#Pro Connect Group

[pcglive]

Pro Connect Group

Pro Connect Group is a premier event production and management company in Portland, OR. Expert event production and AV management to make your events truly memorable. Schedule your free consultation today!

Event Production

[inkyarcturus]

Fun idea I’ve had bouncing around about Remus:

You know how queer/neurodivergent kids have that one teacher that they bond to? You know what I’m talking about- you’ve seen the memes about the gay kid and the English/art teacher bond.

I like to imagine that Remus just has a tiny group of kids who hung out in his classroom to feel safe.

He would leave his door open constantly and during lunch, he would offer to call a house elf for hot chocolate, tea, biscuits or other sweets for the kids. If he noticed one of his kids doesn’t eat lunch, he would quietly pull them to the side and ask what was up.

The kids would talk to him abt literally anything under the sun. Some would even go and ask for help for other classes (quite a few for potions, none of which were slytherins)

He’d have a small bowl of pride pins and flags up for grabs on his desk which his kids occasionally take, always causing him to give a little smile to the kid.

I don’t know. I just image Remus as the designated safe teacher. He’d be the one to notice a kid struggling and offer help or ask what’s wrong. He’d be the one that students go to when they have problems at home, were being bullied or just needed someone to talk to.

[incomingalbatross]

Guess who IS in fact going to England this July :)

[jewishvitya]

A pro-Palestine Jew on tiktok asked those of us who were raised pro-Israel, what got us to change our minds on Palestine. I made a video to answer (with my voice, not my face), and a few people watched it and found some value in it. I'm putting this here too. I communicate through text better than voice.

So I feel repetitive for saying this at this point, but I grew up in the West Bank settlements. I wrote this post to give an example of the extent to which Palestinians are dehumanized there.

Where I live now, I meet Palestinians in day to day life. Israeli Arab citizens living their lives. In the West Bank, it was nothing like that. Over there, I only saw them through the electric fence, and the hostility between us and Palestinians was tangible.

When you're a child being brought into the situation, you don't experience the context, you don't experience the history, you don't know why they're hostile to you. You just feel "these people hate me, they don't want me to exist." And that bubble was my reality. So when I was taught in school that everything we did was in self defense, that our military is special and uniquely ethical because it's the only defensive military in the world - that made sense to me. It slotted neatly into the reality I knew.

One of the first things to burst the bubble for me was when I spoke to an old Israeli man and he was talking about his trauma from battle. I don't remember what he said, but it hit me wrong. It conflicted with the history as I understood it. So I was a bit desperate to make it make sense again, and I said, "But everything we did was in self defense, right?"

He kinda looked at me, couldn't understand at all why I was upset, and he went, "We destroyed whole villages. Of course we did. It was war, that's what you do."

And that casual "of course" stuck with me. I had to look into it more.

I couldn't look at more accurate history, and not at accounts by Palestinians, I was too primed against these sources to trust them. The community I grew up in had an anti-intellectual element to it where scholars weren't trusted about things like this.

So what really solidified this for me, was seeing Palestinian culture.

Because part of the story that Israel tells us to justify everything, is that Palestinians are not a distinct group of people, they're just Arabs. They belong to the nations around us. They insist on being here because they want to deny us a homeland. The Palestinian identity exists to hurt us. This, because the idea of displacing them and taking over their lands doesn't sound like stealing, if this was never theirs and they're only pretending because they want to deprive us.

But then foods, dances, clothing, embroidery, the Palestinian dialect. These things are history. They don't pop into existence just because you hate Jews and they're trying to move here. How gorgeous is the Palestinian thobe? How stunning is tatreez in general? And when I saw specific patterns belonging to different regions of Palestine?

All of these painted for me a rich shared life of a group of people, and countered the narrative that the Palestininian identity was fabricated to hurt us. It taught me that, whatever we call them, whatever they call themselves, they have a history in this land, they have a right to it, they have a connection to it that we can't override with our own.

I started having conversations with leftist friends. Confronting the fact that the borders of the occupied territories are arbitrary and every Israeli city was taken from them. In one of those conversations, I was encouraged to rethink how I imagine peace.

This also goes back to schooling. Because they drilled into us, we're the ones who want peace, they're the ones who keep fighting, they're just so dedicated to death and killing and they won't leave us alone.

In high school, we had a stadium event with a speaker who was telling us about a person who defected from Hamas, converted to Christianity and became a Shin Bet agent. Pretty sure you can read this in the book "Son of Hamas." A lot of my friends read the book, I didn't read it, I only know what I was told in that lecture. I guess they couldn't risk us missing out on the indoctrination if we chose not to read it.

One of the things they told us was how he thought, we've been fighting with them for so long, Israelis must have a culture around the glorification of violence. And he looked for that in music. He looked for songs about war. And for a while he just couldn't find any, but when he did, he translated it more fully, and he found out the song was about an end to wars. And this, according to the story as I was told it, was one of the things that convinced him. If you know know the current trending Israeli "war anthem," you know this flimsy reasoning doesn't work.

Back then, my friend encouraged me to think more critically about how we as Israelis envision peace, as the absence of resistance. And how self-centered it is. They can be suffering under our occupation, but as long as it doesn't reach us, that's called peace. So of course we want it and they don't.

Unless we're willing to work to change the situation entirely, our calls for peace are just "please stop fighting back against the harm we cause you."

In this video, Shlomo Yitzchak shares how he changed his mind. His story is much more interesting than mine, and he's much more eloquent telling it. He mentions how he was taught to fear Palestinians. An automatic thought, "If I go with you, you'll kill me." I was taught this too. I was taught that, if I'm in a taxi, I should be looking at the driver's name. And if that name is Arab, I should watch the road and the route he's taking, to be prepared in case he wants to take me somewhere to kill me. Just a random person trying to work. For years it stayed a habit, I'd automatically look at the driver's name. Even after knowing that I want to align myself with liberation, justice, and equality. It was a process of unlearning.

On October, not long after the current escalation of violence, I had to take a taxi again. A Jewish driver stopped and told me he'll take me, "so an Arab doesn't get you." Israeli Jews are so comfortable saying things like this to each other. My neighbors discussed a Palestinian employee, with one saying "We should tell him not to come anymore, that we want to hire a Jew." The second answered, "No, he'll say it's discrimination," like it would be so ridiculous of him. And the first just shrugged, "So we don't have to tell him why." They didn't go through with it, but they were so casual about this conversation.

In the Torah, we're told to treat those who are foreign to us well, because we know what it's like to be the foreigner. Fighting back against oppression is the natural human thing to do. We know it because we lived it. And as soon as I looked at things from this angle, it wasn't really a choice of what to support.

[blazehedgehog]

Soaking this in

If you don't know what this is, here's an explanation: Both Fortnite and Call of Duty employ something called "Skill-Based Matchmaking" (SBMM for short), and it has become the bane of a certain subset of players who very vocally yell about how it is ruining multiplayer games.

In short, the game secretly and quietly keeps track of your "skill level." Even if a game has both ranked and unranked modes, it is always tracking this skill level stat that reports back how quickly and easily you're getting kills. When you connect to a new match, it tries to group you with players near your skill level.

The idea being you start with zero skill stat, and by playing the game well, your skill stat levels up until you eventually plateau and you are forever playing the game with people that are just as good (or bad) as you are, within some level of variance.

This means if you're one of these career streamer guys or a Youtube clip compilation sort of dude (or both), then you very quickly get put into high tier matchmaking pools with all the other career streamers and wannabe esports pros. Hence the very loud, very vocal complaints, because if you're one of those guys, the idea of having a "casual match" goes away. Everybody is always firing on all cylinders and you're expected to do the same in order to keep your rank and not look embarrassing to your captive audience.

So Activision apparently ran an experiment per Charlie Intel (article here) where they reduced SBMM's effectiveness, meaning the big fish pros and the little tadpole casual players were thrown into more games together.

