#hyperstimulation

[darlingpwease]

Oh dear just trying find some more Yandere Xie lian

... words are modest enough to work, but we can work with it /pos

the flower and the butterfly

you're too stunning; how did someone like me get you?

𔓘 unhealthy behaviour (mutual dependency, gaslighting, clinginess, obsessiveness, possessiveness, manipulation), mild religious themes (worshipping, allusions), abandonment issues, touch starvation, domestic routine, forced relationship / kidnapping if you squint [?]

𔓘 heavy petting, rough sex, hypersexuality, role playing, CNC, mild primal kink, body worship (r.), praise (r.), hyperstimulation (g.), fingering (g.), breeding (g.), mild cum inflation (g.)

Xie Lian was mind-blowing. Not only in his appearance or behavior, which made him look like a timid coquette or a charming maiden, but also in the fact that you definitely do not want to test either his patience or his nerves, especially if you know him from the time when he was His Highness the 'eccentric' Crown Prince, who loves bright clothes and funny conversations, in which his warm hands were always reaching out to you, as if you were a continuation of his own body, — and you must admit that little has changed since that time, at least for you.

Xie Lian was still as charming and full of life, it's just that his temperament and disposition became colder and easier — for anyone but you, however. He still loved physical activities and delicious food, he still loved to emotionally warm and take care of you, he still allowed you to guide him and relied on you to solve logical problems, trusting your advice and words — and did not forget to wrap around you like a vine around another firmly standing plant, and the fact that his figure was just as flexible and slender, while soft palms could rest on your shoulders or chest, only made you feel even more as if you were hugging the first beauty of the Celestial Empire.

... Xie Lian did not like solitude or mundane things, the 'earth' that could pollute, — rather, he was that social aerial butterfly who loved to fly from flower to flower, despite how down-to-earth and firmly standing he was. At least not before.

Previously, he valued his status highly, worried about people's opinions, was afraid of public discussion and was more like the very flower that wanted to attract attention to itself, blooming stronger and stronger than a butterfly. Rather, you were the butterfly — the one who was able to attract the attention of a beautiful and alluring, but unable to move flower, only trying to grab you and lock you in, so that you would not go anywhere else. But for you, he has always been a fragile but luxurious flower, which you took care of as the apple of your eye, taking care that no one plucked and turned him over — after all, you have been with him since childhood, his most faithful companion, so it was natural that you were especially deep and intense related to him; so much so that no one even understood how you manage to be so synchronized and mutually supportive at the same time, as if it is worth separating you, you both will die even at dawn if cannot be sure that will meet again soon, but if you believe, you will never die before see each other again.

You couldn't deny that you spoiled Xie Lian with your determination mixed with almost imperiousness, while Xie Lian gave you too much of this unconditional acceptance and warmth for you to just give it up. He was everything, your everything, but it was nothing strange — nothing more than the relationship of a butterfly and the sun.

You only found out that your 'sun' was a flycatcher when the petals closed over you, leaving you inside forever.

Xie Lian valued social status most of all, always cared highly about people's opinions, was always afraid of 'what people would think', he lived for people. But when he was really bad, only you stayed and didn't go anywhere, even if the scratches from his nails still sometimes hurt like a phantom on your skin, — you will never dare to blame him, seeing with your own eyes how something breaks that you swore to protect your whole life, and that you won't give up no matter what. Because that's your goal. You will never give up, even if it means dying.

Xie Lian also knows that it is he who will protect all the time that he will have, no matter how little or much.

You have always affectionately almost teased him for how driven he is and easily obeys your will, like a duckling following a parent duck, but he also learned a lot during the time you guarded his back from attacks and shielded him from words. You were always in front so that he could follow you, keeping and guarding. You've always told him that as long as you breathe, nothing and no one can hurt him unless you die.

Butterflies are not meant for a harsh life. Butterflies should fly, eat nectar and dance in the air. Xie Lian loved butterflies and he loved you. And he never hid any of this, even if the second fact definitely confused you and made you brush it off when he brought you flowers or peeled fruit with a playful smile, 'as if you couldn't do it yourself' or 'as if you were a person of royal status'. Xie Lian never denied it, even though he knew it wasn't true.

You were his Deity.

His Everything.

And when the petals close, plunging you into eternal darkness, he knows what he's doing. After all, a sun like you is able to hold and shine even in the deepest nights, and it promises that you will not go out.

Never

You are the most precious thing he has left

𔓘 Xie Lian is very clingy — from the day you first met, bumping into the burning gaze of beautiful eyes, and until the very last day, which is never destined to come, he is always by your side just as you are by his side. Xie Lian hates to separate — never — and is always looking for reasons why you should stay together. Contrary to his gentle introversion, he feels really good only when he holds you in his arms or when your hand rests on his waist — and never in other cases. His pure adoring gaze never leaves your figure, fearing that one day you will leave him or leave him, no matter whether by your own will or someone else's, and he will never allow this — and the fact that there is no one in the world who could be his competitor or rival, given his strength, only makes the situation even worse for any of your attempts to leave his side at least for a moment.

When his slender elegant fingers take you by the shoulders, entwine around your waist, gently take your arm, wrap your fingers, or when his nose burrows into your neck, buries itself in your thigh, finds peace on your lap or hides rosy cheeks in your chest, — you know that you have no chance to get out of his sticky, strong embrace, as if your body was first his and then yours, “just like my heart...”

Xie Lian never allows you to leave him even for a moment — if there is a need for you to be disconnected, then he will rather give up everything than let you go. Not you. So many people have already left him — he won't survive if you leave too. Please. You're the only thing he needs. He feels so good. Isn't he good enough? Why do you want to leave? Isn't your cute little house perfect? Isn't the backyard garden laid out for you delightful? Isn't the way you live an ideal for you too? No, you can't. You have to be there.

Always.

You both gave up everything you had to stay together.

You promised that you would follow him in life and in death, for better or for worse. You are his and he is yours. And the fact that his hands never leave you, and his gaze never comes down from you, only confirms this. After all, can you refuse him? You swore — officially and unofficially; you followed him on sunny days and rainy days, through rivers of blood and deadly storms, when he was loved and when he was hated, but your will, mind and heart were adamant, despite fleeting thoughts and desires that could disturb you. And now you want to leave him?

It's your responsibility. It's your duty. You can never leave him.

... This is an order.

𔓘 Even if Xie Lian can sometimes fall into capriciously childish, desperate attempts to keep you, if he sees that you are trying to brush him off or want to leave him, no matter under what pretext, using his authority as the 'crown prince' and having a chance to make childish tantrums if you are too overwhelming and he knows that it will be effective — but otherwise, if Xie Lian is not subordinate, he is, at most, democratic and ready to share responsibility with you. Otherwise, he prefers to follow you in an almost 'sacrificial' manner and go wherever you tell him or wherever you go. If you say go west, he won't even look east; if you say sugar is black, he won't even think about saying it's white.

Despite his emotional playfulness and slight eccentricity associated with the desire to get emotional feedback, Xie Lian never seeks to take away power or responsibility from you, entrusting himself into your hands like a fluffy fragile cat who is sure that you will take care of him exactly as he deserves, and knowing perfectly well that even if your treatment will be 'unfair', then it will mean that he was bad and must improve.

Undoubtedly, he will be offended and will try to get fair treatment, but if you insist, he will only nod and obey. He is not someone who is interested in a power struggle or a change of power dynamics in a relationship — being behind you and with you is much better than against you or ahead of you. Xie Lian has never had any difficulties helping you and presenting things, even if it is clearly morally wrong or aggressive actions, — despite his peacefulness, there are things that are above the norms of morality or understanding of ordinary realities.

And there is nothing special that you are this 'thing'.

The flower never condemns the butterfly for what it does before it gets on the flower, or what it did while it was on the flower.

You are caring and affectionate enough, giving him small gifts (especially things that remind you of the past, like familiar flowers or small hairpins that he would definitely have worn in the past, even if he now mostly keeps them as his most precious things) and taking care of those household chores that he cannot, trying to preserve the memory of his beloved mother through the absence of such 'ordinary' skills, and you accept him as he is — while he accepts you as you are, without objections and questions.

You've been together for more than eight hundred years — doesn't that mean you've already had a diamond wedding eight times, even if you're still not married?

“It doesn't matter,” Xie Lian purrs softly when you point this out, hiding his face in your chest, wrapping his strong thin arms around your waist like a warmed cat. “If you want, we can officially get married. But we're not going anywhere from each other anyway.”

You have nothing to say to him. Having given up everything that was, following your impulse, entrusting everything to him when Xie Lian gave you everything he had in despair, so that you would not abandon him — you could no longer imagine your life without him, you did not know how to live without him. Just like he is without you.

