#so he brute forces it like dat

[qoldenskies]

I know you said you are a Donnie enjoyer yeah he’s awesome I love him. I love all the guys actually it’s just the sunset duo are my favs. What’s your opinion on the sunset duo I mean Raph and Mikey as individuals or as a duo

I AM VERY MUCH A SUNSET DUO ENJOYER THEYRE GREAT!!!!! i have a sep!au fully plotted out that centers them as one of the Big Dynamics (ive been waiting for an excuse to ramble about it so maybe later. wears button that says Please Ask Me About My Work),,, i dont have a ton to say but i feel bad for people who favor them because this is a very disaster twins centered fanbase from what i've observed LMAO. raph and mikey enjoyers you deserve more food i am so sorry......

(more in the tags because that accidentally happened and im not transferring it over to here LMAO)

[grlpartdoll]

Part Two of this :] finally CEO price and boss Simon :] not proofread we die like men. Aarrrrmmm 18+ minors blocked on sight Nd there is filthy smut in here so if dat makes u uncomfy stay out!!

Your first instinct is to immediately go seek out your best friend, Soap — with whom you'd worked a good amount of years until you were transfered to the technical unit, and then to the role of assistant.

He lets you ramble as he works (Johny has a bad habit of always working on his lunch hour. You've tried to take it outta him, but he just won't budge, the stubborn bastard) and eventually pipes up when you mention the reason of your ire.

Simon. Mister Riley, as you call him.

"Simon's got you all work'd up? Really? The big ole brute?"

"You try working under him! He- he's like a giant six foot four body of grumpiness and inability to show a grain of appreciation!"

He looks at you, staring for what feels like forever until you let out a whole, long sigh.

"And unfortunately for me, he's also got.."

"That mug of his?" Soap whistles. "Woulda done it, if he wasn' so painfully straight."

You wrinkle your nose at that, shaking away the thoughts of the two of them being together.

You toss your fork back in your plastic plate, very much understanding that hell awaits you when you go back. Which, as you glance at the clock, realize that the time is ever approaching.

"Well. It will have been nice meeting you, Johny-boy."

He pats your head as he gets up, finally taking his eyes off of his screen and going to the nearby trash to dump all of your and his leftovers.

"It'll be fine. Just bat those pretty lashes at him and he'll let you off."

You kiss your teeth, cocking your head as you think maybe. Maybe, it could work for once. Though you're not sure there's anything soft of mellow underneath the constant armor he wears, your sure that... Well.. there is something.

You have to try. For the sake of your job and your livelihood.

.

When you step out of the elevator into the last level of the building — the technical unit's office space, as well as mister Price's office and now Simon's, you notice one thing. It's awfully quiet.

Usually, the technical team is quite chatty. Being made up of mostly young adults fresh out of high school, they always seemed to have something to laugh and giggle about. Which is why the silence now unsettles you.

You also notice, side-stepping the rows of empty desks, that the door to yours and Simon's office is closed, and the glass fogged up — thanks to the technology that allowed him by the click of a remote to make it so.

Usually, his office only goes on full lockdown when he's in serious board meetings, or when he's in a foul mood, and you're ready to bet it's the latter this time.

You chew on your lower lip anxiously as you knock on the glass pane. A voice tells you to come in, and you freeze a little when you recognize mister Price's voice.

You slip in, either way, forcing your frozen limbs to move and take you inside.

The door closes loudly behind you, glass panel knocking agaisnt each other. You clutch the papers you carried all the way up from the reception against your chest, wide eyes going itchy when you don't blink for too long.

"Here she is," Price smiles wide at you. He's sitting on the couch opposite of Simon's desk, a leg propped against the coffee table, and a cigar dangling from his lips.

Your former boss had always been fond of you — had always been so kind to you.— which is why you seek his eyes out first.

"Hi, mister Price." You manage through a right throat. You turn to Simon, who's already staring holes into you, examining you from head to toe, but taking special interest to your face for a moment too long. "I wasn't aware you had a meeting today."

"It was impromptu," John says for Simon, standing from his position. He walks to you, and lays his hands on your shoulders. Something he seems to do a lot — youve noticed when he's around other employees also.

He squeezes yours, maybe a bit too roughly, but nothing that shakes you to the core. If anything, it's a comforting touch.

"How many times have I told you to call me John, kid?"

