this is an rp blog booker's wiki link is here i don't write bottoming in smut. am also 21+
i love fucked up fiction. if u think this makes me a fucked up person irl then PLEASE block me. i don't take anything seriously lol...
$LAYYYTER
Cosimo Galluzzi

Janaina Medeiros
occasionally subtle

@theartofmadeline
NASA

#extradirty

shark vs the universe

pixel skylines

oozey mess
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Xuebing Du
Sweet Seals For You, Always

⁂
Mike Driver
One Nice Bug Per Day
DEAR READER
Claire Keane
RMH
will byers stan first human second

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@invigored
this is an rp blog booker's wiki link is here i don't write bottoming in smut. am also 21+
i love fucked up fiction. if u think this makes me a fucked up person irl then PLEASE block me. i don't take anything seriously lol...
♥ filling & being filled ♥ { NSFW 18+ KINK RP STARTERS } kinks ; cum inflation, mild breeding send ‘+ reverse’ for the reverse
ACTIONS
{ FILLED } sender fills receiver a little with cum { OVERFILLED } sender doesn’t stop cumming in receiver; overfilling them { STUFFED } sender keeps cumming in receiver, stuffing them to their limit { PLUGGED } sender puts a plug into receiver to keep them big and stuffed { PLAYED } sender plays with receivers cum filled belly { TEASED } sender teases receiver with their large cum filled belly, taunting them into filling them more { TAUNTED } sender taunts receiver into filling them with more cum, straining their already large belly { BREED } sender cums relentlessly into receiver with the intent to fill them and breed them { HOUSEWORK } receiver is filled and plugged, performing basic tasks around the house for sender; sender gives in to temptation and starts to fuck them over furniture, intending to fill them more { LIMITS } receiver begs sender to push them past their limit, trying to keep everything from leaking so they can be filled bigger { FASHION } receiver surprises sender after being filled and plugged by wearing tight clothes their belly strains against, tempting sender to fill them more { WALL } receiver’s growing belly is pressed hard to the wall as sender continues to cum in them { OBSESS } sender can’t keep their hands off receiver’s large belly, turning receiver on heavily { DAM } receiver starts to leak cum, sender starts to pump more into them to keep their belly swelling
WORDS
“ look how big you are… ” “ so flat… want me to fill you nice and big ? ” “ ah-ah. i don’t think that’s your limit, do you ? ” “ please - i need to be bigger ! ” “ i don’t want to feel empty anymore ! ” “ i’m not big enough - i still feel empty ! ” “ greedy, aren’t you ? you’re so big and yet you beg for more ? ” “ you don’t seem to have a limit, do you ? you’re so huge already and only growing bigger the more i pump into you… ” “ please don’t drain me ! i can take more ! i can grow bigger for you ! ” “ i’ll show you just how big you can get, my love, don’t you worry. ” “ don’t you dare pull out ! i need more ! give me more ! ” “ i don’t ever want to stop - i want you to be straining to keep all of me in you. ” “ you’ll be my little bunny, nice and big, all full of my cum. ” “ breed me like i’m your little bunny ! ” “ it’s leaking ! pump me more full ! i’m not done ! ”
borderlands booker bs.
native of promethea. signed up for the crimson lance, faked his age. dutifully took part in the massacres meant to subdue the promethean population in order to find atlas' vault. deserted a few years after the first vault was opened.
worked for the dahl corporation for a time, still committing atrocities, but at least not to his own people. was eventually stationed on elpis along with zarpedon. deserted when she began to destroy elpis with helios.
was a contract killer, for a while. being poor and living in the borderlands has led to a hilarious amount of foolishly applied for loans.
eventually became a private investigator. base of operations is in promethea, but he travels galaxy-wide.
one day, booker receives a proposition to help find someone. this leads him to eden-8-- newly dubbed "columbia"-- where a man named zachary comstock built his haven for "the chosen"...
he'll bring them the girl and wipe away his debt.
(not really.)
I think… Booker would miss you.
Elizabeth: Booker, you there? I miss you. You were the only one who ever… You were my only friend… Booker…
Booker: I’m not even here. I’m a projection of your own…
Elizabeth: Could you humor me then? Please…
Booker: I think… Booker would miss you.
“I don’t know where my road is going, but I know that I walk better when I hold your hand.”
lowerqualityrp:
It’s damn near impossible for Ethan to be dwarfed by the sheer size of Booker’s body and wings, but as he looms over him with nothing but the desire to take and claim gleaming in his eyes, Ethan feels infinitely smaller. Even the way his clawed hands wrap around each of his thighs, Ethan knows that a normal human would not be capable of spanning so much of his skin.
Still, for the first time since he was taken in by the Connections, he’s felt safe. It’s almost as if there’s an unspoken promise between them that he is Booker’s and Booker protects what’s his.
Even as he impales the smaller man on his cock, Ethan feels good.
Sure, it hurts a bit and his head falls back as he cries out at the sudden intrusion, but at the end of it all, it. feels. good.
Panting softly already, Ethan manages to part his eyelids to gaze up at Booker and his heart clenches in his chest. He reaches one hand up to rest on his shoulder and the other moves to cup the side of his face.
