#pussy vore

[mychlapci]

blitzbee size difference makes me do loop de loops for real

TFA Bumblebee should impregnate TFA Blitzwing... With himself. No seriously, that little minibot could probably climb up that birth canal with no issues and nestle cozily inside that triple changer uterus. Just takes a bit of lube and a lot of pushing-🔌

ouh, that's such a good idea. Blitzwing's forge is all big and cozy, Bumblebee would fit in perfectly <3

[voreporn]

Pussy Vore: Because Regular's Just Boring

So, you think you've seen it all, huh? You've browsed through endless tabs of regular porn, thinking you've hit the jackpot with every click. Well, buckle up, buttercup, 'cause you haven't lived until you've delved into the wild world of Pussy Vore. Yeah, you heard that right – we're talking about pussies swallowing babes whole. And no, we're not talking about some cheesy metaphor. We're talking about the real deal, folks. Pussy vore is like the adrenaline shot your libido never knew it needed.

What the Hell is Pussy Vore Anyway?

Alright, before you start picturing some bizarre circus act, let's break it down for you. Pussy vore is all about that primal fantasy of being consumed, devoured, and engulfed by the ultimate pleasure center: the pussy. It's not your vanilla missionary position, oh no. We're talking about babes getting sucked into a vortex of ecstasy, disappearing into the depths of desire.

Why Go Pussy Vore?

Now, you might be thinking, "Why the hell would anyone wanna watch that?" Well, for starters, because it's fucking hot. Imagine watching a babe getting swallowed whole by a hungry pussy, writhing in pleasure as she's enveloped by those soft, wet walls. It's like the ultimate form of surrender – giving yourself over completely to pleasure. Plus, let's face it, regular porn can get stale real quick. But pussy vore? That shit's next level.

Is Pussy Vore for Everyone?

Okay, fair question. Pussy vore isn't for the faint of heart. If you're the type who gets squeamish at the sight of a little kink, then maybe stick to your vanilla porn. But if you're ready to push the boundaries of your sexual imagination, then pussy vore might just be your new favorite thing. It's like exploring uncharted territory – exhilarating, unpredictable, and oh so satisfying.

Where to Find the Best Pussy Vore Porn?

Ah, now we're getting to the good stuff. If you wanna dive headfirst into the world of pussy vore, then look no further than Vored.com. Yeah, that's right, we're talking about the premier destination for all things vore – tentacle vore, unbirth vore, plant vore, and of course, pussy vore. They've got a smorgasbord of porn videos that'll make your head spin (among other things). And with stunning 4K and HD quality, you'll feel like you're right there in the action.

Conclusion: Take the Plunge into Pussy Vore

So, there you have it, folks. Pussy vore: because regular's just boring. If you're ready to spice up your spank bank with something a little more adventurous, then it's time to take the plunge into the wild world of pussy vore. And remember, when you're ready to satisfy those cravings, there's only one place to go: Vored.com. Get ready to have your mind – and your pants – blown.

[bichambered-reservoir]

guess who discovered they don't rock with 90% of their art!!!!! this isn't even a vent post, i wouldn't post vents, this is a ramble and an unnecessary announcement that i will be posting more, and posting cringe.

A lot of the art i post on there, i will not deny, it was extremely fun to make. i will not doubt that for a Moment. I have created so much neon, eyebleeding D,J,M,M v,ore paraphernalia and knowing the amount i have ruthlessly inflicted upon the world brings me much joy. However: i have realized that most of these do nothing for me.

How is it that with all this D,J,M,M v,ore, barely any of it feeds the purple, glowing, gaping maw in my soul? . I've just been making shit for this blog because i need to draw d,j,m,m v,ore to maintain my internal reputation of d,j,m,m v,ore guy. I think it looks good, but that's not the point, the point was making my heart flutter and i have FAILED. It's probably why I've only been posting like, once a month now. (that and bc of h,omo mousike)

Comet and Fritz are back on my mind with their weird explicitly v,orey bullshit along with them, and I am going to draw it. It's going to be dimly lit, neon-colored, and be about the exact same thing like I'm a broken record and only i will like it

[the-sussy-imposter2]

I thought Will would like messing with louise sometimes. Louise doesnt seem to like his sense of humor, though.

(Characters are will and louise from @peachnewt 's story, getting in deep !!)

