#but it's okay; i think those rough edges can be smoothed out :)

[dlartistanon]

"Look, it's us"

[alltheirdamn]

Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader

Flowers

Summary: Joel decides to surprise you with something nice, but you're not in the mood. He's quick to fix your attitude, and put you in your place. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 4k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, established relationship, bickering and banter, explicit & filthy language, brat taming, reader has an attitude x1000, face slapping, hair pulling, kissing, ball worship, ball sucking, deepthroating, dabble of degredation, praise!kink, facial, f! masturbation, cumplay, rough (and soft) unprotected piv sex, creampie, some fluffy moments, just two idiots in love (even though they can be cranky) A/N: okay okay, i couldn't get enough of them. this is just pure filth, so suck it up buttercups. all my love, always xoxo

Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Part I

“What the fuck are those?” You asked, glaring at Joel as he walked into the stables.

He had a small bouquet of wildflowers gripped in his large hand, a soft grin teasing his lips. You were too focused on getting Mac prepped for a ride to the fields and in no mood for pleasantries. Joel stuck his hand out to you, offering the flowers with a nonchalant shrug.

“What do y’fuckin’ think they are? Christ, you’re in a fuckin’ mood,” he huffed. 

“Only ‘cause you’re getting on my last nerve.”

“Ain’t I always doin’ that?” He teased.

“Oh, shut up.”

You brushed past him, hauling Mac’s leather saddle off the hook on the wall and over to where Mac rested in the stall. Joel followed, his large shadow covering yours as you settled the saddle over Mac’s body. With a loud huff, you turned to Joel, seeing the flowers held tight to his chest. 

“Y’want them or not?” He asked, obviously irritated with your reaction. 

“If I take them, will you go away?”

You held out a hand, waiting for him to give them to you. Joel looked at your hand before sliding his dark gaze up to your eyes. It was a nice gesture, you’ll give him that, but you were running out of daylight to do what you needed before it got too late. 

“Depends,” he mused. “Gonna give me a kiss and say ‘thank you’?”

You rolled your eyes, flexing your fingers as a silent command for the bouquet. 

“Will you go away if I do?”

“Depends on how good y’kiss me,” Joel quipped.

“I hate you, you know that?” You deadpanned.

“Whatever y’say,” he chuckled, tugging you forward by your belt loop. “Fuckin’ brat, c’mere.”

Pressing your body against his, you cupped his scruff-covered jaw and dragged him to your lips. You could feel Joel’s smile against your mouth as you deepened the kiss, your tongue running over his bottom lip as he pulled you closer. Every hard edge of his body molded against yours, and the kiss quickly became consuming and greedy. Oh, it was so easy to get distracted by him. Peeling yourself from his lips, you lightly swatted at his chest and grabbed for the flowers. 

“Good enough for you, old man?”

“Always good enough for me, darlin’,” Joel smiled, kissing you on the forehead. 

“Good. Now, can y’leave me alone?” You asked. “I got things to do.”

You placed the flowers on the stool by the stall doors and came around the other side of Mac. You worked at securing the tie straps under his stomach, tightening them until the saddle stayed firm in place. Mac shifted slightly to the side, his neck knocking into your shoulder as you straightened back up. Looking over Mac, you saw Joel smoothing a hand over his coat, his eyes watching you curiously. 

“So,” he drawled. “Where we goin’?”

“We aren’t goin’ anywhere,” you corrected. “I’m goin’ down to the fields to check on the crops.”

“Lemme come with,” he offered. “I’ll be good company.”

You patted Mac on the jaw before walking back over to Joel, shoving him gently out of the stall. 

“You’ll be a pain in my ass,” you argued.

You braced your hands against his chest for one last shove, but Joel was quick to grab your wrists and pin them at your sides. He had you trapped in his grip, and you squirmed under the heavy gaze that looked down upon you. You knew that look, and you loved it. 

“Reckon I didn’t fuck y’hard enough last night,” Joel said, his voice dropping an octave. “Y’got quite the attitude today.”

You lifted your chin in defiance, giving him a tightlipped smile. It only made his hands squeeze your wrists tighter, the friction of his fingers against your skin burning deep into your flesh. Taunting Joel was easy; it was fun getting him all riled up, and you were really fucking good at pushing his buttons. 

“Whatcha gonna do ‘bout it, Joel?” You dared. “Y’gonna fuck me right here in the stables?”

“You askin’ me to? ‘Cause I will, darlin’. Have you pinned to the ground ‘fore you can even blink.”

“Y’got bad knees, Miller. Not sure that’s a smart idea,” you teased.

Joel stepped forward, crowding you into the wooden panels of the stable walls. His face was a breath away from yours, and you arched into his touch every time his mouth inched closer. You chased his lips, wanting the taste of smoke on your tongue, but he never let himself get close enough. 

“I swear to God, some days y’really know how to piss me the fuck off.”

“It’s what I do best,” you smiled, rolling your tongue along your bottom lip.

Joel’s eyes flicked down to your mouth, watching you push your bottom lip into an innocent pout. He unwound his hands from around your wrists and crowded you against the wall. With his height towering over you, you had to strain your neck to look at his eyes, the soft brown dissolving into a storm of onyx as his pupils engulfed his irises. 

Oh, you were in for it now. 

“Y’know what I do best, darlin’?” Joel challenged. “Reckon I’m real fuckin’ good at teachin’ you how to shut the fuck up. So, y’better get on them pretty lil’ knees ‘fore I force you onto them.”

Every threatening word was a straight bolt of pleasure to your core, and you indulged in his commands, sliding to your knees without a single complaint. Responsibilities be damned, you’d happily obey him when he ordered you around like this. Tilting your head up, you batted your lashes at Joel, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Look at you listenin’ to me like a good lil’ slut,” Joel hummed.

Your fingers teased their way up his denim jeans, tracing over the thick muscles of his thighs. You’d never grow tired of exploring the rugged plains of his body. 

“Maybe I like doin’ what you ask,” you quipped. “I’m still damn good at sassin’ you, though. Don’t y’ever forget that, Miller.”

His hand smoothed down the hair at the crown of your head, petting you softly as he admired you. His softness was always alluring, but you knew you’d make him break the facade until he destroyed you in whichever way he pleased. And your body was begging for it now.

“Trust me, I ain’t ever forgettin’ that. So long as y’never forget I’m the one that gets to silence you for a goddamn minute.”

“Only a minute?” You teased. Bait and switch. “That’s how long y’gonna last, huh?”

Joel’s fingers tightened in your hair, yanking your head back until you strained against his firm grip. Bending slightly, he leveled you with a heavy stare before sending his palm flat against your cheek. You winced at the pain, but it all dissolved into a flood of arousal between your legs. 

“Start undoin’ my belt,” he demanded, straightening back to his full height. “Y’got me real pissed off now, darlin’.”

You gave him a coy smirk before sliding your hands over the leather of his belt, working at undoing the large metal belt buckle that situated itself under the soft pudge of his stomach. The coarse hair collecting over his navel tickled your fingertips as you dragged his jeans down his thick thighs. The black boxers hugging his hips strained against the bulge of his hardened cock, the fabric damp from precum. 

“Ain’t got all day,” Joel huffed, bucking his hips forward.

“Yeah, me neither,” you grumbled to yourself. 

Joel’s hand cupped your jaw, his fingers squeezing your chin hard. You blinked up at him, watching his brows furrow together as he considered your slight attitude. 

“What was that, darlin’?” He questioned.

“You’re wastin’ my time,” you said, voice heightened. “Can you get your dick out so I can get back to my responsibilities?”

Joel found that amusing, huffing a small laugh before hooking his thumbs into the band of his boxers. His cock sprang free, the tip red and dripping with precum. You licked your lips instinctively as you inched your body forward. Reaching for his thick length, you parted your lips to take the head of his cock into your mouth. 

“Nuh uh, not yet,” Joel tutted. 

He gripped the base of his cock with his large hand, stroking his length slowly and deliberately. You stared up at him, confused, your core throbbing as you watched him pump his cock with a devilish grin spreading across his face. He lifted his cock toward his navel, presenting you with his balls that hung low between his thighs. 

“Suck on them,” he ordered. “Let me see how sloppy you can get. C’mon darlin’.”

Your knees scrapped over the hay-covered floor as you got closer, and you pressed soft kisses against his firm thighs. You had just as much power as he did, even beneath him. Dragging your tongue up his inner thigh, you pressed your nose against the crease of his pelvis, inhaling his musky scent before licking your way down toward his balls. Joel’s body twitched at the sudden sensation of your mouth, a low hum escaping his lips as you suctioned around the velvety skin. 

“There we go, that’s it. Look at how pretty y’look between my legs,” Joel praised. “Keep puttin’ that filthy mouth to use.”

You whined at his words, preening at the gentle praises he gave. You took turns worshipping each, alternating between languid strokes of your tongue and soft suckling motions that made him shudder above you. Bringing a hand up, you cupped them together, your jaw aching as you pulled them into the warmth of your mouth. Joel continued pumping himself, his fingers occasionally brushing over you as he gripped the base of his cock. 

“Mhmm, just like that. Ain’t givin’ you my cock yet, so keep it up. Get sloppy with it, darlin’.”

Planting one hand on his hip, you pulled away with a trail of drool falling from your lips. If he wanted sloppy, then you’d give him sloppy. Gathering enough saliva over your tongue, you sent a glob of spit over them. Your mouth was immediately back on him, tongue gliding across the supple skin now glistening with your drool. The further you nuzzled into the space between his legs, the stronger his musk became, the manly scent of him invading your senses as you drank him in. 

“Y’like that, darlin’? Got your whole face pressed against my balls like a good lil’ slut.”

“Yes,” you moaned, your words muffled and desperate. 

You teased your way upward, letting your tongue flick against the base of his cock. Joel tensed up, his hand halting its deliberate strokes. He didn’t protest to your wandering mouth, so you continued your movements further up the underside of his cock, tracing your tongue over the thick veins that ran up his hardened length. 

“Greedy lil’ thing just achin’ for my cock, huh? Bet those pretty panties are just drenched right now,” he teased. 

You gave him a tiny nod before he guided the head of his cock between your parted lips. The tang of precum coated your tastebuds as you drank him in, widening your jaw until it slackened. Joel stuffed himself inside your mouth, pressing himself deeper until he nudged the back of your throat. Drool rolled down your chin as he rocked forward, knocking against your throat with each thrust. You sputtered around him, swallowing around his length to keep your breathing even. Curling your hair between his fingers, Joel held you firm at the base of his cock; your nose smashed into his pelvis as he kept you motionless against him. 

“Swear y’look so fuckin’ beautiful when your lips are wrapped around me, darlin’. I fuckin’ love seein’ you choke on my cock.”

Your eyes rolled back, the words spilling from his lips sounding like sweet honey as they poured over you, mixing with the pleasure building inside your core. You needed release just as badly as he did, your body thrumming with desire. Steadying your gaze up, you connected with Joel’s heavy stare, his eyes hooded and dark. Let’s play with fire, you thought as you snaked one hand down your abdomen. With your mouth still full of Joel’s cock, you worked at the button of your jeans, shoving your hand past the waistband of your underwear. He had been right… you were drenched. Your fingertips glided over your clit with ease, the friction of your touch sending shockwaves through your veins. A small cry muffled out from your lips, the vibration of the sound making Joel choke on his breath. 

