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#slit flares
cafe-solo · 2 years
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djcarnationsblog · 1 year
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WE’VE GOT FEM SOKOUKU CAUSE WOMEN
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craftycoola · 7 months
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there are many extremely annoying things about fast fashion but my current (relatively unimportant) grievance is that it creates so much cognitive dissonance in my head with regards to prices
like, someone on instagram said they bought a dress for $120. my first thought was yikes, that's pricey. then i remembered that if you pay a human being half-decent wages the price would be way over $120. then i remembered that it's probably fast fashion where they're paying their workers 5 cents and the bosses are taking all the money.
so it's like. is $120 expensive? yes, in extra profits for someone who did nothing. no, in wages for someone who actually did the work of making a chiffon dress.
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constantvariations · 1 year
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Genuinely funny to me that Weiss gets impaled in, relatively, the best spot on the torso to get impaled and acts like it's immediately lethal
Like. Babe. That's your liver, not your heart. You'll be fine
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rinrinlovee · 2 years
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I am THIS close to making a loose flowey dancing dress
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gogmstuff · 2 years
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Charles Jervas portrays the early Rococo in Britain (from top to bottom) -
Lady by Charles Jervas (Christie's - 4Jun2014 Lot 265) 2617X3268 @150 1.6Mj.
Mrs Dunbar by Charles Jervas (Christie's - 9Nov05 auction Lot 29) 2508X3060 @150 796kj.
Lady with her dog attributed to Charles Jerva (Bonhams - 5Oct15 auction Lot 5008). Erased spots w Pshop2737X3703 @150 2.4Mj.
Lady Elizabeth Egerton, Countess of Bridgewater by Charles Jervas (Christie's - 19Mar20 auction Lot 70). Removed spots and crease lines w Pshop 3011X3926 @150 2.5Mj.
Jane du Cane, alias du Quesne (b.1711) by Charles Jervas (Christie's - 30Apr2015 auction Lot 445) 3236X3930 @150 2.3Mj.
ca. 1715 Henrietta Pelham-Holles, Duchess of Newcastle by Charles Jervas (on sale at Isherwood Fine Art Ltd). From bada.org/object/charles-jervas-1675-1739-henrietta-pelham-holles-duchess-newcastle.
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teenvague · 4 months
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Zuhair Murad 'Midnight Scent' Fall 2023 Haute Couture Collection
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pimientosdulces · 6 months
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princess
[Image Description: two digital drawings of Princess Bubblegum from
Adventure Time drawn in different, original outfits.
Princess Bubblegum is a young woman with light-pink skin and long pink hair that goes down to her knees. She wears a thin, golden crown that wraps around her head with a single point at the center of her forehead that rises up.
All of her garments are also pink.
The first drawing depicts Princess Bubblegum wearing a pencil skirt with a second skirt above it that fans out like a tutu. She also wears a stiff blazer with puffy shoulder pads, a blouse, and a brooch. She has wide boots that go just above her knees. Princess Bubblegum stands straight with her gloved hands tucked behind her back.
The second drawing depicts Princess Bubblegum wearing a set of striking, militaristic robes with a cowl that flares out around her neck and long, flapping sleeves. There are long slits up the sides of the robe for mobility. Princess Bubblegum stands with one hand on her hips, glaring sternly.
End Description.]
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ramonathinks · 6 months
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(18+, minors/blank accounts dni)
jealous ex husband gojo who just can't keep stand seeing you with someone else. he hates that you gave up on him, hates that you don't wear your ring anymore even though he does and he wears it proudly.
"you have a date tonight, the girls tell me." busted. you cringe and eye you little daughters, only six the both of them but you told them to keep quiet about the situation.
"yes..." you reply, anxiously awaiting his response.
you could just picture his face now, nose a bit flared and lips pursed. with clenched teeth he said, "alright, have fun." but it wasn't that simple.
he always kept close watch on you and it made you nervous with how simple it left the conversation. "well, i could come pick the girls up before then. about 8-ish?" he asks and you say yes before hanging up.
gojo was always too busy which was what led to the divorce. you'd both married young, 20 and stayed together since but when the girls turned 3 you had enough and just left. he wasn't being there enough for you or the girls and it hurt.
when he pulled up you cursed yourself for getting ready so early. your hair in long curls and a knee length skirt with a small slit on the left leg. he didn't bothering knocking or waiting for you to open the door, he had keys and you knew this so you continued with your makeup.
he was standing there watching you but you ignored him. or tried to but he walked closer and closer until he was right in your face. "how beautiful, you are." he held your jaw and forced you to look at him.