You yourself do not notice when you become as close as a married couple; when it becomes natural for you to stroke his head on your lap, braid his hair and weave flowers and ribbons there, when you let him take care of your hairstyle and clothes, when you absentmindedly adjust the bandages on your hands — the same as at him — or look at him, leaning your shoulder against the door jamb, while he happily hums, doing his thing, although you are sure that out of the corner of your eye he is still watching you. When he hugs you on the back while cooking, takes care of your house and garden, watches you mend clothes or sweep while he fixes doors and windows; when Xie Lian hugs you in a dream, nervously enthusiastically huddles with a shy giggle while he thinks you are asleep, or briefly kisses your cheek before going to bed, and you are sure that he thinks that you are asleep, but you do not have the courage to try to even gently stop him.

In the end, there is no need for this — he has already become like a husband to you for a long time anyway, giving you his body, heart and mind, and you can only accept and give in return, taking care that Xie Lian knows that you love him and take care of him, no matter what.

𔓘 It doesn't matter to him what your sexual preferences are. Do you like dick? Do you like pussy? Are you top? Are you bottom? It doesn't matter — Xie Lian is always ready to meet you in any position and in any form, as long as he feels that you are as excited as he is, even if at first you can be sure that he is 'innocent' and 'pure', given his external and internal manifestation and attitude. But even if you are the first for him in every sense, he knows what he is doing and what he should do — more as an instinct than as a theory or, moreover, practice, although he is not above eavesdropping or fleetingly asking even when he was Crown Prince.

He is in a strong connection with his body and knows what can excite him or how to please even a lying log — especially if you are less sexually active or need a long warm-up — and even if the violent blush does not leave his cheeks while he nervously touches your body, openly admiring, Xie Lian gives his best until he feels that you seize the initiative and get involved in the process, digging your fingers into his hips while his stomach takes your shape and gives you a view of you inside him, feeling how wet and tight he is even if he can't help but hiding face behind hands, whining and moaning your name, mumbling something like 'deeper' and 'stronger' mixed with 'yes yes like that' and 'please please please' when you press his face into the pillow while fucking him.

His body is more than responsive and sensitive to you, and even if you pull his hair, spit in his mouth, spank and leave bites and hickeys all over his body, Xie Lian looks at you with adoration and worship, constantly thanking and admiring, as if unable to shut up from euphoria and delight, screaming your name and 'how good it feels' for him even while he is drooling and almost crying, trembling all over, but unable to stop squeezing and wrapping strong legs around your hips, locking you inside his supple heat.

No matter what, Xie Lian will never stop worshipping you, and during sex it gets even worse, as if the way his pussy or dick drips and practically makes a puddle even on the sheets is not enough — but when you just push inside once and he immediately comes, writhing on you, gasping for air, digging his fingers into your skin while his body tries to recover, and begs you not to stop, even though you see how sensitive Xie Lian is still, you try to be gentle to him, massaging his body until you drive inside at a confident but gradual pace, letting his wet tight walls get used to you inside and stop squeezing and massaging you so convulsively, as if he worships you, shamelessly begging you to never leave him and stay forever in this position, is not enough.

At first you try not to be too passionate and persistent, but by the end you are more likely someone who needs careful care and rest than he is — it's hard to exhaust someone so enduring and enthusiastic about the fact that he is with you like Xie Lian, even if you try to keep up with him, giving all of yourself, but in the end you are almost always on the more vulnerable side than him if you let him be on you before you spent enough time to prepare and his exhaustion, kissing and licking, stretching his wet squelching walls until you make sure that at least at about the same level after a couple of orgasms, watching as he tries obsessively trying to snuggle up to you and take you in — but can only stay under you, feeling how your fingers fuck him while you try to satisfy him with your tongue, assuring that you are only 'preparing him', although you both know that this is only an attempt to superficially satisfy him even before the beginning.

And the way Xie Lian jumps on you, impulsively kissing mixed with bites and purring about how good it is for him and that you are both perfect for each other, you are exactly one, only further assures you that you can just lean back and enjoy seeing how his juices and sperm flow down your skin until his body can't stop moving, as if his life depends on it — and how sweetly painfully he whines when you abruptly turn him over and take control of the rhythm, driving into his supple soft body, looking for any intimacy and connection with you.

Damn it, you are sure that one day you will become just one with him if he continues to squeeze you just as adoringly and as if trying to suck you inside while you stretch him with squelching wet sounds, hearing only encouragement and delight no matter what.

𔓘 Xie Lian can spend hours biting, kissing, licking and playing with your body.

In general, the prospect of staying in bed with you all day does not bother him at all — perhaps even thousands of years will not be enough for him to show and tell you how perfect and amazing you are, and how enthusiastic and hot he is does not help too much when his soft hands explore your body, rubbing and 'warming' in every sense, he is much less shy and ruddy than before, — which makes you wonder how much sincerity or games were in all his words to excite you, — especially when he almost shamelessly bares his body, as if proud of your love marks, even if just a few hours ago Xie Lian was blushing crimson, hiding face behind by hand, shyly taking your hand while you were rubbing between his thighs, stimulating yourself rather than him, since it is always wet and slippery between his soft thighs, as if even your palm between them is enough to make him aroused and ready, without needing any other simulation at all.

There's nothing awkward (or at least not awkward enough for him to refuse) for him to show you his body; even if Xie Lian doesn't think he's the most attractive, his body is what always turns you on, and he knows it, even if he can't figure it out. If you adored your body, it would make more sense to him than your strange passion for his own, but Xie Lian does not complain at all, secretly enjoying the fact that you find his imperfect body so exciting, even if he still turns to things like beautiful erotic underwear and devices like a collar or role-playing games to to excite you.

Some of these games excite and stimulate even more than sex itself — especially when you senselessly breed him outside your house, giving yourself to confirm your right to his beautiful tender body, biting and pressing into the ground until his knees weaken, becoming nothing more than prey in your hands, even if he is in any moment can get out, it doesn't matter whether using force or a safe word, — the sensations are too pleasant and intense to even think about it, letting you drive in and use it, it doesn't matter if he is a 'prey' or a 'capricious prince'.

When his clothes show a lot more skin, or when you see a blush on his beautiful cheeks after hard work, or when he clings to you trustingly hotly after a hard day, looking with innocent, darkened eyes into yours, you really don't know whether you should admire or be embarrassed, knowing how subtly and frankly he pulls you by the strings — and knowing that you just need to show a little skin or interest so that he immediately responds, more than interested in everything that you are ready to give him.

You don't know of any couple where at least one member was as obsessively adoring and enthusiastic as Xie Lian, who is always on a 'low start' regarding everything that concerns you, but when he squeezes you tightly while you gently press on his stomach, lovingly teasing that he is still 'soft', Xie Lian, blushing shyly and biting his scarlet lip, only complains coquettishly in a weak voice, looking away, that you just don't 'care' enough about him — and you really have nothing left but to take care of him.

Take care of him very carefully.

[hirodraggg]

how the fuck people use tiktok if i stay in it for 30 seconds i get so dizzy that i need to lay and look at the ceilling 😭😭😭😭

[disease]

an apology/smooches to my mutuals for rarely showing up for post engagement. worst blogger award. i'll browse the dash for a good 10 posts then get sidetracked and then... vanish

[faverinfairy444]

+ work work work

[collidofier]

Collidofier

[magratpudifoot]

The worst thing about being a fat autistic person is trying to take a shower without things touching you every time you move.

[anaktoria-of-the-moon]

At work plagued by thoughts of a mech bigger than you can imagine.

She starts like most of them do, a Titan excavator rig modestly sized for their line: maybe a house or thereabouts, a big house. (Doesn’t matter why she signed up - perhaps a breadwinner, a lone mother or eldest sister, a daughter of aging parents nobody else will take; doesn’t matter what site they sent her to, Earth or Enceladus or Venus or Europa. She’s there, and she lets them strap her in and adapt her for the piloting interface and pump her full of protein ooze and electrolytes and hyperstimulant cocktails as obediently as the next laborer.)

Upgrades come, from big house to bigger, with shovels like hillsides and treads like highways. Still she remains in the cockpit, out only for one day every six months to say hello to her burgeoning family, who have moved nearby to make it easy on her, to meet the baby nephews and nieces whose names she doesn’t yet know.

War comes. The facility hunkers down. It just makes sense to retrofit their biggest digger with shields, to expand her arsenal a little more, give her a better engine, pour all their leftover resources into making her a great guardian, and she rises to the occasion, shielding them from orbital rays, absorbing the energy and taking the pain of it up into her own engines. When the corporate rats who own the site finally turn tail and run the workers and their families band together and do the needful repairs themselves. Her nieces and nephews grow up learning engineering by the light of oil lamps from stolen Old Era textbooks and jailbroken datapads. She hardly ever now glimpses their faces with her own two eyes from within her steel shell but it is a worthy sacrifice to her, to them, for both parties know she is still there, still with them, embracing them in a great steel hug and watching through a thousand glass-lensed eyes.

