#enrobing

[sanchomps]

doom eternal being so obsessed with face reveals they forget the captivating mystic of leaving the helmet/hood on and letting people fill in the gaps with their imagination

[acegodzilla]

one thing about my dad is if he sees any random reese's peanut butter cup product while he's shopping he WILL buy it for me

Anyway here's my dessert tonight:

[columboscreens]

[lotro-tooltips-daily]

[womanblogger]

there are funnymen on here who i consistently see posts from that make me chuckle every time and look forward to seeing their names come up but im always like ah no i can never actually follow them. what if that was too much of a good time. i can’t have too much of what i like. and that’s the Protestant in me!

[wurds-fur-nurds]

Equirobeheaumery (noun) | ek-wuh-rohb-hee-aw-muh-ree

Definition:

The art, craft, or practice of designing, creating, and maintaining specialized garments and protective headgear for equestrians.

A discipline encompassing the study and application of materials, techniques, and aesthetics in the development of robes and helmets (heaumes) that ensure safety, comfort, and elegance for horseback riders.

A historical tradition of outfitting knights and riders with elaborately decorated and functionally designed equipment, including robes, helmets, and related accessories, reflecting the intersection of martial and ceremonial needs.

Usage: "The ancient guild of Equirobeheaumery was renowned for producing the finest riding gear, blending protection with artistry in every piece they crafted."

[coweye]

The Honda Odyssey

Logan Howlett x Reader | smut | 6k words Summary: The car fight reimagined and it only needed to be like 10% more erotic than the original.

I got carried away. I just love Wolvie so much. I'm so happy Logan is getting the adoration he deserves. Long live the Wolverine renaissance.

Warning: smut, p in v, ass play, foul language.

If you had to pinpoint a moment when your life became the shit show it had steadily developed into, you’d say it was the moment you auditioned for X-Force.

In your tenure as besties with Wade Wilson, it's fair to say things hadn’t gone smoothly. The man was a conduit to all things fucked up, but you adored his loose morals and quick mouth. The idiot in red had weaselled his way into your heart and became something of a brother to you and more recently a roommate.

Now, if you’d have told your younger self you’d be in your late twenty’s sharing an apartment with a burn victim who regularly staples a toupee to his fucking head and a coke-head, blind, old African American woman, you’d have laughed in their fucking face.

So, you’d like to think that as these things go you are pretty damn well adjusted but traversing the multiverse was a bit of a stretch, even for you.

One moment you’re at Wade’s surprise party, the next your ass has been zapped to the TVA and you’ve been given a sacred mission; to accompany Marvel Jesus (Wade) and protect the sacred timeline.

Naturally you’re fucking mind blown, you’re a low-level mutant, fuck, you couldn’t even join the X-Men.  Your particular set of skills were a dime a dozen and your flagrant disregard of rules had made you a ‘poor candidate’.

No, the mutant powers you had been graced with weren’t extraordinary by any means. You were basically an off-brand Captain America, just without the gorgeous cheekbones, patriotism and righteous need to do good.

In layman terms, you are strong as shit and have an accelerated healing factor. Not quite the same level as Wade’s mind you. You have, give or take, an inconvenient five-minute turnaround on the more fatally debilitating wounds.

To say you were unqualified was an understatement and to say you were reluctant was a simple fact. A fact you repeated, loudly to anyone that would listen as you were bathed in rich black leather.

“I think maybe you meant to grab negasonic teenage whatchacallit… she’s great, super powerful!” You continue. “Did you mean to get Domino or Colossus or maybe one of the X-Men? “

“No Miss Y/L/N. We have not got the wrong person for the job.” The man you later find out is called Paradox, calls out as you re-enter the operation headquarters. “Mr Wilson requested your presence; he wanted your assistance on his mission.”

“Y/N/N… ten out of ten, baby girl, I one hundred percent would bang. I’m talking raw dog, Barry White on a rug, let’s go all fuckin’ night.”  Wade hollers in his own brand-new suit and even you must admit, you look fucking amazing. “Sweet angel, we’ve just gotta’ come up with a superhero name for you!”

You are enrobed in rich thick black and teal leather, your first ever hero suit and it’s a fucking good one. It doesn’t cling, but instead pulls you in securing your flesh and extenuating curves, ones you hadn’t entirely realised you had. The bottom half your face is concealed with a mask, carefully crafted to follow the contours of your nose and cheekbones.

You’d barely recognised the mysterious figure in the mirror.

“Right?! Tailor was pretty handsy though!”

“Oh yeah, ha! - that man is indeed a predator.” Wade says with a chuckle and a fond sigh.

It shames to you to say but that’s when you stopped fighting this whole thing. You looked the part of a hero; you thought that maybe the TVA knew what they were doing. That they had seen something in you and knew that you had a good heart under all the darkness that lingered on the surface.

Wrong.

You were just a demand Wade had made. He wanted his number one disciple at his side whilst he carried out his sacred mission. You were part of an attempt at appeasing him whilst they destroyed your timeline.

Little more than a pawn to be used whilst they manipulated him into a false sense of security.

Thus, you were thrown into a series of events far beyond your control when Wade being Wade decided you were hunting down a Wolverine to stabilise the timeline, only to be once again fucking zapped into some place they called the void by that little English shitbird named Paradox. It’s entirely accurate to say that you were a little less sturdy than your compadres.

Unfortunately for you, the fall from such a height into the void was fatal. When you finally awake in the desolate wasteland to the sounds of blades clashing it is disorientating to say the least.

Forcing yourself to your feet you lower your mask and gasp in the sweet strangely stale oxygen as you stretch out your newly healed spine with a groan. It was impossible to tell how long you were out as you take in the scene before you; Wade and the Wolverine are engaged in a heated battle. From the looks of it, Logan is winning this fight despite being the human equivalent of a knife block with Wade’s katanas protruding from his chest.

For a moment you pause, perhaps its head trauma that hasn’t healed (He’s fucking Deadpool, he can look after himself for two minutes) and appreciate his form, the Wolverine the two of you had kidnapped was gorgeous. Tch, as if there was any other kind.

Sure, you were biased you’d always been somewhat of a fangirl, but the Wolverine was objectively breath-taking.

You’d indulged in comics whilst growing up but when you found out he was real and looked the way he did, hell, Wolverine was your sexual awakening. He was the first man to make you feel that tingle in your lower stomach. Yes, you may have been thirteen years old, a ball of puppy fat and social anxiety but you’d been waiting for him ever since. 

You’re snapped out of your reverie when Wade loses baby knife in Logan’s shoulder blade, finally you spring into action. In good time as well as you’re not sure if even Deadpool can survive decapitation.

In the singularly most stupid act of your life you throw yourself in front of your friend’s body. “Wait, Wait! Please!”  

Wade has paused behind you, you can feel him weighing up the situation, pausing for a moment to see what you’re going to pull out of the bag.

“The TVA they can fix it, whatever you did, whatever made you the worst Logan, they can fix it! – They have the power to end universes, but they also have the power to fix yours! Help us get back there and we can fix both of our worlds! I promise, they can fix it.” You plead, it’s not quite a lie exactly, more of an Educated Wish than anything.

Okay it is a lie, but you’re sure that the TVA can most likely, probably, maybe fix his world.

Logan’s eyes lock with yours in that moment you can see that he wants to kill you both and be done with it, but that hope won’t let him. You feel a smidgen of guilt for the deceit, but frankly you’ve done worse for less. Your world was on the line it wasn’t the time to pull your punches.

Fast forward four exhausting hours, two periods of unconsciousness and one flaying to find yourself sat opposite Wade gagging down cold spoonful’s of Spam in some dusty ass diner.

You were no better than a man as you watched the Wolverine.

Those arms, those thighs, the way he had beheaded Sabretooth without even breaking a fucking sweat. You wanted him to wrap those instruments of death he called hands around your throat and fuck you dirty until the sun came up.

It had been a long exhausting day and you had been soaking wet for most of it.

Shit, could he smell that? Does that count as sexual harassment? You’d have to ask Wade.

Logan, however, was utterly dismissive of your advances in the face of what was undoubtedly utterly horrific past trauma. Something you were trying to be understanding about, but self-pity in a man, it just turned you on. I said you had some surface layers of darkness.

Unable to help yourself you gaze at him as he opens a bottle of rubbing alcohol. You are utterly entranced, watching the thick chords in his throat bob as he takes a swig.

That tanned skin where his jaw ends and neck begins, slick with sweat and dirt. You’d love to sink your canines into the strip below his ear. He must feel your stare on him as he looks up and catches your eyes dark with lust already surveying his person.