“Christ,” he exhaled. “Always so damn needy, ain’t you?”

Joel ripped himself from your mouth, a slew of heaving breaths exhaling from your lips as you tried to fill your lungs again. Joel’s cock hung in front of your face, covered in your drool and painfully hard. Your fingers worked faster against your aching bud, your eyes fluttering shut as you neared the precipice of release. You knew he was close to release, too, and you lapped at the slit along the head of his cock playfully.

“I know you’re needy, too, Joel,” you teased. “C’mon.”

He groaned at your words, his hand wrapping around his length again, pumping himself fast and unsteady. The muscles under the soft skin of his stomach flexed, his balls tightening up as his orgasm neared. You held onto the white-hot pleasure boiling under your skin, waiting for the moment to come undone with him. 

“Please…please,” you begged, lips curling into a lazy smile.

Joel smacked a hand against the wall behind you, bending over your kneeling body as he pumped hot ropes of his cum over your face. It spattered against your wet lips, your cheeks, your nose…completely defiling you in the most perfect way. Your orgasm crashed against the surface, and you cried out as your core clenched through each ripple that fluttered through you.

“Fuck,” Joel groaned, crouching down. 

He cupped your face between his hands, his eyes hazy and tired as he admired you. Sweat clung to his brow, and a few curls stuck at his scalp, but he looked so handsome. Yes, he pissed you off… a lot… but he was yours. 

“I love you,” he muttered before pulling you in for a kiss.

You lapped at his tongue, the salty taste of your saliva coating over his mouth as you deepened the kiss. Joel’s tongue swept across your lips, collecting droplets of his cum with each pass. He fed his release to you, spit alternating between your open mouths as you pulled him closer. His knees scraped across the ground as he knelt in front of you, pinning your body to his chest as he wrapped a strong arm around your back. 

“Think my sweet girl deserves a lil’ attention now,” Joel whispered as his mouth trailed down your neck. 

Slowly, he guided you onto your back, the dust from the ground tickling your nose, and it kicked up around you. It didn’t take much wrestling to get your pants off, nor did you fight Joel when he hooked your legs over his shoulders and pressed himself against your entrance. 

“Forgot somethin’,” he said, peering up at you slyly.

Joel leaned over your body, brushing his fingers through the cum still covering your face. Collecting it on the pads of his fingers, he brought them down to his cock, coating his length in the sticky release he had spilled onto you only moments ago. You quirked a brow at him, watching him grip the base of his cock as he readied himself to push into you.

“Ain’t wastin’ a goddamn drop, darlin’. Wanna see this perfect pussy leakin’ with my cum.”

Then he was splitting you open with one hard thrust, forcing the air to whoosh out of your lungs. His cock slipped in and out of you with ease, lewd noises radiating around you as your slick mixed with his cum as he quickened his speed. Your back arched off the ground, your mind dizzying with the feeling of him pressing against that sweet spot inside you.

“This what you needed?” Joel grunted. “Needed that bratty lil’ attitude fucked outta you?”

“I still can’t fuckin’….stand you,” you gasped. 

“Ain’t gotta stand me, darlin’. Just needa take my cock whenever I want, and thank me for it.”

Joel bowed over your body, your legs aching as he pried them open wider. His cock speared into you, stretching you to an unbearable place as you writhed beneath him. Somewhere in the distance, you heard Mac huff loudly, no doubt impatient and waiting for you to return. Fuck, you were losing track of time, but with Joel’s weight pressed against you…none of it mattered.

“Y’gonna thank me?” Joel demanded. 

“Fuck me harder, and maybe I will.”

Joel’s eyes bore into you, flickers of hunger cresting over his dark irises. You knew that look—you loved that. You loved that moment right before he snapped; you loved knowing all your bratty efforts paid off. Yes, he bugged the shit out of you most of the time, but he was always yours in every single way. Your entire being had molded into his; your body, your heart…every part of you loved him.

“Harder, huh?” Joel smirked. “Think you deserve it after all the shit you pulled earlier? Don’t think so, darlin’. M’gonna fuck ya’ real nice and slow. Take my time with you.”

“Joel,” you whined.

He dismissed your pleas as he continued to rock into you, his pace slowing to an agonizing pace. You tried bucking your hips higher, coaxing him back into the tempo he had started with, but it was no use. With his meaty hand wrapped around one of your calves, Joel curled you into the ground, your body resting on its side while he curved himself into you. This was how you both slept at night—spooned into each other and bodies melded together. But now his breath was hot against your neck, and his cock was lazily thrusting in and out of you…and you were seeing stars explode behind your eyes. 

“This feel good, darlin’?” Joel whispered in your ear.

“Feels so fuckin’ good, Joel,” you sighed.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, his hand splayed across your stomach, drawing you even closer to his warm chest. You reached around his neck, craning your neck far enough to capture his lips, the sounds of your pleasured cries dying on his searching tongue. Joel panted into your open mouth, his breath ragged and strained as he bucked into your pliant body. 

“Ain’t gonna last much longer,” he groaned, nipping at your bottom lip. “Want you squeezin’ my cock when I fill you full of my cum.”

Your moan was loud enough to echo through the stables, his words ricocheting through your body as your orgasm built inside your core. Joel’s thrusts were shallow, but with each snap of his hips, he buried himself deeper. God, you could feel him in your fucking stomach; his thick length rubbing against your slick walls until you tensed up with the need for release.

“Just like that, Joel. Please…just like that,” you whimpered.

“I know, darlin’. I know,” he crooned. “Bein’ such a good girl for me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, a cry of relief tearing out of your chest as you unraveled in his arms. Your core clenched around him, just as he asked, your sex milking him through every wave of your release. Arousal leaked down your inner thighs, your skin slippery and wet as you felt Joel topple over the edge behind you. With an animalistic groan, he pumped you full of his cum, painting your insides with his release. 

Your head tilted back against his shoulder, your chests rising and falling with labored breaths. Joel curved his hand over your breasts, cupping them gently as he planted soft kisses down the side of your neck. 

“Where’s my thank you?” He mumbled into your skin, chuckling softly. 

You swatted at his hand as he toyed with your nipples, letting a soft laugh bubble out of you. Rolling to the side, you peeled away from his body, his softening cock slipping from inside you. Propping yourself on your knees—careful not to get dust or hay in places you didn’t want them—you tousled his salt and pepper hair, watching a grin split across his face.

“I love you, Joel,” you started. “And thank you for the flowers, but you’re still a pain in my fuckin’ ass.”

He propped himself up on one elbow, admiring your messy hair and blissed-out features, the amber color of his eyes drinking you in. 

“I could be fuckin’ your ass,” he tossed back.

“Fuck off!” You laughed, shoving his chest.

Gathering your clothes from the ground, you pieced yourself back together, shimming your jeans over your hips before sidestepping your way around his body and back into Mac’s stall. Mac paced around the stall, tossing his head back and forth as you neared him. You patted his side roughly before readjusting his saddle. Glancing over at the stool, your heart warmed at seeing the array of wildflowers nicely bundled together, a sweet reminder of the simplicity of Joel’s admiration. He wasn’t a man of many words, at least not the ones that sounded nice, but his efforts proved his love for you. 

“S’alright, darlin’,” Joel said, his body leaning against the doorway. “You can be nice for once and appreciate somethin’ chivalrous.” 

“Guess I never took you to be the type,” you shrugged with a grin.

“And we’re back to bein’ a lil’ brat,” he huffed.

Walking his way toward you, Joel scooped you into his arms, dipping his head low enough to draw you in for a slow, languid kiss. You raked your nails through his sweat-dampened curls, holding him close to you as you breathed in his whiskey scent. 

“C’mon,” he urged. “Let’s make sure my girl gets her responsibilities done for the day. I got plans for us later.”

“Oh?” You questioned.

“Mhmm. Got real big plans for you.”

You rolled your eyes, returning to Mac and lifting yourself into the stirrup. Joel’s hands grabbed onto your hips, helping guide you up. You adjusted your body in the saddle, readying yourself to take off, but Joel quickly kept Mac from moving. Before you could even protest, he was climbing up behind you, shoving himself against your back and crowding your body in the saddle. You tossed an annoyed look over your shoulder, only to be met by his usual lazy grin. 

This fucking man, you thought to yourself.

“I’m never gettin’ a moment of peace from you, am I?” You grumbled.

“Damn right, darlin’. Now, lead the way.”

You kicked your heels against Mac, guiding him out through the stables. The sunset colored the sky in lilac and soft pink hues as you and Joel rode into the fields, his hands tightly wrapped around your waist and his heart beating against your back. You’d never tire of moments like this, even if they all started with a few bickering words and filthy promises.

You loved your grumpy cowboy and the life you shared.

[neetily]

First time request! Magic pocket pussy with Sam if possible <3 loved loved loved Alex's and Sebastian's versions that I'm requesting Sam! Collecting them all like pokemon.

I don't have any particular details in mind, maybe something desperate, needy, feral on Sam's part but he's too shy and sweet to act upon it? Maybe?

Whatever you'll write, I'm positive I'll love it haha

ough... perfect request to begin with, thank u so much for ur patience in waiting for me to get to it!! magic pocket pussy is one of my favourite tropes to write about, even if it's a bit obscure hehe... u can have so much fun with it !!

hope you enjoy this piece <3 !!

— ✧ warnings: magic pocket pussy, sex toy, dubcon, brief cunnilingus, masturbation (m solo), pussyjob, premature ejaculation — ✧ word count: 2,461 — ✧ genre: smut (18+)

— ✧ A/N: i used the word "fap" exactly once in this writing so if u hate it im sorry but i think it's so sexy. that's all :D...

When desperate times call for desperate measures, you often find yourself in the kind of situation that you never thought possible, right? Sam, too, finds himself in the midst of a certain predicament. A particularly vexing position that he's not sure how to resolve in the most effective manner, torn between his heart and his brain. And to be honest, he wouldn't have even been placed in such a messy state of affairs if it wasn't for his previous bout of indecision too, just like now, chewing at his bottom lip as he gently squeezes the soft object between his sweaty palm. Anxiety churns thickly in his chest as he remain idle, choking on thin air as he stares blanky off into space.

Except his mind isn't anywhere near as blank as his face lets on, thoughts racing, one after another— should he? He really shouldn't... He's not dumb, he knows what the right answer is, it's just that he might be stupid enough not to take it is all.

On one hand, the toy between his fingers is the closest he can get to you at the moment, lest he somehow grows enough courage to confess his true feelings in the hopes of getting a single sweet taste of the real deal; but that hasn't happened this far. And he doubts it'll pass him by soon. And on the other hand, fuck, he knows that what his heart—and his rock hard cock—wants more than anything right now is wrong. God, it'd be so fucking wrong, wouldn't it? Just terrible of him to follow through with his wishes, all because he's too chicken to ask you out on a date.

... And yet.

