" we are such stuff as dreams are made on "

Like for a starter from either Dorian, Paris or Peridot

Specify if you want someone particular.

Sophie Thatcher

{ SQUEEZE } --- Sender squeezes Receiver's ass too tight to be suggestive.

{ LICK } --- Receiver licks the underside of Sender's jaw.

{ BITE } --- Sender bites Receiver, feel free to specify where!

{ SMACK } --- Receiver smacks Sender in a sensual/sexy way, feel free to specify where!

{ BDSM } --- Sender prompts Receiver into talking about sexual wants and limitations.

{ KINKY } --- Sender propositions Receiver by trying out a new kink.

{ LIP } --- Receiver bites down on Sender's lip.

{ SCRATCH } --- Sender scratches Receiver, feel free to specify where!

{ CHOKE } --- Sender wraps a hand around Receiver's neck during sex.

{ EMOTIONS } --- Sender and Receiver participate in loving, emotion filled sex.

{ HATE-FUCK } --- Sender and Receiver participate in hateful, passionate sex.

{ BANG } --- Sender shoves Receiver against the wall to fuck them.

{ DANCE } --- Receiver does a sexy strip tease or dance for Sender.

{ MUSIC } --- Sender puts on music to set the mood. Feel free to specify which song!

spice and nsfw roleplay meme based around gifs detailed different situations. send a number and a couple (ff/ mm / fm) and receiver will write a starter based around the gifs sent. this meme is nsfw and contains graphic sex*al content, do not interact with this if you are a minor. credit for the gifs goes to this , this, this and this. i did not make the gifs, i only selected those i wanted for this meme.

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

FF / MM / MF

GROUP :

MFM / FFF / FMF / MMM

MFM / FFF/ FMF / MMM

send a pairing, a number and a letter for a usfw started based on the gifs below! bonus points if you specify which muse(s) you want. WARNING: the gifs attached are usfw.

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Morgan gently led his brand new pet inside. Hed really only acquired it simply for the novelty of owning a unicorn. The pet was blindfolded, bound and gagged, a creature of such grace and elegance reduced to being treated as a mere animal. He ran his hand over the much smaller man’s body, fingers trailing across smooth skin. He slipped the snug collar in place around his throat, the latch clicking permanently into place, never to be removed ever again. He slid the harness onto him as well, cinching the leather straps firmly into place against his chest. He pulled out the final piece, the tiny cock cage that he locked his new pet into, completing his pets new look. He looked him over, before pressing him to his knees, slowly untying the bonds he had arrived in, then taking the gag off, gently caressing his cheek, tilting his head up to face him as he removed the blindfold

The Summer Prince had been enjoying his time here in the human realms, their ways so strange and alien to him . Hed been exploring, finding his way into the back rooms of a brothel of some sort, or at least that was what it seemed from the sounds around him. Hed felt drawn here, curiosity getting the better of him. Hed entered a small booth, with only a wall with a hole cut low into it. He smirked, seeing the willing mouth on the other side of it, pulling open his pants and sliding his cock through the hole

(Throat) - sender grabs reciever by their throat

(jaw) - sender takes hold of recievers jaw harshly

(wrist) - sender has hold of recievers wrist / wrists

(twist) - sender twists reciever's arms behind their back

(bind) - sender restrains reciever with item of choice

(pull) - sender pulls reciever roughly to them

(drag) - sender drags reciever to / away from something

(hair) - sender pulls or controls receiver by their hair

(pin) - sender pins reciever to the wall

(knife) - sender uses a knife against reciever as a threat

(nick) - sender nicks reciever with a knife

(push) - sender pushes reciever roughly

(eyes) - sender forces receiver to look at them

(neck) - sender grabs the back of reciever's neck

(smack) -sender slaps reciever

(grip) - sender grabs reciever by their shirt

(gag) - sender forces reciever to stay quiet (with hand or with a gag)

(strike) - sender hits reciever with their hand or other item

“Stupid mutt, dogs bark they don’t complain. Bark puppy, cmon bark for everyone.”

But then the contact was gone and it was reminder that he needed to focus in the task at hand. He focused on the task at hand and quickly got his skates off. "Are we going home or out?" He asked softly, his eyes flickering up at Arron. He began cleaning off his blades, taking his time to make sure there wasn't any ice left on them. He slipped the protectors on them followed by placing them into his bag. "I have a change of clothes if we're going out and you don't want me in my skate clothes." He usually practiced in skin tight athletic clothing as opposed to his usual jeans and tops.

Then, Bronte's words landed in the quiet space between them. Soft, conspiratorial, and utterly devoid of shame. "...doing it all with a plug in me."