It should embarrass you, that every time he peers your way, he catches you gaping at him like a lovesick puppy, but there’s something about Logan you can’t quite put your finger on. The man heats your blood like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, maybe it’s that torch you’ve carried for him since girlhood, maybe it’s the thick thighs you’d kill to ride – who can say for sure?

In what you assume is against his better judgement, he comes to perch on the booth beside you. His broad shoulders cast an imposing figure as he gets close enough that if you were to move your hand a couple of inches to the right, you’d finally be able to touch that yellow fabric that plagued your tween dreams.

You’re burning up at the thought of him, unable to stop yourself you part your legs slightly to ease some of the pressure. Logans nose twitches, his head swivels your way and his eyes catch your own.  

Welp - at least you have your answer about him smelling your arousal.

Deciding that you were most likely verging on sexual harassment charges you decided to focus back in on the task at hand, gagging once again at another spoonful of spam.

“Be a good girl and swallow, Y/N/N, you know the rules!” Wade jokes, your chortle was your only response. What could you say? He always hit your funny bone despite the ocean that was raging in your panties.

Logan stares at Wade for a long moment before turning to your way and addressing you for maybe only the fourth time today?

“What are you doing with this fucking clown? You his sidekick? Following him round to laugh at his stupid fucking jokes whilst he gets kids killed?”

“Why I have never.” Wade is faux outraged at his words, clutching his imaginary pearls as the Wolverine throws around accusations that aren’t entirely untrue.

The Wolverine’s expression remains stern as his eyes track your face. They seem to be evaluating your character and from the flare in his nose and crease in his brow you can guess he finds you lacking. You’re embarrassed to admit how much that deflates you, so you do what you do best; you deflect.

 “I could follow you around and laugh at your jokes instead, if you like?” When you speak your voice has a sultry edge to it and there’s no mistaking your intentions.

Logan seems to think on your proposition for a second or two, before he huffs grabs his rubbing alcohol and unopened can of Spam and heads over to sit at the bar.

“Holy hot ham and cheese on rye, Y/N, you fucking slut.” Wade berates you though his voice is as light as it’s always been as he boots your shin under the table. “Trying to your holes filled by Wolvie during a world saving mission, Marvel H Christ, stay on fucking task!”

You swear you hear Logan mutter a Jesus Christ from the bar.

Though as Wade continues irritating the hero hunched against bar, you can’t help the realisation that he didn’t say no.

“You’re uh… well regarded in our world.” Wade complements, being real doesn’t come easy to him. You appreciate the effort.

“Well, I’m not shit in mine.”

“I tried to join the X-Men because of you.” You speak up finally joining their conversation. Wolverine’s back goes rigid, but he doesn’t respond. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to continue or hoping you’ll stop. “You made a difference to this world, made me think I could do the same. I just never quite make the cut.”

Logan doesn’t seem to have a response.

It seems your words have an effect as you catch him watching you more often. When Wade makes his jokes, he looks to you for validation of his withering looks.

You’re probably more distracted by this revelation than you should be when the three of you come across a real nasty variant of Colossus seeking out Wade for… you want to say… revenge?

The not-so-gentle-anymore-giant flips the Honda and tosses both Wade and Logan through the treeline as they advance on him as if they were little more than toys his mother had asked him to pick up.

One by one your bullets ricochet from his metal skin as he comes towards you. You aren’t built for this fight; you are completely and utterly outmatched.

All you’re doing at this point is buying yourself some time for your backup to pull themselves from the rubble, however during a particularly spirited cartwheel the metal oaf finally gets his hands on you. Colossus’ metal palm is cold on your throat, and you could swear you hear your neck snapping before you feel it.  

With a gasp you return to life to find a slightly dishevelled Logan standing above you. By the grace of god, his sleeves have been worn away in the fight, his arms, oh sweet lord, his arms are on full display.

“Thought you were a goner.” He offers you a hand when you simply stare mutely his way. Locking your fingers around his wrist he pulls you to your feet. You don’t release your hold on him and neither does he.

“Don’t throw the party just yet, eh?” You joke weakly, for a second you could swear there’s a slight raise of the corner of his mouth, imperceptible, if you didn’t know what you were looking for. In the past few hours you had become an expert on Wolverine’s face.  

Your mouth is dry as you take in his thick sweat laden biceps.

“Where’s Wade?” You query whilst rolling your aching neck as you haven’t heard his voice in a record thirty seconds, Logan suddenly remembers himself and drops your hand.

“’fraid Metal man took your clown, was pissed with him and can’t say I blame the guy.”

“Shit.” You sigh rubbing your temples as you kneel to pick up the dismembered arm of your best friend. “Well – fuck. That’ll take him a few hours at least to grow back – He’ll be so sad about his suit.”

You peel the fabric from the limb and tuck it under the breast plate of your own suit. Wade will want his glove back when it grows back.

“He say where he was taking him?”

“Oh yeah, that along with his plan for world domination...” Logan huffs as if your mere presence annoys him.

“Thought you didn’t like sarcasm.”

“I like sarcasm just fine, Bub. It’s you I don’t like.” You can’t help but smile his way at the comment made at your expense, his brows crease. “You’re a strange one.”

“Can you do your sniffy thing?”  Its impressive, you thought he’d reached the limit with his scathing looks towards Wade, yet he somehow manages to pull a deeper frown out the vault especially for you.

“Sniffy thing?” His words are spoken with such derision, it turns you on a little. You realise that perhaps you are in fact a deeply troubled individual.

“Oh, sorry.” You pretend to clear a frog in your throat. “Please, oh, please, beautiful, handsome Wolverine, please can you locate my bestest pal with your heightened sense of smell?” His face doesn’t break despite your hands clasped in front of your chin.

“You’re just as fucking annoying as that moron.” He huffs “Get in the fucking car, we’ll follow his trail.”

“You can smell him from the car?”

“The blood, Jesus Fucking Christ, there’s a trail of blood.”

“Ah.” Is all you reply as you find your seat in the passenger side and start your own one on one team up with Wolverine. Its not exactly the way you imagined it, but beggars certainly can’t be choosers.

After a few moments of sullen silence, you decide that there’s no time like the present to form a long-lasting bond.

“What’s your world like?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Okay... What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they can save your world? I bet its something boring as fuck, like team-“

“What did you just say?”

“I bet you’re gonna do something boring like-“

“No before that.”

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna’ do if they save your world?” You question, his sudden interest in your words takes you by surprise as he has been vacant from your conversation.

The breaks suddenly shriek as the car comes to a stop.

“What do you mean if?”

“I…”

“You said they could fix my world. Undo it all, is what you fucking said.”

“I mean I think they can!”

“You fucking liar.” The edge to The Wolverine’s voice is terrifying. The realisation trickles down your spine, Logan has been nice to you all this time, you’re finally meeting The Wolverine.

“I didn’t lie!” For some reason you’re ashamed of your deceit, you’ve murdered countless people and still, you’ve felt less remorse. Logan’s eyes pin you in your seat as disgust clouds his face. It hurts more than you can fathom. “Not exactly, I think they can fix your world! – I needed your help and if you killed Wade there was no hope for my universe!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck about your universe!” He spits your way; his hands are gripping the wheel in what seems like an effort to keep his cool.

“I know, but I do!” You cry back at him. “You know how to save the world, you’re the fucking Wolverine! I know how to kill people, but this hero shit, this isn’t me!”

“Ha! No shit.” There is pure hate in the man’s eyes as he stares back at you.

“Please, you’re Logan. Whether you’re the worst one or not - You’re still better than me.”

“Get out of the fucking car.” The words come from between clenched teeth and are filled with warning.

“No – fuck you.”  Your rage breaks the banks to meet Logan’s. Perhaps it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fear for Wade but something within you snaps at his constant bad temper. “It was an educated guess and a fucking reasonable one at that, get the fuck over yourself you big bird wannabe geriatric fucker! “

He slams his palms on the steering wheel, his nose flares and his teeth clamp together.  “Fuck me? Fuck you – you sad pathetic excuse for a side-kick. No wonder the X-Men wouldn’t take you, and they’ll take fuckin’ anyone. You are a ridiculous, immature, moron who spends her days following around a fucking clown to avoid facing the reality that you are no one. I have never met a sadder, more attention starved asshole in my entire life. You were right about one thing, you’re no fucking hero.”

Its shameful the way your stomach drops, and your eyes involuntarily begin to tear. To hear your hero say the words you’ve thought about yourself whilst laying awake at night. It’s a knife to the gut.