"As many times as I've asked you to call me by my name, mister Price."

He laughs, loud and boisterous. He turns to Simon, who's still just... Staring. Price points a thumb at me, smiling with fully a fully reconstructed set of teeth, white and gleaming. Though they aren't uncanny like most sets of fake teeth, you can tell when he smiles like this that his canines are too unnatural to be his.

"Always liked her, this one."

"As you've mentioned." Simon practically grumbles.

Price tsks at him, shaking him off with a wave of his hand.

"Come sit with me." He tells you. And because you don't know what to do right now, you listen.

Once youre settled, and Price has taken another puff of his cigar, he clears his throat and gives you a more serious look.

"So. Simon here is telling me you're having... Problems."

"I—"

Did he have to bring the CEO into this? Really? You crumble a little, shoulders caving into yourself.

"I apologize for my words, mister Riley, I was.." you drift off, staring at your hands on your lap. It doesn't feel real at all, that you're here getting reprimanded by the CEO himself.

"This is not about you," the older man says after another puff, and it jostles you a little that mister Price pats you on the knee, keeping his touch respectful. You look at Simon to see if he notices, and his eyes don't let anything betray him. The only thing that gives you pause is the way his hands tighten around the edges of his chair.

"Pardon?"

"It's Simon here, who's been overworking my best girl."

"I—"

You don't know what to say. You stare at the both of them.

Price's left side of his lips tilt upwards at what he finds in your face.

"I told him, when I handed you over, to be good to you."

"Sir, Its really fine —" you say, if only because you don't want to lose your job.

Smoke from his cigar blows towards you, and you cough a little behind your hand, face flaring with heat.

"Quiet, dollie."

You frown a little at that, though an unsettling feeling does grow within you, lower in your stomach.

"Come here, Boy."

Simon moves from his chair, and it's sheer surprise that makes your spine straighten. You'd never heard anyone dare speak to him that way — like a.. dog.

Ghost stands before you, and it's really ridiculous how while you sit, you come face to face with his crotch, and how much you want to lick the buldge.

That thought alone makes you shiver, and you wriggle in your seat.

"Kneel for her, Simon."

A noise rumbles in your boss' chest, but he does, and when he looks up at you, you're starstrucked. He's so handsome, old and rugged, yes, but he is so beautiful. With bright eyes, sharp features and a long face, yet fitting face for all of his features.

And when he looks into your eyes, with those thin fluttery blond lashes, you find yourself not being able to deny whatever he is he's about to do.

A hand snatches your attention from Simon, calloused fingers softly putting strands of your hair behind your ear.

"Simon's gonna show you how sorry he is about being such a pain in that perfect fucking arse of yours, okay, dollie?"

"N-no, I- I don't think that's appropriate, it's really—" a squeak cuts you off as Simon wraps his big, beefy hands around the back of your thighs and pulls you into your back.

You settle heavily, hair like a hallo around you. You can only stare up at Price as he smokes, watching Simon hungrily watching what lays between your pretty legs.

"Such a pretty little thing," Price coos, still a hand on your head.

You don't know why, but tears prickle at your eyes, and your heart is beating out of your chest. You want this — and yet, somehow, youre afraid.

"Go on, Simon." Price orders, and as he does so, he manspreads on the couch further, making it so your head is basically laying against his thigh. Strong and thick, though a bit softer now that he's retired.

Simon grunts a little. "M'sorry, little dove.."

His fingers splays themselves open on top of your mount, a sort of reverant touch you're not all that used to. He toys with your underwear.

"Couldn't let y'go home. Couln't have y'going on dates with tha' manchild..."

"Mister riley—"

"Simon," he growls. "When m'head is between your thighs, it's Simon to ya', pretty."

"It's fine, you don't have to.." your voice is thin, and you don't mean it.

Price ticks his tongue as though he can hear the lies on your tongue. He rubs his hand through your scalp, soothing you. "Show the pretty doll just how much she deserves."

Simon lowers himself, and his lips trail up your underwear, where a wet patch is steadily growing.

"M'sorry, dovie." He says again, sounding everything but sorry. His fingers gently slide your briefs off, and his face flushes at the sight of you, his eyes going a bit more shiny.

You've never seen him that way — always the severe faced boss everyone wants to avoid. But like this.. it looks like he's infatuated and has nothing else on his mind but eating you alive.