[iowaisms]

Just to warn everyone, we are going to be MASSIVELY INSUFFERABLE when Fakin' It All Night Long comes out, solely because our favorite white woman (Cookie Masterson) is in it

[mychlapci]

After a bout of panic from thinking he's lost tiny Prowl, ageswap Prowl now stores tiny Prowl in his forge. So every morning, he spreads his valvelips open and lets tiny Prowl climb up his pussy and into his gestation tank, where he'll be safe and warm for the rest of the shift as Prowl goes about his day. With the vibrator stuffed in afterwards of course.-🔌

prowlception. little prowl stays warm and wet in prowl's pussy so he doesn't wander off and get stuck behind a cabinet or something.

[primordialwhale]

ooo 35-40 for spotify wrapped 🥰

35

Turns out I'm living in a horror film Where I'm both the killer and the final girl So who, who are you?

36

I won't atone for debts I paid for in full Hang up my shame on display for you (for you) I'm not the same, and you don't get to decide Who gets replaced, who gets to live and to die

37

'Cause I know if you could switch this You'd be dishing out the same shit Saying sorry, but I don't feel bad

38

Bling-bling, you look so good underneath me Floss my teeth with your G-string Bling-bling, gettin' fucked in every time zone G-string, yeah, the whole pussy rhinestoned

39

Will we remain stuck in the throat of gods? Will the pain stop if we go deeper?

40

Can't say I'm mad, this is entertainment But I want what they have, and I'm gonna take it And I'm so sorry if I'm cynical, my water's full of chemicals I don't know what I'm made of anymore

[eleemosynecdoche]

OK, reading some good Laird Barron horror stories that frolic merrily at the edges of bimbofication and vore is fixing me.

[cacaitos]

testament to things that could've been solved with a handjob.

[thebestestbat]

tumblr is about to become so much worse and its not because of new people joining, its because tumblr is already making moves to get Real Ads on here and in other ways become an Advertiser Friendly Space and i unfortunately think its going to happen

[tuxxydo]

watched jason x again.

[keaghasablog]

Y'all seen my Vore Bird guy yet?

[mychlapci]

What if the Prime's gestational chamber is just a portal to robogod and climbing through that tight but very stretchy valve actually takes you to a meeting with Primus

Huge if true

[dadsbongos]

i eat your skin - f.megumi

part of the jjk movie marathon event / movie selection … warnings - cunnilingus (fem reader), title sounds like vore smut but it isn't i promise word count - 3.7 K / rating - R

Megumi braces his hands on his knees, brows pinched tight in preemptive annoyance. Satoru spindles over him, shadowing the younger man almost completely - and it only serves to irritate Megumi that he’d refused to sit down. Furiously determined to forever humiliate his former pupil, Megumi assumes.

Or, he would, if Satoru hadn’t actually agreed to give him advice about a little… situation.

“Alright, now when you see her, look at me- seriously, look at me, Megumi,” Satoru’s face is lethally drawn, usual bright grin tugged low and serious with furrowed brows to match, “Megumi, you cannot let her intimidate you,” Megumi opens his mouth, a vile retort slithers back down his throat when Satoru interrupts, “No, I know you, and you’ll feel all sick,” he mocks a frown, even pretending to wipe tears from his eyes, “You’ll get all nervous. But you cannot let her intimidate you out of it.”

“I’ll hardly die asking her out,” Megumi rolls his eyes, one hand lathering the sweat in his palms against his sweatpants and the other scratching the back of his neck, “Maybe this just isn’t a good idea…”

“And what? Be a miserable wimp the rest of your life?” Satoru folds his arms across his chest, “You’ve liked her since you were first years.”

“And?”

“You’re graduates now!”

“So?”

“‘So,’” Satoru mimics Megumi’s sulking nature, voice deep and neanderthal-ish in nature, “Be greedier, kid!” he flicks the younger man’s forehead, “You’ll die one day. You’ll die. Whether it be on a mission, or in your hospital bed as a diseased old man - you can’t stop it. So, why deprive yourself of something you really want when it all ends the same?”

Megumi can’t exactly pinpoint the reason he even came to his old legal guardian for help over, say, Nanami. He definitely should’ve gone to Nanami, at least he could’ve given Megumi genuine advice that isn’t some children’s show morale of “just tell her how you feel!” - he could’ve done that any day.

When Megumi opens his mouth to protest, Satoru flicks him again.

“You think your special one,” Megumi gags loudly at the title, and Satoru pays it no mind, “is gonna sit around her entire life not having fun and being young? Getting dates?” Satoru nods to himself when Megumi doesn’t reply, “Duh.”

“I want this to be special,” Megumi insists, both hands coming to rest in his lap now, he squeezes them together, lacing his fingers and imagining how yours would look with him instead, “I want- “

He wants and wants and wants and does nothing.

