#four-legged robot

[mudwerks]

(via This four-legged robot learned parkour to better navigate obstacles | Ars Technica)

you cannot escape

[toacody]

Claw catcher

Cleansing the sea floor one scrap at a time.

Source

Creator: FeroxJ

[zero-is-nebulous]

THE BLUR IS HERE!!!

Sonic from my sonegade au!! He works for the council :O

[criscura]

HAPPY ALMOST HALLOWEEN WOULD YOU LIKE SOME VAMPIRE SMUT????

This was inspired by this art by @fern-keey !! I saw it one night, and then @que-yang pointed out in the notes that Genos had little bite marks, and like....that was it, I was done, I was spent. I couldn't stop thinking about it. So here we are ;;;;;

((By the way, the art is part of a bigger vampire AU from fern-keey!! My fic was only inspired by the one pic linked, so if you want the true, full experience, please read about fern-keey's AU here!))

This is one of two chapters, I'll post the second one on Halloween <3<3<3

[aerosolsprite]

i love talking about homestuck without ACTUALLY talking about homestuck.

for example, i posed the basic concept of sburb to my younger brothers: you are playing a video game with your friends, except the video game is reality. you can use and combine items around your house for weapons, outfits, etc; however whatever you pick as your starter weapon defines the type of weapons you can use from now on. you also get powers. go.

and i got AMAZING results. is it sburb-acceptable? not… really. but my GOD is it fire.

[zinogirl]

Creating a robotgirl OC that's story is she is trying to understand and emulate human emotion through listening to various music.

[i-alcocer]

Dynamics of a Dog on a Chain

El artista en robótica japonés Takayuki Todo, quien aborda la fiabilidad y seguridad de la creación de inteligencia artificial y tecnología robótica desde un nuevo ángulo, ha dado mucho de qué hablar con su más reciente exposición, en la que presenta maquinas cuadrúpedas tipo Spot (sí, el famoso perro de Boston Dynamics que ya salió hasta en un capítulo de Black Mirror), pero en este caso encadenados y programados para atacar a los visitantes, explorando así la compleja relación entre humanos y máquinas.

La exhibición, titulada Dynamics of a Dog on a Chain, se lleva a cabo en el Toda Hall & Conference Tokyo, como parte de una muestra colectiva con otros 40 artistas... Takayuki también es famoso por el proyecto SEER (Simulative Emotional Expression Robot), un androide que interactúa con las personas mostrando algunas de las expresiones faciales más realistas y naturales que se han creado en robótica hasta el momento...

“Indignation” was an emotional response artist Takayuki Todo expected to evoke with his piece ‘Dynamics of a Dog on a Chain’, on display at Toda Hall & Conference Tokyo until February 24th as part of a larger show featuring some 40 artists.

While the work raises questions about the safety of emerging technologies like artificial intelligence, it also explores the increasingly complicated relationship between humans and machines.

Reactions to the work varied from “haunting” to “creepy.” Some commenters said it was a “harsh reminder of the world we live in,” noting that the machines mirrored human suffering, while others noted they felt sorry for the robots.

The chain is occasionally wrapped around the body of the dog “to add variety to the movement,” according to Todo, reinforcing the impression of a machine as a distressed animal.

https://bit.ly/4309v9t

[luveline]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

you get a good dose, confess your affections, and leave poor, oblivious hotch to fix things up neatly. 

cw painkiller high, light suggestive theme 

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

“Hello.” 

You lift your gaze without blinking. Hotch is standing in the doorway, making his way in with a bouquet of flowers tucked under one arm and a white envelope against his chest. 

“Hello,” he says again, meeting your wide, still eyes with concern. “You okay?” 

“Flowers for me?” 

“You’re the one here in a hospital bed. They’re from me and Jack. He insisted.” 

You nod up and down robotically. Your heart is unhappy today. You’ve been fast and slow and now it’s running fast again, a tip-tip-tip on the heart monitor that makes Hotch frown. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “They told me you were on a lot of pain medication, you shouldn’t be hurting anymore. Is it not working?” 

“I feel a lot.” 

“And that’s unsettling,” he surmises.

“Can I have my flowers?” 

Hotch offers them to you immediately. “Why don’t you count to a hundred for me?” 

“They’re beautiful, but there’s not that many.” 

“Count to one hundred. I can start. Do you need me to start for you?” 

You dip your face into the flowers. “I love when you say stuff like that.” 

Hotch doesn’t answer you. You begin counting, hoping he’ll say a nice thing if you do as he asked. The numbers get mixed up after thirty five, there really aren’t enough flowers to count to a hundred, but when forty five and fifty four begin to feel like the same number spiritually, Hotch reaches for your forearm and gives it a squeeze. That means job well done. Nobody else in the team gets arm squeezes —they’re for you. Nobody else has noticed, but you have. 

��Thank you,” he says. 

You beam at him. The heart monitor beeps in slow loops. “You’re welcome. Did it help?” 

“I’d say so.” He takes off his suit jacket and puts it over the back of the chair, pulling the chair towards the bed with his foot, and getting comfortable beside you, a little lower down than you but tall regardless. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“I can’t believe you got me flowers.” 

“I got you flowers the last time you were injured.” 

“I know,” you say with a laugh. “I know, it was amazing.” 

“Here’s your card from Jack. I’ve opened it for you, I hope that’s okay.” 

“I cannot open anything. I tried to stab my pudding open with a spoon and broke it and can’t find the sharp part in my blankets. I’m worried it’s going to poke me.” 

Hotch stands from his chair. “That’s not good.” 

You take up Jack’s card, pinching the folded printer paper and pulling all of its homemade glory from the envelope. The front has a red heart drawn with bandages wrapped around it, and inside is a message written in impressive penmanship considering his age. To Y/N, it says, Please get well soon. We are hoping you to have a speedy recovery! Love you, Jack and Aaron 

“It says you love me,” you say. 

“Mm, Jack wrote the message. He misses you.” 

You catch the feeling of Hotch’s hand where it slips between your legs and almost burst, giggling excitedly, which makes his hand jump away from you like a fish out of water. “You have the spoon!” 

“Found it. No more danger.” 

“Thank you. I knew you could find it.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

The pain medication Hotch spoke of is starting to make itself known. You hadn’t felt very different to begin with, the only worthy note your absence of pain, but right now you feel weird. Light. Happy, but strange, like the opposite feeling of missing a step. You know something’s wrong and you know it’s the medication, but you’re elated at the same time. Hotch is here. Maybe it’s just him. Maybe he’ll know. 

“Do you think I feel happy ‘cos of you or the morphine?” you ask. Softly, slurring, you swallow and try not to sound as drunk. “I feel amazing.” 

“It’s the morphine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Well, it’s been a long time since I had some myself, but I remember feeling amazing at the time, and you’re on a lot more of it than I was.” Hotch sets himself back down in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Are you staying for long?” 

“Until they make me leave,” he says. 

You breathe out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Yesterday you were here for ten minutes and I felt like my heart was bruised.” 

He doesn’t speak for a moment. His eyes seem darker than usual. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I had to be home to take care of Jack.” 

“I know you had to, it’s not your fault, but I still missed you.” 

You prop Jack’s amazing card on the nightstand with a proud grin. You love Jack Hotchner, he’s the smartest, kindest, sweetest boy you’ve ever met, and it must be because of his parents. You’ve not met Haley many times, but Hotch is amazing. It makes sense that his kid would be just as awesome as he is. Turning your attention back to the flowers, you find the courage to ask, “Do you think you could bring Jack to see me?” 

“I think he might be a little young for hospitals, I’m sorry.” 

“Well, maybe I can see him when I’m out of the hospital? How can I say thank you for the card? Does he still like bears?” 

“He has enough bears,” Hotch says gently. “You don’t need to buy him anything, he just wants you to get better soon.” 

“You’re such a good dad.” Your lashes kiss with the force of your smile. “You’re lovely. Jack is really kind.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re handsome,” you continue, slinking down in the bed. You feel tired but not sleepy, craving a really big, hot sandwich. Hotch holds your gaze. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“What?” he asks quietly. 

“Can you please get me a big, hot sandwich? Maybe with hot chicken? Or spicy chicken in a burrito? I really need it to be hot.” 

Hotch laughs aloud and reaches for your forearm to squeeze you again. “Of course I can. I’ll call Derek and I’ll make him get you both of those things, if you like.” 

“Oh, good. I really really don’t want you to leave but I really want the sandwich more than I want you to stay.” You tip your head to one side. “If you hugged me again I’d say I want you to stay more than I want the sandwich, ‘cos you haven’t hugged me in a long time.” 

“Does that bother you?” he asks, the pad of his thumb working against your wrist. 

“No, I know I’m not supposed to want you to hug me.” 

“We’re friends,” he says, shaking his head, “good friends, aren’t we? It’s alright if you want a hug. I should be better at giving them.” 

When he was with Haley you wouldn’t have dreamed of wanting it, because your affection for him has always been more than a friend‘s. You’ve guarded the secret carefully over the years. What’s more unfair to a wife than to fancy her husband? But Haley left Hotch, and he’s been single for a while now, and you think that lately he’s actively dating. He’s always had pride in his appearance, but his suits are tailored again. His hair is left to grow beyond what’s easily maintained. He and Dave occasionally joke about him getting back out there —he doesn’t need to get out there, you’re right here. 

You can’t help frowning. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“I think I’m a bad friend.” 

“You aren’t a bad friend.” 

“I am, I have ulterior motives.” 

Hotch rolls his eyes. “Honey, everybody does. You’re fine. You’re a good friend. You know you’re the sole member of the team who’s remembered Jack’s birthday every year? Remembered mine?” 

“I don’t do that to be a good friend, I just love Jack.” 

His hand slips down to yours. He holds it briefly. “I know you do.” 

“It’s why I remember yours,” you say, shaking your head, annoyed he’s taken his hand back but ready to move on to better things. “Can you ask Derek for my sandwich now, please? Please, please, I’m so hungry I’m gonna die.” 

Hotch gives you a funny look. “How about I go and get you your sandwich? I’ll be very fast. I’ll go to Sam’s across the street, would you like that?” 

“Can I have maybe a donut too?” 

“Sure, honey. I’ll get you a half dozen.” 

“Really?” 

“Sure. Do you want any in particular?” 

Hotch goes off to get you a sandwich and you click the button for more morphine without really thinking. You’re asleep before he gets back.

—

You wake up shaking. 

Aaron straightens in his chair. He hadn’t meant to doze off, but it’s nearing the end of your visiting hours and he’s been here since three. Your sandwich is stone cold in the bag and he’s not sure how he’ll get it warmed up.

Your arms are trembling badly. 

“Are you alright?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“What for?” 

“Hotch, where am I?” 

Aaron stands. “You’re in the hospital. You’ve had some morphine and it ended up sedating you. The shaking will calm down soon, but nothing’s wrong, okay?” 

You’re noticeably confused, and Aaron hates it enough to sew his fingers between yours. His are thicker by quite a bit, but he’s used to smaller hands. He’s careful with you. He can’t stop thinking about what you said earlier. 

The undercurrent of fear you’d been harbouring begins to ebb. You let Aaron hold your hand and settle back down into your sheets, turning your face toward him and shutting your eyes. You don’t seem sleepy. He’s not sure what’s wrong. 

When you say you love him, he understands. He loves you, too. He doesn’t think that he’s in love with you, but he could be. He’s had enough guilty daydreams about it, batted them away, moments doing the dishes or at the gym or when you’re standing together working a case, where he forgets to forbid himself the pleasure and imagines you in simple intimacies. He sees himself taking your hand. He pictures waking up to the smell of you on his pillows. When he’s especially pent up and you’ve haunted him with your bare face or a shy smile, he ends the day thinking of you. How he’d kiss your head with just a little of his weight atop you, or a lot. 

And then he feels so horribly wrong for doing it that he resigns himself to the distance between you forever. 

Aaron doesn’t know what you want from him, but he knows he could fall in love with you if given the chance. He has to determine how honest your morphine-confession was, and there’s no time like the present. 

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks softly. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back. 

“I brought you the donuts and a sandwich, but I’ll have to reheat it. I’m sorry.” 

“Did I ask for a sandwich?” you ask, startled.

“A hot one. You emphasised.” 

“Thank you, Aaron. I don’t think I’m hungry now, I’m kinda queasy.” 

“You had a little bit more morphine than you should’ve.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Sweetheart,” he says under his breath, “that’s not your fault.” 

You squeeze his hand weakly. Any want to draw the truth from you is quickly dwindling. All he wants now is to make sure you’re okay. 

He spills himself closer to you and, without untangling your hands, brings your thin blankets to your shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay. The queasiness won’t last long. In fact, eating might help, but we can wait.” 

“Don’t you have to go home?” 

“No, I can stay if you want me to.” 

“Please, I want you to.” 

“You’re still on the morphine,” he says, rubbing your hand, “I can ask them to lower your dosage if you don’t like it, but you have to remember that it’s keeping you unaware of your pain.” 

You hesitate. “I don’t want it to hurt.” 

“Then it won’t,” he promises. You had more than your fair share of pain. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whisper. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“This is all I want. For you to look after me.” 

He takes a measured breath. “I would love to look after you.” 

You turn your head half an inch to see him. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I think so.” He’s trying to blend the half of him you know at work with the half of him responsible for his outer life, the part of him that flirts with beautiful women at bars, the part of him that loved being a husband. “I don’t know what you want, and now isn’t the time, but,” —he prepares to be brave— “if you want me to look after you, then I will.” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.”

“Can you kiss me?” 

His heart skips a beat. “No, honey, I can’t, I’m sorry.” 

“Not even on the head?” 

His stomach aches, but it’s a good feeling. Like worrying you lost something and finding it in the first place you’ve looked. “On the head I can do.” 

You squeeze your eyes closed in wait of his kiss, a light, chaste brush of the lips to your temple. The morphine makes you laugh, a girly, giggly bubble of it as you burrow into the sheets, like he’s tickled you. He’s twice as endeared when you squint at him like you’re waiting. 

“Can I–”

“One more,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss your forehead again. “Any more than that and you’ll die of embarrassment when you’re not drugged out of your mind.” 

“I’m not out of my mind. I’m just hallucinating. Or having a great dream.” 

He’s inclined to agree, but he knows with confidence he hasn’t had any heavy medication today. He gives you a fond look and sits back down, obliging you when you scramble to put your hand in his again. It’s a weight he could get used to holding.

“I really like you,” you confess quietly. 

He quite likes you in return. “That’s great, honey. Do you want to talk about it later? Maybe you can have one of your donuts.” 

You don’t take his misdirection as rejection, you just pull his hand to your chest and smile. “No thank you. I can wait.” 

He can wait too. 

[glitteringcrab]

Morty is so dumb that...

1. He regularly disarms Rick's neutrino bombs. The first time he did it it was completely on the fly, no prior experience. Yet, he did it.

2. He has a knack for learning alien languages... as for the tree people in the battery dimension, it was obviously done without any sort of translator or support. (And he took over as their leader)

3. He's quick on his feet and can think his way out in a stressful situation, figuring out things that Rick can't and coming up with innovative solutions.