Years pass. The brightest of her nieces works out how to modify the nutrition cocktail going into her cockpit so she will never age, never die, never fall sick. Somewhere in there all the metal and ceramic encloses her ever-sleeping body like a lotus flower around the benevolent, immortal form of a bodhisattva.

The outpost survives the war, somehow. Refugees hear of the little town on the colony that could, guarded by a goddess the size of a temple, and flock there. It makes sense to add to her control, among her array of sensors and actuators, the new city’s power generation and delivery system, its wall defenses, its waste management, its communications mains. Nowhere is anything safer than with her.

With all these new additions come techs and custodians to keep her in good care. They build modest crew cabins nestled amongst her treads (now rusty from disuse) so they can be close to her, the better to help her.

Slowly more and more falls under her purview, new cabins, then mezzanines and stairways and platforms between them; each generation has their own superstitions that they add to those of the last before them, so paintings crop up on her metal panels now, in nooks and crannies, often crude symbols that promise good oil changes or swift code updates, or simply depictions of their goddess, of the war she survived. Still she watches.

Her nieces and nephews are all dead now, and their nieces and nephews look on through rheumed eyes as the city attains new heights, heralded everywhere on every planet that still lives as an oasis of peace and prosperity. Still she watches.

A new company comes, enticed by the stories. They want to buy her. Buy her! The people scoff. As if you could just buy a person! - A person? asks the representative from Acher Spaceways, perplexed. - We heard she was your goddess.

She is both, of course, the goddess who lives, the goddess who is one hundred percent flesh and one hundred percent machine.

Acher doesn’t like this. They send machines - zero percent flesh, entirely drones - screaming down from the stars for a more insistent negotiation, one phrased in metal slugs and incendiary fire.

So your goddess rises up to meet them.

It is over in a short day. The drones lie in pieces; Acher, from orbit, licks their wounds, and the goddess rebukes them with a single laser blast, modified from her very first mining waymaker photonic drill.

The blast is precise and surgical. It tears apart the whole platform, spinning central axis to annular habitat space, which supernovas into a blossom of shining proof in the night sky at which the citizens below cheer.

But the pieces are falling, and soon they will pepper the surface below with molten debris, kick up dust into the atmosphere and make it all but unbreathable. The people could leave, the goddess advises them through short-wave radio bursts. They could use her emergency shuttles to escape gravity before it is too late, or they could go underground and salvage her rarest and most precious resources to survive until the surface is safe again.

Here is the thing - every pilot is augmented, and most augments are for the benefit of the plainly physical, for strength and speed and stamina and sharpness of perception. When her people augmented her, they augmented something else entirely. With every new module, every sensor upgrade, every painted symbol and hidden shrine, they gave her a superhuman capacity not for stamina or speed or strength, but for love.

It is her love that saved them, so they must save her back.

For two days they work tirelessly, the whole city, while above them the shattered pieces of Acher Spaceways looms ever closer. When they are done the treads are gone, the cabins dismantled, only the little drawings carefully preserved under coats of abrasion- and heat-resistant paint. And under her, their city, their Haven, lie rockets, ten of them, repurposed from the old all-ore crucibles, fit to move an asteroid.

She’s out there somewhere by Orion now, they say, the fourth jewel in his belt. And she has only grown: from three thousand then to three hundred million. Creatures from all over come to pay her their respects, or to visit lovers, or to live there themselves. There is always room in a body that is ever expanding, like the cosmos itself. Over all of them, she watches, eternal.

Among all the stories they tell of her, they repeat this one the most - how she tore apart a whole space station for the sake of her people, knowing she would die if she failed, for how can a whole city hope to flee? She guards them, and in turn they do not abandon her. They are two halves of the same whole, they say reverently, love manifest - the people and their city; this pilot, this great machine. This Haven.

[muffinsin]

Hi, I'd like to ask for hyperstimulated Bela who is extremely sensitive but still doesn't say the safe word until she faints

Subby Bela is an extra cute Bela tbh!😙🥳 damn y’all, this writer’s block is going strong😬🥲

Masterlists

You smile slightly as you take her in, her beautiful form, draped across the ruined sheets.

Everything about her is white tonight. You think, she looks almost angelic. You can hardly tear your greedy eyes away, even knowing how good she looks in black, too.

Not today.

Today, she's bound in white- soft, satin ribbons looped around her wrists and knotted tight and neatly behind her back, forcing her plump chest out just a little more with every sharp breath you tear from her. Her skin, porcelain pale, is beautiful against the sheen of her lingerie- a sheer white colour, too. Lace, tracing over her sensitive breasts and down her ribs, clinging between her thighs even now that she's soaked through it all.

A white blindfold rests over her eyes, the same white silk as the gag gently stretching her mouth open and keeping her quiet for you. You were careful with this. Tonight isn't about punishing her, not when Bela works so hard to be a good girl for you. Still, you can't deny the rush flowing through you as you see her like this, squirming and drooling past the gag, her blindfold wet with tears from how sensitive she has become. She doesn't end it, doesn't say the safe word you've established, doesn't tap out like you told her to should she want to stop and feel too weak to swarm.

No, Bela is right where she wants to be.

You briefly trail your fingertip across her lips, then the wet gag. She whimpered so sweetly when you tied the last knot- high, soft, uncertain of what's to come, only hearing your promise of how much more rewarding every little touch will feel when she is neither capable of seeing you move towards her, nor ask you to. You shiver, remembering the first soft, muffled moan you've dragged from her tonight. A sound hot enough to make your fingertips itch to touch again.

She's laid out on the bed again, thighs parted exactly how you told her to, still so eager to obey. You smile at the thought. Your beautiful Bela, always such an eager little thing, always so desperate to please and prove herself to be the good girl you always coo she is.

Her body trembles, her thighs twitching already. Like this, you see her sopping wet pussy outline her thin white underwear, so soaked the fabric is nearly see through. You catch the outline of her pearly clit, throbbing and pink below the fabric, sore and toyed with for hours already. You smirk, almost moaning when you lower your hand to flick the little nub with your finger and she jolts beautifully, moaning hotly into the wet gag.

So sensitive...

Just how you like her. Just when she behaves best.

Looking up, you notice her chest rising and falling heavily with every breath. Her nipples stand rock hard through the thin, lacy bra covering them, pink and abused from your tongue and fingers. You feel your core throb, your mind recalling her cute squeals and moans when you wrapped your lips around her breast and sucked, her body arching into yours helplessly. She gasps as you lower your hand to her inner thigh, your touch teasing and grounding all at once.

She shivers as your knuckles drag across her warm skin, soft little moans just barely escaping her as she feels you tease the lace between her legs, dragging it a little tighter just to see wetness seep from the sides.

She's soaked, and has been for hours. Just how you like her.

Just how you know she likes herself, too.

You move a little closer, your eyes flickering across her trembling frame. Beautiful. Breathtaking, even. She whines softly as you release the white cloth entirely, turning her head as though hoping to listen to where you are. Of course, you haven't taken all her senses, this time, and she has a relatively good idea of where you are. That being said, she still jumps a little when you reach up and lightly tap two of your fingers against the front of her makeshift gag, her head lifting immediately.

You smirk, picking up the helpless little sound that just barely pushes past her gag and vibrates against the fabric.

“Good Girl”, you whisper, letting your fingers trail down to her glistening lips. Her breathing quickens momentarily, her head lifting a little more when your hand drops down a little more and your fingers slide down her bare throat- an unusual sight, certainly, though you figured the choker- necklace is safer set on her nightstand for today- and to her collarbone. “Look at you listening like a good girl”, you coo, smirking as she moans softly again, her thighs twitching lightly and back arching a little more. Her cheeks are dusted pink, the usual reaction to your praise.

That, of course, and the pulse between her thighs.

She whines again when you drag a nail across the edge of her breast, completely helpless to the touch. She arches her back just barely, her tied wrists flexing beneath her. She wants to be your Good Girl. But she's squirming already, her drooling pussy aching. she doesn't know how many orgasms you've torn from her already, doesn't recall how often she was made to come for you tonight alone.

Clearly, staying a good girl is more of a challenge, now. Alas, with her wrists bound and thighs spread open, there is little the pretty blonde can do anyway, except to obey, of course.

You slide your hand lower again, cooing gently as you slide it between her thighs and press your palm against her soaked, warm panties. She jerks in place, a desperate little cry muffled into the wet gag as her head twitches down a little.

“Sshhh, Bela”, you whisper to her, pressing a hot kiss to her flushed, pink cheek. “Don't you want to keep being my good girl?”- she moans into the gag, nodding weakly- “That's it, beautiful. You're doing so well...”

She moans hotly as two of your fingers stroke down the length of her slit first, teasing her through the soaked lace. You rub slowly at first, then a little higher, smirking when your fingers deliberately rub across her pearly clit and her hips immediately start to shake a little.

You press harder, chuckling fondly as the beautiful thing squeals.