“Nothing to fucking say, huh, Angel?” The use of Wade’s nickname for you is like sandpaper on your skin, it rubs you the wrong fucking way.

“I am going to hurt you now.” Your voice is barely a broken whisper.

“You’re going to hurt – “His faux chortle is cut short by a swift punch to his face. You’re worried you may have been overzealous with your swing when his nose begins bleeding. The Wolverine is stunned for only a moment before he grabs the back of your neck and proceeds with smashing your face into the dashboard and those concerns are quickly put to bed.

The old fucker is strong, but you don’t think he’ll kill you, yet another educated wish.

“Not so tough now…” He shouts as the radio channels change with your skull. Pulling a knife from your leg strap you embed it in his thigh and pull the lever to recline your seat whilst he’s distracted, luckily, you’re not there when he swings for retribution.

Though one of his fucking steak knives catches your upper arm slicing through the leather. Warm blood trickles down your arm, staining the beige interior of the poor Honda. 

Your legs are your strongest asset, so when he attempts to restrain you with the seatbelt, you are presented with your window of opportunity. You wrap them around his neck as you pivot your hips slamming the Wolverine headfirst into the metal of the door. Once, twice, three times - on the fourth he lands a fist to your gut, luckily, he has retracted his claws.

If he was willing to kill you, you wouldn’t stand a chance.

You’re winded struggling to catch your breath from the gut punch, but you manage pull the knife from his thigh that is nestled between your legs and thrust it into his neck, you aim for the spot you’d fantasied about kissing before he’d torn your character apart piece by piece, now you just want to bathe in his fucking blood.

It was the pain that instantaneously made his claws extend. He’s quick to move them, though he slices through the sides of your suit as he buries them in the chair behind you. Your ribs are a bloodied mess though you don’t care, in a few hours they’ll be good as new.

Logan has seized the opportunity and has your arms pinned to your sides, his blood has cooled a little more than yours, he doesn’t seem to want to murder you over an argument.

Perhaps he’s more well-adjusted than yourself, that thought alone should concern you, except it just enrages you further.

“You stupid fuckin-“The Wolverine starts admonishing you, before you swing your head forward and headbutt him.

Yes.

You really do that.

You headbutt the man with the adamantium fucking skeleton– at full strength. Its sheer dumb luck you don’t crack your own skull in the process– maybe Logan was right, you are fucking dumb.

“Fucking fuck!” You cry grabbing your forehead and writhing. Noone wins with a headbutt, except Logan apparently.

“Fucking stop that.” Your writhing has pushed your core against his crotch, and he is already packing quite the heat at what feels like half-mast. He grabs your hips to stop your movement, but it only seems to push you closer. “Stop fucking moving.”

The constant arousal you’ve felt since meeting him returns in double time, Logan’s nostrils flare and his eyes darken. It’s debased and you’re ashamed that you want him, you haven’t stopped wanting him, despite the awful fucking words that left his mouth minutes ago.

“Like … a little pain Wolvie?”

Its relief you feel, you think, when instead of answering or punching you in the face, he closes the gap.

The Wolverine’s claws retract, and he grabs at your chin. Logan’s mouth utterly devours your own, your front tooth clashes with his own as you push yourself upwards, you pull your knife out of his neck, catching his grunt of pain on your tongue as you begin licking your way down his thick throat.

The vein you’d spotted hours ago is throbbing freshly healed, you sink your canines into the flesh and its as good as you’d fucking imagine. His groan is utterly beast-like as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him.

The Wolverine’s throat tastes like salt and iron. Thick, tangy and warm on your tongue as you soothe the bite. It drives Logan wild, thrusting his hardened member against your warmth. One of his gloved hands rises to lock on the back of your neck to pull you into yet another earth-shattering kiss.  His sharp hot tongue slides against your own, exploring the expanses of your mouth like its his to claim.

You bite at him again then, your teeth catching his bottom lip sharply.  Logan groans into your mouth before you use every ounce of your enhanced strength to throw him backwards against the dashboard.

He is taken utterly by surprise as his head slams into the windscreen cracking the glass with a grunt. When he looks your way Logan’s eyes are blackened with desire, he is utterly wild.

Slowly as if afraid to make any sudden moves, you unzip your combat boots, your eyes never leaving his. One boot and then the next.

You thank the TVA’s tailor for making your suit a two piece as you shuffle backwards into the backseat, pushing the thick leather down your legs all whilst maintaining eye contact with the beast leaning against the dashboard.

“You sure you want this Darlin’?”

“Darlin’?” You question mockingly, your voice lowering to imitate his own, as you wantonly spread your legs, your bare leg resting next to the headrest. Only a pair of black cotton panties separate him from your most intimate parts and his eyes are locked on your clothed core. “a second ago it was ‘Pathetic Moron’ to you.”

Your head tilts in question as his eyes lock back on your own, you think perhaps for a moment something akin to regret passes over his face, but you’ve never been entirely comfortable with feelings, so you drop your hand into the waistband of your panties, you’ve barely circled your opening with your pointer finger before he’s on you.

“That’s my job, you fucking Moron.” He plunges two bare thick fingers into your heat. Gasping you throw your head back against the headrest, it’s a tight fit and its been a while but the slight burn eases some of the aching in your core.  “You’re fuckin’ soaking wet, you like it huh, bub? Making me bleed?”

Your grab his jaw, your nails digging into his flesh. “I’d like to bathe in-” He scissors his fingers finding that spot inside you and you let out an embarrassing noise, somewhere between a gasp and a moan. “-Your fucking blood… you mean motherfucker.”

You’re an absolute goner when he starts rubbing your clit, after a day of foreplay your body seizes, and you grab at the nape of his neck trying to find something to anchor you down. But as fast as the build was you come tumbling down just as quickly, when he cruelly withdraws his hands.

“No! - Wha- what the fuck?!” You’re almost crying as your torn from the precipice.

Logan flips you over onto your stomach before you can complain any further, your face down on the filthy upholstery as he pulls your panties from your hips. You can’t see him from this angle, though you can feel his warm hands tracing the globes of your ass.

You force your knees further apart, pushing your bare soaking pussy against the tight bulge of his yellow suit. If you had enough of your facilities about you, you’d be embarrassed that you’re currently rubbing your cunt against The Wolverine like a bitch in heat after he’d chewed you out only minutes ago.

Logan’s hand dip between your thighs, his fingers swirl along your hole, dragging your wetness along to your aching clit.

“You think I’d make it that easy?” He asks as he continues the journey back and forth. On the second pass he dips his finger inside of you for a fraction of a second before resuming its path. “What do you want, darlin’?”

You weren’t going to beg, in fact you bit your tongue to stop the traitorous words from forming, this man had already made you abandon most of your self-respect, he wasn’t having this.

“Logan…” At your breathy words the man leans forward, pressing his fabric covered cock into your ass as he folds his body over yours. One hand comes down next to your shoulder, the other explore your tits as he rocks himself into your throbbing core. It’s the perfect storm as he nuzzles into your exposed throat but somehow you manage your words. “Fuck me or don’t, I’m not begging, bub.”

He exhales through his nose in what you guess is equal parts amusement and annoyance, but you’re far beyond caring. He places a bite on the spot where your throat meets your shoulder as his body pulls back. Momentarily his hands leave your hips to deal with his own pants. You hear the clank of his belt hitting the car floor moments before you feel the head of his cock, running along your folds.

The head of his cock is thick, and it feels hot to the touch as he runs it along your slick. All of a sudden Logan pushes forward and sheathes himself inside of you with a single thrust.

You try your best to hold in your incoherent moans but to little avail as he pulls back before slamming full force back into you. If you were a human woman, your pelvis would’ve shattered from the force of his hips against your ass, instead you gather your strength and push back, allowing him deeper. The both of you moan in unison at the depth he reaches.

You grab onto the foam of the seat, ripping through the fabric with your bare hands desperate for an anchor as Logan unforgivingly pounds into you from behind, once again he folds his body over yours, wrapping a palm around your clawed fingers.

“.” He grunts something incoherent into your ear as he picks up the pace, slamming into you repeatedly, slowly picking up his pace. Your core is positively aching as you throb around him, pulling him deeper within you.  If you were expecting any further explanation, you’re sorely disappointed.

The wolverine pulls back, gripping at your hips keeping you still as he resumes his powerful strokes.  Logan’s hand dips to your clit, rubbing quick circles sending you barrelling back towards your orgasm. As you begin to clench around him, he pulls your body upwards, his head brushing against the top of the car as he holds you against him his fingers never leaving your clit.

“Come on my cock, Angel.” Unable to stop yourself you clench around him, hearing him talk like that does something primal to you.