He needs to be someone you simply can’t fathom saying no to, he needs it so bad his stomach churns just like Satoru said it would.

“Alright, I know it can be difficult for you - not being me, after all,” a large hand claps on Megumi’s shoulders and he looks up to see the beaming face attached, “But trust me, kid, this whole idea of a ‘special’ confession is archaic bullshit compared to just being yourself.”

“I thought girls liked special confessions?”

“Sexist: not all girls automatically like the same things,” his former teacher shakes his head, sighing out each disappointed fiber trapped in his soul, “And if she doesn’t accept a plain, Megumi-style date proposition, then her shock and awe over a sick-as-hell graphic novel confession isn’t going to make for a healthy relationship.”

“Hm,” Megumi bites back frustrated curses, taking the words and molding them into a more conventional way that actually makes sense. He nods, “Okay.”

“Exactly,” Satoru stands back, giving Megumi room to rise from his bed, “Oh, but one thing that does help?” the older man grins wickedly, “Eat her out. Direct line to a woman’s heart is through eating her pussy.”

“Shut up,” Megumi huffs, pointing at his wide-open bedroom door, “Shut up. Shut up and get the hell out.”

“Jeez,” Satoru yanks at the already loose collar of his plain black shirt, “I thought we left teen angst behind. Just give it some thought! And also, I wanted to ask- “

Megumi huffs, falling back onto his bed, still pointing at the door.

“If,” and in true fashion, Satoru continues, maybe even a little louder (just to prove a point), “you wanted to watch a movie?”

“No,” Megumi immediately answers.

“C’mon! It’s this or paperwork I have to do.”

Megumi’s eye roll gives Satoru no more room for pleading, and so he stalks back to the living room. Dragging his socked feet over a shaggy black rug towards the door, he takes a final peek over his shoulder at the boy on his bed. Stupid mouth in a stupid pout and stupid nose forcing stupid crocodile sniffles, Satoru acts out a picturesque performance. And if his blindfold were off, Megumi is certain he’d catch big blue eyes framed by batting white lashes.

“No, “ Megumi rolls his eyes again, “‘m going out.”

…

Blushy top with faded blue bell bottoms and a shiny, thin chain that dangles across your chest, Megumi’s eyes flit away from your figure just as quick as they’d found you. Everything’s a little murky under the purple LEDs, but he thinks you’ve worn that before. He thinks you’re somehow more beautiful now. He looks away, snaking through a narrow, picture-framed hallway at Yuuji’s back to this house’s kitchen. There are no light strips strapped across the kitchen walls, simple and plain and unflattering fluorescent bulbs send a gentle cream wash over the walls.

With only a handful of straggling bodies leaning against peeling-edged faux wood cabinets and spotted countertops, there’s more room to breathe than in the hall. Red Solo cups from every teen movie nightmare decorate hands and unnerving corners. Some more anxious part of him wants to reach out and push every precarious ruby further back into secure landing, but he doesn’t.

Two women in complimentary spaghetti strap dresses flounce out of the kitchen with looped arms. They’re sunk into the plum tank until Megumi can’t see them at all anymore.

“Oh, like that!” you muse, nudging your chin towards a pair in matching floral print dresses that reach about mid-thigh, “Exactly my point.”

“That’s hardly 70s influenced,” the man in front of you - Jirou? Junto? Jouji? you don’t really recall - shakes his head, “Just flowers.”

“No, no, look at the trim,” you’re trying your hardest not to point but this guy just cannot pinpoint the details in your mind to save his life, “It’s flowy and mesh. Sort of. That’s a little more flower child era, right?”

“I guess, if your only experience in that fashion was movies,” you huff at the response and he laughs in the face of such exasperation.

“Whatever! You’re so difficult.”

“Hobby,” it’s so plain out of his lips. Like you should somehow be expecting that snark.

“Oh my God…” you can hardly believe someone could be so obtuse. A contrarian just for the fun of it, “And are you normally invited to parties for that?”

“Oh, no,” his tone, again, betrays some delusion that you should already know the answer, but this time you do already know. Who invites a conversation killer to an event? “I got dragged here by a friend. Don’t even know who the host is.”

You snicker, one hand smothering the sight of your mouth, “That makes more sense.”

Megumi can see the hand that binds, you usually don’t string it up around those you’re close with. Like Yuuji and Nobara and Maki and Miwa from Kyoto and your friends that live closer to the coast and the friends that don’t and your parents and him. So you’d think he’d know better than to let a big, gangly, clawed, green beast sprout and grow and suck away at his gut.