His teeth surprisingly sink into your thigh, and you jerk, a noise like a mewl making it out of your mouth. Price shushes you gently.

When Simon pulls back, there's a mark, but you're not bleeding. It somehow makes your heart sore a little to see his mark.

"Don't tease th'poor thing," Price scolds, and you're watering eyes can barely see as he shakes his head at the younger man.

Simon growls, and shrugs. He digs in right away, lapping at you, holding your thighs so tightly you know it'll bruise.

His teeth rake only slightly against your bundle of nerves, and it has you jerking and crying out. Price quickly soothes you though, his now free hand that previously held a cigar rubbing your tummy, but also pressing it down so you stay still for mister Riley.

Simon is good, though. He eats you out like a man starved, and fucks your little hole with his tongue until you're gushing and crying and writhing against his mouth.

Even then he doesn't relent, and Price holds you, keeping you in place.

"C-cant—" you cry out, but Simon growls, and he, somehow, just goes harder, adding his fingers to the mix.

And then he's stroking that spot deep in you, his fingers unrelenting and rough in you, coaxing more orgasms from you.

At some point, you realize that you're seeing stars — literal stars. You can't feel your toes, and your legs on Simon's shoulders.

Simon only lets go because Price feels as you bite his thigh through his pants and pries him off.

Simon's face is slick all over the lower part of it, and he still looks hungry, fingers scissoring you open to look inside you. "Can't wait to fuck you open.." he sighs darkly, and you have to keen impression that he's not talking to you directly.

"Do you know how Sorry Simon is now, dollie? He'll be nice, won't he?"

Simon's eyes darken, and his lips curl. "Sure. G'nna be real nice to ha'."

[dairy-farmer]

Twas rereading you respond to my Fake But Not Really, Informant Robin Ask? The Hunt and Prey dynamics? And just?

Dat implication that he legit could find TENTACLES in those pants at this point and would STILL find a way to fuck him? >:3c oh myyyyy~

What if he WAS a cis Boy? Gnc, first to make it harder to ID him, then just cause it felt right? And just?

Bruce slowly transitioning from rage to anger to concern to frustration to obsession. He's been trained by the FINEST IN THE WORLD. This is literally HIS CITY. How. HOW is this boy out running him? Then this teen. Then this pretty young thing.

Obviously, Tim has dumped EVERYTHING into his speed and evasion stats. Bruce is a walking tank. He Would Absolutely Lose. And just? How many near misses were there? More then once! Where Bruce ASSUMES and Tim is his squirmy, impossible to pin forever self.

Did Bruce tackle him? Wrapping around him to make sure the fall isn't too hard on those rough, rough rooftops? Get to feel that hot little body pressed under him right until he's escaped? Does he get him pinned to a wall perhaps? Get to smell that spice and herbs body wash? Practically TASTE the sweat in the air between you as "Robin" gasps high and muffled up against the bricks for air? Getting distracted are we Bruce? Frustrating when he gets AWAY because of it..... ain't it?

If only there was a way to STOP that~

And it's not like... not like he can PLAN for when The Robin shows up. Gotta have the supplies ON him. But uhh, quick question, Bruce. What ARE those supplies? When did that lubricant make it's way in? That condom?

And that FILE on your computer... when DID you start it? With research and plans? Oh sure you had a few male lovers in the past, but never have pulled BATMAN level research for it... did ya? And a ROOM huh? Oh sure, sure. Gotta first contain the possible threat. Mmmhm. Oh? The threat assessment? I see... then "ideally, folding him into the family" huh?

As a son? Doesn't seem like a son, there, Bruce. And that room seems very... sex prison-y. "Threat assessment" their Various Bat Asses. Where's bruce? Off hunting down the step-mom. It's absolutely a kink they joke (so they don't have to think about how it genuinely IS).

And just? The bolas finally catching his upper body. Down he goes. Bruce on him in seconds. One fuild motion to get handcuffs securing ankles together. Gloved hand in his hair pressing back down before he can get up to start struggling free. Got him. GOT HIM.

And it's everything he HAS not to be a savage. Dragging his other glove off, don't know where it's been, wanna FEEL. Those pants dragged down so fast he's surprised he doesn't tear them. Coms and cams already off. Lube open. Sliding a finger all the way home.

