#trade naked pictures

[mrsrandfriends2]

MrsR tits out Tuesday we love to trade photos with couples get in touch if you want to trade photos privately

[tittyinfinity]

Yesterday my mom said we were going on a cave tour but we ended up going to a Racism Museum and then driving a golf cart on long sidewalks for 5 minutes of looking down into a canyon (there was no going into a cave)

[mv1simp]

inspired by my fav @piastrification thank you for being in my walls 🫶🫶 hope you enjoy!!

Streets ♥️

Max Verstappen x PR Manager!Reader

we play our fantasies out in real life ways, and no final fantasy, can we end these games, though?

6 months ago, F1 champion Max Verstappen traded in his status as "serious cat dad with road rage issues" for "Genius. Playboy. Millionaire. Philanthropist". Since then you've been fighting absolute demons as his PR manager to keep his reputation clean in the media. After you tell him you've had enough, he proposes a very interactive solution to your problem.

Content includes: Humour, crackfic, fluff, so much sexual tension, 18+ MDNI, smut, playboy!max, exasperated manager! reader, a very well rounded fic for once?! 4.7k WC

If someone asked you where it’d all gone downhill, you’d have to say it started because of that greedy paparrazi rat Henri - photographer at the MonacoDaily, otherwise known as every PR manager’s sleep paralysis demon. Because this particular paparazzo had a nasty knack for capturing celebrities just as they made the most atrocious decisions known to mankind. And he had an even nastier knack for threatening to sell said photos to the highest bidder. Truly, it was a dark day for any media team when they were forced to bargain with such a foul demon, who’d be able to go toe to toe with the likes of Satan himself.

So when your phone dinged at 5am on a peaceful Sunday morning, only to reveal the 7th (7th!!) message this month from the very same greedy little rat, you threw it across the room. Only to then remember you devastatingly had not been born into a Dubai oil family and you needed this job to pay Monaco rent. The text turns out to be a photo of your aggravating client - Max Verstappen, F1 champion driver, loving father to two cats, and more recently, certified manwhoreTM. He’s living upto your nickname for him, pictured in some nightclub with a half naked blonde sitting on his lap. Alright, alright, not as bad as you were expecting, you could even photoshop the girl’s hair colour to match his current girlfriend’s one maybe? Well, except the brunette woman glaring behind him is his current model girlfriend of the month. You hear a ding, another text from Henri - this time with just a 😈 and 💸👀. You throw the phone back against wall.

Three hours later you’ve cleaned up the PR nightmare and are banging on Max’s apartment door. He blearily lets you in, shirtless and still looking half drunk, but you don’t hesitate to yank him by his beltloops and drag him to the dining table (after quickly checking out that broad chest of his, though, cause goddamn. You’re just a girl.)

Ow, ow, what the hell, Max groans as he’s shoved into a chair. Please. As if you could do any real damage in your 5 foot frame to the 6 foot driver. Slamming your hands on the table for some dramatic flourish (you’re never beating the theatre kid allegations) you give the Dutchman a piece of your mind, demanding to know what his problem is, does he know how many people you’ve had to bribe this month to stop #SluttyMaxEra trending on twitter?? And yes, you know he broke up with Kelly 10 months ago but can’t he just process this healthily and go to therapy instead of having a hoe phase and hooking up with every third woman in Monaco?

Max looks insulted at this slight to his honor. He retaliates by accusing you of buying into the patriarchy and slut shaming him (-That’s not how that works but pop off king, is your deadpan response), and telling you he’s very much over Kelly, okay, it was an amicable breakup (-Sure, Verstappen, that’s why you’d only played Lana Del Ray for a whole month afterwards, huh?) and well, what’s the issue, he’s a hot and rich guy in Monaco, it’s not his fault women just want him? Would it not be #misogynistic of him to deny women the opportunity to explore their sexuality?! He smirks, pleased with his defence.

You groan, slumping down on a chair and burying your face in your hands, muffling your groan of wholesome cat dad Max comeback whennn. Max rolls his eyes at your theatrics, asking if you’d finally lost the plot.

You try cleaning up the PR messes you’ve been making, Max Emilian, you hiss furiously, remember Ibiza? Santorini? The goddamn yacht party over summer break when he got with the captain and her deputy?! (Even now, thinking of that leaking online gives you heartburn.)

Which yacht, Max says cockily, the one where he got with them one after another or at the same time?

Your jaw drops. You hadn’t even known about the threesome, so you suppose you should be grateful that wasn’t another mess to clean up. But a deeper, insecure part of you can’t help but wonder why the only woman Max doesn’t seem to want is you.

And sometimes you can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be one of his girls, under his strong body for once instead of on the other side of his hotel wall, having to drown out the very satisfied female moans and headboard bangs with noise cancelling headphones. Like always, you push that thought down quickly.

You, good sir, are for the streets, you announce, standing up and deciding it was time to leave before your delulu, jealous thoughts decided to resurface. Seriously, you mutter under your breath, you didn’t care if his current side quest was to fuck 10 times a week, but could he at least stick to one person for a bit and not make more work for you-

Max’s hand slams the front door back closed as you started to open it. You freeze, turning back to look at him smirking down at you. You hadn’t expected him to follow you down the hallway and you gulp nervously for the safety of your job - you might have taken the roasting a bit too far.

Instead, you get a sly, Oh, so I can do whatever I want, wherever I want, just with one person?

At your awkward nod, because yes, that would significantly ease your workload, he continues, enjoying teasing his uptight, pretty manager - then were you gonna offer yourself up? After all, there’s no PR messes to find out about if it’s you, right?

You blink at Max, completely stunned by the 180 this conversation has taken. Your expression is so adorable that he couldn’t resist a you’re so cute when you’re acting all jealous, you could’ve just asked if you wanted him to fuck you, ya know?

That promptly reminds you you’re dealing with an an absolute manwhore. RIP celibacy era Max, you’ll always be famous.

Um, absolutely fucking not, keep your STDs to yourself, you hiss, flushing head to toe, and furious at the desire in you to give into the devilish proposal. He encourages you to think about it, still smirking, relaxing his grip so you can mercifully flee far away from his intense gaze. Jesus, when did he learn to rizz a girl up like that?!

You don’t take his proposal seriously at all, ignoring his cocky looks at you over meetings all week (also, he’d texted you his clean STD result to assure you he was a #SafeSexKing.) But that weekend, your refusal comes back to haunt you when you’re on a well deserved night out with your girlfriends and your PR manager senses start going off. You narrow your eyes as you spot Max in the dark corner of the nightclub, hands all over a mystery redhead. She’s not going to be a mystery much longer though - if you’d spotted them it was a matter of time before fan’s phones did and then you’d wake up to another goddamn text from your sleep paralysis demon, Henri.

You don’t even have to think about it twice. Saying goodbye to your friends, you’re at Max’s side at a very impressive speed given your 6 inch stilettos and tight sparkly minidress, and once again dragging him off by the beltloops and into an open bathroom.

He lets you yank him away, smirking when he sees you lock the door for good measure. Sweetheart, he greets. So good to see you. Finally realised you couldn’t resist me?

You practically climb him like a tree while telling him to shut the fuck up and pay attention at media training day next time, because what kind of PR crisis did he have unfolding out there? And just this once you’ll help him out, you say breathlessly in between deep kisses, but this isn’t a regular thing -

There’s not much more talking from you because he has you moaning up against the wall next, fingers buried inside your tight little pussy as he talks you through an orgasm, and then another when he splits you in half on his cock. (Once again, manwhore, who carries a condom in their jean pockets?!)

Unfortunately for your self control but very fortunately for your sex life, it is not in fact, a “one time thing”. Your trusty rose vibrator is glad for the break as you’d been taking your year long frustrations at your dry spell out on her. Especially when coming home after staying in hotels where you’d had to book out rooms neighbouring Max’s, so no one else overheard the raunchy vocals of different women every night.

Like Max said, with you, there were no more illicit PR messes to find out about in the middle of the night. You’d redirect him everytime he gave you bedroom eyes (At the pre race debrief. Post race debrief. Weekly team plan meeting. Over zoom calls? Seriously?) - gently taking his large hand and guiding him to a much more hidden, PR crisis-friendly area. To your surprise, Max actually sticks to his word and only hooks up with you - admittedly, multiple times a week (Not that you’re complaining. Turns out he was just as good in bed as he was on the track. Except this time he was definitely not finishing first...)

And for a while, everything is going well. There are no more weekly scandals scattered across trashy celeb magazines about Max. Your boss is gushing with praise, so impressed that you’ve finally managed to talk some sense into Redbull’s problem child (ah, if only she knew, but she never would, because the goddamn CIA couldn’t torture this info out of you) and best of all, you haven’t gotten a text from papparazzi rat Henri in weeks!

So of course, Max Verstappen decides that things are getting just a little bit too quiet for his liking, you had to earn your generous PR manager salary, that he paid for, right? His new, numerous tactics to stir the pot had included:

Going to clubs with no private bathrooms so you’d had to sit on his lap in the VIP lounge as he pulled your panties to the side to slide into you, barely hidden under your flimsy dress. You’d held back your moans and prayed the bass was too loud for anyone to hear

Sitting right next to you at every team dinner or business meeting so that he could sneak a large hand up your thigh and tease your pussy for fucking hours, often just as you were about to speak. And when you’re clenching the table so hard your fingers were white, he’s bending under the table to pick up a pen or something but instead left teasing licks and kisses on your aching core. You'd learnt very quickly not to wear a skirt.

Picking you up in his 2 seater Aston Martin instead of the much more appropriate discreet, spacious, 5 seater Audi he owned - so when he was too pent up after a bad practise session to wait till he got home, he'd get you to go down on him right there in the car, sometimes even as he drove, instead of parking in some hidden backstreet. It was so dirty, that he needed you so desperately that he didn't care about being caught by anyone peeking in through the half tinted windows. Because if they did look, they’d find his head thrown back in pleasure as he moans, his fingers tangled in your curls as he moved your drooling, pink lips up and down his wide cock-

Anyways, you get the picture. And he’d escalated this all the way to the paddock, which was insane because there were always multiple cameras trained on the current F1 champion. It’s the one place you two couldn’t sneak off without a very high risk of being caught, as evidenced by the one and only time he'd managed to get under your skin in the garage. He'd had you pinned up against the wall in some narrow side hallway as he whispered how fucking sexy you’d looked today, wearing his hoodie to cover up the hickies you hadn’t realized you’d woken up with and paired with some tiny denim shorts. Having the 6 foot champion huskily groan that he couldn’t focus on his free practise everytime you bent over to pet a passing dog, or when you innocently sucked on the Redbull flavoured lollipops and then the goddamn ice cream from the truck they’d brought in - was quite the power trip, you admit. So you guided his lips from your neck as he tries to add to the growing bruises on your neck and redirected him to your waiting lips instead, steamily making out as his large hands squeezed your thick ass like he’d been thinking about all day-

Max?!?