You fucking loved Logan’s mouth, you bet he ate pussy like a champion if he played the clit this fucking well.

You stopped fighting it and threw yourself from the cliff, shattering in his thick muscle veined arms as he held you up against him, his cock still viciously plundering your depths.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispers against your neck whispers peppering it with bites.

Logan gives you a few moments to come down from your high before he resumes his punishing pace, you think perhaps you’ve reached your limit of pleasure, that the threshold can’t possibly be topped until he whispers into your ear in that gruff voice.

“What was it Wilson said? Filling all your holes?” The Wolverine asks, his eyes meet yours over your shoulder meaningfully, asking permission as he offers you his thumb. You merely moan your approval and wantonly draw his finger into your mouth, soaking the pad in saliva.  

Logan yanks your head into a vicious kiss. It’s a messy one, filled to the brim with need. The hand not currently locked on your neck holding your face to his, travels down your back, through the valley of your bodies. The pad of his pinky runs appreciatively over the globe of your ass, before his hand dips into the crease.

Logan’s thumb runs teasingly against the tight ring of muscle, it’s a foreign experience which makes you startle slightly.

“Anyone ever fucked you here?” He asks as he bites down your neck, delicately pushing you forward until your head rests on the backseat. You shake your head as your eyes close, his cock is buried balls deep within you as he plays with your asshole.

When his thumb finally breaches your tight hole just past the nail, he begins his thrusts once more. His cock fills your pussy from behind and suddenly you feel so fucking full, Its far too much for you.

“Fuck… Logan.” You gasp almost on the verge of tears as pounds you into the back seat. It seems the ass play has gotten to him more than expected, as his pace has increases.

“Where?” He asks breathless from the exertion as he pulls his thumbs from your ass and takes a handful of the meat on your hips.

“Inside…. Please … Logan.” You practically beg though you’ll never admit it, his rhythm becomes stunted as his hips slam into the back of your thighs.

“Give me something tight to come in, Darlin’.” Moaning at his words you’re eager to obey as you reach your hand between your own legs and rub mercilessly at your clit. The unforgiving pounding, the grunting and the fingers currently bruising your hips and the burning of your now vacant ass send you sailing over the edge.

You clamp down on him like a vice, groaning unable to hold back your whimpers anymore as he finally bites your neck and pumps his seed deep inside you as far as it can go. Logan grunts like a beast as he pulses deep inside of you.

Logan collapses beside you. Dents in the interior of the van you don’t even remember making have appeared from where a stray elbow or knee has hit the metal in the throes of passion.

The Wolverine tucks his cock back in his suit. Ever the gentleman, he uses your black panties to wipe away the cum dripping from your thighs, you haven’t got the heart to tell him that when you’re commando redressed in your suit that you can still feel him dripping from you, your pussy uncomfortably slick against the leather.

After dressing, the two of you sit in contemplative silence. Neither one of you has the emotional complexity to discuss what happened and neither one of you will accept fault for your argument that led to it, so, silence reigns.

The tension is sliced in two as Logan leans forward and pushes an errant lock of hair behind your ear in an act so goddamn endearing, you melt. You still wouldn’t apologise for lying, because you didn’t lie but you can meet him a quarter of the way.

“I’m sorry for calling you geriatric.” You whisper catching his eyes, a small spark of humour leaps into them, you’ve seen more emotions from your hero in the past half an hour than you knew he was capable of.

“I shouldn’t have-“ Logan’s heartfelt apology is cut off by the lead of this goddamn story.

“Well, well, well.  Would you look at this, My best friends, Ha! I get fucking kidnapped, an arm ripped off and you’re nowhere to be found? I thought don’t worry Wade, they won’t leave you, Y/N/N will come around that corner any second."

Wade has appeared through the passenger side window; he looks a little worse for wear and has a child’s arm growing from his stump, its kind of gross to look at.

"What if Colossus had had his way with me? What then Y/N? I expect this from Wolvie, but not from you! No, no heroic rescue for old Deadpool. I have to save myself because you fuckers are too busy playing hide the adamantium bone!  Thanks for nothing guys. Now the car has old man sex stank to it, as if this hunk of shit Honda could get any worse!”

[weldmeshfencing]

The Journey of Nourishment: Food Grade Belts Manufacturing in India

In the heart of India's industrial prowess lies a sector that is the lifeline of the nation's food industry: the manufacturing of food grade belts. These belts are not mere components in machinery; they are the carriers of sustenance, the silent heroes in the journey from farm to fork.

Understanding Food Grade Belts

food Grade Belts manufacturer in india are an essential part of the food processing industry:

Safety Standards: They meet stringent health and safety regulations to prevent contamination.

Material Quality: Made from non-toxic, FDA-compliant materials like PVC, PU, and silicone.

Versatility: Designed to handle various food products, from grains to confectionery.

The Human Element in Manufacturing

Behind every food grade belt is a story of human ingenuity and emotion:

Craftsmanship: Skilled workers who blend traditional techniques with modern technology.

Innovation: Engineers who design belts to improve efficiency and food safety.

Passion: Teams who work tirelessly, knowing their products play a crucial role in feeding millions.

Technological Advancements

Indian manufacturers are at the forefront of innovation in food grade belt production:

Automation: Utilizing advanced machinery for precision and consistency.

Research and Development: Continuously improving products to meet evolving industry needs.

Quality Control: Rigorous testing to ensure each belt meets the highest standards.

Challenges and Triumphs

The path of manufacturing food grade belts is filled with challenges, but also with triumphs:

Regulatory Compliance: Adhering to national and international food safety standards.

Environmental Concerns: Balancing production with sustainability and waste reduction.

Market Dynamics: Adapting to the changing demands of the global food industry.

The Emotional Journey

The creation of food grade belts is a journey laden with emotions:

Determination: The resolve to maintain quality despite cost and competitive pressures.

Pride: The satisfaction of contributing to the safety and efficiency of the food supply chain.

Hope: The aspiration to be part of a system that ensures no one goes hungry.

Conclusion

The manufacturers of food grade belts in India are not just producing industrial components; they are crafting the vessels that carry the promise of nourishment and well-being. With each belt that rolls off the production line, there is a blend of human intelligence, emotion, and a commitment to excellence.

These belts do more than move food; they move hearts, touch lives, and fulfill the basic human need for sustenance. As India continues to grow as a global food supplier, the role of food grade belt manufacturers becomes ever more vital, ensuring that every meal served is a testament to quality, care, and the human spirit.

[sodaspringz]

the character the character im going t fucking EPXLODEE

[mayuri-manufacturer]

Special Purpose Sprockets Manufacturer in Pune | Maharashtra

Welcome to infinity engineering solutions, your trusted partner for top-quality Special Purpose Sprockets and Special Purpose Conveyor Chains. If you're in search of a reliable manufacturer in Pune, Maharashtra, look no further. We are a leading manufacturer and exporter of specialized conveyor solutions designed to meet your unique requirements. Our Special Purpose Sprockets and Conveyor Chains are engineered with precision and are known for their exceptional reliability and durability. We understand the importance of these critical components in various industrial processes, and that's why we are committed to delivering the highest quality products.

[alexiroflife]

"i missed you"

MDNI, so much suggestive everything, a little fluff but in the sukuna kind of way

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: sukuna will never say i miss you, but he will surely show you how much he does when you come home

to sum it up: just a late night thought

WC: 1,816

Warning(s): smut, literally just porn, sukuna has a dirty mouth, a whisper of overstimulation

Sukuna would take out a whole city before he openly admits that he misses you, which unfortunately isn't something you would entirely put past him.

You don't expect him to tell you when he wants to see your face, but you do, however, grow rather accustomed to the way he blows up your phone while you're away with family. When you're given a second to check your notifications, text after text after text lines up from your boyfriend, demanding to know where you are and what you're doing every second of the damn day.

And when he's not making inquiries about every little detail of your life from the moment you wake up to when you go to sleep, he's demanding you return home with empty threats that you know will never be carried out.

-> come home before the next sunrise or you will no longer be welcome within the estate.

-> i've changed my mind. come home tonight, or i am moving your stuff out of our room tomorrow morning.

-> are you seeing my texts? i know you can read. uraume taught me about what this device calls read receipts. answer me now. you are returning home, yes?

-> dammit, woman, just bring your ass back here. what more do you want?

You snort at the texts, your chest warming with endearment at his funny way of expressing his longing for you. He will pull every card, every bluff, every trick besides physically saying that he misses you, and you expect nothing less. After all, if he didn’t, he wouldn't be the Ryomen Sukuna you fell in love with. Somehow, this is more entertaining... just more Sukuna.