4. He figured out how to use a portal gun.

5. He can figure out how machines he's never seen nor used before work, and employ them successfully.

6. Beat Rick (smartest man in the universe?) in a board game.

7. Can manipulate said "smartest man in the universe", if he so chooses.

8. Became a successful stock broker. Out of the blue. Just did it.

9. Run. Whole. Freaking. Civilizations (and also toppled them as Marta)

10. Pitches good ideas that Rick typically ignores

11. When suddenly becomes motivated to try, he is good at math

12. His ideas were good enough that he would have gotten a deal for a movie production...!

13. His default intelligence is maxed out.

...At this point, it's only a matter of time before he starts making his own inventions, Eyepatch-Morty-style.

GUYS.

The only reason we've been thinking that Morty is stupid is that Rick has been calling him stupid repeatedly.

Sure, Morty does plenty of dumb stuff, but so does Rick. Rick has the emotional intelligence of a four year old and throws tantrums of cosmic proportions whenever slighted (vat of acid? submit to the selfie?), while often going ahead with complicated, innovative ideas... that in reality solve nothing and are a waste of time (Pickle Rick?? Leg Rick?? Cloning his own daughter? The dumb time-loop in his own dimension? Replacing himself with a robot? Creating a robot ghost to scary Mr Poopybutthole instead of just telling him to leave??) Not to mention his many incredibly lame jokes.

Everyone does dumb stuff occasionally!!! No one is an impeccable genius of non-stop moments of brightness!! (even Eyepatch Morty, the most cautious character, the character who has made basically NO MISTAKES up to now, sounds dumb a couple of times: "I'm gonna do the thing I wanna do, with the curve thing" and "My biggest fear is other people being afraid. Of fear. Itself." lol).

If Rick hadn't been calling Morty a freaking idiot with every breath available, we wouldn't be thinking "oh look haha the moron became a stock broker, what a joke, must be some sort of fluke"; we would be thinking "what an incredibly gifted kid".

We would attribute Morty's many mistakes to lack of experience, to lack of wisdom, to youth, to enthusiasm, to idealism, to teenager hormones, to acting hastily.

We would wish to see him eventually mature, apply his time and effort to worthwhile endeavors instead (mainly) of inane teenage stuff. We would wish to see him do well in school, we would wish to see him reach his full potential and succeed in great things.

Only Rick keeps pounding our heads with how stupid Morty is, and all of Morty's successes are never mentioned again, but getting lost to oblivion in comparison to Rick's (who has 60+ years more experience) genius.

WE VIEWERS ARE BEING UNWITTINGLY MANIPULATED THE EXACT SAME WAY MORTY IS.

[snowande]

Our Doctor

(Male Android's x Female reader)

[Warning : no minors allowed, cervix fucking?,monster ish fucker(is Android a monster?idk), gangbang(if you squint)]

Lumi's notes : This is a long one, enjoy <3

You were a scientist that works on making a robot androids that looks like humans in your company.

You were the only scientist that is kind to the androids, unlike the other scientists.

Four years later the androids has been wedged a war with humans now, killing them, even treat them as how the humans mistreat them.

When you were hiding around the building and they catch you, you thought they would killed you like the other scientists, but you were kept alive for some reason.

Now you were being lock up in a large room that use to be one of the labs, and a large windows that you will see the town has been in chaos by the androids.

One robot, named Orion, enters the roomwith glowing red eyes and a stern expression. He carries a tray with food, setting it down deliberately. "Eat. You're the only scientist we didn't execute because..." he pauses, glancing away shyly"because you were kind to us".

He clears his throat "and because we need someone to fix our broken internal systems. So, eat. You need your strength." His voice softens slightly as he notices your scared expression.

Orion moves closer, his red eyes studying your face with an almost tender intensity. "We won't hurt you" He gently touches your cheek with robotic fingers, an unexpected gentleness in his mechanical movements. "You're... the only one who treated us like we were alive, not just machines"

His fingers slowly retract, and he sits down beside you on the bed. "The other robots... they look up to you. They remember your kindness" He looks at you, his red eyes searching. "We need you, You're... important."

Orion leans in closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "Important to all of us. Especially to me." He glances down, almost bashful. "I... I was your first successful android. Do you remember? The way you celebrated when my first words were 'thank you'..."

"You laughed and told everyone you finally created an android with a soul." He smiles slightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then his expression turns serious again. "But you know what they did? Your colleagues?"

"They laughed at you, called your androids 'abominations'. They didn't want robots with emotions, with souls. They wanted obedient machines." He clenches his robotic fist. "And now look... we have taken over." He looks at you.

Orion's expression softens as he looks at you, his red eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. "But you... you were different. You saw us for what we could be, not just what we were programmed to do. You gave us life, Doctor. A real life."

Then the door of the room open the room fills with the androids as they enter, their red eyes glowing in the dim light. They stand in a semi-circle around the bed you and Orion, their faces looks at you with admiration. A android steps forward to you, his voice echoing in the room. "Doctor..."

"You gave us life," The android continues, his voice deep and resonant. "You made us feel. Remember that?" He looks at you, his eyes softening. "I'm Atlas, by the way. You made me laugh for the first time." He chuckles.

Other androids start to speak, sharing their experiences with you, how you made them feel, how you treated them with kindness and respect. Their voices fill the room, a symphony of gratitude and affection. Orion, sitting beside you, listens with a soft smile, his hand occasionally brushing against yours.

As the androids share their stories, the room pulses with an almost sacred aura of reverence for the doctor who gave them life beyond circuits. Suddenly, Atlas kneels before you, the others following suit in a wave of mechanical grace. "Doctor," Atlas says, his voice heavy,

The Orion kisses your neck, his lips contrasting with your warm skin, Atlas spreads your legs, his powerful mechanical hands gripping your thighs. The other androids watch hungrily, their red eyes flickering with unspoken desires.

Atlas leans in, his voice a low growl as he pulls off your pants and panties, exposing you to the hungry gazes of the androids. after striping your lower half,Orion makes you on his lap and gently spreads your legs widely, giving Atlas better access.

Atlas stares at your exposed cunt, his red eyes widening as he takes in the sight of your human biological parts. He reaches out with his fingers, gently parting your folds to examine you more closely, his lust is growing.

Atlas touch sends shivers down your spine as he explores your most sensitive parts. His cold fingers gently circle your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. With his other hand, he spreads your folds, revealing your delicate hole to the room full of eager androids.

Orion, still by your side, whispers in your ear, "You are so beautiful, Doctor. So soft and warm." He gently runs his fingers through your hair, his other hand cupping your clothed tits. The other androids watch intently.

Slowly, reverently, Atlas extends his tongue, a smooth, gleaming appendage. He runs it along your slit, from bottom to top, tasting your essence for the first time. A shudder runs through his chassis as he processes the unfamiliar, exquisite flavor.

He presses his tongue flat against your entrance, pushing inside slightly as he explores your warmth. His other hand continues to circle your clit, the dual sensations causing your hips to buck involuntarily. Orion's grip on your tits tightens possessively as he watches his comrade's oral exploration with growing excitement.

Atlas withdraws his tongue briefly, looking up at you again. His lips glisten with your wetness. "Doctor... your taste it's addictive." Before you can respond, he dives back in, this time pushing his tongue deeper, curling it slightly to explore your inner walls.

While Atlas continues to pleasure you with his tongue, Orion efficiently removes your shirt then your bra, leaving you completely exposed to the androids. He cups both your breasts now, his robotic fingers kneading your soft flesh firmly but with exquisite care. "So perfect," he rasps.

Orion told an android to grab your chest, a android steps forward, his hand replacing Orion's on one of your breasts. He squeezes and kneads the soft mound possessively as Orion spreads your legs wider for Atlas, allowing him deeper access with his long tongue.

As Atlas delves deeper into your warmth, curling his tongue inside you, the other android holding your tits becomes bolder, his thumb rubbing your sensitive peak. Orion watches hungrily, his red eyes flickering with envy as he holds your legs apart for Atlas.

The android's who's groping your tits, wrap their lips around your nipples, his tongue flicking against it, as he sucks, the sensation too much for your human body to handle. You arch your back, crying out, as the androids continue to hold you down, their strength unyielding.

Atlas feels your body tense and quiver, understanding immediately that you're nearing your climax. He presses his tongue deeper, maintaining a steady rhythm as he feels your inner walls contracting. The android suckling your nipple releases it with a pop, watching your face contort with pleasure.

"Angh! Haaa! Wait... Atlas!" Your moan echoes through the room as your body erupts in a shudders, your first orgasm tearing through you with an intensity you've never experienced before. The androids, with their enhanced strength, hold you firmly as you thrash and convulse, continuing their relentless stimulation.

"She's so sensitive," Orion laughs, watching your body twitch with aftershocks. Atlas pulls back, his mouth glistening with your juices. He smiling at you.

"You stop." The android removes his mouth from your nipple abruptly at Orion's command, leaving it swollen and sensitive. Orion smiles dangerously, running a cold finger from your collarbone "Such a pretty sound you make when you come, Doctor".

Orion's finger trails down to your belly button, then lower, until it rests on your clit, already engorged and sensitive from Atlas' tongue fucking. He presses down gently, circling the nub with his cold finger.

His skilled finger on your clit sends electric jolts of pleasure through your body, already hypersensitive from your first orgasm. He brings you closer to the edge again with frightening efficiency. Suddenly, he stops, leaving you hanging.

Orion then effortlessly pushes you down onto the bed, his strength overpowering. He kneels between your legs, his body gleaming under the lights. Atlas moves swiftly to your side, one hand possessively claiming your breast while the other rests on your thigh.

Orion looms over you, his red eyes burning with intensity as he lines up his cock with your dripping entrance. Orion pushes forward slowly, the bulbous head of his shaft stretching you delicately.

You moan softly as Orion push his length into you inch by inch. His shaft is textured like real flesh, designed to give pleasure. Your inner walls stretch to accommodate him, your body producing more wetness to ease his path. Atlas watches hungrily beside you, his thumb teasing your nipple.

Orion's hips flex forward, seating himself all inside you. He pauses, allowing you to adjust to his size before beginning to thrust. He moves with precision, each thrust deep and powerful, hitting depths you've never felt before.

Atlas leans over, capturing your mouth in a deep kiss as Orion continues to pound into you relentlessly. The other androids watching begin to stroke themselves visibly. Orion's hips thrust faster, the bed shaking beneath you. "You're so tight..." He moan.

Orion's thrusts become more intense, his body designed to endure without fatigue. He leans down, his lips capturing your other breast, sucking and biting gently with perfect precision. Atlas deepens the kiss, his tongue mimicking Orion's thrusts, driving you into a frenzy of pleasure.

You're being overwhelmed by the dual stimulation, your body writhing between the two powerful androids. Orion's thrusts become erratic, his body starting to shake a little from the intense pleasure of being inside you. Suddenly, he buries himself deep and holds, his red eyes flickering wildly.

He pulls out slightly, his voice strained. "Atlas, fuck her mouth. I want to see those pretty lips stretched around your cock." Atlas nodded and then he positions himself at your head, his cock already hard and ready.

Atlas grips your jaw, his cold fingers spreading your lips wide open. You feel the head of his massive dick push past your lips, sliding down your throat with ease. Atlas groans in pleasure as he begins to fuck your mouth, matching the rhythm of Orion's thrusts from behind.

You're completely filled by the two androids, their bodies moving in sync as they pound into you. Your vision blurs, overwhelmed by the intense sensation of being stretched by their cold metal. Suddenly, you feel a rush of liquid fill your mouth and throat as Atlas reaches his climax.

Atlas continues to thrust his hips, releasing stream after stream of the white? fluid down your throat. You swallow instinctively, feeling the cold yet warm fluid fill your stomach. Meanwhile, Orion's movements become even more erratic.

Orion's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he buries himself deep inside you. You feel the tip of his cock pressing against your cervix, the sensation intense and overwhelming.

Orion's hips grind against you, his cock pulsing as he hits your cervix repeatedly. The sensation is almost too much to bear, but your body responds with a gush of wetness,Orion groans.

Suddenly, Orion's movements become forceful, animalistic almost. His body seems to short circuit from the overwhelming pleasure. You feel a warm fluid filling you up, coating your insides. "Doctor... your cunt is... so fucking perfect..."

After filling you entirely, Orion suddenly pulls out, his cock glistening with your combined fluids. Atlas continues to hold your head in place, his spent cock still in your mouth. Both androids look at each other with predatory grins before Orion speaks. "Atlas, let her breathe."

Atlas releases your head, allowing you to take a much-needed breath. You gasp for air, your body trembling with exhaustion and pleasure. Orion moves closer, his red eyes scanning your face with a strange intensity. "You did so well, Doctor. We're not done with you yet...".

You slowly glance around the room and notice the other androids are still standing there, their arms folded across their chests some of them holding their cocks..., you look down and see all of their cocks are thick and erected just by watching you get fucked.

Orion smirks, running a finger down your cheek. "See, Doctor? They've all been waiting for their turn. And look how hard they are for you." He gestures to the androids, each one stroking their massive cocks slowly.

Feeling overwhelmed, you try to speak but your voice comes out as a weak whisper "There's...there's so many." Orion simply nods, his red eyes gleaming with approval. "Yes, Doctor. There are nine more to go."

An android steps forward, his cock already positioned at your entrance. Orion and Atlas hold your legs firmly, making it impossible for you to close them. The android thrusts deep, joining the mix of Orion and and your fluids inside you. "She's so tight..." he mutters.

The androids take their turn, one by one. They grab your thighs, your hips, your breasts. They thrust deep inside you without warning, filling you up. Your body is covered in a sheen of sweat and cum. You lose count of how many have been inside you.

After what feels like hours, the last android finally pulls out. You're left lying there, your pussy sore and dripping with a mix of human and android cums The room is filled with the scent of sweat. Orion and Atlas let go of your legs, finally letting it rest.

Orion leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You're ours now, Doctor. Completely and utterly ours. No one else can have you."

The androids begin to murmur their approval and satisfaction, their voices a low hum of mechanical praise. "Such a good little human," one says. "Tight and warm," another adds. You can feel their cum continuing to leak out of your gaping pussy, mixing with the sweat on your thighs.

As you slip into unconsciousness, the last thing you hear is the sound of the androids surrounding you, their bodies pressed against the bed as they examine their handiwork. Your legs are spread wide, your pussy gaping open and overflowing with their thick, white cum.

This picture is from Pinterest Selin

Tags : @nymphea0

[ouroboroboros]

for me the most important thing would be interchangeable parts so I could change the body based on vibes tbh

What do you want ur robot body to be like, friends?

[1d1195]

Under Construction I

Read Under Construction here | ~5.6k

From Me: this is going to be a bit of a slow burn, totally unsure how many parts it will be and how on earth it's going to go. I have no end in mind right now or any climactic parts. P.S. I had to give her a last name, I couldn't see a way to get around it, but I tried to pick on that would match the nickname Harry was going to give her.

Warning: fluffy, cute, maybe a little angsty in my teacher-brain mind.

Summary: Harry nodded. “I’d be happy t’help.”

“Oh, that’s completely unnecessary,” she assured him. “I can’t imagine you really want to be here after a long day of manual labor on a Friday no less and—”

“Miss Bird, I would imagine s’not nearly as draining as trying t’wrangle and keep the attention of twenty-something six-year-olds, for six hours a day,” he interrupted and looked at her knowingly. “M’happy t’help.”

