#nothing about it says this HAS to result in sex no matter what. maybe this is just the acespec in me speaking but

[traaanskimkitsuragi]

ill be honest ive seen a lot of people criticize the romances in veilguard but i havent seen anywhere near as much criticism for the sex scenes which is baffling bc theyre just?? so bad???? i like some of them in a vacuum as individual scenes but the fact that they all take place at the same time because bioware Had to have a mandatory sex scene for every romance at the exact same point is so ass (not to mention that the timing is literally RIGHT after the unavoidable death of either harding or davrin like okay??? literally could not think of worse timing). like some of them just dont fit at all, bellaras is literally a confession scene that results in immediate sex (feels ooc for her but they dont even show anything that could lead to sex before the fade to black, so whats even the point?? again it just feels like they had a quota they were trying to stick to rather than making choices that fit the characters), and davrins just straight up does not work because by that point the climax of the relationship has already passed (and if youre going to put a sex scene during the climax of the story, then yes, it SHOULD serve as a climax for the relationship, pun not intended).

[iznsfw]

Lucid Dream

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 7 - Kim Minju

IZ*ONE's Kim Minju x Male Reader Smut

8,525 words

Categories | married man!You, wife!Wonyoung, daddy kink, degradation, rough sex, OC is not a good person

Content warning | cheating, humiliation, Wonyoung slander (it hurt to write but I read "Gone Girl" by Gillian Flynn recently so I guess that went into the whole wife-hating thing)

Skipping again a bit (still will do Chaeyeon and Chaewon and everyone because IZ*ONE best girls). Expect a commission and an IZ Days of Xmas fics this month again <3 I love you all, you make me happy. And as always, sorry for the inconsistency!

Wonyoung is beautiful.

You stare at her as she undresses in front of the full-length mirror. She’s the kind of woman whose vanity seldom rolls eyes because her adoration for herself—smoothing down her dark hair, strictly adhering herself to that keto diet, doing her skincare with the dedication of one who prays nightly to god (pick any)—is wholly justifiable. Look at her. Anyone would understand.

The dress she wore for her hosting show slips off her body. Her abs reflect in the mirror, the result of hard work in the gym. Wonyoung’s waist is impeccable. Magazines have written over and over tips to attain it but it seems that the signature Bratz doll feature can only belong to Wonyoung. The makeup was cleaned up by her stylist but her eyes still shine, her lashes are still long, and her lips are still plump.

Wonyoung is standing there in nothing but her underwear, an attractive set of lace. 

Wonyoung is the perfect female form, a goddess from above choosing a man from below.

Wonyoung is beautiful, a feat that no matter how amazing besides true, she remains the same old fucking bore.

“Did you like my MCing, babe?” she asks.

“Uh-huh.”

Her legs, long and thin, move in planned strides down the room. To the bed. You know where this is going.

Your feet are killing you. Recline, welcoming yourself into the softness of the expensive mattress and pillows your wife paid for all in all. “Wonyoung, I’m tired.” 

She’s a celebrity. Of course, endless days filled to the edge with schedules chase after her. She ought to understand. The nights are her only rest hours, yet with this energy, it’s like Jang Wonyoung never gets exhausted. Always bubbly, always sweet, always so seductive. 

All these are positive traits that any other man would adore and own had you not married her. 

Wonyoung makes an adorable sigh. “But you say that everytime,” she replies sullenly.

She’s pushing her lips out into this cute pout while her brown puppy eyes beg you to give in like you used to. Once upon a time, you were putty around Wonyoung. Never could give an answer without your voice shaking. Never could come near her without blushing. 

She’s the prettiest woman in the world.

You’re the most awful, undeserving man in the world, for all you could think, as you look at her, is: Fucking bitch. 

“Well, maybe it’s because I’m always tired.”

“How about,” she puts a finger on her chin, “I do the job for you?”

Her knees are bruised. You notice this when she drops to them so she could pull your pants to the ground. So she’s been doing this for so long? Lowering herself for you? Sucking you off? You thought that she’d get the hint by now: you don’t want to have sex with her.

So instead, she uses her mouth. Better than her pussy anyway. What are you saying? She’s a tight woman. But it’s the same thing everyday: she gets on your cock and you hear her annoying voice straining as she rides you. Her cunt, soaked and useless, makes you want to call her its name. She’s always needy. It isn’t flattering when you don’t reciprocate it.

It’s a goddamned chore. Wonyoung’s throat welcomes you. The other way around, actually: your cock welcomes a claustrophobically closed passageway and has to deal with it until you cum. It’s an unwanted visitor. She rang the bell, said hi, and you let her in. Doesn’t mean you like her there.

“Doing so good, baby,” you say. Oh, yeah, doesn’t mean you mean it either—although you do feel Wonyoung smile happily. She’s happy when she makes you happy. When she makes you give her the illusion that you have any happiness in this worn-out marriage.

Her lips seal around you. You can feel them suckling. Your knees are tense. The moans are forced, though. Hearing them come out from your own mouth makes you want to place a pillow over your face and press it down as hard as you can.

She slides you down her throat. Admittedly, you love the way she chokes. Her eyes get all watery, like she’s crying from pain. That sounds appealing. 

You’re a critically messed up man, you know. But they’re what make the world go ‘round. Why do you think they write romance books about them—the bad boy, the mafia boss, the killer? Plus, one of those “terrible” people inspires the biggest Korean celebrity to continue hosting, dancing, and singing. So who’s so terrible now?

To conclude, if anything, you’re the one responsible for Wonyoung’s success.

To conclude, you groan as desperately as you can then release in her mouth. Wonyoung gags. Another pretty sound. Her eyes look up while she attempts to swallow. Saliva sticks to her chin. Semen floods up to the roof of her mouth. It reminds you of how it ends up there more often than in her womb.

You would’ve made beautiful children with Wonyoung in another world where she wasn’t famous and you actually loved her. You would have been a softer, kinder man. She would have been a person who’s easier to love and make love with.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, that… was incredible.”

If you weren’t a director, you’d be the one on camera. You’re a great actor when it comes to your wife. Your incompetence in the house is masked by husbandly exhaustion; an artificial gaze of attentiveness hides your indifference to conversation. 

She smiles coquettishly. “I try.”

The wide closet parts. She chooses a pair of silk pajamas that hang around her thin frame. She climbs onto the bed and wraps an arm around you. Her skin is always cold to the touch. Like she’s dead or something. How interesting.

You stroke her hair. “I’d return the favor but… I’m actually gonna pass out. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She kisses your forehead. Wonyoung’s a sweet girl. “Good night.”

You smile. Say it back. Her eyelids flutter closed. Her palms are flat against each other and are placed under her cheek. Cute, you guess. She sleeps. 

You don’t. 

You should have—nothing good ever happens after midnight.

-

2:05 a.m., more specifically.

-

Amazing how time slips through your grasp like air. You reach and reach, desperate for a return, desperate for a flash to the past. As always, your efforts aren’t fruitful. The seconds pour through the pinched waist of the hourglass and you can’t stand it on its other head. You’re unable to revert back to the moment you took your arm from underneath your wife’s skull. The moment you opened your phone. If you hadn’t, maybe things would have been different.

But it’s past two, and you’re resting your back on the pillowy headboard with your phone in your hands. The circumstances just play right into danger: Wonyoung’s asleep, the night is eerily quiet, and the screen is there, awaiting the secret routine. Which girls would you cum for today? Why aren’t your thumbs clicking over censored sites?

Your feed shows a naked woman, her eyes staring up and her mouth wide. Scroll past that—you prefer the amateur videos, where the expressions balance between exaggerated and naturally provoked. A ton of videos could help in the bathroom where you take your nightly “shower,” and it’s not one of those.

Maybe you need the real thing.

Look at Wonyoung. Perhaps you should have let her ride you just so you could cum in a warm pussy again. After all, it’s the least you could do when you were once a fan of her. That’s how everyone starts: puppy-like adoration. But she doesn’t have the star quality she once did onstage; the coy thoughtful princess you envisioned her as. That’s why you haven’t fucked her in weeks. 

You’re about to wrap your hand around your cock and ready yourself for another night of conflicted pleasure. This video is perfect for that already. You could jerk yourself off then get a good night’s sleep. Simple. This is the safest option for a dangerous want. By just watching, you’re not cheating on your wife. It’s just porn. Jerk off, cum, cum again probably, then sleep. Nobody gets hurt.

“Fuck me… please,” whimpers the woman in the video. Her legs are spread open. Her partner’s swiping his cock at her lips while she looks at him with equal hunger, equal desire. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Then, a text message notifies you, peeking from the top of your screen. It dares you to click it.

And it says the exact same thing.

fuck me please, i cant take it anymore. 

i miss you 

You look around, like you’re afraid someone might see it. There’s only the dimness of your bedroom that greets you. It’s safe, but this message isn’t. 

The number is familiar. Has one of your friends gone crazy? Or did they send a text to the wrong person? Take it for spam, a perfectly coincidental one, or a scam, a typical, preying-on-the-married, pwning message.

But why would a contact spam you at a time so strangely perfect?

Don’t bother. Your fist works on your dick as you watch the video. The woman’s so wet that although she isn’t squirting, her juices start to stick to the man’s thighs. Her mouth is wide open as he finally pounds her. 

What you’d give to have good sex like that again. 

XXX-XXX-XXX sent a video message.

Fine. Click it, you’re curious.

Oh, so apparently, the answer is your marriage.

The video shows a face that’s more intimate than familiar. The ebony-black hair already tells you who she is, as does her body. Her form is encased in a floral tank top and nothing else. Although her chest is covered, she’s still a little daring with how her nipples stamp the fabric. She turns herself around to let you admire the curve of her wide hips and her round butt.

There’s only one woman with a body so perfect. And she’s the one and only Kim Minju.

There are reasons for everything. This is yours for why you didn’t give this number a name: 

No one needs to know just from a text that you cheated on Jang Wonyoung.

That was so long ago, back when you were still boyfriend and girlfriend. You were drunk and missed Wonyoung’s old self. Why did she have to be such a bitch? Why did she dedicate herself to work and leave you dry? It’s not like the industry would go bankrupt without her. Minju came over, listened to your complaints—every little whine about Wonyoung being busy, every little jab at her workaholic character—then said something along the lines of, why don’t you have a little fun while she’s away. 

And you thought… yeah, that was a really great idea. 

That was the beginning of the end. After multiple secret meet-ups and raunchy sex in alleyways, you didn’t contact Minju again. You forgot her. You thought she did, too. She should have understood that your infidelity, albeit alluring, would be a thing of the past. 

But here she is, in your messages, with a pornographic clip of herself in a round-cornered bubble. She’s waiting for a reply. 

Although you’ve long lost your aspirations to be a better husband, you type what a good man should. This man is proper, faithful, and loving. He loves his wife only and the only other people he loves with this deep of a bond is his family. 

Stop texting me or I’ll block you. 

It’s not enough. You’re not a good man. You aren’t proper or faithful or loving or any of that shit. You were about to masturbate to an internet celebrity after turning down sex with your wife. What about that makes you a good person?

:( you miss me sooooo bad it’s pathetic, Minju replies.

You look at her again. You may not be able to turn back time with your metaphorical hourglass, but you can turn this hourglass body into any position you want. You could push her against a window for all to see, perhaps fuck her to the floor, or slam her on a desk like a teacher would to a test paper. Minju would let you do anything to her.

Stop it.

She really has to. As much as you dislike Wonyoung, she’s your wife, and you vowed on your wedding day to only have eyes for her. 

But you’re only one man against a body like Minju’s that curves in every right place.

Three circles float up and down in a contained bubble before she texts you back:

alright…what a pity :( i’m already outside!! i guess ill have to go back…

You’ve never bolted out of bed so fast. 

You look back at Wonyoung as you stand in the doorway. She’s still in deep slumber. Now, are the curtains closed? The entrances locked? Scan the house thoroughly, until you inch your way to the front door. 

Hesitate. You didn’t know you had a conscience but here it is. It tells you to wonder if Minju really is behind it, like she said. She knows how to use the privilege of being Wonyoung’s close friend. That’s how she came to your house like she used to with no worry for paparazzi or suspicion. Best friends don’t fuck their best friends’ husbands, right?

Open the door. This one did.

Minju grew more beautiful in her absence. Her hair is silkier this time and her shy smile is brighter. The long coat is smoothed by her fingers, and you wish you could be the brown piece of fabric her pale hands run down. What makes you guilty for thinking it, even when you’ve done it, is the fact that she looks so innocent. It’s like it would be a crime to even buy her a drink. 

How could she be innocent with that photo she sent? The time you spent together: you folding her over a table and promising to fill her up? Fucking her while Wonyoung is busy and counting on you to welcome her home? Sending nudes like there’s no tomorrow? Nothing about Minju is pure, yet she acts like she could do no wrong.

“Minju,” you say. Your voice sounds fragile. She has a way of breaking you befote you’re breaking her into breaking another bed. 

She blinks theatrically. Everything she does is angelic. “Glad you opened the door.”

The knob is cold in your fist. It chills your animalistic brain and urges you to consider the consequences. Right, it says, here’s what a human—a good one—would think. If Wonyoung wakes and sees you with Minju, she’d have a lot of questions. If paparazzi are somehow hiding in the forest that extends to acres before your house, everyone would know you’re cheating on her. Most of all, you’re married, monogamy and everything. 

So what will it be? This is your last and only chance to send her away.

You know what you have to do. Take a few breaths. “You have to leave. I’m not joking, it isn’t right.”

In response, Minju unravels the ribbon of the layers sealed around her waist. It falls apart. You do, too.

She’s a real danger. As it turns out, the girl isn’t wearing anything underneath that trench coat. She’s an artist’s naked muse—bare long legs, wide hips, and a sizable bust that has sculptors carving something else.

The cold hardens her pink nipples. You notice how her breasts are much bigger than your wife’s. How her hips are more tempting to grab, so you do. How her body is meatier, a lot more enticing that you wouldn’t refuse a day without touching it.

Minju fuels your infidelity, and you won’t stop for it if it kills you.

She simpers, fingers curling into your work shirt. “Still wanna make me leave,” she asks, “when you can breed me all night long?”

You laugh, huffing it out as you pull her inside and close the door behind her. Minju looks gorgeous pressed to it. She looks gorgeous in whatever situation, actually. Her thighs squish against the carved design and look thicker as a result. More reasons to dive into that shaven cunt and abuse it.

“You’re not leaving until we make a fucking mess, Minju.” You take your shirt off. Throw it on the ground. “And we better make it quick.”

“Of course.” She nods. She’s slyer than a fox, but she submits to you without a second thought.

You lean in to kiss her. The heat is unbearable. You can feel it from Minju’s body transferring to yours. It’s the effect of her natural skills as your personal slut: trying to fit her tongue deeper in your mouth while you pull her close like she’d dare to run away. 

You haven’t gotten this hard for anyone else. It’s always been Minju you fall for. You miss the way she kisses, the way she roams her hands all over your torso, the way she’s goddamned insatiable. Feeling it all now in one, heated moment makes you dizzy. You’re taking in too much of her, but without her, you’d go thirsty again. 

Your fingers are in her hair; hers are on your waist. Your teeth are clamped down on Minju’s bottom lip; hers are apart and allow soft moans to pass through—one, two, three. You fit each other in so many wicked ways. They did say misery loves company.

Open your eyes. The dream doesn’t stop. Minju’s still pushing her mouth in your face and you’re letting her. You don’t know if you ought to be relieved or downright horrified. You’re cheating on Wonyoung again with a woman whose body is just a bit nicer. You should be furious at yourself. You aren’t.

You’ve made out with each other on the way to the dining room. You and your wife worked hard for its designed walls and sturdy, well-furnished ornaments. A lot of money was raked out to make this house the best place to call home. So, why do you want to ruin it?

Well, because of her.

Minju leans on the dining table with a funny smile on her face. “She really doesn’t do it for you, huh?” she asks.

It makes you wince how you know who she’s talking about. Who else is she referring to other than poor Wonyoung? Poor, skinny, ugly Wonyoung?

Nibble at her earlobe. Hear little gasps come out of her. “Don’t talk about her,” you say.

You don’t want to have any afterthoughts about fucking Minju. Besides, being reminded that you’re disloyal to a woman who loves you very much is painful, even to a man like you.

Wonyoung is an angel. Minju isn’t—but you run after her to darkness.

“Ohh, come on, I know I’m better than her.” Minju squirms with erotic moans. Your kisses are going south, and she loves their little detour. “You don’t fuck her like you fuck me.”

When was the last time you worshiped Wonyoung? Like what you’re doing to Minju now? Your lips haven’t passed over it in ages that you probably wouldn’t know where the bigs and smalls of her body are. Like there’s anything to know. 

“Actually,” you snort, “I don’t fuck her at all.”

You stop chuckling. That was the wrong thing to say. That was the wrongest thing to say out of the millions of other cocky phrases you could’ve thrown to Minju. The look on her face, the one that’s of pride and submission and dangerous knowledge united, tells you to watch your mouth. 

You’re five seconds minimum too late to listen. 

Minju grins. There’s the answer she wanted. “That’s how it is? Just looking at a girl and thinking you wanna stamp a divorce approval on her forehead? Jesus. This is why I never got married.”

“First off, nobody put a ring on you because you’re a slut, Minju.”

“That’s only the third reason.” Her fingers drape the sides of your face and tugs you in. You’re invited to the sight of her infallible tits. “These are the first two.”

The girl isn’t as busty as that woman Wonyoung likes to call her industry mom, but you bet they’re better. No, it’s a matter of truth. Minju’s boobs aren’t too big or too small; just the perfect, filling size to hold onto when you’re railing her from behind.

You choose to suck on them for now. It’s like a trip down memory lane when you kiss down her neck and collarbone. You remember how good her smooth, soft skin feels beneath you, how her moans are a favorite tune. Minju bites her lip while you do so to her shoulder.

It’s crazy to think that she just so happened to be born with this. She was born to be a pretty face with a sex-defined body that you pull and push and pry apart. Best thing is, she’ll lay back down and beg for more. It’s like she knows her purpose, which would’ve shot down her dignity and humanity.

Her nipple pops in your mouth. Your sucking guarantees its hardness, and Minju starts whining. She arcs her body, wanting something rougher. Thus, you seize the span of her hip to rub her pearl with fierce speed.

“Oh, fuck, god—” What others might take for blasphemy, you take for praise. Minju’s already soaking wet. She would have had embarrassing laundry to do if she wore panties. Maybe it’s a good thing she arrived wearing nothing.

She’s still so sensitive. You caress her clit after a few kisses down her midriff. She fidgets needily like you aren’t already touching her. You’re nearly right—this touch is nothing when she needs something harsher. That something involves you treating her less than a human being, putting her down and tearing at her hair. 

“Please just fuck me,” she whispers. “Breed me, breed me, breed me—”

Yeah, that’s what she wants.

You don’t need further motivation, not when you’re presented with the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen. Her fat lips are soaked. They frame the clitoris you’ve been stimulating that shines with slick. Then there’s the tiniest hole below it that begs to be used.

Your digits shove past all tightness. Her wetness allows a deeper exploration, so you curl your digits like you’re beckoning the orgasm forward. You know how easily you can get it out of her. All it needs to get Minju cumming around you is a slap, roughness, and giving her what she wants anyway. You know your methods, she knows hers. It’s a recognizable cycle that despite this, you can’t break.

Part your fingers widely to spread her. She’s so wet that she soaks your knuckles. There’s an ocean inside her waiting to be waved to shore. A storm, too, brews from the base of her throat as Minju whimpers. Her body lifts off the table but you force her down on it. She isn’t going anywhere, not without a fight.

Oh, and fight she does. She was an idol before an actress, so her muscles still memorize the circling motions that repeat on your fingers rather than move onstage. She sang once. That was a long time ago yet her voice sounds perfect as it strains her moans. Every little thing she does is a reflection of her past. 

That’s why when she leans back, pupils dilating north, and says “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” you get deja vu.

Your palm hits her clit, adding impact to your strokes. “There you go, little slut,” you snarl. “Are you happy now? Maybe even a little grateful?”

If Minju’s ass isn’t pressed down on the glass mantling your dining table, it hovers so her pink little hole receives you better. It’s not without the help of her weak hands clinging to the table for dear life, but she seems to be losing her balance. Her hips are shuddering. Her beautiful face is squeezed up into a blissful wince. Her breaths are becoming blunt little gasps that say none of the gratitude you want to hear.

You slap her boob. Red blooms from her pale skin that deepens when another impacts her bosom. The recoil dizzies you. If anyone’s getting the impression that you’ll slap her bouncy tits until you hear a proper word of thanks, they’d be right. First impressions are right just for once.

“T-thank you—” Her voice cracks, breaking like her. “Fuck, shit, thank you, thank you.”

Squeeze her cruelly and pull on the perky nipple. Your thrusts become mindlessly paced. Your hand returns to your cock while the other ruins her pussy. The pleasure is telepathic. It’s connecting you; her screams and squirms make you do the same. The electricity firing up in your veins is a shared network. When you point your fingers to her spot, she arcs her back in the same direction. How beautifully fucked up is that? 

“That’s not enough. You didn’t come here for nothing. What do you want, Minju?”

Minju babbles. You got your gratitude but not a proper answer. To be fair, she can’t speak when you’re fucking her like it’s your dick inside her, and when your lips are all over her collarbone. 

