice for muscle aches; low settings are so cozy to sleep on.

-Speaking of mattresses: The guest room has a Sleep Number mattress. I think it's a scam. It's a balloon under your mattress to adjust the firmness/softness. I am 240 lbs. If it isn't over half inflated, my butt's on the bedframe.

-They are weird about trash. All food waste is handled separately and taken straight to the bin in the garage so it doesn't smell. The kitchen trash can lid has a motion sensor. It's automatic. Scared the daylights out of me when I first walked past it to get water at night.

-Speaking of water, ask what water you should use. Tap is not acceptable to some! My hosts have a fridge dispenser. Unfortunately it dispenses cold water. I have worked around this by getting water in advance of my needs and letting it change toward room temp. Also, you can't put drinks on the furniture! Wood is different from the plastic-coated OSB furniture that I grew up with. I must remember now to use coasters because any spills or drips can leave white marks.

-When they start discussing money, try not to let your mouth drop open at the amount of zeroes. One host bought a new car and was bragging to me about how he only paid $28,000, and that was actually $5,000 off for having a certain type of credit card. I just worked the mental math for the discount percentage to keep my brain from exploding. $5k is more than I paid for my entire car. My family motto is "Buy used and drive it 'til the wheels fall off." I did not say so.

-Most importantly, they've been extremely kind and generous to me. They dropped my rent for the month down to almost nothing. They bought any groceries I expressed interest in. I'm going back to campus with some of the best homemade soup of my life, and a coupon for an oil change, and a new appreciation for dark chocolate almonds. When I got here, my hostess had set up a desk for my sewing machine in her sewing room (!! a whole room for sewing!!) and taught me to use a rotary cutter and an iron that's entirely too complex.

tl;dr rich-ish people are super weird about some things you wouldn't expect, and your head will explode a few times, but they're still people and my overall experience has been great.



[thestarryeyedadmirer]

I came into Art School thinking that it’d be a walk in the park. I mean, I’ve been making art my entire life — painting, sculpting, printmaking, and working with wood for as long as I can remember. Not to brag… but, I’ve won so many awards for my work, my parents had to buy an entire storage unit for me, just to have somewhere to store all of my accolades. I’ve even been recognized on a national level for some of my pieces. The things that many of my peers are only now learning how to do in college, I’ve been doing as mere hobbies for most of my life… and, I’d like to think that I’ve mastered them… so, it was only natural for me to come into my first year of university operating under such an ignorant assumption.

When it comes to school, I usually don’t have a hard time being successful. My academic records and transcripts speak for themselves. In all my years of education, I’ve never gotten a grade lower than a B, not even once, and I’ve been a Top Scholar since second grade. I’m good at juggling my responsibilities — making ample time for studying, doing and turning in my homework assignments earlier than I need to, acing every test, and racking up the hours of extracurricular activities — but, this semester, I’m having some trouble focusing in my Art History class… just the one class… and it’s not for any reasons that you may be thinking.

See… I have this professor — Professor Pascal — who teaches my Art History course… and when the year began, he was already about six months pregnant. I’m talking belly popping out underneath his shirt, outie navel as big as a doorknob, chest all puffy and leaky, feet so swollen that he can only wear Crocs and open-toed shoes in class, constantly moody and complaining about his body aches, binge eating in class, and too foggy-headed to maintain a straight line of thought pregnant. Like… pregnant, pregnant. Extremely pregnant. The man is at least forty-five years old… which is concerning on its own… and he’s as big as a house.

To make matters worse, he always wears clothes that he bought before he got knocked up — before he started to gain weight, and his belly began to swell — and they’re so obiously tiny and uncomfortable. Sweaters that are meant to be loose, stretched past their limits and tucked into his pants, to cover his massive stomach. Button-downs that pop open several times during lectures, exposing his hairy, bloated torso to hundreds of students at once. Suit jackets that don’t accommodate for the extra weight that he may have gained. Khakis that hug him so tight that they look like a second layer of skin. Underwear that peeks over the waistband of his bottoms, rides up his butt crack, and shows off a visible outline of his engorged genitals.

He so pregnant that it’s honestly hard to ignore. You know how, usually, when someone’s expecting, you can just acknowledge it and move on… most times, without things being weird or awkward? Well… it’s not like that with Professor Pascal. Not for me, at least. I just can’t stop staring at his belly in class… thinking about it. It takes up so much space in my mind, I think it may be making me… dumb.

No matter what the subject of his lectures are, what assignments he may have us doing for the week, or how many pages of notes that I take, I can’t stop gawking at it… curious. It’s like, I can’t see anything else, or hear anything. The huge whiteboard and padded, sound-reflective walls behind him fade into a plain, flat backdrop… and his words slowly turn to gibberish. I get tunnel vision… stop taking notes, and everything. I can’t retain any information… and then I have to cheat on my homework, my quiz grades drop… then my test scores, and then, my GPA. It’s a slippery slope.

I’ve never, not once in my life, had an overall letter grade lower than a B… but, in Professor Pascal’s Art History course, I’m going through the semester with a C+.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me… or what I can do to improve my grade. He doesn’t offer extra credit, or accept late work. He says that his class is “too easy for anyone to fall that far behind”… and yet, here I am, with a C+.

It’s just… when I’m sitting in that lecture hall — in the very first row of seats — that tunnel vision sets in, and I start to daydream. I… I fantasize about him coming down from his low-rise stage and walking up to me. He picks me, out of a crowd of nearly three hundred people, even though my hand isn’t raised, and presents me with a question regarding the curriculum… something that I’m supposed to know the answer to. Of course, I fumble the response… and, as he’s standing in front of me, waiting impatiently for me to come up with even a single sentence that makes sense, his button-down shirt bursts open, and his beautiful belly spills out, hitting my face like a fuzzy airbag. Next thing you know, I’ve lost control of my tongue, and I’m slurping at his navel as though a life-giving nectar is going to leak out of it… or something like that… in front of everyone — just making a sloppy mess of saliva on my professor’s pregnant belly.

