cherry valley forever
todays bird
we're not kids anymore.
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
No title available
Stranger Things
⁂
shark vs the universe
🪼
$LAYYYTER
styofa doing anything
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Keni
trying on a metaphor
Show & Tell
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
pixel skylines
Jules of Nature
JVL
blake kathryn
seen from Malaysia
seen from Ireland
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Australia
seen from Türkiye
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Austria
seen from Australia
seen from Iraq
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
@playnextdoor
orion ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
about. 20, she/her, dominican, proud perv, abby defender, caitlyn's pet, multi fandom blog, nsfw and sfw
navi. rules : ̗̀➛ m.list
this blog is 18+, please dont interact if youre a minor. i block ageless accounts
do not copy, repost, or translate my work as your own
show me where you need my hands
having all of the power in bed but still managing to sound like i’m the one begging for my life. whining and shuddering against her mouth as we kiss. coming undone just looking at her beneath me. muttering, “Please, please, please. I need you. Oh my god, fuck, I need you, baby,” into her neck as i slide the strap in and out of her. begging for her even when she’s right there at my mercy. it’s the fact that she looks so perfect, i can’t believe she let’s me touch and see her like that
anytime i talk to people i feel like i need to be shot.
ah no can’t hang out today i’m gonna smoke weed and jerk off yeah it’s gonna be an all day thing sorry actually wait do you want to watch
I LOVE POLYTRIX HOLY FUCK
— 20. Bodyguard! Caitlyn Kiramman x President's Daughter! F Reader I Drabble Warnings : Cait receiving, condescending praise, SMUT MDNI (idk if they actually wear ear pieces, and oh my god another violation of work ethics)
You pride yourself on the architecture of your composure: the razor-sharp line of your spine, the practiced tilt of your chin, the way your hands rest like heavy marble against your hips. Beside your father, under the blinding heat of a thousand camera flashes, you are less a woman and more a monument. But as the President’s voice drones on, a low, tectonic thrum begins to vibrate at the base of your skull.
You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, a tiny fracture in the statue. Shivers, unbidden and electric, coil from your hips and race up the ladder of your vertebrae, raising goosebumps in its wake.
Then, the static of your ear piece hisses—a sharp, intimate intake of breath delivered directly into your inner ear.
“Look at you. Poor, desperate thing. Trying so hard to hold it together.”
The voice is posh, dripping with the kind of upper-class cruelty that feels like a velvet noose. It’s Caitlyn.
Your eyes narrow into slits, a silent curse screaming behind your teeth. You hate her for this—for the psychological siege she’s laying while you’re pinned under the national gaze.
“I can’t wait to taste you,” she murmurs, the words yearning and heavy. A pause follows, long enough for the image to take root in your gut, followed by a low, devastatingly smug giggle. “All these people, all these lenses... and I’m the only one who knows how wet you are under that silk. So prim and fucking proper.”
Your brow twitches. Your gaze sweeps the room, cutting through the sea of suits until you find her. She’s stationed by the heavy mahogany doors. Her hair is scraped back into a bun so tight it looks painful; her face is a mask of passive, professional boredom. To the world, she is a weapon in a blazer. To you, she is a predator watching her prey.
“That million-dollar face,” she whispers, her voice dropping an octave, vibrating against your eardrum until your knees feel like jelly. “I’d kill to see it between my legs right now. That’s a face made to be ridden, don't you think?”
A fresh surge of heat crashes into your pussy.. Your hand bunches into a fist, knuckles white, as the heel of your stiletto taps a frantic, agonizing rhythm against the marble floor. You’re sweating now—a fine, shimmering sheen on your forehead that the cameras will mistake for the heat of the lights.
Just so you fucking wait until this is finished. You thought.
By 10 PM, the "First Daughter" has been stripped away, leaving only a frantic mess of rumpled silk and pleated wool on the satin sheets. The gala was a marathon of botoxed smiles and velvet-glove handshakes; now, the only thing that matters is the weight of Caitlyn straddling your hips.
Caitlyn moves with the efficiency of an officer taking what’s hers. She grinds her wetness directly against the skin of your stomach, her eyebrows drawn together in a look of focused pleasure. Her hands are heavy on your chest, pinning you, using your body as a high-end toy to get herself off.
“It feels too fucking good—fuck,” she rasps, her posh accent staggering, broken by hot, jagged breaths.
You arch your back, your hips canting upward, desperately grinding against thin air. You’re chasing the ghost of her touch, but she keeps you just out of reach, forcing you to watch her take from you.
“I wonder what the press would think,” she whispers, leaning down until her breath ghosts over your damp skin. Her hips roll, slow and agonizingly deliberate. “Your bodyguard using the President’s daughter like a piece of furniture. Think of the scandal. All that dignity, wasted on me.”
“Cait—please. I’ve been wanting you all night,” you beg, your voice a ragged shadow of your public persona. Your hands roam blindly over her body, your cold fingers finding the hard, pebble-peaks of her nipples.
She doesn’t give in. Instead, she hooks a hand under your knee, hiking your leg over her shoulder to expose your wet pussy completely. She shifts, grinding her clit directly against yours in a slick, bruising slide of friction.
A moan tears from your throat, but she smothers it, her mouth crashing onto yours. Her teeth clash against yours, a brutal claim.
“Keep it down,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice heavy with authority. “You don’t want the maids to hear how loud you get for me, do you? I’m your dirty little secret, remember?”
