Tada! My first attempt at clay buttons! These are going on a dress I’m wearing to the renaissance fair. Let me know if you want to see the final look. Also, I take commissions.
SO, several things I want to cover about Caine’s spiral and his knowledge about the “mind files.” (I might do several posts on this, but I want to start with Ragatha)
Ragatha tells Caine that “You never let us feel like we’re at home” AND THEN he send her “home” for her torture.
This was diabolical. The fact that we know now that Ragatha’s worst fear was her mother just add an extra shitty layer to this. (I can relate) when you grow up in an environment like this, you have a house, not a home.
Also, Ratha‘s mother having the same silhouette is very interesting. I suspect that Ragatha is the spitting image of her mom and hates that. Mothers that hate themselves take it out on their daughters who look like them.
The knife placement feels very intentional, and the last one striking her heart is gut wrenching.
Anyone who tries to come after my girl now will have to answer to me! Let me know what y’all think of an analysis.
#you cannot convince me sherlock 'i don't see a use for this common knowledge i shall forget it immediately' holmes wasn't adhd as hell
#sherlock 'if i have nothing to do for a day i will literally start shooting the walls out of boredom' holmes
#sherlock 'i have built a perfect wax replica of myself - why? iunno' holmes
ACD was a practicing doctor and ship's surgeon during the period where cocaine was routinely used as medicine and described by medical journals as "the blessed instrument of Christ," so not only is there exactly zero chance that he'd never met anyone addicted to cocaine, he also almost certainly administered cocaine to people.
It's also definitely not a stretch at all to say he'd probably met people who self-medicated with cocaine to deal with what we'd now call ADHD. Like, the second ever Sherlock Holmes story begins with Watson protesting Holmes' overuse of cocaine, and Holmes replying that he needs it to deal with his overactive brain -- it's entirely plausible that ACD had had that exact conversation with someone or multiple someones.
Like, the man had been a ship's surgeon. On a whaling ship. The number one place in Victorian times to find men who either couldn't get or couldn't hold down work elsewhere. He was almost certainly extremely familiar with a pretty broad spectrum of neurodivergence and self-medication thereof, even if medical science didn't yet have the terminology to apply to it.
Not only did ACD probably have this conversation with someone in real life, he clearly knew and understood how dangerous cocaine was.
At a time when cocaine was regularly administered by other doctors, Doyle wrote Watson to have a clear aversion and dislike of the drug and understood that it was bad for you. It’s written as a clear indication that Sherlock, despite all his brilliance and genius, is still a human being who can make very bad decisions for himself.
Not only that, but Watson does ultimately win and gets Sherlock off of his addition to cocaine in the end. It takes him a while, but Sherlock is weened off the drug and this is seen as a good thing for everyone involved. In fact in a later story Watson comes home and sees a needle and fears that Sherlock might’ve had a relapse (he didn’t, the needle was just being used for something else involving a case).
Doyle knew what he was doing. He wasn’t writing it as an endorsement or as an indication that Sherlock knew better than Watson. It’s made very clear in the books that Sherlock is highly limited in a lot of ways that Watson is not. Watson was a skilled physician and both he and ACD knew cocaine was not good for someone like Holmes.
Conan Doyle was hyperfixated on history and very mad his excited infodumping historical fiction didn't get the attention the Holmes stories did. He wrote bestselling serialized novels and short stories (that all tend to follow a specific structure) while full time practicing medicine, and by all accounts had a Holmes-like way of Noticing Fucking Everything.
He had a clear disdain for social convention while understanding deeply how to conform to it in order to survive; a lot of Holmes' deductions actually depend on assumptions about typical human behavior in a given situation rather than physical evidence alone. It's the kind of encyclopedic conscious knowledge of unwritten social rules you might develop in order to mask successfully.
He was almost certainly neurodivergent himself. There's a reason classic Holmes fans tend to be Like That. Game recognize game.
* Are elephants scared of mice? (They only did that because they were in Africa and had access to elephants.)
* Will a bull run amok in a china shop?
* Is it better to run zig-zag or straight when chased by an alligator?
I love these because NONE of them turned out the way they expected. They went into all three with pre-conceived ideas of how it would go, and each time they "failed." Elephants WILL cower from mice. A bull moves very gingerly through a china shop. It doesn't matter how you run because ALLIGATORS WON'T CHASE YOU.
And each time, they reacted with just... pure glee. "Holy shit, we were wrong! Oh my god! This is great! We were so wrong!"
And that, to me, is what science is. Being excited about being wrong because either way it's information.
No fucking joke, I was offered 4 days of film-set marshalling and I told him I was unavailable for one of the days but I could cancel. And he told me he’d potentially found someone else.
I reblogged this.
And not 20 mins later, he came back to me and said if I really want it, let him know now. So fuck. Wow.
every major structural social problem right now is basically "we don't have enough skilled workers on the ground" and the reason is always "well we've been intentionally underpaying and understaffng them for decades to increase corporate profits" and somehow the news always just mentions the "shortage" without digging into the cause
air travel is a mess? shortage of air traffic controllers - for some mysterious reason
logistics a mess? shortage of truck drivers - for some mysterious reason
public transit can't meet demand? shortage of bus drivers - for some mysterious reason
We even mysteriously have shortages of doctors, nurses, teachers... FOR SOME MYSTERIOUS REASON
🍖 How to Build a Culture Without Just Inventing Spices and Necklaces
(a worldbuilding roast. with love.)
So. You’re building a fantasy world, and you’ve just invented:
→ Three types of ceremonial jewelry
→ A spice that tastes like cinnamon if it were bitter and cursed
→ A holiday where everyone wears gold and screams at dawn
Cute. But that’s not culture. That’s aesthetics.
And if your worldbuilding is all outfits, dances, and spice blends with vaguely mystical names, your story’s probably going to feel like a cosplay convention held inside a Pinterest board.
Here’s how to fix that—aka: how to build a real, functioning culture that shapes your story, not just its vibes.
─────── ✦ ───────
🔗 Culture Is Built on Power, Not Just Style
Ask yourself:
→ Who’s in charge, and why?
→ Who has land? Who doesn’t?
→ What’s considered taboo, sacred, or punishable by death?
Culture is shaped by who gets to make the rules and who gets crushed by them. That’s where things like religion, family structure, class divisions, gender roles, and social expectations actually come from.
Start there. Not at the embroidery.
─────── ✦ ───────
2.🪓 Culture Comes From Conflict
Did this society evolve peacefully? Was it colonized? Did it colonize? Was it rebuilt after a war? Is it still in one?
