#anonymous asks

[high5specs]

To Volt, What is wrong with you…why are you blue?

(Please get the reference please-)

You fuckhead, you can't just ask people why they're blue!

How DARE you. Leave the premises NOW. Asking me why I'm blue...

Nah, we're just messin' with you. That's a good reference though.

I have to rewatch that movie sometime!

[mioshisan]

What’s your most go to position?

[leviismybby]

Levi isn’t your husband he’s all mine

Cool. He was inside me like a few days ago tho, so I think you need to give your husband a call.

[copingcopia]

Hi! I’m not sure if you have any rules for request but I see your post about short fluff for Copia.

Since it’s fair/carnival season … what about going with Copia? Him trying to win you one of those giant stuffed animals! It takes him many tries but he gets there !Trying cotton candy for the first time, going on the ferries wheel at night and stealing a kiss!

Pretty please 🥺

Posting/replying to asks has been broken for me for the past few hours pls pls pls work this time this was so fun to write but this site makes me wanna cry sometimes

Thank you so much anon, this was a joy to think about and write. First date with Copia at the fairground. I hope you like it! Also great reminder to clarify request rules in my pinned post.

Just under 1k. Pure fluff. First date at the fair. Awkward first kiss. Gender neutral reader.

"We are staying until I get you what you asked for. I can do this."

Through gritted teeth Copia refused to leave , handing over some more coins more aggressively than he meant to. He knew that these games were always rigged, but he had quite the throwing arm and when you had pointed out the most adorable rat plushy hiding in the back of the booth, there was nothing that could stop him winning it for you.

Well, except for the clearly extremely weighted down cans, crudely painted with skulls which mockingly stared back at him. His aim was exceptional - he didn't miss a throw, but even with a direct hit the cans on the bottom row of the pyramid barely wobbled.

With one throw to go and two cans left, Copia took a deep breath and stepped back from the booth counter. He was completely oblivious to the small crowd which had now gathered, surprisingly invested in his triumph. Copia, after kissing the ball for luck, reeled back and launched it at his target as hard as he could, stumbling forward.

Both of you jumped as the small group of onlookers clapped and cheered, watching both cans clatter to the ground. Never one to waste an audience, Copia raised a fist in celebration then bowed dramatically before presenting you the oversized toy. His pride still fully in tact, he breathes a sigh of relief. But when he starts to explain that rats can't be alone and you need to keep multiple to keep them happy and healthy, you have to drag him away from the booth.

Needing a breather after such physical exertion, you find a bench to rest it after buying some candy floss from a nearby stall. You had been slightly disappointed it was in a tub rather than the classic spun on a stick kind, but since Copia said he had never tried it, it was better than nothing.

Chewing slowly, then grimacing he complained: "There's no substance to it, it's just a cloud that melts!" But that didn't stop him stealing a few more clumps. "A tasty, sugary cloud I guess."

The atmosphere of your evening was relaxed - once you had gotten over the shock of seeing him without any paint on. He could tell you still had to make an effort to say his name rather than his title, but he couldn't deny the warmth in his chest when you did, smiling rather coyly as if you were doing something bad. You hadn't been sure if Copia had meant tonight as a date - in fact, he had quite purposefully avoided the term when asking you - but nervous glances and subtle touches and flirtatious laughter made you certain now that it was.

You were so engrossed in conversation after your brief rest that you hadn't noticed Copia walking you into the line for the Ferris wheel. You had mentioned to him earlier that you had never ridden one. You wouldn't admit to a full blown fear of heights, but the thought of being suspended in the air with nowhere to escape to didn't exactly excite you.

At the peak, Copia expertly distracted you. Pointing out all the things you could see from up there, he held your hand, rubbing in gentle circles as he rambled. As the cooler air started to affect you, you had naturally leaned into each other. As he talked, he would sometimes turn to face you before looking back out at the view. It became harder to concentrate on what he was saying every time he turned back to you, bringing his face within an in inch of yours.

You let him know you were grateful, admitting you were a bit scared of being up here. You snuggled into him and took in the view - he had been right, it was beautiful at night, with all of the sparkling lights below.