"why don't you ditch this date and come with me?" he asked, bringing your lower reign to his. "don't you miss me baby?" he nipped at your skin and the memories and feelings were coming back.
you had to be strong. you swallowed and pulled his back from you. "you have to stop this, im sure you have someone out there satoru, but she isn't me." you tried to walk off but he grabbed your wrist and brought you to your bedroom.
"y/n, so you think anyone can make you feel as good as i make you feel? don't you know i love you? my feelings never left and i know yours haven't." he rubs you through your panties and kisses you on your lips.
"everything can be different now." he promises, easing his way between your legs. his heavy cock entering you slowly, it was only the tip so far but it was splitting you open. you'd been without sex for two years and now tears were in your eyes.
"you think he can fill you up like me?" he adjusts himself and enters more of his cock into you. he was still so big, you were choking. you could feel him in your tummy and in your throat.
"you're always going to be mine, so stop running." he told you as he jerked his hips. "stop trying to let this go baby?"
"satoru—"
"mommy! the door!" one of the girls yelled.
"shh," satoru brought a finger to your lips and leaned forward to make love to your mouth. it was too much and you both were drooling after just a few minutes, he pulled himself out of you and looked at his wet cock.
"think about what i said." it was hard to forget. you clenched your legs together after you cleaned yourself up, not even wanting to face your date.
not even wanting to face your ex-husband either.
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groguspicklejar · 7 months
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Sweet Tooth [Simon "Ghost" Riley]
Summary: You're trapped between a rock and a hard place. Or rather, trapped between a door and your superior. He doesn't seem to mind, though.
Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader
Warnings: +18 Smut (MDNI!!!), oral (fem receiving), pussydrunk!Simon if you squint, angst, forbidden romance happening in the midst of a mission.
A/n: i know i said i was gonna take a couple of days off from writing anything but this Simon brain rot hasn't sunk in quite yet but it. is. brewing🥴 @sofasoap i don't know what happened😭 one minute I was vibing to my music, the next I was neck deep in smutville😭😭😭
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You shouldn't be doing this. You shouldn't be allowing this. He's your superior. He's your Lieutenant. He's... H—he's...
He's on his knees.
He's hiking your leg up his shoulder. The slit of your dress parted wide open for him to take you apart from the inside out. His arm curls over it, hand planted on your sternum to keep you pinned against the door and the other slid against the small of your back whilst—
"fuck." is all you hear from below. "you're dripping all over my mouth, sweetheart."
You can't look at him. You just can't.
Even though you know you won't see his whole face, you know his mask will be right above his nose. And you know you'll see his mouth, his tongue gliding tender strokes through your pussy.
Hell, you can hear the lewd sounds. The slurping, the sticky wet noises of his mouth playing with your folds. It's hard to do anything but squirm in his hold. He's much bigger than you, keeping you where you are with just a fraction of his strength. So you just stand there and take it.
"Ghost—" you moan breathlessly, eyes glassy and bleary when you open them to try and talk some sense into him but words are melting and flee from your head the more his tongue flattens against your pussy. "Ghost, th—they're— they're going to—"
Words. Fleeing. Faster than your mind can comprehend. A sudden squeal escapes you before you can slap a hand over your mouth when his tongue slides inside you. His chin is glistening. And his nose as it cards against your clit, and it nearly tears a scream from your throat.
Your fingers grip his arm, legs trembling when the heat pools and threatens to flare brightly. He continues to lap at your folds like it's his job. The way he looks at you, with dark eyes veiled with desire, makes you melt.
Those eyes usually are so cold and calculated. Razer sharp and focused on the task at hand.
He's still focused, of course. But there's no sharpness. Not an ounce of ice and malice. His eyes are hazy, all soft and sweet and desperate for the way your essence drips onto his tongue. Desperate for you. You don't know how to handle that.
You don't know how you're going to look the rest of the team in the eye once you get out of this tiny bathroom. The operation was almost over. The target was in the bag, Gaz and Soap are working on getting the damn bastard out of the building unnoticed. Laswell's probably with them. You and Ghost?
You can't help but recall how he was always close by. Especially when you had to lure the target away from prying eyes. He kept a good enough distance, but close enough that you could feel the darkness of his eyes piercing the back of your head.