→ What was destroyed and mythologized?
→ What do the survivors still whisper about?
→ What do children get taught in school that’s… suspiciously sanitized?
No culture is neutral. Every tradition has a history, and that history should taste like blood, loss, or propaganda.
─────── ✦ ───────
3.🧠 Belief Systems > Customs Lists
Sure, rituals and holidays are cool. But what do people believe about:
→ Death?
→ Love?
→ Time?
→ The natural world?
→ Justice?
Example: A society that believes time is cyclical vs. one that sees time as linear will approach everything—from prison sentences to grief—completely differently.
You don’t need to invent 80 gods. You need to know what those gods mean to the people who pray to them.
─────── ✦ ───────
4.🫀 Culture Controls Behavior (Quietly)
Culture shows up in:
→ What people apologize for
→ What insults cut deepest
→ What people are embarrassed about
→ What’s praised publicly vs. what’s hidden privately
For instance:
→ A culture obsessed with stoicism won’t say “I love you.” They’ll say “Have you eaten?”
→ A culture built on legacy might prioritize ancestor veneration, archival writing, name inheritance.
This stuff? Way more immersive than giving everyone matching earrings.
─────── ✦ ───────
5. 🏠 Culture = Daily Life, Not Just Festivals
Sure, your MC might attend a funeral where people paint their faces blue. But what about:
→ Breakfast routines?
→ How people greet each other on the street?
→ Who cooks, and who eats first?
→ What’s considered “clean” or “proper”?
→ How is parenting handled? Divorce?
Culture is what happens between plot points. It should shape your character’s assumptions, language, fears, and habits—whether or not a festival is going on.
─────── ✦ ───────
6. 💬 Let Your Characters Disagree With Their Own Culture
A culture isn’t a monolith.
Even in deeply traditional societies, people:
→ Rebel
→ Question
→ Break rules
→ Misinterpret laws
→ Mock sacred things
→ Act hypocritically
→ Weaponize or resist what’s expected
Let your characters wrestle with the culture around them. That’s where realism (and tension) lives.
─────── ✦ ───────
7.🧼 Beware the “Pretty = Good” Trap
Worldbuilding gets boring fast when:
→ The protagonist’s homeland is beautiful and pure
→ The enemy’s culture is dark and “barbaric”
→ Every detail just reinforces who the reader should like
You can—and should—challenge the aesthetic hierarchy.
→ Let ugly things be beloved.
→ Let beautiful things be corrupt.
→ Let your MC romanticize their culture and then get disillusioned by it later.
─────── ✦ ───────
📍 TL;DR (but like, spicy):
→ Culture is not food and jewelry.
→ Culture is power, fear, memory, contradiction.
→ Stop inventing spices until you know who starved last winter.
→ Let your world feel lived in, not curated.
The best cultural worldbuilding doesn’t look like a list.
It feels like a system. A pressure. A presence your characters can’t escape—even if they try.
Now go. Build something real. (You can add spices later.)
—rin t.
// writing advice for worldbuilders with rage and range
// thewriteadviceforwriters
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Hey guys! I’m back! The move with my lovely partner @rook-the-took has been going great. They also inspired me to write this little piece. Enjoy!
You were an energetic thing. Often teasing, touching, and throwing flirty winks, especially if you were out and about. Tonight was no exception. The pair of you got together at a pool hall with Enzo and a few other friends. The evening passed in easy company. With drinks, games, and good food. The two of you made your way over to one of the pool tables and set up around. You loved the way Dante’s eyebrows knit together when he focused on a shot. He shed his coat at one point so there wouldn’t be as much in the way. You leaned against his non-dominant side and slipped your hand into his back pocket.
“Are we betting money or just playing for fun?” he asked.
“Hmm, how about the loser gives a kiss to the winner?”
“Fine by me.”
Dante grinned and bumped your hip. He leaned down to align the shot, and just as he was about to, you gave his bottom a pinch. He missed, grumbling slightly under his breath. He turned his head to look at you with a raised eyebrow, and you smiled back innocently.
“What? It’s hardly my fault you’re distractible.”
Dante whacked the back of your legs lightly with the pool queue in retaliation. “Save that for when we get home, baby.”
“I would, but I don’t want to,” you replied with a giggle and took your turn.
The game went on with you two neck and neck, occasionally pausing for food and more flirting. Finally, you pulled off a trick shot and sank the final ball. You raised your arms above your head and cheered, doing a little dance in victory.
Dante clapped lightly, a proud look in his eyes, “Good job, hun. I suppose it’s time for me to pay up?”
“Yes, indeed,” you slid your arms around his neck while he cupped your cheek. He kissed you softly, but with passion. It was nice, but you didn’t want to be nice. You slid your tongue out to swipe over his bottom lip. He gasped slightly and his grip moved to your waist. He pulled back and rested his forehead on yours, “What do I have to do to get you to behave? Tie you up and fuck the brattiness out of you?”
You all but squeaked at that, but tried to downplay it, “I thought you wanted to save that kind of talk for at home?”
“Then let’s get home. Quickly.”
You made your goodbyes to the others and ushered yourselves outside to Dante’s bike. He sat you in front with his arms caging you in. There was nowhere to go, pressed against his warm, muscled chest. He came to a stop at a red light and let his hand drift down to your thigh.
He rubbed small circles that got closer and closer to your clothed pussy. You shifted under the touch and he hummed in satisfaction.
“Tell me. Is it the bike ride that’s got you riled up, or do you want to ride something else?”
“Y-you know exactly what I want,” you replied back through your helmet mic.
“Oh no, kitty. I want to hear you say it,” he teased back as the light changed and began moving again.
“Fucking make me, big boy.”
“I plan to.”
The next few minutes back to his apartment were a blur, even more so once you got inside. You barely made it to the bedroom while you stripped each other bare. You both were all hands and teeth and tongues. You fell back onto the bed and Dante crawled toward you, kissing up your body as he went, “What did that dirty little mind of yours cook up on the ride?”
“I don’t care. I just—“
“Uh uh.” Dante pulled and pinned your wrists above your head, loving the wide eyed stare you gave him, “You wanted my attention so badly, huh? Well, go on. Beg for it.”
“Oh, please,” you replied with a smirk and rubbed your leg on his hardening cock, “I’m not the only one who wanted attention.”
Dante shuddered at the touch but shifted away, “Oh, we’re still playing games? Fine by me. Just remember, you wanted this.”