Even though that hand is a sign of some rising desire to be out of that conversation, he still hates being across the room when it happens. Because that’s still some semblance of a shining star behind the flesh. Some laugh or smile he’s not next to.

And it isn’t like he hates when you’re out with others. What he hates is being in the same room with someone potentially more captivating than he is.

He hopes you like him best because he’s the most familiar and drawing, and it’s disturbing when someone else might be more homely and more charming and more absorbing. He hates the curdling illness of jealousy and he hates to be this way when you two aren’t even together, but most of all he hates that maybe you’ll prefer someone else simply because they’re better at his craft than he is.

So Megumi watches and rots quietly with thick, spindling vines spreading and tangling him to the kitchen doorway as you talk to a guy whose name he doesn’t know. It’s pathetic and waning most unbearably.

“Stop staring, it’s weird,” Yuuji chastises, chunking part of his weight against Megumi’s side, an elbow shelved on Megumi’s shoulder, “Just go up and say something, if you wanna talk to her.”

“Yeah, it’s that easy,” Megumi jerks through the vines and into the hungry waters of a living room party with a snapping, starved crowd before finding the optimal spot: a plain wall with no posters or pictures to snag and smack down.

Yuuji trails after, his white shirt reflecting a blinding shade of lavender from beneath his puffer jacket. Much easier to track down than Megumi’s gloomy, funeral-grade attire. Yuuji capitalizes on the empty space so ugly at Megumi’s side, staking claim to the wall with a huff, “It is, by the way. You two are friends. Go tell her you’re here.”

“But then I’d have to,” Megumi’s mouth zips shut, head tilting as he snakes a hand through some imaginary crowd.

“I guess,” Yuuji wants to shake Megumi at times like this. He wants to shake you too, sometimes. But mostly he imagines squeezing Megumi’s shoulders and smacking him around, but he never does.

Maybe just the first part.

All out of love.

“Okay,” so Yuuji pivots, swerving in front of his best friend and taking one shoulder in each hand, “You need to do something or you’re going to sit here and be pouty, dude.”

“I’m not pouty.”

“Biggest lie in Tokyo, brother,” Yuuji purses his lips, eyes flitting to where you are, “I’ll get her over here if you really don’t want to.”

“Hm?” Megumi’s brows furrow, neck craning closer as if he could somehow mishear the man.

“Just pretend to be busy or some shit and I’ll brave the crowd,” Yuuji goes to walk away, suddenly pausing and placing a hand over Megumi’s heart, “And if I don’t return, sing songs for me by a nice lake every anniversary.”

“Whatever,” Megumi knocks away the hand but is already pulling out his phone to perform the charade. His eyes lock onto the screen and he soldiers on to not rip them away and give slight that this was planned.

…

“Do you think I could maybe get your number?”

“Oh!” no, God no - you wish you were better at saying that, “Uh,” it’s not even as if you dislike this guy, you just don’t think any conversation with him could amount past what it has.

Wow, you’re a pain in the ass! Yeah but it’s funny, right? Not if it’s on purpose. Especially if it’s on purpose! Sure, if that’s what you think. You do think it’s funny, right? Sure. Come on, it is! Sure.

And dry replies make you want to claw your eyes out more when you have to give them than when you receive them.

So when the bony fingers of Yuuji creep upon your side, it’s like the first drink of water after sifting through thick bowls and hills of sandy desert. He leans his head down into your peripheral, grinning brightly, “Miss me?”

“Yuuji!” you cheer, turning to… Junsei? and laying a flat palm under Yuuji’s chin, “This is my buddy, who I didn’t know was coming.”

“I texted you,” he pinches your side, “Fushiguro’s busy, so I’m fetching you for the night,” and you wonder if he might feel the stiffness of your muscles and the rigid air, “Sorry, man, but she’s got serious business tonight!”

“Oh,” Junzo! Junzo’s forehead crinkles, nose wrinkling at the bluntness of this cocky new stranger, “Uh…”

“See you around,” maybe it’s a lie, maybe it isn’t. You wave and let Yuuji keep you pressed to his side. You wait until you’re certain the surrounding affairs of other people drown whatever you could say to Yuuji, “Thank you for that. He was asking for my number and I just didn’t know what to say…”

“No,’” he shrugs.

“Oh, like you could’ve done that.”

“I could’ve!”

But Yuuji can do anything, so that isn’t fair.

“‘gumi!” you cheer upon getting close to the boy, arms splaying wide before wringing yourself around his neck, “I was worried you weren’t coming!”

He hesitates before having the misfortune to hear Satoru’s words once again. Be greedier. Be greedier. So he gently settles both hands on your back, pushing you chest-to-chest, “Yeah, well, Itadori wouldn’t let me stay in.”

