#i know they feel different but the core of the characters are always coming of age

[khaleesiofalicante]

Greetings,

Once again, I'm here with a mandatory post covering everything you need to know about my next fic, in this case, YBMF. I usually do this upfront to set expectations and answer some burning questions, so let’s dive in!

What's this fic about?

I’d say it’s kind of canon-divergent—it’s a different kind of shadow world with new geography and politics. Think of it like an alternate reality, like Thule, where the core of the characters and the shadow world stay the same, but their fates and storylines are totally different. The fic explores themes of separation—systematic, not just romantic (though maybe that too). I’m playing with similar ideas in my original book, so this feels like good practice!

Who are the main characters?

The story mainly revolves around Malec, but like TLND, it’s a story that has to be told through the four of them to really get the full picture. Everyone gets a POV, their own story arc, and their own journey in the fic. So, honestly, I’d say they’re all main characters.

What's the format?

We’re back to multiple POVs and timelines—yay! Each chapter has two POVs: one from a child and one from a parent. The first half of the story is split between past and present—Max and Rafael cover the present, while Alec and Magnus take us through the past. In the second half, all four of them come together in the present timeline.

Is it angsty?

I’d say so, yeah. It tackles some heavy topics, and as hinted, Malec aren’t together in this fic—so you can definitely expect some angst. I’d place it somewhere between TLND and LBAF in terms of angst levels. Of course, I’ll tag anything potentially triggering as we go, but as always, please prioritize your mental health and read at your own pace. PS - It's always a happy ending though :)

Is this book or show-based?

It’s book-based, especially since the world-building in this one is pretty heavy. I’m leaning on the books and their characters, but you’ll also see some Daniverse/LBAF OCs pop up. You don’t need to have read my other fics to follow this one—but it’s definitely more fun if you have, hehe.

Is it long?

Multiple POV stories tend to be long anyway, but honestly, I never know how long until I’m deep into the writing process. That said, this one is planned to have around 25 chapters (plus or minus 3), so it’s a little on the longer side.

What’s the writing schedule? When will you post?

The writing schedule for this fic is December - March. As usual, I plan to post twice a week (Tuesdays and Fridays - at night).

Okay, that's it. I'll see you on Tuesday with the first chapter! ❤️

[copper-ice-cube]

Main D20 Seasons Ultimate Ranking: part 3

Bonus: did I get any genres wrong?

(Part I, Part II, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI)

[maelancoli]

Writing Intimacy

i often see writers sharing a sentiment of struggling with writing kiss scenes which honestly bleeds into other portrayals of physical intimacy. i see it a lot in modernized styles of writing popularized by the recent trend in publishing to encourage short, choppy sentences and few adverbs, even less descriptive language. this makes intimacy come across awkward, like someone writing a script or clumsy recounting of events rather than a beautiful paragraph of human connection.

or just plane horniness. but hey, horny doesn't have to be mutually exclusive with poetic or sensual.

shallow example: they kissed desperately, tongues swirling and she moaned. it made her feel warm inside.

in depth example: she reached for the other woman slowly and with a small measure of uncertainty. the moment her fingers brushed the sharp, soft jaw of her companion, eliza's hesitance slid away. the first kiss was gentle when she finally closed the distance between them. she pressed her lips lightly to gabriella's in silent exploration. a tender question. gabriella answered by meeting her kiss with a firmer one of her own. eliza felt the woman's fingers curling into her umber hair, fingernails scraping along her scalp. everything inside eliza relaxed and the nervousness uncoiled from her gut. a warm buzz of energy sunk through her flesh down to the very core of her soul. this was right. this was always where she needed to be.

the first complaint i see regards discomfort in writing a kiss, feeling like one is intruding on the characters. the only way to get around this is to practice. anything that makes you uncomfortable in writing is something you should explore. writing is at its best when we are pushing the envelope of our own comfort zones. if it feels cringy, if it feels too intimate, too weird, too intrusive, good. do it anyway! try different styles, practice it, think about which parts of it make you balk the most and then explore that, dissect it and dive into getting comfortable with the portrayal of human connection.

of course the biggest part comes to not knowing what to say other than "they kissed" or, of course, the tried and true "their lips crashed and their tongues battled for dominance" 😐. so this is my best advice: think beyond the mouth. okay, we know their mouths are mashing. but what are their hands doing? are they touching one another's hair? are they scratching or gripping desperately at one another? are they gliding their hands along each other's body or are they wrapping their arms tightly to hold each other close? do they sigh? do they groan? do they relax? do they tense? are they comfortable with each other or giddy and uncertain? is it a relief, or is it bringing more questions? is it building tension or finally breaking it?

get descriptive with the emotions. how is it making the main character/pov holder feel? how are they carrying those emotions in their body? how do they feel the desire in their body? desire is not just felt below the belt. it's in the gut, it's in the chest, it's in the flushing of cheeks, the chills beneath the skin, the goosebumps over the surface of the flesh. everyone has different pleasure zones. a kiss might not always lead desire for overtly sexual touches. a kiss might lead to the desire for an embrace. a kiss might lead to the impulse to bite or lick at other areas. a kiss could awaken desire to be caressed or caress the neck, the shoulder, the back, the arms etc. describe that desire, show those impulses of pleasure and affection.

of course there is the tactile. what does the love interest taste like? what do they smell like? how do they kiss? rough and greedy? slow and sensual? explorative and hesitant? expertly or clumsily? how does it feel to be kissed by them? how does it feel to kiss them?

i.e. examine who these individuals are, what their motives and feelings are within that moment, who they are together, what it looks like when these two individuals come together. a kiss is not about the mouth. it's about opening the door to vulnerability and desire in one's entire body and soul.

[tiyawnyana]

A/N: thought I'd hop back in to writing but for my dear, beloved wife. I can see her as at first being rough around the edges; you gotta work for her love ya know? But at her core she's a lover and will worship her partner essentially. Also! She likes being called handsome!!

Characters: Sevika x Fem Reader

Warnings: cutesy couple, soft smut, oral (reader receiving), fingering, strap-on usage, some dirty talk kinda, maybe a little ooc

Men and Children DNI

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Long Day

Lately, you'd been finding yourself dozing off on the couch, waiting for your partner to return to the safety and comfort of your shared apartment by the bar.

Tonight wasn't any different; you were curled beneath one of your old blankets, eyes becoming heavier as the bustling below didn't cease in the streets. The neon lights of the various buildings filled the room in a green glow.

Just as warmth seeped into your bones, you heard footsteps, large boots, approaching the door. The mechanical click of a metal arm followed by the door unlocking has you slowly coming back from a not so satisfying sleep.

The door creeks open and you blink slowly.

She's trying to be quiet, you can tell. She always slips those big boots off by the door, locking the door behind her as she carefully walks in through the small hallway to find you in the living room.

"Mm-" you hum, rolling over to face the ceiling as she comes into view, hovering over the back of the couch. You give her a sleepy smile, stretching your legs with a satisfying 'pop'.

"Hey, baby," she murmurs softly, flesh hand reaching down to cup your cheek as she leans against the back of the couch,"Sorry, did I wake you?"

You shake your head,"No- if you were maybe five minutes later then most likely," you lean in to her hand, cupping it with your own.

She nods, gazing at you.

She's silent for a moment before she sighs, shoulders finally sagging as she slowly relaxes.

You lift your arms, beckoning her in.

She huffs, circling the couch and hovering over you for a moment before crawling onto the couch to lay her head over your chest. Her legs hang off the couch, but she doesn't seem to mind it.

She slumps against you, head rested over the swell of your breasts.

You bring your hand down to pull the ponytail from her hair, carding your fingers through any tangles while drifting your other hand lower to lightly scratch over her shoulders.

She releases a low hum, her arms moving to hold on either side of your torso.

It's quiet. Serene, for a little while. You can almost tune out the bustling people outside the apartment.

"Did something happen, Sevi?" You ask softly, your gaze lowering to her relaxed form.

She grumbles against you, tensing for just a moment before sighing.

"Same bullshit, different day," she huffs, voice low and filled with frustration.

You hum softly, acknowledging her,"I'm sorry," you murmur.

"Nothin' to be sorry for," she murmurs,"it's a job."

You manage a half shrug, a hum once again before brushing some hair from her face.

"You're not injured or anything, are you?"

She hums a 'no', remaining quiet otherwise.

Gradually, the tension in her shoulders and back begin to smooth out, slowly allowing her weight to completely cover you.

It's comforting, really; her solid weight, concrete and toned perfectly aligning with yours.

She didn't believe in soul mates. But if they were real.. she's positive you're it for her.

At first, you don't realize she shuffles upwards until you feel her press a soft kiss against your throat. Her breath brushes the soft skin there, causing goosebumps to form across your chest.

"You're too good to me," she murmurs between kisses, moving them up to the skin beneath your jaw.

Your eyes flutter, a soft laugh escaping your lips,"Sevi- you deserve it," you hum, baring your neck further for her surprisingly soft lips. First time she kissed you, you had expected chapped lips- but no, just perfectly kissable lips.

Her flesh hand moves, ducking beneath your shirt to cup beneath your breast. Her kisses become more heated- your eyes flutter when she sucks softly, right over your pulse.

"Need you," she mutters between kisses.

"You have me," you respond back.

She pulls back, gaze locked with your before she moves up to slot her lips over yours, her kiss soft and sweet. Just tasting, refreshing her memory over the silk feel of your mouth before she tongues at the seam of your lips, begging for entry.

You grant it, humming at the back of your throat when her tongue presses against yours, tasting you.

You can feel her shift her weight upwards, pressing between your thighs as her metal hand moves down to grip your thigh, spreading you open and wrapping it around her waist.

You cup the side of her neck, thumb tracing the faint scarring from the warehouse incident all those years ago.

She kisses you harder, almost as if to swallow you whole. She would- with the guarantee you'd be with her everywhere.

She lightly bites your lower lip, soothing the slight sting with her tongue before pulling back, pressing hotter kisses over your cheek, down to your jaw and back to your neck where she intends to make her mark once more.

You shiver, panting softly, baring your neck once again,"Sev- Sevika-" you hum softly.

She grunts against your neck, not stopping her nipping and marking.

"As much as I love this couch- mmmph-" your eyes flutter as she sucks a mark over your shoulder,"Can we- can we move this to the bedroom-?"

You yelp as she's immediately sitting up to drag you closer by your hips, legs wrapped around her waist, lifting you and standing as she grips your rear.

You press soft kisses to her throat, one hand cupping the back of her head carefully.

She treads carefully, taking her time as she walks you to the bedroom before gently placing you on the bed and cupping your cheeks to kiss you again.

This kiss is deep but brief, she pulls back to grip the bottom of your shirt, looking at you for confirmation before carefully tugging it up and over your head. You're bare beneath the fabric and she's glad- one less obstacle for her feasting eyes.

She takes her shirt off quickly, and you're grateful for the heavenly sight of her as always.

Toned abdomen, dark skin, faint and new scarring across her body with those silvery blue scars beneath her metal arm and across her shoulder. Full breasts come into view as she takes off her bra, nearly having you salivate at the sight.

Your hands move to cup her sides, leaning closer to kiss over the muscle over her stomach, the gesture stirring something in her heart.