He grabbed his belt from the pile of clothes and secured your wrists snuggly to the bedpost. He threw your legs over his shoulders and devoured your pussy like it was his favorite pizza. He went back and forth between quick flicks of his tongue over your clit and sucking deeply on it and moaning. All the while, he was spurred on by your moans and his hardening cock. He brought you to the edge three times before finally letting you cum. You screamed and writhed from the pleasure. You had managed to keep yourself from begging for release, but your walls were cracking. In truth, as badly as you wanted to cum, you also didn’t want this to end yet.
As Dante gently stroked his leaking cock against your folds, he got an idea. Nothing harsh, just a little tease. “You know, I could leave you like this, hungry and begging for more. I can see in your eyes that you’re desperate for my cock.”
You huffed and stuck out your tongue. “Who says I’m desperate?” you lied. Dante did not mistake the lust in your eyes and your dripping pussy.
“Baby, I gave you the chance to play nice…Now, you’re not going to be begging me to fuck you…” He held your wrists in a bruising grip. “Now you’re going to beg me to stop.”
He slid inside, inch by sweet inch, bottoming out balls deep. You loved the way he stretched you open, more than used to the feeling. Yet, that glint in his eye meant trouble. Dante pecked your lips one last time before baring his teeth and thrusting. He began slowly at first, finding a comfortable rhythm. The slow drag of his cock sent sparks throughout you, leaving your eyelids fluttering. But Dante knew you too well, as he could read when you adjusted to the pace. He immediately picked up speed, laughing as you gasped and jolted with pleasure.
“D-damn, you’re dick feels s-so good. Ah!”
“That’s a much better attitude, sweetheart. But I think we still have hard, sweaty work to do.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, and wiggled your hips to meet with his. His thrusts continued on, ranging from hard, to slow, to pounding pressure. You could feel your next orgasm building, the hot friction was too much to resist. You said as much to Dante and he gripped your hips tightly. Using the mattress as leverage, Dante began to pump into you as fast as he could.
“I’m g-getting close too. You feel too good, baby!”
You wrapped your legs around him and rocked your hips back and forth to grind your clit against his bush. You wanted everything you could get out of this man, loving the feeling of him chasing his own high alongside you. You both went tumbling over the edge of pleasure together, screaming and shaking from the effort. Dante fell beside you on the bed, gently stroking your cheek while you both caught your breath.
Once you regained the ability to speak, you stuck your tongue out and smiled, “If-if your plan was to get me to say sorry, you might want to rethink your strategy.”
Dante chuckled and went to free your hands, “I don’t know, I’m liking the results so far. Your mouth might lie, but your body’s been beggin’ for me.” To illustrate his point, he slipped a single finger inside your sex, and you shuddered and clenched around him.
“Yeah, sure. I’ve got something for you too,” you say with a smirk as you flip him the bird.
“Aw, that’s cute. But bravado won’t save you,” he replied while flipping you onto your stomach. He spread your ass with his hands and spread your pussy lips with his thumbs. The stretch felt amazingly intimate and you couldn’t help but moan. With a groan, Dante slipped back inside you and set a pounding pace. The force of his thrusts were enough to have you clinging to the sheets and rocking back to meet him so you wouldn’t fall off the bed. He didn’t stop until you both saw stars.
For round 4, he had you get down on your knees to suck him off, telling how cute you looked with your mouth full.
For round 5, he picked you up and pinned against the wall. You felt weightless and he fucked up into you. You cling to his back and to your sanity with your nails dug in. You began to feel lightheaded from the pleasure. Was this your fourth or fifth orgasm that barreled?
The final round ended with you sitting in his lap, cockwarming him while he pressed a vibrator to your pussy. Your entire body felt like it was on fire and covered in ice. Your nerves were so shot that they felt like a rubber band stretched to snap. It was all too much. He twisted one of your very sore nipples between his fingers while his hot breath ghosted over your neck.
“How about now, baby? I can keep fucking the brat out of you if you aren’t ready.”
You had given up not begging two orgasms ago, but Dante continued to punish your pussy, “P-please, Dante. I can’t! I can’t take it anymore. Please, pretty please!”
His hand moved up to toy with your throat, “There it is…I think you’ve got one more in you. So, who does this pussy belong to?”
“You!”
Dante cranked the vibrations up higher, causing you to nearly choke on your tongue, “Say it again. Now!”
“You! It’s, it’s yours! This is your pussy.”
“Damn right. Now cum all over this cock for me, love.”
The overstimulation and his words drove you over the edge one last time. Wave after wave of white hot pleasure surged through you, leaving an ache of pain behind. You slumped breathless against your boyfriend, boneless. Dante kissed your shoulder and laid you down on the bed. He brought the covers up to your chin and kissed your cheek.
“I’ll be right back.”
You could only nod as you felt yourself drift into a dreamy haze. He returned a minute later with water, snacks, and a wet cloth. He cleaned the both of you up and helped you sit up to eat. Once your strength recovered, you kissed him gently and flicked his nipple in revenge. Dante barely felt it but raised a brow at you all the same.
“If I get this type of treatment after driving you nuts, I might develop a habit,” You joked.
“You say that now, but your body is about to hate you in the morning. Hearing you talk like that was worth it, I’d say.”
“You don’t scare me one bit. Fuck if you ain’t a beast, though.”
“I’m honored. Now, get some rest, brat.”
You two chatted a bit more before letting sleep take in, wrapped in each other’s arms.
my professor’s take is that mary shelley is feminizing victor throughout the novel, as a way of flipping gender roles and putting a male character through female experiences.
evidence as explained:
victor is creating life. he is putting his health at risk (spends two years with little sleep or socialization) to bring life forth into this world
his illness after he is shocked by the creature coming to life is akin to both ‘hysteria’ and postpartum depression
he pretty much swoons, let’s be honest
henry clerval, a man who has been characterized as manly and heroic, has to chase after damsel-in-distress victor and care for him as he convalesces
afterward, he hides what he did and went through, for fear that others will label him crazy and emotional and not believe him. sound familiar?
Victor in general is more emotional than the other characters and is constantly tempering his reactions to not be seen as irrational
the book does not otherwise have central female characters
Also, Shelley’s mother died in childbirth. It’s interesting, then, that Shelley presents the creation of life as something horrific and damaging. She parallels Victor with her mother.
in conclusion, Frankenstein (1818) by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley is one of the first examples of mpreg in English literature
My partner @rook-the-took and I watched the new Devil May Cry anime twice now and have seriously gotten hooked. Dante is everything I love about fictional dorky men. I wrote this largely for self indulgence and because I’ve never tried this prompt before. Enjoy! I know I did 😉
You helped Dante down into the sofa, where you both collapsed in a heap. Dante sighed with relief and began to pull off his coat.
