Alex. Queer. Neurodivergent. They/Them pronouns. Fandoms: Harry Potter, Teen Wolf. Main Tumblr blog. Sometimes I reblog content that has nothing to do with writing. Since this is my main tumblr blog, I also follow various different types of blogs like spiritual blogs, subculture blogs, etc.
synopsis: you're all needy and horny, but Clark has to finish writing an article, so you sit on his cock while he tries to work.
cw: porn and no plot, unprotected p in v, cockwarming (duh), slight tummy bulge, reader gets fucked dumb, creampie!
wc: idk, i'm literally in the middle of the amazon rainforest (class field trip lmao) and i usually do the word count on my computer, which i did not bring lol
a/n: i've done, like, three of these but i just love the idea so much. the more the merrier, right? not proofread, so if you see typos, squint.
It's supposed to be a date night, but Clark's article has to be ready first thing tomorrow and he hasn't finished it yet. But you're all needy and eager, you'd really been looking forward to your date, and he can't say no to his girl.
He's sitting at the kitchen counter, just writing his article, all calm and indifferent, while you squirm on his cock.
Pussy stretched wide open, completely full of him, a little bulge forming on your lower belly from how deep he is in you.
You whine lowly, pressing your face into his neck. “Clark,” you say breathlessly, the warm air against his throat making goosebumps rise on his skin.
“I know, baby. Just gimme a minute,” he replies, his cock twitching in you. God, he wishes he could just say to hell with the article.
Your slick is dripping down his cock, smeared all over the tops of his thighs, coating his heavy balls. The air is thick with the scent of you, and it's making Clark's mind is all hazy. God, you smell sweet. It's making it difficult for him to focus.
It's a sort of cruel, endless cycle. The longer you sit on his cock, the wetter you get, the more aroused he gets, the less he can focus, the longer it takes him to write the article, the longer you sit on his cock.
“Clark,” you whine again, about ten minutes later, your tight pussy fluttering around him as little shivers of need travel through you.
“I know, honey, I'm sorry,” he says, his voice rough with desire. His hand caresses your lower belly, feeling how full you are of him. Fuck, all he wants to do is lay you down on the counter and fuck you dumb. But this stupid article... “I'm almost done.” It's a lie, but he hopes it'll make you feel a little better.
The words on the screen make no sense to him. He erases entire sentences, rewrites them, edits them, only to end up with the sentence he'd started with.
It's grating on his nerves, and the fact that you've now taken to rocking back and forth on him isn't helping.
“Baby,” Clark warns, “don't distract me. I'm trying to work.”
“Work later,” you beg, nibbling over his jaw, leaving wet kisses on his skin.
Clark's cock twitches in you again. Precum is slowly leaking from him, mixing with your arousal. He's so hard, it almost hurts.
You can feel him pulsing in you, thick and engorged, filling you to the brim. Your skin is sticky with sweat, the hot coil of desire pulled tight in your womb. You feel like you're burning from the inside out and Clark is the only one that can help you.
“Baby, this has to be ready for tomorrow,” he groans, moving his head to the side as you kiss over his throat.
“You'll have plenty of time to finish it after...” you say lowly, your lips moving up to his ear.
Clark lets out a sound that's between a groan and a moan. “Fuck it.” He pulls you off his lap, his hard cock slipping out of you, and he carries you over to the bedroom.
He lays you on the bed, his huge body following right after. He presses his hips against yours, feeling how wet you are, and his mouth focuses on kissing over your neck.
“I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry I kept you waiting,” he murmurs, voice rough as he nibbles over your jaw. He wastes no more time as he reaches down, grabbing himself in hand and slowly pushing himself into you again.
You mewl sweetly, your back arching as he fills you completely, his girthy cock always a tight fit. You grab onto his arms, whining as he pushes in inch by inch, the thick mushroom head stretching your gummy walls before the rest follows.
Clark groans once he's all the way in you and he pauses, just relishing the feeling of your wet, warm cunt squeezing around him.
“God, baby, you're so good. You feel so good,” he murmurs, voice rough as he kisses over your shoulder. He starts moving his hips slowly, deep, gentle rolls that have your eyes rolling back.
Your nails dig into the large, strong muscles in his arms, leaving red marks on his skin. You're seeing stars, the breath pushed out of your lungs each time Clark thrusts back into you.
He does it so well, fucks you so good every time, and you're already worked up from how long you were sitting on his cock. A warm coil of heat and desire forms low in your belly, growing hotter and tighter as Clark starts fucking you faster.
Clark grunts as your pussy clenches around him tighter, breathless moans leaving your beautiful lips. “I know, baby. Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”
He glances down, watching the way his cock moves in and out of you with ease, the width of him stretching you wide. Your folds are all soaked and puffy, your clit swollen and begging for attention.
He reaches down, splaying a huge hand over your womb, his thumb landing on your clit and rubbing messy shapes on it.
In response, you squeal and grab onto his shoulders, dragging your nails down his back. “Please, please, please, please, please!” you gasp, thighs starting to shake as you wrap your legs around his waist to push him deeper.
Clark moans, thrusting harder, his cock pushing in deeper until the bulbous tip is brushing against your cervix. “I know, I know. I'm gonna make you come, baby. You know I always do,” he says between rough puffs of breath, feeling his own orgasm growing low in his abdomen.
You're squirming underneath him, your eyes shut tight, mouth open as you moan and whine his name. The heat in your womb spreads over your skin, leaving every nerve alight with pleasure until all you can feel is Clark.
Between his fingers and his deep thrusts, it doesn't take him long to get you over the edge.
You come hard, your gummy walls squeezing his cock until he can barely move anymore. Stars dance behind your eyelids as you mewl incoherently and your nails bite into his skin.
Clark follows right after. With a few last, shallow thrusts, he comes, spurting his thick cum into you. Warm and sticky, it gathers right against your cervix, and there's just so much of it. Something about how his body works, who knows.
It drips out of you the second he pulls out to lie down beside you. The bed sheets underneath you are soaked, sticky with sweat and your slick and his cum.
He pulls you to him, wrapping you in his arms and kissing the side of your gorgeous face. “You okay, baby?” he asks.
“‘m good,” you reply, rolling over to face him before cuddling against his warm, sweaty chest.
He holds you close, kissing your temple. He has no intention of getting out of bed now. He figures he can just wake up super super super early tomorrow morning and finish his article — you're more important.
♡ please comment and reblog my work, it means so much to me and inspires me to keep writing
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𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - if you wanna be added to my Clark Kent taglist, lmk <3
Hear me out: Smoke having to deal with his girl while she ovulating? I feel like it would be so funny to see mister big scary man a liiiitle afraid of his honey cause it’s ovulation week 😂. I had the thought cause of course I was ovulating and it damn near felt primal lmaoooo. Plus it kinda gives us an insight to sub Smoke. I love your writing booskiiiii ❤️
He Knew What Week It Was
Pairing: Smoke x Charlie (OC)
Summary: It’s ovulation week, and Charlie’s hungry in every sense. Smoke might be built like a country mechanic and talk like he’s got better things to do, but when his woman starts stalking him through the house with nothing but heat in her eyes and slick between her thighs, he knows what time it is. He tries to escape, but she’s faster. Hungrier. And once she’s got him? It’s over.
Warnings: 18+ / Explicit sexual content / Submissive male lead / Dominant female lead / Ovulation kink / Breeding kink / Pussy worship / Face sitting / Oral (f receiving) / Cowgirl & doggystyle / Cumplay / Humor mixed with filth / Southern Black characters / Domestic intimacy / Aftercare
The screen door creaked open, and Smoke stepped inside, wiping the back of his neck with the towel slung over his shoulder. The heat clung to him, thick and humid, even inside. But something else hung in the air—something sweeter. Warmer. Thicker. It wrapped around him before it even hit his nose, made his chest tighten, and his throat catch. There was only one thing it could be.
He sniffed once. Paused. Blinked. "Charlie ovulatin'." It wasn’t even a question. Just fact. Said flat and low like a weather warning. Like a man who knew his time had come. He stood still, boots planted, eyes narrowing like the scent had a shape and weight to it. Heavy. Dangerous. His hand dropped from his neck, that towel forgotten, like his life might be too if he didn’t tread careful.
From down the hallway, soft as molasses and twice as dangerous, came Charlie’s voice, thick with mischief and heat. "Hey, baby." The words rolled out like a slow pour of honey, and Smoke turned his head with caution, already bracing for what he knew he’d see. Charlie stood halfway down the hall, barefoot and dangerous in that short robe with the tie barely holding on, like even the fabric knew resistance was useless.
The evening light poured over her like gold, making her skin gleam—warm, bronzed, kissed by sweat or maybe intention, he couldn’t tell. Her hair was pulled up, but soft curls had fallen loose around her cheeks, framing that sly little smile she wore like a weapon. She moved one thigh forward, the robe parting just enough to flash the full curve of it, thick and glistening. The move wasn’t an accident.
Charlie’s smile spread slow, all teeth and invitation, eyes narrowed like she was hunting something. Or someone. Her gaze locked onto him with an intensity that made his spine twitch, not a lick of hesitation behind it. He swore her pupils dilated like she could smell the heat coming off his skin. She didn’t blink. Just stood there, dripping threat and promise all at once, the low hum of want vibrating off her like a storm rolling in.
It didn’t matter what he said or did. Charlie had already decided. And the way she looked at him right then, like he was her favorite meal and she hadn’t eaten in days, Smoke knew he wasn’t making it out of that hallway untouched.
He blinked once. Then backed up like Charlie had a weapon. "Nah," he muttered.
He turned smooth and quiet, like a man trying not to wake a sleeping lion. He made it to the kitchen before Charlie called again, voice all honey and trap. "Where you goin'? I just wanna talk."
Smoke didn’t answer. He opened the fridge, staring into the cold like it might bless him. Really, he was just trying to breathe something other than Charlie. But Charlie scent was already in him, in his lungs, down in his bloodstream, pulling at something primal. The cold air wasn’t helping. His dick was already stirring like it knew the assignment.
When the fridge didn’t work, he made for the kitchen island. Charlie appeared on the other side just as he reached it, slow walk, robe slipping off one shoulder now. Her eyes dared him to move. "You thirsty, baby?"