The result was a sharp uptick in players rage quitting matches early, some even quitting the game entirely and never coming back. The report notes that while player retention for players with a high skill rank was improved, they make up such a small percentage of the player base (apparently less than 1%; the article has some grammar problems) that servicing them really doesn't make sense.

As it turns out, low level players don't want to get hopelessly destroyed by wannabe esports pros. And those pros make up such a small percentage of the player base it doesn't make sense to keep feeding them more low level chum, even though they are the hungriest for it. As more and more low level players permanently leave the game due to frustration, it turns into a wasteland where high level players are getting mad at each other until they also get frustrated and leave as well. SBMM ensures long term health for a game's multiplayer ecosystem.

And being a Fortnite player, it's so validating to hear this. "SBMM is ruining multiplayer" was always a narrative coming from streamers and youtubers who were frustrated by having to actually TRY instead of being able to score easy clip compilation fodder on clueless newbies.

Enjoy sticking to your smurf accounts now, I guess.

[nevermind-i-forgot-whats-that]

Sometimes, as much as I love internet communities and spaces, I really think a lot of people have spent so much time in sanitized, morally pure echo chambers that they lose sight of realism and life outside the internet.

I live in Alabama. My fiancée and I cannot hold hands down the street without fear of homophobic assholes. We have an abortion ban with no exceptions for rape or incest. We are one of the poorest states in the US with some of the lowest scores on metrics related to quality of life, including maternal mortality, healthcare, education, and violence. It’s not a coincidence that we are also one of the most red, one of the most Republican states in the Union. In 2017 the UN said the conditions in Alabama are similar to those in a third-world country.

Trump gave a voice to the most violently racist, sexist, xenophobic groups of people who, unfortunately for most of us in the Southern U.S., run our states and have only grown more powerful since his rise to power. The Deep South powers MAGA, and we all suffer for it.

We have no protections if they don’t come from the federal government.

I know people are suffering internationally and my heart is with them. However, this election is not just about foreign policy - we have millions of Americans right here at home living in danger, living in areas where they have been completely abandoned by their local leaders. We need this win.

No candidate is perfect, but for the first time in my voting lifetime I’m excited to vote. I’m excited for the Kamala Harris/Tim Walz ticket because they are addressing the issues close to home. They’re advocating for education as the ticket to a better life, but without the crippling student debt. They’re advocating for the right to love who you love without fear and with pride. Kamala has always been pro-LGBT+ and so has Tim. Again, if you’re queer in the South, we don’t have support unless it comes from the federal government, and we absolutely will not have support if the Republicans regain the White House.

Kamala speaks in length about re-entry programs to reduce recidivism and help people who have been arrested and imprisoned regain their lives. Tim Walz supported restoring voting rights to felons. In the South, you know who comprise the majority of felons? Members of minorities. It’s one of the major tools of systemic racism and mass disenfranchisement, and arguably the modern face of slavery (there are some fantastic documentaries and books that explain the connection between the post-Reconstruction South and the disproportionate rates of imprisonment for BIPOC). Having candidates who recognize this and want to restore the freedom and rights to people who have come into contact with the criminal justice system? And keep them from having to go to prison in the first place? That’s refreshing. That’s exciting.

I would *love* to live in a country where women’s rights are respected, where LGBT+ rights and protections are a given, where we treat former criminals and individuals experiencing mental health crises with respect and dignity. I would *love* to live in a country where education is free of religious interference and each and every citizen is entitled to a fair start and equal opportunities.

But I don’t live in that country. Millions and millions of Americans find their rights and freedoms up for debate and on the ballot.

Project 2025 poses the largest threat to the future of our democracy as we know it. We are being called to fight for the future of our country.

We have to put on our oxygen masks first before we can help others.

You don’t have moral purity when you wash your hands of the millions of us who are still fighting for own freedoms right here.

The reality is that a presidential candidate is a best fit, and not a perfect fit. But comparatively speaking? Kamala is pretty damn close.

[akajustmerry]

anyway in light of hbo's silly new series announcement today, i am going to leave these links here

a video breakdown of jk rowling's connections and support for fascist organisers and groups (and yes she uses money from her works to support them)

article breaking down antisemitism in harry potter works

up-to-date video on the history of jk rowling's anti-trans discrimination + her new bullshit podcast

British trans support organisations to support

20 Trans POC-Led, Grassroots Organizations To Support

pro-trans donation list

[fairuzfan]

"Israel also secretly hires Jewish Americans as spies to work out of its Washington embassy and its consulates around the United States to covertly surveil and monitor fellow Americans, including students. Thoroughly vetted to ensure loyalty to Israel, many of those hired have spent years heavily involved in pro-Israeli activities from the time they were in college and before. Among them was Julia Reifkind, who led a pro-Israel group at the University of California at Davis before moving on to become an activist with AIPAC. After she graduated in 2016, she was hired by Israel and assigned to its embassy in Washington.

Reifkind had good preparation for her assignment. Thinking that Kleinfeld was a fellow pro-Israel activist, over dinner at Washington’s Mari Vanna restaurant she revealed that while at AIPAC she spent much of her time deceiving college students about her covert connection to the organization. “Obviously, I’m an AIPAC-trained campus activist,” she said. “When you’re lobbying on behalf of AIPAC, you don’t say AIPAC, you say, ‘I’m a pro-Israel student from UC Davis.’ And when you’re meeting with students on campus I would never say, ‘I am the AIPAC campus rep.’ I’d say, ‘My name is Julia and I’m a pro-Israel student.’”

At the embassy, Reifkind focused on developing intelligence on fellow Americans, including students on college campuses. “So nobody really knows what we’re doing,” she said. “But mainly it’s been a lot of research like monitoring BDS.”

In a different conversation, Reifkind explained: “It’s mainly gathering intel, reporting back to Israel. That’s a lot of what I do. To report back to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Strategic Affairs, and make sure they have the right information.” Among the ways she spies on pro-Palestinian activists and Palestinian human rights supporters is with phony Facebook accounts. “I have my fake Facebook that I follow all the SJP [Students for Justice in Palestine] accounts. I have some fake names. My name is Jay Bernard or something.”

Once Reifkind collected the intelligence on her targets, she passed it on to her boss at the embassy. Then it was sent to the Ministry of Strategic Affairs and other offices over a secure encrypted system called Cables. It’s “really secure,” she said. “I don’t have access to [it] because I’m an American.… I’ve seen it, it looks really bizarre…. And then they’ll send something back and he’ll translate it and tell me what I need to do.”

Since the brutal Hamas attacks on Israeli civilians on October 7 and the Israeli invasion of Gaza, the ICC and its US-based spy networks are no doubt working overtime. But there is little likelihood of interference by the FBI—well trained to look the other way when it comes to Israel. It was a situation that even frustrated a former head of the FBI’s counterintelligence division. When I asked him why no one would talk to me about Israel’s massive espionage in the United States, he simply shook his head.

“You don’t think Israel’s a sensitive topic?” he asked, requesting that his name not be used. “So, Israel has been looked at and is being looked at and that’s all I can tell you,” he said. “But nobody’s doing anything.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“You can imagine,” is all he would say, implying high-level political involvement. I then said that I was planning to write about the topic. “I hope you do. I hope you do,” he said. Sighing, he added, “I’ve been there done that. I know it. I’ve brought cases to the Department of Justice on Israel.” Cases that were never opened."

— Israel’s War on American Student Activists by James Bamford on The Nation

[charon-cries]

pros of drawing tma fanart:

the ability to vent all of the feelings the podcast gives you

connection with a genuinely wonderful community of people

assurance that your blorbos will not be mishandled by a group of rich people who don't understand the hype

cons of drawing tma fanart:

you will never escape the "is this bruno from encanto?" comments

[robertreich]

No Labels Isn't What It Claims to Be

The “No Labels” Party is not what it pretends to be. It’s a front group for Donald Trump.