Then, once the target was secured —bound, gagged and blinded with a cloth over his head— and ushered away by Gaz and Soap, Ghost wasted no time in cornering you. Ambushing you, more like.
A gasp leaves your throat. Your hand grabs the top of his head, still covered by his mask. You don't mean to and you immediately mutter broken apologies when he freezes. You try to pry yourself from his grasp, knowing that you crossed a line. The mask doesn't come off, it never does.
But it was an accident, he shouldn't be that good working his tongue inside your fluttering pussy. You hate yourself even more for even allowing things to get this far.
"D—didn't mean to, I swear—" you stutter as you try to slide your leg off his shoulder. "I—I'm really sorry, Lieutenant—"
But he won't let you. You yelp when he pushes you back against he door and you feel his mouth on you, licking into you again. Only, he's more adamant this time. More determined to ruin you.
"Gh—Ghost— Si— Simon!" your scream practically goes unheard as you squirm against his mouth. You want to try and reason with him. But it's impossible to see reason when your head is filled with pleasure.
His hands are firm against you, tongue eagerly sinking into your wet heat before his mouth sucks on your throbbing clit. You hiss sharply, head falling downwards to barely open your eyes and find his. You're careful to let your hand rest on his shoulder, gripping the expensive fabric of his dark blazer, your lips parted open as you panted heavily.
Something has long since strung and drawn tight. The high was far too perilous; if the drop doesn't kill you, it'll be a miracle. And he knows. You're sure he knows because the more you tremble in his arms, the tighter his hold becomes.
It happens all too fast. The thread snaps and you shatter violently against his hold, hand slapped over your mouth to trap the loud cry inside your throat. Your head lolls against the door as the ecstasy hits you like a truck and rolls over you in hot waves. You're writhing in his grasp, helpless to the onslaught of the electrifying high.
He doesn't stop lapping at you just yet. You're gushing and pulsing into his mouth, dripping all over his nose and chin, wetting the cloth of his mask. A few more licks until he finally pulls himself away from your swollen pussy like it's the last thing he wants. You breathe deeply as you watch him.
He's still looking at your folds whilst his tongue glides over his lips, breathing as heavily as you are while collecting the glistening fluids there. It was like observing at a predatory animal after a kill.
He leans in again. You shudder when he presses a kiss on your folds. Fingers spreading you open to gently press his lips against your swollen clit. Kissing you there like he's saying one last goodbye. His tongue makes another flick over the sensitive bud and another and you think he's going to wring another orgasm over you all over again and it terrifies you because you don't think you'd want to stop him.
Thankfully unfortunately, he draws away and finally lets you go. You faintly whimper at the last sight of his mouth before he draws the mask over his face.
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Your legs were shaky as you made your way back. It was still hard to catch your breath. The alcohol in your blood has long since burned out by the time Lieutenant Riley was done with you. Regardless of that, you still stumbled on your feet.
Thankfully, Soap was right there to catch you. He was just as surprised as you were when he did. "You alright, lass?"
You smoothen over your dress as you quietly nod, not trusting your voice to speak for you. Another hand gently palms over the small of your back. In an instant, you're as stiff as a board when you feel him behind you.
"Exfil's here, love." he says. "Time to go."
The throbbing between your thighs returns with a vengeance. You barely manage to suppress a whimper.
You don't think you're going to catch a wink of sleep tonight. The worst part about it is that it'll have nothing to do with the mission.
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support my ko-fi I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with this. do i leave it as it is? do i turn it into a mini-series? what's happening, brain? idk.
[part 2] banners by @cafekitsune
Cod Masterlist
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lonelyheartsmotel · 1 year
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KEELEYS!!!! FUCKING!!!!!! OUTFIT!!!!!!!
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faustquillpen · 1 year
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Thinking about.... Lucas probably never does any self care. He would probably smell if it wasn't for his unique Rebirth ability. He comes back pretty much sterile, clothes and all. If he needs a shower he just dies. It's easier for him than actually showering. Despite how the pain of death tends to linger for a few hours to a day after Rebirth depending on the kind of death. Hey at least he makes use of the one of a kind ability?
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twi-liight · 7 months
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Petty Jealousy ❣
Tav's companions cannot fathom them potentially having other friends. ❥ Astarion/reader, Astarion/Tav, but also Companions/reader. I'm a Tavrem supremacist. ❥ Contains my own personal headcanon for why the companions call them "Tav" instead of their first name, which is justification for me loopholing the eternal problem of xreader writers having to wince when they use "F/N" or "Y/N". ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav/reader!