“No—Cait, you’re not a secret—ah, fuck—” You’re babbling now, the facade of the poised socialite left in fragments on the floor. “I’ll let them know. I’ll tell everyone I’m yours—I promise—fuck, Cait, ride my face. Please.”
She doesn’t offer a verbal reply. She knows you won’t. There’s a dull ache that rests beneath her ribs but she simply shifts, positioning her hips over your mouth. Your high-end lip gloss is already smudged across your chin, a mark of her ownership. Your next moan is muffled entirely as she presses her wet, swollen pussy lips against your tongue.
She doesn't ask; she takes. You work for her now, your tongue tracing the slick heat of her while she grinds down, chasing her high with a ruthless, rhythmic pressure.
Caitlyn’s face scrunches, her head falling back as the pleasure racks her. There’s a dark, addictive thrill in the indignity of it—the way a powerful woman in the country is currently nothing but a mess of smudged mascara and her wetness. Down here, behind the marble molding and the locked doors, you aren't an asset to be protected. You’re just a slut for her, and God, she makes you feel it.
Working on some edits rn, im dyin
toph finding out how you touch yourself, her hand cupping over your fingers as they fucked into your weeping cunt. her breathing picks up, surprised at how quickly you’re going, but you aren’t usually this desperate, especially with this girl kneeling over you, staring off somewhere between your legs, her mouth slightly open, shocked but amused at the feeling of the flick of your wrist.
“fuck,” she laughs quietly, low and steady in her throat. “have you always been this pathetic, or is it just for me?”
the words hit meaner than they should, especially because she says them while guiding your hand to slow down. toph’s head tilts, cloudy eyes fixated somewhere below your stomach, listening instead. listening to the wet schlicks of your fingers, to every shaky inhale you try your best to swallow. your other hand scrambles to find toph’s bicep, gripping solid muscle as you feel yourself slipping.
she didn’t even have to touch you, and she had you like this. had the nerve to act clueless when she asked if she could feel how you touch yourself. just want to know if i’m doing it right, she says.
“yeah?” she murmurs, mock surprise dripping from her voice when your body jerks. her thumb presses over the back of your hand, pinning your movements in place for a second just to hear you whine. “you like it when i pay attention to you like this, baby?”
and the worst part of it is she genuinely sounds fascinated by it.
nodding like your head might come off your neck, toph feels it and laughs, leaning closer until her forehead nearly bumps yours, her breathing starting to match your own. greedy girl that she is, you can practically hear the smirk when she says,
“keep going.”
like she already knows you’ll listen.
is there one with vi and caitlyn. quickly.
the thing about phone in bed is that it's so awesome. almost makes you feel like betraying & destroying yourself for nothing isn't all so bad
had a dream that i met slayyyter and she did daddy af for me wow
sub top abby pounding you like crazy with her strap moaning uncontrollably and asking if she's doing it well bc she loves getting praised
abby holding ellie by the back of the neck, keeping her from hiding while she humps herself stupid on abby's muscular thigh... murmuring look at me, ells, gotta look at me if you're gonna hump me like a dumb mutt, huh? yeah? awww, I know, so embarrassed... show me how fucking good it feels.
ellie with tears slipping down her strawberry flush cheeks, gasping something whiny and pitiful, rutting her puffy cunt desperately against abby. she needs it, sometimes she hates how bad she fucking needs it, but she can't help it— abby's grip tightens with a keep your eyes on me and ellie can barely breathe, heat fuzzing her brain as she begs. please— please, abs, please, nnghh— fu-uck, I can't, I can't... gonna c— gonna cum...
ellie slumping into abby's hold after, shuddering with the aftershocks of pleasure, her slick smeared against abby's skin. messy puppy, look at you... did that feel so good? yeahh, I know, abby huffs a laugh against auburn hair, tugging ellie's shaky form closer. ellie hums a muffled fuck you, and abby just sighs, pinches her hip. you wish.
｡𖦹°‧ toph beifong can't stop playing with your tits.
waking up in a groggy, sleepy haze, your breath shudders at the feel of a hot, large palm nestled beneath your soft tee shirt, right over your right breast.
“t-toph?” you groan, barely looking over your shoulder to find a very sleepy toph laying right behind you. “are you awake?”
toph’s eyes are closed, but she smiles. her calloused fingers slowly graze over your nipple, the sensitive bud hardening beneath her fingertip as she swirls her finger around, playing with you. her hips are tucked right against your ass, her nose nuzzling against your shoulder and neck as she intertwines her muscular leg between your soft, warm thighs.
“tophie,” you moan softly, squirming under her touch. “stop it. we’re ‘sposed to be asleep.”
“stop what?” she replies, her voice low, tired, and raspy against your neck. “i’m not doin’ anything,” she says, despite her fingers cupping your breast fully with a possessive squeeze.
“we’ve got a long day, we need all the sleep we can get,” you protest tiredly, though you make no effort to move away.
a small whine escapes you as she gives your nipple a gentle tug, her thumb grazing over the hardened bud.
“i know, and i don’t care,” she mumbles back, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “just let me touch you, yeah?”
“mm.. fine.”
toph pushes herself up with one arm, her breath ghosting over your cheeks hotly. “and maybe you can let me suck on them, too?”
“get off me, toph.”
quiet mornings
Michael Drummond
