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#i literally have no excuse for this
sweetsecretskeptinside · a month ago
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Experience Part 2
He had told himself it would be just once.
Pairing; Aaron Hotchner x F!Reader ('blank slate' reader. no physical description or use of y/n)
Rating; Explicit - like... woah... Explicit. (Forbidden Pairing - Step!Dad Hotch and Reader, Major Age Gap [reader is of age], ROUGH sex, Daddy Kink, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Spit Kink, Oral Sex [m&f recieving] 69 Sex position, unprotected PinV sex, Dirty Talk, Some Degrading Langauge. All acts are consensual)
WC; 5k Link to Ao3
A/N; ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ No excuse. This is all filth.
Part 1
->->->
It turned out; these parties were not better with alcohol. Daintily sipping your champagne, you were dragged in front of yet another old colleague of your mothers so they could gush and fawn about how much you’d grown. Quickly your presence was no longer required as your mother listed your accomplishments, beaming with pride as they lavished praise on her. (You stopped drinking when you had to physically bite your tongue to stop yourself from asking her when she had stayed up past 2am to finish a stats paper)
Sighing, you wandered aimlessly around the room, knowing this would only drag longer, the entire downstairs floor of your childhood home crawling with revelling partygoers, cheap paper hats and expensive liquor. When you were a kid, you used to hide on the railing, watching as though it were a Gatsby party, the way everything seemed to glitter, the laughter that rang out through the halls, making it impossible to sleep.
It was an annual affair, held on the Friday in the missing week between Christmas and New Year’s, a chance for your mothers’ friends and colleagues to get together, discuss the year, have only sips of happiness as they mingled and chatted. You’d been officially invited to two. One when you were sixteen, braces and too long limbs as your mother gave you half a glass of bubbles and you felt like Anne Hathaway in the Princess Diaries. And this one. Twenty-three and a little less naïve, the only one in the room under forty, unable to hold a conversation for longer than it took to bleat the name of your degree, smile kindly at their attempts at understanding.
You glanced at your phone, 10pm, and sighed. From memory these parties lasted well past 2am, with your mother pouring herself into bed after three, usually still in her dress. As a child you used to wake her up to play, enjoying the too smudged makeup and cigarette rasped voice as she battled through a hangover to sit at a tea party with you. The memory made you smirk.
“Something funny?” Came a deep voice from behind you. He cast a shadow with his breadth. Wide shoulders in a simple black button down and slacks, a glass of scotch in his hand as he leaned against the counter.
Aaron. You’d be lying if you said your stepfather hadn’t dominated your thoughts the last six months. His teachings had been invaluable, expanding your horizons as he scattered you apart like atoms in a galaxy, a knowing smile on his face as he dropped you off at the airport to return to school.
You’d dated since. Nice boys. Clean cut J-Crew models with crisp blonde hair and polo shirts. They played lacrosse, drank Heineken and opened doors for you. When they brushed your hair back to kiss you it was like spiderwebs of affection across your skin. A few had slipped between your sheets, polite and graceful as you fumbled together, condoms always disposed neatly in the trash, bottled water offered in the afterglow. It was nice.
Aaron was not nice. You replayed the weekend over and over in your mind (calling it the lost weekend as if you were an English major) as the experience he gave you in 48 hours blended together like melted film. From his hands, warm and large gripping your inner thighs, to the shiny wet of his mouth smirking from between your legs.
Walking down the hallway in the morning after, curious and unsure as to if he regretted your transgressions, only for him to have you against a wall in the hallway, leg hefted over his shoulder as he feasted on your dripping cunt, holding off your orgasm until you shook and begged and screamed Daddy… violent enough to knock a picture frame from the wall.
You had pressed your thumb into the spiderweb crack the minute you arrived home, proof that it was real, that it had happened. It felt like a fever dream, his body slick as he lifted you against a shower wall, strong hands on your thighs as all you could do was take it. Accept without hesitation the explosion of pleasure he was giving you, the filth he whispered in your ear as he made your limbs twitch.
You had sat under his desk, sucked his cock as he twisted a hand in your hair, pushing lightly to feel you gag around him, looking up at him with tear-stained eyes as he held your mouth open, painted your face with cum while you shamelessly rubbed yourself off on his shoe. He licked his spend from your jaw, cramming three fingers inside you as he told you how proud he was of you.