He's not proud of himself, giving in to his more baser emotions as the magic pocket pussy stares back at him, even just catching sight of the soft pink toy causes his cock to twitch against his pants, a prompt hiss escaping him at the rough contact between his leaking tip and underwear. You need to know that he's sorry, that he's no better than those he means to beat when it comes to obtaining your affections— he's just better at hiding his misdeeds. Right, yeah. That's all. It should be okay if he just... Doesn't let you know, right? He's just curious is all, and you're so kind hearted that you'd probably understand his inability to withhold himself when it comes to you, even just the mere imitation of you, right? After all, he's just a man at the end of the day.

A needy, desperate, cheek chewing, anxious leg bouncing man, allowing his thumb to smooth over the outer lips of the faux toy with seedy intent. And his reaction is almost immediate, spare the way his mind lags behind out of nervousness.

Oh, you're so soft. Bringing the toy up to meet his gaze, throat drying up the instant he takes a proper good look at all the folds and creases, gulping down the sight of the perfect little hole that's just begging for his touch. A shudder runs through him as he continues to stroke just the outer lips of the toy, doing a better job of edging himself as opposed to teasing you. Not that he can know just how much he might be teasing you right now, given that you're likely alone in bed at the old farmhouse as he plays with himself in his childhood bedroom. But nonetheless, the way his cock twitches and leaks for attention—your attention—is enough for him to know that he's the loser in this instance. Pathetic right down to the way his fingers tremble against the toy, how his tongue starts to poke out from between his wobbly lips, dying to prove himself to you from the shadow. God, he's had a crush on you for fucking ever, it's embarrassing how he's this whipped for a fucking fleshlight of you.

No matter, honestly. It's not like you're around to bear witness to just how much he needs you, how tight and taut his balls are at the mere thought of pleasuring you. To see how deplorable he truly is deep down inside, enough to yearn for your tight hole regardless of your presence. It's sickening, makes his tummy flip with butterflies when he takes a greedy inhale of the toy slit, huffing eagerly to see if it even owns your smell and— "Fuck—" so good, smell so fucking good just like he'd imagined, snapping the last straw of restraint his rational mind was desperately clinging on to in favour of letting his tongue loll out to lick a fat stripe up and down your cute little cunt; and he's instantly done for.

Knew he would be, truthfully. So down bad for you it borders on obsession, the twinge of guilt pittering against his heart is easily overtaken by the hard throb of his cock, though. Convincing him to continue, to give in to his instincts more so as to make you feel just how much he loves you, even if you've got no idea that it's him behind that strange late night feeling between your legs.

Because the toy is linked to you, of course. Based off your form, an apparently perfect replica of your most private parts— or so the wizard in that creepy old tower had promised him. And he's inclined to believe that old man just due to how fucking cute the faux cunt is, can imagine it suiting you so perfectly, poking his tongue between the faux folds experimentally, just to see if he can gain any sort of reaction out of you.

In the meantime of wetting your pretty pussy up for him, he wrestles with his jeans and tugs them off with his boxers soon following suit. Leaving his bottom half completely bare, tight fist automatically squeezing at the base of his throbbing cock in an effort to relieve some of the built up pressure just looking at your cunt has built within him, but it barely does the job. Prompting a low whine to escape his dry throat, murmured right against your hole as he sticks his tongue into it, exploring your squishy insides with an unintentionally eye roll— "Fuuuuh—" he babbles, unable to properly enunciate his curses due to fucking his tongue in and out of you out of sheer need. An undeniable requirement to tongue fuck out as much of your cunt juices as possible; that'll mean that the wizard wasn't lying, surely.

And oh, he can just imagine the look on your face so well right now. Cute furrowed brows, maybe your lips are parted just that small amount in both confusion and enjoyment, right? He wonders if you'd be searching between your legs just as frantically as he sucks and licks all over your cunt, slurping at your hole once or twice more before coming to the conclusion that shit, the old man was telling the truth.

A string of saliva and slick mixed together connects him to your cunt, another gush of it dripping from your hole from assumed contractions as he drops the pocket pussy to his waist, hovering it just behind his cock while his arm works automatically. Dumb eyed stare, moving off of instincts alone, giving in to his innermost desires when it comes to you with a quick snap of his wrist up and down his erection, his mouth hanging open to freely pant and moan into the night air because it feels so fucking good to finally have a taste of you. An albeit small one, but he's not about to complain when he can still taste you on his lips, licking himself clean as he instead focuses on the slick up and down of his hand on pulsing cock, simply admiring the view of your cunt from afar. It somehow feels better than ever before, now that he knows that he really shouldn't be doing this to you right now, but he's not some kind of monster, you should at least know that.

He won't stick his dick in you, not yet. Far too shy to, really. Even if there's no one around to witness his perversion. He still likes you, wants more than anything to make you feel good, and he's sure that the feeling of some phantom dick ruining your inside might scare you for good. But— his cock still throbs and his balls still ache for release, all the pumping away at his length is doing very little to offer him resolution.

There are things yet that he can do with the toy that will satisfy both you and himself. Things that won't scare you too badly, and that won't push his limits too far. He might need you more than words can say at the moment, but he figures he can work up to it eventually. Need to encourage himself first.

For now, he settles with angling his cock towards the toy cunt hole, mouth watering from the heat he can feel radiating from it. Such a slippery slope he's found himself in, gliding his cock head against your slit, letting his precum dribble out all over your folds, coating his knuckles sticky too from the copious amounts of it as it trickles down. Ah, if only you were here to see the things you do to him, maybe then you'd understand why he's unable to restrain himself right now. Shuffling to lay down on his bed in a more comfortable position, pocket pussy held stationary for him to simulate the act of sex more accurately, lifting and dropping his hips against the outside of the toy with plenty of hushed curses falling from his bitten lips. It's late at night, and he's huddled amongst his bedsheets, cock completely out, rubbing one out against what he knows is your cunt, hoping that you can feel every drip and drop of precum the warm heat of your folds fuck out of him as he slips and slides against you, letting his head fall back against the pillow behind him in utter bliss, no residual regret left in his body because your cunt—the simulated version of it—feels almost too good to be true.

"I can't—" He breathlessly laughs to himself, cutting off into a gasped moan, rushing air in through his teeth for him to tut at when a slick gush coats his cock all tacky and shiny in return, as if you can hear how utterly done for he is, tone whiny and high pitched all for you. Good girl, you must be enjoying his touch too, right? Every coating of your slick up and down his humping cock is like a promise, a way for you to communicate: it's okay, keep going. He can't be doing anything too bad if your body is enjoying his rocking so much, right? Pressing his tip against your clit, fucking his full fat length against your pretty slit. Pretty little angel cunt, taking his cock so well— "Can't fuckin' stop, 'm sorry—" But he's not. Not really, he'd never apologise for getting you so wet, bucking his hips faster against the toy cunt with every stroke, choked moans just barely escaping him as his eyes squeeze shut in pure pleasure, because you feel so good. Too good it's almost unfair, assaulting you from afar, a mix of lewd thoughts swirling in his otherwise absent mind.

Your pretty face, all contorted. Enjoyment? Horror? What must you be feeling right now? Are you getting off too? Flicking that cute little clit he keeps rubbing precum against, stretching your cunt wide open with sticky fingers as if asking for more? Fuck, he wants so badly to give it to you, to ram his dick so deep in that little hole, stretch your squishy walls into his cock shape, but even now he knows that to be a terrible idea. In spite of how fucking feral he feels right now, frantically humping the air, pressing his cock harsher against your slit in an effort to claim presence. Look, he begs with each stroke. It's me that's making you feel so good.

And he can imagine how messy your bed must be too, sheets thrown off your sweating body in favour of inspecting your cunt, hair all bunched up with the throw back of your head, tossing and turning and squealing every time his balls rock against the toy, fully humped up your slit, only to eagerly drop back down again, over and over again to leave a cute little mess on your sheets. A mess of his own making, dribbling down to you ass to stain you sticky; yeah, that's it. He can see the scene so perfectly, so intricately, right down to the way your hole must be clenching around nothing, seeking his tip to catch and fuck you so full of nice thick cock but he can't. He simply can't stop rutting against your slit for long enough to slide inside, fapping himself silly, mind muddled and eyes glazed over as he really leans into the wet squelch of his every fuck up and down and—

Oh, he didn't realise that he was so close to the edge. Moving the pocket pussy up and down just a little, enough to offer him a minor amount of extra stimulation to the red hot tip of his cock, to spread his precum all over your cunt, but it proves to be too much for his fragile mind. Completely pussy whipped from the imitation, cumming before he even realises what's happening, his body folding in on itself as he squishes the toy against his cum coated tip, making sure to mark every rope of load somewhere against your slit. He can't really see though. Eyes squeezed shut, the grip he has of the toy tightening rhythmically, like a stress ball, while he cakes your slit in sticky seed. He feels winded, honestly.

But still he whispers you name when he feels like he can breathe again, a couple more spurts of cum milked from his cock as he runs the slick mixture up and down his length, wincing at the way it all seems to collect at his balls, all wet and icky as the weight of his actions soon come knocking again. A twist in his tummy, tension in his chest as he ogles the painted white toy.

Well, he can remedy it by making you cum too, right? Already lifting the prettily ruined cunt to his lips, tongue already poking out in preparation to eat you out all night.

It's okay, he'll bring you coffee tomorrow morning to make up for selfishly stealing your bed time.

[emmyrosee]

let’s get angsty bc my cycle is late again and nO IM NOT PREGNANT SHADDUP-

-

Kuroo is known for being ridiculously focused.

When he’s in it, he’s fully into the thick of it, throwing himself into the responsibility of making his work the best it can be, the words and statistics being all he knows for those many hours he sits, tapping his fingers on the laptop on his desk.

Nothing else can weasel its way into his focus when he’s working on something. 9 times out of 10, he’s immune to the interruptions of the outside world.

But nothing snaps him out of a focus more than your pretty voice. Especially if it’s in distress.

But he’s not perfect.

“Tetsuro?”

“What’s up, princess?” He hums, barely looking up from his laptop. He merely pushes the glasses on his nose up and continues to type. He hears you sigh softly and shift on your feet.

“Todays just… been rough,” you explain, and finally Tetsuro pauses to look at you. “Do you… do you think you could come and cuddle? I know you’re busy but… but I really need you.”

Tetsuro smiles and nods understanding, “yeah baby. Just let me wrap up this paragraph or two and I’ll come right down. Make sure you eat something okay? Don’t wait for me.”

You smile hopefully and nod, slipping out of his study to your room, letting Tetsuro right back to his work. He makes a mental note of the time before cracking his neck and diving right back in.

One sentence turns to a paragraph. Then, one paragraph turns to two. Two to three. Three eventually becomes two pages and Tetsuro is on a writing high that he can’t stop; he’s smiling at his own work, eagerly gnawing his lip and beyond excited to finally wrap this shit up, and-

He’s interrupted by a buzzing on his desk.

Annoyed, he tries to pause it to stop, but when he can’t, he groans in frustration before picking up his phone.

22:30 : Medicine.

Fuck.

It isn’t until his medicine alarm goes off that he realizes how late it’s gotten. It’s been four hours since you came in.

