#mattie<3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[mongooseundertheporch]

"Rahh."

"Hello to you too-"

[mongooseundertheporch]

@adm1rationofthem0ngoos3 [you vibes <3]

Like a dog, I, too, crave attention constantly.

[loving-jack-kelly]

daredevil is so funny because matt murdock is here with his only superpower being heightened senses/radar sense but throwing himself into fights like he's got the healing factor of Deadpool or wolverine. buddy if you fall three stories into a dumpster you're Gonna feel it in the morning. a knife wound to the arm is gonna stand out when you exclusively wear well-fitting crisp white shirts to work.

[chez-cinnamon]

Zombie story OCs <3

Felt like doodling my OCs some more, probably expect me to post more of them fgbjgnjh

The basic premise atm is a group of survivors in a town running a zombie fight club with unusually mutated and conscious zombies !!

[kirain]

I decided to make adult designs and "where are they now" stories for all the child tieflings who are confirmed to survive to Act 3.

Unbeknownst to her, Arabella was a latent sorcerer with a natural connection to the Weave. Her powers likely would've manifested at puberty, but touching the idol of Silvanus imbued her with wild druid magic, multiclassing her prematurely. This caused an internal struggle between the two powers, which threatened to rip her and anyone around her apart. Fortunately, with Withers' guidance, she set out to follow the Weave and found balance in her new, strange abilities. For years she traveled Faerûn alone, honing her skills and making peace with her past. Eventually, she became known as the "Wondering Storm", so attuned to nature some would mistake her for Silvanus' Chosen. Those who crossed her, however, would swear she was Jergal's Chosen; able to end a life with a single stare. Though not unkind, Arabella became feared by many for her stoic personality, mysterious presence, and peculiar command of the Weave. It seemed that wherever she was needed, she would inexplicably be.

Though Raphael went silent, Mol continued to enjoy, and perhaps abuse, the gifts from her patron. With the Absolute defeated, she quickly clawed her way up the ranks of the Guild, eventually becoming a pseudo ward to Nine-Fingers Keene. For years she would sharpen her skills, mentored by Keene and her most trusted associates, until she challenged the notorious crime lord to a duel for leadership. Much to her surprise, Keene lost, and was therefore forced to relinquish command to the young tiefling. Seeing the move as a betrayal, however, the Guild's loyalty was split, causing the criminal powerhouse to fracture. This led to a dark time for the Guild, with many in Baldur's Gate referring to it as the "Outlaw Civil War". Much blood was shed during this conflict, but eventually Mol turned the tides in her favour, running Keene and those still loyal to her out of the city. She would go on to rebuild the Guild in her image, successfully and more fearsome than ever; though, when she approached her old colleagues with an invitation to join, they all declined.

Once he managed to enter the city, Mattis tried to find his companions from the Grove, but he ultimately turned his sights to conning rich families with "panaceas from the hells". For a while, he flourished under this racket, until his scheme was exposed by jealous competition. This led to him being violently assaulted by angry customers, nearly ending his life—he only survived by rolling into a rapid canal. After being saved by a kind, impoverished couple who fished him out of the water, he spent nearly three months confined to a bed. His recovery was slow and agonizing, but hardly discouraging. Instead of succumbing to his misery, he took the time to plot his revenge. With the couple's help, he learned the laws of the land and revived his strength. Then, when able, he cut his hair, disguised his face, spied on the man who wronged him, and subsequently tricked him into signing his business over to the couple. Together, they turned the questionable business into something respectable. Mostly. Mattis' silver tongue finally became an asset, rather than a survival tactic, though he was never above a good swindle.

Ide and Umi took up arms during the Absolute's attack on the city, each of them basking in the action. Realising that Umi had developed an insatiable bloodlust, and itching for more battles herself, Ide suggested they enlist into the army. Though technically too young, the new General—appointed by High Duke Ravengard after the fall of the Absolute—accepted them as apprentices until they came of age.

Though their time with the Flaming Fist was imperative to their training and survival, they found the rules and hypocrisy of the troop disheartening, and even more so when the General died. Eventually they deserted, leaving Baldur's Gate entirely and starting a small band of vigilantes. To some, they were a menace. To others, they became heroes of the Sword Coast. No matter the case, Ide and Umi were inseparable, never seen apart.