He knows he’s looked at him before, but it was always as a creature. For the first time, he truly recognizes him as the man the Connections corrupted.
Breath shaky, Ethan’s gaze turns into a plead once more as he offers a soft, “Please, Booker.”
His breath hitches as Ethan’s fingers brush against his skin. The touches to his face and shoulder are too soft, too kind, too good for someone like him. Even before the mutations kindness hadn’t exactly come easy, but then again Booker’s never thought he had any right to it.
It makes him want to kiss him, Booker realises. In the haze of the sex they’ve already had he’s sure he never has. But he leans into Ethan’s palm instead, remembers too late that perhaps Ethan can feel that one moment of temptation Booker had had, and draws his hips back so he can push in once more.
The slick, God, is new. It’s so much more than the lubrication that’s often applied before their sessions, coating Booker’s cock and dribbling out each time he withdraws. He’s slow at first, careful, his thoughts rippling all at once in a mix of concern and simple need, but Ethan is so tight he doesn’t know how to hold back.
Isn’t sure if he should hold back, in the end.
Words escape him, nothing left in his head as he scents Ethan’s pleasure, his sex. Booker’s hands slide up to the man’s slender waist and claws dig into pale skin, the very tips of them drawing blood. He doesn’t think of the pain, though-- only that he needs to hold him steady. Needs to hold Ethan up, to keep him open for his cock to shove into him again, and again, and again.
Shutting his eyes, Booker growls, and as Ethan’s mattress creaks beneath them-- as the chains to the cuff around his ankle clink with every rising motion-- he fucks him hard, and fast, and needy.
Happy Birthday, Booker DeWitt (April 19, 1874)
He was my first hope, and now…he is my last
Booker’s arsenal.
mangfaldig:
The reassurance that the other man isn’t angry with him makes Jack sag, a relieved sound he’s never made before coming from his chest. He’s noticed, vaguely, how good Booker tends to smell but now it seems almost overwhelming. The older man crouches at his side and he has to stop himself from pushing in close, lips parted so he can taste the scent of him. He’s never felt so out of control, so wanton. ❝ Yes, ❞ he says, slightly hissing and not completely sure he’s telling the truth. His knees certainly wobble while he stands but Jack forces himself up with the thought that so long as they’re in the open, they’re in danger. He picks up his gun once more, embarrassed he dropped it in the first place and squirms. He feels wet and while he knows about the different dynamics, he’s certainly never experienced any indication he was anything but a beta. How wrong he is. ❝ I’m good to go, alpha. ❞ And the title slips off his tongue naturally. He thinks he’s been swallowing it down for long than he realizes.
He hasn’t been called “alpha” in years.
The swear that threatens to leave him at the instincts that rise with Jack’s deference is swallowed back down. Booker nods, pretending his mouth hasn’t dried, and touches Jack’s shoulder where he’s still covered (Christ, he’s warm). “Stay close.”
Then they move.
Booker’s not fool enough to think they’ll get out of this unscathed and easy. The EVE hypos Jack’s been using clearly have no effect on his heats, and so far the stray medical kits they’ve found don’t have any of that fancy medicine the richer folks tend to be able to afford. His head gets heavier, his nostrils flare with the effect of Jack’s scent, and though Booker’s focus starts to wane in his contemplation his aim with a six-shooter seems to be as good as ever.
But then again, he realises with a quiet irritation, perhaps he’s still able to aim at all because he has Jack to protect.
“We can check the Medical Pavilion,” he tells Jack once they’re in cover-- a temporary solution still, but there’s a Big Daddy nearby and neither of them are in the right state to fight it. Booker marks the location on the map for later, though, for Jack’s sake. “I know you ransacked that place first, but maybe you missed something. I don’t know what medicine these Rapturians use...”
Booker swallows.
“...but if it ain’t that, then you’re gonna have to be taken care of. And I’m not...”
Not good. Not kind. Not gentle enough for anyone’s first heat, least of all Jack’s.
“...ideal.”
mangfaldig:
Oh. He almost exhales in relief as words that convince him his daughter, Anna, is alive come forth. He’s been around enough death to last a lifetime, heard enough about kids dying or taken for something paternal to bloom in his own chest. Which is exactly why Jack thinks the plan that’s been growing in his mind has come forth. And Booker’s own statements, coupled with the fact he trusts him, are why he voices it. ❝ It’s not a dream, though, if you make it happen [ … ] Right? ❞ He takes his time, chews on another mouthful of chips before saying : ❝ They experimented on kids down here. Little girls. They collect ADAM from corpses and I’ve been helping them. ❞ Saving them, perhaps. He hopes. ❝ I’ve been sneaking out to track them down and taking on their guardians. I want to take them with me, when I leave. ❞
Jack brings up making dreams come true and Booker expects to hear some flowery, hopeful thing coming after.
He doesn’t expect talk about girls and guardians. The memory of Elizabeth echoes in his head, again and again in an infinite chain of mirrors, and Booker almost asks who the guardians are before his mind slots the pieces into place. Songbird had been a creature of armour. He knows which creatures of armour he’s seen around. But the sheer number of them...
Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt. For a remnant of another world, the sentence still sends chills down Booker’s spine.
