#seam rubber

[ltwilliammowett]

A scrimshawed seam rubber, carved "Bark Iris" on one face and "S-N" on the other, made by a sailor, 19th century

[freshthoughts2020]

[jojoseames]

Supporter reward art! A pile of rubber duckies!

(Patreon.com/JoJoSeames)

[heejake-hoon]

Enhypen hyung line when you ask them to spit in your mouth (mdni)

Heeseung: You're on your knees, Heeseung's cock heavy on your tongue as you look up at him through your lashes. He's got one hand fisted in your hair, the other braced against the wall as he fucks into your mouth shallowly, jaw clenched tight as he tries to savor the feeling of your warmness around him. Pulling off with a filthy pop, you nuzzle into his groin, mouthing at his balls before licking a stripe up the underside of his shaft. "Heeseung," you rasp, voice already wrecked. "Want you to spit in my mouth. please…" His hips jerk at your words, eyes shooting open, a low groan rumbling up from his chest. "fuckkk" Heeseung rasps, fingers tightening in your hair almost painfully. "You can't just say shit like that, jesus." But he's already hauling you up, gripping your jaw before forcing his mouth into yours. You whimper into it, clutching at his shoulders for balance as he licks into you possessively, tongue fucking deep and dirty. And then he's pulling back,letting you fall again on your knees before angling you how he wants , gathering saliva in his mouth before letting it drip past his lips and into yours. You chase it immediately, moaning at the depraved intimacy of it, swallowing it down greedily. Heeseung curses, his hand coming up to grip your throat, tilting your chin up so he can watch your mouth work. "So fucking filthy" he marvels, voice low. "So fucking filthy, Fuckk." He groans, taking in your flushed face as you lean on his hand. "Please, Heeseung," you whimper, nails biting into his shoulders. not sure yourself of what you are begging for. "More, want more" He snarls, walking you back towards the bed with intent. "Oh, sweetheart,I'll use you alright," Heeseung promises, already shoving at your clothes. "Gonna paint your tongue with my cum." he says as he shoves his fingers on your mouth, pressing them on your tongue as he watched you with hunger in his eyes.

Jay: "You want me to what?" Jay asks incredulously, sure he must have misheard you. There's no way you just asked him to- "Spit in my mouth," you repeat, chin tilted up defiantly even as a pretty blush stains your cheeks. "I want you to spit in my mouth while you fuck me, Jay." your eyes looking at him innocently as if you didn't ask him to do the filthiest thing in his life. He stares at you for a long moment, shock warring with arousal in his gaze. "Fuck, Y/N," Jay finally grits out, hands flexing at his sides like he's physically restraining himself from reaching for you as he studies you expression, hissing when he saw no hesitation in your eyes. "fuckk, baby. You really want me to do that?" In answer, you step into his space, nimble fingers working at the button of his jeans. "Yes baby, please" you whine, leaning up on your toes to ghost your lips over the shell of his ear. "I want you to own me, Jay. In every filthy, degrading way you can think of." Jay's control snaps like a rubber band. With a low growl, he fists a hand in your hair, yanking your head back and exposing the long line of your throat to his hungry gaze. His other hand palms roughly at your breast, tweaking your nipple through your blouse and making you gasp. "You want me to claim you, baby?" he asks, voice pitched low and dangerous, jaw clenched in a way that has heat pooling between your thighs. You nodded, arching into his touch wantonly. "Yes, Jay, please- want you so fucking bad-" He kisses you then, hard and deep and filthy, teeth catching on your bottom lip and tongue delving past the seam of your mouth demandingly. You clutch at him, moaning as he grinds his hardness against your core. Jay gentles the kiss gradually before pulling back, a string of saliva connecting your lips for a heated moment. Holding your gaze, he gathers the wetness in his mouth and leans in slowly, letting it drip past his lips and onto your waiting tongue. You shudder at the taboo thrill of it, swallowing his spit down eagerly before surging up to lick into his mouth, chasing the taste of him. Jay groans lowly, his dick twitching hard,hands already working at your clothes with clumsy fingers. "Fuck, the things you do to me," he rasps, walking you back towards the wall and pinning you there with the weight of his body.

Jake: "Y-you want me to spit… in your mouth?" Jake stammers, eyes wide with shock even as his throat bobs on a hard swallow. You nod shyly, looking up at him through your lashes as you palm him through his sweats, feeling the way his cock twitches at the suggestion. "I want all of you, Jakey," you murmur, leaning in to press a line of teasing kisses along his jaw. Jake groans, head tipping back as his hips jump into your touch. "Fuck, baby" he rasps, fingers tangling in your hair almost desperately. "You can't just- fuck. You're serious?" In answer, you tug down his waistband just far enough to free his aching erection, giving it a long, slow stroke from root to tip, making him throw his head back in ecstasy "Dead serious," you breathe, thumbing over the leaking slit and making his breath hitch. With that, you drop to your knees, gazing up at him with heavy-lidded eyes as you stick out your tongue invitingly. Jake swears colorfully, the hand in your hair tightening convulsively as he stares down at you in awe. "You're going to be the death of me," he mutters, his heart beating so fast at the sight of you this submissive and needy for him. He gathers saliva in his mouth,slowly, giving you time to change your mind, before he leans down and parts his lips, letting the wetness drip onto your waiting tongue. You moan at the first touch of it, the depraved intimacy sending heat pulsing between your thighs. You swallow his spit down eagerly, making him curse under his breath before taking his cock into your mouth, suckling at the tip as your hand works the base. "Oh god" Jake gasps, hips bucking forward involuntarily. "bab-by, you're so- ah-" You hum around him, taking him deeper and swirling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, his groans and whimpers only encouraging you to go harder. When you pull off, it's only to kitten lick at his slit before looking up at him with pleading eyes. "More," you rasp, nuzzling into his groin and nosing at his balls. "Jake, please- want more, use me like- like your own personal fucktoy-" He makes a strangled noise, torn between arousal and disbelief. But in the end, his desire wins out and Jake is hauling you up, spinning you around and bending you over the back of the couch. "You want me to use you, baby?" he asks lowly, yanking your shorts down and smacking your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "Want me to fucking ruin this greedy little cunt?" "Yes," you moan wantonly, wiggling your hips in invitation. "Yes, Jakey, please- do whatever you want to me-" He curses again, lining himself up and sliding home in one long, hard thrust. You keen at the sudden fullness, walls clenching down around him greedily as he starts to move, setting a deep, rolling rhythm that has your toes curling. Leaning over you, Jake spits on his fingers before reaching around to rub tight circles over your clit, the filthy sound of it joining the obscene slap of skin on skin making you head spin"This what you wanted, right?" he pants, snapping his hips faster, harder. "Wanted me to fucking defile you like the dirty girl you are?" "Yes," you sob, pushing back to meet his thrusts as the pressure inside you builds to an impossible height. "Yes, Jake, more, fucking ruin me, I'm so close-" "Gonna come on my cock like a good little slut?" he demands raggedly, pinching your clit almost painfully, making you let a scream. Your release threatening to hit you like a truck. "Do it, Y/N. F-fucking soak me"

Sunghoon: "Spit… in your mouth?" Sunghoon repeats slowly, eyebrows raised as he stares at you, somehow not surprised from your command but still asking you nonetheless "You want me to- fuck, Y/N. That's…" "Filthy?" you finish for him, crawling into his lap and looping your arms around his neck. "Dirty? Degrading?" He swallows hard, hands coming up to grip your hips almost reflexively. "Well… yeah. All of the above." he nods to himself, watching as you lean in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you grind down pointedly against his growing hardness. "What if I want to be degraded?" you breathe, reveling in his sharp inhale. "What if I want you to fucking defile me, Hoonie? To use me, ruin me, claim every part of me in the dirtiest way possible?" you whisper, feeling him growing under you. Sunghoon groans lowly, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. "Fuck, Y/N," he grits out, hips rocking up to meet yours, his eyes are already blown black with lust. You smirk, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging just shy of painful, the way you know makes him crazy. "Show me," you challenge breathlessly. "Show me exactly what I'm asking for, Sunghoon. I want it. Want you, any way I can get you. Please…" He stares at you for a long, charged moment before his eyes goes dark and hungry in a way that has heat pulsing between your thighs. And then he's flipping you over, pinning you to the mattress with his hips as his mouth comes down on yours in a brutal kiss. Sunghoon licks into you filthily, fucking your mouth with his tongue in a hungry way, one of his hands coming to wrap around your throat before pulling back just far enough to gather saliva between his lips. You know what's coming but it still makes you jolt when he lets it drip past his teeth and onto your waiting tongue. The sheer dirtiness, has you arching up into him with a needy whine, already aching for more. Sunghoon chuckles darkly as you swallow his spit down eagerly, chasing the taste of him. "Fuck, look at you," he marvels lowly, fingers coming up to trace your slick, swollen mouth. "So desperate for it, aren't you baby?" he mocks "Love being used,huh? love letting me do filthy shit to this perfect body." his other hand squeezed one of your boobs tightly, as if to emphasis his words You gasp at the action as he leans down to bite at the hinge of your jaw, marking you. "Yes, Hoonie, want it- want you to fucking wreck me, shit-" He growls, a sound of pure animal hunger, and then he's yanking at your dress roughly, tearing the fabric in his haste to get you naked. "Gonna fucking ruin you," Sunghoon promises, his own shirt joining yours on the floor. "Gonna spit on this pussy before I eat it, suck my cum out of your dirty little cunt and feed it back to you-"

-

fuck is it just me or is it hot in here *fanning myself* Please leave some feedback *_*

[andyoullhearitagain]

Every Starfleet Uniform Ranked By How Annoying The Sleeve Is To Sew, Part 2

Part 1

6. TOS Men's Uniform:

Here we have 1. Quite a severe curve 2. with a zipper in it 3. an invisible zipper at that 4. with pattern matching through the zipper at the collar

5. in velour (slippery). Woof.