“And you better keep quiet,” you add, curling your thrusts, “or Wonyoung‘s gonna hear. Do you really want her to know her precious friend is a big slut?”

However, despite the rumors she starts, Minju could be a very good girl when needed. 

“Need you to make me cum,” she whispers. Her midriff is fluid as water with the way it rolls, showing off the hourglass shape of her waist and a soft tummy. “Do everything to me you can’t with Wonyoung. P-please, I can’t take it.”

Even if she can’t (wrong by the way), you’ll make her. She asked for it. She walked up to your house with a purpose: to be used, to be treated like less of a human being. So it’s understandable that you slam her down the table and seal a hand around her neck. 

She’s so light that the forceful push doesn’t break the fragile glass. But there’s something of hers instead that’s going to be broken.

“Oh fuck! It’s so–” Minju’s eyes roll back. “Ohh… oh!”

Little sparks of wetness shoot in the air. Your pace turns merciless. With just three fingers, you puppet her body. Strings are pulled—her arms raise and her long legs strain to pull you in. You push and she keens, you pull and she yells. You’re making her desecrate the place with her water.

“C-can’t breathe.” A squeeze of her beautiful features—eyelids wrinkling, mouth parting, cheeks filling with scarlet—occurs before she squirts again. She whimpers pathetically, sounding so pitiful you want to laugh. “Ah, fuck, daddy—”

Something stirs inside you. When men hear that name, it ought to feel purely platonic and familial. They’d hear it from their daughter and feel compelled to protect them from men who’d do to them what you do to Minju. But you much prefer hearing that two-syllable word when it comes from a naked woman squirting all over the floor, from whom once you register it, you’re urged to pin her down, tie her down, hold her down.

Ironically, you release her. That isn’t because it’s over though. “On your knees. Follow me.”

Minju releases a gasp, grateful for the oxygen. The color returns to her face yet she barely has the energy to get off the table. You’re a generous man, and hey, it still counts as helping. So you yank her hair and force her on the ground. She fucking moans, a feat deserving of a healthy spank to her ass.

You walk to the living room. She follows you withher hands and knees bearing the cold tiles. You lead her to the place where you spend your time watching movies, rehearsing, and hanging out with Wonyoung if she’s ever home.

Speaking of, glance at the door of your bedroom. It’s still closed. It’ll stay that way.

Look down after wondering why Minju’s noisier. She’s playing with herself on the floor with no care for the cold chill of the tiles or the little dirt wedged between them. She lightly rubs her abused clit, quivering at the contact. You expect that from her—she’s corrupted, an irredeemable cause. She’ll get herself off anytime anywhere.

But what’s unexpected is what those watery eyes are focused on: you, in a framed picture on the wall. You look younger, happier. You’re in formal garments standing next to Wonyoung in a church.

It was you on your wedding day.

You spit on Minju. “Filthy cumslut.”

The drool slides down her cheek like a tear. She darts her tongue out and licks it. One could’ve thought it was candy considering the lift of a smile. 

“I’m sorry, daddy,” she says resolutely. Her fingers still toy with her entrance. They won’t serve her well when there’s a bigger, better thing behind your pants to do it for her.

Your pants are already off. “Get up. Get the fuck up,” you command, but you do it for her. 

You grab her neck and force her up. The look on her face is addicting, the way the shock turns into carnal need, the way she bites her lip. You press her to the wall, right under the framed wedding pictures, and finally plunge yourself inside her.

“Oh, oh, oh!” 

What did Minju do to get this tight? Her walls are squeezed closer around you than you remember. They’re still wet from her squirting, easing your burden of fighting against the tautness of her core.

Her groans are pitched just like how you pitch yourself in her and make her fight for it. She tries everything: gathering the strength she has to push her ass into your crotch, rolling her body, looking back to watch your cock disappear between her lips. 

“So big, daddy!” she cries. With a lick of her lips, she turns to face you. “Mmm, d-do you ever get this massive when you’re fucking Wonyoung?”

That seals it. There’s no restraint in using her body. Her plump ass leading to her toned back is a temptation by itself. You’d burst all over it (maybe in it) if you weren’t already firm in breeding her. But dear god—it rises and descends into your angled pumps so effortlessly that you aren’t afraid to spank it like you’re angry at her. 

“Keep your whore mouth shut.”

Spank after spank you bestow and you realize, oh, you and Minju are really made for each other. The more her ass reddens, the more hot pain sparks on your palm. She throws herself back hard, you piston her harder. 

Your puzzle pieces stick together so perfectly that it’s a shame you didn’t meet under different circumstances. She could’ve been an adorable girl next door and you could have been a guy looking to slip her a love letter. She would’ve been your loving girlfriend, a beautiful wife, someone you’d actually enjoy touching, so different from the woman asleep in the bed upstairs.

But that’s never happening. Minju’s a slut through and through, and she’ll forever be a sin you won’t go to confessions for. She was made to be fucked then discarded of when she’s no longer of use. You see it in the way she’s in a mantra of craziness, the way she yells, the way she looks back at you like she’s daring you to hurt her.

You choose the dare rather than to tell her the truth. You curl her hair into a fist and pull her into you. 

“God, I’m so close.” Minju’s trembling body grows warmer in your touch. “I’m gonna cum all over your big gorgeous cock. I can’t hold out longer, daddy.”

Your teeth dig into her earlobe. You could make her bleed and she’d still find a way to make the pain heavenly. “I thought I told you to be quiet. Is Wonyoung waking up and ending your life worth it for this?”

“What if I say yes?” 

“Fuck.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice, making her see you’d give her away to get a night with me? You’ll give up all this stupid shit t-to be my daddy. Because Wonyoung’s just sooo worthless, isn’t she?”

Savage her cunt and shove your fingers down her mouth just so she could shut up. You love this. Minju’s always so ready for you. 

No, actually—now that you think about it, you hate it. You hate how she’s curvier than your wife, how she’s more alluring than she could ever be, how she moans despite the blockage in her throat. Everything about her is so sexy that the sound of her choking up spit makes you throb. 

This is the wrong time to have a conscience. You’ve already split her apart. You’ve already got your fingers in her hair that pull hard to the point that damage is highly likely. You’ve already—

—got Minju screaming, biting down on your skin as her legs spread. What a strange thing to have as a natural reflex. That’s all she knows to do: spread her legs, hope her innocent face attracts a guy into her home and his dick into her pussy. Her skin, white as snow, has become impure with red blemishes. You see her purple-bruised neck flex when she yells into your hand. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” Minju yells. Her fingernails leave fine scratches on the wall. “Fuck, I’m squirting so much I don’t know what to do—oh fuck!”

You bump the manic girl up on your knee before spreading her legs. A godless squirt of her juices hits Wonyoung’s face, the savior being the glass protecting the picture. Others bless their homes with water blessed by esteemed priests; you like to stand out. Choose to have Minju’s unholy juice flood the photo you once held dear. 

Did something possess you? An evil spirit, a god of fertility? All are clichés but you can’t help but think so when you notice how fast you’re pumping Minju. It’s like greed’s finally reigned you. It’s difficult to resist. Minju just wrings your cock perfectly dry with her tight cunt, keeps you speedy with her desperate moans. You’re vandalizing her with your climax and she doesn’t want to be clean ever again.

“You think you’re special, Minju?” You press her to the ruined picture. Her side profile mashes on the glass. “You’re nothing, only a useless hole, just like that bitch. Now clean it up.”

Her eyes light up in shock. Excitement? “What?”

You pull her head back in order to have her full lips pressed against Wonyoung’s face. The clear squirt is still dripping from it. Minju’s face is red, and although your cock left her moments ago, she insists on tensing like it’s there. Is that how she lives? Her way of bonding is riding on the high she got the night before and the night before that. She always has sex in her mind that thoughts of it occur to her as they would to an animal. 

That’s right; she’s an animal. Perhaps even a dog would have more self-control than her, ironically. 

“Lick your mess,” you command. “Now.”

Minju whimpers. You bury your fingernails in her scalp until she loses her fake hesitance. Her tongue glides on Wonyoung’s face and relieves her of the mess. Her lips part and close, taking in her own taste. 

She looks like she’s making out with your wife. Her pretty face smudges the other pretty face in the picture and it’s so much hotter than it’s got the permit to be. Wonder how it’ll look if she’s actually kissing the real Wonyoung—picture them with their legs locked together and tongues coming out to play—and you’re hard enough for another round.

“That’s right. You want to be Wonyoung so bad? You want to be the one I drive into the bed everyday? So fucking make out with her.”

“Y-yes, daddy. Oh.” Minju’s moans fog the glass. “I taste delicious.”

 It’s probably a hygienically reprehensible thing to do. But her mouth is dirtier than the picture anyway. You force her lips deeper into it until you pull her away, satisfied.

Not quite.

Rub her clit a few more times. Hose her squirt all over the floor. You’ll have a mess to clean up. Oh, there’s all the evidence: her squirt on the floor, her lipstick in the shape of a languid kiss on the picture frame, the mess she made in the dining table where you ate her rather than your food. 

But it’s all worth it. An evil idea plants and sprouts in your mind. “Bedroom.”

Minju pants. Her hands are flat on the wall. She turns to you, saliva and lipstick smeared on her chin, and asks, “W-which one?” 

“You know exactly where.”

Her wide eyes tell you wordlessly that she got the point. She’s well aware of what room you want to use her body next. It’s not even supposed to be a question given the ways and moments you fucked her there.

“But daddy—if, if she hears us?”

You grin. “Then you’ll have to be pretty fucking quiet.”

The best thing about Minju besides her body is her passiveness. She may act up sometimes but she still needs your cock, and she’ll do anything to get it. So when she hangs her head to hide her smile, you spank her. It speeds her steps to the staircase. Continue doing so all the way.

It’s funny how she struggles to even lift a foot. Streams of your cum and hers slide down her legs, staining the carpet. You’ll have to wash that out, too. If you have the maid do it, she’s likely to put two and two together. 

Even from the back, Minju’s body is beautiful. Her reddened ass twists from side to side and brings attention to her wide hips. The deep line on her spine is a path you trace your fingertips on. She quivers. 

“Daddy,” she whines.

Hit her butt. Let it fill your palm. “Keep on walking.”

It’s borderline dehumanizing. You’re treating her with a ferociousness a woman like her should never have to go through. The eyes of the painted men and women on your walls lock on her. It’s like their hard stares are real. Minju bears the blows to her cheeks during her walk of humiliation up the stairs. Tiny yelps are caused by each one. It’s in her to be quiet now that Wonyoung is quite near, although not as close as she is to another heavy orgasm.

You slap her pussy, making her shake, then lead the juices mingling in it up to her asshole. She chews on the inside of her cheek to hide her moan. She reaches the last step with a huge sigh of relief. 

The finality of the torture doesn’t last long. Fuck, it doesn’t even exist. You collect the semen and wetness from her legs, then drag it right back to her pussy.

You shove your fingers deep in her cave. There. Now your cum stays inside her. After that, it’ll drip all the way to her womb. She screams through pursed lips. 

Push her hard against your bedroom door. Her stomach’s flatness goes up to the point that it’s the only thing engendered into the wood. Minju’s tiny gasp is already loud for you. Her beautiful side profile is mashed deep into the solid barrier between the two women.

Minju whimpers. Is she scared or heavily turned on? The thing with her is she likes both. So, yeah—she’s wet at the thought of being caught with you, being fucked within a distance of your wife wherein she could finally pin down your infidelity. 

The little angel closes her eyes when your words hover near her prone ear. “Shut up,” you warn, “unless you want to lose your career. Or this dick.”

You slip your shaft between Minju’s shapely thighs. A friction is nurtured and grown into rough, pant-accompanied humping that leaves both of you breathless. Her pussy lips splay warmly on you and you’re allowed to rub yourself on her clit. 

Minju tenses up. Her breaths are kept to a hummed volume yet their huskiness gets you to fuck her legs faster. The core between them is so warm and you haven’t even welcomed yourself in it again. 

You carefully open the door. You don’t know what you’re expecting: Wonyoung crying with her face in her knees? An anger you never knew she could have? But what shows calms you. There’s your wife who remains asleep on the bed. From the soft snores, it’s easy to tell she’s deep in a dream.

“Wonyoung’s so pretty, daddy,” whispers Minju. You push her to the footboard where she holds on tight. “Do you think she’ll want to join if she wakes up? Or she’ll leave you for me?”

“Are you sure you want to act like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Depends on what you’re gonna do to me.”

Everything. You’re planning on doing everything to her. 

Push her to the small pole of the wood. You’re forced to shove your fingers in her mouth again to keep her from yelling. The contact it makes to her clit is already overwhelming. But she’s all for overwhelming—she wants the kind of sex that leaves her beaten and bruised, the kind that leaves her sore and not knowing if she should tell you to keep going or halt. 

You know what she’d choose.

Minju grinds on the pole. She’s dancing her hips again. Somehow, things of the past don’t leave her. Her idol days still leave an impact on her. The guy she made cheat on his wife a long time ago returned to her life to cheat again. 

No, you’ve never been one for sentimentality, but things have somehow stayed the same. The slut that is Minju today was a slut all those years ago, too. 

Grab her hips and force her to hump the ball of the pole. She soaks it instantly. Minju is corrupted to no hope of return. There’s your cum, leaking from her pussy and to the bedsheets. Her juices wet the pole and increase the creaking noises that would wake Wonyoung up if not for whatever dream she’s having.

“Oh, daddy! Oh, daaaddy—” she stammers, words bitten and broken in the major need to be quiet.  “Just… fuck me. Please?”

“As long as you—”

“Be a good quiet girl, yes. I’ll do anything, daddy. Anything for this cock.” 

She kneels down. Her tender mouth seals around your left testicle. You nearly shout right there and then. Minju’s running her lips on the underside of your swelling dick. She feels so good, and she is so good. She has all the tips and tricks to keep you hard memorized, if her brain wasn’t too full of other dirty thoughts.

The rasp in your throat materializes and makes her squirm her legs together. She puckers her lips then slips your cock through their joined entrance. Her almond eyes look wider tonight. Your tip pokes the back of her throat. She lets it rub there for now. You find pleasure in the texture that makes you leak. No, you can’t cum. Not yet.

Take a last look at Wonyoung before diving your rod to the depths of Minju’s throat.

It’s funny that the girl still has a gag reflex. Sucking dick is second nature to her. So is getting throatfucked. The walls of her oral hole flex to keep you in. She makes sharp inhalations only to take in the musky scent you thrust on her. In her?

Choking comes after. The orifice grows tighter which makes you fuck it harder. Saliva’s slick liquid state sheens your erection. Minju’s lost her breath a long time ago but she’s lost more than that now. The regular beat of her heart is gone. You can’t search her face for any color other than the palest white. 

“You have to stop gagging, Minju,” you say. Don’t help her though; keep ruining that throat. “Maybe you really do wanna get caught. Makes you really wet, doesn’t it?”

She nods. Your hard tip bobs in her mouth as she does. Her pretty eyes, with their long lashes and big pupils that always seem to gleam with innocence, fill with watery tears. 

“How cute.” You’re surprised that her hair is intact to her scalp after you pull it back. “But I make the rules around here. And I need you to seal that mouth shut and use it for good.”

There’s a possibility that, like Minju, you’re a dancer as well. But the upward grind of your body has no grace in it. It’s a rough, punked up beat that renders the girl humming and screaming.  This roughness is nowhere close to natural.

You dip your cock in her just to see how far you could go, how far is needed to keep her quiet. Feed her more than she could suck. Every sensitive spot of yours is on fire thanks to Minju’s dutiful tongue and hard sucking. Your sack slaps her chin so hard it’s surprising it doesn’t hurt. 

But, like you iterated, Minju isn’t normal. She takes the pain for pleasure and doesn’t give a damn if she gets wounded because of it. 

The tears finally fall from her eyes. 

The lines blur. Who is she—the woman asleep on your bed or the woman you fucked to be disloyal to her? Minju’s beautiful; so is Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung is beautiful but there’s a category of beauty wherein the girl you’re destroying right now falls in. That’s the section for women who look pretty when they cry, who’ve accepted they’re as fucked up as whoever finds them and takes them in for who they are.

Your wife is pretty. You guess. But Minju is a beauty who lets you do everything to her, and that makes her a little bit more important.

Defile, defile, defile. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you get cum in her hair—(”I have a photoshoot, babe, you can’t!”). Semen sticks to Minju’s locks right now. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you be this rough with her—(“And what if they see? I shouldn’t look dirty to the fans.”) Minju is sitting there taking it like she’s just a cum dump. Wonyoung wouldn’t let you tear off her clothes because “they’re couture so it’s not really mine.” The coat Minju wore coming here lies discarded on the first floor.

Wonyoung doesn’t let anyone defile her. It’s her most fatal flaw. It’s the flaw that makes her husband see all the tiny imperfections she doesn’t allow the camera to see and chase highs in another woman’s throat.

So when Minju cries, gags, chokes—you realize it’s all so simple.

Slip out of her. The delusions clouding your head make you steal a look at the bed. Oh, now it’s unbelievable. Wonyoung is still asleep.

Not that it’s any inconvenience to you.

You prop Minju up to the vanity table. The counter carries the heave of her small chest. She can barely lift her head up. It makes her carry a look of humiliation that’s not at all true. She’s the most shameless woman you’ve ever met.

“Daddy… daddy…” 

Twist her chin so she can look at herself in the mirror. Her body is amazing despite the handprints and bruises peppered on her stomach, butt, and neck. She flusters but your finger presses on her lips before she can look away.

“Not a single sound,” you remind her. 

She nods. Good girl.

Minju’s a capable girl. Well, mostly. She offers those amazing dicksucking lips, shapely curves, and sometimes, her ass for ruining its own tightness. But nothing beats the feeling of her cunt. It’s all the right things: wet, tight, and perfectly quivering as they wrap around your shaft.

Minju closes her eyes. Bites down on her lip. She fights to be true to her promise of silence. Being a good girl and bad girl simultaneously is one of her versatile traits. The table creaks louder than expected. You would’ve shot another look at your spouse again, but Minju’s pretty face is in the way. Her cheeks are scarlet and her brows bead with sweat. She really is a beauty.

Your strokes are ceaseless. The thing that shocks you the least is the fact that her legs look as if they spread wider and wider. She splits while you split her apart. Place a hand on her tummy to muffle the sounds of skin colliding and wood creaking, and reach a better end: your cock is hitting her guts, making a bobbing print on her flat stomach.

“Look how deep I am, Minju.” You grin wickedly at her reflection. “You call me daddy anywhere, don’t you? How about I become a real one?”

Minju bounces herself on you. That’s a yes. A definite, enthusiastic yes. 

Your penetration is rougher, gliding on places she can’t even imagine. If you cum right now, and this far in, you’ll live up to your name of “daddy.” Minju isn’t the only one who has to keep promises.

Corner a pulse point on her neck. Her core squeezes and although its resistance is tough, your pumps are more so.

“You’ll be my secret good girl. Daddy’s gonna put a fucking baby in your stomach, and no one has to know it’s mine. No one has to know you’re mine.”

Minju pouts, not out of sadness but of the orgasm that’s creeping from her feet to her center. It’s so close she could reach for it, taste it like a strong wind. You allow the tiny breaths and pants that leave her to be exemptions from your bedroom law.

“Wonyoung would be so happy for you.” You lick the sensitive spot behind her ear. “‘That’s so great, unnie! Come on, tell us who’s the lucky guy.’ And you’ll have to stop yourself from telling her that I did it. Can you do that?”

Minju emphasizes each repetition with a responding throb and push of her cunt. “Yes, yes, yes—”

Allow that, too. Burst inside Minju. Flood her insides with cum that shall infiltrate her fertile womb. Soon, that tummy would be round rather than flat. It’ll be your baby. 

Minju got what she wanted in the end.

-

The next day, Wonyoung will wake up crying. 

It’ll happen early in the morning, when the moon is still up and sheets still wrap your exhausted form. But she’s sobbing so loud that it’ll rouse you. 

“What’s wrong?” you’ll say. 

She’ll tell you about a dream she had. Wonyoung’s going to narrate a complex dream of Minju, her beloved former member and best friend, seducing you. It happened right in the house and in front of her. You dared to do it to her while she was sleeping and thought she didn’t know.

And you?

You’ll take her in your arms, kiss the inside of her trembling wrist, and say, “Oh, honey—it’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m here.”

[itwdoris]

tw; piss.

yuta didn't even know why he was at that party, with the loud music making his eardrums vibrate as much as his body and the bright colored lights flashing and making him slightly dizzy, or maybe that's the result of the drink...

anyway, he's right there with a packet of snacks he found in the kitchen under his arm and one of his hands occupied with a empty cup, just watching people dancing and drinking in front of him, his dry throat straining to swallow the saliva, maybe it was time to get some more of the drink which seems more alcoholic than anything, but it's still pink and he doesn't know why.

but he doesn't care about that, in fact, he doesn't care about anything but you, when you walk by him with your face so red and your clothes almost showing parts that maybe shouldn't be showing. but he doesn't look, nah uh, even though your boobs are shining so brightly and your panties are his favorite color right now.

yuta just squint his eyes at the way you try to find a cup that isn't full across the messy table, looking so nervous, could something have happened? maybe he can help. please, he wants to help so bad.

