The Thing About When Zionists Ask You If "israel Has A Right To Defend Itself" Is It's No Different From

imma be SO inappropriate rn

You can trust him, he's a good guy...

YES PLEASESESSE

jjk dick study tonight. interact for tag

dear god hes so fine

OSCAR ISAAC ARROWED (2012) dir. Elvira Lind

Jealous!Ghost does something to me… sorry

He was everywhere, balls slapping heavily against the fat of your ass, your spine nestled into the wall as he fucked into you, cock splitting you open with the desirous intention to ruin you for anyone else.

“You gonna fucking talk to him again, hm?” He spat, licking a stripe of your neck as he held onto your hips, bruising fingers digging litters of marks against your pretty skin.

“N-No Simon,” you whined, hiccuping as he thrusted back into you, his voice menacingly low as he growled low in his chest. Your neck was stained with dark hickies, marks that Ghost needed everyone to see, especially the incapable Soldier who decided that sparring with you was appropriate.

“Fucking slut, ain’t you? My dicks not enough for ye’ or something? Gotta get it from everyone?”

His words shot through you as you choked out a moan, angry tip nudging your sweet spots with a fiery force, heat penetrating through you. His eyes were shot into slits, a possessive glint controlling every movement as he muttered into your neck.

“I see you around him again and I’ll kill ‘em, you hear me?”

You nodded against the wall, lower back aching at the constant pressure of being slammed against it during his fuelled assault against your squelching cunt.

Ghost didn’t say anything after he emptied inside you, guttural groan leaving his lips as he pulled out, dropping you to your feet and leaving in an aggravated hunch, your legs shaking as you tried to squeak out a ‘wait’.

Monster fucker this, monster fucker that. What if I want a monster RELATIONSHIP huh?! Monster HAND HOLDING, monster INTIMATE CONVERSATIONS, monster COMFORTABLE SILENCE??

when you think of it, there's nothing more attractive than body hair.

You are the young, newly-widowed spouse of the foolish and disliked noble who started this devastating war at the border; when a mix of common folk and soldiers drag you from your bed you are already resigned to whatever fate they have chosen for you. You are dragged out in your sheer silk nightwear and forced to your knees in the mud of the main road. Glancing up you see the figures opposite, the enemy, the great hulking orcs your husband angered. Above you, you hear frantic talking - frantic, useless. None of you speak their tongue.

Finally, in desperation, you crawl forward and bow your head, pulling your hair aside to bare your neck. Surely that cannot be misunderstood. You are willing to give your life for peace. The townspeople are hardly going to let you live either way.

(You are the chieftain of an orc clan reluctantly drawn into this skirmish as a matter of honour, and when the humans drag out a small, helpless one of their own and offer it you hesitate. It is dressed in silk and wears jewels at its neck and throat, which means it is important. As grotesque as the practice is to you, your sense of pride, you know they often exchange hostages between themselves. You glance at your second, who visibly rolls her eyes but nods. Any excuse to go home.)

The orcs do not kill you there and then, but take you; you cannot tell yet if that is a mercy or a misfortune. You are bound at the wrists and ankles and flung over an orc soldier's shoulder like a sack of grain, and passed between many of them during the journey. In their own language they joke and laugh as they pass you over, sometimes pinching at the bare skin of your thigh where your clothes have hitched up.

At their camp you are deposited in the tent of the chieftain. You have heard rumours of what they do with captives, and between being ravaged until broken or eaten alive you do not know what to hope for. You merely lie there, limp and trembling slightly, until you hear the sound of someone entering. The hulking orc chieftain looks at you, tusked face unreadable, then drags you upright by a fistful of your hair to briefly press a flask to your lips. When you have gulped nearly all the water he drops you, grunts and leaves. He does not return to the tent the entire night. You know this, because the low buzzing terror in the back of your mind doesn't let you sleep.

(You hardly know what to do with the little thing. Your comrades say it is easy to carry but odd, it is full grown by the look of it but doesn't struggle at all or even try to bargain in its babbling little language. Maybe it is unwell. You order it placed in your tent and give it water yourself, but it shows no more signs of life, dull-eyed and staring at nothing. You decide to let it sleep and go back outside to drink until you pass out under the stars and the warm summer skies.)

On the second night you are taken to a river before camp, and following the example of those around you, you wash yourself; as you return to the riverbank you find your clothes gone. The orcs watch you, even the smallest of them half-again your size. You swallow your fear and walk naked back to the chieftain's tent. Once there you lower yourself to your hands and knees on the bedroll, bare skin still damp from the water. You cannot stop him from taking you, but perhaps it will hurt less or be over faster if you comply.

The orcs chieftain makes a brief, almost hissing sound at the sight of you, but does not leave this time. Their hand brushes across your back and you can feel their claws retracting. They touch and inspect you like a prize hound and you keep your eyes to the ground, tears of shame welling up. Then he presses two large, blunt fingers inside you, and you brace yourself. He fingerfucks you lazily for a minute or so before suddenly growling something you don't understand and turning you on your back, so you scramble to reposition yourself and hold your legs wide. He cradles your face in both his hands as he slowly sinks his swollen cock into you, larger than you think you could ever take and stretching you painfully yet unable to look away from his face. Your husband used to force you to look at him like this only when he wanted to watch you cry, so you brace yourself for the firm hold to turn into hard slaps that leave your ears ringing.