It was fucked up. You knew that. That there was something eternally taboo about it, pornographic in its intensity as you rode him on the couch, his hands squeezing your ass to guide your rhythm, sucking a single bruise on the swell of your breast, a ring of his teeth that took a week to fade completely.
You had let it fade with time, the memories turning rosy as you gained new experience with these nice boys. No hands grabbing your wrists to pin them behind your back, kitten licks at your inner thighs and the barest whisper of your name as their hips jerked like fish on a dock. Soft pleasure, rolling gentle lazy pleasure, whisper soft and gentle as they lay with you after, insisted on holding your hand. Even if you never saw them again, you appreciated their kindness, the respect and honour they showed you and your body, even if the technique hadn’t been quite right.
But just his voice from behind you made you ache. A rich deep throb beneath the nice dress you had chosen for tonight, matching his black as you turned to meet his gaze.
Fuck you’re so pretty. It keeps flashing in and out of his mind at random, bright flashes of your eager face on your knees in his office, the way you suck your lip between your teeth as you try and stifle a scream.
He told himself it would be just once, just enough for you to learn. He justified it by telling himself it was a fucked-up lesson, that by giving you this first experience, consent and mutual pleasure at the forefront he was setting up a roadmap for the rest of your life. How you should be treated, how people should fall on their knees at your altar, worship you, because the sounds you made when you begged to come were the closest he’d ever come to divinity.
But you walked out of your bedroom the morning after in a skirt that flipped up at the edges, caught the non-existent breeze and gave him just a hint of the softness of your thighs. You were dripping by the time he squeezed the meat of your ass, shoving your underwear to the side as he made you hold your skirt up, keep eye contact as he dragged you onto his mouth, licking that sweet honey taste from your insides, insatiable as you keened pleas into the hallway.
It’s wrong. Aaron knows that, knows he might as well be a plumber offering to clean your pipes, or a pizza man with extra sausage for what a stereotype he is, more than twice your age and towering over you as your tongue peeks out to taste your bottom lip. He’s kept a lid on it since you’ve been home, the flowery subtle scent of you enough to make his cock twitch, remember the way your legs spasmed when he smacked your clit, the pulse in your throat as he breached you for the first time.
He broke yesterday morning, seeing you come in from a run in the early morning, distracted by the music in your headphones to notice him at the kitchen table, getting orange juice as you hummed along. They clung to you. You might as well have been naked for all the Lycra was doing, holding the globes of your ass in perfect suspension so that all he could think about was cracking his palm against one, watching it bloom red with his mark.
He had nosed behind your ear, smelling you. Fleshy and ripe from your workout he held your hips as he licked behind your ear, tasting salt wet skin as you whimpered, the blood travelling to his dick so fast he felt lightheaded. He had you bent over the counter, massaging the globes of your ass as you arched your back like a cat in heat, practically mewling for him. He was ready to rip the useless garment off you and fuck you until you cried.
But the sound of the shower started both of you, a reminder that you were not alone in this house. Instead, he had crushed his mouth to yours, licking citrus from your tongue as you fisted his shirt. You could explain away the flush to your skin from exercise, rather than the thigh he shoved between your legs, the hand he fisted in your hair as he snarled your name and told you later.
But here you were, fish out of water at this absurdly boring party with a half full glass of champagne and that same stain on your cheeks. He had seen your mother at these parties before, in her element. Aaron was thankful that after four years of marriage the shine was off his apple, allowed to drift aimlessly for a few hours, retiring to bed with an imagined headache as your mother continued enjoying the company of her oldest friends, spilling herself into bed in the early hours with a bourbon kiss and a thank you. It was tradition, dependable, routine tradition.
“How much have you had to drink?” he asked you, scanning the room for nosy onlookers, deliberately standing a proper distance from you.
“Two glasses” you answered, the false confidence of twenty-three shining in your eyes as you squared your shoulders under his gaze. It was cute. He wants to ruin you.
“I’m going to say goodnight to your mother” he said, putting the glass on the counter, reaching to squeeze your ass beneath the dress. He swallows a groan when he realises you aren’t wearing underwear. You nod, your eyes eager as he watches your fingers tremble around the glass of champagne. You didn’t know enough to hide it, hadn’t learned enough to lie about your reactions, the whimpers and moans were real, combined with the promise of the slick seam of you beneath his fingers, he had to subtly adjust himself before saying his farewells.