When you finally do return home, though, you're in for it. You're hardly even rolling your suitcases to the doors before Sukuna is swinging them open with an aggravated face upon seeing you. You grin widely.

"Kuna! I'm back!"

"Get the fuck in here."

He grabs you by the waist and lifts you up, abandoning your luggage and calling for Uraume to take care of it later. You giggle to yourself as Ryomen carries you with one arm to his chambers, kicking the door closed behind him and tossing you onto the large king bed that the two of you share.

"Well, don't act too excited," you tease.

"Quiet," he demands, voice menacingly low. Sharp hunger swirls in his crimson eyes as he approaches you, the shadow of his burly figure enveloping your frame as he towers over you at the edge of the bed. Your eyes go wide and your heart suddenly pounds in anticipation.

"Wait," you start, reaching a hand out. "Hold on-"

You yelp, the king of curses dragging you harshly by your ankle to the edge. He leans over you, his nose brushing against yours as his blood-red irises seer into your own. He studies you like a predator analyzing its prey before pouncing, devouring. You gulp, innocent lashes batting up at him as heat consumes your body. You know exactly what’s coming to you.

Just then, in his closeness, you remember how much you've missed him while you were away. His scent enrobes you, his eyes undressing you sinfully before he can even rip your clothes from your body. You rub your thighs together in a poor attempt to ease the sudden ache between your legs, and his gaze grows darker.

"You're never leaving this room ever again without my say so," he seethes, a declaration so firm that you almost believe he is being serious, and perhaps in his mind he is.

Your lips quirk up slightly. "Did you miss me that much?"

"Silence," he growls, hooking his fingers into your shorts and tugging them down harshly. You gasp and he tosses them over his head, caging you beneath his mass. "We're not going anywhere until I feel like I've successfully made up for all the time we’ve lost while you were away."

This is your favorite part of returning home from trips, though you don't go away without Sukuna often unless it's to see your family. You hate being away from the king of curses, even if it's for longer than a day. He's got you trained by his hand, somehow, yearning for his touch as though you'll crumble to pieces without it.

But the second you reunite, he has your thighs pressed up with your knees to your ears, hunched over your quivering bare frame, your stomach and legs already coated with three layers of your own fluid. He works his dick into you like it's the last time he ever will, slamming into the warmth of your sloppy pussy as you clench around him helplessly.

You’re whining, begging for more though you've already been given so much, your pretty eyes a fucked out daze as you stare up at him behind low lids, pretty lips parted and slick with his spit. He missed this. He missed seeing you ruined for him, seeing you lay back and struggle to take his fat cook as he bullies it into you with no remorse, feral for impossibly deeper access. And hell, he’d never say it, but he missed you. Your pretty face, your sounds, the smell of your sweet sweat and juices invading Sukuna's senses that are absolutely mouthwatering.

"You keep tryin' to keep this filthy cunt away from me, huh?" he pants, watching as your body rocks back and forth wildly against the mattress. "Fucking shameful. You know you can never take her from me, so I'm not sure why you continue to try..."

"M-n-not," you gasp, your words hardly audible as they melt into the plethora of pathetic moans that string from your swollen lips.

Sukuna presses himself down against you, bare chest to your tits as he fucks you into pace, his lips turning to your ear. "No?" he grunts, pulling back to blow harshly into you, his thick length ramming against your walls and nudging that sweet spot inside you over and over. You cry, clinging to his back and digging your nails into his tatted skin. "Then why the fuck didn't you come home when your king demanded?"

"Pl-hah-pleaseee, k-kuna- nghhh- was with my-my parents," you babble.

"You were with your parents," he repeats mockingly. "Do you think I care for something so unimportant? I called for you. Not your parents."

His hips thrust harshly with the gruff groan of his voice, and he feels your puffy, greedy walls tighten around him.

"Oh? This pussy loves being punished, doesn't it?" he smirks against you. "You're such a fucking whore for my cock, aren't you?"

"Mmmm!"

Sukuna rips himself back, reaching down to clench his thick fingers around your throat. Your jaw hangs open, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head while his other hand claws at the plush of your damp thigh. "Answer me properly, brat," he hisses. "Use your fucking mouth."

"Y-Yesss!"

"Yes what?"

"M'a whore for your cock, Kuna! Only for you, all for you," you whimper, tears streaming down your pretty face.

"Fuck, I fucking know you are." He spears his dick into, rough, deep, heavy thrusts as the sound of your arousal squelches around him. He looks down, watching with a twisted grin as you coat him in a creamy white ring. "How the hell could you think to hold out on me like this, peach? She'so fuckin' loud."

"S'all yours," you whimper, and Sukuna squeezes harder at your throat, leaning in to brush his lips over your gaping mouth.

"I know that, I don't need you fuckin' telling me," he growls. "All mine. You're mine. You belong to me. You’re not going anywhere else without me. Don’t you even think about it.”

And you're nodding dumbly, eyes barely open.

"You better look at me, girl," he demands, and you snap your eyes back open to peer into his consuming, lust-filled stare. He smiles deviously. "Yeahhh. Keep looking at me while I fuck you stupid."

"Goddd, it's so good..! So good, feel'so good," you slur. Sukuna hums, eying every detail of your face as you curl your brows and moan beautifully into his mouth.

"Fucking gorgeous slut," he grunts. "You better not fucking leave me again, brat, you better fucking not. You've got a lot of nerve, thinking you can take this pussy away from me. You do it again, and I will break you."

"Y'already breaking me- ah fuck!" you cry, screwing your eyes shut the moment his tip brushes your cervix. His hand around your throat moves to grip your cheeks. He pulls you up to his face, smearing a hot kiss against your squished lips, then grabs your hips harshly, plowing into you impossibly faster. "Kuna! Can't! I can't, m'gonna cum again!"

"Yeah? Good. When you do, you're gonna take mine too while I fuck my cum into you. Maybe then that'll make you fucking remember to come to me when I call for you."

The noises coming from your room are obscene. The bed is rocking dangerously against the floor and the wall as Sukuna practically splits you in half, throwing your legs over his shoulders as he traps you beneath him again, sinking his fangs into any patch of skin he can find as you scream out, scratching angry red lines down his well-toned back.

"Mmm, that's right. Keep screaming' for me. Take it like a good fucking slut."

He's filthy, balls smacking against your ass as he seeks your release, and he can feel you clenching tighter and tighter. He groans, pushing in deeper, pressing into you harder.

"Oh shit, please- m'cumming, m'cumming, please let me cum!" you beg, trembling beneath him.

"Fucking do it. Cum all over this cock, peach."

You curl into him, face falling into a mute moan as your eyes disappear into your skull and you rub up into Sukuna. His hand flies to your arched back, holding you against him as he pumps you full, riding out your high until his hot load shoots into your dripping heat soon after, painting you white.

There's so much of it, too. It seems to never end as it drips from where you're connected and runs down your legs. Sukuna growls out animalistic sounds, biting hard into your neck and burrowing his nose in your shoulder as he continues his pace, slowly, then back to a normal space.

You jerk against him, trying to push away. "Oh fuck! N-no, Sukuna, ple- hah! Please, I can't! Too much!"

"Shut the fuck up," he demands, lifting up to slap a hand over your mouth. Your dizzy eyes stare at him widely as he works his cum back into you with his hefty strokes. He exhales harshly, brows angling. "I told you I wasn't letting you leave. You left me, now I expect you to make up for it." 

Yeah… he sure did miss you alright.

[anikaplants]

Chocolate Enrobing Machine in India

Website : https://www.anikaindustries.co.in

[fayes-fics]

Breathe (In The Air)

Pariring: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, 1970s AU

Summary: A night camping out under the stars

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, recreational drug use (cannabis), body hair used in foreplay, vaginal fingering, blow job, woman on top, unprotected vaginal sex.

Word Count: 2.6k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon (HERE) asking for a sequel to 1970s hippie Benedict, travelling around in his VW bus selling his artwork at music festivals. Sorry for the gif; there was nothing else that remotely fit. The original story is HERE. The title is a Pink Floyd song. Thanks as always to @colettebronte for the beta. I hope you enjoy Nonny. I do enjoy this AU ngl. <3

“What do you want from life?” 

You loll your head to the side to observe his handsome profile as he stares towards the dome of vibrant stars above.

“I have no idea,” you confess, turning to look skywards again, moonlight glowing through the swirl of smoke you exhale, your fingers toying with the tassels of the soft cotton blanket you both lay upon.