You instantly pull back from the driver and turned to see a flabbergasted looking GP - Max’s race engineer. His jaw is wide open as he looked at you two with round eyes. You’re fumbling to explain, trying and failing to push Max back - who looks rather annoyed at the intrusion and semi-glares at GP with narrow eyes. You hiss at the younger man to stop being rude and slip underneath his arms, going over to guiltily apologise to GP only to be met with You too?! How did he get you in his bed, you hated how much of a slut he was! Seriously, does he have a magical dick? Now you stare at GP in shock, unsure of how to respond to his question while Max starts laughing behind you. You make him join you as you promise to GP that he will never have to witness this again, because there will be no unprofessional behaviour of any sort on the paddock after "BootyShorts Gate" as you thereafter dub the incident. Regardless, GP still shoots you both wary glances and begins the habit of announcing his arrival and waiting 10 seconds before turning a corner in the garage, earning him many an odd look. Dramatic, really, was this where Max gets it from?

Max, of course, was very displeased with this new “professionalism” rule you'd set down - on the paddock was when he'd get the most tense, the most horny and desperate to have you underneath him, after all - and he made sure you knew it. You deliberately ignored his heated gaze on you as you interviewed him, or his lingering touches when he helped you hold your microphone up to his much taller frame, large hand wrapped around your small ones clutching the mic. Or his recent favourite, which involved standing next to you to help pick out the insta pics post-race (something he'd notoriously always hated to do) - except now, he conveniently happened to be shirtless, his toned abs and broad shoulders on display, running a hand through his sweaty tousled hair.

This last seduction tactic had sent you fleeing to Checo's garage to seek out the other Redbull driver's PR manager and beg on your knees for a client swap, surely, the sponsor benefits are legendary for whoever Max's PR manager is -

Nope. Nuh uh, no way, Checo is the breeziest driver ever to look after. The other manager pauses. Well, except for the occasional political military coup scandal in Mexico. But still, I'd take that any day over El Manwhore.

You wailed at whatever Gods had decided to curse you and took matters into your own hands, furiously plotting up social media campaign idea after idea that were exactly the kind of thing Max hated with a burning passion - hoping it would get him to back off on his tactics and wave a white flag. From viral TikTok challenges, to making him read all his cringe 2008 tweets, and even making him play fuck, marry, kill with the drivers of the grid. You'd admit, that last one had been rather funny to watch, making you chuckle as you scrolled through the comments, liking "Can't believe we got Max Verstappen saying he would fuck Lewis, kill Pierre and marry Charles before GTA 6" and "does Redbull admin know she posted this on main?!"

But despite your best efforts, it didn't seem to deter Max. If anything, he'd begrudgingly do the task and end up laughing excitedly at you - who was holding the camera - about some joke or the other and make your stupid heart flutter. You knew you definitely should not be catching feelings for your client - who'd made it very clear his interest in you was only physical. But no one needed to know that sometimes you’d log into your fake account to like the "Who got max giggling and kickin his feet and shii?" comments.

Meanwhile, Max had caught wind of your desperation for an escape attempt with Checo’s manager and had upped the ante. He slyly mentioning to Christian Horner than you were doing such a great job as his PR manager, could he pretty please have you promoted to his general manager for his non racing publicity too?

And that's how you found yourself at a Dior Sauvage photoshoot, despite your adamant protests to Horner. You were putting your Masters of Business Adminstration, first class honours, to fantastic use by babysitting a 26 year old child who liked fast cars that went vroom vroom. The only redeeming factor is that you can leave the unflattering Redbull shirt at home since this wasn't for F1 publicity and instead wear a nice outfit for once. Still, you thought it was odd that Max had so easily accepted this campaign, as he wasn't normally one to enjoy doing PR.

A few minutes later you've figured out exactly why your favourite manwhore had agreed to this campaign, because he's grinning at you while posed shirtless, toned abs and broad shoulders all on display as some pretty, busty model is draped over him. The photographer is making this even more painful for you by dragging out the shoot, making Max and the model reposition herself multiple times. You roll your eyes at the scene, because obviously they're two very attractive people who will look good together no matter what, did the photographer really need to be so extra? You stalk off at some point to make yourself a hot chocolate in the hopes it'll sooth the flames of jealousy that are threatening to consume you right now. Max approaches you when a break is called, running a teasing hand along your waist from the back and whispering you looked so fucking hot in this tight maxi dress, making you nervously look around to see if anyone noticed. Luckily, all the staff appeared busy and didn’t look in the dim corner you'd settled into to do paperwork. You hiss at him to keep your hands to yourself, Verstappen making him grin and inform you that's not what you’d said last night, in fact, you were practically begging for him to do the exact opposite-

You're glaring up at him, seriously contemplating if it’s worth breaking your contract clause to "act in the client's best interests" and mauling him with your laptop when the photographer comes up to you both with narrowed eyes. You guiltily step back, thinking he overhead Max's suggestive comments, but instead he just looks back and forth between you two contemplatively. Then, just as you were about to ask him what the issue was, he announces that you'd be replacing the model as the female for the shoot. No questions asked! he announces as you try to protest and snaps his fingers at the makeup and wardrobe artists to demand they sort you out (he gestures rather dramatically to your whole figure when he says this, making you scowl).

So that's how you find yourself dressed in a silky gold minidress with a sultry eye look, pressed up against Max's broad chest and trying not to focus on the intimate position you two are in. Max, however, has no such qualms about the position, using it to tease you further. You've been looking extra tense lately, sweetheart, he breathes, those devilish lips brushing past your ear. I know a great way to make you relax? You growl at him to shut the fuck up because oh my god, did he know how many cameras are pointed at you both right now? Besides, you mutter under your breath, it seemed like he was very interested in relaxing with that blonde model earlier.

Fighting to keep the smug look of his face, Max whispers back that there was No need to be jealous, schatje, you were the only one getting access to his magical dick. So caught up in the game you two are playing, you don't even register the photographer excitedly snapping up pictures, proclaiming that he knew it, the chemistry between these two is unbelievable!

Afterwards, as you're walking off the photoshoot, feeling all hot and bothered from Max's hands running across your exposed skin, shamelessly looking you up and down, the blonde Dutchman catches up to you. He teases you that you were going to get wrinkles at 25 if you didn't stop scowling all the time. I'm older than you, you scoff back, by a whole 6 months, in fact, so maybe you should actually listen to me for once instead of pissing me off? No problem, Max agrees, after all, he's always had a thing for MILFs. You can't help snort at his retort and then start laughing when he tries to maintain an innocent look. At least you were away from the cameras in case someone heard this, you mused.

Unfortunately, you both don't notice MonacoDaily's ratbag paparrazo, Henri, hiding in nearby shrubbery with his camera. It had been far too long without a Verstappen news scandal, he thought with a satisfied smirk as he clicked away.

And later than night, after you'd eaten the chicken stir fry he'd cooked and rewatched Cars 2 (a surpassingly more regular occurrence, these days, to unwind with him at the end of the day instead of immediately being mauled the second you stepped foot in his apartment) you made sure he followed your orders for once. Sitting him back, telling him just how bad he'd been today with all his teasing (-well, it worked, didn't it, sweetheart?) you showed him just how good you were at playing the game, too. And soon, he was breathlessly moaning underneath you as you rode him for the first time, gripping his cock like you were going to milk every last drop, teasing him with just enough pace to get him worked up but not enough to send him over the edge. And you only let him cum inside you when he begged you sweetly, making you go fuzzy at the sight of the infamous Redbull playboy being so desperate for you, and only you.

Afterwards, once you've shampooed each other's hair in the shower while gossiping about how catty that makeup artist had been, really, to imply that your pretty curls had been the problem and not her shitty styling? and Max has got you spooned against him, warm in an old hoodie of his, pressing a goodnight kiss to your forehead, you can't control the warmth blossoming in your chest any longer. And as a content sleep takes a hold of you, you can't help but wonder if Max's affections went beyond physical attraction, just like yours’ were now doing.

It turned out the opportunity to find out this answer would come the very next day, when the ding of your phone wakes you up in the early hours of the morning. It’s a very specific sound that you've set for a certain ratbag - and you get war flashbacks, hearing it now after so long. Scrambling off the bed, ignoring Max's muffled groans as you shove his heavy arm of you, you unlock your phone and gasp in horror as your suspicions are confirmed. Henri has arisen from the ashes and this time it's to deliver his sauciest scandal yet. Because a picture tells a 1000 words, sure, but he has the two of you on a goddamn video, flirting and giggling at each other as you exited the studio yesterday. There's no chance of you talking your way out of this one, as Max's large palm wanders to give your thick ass a firm squeeze as he guides you into his passenger seat. Goddamn, you knew you shouldn't have worn that tempting skims maxi dress - Max was an ass (and tits) man who couldn't be trusted to control himself in public. BTW already sold this 🥸 Henri texts. Just a courtesy FYI cuz I brought a boat with the bag from this one ✌️

You contemplate if it would be better to disappear off the face of the planet, or get plastic surgery to become unrecognisable as you chug your morning Redbull while moodily looking over the Monaco sunrise. Max joins you after a few minutes, looking extremely cute as he rubs the sleep out of his baby blue eyes and asks you what's wrong, schatje.

Taking a deep sigh (like you said, #DramaKid), you break the news. I’m going to hold your hand while I say this (- that’s really not necessary, Max interrupts) - but you know celibacy exists, right? As does having sex in a private location without the risk of being arrested for public indecency?

True, Max agrees, but what was the fun in that? Besides, you were just too hot to resist. Ignoring the butterflies at his cheesy flirting, you hold up the incriminating video on your phone as proof that it was not all fun and games, as Henri had already sold this to multiple news outlets this morning, you inform glumly. Max is strangely silent, looking intently at the video and even replaying it a few times, his eyes crinkling as a soft smile appears on his face when he hears the sound of you two laughing. Then - in a truly unbelievable redemption arc plotline from the Monaco playboy - he asks if it would be so terrible, to have this made public, to let the world know that you were together?

Well, I - you stumble over your words, - I dunno, I thought you liked that? Keeping it secret cause you just wanted a convenient hook up?

Max is silent again. Then, looking uncharacteristically nervous, he says that's not what he wants, not really, not anymore - not since he'd fallen in love with you, somewhere along the 3 months of the friends with benefits/PR manager and her problematic client situationship you’d had. And like at the very start, you don’t even need to think about it twice. This time when you shyly smile and kiss him, you make sure he can feel your love through it and know that you wanted more, too.

So you walk into work that morning, holding hands in open defiance, ready for the world to see. You’re rather confused when no one seems to be paying much attention, instead frantically trying to get the set up ready for the pre race testing. Maybe you two had not been as indiscreet as you thought and people already suspected? Or maybe you both had a penchant for drama and thought you were the main characters when you clearly were not?