You waited fifteen minutes, drinking the rest of your champagne and a glass of water for good measure, going to the bathroom to needlessly smooth your hair, run cool water on your wrists in a futile attempt to cool your aching skin. You were burning for him. Had been since the moment yesterday he growled into your mouth, the strength in his hands as he grabbed you, had you right where he wanted you.
You said goodnight to your mother, confident by the slight slur in her voice that you would not be missed, that nobody would come to the second floor of the house, that you were effectively alone as the party noises grew fainter, some drunk singing along to carols that were three days too late.
Aaron wasn’t in the guest bedroom. It was your first guess, half expecting him to wait at the top of the stairs for you, his reflexes fast enough to catch and drag you wherever he wanted. He wasn’t in his office either, the room dark and rich in deep mahogany wood as you needlessly crept the hallway, pressing your thumb into the picture frame, just to check its real.
Your bedroom door is ajar, just a sliver of light from your bedside lamp peeking into the darkness, an inviting siren song. There are still ribbons and trophies on your dresser from track in high school, all the things you shed to go off to college, the outer layers you stripped when you entered adulthood.
The sight of him takes your breath away. Sprawled lazy on your floral bedspread, shoes and socks gone, the bottom buttons of his shirt undone, neatly tucked underneath themselves. His belt, glinting silver in the weak light as he stares at you, one arm behind his head, the other, fisting his cock, hard and leaking on his stomach. His pants are pressed in crisp lines, the button and fly open, his underwear pulled down just enough to frame his balls, his impressive erection as he squeezes another drop of precum from the tip.
“Close the door sweetheart” Aaron’s looking at you like he’s starving. Like you’re water in the desert as his hand moves in languid long strokes, displaying him for you. It punches deep in your belly, the memory that he is in fact that big, he did make you cum that hard and he’s about to do it again. You lock the door with a soft click.
“Tell me kitten… any more learning experiences since last time?” his voice is low, dangerous and rumbling through your limbs as you feel your fingers twitch. You nod, unsure of the answer he wants.
“Tell me” It isn’t a request.
“Brad… Mark… Kyle” you say, hypnotised by the slow stroke of his hand, the rhythmic swiping of precum across his fingers.
“Did they fuck you right?” he laughs.
“They were nice.” You said, remembering nothing about them in the moment, struggling to focus on anything but the beating pulse between your legs. Aaron laughs, light and airy as he watches you squirm under his gaze.
“I didn’t ask if they were nice kitten. I asked if they fucked you right” He jerks his chin, beckoning you closer and you find your feet obey without warning, stepping closer to him and toeing off your shoes as you go, the carpet familiar beneath your feet.
“I’m nice sweetheart. Wasn’t it nice to have you drip down my wrist while that greedy little cunt swallowed my fingers? Wasn’t it nice to bounce that perfect ass on my lap while you begged Daddy for his cum?” He’s teasing now, his strokes firmer as your knees hit the edge of the bed. His other arm shoots out to grab you, wrapping his hand around yours and squeezing gently until you meet his eyes. The softness beneath his stare is like a warm blanket, comforting and safe as he threads his thick fingers through yours, drags your knuckles to his mouth for a soft kiss.
“Take a seat kitten” he says. You turn, prepared to perch on the bedside, a part of your brain willing to wait for further instruction, the spark of need in your gut for him to praise you, call you his good girl.
“No no sweet one” he said, squeezing your hand in warning. “What are the rules?”
“It’s a dress… Daddy” You said, nibbling your bottom lip as you watched his cock twitch at the word.
“Don’t be a brat. I want you to sit that pretty pussy right on Daddy’s face”
You whimper, you can’t help it, liquid fire flooding your lungs as you feel your cheeks burn at the crudeness of his words. He keeps his eyes on you, and you know he’s searching for refusal, any kind of non-verbal sign to stop. You don’t give him one, instead, thighs trembling you kneel on the bed.
“What’s the matter kitten? None of those nice boys ever drown themselves in your tasty cunt?”
You shake your head.
“Shame, come here, straddle my face and I’ll teach you what you’ve been missing.”