It’s sick… I know. Maybe I’m disturbed, or there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I’m a freak… but I just can’t control it. The fantasy is too good. All I know is that, for the first time in my entire academic career, I’m falling behind… and, the worst part about it is that I can’t pin the blame on Mr.Pascal for being a shitty professor, or make the claim that he’s harboring some deep-seeded hatred for me. My poor grade is all my fault… and I have to live with that.

[romanarose]

His Comforting Touch

Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

Summary: You are on your period. This is the kind of thing Steven usually handles, but Marc was to prove to himself he can take care of you, be there for more than just great sex. Of course, he is really good at sex, and that might be what you need this time.

Warnings: Period stuff, lots of blood, *suffering*, all of this on period; fingering, oral, anal fingering (maybe I have an anal fixation idk what to tell you I love butt stuff), coming in pants (my fav)

A/N: just started my period. Was at work, used the bathroom, caught the literal first few drops before it even touched my underwear. that was the good news. The bad news was I didn't have anything other than one (1) tampon and was already having a bad day. Other good news is what I love about people who get periods is they will give anyone a tampon if they can. I made it.

A/N 2: This is from a chapter from my series Sunshine, Starlight, Sweetheart, Brightside. I wanted to edit this chapter down to make it just a one shot. If you find the dynamics interesting, maybe check out the series but oh my god heed the warnings. Darker stuff. Anyway, if you are currently reading or plan to read Sunshine, don't skip over this chapter when you come to it. There is a LOT I edited out to make sense in a one shot. The actual chapter has a whole other smut scene in the bathtub and a very important argument. Also, the series has an OC, not a reader, so I changed all the names and pronouns to second person, so if I missed a "her" or a "Sam", just ignore that lol. Enjoy!

********************

My Love <3: I’m hemorrhaging

Marc about spit out his coffee. Logically, he knew that if you were actually hemorrhaging, you wouldn’t be texting him. It didn’t help the panic.

Steven with a V: ?!?!?!?!-M

My Love <3: Hi Marcy Marc! Hope I didn’t scare you.

Steven with a V: Why are you hemorrhaging?-M

You were used to texting Steven. Steven knew what ‘I’m hemorrhaging’ meant. As much as you loved Marc, and as much as the two of you have done some of the most filthy, disgusting things two humans in love can do to each other, somehow you couldn’t manage to be straightforward with Marc that you were on your period. You knew it wasn’t fair to put stereotypes on him, but Marc was Marc. He shoots guns and gets in fights, and was a marine… Steven bought you tampons and pads just to keep at his place in case of emergency, you hadn’t even asked for that. You had expected Steven to answer.

Steven with a V: OH! I see. Sorry, Steven’s resting for the evening.-M

Steven with a V: Are you okay?-M

You didn’t realize how much she’d been just… thinking

My Love <3: Sorry,  got distracted. And don’t be sorry Steven’s out, I’m always happy to hear from you, Starlight.

Steven with a V: Do you need anything? I can get you some snacks or bring you Motrin?

My Love <3: No I’m good, thank you baby. I just wanted to complain.

Marc knew this was better as Steven’s department. Everything was Steven’s department. Steven cooked for you, took you on romantic, thoughtful dates. Steven knew what words to say and when to say none. When to hold you and when to fuck you. Marc really had thought maybe, just maybe, that would be his department. But Steven was good at that too. Steven didn’t need to do what Marc did to get you to cum multiple times a night, he could draw orgasm after orgasm from you with his mouth. Marc wasn’t sure if he remembered how to have sex without the slapping and the choking. He’d never say it, but the night you finally got together, he was terrified from multiple angles. The sex and the domesticity. The fact he said he loved you, that you said you wanted to be with him. It was against all his instincts to do this, to be domestic. That, again, Steven’s department. It had not gone well with Layla.

My Love <3: Did you have a good day honey?

You were changing the subject because you knew he was uncomfortable.You knew he couldn’t be what you needed. He needed to change something. He didn’t want to ruin what he had with you like he had with Layla. Marc briefly thought he should talk to Steven about this, Steven would be gung-ho for a heart to heart. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t drag Steven into his shit. Again. No, he knew what he had to do. He could make a start with you.

Steven with a V: Can I come over in a bit?-M

My Love <3: I would love that!

What would Steven do, what would Steven do

What would I do for what? He mumbled in the headspace, waking up. 

Go back to bed, I got it.

Come on mate, let me help. What’s going on

She’s on her period, I want to help but really, I want to do this myself… I gotta prove it to myself that I can. 

Okay, but wake me up if you need me

Will do, buddy

And Marc?

Yeah?

I think you’re really sweet

Shut up.

Marc walked around the store. Okay, what do girls like? Chocolate? Yeah, girls like chocolate on their period. Is that a stereotype? Layla never let him do much besides cook and clean when she was out of commission. Maybe he could do that. You always complained how messy your place was. Marc didn’t think it was actually dirty, just disorganized. You just had so much stuff. You liked memories. Yeah, he could help organize. He could also cook, not well but he could do it. You cooked Steven breakfast, Steven cooked you dinner. Marc looks at his watch. Okay, it’s 4. Plenty of time to get things and cook.

Marc got groceries for matzo ball soup, that used to make him feel better when he was a kid. Even after his mom stopped making Shabbat dinner, or any food in general, his dad was too busy to make anything most days. Marc was left to fend for himself. TV dinners, Kraft Mac and Cheese, chef boyardee… But one thing he could count on is if he was sick, his dad got him Matzo ball soup from the deli. If there was a game on (which there usually would be in Chicago) his dad would actually leave the office in their attic and come watch with him. Sometimes, if there was an important game on, Marc would pretend to be sick just to get his dad to watch with him. 

Marc picked up some chocolate cake. Just in case.