You look at each other, shrug, and you give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him you’ll see him for lunch at the kebab shop on the corner, before he wanders off to the garage. Maybe Henri had a change of heart and decided not to exploit innocents for fame and money, you ponder hopefully. Maybe there truly was good in the world, after all.

And then you hear your name being called and turn to see your boss standing behind you menacingly, hands on hips. Care to explain why #MaxLovesMILFS is trending right now?

Somewhere along the Monaco waterfront, a paparazzi rat skulking in the bushes sneezes.

—————————————————————————

A/N: again thank you so much to @piastrification for inspiring this piece!! So sorry for the delay and I hope you enjoy my attempt at branching out to other fics xx tysm to you all for the requests, I am working them into my upcoming fics!! 💖

[thoughtssvt]

nanami kento had one condition when it came to fucking you.

he was to always see your face.

cw : gn!reader (no detailed depictions or implications to readers genitalia), mix of dynamics (soft and gentle to rough), cum eating, oral sex (reader receiving), squirting

missionary was always good. he liked touching as much of your body as he could with his. he loved keeping you close, putting almost all his weight on you as if to say i'm here. he'd cup your cheek, keep you from pressing the back of your head too far into the mattress that he wouldn't be able to watch your blissed out face. always swallowing your moans because, god, he had to taste you. his tongue always yearning for both sets of lips.

having you on top awakened something primal in his chest. the way you'd struggle to stay upright with the force of his strokes like it was actually his goal to throw you off. the only down side to this position were the moments you would throw your head back. he loved the idea that he was fucking you into a blissful arch, he wouldn't trade it for the world. "play with those pretty nipples, darling." he'd command through gruff pants, jaw slack as he examined the way your brows would knit tight. your body naturally curling forward as your hips began moving with his until you were forced to plant your hands on his chest.

on rare occasions your schedules refused to line up he was happy to take advantage of the sliver of time you actually had together under a weak veil of efficiency. the mornings when you were half naked in front of the sink, dutifully brushing your teeth as he stepped out of the shower. he couldn't help the way his arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you close, taking in your scent. he'd ignore your incredulous expression as he began kissing your neck, rough fingers running under the waistband of your underwear. "just keep doing what you're doing. don't mind me." you never really knew how you'd get from one point to the next on mornings like these. toothpaste suddenly running down your chin as he pumped into you from behind. a firm arm keeping you upright, your chin fitted between his thumb and forefinger as he compelled you to watch. watch how good he made you feel. how good you look while he does. it's one of his favorite sights if not number one. his voice drawing your focus no matter how much you wanted to roll your eyes back as he lifted your leg up onto the sink's expanse, hammering into you impossibly deeper.

with the same intention, it was the only reason you had a full body mirror in your shared bedroom. his hand tugging the hair at the nape of your neck just enough to keep your head up, providing a delicious sting. when he's feeling rougher he especially liked you on his lap, your legs draped over his thick ones as he sat on the edge of the bed. spreading you wide so he could see all of you. his arms looping around your shoulders until he could intertwine his hands behind your neck. the only way to keep your head from drooping as he bullied your sweet spot. relishing the sight of your spasming body as you splashed against the glass. his eyes would darken, guiding your jellied body to your reflection to clean up your mess. chest rumbling with a reminder to keep your eyes open.

the only time he allowed your head to dangle uselessly was when he was pinned beneath you, his mouth working dutifully between your legs. nothing mattered when you were riding his face. not his lack of breath, not the way his cock twitched painfully in his slacks, not even the way his eyes burned and threatened to close. he'd keep his eyes on you. the view so divine that he could cum untouched to which he has, unashamedly, done in the past.

he'd keep pictures and videos of your fucked out face on his phone if it wasn't so risky, so please don't blame him for all the positions he put you in at the end of the night.

A/N : the creation of this piece was a possession, i fear.

nanami x reader masterlist

mdni banner + heart chain divider by @/adornedwithlight

[sluttywonwoo]

cheol telling you that you should trade - he holds out his credit card to keep in your wallet in exchange for a polaroid of you to keep in his. he didn't expect the photo to be so spicy, but you can both be generous 💋🤑

you were hesitant but seungcheol insisted. he wanted you to have it just in case you ever needed it. for emergencies! (for treating yourself too but he knew he’d have to work on getting you to do that one).

you obliged, finally, but only after promising to give him something in return.

“what is it?” he asks, trying to peek behind your fingers at your wallet.

“close your eyes!”

“what? baby-”

“close ‘em! and hold out your hand.”

“just one?”

he can hear the mischievous smile in your voice when you giddily say, “yeah, just the one.”

he sighs but does as he’s asked. he owes you this much, after all. and he loves you or whatever.

his face scrunches up in confusion when he feels you place something plasticky in his palm. it feels thin enough to be paper but the texture is wrong. is it… what he thinks it is?

“open!”

it’s a polaroid lying face down in his hand. he had guessed right. this was way better than a credit card and a million times more valuable. he’d always wanted to keep a picture of you in his wallet like everyone used to do. he thought the idea was romantic.

“turn it over!”

he does, eyes almost popping out of his skull when he sees that it’s a mostly naked picture of you. he rushes to cover it before remembering you’re at home, alone, and settling on placing it gingerly on the counter in front of him.

“do you like it?” you ask. you sound nervous but seungcheol has no idea why.

“you’re joking, right?”

“well, you haven’t said anything.”

“all the blood in my head went straight to my dick. there are no thoughts up there, babe.” you snort. “i’m serious. this is so hot, you’re so hot. come here…”

he turns away from the picture to kiss you, using both hands to cup your face so that he can be the one in control. you melt into him easily, letting him lead until you have to pull away to breathe.

“i don’t know how i’m going to keep that in my wallet,” he admits breathlessly.

“just put it behind your license where no one will see it.”

“that’s not what i’m worried about.”

“then what?”

“i’m worried that i’ll get hard every time i pull it out to pay for something, just knowing it’s in there.”

“would that be the end of the world?”

“well, i don’t want people to think i’m getting it up over dry cleaning or lottery tickets or something.”

“if you’re so worried about it, i can always take it back…” you trail off as you reach for the picture but seungcheol snatches it off the counter before you can get a finger on it.

“nope, no take-backs. it’s mine.”

“but you said-”

he clears his throat unsubtly. “i’ll learn to manage.”

you put a hand over your heart in faux-surprise. “you’re so brave.”

[pbnbucks]

paige x nika x reader

word count : 638

warnings : a bit suggestive, sexual intentions.

summary : “ you met ur wbb player gf and to help motivate her, before a game you would give her a sexy polaroid pic of you and you bet your ass she plays better bc of it, considers it her lucky charm at this point” “they would trade cards or would challenge each other during training for their top picks of the sexy polaroids. treating them like the best playing cards ever. if you all live together, the polaroids are considered barter to get out of chores 😝🤭”

“okay but if i beat you in rock paper scissors i got both of theese and all your polaroids” paige hesitated but of course she was cocky and wouldnt let nika think she won so she agreed. “okay but if i win i get all your polaroids and the ones for the rest of your month” nika of course agrees and grabs the ball. theese werenf normal polaroids they where arguing over, they where polaroids of you naked all fucked out on your guys shared bed. your most intimate moments together captured for them. they worshipped those pictures it was a ritual. before each game they would grab their collection and mesmerize them.

Nika goes up to paige and gives her a quick kiss “sorry babe but id like my polaroids now” Paiges face is all red and shes pissed. she had just lost her 1v1 against nika over things she valued most “thats not even fair im not giving you them” and of course nika dosent listen and snatches paiges collection from her. you unlock the door to your guys shared apartment and you find paige on top of nika with nika in a headlock by the blonde and they still havent noticed you with them being caught in the moment of their bickering. “what the fuck are yall doing” their heads snap to look at you in shock. paige was the first to speak “she stole my polaroids” nika scoffs at the stupid blonde “dont lie to her” instead you loose your patience and put an end to their stupid fued “y’all better sit y’all’s lil asses on the couch right now” they quickly find the butts to a seat as you dramatically put your purse and water bottle on the counter and take your shoes off making your way to the living room and sitting down on the recliner across from them. “now somebody explain whats going on and why yall are acting like barbarians” paige sits their like a baby pouting as nika speaks up “basically…”

time skip

the innocent blonde knocks on the bathroom door and you tell her to come in, she goes up behind you and kisses your neck as she wines “she took all the polaroids baby tell her to give them back” your over all of their bickering that went on from the time you got home that you had to witness “awww is mommy’s princess sad now?” you say to her in a baby voice that pisses her off. she immediately turns around trying to walk out before you stop her “okay okay im sorry but what do you want me to do about it, you lost them yourself baby” she goes to sit on the counter as she makes her demands “i want you to get my polaroids back from nika because you love me and if you don’t ill never get out of bed again.” you make sure to noticeably glare hard at her “im not doing that” she crosses her arms and looks the other way “then you don’t love me” she sighs and waits for me to give in “why cant i just take new ones princess and you get to choose what you want, how does that sound princess?” she thinks about it for a good minute “okay fine i guess but nika isn’t sleeping with us tonight” you stop dead in your tracks grabbing her arm “don’t push it paige” she pouts but apologizes “go to our room ill go get the camera sexy” you throw you shoe at her for the annoying nickname she gave you when nika calls you it but she was unfazed by it so you open the door to your room and strip your day clothes off and lay on the bed waiting for your sweet girl.

[petermorwood]

Recent article on NPR about the history of artificial light somewhat frustrated me -- they portrayed all of pre-kerosene history as dark and heinously expensive at all times. Thing is, the writers based their findings solely on tallow candles, & ignored oil lamps, beeswax candles, clever use of refraction & outdoor light including moon/starlight... Also seemed to ignore the ubiquity of hearths / cook fires. Was wondering if you'd be willing to talk about non-tallow light? This isn't to ignore that truly, artificial lighting WAS much more difficult & expensive for much of human history, but acting like tallow candles were the ONLY light source seems very silly! (Plus your other lovely post about bottles of water used to make those candles more efficient via refraction & focus)

I'm betting the article you mean is this one - which refers back to this one.

For matching reference, my own posts about period lighting are here, One and Two, including observations about painting walls white, how to light candles and lamps without matches, and several other matters.

*****

It didn't take too much listening before I got tetchy, because the first half of this podcast seems more about mocking how WEIRD and PRIMITIVE old-time people were, than passing on any useful information.

Despite the presence of Jane Brox (author of "Brilliant: The Evolution of Artificial Light") whale oil only gets touched on in passing, and olive oil isn't mentioned at all.