“Poor baby,” you step back, and Megumi takes notice in how you maintain your hands’ position over his shoulders, nails picking at fluff on his shirt.

Megumi, regrettably, can still hear Satoru in the back of his head. Greedier, greedier, greedier. It chokes him up, the idea of selfishly taking you for himself. But what really grips him is the terrible way your gaze flits from his face to other men - unintentionally, he’s sure. But it drives him wild all the same.

“I hate big parties,” Megumi boldly cradles the bend of your waist with his hand, fingers splaying wide over the curve. He tugs you closer, thighs nearly brushing, “Crowd’s a pain in the ass.”

“Ah, no, c’mon, what’s that Great Gatsby quote?” who’s to say, he hasn't read that book, “‘I like large parties. They’re so intimate…’” you shrug, bottom lip tugging between your teeth when he doesn’t show any recognition, “‘At small parties there isn’t any privacy.’”

“You actually remembered that shit?”

You titter coyly, “Maybe I saw it on one of those book quotes videos. Maybe I remembered it.”

“Well, it’s a stupid quote. There’s too much noise at big parties, it’s hard to hear people.”

“You hear me just fine,” that’s just because he’s leaning closer and trying harder than he does for most people, “Besides, I like it. At big parties you can just fuck off and do your own thing, you know? At small parties there’s this expectation to be around everyone and interact with everyone and be having fun with the group.”

Finally, it seems to click, he nods slowly, “You like to get away from the crowd?”

“Yeah,” you scratch the side of your arm, then your neck, and it’s so odd how just thinking about how uncomfortable your skin is that you can get so itchy, “Hard to do that when the crowd’s five people and a dog.”

“Well,” Megumi can feel Yuuji’s stare, and it takes everything in him to not knock the kid up his skull, “If you wanna get away, I’m sure - uh,” he’s suddenly humiliated by his own hubris, “I’m sure there’s room… upstairs…”

You grace him with a patient nod, hands lowering from his shoulders to lace your fingers together, “I’m sure there is.”

…

“So…”

“So…”

Megumi nods, head slowly tilting so he’s staring up at you through his long lashes, “So.”

You lean closer, shoulder pressing and nose bumping against his, “So?”

The heat from Megumi’s cheeks wavers over you, his flesh ripe with crimson. You want to bite him. Leave a terrible mark that he couldn’t possibly cover up; maybe he’d let it bleed through his dark shirt. Maybe he’d let you lick it clean.

“You look nice,” he tucks his face down, heated skin now flush against your top. His brows furrow, uncertain, “Really nice.”

Megumi wonders what Satoru or Yuuji would do. They’re greedier than him by nature. More outgoing.

They would’ve done something years ago.

Suddenly, you grin. All sharp teeth and nails pricking over his thigh, through his pants. Your eyes stare down at him over the bridge of your nose, and you lean closer - smothering any space he’d initially put between your bodies.

“Are you gonna do something about it?”

Megumi’s eyes widen, warmth beating over his face and the back of his neck. He flails for a response, trapped under your piercing gaze, before finally settling on a response that he hopes pleases you.

“Do you want me to?”

You frown; something in his chest stings, a chord pulled awry. The tug of your lips is all a ploy, a mesmerizing color to disguise venom, “Don’t you want to, ‘gumi?” you pull away, leaning back with your hands pressed to the mattress below, “Don’t you want me?”

A cold breeze from this stranger’s open window takes up residence across Megumi’s sweltering skin. He hates it. He wants to get up from the bed altogether and slam the window shut. He wants to take you in both hands and sink himself into the softness of your skin. He thinks you’d be savory.

He wants to be certain.

So both of his hands mold to your hips, melting his exposed skin to yours.

Fingers dipping into the waistband of your bottoms, he bats his eyelashes and tucks his lower lip between fangs. He may draw blood. He cares not.

The oxygen is thin; hardly refreshing.

Megumi swallows the pooling want on his tongue, his fingers twitch against you, “Can I- “

“‘gumi…” you flatten yourself onto your back, hips tilting up into his palms, “Show me you want me.”

“Okay,” Megumi nods, air forced out of his throat through swollen hunger, “Okay.”

Once he’s gotten your pants off, Megumi presses open kisses against the inside of your thighs, following the swell to its natural apex. He digs the jab of his nose into you, lips impolitely fluttering against the seat of your panties before dipping his tongue out. Lolling the soft, soaked muscle over the clinging fabric, he feels his chest clench at how you rock your hips down into his face.