7. Disco:

OK we've got two points of pattern matching, but they don't have to be too precise because they've got this round shiny striped piece between them. Of course that piecing means we're basically setting a sleeve in twice, but I will concede that the stretch will be more forgiving than a woven would be. Add in the piecing on the bicep and two different sticky rubber-y fabrics for further difficulty. 

8. TNG Version 2B and Voyager:

All the work of a tailored sleeve with an added inverse corner in an intersection of four seams.

PLUS two points of pattern matching, which is very tricky in an armsyce because you're trying to get the pitch right. You can see in TNG they often have trouble with it and have either a jog in the pattern matching

or too much ease in the wrong place to force the pattern to match.

They seem to have figured it out by Voyager though. I'm also fairly certain they have raglan shoulder pads in them instead of regular ones, which isn't really harder I guess but is a bit odd (no shade, they're incredibly flattering).

9. DS9/ TNG Movies:

All the difficulties of the TNG armscye and now we've added trim, meaning we really have four points of pattern matching instead of two. I could be persuaded that the contrast pieces are applied over the upper sleeve piece instead of pieced, which is easier than what TNG is doing.

10. Enterprise:

I think this is regular raglan sleeve and not some kind of half raglan/half set in sleeve like we see in TNG. Either way it's a bit easier than the TNG sleeve because the trim and yoke are applied on top and top stitched. But we've still got that mitered corner in our bias trim and our four points of pattern matching on the shoulder seam. And then we've also added like four zippers!!!

11. Picard:

What did the stitchers do to this designer? FOUR inverse corners (I guess at least it doesn't intersect a seam this time) PLUS the piecing at the cuff, PLUS all the pattern matching at the armscye, and all in stretch (I think). The only reason it's not the most difficult sleeve is because it looks fairly flat and I bet if you do a nice tight hand baste you can get everything lined up on the first try. Also this is not strictly speaking part of the sleeve but those little corners in the yoke? Good grief.

12. TNG Version 2A:

Never in my life have I seen an armscye like this. What is this even called? How do you construct it? I suppose I would sew the sleeve pieces together, set them in the armscye, then sew the raglan/yoke pieces together at the shoulder seam and then stitch them all the way across the front and then all the way across the back. But good grief. The ONLY other sleeve I could find remotely like this is this 1940s Simplicity pattern (it's on ebay if you want it).

With a few added seams you can imagine what these pattern pieces must look like.

13. TNG Version 1:

All the malarkey of 2A except you've got to do it in spandex. I'd pick wool any day. We also have a second yoke (?!) so now we have to do that little inverse corner TWICE and also add piping. Never in my life have I done an intersection of piping correctly the first time.

And then on top of all that it's ugly. Terrible sewing experience. Worst sleeve in Star Trek *bangs gavel*.

[vinceaddams]

Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.

Thanks!

It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!

I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)

Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.) You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.

Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.

Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.

I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.

Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.

Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)

I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.

For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!

Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.

I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.

I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.

I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread. I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)

Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.

Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.

The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.

You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.

Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)

Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.

For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.

And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.

Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.

Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.

To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.

In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.

Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!

If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.

(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)

Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.

Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!

Edit: Video finished!

And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.

[vincentbriggs]

@once-a-polecat replied to your post “My uncle's friend asked if I wanted this machine...”:

So do Whites have the same parts availability as Singers? I see them around for a fraction of the price, I’ve just been holding out for a Singer because the parts are relatively easy to source. I’ve seen some really lovely White machines tho! I bet yours is going to look stunning when it’s cleaned up. That cabinet is {chefs kiss}

​I don't know, I haven't looked into it because mine's not missing any pieces and still has all 6 bobbins.

I think that as long as you can verify that it has all the parts, and at least one or two bobbins, it probably won't need any new ones.. ever? The little rubber ring on the bobbin winder and the treadle drive belt degrade after a few decades and need replacing, but you can easily buy those, and everything else is highly unlikely to break from regular use.

The one thing I was worried about was accidentally stripping the screws while taking it apart for cleaning, and there was one screw that I didn't quite have the right size of screwdriver for and it started to look a bit ehhhh so I just didn't take that part off. It wasn't one of the really gunky ones anyways, and I did my best to clean around it, and may try again someday if I get more sizes of screwdriver. So I'd advise making sure you have all the right tools before starting and slathering all the stuck bits well in kroil (what the guy in a video I watched yesterday used) or wd-40 (what I used) or some such loosening thing.

It seems like it's very hard to find new bobbins, especially since there are different styles of shuttle and the bobbins are not interchangeable. Mine's a boat style and my bobbins wouldn't work in a bullet style from a couple years later.

While cleaning this thing it hasn't even crossed my mind to wonder where I'd find replacement parts because, well, what could possibly break? Nearly every single piece is cast iron or steel, and it's already been used SO much that the decals on the bottom are almost completely gone just from the amount of fabric that's run over it.

As mentioned in the previous post it's about 140 years old, was owned by a woman who made her living sewing on it for many decades, and it still works just fine! I haven't got the bobbin winder cleaned up yet and it's still off the cabinet, but I couldn't resist trying it out with just the hand wheel (using one of the bobbins that was wound long before I was born) once I got all the bits back on and yeah! Perfect stitches right away!

As long as it's kept well oiled it's just gonna keep on chugging along indefinitely.

Are you seeing these White machines in person at secondhand stores and such? If you can check to make sure they have bobbins and that no pieces are missing, I'd say grab one! Maybe keep some reference pics of working ones so you can look and see, or even better see if you can make a stitch with it before buying it, and presumably if it can do that even slowly and gunkily then it'll just need cleaning like this one did.

By all accounts they're REALLY good machines! I'm super excited to try mine out properly, and to post more about all the features. It has a lip around the bottom of the needle bar so that if some oil drips down it won't get on your needle! Genius!! Why doesn't every machine ever have that?! It's also fairly quiet AND you can adjust the bobbin tension right in the middle of a seam without disturbing the sewing or taking the shuttle out. Incredible.

The manual for mine says "The Best in the World" on it, and while that's just a normal Victorian thing to say about a product, I'm not about to argue with them. There are a few little things that I like better on Singers, such as the quality of the hinges that hold the machine to the cabinet, and the way the presser foot attaches, but all in all this White VSII is extremely goddamn good so far and I have no doubt that once I get the bobbin winder cleaned up it'll also work perfectly!

So yeah, GET ONE!

[ectologia]

I gently request a Dabi fic wherein he's been letting his little sister crash at his place and decides to pimp her out to Shiggy. Please, thank you, your writing is amazing ❤️ ❤️

BUSY EARNIN’

TOMURA SHIGARAKI + FEMALE READER + DABI

WARNING: DUBCON/NONCON, THEMES OF INCEST, SEX-BUYING, HUMILIATION, CREAMPIE, PROFANITY

The recital of your name ushers you downstairs. Your feet tip-toe down the rickety steps while you refrain from gliding your hand along the splintered wood of the bannister.

You bound along until you recognise your big brother, slouched against his patchwork sofa with his knees spread and a cigarette pinched between his fingers.

“Hey, you.” The subtle flick and curl of the ashen digits lulls you closer, close enough until you’re able to see the sizeable stacks of green bills piled up and snapped together with tight rubber bands lain across his coffee table.

You shift, curious as you notice the lean figure hunched next to Dabi, counting through another hand full of cash and muttering. He’s frantic as his fingers work on shuffling through the paper, his eyes are an unsettling blood red surrounded by rings of black and flaking skin, while his hair sits nestled beneath the shadow of his hood, only the stormy ice blue of his fringe peeking out.

“What’s all this?” You lilt, pointing a finger at the stacked paper.

Dabi all but hums, parting his lips as a whispy stream of smoke escapes the ruptured seam. “What you owe me.”

You draw back immediately, confused. “What?..”

He laughs, a deep, hoarse chuckle. Lowering the cigarette from his teeth to address you properly. “You heard me kid. You gotta earn your keep, you know? Ain’t shit free in life.”

You splutter, furrowing your brows. “B—but, wait, what do you mean I owe you that?” You gesture to the wads of cash sat waiting atop the wooden surface.

And just like that, the last few pages of money are slapped down onto the table. “That’s all of it, Dabi.” Shigaraki croaks, bobbing his foot up and down in anxious waiting.

Dabi shifts through the bank notes before giving a satisfied tut, settling back into the plush concave of his couch and taking another drag. “Thanks, Shigs. She’s all yours.”

You retreat backwards as his bent form extends into a looming shadow the moment he stands, taking a stride towards you.

“Wait! Dabi, what’s going on?” You squeal the moment your hands are seized, pulling and tugging until you’re bent against the wall at an angle.

He clicks his tongue, crossing an ankle over his leg. “I just told you. You’re paying me back, kid. Eatin’ my food, drinking my water. All that shit. You didn’t think you’d be crashing at my place on my dime, did you?” His chuckle is grim and dark as he pours over your hurt expression. “That’s cute. I’m a nice guy but I ain’t no saint, family’s still gotta’ pay their dues.”

You’re jolted about to Shigaraki’s liking until you’re positioned over the coffee table. A big hand pushes your cheek down into the hard surface while the other handles your hips, raising your ass up into the air. “Dabi! No, please stop! Tell him to stop!”

Your big brother winces at your shrill squeaks, squinting at the gritty nails clawing at your delicate flesh. He snaps his fingers, leaning forward. “Yo, Shiggy. Be careful, yeah? She’s still a virgin so she’s gonna be a lil’ skittish.”

He’s met with a harsh grunt, beady red eyes squinting up at him. “Shut the fuck up, makin’ my dick go soft with all your yappin’. I paid for her, so I’ll fuck her how I want, yeah?”

Your big brother huffs a sigh, sitting back against the cushions as he watches Shigaraki tear at your clothes. Your shirt is scrunched just above the meat of your tits as two hands reach down to tug and twist at your pebbled nipples. He tuts, palming at the doughy flesh. “Fuck, your sister’s kinda hot, man.”