Instead she starts talking about using oily seabirds (stormy petrels) as "candles", despite this scholarly study concluding that it was something talked about far more than done, besides being so very, very localised that its relevance to the history of lighting is very, very small.

But hey, WEIRD and PRIMITIVE, right?

*****

By contrast, making candles was so commonplace that it was another of those jobs which created surnames. Fletcher once put feathers on arrows, Cooper made barrels, Fisher, Miller, Baker and Farmer are obvious, and Chandler used to make candles.

Lampier, of course, made lamps, which helped keep those naked candle-flames away from anywhere they shouldn't touch. The man on the left is making the lantern bodies, the one on the right is shaving sheets of horn as windows.

It's cheaper than glass, less easily broken yet is translucent enough, when shaved properly thin, to give quite adequate light.

*****

The podcast has a digression about measuring the light output of a reproduction Ancient Babylonian lamp. Here's an original and a repro.

Yet that too says nothing about what fuel the lamp is or should be burning - olive oil, traded all over the Mediterranean by ancient olive-growing cultures.

These are Roman oil-lamps, from simple and cheap to elaborate and costly.

As for beeswax, so far as the podcast is concerned might as well not exist, despite being a by-product of honey, which was THE principal pre-sugar sweetener for centuries when not being made into all that mead whose existence, production and quaffing nobody questions.

Oh yeah, and then there was the amazed discovery (2:40 / 1:25, depending on which you're listening to) that melted beef fat "...smells really nasty, like, ANIMAL nasty,"

Why is this guy surprised? It's part of an animal!

*****

It's the same sort of infotainment ignorance as displayed by this TikTok twit, right up to complaining about the effort involved in preparation of anything because not having powered appliances was so labour-intensive, oh woe. Yes, it was, welcome to any historical period before about 1920. That's where "the daily grind" originates.

However the implication (listen, it's there) that cattle were raised just to provide fat for candles is ludicrous. The fat was a by-product, not a main one, and was often a butcher's side-line, while members of the Chandlers' Guild only worked with superior beeswax.

I don't think you could make candles like these with tallow:

...and you definitely couldn't make one meant to be hand-held.

Picture evidence shows, by their clothing, the class of society who bought these, and tallow-greasy fingers would have been a no-no.

A Chandler didn't make individual candles. By the time that fresh batch is hung up, the first batch away down at the end is cool enough to be dipped again.

A chandler's shop in a medieval city would look very similar, and often had a horizontal wheel on which to hang each batch of candles, rotating them up and around to cool, then back to the dipping pot. Non-modern people may not have had modern tech or time-and-motion studies, but they weren't stupid.

*****

By contrast, the podcast's disparaging attitude of WEIRD and PRIMITIVE is emphasised by what seems a deliberate avoidance of anything which counters it (examples of that in my own posts) and finally at 11.24 / 9:50 came this:

"Even when you get all the way to the 1700s (...) most people are still subsistence farmers, living in some kind of hut, trying to grow enough food not to starve to death (...) and light? Light still comes from finding stuff that's lying around and just lighting it on fire."

Some kind of hut...

Stuff that's lying around...

After making such a declaration, I'm surprised - since they'd been implying it for half the podcast - someone didn't just go ahead and announce that "there's some lovely filth down here..."

That's when I stopped listening.

Enough is enough, and I'd had it.

*****

ETA:

cc: @asmuchasidliketo :->

Here's a photo of what purports to be a Petrel (not petrol, that's something else) Candle, held in the Pitt-Rivers Museum, Oxford. It's mentioned in that scholarly article I linked above.

Just as "one swallow doesn't make a summer", so one - and only one - known example of this, which may have been a fake-up to spoof the Southerners, doesn't prove it was a common or even rare practice.

There's another reason to take this with a big pinch of salt, so maybe Jane Brox was on a low-sodium diet when she wrote her book.

Creatures with a layer of fat or blubber for insulation all have it like any other form of insulation, on the outside, where it does some good. A wick passed through the inside couldn't draw on it for fuel since there's a layer of muscle and another of internal organs for the oil to get through first.

The cropped-off bottle just visible to the left is a far more likely way seabirds became lamp fuel: by rendering out their oil. This oil is from the Northern Fulmar, Fulmaris glaciaris (or glacialis, I've seen both. Same bird regardless).

Incidentally, the Wikipedia article on European Storm Petrel mentions a supernatural connection, that the petrels were the souls of drowned sailors, and killing them is unlucky.

Not just killing them but making them into candles sounds like A Bad Idea, and is yet another reason why, IMO, the candle thing may be a folktale, or a deliberate leg-pull, or...

Let's just say "improbable" and leave it there. :-P

[mysteriousauthor448]

What if Class of 09 Flipside was made by a Woman?

I liked Class of 09. I liked it's snappy dialogue, I liked it's social commentary of high school and women's experiences with creepy men and adulthood, I liked how it gave such a compelling main character where you know she's awful yet acknowledge that she has her reasons without justification. I like Class of 09, both the original and re-up. What I don't like though, is Class of 09: The Flipside.

Setting my personal disgust with the feet routes and the 'Palestinian slave trade' comment aside, the writing in Flipside just is completely different from the last 2. Instead of focusing on the biting social commentary of the woman experience, it instead prioritizes shock value with only some form of substance (e.g, jecka seeing nicole's suicide, jeffrey's death, the ending messages apart from the creator) And you know what else sucks? We never actually got to explore Jecka properly of who she is as a character, her relationships with her family, friends, former friends...Sure, we get doses of her life like her dad which does do what the game promised: Change how we saw the Class of 09 story before. We now understand why Jecka was terrified of the cop's yelling, not only because an powerful authority abusing his power but also experienced it before. See, this was the stuff I expected from Flipside. This was what the game should've prioritised in. Instead, it seemed like the creator would rather showcase his fetishes and spite people that don't like him or the game. From that there on, I keep thinking to myself: 'you know, this game would've been better had a woman wrote this.' But can they?

I'm a woman experienced high school before, even tried to fit the class of 09 writing style on my characters in my own personal time. Given how a lot of class of 09 fans are disappointed with the new game and I want to get into writing publically, I figure that I be the one to rewrite Class of 09 The Flipside in hopes of re-capturing the essence of the first two games alongside the game's intentions itself. Even though it's still in development, I've already outlined the routes/endings so far for you all to get a peek:

Route 1/Ending 1 - Invasion of MySpace: The foot route will be replaced by Jecka taking and making videos/pictures in order to make money after being fired from her job. Think of it like a late 2000s or early 2010s version of OnlyFans. This would help remain the social commentaries of men’s creepy behaviour to women alongside how their safety is affected. There’ll be an option of whether to go to the creepy man’s house or go home. If she goes home, she finds Nicole giving her dad a handjob with a dead expression. It ends with Jecka killing herself and implies that Nicole followed her too (not half naked though, just in regular clothes cuz I'm not a freak unlike someone)

Ending 2 - MurderSpace: If Jecka chose to go to the creepy man’s home, she gets murdered and placed like a doll in the man’s basement. 

Route 2/Ending 6 - Breaking the Wounded Heart: Jecka finds herself to work with Karen and Ari at Dominos. Overtime, they start to form a bond and Jecka herself starts to mature and finds Nicole to be unbearable. Jecka finally breaks off her friendship with Nicole and cuts forward to the future where Jecka currently lives a peaceful yet boring life, reflecting on the past with Nicole, wondering if she’s really better off without Nicole because while she’s now in a stable life without the chaos, it's the chaos that entertained her: Nicole entertained her. And now it’s all gone. But in the end, it suggests that things are much better with Nicole gone as it cuts to a phone beeping and Jecka looking down at it with a smile while Ari is by her side. Yes, this is the route where Jeckari is canon. I know this sounds too sweet for Class of 09 but I want it to still match the vibe with it being less shocking but more real in a way. Something too realistically depressing but still mundane. This is what I planned to be the saddest but best outcome of the game. The most real I should say. 

Ending 5 - Was it all worth it?: If Jecka chooses Nicole over her new friends, it ends with her and Nicole being homeless smoking drugs in an abandoned forest with Jecka reflecting on whether or not she made a good choice with Nicole before commenting on needing a Xanax to distract her from the regret and pain. 

Route 3/Ending 3 - Fuck Men!: Jecka gets into a relationship with a presumably kind-hearted gentleman. Nicole tries to warn her but Jecka won’t listen. She then is coerced by the man into doing sexual favours for his economic gain, making her become a sex trafficked victim.

Route 4/Ending 4 - Drunk Drive Delivery: Same route where Ari dies but instead the ending changed to Jecka being arrested for 6 months where the ending monologue would showcase her conflicted in anger and regret. Plus, it plays more to the idea of Jecka ‘dying at 21’ logic with being forced to work: adult party culture: that kind of thing. 

I'd be happy to hear any feedback or/and ideas for this rewrite.

[4ngels0uls]

i wanna be your lover, i don’t wanna be your friend…. M.S

don’t like? don’t read.

summary: y/n loves matt so much, till she makes a mistake and just ends up confessing… making them to end up having sex.

paring: fem!reader + bsf!matt

warnings: SMUT, use of y/n, friends to lovers, confessing, being embarrassed, abusive relationship (not physically), toxic relationships, a big trigger warning!, manipulation, disrespect, strong language,

a/n: i was listening to this song and thought of this.

————————————————————

y/ns pov

“hey matt?” you yell for him as your in his room and he’s in the kitchen, grabbing a drink. “what?” he yells back. you don’t answer and he sighs. he walks over to his room with the cup of water in his hand. “what do you want?” he asks as he walks over to his desk to put the cup down. “i’ve been talking to this guy and he wants to meet up but i’m scared… does he look like he would kidnap me?” you show him a picture. “nah.” he answers dryly. “are you okay?” you ask before he just walks away.

that’s when you realized…. you fucked up.

————————————————————

“i’m going to go matt…” you tell him as your going to to get ready to meet that guy. “kay.” he answers dryly again. you sigh and walk out the door with your stuff as you walk to your car, digging in your bag for your keys. you find them and open your vehicle and start the car and drive off.

you get home, pulling into the driveway. getting out your car as you walk into your house, locking your car doors. you take your shoes off in the pitch black house. you lock your door and turn some lights on as you walk to your room. you go over and get some clothes ready for you to take a shower, till you begin thinking about matt and how dry his answers were when you showed him the picture.

you flop back on your bed, crushing the clothes that you just put nicely on the bed. you stare at your roof and sigh, thinking you fucked up the whole friendship with matt. you genuinely like matt… like more than a friend but you’ll know it’ll never happen to you begin to find other guys, like this one that your texting in this exact moment. “i can’t wait to see your beautiful face.” the guy texts you.. alex is his name as you remember.

you met him in a party once, he was drunk… like very, and he asked for your number and it went off.. you guys didn’t even fucking remember when you traded numbers. but here you are, texting him that you’ve been waiting to see him, while you broke matt into pieces without even realizing.

you showered, done your makeup, and fixed your slutty outfit you have on. you walk over to your body mirror and check yourself out. you smiling and go and get into your car and drive off to the restaurant you are going to.

that’s when you walk in and see him, alex….

biggest mistake ever.