He knocked, but there was no answer, so Marc let himself in with their spare key. He took a look around your little studio. You were dead asleep. He set down the groceries and put them away, washed the dishes and cleared away the trash. He took out the trash and the pizza boxes on the floor, making sure to change the bathroom trash as well. You stayed asleep. He frowned, you must really be out of it. He continued picking up the living room throwing away your twisted tea cans and the take out by your bedside that must’ve been lunch. Marc began cooking, when he dropped the pot and you still didn't wake he got worried. He set the almost-finished project on the stove to heat and went over to your bedside, couldn’t tell if you were breathing or not, and started to panic. There was no logical reason to think you were anything other than in a deep sleep, but he couldn’t stop his heart from pounding.

“Hey honey, you okay?” He attempted to stir you with shaky hands.

You eyes shot open with a gasp, and before either of them had a chance to think or move, you shouted.

“Marc!” You gasped for breath, sitting up and grasping your chest. “Oh my god, Marc, shit you scared me!”

“I’m sorry!” All he wanted to do was treat you special, and he managed to scare the fuck out of you.

“No, it’s okay, baby” You took a few beats before looking down. “Fuck.”

Marc followed your line of sight, there was blood leaking on the front of your light blue leggings. “I’ll get you clean pants, baby.” Marc scrambled up, walking to your dresser while you went to the bathroom. “Sweats or leggings, honey?”

“Sweats please, and new underwear. The ugly ones in the back.” You called out. Marc brought it over, knocking on the door. 

You only opened the door enough to grab the clothing, but left the door cracked so you could keep talking. “This is the second pair of pants today. I got it at work, it was early. My friend had a spare change of clothes.” You peaked your head out, grinning. “Always gotta have spare clothes in childcare, but my last spare got puke on them on monday.” You tucked back away, digging for items below the sink. “It’s fucking heavy this time, shit fucking hurts. Elena stayed late so I could come home, my stomach hurt so bad.” You were rambling. “I feel like I’m bleeding out, tampons- fuck sorry, this is probably TMI”

Marc made himself comfortable on the floor sitting against the wall. “Honey, not to be too graphic but I’ve seen blood in plenty of other circumstances, and I’ve been married” Marc winced at mentioning Layla, this is why Steven was better at this. You knew, of course, that he had been married, but you never talked about it. Occasionally, Layla would call and Steven or Marc would talk to her, but it wasn’t often. He soldiered on. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“Right, right” You sounded like you were convincing yourself. “Well, the tampons seem to bleed out every half hour or an hour. I didn’t think there was this much blood in a person.” The unmistakable sound of a pad opening.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Although this wasn’t his first rodeo, he still wasn’t sure how much was normal.

“Not unless it continues for a few days. This is probably just a heavy flow.” 

Marc couldn’t help but worry, it was who he was as a person. There was the sound of thorough hand washing, then you opened the door, smiling lovingly at the sight of him looking at you wide-eyed from the floor. “I made you soup.”

You ate a hearty portion, showering Marc with “MMHHHMM” and “Oh my GOD baby this is fucking good.” The sounds were barely distinguishable from the sounds you made during sex, maybe just a little more dramatic. 

“Fuck, Marc, that was so good. Good soup” she mimicked the tik tok audio. Marc noticed you wincing and holding your stomach. He pulled you over his lap and rubbed your tummy for you. After an episode, you got up to change your tampon again, and Marc heard her groaning from the bathroom. “Brightside? You okay?” 

“Yeah, I opted for just the giant pad, Im sick of the fucking tampon.” You  replied through gritted teeth. When you came out, you took more pain medicine and crawled back up into Marc’s arms. “This shit ain’t helping, I need fucking morphine. AH!” a burst of pain shot through you. You whimpered, hiding your face in his chest. “Starlight, it hurts.” You whined, knowing damn well he couldn’t do anything about it.

Marc considered for a moment. “Listen, I have an idea… It might help your cramps.” You looked at him suspiciously. “Ever had an orgasm during your period?”

You sat up, sickened but intrigued. “You want to have sex with me when I’m oozzing blood?”

He shook his head. “It wouldn’t be sex, it would just be me, giving you an orgasm.” You were… tearing up? “Or not! Whatever you need, Brightside…”

Your lip quivered, “You want to touch me when I’m this gross?” Youstarted crying, oh shit.

“Oh baby” Marc took you in for a hug. “You aren’t gross, and I always want to touch you” He held you close, cradling your head with his hand entangled in your hair. You mumbled something he couldn’t hear. “What was that sweetie?”

You lifted your head up, still crying a little “I’m so fucking horny.”

Marc couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing. “Stay here.” Marc stood up, still grinning to himself, and laid down a towel on your bed, then scooped you up from the couch. You felt his strong arms and his chest, flexing to carry you. He laid you down, took off your sweats, and leaned in to kiss you lovingly. 

He walked around to the end of your bed, carefully pulling down her underwear and bloody pad and setting it carefully with your sweatpants “Tell me if anything hurts. You’re probably going to be sensitive, but it shouldn’t be painful.” He slowly started working on your clit, attempting to relax her before anything else.

“Marc, I can clean up-” You start, feeling embarrassed about the blood on your legs and vulva.

“Aht!” He chastised. “Relax. Again, this ain't my first rodeo.” He fought his biological reaction to get hard.

Slowly, he inserted a single finger in you, working it in and out while your swollen and sensitive pussy adjusted to him. “Ready for another?” He was fully hard, despite his best efforts, and tried adjusting his pants but the friction only made the problem worse.

You nodded, gasping as he filled you, curling his fingers up to hit that sweet spot deep inside. Marc was knelt in front of her, sitting upright, watching his fingers disappear inside you, coming out covered in your blood. “Such a good girl…” He muttered lowly, the mix of blood and slick swirling on his hand. He could feel your walls tightening around him, but he knew you’d need extra help to get over the edge. For now, however, he was taking it slow, giving you time, building you up. He laid down next to you, resting on one arm that played with your hair and stroking your pretty face, while his right hand fucked you. Marc peppered you with open mouth kisses, your tongues dancing together, your mouth chasing him when he pulled away to kiss down your neck, licking up your chin and back to her mouth again. You played with his dark, thick curls, kissing that sensitive spot under his jaw. He took deep breaths, trying to cool himself off. He didn’t want you to feel obligated to touch him, but Christ, he was aching for you. You laid like this for what seemed like forever, touching and kissing so innocently, but his fingers were inside you. When he pulled away, you pouted. 