You’re so exposed. Spread wide for him as he pushes your dress over your ass, his hands broad across your thighs as he thumbs you open, glistening wet. You’re facing away from him, focused on his cock, lying neglected and heavy against his abdomen as you hover delicately over his face.
“Good Girl”
It shoots through you like a lightning bolt, the deep rasp of his voice, the puffs of air across the seam of you as you feel him tilt his head and breathe. You could die from the intimacy of it, split open for his inspection as he turns his head to kiss your thighs, his tongue drawing patterns in your tacky skin.
“So fucking wet for me, such a perfect fucking cunt” it’s like he’s talking to himself, not caring that the filth slipping from his lips is making you clench, an action he can surely see from so close.
You lose the ability for conscious thought the minute he wraps his lips around your clit. His nose at your entrance, hands holding you firmly to his face as he laps and licks through your folds, methodical and slow with a long groan. You watch, fascinated as his cock leaks faster onto his belly, throbbing and twitching with each rhythmic squeeze of his hands on your ass, holding you open for him to taste.
It’s so good. You had deluded yourself into thinking you had inflated the memories, tinted with inexperience. But its crackling through your system with each suckle on your clit, the soft growls vibrating through your pussy as he pulls you harder onto his face, your arms beginning to shake with the effort of holding yourself upright. He’s doing something devastating, the gentle pressure with each flick of his tongue, increasing and swelling inside the bowl of your pelvis, your breath coming in short gasps, chest heaving.
“It’s okay angel, it’s ok. Let go, let Daddy taste” he murmured, his hand soothing soft circles on your lower back as he encouraged the dip in your spine, the bloom of you for him as it crests in your limbs, the scream you swallow as he holds your thighs apart, licks you through your release as your vision blurs from the force of it, and you hear his distant groan, his tongue dancing at your entrance.
There’s a messy pool of precum on his skin, his cock throbbing hard and dark. As you try to catch your breath you take it in, the soft swell of his stomach, his body thick beneath you as he noses lightly through your still twitching cunt, the contrast of his formal pants with the filthy sight of it right in front of your face.
You studied him too. You know he likes to feel the resistance of your throat, the sound of you choking on him as he encourages you to get messy, spit dripping from your chin as you drool around his cock, letting it drip onto your breasts as his lips curl and he spits praise with his hand wrapped in your hair.
Maybe it’s the angle, maybe it’s the two glasses of champagne making your muscles pliant and loose. But you don’t choke, taking him swiftly in your mouth you feel the head of his cock slip down your throat as his hips jerk uncontrollably, shoving his cock in your mouth to the base.
“Jesus- FUCK” his hands become iron on your hips, squeezing hard as you feel his head throw back, muscles lively and rigid beneath your squirming body as you pull back for air, your lips damp and eyes shining as you take stock of the new sensation.
His hand cracks across your ass, the sound loud in the room as you take him again, enjoying the feeling of him twitching deep in your mouth.
“Dirty. Fucking. Girl” he growls, rubbing his fingers in the seam of your cunt, cramming fingers inside without finesse as you cry out, the sensation making him moan as your throat constricts around him, his thick digits curling inside you to press against the spot you can’t find on your own, the ones that make your limbs feel like water, weak and shaky.
You take him to the root each time, his fingers spreading wide inside you as he latches back on to your clit, his hips thrusting lightly as you meet him halfway, enjoying the nudge of him against the back of your throat, the power in the body beneath you, half shaking with holding back. You keep still, waiting until he gives in, planting his feet to fuck into your open mouth. You hear him groan against your pussy, wrapping his arm around your back to hold you steady, fingers rapid inside you, fast enough that you can hear the obscene squelch of it. You’re shaking, your limbs on fire as he prods and presses against that spot that makes you swell, your back arch further as you try to make him go deeper, press harder, split you open.
“You gonna cum again baby? Cum with daddy’s cock stuffed down your throat – come on baby, I want to taste, come all over daddy’s face”
You pull off him with a cry, eyes watering as you break on top of him, twitching shaking limbs as the force of it pushes his fingers out, replaced by his mouth licking you from hole to clit like he was drowning, spreading you open with soaking hands to pull you harder onto his face, groaning like an animal into your cunt as he hungrily drinks down your release, keeps you still as you twitch from overstimulation.