"It is a good lesson, I think." Copia began. "A lot of times, when we are scared of something, it is not as bad as we imagine. It is good to, um, face your fears. When doing something scares you, the best course of action is to, uh… well maybe sometimes, um… just do it."

You weren't looking at him, but you could feel his body tense. He sounded strange, slightly unsure of what he was saying and in the following silence you felt him move, maybe fidgeting in his seat. You turned to look at him as the silence began to be a bit uncomfortable but, at the same time, Copia had apparently worked up the courage to take his own advice.

He was aiming for your cheek, but as you turned, he ended up more on the corner of your mouth, pressing against more lip than skin. It lingered a little too long to be considered a friendly peck but not long enough for you to be sure of his intention. Neither of you flinched away from it however, awkwardly waiting for the other to do something. But then, as you looked away from his lips and up into his eyes, there was little room for doubt. Still nervous, but almost pleading, it was your turn to take his advice.

Tentatively reaching up to his neck, you guided him back to you to kiss him properly - firm but slow, mouths hesitant but sincere. While you pulled away and snuggled up to him again, staring out at the horizon, Copia took a few extra seconds to open his eyes. And when he did, he stared at you, barely noticing the slow descent back to Earth.

[bunnis-monsters]

Female siren using readers pussy as an incubator for her eggs please?

Your lover cooed softly, nuzzling her face into your neck as her hand traced over your bulging belly.

“Thank you for keeping my young warm, my beloved…” she said in her smooth, elegant voice. “They are safe here, with you…”

You let out a little sigh, relaxing in the small pool of salt water. “I’d hope so, you’ve been keeping all of the predators away from this cave.”

She laughed, butting her head against your neck affectionately. “But of course… anything to keep you and our young safe…”

You tried not to look at the human skeletons littering the bottom of the pool, instead focusing on your girlfriend’s fingers playing with your sensitive clit.

“So lovely…” she purred, leaving kissing along your neck as one of her webbed fingers pushed into your needy cunt. “Even more lovely now that you’re carrying my eggs…”

She seemed to adore your chubby belly before, but went crazy over how it bulged with her eggs now. She cooed and fussed over you, licking your neck and cheeks affectionally before going back to pleasuring you.

“My sweetheart, all I could ever need…”

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y

[ingeniousmindoftune]

Hi i was wondering if you could write a fic about a virgin with either stack or smoke

“First Time for Everything”

Featuring Stack Moore (Michael B. Jordan) from Sinners (2025)

Reader Insert / Virgin Female OC Style / Modern day

Slow burn | Realism | Adult themes | Emotional depth | Emotional realism | Subtle intimacy

Words: 1,389

She felt the city’s pulse in her bones—the relentless drumbeat that lifted some and swallowed others whole. New Orleans in midsummer wore a heavy, sultry cloak: the air thick with steam, the low murmur of secrets slipping through cracked shutters, and tendrils of cigarette smoke drifting from open bar doors like gray ribbons. Tourists swarmed the French Quarter in camera-bright colors, never noticing the hidden heartbeat beneath the jazz. She did.

She savored the hush after midnight, when street lamps blurred into halos and the clatter of late-night traffic faded to a soft percussion. From the front desk of the Maison de Chartres—a peeling pastel building wedged between a smoky jazz lounge and a voodoo stall that only opened at dusk—she heard saxophone notes spiral down from a second-floor balcony, unwinding like warm jasmine perfume onto the sidewalk. Behind her desk of burnished mahogany, she was the silent anchor for a revolving cast of guests.

They came and went: weary salesmen in damp suits, backpackers with muddy shoes, couples in too-tight formalwear clutching plastic hurricane cups. None of them registered her pale face or the way her dark eyes tracked each arrival and departure. She was the fixed star in a sky of passing comets—always watching, never seen.

Then he appeared.