“Man, that venom packed a punch. I’m still feeling weird. Kinda hot and bothered.”
“I’ll grab you some water. Let’s just rest and chill.”
“Good plan,” Dante replied with a groan.
Tonight’s Demon Hunt proved to be a challenge, even for the pair of you. Their target had been a cross between Humanoid and scorpion. Their stinger head managed to cut Dante on his side. His injury was already improving but it had left him out of sorts and lightheaded. Good old demon DNA to help him heal quickly.
He watched you walk off and found his eyes wander down to your swaying hips. He forced his gaze away, all too aware that now was not the time to proposition you. He busied himself with finding a movie for y’all to watch and pulled off his boots. You returned after a few minutes with drinks and snacks, settling next to him on the sofa.
You handed Dante the glass and he took it with thanks, greedily taking several big swallows.
You laughed and raised your own glass, “Cheers, to your health,”
A little of the drink spilled from the corner of your mouth, running a trail down your neck. Dante’s eyes tracked it to your collarbone, immediately wanting to lick it away. He wanted to latch his mouth to your neck and leave a collar of hickeys. He wanted to hear you gasp and moan for him.
“…I-I’m gonna get changed. I’ll be right back,” Dante excused himself and darted into the bathroom. He changed into loose, fitted shorts and a T-shirt before splashing cold water down his face and neck. Once he felt brave enough to face you, he went back out into the living room.
Yo had also changed into pjs, a blue tank top with long bottoms. The sight of you cozy and relaxed made his heart pound and his cock twitch. He tried to shove the thought aside, but no luck. He wanted to fuck you so badly it started to hurt. But now was not the time. Plopping himself down into the couch, he grabbed hold of his patience and held a pillow in his lap.
He did his best to distract himself with the tv show, snacks, and cold drinks, and it worked for a bit. He certainly felt better now that he had something on his stomach. Yet, when a commercial came on, he saw you shift in his peripheral vision. You stretched your arms out big and he loved watching your muscles flex.
You scooted closer and draped yourself in his lap. Dante’s hand immediately moved to comb through your arm, both in affection and to keep you from moving too much. “How are you feeling, love? All good now?”
“Yeah, yeah. Better thanks to you,”
You rolled over onto your back to look up at him. Dante spotted the outline of your nipples poking through your shirt, and sucked in a deep breath. He found you attractive at almost all times, but right now you were the finest meal he had ever laid eyes on and he was a starving man. He let his eyes linger for a few more seconds, and then tried to focus back on the TV. He knew he was holding himself too stiffly, but what else was he to do When all your little movements sent shocks straight to his cock?
After several painfully long minutes, you sat up and hit the mute button on the remote, “ all right, out with it.”
“ I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Dante attempted.
“Something has you distracted, or riled up. So what is it?”
Dante‘s cheeks reddened as he slowly pulled the pillow out of his lap.
You giggled and squeezed his hand, “Oh, is that all?
“Baby, I feel like I’m gonna explode. Uh, I think this is a side effect of the venom.”
“Oh. No wonder you’ve been acting jumpy. You usually love having me sit in your lap for chill times.”
“I need relief. I-I can go take care of this myself if you aren’t comfortable…” Dante moved to leave, but you grabbed his wrist.
“Hang on, big guy…I think I’m feeling it too,” you replied with a soft smirk.
His eyes widened at your words, “Really? How? You didn’t get stung.”
“I thought maybe the effects were contagious. Or perhaps you’re just giving off a shit ton of pheromones.” You scoot closer, taking his hand to place a kiss.
“…So, you’re okay with this? All of this?”
You leaned down by his ear to whisper, “Love, my panties are soaked through. I want to ride you until I see stars.”
Dante needed no further encouragement. You two quickly stripped each other, trading kisses as you went, and Dante pushed you down into your back with a thud. He attacked your neck with a hunger that left you gasping. He cock hung heavy and flushed red with painful blood flow. He let out little grunts each time it made contact with your skin. You reached down to toy with the head a bit, and he let out a sinful moan.
“Fuck, baby. Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” Not one to be shown up, Dante slipped his hand down toward your folds and was blown away by your wetness.
“About what you are doing to me, I’d say.”
With a grin, he slid his fingers inside with ease, humming, and satisfaction as you clenched around him. You both rubbed into each other‘s hands, desperate for more friction, more of each other.
“More,” you beg, “Please give it to me,”
Dante growled and flashed that signature grin before lining himself up with your hole. He sank into you, hot inch by inch. You both keened when he bottomed out, panting with the relief it brought. This is what you both needed. ‘Fuck your brains out’ Dante was just the animal you needed to make the world go fuzzy.
He began to thrust in and out with a slow drag, savoring the bliss. Gradually, he picked up the pace faster and faster, turning more needy and desperate as he went along. His hands grappled at your hips, your tits, your shoulders, and your legs, anything to get to ram himself into you. Each thrust was punctuated by growls and moans, filthy words fell from his lips without a trace of shame.
“Fucking hell, baby. You, you feel even b-better than usual. I feel like I’m ready to blow,”
“Inside!” You ordered as you grabbed Dante’s hand, “Cum inside me, D. I want you to!”
Dante pounced on you for kisses and placed one leg down on the floor. At this angle, his cock massaged against your g-spot. Your eyes rolled backward with pleasure, writhing and squeezing with your whole body. Dante laughed into the kiss and continued thrusting. Just as you felt you might break, Dante lightly rubbed your clit. Stars exploded behind your eyes and you came with a muffled scream. Every inch of you caught fire, including where Dante continued to rearrange your guts, prolonging the orgasm.
At last, he grunted and groaned his way through his own release, with a cry of “Angel”, he came. Hard. He then slumped on his side, with his cock still buried inside your cunt. He pulled you to his chest while he caught his breath, kissing along your sweaty skin.
“That was a-amazing, big guy. I can’t complain about these side effects,” you joke as you stroke his cheek.
He laughs and the vibrations spread throughout you. “I loved it too. You make the prettiest sounds…But I’ll admit I’m not done having fun.” You looked up at him with a questioning smirk, “I’m still rock fucking hard, angel.”
You pressed your hand to his chest to get him to sit up, “Oh? Let me help with that. I want to make good on what I said.”
