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#THE SHOT ALONE
glitchedcosmos · 4 months
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This was the most romantic shit I have ever seen in my fucking life I’m not even kidding
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ratboy · 1 year
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I love u tboys I love u trans men I love u transmasc nb ppl I love u transmascs who can't or don't want to take HRT I love u ass hair I love u hairy arms and legs I love u wispy mustaches and beards I love u fat transmasc bodies I love u "tboy voices" I love u receding hairlines I love u transmascs who pass for cis I love u transmascs who won't ever pass I love u top surgery scars I love u transmasc chests I love u no-op, pre-op, and post-op transmascs I love u transmascs!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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rafeandonlyrafe · 1 month
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proper thank you
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words: 600
warnings: 18+ only!, stepbro!rafe, sending nudes, stepcest, kinda dumb/baby reader???
“carry me up to bed rafey?” you coo at your step brother, fluttering your lashes as your pout turns into a giggle when he sighs, unable to resist your pleading face.
“you're the most annoying little sis ever.” rafe says, calling you the nickname just to tease you as he leans down, scooping you into his arms. he carries you like you weigh nothing, so easily slotting into the good older stepbrother role when your parents married, despite him being only a few months older than you.
“thank you rafey.” you say sweetly as he walks you up the stairs, your arms holding him around the shoulders, head leaned against his broad chest.
“yeah, you gotta give me a better thank you than that.” rafe rolls his eyes as he carries you into your bedroom. only once the door is closed do you press a wet kiss to his cheek as a proper thank you.
rafe plops you down on the bed unceremoniously. “there ya go.” he waves as he walks away, knowing it's not actually goodnight as you let out a whine.
“tuck me in?”
rafe hides his smirk before turning around, putting on his slightly annoyed act like he always does when you ask him.
rafe pulls the fluffy blanket out from under you. it's slightly weighted so it naturally tucks around your body anyways as rafe covers you, but his hands still move slowly, feeling your body as he pushes in the blanket until you're stuck tight underneath it.
“anything else? want me to tell you a bedtime story?” rafe says it as a joke, but with the way your eyes light up, he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, recounting three little pigs from memory the best he can.
“alright, you gotta get to bed now.” rafe glances at the clock on your nightstand as the hour hand ticks closer to midnight. “goodnight.”
“goodnight rafey.” you smile softly before letting out a yawn. “ill give you a proper thank you soon.”
rafe isn't sure what you mean until he makes it back to his room, scrolling aimlessly through his phone until a text message appears from you.
he clicks it to open up the image, his eyes widening and dick swelling as he sees you in a silky nightgown, the swell of your breasts clearly visible, nipples poking through the fabric. he recognizes the nightgown from a few days ago, but you clearly got further undressed.
rafes eyes bulge as the next image loads, the same pose, now sans nightgown, tits bare and thighs clenched together to make a delicious looking v that rafe wants to dive into.
a proper thank you ;) reads your text, along with one last image, this time with your legs spread, smile on your face as your cunt is on clear display. you took the marker tool to add to your lower stomach “property of big brother.”
rafe is in your room untucking you from your bed before the clock reaches midnight.
taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @kamninaries @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @alexiskirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @yourenogoodforme @auryyz @mayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut
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nikkinelson1313 · 3 months
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reblog if you’d enjoy receiving pics like this while you’re at work
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ruporas · 1 year
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kiss the pain away
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wtfforged · 29 days
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p4nishers · 6 months
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no because loki LOVED to talk and now their silence is fucking deafening. we’re left with mobius and silence and a tangible absence that could almost be someone’s presence if you miss them hard enough, and mobius misses loki like a vital organ. eating the drywall.
oh you wanna get fucked up YOU WANNA GET FUCKED UP
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terrorofthetrident · 5 months
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the amount of cunt he’s going to serve in season two is going to be insane
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dennisboobs · 6 months
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7x10 // How Mac Got Fat
↳ Charlie & Dennis + getting high together
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insilanar · 4 months
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Max and Charles just staring 👀
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transmascutena · 30 days
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i'm going to THROW UP !!!
