#silk gloves stim

[cutiepieautistic]

Princess belle stimboard

×/×/× ×/× ×/×/×

[floatstimmies]

"You can't change the world without getting your hands dirty" ♟️🗡

Lelouch vi Britannia stimboard!

X | X | X

X | X | X

X | X | X

૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[brandyllyn]

Silk from their soul (14)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: T Words: 1.2k Summary: Florence Fucking Nightingale

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

She’s passed out when he comes back with the gear he’s salvaged. Not a one of them assholes was carrying more than basic first aid which makes them ignorant as well as useless in his opinion. He’d drug the bodies a fair distance away, rolling them down a hill into a nearby ravine. Hopefully it would be enough to keep the scavengers away.

There was already too much blood in the air.

Dropping the things he’s found to the floor he stirs up the fire, hoping the smell of it will cover her injury. Then he digs in her pack, searching for what she bought from the trader. There’s a couple more packs of Rad-Away, and the bottle of Rad-X.

“You didn’t buy any damn stimpacks?” he growls, glaring at her from the corner of his eyes. “What kind of idiot-”

He stops himself before he can go further. Maybe he should have paid better attention at the trading post - maybe they hadn’t even had any stims. He’d been too caught up watching for trouble he’d barely paid attention to them.

“Looks like we’re doing this the old fashioned way.”

He pours antiseptic over a pair of needle nose pliers and unstoppers the bottle of rotgut he finds with his teeth. Crouching next to her he pulls his gloves off and gently tilts her face up, pressing the bottle to her mouth.

“This is going to taste like the south end of a northbound mule, but you’ll thank me later.”

She splutters but he manages to get a good amount down her throat before she refuses to take any more. He lets her lay back down then cuts at the dress near her waist, exposing the wound. It’s jagged, likely not a recycled bullet, and has all the makings of an infection.

“I am sorry about this,” he tells her before settling one hand on her stomach to hold her still. The hand holding the pliers wavers only a moment before he digs in.

“Son of a-”

“Hush,” he chides softly, barely glancing up at her as he applies more pressure to hold her still. “I gotta get this outta you before it festers.” She lets out a whimper and what’s left of his heart turns over. “Talk to me, darling, keep your mind off the pain.”

“About what?” she asks through gritted teeth.

“Anything you want.” Whatever she was shot with isn’t coming up easy and he resigns himself to having to dig. “Why’d those boys call you Daisy Mae?”

“Daisy Mae Jackson, Hollywood’s Honeypot.”

He freezes, tilting his head up at her. Now that she says it… “You look a bit like her.”

“I look a lot like her.”

Daisy Mae Jackson was before his time, she’d been an elderly matriarch off the stage when he was still coming up, and her movies weren’t the kind he was much into. But he remembered the films, the gossip that had surrounded her six marriages, the ignominious end in Palm Springs.

“She your grandma?”

“Something like that.”

“What do you mean ‘something like that’?” He asks it more sharply than he intends but he finally found the damn projectile and it’s slippery as a fucking eel.

“I’m her clone.”

The thing slips through the pliers once again and he curses under his breath, wiping at the wound with a cloth and glaring, barely listening to her. “Never knew she had any kids.”

She laughs and he looks up at her face, frowning. “What’s so funny?”

“Not related, same person. Kinda.”

The words finally sink in and he gawks at her. He’d thought she’d looked kind of familiar when he first saw her. But now - she’s a dead ringer for Daisy Mae Jackson in her prime.

“Vault?” Is all he can think to ask.

“Kinda, more of a… facility.”

“Lot of you down there?”

“Off and on.”

He finally catches the edge of the thing and slowly retracts it, breathing a sigh of relief when it comes loose entirely. It’s a bit of scrap metal, ringed red with rust and blood.

“You’re liable to have some trouble from this.”

“I’m always in trouble,” she jokes weakly, giving him a wane smile.

He drops the pliers to the side and reaches for the antiseptic. “Don’t reckon I’ve met a clone before.”

“Well I’ve got a few sisters if you want to go look.”

A thought occurs and he glances back at her, “Thirteen perhaps?”

She nods, holding her hand up and putting her thumb and forefinger almost next to each other. “Missed unlucky thirteen by this much.”

“What happened to the others?”

“Can we not?” She asks suddenly, reaching for the rotgut. Before he can say anything she takes a massive swig, spluttering at the taste before taking another. “I’m gone from there, I’m not going back.”

He can’t help but wonder how badly they might want her back. Say, 5,000 caps worth?

There’s no more talking while he bandages her up, taping the edges down and frowning at his work. It doesn’t look like it’s going to hold for long - he’ll need to keep a close eye on it. She continues to drink like a fish while he cooks up a bit of bounty hunter. She’d never said anything off about the bits of man-jerky he’d been feeding her - and what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“Here,” he passes a piece to her, his back propped against the side of the cot, “you need to eat something.”

She chews slowly, cracking an eye open to look at him. “I wanna kiss you, you know.”

“Oh?” He tries not to sound too interested. She’s three sheets to the wind and as liable to pass out as give him state secrets.

“Yeah,” she drawls the word, making it take several seconds.

“Why don’t you?” he asks, not looking away from the fire.

“Can’t. Not ever.”

Suddenly her hand is grasping his shoulder in a viselike grip and he nearly falls over in shock when she sits bolt upright. “Darlin’ I-”

“Promise me. Promise me you won’t ever try.”

“I…” Her eyes are wide with fear and he covers her hand with his. “I swear it.”

She nods in return, falling back to the cot. He frowns at her and searches for his pack, tucking it under her head.

“Anything else you want me to-?”

A delicate snore interrupts him and he snorts. He shifts so he can check her bandage, worried she might have aggravated the wound with her theatrics. He ain’t no doctor, it might have been better to leave it exposed, but with things the way they were it just felt like keeping the dirt out of it was the best course. Anyway, it looks good.

Real good.

He frowns and touches the edge, near the open wound. It had been a bit bigger in his memory, big around as a brass button. Now it was no larger than his thumbnail.

A clone of a Hollywood star who healed almost as fast as he did?

“Who the fuck are you?”

☢ ☢ ☢

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[apoplecticgalaxy]

saw ask. so let's say hypothetically (not really) all the apprentices are autistic (they are) headcanon them

Ive never done autistic hcs before but as an autistic person how hard can it be actually. Hcs for Mark, Amanda, Lawrence, William (he counts in my heart I love him) and Eleanor (not an apprentice but she should be)

Mark:

- Those gloves he uses to keep his finger prints off the crime scene? Originally he bought them because his hands (and feet but that has nothing to do with the gloves) are so sensitive to texture. Silk specifically. Because silk is awful.