Now I understand, if you’re sick of the two major parties, you might be intrigued by a party that claims to be a “common sense” alternative that finds the middle ground.

But if you or anyone in your life is planning to vote for No Labels — or any third party — in 2024, please watch and share this video first.

Here are three things you need to know.

First, No Labels is a dark money group with secret far-right donors. Investigative reporting has revealed that they include many of the same Republican donors who have pumped huge sums of money into electing candidates like Trump and Ron DeSantis. They also include the rightwing billionaire Harlan Crow, who spent years secretly treating Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas to a lifestyle of the rich and famous.

If the No Labels Party is backed by Trump donors, in an election where Trump is on the ballot, there’s actually a label we should give to “No Labels.” Clearly, they’re a pro-Trump group.

Second, the premise No Labels is based on — that Donald Trump and President Biden are at equally extreme ends of the political spectrum — is preposterous.

Trump has been impeached twice, found by a jury to have committed sexual assault, is facing 91 criminal charges in four separate cases — two of them in connection with an attempt to effectively end American democracy.

There is no “equally extreme” candidate as Trump!

Finally, the structure of the Electoral College means that as a practical matter, a third party only draws votes away from whichever major party candidate is closest to it. No third party candidate has ever won a presidential election.

And in this particular election, when one of the major parties is putting up a candidate who threatens democracy itself, we cannot take the risk.

Donald Trump has already tried to overturn one election and suggested suspending the Constitution to maintain power. It is no exaggeration to say that if he takes the White House again, there may not ever be another free and fair election.

Democracy won by a whisker in the last presidential election. Just 44,000 votes in Arizona, Georgia, and Wisconsin — less than one tenth of 1 percent of the total votes cast nationwide — were the difference between the Biden presidency and a tie in the Electoral College that would have thrown the election to the House of Representatives, and hence to Trump.

If candidates from No Labels— or any other third party, like the Green Party or the Libertarian Party —  peel off just a fraction of the anti-Trump vote from Biden, while Trump voters stay loyal to him, Trump could win the top five swing states comfortably and return to the Oval Office. And No Labels’ own polling shows they would do just that!

Let me be absolutely clear. Third-party groups like No Labels are in effect front groups for Trump in 2024, and should be treated as such.

The supposed “centrism” No Labels touts is nonsense. There is no middle ground between democracy and fascism.

Please share this video and spread the word.

[dughole]

radiohead’s complicity in israeli-occupied palestine

my feelings on radiohead are complicated these days, as i’m sure they are for many. i'm using this post as a method of sorting out my own thoughts & to provide sources.

for me, the bottom line is this: radiohead is both a brand & a musical group. the brand of radiohead has always had deep roots in the israeli colonial project - they have played many, many shows there throughout their career. their breakout single - creep, was intially only a hit in israel (x, x) & the personal choices of some of radiohead's members remain just as involved. jonny greenwood met his future wife - the israeli artist, antivaxxer & vehement zionist (x) sharona katan - at a show radiohead played in israel in 1993 (x). jonny consistently collaborated with zionist musician shye ben tzur & his projects continue to tour in tel aviv as recently as last september. as for jonny himself - his only statement in regards to the war on gaza has been in mourning for the israeli concert goers on october 10th - w no such empathy spared to the 100,000 palestinians dead, injured, or missing. as for thom, while he’s thrown a few bitchfits (x) through the years abt criticism of radiohead’s shows in israel, he has imo - only paid lipservice to the criticism, saying “playing in a country isn’t the same as endorsing its government” going against the pleas of his peers & coworkers in the music industry. as well as the pro-palestine activism undertaken by his long term friend micheal stipe (x & x). (note: stipe stood by radiohead’s performance in israel in 2017, but his current political choices suggest his understanding of the situation has evolved). even his own son - noah yorke, a fellow working musician, has voiced his opposition to the genocide in gaza via instagram stories. as for the other members, rhythm guitarist ed o'brien has called for a ceasefire, as well as making a few tweets about "solidarity with palestinians & israeli peacemakers". while bassist colin greenwood reportedly refused to accept letters of dialogue from the fan-run organization radiohead fans for palestine. drummer phillip selway's commentary is similarly brief but defensive, saying radiohead's 2017 tel aviv concert "felt right"

to me, this paints a picture of a band who's members stances on israel range from abhorrent to simply not enough. & as a brand, their particular combination of action & inaction amounts to a fundamentally zionist perspective. you cannot separate radiohead as artists from radiohead as a brand name.

i've loved radiohead since i was 14. i was brought into it by another longtime fan. i cried & danced when i saw them live back in 2017 - it was, & remains, a moment that allowed me to live through the hardest parts of my life. i felt for the longest time, that radiohead's music & political positions encouraged my empathy - my questioning of conservative political authority. & while all celebrities are failures in some sense - it is still heartbreaking to know how wrong i was.

i don't think it's possible to disconnect the decade of connection & love i have for their music - I won't ask that of myself or anyone else. & the idea of scrubbing one's taste of the "morally impure" is useless effort & an inappropriate simplification of both art & our conceptions of what makes someone "bad". but i can say with certainty - i will not be giving them any more of my money, whether that be streaming their music or buying their merch - & i encourage you to do the same. silence is complicity - this is beyond silence.

in the words of nina simone - "an artist's duty, as far as i'm concerned, is to reflect the times. how can you be an artist and not reflect the times? that to me is the definition of an artist."

[jayflrt]

a stoner’s guide to starbucks

PAIRING ▸ lee heeseung x fem!reader (ft. enha, winter from aespa, beomgyu from txt, and dino from svt)

GENRES ▸ social media au (smau), crack, fluff, stoner au, strangers to lovers

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, sexual jokes, zero braincells, limited knowledge of the starbucks corporation, weed consumption, dumb shenanigans, ignore timestamps!

SUMMARY ▸ in which you work at the starbucks where heeseung is a regular at (and considered a public enemy). also he only goes when he’s stoned off his ass.

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ hello !! i am alive (real) also i was so committed to the bit that i got high to make this <3 shoutout @hoonbear for the Extensive Starbucks Knowledge 🫡 i would also like to note that i am NOT doing a tag list for this smau. also please note that this is a fictional setting and to boycott starbucks in real life for firing their workers over their pro palestine speech. remember to do your daily click!

INCOMING MESSAGES !

TEASER

PROFILES ONE | TWO

01. weed guy beomgyu

02. red bitch with the freckles rizz

03. starbucks public enemy #1

04. 50% cut ???

05. lee heeseung: upstanding citizen, NOT murderer

06. clearing up misunderstandings with an aqi under 50

07. chat is this real

08. daddy’s home 2

09. biodegrade ur chance at romance

10. triple filtered reverse osmosis water filtration system

11. losing the idgaf war

12. crazy gets u bitches

13. banned in the name of love

14. riki s worded irl??

15. 8ball brings nations together

16. killing myself postponed tonight repostponed

17. scheming sponsored by crazy bitch 62 and unimportant goon

18. the do-over date to end all first dates

19. seek BetterHelp.com

20. quarterly store meeting (remote)

21. WHAT ARE WE

22. heejake support group for heejake victims

23. bro fumbled the unfumbleable

24. sunghoon is the new Papa John

25. according to penal code 837 🤓☝️

26. jungwon pulls bitches (the duolingo owl) too

27. someone PLEASE take jungwon to see the teenage mutant ninja turtles movie

28. 14th date’s the charm

29. doc mcuggo

30. nothing to write home about

31. LONDON I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL I LOST MY QUEEN TOO

32. starbucks double chocolate brownies

33. having a kid together before dating is next level

34. tweaking out on 5 hour energy

35. 7.83 inches

36. The Milk Makes The Man, And The Man Makes The Milk

37. sunghoon from papa john's from starbucks

38. then who's flying the plane???