He sidestepped. Smooth. Charlie followed, steps in sync. He spun around the island and slipped out the back door like a ghost, barely breathing.
From the porch, he exhaled hard and leaned on the railing. His eyes squinted at the sky like it owed him mercy. "This some bullshit," he muttered.
Inside, he heard Charlie humming. Low and sweet. The kind of hum that sounded like it should come with claws. The screen door creaked again, and he didn’t wait to see.
He ducked into the laundry room and closed the door slow, heart kicking up in his chest. Stood there, back against the washer, towel still in hand like it could defend him. He waited.
Then footsteps. Charlie passed the door. Didn’t see him.
He opened it just as quiet, slid back into the hallway like a damn thief in his own house, and made for the bedroom. If he could just get to the bathroom—
Charlie was there.
"Goddamn," he muttered, stopping mid-step.
Charlie smiled wide, arms stretched against the doorframe like a cat blocking a mousehole. "You been runnin’ from me, daddy?"
"I’m tryin’ to live."
He turned to double back, but Charlie lunged. He juked, barely slipping away, and rushed toward the living room, catching the edge of the couch like it owed him rent. His heart was thudding now, half adrenaline, half arousal. He was sweating more than the heat justified.
Breathing heavy now, he stood there, hands on his hips, staring down the hallway like it personally betrayed him. The house was too small. The air too thick. His girl too fine.
Charlie came up behind him slow. Quiet. Then pounced.
He stumbled, half laughing, half groaning as Charlie straddled him right there on the couch, the weight of her thighs pressing down, firm and intentional. The robe slipped open like velvet curtains rising on a performance. Smoke had no choice but to watch. Her skin brushed his, soft and hot, her scent rising between them like steam. She moved with confidence, grinding her hips down in slow, deliberate circles that made him tense and twitch beneath her. The warmth of her soaked through the thin fabric of his clothes, and all that slick heat felt like it was dragging him under.
She leaned into him, her breasts pressing against his chest, the robe falling completely to the sides now, forgotten. Her fingers slipped into his hair, nails dragging gently against his scalp, and his breath hitched. He reached up instinctively, grabbing at her hips like he needed something to anchor him to reality, but even that wasn’t enough. Every move she made dragged him deeper into her rhythm, every grind of her body pulling a soft curse from his throat. She was too close, too hot, too everything, and Smoke couldn’t catch his breath if he tried.
Charlie rocked against him, slow and relentless, and he could feel her getting wetter by the second. Her lips brushed against his jawline, warm breath teasing the shell of his ear as she whispered something low and filthy, her voice vibrating straight through his spine. He groaned again, not even sure if he was laughing, panicking, or begging. He just knew she had him, and he was gone.
Smoke laid back, arms out like a man giving up to gravity, face unreadable except for the tight line of his jaw, the flare in his nostrils. He looked like he was about to be sacrificed.
Charlie leaned down, lips brushing his ear, voice a whisper soaked in heat. "You done runnin' now?"
He exhaled slow, eyes fluttering to the ceiling like he was sending up a prayer. "Lord Jesus."
The couch didn’t creak—it groaned beneath the weight of them, like even the furniture could feel the shift. Charlie didn’t rush. She sat there on top of him, letting the moment stretch long and slow, like taffy pulled between hot hands. Her body was heavy in the best way, soft curves settling into his lap, her heat seeping through his jeans, making him throb harder with every second that passed. Her robe had fallen open completely now, bare skin pressing into his clothed chest, and she still wasn’t moving beyond that subtle grind that had his pulse ticking wild. Every inch of her was deliberate, a steady burn against the kindling of his restraint.
Smoke’s hands stayed at her hips, firm and unmoving, like if he held her still, he could hold himself together. But Charlie wasn’t letting him get away with that. She leaned in closer, her chest brushing his, her lips ghosting over the curve of his jaw, not kissing, just tasting the tension. She breathed him in like he was made of heat and salt, and he could feel the way her body trembled from holding back, from the weight of her own hunger.
“You breathing kinda heavy,” she murmured, voice low and syrupy, sweet enough to drown in. “I ain’t even do nothin’ yet.”
Smoke’s jaw flexed. He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The look in his eyes was glassy, heat-struck. That silent, stubborn kind of arousal that made his throat tighten and his eyes darken, but still kept him rooted in place like he wasn’t about to break. His chest rose slow and hard under her palms, like each breath cost him something. He stared at her like he was trying not to flinch from a fire.
Charlie licked her lips, slow and deliberate, and rolled her hips again, dragging her center over the thick outline of his dick. She hummed, pleased at the way his breath caught. Her hands slid up under his shirt, palms dragging over the thick chest and broad stomach he carried like a man who worked with his hands every day. He didn’t have gym-cut lines or photo-ready definition. He had that country-boy build—solid, heavy, warm. Muscles layered under softness, strength wrapped in comfort. The kind of body made for holding, for carrying weight, for pressing a woman flat to the mattress and keeping her there.
Charlie let her fingers explore slowly, appreciating the way his skin was smooth over bulk, how his flesh responded to her touch with little twitches and tight inhales. She leaned in further, her lips brushing the edge of his ear, breath hot and voice dripping with that same teasing hunger. “You gon’ be good for me?”
Smoke tilted his head back against the couch, exhaling through his nose like he was praying for mercy. “You don’t fight fair.”
“I don’t have to. I already won.”
He looked back down at her, eyes low and tight. “You proud of that?”
Charlie smiled, leaned in close to whisper against his lips. “You damn right I am.”
Then she kissed him. Not hard. Not fast. Just deep. Slow. Her tongue slid past his lips and coaxed a sound out of him he didn’t mean to make. One of those low, gravelly groans that came from the chest, like it had been pulled out of him against his will. His hands tightened at her waist. Not to stop her. Just to hold on. His fingers dug into her hips like she was the only thing anchoring him to the world.
She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, and her voice came out as a soft command. “Take it off.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Your shirt. I want you naked under me, Smoke. Now.”
His breath shuddered. He hesitated—but only for a second. Then his hands lifted slowly, dragging the fabric over his head, every motion unhurried, like he knew how vulnerable it was to give her that. The moment his skin hit the air, Charlie let out a little moan that felt too raw to be casual. Her hands roamed immediately, palms gliding over his chest, his stomach, the hard planes of him that she knew by heart but never got tired of worshipping. Her fingertips traced the lines of his tattoos, dipped into the grooves between muscles, and lingered at the thick veins along his arms.
She leaned down and kissed the center of his chest, then lower, just above his navel, her lips dragging slow, her breath hot. Her teeth grazed his skin, and Smoke’s stomach clenched hard beneath her mouth. She looked up at him through thick lashes, eyes shining with mischief and intention. “Look at you,” she murmured, “all this strength, all this quiet… and I got you sittin’ here like you don’t know what to do with yourself.”
Smoke didn’t speak. His mouth was open, his breathing ragged, his body locked in that quiet war between resistance and surrender. His dick strained hard against the denim, twitching at the sound of her voice, the feel of her mouth, the weight of her sitting there like he was furniture built just for her.
He still wasn’t saying much, but his eyes were begging now. And Charlie? Charlie was just getting started.
Charlie pulled back from his lap slowly, her hips lifting with a teasing drag that made Smoke hiss through his teeth. She didn’t say a word. Just slid off him, the hem of her robe brushing his thighs, and stepped back toward the coffee table like she was floating. Her body gleamed under the soft light, skin kissed with heat, every curve flushed with that ripe, needy glow. Each step was purposeful, hips rolling in that slow, southern sway that always made Smoke's breath hitch. Her thighs glistened where the heat of her arousal clung to them, and she moved like she had all the time in the world to wreck him.
She didn’t sit delicately. She claimed that table like a throne, planting herself down with her legs spread wide, the robe falling open and back, forgotten. Her fingers moved immediately, parting her folds and showing off just how wet she already was. It glistened in the low light, sticky strings catching on her fingertips, her slick shining between her thighs like honey in the sun. She wasn’t shy. She leaned back, one arm behind her for balance, the other working between her legs, circling, dipping, spreading herself open for him like an offering too good to ignore.
Smoke stared. Didn’t blink. His hands were on his thighs, jaw tight, eyes locked between her legs like they held answers to every question he never asked. The muscles in his neck twitched, jaw flexing harder with each wet sound she made. He looked like he was about to say something, then swallowed it back, letting his gaze roam from her dripping center up to the curve of her belly, the arch of her chest, the fire in her eyes.
Charlie dipped two fingers inside herself, slow and messy, her back arching slightly as her body welcomed the stretch. Her moan came high and soft at first, a low whimper that caught in her throat before spilling out again, longer and louder. She rolled her head back, mouth open, eyes fluttering. Her free hand moved to her chest, pinching her nipple, tugging and rolling it between her fingers in rhythm with her strokes. The sound of her wetness echoed through the room, slick, sloppy, filthy—and her moans built into breathy cries, drawn from the center of her chest.
Then she looked at him again, lids heavy, mouth slick and smirking. "You gon’ just sit there or talk to me?"
Smoke leaned back slightly, resting one arm on the couch, the other cupping his own bulge through his jeans. He watched her with that same dry, heavy-lidded stare, but his voice was low and sharp. "You really sittin’ there playin’ with that pussy like I ain’t right here?"
Charlie sucked her teeth and circled her clit, slow and deliberate. "I ain't playin'. I'm showin’ you."
He grunted, shaking his head. "Mouthy. You always got somethin’ to say when you know you smell like sweet trouble. Drippin’ all over my damn furniture like you ain't got no home training. Look at this pussy. So wet you leakin’ down to the table."
She moaned louder, fingers working faster, hips rocking now, all control thrown to the fire. Her breath hitched every time she caught that sweet spot, and she stared him down through it all, daring him to move. "Then come shut me up."
Smoke was off that couch in one motion, dropping to his knees like gravity yanked him. He crawled forward on all fours, slow and steady like a panther in heat, eyes never leaving the mess between her legs. His palms hit the floor, shoulders broad and moving with each stride as he closed the distance like a man possessed. When he reached her, he grabbed the back of her thighs and spread her wider, almost roughly, but reverently. His nose brushed her folds, and he inhaled deep, dragging the sound out like a curse.