He feels one of your hands wind into his messy hair, carding through the softness. He wants to make you tug it - pull cruelly and grind against his face. Take what he gives and selfishly demand more.

Megumi groans heartily into your clothed cunt when the slickness of his saliva pulls your wetness from the cloth; when the unabashed taste of you meets his tongue.

He nearly rips your panties down your legs, settling it in a ball at his side. Heart leaping up into his jaw at the mere thought of getting his tongue into you.

Laving his tongue between your folds, Megumi licks up to your clit and circles the bud - his hips jerking down into the plush mattress when you jolt up and tug his hair. He pulls his head back only to pucker his lips and drool onto your hole, adding to the sloshing wetness before steadying his shaky fingers against you.

Sucking your clit into his mouth, Megumi begins softly. Caressing the bundle of nerves with his warm tongue, blending flat, broad strokes with precision dances of the muscle over you. Meanwhile, he slicks his middle finger into your hole and moans in response to your gasp.

When he’s sure you’re wet and stretched enough, he adds a second finger and curls them both upwards. The muscles in his arm will be aching tomorrow, but he shoves that to the back of his mind. He presses and scissors and dips inside you until the pads of his fingers find sponge, and he hits there, and there again. And again. And again. And again.

He hits there until you’re fully babbling, gushing against his swollen, pink lips and chin. And he’s starting to babble back.

Vibrations are loosely strewn together as ‘yes’ and ‘please’ and ‘cum on me’ are bound against your clit as he nuzzles closer into your heat. Burying himself between your thighs and finding himself releasing a moan into your cunt when your thighs clenched tightly around his head. The fat of your thighs snug over his ears.

Releasing your clit from between his lips with a soft ‘pop’, Megumi flays his tongue onto the exposed nerve. Hot puffs of air leave him with each groan and whimper as his desperation to make you cum hammers over him.

Finally, you yank his hair again and snap your hips into his tongue; cunt sucking his fingers in even deeper. You squeeze around him, back arching, and his name singing from your lips.

Megumi unfurls his fingers as your cum splashes out onto his waiting tongue and chin, riding you through the hurls of pleasure until your twitching legs crash back onto the mattress. Slowly, he slides his fingers out of you before licking up your excess release from the divots in your thighs and your cunt.

Unwinding your fingers, you settle for soothing his stinging scalp with gentle pets.

Eventually sitting up, Megumi gasps for air as you do, staring down at his fingers. Shining with your wetness.

“Still hungry?” you tease, voice ripped at the edges.

“Actually?” Megumi shrugs, “A little.”

The cocky air has dissipated from your body. Once tense and lively limbs were now useless against the bed.

Megumi jams both fingers into his mouth and sucks off your cum.

“Insatiable!” you huff.

Rouge has overtaken Megumi’s cheeks - worse than before - and he can’t meet your eyes after having swallowed what remained of your soak. He leans over onto his elbow to avoid crushing you, “Only when it’s you… I don’t,” he waves his hand around, “do this often…”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

Megumi has to hide his grin, almost embarrassed to enjoy being praised, choosing to take up time looking around the room you’d shoved him into.

Idol posters with one constant member litter the walls. Pink concert tickets cover the desk. And many pictures with the same two people overwhelm Megumi’s sight. He feels an unsettled chill scrawl over his skin.

“Todo is going to kill me,” he grimaces.

“Was it worth it?”

Megumi doesn’t take long to respond, already trying to think of where and when he can get you under him again, “Definitely.”

Megumi’s proper death is drowning via punani tsunami *thumbs up emoji*

[depravitycentral]

what would be a yandere like feitan's reaction to his darling squirting the first time they finally are intimate?

Tw: squirting, virgin Feitan, no protection, implications of stalking, Feitan is insecure, Stockholm Syndrome, you're very sexually pent up and the months of being stuck with Feitan and only Feitan has really affected you, one extremely brief mention of vore, Feitan walks in on Nobunaga jerkin' it, fem reader

Listen, I know this is wistful daydreaming, but if we're being honest here, this would never happen. Feitan is a stone cold virgin; the kind that's never even willingly watched porn - or, at least, any porn not featuring a grotesque amount of vore, questionable consent, and moans so high pitched and frequent that it might actually be screaming. That, coupled with the fact that he's so awkward and nervous around you - especially in the context of sex - results in, frankly, less than mediocre sex. At least, the first time.

But it's fun to fantasize, so let's discuss!