39. league of legends quarantine ex girlfriend

40. WELCOME HOME CHEATER 😐

41. unknown evil forces (chaewon)

42. friends to rivaling coffee shop employees au

43. do NOT get the weed frap

44. now on channel 9 news

45. choose your fighter heeseung tit variation

46. kitten i'll be honest, daddy's about to kill himself

47. a fire can be put out but missing a bereal is forever

48. baby's first customer connection score

49. #STARBUCKS_FIRST_WIN

50. epilogue

UNCUTS !

weekly weed check 🗣️

SUNGHOONXJLAW

happy weedsgiving

minjake texts

the Sunghoon Special

goons vs baby shark movie

COMPLETED 12/1/23

[mrskokushibo]

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, Smut, Sex, 18+.

Plot: Your friends take you out for a girls' night to watch an MMA fight, where one of the fighters, Ryomen Sukuna, is a notorious hottie. Will this be the night you finally meet the man who will truly rock the foundations of your world?

Cover artwork by the amazing @innaillus 🙏❤️

Masterlist

The sound in the arena was getting louder as more people were streaming in, filling up the stands. You were looking around curious, taking in all the impressions. It was your very first time attending a fight of any kind, let alone an MMA one. You knew what it was all about as you saw it on TV, but being at the venue in person was an entirely different experience. The booming base of peppy rock music was blending with the chatter of people and an occasional announcement from the conferencier.

Your seats were in the VIP section just next to the ring. Your bestie, Bec, organised this for you all as a treat, a girls’ night out, away from your crappy love lives and mundane jobs. She slept around a lot and seemed to have connections anywhere and everywhere. You often joked, that somehow, she would be the one to land some rich dude eventually. You wished you were this open, but you always seemed to attract assholes, so you almost gave up on dating actively.

You were also the quieter one in your friend group and, just like now, you sat on the edge of the action, taking in all the impression in silence. You enjoyed being around people as long, as they let you be you. And that is why you were so close to your friends. They accepted you exactly the way you were.

Your drinks arrived and you were now sitting and sipping on a beer and snacking on some hot chips. You were facing the ring and were studying it closely. You have seen boxing rings before, but this one was different. It had a cage around it. This made you think a little as to how violent was the fighting if the fighters needed to be caged in like this.

‘Excited?’

You were interrupted by Bec, who was now leaning over the others to be able to make herself heard over the surrounding commotion.

You nodded with your mouth full of chips and beer.

‘You know…’ She leaned in a little closer to you.

‘One of the fighters is supposedly an official hottie. I saw pictures of him and damn, girl. I would fuck him even if I was on my deathbed.’

Well, you could easily imagine Bec doing something like that and you chuckled. A dirty mind in such a kind and smart person. She was the most accomplished of your friend group. A corporate lawyer, spending a lot of time working pro bono helping underprivileged clients. She, on the other hand, always called you a superhero. That is what she thought nurses were. And you did work in a huge, busy, public hospital, trying to make the stay more bearable for your patients. Who, by the way, always got very attached to you, probably due to your kind and caring nature?

‘We will see if I think the same as you. He might not be my type.’

You grinned and winked at Bec, who immediately shook her head while swallowing her drink.

‘Oh, but no, my dear. Trust me on this one. Since you have a pussy, you will get attracted to him. Instant squirt. I’m telling ya.’

She grinned in her typical mischievous manner while you were shaking your head at her over-sexualized tirade.

She was just about to say something more, but the lights went out for a moment and the conferencier began to welcome the audience, announcing the imminent start of the fight.

‘First out. The king of knockouts, the one and only, Ryomen Sukuna.’

As the name was announced the crowd went wild, lights turned blood red and music went from upbeat rock to very loud heavy metal. In the corner of your eye, you could make out the contour of Bec making the ‘thumbs up’ gesture in your direction.

When he entered the ring, you automatically realised what Bec was talking about. This man was … perfect. Everything about him screamed ‘sex’. A strong, perfectly toned body, spiked pink-dyed hair with a natural black undercut. His eyes were those of a large predator, slightly narrow and with a confident and playful look. His face was handsome and masculine and had a friendly look to it. And then there were the tattoos. Black, symmetrical markings on his face and chest and black bands on his wrists, biceps, thighs, and ankles. He reminded you of a powerful and wild tiger. You were in a state of awe and yes, Bec was right, you were getting a little aroused.

He was strutting around the ring, exuding pure confidence, and blowing sweet kisses, waving, and winking to the audience. All smiles and joy, this was someone obviously not to mess with in a ring.

The conferencier announced the entry of the second fighter, but you barely paid attention to him, being so focused on Sukuna. Very soon, the lights in the arena were switched to full power again and the match began with the ring of a bell.

It was like watching a brutal dance, the fighters moving swiftly and with amazing agility. You could only imagine the force behind the blows they were dealing each other as you were watching their powerful muscles flex and bodies break out in a sweat, which made their skin glisten in the strong arena lights.

The game paused for a moment after Sukuna dealt a scary-sounding blow to his opponent. You could almost hear the creaking of bones and tendons as the man’s back hit the cage right in front of you. The man was not knocked out, but his team was tending to his bloodied face, cleaning him up for continued fighting.

And that is when it happened. Sukuna was leaning leisurely in his corner of the ring, rolling his head in a stretch, and looking around at the audience as if he was sitting in a bar doing some people-watching instead of being in the middle of a fight. His eyes were moving around the perimeter and when they reached you, his head stopped and he smiled and winked in your direction. You froze but also felt a few butterflies rise to flight inside your belly, causing the waterworks between your legs to go into a state of high flow. Bec saw what happened and was now doing a double ‘thumbs up’ in your direction.

Soon, the ring rang again and the fight continued. But not for long, as Sukuna’s now completely exhausted opponent was slammed into the cage once again, but this time, he remained laying down on the floor of the ring. The audience was in absolute uproar, chanting ‘Ry-o-men, Ry-o-men’ and ‘Hail Thy King’ almost in unison. The referee began the count over the fallen fighter, but he did not get up. A clean knockout. The ref walked up to Sukuna, grabbed his hand, and raising it in a sign of victory, screaming out into the microphone: ‘Ryomen Sukuna wins by knockout.’ The crowd went even louder and the noise was now almost deafening. But as the fighters left the ring, the crowd settled down and it was all finished just as quickly as it began.

You felt a little tricked by the speed of it all. It would have been great to watch the sexy Ryomen for a while longer. But, oh well, all good things come to an end.

The crowd began its exodus out of the arena and soon enough, the city air hit you in the face with its’ smog and smells. Your group headed off to the nearby nightclub, Bec holding you under your arm, discussing the match and the very sexy Mr Sukuna.

The line to the club moved quickly and a few minutes later you and your friends were occupying a booth in the immediate vicinity of the dance floor. The music was already too loud to have a decent conversation, but you all were so used to losing your voices after a night out that the conversation flowed easily despite the high decibels emitted from the speakers.

The evening went on as usual, with drinks, and complaining about existing, ex-, and potential boyfriends. You danced, drank some more and very soon Bec was being dragged away to the dance floor by some hunk she chatted up at the bar.

It was your turn to get more drinks and honestly, you were promising yourself that this was the last round and then it was straight home for you. But as you were standing in front of the bar, waiting your turn, something caught your attention and changed the course of your evening.

"Well, well, well. Whom do we have here?" The sexy, husky, and playful masculine voice, whose owner you couldn't yet see, momentarily drowned out all other noises, including the deep pumping base of the club.

When you turned around to see who the voice belonged to, you must have really looked startled as the tall guy right in front of you now, smiled and ran his hand through his hair with an apologetic look on his face.