Inspired by his saviours, Mirkon continued to write stories about his time in the Grove and his rescue from the harpies. He never found his parents, but he refused to live in the slum's orphanage. Life was hard for the young tiefling, often forcing him to grovel for food and coin. On the worst days, he found comfort turning his stories into songs, which he slowly morphed into a semi-profitable street act. This eventually caught the attention of Alfira, who one day happened to be passing by. Recognising his talent, and overjoyed to be reunited, she took him in and taught him how to play the violin. Together, they created a lucrative show that expanded well beyond the Elfsong Tavern, which aided Alfira in opening her dream college. She and Lakrissa would soon adopt Mirkon, and he would later become one of the most beloved and celebrated instructors at the college.

Though working as a hawker for the Baldur's Mouth kept Silfy fed and relatively sheltered, she grew listless. Dealing with rude and racist customers hardened her enough to snap back, resulting in her termination. With nowhere to go, she found herself wandering into Ramazith's Tower, where she implored Rolan for a job. Feeling for her plight, Rolan put her to work stocking shelves and filling orders. It wasn't exciting work, but she was safe and satisfied, until one day a customer's tome exploded, causing a flurry of rainbow flames that whirled into the shape of a unicorn. This event, though frightening, would inspire Silfy to start reading the books in the shop, with the help of Tolna and Rolan. To everyone's surprise, she proved to have an impressive aptitude for magic, and she soon found herself enthralled. Within just a few years, Silfy would be accepted into Blackstaff Academy, where she would excel in her studies and catch the eye of the great Vajra Safahr. She would offer Silfy a position in the school, as well as a mentorship, but Silfy would politely decline, graduate, and return to Bauldr's Gate. Her true home.

[tcustodisart]

My favorite little detail from this game is when you're walking around with your animal companion and kids lose their shit. They drop everything, run towards you and (in Corvus case, idk about the other animals, didn't check) throw the most adorable lines. Look:

At one point Mattis ran after me into the Shadow Curse and I got scared that it's going to unalive him kdfhgkjdhf. Anway, as a former urchin Connecticut Tav really likes the tiefling kids (and I'm sure they like the funny bird man too).

[suugarbabe]

Hey I love your fics sm!

Could you do a fic where either Theo,Fred, or Matteo (you pick) are pining after reader. Like how James does for Lily. Constantly asking reader out and trying to get their attention but they thinks he’s joking and doesn’t actually like them.

either fem reader or nb.

yes yes yes how cuuuute; I picked matty baby :)

After a few weeks of rejection, you’d figured he’d let up, maybe just move on and try someone else. But Mattheo Riddle was nothing if not persistent.

It had started off simple really, him just walking up to you in the great hall one afternoon, making the long trek across the room to the Hufflepuff table, clearing his throat to get your attention. It was startling to see him and his mop of dark brown curls looking softer than usual, a tender yet confident smile on his lips.

Some of the others at your table were easily swooned, but you were suspicious. “What are you doing over here?” the question slipping from your lips maybe a little more harshly than you had originally intended. But your tone of reply didn’t seem to matter, as all Mattheo needed was your undivided attention to begin speaking. “I was wondering if you wanted to study for the charms exam with me, maybe like a little study date?”

Date? He was joking, right. “I don’t think so, no. Thanks, though.” You got up from your table after that, making your way to your next class.

Mattheo was left a little stunned. But now very determined.

Being in different houses usually meant that you were able to avoid most people from other ones, but Mattheo seemed to be showing up everywhere he usually wasn’t since that first day in the great hall.

After potions one day soon after the first exchange he had materialized next to you, “Can I carry your bag for you?” You had declined, beginning to walk faster down the corridor. He had simply lengthened his stride to keep up, “Really, it’s no trouble and I want to do it.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m more than capable, thanks. I don’t need someone else to carry my things for me.” Mattheo smiled nervously, “No, I know I was just..I mean, I’m just trying to show you I can be a nice guy is all. Thought maybe we could…talk on the way to your next class.”

“Can’t talk, Mattheo. Gotta get going,” then you turned the corner, leaving him standing defeated while the mass of other students moved around him.