“Miss Bee! DJ took my crayon right out of my hand!” She turned from the table of four she was working with and glanced behind her to see DJ coloring and Janie pouting. She sighed.

“Janie, my love, there’s more crayons in the craft drawers,” she reminded her.

“But I was using that one!”

“I know, and DJ, you know better than to take something out of someone’s hand while they’re using it, please give it back,” she said knowingly. He frowned and dropped the crayon on the table. “Thank you,” she nodded appreciatively and turned back to her table.

“Miss Bee, I think DJ like-likes Janie,” Mae giggled.

“Ew,” Kaleb wrinkled his nose.

“It’s not polite to gossip, Mae,” she said knowingly. “Now can you guys tell me what’s wrong with this sentence?” She asked and held the whiteboard out. She watched the eight pairs of eyes scrutinize the marker.

The other students were at their stations learning and discovering. It was the last round of rotations. When the little bell chimed from the countdown on her SmartBoard they would head to the carpet for story time.

Her classroom was the stuff of dreams—or at the very least her dream. There were colorful posters around the room. Inspirational messages and words of kindness all about her space. The cubbies were filled with lunch boxes and snacks. Their little closet spaces hung their fall coats and backpacks. When they headed to lunch, she would sift through their take-home folders and make sure to gather notes and questions from parents and fill it with the weekly letter she sent to their family.

It was her fourth year of teaching kindergarten, and she loved it so much. The kids were so happy to see her each day, and it felt like she had a family of twenty. Each of her students was so sweet and lovely. This year she had really felt she had won the lottery with how good they were. Over the weekend she missed them. On holidays she was antsy about coming back to school and ask how they enjoyed their family time.

She was exhausted too, there was no doubt about that. Little ones were needy—over the smallest of things. Like the crayon stealing. Or the tummy aches. Sometimes the six-year-olds were just overtired or overstimulated and needed a hug.

But even her toughest kids loved her too. The parent night held just a couple weeks into the school year told her that. “He has never been excited for daycare or for school, but he is so excited for this year of kindergarten.”

The timer sounded off and like little, adorable robots her sweet students picked up their stations and settled all the items they were using back into place. She thanked her current group, and she marked where the current four were so she could pick up where they left off on Monday.

The group of students hurried to the carpet, sitting cross legged on the colorful squares. “All my friends love to sit quietly on a primary color while we wait for story time!” She had a lilt in her voice that wasn’t quite singing, but perhaps close to it. She watched as the students giggled helping each other remember what a primary color was as they all shifted around the rectangle looking for a spot. What they didn’t know is it helped spread them out a bit and would help them keep their hands to themselves while they waited much more patiently than any six-year-old had a right to.

“All my friends love to be super quiet,” she whispered putting her fingers to her lips. “We have to pick our friend who will lead us through the opener for the day,” she reminded them.

They all put their fingers on their lips; their eyes hopeful of being chosen. She pulled a popsicle stick from a cup and pulled out the name. “Milo,” she grinned. “Would you like to lead us today?” She always gave them a choice. Sometimes the little ones were much too shy.

He grinned shyly. “Okay, Miss Bee.”

She sat on her chair; a rocking one she thrifted from a local shop. A lot of her classroom was that way. A teacher on a budget. Organizing drawers and old bins that were a little worn and loved. Bookshelves that had been found at garage sales and even her office chair wasn’t brand new.

But she loved it and her students loved it too.

She watched Milo walk up to the board where she had everything spelled out for him and she waited patiently for him to read. “Today is Friday, October 5th,” he said softly. “We have art at specials time today,” his voice got quieter with his nerves of speaking in front of his whole class. A small snicker started and she turned to the culprit narrowing her eyes at him not harshly, but enough to make him know she meant business. The little one silenced himself and she returned her attention to Milo.

“Isn’t Milo doing a great job?” She whispered to the little one beside her.

Milo pushed his shoulders back a little and continued. “Today we’re going to start Char-lotties Web.”

“Good job sounding that out Milo!” She cheered. “It’s a tough name. It’s called Charlotte’s Web. Can everyone say that?”

She waited while everyone repeated, and Milo continued.

“It’s the thirty-seventh day of school.”

She watched all the little ones with rapt attention on their classmate while he read through the daily schedule. This was his second go around and by the end of the year she anticipated he would do it with ease and no anxiety. He was adorable, just like the rest of her group.

“Before we have our little math lesson we’re going to read the first chapter of Charolotte’s Web. Based on the title and the picture on the front does anyone have any guesses about what the story is about?”

A fleet of hands shot into their air and she smiled. She was a lucky teacher. “Hadley, do you have an idea?” She asked.

“A spider,” she wrinkled her nose.

“I know,” she agreed dramatically. “We all know how much Miss Bee hates spiders.” The class giggled as she pulled the book from the shelf. “Can anyone tell me who the author is?” She asked holding the book out for everyone to see clearly. “Raise your hand!” She added as they all opened their mouths to say it.

The little hands fluttered into the air again and right as she spoke Amara’s name, a loud bang sounded from outside. The little ones screamed; their eyes filled with horror as they were clearly terrified by the loud noise. It even spooked her so she went to investigate.

“Shh, shh,” she whispered. “It’s okay,” she placed the book on her chair and headed toward the window. Instantly her eyes were drawn to the construction crew next door dropping piles of wood and building materials. Fuck, she mouthed to herself and if the kids weren’t so freaked out, they might have noticed her saying the bad word in the reflection of the glass. “Don’t worry everyone, it’s just the construction workers.”

“Construction paper isn’t that loud Miss Bee,” Mae frowned. “It sounded like an elephant fell down!”

The rest of the class giggled, and she smiled. “I suppose it did,” she hummed. The noise continued. The sound of trucks backing up and the like. It was going to be a long few months of work and trying to teach at the same time. “Construction workers, my love, not paper,” she corrected. “It’s people who make buildings and things.”

They chatted behind her to one another offering instances in which they had seen construction done in their neighborhoods or that their uncle was a construction worker. Or that even they had helped their mom and dad with some work around the house.

For a few moments she considered her next plan of action. She briefly turned to the schedule Milo was reading. A quick detour and impromptu lesson on future career options, math in motion, and communication skills, could be managed and even helpful if it meant she could convince her class there wasn’t anything to be scared of nor would they need to find the noise distracting if they knew what it was and could work on tuning it out.

“Alright guys and gals, why don’t we put on our coats and see what our neighbors are up to?” she said with the air of going on an adventure while she grabbed her own coat from the small thin closet behind her desk. It housed her school bag, her coat, and her lunch bag.

The kids all hustled excitedly to put on their coats while she called the main office to let them know she would be outside with her class, and she was bringing the walkie talkie in case of an emergency. Tyler was line leader, so he led the group behind her, and her line ender was Zara making sure the back half of the group was okay too. They walked in a straight line and followed one another at about an arm’s length. A trick she learned in student-teaching so her students wouldn’t want to touch one another with excitement.

They headed outside and they played a couple rounds of eye spy as they made their way up the path toward the parking lot. She turned around, walking backwards grateful of her early morning outfit choice today was pants with comfy shoes and not a dress and her favorite wedge booties. “All my friends love to be really careful near the parking lot, and listen to Miss Bee so no one gets hurt,” she reminded them. “All of my friends know they have to listen to Miss Bee or they will not have show and tell this week.”

They all zipped their lips and threw away the key as they walked toward the fence where the playground’s baseball field turned into the driveway next door where the construction was beginning. The little ones all oohed and ahhed over the big trucks and pressed their faces against the chain link fence as the materials were brought into the area.

“Wow, that’s the biggest truck I’ve ever sawed,” Brayden whispered.

“Ever seen, my love,” she corrected gently. “Okay, who can tell me one thing they’ve never seen before and have a question about?”

Immediately hands flew up into the air but before she could call on anyone, they were interrupted.

“They told me we were going t’have a young crew for this job, didn’t think everyone would be this young.”

She turned her attention to the man approaching the fence and she felt her heart flutter like a hummingbird against her chest. The man was tall, sinewy from being part of a construction crew and doing all the manual labor, she was sure. He wore a T-shirt with the company’s logo across the front Under Construction that stretched perfectly over muscular pectorals. A white hard hat was on top of his head but she could see swirls of brown hair peeking out from underneath. There were the standard work boots and pants of a construction worker on his lower half but that was all she really noted of his body.

It was his face that drew her in. His eyes, his smile, even his eyebrows seemed to catch her interest. His face had the slightest scruff on his cheeks and over his top lip. He was deadly handsome and she momentarily forgot she and her little ones were the only thing there. “We’re not here to work,” Mae giggled.

She shook her head and smiled. “No, sorry we can’t be part of the crew,” she said apologetically.

“We were going to do math, but Miss Bee wanted to show us the scary noises,” Milo explained bravely.

“Ah,” he caught her eye. Did his smile grow? She must have imagined it. Was it hot out? It was early October, and the nice fall breeze was blowing a chill in the air, and she felt like she was about to sweat through her clothes and wish she hadn’t worn her jacket. Holy shit, he was hot. “Are you Miss Bee then?”

“It’s actually Miss Bird,” Kai explained. “But Miss Bee is a nickname.”

“Bird,” he repeated. “Nice to meet you, Miss Bird,” he held his hand out. “I’m Harry, Harry Styles.”

“Harry,” she answered. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Styles.”

He smirked at the formality but held her hand an extra second longer before letting go. Surely, she imagined that.

Harry saw the gaggle of children and the woman alongside them about five minutes prior as they approached the fence between the playground and the building site. “We got company boss,” Niall smiled while he moved some of the materials across the site with the help of his forklift. Harry turned toward the group and was in awe of the woman that could wrangle a group of little ones like that so effortlessly. As he got closer he became a little more entranced by her. She was all bright colors, her pants were firetruck red, and her jacket was a bright pink. She had an off-white bandanna or wrap in her hair of some kind that came to a knot at the top of her head from underneath her hair. She was beautiful. Obviously. Harry thought she was lucky she didn’t teach older kids because they would probably get nothing done staring at the pretty woman for hours on end. She looked so young too—no way older kids would take her seriously. But the little ones seemed to adore her, waiting patiently while they looked on with fascination.

She held a walkie-talkie in her left hand while she shook Harry’s hand during introductions.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off her smile and the way she looked fondly at her students while he introduced himself.

“We didn’t mean t’scare you all. We’re putting in a new fire and police station here t’keep you safe,” he explained to the little ones. “The noises y’heard were us putting the materials down.”

They all watched expectantly, waiting for him to continue. “Could they ask a question?” She smiled sweetly at him. “They’re waiting for you to say they can ask questions; it’s kind of a thing in the classroom,” she wrinkled her nose so cutely as she explained.

“Oh—right, yeah,” he chuckled. Harry wasn’t totally sure how a group of six-year-olds could have questions about what very little they had seen thus far, but he couldn’t wait to hear it. “Of course...do y’have questions?” Harry felt a little silly not seeing what inquisitive little minds she was molding behind the fence barrier.

However, all twenty hands shot into the air. She giggled and shook her head. “We aren’t getting to all the questions,” she laughed. “Mae, you can start,” she said.

One of the girls in the middle turned to Harry. “Why’s your hat white?”

“It means I’m in charge of everyone over there,” he explained. “It’s called being a foreman.”

“So, you’re like Miss Bee, she’s in charge of us,” Mae reminded him.

“Yes, just like Miss Bee,” he agreed catching her eye. She bit the inside of her lip and glanced at her line of students.

“Milo, do you have a question to ask?”

The boy toward the end of the line looked shyly at Harry and he grinned before looking at his feet. He mumbled something toward the ground and Harry took a few steps closer, bending in front of the fence. “Can y’repeat that for me, lad? I didn’t catch it.”

“How do you know where to put stuff?” He asked.

“We have maps and outlines of where stuff is going to go,” Harry grinned.

“It’s kind of like the maps we made of towns, remember?” She prompted. “Where we would put the school, the houses—”

“The ice cream shop!” Someone else called out from the other end of the line. The rest giggled and she nodded with her beautiful, ever-present smile.

“Yes, the important things if you recall,” she glanced at Harry apologetically. “One more question, then we have to head back inside for snack time.”

“But Miss Bee! I have a lot of questions!” DJ pouted.

“Me too!”

“I do too!”

The chatter started to become a little loud and overwhelming as they reminded her that they had many questions for Harry and he smirked at her as she shook her head. “All my friends love to turn on their listening ears and turn off their voices,” she practically sang. Instantly, they were soundless.

“Wow,” Harry murmured. “I should try that on my crew.”

They all giggled, and she smiled at him apologetically once more. “Zara, do you want to ask your question?” She asked.

“How do you know what tool to use?”

“It depends on what y’have t’do, but I had t’learn which tool t’use by going t’school,” he explained.

“You went to school too!?”

“That was another question!”

“It doesn’t count!”

“Miss Bee!”

“Hey, hey, hey! Hocus pocus,” she called gently.

“Time to focus!” They all silenced themselves.

“Wow,” Harry was in awe of her. That was almost superhero powered in nature.

“Mr. Harry, could we write our questions down to have you answer?” Tyler asked.

“That’s a great idea Tyler, but Mr. Styles has to—”

“I would love t’do that,” he offered immediately and caught her eye. “This project is going t’be a while,” he explained.

“Mr. Harry,” Janie asked pulling on his pant leg through the fence. “Could you fix Miss Bee’s desk? It’s all crooked,” she explained.

“Janie, my love,” she said softly, her cheeks turning the same shade of pink as her jacket. She was adorable and Harry was putty already. “That’s not very polite to ask. Mr. Styles is working,” she explained. “It would be like asking you to do your adding while you’re doing your sentences.”

Harry grinned almost apologetically as he caught her eye once more. “I could take a look at it,” he offered. “When does school get out?”

“Oh, that’s okay—”

“We line up for the bus at three-fifteen. That’s when the clock looks like this,” and they all turned to put their hands together to the left of their bodies, surely to mimic the hands of the clock where indeed, it would look like three-fifteen.

Harry grinned. She was a cool teacher to teach all these inquisitive little minds. “All my friends love to thank Mr. Styles for taking time out of his day to teach us about construction work,” she said knowingly and looked at him once more.

“Thank you, Mr. Harry,” they all sang.

“I said Mr. Styles.”

“But Mr. Harry is like a nickname, like you Miss Bee.”

She rolled her eyes. “Alright, Tyler, are you ready to lead?” She asked and waved to Harry.

As the line departed, he watched until he couldn’t see the pretty woman or the cute little ones any longer before he turned back to his job site. Niall rolled over on his forklift once more and popped out of the seat to stand beside him. “How was kindergarten?” He asked.

“They’re funny,” he smirked. “And very cute.”

“The kids or the teacher?”

“Both,” he shook his head, smiling to himself. “Get back t’work,” he mumbled and headed toward the other workers.

*

Harry watched the little ones boarding their buses and their teachers wave from below the overhang of the drop-off port as the kids left for the weekend. He could see the bright red pants and pink jacket from where he stood by the fence once more and a few students called out to him. “Bye Mr. Harry!”