‘Sorry, I did not mean to scare you… Are you alright?’ He touched your shoulder lightly and leaned down to you. ‘I will leave you be if I annoy you.’

Quickly, you regained your composure. The owner of the voice was no one else but the sexy fighter from a couple of hours ago, Ryomen Sukuna. You felt like slapping your own cheek partly to check that you are not dreaming and partly for your stupid and awkward reaction.

‘Yes, yes, of course, I am all right. And…you are anything but annoying.’ You smiled and stretched out your hand to him to make up for the previous lack of social skills.

‘I am (y/n), and you are Ryomen, right?’

‘Yes, that is right. You have a good memory.’ * So…he did notice you at the match…How interesting…*

‘I was just about to grab a drink. Anything you would like?’ You asked him unassumingly. He smiled and shook his head.

‘Shit, I’m the one who should be buying YOU a drink. But ok, go ahead. Whiskey on the rocks for me.’

He followed you to the bar and you both sat down as they were vacant seats right in front of you and might just as well not stand while waiting.

‘With the risk of sounding like a creep. Are you here alone?’

He looked almost a bit embarrassed at having posed such a question, but you quickly eased his mood by telling him all about your girls’ night out. When you pointed and waved to your friends, Bec was not there, but when you scanned the place, you could see her making out with some tall, dark-haired dude at the far end of the dancefloor. Right. God old Bec…

The drinks were put in front of you and you chose to stay where you were. He leaned on his elbow, swirling his drink, his narrowed eyes studying you in silence for a moment. His lips twitched in a small, fluttering smile. His eyes were moving across your figure and you began to feel heat spread in your underbelly.

‘So…is this like the place to relax after your fights?’ You chose to break the silence. ‘And by the way…are you here alone? Asking with the risk of sounding like a creep.’ You chuckled a little.

‘As a matter of fact, I am. Here alone. Well, now at least. My team usually goes out here to celebrate, but everyone needed to get home early. I was also about to leave, but then I spotted you.’

He took a sip and kept on swirling his drink while making small talk about the venue and his training routines. You told him about your work and hobbies. But when you both finished your drinks, he suddenly stood up and stretched out his hand.

‘Come, let’s dance, hm?’

You followed him sheepishly, the music slow enough for a very close-up dance, so obviously in no time at all, you were gently swayed in his embrace. He was wearing tight, black jeans and an equally tight white t-shirt, the expensive type. No jewelry, no watch, the only thing adorning him being the stylish tats and of course his meticulously styled hair. He was very tall, much taller than you and you could rest your head on his chest with ease. You could feel the muscles, he was so warm too, like a furnace. He smelled of bergamot, sandalwood, and myrrh. With your eyes closed you found yourself hugging him tighter and your hips instinctively grinding against his.

You continued like this into the next song, and then to the next, slowly losing track of time, his hands wandering down to your waist and his nose nudging your forehead, to get your mouth’s attention, which very soon led to your lips connecting into a slow kiss. The surge of lust rushing through you pushed you even deeper into his embrace, you wanted to drown in him. And you also wanted him to ask you to go to his place, or your place, or just drag you to a back alley and fuck you senseless. But instead, he pulled away from the kiss and looked you deep in the eyes.

‘It is getting late… You know, as much as I would like to offer you more tonight, I am a bit old-fashioned, so this is as far as we go. But…why don’t you join me for dinner tomorrow?’

You could not say you weren’t disappointed, but whether intentional or not, his move made him essentially irresistible in an instant. Before he walked you over to your friend group, you exchanged numbers and he promised to be in touch in the morning.

Your friends kept quiet when you were saying your goodbyes, but as soon as he left, they all high-fived you. Their booze-fuelled questioning and cheering of your dating success kept on going all the way until the taxi stopped outside of your apartment building and you were finally free to take in what happened earlier tonight. You could barely sleep that night, luckily for you the next day was your day off, so you weren’t all too worried about the perspective of looking like a zombie for your date. If there was to be a date, that is. But as far as sleep went, you would catch up with a nap or two during the day anyway.

You dozed off at around 4 am only to be woken up again by the message ping of your phone at exactly 10 am. With shaking hands, you picked up the heavy rectangular device, and to your surprise and excitement it was from him. There was no hesitation with opening the message, your fingers quickly pressing on the bold unread text. And there it was:

‘Dinner at 6 pm? Just to give you heads up, we are going to (name of one of the best restaurants in town) I will pick you up. Can you give me your address, please?. xoxo / Ryomen’

*Shit, shit, shit.* You had nothing that elegant to wear. The urge to go shopping suddenly became overwhelming and you decided to skip breakfast and instead grab a takeaway coffee on the way, and eat something in town instead, after you shopped. You texted him your address and ventured out.

You hated shopping in panic and of course, just because you were looking, you didn’t find anything to buy. *Nice. So now what?*

You got home disappointed and began rummaging through your closet. Eventually, you settled for your favourite little black dress, heels, and a classic simple Swarovsky-crystal choker. A classic look, even though to you, it was how you saw yourself on nearly every date for the last year. It was too late to do anything about it now. You decided to take a nap and when you woke up, after a quick snack and another coffee, you got ready in your usual not-too-overdone manner. *Alright, this will have to do.*

Before you managed to put your shoes on, your phone pinged again.

‘I’m outside.’

You looked out your window and you could not help but stare at the gorgeous sportscar parked just outside of your gate. Almost running through the hall, you put your heels on and rushed down to meet him. At a closer look, the car was a brilliant black Acura NSX. A rather rare car, but what else would you expect of someone like Sukuna.

As you walked up to the vehicle, the door opened and there he was, nimbly jumping out of the car, walking up to you and embracing you into a kiss.

‘You look amazing.’ He whispered in your ear.

But in your eyes, it was him that looked…amazing. He was wearing a black suit styled casually with an expensive black t-shirt and stylish all-black-leather Vans slip-ons. His hair was immaculately spiked and today he was wearing a whole bunch of piercings in his ears.

When you were done with your greetings, he opened the passenger door for you and as you got seated, he closed the door behind you and then jumped into his seat. He smiled at you before starting the engine. The roar was guttural and the vibrations were hitting your core just as much as the presence of the very charming man next to you. You did not notice your surroundings as all the way to the restaurant you were too focused on his presence and your conversation.

At last, the car slowed down and you arrived at the restaurant located in the middle of the business district. He parked the car just outside of the entrance and gave the keys to the concierge. As he led you in, you were almost taken aback by the interior of the luxurious eatery. It was a Japanese/Western fusion restaurant, with none less than two Michelin stars on its resume. The walls were graphite grey, illuminated by dim lanterns cleverly placed, creating a pattern of shadows cast by the intricate pottery standing on tall, oriental side tables. The kitchen was completely open and located in the middle of the dining room, covered by the branches of a large, heavily pruned Sakura tree.

The tables were placed around the kitchen, allowing the guests a full view of the spectacle the chefs were putting on.

A waiter in traditional Japanese attire led you both to your table and very soon you were enjoying a meal like no other you have ever experienced. Dish after dish, one more exotic than the other was brought out to you, accompanied by vintage wines and sake.

The whole time, the two of you were talking almost non-stop, you were amazed at how well-versed and educated he was. Not what you expected out of someone who essentially beats people up for a living. Beneath the friendly and civilised conversation, the sexual tension was steadily building up for nearly every bite you took.

When the main meal was finished and you wiped your mouth with the thick, linen napkin and cleaned off your hands with a warm, wet towel provided by the waiter, he took your hand and held it gently, massaging the inside of your palm with his thumb. His eyes were narrowed and a delicate smile lit up his sharp features. A heavy blush was spreading underneath your make-up. Your mouth was getting dry and you felt warmth spread inside you.

‘Do you have room for dessert? They make this amazing matcha mochi here… You should try it.’