A profound, predatory stillness settled over Arron. His stride did not falter, his expression did not change, but internally, a slow, cold fire ignited. It was not the crude shock of the statement that affected him; it was the context. The boy was not being lewd. He was integrating Arron's world into his own. He was weaving the threads of their private dynamic into the fabric of his public passion. This was not a suggestion for later; it was a declaration of devotion. A pledge to turn the very art he pursued into an act of worship.

This was excellence of a different, far more intoxicating variety.

They reached the heavy glass doors leading to the parking lot. The night air was cool against Arron's face. He stopped, turning Bronte to face him, their bodies close in the cavernous entranceway. He gently removed his hand from Bronte's grip, only to cup the boy's jaw, his thumb stroking the line of bone with a possessive tenderness. His black eyes, usually so carefully guarded, held a glint of something deep and hungry.

"Your dedication to your craft is admirable," Arron began, the sound a low murmur, a private counterpoint to the city's distant hum. "But your dedication to pleasing me... is art itself." He leaned in, not to kiss him, but to let his words breathe directly against Bronte's ear. "Do not think of it as a plug. Think of it as a constant reminder. A weight inside you. The center of your gravity. Every jump, every spin, every landing will be an act of defiance against it. An act of mastery."

He pulled back just enough to see Bronte's eyes, to watch the effect of his words sink in. "You will not just perform a routine. You will conquer pain. You will channel it. You will transform it into something so beautiful it will make their hearts ache without knowing why." A ghost of a smile touched Arron's lips, a rare, genuine thing that was more terrifying than any scowl. "And when you are done, when you stand before them, flushed and breathless and perfect... you and I will be the only ones who know your true strength. We will be the only ones who know the secret."

There was a soft blush on his face at the thought of having to master everything with a plug. He couldn't help but feel turned on at the thought of performing for judges with it. It'd be so taboo if anyone heard how he was skating. But to please Arron that would all be worth it. The two worlds deserved to be together and he was certain he could get away with that more than being collared. "Every performance will be dedicated to you. When i skate off the rink, you'll be the only one I care about."

"Like you, sir? I should be beneath a real man, like you." Kaius felt confident in saying the words. It clicked in his brain. He did belong beneath a real man, being pretty and pilant. Those words struck a cord in him. He wanted nothing more. Maybe that was why he'd agreed to the auction in the first place. Why he'd even picked the pretty white lace in opposed to the other options. He wanted to be pretty and pilant for a man, for Archer.

He watched as the man seemed to get bigger. He felt like he was shrinking next to Archer. But Kaius loved the size difference between them. It just rang true those words that had been said. He was meant to be beneath a real man. The title of little prince did wonders for him. He let out the smallest if whimpers from it. "Yes sir." He said obidently with a smile. He walked over to Archer, immediately recognising the difference between them. There really was a stark contrast.

He began unbuttoning each button with care. Mostly cause he was worried that these buttons would pop off from all the muscle Archer had. Each button revealed a bit of beautiful skin that he got distracted by. The last couple of buttons, he'd even forgotten to breath. It was only when he felt dizzy did he remember he needed to take a breath. He pulled the shirt off completely and folded it neatly for Archer before placing it to one side.

Archer watched, utterly still, as Kaius fumbled with the last few buttons, the boy's face flushing with dizzying awe and lust. The clumsy care, the way he held his breath, the almost worshipful neatness with which he folded the shirt—each action was a data point, confirming Archer's initial assessment. This wasn't a prince; this was a creature waiting for a master to give him purpose. When Kaius placed the folded shirt aside, it was with the air of an acolyte presenting an offering.

"Then, the boy's hands returned to him. The hesitant touch against the sculpted landscape of Archer's torso was electric. Kaius's fingers traced the hardened ridges of muscle, the lines of old, silvery scars that mapped a lifetime of battles, the dark, tight buds of his nipples. A low groan rumbled in Archer's chest, a sound of deep, proprietary satisfaction. He let the boy explore for a moment, allowing him to feel the sheer, unyielding mass of him, the clear, undeniable difference between their bodies. It was a lesson in anatomy and hierarchy, taught through skin and bone."

"Good boy," Archer murmured, the words a dark caress. His own hands came up to cover Kaius's, stilling their wandering exploration. He guided them, placing them flat against his pectoral muscles, pressing them firmly into the dense, unyielding flesh. "Feel that? That's the strength of a real man. That's what holds you down." He shifted, pressing his hips forward slightly, letting Kaius feel the intimidating, clothed weight of his erection against the boy's much smaller, naked body. The contact drew a sharp, quiet smirk from Archer.

Archer's grip tightened on Kaius's wrists. With a firm, inexorable pull, he guided the boy down. He forced the boy to kneel, looking up, his face a perfect picture of wide-eyed devotion, positioned directly at the level of Archer's belt buckle. The firelight caught in his dark hair, framing a face that was slowly shedding its princely uncertainty and embracing a new, more beautiful purpose.