"something happened?" he asks in an attempt to get closer without you thinking he's a loser. then you lift your face and look at him, wich makes his whole skeleton shake. you understood what he said, and that's good, because he doesn't know if he could say it again without stuttering.

nhg! "need a cup-" you bite your lips, furrowing your eyebrows because you're about to leak, your knees pressed together like the last salvation. you can see an empty cup in his hand, your eyes long for it. "yuta... can i take your cup, please?"

"oh yes, for what?" he's not trying to be inconvenient, it was an innocent question, it's just that the way you said his name is stuck in his head. but now your face is redder, because you only meant to take the cup and you couldn't even give it back, how to explain... "you look nervous... hum.. you can tell me if you need-" but his voice stopped when you came closer to him, holding his hoodie and looking at him with those desperate little eyes. oh lord.

"i really need to pee, but someone's having sex in the toilet..." you squeeze your eyebrows tighter because you feel it leaking, oh no, it's dripping, your panties must be stained. "yuta, please-"

it was enough, because now yuta's heart is about to burst out of his chest and his cock is waking up needing attention between his legs.

he sighs, winking before throwing the snacks on the table and pulling you with his free hand, the other struggling not to dent the red plastic cup as he pulls you, obviously careful not to hurt your pretty little arm as he pass through the people with you.

there are people everywhere, it's hard to find an empty corner, but he won't look any further when you make him stop, moaning because you can feel it running down your thighs. okkotsu's mouth tingles because he knows very well how he could help right then and there, a tent forming in his pants.

even so, you struggle, holding on, pressing your pussy as he pulls you by the hand into the emptiest room you've found before, you squirm internally at the thought of having to do this in public, but then, your eyes capture your true salvation in the middle of the race;

a broom closet.

you pull him back and push him inside, without thinking twice before closing the door quickly, it's tight and dark, smelling of sex and you can both feel it, but doesn't matter now.

you feel your hips being pulled against yuta, gasping at the feel of something hard, his nimble hands pull your clothes up and rip the side of your panties like they're nothing. you'll miss it, but he has a better place to curl it up later on. you can only hear the rushing noises, the rustling of fabric, your hands on the shelves around you because he's doing everything so fast that your brain can barely process it.

he glues your back to his chest with his arms pressing you, holding you in place, he places the cup right below your pussy, resting his chin on your shoulder, long fingers go down to your folds to open them up. "go, let it out " he asks softly, too close to your ear, you hold a moan. "please, pee f' me..."

and he don't even have to ask twice, because the piss pours out of you and splash on the cup below you with force, making your knees almost fail as a moan up your throat, completely relieved and pleasurable, your eyes rolling. he keeps holding the glass, nothing getting lost, pulling your lips to aim the flow better, sighing so hard.

"hmn... " yuta bury his nose in your shoulder, his warm breath hitting your skin. his mind keeps thinking about how he could be there in the place of that cup, licking up all the piss that ran down your legs and so many more things...

thinking about how pretty you must look, how he could do this all the time, wondering if you'd piss yourself while he buries his cock inside your wet cunt. if he only knew how much you thought about him too.

but the flow gradually slows down to an end, he passes the glass through your folds just so that nothing drips out and let you go slowly so he don't spill the glass. it was difficult to move around in that cramped closet, dark enough that you could barely see.

dark enough for you not to see that oh- yuta was drinking your piss?!

im cumming so hard with these ideas i-- LORD, thanks to tigeri anon <3 i was so excited and for this one that i think i've lost the main idea a bit, forgive me! but anyway, hope u guys like it too =( <3

( im trying to get better i swear guys

[kurocamille]

❝maybe frat boys aren’t so bad (aka miscommunication leads to makeup sex?!) ❞

Frat!Bakugou Katsuki x reader (second part of my frat!Bakugou series) mdni

part 1 / master list

5.3k+ words

after your hookup with Bakugou, somehow everyone knows. this means that you’re on mean girl Mika’s watchlist and that you’ll have to distance yourself from him. however, Bakugou gets it in his head that you don’t want to be with him, and when he sees you with Kirishima, he doesn’t think you’ll ever let him back in your life (or your bed). Turns out it was all just miscommunication…

warnings

part 2 of 2, jealous Bakugou, miscommunication trope, fingering, cunnilingus, hand job, blow job, making out, hickeys, he bites you once?, penis in vagina sex, loss of virginity, inexperienced reader, female/afab reader, creampie, “baby” as a pet name

It had been exactly one week since your night with Bakugou Katsuki. As you had expected, rumours about the two of you had reached far across campus in no time. After all, Bakugou is very popular.

Unfortunately, the result of this rumour was that everyone knew what happened… including Mika and her minions. So, last week, instead of waking up to an expected empty phone, it was instead alive with thousands of nasty messages.

When you opened them, the bulk of the message spam followed the same pattern. ‘You’re such a whore,” or “I can’t believe you’d steal Bakugou from Mika, you bitch,’ or, at worst, from the culprit herself, ‘I heard you got with Bakugou. If you think you can take him from me, you’re wrong. I’ve got loads of people who can fuck you up.’

Obviously feeling threatened, because only the lord knows what Mika can do with her money and power, you had chickened out and never replied to Bakugou’s message. No matter how much you wanted to see him again, it was not worth the damage Mika would inflict.

—-

Now, after seven days have gone by, all spent avoiding Bakugou like the plague, you finally think you can go to class and fly under the radar. You arrive on time as usual, sitting in the middle row of the lecture hall.

It’s a massive class, and although many people are already there, there are others filing in as the prof starts their lesson. You, being too engrossed in your note taking, don’t notice as a body slides into the empty seat beside you.

“Hey, what did I miss?” the voice says in a hushed tone.

You look up and see none other than Bakugou Katsuki, still very much blond and still very much attractive. Instead of replying you turn back to your notebook, tearing off a piece and quickly scribbling a message down.

You slip the note reading, ‘Literally nothing, pay attention during class!’ into Bakugou’s waiting hand. He huffs and attempts to speak to you again, but you face your paper and ignore whatever he’s saying.

“Please be quiet up there!” The professor calls him out, and he slouches down in his seat, begging for class to end.

After everyone finally gets dismissed, Bakugou tries to poke your shoulder to get your attention, but you’re already dashing out the door, praying that nobody saw you together.

“Wait, Y/N,” Bakugou calls for you, jogging to catch up to you. Damn him for having such long legs…

“Sorry, I can’t talk to you,” you reply. It comes out more harshly than expected, but no sense in trying to chummy up to him again if Mika was threatening you. So, you turn on your heel to leave him again.

“Just hear me out,” he blurts out, lightly grabbing your shoulder to make you face him.

You don’t move, instead you stand there with your hands on your hips, waiting for him to continue.

Finally, he gets the hint and speaks again. “I’m sorry if it was bad for you…”

What?! “It wasn’t bad for me, it’s just–”

“No, it’s okay if you don’t want to see me again, but I’d rather you tell it to me now, to my face,” he interrupts you mid sentence.

Ha, you think, Ironic that the frat boy doesn’t want to get ghosted, but as you had realized much longer before this, Bakugou is not your average frat boy. Although he looks like a pretty boy with no space for a committed relationship, he has much more depth than you could even imagine. Despite being a flirt and allegedly a playboy, Bakugou had only ever treated you with respect, so you suppose you at least owe him this one conversation.

“Bakugou,” you start, unsure of how to follow through to your point. “It wasn’t bad. If anything it was too good. I just– I just can’t afford to be seen with you.”

A hurt look flashes through Bakugou’s eyes before he gives a slow nod of understanding. “I get it, you don’t want to be with a guy like me. It’s alright, guess I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Wait, that’s not–” you start, but Bakugou is already walking away with his hands stuff in his pockets.

You stand in the middle of the busy hallway for a good few seconds before you hear a giggle that breaks you out of your daze. It’s Mika, she’s leaning on the wall we chatting to her friends.

“She’s almost as much of a player as Katsuki is,” she says to her friends in what she pretends is a whisper, but you know she wants you to hear.

“Yeah, but at least he’s good in bed. She seems like the desperate type.” All of them burst out into a fit of giggles. Y walk off, not even bothering to hear the rest of the conversation.

—

A month later, you haven’t heard from Bakugou at all, his one lone message still sits in your inbox, unanswered. You can’t help but be a little upset knowing it could’ve happened if not for the circumstances. It doesn’t matter, though, as far as you know Bakugou got back with Mika for a bit, dumped her, and is now moving through girls like a snowplough.

You’re sitting in a cafe when somebody plops down in the booth in front of you. He seems to recognize you, but you can’t fully place his fiery red hair and toothy grin. “Hey, Y/N, right?”

You furrow your brows. “Who’s asking?”

He laughs heartily at your question. “Sorry, I thought you might remember me. I’m Kirishima Eijiro. I was at that party a few weeks ago.”

Looking down, you see him offer a hand, which you shake quickly before placing your hands back in your lap. Even though the issue with Bakugou and Mika had blown over, and you had fallen back into your mundane life, you were still trying to avoid anything “boys and Bakugou” related.

“Well, I’ve been having some concerns about my buddy,” he thinks out loud.

“Are you really certain I could do anything about this?” you reply hastily. Maybe you shouldn't have said that so soon.

“That’s the thing,” Kirishima replies. “I’m not tryna blame you or anything, but I think you might be causing some… altercations… in his sex life.”

You smack your hands down on the table, catching the attention of surrounding customers. “What?!” You sink back down after receiving a glare from a neighbouring table.

“I didn’t mean that it was bad!” Kirishima speaks for you as you drown in embarrassment.

“Sorry, you kind of implied it though.” The flush on your cheeks doesn’t dissipate.

“Right, actually, moreso the opposite. You might’ve heard Bakugou’s been sleeping around a lot. He and Mika are officially over this time. I’m not going to tell you why, but what matters is that he’s been trying to make up for losing you, at least I think,” Kirishima spills.

You make a non-coherent splutter, but Kirishima doesn’t let you reply. “I tried to tell him this was all about Mika and her stupid followers, but he’s not into socials, and he’s stubborn as hell, anyway. He believes you’re avoiding him because of his reputation, but you’ve gotta help me. He’s been insufferable lately, and even as a member of our frat, the number of girls he’s been with is getting slightly concerning.”

Kirishima looks at you with begging eyes, and you know it’s serious if he came to see you. You look down at your lap, your heart racing with confusion and anxiety.

“I’m sorry, but how can you be so certain? I’d like to help, really, but I’m not sure where I come in,” you say slowly.

“Call him or something. Give him some closure, and let him know it isn’t because of his “player” mentality or whatever he’s got stuck in his head.” Kirishima gets up and places a bill down to pay for your food.

Just then, a familiar figure passes by and notices you through the window. You’re too wrapped up in your conversation with Kirishima to notice the way they ball their fists and huff away.

“Thanks. Hope to see you around.” Kirishima leaves you sitting there confused.

You sit there in awe at the conversation. Why are you supposed to care about Bakugou’s overactive libido anyway?

Sighing, you stare at your empty cup and decide to leave the cafe. It turns out it’s just starting to rain when you trudge back to your dorms, and you get drenched.

—

That night, you lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. Thoughts of Bakugou continue to invade your mind, and you hear yourself groaning in annoyance.

Maybe I should call him, you think. But, ugh, that’s kind of weird and pathetic.

However, the more you think about it, and him, the more your thoughts start to go back to your night in his car. You remember how it felt to have his big hands on your body, how they felt inside your–

You stop that thought before it can progress.

Again, you let your mind wander. If you think about it, if you actually wanted him again, would it really be fixing his libido? If it benefited both of you, it couldn’t be that awful to call him again.

Nevermind, you’re just thinking too much. How could you even consider it?!

Just go to bed, you beg yourself.

You stare up at the ceiling until your eyes blur out of focus, but somehow, somehow, everything leads back to him.

Flushing, you try not to think about his adept fingers moving in and out of you. Slowly, your panties get wetter and wetter, and you realize that the only way you’re ever going to get over him is by getting under him.

Finally, you decide to roll over and give in to your desires. The glow of your phone screen is glaringly bright, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. When things come into focus, you unlock your phone and click on Bakugou’s number before you lose confidence

“Hello?” Bakugou’s raspy voice answers after five rings.

“Hey, Bakugou,” you whisper. “I wanted to tell you something. Don’t hang up, please.”

“Okay,” he yawns.

“Kirishima came to me today. Can we talk this over or something?”

“We are talking. And I know. I saw” is his gritted reply.

“You’re right, I’m in no place to be asking for anything. I’m sorry. I just need to talk to you in person. I need to get something off of my chest.”

“Oh, something? Or, somebody… like, Shittyhair?!” he practically seethes through the phone.

“Wait, what?!” you yelp.

“Why are you even calling me over if you’re with him.”

“What?” you repeat yourself. “I’m not with him?”

“You literally just said you saw him today,” he argues.

“That’s what I was calling about. He sai–” you start.

“If you’re coming to me with your boy problems, hang up.” You can tell he’s on the verge of leaving.

“No!” you huff madly. “If you’d let me finish, you’d know that he came to tell me he’s worried about you.”

“Oh, really? Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve been fucking, since apparently I wasn’t good enough for you, or whatever,” he replies angrily.

“I swear, Bakugou,” you sigh. “I haven’t been with anyone since our night together.

Bakugou pauses before replying. “I don’t fully believe you. Especially when you just gave me proof you went out together”

You blush as you speak your next words, admitting something to him you thought would happen under different circumstances.

“I haven’t been with him, and I swear it, because…” you hesitate. “I’ve only ever been with you.

A sharp breath is blown out on Bakugou’s end, and you wonder what’s going through his mind.

“Seriously?” His breaths are suddenly slower and calmer.

“Yeah, I swear. Can I just talk to you in person? I really do need to tell you.”

Bakugou makes a slight shuffling noise on his end, and you hear someone’s murmuring in the background, likely one of his frat brothers.

“Fine. You want me to come to you?” he finally replies, giving in (almost too easily, in your eyes).

“Yes, please,” you reply quietly.

“I’ll be there soon.” With that, he hangs up.

After the same short drive from last time, Bakugou shows up in your dorm parking lot. He shoots you a text message that he’s here, and you greet him at the door.

It’s about one am, and despite your disheveled tank top and shorts, Bakugou is dressed as handsomely as ever. “Hi,” you say.

“Hi.” He gives you a sad smile in return.

“I want to apologize.” You bow your head shyly. “It was my fault for all the confusion. I should’ve told you what was up. I just didn’t want to mess up my chances with you or your relationship with Mika. Kirishima told me about everything that’s been happening.”

“It’s fine, I’m sorry, too,” he replies.

You look up in surprise. Altogether, pathetically, you had expected more grovelling, so this is unexpected.

“It was all Mika’s fault, anyway, and I promise things are over with us,” he says, his face pink with embarrassment. “And… I guess I could say that my judgement of you and Shitty hair was a little preemptive.”

“You think?” you laugh quietly.

“I really am sorry, okay.” He looks up at you and deep into your eyes to solidify his point.

Your face feels hot, and you’re sure he can see the growing blush across your cheeks. Even so, you smile and say, “So, are we good?”

“Yeah,” he replies, returning your smile.

There’s a long pause between the two of you, but it doesn’t feel awkward like you might expect. The gap between you feels like it’s closing, and eventually your lips are just barely touching. His breath fans over your face, and you grip his shirt, taking him in a kiss.

Bakugou holds you to him, his back pressed against the door of your dorm. When you slip your tongue against his, he doesn't decline. He gingerly holds you, squeezes your hip with one hand, and cups your face with the other.

“I don’t deserve you,” you sigh as Bakugou starts to pepper kisses all over your neck.

“You do, it’s me that doesn’t deserve you.” He moves your face so your gazes can meet.

Bakugou gives you one of his signature grins and catches you in another heated kiss. His tongue swiftly swipes across yours, causing you to moan in his hold.

When he changes the angle of kiss, you become entangled, your hips pressed flush against his, earning his groans in your ear. With his newly growing boner and your wettening panties, you feel unbearable lust growing.

“Can we go upstairs?” Bakugou asks.

You nod, keying yourselves in and rushing to your room that’s right around the corner.

As soon as the door opens a mere inch, Bakugou jumps back on you and pushes you down to the bed, a haze of desire over his eyes.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” He nips on your neck.

You can only moan in response when he kisses down your chest. Pulling your tank top over head, Bakugou, or Katsuki, you suppose, focuses his attention on your chest. Your body stiffens as he glides his tongue over your hard nipple..

“That feel good?” he asks when he pinches the other nipple while continuing to lick long stripes on your breast.

“Yeah,” you hum in reply.

You feel so good under Bakugou, writhing in pleasure as he sucks hickeys into your skin. You feel his hand sneak up to the top of your waistband and you yelp in surprise. “Ah! Katsuki”

“Can I continue what I started last time?” he says in a begging tone, lightly tugging at your panties.

“Please,” you moan equally as wanton as him, and you’re almost immediately spread bare for him.

Kissing down your chest, Bakugou gets spurred on by your moans. He gives your clit the sensation it's been craving. Slowly, pressure is added to the bundle of nerves, and you feel yourself seeping down onto your sheets.

When he sees your glistening pussy, he laughs, “So wet again, baby, and I’ve barely even touched you here.”

“I was getting wet thinking about you earlier,” you mumble into the back of your hand.

“Good.” He smiles. “Don’t think about other guys from now on, you’re all for me.”

There’s no time to reply in shock because Katsuki dips into your depths, swiping up and down your wetness. One finger slips inside smoothly, moving in and out with ease.

Testing it out, Katsuki moves down to your sex and adds his mouth to the mix. This new feeling sets your body on fire. What he’s doing to your body is more than anything you’ve ever experienced, and your core tightens uncontrollably.

“Wait, ah!” you cry out, but Bakugou doesn’t relent. Instead, he adds another finger and curls it into your g-spot.

Working in and out of your cunt, you feel yourself squeezing around his fingers. The feeling of his strong fingers moving inside of you and his lips sucking on your throbbing clit brings you to your limit embarrassingly quickly. You can’t find it in yourself to care, though, because it just feels so good.

With one last strangled moan, you cum, the pleasure sending you over the edge. You tingle all over post orgasm and feel your eyes slip into the back of your head for a second. As Bakugou continues to finger you, your body lifts off the bed into his mouth.

Then, suddenly, you feel something else coming. Something that you feel coming upon you just as fast as your orgasm. You try to sit up and stop Bakugou, but his hand keeps you pinned to the bed. The overstimulation on your body creeps up on you, and there’s a new pain that accompanies your pleasure, adding to your second high.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry out when Katsuki switches his fingers for his mouth.

Nimble fingers swirl circles on your clit as his tongue darts out to meet your pussy. It licks up and down, teasing your entrance with the occasional poke inside. And, when you’re least expecting it, it finally slides to your hole, working on thrusting as far into your depths as you can.

This feeling is incredible, and the way Bakugou groans into your pussy drives you mad. Feeling the finger leaving your clit, you whine, but it’s replaced with his tongue again. This time, his tongue switches between your folds and you clit, stimulating every inch of your already twitching sex.

“You’re so good, baby. Love this so much,” Katsuki murmurs when he lifts off of you for a moment.

“Kiss me, and let me touch you, too,” you moan, bringing his face to yours.

You aren’t bothered by the fact that he was just eating you out when you start dipping into each other’s mouths. If anything, the look in Bakugou’s eye tells you it turns him on more. The genuinely lewd look of his tousled hair and wide pupils raises your heartrate so high you can feel it beat inside your chest.

Absent-mindedly, you fumble with the buttons on Bakugou’s jeans. He helps you by leaning back and pulling his shirt over his head. You don’t miss the way his muscles flex and the way he flaunts his abs.

Then, with a quick tug, Bakugou’s pants and boxers slide off. His dick stands proudly, pretty and thick as ever. You place your hand on it like you did last time. He responds well to your touch and groans lewdly when you give it a squeeze.

You slick your palm with spit, and Bakugou helps guide your hand back to his leaking cock. Together, with his hand wrapped around yours, you move on his member, fingers trailing along the prominent vein down the front.

Once you’ve built up a rhythm, you meet Katsuki’s tender gaze. The red of his irises disappear as his eyes flutter shut. He leans forward and recaptures your mouth in a slow but sloppy makeout.

You twist your hand on Bakugou eliciting a breathy moan from him. He twitches in your hand signalling his impending orgasm.

“Can I cum in your mouth?” His mouth is by your ear, moaning and releasing hot breaths to spur you on.

You freeze, and your motions stop. Bakugou notices your alarm and moves to look directly in your eyes. “You don’t have to– I would never force you.”

“No.” you shake your head. “It’s just that I’ve never done that.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen in shock temporarily then fall back. “You want me to teach you tonight, baby?”

You bite your lip meekly and nod your head. Bakugou grins in return, helping you down to his crotch. As you come face to face with his cock, it twitches releasing some precum out of the slit.

“Just put your lips on it. Do what feels right,” he says and pulls your hair into his hands.

You kiss his member just like you would his lips. The wet noises coming from your mouth are so loud and such a turn on for Bakugou. His grip on your head tightens, and he has to force himself not to push you down.

Bakugou hisses when you place the tip in your mouth and give it a hard suck. Wanting to please him even more, you take more of him deeply in your throat. At this point you feel impaled by his large dick with your nose just a few inches from his groin.

Despite your struggle to take him in entirety, Bakugou doesn’t notice and instead groans every time you slide down on him. You gag frequently, and you’re more than certain your teeth have grazed his shaft multiple times, but Bakugou acts like this is the best head he’s ever received.