She stops you, though, and gently pushes you back against the bed, hands moving down to untie your bottoms and tugging them off. She kisses over your hips, almost like she was worshipping you and the feel of your skin beneath her lips.

That's exactly what she was doing.

She takes her time, remapping your body beneath her lips and hands- the warmth of her flesh hand a stark but welcoming contrast in comparison to the cold of her metal hand.

She was always so careful, cautious as to not knick your skin with her metal hand.

Shivers roll down your spine as she trails back up your legs, lingering above the band of your underwear before moving up to kiss and suck marks over your breasts.

She hovers above you as she moves, mouth coming to suck over a perked nipple.

"Mmph- Sevi-" you whine softly, fingers lacing into her hair,"Need you-"

"You have me," she murmurs, kissing over your heart.

She leans back, standing to grab her strap and belt, coming back and dropping it to the side before kissing back down your front. She pulls off your underwear, tossing them somewhere to be bothered with later.

You sit up slightly, peering down at her as she kneels down on the floor, tugging you in by your hips and lifting one leg over her shoulder, holding the other down against the blankets.

You're embarrassed to see she's just gazing down at your soaked folds, arousal clear as day.

"Sevika-" you groan, attempting to close your legs in embarrassment but she doesn't let you- instead, she leans in, blowing cool air over you teasingly before pressing a soft kiss to your folds.

This is what you loved (hated) most- she took her time, was a certified munch; drawing out the pleasure by giving light and soft touches, slowly spreading you open and licking over your hard clit. She'll pull back to nip along your inner thighs, teasingly kissing around where you most needed her.

You slump back against the bed, whining softly as she prolonges the pleasure while not quite giving enough-

"Sevi- please," you whimper, attempting to roll your hips up to no avail,"More-"

She groans against you, lips sucking over your clit and relishing in your yelp of pleasure. Her grip on your legs is firm, not giving you the chance to squirm into her or away.

Her metal hand holds you down with a firm grip over your stomach as she moves her flesh hand to spread you open further, almost admiring you before her middle finger prods at your hole, carefully pressing in and gaging your reaction for any discomfort.

You sigh in bliss, the discomfort and stretch a far memory from all the times Sevika had honestly fucked your brains out.

She leans back in, flicking her tongue over your clit as she thrusts her finger in and out of you, gradually adding another.

Your knuckles go pale as you grip the sheets, neck arching as moans tumble from your lips.

"Please- please! Sevi-" you babble, chest heaving with the harsh breaths you take in.

Sevika grins, gazing up at you as she quirks her fingers, rubbing into that spot.

"Perfect," she mouths against you,"So perfect for me."

A high whine escaped your lips, drawn out under her rough tongue and deliberate fingers as your thighs tremble. You reach that crest, tumbling over it with her force.

You're warm- so warm, you can feel the cool sweat across your body.

You whine, pushing at her hand as her grip never left, giving her more time to suck over your sensitive clit.

"Too much-" you groan, panting harshly, grimacing at the overstimulation given.

She finally relents, pulling back to gaze up at you with a faint smirk. Her lips are shiny with your slick much to your embarrassment.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, standing up to hover above you and press a soft, lingering kiss to your mouth as she reaches over to grab the strap and belts.

You watch as she pulls it on, securing it over her thick thighs and buckling it over her hips. You spot she managed to grab your personal favorite- a deep purple colored dildo with ridges lined along the topside.

She again, leans in to hover over you as she reaches for some pillows whilst lifting your hips carefully, placing them beneath your lower back.

"You okay, baby?" She murmurs, always careful with you.

You nod, a soft, fond look in your eyes.

"Just admiring the art," you manage to speak softly.

"There's no mirror in here," she retorts, rolling her eyes fondly as she drips lube over the strap before leaning back over you.

You cup her cheek sweetly, tugging her closer to slot your lips over hers.

You can't help the groan escaping your throat, her strap giving slight stimulation as it rubs against you.

She kisses back like she's drinking you in, reaching down between your bodies to guide the tip to your hole, carefully pressing in as she swallows your gasp.

Her tongue pushes in, the faint taste of yourself a surprisingly hot aspect.

She pushes in completely, disconnecting her lips from yours to kiss down to your neck and muttering praises into your skin.

'So good, doll','Take me so well', and 'Always taste so good' to list a few.

You pant, gazing up at the ceiling as you adjust to her strap.

Your arms finally move, having felt like lead, to wrap around her shoulders and one hand cup the back of her neck.

"You can-" you swallow,"You can move, Sevi."

She kisses your shoulder, humming as she slowly pulls out, then pushes back in. She begins a steady rhythm, slowly picking up speed as your soft moans begin to tumble from your lips.

She pulls back from being burrowed into your neck, one hand gripping your hip as she speeds up more, gazing down between your bodies to see the strap covered in your slick upon each thrust.

"Fuck, baby," she muses,"so wet- all for me?"

You manage a weak nod, whimpering a soft moan.

At this point, you kind of go starry eyed. You can't help but gaze up at her, taking in each and every mark- every form of muscle flexing as she bucks into you, the sweat beading up around her temples.

Her short hair even manages to stick to her skin or swaying with her thrusts.

"You're so-" you moan, eyes fluttering as it takes you a moment to get back on track,"so handsome- fuck, Sevi-!"

Sevika groans at that, her hips stuttering as she sits up, chest heaving. Both hands now grip your waist, tugging you into her thrusts. Her tits bounce with the force she's picked up and you can't recall a time you wanted to touch her more.

You cry out a series of moans, head tilting back and eyes fluttering as the onslaught of pleasure builds up fast, that coil below your gut winding up quick.

"Ah- mmph-" you whimper,"Sevi- oh, fuck!"

She smirks down at you, groaning alongside you.

What you don't see is that the straps belts perfectly form over her own cunt, where she grinds her clit down as she fucks into you. She can almost imagine it's actually her cock that fills you up.

"C'mon, baby," she coos, flesh hand reaching down to press her thumb into your clit,"Cum on my dick-"

You bark out a moan, a plethora of various moans and whines ripping from your throat as your back arches almost painfully- you find your release per her request, tightening up on the strap like a vice.

Your vision goes white just as you clench your eyes shut, gripping over her metal hand still holding your hip. Your thighs tighten up, not letting her go.

You heave for breath, panting harshly as you slowly slump back onto the bed.

But Sevika doesn't stop, relishing in the sight of your release slicking up the strap even moreso. She bucks, rolls her hips, chasing her high as her clit grinds into the belt.

You whine softly, watching through nearly closed eyes as she folds in, hovering above you and rolling her hips until they stutter, a low groan coming from her throat as she cums.

She slumps on you, gasping for breath.

It's silent for a few moments and you realize you had completely tuned out the noise outside.

You slowly bring your hand up to card your fingers through the hair at the back of her head.

She hums against your chest, kissing you there softly.

"So good for me, baby," she praises you, before carefully sitting up and pulling the strap from your core.

You wince, feeling empty but she's quick to come back once she's finished taking it off and tossing it to the side. She had grabbed a damp cloth, carefully wiping you down and cleaning between your legs before cleaning herself. When she turns to toss the cloth elsewhere, you sit up, watching her move about and collecting the clothes into a pile.

"Do you want me to..?" You murmur in the quiet room.

She looks at you, a soft smirk on her lips as she crosses back over to you and tugging the blankets back before settling in. She pulls you into her side, covering you before she hums.

"I already.. did," she speaks softly, kissing your temple.

You pull back to look at her, eyebrow raised,"you did?"

She only nods in response before murmuring a soft,'Sleep'.

You settle in beside her, naked form pressed up against hers. You idly trace the metal design across her prosthetic before cupping her cheek and kissing her softly.

When you pull back, you manage to mutter,"Thank you, handsome."

Her cheeks warm, a small scoff coming out before she rolls her eyes and tugs you back down to sleep.

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A/N: lmk if you wanna be added to a taglist! I might start writing for some other characters, lmk if you have any requests!

[tiza0925]

A New Skirt | 18+

Warnings/Tags: NSFW, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, female/AFAB reader, teasing, multiple orgasms, lap sex, hints of a breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, SET IN THE FUTURE WHERE ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED-UP AND OVER 18

Pairing: Bokuto Koutarou x Female Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You turn to the side, bending one knee, to take one last look at yourself through the tall mirror that sits in your bedroom. 

And your chest falls with a small exhale of satisfaction as you focus on the way your skirt is just long enough to tease your ass, how your shirt hugs your waist oh so perfectly and makes it so damn obvious you’re not wearing a bra—

And a small smile forms at the thought of showing Bokuto your new outfit. 

The door creaks as you open it, and when you walk down the hall and into the living room—you see Bokuto getting settled into the couch, turning on the TV to find a movie for you two to watch. 

“You ready?” You hear Bokuto call for you, his attention on the screen as he sorts through the different movie titles to play, and you hum as you walk to where he’s sitting—your lower lip gets pinched under your top teeth as you walk around the couch to stand in front of him. 

And the moment Bokuto’s head lifts to look at you—

Your heart thunders in your ears, and you feel flushed all over your body as his eyes gradually widen—scanning every inch of your body like he’s trying to commit the image to memory. 

You swallow hard, feeling exposed, as Bokuto wets his lips, and his eyes remain focused on your skirt where your thighs are rubbing together. “You got a new skirt?” 

His voice sounds so rough like he’s already affected by this, that it causes a small shiver runs up your chest as you inhale a small breath, nodding with your hands behind your back. “Went shopping while you were at work.” 

“Yeah?” Bokuto seems amused by that as the side of his face lifts with a tiny smirk, and his lids lower as he leans back onto the couch—lifting his hips as he spreads his legs apart. 

Then he tilts his head. “It’s a pretty skirt.” 

You barely manage to suppress a grin as you purse your lips. “So you like it?” 

Bokuto hums, the TV forgotten as he sets the remote aside, and he motions with his fingers to ‘come here’. “I want to see it up close.” 

It’s the way he says it—with his voice low and eyes so murky with sudden desire—

It’s why you feel a jolt of heat sprout inside you as you close the distance between you, and Bokuto eagerly guides you to sit on his lap once he has his hands on you. 

“What made you want to buy this?” He asks as he makes you sit, legs spread by his thighs, and he runs his hands down the side of your thighs, spreading goosebumps with the heat of his hands. 

His hands that are so big that it can wrap around your thighs entirely. 

You shrug. “It looked nice.” 

A small lie. 

The real reason was solely for Boktuo—to get the reaction that you’re seeing right now from him. 

But he doesn’t need to know that. 

Bokuto hums and his hands wrap around your thighs as he slides them up and under your skirt, his thumbs teasing your covered cunt by a mere few inches. “Well, It looks really nice on you, sweetheart.” 

Your breath hitches at not only his words—but from the slight tease of one of his thumbs running over your covered slit—sliding it down from your clit to where your hole is. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Your voice is breathy, a little too preoccupied with the feeling of Bokuto’s thumb rubbing slow, small circles over your clothed clit, and your hands fly up to hold him by the neck. 

And Bokuto just smiles, all slow and syrupy, as he leans in closer to mouth at your chest covered by the thin fabric of your shirt. 

You can feel the heat and wetness of his mouth as he sucks on one of your tits—even if you’re wearing a shirt—and your core clenches when you feel him give your nipple an impolite bite to make it pebble up. 