Dabi hums in agreement, taking another puff of his cigarette as he rubs his hard-on through the rough denim of his jeans. “You should see her pussy.”

Shigaraki halts, lifting up to eye his friend. “You’ve seen your sister’s twat?” A broad smile curls onto both pairs of lips as they sneer at each-other. “You’re a freak.” He snickers.

The flimsy pair of panties concealing your pudgy mound are slid down past your ankles. Dabi scoffs as the skimpy garment is tossed at his face with a chuckle, the scent of your pussy encasing him for a split second. “A lil’ trinket for big brother Dabi.” Shigaraki grins.

“Please Dabi! I’ll pay you back! I don’t want him t—”

You’re cut off with a whine. “Awh, you don’t want me?” Shigaraki pouts, squeezing and jiggling your ass-cheeks. “That’s just hurt my feelings, babe. Looks like I’m gonna have to fuck you extra extra hard now.”

You gasp as Shigaraki spits a fat wad of saliva into your asshole, bringing two cold fingers down to smear and spread the sticky substance all the way across your slit. He dips the calloused pads into your folds, searching for the little bundle of nerves that has you twitching. The moment your hips flinch he’s cooing, rubbing harsh lines into your hooded clit. “Oh yeah, get that cunny nice and wet, hm?” Your mouth gapes and your jaw slackens, shuddering upon his abuse. “Yeah? You like me rubbing that clit? Getting your little pussy masturbated? Just like that?”

He chuckles at the small hand grasping his wrist, pleading for some type of relief. He retracts, wiping his soiled fingers into the back of your head before knotting them in between your mussed locks, tugging your neck back in a painful arch.

A flicker of hope ignites once you see your brother lean forward with a smile. You keen, reaching out for him. “Da—”

“Shh..” Before you can finish, a thick cloud of musky smoke cuts you off. He purses his lips into a snide grin as he blows the ash right into your spluttering, teary face.

The two laugh at your blushed cheeks and bloated lips as you cough, whimpering every time Shigaraki rubs at your swollen seed.

“I want you to look at him.” Your chin is held up by a pale hand, angling you to meet the bulging tent in your brother’s pants. “Look at your big brother while I rape you.”

At this you crack, breaking down into a plethora of blubbering cries. Shigaraki seems satisfied with your shell-like expression and takes the opportunity to stretch his fat mushroom-tip through the taught flesh of your pussyhole, sighing out a grunt as he does. “Fuck yeah.” He wastes no time in gathering the reins of your hair, jutting into you from behind with a broad smile. “Oh yeah, take—that—dick—baby—take it!” He punctuates every word with a thrust, pushing and pulling you along as he rides your ass.

Dabi can’t help but slip his vacant hand down the waistband of his boxers, fisting his fat, dribbling cock while he watches you get molested. It turns him the fuck on. He croons, hissing through the thin space of his teeth biting down on his cigarette. “Mm, look at you, getting used like a little piece of rape-meat. Should’ve done this ages ago lil’ sis.”

You’re practically foaming at the mouth, the only way you’re able to stay upright is by the massive hands groping at your titties. Shigaraki snarls and howls behind you like a beast, raping your pussy faster and faster with his sweaty uncut dick until a vision of black begins to seep past your field of view. A pierced brow quirks upwards as Dabi watches your eyes shift to a ghostly white.

Shigaraki growls, slowing his hips to exchange his frantic rutting into pounding your pussy with deep, lethargic, hurtful thrusts, knocking your hips painfully into the edge of the table. Your cries are smeared into the wood, your whole body rocking as your knee is lifted to spread you open further.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your ears twitch at the sound of Shigaraki’s voice. He hunches, slamming a fist down dangerously close to your head as he jutts his dick and balls into your slit at a rapid pace. “Fu—agh!”

The room drops to an eery silence as Shigaraki groans and shivers above you, swaying his hips side to side to ensure he’s pumped your battered womb full of his hot, creamy jizz.

The moment he retreats, your body is dragged along with him until your clenching pussy unhooks itself from his throbbing tip, ropes and ropes of sticky white cum following his retraction.

“Damn. That was good.” Shigaraki huffs, catching his breath while he stands proud and bare above you and Dabi, two hands bent on his hips while his flaccid member hangs lowly between his legs, bobbing and swinging.

“Glad I could help.” Dabi grins, slapping a wad of cash against his palm triumphantly.

[saphig-iawn]

Shaping You

There is something deep and powerful about wanting to shape someone.

When a cute and docile femme approaches me wanting to be a doll and be cherished and dressed, shaping them follows certain paths and patterns.

When a tired and overworked femme approaches me wanting be a drone in my Network and not have to think anymore, shaping them aligns with certain ideas and influences.

Both are enjoyable and loving and caring but...

But sometimes... I just crave the ability to shape them-

To take the cute femme and interlock my fingers tightly with theirs so the impressions I leave in their skin become ball joints and seams.

To take the overworked femme and cradle their head in my hand, and rub my thumb across their lips leaving nothing behind but smooth latex.

To take the new doll onto my lap and give them such an embrace that they shrink into a sweet little toy, with a permanent smile on their face.

To take the new drone and sculpt their hands into mittens, their crotch into a nullge, their face into a work of rubber art.

To take you and lift those burdens that rub stress into your muscles and strain into your bones.

To distill you into the parts that you should be, the parts that you need to be; all by my loving hand.

To make you mine.

...

Well...

Would you like me to shape you?

Did you enjoy? Here's my ko-fi if you fancy leaving a tip or want to talk about being transformed yourself!~

[ltwilliammowett]

Oak seam rubber made by sailor, mid 19th century

It was used to crease a fold in sail cloth prior to stitching.

[makethatelevenrings]

Contaminated // D. Grayson x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY. Minors get BACK. Go yearn for the mines awaY FROM HERE. Emotions! Sex pollen but it’s enthusiastic consent. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Three months ago, Dick Grayson told you he didn’t love you anymore and walked out the door. Tonight, you found yourself the unwitting victim of a Poison Ivy attack that forces Dick Grayson to end up on your doorstep once again. Will he help or will he leave once again?

Your hands shook as you unlocked the door of your apartment. Your skin prickled as the fabric of your hoodie scraped against the sensitive skin of your arms. A desperate whimper escaped your lips at the way your very cells seemed to burn with the strength of a thousand suns.

Somehow you got your mind straight long enough to lock the door behind you before you stumbled towards your bedroom. You kicked off your shoes as you went and your hoodie soon followed. Fuck, it wasn’t enough. Everything was hot but at the same time, you felt sweaty and chilled like you had a fever.

Something was wrong.

Grabbing your phone, you fought against the blurring of your vision in order to locate the contact you needed. You knew she would pick up the phone in seconds because she was glued to her tech everyday.

“What’s up, babes?” Barbara answered after the first ring. “If you’re calling to reschedule brunch, I have terrible news for you. I won’t allow you to skip out aga-”

“Babs,” you rasped. “Something’s wrong.”

The cheery tone fell from the redhead’s voice in seconds and you heard her start typing on her keyboard. “Where are you?”

“Home. I was walking home from work when Ivy attacked the park and I think I inhaled some of the spores. I don’t…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Barbara swore under her breath. “The closest person to you is Nightwing.”

Your heart dropped. No. Not him. “Who else?”

“Everyone else is busy. I’m sorry, but I’m sending him.”

Your stomach cramped painfully, nearly knocking you to your knees, and you let out a groan. “Okay, okay. Fuck it. Fine.”

“We’re going to help you. I promise. I have to go handle something right now, but I’ll make sure I check on you.”

“Thanks, Babs.” Your breath escaped you in short pants, like a dog in heat. Fuck, it was hot in here. You wanted nothing more than to strip off your pants and shirt and lay on the cool tile of your bathroom, but you couldn’t. Not when he was coming over.

Richard Grayson, your ex boyfriend. Richard Grayson, the man who came over one night three months ago and broke up with you on your doorstep. Richard Grayson, the man you had loved for years until your heart shattered with a few words.

“I don’t love you anymore,” he had said. And then he dropped a box of your things on the doorstep and walked out of your life.

Fuck Dick Grayson. Fuck Nightwing. Fuck him and his pretty boy smile. He could go to hell.

“Shit.” As if the mere thought of your ex triggered it, you were suddenly acutely aware of the seam of your pants pressing against the sensitive flesh of your cunt. Shit shit shit, you cannot be horny in front of Dick Grayson. You just needed to keep a level and calm head until he gave you the antidote and then you could send him out on his ass.

Another wave of shaking wracked through your body and you let out a hiss of pain, doubling over until your face met the soft fabric of your comforter. Your body joined you on the mattress and you pulled yourself up until your cheek rested on the cool rayon fabric of the pillow. Curling your knees up towards your chest, you let the shakes consume you and prayed that Dick wasn’t so over you that he refused to come.

As though he heard your thoughts, you heard the window to your living room slide open. The slight screech of the old rubber sides sounded faster than normal and you figured he just wanted to get this over with.

The window shut and footsteps pounded towards the door to your bedroom. Your teeth chattered violently as you shook with this hellish hot/cold state your body had been thrust into. The shaking made it hard for you to lift your head, but you were able to make eye contact with the last man you wanted to see.

“Fuck,” Dick said in greeting. “Babs said Ivy got you, but she didn’t say it was this bad.”

You willed your jaw to stop rattling and shrugged. “Ran home so I didn’t pass out on the sidewalk or something.”

He stripped off his glove and pressed the back of his hand against your cheek. Shit. Oh fuck. Just the feel of his skin against yours was euphoric. A small mewl escaped you and your back arched in some desperate attempt to get closer to him. Dick ripped his hand away, a panicked look flitting across his masked face.

“Damnit Ivy,” he snarled.