He lifts you like you weigh nothing, scrambling to crush his lips to yours, lick at the seam of your mouth to share the salt tang flavour of you, his hands ripping at your dress to pull it over your head, frenzied and pawing at your hot skin, slick with sweat. He shoves his fingers in your mouth, spreading your lips wide around three of them as you lap your own release from between them, he slips them down your throat just to watch your eyes shine.
Your fingers fumble weakly at the buttons of his shirt before he takes over, undressing himself with speed you’re not sure how he’s capable of, reaching to pull you into his broad chest, wrap his arms around your shoulders and kiss you until you can’t breathe, his cock sandwiched against your belly, smearing precum and spit on your skin.
He grabs your chin to look at you, you can only imagine what he’s seeing. Careful makeup ruined, mascara running rivers down face, cheeks flushed and eyes wild with desire. He frames your face, his touch gentle as he rubs his thumb lightly under your eyes, wiping moisture as he leans to kiss you softly, so out of place.
“So fucking pretty” his voice is hoarse, wrecked and there’s warmth in knowing you’re not alone as you press palms to his broad chest.
“Please fuck me”
He grins, broad and white teeth as he wraps his hand in your hair tilting your head back to expose the column of your throat. His teeth are a sting, focused on your pulse as you go to liquid in his embrace.
“Want me to fuck you kitten? Ruin this sweet little cunt for all those nice boys back at college?”
You can only whimper in response.
“I’ll fuck you baby, I’ll split you open on my cock until you’re crying for it, mark you up and stuff you full of cum – you want it?”
“God, y-yes. I want it. Daddy please, I want you to wreck me”
“That’s my good girl”
He presses you into the mattress, face down and legs together, encouraging you to lift so he can stack pillows under your hips, his touch turned reverent on your skin as he traces patterns across your spine.
He’s caging you in, his legs on the outside of yours, spit slick cock rubbing in the cleft of your ass as he plants his hands by your shoulders, leans down to bite your shoulder. You can smell him now, woodsy and spiced, lingering traces of the cologne your mother bought him for Christmas clinging to the sweat on his skin. His weight is pleasantly heavy on your thighs as he kisses your spine, soft sighs escaping your lips as he massages your hips, circling thumbs across the dip in your spine. His hands almost completely span your waist. You feel tiny, exposed.
You feel him spread you open, can feel the burn of his stare at your swollen folds as he guides the head of his cock to your entrance, just enough for your breath to catch at the first aching breach of him.
“Look” he said, tangling his fist in your hair to pull it upright, the figures of you both in your closet mirror shadowed in the weak light of the room. He’s behind you like a leviathan, and you can’t tell where you end and he begins, his thick limbs blurring with yours in the dusty mirror of your childhood bedroom.
He buries himself to the hilt without warning and oh Christ, its so fucking deep, pushing air from your lungs as you arch and fist the sheets, biting off a scream as he holds you steady, forces you to watch as he clamps his other hand to your hip, pushes deeper somehow inside you, buried to the hilt.
“Look at you, taking me so well, split open on my cock just like you wanted kitten?”
“Yes, yes” you’re babbling, every nerve on fire as you clench your fists, allow your body to absorb the intrusion, branching and crackling through your system like electricity. And then he moves, and its so deep, he’s so heavy and thick inside you that you can feel all of it, every ridge and vein, each pulse of blood in his cock as he rocks his hips, his thighs already slick with your prior release. It’s so good, it’s devastating, you want to cry, you want to scream, you want him faster, harder deeper.
“Please, daddy, please” You’re half crying now, desire coursing through you like a second pulse, acidic and burning your skin as you wriggle uselessly beneath his weight, desperate and needy.
And then he starts to really fuck you. You realise in one brief flash of clarity that he went easy on you last time, that he held back the strength in his limbs, the feral lust that lived in his skin as he slapped your ass again, humming at the bloom of his handprint, spreading you open to watch him disappear inside you, pistoling his cock like a machine, half pulling you to meet his savage thrusts as he dug his fingers in deeper to your skin sweat dripping hot from his chest as you watched in the mirror.
When he presses on top of you, his weight is consuming, filling your bones with the feel of him inside you as he snakes his hand to brace around your throat, broad and fingers splayed as he bit your earlobe, his rhythm relentless.