He always knows how to make you melt almost instantly with just his fingers and mouth alone. 

His fingers aren’t even inside you and yet he’s already managed to get you soaking your panties as you moan, rolling your hips on his lap as he continues his torturous movement of his finger over your panties. 

“You can cum like this, can’t you?” He murmurs as he moves his head up to kiss the bend of your neck, and his finger teases your entrance by pushing your panties inside you for a moment, before sliding back up to rub your clit. “You’re so soaked, baby.” 

He continues to rub and tease your pussy over your panties until you’re moaning, feeling mindless, and your legs shake with a soft orgasm hitting almost instantly.

“Fuck—Ko—Oh, god—” 

“Let’s keep this skirt on, okay?” You hear him mutter as he slides down his sweatpants to let his cock bounce free. 

It slaps against your exposed thigh, causing your muscles to tense, and you whimper as he fists himself with a few strokes to get himself to fully erect. “Lift your hips for me, love.” 

And you immediately do as you’re told as you hold onto his shoulders for support, lifting each leg as Bokuto slides the rest of your panties off, and you gasp with a moan when you feel his thick cock slide between your pussy folds. 

His hands move to grip your hips, and he doesn’t fuck into you yet like you’re hoping he would. 

Instead, he guides you to rock on his lap, your pussy drooling all over the length of his dick as he slides them between your puffy slit, using your fluids as lube before he finally pushes the fat head inside you—

“Ko—!” You moan, low and sweet, and your fingers dig into his shoulders as he slowly pushes his hips up, making you take every inch of him, while his hands keep you in place. 

“Look at you,” He moves his head forward to capture your lips with his in one of the most gentle kisses he’s given you, all while holding you firmly to make you take his thick cock. “You’re so pretty like this, baby.” 

You whine from slight overstimulation—being torn between recovering from your first orgasm and feeling that liquid heat slowly beginning to grow in your belly again. 

But you let him fuck into you—feeling his dick all the way in your throat in the position you’re in—trying to kiss him back all while your senses explode and your pussy throbs because of him. 

“You think you can cum again for me?” 

You nod dazedly, not sure if you can, but—

But then you feel his thumb return to your clit—and god it’s so fucking sensitive and puffy—and he slowly rubs it while fucking into your tight pussy, making your eyes roll back and you gasp into his mouth.

“You’re so tight—shit—” Bokuto groans, moving to bury his head into the crook of your neck, and you feel hot air fan against your skin as he breathes heavily while he continues to rock into you languidly. “I just need one more from you, love.” 

You shudder, feeling that buzzing ache between your legs ready to combust any minute. 

“Then I can fill you up, okay?” He lifts his head, and your heart flips at the way he’s looking at you, and he kisses the side of your jaw, murmuring, “You just look so pretty in your skirt, baby, I can’t help it.” 

And hearing that pulls a small grin from you—

Because that’s the point. 

You wanted this reaction from him. 

And now you’re feeling just a bit more pleased that it worked out. 

“Please,” You moan, your fingers moving up to card through his hair, and Bokuto moans so deeply that you feel it against you. 

He uses whatever juices that gush out of your from his fucking as lube to rub your clit, and he picks up the pace—angling his hips in a way that he knows will have you seeing white shocks as he hits the right spot inside your walls. 

He fucks you while tonguing at the sensitive spot on the side of your neck, making you gasp out a sob as you hold onto him, and he sucks on your skin while groaning near your ear. 

It’s when he pushes his hips up and keeps it there, grinding his cock as deep as it can go inside you—making you feel every thick inch of him pulsing in your pussy—while he continues to thumb at your clit with practiced ease and skill—

That’s when your orgasm hits you, making you throb and cry out a moan as you hold onto Bokuto with all you’ve got—cumming over his cock as heat fills your cheeks and clit, spreading like wildfire and making everything so fucking hot around you. 

“Fuck—baby, just like that, I’m gonna cum inside you.” Bokuto’s moan is guttural, and his thrusts turn more demanding and selfish as he holds your waist with an iron grip, fucking your abused pussy and bouncing you on his cock like a limp rag doll. 

You feel electrified and boneless, all overstimulated and a puddle of honey—you don’t realize that Bokuto is filling you with his cum as he shakes and groans, your cunt taking it all in. 

And it’s within this moment—as Bokuto’s orgasm begins to cool down and you feel his dick twitching inside you as both of your fluids leak out between your thighs and onto him—

That you make a note to buy more skirts in the future. 

Perhaps to wear in public too to see what Bokuto will do. 

End.

Masterpost

[auroralwriting]

your beauty never scared me

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

you’re scared no one will ever love and understand you, but spencer always has.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: a bit of unrequited love, comfort/angst/fluff, negative self thought, spencer is always a sweetheart, reader has a darker aesthetic

Maybe it was the fact that you came from a broken family from a young age. No, you didn't have a bad childhood, but it wasn't ideal for a young girl growing up.

It could have been the bad high school relationships, full of boys who didn't understand how to treat a young woman. Stuck at their stupid baseball games or waiting for them to finish their video game, sitting alone on their bed waiting for them to finish.

The most likely cause for your fear of love was simply the fear that no one would ever truly understand you, and therefore, never be able to love you right.

If you looked deeper, though, much further past the surface level, deep into the core, you would've realized that Spencer Reid had been there all along.

When you first joined the BAU, Spencer Reid was a typical little nerd, the glasses he wore even fulfilling the stereotype. His rambles about anything and everything were endearing, and lead you to begin your friendship with the man after he told you the history of your favorite movies.

"...its distinctive style with his signature blend of dark humor and whimsy. His imaginative vision, influenced by German Expressionism, is evident in the film’s surreal sets and exaggerated character designs. Burton’s decision to cast Michael Keaton as the chaotic title character and his encouragement of Keaton’s improvisation contributed to the film’s memorable, unpredictable energy. The innovative special effects and makeup, along with the creative set design by Bo Welch, further showcased Burton's unique approach."

By the end of his rant, Spencer had expected you to have been completely focused on anything else, but your eyes were trained on him, a small sparkle flickering in them.

"Spence, how do you know do much about Beetlejuice? You haven't even seen it before." you'd chuckled.

"I think Tim Burton is an interesting director. Maybe we could, uh, see it together sometime? If you want, of course." Spencer awkwardly fiddled with his fingers, the suggestion of the two of you hanging out outside of the work settle rattling his nerves.

You had given him a big smile, beneath your dark clothes and makeup was a heart of white and gold, a truly captivating soul. "I'd love to, Spencer! I own it, so you can come over whenever."

"Whenever sounds good," Spencer paused, thinking about what he had just said. "I mean, Thursday?"

"Thursday it is, boy genius." That name was usually reserved for making fun of Spencer, but the way you said it actually made his heart flutter.

Spencer would've never guessed that the girl, clad in dark clothing, the complete opposite of his own aesthetic, would be interested in hanging out with him. Then, it happened. And it happened again, and again, until you became friends.

Your friendship with the doctor grew. As you got closer, Spencer began to identify your fears and your tells. You played with your hair when you were nervous, bit the skin of your fingernails when you were anxious, tapped your foot or bounced your leg when you were impatient. He began to understand you on a deeper level.

It began to be the same for you. You knew his likes, dislikes, fears and worries. You understood his struggles with his mother and father, how sometimes this job didn't feel like enough until he made a true difference in someone's life.

Spencer Reid and you had connected in nearly a cosmic level, and that began to scare you.

It was two and a half years after Spencer had met you when he realized he had been falling in love with you for nearly a year. His small crush had grown exponentially. After Haley Hotchner's death, you'd taken in Jack for several days while Hotch planned the funeral and began to clean the house from the murders. Jack had taken to you quickly; he'd gone as far as to call you his favorite aunt.

Seeing the level of compassion and helpfulness you had displayed for Hotch made Spencer begin to realize that your friendship was beginning to move to the next level for him.

He began to think of you night and day, wondering what you were doing, how you were doing, what your plans were. He wanted to be with you, to feel your skin, linger in your existence. It wasn't until JJ had explained to him that that feeling he felt was love that he began to understand that you were in no place for him to admit his feelings.

Spencer never meant to profile anyone unless he was working, but he found it hard to not with you. He noticed your lack of dating, how even when you had the chance, you evaded it. He noticed your disdain to the notion of true love, or love at first sight, or even soulmates. It didn't take him long to piece together that it wasn't a hatred of love, no, it was a fear of it. However, he could never understand the why of the fear.

Now, you and Spencer had met five years ago. You'd both physically changed in looks over the time, but your friendship only remained and grew passionately stronger.

After the death of Emily, and finding out she didn't really die, Spencer had you as his rock. You grieved together, to the point that for three weeks, you lived with Spencer in his apartment. After you'd left, Spencer realized that he couldn't live without you anymore.

Spencer and you sat on his couch, the cold September month made you crave an early Halloween movie. So, Spencer put on his own copy of Beetlejuice he bought a few years back. The soft glow of the lamp cast warm shadows across the room, and the faint scent of popcorn lingered in the air. You could hear the distant hum of the city outside, blending with the soft rustling of the movie’s soundtrack.

"I like Adam and Barbara," Spencer hummed as he watched the screen. "They make a really good couple."

You nodded, "I guess they do,"

Spencer's brows furrowed at your words. "You don't sound convinced."

"I don't know," You shrugged, sitting up and crossing your legs. "He's sort of controlling over her. It's just too much, she's a strong woman."

"You mean he's protective over her in the afterlife filled with dead people they didn't even knew existed?" Spencer raised a brow, turning to you. "I'm pretty sure that's relatively normal."

Turning your attention back to the screen, you replied, "I guess so,"

Spencer sighed, finally deciding to ask you the question he'd been avoiding for too many years now. "Why are you so scared of love?"

His question made you turn back to him, a confused look on your face. "What?"

"You're so pessimistic about it. You always avoid dating, talking about it, anything to even do with love." Spencer explained. "I'm just curious, why?"

"Because, there is no way love that strong exists." You concluded, folding your arms over your chest. "That's why it's all in the movies. It's fake for a reason."

Spencer nearly chuckled at your words, finding himself in disbelief. Sure, he didn't really believe in soulmates, but he definitely believed in love. "Sure love exists," Spencer said. "True love has to come from somewhere to be spoken about. It's why its so deeply rooted into art and literature. Plus, with the psychological evidence of--"

"Okay, okay," You put your hands up in mock surrender. "I believe you, Spence." You'd never cut off one of his rants before.

"This bothers you," Spencer noted, his arms mocking your previous stance as they folded over his chest. "Why does this bother you so much, what aren't you telling me?"

You let out a huff of air in reply, your defences kicking into full gear. "Why do you care so much?"

Spencer stuttered over his words, “Uh- because it clearly affects you! It’s not hard to notice your dislike of it, and I want to know.” Spencer defended. He could see it in your eyes, though. You were too good of a profiler to not know he was lying through his teeth.

“The real reason?” You sharply replied, hating that Spencer was lying.

“Because I’m in love with you,” Spencer’s voice was filled with desperation. “Here you are, constantly belittling the idea of love when that’s all I want to give to you, and I don’t understand why.”