“Am I dying?” It certainly felt like it. Your skin prickled painfully at the loss of contact and you tried to hold back the burn of tears that grew in your eyes.

“No, you’re not dying.” His hand drifted up to his ear where you knew a comms device rested. “Ivy hit her with sex pollen.”

A startled, albeit bitter, laugh escaped you and you shook your head. Of fucking course. Sex pollen meant you would have to wait for the antidote and get progressively hornier and in more pain. Or you could get off…

On autopilot, your hand drifted down to the waistband of your pants but the small part of your brain still in control screamed at you to stop. Tearing your hand away, you inhaled deeply and pressed your face further into the pillow. Not when he’s here.

“Just go get the antidote and I’ll suffer for a bit,” you snapped.

Dick barked out a sardonic laugh. “Do you really think I’m going to leave you like this?” Oh, the irony. If you weren’t burning up, you would laugh in his face and tell him to get the fuck out. All you could manage was glaring at him from your fetal position.

“I thought leaving was your specialty,” you hissed, venom lacing your tone. Your barb made a direct hit because his trained impassive face crumpled for a brief second. The cool drag of a tear along your cheek made you aware of the rising heat in your face and you brushed the tear away.

“Fuck you Richard Grayson. I know you don’t want to be here so you can go. I’ll just wait until someone can bring me the antidote.”

“You’re in pain,” he said barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, well, as if you care. I’ll just call Wally or Kaldur. Hell, I’ll call up Jason. I’m sure he won’t mind helping.”

“Stop,” he growled. “You won’t call anyone. I’m here. I’ll help you.”

Despite the aching weakness in your bones, you pushed up off the mattress so you could face him fully. Your arms trembled with exertion, but somehow you held yourself up.

“You left me. I don’t know what I did to make you hate me or whatever, but you left me and so you don’t have a right to be concerned. So do what you do best, Dick, and leave.” You were impressed by the way your voice stayed firm despite the tears streaming down your face. You were bracing yourself to see him walk out once more, leaving you in pain, both emotional and physical this time.

He turned away, showing you the kevlar spandex weave of his suit on full display. Just a few more steps and he would be out the window and out of your life again. Your breath caught in your throat, the pain surging through your veins. You whimpered and started to slowly lower yourself back down, but two strong hands settled on your shoulder and waist. Dick curled himself around you as if he could protect you from the fire licking at your insides. You shuddered at the firm pressure of his hands on you and in the moment of clarity, raised your chin to meet his gaze.

He had taken the mask off.

“It hurts,” you whispered.

His head lowered and he inhaled deeply before speaking once more. “I can’t, baby. You’re not thinking straight.”

Clasping your hands against his cheeks, you drew his head up and leveled him with a look. “Please, Dick. Make the pain go away.”

You had missed the taste of him. Dick’s hands drifted down to your hips as he slotted his lips against yours and pushed you back to lay against the bed. A gasp escaped you and he swallowed it with his tongue that pushed into your mouth. Everything was happening so quickly that it made your head spin in the best way possible. You shuddered as he unbuttoned your pants and slipped his long fingers under the band of your underwear.

“Oh,” you moaned as he brushed the rough pad of his finger along your slit. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the hollow of your throat before nipping at the soft skin of your jaw. Your legs closed instinctively as the toxin mixed with instinctive lust surged through your veins. Dick tutted and tugged at the hem of your shirt. You let him remove it and then he made quick work of your pants and underwear.

And then he stood up, unzipped his suit, and revealed the body you had dreamed about for nights.

Dick wasted no time in scooping you up and settling you between his legs, your back against his chest. One of his hands tugged your knee, pulling your legs apart, as the other drifted down to your soaked pussy.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he purred as you sagged against his chest. Dick nuzzled his nose against your temple as his fingers rubbed in lazy circles over your swollen cunt. Anytime your hips shifted, he made sure to keep you steadily locked in his hold.

“That feel good, baby?” he breathed. You nodded, too blissed out to speak, and he grinned that cocky smile you missed so much. Dick tipped your chin back and pulled you in for a filthy kiss, his tongue searching your mouth and leaving the lingering taste of his peppermint gum on your lips.

Your orgasm rocked through you faster than you expected thanks to the pollen flooding your veins. Legs trembling, you shook and thrashed against Dick as your cunt clenched around empty air. Dick held you tightly against him and continued his ministrations until you were whining about how it was-

“Too much. Ah! Dick, too much.”

“You’re still burning up, baby,” he murmured.

“I need your cock. I need you to fuck me again. I missed the feel of you in me, Dick.”

His tongue trailed along the sweaty line of your neck and your back arched off of his chest as he left along a cool trail. His slick soaked fingers drifted up to rub and pinch your nipples, alternating between both with equal devotion.

“Did you fuck anyone else?” he panted. “Tell me, baby. Did another man make you feel as good as I do?”

“No!” You needed him to fill you. You would combust if his long cock didn’t enter you in the next five seconds. You struggled against his grip in an attempt to flip yourself over and ride him, but Dick was too strong.

“No,” you gasped. “I touched myself and thought of you. No other man could satisfy me.”

As though you were a delicate package, he cradled your head as he slid you down onto the mattress and slotted himself between your spread thighs.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, princess.”

Any retort left you as your mouth dropped open. Three months without him had made you forget how fully he consumed you. Your folds parted as he split you open with his shaft, whimpers and pants escaping him as he slowly and surely slid into your waiting body. He hefted your legs up and you wrapped them around his waist as he finally bottomed out.

“I missed you,” he murmured.

You, your traitorous mind echoed. Not this. You.

No. This was just his way of helping you.

A throaty groan tore past your lips as he pulled out, the veins of his cock dragging against your walls, and then pushed back in. Your eyes rolled back as he brushed against your g-spot. He was more than just his name, not by much. Dick Grayson laid pipe like he was a union plumber going on forty-five years.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Grayson.”

He yanked his hips back and drilled into your cunt. You clawed at his back as he started to jackhammer into you. The fever was slowly abating as your second orgasm built. You lifted your hands to play with your own tits but he batted them away. Dick ducked his head down and enveloped your right nipple in his mouth, sucking and licking at the soft skin there. The constant stimulation adding to the electricity surging through your veins and you threw your head back. Dick let go of your breast with a soft pop and he stroked your cheek, dragging your attention back to him.

“Look at that, princess. Look at how well you take me,” he said. You nodded dumbly at his words and he forced your head up. Your gaze fixed on the way his cock slid in and out of you and, coupled with the feeling of him inside of you, had your second orgasm crashing over you like a wave.

“That’s it. There’s my good girl. You were made to take me. I missed fucking this pretty pussy. I. missed. you.” He punctuated the last three words with deep thrusts before he pulled out and let his cum streak along your tits. Dick’s chest heaved with exertion but he reached up and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead and then to your cheeks.

“How…how is it?” you asked.

He scooted back a bit and leaned forward so he was bracketing your hips. “You like doggy style, right?”

A pounding headache and a dry mouth was your morning gift. The warmth of the sun touched your cheeks gently and you relaxed when you realized you were no longer sweating buckets and burning up.

But a heavy, warm presence was still in your bed.

You slowly turned over to face Dick who was already awake. He reached up and checked your temperature again before offering you a wry smile. “Fever broke. You passed out around orgasm number six. I got you some water and snacks and you’ll need to take a shower. I can start the laundry once you’re in the shower. I’ll wait to leave until you’re feeling alright. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

Your heart ached at the tenderness of his words. This was the man who practically launched himself off the couch to get you a bandaid after you gave yourself a papercut while reading a book. This was the man who kept your favorite coffee and tea stocked at his place. This was the man who walked out on you and told you that he didn’t love you anymore.

“Dick…” Your soft voice stopped him from climbing out of the bed. He settled in next to you, the thin sheet pooling at his waist and revealing his well-muscled torso.

“I left because they put a hit on your head,” he said. Warm breath washed over your face and you shivered at the contact. His azure eyes searched your face before he continued.

“I couldn’t risk losing you. Permanently. I’ve buried too many people, baby, and I refuse to lose you until you’re old and gray.”

“No one knows I’m connected to Nightwing,” you whispered.

“No, but they know you were connected to Dick Grayson. There are a lot of people that aren’t happy about what I’ve been doing to help Bludhaven. I’ve made enemies and they knew exactly where to target.”

“But Nightwing stopped them, right?”

His full lips lifted at the corners, amused at your unfailing trust in him, and he nodded. “Destroyed their entire operation.”

“So there was no threat.”

His eyes softened and he reached up to touch your cheek. “Being with me puts you at risk. Always.”

“I never felt as safe as I did with you. Last night, you helped me because you would never let anything hurt me. Right? You’ll never let anyone hurt me.”

He moved in close and pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips drifted down to lay a kiss to each eyelid, cheek, your nose, chin, and finally landing on your lips. This wasn’t the rushed, burning kisses from the night before.

This was soft and gentle and, underneath the veneer of sweetness, it was an apology.

“I’ll go get the shower started so it’s warm,” he murmured once he pulled away. “And I’ll cook breakfast while you’re getting clean.”

“And we’ll talk?”

He smiled. Not the fake media smile he perfected years ago. Not the confident, cocky grin he gave his teammates. It was the smile only you saw. The soft, tender curve of his lips as his vulnerability shone through.

“Yeah.” His fingers interlaced with yours. “We’ll talk.”

Tag List: @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @cursedandromedablack​ @alexxavicry​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @raging-trash-of-mind​ @bunny-kawa​ @khaylin27​

[kana-daydreams]

food fight || luffy | humour | 0.4k

°*:･ᰔat every meal, luffy's grabby rubber hands would  annoyingly snatch up every last morsel of food, including your own. And thus, you execute your long-awaited plan for revenge—to be the one who gets the last bite—but things don’t go according to plan.

tags: gn!reader. non-consensual kiss. mild spice. suggestive

op masterlist

Today you find yourself a victim of a grave mistake. Your mistake.