“Touch your clit sweetheart, I wanna feel you cum on my cock”
It’s too much, your fingers skating over the swollen nub as his hand chokes the scream for you, but he sounds like you’ve punched him when you clench, your hand slipping to feel the split of him inside you as the wet slap of skin fills your ears.
“You get so fucking tight when you cum, want you to soak me, get me all wet you dirty fucking girl”
He forces it from you, the needle-sharp pleasure that rockets through your system, you’re sure you black out, the gush audible as he pulls out, keeps you spread wide to watch the way you pulse for him, fluttering around nothing but the gaping hole he left behind.
“That’s my good girl” he murmurs, pulling your hips up to bury his face in you from behind as you muffle a squeal in the sheets, his tongue burying inside you as he draws out the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had in your life, unable to move on your own, spasming and jerking as he wraps an arm around your thighs to yank you closer, hearing him fist his cock rapidly as he kneels behind you.
When you smack the bedsheets, he pulls away, letting you collapse, exhausted on the floral cover as you try to remember how to breathe, your whole body shaking.
“I’m gonna cum baby, spread yourself open for me, I want to paint that pretty cunt”
You obey, weakly holding yourself open as you feel the hot ropes of cum, thick and heavy land on your skin as he lets out a punched-out sound, surely leaving bruises with the force of his grip and another sharp slap to your ass.
You could fall asleep right here, spread wide and covered in his seed, limbs twitching and mind fogged as you take deep breaths into your lungs. You feel the ache start to settle in your bones, throbbing that promises discomfort, sore muscles, a stretch. Its warm, a blossoming ache that burns and feels like satisfaction.
The cloth makes you jerk, his touch gentle as he wipes his spend from your swollen folds, making soothing sounds as you let out a whine. You let him clean you gently, lift you from the bed to rearrange pillows, pull you onto his body as you feel the rhythm of his breathing.
Aaron presses soft kisses to your forehead, running fingertips across your arms as you feel goosebumps emerge on your skin, a shiver as the sweat turns cold.
“Come on kitten, you need to sleep” he whispers, nudging the covers down to slip between them as he strokes your hair, covers your face in tender kisses as you smile, the warmth of his affection as he pulls the covers over your shoulders.
“Wrecked” you say happily as sleep claims you, hearing him dress in the half darkness. He chuckles as he shuts the door behind him, the party still loud downstairs, no guests any the wiser.
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anxious-witch · 11 months ago
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NHS: I am morosexual. I am attracted to morons only
LXC: I absolutely trust Jin Guanyao. I would give my life that he is telling the truth
NHS, already taking off his clothes: God, Xichen you are so fucking stupid-
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what-have-i-become · 10 months ago
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Is cursed pronounced like "curst" or "curs-id"?
Because I think I have been. Pronouncing it wrong. This whole time.
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nightlyarrows · 2 years ago
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anyone that had known tristan even the slightest knew that public exposure aroused him. somehow being in a tight speedo was uncomfortable, but being completely naked wasn’t. they were really going to have to talk to him about what was appropriate and what wasn’t, but FUCK IT. after trying to relax in the sauna he realized that he was still pent up. the archer was on his way to his suite, but that was all the way on the other side of the establishment. it was getting late so no one was swimming in one of the smaller pools on the side and he decided to take up camp there. he sprawled out on one of the lawn chairs and unwrapped the towel around his waist. head pushed back slightly as he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock. a series of small moans escaped the hunter’s mouth as he slowly started to pump his shaft, desperate for a release but wanting to hold out as much as he could. it didn’t take long for tristan to become aware of his surroundings again and that was when he heard someone else’s footsteps.  ❛   fuck...   ❜  this time he didn’t even bother covering himself up, he was too tired for that. instead he just looked over to see if he could make out who it was.  ❛   who’s there? i can hear you.   ❜  he stopped stroking himself, but his hand was still wrapped around his cock.
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shambhalala · 3 years ago
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The other colonists: yarr, I got all this booty and nowhere to keep it safe whilst I live out the rest o' me days as a free pirate
Henry Avery, weeks later in a cryptic message written in Latin: arr, haven't ye heard?