He kissed over your clothes until he got to your pelvis. 

“Marc-” You hesitate, embarrassed by the idea of Marc’s mouth on your bloody cunt.

“Don’t even start, pretty girl” Without giving you another chance to be embarrassed, he began sucking on your clit. Marc couldn’t help it, he began moving against the bed to stimulate his cock.

“Oh fuck, that’s good…” You tugged on his hair, pulling him closer. He  takes his fingers out, painting part of your thigh as he grips you, his mouth going further down. When you sat up to watch him devouring you, he looked up at you, grinning, lip curling up the way it did only when he was really, truly happy. You knew you shouldn’t be so thrilled to see him covered in blood… but you were.

“Whatcha think’n, Brightside?” 

Her heart flutters and you swallow. “Um… that you look really good like that…” You look at him, awestruck as he went back to finger fucking you, but never broke eye contact.

“You like when I’m covered in you, baby?”

You nod.

“Or, do I just remind you of Edward Cullen right now?” He teased.

Your jaw dropped, but a small smile crept up on your lips, even while panting under his touch. “I can explain!”

He gave your messy cunt a kiss, still smiling at you. “It’s okay, baby, I can work past that” He winks, going back to work, before stopping and popping up again, with a mischievous grin. You felt his slicked up fingers slip between you and the towel on the mattress, making you shiver as he grazed over your hole. “Can I have your ass? It’s okay if you don’t want to, but I thought it might help…” Marc gave you a look he hoped communicated that it was completely up to you.

You considered for a moment, but nodded, smiling. “I trust you, baby.”

He kept working your clit as he grinned back, lip curling up again and showing off his adorable teeth, white in the sea of red on his mouth. “Yeah?” He whispered softly, the words magic to him. He promised you safety, and you gifted him you trust. He stopped fighting it, Marc began humping against the bed. The whole scene was so perfect, he couldn’t deny himself anymore. It was messy, it was filthy and it went against what most people might consider normal, but right here, right now? The room was filled with nothing but love, sexuality, trust, caring. How could something like this be dirty? How could this ever be wrong? “You trust me?”

Your hips bucked up, riding the waves of pleasure he gave you. “Inexplicitly, Starlight.”

Marc wanted to kiss you, but that might be a bit of a line she wasn’t prepared for. His mouth went to your clit, left hand began fingering you. Slowly, carefully, he slides a finger up in your ass. “Relax honey.” he coaxes, and you do just that.

You suddenly felt so full, the new sensation sending shivers up your spine. “Fuuuuuck Marc” You threw her head and arched your back.

He smiled as he continued licking and sucking “You like that baby?” Marc rutted into the bed, fuck, he could come just like this. He just might.

All you could do was whimper and nod.

“You like when I touch you like this? You like when I’m in multiple holes?” He fucked his fingers into you, as far as he could reach.

It became apparent that Marc was working himself against the bed, and the idea that he was turned on just from giving her pleasure? That just brought her closer. “Fuck, Marc, mmm fu-ah!, no ones ever touched me like this” 

Marc had assumed as much, he knew that before Steven, most of the men essentially used your body to masterbate. But this was for you, to help you. And you really liked it. He knew you were close, but getting there wasn’t the issue. It was the spilling over, the climax. You were writhing, yanking at the sheets that had been pulled off the corner of the bed. The towel beneath her had bunched up, barely doing it’s job anymore but Marc wasn’t going to stop, not when you were so close.

Marc sat up on his knees, trying his best to keep some sort of friction in his pants. He continued working you with his left hand; two fingers in you vagina, his pinky in her ass. You were perfect, enwrapped in pleasure before him. Drawing back his hand, he spat on your pretty little cunt and gave it a slap.

And there it was.

“Marc!” You shout, the last words you said before you became incomprehensible, a babbling mess. You tried to say something, but what? You  didn’t know. You felt the tension in her uterus ease as you came down from you high and noticed Marc coming back from the bathroom, kneeling at you side. 

“Hey Brightside, how you feeling?” He brushed you hair back from your sweaty face.

“M-much better. Kiss me?” She looked angelic.

How could he refuse? He kissed you, and you realize his face was washed of your blood. You wouldn’t have cared. “I drew you a hot bath, does that sound good?” 

You nodded, beaming softly at him “Join me?”

He kissed your forehead “If you’ll have me.” Marc spoke as softly as you thought he ever could.

“Forever and always, baby”

He gently held her throat as he kissed her. “Let me get cleaned up first.”

You frowned at him, confused. That was the point of the bath. He was about to bathe in water that would have your blood and cum- oh. Pushing him back, you look at his pants, there was a wet spot in his dark jeans. When you looked up at him, it was your turn to sport his signature shit-eating grin. “Fuck Marc, that’s hot.”

“Come on, baby” He smiled softly at you as he took her hand and led you to the bathroom, the tub steaming and full of Epsom salt in the boiling water. Just how you liked it. He’d have carried you if his legs didn’t feel so shaky from his orgasm. “Let’s get you properly naked.”