“hey alex.” you smile as you walk up to him. “hey y/n.” he smiles as you guys sit at a table and… next thing you fucking know he’s drugged your drink but you didn’t even know. your in his bed, naked… and now your dating…

few weeks later

he’s been manipulating you and cheating on you left and right. you know you made a big ass mistake as you try to text matt and he immediately tells you to block him. “w-what..?” you question. “i said fucking block him y/n!” he scolds. “i-“ you try to speak. “shut the fuck up before i break your phone!” he yells. fuck… you text him secretly. “i love you matt.” before you block him.

he’s typing right before you hit that red button that says block. you sigh, trying not to cry. “stop fucking crying like a big baby, bitch!” he yells. that’s when you begin to get anxiety from his yells, but that’s when you decide to hide it since you’ve been hiding your emotions for years..

it’s been 2 months since this incident.

you’ve been missing matt, he’s all you think about.. but if alex known, he would have tried to kill y/n.. that’s why he’s asleep. fat shit always fucking sleeping. you took his phone and remembered his password, you open his phone and look through his messages, you start to cry.. “what the fuck…” you sob quietly. you throw his phone and get up and grab a bunch of shit of yours and leave his house, taking your car keys you found as he keeps you home by hiding your keys.

that’s when you know… that’s fucked up and you should have never been to dinner with him. you immediately hop into your car and the first place you think off is matt’s house. and you hope that chris or nick doesn’t answer and it’s matt that does. you arrive and pull into their driveway and go up and take a deep breath before knocking on the door.

and exactly who you didn’t want to answer.. it’s nick. “nope fuck that!” he yells before trying to slam the door. “wait!l you yell. “i need to talk to matt.” you tell nick. he sighs. “matt!” nick yells before going up the stairs. you wait for matt and he opens the door a bit. “y/n?” he says quietly. “matt.” you say. “why’d you block me.” he asks. “he made me.” you says and matt knows immediately. “come on.” he takes your hand and drags you in.

he takes you to his room, some new stuff, and some stuff gone. “are you okay…?” he asks you as he sits you down on his gaming chair. “kinda.” you answer quietly. “ya look cold.” he says. “yeah i am…” you say. “here i’ll go get you a blanket.” he walks off, and comes back with a blanket. “here.” he says as you wrap yourself up with the blanket. “s-so like… what ever happened?” he asks me. “oh.. uhh. you know that guy that i showed you? yeah well we started dating and he was apparently manipulating me, cheating, and being disrespectful and just rude.” you say.

“oh i’m sorry…” he answers as he doesn’t know what to say. “it’s not your fault.” you say. he gets up and hugs you. you sit shocked for a moment and begin to hug him back. he picks me up and lays down with me on his lap. “you know y/n… i’ll always love you.”

so tell me that you love me again..

you smile at his words. “i’ll always love you too.” you mumble. he rubs your back. you sit up a bit and you guys both lock eyes. he takes a glance at your lips then right back to your eyes. you lean in slowly and you kiss him, as he immediately returns the kiss back. you pull away. “oh my god… i’m so sorry.” you say, after realizing what happened.

“it’s okay.” matt says as he pulls you back to him by your waist. he wraps his arms around your neck and begins to hug you. he pulls a bit away from the hug and stares into your eyes. he kisses you softly, closing his eyes as he holds your face. your instantly kissing back.

he rolls you guys over, now he’s on top and your on the bottom. he grins against your lips. he runs his fingers down your body, slowly. his touch effecting the fuck out of you. you watch his fingers get to your inner thighs. you look into his eyes and he smiles. your eyes on his as his eyes are on yours. “your so pretty.” he mumbles softly. you try not to smile as he talks. he smirks as he watches you try not to smile.

he watches as he runs his fingers to your thighs. he gets to your waistband. he looks into your eyes, for consent. “you okay with this…?” he asks. you smile and nod. he pulls your pants to your ankles, then they fall to the ground. he smiles softly at the tiny fabric covering you. you sit up and take your shirt off, also revealing your bra. “needy, hm?” he smirks. he kisses you back reaches behind your back and unclasps your bra in the back. he pulls the bra off slowly as he kisses you roughly.

matt pulls away and stares at your tits, completely out of it as he stares. you chuckle. he leans down and kisses your neck. leaving a trail of hickeys. “fuck your beautiful.” he mumbles on your skin before kiss down to your tits, kissing them.. till he puts your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it. you gasp as you feel his lips latch onto your nipples.

he smirks and pulls his mouth away. he kisses you before his fingers slide down to the edge of your tiny thong. he smiles and his fingers get down your underwear, trying to tease you. his long, thin fingers get to your clit, massaging it gently, making you buck your hips. he chuckles and pushes your hips down and holds them down. he starts to move his fingers faster and you start to moan a bit.

he slides down to your pussy. he stares as he uses the patting of his thumb to fingers your clit. he pushes a light kiss on your pussy, making you gasp loudly. he chuckles and latches his mouth. fucking you with his mouth at this point.

“o-oh fuck!” you moan, tryna be a little quiet since his brothers are home. he smirks at how loud your being, his grin sitting on your clit. then he starts to use his mouth faster, making it impossible to stay quiet. you buck your hips far, making matt smash his nose into your pelvis. he chuckles against your pussy, pushing your hips down for him to continue as you squeeze your thighs around his head.

he goes down to your hole, tongue fucking you now. “fuckfuckfuck!” you moan, feeling your orgasm come closer. matt chuckles “you close?” he mumbles. you nod like crazy, try to keep quiet, squeezing your face together as he tongue fucks you.

you could tell by his eyes, he was fucking pussy drunk. “matt! ohh fuck!” you practically scream before cumming on his face, all of your juices leaking down his chin to his neck. he licks you clean as your sensitive. “matt!” you yell as you squirm. he smiles and sits up and hovers above you. “your so fucking pretty.” he says in a raspy tone before smashing his lips into yours. he kisses you passionately, his tongue grazing your bottom lip as you let him in.

his tongue exploring your mouth. you whine against his lips, as matt swallows your whine. he breaks the kiss as he kisses down your neck, leaving fat fucking hickeys on your neck. “mattt!” you whine because you know everybody will ask. he smiles and kisses you again before undoing his belt on his baggy jeans.

you watch as he fumbles with the belt. he throws it somewhere on the ground before pushing both, pants and boxers down. he cock springing put as soon as he pulls his pants down. you look up at him as you lay beneath him. “what’s wrong?” he asks. “your big as fuck.” you say quietly, BEGGING silently he doesn’t hear what you said. he smiles and chuckle lightly before leaning down to you. he lines himself up between your folds, making you fumble silently. you gasp quietly as the feel the contact.

he smiles widely and shoves himself inside of you slowly. he smiles down as he watches your core swallow his hard cock. he begins to thrust faster, making you gasp loudly. “fuck!” you moan as the bed creeks loudly. he groans softly, moving even faster. you throw you head back in pleasure. “fuck…” he groans as you clench, making him grunt loudly. “fuck sakes… if you keep doing that i won’t last long.” he groans

you begin to start milking him at this point. he’s struggling to not cum right in this moment right now. he starts to think of things that won’t make him finish as fast. but your moans and the skin slapping, echoing in the room is making so much harder. “fuck!” he groans loudly before releasing his release inside you, painting your spongey walls white.

you release right after he does. “fuck…m’ sorry.” he apologizes. “it’s okay. seriously.” you tell him. “you were fucking milking me.” he mumbles into your neck. “i knowww” you whine. he chuckles. he slowly pulls out. he gets up and goes to grab a wet warm cloth, to wipe both of your guys releases off you. he wipes your sensitive core, slowly not to hurt or anything. he throws the cloth somewhere and lays his head on your stomach.

“i love you.” he mumbles, closing his eyes. “i…love you too.” you answer.

————————————————————

a/n

holy fuck i took long to post this.

i’m sorry, been busy. i’ll try to get the next carrington one out as soon as i can😊

THANK YOUS FOR 400😓

[desceros]

INT DISCORD - EVENING @thejudiciousneurotic: i'm drawing a comic where leo talks about how he accidentally sent someone his nudes me: oh. now i wanna write a fic where leo flirts with you by "accidentally" shooting you his nudes me: ...trade u for the comic thejudiciousneurotic: 🤝 me: 🤝 leonardo/reader, female reader, rated m

You’re having a very nice lunch with April and Casey when your phone vibrates where it rests next to your plate.

neon leon (12:41 p.m.) [image]

Oh boy. What does this goober want?

Normally, you aren’t one to check your phone while eating with others. It’s kind of rude, and you don’t get enough time with the three of you hanging out like this. But April’s busy trying to make Casey laugh so hard his drink comes out of his nose, and—and you’re curious, because it’s Leo, and he’s sent you a picture.

You open the message app, and blink. It's not a meme, or a dorky selfie, or something pretty like he sometimes finds while he's wandering about and shoots your way to share.

It’s… a picture of him. The kind that he’d usually put on his So-Shell, you note, wondering why he’d sent it to you specifically. A little bit of a suggestive pose: his arms curling in just a manner to accentuate the way his arms have been getting big lately, one leg crossed over the other to show off how long they are, fingers framing that smug smirk he gets sometimes when he—

—oh.

Oh, god.

Leo isn’t wearing his mask. Or—or anything, you suddenly realize. No wraps. No socks. 

…Are these… nudes?!

Quickly, feeling your face burn hot, you look up to check in with April and Casey. They’re both still fucking around on the other side of the table. She’s tickling him, he’s giggling. Normal. Normal. They haven’t noticed that you’re a few degrees shy of combustion. Cool, cool. No one’s noticed that your best friend—friend friend just a friend!—has sent you his smoldering-hot naked body.

Quickly, you stop yourself, inhaling deep before you go too deep into it. No, that’s silly. He’s a fucking turtle. So he’s not wearing socks. Or forearm wraps. Or—Or his mask, which you’ve never seen him without before. So it’s a sexy pose in front of a mirror. It’s—It’s not anything salacious, if you don’t make it such. 

You start typing, just the usual compliment that you usually give his pictures on So-Shell, maybe a fire emoji, and—

neon leon (12:41 p.m.) oops! didn’t mean to send that!

neon leon (12:41 p.m.) just uh. pretend i didn’t just accidentally send you a nude. haha :)

“Oh my god,” you quietly whimper. It is a nude. 

The proper thing would be, of course, to do as he asks. Spam a bunch of junk until it disappears to the void of the past conversation. Laugh it off with him. Tell him a joke to make him feel better when he’s probably fucking mortified. 