She didn’t know “Stack Moore” that first humid evening. All she saw was a man who inhabited the air around him as if he’d claimed it by right. He stood at the threshold, tall in a soaked charcoal overcoat, collar turned up against sudden rain, a wool scarf knotted at his throat. His gait was deliberate, silent—an echo of confidence that didn’t need volume to fill the room. His broad shoulders hinted at stories carved into muscle; his eyes, dark and unreadable, never gave anything away for free.

“You the night clerk?” His voice was low, a rumble she felt more than heard, like thunder through a wall.

She looked up from her laptop, mouth parting into a flicker of surprise. “Yes, sir—um, I am.”

He let a brief, crooked smile slip across his face, sharp as broken glass. “Don’t call me ‘sir.’ Ain’t earned it.”

Her fingers trembled as she swiped the check-in tablet. “Of course. Stack Moore?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You know me?”

“Just from the reservation.” Her voice floated in the hush between them.

He studied her for a beat too long, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. “Good,” he said. “I like that.”

Over the next nights, he morphed into a living ghost. Always arriving just before midnight, alone, the hem of his coat dark with rain or something darker. Some evenings a bruise, pale and spreading, bloomed along his jaw; other times faint smears of dried blood crusted under his knuckles. She never asked. She simply slid his room key across the desk with the same controlled calm—her nod the ritual, his departure the final note.

He had money—of that there was no doubt. His matte-black car with tinted windows whispered power. Yet he chose this modest hotel: clean rooms, polished floors, an anonymity that let him slip through shadows. Maybe that’s why she watched, puzzled by his insistence on returning.

One night he lingered longer than usual, leaning against the cherrywood counter as she refilled the lobby candy jar. The tin echoed with each gumdrop she dropped inside. Outside, the street was slick with fresh rain, neon signs winking through puddles.

“You from here?” he asked, voice low.

She paused, lifting a handful of pastel mints. “Born and raised. Lower Ninth—before the flood.”

He nodded slowly, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his coat. “Most people run from something.”

“I’m not most people.” She didn’t look up.

He exhaled, a sound almost like relief. “That scares me.”

His patronage haunted her thoughts as she locked up each evening. What corners of the city swallowed him? Why did he always arrive with that look—eyes like ash, as if he’d just walked away from something burning?

Then came the thunderstorm that cracked everything open. She was about to turn the key in the front door when he burst in, drenched. Water dripped from his hair, his shirt clung to his ribs. A dark bruise marred his temple—angry, raw.

“You okay?” She stepped around the desk before she could think, heart pounding.

He met her gaze, tension coiling in his sternum. “You always this kind?”

She shrugged, cheeks warm. “Not always. Just with you.”

He paused, something in his expression softening, or maybe it was regret. “You ever been touched?” His voice went brittle.

Her breath caught. “What do you mean?”

He closed the distance, voice dropping until only she could hear. “You look like the type who’s never been kissed unless he asked real nice. You ever been with somebody, sweetheart?”

There was no cruelty in his question, only blunt curiosity. She swallowed. “No, I haven’t.”

He blinked, jaw flexing. “I didn’t think so.”

She could have shut him down—called security, turned him away. Instead, she said, “I’m not saving myself.”

His shoulders sagged in a silent concession. “I didn’t think that either.”

“I just never felt… safe. Not really seen.” Her voice was a whisper.

He reached out, brushing a wet curl from her cheek with a tentative thumb. “I see you. More than I should.”

She met his gaze, heartbeat echoing in her ears. “You scared of me?”

He gave a short laugh, bitter and low. “You don’t even know.”

That night they didn’t go to a room. They sat on the worn leather couch in the lobby, sipping mint tea from chipped porcelain cups, listening to raindrops drum against the skylight. He told her about a childhood shaped by alleys and hard choices; she spoke of books that became lifelines and dreams of distant cities. When his fingers found hers across the coffee table, she let him hold her hand.

Their first kiss came weeks later, not in a fevered rush but slow and certain, as if they’d been rehearsing in silence. He returned with styrofoam containers of oxtails and collard greens, a stack of vinyl records crackling with distant trumpets. He teased her about her first taste of spicy gravy; she laughed until her sides ached. He told her her lips made quiet seem holy.