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“Look,” Astarion hisses, “look at that!” 
5 pairs of eyes land on the offender of the night (which, to their surprise, isn’t Astarion) who conversed pleasantly with the leader of their party. A half-elf with a sharp jaw, proud brow, and mirthful eyes looks extraordinarily ordinary compared to their merry band of freaks. 
“Who is that, again?” Shadowheart asks absently. “Tav suggested I rest for today instead of mapping out the Underdark with the party, and the next thing I know, they’ve brought back another little companion.” 
Astarion’s jaw twitches. He snaps out, “Companion or complication?”
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Gale crosses his arms, shrugging, used to Astarion’s temper running hot then cold. “His name is Nilmorn - a luthier. Tav took an interest in his wares. He makes a living selling stringed instruments in the Underdark. Strange place to sell such things.” 
Ugh. Astarion sighs, shaking his head. Leave it to Gale to traipse over the obvious. A sharpened mind like his would surely know that this Nilmorn has no place here, if not to be a bloodbag for him to slurp on. Beyond that, what use does this pretty boy have? Nilmorn sells wares that are utterly useless to them. He’s quite boring and one-dimensional, too, a character that strays too much into the side of “moral good” for Astarion to tolerate. 
 “Yes, yes, Gale, but have you considered how strange it is that he has invited himself to our camp?” Astarion flares out his hand towards the wizard, as if handing him common sense on his palm. 
“I,” Gale begins, blinking his wet, beautiful brown eyes at Astarion, “invited myself to this journey, Astarion. I am quite hurt you forgot. I thought what we had was special!” 
“Yes, but you’re weird!” Astarion exclaims. “You’re a freak with a bomb in your body because of your situationship with Mystra! That,” Astarion points an accusatory finger in the direction of Nilmorn, in which 5 pairs of eyes look at him again, “is someone so unbelievably normal he doesn’t even have any, any…” He gestures, articulates with his hands to placate his words. 
“No dubious motives?” Shadowheart offers, a smirk coyly playing on her lips. 
“No complicated backstory?” Wyll pipes in. Astarion’s eyes flicker to him, and irritation seeps into his skin when he finds Wyll smiling wryly, as if the warlock is in on some joke he is not picking up on. “No, I don’t know, god that has let him down in some way, shape, or form?” 
“Certainly no skills for fighting.” Lae’zel, thank the gods for Lae’zel. Her smooth voice hides none of her displeasure, and those sharp, slitted eyes stare across the fire to dig daggers into Nilmorn’s back. “Useless. We have no need for string-ed instruments. Let Tav pick one, and send this half-elf on his way.” 
Yes. Yes. Astarion nods eagerly.
“Hmmm. I almost envy his mundaneity,” Karlach adds,  “but I mean, he’s not that bad, Astari. Man’s just trying to make the world a better place, one string at a time.” 
Astarion almost throws up. He looks to the other companions helplessly. “Darlings. Please tell me you are not going to let Karlach get away with saying something so putridly motivational.” 
Karlach tosses her head back and cackles, much to Astarion's chagrin.
“Something is obviously bothering you,” Shadowheart states bluntly. Her green eyes watch his expression carefully in the firelight; she finds something there, but does not say it outright. With an exhale through her nose, as if it is painful for her to attempt a conversation with him, Shadowheart decides to throw him a bone: “Are you jealous?” 
He does not catch the bone. The bone slams right into his head as he stares at Shadowheart, slack-jawed and scandalized. Him? Jealous? “You must be joking.”
“Aw,” Shadowheart croons, another one of her insufferable smirks toying on her lips, “you are.” 
If he had mindflayer powers beyond reading her reprehensible surface-level thoughts, he would make Shadowheart’s head explode. Or something. 
He must establish his dignity in the group once more. He cannot handle more of this, especially not with Wyll grinning so wide, not self-aware enough that if he did not have a sexy demon controlling his life because he didn’t read the terms of conditions of a motherfucking contract, Astarion would bully him more.
“That is not the point here. Look,” he says. “I am just saying that our Tav is desirable in every way. Physically, we can all agree that Tav is attractive. Yes?” 
Yes. They all nod their heads. 
“Tav is a little strange, but they are our leader, and they got us this far somehow. Who knew caring about other people could go a long way.” 
Yes. They all nod their heads, except Wyll and Karlach, who look amongst the group with sheer disappointment on their faces. “Gods,” Karlach groans into her hand, “we– we need to unpack that later, gang. That’s just really sad.” 