Dante’s eyes widened and his smile melted you. He settled back into the couch and placed his hands on your hips. You raised yourself up on your knees and sank back onto his cock. The cum still inside you made a sloppy, wet sound that gave you both chills. The slap of skin on skin joined the chorus of your moans. Any coherent thoughts from that point on we’re replaced by the hungry ache for each other’s bodies. You both looked down to find the absolute mess where you were joined together. Your combined juices shined brought and sticky on your skin, slick and arousing. Dante wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you in closer, pressing his ear to your chest.
“This is easily the loudest, wettest sex we’ve ever had. Fucking filthy with all that cum.” He punctuated his words with a hard thrust and toying at your harder nipples. You could have made a porn star blush with your moans.
“I f-feel so full, Dante. It’s like you were m-made for me.”
Dante lifted his head to suck at the sensitive spot below your ear, “Mine. All fucking mine,” he groaned. Your next orgasm was fast approaching, especially with every bounce, your clit rubbed against his bush at the base of his cock. Finally, you felt wave after wave of pleasure crash into you, biting down on his shoulder and digging your nails into him.
Dante hissed at the sharp stings of pain, but it also made something rumble deep in his chest. As you went boneless against him, Dante doubled his efforts and began to piston into you, “Whoa, you came so much, hun! Yer s-squeezing down so tight around me. Shit, yer making me cum! Every part of me just says ‘cum!’”
With one more pump, Dante spilled his load into and screamed. He nutted so hard he thought he went blind for a second. He fell back onto the couch, and pulled you with him, gentle kisses as he went.
“ I would call this a very successful hunt,” you teased, and grinded your hips a bit for emphasis.
“ I have to agree. I never knew you could make sounds like that. fuck it if the neighbors complain.”
“Oh yeah, screw them.”
“I thought I was screwing you. I could keep going.” He teased back and nibbled at your ear.
You swatted his shoulder lightly, “ You dork. And yes, please. Let’s move to the bedroom.”
Without missing a beat, Dante scooped you up and bridal carried you to the bedroom. There were indeed noise complaints from the neighbors, especially once they heard the headboard banging. The two of you apologized, but felt zero shame in your indulgence of each other.
honestly tho that scene in the incredibles where mr. incredible sees the names of all the old super heroes that used to be his friends / that he knew from Back in the Day and how every one of them has been killed by syndrome is such a chilling scene for so many reasons
like for one, everyone he knew is dead at this point and has been killed on the same island he’s at now and two, its heartbreaking bc that means that almost every hero wanted to try out being a hero again despite the laws against it and wanted to try and help someone out and relive their glory days, only to be straight up murdered like fuck that scene is just so fuckin intense
I think the core of that scene for me is, when you’re insane like me and you go through it frame by frame, you can work out that Gazerbeam defeated the omnidroid twice - the only super we have enough information to confirm did so. I always wondered about his body in the cave, how and why he got the password… But it makes sense. This thing goes haywire, gets an upgrade, and goes haywire again? He must have been hella suspicious! So he does what any good superhero would do - tries to get to the bottom of what’s really happening on Nomanisan Island. During the process he’s clearly caught and wounded but has just enough time to get himself somewhere he can leave a final message, just praying that the next super to come along will find it and break the cycle. Gazerbeam is my hero.
I’m just realizing that the name is No Man Is An Island???? As in, everyone needs someone to depend on and connect with, no one is ever completely alone or should act all on their own.
Also Gazerbeam probably has X-ray vision–so he not only survived long enough to defeat the Omnidroid, he had the ability to see Syndrome entering the password.
does anyone think about the fact that now mr. incredibles has to live w/ the fact that all his friends getting killed by syndrome could have been avoided if he had just been nicer to syndrome from the beginning
^I was thinking that from the beginning reading this and was shocked it went through so many comments before anyone pointed that out.
Syndrome waited until his machine was almost ready to go before asking Bob to come to Nomanisan. He also was surprised to find out that he was married to “Elastigirl”, which means he likely built his list and went through everyone else before finally deciding it was time to kill Bob.
Also, Syndrome literally didn’t find Bob until the start of the movie. He found Frozone and was stalking him. If Lucius hadn’t hung out with Bob, then Frozone was going to be the next one lured. There’s literally a scene of Mirage realizing that the guy in the car with her target is Mr. Incredible. He wasn’t going through the list, he was stalking and finding every former Super he could, luring them to the island, and then killing them, for the sake of improving his robot. Finding Bob was just a happy accident, and Syndromes obsession with him meant that upon finding a bot that could beat Bob, he figured he’d hit perfection and was ready.
and like, let’s be real here in the intro Buddy was crossing the line the second he showed up, Mr. Incredible mentioned he’d been very nice to Buddy, via signing a ridiculous amount of autographs and doing pictures and stuff, and that he was not going to risk a childs life as a sidekick (albeit in less words). Buddy literally showed up by breaking into his car, and then stalked him all evening until he was arrested. That’s disturbingly obsessive behavior, there’s no amount of niceness that would stop Syndrome, it was an impossible situation. No amount of nice was going to appease Syndrome, the second he faced any sort of rejection from Mr. Incredible he was going to lose it and go supervillain. After his arrest he should have gotten put into therapy, but yknow, set in like. the 50′s. so it makes sense he fell through the cracks when the cracks were a goddamn canyon. Don’t victim blame Mr. Incredible.
reblogging for the last comment because blaming mr incredible for the deaths of his comrades is honestly such a weird take and i dislike how it’s framed as “fact” when it’s not. it’s syndrome’s fault and syndrome’s fault alone. full stop. he murdered them because he was selfish, entitled, and obsessed with mr incredible to a fanatical degree.
This is such good analysis, but it’s also worth mentioning the difference between these two scenes which, supposedly depict the same thing. In the first, Bob is clearly busy, trying to keep his eyes on Bomb Voyage (a fantastic supervillain name!!!), so he is distractedly telling Buddy that he is busy and that he doesn’t need help. The lighting is realistic, and although he is CLEARLY fed up with dealing with this obsessive and toxic fan, he keeps an even tone and doesn’t snap at him.
In the flashback, it’s a different scenario completely!! The lighting is all focused on Bob as if he’s under a spotlight and it is only the two of them. Bob’s pose here is also ridiculously condescending. He has his hands on his hips like a superhero and is looking down at Buddy with contempt and scorn. In addition, when he turns to leave, he dismissively waves his hand as if saying “Get out of here.”
It’s also interesting to note Buddy’s position here. His arms are extended either in worship or as an expression of all he has to offer in this relationship. He sees himself as a victim because he thinks he gave all of himself to Mr Incredible, just got him to reject him.
It’s also amazing to me how much Buddy’s suit is a reflection of himself. Everything from the black and white color scheme representing his black and white way of thinking, to the huge S because here only thinks of himself.