His words cut you like a knife. You hadn’t expected him to say that, let alone feel it. It almost made you feel guilty. “No one has ever understood me, Spencer. I don’t want to settle for just anyone who will pretend for their whole life that they know me when deep down they will never be able to understand who I am, what I need.”

“You think I don’t?” Spencer challenged. He tried not to feel offended at your words, truly. Yet they hit him like a slap to the face. He felt like he understood you.

“Okay, prove it then.”

Spencer was ready for this, “Your least favorite cases involve those with divorced parents. Not because of the affect on their children, but the affect it takes on them. You hate to see when it hurts one of them, or both.” Spencer’s first claim was true, and it caught you off guard. “You hate anything with a pumpkin scent, however, you enjoy real pumpkins because of their look rather than their scent. You bite your lip, tap your foot, shake your leg, all when you feel negatively.”

“Anyone could profile that,” You weakly replied, feeling thrown off at Spencer’s careful acknowledgment of your little tells.

“Are you afraid of love because no one will ever understand you, or because you’re scared you’ll never find someone who will.” Spencer finished. He watched as your mouth opened and closed, the words not quite making it out. “I see you, I hear you. My favorite thing is when you tell me things about yourself, your day, your feelings. Any day without you is a bad day and any day with you is a good one.”

Spencer’s words left your heart beating faster in your chest as you began to realize this is what you were looking for all along, but your own fear that you would never find it blind sighted you to the truth. The truth that Spencer Walter Reid was in love with you.

Spencer often recalled his own struggles with relationships, remembering the long hours he spent studying while his peers socialized. With him being so much younger, he had no way to truly connect with them. The sense of isolation he felt growing up made him cherish the connections he built later in life, driving him to seek genuine understanding and affection. On the other hand, your own problems with family and bad relationships drove you to hold a near-resentful feeling to love. It made you feel like it was something you could never have. That was something Spencer was beginning to see from your perspective.

"Please," Spencer's voice was softer, more vulnerable as his eyes pleaded with you. "say something."

"I'm sorry," you breathed. For a moment, Spencer thought you were about to reject him, until he saw the glistening tears form in your eyes. "I-I should've known sooner."

Spencer nearly chuckled, "I didn't want to make it too obvious."

"Spencer?" you asked.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Why do you love me?"

Your question made his heart nearly crack at the raw fragility your tone held. All he wanted to do was to take you into his arms and sing you sweet nothings until you believed him, but right now that wasn't an option. "I love you because you're unapologetically you," Spencer's reply made you finally lock eyes with him. "You're so sweet and kind, you never try to hide the things you like and dislike. You're so bold and brave. You make me feel so alive, so wanted. Every moment with you is a reminder of how extraordinary it is to be around someone who radiates such genuine warmth and enthusiasm."

"You really love me?" Your voice felt meek in comparison to how your normal assertiveness and bravato sounded. Your heart felt three times bigger in your chest as a tear dared to slip down your cheek.

Before it could even leave your eye, Spencer brought his sleeve over his hand and soaked it up gently with the cuff. "I love you with every part of me."

"I think I want to love you, too." you admitted. It felt hard to say those words, to finally give into your darkest, most vulnerable desire of unwavering love.

"Even with your fears, you're beautiful." Spencer softly reached to graze your cheek. "This, your fears, nothing could ever scare me. I'll teach you to let me love you if I need to."

"That better be a promise," you slightly chuckled, holding your pinky out to the man.

Spencer smiled, locking his pinky with your own, "It's a promise."

As you held Spencer’s pinky in your own, a sense of peace settled over you. The weight of your fears began to lift, replaced by a tentative hope. "Maybe love isn’t as impossible for me as I thought," You whispered, reaching out to hold his hand. Spencer’s smile was both a promise and a comfort, signaling the beginning of a new chapter in your lives.

[kelseytheballerina]

hot take but like, if you have to read guides and buy books and take a course on the type of personality you want to embody, I think it’s safe to say that it just isn’t you. you shouldn’t have to study for your personality or vibe or whatever. you shouldn’t have to listen to 10 hour manifestation audios while you sleep. if you’re not that person then you’re not that person.

a lot of you treat these things as if you’re an actor studying a role to perform and that can come in handy in certain cases, for example wanting to appear more relaxed or confident when you have a presentation coming up and you’re naturally meek. that’s different. or maybe there’s a part of you that already is there but you just want to allow yourself to pull it out more because you were taught to suppress it and you’re no longer in an environment that forces you to hide it and maybe you need help getting comfortable being free finally. that’s different. I’m talking about trying to stuff yourself into being a femme fetale sex bomb when you simply aren’t that kind of girl at your core. all the black dresses and heels in the world won’t make you as sexy as someone who naturally has that. doesn’t mean you can’t get closer, but you know.

I understand being drawn to certain types of women and wanting to emulate those traits and wishing that you could embody their energy, but studying these long guides and videos as if you’re taking a college class won’t do much more than make you feel like you’re putting on a performance and when you’re alone, you’ll be ready to metaphorically take off your wig, kick off your heels, and get into your pajamas bc it will be exhausting pretending to be someone you’re not for so long. even celebs you look up to who have molded themselves into a new woman we admire weren’t like that all the time because it was a performance. Marilyn had to turn that on like a switch. Beyonce has to get into Sasha Fierce mode and it takes a lot of effort.

if you are interested in adopting new personalities for whatever reason, I think maybe just keep in mind that the real you will always be there underneath and you will always be putting on airs. Marilyn was still Norma Jean under it all. Anna Nicole may have looked glamorous in her Guess ads but she was still Vickie Lynn under it all. I suppose there can be perks to playing a character, just maybe don’t get too wrapped up in it, remember that there are limitations to how much you can really change on a deep level, and maybe just learn to be okay with who you really are and make the most of that instead as it will ultimately be what you are most comfortable and natural at.

there’s a reason that after all the studying, you still aren’t her. it’s because you’re not like her and that’s okay

[boofeine]

kinky things that make seventeen members more aroused during sex

WARNINGS: mdni, smut headcanons, afab reader, cum play, breeding kink, bondage, restraining, overstimulation, role play, edging, pain kink, orgasm dinal, spanking, choking

tags: @huen1ngk4i @aaniag @svteensworld @kooqitas @unlikelysublimekryptonite

seungcheol – cum play and breeding; it has to be raw sex... there's nothing seungcheol loves more than feel your walls pulsating around his cock. the way he can see his hot cum spurr on your ass cheek or on your breast, belly, neck, anywhere really. sometimes, when he feels a little risky, he can't help but ask to cum inside you, the way your cums mixed comes out of your clenching hole when he finally pulls out, he's done but he's ready to get hard again.

jeonghan – having to keep quiet; it's all about the teasing, he loves seeing you suffer to keep it down when it feels so good. your lips caged in your teeth as small whines treats to come out, "is it too much, babe?", he would tease with a devilish smirk, testing all your limits by restraining your high until you can't take it anymore. when you're finally coming undone, he loves to press his palm over your mouth or demand you to bite him to not moan too loud.

joshua – multiple orgasm; like... HEAR ME OUT!! he likes to take his time with you, he's so gentle, with no rush at all. sometimes, it's not even on purpose, but he's edging you so much, that when it finally comes, you cum and cum and cum again. his stamina is crazy and he won't stop until he's satisfied. you squirm and sweat under his workship, "are you tired? i haven't even started with you yet, lay down again for me".

junhui – role play; see, he just gives me those vibes. he'd feel embarrassed at first, but once you fully clock him in, he'd be obsessed. specially, scenarios where you're doming him, he fucking lose his mind... use him, step on him, anything, he's rock hard under your actions. as he grows used to it, he even asks you to get costumized for it, getting really in character, he loves sexy costumes and lacy fantasies.

soonyoung – pain kink; is it new for anyone? hoshi, himself, said he works better under pressure. he loves the spanking and the degradation, he squirms and growls because of you, but it also makes him want to do a better job... if not to make you fully satisfied, he's not doing anything. i see hoshi enjoying face slapping, rough gripping like grabbing his cheeks and jaw while he's on his knees for you, thumb slowly making its way inside his mouth as you laugh at how pathetic he looks for you.

wonwoo – edging; sometimes he's in his mean mode, he normally is sweet and passionate during sex but breaking a sweat to make you beg him to let you cum is one of his favorites. the way you wrap your legs around his hips, rolling yours as you bumble breathy words in between "please", he never cums harder, pinning you down on the mattress to stop you from running, his core pressing over your clit as wonwoo alternates in rough thrusts and slow ones. it makes you almost cry for his mercy.

jihoon – being loud; different from jeonghan, he loves to hear you loud and clear, it bust his ego that he's doing such a good job at delivering pleasure. it could get him off guard at first, too afraid someone would hear, his cheeks flushing, as you scream your moans. but he grows attached to it, it turned into his breaking point every sex, he always pounds harder just to hear you. "is it that good, huh? fuck! let me hear you"

seokmin – overstimulation; especially during oral, he loves the way your legs close on his head when it's too much, how you whine, whimper, and cry out his name. how the grip you have on him always tighten when you say it's too much and that you can't cum anymore. he snugs to your arms, sweetly saying you're a good girl and that he knows you can take it. your pussy swollen and hurt as he whispers "just one more, give it to me" but it's never the last. he loves to treat you well before he gets anything, he gets hard just by pleasing and hearing you.

mingyu – getting tied up; just give this man some handcuffs, put him tied on the bed headboard, i swear he'd cum by just you using him while he's not able to do anything. he likes the frustration, the way he always tries to break free just to touch you as you look at him, tutting and disapproving his not so well behavior. he always cum faster than anything when you use his cock as your fuck toy on your cunt.

minghao – blindfold; he enjoys doing it on you, you always get more out of breath and sensitive when he gets you blindfold. the thrill of it making goosebumps form easily, anticipating every move he might do next. he's obsessed at seeing you so vulnerable, you look nothing but innocent those times. your low moans and whines, he swears you're heaven sent, bumping his length as he touches your body, watching you react shakily, watching you gets him wetter.

seungkwan – rage sex and spanking; not a surprise either... he almost never fights with you, but if there's a good outcome to those fights, it is how frustrated you both get and pull out during the makeup deed. it goes both ways, he likes both, you doming him or him doming you, either way is intense. the choking, the slapping, the way the words turn just a bit bratty and aggressive. he manhandles you like you're born to be his little light doll, changing positions and throwing you around on the bed sheets.

vernon – bringing more people to the game; yes, he's into it. he's up for the threesome always, more than three people, he'd ponder, though. he likes every different aspect of it, just sitting back and watching, or being watched, or mixing positions. it adds to the sex and he's up to it. he's not a jealous guy but normally sets to making the things to you and just receiving for the third person, maybe that's what also arouses him so much, he doesn't gotta do much to cum.

chan – orgasm denial; more precise, being the one receiving it. he enjoys the feeling of his red sensative cockhead burning and dripping pre cum every time you stop him from cumming. the way it hurts just a bit and enough to make him roll his eyes when he finally cums. he won't cum until you say he can and that alone, that hold of power you have on him, makes him tight on his ball. but he's good, he's so well-behaved, you must treat him well.

[anemoiashifts]

why you should stop consuming media if you want to shift.

where your attention goes, is where energy will follow. the more you focus on something, the more real it becomes.