…A little like how you’re mortified the moment you tap on the picture, making it bigger. 

God damn it. It’s… It’s so unfair how good he looks, you think, biting on the inside of your cheek. He’s finally hit that growth spurt Casey has warned everyone was coming, and he’s just so—so big. Towering over you easily. Putting on muscle like it’s as easy as putting on a shirt. Moving like silk through the air. Comfortable in his skin and knowing he looks good.

A fresh memory comes to mind. How the other day, he’d picked you up in one hand to snag the blanket you’d been sitting on to hand to Donnie where he’d been whining about being chilly. You’d spent the rest of the afternoon uncomfortably wet and turned on, hoping to god his sensitive turtle nose couldn’t pick up on it as he draped an arm on your shoulder for the last half of the movie and pulled you to lean into his plastron.

(...Friends cuddle, right? Totally. Friends totally cuddle.)

Plus he’s just… pretty. The way his cheekbones curve, the markings on his face cutting beautiful lines around his eyes, eyes that you can see without his mask in the way. The breath catches in your lungs as you stare into where they’re half-lidded in the picture, turning the smirk into something sultry. The smirk, framed by fingers that are long and thick and—

“Oh fuck,” you choke, clenching your teeth so hard your jaw aches. 

(...Friends think about getting fingered by their friends, right?! Right?! Oh god, oh fuck—)

“You good?” April asks, finally looking away from Casey who is dabbing at his face and bellowing with agony. Oof, carbonation up the nose. Not fun.

“…I’m so good,” you tell her around the knot in your throat, fingers going tight on your phone. Gah. You have to leave now or else she’ll suss out what’s wrong and you’re pretty sure you’d rather die than admit you’re getting flustered off of Leonardo’s mess up. “Say, uh. I—I have to go to the bathroom. Right now. For a while. I’ll be back.”

You can feel her eyes between your shoulder blades as you flee her knowing eyes, quickly going into the stand-alone bathroom in the cute little café and snapping the door shut behind you. You slump back against it, whipping out your phone and looking at it a bit like it’s a ticking time bomb. 

Which it kind of is, you realize with a sudden terror. You haven’t responded to him yet. He would have seen the little dots where you’d given away you were typing. That you’d had his picture in your face. He knows you’ve seen it. You’ve seen it, and time is passing while he’s sitting there, knowing there’s a fucking nuke on your screen. Oh god. Oh fuck.

Stupid sexy turtle, you think, hands trembling as you compose a very normal, very chill response. You only delete three before you settle on the last and send it.

sent (12:45 p.m.) no worries! i didn’t see anything, haha :)

neon leon (12:45 p.m.) hm. you sure? you sure took a while to respond

Oh god. Embarrassment lights your blood on fire. He knows. He totally knows. Fuck, it feels like he knows how you zoomed the fuck in and had to press your goddamn thighs together beneath the table. Swallowing thickly, you try to do as much damage control as you can. 

sent (12:45 p.m.) i mean, of course i saw it. i was curious!

neon leon (12:45 p.m.) oh yeah? what were you so curious about?

sent (12:45 p.m.) i. you know. i’ve never seen you without your mask. 

neon leon (12:45 p.m.) you know you can ask, right? i’ll take it off for you whenever you want.

You fumble your phone. What the fuck. Is this happening. Quickly, you look up. Yep. You’re still here. A quick pinch reminds you that it isn’t a dream. It’s quarter til one on a Saturday, and your childhood friend has sent you a nude on accident and then said that. 

neon leon (12:45 p.m.) is that something you want? seeing me without my mask?

neon leon (12:45 p.m.) i’d do it. for you.

neon leon (12:45 p.m.) no wraps. no socks. no mask. 

“…Holy shit,” you mutter, feeling a little dizzy. You gape, unsure of how to respond, how to fucking breathe. Then, you nearly jump out of your skin when the phone of your screen fills with a selfie of you and Leo in a photobooth at Alberto Land, feather boas and silly matching heart-shaped glasses stupid on your face. 

Oh fuck. He’s calling you. 

“Where are you right now?” Leo asks as soon as you answer the call, not waiting for you to find your voice, his words velvet in your ears.

Defensive at how you’re reacting, protecting your friendship with him tooth and nail, you claw out of the fog that had settled and made you stupid. You narrow your eyes at the hand dryer next to you. “…Did you actually ‘accidentally’ send me that picture, Leonardo?”

His laugh fills your ears like wine; rich, decadent, intoxicating. Warmth blooms in your chest. “Where are you, beautiful?”

That’s about as close to an admission as you’re probably going to get, you think. The pet name, familiar in shape but foreign in tone, makes your stomach dip. Licking your lips, you try one more time. 

“…Why are you sending me your nudes?” you ask, air catching in your throat, voice quiet but feeling loud in the privacy of the bathroom. 

“Why are you looking at them?” he responds cheekily. You bite down on the snarky response that reflexively comes to the surface; am I not supposed to, goober? There’s something glittering in the air, an invitation for something, and it makes you hesitate. Makes you look at the boundary of the lines you’ve drawn around him. Wonder what they’d look like a little smudged. 

“I… wanted to see,” you admit, feeling a little breathless, wondering if you sound so. If he can tell you’re on the edge of a cliff, feeling a bit like maybe you’re ready to take a step and fall.

“See what?” he asks. Voice lower still. Umbrous. Hypnotic. Tantalizing.

“You. Without—Without your mask. Without… any of it.”

His phone ever so slightly picks up on a sensuous rumble that comes from deep inside his shell. The sound of it makes you shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin. Your eyes fall shut. It’s an easy fantasy, thinking of feeling it in your flesh.

Leo says your name. It’s not a way you’ve ever heard him do so, before. It pricks your attention, hooking into it, pulling it where he wants it. “Where are you?”

You tell him. A second later, your eyes flare with familiar blue light. Two seconds later, your back is against the bathroom door, the sound of the lock clicking loud in your ears as he reaches over and ensures no one will be interrupting.

“Leo, you—!” you gasp, the barest amount of protest that he cuts through as easily as if he’d taken his katana to it. 

“I got tired of waiting. And you want to see,” he says, his fingers finding your chin and holding you in place, his mouth hovering over yours, his breath hot against where you can’t breathe. His other hand finds the curve of your hip, pulling it to meld to his own, his plastron pressing you to the door. “So look while you still can, pretty little thing. Because you’ve got about three minutes before I plan on getting my face between your legs for a long, long time.”

Later, much later, after you nearly bite through your palm trying to keep quiet through the several orgasms he easily eats out of you, after he portals you back to the lair and he pins you to that cursed mirror in his bedroom so you can see how good he looks while fucking you stupid, after he crawls over you in his sheets and slowly curls his fingers together with yours while rolling his hips to get slow and deep to drive you absolutely insane, your phone vibrates again.

This time, you ignore it, fully fucked out, completely disinterested in moving from beneath where Leo’s snoring into your shoulder, having everything you can possibly want within arm’s reach for the foreseeable future.

ayyy-pril (2:19 p.m.) lmao did you fall in?

ayyy-pril (2:19 p.m.) hellooooooo

ayyy-pril (2:21 p.m.) …since leo’s also not answering i’m guessing you’re with him. girl u Gotta let me know when you dip so i don’t worry >:T

ayyy-pril (2:21 p.m.) also. ugh. can you two just make out already? the pining is getting ridiculous. and don’t tell me i’m just imagining things again. i’m sooooo bored by your excuses

ayyy-pril (2:21 p.m.) grabbed your leftovers for you. love you ttyl byeeee

[akimoroll]

nightfall.

yoichi nagumo x fem reader—wc 2.2k—part of a series on ao3—college/uni au. fwb. fluff/smut. mdni.

n/a: continuation of this. if you’re an art student reading this, i apologize!! i know nothing about art school (cries) /// this feels like a filler episode tbh kinda boring and uneventful to me at least lmao so sorry in advance

Tutoring sessions with Nagumo are over and you haven't seen him for over two weeks because of exams. He messaged you a few times during evenings for the first few days but other than that, it was complete utter silence from him. You have gotten used to his presence and it did bother you how quiet he has been. But you weren’t the type to text first, you didn’t even like texting at all. He was being distant so you thought, maybe this was his way of showing push.

Meanwhile, Nagumo was busy staying up in the late hours of the night meeting deadlines, and dealing with the weighty pressure and vulnerability of critiques. But other than that, he was pretty much holed up in his room with a dark cloud of stress over his head. He might have even lost a bit of weight too.

“Do you wanna go see a movie with me after midterms?” He asked you last time you saw each other, to which you said yes. Now that exams are over, he hasn’t made contact yet, not that you were eagerly waiting for his message or anything… Of course not. That’s silly, right?

But you do miss him… Maybe a little bit. “Just his face,” you mused, downplaying whatever it was you were feeling.

As you unlocked your phone, you pursed your lips and went to Instagram. You tried searching for his name (and nickname) but couldn’t find anything. As frustration built up, you turned to your roommate who had just entered the room and asked for her help.

His username had 9 underscores as if he didn’t want to be found. But weirdly enough, for a normal college dude, slash frat boy, slash art student that posted normal college stuff, he had a lot of followers. The accounts he followed were mostly girls, but one stood out—a private account with no display photo. 1 follower, 1 following and hundreds of posts.

Who could that be? You were curious for a hot minute but saw a really cute selfie of him and spent a good chunk of time staring at it. Before you knew it, you had burned the next hours making folders and meticulously sorting the pictures you’ve saved, just as you would with your trading cards collection.

///

The gentle knocking from the door startled you from your sleep. The room was already bright and your roommate had left. Glancing at the bright screen of your phone, you winced before getting up. It’s 9 past 7.

As soon as you opened the door, Nagumo rushed in without a word and immediately began kissing you. He was unusually quiet, almost eerily so, while his hands slipped under your shirt and roamed the skin of your back. You couldn’t say a word with the way he was practically eating your face. He seemed much like a man who had been walking for hours in the scorching heat, chasing you like a tall glass of cold water. He was parched.

He led you to your corner of the room and onto your bed. His body hovering over yours, lips not letting you go. Moments later, you were already naked under him. His hands explored places he hadn’t touched before, his tongue teased the most sensitive spots, turning you into a soaked mess.

He kissed you deeply before letting you go, only to flip you on your stomach with ease. The hairs on the skin of your back raised when his lips grazed your nape, gently trailing their way down your spine. Then he slowly inserted a finger and a few moments later, he added another. His fingers knuckles deep inside you.

There was nothing but the sound of your quiet whimpers and the wet sounds of his kisses as he began preparing you for something else, something that might be too much, something you have found yourself anticipating for. You couldn’t help but moan his name.