“I want you,” she said one rainy afternoon, her voice soft but unshakeable.

He paused, eyes darkening. “This ain’t just a night. Not with me. I’m not built for perfect.”

“I’m not asking for perfect,” she replied. “I’m asking for you.”

He laid her flat across the bed in Room 307—white sheets smelling faintly of lavender—and tended to her with reverence. Each touch was deliberate. When she winced, he stopped. When tears came, he kissed them away. “You good?” he murmured.

“Never been more sure,” she whispered.

Afterward, they lay tangled in sweat and scent—his heartbeat against her ear, her fingers tracing the scar near his collarbone. He pressed her closer, voice husky. “You ain’t a secret now. You’re mine.”

She simply pressed her lips to his jaw and held onto the stillness.

But nothing golden ever lingers in New Orleans forever. At dawn, the air felt thicker, heavier. He stood by the rain-streaked window, their sheets pooling at his feet like a forgotten promise.

“I ain’t good for you,” he said, eyes on the gray morning sky. “You carry light. I got things chasing me that eat light.”

She rose on one elbow, brushing sweat-damp hair from her face. “Then stop running.”

He turned, pain flickering across his features. “You make it sound easy.”

“I’m not saying it is,” she replied, touching his cheek. “I’m saying I’m not afraid.”

He sank to his knees before her, voice raw. “You should be.”

She leaned down and kissed him—lips soft, determined. “I’m not. Not of you.”

Stack Moore was a sinner.

But to one quiet girl behind a hotel desk, he’d become a beginning. A first. A man who didn’t take but offered—a man who saw her not as something untouched, but someone worthy of careful handling.

Maybe the world wouldn’t understand.

She didn’t care.

Because when you’ve been invisible your whole life, the first person to truly see you becomes unforgettable.

And Stack?

He never looked away.

[angelicbabydolll]

I wanna be fucked. I wanna be fucked so throughly that my thighs still shake after we’re done. I wanna be fucked so badly I ache in the morning. I wanna be cleaned up with their tongue and forced to orgasm again even when I whine that I can’t. I wanna be manhandled and thrown around the room like I’m a doll but still lovingly praised and degraded through all of it. I wanna have bruises and bites all over my body. I want my voice to be horse. I wanna be fucked.

[high5specs]

If we’re taking logistics into consideration…..would that mean Eddie was pregnant with Lux and Volts the father????????

No? NEITHER of us got knocked up, and I got a dick, anyways. Lux came into being in their own way, fuckin' Birth of Venus'd their way into the world.

I would highly advise not speaking about this further.

[mioshisan]

What are you wearing now on this Humpday

[captainmalewriter]

I think you're obsessed with pecs.

And you're NOT??? 😟

Pecs have always been my favorite part of the male body. Honestly, I believe it's practically a universal thing to enjoy a nice pair of tits of your preferred gender and anyone that says otherwise is probably lying.

Like, c'mon, if I had a rack of thick, hairy honkers I'd be admiring/manhandling them nonstop. It's literally a stress ball right on the chest!

Even if not my own, I'm always beyond grateful to have an opportunity to caress and worship an awesome pair of pecs!!

And when I say worship, I mean worship like I am a fucking whore for a man's chest, I could literally spend a full 24 hours just doing this:

And one of the best part about pecs is that you don't need to touch to appreciate them. You can see them sweater puppies in action when a man is running, dancing, driving, practically anything!!

Honestly? I love pecs of all kinds of sizes, colors, hairiness, thickness, etc etc etc. If it's a man's chest, I'm already in love. Pecs are pecs in my book!

Although I will admit, there is one particular aspect to pecs that I can simply NEVER get enough of... Can you guess what it is?

P-E-C. B-O-U-N-C-E.

PEC BOUNCE!!

I just can't get enough of it! It's like food for my soul at this point haha.

So anon, have I convinced you? C'mon, come join the dark side, we got nice pecs here. Soon enough, you'll become obsessed too! All you'll think about is pecs! In fact, I bet it's already working.