 Stealing Luffy’s food. 

To be precise, the last serving of richly-seasoned steak Sanji had meticulously prepared for brunch the crew decided to have on a sunny hilltop overlooking a quaint small village. A village belonging to an island your ship chanced upon along your itinerary to the Grand Line and had rescued from belligerent pirates.

Your action was more than justifiable: an act of revenge for all the times you’d gone with an empty stomach because Luffy couldn’t satiate his abyssal and abnormal hunger.  

Your plan was flawless—you’d been plotting for days, weeks—or would have been if Luffy’s arms weren’t currently darting towards you with the speed of a fired bullet from across the grassy field.

It all happens so fast.

Luffy’s arms looping themselves around your waist before they pull you closer towards him. You straddling his lap. And his lips crashing against yours.

Your eyes shoot wide at the sudden contact of his warm lips melding with your own, a collective horrified gasp erupting  from the entire crew, and filling the once tranquil ambience.

And in one quick, fluid motion after he traces his tongue along the seam of your lips, eliciting an involuntary gasp from you, Luffy slips his tongue inside your mouth still filled with half-chewed pieces of steak.

A ferocious heat blooms across your cheeks as you feel the wetness of his tongue lick against your own then swirls around it in an attempt to take back what is his.

When he does, Luffy pulls away, both your lips separating with a loud pop.

A triumphant smile beams across Luffy's ruddy face as he greedily chews on the bits of steak he'd stolen from your mouth.

He gulps it down with a satisfied hum. “Oi! Sanji that was great! For some reason it tasted better than usual!" His smile spreads further. "Gimme more!"

Sanji glares daggers at Luffy, flames seeming to engulf his entire body as he readies himself to unleash one of his lethal skull-crushing kicks on him, the monster who'd ravished your heavenly lips. But, he instantly stops when you signal with a hand for him not to intervene.

You wipe a sleeve across the thin coating of saliva gleaming on your lips, then shuffle your way off Luffy's lap.

"Luffy...you..."

Luffy cranes his neck in your direction at the sound of your quivering voice.

"You...you..." Your body shudders violently.

Luffy's brows pinch together. "You what?" He tilts his head.

"You perverted motherfu–!" You punch Luffy square in the gut and send him hurtling across the edge of the hill, his figure disappearing from everyone's line of sight.

© 2024 kana-daydreams

[shhhsecretsideblog]

The airplane shakes as we descend onto the air strip. One of your hands is gripping the armrest and the other digging into my hands in a death grip. Your head was leant back into the chair, your chest rising and falling every second and your stomach constantly looked hard as a rock.

The plane bounces and rumbles when rubber meets road. The plane shakes as it rolls over the strip and slows to a stop. The rough landing making you yelp and hiss.

The plane ride is over. Now we just need to get off of it.

I wait for the other passengers to gather their things before I move to get a hold of a steward.

"Can I please get a wheelchair, my wife is feeling nauseous; I don't want her walking," I ask the stewards as the plane clears out of the rest of the guests.

They leave me to take care of you. I lift you up, but you resist and maintain your grip on the armrest.

"No more moving- it hurts. Burning, so much burning," you struggled to keep a whisper.

I pick you up anyway. Your legs quiver, your face twists as the full weight of our baby sits on your fully stretched opening. The seam of your jeans is soaked through and bowed out into the shape of the head. It's not moving through your jeans, but your composure won't last. Your breathe sharply as I sit you in the chair.

"Oooh, God, I need them out," you whimper.

"Soon, babe, soon."

I drape our carry-on bags on my shoulders and push you through the aisle and the terminal. The hospital isn't far from the airport, maybe an extra thirty or forty minutes is doable as long as we keep your shorts on.

The end of the gate reaches my view and I smile earnestly for the first time in hours.

"We're off the plane babe! Now we just-"

As soon as we exit the terminal, your voice rises to a scream you'd been holding back for hours.

"Get these pants off of me! I need to push!"

Part I Part II Part III

The wait for the entire plane to disembark was nothing short of torturous, hundreds of people packing their stuff and filing slowly out of one door. The guy in our row gave us a stern and annoyed glare as he strutted down the aisle.

I was grateful you’d gotten a wheelchair - there was no way in hell I’d have been able to walk anywhere with a baby stuck crowning between my legs. But as I sat in the well-worn leather of the wheelchair as you pushed me off the plane and out the gate, I felt just as trapped as I’d done in the aeroplane seat. My legs were as wide as I could get them in the wheelchair, my feet trembling on the foot rests, my arms gripping the handles either side. My body tried to push again and again and felt the resistance of my clothing, keeping any progress from being made. While the plane was landing that was a good thing but now, back on solid ground, I couldn’t take it any more.

As the last to leave the plane the long corridors were empty as you wheeled me towards arrivals. The baby was stretching me, the burning ring of fire consuming every part of my being, and alone in the corridor I released the hours of agony in the form of a guttural wail.

“Stop!!! Get-me-out-get-me-out!!!” I cried as my feet tried to find the floor.

The second you halted the wheels I shifted towards the end of the seat and almost threw myself out the chair and onto all fours in the middle of the corridor. I groaned and mooed, deep and primal, and then growled “Shorts-off-now!!!!! Need-to-pushhhh mnghhhhh can’t-hold-it-baby-coming!”

I tried to claw at my denim shorts but I needed both hands on the floor to balance. I heard you swear under your breath before kneeling beside me and trying to pull the maternity shorts across my large bump and over my hips.

“Lean on me babe, I need you more upright if I’m gonna pull these down.” You instructed.

I pushed myself up on to my knees and gripped each of your shoulders in a vice-like squeeze. I couldn’t speak, barely able to breathe, the only thought was the primal instinct to birth this baby. Right here. Right now.

I wailed again in your ear as the shorts slipped past my thighs and I immediately started pushing. Clinging on to you for dear life, I roared and grunted the baby’s bulging head further and further out. Your hands between my trembling thighs ready to catch our baby.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Hard Feelings

Hancock x Fem! Sole Survivor / Reader Insert

(AO3)

Summary: You are the General of the Minutemen. Hancock is your companion when out on missions. It's all fun and games until there are hard feelings at play, the ghoul thinking that one day you just might leave him.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for PiV sex, public sex (sort of), MAKEUP sex, switching, praise kink, heavy petting and kissing, fingering, biting, angst, a small domestic dispute, and negative thoughts and feelings associated with oneself (Hancock). In this fic, Hancock displays golden retriever boyfriend energy, and he is more submissive. He also experiences low self-worth, and feelings of inadequacy, which leads to doubt. At some point, he has a panic attack.

Notes: Another fanfic that is completely self-indulgent. I was inspired when I took Hancock to the Starlight Drive-In for the Minutemen mission. We were briefly separated when I (sole) climbed onto the roof of the movie screen. Hancock ran around down below in a panic, thus this idea blossomed; I mention it in this post. I stole Teeth's nickname for Hancock: Hanni. ;D )

Word count: 4.7k+

A gentle peal of thunder rocked the night, just hours from daybreak, the eerie green glow of your pre-war Pip-boy casting its luminescence across the present object of your interest: a sullied movie poster. It was curling at its edges, the faded face of a starlet frozen in time with her mouth agape having snatched your attention, for better or worse, as this potential settlement had yet to be explored—there was no telling what lurked out there among the shadows.

Rita Jean Scarlett was staring into the eyes of not man, but insect, The Barfly calling out to you from a bygone era. It was an Old World tale of weird science gone wrong, filled with hubris and lessons learned all too late. Not too far off from the reality of things, you mused, though meant as fiction, actor Chip Weathers having adorned the costume of the “ghastly” monster for his starring role. 

The creature had bulbous eyes and sticky clawed feet, yet wore a suit and hat. Once considered the stuff of nightmares, now things like this seemed to you like child’s play. You regularly joined in the company of ghouls; robots; synthetic humans, and even super mutants. You faced adversaries on the daily that would make prey animals of yesteryear look like teddy bears—an unnerving thought, but it caused you to smile regardless. 

“What are you grinnin’ about?” a curious voice asked, the creak of worn red leather signaling his closeness; two thin arms encircled you, pitted hands smoothing over skintight, extruded rubber, shiny as the ghoul’s black eyes.

“Just about how things that used to be science fiction are now science fact,” you offered vaguely, casting a glance downward to the sight of yourself being molested, Hancock groping your tit—like any typical man—before it maneuvered lower, gliding over your belly to dip between your thighs.

“Hancock!” you breathed, your pulse quickening, loins already beginning to throb as blemished fingers stroked the line of your vault suit, teasing you at its seam. 

“Hmm?” he hummed, ignoring the tone in which he had been addressed. He asked another question, even as he continued to fondle you sans mercy.  

“Things like me?” 

Hancock was unhurried, enjoying the sleek texture of the glossy fabric against the underside of his thumb. He was positive he was making you wet, wondering how long you might last before you were begging him to fuck you, just like a few hours previous.

However, his query caught you off guard, your mind preoccupied as your palm came to rest over John’s explorative hand, holding it firm, the ghoul taking liberty with your breasts again, cupping one’s shape to give it a squeeze.

“Things that shouldn’t exist? Like that monster up there who thinks he’s human,” he growled silkily, finely wrinkled digits pinching your pebbled nipple through that damnable suit that left nothing to the imagination, John’s prick hardening against the back of your leg.

“You might say that,” you replied without thinking, thoughts clouded with pleasure that would all too suddenly end, so careless was your answer that the ghoul recoiled.

“Really,” John flatly returned, as if for some reason not at all surprised, his warm, gentle touch leaving you longing, confused as to why he was beginning to walk away.

You turned from the ticket booth, staring after your lover as he kicked a loose rock across asphalt; it bounced, ricocheting off an overturned cigarette machine. Hancock pretended to be engrossed in the diner just up ahead, a part of the Starlight Drive-In theater, you both having been warned about raiders before traveling here.