“I want adventure…” he declares, rubbing a hand over his bare midriff absentmindedly.

“Hmmm, that sounds wonderful,” you admit, handing him back the joint, that languid feeling enrobing your mind as the THC kicks in.

It's a temperate summer night, and you are lying together naked, tinny strains of music from a portable radio as you camp in a wildflower meadow en route to the next festival. After a series of magical nights with Ben in his VW bus at the last one, you couldn't resist when he offered for you to continue the journey onwards together. 

He takes a deep drag, the tip glowing like the campfire you are lying in front of, before placing it aside into a metal ashtray and rolling over so he hovers above you, warm skin upon yours.

“I am glad you are on this adventure with me,” he remarks with a lopsided grin, the captivating beauty of his face dancing in the firelight.

“Same.” you concur, reaching to touch the daisy chain buried in his halo of riotous curls, somehow the blooms looking more vibrant in the serene state you are slipping into.

His hand slides languorously down your body from your throat to your lower belly, mapping your fire-warmed skin before lacing his fingers into the downy hair at the apex of your thighs, stirring that nascent buzz between your legs.

“I think this beautiful garden needs some flowers,” he opines silkily, his fingers circling in the strands there, petting gently as his brow twitches into a tempting arch.

He leans over you and plucks a few forget-me-nots from the tall grass, carefully separating each bloom on your stomach. Then, delicately, he weaves each tiny flower into your small thatch of hair, a mild tickle as the stems brush over your skin, making you giggle quietly. He smiles softly, your eyes meeting, then both tracking down the plane of your body as he continues to work quietly, humming gently along to the music.

“There… perfect,” he pronounces proudly; a few moments later, 

It does indeed look pretty: bright blue tiny flowers that contrast strikingly with your hair and skin. 

“Even in this, you are an artist,” you quip blithely.

He smiles demurely through his lashes, shuffling lower and resting his head upon your diaphragm, his fingers tracing soothing patterns around your belly button, his breath puffing warm over your flesh. Allowing the jangle of electric guitar from the radio to fill your bones, your fingers run idly through his luscious locks as your mind floats like cotton in a breeze. The moment seems fleeting but everlasting all at once, profound but insignificant, being so small under the twinkling constellations above. It all coalesces into a sharp need to feel rooted in your body. So you draw your knees up and allow your legs to fall open—a blatant invitation. The apple of his cheek presses into your belly as he smirks knowingly without looking up at you, sensing your need without you needing to voice it, so in tune with your body and desires since the night you met.

“Every beautiful garden should have a sacred fountain…” he rumbles, fingertips spidering down again over the floral weave to tease your splayed inner thigh before sliding casually lower, parting your folds, exhaling roughly at the wet warmth he finds there.

You moan; the mellow cloud you float upon heightens the sensation rippling through your being as his fingers circle your clit, his warm lips suckling gently on your stomach as you writhe under his touch. His name is a sigh upon your lips, his movements unhurried but the perfect amount of pressure. He huffs sonorous praises into your belly as he forms a tighter circle over your swollen bud, moving faster now, your hands flying to the blanket, scrunching in your fists as your head rolls to one side, wanting to bite down upon something, the pleasure coursing through you amplified by your high. 

Whimpering as he slides his fingers lower, two breaching your body, desire thick and viscous dripping upon him as he pushes further in your pussy. The sensation of his knuckles dragging over your walls makes you gasp and call out, your body arching up off the blanket, a heavy throb in your abandoned clit. 

“Please, Ben…” you implore, greedy for more.

He shushes you and unfurls slightly, his fingers flexing inside you as he rearranges to press his whole body into your flank, his cock teasingly hard against your hip, using his free hand to haul one of your legs over his, pulled open to his attention now.

“Don't be impatient; we have all the time in the world,” he tuts sinfully, his lips hot on your throat, grazing the tip of his teeth lightly over your jugular. 

Your protesting mewl is cut short by his fingers twisting inside you, a dragging sensation that makes your eyes roll and your whole abdomen clench.

“I could do this for hours,” he confesses silkily, his breath hot on your temple. “I love the look on your face when I do this…”

He curls his fingers, a probing sensation that makes you groan and your face contort, your mouth now hanging open. He chuckles triumphantly before twisting his wrist again and beginning a rocking motion, wringing a sound from your body that, before you met him, you may have been ashamed of, but he lauds every time. Him murmuring how proud he is that he can do this to you.

But it is not quite enough to push you to the edge as fast as you are craving, more of a slow swirling ascent that has you lighthearted and with laboured breathing, your abdomen rippling as all your muscles tense and release in waves, as if willing your orgasm closer, an itch in your brain you need to scratch. It has you pleading with him to take pity, go a little faster, rougher, anything…

“Syncopate, sweet girl…” he purrs, “listen to the music, breathe in the air, float away with the universe…”

Each word is a lyrical wave tumbling from his lips in a rhythm that matches the movement of his fingers inside you. So you relax back, savouring the multisensory journey, allowing the flow to take you rather than chasing immediate pleasure. Something morphing in your body as you do so, a serenity that is bone-deep, riding the gentle waves of pleasure that lap at your edges while his fingers dance lightly upon your g-spot.

“That’s it….” he rumbles approvingly, intuiting your surrender.

He slips down to enclose your areola in his hot, wet mouth, once again causing a spike of pleasure that has you clenching upon his fingers and canting up. A firm hand on your solar plexus pushes you back down with a chuckle that vibrates your nipple, now firm under his tongue. And so he continues the slow, wondrous torture, swapping to your other breast.

You swear you can feel every blade of grass under your shoulders through the soft cotton weave, the energy of every star above you in the sky coursing through his touch deep inside, every note of the song playing reverberating under your skin. A high, so delicate but earthy, as if everything is turned up to eleven on a dial, tangy and bright, like popping candy throughout your entire being.

It's then he swipes his thumb over your engorged clit; you could swear a supernova fires in your synapses, the sensation all at once too much, and with a few flicks, you are clawing at the blanket and his skin, biting your lip, circling that phenomenal bliss.

This time, he doesn't relent, his lips sucking your neck as with a cry that you are sure startles every animal burrowed in the surrounding fields; you are breaking. Almost febrile, your entire being flushing hot, every muscle tensing, your pussy grasping his fingers to the point he growls, driving his stiff cock into your hip, precum smearing over your skin. Still, it’s something you barely sense, your entire focus pinpointed on the sensations coursing through your body.

At last, you fall back, exhausted and panting, feeling his fingers slip slowly from your body with a gush of moisture that leaks across your bottom. You turn your head to look at him, mind awash, unable to form words. His responding smile is smug, crooked and sheer debauchery, his fingers still wet with your arousal, tracing soothing patterns over your ribs as you come down.

“May I return the favour…?” you croak finally.

Before you know it, he is rolling onto his back next to you, an expectant, joyous look upon his face, eyes tracking pointedly to his navel as do yours. His cock standing proud and leaking slightly—a mouthwateringly inviting sight.

He howls, and his whole body flexes as instead of taking him in hand, you dive low and bring his cock into your mouth, so rigid and searing. That tart taste is strong on your tongue as you suckle upon his head, allowing your tongue to press against his frenulum in a cresting wave. He groans staccato, his pelvis tilts, unable to resist the urge to push a little deeper, one hand landing heavy in your hair, twining some strands between his fingers, an anchor he needs as you begin to bob up and down sucking hard, your cheeks hollowing.

The wash of your high enhancing every second, as if in tune with his body—the micro spasms rippling across the plane of his washboard stomach, the flutter of his long eyelashes, the blunt scrape of his rounded fingernails over your scalp, the pulse of his vein on your lips as you slowly allow him to pass through the tight ring of your mouth, teasing him as much as he did you.

You chuckle as he huffs as you pull away and instead lick the length of his shaft with a questing tongue, your hands encircling his base and squeezing softly, enjoying the handful he provides, watching a bead of precum form that you lavishly lick up. He groans again, his head thrashing upon the blanket, the delicate fronds of daisy petals scattering like confetti into his chestnut waves as he does so, his lip flushing magenta where his incisor worries it.

It makes you sit up and stare down upon him wantonly, so utterly beautiful in his untamed arousal. His eyes fly open, glassy and pleading in the campfire glow, pouting fractionally at the lack of your mouth upon his cock, your hand still pumping him gently. Instead, you swing a leg over his and, without a moment of hesitation, sink onto him, inhaling shudderingly at the invasion, your pussy still inflamed from your recent orgasm.