"This what you wanted, huh? This sweet, sticky shit got my name all over it. You want me to clean it up, baby?"
Before Charlie could answer, his mouth was on her. Tongue flat, slow, wide at first, licking up everything she'd given him. Then he locked in, lips sealing over her clit, tongue working with precision that had her whole body jerking. Her thighs clamped around his head, but he didn’t budge. His hands gripped under her knees, locking her open as he feasted like it was his only purpose. The wet sounds filled the room, obscene and slick, as he mouthed her pussy like she was his whole salvation.
He moaned into her, loud and hungry, like she tasted better than anything he’d ever had in his life. His tongue worked her in patterns, switching up pressure, speed, sucking her clit until she was panting, fingers digging into the edge of the table to stay grounded. Her other hand found his head, gripping the back of his skull, not to guide him, but to hold on. She whimpered his name like a plea, and the next sound was a deeper cry, breath catching every time he curled his tongue just right. Her voice broke on a moan, high and guttural, her hand flying back to her chest to pinch her nipples harder, adding to the overload.
Smoke didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. He kissed her pussy like it was holy, tongue-fucking her until she cried out his name. His beard was wet with her, his chin shiny, and he kept going, humming low into her until her legs trembled. He pulled back just enough to let a line of spit connect him to her, lips glistening, voice low and guttural.
“Please,” he whispered, voice rough but low, his eyes locked on hers and shining with hunger. "Keep goin’, baby. Let me taste you fall apart. I need it—need you to cum on my tongue, give me all that sweet mess. I’ll take every drop. I swear I will."
Then he dove back in, tongue ruthless, lips hungry. Charlie’s whole body seized with the force of it. Her back arched, thighs quaking around his head, hands flying to his shoulders as the orgasm ripped through her. She came hard, loud, body rolling, hips grinding against his face as if trying to fuse with him. The table rocked beneath her. Her breath shattered. Her voice cracked. And Smoke didn’t come up for air until she was limp, trembling, and soaked.
He licked her one last time, slow and savoring, then kissed the inside of her thigh, still panting like he'd run miles to earn it. Charlie stared down at him, dazed, glistening, legs still twitching. And Smoke? He looked drunk off her, eyes half-lidded and wet with worship.
Charlie was still trembling, her chest heaving as she came down from the high he’d dragged out of her. Her legs were weak, slick clinging to the inside of her thighs, but her eyes? Her eyes were locked on him, sharp and dark with something that looked an awful lot like hunger still left unsatisfied. Smoke knelt there, chest rising and falling, beard drenched in her, his lips parted like he was waiting for more. He looked up at her like he was still caught in that moment—wanting to be told what to do next, needing it even if he didn’t say a word.
Charlie leaned forward, reached for his belt with fingers that curled slow and deliberate around the thick leather. Her touch was light but commanding, and when she pulled, Smoke followed without resistance. He stood up like he was under a spell, his big body towering, but everything in his posture bowed to her now. His eyes didn’t leave hers, not once, and the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to say something slick but knew better.
She led him through the house with the belt still in her hand, guiding him like she owned every breath in his lungs. And in that moment, she did. The sunroom was soaked in soft, golden light, the kind that dipped low across the floor like liquid heat. Every wall was made of glass from ceiling to floor, and the roof above let in the last stretch of sunset—burnt orange bleeding into purple, clouds rolling like slow waves overhead. The light danced across the hardwood, casting long shadows and amber glows across the thick rugs and the two of them as they stepped inside.
The loveseat in the corner sat like a throne waiting to be claimed. Charlie turned, pressing her palm flat against his chest. "Strip," she said, her voice low and steady, no question in it.
He obeyed, fingers moving to undo his buttons, slow and hesitant. Charlie watched his hands, then his face. Her eyes didn’t flinch. Every inch he revealed, she claimed with her gaze, his thick arms, that wide chest with soft edges, the curve of his belly, the heavy trail of hair leading down. Her mouth parted slightly when his pants dropped, revealing how hard and needy he already was, his dick curved up, thick and glistening at the tip. He kicked his pants off and stood there, naked and tense, like his body had been waiting for her since she cornered him in the living room.
Charlie stepped in close, letting her fingers trail down his stomach, feather-light and possessive. She took her time, her nails grazing his sides, lips parted just enough to let out a quiet hum of approval. "You always get this hard for me? Or just when I’m smellin’ like I need it deep?"
Smoke’s breath caught, throat working. He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. She could see it in the twitch of his dick, in the way his lips parted just slightly. When she reached down and gave the thick shaft a firm squeeze, his hips jerked forward, a deep grunt rumbling from his chest like it had been dragged out of him. His breath hitched again when she slid her palm up to the tip, fingers teasing around the swollen head before giving it another tight pulse. Smoke bit his bottom lip hard, eyes fluttering closed for a second, overwhelmed by the sensation. He looked wrecked already, like the waiting was eating him alive, like her touch alone was unraveling every bit of his control.
She grinned. "That’s what I thought."
Then she gave him a gentle push, and he dropped onto the loveseat with a grunt, wide legs open, hands resting on his thighs like he didn’t know what else to do with them. His eyes never left her. Charlie let her robe slide off her shoulders, falling in a soft puddle on the floor, leaving her bare and radiant in the sunlit glass room. Her body glowed, sweat still dewy on her skin, thighs slick, nipples peaked and flushed from heat and hunger.
She climbed into his lap, not soft, not slow—just need. Her body met his with a slick heat, skin to skin, and when she lowered herself onto him, it was one smooth, hungry motion that knocked the air out of both of them. He gasped like her pussy punched the breath from his lungs.
Charlie didn’t ease into it. She dropped her weight onto his dick, burying him to the hilt with a sound that split the air, her moan raw and heavy. Her hips rolled once, twice, then picked up into a relentless grind that shook through both of them. Her hands braced on his shoulders, nails biting into skin as she rode him as if her life depended on it. There was no slow rhythm. No tenderness. Just the raw drag of wet heat and the loud slap of flesh meeting flesh.
Smoke whimpered under her, his head falling back, hands gripping her waist like he didn’t know if he wanted to slow her down or beg her to go faster. His chest was rising fast, mouth open, eyes wild. Charlie leaned in, chest brushing his, lips near his ear.
"You feel that? That’s what you been runnin’ from all day. My pussy stay ready for you. You gonna give it to me, baby? Gonna fill me up till I can’t hold none of it in?"
He nodded, desperate, but his voice came through this time, low, heavy, thick with pleading. "Let me, baby. Please let me take care of you. You need it deep, I know you do. Let me give it to you right."
His hips bucked beneath her, trying to match her brutal rhythm, but she pushed his chest back with one hand, keeping control. He gritted his teeth, groaning, the frustration and the need twisting together in his eyes. “C’mon, mama. Let me fuck you how you need. Let me put it right where it’s s’posed to go. I’ll give it to you. I swear I will.”
Charlie stared down at him, lips parted, eyes flickering with that same hunger she’d had all day. Then she gave him a sharp nod, panting through her grin. "Alright then. Show me."
Smoke didn’t waste a second. He lifted her by the hips, strong arms flexing as he pulled free and stood, dick glistening, throbbing with restraint. He moved her with purpose, leading her across the sunroom to the ottoman in the center of the floor, the one bathed in dying gold light. He bent her over it, hands splayed on her back, pressing her down until her ass was high, her face against the cushion.
She was already moaning before he even touched her again.
"Look at you," he muttered, running a palm over the curve of her ass, watching her thighs twitch. "So ready for it. So wet it’s drippin’ down your damn legs."
Charlie arched her back more, wiggling her hips. "Then stop talkin’ and fuck me."
And he did.
He slid in slow, all the way to the hilt, groaning deep in his chest as her walls gripped him like she didn’t want to let go. He stayed buried there for a moment, his hands gripping her hips hard, eyes fluttering as the heat of her wrapped around him. He let out another low, guttural sound, almost reverent, his breath shaky with the effort it took not to lose it right then and there. Then he started moving. Hard. Deep. No hesitation. Each thrust was a heavy snap of his hips, slapping loud and filthy against her ass, the sound echoing off the glass walls. Her pussy welcomed him back with every stroke, slick and warm and gripping him tight like it was made to hold him there.
He leaned over her, one hand sliding up her back while the other held firm at her waist, guiding her onto his dick with that desperate, precise rhythm that made her moan into the cushion. His dick dragged against every needy, swollen part of her, her walls fluttering around him as he drove into her again and again. Her gasps turned into cries, her nails digging into the cushion as he hit that spot inside her that made her whole body jolt. She pushed back against him, meeting every thrust with the same frantic hunger he gave her. Their bodies clashed and moved like they’d been waiting for this all day, and they had.
"This what you needed? Huh? This how you want me to fuck you? Like a bitch in heat beggin’ to be bred?"
"Yes!" she cried, voice breaking. "Just like that! Don’t stop, Smoke—don’t fucking stop."
He didn’t. He gripped her hips tighter, his strokes getting rougher, deeper, more desperate. His breath hitched every time he bottomed out, and she kept pushing back against him, matching every thrust.
The glass room fogged from their heat, the sky darkening above them. Outside, anyone could look in and see—see the way he fucked her, the way she took it, the way they both chased that breaking point.
"Do it," she moaned. "Cum in me. Fill me up. I want all of it."
With a broken cry, he slammed deep and stayed there, his dick pulsing hard as thick, hot cum spilled deep inside her. It was endless, messy, and loud. Her pussy clenched down around him with each twitch, milking his release like it was all she’d wanted. The heat of it made her shudder, eyes rolling back as another orgasm crashed over her, ripping a scream from her throat. Her legs gave out, collapsing beneath her, her body quaking as she felt every last drop shoot up into her, slick dripping down her thighs before he’d even pulled out. She could feel it soaking her, warm and heavy, and it made her moan louder, her back arching, begging for more even as he gasped above her, spent and overwhelmed.
Smoke pulled out slowly, breath ragged, and watched his cum drip from her, thick and slow, coating her thighs and glistening on the cushion below. He reached down, running his fingers through the mess, spreading it over her folds before pushing a bit back inside with his thumb, watching her twitch.