⭑.ᐟ i made a post a while ago saying “why you should get off social media if you want to shift”. id like to expand upon that a little more. so, here’s a “why you should stop consuming media” or at the very least “why you should consume media carefully”.

you are being programmed through everything — social media, music lyrics, television, advertising, the news. this is why meta wants tiktok b@nn3d so badly. its taking away their ability to control & their influence upon you because average people spend more time on tiktok then anything else. this can be extended to news networks because more and more people are using it as news sources. media, not just social, need your attention in order to program you. as someone who has taken classes marketing, the core of what my class was, was teaching someone to be the best manipulator. my professor said to always “play on people’s emotions”. anything that has the ability to take your attention away & live in a negative & distracted stake, is taking away your ability to create the life you want to live. a lot of — if not everything — is about power & controlling you for someones benefit.

taking this into account, you can now begin to understand why television shows are called television programs. it is programming you to think & behave & make purchases. for example, the human mind does not know the difference between real & fake. if something provokes an emotion out of you — that emotion it is still real, even it was brought on by fiction. the human brain cannot truly comprehend fiction. this is why people form such emotional attachments to fictional characters because our brains cannot distinguish that they are a character or a scenario is not real.

power comes from your attention & what you focus on; what emotion it provokes.

₊˚⊹♡ why is this relevant ?

your thoughts & feelings create your reality.

by waking up every morning after a shifting attempt & saying “i didn’t shift, im not in my desired reality” is what you’re affirming to yourself. when you roll over & scroll on your phone, you are taking your attention away from persisting that you are in the wish fulfilled. you aren’t focusing on that you have already shifted. every shifting tiktok video is affirming that you aren’t in your desired reality. it’s reinforcing that idea of “you’ll shift tonight” “who would do this in your desired reality” “___ in my desired reality” — that you are still here. it’s hardly ever said “you’ve already shifted” on tiktok. again, this circles back to “playing on people’s emotions” — desperation & excitement. keeping people in a loop of shifting content instead of actually wanting to experience it for yourself. i will admit, practically everyone is guilty of this — self included. it definitely doesn’t come from a place of malice & i doubt it’s always intentional on anyone’s part but it’s something to consider that every shifting video you come across is a reminder that you haven’t shifted yet.

limit what you consume. for example, if you keep listening to a sad song, you’re going to be sad & pulled back into a time in your life that no longer serves you. it removes you from the present. the brain has no concept of time as it is a man-made idea. by eliminating media entirely (or limiting / being mindful of what is being fed to you & taking nothing at face value), you are getting that power back.

media keeps you distracted. it keeps you focused on other things & not your manifestations. it constantly brings back you into the 3d. the longer you’re focused on the 3d, the further away you will be removed from your manifestations & you will be pulled into things that fuel others desires.

[pythoria]

i don't think you can fully understand astarion until you do an origin run tbh, or at least watch a video of his dream and all the responses you can give. it's hinted at in the final dialogue with cazador with his "you've never forgiven anything", but astarion wasn't some indisciplined brat who "deserved" or "kinda asked for it". He would apologise and beg for forgiveness, he would mind cazador's wishes and schedule and be constantly anxious about it, and the only reason that he got the worst of his wrath wasn't because his personality is just abrasive and it angered cazador, it was purely for entertainment, because he begged the prettiest, he screamed the loudest, etc. You can make the argument that he was the most vulnerable of the spawn, the least powerful, the runt of the pack.

Sure, he wasn't a great person while he was alive what with all his magistrate bs, but he was young and a bit of a dick, not evil. When he was alive and kinda abused some of his privilege as a magistrate that was posturing, underneath it there was always weakness and self-doubt. And when he was stripped of that little power he had, he became his "truest" (or rather basest) self, which was a scared boy who wanted to make it big or impress his superiors. On some level I think he admired Cazador for all the power he had, and we know that at the ritual "he wanted to be just like him". I don't think he would ever purposefully anger someone he looked up to, even with all the shit he was forced to do. For 200 years he was an obedient puppet, and it was his shortcomings, not his defiance that earned him all the torture.

So when you meet him after the nautiloid crash, you aren't seeing a single genuine personality trait of his. Not until the love confession in act 2. All you're seeing for the majority of 2 acts is a mask, a character he created, as well as him in full survival mode. Of course he doesn't want you helping innocents, this might be his only chance to escape, he doesn't want that derailed. Honestly, you don't really see the "real" him until after you've killed cazador. For anyone who finished his quest, y'all know how different he acts in the graveyard scene. He's uncharacteristically soft, even nice, and yes he's angry and he can't undo centuries of suffering, but you've helped him come back to himself. By act 3 he already stops rlly dissaproving of helping people, and when talking to the gurs he's defensive because he doesn't want to get their hopes up and dissapoint them, not because he wouldn't give anything to help. Astarion at his core is sassy, sure, but he is undoubtedly *nice*. He's a good person, he feels so much guilt for what he's done and sympathy for his victims, and he *has* to push it all down lest the psychological pain alone kills him. He likes killing, sure, but more as a sport than a past time. And honestly i could go on and on but let's leave it at that for now.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

LIKE A LOVE SONG- JOSH WASHINGTON

pairing: best friend!josh x fem!reader

word count- noo idea yet... writing this rn

summary: you and josh have been best friends for years, and the crush youve had on him hasnt subsided. things are all fine and dandy, until one night, the cat is pulled out of the bag...

warnings: implied SMUT, hella dirty talk, voygerism, dry humping, josh being a huge tease, pet names, some mocking, reader and josh are intoxicated, biting, etc etc

notes: hey so i need this man sexually! thats it thats all, im gonna open my account up to write for more fandoms and hop around:) just testing out the waters with this one

"josh we are sooo gonna get caught.." you slurred, hiccuping with a giggle as he tugged your arm, pulling you down the empty hallway, leaving your scattered friendgroup behind in the abyss.

a glint was in his eye as he looked back at you, full of mischief and hunger, and you couldn't help but bat your eyelashes at him. he was so dreamy it was making you swoon.

you had always thought he was beautiful- like a dream come alive. ever since he had accidently bumped into you during freshman year of college, you had be under his trance.

"shit, shit i'm so sorry, i shouldve watched where i was going. are you okay?" he had asked as he quickly bent down to help you gather your spilled papers. it was straight out of a chick flick, and you had finally felt like the main character instead of the extra.

he made you feel so special, always making flirty comments (though he did that with everyone), and giving you looks that had your head spinning.

tonight was no different.

the booze in your system made you extra giddy, and you felt his grip tighten as the two of you neared an empty bedroom down the hall.

not a doubt had passed through your mind when josh asked if you wanted to escape from the group for a while- clearly a bit intoxicated, but still stable enough to make a coherent decision. not in a million years would you pass up a chance to be alone with him.

"isn't that what makes it so much more fun?" he cooed, tugging you into the empty room, slamming the door behind you with a whoosh. without a second to gather your breath he had pinned you back against the door, hand darting out to turn the lock.

"do you actually-" you hiccuped nervously. "-wanna do something with me? do you wanna have sex?" you giggled, your bluntness making him laugh.

"yes, i wanna have sex with you. i have for years. is that okay?"

your eyes widened. did this man just say for years?

"oh."

he bit his lip, eyes roaming down your body, stopping to admire every trance from under your fitted clothes. "you gonna let me fuck you? or are you too scared chris is gonna wanna join in?"

"oh shut up."

he smirked, breath hot and heavy on your skin as he placed a soft kiss on your collarbone, nipping it with his teeth enough to make you hiss in shock.

"he does, cause you're so sexy. like a porn star. you have such a tight bod. wonder if your pussy is just as tight."

his dirty talk had your face heating, brain turning to mush as you moaned, leaning into his touch.

"you know how much i've wrapped my hands around my cock wishinng it was you? too many times." you squealed as he bit down on your neck, hard, hard enough to make a mark for anyone with a set of eyes to see, but you didnt care.

"j-josh fuck i-"

"whats up baby? need some cock to make you think straight? you've been giving me those pretty googly eyes all night, thinking i haven't noticed. so naive." he cooed as you ran your fingers through his hair, back arching into his touch as his large hands traveled down to your thighs before swooping you up so you clung wrapped around his torso.

"you're so fuckin hot. makes me so hard just thinking of you."

you rutted against him, sighing at the friction it caused, sending shocks down your spine stright to your core. his lips found yours, teeth and tounge clashing, nothing nice about the kiss. it was rough and hard and full of need.

"fuckin pathetic, humping me like some bitch in heat." he growled, his mocking turning you on even more. you reached down, struggling to tug at his belt, needing it off.

the less layers between you two- the better.

you gasped as your wooden support was removed, as he took you over and tossed you down on the bed with ease- as if you were a doll. you barely had a second to look at him before he was on top of you, smirk coy as he rutted his denim clothed cock on your cunt, already soaked through your shorts and tights.

he was toying with you.

"im gonna fuck you so hard you're not gonna be able to walk for days." he murmred, lifting your hips up as he tugged at your bottoms, nearly ripping them in half.

"then how are you gonna explain to the group why you're limping around like some fawn hm? cause joshey fucked you so good and so deep and your tight little cunt couldnt take it."

[kuroosdarling]

POSITIONS — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. sanji vinsmoke !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : sanji always liked missionary, but he was eager to broaden his horizons with you once you give him a proper taste.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : MDNI. brief mention of blood (this man & his nosebleeds) mentions of creampie, overall vanilla sex — wc : 500 words

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : starting to post my fics that are just sitting in my drafts. i asked risu which character to post first and here we are with sanji <33 enjoy !!

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)♡*.ﾟ

sanji always loved to take you in missionary. there was something so special to him about seeing your pretty face, slotting his body on top of yours and being as close as possible.

loved pressing his forehead against yours to gaze into your eyes. or better yet, when you carefully push back his slightly damp bangs out of his eyes so you could see his face better.

loved to wrap his arms behind your back, pulling you towards him to press your chests together — utterly driving him insane when he feels your nipples brushing against his.

above all, he loved seeing your precious face. intently watching each beautiful expression morph into bliss as he drove you closer to your pleasure, using your reactions to guide his way there for you.

but one day, you insist on changing positions.

he wasn’t so sure, in fact, he hasn’t ever done anything besides missionary so he didn’t even know how to go about it. but luckily, he had you to show him the way.

it started when you climbed into his lap, effectively kickstarting his old habits. after the initial gush of blood coming out of his nose and a few overly enthusiastic compliments — he simmered back down the moment you slid down on his cock.

it took him a second to try to not come instantly, but the way you were perched up in his lap, your chest directly in front of his face, your hands delicately resting on his shoulders — he couldn’t help it.

but he always had so much more to give you.

he soon realized that maybe new positions were a good thing. a different way for him to worship and love your body. his tongue running all over your chest, circling around your nipples as you bounced on his cock.

it was truly heaven watching you use him to get yourself off. your soft mewls fired up his core, driving his hips up further to meet yours. there was no way he’d want to stop having you like this. it might have even taken over as his new favorite position.

but something else overcomes him when he has you on all fours. the way you look so beautiful presenting yourself for him has his mind going drunk with satisfaction.

knowing that only he could ever have you like this, driving himself further into your warm cunt, deeper than he has ever gone — has him losing his control.

he’s still sweet, but there’s an edge to it now. his hips erratically snapping against you. he feels so high, so overwhelmed with the control you graciously gave him.

it’ll even have him reaching over to take one of his cigarettes, smoking it while his thrusts never falter. the view he has is one of the best ones he’s ever seen. screw the all blue, this right here was his life’s dream.

being able to admire your body from any angle is a new game he adamantly wants to play. so expect him to try and throw you in any position at any time. he has a lot of new things he wants to explore now that he knows how willing you are to help him.