You groan hotly. You love how she sounds- helpless, needy, soaked, all that is the powerful Dimitrescu daughter stripped from her. You don't care for it. Bela, though? Bela is beautiful like this. Yours, free from all the expectations except the single one she sets herself: to be good.

To take it all.

And to thank you after, like the well behaved, sweet girl she is. Her head feels dizzy with want and love at the thought, even as it hardly helps her stay in control of herself.

Your mouth waters at the sounds she makes, each almost entirely muffled by the gag. You feel her body tremble, feel her hips jerk up when your other hand clamps down on them to hold her in place. With another kiss pressed to her cheek, she hears and feels you move down a little more again, back between her legs, your eyes set to her clit slowly burning up below your fingertip again.

You lean in slowly, relishing in the way she flinches in surprise when your lips brush against the smooth, soft skin of her warm inner thigh, just above the strap of the thin panties you put her in. She's gasping softly for you, rolling her hips helplessly against your hand and bucking every time you rub her clit a little faster or harder. Her thighs twitch with the desire to press shut, to twitch and hide away and spare herself more of the overstimulating pleasure flowing through her. You only chuckle, pressing another kiss to her inner thigh as your free hand slides from her hip to her thigh, keeping her nice and spread for you.

After all, how could you deny yourself this view?

You stroke your finger lazily across her clit, moaning hotly with every gasp and squeal you get from her. The moan muffles most, though you manage to just barely make out the slurred, muffled phrases she moans into it; “Mhgmmnmmm!”, “eas'e!”, “'ove!”

You close your eyes briefly, humming lowly. Another curl of your fingertip against her clit and she jolts, moaning hotly and drooling helplessly, her fingers twitching against her back. Another drag of your knuckles against her soaked panties, brushing just against her slit, and you groan at her beautiful moans and cries of overstimulation.

“Sshhh, you're doing so well, pretty girl”, you coo, smiling again as you notice her inhale sharply and twitch below your fingers at the praise whispered against her skin.

Alas, as terribly cute as she looks, your mouth waters at the sight of her soaked panties and the arousal drooling down by their sides, stuck to her inner thighs and drooling to the bed.

Your mouth waters as you move again, your hands curling behind the back of her knees. She squeals into the gag as you pull them apart and up, easily throwing them over your shoulders with more impatience and hunger than you'd like to admit. She wobbles slightly, gasping, breathless, her chest heaving and breasts pushing against the white lace. Bela whines hotly as you tug the panties to the side, her beautiful face flushed with warmth and overtaken a pink hue.

Desperate. Beautifully so, now. You lick your lips as your eyes take in the sight presented to you; her sopping wet pussy, drooling her cum and arousal like a warm honeypot. She gasps shakily as she feels your breath hit her core, her pussy clenching around nothingness. You feel her tremble for you, her body twitching and legs shaking slightly over your shoulders, every bit of her tensing and trembling for you.

You laugh as you move in and drag your tongue flatly across her slit, her thighs immediately clenching as she squeals and moans breathily into the gag. Yet, with your hands free and her legs over your shoulders, it helps her nothing. You hold her hips steady, your thumbs massaging her smooth skin as you keep her in place for you. You twirl your tongue once, moaning and humming in satisfaction as you pick up her taste.

You lick again, the tip of your tongue dipping into her, this time, and your nose brushing across her clit. Already, she's shaking again, painfully sensitive, far too easily to bring to an orgasm so far beyond her control. You lick again, hungrily so, your eyes shutting and hands gripping her hips a little tighter. She's soft against your tongue, her southern walls warm and wet, her core even more so. Her clit aches and pulses helplessly, begging for attention you coo, you will grant her in no time.

She squeals- something- most likely something like “My love!” or “Sensitive!”- though it's all lost to the drenched gag and her own moans. She's shaking helplessly, her hard nipples poking against the fabric of her bra, her upper body squirming and legs shaking.

You moan hotly against her, your hands sliding down a little to grab at her thighs. She's tense and loose at the same time, her body so overstimulated she easily moans and cries for you again, brokenly letting little, slurred phrases like “please!” and “s-so much!” slip into the gag.

But, much like when you dragged some orgasms from her before, you don't give the beautiful blonde time to breathe. She moans shakily as you turn to her clit, your tongue tip flicking across it teasingly. Again, you chuckle lowly, hearing her squeals and screams even through the gag, and briefly shake your head fondly. Yes, it was certainly a good idea to tie her up and gag her. You know she would never recover from having a maid or her sisters hear her- not that you're not sure some maid must have heard her at some point. The poor, sensitive thing is hardly being quiet or subtle, after all, you think with a smirk.

She trashes hotly as you wrap your lips around her clithood again, your tongue greedily flicking and swirling around the sensitive nub, then flattening and dragging against it again.

“Mhmmmmmmm! Mhgggnmmm! Mhmmnmm!” comes from above you, though you only chuckle again, the vibrations of it against her clit enough for her toes to curl.

She's louder, her head thrown back against the mattress, her back arching off the mattress and the pillows you set up for her. You know, the poor thing is terribly close again, her body far too sensitive to be touched like this.

Ah; but you have such fun playing with your girlfriend when she's like this.

You feel yourself only grow hungrier as you feel her legs tremble on your shoulders, your tongue working harder and faster against her as she moans and cries out. She squeals as she feels a finger slip into her, far too gone to have even noticed you move your hand- one between her legs, your middle finger pushed deep into her with the index one already sliding against her slit, your other hand grasping her hip tight to ensure she can't squirm away.

Like this, with a single curl of your finger and your mouth by her clit, you tear yet another orgasm from her. She's squealing into the gag, her face hot and thighs trembling, her clit aching and pulsing beneath your very tongue. You can't resist, can't slow down. She screams and gasps as you continue sucking her clit hungrily, your index finger pushing deep inside and curling alongside your middle one.

You thrust a little slower, your pace gentle, but fingers reaching deep into her, each thrusts enough for her to see stars and every little graze of your tongue, lips or teeth against her clit sending a jolt of pleasure and electricity through her defenseless body.

You chuckle lowly, feeling her close again already this fasst. Bela's body speaks volumes, even as every little moan, every gasp, every shriek and every helpless cry for mercy is easily caught by the gag. You slow down just briefly, lifting your head to see whether she will stop. Alas, she only continues squirming and moaning, giving no indication of tapping out at all- no legs lightly kicking against your back, no fingers tugging the sheets, no safeword coming out muffled by the gag.

You lean in closer again instantly, your fingers curling and pressing right against the spot that makes her whole body jolt for you. She shivers as you lick across her clit again and press a kiss to it, humming softly.

“Close again, pretty girl?”, you tease, smiling as you feel her clench around your fingers at the petname. She nods frantically, her hair a mess against the sheets, the blindfold still- somehow- sat snuggly on her. Her mouth tries to form a little plea again, all caught by the gag successfully muffling her squeals and screams.

You drag your tongue back to her clit and suck, your fingers thrusting deeper, sharper, hungrier. You feel her warm, spongy inner walls clench around you with every thrust inside, feel her tremble when you squeeze at her hip with your other hand. Soon, you feel her legs shake madly again, her hips jerking and chest heaving hotly with every sharp breath.

You moan into her, licking down and tasting every little bit of arousal that drools from her and slides from your fingers. Every few seconds her whole body jolts, pussy clenching with every thrust into her, her fingers trembling below her where the white ribbon binds her. As the one before, her orgasm hits her hard, tearing moans and screams from her that remind both of you why the gag was a good idea.

“Good girl”, you praise, pressing a wet kiss to the top of her cunt, just above her clit. You pull your fingers from her lazily, chuckling a little when her hips rock forward on instinct as though to chase the feeling of them still. She shivers as you press another kiss to her inner thighs, each accompanied by a hum of praise as you work your way back between her legs; “So good, Bela”, “That's my good girl”, “You taste so well”, “I can't get enough of you”, “You look so beautiful, my darling”

You drag your tongue back across her, lazy circles just around her swollen, pink clit, not quite touching it directly to grant the poor thing at least a little break before tearing more from her. You still feel the tremble coursing through her, feel how her thighs shake a little still. She moans into the gag, her body arching off the mattress with every lick to her clit as though to chase the feeling of your tongue.

Looking up, you almost coo seeing the tears soak up the fabric of the blindfold and run down her cheeks. She's panting, her chest rising and falling in shudders, the lace bra now sticking to her skin. You feel her shake and hear her whimpering- desperate, overwhelmed, trembling, begging brokenly through the gag.

You lean over her this time when you push your fingers in, one hand making her flinch in surprise when you cup her warm cheek, the other's fingers sliding back into her. Not rough, or fast, not now. But deep, so deep it has her arch her back and press her face desperately into your hand.