Bob’s suit, however, is blue. In addition to being associated with a calming and rational thought process, I think it’s also to represent that he’s on the side of the police. He’s not here for his own glory, he’s essentially working as an extension of the police force
Also, let’s not forget when Bob is catching Bomb Voyage and trying to keep Buddy from yeeting himself towards almost certain death, he’s on his way to his own wedding.
That makes two things abundantly clear:
Bob doesn’t have an aversion to working with other people. Remember when he runs into Elastigirl earlier in the day? She reminds him not to “forget”, and he promises he won’t. They were standing over a thief they ended up accidentally nabbing together, or so we thought. They bantered back and forth about working alone, yet they nabbed that thief so seamlessly, you’d think they’d done it before. Then you find out later, Elastigirl is the woman at the altar. Making it clear that they had to have worked together, very frequently, enough to end up trusting each other to the point that they revealed their secret identities and had a romantic relationship outside of Super work, culminating in literally marrying each other. Bob is more than fine with a partner because he married his.
The other is that, Bob is trying to protect Helen. She may be more than capable of handling herself, as she flirtatiously reminds Bob on the rooftop just hours before their nuptials. But the one thing that’s priceless to the Supers are their secret identities. With Syndrome following Bob begging to partner with him, it puts Helen in danger. A fanatical fan like that can end up possessive, meaning once Syndrome discovers her, could see her as a direct threat stealing “his” position working with Bob. And because he obviously has a knack for following people undetected (he was right on Bob’s heels all over a huge metropolitan city for literal hours), he could very well stalk Helen, discover her secret identity and expose her in order to eliminate her, putting her directly in danger. Bob isn’t an idiot, he knows working with this kid doesn’t just put this child in danger, but also his own wife and their identities. It’s better to say he works alone and let this kid down as gently as possible, hoping to finally shake him off for good so he can work in safety and peace.
Which leads me to my next point. Blaming Bob for all his friends getting killed is buying directly into Syndrome’s revisionist history of Bob “rejecting” him. Remember, if Syndrome hadn’t shown up to Mr. Incredible busting Bomb Voyage, none of the ensuing chaos with the bomb on the rocket boots getting dropped on the train tracks and blowing them up, causing Bob to lose Bomb Voyage, then forced to stop a speeding train, resulting in the passengers getting injured, the attempted suicide being thwarted which injured the guy, and everybody suing Bob for it, ultimately culminating in the Super’s fall from public grace and forced retirement. All of those consequences are because Syndrome refused to listen to Bob and meddled in dangerous affairs, making everything indescribably worse. If he had never showed up, none of the above would have happened and Supers would have never been forced into retirement, meaning none of Bob’s friends would have been lured from said retirement by Mirage and Syndrome’s private contract offers which resulted in their deaths.
- The reason Syndrome found all the other supers first (including Frozone) was because Bob kept getting fired from his jobs, forcing the government to wipe his existence from multiple companies and forcing his family to move each time that happened. He unintentionally saved his family by forcing them to relocate so often.
- Two of the biggest differences between the two versions of “go home, Buddy” is the focus, and length. In Mr Incredible’s version, “Go Home, Buddy” is a midpoint, a random event that just happened to stick because it was weirdly specific, and it was right before the important parts. The attempted suicide, train crash, and wedding are much more important because those were more important to Mr Incredible (since the first two ended the superhero movement, and the last was his wedding). Buddy, on the other hand, only flashes back to “Go home, Buddy”. Which is weird because Buddy almost died later that night from a bomb on his cape, and he almost killed dozens of people on a train by dropping a bomb on them, and because of that, he was indirectly responsible for the death of supers. All three of those things should be much more important to Buddy, but it’s a sign of his psychosis that the one thing he remembers is not Mr Incredible saving his life, or his life being in danger, but instead Mr Incredible rejecting him. Buddy was unstable, and an extremely unreliable narrator who edited out massive chunks of his own story to better justify his hero syndrome.
- Also, on a more sobering note, some have brought up how Incredibles 2 seems a step down from Incredibles 1, and while that’s arguable, there’s some related bits in there I’d like to mention. You know how there were a slew of superhero’s in the movie for when they made superhero-ing legal again?
Notice anything funny about that lineup? Anything at all? Okay, here’s a hint then. How many of these heroes were working before heroes got banned? How many of these new heroes are from Mr Incredible’s era?
Answer: None.
Frozone, Elastigirl, and Mr Incredible are the only ones who were active before the ban, or more specifically, were left from those active before the ban.
Think about it, Elastigirl was on the news basically continuously, there was a UN declaration on supers, any super left who had even been five degrees of separation away from Elastigirl back in their heyday would’ve come up to talk to her and her movement. But when Elastigirl was brought in to meet other supers, she didn’t know any of them.
And it’s not like she and Bob were loners who never interacted with anyone, look at their wedding day, it’s packed to the gills with capes (and possibly some secret identities too):
So…what happened?
Syndrome happened. This isn’t just some serial killer picking people at random, Syndrome systematically wiped out an entire community of people, arguably, an entire generation of supers, since Violet, Dash, and Jack-Jack seem to be the only kid-supers in existence.
That’s why Elastigirl is so emotional when she’s introduced to these new supers, she thought her people, barring her family and Frozone, were wiped out by Syndrome. And in a way…they were.
Nobody’s left from her era of superheroics. None of her old friends survived. It’s just her, Bob, and Frozone left out of what was once a thriving, vibrant community. All those bright lights snuffed out because some kid couldn’t handle being rejected but his hero.
- Honestly, this allegory kind of brings to mind the AIDS crisis and the gay community. A “syndrome” almost specifically targeting a subset of the population with a flair for dramatic outfits and superheroics, picking off members one by one until the population is decimated. The members of the community have to intervene themselves to slow/stop this “syndrome” because the government, which was supposed to protect them, is unaware of, or is blatantly ignoring the crisis until it starts hurting the “normal” community. Because of this “syndrome” there’s just this gap in this community, where an entire generation is just…missing…with the few survivors having to counsel the new, untouched generation, and helping them achieve widespread support and acceptance they could only dream of.
- Side note: I just realized something. Take a look at Syndrome’s kill list:
And take a look at that wedding shot again.
Anyone look familiar?
If it’s to hard to tell, at least four of the people Syndrome killed were at Bob’s wedding.
Mr Incredible wasn’t watching supers getting killed, he was watching his friends getting killed. People he trusted enough to share his secret identity with people he trusted enough to share his wife’s secret identity with. Hell, our poor boy Gazerbeam got a front row seat with Edna and their NSA agent that’s usually reserved for family only.