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guy who so desperately tries to find god. who wants to have faith in a higher authority to guide him out of the hole he's in. from the weight of guilt from simply existing, as the person he is. but every time he thinks he's answered his higher calling it turns out he's made the Morally Incorrect choice and his path to goodness and holiness was the road to the devil all along
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multicolour-ink · 1 year
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plucked this from online because couldn't find anything else and I need to address this
Look at how Mario has his hand practically engulfing Luigi's shoulder. Yes, Luigi has his arms around Mario too; but the way Mario is holding his bro is giving off such protective vibes. As if he's readying himself to spin them both around so he takes the brunt of the hit, and Luigi is safe.
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saulgoodthem · 5 months
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sunk costs (s03e03)
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sophiethewitch1 · 4 months
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In Death's Embrace Pt. 2
Jason Todd x Death!Reader
Part one!
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Jason shoots up in bed, his hand stretched out. He’s sweating, drenched in his own panic in fear. His hand falls into his lap, still twitching. He doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about, doesn’t remember what he was trying to grasp.
He knows he failed. He knows it slipped through his fingers like sand. He doesn’t think there’s anything more tragic in the world. He doesn't know why.
“Once again, you amaze me. Breaking the rules of the universe, not once, but twice.”
His hand is wrapped around his gun before you even finish the sentence. It’s pointed between your eyes once you do. To your credit, whoever just broke into his apartment without triggering any of his alarms, you don’t even flinch. No, you just fold your hands behind your back and give him an odd look.
You tilt your head, eyes moving over the scars on his face and catching on the lock of white hair he sports. Then, your face breaks into a smile, and something in Jason’s heart jumps. There’s a knowing in your eyes that he doesn’t like. An understanding.
You see through him, somehow. He doesn’t like it. He’ll shoot you for the offence.
“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Jason demands, assessing you like you assess him. You don’t look like a combatant, in long dark flowing fabrics. Still, he knows not to underestimate someone based on their appearance.
That damned clown never looked like a threat. And now he was standing here, with someone who seemed just as crazy in his bedroom. Only someone that crazy would break into his home.
“Are you going to shoot me?” your words are teasing, eyes fond. Maybe you’re crazier, then. You don’t believe he’ll do it. He will.
He should have already. It’s base curiosity that holds his trigger finger. That’s what he thinks it is, at least.
“I might,” he finally says, “Again, who the fuck are you?”
“It’s interesting talking to you like this. You knew who I was straight away last time, but this time you turn your weapon to me,” you continue, ignoring his threat. A muscle jumps in his cheek, annoyed at your presence, at your blatant disregard for him.
“Last time?”
Your smile turns into a bright grin. He’s momentarily stunned by it.
“So, you really haven’t won just yet. That gives me a small measure of pride,” you say, walking over to the window with your hands still behind your back, “Maybe enough to spare you from my anger.”
You look over at him again. Purse your lips.
“Maybe not.”
“I think you forget who is holding the gun,” Jason reminds you, clicking his teeth at the way you just shrug.
You go quiet. No more teasing words or ominous warnings. Jason should shoot, shoot now. He’d hate the cleanup, hate the mess, hate all the effort, but it was necessary. You were dangerous. That much was obvious.
Instead, he opens his big dumb mouth and asks, “What do you want?”
You sigh, shaking your head. “Is it terrible I don’t know? Rules are rules after all, but this situation is… complicated. You’re not another Sisyphus, you don’t even want to be here.”
“You broke into my home and started threatening me. That doesn’t sound complicated,” Jason insists. This is such a fucking weird conversation. And Sisyphus? Jason had done his homework, he knew about the mythical man who cheated death. He thinks he’s actually quite a lot like Sisyphus.
He still doesn’t appreciate the comparison.