“Do you know how many of these girls are out there?”
mangfaldig:
Usually he would be quicker than this. But the sudden herd of splicers has him freezing instead, grip tightening on his gun too late. Jack blinks like he’s never seen the other man in action, the sight of the alphas in the air and then fried relieving some of the tension in his body [ … ] Just in time for another cramp to hit him, enough he places his empty hand on the crate and bends forward. ❝ Fuck, ❞ he mutters, fighting against the urge to press into Booker, the scent of him calming. It always has been but urges that had flitted through his mind before are now throbbing behind his eyes. Press against him. Burrow close. Preferably with the suddenly too hot sweater off his body. ❝ I didn’t know. ❞ He doesn’t want the other man to think he would willingly put them both in danger. He never even thought [ … ] He doesn’t have memories of ever having a heat before. ❝ Booker, I didn’t know. I would never do anything to get you hurt. You have to believe me. ❞ He could whine, the feeling of slick making him curl more into himself.
Booker had been fifteen the first time his rut had hit, and even then he’d known from the shape of his own parts alone that he’d been alpha. That Jack-- who’s at least in his twenties, Booker’s sure-- couldn’t be aware he’s omega bewilders him. Heats come even earlier than ruts do, or at least that’s what they said.
Why he didn’t know, however, isn’t nearly as important as what’s happening. Already he can hear the hungry shouts and calls of other splicers, undoubtedly following Jack’s trail. This close, Booker doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it himself; Jack’s scent is sweet in a way that makes his mouth water. If not for the obvious pain he’s in Booker doesn’t think he would’ve maintained any rationality.
“I’m not cross with you,” he says, fingers curling and uncurling before he crouches to be level with him. “But we can’t stay here.
“Can you get up?” He fears what will happen if he touches Jack. He knows what will happen when he touches Jack, given the clouding beginning in his mind.
But he might not have a choice.
elskcv:
It’s natural, to touch him, to lean her cheek against the back of his hand as he layers them. Gaea prepares herself for the rejection she experienced in her dreams, the desire for a kind touch only to get a lustful or rough one. She can’t help who she is, however. She’s always going to want to reach out in kindness. ❝ I’m sorry, ❞ she says. If not for the fact she could feel the heat, she’d touch Booker, hope her cool skin would be a balm. As it is, Gaea is concentrating a bit too much on the feel of his skin against hers. When was the last time she was touched and it didn’t hurt? ❝ I hope it won’t hurt for long. And maybe there’s something about [ … ] How to alleviate the pain. ❞ Sometimes ransacking is the difference between surviving and dying. She only takes from the dead. It doesn’t leave her feeling better.
“Nothing to be sorry about. Pain’s been a steady friend,” Booker says wryly, turning his flesh hand from its place above hers to rub Gaea’s cheek with the end of his thumb (it feels new and familiar all at once, exciting as much as it is coming home). “Won’t take me down that easy.
“Get back to bed. I won’t be long.”
His hand falls away, but Booker doesn’t step out of Gaea’s grip until she’s let go of him herself. Old paranoia keeps him from wanting to separate even for this, but at least he’s comforted knowing he’ll be able to return to her soon after.
elskcv:
Everywhere he kisses lights up with sensation. She’s never been touched like this, never been kissed, the color of her skin and the circumstances of the city keeping her busy. Or perhaps Gaea was just holding onto the idea of her fantasy man, who she loved so much. Booker is so much better than Comstock, reality than the dreams. And the feel of him is so much more intense. He touches her there, where she weeps for him, and her hips jerk, a sharp cry echoing around them. A hand slaps over her mouth, bruised from his own, but there’s no hesitation. She scoots back from him, even as she wants to curl into him, so she can place the flats of her feet on stone. It’s a vulnerable, revealing position that makes Gaea’s cheek burn but she deems it worth it. Especially when he keeps touching her there, a throbbing center just for him.
God above, she is lovely. Though he’d squeezed Gaea’s breast and trailed his hand down to caress her side as she moved, Booker watches each motion without restraint. The way she chooses to present herself is a swift punch in the gut-- though her skirts conceal his view like this, he knows what he’ll see when he lifts it.
Booker kisses Gaea on the mouth first, though. “That’s perfect.”
And while the gentle nuzzle of her nose is still innocent, more affectionate to ease her in, his unchanged hand slips beneath her dress once more to rub soothing circles along her inner thigh.
They don’t exactly have the luxury of time, but Booker tries to relax her in any way he can. Bending over the altar, setting his forearm down by Gaea’s head to part her lips with his tongue again, Booker’s fingers push the fabric of Gaea’s underwear to the side to feel her wetness against his skin.
“Mm...” The sound rumbles up his throat from deep in his chest, two fingers sliding up and down between her folds to rub against her clit, her entrance.
I like to believe they had a happy life in another dimension,
that Booker got to see his Anna grow up there,
that he got to hear her first words, see her first steps,
and gave her the first dance at her wedding.