Getting a yelp. Panting and squirming and NOT THIS TIME, you wont! You're staying RIGHT where he wants you! Not even trying to STRETCH this brat so much as looking for that spot that'll- Finding it and getting a squeak and a jolt. Feeling EVERY tooth bear itself as he smiles like a shark. Getting a WAIL as he started ramming in.

His pretty prey thrashing but trapped as his poor little spot is HAMMERED. He's not gonna be running ANYWHERE. Telling that. Growling out, half high out of his mind with the victory and lust, EXACTLY how frustrating he's been. How much of a god damned TEASE. Pushing in another finger, just to feel his body stretch. To TAKE it as he finger fucks like a brute. Drags him over the edge.

Buries his fingers in deep and grinds and grinds and GRINDS.

The poor little hole forced to take it, as he milks him through it. Makes him sob. Gasp for air. Like HELL he's done. YEARS. This tease, this hunt going for YEARS. Barely remembers to slide the damn condom on. Gonna test him at the cave. If he's clean, fuck him RAW. Pulls the whimpering wreck into his arms and into his lap.

Sheaths him right on his cock. Balls deep in one go. Holds his little face still and he peels off that mask. Runs the face match. Got him. Timothy Drake.

Fucks deep and hard, growling every bit of information that pops up right in "Robin's" ear. Found you. Got you. No more escape.

And just? All that frustration~ But Bruce is not a MONSTER! Oh no, it's unthinkable to HURT you so much you can't escape. But physical exhaustion? And wouldn't you know it, humans ARE just so much more susceptible to influence when on the brink of exhaustion from marathon sex. Feel like agreeing with him... don't you? *muffled groan whine from the bed* Atta boy.

But of course~ Tim is not so easily swayed. His a strong willed young Twink who don't need no Bat-Man! He will not be-! *hand lands ominously on his shoulder as he's trying to sneak out* Ha ha.... he's in Danger(tm). *is dragged back for The Fuckening: Round Another One*

It's like the Bat and the cat except it's just Bruce trying to convince Tim to STOP running around Gotham and stay in his nice comfy manor with technology, a bat cave, and Bruce's bed in it! But Tim SHANT. He is an independent Twink! A MODERN man of mystery! You can't convince him with sex!

To which Bruce says "Bet."

😭😭😭😭 tim is a modern man and can't be bought with incredible sex from a mentally ill men who has jacked off to fantasies of catching him and mounting him on the wall like a prized deer head but also of literally mounting tim and fucking the desire to be his stay at home wife and cockwarmer into his head ❤️❤️❤️.

[tristayranambrosio]

Things Forgotten and Reforged Part 8

The Rayne Root, for those who have never been, stands as a vast Kaldorei style estate that has been rebuilt twice in its existence that dates back almost to prehistory. Originally it stood as a single building complex and rest space for artisans and creators in the Dark Troll Empire, then eventually grew into a Three wing Estate that expanded with it’s own spa that had been built around the natural hot spring, a whole wing dedicated to an academy campus, and of course the residential wing central in the complex with magnificent courtyard gardens, one maintained by the Rosewarden himself. Trist paced in his roses and briars, his hands freshly soiled with dirt and the work of tilling and aerating a patch of earth. He’d been there hours attempting in vain to get the tree to sprout. Roses came naturally to him… but this was different; an oak tree, and Trist was no druid. “Joo know dat yah cin always jest ask me if joo tryin ta grow sometin.” A voice chuckled over his shoulder. “Not now, Hart.” Trist hissed as he knelt for the five hundredth time in the day cupping his hands over the mound of soil he had watered and sewn with the Sheets, and the acorn along with a nest of threads from the Tapestry. They said he had magic. Everyone constantly told him what he could do was magic, enchanting… So why wasn’t it working!?

“Dis be for my Grandson, what betta time?” The Haunting stood arms crossed and leaning against thin air. He was a spirit so that was hardly something new. Even as a phantom The First-Father or the ‘Hartwood’ of the Root itself appeared a stunning likeness to Leo himself, bark skin and leafy hair aside. He stood feet taller though and was built like a brute rather than the lean graceful Leo was, but the Ancient Elf-Troll missing link still resembled Leo enough to make Trist look any way other than at him for fear it’d distract him. “Exactly. It's for him, so I need to work, and not… I dunno deal with arguing with you.” Trist huffed exasperated. “Joo act like I neva do anytin but argue witcha.” That got Trist to look up and glare at the phantom. “Okey okey, suppose I do like givin ya trouble, I admit dat, but why no ask me ta help…” The sincerity in his words caught Trist off guard, and it loosed his tense shoulders, the stress of -finishing- this in time spilling out of him.