“Yes well, I don’t want to be here either, de-” your voice cuts off, eyes widen in surprise, and then narrow on him like he caused some great offence. Inside him, he feels his dead little heart wither even further at the sight. Like you being upset with him was one of the worst mistakes of his life.
Once again, you broke into his house. All he’d done was tell you to get lost. Oh, and maybe threaten to shoot you, but who cares about that. He soothes the momentary panic, insisting you obviously hadn’t.
Which is dumb. He’s being an idiot. Jason Todd is being an absolute moron right now, and he just needs to shoot you.
Instead of paying attention to the gun trained on you, you stare out his window, at the streets of Gotham’s Hill district below. The sun is rising, rays bursting through the fog. The people are just getting up with it. It’s one of the few times the city is anything close to quiet. Most are still sleeping, and so is crime.
Warm sunlight catches on your cheek, and again, something inside Jason cries out at the sight. It’s worrying.
“I think I want you dead, again,” you confess.
Jason’s breath whooshes out of his lips, and his gun arm twitches for a second. Well, fuck him, that’s certainly a statement. And again, why hadn’t he shot you?
He still doesn’t do it. He must be crazy, too.
“I’m being greedy. I always have been, of course. It’s what I am… But especially this time, I think I’m being too greedy,” you sound sad, your fingers trailing across the wooden window frame, “I think I shouldn’t be here, but it’s the ones like you who make it hard.”
You rub dust against your fingers, and Jason feels embarrassed for the state of his home. He realises a second later what a stupid thought that is, you broke in. He wonders how many times he’ll have to repeat it to remember it. He feels uncomfortable and off-kilter, and he knows it’s because of you.
He needs to get you out.
“I’ve always hated the special ones, you know. The smart ones. You’re too good at pulling me, manipulating me, tugging on my strings like a puppet. You make me human,” you turn back to him, crossing your arms and resting against the sill. You’re comfortable in his home, more so than he usually is. Calm, relaxed, like the world is at peace, and worries are something of the past.
He wonders what that must be like. Fucking delightful, he bets.
“Are you not human?”
You raise an eyebrow in response.
Shit. Ah, fuck it. His finger tightens, and the recoil jerks his arm. The silencer keeps the early apartment quiet. Quiet, if not for the sound of the bullet clattering to the ground.
You both glance down at the crumpled piece of metal sitting pathetically on the floor. You lean over, pick the piece up, and then lift it to your eye, watching that same sunlight reflecting the early morning in the steel. A small rainbow flitters across your skin. You close your fist, and you stroll over to Jason.
It takes him a moment to remember to be wary of you, and by that time, you already have his hand cradled between yours.
You place the remnants of the bullet in his scarred palm.
“I expect an apology for that later,” your voice is soft, sweet. Loving, even after he shot you in the chest. Not like it did anything. Your fingers curl around his, tracing every crack and crevice. You do it with concentration, with precision, like you were made just to touch him, to comfort him.
A memory, gone in a flash. He feels it’s loss like a toothache.
He swallows, “I’m sorry.”
You laugh, and the sun’s not outside, it’s in his bedroom and it’s smiling and it’s everything and it’s here in his grasp and he knows it’ll be okay again. It has to be okay again. You said it’d be okay, didn’t you? He can’t remember. His head’s swirling, spinning, falling right into you. Right back into you.
“Or now, that’s fine too,” you sound delighted. He’s glad.
You let go of him, and move back to the window, drawn by the view outside. Jason's hand clasp and unclasp. The street obviously fascinates you, your eyes flicking back and forth and tracking the movement of every soul outside. He wants your gaze back on him.
Jason clears his throat. You glance back at him, then pointedly, his right hand.
He can feel his face flush, embarrassingly. He’s still holding the gun. He turns the safety off and tucks it back under his pillow.
He clears his throat again. He wants something from you, expects it, really. But he can’t tell what it is. He thinks you know, though. That you’re withholding it, for some reason. He’s irrationally irritated at that. You said you were greedy, but nothing could compare to his greed.