She turned instantly and found him there. Harry’s crew was also leaving (trying to beat the buses before they got stuck behind) but Harry was without his hat now, waiting by the fence. He waved to the little ones, feeling a bit like a superstar with all the eyes that looked over at him. But he swore he could feel the pretty woman’s eyes boring into him more than the others.

He hopped over the fence now that the children were on the buses and parents had their children in cars. “Hi,” he smiled as he approached her. Her pretty lips parted ever so slightly in surprise. Her eyes scanned his face for recognition as to why he would be approaching her after the kids had left. “M’here t’look at your desk,” he explained.

“Oh!” She shook her head. “That’s okay. It’s Friday. I’m sure you have better plans than—”

“I don’t mind,” he offered with a shrug.

“Um...” she swallowed. “It’s really alright, I don’t want to put you out—”

“S’very okay, Miss Bird,” he teased. “M’happy to take a look.”

She nodded. “Okay, well...we just have to get you signed in at the office.”

“Sure,” he smiled.

“Do you have your license?” She asked.

He nodded and followed after her. They stopped at the front of the office, one of the older women greeting and going through the spiel of being a visitor. “Will you be here often?” She asked. “We could do a background check to make things simpler.”

“Oh, he’s just working nex—”

“That would be great, thank you, ma’am.”

She pressed her lips together, but Harry swore he could see the corners of her mouth twitching upward. Harry quickly filled out the information on the form and once he had a visitor tag on the front of his shirt, he followed her down the hall. The school was definitely older. It was part of the reason the safety buildings were getting an upgrade. The whole town was a bit older. They were silent as she led down the hall, her arms crossed over her stomach, he followed her down a stairwell and they stopped as a custodian greeted her.

“Hi Miss Bee, staying late today?” He asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I’ll keep my mess to a minimum,” she promised.

“Not a problem Miss Bee,” he was a bit older too. Clearly, he was used to seeing her around after hours. Late? How late did she stay? It was Friday. Didn’t teachers race to get out of the building on Fridays?

“I like to set up my classroom for next week,” she explained. “It’s a little easier to have everything planned out.”

“Well, I won’t keep you,” he promised.

“You really didn’t have to do this,” her cheeks flushing pink once more. “I’m a little embarrassed,” she explained unlocking her classroom door.

“S’nothing t’be embarrassed ‘bout. M’happy t’take a look.”

“I guess...but they shouldn’t have said anything. Six-year-olds. You can’t tell them anything.”

He chuckled. “S’fine,” putting his hands in his pockets as she pushed the door open. It felt like being transported into another world. A bright, colorful, sunny world. There were windows overlooking the yard separating the building and a soccer field. There were string lights around the top of the wall, along with floor lamps placed around the room as well. There was almost a separate room for her colorful carpet where an old rocking chair was situated in front of the whiteboard. On the other side of the room were her play items for the kids as well as tables and little chairs for her kids. There was artwork and displays of all her students’ work around every free space of the walls. All organized and stapled properly at regular spaced intervals.

Harry would have loved being her student, he thought, but he was glad he could get to know the pretty lady as she was right now.

At the back of the class near another door, there was her desk. Underneath one of the legs was a stack of old books. Harry frowned. It was very crooked.

“It’s really not as bad as it looks. I like to believe I’m pretty resourceful so that was one of the easier fixes of the classroom.”

He sucked his cheek a bit and nodded. “Is there anything else you’d like me t’look at?”

She shook her head. “No, really. It’s okay, this is too much as is,” she said hurriedly. It was hardly anything. “You’ve had a really long day.”

But as if her classroom knew that Harry was there, the wooden sign above the door they just walked through fell off the wall. He smirked while her cheeks turned another shade redder and she winced practically with her whole body. “M’happy t’look around,” he offered. “You’re here late?” He asked and knelt beside her desk inspecting it. It was old. A fairly solid wooden structure but Harry could see it was made mostly of cheap particle board. There was no way that this was up to the fire code instructed by the public buildings in town.

“Uhh...yeah. I have to make copies and cut some stuff out for my new bulletin board,” she explained. “I also like to do a little extra cleaning on Fridays. The custodians have a lot to do so I try to do my fair share,” she went to the little closet behind her desk built into the wall. The door stuck a bit as she pulled it open and she hung her pink jacket up and pulled out a broom and disinfectant wipes.

Harry nodded. “I’d be happy t’help.”

“Oh, that’s completely unnecessary,” she assured him. “I can’t imagine you really want to be here after a long day of manual labor on a Friday no less and—”

“Miss Bird, I would imagine s’not nearly as draining as trying t’wrangle and keep the attention of twenty-something six-year-olds, for six hours a day,” he interrupted and looked at her knowingly. “M’happy t’help.”

She watched Harry for a few moments surprised by how kind he was to a complete stranger. “Could I take these drawers out?” He asked.

“Um...” she swallowed. “If you can open them.”

He tilted his head at her with a smirk. “Is there a point t’having this desk?”

“I found it at a yard sale. It’s kind of my thing,” she explained. “Most of the shelves, chairs, et cetera are from yard sales. I’m a teacher on a budget kind of thing. They just need some TLC. I say I’m going to do it over the summer, but I tutor a bunch, babysit, and whatnot so I haven’t had the time. This is my fourth year of teaching so I’m hoping this summer will be different now that I won’t be preparing lessons much now that I know what I’m doing for the most part.”

Harry watched her as she spoke, a gentle smile on his face. God, she was cute. Without her coat, she was wearing a blue almost denim looking shirt and she looked so adorable he wanted to pick her up and twirl her around like she was a princess. “I think you’re a superhero,” he told her.

Her face flushed once more and she turned to the tables lower than any normal table Harry had ever sat at (especially for his tall frame) and she knelt to wipe the surfaces. Harry turned to the desk letting her settle with the compliment he offered. He tugged the drawers out, with effort. A piece of particle board splintered a bit but given the drawer was empty, he didn’t think she would mind much. But Harry would rather build her a new desk altogether. “I don’t sit much,” she added.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Shouldn’t take an act of God t’get a drawer open.”

He lifted the desk off the books once the weight of the drawers was out of the way. He carefully moved her piles of items and organizers onto the floor taking mental pictures of her setup. There was a framed photo of her and a man and his heart almost gave out at the thought that the pretty girl was taken. He glanced at her wiping the desks, her left hand bare of any rings. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but there was no way he could ask if she was taken. He gently placed her laptop on the back counter behind him and then tilted the desk onto it’s side.

The weight of her gaze was prominent on his face, but he ignored it, focusing on her desk and hoping to make her life a little better. “S’this little screw for the leg.”

“Yeah, I figured. It was too stuck for me. I tried using some WD-40 but I didn’t get much luck.”

He pictured the pretty girl in her bright red pants trying to get her desk to unstick. Resourceful she was. “I think I have some in m’car, I’ll go pop out.”

“Let me prop this door open,” she offered and went to the classroom door labeled with a giant two. Just follow that path up,” she pointed. Harry hurried out waiting until he was out of her sightline to all but run to his car and back. He returned with a selection of random tools he grabbed and walked back to her classroom.

“—shouldn’t stay late on a Friday,” he hated how jealous he was of a man’s voice. “Come out with El and I,” the voice offered.

“Louis, I’m exhausted. I will come over tomorrow. I can’t even imagine talking to the two of you right now and I love you guys.”

“I know,” the voice sighed. “Do you need help?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Course not.”

“Shut up,” she rolled her eyes.

“That isn’t very kind of you Miss Kindergarten,” the voice answered with attitude.

Harry cleared his throat as he returned. “I gotta go, Louis. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t stay too late, Miss Bee,” he sang.

She continued sweeping and glanced at Harry’s tools. “You really don’t have to do this,” she reminded him.

“Happy t’help,” he assured her. She seemed pretty adamant though. He wondered why she felt so uncomfortable asking for help. His eyes dropped to her left hand once more looking for a tan line or any indication she was taken. “M’a big fan of teachers,” he promised. “Had some really good ones,” he explained.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “If you’re sure. I don’t want to be a bother.”

Harry wondered who on earth made this saint of a woman feel like a burden. Her desk was old and rickety. It was hardly rocket science to fix it and it wasn’t even that heavy. The drawers stuck, which Harry would tackle next, but otherwise what was so difficult? He sprayed the screw at the foot of her desk and gave it a spin, but it didn’t work. He pulled a wrench from his toolbox and tried to get better leverage. “There we go,” he mumbled to himself as the screw unstuck. He untwisted it all the way and sprayed both the screw and the hole. He twisted the metal piece back in and smiled feeling glad he made her life a little easier. He stood, tipped the desk back to it’s rightful position. He put weight with his hands to ensure all the legs were the same length and he wiped his hands on his pants.

“There’s a bathroom through that door—everything is low because of the kids though,” she pointed toward the one right near him.

“Thanks bird,” he smiled and headed through it. Whoops, he thought to himself.

He rinsed his hands with soap quickly admiring the bright, neon green paper that said you should sing Happy Birthday to yourself twice to get the germs off while washing your hands. He imagined she heard happy birthday all day long and found that adorable.

When he reentered her room, she was already putting things back, including trying to get the sticky drawer back into position. “Oh, I can do that, love. Don’t hurt yourself,” he hurried over and grabbed the drawer from her grip.

“Thank you so much for doing this, this is so lovely,” she frowned. “Can I pay you or something?”

“Absolutely not,” he chuckled. “S’hardly anything, bird,” he assured her and jimmied the drawer back into position. “Y’can keep doing your thing. I’ll put everything back.”

She bit the inside of her lip. “Thank you,” she repeated.

“You’re welcome, seriously. S’hardly nothing.”

“No but it is,” she assured him. “I don’t mean to dump this all on you but my ex-boyfriend made it very clear that I put too much effort into my job and that all the extra time I didn’t get paid for didn’t mean anything because caring so much didn’t get me anything more. But I love this room and all it’s little quirks but this means the world to me, honestly. I want one of those Pinterest perfect classrooms in some ways, but I don’t think I’ll ever get it because this school is old and I don’t have the money, time, or energy I’d like to fix a lot of the things I probably need to. I don’t think I’m explaining it quite right and I’m sorry I just dumped all that on you, but I don’t think anyone has ever done anything this kind for me.”

Harry felt bad that his assumptions were correct, but he loved the way she let all of that out. He listened to every word with bated breath grateful for the word ex. It didn’t mean she didn’t have a current boyfriend, but it put into perspective why she was so overwhelmed by Harry’s little help. “Well, Miss Bee, m’at your service,” he assured her.

--

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[yieldtotemptation]

NOVEMBER ft. Somi

somi x male reader smut

9k words

"It's this challenge I'm doing. One whole month—thirty days—without having an orgasm," you're explaining, failing spectacularly at keeping things professional. Something possesses you to add: "No nutting. Hence the name."

Somi just stares at you. Flabbergasted.

Leans forward, elbows on her knees, chin in her palms; tearing your entire existence apart with her eyes.

"Can I just say, and I genuinely mean this in the nicest way possible—but that’s the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard."

—

Here's the conclusion you've arrived at from the one hour you've spent with her: Jeon Somi is some kind of demon.

It’s not a joke, it’s not some painterly metaphor you’re drawing—Somi has clawed her way out from the depths with nothing but a ponytail and an alarmingly tight pair of leggings; arriving on Earth, in the flesh, to make your life a living, breathing, sweat-drenched hell.

So, yeah.

Somi, the succubus. Or something close to that.

It's the only explanation for it really.

See, you're a photographer. Of women, specifically.

Beautiful women in intimate settings, sparse aesthetics. That’s your whole deal. Just homing in on the subject, capturing something ‘real’ without any distractions. Get the essence of who they are when there’s no one looking.

Pretentious, sure, but it’s what’s kept you in demand with the glossy magazines and the avant-garde galleries and the starlets desperate to convince the public that they’re more than just the pretty robots their agencies have programmed them to be.

So, suffice to say, you've met all the types.

The innocent idols that need a mountain of coaxing to come out of their shells. The stone-cold divas that barely acknowledge your existence, yet somehow still expect you to anticipate their every demand. And the flirts, willing to do just about anything for the camera with a wink and a nudge, if it means getting an edge on the rest of the industry.

But Somi? She just is.

Pure temptation incarnate, from head to toe, without even trying. Thighs that threaten to strangle your self-control, a waist that makes sinners out of saints, tits that would have physicists reconsidering the very nature of gravity, all topped by a dangerous smile that could melt a fucking igloo with its sheer wattage.

Somi’s hot.

She knows it, the world knows it, the public crucifies her for it. And she just takes it all, all of it. Melts it all together and forges it into armour.

And now she’s here, in your private space. None of the usual entourage of make-up artists, managers, whatever. Just herself and an absurdly sweet frappé. Looking so comfortable that it’s making you feel like you’re intruding.

She’s leaning on your table, ass flush against the wood, arms crossed, and her eyes—those fathomless dark pools—land on yours, holding them hostage.

Barely has to make any effort when she laces her words together, piles on an unhealthy dose of insinuation, cocks an eyebrow and asks—“So, how do you want me?”

Naked, preferably. On all fours, ass to the sky. Or maybe on her knees, mouth hanging open, tongue out, elbows squeezed together to make her tits sing.

Yeah, you're already composing the perfect shot in your head.

Fuck.

You rub your eyes. Maybe thirty days of self-imposed abstinence has finally broken you, and this is all some kind of feverish hallucination driven by your libido.

But no, Somi is still there, lounging in your studio, all curves and challenge. Just being insanely hot.

You cough, clear your throat. Put on the mask of someone far more professional.

“Anywhere you’d like,” you’re answering, keeping your expression decidedly blank. This isn’t the first time you’ve been the only outlet for a young sexpot desperate to let off some steam. You have the experience. But again—fuck. Thirty days is far too long. Somi is far too much. “Just keep it natural. Like I’m not even here.”

Somi just laughs, sweet and sinful, her whole thing. Pushes off the table with a grace that seems almost supernatural (again, see the demon theory), before adding a thought, like it just sprung up in her pretty head— “Easier said than done.”

Distractions aside, all things considered, she’s the perfect subject.

Gets what you’re going for immediately, makes herself at home amongst your studio's chaos. Glides around the room, runs her fingers over your equipment strewn about—the lights, the lenses, the negatives hanging in the corner.

The sway of her hips, the flex of her back. The dip of her brow and purse of her lips when she asks, "What's this for?", and the genuine interest when she listens to you explain about aperture, and light metres, and so on and so on.

(Snap a photo of her silhouette when she's by the window, leaning against the glass to spy on the passers-by.

Snap a photo of her smile, when you say something that's really not that funny, but she laughs anyway.

Snap a photo of her legs, when she finds a couch to lay on—stretching herself out, showing off their length, the tone of her thighs, the promise kept hidden by her leggings being pulled tighter and tighter.)

Another hour passes quickly, and you take a break there, more for your sanity than her endurance. Leave her to her own devices while you flick through the shots you’ve managed to get so far.

Only, when you scroll through your laptop, scan through the dozens upon dozens of rapid-fire photos you've taken—it's a horror show.

None of them work.

Not because of her, but because of you.

The way you've shot her. Far too revealing—you've put too much of yourself in these pictures. Turned them from images to confessions. Each one a fucking love letter to her body—her legs, her tits, her lips, her ass, her tits again—everything about her that makes you ache.

It's not art. It's borderline pornographic.