“Because I asked you to help me once… and it took a part of you… it was a mistake, and one I will not make again. I’ve apologized tenfold for it… but it's not enough, nor will it ever be enough to make up for what I took and just… gave away. I resolved to do this without asking more from you… I can do this.” Trist insisted, pressing his hand over the acorn and forcing a melody from his lips once more, but it was hoarse after having tried for hours. The First father’s transparent hand fell over Trist’s and though the Bard couldn’t feel it he saw as the once warlord spoke gently to him, “Little one ja put too much on ya self for all dat… I didn’t give ja more den I willin’ly parted wit… And Dis is for my Grandson…” Trist tried to focus on the song, tune the Ancestral spirit out and focus as sweat beaded on his brow. Hart continued gently, “Joo know dere is no one else fer ‘im little one, joo already gotta put dis ting togetha… let ja old man at least give ja alittle of myself for dis project.” Trist’s voice wavered and his eyes met the phantom’s guilt and desperation warring in the expression as he kept singing.

The deep voiced phantom didn’t have the voice of a singer but he harmonized as best he could, trying to channel the latent magic of the space into their palms as they rested over the acorn. “Let this promise in me start Like an anthem in my heart From now on…From now on…”

Trist felt the stir of something growing beneath their palms but he dared not lift them away, and sang with a wobbling hope. “And from now on… These eyes will not be blinded by the lights From now on… What's waited 'til tomorrow starts tonight It starts tonight! And let this promise in me start- Like an anthem in my heart- From now on From now on From now on…” Hart sang on in unison, feeling his roots reach through and up into the base of the Oak that now grew rapidly forcing Trist onto his back with the sudden burst of growth, the bark and wood itself a stunning spider web patterned smooth and silk leafed Midnight blue…

Trist looked on in sheer awe of the sapling that had emerged from the soil carrying aspects of some of their shared memories and salvaged items, the wood new and already opalized in the grain with pale moon white gemstones within the texture of the tree. “T-that…” “Some of my betta work I’d say, doh joo didn’t do half bad. Just needed dah push.” Hart smirked, patting the bark of his Grandson’s oak. “But I’ll… I’ll hurt it to work on this- I’ll hurt you-” Trist protested. The First Father huffed, “Dis was GROWN to be ja Mate’s and shaped by yah ‘ands. Now take whatcha need from it. I know joo gotta finalize dis before Ja name day no more hesitatin!”  Trist cleared his throat and nodded, finding the branches he needed, finding that a basic shape and curve had already been -grown- into existence. He wanted to argue that it felt like he hadn’t earned this, but the First Father glared, and cut off the thought before it even escaped, “Joo have grown and maintained all dis… roses on roses of all da kinds joo make for all dat inspire ya and joo do it wit-out my inta-vention, joo put in dah work on dat, I just aided alittle. Ja wed tah my grandson, ja ‘is mate, Child, Raynes know when tah ask for help.”

“But I’m not-”

“Yes joo are, Trist. Ya even my namesake. I tink de reason dat be was because ja was meant to find our lost one and bring ‘im here… but despite whatcha tink… dat’s not de only thing ja are for, joo aren’t just some deliver method. Joo are one of us because ja love him, Growin tings comes easy to me… dead or not. And dis way I be helpin with da weddin in some small way, I don’t get to come watch so let ja old mon have dis.” The Phantom teased now and looked like he ached to wrap the elf before him in his arms and reassure him as a father-in-oath, “Tink of dis as my showin we trust ja wit his heart, if dat helps… Joo both deserve eachodda… and Joo mean da world tah him… stop doubtin dat or I -will- haunt joo.” “You already -are- haunting me.” Trist replied deadpan. “Betta stop doubtin yourself den.” “Don’t you have a Raven to flirt with?” “Don’t joo have a ‘Tank you First Fadda’ for me?” “Thank you.” “Dat’s betta.” The Haunting grinned and vanished into the soil and the Oak that had sprouted was swallowed back up by the earth on the heels of his laughter that made the branches above the estate shake and shiver with echoes of it.