When he snoozes his alarm, there’s a text from you that shatters his heart: gn i guess

Immediately, Tetsuro feels sick to his stomach. He doesn’t even bother shutting off the lights and saving the documents on his computer before he flies down the stairs and into the room, chest heaving and breath caught in his throat when he sees the heatable bear encased in your arms, light from the tv casting a shadow on your features. He tries so hard to keep his breathing quiet, he knows he let you go to bed alone, cold and in your own head waiting for his stupid ass to come down and be with you.

He swallows thickly before he shuffles over to you, plopping on the edge of the bed and trying to keep you comfortable. He doesn’t want to wake you, not when he’s done so much already.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he whispers, thumb gently smoothing over your temple. You whimper and angle your head into the warmth of his hand. “Fuck, I’m so sorry…”

Sometimes, when Tetsuro talks to you in your sleep, you give him a smile, a little quirk of the lips at the tone, and he takes it as a sign that you’re there with him and you can feel his love even if you’re not conscious to witness it.

Tonight, though, your brows furrow. Your throat releases a meager noise of distress and he sinks his teeth into his lip; even as you welcome his touch, it’s as if his words still distress you, and you’re hurt. Your nose lets out small, huffy breaths, and you crush the bear tighter to your chest.

He lets his head down in defeat before kissing your head one more time before standing up; he shuffles like a zombie up back into the small study and shutting everything down: slamming his laptop shut, snatching the cold cup of tea and aggressively flicking off the lights to go back and join you in bed.

He plants the tea on his nightstand before curling up next to you under the covers, careful to keep his cold feet away from you. He tugs you softly to his chest wordlessly and buries his head against your neck, arms heavy and caging to keep you against him.

He wishes you could feel the way he’s blinking back his frustrated, remorseful tears. He wishes you could’ve had your last awoken moments be filled with cuddles and giggles and stolen kisses and playful bites.

But no. Instead, you needed him, you came and asked for him, and he couldn’t stop himself for one damn hour to be with you.

“I’m so sorry, babydoll.”

[cupidlovesastro]

𝟷𝟶 𝚏𝚞𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚢

1. sign ≠ house- the reason this is, is because they both have their own characteristics and also represent different meanings. the signs represent more of a personality and the houses represent aspects of your life. they correspond but they aren’t the same thing. this is because when you think about it, aries has qualities such as leadership and impulsivity, but the 1st house doesn’t represent those things. therefore they’re not the same thing. when you see post that say aries/ 1st house, it’s usually because they try to add aspects of both placements

2. there’s multiple kinds of astrology- most people that live in america follow western astrology, but there’s vedic astrology which is said to be the most accurate, chinese astrology, medical astrology, and more. they are all different but also similar and some ways

3. there’s multiple charts in astrology- this is one of my favorite parts about astrology but it can also get confusing lol. there’s your natal chart, which everyone knows about, but then there’s persona charts, transit charts, progressive charts, draconic charts and more. then synastry and composite charts which takes 2 people’s birth information to create

4. asteroids- you don’t have to only learn about planets, you can learn about asteroids too. asteroids usually fall between 2 planets, which somewhat helps form a personality for them. not all of them though, some of them are in the outskirts of our solar system and some have meanings that don’t necessarily relate to the planet it’s closest to

5. there’s thousands of asteroids- there’s so many asteroids out there, that have been discovered with in depth meanings, some that have been discovered with no clear meaning, and obviously some that still aren’t discovered. that’s why there’s so many different elements to your chart, and so many different things can dictate your personality in a natal chart

6. greek mythology and astrology- greek mythology and astrology have a lot of points where they correlate. especially with asteroids, if you read into greek mythology, you will start to understand why certain asteroids and placements mean the things they do

7. cusp- if you believe in degrees in astrology, then you don’t believe in cusp. cusp basically means when you were born “between” 2 signs. so people born on may 20th or 21st could say they’re a taurus/gemini cusp, but that’s not true if you believe in degrees. degrees can go from 0 to 29

8. no such thing as a bad placement- no placement is bad, some are just harder to deal with than others and that’s okay. it doesn’t mean parts of you or bad or that your cursed for the rest of your life. everyone has rough edges, you just have to smooth them out if that makes sense lol

9. astrology and tarot- some major arcana cards actually represent the zodiac signs. not all of them but about half of them do. like gemini is the lovers, aquarius is the star, libra is judgement, and so on

10. empty houses- technically no house is empty because like i mentioned earlier, there’s thousands of asteroids out there, and all of them fall in a house. but as for your natal chart, having an empty house doesn’t mean anything negative, it just means that’s an aspect of yourself you don’t really need to focus on or pay attention to, or nothing is really going to happen in those areas of life. if you have an empty 4th house it can mean that nothing significant or out of the ordinary or specific is going to happen to your family or children. i hope that made sense 💀

[grippingbeskar]

kiss me just to kiss me - simon ‘ghost’ riley

— simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

— warnings: slight allusions to sexual content, swearing, ghost in his mf feels.

— i wrote this in about half an hour, and i just feel bad for ghost okay. basically spewed this up and i’m not expecting it to go anywhere i just thought it was sweet!

“Wait.” Ghost calls her back from the edge. She stops, but continues to stare down the open hatch as the rest of the team flies out of view, and only then does she turn to him. They all know the drop site— Ghosts’ been studying it for weeks. They’ll be expecting the two of them soon. It’s now or never, like it always is.

“What is it?” She calls back, hair blowing across her face, obscuring her eyes. He really likes her eyes; it was becoming all he could see when he closed his own these days. He could see every emotion in them, the complete opposite to when he looked in the mirror. Where he was covered and hidden away, she read like an open book with those wide doe eyes. He was obsessed with it— wanted to map and memorise every form they took.

Now, as her locks of hair split apart and allowed him a glance, showing her face every few seconds, he could see she was concerned. He’d stopped her just as she was about to jump out of the plane; she probably thought there was a problem with her parachute. Her eyebrows were furrowed, skin he knows the feeling of, the taste of, crumpled in to form a frown. He wants to smooth it out with his hands, as if he could take every worry she felt if she let him.

“Simon?” She says, now closer and in a hushed tone. It was just them (and the pilot) now, and with any prying ears well covered with noise-cancelling headphones, she knew she could say his name in safety.

“Wait.” He says again, and she steps forward. Closer, he nearly begs, only doing so in his head. Instead of speaking it, he reaches out, and her hand disappears under the dark material of his glove as she accepts his hold. He can’t decide if he loves the contrast— the softness of her interspersed with the rough barrier that he lays on himself— or hates it, like she is marred by the contact alone.

She waits, just as he’d asked, and he tugs her forward. Hands intertwined, she easily slides into a familiar position. Head tucked under his chin, up on her toes, neck stretched up to try and even the difference. He loves that she tries to reach him. She does it constantly when they’re alone— maybe it’s subconsciously, but even when she sleeps she stretches her arms out to find his torso, or bends her body to fit around his, making sure he never gets too far from her. He revels in that unconscious need, like he can provide her comfort and security just from being in proximity.

The hand not holding her to him reaches up to his jaw, a glove shoving the bone shaped mask up slightly. Even with the wind blowing harshly, and the yelling of his teammates through the comms in his ear, he hears a small gasp from her. No matter how or when he does it, he surprises her. It’s almost as if he shows her something new every time, and maybe he does. She’s seen him more than he’s seen himself— maybe he changes everyday, getting darker with time. The look in her eyes, though— those pretty, pretty eyes. He doesn’t think any amount of darkness or time could make those eyes dim.

“I need to…” Not a full sentence, but it’s enough. He needs to. Needs to feel her against his skin, needs the reminder that when he’s down there, the moment he lands on the ground— he needs to know in the back of his mind that there’s something human about him. There’s something that he’s fighting for, something real and good. A reason to drag his fogged brain up and out at the end of it, and to come back to himself. To let Ghost rest, and be Simon again, because someone does want Simon. Even if he doesn’t— someone does, and that someone deserves what she wants.

She nods, reading him as easily as he does her, only she can do it through any mask he wears. A small, soft smile crosses her face and meets her eyes, and maybe Simon has had too many hits to the head but he would swear up and down that they sparkle.

“Come down here.” She whispers against his jaw, tugging the armoured vest strapped to his chest. She’s wearing an identical one, his initials carved into the inside plate, just over her heart.

He bends, clearing the distance in a second. When he reaches her he lets her take everything— lets her see and taste and feel all the things she wants to see and taste and feel and take. He wants to give her that… whatever she wants, he would be that.

‘I want you, Simon.’ She had purred to him just this morning, her hand on his belt buckle. She wanted him— not Ghost, the man he had to be when he stepped off the plane— but Simon. So here he was, one final time, before he had to forget the way she sighed his name or the way she tasted under that armour and be Ghost again.

He feels her suck in a breathe— then presses herself harder to his mouth, and he stumbles a step back. If his teammates saw him now, weak kneed and stumbling, they’d hardly recognise him. He is weak for her. How could he not be, when she kissed him like this?

“I’ll never get enough of you.” He hears himself say. It sounds almost foreign, said with a tone of adoration; gentleness he forged in his mind just for her.

“Two weeks, then we can be ‘you and me’ again.” She says, trying to smile. He knows these times are as hard for her as they are for him, and he hates he’s the reason she feels that way. “We’re going to miss the drop site.”

“We can take the long way.” He says. It’s not a responsible move from a Lieutenant, he can hear Price in his head. This wasn’t Ghost thinking. She laughs, shaking her head, and he doesn’t find a reason to care that it’s not.

She keeps hold of his hand and tugs down his mask. He already misses the way she feels against him, the way she makes him feel human, like she manually charges it in him. He takes a step, then another, feet edging towards the open hatch again.

She is fully adorned with pack and armour, sniper on her back, and Simon can’t help but think how lovely she looks as he helps her into position. How lovely she makes everything look. How can something that makes him look so horrific make her look so… protected. Safe.

She leans back, and when he looks down at her all he sees is sky and her hair whipping wildly behind her. He leans further, and he’s dangling her now, out over the edge. She laughs loudly— a sound so sweet it defeats the roaring engine and the wind. He can’t help but laugh with her, gripping her hand tightly. Not willing to let her free just yet.

“Let’s go!” She calls out, a wild grin reflecting back at him. He can’t look away from her mouth, and then her eyes, still looking at him with that same glint of emotion. Humanity. He spots it in her, and then in himself, and holds onto it as tightly as he holds onto her hand.

When he jumps out of the plane, he doesn’t let her go.

[doumadono]

Emergency request: I woke up with an anxiety attack, feeling terrible, I'm going through a very hard time in my life, as you may know. how Bakugo, Shoto, and Midoriya would comfort their significant other in this situation? What would they do if their significant other feels nauseous and becomes emotional?

A/N: I'm really sorry to hear that you're going through such a tough time. Remember that you're not alone in this journey – I'm here to support you every step of the way. It's completely okay to have difficult moments, and you're doing the best you can. If you ever want to talk or need a listening ear, know that I'm here to listen without judgment. You're stronger than you realize, and I believe brighter days are ahead. Sending you lots of love and positivity to help you through this challenging period 💕

MASTERLIST

Bakugo

Bakugo may seem rough around the edges, but he's surprisingly attentive when it comes to his significant other's well-being. He'd notice the signs of your anxiety even before you mention it, and, although he's not the best with words, his actions speak volumes.