The longer you go, the more moans fall out of his open lips. His head tilts back when you curiously brush a finger down his balls. He’s much more sensitive than you imagined he would be, and his hips thrust up uncontrollably.

“Fuck, sorry,” he groans, he pulls you off of him to check if you’re okay.

“It’s alright.” You lick him one last time. “Do you think we could maybe go all the way?”

Bakugou blinks at you wordlessly. Then, after about a minute of silence, and worry, on your part, he replies. “You mean, can I take your virginity?”

You hum in reply, and Bakugou throws you back to the middle of the bed

“I left the condoms in my car,” he realizes aloud.

“That’s okay,” you whisper in his ear as seductively as you can. “I’m on the pill.”

“Fuck, okay.” Bakugou acts like your response is the sexiest thing ever.

He leans down and kisses your neck one last time. You feel his cock against your stomach leaving a hot trail of precum on your skin. Everything about this moment is hot, but you can’t take his slow kisses any longer. You need him inside of you, thrusting deep into your core.

Just when you’re about to take matters into your own hands, Bakugou leans forward and brings himself to your entrance. It is at this moment that you realize how big he is, and that he’s going to try to fit that entire thing inside of you.

You let out a deep breath when he finally slips inside. The stretch is rough, his cock prodding your most intimate crevices. As he inches into your depths, he grasps onto your hand, pulling you to him in a surprisingly romantic way.

The way Bakugou moves within you is gentle, far softer than he was when he ate you out. You can only assume he wants your first time to be soft and sweet. He grips softly at your waist, slowly moving in and out. When your eyes meet, you give him a sweet smile and a nod, hoping he’ll move a little faster.

He takes the hint well, and suddenly Katsuki leans over you, your hands meeting his hardened chest. You jolt with both pain and pleasure after the first deep thrust. Then, as he pumps his cock more and more, you feel the pain fading away, the stretch to accommodate becoming pleasant.

After Bakugou notices your growing comfort, he goes ahead with pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in. Differently from before, you can feel him even deeper, and your body arches to meet him when your groins come together.

Swiftly, Katsuki moves you from your back to a position where you’re sitting on his lap. The sensation of him thrusting up into you makes your toes curl and loud moans to fall from your lips. In turn, Katsuki groans and continues to rut his hips like it’s his sole mission.

“You tighten up when I’m in you like this, did you know?” Katsuki groans in your ear, his hot breath hits your skin and makes you shiver.

The feeling in your cunt overwhelms you, but it’s so good, and you know now you won’t be able to get enough. Meeting Bakugou’s thrusts, you attempt to ride him, earning deep groans in return. Bakugou screws his eyes shut and allows you to move opposite to his thrusts. With the constant movement, and the occasional brush against your pleasure spot, your cunt tightens further.

Bakugou grips your ass with his large hands, wanting to feel your insides constrict even further. Unbeknownst to you, this is his first time going raw, and it’s making him cum like it’s his first time, too. So, unashamedly chasing your highs, you grind against each other as fervently as you can.

The air in the room is hot, but the heat in between your bodies as you ride him is far hotter. Both of you elicit loud noises from the other, your neighbours probably hearing your moans through the wall. Normally something like this would embarrass you to no end, but Bakugou’s fucking you so well that you feel you inhibitions melt away along with your innocence.

The coil in your stomach twists, and you feel your high coming. However, Bakugou stops short and leaves you bouncing on him by yourself. After only a split second of confusion, Bakugou slaps your ass, leaning back into a pillow.

“Want me to ride you?” you breathlessly say, attempting to make your voice sultry and not actually inquisitive.

It fails, but Bakugou doesn’t make any visible notice. Instead, he grunts out a quiet ‘yeah, please’ and grips your flesh, moving you against him. The pleasure of having him grind you on him does wonders for your pussy, and the new angle he’s hitting you at has you seeing stars.

Unlike before, Bakugou’s cock hits your g-spot every time now that you're fully riding him. The new feeling sends waves of heat to your stomach, quickly pushing you towards the edge.

Katsuki had been holding out strongly for a while, but as soon as he leaned back and let you ride, he was pretty much done for.

He feels himself unable to control his orgasm, which is creeping up way too fast. You don’t mind, though, as you’re equally as close. When you feel his dick twitching deep inside you, balls contracting and signalling his release, your cunt tightens more than it ever has before.

“Fuck, I’m cumming!” Bakugou grips your ass and pushes himself up so he can thrust again.

You, on the other hand, yelp in surprise at him readjusting your position, moaning uncontrollably as he goes so deep you think he’s hitting your cervix. You fantasize about how Katsuki slips in and out of you with ease, balls coming up to hit your ass, which unknowingly makes you milk his cock harder.

With a surprising bite to your neck, Bakugou thrusts into you one last time, and calls out your name.

The spurts of cum he makes into your pussy have you cumming on the spot, as well. Both of you moan as you reach your highs together, Bakugou trying to quell his own by pressing his hot mouth to your skin.

“Katsuki!” you cry one last time, slumping forward onto his shoulder.

Neither of you have ever felt this good—you especially, never having thought your first time would be this wild. But Bakugou surprises you with his sexual prowess, and has you basking in a hazy afterglow, one that you won’t forget anytime soon.

You blissfully gaze at him as he continues to thrust ever so slowly, milking out your orgasmatic pleasure.

His eyes are half-lidded, yet you know he’s still very alert of your bodies. Then, he, for the first time since he penetrated you, lets go of your body for a split second, and you miss the warmth of his hands, but you’re quickly satisfied by him going to grab your waist.

Bakugou effortlessly pulls you off of his body, his heavy breathing, muscled chest catching your attention. The genuine ‘splurt’ that comes from between you two when he unsheathes himself makes you blush and awkwardly chuckle in embarrassment, but Bakugou stares amazedly at your pulsating cunt.

You try to cover yourself, despite the fact that he’d seen it all before, but his hand pries your legs apart and dives towards your pussy.

“Wait,” you abruptly say, hoping he’s not already wanting more.

“Hmm?” he hums, curiously drawing a finger down your slit.

“I’m not sure I can go again.” You look at him as he dips his fingers into you ever so slightly.

Instead of replying, Bakugou sets your nerves on fire with his feathery touches. Then, when you look down, you see what’s caught his attention. It’s his milky white cum thatleaks out of your hole and onto your dark bedspread.

“Katsuki, I’m so sensitive. Am I supposed to be able to go again?” You stop his hand’s movement with your own.

“Oh, nah, sorry, baby. You were so good, I forgot you were a virgin.” He grins at you, and you feel heat blooming on your cheeks

He finally takes his hand off of your body and mumbles something about going to get something to clean you up.

“Ah, wait!” You stumble after him, your limbs too sore to hold you up properly. “Let me find something for you.”

You meet Bakugou in your ensuite where he’s already holding a towel. From the doorway, you take a step forward, but your knees buckle and you fall right into his arms.

“It was that good, huh?” he jokes, making you flush in embarrassment.

“Nuh uh,” you counter, but your wobbly legs betray your words.

He chuckles in response and sets you down on the counter, the cold surface strikingly frigid against your burning flesh. He gently pats you down with the towel, making sure his cum is wiped clean from your skin.

“All done,” he says once he’s finished wiping all your skin down.

You go to thank him, but stop when you notice yourself in the mirror. Bruises litter your neck and even your chest. When did those get there? you think to yourself.

“Oh my god, Katsuki!” You go to playfully punch him, but he catches your hand in his.

Placing one hand on your waist and the other on your chin, angling your head towards his, he places a chaste kiss on your lips.

Then, when he pulls away, a goofy grin breaks out onto his pretty face. “Oh my god, Katsuki? That’s what you’ll be saying next time.”

Your face bursts into flames, and Bakugou chuckles, holding you for a moment in your dim bathroom light. “So, when’s next time?”

a/n: hi guys!! i’m back with part 2. i’d love it if some of you sent prompts to my inbox or even commissioned me because i tried extra hard to finish this promptly 😃

tags @oldfruitloop @mimi53213 @cheyehc

[gothgleek]

Adrian Chase Nsfw Alphabet

TW: mentions of canon torture (nothing explicit or of a sexual nature though), blood, and knife play.

Disclaimer: I do not own Peacemaker or DC Comics or the images used in any form.

Comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated 🧜‍♀️🧜‍♂️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♂️

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

This boy is touch starved so no matter how long the two of you were going at it, Adrian will wrap around you like an octopus and kiss your neck.

Unfortunately, Adrian is also cringe. He will give you a high five and thank you for letting him ‘smash that ass!’ Every. Single. Time.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Adrian spent a lot of time crafting his body into the killing machine that it is so he loves his entire body (except his missing toes) but his most favorite would probably be his ass. He likes the way you react when you see it. But before you, it was his abs.

His favorite part of you is your ass as well. He’s an ass man.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He likes cumming on your ass but if you beg him enough he’ll cum inside you too. If you wear glasses, he likes covering it with cum as well.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes eating ass (but that’s hardly a secret).

He also fantasizes about fucking you while he’s on patrol but that’s unfortunately illegal so he only enjoys it in theory rather than practice. (Unfortunately, he takes vigilantism very seriously.)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not a ton of experience. Honestly, he’s only had threesomes with Chris and whoever is into Chris. He tends to be ignored but he was happy to watch. “Less chances of getting my mask removed!” It takes him a minute to realize you only want him and a little longer how to have sex with only one other person.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Anything involving picking you up. He likes to show off how strong he is for you. He gives you a whole goofy smile and everything. Alternatively, any position where he can grab, smack, or watch his cock go in and out of your ass.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Pre- relationship, he was adamant that the mask stays ON during sex. Post relationship he was serious about learning how to please you. Other than that, the two of you are bound to burst into giggles at least twice while fucking.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is waxed because his suit is best without hair getting caught. But if you preferred he grew it out for a vacation away from vigilantism, his public hair is a dirty blonde and his chest hair is a light brown.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He is hardly a natural romantic and the advice he gets from Chris has… mixed results to say the least. His attempts at romance are cheap and cheesy at the least (flower petals in the shape of a heart, a box of dollar store chocolate, some leftover pie from the diner, etc.) But he does make you feel looked at and cared for during sex.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Doesn’t really get horny, maybe a few times a month, since he is pretty busy. Of course, upon meeting you he is willing to

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’s into roleplay, especially the kinds where he can rescue you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He’s pretty vanilla in this aspect as he likes to fuck inside his place. But he does enjoy picking you up and taking you from room to room.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

He likes making you laugh at his dirty jokes and pickup lines. He always likes you covered in lingerie and blood and hopes to see you in both one day. Outside of you, if he kills someone in a really cool way, he will run home and start eating you out without even taking his uniform off.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

The funniest answer is that I think that Adrian has all the federal and state laws memorized so he will not do anything illegal- even the ridiculously outdated laws. Like, if you happen to be in one of the states that forbids extramarital sex like Utah or Idaho, he will not have sex with you until you cross that border.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s a giver 1000% but he also enjoys getting a blowjob while you have someone else (aka Chris) or a toy in your ass and watching you give someone/a toy a blowjob while he fucks you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s used to doing it hard and fast but he does dedicate a lot of time to foreplay.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies with the two of you were born out of necessity since you’re traveling together. Even when you settle down for long periods of time, he will have a quickie in the motel room if you ask. But in those moments, he would prefer to take his time with you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I think he would be into knife play and maybe wax play but that’s as far as he will go. Someone brought up the idea of using a cattle prod and he was curious but right now he associates extreme bdsm with losing his toes and nothing is as much of a boner killer as that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

By virtue of his threesome exclusive past, he is used to going multiple rounds. His recovery period depends on how much exercise he’s gotten that day but he will use toys or something to keep you ready for him.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He appreciates toys and will use them on his partner. He’s especially found of DP-ing you with a teal dildo you bought together. Sometimes, if he’s feel cruel, he’ll tie you up and leave a vibrator on your clit.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s a pretty impatient guy who values the power of a quickie but he knows sometimes teasing is better than the actual sex.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not loud but he is super chatty and will talk you through it.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He would like to have sex with you on a boat with flames on it while dolphins swim around you two. Ideally, you would also be a mermaid in this scenario.

He also had Chris make him a sex playlist… depending on your taste in music, it’s very cute or incredibly cringey.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Solid muscle with a v line and no body hair and an ass like a baseball player. He likes to say he’s as smooth as a dolphin.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty low. You usually are the one to initiate things. Non-sexually though, he is pretty clingy and wants to be with you all the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He falls asleep pretty quickly, he likes to keep his days and nights busy after all!

[cherryc1nnam0n]

The weight of a lie | Fem!Reader x Steve Harrington

Summary: Having been married to Eddie Munson were the best years of your life, until a big secret shattered it all, finding a new love that will repair your heart and fulfill your deepest desire... Being a mother

Cw: Breeding kink, ex!Eddie Munson, huge angst, little bit of violence, lots of crying, lots of hurt, comfort, fluff, heavy smut and lovesick Steve

Hawkins, October 1992

Y/n Munson held on her hand a negative pregnancy test, huffing exasperatedly as she waited for it to be a different answer "Negative again..."

Eddie was sitting on their bed, sighing when the result was the same as always "Damn it..."

"It's been 5 years... 5 years since we got married and tried for a baby... And still nothing" she sat down on the bed, wanting to cry from despair "I don't know if it's something wrong with me!" She said "It can't be you, you have your daughter Amelia..."

Eddie sighed "I don't know baby..." He didn't know how to comfort his wife

"We'll have to get some studies, see what's going on"

"Of course honey" he said rubbing her back

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later

"The results say that I am fertile... It's nothing wrong with me" Y/n said as she held the paper, talking to Robin

"Then maybe it's Eddie?" She asked, Y/n shook her head

"It can't be him, he has a daughter remember?"

Robin nodded "Right, I forgot about Amelia"

"This isn't making sense..." She said

When she got home she didn't tell Eddie she was there as always, she just walked up to their room and went to take a shower

"Honey? That you?"

"Mhm" she answered

"You okay?"

Shortly she came out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her "I'm fertile..."

Eddie smiled softly "That's great honey!"

"Yeah, but we still haven't had a baby"

Eddie was taken back slightly "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." She got closer to him "I want you to go to checkup"

He furrowed his brows "No, no! It's not necessary!" He stood up

"What do you mean not necessary?! We want a baby Eddie! You know how important it is for me to be a mother!"

"I know honey! But I don't need the studies I'm okay!"

"Why are you being so defensive? If you have nothing to hide you'll go and get yourself checked!"

"No! I am not going and you can't make me go!"

Y/n huffed, feeling her heart racing, was Eddie hiding something? He would never do that... Or would he?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day...

When Y/n got home Eddie was waiting for her with a huge bouquet of roses

"Hi honey..."

Y/n just nodded at him "They're pretty"

"They're for you" he walked over to her, kissing her passionately, guiding her to the bed, where he started kissing her neck and taking off her shirt, but she pushed him away

"No Eddie, no" he looked at her confused

"What? Why?"

"I won't have sex with you, it won't matter if you can't make me pregnant"

"But baby, you never say no"

"I will until you go get checked"

He rolled his eyes at her "Again with that? You should just let it go" he intended in kissing her again but she pushed him away harder this time

"Just let it go?! Are you serious Eddie? What is wrong with you?! Why won't you go get checked?! Are you hiding something?!"

"Okay fine you win!" He yelled at her "I had a horrible experience with my ex when I got her pregnant and I didn't wanna go through that again, so I lied to you and didn't tell you I got a vasectomy two years after Amelia was born" he said falling down on the bed "I didn't want to get anyone pregnant again and go through all that court shit again"

Y/n couldn't believe what she was hearing, was he being serious? This can't be happening

"Your daughter is... Is 8 years old... We've been married for 5 years... How could you?" Her knees felt weak, her world was crumbling apart

He had built her a castle based on a lie, all those nights wishing he would get her pregnant, all those moments praying for a miracle, it was all a lie and he never felt bad about lying to her in her face, faking sadness and disappointment whenever s test came back negative, she could feel her heart shatter in her chest

"I'm sorry honey I-" she smacked him across the face "Y/n please-"

"Get out" she said, when he didn't move she yanked him up by his hair and yelled at his face "Get out! You lying piece of shit! You knew how important it was for me to be a mother and you lied to me! Get out Edward I don't ever wanna see you again! You lying bastard! Fucking son of a bitch!" She pushed him out of the room, locking the door while he banged on it

"Y/n listen to me! I'm sorry! I didn't mean this to be like this! Y/n!"

She fell to the floor, screaming her lungs out, scraping her long nails all across her face and down her chest, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow her alive, to stop feeling the burn in her chest from such a huge lie

That night she didn't sleep, only cried and remember all those times when Eddie comforted hr after a failed pregnancy test was revealed, how hypocrite he was by faking sadness, all so he could keep his dick wet

The morning after she went through their wedding photos, destroying them all while she cried, smashing photo frames onto the floor, burning love letters from him and throwing out his things she didn't give him the chance of taking

She screamed, wailed, wept and sobbed all day, calling in sick to her job as a teacher

The house was a mess, stuff broken, glass on the carpet, photos ripped all across the house, it was all broken, memories, stories... All gone in one night

"I hate you... Eddie Munson..." She said taking off her wedding ring and throwing it out an open window "I hate you so much..."

Days later...

Days were hard without Eddie, but somehow better, she should've know from the moment she didn't get pregnant that something was wrong, she never imagined it would be this bad...

"Miss Y/n? Are you okay?" A little girl asked her as she saw her crying silently while she started at nothing

"Yes honey I'm okay" she wiped her tear away "Let's go back inside, recess is almost over" she said walking the kid inside to their classroom "Alright kids, let's settle down!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That day at pick up after school, you saw a man you hadn't seen in years, Steve Harrington, the man you had ditched to be with Eddie, big mistake

He smiled at you when he recognized your face, coming closer to you

"Y/n! Long time no see" he greeted now closer to you

"Hi Steve, how're you doing?"

"Eh, could be better, things are well... Going." He said in a sad tone "And you?"

"I... I... I got divorced..." You showed him your empty finger, his eyes widened "Yeah... Long story but, no longer married" you said with an awkward chuckle

"Well, so am I... I'm just picking up Alice and then I'll go leave her at her mom's..." He paused for a second "How about we go for dinner? On me, so we can chat and maybe vent a little?"

Well that sounds nice you thought

"Of course"

"Be ready at 6, I'll go pick you up"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner with Steve was wonderful, you talked, cried a little, unwinded from everything and then the talk of having kids popped up, Steve being the one to say he wanted a baby he could have 24/7 and not just in shared custody with a manipulating woman and you saying you had always wanted to become a mother, having worked with children had taught you they can be little demons with sticky hands but that can also be a wonderful joy in life

So a little bit of flirting, some glasses of wine and vodka, and you ended up at your house, having sex...

"Oh fuck, Steve, Steve, yes! Yes!" You moaned as he kept pounding into you from behind, his large hand held you down onto the mattress as his right hand held your hip up to keep your ass high for him to thrust into

"Fuck baby, so tight for me, gonna fill you up, get you all round and pregnant with my baby, you want that don't you? Yeah? Say it baby, please"

"Yes! I want your babies Steve, please knock me up, breed my pussy please!"

"Oh fuck!" He said closing his eyes and sloppily finding a rhythm to knock your breath out

That night he came at least 6 times inside you until he physically couldn't keep going, breathing heavily you laid on your bed, tangled in your comforter as he combed your hair with his fingers

"So... Wanna get married so we make it official?"

"Is that even a question?"

He smiled at you as he pulled you in for a kiss, feeling your heart beat again with joy, knowing this man would finally make you happy

But would he?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Well, I have news for you" the doctor said setting down his papers

You held hands with Steve as you anxiously waited for his response, praying to all the gods that this time it would be a positive test

But the doctor's smile gave it away

"Congratulations, you're pregn-"

"YES! YES! FINALLY, OH MY GOSH! YES!" You jumped up from your seat, being unable to contain your excitement, going back to kiss Steve and clap happily as he also celebrated with you "How far along, doc?"

"5 weeks, everything seems great, you're in perfect health, perfect age for it, couldn't have been more of an appropriate time for it"

You couldn't stop smiling that day...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

5 months later

"What about this one? You said you had a craving for pickles last night"

"Yeah, let's get these ones, where's the mayo?"

You were at the store with your now husband Steve and your very 5 month old belly, with a beautiful baby girl growing inside it, you turned an aisle to look for the mayonnaise when you saw him, the man that had broken you...

He was holding his daughter Amelia's hand as they shopped too, he looked... Horrible, like he hadn't slept in months, which he probably did, tired eyes and dirty clothes

You almost felt pitty for him, almost...

"Y/n!" Amelia said when she saw you, running to say hi to you

"Hi sweetie" you said to the Eddie clone in front of you

"Y/n..." You heard him say "Oh god..." Was what he muttered when he saw your belly "How...?"

"It's not your's before you worry about that..." You rolled your eyes, his face visibly relaxed, that made you feel annoyed "I had better luck with someone else, someone who made me happy and can make me a mother, unlike you Edward"

"Y/n listen I, am so sorry, please just forgive me I-"

"Shut" you said "I already left it all in the past, you're no longer in my life and I am not in your's, so don't ever come close to me, I wanna be happy, and I am happy without you"

With those last words you turned around grabbing a packet of mayo and walking to go find Steve

Eddie could only stand there, silent tears falling down his eyes as he saw you kiss your husband and walk away to the check out

"Daddy... Why did Y/n say that? Does she hate you like mommy does?"