“Yoichi…”

Hearing this, he paused, leaving you so hot and bothered. As you waited for what’s to come next, you felt movement behind you and heard fabric rustling—he’s slipping out of his boxers.

He began rubbing his tip to your wet folds as he spread your cheeks wide open, smearing and mixing his and your wetness all over, with his fingers digging the flesh of your ass. Everything was happening way too fast. It felt conflicting but you knew deep down you didn’t want him to stop.

Softly, tenderly, he pushed himself in and out of you. He’s fucking you slowly with your name rolling so sweetly on his tongue like honey—again and again and again.

“Look at you… such a good girl.” He cooed, his voice airy with his lips over your ear. His warmth reached the skin of your back, enveloping you as he rested his whole body on top of you with your face buried in the pillow.

“Lift your hips a little...”

“There you go. Just like that.”

“Fuck…you feel so good.”

And he feels so good too. He kept murmuring your name as he fucks you lazily, your eyes rolling back every time he pushes himself balls deep into you. He was making a mess out of you, your juices dripping down on your clean sheets. Suddenly you didn’t care about getting your bed dirty anymore.

One of his hands began snaking towards your tits, giving it a soft squeeze before lifting your face by the jaw, his two fingers coaxing your lips to open.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered before slowly turning your head so you could face him. You kept your eyes closed as you reluctantly opened your mouth, his tattooed fingers forcing you to taste yourself, “See how good you taste?”

“Open your eyes…look at me.” he murmured, giving each of your eyes a cute kiss before reaching down with his other hand, rubbing slow circles on your clit, just enough pressure to make you squirm under him.

Him seeing you so fucked out and breathless so early in the morning made him fuck you a little faster. And then a little harder. Your whimpery sobs became louder as he continued to thrust himself into you from the back.

“You close? You’re squeezing me.”

“I know you missed me. Let’s take our time, hm?”

“Come on, open your eyes.”

“Look at me.”

“Wake up.”

Wake up?

Your eyes shot up, realizing you had fallen asleep while waiting for him at a diner near campus. You agreed to have brunch together when he finally called in the morning.

That’s what you get when you stay up way too late looking at his pictures. But none of that matters now. Bewildered, you mused, “Wet dreams? Here? Of all places?”

“Falling asleep in public is so unlike you. Are you okay?” He smirked, voice laced with teasing as he sat across from you.

You exhaled deeply as you hid your flushed face with your hands. You couldn’t dare to look at him.

He tilted his head to the side, now with concern, he asked, “Looks like you stayed up late last night. I thought exams were over?”

“Yes, it is over,” you responded immediately. With your voice still raspy, you snapped at him, “I fell asleep because…I waited too long.”

He scoffed lightheartedly before leaning closer to you with a smug grin on his face, “Someone’s excited to see me. I’m not even late.”

You looked at him after checking the time. Frowning from grogginess, you asked nicely, “Can you go ahead and order us food? I can’t form a single thought.”

He looked at you for a moment and noticed how your forehead was glistening with your face all red, he asked again, “Are you sure you’re okay? We can get takeout and eat someplace else if you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m fine, Nagumo. Please, just order the food.”

///

You continued eating your meal in complete silence, embarrassment still lingering in your mind. Nagumo, on the other hand, kept glancing at you with concern. Eventually, he asked, “So… Friday, movies, right? Unless you have something else in mind?”

“What? I’m not thinking about anything else,” you retorted after a slight flinch.

He responded with a puzzled expression, trying to figure out your mood, “Okay…? I’ll pick you up at 6?”

“Sure,” you replied way too quickly, voice low as you kept your eyes to your food.

He watched you, observing and wondering why you were being quiet and wouldn’t meet his gaze. You typically spoke too little and had a habit of staring. But you were acting strange, almost defensive, like you were hiding something. Reminiscent of that time when you had a misunderstanding, moments before he kissed you for the first time.

“Hey, be a good girl and quit picking at your food,” He teased, attempting to lift the mood and ease you into talking more.

But “good girl” was all you heard. You abruptly locked eyes as you involuntarily inhaled your food, getting it stuck in your throat. He quickly handed you a drink, worry evident on his face while you uncontrollably coughed.

After chugging the drink to its final drop and slamming the glass on the table with more force than necessary, you inhaled deeply and finally spoke, “Never say that again.”

He narrowed his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips, he asked, “Not say what?”

“That. What you just said.”

“Not…pick at your food?”

“No,” you groaned, opening your mouth just to close it again as your cheeks started to heat up once more. You collected yourself as you continued, “Nevermind.”

He caught your reaction right away. The small smile he was holding turned into a full blown grin, he teased, “Oh, I see.”

“See what?” you retorted with a defensive hiss.

“Nothing,” he breathed deeply and shifted his gaze out the glass window, pausing before speaking again, “You got me worried there. But it looks like your other personality has come out to play today and taught me something new.”

“If you don’t stop bringing that up, I’ll leave right now,” You exclaimed as you reached for your bag.

He snickered and stood up, sliding his food next to yours and took a seat beside you to block you from leaving. He gently nudged his arm against yours, “Oh come on, we just got here.”

You answered him with a mere eye roll and turned away from him to gaze out the window.

“Hey,” He ran his fingers through your hair, twirling at the tips, his voice gentle, “Look at me.”

You quickly turned to his direction to warn him time and time again to stop touching you unexpectedly. However, his lips touched your cheek, making you blush once again. He smirked, enjoying how endearing you are and wanting to continue stirring your flustered state, he whispered, “I missed you.”

You took a deep breath, struggling to suppress the smile that threatened to come out as you spoke up, your voice softer than intended, “Nagumo, I told you not to touch me so suddenly.”

He nodded and continued eating as if nothing happened. Out of curiosity, he asked, “Why were you up so late last night anyway? Thought you have schedules and stuff.”

As you calmed down, you answered honestly, “I was feeling restless.”

He chuckled, “Bet you were thinking of me.”

Your bluntness continued as you went back to eating as well, “Yes, but also, no. I was actually wondering why there are so many underscores in your username. It seems quite inefficient for typing. Also, the topless pics, seriously? Have some decorum. And while we are on the subject of decorum, apart from your friends, you only follow people from the opposite sex. What’s up with that?”

Like always, he was surprised and slightly taken aback by your honesty but the thought of you stalking his socials made him nearly choke on his food. You had always been distant, didn’t ask questions about himself, he was the one constantly reaching out. He had gotten used to you not paying much attention to him, just hanging out with you was enough for him. So hearing everything and you being so blunt about it, made him feel things.

He teased with an accusatory tone, “Oh, so you were stalking me. You could’ve just messaged me and told me you miss me, you know?”

You retorted, “Why would I? That’s exactly what you want me to do.”

He pressed further, grinning, “So you did miss me.”

“I didn’t say that,” you stubbornly denied, your voice sounding firm.

“Why were you looking me up then?” He inquired, his tone laced with intrigue.

You pondered for a good while, carefully choosing the right words before responding, “You need to know your opponent in order to defeat them, correct?”

He smirked, a hint of challenge in his voice as he rested his cheek on his palm, observing you, “This is all just a game to you, hm?”

You mirrored him, speaking calmly, “I could say the same about you.”

He nodded, suppressing a chuckle by smiling, “Well played, but you’re not supposed to show your hand to me.”

You smiled back, “What makes you think I’ve shown you everything?”

[petew21-blog]

Could you do an Andrew Garfield and Tom Holland body swap

Friendly neighborhood Peter

Andrew P.OV.

We have just finished the last of the promon pictures for our new upcoming movie for Marvel. What a great and nostalgic ride that was. It has been years since I last wore this costume on set and I have to say I miss it. It makes me sad that some stupid conflict many years ago ended our third movie, which could've been amazing.

Tobey has left to meet with Kirsten. Me and Tom were left alone together to chat about our lives. What a great kid, he's so talented. It's hard for me to admit that, but I envy him. The attention is nice, I won't deny that, but I just loved making those movies. I would do anything to trade with him. Does that sound mad? Sorry. Another daydreaming episode. I have to think about my own life again now.

Tom's P.O.V.

I want to stay here and talk to Andrew about acting and working as an actor for the role of Spider-man. I truly do. But I am already nervous about all the paparazzi out there. Recently they have made my life horrible. I haven't had privacy for years. I am proud for the movies and the work we all have put into them, but the other side of this is just exhausting. Andrew says, that I should enjoy it while it last, that fame fades out and the work eventually gets finished. Maybe it's too selfish at this point, but I would like it to end. I would do anything to trade with Andrew and have a kind of life he has.

The two "Peter Parkers" had no idea what it meant for them that night. Just a stupid simple wish at the back of their head. Well, someone is lucky today.

Tom's P.O.V.

Either this is a very bizarre dream or someone did a very elaborate prank on me. I am looking at Andrew. But I am looking in the mirror, where usually my reflection stares back at me. How is this even possible?

I calm down and after a while I get out of bed. I am in Andrew's apartement. His place looks nice, neat, surprisingly. I take off a shirt and put it on. While sliding it on my new torso. I notice my new biceps. Damn, Andrew, you're not so bad. I thought you gave up body-building. But this is quite nice.

The exploring didn't stop there. I dropped my or (Andrew's?) boxers to get a nice view. I was welcomed by a hairy co 7 inch long dick. Not bad again Andrew. I started to jerk it. While enjoying the body of a 40 year old in a great shape, some woman came into the room and with no expression just said:"If you wanna come to the premiere you gotta speed up and get dressed. Be ready in 30"

Oh shit. Was that his girlfriend? Or maybe a manager. I don't know what is worse. The indifference or the fact she saw me like this.

I might have some explaining to do when I see Andrew in my body at the premiere.

Andrew's P.O.V.

What was weirder, I didn't recognize my body. I had bigger muscles, lean chest and nice 6 pack. I could even feel the stench of a younger body. Even my skin was visible younger.

I got up from the bed to find out that this body sleeps naked in bed.

I went to the nearest mirror. Holy shit. It's Tom

I was shocked at first, but then I remembered what I thought about last night. Maybe, this is a way from the universe to show me if I truly hate my life or if this is the life for me.

I went back to bed to rest. Well... maybe not rest, but whatever. It's nobody's bussiness how many times I have jerked off Tom's dick. It's also nobody's bussiness to ask how long was I in the shower afterwards and if the scream were of pain or pleasure

Shit. I love Tom's style. His wardrobe is filled with such nice clothes. I don't even know what to pick. Even showing of his abs looks amazingly stylish

Andrew and Tom bumped into each other right in front of the journalists.

"How you feeling man?"

"Young! And the best I have felt in years. Your body was a nice surprise. How are you holding on?"

"Well, I have to say that I can't complain either. I mean, you have a much more calmer life than I do. Wouldn't mind if we had this for a few weeks."