- His charisma comes from the fact that he overanalyzes and studies neurotypical behavior to replicate it. Like "in order for people to like me i have to do [insert body language most people do subconsciously here]." This makes manipulating his coworkers into believing his innocence very easy.

Amanda:

- She subconsciously rocks back and forth whenever shes sitting down and doing something

- Fidget cubes are her best friend. Her favorite part is the little metal that rotates when you run your finger over it.

- Has a "Girls ❤️ my autistic swag" shirt. Shes matching with Adam.

Lawrence:

- Will collapse and die if theres a minor change in schedule. He has the most rigid morning routine and if he sleeps in even a bit and misses something it ruins the day

- Has alexithymia, hence Allison's "at least there'd be some passion in it" moment. He thinks he's happy in his marriage cause that's how hes supposed to feel but theres really no emotion or passion there. He just doesn't get that though. He's not aware he has alexithymia which makes it 10x worse.

William:

- Stimming. all the time. Mostly shaking his fists when hes happy.

- Goes nonverbal when extremely angry, which he hates because he wants nothing more than to scream at the person who pissed him off.

Eleanor:

- Literally hyperfixating on Jigsaw. Once Logan finds out about her obsession she just non stop rants about it to him.

- She's so picky with food and eats the same exact thing for lunch every day at the same exact cafe. If they're closed she just starves.

[ukthxbye]

Confession

(new fic from me. Very much wanted to write some solid Sherlolly smut for my friend. I think someone else requested some recently? This is how it is done then. )

He’ll probably not notice.

Molly knows the risk, and how to hurt her own feelings. An old unconscious practice. Akin to the knife’s first slice into a cadaver’s chest. Molly’s therapist told her so, a mundane habit she could do in her sleep. 

“I don’t know what you expect. We’ve gone over this and I remind—” 

“You’re so good at reminding me… Like I don't know what to do.”

 And her therapist would sigh and move on. Talk about her mother or her job or… but no they haven’t talked about her and Sherlock’s past in a long time. 

It’s more familiar than what we are now. 

Her therapist was clueless Molly, and Sherlock slept together. Any of the times. Dinners. Overnights. Tea and then lunch. More than work and one step ahead even if it feels the same.  

“I’ve only got twenty,” he checks his watch. “Actually forty minutes, I’ll be honest. This case needs another intelligent mind. John has none, so you’re it.”

“Always,” she says, her fingers running down the edge of the tie like a stim. Black, dull silk, fine in its quality even if plain. She couldn’t say now why she stole the tie at the moment. It’s end sticking out of a drawer. But it cleared in her head a day ago, an image she can’t push aside. 

A breath between them, his squint unyielding. 

“That's my tie.”

“Hmm?” He likes me innocent at first. 

“Why are you wearing… it.” His voice drops lower, his stare on her chest and she pulls air sharply through her nose to counteract the instant heat and pressure under her sternum. Should’ve skipped breakfast. 

“Hmm?” She stares down, shuffling a paper, looking at anything but his eyes. “Oh this. I had a staff meeting, and I needed to look more professional. I saw it there the other day and —”

“No.”

“I’m sorry?” She dares a glance up, swallowing her thickened spit in a slow gulp. Why do I forget his effect every time until it's too late? “What are you—”

“That's not why you wore it.” His voice bounces in her head, direct… with no hint of confusion. 

She snickers while her insides contort, knowing it's a game he’ll win. “Contrary to your ego, I do things that have nothing to do with you.”

“But it's… my… tie.” He speaks each word softer than the next as he steps beside her. “And I said nothing other than that, which is true. In fact. But… that’s not a clue. The Molly I know would always ask, not take… like a thief… but that circumstance is irrelevant to the reasoning. Now…” his gloved fingers tap on the table near her hand. “I need you to tell me what it is… you want or … is that the game?”

She shakes her head slightly. “What?”

He sighs out as he flexes his chest, glancing down at the table, “The game… Your game. Please own this… it's much sexier. You’re of like mind, but that means…” his eyes travel up her form and meet her stare, “We must use words. Is that not what we discussed, my darling?”

Blank. Her thoughts slip away with that “my darling” dripping in the sweetness, almost like begging that he whispered in her ear only two days ago… when she stole the tie.

I have two options… keep playing or play with him. 

“So what?” Okay so I play. 

“So what what?” The tiniest growl under his tone sets her spine alight. 

She sniffs and shrugs, looking away at her paperwork. Perfect. “So I stole your tie.” Her index finger and thumb stroke down the tie.

“Yes, we’ve established this… move on.”

“I’m wearing it.” She loosens it at the top. She spies his eyes on her throat. 

“Are we in the mood for the obvious?”

“Does it bother you?” She holds his stare. He also likes me like this. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

He flinches, and she smirks. 

“So, what are you going to do about it?” She only offers a raised eyebrow. 

“Why should I do anything?” he snickers low as he leans back against the counter, folding his leather gloves hands across in front and his face drops back into flat serious. “You made your decisions. You want me to do something about it… but…”

He sighs so faintly, and she matches. So maybe this was silly. It was fun but … is this us? 

He leans to her, without a word, and she waits wide eyed as he gets closer, stepping around the counter running his fingers lightly on it. His eyes stay on the tie and she holds her breath, waiting, each scuff of his step ringing in her head. 

So much of what she imagines never comes true. Even now, this all seems like a dream. Did she imagine his hands on it this morning as she tied the knot? Yes. God, yes. 

His hand brushes her breast as he slides it up the tie and grips, tugging her to him in one hard snatch.

“Tell me what you want with this,” Sherlock says. His eyes betray him, darkened now. 

“Beg me,” she says, letting the fire settle in her chest. Her own voice is unfamiliar to her. Low and clear like his. 

“Ah… well,” Sherlock says with a click of his tongue, his fingers wrapping the tie around his hand. One turn, then another over his hand. “Let me do what you need… what you want…what fantasy has played in your head…and to this end… please. Rid me of this riddle. Give me the answers.”

She closes her eyes, the heat of his face so near hers now. “I could leave you stiff and cold.” She heard the tremor in her voice, the pressure hard at the back of her neck. 

“You can…you have before.”

“I’m glad you remember that.”

“Yes… I remember everything.”

Molly’s memories flash like lightning, dropping into her body, and her eyes flutter closed. 

“Tell me what you need… tell me the game.”

She licks her lips meeting his dark gaze. The animal inside him growling under his teeth set, his hum low as he slips his gloved finger down her jaw, gentle and rough in his grip, the leather soft but with pressure. “What… do… you… want?”

“Turn and go into my office and wait. Sit in the chair that is uncomfortable, the old chair you complained about when I made you sit an hour in it… you’ll sit and wait… gotta throw off suspicion…yes?”

“Good girl.” He says low, his fingertips falling from her face, down and across the tie and her breasts, somehow finding her nipple. She stifles a gasp. 

And he’s gone, pulling his coat close around him and his steps increasing as she watches him sneak into her office and close the door with no noise. 

“That's right… I am. But I’m bored of that.”

His eyes spoke of curiosity before he left her… It looks a lot like lust. She’s always seen that in his drive for answers. Passion in bed is better used in a case, he’d all but said. Others never spotted it, but she did. 

But I’ll make him too tired to care about the case. You can thank me later, John. 

“You will…” her fingers lightly travelled up the tie to her throat, a glitter painted nail tracing along the collar and he doesn’t blink, “Do exactly what I tell you. I’m gonna take my tie off… oh sorry… your tie.”

He licks his lips, his blue eyes darker, steadily staring at her fingers.

She counts breaths between each pull. 5…4…3…2…1

The tug is unyielding at the nape as she arches it up, throat exposure that shifts him in his seat, mirroring her with his own neck. 

The knot slides out, and she grabs both sides. God that pull feels like his hand the other night... But focus…

 “I need you to stand.”

He wordlessly complies. 

“You will tie me to the chair.”

“We could do this somewhere more enjoyable—” 

“Did I say speak?”

He shakes his head. The slight lift at the corner of those perfect lips strikes her core, blood pooling. She knows each tic and gesture like a well-worn textbook. Years and she uses it to her advantage now. 

She sits slowly, not releasing his gaze, letting him see down her shirt before she leans back.

“You like it when I tell you what to do? Nod… but if you have any pretty words as you tie, then say them… make me ache if you can.”

“I don’t have to speak… in fact my words are worthless. But my hands do valuable work… and my tongue… if you want them, they will serve you better.” 

“Shut up then and get to work.”

His leather hands, like a criminal tying her up, crosses her mind, and tingles in her skin. He’s no angel, as he said before. But serene in his steps behind her taking her arm’s weight into his hand, the leather thumb softly tracing the vein down her wrist, tugging her arms back. 

And he binds hard, with speed and she whimpers at the pressure just before dangerous. So precise it almost makes her come. 

“Kiss me… my lips, my eyes, and my jaw.”

He lingers his gaze before beginning his set path and she squints at its tenderness. Has she seen it before? Before now, many years ago, his lingering glance, so happy that she’d moved on like he instructed strictly her on the night he left to be “dead”. 

But I tired of doing what I was told to…

Everyone told her to never look back, never settle, never sleep in his bed and never think he could…

His lips’ caress so faint, she almost wishes her hands could slap him. He knows, oh he knows, and it's worse. 

“Stop being so docile,” she says, irritation creeping into her tone and settling in her tightening chest. 

“May I speak?” he says in a low whisper, resonating in her jaw more than her ear. 

She nods, and he persists for kisses on the same path before leaning back and securing her stare with his.

“Reverence is not as foreign to me as it would seem. An object of desire before me. A game and a case all her own. So speak.” He pulls in a ragged breath, her eyes falling to his chest, watching it rise and fall before his words snap her attention to his mouth. “Tell me your desires. Your requirements for this sacrament… it is not any less worthy than any other rite.”

Her lungs betray her. But she builds fire from it, “Unbutton my shirt, slowly, and kiss anywhere you want. But only if… you tell me what you are sorry for.”

“Hmm?” A pinch of confusion tightens on his brow. 

“Say your apologies.”

“A confession?” 

She nods with a heavy breath out her nose, the fantasy now real washing over her. And he blinks slower as his mouth crooks up.  

He sneaks a kiss below her jaw and she allows it only because the distinct sound of his glove pulled off and hitting the floor strikes her to her core. Oh god he’s going to do this… all of it I ask. His hand to the buttons of her shirt and she counts each one in her head, mapping his path and the seconds turn into minutes. Her body drops into a state of awareness and surprises her. 

Her eyes flutter closed, his breath dancing along her sternum, and his hands plant on the chair’s edges, not touching her thighs but so close she senses their heat. Is he being careful or is he… god just grab me… but no. She rights her mind, reminding this is the fantasy she wants. She says, “Yes, like a confession… if you want to bring religious kink into this.”

A joke to lighten the mood. 

He sighs, and she turns her attention to watch his lips as he says with his usual grin. “I can’t argue with its power.”

“Can’t imagine you in church.”

He sighs into her skin and she can’t breathe. Why am I feeling this way now? She’s had sex with him. Though mostly more passionately, fast, or angry. Scratching an itch. But this is like surgery. 

“You go to church often?”

“Well, no—”

“Except that night.”

She leans back, and he obliges and mirrors, each looking fully at the other. 

His eyes say what he doesn’t. He was there the night she slipped in the church to pray in desperation for his safety. A god she can’t believe in but she needed any help she could get. 

“If I could I’d slap you.” It’s worked in the past. 

“Oh… but you can’t.”

“Wipe that smile off or you get nothing.”

“My apologies.”

“Then get on your knees.”

She catches the flash of the shape of his cock in his pants as he steps half a step back and falls to his knees before her with a dull thud and a grimace. 

“Molly… if I’m allowed, I will confess my sins… while I commit others.”

“As long as you do as I say, absolution is yours.” Her smile grows as she speaks, a new fire building in her core with the words she’d only heard in her head before. 

“Beautiful words but…” His darkened stare on her chest and she knows he cheats, counting breaths and rise and fall to know his effect. 

“Some things are involuntary, Sherlock. I’m exposed in my office. That's why my heart is up and my breath—”

“OH… of course.”

“Moving on. You’re confessing… not me. I need no forgiveness.”

“Then please forgive me…” he licks the corner of his lip, his gaze straying down. “I forget my place. May I lay kisses on your chest as an offering with my confessions?”

“Yes.”

Her thighs in his hands as he leans over, his hot breath on her skin now so close as his lips caress just below her collarbone. “Forgive me, Molly, I have sinned.”

The kiss moves over to her clavicle and he speaks low into her throat, “I knew of your affections…” Trailing down her sternum and she knows her breath informs him of her want to him. But she can’t control them now. Her arms ache now tied back 

 “I confess I thought all affection dull… but not yours…” He smiles into the kiss over her heart, the pressure of it and the organ reaching for each other through her sternum.  

Wait… what?

But his lips trail over the swell and his nose nuzzles the edge of her bra, the heat of his breath sneaking through the black lace, finding her nipple and she gasp as he says “I confess I saw advantage at first… then it turned to fascination and then guilt… but nothing would rid me of it… not until you let me find my own.”

Get back under control. She lets the images of him breaking because of her wash over and give her ammunition. What could he say now? Was he even serious? She can’t decide if she wants him to be or not, but she’ll test it.  

“What is your confession, then…that you loved me all along?” she says with a light snicker. Does he think I’m dumb? Is it to make me feel better? 

The air shifts, and she swallows hard as he leans back and lifts his eyes. Their stares meet, his eyes steady where hers search. He licks his lips. “Yes… though I confess I was confused. But genuine confusion never stays long with me.”

Every nerve sends fire to her spine as she sits still in shock… hopes long dead racing through her mind and the look in his eyes… she recalls each memory, each time she said to herself, “no… do not believe.”

She squints, her mouth screwing up. “Then why did—”

“Why did I do anything?” His face lifts, looking to the ceiling as if I appeal to heaven but returns his darken stare to hers. “I’m selfish, Molly. Seeking the ends to the means. I’m ill equipped at human emotion out of the abstract… you deserve more… so much—”

“Shut up.”

And he does, his face falling into a kind of serenity. 

She expects him to argue after she says it. It's his favourite defence mechanism she’d indulged until now. It made for some amazing foreplay recently. But he surprises her again as he pulls his lips tight closed and only nods with a slow blink.

“My trousers…” she sighs as his long fingers find the button immediately, and with precision he drags the zipper down. “Prove what I deserve.”

She shivers as his fingers slide inside her waistband, one hand gloved and the other not mixing sensations along her hips. How many times she’d seen those gloves hold evidence. Now tracing the lines of her bones like reading religious text, reverent. Much slower study than the previous times, none of the fervent pawing. Has he had his fill before, so now he’s patient? Her mind settles with his calmness, and she knows what to say.

“Meet it once more, but now worship as it was meant to be… in—OH,” she says soft but yelps out he lifts her, grips her trousers and knickers in one snatch down to her knees and then looks her in the eyes as he pulls the rest of the way down slow and off.

Bit of both then. 

She should have more thoughts. This is her fantasy, after all. What a time to tell him what she wants, he so perfectly compliant. The cool air of her office floats across her exposed skin. His hands cover her knees, and he pushes them apart and her breath catches. 

“Just touch me,” she blurts out, everything in her core aching.

“I’m but a humble servant…,” he smirks as he says it, but it doesn’t make her want him less. “You must tell me what you desire most of all… what you need… my hands or my lips.” He slips the gloved hand roughly up her thigh, his thumb ghosting the crease of her thigh and her cunt. 

“I… your hand first. You can kiss me everywhere else.”

He grabs her bum with his gloved hand, the leather tightening with his grip into her flesh, and she sighs into the building pain. But it only builds her hunger and impassioned fervour overwhelming her and she hears the hitch in his breath, a consecration declaring her power and his want.

His lips and teeth pull at her bra and her nipple slips out with coaxing. His lips and tongue work and she forgets where his hands are until the ungloved one slips up, gripping her rib cage tight as it slips over the other breast. 

He moans, sucking her nipple and half her breast into his mouth until she arches, the tie tightening on her wrist and she matches his moan. Her mind clears with the perfect combination. Nothing else in the world but these sensations. Wetness spreads across her hard seat as she shifts. For a moment, the discomfort grounds her in the reality of her fantasy coming true. The smells of chemical mixing with their own scents, and the sterile hospital air.

Spoken low into her chest, his voice and her heart skipping along with the words. “Intercede for me, my beloved Molly. Let your grace pour out for me, but also your mercy. I do not deserve this honour… I denied myself it because of that truth… yet you bless me. Let me bless you too.”

He put his fingers in his mouth, wet them with a glisten and then found her cunt, slipping in with ease as she bites her tongue not to cry out. It wasn’t new to her; she knows the fingers well, but the scene set overwhelming and she slides in the chair to allow him more and the tie pulls on her wrist to a deep ache. 

Two fingers in pulling and curving calling her to come as she gasps, a small orgasm pulls from her. God that was fast. 

“This is but the beginning of my confession. Let my tongue speak the rest.”

“Oh god—”

The words gone, his kiss on her lips hard, then soft and tongue disorientating her, his gloved hand still kneading her bum and the fingers inside her spread, his thumb finding her clit now. 

She sighs and whispers into his mouth, “yes” and he laps it up. 

But then he is gone and she can’t catch her breath before he pushes her thighs apart and both hands grip her ass, bringing her to his hungry mouth. 

He devours her. The word “fuck” leaves her lips between heaved breaths. The growing ache in her lower belly matching the pull on her arms and shoulder. 

Tongue wide laid flat licks up and finds her swollen clit and she cries out, biting her lip to keep from a loud moan. 

Between licks, he whispers to her, “I confess I could drink this sacrament forever, drown if it—oh yes it has blessed me.”

His tongue laps more up and she moans her eyes closing in ecstasy. But the air cools and she senses his pause… like asking permission and she glances down to see him looking up in begging reverence. It breaks her and puts her back together. 

She sighs through her heightened breath to a shudder. “Drink then, drink your fill if you can.”

“Thank you…oh bless you,” he says, a murmur only as he continues his worship. 

He sucks and pulls, consuming all she releases. His tongue playing with her clit with a perfect speed her mind goes deliciously blank. Only the rolling sensation in her body, his touch and mouth and nothing else.  

“Drown me, my darling.” His shudder, the pitch rising, and she knows his want, sensing it in her core. 

“Like that yes god please yes” she wishes she could pull his hair, but the tug of her requested restriction like reverse psychology and in her frustration her want grows.

The groans come deep from him, echoing into her cunt, and she shudders as he whispers, “I love you.”

And the orgasms wash over her, long sustains and staccato his tongue plays as his fingers enter her again. Playing her like a new piece of music. “My conversion is complete. This religion I only knew in the abstract will now be my only devotion.”

He lifts himself up, his fingers slipping inside her deeper. And he kisses her hard again. She tastes herself mixed with him, a scent mixed with his spicy cologne and she aches clinching his fingers, riding out the last of the climax. He slips out, and she drifts back into reality with her breathing. 

He places his forehead against hers. “May I release your bondage now?”

She nods and kisses his cheek, still wet from her. “Only you can… my love.”

They both smile, searching in their stare for ease once again. She sighs as he wraps his arms around and kisses his neck, and he loosens the tie’s hold and rubs her arms, helping her wrap them around him.

He pulls her onto the floor with him, cradling her, and stroking her hair, pulling its sweaty strands of hair away from her neck. She lays her head on his chest, his heart’s thump a comfort. How many times she’d considered when it might stop on her. She’s seen his dead body in her mind and in a lie… and that reality will still happen one day. It's a toss up who’ll be first but she wants the living one as much as possible. Death is inevitable. So is life. 

Then let’s live. 

“Let me get your clothes and let's go back to… yours? You have the most comfortable bed. No ties to steal,” he says matter-of-factly but with a growing smirk. That snarky boyish charm his face always shows. He’ll always have that and she grins, grabbing his cheeks with both hands and kissing him until he moans in her mouth. 

She releases him to admire his soft gaze, the only worship she’ll ever need. 

[fictionkinfessions]

(canon headcanons)

more catlike features similar to my sister as Lyney- like the fangs, the pupils, sharper nails/claws (that have to be trimmed frequently to avoid holes in the fingertips of my gloves), etc. Also that one time I tried to use my sister's aerial silks and had to be rescued 'cus I got tangled in the ribbons..oops ^^"

For Robin, there's a few too. Queer identity stuff (some sorta unlabeled femme-presenting gender [not cis]; omnisapphic as well). very expressive w/ the li'l head wings- stimming & them fluttering a lot when excited, and also trying to cover my face with them when embarrassed or a bit shy..and trying to cover my ears with them when noise was too loud but in hindsight it didn't work very well ^^"

#🧵🕊️💜 (for tagging purposes, MPC, the medias are Genshin Impact & Honkai Star Rail ^^)

w

[aidendh]

Spiderverse! Eclipse

My Spidersona in Across the Spiderverse

Eclipse

--

Full Name: Abigail Dawn Harris

Derivatives: Abigail Harris, Abigail, Harris

Alias(es): Eclipse (vigilante), AidenDH (username)

Nickname(s): Aiden (preferred), Abi (dislikes), Lil' Psycho (Abell), Akutagawa Kinnie (Abell), Mothman (Eclipse), Mothra (Eclipse)

Titles: Fratton's Cryptid

--

-:Personal Information:-

Alt. Versions:

Harris (character),

Moth mutants

Home Reality: IRL! Spiderverse

Status: Alive

Species: Human (enhanced)

Gender: Female (She/He)

[Eclipse (She/He/They)]

(Prefers guy/dude)

Sexuality: Asexual, Aromantic

Birthday: 31st March

Age: 18-19

Height: 155 cm, 150 cm [17]

Weight: 41.73 kg

Blood Type: N/A

Likes: Anime, reading, otters, mice

Dislikes: Spiders, the dark, nsfw

--

-:Professional Information:-

Occupation: NEET (counseling), Vigilante

Affiliation: Multiclusters

--

-:Relationships:-

Marital Status: Single

Family:

River Harris (younger brother),

Louise Harris (Mother),

Leigh Harris (father),

Sharron Harris (step-mom)

--

Voiced By: Aiden Harris

"

""

 ()

Personality: Social Anxiety, Honest, Mutterer, Caring, Blunt, Intuitive

Confidant/Arcana: Moon

-:Spider Information:-

Codename: Eclipse

Titles: Fratton's Cryptid

Identity (status): Choice

Theme: Silk Moth

Powers: Nightvision, Wings/flight, Silk, Camouflage, Glow-in-the-dark orange markings

Territory: Portsmouth, England

Fighting Style: Staff (Trigger-happy), surprise attacks

Morality: Choice (Good)

--

-:Cannon Events:-

Power Origin: Bitten by a Radioactive Silkmoth

Uncel Ben Death: Her best friend Abell [Prevented by Multiclusters]

Police Captain Death: A church security guard, her Father [prevented by Multiclusters]

--

-:Etymology:-

• The name Abigail is derived from the ancient name Avigail, meaning 'father' (ab), and 'to rejoice' (g-y-l)

• The name Harris is of English and Irish origin, meaning 'son of Harry/Henry'.

• The name Aiden is of Gaelic origin, meaning "little fire".

• The alias Eclipse refers to when the sun and moon overlap in the sky

--

-:Trivia:-

While at a Science museum with her Father, she gets bitten by a silkworm moth

No uncle for the 'uncle Ben' death

(Not doing that to my dad or bff)

As Eclipse their outfit is Black, Brown and Orange themed

She prefers the freedom to choose to save, and will feel conflicted if pressured or even downright refuse

Their wings look like a cape and has fluffy antennae poking out of the hood

(looks like ears)

They use silk instead of webs and uses their wings to attack with wind

Often glides

...she already has the habit of chewing clothing, Handkerchief go *Monch*

Carries a Handkerchief around as a chew stim

Her wings, antenna and fuzzy finger tips work like Tokyo Mew Mew

(Appears when emotional, but can be dispelled)

She tells her father early on and hijinks ensue, but hides it from her step-mom out of fear of impacting her mental health

She'll often forget to bring it up to Abell, but will eventually be found out because of an impactful day and Abell calls them out on her emotional state

Terrified of spiders

Eclipse is very abstract with their gender, She/He/They, depending on what they want to try

Their costume is brown or black with orange highlights, brown for warm weather and black for cold

They refuse to operate in the rain

Eclipse often fights using a Staff

(Their father said no to a spear)

Fingerless gloves, but fuzz prevents finger prints

Some orange parts of their wings/costume glow in the dark

Same with their mask's printed eyes

They can camouflage with their surroundings, including their clothes because of threading bits of their silk among their outfit

Their wings are brown with orange rings and highlights

Her universe's art style is Gacha Club with realistic proportions

Eclipse (Warm/Cold)

-

-

--

An Elusive Vigilante finally letting themself loose

Mutation: Silkmoth

Weapons: Staff, Silk, Wind

--

[helium-stims]

Glove Stimboard

x l x l x

x l x l x

x l x l x

[cutiepieautistic]

Caregiver! Marie Stimboard

×/×/× ×/× ×/×/×

This was a request!

[proshippersstimming]

⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣ ⚣

Caseynardo (Casey Jones II x Leonardo) from Rise Of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles as requested by an anon!

[grassy-stims]

Violet Chachki stimboard for anon with some silk!

x x x | x 💄 x | x x x

[dearest-valentine]

Kaz’s gloves went “missing” (Nina and Jes stole them for a well-meaning prank) once and he had a full on meltdown until Inej managed to get them back

Kaz forces himself to make eye contact but hates it and when he’s tired he can’t do it

Inej gifts him a small piece of Suli silk on his birthday and he keeps it in his pocket and rubs it between his fingers as a stim

Kaz and Jesper infodump to each other about their current hyperfixations

Also Kaz only really enjoys like three foods (but he can eat almost anything)

YES TO ALL OF THIS

[escher-room-with-a-view]

elaborating on my autism headcanons!!

- sarah -

her special interests are usually between one and three. once she develops a special interest, it stays with her for years; in fact, some of her interests, like reading and writing, have been with her for as long as she can remember. her other special interests are theatre and arts and crafts; the latter is quite a broad category, but it includes things like sewing, felting, embroidery, watercolor painting, book binding, and making collages. sarah delves further into her interests the more they’re encouraged, but she also uses them as coping mechanisms to feel better about or distract herself from the real world around her. in the cases of acting and crafts, she uses these to express how she feels, whereas reading and writing are used more as forms of escapism. her favorite genre of literature is fantasy, though she doesn’t mind any particular fantasy subgenres and is willing to broaden her knowledge of the genre by reading most of them. meanwhile, she isn’t anywhere near as selective when it comes to theatre. so long as there’s a soundtrack and cast that resonates with her, she doesn’t care if it’s opera or ballet, tragedy or comedy, contemporary or dating back thousands of years. indeed, she doesn’t ever feel like her knowledge of theatre is complete—and while it feels unattainable, she’d like to develop at least a cursory knowledge of every play there is.

sarah stims by talking to herself, chewing on her lips or hair, pacing, doing needlework, doodling, and absentmindedly writing. she also has echolalia, repeating the same word or phrase to herself either out loud or in her head; certain phrases can get stuck in her head for weeks on end. she’s rather quiet when she talks to herself—in fact, most of the time, she just whispers or mutters. furthermore, when pacing, she walks in circles or back and forth. she doesn’t use stim toys very much because they don’t appeal to her, though she does like the idea of making her own stim toys and other objects, such as slime or reversibles.

her relationship with routine is complicated. on the one hand, she doesn’t take change well and has difficulty adapting to new situations, especially those that are unfamiliar and stressful. this means that, to some extent, she prefers it when things stay the same. however, this is more of a general status quo sort of sameness that she likes to maintain. on a smaller level, she’s easily bored by sameness and likes it when at least one novel or interesting thing happens each day. for instance, if sarah has gone to the same school her entire life, she’s going to be upset—even devastated—if circumstances force her to change schools without any sort of preparation or warning. however, if her commute to the school every day is identical, she’ll grow bored of it easily and may one day consider taking a different path there just to see what happens.

sarah tends to struggle with eye contact and, on the rare occasions that she wants to maintain it, has to force herself to do so. it makes her immensely uncomfortable to look someone in the eye for an extended period of time. while irene sometimes mistakes this for her not listening, sarah is trying to explain that it’s not something within her control.

she is hyposensitive to (and indeed fascinated with) colors and lights. however, loud noises bother her and can be painful for her. sarah also prefers not to be touched unless she initiates the contact first. being touched without her permission startles her and makes her immensely uncomfortable, as does being surrounded or cornered; all of these can easily overwhelm her in the right circumstances. she hates haunted houses for this exact reason. her hyposensitivity also extends to texture and physical sensations, albeit not in the same way; rather than being obsessed with or actively seeking out sensations and textures, sarah is so hyposensitive to both of them that she sometimes doesn’t even notice sensory input unless it’s excruciatingly painful or needs constant adjusting. her senses of taste and smell are neither above nor below what’s considered average, though she has a preference for sweets, white meat, and anything crunchy. 

something else that she and jareth have in common is the fact that their living spaces, specifically their rooms, both have to be organized in a very specific way. any alterations in this organization are bothersome and overwhelming to the both of them; this includes rearranging or removing objects, changing the location of the room entirely, or changes in things like how much light or air the room receives. 

- jareth -

he tends to have a lot of special interests at a time, and they change often. his current ones are architecture, illusions, astronomy, fashion, humans/anthropology/sociology, various pseudosciences, and surrealist art. however, in the past he’s been interested in ornithology, geology, romanticism in art and literature, the labyrinth’s prehistory, wordplay and rhetorical/literary devices, cats, different types of governments, letter writing, collecting trinkets and antiques, choreography, and many, many more. living for such a long time has provided him with the opportunity to both develop and engage in a wide variety of passions. in fact, some of these past special interests still remain with him today and simply aren’t considered his “main” ones anymore because they’re not as strong.

his favorite pseudosciences are graphology, phrenology, and astrology. he also likes to try and determine the future via methods like alectromancy, astromancy, augury, scrying, and lithomancy.

he stims using crystals/via contact juggling. this is usually when he’s understimulated, absentminded, or just needs something to occupy himself with. it’s also enjoyable to him. he has other ways of stimming, though, many of which are meant to self-soothe. for instance, feeling nervous or excited might drive him to shake one leg or hand; he also feels compelled to chew on things in such instances. when overwhelmed, he scratches his arms as one would if they had an itch. jareth is trying to stop doing this and is thus looking for alternatives. he views stim toys as some of humanity’s greatest inventions. if he lived aboveground, i imagine he’d have different versions of the same stim toys for different purposes: neutral colors when he needs to prevent overstimulation, bright colors when he’s just stimming because it makes him happy.

he doesn’t mind loud noises, but he is sensitive to bright lights and colors. in fact, he’s so nonchalant toward noise that, when he listens to music, he likes for it to be as loud as possible. in his mind, good music is never quite loud enough. there are certain textures and tastes he doesn’t like, which drives him to be very selective with what he wears and what he eats. with regards to clothing, he likes silk and leather but can’t stand wool, denim, anything baggy or distressed, or velvet. because he conducts magic through his hands, he has sensitive palms; his gloves allow him to touch things without being bothered by them, while also allowing him to use magic undeterred. he’s especially sensitive around food, preferring things that are bland or savory and refusing to eat anything with a consistency that’s too soft. for instance, he finds eggs revolting in most forms.

without a routine, jareth tends to become dejected or burnt out. unfortunately, though, his frequent executive dysfunction makes it difficult for him to plan out and adhere to routines without frequent reminders—which, when they come in the form of goblins, usually annoy him more than anything else. this is why he hasn’t had a proper schedule in years. it’s a bit of a vicious cycle; his unhappiness has led to a lack of motivation, and his difficulty creating something he can stick to has made him even more unhappy. he works best with clear, written instructions that are placed where he can see them. he especially needs specific times to eat and sleep; without them, irritability and physical discomfort set in. in the event that he does have a routine, changes that might seem small to others are often nerve-racking to him.

though he sometimes uses eye contact and close proximity to others to intimidate, he genuinely feels uncomfortable without eye contact and has difficulty remembering to mind others’ personal space most of the time. he can be quite touchy-feely when he cares about someone—even platonically—and isn’t afraid of showing it, but he doesn’t really know when or if to back off unless explicitly told to.

- didymus -

when it comes to special interests, he and sarah have a lot in common. they both love drama and literature; however, didymus has a particular interest in folklore, both that of humans and that of the labyrinth. he only has two special interests: literature (including plays) and history. both of these influenced his desire to become a knight and continue to influence his behavior, as he seeks to emulate the idea of a noble and valiant knight to a T. he has some difficulty responding appropriately to or understanding various social cues. as a result, he spends most of his nights and some of his mornings scripting out how his day is going to go: how he’s going to speak to other people, how they might respond to him, and how he’s going to respond to their responses. whenever didymus makes a new friend, he puts effort into studying their mannerisms and personality so he can adequately pinpoint how they might behave toward him and thus figure out how he’s going to interact with them. furthermore, he speaks and acts like a gallant knight from a fairytale or play because of his constant reading. his consumption of literature provides him with a consistent model of behavior that’s bound by a set of rules, unlike the behavior of people in the real world—which can often be unpredictable, and whose rules are less coherent. as a result, didymus believes that emulating the kinds of characters he admires will make others admire him in turn, and make him easier to understand. 

his favorite earth authors are william shakespeare, miguel de cervantes, and alexandre dumas. he is also especially fond of arthurian legend and various human mythologies, such as norse, celtic, and japanese.

one of his favorite ways to stim is by chasing or wagging his tail. he also stims by absentmindedly practicing swordfighting moves with his cane, scratching behind his ear with a hind paw, pacing, and talking to himself. pacing is the only one out of all of these that doesn’t lift his spirits; rather, he does it when he’s thinking because it helps his ideas flow. didymus is most inclined to chase his tail or scratch his ears when he’s bored, practice his parries when excited, and talk to himself when he’s overwhelmed. in the last case, this is often combined with pacing; together, both stims provide a good release for emotions he has difficulty expressing otherwise. when didymus talks to himself, he is unlike sarah in that he doesn’t do so quietly. his volume remains the same as it usually is in a conversation; when he grows passionate, it raises accordingly. sarah introduced him to stim toys; his favorite ones are the ones that make noise, whether they click or woosh or do something else. he also uses dog toys as substitutes and enjoys the ones that squeak, though he has to keep his own set somewhere where ambrosius won’t find it.

his strongest sense by far is his sense of smell; it isn’t necessarily a lot of scents at once that can be upsetting for him, but rather scents that he finds unpleasant. these include sharp or chemical smells such as vinegar, ammonia, spices, perfume, citrus, alcohol, cleaning products, and herbs. aside from these, there aren’t any smells he can confidently say he doesn’t like. he also has hypersensitive hearing and prefers soft classical music, hymns and chants, or music that dates back thousands of years. he hates the sound of bells chiming, loud drums, or thunder; the last of these especially bothers him, though he would never admit it. he was once bothered by the sound of metal objects clanging together when he was a kit, but he appears to have outgrown that in particular. he has poor color vision, as do most canines, so bright colors don’t affect him at all. he finds flashing lights mildly frightening in some cases and annoying in others.

to didymus, routine is the thief of joy. he craves adventure every day and hates when things are the exact same; even having to do the same task in the same way as he did the day before, for instance, is enough to bore him out of his skull. as a result, he likes to mix up how he does things by placing his daily activities in different orders, doing them with his friends, or replacing some activities with others entirely. for instance, he, hoggle, and ludo take turns with household chores—not only so that they can share responsibilities, but so that didymus can have time to go off and pursue his knightly dreams. much of the time, his friends are willing to accompany him on his adventures so long as he’s able to keep them safe—and so long as they can be home by dinner.

he doesn’t really like eye contact, but he tries to maintain it because he thinks doing so is respectful. he does see one perk to his small stature; he’s too short to meet eyes with most people, so his lack of eye contact usually isn’t judged. it wouldn’t be either way because almost everyone in the labyrinth either is ND or knows someone who is ND, but he really does want to maintain eye contact because the books he reads make him think that it’s the proper thing to do. his friends are trying to convince him that he doesn’t need to make eye contact if it makes him uncomfortable; however, because he seems to believe that it’s a rule, he has difficulty convincing himself not to follow it. in fact, didymus is very much inclined to follow the rules that are provided to him and becomes anxious when encouraged or required to break them. without clear rules, the world becomes nonsensical and unpredictable—and therefore upsetting—to him. it was his idea to propose a set of rules for his friends’ home; they accepted and have worked together to write them down so that guests know how to behave.

he gets along really well with the wiseman; despite his typical impatience, didymus is one of few people who actually have the patience to listen to the wiseman. in fact, didymus isn’t just patient with him; his ramblings actively intrigue didymus, and whenever he has the opportunity he makes his contributions as big as he possibly can. didymus really appreciates it when his friends let him infodump, and he figures it’s only fair that he should let others do the same. in fact, didymus also places a lot of value on fairness; it’s the whole reason he opposes jareth in the first place.

[florence-is-gay]

It says The Monk on her sheet but I changed her class name to Shield. Her main weapon is a pair of gauntlets with a metal folding shield attached to the outside. They fold out when she flips a switch on the handles of her gauntlets. If you can’t read my chicken scratch...

First page

-Eyeshadow and shirt change from red to blue depending on team

-Silk gloves provide an easy stimming surface

-khakis

Second page

-“Y-you shouldn’t waste your time on me...I see you under enough stress as it is...” “You’re near death, Fraulein...”

- Love at first sight

-(cracking sfx) 42 in a war, everything cracks

-(dying on the ground) “I don’t feel so good...why are all my limbs slack? Why can’t I move my eyes? Why can’t I move my mouth, is this an internal dialogue? I can’t see the end of the horizon...”

-shy but also simp

Also included: Closeup of the “love at first sight” image because it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever drawn and I will never top it.

---

YOOOOO she's so epic!! I love her so much, thanks for submitting and sharing your character with me!!

I really want to scrumch her hairrrrr :0

[thatjeanjacket]

it’s not exactly late for me rn, i just need to get work done. i was planning on posting this at midnight but if i’m honest, it doesn’t really matter. the fourth (tomorrow for me) marks the day that i am one month clean! and honestly i couldn’t be prouder. it took a lot, so i’m just gonna put down a few tips that helped me get here

if you have a habit of picking or scratching at skin/hair/anything, try wearing gloves. cotton or silk, doesn’t matter as long as they’re not fingerless. they have the same feeling if you attempt to scratch or pick, but it doesn’t cause as much harm

keep sharp objects, even needles, away from where you usually work or hang out. put them in a place where you wouldn’t want to move too far to when you’re stressed or bored.

throw out sharp haircombs or brushes

have a reward system or start a tally chart

for every week/month/whatever you’ll feel more accomplished of try to make it a special day

i put tally marks on my jean jacket for every month to literally wear it on my sleeve haha

open up to friends about it

good friends care about you and your well-being. it’s going to help a lot if you open up to them once you’re comfortable so you don’t feel alone

create replacement activities such as:

poetry

music

makeup

drawing

painting

sewing

journaling

crafting

reading

photography

some stims that i use that are safer than headbanging/slapping/biting are:

snapping

whistling

foot tapping

pacing

hand flapping

try snapping rubber bands against your wrist. not too hard, though

i’ll most likely add onto this post. please feel free to use any for yourself and if you have any questions, ask a mental health professional. i’m not one of any sort, i just like learning about them and ways to cope

[alleycatdog]

I wanna try talking about my sexuality and my autism without worrying about differentiating between each of them. I wanna pick vocabulary from either, casually, experimentally. And so im gonna.

(And I’m gonna be relaxed and forgiving with myself if I say anything I decide I don’t want to say again.)

🌈 I like stims for things like pressure, texture, and body movements.

💜 I like repetitive movements that are loose and soft, like lightly bouncing in place when I stand, or rocking, or bobbing my head.

💙 I like feeling heavy things press into me, like a weighted blanket or a whole partner or a heavy item cradled firmly into my chest.

💚 I like tight sensations, not so tight that I can’t get away from them, but tight enough that they stay without effort—like a beanie or jacket or seat belt or gloves—snug, but not inescapable or stubborn.

💛 I like textures. I love softness. I love when something is so soft, it’s almost too soft to be perceived. I like soft skin and microfiber plushies and silk sheets and smooth surfaces. I tend to dislike bumps or changes in texture or gaps or seams. Sometimes these are okay if they’re moderate and/or designed to be a pleasant pattern.

🧡 I like flowing sensations, like wind and water softly blowing or flowing over me, or the way it feels to put your arm through a soft sleeve and feel a unidirectional flow of the sensation. I like fingers flowing across my hair where it’s short like velvet.

❤️ I like slickness and wetness. I like slime toys, I like lathering soap when it’s slippery instead of rubbery. I absentmindedly stick my finger in spilled liquid and stim with it: a drop of ketchup on a table or lotion on my skin or…

❤️❣️Wetness!!!!!! >_< From sex and orifices!! I absentmindedly run a finger across my lips and gums, and sometimes across my sex. It’s fun to stim with my wetness. There are wet slick textures, and soft textures, and squishy textures, and faintly-noticeable pleasant bumps of hair follicles, and things are varying levels of stretchy and firm and warm.

🌈 I can’t help that my super cool sexy parts also function as a stim toy 3: I didn’t design my body, much less design it to be so many good textures and stuff. I didn’t train myself to interpret my own body as a stimmy toy.

🌈 I just like squishy things and warm/cool things and fluffy things and wet things and pressure and

💙 And there are movements associated with the intentional generation of sexual pleasure. There’s multiple and they go by multiple, vague, often interchangeable, names. Grinding, humping, fucking, ruttting, riding, thrusting, swirling, swiveling, bumping. Usually they’re repetitive, constructed by consecutive, repeated actions.

🔬⚗️I think it’s comparable to a polymer, because I have a special interest in molecular biology. I view the world through the lenses of my special interests. I often utilize my extensive knowledge of my special interests when I’m trying to comprehend a new thing. It gives me a template for comparisons and components and interconnections.

💜I like soft repetitive body movements. And I like when my body generates Sexual Pleasure Sensations. So, I like to bounce, rock, swirl, grind, in ways that feel good sexually

💙 I like weight on me, so I like feeling someone on top of me, or if I’m pressing into something firmly, such as pressing my weight onto a surface or pressing an object against my body

💚 I like tight sensations, like hands tight around any part of me—my hands, throat, hips, breasts, legs, biceps. I like my head pressed between thighs, I like my face pressed to breasts and tummies and butts. I like the inverse tightness of feeling filled. I like being inside someone—always some degree of tight, even if they’re so horny that it’s effortless to enter them

💛 I love soft textures. The softness of nipples when they’re very warm or unstimulated. The soft skin of the curving breast. Soft neck, soft ear between my lips, soft belly, soft hip, soft thigh, soft dick, soft labia, soft asshole. Often times, the hair and follicle bumps are pleasant too. But there’s always somewhere that’s pure soft—the underside of a clit or the inside of their bottom lip or the tip of the cervix or 3 inches inside their ass where the prostate waits

🧡 i like flowing sensations, of skin under mine, of fingertips flowing from my neck to my thigh, of long hair flowing across my skin, of wetness sucked down my throat, of a soaked hole moving back and forth over a finger, of soft precious skin letting my tongue flow over it, of breath being gasped onto my fingers, of palms moving in long strokes over my belly—of the feel of someone under me as their muscles tense in a flowing pattern through their body while they thrust

❤️ I love the sensation of wetness, of liquid, thin and spreading like spit after getting a drink of water, thick and almost gelatinous like mucosal secretions during the week after ovulation, slick and frictionless like precum or the saliva deep in the throat—even the fully gelatinous secretions of a desperate, trembling ass hole.

🌈 I find bodies to be incredible. A stim toy that responds. A way to generate pleasure so strong that it’ll condition you to do what generates the most pleasure. Sticky wet holes, smooth curves, hot folds, chilly exposed nipples, rougher shaved hair against silk skin, darling wrinkles and crevices, impossibly soft indentations of stretch marks, firm apexes of rugae with creamy softness between each bump, secretions that are evolutionarily designed to be perfectly frictionless, wonderfully mild-textures tongue—and!

My own body, well-equipped to enjoy each sensation! Waterproof fingertips for stroking soft skin or getting soaked in a hole, hypersensitive dick that can feel every bump on a tongue or in a fingerprint, delicate lips that can shape to anything and feel the slightest of temperature difference, magic tongue that can be hard or soft or wide or narrow and can feel everything in a dozen different ways depending on how I shape it

Give in entirely, or have entire control, or collaborate desperately or thoughtfully or messily or masterfully. It can be give-and-take, or a fair contest to find as much pleasure as possible, or a carefully constructed power dynamic; instinctual or orchestrated, predetermined or improvised, exploring new things or perfecting familiar things.

It is just a wonderful blend of all my favorite things. It’s anatomy and physiology, love and trust, soft and wet, rocking and bouncing, studying someone until you memorize every organ system’s layout, snuggly and firm!!!!!

I just!! Really love sex.