"That’s right," he whispered, voice reverent. "Stay full for me. Let ‘em see what I gave you."
Charlie moaned, face still buried in the cushion, her body trembling, her pussy dripping with everything she’d begged for—and more.
The sunroom was damn near silent now, save for the soft whir of the ceiling fan and the labored breaths coming from the tangled mess of limbs on the floor. The sky outside had gone full indigo, stars starting to poke through the glass ceiling above them, and inside, Charlie and Smoke looked like they’d just survived something holy and unholy all at once—bare, sweaty, and barely coherent, like two sinners laid out in confession.
Charlie was sprawled on her stomach, ass still glistening with the mess he’d left inside her, a lazy, wrecked smile curling her lips even though her face was buried in the throw pillow. Her thighs were trembling slightly, muscles twitching like they still remembered the rhythm he gave her. Her legs refused to move. Hell, she didn’t even know if she wanted them to. Every inch of her body felt used in the most delicious way—stretched, filled, and wrung dry like a dish rag.
Smoke was flat on his back next to her, one arm flung over his eyes like the moonlight was too much. His chest rose slowly, like it took effort just to breathe. His beard still glistened with her, lips parted, neck damp with sweat. He looked like a man who’d gone through spiritual warfare with pussy and lost gladly. His other hand reached out blindly, found her thigh, and just rested there, thumb drawing lazy circles just above the bend of her knee, like he needed to keep touching her to believe he’d survived.
"So…" Charlie croaked, voice hoarse but laced in that syrupy teasing tone she always had when she was smug. "Still think I was bein’ dramatic ‘bout ovulation week?"
Smoke didn’t answer right away. He let out a long, low groan that rumbled deep from his chest, somewhere between a laugh and a cry for help. "I ain’t never been hunted through a house like that. You damn near tackled me in the pantry."
Charlie laughed into the pillow, muffled but bright. "You was actin’ like I was gon’ eat you."
He finally turned his head, peeking out from under his arm to glare at her. "You said verbatim that you was gon’ drain my soul. With intention. With God watchin’."
She rolled onto her side with a hiss, her body still aching, and reached over to tap his soft stomach. "Mmmhmm. And yet here you lay. Full of sin and nut."
Smoke smirked, his voice rough but filled with something close to awe. "You ain’t leave me much choice. You had that look in your eye. Like I was the only thing standin’ between you and salvation."
"You were. And you did a good job too. Might have to keep you ‘round every time I start feelin’ like this."
"Keep me?" he scoffed, dropping his arm completely and giving her a sideways stare. "Charlie, I’m ruined. You broke me in at least three different places. My dick twitched when you rolled over. I might cry if you sneeze too loud."
She giggled and leaned in to kiss his chest, her tongue dragging slow and lazy over his nipple just to hear him hiss and flinch. "You’ll be alright. I’ll make you a sandwich in a lil bit."
"A sandwich ain’t gon’ fix what you did to me. I need holy water. I need my mama to pray over me."
"Well, maybe you shouldn’t have been so fine in that white tank. Out here lookin’ like a mechanic from a nasty dream."
Smoke chuckled low, the sound warm and worn. "You were ovulatin’, not possessed."
"Same difference," she mumbled, snuggling closer and letting her leg drape over his. She didn’t even bother with the mess between her thighs, didn’t care that his cum was still slowly leaking out of her, soaking into the rug. She liked it. Loved the warmth, the stickiness, the way it felt like she was still full of him. Like he was still part of her.
Smoke turned his head toward her again, expression gentling as he looked at her. "You good?"
She nodded, cheek pressed to his chest. "More than good. You?"
"I’m… yeah," he sighed, arm wrapping around her shoulder to hold her close. "Just remind me next time to start stretchin’ three days ahead. Maybe pop some ibuprofen."
Charlie laughed again, breathless and bright. "You talk all that shit ‘bout bein’ built different, but let a lil fertile pussy test your stamina, and suddenly you need Bengay and a heating pad."
He smacked her thigh, grinning. "You knew what week it was. That’s on you."
"That ain’t the week that scared you," she whispered, smiling against his skin. "It’s me."
Smoke closed his eyes and nodded slow. "Damn right."
They laid there in the aftermath, bathed in moonlight, draped in the scent of sex and sweat and laughter. The house had finally gone quiet—but they both knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long. Not with her next cycle only twenty-something days away.
And from the look on Charlie’s face… she was already counting down.
Setting: The next morning. Erik’s trying to function. Syn’s in his hoodie, humming, wiping down counters like she didn’t just turn his whole world inside out.
Lessons
Erik leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed, lips parted like he meant to say something but never got around to it. His gaze tracked her slow movements—Syn, soft as ever, bare legs peeking from beneath his hoodie, hair up in a messy bun, humming while she wiped down his counters like she lived there.
He still hadn’t recovered.
Chest a little tight. Jaw still sore from clenching. His dick had twitched the moment he woke up and saw her sleeping on her side, her lips parted in that same innocent pout she had before she ruined him.
Now here she was, acting brand new. Like his soul wasn’t still somewhere trapped between her molars.
“You good?” Syn asked sweetly without looking up, her voice light, casual, devastating.
“Nah,” Erik muttered, voice low, strained. “I ain’t good.”
She glanced over her shoulder, brows lifted, all fake concern and soft lashes. “What’s wrong?”
“You know damn well what’s wrong,” he said, stepping into the kitchen, eyes glued to the sway of her hips as she rinsed a cup like it was the most innocent act on Earth. “You gon’ clean like you didn’t suck the life outta me last night?”
Syn shrugged, giggling. “You said you was gonna teach me…”
“That ain’t teaching, Syn. That was a whole masterclass. I’m still—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Still can’t feel my damn legs.”
She turned around, resting the towel on the counter, smile sweet. “Want breakfast?”
Erik stepped up behind her, hands on her waist, lips brushing her neck. “I want revenge.”
Syn laughed, leaning back into him like she hadn’t just wrecked him thirty hours ago. “You said I did good…”
Summary: Erik thinks his new girl, Syn is soft, sweet, innocent and totally inexperienced. But when she asks for a little “lesson,” he finds out real quick that innocence can be deceiving.
Warnings: Smut, oral sex (m. receiving), slight dom/sub vibes, explicit language, teasing, praise, Erik gets absolutely wrecked. Virgin OC but not naïve. Humor, fluff, and heat.
Nobody could believe that Erik had bagged a girl like her. Synclaire. Syn, as she let him call her, soft and honey-voiced with cheeks that dimpled when she smiled and eyes too bright to be caught in his world. She dressed like temptation disguised as innocence, pleated skirts that swished against thick thighs, socks that hugged her calves, and tops that always slipped just enough to show off smooth shoulders. She smelled like cocoa butter, vanilla lip gloss, and something floral and warm. Like she’d never raised her voice a day in her life, like she said please and thank you even when she didn’t have to.
She had the kind of presence that made strangers soften their tone. Gentle laugh. Big eyes. Polite nods. She said things like, "Oh, excuse me," even when you bumped into her. The kind of girl who brought extra napkins just in case, who laced her fingers together in her lap when she sat, who tilted her head when she listened like your words were a song she was trying to memorize.
Erik, on the other hand, was exactly what people expected. Big. Sharp. Oakland-bred and proudly unfiltered. Tattoos on his hands, chain always resting low on his chest, and a stare that made most people look away. His voice stayed low and clipped. His hands didn’t ask, they told. He didn’t do soft. He didn’t do sweet. Until Syn.
They met by chance. She worked part-time at a juice bar near the gym he hit when he wanted to be left alone. She’d smiled at him like she wasn’t afraid. Asked for his order in that quiet voice, no rush, no expectations. Then she gave him an extra protein shot without charging him. Just because.
The next time, she complimented his hoodie. The third time, she wrote her number on the smoothie cup in pink ink with a little heart over the "i." And Erik, who usually didn’t call nobody first, texted her before he made it to the parking lot.
Their vibe was... unlikely. But it worked. She softened his edges without even trying. He gave her space to bloom while acting like he didn’t notice how she started dressing even softer around him. Or maybe sweeter. Or maybe it was all calculated, and Erik just hadn’t figured it out yet.
Syn was a virgin. He knew that from the jump. She told him early, without shame. Just said it between bites of her acai bowl like she was talking about her favorite color. He liked that about her. That calm certainty. That soft confidence.
“I’ve never done anything,” she said, swinging her legs where they dangled from his kitchen counter, pink nails tapping against the glass in her hand. “But I’m not clueless. I watch... you know. For research.”
Erik had raised an eyebrow, leaning back on the counter. “Pornhub research?”
She giggled. Full cheeks, sweet lip gloss smile. “Educational reasons.”
He remembered that moment like it was burned into him. The way she said it like it wasn’t filthy. The way her legs swung just a little faster, like she was proud of herself. From that day forward, she liked teasing him just to watch his jaw clench. Skirts that hit high on her thighs when she bent to grab something. Sitting on his lap and pretending she didn’t know what she was doing. Giggling when his voice dropped to a growl and his hand found her hip.
But no matter how much she tempted him, Erik respected her pace. Kissed her slow. Held her soft. Touched her thighs but never slipped higher. Not until she told him she was ready. Not until she asked.
And tonight? Movie night, hoodies, blankets and all?
Syn was ready.
Just not for what he thought she needed.
Because under all that soft? Was a girl with a nasty little playlist of bookmarked videos, an understanding of angles, spit, grip, and rhythm, and a craving to see if she could make her big, bad boyfriend break apart with just her mouth.
She wasn’t here to be guided. She wanted to show off.
And Erik was about to find out the hard way that he wasn’t the only one who liked to be in control.
It started like any other night with them, easy and quiet, wrapped in the kind of intimacy that didn't need to announce itself.
Erik's living room was dim, lit only by the flickering glow of the TV and the soft gold wash from the floor lamp behind the couch. The sound of old-school movie dialogue drifted lazily through the space, something black and nostalgic, a comfort film they’d both seen too many times but still loved. The kind of movie that gave them something to quote, laugh about, and lean into each other over.