He just looked down at her and cried even more

He had ruined the only good thing he had and now he was paying for it, watching you be happy with another man is what broke him, you were the love of his life and he lost you all due to the weight of a lie...

[selfishdoll]

NOW PLAYING… PUSSY FAIRY

I'ma fuck you real slow, need to hear you say my name

SOFT & SLEEPY! KASHIMO HAJIME

oneshot? drabble? idk it’s words. like stated before he’s a little ooc (def cause he’s soft in this one) so if that’s a problem for you i’m sorry.. also this is unedited & i was getting sleepy so please ignore typos or errors.

cw: fingering, praise, & slow sex.. kinda.

kashimo is an extremely light sleeper. the reason? he has someone to protect, you. anything; whether a curse or another person could attack and he needed to be on high alert just in case. it was a trait you both loved and hated.

you loved that he was always so concerned about keeping you safe.

but you hated you could never go to use the bathroom or get a drink of water without a quick tug on your waist and a demand on where you’re going.

tonight was no different, your back against hajime’s chest with his arm wrapped tightly around your waist— fingers twitching each time you stirred. the moon peeked into your bedroom casting a soft light across your sheets.

you couldn’t sleep. and your arm was getting a little numb from your position. you wanted to get up and maybe drink some warm milk or something, but you hated waking hajime. the reckless sorcerer needed the rest, no matter how much he denied it.

you breathed softly, pushing yourself deeper into your pillow at an attempt to sleep again; eyes pinched close and ignoring your racing thoughts. not even a minute passed before you got irritated, adjusting your body at an attempt to find a better position.

you knew you made a big mistake the moment hajime’s hand spread across your stomach, tugging your form flush against his front.

“what’s wrong?” he spoke, tone laced with sleep as you felt him attempt to get up. you moved quickly, reaching back to place a hand onto his arm.

“it’s nothing, haji. i just can’t sleep.” you mused, relieved when you felt his body ease back into the bed.

“should have woken me up.”

your eyebrows furrowed at his words, “what would you have done?..” your voice trailed off the moment you felt his lips press against the back of your neck, hand sliding away from your silk covered hip— down to your bare thigh.

“so i could fuck you to sleep.” hajime spoke in a matter of fact tone, hand pushing your nightgown up; wasting no time in pushing your panties to the side. your legs opened, moaning softly as you felt his thick fingers spread you open— middle finger rubbing tight circles into your clit. his other hand moved upwards to your face, two fingers gently tugging on your bottom lip.

you got the message quickly, lips parting as his fingers slid into your mouth. your tongue circled the thick digits, moaning around them as the ministrations between your legs got a bit harsher. once satisfied, hajime pulled his fingers from your mouth, hand moving towards your pussy. using his elbow to push open your thigh more, he moved to your hole; slowly pushing his fingers in.

the sorcerer hissed as he felt your sensitive walls clench around them, continuing to circle your clit with his middle finger. as the pleasure grew your moans did as well, attempting to close your legs— much to hajime’s dismay.

“be good.. keep your legs open for me.” he commanded, pushing your thigh more. you whined softly, hearing a husky chuckle escape him as a result. he continued to slowly scissor you open, watching as your hand lowered to his wrist. “gonna cum already?”

“mmh!—“ the pace of his fingers quickened, feeling how his forearm flexed with each thrust inside you. your stomach tightened, nails digging into his skin before he curled his fingers one last time; feeling you gush around them.

you panted, a soft whine escaping you as you felt him slowly withdraw his fingers. your eyes closed, a blissful smile covering your face. you felt much more relaxed then before, sure you could drift off in no time.

until, you felt him shift behind you, a hand grabbing your thigh— lifting it, and pushing his length close against you.

“haji—“ you gasped as his cockhead rubbed your wetness, slowly sinking in. you whined at the stretch, nails digging into his skin. “fu—fuck.. haji, ’m too sensitive.” you whined, feeling his hips stop the moment he was fully inside of you.

“relax..” hajime breathed into your hair, surprisingly patient with you. normally he was drilling you into the mattress at this point, ignoring your pretty pleas and requests to slow down. but now? he was pleasant, allowing you to get adjusted to his size all the while stroking your thigh. moments passed before he moved, slowly withdrawing his hips until only the crown of his cock remained inside.

and in one flick he was fully inside once again, listening to the sweet moan that escaped you. the pace wasn’t fast or harsh, not like he usually was. it was much deeper, slower; pleasure covering your body and making you melt further into the sheets. your eyes were closed tightly, mouth rested open as sickeningly sweet sputters of his name escaped your throat.

as he felt your body relax beside him the sorcerer smiled, adjusting his hips to hit deeper, grunting as your walls hugged him so tightly. “that’s it.. good girl..” hajime breathed into your skin, ignoring how your nails clung to his skin. his sweet ruts continued, applying even sweeter kisses where he could.

your cheek, neck, and shoulder; breath fanning across your skin as more praises fell from his lips.

it didn’t take long for the familiar band to form in your stomach, moans increasing in volume as you moved back against his thrusts. hajime enjoyed each messy movement, stuffing his face into your neck as his pace stuttered; signaling he was close too.

your eyes rolled back, releasing one last moan before creaming on his length. not even a minute later did you feel his hips slow to grinds, spilling into you.

the two of you breathed, pants covering the room and a whine following the moment he pulled out of you. hajime shifted to pull his sweats back onto his body, releasing you and lifting himself off your bed. he smiled a little at the shine that escaped you once again, walking around the bed to slowly lift you off the blankets.

he watched as your slumped into his large chest, grinning to himself a bit. “tired?” the sorcerer questioned in a soft, yet mocking tone, watching you struggle to keep your eyes open.

when you didn’t even respond the man let out a small laugh, walking over to your bathroom to clean you up.

[toweringclam]

Hot on the heels of my last list, here's my ranking of how good the Sinners are in bed

12. Gregor

Don't. Forbidden. Not allowed. No sex for bug man. Theoretically he's fine, but the risks of spontaneous mutation are too great.

11. Yi Sang

Maybe he's on the ace spectrum. Maybe he's just super depressed. Either way, he's not interested. He'll gladly read poetry with you, but physical contact isn't on the table.

10. Faust

Before you even get started, you'll notice that she's 100% checked out. Total dissociation. It's not trauma or anything, probably. She's just distracted by the group chat. Even if you can get her in the moment, it's gonna be super awkward knowing every Faust in every universe is judging your performance.

9. Sinclair

Is he even old enough?

Okay...so, i just confirmed he's 20. That said, I doubt he has ever even fooled around with anyone. He has enthusiasm, but that's about it. He'll fumble around for a while, apologize, and eventually, out of desperation, try that one thing he heard on the schoolyard (to disastrous results).

8. Ryōshū

She knows what she's doing...unfortunately. She's not one to ease you into things. DESOS (deep end sink or swim). You're not walking out of this intact. There will be scars, both physical and psychological. Don't stick it in crazy, is what I'm saying.

7. Outis

Outis is the exact opposite problem from Ryōshū. Super vanilla, missionary only. Thinks a light slap on the rear is "getting freaky." The only thing that puts her at the top of the "don't" half of the list is that sex is actually happening and no one is going to therapy over it.

6. Rodion

Is it possible to fuck sarcastically? She's good but she waaay oversells it. You're barely moving and she's throwing her head back and moaning like a porn star. It makes you super self-conscious.

5. Don Quixote

Like Rodion, but a bottom and sincere about it. You barely have to do anything, and she's completely incoherent with lust. She's had three orgasms before you get your pants off. The only problem is, with all that screaming and crying and squirming and begging, there's not a whole lot that she can actually do for you. Hey, at least one of you is having the time of their life.

4. Heathcliff

An attentive and passionate lover who is gonna make you feel special. Though he tends to be maddeningly gentle, there's still a hunger underneath the surface. Give him permission and he can really unleash the beast.

3. Ishmael

A dominant and assertive lover who knows what she wants and is going to get it. She likes some fight too, so you're both gonna walk away with scratches and bruises (though nothing like with Ryōshū). She's also excellent in the aftercare, very affectionate and snuggley. I could probably swap her and Heathcliff, so this was a matter of personal taste.

2. Hong Lu

He has memorized every single book on the subject. He knows things that you can't even imagine. His empathy means he knows exactly what you need before you even know it, and he can perform perfectly. The only drawback is that, despite his vast knowledge and flawless technique, it's still kinda rote and performative. Hell of a performance, though.

1. Meursault

Mersault.

[scaredpigeons]

More than some stress relief

Blade x Stelle NSFW 18+ MDNI

CW: Stelle asks Blade to spar with her, and unfortunately that results in some unresolved sexual frustration, because c’mon, he’s still a whole ass man. Luckily, mama Kafka steps in to lend a helping hand. (Not her literal hand, she just buys the toy lol) phone sex, mutual masturbation? The fleshlight blade uses is connected to Stelle through the (magical) necklace that was part of the set. (Magical) creampie.

WARNING: Blade is very violent in his descriptions of how he threatens to bone Stelle. If you’re uncomfortable with him saying things along the lines of: —until the carnage is unrecognizable, —until you’re nothing but hot pulp running through my fingers (just to paraphrase loool) please do not read this. Blade is a very broken man, I was really trying to play off his more violent tendencies with this one. Stelle is so fuckin down bad tho (relatable)

If you are 18+, comfortable with some gory descriptors, and willing to read, please continue! Enjoy.

——————————

🐺👾: you want to…. Spar with blade? Are you a masochist or something? Should I be concerned? 

🦝🗑️: shut up 

🦝🗑️: I have this crazy lance and I don’t really want to hurt anyone by practicing with it 

🦝🗑️: I know he’s got that healing thing going on 

🐺👾: 👀 …. 

🐺👾: I’m telling him you called it that 

🦝🗑️: DONT U DARE 

🦝🗑️: JUST PLEASE ASK THE MAN IF HE CAN SPAR WITH ME WITHOUT KILLING ME 

🦝🗑️: AND DON'T TELL HIM IT'S ONLY BECAUSE HES WEIRDLY INDESTRUCTIBLE 

🦝🗑️: I don’t wanna like, offend him or anything. Obvi I don’t want him to get hurt, but like, the off chance I slip up with this thing… he isn’t gonna get murked. You know? 

🐺👾: okay okay I get it, I’ll ask 

🦝🗑️: 😩🩶🩶💯🔥

🐺👾: he agreed. Here’s the coordinates. Have fun, don’t die. 

————

“Thank you for agreeing to this, I really appreciate it!” 

The man in front of Stelle says nothing, only stares as the winds coming off the water pick up loose strands of his hair, making the inky strands flow behind him. 

“You… remember me, right?” Stelle tentatively asks. 

Still nothing. 

“It’s okay if you don’t, we don’t even have to go through with this, I just thought you would be the best person for what I’m—“ 

“I remember you, Trailblazer. My mind is not so far eroded that I’d forget you so easily.” 

His voice is dark, just as raspy as she remembers it. She has to clench her teeth to suppress a shudder. If March could hear her thoughts, she’d blush and squeal, smacking her arm in scandal. If Dan Heng could hear her thoughts… he’d institutionalize her immediately. 

This man is dangerous. Incredibly dangerous. Stelle had to lie about where she was going just so no one would try to talk her out of it. 

Danger always pulled at something inside her though, that nasty, deranged thing inside her that craved violence and adrenaline. She figured it was a side effect of hosting a stellaron inside her body, but man— did this guy make her wish she could have something else inside her body too.

 *Wink wink*

Aeons. She’s such a fucking simp. If it wouldn’t make her look bat shit insane, she’d smack herself right now just to get her shit together. 

“Oh…” she said instead. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

An awkward pause lingered between them, and she found herself thinking that maybe she was standing a bit too close to him, despite there being at least two feet between them. 

“Are you… doing well? The last time I saw you, Kafka was… helping you feel better.” She said hesitantly. 

It could’ve been her imagination, but she swore that the furrow of his brow softened ever so slightly. 

“We’re not here to discuss such trivial matters.” His voice was harsh nonetheless. 

“Right, right.” Stelle said, scratching the back of her neck sheepishly. “So, how do we do this?” 

Blade summoned his sword, dragging his fingertips across the edge before spreading the tainted blood across the flat of it, causing the cracked blade to glow and radiate with unnatural power. 

“It is not your time or place to die here, so luckily for you, I will show restraint.” 

—————

Stelle could tell Blade was holding back, true to his word. 

Any flames she created were either quelled by his winds, or overfanned by his elemental power to the point that they grew too dangerous for the environment around them, or even Stelle herself. 

She found that with her control over the lance, she could call forth and dissipate her fires at will, so the damage to herself was minimal. 

She worried that if the flames grew too large, she’d lose control over them— but every time, she willed them away and they would flicker out, leaving charred shrubbery and stone in their wake. 

Didn’t mean they weren’t hot as shit though.  

The first time she’d used the lance, the freezing temperatures of Jarilo XI dulled just how hot her new weapon could become. 

But now, well she couldn’t tell if her sweat was from the flames or just how hard her opponent was pushing her. 

He was toying with her, clashing together brutally before jumping away and circling her like a hawk. 

He was resistant to her taunts, though keeping up with him left little room for her to pause long enough to think of something to say. 

He seemed completely at ease though, the violence in his eyes and the murderous grin doing nothing to help the degenerate part of her brain that was screaming and crying and throwing up at the opportunity to observe him like this up close, without Dan Heng around to make her feel guilty for admiring this man so much. 

Her arms grew heavy, and she’d not even made him sweat, let alone injure him in any way. 

She knew that the lack of true danger was causing her to remain at a reasonable power level, flash backs to the Herta space station incident making her shudder. 

She was really no match for him in this kind of situation. 

He lunged for her again, and this time, she was too tired to react properly. She parried his strike, but missed the signs of his next move, getting her feet swiped out from beneath her as he tackled her to the ground. His sword stabbed into the dirt just beside her head as he landed on top of her, effectively straddling her as he pinned her with his intense gaze. 

Her eyes flitted back and forth between his as her breath heaved in her chest, her heart racing as she struggled to right herself after being disoriented so badly. 

Something in his expression shifted, and instead of murderous amusement, his gaze seemed… hungry. 

He leaned closer, ever so slowly, and continued staring at Stelle so intently it made her do something so embarrassing she knew she would never live it down. 

She whimpered. 

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he was gone. 

He pulled away from her and disappeared within the same breath, leaving her lying there in the dirt as she caught her breath. 

She ran her hands over her face. “Well fuck.” 

—————

🐺👾: what did you do to him? 

🦝🗑️: ??????? 

🐺👾: last week. When the two of you sparred, did something happen? 

🦝🗑️: ….

🦝🗑️: why 

🐺👾: ever since he got back he’s been fucking pouting. 

🐺👾: well, I mean pouting in the way that blade does. It’s more of a scowl than anything else, but I’ve known him long enough to differentiate between his various types of frowns. 

🦝🗑️: … nothing happened. We fought. I lost, obviously. But no one was hurt or anything. 🙃 everything’s totally normal 

🐺👾 added Kafka🕷️💕 to the chat

🐺👾: Kafka, what’s she hiding? 

Kafka🕷️💕: some sexual tension, most likely. 

🦝🗑️: …. -_- 

🦝🗑️: mother, why hast thou forsaken me????

 Kafka🕷️💕: nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetie. 

Kafka🕷️💕: Bladie may be a tragic creation of the abundance, but his body was once human. It wouldn’t be a far stretch to say that some of the more… human tendencies of a man may still linger within him. 

���👾: F

🦝🗑️: F 

🐺👾: so you’re saying he’s pouting and kicking shit because he’s sexually frustrated? That’s fuckin nasty. 

🐺👾: @🦝🗑️ you need to fix this. I don’t wanna look at him sulk anymore 

🦝🗑️: me?!!?!? Tf am I supposed to do??? How is this my fault??? 

🐺👾: you fought him and now he’s horny. Fix it. 

🦝🗑️: … bruh 

Kafka🕷️💕: I don’t think the traditional way of solving this problem will be the best idea, silver wolf. 🤭

🐺👾: wym? 🤨

Kafka🕷️💕: I don’t think it’s safe right now for our little trailblazer and Bladie to get together on a more intimate level… he’s still a bit unstable mentally. 

🦝🗑️: you let me fight this man while hES UNSTABLE 

🐺👾: heh. L 

Kafka🕷️💕: fighting is what he knows. It’s what comes natural to him these days. Emotions? Not so much. 

🦝🗑️: I mean… I’m always down to help anyone whenever I can

🐺👾: *tucks hair behind ear* “i’M aLwAys DoWn tO HeLP aNyONe WHeNeVEr I cAn”

🦝🗑️: BRO FIGHT ME 

🐺👾: no thanks, I have better ways to waste my time 

🦝🗑️: ENGAGE ME IN A BATTLE OF FISTICUFFS RN 

🦝🗑️: IM ALWAYS DOWN TO HELP BUT USUALLY I GET NICE REWARDS TOO 

🐺👾: heh… you want a nice reward for this one too? 

🦝🗑️: I STTA ILL COME FIND UR LITTLE HOLOGRAM AND SMACK THE SHIT OUTTA YOU 

🐺👾: wtf does stta stand for you heathen 

Kafka🕷️💕: ooh! She’s used this one with me before. It’s “swear to the aeons.” Cute, right? 

🐺👾: 🙄 

🐺👾 has left the chat

Kafka🕷️💕: I think I have an idea on how you can help, if you’re open to it. 

🦝🗑️: …

🦝🗑️: what do I need to do? 

———

“Stelle sweetie!” Himeko knocked on her cabin door. “You have a package here.”

Stelle nearly slipped as her sock feet slid along the smooth floor of her room in her haste to reach the door. 

She tumbled along gracelessly and threw open her door, huffing as she took the package from Himeko. 

A box, about five hands wide and three hands deep, wrapped in plain brown paper, with a little card tapped on and slathered with all the necessary postage. 

“Thank you!” Stelle said hastily, reaching for her door. 

“Wait—“ Himeko put a hand to the door shaft, stepping forward a bit with worry in her eyes. 

Stelle cringed a bit, looking up at Himeko and trying to hide the shame she felt creeping up the back of her neck. 

“Listen,” Himeko started, eyeing the little card on the package with Stelles name written in pretty, looping letters. “I know you and that stellaron hunter have some strange connection that we aren’t sure about, and I know you’re unsure too, but I just want you to be careful, okay?” 

It took a solid two panicked seconds for Stelle to realize that Himeko was speaking about Kafka, and not the other stellaron hunter she’d so guilty formed a connection with recently. 

When the realization dawned on her, she tucked her package to the side and pulled Himeko into a tender side hug, snuggling into her chest a bit as she usually did. 

“Thank you for worrying about me, Himeko.” Stelle said, pulling away. “It means a lot to me, and I promise I’m being careful. I won’t do anything to jeopardize the safety of anyone on the express.” 

Himeko sighed, smiling as she pulled back too. “I know, I just worry about you. We’re all here to support you through this, you know that.” 

Stelle grinned. “I do, thank you.” 

The red haired woman nodded, smiling still as she said her goodbyes and left Stelle to her own devices. 

She’d never closed and locked her door so quickly before. 

Throwing the package on her bed, she hastily sat beside it and pulled the card from the packaging. 

She took a moment to trace her fingers over the pretty script on the card, before she tore open the envelope and read its contents. 

Stelle, 

Inside this box you’ll find the fun toy I told you about, along with a new shipping label to send it off to Bladie. 

I’m off on my own right now, far away from him, and I figured he’d handle it a lot better if it came from you, and not me. hehe~ 

Also, you’ll find a beautiful little necklace I had added to the set, that’s for you to wear. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time with it. 

Thinking fondly of you always, 

K 

Stelle blushed a little, Kafka was always saying the strangest things. She tucked the card away in her nightstand and gently pried open the package, not wanting to tear the postage stamps. 

Inside was indeed the… thing that she was told about, and she blushed furiously while looking at the nondescript white box, though the size and shape was very indicative of what was inside.

She pulled the new shipping label out, looking at the address inquisitively and realizing she had no idea where Blade even was, not recognizing the planet. 

She sat it aside and pulled out the other small box inside, opening it up and finding a rather beautiful blue choker necklace. The colour was reminiscent of her garter, and she smiled, happily pulling the gift from its box and wrapping it around her slender throat. 

It clicked nicely in the back, and fit perfectly. She smiled, patting it and thinking about how it was such a thoughtful gift, however strangely unrelated. Then again Kafka was a bit of an enigma regardless, so who knows what her thought process was when putting these two together. 

Stelle closed up the box, slapping the new shipping label over the old one and eyeing it as it sat in the middle of her bed. 

Fuck, I should probably write him a letter, some kind of explination so he doesn’t just throw it away without opening it. 

She scurried to her desk, pulling out a very cutesy animal themed stationary set that March had gifted her after their mission on Jarilo XI. 

The envelopes and cards were soft blue, covered in cute little bunnies and bears and what Stelle thinks are pink raccoons, surrounded with hearts and little stars. 

She laughed at the idea of Blade handling such delicate paper, and got to writing a quick note on her desk.

Hey, 

Don’t hate me, but SW was complaining about your… mood lately, and I thought this might help. I totally fuckin get it, trust me, I understand. Traveling with a group of people that’s more like family than anything else can really put a damper on your… personal time. So please take time for yourself, if not for me, then to at least make silver wolf stop complaining to me that you’re moody. 

I look forward to the day you’ll spar with me again. 