He'd offer a tight hug, allowing you to bury your face in his chest. "Hey, you're not alone in this, idiot. I've got your back."

Bakugo's determination to make you feel better might lead him to research anxiety management techniques or show you some of his own methods for coping with stress.

He'd encourage you to let out your emotions, saying, "If you need to yell, scream, or just vent, do it, little moron. It'll help you get rid of those fucking emotions you're holding back."

If tears come, he'd awkwardly hand you tissues and mutter, "Quit crying, dumbass." But his eyes would soften, and he'd stay close by, giving you space to let it out.

During moments of nausea, he'd prepare simple and nourishing meals, then present them with an exaggerated "Eat up, it's good for you."

One evening, after a particularly long and challenging day of training, you start to show signs of exhaustion. Your shoulders slump, and your voice wavers as you express your frustration. "I just… I can't believe how tough today was," you admit, your voice tinged with weariness.

Bakugo's initial response is predictable – a scowl and an impatient sigh. "Stop whining," he grumbles, crossing his arms.

But as you continue to talk, Bakugo's annoyance begins to wane. He watches you closely, the crease in his brow slowly smoothing out. He can see the toll the day has taken on you, and his heart unexpectedly softens. "Look," he says, his voice slightly less harsh, "I get it. Training's been a pain in the ass lately. But you're not alone in this." He shifts his weight uncomfortably, his usual bravado faltering just a bit. "I'm… dealing with the same crap, you know? There are days when things get rough for me – yeah, even I have those moments. And, fuck it, I've dealt with some anxiety crap too. I know it might sound dumb coming from me, but I get it. Life throws crap at us, and it doesn't matter how tough we think we are. But you, you've got this. I've seen you handle your own shit, and you're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

You look up at him, surprised by the admission. Bakugo's gaze meets yours, and he looks away for a moment, his cheeks tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "So, just, well, don't give up, you little idiot. We'll get through this together, yeah?"

Later that night, as you two lie in bed, you turn to him. "You know," you say softly, "it's okay to get emotional sometimes. Even for you."

Bakugo huffs, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, little moron. Just don't go telling everyone."

A small smile plays at the corners of your lips. "I won't. It'll be our little secret."

Shoto

Shoto's calm and composed nature would provide a soothing presence during your anxiety attack. He'd gently take your hand and lead you to a quiet and comfortable space.

"Focus on your breath. In and out. I'm here with you," he'd reassure, his voice steady and reassuring.

Shoto might share personal experiences of dealing with difficult times, letting you know that you're not alone in facing challenges.

He'd hold your hair back as you feel nauseous and need to vomit, rubbing your back soothingly. "Take your time, and don't hesitate to let me know if there's anything you need, Y/N."

Shoto's patience and empathy would shine as he listens to your emotions, providing a safe space for you to express yourself.

If you become emotional, Shoto would gently wipe away your tears with his thumb, his touch warm and comforting. "It's alright to let it out," he'd say softly.

One evening, after a particularly demanding day, you show signs of being overwhelmed. You let out a deep sigh and run a hand through your hair, your tension evident. "It's been a really tough day," you admit, your voice tinged with fatigue.

Shoto's initial response is to sit beside you, his presence calming. He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder and gives a small nod. "I'm here," he says softly. "Take your time."

As you begin to talk about challenges, Shoto listens attentively, his dual-colored gaze unwavering. He offers a sense of understanding through his presence, allowing you to share your feelings without judgment. "I can see how much you've been through," he says, his voice steady. "But remember, you're strong, and you're capable of overcoming this."

Later that night, as you wind down, you look at him and says, "You know, it's okay to express your emotions too. Even if you're the calm one, darling."

Shoto's lips quirk into a small smile. "I appreciate that," he replies, his voice soft. "But sometimes, it's easier to understand others' emotions than my own."

Midoriya

Midoriya's compassionate nature would make him very attuned to your feelings. He'd approach you gently, offering a warm smile.

"It's okay to feel this way, but remember, it won't last forever. We'll work through it together," he'd say, his voice full of sincerity.

He might share motivational stories or quotes to uplift your spirits and remind you of your inner strength.

When nausea strikes, he'd prepare a cup of herbal tea and guide you in taking slow sips. "This should help settle your stomach."

Midoriya would hold your hand, offering comfort and understanding as you express your emotions. "You're not alone in this, and I'm here for you every step of the way."

Izuku would offer a warm hug when emotions rise, his embrace gentle yet full of support. "You're stronger than you realize," he'd whisper.

One evening, after a particularly challenging day at school, you start to show signs of being overwhelmed. You let out a frustrated sigh and slump onto the couch, your shoulders tense with stress. "Today was just… really tough," you admit.

Midoriya's initial reaction is to sit down beside you, his expression full of concern. "I'm sorry to hear that," he replies, his voice gentle. "Do you want to talk about it, Y/N?"

As you open up about your struggles and anxiety attack you experienced, Midoriya listens intently, offering a comforting presence. He nods along, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy. "I can imagine how challenging that must have been for you," he says, his words sincere. "I know it's not easy, but you're strong," he adds, a small smile tugging at his lips. "And you're not alone in this, baby."

Later that evening, as you prepare to turn in for the night, you wrap your arms around him from behind, saying, "You know, it's okay to talk about your emotions too. Even heroes like you have tough days, right? So next time you'll have a hard time, don't hesitate to open up to me, okay?"

Midoriya's gaze softens, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you for understanding," he replies, his voice warm. "Indeed, even heroes need a shoulder to lean on sometimes."

[strayflowersstarsandlove]

Okonomyaki (leeminho)

The ache on your lower back and in between your legs really doesn't stop you from climbing on top of the chair and reach for the highest shelve in your cupboard so you can retrieve your two favourite mugs. Because that glorious first sip of coffee after a rather rough night deserves to be from the silliest Pikachu mug or else it is wasted. You grab the bright yellow Pokémon shaped mug and another pink one with a little silver enamel owl depicted on the side, and then turn on both the electric kettle and your coffee machine so you can make yourself coffee and tea for Minho.

Minho. Just thinking of him sends shivers down your whole body, the vivid pictures of your intense night still burning in the back of your head, your muscle memory still making your arms and your legs twitch a little. God. He was a fucking God. He literally looked like some Greek statue of a divinity, he ravaged you in the best way possible. You could not stop thinking about him and and the way his arms muscles flexed and throbbed and the strain and effort on his face giving way to the utter bliss as soon as he relieved himself and the wild look in his eyes and the sounds he made and the way his veins popped to the surface of his skin on his arms and hands as he gripped you and - the loud whistle of the kettle signaling the water's boiling over abruptly makes you snap out of your daydreaming. You chuckle to yourself as you shake your head, only now realizing you were gripping the edge of your kitchen counter for no apparent reason, and proceed to pour the hot water in the pink mug with the little tea bag hanging from it.

After filling up your cup with coffee you sit on the counter top and gently stir the warm, delicious liquid mixing in with the little splash of milk you had preheventively poured in as well, and as soon as you put down the metallic spoon on the marbled surface of your counter you hear light footsteps coming down the hall and soon enough Minho enters the kitchen, still damp hair from the morning shower, a soft smile and tired eyes as he acknowledges you, his stare quickly taking in you just sitting there in just a pair of boy shorts and one of his plushy cardigans he must've left behind sometime ago, "good morning, I made you some tea", you greet him lazily, pointing at the pink steaming cup near the sink, "Oh, tea but no food? You're a princess aren't you? Not just a pillow princess, a real, proper one", he says smirking, picking up the cup with one hand and placing the other on your exposed thigh, then leaning in to kiss you as you giggle and nuzzle against his face, tasting the minty toothpaste on his tongue, breathing in the aftershave and shampoo scent lingering on him, "I'll make us some quick breakfast, are Japanese scallion pancakes okay?", he asks politely and you nod enthusiastically, your mouth already watering in anticipation.

You're not sure if your boyfriend is more skilled in bed or in the kitchen, he moves so swiftly and with so much confidence it seriously makes you question just where and when he learned to be so fucking good in both fields. Alright maybe you were feeling just a little too needy for him, like you just could not get enough of him. He got you wrapped around his finger like that and you secretely loved it. You stare in awe, quietly sipping on your now cold coffee as Minho whips up the eggs and flour in a bowl, his trained arms making fast progress on the batter, his veins bulging out as he cuts up the scallion, his strong hands pressing down the blunt, smooth edge of the knife as he chops up his ingredients and expertly flings them in the frying pan. There's just something about his prominent muscles and his black tshirt moving against his torso as he sautees the pancakes, flipping them up and down with just a twist of his wrist, the focused look on his face as he checks the fire and oil crackling around the food: "those look incredible, you look incredible, you know that?".

You chew on the inside of your lip, eyeing your breakfast being elegantly plated right in front of you as Minho smirks, he cleans up the edges of your plate with a paper napkin and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively," mmh thank you sweet cheeks", he stands in between your legs dangling from the counter and then cuts up a piece of pancake and feeds you, placing his arms at your sides so you're basically trapped in between him and the counter, he stares at you expectantly, his lips slightly parted and his eyes intent on your face, "mas-iss-eo? Is it delicious?". An explosion of flavour and earthy richness settles in your mouth and you nod frantically, your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head as to emphasize just how good it tastes, "I'm hiring you as my private chef, these are just as incredible as they looked", you finally say after swallowing down the last piece of food. Minho clicks his tongue on his palate and cuts up another piece of pancake, stabbing it with the fork and bringing it up to your lips, "are you not gonna eat breakfast with me? ", you ask confusedly and he smriks again, directly placing the food in your mouth and then proceeding to kiss your jugular right as you swallow, "oh I am gonna eat. I'm just having a little appetizer first",he whispers along your collarbone which he kisses ever so slowly.

You wish you had the time to react but before you can even realise it Minho is pulling down your cardigan in one swift, super fast move, leaving your bare skin exposed and in the direct line of his eyes which become big and black and hungry by the second, his hands squeeze your breasts in a firm but not painful grip as an exhilarated sound escapes his lips, "you have the best boobs in town I fucking swear", he groans, his mouth then quickly finding your nipples which he sucks on avidly. You gasp. Thankfully you had already swallowed your food or else you would have probably spit out at least two pieces of scallion as the air leaves your lungs and you instinctively reach froward for him. Your run your fingers through the silky soft tufts of his dark brown hair that he had been growing out a little longer and you absolutely love it, particularly so when he buries his whole face in your chest and it tickles your ribcage.

You tingle. You start to tingle all over as he works his mouth and his tongue on you, his hands now pressing down your thighs to keep you as still as possible even when you pant and squirm and try to press yourself against him, "Min-", you breathe out, feeling your cheeks burning up and your lower insides throb, "you can eat, I don't mind", he mumbles, still not really detaching his mouth from you , his hands blindly reaching for the fork and platter that clink against the counter, and you find yourself chuckling, your eyes closing in delight as you savor this random outburst of lust and love and hunger and think you could easily get used to this.