He was speaking slowly, and it was almost as if he was beginning the seduction ritual, because his movements followed the slower speech and the pink of his eyes was growing darker by the minute, with what you only could read as pure, unadulterated lust.

You bit your bottom lip and shuffled in your seat. You were getting wet. But going home was not an option yet. It is now that the game was just beginning. The foreplay before foreplay. Teasing and small touches drove you to the brink of what your body could endure without literally throwing yourself at him.

‘Yes, I would like to try it. And maybe some coffee to go with it?’

You cocked your head and smiled knowing very well you needed a lot of coffee for what was coming.

The sweets and coffee arrived soon after you placed the order.

You speared some of the mochi with your fork and deliberately slowly put it in your mouth, sliding the fork out with a painfully delayed motion, that made your lips pout out. You licked them discretely in a seductive manner and gave him a small smile while looking him deep in the eye.

He bit his bottom lip and his eyes narrowed again.

‘I see that you are enjoying your dessert.’

He took a sip of his coffee and smiled at you.

‘It is good to stock up on extra energy sometimes.’

You both smiled at each other and kept eating in silence while exchanging hungry looks.

As soon as you finished dessert, he called in the waiter, paid and you both left almost in a hurry. The air outside was cold already and you huddled with him while waiting for the concierge to bring out the car.

You couldn’t get into it fast enough, and once you were buckled up, the engine roared again, pushing your arousal into an even higher gear.

He placed his hand on your thigh and began rubbing the soft flesh just above where your stocking ended and garter straps took over. He did not move the hand an inch, just stayed like this, teasing you and glancing your way with that charming smile that by now had you go instantly wet.

A moment later and the car was driving into an underground garage. He finally let go of your thigh, jumped out of the car, and walked over to your side to open the door for you. As you were getting out, he caught you in his embrace, closed the car door, and began kissing you. He pushed you against the car and had his hand stroke your cheeks and neck, for now still clothed breasts and hips.

You had your hands on his neck, running them through the coarse black hair of the undercut, making him moan quietly.

‘I guess I am not very old-fashioned tonight.’

He spoke in between kisses, his husky voice going straight into your core.

‘Let’s go upstairs, hm? Or would you like me to be old-fashioned and take you home?’

He was teasing you, knowing that going home was the last thing on your mind at this point.

You only shook your head in reply and smiled biting your lower lip. Without a word, he took you by the hand and you began walking toward the elevator, that was already on the garage level. He pressed the highest number on the panel and soon you were pressed against something again, this time the elevator wall while being kissed by your excruciatingly hot lover-to-be.

Out of the elevator, into the apartment, the two of you simply kept kissing, both his and your hands exploring the other in an increasingly adventurous manner. He was starting to breathe a bit heavier and his tongue was swirling frenetically in your mouth, having a little wrestle with yours.

You didn’t have much of a chance to have a look at his place, you were too preoccupied with him to notice your surroundings. He was gently pushing you toward a large black sofa in the middle of the open-plan space. As he reached it, he removed his suit jacket tossing it to the side, then spun you around slowly, sitting down and taking you with him onto his lap. You were now straddling him and pressing your chest to his.

‘Mmm, I didn’t think we would end up like this so quickly.’

‘Are you telling me you have a hard time getting girls to come home with you?’ Your voice hitching through the heavy breathing and kissing.

‘Maybe… maybe not. But you didn’t seem like the easy type.’

‘Because I am not, but you made it easy for me to not be as restrained as I normally am.’ You nibbled at his lip.

‘Is that so? I am flattered…’

He kissed your neck and began to move his hands onto your ass, squeezing the softness with his solid wrestler's hands, sliding them up to your waist, and then repeating the lewd massage while continuing the kiss. You were literally ready to have him take you on the sofa, but he obviously enjoyed the foreplay quite a bit. You could feel his hardness and he must have been surely very aware of how wet you were with only a thin layer of black lace separating your seeping pussy from him. Grinding yourself on him in encouragement was your next instinctive move toward what you really wanted to happen, but he just kept roaming his hands all over you as if he could not get enough of the anticipation.

You shifted your focus to his face to distract yourself, tracing the outlines of his tattoos, forehead, down to his cheeks and then chin, and then all the way up the other side of his face. His eyes were closed in pleasure and he reminded you of a wild cat all over again, just as he did the day before in the ring.

‘This feels nice. You have such a soft touch. Don’t stop…please.’

So, you kept tracing and now also kissing the black lines on his face, making him purr and moan. But you wanted more, to see the marks on his torso, arms, and thighs…maybe there were more in other, intimate places? The thrill of being so close to someone that only yesterday was a distant figure in the spotlight of fame was consuming you and fuelling your arousal.

You pulled off his t-shirt, exposing the long-awaited sight to your starved eyes. The marks started at the base of his neck, spanning from down his back and onto his chest, and down again toward his abs. These tattoos were wider and less intricate than the ones on his face, making him look quite tough, if you were to be asked. You kissed his toned chest and run your fingers across his biceps and down his long, strong arms. Your hands were moving as if with a mind of their own, trying to touch all of his upper body all at once. The need to have him much closer to you than this was growing stronger with every touch.

When you were about to lose your patience, he put his hands at the hem of your dress and began pulling it up. You lifted yourself up on your knees to help him get it off and once the dress was off, his hands latched on to your breasts, massaging until you were nearly out of breath from pleasure and moaning. You kept grinding against him harder.

‘So eager…’ He kissed your breasts while removing your bra and once freed, your breasts were now supported by his cupped hands with the right nipple rolled between his lips. You moaned loudly and made him intensify the action to see how much more noise he could get out of you.

When you began tugging at his belt, he stopped.

‘I think we will be more comfortable in the bedroom.’

You got off him quickly and he followed suit, taking your hand and leading you out of the lounge area and into a smaller room next to the kitchen part of the open-plan living space. The bedroom was dimly lit by warm wall lights and all you could make out was a double bed in the middle of the room and a large TV hanging on the wall opposite the bed. There were, what looked like a couple of Bonzai trees here and there, but that was about all you had time to spot before your attention was stolen once again by Ryomen.

He was now kissing you and unbuckling his belt, you looked down while he was unzipping his pants and sliding them off, uncovering a pair of tight, black boxershorts, stretched snug on top of the hardness of his erection. You swallowed and looked up at his face again and putting both thumbs under the hem of his underwear, you were taking them off quickly.

His cock popped out and it was perfect. Not too big and not too small, the kind of girth and length, that your experience already told you would make you a very satisfied woman.

‘You like what you see?’ Your hungry look was so apparent to him now.

‘Mmm, in fact, I do…’ You dragged your fingers gently on the top of his shaft, kicked off your heels, and climbed onto the bed, supported on your elbows, slowly spreading your legs for him. All you were wearing now were your stockings, garter belt, and a minuscule lace g-string.

He jumped onto the bed with the agility of a leopard and crawled the rest of the short distance dividing you both.

‘Glad to have the King of Knockouts all to yourself?’ He chuckled and smiled in a cocky manner.

‘Yes, very glad.’ You placed your arms around his neck as he was now on top of you, making nearly full body contact.

‘You know, I didn’t expect such a good girl to get this naughty this quickly.’

‘Oh, but even angels need to fall sometimes.’ Your voice was muffled by the kisses he was landing on you while his hands were busy exploring your body.

He pulled away and looked down at the remainder of your garment.

‘You don’t need these, do you now?’ He followed his rhetorical question by rolling the whole lot of you and tossing it aside.

‘Where were we…’ He was now back on top of you, grinding into your folds with his delicious dick.

‘Ah, I think you seem to want me inside you, right? You are very wet…’ His hand was rubbing you roughly between your legs.

‘Yes...please.’

He chuckled and moved his hand from your pussy to his dick, positioning himself at your entrance. He moved his arm back to your side and once in the position to move, he entered your aching and clenching core without any more hesitation.