After that, it’s like he took your rejection as a challenge. Starting to slip notes in your robe pocket somehow without even being seen; sending your favorite treats to your dorm via housemates; even paying the frog choir to serenade you in the courtyard last Saturday.

Truly, it was all a little (lot) embarrassing, but you were also finding it kind of…endearing? that he was actually trying so hard. So determined to show you how much he liked you and wanted everyone else to know it, too.

It was the end of classes, right before the weekend. You had just come down the stairs and heading toward another set to get to your common room when all of a sudden you slammed right into the front of Mattheo. “Merlin’s tits, were you there a second ago?” You rubbed your forehead which hit directly into his chest as you looked both ways beside you.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, er, I mean, erm, yeah I’m sorry. I just…okay,” he ran a hand through his curls before pulling down at the sides. He seemed a little more nervous than when he usually stopped you or vied for your attention.

“I know you’re probably going to say no…I mean you say no all the time, but I’m going to try it anyway…erm, my mates and I are going into Hogsmeade this weekend and I was just wondering if…maybe you’d like to come with me? Er, us. It can just be a friends thing!” Mattheo held his hands out in front of him, a small line of defense to what he assumed was your impending rejection.

You held your arms over your stomach, shifting your weight to one foot while you gnawed on the inside of your cheek. You looked at Mattheo, his eyebrows slightly raised and an anxious smile. “Okay,” you finally replied and Mattheo’s face dropped completely before he shook his head back and forth like he was clearing his thoughts.

“Wait, what? What did you say?”

Giggling softly, you answered him again, “I said okay. Like yes, Mattheo I will go to Hogsmeade with you. Just as friends.”

Without really thinking, Mattheo engulfed you in a hug, squeezing tightly and rocking you back and forth, “Holy Helga, yes, YES!” He pulled back, holding you at arms length, “I’ll take it, it’s a start.” He gave you a flirty wink, then quickly ran off, shouting down the corridor that he’d meet you for breakfast the next morning

[mongooseundertheporch]

"I mean, you have your own sub-category if it makes you feel any better. You are different from Hannibal in terms of what you are to me, even if you are also similar. There's a difference, and you're both very important to me."

what is the hardest thing for you to say?

Matt contemplated for a moment. "Uhh.... probably something along the lines of admitting Will owns me in the same way that he owns Hannibal- I need my own category."

[peachcott]

[ bg3 ] i really love the tieflings!!!!!!

[mongooseundertheporch]

"Can I nibble on you-"

"If you'd like, go ahead-"

[blighted-elf]

Baldur's Gate 3 - Mattis meets Karlach

[roguishknight]

[lineith]

My very first offering to the BG3 fandom, one of my favorite NPCs: best boy Mattis. Among things that were not in my 2024 bingo card was BG3. I really went in blind and oh boy am I glad I did! I'm in my first playthrough, Act 3, and it's been incredible so far. Expect way many more tieflings (including my own Tav) and, of course, the main group.

No spoilers.

[a2zillustration]

I've worn this ring since I bought it and so far I haven't been swarmed by ants so I'd say it works

Bonus thumbnail:

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[wreckedandpolemic]

mine - matty healy

(mdni) in which your husband feels the need to remind you exactly to whom you belong. a white and gold future fic. 2713 words.

warnings: problematic age gap, daddy kink, branding, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise, degradation, mild cumplay, dirty sleazy possessive man

You really, truly didn’t mean to find yourself in this situation. Sometimes, you’ll admit, it’s on purpose, playing up the brattiness until Matty snaps, doling out whatever punishment he wants as you cry and promise to be good next time. This time, though, it isn’t your fault. It isn’t. You can’t help it if your husband’s business partners see his young, hot wife and decide they want you for themselves. Besides, Matty’s always telling you to be polite, so you were. Smiling, laughing at their jokes, leaning forward as you listen with interest.

It’s not your fault if some (old, stupid) man takes that as the wrong kind of interest. Matty watches as he stumbles through attempts to flirt with you, pet names tripping clumsily off his tongue. Steam practically curls off your husband, his face hardening in fury as you smile blithely, accepting the affections without encouraging anything; he doesn't take the hint. When he tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, trailing his hand down in a garish attempt to touch your tit, Matty catches his wrist in a punishing grip. “Keep your fucking hands off my wife, yeah? Unless you wanna get knocked the fuck out.” His usually-subtle accent bleeds over his words, roughens their edges. Everyone suddenly becomes very interested in the silverware and heat prickles under your skin as Matty’s grip tightens on your waist, possessive.