You need to touch them... you need to grow your own... you need to bounce them... Pecs, pecs, pecs...

Anyways, I'll stop rambling now lmfao if you're a man with a chest, give your pecs a good squeeze for me ok? Please? You have a SEXY pair of pecs and they need love too! If you can, give them a little bounce too! It's good for you ;)

[promptsbytaurie]

you don't have to do this but maybe some touch starved character B and character A who's love language is physical touch (if that makes sense)

my heart melts for that

of course!! sorry this took a while, it's been buzzing around in my brain forever !!

touch starved A + physical touch B

quotes:

"Is this okay?" "... Please."

"I just feel so empty and aching all the time and—are you hugging me?"

"What do you need?"

"I don't deserve it, I don't deserve this."

"Oh, love. Come here."

"They flinch away why I try and touch them but I see them hugging themselves when they're scared. I don't know how to help." "They'll come to you when they're ready."

"Can I have a hug?"

"Tell me whenever you get overwhelmed, okay?"

"Please, I promise I'll be better, please—" "I'm not going to hurt you, I swear."

prompts:

A is touch starved but B just thinks they don't like physical affection

5 times A flinched away from B's touch and one time they asked for it

The only touch A has ever had is violent—until B

A is the toughest, most resilient person B knows. It isn't until one vulnerable moment that B realizes how much A just needs to be held

A thinks they don't deserve to be touched and B works very hard to prove them wrong

B touches so casually (arms over shoulders, holding hands, hugging from behind) and A doesn't know how to handle it

more:

A - they feel guilty for not being able to give B what they want - feeling hollow, like their body is empty up to their skin - buzzing - electricity when they're touched - they both hate and love physical contact - emotionally drained - they shrink away from touch but they long for it from afar

B - they feel guilty for wanting something A can't give them - always repressing the urge to hug, hold, or even just touch A - can always tell when A wants it but won't give in to themselves - longing - prioritizes A's needs over their own - maybe doesn't allow themselves to feel alone too

i hope this helps!! thank you for the request, it was really fun to think about :]]]

[bunnis-monsters]

Hi there I hope your doing alright and i hope all your haters stub their pinkie toe for the rest of the year!

Can i get a high elf a real sophisticated kinda snobby man being obsessed over his fem human readers soft frame in a sort of primal way?

Sexy time with the fancy man please!

A/N: I really liked this concept, maybe I’ll do a part 2 if peope want it!

It wasn’t often that people like him entered your bakery.

Elves in the area were known for being pretty snobby, refusing food touched by human hands even if they were starving.

So to say that you were surprised when a noble elf walked into your bakery and stood in front of your counter was an understatement.

“H-hello, how can I help you? All of the baked goods here are freshly made with ingredients sourced f-“

He cut you off his a wave of his hand, staring at you for a moment before speaking.

“… I’ll take all of it.”

You were so confused… an elf of his status was biting into one of your pastries, staring at you as he sat at one of the small tables in your bakery. It was an unusual sight… and it was scaring off your regulars.

This happened weekly for a few months. The elf would walk in, but all of your goods, the eat a few before leaving.

It made you a lot of money and helped you gain notoriety within wealthy human circles, but it still unnerved you.

What reason did he have for being there? As a child, you had always been warned to not mingle with elves too much.

They lived much longer lives, so they didn’t see human life as something that should be cherished since humans died within a century of being born.

But… you didn’t think this elf was out to harm you. He payed for your goods like any other customer would and never bothered you besides staring… so what was the harm in letting this continue?

Well you would find out one evening when he arrived later than usual, his eyes scanning your form in an almost hungry way.

You were just about to close up shop, but let him in hoping to sell your remaining pastries. Once he was inside, you switched over the open sign to close.

It seemed to please him that he had some sort of special privilege, allowed to stay when others wouldn’t be able to.

“Good evening, my dear. Usually I would be buying your lovely pastries… but I’m here for… something different today.”

Before you could ask what he wanted, the elf was already walking behind the counter and getting in your personal space. He removed the glove from his hand, gently caressing your chubby cheek.