************************

I hope you liked it! Tagging a few people I know haven't read sunshine/ this chapter (literally no pressure to read it I know it's long as fuck)

@jake-g-lockley @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @in-between-the-cafes @welcometostayingawake @lucianadraven32

[pissbuddys]

your post about someone being so sleepy and begging to be brought a container to pee in... and the tag addition about diapering them... it's so cute! just imagine them not understanding what's happening at first, or maybe thinking the one helping them actually brought a container as they feel their pants getting pulled down... they didn't expect this kind of help, but they're not complaining. once they're all naked on bottom, they're prompted to lift their butt, and that's when they feel the padding and realize! they fidget a little because they suddenly need to go SO bad, and they almost lose it just from knowing they're being put in a diaper... they manage to wait until they're given the go ahead, and then they just sigh gently in relief as the front of their diaper starts hissing and darkening immediately. it'd be so warm and comfortable, making them completely relax all their muscles... they couldn't stop wetting now, even if they wanted to. they'll go enough to wet the entire diaper for sure! and they'll definitely need to be changed as soon as they're done... just in case they need to pee again during the night.

yess i like the thought of them trying to fight it at first because even though theyre the one who asked for help this is embarrassing! maybe this happens often which is why the diapers were bought in the first place, but before they can argue to get it off their need gets so bad so quickly and they start leaking into it without realizing at first, realizing they have no other choice they give in and go so much the diaper almost leaks. they realize they dont hate the feeling that much when theyre done, still cozy in bed and now blissfully empty as their partner changes them

[lesbianhotch]

two thousand and twenty three

notes: happy new year!!! enjoy some frankie x reader. very fluffy, very domestic, implied hanky panky. as always, dedicated to @spacecowboyhotch <3

The coffee pot in front of you gurgles slowly to life, and it may just be the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

While you would’ve loved to sleep in, your body refused. Too many years of waking up early had your internal clock set to no later than 7am, and even today on January 1st, after a very very long night, you had woken up before the sun.

You lean forward against the counter, elbows cushioned by your sweatshirt. You place your chin in your hands, glancing over at the untouched box next to your coffee pot. A brand new Keurig, courtesy of Will and his wife. It was sweet, incredibly so, both a Christmas gift and something to celebrate you and Frankie getting hitched. However, you were sentimental, to an almost aggressive degree. 

You loved your old coffee pot, had bought it when you bought your first apartment. It did the job, and you weren’t about to get rid of something that still worked. 

It got you through your first job,and night classes, and then your second job, and it had made its way to the home shared by you and Frankie.

You hear your husband before you see him. There’s an unmistakable grumble and shuffling of feet coming from the stairs, followed by the slap of slippers against the tile of the kitchen. It pleased you to know Frankie was still wearing the ones you had bought him for Christmas. 

Arms wrap around your middle, and Frankie rests his chin on your shoulder. You feel his overgrown stubble rub against your neck.

“Mmmm, we’re never gonna open up that damn coffee pot are we?” Frankie’s voice is still laden with sleep, and it’s warm in your ear. You shrug, and Frankie’s upper body rises and falls with your motion.

“There’s still hope.” There’s not much conviction behind your voice. “We’ve only had it for a week.” 

Frankie grunts softly, which is the best response you could ask for this early in the morning. 

You both stand there in comfortable silence, watching as the pot in front of you slowly but surely fills up with coffee. Your respective favorite mugs are already waiting for the both of you, cleaned and set out the night before. How you managed to do so while Frankie was pawing at you after you returned home from Santi’s party remains a mystery. 

You feel Frankie’s belly start to move with laughter against your back, and he nudges his nose against your cheek. 

“Even if we did want to return that coffee pot from Will, I don’t know if we could. It’s seen things.” 

After you’d finished the dishes last night, the two of you didn’t make it any farther than the kitchen table. It’d been a nice way to spend your first hour of the new year. 

 “So we can’t open it, and we can’t return it because it’s seen your butt?”

Frankie sucks in air through his teeth, head slowly nodding from side to side. 

“Mm, more than just my butt.”

You can’t help but smile, relishing in the light teasing tone of his voice. “And that’s because you like to come down here in nothing but your birthday suit, Morales.”

The coffee pot lets out one final drip, and the little red light clicks off to signify its completion. Frankie removes himself from your back, taking the warmth with him as he pads over to the fridge.

You’ve already poured a generous helping into each mug when Frankie returns, handing you the creamer. He drinks it black, a habit that started in high school and solidified in the service, and he takes a sip, no doubt burning his tongue. 

“So, what’s the plan? We going to spend the day doing uh-resolutions or something?”

You scoop some sugar into your coffee, stirring it gently with your spoon. You glance past Frankie at the window leading into the back yard, watching as sunlight starts to creep into the gray of the winter morning. Other people would love to be in your position. Up before dawn, starting the first day of the year out bright and early. You think of your notebook filled with to-do’s for you and Frankie. Chores and errands and yes- even resolutions that you plan to carry out over the year. 

But, those could wait until tomorrow. 

Your gaze shifts to Frankie, his eyes watching you over his mug as he takes another too-hot sip of coffee.

“Honestly- I really want to get back into bed.” 

Frankie smiles, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I can get behind that.”

You end up spending most of the day in bed. 

You try to tease Frankie for heading down into the kitchen nude a little while later, but then again, he is getting you a refill on your coffee. 

You remind him to close the curtains in the kitchen, and you hear his laughter as he heads down the stairs.

[flabby-flattie-fatties]

Nekomata trying to film shaking her fat butt for Koleda. Because flirting is hard.

“O-Ok Nekomiya, ok, it's j-just a normal video, there's nothing to worry! The cunning hares always respect each other's privacy, nobody will open up the door to you room and walk-in on you"

Nekomata said to herself in the mirror, massive blush on her face as she adjusted her underwear. Recently she had been following quite closely that mission she had about making friends with Koleda; however, being "friends" was certainly starting to become a bit difficult now that each time the cat saw the short construction worker, her heart started beating so fast.

Growing up in the streets, Nekomata knew how to be coy and mischievous, but if there was something she never learned, was how to flirt or what to do when she fell in love. So, she resorted to something she had heard other people sometimes did... Send pictures of themselves.

She bought a little set of underwear with a black cat pattern on it. The top fit relatively well, well, as long as she padded it a little; the bottom however? It was being eaten alive big her mounds of blubber called cheeks. Cellulite-covered balls of adipose big enough to fill an entire chair each, finding something that fit was always a nightmare.

She slowly waddled to her phone and turned the video on before walking back. She slowly turned around, leaned against her mirror, and started shaking her hips.

The sound of her belly smacking against her thighs echoed across the room; each time her cheeks smacked against each other the house would shake slightly. Only a few seconds in, and the recording was able to pick up the sounds of heavy breathing and the sweat starting to fall down her body; this was the most exercise she had done in a while.

She finally stopped, although her body needed a few seconds to get the memo, as her flabby form kept jiggling for a little longer. She awkwardly did a little heart symbol before sending in the video, letting out a little sigh of relief.

“NEKOMATA! COULD YOU STOP SHAKING THAT FATASS OF YOURS! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!”

“S-Sorry boss!!!! I-I mean! I wasn't doing anything, nyan!"

[foggyxrayspecs]

Security Measures—Part 7: A Sh*tload of Work

Summary: Yelena introduces a morning routine, Cub needs to make a quick decision, and the fuller picture pulls more into focus.

Warnings: dark-ish, sub-themes of human trafficking, heavy pet play

Word Count: ~2,900

A/N: The next couple chapters are going to get a tiny bit angsty. Back to fluff schtuff in Part 10.

Tip of the hat to @scarlettwlw​ for letting me borrow the Widow AU Yelena. (So very appreciated!!!)

All previous parts in pinned post

After placing the muzzle to the side, Yelena runs her index finger over your smile. “You have some very strong teeth, cub.” She presses her finger in, parting your lips to explore your mouth one tooth at a time. Seconds seem to slow as your breath evens out, and you watch her. As she gets to the end of the top row, she moves down and inspects the lower set. You start tentatively lapping your tongue over her finger. When she allows you to continue, you close your eyes and inhale deeply, licking in earnest. You can’t help but start sucking to claim all the salt and taste of her.

Yelena’s eyes watch you intently as she begins thrusting her fingers in and out of your mouth in slow micro-movements. She pulls them out fully; you whimper and chase them with your tongue, rising on your elbows. She opens her hand and lets you lick broad strokes into her palm. You look up at her, blushing, and open your jaw wider...

YESTERDAY OVER LUNCH, NATASHA’S OFFICE

“I couldn’t help it.”

“So, you bought the damn store?”

Yelena grinned, “I bought the damn store.”

Natasha stabs her chopsticks in the air at Yelena, “And you are shameless about it!”

Yelena shrugs and takes a sip of her tea. “The thing about it is that I know they will be so appreciative. No, not like that,” Yelena tosses a sauce packet at her sister’s head. “No, they are going to legitimately appreciate the gifts. It makes buying and giving so much easier. I don’t have to agonize if this is the little thing that matches all the other little things they already have. They will just—enjoy. That, and they needed a vest.”

“So many pockets?”

“Nataaasha! I’m trying to be serious here for fucking once. I see a shitload of work ahead for us, but I… I just don’t care. I want to do it.”

“Okay, okay.” Natasha leans forward.

“Don’t.” Yelena ducks her head to look down into her Pad Thai, grabbing a rogue peanut.

“What?” Natasha bites back the smile threatening to take over her whole face. 

“Don’t.” Yelena looks up and warns. “You are going to give me some big sister pet-owner speech.”

“It’s just that you are legitimately in puppy love. It’s just so cute!”

“Gaaaah!” Yelena internally starts pulling out her meditation techniques. “Let’s just get into the Reznikov briefing. There are two locations that I would like to go over for continued surveillance.”

“Okay, puppy lover.”

“YOU are the LITERAL PUPPY LOVER HERE!!”

“So cute when you are riled.” Natasha dodges the last sauce packet.

#### THIS MORNING, YELENA’S APARTMENT

You don’t know what wakes you, but there’s a reindeer butt in your face. You rise from the pillow, shake your head, and focus on the fluffy backside. You recognize the plushie as one of the many gifts from Yelena last night. She brought in a new vest, muzzle, hood, sunnies, three leashes, a harness enough to fit your broad shoulders, and a Nerf gun for fetching. Along with this treasure trove came a tiny reindeer with big eyes and a red nose that instantly had you surging forward and biting to carry it around in your mouth proudly for the rest of the night. 

You were allowed to bring it to bed—Yelena’s bed. No nightmares, no stomachaches; she just patted her thigh when she got up from the couch, and you both went to sleep in her comfy bed. You sigh happily. 

You use the back of your hand to clear the sleep from your eyes. You catch the sound of Yelena’s feet coming back from the ensuite. She pulls the covers from you, “Aww, is the puppy sleepy? Get up! We’ve got training.

Training! You love training! You roll up on all fours, ready and wriggling. You start getting down from the bed, then take a moment to grab the reindeer.

####

When she meets you at the door, she’s in a black sports bra and matching high-waisted shorts. Her hair is in a neat blonde plait down her back. She helps you into your vest, which feels good and snug, and clips in your muzzle and a leash to your collar. Your eyes are alight at the thought of leaving the apartment with her. 

“Cub, we are going to the playroom down the hall. Melina called last night to share research showing that HK-9s do their best when ‘they lead active lives that engage their bodies, minds, and emotions.’ This means we must find ways to exercise daily to wring out the energy from your little wiggly body.” She makes little fish lips at you and rubs under your chin. “I know you want to get out the door and work, but it’s too dangerous right now. Therefore, playroom. We go.”

Yelena guides you out her door and over the polished concrete, but then she leads you right and walks you down the hall. Your excitement triples so that you have difficulty walking in a straight line. She gives one quick yank of the chain leash, and you straighten out, your tongue lolling out of your mouth, belying your happiness.

Yelena stops at a reinforced steel door, takes care of the security, and pushes the door open, revealing a substantial studio with padded black mats on the floor. You walk in, look around, and take inventory: a weight set and squat rack, targets along the walls, heavy bags, and a few martial arts dummies. You look back at her in awe and catch her watching you. She grins. 

As you both warm up, she insists you stretch all the major muscle groups, and she talks through her routine. You enjoy how her voice grows from rough from sleep to low and melodic as she speaks in long sentences that you can’t fully understand. You just do your best trying to match her positions. 

You face one another to begin sparring. Your eyes widen as Yelena drops to her haunches and offers a small play bow. 