(The little thing washes with the others and you are approaching the tent with an armful of fabric in what you hope is close to their size when you are hit with the unexpected sight of them uncovered in your tent, positioned as any orc begging to be bred would be. You have to smother a gasp and restrain yourself; it has been too long, and little thing's fragile shape and delicate features are somehow all the more appealing for their strangeness. But you were raised well, taught that all parties must agree before partners bed each other; you don't know their tongue to ask them. You seek permission from their body language instead, first touching their back, the curve of their ass and leg, then with tentative fingers in their soft tight little hole. They do not flinch or try to flee, and they wetten for your fingers. Surely you can continue? Forgetting yourself you ask out loud.)

You wait to be hit. It doesn't happen. You wait to used rough and hurt inside; it doesn't happen either.

The looming figure of the great orc warrior above you moves with an almost incongruous care, pressing into you slowly and then simply resting there until your body becomes accustomed enough to his huge cock that he can start to move without tearing you. It's almost as if his gaze on your face is tracking the small hitched breaths or softening of your expression to know when he can begin to carefully thrust. Yet that makes no sense to you. Men have never used you so gentle, why would a savage orc do so?

He is big enough it does hurt some little but that sensation is soon overwhelmed by another, unfamiliar and disorienting; a low heat building your abdomen, a curl of pleasure that makes you whimper. Another growl comes in response, so you try to quieten, but his expression - it is so hard to read, so different, but he does not look angry.

(You are confused and troubled, but the tight heat of the little thing is so perfect around your cock. They are acting like a new prospective mate, taking your body like a mate would, but when you watch their face to try and find the answers you'd normally seek out loud there is something missing. You fuck them very gently, as such delicate pretty things should be treated, and forget yourself enough to apologise out loud when they whimper. You promise them in words they don't know that you want to make them feel good, you will stop if they struggle even once, that they are safe with you.)

The orc chief finishes with a single deep thrust and you can feel your abdomen swell with how filled you are, a little of their cum already beginning to leak down your thighs. He pulls away and you instinctively curl in on yourself, protective - the sound he makes in response is urgent but more distressed than angry. He paws at you to uncurl, look at him again; as you tilt your face up and force your body to relax he huffs and lowers his great head between your legs. Before you can even process it his rough tongue is on you, and you can feel the smooth dangerous weight of his tusks against your inner thighs. The rush of banked pleasure is equally unexpected, as he coaxes a climax from you that leaves you shaking. Afterward you are gathered up like a doll in his arms, and for the first time in three days actually believe you may be safe. Very, very, tentatively, you reach for his face and pause halfway in question.

(The little thing flinches only afterwards, but it does flinch and you immediately fight back a rush of guilt and worry. Rank be damned, the clan will not stand for taking any person unwilling, even a human one. You try to comfort them with small touches, check their face for signs of what's wrong. They are unreadable. You check between their legs and can tell they did not quite find pleasure yet, so quickly duck your head to correct it. Perhaps that is what was wrong, because when their body responds they do not flinch away from being held close. They even reach for your face, and after you nod encouragingly they trace their tiny fingers over the ridges of your skin and kiss nervously at the smooth curve of your tusk. You thrill, but say nothing; maybe they have no idea what an intimate gesture that is. You just happily nestle close.)

You were the young, newly-widowed spouse of the foolish and disliked noble who started this devastating war at the border; now, it seems, you are claimed by the warrior chief who bested him and the bedmate of a mighty orc who is gentler with you than said husband ever was and - slightly endearingly - buries his face in the crook of your neck with a low rumbling sound not unlike a purr when sleepy and post-coital.

.

Uhm??? HELPPP?????

Facebook wins

When you tell Nanami on the second to last day that you're staying with your grandparents overseas for the summer, he doesn't have much of a reaction. You thought the two of you had bonded quite a bit since Haibara introduced you at the beginning of the term. Nanami was always quieter, more reserved compared to his best friend, but you gradually began to pick up on his little mannerisms and subtle cues. The way he slows his pace to match yours while you eat lunch, even though Haibara always inhales his food at warp speed. Whenever you walk beside each other, whether in the hallway or on the way home, Nanami switches which arm he holds his bag so that it doesn't hit you. Your favorite is when he shares his headphones with you to listen to a song he thinks you'd like, and you always do. But maybe that's because you get to listen to it with him.

When he doesn't say much about your plans for the summer, you can't help but feel disappointed. You thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd miss you just as much as you'd miss him. It's always been wishful thinking, though. This is what you get for having a silly little unrequited crush.

The last day ends as usual, with the three of you walking home together. Haibara always leaves first as he lives the closest to the campus. He says his cheerful goodbyes and promises to keep in touch the next few weeks, leaving you and Nanami alone. You've grown used to the comfortable silence that sometimes surrounds you two. That's just one of the many things you like about him; you never feel like you need to fill the space with useless chatter. The two of you can just be happy together, like this. This is good enough for you.

You arrive to your house, ready to say farewell. "I hope you have a good summer, Nanami," you smile at him. "I'll see you in the fall."

He stands awkwardly, avoiding your gaze, fidgeting in his bag for something. When he retrieves it, he hands it over, still not looking at you. "I made this. For you."

Your heart starts to race in your chest as you reach for it, grazing his fingers. It's a CD case with a list of songs displayed on the cover. You recognize all of them, the same ones he played for you, listened with you. You hold it in your hands like a precious treasure. "For me?"

"Yeah. Something that reminds you of me. Of us." His cheeks are flushed, clearly embarrassed. But he lifts his head to meet your gaze, smiling softly at you. "Just in case you miss me just as much as I'll miss you."

i’m sad -> i look at images of my ~40 year old man of choice -> i twirl my hair and kick my legs -> i think crazy thoughts -> i feel okay -> rinse repeat