The heater purred low. Outside, the city was hushed in its winter rhythm. But inside, warmth bloomed. Syn was already curled up on his couch, half-under his heavy throw blanket, a bowl of popcorn balanced on her thighs. She looked like home.
Oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, bare legs folded to the side, pink-painted toes peeking out from fuzzy socks with little hearts on them. Her twists were loose and falling into her face, framing the soft curve of her cheek. She kept brushing them back with a flick of her fingers, distracted by the screen and the steady heat of Erik beside her. Every time she laughed, shoulders shaking, dimples flashing, Erik had to fight the impulse to kiss her just to feel that sound between his lips.
He sat beside her with a quiet kind of confidence, thighs wide, sweats loose on his hips, one arm slung across the back of the couch like a casual claim. She leaned into him without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. Maybe she did belong there.
“You already seen this a hundred times,” Erik murmured into her hair, voice low and amused.
“So?” she said, her grin warm and playful. “You still laugh at the same parts. Don’t act brand new.”
He smirked, brushing his thumb along the curve of her hip under the blanket. Just enough pressure to let her feel the weight of him without making it a big thing.
Syn’s smile faltered for just a beat, quick enough that most wouldn’t have caught it. But Erik wasn’t most. He saw the slight bite of her lip, the way her lashes dipped, the twitch of a smirk she tried to hide. That was her tell. The lip bite. It meant she was thinking about something.
Something bold.
And Erik clocked it. Always did.
“What?” he asked, voice a notch lower now.
She didn’t answer right away. Just reached forward and set the popcorn bowl down on the table, then folded her legs beneath her, turning to face him more fully. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers fidgeting with the cuff of her sleeve.
“I been thinking about something…” she said quietly, like she was nervous, but her eyes never left his.
“Yeah?”
She inhaled slowly, then exhaled like she was steadying herself. “You know how I said I wanted to learn stuff? For when I’m ready?”
Erik shifted, the humor in his expression fading into something more focused, more alert. “Uh huh.”
Syn tilted her chin up, just a little. Her voice dropped into something softer, breathier. “Would you… teach me how to suck it?”
For a second, all sound vanished except the quiet hum of the TV. The scene on-screen was still moving, but Erik wasn’t watching it anymore. He stared at Syn like she’d just spoken in a language that only he could understand.
“Syn.”
She blinked up at him, cheeks rosy, but her gaze didn’t waver. “I mean… I watch videos. But I wanna know what you like. I wanna be good at it.”
Erik’s stare sharpened. He searched her face like he was waiting for her to crack a smile, to pull the rug out from under him with one of her sweet little laughs. But she didn’t.
She was serious.
That pretty mouth. That soft voice. That innocent frame wrapped up in his hoodie like it was armor. She was serious.
And Erik had no idea what the fuck he’d just agreed to.
But he was about to find out.
Erik didn’t move at first. He just looked at her. Looked at the way her lips parted like she hadn’t just flipped the whole night on its head, like she wasn’t sitting there asking to put her mouth on his dick like it was the most casual thing in the world. His breath stayed low in his chest, body heat rising beneath the loose lay of his hoodie. His heart thudded harder, a slow thrum that echoed in his ears, thick with disbelief and something darker. Something hungry.
“You sure?” he asked finally, voice low, thick, testing, trying to keep control even though it was already slipping.
Syn nodded, slow and deliberate. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and her voice stayed soft, eyes big. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”
That was all he needed.
He spread his knees a little wider, leaned back into the couch with one arm slung across the top. He watched her like he was trying to figure out where the hell this hidden side had been hiding. Sweet little Syn, asking him to teach her with that same soft voice she used to order smoothies and say thank you. The same Syn who still couldn’t say the word "dick" without her voice dipping into a whisper.
She slid down off the couch slowly, gracefully but shyly, tucking her legs beneath her as she moved between his thighs. She settled on her knees with her hands resting lightly on his thighs, fingertips just barely touching. The sight alone made Erik exhale sharp through his nose. She looked up at him with the softest smile, all innocent curiosity, but her body language betrayed something far more dangerous.
“You just do what feels good, baby,” he said, voice turned molten, running hot under his skin. “Start with your tongue. Kiss my dick like you mean it.”
She leaned in with tentative kisses, soft and unsure, lips brushing against the bulge in his sweats like she wasn’t even sure what part to focus on. She gave a tiny, experimental lick to the fabric, then pulled back and looked up at him, confused.
“Like that?” she asked, her voice small.
Erik chuckled, warmth buzzing low in his stomach. “Nah, baby. You gonna need more than that. Here.” He moved slow, pulling his sweats down just enough to free his dick. It bounced up heavy and half-hard, already thick, already leaking at the tip.
Erik hissed a little breath. Even semi-hard, his dick held length, at least ten inches of thick, heavy meat, resting against his thigh before rising slow, proudly, and deliberate. As it stiffened fully, it stood tall, straight up like it had no shame. The skin was rich, dark, glossy like melted chocolate, veins bold beneath the surface, already pulsing with heat. The head was swollen, flushed deeper, already weeping at the tip. It looked obscene in her soft glow—like something carved just to ruin a sweet thing like her. A chocolate stick meant for sin.
Syn’s eyes widened, and she gave it a quick, nervous lick across the head, like she was taste-testing him. “Is it supposed to be this big already?”
Erik grinned, relaxed as hell, letting her explore. “That’s just the preview. Now stop playin’. Start with your tongue, light licks, baby. Slow. Just make it wet first.”
She followed his words exactly, like she was obeying instructions from a recipe. Long, teasing strokes with the flat of her tongue, little kisses between each one, her lips barely parting at first.
“Good. Yeah, just like that,” Erik praised, voice smooth, eyes half-lidded. “Now wrap them lips around the tip. Keep lookin’ at me. Don’t look away.”
She blushed but held his gaze as she opened wider, stretching those pretty lips over the head. It was clumsy at first, too soft, too shallow. But he didn’t mind. He liked teaching.
“Use your hand too. Light grip. Twist while you suck. Not too fast yet,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “You’re doin’ good, baby.”
She kept going, innocent and eager, her pace careful, breath hot through her nose. Erik’s hand remained steady in her hair, not forcing, just guiding her gently, fingertips brushing her scalp like he was holding back the tension coiling in his thighs. He kept his voice calm, warm, teaching her with every shift of his hips.
“Angle your head a little, yeah… just like that,” he whispered. “Let your tongue drag on the underside, baby. That’s where it’s sensitive. There you go.”
Syn obeyed, shy but responsive, her lips gliding down with more pressure now, her eyes still wide and locked on his. Every time he praised her, she reacted like it meant the world, humming softly, sucking a little deeper, her hand curling tighter around the base of his dick.
He was still convinced he was in charge, still lounging back like the teacher, cocky and calm, the one guiding his sweet girl through her first lesson.
It was sweet. Tender. Almost cute.
At first.
But then something shifted.
Her hand tightened. Her grip turned deliberate. Her eyes flicked up to his face again, and they weren’t soft this time. They were dark. Intent.
Then her mouth dropped lower, lips stretching wide, and she took more of him than he expected. Way more. It wasn’t just enthusiasm; it was skill, smooth and steady, no hesitation. Her jaw relaxed around his girth like she’d been waiting for this moment, studying, practicing in private just to deliver it perfectly. Her tongue dragged slow and slick along the sensitive underside, curling as she swallowed more of him, wet heat wrapping tight around his thickness. She moaned low in her throat, letting it vibrate up his shaft, and he felt it all the way in his spine. The way her throat flexed around the tip, the easy confidence in her pace, it completely betrayed that soft little virgin energy he thought he knew. She wasn’t guessing anymore—she was proving something.
“Shit,” Erik muttered, jaw tight now. His hand slid up into her hair, not pulling, just holding. His hips twitched slightly, not by choice. Reflex. Instinct.
She didn’t stop. She started moving, rhythm building, spit glossing her lips. Her hand stroked what her mouth couldn’t reach, twist and suck, twist and suck. And Erik felt that shit all the way to his toes. Every drag of her tongue, every slick pop when she pulled back and took him in again—it was too much and not enough.
His head fell back. A breath escaped him, long and low, strained through clenched teeth.
And that’s when he knew—
She wasn’t learning.
She was showing off.
He looked down again, stomach tight, breathing heavy, watching her cheeks hollow and her lashes flutter. She moaned around him like she liked the taste, like this was for her as much as it was for him. Drool slid down her chin. Her pace picked up.
Erik’s fingers clenched in the couch cushion.
The girl was dangerous.
And he was so, so fucked.
His thighs started to tense, his abs flexing under his shirt, breath hitching every time she swallowed him deeper. His hand finally tightened in her hair without thinking, but even then, she didn’t slow down. Her tongue flicked against the underside of his dick like it had muscle memory, like she’d practiced this on toys she never told him about. Her free hand cupped his balls, gently rolling them, and that was it—
His eyes rolled back.
Erik cursed under his breath, voice hoarse. “What the fuck, Syn…”
And she just blinked up at him, lips stretched, cheeks full, gagging just slightly but never breaking eye contact.
Sweet. Innocent. And absolutely filthy.
He couldn’t even catch his breath.
And she was just getting started.
The sweet, innocent pace Syn had started with was gone. Somewhere between Erik’s steady guidance and the weight of his dick sliding between her lips, she found a new rhythm. A dirtier one. Hungrier. Her mouth wasn’t just practicing anymore; it was performing, worshiping, devouring. Movements bolder. No hesitation. No fear. Just need. And beneath that need was something else. Something she’d been holding back.
Her hand twisted at the base, slow at first, then picking up tempo as her lips slid wet and hot over his length. Every stroke, every glide of her tongue was deliberate now, a sin-slick rhythm that had Erik gripping the couch cushion like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. Spit coated everything, her mouth, his dick, her chin and dripped down her wrist in glossy strings. The slide was sloppy, sensual, louder than the TV still playing in the background, forgotten and low. She leaned into it with her whole body, swaying forward like she was hypnotized by the weight of him, the taste of him, and the way he tensed with every flick of her tongue.