“Lastly, Tav is strong. Strong enough to split apart the mountains and the sky, I imagine.” Strong enough to bury Cazador into the ground, hopefully. “Strong enough to face a god unwaveringly. Strong enough to persevere. Strong enough to be kind, despite everything. Despite what they think, they are charismatic, and they are the entire package. The only person who does not know of their value is Tav themselves.” 
They watch Tav’s lips quirk into a smile as Nilmorn holds a lyre out for them upon his smooth hands. Smooth, no sign of scars, no sign of complications. Just so unbearably mundane. Unbearably good. Unbearably kind. 
Unbearably unaware of their true nature.
Nilmorn does not know why they nicknamed them Tav, despite their name being [F/N]. Their unstoppable quench to loot everything and anything set back their timeline by weeks, no doubt. Reaching into barrels, reaching into the pockets of bandits, reaching into damn silk cocoons, reaching into whatever their curious little hands can salvage. It annoyed Astarion at first, but then Tav would find all of these weapons and armors and foods and coins and books. Normalcies and luxuries that made camp life feel less of a drab and more exciting. 
The gleaming, golden dagger at his side? They found it. The boots, the armor, the enchanted rings and necklaces they either found, bartered, or killed for their companions. Thus - Tav, short for tavara, the word meaning wares and merchandise; a clever little nickname Gale came up for their leader who is too good for all of them combined. 
“Any other party could whisk them away, you know,” Astarion says. “Tav could find a party of good, decent people, unlike any of us, without the mess and complication and hurt we cause them, and leave. Remember, my dears. It is not us who is irreplaceable. It is Tav.” 
How long would Tav tolerate him? Not long, he thinks. Long enough until he has expended his use for them, surely, but not forever. That's why anyone who wants Tav beyond sex or strength is a threat. If he hadn’t seduced his way into their heart, he wouldn’t be here where he stands, with a group of people who make him feel a little less alone. 
No doubt he would be in a cage on the back of a covered wagon that belongs to that disgusting gyr, Gandrel, his chain to Cazador growing shorter and shorter.
Silence. Tense and still. They watch as Tav laughs lightly, eyes alighting with amusement as Nilmorn cracks another joke. 
"You should meet my other companions," they hear Nilmorn offer, "I just know they would love to have you."
Revelation slams into each and every one of them like a magic missile.
“He’s not that funny,” Shadowheart mutters. She bends down, hands gripping tightly around the handle of her mace. “I don’t know why they are laughing that hard.”
“He can try to leave with his head on his shoulders,” snarls Lae’zel, “just say the word, Astarion.” 
Excellent. 
“What-” Wyll turns to Gale and Karlach. “We should stop them, shouldn’t we? There are no implications of this man trying to steal Tav away, he's just being nice, you worthless cunts! This is not fair to him!” 
“We’re in the Underdark, aren’t we? Super deep. Doubt anyone who cares for him will come looking for him.” 
“Karlach!” 
“Astute observation! To make this all a little easier on us, I can most certainly put this man to sleep.” 
“Gale?!” 
“Go on, Lae’zel,” Astarion grins wickedly, “attack!”
“Oh, hells,” Wyll stumbles back, then turns quickly to the other direction towards Halsin. “Halsin! Halsin - they’re trying to murder someone again!” 
❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 months
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An Ode To Greed
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Nikto x F!Reader || Smut Drabble W. An Utterly Down Bad Man (AKA Nikto)
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No Dark Themes - Body worship, praise/dirty talk, p in v, edging, implied overstim, cunnilingus, implied somnophilia (but it's totally up to you), domestic Nikto, implied dom/sub & switch dynamics, etc. Minors interacting will be blocked.
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Nikto was nothing less than an attentive lover. 
Many days you found the man already done with the chores before you had the chance to get up—the light spilling through the curtains on his day off from KorTac. He was an early riser, the large Russian, always itching to move and to get his mind going. The mornings were organized, methodical, and always delicately thought out to the last detail: what cup he would use for his tea—black tea, of course, with lemon—to what he would clean first. Even down to the ingredients of the breakfast he would make you, leveled and weighed on the kitchen counter waiting for his experienced hand.
You left the cooking to him, and he never disappointed. 
But…on the very rare days Nikto chose to sleep in, that body as big and as all-consuming as a bear rumbling right next to yours, it was something to greedily latch at like a cat with a toy. Luckily, your influence was the one thing that could always reduce the Russian to a panting dog in heat. 