Feitan knows what squirting is - loosely. He's heard about it before, sure, and accidentally walked in on Nobunaga doing something that really, really should've prompted him to wear headphones and lock the door. He's aware of what it is, but it's a combination of surprise, confusion, and a sudden and suffocating wave of arousal when it actually happens that leaves him with wide eyes and his lips slightly parted - the closest thing to shock you'll ever see on him.

There's surprise, because Feitan had been so hesitant the whole time he was touching you. He'd bent you over and practically shoved your face into the mattress, too busy staring at the curve of your ass and your pussy to really notice the telltale signs of his nerves. He wanted to seem confident, dominant, knowledgeable, but there's this ever so slight tremble in his fingers as he runs them up and down your sides, this hesitation in his hips when he's fucking into you, this sense of anxiety surrounding him because he really, really needs you to like this as much as he does. And the first time you come - because it takes much, much more than once to squirt - Feitan's honestly shocked.

He's heard how difficult it is to make women orgasm (mostly from Phinks and Nobunaga who, frankly, aren't particularly reliable sources of information), and the fact that he'd managed to do it with just his fingers, some eye contact, and a few careful, purposeful rubs at your clit has him feeling equal parts amazed and proud, because he did that. All those months of stalking you, watching you touch yourself and analyzing the speed and positioning of the toys you used has truly paid off. He's boastful, and it helps boost his confidence just a bit and lessen the tension in his shoulders.

Because now, he doesn't have to worry about making sure you like this. You came, so you'll want to do this again - and now, he can come without feeling pathetic because he's only just moved on from fingering to fucking, and it's been about a minute but he's already ready to burst.

But then you come again, and Feitan freezes up again.

This isn't supposed to happen. He's suspicious, now - there's no denying that your muscles spasmed around him, you cunt fluttering and sucking him in, and your cries and the way you trembled and writhed are certainly convincing. But how did you reach your high for a second time? He was just fucking you; quick, rabbit-like thrusts while he half-heartedly rubbed at your clit, and surely that's not enough, right? He starts to wonder if you're faking it - maybe you're a really good actress, and maybe he shouldn't feel so confident that he was actually able to do it and make you feel good.

He's hesitant to keep going, but he'll be damned if he doesn't finally get to come inside you, so his hips start moving again.

But then you come for a third time, and Feitan decides that you must be making fun of him. There's no fucking way he's making you feel this good - his insecurities (things that've been buried for a very long time, and things that he tries not to think about) come rushing to the surface and he crawls back to that closed off, distant persona, effectively rebuilding any sort of barriers that he's managed to break down between you for the last few months of your captivity.

He's literally pulling out, his expression turning sour (though his cheeks are bright pink from exertion, pleasure, and embarrassment), shame creeping up his spine along with anger because god, is he really so bad at this that you have to pretend to such an extreme degree?

But then you're reaching out behind you, your sweaty hand wrapping around his wrist, your voice strained and breathy as you look back at him and say no, please, give me more, please Feitan! And it's difficult, really, for him to decide what to do - on the one hand, he won't stand for having you humiliate him like this. He's a fully grown man, your captor, an internationally feared criminal, and the one indisputably in charge. But on the other hand, you're begging for him, asking him to stay inside you and keep making you feel good, and he's never seen you look at him with such yearning, such honesty, such need.

He'll scoff under his breath (though there's no malice) and settle back into you, his hips rutting noticeably faster, balls clapping against your clit over and over again, his eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure begins mounting fast, almost too fast.

He wants to hold off, to prolong this feeling - this warmth, this soft, fluttering feeling in his chest because you want him, but you just feel too good, the friction and warmth of your walls making it impossible for him to hold off any longer.

Except, right as he nears the edge, his eyes going wide then fluttering closed again, his lips catching between his teeth and his breath getting heavy and harsh and labored, he feels it.

It's wet, it's warm, and it's foreign. It's like something is spraying him, right on his balls, dripping down his thighs and leaving him sticky. Immediately he jerks back, cock slipping out of you, concern and discomfort making him stare wildly down at your shaking hips and ass, only to freeze.

There's this clear liquid gushing from you, landing on him while you tremble and shake and - he's now realizing - you're practically screaming his name. Your voice is strained and your face is pressed into the mattress, your arms having gone limp as you babble and cry out. He can't move, even as it peters out, your whimpers getting quieter while your shaking stays.

You squirted.

You just fucking squirted.

Because of him, and the pleasure he was giving you.

That's not something you can fake. He doesn't care how good of an actor you are - that was real. That was for him. He was making you feel good enough that you'd just done something he was mostly convinced was only possible in porn - all because of how good he was making you feel.