“Hancock.” You followed closely behind; he did not pay you any mind, as if he had not heard you, acting about as mature as a spoiled child who was giving you the dreaded silent treatment.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you claimed, though it was the truth. To be asked that question to begin with seemed like he was fishing for flattery, but who were you to deny the charismatic Mayor of Goodneighbor a harmless stroke to his ego, especially when he meant so much to you.

“Is that where the “might” part comes in?” he snapped, his tone irritated; it was becoming obvious that he had not expected you to agree with him on such matters, the conversation quickly devolving. 

“Is this our first fight? Are we fighting?” you asked, Hancock’s beady eyes narrowing beneath his hairless brow at the flippant way you were brushing off his feelings, or so he thought. 

“Look, if you don’t want to travel with a ghoul, why didn’t you just say so— got better things I could be doing,” he groused, namely chems with his name on them. 

“Is that so? Well, far be it from me to stop you from doing those better things,” you returned, not understanding why he couldn’t just forgive you for something said in passing.

“Always a smart ass,” he complained, as if Hancock himself wasn’t guilty of using his fair share of sarcasm.

Had you not been so heated, you may have remembered just how self-conscious the sociable, charming mayor actually was. His confidence was partially a façade, though he wasn’t one to normally bring down a mood with his own insecurities. Being the introspective sort meant that Hancock wasn’t afraid to get to the heart of things, even at the cost of his own self-esteem. 

John had even allowed you in, being vulnerable by sharing details of his sorrowful past; it was no secret the ending had been bittersweet, if not unhappy. His own appearance had sickened him; he found it hard to believe a gal like you wanted anything to do with him, much less desire to share a bed together, especially since he wasn’t exactly a looker by human standards.

Perhaps you had failed to give him reassurance when it was needed, though temporarily blinded by your temper. Instead of trying to clear things up, you made it worse. 

“You’d be one to know,” you baited.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hancock shot back, droplets of rain beginning to descend toward the ground.

“You know what? Go over there, check that place out.” You gruffly dismissed him, pointing toward the diner. “I think we both need some time to cool off,” you added, voice sounding less than amicable toward the man whose forehead lurched, as if he had been punched in the gut. 

“Yeah? Fine.” John’s feelings were hurt more by this simple demand than anything you had said thus far, Hancock behaving like a scolded puppy whose owner had treated it unfairly.

You shook your head as you watched him march away, Hancock’s red frock coat glistening thanks to a now steady sprinkle. You sighed, turning toward a slew of rusting, run-down autos, spying a shed somewhere in the distance—you hoped it had a crafting station, as your orders from Preston Garvey were clear.

---

No raiders were present, only mole rats and radroaches. Hancock had kept his distance at your request, though you weren’t so oblivious that you failed to notice the way he routinely hovered only a stone’s throw away. The ghoul was caught basking in your shadow more than once, stealing glimpses, a frown pulling down the edges of his thin-lipped mouth. Yet he would move along the moment you laid your eyes on him, as if embarrassed, not wishing to be the victim of your ire.  

Overall, he seemed to be taking things about as well as you had hoped, though he had technically been the one to start it. You weren’t a mind reader, either, refusing to try and decipher his body language despite the moping, waiting for a time you felt more at ease.

Although, it undeniably tugged at your heartstrings—knowing he was suffering in some capacity—but you kept a clear head, focusing on the task at hand—building a radio relay tower from spare parts in order to reach out to others, reclaiming the theater in the name of the Minutemen with the sole purpose of making the Commonwealth a better place, one settlement at a time.

It was when another accursed mole rat burst forth from its earthy den that you yelped in surprise, drawing your double-action revolver almost a moment too late. With teeth nipping at your toes, you shot the beast, Hancock having dashed to your aid.

You glanced back at him, rattled; he seemed satisfied knowing you weren’t hurt, though his gaze lingered, as if there was something on the tip of his tongue. 

After a moment, he asked, “Can we talk?”

“Not right now.” You shook yourself off, taking a deep breath to assist in the slowing of your pulse. You returned to your workstation, deciding it wasn’t appropriate to address any more personal issues at this juncture—you both had a job to do.

“Sure, got it,” Hancock said grouchily, the ghoul wandering off to continue sifting through various piles of refuse for any usable materials to add to your haul, though inside it felt as if gnarled fingers were cinching tightly around his heart. Anxiety was welling within him, as not being on good terms with you did not sit right; beneath the surface, he was a troubled bundle of nerves, though he did not want to rush you by any means.

If only you knew about the disturbing thoughts that were crawling up John’s brainpan, slithering through the cracks to possess his mental faculties, feeding them fear; unsurety, outwardly expressed by way of a sour attitude. So involved was he with the many voices collecting in his head, that he failed to notice when you had finished installing the relay tower, your instincts guiding you to the Starlight Drive-in’s once magnificent three-story screen.

You took the stairs, moving past a shoddy door to climb to the top. The sun was newly risen, a fine mist hanging over the expansive parking lot, rays of light from your planet’s star casting a beautiful glow along remnants of grass, present in patches, though the area was plagued by the contamination of rads—another item on your to-do list. 

You were enjoying the view when you observed Hancock poking around the last place he’d seen you, determining you were in a better mood and willing to talk. You had planned to call out to him when you saw him run the other way, circling the diner, and then the first place you had gathered—the ticket booth where you had exchanged unpleasantries. 

Confused, you continued your study of his erratic behavior, wondering if there was some unknown enemy skulking about, yet Hancock had no weapon drawn, his gait all at once frantic and without rhyme or reason, the ghoul seeming to have no particular destination in mind. 

“Hancock?” you asked yourself quietly, baffled at how John was going insofar as to peek inside doorless cars, or even under them, kicking into a full-fledge run as he made his way toward your perch. He wasn’t paying heed to anything that wasn’t at ground-level, failing to notice you up high above.

“Han—” you were enthralled, the ghoul almost as fast as a feral, which was a less than comforting thought, watching as John ran a lap around the base of the screen. 

You followed, pushing off the railing to walk the few short steps to the opposite side, catching him turn the corner as he looped back around. It wasn’t until you heard his panicked breathing and the terrified whisper of your name that you completely understood, gut clenching as Hancock came to a disconcerting stop. 

The poor thing looked to be having a meltdown, head darting to the left and right, though the only thing visible to you was the top of his tricorn hat. He began to pace, first one direction, and then another, not keeping to east or west, but zigzagging as if he couldn’t decide where to go, or what to do. 

He called your name again, this time louder, sounding more distressed. You could not tear your eyes away as Hancock fell to his knees, fingers digging into soft dirt as the ghoul appeared to be in the throes of a panic attack.

Was he—

Spurred to action, you turned toward the way you came in, quick to rush down the stairs as swiftly as your legs could carry you. You sprinted around the bend of the building, nearly bumping into an abandoned cooking station off to your right, skirting it in the nick of time; you passed behind the structure, witness to a heartbreaking sight.

“Hey,” you whispered, Hancock having pushed himself back against the wall, knees to chest. The ghoul was tightly hugging his own legs, his marred face buried in the folds of his coat.

You weren’t sure what was happening, or why, only that he seemed deeply upset he could not find you, not expecting your brief absence would have such a negative effect. The ghoul was mumbling words you could not discern as you tiptoed forward, bending down to his level to address his huddled form.

“Hanni?” you asked gently, calling him by a pet name you had given him so long ago, John’s head shooting up, onyx eyes glistening, though you dare not think he had shed tears on your behalf. 

Hancock gazed at you, his expression a mix of sadness, incredulity, and stark relief. You placed a hand on his shoulder, concern marking your features, John not budging from his half-fetal position. 

“I thought—" he began, voice cracking, words quavering with an emotion you could not quite define, “—I thought you’d skipped out on me,” he offered pathetically, the amount of hurt present in his eyes enough to make you feel as if you deserved to die. So devastating was the look plastered across his handsome, ghoulish face that you wanted to cry, moving to cup his ruined cheek in the crux of your palm.

“Why would I do that?” you asked, tone soft but firm, staring at your reflection within gorgeous, dark depths, as if the answer lay hidden somewhere deep inside them.

“Because I don’t deserve you; because you can do better than me,” he answered without hesitation, “because who would want to be stuck with this ugly mug; wouldn’t wish it on my own worst enemy,” he finished flatly, Hancock’s dispirited disposition arising from being rejected—that’s not to say he blamed you.

“Didn’t wanna talk, ignoring me, couldn’t find you—just figured you were through,” he continued, tone solemn, making you feel awful. 

You had deeply sinned to make this man react in such a manner—that was your first thought, Hancock’s gloomy mood permeating your defenses. All the walls you had in place came tumbling down, feeling nearly sick to your stomach as you scooched forward, prompting Hancock to drop his knees, legs finding even ground.

“No,” you berated, “none of that is true.” You shifted, straddling the ghoul, your other hand joining its partner to cradle his jaw opposite. “I won’t leave you,” you pledged, placing a kiss atop his furrowed mouth. “The thought never even crossed my mind.”

Hancock searched your face; he expelled a dejected sigh, breathing out through the hollow cavity that once housed his human nose. “You—you’re the best thing I’ve got. I don’t want to lose you, sunshine. I’d be dead in a ditch somewhere if it weren’t for you, hopped up on chems,” he admitted, hanging his head. “But don’t think I would blame you for hittin’ the road. I’d manage, somehow. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to make do, so just say the word. Don’t feel obligated to stick around.” 

“Is that what you think? That I would abandon you? That I would get sick of you? That I don’t want you here by my side? Hancock—” you emphasized, running your thumb over the curve of his ear, forcing him to look squarely at you with a gentle redirection, “—I mean it when I say I love you,” you lamented, kissing his raised flesh. “Please, don’t doubt me.” 