Even if you wanted him dead. He was starting to put together the pieces, but he couldn’t seem to feel alarmed. No, it simply wasn’t necessary, with you here.
Still, it’s not quite enough. He wants more. He wants to know more. So he waits for you to speak again.
“I’ve thought about doing this so many times over the years. It would’ve been selfish, and more than that, outside of my duty. You’re not one of mine anymore. For a little while, at least.”
He wants to be. He wants to be yours. He wants it more than he can breathe. If he’s yours, maybe you can be his.
You glance to the side, thinking out loud, “But then you went and started remembering. I’ve worked very hard to make sure that’s impossible, you know. That the memories from my realm stay there.”
You turn a disapproving glance his way.
“Of course, far be it for me to get in the way of a Wayne and his decision to break the world. You lot do that far too much, give me too much work,” you mutter that last part, hand moving to your brow. Like you’re massaging away a headache. He should be doing that for you.
“But you did it. And you’re here. And now I am, too. And I have to go soon.”
You drift closer to him, and Jason’s breath catches. He’s still. He doesn’t make a single movement, scared he’ll scare you away. He realises that’s stupid. That you caught a bullet to the chest. That you’re stronger than anything he could imagine.
He still thinks he could startle you if he’s not careful. That you’re like the mist outside, incorporeal. But Jason can do anything if he puts his mind to it. He knows how to catch the wind, how to gather steam on the underside of glass, how to cup sand and water and feathers and everything that would ever want to be outside of his reach.
You’re out of his reach. He has to let you step into it.
You stop a foot away from him. He grinds his teeth, and again, you raise a brow at him. He doesn’t move, despite his muscles screaming at him too. You give him a nod and take another step closer. He still doesn’t move, and you give him a satisfied look.
“So, what should we do, Jason?”
“How do you know my name?”
“What? Did dying strip you of any brains?”
The banter is familiar. He doesn’t mean to ruin it.
“Do you have to leave?” again, a voice in his mind whispers. You look sad, again. Again, again, again. All of this is an again.
“Eventually. Sooner rather than later,” you sigh, “You can keep a secret, can’t you, Jason?”
“Not if you leave.”
It’s a bold move. You take a step back, and he winces. Back and forth, back and forth… Still, he doesn’t take the words back. He can’t, because it’s the truth, and now that you’re here, there’s no going back. He’ll do anything to keep you with him, and if you go too far for him to reach, he’ll follow you.
“I think that’s an unfair request,” you say, and he shakes his head.
“It’s fair. You don’t have to stay forever, just a while.” Now that, that is a lie. You seem to know it, too.
You look out the window again. Jason, after a moment's hesitation, moves over beside you. You don’t flee, your attention is on the people below. He opens the window for you, and you give him another smile. He collects them like the rare treasures they are. You lean out into the air, and he freaks, then realises you’d shrugged off a bullet. He stays close, vigilant, anyway.
“I’m curious, I have to admit. What’s this place like?” you ask, resting elbows on the wood. The streets are foggy, as they usually are in the morning. The Hill isn’t the nicest place, not the cleanest either, but you look at it like it’s heaven incarnate. He can see his neighbour down at the local grocer, the old woman who hoards cats seeing her grandson off to school, and one of his guys hanging out on the street, keeping the space safe.
Under his orders. The Hill wasn’t the nicest place, but he liked to keep it as nice as possible.
...Peaceful, he wanted the people here to have their peace. He was obsessed with it, really.
“It sucks.”
You laugh again, music to his ears, “Not the best advertising.”
“I take it back, it’s the best place on earth,” he replies, barely paying attention to his words. He’s seeing how close he can get to you. How many inches he can claim. His face is almost in your neck by the time you lean back, and he curses under his breath.
“It doesn’t need to be,” you say, pushing away from the sill and turning to wander around his room. You take in everything about the space. From the general mess, to the Jane Austen books crammed into his bookshelf, to the mask he’s left half-hazard on his bedstand.