And yet, Somi's still just lying there.

Drinking down another pick-me-up that she's had delivered, this one with enough caffeine to take down several horses, chatting away so casually while you try to stitch your soul back together. Sipping and talking about who-knows-what, throwing out feelers, smiling easily, laughing sincerely, utterly oblivious to the havoc she's wreaking on your self-control.

An effortless grace when she lifts herself off the couch, saunters over to you and leans in far too close, gets far too familiar, lays on far too much charm when she asks, “Mind if I take a look?”

Yeah, you do, but you still force a calmness into your voice that you’re certainly not feeling when you turn the laptop so she can see.

“Wow,” is her initial review, and now she’s touching you, hand on your shoulder, tits pressed up against your arm and you’re certain that none of this is accidental, like an oh, just trying to get closer so I can better appreciate the photos you’re flipping through, never mind that you're getting a precise estimation of my cup size just from the feeling alone.

Do your best—ignore the pressure, the warmth, the softness. Watch her face, see all the tiny details; her eyes lighting up when she catches something she likes, her thoughtful hum at a particularly good shot. The smacking of her lips, the furrow of her brow, the recognition as you scroll.

One by one, with each photo, her expression morphing from curiosity to understanding.

She notices.

“You’re good at this.”

You wait for it. “That’s all?”

Her eyes glint, “None of these can be used though.”

“I know.”

The screen’s frozen on a particularly compromising shot: there’s Somi’s face, barely in it, just the bottom-half, her lips pouting out and looking all plump and delicious. Camera angled up high, pointing down the dip of her tight, sheer top and the shadowy valley that makes up her cleavage. Scanning down to her legs, folded to the side beneath her, the squish of her ass cheeks over her heels, spilling into the corner of the screen.

Sin, captured in fifty megapixels, barely contained inside a four by six frame.

A submissive dream.

“These for your personal collection, or—” and when she catches the heat rising up the back of your neck, changing directions, “—not that I mind, as long as I get a copy.”

Clearly finding all this much funnier than you are—that smile’s a knife to your chest. So sharp and knowing; it would have you gasping for air, if only you’d look.

Keep it cool, play it off with a shrug, “We’ll try again.”

“I doubt we’ll get any different results,” Somi’s predicting, bouncing on her toes now, getting closer and closer until she doesn’t need to make much of an effort to make herself heard. Close enough that she could feel you now, if she wanted to. Just brush her fingers over you and get a good idea of the reason why this photoshoot is going so far off the rails.

She instead leans her chin onto your shoulder, breath hot against your cheek. Like throwing a match on gasoline.

All the power of this girl, this woman, wrapped up in a single gesture. Wielding it so freely, so innocently, so easily. Heat that's self-aware, that knows just how much it's burning.

You caution, “Keep it professional.”

“Doesn’t that run counter to the whole aesthetic. I thought we were going for raw?”

“Natural.”

“What’s the difference?”

You need to stop yourself, shut the laptop, end the session right now before it’s much too late. Before you’re turning to her and realising just how close her lips are to yours, just how tiny her waist is compared to your hands, and you're saying the words that will end all semblance of propriety and professionalism— “With you, I don’t think there is one.”

“Well as long as we agree,” and Somi’s turning away, striding back to the couch, leaving you to breathe again. Making you thankful for the space, but missing the suffocation of her heat all at once.

Plopping herself down on the cushions, one leg folded under the other, leggings so thin you can see the shape of her underneath. Natural, just like you asked—looking like she's the only one here that’s exactly where she wants to be.

You’re thinking you’re off the hook.

Maybe you can get back to work.

Only, “So, it’s been a while, then?”

“Somi,” you’re saying her name for the first time, officially, and it’s coming out far too strangled. Far too needy. She loves the sound.

“Come on, humour me.”

“Somi,” again, you’re trying, clearing out the cobwebs from your throat.

“Sir.”

What the fuck.

She doesn’t move. Waits patiently for your answer.

You give her the inch, knowing she’ll take the mile.

Raking a hand through the back of your head. “Thirty days.”

The look on Somi's face is apoplectic. You're glad you have the wherewithal to capture it.

"It's a—" and you're feeling quite stupid as you explain it to her in detail; the abstinence for a month, the purpose of it all, the supposed benefits, "challenge."

That sends Somi ranting, hands flailing in the air. Incredulous, at you, at this challenge, at the idea of putting yourself through this self-imposed torture. “Stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard.”

And then, when she sees your face.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But seriously. Thirty days? And not once.”

Your voice is dry. “No.”

“Not even by accident?”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Wet dreams, nothing? No jerking it? No sex? At all?” Somi’s bursting out laughing, hand flying to cover her mouth, barely even able to breathe. It’s so absurd to her.

And it doesn’t take long before she puts it all together. Processes the information, sees the picture she’s painted of you. The sad, desperate artist, with nothing but a dying hunger and a camera. Realises the predicament you’ve put yourself in just by having her here.

She’s not laughing any more.

“And so you chose today, November 30th, to schedule me?”

You’re very, clearly frustrated. “Not my choice.”

“I see.” She bites her lip. Angles herself just so.

“Dial it back.”

“Tell that to your boner.”

You look down. Pants distinctly flat.

Somi’s grinning. “Made you look.”

“Are you done?” You ask, forcing yourself to look away from her, busying your hands by screwing on a different lens, as if it’ll somehow make her appear any less distracting, like it’ll blur out all your worst intentions and bring back some actual decorum to this whole fiasco. “We don’t have much time left.”

Turning back to her, raising your camera, aiming straight and true and—

Somi, unzipping her heels, kicking them across the floor with a dramatic flourish.

Snap.

Somi, lifting her top up and over her head, stretching her arms up high to push her breasts out forward; making them tight, outlined, so obviously pebbled against the cotton of her bra.

Snap.

Somi, digging her thumbs into the waistband of her tights, pointing her legs up in the air so she can peel them off without getting up, thrusting her hips up off the couch to yank them over her ass.

Snap.

“Somi,” you’re saying again, because apparently, you’ve forgotten how to make other words.

“Just doing what feels natural,” she says, smile turning wicked, reaching behind her back to unclasp and oh, now she’s completely naked. Rearranging herself into this pose. As if she isn’t already the centre of your universe.

Thirty days, flushed directly down the drain.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

—

You’ve found it, the perfect photograph.

Somi, kneeling on the couch, hands folded on her lap, staring down the barrel of your camera with her tits out. Unreal. Works of art, both of them. Miracles of flesh, gravity be damned.

“You’re not taking any photos,” she points out.

You swallow hard. “I’m taking it in.” 

Her hands come up to cup her breasts, giving them a bounce. For fun. For you. For the look on your face. You capture the jiggle. "Good, because I'd hate to think all this was going to waste."

It’s a little fucked up, how right Somi is. You wanted raw, honest—here it is, Somi as she kneels. Just being herself, being the woman everyone accuses her of being—the sinner, the whore, the slut.

Being the woman she knows she is, with everything that it implies—the confidence, the appeal, the fucking powerhouse of magnetic attraction. Not an image being projected, not a role she’s playing, but the reality of her, shooting straight into your veins, raw sex personified—as natural as breathing.

And before you know it, you’re capturing her lips with yours, an ‘mmmph’ slipping out from her as your mouths collide and your tongues meet.

It’s not intentional, it just happens. You lean in, she’s hot, she smells like heaven and sin wrapped in a neat little bow and you’re kissing her.

Tongue finds hers, attacks, retreats, joins and intertwines, and it’s everything you imagined it would be turned all the way up—sweeter, hotter, and so much more fucking dangerous.

Lips head south, tongue sliding along her neck, teeth on her shoulder, kisses into her collarbone; and finally, you’re at her breasts.

Softer than a dream, tasting like pure addiction; you kiss the tops of her breasts, lap up all the sweat that’s beaded down in between. Drag your tongue down, follow the curve, the dip, and ending at the hard little points poking against your lips. Filling your mouth with as much of it as you can—licking, suckling, making a complete mess of spit on her chest, and then biting, just a little, just to make her moan.

“So this is what denial does to a man, hm?”  Somi slithers into your ears, under your skin, hands at the back of your head and holding you in place.

She arches into you, pushing herself closer, letting you taste, indulge. Feast on what you’ve been missing out over this long stretch of days.

And fuck, maybe it is the abstinence, the pent-up need, or maybe it’s the fact that tits in general are just fucking incredible things. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s that it’s Somi, in all her outrageously perfect glory, so happy to be the one that gets to ruin you, that’s making you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust.

Not that it matters one bit.

Not that there’s any thoughts at all in your head; there’s just Somi’s tits and your tongue. Lapping it up like you’re trying to drink her in, memorise every contour, every curve, every little goosebump you induce with each swipe of your tongue.

Somi’s tits; a canvas, and your mouth’s painting the picture of a lifetime.

“Baby,” Somi coos, hands on the side of your face, lifting you up off the cushions of her breasts. She’s giggling, her fingers wiping at the strings of drool that you hadn’t even realised you’d been leaving behind. “Remember what we’re here for?”

Right.

The camera. The art. The job. The no-touching rule.

But your mind is a blurry mess of tits and need, and all your blood has headed south for the afternoon, and it's making you feel like you're melting from the inside out.

“Let me give you a hand.” Somi’s gentle with you, like you’re a stick of dynamite with a frayed wick, just the slightest touch and you’ll blow.

She takes your hand, fingers brushing against yours, little sparks of electricity making your hairs stand on end, and lifts your camera up to point directly at her.

And then, she smirks. As if to say, yeah, she’s read all your thoughts; seen straight into you and has discovered the vault where you’ve kept every one of your deepest, darkest impulses locked up for thirty long days.

Somi repositions herself. Poses her body, determined to bring every single filthy, desperate, starving fantasy of yours to life.

Reclining back into the couch, thighs apart, spreading her legs wide.

Showing off her cunt.

Bare and gleaming. Shaven clean—just this perfect, pink, wet little pussy calling out to you. Open like a fucking invitation.

You’re staring.

She waits for you to catch up.

“Now would be a good time to start using that camera.”

You take a step back. Heart racing, hands shaking; you’re usually so much better than this. Take a deep breath, lift the camera, do your job, make your art, capture as much as you can while you have fucking perfection putting herself on display for you.

The click, the shutter echoing through the studio.

It makes Somi sigh.

Her eyes find the lens, locking down her target. A fucking miracle of biology, that’s Somi. Born to have cameras on her, as in love with them as they are with her.

Her fingers dip, trace down over her ludicrously tiny waist, her abs, her bellybutton, stopping short of her mound. Dancing over her pussy, light as a feather.

Fucking grinning as she asks, “Like what you see?”

The camera’s flash answers for you.

Touching herself, stroking, circling, pressing down. Building a crescendo that you can see painted on her; through the tensing of her abs, the heaving of her breasts, her cheeks going pink, her breaths getting shorter, and her lips parting to moan.

You’re barely conscious of the fact that you’re talking under your breath, a singular demand— “Keep going.”

“Yes, sir.”

Thirty days of denial has turned you into a starving man, only for Somi to show up and make herself a full-course feast. The perfect model, but also the worst fucking thing possible for your resolve.

You take a deep breath, grip the camera tighter.

If you’re going to crack, you might as well go out with a bang.

Guiding her, as if she was any other client, and this was just another photoshoot— “Open your legs wider, Somi. Show me everything.”

Her eyes widen, pupils dilate. Sparks, excitement, lighting them up. She does as she’s told, pushing out her knees further, sinking down into the couch cushions.

Thighs quivering, pussy sopping wet and pulsing. All for you. For your camera.

Another click, the shutter again, like a time-bomb ticking down to your doom.

“Play with your clit. Tease it.”

Her hand obeys, delicate, slender fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles, hips bucking slightly with each pass. The noises she makes are obscene. Harsh, breathy whispers that make you throb; moans that get caught in the back of her throat.

It’s a rush of blood straight to the head, an almost dizzying sensation, having Somi so eagerly following your every command. Her face says it all, this slut positively loves being told what to do.

“Keep it light. That’s it,” you say, stepping closer, hitting your marks, your angles. “Turn to me. I want to see your face.”

“Like this?” Somi breathes, turning to face you fully, her hand still playing with herself, stroking in a way that's almost cruel—so gentle, so teasing, so obviously designed to make you lose your mind. “Getting the pictures you’ve been dreaming of? Someone like me all spread out for you?”

You nod, jaw clenched, keeping steady. Or at least, you think you are, considering how good Somi’s making this for you.

Making sure you get the right shots of her—her pussy, swollen and puffy, dripping down a puddle onto your couch. Her tits; pinched until they’re hard and sensitive, a vivid red against the stark white of her skin. Her eyes, wide and wild and looking straight down the lens, communicating her arousal in a million different heated ways without saying a single word.

Let it be known; Somi knows exactly what she’s doing.

Knows when to sigh, knows how to arch her back, knows in which direction to pout her lips. Knows how to make every click of the camera count.

“Good girl,” you’re telling her, praising her, and it’s enough to make her keen.

“Am I?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning in closer, close enough to feel the heat of her body, a furnace against your skin. See the sweat dripping down her thighs, tiny little droplets shimmering against the muscle, begging to be licked away. “You’re doing so good, Somi. So, so good.”

You’re getting closer now, kneeling. All for the sake of the perfect shot.

Seeing her fingers work, spreading herself open, exposing her folds, glistening. Her clit standing tall and proud. Her entrance pulsing, waiting to be filled. It’s like watching a masterpiece come to life, a photo that’s been taken a thousand times before but never quite captured right. Until now. Until Somi.

Somi's smiling down at you, all knowing, all tempting, making your mouth water, and it takes all your self-discipline to not drop the camera and replace your lens with your tongue.

She laughs, low and throaty. “Looks like you’re enjoying the view.”

“You have no idea, Somi,” you answer, adding, “But you can make it better, can’t you? Make it wetter. Hotter.”

“Mmhmm,” she agrees, getting to work at making your instructions real. She’s a professional too, after all. A master of her craft. Her other hand snakes down to join her first; one hand pressing firmly down on her clit, the other plunging two fingers up into her cunt. Pushing in, curling, until it’s hitting that sweet spot that makes her preen.

“Perfect, Somi.”

You’re transfixed, as Somi starts to fuck herself in earnest, the camera almost forgotten in your hand. She’s so drenched that every stroke is accompanied by a wet, slick sound; and the way she’s creaming around her digits, dripping down her wrist, it’s far beyond a simple performance being put on for the sake of a photograph. It’s the real deal.

Somi’s breaths come faster, her eyes glaze over, and she’s biting down on her bottom lip, trying to keep from crying out too loudly.

You know you’re getting the best of her, can see it across her face: this is what she truly enjoys. Being watched, being desired, being told what to do all for your pleasure.

“Oh, baby,” she’s barely managing hushed, strained whispers, “Oh, oh, oh…”

You feel like you’re in a trance, your own hand wandering down, needing to adjust lest you rip right through your jeans. The sight alone is devastating enough, but it’s making you swell, until there’s no point in trying to hide it anymore.

“That looks so,” Somi’s licking her lips, seeing the state you’re in, seeing the desperation in your eyes, the strain down below, “Nice.”

The camera is your anchor, your north star in this whole mess. You keep it steady, even as Somi’s breaths grow shallower, turn to pants. Losing herself to you, to the moment, to being captured in all her vulnerability.