“Good girl, such a good girl, Bela...”, you praise, your voice soft. You brush your fingers across her flushed, pink cheeks, the tip of your thumb grazing the gag's strap and blindfold at times. Her pussy squelches wetly with every thrust inside, her slim legs trembling against the sheet and body squirming below yours. They clamp uselessly against you, trapping your hand between them, though it does nothing to stop the overwhelming pleasure your fingers give her. She moans so loudly, made to take it like a good girl.

Ah, and she tries. And it warms your heart. You see her for what she is, see how despite her tears and squirms she leans into you so eagerly, stripped from the everyday expectations and image she is forced to hold up of herself. No longer composed, no longer too strict or formal. Now, she presses herself into every touch hungrily, sobbing with need and overstimulation alike, her face pushing into your hand, her pussy clamping down on your fingers and squeezing them gently with every thrust deep inside her wet heat.

She whines hotly, shaking her head a little, her tongue pushing against the gag as much as she can. You only giggle at her, tapping the white item as you lean down to kiss her cheek.

“You want this gone, sweet girl?”, you hum against her skin, smiling against her when your thumb grazes her clit and has her whole body jolt. She nods desperately, body leaning against yours as much as she can, given her sensitive and weakened state. You hum again, as if considering this, smirking as you watch her blush spread from her cheeks and slowly make its way down her throat with every little tap of your fingertip to the gag.

“You're so loud, sweetheart...”, you think out loud, smirking when you curl your fingers and pull another scream from her, proving your point. “We can't have someone listen in on you, can we, Bela?”, you whisper against her, thumb back to circling her clit hotly.

“But maybe...”, you consider, pressing a kiss to her just as you feel her body jolt more, hips bucking wildly up against you, her thighs trembling as you finger her closer to the edge again.

“Maybe if my good girl promises to keep quieter...we could”, you hum, chuckling as another particularly deep thrust has her squeal, legs kicking weakly against the sheets. Her wrists twist a little behind her back, straining the ribbon you tied tightly around them.

“Maybe...if you promise to behave well, little one, we could make a compromise”, you whisper filthily, eying the way she shakes below you, sobbing, moaning, crying sweetly for more and mercy at the same time. You feel her orgasm approach before she does, feel how her walls tighten and her hips start to rock not from useless resistance but sheer need again. She nods quickly, forcing down another scream as she whimpers instead, coming out so broken it sounds almost like please again.

You thrust a little faster again, your hand cradling her warm cheek as you push her over the edge. Of course you could mark how she screams again- a sound that would surely alert a maid or two- or worse, one of her younger sisters- was it not for the gag. Instead, you merely wipe the drool from around her mouth, your fingers thrusting slowly to help her ride it out, your own wrist aching a little.

“Good girl”, you whisper. “Such a good girl, Bela. You've done so well”, you praise, one hand moving away and letting the drenched panties snap back into place, the other moving to the back of her head where the gag is secured. She whines softly, her hips twitching and head turning to help you, her hot cheek pressing against the warm sheets.

The moment the gag is off you lean in to kiss her, moaning into her mouth as she meets yours so eagerly. She whines and gasps, immediately picking up the taste of her arousal still sticking to your tongue. Normally she already gives up control easily, reverting much rather to your good girl than to put up a fight. Now is no different as she moans and whimpers into your mouth, your tongue easily dominating hers.

“You're going to give me a little more, won't you, my beautiful girl?”, you whisper against her lips when you need to pull away, your tongue darting out to lick hers teasingly as she whimpers.

“P-Please”, she rasps out, her voice quiet and hoarse from moaning and screaming for hours, her body completely spent. You only kiss her again, hand moving up to undo the white blindfold covering her eyes still.

When it comes off, you can't help but smile as she squints despite the only dimly lit room, her face scrunching up adorably as she tries to adjust to the dim light. Her eyes land on you next, pools of pleasure, love and exhaustion swirling within them. You decide, she can do a little more, surely.

Your hands slide down her body again, easily grasping the panties and sliding them down her weak legs. She makes a small, squeak-like sound of surprise as you lean down and remove them from her, though with her legs far too weak to move just yet it's easy to slide the item from her and leave her almost completely bare.

You rise with a low grunt, pulling her with you and into your arms. She gasps sharply, golden eyes wide in surprise as she's tugged forwards. Her hands twitch helplessly behind her back, though even with her eyes wide and lips parted as she pants, you don't fully release her yet. As she's pulled to your lap and sat on your thigh she instinctively tries to close your legs, but you don't let them.

“Ah-Ah, Bela”, you tease, “be good, sweetheart. Don't make me put in the gag again”, you coo, your hand coming up to tap her bottom lip playfully. At this, she straightens up again, her lips hungrily pressing to yours, desperate for another kiss she's been waiting for ever since you placed the gag earlier today.

You hold her high against you, one arm supporting her back, the other holding her hip as she moans into your mouth. Ah, and you swallow it all eagerly- every little moan, every little whimper and gasp you catch from her.

Pulling away, she immediately eyes you again, golden orbs wide and curious, her body pliant against yours. You know not to take it for granted. When you guide her and her pussy brushes down against your thigh, she shrieks, body pushing forward against yours and face hiding away in your throat, her thighs feeling weak again in an instant.

“Sshhhh, you're doing so good for me, Bela. So good...but you're not done yet, pretty girl”, you whisper against her, drawing a gasp from her when you reach up to grasp her chin and pull her face back into view. This time, she only whines and whimpers, her cheeks flushed pink and teary eyes finding yours. “Pl-ease I...I ca-an't...!”, she gasps, though quickly lowers her head again as you guide her back down.

She whines softly as her wet pussy presses messily against you again, a moan quickly drawn from her again when you press your lips to hers and adjust her, your thigh now flush against her sore clit. She flinches, moans, cries and begs all at once, her body slowly rocked on your thigh and clit rubbing against you with every little move she feels far too sharply.

“Nghmnngnm....”

“That's it, sweetheart, that's a good girl”, you praise, kissing her quickly and deeply to muffle the next series of moans that come from her. Bela has, simply put, never been good at keeping quiet. Thankfully, you have plenty ways to keep her so.

As such, Bela gasps sharply when you pull away and gently move your hand over her mouth next, the other arm tightening around her and rocking her a little faster.

“God....Good girl..!”, you groan. She's hot and wet against you, her moans quickly growing louder beneath your hand. She's trembling already, her fingers curling uselessly and thighs trembling on either side of yours. You rock forward a little when she quickly becomes too weak to move without your help, the strong, formal eldest sister turned into a trembling, moaning mess on top of you, bound and dripping, her eyes rolled back and body jolting every few seconds, her clit sore and soaked from her own arousal rubbing against your thigh quickly.

“MhmMm!”, she shrieks as the arm around her adjust a little, your hand reaching down to grasp her thick ass and make her thrust a little faster, hips rolling hotly against you.

Leaning forward you groan against her throat, fingers curling against the soft flesh of her ass cheek, your own core throbbing with need as she smears hers all over your thigh.

“Good...girl, that's it, Bela”, you gasp. You feel her hot breath- ragged- against your palm, feel her push herself to you in a desperate attempt to muffle all the moans, gasps, shrieks and cries that slip from her.

“You're so beautiful like this, my pretty girl. Wet...”, you coo, tensing your thigh as though to prove your point, her flushed, soaked pussy sliding easily now, coated in her own wetness. “...sensitive”, you add as you kiss her throat and squeeze her ass, relishing in the way her back arches against you and she moans loudly into your hand, trembling helplessly already. “So close you'll cum on command like a good girl”, you whisper against her skin, teeth grazing her throat gently.

Her whole body jolts at another thrust, her legs kicking weakly and hips bucking, her whole body helpless in your arm. She shivers as you lean in closer, lips brushing her ear as you command; “Cum, my good little girl”

Her third orgasm crashes through her with a sharp cry, tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping down your fingers as she writhes in your arm, gasping, twitching, trembling so hard you have to tighten your hold on her just to keep her from slipping away. You move your hand just enough to let her breathe, stroking wet hair from her face and pulling her closer again, your lips brushing hers.

She jerks as you lift her higher and bring her down again, her soaked pussy flush against the muscle of your leg again, slick enough to easily slide against you. Her entire body shudders as she moans and cries out again, far too sensitive and too far gone to even attempt to speak. She cries helplessly as you grip her hips and guide her again, rolling her down onto your skin.

“Nhmnno II-I ca-an't ple-aese!”, she cries out, the words coming out hoarse and sluggish, her face pressing hungrily against you. Another sob comes from her as you roll her hips again and they jerk again, wet cum squirting from her sensitive pussy at the touch.

“Ssssh, it's alright. Remember what I told you, love”, you whisper. Though, you find she doesn't utter the safe word you two set on, doesn't push away more than the little, weak twitches she offers in a poor attempt to spare herself more overstimulation.