She looked up at him through her lashes, wide-eyed but dark with purpose. That innocence she wore so well still lingered in her expression, but there was a new fire behind it. Intention. Focus. A wicked little gleam that said she knew exactly what she was doing, and she liked watching him fall apart because of it. Her lips curled into a hint of a smile even as they stretched around him, cheeks hollowing, spit slipping down the corners of her mouth in shiny streaks.
Erik blinked down at her, chest rising faster, jaw tight. He swore he could still feel his own heartbeat in the tip of his dick. She was wrecking him, and she hadn't even taken him all the way yet. There was no trace of hesitation now. Just heat and pressure, and the way she moaned low around him like she wanted to live there, in the stretch of his thighs, in the space where his composure used to be. Every sound she made vibrated through him, every bob of her head sent sparks chasing up his spine.
“Syn…” he muttered, his voice fraying at the edges. It was meant to be a warning, but it came out more like a plea. His thighs tensed beneath her, corded muscle fighting every twitch of pleasure that rocked through him. One hand gripped the cushion until his knuckles paled while the other stayed locked in her twists, not guiding anymore, just hanging on. He wasn’t in control anymore—he was clinging to the idea of it, barely.
She moaned around him, long and low, sending vibrations all the way down to his balls. His hips jerked in response. Her mouth opened wider, jaw loosening like she’d practiced this, like she’d studied. She took him deeper, slow and steady, gagging just slightly but adjusting without pause. The wet sound of her throat stretching around his dick made Erik’s vision blur for a second. His head fell back, and for a moment, he swore he saw stars.
Fuck, this girl had been hiding. Holding out. Playing him.
She picked up speed. Her hand pumped what her mouth couldn’t take, slick and twisted, matching every downward stroke of her lips. Spit foamed at the corners of her mouth. Her moans grew louder. She was in a zone now, lost in it, filthy and focused. Like she wasn’t sucking his dick, she was devouring it. She adjusted her angle, sliding her other hand to his thigh, gripping it tight like she needed leverage to go deeper.
“Shit… slow down, baby. Damn,” he gasped, trying to hold on, voice shaky and hoarse. His head tilted forward, watching her with wide, stunned eyes. “Where the fuck you learn that?”
She popped off him with a loud, wet gasp, spit stretching in a glossy thread from his tip to her lips. She was panting, flushed, eyes shining. Her chest rose and fell in little quick breaths, but her mouth never stopped moving, tongue lapping at the head like she missed it already.
“Told you,” she whispered, voice all sugar and heat. “I watch videos.”
Then without waiting, she went right back down, deeper than before. Erik’s eyes snapped open. Her throat flexed around the head, her tongue flattened along the underside. Her hand never stopped moving, twisting fast, dragging moans from deep in his chest. He didn’t even realize he was panting until his breath hitched on a curse.
“Fuuuck,” he choked, hips jerking. His thighs spread wider like he needed to open himself up to breathe. His toes curled in his socks. His entire body locked up, a firestorm of pressure building fast in his spine. His shirt clung to him with sweat now, chest heaving. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
You tryna suck the soul outta me? he almost said, but all that came out was a broken grunt as her tongue did something wild at the tip.
“You tryna suck the soul outta me?” he groaned for real this time, voice rough, desperate. His fingers clamped down on her head, not to force, just to anchor himself. He needed something to keep from floating off the damn couch. She hummed against him in response, like she was proud of the way he was falling apart.
She moaned again, louder, letting the sound roll up his shaft. Her other hand slid lower, cradling his balls, massaging them with the same rhythm. Her throat swallowed around him, and he felt it—every tight pull, every squeeze, every deliberate shift of her jaw. His breath came out in short, hot bursts now, almost helpless.
“Fuck, baby… keep goin’, just like that—don’t stop. Don’t stop,” he rasped.
His head dropped back against the cushion, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut. His abs flexed tight, the muscles under his shirt jerking with every slick pull of her mouth. His breathing was wrecked now, uneven, full of curse-laced exhales. His brain was scrambling, trying to connect the sweet girl he held hands with in public to the one now on her knees, tongue lapping up every twitch, every drop like she owned him. She sucked him like she had something to prove. Like she wanted to ruin him. Her pace didn’t let up, her mouth stretched wide, spit bubbling from her lips and running down his shaft.
Every time she pulled back, it was just to suck him in deeper. Wetter. Harder. His thighs were shaking now, the pressure curling low in his gut. His hips bucked, shallow and involuntary, chasing the heat of her throat.
He wasn’t gonna last much longer.
Not with Syn looking like that on her knees, drool on her chin, mouth stuffed full of his dick like it was her only purpose. She was locked in, relentless, using every filthy trick she'd studied behind that sweet face. Her hands worked in tandem with her mouth now, stroking and twisting with a rhythm that was far too practiced to be innocent. She took him deeper, almost to the base, gagging slightly but refusing to let up. Each time she pulled back, it was with purpose, with confidence, with a slick glide of spit connecting her lips to his tip before she swallowed him all over again.
Erik’s breathing turned ragged. His fingers curled tighter in her hair as his legs twitched beneath her, thighs shaking, toes curling tight in his socks. He tried to brace himself, to keep a grip on the unraveling thread of his composure, but she wasn’t letting up. She moaned again, deep in her throat, and it was that sound, that low, needy hum vibrating through him, that cracked his control.
His hips jerked. His stomach clenched. And then he was gone.
He came hard. Soul-snatching, jaw-clenching, full-body shaking kind of hard. His entire body went rigid, his spine arching off the couch like he’d been struck by lightning. Heat exploded through his core, white-hot and relentless, as the orgasm tore through him in waves. His hand flew out, gripping her wrist tight, trying to ground himself while his vision blurred and his mind went blank. His body jolted forward, a harsh, involuntary buck of his hips that made his thighs tremble.
Breath caught in his throat, held hostage by the intensity of it all. His mouth opened but nothing came out at first, just a silent gasp followed by a low, broken curse that scraped from the pit of his chest. His muscles locked, flexing tight beneath his skin, and his abs contracted in stuttering pulses. Each second dragged out as if the release refused to end, as if his body had been saving every drop of tension for this one unraveling. His jaw clenched so tight it ached, and his eyes squeezed shut as the pressure rolled through his body again, this time making his calves twitch, and his toes curl in his socks like he was being electrocuted by pleasure.
And Syn took it all.
Her eyes stayed locked on his face as he came, not a flinch or fluster in sight, just that slow, sultry blink like she was memorizing the moment, soaking in every twitch and every tremor. She didn’t pull back. She kept her lips sealed around him, drinking him in like she’d been starving for the taste. The soft hum in her throat never stopped, even when he bucked against her tongue, even when her throat flexed to swallow.
She rode it out with him, mouth gentle now, coaxing every last drop with tender suction and a few languid strokes of her tongue, like she wanted to savor the way he came undone just for her. When he finally sagged back into the couch, dazed and breathless, she pulled off him slowly, a thin string of spit and something salt-slick stretching between her lips and the head of his dick. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then her chin, still giggling softly like the whole thing had been some sweet surprise.
Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, but her eyes? Clear. Confident. Glistening with pride.
“That was your first time?” he croaked, still trying to catch his breath, still halfway slumped with his hand searching for that damn inhaler.
She gave him a little shrug, smile too damn satisfied. “First time doing it. Not first time watching it.”
Erik was still laid out, shirtless now, one arm flung over his forehead, the other resting on his bare chest, rising and falling with slow, dragged breaths. Sweat clung to every inch of his skin, cooling in the dim light as his heart finally began to settle. His hoodie was somewhere on the floor. His dignity? Probably with it. He stared at the ceiling like it owed him an explanation, like maybe if he stayed still long enough, the room would stop spinning, and his soul would float back into his body.
The TV buzzed low, the screen frozen in a paused scene no one remembered, casting flickers of pale blue across the living room walls. Syn’s breathing was the only other sound—steady, calm, like she hadn’t just brought him to the brink and dragged him over it without flinching. She sat at the edge of the couch now, legs tucked beneath her, looking far too composed for what had just gone down. Her lips were still a little swollen, her cheeks flushed, but her energy? Serene. Soft. The kind of soft that felt practiced, intentional. Dangerous.
She didn’t even look at him right away. She tilted her head back against the couch cushion and stretched her arms overhead like she’d just woken up from a nap, like she hadn’t just reduced him to a gasping, trembling mess. And when she finally glanced over, her eyes sparkled with something innocent, but only on the surface. Beneath that, there was amusement. Mischief. Knowledge. Erik wasn’t sure what she’d unlocked, but he knew damn well she wasn’t done yet.
He groaned, deep and low, shifting just enough to get a better look at her. Muscles sore, breath still uneven. He wasn’t used to being on this side of wrecked. And definitely not from someone who wore bows in her hair and bit her lip when she was nervous. He turned his head and just stared, trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the one who’d just had his toes curling like a damn teenager.
“Come here,” he muttered, his voice frayed, throat dry.
Syn moved slow, deliberate. She crawled into his lap with that same sweet poise, like she didn’t just take every inch of him and swallow it whole. Her thighs settled warm against his hips, her oversized hoodie ruffling around her legs, and she wrapped her arms lightly around his neck. The contact made him shiver. She smelled amazing, mixed with something that felt like temptation wrapped in silk.
He exhaled, pressed his face into the curve of her neck, and let himself breathe her in. His hands slid over her hips, fingertips grazing bare skin underneath the hoodie. Every inch of her felt like a secret. He swore he could still feel the ghost of her mouth on him, still taste the echo of his own moans in the room.
They sat like that in the quiet, the storm outside reduced to a soft patter against the windows, but the one inside him hadn’t gone anywhere. It still pulsed beneath his skin, still clung to the edges of his bones. She’d broken him open with no effort, peeled him back with just her mouth and her eyes and that devil-smile she was trying to hide behind dimples.
“You not as innocent as you look, huh?” he murmured finally, voice low and teasing, his lips brushing her collarbone.
Syn pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. That smile was back, coy and sweet, but her gaze didn’t waver. She leaned in and kissed his cheek, slow and tender, then let her lips hover near his ear.
“I got more I wanna learn,” she whispered, voice syrup-thick and dipped in sin. “If you’re up for it.”