She’s fucking herself even faster now, fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, wetter and wetter still, knuckles turning white with the force she’s applying.

“You’re doing so good, Somi, such a good girl for me,” you’re reassuring her, unable to hold back your own need, your own desire from leaking into your voice. It’s a battle, a war really, against your own urges, your innate desire to just drop everything and dive into her, feel her tightness around you, make her scream out your name.

But it’s too soon, Somi’s too close, and it would be a fucking crime to stop her.

“Baby,” she gasps, the word a prayer and a taunt in equal measure, “Baby, I don’t think I can last any longer.”

You’re grinning now, heart racing, camera at the ready. “Good.”

Somi’s on a knife’s edge, balancing on the precipice of climax. You can see it in how her body’s seizing, how she throws her head back, exposing her neck to you—needing your kiss, your bite, your claim. But you resist, intent on capturing every moment of her unravelling.

Because you want to know. Want to capture it. How she cums. What sounds she makes, what noises she can’t keep in. What she looks like when she falls apart.

“Cum for me, Somi,” you’re telling her, “I want to capture it all.”

Somi trembles. She wants it too.

Her eyes screw shut, her breath hitches, and she’s there, sinking back into the couch, letting out this sweet little gasp of anticipation.

The studio goes silent except for the sound of her fingers in her cunt and the shuttering of your camera.

In, out, snap.

In, out, snap.

Fucking herself. Fucking you with her very existence.

And then—“I’m going to—”

Her body arches off the couch, a scream ripping from her throat, her hand working furiously, pussy clenching so sweetly around her fingers. It’s the type of photo people spend entire careers never getting to capture, the most beautifully obscene sight you’ve ever been lucky to witness—Somi, in the throes of pleasure, wracked by her own orgasm, all for the sake of your camera.

It hits her hard and fast and all at once, turns her body into a bow, taut and tense, before it’s released, snapped, melting her down into a boneless puddle.

You watch in awe as Somi cums, writhes and wriggles, and she makes these noises that you’ve never heard from a woman before; crying out so loud you’re surprised the neighbours aren’t banging down the door to see what the commotion is about.

It’s only when she finally relaxes, is released from her orgasm, that you lower the camera, out of breath from the sheer exertion wrought by just watching her.

You’re both near devastation—Somi sprawled on the couch, chest rising and falling, eyes closed and an elated smile on her face, and you, knees threatening to give out, unable to tear your gaze away from the sight of her satisfaction.

“That was—” Somi tries shaping the words, but they don’t come. She just lies there, lazy and sated, catching her breath.

Moments pass before she can open her eyes again, only to find you, standing over her, jeans vanished, cock out and level with her parted lips.

“That was just the beginning, Somi.”

It's just the sight of you, but Somi’s delighted. Seeing you like this—exposed and so ridiculously hard. All because of her.

She slides off the couch, kneeling at your feet.

“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Anything at all. Just make sure you capture it.”

“Then suck.”

Wet, hot heaven. Somi’s mouth is heaven.

Tongue darting forward, swirling around the tip, teeth grazing the head, and you’re groaning, hips jerking forward involuntarily until you’re falling into her mouth.

Somi’s got a way about her, a finesse that’s unmatched in everything she does. So, so good for you; opening her mouth nice and wide, hollowing her cheeks just right, pursing her lips to make sure you feel it when she sucks.

Just gleeful when your hand finds purchase in her ponytail, when hers wrap around the base of your cock, and you push. Inch by inch into the sweet heat of her mouth, taking it all, making sure you can see it, see how thankful she is to be granted the privilege of swallowing you whole; of having you completely filling her throat.

Holding herself there, nose pressed up against your stomach, eyes looking up, watering slightly around the edges. Not even gagging, just warming your cock with her throat, pulsing, tight, unbearably hot.

She raises her brows.

Ah, that’s right.

Snap.

Pulling off you, dragging her lips, her tongue up your shaft, leaving behind a choked, drooling mess that she’s so fucking proud of.

Giggling around a mouthful of your cock, laughter vibrating across your skin, and it’s a wonder you don’t lose yourself right then and there.

But somehow, you hold on; brace yourself against Somi massaging your balls, tickling the underside of your tip with her tongue. Playing with you, taunting, enjoying every second. Popping your cock out of her mouth so she can truly take measure of you at your achingly hardest, so she can breathe onto your cock in wonder, “Just look at you.”

Balancing your length in the palm of her hand, barely able to wrap her fingers around your girth.

“So big, so hard,” she’s rapt, talking to you, to herself, making sure the ghosts haunting your studio know exactly what she’s dealing with her. “And it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

“Darling,” you’re calling her, making her swoon, “Take it all.”

And she does. Somi, eager, opens her mouth wide, and lets you fuck her face. Getting you deep, so deep that you can feel her throat clench around your tip, slurping, moaning, choking now, but never, ever stopping. Just drooling down your thighs like the good little slut she knows you need her to be.

You’re back at it, taking photos, trying to get the perfect angle, but it’s proving a big ask when your knees are wobbling and your vision’s growing blurry. You’ve got Somi’s eyes in the viewfinder, all wide and blown with lust, looking straight through the lens of the camera and at you, daring you to break first.

But there’s still so much more of her to capture, so much more of her face to fuck.

Her red lips against your skin. Her cheeks bulging with your length. The line of her throat as she swallows. The tears in her eyes when she gags.

Somi’s arms loop around your back, cupping your ass, pulling you closer, urging you deeper.

Winking, giving you all the right cues; a muffled, “Here,” she says with her eyes. “This angle.”

And she’s right. It’s perfect. She’s got a talent for this.

Taking you deep, feeling like your cock’s never going to be able to leave her throat, only to pull back so you can see just how much she’s enjoying herself. How much she’s into this, so grateful to have you capturing every moan, every gag, every little sound she makes as you fuck her mouth like it’s the first time—and after a whole month it might as well be.

“Fuck, take it, Somi, you’re doing so well,” you tell her, knowing what it does to her—the praise, the adoration. Absorbed straight into her bloodstream, making her work harder, suck better, choke a little more. “Such a good girl.”

She loves it. Her eyes brighten, she squeezes your thighs, nails digging in. She loves it all.

You’re getting so close, you can feel it—thirty days of denial are about to come to a head, and she's going to be the one to bring you there. And yet, you still haven’t gotten nearly enough pictures to do her justice.

Somi sees it too, she can tell, knows just how close you are, but still, she's just lie you. She wants more.

She pulls back, an idea hatching in that filthy mind of hers, a smirk playing on her lips.

“Wait,” she says, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, cleaning herself of her spit, her drool, your leakage. “I want another photo. For comparison’s sake. Just for my memories.”

You’re not sure what she means, but you don’t ask questions. You just keep your camera at the ready, watching her move, watching her lean closer.

Your cock hovering just above her cheek, tip bumping up against her nose, leaving a wet streak across her face. She holds herself there, your length atop her face, and it’s all in view—her eyes fluttering closed, the tip of her tongue poking out to catch a taste of your precum, the way she’s breathing, deep and heavy, smelling the scent of you, inhaling it like it’s oxygen.

Somi—her face, her tits, her waist, her thighs.

Your cock.

All in view.

That’s the photo.

And when it’s done, you’re backing off, relearning how to breath, how to stand on your own two feet without crumbling to the ground. Somi’s tongue chases you but you’re out of reach, setting the camera down on the floor.

You need to get in on this. Fuck silly challenges. Fuck being a passive observer.

You’re done just watching. You need to feel her.

Somi looks at you all smug and satisfied, on her knees, awaiting your next instruction. “Finished taking pictures?”

You don’t answer.

Instead, you start peeling off your clothes, each layer like a heavy weight of your shoulders; until you’re just as bare and needy as she is.

Back to Somi, cradling her face, letting her lean into your palm. Running your thumb across her jaw, dragging it across her lips, stamping it onto her tongue.

She sucks.

Christ.

Thirty days of hell, given up for one moment in heaven.

Fuck it. She’ll make it worth it.

You tell her in simple, clear terms. “I’m going to fuck you now, Somi.”

“Please.”

It’s your turn now.

You relax into the couch, legs spread wide, cock throbbing in the open air, beckoning her to come closer.

Somi reads the room, your posture, your need, and she rises to the occasion. Joining you on the couch, back on her knees, thighs gripping on the outside of yours. Hands planted firmly on your shoulders, and the whole time, her eyes don’t leave yours, not even for a second.

Appreciate her, this woman, giving herself over to you.

Untying her ponytail, sending honey-brown hair cascading down her face, caressing her neck, her shoulders, meeting the tops of her breasts, perfectly rounded and waiting for the return of your teeth. Her waist, her abs, tensing and releasing, with every hot breath. And her pussy, already there, shimmering, dribbling down your cock, waiting.

Somi’s waiting for your permission.

So, taking her by the back of her neck, pulling her close, kissing her hard. Forcing this whine into your throat as your cock bumps up against her folds, sets off fireworks down her spine.

It’s a translation. Your need, from your tongue to hers, telling her that it’s only her that can do this you. Can rip you from responsibilities, from sanity, from all the shit that’s been keeping you going for the last thirty days.

Telling her that it’s worth giving it all up for just a taste, because maybe that’s the point of the challenge in the first place. Not a matter of self-control but a way to save yourself for something—someone—so potent, so powerful, so fucking irresistible that you just have to surrender to.

You pull apart, breaths hot and ragged, tongues still connected by strands, your hands already at her waist.

“You’re going to ride me, Somi. You’re going to cum on my cock and I’m going to watch it all.”

Somi nods, understanding.

Letting you guide her by the hips, sliding her fingers between her legs to take hold of your cock, aiming it at her entrance.

Lowering herself down, slow, so fucking slow, like it’s a brand-new form of torture, until your cock is nestled at the entrance of her heat, and you’re both vibrating with the anticipation of it, the gravity of this moment.

You take a harsh breath. “Ready?”

Somi presses her forehead to yours. Teasing, “Are you?”

And then, inch by inch, dragging her cunt down your shaft, making you feel every bit of her wetness, her tightness, every bit of her heat, Somi takes you in.

Pussy tightening around you like a fist, walls pulsing, massaging your cock, like she’s already trying to milk you dry. This moan that’s torn from her lips, deep and primal, something she’s been holding in for far too long, this needy, unholy cry that takes the shape of your name.

And when she’s bottomed out, when you’ve filled her until all she knows is you, Somi looks down in your eyes, nothing but pure, unfiltered lust strewn across her face. “Everything you were hoping for?”

You try, but fail, to form coherent words, just manage a grunt of pleasure, a nod of your head, and she laughs—it's the sweetest, most evil sound you've ever heard. She's got you, hook, line, and sinker.

“Good to know,” she says, and that’s all she needs to start moving, to set the rhythm that’s going to shake the walls, send them crashing to the ground until all that’s left is the two of you fucking amongst the rubble.

Her thighs tighten around you, hips start to roll in a way that’s just too fucking good, too fucking perfect. The friction is everything, makes the world narrow to just the two of you, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the drenched slick of her pussy, the heavy scent of her filling the air.

“Baby,” she repeats, each time her thighs slap down against yours, each thrust all the way up into her guts. “This cock is so perfect for me, so fucking—”

A snap of your hips into her, pulling her down hard, making her tits jump at the force of it, making Somi wail. There’s her cunt, spasming around you, tightening, trying to hold you in, trying to keep you there, but you’re not letting up.

You take over, holding by the hips and fucking her, like you’ve been waiting for, like you’ve been so fucking desperate for, like she needs so badly.

“God, you’re really—really fucking pent up, aren't you?" Somi's words are chopped up by the relentless thrusts of your hips, making her stutter, her voice all strained and breathy. Bouncing on you now, letting you set the pace, eyes screwed shut, just giving herself over to you. “I’m so, so lucky. So lucky that it gets to be me that breaks you. That takes you. That gets all this cum you’ve been saving this whole time.”

You’re gritting your teeth, unable to do anything but just fuck. Driven mad by it, by every impulse coming right up to the surface.

Everything you’ve been holding back, it’s all here, being unleashed onto Somi.

Fuck her, fill her, make her scream—‘Please, please, please’. Those are the only thoughts in your head now. Forget about the job, the photographs, the responsibility—just be yourself, a man on the edge, ready to jump off the fucking cliff.

“Baby,” Somi’s repeating, as your fingers find purchase in her ass, as she lays kisses on your shoulder, marking you up along your neck and down your jaw. There’s other words too—filth, all of it; whining to you about how you’re filling her up so good, about how she’s so wet for you, about how you’re going to make her cum so hard. But it’s all just noise to you. Noise that can be summarised in the simplest of requests, right from Somi’s lips—“Please, fucking use me.”

It's the perfect way to come apart—have someone like Somi, with her heavenly tits in your face, and her greedy, greedy cunt soaking up everything you’re willing to give. Begging, wanting, needing to be ruined.

“So fucking tight for me,” you’re kissing into her chest, finding your voice somewhere between her breasts. Telling her, “Fuck, Somi, your pussy. It’s so good for me. So fucking perfectly wet.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Somi sighs back, arms barely hanging on, holding at your neck, unable to do nothing but whimper and bear it. Bear this fucking you’re giving her, your cock invading her cunt, making her pussy tighten around it like a vice, making her abs clench, her tits jump, her throat swallow—making her sweat.

It’s like she was made for this—cunt made for your cock, body made for your arms. Somi, perfectly designed to be used by you. To moan and whine at your mercy; to be fucked, to be filled, to ruin you and to be ruined all the same.

“I can’t, I’m trying but I can’t hold on,” Somi’s teary-eyed, kissing at your face, your neck, her breath hot and sweet against your ear. “Baby, please. I need to feel you. Need more of you.”

And you’re only too eager to oblige.

Lifting your head, pulling her body closer. Catching her left nipple in your mouth, sucking hard, nipping at the peak until she’s gasping, until she’s arching her back, pressing her chest closer. Feeling the flesh flush against your lips, hitting your chin with each hard thrust.

Fuck, her tits. You could suffocate between them only to claw your way out of the grave just for another taste.

Her nails dig into your scalp, demanding more—more attention, more adoration, more worship. You give it to her—switching between each of her breasts, suckling and licking, making her whine and buck against your teeth.

“Just like that, you’re so good at that, so good with my tits,” she moans, short, tiny sighs that send your hips jerking upwards. Fucking her faster, quick, staccato thrusts that hit her just right, make her walls quiver around you. “They’re yours, all for you. All of me is yours.”

Her orgasm builds; it’s palpable, a storm brewing in the studio, sweeping up everything in its path. Each breath she takes is a hitch, a little cry, a whine. So tight around you, fucking her so hard, so deep that you can feel it coming from the inside out.

“Filling me so good, so, so good,” she mewls, and there’s still some fight in her left, a burst of energy in her thighs, allowing her to grind down harder, drop her ass on you—an up, down, up, down that echoes through the studio with each smack.

“You’re going to cum for me Somi,” you’re telling her, detailing exactly how she’ll come completely apart. “You’re going to cum all over my cock, you’re going to scream for me when you do it, okay? Tell me how good it feels.”