As you roll her hips again she cries out again, sobbing with need you eagerly swallow when you kiss her. You rock her again, hands guiding her hips back and forth, every little touch granting you another hot moan and more wetness squirted against your thigh. You're slow at first, teasing almost, just enough friction to drag her folds and clit across your thigh. You almost coo as you feel her tense up, knees trying to brace as if to control the movement, but she's too weak. She can only moan and cry as you guide and press her down, dragging moan and scream after scream from her every time her swollen clit catches on the flexed thigh beneath her.

Moving again you tilt her hips a little, just enough for the thrusts to be a little sharper. You groan into her mouth as you feel her pulse in return, soaked, more overstimulated than she has ever been in her life, put through far too many orgasms to keep track, each only making her more responsive and sensitive for you.

She's guided quivering and moaning, her tongue easily dominated and every little sound kissed from her. Her body rocks weakly with every roll and push of her hips, her breath stuttering against your lips. Every little sound, every please or curse now reduced to frantic little whimpers and squeals, each messier and more helpless than the last.

Feeling her tense up weakly again and feeling more wetness drool from her, you smirk.

You've promised her a long night-

“That's it, Bela. Be a good girl and cum for me”

-and a long night she will endure.

[darlingpwease]

I know right I will do anything to get in between Lan Xichen leg

like clouds

at least one of my pies has decent thoughts in their head. at first there should have been a dubcon, but I restrained myself and everything should be consensual. should be.

♡ unhealthy behaviour, pet names, mild worshipping, ribbon<3, heir/servant dynamic, 'friends with benefits' but more like queer yandere-ish? relationship, vulgar language ('pussy', 'juice', 'clit', 'hole', 'walls', 'cum')

♡ heavy petting, dirty talk, mild slut shaming (g.; 'flower man'), corruption kink if you squint, detailed oral sex (g.), fingering (g.), hyperstimulation (g.), mild degradation (g.), hints of unprotected sex / breeding afterwards

He breathes softly, trembling slightly while your fingers climb higher, — then gently squeaks for a moment, as soon as you touch the smooth skin of the inner thighs, feeling the inviting warmth; press your lips, for a moment giving yourself a glimpse of it, indulging some base desire inside your body, requiring you to sink teeth and leave a scarlet mark on the cloud-white skin.

Cloud-white.

In Cloud Recesses, the air is fresh and clean, crystal clear, the same as LAN XICHEN, gentle and soft, with a perfectly white robe and a ribbon like a lock, which you only need to pull slightly to make him completely yours — which slipped off his forehead, even if you were sure that you carefully put him on the bed; you definitely need to remind him to fix it, but you want to do it yourself, you so want to do it yourself, — and a pretty path of pubic dark hair stretching down, wet with juices, and

and

“N-no, I'm not 'naughty'... Just...”

Just his pussy, glistening with juices, spread in front of you, as if he's not the heir of the Gusu Lan clan, but a floral young man, selling his services to everyone who wants, once you lift white robe and bend a flexible slender figure in any sufficiently secluded corner so that everyone does not come running to the squelching sounds from his lustful pussy curious — and although you don't say anything out loud, you feel his pussy throbbing as soon as you put finger on clit, as if he can hear your very thoughts, even if his eyes are closed, while thick black eyelashes tremble in bashful shyness.

His pussy is soft, supple, with a throbbing clit, one touch of which makes him want to squeeze his thighs and whine guiltily when you pinch for it, and an abundance of juices dripping whenever you want to touch him, as if he just needs to be near you to want to be fucked at any moment. Not exactly the right behavior for someone as pure as him — there should definitely be some rule about it — and you only find out the scale of the violation when push finger inside under his sobs, with a lustful sound watching it disappear into yielding heat, enveloped in hot juices that flow out of his hole, dripping on the sheet and the labia in a transparent white sticky color.

You just warm him up, just help him, as an ordinary disciple should do in relation to the heir, — when his back involuntarily bends because of the tongue caressing the swollen clit, mixing saliva with his juice while your fingers stretch his pink insides, finding the most pleasant angle, even if wrist can't help but hurt; loud noise are heard in the room, sounds from the pulsating walls around your fingers, dripping his liquid down your fingers, making his flexible body no more than a guqin in your hands, long trained in such work.

LAN XICHEN does not cum quickly, — you know it yourself, — but even so, his walls clenching incredibly when you slow down the rhythm, as if he was about to cum just so that you meanly took away this opportunity, getting a muffled pathetic whine in response, while your tongue, soaked in his juices, caresses a plump needy clit, trying not to use your teeth, not to bite a tempting-looking bump, provoking primal desire to cause him (a little!) pain from the sight of the majestic heir twitching on the sheets like a flower man, dripping just for you, with his white clean robe pulled up and his seductively drooling mouth slightly open; but you can only move your wet with juice fingers harder, not to push deeper, but to caress and rub the walls, and you don't even remember what you were thinking about when you take him by the ruddy thigh with red lines from your strong grip to prevent him from squirming and trying to get out, feeling like a flame is born inside, in the stomach, as if in the core itself, transferred throughout the body, making every cell burned and burning.

While your fingers fuck his swollen pussy harder, but in the same steady rhythm, not even letting his fidgeting and sobbing, which even the bitten sleeve of his robe can no longer contain, distract you from the goal, picking up his legs and putting them on shoulders, while his juice flows even more abundantly down his thighs and ass, like a powerful downpour — and one slap when LAN XICHEN fidgets again is enough to make the whining stick in his throat, freezing in one pose, like a tiny animal, while his tongue sticks out of mouth, opening you a beautiful view from below on his deliciously throbbing dripping with cum pussy and on such an obscene expression of the handsome blushing face, which definitely should not be on the face of such a moral and majestic person like him.

How vulgar for someone like him.

How dirty.

The look of burning eyes, filled with lust and need, immediately opens and moves to you, changing the post-orgasmic bliss to a new trembling when you grab his ankle, lifting it up clearly enough so that LAN XICHEN himself clasped inner part of knees with still trembling hands and lifted them high, holding tightly, exposing everything for you just as deliciously looking pussy, despite how crumpled his not perfectly clean robe is and how the white forehead ribbon has slipped, almost falling on his eyes.

His eyes, filled with haze, burn softly — and when you, stroking his thighs, gently inform him about the ribbon, he blinks several times, as if trying to wake up, so dumbed by orgasm that even simple thoughts seem too complicated.

“Ah?... Ah... r-ribbon, yes... I...”

For a moment, something flashes in the gently soft eyes that makes the look much more serious and meaningful, as if the words about the ribbon instantly bring him to himself — but he does not try to remove hands to do this, rather even trying to snuggle closer to you, exhaling deeply when your fingers gently spread wet dripping lips apart, preparing.

But when LAN XICHEN looks at you again, opening his eyes, his gaze burns at the same time so right and wrong, with mute, unshakable confidence.

“Mm... Can you... Can you do it yourself?”

[witchpassing]

interview_3aC

I got into piloting during the Third Generation. For the historically illiterate, that’s before the breakpoint, not after. Summer Offensive, Chelsk Offensive, ‘81, ‘82… All that shit.

When you say pilot now, people get a certain mental image. It wasn’t like that, back then; end of the day, a G3 frame is basically just another kind of tank. Hot like hell inside and full analogue control. You had to think five, six, seven seconds ahead sometimes, because that’s how long it’d take you to string together the inputs for what you were doing next.

I was good. I mean, I’m good at my job now, sure, but… you should’ve fuckin’ seen me then.

... Anyway. Long and short of it is, I got unlucky. Everyone does, sooner or later. Coterie railcannon caved in part of my cockpit, crushed my leg to dogmeat, and that was that. A few years later, they’d have amputated, plugged in a spare, and sent me back in, but this was ‘83, the tech wasn’t there yet. We were hearing about it, you know, shit on the grapevine about the brain-machine barrier, weird tests underground out in Lysk, but I don’t think any of us really believed in it.

I wanna say I knew what was coming, but I didn’t. Nobody did.

So. Cockpit breach. Fucked leg. They did a lot of work, got it to where I could walk on a good day, but it was obvious I wasn’t gonna cut it any more. Took my pension, checked out, spent eight years in the worst dyke bars I could find. Don’t really wanna talk about that part. That’s not what you’re here for, anyway.

So I’m a few years down the line, losing my mind somewhere in Sengrade, and I get a call. It’s this guy I used to know, I never really nailed down what he did, Information maybe, and he’s telling me about this program they’re spinning up over in Lysk, and sure that rings some alarm bells but what am I gonna do, say no? I don’t even need to hear the specifics, he’s trying to tell me it’s the next big jump in frame tech, it’s gonna win us the war, whatever, I’m already halfway onto a train.

The job turned out to be the Fifth Generation. Not only was the brain-machine barrier real, but they’d smashed clean through it. I said a G3 is basically a tank, right? So I was expecting an iteration on the form. Sharper, sleeker sure, but at the end of the day just a prettier-looking tank.

Well, I was dead fuckin’ wrong. Seeing something that size move that way, it’s… I don’t think I can put it into words. Go find a poet or something. Ask them what they think about Gen 5.