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not a fan of the term “politically correct” as shorthand for “using a community’s preferred language as a basic sign of respect.” that’s not catering to an agenda, it’s just the bare minimum of decency. 
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davidyaeger · 4 days ago
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maybe bold take but sometimes yall say "well he's from texas" as a way to defend and dismiss the super homophobic, racist, or sexist things jensen ackles says, and i don't like the ideas that that works off of
#anyway my mom lives in texas#i know plenty of middle aged white men from texas who DONT make weird sexist racist and homophobic jokes#this man is from AUSTIN not bumfuck nowhere#he's a grown man in his 40s with full on free will! he's not just a product of his environment#the implication that people from texas automatically get a free pass on homophobia and racism and sexism.#ok so i guess we're just gonna pretend like texas isnt one of the most diverse states in the country#please! ignore the existence of all queer people in texas. all poc in texas. all women in texas#when you excuse bigotry bc someones from the south its fucking gross im sorry#you're playing into all kinds of stereotypes abt southerners that are based on classism and racism. its gross.#yall are the same people that were making jokes abt the power outages and shit in texas like ''well they did it to themselves''#do u not understand that texas is a red state bc of voter supression. bc of white supremacy.#bc politicians have been working very hard for a very long time to dismiss and ignore the voices of poc in texas.#yall realize just bc they literally have their ability to vote stripped from them that doesnt mean they dont exist?#when you imply that texans are naturally bigoted you ignore and dismiss the experiences of queer ppl and poc in texas#who have had their rights stripped from them.#AND you further the stereotype that southerners are uneducated and stupid and entirely white#which is not only classist but ALSO has been used to fuck over appalachians for fucking ever.#anyway theres my little rant#dont remove someones autonomy on the basis that theyre from texas and so racism and sexism and homophobia are somehow simply acceptable#anyway anyway anyway#phin.spam#spn cast
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cerberus-writes · a month ago
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HOLLOWSHEART. —— A GOTHIC HORROR FANTASY GAME.
following a nearly indecipherable letter left by your sibling before their disappearance, you come across a strange village that lies at the heart of a mist-shrouded valley.
wander through a village with more secrets than flesh-and-bone inhabitants. pry into its mysterious heart. read a language that writhes under your palm. find your sibling, with or without help. try to get the hell out of there.
&&. CHARACTERS.
00    'el’.
a bard by trade, your sibling has captivated your hometown with their wild imagination for years since their impulsive debut. now, they have disappeared, whirled away in pursuit of another tale, leaving you nothing but a letter written in red.
01    noah.
the young noble who offers you a room to stay. the manor is a large, creaking place, with kennels and a stable. they speak proudly of their creatures; you hear the hounds often, but never see them.
02    rene.
the village's elusive doctor. a tired man with crow-sharp eyes, talked of often and seldom seen. he leaves you a letter in a tongue you do not understand, in words that swim before your eyes.
03    lan.
the clocktower's mysterious keeper. she keeps to herself, as do all wise people in this village, but you think she knows — you've seen it, that flash of her silver eyes before the bell rings out every evening, steady as a heart.
&&. GAMEPLAY.
hollowsheart will be coded in twine and playable in browsers. it is a primarily text-based game with additional visuals including some forms of character and scene art, as well as some mild puzzle elements and a handful of different endings. hollowsheart will be uploaded on itch.io upon release.
misc links: [ ko-fi ] [ itch.io ] [ art blog ]
&&. RELEASE TBA, EST. DEC ‘21.
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mokutone · 2 months ago
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first day of @tendaysoftenzo ! i chose the prompt "birthday" bc i've long held a headcanon that yamato's actual birth date is lost to time and orochimaru and danzō's lack of interest in yamato's individual personhood.
follow up on where i think he got the birthdate from:
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it was just some overworked black-ops intake mednin who had seen weirder shit on a tuesday than a new operative without a birthday.
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littlebabycrybtch · a year ago
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hey full offense but the ‘use the right pronouns even if the person is horrible!’ statements arent made to coddle horrible ppl, its saying ‘dont view correct pronouns as a fucking privilege that can be taken away once people decide you’ve fucked up enough’, misgendering someone on purpose is transphobic no matter what bc it equates transphobia as a ‘punishment’ for bad people, pronouns are a part of baseline human respect, its that simple
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