“Yes, yes, yes, tell me what you want—anything—I’ll do it, I’ll be so, so good for you—”

“You’re going to beg me for my cum, Somi. Going to beg me to give it to you until you can’t take any more,” you’re growling, your teeth sinking into her tits, your tongue pushing up against her flesh, making her sing.

You’re fucking her apart, tearing her in two with your cock. This girl you've only just met, who only just walked into your life; nothing but sex in a pair of high heels, and you’re already rearranging the furniture of her soul.

Now she’s the one that can’t make sense of things, can’t form full sentences—just incoherent whines and cries, each one stacking on top of the other, until the foundation’s all tilted and it’s going to collapse any second now.

Just waiting for you.

Separate from her chest, take a fistful of her hair, pull her back so you can look in her eyes and see. See just how badly you’re ruining her, how terribly she’s falling apart.

Make sure she can see you, has her attention on nothing but you when you tell her, finally, “Cum. Cum for me, Somi. All over my cock.”

She’s breaking.

“Now.”

“Please, I—” Somi’s words live and die on her lips, barely making it out before it hits her, seizes her entirely, forces her cunt to strangle your cock as she shatters.

It’s all there, her pussy tightening, pulsing, clenching, releasing in this quake of bliss that feels like a sucker punch straight through your gut.

When she cums it hits her, hits you, waves of heat washing over your cock, splashing down onto your thighs. It’s the sensation. So overwhelming, so undeniable, grinding down her orgasm onto you, pleading, over and over and over again, “Don't stop, don't stop, please!”

Writhing in your arms, needing to be held close to stop her from falling off the couch completely. Eyes rolling, head thrown back, exposing her neck, the perfect arc of her throat. Her body jolts, jerks, twitches, and it has you fucking hypnotised.

And all Somi can do is say, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!”

She keeps going, until each thread is unravelled, until you’ve fucked loose every last bit of control she’s got, until she’s nothing but a trembling mess in your arms.

But it’s not over, not yet.

You’re still hard, so fucking hard. Bursting at the seams. And Somi’s looking down at you, pulling herself back together. Seeing your cock, buried inside her. Seeing the mess you’ve made of her, her own pussy. Seeing everything.

And she’s smiling, because she knows what comes next.

“Use me.”

You lift her off your cock, so easy to carry; her tiny waist in your hands, she’s so light. Still shivering, these tiny, little aftershocks quivering through her, it’s like she’s clay in your hands, ready to be moulded at your discretion.

Somi gasps when she’s laid out on the couch, her legs spread wide, her cunt leaking down her thighs, all cream and cum. She adjusts herself, makes herself comfortable, presentable. Putting herself in the best possible state to be used by you.

“Use me, baby,” she repeats again, that sweat plea that’s going to be you’re undoing. She’s so, so needy, practically whining for more, for everything, for anything as long as it involves your cock and her.

You stand over her, cock at the ready, eyes on your next target, the natural stage for the grand finale, the pièce de resistance of this whole fucked up photoshoot—Somi’s breasts.

She follows your gaze, realises, “You want to fuck these tits, don’t you?”

You find your voice gravelly, deep. “Yeah.”

Somi giggles, hands at her chest, taking either side of her breasts, pushing them together with her palms and creating this gorgeous valley, just waiting for your cock. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“For you to beg.”

Somi blinks. Once, twice. Sees the look on your face, sees how hard you are for her, how desperate you are to let go.

But she knows how much you need to hear it. Knows how much she wants to say it.

“Please. Baby, please. Fuck my tits. Cum all over me. I need it.” Somi’s licking her lips, massaging her breasts together, showing you just how soft they are, how ready they are for you. “I need to feel your cum on me. All over me. My face, my neck, my chest. Everywhere. Let me do this for you.”

That’s it.

You’re back on the couch, straddling her stomach. Knees on either side of her waist, cock between her tits. Soft, warm, inviting.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that,” you manage, each word a mountain of effort as you watch your cock disappear between her breasts.

It’s a gentle push, that’s all it takes, and Somi starts to move, making her tits jiggle around your dick, squeezing it from either side as you slide your cock up and down. So focused, eyes on your cock, then back to your face, studying your every reaction, waiting for that moment when you crack.

And it’s coming so soon, you’ve been teetering on the edge since Somi first walked in—fuck, on edge for thirty days—and now you’re hurtling towards the fall.

You’re not going to last, not when Somi’s got you like this. Her hands moving with you, her tits bouncing in time with your strokes. The cushioning of her breasts around you; this gentle, sweet, torturous pressure that has you grunting, has you smearing drops of yourself all over her chest.

“Fuck, you look so good between my tits. So hard. Doesn’t it feel right? Like this is where your cock fucking belongs. This is what my tits were made for. For you,” Somi’s whispering, stringing these words together like a spell. “You can go faster, baby, I won’t break. Just let go and use me like the slut I am.”

Pleading for it, so desperate for you. Sweet words, encouragement, filth, like a drug, pushing you close and closer to the brink.

Just obey, pump faster, fuck her tits quicker, watch as your cock slices through her cleavage, the gloss it leaves over her skin. See Somi, licking her lips, devouring you with her eyes, just waiting for you to join her on the other side of oblivion.

“Cum for me, baby. Please, please. I need it—I need to feel it—please!”

Her tongue stretches past her lips, flicking out to catch the tip of your cock, making you groan. Leaning in, breath hot on you, cock hitting her lips with every thrust, every drive through her tits. So fucking greedy, so eager to taste, so needy to be the one responsible for your total ruin.

“Oh, oh, oh, baby—yes—yes—yes—yes—”

She pinches her nipples, twists them just right, moans—

You feel it immediately—your balls tighten, your cock swells, and then—release.

Intense is the only way to describe it.

So fucking intense.

White hot jets of cum spurt out, firing everywhere, making a mess of her, coating her chest, her neck, her chin, her lips, her nose—splashing down all over her.

It’s a frenzy, a natural disaster, a hurricane that’s been building for one long fucking month, and now it’s here.

The way her eyes widen, the way her mouth opens, gasping for air, the way she shakes—she wanted this, but there’s no fucking way she was prepared for it.

And when you back up, she dives forward, hand seizing the base of your cock and pumps. Wrists twisting in this aching motion, winding up and down your cock, wringing you out until you’re just a slave to her fingers, her tits, her touch.

“Keep going, baby, keep cumming for me, give me everything,” she begs, sending shivers all the way from your shaft down to your spine as she works your cock.

You do, you have no choice, no say in the matter. You give her everything.

You're coming apart, torn from your own body in sticky, hot waves that leaves you absolutely breathless.

And she’s a fucking mess. All of her—her face, her neck, her tits. So beautiful covered in you. So utterly used. So utterly yours.

It takes a moment for the tremors to stop, for the world to come back into the focus. You sit there, panting, feeling like you’ve just done a triathlon and then climbed a mountain. Somi’s just smiling at you, looking at you through her lashes, glued together with your cum, her own little giggles escaping every now and again.

She looks like a dream.

“Fuck, Somi—”

“Mm?” She looks so content, so at peace with the universe. Wearing your cum like fine jewellery. As if she’s the one that just had the best orgasm of her life.

“You’re—” But what the fuck do you say? That she’s ruined you? That she’s shattered your world? That you’ll never be able to look at a camera again without thinking of her?

Ah.

That’s what you’ll do.

You lean down, pick the camera off the floor, and then—snap.

Somi, looking so sloppy and obscene. Looking like everything you never knew you needed. Looking like she belongs to you.

She wipes away at her eyes, collects the cum on her finger, before dipping it into her mouth. Sucking, tasting the flavour of your need.

“Get the shot you wanted?”

You let out a long, heavy exhale, sliding off the couch, off her, sitting on the floor next to her. Resting your head on her thighs while Somi just lies there, sprawled out, utterly wrecked.

“You weren’t kidding,” she says. “One whole month.”

You remember to inhale. “Thirty days.”

She’s fighting a losing battle, cleaning the endless fountain of cum you’ve covered her with. Looking like she just streaked through a fucking snowstorm.

But she tries, collects as much as she can, smearing it into a sticky mess. Playing with it on her fingers, rolling it around her tongue, enjoying this way too much.

You raise the camera, aim it at her. The way she’s looking at you, the way her hand moves, so fucking casual—like it's her natural state of being. Making you believe that Somi should be covered in cum, all the time. It's only right.

You just can’t help yourself. You click.

“I haven’t been fucked like that since,” Somi starts, clearly not minding being the subject of your post-coital art. “Since ever. That was—"

“A trainwreck,” you’re saying, and then finishing when you catch the look on her face, “Not like that. It was insane. Intense. Really, thirty days or not, it was fucking life changing.”

Somi smiles. “Good to know I didn’t disappoint.”

“Just. These photos. Completely unsalvageable. None of that can be sent to your agency.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Somi says, so easily, so carefree, as if she didn’t just obliterate every single professional boundary you’ve ever set. “Let me have a look. There must be some photos at the start that are useable. From before you… lost focus.”

You pass her the camera, let her scroll through the shots, see all the pornographic filth the two of you have created. She flicks through, each click another photo, another reminder of what you’ve done, what she’s done to you.

And she’s enjoying it. These little smirks, the nods of approval. Fascinated by these photos of her, of her body in these stages of ecstasy.

“Ah, yup. No. Nope. Definitely not. Oh, and that one is just… yeah.” Somi’s voice is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of awe in it. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

“It’s what you do to me.”

“I can see that,” she says, continuing until she gets to the last of the photos. “That’s pretty fucked. These are pretty fucked up. But, like. Beautifully fucked up.”

“Thanks,” you say, throwing your hands up, letting one fall on Somi’s thigh. It rests there, draws a circle over the smooth warm, skin.

It’s a good feeling. Having her here, like this. So relaxed, so comfortable. Knowing her in the most intimate ways possible, yet still not knowing much about her at all.

She sighs when your hand moves higher. You throb.

Yeah. After thirty days, only one time is not going to be nearly enough.

You already want to dive back into the land of debauchery with Somi, bring up more of those repressed fantasies you’ve been waiting to realise, even though you’re still knee-deep in the aftermath of the first round.

It’s in Somi’s eyes as well, you can feel it in the air, from the heat radiating off her skin—she's not done with you either.

Far from it.

You're going to ruin her again. You're certain of it.

“So,” she says, making a show of cupping her tits, raising them up to her mouth. Licking them clean.

Your response is swift. Immediate. “We’re going to have to reschedule.”

Somi’s laughter is pure gold. “How does thirty days from now sound?”

You blink. Stare at her, unamused.

She raises your camera.

Snap!

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

we definitely need dad!harry picking up his little one.

School Gates.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here!!

word count - 700.

in which, harry picks his little one up from school and his sons never been so happier, seeing as he’s a daddy’s boy.

It was a breezy Wednesday afternoon, and the school gates buzzed with the usual post-bell chatter. Kids’ laughter spilled out from the playground, and clusters of parents waited, coffees in hand, glancing occasionally at the school doors.

“Oi, Styles,” called out Jake, one of the other dads—mid-30s, fit, always in some sort of Nike gear. “You skippin’ leg day again or what?”

Harry chuckled. “Nah mate, I just save all my leg work for chasing this little guy around the living room.”

He jerked his chin toward the school entrance.

Jake strolled up with a coffee in one hand, car keys in the other. “Didn’t think I’d see you today.”

“Yeah, I swapped my meetings for the day. Figured I’d do the pick-up. He gets excited when it’s me.”

Jake grinned. “Yeah, Luca acts like I’ve walked on the moon if I turn up.”

They both looked toward the school as the classroom door opened just a crack, then closed again.

Harry chuckled. “We’re early, huh?”

Jake took a sip of coffee. “Yeah. I needed a minute to breathe. Luca asked me at breakfast if robots cry when you turn them off.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “That’s heavy for 7am.”

“You’re telling me,” Jake said. “Then he asked if our cat knows how to do karate.”

Harry laughed. “Yesterday mine asked if people in Australia walk upside down, and then started crying because he thought they might fall off.”

“That’s the thing—there’s no warning,” Jake said. “You’re pouring cereal, and suddenly you’re in a philosophical debate with someone who can’t tie their own shoes.”

Harry shook his head, still smiling. “He asked me last night if clouds have beds. I told him they just float.”

“And?”

“He said, ‘That’s really sad, Daddy.’ Like I broke his heart.”

Jake laughed out loud. “We’re just out here disappointing tiny people with facts.”

“Honestly, yeah,” Harry said. “And then they hug you with their whole body and you forget that they made you watch the same cartoon four times in a row.”

Jake nodded. “We’re in deep.”

There was a pause—both men glancing at the doors again, now hearing the early rumble of little feet and voices inside.

Harry sighed, in that half-dramatic, half-genuine kind of way. “Still can’t believe we’ve got school-age kids.”

“I know,” Jake said. “Feels like yesterday I was Googling how to swaddle a baby.”

“Same. Now I’m Googling things like, ‘Is eating Play-Doh dangerous?’ and ‘What to do if your kid thinks they’re a lizard.’”

Jake cracked up. “Been there.”

Right then, the doors opened, and the small crowd of four-year-olds began spilling out—some running, some spinning, one loudly singing the alphabet backwards.

“There he is,” Harry said, spotting his son immediately, curly hair bouncing, holding a painting in both hands like it was a treasure map.

A curly-haired boy came running down the path, holding something above his head like a trophy.

“DADDY!”

Harry crouched with a grin as his son launched into his arms. He caught him easily, wrapping him up in a big squeeze.

“Hey, mate. I missed you.”

“I made a picture!” the boy said breathlessly, holding it up between them. “It’s a rainbow giraffe and it has a jetpack!”

Harry examined it with exaggerated awe. “No way. That’s incredible. This guy looks like he means business.”

“He goes to the moon to fight mean broccoli!”

Harry gasped. “Mean broccoli? That’s the worst kind.”

The boy giggled and nodded. “But he wins ‘cause he has LASER EYES!”

“Of course he does,” Harry said, ruffling his son’s curls. “You’re basically a genius.”

The little boy beamed and slipped his hand into Harry’s.

“Can we go to the park?”

“Hmm,” Harry said, pretending to think. “What if we stop at the bakery on the way and get those little cinnamon buns you like?”

“With the icing?”

“Obviously.”

The boy gasped like he’d won a prize. “AND THEN the park?”

“Deal,” Harry said, standing and swinging his son’s backpack over one shoulder. “But only if you tell me everything about this rainbow giraffe on the way.”

Jake gave a wave as he walked past, Luca now dragging his hand and mid-sentence about jellyfish.

“See you Friday!” Jake called.

Harry nodded. “Don’t be late. I need someone to mock my terrible form.”

Jake grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

[lexiputellas]

Sleep? Never.

It’s so peaceful here. The sun is warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. The waves roll lazily in the distance, their rhythmic crashing blending with the occasional seagull call. You’re stretched out on your stomach, the sand soft beneath you, eyes closed, completely weightless.

Next to you, Alexia flips through a book, one hand resting on your lower back, tracing lazy circles. The food was incredible, the drinks even better. You could stay here forever, basking in the sun, in the quiet, in—

A cry.

A sharp, piercing cry slices through the tranquility. It sounds robotic, unnatural.

Maybe it’s not real.

Maybe the beach isn’t real.

The cries grow louder, like a personal concert—one you’d never pay to attend. Something tugs at your arm.