"Oh, I don't think I would mind either. It would be an honor for me to take care of your life Tom"

"Don't call me like that now, TOM! People might think you're on drugs. Haha. And yeah, let's make it a deal. We don't even know how to swap back, but when we do find out we swap back on our own terms. Deal?"

"Deal!"

The two of them embraced each other in a hug and laughed about it

This couldn't have worked out better for the two of them

[octuscle]

Help!

I'm tired of being a skinny loser with no muscle. I wanna be a confident bro. I'll trade anything!

Really everything? Everything you own? Ever heard of DeepTraining? Actually, you must belong to the mega-rich of this planet to undergo a transformation there…. But IronData is sponsoring transformations for high school graduates, freshmen and sophomores. You just have to get through the selection process first. And you then commit to IronData for ten years after graduation though. And you really have to give away EVERYTHING you own to IronData. In return you can undergo the normal DeepTraining process. And IronData provides you with a starter package. Interesting? Then I send you the link for the application.

The selection process will take place in Lansing, Michigan. At the Red Roof Inn, a rather shabby motel. Not your world. Your R8 Spyder V10 quattro looks a bit lost in front of it. It was a last gift from your parents before they crashed their private jet. A beast. You love it. The motel doesn't have a real lobby. But there are a few fellows standing around. Every now and then, the cell phone of one of them signals and the owner walks wordlessly in the direction of the hotel rooms.

Your iPhone 15 Pro vibrates. "Please make your way to room 322." Okay, here we go. You knock. The door opens. No one there, a notebook on the desk. On the screen a form with the general terms and conditions. Seems to be what you have already received by e-mail. You click "I agree". And then you write on the screen. After that, there are a lot of tests. Intelligence tests. Personality tests. For a full three hours. Without a break. Then a window pops up. "Congratulations, you meet the requirements for our program. If you wish to participate in our program, click on 'Accept'. After that, go to room 118, and the transformation will start in half an hour." Fuck! Now? Right now? No one knows you're here. You didn't sign out anywhere. But this is your chance. You know that. You click on "Accept". And you go to room 118. A voice sounds "Please strip completely naked and proceed through the door." Okay, now there's no way back. The next room looks like a simple hotel gym. "Please put on the prepared clothes." Sure enough, there are jockstraps, sweatpants, a tank top, socks and sneakers. And a cap. And a pendant on a leather strap. You put it all on. There's a mirror. It looks ridiculous on your skinny body. "Please proceed to the cross trainer. The first workout will last 30 minutes. An aerosol comes out of nozzles on the ceiling. The light is dimmed. Loud hip-hop music blares from the speakers. Every now and then there is a command to change the machine. You work out to total exhaustion. Then the light goes on and the music goes off. The door to the first room opens again. You go in. And first you have to sit down. And you look in the mirror… Fuuuuuck!

There is a duffel bag and a sports bag on the floor. At the coat check hangs a bomber jacket. "Please take your personal belongings and proceed to your dorm." Inside your jacket is your wallet. With your driver's license, your ID, with your gym membership card. You remember the terms and conditions. You start your business degree at Michigan State today. You're a freshman on a football scholarship. You have nothing else. Outside the hotel, two more beefcakes are waiting for the bus to the dorm. You fistbump your bruhs. They still have their sweaty clothes on, too. The bus is coming. It's rush hour and you have to squeeze in. You have the sweaty armpit of one of your bruhs in your face. And the other one presses his hard-on against your thigh. Fuck, you can't wait to get to the dorm!

Like most of the hot pictures of bruhs with cap I also found this one @simonsx 

[touyaismycomfortboy]

♡ mina ashido gf headcanons !!

a/n: i am so sapphic for her like i justb like have u seen her like why isn't she as popular as katsuki bakugo like why isnt she the main character like i love her sm like like like like-

word count: 0.5k

synopsis: (sfw) headcanons abt what mina ashido would be like as your gf <3

pairing: mina ashido x gn!reader

mina is just the cutest gf let me tell you.

her favorite nickname for you is 'baby', occasionally 'baby girl' or 'babe'. when you come down from your dorm, sleep still apparent in your eyes and your hair a mess, she'll see you from the couch in the common room and shout "BABYY~!" and run to you with open arms.

pro pda, always attached to you at the hip. physical touch is her love language, and skin-to-skin is her favorite thing!! holding hands, back scratches, half-naked cuddles, ugh she melts into you every time you guys cuddle.

when you give her affection, she just sometimes turns into a straight-up cat. if you give her head scratches/scalp massage? the noise she makes could be akin to purring, the way she curls up next to you or in your lap, you've grown a liking to calling her 'kitty'.

she's a little protective of you. after all the things that have happened to 1-A, she never wants you out of her sight. what if you got taken and she couldn't save you? she couldn't bear the thought. she's always touching you in some way or another, either your guys' feet are touching on game night, she's absentmindedly holding your hand while she scrolls on her phone, or she's laying her head on your lap while she sleeps, she always wants you in her sights.

she loves training with you!! sparring with you is her favorite, playfully fighting back and forth until you both tire and pass out on the common room couch on your way to your dorms.

she's always talking about you when you're never around. she'll be with the girls just hanging out and every few seconds she'll relate something they're talking about to something about you. she's always bragging about how cute and sweet her partner is, making all the girls giggle at how in love she is with you.

she's texting you all the time. every morning you wake up to a cute little good morning text, and throughout the day she'll text you random "I love you"'s or "I miss you"'s until you're finally reunited at the end of the day.

she cannot keep her mouth off of you, you've started to suspect she may have an oral fixation. she's always kissing your cheeks, giving you fleeting pecks on your lips, biting your fingers, you name it. (make out sessions in her bedroom are her favorite thing)

she loves trading clothes back and forth!!! her wearing your clothes, you wearing her clothes. she just loves to see how cute you are in her clothes, and she loves the smell of your clothes, wearing your shirts is the only thing that can get her through the night without sneaking into your dorm and cuddling you.

she loves taking pictures with you/of you!! she's always snapping candid pictures, or asking if you guys can take a selfie. she prints out every single one of her pictures and puts them all in her little scrapbook dedicated to you, she just loves looking at you so much!!

[sinful-lanterns]

oh my god?? the PTN group chat?? gosh i'd love to see all of the pictures sent in the chat... omg the way each of them has an aftermath pic is just sooo hot, i'm blushing from just imagining it.

There’s so many sex aftermath pics in the group chat and they trade them like Pokémon cards 😭

They’re not just blowjob pics either! Many of them are photos of you being bent over, a closeup of your face covered in their cum, closeups of their dick stuffed deep into your pussy, the bulge their dick makes in your stomach…

Ofc, there’s the fluffy sex aftermath pics too. Sometimes the PTN women send selfies of them cuddled up next to you after sex, the both of you naked while you’re asleep in their arms, all the while the woman sending the photo is smug and smiling at the camera 🤭

[gaykarstaagforever]

1969

Jim Shooter wrote this, so it is significantly less idiotic than most of these.

That said...

Most of the plot - Superman and the Flash having amnesia and thinking each is the other one - hinges on the fact that they are identical men, except with different hair. Which seems implausible, since one is a magical alien with super-strength from the Sun, and the other is a nerd who was near exploding go-fast chemicals. But I guess it at least acknowledges how DC artists could only draw one muscley man over and over again in different skin-tight unitards. Fair enough, Jim.

We also get the weirdest random explanation for where Superman stores his Clark Kent clothes:

Clark Kent and Barry Allen spend most of the story running back and forth from Central City to Metropolis, desperately trying to find each-other to figure out what the hell is happening. Barry uses makeup to look like Clark Kent and gets almost-fired by Perry White for being bad at reporting on weddings. Because while this comic takes time to remind us Barry is a "police scientist," Perry also says he writes like a child.

Which...I mean, seems kind of rude to me, especially coming from someone who writes superhero comics for 8 year olds for a living. But I don't solve murders with science. So if you do, please confirm if you and your colleagues don't know how to write.

Eventually, Clark and Barry accidentally meet clandestinely on a Metropolis park bench. But Barry is dressed like Raphael from the Ninja Turtles, so they still don't figure it out:

...Why does this look like something someone drew from a picture they took from a bush? Is that just me? That might just be me.

This, however, is 100% exactly what it looks like:

They finally meet in an abandoned train tunnel and figure out each is the other, and trade clothes.

So it is canon in DC comics that Clark Kent and Barry Allen have been nude together in a train station, at least once. And then traded underpants.

Clark suddenly remembers what happened to them (possibly from the shock of being naked with Barry Allen; the comic breezes over this). There is giant space seed flying towards Earth, carrying the spore of a monster space plant that will grow to consume all life. Superman saw it and summoned the JLA to help him, but only the Flash showed up, because "Green Lantern is off helping Hawkman," and...I guess Jim forgot who else was in the JLA at the time.

Good on Barry for showing up, but how exactly is he going to help Superman stop a threat that is still in Space?

Answer: he is not. But Superman came up with a plan where he and Barry changed outfits to confuse the space seed (yes, really), and then Barry put on a helmet and Clark flew them both into it.

...At which point he suddenly realized it had kryptonite in it. He and Barry fell to Earth, unharmed but with amnesia.

But now that they're inexplicably cured by re-switching pants, it is time to hurry up and actually stop the space seed. Superman draws Barry a helpful diagram of his plan:

...Thanks, Kal-El. Totally worth the time it took to do that.

Assuming, like me, you have no goddamn idea what his plan is, think of the absolute dumbest way Superman could save the Earth from a giant kernel of space-corn. And that is exactly what he does:

He temporarily stops the Earth by making the ground really hard (specifically in Brazil, for some reason), and then repeatedly doing flying elbow drops onto it. Which, I won't lie, is exactly the awesome way all problems would be solved if we lived in a better universe where wrestling was real, and wrestlers were Superman.

...I still assume this probably killed at least a few people. Or fish, at least, on the daylight side where the Sun suddenly boiled an entire ocean.

Also, note how this "new" Superman plan ALSO DIDN'T INVOLVE THE FLASH WHATSOEVER. Except that he came along and narrated it for our benefit, while Superman was repeatedly smashing himself into Brazil.

The story ends with Barry hugging his wife and Clark musing to himself how he and Barry can trust each-other with their secret identities from now on, because their balls sweat into the same Spandex for like a week.

Implying that, what, the members of the JLA go into that WITHOUT knowing who each-other are? I mean, I of course see Batman pulling shit like that. But Wonder Woman and Hawkman barely have secret identities to begin with.

But I guess if Clark and Barry have exactly the same proportions and faces, maybe it doesn't really matter either way.

This issue also features the following ad for jeans:

I don't know if cattle-rustling was still such a huge problem in the West by 1969. But if you are a teen boy keen to take it upon yourself to stop it, I suppose it makes sense you should make sure your butt looks good while doing it.

Also, if you need more cheap plastic armies in your house,