"Don't make me say the words. You know what your purpose is so do your duty," Archer's voice was a low, commanding rumble, a dissonance from the tender way he now reached down to brush a stray strand of hair from Kaius's forehead. "Open my pants."

Before he could do anything about it, he was on his knees. He looked up at Archer, completely perplexed by what he needed to do. His inexperience was shining through like a light in a fog. The command was helpful for him and made him understand a little more. With trembling hands he started undoing the buttons and zipper. He slowly pulled the trousers down to the man's ankles. He then gripped the other's underwear and began pulling that down.

The question caught Antonio off guard.

A beat of silence stretched between them. Charlie’s expression was earnest, slightly guarded, the look of a man who was used to being accused of something. The small leather book in his hands was held up like a shield, its pages a defense against some imagined wrongdoing. Wrong.

Antonio’s gaze flicked from the earnest blue eyes to the book and back again. The absurdity of it all almost made him smile. Here was this mountain of a man, scarred and broad-shouldered, looking like he was about to be reprimanded for loitering, all because Antonio had walked up and asked a question like a nervous freshman.

A low chuckle escaped Antonio’s chest, warm and rough. He shook his head, letting a small, genuine smile touch his lips. It was the kind of smile that softened the sharp angles of his face, made his dark eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Nah, precioso,” he said, the sound low and soothing. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I promise.” He took a small step closer, invading Charlie’s space just enough to be noticed without being threatening. The scent of crushed mint and fresh soil from the nearby herb garden clung to Antonio’s clothes, a clean, earthy smell.

He gestured with the clipboard towards Charlie’s book. “I was just looking at the volunteer list for the rehab program. Saw your name.” Antonio paused, letting the words hang in the air. He watched Charlie’s face, saw the slight narrowing of the eyes as the other man processed the information.

Then Antonio did it. A deliberate, almost unconscious movement. He brought one hand up from the pocket of his jacket and let his fingers rest against the center of his own chest, right over his heart. The gesture was small, intimate, and it held a world of meaning.

“It just… felt important,” he finished, his voice dropping to a near murmur. His dark eyes held Charlie’s, unblinking. He wasn’t asking a question anymore, not with words. The question was in the stillness of his posture, in the way his thumb stroked idly over the fabric of his shirt, right where the initials C.B. lay hidden beneath. He was laying a piece of his soul bare on a sunny afternoon in a public garden, trusting this stranger to understand.

The world around them seemed to fade. The distant chatter of students, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the chirping of sparrows—it all melted into a muted hum. All that existed was the space between their bodies, charged with an unspoken electricity that hummed deeper than any magic Antonio had ever wielded. He waited, every nerve ending alight, for Charlie to see. Not just the gesture, but the truth behind it. He waited for the recognition to dawn in those tired, beautiful eyes.

"You don't happen to have initials on your body, right?" He called with a soft hum, a bit nervous to continue the conversation. "Y'know, something like A.C. or something..." He gestured vaguely toward Charlie's chest, a wry, almost sheepish smile touching his lips. "It's... it's kind of a long story. A weird one, actually."

Antonio’s confidence, usually a comfortable second skin, felt suddenly flimsy. He was exposing the most fundamental, unexplainable part of himself to a man he’d only just met, based on nothing but a feeling—a pull so strong it felt like gravity. For a breathless second, he wondered if he’d completely misread everything. If Charlie would just blink, call him crazy, and walk away, leaving Antonio standing there looking like a fool with a clipboard and a soul full of hope.

Antonio's breath hitched in his throat as he watched Charlie’s reaction. He hadn't meant to be so direct, but the words had tumbled out before he could stop them. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, desperate rhythm. He watched as Charlie's gaze dropped from his face to the place where his own hand rested over the faint silver initials. A wave of vulnerability washed over him, so intense it almost made him take a step back.

But then it was like everything had stopped. He started at Antonio for a few mintutes. Not blinking, not breathing, not anything. Then very slowly he rolled up his sleeve and undid the leather cuff he usually wore on his wrist. He slowly lifted his wrist up to show Antonio. There clear as day was the initials A.C. "like this?" He asked softly. "It is not on my heart. I do not know why it's on my wrist. But I like to look at it." He explained.

Then it clicked and his expression completely changed as it dawned on him. He stared at Antonio for a little longer as he realised what it meant. What they were. "Does that mean... " He couldn't finish the sentence. People like him didn't get these sort of things. He didn't believe this was real. He didn't know what to do. He didn't have instructions for how to deal with finding a Soulmate. Let alone one he was most definitely attracted to.