And that’s bad enough, but something else occurred to me, Bob and Helen clearly haven’t been keeping in close contact with their superheroic friends, Bob asks Frozone if he’s been keeping in contact with Gazerbeam, implying they haven’t talked in a while.
Additionally, Bob’s life, and the superhero community’s life, went tits up basically immediately after his wedding night. So if there was any point for them to stop talking with other supers, it’d be then.
So what does that mean?
It means, in all likelihood that when Mr Incredible looked at that list of dead friends and superheroes, he realized with growing horror that, his wedding?
The happiest point of his life?
That was the last time Mr Incredible saw his friends alive.
the fuckin (un)intentional reference to the AIDS crisis is what really got me in the heart. I can’t believe I never put those two things together before, but it’s literally right there.
Apologize for the delay. I’m getting ready to move and haven’t had much time for writing lately. Here’s the next chapter, friends! Thanks so much! @rook-the-took
If the snoring of thirteen dwarves was loud, the yelling of just as many while tumbling through much too narrow tunnels was deafening. After a moment that felt simultaneously unending and instant, the party landed in what could only be described as a large crude cage. Unfortunately, before anyone could utter, “Bombur, you great oaf, get off me!” or even gain a bearing of their surroundings a herd of small grotesque creatures raced down the tunnel towards the cage.
“Bind them!”
“Take their shinies!”
“New playthings!” A chorus of horrid scratchy voices call. The first wave enters the cage and rough each member into shackles connecting the party in a chain. The rest went in after to gather anything interesting that had been dropped, mostly weapons and a few instruments.
The goblins force the company down the halls of their mountain with weapons and thrashes. Every dwarf snarls and hurls insults but knows they are outnumbered in this state. You could practically see the gears turning in their heads as they likely thought up escape routes. For now, they allow themselves to be pushed along.
“Where is Gandalf?” Bilbo whispers to you as you were the last two in the line.
“Hopefully,” you grumble, “working on a plan to get us out of yet another mess he helped walk us into.” You whirl around to bark an insult as one of the goblins whip the back of your leg. A flash of green from your eyes and the goblin collapses as it’s leg gives out from under it. That casts a smug grin across your face at least.
At last the lashes cease and the party enters into a spacious cavern lit by torches and a large red fire in the center and filled with goblins in every direction. You are all drug to the far end of the cavern before a tremendous and truly hideous goblin surrounded by armed guards. “Search them, every nook and crevice!” Even more of the foul creatures descend upon the company.
“Sire, it bit me! It bit me!” one of the foul little creatures shrieks as it runs to the large lug that called itself king. “That one! It bit me!”
All eyes turn in the direction it points its boney finger in, to you. You spit out what blood had gotten in your mouth and snarl with red tinted teeth. “You woke me from my slumber, caused me to become a landing pad for at least four Dwarfs, and then told these little bastards to get handsy with us. Be appreciative that the most I’ve done is bite back.”
The creature yelps and hides behind several of its kin. You huff in amusement and snarl one last time at the goblins, looking as formidable as possible with your arms shackled behind you.
“If it does it again, get a muzzle,” the Giant Goblin barks in laughter. The rest of the creatures join in and cause the dwarves to crowd closer around you in a protective circle, “What do we have here? Thieves? Spies? Assassins?”
“Dwarves and a…that, Your malevolence” one goblin answers with a finger pointing at you. “It did magic.”
“Count yourself lucky that is all I did,” you spit back.
The Goblin King waves a hand toward the company, “Well, don’t just stand there. Tear them apart if they won’t talk. Start with the youngest. I would say start with the girl, but I think it may be time I took another pet.”
The goblins move to press in on the company, their boney hands clawing toward them, “WAIT!” Thorin roars as he steps forward. He levels the goblin king with a stony glare, causing everyone to fall silent.
“…Well well well…Thorin: son of Thrain, son of Thror. King under the mountain. But wait! I forgot you don’t have a mountain. Which makes you, nobody really.” You could just hear Thorin sigh heavily while his scowl deepened, “I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, ha, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak? A pale orc astride a white warg?”
“Azog the defiler was destroyed long ago.” Thorin says with fists clenched tightly.
“Oh, you think his defiling days are done?” The King turns to a small goblin that hangs on a crude swing by his head, “Tell the general I have his prize.”
The little goblin scurries away and the hoard surrounds the company again. Another shriek comes from the corner of the cavern where several goblins bicker over the dwarves’ belongings. “Sire! They carry The Biter!”
“Murderers and elf-friends! Slash them! Gnash them! Never let them see the light of day again!” He jumps up and charges at Thorin with his mouth agape.
Suddenly, the torches extinguish themselves and the great fire becomes a tower of glowing blue smoke. White sparks dance from the smoke and burn the goblins’ skin as well as the chain connecting the party together. With shackles still around their wrists, but now able to move independently of one another, they grab up their belongings and join in slashing the remaining creatures. “Follow me, quickly,” a familiar voice calls. Everyone turns to the source and begins to run after the pale light from the speaker’s weapon.
“Hold up a minute,” Dori pleads when the chaos of dozens of melting goblins is far enough behind. “Bilbo! Come here, my boy.” You help Bilbo find his way to Dori and climb up onto his shoulders. “Now, let’s be off.”
You all ran through the dark caverns of Goblin Town for much longer than any one would have liked, only having to stop and cull the fastest of the creatures once before coming to a halt. Gandalf lights his wand as you all catch your breath. “Thorin, two, three, four, Bofur, Bifur, seven, eight, Nori, ten, eleven; where are Fili and Kili? Here you are! That’s thirteen. Baggins and my niece, all here!”
You huff and grab each of the princes’ arms in a gentle squeeze. “Let’s get the hell out of this mountain and get us back on the path to Erebor.”
“Quite right, dear,” Gandalf continued, “We have no ponies, no food, and many goblins at our backs. Let’s move on!”
On we run, several of the dwarves taking turns carrying Bilbo as he struggles to keep up on foot.
No one hears the goblins sneaking up on the party. Or that once the squabble ends, Bilbo is no longer with you.
(I had the idea that a high/drunk Bucky would be very needy/ subby. I love the idea of making tough men beg. Beta read by my lovely partner @rook-the-took. Enjoy!)
When Bucky heard about weed becoming legal, he made a joke about maybe living in this century wasn’t all bad. He admitted that he had been curious in his teens, but hadn’t know where to get it. When you mentioned that you partook on occasion, Buck asked if he could try it.