He pulls you in for a kiss, slow and deep and an obvious performance, a public message: mine. Matty stays tight with anger the whole evening, the tension in his shoulders not loosening until you’re spread out on the bed, your dress crumpled somewhere on your living room floor and your hair haloed out on the pillow as he stares down at you. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you say cautiously, and his face softens.

“Oh, baby, I’m not mad at you,” he promises, climbing over you to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You accept it eagerly, the bitter taste of red wine lingering on his lips. “Just need to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are, yeah? So pretty, baby. Drives me fuckin’ crazy. You know, every single one of those men wanted to take you home. Can see it in the way they look at you.”

You flush, a note of pride creeping under your skin. “But they can’t,” you say, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

“That’s right. You’re Daddy’s girl, yeah? I’m the only one who gets to take you home, gets to see you all pretty and pleading and spread out for me, yeah? Bet they go home and dream about seeing you like this.” His nails dig into your skin as he grips your hips, snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin.

“Only you, Daddy,” you promise, and Matty presses a kiss between your tits, just over your heart. It thuds faster, calling out for his touch, a wave of love crashing over you as you sigh happily. “All yours,” you say, pouting as he climbs off you and goes to root in a dresser drawer for something.

He comes back to you with an uncapped Sharpie, grinning as you shudder. “Need to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are, yeah?” You nod shakily, Matty kneeling over you and leaning down. The scrape of the pen against your decolletage sends a shiver up your spine, something close to pain but not quite it blooming where the ink stains your skin. Concentration is evident on his face as he writes, the letters bold and clear as he moves down your body. Sitting up to admire his handiwork, Matty plucks at the strap of your bra. “Can you take this off for me, princess? Wanna see your pretty tits.” You obey thoughtlessly, arching your back to slip a hand behind you and unhook your bra, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Naked but for your panties with Matty fully clothed on top of you, you shiver, exposed. There’s something that feels right about it, though, handing Matty all the power like this, and trusting that you’ll only love what he does with it.

“What did you write, Daddy?” you ask, craning your neck to try to read, but the letters are upside down and your skin bends in a way that makes the letters illegible.

Matty pushes you back down gently. “Here, darling. Let me show you.” He slides his phone out from his back pocket and takes a couple of photos before handing it to you. Eagerly, you drink in the sight of yourself, heat in your cheeks and your lips red and kiss-bitten. Then, your eyes track across the words scrawled on your skin. Property of M. Healy. A pulse of heat throbs in your belly so thickly it almost hurts, liquid desire dripping between your legs and pooling in your underwear.

Property. You turn the word over in your mind, savouring the way it traces deliciously up your spine. Matty’s property, his kept girl, his pretty toy, his to do with whatever he wants. The thought makes your head go fuzzy, the idea of being his whenever and wherever he wants melting your insides to goo. “You own me, Daddy,” you murmur, his eyes so wide with lust that they look black.

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he breathes, stripping out of his suit and boxers, his cock thudding against his belly. Eagerly, you slide your panties down your legs and kick them to the floor, watching Matty’s eyes fall to your soaked cunt. “So wet for me, princess. Does it get you off, knowing you’re all mine?” You nod, drool pooling in your mouth  as he strokes his cock slowly. “Such a good girl. My good girl. Can see how bad you want it. Bein’ so patient, princess.”

Trembling, it’s a fight to keep still, keep your hands to yourself. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, Matty still just watching. “Please, Daddy,” you whine desperately. “Can do whatever you want to me,” you breathe, and the words finally snare him, his eyes darkening as he falls on top of you.

“Whatever I want, yeah?” he murmurs, a gush of heat flooding between your legs at his words. “C’mon, sweet girl. Legs up for me. Gonna fuckin’ ruin you,” he promises, thumbing over the bold, stark letters on your skin. He dips his head, biting a harsh bruise into your neck, one you know will be luridly purple by the next time he takes you out. You giggle as he takes a greedy handful of one of your tits, grasping possessively. “These pretty tits are mine, yeah?”