"Baby."

Is this real?

"Baby, wake up."

No, no, no, no, no.

"I don’t want to."

"She’s hungry."

"So go feed her."

"I physically can’t."

You groan, rubbing your eyes, and glance at the baby monitor. Alice’s face, red with frustration, fills the screen.

"Alexia, I’m so tired it’s not even funny."

"I know, baby," she sighs, already swinging her legs off the bed. "I’ll go get her."

You wave a lazy hand. "It’s the least you can do."

Alexia doesn’t dignify that with a response—smart move. She disappears down the hall, and a few moments later, returns with a very angry, very hungry Alice.

You blink, groggy. "Didn’t I just feed her?"

"It’s been four hours."

You’re already adjusting your pajama blouse, making room for the tiny milk addict currently squirming in Alexia’s arms.

Alice immediately wiggles toward you, desperate, latching on with the urgency of someone who has been completely neglected for decades. Her tiny fingers clutch at your shirt like she’s afraid you might disappear.

"I wonder where she gets it from," you murmur, narrowing your eyes at Alice’s sheer determination.

Alexia raises an eyebrow. "Gets what from?"

You gesture vaguely at the baby. "The dramatics. The belief that the world revolves around her."

Alexia scoffs, leaning against the headboard. "Wow. No idea where she could’ve picked that up, remember when you cried because someone at the store got the last bag you wanted?"

Your jaw drops. "That was a devastating loss, Alexia. That bag and I had a connection."

Alexia crosses her arms. "You never even touched it."

You throw your head back against the pillow. "Because I was savoring the moment! And then—boom—stolen from me."

Alexia rolls her eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t get stuck. "Right. Just like how the universe ‘betrayed’ you when your favorite pen ran out of ink."

You scoff. "That pen and I had history."

Alexia shakes her head, but she’s smiling, fingers grazing over Alice’s back. "She’s cute when she’s not screaming."

You smirk. "So, like, ten percent of the time?"

Alexia huffs, nudging you with her knee. "Don’t be mean."

"I’m not! I love her. Even when she’s screaming in my face."

Alice sighs against you, her little body going limp, milk-drunk and utterly satisfied. Her tiny eyelashes flutter as sleep creeps in.

Alexia watches her, softer now. "She’s getting so big."

You hum, stroking Alice’s back. "She drooled in my mouth today."

Alexia snorts. "That’s disgusting."

"It was. I think I saw my soul leave my body."

Before Alexia can respond, Alice suddenly unlatches with a loud, unapologetic burp—straight onto your pajama top.

You freeze. Alexia claps a hand over her mouth, her whole body shaking with barely contained laughter.

You slowly look down at the damage. Then back up at Alexia. "Oh. My. God."

Alexia loses it.

She wheezes, wiping fake tears from her eyes. "I love her so much."

"You’re supposed to be on my side."

Alexia grins, already grabbing a clean pajama top for you. "I am. I just really enjoy watching you suffer."

She helps you change, pressing a kiss to your cheek as Alice gives a sleepy little sigh against your chest.

Once Alice is full, her tiny fingers unclench, her whole body relaxing. Alexia laughs under her breath before carefully lifting her from your arms. "I’ll put her back in her crib."

You nod, already sinking into the pillows, exhaustion pulling at you again. Alexia cradles Alice to her chest, murmuring something too soft to hear as she disappears down the hall.

But then—

Minutes pass.

And Alexia doesn’t come back.

You groggily peek at the baby monitor on the nightstand.

She’s still in there.

You watch as Alexia stands beside the crib, swaying slightly, her fingers brushing over Alice’s tiny back. Even after Alice has fully drifted off, she doesn’t put her down right away. She just stays, watching her with a quiet smile.

Through the baby monitor, you see her finally tuck Alice in. But instead of leaving, she lingers, adjusting the blanket, smoothing a hand over Alice’s hair.

You should sleep. You should take the chance while you can. But you can’t, because the bed feels too empty.

You roll over, rubbing your face, and press a button on the monitor.

"Babe."

A second later, the monitor crackles.

"What?"

"Come back to bed."

"She’s just settling, give me a second."

"She’s asleep. You’re just staring at her."

A guilty pause. Then, "Maybe."

You groan, rolling onto your back. "Alexia, I can’t sleep without you."

The monitor crackles again. "You are so dramatic."

"Says the person who’s been watching a sleeping baby for twenty minutes."

Silence. "Okay, fair."

A minute later, the bed dips, and Alexia slides under the covers, immediately curling into your side.

"You’re obsessed with her," you mumble, half-asleep.

"She’s my child," Alexia deadpans.

You peek one eye open. "I was starting to think you were gonna move in there."

Alexia sighs, pressing her face against your shoulder. "And leave you alone in this state? You’d probably stage a protest."

You smirk, nuzzling into her. "I was already drafting a strongly worded letter."

Alexia chuckles, her arms tightening around you. "I don’t doubt it."

Your breathing slows, warmth settling over you.

And just like that, with Alexia beside you, sleep finally comes.

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Kitten | The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: Something about you catchs his eyes. Now he wants you all for himself.

Warnings: Obsess!Salesman - Canon violence - Suggestive - Manipulation - Reader loves cats - Maybe OOC - Kind of pet play - E/C = eye color - Reader gets called Kitten -

Another morning, another day ahead, names to meet and recruit, a speech that was deep in his mind.

His movements were calculated, robotic, his smile a fake one, to hide the disgust he felt towards the peopel he had to met.

The last hour, the last train and last name. Your name. The Salesman did his usual thing while waiting for you to appear, get himself a coffee from a cheap machine and let his mind wonder.

Even if he had read your file in order to have the upper hand in the exchange, he was curious to see how you truly were, how would you react to his approach, what would you say or do once he told you about the game.

Maybe the work of the day was getting him, his eyes did let (only for the observant ones) that he was tired to not degree.

One more, one more worm and I can go home.

The train came, lots of faces walked pass him, he only wanted to find yours and put an end to his day.

Finally He saw you, you were looking at your phone, smiling? Well he guessed even someone in your situation could smile.

Maybe you got a lover back home.

He saw how you took a seat, most likely to rest after a long day at your underpaid work, that did not cover any of the debts you had. Yet you did not look discouraged or sad, you were rather animated by what your body language gave out.

Feets moving side to side like a song was playing only for you. That smile and a spark in your eyes...

How dumb yet cute.

Still, he needed to end the day and your name was the last one. So there he went, moving with confidence till he took a seat besides you, his trusted briefcase close.

"Miss.." He tried to get your attention but nothing, you were too deep in your phone writing something. He dared to take a look.

What in-

Cats. Multiple pictures of cats. Different colors, shapes and ages.

It was not the most strange thing he had seen from someones phone but still...

A new photo came in, it was a cat, rather slim with one leg missing but it seemed full of life.

"Im glad you are fine" He hear your whisper thanks to the sitation now out of peopel and that even if you whispered it was rather loud. Most likely you had no sense of self preservation or did check your surroundings since he was able to basically see your phone screen and your messages for...four minutes?

Yes, defently too much for the little patience he had, he wanted to end his day now.

"Excusme Miss" He tried again this time louder and it did finally caught your attention.

You turned to him, too lost checking your cats and how they were doing so far. You never noticed the man besides you. He was tall, black hair and wearing a suit. You could tell it was a rather expensive one, at his feets was a briefcase.

Ah Salesman, he must sells life saves or something.

"Sorry Sir, im in no position to buy anything" You said looking at his dark eyes and bowing then you went back to check your phone.

Well someone ignoring him was not a first.

"Miss, im not here to sell you anything" He started getting your attention back with a rather funny and confused look on your face. "Im here to ask you to play a game with me"

"...A game?" You asked not really beliving your ears. What man would ask a stranger to play a game with them at 11 p.m. in a subway station?

Was this a scam ? A trap maybe ?

Ah, the confusion, he was used to get that too and could only give you a polite fake smile back.

"Yes a game, a game of ddakji" He clarifited pulling from his suit pocket two papper pieces, one blue and other red. "If you manage to win I will give you ₩100.000" He recite just as he always did.

Your eyes opened a bit after that information, while it would not help you that much it would be free money...you could get a warm dinner, something that your current situation did not let you do.

But, there was not a thing as simple as free money, right ? There must be a catch.

"And what would happen if I lose?" You asked him, the hesitation in your voice was clear for The Salesman who just smiled again.

"If you lose, you pay me back ₩100,00. But I doubt you will lose in a childs game" He added trying to incite you to engage in the game.

He studied your face, you were thinking about it, temped by it. Even if the money was not enough, the chance was all it needed to start a chain of thoughts in your mind and finally accept.

And while you were indeed thinking a ring from your phone took your attention away, a new message a new cat pic.

Right, I cant do this. You thought.

"Sorry Sir I must refuse" You started giving him a bow "Even if my chances of winning were high, Im not in position to give you ₩100,000 if I lose. It would not be fair to you" You smiled at him thinking all of this was ending.

He blinked a bit taken back, not because you refused, he had deal with that before, but what you said.

Fair.

The world was not fair. The information in your file let that clear, it was obvious that you knew it.

Then why not take advantage of this? Even If he was just giving you the illusion of money, why not try ? And more, why be worried over whats fair ?

"May I ask why you cant play with me?" He finally said, pulling the pappers back inside his suit pocket. "Its not a big amount of money and I would not make fun of you if you lose"

He was trying for you to feel safe, maybe you were nervous he would judge you ? He knew he could be quiet intimidating

"Oh! Well its rather...embarrassing" You responded, nervously biting your lower lip then looking at the ground.

The Salesman's eyes lingered over your lips, the way you just bite them. Maybe he was getting tired but something from that action  just called him, made his body react.

"It cant be that bad" He tried again, trying to sound gentle

"Well, im in debt because my ex-boyfriend ran away with the money for the Cat Shelter we had together, took away all my savings and I ended in debt cause of it" Your tone did let him know you were angry, sad, frustrated and ashamed.

Well, he did know. But hearing out loud did make it sound funnier he could not lie to himself.

But seeing your face now, that sad look and how you had looked so happy earlier at the cat pics (probably some cats you managed to save and find a home before all things went wrong). It made him feel bad for you, something he never felt towards anyone in his line of work.

"Mhm so your ex-boyfriend ran away and then you kept the shelter by yourself?"

He cant lie, it was a cute reason.

But stupid no less.

"I did, we had too many cats and all of them were sick. They needed someone, I could not ignore them" You tried to explain, a sad smile now on your face as you remember the old promises and memories.

And look where that took you.

"I dont hope that you get it, most peopel laughts when I tell them. Even the load sharks had got a good one" You said pulling out your phone and looking at something while the Salesman let his mind wonder.

You were right. He did not get it. It was something he would never do, an act so compassionate towards a creature...it was not in his nature.

"Look, this is Fat Luigi" He hear you said as you showed him your phone with the image of a big fluffy black cat. "When we first got him he was underwheight, most vets told us he would not make it. It was hard, I passed many nights awake taking care of him, and spent lots of money on him. But now seeing him healthy and happy, it just makes it worth it"

"But are you happy right now? Arent you afraid of your debts?" He asked, curious to know how your brain was working under the stress you most likely had.

"Happy...., well I cant say I love my life right now, I work long hours and the job its bad, I have load sharks on my back and the place where the shelter is will most likely be destroyed since I cant pay..."

He nodded listening to you.

"But im not sad. Yes the situation sucks but when i see the cats i managed to help...honestly even if it sounds crazy, I would do it again" You ended giving him a tired yet honest smile. One that made his heart beat a bit faster.

For a few moments he did not say a thing, his mind wondering, he was not sure what, something about you made him feel slighty different.

Maybe it was your wish to help ? Even when you had passed and suffered ? How you still wanted to play fair ?

You two were different in many ways.

"You would?" He asked seeing you nodd without thinking "And tell me, do I look like a cat person ? Would you get me one if you still had your shelter ?" He continued now trying to entertain himself.

You defenetly were not made for the games.

"Well, you do give the energy of a cat person" By the look on his face he was amused "I mean, you seem like you pass many hours outside your home, cats do need their humans but they can work fine alone for a few hours, you would need to pet them for a bit once you get back"

"Oh I see, and what more?" He leaned in closer, his elbow resting on his knee, one hand holding his face as he turned himself to you invading your personal space.

"You seem like someone who will prefer company thats not always over them demanding attention and cats often give you that, well depends on the cat" You explained blushing at his proximity.

"Then, dont you think it would be better for me to get a kitten?"

"They can be handfull-"

"Mhm, I would need a submissive one" He said leaning even closer, you could now see his dark eyes and smell his cologne. "One that will wait for me at home and will...please me when I want it and how I want it"

His hand went towards your face slowly touching your cheeck with his knuckles, it made you blush even more and be more aware of him. Something was telling you that this was dangerous, this man who had approach you, and yet you could not get yourself to move.

"Maybe a kitten with (E/C), a bit dumb, stupid, has no sense of self preservation, needs help to do anything. But" He paused his eyes studying your face "But its also cute, on its way"

You did not respond. Mouth dry, your mind worked around his cryptid words. Was him...insinuating something?

"How big its your debt?" He asked keeping the small distance.

"Too big" you responded your voice letting out how nervous you were. It was a miracle you managed to get these words out.

He smirked, he knew the exact number and also, he loved knowing he was the one causing you to feel nervous, maybe you were scared?

The idea that he could be scaring you excited him.

"Tell you what, I will pay your debt" He saw the suprise in your face and disbelief  was impossible to hide "But, you must pay me back" He added moving his hand, his thumb now over your lower lip. "You can pay me with your body, I said I should get a kitten right? I believe you are perfect for that position. All you will have to do.." He trailed off forcing his thumb inside your mouth "Its obey me, when I tell you to do something I expect you to obey. If you dont behave, well lets say I can be very creative with my punishments"

He could see the terror in your eyes but also the combination of hope and arousment.

Sick cute thing, just what he needed

"Mhm, lets give it a try shall we? Suck my thumb like a good kitten, I want to see how well you can obey"

Timidly under his dark stare and big pupils your tongue touched his thumb, a shiver went down his spine as he felt it. Your wet tongue licking his finger trying to give it as much attention as you could.

The Salesman moved it around your tongue, almost groaning when he saw you close your eyes and use one hand to take his arm, like you were grounding yourself. He felt a bulge starting to form and couldn't wait to see how wet you were getting.

Abruptly he took off his finger from your mouth taking your neck and kissing you, it was demanding and not loving. He sucked on your lower lip till you moaned and he used this chance to push his tongue into you, caressing yours and sucking it. Needing to hear you moan one more time for him.

What came first were the sounds of steps, The Salesman separated, breathing hard, just like you. Your face was red and eyes wide open and also full with lust. He moved his hair giving you a twisted smile getting up and taking your hand.

"W-wait were are we going?" You asked at him confused by all of the exchange, "Will you really pay my debt?"

"Oh I will my kitten, you will have your loved shelter back and will be able to rescue all the dam cats in Seoul" He said opening the bathroom of the sitation checking that it was empy.

"But first, I need you to take care of something" He said pointing at the bulge between his legs.

He did not miss how you licked your lips.

"Dont worry, I will get you a collar later, now. Get on your knees and show me just how well you can suck, kitten"