“Птичка,” Nikto grunts harshly into your ear, his hand grasping your hip as your breasts jerk along the mattress under you. Your mouth is open in a feral example of drunk pleasure, fingers kneading the ruined sheets. “Good girl, yes? Taking it so deep for us, this cunt.”
You whine loudly, eyes clenching shut as the sounds of wet rutting echo in your ringing ears. Your legs shake, backside up and chest stuck to the bed with Nikto’s shadow looming, repeating the action of grinding his cock in and out of your weeping slit one shove of his pelvis at a time. Everything about him was large, down from his appetite to his need for sex—you were always happy to feed him in whatever way possible. 
Nikto’s hand rubs up and down your thigh, pulling himself back to grip the both of them tightly and watch, sweat dripping down his throat. The cold eyes widen at the sight of your pussy taking him down one increasingly fast thrust at a time, the shine of your slick staining his thighs, slipping down where it cools and adds to the dichotomy of temperatures. 
“Speak,” he licks his lips, pushing your sleep shirt higher up your back with a flexing hand. He needs to watch. Nikto flights down a shaky breath, head tilting to the side as your walls tighten. The Russian groans throatily, clenching his teeth and bearing them like a mutt.
He’s been edging you for hours, a near-cruel way to see your eyes go glossy and drool to pool on the sheets. He almost gave in multiple times—particularly when he’d been tongue-deep into you, running his calloused thumb over your clit as your thighs trapped his head at your core. The remnants still drip from the divots of his facial scars, and he licks at the corner of his mouth to taste once more with a grunt of worshiping satisfaction. 
Delicious.
When you can’t utter up more than a writhing whimper, nostrils flaring for air and lungs heaving, you hear his low chuckle before fingers grasp your chin firmly and pull. A tongue finds the side of your angled face as you’re trapped against his bulky chest, his arm strapping your side as the muscle leaves a long stripe of saliva over your jaw.
The angle leaves him thrusting up, and his free hand travels slowly from your waist to your pulsing bundle of nerves, tapping your flesh cunningly as he goes.
You moan brokenly through an agonizing electricity of senses, head snapping back to Nikto’s shoulder as your hips jerk; back arching as the tension in your body grows ever stronger. 
You needed it—you needed to let go, feel the devastating breaking of your release slamming through you. 
“Speak,” Nikto grinds out into your ear as tears slip from the corner of your eyes—teeth bite all along your neck, thighs smashing into the back of yours. All the while, rapid circles run over your clit, and the sounds follow a feral rhythm that would leave no question to anyone else as to what was going on in this bedroom. It was the way you’d been reduced to nothing but a toy for him to ring pleasure out of that made this perfect—starting so greedily that you’d had him all to yourself this morning; letting his eyes roll into the back of his head as you’d rode him, his arms shaking as his spend had filled you, spilling out over his lower body when he’d finally finished his broken thrusting. 
“Nikto,” you stutter, biting your lip and feeling every inch of his cock bringing you closer and closer to an orgasm that you’d been begging for ages to let loose. “Please, fuck, please, I’m so close.”
“Да,” Nikto grunts, holding you closer as you quiver in a deliriously confused arousal, playing with you. He smirks, but you know the tension in his abdomen that builds and builds against your spine. The man pants, cruising out in growled Russian under his breath, heavy and hard. He barks, “Can feel it. We know your little squirms by now, hm? We know that way your eyes roll back—your pretty pussy, Птичка. She is too good for me,” Niko smirks into your skin, taking a deep breath as his fantasies take over, hot breath puffed into your slick flesh. “I can’t help but want to leave her begging one more time, just to watch how she will flutter.”
“Please!” You sob, hands clawing behind to grasp at the man’s head, shoving it further into your neck as your body tightens, legs all but numb. The Russian grumbles in approval, liking the way your nails drag his close-shorn hair. “Fuck, Nikto, please, I need it so bad.”
It was like you’d lost your mind and your dignity all at once. 
“We know,” Nikto’s scars move up and down your back, and you can sense every rub and caress of them intimately. To have him in this way was as addictive as it was the first time. 
Nikto bites more and more at your shoulders, nipping your ear and inhaling your scent—so much like a dog it was pathetic the way he was obsessed with your body; your orgasm. While you had no trouble coaxing one out of him in whichever way you desired, he always made yours a spectacle and a mystery. Rope, toys, blindfolds…there was only a limit if you said there was one, and that was something that only needed to be said once.