The look of absolute pleasure and reverence that claims his handsome features feels burned into your retinas as his hands fly to your hips, pushing you down flush to his body, his pubic hair tickling your distended slippery clit, his tip rocking into your hilt in a way that makes your eyes roll.

“Don't move, not yet, just feel…” he counsels, his eyes closing, licking his lips and encouraging you, with the flex of his fingers, to rotate your pelvis, to feel him drag against all your walls. 

And so you do, scratch your nails delicately down his abdominals as you stare out to the inky horizon where the navy sky meets the blackened outline of the hedgerows in the distance—again, letting the melodic song seep into your bones, feeling the heat from the dancing flames.

You lean back and arch your spine, placing your hands upon his kneecaps, his legs bending slightly to meet your grip. His hands roam upwards, over your belly and ribs, enclosing each of your breasts in his large grip, a beeline right to your core, already a live wire again, desire coursing in every fibre of your being. 

Then in a deliberate slow drag, you rise slowly before dropping swiftly, revelling in the way his cock pushes you open. A groan from deep inside your being a match to his—throaty, low, wrecked. You begin to set a languid pace, riding him, gripping his knees behind you and staring at the stars above, feeling as if they surround you, tiny lanterns floating just beyond your reach.

“Look at me,” his call is soft, unfocused, imploring, and you tilt down, your breasts squashed into his palms as your eyes meet, something profound in the glimmer you find in the dilated blackness.

Sex has never been this unrestrained before now. Being with him is liberating, wild and luxuriant every time, be it under the influence or not. But tonight, somehow greater than the previous, an inherently verdant setting, alone in the wilds on a balmy night, away from the crowds always in your periphery at the music festival. A large part of you wanting this to be your new forever—naked and feral, entwined together for a blur of future days and nights. A want to live a primitive life of base urges, to feast and to fuck, to be at one with the land, the seasons and the bounteous simplicity of nature.

Time feels elastic as your thighs start to burn from the exertion. Still, you do not stop, not for a moment, too caught up in the tide slowly rising once more and sensing the same in him. A growing desperation in the way his fingers dig into your flesh, in the wild beating of the prominent vein in his neck, in the rise of his hips to meet yours, spearing up as you bear down so it feels like there will always be the imprint of him inside you.

He calls your name, the callus where he holds his paintbrush catching perfectly over your clit as his fingers quest between your legs, hooking you with unerring precision. Catapulting you fast towards a dizzying high again, his movements growing urgent, his jaw tight, so close to breaking. It is barely a moment before you snap again, stilling upon him as you scream with abandon, fluttering around his rigid cock. He groans loudly and, with a few final jerky spasms, comes hard, his toes curling over, his ropey thighs turning rock solid under your bottom as he fills you, a symphony of praise falling from his lips, some not even in English.

And then you are slumping on top of him, his smooth chest tacky under your cheek as you gulp for air, the rustle of the breeze through the nearby trees and the hiss and pop of the logs upon the campfire the only sounds now, the radio falling silent, likely needing new batteries. He slips from your body as you curl your hands around his biceps and snuggle upon him. His long, lean arms wrap around your torso, enveloping you within the large blanket you were lying upon and dropping a kiss upon your dewy brow.

“We can bathe tomorrow in the river,” he hums gently into your hairline.

You nod drowsily, the pull of sleep too beguiling to resist. And that is how you drift off, resting atop him, his heartbeat strong and steady under your ear, the burbling sounds of nature encircling you.

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[toxicanonymity]

Toxic… umm Raider question. What would happen if Sweet Pea got a little too excited and maybe went down a little too far a little too fast while giving boo a BJ, and started choking? Like full on coughing fit, gotta stop for a second, maybe need some water. 🥴 How does our evolved Joel handle that? Is there embarrassment, panic, laughter, teasing, what happens? 🤤

Choking on him

600 words. I8+, choking on cock, PiV and preperfectly timed ejaculation. raider

In the heat of pleasure, with so much of his blood throbbing in his cock, it takes a second to realize what's going on. It's 'cause you do it so good, sweet pea. It even turns him on seeing the tears in your eyes. But then you lift your head off him ungracefully, mouth open, and you keep coughing, spit flying off your lips, onto his thigh, then into your fist, and his heart begins to pound. He sits upright and his face loses some color. It's panic and also guilt. He lays his hands gently on your shoulders, "you're okay, baby. . . you're okay." With his own chest heaving, he observes your face, unsure what to do, afraid of making it worse. "You're okay," he repeats. You sit more upright, take a loud breath and nod in affirmation, finally making eye contact. He exhales, and his eyes smile a little. But you start coughing again.

He gets off the bed. "I'm--i'm okay," you croak in protest. He squeezes your shoulder before jogging to the kitchen, cock blazing, covered in slobber, to get you a cup of water. He returns and holds the cup to your mouth, tipping it so slowly and carefully that you take it from him and do it yourself. He sits down facing you and after another sip, you hand him the water. You take deep breaths. He puts the water aside and holds your head reassuringly. He hasn't lost even a little bit of his erection, it's throbbing madly. Tears are streaming down your face, but a smile breaks through, and he hopes he doesn't cum without your touch. You're so cute and so good to him.

"C'mere, sweet pea," he urges you onto his chest as you recover. And the ache returns between your legs when his engorged passion brushes your thigh. After a minute, it's still there and you reach down for it. At your fingertips on his shaft, he reassured you, "It's okay, baby, don't worry 'bout. . ." (but your face tilts up, and he knows that look in your eye, and his voice drops) ". . .C'mere." He shifts you fully on top, and you reach down to guide him into your wet, trembling hole.

You sink yourself onto his impossibly stiff erection, and he chokes out, "God--damn," as his cock is swallowed. Squeezed by your soft insides, his hips begin to move. He thrusts up into you and mutters, "fuck," as he bottoms out again. His chest heaves under you, and his cock twitches, enrobed by your walls. It makes you grind against his front. "Ohhhh," he breathes, then cautions, "baby. . ." and he stops. You slowly move yourself on his cock. He swallows, then demands, "look at me." You meet his eyes as you tilt your hips, slowly letting out a few inches of his cock. He complains, "Sweet pea," takes in a deep breath, and then as your body reclaims his length, "Unnghhh." He erupts.

And what sends you to the stratosphere isn't just his throbbing cock and his hot release and the way you're tilted forward, slowly grinding against him, and the way his fingers dig into your hips, holding you down. It's also the way he looks at you in primal surrender that sends you over the edge, spasming on him, your body hugging his, while you see stars.

He embraces you as the last of his seed dribbles into your tight, warm insides.

Finally, both of you can breathe again. Still inside, he holds you, kisses you on the forehead, and cradles the back of your head. "You're okay," he mumbles.

His chest rises and falls under you, and soon your breathing falls in sync.

[blackdollette]

Hiii! I love your page first of all and second I was thinking about like Spencer Reid x reader to lana del Rey song lust for life, like maybe the song is playing in the background as reader is getting ready for a get together and he feels so overwhelmed with love? Idk I just love lust for life and Spencer Reid

AHH THIS IS MY FAVOURITE REQUEST EVER!! ( p.s. you didn't ask for any smut so I didn't include anything too raunchy. thank you! )

"nobody here, just us together." | spencer reid

lust for life. - lana del rey

fill out the taglist form! : @thirtyratsinasuit @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @sleepysongbirdsings @pleasantwitchgarden @emma-e-a

female!reader x spencer

word count: 701

contents: a little fluffy, making out, sexual implications

your translucent red record spun in the corner of the bedroom, the 70s-inspired tune leaking through the closed bathroom door as you stood in front of the mirror.

you ran your hands down your deep-red silky nightgown, taking in the soft but thin texture of the fabric. you had your hair done up all nicely, applying a light blush to your cheeks for a rosy touch. you could feel spencer’s burning presence through the door, making your nerves buzz with excitement. this was going to be your first night with him. nobody else around, just you and him together.

your little “dates” with him had been going in all the right directions, months of shy flirting and risky innuendos making your certain of his suspected attraction toward you. and now, you’d finally gathered the courage to invite him over for the night. 

you took a deep breath, opening the door and displaying yourself to him. you watched a smile pull at his lips as a pink tint stained his cheeks. “there she is…” he said, the words breathy and under his breath. with a few feet of distance separating you two, your eyes travelled along each other’s bodies, the room’s temperature seeming to be growing warm. you had gotten all dolled up, but somehow the simple sight of him in his suit and tie made your knees weaker than anything.

a moment of silence enrobed you two before he stood up slowly, stepping into the dim streaks of amber and golden sunshine that poured from the windows as he approached you. he got closer and closer until two inches of space stood between you two. you tilted your head upward to meet his infatuated gaze, his arm slowly snaking around your waist as he pressed you into the wall behind you.