John lifted his head with your help, the concave divot residing front and center brushing lightly across your cheek. He presented you with a kiss this time, his cock enlivening beneath you, unable to help his arousal at the admission of your heartfelt words. 

“I won’t, not anymore,” he promised, another kiss administered, and then another, returning each touch of his lips with one of your own until they picked up in fervor, Hancock’s sly tongue subtly snaking its way between your teeth. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” you cooed, warm, wet muscles intertwining in an orchestrated dance that rekindled the deep-seated ache of your loins. 

“You listen so well,” you needled playfully; you had the ghoul’s number, knowing just what made him tick.

Hancock moaned a sound of gratitude, your impromptu praise causing his prick to flex, lean, wilted fingers creeping forward to place themselves deliberately along your thighs; they ran up the dips in your hips, and smoothed over the shape of your waist.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Hancock grated between avid swirls. His cock was riding up against your slinky blue vault suit—like liquid latex poured to conform to your body, it fit tight as a glove.

John held no complaints, only that you were still wearing it. Fortunately, you had ideas. 

“Being such a good boy for me,” you teased, your own hands roving, exploring the contours of his slender chest and waist, sweeping back and forth; you hooked his partially corroded throat, carefully capturing Hancock between the crook of your palm, thumb trailing his Adam’s apple in a light caress. 

“Not sure you know what that does to me,” he purred, the ghoul at your mercy as you gyrated your hips, your own sex succinctly aligned as you massaged his erection through faded black slacks.  

“Are you so sure?” you asked, grinning into your kiss, one of Hancock’s hands sneaking along synthetic fibers for three fingers to stroke the underside of your jumper. He pushed up only slightly, cupping your mound; you felt it in your core, a subdued moan breathed straight into the ghoul’s mouth—Hancock was so turned on, it was a wonder he didn’t just nut right then and there.

“You teasin’ me, sunshine?” John panted, groping your breast, digits fingering stitchwork; you bit down on your bottom lip as you reached for the clasp at the front of your collar.

“Get this off me,” you instructed, fumbling with the pull of your zipper.

“Is that a request?” Hancock asked cheekily, though he did not expect an answer.

“An order,” you responded, feigning authority, Hancock doing as he was told, though there was a hint of a smile crawling up the side of his face. 

“Yes, ma’am,” the ghoul chortled wryly, watching as you shed your suit like a second skin. You ushered it past the arc of your shoulders, the slopes of your breasts, to the base of your hips, leaving yourself half naked and assailable; John was unable to help his amorous stare.

“You’re so beautiful,” he declared, moving to knead doughy flesh, mouth finding your throat; Hancock sucked the sweat off your flawless skin, his other hand working its way underneath what was left of your vault suit, two fingers dipping into your already soaked cunt. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, slipping in and out, thumb pushing itself between the folds of your labia to rub your throbbing bud. 

“Yes, let’s,” you returned, swirling your hips, riding Hancock’s thick fingers as you clumsily moved to untie the flag wrapped about his narrow waist. 

“Right here?” he asked, perplexed. Though not one to argue, being out in the open without cover was dangerous; he knew better than anyone the risks of the Wastes. 

“I want you,” you answered, as if that in and of itself was all he needed to hear. You knew there might be consequences, but at that moment, your hormones were the ones in charge, a sharp gasp escaping as John’s fingers curled against the anterior wall of your sex.

“I’m all yours, love, forever,” Hancock vowed, following your example. He hastily unbuckled his pants after releasing your tit with reluctance, pushing apart the flaps to withdraw his glaring hard on; precum was already seeping out the slit at its head. 

“Promise me,” you insisted, lifting up off your thighs—and Hancock’s fingers—to shimmy the rest of your suit down toward your knees. It might be a little awkward, but you were too desperate to care, taking up the ghoul’s girth in the breadth of your palm.

“Cross my heart and hope to—” 

“Don’t you dare,” you protested, shoving your tongue back into John’s mouth, guiding his cock inside you. You sank down onto your haunches, inch by delicious inch, his variegated shaft filling you full up.

Then, the ghoul went rigid. “But sunshine, what about—” 

“Shhh, that’s it,” you whispered, though Hancock hadn’t done anything to warrant a reprimand. It was your own descent that had you crooning, dipping forward to feel that delightful pressure snug against your walls. 

“Not sure you wanna end up like—”

“—I took one a few hours ago, remember?” The darling man was more concerned with your well-being than even you; you could physically feel the tension leaving his body, John relieved to know you had things under control.

“You do love me,” you stated breezily, flicking the tip of your tongue inside the helix of the ghoul’s ear; Hancock shuddered, both his hands returning to your hips, touch featherlight, prompting you to press your palms against the partition behind him to prop yourself up on either side of his head.

“Wouldn’t mind you turnin’ Ghoul,” he replied throatily, thinkin’ spending an eternity with you sounded like the best damn thing a guy could ask for. 

Hancock watched with bated breath as you rose up to enshroud him in your shadow, breasts level with his eyes. He groaned his appreciation, seizing your right nipple between puckered lips, John’s bony hips pushing up against the round of your ass. The ghoul sucked diligently, dull nails clawing gingerly into supple, human flesh, incapable of keeping a straight face.

“What was all that about not doubting each other?” John huskily reminded you, the point of his tongue flitting against your sensitive skin. He returned to suckling, as if a babe latched to nurse, the hand left idle finally slipping down your thigh. Hancock spread your lower lips apart with the underside of two fingers, a third taking its place atop your thrumming clit, engorged with blood. 

“Shut up,” you urged, wanting him to belay speaking for fear the moment might spoil, Hancock grunting in indignation before he bit down lightly on your nip. 

You gasped a broken breath, cunt rising to the head of his cock. You dropped back down; Hancock bottomed out, sequestered in the deepest part of you, snug as anything, the ghoul hypnotized by your pretty writhing. 

“Why don’t you make me.” Hancock intensified the patient revolutions of blotched fingers, dragging you down by compressing your cheeks with his thumb and index; you slumped your shoulders just enough, angling to meet his current height, tossing your arms about John’s neck to humor him with another passionate kiss.

“Done.” You rocked forward, feeling Hancock’s sizeable member immured to its base. Indecent sounds kept each other company, the squish of your conjoined loins combining with the wet, obscene spirals of your whorling tongues. It wouldn’t take much longer to climax, your slick cunt tightening its grip on John’s rock-hard cock. 

The ghoul’s chest heaved between ragged breaths, Hancock practicing his self-control. He didn’t want to cum until you did, sliding his palm up to carefully cradle the small protrusion distending your lower abdomen. 

Feeling the outline of himself inside you was nearly too much to handle, a visible tremor preceding what was to be an early warning.

“I-I can’t hold back, angel.”

“Wait,” you countered, guiding the ghoul’s head toward your breasts, driving his noseless face into your cleavage; Hancock’s tricorn shifted backward as he followed your lead. He vested himself in the cocoon of your limbs,  moaning his approval, grabbing onto a fistful of ass as your back arched in pleasure. 

You opened your eyes to gaze at the sky—it was pale blue and cloudless, for once.

You came hard, the flat of John’s palm supporting your spine as you released your ecstasy to the heavens, the ghoul’s tepid seed discharging in spurts to paint your inner walls white; his ejaculate had been offered as payment for your lovely little song.

The ghoul felt overwhelmed and full of deep affection for you; Hancock’s teeth bore down on beautiful, unblemished skin; he broke capillaries, drawing your blood to the surface, leaving his mark in the form of a dark red welt. 

You gasped at the bite, Hancock ensconcing you tightly in his arms, both of you allowing your orgasms to run their course. His grip was a comfortable vise, brittle nails burrowing into lithe flesh with almost paradoxical tenderness; John was always so careful with you.

From an outsider’s perspective, the embrace of a ghoul meant certain death, with the expectancy you would be rent into unrecognizable pieces. Such a pose as you presented now was questionable, one that evoked alarm from bystanders, settlers who had followed the beacon to their new home, expecting to find the general of the Minutemen, but not like this.

“Ghoul!” someone shouted; you heard the shuffling of leather, the clink of metal.

“No!” you yelled, protecting your lover with the entirety of your body, encapsulating his slight frame. You shielded his vitals with your bare back, hunkering down to speak to these newcomers over the peak of your shoulder. 

“He’s not feral!” you growled, hating that you had to defend him, knowing how John must feel at this moment as he gazed up at you with surprised, wide eyes. You cared not that a horde of people had seen you naked; you only cared for Hancock, determined to preserve him and all his parts.

In reality, the ghoul was seconds from tears, knowing—without a doubt—that you had meant what you said. You were guarding his wretched life with your own without question, willing to die to keep him from harm, just as he gladly would have sacrificed himself to see you live another day. 

A day, he thought, that might have been better off without him, but now he was glad to be alive (in some form or another), swallowing hard against the knot in his throat, eyes never once leaving your impassioned face.

“We’re together; we came here together, and we will leave here together, do I make myself clear?”

A person stepped forward, separating themselves from the crowd. “Yes, General,” they said, having fortunately, or rather unfortunately, recognized you.

With a sigh of relief, those gathered departed. John practically smothered you, so forceful was his hug that it nearly choked the air from your lungs. 

Hancock didn’t know what he’d done to get someone like you, and he was afraid to ask. If there were any powers at be—something, or someone—watching over him, he supposed he’d owe them one, but for now he was more than happy to count his blessings. And the sad thing was, everything, all of it, could be a dream—or one long, hallucinatory chem-trip. If this turned out to be nothing but a fucked up Jet flashback, he’d just as soon never wake up. 

“I’ll follow you to the end of the Wastes,” Hancock blurted, voice strained and rasping, fingers; arms; chest tightening as he spoke against soft tufts of hair. “You and me together, the world ain’t got a prayer.”