… Didn’t come for free, of course. The neural throughput on a machine that size will cook an unprepared brain like a fuckin’ egg. You need to be dosed to the gills on a whole cocktail of ten-syllable shit to take it for more than a few minutes, and the drugs make you weird. Horny, mostly - I’m sure you’ve heard about that - but you’re also looking at impaired impulse control, difficulty with long-term thinking, emotional disregulation, mania… Plus, there’s something in the cocktail or the link or both that is bastard habit-forming. You see them counting the hours between sorties. They adjust to the hyperstimulation, get calibrated to it, and then everything else is just too god-damn quiet.

Think maybe it’s carcinogenic, actually, but you didn’t hear that from me.

So, yeah. Weird. Command doesn’t want weird operating superweaponry. Weird doesn’t make sound tactical decisions. Which means all the shit that makes somebody a functioning soldier - the long-term decision making, the impulse control, the ability to give a fuck about the rules of engagement - it had to be outsourced.

The term they used at first was “special consultant”. Then “special consulting officer”, once we hit field testing. It wasn’t “handler” until later.

The first crop of us - I’m just gonna say handlers, I know how you’re gonna wanna spin this, I get it - were all ex-pilots. G3, mostly; Gen 4 didn’t leave a lot of material to work with. I guess the idea was we were the closest you could get to a G5 candidate’s frame of reference, but it was pretty clear within the first few months that that was bullshit. Some of us took to it, some of us washed out. A lot couldn’t take the wetwork, which I guess I can sympathise with.

Me, I handled it fine. Better than I should’ve, maybe. Being a tanker didn’t do shit for me, but my dad, he was a dog trainer, and… Yeah, well, you get the idea.

… No, no. The other kind of wetwork. You know what I mean.

…

The leg? Ha. Yeah, they offered me a prosthetic. ‘Course they did. But, call me a hypocrite, whatever you want - by that point I was six months in and I knew with total fuckin’ certainty I didn’t want the link. I spend enough of my time helping the military put their shit into peoples’ bodies, you know? I don’t want it walking home with me.

… No, I don’t understand why they keep signing up. Early days, sure, nobody knew what it did to you back then, but there’s been leaks, people’ve talked - hell, I’m talking right now. You can find our burnouts in any dive in the country, or what's fuckin' left of them. The candidates now, they know what we do to people here, and they just keep coming, and coming…

Though, you know… I think sometimes about the first time I saw a Gen 5 machine take off, that first day on the program. The way it moved against the blue-black of the sky, like it weighed nothing at all. And I almost get it.

[samuraiwife]

pairing: husband!nanami×wife!reader

Nanami is literally addicted to your nipples. Your swollen nipples are what makes him incredibly satisfied. It's as if this is the part he fulfils as your husband. Everyone knows that Nanami is a very family orientated person who has “almost” conservative views (as long as they meet your needs, of course). A man goes to work, brings home money and satisfies his wife. And the woman, on the other hand, she… God, for him, she has already done everything that is necessary and not necessary.

The fire that will always warm his cold body. The light that will break through the darkness in his eyes. The future he so deserves. A family.

He really wants to have a family with you. Like in those propaganda flyers about a large family. A man who can support and love his family. A beautiful wife who is the joy and support of her husband. And children who bathe in this idyll. So seeing you with your round tummy and swollen breasts full of mother's milk was a blessing in disguise for him. Even before you were pregnant, he never left your breasts alone. He always paid the most attention to them during your lovemaking. He lightly bit them, leaving beautiful specks that looked like pink rose petals. He licked them and then breathed his warm breath on them, making them lightly tickle. It was as if he was trying to smell the combination of his saliva and your future milk (which will feed your children in the future, just the thought of it made him cum). And his favourite cherry on top was your nipples. He would bite, pulled in by the cheek, gnaw, tickle the pink bead with the tip of his tongue, lick, suck, pinch, squeeze with his lips, pull. The redder and more swollen they became, the more lustful his gaze became. He couldn't stop himself.

“Mhh…mhh…Ken…please…stop, it's really hard for me down there” - you moaned when your husband had been playing (eating) with your breasts for 20 minutes.

“Now, darling, just give me one more minute, please”-again, like five minutes ago, Nanami repeated his line like a broken record.

“Gods, they are beautiful”,- Kento whispered in a hazy voice, pinching your nipple between two fingers. You could already tell that cumming on your flushed breasts was the greatest pleasure of his life.

“Yes, that's it, this is where it belongs”

He will make sure to check if your nipples are still sensitive and swollen the next morning and throughout the day. For example, in the morning when you put a cup of coffee on the table for him. With a completely casual face, he will pull back the fabric of your robe, run his fingertips over them, feel the softness of your buds, and He will return to breakfast. You may reproach him for such tactless, behaviour, but he will simply reply that he was only checking something that should always be there. He'll also ask you to send him photos of your breasts during his work shift. And don't even think about sending him a repeated old photo, he won't fall for it and will reveal your ridiculous trick in a second. You will have a serious conversation at home. Of course, he has a folder on his phone where he stores all the photos you send him of this kind.

Also, Nanami could never imagine that your breasts could ever get even more beautiful than they are (you're already perfect for him). But, oh gods, something happens to him, when he sees your breast milk-enlarged boobs for the first time. Short circuit and white noise.

He starts buying you the most vulgar bras. Even if he thought some of them were ridiculous and absurd, on your breast they are a work of art. Lying on your breast has doubled in pleasure. Now, during sex, his head is bent almost only over your breast. Watching them sway so smoothly and stay soft, no matter how hard he tried to drive his soul into yours.

“Please, Ken-too, this is too much,”- you whimpered, out of hyperstimulation and incredible sensitivity. You've been bent in a not-so-romantic marriage press. Kento grinds his cock against your soaked walls. You can feel the mixture of your substances sliding down your flushed thighs, and Nanami's balls are beating against them in an ungentle manner. But Kento's hands are not on your hips, but on your soft, firm, sweat-shiny tits. It's a beautiful sight for him. Your reddened, swollen nipples with incredibly sensitive beads from which, under the pressure of his rough hand, a thin trickle of your milk flows out. Fuck, he's getting even harder. He licks off this small amount of substance and starts to literally milk you with his mouth. You try to tear his head away from you, but he doesn't care now, at this moment, you are giving him a real reason to exist.

“Oh, no, no, darling, you have to take care of your tired husband, so feed him like the good hostess you are,”- Nanami replies, as if he were a dog in heat. He takes your nipples in his mouth again and pulls your cheeks in.

“Fuck, darling, you're a fucking goddess, a goddess of prosperity, my goddess, my goddess, my woman….mgh”- the shameless slurps that fly from his lips are mixed with even more obscene sounds of your hips hitting,

“Kento….Kent…if you keep going like this…ah… there will be nothing left for the child.. ah!”- you try to enlighten his mind, whimpering in frustration. In response to your request, you only hear a dark, mocking snort.

“Is my wife going to run out of milk? Pfft, don't be ridiculous. My wife is too kind to let her children starve, is that right?”- he pinched your bead with a sarcastic smile, squeezing a squeaky moan out of you.- “I'm asking again, is that right?”

The only thing you can do is meow meaninglessly and try to remember how to breathe.

“Yes, yes, yes, I will, will, uhh… eh, yes.. yes… Will be good wife…. yours, ahh”

Kento took your chin firmly and hissed directly into your lips: “More precisely”

“Your pretty mommy~”

[osakanone]

Fun discoveries

I can 100% see a handler using the folding radio antennae to whip a hound, and without screwing up their fit. How did I learn this?

A shoulder sling-bag can be worn on the hip if you slide the strap through the ladder feed and then use a hairclip to lock it in place -- making room for a whole backpack

You can stow a radio easily without problem (ideal for PTT)

You can stow a fullsize folding antennae with a velcro cross by using the compression of the two over the strap as one would a whip

The folding antennae folds out very quickly and makes a *fantastic* whip or riding crop (hurts like hell! 🖤)

Please ignore my pajamas and the mess, I've been painting lol

Seems like a no-brainer to go with the thirtyninefiftyeight mecha shirt.

alttext:

they call me a mech pilot because dehumanized hyperstimulated force-feminized lobotomite isn't a job title

[jimmyscanongf]

Random idea: Do you think Jimmy would like camping/hiking, because I can see it going either way.

He’d be the biggest buzzkill and complains the entire way there (“Why are we doing this?” “This is a waste of time, there’s nothing to do here.” “These damn bugs won’t leave me alone.”), but I can also see him being super at peace and introspective once he lets himself get lost in nature. Then again, I can see. him being super chill if he let himself do a lot of things, instead of self-sabotaging and self-loathing.

Hope you enjoyed the idea!