“words cannot explain how beautiful you are, my dear.” and he was right. the shards of sunset that seeped into the room gave you a gentle glow, making you more luminous than even the brightest star. his breath was heavy as his thumbs massaged slow circles onto your waist, pulling your body into his to fill in the gaps that parted you from him.

your gaze locked with his and a shock sizzled down his core. he wrapped his arms around your waist, picking you up with minimal effort. you wrapped your legs around his waist as he rested his chin in the space between your breasts, your hearts rapidly beating in unison. a lust-filled flicker of his gaze gave you the green light, and you connected your lips in a sloppy kiss.

he groaned deeply, feeding his sounds of arousal into your mouth as his hands moved up to grip your ass. he drank you in with no intention of ever letting you go, your touch seeming like the only thing keeping him alive at this moment. he had been wanting this so badly for the longest time, longing to feel your soft lips against his own in a concealed environment.

he pulled his lips away from yours, holding you even tighter as he began to trail deep kisses down your neck. heavy breaths spilled from your lips as your hands each took in a generous handful of his hair, his golden-brown locks feeling like silk in your grasp.

he had taken control with no doubt or hesitation in his movements. his hands knew the right places to go, his tongue drew the perfect patterns on your soft skin, it was almost too much.

you connected your lips to his forehead as he planted kisses all over your collarbone, pausing to look up at you with hazy eyes. his eyes appeared to have a layer of shine on them, like he was on the brink of tears. his body trembled as he held you and his words were laced together with only an ounce of intelligence. “i-i… i love you. so, so much…”

you could tell he was mere seconds away from losing it, but so were you. you and him were alone, free to decide where to take the night. your fate was in your hands, so you bit the bullet and began to take off his clothes…

author's note: stream the lfl album.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Austin Grossman’s ‘Fight Me’

On July 14, I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! On July 20, I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

In Fight Me, the novelist and game developer Austin Grossman uses aging ex-teen superheroes to weigh the legacy of Generation X, in a work that enrobes its savage critique with sweet melancholia, all under a coating of delicious snark:

http://www.austingrossman.com/fight-me

It is, in other words, a very Gen X kinda novel. Prodigy (AKA Alex Beekman) is a washed-up superhero. As a nerdy high-schooler, he was given super powers by a mysterious wizard (posing as a mediocre teacher), who gave him an amulet and a duty. Whenever Alex touches the amulet and speaks the word of power, reaclun (which he insists is not "nuclear" backwards) he transforms into Prodigy, a nigh-invulnerable, outrageously handsome living god who is impervious to bullets, runs a one-minute mile, and fights like a champ. Prodigy, he is told, has a destiny: to fight the ultimate evil when it emerges and save the world.

Now, Alex is 40, and it's been a decade since he retired both Prodigy and his Alex identity, moving into a kind of witness protection program the federal government set up for him. He poses as a mediocre university professor, living a lonely and unexceptional life.

But then, Alex is summoned back to the superhero lair he shared with his old squad, "The Newcomers," a long-vacant building that is one quarter Eero Saarinen, three quarters Mussolini. There, he is reunited with his estranged fellow ex-Newcomers, and sent on a new quest: to solve the riddle of the murder of the mysterious wizard who gave him his powers, so long ago.

The Newcomers – an amped-up ninja warrior, a supergenius whose future self keeps sending him encouragement and technical schematics backwards through time, and an exiled magical princess turned preppie supermodel – have spent more than a decade scattered to the winds. While some have fared better than Alex/Prodigy, none of them have lived up to their potential or realized the dreams that seemed so inevitable when they were world famous supers with an entourage of fellow powered teens who worshipped them as the planet's greatest heroes.

As they set out to solve the mystery, they are reunited and must take stock of who they are and how they got there (cue Talking Heads' "Once In a Lifetime"). With flashbacks, flashforwards, and often hilarious asides, Prodigy brings us up to speed on how supers fail, and what it's like to live as a failed super.

The publisher's strapline for this book is "The Avengers Meets the Breakfast Club," which is clever, but extremely wrong. The real comp for this book isn't "The Breakfast Club," it's "The Big Chill."

When I realized this, I got briefly mad, because I've only had two good movie high concept pitches in my life and one of them was "Gen X Big Chill." Rather than veterans of the Summer of 68 confronting the Reagan years, you could have veterans of the Battle of Seattle living through the Trump years. One would be on PeEP, one would be an insufferable Andrew Tate-quoting bitcoiner, one would be a redpilled reactionary with a genderqueer teen, one would be a squishy lib, one a firebreathing leftist, etc. The soundtrack would just be top 40 tracks from artists who have songs on "Schoolhouse Rock Rocks":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schoolhouse_Rock!_Rocks

Every generation has some way in which they seek to overthrow the status quo and build a new, allegedly better one, after all. "Big Chill"'s impact comes from its postmortem on a generation where it was easy to feel like you were riding destiny's rails to greatness thanks to the sheer size of the Boomer cohort and the postwar prosperity they lived through. A Gen X Big Chill would be a stocktaking of a generation that defined itself as a lost generation reared in the Boomers' shadows, armored against the looming corpo-climate apocalypse with the sword of irony and the shield of sincerity.

Which is basically what Grossman is doing here. What's more, doing this as a superhero story is a genius move – what could be a better metaphor for a teen's unrealistic certainty of destined greatness than a superhero? Superhero fantasies are irreducibly grandiose and unrealistic, but all the more beautiful and brave and compelling for it.

You know, like teens.

At 52, I'm a middle-aged Gen Xer. I've got two artificial hips and I just scheduled a double cataract surgery. My hairline is receding. I'm an alta kaker. But I wasn't always: I was a bright and promising kid, usually the youngest person in the room where we were planning big protests, ambitious digital art projects, or the future of science fiction. I had amazing friends: creative and funny and sweet, loyal and talented and just fun.

We're mostly doing okay (the ones that lived; fuck cancer and fuck heroin and fuck fentanyl). Some of us are doing pretty good. On a good day, I think I'm doing pretty good. I had a night in 2018 where I got to hang out, as a peer, with my favorite musician and my favorite novelist, both in the same evening. These were artists I'd all but worshipped as a teen. I remember looking at the two selfies I took than night and thinking, Man, if 15 year old me could see these, he'd say that it all worked out.

But you don't get to be 52 without having a long list of regrets and failures that your stupid brain is only too eager to show you a highlight reel from. No one gets to middle age without a haunting loss that is always trying to push its way to the fore in order to incinerate every triumph great and small and leave ashes behind.

That's why there's a "Big Chill" for every generation. Each one has its own specific character and meaning situated in history, but each one has to grapple with the double-edged sword of nostalgia. Not for nothing, John Hodgman (a bona fide Gen X icon) calls nostalgia "a toxic impulse."

Grossman really makes Fight Me work as a Gen X Big Chill. He's a great Gen X writer; his first novel, Soon I Will Be Invincible, was a knockout debut about superheroes and supervillains that had a very "The Boys" vibe, you know, that neat little move where you contend with the banal parts of a super's life and show how super powers don't make you a good person, or even a competent one.

His followup to Invincible came six years later. YOU is a coming-of-age story about the games industry with a second-person narrator (think "Zork"). Grossman is an accomplished game dev (Tomb Raider Legend, Deus X, Dishonored, etc), and he uses YOU to really plumb the depths of what games mean, what fun is, and how working on games isn't just work, it's often really shitty work, the opposite of fun:

https://memex.craphound.com/2013/04/16/austin-grossmans-you-brilliant-novel-plumbs-the-heroic-and-mystical-depths-of-gaming-and-simulation/

Grossman's last novel was Crooked, a very daffy alternate history in which Richard Nixon is a Cthulhoid sorcerer locked in a Lovecraftian battle of good and evil. This is a purely hilarious romp, wildly imaginative and deliciously certain to offend reactionary jerks:

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/08/26/austin-grossmans-crooked-the-awful-cthulhoid-truth-about-richard-nixon/

All those chops are on display in Fight Me: a book that covers its brooding with wisecracks, that spits out ten great gags per page even as it drives a knife into your heart. It's a great novel.

Fight Me doesn't come out in the US and Canada until tomorrow (it's been out in the UK, Australia, NZ, etc for more than a month). Normally, I would hold off on reviewing this until the on-sale date, but this is my last day on the blog for two weeks – I'm leaving on a family vacation early tomorrow morning. I'll see you on July 14!

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/01/the-big-genx-chill/#im-super-thanks-for-asking