You were happy to oblige. You informed him about the three H’s and how they varied. You gathered Bucky’s favorite snacks, comfy blankets, and put on his old tunes. You decided to stay sober for the first time to look after him, just in case he was the type to get paranoid while high. Thankfully, the edible seemed to relax him. Within an hour, Buck lay curled up on the couch, snuggled up in your lap while you played with his hair.
“…You are so pretty. Damn, did I get lucky,” Buck commented.
“Thank you, dear. How do you feel?”
“Fuckin’ great,” his accent got stronger as he grinned up at you, “Nothin’ hurts anymore and my brain shut up.”
You giggled and fed him some popcorn, “Good. I’m glad you’re having fun.”
After a while, Bucky fell asleep happy as a clam. From then on, this became a regular occurrence on lazy days together. You both got high and chilled, letting the rest of the world fall away.
On this day, you two were watching a movie with you tucked into Bucky’s side. His hand rested as a warm weight on your thigh. His thumb stroked gently back and forth, enjoying the soft feel of your thighs. You shifted a bit, and decided to tease him back. You turned your head to kiss along his neck.
He huffed a laugh and squirmed, “Hey, what are you up to, doll?”
“Just loving on you a bit.
“Love, are you trying to seduce me? Cause it’s working,”
You climbed into his lap and continued your kisses, “Do you mind if I take the reins this time?”
“Oh, please do. I kinda like it when you’re bossy.”
With a hand pressed to his chest, you guided Bucky to lean back on the couch. Once you were both comfy, you captured his lips with a hungry passion. You each worked fingers under clothes to begin to paw at warm skin. His hands moved up and down your back in a massage. Your lovemaking took on a lazy, warm atmosphere. You both felt relaxed and happy with each other, which fueled your desire.
You grind your still clothed pussy over his bulge, wanting to tease him a bit. Bucky winced and then giggled. “I feel like a live wire, baby girl. All thanks to you.”
You help him out of his shirt while still rubbing him, “Be a good boy for me and I’ll make you cum as much as you want,” you whisper in his ear.
Bucky shudders and groans, loving the attention. His hands land on your hips and he lifts your shirt over your head. His eyes widen and he smiles once he sees you went without a bra. Buck sits back up to put you in his lap. One arm wraps around your waist and the other cradles a tit in his hand. Buck begins to mouth at your tits, licking and sucking to hear you moan.
You high made the sensations even more intense than usual, and nothing could hold back your moans. You gripped the back of Buck’s head, egging him on with praise. “Yes! Yes, just like that, Buck.”
The sound that tore from his throat was something low, deep, filthy— not even a real word, just a groan, guttural and needy, his lips parting, his tongue darting out, his whole fucking body reacting like he was a man who had been starving his whole goddamn life, and now? Now he was looking at the best meal of his life, second only to your pussy.
“You having fun there, Bucky?”
Bucky let go of your nipple with a pop, “Fuck yeah, baby. I can’t remember the last time I needed you this bad.”
You reached down to run his cock through his pajamas, “Aw, sweet, naughty boy. Keep going. Get me ready for your cock.”
Bucky actually whined at that. A whimpering noise that made your core clench. You get up long enough to take off you bottoms before climbing back into his lap. You straddled his waist and Bucky began to work you open with his fingers. He teases gently at the edges and you clit at first before sliding one in. You threw your head back and your breath hitched, while Buck cursed under his breath.
“Holy shit, doll. Yer wetter than the rain outside. I’m glad to see I’m not the only one who’s needy.”
You whack his shoulder playfully with a laugh and lean forward to kiss him. He readily meets you in the middle. As your lips meet and tongue taste, he lets his fingers pump in and out. You moan into the kiss, not bother to hide how good his made you feel. Every touch and kiss sent chills through your body. You grin into his hand harder with each pump, adding a second and pressing his thumb into your clit. Even high, Bucky knew just what to do to make you see stars.
“Yeah, baby? You getting close? I must be must be doing a good job, huh?” he purred with a mix of teasing and desperation. There was no mistaking what he wanted to hear.
“T-the best. Gods, yes, Bucky!”
As Bucky got you closer to your peak with his fingers, you reached done to his bulge. He was rock hard and wet spit had formed on his pants. You could see how hard he was trying to keep his cool, but his gritted teeth betrayed him. You took his out of his pants so he stood erect against his stomach.
“All this, Ah! All this for me?”
“Just for you. Fuck, I’m hard hard just for you.”
Bucky lowered his mouth to you nipples again while picking up the pace with his fingers. You lets out more moans that began to sound pathetic but you didn’t care. All that mattered was how good you felt with him, because of him. It wasn’t much longer before you felt your orgasm hit you and you came with a scream of his name. Buck’s fingers pumped slowly, both to drag your pleasure out and to work you through it. You slumped against him as you caught your breath, as he rubbed your back soothingly.
Once you recovered, you found you were still wet and hungry for more, “You’re turn, baby,”
Bucky wiggled out of his pants and you set to work grinding your pussy on his shaft. He melted immediately under the touch, making happy noises when you brushed over the head. But you knew he had earned more. You sucked on his neck in appreciation, “All good, Buck?”
“Please be gracious. I did good and waited. Patiently,” he grumbled.
You pressed down on him harder and pinched a nipple, “Tell me…Tell me how badly you want it.”
Bucky slammed his head back onto the pillow with clenched teeth and sweat forming at his brow. He looked up at you with big, sad puppy eyes, “P-please, miss. Pretty Please, I need your pussy so fucking badly. I-I p-promise I’ll be good.”
There it was. You wondered how long he might take to beg so sweetly. You ceased grinding your pussy on his leaking dick and shifted to take him. With a slow stroke, you sank down onto him with combined moans. You both took a second to adjust, breathing the same air with your foreheads pressed together.
With one hand on your thigh and one on your hip, Buck adjusted his feet under himself for leverage. He fucked up into you with hard, deep thrusts, groaning and growling all the while. You rocked your hips to meet him, leaving mail marks on his shoulders and chest. You were still sensitive from before and his cock had you feeling sparks with every thrust. The two of you were nothing but an aching need for each other, a need for your combined orgasms. Filthy praise and curses fell freely from Bucky’s mouth. He fucked like their really was no tomorrow and this would be the last time he ever felt you.
With a few more grunts, Buck spilled his load deep inside. He wrapped both arms around your middle like a lifeline, on the verge of tears as he came. You stroked his hair and whispered, “Good boy,”
“Can we, can we do this again sometime?” He asked between pants.
“Of course,” you answered with a kiss at his temple.
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