So, I've been the biggest "Jimmy needs to be healing in nature not flying a spaceship for months on end" believer since like December... There was this big brained person on reddit who shared much of my views about prison who said that he was put in this rehabilitation program that had him gardening and it helped him so much and he thinks it would have been good for Jimmy, too. And I just, the idea of him coming into this kind of peace through interacting with nature is so...

I do think he would absolutely be a buzzkill, at least at first. About the bugs, yeah, and not knowing what to do when he's outside of the hyperstimulation of the city. (He's alone with his thoughts with minimal distraction and he fucking hates it.) But I think a main point of contention with him would be the cost, because god its pretty fucking expensive to get like, camping gear, and good hiking boots and clothes and what have you. You may have to drag him out hiking in fucking jeans and sneakers or go camping in a discount tent that lets the damp in to get him out there at all. (And imagine how he'll complain when he's all cold and damp...)

But back to the plants, you know. One of my favourite channels on Youtube is Crime Pays But Botany Doesn't. And I find myself thinking that Jimmy might find a kindred spirit in this guy, who is hilariously crude and sarcastic and holds a very jaded and cynical view of modern society, but is also incredibly intelligent and holds this reverent appreciation for the beauty and diversity to be found in the plant kingdom. I think you could get Jimmy to pay attention to these videos for the humour, if you started watching them around him. But he, of course, is still passively absorbing all the genuine information being presented...

And next time you take him for some extended time in nature, he finds that he can really comprehend the details and the diversity he sees in a way he hadn't before. He definitely can't rattle off individual species off the top of his head but he can point out, hey, that plant is in the mint family and that one is in the cotton family and that tree is an ash and there are different members of asteraceae everywhere. When before it was all just a mass of uniform green shit to him. It's wonderful to just observe him as the gears turn and his mind expands... and you can just see it, he feels so smart for it, and of course a Jimmy with a well-stroked ego is a happy and content Jimmy.

Ultimately, I think like, I headcanon that he thrives in the sun and warm weather, and he clearly likes physical activity given that his only hobby is weightlifting. But he really needs something else in the realm of nature to give a shit about in order for you to get him out there and stop grumbling the whole time. And he really really benefits from it when he does. He's got some little local plant identification guide in his pocket, it works out his body and his mind too, and he comes to realize that the world isn't hostile to him here, merely indifferent, and that isn't necessarily a bad thing... Suddenly he isn't just alone with his thoughts out here, he actually has space to think and to introspect and actually has something beautiful to come back to and ground himself in when it starts getting too heavy to handle, rather than stewing in his own misery and envy and (self) hatred in a concrete box. And he gets all brown in the sun, I imagine his face relaxes and he looks younger, and its just so lovely to see him expressing such a genuine appreciation for something, that isn't somehow warped or backhanded or cynical... Suddenly the good boots and the good tent and all the lightweight cooking gear is worth it to him. And when you return home, he's so much more calm and regulated and pleasant to be around than he ever has been before.

[paper-mario-wiki]

have you ever experienced scary weed? everybody always talks about it but i've never been scared despite trying a mishmash of strains and watching horror movies while high. what weed is scary weed. i want to feel scared too

when people describe getting so high they get scared, it's typically due to the fact that you have a noticeable loss in control over your body, and your mental faculties are also greatly slowed. additionally, cannabanoids bind themselves to the Amygdala, which is the slice of your brain that controls things like awareness and immediate sensory feedback processing. when the Amygdala becomes too overstimulated, it creates a feeling of hyperstimulation (some enjoy this feeling, some cannot stand it) that both feels similar to and comes from the same place as naturally occurring paranoia.

(source)

if you were trying to invoke this feeling purposefully, the best thing you could do would be to find something with a higher THC content than you're used to (edibles/extract would probably work best) and consume it quickly, as opposed to slowly over time. i cannot recommend this.

for me, scary weed experiences are more frustrating than outright scary, because what it usually means is "terrific i have taken too much and now will be incapable of doing anything for the next 4 hours. awesome."

this is also called being "couchlocked".

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Pairing: Alpha Dean x Omega!Reader x Alpha Sam

Word Count: 862

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter

Warnings: A/B/O, non/con elements , dub/con elements, enslavement, pandemic, non/con drug use, collaring/leashing, forced mating, forced breeding, BDSM elements, show-level violence

*Additional warnings to be added

Square filled: @spnaubingo -Dystopian AU

A/N: * UPDATED 3/24 They say the third time is the charm, this will be the last rework of the Prologue.

A/N II: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

A/N III: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

Prologue

North Dakota

1999

John Winchester slowly drove down the snow-covered drive leading to an old warehouse and parked the ‘67 Impala in the back of its busy lot. All three Winchesters silently climbed out and trudged through the accumulated snow to the front entrance. If anyone had given him the choice between being here or hell, John would have picked hell.

Eighty years earlier

A virulent disease accidentally escaped a research lab, and the following pestilence wiped out 70% of the Omega population worldwide. At the same time, Alphas and Betas were predominantly immune and rarely died from it unless they had a chronic illness.

As in ancient times, the remaining Omegas were fought over, resulting in countries declaring martial law and rounded up the remaining Domestic Omegas. Several years later, a treatment was developed but the damage was nearly irrevocable. Betas had begun to reproduce to the point the other sub-genders would be extinct within a few decades.

At a hastily convened conference, the world's leading scientists offered the governing bodies with a short-term, yet controversial, solution: obtain Omegas from the remaining Wild Packs for a breeding program.

They presented evidence that introducing their genetics, relatively unchanged since splitting from their wolf ancestors, into mainstream populations would create a natural immunity against future resurgence and rebalance the sub-genders. Many argued the idea was insane. Those Omegas, or O’s, were too feral, still living as their wolf ancestors did and incapable of being domesticated.

The scientists then demonstrated an implant they developed containing multiple benefits. It would dampen O’s natural aggression and induce presentation from sixteen to thirteen. Domesticated Omegas had been bred down to present their early twenties and produced one pup at a time. The implant would also shorten the time between breeding seasons and increase litter size by controlled ovulation hyperstimulation.

The world leaders drew up a preliminary framework for each country that signed the accord to follow. Over the next thirty years, they would procure Wild Pack O’s for distribution from government-managed facilities, with an addendum upon review it’d be extend in certain regions if deemed necessary. In the Americas, it was called the Hibbing Procurement Act.

Over those years, the populus discovered other uses for the O’s descendants, who developed into their distinct designation called House O’s. Unscrupulous individuals elected lawmakers who supported extension after extension, even installing loopholes, such as permitting Wild Pack Alphas to accept payments under the table from those on the fringes for O’s the government deemed unsuitable for breeding, creating an underground network of sellers called The Dealers.

And who would complain if some O’s slated for legitimate sales accidentally slipped through and sold for exorbitant prices on the underground market?

John knocked on the steel door in a predetermined code. As it slowly rolled open, he glanced at his almost grown pups, thankful they’d taken a dose of rut suppressants earlier because the air was thick with ready-to-breed O scent.

Walking into the building, the younger Winchesters automatically fall back on their training, checking their surroundings for potential danger. John observes to his left buyers on cell phones circling like vultures eight steel cages displaying O’s clad in elaborate silver collars, high-end specimens selling for exorbitant prices.

The rest of the warehouse is an open space with multiple rows of O’s kneeling side by side, leashed to low railings anchored in the concrete floor. They wear color-coded leather collars denoting their monetary value.

“John Winchester, this is a surprise! To whom do I owe the honor of your presence?” The nasal voice of Everett Helms, a black-haired Beta, oozes the fake, cheerful demeanor of a used car salesman approached the trio. Hunters only dealt with Helms because he was reputed to be able to acquire anything they needed..for a price. John had hoped to avoid him, but after eight days of unsuccessful procurement at other facilities, The Dealer was his last option.

Helms held out his hand, and John felt bile rising, not wanting to touch him when a poorly timed footfall caught his attention. “These must be your pups. My, my my, delicious, aren’t they!” Helms remarks as his eyes rove over Dean and then settle on the youngest Winchester calculatingly when a loud, menacing growl fills the air.

Dean's eyes began glowing red, daring the ogling Dealer to make a move on his ever-growing little brother. He felt Sam huddle closer to his back and release his calming pheromone as, judging from their father’s posturing, John was about to tear into Sam for attracting attention after specifically instructing him to stay invisible. Sam quickly averted his gaze down through his shaggy bangs, glaring at his oversized, sneaker-clad feet, again wishing he wasn’t so fucking clumsy with this growth spurt.

Helms turned back to John, acting as if nothing had occurred. “I hear your oldest got himself in a peck of trouble, and he needs an O to stay out of prison. Well, John, may I call you John? You’ve come to the right place. As you can see,” he waved a hand over his domain, “I can supply any type of O an Alpha could wish for.”

Part I

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24  @flamencodiva  @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67  @leigh70

Sam/Jared:  @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen:  @thoughts-and-funnies  @stoneyggirl2  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

WF: @slamminmine