You were now in full moaning mode, not caring anymore about trying to sound half switched on, the words coming out of your mouth were blabber as you could feel his dick pry its way into you. Your bodies were slowly connecting and synchronising to the rhythm of sex. The feel of his naked body on yours, the softness of close skin-on-skin contact, so sensual, so intimate, so…lascivious. For every thrust of his hips, you were carried away further and further from reality, and yet this was one of the most real, primeval activities a human could engage in. The duality of sex always puzzled you, made for procreation, but executed to fulfill lustful desires.

His love-making was slow in its action, but intense in feel. The heat of his breath when he kissed you was as if he was branding you as his, the gentle, but firm touch of his knotty fingers was sending nerve impulses that traveled not only to your deepest and most aroused core but were slowly but surely opening the doors to your soul.

Every inch of your skin, every muscle and nerve was seeking him, trying to get closer than the physicality of flesh would allow, his strained breath was now your breath. You practiced your ritual in silence, only accompanied by the wet squelching of your sexes joined in their communion and the slapping of flesh. Lewd and holy at the same time. You were near the limit of what you could take before releasing all the pent-up tension your core gathered up over the past two days. As your climax washed over you, the scream that came out of your mouth was almost that of someone else, a primal woman, unleashed and free, reveling in the glory of the pleasure one human could gift to another.

You were still shaking from your orgasm, almost half-conscious from the discharge of impulses. The squelching was louder, as your climax opened your floodgates, drenching you both. Wet and sloppy, he kept on thrusting, but much harder and faster now, chasing his own high, his toned, magnificent body beginning to flex its muscles.

‘Can I come inside you?’

‘Yes, of course, I took precaution…’

And a few moments later, his abdomen was contracting pushing his hips further into you in a few deep thrusts, granting him a full release, painting your insides with his warm seed.

Breathing heavily, he rolled over onto his back, taking you with him in a tight hug. Your sexes stayed connected, your thinner cum blended with his thick, creamy semen, running out onto both your thighs and the sheets beneath you. He was rubbing your back gently, kissing the top of your head as you were this much shorter than him. Your head was snuggled comfortably into his wide, strong chest, you could feel the flexing of his muscles as his arms moved across your back and his heartbeat was lulling you almost into a slumber.

‘Please stay the night. I did not get enough of you yet.’

You lifted your head up to look at him with your now slightly hazy eyes.

‘So, you are not kicking me out? I thought you had a lineup of girls waiting for you?’

He smiled and shook his head.

‘Such prejudice… Being famous doesn’t make me a pig, you know. Besides, most chicks are only after my stage persona, not me.’

He kissed your head again, his eyes closed now and a peaceful smile gracing his face.

‘You know…I must thank your friends for taking you out to see my fight. Without them dragging you along, I would have never met you.’

Most likely, he did not realize, how much his words meant to you right now. Was he the one you were waiting for so long? You were willing to take that chance and run with it.

You pulled yourself up to his face and began kissing him again, your tongue hungrily making its way straight through his thin lips into the warmth of his mouth. His dick slid out of you, letting the rest of the aftermath of your fucking run out freely onto his legs.

‘Let’s take a shower. We made a bit of a mess.’

He led you into the spacious bathroom. It was probably the most lavish bathroom you have ever seen, with walls, and floor tiled with black slate, elegant Japanese-style bath standing at the far end, together with all the traditional equipment needed for a bath ritual. The shower was to the right of the tub, large enough for two people to easily move around inside the glass and stone walls.

Well in the shower, you closed your eyes and tilted your head upwards letting the warm waterfall wash your makeup off you, you rubbed it all off quickly before he could see your smudged face and then let the water rinse the residue of the sex off your lower body. He came into the shower and stood pressed to your back, letting his hands wander all over your chest and belly. Your arousal was already at its peak again and you moved your left hand back to grab his now completely hard cock, while his right hand was playing with your nipple and the left began rubbing your clit.

He pressed you toward the nearest wall, water flowing down on you in unison with the lewd massage he was giving you. You let go of his cock to support yourself with both arms on the wall. He spread your soft ass cheeks to reach your pussy again and bent his knees to compensate for the difference in height, shoving himself into you once more. This time the sex was faster and sloppier. You were barely holding on to the wall while his thrusts were getting stronger, his hands holding your belly and breasts for stability and closeness.

He moved one hand to draw circles around your completely swollen clit. You were drowning in your lust once again. The heat between your legs increased as your nerves were sending more and more pleasure impulses to your brain. You no longer knew if it was water or your slick that was running down your legs, you were this aroused. His sexy lips were kissing and nibbling at your neck and all that was left for you to do was to moan, and moan, and moan.

As his fingers moved faster, rubbing directly on your little pleasure trigger, you gave out one loud moan and then came, shaking in overstimulation as he kept rubbing your nub for a while after your climax passed. He moved his hands onto your hips, stabilising you properly, and increased his pace into a relentless race toward an orgasm. The wet thwacking of his hips into the softness of your ass kept you just barely awake. Luckily, his arousal was just as strong as yours and he came with a quiet growl, almost pushing you flat into the wall.

Panting and almost slouching the two of you got out of the shower drying each other in a drawn-out ritual. You were enjoying touching every part of his body through the cotton of the fresh warm towel, just as much as reveling in the sensation of his hands doing the same to you. Once dry he lifted you off the ground and carried bridal style to the bed, covering you up with a soft, thick but light duvet of pure goose down. He ran over to the kitchen and came back with water for you both and some snacks. While you were both enjoying the well-earned refreshments, you started to feel like sleep was now not far away. Once you were done, he put the tray on the side table and crawled in under the duvet, snuggling up closely to you.

‘I am so glad you chose to stay here with me. In the morning, I will be able to impress you with the best goddamn breakfast you ever had.’

You smiled and nodded in response while kissing him softly, and a moment later, you were both falling asleep, drifting off to, what hopefully, was a future together.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[sunaluv]

WAGs

WAG: wife or girlfriend of a sports star

Featuring: w.ushijima, a.miya

USHIJIMA

Ushi is dating a rich gyal, I’m all for the head cannon

You first met wakatoshi at a fundraiser event for charities involving schools and sports. You were attending with your fathers company, as he always liked to make huge donations at events like these.

Your family was quite wealthy, as you were soon due to inherit a carefully and meticulously crafted empire built by family generations back.

You floated around the room throughout the whole night, solidifying existing connections while creating new ones. You had spoken to a lot of investors, pro athletes, coaches etc.

You had gotten used to the structured, formal conversations with people, so when you first talked to wakatoshi it was kinda refreshing.

Like… he knocked you out of your automated business trance and you found yourself talking to him like a normal person.

For the rest of the night whenever you could, you naturally gravitated towards him, always asking how he was an stuff.

You talked so much and he asked for your number that night yk to keep in touch. Wink wink wink.

After that day, you frequently sat in on the adlers practice under the guise of being there on your dads behalf. But you started to hide it less when you became official.

People caught on to your relationship bc paparazzi are nosy 😒

The two of you STAY on Pinterest like ‘rich couple aesthetic’ yea that’s u.

The both of you are rich so the gifts have more meaning n stuff ygm.

Wakatoshi is sow CYUTE when it comes to gift giving like he didn’t just buy it because it’s pretty and gold and compliments your skin, he bought for some reason like it goes well with this one outfit he saw you wear in a fashion magazine, or the meaning behind the items ya know

But there’s no deep reason behind the sleek black sports car or the stack of red bottoms or the custom tailored suit he surprised you with bc he remembers your exact measurements

K maybe not the last one but still

He lurrrvs u and he knows u know, even if he isn’t as loud about it like other people.

ATSUMU

Atsumu has a big social media presence, we all know his pr team hates him

You guys got together after he would not stop flirting with you in your comments, DMs, all of it.