[runariya]

The Auction (JJK) • Chapter 3

pairing: wolf hybrid!Jungkook x cat hybrid!female reader genre: mafia!AU, hybrid!AU, dystopian!AU, S2L, dark romance, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: angst, being held hostage, repeated sniffing, obsession and possessiveness, OC snaps, JK is twisted and doesn't understand the concept of personal space, lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 3.2K

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

1 • 2 • masterlist • 4

For six consecutive long days, the routine repeats itself, a charade of all charades, like the ticking of a clock inside a cage, each second tightening around you. You remain confined to that room, trapped beneath its opulent veneer, while Jimin is your only fleeting connection to anything resembling humanity. Once a day, he brings food, and with it, moments of silence that gradually give way to hushed conversations, the kind that seep into your bones and momentarily calm the tremors within you. 

His words, ringing with understanding and a soft insistence that perhaps this new life is safer, better even, echo in your mind like a lullaby you can’t quite believe in. And yet, they cling to you, especially when night falls, and Jungkook returns to claim the bed beside you. 

Every night is the same – he enters, his presence filling the space like night swallowing light, and without a shred of modesty, he strips, showers, and slips into bed next to you. He always presses a kiss to the back of your head, and though you feign sleep, you know he senses your wakefulness, yet does nothing, only lies there, close enough to feel the warmth of him, his breath against your skin. 

Despite Jimin's persistent reassurances, the soothing rhythm of his voice telling you over and over that this is where safety lies, that it’s time to surrender and accept, there’s something within you that won’t quiet. It claws at you relentlessly, this urge to escape the gilded prison Jungkook keeps you in, the urge to break free from the walls that hold you in their cold grip. And as each day passes, you find yourself resisting more, your defiance growing like a dark bloom, unfurling slowly but surely. 

It begins simply enough, with you speaking those words, softly, unsure at first, each morning before Jungkook leaves “I want to go home.” Each time, your voice grows a little stronger, like an incantation you hope will break the spell, but his response never wavers, always delivered with the same calm and maddening certainty that chills you to your core: “You are home.”

But today, however, is different, as you actively choose defiance. When Jungkook returns from whatever dark kingdom he rules outside these walls, you aren’t curled in bed, waiting like some fragile thing for his presence to weigh down upon you. No, you stand in the centre of the room, your spine straight, your eyes unwavering like steel as they meet his. The air between you crackles for the first time, your pulse quickening as his dark eyes lock onto yours. He towers over you, his height and strength an undeniable force, but something within you surges recklessly. Jimin’s words—'you’re different, he won’t harm you'—echo in the recesses of your mind, feeding you a false sense of untouchability. 

Jungkook stops, his gleaming eyes narrowing slightly, taking in the shift in you, the way you stand as though you might fight back. And for a moment, the silence between you is pulsing with all the unspoken things that have yet to come crashing down.

“I want to go home,” you hiss, the snarl of your voice trembling out of your lips, fury seeping into every fibre of your being as your tail bristles, stiff with the kind of raw anger that claws at your very bones, your fangs bared in a snarl that betrays the storm brewing beneath your skin.

Jungkook’s lips curl into a smirk, a sinister amusement flickering in his dark gaze as his own tail wags lazily behind him, as if your defiance, your venom, is nothing more than entertainment to him—a game. “You are home, kitten,” he drawls, each word dripping with an insidious confidence that grates against your ears like nails on glass.

“I’m fucking not! Let me leave, Jungkook!” you scream, your voice rising in a pitch that borders on desperation, though you refuse to let him see just how deep that desperation runs. You plant your feet, refusing to yield, the ground beneath you trembling with the intensity of your defiance.

His laughter rings out, cold and mocking, as if your resistance is something to be cherished, not feared. “You are home,” he repeats, the laughter still lingering on his lips like a twisted song. “Best you accept it.”

“No!” The word tears from your throat, a battle cry, as you snatch the nearest objects—ornate vases, delicate sculptures—and hurl them at him with all the strength your body can muster. They fly through the air with reckless force, but Jungkook’s reflexes are a cruel thing, too swift for your own good. He dodges them with an effortless grace, catching a few in his large hands, his laughter never faltering, only growing darker with every failed strike.

“Fucking asshole!” The words spill from your lips like the objects flying his way as you charge at him, wild and untamed, your small frame launching forward in a futile attempt to claw at him—to tear at his chest, his face, his eyes—any part of him you can reach in your blind rage. But it’s no use. His reflexes are sharper than your anger, and in a single, effortless motion, he captures you in his arms, his strength overwhelming you with ease as he holds you against his chest, his grip nevertheless careful, your limbs thrashing in vain against him.

He grins down at you, that same dangerous glint dancing in his eyes, his tail swaying in satisfaction. “There it is,” he murmurs, his voice low and amused. “Knew there was fight in you somewhere.”

“You’re sick,” you spit in his face, neck bend upwards, your voice laced with disgust, your body shaking with the effort to free yourself from his grasp, though every movement only serves to tighten his hold.

“Sick? Only when you’re not near me.” He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his chest into yours. “But I think it’s time you finally got out of this room, don’t you think?”

For a brief moment, hope flickers within you, a fragile thing, but it shatters almost immediately, splintering into jagged shards.

“You’re going to get dolled up,” Jungkook continues, his voice laced with an almost playful malice, “and you’re going to stand by my side, like you belong there. Understand?”

“Where are you taking me?” The question tumbles from your lips before you can stop it, though you already know the answer will not offer you any comfort.

He smiles, that dark and twisted thing that never quite reaches his eyes. “You’re mine. It’s time the world knows it.”

His words are a poison that not only tastes bitter in your throat but settles deep in your gut, twisting your insides with a repulsion so visceral it nearly makes you sick yourself. But you know you must play along—there’s no other choice. You need time, space to think, to plan, to escape, maybe use this opportunity right away. 

As he leads you to the bathroom, his hand never leaving your waist, he hands you a box, its contents revealed to be a dress of the deepest black, the silk of it shimmering as if it holds the very night sky within its folds. The heels, impossibly tall and elegant, glint with the same ethereal quality.

“Twenty minutes,” he says, voice low and commanding as he brushes it against your temple. “Not a second more.”

And with that, he disappears, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the weight of the dress in your hands. It feels like something from another world, its silk as soft and black as your own fur, as if it’s been spun from darkness itself. When you slip it on, it moulds to your body as though it was made for you, each line and curve crafted with an almost haunting precision. You catch your reflection and it’s unnerving—you look powerful, ethereal even, a creature of shadow and elegance, yet it’s not the kind of power you want to feel. You paint your face with the same false obedience, styling your hair just as much, even as the fear of what might happen should you fail to escape gnaws at your bones.

When you step out, Jungkook stands waiting, phone to his ear, but the moment he sees you, he cuts the call without a word, his eyes darkening with something far more dangerous than desire. “My goddess,” he breathes, striding towards you with that same unrelenting confidence, his arm slipping around your waist as he buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent while your body recoils, revulsion too strong deep within you.

He keeps his grip strong as he leads you down to the underground garage, his hand possessive against your waist, his fingers biting into your flesh as he speaks in low, measured tones. “We’re heading to a meeting,” he explains, “and you’re going to stand by my side, silent and still. It’s not a game, kitten. It’s a trial, a test to see if you’re truly capable of being who I think you are. No running. No words. You keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, do you understand?”

You say nothing, your silence the only answer you’re willing to give as you approach his sports car. But Jungkook is not a man who accepts silence. He turns you towards him, his fingers gripping your jaw with a force that leaves no room, his eyes flashing with anger. “Do you understand, kitten?” he growls, the name dripping from his lips like a curse.

“Yes,” you growl back, the word forced through clenched teeth.

Jungkook’s grip loosens, his fingers trailing gently over the skin he has just bruised, his voice softening into something almost tender. “Good girl. Now be a darling and get in the car.”

He opens the passenger door for you with a sense of chivalry you didn’t expect from him, before rounding the car and sliding in behind the wheel. His dark eyes gleam in the shifting streetlights as he navigates the roads with ease, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the window ledge, his tattooed arm flexing with every corner he takes.

When you finally arrive, it’s not the seedy underworld you expect but an ordinary nightclub, at least on the surface. A valet opens your door as Jungkook steps out, tossing the keys carelessly into his hands before guiding you inside, his grip never once leaving your waist, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip from his grasp the moment he lets go.

But you don’t enter the club. Instead, you’re led down a narrow staircase to a dimly lit room where a poker table waits, surrounded by other predator hybrids, their eyes gleaming like hungry beings beneath the haze of smoke and the tang of alcohol, one chair conspicuously left empty, waiting for the king and his captive queen.

„Didn’t know you’d bring a to, Jaykay,“ the panther hybrid sneers, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Not a toy, Yoongi,” Jungkook remarks, though the usual venom in his voice is conspicuously absent, replaced instead by an unsettling glimmer of amusement that softens his otherwise brutal demeanour, a macabre joy lurking beneath the surface as if he revels in some private joke only they are privy to. 

The python hybrid leans forward, his eyes gleaming with serpentine curiosity, tongue darting out as he mutters, “She your mate, then?” His voice, slow and sibilant, carries a weight of knowing far more than he lets on. 

“No scent of him on her,” observes the bear hybrid sitting the closest with a low grunt, his tone laden with certainty, as if the absence of that primal mark renders everything clear and undisputed in his mind. 

Jungkook’s laughter spills from his lips, a dark melody of possessiveness, as he slowly unfastens the buttons of his jacket and sinks into his seat, pulling you unceremoniously onto his lap. His fingers dig into your side, a casual but deliberate reminder of his control, his breath warm against your neck as he murmurs, “Not yet, but we’re getting there, aren’t we?” His grip tightens with every word, a thinly veiled threat masked as affection.

You are not permitted the luxury of speech in this twisted theatre, and even if you were, the oppressive weight of their gazes—five pairs of predatory eyes stripping you bare—leaves you frozen. A simple nod is all you manage, the tremor in your chest betraying the steady composure you desperately try to maintain.

“What’s your name?” Yoongi, the jaguar hybrid, asks with a drawl, his eyes too sharp, too intent, the curiosity in them unnerving. 

Silence hangs heavy, your lips pressed together in defiance or obedience, but then Jungkook’s fingers dig into your flesh once more, not a painful gesture but a warning nonetheless. So you force the words past your lips, your voice sickly sweet, dripping with the obedience they all crave.

Satisfied, Jungkook introduces the others with a casual air, as though this grotesque gathering is nothing out of the ordinary. The python hybrid, the one with the slithering tongue, is Hoseok. The bear hybrid with the piercing gaze is Taehyung. Seokjin, an orca hybrid, watches you with an unsettling glint, while Namjoon, the lion hybrid, is the last to meet your eyes, his quiet intensity wrapping around him like a shroud. Their names carry a strange familiarity, as though they belong to men who live in worlds too dangerous for you, their wealth spilling carelessly across the poker table, every hand played with reckless abandon, their conversation laced with humour and hints of illicit dealings that linger just out of reach for your understanding.