“Yours,” you whimper, the heat between your legs unbearable as Matty works his way down your body, repeating it like a litany as he grasps possessively at your skin.

“These hips.” His. “This ass.” His. “These pretty thighs.” His. “This sweet, needy little cunt.”

A strangled moan escapes you as he brushes his fingers featherlight over your clit, teasing. Desperation wells under your skin, your cunt aching with need. “S’all yours, Daddy. ‘M your property,” you moan, rolling your hips up against nothing.

“That’s right,” he grins. “Bein’ such a good girl for Daddy, princess.” A moan of pure lust spills from your lips as Matty licks a broad, flat stripe over your cunt, your hands fisting in the sheets at the wave of pleasure that cascades over you. He laps at you insistently, setting a dizzying rhythm over your swollen clit. You tremble with the effort of keeping still, letting Matty do what he wants while you take it like a good girl. “S’okay, baby. Wanna hear those pretty sounds you make, feel that sweet little cunt grinding on my face,” he murmurs, the words vibrating through your core.

Matty wraps his lips around your clit, the sensation making your body jolt as he sucks on your swollen bundle of nerves. Heat blooms under your skin as Matty tongues at you and moans into your cunt, the vibration rolling gloriously through you. He digs his fingers into your thighs, so hard that you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow, further proof he owns you. Mind-melting pleasure winds deliciously through you, Matty plunging his tongue deep inside you, devouring you from the inside out.

He refuses to fall into a rhythm, refuses to let you get complacent, switching between sucking on your clit, licking at your hole and tonguefucking you at a dizzying pace. Whining incoherently, you fist a hand in his curls and grind your hips up against his mouth. Matty’s nose bumps your clit as you writhe, legs kicking in the air. Molten pleasure melts your brain, dripping sticky from your ears and puddling on the mattress. “Are you close, sweet girl?” Matty asks, pulling away to kiss wetly at your thighs. Your hazy, addled mind struggles to latch onto his words, and you gasp as he blows cold air over your clit. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whimper reflexively. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m close,” you whine, tugging on his hair to pull him back to your cunt. Matty’s fingers join his tongue, a bolt of ecstasy striking between your legs at the scrape of his calloused fingers. He works skilfully at your clit, your legs turning to jelly as waves of pleasure pin you to the mattress. “F-fuck, Daddy, m’gonna cum, want it s’bad, please, please, please!” you cry out, babbling incoherent pleas into the air above you.

“Go on, darling. Cum for Daddy.” He pairs the words with a harsh pinch to your clit, your body wracking with shudders as you pitch over the edge. Pleasure drips stickily down your spine, your vision blurring as your orgasm crashes through you. Matty doesn’t let up, sucking insistently on your clit, your cunt still pulsing with the aftershocks.

Pleasure tinged with pain kicks under your skin, overstimulation burning between your thighs. “S’too much, Daddy, I can’t–” you whimper, his free hand pinning your hips down when you try to squirm away.

“‘Whatever you want,’ you said,” Matty reminds you, running a finger through your sensitive folds. “What I want is for you to take it like a good girl, okay?” You nod shakily, swallowing thickly around a whine. “There’s my sweet girl. Colour?”

“‘M green,” you promise, shifting your hips and moaning when Matty’s tongue finds your clit again. You choke on a gasp as he sinks two fingers into you, meeting no resistance at your soaked hole.

“Such a good girl,” Matty murmurs, kissing and biting the soft flesh of your thighs, marking you as his, the undercurrent of pain glorious weaved through the pleasure licking up your spine. He finger-fucks you hard, your cunt clenching and legs kicking in the air, a second orgasm already building at the base of your spine. “My fucking girl, yeah?” Your hand drifts unconsciously down to where his name is written just below your tits. “All those men today wanted you, princess. Wanted you so badly,” he coos, your mind staticky as his fingers thrust in and out of you at a pace that sends you reeling. “Wanted my gorgeous, sexy, irresistible, perfect fucking wife,” he groans, punctuating every adulation with a quick, deep thrust, moans spilling endlessly from your lips. 

“Can’t have me,” you slur out, your mind off-balance against Matty’s unfaltering pace.