A while ago you posted about wanting a man who will make sure you’ll never work again and you best believe half the comments was him shooting his shot

You eventually had to give in

You were going to anyways u just wanted him to sweat a lil

Y’all linked up or whateva and unsurprisingly atsumu stuck to his word, you didn’t have to work for anything as long as you were with him, he’d do anything for you

He even insisted on carrying you into the stadium ‘like the princess you were’ where they were going to play soon, you said no bc that’s too much for u 😔

You best believe you pull up to his games dressed so casually yet so captivating with his (and soon to be your) last name draped across your back

His feed, stories tweets etc are filled with you and honestly the people love it. After watching their favourite setter thirst for you for damn near a year straight, they were happy #y/ntsumu was finally a reality

The wags of the rest of the team have this little best friend group it’s so cute. Just a bunch of pretty girls being spoiled by their athlete boyfriends for no reason at all.

10/10 athlete rich boyfie.

[sophrosynesworld]

Reintroductions

Katsuki Bakugo x Badass! Reader

Let's be honest. When Katsuki Bakugo first laid eyes on you, he wasn’t impressed.

You were just another face in the class, another name on the roster. On the first day at U.A., he scanned the list of students, his eyes narrowing as he read over your profile. Top of your class in academics. That was a given. Your combat scores in the entrance exam were decent—not extraordinary, but solid enough.

During Aizawa's first exam, he couldn’t understand why someone like you had even been accepted into U.A., a school meant for future pro heroes like him. He dismissed you as another academic overachiever, someone who could ace tests but would crumble under real pressure.

To him, you were still a small fish in a pond filled with sharks. And Katsuki Bakugo? He was the megalodon.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Bakugo’s feet come to a halt as he hears someone shout. His crimson eyes narrow, scanning the city streets. A few students pass through the main gates, chattering excitedly about the day ahead, not noticing the commotion. He’s about to brush it off and head inside when he hears the voice again.

“You don’t think you’re better than us, right?”

There you are, surrounded by several older students from another high school, one of them gripping your wrist tightly. Bakugo’s eyes lock with yours, and for a split second, he sees something burning within them.

He doesn’t want to get involved, really. This isn’t his fight, and it’s none of his business. But he knows that if you get hurt and he just stands by, Shitty Hair will be on his ass for the rest of the school year. Bakugo clicks his tongue in annoyance, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Hey, you!” he calls out, drawing their attention to him. Your eyes widen as the guy holding your wrist lets go, the entire group turning to look at your classmate. Bakugo cocks his head slightly, a dangerous smirk tugging at his lips as he locks eyes with the one who grabbed you.

“Got a problem here, buddy?” Bakugo takes a step forward.

You slam your knee into the back of the guy with spiky black hair as hard as you can, feeling the shock ripple through him as he buckles. Before bolting, adrenaline surging through your veins as you run as fast as you can, your heart pounding in your ears.

The older students whip around at your sudden escape, their shock quickly morphing into anger.

“Get her!” a girl shouts, and within seconds, the whole group is after you, their heavy footsteps pounding against the pavement.

Bakugo’s frustration flares as he watches them chase after you like a pack of rabid dogs.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he mutters, his eyes rolling. This was supposed to be quick—one glare, one threat, and they��d back off. But no, you had to make things complicated.

With a growl, Bakugo launches himself forward, catching up to the closest one. He grabs the back of the guy’s uniform and yanks him off his feet, slamming him into the ground with a deafening thud. The boy next to him barely has time to turn before Bakugo’s palm connects with his chest, a small explosion sending him flying into the school fence.

“Stay the hell down,” he snaps, barely sparing them a glance before taking off after the rest of the group.

You sprint down the street, your lungs burning as your legs threaten to give out underneath you. You spot a narrow alleyway up ahead and take a sharp turn, hoping to lose them in the maze of backstreets.

But as you skid around another corner, your heart sinks. Three more of your old classmates are waiting for you, blocking your path with smug grins. You stumble to a stop, eyes darting around for another escape.

Bakugo appears at the mouth of the alley, his expression dark as he glares at the three surrounding you. He’s ready to step in, but before he can move, you’re already throwing yourself into the fight.

He watches, stunned, as you duck under a wild swing, countering with a punch to the guy’s ribs, your knuckles crack against his side with a force that makes him double over in pain. Spinning around, you slam your elbow into the face of another, sending him stumbling back, blood streaming from his nose.

The third one lunges at you, his arm swinging toward your head, but you’re already a step ahead. You sidestep smoothly, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back with a vicious yank. He cries out, his face contorting in agony, but you don’t let up. With a swift kick to the back of his knee, you send him crashing to the ground, your knee pressing against his spine as you twist his arm harder. An expert display of grappling your teacher showed you just days before. How long did you stay up to perfect that?

Bakugo’s jaw drops, the air around him suddenly still. He expected you to be helpless, maybe throw a few weak punches and get overwhelmed. But this?

For the first time, he’s genuinely in awe, unable to look away as you dominate the fight.

The guy you kneed in the ribs tries to get up, but you’re on him in a flash, your foot swinging hard. His head snaps back, blood spraying from his broken nose and splattering up your legs as your school skirt flares in the wind. The others stagger back, clearly rethinking their life choices as they scramble to their feet, clutching their injuries. Your old friends run past Bakugo, shooting confused glances back at you. They can’t believe it either—what happened to the girl who used to cry when they picked on her?

A slow grin spreads across his face as you turn, breathing heavily, your eyes scanning the alley for any more threats. There’s that same fire in your eyes, he saw earlier.

“Thanks for the help back there. I could’ve handled them, though,” you say, wiping the blood off your mouth.

For the first time ever, Katsuki Bakugo is genuinely impressed.

Authors note: mama didn’t raise no bitch.

[jewishvitya]

Pro-Israel people love both invalidating my Jewishness and giving me death threats by proxy.

And like. Their words aren't a magic spell that's going to erase my ethnicity, heritage, and cultural identity. Anti-zionist Jews have existed for as long as zionism has existed. Even if you disagree, I'm not the first Jew to think that the fight for our safety shouldn't mean an ethnostate, a concept that can only be maintained with violence and oppression towards other ethnic groups in the area.

And I have a lot of feelings about these softer definitions of zionism. Because what does this mean in practice. We've been moving places for thousands of years, immigration is not what I'm objecting to. I love this land, it's the only home I know, and my heart breaks for the destruction we cause here. From burning olive trees to poisoning the soil and the water with our weapons. This is not an expression of our connection to our ancestral homeland. This is violence on both people and land.

But the most jarring element of comments like this, especially now, is that they're treatening me with hatred from Gazans. I'm not scared of them right now. I'm scared and horrified for them.

A Gazan person I know lost contact with his family around a week ago and I've been praying for their safety while knowing that they're traumatized beyond anything I can imagine. And safety isn't even a word I can use for them even if they're alive. They've been homeless for a couple of months now, their house destroyed in the bombing. What safety can they find?

If I was in Gaza right now, I wouldn't be worrying about Palestinians learning I'm queer, I'd be worried about Israeli bombardment, about starvation and dehydration due to the siege, and about the diseases caused by the conditions Israel created there. The hostages that returned spoke about how they were more scared of the Israeli attacks than they could be of their captors.

Even ignoring the "they're not a monolith" and "some of them are queer" and "queerphobic people that hate me don't deserve this either" - how are you threatening me with their supposed queerphobia when the worst danger in Gaza right now is us?

You're not saying this because they want to hurt me. You're saying this because you want them to hurt me. They hardly know I exist. You want me to get hurt to satisfy your hatred of me for being against your movement, and to justify your dehumanization of Palestinians. You want me to be proven wrong for seeing them as people who deserve dignity and freedom and happiness. You're the one wishing violence on me. So don't be shy. Own your death threats instead of projecting them.