A smile lights up your face. You know what that means! You reciprocate by spreading your arms out in front of you and ducking your chin in your own play bow.

Back with your former trainer, Zarro, you learned that play bows are dogs’ way of telling their playmates that they mean no harm. It’s a specific signal that says, “I want to play with you—I don’t want to fight with you or eat you or dominate you.” The canine playbook is underpinned by a set of four rules for play that dogs in the program generally understood and adhered to.

Rule One: Ask first. You should always gain the attention of a potential play partner, and only when both dogs are looking and agree with a bow play can commence.

Rule Two: Remember to mind your manners. Don’t bite too hard. Don’t slam into another dog too hard. Go all-out in proportion to your partners, but show self-restraint to ensure you don’t inflict injuries. 

Rule Three: Admit when you’re wrong. If you bite too hard, pull back. Check in and acknowledge that something went wrong. Afterward, bow again and hope the other dog says, “Okay, I trust you. Let’s play.” 

The final rule is the most important.

Rule Four: Be honest. Don’t ask another dog to play and then violate the rules. It’s important to play fairly and in good faith. Honesty keeps the integrity of the pack intact.

This play framework snaps into place in your mind as Yelena slowly rises to her feet and begins circling you. You feel a swell of… giddiness? Joy? You force yourself to relax and breathe. “Easy there, cub. Settle in,” she says calmly.

As you get to know her sparring style, you keep your arms forward and don’t show much initiative. You concentrate on keeping your legs away from her for the easy sweep and actively avoid her grips to keep yourself from being thrown. 

It didn’t take you long to understand that she was a combat master. After her third consecutive takedown, this time with an Imari Roll, you began using your sprawl and weight advantage. 

You give a few warm-up touches in the next reset and then catch her arm. Instead of breaking it, you give it a quick peck with your muzzle. She pulls up and twists, stepping over you faster than your eyes can track without your enhancements, and catches you in an arm bar. She nips at the interior of your elbow and gives a smug chuckle.

Reset. You start on the offensive and flare your leg out to catch her. Miss. You turn and wheel yourself up, using your arms to uprock over her sweep. As she meets you on her knees, she lunges and quickly covers the ground for a slide kick. You dodge easily and then land in a squat with a grin.

Yelena raises her hand, palm to you in the “hold” sign as she stands, shaking out her legs. She motions for you to stand as well. You raise your eyebrows. You cautiously look around. She snaps and signs, “up.” You carefully rise on your feet. You feel a little unsteady, but she gives you a few moments. You finally give her a play bow to signal that you are ready to resume in this new position. 

Yelena gives no quarter to your wobbly legs. Instead, she finds your back and presses her chest against you, gripping her hands with arms around your neck and under your shoulder. Classic Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. She hooks her feet inside your legs and establishes firm control. You drop and peel back so that you a pressing her to the floor, still careful not to crush her with your weight. You realize your mistake when she switches her grip for a rear choke hold.  

####

The chin locks and hip tosses went on like this for more than an hour until she rolled you and maneuvered into a full mount, her body over yours. You quickly tilt your hips and press her forward to knock her off balance. To regain control, she hooks her legs in the insides of your shins. It’s an excellent position to immobilize any opponent. She taps the outside of your thigh, and you look up at her, smiling. 

Yelena narrows her eyes, trying to regain her breath. “Very good, cub.” You swallow and redden, panting just as hard. She tilts her head, hums softly, and unsnaps the cage of your muzzle. 

After placing the mask to the side, Yelena runs her index finger over your smile. “You have some very strong teeth, cub.” She presses her finger in, parting your lips to explore your mouth one tooth at a time. Seconds seem to slow as your breath evens out, and you watch her. As she gets to the end of the top row, she moves down and inspects the lower set. You start tentatively lapping your tongue over her finger. When she allows you to continue, you close your eyes and inhale deeply, licking in earnest. You can’t help but start sucking to claim all the salt and taste of her.

Yelena’s eyes watch you intently as she begins thrusting her fingers in and out of your mouth in slow micro-movements. She pulls them out fully; you whimper and chase them with your tongue, rising on your elbows. She opens her hand and lets you lick broad strokes into her palm. You look up at her, blushing, and open your jaw wider...  

DING! You stiffen and jerk your head to the door when you hear the elevator stop. “Aurelia.” You look back to Yelena, and you’re disappointed that she has brought her hands down. She smiles softly and briefly strokes the side of your neck, then pushes her palm into your shoulder and forces herself up to stand. She murmurs, “Come, cub. We need to get ready for the day.”

You groan as she makes to leave, but you quickly heel at her side.

####

Aurelia was chattering away, telling you so, so many things. You could grab a few words from the stream of dialogue, but you mostly tried to concentrate on the ingredients she includes while she cooks. 

When you and Yelena met her at the door, Aurelia carried a large basket and three smaller bags. You had discretely run your nose above the basket, but deciphering what was within was hard. 

You quickly got distracted by what you were cataloging as Yelena’s morning routine. You were worried that she would leave you again, so you were extra vigilant as you watched her emerge out of her shower, brush her teeth, put on a gel to mask the smell of her armpits—which you thought was a tragedy—and dress for the day. This did not bode well. The one glimmer of hope was when she spoke to you, but then you realized it was about a bath tonight. You shivered. Baths were nasty and brutish with cold spray and a rough brush. But, if Yelena wanted you to get clean, you would do your best to stand still while the water jets nearly removed the top layer of your skin. 

After Yelena left, it took you about an hour to get up from your spot at the front door. You didn’t want to disturb the kiss she left on your forehead until you could no longer feel it. You sighed and silently moved to the dining room to sit and watch Aurelia typing on her laptop. She glanced up after a few minutes, finally noticing you were there, “How are you, cub?” She quirked an eyebrow at what must have been your mournful expression. “That bad, mm?”

She got up and moved in front of you. “What do you say we make something to eat, eh?” 

