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#i broke the tags again
nibeul · 1 year
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jamie lee curtis winning best supporting actress over stephanie hsu for a movie that centered an asian american family and explored familiar ties through that specific lens... ohhh oscars committee when I get my hands on you
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suntails · 6 months
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⚔️🦈
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deleted-user42069 · 10 months
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it's june. yaoify your faves today
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fir890 · 3 months
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sketches
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arrozconlecheeee · 3 months
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Drew Cassandra wearing an outfit I wore the other day~
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bloodonmysqueegee · 11 months
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Leaked atsv scenes trust me (part 2)
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My humor is still lacking
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chapeldean · 1 month
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i’ve been entertaining thoughts lately about the time endverse cas broke his foot, possibly putting his love guru endeavors on pause, and while him and dean are bitter exes, sure, dean - despite his better judgement - finds himself offering cas a blowjob. since cas can’t get laid now, and all. and since cas makes such a sorry picture. and since deep down dean still misses him, even if he’s right there. and cas accepts, of course, and if that day happens to be valentines day…. well neither of them acknowledges it, and they never speak of it again
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sucharide · 1 year
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Headshot (1,861 words, explicit)
Copia sexy. Must give Copia blowjob while he games. That's it. That's all this is. It started as a horny paragraph and things got out of hand. Completely unedited. Have fun.
Copia is absolutely fixated on the screen.
It's some battle royale shooter game he's been playing lately during his downtime, and he's completely involved. You're fairly sure you could strip off next to him, and he wouldn't even offer you a glance — and you try not to take it to heart since he is Papa now, and his downtime is rare, so he should be able to catch up on his hobbies... but you do wish he focused a little more on you, and a little less on shooting people on the TV.
The way he looks right now, headset on, swapping tactics with his teammates, he probably wouldn't even pay attention to you if you had his damn dick down your throat. You laugh dryly at the thought, but once it's in your head, you can't help but wonder at it.
Why not?
And so you find yourself slipping from the couch to kneel before him, and he's not really paying attention to you when you push his legs open to shuffle close to him, settling between his thighs. He's too busy talking to his friends and waving the controller around.
"Headshot, stronzo!" he shouts, totally engaged with the game as you rest your hands on his thighs, looking up at him with doe eyes. You rub up his thighs, feeling the firm muscles under his sweat pants, your own anticipation pooling in your core.
He glances down at you — only for a moment, he can't take his eyes off his game, of course —and his eyes widen. Just a touch. There are two games going on now, and his sweatpants do nothing to hide his recognition of that. He's focused on the screen again, but he leans back in the couch now, and lets his legs hang open a little further for you.
Hands trail further up his thighs, and ghost over that growing hardness, and his mouth falls open, and nearly makes a sound — but he mustn't, he mustn't, he's still on the line with his teammates. He's not watching you, but you are watching him so carefully. He is playing the game, but you? You are playing him.
So, so, almost painfully slowly you tug the elastic of his sweatpants down, and you watch him bite his lip, catching some soft whimper before it tumbles out. The game has barely even started, but Copia has always been so vocal.
You idly wonder if he could just mute his mic, but there's no fun in that.
So when you have him revealed, half hard and growing, you almost feel sorry for him when you don't even start with your hands. He would have expected your hand, and these games are all about catching your opponent unawares aren't they? So when you dip your head down to his tip, and with one languid stroke of your tongue clean the drop of precum, it takes him by surprise.
"Cazzo," he gasps. And then, and you are watching him so closely, all his wonderful little reactions, his eyes widen, embarrassed, realising he's just made a very suggestive sound on the line to his friends.
"I mean, eh, I'm out of ammo, can —" you take him into your mouth, and feel the way his cock strains to full hardness in your warmth, "c-can someone, cazzo, can someone drop some at the cache?"
His mismatched eyes meet yours in a pointed glare, but you only sink further down his length, and hum appreciatively around his lovely cock. His hips shudder, but he's trying not to get too carried away.
You want him to get carried away.
You want him to fuck your mouth, your throat, while he's gaming, for all his friends to hear. You want them to know how lucky Papa is, what lovely benefits there are to his station. Sometimes being Papa is about pomp and ritual and fine wine and leading mass and sharing the Dark Lord's message of Sin... sometimes being Papa is about having the afternoon off and relaxing into some gaming while his favourite sister of sin drinks him down. He works hard. He's earned this, you think while you start to make a steady pace bobbing on his length.
With every stroke you glance up at him, and with every stroke you see his composure breaking a little more, but he's staying on task, thumbs dancing over the controller buttons. His brow is furrowed, a testament to his efforts. He can't throw the game now, you're sure — they must be more than half way done, and he's terribly competitive.
You hum around him again, a deeper sound, guttural almost, and sink further down his cock than before, and let him press against the back of your throat. You hold him there for a moment, and breathe through the urge to gag around him — suddenly a hand is in your hair, and his hips are pressing up to meet you, and you can't exactly smile with his dick buried up to the hilt in your skull, but there's a deep sense of satisfaction that blossoms in your chest.
He's rutting up against you, his tip driving against the back of your throat again and again, and your gag reflex is too strong to fight off with him assaulting you like that. You're drooling, and you adjust your angle just a little, and suddenly the pressure eases and he presses into your spasming throat and your nose is pressed against his pelvis — but he does not keep you there for more than a second before he pulls your hair back and gives you sweet release.