-Stelle 

It might’ve been doing a bit too much, but Stelle couldn’t help but feel like the note might help him to be more receptive to the gift. 

Being a bit delusional never stopped her before, so why should it now? 

She slid the card in the envelope and slapped it to the package, picking it up to go and have it delivered. Hopefully she could feel a bit more at peace once it was gone. 

—————

A quick and impatient knock sounded on his room door, pulling him from his deep meditation on the floor. 

“Hey asshole, you’ve got a package.” 

He and Silver Wolf were sent together to fulfill one of Elio’s scripts, and it was a brief period of lull in their respective duties. 

The inn they were staying at wasn’t lavish by any means, but they were discreet, and that’s really all they could hope for. 

Blade released a breath through his nose as he rose from the floor, walking over and opening up his room to find his fellow hunter standing impatiently, tapping her foot on the rough carpet of the hallway. 

Blade hated carpet in the hallways of inns. Always disgusting and ridiculously coloured. 

“Here.” Silver Wolf shoved the box in his hands, her grin was wide, spreading to her eyes which twinkled up at him with the mischief he tried so desperately to avoid. 

“Who could possibly know where we are right now.” He grumbled at her, though she was already turning to leave. 

“I have an inkling, and hopefully the stick falls out of your ass soon.” She laughed maniacally as she waltzed down the hall. “Enjoy!” 

Blade felt his brow scrunch up tight as he eyed the package. The blue envelope tapped into it was terrible to look at, the childish print making him want to throw it away immediately, but the unfamiliar lettering spelling his name across the paper made him pause. 

He brought the package to his bed, sitting down and thumbing open the envelope. 

The contents of the card made his stomach drop and then lurch into his throat. He was ready to run silver wolf through with his sword. 

Calm yourself. 

He took steady breaths, though he was angry, he was also rather curious about what exactly was in the box. 

With a carefulness he didn’t remember he had, he pried open the package to find a smaller white box without any words or indicators of what could be inside. 

He lifted the lid, only to drop it in shock at what lurked within. He knew what that was. He was older than most but he was still a man, and he knew exactly what had been sent to him— what was to help his “mood.” 

He sighed, pinching his temples. He didn’t know whether he wanted to thank silver wolf or strangle her. Either way, he’d be getting some kind of relief today. 

———————

Stelle was eating dinner when she felt the first phantom touch. 

Fingertips, as soft as a whisper, ghosting over her pubic mound and making her stomach dip. 

Her eyes darted around, but everyone else was still enjoying their meal, chatting quietly together with the melody of silverware accompanying their voices. 

She was sat beside Dan Heng tonight, but both of his hands were above the table. 

She leaned back to look at him below the waist, looking to see if he’d manifested his tail and was making a pass at her, or more likely, was absentmindedly flicking it about like he did whenever he took his secondary form. 

But no, he was tailless this evening, and now eyeing her a bit warily as her eyes darted around. 

“You okay?” He murmured, not wanting to bother the others. 

The touch ghosted along her outer labia now, making her drop her fork in shock. 

Everyone was looking at her now, and she felt something pulse around her throat, right where her new necklace rested. 

Her face heated, and she placed her utensils onto her half finished plate before scooting from behind the table. 

“I’m… not feeling the greatest. I think I’m gonna go to bed early, if you all don’t mind.” 

She stood quickly, standing there for a moment as the touches continued, soft and inquisitive. 

“Are you alright?” Welt asked, concerned. “Would you like me to bring you some tea, or medicine?” 

“No!” Stelle jumped, before she caught herself and smiled sheepishly. “I’m alright, just feeling a little off. Probably just need some good sleep. I’ll see you all in the morning?” 

They all nodded, watching her go with worried eyes, but letting her leave without more questioning, which she was so grateful for. 

As soon as she made it to her room, she felt the first touch swipe through her core, and she nearly keened. 

Her throat pulsed, the necklace weakly glowing in the dark of her room. 

Her body felt hot. She was embarrassed at the amount of wetness that was pooling in her underwear, but most importantly, she was so fucking confused at what was going on. 

Something wet and blunt prodded at her entrance, and her knees buckled as she locked her door. 

She nearly crawled to her bed as her choker pulsed and pulsed with a weak glow, and the blunt thing, which felt suspiciously like a pair of fingers, finally slipped inside her, curiously prodding around, as if feeling her out. 

She slapped a hand over her mouth as she squeezed around the phantom digits, their touch lingering at her g spot with ridiculous precision. The fingers withdrew and she breathed a sigh of relief, though it was short lived as something much, much larger prodded itself at her entrance. 

Her eyes widened, and she scrambled to pull Kafkas card from her bedside drawer. 

“you’ll find a beautiful little necklace I had added to the set, that’s for you to wear. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time with it. “

Stelle hadn’t realized what those words meant at the time, but as the blunt head of a ridiculously sized phallic object pushed at her hole, the meaning slapped her in the face like a rouge automaton. 

Her back arched off the bed as the phantom cock pushed into her, and she choked on a moan as it buried itself deep within her. She was so ridiculously wet she wanted to cry, and knowing who was on the other end of this feeling made her eyes roll back into her head. 

The thrusts started slow, but slowly worked their way up to something more intense, almost violent. Her insides churned, and she felt the telltale signs of an orgasm building up so quickly she might scream. 

No, no no no. She scrambled, reaching for the necklace, but when her fingers reached the latch, the thrusts changed angles, pounding directly into her g-spot and she cussed into the dark of her room. 

Her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave, crashing into her and seeping deep into her bones. It was the first actually satisfying orgasm she’d had in an incredibly long time. 

Her fingertips shook as they lingered on the necklace a moment, before she threw them back to her sheets, gripping them tightly as the thrusts continued. 

Fuck, this feels too good.

Through the post orgasm fog, she wondered if he knew. 

Did he know it was connected to her? 

She suddenly felt overcome with guilt. If he didn’t know, this felt a little like taking advantage of his struggles. If he did know, then she wanted to hear him say it out loud, that he knew exactly what he was doing to her. 

She wanted him to hear exactly what he was doing to her. 

With shaking hands and twitching thighs, she slapped around her bed for her phone, biting her lip through the pleasure to scroll through her contacts. 

It was nearly at the bottom, and the last time it was used was a hack of Silver Wolf’s, and Kafkas words, not his own. But she had to try regardless. 

She clicked the call button, bringing her phone to her ear as she bit back moans. 

Suddenly, the thrusting within her stopped, though the phantom cock remained buried within her. 

She gasped as the ringing came to a halt as the line picked up.

There was no answer, though she swore she could hear his breathing, just a bit heavier than usual. 

“Don’t… don’t stop.” She whispered. 

She thought she heard his breath catch in his throat. She definitely heard the swallow before he spoke. 

“What are you talking about.” His gravelly voice reverberated through the phone, and she felt the cock inside her move ever so slowly, in and out. 

She bit her lip. “I didn’t know at first, I swear.” Her thoughts were scrambled as the soft thrusts continued, and the knowledge that he was actively fucking himself with the toy while she spoke make her stomach jump in pleasure. 

“You didn’t know what?” He said, voice low and nearly at a whisper. 

“It’s… we’re… we’re connected.” 

The toy stopped, and she sucked in a breath of relief, hoping to gather her thoughts so she could properly explain herself. 

Suddenly a moan was ripped from her chest as his cock thrust into the toy with vigor, and his intense pace was picked back up tenfold. 

She tried to hide it, but the damage was done, and if he didn’t know before, he certainly did now as he listened to her whine and whimper through the phone. 

“I thought the inside felt far too realistic.” He growled. “You’re squeezing me so tight, little Nameless.” 

She gasped, his voice along with the stimulation was far too much, and another orgasm was quickly approaching. 

She tried to play it off like she wasn’t being fucked within an inch of her life though. 

“Yeah well, it’s… been a while since I’ve gotten any action, s-so forgive me for being a little tense.” She stammered. 

He switched his thrusts to hard and deep, so hard Stelle could nearly feel the sensation of his hips hitting hers, and she’s almost positive the fat of her lower half would be rippling in the recoil if he were actually here. 

“I knew as soon as I saw you that you were just a needy hole begging to be filled.” Blade said, voice deep and oh so condescending. 

Stelle fisted the sheets, her eyes nearly rolling into her skull as her needy moans slipped through clenched teeth. He was right, he was so right— but that didn’t mean she needed to concede so easily. 

“That’s bold talk…” she hissed, biting her lips until they felt raw. “…For someone who literally ran away from m-me as soon as his blood traveled south.”  

His dark laugh made her squeeze around him, and she knew he could feel it because the laugh trickled off into a deep groan that set her face on fire. She felt like her fingertips were alight with electricity, like her body was attempting to defy the artificial gravity on the express as she arched off her sheets. 

The pounding within her never faltered as he continued speaking his vile, filthy words at her. 

“You’re lucky I did, little Nameless.” She could almost imagine his murderous grin, the violence that vibrated through his voice was astounding. “If I had stayed I would have fucked you until not even your beloved crew would have been able to recognize the carnage I’d left behind.”

She couldn’t stop the noise that flew from her throat, a guttural keening that had her gripping her cellphone in embarrassment as he laughed once more. 

“Oh?” He teased, voice edged with gravel and venom. “You must be desperate to enjoy the idea of me fucking you until you’re nothing but hot pulp slipping through my fucking fingers.”

Oh she was so desperate, so fucked. If anyone else had said something so absolutely horrifying, she’d have run far, far away. 

“Does the rest of the express crew know how fucking depraved you are?” His thrusts seemed to pick up speed, which would’ve seemed nearly impossible, except she couldn’t exactly think at the moment, only sob as they slammed against that spot inside her over and over again until she felt herself slipping slowly. 

“Do they know that their precious little star wants to be fucked by a monster?” He snarled, and she cried out into the soft light of her room, thrashing around as her orgasm teased its way at her— but she was holding it back, why, why?

“Please,” she gasped. “Please, can I—“ oh, she thought distantly. Oh I’m so fucked up. 

Blade groaned, the slick sounds of him thrusting into the toy ringing in her ear. “So desperate, so polite. You really are something else.”

She keened, arching her back as the feeling licked at her further, so close to toppling over the edge.

“Go on then,” Blade whispered darkly. “Cum for me.” 

It crashed over her, more powerful than anything she could remember feeling. It pulsed through her in quick waves, so strong and violent as he just kept going. 

It started to dance into sickly sweet overstimulation as she heard his breath quicken, and she steadied her breath, wanting to savor this moment. 

“You know,” she breathed. “I’m a lot tougher than you think.”

His breath stuttered, his pace faltering ever so slightly. 

“I could take it,” she whispered. “I don’t think you’d hurt me in any way I didn’t want you to.” 

He faltered, and she heard him cuss under his breath through the phone.

“Yeah?” He whispered. “You’d take what I give you?”

She nodded at her ceiling, knowing he couldn’t see her, but her mind was too foggy with brutal pleasure to think straight. He was undoing her. 

“Every disgusting, violent, nasty thing you’d give me Blade,” she said, clutching the sheets as tears welled behind her eyes, praying he was almost finished but simultaneously never wanting it to end. “I’d take it so well for you, and I’d thank you for it.” 

“Fuck.” Blade moaned, deep and guttural, and his thrusting seized inside her. Much to her shock, she could feel the warmth of him filling her up, pump and after pump of him coating her insides. 

They both lay there, staring at their ceilings and breathing heavily over the phone, not speaking but not really wanting to anyways. 

Finally, once the breath returned to her lungs unlaboured, she felt him pull himself from the toy. 

She felt like she’d been hollowed out, like a crater had been formed where her insides should be, and without him there plugging her up—-her guts would fall out and she’d be left empty. 

He made a confused noise, and just as he did she felt the telltale squelch of cum slipping from her still twitching insides, and she groaned in frustration. 

“Well then,” he chuckled, softer now than before— almost a forbidden sound. “That makes cleaning up easier for me.” 

She smacked her hand over her face. “This is the weirdest toy ever invented, and I'm going to cry the next time I have to face Kafka.” 

“I figured this had something to do with her,” he said, shuffling noises heard from his end of the line. “She can never stay out of my business for too terribly long, unfortunately.” 

“Mine too it seems.” Stelle sighed. She smiled when he made a neutral sound of agreement. 

“You sound like you’re in a better mood.” She said, uncaring of the consequences.

“Well, before I realized what this really was, I was just hoping to release some inconvenient pent up energy.” He said, voice flat. “But I suppose doing it this way has added benefits. I’m no fool, I understand how the human brain works.”

“So this… helped you?” Stelle asked tentatively. 

He sighed. “I’d be lying if I said it was entirely useless.” 

Stelle smiled, stroking the choker around her throat, the delicate glow now completely faded. 

“I’ll keep my end of the connection on, it's simple enough. Just call me next time, okay? I don’t need to embarrass myself at dinner again.”

“I make no such promises.” She thought she heard the faintest of smiles in that last sentence before the line went dead.  

[ominous-faechild]

Hi, guys. It's me, Barlowe.

No fun aesthetics, none of that. We're addressing the election today.

I never thought I'd be political on my blog—and, in fact, avoided it except for where I really wanted to get things out to everyone, like Project 2025—but circumstances have forced me to step up.

For those who want to see my actual Writeblr intro, you can find it here. This post is getting pinned to my blog for a while.

So, hi. Barlowe here.

I'm an autistic lesbian with health issues I'm too poor to treat.

I'm currently in a relationship with a Mexican-American woman.

My older sister, although we don't really get along, is trans.

I do not care about my relationship with her. What matters is that she is in legitimate danger. Because of the results of the election.

My girlfriend? She's in danger, too. She had people yell and spit at and shove her during Trump's first term, and she had little to nobody she could turn to for help. Like me, she's chock-full of struggles and disabilities. So much so that I almost want to say she's had it even worse than me in that regard.

But I won't be comparing struggles here; that's not the point.

My little sister is still a teenager. She lives in Florida.

As a 13-year-old, she had people call her a slut for wearing a tank top.

A tank top.

It's Florida. It's hot.

She was 13.

Do you know the amount of rage I felt when I heard that?

I'm a nonviolent af grown-ass adult and I wanted to track down those kids to beat them tf up. I wanted to teach them a lesson to never treat my little sister like that again.

But they aren't the source of the problem, do you know that?

The source of the problem is their parents. The media. The internet, and echo chambers full of disgusting, sexist pigs who reduce women—and girls—to nothing more than sex objects for men.

“Grab 'em by the pussy.”

Did we all forget that?

Did we all forget how disgusting that pathetic excuse for a man is?

Did we ignore all of his crimes, all of the things he's done?

Why? Because Harris is a black woman? Because she's mixed? Because she's flawed? Because she didn't deserve to win?

Listen to me.

That's not good enough.

Maybe she didn't deserve to win. But do you know what?

Nor did Trump.

Trump deserves to be IN JAIL.

He's racist, he's xenophobic, he's sexist, a rapist, a homophobe, a convicted felon, and so, so much more.

And yet here we are.

How did millions of people vote a man like that into office?

I would've gone running for the hills at just ONE of those things?

... but that's not the point.

We're here now, except... things aren't quite as clear-cut as we've been led to believe.

There's an interesting saying that goes something like:

“People most often expect from others what they know of themselves.”

And what did Trump most love screaming at the hills?

That the votes of 2020 were rigged.

And he said to “find votes”.

Well, it looks like he found them.

Or, at the very least, he's gotten rid of Democratic ones.

There were bomb threats called in on democratic-leaning polling locations, machines “didn't recognize” ballots, democratic ballots were rejected for inane reasons, and ballots were burned.

Do you think a man so obsessed with so-called “rigging” wouldn't engage in it himself? Whether he truly believed it or not—which, it's been proven that he didn't, and only claimed so to rile up his cultish followers, causing January 6th—who's to say he wouldn't do it himself to “even out the playing field” so to speak? Who's to say a man like him wouldn't claim election fraud 4 years in advance just to pull the wool over all of our collective eyes later?

I'm not saying that he hasn't won.

But I am saying it's not goddamn over.

There's petitions you can sign demanding for recounts [EDIT: THEY DELETED THE LAST ONE!!!! THIS IS A REPLACEMENT!!!]. You can contact Harris to beg her to not take this lying down. You can—and SHOULD—contact the White House directly.

Listen to me.

Check out Project 2025.

My sweet, lovely girlfriend has been shoved and verbally abused—harassed into literal agoraphobia that she's already slipping back into just because of the election's results—by people who ate up the hateful rhetoric of the Right.

She lives in a Blue State.

Even while my trans sister was male-presenting, she was treated differently—coldly—before she cut her hair short again. Suddenly, people would smile at her on the streets again.

She's since started transitioning, and what about now?

My little sister was physically bullied while she lived in Texas.

They, too, are lucky I was never around for that.

Now, in Florida, I doubt she fares much better.

My friend, who's a teacher in Texas, has been forced to publish under a pseudonym and try their complete and utter best to hide their writing so they're not fired for her job. Why?

Because the MC's nonbinary.

My friend is terrified for their son, growing up in a world like this. They're terrified to have another kid—which they want—because 'what if it's a daughter?' They don't want to bring a girl into a world like this.

And they don't want to risk a pregnancy that can end their life.

People all across the states are being forced to give birth to the children of their rapists... or die because of complications in the womb.

Babies are being forced to die slowly in the womb rather than humanely, through “abortion”, after it's clear they're dying, but “still have a heartbeat.”

Queer folk, PoC, and immigrants have been targeted and live in fear for their lives. They deal with VERY real violence and harassment, even if you don't see it yourself.

This is all the lasting effects of Trump's first term as president.

He and his followers spread a hateful rhetoric strongly aligning with Hitler's before the man took over. They fearmonger and sell out minorities as the reason everything's wrong in this country.

They make minorities a scapegoat, and make them into targets.

Regardless of the actual results of the election, these so-called “victories” for the Right only embolden the bigots to act more and more egregiously.

It doesn't matter if you're “one of the good ones”. It doesn't matter if “most Republicans aren't like that”. It doesn't matter what you think.

What matters is reality.

And reality is: a Trump victory means victory for the extremists.

They ran with it the first time.

What do you think they're going to do with it this time?

This all isn't to sound doomeristic, though—I think we still have a chance. I think Trump's rigged this thing for a reason. I think we need to push for this stuff to be exposed.

But it's going to take everything we have, guys.

Sure, maybe Harris isn't perfect. She's questionable af in a LOT of places, and I personally hate her stances on Palestine. I'm sure most of all of us do. But, do you really think Trump will be any kinder?

Do you really care to doom everyone else off of the miniscule chance that he'll decide to help them?

Listen: Harris isn't trying to turn the States into the next fascist dictatorship. Trump is. Harris isn't showing EVERY single “preparing for a genocide” red flag. Trump. IS.

Petition for recounts. Tell Harris not to give up.

And contact the White House telling them this is not acceptable.

Complain about the bomb threats. Complain about the lost ballots. Complain about the tampered-with ballots. Complain about the burned ballots, complain about the rejected ballots, and don't stop fighting tooth-and-nail like Trump kicked and screamed after the 2020 election.

Don't give up. It's not too late.

And, to my followers?

Let me make this abundantly clear.

If any of you voted for Trump? If any of you wanted him to win, or for Harris to lose?

Then get the fuck off my blog.

I don't give a shit what kind of relationship we've had in the past, or if you liked my writing, or any of that.

A loss for Harris is a win for Trump—it's that simple.

You aren't morally superior for choosing not to vote for Harris no matter WHAT reason you had for it. You aren't morally superior for finding her dubious, for hating her views on Palestine, or for refraining from choosing either of the two evils.

You're a coward.

An enabler, comforting yourself by telling yourself “at least you didn't have a hand in {whatever turned you against her}”.

Sure, you didn't kill the sheep.

But you left the gates open for the wolves.

And that makes you responsible for their deaths.

You knew the risks of leaving the gate open. But you did it anyway.

And, to any of you who voted for Trump?

I want you to know I HATE you.

No matter what, no matter who, no matter WHY.

I consider you all equally responsible for anything and everything that happens as a result of his presidency if it comes to be.

It isn't “just politics”.

It isn't something you can just wipe your hands clean of.

Maybe you don't have to face the consequences for the things that come from this, but I, the people I love, and countless others do.

It's not “just politics”.

It's our fucking lives.

And I hope, one of these days, you learn to regret it as much as the rest of us.

So, to those of you who left the gate open?

Do yourself a favor.

Get the fuck off my blog before I find out you did.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

For "Never Have I Ever"

...Chef Peeta/Server or Food Critic Katniss? (Or some such variation of this)

Yes chef? 🫦

Madame. You are already on my shit list for the number of fic idea documents I've added to my drive because of you. Clearly you are determined to badger me into writing this one, and le sigh. I like it. A lot. So much so that I have two options for you:

Option A: When Katniss left her home town at the age of eighteen, she had no intention of returning. Ever. Too many painful memories, like a pregnancy at the age of sixteen that ended in miscarriage. Or her father's death while she was still grieving the loss of her baby. Her mother's suicide attempt. The way all of that left her so raw that she destroyed her relationship with her high school sweetheart.

Now Katniss writes a food critique column with her work partner, Gale. They specialize in small restaurants with unique "local flavor." Then their boss assigns them to a newly opened restaurant in her home town, and Katniss begs Gale to do all the work this time. Their boss refuses to let her off the hook once he finds out Katniss grew up in that town, but a last minute family emergency with Gale's mother results in Katniss checking in alone to the only decent hotel in town.