You watch it all, just as fascinated with the world outside as the one inside. He wants to believe that means he’s special to you. And if it doesn’t, that just means he needs to work a little harder.
Finally, you turn to him. You take in every facet of him, once again. Your all-knowing gaze finds his hair again. You seem especially fascinated by that. You lift your hands, and he’s in them before he realises he’s moved.
You map his features with your hands, and he makes a little sound in the back of his throat. Ignoring that, you wipe the bags under his eyes. He feels his sanity slip away under your touch. You trace the scar on his chin, the one above his left brow. The stubble along his jaw. The bump in his nose. The edge of his lips. He wonders at the smirk you give when he groans. And finally, you come to that strand of hair.
You tug on it. A memory fizzles again, and to his frustration, he can’t quite grab it. Can’t quite take it, claim it. It’s not his, not yet.
You haven’t given him permission to remember. He wants it, he wants it, he needs it.
“I think I can stay, maybe. Just for a little, just a little. You want that, right?” your hands cup his face, and he knows, somehow, that you’ve done this a thousand times. And if this is the thousand-and-first time you’ve held him like this, he’s glad. To be back in your embrace is the sweetest pleasure. The greatest relief.
“Yes. Yes, yes… yes, I do,” he’s nodding, he’s begging, he’s pleading with you. Just for a moment more, just a second more. Just a little bit more, before you let him go again. He leans down and presses his forehead to you, sighing in your scent, the wheat reeds in the wind, the warm sun on skin.
He wonders what he has to do to make sure you never let go again. He wonders if you’ll let him do it.
You shake your head, giving him a rueful smile, “You really are too cute, darling.”
That nickname. The key to his heart, his mind. Every single barrier keeping him from you is gone, crumbled by your will. He is thankful you’ve given them back. He is thankful for every moment you ever had with him. And he’ll make a thousand more.
He presses his lips to yours, arms holding you close. When you melt into him, sigh into the kiss, he feels a euphoria he didn’t know could be true. He feels a relief he didn’t know even in his days under, even when you only held him.
He feels alive with it.
“Thank you for coming back,” he whispers against you, and he can feel that familiar, that damning smile spread.
“You left me. I had to hunt you down myself, Jason dear.”
Maybe he couldn’t have his peaceful death. But he had a loving one, and that was all he needed.
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slamminslamminmcgill · 2 months
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hiiii uhhh joel drabble based on my daddy dick appointment yesterday
warning: rimming, intox (poppers and weed), oral, squirting, erectile dysfunction (real old man dick enjoyers know wassup), toys, overstimulation, daddy kink obvs
anatomical terms: cunt/pussy, clit/cock/dick
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It’s not that you had daddy issues.
Or that he had a framed picture of him and his daughter on the shelf.
Or a throw pillow with the word DAD sewn onto it, clutched against your chest as he messily ate you out on the leather sectional in his one bedroom apartment.
No, he was just hot. A hot older guy that hit you up on Grindr for the ol' smoke and poke, a quick hit of some blunt and cunt. That’s it. That’s all this was.
He was just a hot older guy, and nothing more.
Not a daddy.
The picture of his daughter was not staring you down while you blew him, much too rigorously for his liking.
“Easy, easy there, easy. Slow down, baby. I don’t wanna cum yet. Just- Just lick my balls for a little bit. Nice and slow, good boy.”
You did as he said, slithering your tongue across and smothering your face in his massive balls, trying and failing to fit even just one in your mouth. You did not want to think about how that girl in the picture frame was once swimming around in them.
And you definitely were not wondering if his daughter’s mother ever ate his ass out like this. With how tense he was, you figured probably not, but he opened up beautifully once you lubed up your fingers. Hell, he even took that buttplug like a champ.
“Oh, Jesus Christ… Ngh…”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m good… Just gotta… Mmm, just gotta get used to it, sweetness.”