But there was something to be worshipped about the raw, animalistic, desperate fucking with Nikto that never seemed to get old. Especially when it was in your bed, especially when you had watched his cold eyes be blown wide by lust as his cock grew hard, especially when you could spend the rest of the day naked in your penthouse; skin on skin, switching dominance like a coin to be tossed. 
Nikto was good at giving you exactly what you wanted, and not an inch less. So different from the standoffish brute that he showed to everyone else. Nonetheless, he was, you suppose, still that same brute—but your brute. And, fuck, if he wasn’t using you like a perfect deadly instrument in his arsenal, making sure you worked properly. 
Your breath is cut off to gasped moans, lower body vibrating and cunt so wet that the sloping suck of Nikto’s stained cock was heard and felt far more violently. 
The man’s gargantuan hand spreads from your flesh to press into your abdomen, and you sob loudly at the sensation of thin skin above the indent of a prodding mound; nails almost drawing blood from where they drag at Nikto’s head.
“Please,” you repeat as if a broken record. “Oh, Nikto, please, fuck—”
“Shh,” Nikto shushes, still abusing your clit before he presses his previously prodding hand above your heart, in the process, groping at your breast; kneading as you place open-mouthed and saliva-dripping kisses to the beast’s chin—a coy attempt to please him into allowing you your nearing release. 
Nikto’s fingers push and pull, and your walls strangle him just right until his balls are betraying him, tensed and near bursting as he grunts and groans, all of his words a garble of gravel and sandpaper. 
The accent, while it lets you know he’s just as desperate as you are when it gets like that, only makes the knot in your stomach flare with friction. You loved it when he was minutes away from breaking.
“Want to feel your heart stutter.” It’s more of a command than a suggestion, and your hips try to meet his rutting as best as they can, arms losing strength as the pressure mounts you as Nikto does. Voice a harsh grind, he accentuates his point by pushing you back down the mattress all the way, getting the angle he needs to pound into the softest part of your cunt as you keen so loud you’re thankful you have the place all to yourselves because you can’t stop making sounds you can’t be described. Your body is bent and pushed to the limit, sweat and the scent of sex potent in your nose. 
Nikto fucks like it’s the last time you’ll ever take his cock. 
“Want to know the exact moment you claw for air again when you gasp it all away, my Птичка. My sweet little Птичка. Drug to my senses, yes? Can never take cunt unless it’s yours,” his voice grows faster, breathier, English words slurring until he divulges into his mother tongue, losing all sense beyond how you suck him in and squeeze him—warm walls inviting and the only place to spill himself. He can’t even jerk off anymore; you’ve ruined it for him. 
He needs to fill you up until he has nothing left to give: the only mission that he’d complete time and time again with no complaints or second guesses. The only mission that mattered. 
Nikto barks and spits, biting your flesh as you plead one last time.
“Tell me,” you all but shout. “Tell me I can—”
“Да!” Is the reverberating answer, and the way your body immediately responds is nothing short of utter devotion. 
Your body seizes, shoving itself into the mattress as the headboard slams into the wall, arching and toes curling—the knot in your core snaps as if cut by a crude knife, sawing you in half as your release gushes to flood out of the ring of Nikto’s plug. 
The Russian’s hand over your breast squeezes as you ride out your high on him, Nikto’s own orgasm rising to meet yours as it always does, only able to get off after he knows he’s done a good job of pleasing you. His scarred face buries itself into your neck, mouth open as his silent release is accented by the small, cut-off, grunt he gives with every slowing thrust. The joining of your flooded womb and his shining cock is a milky frothing of cum, sounding like someone slapping thickened water as the sticky juices are a testament to lustful need. They slip down your thighs, as Nikto licks and sucks on your skin, unable to slip himself out of you and your welcoming walls as they flutter. 
With every tightening surge of your cunt, he instinctively grinds himself further into you again, and you whine as his lips finally find your mouth, tongue pushing inside, still tasting of your cum. Eyes rolling back, you let his tiny thrusts continue if only to hear his canid-like groans and feel the slap of his balls so close to your puffy clit. 
You moan into his mouth as his teeth nip at your lips, sucking at your tongue before the ringing of your ears fades to hear his growls between the wet gasps.
“Get a good taste of us. I’m greedy, yes? Hungry. No worries…you will be our завтрак.”