Of course, she didn't do her research and when she calls to make a reservation for that night, she finds out the restaurant she's meant to review closes early on Thursdays. Stuck in town for an extra night, Katniss makes her way to the one decent bar in town. She's already a few drinks in when old news walks through the door.

Despite all the hurt lingering between them, it's clear that the sparks are still there, and Katniss never could resist Peeta Mellark's kind blue eyes or his sweet, shy smile. Which is why, even though a one night stand with her high school sweetheart is a horrible idea, Katniss convinces herself she won't ever see him again anyway.

On Friday night, Katniss eats at what she quickly deems "a hidden gem almost good enough to make me move back home." Enchanted with the food and the ambiance, she asks to meet the chef and is granted her request.

Suddenly, she finds a hundred and one things wrong with the food.

As much as he wishes he had, Peeta knows he's never stopped loving his high school sweetheart. He tried dating other girls after they lost their baby and Katniss left his heart in shreds, but no one seemed able to fill the hollow feeling inside his chest. Which is probably why, when he sees her in Abernathy's Pub, he reverts to his teenage stupidity. Even though she tells him that she's only in town for one night, he still returns flirt and somehow winds up in bed with her.

Of course, it doesn't matter that the sex was incredible, she's still gone when he wakes up in the morning. So he throws himself into his work, the one thing that's kept him sane all these years.

At least until one of his servers bring Katniss into his kitchen, claiming she wanted to meet the chef and introducing her as one of the writers behind the famous Local Flavor food critique column. Small restaurants like his live or die by her reviews, and she's got nothing good to say about his place.

Lovers to haters back to lovers, second chance romance fic. Spicy up front followed by a long, slow simmer.

Option B: For the life of him, Peeta cannot seem to keep a staff in his kitchen. His best friend Delly, the kindest person he knows, has suggested that maybe it's because he's too soft. Too kind, and people take advantage of him. Enter Katniss Everdeen (aka Gordon Ramsey ala Nightmare Kitchen) to whip Peeta's struggling restaurant into shape. Tempers flare and it gets hot in the kitchen until things come to a boil one night while Katniss and Peeta are alone, trying out new recipes. Peeta orders her to do something and she responds the way she's been training his new staff to respond. "Yes chef!" And Peeta discovers that he likes hearing her say that to him... a whole lot more than he should. He wants to find out if there are any other ways he can get her to say it or otherwise moan it...

Spoiler alert. He does find out, and discovers that she likes saying it to him as much as he likes hearing it.

Never Have I Ever

<3 kdnfb

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Tom Sherry

Published: Mar 4, 2025

“What is the sound of one hand clapping?” “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” College students around the world have pondered these questions for generations. These fun intellectual exercises help challenge our assumptions and force us to examine ideas we often take for granted.

They’re also the kind of thing people roll their eyes at—fun, sure, but hardly serious. Koans like these are often treated as philosophical party tricks, not pressing matters.

Take a step up in complexity, and you get questions like, “Does free will exist?” Every philosophy major—including me, back in the day—has burned midnight oil debating this one. Today, a number of influential scientists, including neuroscientists Robert Sapolsky and Sam Harris, argue free will is an illusion.

Great. I love science. I love opinions. I value academia. Ideas are a blast. But is the question of free will just a souped-up koan—an abstract puzzle to noodle over—or a question with teeth, one with real-world implications?

This isn’t just navel-gazing about navel-gazing. When we lump every intellectual pursuit together—treating a dorm-room debate about free will with the same gravity as, say, identifying a bird flu strain capable of human-to-human transmission—we risk diluting the value of countless lab researchers working hard to identify future risks to real people’s lives. This is hard science—the same science that probed corona viruses in a lab in Wuhan China and puzzled over retroviruses in the 1980s. These kinds of intellectual pursuits are very valuable. Back then, retrovirus research felt like a niche academic sideline—until it cracked open the HIV crisis and gave us tools to fight it. From microwaves to MRI machines to once-unthinkable treatments, science routinely delivers.

Here’s the catch: all intellectual pursuits, abstract or concrete, carry potential—and peril. A koan may be nothing more than a mental exercise, but what about free will? If Sapolsky and Harris are right, its implications could upend law, morality, even our very sense of self. And then there’s the lab work. Was COVID-19 the result of a viral contagion study that slipped its leash? Maybe. What’s undeniable is that—from the CDC’s test tubes to philosophy’s thought experiments—the stakes are real. A virus can escape containment and kill millions. An idea can break free from the ivory tower and remake—or break—society. In both cases, the fallout can be devastating.

Consider the simple question: What is the distinction between biological sex and gender? It’s a fun, thought-provoking query that has enlightened generations of aspiring intellectuals. Exploring the interplay of biology, familial upbringing, and cultural influences on self-expression is valuable. Feminists have long championed the idea that biology is not destiny, freeing women to succeed in roles traditionally reserved for men and creating space for men to pursue careers as teachers, nurses, and stay-at-home parents. Decades of activism by lesbian, gay, and bisexual individuals reshaped cultural attitudes toward sexual orientation. When the Supreme Court ruled in Obergefell v. Hodges to recognize same-sex marriage, it didn’t fundamentally change ideas about marriage, it merely reflected a hard-fought cultural shift about sexual orientation and civil rights that had already taken place.

Yet, until very recently, no one questioned the reality of biological sex itself as a defining aspect of the human experience. Biological sex is not a product of culture—it is a product of biology.

The nature-versus-nurture debate has fascinated philosophers for ages. Are humans a “blank slate” shaped entirely by culture? Or do innate traits, rooted in our genetic history, define us? In the 1960s, John Money of Johns Hopkins University mutated this perennial question into something new. For the first time, the concepts of what we are and who we are became fully disentangled. He argued that sex and gender were wholly separate, pioneering the idea of “gender identity” as distinct from biological sex.

Three decades later, Judith Butler of UC Berkeley pushed this concept to its extreme. In Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, a dense, jargon-laden academic treatise, she suggested that biological sex itself is a social construct. The book was not written for the general public—let alone as a guide to living a fulfilling life.

But what happens when this once-obscure academic idea—that sex and gender are entirely separate—escapes the confines of academia and takes root in an image-obsessed, polarized, and social media-driven world?

Consider what might unfold if a group of influential academics persuaded major institutions and much of the public that “free will” does not exist. (After all, many already believe this and claim to have data supporting their position.) Imagine the upheaval in the court system, schools, and every other institution if people began to assert, “I had no choice—there is no free will.”

These benign intellectual exercises can be valuable—as intellectual exercises. But virulent pathogens are not the only dangerous thing that can leak from the halls of academic exploration. The concept of a “gender identity” as wholly separate from biological sex has, in a remarkably short time, infected much of the Western world.

“Gender identity” is an academic “lab leak.” It was never meant to take hold in the general public. It was a theoretical playground where scholars competed to outdo one another in journals few people read. But this useful “thought experiment” escaped its rightful domain and contaminated our schools, government institutions, and mainstream culture. Sex and gender are no longer considered synonyms; in fact, gender has supplanted sex as the primary marker. The now-ubiquitous phrase “Sex Assigned at Birth” on medical intake forms indicates how deeply this transformation and infiltrated our everyday life. The slogan "Trans women are women" is another example of this ideological capture.

Throughout history, males and females have chosen to present as the opposite sex. That is not new. What is new is the claim that an internal sense of gender overrides biological sex—an assertion that who we believe we are determines what we are. These postmodern ideas might remain harmless word games if they were not taken seriously. But treating subjective identity as more real than objective biology has serious consequences.

We now see males in female prisons, locker rooms, and sports. The medicalization of sex-nonconforming children is promoted as common sense among the intelligentsia. And those who reject these esoteric ideas—concepts as abstract as the sound of one hand clapping—are dismissed as uneducated, unenlightened, or bigoted.

It was fun exploring abstract ideas as a 20-something college student. But how do these intellectual exercises play out in the real world? How would our social order and institutions function if everyone accepted Robert Sapolsky’s contention that free will does not exist?

Well, here we are. Biological sex does exist. Denying that truth fosters chaos and confusion, particularly among adolescents. I remain ambivalent about whether “gender identity” is real—some people seem to have a strong sense of it, while others do not. And surely there is a minuscule population of adults whose subjective sense of self and objective biology are so incongruent that seeking medical interventions may alleviate some distress. But biological sex is an objective fact, one that cannot be erased by progressive ideology or the mere existence of a rare mental condition. Gender, as a concept, is best confined to the halls of academia—much like the study of coronaviruses would have been best contained within the labs of Wuhan.

For now, we must wade through a sea of distracted children waving one hand in the air listening for a sound or asking, “Am I really a girl?”

-

About the Author

Tom Sherry is a child and family therapist who has focused on adolescents and parents for the past 25 years. He lives with his wife and son in Asheville, North Carolina. When inspired, he posts to his Substack Chill the F Out

==

I've said before that I dislike "philosophy for the sake of philosophy." And "gender identity," like a human soul, is nothing but a thought experiment until anyone bothers to actually prove it exists.

And like a human soul, it has not been. Anytime someone tries to, it becomes clear that gender is clothes and hair.

[bambiiboop]

Ache: Ezra x AFAB!Reader

Summary: you and Ezra get hit by something mysterious in the atmosphere, and it has... interesting... results.

CWs: dubcon (sex pollen) / breeding kink / Ezra's filthy mouth / unsafe PIV sex / squirting / established relationship (kind of).

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist

Tagging: @serenaxpedro , @ezras--moon & @bearsbeetsbeskar

You think you’re used to everything The Green has to offer; the toxic air, the asshole mercenaries, the long days. Think you can handle everything it has to give you, especially now you have a somewhat established situationship with your companion.

Hell, it’s almost nice, the routine you’ve established. Go out prospecting, make it back to the lander, decontaminate, eat, curl up together in a tangle of sweat and satisfaction, Ezra whispering poetry into your ear.

It would be almost romantic if nine times out of ten, you weren’t dripping his cum onto the sheets. Or maybe that’s what makes it so. You don’t want to think too hard about what you are; putting labels on it just complicates things. You’re his, as much as he’s yours, and that’s all there is to it. Anything else makes it too difficult, too real, and once it becomes real, it means you have something to lose.

Anyway.

You’re not sure what’s happened; it’s usually cool in the lander at night, but you’re sweating, overheating, and it has nothing to do with your lover’s hands on you.

Part of you wonders if the air filters have gone faulty again, but you aren’t exactly thinking about the science of the situation right now, far too consumed with need and heat that won’t go away, no matter how desperate you are as you pull him to you, rub your soaked cunt along his cock.

Normally he’d comment on how needy you are, taunt you for it, but whatever is coursing through you has hit him, too, and hit him hard. He’s just as needy as you are, which is saying something.

Usually, he’s the one in control, perfectly composed and whispering filth into your ear as he steadily fucks into you. Not now. He’s clawing at you, spreading your thighs roughly, as though the only thing that matters to him right now is getting your legs wide enough for him to fit between.

It’s a fair assessment; you completely understand it, just as desperate, dragging your dripping pussy along his length as he lifts you into his arms, into his lap, guides himself to your entrance and pulls you, unceremoniously, downwards.

You cry out, making absolutely zero attempt at muffling the sound as you sink onto him, impale your tight cunt on the perfect thickness of him, wriggle your hips to settle, but it’s not enough. He’s as deep inside you as he can get, hips flush to yours, but you still need more, and so does he.

He draws himself out half way before dragging you back down by the hips, drawing a desperate moan from you that jolts straight to his cock. You’re so tight around him, he can feel himself pulse and throb inside you, swears he can feel every drop of pre cum that you milk from his cock as it drips into your eager, welcoming cunt.

“Fuck, please, I need-“ you aren’t even entirely sure what you need; he’s already as deep inside you as he can get, rocking his hips steadily, hitting that sweet spot inside you with each deep stroke.

“I know, sweet thing, I know…” Ezra moans it into your shoulder, even though he doesn’t know either, can’t put into words what you both so desperately need, even though he feels it too. Maybe there’s no words for it, just an overwhelming desire and need to be intimate like this, as though he might actually combust into flames if he doesn’t fuck himself as deep into you as possible.

A tiny part of his brain registers, dimly, that that isn’t scientifically possible, but then again, what does he know? As far as he was aware, whatever the fuck you’ve both been hit by in the atmosphere isn’t scientifically possible, either. The bigger part of his brain - and, arguably, the part thinking with his achingly hard cock - doesn’t care about science right now. All that matters is the steady rhythm of pulling half out of you, slamming back in, over and over, drawing those sweet, unrestrained moans from your lips.

You’ve never been this loud before, this confident; Ezra supposes it’s something to do with the drugs, rather than anything else; it doesn’t hurt his ego, because either way it’s still him causing this reaction, causing you to drag your nails up his chest, leaving claw marks in your wake. He’ll wear those like badges of honour, he thinks, as he leans in and sinks his teeth into your shoulder, sucks a deep purple mark into the soft skin.

You claw at him again, bear down onto him, your voice a wordless symphony of moans and pleas, even if there’s no actual words coming out; he can tell, knows what you want from him. Harder, faster, deeper if he can get there. He does, doesn’t care about the ache he’ll feel later, just as much as you don’t care about the subtle pain as he slams into you. All that matters is this.

You lean in, have to lean up, even in this position, and steal a hungry, demanding kiss, one hand knitting into his hair to keep him close as you take what you need from him, uncaring that when you pull away, your lips are still connected by a faint string of saliva. Maybe any other time, you’d find that disgusting. Not now. Now all that matters is leaving as much of each other on the other as possible.

“Starving, aren’t you?” There’s that vicious glint in his dark eyes again as he nuzzles his face between your tits, pulls you down onto his cock particularly hard. “Can’t blame you.”

He sucks a hardened nipple into his mouth, moans at the taste of sweat and salt on your skin, holds you in place as your back arches. He isn’t gentle, teeth scraping, lips greedy; in his frenzied state he almost wishes you had something to give, would gladly lap at any liquid that he could draw from your body, especially when he’s commented before on how much he fucking loves your tits.

Maybe he should just do as you’ve begged of him before, as he’s considered, and fuck you so full of his spend that it takes, claim you as his, spend his nights worshipping at the altar of your body as it grows new life.

His cock throbs inside you at the thought as he pulls away to demand another kiss, moaning into it as his hips buck up against yours; you can only hold on, breathing ragged and desperate, no relief in sight no matter how many times you come for him. At least, not yet.

“C’mon, little dove, I know you can come for me, I can feel how close you are...”

You gasp out, half at the words, half because he finds your sweet spot, the thick head of his cock caressing it almost lovingly with each deep thrust.

“Fuck -“ you whine it out, drawn out and needy, “right there…”

He takes the hint, doesn’t change up the way he’s moving, keeps rutting into you like a man possessed, his hands holding you steady, stroking up and down your back as he urges you closer and closer, until you’re tightening painfully around him, back arching, aching cunt gushing over his cock, soaking him, you, his lap, the thin sheets.

It’s almost instant relief, like a fog in your head is cleared, but all you can do is cling to him; you have no idea how long you’ve been out of it, how long he’s been fucking you, but you’re aching and exhausted and yet still so desperate and determined that he’ll find pleasure too.

Whatever has hit you both clearly still has him in its grasp; part of you wonders if you should stop, now that you’re clear headed, but the way he’s holding onto you like you’re the last tether to life makes it impossible, even if you truly wanted to.

He nuzzles into your shoulder again, presses open mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he can reach, like he can’t get enough of your scent, your taste, all while keeping himself pressed deep inside you, grinding his hips up into yours.

“Fuck… fuck…” he’s more moaning than speaking; you’ve never heard him sound so desperate, so needy. It must do something to you, because he groans again, nips at the junction of throat and collarbone.

“So wet for me, little dove, so fucking wet, I could find nirvana in this sweet little cunt, fuck-“

Normally, Ezra is a little more restrained; a little more eloquent in his words, making even the most sinful thoughts sound like poetry. Hearing him like this, completely unrestrained, almost feral, sends you over the edge again, drugged or not. You don’t need to be hit with some weird shit in the atmosphere to come again for him, and you do, clinging to him, gasping and sobbing his name as he fucks you through it, trailing more bites and kisses in his wake.

“Gonna come soon, birdie.” His voice is soft in your ear as he kisses just below it. “Gonna stuff you so full of me you’ll be dripping for days…”

You whimper softly at the thought; so far you’ve only been held in his arms, half riding him, half being pulled down onto him. He takes advantage of your distraction to flip you, press you into the bunk so he can fuck deeper into you, harder and faster as he chases his own release, entirely blind to anything but pleasure.

You’re more than happy to be used, to feel the comforting weight of him pressing your body down, your legs hooked tightly around his waist. It’s as if your bodies were made for each other, and you know it, staring up at him through half lidded eyes, lips parted as you study him, that single blonde streak in his hair falling into his face as already dark eyes become depthless with lust as he slams into you one final time, holds himself there.

You can feel him pulsing inside you, feel every hot, thick rope of his spend that fills you as he finally collapses on top of you, panting into your shoulder.

“Fuck… fuck…” he breathes it out between deep breaths, sounding more and more like himself with each passing moment.

You reach up one shaky hand to stroke his hair, just wanting to touch him, to reassure him that you’re there with him.

Silence fills the lander for a few moments before he finally speaks again.

“Hey, birdie?”

“Yeah?” Your voice is still a little ragged, too.

“Think we need to change out the filters in our suits.”

He lifts his head to give you a little smirk; you stare at him for a moment before you laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah I think we do, too.”

Neither of you make any attempt to move; you can change the filters out before you go out again. For now, you just stay wrapped up in each other, enjoying the afterglow and the ache that comes with it.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

its my birthday soon, Mr. S!

mayhaps you could write something about Seb making himself go stupid (either with his hand or with something more…. siliconey, if you will) and Chris catching him?

tysm!! 🫶🏻

I've had this prompt for a really long time, so I have the feeling that your birthday has passed, and I'm sorry about not getting to this sooner. Regardless, happy belated birthday!

Also, this got, uh, dirty. Moreso than usual, maybe? Idk, depending on your version of dirty because if we're going silicone and going dumb, then let's fucking GO because--

First and formost, I think that perhaps these terribly filthy thoughts have been inspired by the stony fic, "Alien sex toys are safer than admitting your feelings, until they're not" by pouringinsheets that you may or may not be interested in because it's stony but 🥴🥴 Steve and tentacles? Guh. Sign me the fuck up.

So, tentacles, that'd be so embarrassing to go dumb over, wouldn't it, Seb? 😏

(Something like, Ika® the Tentacle from Bad Dragon perhaps?)

Honestly, Mackie probably bought the toy for Seb as a gag gift on a loooong press tour, knowing after one too many drinks that he was missing his man badly. And sexual frustration resulting from being trapped on a whirlwind press tour away from your friends and family will make you do weird shit sometimes. Weird shit, like, for example, buying your dear friend inappropriate things and winking and nudging him when you finally hand it over, saying he should put it to good use, maybe later tonight even, because it's Tuesday and you know your friend and his boyfriend FaceTime on Tuesdays 'cause that's the only night, no matter what you do do, you can't wear Sebastian down to going out with you.

So.

It's Mackie's fault.

He's a true troublemaker.

And after just about dying of mortification (and threatening Mackie to never tell him anything again if he's going to use his insider knowledge for evil like this) Sebastian originally was going to toss the gag gift toy into the bottom of his suitcase and be done with it. He would throw it away... give it away (is that a thing you can do? It's not like he's going to open it, and he doesn't want it to be a massive waste, so? Maybe?)... or whatever. He was definitely going to get rid of the evidence.

He never wanted to think about the damn thing again, so big, blue (actually a pretty tasteful light into dark blue fade that, because Sebastian is hopelessly in love, made him think of the emoji Chris is so fond of using 💙), and shaped so intensely like, well, something not human. A tentacle. Maybe an octopus? A squid? Maybe an alien? Sebastian isn't sure. And he swore, to himself, as he buried the toy in its box under his packed clothes, toiletries, and other travel clutter, that he would burst into flames if he so much as thought about it again. So, he had to hide it. There was nothing else to be done. He couldn't face it.

But, goddamnit, as the days drag on and on, Sebastian just can't get the obscene thing out of his head. Press is mind-numbing with the same questions repeated until he can spit out answers in his sleep. It's natural that he needs something else to focus on, then, right? It's just unfortunate that his fixation is over a fucking joke sex toy.

And it's just that... that he's never seen anything like it. He didn't know of such a brand. Bad Dragon? He refuses to look it up to see if all the toys are like the one Mackie got him, so he lives in a stupidly intriguing (for whatever reason) mystery. Also, a tentacle? Dragons don't even, traditionally, at least, have those. Huh?

More than the questionable branding and, probably, more than just needing something to fill his mind, Seb can't get the phallic fucking thing, heavy in its box at the bottom of his bag, out of his head for the sheer idea of it.

Looking at the graphic graphic on the outside of the box with its connal shape and textured suckers, Seb couldn't imagine what it would feel like in the nonexistent scenario where it was inside him.

Any sex toy he's ever owned has had one of two textures--smooth or ribbed. Smooth, soft silicone that sinks into him satisfyingly easy, gliding with the right about of lube, or more rigid ribbed surfaces that tug against his rim and rub deep inside him until he's clenching and gasping. He's never had something where there are repeated raised circles on one side, then on the other, there's nothing. It's just smooth. Both at once have to be confusing at worst and overwhelming at best, right?