Maybe his ex was kinky. Maybe she’d been the first one to touch his prostate. Or maybe it was his doctor just a couple weeks ago. Maybe it’d been revelation, divine knowledge bestowed to him while bent over on the exam table, and he’d been experimenting ever since, trying to make lightning strike twice.
You were not trying to guess whether he was divorced, a widower, or a cheater. Hopefully not the third, because nothing will kill an orgasm faster than a vengeful spouse and a loaded handgun. But hey, that’s not your problem. Not yet, at least, and hopefully not ever.
Just a hot older guy. Decades of experience, and it showed. He surely knew his way around a pussy, liquid proof dripping from his mustache. He knelt down in front of you once more, hoisted your legs onto his shoulders, and yanked your butt off the edge of the couch.
“Got the poppers, bud? Y’wanna hold ‘em up for me?”
You uncapped and held the small bottle to his nostril and watched him take a five second inhale, then a breath, and another five second inhale.
Fuck, he was hot.
You barely had time to bring the poppers to your own face before his went down. His tongue pressed and flicked, swirled and licked your fattened clit. Two long fingers shoved up your pussy, and one snuck up your ass, all three reaching much deeper than you could do yourself. They pumped in time with his mouth, at first. Steady, deliberate motions intended to open you up for something more. He rose to his feet, bringing your legs up with him, and feverishly pumped his half-hard cock. Brows knit in unwavering focus as he tried to get it all the way up.
“Shit… won’t stay up. Hol’ on. Where’s the damn…?”
He grabbed a rubber ring off the coffee table and slid it onto his cock, tugging his heavy balls through the loop. You watched, entranced, having no frame of reference for what that might feel like. You tried to imagine it on your own cock: a tight pinch, forcing all that blood into it, all that pressure. It sounded heavenly on its own, but to be fair, you had much less dick to fill. The ring seemed to be doing the trick for him, though. He finally got it up, poked it against your cunt, and shoved it in. No time to waste, and no time to adjust before he started coring you out on the couch.
For about three thrusts, and then he fell out.
“Son of a… Fuck it.”
In a fit of sexual frustration, he fell to his knees and plunged his face into your pussy once more. All tact and any shred of restraint he had left was gone. He was an animal, and devoured you as such. He sucked your tiny dick up into his mouth, tugging at it like he was trying to tear it off. The three fingers went back into your holes as if they'd never left, finding your sweet spots in a matter of seconds. He jackhammered them, forcing you to bear a ruthless, brutal onslaught of pleasure. The speed had your entire body shaking, even down to your voice.
"F-F-F-u-u-u-u-u-c-k-k, o-o-h-h-h-h, y-y-y-e-e-e-e-e-s-s-s..."
It sounded like you were moaning into a desk fan, the sobs of ecstasy being intercepted by his hand. His wrist did not falter, not for a moment. Not even when every jab of his fingers got him splashed with cum. Every. Jab. You honestly didn't even know you could physically squirt this much. Hell, you couldn't stop squirting. Not that you'd want to, but still. He just took it on the chin, quite literally, snarling with sadistic satisfaction as he drank it all down. When his thirst was finally quenched, he pulled back, his face glistening with your juices.
"Sorry I couldn't get hard, darlin'. I dunno if it was the poppers or the pot or what... Usually doesn't happen to me."
The fuck? The man sucks your soul out of your body, gives you an industrial-strength orgasm, and the first word out of his mouth is sorry? Your cunt was still buzzing a good 30 seconds after he stopped and he thinks to apologize? Is this guy for real? You shut that shit down right away.
"No, no, no, oh my god, you're... you're fine, don't worry... Shit... That was... You're fucking amazing... Thank you..."
"Aw, pleasure's all mine, sugarplum. You taste fuckin' incredible, y'know. I could-"
*RING*
"Shit, it's my daughter. I gotta take this."
Saying the quiet part out loud, it seems.
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