[wrenhavenriver]

Okay I’m not done talking about this actually. Re: the Dishonored series’ attempts to reconcile its critical views of imperialism with keeping the characters who sit at the very top of the Empire likable, I think DH1 is considerably less obvious/glaring about this internal conflict than DH2 because: 1) it’s, duh, the first in the series, and suspension of disbelief comes a lot more naturally the first time you’re told “things will be better now, for real” than the second; and 2) Jessamine’s rule sees so little screentime it’s much easier to portray the miseries of the game as entirely attributable to Burrows’ rule (and the actions of other assorted Bad People™) without directly confronting the imperial system that put them all in a position to seize and promptly abuse power in the first place. Under a read more because I can't shut up, sorry.

Like, say you play DH1 for the first time on low chaos: you get the happy ending epilogue speech, and even if it seems to smooth everything over a little too optimistically for a game that otherwise shows a collapsing society and the corruption that brought it to that state in grim, unflinching detail, well, that’s mostly okay—you maintained low chaos, after all, in essence proving the Outsider’s “Perhaps that’s just the nature of man” theory wrong, and the good effects just rippled outward to a much a larger scale, which was pretty much the point of the chaos system in the first place. If it all sounds a little bit like the happy ending to a parable not particularly grounded in the realities of systems of power that the rest of the game was critiquing, maybe that’s just what happens when an entity as long-lived and far-sighted as the Outsider summarizes a period that is little more than a miniscule blip in time to him. Stand far enough back from something and all the rough edges blur out to nothing.

(Plus it’s a video game after all, so maybe you can suspend your disbelief/any personal political beliefs about real world empires you may have brought with you. Maybe it's nice to imagine that things can change meaningfully for the better for Dunwall and the other Isles simply by plopping a Kaldwin back onto the throne.)

The existence of DH2 makes it clear, though, that the ending monologue to DH1 really is more fairytale than reality (or, you know, what happens when a game gets greenlit for a sequel the devs of three years ago didn't know they'd get). A Kaldwin takes the throne—under the watchful eye and protection of her witchcraft-using Serkonan father, at that, a man with viscerally personal history with the Abbey, the City Watch, and the deeply xenophobic nobility—and despite all those very real family connections and personal reasons to want to reform things for the better, we step into Emily’s rule to see the people of Serkonos being trampled on and worked to death in the silver mines, the Abbey still freely hunting down and torturing or otherwise “disappearing” people suspected of witchcraft, and the Guard casually beating and murdering citizens—in one notable case, by throwing one directly into the same brutal Wall of Light technology mobilized to great effect by Burrows’ corrupt regime and that is still in wide use around Emily’s Empire fifteen years later.

Some of this chaos was instigated by Delilah and her inner circle (especially the Duke) leading up to the coup, but much of it is preexisting corruption that can’t be blamed on her—she and the coven certainly had no reason to prop up the Abbey, for one, and she didn’t have to create the aristocratic bitterness motivating turncoats like Ramsey, only give them an outlet for what was already simmering. Meagan, Sokolov, and Lucia Pastor all make it abundantly clear that this was not a momentary slip-up—Dunwall Tower had been looking the other way while violence and unrest grew for some time, because the human cost of keeping silver flowing was out of sight and out of mind, a function basically built into the system of Imperial rule. Not a bug, but a feature. A tendency toward retaining corrupt institutions, an erosion of empathy, because that’s what keeps the wheels turning and wealth being funneled upward.

So when low chaos Emily professes in mission nine that she’s learned her lesson and that from now on she’ll Pay Attention, really! to the four nation Empire she’s the head of, and the happy epilogue plays and we get another Outsider monologue about the golden age ahead, it just seems…vaguely absurd? Like, we already saw this! Burrows, Campbell, and the Bastard Trio™ of the loyalists were deposed or otherwise gotten rid of, making room for Good People™ with Good Intentions™ to take their place in charge and fix things—you’ve got Emily on the throne with Corvo to guide her; Yul Khulan, a “kind” man and eventual close personal ally of Emily’s, becomes High Overseer; Curnow, widely reputed as a Reasonable Authority Figure and rare man of principle in the Guard, has survived (and presumably still has some years of service as a Captain before the retirement mentioned in The Corroded Man).

And then we fast forward fifteen years and all these groups...still suck? The Empress hates her job and is eating off plates made of silver mined by Karnacan laborers dying hideously of terrible respiratory ailments, the Overseers we see in Karnaca are ransacking homes and torturing Outsider worshippers (a group including such dangerous people as *checks notes* newspaper artists), half the City Guard is on the payroll of the shitty aristocrats supporting Delilah’s coup, and the Grand Guard is passing the time by throwing people into Walls of Light. Emily’s reign began with a veritable A-team of Certified Good People and fifteen years later it's barely made a dent, because the system of imperial rule is built from the ground up to shelter corruption and complacency, to resist change, no matter who’s in charge and whether that person is “paying attention” or not. It’s beyond the power of one sufficiently motivated Empress and a team of well-intentioned people in positions of authority below her.

It’s tempting to say “no, it really was just an issue of Emily not taking her duties seriously, look at Jessamine’s rule, or Euhorn’s before her!” but the thing is Obvious Disasters like Violent Coups Aside we really don’t have much evidence that their rules were all that much better, or at the very least any less prone to corruption? DH1 again has the advantage over DH2 here, mostly by way of omission. We don’t get to actually see what life in the Empire is like under Jessamine, just that tiny sliver of time in the Prologue returning as Corvo to Dunwall Tower, where despite the player being told there’s a deadly plague about to bring the city to a “breaking point,” the scenery is beautiful and calm and the staff are polite and affable. It makes for very compelling contrast when the game fast forwards six months to the dank misery of Coldridge Prison, and then later the grim state of the streets filling up with corpses and weepers.

Mission six completes the comparison with a return to Dunwall Tower, where the courtyard is now brimming with hostile guards and surveillance towers and tallboys, and one lone maid who openly laments Jessamine’s passing. Life under the authoritarian despot who purposely instigated a plague for the purpose of wiping out the lower classes is, obviously, much worse than life under the benevolent Empress who is introduced to us passionately advocating for saving the lives of all of her citizens. But, in the same way Emily and her inner circle of Well-Intentioned People weren’t enough to dislodge the entrenched corruption and brutality—or prevent a new wave of it—Jessamine’s kindness can’t paint over the miseries of the imperial system she presides over. We the players see Coldridge Prison for the first time in the six-months-later flashback of Burrows’ rule, but it existed during Jessamine’s time—guards state explicitly in the DLC that she and Corvo used to come inspect it, in fact. Jessamine wholly loves Corvo, a native of Serkonos, but anti-Serkonan prejudice runs rampant in her court and city. Corvo and Emily wholly love Jessamine too, but the people of Dunwall are somewhat divided on the matter (“Long live the Empress!” “She was a WENCH!” / “Not everyone did, but I really liked the Empress…”). Burrows deceived Jessamine and took advantage of her trusting nature, but he only had the resources to do so in the first place because of the system that promoted him to Royal Spymaster, a position of incredible power and very little accountability.

Euhorn we know the least about, but we are told he enjoyed a “prosperous age”—a sentiment that falls somewhat flat when we learn that he had an affair with a chamber maid (the power differential of which is highly questionable at best), strung along the resulting illegitimate daughter with promises of elevating her to a princess that he never intended to keep, then took his chance when said daughter was blamed for breaking a vase to throw her and her mother out onto the streets, where the mother is brutalized by a prison guard and eventually dies in agony in debtor’s prison, leaving the daughter to fend for herself alone in the world. All of which shows us that the Empire is, in this age of “prosperity,” still a place of extreme power imbalances where the Emperor takes advantage of women in his employ, debtor’s prisons exist, guards can cause fatal injuries to civilians on a whim and face no consequences, and children are thrown with disdain onto the streets to die. Which, on many levels, is not all that different from the ages of other rulers who follow.

tl;dr these games show us over and over again that the Empire is built on a fundamentally broken system that perpetuates corruption and then try to append “but it’s okay so long as the people in charge are good people who are paying attention to their jobs” to the end of them for the sake of keeping those characters likable, and while the first game can get away with this by virtue of being the first game and using Jessamine’s rule primarily as a way to showcase how bad Burrows’ rule sucks by comparison, this falls flat when the very existence of the second game provides ample evidence that the Good Intentions of Generally Good People are not enough to counteract the entrenched cruelties of the institutions that keep imperialism afloat. Okay I'm going to go get another hobby now bye.

[skz1-4-3]

HAN JISUNG | M

Short oneshot

Content info : just a nice evening in yours and hans bedroom …or is there something more to these whimpers?

Reader is female

(Smut begins right away)

Second person pov

Warnings: Smut (nothing else just smut) , Dom!reader , sub!jisung , bondage (light?) , teasing , dirty talk , edging , riding , making out during sex.

MDNI

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„You like that hm?“ you asked han , who was currently kneeling on the ground , his hands tied behind his back . His tired eyes gazing upon yours , dripping with tiredness.

„Awh is my baby tired hm?“ you said in a teasing manner to which he shook his head 'no' , you smirked down at him . He looked so precious , so vulnerable in this state. It was your first time dominating him and he seems to enjoy it very much.

„I guess i should let you come now.“ your smooth voice whispered in his ear as you went behing him also getting on your her knees , your hands slid trough his tied arms and lowered themself on his long and hard cock , which was desperately asking for attention, having been denied to come atleast four times already . You grasped his cock and slowly but steadily moved your hand up and down , moving swiftly thanks to all the precum that had released while you played with him.

His deep and lustfull moans filled your ears with delights and you felt your arousel throbbing for a little attention, but han was first . You can have your pleasure later .

„Y-Y/n please , just let me come this once..hmpf“ He managed to say ending his words with a muffled moan as he bit his lips .

„Dont bite your lips , i wanna hear those pretty moans.“ you said abruptly stopping your movements, despite his requests to which he let out a loud and high pitched whimper , it seemed like music to your ears as your hand tightened around his cock , making him let out a loud grunt of pleasure . Who would’ve thought han likes to do it so rough?

You picked him up by the arm and shoved him into the bed , untying his hand in the process. His hands immediately flew onto your waist , pupils dilating at the touch the was craving.

„Please baby , fuck me like you own me“

„Bet“ you answered as you took his shaft and slid it between your folds , your fluids mixing with his until he finally slipped into your warm pussy. You both let out a delighted moan, finally getting what you needed so bad after this stressful week.

You bounced on him , your bum hitting his upper tighs while doing so , creating a slapping sound which filled the room you were in.

Han felt you tighten around him and he tried getting you to move faster , now that his hands were free . But he was to weak from being manhandled by you.

Both of you felt yourself getting closer to the edge and your slick pussy tightened even more around him - if that was even possible. Feeling your juices flowing out of your arousal , onto him , as you felt something plurt into you, painting your walls white. You both came at the same time, letting out raspy moans.

You collapsed onto his naked chest , tired from todays events and felt relieved more than ever before.