Still, he can't imagine what it would actually feel like. So, naturally, his curious mind dwells on it. More and more. The thoughts invade him at every hour.

How different would it be from any other insertable sex toy? Would he be able to differentiate the textured side from the smooth side? How soft or hard is the body of the toy itself? It looks... squishy. Does the slight curve and curve back of the shape do anything? Does it feel different, assuming that it's rigid enough to keep that shape when shoved inside him?Would it feel good at all if he fucke himself with it? Surely there's something to it, otherwise it wouldn't be sold, right?

Right?

Sebastian goes in fucking circles, driving himself insane with the thoughts and the ensuing embarrassment the thoughts bring. He zones out, falling into the vortex of questions with no answers over this god forsaken tentacle sex toy. Then, when he realizes what he's doing, spiraling, he goes pink. Everywhere. Pink. And, at that point, he can't help but squirm in his seat, wherever he is, desperately hoping--sometimes in dire situations where he's thinking especially inappropriate thoughts--that no one within his vicinity can secretly read minds. If they could, he would know, though. Because he's sure the shock and probable disgust would be written across his face.

Sebastian isn't, he doesn't--he wouldn't kink shame. But there's a difference, he's finding, in himself where what he wouldn't really actually judge someone else for being into, he would certainly judge himself for being into. Wonderful.

Not that...

No.

He's not into this! He's just curious. That's it.

And that's probably not his favorite thought, considering the last time he was curious about something that something was men and then he went on a bender kissing and doing other stuff with basically any guy at any club he could get into until he was scared he was getting to famous to do that. So he cooled it off and fought his way to the acceptance of his own bisexuality.

Seb circles the drain, downward spiral getting nowhere, until he's finally, finally, finally home. Home sweet home in his tiny New York City apartment where he's chaotically ripping into his suitcase, unpacking and mostly flinging dirty clothes into the laundry basket, when he finds it. It's not even an oh yeah moment because he didn't forget. He doesn't really find it. He knew exactly where he was.

There it is.

Big. Blue. Shaped just like a tentacle. And, somehow, heavier than he remembers. It's hefty. Probably thick and definitely long.

Sebastian licks his lips.

He can't...

Push comes to shove, and he can't bring himself to throw it out because, because, because think of all the waste! That's so much silicone. So much time and effort to rot in a landfill. Because, well, he's curious. And because, oh no--

The devil on Seb's shoulder decides to raise its tiny little fit and hits him over the back of his head with a thought.

A rush of thoughts, really.

Disappointingly, Chris couldn't meet him at his NYC apartment like they had hoped after months--that's right pural--of being separated, schedule conflicts with their stupid fucking careers of auditioning, filming on site, then filming at this other site, waiting for editing, and going on press tours all over everywhere, so Sebastian is, just, frustrated by himself. He's wishing he weren't by himself. And he's thinking about Chris, as he always seems to be. He's thinking about the fantastic, crazy reunion sex they'd be having if he was here instead of Sebastian unpacking right away. Seb is thinking about how toe-curling-ly nice it is when Chris gets caught up in the moment and gets rough and shoves and takes and suddenly, yeah, oh fucking no because Seb's mind is full of that toy.

Not just that single toy as it lies limp in its box, though. It's worse. With the devil-on-his-shoulder's terrible influence, Seb's mind is full of that toy it it was even more wriggling and bigger and stronger and alive.

He is hit like a hurricane, blowing out a rushing breath of hot air, thinking about tentacles being rough with him. Involuntarily, Sebastian lets out a little sound. A tiny, under his breath whimper.

Rougher than Chris, even. Tentacles made of coiling muscle, hot and slick, sliding over his skin to tangle him up in their grasp like living ropes tying his body into the most challenging shibari poses where he struggles to stay. Sebastian wouldn't be able to be folded and molded into those positions if not for the rough tentacles using him mindlessly. Taking. Plundering and claiming. Merciless inside him, uncaring how much pleasure Sebastian does or doesn't get. Sebastian is riding high on pleasure, though, eyes rolling back as one of them creeps between his straining, spread-wide thighs and screws itself into him. Stuffing him full. Deep.

Oh.

If it were really spectacularly rough and hungerily plundering and deliciously merciless, though, it wouldn't just be his ass. The tentacles would be in all his holes, wouldn't they?

Through his bottom lip stuck between his teeth, Sebastian whimpers again. Muffled, yet louder than before, as he sinks into the most pornographic corners of his mind. New fantasies forming dizzingly fast.

The tentacles, thick and long and hot, so fucking strong, could go up his ass and down his throat, and he would feel so full. Nearly bursting at the seams. They could tangle up in his belly, keeping him full and heavy, and--they could be even more places, couldn't they?

Another sound, a moan from a memory meshing and combining with his newfound obsession--

Chris has sounded him a handful of times--not enough, but their lives are batshit insane and it's so intense and time consuming--and every time he's had that cold, glistening metal rod shoved down his urethra, Sebastian has been sure he's cumming the whole time. Oh, god. It's the most intense thing. It hurts. It feels too fucking good. It's like being fucked from the inside out. It's pumping waves of pleasure, shattering him with each peak. Every fraction of an inch deeper the sound goes, the higher Seb's voice goes.

Jesus.

The tentacles could shove down into his cock, raw and hard, and be everywhere, forcing his legs open, restraining his arms, fucking hard into his ass, tugging at his balls, curling around the shaft of his cock, forcing themselves down into his cock, squeezing his waist like they're trying to feel themselves tangled in his gut, fucked down his throat, too. Bruising him wherever they hold and grab him. Taking him.

Fuck me.

Sebastian shivers so hard, so suddenly that he drops the box onto the floor, narrowly missing his toes.

He needs it.

He needs to be taken, and this toy will have to do. It's the only thing that will do. He has others tucked away in his bedside drawer, but this is what he wants. Needs.

Fumbling to pick up the box containing what he desires so badly, Sebastian grabs that fucking thing, suddenly uncaring about how wierd and self-conscious this feels, rips the cardboard and plastic open, and rushes into his tiny bathroom to wash it quickly with warm water.

Unthinking, Sebastian strips himself as rapidly as he can from his sweats and old, thin t-shirt before climbing into bed with it and lube.

He almost forgets the lube. He's so out of sorts, consumed by his sexual frustration. And that might become the next most embarrassing thing other than the shape of what he's about to put inside himself. When was the last time he was this uncontrollably desperate?

Sprawled out, now also without his underwear, panting, in his own bed, just himself and this mortifyingly bright blue tentacle, Sebastian does it. He starts getting himself ready to be fucked by this thing. He cracks open the lube and gets his fingers covered liberally, dripping really, so they're glistening in the low light before wasting no time to shove one, then, two, and three fingers inside himself.

Guh.

Face down on the bed, reaching around to finger himself, Seb finds himself drooling, just a little, into the sheets that he cleaned before he left; he was planning to come home to a nice, made bed, that he's now ruining, he doesn't give a shit, though, just like he wouldn't've cared if he had been able to come home to Chris and they fucked up his bed together. His bed, the wall, the couch, or anything. Sebastian would've taken anything gladly. It's been too long since he had something inside him. He's just been jerking off and passing out after press tour late nights mostly. This is... yeah.

Yeah, fuck yeah, this is good.

Three fingers deep, twisting his wrist sharply to press against the edge of his prostate, brushing past, leaving his mouth gaping, his toes twitching. Curling. A harsh breath is kicked out of him. Oof. Pleasure rockets through him, electric, as he makes a more direct hit. The angle isn't perfect, and he definitely won't be able to do this for too long, but still, it's... oh.

God.

Yes.

Seb just barely tears his fingers from his own body. It feels so good. But, he's even more enticed by what's waiting for him, a whimper caught in the back of his throat.

He's, he's stretched enough now, right? He can--he can take it.

He'll be good, relax, and go slow. He can do it.

He will do it.

Sebastian picks up the oddly shaped toy, fingers wet and shaking as he smothers in it lube as well, his dick twitching to an even worse, more aching hardness with the slick sounds it makes. Smooth and textured.

He can't fucking wait another minute longer to stuff it into himself, so he doesn't. He puts the tapered tip to his stretched entrance and--

"Ohhhhh," he exclaims breathily, humid air rushing out of him as it slides in. At first, it's easy--so, so easy. He stretched himself much wider than the tip of the tentacle, but rapidly, it gets harder.

Hard.

The silicone is soft at the surface, yet there's just enough give to make it feel exotic and unreal, squishy, with just enough rigidity to keep it able to go inside him. He can clench on it hard, but he can also shove it in. Deeper. Fuck--god.

The toy is so slippery when it's coated in lube, and the sensation of it sliding into him is too fucking erotic. But it's only that dangerously, teasingly smooth on one side, feeling indescribably good as his body easily takes the smoothness. The raised suckers on the other side catch on him rim, then give as it thickens, forcing his body to accommodate. It's much wider and even wider than that as he stuffs it into himself, nearing the base.

Another garbled sound exits Sebastian as it enters him. He shivers.

He's already addicted to the difference. It's good. He doesn't know which he likes better so it's so fucking nice that he can have both, causing his head to spin, off-balance in the a way that's good-scary. It feels good. Unfamiliar in a rare delicacy sort of way. He's spread and vulnerable and taking it.

He gets the entire thing into himself, sweating himself into a puddle, and revels in it for too long. Teasing himself, clenching and relaxing around it. It's soft enough that it... it almost wiggles inside him. It's wriggly and soft and Sebastian wouldn't've thought that'd be hot but it fucking is.

More than feeling it filling him, stretching his body open, vulnerable and slutty, he wants it to move. And he may or may not cry out hotly thinking about how good it would be if it really could pump in and out of him by itself. Fucking him. He wants to get fucked so bad.

So, so fucking bad, he needs to be fucked, so even though he's melted into a puddle of heat, sweat, and pre-cum from the dripping slit of his cock, Seb steadies his legs as much as he can, getting them under himself to straddle the nearest pillow. He snatches it up and folds it over and shoves that between his thighs, knowing that when he grinds against in, no matter how pathetic and needy his thrusting is, it will push on the pillow and make the pillow shove firmly against the base of the toy, jostling it, making it almost, almost feel like a thrust. At least, it feels like the toy is moving inside him on its own if he shuts his eyes and let's his head drop back heavily, not thinking. Feeling.

Plus, fucking his pillow like this, fucking himself, squirming, leaves his hands free to touch himself. Free to feel up his own heaving, sweat-slick chest and pinch his hard, tight nipples; free to fondle his pulsing cock and tight balls; free to put his hands palm down on his quivering thighs, feeling his own shaky strength as he rides his pillow.

Helpless to control his volume as he grinds and humps, swiveling his hips, bouncing, riding, he gets louder and louder.

He's fucking loud.

He's moaning and whining, and he keeps hitting his prostate, and there's nothing he can do to choke down the crack that splits his voice.

"Fuh-uck!" He jumps an octave or two as his voice cracks.

He's so loud, getting into it so much, imagining the toy growing, longer and thicker, twisting up inside him. Screwing into him until he's stretched wide around it, made sloppy and loose, full of slick wetness from a tentacle. Used by a tentacle that shows just how fucking deep his appetite for getting fucked and filled goes. He'll take anything.

Anything.

He's so loud that he doesn't notice until--

SLAM!

All at once, his bedroom door comes crashing open with a deafening sound, the wood hitting his wall. It's like the shaking collusion and resulting sound rattles the entire apartment.

Exactly then, Sebastian's heart stops dead from the thundering, pounding speed it was going at.

Huh?What?Who? The words rush through his mind, no meaning, just shock. He's panicked half a second later, processing more, realizing what's happening. Then, he's fucking mortified to be found by a home intruder like this but, but, it gonna be worse than that isn't it because what if they know who he is and then this gets out to the media and it will be worse than if his phone got hacked and all those photos he's send with Chr--

Chris.

Holy fucking shit.

CHRIS.

It's Chris.

And he, well, he looks like he nearly just punched the door down. One of his hands is clenched around the door knob as if he wants to dent the fucking thing while the other hovers in the air, somewhere between looking like he was about to pound on the door, knocking hard, or running through his hair, messing it up, tugging at the strands in pure sexual frustration. (He's not the only one, Sebastian had been about to start pulling his own hair to push himself over the edge.) The expression on his face is dripping in arousal--smeared and wet, so thickly, freshly painted with heat. Dark eyes. Hot cheeks. Lips swollen, red, and wet. Really, it's not just his cheeks that are flushed, he's pink all the way down to the collar of his shirt.

Was he listening to Sebastian's sounds through the door, ear pressed to it? How long was he there before he broke? Did he shoulder it open to get to him as fast as possible? Driven thoughtless and stupid by all the blood rushing to his dick? There are no answers to Seb's questions.

There's no time because, Jesus, Seb can't help but mewl, grinding harder despite his shame. The embarrassment of being caught red-handed entangles him like his imaginary tentacles, adding to the heat he already feels. He is molten. Blazing, white-hot.

Seb hardly gets just one single grind against his wet, teeth-gritting-friction-providing pillow before Chris takes one, two huge lunging steps toward the bed, clearing the room to fucking tackle him flat to the bed. He crushes him bodily to the mattress, all that height and weight, squishing him. Seb can't breathe. He doesn't want to. Even through his clothes, Chris is furnace-hot, he feels good. So solid and heavy and good.

Chris barely has half the mind to growl, "surprise."

Meanwhile, Seb just moans.

Chris hardly has his mitts on him, his blunt fingernails digging into his bare flesh, but Sebastian already knows where this is going. He knows what Chris is going to do to him, and he's ready, out of his mind, to beg for it.

He's so, so totally naked, exposed, while Chris clings to the illusion of being restrained and unaffected, covered head to toe by his everyday clothes. Chris is going to use that, the sham of being controlled.

Chris is going to order him around, shove him around.

Chris is going to embarrass him until Seb's sure he's going to melt into the ground from sheer mortification.

Chris is going to make him cum with the toy before he fucks him. He will fuck him but... first--once he puuuulls the toy out slowly and shoves it in deep, seeing what Seb's working with--Seb will have to admit why he has a monster toy shoved into him.

What about it?

Why's it hot?

What's going on here, baby? This is so dirty, even for you.

There will be no way around it, no way out, for Sebastian. He'll have to stutter and whine and choke through his confession. He's going to have to spread himself open more than just physically, moaning about how he couldn't stop thinking about it, too curious, sobbing over toe-curling the texture, gasping with the thought of being completely pinned, helpless to stop it, writhing at the idea of being taken from every angle.

It'll make Chris smirk, doing that evil thing with the curl of his lips and quirk of one eyebrow. Too hot for his own good. Sebastian will whine, pretending to hate it, even though he can't stop shivering, can't stop begging for Chris, saying his name, clawing at him, clinging to him, cumming when Chris promises to give it to him. He wants to be overwhelmed? Chris can overwhelm him.

Just you wait and see, baby. Just to wait and see...

Jokes on Sebastian, though, because none of that will actually happen if he blacks out from heart-attach-inducing lust before Chris can do anything.

P.S. I hope that was worth the wait! (And thanks for reading this far, lol)

[yakuzacanons]

could we get some relationship HC's for Hanawa?

Just one post for today, feeling v tired but let's try something new! Hanawa is probably the only character in Gaiden I genuinely liked, although Akane is alright too. See y'all tomorrow with hopefully more energy in me!

Hanawa's never been concerned much with romance and as a result is not known to actively pursue any crushes he ends up having. Very much a if-it's-right-then-it's-right type of guy.

It doesn't help that his job keeps him from really settling down in a place and the Daidoji don't really have much sympathy for their employees.

Since work takes up his whole life at this point, it's very likely he will meet his partner either while out on a job or that his partner is also a Daidoji member. Romance is complicated for Hanawa as his dedication to his work and the secrecy of his identity are equally as important as how he feels.

Despite these setbacks, it's very likely that Hanawa will confess first! Part of it is to get it off his chest because it's gotten to a point where it is starting to distract him from his job, maybe even to the point his higher ups are noticing it. The other reason is he just needs to be honest with you and himself.

He knows if the two of you move forward that it won't be easy. His job will often require him to be away and he will be incapable of a traditional relationship in any sense. The confession ends up being less about him pouring his feelings out and more of a hard truth that he knows it wouldn't be easy and he won't be hurt if you reject him.

Of course, he's shocked that you DON'T reject him. The first few weeks of the relationship, Hanawa's kind of just in awe that this is really happening. For a man with so many experiences, this is one of the rare times when he feels out of his depth. Nevertheless, he's excited to embark on this new journey with you.

Communication is key with Hanawa. Nothing matters more to him than the two of you understanding each other. It doesn't matter where he is or what he's doing, he'll still check in with you regularly via call or text.

When he does have time off of work and can go on dates, Hanawa is a pretty traditional man. A nice dinner or drinks at a late night bar are his go-to. Not a fan of super crowded or noisy places.

In a long term relationship, it's actually a huge relief when the two of you move in together. It's one less degree of separation and he finds great comfort in knowing he has a home to return to for once in his life.

Shockingly, although he's so used to being a lone wolf, it's actually HIM and not you that ends up with a little separation anxiety. If he's across the world, he's definitely kicking himself a little for the distance and wishing the timezones weren't so far apart so he could call you.

At home, Hanawa is very tidy. He has little to no extra items in his home like wall decor or collectibles. He gives you full reigns to decorate as you please since it's likely you'll be home more often.

Hanawa has one of the lowest sex drives of all the boys. Long nights far from home and by himself have trained him to be able to go for a long time without needing the touch of someone else.

This isn't to say he's celibate or anything. In fact, a relationship will likely spur him into having a higher sex drive than before. He's genuinely a switch, although is more of a top when he's drunk. Average size but good with his hands and a pretty decent kisser.

[toffee-and-tandoori]

hello hannah i am here in your inbox once again and i am of course bringing you a the last dinner party song theory

you know i’m a sod for happy stories and i can’t stand sad things at all. everything fic read has to have a happy ending otherwise i will not read it. it gets to a point where when a fic is getting too sad, i actually scroll all the way to the end to see how it ends. it’s so awful but i need super sad angst followed by the happiest of endings.

however, that being said, nothing matters by the last dinner party, imo, is a really good angsty marcnaia song depending on how you interpret it. the whole theme of careless sex and other people still somehow being involved in the relationship is perfect, as well as the parts that talk about the two people being alike (and i especially love the metaphor about motorbikes ajshsh). imo the more you listen to this song and understand it, the more sad it gets and the more relatable it is to the two of them.

butttt (since i’m still a sod), the song does get happier and becomes more about love and passion and being carefree and maybe that means something here🫢

anyway i’m very much looking forward to seeing your reaction and to reading your mini essay/fanfic, i always enjoy those and i hope applications to psych residencies are going/went well <3

ahhh lee first of all thank you for the well wishes! so far i've had quite a few interviews at some great programs and overall i think things are going well <3

also i must say i am the EXACT same way about needing a happy ending with any fic i read (but for some reason i gravitate towards the more tragic ships like brocedes, pierresteban, rosquez, etc...like why do i do this to myself lmao). if there's not enough detail in the tags i WILL skip to the last few lines. and yes to the angiest angst to ever angst followed by happy endings, the fluffiest fluff to ever fluff - fix-it fics are just SO HEALING for me (the irony of me yearning for fix-it/angst with a happy ending fics and wanting to be a psychiatrist is not lost on me...).

and lee i will never judge you for any ship you have but i must confess...marcnaia is just NOT for me (except maybe in very specific, purely non-sexual and platonic [at best] ways). with VERY few exceptions, i am a ''one ship per person' kinda girl and rosquez has captured my heart (and with pecco i've recently become enlightened to pecco/luca which feels so obvious in hindsight). also i interpret pecco as having way too much repressed energy to be as carefree as the song suggests (i also might lack respect for pecco as a rider lmao whoops) and imo marc would refuse to settle for anything less than the best (which is unfortunately valentino).

HOWEVER even if it is not MY personal view, with a more neutral lens i can see what you mean about the song describing to how they attempt to fill the valentino- and luca-shaped voids (oooh how rich that they're pining for brothers haha) with each other. especially since for marc, pecco is valentino's successor while for pecco, marc is luca's predecessor. so they're like proxy versions of the person they really want...juicy. for me i can't go any further than platonic for marcnaia but lee please feel more than free to do you <3

also i can't help but latch onto the "i hope they never understand us" line with marcnaia because all the theorizing about how their teammates era will end up is hilarious to me and i hope there is never a clear understanding for how they are as teammates. i mean, i've seen everything from the bestest of besties (lmao) to somehow being more volatile than rosquez (also lmao). imo it'll be the most milquetoast pair of all time...but i hope marc kills pecco with kindness without sparing a second thought and as a result pecco's haunted and miserable (affectionate?...maybe?).

lee i genuinely hope this at least somewhat fulfills your desires even if went about it in what is probably a MUCH different way than you were envisioning (i.e. i somehow still made it about rosquez haha). please do not let my personal views of marcnaia stop you from sharing your thoughts with me because i love to read what you have to say <3

[btw "nothing matters" was the first last dinner party song i ever heard and i immediately fell in love! it actually played randomly on the radio while i was driving home and i was like "oh what is this???" and had to repeat the lyrics to myself so i could look them up when i got home. truly a banger!]

[also lee i responded to the questions you posed in our previous discussion about the pierresteban/rosquez fic-esque thing if you want to take a look]