Once in the kitchen, she opened the lid of the basket she brought and let you inspect the tops of the small bottles and canisters inside. You peered at them curiously, and she let you smell each one as she added the ingredients to the collection of boiling pots and stewing pans. 

It was ama— 

Suddenly, a blast goes off in the hallway. BOOM.

####

A loud, high-pitched screech rips through your auditory enhancements from acoustic feedback. Then it clears. You snap into action, barrel towards the door, and position yourself to fortify the entrance. You quickly check Aurelia, look at the balcony, and then listen for what you can glean from the lobby. 

The building's fire emergency system starts to light up.

Aurelia immediately moves to press a button under the kitchen island. She puts on baking gloves, grabs the roast in the oven, and slides it quickly and safely onto the stove. She then turns off the range and all elements and runs over to the foyer, looking through the peephole. “The general rule in high-rise buildings is to stay inside the apartment unless you see flames. Well, I see flames, cub!”

Aurelia grabs a leash on the side of the jam and tests the door for heat. She unlocks the security and opens the door cautiously. “Fuck!” You can both see smoke billowing out of the elevator, the doors blown and bulging in a convex shell left from the blast. 

You take two steps, and Aurelia stops abruptly. “Fuck me! KEYS! Just a second, cub; if we have to come back and don’t have them, we’ll be completely FUCKED.” As she returns for the house keys, you look over the scene, judge that you have an extra second, and dart back into the apartment to pick up your reindeer in the foyer. 

On her way back through, Aurelia grabs your leash and pulls you toward the stairs. She tests the door and ushers you through once she determines it to be safe. The fire suppression system hits and unleashes the sprinkles. As she opens the heavy fire door, the lights and intercom are even louder in the confined space of the stairwell. She looks down at you on your knees, then over at the stairs. Worried, she yells, “How are we going to manage this?”

You are already moving forward to take a look over the steps. Not a bad drop. You look back at her and think it might be best to show, not tell. You gently tug the leash out of her hand, then walk to the first step and smoothly vault off the edge. You land easily in a crouch on the lower landing, sliding just a little as the water pours down on you both. You nod your head for her to hurry up. 

Aurelia huffs, “Jerk! I thought I was going to have to carry you!” She wastes no more time, grabbing the handrail and guiding herself down. 

You work as a team like that, leap-frogging the quarter-turn stairs while Aurelia hugs every railing. You were happy that you had trained with Yelena this morning to warm up your body. Yelena. You didn’t like that she was away from you, but you sure as hell didn’t want her here. You begin to hear echoes of people rising from the stairwell—more and more bodies funneling into the space.

When you hit the first floor of the service elevator entrance, Aurelia doesn’t stop until she was running out to the valet area where Mikhail, her lover, by the smell of him, was emerging from a Bugatti. A frantic man shoves past him to get in and gun the engine. Mikhail folds Aurelia into his arms and pulls her away to the street. You protest, dropping your stuffed animal, moving after them, and trying to shepherd them back under the relative safety of the overhang. You push and nip to walk them back. 

Just then, three shots catch your ears. You didn’t even have a chance to jerk your head to get a look at the snipers before it all went black.

#### 

#### 

#### 

#### 

#### 

STREET-LEVEL, YELENA’S APARTMENT

“Definitely a hit, boss,” says Ingrid, her ops supervisor, softly. “The damage was localized to the one floor of the apartment building, yours. Two humans and one HK-9 were tranq’ed from above. The HK-9 was hauled away in an unmarked truck by four unknown assailants dressed as first responders.”

“Yelena? They left this on the street. Would you like it?” Sonja held out a water-soaked reindeer stuffed animal.

Yelena’s only response is to take the toy by the neck and set her jaw.

[mdpantyguy]

Sissy Periods

I first became curious about womens’ periods and tampons and maxi-pads when I was in junior in high school back in 1979/1980. I had already discovered the thrill of wearing panties. I would borrow my mother’s, she had the nice nylon panties, and occasionally would grab my grandmother’s panty girdle and bras to play with. I explored the vanity in my parents’ bedroom and saw my mother’s tampons and maxi-pads. I had already discovered how much I like things in my ass so I decided to try a tampon out. I loved the feeling of pushing the tampon applicator into my ass then pushing the plunger so the tampon went up inside. Then I would lay on my bed and play with the string hanging out of my ass. 

My high school girlfriend had a pair of white nylon panties that had a strawberry print on them. I talked her into ‘lending’ them to me every now and then. When she got her period she would use StayFree Maxi Pads. I would ask her what it felt like to wear them, then I asked her if I could have one with her panties and I took them home. I masturbated like crazy with them. The soft bulky feeling between my legs rubbing against my butt was incredible. I would steal a tampon from my mother and use that also. Once I got brave enough to buy a box of StayFree Super maxi pads myself and hide them under my bed. I would wear multiple pads in my panties and fall asleep after coming into my pillow.

Fast forward to college, I had a new girlfriend that caught me trying on her one piece swimsuit. She let me have fun with my panty/lingerie fetish even buying me a nightie and panties at one point. She used Modess belted feminine napkins when she had her period. That was a new turn-on for me. We went to the drug store together and bought a belt and a supply of napkins for me. She would have me in my nightie and panties with my pad on and she would be between my legs sucking me and rubbing me against the pad/panties until I came in her mouth, then she would kiss me with a mouth full of my cum pushing it into my mouth.. Unfortunately, we broke up at graduation, otherwise that would have been the perfect setup for life.

When I married my wife, I had a collection of lingerie and feminine hygiene products that I kept hidden from her. I tried wearing panties with her once and that did not go well so I knew I was going to have to keep that part of me closeted. I purged my things before the wedding. Over the years, I have played with her things, bought my own occasionally only to purge them later. I would also play with her pads/tampons when she was not around.

Today, I don’t get to have my sissy period as much as I would like. She is in menopause and had a hysterectomy. The only pads she buys are for bladder leaks and I will play with them every now and then. Maxi-pads today are not like what they used to be. I miss the thick bulky pads. Today they are so thin.