Despite what had just transpired, you cradled him against the bow of your neck, oblivious to the inner workings of his mind, only wishing to absorb him, for him to live in the space between your ribs that stored your heart. All you wanted was to keep him safe for all time, knowing that he deserved the world, though the ghoul would most certainly outlive you. 

It was a melancholy thought, if ever one existed, but you did not allow your mind to dwell. “Sweet man,” you murmured, “it doesn’t stand a chance in hell.”

—-

Fallout Masterlist

[tteokdoroki]

"i can take care of you. you won't need anyone but me." + rin for the ask game !!! ily aali ❤️

☆༉ — RIN ITOSHI: 0-800-HOT GUY-HOTLINE.

line. ❛ i can take care of you. you won't need anyone but me. ❜

extension. fleshlight/sub!rin itoshi, gn!reader + nsfw/mdni 18+.

things to note. sorry this took so long, i got very distracted and psychoanalysed rin for smut… again lol !! enjoy !!

rin has always been bad at communicating.

one could say that his stagnant ability to get his needs across is down to the rocky relationship the pro player has with his eldest and only brother. he finds it difficult to speak his mind and match words to emotions — whenever he tries it’s like someone has stuffed cotton down his throat acting as a blockage that physically prevents him doing the one thing he needs to make the human connections he’s craving. 

except with you. you make things easy. you provide rin with the space to feel his way through experiences without chastising him where he goes wrong or turning your back on him like sae once did. the younger itoshi has learned a lot from you that makes him, in his own way, want to try — want to please you by trying and talking through his thoughts and feelings.

just like you’re doing right now.

“how does it feel for you, baby?” you say with pride, a smile full of both pity and adoration splays across your face — your expression fond. it’s always a surprise to rin, how easily fondness and tenderness come to you when you put him in a position to sin. 

the way you’d gotten rin into this very same and compromising position, his legs spread wide and back pressed against your plush bed, had been too quick for him to comprehend. you’re a picture perfect vision between his milky but toned thighs, the sight of you there makes his cock pulse to life — his pink tip shiny with a layer of precum that dribbles pathetically against his skin. 

he wonders how it’s so easy for you to get him like this, lazily pumping his aching shaft through the squishy sillicon flesh light. when you’d first brought it home, the younger itoshi brother was completely against the idea of using it, but to this day he often finds himself forcing himself to push through his shyness and ask you to use it on him. of course, no amount of lube and ribbed rubber could replace how you feel, but it doesn’t mean rin doesn’t enjoy the way you torture him with the toy.

you press white hot kisses to rin’s pelvis, dragging your tongue along his body in the shape of your  name as if to ink your claim on him and push apart the apex of his thighs to spread the soccer player further. the action has an embarrassing amount of heat flashing through rin, frying his nerve endings and burning away his resolve until he growls down at you impatiently. 

a look of disappointment flashes across your face but disappears just as quickly as it came. his chest tightens. “use your words, baby.” you coach rin through the frustration that lingers in a thick fog across his brain. his bulbous and blistering cockhead peaks through the clear toy and you spit down onto it, using your thumb to rub the frothy mix through his slit with hungry eyes. 

“fuck,” rin breathes shallowly,  cursing from above you. he feels like he’s on fire, melting from the inside out and even you swear that you see red swirling in his aquamarine eyes. his chest rises and falls rapidly, moving so fast that he thinks his heart might burst and you’ve barely touched him. 

leaning down, your lips graze over his tip this time, their plumpness mapping out its sensitive layer of skin. on instinct, rin’s hips buck forward to push his gooey cock against the seam of your lips, coating them a layer of his salty-sweet arousal. “breathe baby,” you remind him in a whisper as rin flinches at the contact. you give the base of the flashlight a squeeze and another gentle grin illuminates over your face, rin fighting back a high pitched and dreamy moan just as his head hits the pillow with a dull thud. “deep breath and try again for me, i know you can do it.”

the soccer player does as you ask, inhaling deeply and filling his lungs with fresh air despite simultaneously fighting back tears. “feels,” he manages through the thick ardour clinging to the ridges of his throat, swallowing down the lump there. rin runs his fingers through the sweaty locks matting to his forehead and tries to gather his thoughts over the sound of his slick dick being jerked to high heavens in your warm hand. “good, really good. hah, i-i’m—“

testing the waters, you kitten lick at rin’s tip every time he languidly fucks it through his special toy. eventually, you take him into the wet cavern of your mouth, allowing his precum to pour against your tongue like an erotic flash flood. “good boy, rin. thank you for telling me,” you say, pulling off of him to catch your breath. “you know i love it when you tell me how you feel.” 

he replies with somewhat of a desperate gargle, throwing an arm over his face as it flushes pink at the praise. “i love you.” he bleats.

“i know, baby. i love you too,” your hand speeds up, mostly coated in heavy and clear strings of rin’s precum and the lube from his flesh light. he looks so fucking pretty like this, shiny with sweat as hot salty liquid slips down the apples of his cheeks. “you always try your hardest for me rin. makes me so proud. makes me wanna look after you. i can take care of you. you won't need anyone but me.”

taking note of how rin grits his teeth, you fist what you can’t fit, between your fingers, and take a mouthful of him him once more — letting him fuck the soft epithelium on the inside of your cheeks. rin chokes on his wails and whines, feeling a familiar pressure build up in his core the more you sloppily make out with his cock and jerk him off with the soiled flesh light. 

“i-i can’t,” he stutters, barely holding himself together through his sniffling. “i can’t…” 

after crawling over rin’s shaky frame, you pry his hands away from his face — cooing down at his puffy eyes and mussed up hair, not daring to let up on pumping his creamy cock through the flesh light. “yes you can,” you goad attentively, finding his lips — using your teeth to tug his bottom lip away from him before capturing him in a messy, mouth watering kiss. rin whimpers at the taste of himself on you, bitter and slightly sweet, angling his head up to kiss you better. “you can do it baby, i’ve got you.” you purr hotly. 

he laps into your mouth, rolling his tongue over yours in the most eager way you’ve ever seen him, working with you to swallow your pleased moans while you take on his pathetic laments. “‘m gonna…” rin slurs over the saliva that weighs down his tongue and ties to the roof of his open mouth as you palm him harder, faster — the crude mix of his precum, your spit and lube from the flesh light slinging around your knuckles. “f-fuck… gonna cum. ‘m gonna cum!” 

“that’s right, baby, let go for me. cum for me, rin.” you command with a delicate air, your voice low and loving. that’s all it takes for the walls that rin has built up to come tumbling down, reaching his high. he cums hard and with a whiny shout that you coach him through, painting your hand with viscous hot layers of white that spurts from his ravaged, bright red cockhead. “oh wow, you came so much, baby. s’this all for me?” 

“now you’re pushing it.” finally coming down from his orgasm, rin finds himself too weak to push you away despite his  embarrassment — allowing you to pamper and fawn over him like you always do. he doesn’t hate it, nor will he admit how adored you make him feel. “thank you.” he mumbles quietly, warmly.

blinking up to meet his tropical ocean eyes, you cock your head to the side — effectively distracted from cleaning rin up. “for what, honey?” 

“taking care of me,” rin states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. his cheeks burn red. “or whatever.” 

“don’t be silly,” you say, “i’ll always take care of you. my baby.”

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[claypigeonpottery]

What's the process like for slab building mugs? I've only done them on the wheel before and i was wondering how hard it is to get a smooth rotational symmetry when you don't have the wheel helping you

they’re pretty straightforward, but they definitely take practice. and I think an aspect of slab building (and hand building in general) is that it’s not going to be perfect. I had to learn to accept that and to love it for what it is

I use two tools to get my slab-built mugs nice and round:

1. a turntable/banding wheel. spinning it as I’m refining the shape helps keep it round, just like wheel-thrown pottery

and

2. The Cone

The Cone can be any cylinder that’s narrower at the bottom at wider at the top, and the right size to fit in your mug. just press it in and shape the rim to it, don’t leave it in the mug as the clay shrinks

but here’s the whole slab-building process!

under the cut

1. roll out clay.

this time I cut it straight from the bag so it’s air-bubble free, but otherwise it should be wedged first. I use a rolling pin with measured rings on the ends so I can easily roll it out 1/4” thick

2. I used to use a cardboard template and a pin tool for this (you can find the templates online and print them, or you can cut up a disposable cardboard cup to make a template)

but I upgraded to cutters a little while ago and I love them.

remember also to cut out a circle for the bottom of the mug.

3. smooth

4. let sit for a couple hours, or put it in front of a fan for awhile, so it’s not too floppy to work with. it should be flexible, workable, but not floppy. it shouldn’t crack if bent but it should stand up on its own once you’ve got it in a circular shape

5. I usually make a handle right before starting to build the mug, so it’s firm enough to work with by the time I’m done with the cylinder part of the mug. I prefer handle-making tools, rather than pulling them by hand

6. cut the mug edges at a 45 degree angle. you can eyeball it or use a tool. remember to flip the slab before cutting the other side, so they line up lol. I only made that mistake once.

I used to not do this step but my seams are a lot cleaner now.

7. score and slip, then join. once I’ve blended the two sides together a bit with my fingers, I like to use a soft rubber rib to smooth out the seam on the inside and outside, adding extra slip to fill any little gaps. it’ll be ugly at first, just keep refining it!

8. score and slip to attach the bottom piece to the cylinder. I add extra slip around the inside of the mug where the bottom attaches, and once I’ve flipped the mug back over, I smooth the extra slip along the seam on the inside with a brush or sponge, to help fill any gaps and attach everything nicely

9. here I usually use The Cone. the rim is going to warp again as I add my handle, so I’ll use the cone again later. it’s just helpful to have the rim round before adding a handle

10. attach handle. I like to attach them over the seam so as to leave the rest of the mug as smooth as possible for decorating

11. use The Cone again, refine the rim, cover mug with plastic and leave until leather hard

12. trim it, clean it up, etc (here’s one I prepared earlier!)

and here’s your mug!