“That’s right, princess,” he says, pride colouring his tone. “You’re mine. All mine. That’s my  ring on your finger, my name next to yours.” he growls. Maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I should take you out like this, show the whole fuckin’ world how much you love bein’ all fucked-out for me, wearin’ my name, bein’ my property.” You give a helpless, strangled moan, turned on beyond words. “God, you love that, don’t you, baby? Such a good little slut for Daddy. Do you wanna cum, angel?”

“God, yes, please, please, please!” you scream out, writhing and squirming uncontrollably as the tide of pleasure wells up inside of you, threatening to overwhelm.

Matty kisses your clit softly, your cunt fluttering around his fingers at the sensation. “God, you beg so pretty, baby. Go on, darling, cum,” he orders, and your body obeys. Your second orgasm is even more intense than the first, pure pleasure washing over you and wiping your mind clean. Your vision whites out, a scream you’re only dimly aware comes from your own throat ringing out. Euphoria burns from your core, flooding your limbs, hot and intense.

You come back to Earth to Matty’s tongue working insistent and sure over your clit, your body going boneless against the fervid pleasure winding up your spine. “Again?” you whimper.

Matty pinches your hip with his free hand. “Don’t be a brat. How many times have I told you I wanna spend all day with my tongue buried in this sweet cunt? ‘S what I want, princess, like you said. SHould be thankin’ me. Colour?”

“‘M still green, Daddy. Thank you,” you say dopily, letting your eyes slip closed as pure electricity washes over you. 

You lose count of how many times Matty makes you cum, skilled fingers and tongue sending you spiralling over and over and over again. Your body feels barely a body; ecstasy in place of organs, pleasure in place of bones. When he’s finally satisfied, pulling away with his lips and chin fucking dripping with your arousal, your cunt feels sore and swollen, and you know you won’t be walking right for weeks. He climbs over you, pulling your jaw open like you’re a fucking doll and spitting the taste of you into your mouth. You swallow instinctively, smiling up at him and showing off your clean tongue.

“Good girl,” Matty coos. “Got you trained up so good, hm? God, I fucking love you, my girl,” he groans, leaning down to kiss you so that the taste of you smears further across your tongue.

“Love you too,” you say, gazing up into his eyes, lust-darkened but still liquid with adoration. “Yours forever,” you promise, lifting your left hand so your wedding ring catches the light.

Matty kneels up to take in the sight of you, fucking wrecked for him, his eyes blowing wide at his name in stark ink on your skin. He unbuckles his belt, freeing his cock, flushed red and drooling. Two fingers swipe through your soaked cunt, and you whimper at the prospect of cumming again. “S’okay, darling, m’not gonna make you go again,” Matty promises, wrapping his wet hand around his cock. “See how hard you make me, angel?” He tips his head back with a groan, slowly pumping his cock. “All for you. M’yours.”

“Made for each other,” you say breathily, eyes glued to the point where his cock disappears into his fist.

Moaning low in his throat, Matty nods. “Made for each other,” he agrees, fucking his fist wildly. You can tell from his face, the way his motions get more erratic with every passing second, that he’s close. With a gasp of your name, he’s cumming, white ropes splashing on your belly and over your tits. His jaw goes slack as he gazes down at you, his cum splattered over the brand of his name driving him wild. “Fuck. Look so fuckin’ gorgeous, darling. God, I wanna keep you like this forever.”

You giggle. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Can I?” he murmurs, awed.

“As many as you like, Daddy,” you smile. “I’m your property, remember? Your little slut. Your pretty cumdump.”

Matty gives a shuddering moan. “For such a princess, you’ve got a filthy fuckin’ mouth,” he chuckles, retrieving his phone from his discarded jacket. He takes at least a dozen pictures, pausing in between each to stare at you, unabashed arousal in his face.

“I learned it from you,” you smirk; you both know that isn’t true, but he likes hearing it. You drag two fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them clean, grinning proudly up at him.

“Fuck,” Matty groans, cock twitching valiantly as he watches you. “God, drives me fuckin’ crazy when you do that. Makin’ me wanna fuck you properly, baby.”

A thrill skitters up your slime. “Please?”

[mongooseundertheporch]

"Oh- yes, I can, what's up?"

@mongooseundertheporch "Can you come over pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease"