#slight real

[yourlovingfng]

Childhood rain

John price X fem!reader

(funny thing I noticed Armando low-key looks a bit like Price, can't change my mind on that any more.)

It's late past midnight, Price just came back from a mission, well his last mission, after this he's planning on retiring. Outside of the jeep he's welcomed with heavy rain, thunder and a few times even lighting, he's sure that you must be asleep with the kids,

As the engine slowed down he entered the driveway to your house opening the underground garage, it's quiet and the rain could still be heard, Winter is coming so the air around him is moist and starting to get colder and colder as the days are passing by,

He opens the door and he's greeted by complete darkness, well almost, he can see a light source coming from somewhere, it doesn't take him twice to understand that it's the TV, the audio is a bit low but It can be heard but it's not in a language he can understand, it's completely in Italian, you tried to make him learn but you quickly gave up as you would speak dialect most of the time than instead of the actual language, but he learned to grab pieces from here and there, he promised to himself that he would learn for you.

Slowly and quietly he starts undressing himself, removing first the gear and then removing the shirt to remain only in a pair of boxers, if you were awake you would try to make him have a shower, eat a proper meal but he's just tired and the only thought right now that he has is having you and the kiddos in his arms,

Thinking you were in the bedroom he takes a few steps forward to then realize that all of you were on the couch, the kids were all cuddling with you, almost buried by you,

All of you were in front of the TV as a child show went on, it seemed old from the graphics but the aura it gave was welcoming almost comforting, he stares at it for a minute only and by then the episode it over, displaying the show's name "La Pimpa" he remembers that name from an old conversation you had while the two of you were newly wed, you were talking about your childhood and how that show was one of the biggest things that could've put you at ease whenever you felt down when you were younger.

He decides to join on the couch shifting all of you so you wouldn't be uncomfortable, and as curiosity got his best he decided to watch the show, imagining a really younger version of you watching that,

What he found out after watching, was that funnily enough he could've related pretty much to the main character, a red dotted female dog who's show is just about her having some new adventures but at the end of the day coming back to home, and Price wasn't much the different since at the end of the day he would always cone back home.

[lucabyte]

A belief in Nominative Determinsim

[apollos-boyfriend]

had a dream last night that ccjordan came out as a trans woman and the only change she made was changing her channel name from captainsparklez to captainsprinklez and i’m honestly a little obsessed with this theoretical gender dichotomy. what makes sparklez inherently male. why can only girls have sprinklez. what was she cooking

[samodivaa]

Training Techniques

Winter Soldier x Reader He is not allowed to move an inch—he can only watch you pleasure yourself—but why is there a ring on your finger?

Warnings - smut, light angst, mastrubation(f), rough sex, choking, breeding kink Words - 2600 ⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ You have absolutely no pleasure in the work in which you sometimes so madly indulge—training the assets with delicacy of words with which their handlers don’t approve of—Soldat is your favorite, with his expression of endless and unconditional gratitude and a silent promise of complicity unto death—he may not remember your face, but he always remembers your voice, its' gentleness. The soporific air of your room, in the soft breath of bread and sweets—he was sent there, because he was misbehaving again.

It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that you have periled this life and reputation—but here you are—on your bed trying to sleep when you see him sitting on the chair, waiting. And this isn't a romance. You're not a damsel in distress and he is not the handsome prince who comes to save you—this is his desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of the impending doom, but they didn’t know that.

You know.

He can't stop looking at you—Soldat is gazing at a distant star. It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago, because he is not allowed to move until you instruct him to.

Subconsciously, he licks his lips at the sight at your body in a night dress and wonder if he will ever just cum in your mouth as you suck him off to your knees…or if he’ll take you by the hair before he’s finished and fuck you into a sobbing heap before blowing his load. It doesn’t seem worth the risk —but he wanted this for so long now, he needs to voice it.

“Please-” —an irrational and indulgent mistake. you stand up on your elbows in shock at the word he utters—his eyes drift leisurely back up to your face and his lips twitch. Soldat has fallen into a state of feverish lust, but that is not a justification for his disobedience. His heart goes into a shameless delirium when your eyes meet. “Desperate?” you mock, but underneath the mockery Soldat finds a reservoir of understanding. You lay back on the bed as nothing has happened, and your voice takes on a restful strength “I still need to punish you for that, Winter” He behaves as naturally, with such discretion, that he does not lose his composure, not even when you remove your wedding ring—who committed the impertinence of marrying you? He goes through a crisis of disappointment, fury, jealousy, but this is your way of giving Soldat a layer of respect—he wants to call it loyalty. And maybe you can be his or maybe you will be entwined in this sexless foreplay tonight.

He wants to ask so many questions, but he can’t. Not now. There is a pent-up curiosity, hysteria of his unsatisfied needs, unnaturally suppressed communion and also a kind of tense respect, because if he is obedient enough—he will be rewarded.

“You will watch me, that's all you will do for now” you say, your voice has sunk to a whisper. Your words stoke a warmness in his stomach, a fire in his crotch. And he doesn’t care what you will do with him—even if you want to cut him, sharpen him however you please—that's all he knows anyways. He wants this memory to stay what it is, one intense moment, something that is strong and sweet enough to stand on its own. Your room has turned into an idyllic paradise for a good many years, your skin glistening in the light coming from the slits in the blinds as your hands play with your breast through the nightgown. He has lost his voice and a thread of cold sweat runs down the path of his spine, suffocating with heat, because of the black leather clothes—the stiff collar and the tight harness that is restricting his breathing, is becoming increasingly annoying.

His eyes are growing moist with indignation, with angry impotence, and for the first time, he is barely controlling himself. It is the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning—he needs to be patient, but it’s hard—not harder than his cock—It's more erotic, more intense to watch you touch yourself. He is master of what he does, but never of what he desires. You are greatly overestimating his self-control. But this is what you are testing tonight—his ability to subordinate the impulse to fuck you. Self-control might be as passionate and as active as the surrender to passion, but you need to show him who is in charge while your panties are becoming steadily slicker. All you need to do is to tell him to come, but you refrain from doing the thing you want so badly—to be consumed by Winter. You glance up to find his eyes blazing with raw need—blue orbits pleading for you to command him. You spread your legs open, positioning yourself in front of him—one hand still toying with your nipple while the fingers of the other hook in your panties and drag them down your legs slowly before throwing them in his direction. His breath stutters as they land on his left boot and Soldat eyes them wickedly, knowing that all he can do is watch. 

"Good, very good, Soldat '' you coo, sliding two fingers into your core, scissoring and stretching, curling over the one sweet spot—imagining his metal digits. You remove them as your index finger takes their place, rubbing slow, torturous circles on your clit, sliding down to tease your opening, then back up. Over and over again.

He slides his tongue across his teeth, remembering the taste of your nectar, becoming more and more aroused with every beat of his heart that runs down his shaft.

“I want you so much, gosh” he is stirred by the lust in your smooth voice. You are breathing deep with your mouth wide open—he doesn’t blink, he doesn’t dare blink. Soldat can swear he feels the pressure of your palms on his cheeks—or is it a memory? Everything is a memory to him. “I want you here, fucking me” There is something raw and pleading in your voice that surpasses sexual desire, these fleeting moments of carnal craving.

With the auspicious attention of a strained killing machine, he examines your fingers, your shivering body and listens to your muffled moans meticulously. It is such a tumultuous and intemperate invasion to his mind—your scandalous behavior is pulling at every string of his nerves and self-control.

It is such a prolonged act, so meticulous, so rich in all aspects as you are giving yourself over to the deserved adoration of your own body and pleasure. It leaves Soldat breathless at the tremendous spectacle of your nudity and lack of shame as you bring yourself closer to the edge.

“Jesus-I am so close” You confess, surprised at how fast the arousal is budding. You arch your back and hips buckle like an electric current runs through your body, moaning, rubbing your clit faster, forcing yourself to let out a louder moan. The orgasm wrecks your body from head to toe and being watched by a ferocious male is exciting—all he needs is a feeling as primitive and as simple as that of love.

You see his eyes, still unblinking and you feel menaced by some invisible danger—you are keenly aware of every movement, every breath you take. Lust is a weed that grows in the vacant lots of an abandoned mind and the stacks of bad words that you have been forced to swallow, spills “Soldat, come here” you command, languid and serious.

You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you watch him between your spread legs, getting up and slowly coming towards the bed as his thick, black pants fall to the floor around his feet, the belt clattering noisily. Winter craws on top of you and he cannot articulate a word, capable only of an animal sound, a strangulated wheeze that shocks him deeply, enraging him, this sudden loss of the faculty of speech that feels somehow bestial and forgotten. He breathes, his chest rising and falling so close to yours.

“Kiss m-” you whisper the words, and before you even finish saying them, his mouth is on yours and you are melting under his lips, eyes flutter shut—and it is blissful oblivion—giving you the most intense and explosive kiss you two have ever shared. With the coldness of his lips and the warmth of his tongue beneath yours, you vow an endless bliss. He pulls back with a groan—Winter’s sky-blue eyes stare back into yours, and in his eyes you can see no parting from you. You put your hands on either side of his face, and the room falls away. You have never gotten so lost in a kiss before. And the kiss is not gentle. It is a wrestle of who would lead the excursion into the territory of passion and ecstasy, heat and unending craving for one another. You suck on his lower lip between your teeth and he lets out a low groan. It sounds almost aggravated and definitely impatient. Fire looks into his quiet eyes, touches his dear, familiar face—you lean upwards for a moment and dip your head towards his ear, grazing his soft skin with your teeth, while your hand slides to the harness. Soldat stills, angling his mouth towards your bare, perfect neck. You feel a warm slickness on your skin, his tongue trailing a path towards your shoulder.

It is a wild, animalistic compulsion, an urgent need as he suddenly slots himself between your legs and you turn your head away. Your fear is returning, crawling through your limbs and leaving you numb to everything. You shut your eyes, gripping the sheets, and whimper when he pushes himself inside you. He releases a ragged breath before moving, slow but with purpose, and you simply take it with soft whimpers and gasps as he pumps in and out of you, now starting to set a steady pace. His eyes, the blue completely gone from his them, soften for a moment and he kisses you tenderly before he whispers in your ear, his breath puffs against your skin. He spends a good amount of time on your neck, a brief stop at the base of your throat—he wants to bite you, but he can’t—something melts inside Soldat that hurts in an exquisite way—you are not his. “Who did you marry, Snow White?” He asks, voice throbbing with menace—before slipping inside you again and burying himself to the hilt. Sex with you this time is different, he has never felt this dominant, this claiming. He is so far in that his balls are right against your lips. You arch your back and moan “It doesn’t matter” as he slides back out nearly all the way before slamming into you hard and fast. You wrap your legs around his waist as he slams into you over and over, the only sound in the room is the skin slapping. You close your eyes and swallow. Your mouth parts and stills—your voice is barely a whisper as his tip touches your cervix. “Pierce…I am closer to ruining his plans, closer to freeing you” Despite your eyelids being tightly shut, a single, hot tear runs out of your eye. You are so angry that it has escaped—so angry—he stops his trusts completely. You moan as you feel his movement out of you. Then, as he almost has the tip fully out, he slaps it back in. When your eyes meet his gaze as you are sitting here staring at each other, time stops. Your fingertips reach to trace the metal shoulder, but he grasps your hand with his own. He leans down, far enough that the ends of his hair brush feather-light against your face, catching in your lashes and tears.

His breath, warm and measured, hits your cheek. Two breaths. Three. Then you stop breathing, and a second later, you feel his lips on your mouth. It is hungry, desperate. His metal hand wraps around your neck, thumb presses into the skin—you moan, it ripples over your nerve endings. His breath caresses your ear again—his grip on your neck tightens. And this makes you always still and submit…the act of Winter taking shameful, contemptuous possession of you is the kind of rapture you want.

“Next time-” you try, but with your restricted of oxygen brain, you are not able to. He tastes passion. He tastes lust. He tastes his power over you. He tastes a world of stimulants he’d never imagined. You are right there in front of him, he can do whatever he wants. Winter loosens his hold—only to observe you as you breathe raggedly, sliding down slowly, a moan ripping from your throat. 

“Next time he calls you in his house, I will be there, too”

I have nothing to give but my heart so full and these empty hands.

“I need to kill them one by one, Winter” His mouth curves into a smile—his eyes are light blue and dancing with life. He pauses for only a fraction of a second. Then he leans forward and presses his lips to yours "Okay, yeah, yeah" a devil-soft whisper. He blinks several times like he is trying to comprehend your plan word by word. His trusts become so hormonal—you want his roughness. His other hand slips to your waist, pushing you into the mattress as he fucks you. For him, sex intimately relates to the most primitive kind of human contact, which can satisfy all of his needs he has been deprived from. "Winter " you gaspe breathlessly "Slow down" You try to let out a choked squeal, but his metal hand tightens around your neck again, muffling any sounds, your toes curling as he brings you steadily closer and closer to orgasm, reeling from the thrill and the fear from both his forceful thrusts of his powerful hips and the choking. Soldat is unrelenting in his domination of your body. But you are his at this moment, your cunt clenching around him while you mewls and grunts fill his ears, he can’t slow down even one bit. Logic would say that this is insane, every other fibre of his being says it's right—he has to fill you up. You can't move. You can't breathe. And his pace. And the adrenaline. “I will cum inside—dear Snow White” This is his demarcation line, all of a sudden it seems unfair to withhold it from you. Your inner muscles tighten as waves of pleasure start to build and ripple out. You don’t normally get off this fast, but you are lost in the exquisite sensations—you put your hands on his metal arm as your body bursts into flames, your fingers curling into the metal. You can’t make a sound and it is a shame, because it is the best orgasm you ever had. It is unbearable, unreal, unimaginable—it is too much as your eyes can only see darkness due to the choking. You can only hear a broken and hoarse cry escaping his lips, his warm come filling you up completely.

You can hear his breath, as your vision slowly becomes solid—a stray lock of dark hair falls into his eyes as he is looking down—he moves his hips back and then into you again, enjoying his cock being in a tub of cum, swimming in your honey.

[tensecretsandakiss]

I’m in that dozy, half-asleep state, vaguely dreaming. my body is warm, pliant and need. I’m dreaming of you, your hands grazing my body, your lips on my neck. I can feel myself getting wetter, and the vision of you moans.

The feeling of your fingers gently rubbing my clit is so real. I grind against it, searching for more friction, and the sense of sleep begins to fall away. I’m awake now, aware of you still sleeping gently beside me, your arms wrapped around me. I let out a shaky gasp when I realise that your touch was not a figment of my imagination, that in your sleep your hand has found its way between my legs, your other hand wrapped around my breast and squeezing gently. I struggle to stay still, afraid that if I jolt you then you’ll move away. You touch me lazily, fingers tracing my soaking pussy, and I bite my lip as you let out a groan. Your other hand tightens and I can’t hold back the whine of pleasure.

“Fuck,” You murmur, hand beginning to move faster. You grind against me, a leg hooking over mine, holding me in place. All instinctual, all driven by pure desire and longing. I want to touch you, to run my hands through your hair, to kiss you, but you have me trapped against the front of your body. My hips roll back to meet yours and your voice becomes clearer. “Don’t stop baby.”

“I won’t,” I breathe, feeling the knot growing in my stomach as you bring me closer and closer to the edge. Your lips meet the curve where my neck and shoulder meet, kissing before biting down and pulling a shuddering moan from my throat. I look over my shoulder to see you, fully awake, your eyes sparkling with lust. You slide your fingers inside me, my hole stretching around you so perfectly.

“So fucking tight.” Your words are enough to push me right to the edge and I ride your fingers as much as I can from this position, desperate for release. “That’s right, just like that.” The orgasm washes over me, my body trembling in your arms as you draw out the sensation, touch slowing, become gentler and gentler. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

With your grip loosened on me I turn to face you, kissing you softly. I don’t have the words to describe how good it felt, but you kiss me back and I know you understand.

~~~

* this is about queer sapphic sex. men and minors dni*

[stardustedseas]

Ford x reader (college era/slight age difference)

He’s kind of embarrassed at how often he has to resist the urge to just pick you up. He wants to carry you in his arms.

That’s all I got rn.

YESSSSSSSSS may the axolotl bless you for all of the somft ideas fr

he wants to just carry you around like a kid would a stuffed animal, you are his emotional support s/o now actually. compared to him, youre just so much softer and smaller, so tempting to swoop up. every time he sees you do something he finds cute or attractive, he just wants to snatch you up and carry you around. you could have just pulled an all nighter and stumbled into class looking like shit and he just wants to hold you so bad.

if it was more acceptable, he would probably just have you sitting in his lap all the time, carry you wherever he has to go then stuff you in his pocket while his hands are busy before he can hold you again. doesnt help if youre younger than him either, he does not care its like just a year, he wants to pick you up bridal style and hold you close to his chest, protected from any and everything.

sometimes if he isnt careful, he will catch himself reaching out to pick you up. everytime he gets these thoughts he feels silly, youre a grown human after all, not some pet for him to hold. but goddddd he just,,,, wants to have you in his arms 24/7 is that such a crime??? if you could read his thoughts, you would be able to tell everytime he has that urge because his cheeks will flush and he will instead hold his bag with both hands, making sure they cant unconsciously grab for you

smh he has those big hands and strong arms for a reason, its to pick you up and bring you with him ofc, so it really is a waste he doesnt :( honestly you probs wouldnt mind, if he could get over his embarrassment and actually pick you up like that? chances are you wouldn't have a single word of complaint

no but can you imagine its one of the reasons he starts to work out more, he wants to be able to easily hold you like he thinks about so often. his goal in the gym is to be able to dead lift your weight, whether its 100 lb or 300+, he is ON it

alsoooooo maybe one of the times he catches himself thinking about carrying you in his arms, its over the threshold of your new shared home after you two get married once you finish college :3

[sothasil]

Two blokes slacking off at work :p

Cretan diplomats based on a painting of the tomb of Rekhmire, Luxor. I was intruigued by the leopard skirt thingy one of them is wearing and drew a more or less realistic interpretation of it! The other guy's there so he can have a buddy.

While i usually draw people looking as average as possible, it's not the case here. It's fair to assume that within the "PR" context of the painting (representing their people in front of a foreign king) these would be the ancient aegean's hottest boytoys, so I kept them snatched and smooth shaved.

Originals under the cut!

Mural with my chosen duo highlighted

Cropped closeup, leopard skirt guy on the left (and the two arms of jugs guy!)

[fluffyspaceowls]

i had a horrible idea

[adriancatrin]

a lil katara

[melomelod111]

Take some Unfihished(ish) Ryoji doodles that I particularly like! 🫶

[larssony]

i fear he has gone thru smth before and would not like to retell the horrors to spare us from such fate

LOOK HOW PROUD HE IS OF HIMSELF FOR HAVING HIS OWN BOTTLE. as if he was doing the bare minimum. again the HORRORS he must have witnessed firsthand or as a bystander mayhaps.. come on monty tell us ur secrets... oh so we're threatening now, okay monty sir (it confirms that he has been slighted before) poor lad

[foldingfittedsheets]

Wyvern the puppy was having a grand time on the couch until he managed to catch his own reflection. There was one terrified “boof” then he ran away and put himself to bed.

[sketchygainedyoursoul]

I've already said smth abt this (and seen a post abt it) but it was in tags of the afformentioned post and was reblogged when i was shadowbanned so;

Imagine you are an immortal being, a god, if you will, capable of shape shifting into any form you desire. Male, woman, dog, whatever-- if you want to be it, you are.

And then you wake up in a dumpster, you find every single shred of immortality stripped from you because of something your great-great grandchild did and the body you wake up in is not even your own.

Cue: Apollo.

The man is constantly depicted as a beautiful man, muscled and long blonde hair with perfect skin. And then he wakes up in a 16 year old's body, short and curly hair, unfamiliar body mass, and acne. Vanity aside-- that's going to feel terrible. He would have to have felt every single flaw with himself, a body he never chose. He would have to adjust the way he walks, the way he fights, runs, and jumps. He can't count on his flexibility to save him anymore, not even from dysphoria.

He probably had issues with the skin and the acne, and the feeling of being imperfect. With the gross bodily functions and the unfamiliar needs of his flesh prison.

And that's without adding in gender. Apollo is male, yes, but to what extent? Maybe he's only male sometimes. Maybe he wants to be, maybe he is a woman sometimes. And he could change his body accordingly. He could ignore human form and become a glimmering mass of divine light. And now all of that, all of him, is compressed into a 16 year old boy's body, unchanging in the ways that matter.

sorry i think abt this a lot

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 240

You know what I think could be a really interesting premise?

Liminal-as-fuck Batfamily (and maybe all of Gotham itself) who aren't part of the Justice League. Like I am saying full on cryptid batfam who terrorize the criminals of Gotham and aren't well known outside of the city besides rumours.

And now throw in the Phantom team, either via Sam or Ellie or otherwise bringing the anti-ecto acts to their attention. I'm saying feral ghostly children barely being held back by Alfred from destroying the GIW buildings with their bare hands. Yes, that includes Bruce and Kate.

[gt-daboss]

Two Different Worlds

CW: slightly depressing/unequal world? (I'll add more if asked)

Any giant, for whatever reason, can enter human cities. Be it a business negotiation or visiting family and friends, the city will welcome them all, for a price. With giant societies being the proprietors of nearly all the wealth in the frontier, humans are treated as faux second-class citizens. Not generating enough influence to really matter when a problem is presented, especially one where the sole cause is the giants themselves. For but a small cost, any of them can enter a human city, with free reign over everything we've built. Stomping their way through with little regard for the 'equal' citizens below, humans are forced to make way for them as the giant ooh's and aah's degradingly at the city miniaturized for their liking.

Every Human grows up with the constant, oppressive weight of being considered lesser, No, physically BEING lesser. Smaller, tiny, insignificant, a pest, a human. But to be presented with a person so fabulously wealthy, so physically above you and your peers, and all they do when they see your city is laugh...

It's like living in a separate world.

[gayerskimmeh]

Fuck it have some old doodles never seen before

(mostly related to the fact G can't feel touch on his arms and legs, so Scar accommodating for that in his affection, also he got them dumb hip widows)