“I’ve never felt the urge to… touch a human woman before. But… you certainly have brought out a different side of me.”

His touch was gentle, as if he were caressing the face of a goddess he had come to worship. You could feel your cheeks getting warm from the praise, not sued to being ass as something tantalizing and tempting to someone as beautiful as him.

“Y-your words are very kind, sir… b-but my shop is closing soon,” you answered shyly, looking away from his intense gaze.

“Oh, my little cherub… shh, this shop of yours is open just for me, is it not? You could have locked the doors and shooed me away, yet I am here.”

Before you could process it, you were being lifted up onto the counter, your dress slid up by his lithe hands so he could gaze at your plump thighs.

“So soft, gods what a beauty…”

It was kind of cute, the way his elf ears twitched as he looked at your body in awe, as if he had never seen a woman like you before.

His cheeks were red, his eyes hazy as he growled lowly before leaning forward to inhale your scent. His body shook with need, and with a strength you didn’t think the lithe man had, he pinned you down and rutted against you.

You could feel his hard cock pushing into your clothes pussy, as if trying to fuck you through you panties. His need for you was primal, animalistic, he was almost drooling.

Before he could rip off your underwear and take you there, he bit down on his lip, his fingertips nearly bruising your hips as he tried to calm himself.

“My apologies, love… it’s just so hard to… control myself when I’m around you…”

He kissed along your neck, biting down on a sensitive spot, causing you to whine out in surprise.

“Shh, my darling… come. Let us retire to my home. We have… much to discuss.”

Part 2?

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @buckoothecow @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

What fish would be improved with teeth? What fish shouldn't have teeth?

Hmm, honestly I think it would be super funny if seahorses or trumpetfish had teeth (and also give seahorses a decently moveable jaw). What if they went around making perfectly circle-shaped bite marks everywhere, like shallow water cookiecutter sharks? It would be priceless!

I don’t really have a fish that I think shouldn’t have teeth! Maybe… whale sharks. I reckon they don’t have much use for their mouth teeth! Also parrotfish shouldn’t have as many teeth as they have for sure.

[yandereunsolved]

Yan-er MORE SELF AWARE INCORRECT QOUTES-

Criston: *appears on the episode*

Friend: Tell me something about this man

Reader: The fact that this man

Reader: *stands next to the tv and points at the man* THIS MAN cannot guard a woman without falling inlove is ✨imaculate✨

Friend: Rebound?

Reader: Close enough

Criston:....

Okay. Okay. I'll give you more (yandere) self-aware incorrect asoiaf quotes.

── . ★

Book Aegon II: "What the fuck are you doin'!?"

Show Aegon II: stripping for watcher. "Gettin' laid." self-righteous smirk.

── . ★

Yandere Viserys: "Kiss meh baby~" dies.

── . ★

Maegor: "What are they doing?"

Reader: thinking about all the ways they could convince him to bottom.

── . ★

Reader: looks at side character. "Mhm, smash."

Yandere Aemond: stabs the side character in the heart.

Reader: purses lips. looks at another character. "He's very attractive?"

Yandere Aemond: kills that character as well.

Reader: "Stop it!"

Yandere Aemond: "No."

Reader: huffs.

Yandere Aemond: "You're even cuter when you're displeased."

── . ★

Yandere Criston: "I'm just a rebound!? I am not just a rebound."

Reader: "So jealous."

Yandere Criston: "So—you've dated other men, women, people!?"

Reader: "Wow, you aren't even listening."

Yandere Criston: goes into a detailed rant about how he will kill all of the watcher's exes.

[bambi-kinos]

What’s up with paul obsession with sex?? Im seeing many posts about paul being asked different things and he doing a 180• and answering about sex?

Some people are just naturally more horny than others. Paul is just kind of like that and always would be no matter where his life went.

Paul was initiated into a world of no-limits sex when he was 18 years old and he was made a man through the introduction to truly wild sexual expression in Hamburg. He was introduced to sexual ideas and scenes that he never imagined existed and would probably shock even us internet people.