Erik let out a shaky breath that turned into a rough laugh. His head dropped back against the couch, and he stared at the ceiling again, dazed.
“Shit… I’ma need a recovery period. But yeah, baby. I’m up.”
His hand drifted lower, palm curving around her ass like he was grounding himself again, like he needed to hold on or risk floating off.
She rested her head against his shoulder, tracing small circles on his chest with one finger, and for a long, quiet moment, they stayed like that. Breathing each other in. No rush. No pressure. Just heat and aftermath and the promise of something bigger.
And Syn? Syn giggled softly and kissed his neck, like she already knew.
fanfiction is getting less interaction, people barely reblog anymore, role players are getting pushed out of fandom, ai generated slop winning art contests
I work for a financial institution and have a pretty senior position, but I still have to do a lot of 'training'
Every quarter we have to do 'IT training' that's basically 'dont open phishing emails, don't give out personal information of our clients' and 'everything you do can be tracked, including internet usage and we can read your emails and teams whenever we want.'
Have at it.
I've worked there seven years and they've never once said anything about me reading the news, AO3, Google docs, anything. So I figure 🤷🏻♀️🤷🏻♀️ I'm fine. They block all social media, but never blocked AO3.
Cut to today.
There are exactly two people in the company I like.
I'm outside decompressing with said two people as we do for 15 minutes at the end of everyday before we go home to our families. Kinda like wiping away the ick of the day.
IT guy: so what's ao3?
Me: what?! Why would you ask me that?
IT: because outside of sites related to your job, that's your most visited website
Me: you guys actually track that?!
IT: yeah we just don't give a shit. Unless you're being audited or investigated we don't give two fucks. So what's ao3?
My other friend is laughing her ass off.
Friend: OH MY GOD ISN'T THAT WHERE YOU READ YOUR WEREWOLF PORN?!
IT: enough said. Hope it's good at least.
Y'all my emo ass, skinny jeans and DC wearing IT guy knows I read/write werewolf porn on the clock and basically said godspeed.
I work for a financial institution and have a pretty senior position, but I still have to do a lot of 'training'
Every quarter we have to do 'IT training' that's basically 'dont open phishing emails, don't give out personal information of our clients' and 'everything you do can be tracked, including internet usage and we can read your emails and teams whenever we want.'
Have at it.
I've worked there seven years and they've never once said anything about me reading the news, AO3, Google docs, anything. So I figure 🤷🏻♀️🤷🏻♀️ I'm fine. They block all social media, but never blocked AO3.
Cut to today.
There are exactly two people in the company I like.
I'm outside decompressing with said two people as we do for 15 minutes at the end of everyday before we go home to our families. Kinda like wiping away the ick of the day.
IT guy: so what's ao3?
Me: what?! Why would you ask me that?
IT: because outside of sites related to your job, that's your most visited website
Me: you guys actually track that?!
IT: yeah we just don't give a shit. Unless you're being audited or investigated we don't give two fucks. So what's ao3?
My other friend is laughing her ass off.
Friend: OH MY GOD ISN'T THAT WHERE YOU READ YOUR WEREWOLF PORN?!
IT: enough said. Hope it's good at least.
Y'all my emo ass, skinny jeans and DC wearing IT guy knows I read/write werewolf porn on the clock and basically said godspeed.
You can’t just tell people to ‘get a VPN (Virtual Private Network)’. Buying a VPN is like buying a house. It’s very very important. Having no VPN or having a ‘wrong’ one can seriously damage your life. Especially for Americans because their privacy laws are garbage. I am going to try explain why you should get a VPN but bare with me, I am from Germany and my English is far from perfect.
Let’s start with a simple test.
Click this link here: https://whatismyipaddress.com/
It will tell your IP adres, your ISP (internet service provider), and your location. The location might not be very accurate, but then again, it’s just a simple website. Imagine what the government can do!
So basically, everyone can find out where you live. But there is more danger. Your ISP. Your ISP logs your every move online and they are required to keep it in case the government wants access to it (or if a 3rd party wants to buy your data (yikes). They have everything. What websites you visit. How long you stay on a website. What you download. Your search terms. European laws are more subtle on this but if you are from the US you are #@*#&, especially because Trump doesn’t support the open internet. It’s scary but maybe in the future you can’t get a job because the recruiter knows your searched on ‘how to deal with depression’ or anythings else that’s supposed to be private because it’s your f*cking right. Or you get a $100k fine because you pirated a movie 15 years ago. You need a VPN. You’re dumb for not using one. but what does a VPN do?
A VPN encrypts all your data so if it were be intercepted no one can ‘crack the code’ and damage your privacy.
Usually being online goes like this (simplified): Your computer —-> ISP (—–> keeps data —–> sells it)
But with a VPN it goes like: Your computer —–> VPN (encrypts data)—–> ISP (ISP can’t see shit)
Furthermore, a VPN hides your IP address and location by giving you another IP address located in Spain for example (you can often choose from a list and change as many times as you want).
Now that you know why you should get a VPN and what is does it is important to educate yourself because people often choose the wrong VPN. VPN providers are also businesses and have to obey the law. If you choose a VPN provider located in the US then you are throwing your money away because the laws in the US shits on your privacy. If the US gov wants the provider to give all their logs they have to obey. The ISP still can’t see what you are doing online and sell your data but the US gov can interfere with your VPN provider so NEVER CHOOSE A PROVIDER LOCATED IN THE US.
I just wanted to make that very clear so my followers don’t buy false security.
There is still more danger!
Who says your VPN provider isn’t selling your data? You need to check their logging policy. Do they keep logs? If yes, what for? For how long do they keep them? Tip: Choose a provider who doesn’t keep logs
More about law
The US is part of the Five Eyes program (the worst):
The Five Eyes, often abbreviated as FVEY, is an intelligence alliance comprising Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the United Kingdom and the United States. These countries are bound by the multilateral UKUSA Agreement, a treaty for joint cooperation in signals intelligence (source)
There is also a Nine Eyes (bit better) and Fourteen Eyes Program (better).
You don’t want a VPN provider who is located in one the Five Eyes countries.
If you had to choose go for a provider located in a country that’s part of the Fourteen Eyes Program or even better, go for a country that isn’t part of any program!
I know this is a shitty explanation and please pardon my english but now it’s time to do your own research. Take your privacy seriously. Maybe WWIII breaks out and you get killed for liking the ‘wrong’ FB-page.
Go to this website: https://thatoneprivacysite.net/simple-vpn-comparison-chart/
Make sure that your future VPN provider both has green boxes for Privacy Jurisdiction and Privacy Logging.
I recommend ovpn.se and trust.zone. ovpn is located in Sweden so they are part of the 14 Eyes Program and they keep minimal logs. Their business ethics, however, are alright.
Trustzone is located in the Seychelles. No country can interfere and their privacy jurisdiction is the best you can get. The US want your data but needs to get it from Trustzone? The Seychelles will simply give them the finger and wave them goodbye. However, this makes this provider very appealing for people who torrent and criminals because they keep no logs (and that is how it shoud be) Also, there are almost no marketing efforts so this provider is one the cheapest)
Also, often providers such as ExpressVPN are being called ‘The Best’ on websites about VPNs but know that this is just marketing which also makes those provider more expensive (and they too shit on your privacy)
This must be the worst article you have ever read but please, please take your privacy very seriously.
EDIT: I got many people asking me which provider I use. For those who want to know, I use Trust Zone. They offer a free 3-day trial with no strings attached. But still do your own research!
I am also with Trustzone but I think you forgot to explain one of it’s most important features. It protects you when you are using someone else’s Wi-Fi.
If you are at Starbucks and you use their Wi-Fi your privacy is at risk. Anyone with ill intentions could steal your information. Especially if you are using an unsecured Wi-Fi hotspot. With a VPN your data gets encrypted so no one can steal it.
Wait, what’s going, on? Did trump destroy internet privacy with a bill or something? Where’s the news? Oh wait, why am I getting visions of Alex Jones and selling water purifiers?
He hasn’t yet but he says he wants to. And if he is serious about it it would be really easy to do. Since all our data is already recorded, as the person above explained.
@elvesfromthedeep just brought the current situation in the US to my attention (March 30, 2017).
Sources
Anger as US internet privacy law scrapped
Congress just voted to let internet providers sell your browsing history
To all my friends in the US, please read this entire post. Making everyone aware of VPNs is going to be my mission. Your privacy matters. Please reblog this post.
Don’t tell me you just wanted to scroll past this. Stop looking at pictures of cats for a moment, okay? Don’t you realize how important this is? This is dangerous! ‘America, the best FREE country in the world’ my ass.
With this new law your ISP can sell your Internet history which could include passwords, usernames, religion, credit card numbers, race and much more to the highest bidder. So here is what I want you to do.
You are going to read the whole thing and before you think ’this is so important. Let me reblog this real quick and go back to admiring cats again-’ NO! Don’t reblog this. Take action first. Then reblog. Sign up for a free trial! Trust.Zone offers one (here). Yes. It might be difficult to set up a VPN for some people. But is that going to stop you from protecting yourself and your family? 30 minutes. 30 minutes is all that it takes. 5 if you know how to install software. The problem with some of you is that you see ‘difficult’ as something negative. I want you to see difficult differently. I need you to push through this stuff. You are going to protect yourself. There is nothing negative about that.
VPNs are fun and costsaving too! A VPN bypasses geographical restrictions so you can access websites you normally can’t or you could start Netflix’s one month free trial over and over again- forever. And it’s legal! (unless you use it to buy weapons etc.,)
Don’t tell yourself that you are too tired and that you will do this tomorrow. Because that isn’t going to happen and you know it. You have to do this right now. You only have to click on it. Don’t let this/shit/life just happen to you. Take yourself seriously. Get a VPN.
Privacy is not a privilege, it’s a fundamental human right
Hey is thatoneprivacysite still good? The link works and it does take me to an article about vpns, but it just looks like an ad for expressvpn with extra steps.
I had Trust.Zone when this post first started making the rounds on Tumblr and I forgot about it after Biden took office. I recently sent them an email asking why my subscription wasn’t automatically renewed and why their website hasn’t changed since 2017(?). Their answer:
Shady people, good people, this company only cares about privacy and doesn’t care who it serves. But now with Trump and Musk this is the only VPN I’ll use.