You sit still, a mute observer, cataloguing their movements, their mannerisms, but most of all, you watch Jungkook as best as you can—the way he commands the space without effort, without hesitation, a king among beasts. His weaknesses, however, are elusive, hidden beneath layers of calm arrogance. Yet it’s Namjoon who eventually hands you his vulnerability wrapped in a careless taunt, his voice a low rumble as he speaks: “Why don’t you bet her, Jungkook? Spice things up a bit, yeah?”

The growl that reverberates through Jungkook’s chest is primal, a deep warning that vibrates through your very bones. Yet he remains composed, his fury tightly controlled, a stark contrast to the savage violence he once unleashed upon the crocodile hybrid without hesitation. “She’s mine. Not for bet,” he replies, the possessive claim woven through his words unmistakable.

“Let her choose,” Seokjin suggests, his voice like velvet, a smile playing on his lips but never quite reaching his eyes. “Don’t you want a way out, love? Any one of us would be more than willing to take you home, far away from this world you clearly don’t belong in.”

Your instincts scream warnings louder than any temptation his offer might hold. You feel it in the way Jungkook’s grip tightens around you, his muscles stiff, his senses flaring with something darker than mere possessiveness—something protective, as twisted as that may be. There’s no escape here, no safety in the arms of these men who gaze upon you with more hunger than mercy. The truth is bitter in your throat, but unavoidable. 

“I’m Jungkook’s,” you say, the admission falling from your lips with the cold, hard finality of a sentence passed down from on high. It’s not what you desire, nor what you ever would have chosen, but it is the truth—the only truth left to you in this labyrinth of power and control.

Seokjin exhales with theatrical disappointment, his voice an exaggerated sigh of regret, “What a shame,” while the others laugh, the sound hollow and sharp like glass shattering in the air. Beneath you, Jungkook relaxes, his hold softening ever so slightly, his hand tracing idle circles across your abdomen as if to soothe the tension he’s caused, though the unease in his body remains like an invisible tether wrapped tight around you both.

The night concludes with a quiet resignation as Taehyung stands, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he speaks. “Nothing more to win tonight,” he declares, the others rising one by one, exchanging their goodbyes with that careless friendship shared only by those who live just outside the law. 

They each take your hand in turn, brushing their lips across your knuckles in a grotesque parody of civility, their eyes never leaving yours. And with every kiss pressed against your skin, you feel Jungkook’s anger smouldering beneath the surface, simmering hotter with each unwanted touch.

When the room empties, when it’s just the two of you again, the atmosphere shifts drastically. His hand wraps around your arm, and in one quick motion, he spins you around to face him, his eyes dark and dangerous. Before you can react, he pushes you back against the table, lifting you effortlessly, stepping between your legs, his body a barrier to the only escape route, his presence overwhelming. One of your arms braces you against the table, the other futilely pressed against his chest in an attempt to push him away, to create space where none exists.

His hands travel up the length of your thigh, the fabric of your dress inching higher under his touch, his breath warm against your face as he leans closer, his voice low, a growl of dark amusement.

“Good girl,” if he could purr, he would, his lips ghosting against your ear. “Finally accepted that you’re mine, haven’t you?”

“Never,” you bite back, the defiance in your voice brittle as glass, your body trembling with a high-pitched growl that dares him to step back, to respect the boundaries you both know he will never acknowledge.

His grin is devilish, his eyes glittering with amusement. “Never say never, kitten,” he whispers, leaning closer until his lips hover just above yours, the mere breath between you both heavy with tension, a maddening dance of proximity without touch. The scent of him, pure dominance, floods your senses, the base instinct to submit warring with the ironclad resolve to resist, to defy.

When he finally pulls back, it’s not in retreat but in command, his hand gripping yours as he pulls you to your feet, forcing you to stand beside him. “Let’s go home,” he orders, his voice leaving no room for argument.

You speak, not because you expect anything to change, but because the words are a final act of rebellion, the last shred of control you can cling to, even if its just to annoy him. “My home?” 

He doesn’t even glance your way, his voice steady and cold as it always is. “Our home.”

1 • 2 • masterlist • 4

a/n 2: hope you enjoyed it👀 lmk what you think in any way you like!

a/n 3: taglist is sadly closed

Check out my other work here!

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[brodygold]

A Costume Idea

Halloween had always been my favorite time of year, but this year felt different. There was an excitement in the air, something electric and unspoken, and I knew I wanted to do something big, something unexpected. My boyfriend Eric and I had always gone for the geekiest and nerdiest costumes we could think of—last year, we had dressed up as characters from our DND campaign as an example. But I wanted more this time. Something bold. Something that would turn heads at the party we were invited to.

It was a lazy afternoon in late October when I finally decided to float my idea by Eric. We were sprawled out in our small living room, surrounded by the usual chaos of comic books, snack wrappers, and game controllers. Eric was deeply engrossed in his laptop, playing a strategy game, while I fidgeted with my phone, trying to gather the courage to pitch my idea.

I cleared my throat, a little nervous. “Babe, I’ve got an idea for Halloween this year.”

Eric barely glanced up from his game, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What is it? Going as our druid and wizard pair again?”

I shook my head, grinning mischievously. “Not this time. I was thinking… football jocks.”

That got his attention. He paused his game, looking at me like I’d just suggested we shave our heads and join a cult. “Wait. Us? Football jocks?” He gave me a once-over, from my messy hair to my skinny frame. “Are you kidding?”

I laughed, knowing exactly why he was so skeptical. Neither of us were remotely athletic. We were both nerds to the core, preferring to spend our free time gaming, reading comics, or binge-watching sci-fi shows. The idea of us dressing up as sports jocks was so far outside our usual territory that it was almost absurd.

But that was exactly why I loved it.

“Hear me out,” I said, leaning in closer, my voice brimming with excitement. “Not just any football jocks. The Golden Army.”

Eric blinked, and I saw the recognition dawn on his face. The Golden Army was a famous team from a fantasy series we were obsessed with. They were the epitome of strength, loyalty, and camaraderie, their golden jerseys shining like armor in every battle on the pitch. They weren’t just players; they were legends.

Still, Eric looked uncertain. “I don’t know, Daniel… we’re not exactly… jock material. We wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“That’s the point!” I said, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice. “It’s totally out of character for us. No one will see it coming. Plus, it’s Halloween! Isn't the whole point to be someone you're not for one night? Let’s surprise everyone.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the golden uniforms I had found online. They were perfect, gleaming in the photo like they had been forged in a fantasy world.

Eric studied the picture for a moment, biting his lip. I could tell he was starting to come around, but he was still hesitant. “It feels… weird,” he said quietly, glancing at me with a half-smile. “I mean, we’re not exactly built for this.”

“We don’t have to be,” I said, nudging him playfully. “It’s just for one night. Come on, babe, we’ve done the nerd thing every year. Let’s try something new. Think about it—walking into that party, heads turning, everyone doing a double take. We’ll look like total badasses.”

Eric looked at me, his resistance softening. I could see the idea starting to take root. After a long pause, he finally sighed and smiled. “Fine, you win. Let’s do it. But if we end up looking ridiculous, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

I laughed and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Deal.”

The next few days were a whirlwind of excitement as we waited for the uniforms to arrive. When the package finally came, I could barely contain my enthusiasm. I tore into the box and pulled them out. They were more beautiful than I had imagined. The gold practically shimmered in the light, and the detailing along the shoulders made them look like something straight out of a fantasy novel. I handed one to Eric, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Ready?" I asked, already pulling the jersey over my head.

"I guess so." Eric said, clearly more hesitant. He headed off to the bathroom to put his on.

As I continued putting the uniform on, my body developed a tingling sensation. My head started feeling fuzzy, and I could only barely focus on putting the rest of it on. When it was fully put on, I noticed some changes happening to my body.

My narrow shoulders pushed outward, widening as my chest expanded beneath the jersey. My arms, once skinny and lanky, swelled with muscle, biceps bulging. My legs, always lanky and weak, filled out, becoming thick and powerful like those of a seasoned athlete, filling out the pants nicely. My rear became a nice round bubble butt, perfect for attracting any guy I wanted. It was nice, but it terrified me. I wanted to stop it but no matter what I tried the changes kept happening.

"Babe? What's going on?" I yelled out. But Eric didn't hear me, likely on his way through his own transformation.

Next came the mental changes. My interests shifted entirely from nerd to jock. Memories of watching sci-fi movies became watching football games. Playing board games turned into playing all kinds of sports and working out to keep my body in shape. Meeting Eric on a dating app became meeting on the football team, hooking up soon after. My love for Eric became stronger than ever now that we were hot jock bros. After all, isn’t that what we always were? Both me and Eric are wide receivers, that’s right. I remember now. Eric says I’m getting dumber by the day.

Speaking of the broski, that’s when he came out of the bathroom in his uniform, the number 22 showing proudly on the front. “Ready to go to the party bro?”

I smirked at my hot boyfriend, putting the finishing touches on my face. “You know it bro!” I grabbed his ass, squeezing firmly Luke the good boyfriend I am.

“Let’s go show them how the Golden Army parties!”

[spuffybot]

Hey hi! I saw your post about Buffy being your favorite show and what do you mean "you know what’s happening with certain characters based on the colors they are wearing"? That's SO cool and something I've never noticed despite being such a tv nerd, do you have examples?

Ohhhh my gosh I love this question!!! There are a few characters who come to mind (Buffy & Willow) but I’m gonna talk about Spike because I love to talk about Spike.

So Spike is a character who very much has a uniform and this uniform is linked to his identity. It’s important to note that this is an identity he crafted. Because as we know Spike started out as William, a man who was sensitive and kind and who was unappreciated by his peers. When he became a vampire he wanted to shed that weakness and he uses his hair, accent, and clothing to reinforce the idea that he is a strong, tough, and evil being.

Spikes official uniform is perfectly slicked back bleach blonde hair, a red shirt, dirty black jeans, combat boots and his signature leather duster. This is Spikes armor. It’s how he embodies Spike and leaves William behind. The red shirt is also quite critically linked to his “evil era” as I’ll call it.

Throughout the show there are key moments where Spike deviates from this uniform and it’s always linked to a crises of identity.

The first moment I want to talk about is Spike in the Hawaiian shirt. He’s just been chipped, he’s relying on the Scoobies for survival, the core tenants of his identity (predator, killer, lover of Drusilla, leader of a vampire gang) have all been stripped from him against his will. He looks ridiculous wearing Xanders clothes because we know it’s ridiculous (at this point) for him to just be one of the Scoobies.

This is not unlike Tabula Rasa (which has a deliciously layered theme of loss of identity both literal with memory loss and metaphoric with each of the characters personal lives) where we see Spike once again out of uniform completely and lacking his identity. Now like I said on the surface he has truly lost his identity he has no memory of who he is. But it’s no surprise that he draws the (incorrect) conclusion that he’s a vampire with a soul on a mission of redemption because for the past few months he’s been playacting that role. After Buffy died Spikes entire identity was usurped by the need to live up to her memory. He babysits Dawn. He patrols with the Scoobies. He lives a mundane and neutered life because he thinks it’s what she would have wanted. Except now she’s back. And she’s opening up to him in ways she never has before. And she’s kissed him. And this is simultaneously the most incredible and terrifying thing to ever happen to Spike because it’s all he wants but he knows deep down, it’s not who he is. He has no soul. He has no remorse. He is not good.