The rolling over of your body and the spreading of your legs is all but expected, and you lay there with a smirk rising to your sweaty face as the monstrous man slips downward and slots his face right back where it belongs: shoving itself up against your fucked-out cunt, Nikto’s cum slobbering out and mixed with your own.
The first swipe of his greedy, fat tongue has your shaking legs curling around his head as he shudders in arousal, grunting out muffled words as you whine and slam your head back to the pillow.
“Вкусный.”  
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*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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A/N: Literally idk where this came from but, I guess, take some Nikto smut lmao - still writing my reverse Price AU, but this hit me like a truck out of nowhere. Forgive me if this is literally horrible - I wrote it at 10, and I haven't written smut in a hot minute, lol
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otto-s-alskling · 18 days
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TF141 X Fem!Reader
"Dress Up"
Shopping for disguises is something that the Taskforce sometimes dreads and sometimes are excited about. But when the mission called for having you dressed up for the supposed Gala that you are all to attend to, they immediately scrambled to the nearest boutique to find the best gown for you.
The four men sat at the dress boutique, an odd bunch as the sales lady assisting you was inside the changing room to help with the lacing and fixing up the dress. So far, the picks have been good, none of them totally into it because some have been a
... Questionable.
Soap chose a dark navy blue dress that showed so much of your back, which in return immediately got him hit on the back of his head by Ghost.
Gaz chose a rose colored dress but the slit reached almost your hip and Price couldn't have shoved you back in the changing stall so fast to hide you.
Price chose a red dress, a quite regal looking one that's a halter neckline and a glittery mermaid style that got a few appreciative nods.
Ghost, however, picked something that no one else expected him to ever choose. It wasn't goofy or ugly or anything. Quite the opposite.
You stepped out the changing stall, blushing, as you stared at the mirrors and the men all froze, especially Ghost. The three immediately looked at the masked man before looking at you again and they all sported a red shade on their cheeks and ears, refusing to look away from you.
Ghost chose a dress with sweetheart neckline, slightly fitted at the top with a sparkly plain skirt. Nothing too flared or anything but still gorgeous on you. Was even nice enough to get you a silver belt too. The fucking color of the dress? White.
Ghost picked a wedding dress for you to try on.
Imagination ran wild between the men before you cleared your throat. "I don't think I'll wear this one... Cause..." Your voice trailed off when they didn't even move a muscle, just busy gazing at you.
Nobody answered for a moment before Price clears his throat. "That uhm... Looks great, love but not for this occasion. I think we should get the halter one. You pick the color."
I nodded and went to the sales lady, leaving the men in awe at what they just saw. Ghost looked at Soap who was grinning as he held up his phone. Sneaky Scottish bastard managed to take pictures and Gaz immediately requested for a few copies, making Price chuckle.
Secured with the dark blue version of the halter dress and the same silver belt that Ghost picked, the team headed out of the boutique.
•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•
Ghost went back the next day, and bought the dress he picked and a veil himself,gazing at his new phone wallpaper of you in the very same dress. You never know when you might need it ;3
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pyrebomb · 1 year
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i am so fucking sick of paying people to help me, and either getting ghosted or such a half-assed job that it takes 2 to 3 tries to fix the fucking thing
#like i am not hiring you because i am lazy#i am hiring you because the most minor of physical labor sends me into a fibro flare#what is the goddamned point if i either have to fix it myself after your useless ass leaves and thus PAY YOU to give me a flare#or have you out 3 goddamned times and burn through all my social spoons?#so yeah i needed to move the car that has been sitting dead in the garage so the plumbers can get a new water heater in#i tried to jump it over the whole weekend and the battery is just dead#after searching every fucking auto parts and repair place in the county i find that none of them offer mobile battery service#so i had to sign up for AAA just for them to... send me somebody who likely told me they don't do that when I called yesterday#i flat-old told him'this has been sitting here for a year i just need a new battery'#'oh well if it hasn't been driven that long the best battery in the world won't start i'm not going to try to sell you a battery'#PLZ SELL ME A BATTERY THAT IS LITERALLY WHAT I CALLED YOU FOR#anyways it started when he used his fancy jumper so he told me to let it run for half an hour and left#wasn't even here five minutes#guess whose battery sputtered and died at the 15 minute mark? i am gonna slit somebody's throat is2g#at least i got it moved out of the way for the plumbers but now i have to deal with this bullshit all over again#i fucking hate repairmen of all stripes#that kel mitchell skit on all that was far too fucking accurate
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