„That was the best sex we’ve ever had.“ han said , stroking your hair as you hummed in response.

„Baby..i love you“ he said looking down at you already sleeping with one eye barely open. He let out a laugh at your state .

„How come youre the one sleeping when i was the one being manhandled for the past 3 hours“ he smiled at your figure , feeling the sleepiness from earlier come back as his eyes shut closed into a deep slumber.

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Okay , i think this was pretty good , though i just got the idea randomly in the car driving to Mc‘donalds so it might be a bit meh… but i guess it was fine.

If you wanna be added to my taglist please send a message or leave a comment. Thank you for reading!

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[frozenjokes]

In my little analysis about the new chapter of the Mumbomaid fanfic has finally reach a conclusion within the council in my head.

I don’t think that Mumbo will do the actions of grown up (sexual/horny?) nature that Scar has fantasies about.

Mumbo knows he is big, he knows is dangerous to humans, he knows that they (Grian and Scar) are far more fragile than himself. He probably will be the more “dominant” one by the fault if the scenery did happen, thought.

But he will try his best to be the gentlest mermaid that has existed ever, since he doesn’t one to hurt the ones he loves. The kind-of aggressive and very dominant behavior that Scar told Grian is very unlikely to happened by the previous mentioned reason.

But since Scar (and Grian too) are aggressive-horny and kinda kinky, they might try to come to agreement with Mumbo that is okay to be a little aggressive sometimes, that they like it, but this would be unsuccessful since Etho would refuse to translate that conversation.

he has no penits

that’s a joke but it’s also not lmao also the idea of them trying to get etho to negotiate any of their sexual boundaries/desires is so fucking funny to me I think he would literally rather die. he’d rather run away with joel and never see any of them again. they make him so homophobic. etho is so utterly sex repulsed even being asked to facilitate that conversation would probably kill him instantly.

scar loves fantasizing for fun it is his favorite activity. ideal world for scar is getting swept off his feet by a sexy fantasy monster or just like. reading fanfiction. same affect. irl he’d probably rather not be under the threat of death <3 live laugh love. he should try writing sometime it would be bad but I support him.

anyway I have been thinking about what mermaid anatomy in this au is like for months (for reasons.) and I believe they are some kind of hermaphrodites and when it comes to genitalia or whatever I don’t think anything compatible is happening with human bodies. Though in a mumscarian endgame future (which. We’re making our way.) I imagine after all these concepts are explained Mumbo wouldn’t be opposed to participating. He likes to be around and learn things and he’s interested in human customs and activities, biological or otherwise! He has zero skin in the game but hey, his humans are really happy he’s here, and he’s just happy to be included! Even if being included is just sitting there. Maybe holding a hand. All :] about it. Just as wholesome as you can possibly get when right next to him those two idiots are being unbelievably nasty.

Though on a different note, Mumbo would at this point be learning English! I do think he and Etho would develop a somewhat close relationship, and I imagine Etho has already started teaching him some very basic tenants of English, as well as random words Mumbo wants to know so he can finally call his friends insufferable.

Etho had a bad experience learning English because Joel was an asshole about it, but I think being able to teach Mumbo something in a way he wished he’d been taught could be really cathartic for him, and might help heal over some of those bad associations he learned from Joel. It will be good for both of them. Of course Mumbo will also help smooth out some of the rough edges of Etho’s occasionally spotty mermaid speak as well. They r best friends to me. Very good pals.

More rambling, but I’d love a future where etho wants his best friend Bdubs and his best friend mumbo to meet. He wants to put his friends in a little box together so badly and shake them around. Watch them. Observe. That would require Etho to tell Bdubs the truth first though, and uhhhhhhhnhhhhhhhh. etho needs like a lot of therapy. like a lot. before that would ever happen.probably

[madefate]

[ LETTER ] for sender to find a last letter, video, text, etc that receiver made for them, thinking they wouldn’t make it out of the situation alive. Obviously receiver does make it out alive, but the letter/video still exists (and receiver will detail what’s in it). [Stolas and Blitz xoxoxo] / @helldustedstories

Shit, shit, shit !

Blitz slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle any sound that might escape him. He's still not sure if he's lost the tail on him, and he can barely hear the sounds from the hallway over the pounding of his heart in his ears. His other hand is clenched around his newly-rescued phone, his arm wrapped around his middle to make sure he doesn't leave a trail of blood right towards himself.

Honestly, it's probably just for his own peace of mind; there was no way to keep his leg from leaving that trail and he wasn't about to slow himself down more to try and find even more cloth to wrap around the bleeding gashes. Satan, these shitheads. Even if he had his pistol on him, one of those bigass shark goons had made quick work of smashing in the fingers of one hand, and he's not letting go of the phone in the other. Not when he already almost risked his fuckin' life to get the damn thing and run.

Greed warehouses are all shit - vast and winding and filthy and, unfortunately, far enough away that no one is coming for help if they don't know exactly where you are. If they care to at all. Blitz checks the phone screen again, trying to shield the light that spills out - still no fucking signal. Of course there isn't. Crimson is a professional, after all.

This one isn't even on him ! He hadn't sought to make contact with the fuckhead in the first place, and by the sound of it, Moxx had spent his life putting distance between them. It'd be nice to have one less criminal on his ass, but of course this is where things end - caught unawares and carted off to some unmarked hovel in Greed.

Wait, shit, fuck, no. He's not going to die here, is he ? His fingers tremble on the screen as he frantically listens for footsteps echoing off the dirt and metal - still none. But when he glances up at the vent shaft, he realizes with a plummeting feeling that with his leg barely being a leg and only one semi decent hand, there's no way he's crawling up there. Not even with Cash's voice in the back of his mind telling him to walk it off, that they can't afford to take a break, that this world will never take its time to coddle an imp's aches and pains.

Without thinking, he sends a text message to Loona. I luv you so much, Sweetie. It doesn't send - won't send until he finds himself in signal range again. He doesn't know if he wants it to send - if it's akin to admitting defeat.

But - fuck. His vision is getting spotty around the edges from the drugs still in his system and the blood he'd left behind on the warehouse floor. He'd been so confident when he'd wiggled out of the ropes and snatched his phone before running, but Blitz feels the edges of adrenalin starting to wear off, thready and wisping out.

He crawls further, shoving himself behind a steam pipe into the shadows of a corner. Typing - typing already takes him forever, and with one hand? No dice. Swallowing his pride, his frustration, his self loathing, Blitz holds the phone up and hits record, his voice a rough whisper even when he tries to smooth it out and find whatever smile he can manage.

❝ Hey, Stols - I gotta be quick. 'M sorry about that. I wasn't tryin' to do anything stupid, I swear. But 'm sorry anyway. I really hope you get this. If you do, I need you to take care of some stuff for me, okay? 'M pretty sure Moxx and Mills should be able to take over I.M.P. but y'er smart and they may need help with legal stuff. Then go in my computer and search for Barbie. 'M sorry, I never got to tell you about her - she's my sister. I've been trying to keep an eye on her - she's been in and outta rehab and she hates me but she needs someone. I know it's a lot, but if you hear anything about her, make sure she's safe at least? Promised Mom - fuck, just. Make sure she's safe.

❝ 'N I know you have Via and that this is a lot already but don't - don't leave Loona alone, okay ? She's gonna be so pissed, I don't blame her. If you can 'n you don't hate me, please just look out for her. Please I can't - I don't want to leave her, I don't want to leave anyone but - ❞

Blitz's throat is constricting and he realizes that he's sped up, practically hyperventilating and it's clouding his head even more. Fuck, he's running out of time.

❝ - Stols. ❞ His voice breaks then, his smile flickering into a grimace. ❝ I'm so sorry. I was tryin' t' be better, less stupid. Less reckless. I want you to know - ❞ His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, the only sound his breathing. ❝ - I love you. I love you so fucking much and I'm so sorry it took me so long to say it in the first place, and I'm sorry about how much time I wasted being an idiot and ignoring how I felt. Y'er it for me. You always have been. I love you, Sweetheart - fuck - ❞

Reality cracks its way back in with the distant sound of footsteps getting closer, and Blitz is forcing himself to stand as he sends the message that he assumes will be caught in the lack of signal. He draws one deep breath, shoves the burning in his eyes away, finds his best cocksure grin, and takes the leap into the fight to get back home alive.

For them.

[zargontari]

Joe kneels beside him to look at the cat, but does not outstretch his hand to try and touch her. Skippy's fingers continue their strained, gentle back and forth over the animal's ears. "You don't like cats," he eventually says, without looking. He did not have to turn his head to know it was the Colonel. Who else would sit with him like this? Of course it's Joe. The cat, who had stilled momentarily at the sound of his voice — still rough, but smoothing with time, just as the rest of him — tilts her head back to butt against the palm of his hand. Demanding, he thinks.

The shelter is quiet at this hour; those who come often wander in during the early afternoon hours, rather than thirty minutes to closing. Other animals pace their enclosures. Some are large, others small; some loud, some only silently glaring from the corners of their kennels at the two men. They range wildly in breed, the names of which he had never bothered to store to long term memory, and as such had been long forgotten with everything else. They are mostly young beasts. With the exception of one, they are all whole.

All except for this one. A stray, the tag on her door had claimed. Likely the rugged survivor of a dog fight, or a some tangle with a coyote. Regardless of origin, the effect is obvious: the fawn-colored cat, likely middle aged but the exact number unknown, looks as though she had been run straight through at some point of her life. Starting at the top of her head, only a jagged piece of her right ear had been left. The marring continued down to her shoulder, and the severed stub of her right foreleg. The animal's one golden eye seems to stare right through Skippy as he carefully runs his fingers over the old wound. She does not appear to care. The damage, such and clear as it is, does not hinder her, the little tag had read. Don't let her scary face fool you: She still has lots of love to give!

"I don't hate cats," Joe says from behind him, and it makes him stiffen for only a second to hear a voice where he'd forgotten a person was, at the same speed at which he thought.

Then he has to smile, very small and fragile, and just to himself. "You do," he replies. "Your mother had a cat, and the cat hated you. You retaliated by hating all cats, because, as your diary said at the time, your mother liked the cat more than she loved you, and would have rather sold you than the animal if you had raised a fuss." There is a nip at the outer edge of his palm, just a graze of teeth really, as he ghosts over the cat's scar and she redirects his attention. He moves his hand beneath her chin without complaint.

Joe only sighs; a heavy, burdened sound that he no longer flinches at. "Do I want to know how you know anything about my diary at the time?"

"I was only guessing about the diary, Joe." Truthfully, he only vaguely remembers knowing about the animal that Joe hated so dearly that it infected his relationship with every animal of the same breed. It is like a memory of a memory; a window that you just can only barely see through. It's all there, somewhere, of course. He carries his dying matrix behind him like a corpse. But he will never touch it again, and that is something he is finally begining to become okay with. "It was easy enough to extrapolate."

"Extrapolate," Joe mutters, as if the word itself is an insult to all humans, but especially him. "You know what? I don't care. You've seen the inside of my underwear drawer; I don't think I have any really big secrets that you don't know about."