Now let’s talk about some less overt examples. Because the wardrobe team does an incredible job of making subtle shifts to Spikes uniform that communicate his emotional arc.

In Crush, we see Spike swap the red shirt for a light blue shirt (blue is going to be a theme!) and lighter pants. By doing this he communicates to Buffy that he’s different than before. He’s lighter and softer. A man she could be interested in. But of course, just like the uniform of Spike is a performance, this too is a performance and one Buffy sees through quickly.

Blue comes back again in Smashed, an episode where once again Spike’s identity comes into play. He has been play acting at being a Scooby but we know that’s not who he really is. Now, suddenly he finds that he can hurt Buffy without activating his chip. All of a sudden he gets a glimpse of his old self and it infuses him with confidence and purpose. The blue shirt in this episode is deep and rich, verging on purple. By wearing this shirt it shows us how deeply conflicted Spike is. The war between his selfish love for Buffy and his feelings of being trapped and controlled by his chip (and his feelings for her) is coming to a head. And of course, by showing his teeth he gives Buffy the push she needs to sleep with him.

Ok so now we get to talk about my FAVORITE season when it comes to Spikes loss of identity and the use of his uniform to depict that: season 7.

When we first see Spike in season 7 something very important is happening: his hair is completely disheveled and curly, with his natural brown roots showing. This is the closest we have ever seen Spikes hair resemble Williams hair and this is important because as we know, Spike now has a soul and so he is closer now to William than he has been in over 100 years.

When Spike finally leaves the basement he is in a bright blue shirt and lacking his signature leather duster. The duster becomes a key plot point in season 7 with the introduction of Robin Wood (considering it was his mother’s jacket and Spike killed her.) Now, Wood is a controversial character but I personally think having Spike have to reckon with the consequences of his past all tied up in the metaphor of identity that is his leather jacket is chefs kiss.

Speaking of the leather jacket, in episode 15, Get It Done we see Spike put the jacket back on for the first time since Seeing Red. This is a moment of reclamation of identity. Souled Spike is listless and guilt ridden. And as the potentials point out, even a demon can kick his ass. When he puts that jacket back on he takes back a piece of who he is and starts on the journey of self discovery that we will see him continue in Angel season 5. Because ultimately it’s not Spike or William but the fusion of the two that make Spike who he is. AND TO BRING IT BACK FULL CIRCLE while Spike reclaims the jacket, he does not bring back the red shirt.

One other interesting thing about season 7 is that Spike is no longer as wiry and muscular as he was in season 6. Now, James Marsters has said that this was deliberate on his part because he was tired of being naked on the show and figured if he stopped working out (he has also said that he created his season 6 body deliberately upon being told he would be naked all the time) then they would stop making him take his shirt off. And while this is obviously not a deliberate choice on the part of the show, I do think it’s interesting that Spike becomes less angular and sharp after he gets his soul. He releases some of the hardness that defined him emotionally and physically. Which ties in nicely to this overarching theme of identity crises. It also hints at a certain level of toxicity on set if one of your lead actors feels the need to take drastic measures to protect themselves but that’s a whole different essay.

I hope this answers the question and I would loooove to hear what other people think about this. I know I didn’t touch on every Spike moment but I wanted to highlight ones I feel are critical parts of his narrative.

[animasola86]

SMUT DRABBLES*: Tension Relief

A/N: The longest *drabble yet, but still short enough. Just a little smut scene I had to get out of my head. Like always, you can imagine any character here, it's just a man and a woman, no descriptions whatsoever (pics are just to set the mood). Today we'll have a mixture of semi-public and free use, a handjob, fingering and unprotected sex in a public restroom. This works wherever shopping in crowded areas is a thing.

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content! // WORDS: 1.6k // AO3

He's tense. She can tell by how hard he squeezes her hand as they walk through the crowds around them. Chatter, laughter, crying children, screaming parents alongside different music blasting from different directions, merging into something you can only describe as noise, a typical soundscape on a busy day like this. Maybe shopping has not been the best idea she's had this morning. He's still agreed to come with her.

Under one condition. “When I need you, I'll take you,” he's said with a dark glint in his eyes, and she's nodded, with her stomach twisting in anticipation, that feeling of fear of humiliation, and suspense and excitement of the unknown. He's always rather unpredictable, even in their own home.

And she can't even imagine what he's capable of in public if given the chance to do anything to her. But luckily for her, he's willing to demonstrate.

It's a tug to her wrist, a demanding gesture, as he drags her through the crowds, past overwhelmed parents trying to calm their tense children, past a couple of elderly women looking around in confusion in search of their next destination. He knows exactly where to go, doesn't even look around while she steals nervous glances back over her shoulder as he heads straight for the women's restroom.

The door closes behind her, and he's on her in no time, hands cupping her face, eager lips closing around hers, his warm tongue forcing between them, and she can only grab his wrists for support as he pushes her backwards into an open stall. Her back hits the side wall with a thud at the same time as he slams the door shut with his shoe, causing her to gasp, but he only kisses her harder, one hand moving down to her throat, while the other moves down between them.

There's the clink of his belt, the plop of the button, scratch of the zipper, shifting of fabric, before he grabs her hand and puts it around his hard cock. No wonder he's been so tense. He's swollen, veins bulging against her palm, precum leaking from his tip. She pumps him slowly, and he growls into her mouth, squeezing her throat, urging her on. Her other hand finds his girth, and she strokes him in twisting motions, moving his hot skin over his hardened core, up and down, fist around his tip, fingers massaging his tight balls.

His hand slips under her dress, hot and heavy and urgent, finds the hem of her panties, pushes it aside, his fingers swiping through her folds. She's not nearly as ready as he is, but he doesn't care. Gives her clit a few pinches, rubs through her slit until he's content with the slick gathering between her thighs. She's breathing hard against his lips as he leans back a little, forehead pressed to hers, eyes dark, pupils dilated in hunger.

She squeaks quietly when he pushes a finger into her heat, deep and rough, working his way into her, then adds another, stretches her more. She's grateful for the preparation, no matter how little it is. There's the unmistakable noise of wetness squelching between fingers, and she shivers, her legs trembling.

Up until now she's been too preoccupied with stroking his cock and kissing him, pinned to the wall, save against his body, but then the door to the restroom opens, and a couple of chatting women enters, quickly moving into the stalls left and right of them.

While she freezes in her movements, eyes wide before they move towards the little gap between the door and wall of the stall they're in, hoping he's at least locked it, he keeps fingering her, almost as if he wants those other people to hear how wet she is, how wet he makes her. The hand on her throat pushes up to lift her chin, and she looks at him, holding her breath, while he smirks at her, eyes darker than usual.

He coaxes a little gasp out of her when he dips his fingers as deep as his knuckles allow, making her thighs twitch as he curls them inside her, scraping over that sensitive spot. She presses her lips into a thin line, panting through her nose. The women beside them flush at almost the same time, and he uses the noise (and she's thankful he does) to let go of her, then grab her hips instead and whirl her around until she has to brace herself on the toilet seat, bent forwards, while he flips the skirt of her dress up and pushes her panties down her legs.

Meaningless chatter fills the small room as the women wash their hands, and as they do, he steps closer and guides his hard cock towards her entrance. She bites her lip, forcing herself to remain quiet, but when he pushes in with one swift roll of his hips, a croaking squeak escapes her, and to her utter horror, the women pause mid-conversation. He's quick to move and leans over her to put his fingers between her lips to silence her, his palm cupping her chin to hold her in place.

She tastes herself as he pushes his rough fingertips onto her tongue while simultaneously pushing his length deeper into her tight warmth. Her body shudders under the stimulation, her arms shaking badly beneath her, fingers curling around the lid of the seat. She barely notices the women finally leaving, but once the door falls shut behind them, he really starts to move – and that, she notices.

The hand on her mouth pulls her back against him, spine arched as he presses her shoulder into his chest, fingers slipping deeper, teasing at the back of her throat, while his other hand is flat on her stomach, holding her against him, as he snaps his hips into her with reckless abandon. No easing into it, no gentle rolls, just rapid pounding, needy rutting, impaling her, filling her, using her.

She grabs his wrist, trying to hold onto him as her legs become weaker and weaker, his relentless assault quickly overwhelming her as pleasure mixes with pain and swirls inside her head like a strange kind of vertigo. In and out he goes, body slamming into hers, strong thighs bracing behind her, her hands clawing at him desperately. She moans against his fingers, and he pushes them deeper until she has to gag around them, spit filling her mouth, body convulsing uncontrollably, cunt clenching around his thick cock, and he groans in her ear, folding them over until she has to brace herself on the toilet seat again.

He lets go of her mouth, strands of saliva trailing from her lips to his fingers before they snap when he puts his hands on her hips, digits digging into soft flesh, and keeps rutting into her like a feral dog. Her arms give way, and she sinks lower, leaning on her forearms on the lid, teeth gritted before she bites down onto her wrist to keep her noises down. Knees shaking, legs spread as wide as her panties around her ankles allow, as he slams into her over and over again.

She's succumbing to the sensations, but she still hears the quiet noise of other people entering the restroom. Somehow she couldn't care less, and he doesn't seem to either as he keeps pounding into her, skin slapping against skin, her wetness squelching out of her with every deep plunge. Her muffled moans are quiet but there, as are his low little grunts.

The door of a stall to their right is being closed, lid opened with a thud, and it's that moment as he pulls her hips to him to sink in as far as possible, burying himself balls deep inside her before he comes with a suppressed little groan, arms wrapping around her waist as he holds onto her. She can feel him twitching and throbbing inside her, her own muscles contracting, squeezing him, milking him of every drop as he paints her insides with his hot seed.

She buries her face in her arms, grateful he's holding her up as her legs give way. Her chest aches, stomach still tense, squeezed by his tight grip. Head spinning, barely registering anything but him behind her, inside her, filling her up with every twitch of his balls. A flush next to them, footsteps, water running. She doesn't care.

He holds her for a few more moments, panting into her ear as he leans over her, his hot breath fanning over her cheek as she turns her head slightly. She feels him relaxing against her, and eventually he leans back, hands holding her waist as he pulls out of her clenching cunt. Something warm and sticky drips down between her legs, and his hands leave her when he bends down and pulls her panties back up.

Helping her upright again, he turns her around, cups her flushed cheek and smiles down at her. She looks at him out of hooded eyes, still feeling his rapid thrusts shuddering through her body like an echo. With every clench of her muscles, more of his cum seeps out of her and into her already soaked underwear. While she tries to get her bearings, he fixes her dress, puts his spent cock back into his pants, and leans down to kiss her softly, wiping at the spit still caked to her chin.

And as if nothing happened, he grabs her hand, unlocks the door and leaves the restroom with her, sinking back into the anonymous crowd, into the soundscape of a busy day, his hand loose around hers, relaxed and tension-free, while her knees are shaking and the dampness between her thighs threatens to spill past the hem of her panties and down her leg.

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

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