I understand some people might not want to use this VPN on moral grounds, but it’s genuinely one of the very few VPNs set up in a way that no authority can touch you. ExpressVPN and other ‘popular’ options operate in jurisdictions favorable for profits but their privacy is just a band-aid our government can easily rip off if it demands information. I’m a trans man, I’m afraid of our government, and at this point, I simply don’t care anymore.
For a second I was like noooooo, not this long post again! Haven’t seen it in years and I always thought it was a bit extreme and exaggerated. Now that we are in 2025, I am like, nahh, these people knew what they were talking about all along. First time I am reblogging this.
The argument against VPNs has always been, “but I have nothing to hide.” Now that an unpredictable lunatic is in charge, purging based on whatever whim strikes him, that sentiment is quickly fading. VPNs aren’t just about hiding personal secrets; they’re about protecting freedom, autonomy, and your basic right to live without unjust scrutiny or arbitrary persecution.
Writer: *shows the serial killer the murder scene they’re writing* babe, i’m not sure if this would actually work?
Serial killer: *kisses writer on the forehead and leaves, comes back later, a suspicious scent of blood coming off them* it works baby, you’re doing great
I love this, I love all of this, but quick question, does the author know? Like are they aware that their significant other is a serial killer or do they just think that they have a morbid sense of humor? It’d be even funnier if the author had no fucking clue, like how Aurthur Conan Doyle was apparently stupidly gullible, and on top of it they’re a horror or crime novelist. Like the serial killer works at a butcher shop or something so it’s completely normal for them to come home smelling like blood, no murders going on here, no sirey. Just my darling coming back home from a long day at work.
Now fast forward a bit and the author has managed to get their first book published, with loving support from the serial killer who helped them fine tune all the murder scenes, and it’s a big hit. Enough so that a detective with the local police department has noticed some disturbing similarities to several active cases, including details that were never released to the press. Obviously he brings this up to his superior and convinces him that there’s something to the theory, but it’s all circumstantial right now. He stakes out the author’s home and is super convinced that the author is the murderer, but they don’t seem to do anything??? Like they literally are at the house all day, that’s it. Most they do is leave for groceries.
So you get this dynamic of the serial killer mining the author for creative murder schemes, the author being lovingly encouraged by the serial killer, and finally the detective who is just so sure that the author is the killer and that if he sticks it out long enough he’ll FINALLY have proof.
I'm currently feeling frustrated and blocked because I can't make the thing that I want to make, no matter how hard I hit my head against it
I've been annoyed with myself for like a week and a half or something at this point because no matter what I do, it doesn't "look right" and no matter how I try to fix it, it just seems to get more broken
tonight I finally decided to stop hitting my head against my own frustration and annoyance and instead try to figure out why I can't seem to make much headway at all on a thing that I can usually bang out in a few days (or a week, tops)
I've come to the conclusion that I can't make the thing "look right" because I don't actually know what I want it to look like. I'm making attempt after attempt and failing every time, and all that's doing is eliminating options - from an infinite set of options
I need to take a break and figure out what my end goal actually is, and then come back at the project with a little more focus. In order to make it "look right" I first have to figure out what "right" actually is - because right now, it's just a vague concept somewhere in my brain that is too hazy and indistinct for me to actually pin it down
I'm talking about a site skin here, but I've had this same issue with fics and with artwork. Hell, I've had this problem while trying to figure out what colour to paint my room. You'd think I'd recognize it by now.
anyway, if you're currently creatively frustrated, maybe see if you need to think a bit more before you start making? it doesn't always work but... worth a shot?
A useful thing to know about AO3 tags is that they're wrangled by humans. A human being will read your tag, understand what it means*, and then connect that tag in the backend system to other tags that mean the same thing (if there are any)
that's why, for example, the tags
not beta read
no beta
no beta we die like men
no beta we die like mne
no beta we die like [insert character who dies in canon]
unbetad
unbeta'd
unbeta-d
un-beta'd
and a million more versions are all searchable and filterable if you just tag one of them. A Tag Wrangler (the job title of a human volunteer who manages AO3 tags) has made sure that AO3 understands that those are all synonyms, so AO3 treats them that way.
When you're tagging your fic, or searching for a fic, or filtering a tag to find or remove works from the list you do not have to use every possible version of a tag. You just need to pick one - unless using more is a stylistic choice you're making, in which case have at it.
*or research what it means - which is why wranglers really appreciate it if you put (OC) behind the name of your original characters so that they don't have to scour every source they can find to see if it's a named background character in canon.
If you want to learn more about tag wranglers, I had a wrangler take over the blog 5 years ago (gah, the passage of time!) as a guest mod, and they answered the questions you guys submitted. You can read all of the posts here. Please note that it's possible some answers have changed in the intervening time.
In this post, they point out that wranglers don't see your tags attached to your fic. They just see the tags without the story attached. That post is actually full of other things that wranglers wish that users knew, and it's worth a read if you're curious!
This post and this one and this one talk about how to become a volunteer tag wrangler and what that position is like, for those of you who want to know more about that.
And if you're curious about "tumblr style tagging" on AO3, they have an answer about that too! (tl;dr if you like doing it, don't stop on their account but depending on how you write those tags, they might or might not end up searchable/filterable)
AO3 filters are incredible. The show ended over a decade ago but you're only getting around to watching it now, and you want to avoid spoilers for later seasons? No worries; you can filter out anything posted/updated after a given air date. Don't want to see crossovers? Guess what -- you don't have to. Three clicks is all it takes to make them go away. ONLY want crossovers? They've got that option, too. In a hurry and only have a few minutes to read? Filter out everything over whatever word count you consider to be "too long." Absolutely can't stand this one character/trope/relationship? Exclude, exclude, exclude. And all they ask in return is that you tag your stuff properly. Incredible.
If you haven't seen the filters before, you might be finding fics via searching. Search is great (and you can get *really* specific with it), but it doesn't have the quick filter menu.
Tap on a tag you're interested in reading (just at the top of a fic, for example). That will bring you to a results page that shows every fic that uses that tag. To get rid of the ones you don't want, look right above the works list to the buttons and tap on Filters. (if you're on a computer, the filters will already be there, on the right hand side of your screen).
Once you've found the filter menu, it's like the OP said. There are a *lot* of options for you to choose from. You can tap on any of them to open up a sub menu with specifics.
For relationship/character/trope tags, AO3 will automatically show you the top ten most-tagged ones within the tag you're already looking at. If the one you want to exclude isn't in that list, you can type it into the "Other tags to exclude" box and AO3 will give you a dropdown to pick from. You can add a theoretically unlimited number of tags to your exclude list, but I think it's possible to have a list that breaks things eventually. I've never personally hit it? But I bet someone out there has.
You can also Include things you want to guarantee are tagged, but be careful with that filter. Include filters stack on top of each other, so if you Include 3 different tags, you'll only get fics that have all three of them tagged. You won't get ones that have*any* of them tagged. For more info on how to do an "any of these tags" filter, see this post over here.
immortality as theft (you have to steal life from something else) immortality as parasitism (there is something else inside You that is keeping you alive and you become less of yourself more and more the longer it stays in you) immortality as violence (everything is trying to kill you because everything is supposed to die and the universe will always try to find a way to right the wrong that is You) you understand
#at least once a month I think about that one post about laminating a paper towel#and how that makes it immortal but also forever prevents it from fulfilling its true purpose#yes you will live. but at the cost of everything that makes you You
I use Kobo, which uses a slightly different method. Some publishers already don't use DRM. Great! You're good to go. Most others will be listed as using Adobe DRM. For that, you'll need Adobe Digital Editions.
Download the DRM file. This will be an ASCM file (Adobe Content Server Message) called 'URLLink.ascm'. This isn't an ebook, it's basically just a link.
Open in Adobe Digital Editions. It should automatically download the ebook.
Locate the actual file location. By default, this is Documents > My Digital Editions. This will give you the epub file, with DRM.
Follow the above instructions to install DeDRM in Calibre.
Drag the epub file into Calibre. If you've installed DeDRM correctly, there'll be a button up the top labelled 'Convert books'.
Up the top of the window, there'll be 'Input format' on the left, and 'Output format' on the right. Input will default to EPUB, select whatever you like (including EPUB again) for output. Select 'OK' (bottom right).
Locate your Calibre file. For me, this was Documents > Calibre. By default, books are listed in subfolders by author, then title. Open the folder for the book you converted, and you should have four files - a cover, an OPF file with metadata, your new EPUB file, and an old version with the file extension of .original_epub.
Not necessary, but I prefer to do this for organisation - you can now place the DRM-free EPUB file wherever you like. I have folders for my own library that I can back up as I wish.
You may want an ereader not tied to a particular platform. I use one for my phone called Moon+ Reader. It has a free option with unobtrusive ads (which only show when you close a book). Otherwise, using Calibre on my PC has its own epub reader.
Anyway. Not hyperbole. Microsoft closed its ebook platform in 2019 and people lost their entire libraries. Back your books up.
Amazon is ending the ability to download/transfer ebooks from Kindle devices via USB connection on February 26 2025!
You should still be able to use the PC and mobile apps, and in browser reading, but your device will be entirely reliant on WiFi (which isn't always available or reliable!). Here's 1 article on it.
I've been using Epubor Ultimate to remove DRM from all of my ebooks so I can convert and save them, able to read them either in Kobo or Kindle, or in Calibre. I can save them as Epubs, PDFs, or what have you.
Also keep in mind Bookshop.org, an online store that interacts with independent booksellers, now has an ebook app and options from those indie stores. You can even set it specifically to your own favorite local bookstores if you want.
I get a lot of ebooks due to space issues, being a rental/apartment dweller. So the cracked and converted books are saved to my PC and external backup drives. I bought them. They're mine. I ought to be able to read them, and not worry about them being "updated" or removed on some whim*.
-
(*I noticed that Jim Butcher's The Aeronaut's Windlass has a different cover than when I first downloaded it, not sure what else has changed yet. Good Omens also went from the classic black cover to the TV show tie in cover.)