"Likely not," but he isn't paying attention. The cat is purring. This is the first time he has ever heard a cat purr, besides in videos that he cannot recall and does not try to. It sounds rough, like a grating sound, like she's still trying to figure out how to do it. Skippy remembers pulling sound from his own new throat as if ripping them out, and thinks that he can relate, and also thinks this is that empathy shit again, isn't it?

Still. She is a broken thing— or she was broken, and she has fixed herself. Or, not fixed, but she has learned to live with what she cannot change. She has come into her own, despite the damage. Alone and cold and hurt and scared, she survived.

For some reason, that makes him feel a little bit better about his own survival. It feels a little less pointless, knowing that he is not the only thing that lived just because it wanted to; that he is not alone in a life without much purpose other than seeing the next sunrise.

(He takes her home. Of course he does.)

[sheepxoxolust]

I start to look in her eyes pleading with the lust of my own eyes look into our souls reading each other as I bite my lips I grab her by the chin my teeth biting my lips as it wonders to her kissing each other wanting more then that as so does she we crave for each other I remove her clothes seeing her body exploring it my hands moving around her body loving every bit of it her soft and smooth skin trembling I whisper in her ear “just be a good girl and enjoy the pleasure” her mind racing not able to think of anything else expect what I said I lower my hand to her pussy I explore her pussy the heat and wetness coming from is stagnating almost as she just wants me to use her like she please she gasps wanting more that she had bargained for as my fingers go inside her the wetness making it easier to go in and out as my rough fingers making her moan gasping as she try’s to breath in air as she clutches on the sheets her nails digging through them I hover over her enjoying such bliss of her body her thighs shaking harder her body quivering softly as she arches her back as I have my way with her pussy I take my fingers out slowly letting her feel every inch of my fingers she grabs my hand I look into her eyes as she says “please…don’t I need it” a lustful smile comes upon my face as I whispered in her ear slowly “it’s okay when I’m done with this body of yours I promise that you’ll never ever want to let go of this feeling ever” as I pull out my fingers I move down to her pussy as I stick my tongue out placing it on her pussy my tongue already feeling the juices come on my tongue quenching my lust as I lick her clit and her hole pussy at once up and down her moans louder and louder as her hands placed on my head her legs over my shoulders not letting me go her hands exploring my hair the fluffyness the smooth and curly hair as she begs me not to stop my tongue making her get ever so closer to the edge that she wishes,she frantically on the bed sheets her eyes deepen as she can getting so closer but she wishes not to disappoint and wishes not to be the only one to cum the feeling of getting closer and closer is so arousing her body quivers her mind blank thinking of nothing but of this man’s tongue and he’s eyes the blue and black shaded eyes as looks into them her moans exquisite and beautiful she try’s to stop him but fails her hands tighten on my hair as she yanks on my hair hard as he stops lifting up hovering over her again he grips her throat with such anger and lust of his big hands and the grip tightening he says “how fucking dare you yank my fucking hair like that” her throat closed the feeling of hands rough and tight she accidentally cums making him more aggressive and furious as the he looks back at him the eyes fill with anger and frustration she shakes from fear and aroused of the fear she begins to say “I.m…so.rry ma.ster” her legs begin to be flooded by her juices as he looks and sees this he let’s go of her throat and she breaths for air he’s anger unquenched he picks her up the feeling of his chest muscular and brittled with tattoos and she momentarily presses her head against his chest hearing he’s heart beat as she gets tossed to the bed he hovers over her and plants his cock on her stomach the feeling of the warmth and hard cock she feels on her stomach is exotic and irresistible I grip her shaking legs holding them up as I slip in the tip of my cock in her as he whispers “beg you fucking brat” those words she had never been called before setting her on fire she followed the command she has been given “oh my fucking please please please give me your cock I need badly it master please my pussy it needs you” I ram my cock into her shutting her up whispering in her ear I’ll give you the best reward her mind shuts off nothing more then his and he’s alone just mindlessly waiting for what is to come as I thrust the sounds of our body’s sweating and heat from the moans and juices she begins to get closer ever before as I stop whispered in her ear for a final time “hold it until I cum” as I start again her pussy

[louisisalarrie]

Hello—I’m happy to see you here!

You sounded pretty sure in some recent posts that Harry and Louis will eventually come out—either together or separately, with the latter less likely for Louis.

Coming out may not be as appealing to them as it was when they were much younger, because of the success they are both experiencing now, and maybe not wanting to take that risk to their popularity or earning potential.

I’m curious about your thoughts about the possibility of coming out. Or maybe what might lead up to it (you mentioned “seeding” the process).

I realize that this question assumes they are not straight; that is where I am starting from.

Thanks very much!

Hi sweet anon!

Yeah… look. I can understand exactly what you’re saying. As they’ve gotten older, they might even prefer their relationship to not be out to the general public for now, so they can both have their careers without it being overshadowed by Larry. They can actively chase what they want, and understand that coming out right now isn’t ideal for their relationship, or their careers.

However, they’re both very smart and I believe they’ll do it when they feel the time is right/when they are okay to do so. After being shoved down for so long, the feeling of freedom is definitely appealing to them, but coming out isn’t simple. It requires a million interviews after that, cleaning up stunts, trying not to break NDAs, scheduling, legalities and lawyers, and figuring out how best to do it all. It’s a long process so they both don’t get sued and break contracts and essentially lose their careers. I don’t think they would lose everything, per se, but while the industry is still full of old school bigwigs who think they know what’s best, Harry and louis can lose a lot. And while the thinking is “oh but we’d still love and support them!”, which we would, it’s a matter of then finding a team to help them further their careers and also continue to succeed. They would need managers/PR folks who KNOW what they’re doing, and while we don’t agree with a lot of the people who’ve represented them, those idiots unfortunately are very good at creating, and maintaining, successful careers for artists. Not having the big bosses behind you… well… it’s gonnna be very different, and a lot harder. And the music industry just isn’t far enough ahead yet to have managers/teams who are both extremely good at their job and able to handle the biggest stars in the world, and simultaneously are open minded.

Harry and Louis don’t wanna be managed by people who don’t support their love/lifestyle/who they are, but they have little choice right now to have a good team behind them. I know one of their Tour Managers who worked with one of them over the past little while, and that person is in their like… late 60s, and is rough around the edges, with very little care for the people they work with. This person gets the job done, brilliantly, makes sure everything is smooth and the tour goes great, but is very old school thinking and doesn’t care too much about the artists themselves, and what they want. It’s really sad, but unfortunately, that TM is chosen for these tours because of their experience. Not because they care about the artist themselves.

This TM fought tooth and nail about everything, said some really choice words, and actively thought this artist was ridiculous for what they wanted (which truly wasn’t that wild, but as an old school thinker, he doesn’t care for ex boyband members). Anyway, I’m actively watching all this go down in the industry right now. With the next generations, hopefully it’ll change. Just gotta let the old losers move on, and trust that H and L will do what’s best for them.

[autogynecologist]

a list of things I experienced during my bad edibles high :DDD

Note that I didn't literally see some of these visuals but that's what they felt like to me in this particular abstract way.

- I started to feel depersonalized, like I increasingly was not in my body or in the present moment. I was in a state of complete disbelief that this was my body and I was in it

- I was a brain wearing a VR headset and playing a hyper-realistic video game. What's beyond this game? I don't know.

- (strap in, this gets really abstract now) what it FELT like to me, was that I was being pulled out of a screen, and the TV was a wacky shape with a backdrop of artificial, Windows 95 clouds, and the background would change to all these weird neon colors. The graphics of the outside world I can only describe as "Spy Kids CGI". It felt like I was perpetually phasing from the video game to the GameCube main menu (idk what a GameCube is like bitch I was born in 2002)

- It felt like my consciousness was in an aspect ratio of 1:1 and was zoomed in. It also felt like the motion smoothing setting was turned on for the world around me, like everything was 80 FPS.

- The speed of the car I was in felt distorted; I'd close my eyes and it'd feel like we were going 100 mph

- Sometimes I'd close my eyes and feel like I was inside my skull

- I was continuously phasing not just in and out of the present moment, but also in and out of time. Time was irregular, like I was skipping cutscenes in a game.

- I was FEELING (not just remembering) my memories and my dreams blending together into this singular constantly morphing thing. Like those AI generated pictures that morph into different stuff. What I mean by feeling is that the memories are like a substance, an abstract thing touching my brain that I can't describe other than the fact that it's there.

- Sometimes I would feel things and visions that feel like memories, and feel familiar in an abstract dream-like way, but are really like if I asked an AI to draw a memory I would have. It felt like I was feeling these liminal space "dreamcore" pictures but with a multisensory dream filter put on them to give them back their whimsy.

- The visual of me turning to look in the mirror would be fuzzy and delayed.

- Moving my body would feel delayed in the same way, like the world was made of fluids. It'd feel like I was concentrating my consciousness into my hand for example.

- I was feeling multiple of my selves across time, all at once. Different self-perceptions of how I see myself as a girl, as well as me back when I was a guy, at different points of my life. I kind of didn't know who to be, what was true or untrue.

- The high is especially rough if you're like me and don't have a consistent mental image of yourself.

- In "Hot Allostatic Load," Porpentine described how her "aperture of time" (which I interpret as, if time were a space, how big the space that her sense of self took up was) was reduced to about a minute. This I greatly relate to. During my high, it was like my aperture of time was incredibly inflated and covering my entire life timeline at different multiple points.

- I would think, "Was I depersonalized the whole time as a kid? This feeling is so familiar."

- "Riding the edge of consciousness" like a totally tubular wave bro

- Of course, the physical symptoms: my eyes and my mouth were dry as hell. I was also dizzy and everything made me anxious. Depersonalization was terrifying to me. But weirdly, thinking about what it would be like to slowly come back was also anxiety-inducing. The process of coming back.

- if you were there you'd find me strangely deadpan but make no mistake, there was horror behind these empty eyes.

- I sometimes felt like I'd be in this state forever and everything would drive me to death.

- One of my two friends bought me hostess chocolate cupcakes which were amazing.

- They were so amazing keeping me company and everything and making sure I was okay. I'm so thankful that they were there to make things easier for me.

- The Spy Kids TV world would soon fade into black, and in its place, when I closed my eyes I'd only see a morphing image of a bunch of nostalgic shit from my memories blending together. I'd describe it as "Windows XP icons, Kuwaiti Fils coins, Arabic school textbook with colorful block Arabic letters." Everything I saw had this thick familiarity feeling, like a sap, coating my consciousness.

- It Gets Better

- as I was coming down from this high, I was horny, like, good warm fuzzy horny, and being in my bed, sleeping on my pillows tucked into my blanket, felt overwhelmingly great.

- It was 7 AM and the sunrise coming into my bedroom was warm and it felt pink. I thought "oh THIS is girlhood. Waking up in a bright morning with a Taylor Swift 2024 flag hanging above my head."

- I'm still recovering from the whole thing, trying to remember what being grounded in my body and the present moment feels like.

I didn't write this so I'd be like "don't do drugs kids drugs are bad." I wrote about this because I wanted to immortalize this moment in some art form. (Like a Tumblr post). If I had a moral with this it'd be "do drugs responsibly and surround yourself with friends who care about you and respect you"