He's panting, you're vaguely aware of that, but you're too busy catching your breath as you hover, gasping, with your bottom lip just grazing his tip.
"Ah, sí, m-mi dispiace, I am paying attention! An ambush, sí?" he says suddenly, to his mic. His hand disappears from your hair, and he's back on the game — there must be some plan, some strategy he's required to participate in. He wouldn't want to lose the game, certainly not.
You feel him bring his arms around you, sort of, and the controller comes to rest behind your neck. It's almost like an embrace, and it floods you with a warm feeling. He wants to do both, you can tell that much. He wants to make you feel wanted, feel an affectionate touch, while you work him with your mouth. Or, perhaps, it's just a convenient spot to rest his controller now that his lap is occupied.
You press his tip past your lips again, and take him in long, slow strokes once more. His hips rock up with each motion, and you find your rhythm together once more, and you look up at him through wet lashes each time you nearly withdraw from him. He glances down once or twice, pupils utterly blown out, his lips parted in silent moans. You feel varying degrees of pressure on the controller he holds against your neck, probably indicative of how tense the moment is in the game, but possibly a manifestation of his efforts to restrain himself again.
"Go around to the left, I'll—ah, eh— I'll take the right. We just need four more kills," he manages, faltering when you take him particularly deep.
You pick up your pace, the game must nearly be finished — and the way his hips are shuddering, your game must be nearly finished too.
Shifting your angle once more to that delicious one, the one that lets him slide down your throat, you take him all the way, and his hips buck up as he lets out a strangled gasp.
"Head-headshot!" he chokes out, masking his pleasured sounds with the rush of a kill.
You take him, again and again down your quivering throat, all the way to the base so that his neatly groomed salt and pepper curls tickle your nose, and then you release him, almost to the tip, and then back again. He's still playing, but the controller is pressing decidedly firmly against the back of your head, pulling you towards him with every stroke that he ruts into with shuddering hips.
"Cazzo, cazzo," he whispers harshly under his breath. He'd definitely close, and you're not sure how much he has left of his game, but you can't imagine he's focusing all that much on the screen when he's so deep down your throat — suspicions that you confirm when you suck him to the tip and find his eyes trained on you and only you. When you meet his eyes you feel the controller fall away and clatter on the floor, and suddenly you are at his base again, his fist in your hair.
He's just about chanting for you now, a string of Italian curses falling from his lips as freely as his moans as he frantically fucks your throat. You try to keep up, gasping around him for air as you are allowed it, as he relentlessly drives his cock into you, and there are tears flooding your vision as you gag around him. There is a growing urgency to every thrust, and then, quickly, he whips you backwards by the hair, off of him.
You are dazed for a moment as you stare at his cock, and realise with his free hand he has begun to pump himself.
"Look at me, dolce," he growls, tilting your head back to see him, staring back at you with intense, hungry eyes. His headset is no longer on his head, but whether he had the sense to remove it or whether it fell off in his exuberance is lost to you — but you don't have time to wonder how much his friends heard of his appreciative sound, because his eyes are locked on yours and his chest is heaving, and his hand is working furiously, chasing his pleasure desperately.
He gives one last grunt, tightening his grip in your hair, and then he breaks, releasing his seed over you. Thick ropes of cum burst onto your face, over your cheeks, nose, lips, and he continues to pump himself through his climax as if to work out every drop so that you might be adequately coated in his essence.
When he finally finishes, he leans back in his seat, dropping his head backwards for a moment, chest heaving in the aftermath of his pleasure. His hand in your hair relaxes.
"Dolce..." he sighs appreciatively, closing his eyes for a moment.
"Yes, Copia?" you ask, sweetly, still kneeling before him and covered in his cum.
He smiles, and opens his eyes to gaze at you warmly. A gloved hand traces from your hair down your jaw, and to your lips. He gathers some of his spunk on his gloved fingers, and presses between your lips. You gratefully suck down on his fingers, cleaning every last drop of his seed from his gloves.
"Our team lost," he says, softly, but he doesn't sound too disappointed. He pulls his fingers out and you release them with a pop.
"I'm sorry," you breathe. You aren't.
"Don't be. I got the best headshot of the round."
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oleander-enjoyer · 3 months
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i emulated y last night and could not stop thinking about this (silly stuff below)
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m3llowm1sh · 4 months
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HOW R WE FEELING ABOUT ACT 5 GUYS?!?!?!?!?!
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drugsforaddicts · 2 months
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Just some dude and his "cucumambers"
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drabdoodler · 10 days
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HELLO TUMBLR TAKE UR ANNUAL DELTARUNE FANART
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Changing art programs unlocked something in me. IM A CSP FAN FOR LIFE. Also. Sorry this is lazy I wanted to go to bed to I rushed LMAO.
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carnivalcarrion · 9 months
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something something a supernova of heartbreak in a cold unforgiving universe etc
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calista-222 · 11 months
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I am having A Time (And about to live one of my worst nightmares)
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oobbbear · 6 months
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Jimmy Solidarity just gave me a heartattack by mentioning tumblr
Please sir, never again, pretend we aren't here
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