You can't see him, but suddenly you feel him - his cock is in you, hips moving so fast you can only gasp and let out something between a yelp and a gasp. He's fucking into you so fast that it's leaving you dizzy and disoriented, the aftershocks of the pleasure making your fingers and legs feel numb. You're shaking again, a constant stream of cries falling from your lips, but he doesn't relent.

How can he? You - the woman he thinks he's in love with, the woman he's spent literal months fantasizing about and thinking of every waking moment - and your body just showed him exactly how he affects you. You just showed him how badly your body craves him, how he makes you feel, how much you need him.

And as his orgasm descends upon him, his hips moving at an animalistic pace, uneven and stuttering, the sensation of warm cum flooding you only heightens the sensitivity running through your system, your brain feeling like mush and your muscles limp.

And Feitan, as the pleasure fades and the liquid coating his thighs starts to dry, can only heave, his chest rising and falling quickly. He's still staring down at you, dark eyes studying the curve of your back, your pretty ass, the way your hair is messy now from being rubbed up against the pillow your cheek is smooshed up against.

You're pretty, he thinks, in a way he hasn't really thought of before. Of course he's attracted to you - it's something he's tried to deny for months and has only recently really fully accepted - but something's different now. You're different.

You're different because you want him now. You showed him that, even - just how badly you crave him, just how much his touch affects you. It makes him giddy, this boyish, weird pride and warmth swelling in his chest, and it has Feitan rushing to the bathroom, wetting a rag (the rag is stained pink from previous hand washings, the blood mostly having been removed but the color remaining) and returning with quick footsteps, too fast to be considered normal.

He pauses for a moment and simply stares - you're still out of it, ass perched up in the air and face buried into the modest pillow, your legs still shaking, and he can see the remnants of both you and him. He can see his cum leaking from your quivering little hole, white standing out against your skin and a glisten coating the inside of your thighs from your little show. It makes him swallow, the wet rag in his hand feeling refreshingly cold against his body - his body that's growing much, much too hot.

The sight might just be enough to get him slotting himself inside you again, really working at your clit and maybe even pinching your nipple, his lips at your ear and voice husky, dark, strained as he tells you do that again, we won't stop until you do it again.

In short, although he's initially skeptical, Feitan really, really likes it. It gives him the vailidation he's craving, because it means that he was successfully able to get you feeling good, and this means you'll probably be eager to strip down and spread your legs for him again. And just that thought alone makes him jittery, his fingers tapping against his palms and his weight shifting from one leg to the other because god, it felt so good to be inside you.

It makes him feel proud and more comfortable around you, to the point where it's frankly a massive positive boost in your relationship. He's a little less nervous and jumpy around you, and he'll get more confident with touching you in general - whether that's sexual, intimate touches, or even just interlocking your fingers or idly resting his hand on your thigh.

It's a step in the right direction, surely - but be warned, once it happens, Feitan is expecting it to happen again. Every time. No exceptions.

And you - who'd really only even managed to squirt because it's been months since you've been touched in any way by another human being, and the Stockholm Syndrome has kicked in now and almost makes you like him - will have to deal with an insatiable Feitan.

Good job, you've created a monster.

[pinkanonwrites]

I wanna talk about human kink too!

(1) Since female discharge contains acid sometimes, do you think some mechs would be able to taste it? Imagine their delight when they realize their human can taste differently every week.

(2) LINGERIE! Not only our 'armors' are super soft and flimsy, there are specific variations of it for kinky times. I forgot who wrote it but there is a headcanon of several mechs would totally use their human's clothe to jerk off with and Optimus was included in that list 👀

So yeah. The whole thing is an endless spank bank for them

I absolutely think so! Considering that the few things Cybertronians do eat tend to be metallic/acidic I can definitely see more than a few of them likening the taste to familiar treats like rust sticks and various energon goodies. I picture a bot (Autobot or Decepticon, it doesn't matter) bringing their favorite little human to the oil house, passing them around between friends like a blunt rotation so everyone has the chance to get a taste of their pussy.

@callsign-relic also has the delightful Tasty AU if you're into the concept of Bots treating humans like a delicacy, if you're more into the "soft vore" style of things. Not my cup of tea, but we aren't out here to yuck anyone's yum!

As for stealing a human's clothes (specifically underwear or lingerie) that's honestly a really big fave for me as far as TF fics and headcanons go. I've read a really good fic with Ultra Magnus, and @robot-horde has a great short comic with Cliffjumper and their OC here on Pillowfort! (I'm full of good recommendations today!) Other bots I think may go so far as to steal your underwear besides Optimus, Ultra Magnus, and Cliffjumper include Rodimus, Frenzy, and TFA Prowl.