Once he knew that kind of horny could be on tap, there's no way he was going back to an ordinary life of a wife who put out once every 2 weeks. He is telling the truth when he said he wanted to be a rockstar so he could have sex with a lot of girls. The Hamburg residency was not just musical, it was also sexual and Paul put a lot of effort into studying music and sex. And yes if you want to be good at it then you have to make it a discipline and a study and you have to practice. A lot of Paul's sexual interests were first practiced on brothel girls who were up for anything and he clearly learned a lot.

His best mate was John Lennon, a guy notoriously against restrictions. John encouraged Paul's sexual expression as he did for thousands if not millions of women all over the globe. There are lots of people with stories about spending the night with John and coming out as different people on the other side.

Paul is terrified of being alone but not willing to commit to true intimacy. Sex is an easy way to have someone's physical company for a few hours but he can jettison a sex worker the moment she becomes too much trouble. Some people have emotional support dogs, Paul has emotional support hookers.

Paul demands artificial closeness where he is benefitting materially from his time and mental investment but he still controls the field and sets the terms. This defines most if not all of the non-Beatle relationships in his life. See: Nancy Shevell, Jane Asher, Robert Fraser, Jane Asher's mother. All of these relationships while supposedly "deep" and "close" all end up mirroring Paul's patronage of prostitutes. They are for his emotional and/or material benefit and he will end them the moment they become inconvenient no matter how personally fond of them he may be. See: Heather Mills, Jane Asher's family when she broke up with him.

Sex is an emotional and material benefit for Paul that doesn't require a lot of work or investing from him because he has something they want. For sex workers this is his money and his company; for regular people it's his money and his company and the illusion that they have a special relationship with him. Paul even gets an additional bit of chuff from selling this illusion and he enjoys their emotional back and forth while knowing he has the power to end it at any moment. Very reassuring for a lonely control freak. All of it is a form of prostitution.

Coping with his own PTSD from Beatlemania and a traumatic upbringing. Paul, like the other Beatles, was sexually assaulted, chased, yanked, punched, spat on, forcibly kissed, and stalked by deranged fans. This is on top of his childhood with abusive parents that couldn't decide what they actually wanted to teach their kids.

Frankly I think that Paul's sex obsession is a response to the parentification he experienced when Mary died and responsibility for the entire household dropped on him all at once. See the "but what will we do without her money" quote which was the exact moment that Paul realized he was now head of the household no matter what Jim said or did. Sex becomes a comfort/distraction/break/escape as a result. Remember, Paul was partially driven into John's arms because Jim was beating Paul at home.

John was very horny and Paul mirrored his actions and desires. John and Paul were not just mirroring each other musically or emotionally, they mirrored each other sexually as well. The timing of Linda's first pregnancy implies to me that Paul wanted to try for a baby because Yoko was pregnant. The end result was Mary.

John mentored him sexually and eased him into uncomfortable but still safe situations like the group wanks to further mold Paul's desires in a direction John liked. He encouraged Paul's revealed preference for enjoying feminization by putting him in the position of being John's girlfriend/wife, something John likely picked up on when Paul fed him toast as a teenager. Many of Paul's sexual habits and needs were shaped and fostered by John into something that complimented his own. That is why John took Paul to Paris to play the part of "Mrs. Lennon on honeymoon" and not Cynthia. Remember that Paul affirmed John's masculinity in their relationship by putting John's package at the center of this photograph of them coming out of the Louvre:

John is obsessed with sex and has a high sex drive, Paul drove his higher to compete and match this, they were fucking like bunnies, the end. Now John is gone and part of the wreckage left by his passing is that Paul has an unbearable sex drive and no one he can trust to exhaust him properly. They learned how to fuck girls together and then how to fuck each other, together. The most formative relationship of Paul's life was centered around sex.

None of this is a shitpost btw I am being completely sincere with all of this.

[high5specs]

Eddie!

*Pulls up a black cat.*

Cat?

Cat.

It's cute. Don't really know what else you want me to say.